MonkeyVault-Chapter 2

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Chapter 2



Even though it was only a short walk to the ‘crime scene’, Alula and Jael were soaked to the bone by the time they reached it. Swollen black clouds tussled overhead, acting like pestilent school children that had discovered the vantage of a high window-space, and spat huge, goading raindrops on unsuspecting pedestrians.

The building was Victorian-terrace, a house that had later been converted into small, privately-owned convenience store. It had clearly been abandoned for a number years, evident in the neglect and degeneration upon looking at it. The windows were boarded up with plywood, dripping and pock-marked with mildew. Litter clustered every external nook and crevice and it had been face-fucked by amateur graffiti artists, its surface defiled with spews of long-faded colour. A sign hung morosely above the entrance, bleached by the sun and almost incomprehensible, no longer proudly declaring its simple name ‘Nad's’.

Alula had walked this street so many times to get home and ignored the buildings rotting foundations. How long had the Seraph been in there, dead in such a place? It was nothing special, just one of many desolate shops that the city consumed and would no doubt regurgitate later. It certainly wasn't the final tomb you’d expect to house a heavenly creature.

Two Nephilim Chaser’s protected the entrance in the guise of street-bums, wearing stained, second-hand clothing and clutching cheap bottles of cider. They gave Alula an automatic nod of recognition but stopped Jael mid-track and asked for I.D, infuriating her instantly.

“I’m Jael Saint, Angel Asylum Inquisitor. You’ve let me through once already? My mother is Bethany Saint, Chief AA Investigator.”

The pair of Chasers smirked at one another as if expecting the remark and Alula squirmed at Jael’s expense. Inquisitors were renowned for being pompous, arrogant pricks and Jael had just achieved a reaffirmation of the stereotype in one sentence.

“Never heard of you, can’t remember- now, I.D?”

Jael grumbled and, as requested, rolled up her left sleeve, flashing the sparkling, ruby-like tattoo on her inner wrist. The symbol was more than just identification; it was a clan tag, depicting their rival Nephilim units. Alula, like all Chasers, bore a similar glittering mark on the nape of her neck in amethyst. In unison the Guards gave her a nonchalant nod and let Jael pass, but no sooner had she walked through the door, they began pissing themselves with laughter.

“Stupid, ‘pest control’ fucks.” She spat, smoothing down her blazer as a prototypical form of feather de-ruffling, when the men were out of earshot.

Alula wanted to bite back at the comment, but thought better of it. It was neither the time nor place to start a sibling dispute over which unit of the Nephilim were better. Besides, her Foster-mother Bethany Saint had already spotted them and was making her way over, armed with scrubs, masks and surgeon caps.

“You need you to wear these. Remember it’s a crime scene, so no touching anything.” Bethany said in her infamous ornery manner, giving them a through-back, cautionary glare from their childhood, “Analyzers are examining the body here because we don’t know the rate of a Seraph’s decomposition, so don’t get in the way.”

Analyzers-the Nephilim version of Forensics, clan-tag emerald, location- right ankle- swarmed the place, flitting in and out of a white tent that contained the body like wasps. They were dressed from head-to-toe in some weird, arthropod-inspired costume.

One of them spotted Alula, waved and dipped back inside the PVC shelter. It was Felix Pom, Alula’s sicko-genius housemate.

Alula and Jael pulled on the scrubs and headed towards the tent. Apprehension bitch-slapped Alula’s hangover out of the way and replaced it with something more inconveniently potent. It was like she was coming up off the previous night’s pills all over again; euphoria was not what she fucking needed right now. She couldn’t concentrate.

“A Seraph male, Middle Eastern in appearance, blue eyes, mutilated, stoned with signs of sexual molestation and torture.” Felix gasped at her through a shiny white gas mask.

Alula felt dizzy. It was like talking to a praying mantis with a serious case of emphysema. The mask's strange pincer-like mechanics clicked and chattered as he spoke, chewing like a vicious pair of mandibles.

“See the bandages around the ankles and wrists? It’s a form of ancient Babylonian execution, so whoever did this knew what they were doing.” Felix’s voice crackled. “The victim was tied to four trees bent inwards, towards each other. The bindings were then cut so the trunks sprang apart, literally attempting to tear the body into five pieces. It failed though, because the body’s still intact, but we can see obvious signs of dislocation in the arms and legs. Perhaps that was the point?”

Alula didn’t want to look at it but forced her eyes regardless.

A boy Angel with a short, glossy bowl of black hair was splayed face-down on his stomach amidst dusty crisp packets and out-of-date boxes of chocolate bars. His disengaged limbs jutted out at odd angles from the torso, reminding Alula of a crushed tarantula. One side of his body had been left in pristine condition, displaying an unearthly artistry that was hard to comprehend. Deep blue eyes, one as dark as the ocean depths, glittered like a peerless gemstone, the other, a gelatinous rose-hued pearl dribbling from the black abyss of a ragged socket. He was a graphic homage to all things beautiful and grotesque. One side of him, smooth contours of flowing brown skin and the other, annihilated beyond recognition, a bloody contortion of meat, belching juices, disgorged gizzards and blackened offal. He probably wasn’t, but the boy looked no older than twelve. His genitals had been carved away as was half of his skull, and gleaming white shards of bone and wet, spongy brain-matter glistened vulnerably beneath the glare of clinical halogen. The Seraph’s once-silver wings were now torn and bloody, plucked out and broken, swimming in a mucus pool of blood and violet organs. ‘Horrific’ wasn’t even the word for what Alula was looking at.

“Rephilim?” Alula was surprised how cold the words fell from her lips, because inside she was melting with grief and burning up with a fury she’d never experienced before.

Felix shook his head inside the big, insect-like helm. “I doubt it, no blood has been drained from the body, and this is a formidable supernatural creature that I’m sure could out manoeuvre them. No, whatever did this must have equalled, if not surpassed him in power. I’d say it was primordial too, judging by the way it’s killed.”

Rephilim or ‘weakeners’ were opposite of the Nephilim, offspring of the disgraced and fallen Angels. Cursed creatures born from wombs of the debauched and evil, they fed on blood to survive...Vampire’s.

Alula squatted, suddenly unafraid of the corpse before her, scrutinising it closer, hoping it would reveal something. Grief lodged itself in her throat, an overwhelming, suffocating pain that made her want to cry out and expel it, an anger so vehement it could set fire to this wicked place. She threw a chafed glance at the people surrounding her; none of them were as outraged as her. Why didn’t they feel the same?

Lightening clapped outside causing the lights in the room to flicker like strobes. Suddenly the place was in uproar. Bodies moved and shouted between illumination and shadow, bemused cries battled over orders of clarity. Thunder roared with an intensity that shook the foundations, tossing antiquated food packets and smashing bottles off surrounding shelves. Alula felt a small, soft hand grab the exposed skin of her wrist. In horror, she looked down, straight into the one pleading blue eye of the Seraph.

“Vovina...aai, Esa.” the Angel lisped at her, its serrated tongue bleeding, rolling, as it suffered to overcome the words.

Half the Angel’s lips had been hacked away, exposing a maw of raw gum and teeth, giving it a macabre side-grin. It choked and spluttered for a second, a cocktail of spit and blood erupting from its diced mouth in a plume of pink froth. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the life in its eye faded.

Alula stumbled back in fear and confusion, falling over medical trays and other random objects in her path. Metal instruments crashed to the ground with a violent clang. The flashing lights disorientated her, illuminating all the gore and fluid, making her feel as if she'd been plunged into a scene of some twisted horror movie.

‘Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!’ A chorus of people shouted, attempting to catch her fall amidst the pandemonium.

“Alula- Alula, are you alright? Have you hurt yourself?” She heard Jael say, her sister’s pretty face flashing in and out of light in a cadaverous vision.

“What the fuck was that, some kind of biblical Hebrew?” Felix’s hissed from somewhere in the refulgent darkness.

“Did anyone manage to catch what it said?”

“We need a linguist, someone get a fucking interpreter now!”

Alula sat there, smeared in the Seraph's scarlet blood, too stunned and dazed to tell anyone that she had understood exactly what the Angel had said.