Hell's Detective

Chapter Twenty-six- Purpose

He was somewhere warm. It settled over him like the tide, encircling him. He blinked a couple of times, eyelids weighing down on him like he was lying on the ocean floor, water pounding above him. The soft edges of the world sharpened and slowly became clear.

He was in a bed. He tried to get up, but pain exploded in his abdomen like it was tearing itself apart. He gave a strangled cry, and someone gently pushed him back down.

Memories flooded back to him. The children screaming...the knife....the demon howling as Follows collapsed to the ground, his hands on the hilt, sticky with blood.

"The children," he gasped. "What happened to them?"

"They're fine," Ruth said. "Spicer too...sort of."

Follows looked at her, properly looked. Her eyes weren't glassy or clouded over, her head wasn't cocked to the side. She was just...normal.

"You're back," he whispered.

She looked down. "I don't remember much of what happened. It was like I wasn't really there, you know? Like when you wake up from a dream."

He laughed. It didn't seem like the appropriate time to laugh, but he couldn't stop himself. Ruth was back. "And Louis?" he asked.

"He's a bit freaked out, but he'll live." She paused. "Follows, what happened? I mean, I knew there was something wrong with this place, but that thing- what happened to Spicer, what happened to you... you changed."

"A demon," Follows said. "It had been living in Spicer the whole time."

"For how long?" she asked.

"Since Louis' birth."

Ruth put her hand over her mouth. Follows knew that look. She was feeling responsible. It was stupid, but people did it all the time. There was nothing any of them could have done, but it was human. To take on the guilt of the misfortune of those around you. If you couldn't blame the world, the next viable candidate was yourself.

"No, but- we would have noticed..."

"It was clever," Follows said. "Mimicking human emotions, hiding in plain sight."

"Eleven years," she whispered. "Eleven years, and I never even suspected a thing."

"It's not your fault," he said, but it sounded weak even to him.

"Is it coming back?"

He shook his head. "It's gone."

She smiled, but it wasn't a happy smile. Tears welled up in her eyes. "I thought you were dead."

"You're not rid of me quite yet."

Pain shot through his abdomen in short, sharp bursts, and he winced.

Ruth gave him a sympathetic look and squeezed his shoulder.

"You should rest," she said, getting up.

He didn't want to rest. He wanted to see the children. He wanted to see the priests and Bloomsbury. There were people out there who needed his help, and he was resting.

The door snapped shut behind Ruth, and suddenly he was alone.

Almost.

The nursing room was lined with  metal beds, all neatly made and empty. Except for one. Spicer sat on it with her knees hugged up to her chest, staring blankly into nothingness. She was completely still. Like a cold, wide eyed doll.

Something panged in his chest. He'd thought it would be hard for him to see her as something that wasn't pure evil, but looking at that empty shell of a woman, all he felt was sorrow. He couldn't imagine what it was like to have your every waking action controlled by someone, something, else. To turn you against the very people you vowed to make life better for. He didn't know if he'd ever be able to recover. He didn't know if she would.