The beast began to stir. Kyle could feel it. It slowly uncoiled itself from its slumber. He felt it give a half-hearted push for release.

I'm hungry.

"Go away."

I need food.

"Not now!"

Let me out.

"No! Not again!" Kyle hissed.

The beast began to push harder. LET ME OUT!

Tears began to well up in Kyle's eyes. "God, please forgive me," he whispered.

NOW!

Kyle dropped his resistance, and the beast shoved his conscience aside. It was now in control. It drank deeply of the plethora of sights, sounds, scents, and feelings others take for granted. The sight of the cloud-laden sky was exquisite to its eyes.

That beast that walked as a man turned away from the window and scanned its surroundings. It was on a bus. Its eyes wandered over the various representatives of humanity that packed the wearied interior. It could smell their emotions. The sharp stench of joy was intermingled with the mellowness of a brooding anger and the overripe scent of grief. Above all, the sweet aroma of fear tingled in his borrowed nostrils. There was always fear, it was just a matter of finding it.

The creature noticed a meek looking young woman watching it. She was sitting alone a few rows behind Kyle's seat, across the aisle. She looked down as soon as they had made eye contact, pretending to be interested in the book in her lap. A few seconds later, she glanced up to see if the eyes of the man owned by the beast were still watching her. They were.

The beast scrutinized her. The woman could not have been very far into her twenties, conceivably still in her teens. She had a slight frame with long, black hair cascading over her fragile shoulders. She wore thick glasses over lusterless brown eyes. The woman was not particularly pretty, or even conventionally attractive. She was vulnerable. She would be adequate.

The beast stood up, gripping the back of the seat to maintain its footing in the unsteady bus. It took the first few steps of the eternal dance between predator and prey. It walked down the aisle and stood next to the woman.

"Is it alright if I sit here?" it asked with mock shyness.

The woman threw it a nervous glance and smiled. "Okay," she said softly, sliding closer to the window. She turned her attention back to her book. She seemed apathetic in her mannerisms, but the beast could hear her frail heart beating fervently.

They sat silently for a few minutes as the beast allowed the illusion to solidify. Finally, it spoke. "Look, I'm not really good at this...but...uh...would you like to...have lunch with me...or something?" It threw a glance up at her and then looked quickly away. The opening chords of the aria had begun.

She looked up at it and smiled. "Sure." The dance had begun.

The beast enjoyed the hunt more than the catch. The woman was victim just waiting for predatory fangs to tear into her soul. Her name was Heather. She had just moved to the city and rented an apartment across town from Kyle. The two spent most of the day together. As night fell, the beast walked with her to her apartment. Her dark eyes sparkled and she reeked of happiness. It knew what she was feeling, that her worthless, lonely existence finally had some meaning. Finally, they had reached the door of her apartment. Their tango was drawing to a close.

"Would you like to come in?" she said, looking up at him with a faint smile crossing her thin lips.

"Alright," it said quietly.

It knew what she intended. It had watched the actions of its host from the back of his brain. It witnessed the sweating, panting, empty passions of its prey. It had no desires to partake of this clumsy, desperate waltz. Instead, it sought the elegant ballet performed to the music of rushing blood liberated from its confining arteries.

The two embraced each other in the darkness and their lips met. The creature was revulsed by the contact, but it was part of the hunt. Heather made a soft, guttural sound. The beast unbuttoned her blouse and placed its hand on her warm skin. Its hand found her muffled heartbeat with little unnecessary roving. Silvery tendrils began to work into her pores. She did not feel them. She only knew that the man she thought she loved and stopped searching her inches from where she expected.

"What's wrong?" she whispered.

The beast did not hear. It felt the tendrils weave themselves past her ribcage and wrap themselves around her feeble heart.

"Kyle..." she began to say.

The beast looked her in the eyes. This was the part that made it all worthwhile. The tendrils contracted, squeezing her heart, stopping its vital blood flow. A perverse thrill moved through the beast's essence like a tidal wave when it felt one of the heart's chambers explode. Heather's eyes widened. Her grip on its arms tightened and then relaxed. In a fraction of a second, her expression changed from that of concern, to surprise, to betrayal. The last thing she saw was the face of her salvation staring at her, sneering. Dancers bow. Curtains close. Applause.

The beast watched her sink to the floor. It began to feed, absorbing the emotions that were flooding her dying mind. The silvery tendrils now waved in the air like strands of spiderweb in a breeze, stealing all that had made her human. Fear, hatred, and regret all radiated from the mass of dying cells lying at his feet. The emotions eventually dwindled and finally ceased. The tendrils returned to their host. Satiated, the beast retreated to the back of its host's mind, slamming Kyle back into his own flesh.

He looked down at the woman had he killed, but never met. Her face was another face was burned into his soul, another accusing pair of eyes staring at him when his back was turned, and another mouth accusing him in his sleep. His guts felt like they had vanished into a vacuum. He stumbled out of the apartment and onto the street. It took him a few moments to realize that the beast had left him without a clue as to where he was. It took him hours to find his way home.

Andrew Bischoff rubbed his eyes. He felt like he had a brick lodged in his sinuses, and his fever seemed to knock fifty degrees from the building's temperature. He had brought a heavy coat, even though it was over sixty degrees outside. He reached for a tissue to try to stem the steady flow from his nose. He rubbed his red nostrils gingerly. Being a detective on an impossible case was bad enough, he thought, but having the flu at the same time was maddening.

His partner and friend, Adrian Lewis, dropped his pen on the on the desk. "Andy, why don't you go home?"

"What are you afraid of?" Andrew asked. "That I'll begin a plague or something? Besides, YOU gave me this damn bug."

Adrian smiled. "No, it's just that you look like hell and, well, it might impair your judgment on the case."

"What judgment?" Andrew said, disgustedly. "We don't even know if we have a case."

"The captain thinks so..."

"Yeah well, the captain also always bets on Buffalo in the Super Bowl, too." Andrew sighed and tossed his pen in the center of his desk. He leaned back in his chair and said, "So anyway, read me the autopsy report again."

Adrian dutifully sifted through the papers on his desk until he found what he was looking for. "It's basically the same as the other four. No marks on the body, no sign of forcible entry, some signs of sexual involvement, no struggle, and the victim's heart was somehow crushed. In this one the right atrium was ruptured."

"What was her name again?"

"You have her driver's license and ID right in front of you."

Andrew looked down blankly at his desk. Adrian was right. He picked up the woman's driver's license and scrutinized the murky photograph. Her name was Heather Ekiert. She wore a timid smile, and tilted her face downward. He looked up at Adrian. "Do you have any more aspirin?"

"Sure," Adrian said, opening a drawer and searching for the bottle. "If victim number five turns out like the rest of them, we got a definite pattern."

"Like what?" Andrew asked, taking the bottle from Adrian.

"Well," Adrian continued, "so far, every victim has been single and described as the shy, introverted type, and let's face it, all of them were the real co-dependent types."

"Even if that is a pattern," Andrew said skeptically, "how many potential victims are there out there? Besides, we still have no physical evidence, no suspects, no motives, and no set cause of death."

"What do you mean? Their hearts have all been crushed."

"Yeah, but we don't have a clue as to how it happened."

"At least the fingerprints on the scene are consistent."

"We just don't know anybody who matches them."

Adrian shook his head. "Well, I guess we'd better question her parents then. Are you up to it?"

Andrew grabbed the box of tissues. "Sure, let's go."

Kyle looked at the plain white ceiling above his bed. It seemed to writhe with the faces of the people the demon had used him to kill. The last woman was the eleventh victim of the beast's appetites, but the police had only recently caught on that their deaths were not natural. The last one made only five that they knew about. Once Kyle had regained possession of his body and saw a man lying on the ground in front of him. His lips burned at the thought of what the beast had made him do with the man. The thing incubating in his brain would not tell him, allowing his imagination to run wild.

He saw the last woman's story on the news. The reporters had interviewed her parents. They commented on the kind of monster who would take the life of someone like their daughter. Kyle knew.

"Oh God," He said quietly. "This has to stop."

He listened for a response for the demon wrapped around his cerebrum. When none came, his voice became shrill. "Do you hear me? This has to STOP!"

And who's going to stop it?

Kyle swallowed hard. "I will."

Laughter echoed in his brain. You haven't got the guts.

"I can force you out! I can-"

The only way you can make me leave is to be strong, and you are certainly not strong.

"What if I killed myself? Jumped off a building or stepped in front of a bus? Huh? What about that?"

The beast was silent for a moment as it cradled the brain of its host. If you were strong enough to do that, you would have been able to throw me out. Now stop bothering me. I'm tired.

The beast was right. He didn't have the strength. He was a coward. He should never have listened to the whisperings of the demon, promising him love. Kyle received love from many women, but only when the demon was in control. Then it killed them.

The police offered him little hope. The demon told him what would happen if he was caught. It whispered tales of how the weak are sodomized by the strong in prison. The beast told him that the insane asylums were even worse. When they found out what kind of things he had done, they would beat him every night. He would pray for death, but it would never come. Kyle believed it.

The only way out was death.

Two men strolled around the interior of an ancient warehouse. The feeble, flickering lights made the shadows dance an eerie ballet in the corners of the room. A clogged, thick sneeze from Andrew shattered the silence.

Andrew checked his watch. "Where is this guy?" he said irritably as he wiped his nose. "All this dust can't be helping me."

"He said he'd be here at nine," Adrian answered.

"I can't believe how desperate we've gotten. A guy says he can help us find the killer, but won't do it outside this stupid warehouse. He was probably just some pranker jerking us around."

"We have to follow every lead we can," Adrian said flatly. "Would you be able to live with yourself if this maniac went right on killing and you didn't do everything you could to stop him?"

Andrew grunted and folded his arms. "Any time now, bucko," he mumbled.

"I'm here," a voice said behind them.

They spun around and saw a short, slight old man with pale eyes standing in front of them. "Alright," Andrew said. "Who are you and what's all this about?"

"You don't need my name," the man said, "but I know about your killer." He spoke calmly and slowly.

"Well who is he?" Adrian said, exasperated.

"What do you know about the killer now?" The man asked softly.

"Look," Andrew said, feeling somewhat superior since he was so much taller than the old man, "we didn't come here to tell you the story of our investigation. We want some answers from you."

"Bringing police officers away from their duty to play games can land you in jail, buddy," Adrian added.

The man simply waved his hand. "No threats, please. I will tell you what you want to know, but first I need to know what you know. Now, what is the pattern in the victims, and how long ago had it begun?"

"Man, if you're jerking us around--" an elbow from Adrian cut off Andrew's sentence.

"Well, they're all the introverted, loner type-women, and the first time we found a body and attributed it to the killer was about three months ago," Adrian said. "If you read the papers you'd know that."

The old man shook his head. "You know so little. True, its victims are all alone, desperate for someone to love, but it is neither restricted to women nor is it new."

"Why the hell do you keep saying 'it?'" Andrew asked.

The man ignored him. "In 1935 I was with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. We were handling a string of murders in Portland similar to the ones you found. Same M.O, no signs of violence, no injuries save for the crushed heart, the same murderer. Back then, they were all men. We searched in vain until an agent finally shot a killed a woman they caught right after killing someone. Then they hushed it up and the agent who shot her vanished."

"How does this affect us?" Andrew asked impatiently.

"About a week later, the a female body was found in Kansas with its heart crushed in the same manner. The FBI declared the original case closed with the death of the killer in Portland, but the killings continued. I was not involved in any subsequent cases, and I'm not aware of any further arrests. Every now and then there is a mysterious death of heart failure, and I realize that the murderer is still out there, stalking people."

Andrew grunted. "Yeah, an 80-year-old mass murderer still goin' after all these years. I believe it. How does an great-grandmother crush people's hearts, anyway?"

The man smiled wryly. "You are not dealing with anything human. Not really. It grabs human shells and uses them. It's probably a man now, considering it's targeting mostly women."

"What about the hearts?" Adrian asked.

"There is a man named Nick Young in Elysium Asylum. I believe you know the place. He can explain more than I can."

"Why are you telling us all this?" Andrew asked suspiciously.

The man paused. "Heather was my granddaughter."

Andrew and Adrian stared open-mouthed at the man for a few seconds, unsure of what to say. Finally, Andrew grabbed Adrian's arm. "Excuse me, but I need to have a conference with my partner." They walked a few yards and began speaking in hushed tones. "Well, I think it's safe to say that this guy's nuts."

"I know him," Adrian said with a vacant look.

"What?"

"I know Nick Young. We brought him in when I was just a rookie back in Philly. He allegedly poisoned people, giving them cardiac arrests. At the trial he was raving about demons and they put him in the looney bin."

"You sound like you're believing this freak."

"Maybe I am."

Andrew shook his head. He looked back at the man. "How can we con--"

The old man was gone, and the only footprints in the dust were their own.

Joseph Walker trudged on the leaf-strewn sidewalk. The withered brown corpses crunched loudly under his feet. The pull in his stomach that led him to this town had stopped. The guys that pull his strings had left him in a strange town and nowhere to go. Perhaps what they had wanted him to sort out had sorted itself out before he reached it. Perhaps, but probably not. He kept on walking, though, since he at least knew someone who lived in the area...so to speak.

A few children rode past him on bicycles. They dragged his gaze away from the patchwork pattern of golds and browns on the sidewalk. For the first time, he really looked at the neighborhood he was walking through. The lawns were a well-manicured deep green with a few patches of gold where leaves had fallen. He saw a man busily raking up the few leaves on his lawn. This struck Joseph as insanity, since barely half of the leaves had fallen. He wondered if the man raked the snow off of his yard in winter to continue to show off the obscene amounts of money and labor he sank into the dirt.

Every so often, Joseph would walk by a house with a lawn mottled with different leaves, as well as the occasional feather-headed dandelion. Those lawns were what everyone in the world abhorred: disorganization. Yet, their chaos was the thing that made them beautiful. Joseph decided that if he ever had a yard again, he would never touch the lawn.

The wind caused a brief, but spectacularly colorful cyclone of leaves. Joseph squinted up at the sky. The golden light of the sun was still unhampered by clouds, but a gray stormfront was moving in. He hoped he would find shelter before the storm came.

Kyle gulped down a few more mouthfuls of whiskey. He knew that the beast would be waking up again in a few days to feed on someone's soul. He didn't usually drink himself into a stupor, but those he murdered seemed to invade his thoughts more and more. He wondered how long it would take before he went insane. Would the demon leave then? Or was that what it wanted, so it could take full control? He felt something like snake skin rub across his brain.

I'm hungry, the beast said matter-of-factly.

"NO!" Kyle screamed, dropping the bottle on his carpet. "It's too soon!"

I need more food now.

"When is this going to end?!"

Soon.

"When the hell is soon?"

After just a few more. Then I will leave and you will be free.

"Oh, God," Kyle said quietly.

Stop praying. It's so unbecoming. Now let me out.

Adrian and Andrew walked down the white, empty hallway a few strides behind large nurse in a uniform even whiter than the hall. Andrew discreetly rubbed his sleeve across his nose and sniffed deeply.

"Now remember what the warden said," Andrew said bemusededly. "Don't hand him any paper clips or he'll eat your face off."

"That's not funny," Adrian said. "This whole situation is bothering me enough as is. We meet a magician who doesn't even leave tracks in inch thick dust and he directs us to a homicidal looney who claims demon possession."

"Yesterday you were believing him."

"That bothers me worse."

In front of them, the nurse opened a door. "Mister Young is in here. When you are done talking to him, ring the buzzer on the wall."

The two men walked into the room and the door was closed behind them. The walls of the room were also a plain, cottony white. There was a single light hanging from the ceiling and a table with three chairs. Facing them was a pallid, grey-haired man in a strait-jacket, rocking slightly and humming the tune of "Silent Night". He did not seem to notice the two detectives enter the room, keeping his eyes fixed on the table. Andrew and Adrian looked at each other then cautiously moved toward the table.

"Are you Nick Young?" Andrew asked.

The man stopped humming. "I was Nick Young," he said, continuing to stare at the table.

Adrian and Andrew looked at each other again. "Well who are you now?" Andrew asked.

The man's brow furrowed. "I'm not sure. Sometimes I think I'm Jimmy Hoffa, but then I realize that I'm not missing. In general I think I'm just a dead person who doesn't know it."

"Who killed you?"

The man looked up at them with pale, almost white eyes. Adrian stepped backward. "The beast killed me." His eyes sank down to the table again. "It killed me then used me to kill other people."

Andrew looked at his partner. "Well, we got the right guy." Andrew pulled out one of the chairs and sat down. Adrian remained standing, hovering near the door.

"Who is the beast?" Andrew asked.

"I don't know its name," Nick said with a hint of irritation. "It just is."

"Well, how did it kill people?"

The man stopped rocking. He seemed to physically make himself smaller, and his voice became shallower. "It...it would make friends with the person and then it would put its...my hand near the person's heart and then it would send...things in through the person's skin and they would squeeze the person's heart."

Andrew looked back at Adrian with a triumphant smile, then turned back to Nick. "Do you have any idea where the 'beast' is now?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"It is walking on a street not far from here...to the southeast. It is looking for prey."

"How do you know?"

"I always know where the demon is, and when it wakes up, and who it kills."

"You can actually see it kill people?"

The man's thin eyebrows rose slightly. "Oh yes."

"Can you describe any details of the last murder?"

The man looked up again with his dead eyes. "Yes."

Andrew waited for a few seconds for the man to answer, then found some prompting necessary. "Well? Describe it."

The man spoke quickly and tonelessly, almost rambling. "The beast saw Heather (it never learned her last name) dressed in a brown coat, dark blue dress and gold glasses on a bus when it woke up and saw she was weak and tried to make friends with her and it did because it knows how to do these things and then it followed her into her apartment which stank of wallpaper and air fresheners and then kissed her and then puts it hand over her heart and then it killed her." Nick paused for a breath. "Over a month ago the beast saw Barbara Lewis on a park bench and walked over to her and she wore a green coat and grey jeans and her hair was red and she was weak and it tried to make friends with her--"

"Nick," Andrew interrupted, "where is it now?"

"It sees a boy sitting on a park bench crying. It is walking toward him."

"Nick," Andrew said firmly, "what park is it in?"

Nick's brow furrowed. "I don't know, but I could take you there."

Andrew looked at his partner. "Where do we sign release papers?"

Adrian made an emphatic sweep with his hand. "No!"

It had been raining for a half hour before Joseph reached the house. Although he was dripping wet and desired nothing more than to get out of the rain, he paused in front of the house. The lawn was a darker shade of green than the two adjoining yards, and the house itself seemed grayer than when he was there last. Other than that, it seemed in good repair.

In one of the windows, he saw one of the curtains draw back, and then fall back into place. They knew he was there. Swallowing hard, he walked up the sidewalk and onto the porch. He was about to knock on the door when it swung open by itself. The interior was dark.

"Hello?" he said cautiously.

"Good afternoon, master Walker," a high voice replied. "We weren't expecting you."

Joseph thought he recognized the voice, but he wasn't sure. "You wouldn't mind putting on some lights, would you?"

"Sorry," the voice from the darkness said. He heard what sounded like the fluttering of wings. Then the light clicked on, revealing a blue linoleum floor and a large kitchen. "We do get used to the dark around here, since the blinds are usually shut and all." The speaker was a two foot long rainbow colored snake held aloft by orange butterfly wings.

"That's alright, Michael," Joseph said, finally crossing the threshold. "How have things been?"

"Well, after you left the last time, things have been a little more gloomy around here, but life goes on."

"Does Phaydra ever...uh...mention me?"

"You mean has she forgiven you? Yes, I think so, but the mistress is sleeping right now, so if you'd like I can show you to the television."

"Do you have any food?"

Michael's tongue slipped out and tasted the air as he regarded Joseph. "Oh, you mean HUMAN food."

"Yeah."

"Well, no we don't have any, but if you have a couple of bucks you could order a pizza."

Joseph hadn't eaten a pizza for almost a year, and he had the money. "That sounds pretty good."

"Well then I'll show you the telephone."

Joseph followed the snake to the next room. A strange, sweetish scent permeated the air. "Well," Michael announced, "there's the phone and there's the TV."

"Do you have cable?"

"What kind of place do you think this is? Of course we do."

Kyle waited in the senseless, indeterminate state where he was exiled while the beast fed. He floated in a tranquil ethereal mist, where all he saw was gray, and the only sound was the beating of his own heart. Then he felt a vicious tug and suddenly he was bombarded with sights, scents, feelings, and sounds. He was at a carnival, behind one of the stalls. At his feet, a young boy was curled in a fetal position.

"Oh, God," he whispered. "A child."

And he was delicious.

"What did you do?" Kyle asked, numb.

Nothing, really. He got separated from his parents and you became his new friend...his Uncle Kyle.

"Goddamned monster."

You're right, the beast said, mockingly. Actually, children aren't as much of a challenge as adults, but they do have the greatest expressions when you kill them.

Terror, guilt, grief, and rage overwhelmed Kyle's psyche. He turned and began walking away. The beast was surprised by the emotional peak Kyle had reached. Perhaps, it thought, it had pushed him a little bit too far...

"Explain to me again how I let you talk me into this," Adrian said as he watched the madman rocking and humming in the back seat of the car.

"Look," Andrew said, squinting through the rain pelting the windshield, "he knew stuff about that last murder that he couldn't have known unless he was there, or he saw through the eyes of the thing that was, and we know he was locked safely away when it happened. That leaves us one possibility."

"This is insane."

"No, Nick is insane. We're just using him to catch a killer. You said yourself that we had to follow every lead we had. You're the one with kids, and you heard what Nick said. A kid's life could be at stake here."

Adrian did no answer.

Blood was dribbling from Nick's mouth where he chewed through his lip, creating a crimson stream on his straitjacket. He stared silently at the floor of the car. "LEFT!!" he shouted.

Andrew hit the brakes and nearly lost control on the wet road. "I wish he would shout out directions a little bit sooner," he grumbled.

"So," Michael said, "she made us wrap the refrigerator in garlic!"

Joseph laughed. It had been a long time since he had laughed. "Did it work?"

"Yeah," Michael said. "She lost the five pounds in a week, but we all ended up paying for it."

Joseph took the last bite of pizza and tossed the crust to an amorphous black thing on the floor that seemed to like it. He was about to tell an amusing story of his own, when Michael said, "Uh oh."

Joseph followed Michael's gaze and saw Phaydra standing in the doorway. The light from the kitchen silhouetted her body through the thin white nightgown. For a moment, Joseph wondered why he had ever left.

"Come on, Jack," Michael said, addressing the black thing. "We better go." He flew out of the room, his wings making a soft fluttering noise. Jack oozed away.

Joseph was just becoming comfortable with his surroundings and now all of his apprehensions found new life. "Hi Phaydra."

"Hello, Joseph," she said softly. "I didn't expect to see you again."

Joseph stood up. "Well, I was in the neighborhood-"

"-and it was raining and you had nowhere else to go, right?"

"Uh...right."

She walked over to him stopping a few feet in front of him. Without the light behind her, Joseph was able to see her face. The years had not eroded her beauty in the least. His heart began thundering in his chest.

"I should hate you for leaving..." she said.

"That was a long time ago."

She smiled. "I know," she said, sliding her arms around his waist. She moved to kiss him.

A flood of old emotions overwhelmed Joseph's better judgment and he kissed back. Her lips were warm and he remembered all the good times they had together before everything changed. Then he felt one of her longer teeth with his lip, and he was slammed back into the present.

He pulled away. "Phaydra," he said apologetically, "you know this isn't going to work out."

"Yes, it can," she said.

"No. You know what I am. I'm always getting dragged off somewhere to repair all types of damage. That's no way to have a relationship."

"But you don't have to," Phaydra protested. "Join me. Drop your idiotic avatarship and become one of our kind, and you'll never have to worry about being manipulated again."

Joseph shook his head. Memories of their last meeting come back with frightening vividness. He had said that he still liked watching the sunrise. Then she had called him a weakling because he was always being led around. It had escalated, and he left. "Look," he said diplomatically, "I know where this is going. Let's just say that after I've done my time, I'll consider it, but please, let's leave as friends for a change."

She looked to the floor, and nodded.

Kyle looked at the gun in his hand.

You know you can't use that.

He had bought it three months earlier when he first tried to kill himself.

You're too weak.

Before when he looked at it, it terrified him, so he lived a living hell.

Just don't do anything rash. I'll be gone soon, and your life will be yours again. I promise.

Now it just brought feelings of pure hatred for the demon inside him.

Do you know what they're going to do to your soul after you die?

Out of the corner of his perception he noticed that the front door was slightly ajar. A cold, wet draft slipped into the crack and caressed his skin. He did not care. Nothing mattered anymore.

You're going to hell, boy, and that's a million times worse than the asylum.

He opened his mouth and placed the cold steel of the barrel against his palate.

You don't have the guts to-

Suddenly, Nick screamed.

The startled Andrew nearly ran the car into a street light. "What's the matter?!" he shouted back.

"The demon is free!" Nick shouted. "The host is dead!"

"How close are we?" Adrian asked.

For the first time, Nick seemed interested in what was going on. "Close," he said, gazing at the road. "Turn right up here at the light and step on it."

Phaydra was sitting across the room from Joseph, trying to keep the conversation on a friendly level. Joseph could see that she was fighting back tears, though. So was he.

"So why are you here?" she asked, her voice barely even.

"I'm not sure. They brought me to this area and now They're not telling me anything. So I don't know for sure."

"Well," Phaydra said flatly, "I've got to get ready to go to work." She rose walked out of the room.

Joseph bit his lip. She would never understand his situation. He may not have become an avatar by choice, but now it was his responsibility to do what They told him to do. He and only a few others stood between the regular people and the many things stalking the edges of reality, looking for prey.

He did not hear the distant crack of the gunshot.

The beast had taken refuge in a large chunk of brain that had been blasted away from his ex-host's body. It regarded the dead body lying sprawled on the floor a few yards away with its own weak, rudimentary senses. It had pushed him too far. Even the weak will find strength if they are backed into a corner. The beast had become overconfident, and now it was facing the consequences of that overconfidence.

It sized up its situation. The beast could sustain itself for less than an hour on that fragmented island of flesh. Because of the isolation the beast forced had Kyle into, it could be days before anyone else entered the house. The beast would die more quickly if it tried to move, but it did not have much of a choice.

With great effort, the beast moved the glistening clump of brain. It inched toward the door, leaving a slug trail of blood behind it. The beast forced it open enough to allow its passage to the porch. It was met by a dying day and a driving rain. It sensed no potential hosts anywhere, and none would be likely to come near enough for it to invade. The beast pulled itself free of the door and for the first time in its existence, it fell into despair. As the blood soaked from its temporary body forming a jagged red blotch in the rainfall, the beast resigned itself to its death.

Then a car screeched to a halt in front of the house. The beast sensed a host that felt familiar. Two men jumped out of the car and charged toward the house. They were not hosts; the radiance of their strength overwhelmed the beast's feeble senses. With one last effort, the beast forced the clump of brain off the porch and into the bushes to avoid being seen or stepped on. Its prey was still in the car.

The beast finally recognized the shattered psyche of one of its old hosts. It abandoned the pathetic lump of flesh and charged at the car. It could last only a few minutes without an anchor in the flesh before it would be torn to pieces. Already it felt a million tiny pinches pulling at it.

Nick watched the officers kick in the door. He had begged not to be left alone, but they did not listen. His heart was thundering in his chest. He knew the demon was going to come for him. He knew it. He could feel it closing in on him from somewhere. He expected it to invade his mind at any second. That still made it no less frightening when he heard that familiar whispering inside his head.

Hello, Nick.

He screamed. The cops didn't hear him. They were already inside the house.

Now don't be that way. I'll only be with you until I can find a new host.

Nick strained to get his arms free of the straitjacket. He failed. He could feel the beast begin to slip into his brain.

Let me in, Nick. Things will be better than before.

He began to pound his head against the window.

Be cooperative or I'll have to force my way in, and neither of us wants that.

Finally, the window broke, leaving a column of jagged glass projecting from the groove in the door. Nick climbed to his knees and stuck his head out the window. The rain swallowed his tears. "You'll never have me again!"

Wait, Nick. Don't-

With all his strength, Nick Young smashed his throat down on the glass. He felt the rush of blood from his punctured carotid artery. "Shut up," he whispered. He watched the bright crimson blood destined for his brain spill over the side of the door and mix with the rain.

The beast panicked. It had nowhere to go. The pinches in its essence had become fistfulls and the invisible hands were trying to wrench it apart. It spun around in circles, searching in desperation for anything that might serve as a host. It considered making an attack against the two men in the house even though it could not possibly overcome their strength. Then the wind suddenly presented it with the sweet mixture of grief, anger, and, most importantly, hopelessness.

The beast searched for the source. There was a woman walking from a nearby house to a car. She had strength, but it was subdued. It charged for her as quickly as it could. It would have to dispense with the subtle approach. Its time was running out. It would have to attack directly and try to force its way into her mind. That may leave her brain hopelessly scrambled and useless, but that was the last chance the beast had.

As it closed in on her, it sensed that she was not one of the normal quarry. She was different somehow. Her aura was one it had never encountered before. The beast did not know how this would affect her resistance to its attacks, but it had no alternative.

Phaydra squinted at the cloud-obscured twilight sky. She was proud of herself in that she managed to hold back the tears, but she couldn't believe she still had such strong feelings for Walker. If he was not so wrapped up in his so-called duties, perhaps he would acknowledge his feelings toward her. She had no doubt that he would be gone before she got back in the morning. That still didn't change facts, though. The only way they could ever be together would be after Walker did his time, or they were both dead.

She closed her umbrella and tossed it in the passenger's seat. She was about to get in herself when two scents hit her nose. One was of blood. She looked down the sidewalk and saw a white car parked down the street with a red stripe down one of the rear doors. It looked as if there was a head sticking out of the window, but it looked...wrong. The other scent was no less pungent, but she didn't recognize it.

Phaydra began walking toward the blood-stained car, oblivious to the rain pelting her. As she closed the distance to the car, something seemed to solidify out of the air in front of her. She didn't have time to focus on it. She was attacked.

Joseph leaped off the couch. The generally gentle tug that led him to where he needed to be became a vicious yank. "Phaydra," he whispered.

"What's wrong, master Walker?" Michael asked, hovering beside him.

Joseph didn't answer. Instead he bolted to the front door, throwing it open and leaping off the porch into the dark green lawn. He looked down the sidewalk and saw a prone figure lying in the rain. It was Phaydra. She was covering her head as if to protect it from something. It took joseph a moment to see the white smoky entity surrounding her. He saw a tentacle form from the smoke and lash down on her. Her entire body jerked.

Joseph raced toward her. He knew what was attacking her, but had never met one. He did, however, know how to deal with them. This was what They had summoned him for.

The torrential rain nearly blinded him, but Joseph's steps did not falter. Finally he fell down beside her. He wrapped her head in his arms and held it close to his chest. He felt Phaydra shaking, her arms still waving around trying to fend off the beast.

Joseph knew the thing could not last much longer outside a human shell, but he was not sure if he was strong enough to defend both himself and Phaydra from its attacks. Because she had already been attacked, Joseph gave her the majority of his strength.

Suddenly he felt a hammerblow to his brain. For a few horrifying seconds, he was completely disoriented as the shards of his consciousness ricocheted in his skull. Fortunately, everything solidified again. No sooner had he tried to reevaluate his strategy than another blow sent his thoughts scurrying. This time they were slower to reform. He

wondered how many more blows he could take before he collapsed, and if Phaydra would be able to get away.

Joseph clenched his teeth and shut his eyes tightly, preparing for a third blow. It never came. He opened his eyes a fraction and saw the white cloud begin to dissipate. Before it was completely gone, a vague face formed in front of him.

GODDAMNED AVATAR!! it roared. Then it contorted in pain and broke apart, releasing a weak wail as it died.

"You're right," he said quietly as it vanished.

He released his hold on Phaydra. She opened her eyes a little. "Joseph?" she said weakly. "What-"

"Don't talk," Joseph said, picking her up. "We'd better get you out of the rain."

As he stood up on unsteady legs, he saw the blood-streaked car down the block. Two men were standing nearby shouting at each other. Joseph smiled to himself. They would never know what had intertwined itself around their lives, and it would be better that they never did. They were collateral damage in a much larger war.

THE END