Infernal Angel by Edward Lee Read Free Book Online Page B

make it quick. I’m from an Order of the Seraphim, a very special order. Those from my order willingly descend from the Rapture.”
    “Seraphim,” Cassie repeated the word. “You’re a—”
    “I’m an angel,” Angelese said, and suddenly her face began to stress as if in pain. “I’ve been sent here to help you.”
    “Help me do what?” Cassie asked, eyes blooming.
    “I’m here to help you find the other Deadpass. I’m here to take you back into Hell—”
    The water in her hands had turned to blood, and Angelese’s words barely registered when suddenly Cassie was deafened by a high, shrill noise that filled the padded room like a fire alarm. Cassie thudded to the floor as if knocked down. The blood in her hand flew away and spattered the canvas walls, and that’s when she realized that the sound that was piercing her eardrums—that high, shrill, alarm-like noise—was actually Angelese screaming.

Chapter Three

(I)

    “Heydon, I think,” Officer Cooper said behind the wheel of Dannelleton PD Mobile Unit 208. “Cassie Heydon, er, Cassandra or something.”
    They’d just passed the little-talked-about Dannelleton Clinic, where said Cassandra or something was currently undergoing psychiatric evaluation on a pre-trial order for an arson charge. And here were two Dannelleton cops speeding back to town on a suspicious fire call that was starting to sound a lot like arson. Correction, they weren’t speeding anymore; Cooper, who had a penchant for pegging the speedometer at any reasonable opportunity had by now slowed down to ten miles per hour due to the sudden limited visibility.
    Ryan poked his head out the shotgun window. “Jesus, you’re right. It’s not fog, it’s smoke, and—” He tensed at a sudden fit of coughing. “And that stink? It’s ten times worse now.”
    Cooper could smell it too; he could even taste it as his face wrinkled up. It was a smell like meat cooking, but not good meat. Rotten meat. Like the time when he was a kid back in Brackard’s Point and they’d set that dead-for-four-days German shepherd they’d found at the dump on fire.
    The most atrocious stench ...
    “Dispatcher said west end, right?” Ryan was peering out, seeing essentially nothing now.
    “Yeah, and we’re almost there ... I think.” Cooper had had to decelerate to a crawl by now. The smoke had thickened to the point that it was like driving through pea soup. Ryan keyed the radio mike again. “Still dead,” he said. “When was the last time that happened? Sure, the fuckin’ phones go out every now and then, but when was the last time the radio went out?”
    “Never,” Cooper muttered, then stomped the brakes and shouted “Fuck!” when a sudden rapid thumping began to beat on the windshield. Both cops fumbled for their guns until they noted the old man leaning over at the open driver’s window.
    “What the blamed hail’s goin’ on?” his cratchety voice asked them.
    “Sir, do you know where the fire is?” Cooper asked.
    “Hail no, but there sure as shit’s a fire somewhere.” The old man stood in pajamas, his dentures were out, which lengthened his lined face. “Where’s the blamed fire department ? How come there ain’t no phone service? I can’t even get the local news ‘cos the blammed television ain’t workin’.”
    “Hey, pappy, pipe down a minute and let me ask you something,” Ryan said next, squinting over. Now the smoke was even seeping into the car, tendrils of a sickly greenish-gray. “Our dispatcher told us that there were complaints of people screaming out here. You hear anyone screaming?”
    The old man needn’t answer. In the distance, like fog-horns sounding across the bay, they could hear it: a uniphon of moans, muttering, and screams.
    Cooper said: “This is four shades of fucked up.”
    “It’s coming from the town square near as I can tell,” the old man offered.
    Ryan checked the cylinder of his service piece, then checked his speed-loaders. “Wait