by Sam Harding
I sit back in my seat, a little angry because I know he’s right and that I have no real comeback to the argument that couldn’t be shot down as easily as a paper airplane. As much as I hate the Butcher, I’m terrified of placing Thomas, and now Kate, in any more danger than necessary. But then again, the Doctor is right in saying they will always be in danger as long as he’s out there. Someone needs to finish this. Someone needs to end him.
I feel Kate’s hand touch the top of my knee and I look over at her. She’s smiling a warm smile, her eyes showing strength yet filled with worry at the same time. “My father’s right. You can’t stop now. The danger your family is in, as well as every family in Solace County for that matter, needs you to keep going, Micah.”
“He’s already wounded,” The Man on Little Sweden added. “All that’s left is tracking him down and finishing him off like some wounded wild animal.”
“You’re so sure I plan to kill him,” I say.
“At this point, I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
I say nothing, letting the silence take over the room for a moment, leaving only the crackling of the fire and the tick-tock of the grandfather clock to fill the void. I look at Kate, who’s still looking at me with the same expression as before, and then I look at the Doctor, his face intense, his eyes narrowed, as if studying me, watching for any signs that I’m about to crack or cave in on the job.
Finally, I nod and take a deep breath. “I’ll finish it.”
“I know you will,” Dr. Shultz says. “There’s no way you could let yourself walk away.”
I almost did, I think to myself. Or maybe not. Maybe I just wanted encouragement, or for someone to convince me to carry on. Either way, I’ve decided.
I’m not done.
“Take care of each other,” Dr. Shultz says, waving a long, boney finger between myself and Kate. “Stand by each other, one as a rock for the other, and together, nothing will stand in your way. Of that, I am most certain.”
I look over at Kate again, and hope to God the old Doctor is right.
*
I look down over the mezzanine and roll my eyes. I was hoping the private guards hadn’t changed rotation yet, but sure enough, standing in front of the double front doors, is the private contractor known as Rick.
The guy who’d greeted me on the way in today, someone by the name Garrett, hadn’t even asked if I was armed or not, but Rick had been a different story a few days ago, nearly resulting in a fist fight right in the middle of Dr. Shultz’s immaculate foyer.
I feel Kate pull on my right arm, silently urging me away from the railing, a hope I’ll just ignore Rick and be on my way. I give her a nod, my own silent assurance that I won’t cause a problem, even though I’d like to kick the man in the balls and strangle him with his own rifle sling.
We make our way down to the foyer, using the staircase along the left wall from the entrance. Our footsteps echo up into the high ceilings on the marble stairs, especially Kate’s due to her high-heeled boots. It’s almost like being in some sort of old European palace, only a little smaller than what royalty would be accustomed to.
“You made the right choice,” Kate says, just before we hit the foyer.
“You think so?” I ask. “You never gave me your opinion one way or another on the drive here.”
“That’s because I knew nobody could convince you like my father. He has a way with people – a way with motivating them to continue down a certain path.”
“Did it work with you growing up?” We slowly make our way towards the front door, towards Rick.
“Sometimes.” She smiles now, a mischievous grin that opens up a sea of endless possibilities as to what she’s vaguely insinuating. A new set of mysteries for me to solve. I honestly can’t wait.
As we get closer to the double doors, I expect Rick to step aside before we even get there, but he doesn’t. He just stands there, looking at me with hateful eyes. “They let you in here with your piece?” He says.
“Why don’t you just get out of our way,” Kate says, taking a step ahead of me and glaring up at the former Ranger. “Or does my father need another excuse to fire your ass?”
Damn, I love her.
For a brief moment, Rick stares back at her, returning the glare, and I’m a split second away from punching the fucker in the face before he finally straightens up and smiles. “S’all good. I’m just messing with you guys.”
“Get out of the way,” Kate says, clearly unamused.
Rick nods and even gives a little condescending bow. “As you wish.” He steps away from the door and plops down in a plastic chair, crossing his feet over one another like he’s in some kind of lounge.
I open the door for Kate and let her go outside first before following her out the door. But, just before closing the door, I hear Rick mumble something under his breath. I turn around, still holding the door open and say, “What was that, Rick?”
Rick starts to nonchalantly drum the buttstock of the weapon slung across his chest with his fingers. “I said, we ain’t over. You owe me from last time.”
“I don’t owe you shit.” I let the door go and follow Kate.
Just before the door shuts I hear Rick call, “We’ll see about that, Detective.”
CHAPTER FIFTY
Infected
Nearly a week had passed since he’d failed, a week of not hearing from his master, a week of isolation and misery.
David sat on his worn, lumpy sofa, shivering in the cold living room of his small trailer. A blanket was draped over his shoulders, but it didn’t do much to keep him warm. At this point, though, he wasn’t sure if he was shivering from the low temperatures, a consequence of being too miserable to carry pellets to his stove, or if it was due to the infection spreading up his arm from his mangled hand, and across his abdomen and leg from the gunshot wounds.
The only drugs he’d forced himself to take were antibiotics he had in the medicine cabinet, but that was it. He took nothing for the pain and, even after all this time, he still refused to see a doctor.
He deserved the pain and he knew it. It was the price he was willing to pay for failure, for screwing up the most sacred of missions. He knew to take any form of painkiller would be a blasphemy in itself, that his pain had purpose, and that to deny it would be to deny the will of God—again.
But, it wasn’t the pain that hurt the most, no, it was the silence. The pure, darkening, isolation. He’d hoped his Master would contact him in some way, even if it was in the simple form of knocking on his door and leaving behind a letter, but no, there had been nothing. It was hard to not think that he’d been abandoned, but he knew his Master would never do that. His Master loved him and could never do such a thing.
No, David decided, this wasn’t abandonment. It was punishment. And within the punishment was another test. Are you able to bear the consequences of failure? Are you willing to take responsibility for your mistakes?
The old TV against the wall was turned to the news, but instead of reporting anything worthwhile, the broadcasters and anchorpeople were instead focused on yet another holiday. Today was Friday the 31st, New Year’s Eve, which meant the streets and cities would be crawling with demons. Demons David knew he could be out slaying this very instant had he not of strayed from the original path.
He thought about turning it off, but before sitting down, he’d dropped the TV remote on the left side of the couch and he’d sat on the right side. Now he would be forced to either get up and grab it with his right hand or try to scoop it up with his bandaged and mangled left, both of which were options David decided not to explore and, so, he decided he would suffer through the program, another bit of pain tacked onto his increasing agony.
Mary’s smell had become something David had grown accustomed to, if not fond of. It was strong by now, filling the house with the stench of decay and rot and victory. A reminder to David that he hadn’t failed in that task, and that there was still hope for him yet if he was able to
resist the charms of the demon whore. He even lay next to the body at night, which was still tied up, arms and legs open on the edge of the bed. By now, the whore’s eyes had started to fall apart, and her skin had completely lost its coloring, each bit of decomposition bringing David a little closer to happiness.
He’d heard on the radio that Mary’s parents had put out word that their daughter had ran away, that they’d had a rough relationship the past few weeks leading up to her disappearance and that she’d must have just left somewhere. Some people had called in to the local station with questions about the Christmas Eve Butcher, some inquiring that perhaps Mary had been one of his latest victims. Speculation after speculation seemed to come out about the disappearance of the whore, and although some were close to the truth, none of them mentioned David by name or allusion. None of them mentioning Mary’s boyfriend, proving to David that the whore had been seeing him in secret and hadn’t even gone as far as to tell her parents about him. She’d told him she loved him; a lie within a sea of dishonesty.
David groaned and looked down at himself. He was completely naked except for the bandages covering his wounds. Although he did his best to change them daily and apply antibiotic cream, yellows, blues, and reds still oozed from the cloth, and David knew he didn’t have long before they went septic.
He desperately needed a doctor, but he was also desperate to not see one.
The news program cut to commercial, and David couldn’t help but watch. There was nothing else to look at, after all. The commercial was an ad about some kind of medicine used to help with arthritis, informing the viewers that it was an over-the-counter medication that could be picked up at any local pharmacy.
A knock at his door startled him for a second, and he froze. He wasn’t sure he had heard the knock correctly, or if the infection was causing him to hear things that weren’t there. After a brief moment passed, there was another knock in the same pattern as the first.
He couldn’t hardly believe it.
The Master.
David waited as he’d been instructed to do and, when he felt enough time had passed, he slowly started to stand. Just moving to the edge of his seat was nearly unbearable, but he pushed himself, not giving into the pain until he was standing on two feet, swaying like a flagpole in a windstorm.
Slowly and painfully he made his way to the door, and just as slowly and just as painfully, he opened it, exposing his cold, naked body to the freezing weather. David gritted his teeth as he looked down, and then, he gasped.
Laying on the front porch was an envelope with his name on it. He recognized the handwriting like he recognized his own face. It was him—it was The Master.
He gritted his teeth again as he bent forward, moaning in pain as he continued to stoop. He managed to snag a corner of the envelope between the index and middle finger of his right hand and then slowly rose to full height again. He examined the envelope briefly, before slowly retreating back into his trailer, closing and locking the door behind him.
David retreated to the couch, half sitting, half falling into the seat, sending jolts of electric-like pain up and around his body. He cried out from the effort, but wasted no time tearing into the envelope.
He pulled out a single piece of paper, neatly folded into thirds and opened it, his eyes starving for whatever it was The Master had to say.
David, you have failed me and I am beyond disappointed. I do not yet know what I will do, even after all this time of no contact. I advise you heal up, strengthen yourself as best as you can, because I may call on you again very soon. Or, I may not. I have yet to decide. Either way, be ready. Be vigilant. In the name of God.
David felt his eyes moisten and he folded the letter. He knew he’d disappointed The Master, but actually seeing it in writing was almost more than he could bear. Just the mere thought of not being called upon again nearly made him sick, and he heard himself whimper as if he’d heard it from someone other than himself.
One thing he knew he couldn’t do, especially now, was to give up. He knew that the fact his Master had contacted him at all was a very good sign that he could be forgiven for his failure. David knew he had no other choice but to do as instructed, to heal and strengthen his body as best as physically possible.
After all, he only needed one hand to wield a blade.
“Infected,” David said to himself, looking his body over. He knew he couldn’t see a doctor, that would surely get him caught. But there had to be another way—
The thought came to David like a lightbulb turning on in his head. He thought of the commercial he’d watched, the one about the arthritis medication. It wasn’t the medication itself that now had his attention, but the last part of the message, the part about being able to pick it up at the local pharmacy.
The pharmacy! Of course. It wouldn’t offer much, but it would be something. Hopefully enough to help him fight the infection and move on with his life, with his mission and purpose.
Gritting his teeth once again, David slowly climbed to his feet, forcing himself to stand as straight as physically possible. Just as a good warrior should.
His Master’s mission was clear, and his mission was set before him like a well-lit path to salvation. Slowly, he limped towards his bedroom, the smell of decay growing pleasantly stronger with each limping step.
It was time to get dressed. It was time to heal and strengthen his body. And soon, when he was able, it would be time to hunt.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Silver Eyes
I’M SUDDENLY JERKED awake from my sleep before my body is ready to do it on its own. My sudden awakening, however, is not due to a narrow escape from a nightmare, or a malicious bump in the night, but instead it’s from a gentle, sleepy hand falling across my midsection.
My eyes open and automatically lock in on the alarm clock on my bedside table, the red digital display reading seven o’ four in the morning. I feel the hand lift off of me, and I roll over so that I’m face-to-face with Kate, pleasantly happy to see her eyes are open, too.
“Morning,” I say.
“Happy New Year,” she mumbles, looking at the small watch on her wrist. “Why can’t we sleep in on the holidays like normal people?”
“Because then we’d have to be normal people.”
“Right.”
I hear a thump on the other end of the house, followed by a few more, Thomas’s heavy footsteps padding through the house in search of a glass of water.
I roll my eyes. “Guess this means my son’s not normal either. So much for that hope and dream.”
Kate smiles. “I’ve never seen a seven-year-old stay up late enough for New Years and then wake up early the next morning. That’s not a thing.”
“Apparently it is. Welcome to motherhood.”
“What?” She stares at me for a moment, then props herself up on an elbow and stares at me some more. “What did you say?”
“You heard me.”
“Motherhood?”
“Yes.”
“That’s how you see me?”
“No, that would be weird. That’s how Thomas sees you, though.”
Kate rolls her eyes. “Shut up, you know what I meant. But—really?”
“Why not?”
“I’m not a mother, Micah. I’ve never been a mother. I wouldn’t know how to be a mother.”
“You’ve done a pretty good job, so far.”
“I—” She stumbles over her words. “I have just been here a lot, you know? I haven’t put in special effort or—”
“That’s what makes you so great at it. Just the fact you’re there for him is all I could have ever hoped for. When we lost Dani, I never thought a woman on this planet could fill Dani’s roll as a mother, to fill that void, not just in my eyes, but in Thomas’s too. I was wrong.”
“I—”
“I love you, Kate. And Thomas? Thomas loves you more than anything in the world. The kid’s pretty much obsessed with you.”
“Really?” Her ti
red eyes no longer look tired, but instead are wide and misty.
“Do I really have to tell you that? You can’t even turn around without bumping into him. He follows you around the house like a lost puppy. And never once, not even for a second, have I seen you get annoyed with it. That’s the kind of thing I would get annoyed with, but not you. You’re perfect for him. You’re perfect for me. Kate, you’re perfect for us.”
“I love you,” she says. “And I love Thomas, too.”
“And we love you.”
She leans forward, and is just about to kiss me when there’s a thud on the door, followed by it swinging open. Thomas is standing in the doorway, looking like some sort of demon child from a horror movie, his eyes tired, drool staining his t-shirt, crust in the corners of his eyes and mouth.
That all changes the second he sees both Kate and I are awake, but as to be expected, he doesn’t zero in on me. “Kate!” He starts to run for the bed, and I see Kate slide further under the covers as fast as she can.
“Thomas, wait!” I call, stopping my son in his tracks. “Go back out into the living room and close the door. Kate and I will be up in a second.”
“But I want to hug –”
“Want pancakes?”
“YES!”
“Okay, if you can close the door and run to the kitchen in,” I look at the clock for emphasis. “Three seconds, I’ll make you a pancake. If not, you get a banana.”
“I hate bananas!”
“Then you’d better run fast!”
Thomas’s eyes light up, as if to say, game on! And he sprints from the bedroom at full tilt, shutting the bedroom door behind him so hard that it rattles a few of the pictures on the wall.
“Quite the negotiating skills,” Kate says.
“Figured it was either that, or he got to see what you look like naked.”
“That would annoy me.”
“Would bother me if it didn’t.”
