It was too late, though. Blout’s eyes shot open. They were huge, blazing red with anger. It wasn’t Blout—something had him. His body was suddenly animated beyond human capability. His arms flailed as though his limbs had no joints restricting their movement.

Without looking at him, Blout grabbed Mo’Lock by the throat and swung him off the ground, using the ghoul as a weapon against me. He slammed into me, sending the two of us flying hard against the wall.

Mo’Lock and I sprung to our feet and readied for the next attack, but none came. Blout was hanging there in the air, floating before us from invisible puppet strings. I saw blood droplets making mud beneath his feet. Whatever had him planned on killing him. Blood ran from every orifice; the tear ducts in his eyes, his mouth and nose, even from beneath his fingernails.

I stared, not knowing what to do. Something was inside him, manipulating his every move; pushing, pressing, possibly grinding his insides to a pulp. The heart jumped wildly in the box I cradled.

I whispered. “What has him, Mo’?”

“I don’t know. I feel Blout and another presence.”

Blout’s bleeding eyes slammed shut tightly, then abruptly shot open again. His lips parted, allowing foamy blood and a long, lung-clearing hiss to roll out. Although his limbs continued to flail, they were non-threatening movements, like a cut-out paper doll blowing in the wind.

I pulled out the 9mm and aimed at the floating cop, with no intention of shooting—yet. Possessed or not, I wouldn’t let my friend die without exhausting every last option. I had to wait and let the scene play out.

The noise from Blout’s throat changed from its monotone hiss. It began to fluctuate and rise until peaking in a shrill shriek that echoed throughout the tunnel. Mo’Lock winced and covered his ears. Suddenly the noise cut off sharply and fell back to its steady, low hiss. Then, it spoke:

“Get away from this place.”

It was a thick, sludgy voice, more like the ghoul’s than Blout’s. It sounded forced from the gut and passed Blout’s unwilling, unmoving lips. Only the jaw moved, seeming out of sync with the vocals. The sight reminded me of a strange ventriloquist act.

“Leave here at once and you will be spared!”

I laughed, couldn’t help it. As scary as the situation was, the “Great and Powerful Oz” dialogue threw me. Maybe it was the break in the tension, but in that moment I concocted a plan.

The levitating body lurched. “Get out while you still can!”

I flipped the lid off the safe deposit box and scooped out the heart. I let the box drop to the ground, spilling the garnish of charms, stones, and herbs. I held the heart tightly in my folded left arm and with my right pressed the 9mm into it. If this thing wanted cornball, I’d give it cornball.

“Let the cop go, or I’ll let the heart have it!”