5298 words (21 minute read)

Chapter 2

Three-quarters of a mile away in Prospect Park, trees swayed with wind whistling high above.  Thirteen black-robed women raised their arms in unison and began chanting.  The bonfire just a few yards was licking and eating at the twigs and small branches being fed to it.  The small goat, tied to a nearby tree on the far side of the fire, bleated and pulled against the rope to no avail.

A quarter of an hour later, as the chant died away, the dark coven’s High Priestess looked around without smiling.  “It is time for the cleansing.  We shall walk single-file through the bonfire.  Throw your problems, your worries, your fears and guilt into the flames.  Allow the heat and the red-hot embers to cleanse you!  To make you a clear and open vessel so you can receive the gifts you desire from the Fury!  Give yourselves to the Otherworld!  Prepare yourselves for the opening of the Veil that shields this world from the other which we seek on this Saimhain night!”

Warbling sounds came from some of the women as they lined up to procession through the bonfire and walk across the smoldering coals.  Cries ripped from a few women’s throats.  One woman fell sideways onto the dried fibrous grass after her first step onto the scorching path.  She clutched her throat gagging.  The woman was a mere three inches from the heated coals.

The High Priestess came over to her chanting and stroking her forehead.  The choking stopped.  The woman got up woodenly and marched across the coals with her arms stiff at her sides ignoring the smell of her own burning flesh.  The other coven members followed slowly as the High Priestess looked on with a gleam in her eyes noting with satisfaction that no one else hesitated.

***

As the beating raged on, Kyma managed to curl into a fetal position trying her best to limit the damage to her vital organs and face.  After what seemed like eons, the raining blows slowed to a stop.  She curled tighter dreading what was to come.  She felt him press his mouth to her ear.  “Did you like that?” he rasped in a gleeful tone.  “There’s more fun coming.  I’ve got Seymour coming to visit you soon.  You’ll like him; he’s rather nicer than I am…much nicer.  He doesn’t yell, or beat.  He’s gentle and gets right to the point!”  The man cackled turning her over and ripping the rest of her clothes off.  He totally ignored the copious amount of blood around her head and neck.  He couldn’t care less about her swollen eye.  Trying to cover her torso, her hair flopped over her face, as she sobbed and shivered in the crisp late October night air.  He smacked her hands away from her full breasts and shoved her hair out of her one good eye.  He shook her by her shoulders until her teeth clacked.

“You are going to let me look at you, and you’re going to enjoy this as much as I am – or else.”

The unspoken threat arrested Kyma’s breathing.  She stared at him dumbfounded.  Her brain refused to go the next logical conclusion.  Kyma’s kickboxing lessons flew from her mind as she froze; immobilized by the images of a thousand news reports she’d seen in her lifetime about rapes gone wrong.  Some part of her brain begged her to kick him in the nuts, while another part told her to run.  She did neither as her limbs refused to respond.  He shoved her onto her back.

Frantically scrabbling around in a wan attempt to get away, Kyma found herself very close to one of the plastic tarps.  Something clicked within her.  She grabbed at the tarp trying to pull and throw it at him simultaneously.  He laughed cruelly and wrenched the sturdy blue plastic out of her hands.  Kyma smelled the new concrete.  In a surprising move, she twisted and crab-walked the few inches towards the glasphalt.  She grabbed at it thinking to gather some up and throw it in his eyes.  She only succeeded in ripping her nails and marring the almost fully dried surface.  She managed to throw only a few flecks of glasphalt at him.  He laughed as he brushed the concrete grit off.

“So, you like it rough?”

Her eyes grew wide as he grabbed her again.  “Let’s see if you like it as rough as I do.”

***

The dark coven’s High Priestess was the last to walk on the smoldering ash-coated coals.  The High Priestess walked over to the others, ignoring her own scorched flesh and refusing to limp.  She entered the center of their circle and reached within the folds of her robe.  With flourish, she pulled out two objects — a shiny silver curved knife with a dark leather handle and a shallow silver bowl.

“With this ceremonial knife, I will take a drop of blood from each of you, mix it with my own and we will say the final incantation.  Using the blood from the goat, we will offer our essences to the Fury for it to bless us with its presence!  We must move quickly.  It is almost the witching hour of Samhain — our High New Year!  Call upon the Fury!  Ask it to avenge the wrongs done to us collectively and individually!  Ask it to come and work through us to find the perpetrators and wrong-doers in our lives!  Call upon the Fury!”

The keening of the women rose as the High Priestess went around the circle taking blood from each woman’s finger.  Her smile grew broader as she nicked her own finger and added it to the dark viscous liquid already in the bowl…

***

With his hand around her slight throat, her good eye rolled back so only the white showed.  He relieved himself, yet again, inside of her. 

Kyma barely gurgled.  The pain was blinding.  The lower half of her body was on fire.  Her nipples were bloody.  Her stomach, scored beyond recognition, by the knife he used to elicit her screams which he smothered with his mouth and teeth as he bit her tongue while pumping into her.

With Kyma’s knees tented and as far back as he could get them, he gave one last thrust.  His hand loosened from around her neck as he doubled over her, panting.  Even so, his excitement was still building for the climax that would not be physical for him, but, would definitely be for her.

***

With all of the blood collected, the High Priestess motioned for the goat to be brought forward.  She knelt on the grass.  Her feet were numb, yet they throbbed incessantly.  She ignored the conflicting sensations in her rising elation at the culmination of five years of dreaming of this very moment.  She began chanting as she nicked another of her fingers with the knife.  She watched as the blood dripped to join the rest of the viscous dark liquid in the bowl.  With a triumphant grin, the High Priestess threw her head back as she chanted and swayed while still on her knees.  With her eyes rolling back into her head, she brought the bottom of the bowl to her forehead touching it to her third eye in the center of her forehead.  All the while, chanting in the old language, calling the Fury to them in the way it would best understand.

It was mere moments before midnight and the Priestess could feel the tug from the Otherworld; could feel the Fury struggling against the Veil trying to burst free and come to them.

“Join me my sisters!  The Fury comes!  Chant with me the prayers of old!”

On cue, they all began warbling.  Seconds later several of the coven members began spinning like whirling dervishes, black robes ballooning with air, as they called to the Fury begging it to come; imploring it to assist them in moving to the next level in their lives and in their wicked development.

“Louder!  Call the Fury to us!”

The High Priestess screeched her joy as she felt the initial rip in the Veil.  The Fury pushed against the small tear forcing it open.  It was seconds until midnight…

***

Kyma’s assailant leaned over her and grabbed the wickedly sharp, blood-streaked Swiss Army knife that lay just beyond her head.  He pulled back to a sitting position and looked down at her.  He smacked her lightly.  He wanted her awake for this; the important moment of their joining.  He wanted to see the life flee from her one good eye.  The other was now permanently shut.  He wanted to drink it in and experience the raw power of being the one to take what no man could give.

“Wake up!”

He slapped her.  Her undamaged blue eye focused on him; dull recognition coming into it.  The face beneath him looked nothing like the 29-year-old former small town beauty queen.  This woman looked old.  Battered.  Used-up.  Pulverized.  Her face was so swollen and mottled it resembled that of a days old dead body decaying in a warm environment.  But, she was his masterpiece; his Halloween creation.  With a deep sigh, he smiled and breathed out the one word that summarized all of his emotions.

“Purrfection.”

After only four other Halloween masterpieces, he still couldn’t believe the rush.  He was erect again and wanted her for the final time.  He angled himself and raised the knife.  This was going to be his first time doing it this way.  He could barely contain himself.  He throbbed painfully and gave Seymour a stroke to calm him down.

“Lady, you’re so good!  Strong, resilient and in shape — not like the others!  You deserve to have the special honor of my first double-entry.”

Fear clouded Kyma’s eye as understanding dawned.

He used his knees to push her inert legs away from her bloodied core while leaning back so he could aim the knife over her heart with precision.  Taking a deep breath he pulled back his arm and his lower body.  With an astounding quickness, he thrust forward with both weapons.

Kyma’s last scream echoed off the inanimate construction equipment.  The sound filled the air with the last eighty minutes of her anguished suffering.

Her assailant, startled by the scream’s intensity, looked around.  Her scream was strangely amplified.  It seemed to reverberate against his eardrums a dozen times before dying away.  He gazed around wild-eyed trying to pinpoint what was spooking him.  He felt a rush of wind gust passed him at the same moment as her fingers raked his cheek.  Her fingers gouged him deeply before her hand fell – lifeless – onto the hardening glasphalt. 

Kyma’s hand dripped blood from them both.

***

The High Priestess felt when the Veil tore.  The Fury was released!  She felt it zooming down to Earth at a furious speed but its forward movement slowed.  The Priestess felt the Fury veer and fly away just as she slid the sharp blade across the goat’s neck. “No, Fury!  We are here!  WE have called you!  Come back!  Come BACK!!”  Within seconds, the Fury’s presence could no longer be felt.  It was gone.  All of the women stopped their gyrations and chanting.  Slowly, they moved towards their leader and stared as they watched the High Priestess double over atop the bleating goat flailing its legs with little energy.  The Priestess sobbed into its crimson streaked snow-white hide.

***

The Fury inspected Kyma’s attacker and sniffed him good when it swooped past him.  Quickly, it turned and possessed Kyma before she lost all of her life essence.  The Fury latched onto Kyma’s soul and rapidly asked if she would make a deal to avenge her wrongful death.

With the increasing fog befuddling her senses, Kyma was not sure what was happening.  The only definite fact was that the pain had stopped.  She felt buoyant, light and free.  Feeling a whosh of air underneath her, Kyma began to rise imperceptibly. 

However, the woman-like winged creature before her with blood dripping from its crimson eyes clamped onto the squirming spirit more tightly.  Kyma felt the pressure of the creature’s mind invading her own.  It wanted to avenge her by murdering the beast of a man that had ended her life.  She felt, more than heard herself gasp.

I’m…dead?!

Yet, the soft white light beckoned.  The luminous light’s soft music wormed its way into all of Kyma’s cold broken places making it difficult for her to focus.  It was begging her to follow it; to follow the caressing soothing light…

But, the creature needed an answer — now.  Kyma shook her head trying to clear the white brightness away which made the surrounding red haze from the creature easier to feel.  Kyma hesitated only a moment longer before deciding.

“Yes!  Kill him.  Do whatever you have to do – but kill him!”

“Can I have your soul as payment?”

“My…soul?  But –”

The soft white light was beckoning her but Kyma’s anger was rising turning her vision red.  It was almost as if blood were coming out of her own eyes.  The light flickered, then waned.  Kyma made her decision.

“Take it!  But, kill him!”

With a vile smile full of sharp tiny teeth, the Fury ensnared Kyma’s soul and sent it to Hell via a Harpie.  With Kyma’s spirit gone, the Fury was trapped in the bits of Kyma’s essential fluids that were oozing into the almost dry glasphalt half-concealed by the blue tarp.  The Fury was familiar with the ways of humans and knew someone would come to see about the dead woman.  As the Fury watched Kyma’s killer stumble away only to fall to the ground, yet again, it knew it had only to bide its time.  The man would surely pay for his heinous crime.

Kyma’s killer, scrambled up from where he tripped and felt for his gun to protect himself from whatever was out there, haunting him.  He pawed and dug in his pants pockets and threw a frightened glance at Kyma’s crumpled body.  He tore his gaze away looking all about once again.  He wanted his gun but he felt watched; hunted, by something older, and more evil than he could ever be.  It was almost as if the hounds of Hell were stalking him.  With a gurgled scream, he fled the construction site leaving his perfectly weighted Smith & Wesson Bodyguard 380 behind.  He much preferred to get away from whatever was spooking him this All Hallow’s night.

The Fury looked around to see what the killer had been seeking.  Its bloody eyes gleamed when it caught sight of the compact gun.

***

Holden sat at the scarred table in the break room scratching a Win for Life lottery ticket.  Slamming her hand against the old wooden table, she ripped the ticket in half.  She whipped out another scratch-off game from her light blue uniform shirt pocket scraping the side of her hand on her badge.  Back to furiously scratching once more, Jennifer didn’t notice when Detective Betty Feinster walked in.

“You never quit this.  Do you?”

Jennifer glanced up, and back down, but didn’t stop scratching.  She had just scratched off the six play spots in the game on the left — nothing.  She scratched the right side game; not even the two bucks she spent for the game.  She took a deep breath and whipped out another scratch-off.

“Oh, so you’re not even speaking now?” smirked Feinster, “Thought we got past that point.”

“Betty, you know by now that I like to concentrate when I’m playing.  It’s part of my system.”

“Some system!  You buy scratch-off tickets like all the schmoos in the world and you lose just like all the schmoos in the world.  Great system.”

Her friend, and infrequent murder case partners, plopped down next to Jennifer kicking up her police issue thick-soled black shoes onto the table.  She placed her booted feet near Jennifer’s scratching hand.

Jennifer paused, her rapid movement and looked over at Betty with a look of incredulity.  A smile was spreading slowly across her slim mousy face; a face that hadn’t seen a drop of make-up in years.  With her chemically straightened medium-length black hair pulled back in a tight bun, Jennifer looked like a young schoolmarm.  Her small button nose, without a bridge, was the cutest feature in her countenance.  It looked out of place among her other unremarkable features.  Her cheeks were not well-defined and her lips were neither expressive, nor memorable.  Her eyes were roundish — not quite owlish — normal dark brown eyes for an African-American.  However, her eyes boasted a few flecks of lighter brown from some long-forgotten Anglo-Saxon ancestor.

The flecks brightened her whole countenance especially when she was animated — which was rare.  At the moment, her eyes were lit up as if fired by some internal power source.  Jennifer’s eyes glowed, a rich dark tawny shade, which made one ignore the rest of her and focus on her face.  Her boyishly slim physique hardly made any bumps in her uniform especially not over her 32A cup bra.  What she did have going for her were her tight abs, a slim waist, long shapely legs that were currently sheathed in the dark blue NYPD issued uniform pants and her pore-free skin which was the color of rich ground cocoa.

Betty pulled her feet down and leaned forward.  Her own smile forming as she shoved a few stray dark blonde wisps out of her green eyes.

“What?  Did you finally win something?”

With flourish, Jennifer scratched one long swipe to reveal the bar code. 

Betty grunted.  “I know this part of your system — you won something.  From your stupid grin you won a lot.  How much?”

“Fifteen hundred!  Left hand game,” Jennifer held it up in front of Betty’s face.  “So what do ya think of my system now?”

“It still sucks but today, you got lucky.  How long have I known you?”

“Why do you keep forgetting?  Six years.  You’ve known me since I joined the force,” grumbled Jennifer re-pocketing her winning ticket.

“Right right…so, in all those years this is the biggest win you’ve had, or told me about.  Soo, what does that make your profit?  Hmm, that’s $250 per year.  Shall we divide that by the number of days per year, or shall I be nice and do it by month?  Be nice?  Okay, that’s $20.83 per month for every month I’ve known you!”

Before Jennifer could retort, her radio squawked.  “Detective Holden, report to State and Hoyt Streets.  Female victim.  DOA.”

“Holden, this is your golden day.  First, the lotto win of $20 bucks a month for the last six years and now your very first solo murder case,” smirking Betty pushed herself up with a sigh.

“Solo?!”

“Such a shame I’m off the clock now and can’t help you…”

“You evil little —”

“Now now.  Don’t keep your newest client waiting,” Betty said in a saccharine-filled sotto vocce.

Barely suppressing a growl, Jennifer got to her feet making her chair fall backwards in the process. She stalked out of the break room without glancing back at Betty.  Laughter trailed after Jennifer as she smashed on her brimmed hat and passed by her locker to pick up her crime scene kit.  On her way out of the precinct, Jennifer stopped at the Command Desk.

“Sargeant?”

“Yeah Holden?”

“Am I being assigned a partner for the Hoyt and State Street call?”

The large ex-military cop, a veteran of twenty years guffawed.

“Holden, you’ve been on the force long enough to know that on Halloween no self-respecting murder cop is on duty.  You’ve got this one.  If you need backup for a stiff after all your years on the beat,” he paused as he smiled mirthlessly, “maybe you need to change jobs and work in a bodega.  Then, you wouldn’t have to go too far to get your daily fix.”

“Yeah, well at least I believe in something, Sarge.”

“You?  Believe?  In what?  You’re a friggin’ atheist — Holy Holden.  That’s why you pull Halloween each, and every, God-damned year!  That, plus the fact you’re the only Black woman in all of Brooklyn who ain’t got kids!”

Jennifer lowered her head and glared at him through her lashes but held her tongue, as she always did.  She stiffened her 5’2” frame and slid on a poker face as she turned on her heel.  She marched out of the precinct with her back ramrod straight as he laughed raucously at her…as he always did.

***

Police Officer Saks heard the distinctly feminine scream that chilled his blood.  Without thought, he ran in the direction of the woman’s distress knocking a rather large man to the ground in his haste not noticing the streaks of blood on the felled man’s face and hands.

“Get outta my way man!  Police emergency!”

Saks got to the construction site and knew this was where the sound had emanated from.  He found the makeshift hole in the wire mesh fence, ducked through, and ran towards the darkest part of the site.  When he got nearer the smell brought him to the lifeless woman’s body.  He pulled out his flashlight and clicked it on.  His mouth dropped open as his bile surged upwards but he tamped it down and pulled out his radio.

“We’ve got a White female DOA at the construction site at Hoyt and Schermerhorn.  Request immediate back-up.”

“Ten-Four. First on scene?”

“Yeah.”

“Name?”

“P.O. Saks, 84th precinct.”

“Copy that.  Help’s on the way.”

“Ten-Four.  Out.”

The Fury watched as Officer Saks walked around the woman’s body.  The demon noticed he avoided any contact with the body, nor did he disturb anything nearby. With a shudder, the Fury wrinkled its reptilian face as it tried not to breathe in the officer’s male scent. The cloying testosterone-filled air bespoke the great amount of energy the demon would have to acquire and utilize just get the male to do its bidding.  With an inaudible sigh, the demon dismissed the male as a potential host.  Gnashing its teeth, the Fury settled back to await another, more suitable, host.

 

With butterflies stomping around in her belly, Jennifer reached the crime scene in less than twelve minutes.  The brisk walk made her perspire even though it was a cool night.  There were several officers milling about.  Jennifer ducked under the police barricade and headed towards the back of the site where the bulk of cops congregated.

She took a deep breath and said to the nearest officer, “I’m Detective Holden and I’ve been assigned this case.  Who was first on scene?  And what do you know?”

The false bravado seemed to ring true to the officers in the vicinity and they jerked to attention mumbling the name Saks.

Holden was feeling pretty good until they turned and saw her.

“Oh…Holy Holden.  It’s just you,” said Saks, a rookie barely a year out of cadet school.

Jennifer cringed inwardly at the moniker but kept her poker face intact.  Her already fraying nerves unraveling just a hair more.

“I was first on-scene.  Heard a blood-curdling scream and came running down the block — I was on Hoyt but closer to Schermerhorn.  By the time I got here, the perp was gone and the girl — dead and totally jacked up.  I mean unrecognizable.  Her ID says she’s Kyma Barnes and she was a looker.  Perp played with her for quite a while before he did her in.  She’s a mess!”

While he was speaking, Jennifer drifted closer to the body.  Just as Sakes finished, she caught the first glimpse of the victim.  Jennifer’s hand immediately went to her mouth.  Her stomach heaved.

“Six years on the job and she’s like a damned rookie.  Watch it boys.  The Detective-in-Charge is gonna blow,” said Saks.

Shaking her head from side to side, Jennifer was oblivious to the comment as she tried to get away from the body so she wouldn’t defile the remains any further. 

Images flickered shutter-like in front of Jennifer’s eyes.  Her uncle ripping her orange coat with the pumpkin buttons.  Him, above with her knees spread wide. Blinking it all back but losing badly, Jennifer tried to swerve around the body and tripped on the blue tarp flapping in the slight breeze.  Jennifer fell just above the victim’s head hitting the side of her face on the concrete.  She was near enough that the victim’s bloody upraised hand was splattered with vomit.

Behind her, she could hear the sound of laughter, back slapping and a loud guffaw.  Jennifer blinked and attempted to wipe the flecks of filth out of her eyes but an impossible image arrested her gaze — two eyes dripping with blood ensconced in a reptilian female-looking face.

The hallucination was accompanied by a feeling of prickly heat all over her body effectively chasing away her childhood demons.  A loud shriek pierced her ears forcing Jennifer to cover them with her hands and shut her eyes.  Then, just as suddenly, the sensation and sound stopped.  Jennifer cautiously opened her eyes.  All she saw in front of her was the claw-like hand of her victim… Kyma Barnes.

Fully ensconced in the detective, Fury Abatu pushed up the image of the little gun under the tarp.  Jennifer moved her eyes and saw a denser blackness further under the tarp.  She moved her hand and grasped the gun.

>;>; Keep it.

Jennifer’s mind accepted the command without question.  Partially underneath the tarp, Jennifer rolled over onto her knees with her back towards the still laughing cops.  She pocketed the gun.  The Fury wiped away all conscious memory of Jennifer keeping the gun.

“You gonna stay under there all night, Holden?  Even if you don’t have a life, the rest of us do!”

“Come on, Saks, give her a break.  This is a rough one.  The victim was beaten, raped and sodomized.  I had to step away for a minute to get my stomach under control.” 

Detective Yearwood bent down and held out a clean tissue to Jennifer.  She took it gratefully and began wiping her face from a sitting position, not trusting herself to stand just yet.

She pushed herself upright and looked down at Kyma’s body. For the first time, Holden saw the crime scene in sharp detail.  She went and stood by the victim’s feet and angled her head to the side to better take in what she saw.  Grabbing her notebook, she noted the angle of the victim’s legs — both still tented but the right one bent outward more than the left.

He’s probably a righty; he used his left knee to separate her legs and probably leaned on his left arm to balance.

She leaned over and sure enough found indentations in the hard-packed earth.

“Hey, anybody take a cast of the indentations on her right side?  We may get lucky and get a print out of that.”

“Course I did that.  I’m not a rookie anymore,” Saks said in a pained voice.

Still observing, Holden looked at Kyma’s arms and face.  Frozen on the victim’s ravaged face Jennifer swore she saw satisfaction.  She noted the observation down and continued her investigation.  Squatting down near the bloodied hand over the cement, she inspected it.  There was a lot of blood.  Most of it was probably the victim’s but Jennifer’s gut told her some of the perp’s blood was there, too.  The prickly heat sensation ran up her spine and her eyes were drawn to the victim’s breasts.  They looked mangled especially one of them.  Getting really close, Jennifer pulled out her penlight and directed it around the black and blue aureoles.

“Saks, did you get a saliva sample from her left breast?”

“A what?  Are you crazy? He was just twisting and pulling at her.  Don’t you see the knife marks all over her stomach?”

“Yeah, I do but you didn’t see the minute teeth marks on her left breast.  What?  Are you afraid if you look at them too long you’ll get a woody?”

The other cops smirked and a few soft jeers could be heard.  Still very close to Jennifer, Yearwood said, “Good one, Holden.  Get ‘em where it hurts.”

“Get over here and do your job, Saks.  Maybe with real police work we can actually catch the perp,” Jennifer snapped off her light and stood up.  She felt strong and secure in herself which was a generally unheard of feeling for her.  Jennifer shook it off and looked down at Kyma Barnes’ remains.

“Nasty way to die.”

“It is,” Yearwood responded.

“I’m going to get this bastard,” Jennifer said with a ferocity that made the hair on the back of Yearwood’s neck rise.  He looked at her.  Something about her was…off.

“Holden, you okay tonight?  You seem…different.”

“Different?  Different how?  I’m not the one who likes reading the obituaries every damned day,” she said, her eyes slitting dangerously.

Yearwood took an imperceptible step back and decided to ignore the slight.

“Dunno.  You seem really on top of your game tonight — I’m liking it.  A lot.”

Appeased, Jennifer smiled.  Yet, to Yearwood her smile had a feral quality to it but he decided to keep that to himself.  In a lightning fast move, Jennifer gripped his hand and shook it.  It was a firm, manly, shake.

“Thanks Yearwood.  You don’t know how much I appreciate your observation.”

He gazed down into her eyes and noticed for the umpteenth time that her dark eyes had lighter flecks in them.  He shoved down his feelings again but felt a slight surge of energy and with it came hope.  His hand was still wrapped around hers.  He took a deep breath, consciously releasing the soft hand that suddenly seemed so extraordinarily strong.

“Looks like you’ve got this case well underway, Holden.  I’ll let you have at it.”

He stepped back trying to slow his racing heart and hide the growing excitement in his nether region.  He nodded in the general direction of Holden and the other officers then walked off briskly heading towards the opening in the wire fence.

Jennifer turned her focus back to the scene and looked for more clues that would help her find the man who killed Kyma.  While working, it came to her that she had finally found an overriding desire to do her job.  Too stunned to deal with the revelation she put it on the back burner to mull over later.

Deep inside Jennifer’s psyche, the Fury smiled at Jennifer’s realization.  It was no revelation; it was merely the subtle prodding of the demon. 

Fury Abatu hoped this host was ready for what more was to come.

***

Next Chapter: Chapter 3