Chapter forty

T he ACPD credentials and authorizations got Detective

Sylvester through every checkpoint he needed. A guard at

the jail rode with the detective in the elevator, down to the

maximum security level. The Tombs. The lift whirred.

Sylvester merely stared forward, the ride passing in silence.

The entire time the guard attempted to hold his hands still,

but they wouldn’t stop shaking.

Eventually the guard drew his pistol.

“That won’t be necessary, Officer,” Sylvester said as

calmly as he could.

He’d been expecting this. But that didn’t mean he was

ready for it.

With a ding the elevator reached its destination. The

door slid open, revealing chaos in the bowels of the jail.

Prisoners screamed to be let out, banging anything they

could against the inside of their cells. Begging. Two guards

with drawn rifles stood on each side of the elevator, waiting

for Sylvester. Droplets of sweat had formed on their

foreheads.

“Right this way, sir,” one officer said shakily, leading

him to the corridor on the right.

“Get me out of here!” a prisoner screamed as Sylvester

passed. “For God’s sake let me out! You’re murderers to

leave us in here!”

“They must have seen something,” the guard said, indicating

the prisoners.

“I’m sure they did,” Sylvester said. He walked steadily,

despite the stench of fear that hung in the air.

The solitary cells had small, thick windows looking

out to the corridor.

“This is it,” the guard said. Sylvester stepped close to

the steel door, drawing a deep and wary breath. His shoe

stuck to the floor, leaving an imprint. Blood had seeped under

the door.

The guard peered in the window quickly.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

The detective nodded.

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The door opened with a squeak and a clang. The

guards stood with their rifles at the ready. Sylvester stepped

into the cell, followed by two of the guards.

His face remained calm, inscrutable, as he took in the

sight.

Ethan’s body, or what was left of it, lay in the corner.

The only recognizable feature was his face. Where his eyes

had once been were two black, decomposed pits, larger than

his eye sockets. The veins running away from his eyes had

all turned black and gray. It was like looking into an abyss.

The rest of his body looked like it had been turned inside

out. As if he had been torn apart from inside. Gore covered

the walls of the cell. Deep scratch marks had penetrated the

concrete.

The demon had taken his payment.

“I’ve never seen anything like that before,” one of the

guards said, collecting himself. He ran his sleeve across his

mouth.

“I hoped I would never have to,” Sylvester said. He

looked at Ethan’s gruesome remains for a few moments

longer. “Thank you, Officers, that is all.” Turning on his

heels, Sylvester exited the cell.

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The guard took one last look before leaving Ethan’s

cell. The door closed, reverberating throughout the jail.

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