Nephilim

Prologue

Sunday, October 13th, 1980

8:03 PM

New York City

Officer Tim Andrews stepped out of the police car, shivering in the fall weather. Winter had not really set in yet, but it was still cold enough for his breath to fog the air. Glancing up at the dark and apparently empty house, he considered leaving his jacket in the car, after all this call probably was a wild goose chase. But then again, with the way his luck had been going lately; he reached back into the patrol car and retrieved his thick jacket.

Tim's partner, Ed Macklin, was already standing on the sidewalk and Tim hurried around the car to join him. Ed was a tall black man and he towered over Tim. His sideburns were going slightly grey, but that was the only sign that he had just turned fifty. He was still in excellent shape; in fact, he looked like he lived in the weight room.

Ed motioned up the street and then half turned, motioning down the other side of the street. Every house has lights on, except for this one. This little suburb was still pretty new, and the houses were fairly close together. Privacy fences separated the small yards from one another.

Still though; all the caller said was that they heard a scream. They didn't even know for sure which house it came from. He blew in his hands to warm them up, Probably some housewife saw a spider or something. He glanced down at the piece of paper where he had written down the name of the owners; this particular house was owned by a couple named Swisher.

The call had come in a little over forty-five minutes ago, and Tim and Ed had been dispatched to check out the neighborhood. So far, they had stopped at three houses and nobody knew anything. And none of them had heard anything either.

Come on, Ed said, starting up the sidewalk, Let's get this over with.

Sighing, Tim began following. Half way to the house though, Ed stopped suddenly and Tim nearly walked into his back. Hey! What's up?

Shh! Keep your voice down, Ed replied.

Tensing up, Tim looked around at the front of the house. There was nothing special about the house itself and it looked like most of the others on this street. It was two stories, made of brick, with a large porch in the very middle. There were two small windows to the right of the porch, and a large bay window on the left. There wasn't a single light on anywhere, it was completely dark. What is it? He asked in a much quieter voice, never once taking his eyes from the front of the house.

Ed was still staring at the bay window to the left of the front door. I think I just saw someone peering out that window.

Looking closer now, Tim couldn't see anything, it was just too dark. Regardless though, he trusted Ed's instincts. In the four and a half years that they had worked together, Ed had never been on the bad side of a judgment call and he did not get spooked. Tim had only been a rookie when he started partnering with Ed and he strived to be as good a cop as his partner. Okay. Want me to go around the back?

Ed didn't answer right away; instead he studied the house for a moment. Yeah, do that. He spoke slowly, as was his habit. Just in case. He glanced over his shoulder at Tim, Be careful, though.

Taking a deep breath, Tim nodded. He headed around the right side of the house, past the attached garage to where he had spotted a gate in the wooden privacy fence.

Ed waited until Tim had disappeared around the corner of the house, and then he stepped up onto the porch and moved over to the far left side. He leaned close to the large window, trying to peer through. It was hard to see, but it appeared to be a dining room and he couldn't make out much more than that; sheer curtains obscured his view. Turning around, he crossed to the front door and rang the doorbell. An electronic 'ding dong' rang out from within the house, but other than that there was absolute silence. After twenty or thirty seconds, he pushed the doorbell again and waited; still nothing. Reaching out, he pounded on the door. He meant to knock several times, but he only landed the first one.

The door was not closed completely, and after Ed's first knock, it opened slowly. The door squeaked loudly as it crept open, reminding him of the old horror movies where the doors would creak open on their own.

Something most certainly did not feel right about this whole situation, and swallowing hard, Ed drew his service revolver. Normally, he was reluctant to remove his gun from its holster, but something told him that he just might need it. He also withdrew a small flashlight from a holder on his belt, turned it on, and pointed the light into the small foyer.

The house seemed empty. It was completely dark and silent. Without any hesitation, Ed stepped into the small foyer. There wouldn't be any doubt as to whether or not he had probable cause; a neighbor had reported screaming, the front door was open, and he had seen someone moving through the large front window. Nope, there wouldn't be any issues with probable cause.

Tim stopped just on this side of the gate, listening for any signs of movement from the backyard. Nothing; completely silent. That wasn't all bad; at least the Swishers didn't have a dog.

Reaching up, he depressed the latch and pulled on the gate. It swung easily, and more importantly, it swung silently.

Taking a deep but silent breath, he cautiously moved into the back yard. His heart was beating fast now, but that sort of came with the job. The yard itself seemed perfectly normal. Bushes lined the side of the house and there were several trees farther back, near the rear of the yard. A trampoline was off to one side and there was a car sitting under a cover in the far right corner. A long patio ran most of the length of the back of the house, and patio furniture and a grill were scattered around.

Using his flashlight, he approached the nearest window. Standing on his tiptoes, he peered through the windows into the garage. He was surprised to see two cars parked side by side. If the cars are here, then where are the owners? He wondered aloud.

There was a door to the right of the window, and he grasped the handle, checking to see if it was unlocked. He was surprised when the door opened. Holding his flashlight in front of him, Tim drew his revolver and stepped inside.

Ed had been correct; the first room on the left of the front door was the dining room. Regardless of what he had seen, it was empty now, but one of the chairs was knocked over. The room on the other side of the foyer, to the right of the front door, was a family room. It too was empty.

Carefully and quietly, he moved farther into the house. He had been blessed with a remarkable ability to stay calm, even under intense pressure. Being a cop, it was a rather useful trait.

Just beyond the dining room was the kitchen. Ed flicked his light in that direction, saw that it was empty, and then quickly dismissed it.

Turning, he noticed another large doorway off to the right. Maybe a living room? He took a deep silent breath. Stepping into the opening, he pointed his flashlight across the room. For just a second, before the light from the flashlight illuminated the scene, he thought he had found the person he had spotted earlier. There was a shape, like a person crouching in the middle of the floor. That was his first impression, but then the beam of light lit up the room and he could see exactly what crouched in front of him. Then he did something he hadn't done since he was a kid; he screamed.

His scream cut off abruptly, as a man tackled him, hitting him hard and knocking him to the ground. Instead of nice soft carpet, the floor was tile so there wasn't anything to cushion his landing, but he twisted just slightly and landed more on his right side than flat on his stomach; his arm stung a little but at least his face hadn't bounced on the tile. His first thought was surprise. The attacker had not come from the living room, but from behind him.

Jim looked into the back seat, smiling at the sight of the two boys fast asleep. His wife Lisa, caught him looking and she grinned at him. It had been a good weekend. They had borrowed her two nephews and taken them camping. The weather was a little cool, but not unbearably so. The two days of hiking, fishing, and camping had worn the boys out. It had also given his wife's sister some much needed alone time with her husband.

Lisa's sister, Sandy, and her husband, Brad, had been going through a rough patch, so Lisa had volunteered to take the boys for the weekend. At first, he hadn't been overly keen on the idea, but he had to admit he had enjoyed it and so had Lisa. And that was not all together good. His wife had been devastated several years back when she had found out that she couldn't have kids of her own, so understandably, she had been a little depressed this weekend. Oh, she had tried hard not to show it, but still he had noticed, mainly when she had thought no one was watching.

The older of the two boys, Philip, had just turned twelve last month, and he looked to be a wonderful older brother. Always patient and slow to anger with Daniel, who was just seven.

Why are the cops here? Lisa asked.

With a start, Jim realized he hadn't even noticed the cop car in front of his sister-in-law's house. On top of that, the house was completely dark and the front door stood open.

He slowly pulled up to the curb, just behind the empty cop car. He turned off the lights, but left the engine running. Why don't you wait here and let me see what's going on? He said glancing over at Lisa. She only nodded; her eyes were wide and scared. He reached over and grasped her hand and then opened his door and climbed out.

Ed threw an elbow up and backwards, hoping to hit his attacker in the face. He missed, but his attacker did not, punching Ed in the back of the head so hard that his head rebounded off of the tile; this time his face did hit the floor and he felt a sharp blinding pain in his nose. Quite possibly, his nose had just broken.

Tasting blood, Ed rolled hard to his left trying to throw the man off of his back. He rolled over onto his back and the move partially worked, and for just a moment he thought he had slung his attacker off, but he was mistaken. It seemed the man had jumped straight up, and now he landed hard on Ed's stomach.

The pain was unbelievable and it seemed that all the air was forced from his lungs. Lying there on the floor felt like being pinned to the ground, but Ed raised his shoulders off of the floor, trying to get closer to his attacker. Trying hard to ignore the pain, Ed threw a left punch at the shadowy outline of the man's head, but his attacker seemed to move with blinding speed and the punch missed.

Getting desperate now, Ed threw another punch, this one with his right fist, but his assailant knocked it away like an adult playing with a two year old.

Launching himself forward, the attacker struck Ed directly in the middle of the chest. The force drove him hard backwards and for the second time, his head bounced off of the tile floor.

Gasping at the pain, Ed fought to remain conscious. His vision was going blurry, but if he passed out now, then he might never wake up. Lowering both arms to the ground, he began to try and force himself upwards, but it was then that he realized his right hand had come down on the handle of his service revolver.

Frantically, he grabbed the gun, pointing it at his shadowy assailant. With unbelievable speed, the man grabbed his wrist, twisting it forcefully away.

For the second time in a couple of minutes, Ed screamed. This time though, he screamed as the bones in his wrist snapped.

Gasping for breath, and with his eyes watering, Ed looked up at the man standing above him. He held a knife in his right hand and his face was visible in the moonlight that came in around the edge of the window blinds. He was a white man with shoulder length blond hair and a long sharp nose. He was dressed in dark clothes and wore a loose fitting black shirt. He spoke for the first time, but it wasn't English. It sounded like it could be Arabic, but Ed had no idea what it meant. Wrapping both hands around the hilt of the knife, the man knelt down over Ed, preparing to stab him. Strangely, there wasn't any anger or hate in the man's eyes, just a fierce determination.

Raising the knife over his head with both hands, he stared down at Ed for a moment, and then he said the strangest thing. I'm sorry. It was the last thing that Ed was expecting to hear.

He had just begun the downward motion of the blade, when three shots rang out in rapid succession.

Only semi-conscious now, Ed's head lolled backwards and he could just barely make out Tim sprinting across the room; apparently his partner had entered the room from another entrance. He looked around, surprised to see that the attacker had not moved, except to let go of the knife with his left hand. He stood there, bent over, staring down at his chest. Can't be. Ed mumbled. Three shots to the chest would knock anyone over.

Raising his head, the bloody man looked at Tim, who was hurrying across the room. Fool. He said softly, struggling to get the words out. You don't know what you're doing. The words were slurred but in this case it was probably warranted, three shots to the chest was enough of a reason for a few slurred words.

Wide eyed, Tim stopped just short, his gun now aimed directly at the man's head.

Ed's attacker tried to straighten himself back up, but sagged against the door frame. Fool. He repeated again, and then fell to the floor dead.

Tim moved quickly to make sure the man was dead and then checked on his partner. Fumbling across the wall, he found the light switch and flicked it on. Ed was in bad shape. His right wrist was hanging at a weird angle, and the bones had broken through the skin. His head was also bloody, and Tim feared that he might have a concussion. You just hold on. I'm going to get help. It was then that his eyes fell on the sight in the middle of the room. For the first time he saw the scene in the light.

A man and a woman were there, kneeling down on their knees with their hands tied behind their backs. They must have been tied is such a way as to keep them from falling over, because they were obviously dead. The man's body was covered in blood, and with a start, Tim realized the man had been partially skinned. The woman's body was in better shape, except for the bloody stab wound right where the neck joined with the body. Around both bodies, were half burnt unlit candles. The strangest thing though, was that each body sat in a circle. The circle was drawn on the floor, apparently drawn in blood.

Jesus. Tim muttered.

Oh my god. A man's voice said from the doorway.

Tim spun, bringing his gun up and taking careful aim at the man. Show me your hands! He shouted, the gun trembling a little.

Flinching as if struck, the man held his hands out in front of him. He was pale and shaky and looked like he might be sick at any moment.

Who are you? Tim demanded, not lowering his gun for a moment.

Blinking hard, the man began to wobble. Still holding his hands in front of him, he slid down to sit on the floor Indian style. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again, swallowing hard. My name is Jim Grant. He looked away from the bodies, still looking woozy. That woman's my sister-in-law.

Why are you here? Why now?

My wife and I had the kids, and we're bringing them home.

Where are they? Where’s your wife and kids? Tim's heart was beating so fast if felt like it might explode, but he didn't lower the gun for a second.

Using his head, Jim motioned back out towards the front of the house. Still in the car.

Tim nodded, Okay. You stay right there and don't so much as blink funny. You understand? He waited for the seated man to nod, and then Tim moved to the small end table where the phone sat. Picking it up, he began dialing.

Opening his eyes, Dan realized two things really quick. The first thing was that the car had stopped moving, and the second was that he had to pee really bad. He sat up and looked around. It was dark, but their house was to his left, although the porch light was off. He vaguely wondered why he was still in the car. Phil, his brother, was still asleep beside him. Uncle Jim and aunt Lisa were nowhere in sight.

Sitting up in the seat, he spotted his aunt. She had opened the front passenger door, and was pacing in the street. She stopped suddenly and moved towards the rear of the vehicle. He looked over the back of the seat and realized that two more cop cars were flying up the street; both of them had their lights on. 'Aunt Lisa must be going to meet them,' he thought. Opening his door, he climbed out onto the sidewalk.

Standing wasn't helping his aching bladder any and he looked up at the front of the house. It was then that he realized the front door was open. Grinning, he started moving towards it, already blissfully picturing the bathroom.

Still holding his gun on the seated man who claimed to be the brother-in-law, Tim glanced down at Ed's face. His partner was a mess, and he was still bleeding profusely. Tim was trying to stop the bleeding, or at the very least slow it down, but he wasn't having much luck. Ed's eyes were closed and he had quit groaning. 'Probably in shock.'

Why are you on the floor, Uncle Jim? A child's voice asked, breaking the eerie silence.

Tim's head snapped up as a young boy stepped into the doorway beside the man, who was still sitting on the ground. Jim hurriedly tried to push him back away from the door, but it was too late. The small boy's eyes fell on the scene in the middle of the room. The kid began screaming and pissing himself at the same time.

Chapter 1

Friday, September 18th, 2009

3:21 PM

New York City

Philip Swisher pulled his new Mercedes into the driveway and stopped just short of the garage door. He turned the car off and just sat there for a moment; his body was nearly numb with exhaustion. He had worked a double shift at the hospital and although he loved his job, there were times he wished he had chosen something a little easier. He found working in a hospital rewarding and he loved the paycheck, or at least he had; it seemed like more and more of his paycheck was gone before he ever got his hands on it. It wasn't just taxes that were killing him, medical malpractice insurance was just brutal; but that was the price one paid to be a doctor these days.

On numerous occasions, he had even considered leaving the hospital; getting a nine-to-five practice. His wife, Jennifer, always encouraged those ideas, saying that Phil junior would grow up barely seeing his father. But every time he began to seriously consider leaving his current position, things would get better at the hospital or he would get so busy that he didn't even have the time to plan how to get his own private practice.

He rubbed his sore eyes, realizing with a start that he had been sitting in the car for several minutes. If he sat here much longer, then he would probably fall asleep behind the wheel.

Opening the door, he climbed out, alarmed by how much noise his joints made cracking and popping. He wasn't in bad shape, but he knew that he didn't go to the gym as often as he should and all those crazy shifts at the hospital kept him from eating the right things. He was slim, but not exactly healthy; even more depressing, the number of grey hairs on his head were increasing at an alarming rate. The only bright spot about having grey hair was that at least he still had a full head of hair.

He absentmindedly wondered if his brother, Daniel, was going bald or not. That thought made him pause, in the very act of pulling his bag out of the back seat; he stood there, bent over, half in the car and half out. He hadn't thought of his brother recently and he was surprised that Dan had popped into his mind now. They hadn't spoken in several years; hell, Dan hadn't even met Phil junior. He dismissed the thoughts, they were probably only due to his extreme exhaustion anyway, and continued pulling the bag out of the back seat. He had learned a long time ago