Noir: A Crimson Shadow Novel

by Nathan Squiers

  She smiled.

  At least he had someone watching over him.

  “Joseph…”

  “You say something, Grandma?” Xander stepped out the front door onto the porch.

  She looked up at her grandson as he plopped down in the neighboring chair. He was wearing a massacred pair of blue jeans that exposed more leg than denim and a shirt that was cut up at the shoulders, leaving jagged tears where the sleeves should have been.

  “No, dear. I’m afraid there was nobody to say anything to.”

  Xander hunched forward in the chair and looked at the floorboards of the deck, “Well, you got somebody now.”

  “I suppose I do,” she couldn’t help but smile. Through all the pain that had occurred in his life—despite all the hatred towards humanity that burned within him—he was never unkind to her.

  “Are you thirsty?” she asked, motioning towards a second glass that was waiting for him beside her own.

  He studied it for a moment before casting aside his confusions and went about pouring himself a drink.

  She breathed in and looked at the sky, “Do you know why I like tigers, Xander?” she asked. “It’s their character. There is so much power; such raw energy and strength. But”—she paused and allowed a warm smile to tug at her age-weathered features—“they symbolize grace and intelligence.”

  Xander frowned and looked at her, “Tigers?”

  She nodded, “Yes. Don’t you like them?”

  Xander laughed—it coming out more nervous than he’d expected—and sipped his iced tea. “Actually, they’re my favorite animal. I just never told you that.”

  His grandmother nodded, “You told me once. You just don’t remember.” She smiled and sipped her tea, “So… how did you sleep?”

  Xander tensed at the question and opened his mouth to answer as a car across the street began to pull from the driveway and stopped abruptly, brakes squealing, as a rusted pickup truck honked its horn and sped by. The loud noise—coupled with the tension he was already feeling—ignited his rage.

  His mind was so tormented:

  Calm down!… fuckers!… “li’l faggot”… hate them!… “hope you rot and die you fuc—” … Xander!… “Devil-spawn”… stop it!… Trepis?… Bleed!… burning!… “HOLD HER BOYS… GET HER” … MY FUCKING SKIN’S ON FIRE!!… “XAANDDDER”… I hate them all!… leave this putrid place and go far away… HATE THEM!… Please… I HATE THEM!… Why?… I FUCKING HATE THEM!

  “… so much power, but so much grace,” his grandma spoke, her right hand patting his left.

  Xander’s mind was suddenly calm; the burning in his skin had disappeared.

  But what…?

  “Grace is what makes power worth having, Xander,” she nodded to herself, “Grace. Always remember that, Xander, and always remember that I love you”

  He frowned for a moment, taken back by the randomness of his grandmother’s words. After a moment, though, he smiled and looked up at her.

  “I love you too,” he answered sincerely.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Something’s Wrong…

  Sunday morning.

  Again Yin’s hammer had fallen on an empty chamber.

  It was almost eight-thirty in the morning when Xander’s grandma knocked on the door and told him—sounding, for some strange reason, eager—that she had to run some errands. He considered asking if she wanted company, but before he had the chance to make the offer he heard her soft footsteps as she scurried down the hall and went down the stairs.

  Xander frowned at this.

  That was certainly odd. Trepis said.

  “Yea,” he bit his lip, “Wonder what was so important…”

  Still confused and more than a little hurt by his grandmother’s behavior, he plodded down the stairs and went to the kitchen, making a bee-line to the liquor cabinet. Without even bothering to browse the selection, he grabbed the first bottle his fingers fell upon before returning to his room. The stolen liquor—a nearly full bottle of vodka—was placed on the nightstand to allow Xander to light up a cigarette. He pulled in a long breath and blew the smoke out slow as he snatched his prize and began to chug its contents.

  His drink was cut short, however.

  Somebody was outside.

  He could sense them.

  “Who the hell…?” he muttered to himself as he set down the bottle. Hurrying to the window, he glanced out and saw the little boy from the other day gazing up at him from the backyard. “What the fuck?” he turned and rushed for the stairs.

  What is it? Trepis asked.

  Xander frowned, “Are you kidding me? It’s that damn kid again!”

  Trepis laughed, Another visit from the fan club?

  “Shut up!”

  Xander was downstairs, through the hall and out the back door in an instant. The little boy—still dressed in the same suit as before—remained motionless, his body rigid and his eyes lifeless as he stared back at Xander.

  Creepy.

  “Shut. Up,” Xander repeated, hoping not to scare away the kid before he had a chance to talk to him. Taking a slow step towards him, he tried to calm his voice: “Who are you?”

  The boy didn’t answer; he didn’t even move!

  Xander flinched. He had a headache.

  A bad one.

  A really bad one…

  Whimpering, he felt a burning tingle in his arms and legs as his impatience grew into anger.

  His fists clenched on their own, “Who the hell are you?” he stomped towards the child, hoping to scare an answer out of him.

  Seeing Xander approaching, the little boy’s eyes sparked to life and he held out his hand, looking far more desperate than before. “You will come with me now!”

  Xander scowled, growing more and more exhausted—more and more enraged—with the whole situation. “Wh-what?” he stammered, having difficulty masking the nervousness in his voice. “Why the hell should I go anywhere with you?”

  The boy continued to reach out towards him, flexing his fingers in desperation, “You are in danger and must come with me!”

  Xander stepped back, feeling more and more uncomfortable with the situation, “J-just get lost! You hear me, you little shit? Go back home to your—”

  “We can protect you!” the boy interrupted.

  “Who the hell is ‘we’?”

  “We are—”

  Xander shook his head, “You know what? I don’t even care! Just get out of here! Leave me alone!”

  The boy cocked his head, a look of confusion adding to the desperation, “But you are in danger!”

  “You’re the one who’s in danger!” Xander stomped towards the boy again, hoping to scare him off this time.

  The child stood his ground and smiled as Xander approached, his hand still outstretched, “You will come with me now?”

  “NO!” Xander was beyond furious. The burning rage had overwhelmed his entire body, which had begun to tremble with anger.

  The boy’s eyes showed no sign of alarm as he offered a single nod and then turned and walked away, “It won’t be long now, Stryker.”

  Xander stood and stared after the boy, his breath coming out jagged and his fists still clenched as he watched him leave. All around him, the grass was whipped about by the energy that flowed from him. As the rage seeped deeper Xander dropped to his knees—dizzy, tired, and panicked.

  There was no sound of the back gate’s squeaky latch or the crunch of gravel underfoot, but when he looked up to glare at the retreating child, he saw that he was alone.

  ****

  It took five cigarettes and the rest of the vodka before Xander was able to calm down; though neither helped to shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. He was glad that what had remained of the booze had not been enough to get him wasted—he didn’t want to get drunk.

  Not now, at least.

  Not when he was so close to losing control already.

  As the alcohol took its course he decided that what he really ne
eded was something to eat. Letting out a heavy sigh and, in the process, issuing forth a cloud of smoke he got up and went to the kitchen again.

  Raiding through the contents of the fridge, he came across a disposable baking pan that still held half a meatloaf. Paying little mind to the process, he carved a thick slice and threw it on a plate next to a large puddle of spicy A-1 sauce. Satisfied that the hunk of food was enough, he went into the living room and plopped down on the sofa—respecting the sanctity of the worn out recliner that was his grandmother’s—and turned on the TV, landing on CNN:

  “… victim: 27 year old Rachel Bayen, was brutally murdered in an alley on Church Street. A possible suspect…”

  Xander rolled his eyes and switched the channel to MTV and sat back, trying to shake off the edgy, panicky sensation that still itched in the back of his mind.

  Though he couldn’t quite place it, he knew that something wasn’t right.

  The phone rang and, groaning, he got up to answer it.

  “Hello?”

  A muffled voice grumbled something incoherent before coming in clear: “Yes! Hello, may I please speak with Xander Stricker?”

  Great! A damn telemarketer… Xander thought, his muscles tightening in aggravation as he sighed, “You are speaking to Xander Stryker.”

  The voice went silent for a moment. Then: “Son, I have some—”

  “I’m not your goddam son!” Xander growled into the receiver, his skin starting to feel hot again.

  Xander, don’t… Trepis pleaded.

  “Er… yes, of course. But I…” a voice in the background cut off the speaker.

  Xander felt his teeth clenching and was sure that at any moment they’d shatter under their own pressure.

  Xander, calm down!

  He ignored Trepis, “Whoever the hell this is: get your shit figured out and give me a call when your head is out of your ass!” With that he killed the call with the push of a button.

  Groaning in pain, Xander stumbled, the cordless phone slipping from his grip as he threw out both hands to catch himself on the table. His body was on fire; roasting under his own skin! The sensation only grew more intense, crawling up his torso until his entire body was swallowed in the fire.

  You have to relax! Trepis’ words echoed in his mind, Don’t do this to yourself!

  Desperate for a relief from the burning, he yanked off his shirt and threw the garment across the room where it horse-shoed around a lamp and pulled it over, shattering the bulb. The sound, amplified by his rage, rang in his head and he clapped his hands over his ears to try and keep out the noise.

  Where was his grandma?

  Why wasn’t she back yet?

  Xander, you have to relax!

  The burning continued, wrapping more and more around him and threatening to cook him from the inside-out. As the room filled with his magical energy the furniture began to shake and drag across the floor. The TV—still blaring music videos—shook for a moment before something inside of it popped and the screen went black. Eyes widening, he turned at the sound of a strained creaking and saw a spider web pattern of cracks forming on the window.

  “No! No! NO!” he rushed towards the breaking glass, focusing his mind on stopping the process.

  He was too late.

  The window exploded as he reached for it. Jagged pieces of glass rained down and, startled, he yanked back and snagged his forearm on one of the shards. As blood poured from his shredded arm onto the wood floor, Xander—finally soothed by a cool breeze that ran into the living room—collapsed to the floor in a fit of tears and choking sobs. He curled his head down and hugged his knees to his bare chest, not caring that his face and hair lay on his bloodied right arm.

  “Grandma…”

  Xander! You’re arm—

  “Something’s wrong!” he cried out, stifling a sob, “Something is very wrong!”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Rude Awakenings

  Xander, you awake? Trepis’ voice urged him from the depths of unconsciousness.

  Xander groaned, his eyes opening only enough to take in the bright, blinding view of a whitewashed ceiling. He wondered how long he’d been out. As his senses returned to him he became aware of a full-body ache that started from the back of his head to the tip of his toes, a bad case of cotton mouth, the sounds of medical equipment, and the horrendous smells of the hospital:

  Sickness.

  Blood.

  Death.

  Ammonia.

  Jesus, man, you gave me a scare! Trepis went on: I thought I was going to be trapped in the mind of a vegetable!

  “Glad to know… you still care,” Xander quipped as best he could.

  “Doctor! He’s waking up,” a woman’s voice chimed, followed by the melodic clicking of approaching footsteps. Then: “Xander? Can you hear me?”

  Xander blinked against the dark shape looming over him and scowled, “H-how’d I get here?”

  “Same as most: an ambulance.”

  There was another light then—brighter and more focused than the ones overhead. It darted back and forth for a moment, pausing over each of his eyes before disappearing.

  Flinching, Xander tried to pull away, “S-stop it! What am I doing here?”

  “Xander, how long have you been suicidal?”

  “W-what?” Xander’s eyes widened at the question, “What are you talking about?” He felt a pair of hands lift his right arm and he growled, yanking it away and yelping from the pain as his IV was yanked.

  “We received a call from your neighbors, Xander. They said they watched you punch through your window and cut yourself with the glass. Do you remember this?”

  Xander frowned, blinking his eyes, “No! I mean,”—he shook his head—“that’s not the way it happened!”

  “Then would you care to explain how it happened?” the woman’s voice was skeptical; already unbelieving.

  “Missy?” a man’s voice sounded from a short distance away, “They want to know if they can see him.”

  “Already?” the woman’s voice was irritated, “Dammit! He’s barely awake!” Xander heard her sigh and his arm was released. “See them in, I suppose. Impatient bastards!”

  Xander frowned, careful to rest his right arm on the hospital bed before raising his left hand and wiping some of the grogginess from his vision. As the sound of heavy footsteps resonated from the left, he turned his head to face the newcomers.

  “Xander? Xander Stryker?” a man’s voice called out.

  Xander frowned and blinked, “Who the hell are you?” As his sight cleared, the overwhelming white faded and gave way to others shades and, eventually, shapes. Closest to him and coming closer was an older man with gray hair and a bushy mustache. Behind him, a taller-yet-younger black man followed. Both wore dark-blue police uniforms. Seeing this, Xander tensed and tried to sit up, only to be rewarded with a wave of dizziness. “Wh-what do you want?”

  The older police officer frowned at his reaction, “It’s alright, Xander, you’re not in any trouble.”

  “Then what’s going on?” Xander demanded still feeling unnerved from waking up in the hospital.

  “I’m officer Shady,” the older man introduced himself, his mustache dancing with the movement of his lips, “we spoke briefly on the phone.”

  Xander sighed and tried to control his breathing as he felt his rage begin to boil up. “I see,” he frowned and reached over with his left hand to pull the IV out of his right arm, “Finally got your head out of your ass, I see.”

  The other cop glared and moved to step around Shady, “Hey! That’s enough! That’s no way to—”

  “Tom, stop! He’s been through a lot!” Shady put out an arm, holding him back. The other officer—Tom, as it appeared to be—stepped back, still looking angry but keeping it to himself. “I-I’m pretty sure that’s supposed to stay in.”

  Xander finished extracting the IV and flexed his arm several times, ignoring the spot of blood that seeped out behind the needle. Below it, wra
pped around his forearm, was a length of bandage that traveled from his wrist to just below his elbow.

  “I hate hospitals,” Xander mumbled.

  “I still don’t think—”

  “What did you come here to tell me?” Xander asked, looking back at Shady as he started to sit up again, “Must be important for you to have come all the way out here.”

  Tom stepped forward again, reaching out, “You’re not trying to leave, are you?”

  Xander frowned and shot a glare at him as he stood from the bed on shaky legs, “I can’t stay here,” he said, trying to keep the shakiness out of his voice. He’d spent too much time in hospitals in the past, and he was in no mood to be kept in this one any longer.

  Tom shook his head, “There’s not really much of a choice in the—”

  “Tom,” Shady interrupted his partner again, “let me and the kid talk,” Tom grumbled and turned away, leaving the room with more attitude than necessary. Shady waited till he was out of the room and looked back at Xander, “Happy?”

  Xander scoffed and shook his head, “Hardly.”

  Shady’s mustache teetered back and forth like a see-saw before he cleared his throat, “I’ve shown you a lot of patience so far, I’d appreciate a little in return! Now, are you ready to hear what I was trying to tell you before?”

  Xander frowned, looking up into the officer’s eyes. He felt another wave uneasiness and his head began to hurt like before. “What is it?” he demanded.

  Shady nodded, glad to finally be getting somewhere, “It’s your grandma. She—”

  “Stop!” Xander bit the corner of his lip. He had felt his grandmother’s death hours ago. While it had taken a great deal of effort to finally admit the truth, it was no longer a mystery what had set him off earlier. All that aside, he didn’t feel like hearing it out loud, “I already know.”

  Shady frowned at this, “You know?”

  “Overheard one of the nurses,” Xander shifted his eyes away and hoped the cop wouldn’t catch him in his lie.

  Shady put a hand on his shoulder, “I’m sorry, son.”