Chapter Text
The worst part about working for the government was the paperwork.
In his long 26 years of life, Andrew had never experienced anything more exhausting than filing for a search warrant. He didn’t understand why he needed permission to kick down a known criminal’s door. Asking for permission took days, sometimes even weeks, especially when said criminal was on the government payroll.
Andrew had been looking into the crimes of Nathan Wesninski for over three years. It was a dangerous case to get involved with–Captain Wymack warned him all those years ago that he was fucking with something darker than he could handle. Andrew just didn’t care.
He’d become infatuated with solving the case, spending most of his day and night trying to put bits and pieces together. From demonic rituals to organ trafficking, Andrew had compiled a corkboard full of evidence like some sort of detective, red strings linking blurry pictures together. Over the last three years, he and his team had gained enough evidence against Nathan Wesninski to finally justify a full-scale search of his property.
The awful part was that he had to lie about the reasons why.
If he were to apply for a search warrant and list every ‘suspected’ crime, it would never be approved. Just as history often played out, some straight, white man at the top would no doubt facilitate Andrew’s mysterious disappearance. He couldn’t exactly write ‘a paranormal entity told me through my freaky ass spiritual-connection-powers’ on the papers, even though it was true.
Andrew didn’t know what he was hoping to find in Nathan Wesninski’s house. But whatever was awaiting him, it couldn’t be anything he hadn’t already witnessed in some propensity. He had seen pentagrams with dead bodies sliced into pieces, boxes of organs abandoned on the side of the road after close calls with the police, missing people floating down the river. If he found some kind of entity hidden in the basement, he wouldn’t even be surprised.
If Andrew had to wait one more minute for a search warrant to be approved, he was going to resort to traditional methods of breaking and entering. He didn’t think they were particularly ethical ways of gaining information, nor would Renee approve of putting his lockpicking skills to good use, but he supposed it was a surefire method of getting what he wanted. Unfortunately, his word wouldn’t hold up in court if he bypassed the law. The government would shut him down in an instant.
Scratching his signature on the dotted line, Andrew spun around in his desk chair and forced his tired legs to move. It felt like dragging two sacks of potatoes across the hall to Wymack’s office, the paper held so tightly in his grip he wouldn’t be surprised if it ended up with finger-shaped holes in it.
The door stood no chance against the thick heel of Andrew’s black Doc Martens. It swung open on its rusty hinges with a sickening creak, slamming into the wall and right into its handle-shaped hole.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Minyard, didn’t anyone ever teach you to knock?” Wymack scolded, hand clutched to his chest.
Chief David Wymack wasn’t much: old man, hair thinning on the top, clinging to his youth harder than the tribal flame tattoo down one arm. His desk was covered in coffee stains, circles soaked deep into the wood from years of neglected hot drinks growing cold. There was nothing about his office that screamed government.
Perhaps it was the lack of funding for their department, or maybe his captain's insistence that a pay rise was more important than getting a new desk that wasn’t stuck together by superglue and purchased off of the Facebook marketplace.
“Foster kid,” Andrew replied.
He slumped into Wymack’s spare chair and let himself spin in circles aimlessly.
“Did you want something, you little shit?” Wymack’s eyebrow twitched.
Stopping himself abruptly by slamming a foot into Wymack’s wobbling desk, Andrew sighed. The dodgy right leg wobbled under the weight and left the top rather slanted.
“You paperwork, Sire,” Andrew replied, with a fake bow. “If it isn’t done by the end of the week, I will be taking the law into my own hands, and I mean that literally. The office has run out of candy and so has my patience.”
Andrew threw the paperwork in Wymack’s general direction, watching as it floated down atop the ancient Victorian school-style desk. If he kicked the desk a little more in his frustration, it went unsaid.
“I’ll do what I can, but we’re skirting around the edge of the law here, Andrew. You know that.” Wymack slid on his reading glasses and squinted at Andrew’s child-like scribbles.
“Fuck the government, and fuck the police too,” Andrew spat, using the desk to push himself up.
He barely managed to avoid being crushed as it collapsed under his weight, four legs flattened against the wooden planks. Papers flew up in the air like some form of comedy movie, coffee splattering up the wall of Wymack’s decrepit office. All his stationary clattered to the floor: pens, notebooks and staplers piling up in a heap.
“Andrew Joseph Minyard, what the flying fuck have you done this time?” Wymack shouted.
Nabbing Wymack’s bottle of whisky off the floor in the process, Andrew took that as his cue to make a swift exit.
***
For as long as he could remember, Andrew had been able to see things that others couldn’t. From disembodied voices to apparitions, the supernatural was never far from his life. It started when he was seven, settling into a new foster home and hoping that it would finally be his home. It hadn’t taken them long to kick him out, hitting him with metal crosses and cursing him as a demon child, a devil who had brought evil into their home.
It wasn’t Andrew’s fault that the supernatural was drawn to his empathy. He didn’t know how to turn it off, how to make all the shadow people leave him alone. They encouraged his violence and fed off his rage until he had no choice but to hurt himself and sell his soul to apathy.
The day he turned seventeen was the first time Andrew’s gift was ever appreciated. His job at Eden’s Twilight was meant to be nothing but washing dishes and hiding in the back, making money to pay his way. When he’d accepted the job, he’d had no idea the club hosted a whole pile of self-proclaimed witches, mediums and psychics. A couple of messages passed from the dead to the living was enough for Andrew to earn a name for himself, and a few bucks at the same time.
That was how he had ended up working in the most run-down, underfunded and desolate government department in existence: The Department of Paranormal Affairs. Headed by David Wymack, the DPA was nothing but a heap of government rejects with self-proclaimed psychic abilities or supernatural experiences. It was a group of second-chancers, sworn to protect the idea of paranormal existence from the world.
If Andrew could go back five years, he’d tell David Wymack to shove the offer up his ass.
The Wesninski household unsettled Andrew the moment he pulled up in front of it. Like some classic, Halloween horror movie, the sky decided it was the perfect time to piss down, slathering Andrew’s precious Maserati in its evening dew. If he had any choice in the matter, he would be wrapped under three blankets, eating triple chocolate brownie ice cream and watching Are you smarter than a 10-year-old? (Spoiler: Andrew Minyard was most definitely smarter than a 10-year-old.)
Instead, he was walking into what he suspected was a location overrun with spirits, demons and negative entities. It was a medium’s nightmare, something Andrew had been dreaming about again, again and again. He had never been so drawn to a place in his life than the Wesninski household.
Something had been compelling him to go for the last 3 years, a supernatural force pulling him towards the Wesninskis like a moth to a flame. He knew it was stupid, yet here he was all the same, warrant in hand.
“If it gets too much, promise me you’ll say,” Renee asked from the passenger seat. She didn’t comment on the stationary car and the still-roaring engine.
“You pass out one time,” Andrew complained. “I’m fine. I’ve waited 3 years to be here and I’m not backing out just because I feel ‘overwhelmed’ by all the spirits.”
Andrew was going to get through the whole night and gather as much evidence as necessary to lock Nathan Wesninski behind bars and put a stop to his rituals. If he had to perform another exorcism, he was going to become a fucking ghost himself, money be damned.
Yanking the door handle, Andrew clambered out of the Maserati and into the pouring rain. Thunder rumbled above him, lightning following behind and illuminating the house like a beacon. The last 3 years of his life were only seconds away, and Andrew felt a sense of dread deeper than he ever had before.
“Tell Wilds she and Boyd are taking the top floor. You and I are going downstairs. Don’t leave any stone unturned,” Andrew barked, slamming his car door.
Each step he took forward made his nausea worse. The hairs on the back of his neck stood to attention, every inch of his body telling him to turn around. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t, not this time, not when he was so close to answers.
He didn’t even wait for his team to catch up, trusting Renee would sort them out accordingly as she always did. Instead, he raised his fist and banged on the great, wooden door with three consecutive thuds. He clutched the warrant to his chest like the last piece of bread, as if it would soon be snatched from his grasp.
He wouldn’t make that mistake twice.
It didn’t take long for someone to open the door. A maid glared down at him as if he was scum, skin pale and apron dirty from a full day of work. She looked as though she would rather be anywhere else than here, and Andrew agreed.
“We have a warrant to search this property from top to bottom on suspicion of harbouring illegal weaponry. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence,” Andrew recited, holding up the paper and his identification badge. “I advise you to step aside and let us get on with our work. Inform all staff that interrupting us or attempting to hide evidence will be a criminal act.”
The woman audibly swallowed, legs beginning to tremble as she stepped away. Her behaviour was suspicious, but nothing out of the ordinary for organised crime. Those at the bottom hardly knew a thing, other than to keep their mouths shut on pain of death. He couldn’t guarantee her safety, but if he didn’t ask, she would have no reason to lie to him.
Without waiting another second, Andrew barged into the house. He shoved plastic gloves over his sweaty palms and began the search. Every inch of every wall was up for search. He wasn’t looking for illegal weapons, not really. What he was searching for was far more important, especially if it was as powerful as Andrew anticipated.
He hadn’t spent his early 20s making a case for a stray gun import or two. He’d spent it looking for something - someone - who could change the world itself.
If he even dared to believe that was possible.
From floor to ceiling, Andrew scoured every wall, nook, cranny and crevice. He ruffled through bookcases, looked under couches, and checked in desk drawers. No matter how hard he searched, there was nothing. Nothing from Wilds, nothing from Renee, nothing at all to prove his hypothesis.
Just as Andrew was beginning to consider checking himself into a mental hospital for delusions, he spotted something out of the corner of his eye. It was vague, inconspicuous, practically invisible. It was beckoning him forward.
The wall was marginally indented, a very slightly different shade of paint. Something was amiss about it: a breeze, a vibe, a feeling of eyes digging into his skin. Even when he turned his head to the side, looking at the wall from a different angle, it only confirmed his theory.
It was the place that had been calling him all along. He was sure of it, positive that there was something more than just poorly constructed architecture.
So positive, in fact, that he slammed his whole body into it without a moment of hesitation.
Plaster crashed to the floor around him, coating him in a cloud of white dust. Paint flakes sat upon his scalp like dandruff. It took a moment for his ears to stop ringing and the demolition smoke to subside before he could see the rewards of his hard work.
A creaky, rickety and half-broken staircase descended into darkness. It was lit by a flickering LED light that had definitely seen better days. If the cobwebs were anything to go off, nobody had looked after this place in a very long time. It was something that hadn’t and didn’t want to be found.
The air of animosity was almost too much for Andrew to bear. He felt heavy, his head thumping harder than the crash of cymbals. Dark energy smacked him like a high-speed train, nearly ripping the floor from underneath him.
Renee’s steadying, yet gentle, hand against the small of his back was the only thing keeping him from stumbling over.
“Andrew,” she whispered, hand clutched around her cross necklace. “I don’t think we should go down there.”
“I didn’t come all the way here to turn around. This is 3 years of my life, Renee. I’ve never been closer to solving it than I am right now,” Andrew replied, pushing himself to move forward.
He clung onto the wooden railings like a lifeline as he traversed down each crumbling step, careful to avoid the cracks he could see. It didn’t take long before he had the floor swept from under him, his breath stolen away.
Two piercing blue eyes glared at him through the darkness. They were brighter than a set of full-beam headlights, stronger than the flashing lights of Eden’s Twilight. Andrew couldn’t tear his gaze away. He couldn’t even breathe; every movement was being tracked and analysed.
“Andrew?” Renee almost slammed into his back, startled by his sudden frozen limbs.
Her flashlight illuminated the way forward, deep eye pools morphing into something else.
Something new.
Something not human.
It took a second for Andrew to process what he was truly seeing. Crossed-legged on the floor was the demon from his nightmares: long, fire-like hair that tickled at his nape, blue eyes brighter than topaz, and fangs that sat upon plump lips. Two vast crimson wings were wrapped around its body like a protective shield.
The moment Andrew finally took a long overdue inhale, the entity rolled its ginger, feather-like tail into a tight curl and pulled it close to his clawed feet. Its large and pointed ears twitched to attention. For a second, Andrew braced himself for an attack.
Instead, the demon simply curled up tighter. It dropped the cards in its clawed hands, clinking the black chains that kept it captive. Three cards fell upright, their pictures glistening in the low light: Death, The Devil and The Tower.
“Who the hell are you?”
