Read Online Benny Imura 03.5: Tooth & Nail by Jonathan Maberry - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jonathan Maberry
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philosophy?”
Saint John said nothing.
The prisoner nodded, however, as if the saint had acknowledged the quote and its meaning. “You treasure the darkness, and who knows, maybe you’re really damaged enough to serve your version of the darkness with your whole heart, but—”
“My ‘version’?” cut in Saint John. “There is only the darkness.”
“Ah,” said Iron Mike, “you’d better hope not. You’d better hope that there are many kinds of darkness. That’s what I believe. Hell, I bet we even see different stars when we look up at the night sky. I believe there are worlds within worlds, shadows within shadows.”
Saint John grunted with disgust. It was a dismissive sound. “What a pity,” he said, “after all of this it turns out that you are merely mad. For a moment there, I will admit, I believed that you had insight, that you were some kind of damaged prophet. But . . . no. Merely another person driven mad by having to endure endless days in this world of flesh.”
Something flickered in the prisoner’s eyes, but Saint John could not accurately read it.
“It’s okay if you believe that,” said Iron Mike. “Sometimes even I think I’m nuts. If you’ve seen the things I’ve seen, done the things I’ve done, saw the world through my eyes . . .” The prisoner laughed quietly and shook his head. “Being insane would be nice. It would be a kindness, and I can’t remember the last time this universe threw me a bone. Everything I’ve ever loved has died or been torn away from me. Am I crazy? I wish to god—any god who will listen, even your god—that I was.”
“I pity you,” said Saint John, and he mostly meant it. This man disturbed him on so many levels. His words, as mad as they were, threatened to open doors in his head that had long since been nailed shut and bricked up. “Tell me where the Nine Towns are and I will end your pain and your suffering. I will send you on into the darkness.”
“Killing me would be a blessing,” said Iron Mike, “but not in the way you think.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing, nothing . . . but . . .”
“But what?”
Iron Mike looked up at the trees, above which the sun was a bright ball of fire. He closed his eyes and took in a long, deep breath.
“It’s going to be a full moon tonight,” he said, eyes still closed. “Did you know that?”
“So what?”
Iron Mike opened his eyes, and they seemed to burn with palpable heat.
“You really don’t understand this world,” he said in a voice that was not at all human. It was low and wild and wrong. “There’s darkness and then there’s darkness. Real darkness. You think you understand what’s on the other side? You want to go into the darkness? You crave it. Keep thinking that, keep bringing pain to people who aren’t as strong or as crazy as you. But when it’s your time, when you step through the door into the big black . . . I’ll be waiting there for you. And I’ll show you what darkness really means.”
In a flash, before he knew he was going to do it, Saint John drew a knife and buried the blade in Mike Sweeney’s chest.
The big man made a single sound. It was not a grunt of pain. Not even of surprise.
It sounded more like a snort of mocking laughter.
Saint John tore his knife free and stared numbly at the bloody blade, watching in detached fascination as the red dripped down onto his hand. With a cry he flung the knife into the woods.
Then he spun away and fled.
When he reached his bodyguards, he waved them away and hurried toward the road where the army waited. Brother Marty followed at a run.
“Honored one,” panted Marty, “what happened down there? What did he say to you?”
Saint John suddenly wheeled, and one bloody hand darted out and caught Marty by the front of his shirt. He lifted the smaller man to his toes, pulled him so close that spit flecked Marty’s face as the saint spoke in a fierce whisper.
“We will
Saint John said nothing.
The prisoner nodded, however, as if the saint had acknowledged the quote and its meaning. “You treasure the darkness, and who knows, maybe you’re really damaged enough to serve your version of the darkness with your whole heart, but—”
“My ‘version’?” cut in Saint John. “There is only the darkness.”
“Ah,” said Iron Mike, “you’d better hope not. You’d better hope that there are many kinds of darkness. That’s what I believe. Hell, I bet we even see different stars when we look up at the night sky. I believe there are worlds within worlds, shadows within shadows.”
Saint John grunted with disgust. It was a dismissive sound. “What a pity,” he said, “after all of this it turns out that you are merely mad. For a moment there, I will admit, I believed that you had insight, that you were some kind of damaged prophet. But . . . no. Merely another person driven mad by having to endure endless days in this world of flesh.”
Something flickered in the prisoner’s eyes, but Saint John could not accurately read it.
“It’s okay if you believe that,” said Iron Mike. “Sometimes even I think I’m nuts. If you’ve seen the things I’ve seen, done the things I’ve done, saw the world through my eyes . . .” The prisoner laughed quietly and shook his head. “Being insane would be nice. It would be a kindness, and I can’t remember the last time this universe threw me a bone. Everything I’ve ever loved has died or been torn away from me. Am I crazy? I wish to god—any god who will listen, even your god—that I was.”
“I pity you,” said Saint John, and he mostly meant it. This man disturbed him on so many levels. His words, as mad as they were, threatened to open doors in his head that had long since been nailed shut and bricked up. “Tell me where the Nine Towns are and I will end your pain and your suffering. I will send you on into the darkness.”
“Killing me would be a blessing,” said Iron Mike, “but not in the way you think.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing, nothing . . . but . . .”
“But what?”
Iron Mike looked up at the trees, above which the sun was a bright ball of fire. He closed his eyes and took in a long, deep breath.
“It’s going to be a full moon tonight,” he said, eyes still closed. “Did you know that?”
“So what?”
Iron Mike opened his eyes, and they seemed to burn with palpable heat.
“You really don’t understand this world,” he said in a voice that was not at all human. It was low and wild and wrong. “There’s darkness and then there’s darkness. Real darkness. You think you understand what’s on the other side? You want to go into the darkness? You crave it. Keep thinking that, keep bringing pain to people who aren’t as strong or as crazy as you. But when it’s your time, when you step through the door into the big black . . . I’ll be waiting there for you. And I’ll show you what darkness really means.”
In a flash, before he knew he was going to do it, Saint John drew a knife and buried the blade in Mike Sweeney’s chest.
The big man made a single sound. It was not a grunt of pain. Not even of surprise.
It sounded more like a snort of mocking laughter.
Saint John tore his knife free and stared numbly at the bloody blade, watching in detached fascination as the red dripped down onto his hand. With a cry he flung the knife into the woods.
Then he spun away and fled.
When he reached his bodyguards, he waved them away and hurried toward the road where the army waited. Brother Marty followed at a run.
“Honored one,” panted Marty, “what happened down there? What did he say to you?”
Saint John suddenly wheeled, and one bloody hand darted out and caught Marty by the front of his shirt. He lifted the smaller man to his toes, pulled him so close that spit flecked Marty’s face as the saint spoke in a fierce whisper.
“We will
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