Reza dropped Jason onto the flat stone of the roof.  It was like a plateau cut into the tower just beneath the spire at the top.  The wind howled across it like a dragon, clawing at Reza’s clothes.  He stood against it, immovable, as if carved from stone himself.

            “Are you ready?” Lamb asked, standing nearby in black robes.  He was holding a wickedly sharp knife.

            “Are you kidding?  I was made for this!”  Donovan laughed.  He hauled Jason forward, to the centre of the platform.  He then forced the quivering prisoner to look into his eyes by pulling him by the hair.

            “It’s almost show-time, little Jason.  Let me walk you through what’s going to happen:  I’m going to use Simon’s knife to cut you open.  Then Simon is going to draw a diagram on the floor with your blood.  This won’t matter to you, but that picture will be a pentangle.  It’s really a door, and we’re going to use you as a key to unlock it.”

            “A door to what?”  Jason found the focus to ask, his voice distant and faded. 

            “You’re like a magnet, a touchstone.”  Lamb told him.  The two villains seemed to be enjoying this exposition, dragging out their victim’s death.  Torturing him with time.  “You possess a level of psychic sensitivity that draws forces to you.  We’ve been pushing you all along to attract our kinds of forces.  Dark forces.  When enough collects in one place, it becomes like a sinkhole, a weak spot in reality.  Now we’re going to punch through that soft spot.”

            “In other words, we’re going to use you to open the Gates of Hell.”  Donovan grinned with a malevolent joy.  “Doesn’t that sound fun?”

            Tears streamed down Jason’s face again.

            “Why are you telling me this?”

            “Because it makes you more afraid.  And, because we’re giving you a chance to stop us.”  Reza smiled.  “Now you can play the hero.  All you have to do is walk across the roof and throw yourself over the side.  All you have to do is find some guts and you’ll stop us, and our nefarious plans, for good.  Come on, Jay.  The Good Guys always win, don’t they?  All you have to do is try.”

            He dropped Jason again by nonchalantly letting go of his hair, knocking the wind out of him as he hit the stone.  Jason knelt there, feeling the wind tearing at his clothes with clawed, cold fingers.  He tried to crawl, certain that the gusting air would knock him over if he stood.

            “Naughty, naughty, that’s cheating!”  Reza giggled, but there was anger in that chuckle.  He kicked Jay in the ribs, rolling him over on his back.  “I said you had to walk, no crawling allowed, you little worm!  Now be a man!  Get up!”

            Jason struggled to catch his breath.  He was certain that something had snapped with that kick, and was equally certain that the Reaper could tear him in half with his bare hands.  That kick had been barely a love tap to this monster.  He held up his hands as if to ward off further blows, and then rolled onto his knees when no blow came.  The wind growled and pulled even harder as he rose upwards.  He wobbled as he found his feet, steeled himself to steadiness, and tried to take a step forward.

            Another big gust hit him, and he wavered.  For a moment, he was certain he could right himself.  Then he fell over, crumpling to his knees, frozen with fear.  He couldn’t do it.  Good Guys finish last.  The Bad Guys win.

            “I can’t do it.”  He whispered.

            Reza grabbed his hair again. 

            “That’s my boy.  I knew you wouldn’t let me down.”

            Donovan Reza tore off Jason’s shirt and cut into his skin with the knife.

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