Murder On The Waterway: The Case Of The Kanaima Demon

Chapter Thirty-Three

The night had lured us in like moths to a flame, and the deathly demons had descended, their intentions shrouded in darkness. The odds were already stacked against me, and now, as we approached the warehouse, I couldn't help but feel an overwhelming anger brewing inside. I had been suppressing the beast within for far too long, and it was clawing at the walls of my self-control, yearning to be set free.

So much death, lies, and misdirection had plagued this case, mirroring the pattern of the previous one. We hadn't fully recovered from that ordeal, and my soul felt tormented. Every fibre of my being was dragged through the wringer, and the wolf within me longed to cut loose, to be free. It gnawed at my insides, and I could feel my veins pulsating with pent-up rage. The ease with which the demon had possessed Michael was a stark reminder of how ill-prepared we all were for the hostility we faced.

"More guests," I muttered, needing to warn Michael.

"For fuck's sake," he grumbled.

"Yep. Have you ever felt so pissed off you wanted to scream? Because that's me right now," I confessed, my anger simmering beneath the surface.

"All the time," he admitted.

"So, let's do it. I'm not joking. They know we're here. Come on; it could be cathartic," I urged, raising my eyebrows as if to say, 'screw it, let's do this.'

"Seriously?" Michael asked, his scepticism giving way to curiosity.

"Yes, go on. You go first, and I'll watch in case you have a heart attack," I said, half in jest. He laughed initially, then shrugged and stepped back. With his head tilted skyward, he unleashed a primal scream.

'Aaaaaarrrrrggggghhh,' it reverberated through the night, a potent mix of anger and anguish. Michael's face turned beet red, but when he finally stopped, he smiled genuinely.

"Wow, you're right. I feel lighter. Your turn," he encouraged.

I, too, stepped back, positioning myself away from his ears. I could feel the beast in the pit of my stomach stirring, a relentless force demanding release. All the baggage we had carried had accumulated to a breaking point, and I needed to let it out.

I leaned forward as if I were pulling my pain from the depths of hell itself, drawing it up through my lungs and throat. Then I flung my head back and let out a scream that felt as though it tore through my very soul. It was more than a scream; it was a roar, a roar, a powerful release of all the pain within me. The sound seemed to shake the foundation beneath us, rocking Michael on his heels and giving his wrinkles a temporary facelift.

I hadn't screamed; I had roared—a tremendous, earth-shaking roar. Perhaps it was the influence of the blood moon, but Michael was unfazed; he was impressed. I couldn't believe it, but the sound seemed to ripple across the night for miles, echoing like a warning to the evil forces awaiting our arrival.

***

The grim warehouse became a chamber of dread, its gloom threatening to swallow us whole as we faced the evil presence that awaited within. The blood-stained and rusty red door stood ajar, and a sinister aura lingered, the unmistakable stench of death permeating the air, thick and oppressive. It clung to our skin, reminding us that danger was lurking beyond the threshold. The anticipation was palpable, and every sound, every heartbeat, was magnified in the silence.

My gaze shifted to Michael, who appeared understandably on edge in this foreboding setting. I couldn't resist teasing him momentarily, offering a lighthearted pulse check. He responded with a wry grin, "I might get on a bit, but I'm not dead, you cheeky twat."

"Just ensuring you're still kicking, old man," I quipped, attempting to inject a touch of fun into the heavy atmosphere. These moments of banter provided a brief reprieve from the encroaching tension.

Michael retorted, chuckling, "Keep it up, sunshine, and you'll be bypassing the 'stroke' and heading straight for a coffin."

"It'll take more than you to put me in a coffin," I countered with a grin. These exchanges were the last remnants of normalcy before the impending chaos unfolded.

Amid the heavy silence, I turned my attention to the task at hand, counting the heartbeat signatures that emanated from the darkness within the warehouse. My senses strained to discern the identities of those hidden in the shadows. "There's one... two... three... four. Wait, no, six, then four again," I reported, trying to keep track as the death demons moved about, making the count fluctuate.

Michael wisely urged me to regain my composure and identify the individuals present. "Breathe, Georgie, calm down and try to identify who they might be," he advised, prompting me to close my eyes and take a deep breath.

I concentrated, tuning my heightened senses to the task at hand. "Melanie, the Kanaima/Jack. Ellena, and... Fuck, it's ADI Locke," I announced, realisation dawning as I spoke. The situation was dire, and we had to prepare ourselves for the horrors that awaited inside.

We hadn't planned a concrete plan, and the influence of the blood moon was increasingly pervasive, leaving me feeling less in control. The stakes were higher than ever, and we had no choice but to move forward. My hand rested on the rusty red door, and my doubts about bringing Michael inside gnawed at me. Melanie may have requested his presence, but my instincts told me she had something sinister for him.

I expressed my concern to Michael, telling him, "You don't have to do this, you know," as we stood on the precipice of the unknown.

Michael's resolve was unwavering. "No way. I'm in this for the long haul; come what may. And whatever cards we're dealt. Besides, you need someone to corroborate your story at the end of this, you bloody idiot."

There was no time for a lengthy debate. We had to confront the darkness ahead, the last moments of normalcy slipping away with each passing second. Our footsteps echoed through the foreboding darkness as we approached the open door, ready to face the nightmarish horrors that awaited within.

Then, without warning, the warehouse was engulfed in a blinding eruption of light, revealing a scene that sent shivers down our spines. Two gurney tables lay upside down in the centre of the room, and the sight of Locke and Ellena strapped to them with their heads tossing helplessly filled the room with an eerie sense of foreboding. They appeared to be paralyzed or under the control of an evil force, their heads jerking uncontrollably.

Both were connected to IV drips containing a sinister, misty-coloured fluid. But the most terrifying sight was the Kanaima, holding Michael hostage, its razor-sharp claws poised dangerously close to his throat. Jack, now a mere vessel for this evil entity, appeared empty of humanity. Nearby, Melanie or Natasha Wainwright, as she revealed herself, stood, her true identity unveiled.

We were trapped, with little room to manoeuvre and the grim realisation that the fate of our friends and ourselves hung by a thread. With a mere ten to fifteen feet separating us from the horrifying tableau, the seconds ticked away mercilessly.

The transformation loomed, the searing pain surging as I battled to keep the beast within at bay. I needed to get into the Kanaima's head, disrupt the connection between it and Jack, even for a moment, to create an opening and save Michael. The stakes had never been higher, and the clock was ticking relentlessly.

As Melanie taunted us, I couldn't help but recall the grim poem from my past, the one that seemed to foreshadow our encounter:

"The way into my parlour is up a winding stair,

And I have many curious things to show when you are there."

She continued to mock us, her voice echoing through the warehouse as the tension reached a fever pitch.

As the dread settled around us, Michael and I shared an unspoken understanding that our confrontation with Melanie, the Kanaima, and the impending horrors had begun. We were on a collision course with the unknown, our fates entwined with those of our friends. The warehouse, once a place of secrecy and mystery, had transformed into a chamber of terror, and our fight for survival had only just begun.