A Deafening Silence In Heaven - Thomas E. Sniegoski Page 0,112
“We’ve got guns and plenty of ammunition.”
“Yeah, but these guys ain’t your typical thugs.”
There was shot from a shadow, and the light above the stove went dark.
Mulvehill looked at Squire.
“Shit,” Squire said.
There came another shot, and this time the glass casing over the ceiling light shattered, exposing the four bulbs.
“Shit, shit, shit!” Squire began gathering up the weapons and ammunition that he’d placed at his feet, shoving them in the heavy duffel bag they’d brought with them from Francis’ building.
Mulvehill was desperately firing into the shadows, but two of the four lightbulbs exploded.
Squire slapped his arm as he jumped to his feet. “We’ve got to go!”
Mulvehill emptied his clip just as the last two bulbs were extinguished, plunging the kitchen into darkness.
“Move!” Squire shouted, grabbing Mulvehill’s arm.
And the two raced into the living room as Bone Master assassins swarmed behind them.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Remy slowly rose to his feet, his eyes fixed on the covered corpses that represented his humanity. This was the last he could stand of this nightmarish world that had become his twisted new reality.
“Is this it?” he asked, still staring at the dead. “Is this why I was supposed to come here?”
He turned toward Gerta and Methuselah, still standing in the doorway to the freezer.
“I think it’s time,” the little girl said, turning her innocent gaze up to the stone man.
“Are you sure?” Methuselah asked. “If what he said is true, this isn’t even the Remy who left it here.”
“No,” she said, looking back to the angel. “It isn’t . . . but it’s the one who’s supposed to take it back.”
“Take it back?” Remy repeated, moving toward them. “What am I taking back?”
The golem hesitated.
“Go ahead,” Gerta said.
Methuselah silently turned and walked away, only to return a few moments later holding something wrapped in a towel.
“Here,” the golem said, holding the package out to Remy. “You asked me to watch over this until you came back.”
Remy took the package and immediately felt it. The Seraphim fire that whirled insanely at his core suddenly surged through his body in panic, filling his every muscle, feeding him with the strength he would need to defend himself.
But against what?
“Do you know what it is?” Gerta asked, looking up at him with eyes like the windows to some great cathedral of the soul.
Remy couldn’t find the words, the experience of holding the mysterious package like nothing he could remember.
“I want to put it down, to throw it away, but I . . . I don’t want to,” he finally gasped.
“Open it,” the little girl said excitedly, as if it were a special birthday gift.
Remy’s hands were actually shaking as he began to carefully unwrap the towel. He saw a flash of gold, and his heart skipped a beat. He pulled his hand away for a moment, then gently lifted the last of the wrappings.
The golden pistol lay nestled in a bedding of towel, and it seemed to speak to him in the gentle voice of a long-lost lover.
So good to see you again, Remiel. It has been too long.
The golden pistol was called Pitiless because of its incredible affinity for death; there wasn’t another weapon in all of existence as deadly. Forged from the very life force of Lucifer Morningstar, this was a weapon to fear, a weapon that Remy had last seen in the possession of his friend, former Guardian angel Fraciel.
Francis.
It was the first time that Remy had thought of his fallen friend, and the realization that his was not one of the bodies in the freezer made the question surge to the surface of his mind.
Where was Francis, and why was Remy now in possession of the Pitiless pistol?
Pick me up, and I’ll show you, the Pitiless whispered.
Remy stared at the weapon, the warmth of the gun radiating through the towel. It was like he was holding a living thing, and in a way, he was.
This had been Lucifer’s way of hiding his power after losing the war against God: disguising it as weaponry, multiple pieces scattered to the world of man, waiting for the day when they would be found by his followers and his full strength would return to him.
And that power was returned, as the Morningstar ruled Hell once again. But the pistol remained as it was created, almost as if it had a special purpose.
A purpose it had yet to fulfill.
“This doesn’t belong to me,” Remy said, looking from Gerta to Methuselah. “How . . . ?”