Descending Son

by Scott Shepherd

  He squeezed the cylinder. The light that poured out was unbelievably powerful and direct. It was similar to the blinding lights from the colored tiles that had assaulted their eyes when they approached the house.

  Tag let the light die. “The truth was I kept thinking they were going to shut off my power if I didn’t sell something, so I figured I might as well get as much free juice as possible.”

  “Solar power,” Jess realized.

  “Turned out I had the one thing that could harm these suckers hanging around my neck.”

  Tag dangled the cylindrical flashlight in front of them.

  “Daylight.”

  17

  “But why did you stay here?” asked Maria. “After what happened, why wouldn’t you just leave?”

  “I think I can answer that.” Jess gave the screenwriter a sympathetic look. “Penelope, right?”

  Marlowe offered a sad smile. “Look at me. What do you see?”

  He didn’t really expect a response, so he pressed on. “A nerd who makes things glow in the dark. When I’m not doing that, I write fiction for geeks like myself. I won’t give you a sob story or wear a ‘Never Been Kissed’ sign, but neither would be farfetched. It took me traveling to another country to find a true soul mate—an exotic beauty who loved my stupid stories and laughed at my dumb jokes. To have that taken away, well, it was downright cruel.”

  Tag stared out the one-way glass. The lightness in his eyes, which came from remembering Penelope, faded away. “To have told her to go on the scout that day, when it should have been me… has almost been unbearable.”

  Jess could feel Maria’s heart breaking and hatred for the Civatateo harden. “You had no way of knowing what was going to happen,” she said.

  “I’ve told myself that, but it falls on my own deaf ears. Instead, I’ve embraced the burden. I know Penelope is probably dead and this creature is most likely playing games with me. But if there’s a chance, any chance, she might still come back to me—I will not abandon her.”

  “The last thing you need is false hope,” said Jess. “But the Civatateo turned my father and I’ve absolutely seen him since he ‘returned.’ I won’t say he’s flesh and blood; he’s actually something quite different, but he is definitely back.”

  “Then my efforts will not have been in vain.”

  “Your efforts being what exactly?” asked Jess.

  “I figured it was only a matter of time until the Civatateo returned. I wanted to make sure that I was ready. I made it my business to find out everything I could about it.”

  Tag’s recital of local lore matched most of what Lena told Jess back in the California desert. The writer emphasized the desire of the mother who died in childbirth not to be separated from her baby. According to legend, this accounted for the Civatateo reaching from beyond the grave for their beloved to join them. It explained Luis Mendoza haunting Sophia. Presumably the same could be said for Penelope calling for Tag to join her in the jungle.

  It made Jess wonder about his father. So unfeeling and aloof in life, Walter would never be categorized as a family man. Yet, in his new incarnation, he had sought not only Jess, but Kate and Harry as well. Had being “turned” changed his father? Softened him up to try and atone for the multitude of sins he had spent a lifetime committing?

  More than anything, Tag believed the Civatateo was a creature that wanted to be fed. It only turned a few—if it made too many, it would have competition to survive. The “turned” could prove useful by drawing their loved ones close so the Civatateo would have new blood to sustain itself.

  Tag repeatedly heard there was only one way to get rid of the Civatateo—exposure to sunlight. The episode in the jungle confirmed this.

  He held up the thin metal cylinder. “When this flashlight wounded that creature, it got me thinking. I remembered the glass shards in the field where we found the slaughtered crew. I could tell when whole, the glass pieces had been embedded in the ground in concentric circles. They had been positioned to pick up sunlight, even on the cloudiest of days.”

  “Who put them there?” asked Maria.

  “No one knows. The legend of the Civatateo goes back generations. It might have been an offshoot of the Mayans or Aztecs as both were cultures way ahead of their time. We now trace many roots of scientific discoveries back to ancient civilizations. Why not the harnessing of solar energy? I imagine whoever the creature first preyed upon devised a way to keep it trapped by surrounding it in constant sunshine, above and below ground. Being cut off by the jungle and local superstition kept that field undisturbed for years.”

  “Until an egocentric actor and his take-no-prisoners film crew wiped it out in one fell swoop,” said Jess.

  “Exactly.”

  The puzzle pieces were finally falling into place for Jess. “That explains the house, the tiles, the blasts of light. You’re doing what they did in the field—you’re building a trap.”

  Tag nodded. “That creature took Penelope away from me. It deserves to go back to where it came from. And given your arrival in Santa Alvarado, I’d say an opportunity might present itself very soon.”

  “Why?” Maria asked.

  “Don’t you find it odd Tracy James suddenly returned to the place where all this first began?”

  “I knew it couldn’t be a coincidence, her rushing down here right after I showed her the picture. I just couldn’t put it all together,” said Jess.

  “You’re forgetting. Her father was the only one to survive the massacre. But Clark James was there. And afterwards he got extremely sick.”

  “Like my father. Who died.” Jess saw the horror of what Tag was suggesting. “And then came back.”

  “You only have Edward Rice’s version of Clark James’s recovery. I would wager James would tell you the whole thing was a blur.”

  Jess thought back to his conversation with the actor at the country club and that summed it up pretty well.

  Tag began to pace. “Now Rice has been murdered—maybe to cover up the truth. Until you got here, I had no idea the Civatateo had even taken root in Palm Springs. Which begs the obvious question, how did it get there?”

  Tag stopped in his tracks, as if pausing for dramatic effect. “I only see one feasible answer.”

  “You’re telling me Clark James died and came back too?” asked Jess.

  “Can you prove that he didn’t?”

  They carefully went over everything. The movie shutdown; James’s press blockade during his illness and recovery; the quiet way he announced his retirement afterwards. There was his father’s comment at the party about Clark having a Dorian Gray painting locked in an attic. The actor being turned fell right in line with him not aging. Jess realized he had not seen Clark James during the day since his return to Palm Springs. He suspected a Google search of James’s social life would find it limited to evening functions. The actor had even refused a drink that night at the country club bar, and it made him wonder if Clark James had a different liquid refreshment in mind for later on.

  Jess also rethought the two assailants at the Jameses’ house. He had always assumed one was Rice. The other easily could have been Clark James. His strong build fit. It could be the reason Clark berated Edward Rice on the balcony, blaming him for Jess’s escape from the desert grave.

  Jess shared these musings with Maria and Tag. Saying them aloud made them even more horrible—and real.

  “It still doesn’t explain why Tracy would come running down here,” said Maria.

  “Maybe it wasn’t her idea,” suggested Jess.

  “You think it was Clark’s?” asked Tag.

  “He might be along for the ride. Especially if he’s what you think. The farmer who was attacked last night? What’s to say that Clark didn’t get a little hungry?”

  Tag and Maria exchanged looks and a mutual chill. On one hand it sounded insane, but on the other, the dots connected perfectly.

  “If they are both here, there’s only one logical place to go,
” Tag said.

  “Where is that?” asked Maria.

  “Back where it started.”

  “The field,” realized Jess. “Can you take us there?”

  Marlowe almost choked. “No Fucking Way. Even if I was crazy enough to say yes, in the middle of the night? Did I say No Fucking Way? If you insist, I’ll draw you a map.”

  The sketch he made was crude, but the landmarks were very specific. Tag gave them a laundry list of reasons not to go, but Jess said short of inviting Clark James up to Tag’s house for a midnight tanning session, he saw no other choice. Jess promised that they would leave early in the morning and return to Maria’s great-aunt’s house long before sunset.

  He thanked the screenwriter and promised a full report. Maria hugged Tag and tried one more time to convince him to join them. He was able to resist her ample charms; clearly one brief encounter with the Civatateo in the jungle was enough for this lifetime.

  As Maria and Jess reached the door, the writer called out. They turned around and snagged the two thin cylinders he tossed at them.

  “Just in case.”

  Jess couldn’t help but notice there wasn’t even a crack of a smile on the prematurely white-haired man’s face.

  18

  The proprietor was just closing up when they parked the jeep in front of the café. Maria sweet-talked the owner into letting them get something to eat. It was only eight o’clock and she asked why he was shutting down so early. The owner explained that the attack on the farmer the previous night had killed the evening’s business and people were staying close to home instead.

  Maria extolled the proprietor’s culinary talents, which prompted the man to practically skip into the kitchen and cook up a storm. She told Jess the old adage “the best way to a man’s heart is through his stomach” was a half-truth. Lena had taught her: praise the preparer, the subsequent supper so much sweeter.

  Twenty minutes later, he presented a feast of spiced chorizo with exotic peppers, succulent mangoes, two kinds of flavored beans, and rice that melted the moment it touched the tongue. Maria invited the owner to pull up a chair and join them, and Jess enjoyed watching them alternate between his broken English and a flurry of Spanish. She told the proprietor how she had visited once a year as a little girl and he actually remembered Lena bringing Maria into the café on a couple of occasions.

  Jess realized Maria was paving the way to ask a few questions and he admired her smoothness and gumption; she had a natural talent for getting people to open up. He dug out the photo of Clark James and Tag Marlowe standing in front of the church and let her lead the way.

  Their exchange was mostly in Spanish and Maria translated. The proprietor referred to Tag as the “crazy man in the glass house.” Maria said they had just come from there and threw in a few kind words on Tag’s behalf, figuring it might save the writer a few rotten looks next time he ventured into the village. She told the owner they were more interested in the man standing beside Tag.

  “The actor,” the proprietor said in something resembling the English language.

  Maria asked if he had seen him recently. Only in old movies on the television, the man told her. He remembered the disaster years before when the film had been shot and shut down, but he hadn’t seen Clark James in person since the entire village watched the chopper airlift him into the cloudless sky.

  Jess offered up the picture of Tracy. The man’s face clouded over immediately.

  “She was here. Last night.”

  It was early evening and she had come in to ask directions. When the proprietor realized what she was looking for, he tried to talk her out of it.

  “She wanted to know how to get to the field,” surmised Jess.

  Maria confirmed this and was met by a barrage of Spanish, filled with plenty of invectives, warnings, and a healthy dose of freak-out. It ended with the proprietor getting to his feet and clearing the table even though they weren’t quite finished.

  “Well, that put a damper on the meal,” said Jess. “What did he say?”

  “She wanted to see the field of glass where the men died. Angel, the owner, told her it was an evil place and no one should go there. He refused to tell her anything else.”

  “How did she react?”

  “Really scared—looking over her shoulder every now and then.”

  “Doing her father’s bidding?”

  “Could be,” said Maria.

  “What happened in the end?”

  “She left. I asked if he’d convinced her not to go, but Angel couldn’t tell. He did say none of the locals would be anxious to help.”

  “Still, she got at least a day’s head start.”

  “Well, we’re not headed there in the middle of the night.”

  “That’s for damn sure,” Jess said as he pulled out his wallet. He handed a clump of bills to Maria. “See if you can get him to let me use his phone? And tell him the food was as good as anything I ever ate.”

  Maria smiled. “That ought to help.”

  A few minutes later, Jess forked over a palmful of pesos to Angel, who clearly wasn’t happy about it but couldn’t deny Maria’s plea, though Jess did have to dig into his wallet twice. Maria wanted to grab a few things from the little market if it was still open and told Jess she would meet him by the jeep. Jess picked up the phone and noticed Angel standing there watching. He politely motioned to the proprietor for a little privacy. Angel begrudgingly took two tiny steps backward, but kept his eyes peeled on Jess. Figuring he would just keep his voice low and Angel wouldn’t understand much, Jess turned his back and dialed. It rang at least four times before Benji picked up on the other end.

  “What happened? You actually get a customer?” cracked Jess.

  Benji let out an audible sigh of relief. “Jesus, man. I’ve been wondering what the hell happened to you.”

  “I’m still standing.”

  “Thank fucking God. For a moment I thought…” He stopped mid-sentence as another notion occurred. “Wait a second. This isn’t that phone call they let you make from jail, is it? ’Cause I love you, man, but I ain’t no lawyer.”

  “I’m not in jail and I don’t need a lawyer. Yet.”

  “I’d rethink that last part, dude. You were right. Burke hauled his lard-ass through here two hours after you split. Threatened me with obstruction of justice and the rest of that TV crap for not telling him where you went. I told him to look around—does this look like the kind of establishment that requires a forwarding address? That put the bugger in his place.”

  Jess stifled a laugh. Thank goodness for lifelong friends who wouldn’t let anything faze them.

  “Do I ask where the hell you are?” wondered Benji.

  “Ask away. But you won’t get an answer.”

  “Well, it was worth a shot.” Then Benji remembered something. “I did hear they thought you’d taken off for Vegas. But I’m not hearing slot machines, so that’s gotta be a dead end.”

  Jess smiled; the phone toss in the cornfield had bought a little time for sure.

  “So, what’s happening there?”

  “Besides you being wanted for questioning and your family freaking out—it’s chill, man.”

  “Do me a favor?”

  “If I can do it, consider it done-done.”

  “Find out if Clark James is still in town.”

  “That’s it?”

  “For right now.”

  “Need to know where he specifically is?”

  “Only if he’s not in Palm Springs.”

  “Got it. How do I reach you? And no, I’m not asking for your cell. Just in case I’m not here when you call back.”

  “You’re always there.”

  “Well, that’s true,” Benji sadly said and sighed.

  “But if by some miracle you’re not, leave something on the motel voicemail—one of your corny greetings like a ‘here-here’ if James is in town.”

  “I can do that. But for the record, ‘here-here’ is corny. My outgo
ings are priceless.”

  “I’m not going to debate that.”

  “What if he’s split for somewhere specific? What do I say then?”

  “You’re clever. You’ll figure it out.”

  Benji was mulling over a retort when Maria started screaming outside.

  “What the fuck was that?” yelled Benji.

  “Gotta go.” Jess hung up and reached the café door five strides ahead of Angel.

  When Jess got outside he couldn’t see a damn thing. The café lights were dim at best. Maria’s screams came from by the jeep, which Jess could barely make out in the shadows. It wasn’t until three quick bursts of lights swiped the night, the last one accompanied by a ghoulish scream, that Jess got his bearings.

  As he reached the jeep, something swiped past him and moved so quickly he only saw a fleeting shape. Whatever had screeched was breathing hard and took off deep into the night. Taking up the chase wasn’t an option. Jess made a beeline for Maria, who was moaning on the ground.

  She was squeezing the cylindrical flashlight in an unsteady on-off pattern, jabbing at it like a drunken telegraph operator struggling with Morse code. He knelt down beside her.

  “It was closed…” she moaned.

  “What?”

  He eased the flashlight out of her hand and used it to illuminate the surroundings. Maria had blood on her face and was pointing across the street.

  “The market. Closed.” She gulped for air. “I headed for the jeep.” Another big breath. “It came out of nowhere.”

  “It? Who?”

  Her whisper was laced with terror. “Civatateo.”

  “Clark James?”

  “I couldn’t see. It happened so fast.”

  She began sobbing uncontrollably.

  “Shhhh,” soothed Jess. He cradled her in his arms as blood dripped on his hand. “You’re hurt, Maria.”

  “I’m okay…”

  But not really.

  She passed out.