The stomping on the stairs was indistinguishable from the beating of his heart as Horus lay still and silent, despite his growing excitement. A rag of a blanket covered him from his knees to just below his armpits. By the edge of the scratchy, smelly blanket, a hand rested on his chest with the three inches of sharpened steel held tightly in its grip.

The footsteps shifted from the wooden stairs to the concrete floor and the thump-thump-thump changed to tap-tap-tap. Everything happened with such routine that it might all be the workings of an elaborate Swiss cuckoo clock, one that had figures racing along a track at the chime of each hour. Only instead of a couple dancing or a man chopping firewood, this one had Kyle Silvers moving along its preordained paths.

The inner workings of a clock were called complications. Horus still remembered that from his days of doing crosswords. It was such a poetic and fitting term, like a murder of crows: the complications of time.

The complications in the house were moving into place with feet tap-tap-tapping closer to the cell with his evening meal. Whatever was in the bowl tonight was sure to be just as foul as every other night. But that was one of the rules of this place. Horus understood how it worked: he ate after they ate. He got leftover breakfast in the late morning and leftover dinner at night, cold so that if there had been a sauce or a gravy it was congealed to a greasy gelatin. The dinners were mostly rice or pasta, occasionally vegetables, seldom meat. On the rare occasions when they gave him meat, it wasn't unusual to find bites taken out of it.

Following the law of Cervantes, only hunger made the contents of the bowl appealing.

The keys rattled as they were removed from a pocket. "Get back. I'm opening the door," Kyle screamed at him.

No threat was issued. There was no need. If Horus was anywhere near the door when it opened, he'd be beaten and forfeit the meal. That had been well established.

The key twisted in the lock and a metallic clunk filled the cell. His body tensed and he had force a deep breath in through his nose to relax.

The door flew open-cuckoo-cuckoo.

A light shined on his face and from behind his closed eyelids, the world turned a sharp, fleshy pink. The flashlight was always their first weapon against him. They knew after so long in the dark, the light was blinding.

"What are you doing? Sleeping? Get up."

Horus laid there, his face a mask of serenity. Each of his breaths were too shallow to move the blanket.

"What? Are you dead or something? I said, get up."

Nothing happened for so long Horus began to wonder if he'd hallucinated Kyle entering.

But then he heard: "Shit." The oath was a pleasing mixture of annoyance and worry.

When the guard rearranged his things, the light floundered around the room as though it was coming from a sinking lighthouse. This Kyle always had too much in his hands. It made him slower to react, which was one of the reasons Horus waited for the evening meal. The dull thunk of the plastic bowl being put down hit his ears and Horus prayed his stomach wouldn't growl in a Pavlovian response to it. Next, the keys jangled as they were returned to a pocket.

While Kyle was still attempting to stow them away, there was a light thud as something hit the dirt floor. From the timbre of the sound it made while rolling and the curse Kyle let out under his breath, it was probably the cudgel he kept perched precarious in the crook of his arm.

Knowing he was unarmed sent a rash impulse through him to leap up, but Horus held the temptation down. It was a false opportunity testing his resolve. He needed to wait and follow the plan.

With much scuffling and grunting, Kyle managed to retrieve his stick, and soon after, the rounded end prodded Horus in the ribs. When that failed to elicit a response, it was brought down hard against his shins.

You think that hurts? Horus didn't even wince. They had done far worse to him in that horrible little room upstairs. Once you were pushed to your limits, you owned a whole new scale for pain.

There was an increase in heat as Kyle's body neared. He was on his knees by Horus's waist leaning across him.

"Hey, old man."

The flashlight was placed down and fingers pressed against Horus's neck searching for a pulse.

That was when he opened his eyes. His hand shot up at the same instance. It was a simple motion, as though he was just flicking a piece of fluff off the other man's collar. But with that little move of his finger, the razor's sharp blade slit straight through the jugular.

Horus clamped his other hand over Kyle's mouth. Kyle raised the bat but his strength was already ebbing and Horus barely noticed the glancing blow to his forehead.

"Shh. Shh," he whispered in Kyle's ear. He held his old enemy close to him as he thrashed and convulsed. "You're just going home. That's all," he told him.

When it was over, blood pooled through the little room. The lens of the flashlight was coated and it cast a ghastly light on the wall. Horus switched it off and forced himself to his feet. There were still a lot more Kyles to get through.

He dug around dead Kyle's clothes until he found the keys. Before leaving his hellish prison, he picked up the stick. It was slimy with blood and it felt smaller and lighter in his grip than it had when it was used against him, but it provided better reach than the nail.

It was evening and the sun hadn't yet gone down fully. The indigo sky could be seen through the dust covered basement windows, just above the overgrown weeds. Making his way through the stacks of junk, it troubled him that dinner had been early. It should have been completely dark outside. Horus would have to keep his guard up, who knew what this change meant?

The dim cellar was brighter than he was used to. He could clearly see the junk that filled the room. There were some old suitcases, hard cases of wood and leather that must be at least sixty years-old. A mangy teddy bear was jammed between the legs of an inverted chair. Another prisoner going bald down here. Stacked on top of boxes were some old wallpaper catalogs. Next to them sat an old lamp made from a ceramic bean pot with the shade in tatters. Then there was a pirate's sword.

Horus stopped.

No. Not a pirate sword, a cavalry saber. He pulled it from the sheath. It was too new to be original. It must be a reproduction created for a Civil War re-enactment or something. At one time it had a deadly edge on it but it had dulled-from time, not from use. The blade wasn't as sharp as his nail but it would still cut. The wooden stick was left leaning against an old sewing machine and he continued with the sword held out at the ready.

Horus drifted up the stairs. At one time, his weight would have made them creek and groan. Tonight, he was a ghost moving soundlessly.

This was usually a time of revelry for the Kyles. Dinner would be over and they'd be drinking and blasting music on the stereo, or trying to coax it from instruments with their untalented fingers. But upstairs was eerily quiet. Only two voices disturbed the silence.

"I'll tell him after the meeting," Kyle said.

A woman's voice replied to him. "I'm just saying, if it's so important, he'll want to know right away."

The conversation was coming from the kitchen. Horus began to creep toward it, his body clinging to the shadows.

"Well, if you want to disturb him while he's preaching, go ahead."

Was that why it was so quiet? Were the others across the way at the church?

"I've done what I was asked to," Kyle said, defending his actions.

"Who exactly did you send, anyway?" There was a squeaking noise accompanying her speech. The sound hadn't been heard in years but was ingrained in Horus's memory. The woman was drying dishes.

"Hyena, Eagle, and Bobcat."

"Eagle? Really? Those two are less than useless. And Bobcat has barely gone through the initiation. The Reverend is going to be pissed."

Horus stepped on a loose floorboard and his heart stopped when a creak as loud as a thunder clap emerged.

But the two in the kitchen were arguing and didn't seem to notice.

"Well, those teams were the closest. Did you expect me to call Grizzly? They're in fucking New Hampshire, for god sake. What fucking good would they do?"

Horus could see them now. In the aurora of the kitchen light, a Kyle Silver sat at a table with his back to the hall. A laptop was on the table in front of him. Another Kyle Silver stood by the sink running a damp cloth over a plate.

"I'm just saying. We want our best on this. We've never been this close to the divine beast before. It might be a good idea not to fuck it up." The Kyle at the sink, smirked to herself. The smile contained an intimacy which suggested the two had known each other a long time and she enjoyed needling him. "I think Rev. Silver would agree."

It would have been easy to stand there and do nothing. Just listen to this back and forth all night. There was something oddly comforting in it. Even if they were Kyle, there was a melodious quality to the simple rhythm of a conversation between two human beings. But it was only a matter of time before the others came back. He had to be gone before then.

Horus took three rapid steps and entered the room. Aiming the sword with the strange muscle memory of taking a practice swing on the driving range, he buried it into Kyle's neck. A thick spray of blood jetted out across the kitchen table before the blade became stuck in the spinal column. If it had been honed, it might have succeeded in decapitating him.

Horus released the sword and Kyle collapsed to the floor making inhuman sounds and flailing about like an injured chicken.

A plate shattered on the floor and the other Kyle screamed. But by the time Horus looked at her, she had recovered from her shock and was going for the butcher's block at the counter. Her shaking hand drew a long carving knife. It was a miscalculation. In the cramped space, her knuckles hit the tiled wall before she could get it fully free, slowing down the movement.

Horus lunged and grabbed her from behind. His fingers tore savagely into her wrist. What he lacked in strength he made up for in viciousness. The knife clattered beside the shards of the plate, while he rent at the tender skin of her arm with his hideous, filthy nails. He held her other arm but didn't scratch at it. He just made sure it was immobile and not a threat.

"You killed him." She spat out the grief filled words at him.

"It wasn't the first time," he told her.

There were tears in her eyes. And in that instant, he didn't see Kyle Silver but a young woman. She had the same stringy, black hair on her scalp, the same nose, and the same tattoos marked her skin. Her small breasts could barely be seen under the black T-shirt and leather vest, but they were a reminder that this was a girl and not the back-from-the-dead rock star.

Kyle was an infection. He possessed people and changed them.

"You'll never get out of here alive." As she spoke she sought out leverage with her feet. All of her weight was held up by Horus's arms and her boots scrapped across the linoleum wildly.

Horus didn't answer. He just swung her over to the sink pinning one of her hands between the counter and her own body, so he could free his own.

"Please, no. Please, no," she pleaded.

Horus hesitated. Was it really this woman's fault? Perhaps she wasn't as evil as the real Kyle. Perhaps there was still hope for her.

In the brief second that he considered the morality of his actions, she bucked sending her head back into his face and then pitched it forward to his hand. Her teeth sunk into the flesh at the base of his thumb.

Horus didn't yell in pain. But he released her.

The girl misunderstood and thought she'd won. As she turned to attack, his hands moved up to her head. He held it tightly and brought it down against the edge of the sink. Then again. Then again. Then again.

Then again.

Until it came apart in his fingers.

"I'll never get tired of killing you."

The body dropped to the ground. They were all evil, deceitful devils. And every Kyle had to die.