The ground around the new house was strong but soft. It helped that it was late Spring. Andy managed to dig a hole—big enough for a corpse—in half the time it would’ve taken her up in the hard compacted cold earth of Illinois. Texas dirt pushed smoothly under the spade strokes of Andy’s shovel. It was enough work to build up a sweat, but nothing too stressful. Andy dug her hole far enough away from the house to be safe, but not too close to the woods that she’d have to deal with roots or animals. She was burying something she didn’t think she’d need any more, but it was important to make sure that it was all safe.
When the hole was dug, Andy jabbed her shovel into the soft mound beside it. She wiped sweat from her brow with the back of her forearm and she turned around to the collection of guns, baseball bats, and other objects of destruction that were splayed out across a dirty tarp, waiting to be buried. Andy lowered herself to her knees and ran her hand across the weapon she enjoyed most; her chainsaw. Her fingers—dark green polish chipping from the nails--ran over the cherry red case of the motor, trailing across the long toothless blade. It was hard to say goodbye to things, specifically inanimate things that had saved her life more times than she could count, but she made a promise and promises meant something, they had to, especially when she made them to her.
It had only been a few days since Claire asked Andy to marry her. It was an easy question to answer, even if it brought change along with it. The two promised each other that they would try something different going forward. They were going to make their upcoming marriage mean something. The two agreed to try and live a normal life, to set all the dangers of a supernatural world behind them. They had a house of their own, a found family of blood and strangers they met along the way. They had a reason to want to build something new together. It was a promise. It was a promise, and Andy was going to take it seriously. What was the point of starting over, of having a second chance at life if you didn’t stop and take the time to actually live?
Andy sighed and prepared herself to wrap up her weapons and bury them in the ground, but she only managed to flip over one end of the tarp they were splayed out on when a rumbling engine disrupted her quiet and demanded her attention. Andy looked up as an old jeep was pulling up their driveway. This house was on private property, specifically picked out for the privacy part. It wasn’t the sort of driveway that people got lost down. Grabbing a hatchet, Andy used it to help herself up to her feet, and she marched off toward her driveway to meet the jeep as it pulled up, grip tight around the handle of her small ax.
The jeep stopped at the edge of the driveway, and Andy stopped a dozen or so yards away. It wasn’t until the engine cut off and the driver stepped out that she recognized who it was.
“This is private property, Tyler, and we’re in Texas,” Andy called out to him. “That’s a sure fire way to get yourself shot.”
“That’s an ax you got there, Barclay” he said, “You gonna shoot me with an ax?”
“I can do more damage with this than I could with all the bullets in the world.” Andy smirked, which prompted her guest to smirk back.
Ronald Tyler was thin and lanky. He was a black man in his late twenties with a scruffy beard on his chin and a stone amulet around his neck. The two of them went way back, all the way to military school, back when Andy was a moody teenager and Ronald was a scrappy young kid. Their paths first crossed back in the late 90s when Chucky paid a visit to the Kent Academy, and Ronald’s been mixed up in the fight ever since, helping Andy when he can. Most recently that help came with moving a vampire that had attacked people Andy cared about, which explained how he knew where the house was. It didn’t explain why he was there though.
“What are you doing with all that?” Ronald pointed behind her at all the weapons she was burying.
“Feels safer than keeping it all under the bed.” Andy gave him a shrug, but never bothered looking back at the hole she dug. “I don’t need it anymore. I’m turning it all in, Tyler. I’m done. Walking away. I made a promise. I’m getting married.”
Ronald smiled, “No sh*t? Congratulations, Barclay. It’s that wolf lady you were telling me about? Damn, your luck never ceases to amaze me.”
“Yeah. I’m pretty f***ing lucky,” she smiled. “Are you going to tell me what you’re doing here?”
“I came for your help,” He said. “Last week I got a weird text message, wanted to look into it.”
“You can handle it yourself, Tyler, you’re more than qualified. You don’t need me, and like I said, I’m done.”
“This one specifically has your name all over it,” Ronald said. He pulled out his phone and read the text message in question. “Quote: ‘Andy Barclay. Please help. They have hellfire.’ End quote.”
Andy raised an eyebrow. “The text was asking for me but it was sent to you?”
“I know, weird, right?” Ronald laughed. “I got no reply back, but I tracked the signal on the phone that it was sent from. It’s coming from a warehouse a county over from here. I was thinking that maybe you and me, we could check it out. Old time’s sake, you know? But I get it… retiring… marriage. I get it. I can go on my own if—”
“One county?” Andy asked. “Which way?”
***
ONE COUNTY OVER, ONE HOUR LATER
Dusk turned the sky purple and made everything feel both cold and uncomfortable at the same time. Ronald parked his jeep just past the gate at the abandoned warehouse and the two went by foot the rest of the way. Andy pulled her red hair back before grabbing her hatchet, making sure it was out of her eyes. Ronald was armed with a shotgun that he held low as the two closed in on the warehouse in question. There didn’t seem to be anyone around, but they talked in whispers anyway.
“You really should’ve brought a gun,” Ronald said.
“I really don’t need one,” Andy replied.
There was some quiet walking that the two of them shared before Ronald broke that silence and asked, “You really think you can walk away from all of this? I’ve known you a long time, Barclay, not even death could make you a quitter.”
“I’m not quitting,” Andy explained. “I’m just… starting a different game. Look… that what we’re looking for?” Andy pointed with her hatchet. Ahead, two skeletons—armed with swords and animated by glowing red hellfire—stood guard in front of the entrance to the warehouse. Ronald pumped his shotgun and looked down the barrel as he moved in closer.
“Looks like our sort of weird.”
“Hold up,” Andy pushed his gun down with the flat side of her ax-head. “There could be more. They’ll hear you.” She moved in on her own, leaving Ronald behind looking mighty perplexed.
“They don’t have ears…”
The glowing skeleton guards saw Andy coming, but she didn’t need the element of surprise. The first guard that she reached swung his clumsy, rusted sword down at her and she blocked it with the top blade of her hatchet. She pushed the sword out of her way and spun the hatchet around, splitting the skull in two, flying off into the air in two directions. When the skull was destroyed the hell flames went away, and the rest of the bones collapsed into a pile. The second guard was even easier. It didn’t even have a chance to attack before Andy knocks its skull from its neck. In seconds, they were both piles of useless bones.
“I could’ve done that,” Ronald said as he caught up.
“It’s not a competition, pal.” She gave him a pat on the back and stepped out of the way, giving him the courtesy of opening the door at least.
It was darker on the inside of the warehouse than the outside, but that was to be expected. It was a large open space where light could only get in through narrow windows at the very top of the towering walls. Whatever light did get in was distorted by the tall empty shelves lined up all throughout the space, making tricks out of the light and causing shadows to dance. Andy and Ronald marched in, shoulder to shoulder, unsure of what they were looking for but confident that something was there. Regular buildings didn’t have skeleton guards.
They were careful, slow, and mindful of every footstep. Andy was fairly confident that this was the last supernatural adventure she’d be going on, but she wanted that to be true because of the promise she made her fiance, not because of a stupid mistake that would end her up dead. She knew Ronald Tyler would be respectful of that too, which was maybe why he was a half step ahead of her by the time they got halfway through the warehouse. They didn’t have to go much farther to find some strange. Around a corner, some weirdo was on his knees—back to them—praying in some strange language to a glowing marking on the ground. He was hooded and gloved and hellfire swirled around him.
“Ever fight a warlock before?” Ronald asked.
“Hey, look,” Andy nodded. There were two more skeleton guards, just like the ones outside. They spotted them and were marching forward, swords raised. “I got—”
BOOM!
BOOM!
“—them,” Andy sighed. Ronald took them out without moving, one shot each. They turned to dust, but it also got the warlock’s attention. The warlock got off his knees, floating up and spinning around, powered by the red magic and hellfire that danced around him. His eyes were glowing and he smiled when he saw them.
“You arrived,” The warlock’s voice sounded like many voices in one, echoing in his own mouth. “The Source. It was foretold that you would come. It was foretold that it would be I, Number Four, would be the one to find you and bring you back to—”
SCHLITCK!
It didn’t take much of a throw to bury the hatchet in the warlock’s face. Andy wound back, gave it a toss, let it fly head over end through the air, and watched as it sank into the shadowed skull of the warlock, silencing his bad guy speech before he could really get started. The hellfire and magic circle went away and the warlock fell to his knees, falling down to the ground; dead. There was a sort of windy sound as the magic left that place and then the warehouse was quiet, like a normal warehouse.
“Damn,” Ronald nodded his head up and down.
“I told you I didn’t need a gun.”
Andy moved forward, passing the dead warlock on the ground and going to a table full of stuff that was a few feet behind. Ronald went over to the warlock and gave his body a kick to make sure he was dead.
“You want your hatchet back?” Ronald asked, nudging the ax in the dead warlock’s face with his foot.
“He can keep it,” Andy said. “I don’t need it anymore.”
Andy’s hands trailed over all the crap cluttering the table. There were spellbooks—but they were written in Hell languages Andy didn’t recognize—but there was a bunch of other garbage there, too. Like, literal garbage. Old newspapers, hamburger wrappers, empty beer bottles. The dead warlock liked to play dress up and Dungeons and Dragons with his skeleton army and what not, but under all that hellfire and magic he was still just some schlub. Mixed in with all the trash, Andy found a flip phone.
“I think I found what we’re looking for,” Andy waved it in the direction of Ronald, who came and met her. He took it, flipped it open, and found the one message that had been sent to him. “It’s a burner,” she said. “I used to use phones like this back in the day when I needed to contact you or Kyle or any of the old team.”
“So…” the wheels in Ronald’s head were turning, “Maybe the message wasn’t for you… maybe it was for me.”
“Andy Barclay. Please help. They have hellfire,” Andy said the text out loud.
BANG. BANG-BANG.
Metal thudding made both Andy and Ronald turn their heads. Ronald has his shotgun ready before either of them took a step in the direction of the noise. Andy didn’t bother getting a new weapon, but she stayed close to Ronald. Her gut was telling her that something was off, but she didn’t feel in danger, and she normally trusted her own gut.
The banging continued. They followed the noise down a dark aisle until they sourced it at a sliding metal door. They took a second to listen to the noise more carefully, and Andy quickly realized that it was the sound of a ball bouncing up against the metal. She shared a look with Ronald and he nodded back, getting his gun ready. Andy grabbed hold of the door’s handle and the bouncing on the other side stopped. She sucked in a quick breath and yanked the heavy door open. It slid down the tracks with a clutter and light spilled into the dark room on the other side. A man sat in the corner, like a prisoner. He turned and looked at his rescuers, who stood blocking the light, ready for whatever happened next.
“Tyler?” the man said, as his eyes adjusted to the light. His face lit up and he stood up. “Oh my god, you came! You came!” The guy lurched himself toward Ronald, which was not the safest move considering that the ex-marine was armed and aiming his shotgun at him, but he managed to get in a hug without gaining a hole in his chest. “I knew you’d come, I knew it.”
“You sent the text,” Andy nodded.
“Do I know you, man?” Ronald asked.
The stranger from the dark room took a step back. “Yeah… oh right, you wouldn’t recognize this face, but you got my message, right? I told you who I am in the message. You found me, god damnit, I knew you’d find me. You’re a world class friend, Ronnie, you know that. Kyle was up there but…” he whistled. “You just jumped, top of the charts.”
“I’m sorry, who are you?” Ronald looked confused as hell. Andy squinted, putting it together.
“Get the f*** out here…”
The stranger looked over at Andy, as if noticing her for the first time and his eyes went wide too. “Holy crap, it’s you… he brought you. Of course he did, that makes so much sense. You bring in the source to rescue the copy. Duh.”
“Someone wanna fill me in here?” Ronald threw a hand up.
Andy stepped forward, looking up at the stranger. “It’s me.”
“Come again?”
“Yes, well sort of, almost yes,” fake Andy corrected.
“Are you from a parallel dimension?” Andy asked.
“Parallel dimen… what? There’s parallel dimensions?” Copy Andy asked. “No. No I’m from this dimension, I think. You’re the real deal, but I’m a soul copy. New body, I think his name used to be Tommy, or something. Something Doyle. But I’m Andy Barclay. You can call me Copy, if it’s easier. The others called me Copy Six, or sometimes just Number Six, but you’re the source so… you can call me anything you want.”
“Others?” Ronald asked. “What is this?”
“I didn’t make you,” Andy said, still squinting. “There aren’t any living copies of my soul out there.”
“You didn’t make me,” Copy said. “But that last part is not true… unfortunately. It’s a long story. I’m happy to tell it. Maybe I can shower first?”
