He could determine there to be two tangos based on the cadence of their footsteps and the light candor they were exchanging. Mortals. It was both refreshing yet circumspect. They were moving briskly, fast enough to justify any hopes that they might overlook the sludgy mess he’d left behind. But Martin had other plans. As soon as the figures emerged past his hiding place, he knew he had the jump on them. He wanted answers and he wanted them now.
Detective Rosicky erupted out of the supply closet brandishing his trusty service pistol. Training his weapon on the unsuspecting passersby, he let out a declaration that had been bottled up for far too long.
“My name is Detective Martin Rosicky and I demand to know what the hell is going on here!”
He subsequently gulped and eased down his sights when it was revealed that the ambushees were just some kids, high school age maybe. They were far less terrified than they should’ve been, he noted. It was almost as if Martin were a welcome sight. They made no attempt to flee. The boy and girl were exchanging glances of skepticism. Did they doubt that he was an officer of the law? Did he, in his progressed stage of life, no longer convey an air of authority? Suffice to say, these younglings were far too casual in countenance for his liking but yet, they still made no indication of flight. Surely, if they were up to no good, they would display more prominent signs of unease. They merely eyed Rosicky, meticulously scouring for detail. It was as though they half expected him to tear off his humanoid mask, revealing a lizard like set of features. Martin resolved to soften his approach.
“Do your parents know you’re here?” He ventured.
This elicited a more measurable degree of panic as evidenced by their expressions.
“Yes, sir.” The boy squeaked.
This was clearly a lie but he knew that further pressing the issue wouldn’t probably exhume more clarity. He conceded a stalemate was not an entirely undesirable outcome. He didn’t need any witnesses to his potential career ending scandal which was tenuously concealed mere feet from their current position.
“You kids run along now. This is an official police matter. If you will kindly remove yourselves from the premises in a timely manner, I will forget I saw you here and won’t consider you on our list of possible suspects as far as breaking and entering is concerned.”
Martin felt he couldn’t’ve worded that any better and it seemed to be taking the desired effect. The children at first appeared to have uncontentiously accepted defeat and had all but made it past the point from whence they came were it not for the unavoidable gurgling sound, slithering from the crevice beneath the slightly ajar supply closet door.
Now it was Rosicky’s turn to elicit anxiety, pitifully stammering in an attempt to obscure the emerging white noise.
“What, wh-….what were you all planning to do here, anyway?”
They didn’t seem much in a hurry to leave; he must try to increase their discomfort, thus inviting their voluntary exit. Too many humanizing characteristics and mannerisms had convinced them he might be a somewhat trustworthy figure and they were inclined to answer with a degree of veracity. What is it about the intentions of a being that can be so quickly discerned by children and dogs?
“Sir, no.” Maddy was searching for the appropriate combination of nouns and verbs. “It’s just the town is gone crazy. I know you know. I can tell.”
Martin couldn’t’ve found her clumsy verbage more comforting. “And so you thought you’d go to the one place that might be safe.” He tried to help along her thought to manifest. “Where you might find some answers.” It seemed they had all too much in common.
“Yes, sir.” Patrick picked up the baton. “Sir, please help us. Please don’t make us go back out there. It’s not safe.” Rosicky could hardly contend with the logic.
Maddy intended to lay her hand on the table for all to see. If there was one person in this God forsaken hell hole they could trust, odds were it was the fat, ironic man.
“Sir, we’ve been through so much. Please help us. We lost our best friend. He was killed by a monster. We don’t know who to ask for help. No one will believe us. So we came here, to find Pastor Coleman.”
This little bonding session would come to an abrupt closure, though. Whatever was churning in the supply closet now burst into their company. Apparently, Rosicky’s missile had failed to deliver a death blow and the creature, high with adrenaline and indignation, had flung open the door and inserted itself into the discussion. It was a mélange of fangs, claws, scales and an other-worldly blood like substance, it’s wings spread wide in a tell all of it’s majesty. Though it’s stature was decidedly wanting, the volume displacement with it’s flight regalia in full display was more impressive. This coupled with the deafening screeching ordinance it purveyed, amplified by the generous acoustics the hallway provided, it demanded to be acknowledged. Martin complied with a volley from the maw of his 9mm fire breathing dragon, riddling it’s lizard like mass with four additional rounds, effectively dispatching it from this realm beyond speculation.
Patrick and Madison had reposited themselves aback from the snaky antagonist and were already recoiling back to a more tranquil state. No need to sneak about any more with these guests at least Martin concluded.
“It was like that.” Maddy volunteered from the cover of Patrick’s shielding embrace. “But bigger.”
Rosicky arched an eye brow pensively. “Bigger?” He felt his heart drop. He now lamented the absence of one of APD’s assault rifles. If not, then at least an RPG from Camp Round Horn would do. But this was all an exercise in futility.
“You say there’s bigger ones than this that killed your friend?” Rosicky ventured timidly.
“Much bigger.” The terror in their eyes told Martin they’d made no exaggeration.
He gulped audibly.
Now an unsettling pair of choices was unfolding before him. Although he was keenly aware of the growing discomfort in the 180 degree exposure at the midpoint of the long corridor, surely, with every moment, the odds of their detection increased and this had him yearning for Pepto-Bismol. But alas, he was not excited about the prospect of pushing forward with the added baggage of two hormonally imbalanced adolescents but the alternatives seemed wholly unsatisfying and cold hearted even.
Rosicky eyed his steads with skepticism. He wanted to tell them to “Scram! Get out of here.” So this could all just go away. But would he be virtually sending them to their death? And what if they leaked on his little ‘excessive use of force’ foray on a Federal Endangered Species Act protected animal and new darling of the scientific community? That was a scenario he was eager to avoid. He fidgeted with the items in his pocket, anxiously looking for some pros. But they did have field experience with these alien animalia and, as they stood before him, unwavering in their conviction, he was admiring their resolve and determination in the face of danger. He would not assuredly be exposing them to dire straits in one form or another but it occurred to him that the difference was nothing more than a coin flip. Maybe they could at least watch his back or something. Some high priced sulfur mine canaries, he thought to himself.
“Ok, look.” Martin grimaced. “Stay close behind me and don’t make any noise. We’re going to find Pastor Coleman.”
They warily continued their trek deeper into the heart of the religious facility. They stopped after so many meters to examine Coleman’s office, though it was clear upon arrival that no one was likely inside. The door had been battered and was hanging partially by one set of hinges, it had clearly seen better days. Closer inspection revealed the insides had been gutted in true rock star fashion. Papers were strewn about, file cabinets violated. Patrick scurried over and checked what would normally be a competently latched closet door which, from careful observation, he knew to house a safe where the offertory collections were stored. Predictably, it too had been adulterated and it’s naked insides could be easily discerned by the ajar pad lock covering.
They solemnly coalesced beyond the office and b
egan making their way closer to the narthex. The implication was that the sanctuary was the hub of the wretched happenings, they all seemed to sense this. Now they waddled closer in a crouched stance to avoid potential detection and also because of a detestable stench was beginning to make it’s presence felt, meandering to their respective nostrils, announcing it’s entrance in a most disagreeable way. They first curled their upper lips, hoping against hope it was only a particularly unfortunate fart but as their distance closed, it only became less palatable and they were forced to shield their olfactory senses with their sleeves, whatever filter they could manage. There was also a smoky aspect to the dreadful atmospheric antagonism they were encountering, causing their eyes to burn and visibility to decrease incrementally, based on the rate of their advance.
The trio ducked low to mitigate the hazy environment, waddling into the narthex the long corridor ultimately spilled out into on high alert. The fire truck red carpeting and regalia, though soiled, was a clear indication of their current location. Adjacent to the majestic wooden doors of pine, the entrance to the sanctuary, a waist level glass pane had been implemented for observation purposes. Here a pesky toddler could be cajoled without disruption while the spectacle of the weekly traditions could still be consumed. They stayed low, virtually crawling up to the portal to sneak a peek at what was taking place in the great hall without squandering the unannounced nature of their infiltration. What they saw when they furtively poked their eyes over the sill, they could never have prepared for and their innocence would be forever altered.
Their attention was first drawn to the deplorable, upside-down crucifixion of one Pastor Barry Coleman, bound taught from three points, the tasteless renovations all but unnoticeable in contrast. Coleman’s corpse could be seen to let blood, dripping and splashing below on none other than a hapless, caged Challista Coleman, too traumatized maybe even to know the source of her gruesome shower. She clamored about as best she could, given the claustrophobic confines of her little makeshift pen, in a hysterical manner, mumbling inanities with a wild look seared onto her poor face. It reminded Rosicky of a field mouse recently inflicted by a snake bite, desperately trying to escape an ailment besieging it from inside it’s very being.
The foreground was composed of a mob in contention, chief among it’s representatives the spear armed imps. A heated debate was ensuing, the central figure of which…..there he is! It was Simon. Martin’s eyes bulged with the onset of the revelation. Still clad in the Russell Athletic black hoodie he’d confiscated during his miraculous escape from the asylum.
Despite all the controversy, morale seemed to be high. The mass was red hot with gung-ho! As they peaked their ears to vie for a vantage point with which to gage the dialogue taking place inside, Rosicky had half a mind to shield the youngling’s eyes from the grimy debacle. It was wholly inappropriate for the forming mind of a pubescent person to be enduring but the task at hand took precedence over that and he dismissed the urge to do so as quickly as it had arisen, reasoning that their innocence had already been perforated effectively, given what they’d already bore witness to and if they were truly to be of any assistance in the coming saga, they, like him, would require the full value of whatever reconnaissance there was to be gleaned. He was going to have to start viewing them less as wards and more as peers on this sojourn into the heart of madness.
Although the glass observation window was decidedly thick and the imposing pine double doors were effectively sealed, creating a vacuum and allowing for a bit of sound proofing for the ceremonies conducted inside, someone had given the consideration of leaving the P.A. system on, which was actually transmitting the proceedings somewhat clearly to those who found themselves in the lobby. They observed with awe as the spectacle unfolded. Glorduk, the inferred leader of the imps, appeared to be petitioning Simon who, for some twisted rationale, had adopted the name of Freeney. Martin deduced this to have something to do with the implied new found ‘liberation’ he was experiencing.
“Worshipful master,” The lizard like imp, with various horns and tusks jutting indiscriminately from it’s scaly flesh, spoke in a ghoulish, raspy cadence like that of Igor/Smeagol of J.R.R. Tolkein lore. “Let us waste not a moment more. We have possession of The Book, The Believer’s best weapon. As head of the raiding party what oversaw the procurement of this artifact, I demand that we strike now, in our moment of triumph. Let us utterly destroy this outdated relic and usher in a new era of devastation upon this pitifully frail realm. Our numbers are adequate in order to wage a successful incursion. Let us move out from this position and, unfettered, we might soak the earth with the blood of those insolent bastards who would dare to stand in defiance of the one true power in the universe.”
Glorduk had developed a substantial following. His incitation roused a hearty elation from a notably diverse cross section of the wicked congregation. Freeney was quick to reestablish order.
“Fools.” He declared.
This garnered suspicion from the audience. They were anticipating Simon’s enthusiastic cosign.
“We shall not move out upon the lands of the sheep.” He addressed the throng. “Tempting, though it may be, it is the volition of an imbecile to rush to conclusion and act on emotion.”
Glorduk wasn’t having it. From afar, one might conclude a mini-mutiny at hand.
“Master!” Glorduk slammed the hilt of his spear against the floor in protest. “How can you now rob us of our decisive victory? This is lunacy! I’ll not stand by idly as you revert to a catatonic state of apathy whilst our brethren persist firmly in their resolve on the front lines. As procurer of The Book, I lay rightful claim to it.”
He inched forward a talon, gesturing toward The Book that Gary might surrender it without incident. “It should be destroyed. The Praetorian Guard will overse-……”
Glorduk was intercepted by the furious Freeny, eyes bulging with rage beneath the brim of the black hood which was his trademark. He had seized Glorduk’s quivering body in a fluid motion and hoisted him over head as though he were a halfway decomposed forrest log. Freeney gave the likeness of a burly man here but taking into consideration the diminutive nature of the imp, probably closer to the 75lb mark, coupled with advantages afforded by the adrenaline rush of anger, along with the element of surprise, Simon could quite feasibly be capable of tossing Glorduk like a rag doll; which is precisely what he proceeded to do, much to the dismay of the astonished onlookers. Apparently, there existed an understood hierarchy, the composition of which seemed to be in the balance.
Glorduk bounced and flopped from the tumult of Freeney’s body slam like a trout having been cast onto the ground from some body of water, shock in it’s eyes as it gasps for air. Perhaps more than the sheer force of the capsizing event was the symbolic nature of the catharsis. Back in Hell, Glorduk held a position of prestige. But here on Earth, it was a bitter pill to swallow. This was Freeney’s show and he had made that undeniably clear to all.
Simon flexed his muscles, eyes burning with scorn and damnation. He was eager to fill the subsequent void with propaganda.
“Let these fool hardy numb skulls rush like lemmings to their demise. If any wish to follow in their misguided efforts, they are free to do so but they do with little effect.”
The crowd was once again at his disposal as Glorduk had not made an attempt to recover to a more dignified bipedal stance. He remained prone, licking the wounds of humiliation like a cocker spaniel having been kicked by a grouchy master.
“No. Not today. Only fools rush in at the onset of victory. It is a false promise. We have come too far to make another vain attempt at reconciliation. Yes, the enemy doth rest thine weary head unknowing of the impending danger gathering in these chambers and a modest triumph we may seize but it is merely masturbation for the short sighted. Lest a keen observer go silently in the night, there are far greater ramifications at stake.
“I, Freeney, shall guide us to a new, never before seen level of achievement. You wa
nt this realm? This miniscule, pathetic fleck of dust in the wind. You may have it, I say!”
All were fixated by this and unsure of an appropriate response. On one hand, they so desired to be set free to scavenge and scour the land of men as they had fantasized of doing for so many eons but they sensed, correctly, that it was a set up.
“Ultimately,” he continued. “In the annals of time it would be remembered as an adorable little foray into enemy territory. A side note.
“No, my friends. We, here, do strive for greatness! I say we take advantage of this windfall and strike directly at the root of the problem……The Crystal City!”
The decrepit army watched in awe as Freeney once again produced The Book with the white tree symbol emblazoned upon, the focal point of all the controversy.
“Instead of destroying this weapon, what if we fully utilize it’s nuances to our own constructs? All I need to demonstrate this is the hand of a Believer. Ah, here. Yes, Challista, this will do. I knew there was a good reason to keep you around, aside from the obvious. My, Gramma, what great tits you have. Ah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!”
This elicited a muffled snort of humor from the audience. Doubtful she was even aware of the proceedings taking place in her vicinity, she gave her hand without resistance when Freeney bent next to her humble cage and borrowed the use of her paw, placing it upon the cover of The Book. No sooner had he done this did the white tree symbol began to glow and shimmer like fairy dust.
Freeney Page 15
