The Writers' Circle

I went back and fleshed out a first draft prologue to A Season in Hell. It's an idea taking shape so will be reworked probably a few more times before this is all through

He ran through the well lit streets of River Street, trying to make for the old city warehouse by the train station, underneath the Martin Luther King Bridge. He chanced an look behind him as he ran, unable to see his pursuer--but well aware he was being pursued. He'd seen them, and that made him a target. He puffed hard as his lungs strained to bring oxygen to his large frame. He looked as if he wasn't built for this as he ran, but the heightened strength of desperation drove him forward at a devilish pace. In between strides, he could hear himself panting aloud and wimpering with fear. 
From his left, he heard the rustling keeping time with him. There was no way to tell what was coming, but he pushed hard, puffing and panting. His life depended  on his speed, and he pushed with every ounce of strength to run. He could hear disjointed laughter from his pursuers, and was near to panic. He stumbled once, nearly tripped--but amazingly regained his footing.The road turned to cobblestone as it ran into Old Town, making it more difficult to run--but if it was difficult for him, it was difficult for them as well if they intended to follow him. The woods to the right near the river all but disappeared, making it impossible for his pursuers to remain concealed. Not that he bothered to look, but he knew the area well enough to know it was an advantage.
The warehouse door was unlocked. He knew because he'd left it unlocked. Just as he knew that they hunting group had made a camp in the underbrush near the Appamattox River. It was the most logical place to lure them--the old Warehouse was in near disuse--ending up as overflow storage for the City of Petersburg--far enough away from prying eyes at this time of the night, and solidly built. He'd taken great care in preparing the building--seeing to blessing the windows and sealing any other exits. Truly there was only one way in, and one way out. He continued huffing and puffing and whimpering wildly while he ran--he was hopeful that they were too interested in the chase to realize they were being led. It was always the mistake of the predator to believe that they held the power. Tonight he would show them otherwise.
The door was looming closer as he passed the old Train Station. He could hear them on the gravel behind him. He'd left the middle of the street and cut across the gravel parking lot of the train station trying to mimic a haphazard sense of panic. They were in the throws of pack mentality now, working together towards their common prey. Much of this was not just hunting, but study. With each new confrontation, he took it as an opportunity to learn--to refine his technique. Much of what he could do was instinctive, but that didn't mean that there was nothing to learn. He took great care never to overestimate his own ability. Though he was highly resistant to physical injury--he wasn't invulnerable, and ones such as these could do great damage in strength if he wasn't careful. His advantage was mainly in preparation and surprise-- and he'd become very good at both.
He purposely tumbled over the retaining wall that marked the end of the parking lot--head first into the dirt and gravel. As he made it to his feet, he made sure to look behind him. They were closing, which was what he wanted, though one of them had broken off the chase--there were three left. He turned and made a run for the door to the warehouse--up the short set of stairs to the huge green double doors. They didn't seem to notice the Loomis Fargo Armored Car that was parked there, with it's back facing the doors slightly off  to the right of the doors. He'd hoped to catch them all, but three would be a good start.They were close on him now, easily leaping over the retaining wall and gaining ground so that they were mere seconds behind him. He was up the stairs in an instant and swung open the door. He spun quickly and tried to pull it closed behind him, but it was yanked free of his hand, while a second body crashed into him, launching him backwards deep into the warehouse. He landed squarely on his back, and using the momentum of the throw kicked his legs over his head, coming into a crouch position at the ready. 
All three of them had crossed the plane of the doorway, taking positions beside one another. It seemed they wanted to savor the moment. Unlike the movies they did not hiss at one another or him, baring fangs. There were two young men and a woman. Their clothing were in tatters and they were all caked with filth. He could tell right away that these were menials--nothing more than extensions of their master's will. They were able to think independently and act, but were hoplessly bound to the will of those who made them. To  humans, they might seem little more than wildmen--not speaking or acting like anything resembling a human being. He got to his feet slowly, letting the last part of his trap fall into place. Outside, the engine of the Loomis Fargo truck sprang to life as it backed into the warehouse doors, forcing them closed and barring his pursuers from any sort of retreat. It also meant that he was locked in with them, leaving no way for him to escape either.
They turned briefly and for a moment it seemed they were contemplating what to do. Fight or attempt Flee. He'd made sure neither would be possible for them. Morgan would be safe in the cab of the armored car, and ones such as these would not possesss the strength to move it by itself much less with the two tons of scrap metal he'd loaded into the back of it. Without warning, two of them lunged at him--the two men. He stood his ground and braced for the attack. It was loosely coordinated and neither of them possesesed enough faculties to contemplate more than the basest of human thought. Menials were slaves to lusts and without a doubt the easiest to deal with. He leaped vertically into the air which was easily accommodated in such a large open space. He pushed his feet downward as one passed under him, landing squarely on the base of its spine sending it crashing to the floor under him. It made a sickening thud on the rough hewn wooden floor. He'd moved his feet from him just before coming to rest on the floor landing squarely on either side of it. He was too fast for their reckoning and instantly spun and launched himself and the second.
 He'd made eye scan on the third, who it seems was looking for a way out. The menial's senses had no doubt told it that the windows were well blessed and untouchable. The stairs to the second floor were directly behind him--which meant it would have to go around him to get to them. He'd planned for that too--and had the stairs blessed as well. One benefit to traps such as these he'd learned--was that a blessed house or room cut them off from their master. Hence the old wive's tail about vampires not being able to come into a home. There he was with that word again--he always tried to avoid using it when he could. He'd caught the second menial as he landed, grabbing its tattered clothing and hurling it straight into the blessed wall at the back of the warehouse. The impact resounded inside the open space and with any luck the blessing had done it's job in conjunction with the impact. So much of his work depended on having adequate time for the laying of hands. He'd placed specially prepared steaks around the space but preferred only to use them as a last resort. It slumped to the floor--temporarily incapacitated like the first one. He had 5--perhaps 10 minutes to subdue the third. Plenty of Time.
Seeing how badly the attack had gone for them, the last menial had lunged back for the door and was frantically trying to work the doors open. He approached with that reckless kind of caution--knowing that he had mere moments minutes to bring this to a close. It was very small and lithe--he could tell from the size of it. He grabbed it by the hair and yanked it back into the space. The menial let out a shriek and turned to claw at him. He grabbed its arms firmly and his grip was solid. Step by step he pushed it back against the wall until there was nowhere for it to go. He looked at it closely as he held it in place. The menial thrashed wildly, but he was no match for his physical size and strength. Sullivan tuned his senses and looked deeply at the wild thing he held tightly. 
This menial was very new. Perhaps a few weeks old if that. He could still feel the internal struggle within. While the body was changing, the soul within was fighting desperately to cling to life. Unlike the movies, it wasn't three days till they rose from the grave. The real transformation took years--during which the host was spared none of the agonizing pain of its transformation. As the invading spirit simplified the workings of the bowels, and circulatory system--preparing it to become a proper vessel for consuming human blood, he could only liken it to what Ebola might feel like. The important thing was that he'd reached this one in time. This one could be saved. 
Somewhere, deep inside--the person who had been, knew what was happening. In his mind, he could hear the faintest whisper the woman this thing had once been. --Maggie. That was her name. He moved his hand to the top of her head, while keeping her steady. He inhaled deeply, and slowed his breathing. Reaching deep within himself he found the light within, which he allowed to rise and permeate his being. The thing inside her recoiled, but there was nowhere to go. Pressed against a blessed wall, all it could do was await the inevitable expulsion. To new to it's host, it lacked the proper strength to resist him. 
"Maggie..." He whispered. "Maggie...." 
His hands became warmer against her skin as he allowed the light within him to flow through his hands. The thing insided hurled horrible curses as it writhed in agony. Sullivan Smith uttered no further words--there were no need of them. The thrashing subsided slowly as he pressed his inner light deep within the host, burning away the invading spirit, orienting on the soul within. Like a drowning swimmer reaching for a life line, he felt Maggie reaching for him. The light within him had reached her, and she fought. She fought with all her strength. Surprisingly, once he'd reached her he had to do very little. Gently, inch by inch, he tugged her back with him--towards the light. The demonic spirit within him screamed with rage as it was forcibly evicted from her body. 
The air around them became dank with the fetid stench of sulfur. Maggie had begun to sweat blood, or rather the invading spirit departed her body though the blood, being forcibly expelled. Her skin because slick with the odorous liquid, but Sullivan held fast to her, continuing to help her expell it. Slowly, inexorably, the light came back to her eyes, and Sullivan knew his part was completed. He released her, and she slumped to the ground in front of him. 
His work was not yet completed. He turned to the second menial, which lay senseless on the floor behind him. As he approached, he'd gotten the sense that this one was much further along in it's transformation. As he knelt down and touched it, his instincts confirmed his thoughts. This one had been completely altered to its new existence as a menial, it's host driven down and oppressed into complete submission. Though he knew it was in vain, he searched for some small vestige of the person inside. He found nothing. The soul could be released, but there was no chance of restoring any semblence of control. The human spirit inside had be crushed, the mind pushed beyond its capacity to recover. He looked over his shoulder at one of the implements he'd prepared. It would certainly be quicker to drive the stake into the beast and allow it's magics to draw the souls from the blood and release them-but this was no longer his way. He had since learned how to do this without the implement for reasons of practicality as well as compassion. The host would feel the physical pain of being staked-not the beast within. He squared himself, half kneeling, and placed his hands upon the creature. 
There was a light stirring when he did so. Even possesssed of preternatural strength, the beast had it's limits and there was precious little that it could do at this point. His power held it fast, and he began the slow process of burning his way through the possessing spirit--to the soul inside. What he would find there would bear little resemblence to the man it had been. Years of unending spiritual torture had seen to that. Once he'd burned through--he would essentially guide the damaged soul to the beyond. 

It's eyes lurched open. He gasped thinly, but maintained its hold. Something was not right in this one. It began shuddering and convulsing violently. It seemed as though the creature itself was not in control of what was happening. He felt a tendril of evil course through him. He was being psychically probed by another precense who was intent on keeping him from completing his task. What should have been a simple expulsion was now quickly becoming a struggle between two opposing wills. He pressed back, intent on reaching the soul within. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see motion from the other menial though he could not sense conciousness. It was being animated!

It was a clever trap. Brilliant in its simplicity. He naturally could not simple relenquish his hold on the menial before him. While the second menial was revived to attack him from behind. That forth entity, which he'd mistaken for another menial must have been the Master himself. This one was powerful indeed--able to extend its will beyond merely physical instructions to exhibiting physical control over those in his dominion. His adversary had used his own thinking against him. For within the structure, he had assumed an air of confidence at his ability to defeat them. He realized now he had been overconfident. 

In an instant, he chose his course. He might have retreated having only freed one of them, but he chose not to. These souls had suffered enough. He made the only choice there was to make. He would have to purge them both. In seconds, the menial had closed the distance between them, and there was no time for any other course of action. It's movements were swift, but unpracticed and unskilled. The attack counted on surprise and brute strength, which he used to his advantage.

The menial launched itself at his back--arm's outstretched to ensnare him. Crouched as he was, there were very few options other than to brace and allow the menial's lunge to connect. He twisted his position just so to hook his strong hand under it's armpit and violently twist forward again, flipping it completely over on its back. He pulled back for an instant and pushed out with his essense as he shot his hand out over the creature's chest, effectively pinning him opposite the one he already held. 

He pushed down hard, both with his hand and his spirit. Instead of trying to treat each as a separate effort, he let it flow as though they were simply a larger mass to flow through than before, more like an electrical circuit finding its path through parallel conductors. It let out an earth shattering wail. Smith could feel the evil inside them both, just beyond his reach. Even now it abandoned the lesser menials to their fate, but not immediately. Beads of sweat had formed on his  brow as he exerted on the two of them equally; methodically ripping away the demonic layers to the souls trapped within. His inner light pushed deeper and deeper, ripping away the malice and hatreds that had imprisoned the human souls within. 

But something wasn't exactly right. Their bodies were swelling--as if being inflated from within. He dared not stop, for fear of failing to reach the souls trapped within. The bodies were immaterial. It was the souls that mattered. They were all that mattered. They shuddered violently under his palms--held fast by his power. The instant he felt the connection to the souls within, each reached out to him, like a drowning victim reaches instinctively towards anything that they can. As he gripped each of them, he felt the flesh of their bodies burst beneath him spraying flesh, innards, blood all over him. The force pushed him back and he fell on his behind--in his hands, the last remnants of the souls within disappeared disappeared like wisps of smoke.

Sullivan Smith got to his feet, and made his way back towards Maggie. She was not coherent, but she was breathing slowly and shallow. He banged on the door in the predetermined sequence to alert Morgan that it was finished. A moment later, he felt the engine of the armored car spring rev and move forward, allowing the door to creep open again. The Ambient light from outside spilled back into the room, as he took Maggie up in his arms and carried her towards it. Morgan had parked the truck and got out to see if any assistance was needed. It was their method to remove the bodies when they did this--but this time was different. Smith needed answers of a kind that you could not devine on his own. 

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he turned and handed his new charge to Morgan. Despite his relatively young appearance, he easily hefted the burden. 

	"Just the one survived?"

He Nodded.

	"I'll get the body bags for the other two." Morgan was very familiar with the procedure. As he turned to take her back to the transport, Sullivan instructed him to forgo them.

	"This time we leave the bodies. Take her and get her out of here. To Sanctuary. She's vulnerable right now, and I want to make sure that we get her to safety. I will join you as soon as I can--a few days at least."

	"You're not going with?"
	
	"No. This was not a hunt. It was a probe. The fourth one was only posing as a menial. It used the menials as a test. Probing me for weakness."

	"All the more reason to regroup in safety."

	"No. He exploded their bodies in there--from a distance. If I had not reached the souls in time, doing something like that might before I had a chance to free them might have prevented me from succeeding. The ways of your science might afford me some insight as to what happened. If I know what happened, maybe I can prevent this from happening again. Call the police. Tell them to get here quickly."

	"They'll arrest you."

	" I know. Make the call."