Damnation Code (William Massa) - William Massa Page 0,16

most mysterious smile. “You look like you may need some help.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Let’s just say you don’t seem like the type who shops here.”

“And what type is that?”

The clerk’s lips curled into another one of her knowing smiles, but she didn’t offer an explanation.

Talon forged ahead. “I need a few general books on the occult. The basics.”

The young woman nodded and fished out a series of seminal texts. Talon barely scanned the titles – he was way out of his comfort zone here.

“It’s difficult to narrow down to the basics in a field as diverse as the supernatural, but these should make for a good start.”

Inspecting the books, Talon decided that this would do for now. He paid for his purchases, left the store and headed back to Erik’s house.

There, he opened the main gate and walked past Erik’s home, heading for a small guesthouse separated by a minuscule yard. Erik had been cool enough to let Talon crash in his father’s old office, which had stood empty since the heart attack that led to his passing. The studio contained a small bed, a worn desk and years worth of dust. It would do fine. Talon had stayed in far worse places.

As he took a seat on the creaking bed and fired up his laptop, a plan was forming in the back of his mind.

Learn about the enemy.

Identify the enemy.

Exterminate the enemy.

He had two more weeks before he needed to report back to duty. Two weeks to win this war. He wouldn’t leave San Francisco without completing his mission.

Talon checked his email. There was a ton of spam and a message from a general who had heard the bad news. Most of his Delta buddies hadn’t contacted him, and in a way he was glad. In time the news would get around and the condolences would begin to flood his inbox.

For now he would rather not become distracted by reminders of his military life. The new mission would demand his complete focus and attention.

Talon removed the newly acquired books from his backpack and began to familiarize himself with the material. After two hours of reading about cults and satanic rituals, the letters became a blur and he could no longer concentrate on the dense, morbid texts. He wanted to understand what he was up against, but he was foremost a man of action. Talon was itching to be out in the field. Rage swirled inside him and his mind kept wandering back to Michelle.

His beautiful Michelle, now gone forever.

Hands shaking, Talon slammed the book shut and closed his eyes.

Goddammit, pull yourself together!

The mental command seemed hollow and lacked conviction. The walls of Erik’s cramped guesthouse felt like they were closing in on him and he couldn’t shake a growing feeling of claustrophobia. He had to get out of here.

Time to engage in a different form of intelligence gathering. He was going to revisit the scene of the crime. Perhaps there was some telltale sign the cops had missed when they combed Michelle’s apartment. Some clue that could point him in the right direction. Something. Talon knew he was grasping at straws here, but he was a desperate man. Desperate, but also determined.

His eyes fell on a nearby dresser. Two items rested on its surface – a Glock 41 Gen4 in a shoulder holster, and a Ka-Bar in a tactical sheath. Presents from Erik. “My gut tells me these might come in handy,” Erik had said with a low chuckle. Talon had a feeling they might.

He snatched up the pistol and knife, then stepped out of the guesthouse. A beaten-up motorcycle was gathering dust in the driveway. Erik hadn’t ridden his Ducati in over a year but encouraged Talon to use the bike to get around town. Talon extricated the keys.

The long-dormant engine squelched and gurgled before screaming back to life. He thought he could hear a couple of neighbors slamming their windows shut but Talon welcomed the noise. The ferocious roar drowned out his dark thoughts as he powered down the street. There was only the road, the fierce sound of the Ducati and the fire in his soul. For a brief moment, Talon could pretend that the wailing engine sounds were the screams of Michelle’s murderers.

Forty-five minutes later he pulled up to Michelle’s townhome and was gripped with dread. Part of him wished he didn’t have to set foot in the apartment where he’d discovered Michelle’s ruined body. The feeling of helplessness he associated with the place returned