Angel of Darkness: Fallen Angels, #5

By Valmore Daniels

Angel of Darkness (Fallen Angels - Book 5)

 

My name is Frank. I joined the police force to make a difference, but from the first day on the job, everything I've done has made life worse for everyone around me.

 

For twenty-five years, I searched for meaning, to make sense of my life, but I never found any answers.

 

Just when I decide to turn my back on my life's work, I uncover a conspiracy more sinister than anything I ever imagined.

 

As I investigate, I realize that even if I stop the conspirators, the blood of innocents will be on my hands: thousands will die. If I don't stop them, all of mankind will suffer an age of darkness...

 

Fallen Angels
Book 1 - Angel Fire
Book 2 - Angel's Breath
Book 3 - Earth Angel
Book 4 - Angel Tears
Book 5 - Angel of Darkness

 

The Complete Book of Fallen Angels

• Language: English
• Publisher: ValmoreDaniels.com
• Release date: Apr 6, 2016
• ISBN: 9781927560105

Valmore Daniels

Valmore Daniels has lived on the coasts of the Atlantic, Pacific, and Arctic Oceans, and dozens of points in between. An insatiable thirst for new experiences has led him to work in several fields, including legal research, elderly care, oil & gas administration, web design, government service, human resources, and retail business management. His enthusiasm for travel is only surpassed by his passion for telling tall tales.

Book preview

Table of Contents

Angel of Darkness

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Epilogue

Other Worlds

About the Author

Angel of Darkness

Fallen Angels Book 5

Valmore Daniels

This is purely a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. This book may not be re-sold or given away without permission in writing from the author. No part of this book may be reproduced, copied, or distributed in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means past, present or future.

Copyright © 2014 Valmore Daniels. All rights reserved.

FALLEN ANGELS

Angel Fire

Angel’s Breath

Earth Angel

Angel Tears

Angel of Darkness

The Complete Trilogy

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Chapter One

And it came to pass when the children of men had multiplied that in those days were born unto them beautiful and comely daughters.

And the angels, the children of the heaven, saw and lusted after them, and said to one another: Come, let us choose us wives from among the children of men and beget us children.

–Book of Enoch 6:1-3

It was supposed to be a trial by fire. At least, that’s what the desk sergeant called it when he handed out the assignment to the four of us on our first day at the precinct in Brooklyn.

Now, seven hours later, my excitement faded, replaced by a vague feeling of disappointment; the anticipation for action had been numbed by thoughts of how sore my feet were.

Like most of the others who were fresh out of the police academy, my first assignment was what the supervisors called ‘Operation Impact’: foot patrol in one of the most violent neighborhoods in the city. We each took a one-block section, and our orders were to make our presence known, be on the lookout for any disturbance, and be ready to assist any of the other officers in case of trouble.

My beat consisted of a small park, a number of stores and restaurants, and two apartment complexes in the Gowanus neighborhood. I’d only been in Brooklyn a few times before, but I got to know the area pretty well that day.

So far, the most dangerous incident had been when a skateboarder crossing the street half a block away had narrowly avoided being hit by a taxi, and then collided with a pedestrian who was walking home from work. By the time I got there, the kid was racing away, and the taxi driver had sped off. Aside from a bruised shin, the pedestrian was fine. He spent a good three minutes complaining about how the city—and the whole country—was going to hell, but I eventually got him to calm down and be on his way.

A few times throughout the day, I would spot one of the other rookies walking their route and wave. We were supposed to stay off our radios unless necessary. I knew their names, but none of us had had time to get to know one another.

A half-hour before the end of the shift, Officer Scott Goodwin, who’d been in the same squad car that dropped us off that morning, saw me and crossed the street.

How’s it going, Frank? he asked.

Pretty uneventful, actually.

I guess we’re the lucky ones, he said, smiling as he fell in step with me.

How’s that? I asked.

They call the six-to-two shift the ‘milk run’. The worst I’ve seen today is when some jackass stole a lady’s parking spot. He grimaced. I had to convince him not to press charges when she threw her shoe at him and hit him in the head.

I let out a short laugh. And you didn’t call for backup?

Smiling, he said, I should have; after all, Gowanus is supposed to be one of the most violent in Brooklyn. He cocked his head. Maybe this is just the morning milk run.

I said, I wanted the ten-to-six night shift.

Why would you want that? he asked, giving me a concerned look. That’s when the drug dealers and gang-bangers come out to play. You’d be taking your life in your own hands.

Yeah, I said. I became a cop to do something about that.

I knew Goodwin’s type; I’d met plenty of them in the academy. He probably became a cop for the status the badge gave him. He’d coast a few years until he got assigned a desk. I guessed his first assignment after foot patrol would be in records or supply.

Crusader, huh? Goodwin winked when he said it. So what’s your story? Blue blood running through your veins? Did you roll with a gang and see the error of your ways? What?

None of that, I said. Actually, I grew up in a pretty decent neighborhood in a suburb of Trenton.

Jersey boy, huh?

I nodded. My father’s an accountant, and my mother mostly volunteers.

Got tired of the sheer boredom? Goodwin said, and I glanced at him. He snapped his fingers. Let me guess. You watched too many cop flicks as a kid and thought ‘that’s where the action is’?

I pressed my lips together. The last thing I wanted was the other officers to think I had something to prove. No one wanted to be anywhere near a ‘hero’. I had no intention of getting caught in a gun battle or car chase; I didn’t have a death wish. Still, I’d always been fascinated with solving puzzles. I consumed mystery novels, and could usually figure out the ending well ahead of time.

Am I right? Goodwin asked.

We walked by the end of the park, and turned the corner at the end of the block, making our way past an apartment complex.

I admitted, I won the junior high science project with a forensics presentation.

Aha. Future detective. He pointed a thumb at himself. Me, I’m going to go administration. ‘Captain’ Goodwin has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?

I let out a quick laugh. You won’t make much of a name handing out parking tickets.

True, he said, but there are other ways to get noticed besides making the big busts—

The shards of falling glass smashing on the sidewalk a dozen feet in front of us shocked us into action.

Immediately, my hand went to my holster, and I scanned the area. I pointed to the second floor, spotting the broken window. I heard screams coming from the apartment and a window planter flew out onto the street, exploding into a thousand pieces on impact.

Goodwin took a step closer to the building, out of the way of more falling objects, and put the radio receiver to his mouth and called dispatch.

He identified himself and our location, then said to the operator, Some kind of disturbance; domestic, I think.

The operator replied, Do you require assistance, Officer Goodwin?

We can handle it.

Proceed with caution.

He tapped me on the arm with the back of his hand. Looks like you finally found some action. You want to take lead?

I nodded and pointed to the entrance. It was directly under the broken window. As we made our way to it, I kept glancing up in case the occupant threw anything else outside.

The apartment building door was locked, so I pressed the buzzer for the superintendent.

A moment later, a shaky voice said, Hello?

Police, I said.

You got here fast. I just called it in, the superintendent said.

What’s going on?

Some guy just went up to Stella Markowitz’s in two-oh-one. I’ve seen him a few times before. I think it’s her boyfriend. It sounds like they’re killing each other.

Let us in. We’ll handle it.

The door clicked open, and I raced inside, Goodwin a step behind.

The stairs were to the left, and I took them two at a time, not bothering with the elevator beside them.

As we approached the apartment door, I flinched when something heavy hit the wall, the thud echoing through the hallway. I heard shouts, both male and female.

Damn, Goodwin said. Do we break down the door?

I shook my head, but put my hand on the holster of my gun. With my other hand, I knocked on the door.

This is the police. Do you require assistance? Open up.

There was no response to my order, but I heard what sounded like dishes smashing.

Nodding to Goodwin, I shifted so that my back was to the door. Glancing behind, I aimed at the spot just below the doorknob and kicked backward. We’d practiced doing it this way a few times in the academy.

The wood, a flimsy pine, splintered under the force of my kick. The knob snapped away from the latch, and the door swung inside, smashing against the wall with a loud crack.

Goodwin, standing on the other side of the door with his gun drawn, swiveled toward the opening, dropping into a crouch. He put one foot out to stop the door from swinging back toward us and obscuring our view.

Police. We’re coming in. If you have any weapons, drop them on the ground now.

I pulled my gun and stood a pace behind Goodwin, scanning what I could see of the apartment from the door. There wasn’t anyone in my line of sight, but I could hear someone screaming.

I’m going to kill you, you crazy bitch!

Immediately, I tapped Goodwin’s shoulder to let him know I was right behind him, and that we needed to get in there fast.

He sprung up and took a few measured paces inside, gun raised.

I repeat: this is the police. Everyone stop what you are doing and get down on the ground.

We made our way through a short hallway into a living room, and that’s when Goodwin shouted, Don’t move!

I rushed in to back him up; and peripherally, I took in everything in the room.

It was a typical low-rent apartment. None of the furniture matched, and what little there was of it looked beaten-up and second-hand.

We were trained to look for people hiding behind couches or around corners; if you weren’t careful, someone could pop out and attack you when you had your back turned.

There were only two people there.

A very tall, heavyset man wielding a bloody kitchen knife was standing over a woman, who was lying on her back on the floor. There was blood pooling around her legs. Her stomach was swollen, and I realized she was giving birth.

The man swung one leg over the woman, and held the knife above her head.

Back off, cop, he growled. You have no idea what she’s doing? She’s insane, don’t you get it?

It was then that I noticed the woman’s hands were tied to the kitchen table. She was screaming, though whether from the pain of childbirth or from the fear of impending death, it was unclear.

It was obvious the man was having some kind of psychotic episode.

Put the knife down, Goodwin yelled.

I can’t. You don’t understand. I have to stop her.

The woman uttered a cry that sounded like she was being ripped in two, and I saw that the baby was crowning.

Goodwin said, Let us help her. The baby’s coming right now. Back away and we can help.

You can’t help. You can’t stop her. Let me do what I have to do.

The woman screamed one more time, and the baby’s head came out of her.

At that moment, the man lifted the knife high. His eyes were fixed on the woman.

Goodwin fired two shots into the man’s torso before he could stab her. The man grunted, flying back off his feet and into the wall. The knife fell on the floor beside the woman.

As Goodwin raced over to help her, I hurried to the man, my gun pointed at him, and checked to see if he was still alive. He was, but his breathing was shallow; he’d be dead in a matter of minutes.

The woman screamed as the baby’s shoulders appeared. After quickly untying the woman’s wrists, Goodwin positioned himself to help deliver the infant, getting down on his knees in the blood around her legs.

You’re safe now. Come on, he said to her. One more push and he’ll be here.

Sucking in a ragged breath, the woman gritted her teeth and strained. Goodwin, one hand on the child’s head, one hand under his back, said, There he is, as the baby emerged.

No! the man hollered. He lunged up with his hands outstretched, fingers curled into claws. He paid me no mind; his target was the woman.

Instinctively, I fired, and before the bullet hit, I knew it was a kill shot. Blood spurted from his chest.

The sudden scream from behind me did not come from the woman, but from the baby. My stomach churned at the horrendous sound. Surprised, I couldn’t breathe for a moment; it was as if a powerful hand were squeezing my lungs.

Goodwin fell backward, slipping in the woman’s blood, and almost dropped the baby. He managed to keep hold of him, but ended up in a sitting position, cradling the baby in his lap.

The woman screamed. She sat up and slapped Goodwin.

Then, blood sprayed from his neck. It was then I realized it hadn’t been a slap. The woman had picked up the knife.

A look of dumfounded surprise came over Goodwin’s face as he tried to gulp for air. Slowly, he turned his head to me, as if to ask me what had happened.

His mouth moved, and a bubble of blood came out as he tried to speak. I thought he said my name, Frank, but I couldn’t be sure.

Then the light went out of his eyes, and he slumped to the floor, the baby lying on top of him.

Shocked by what I’d just seen, I was slow to react.

The woman, ignoring me, raised the knife high above her head. Eyes on the baby, she brought her arm down in a swift motion.

Two bullets shot out of my gun, both striking her in the head.

There was a wet thud when her body hit the floor, but the only sound I heard was the continuing cries of the baby I had just made an orphan.

Chapter Two

And Semjaza, who was their leader, said unto them: I fear ye will not indeed agree to do this deed, and I alone shall have to pay the penalty of a great sin.

And they all answered him and said: Let us all swear an oath, and all bind ourselves by mutual imprecations not to abandon this plan but to do this thing. Then swear they all together and bound themselves by mutual imprecations upon it.

–Book of Enoch 6:3-6

The cell phone rang, and I sprung out of bed. It felt like there was a steel ball inside my head bouncing off the inside of my skull. I moaned and reached for the phone before it rang again, accidentally knocking over the half-bottle of scotch I’d been working on last evening until I passed out.

I cursed, Crap, then managed to click the answer button before the ringer went off a third time.

Hollingsworth, I said, my tongue still thick from sleep and alcohol. I rubbed my eyes and looked at the clock. It’s two in the goddamn morning. Somebody’d better be dead.

Frank, it’s Verne. I know you’re on leave, but you should get to the station right away. It’s hitting the fan.

Let me guess … I.A.D.?

Yeah, a couple of suits showed up half an hour ago waving a warrant in my face.

My heart twisted. Oh?

They’re going through your desk right now. It’s only a matter of time before they subpoena you. I think it’d go better for you if you got in front of it.

A little over twenty-five years as a cop, and I’d only ever had to discharge my weapon on two occasions. When I’d shot and killed Stella Markowitz and her boyfriend, Jared Tomko, it had been my first day on the job, and it had almost been my last. It wasn’t guilt over their deaths, but for Scott Goodwin’s. If I’d reacted faster, or secured the knife, he might be alive today.

The second time I used the weapon, I killed a monster. Lawrence Bukowski had been a bad seed to begin with. What no one would understand is that it took the bastardized possession of a fallen angel to make him truly evil.

I had no regrets putting him down, but I couldn’t explain the circumstances that led to me firing a bullet into his brain.

I fully expected to be raked over the coals by Internal Affairs. I gave as many answers as I could in my official report, but it was obvious they didn’t like what I’d said.

Captain Verne Ritzik had been superintendent of the precinct for the past ten years, and in all that time, he’d given me as much room as I needed to get the job done. The one time he’d said anything to me about it was, Just be sure you don’t hang yourself.

Now, I thought I’d done just that.

Taking a deep breath, I said, Thanks for the heads-up, Cap. I’ll be in as soon as I can.

፠

If I was going down, I was determined to put my best foot forward. After shaving the three-day growth off my face, I took a hot shower and got into the suit I wore on court days.

Popping a few painkillers to try to silence my screaming head, I got in my car, pushing the wrappers from the last late-night cheeseburger run I’d made off the seat. I started the vehicle, and headed for the station.

It had been a few weeks since I’d seen Kyle Chase and his friends off to Colorado. I told them I’d contact them if I got any information on the International Society of Exorcists—so far I’d come up empty.

I hadn’t been back to the station since going up to Wisconsin to tell Chase’s wife he was dead. After sending my report in through email, I’d contacted a friend in the county assessor’s office to drop a dime on the Society of Exorcists’ holdings, most of which had been ill-gotten. Most government districts were cash-strapped, and they’d jumped on the information.

They, in turn, had tipped off the I.R.S., who quickly froze all accounts associated with the Society and its members.

With Father Webber dead, the organization didn’t have anyone to pick up the pieces or fight the seizures. If there were any priests who hadn’t been killed on the cargo ship when it sank, they were making themselves scarce.

I had some leave accumulated, and took it to recover from my run-in with Lawrence. At least, that was my official reason.

I’d spent the past week hitting the streets, talking to every informant I’d ever used and called every cop I’d ever worked with, but there’d been no sign of Father Putnam—Father Webber’s second-in-command; the man who’d killed him and the other priests by sinking the cargo ship in Lake Michigan.

I’d about given up finding Father Putnam in Chicago. I figured he’d most likely skipped town. Without any leads, my frustration got the better of me last night.

At half a dozen glasses of scotch in, I’d thought about quitting the force and heading off to find Chase and the others. I would devote all my time to fighting the Watchers. They’d killed Vanderburgh. It was the second time I’d lost a partner, and I needed payback.

Cutting ties wasn’t the answer. I would lose most of my contacts and resources if I quit. Even though I might not have much pull outside of Chicago, I still knew a lot of people throughout the country in the police community.

If I were put on administrative leave, suspended, or fired, many of my colleagues wouldn’t be able to take my calls anymore, even if they wanted to.

The best way for me to help Chase and the others was to keep my badge. Somehow, I had to convince Internal Affairs that everything I’d done over the past weeks had been above board, that I’d acted within the bounds of the law, that Lawrence Bukowski had been a righteous kill.

Putting myself in IA’s position, I tried to think about what kind of questions they would ask me. I recalled what I’d written in my report, the parts I’d left out. No stranger to the interrogation room, I thought about the holes I could punch in my own story.

By the time I pulled up to the station parking lot, I thought I was