Tales of the Scarlet Knight Collection: The Call

by P. T. Dilloway

  “Nice to meet you, Doctor,” Lintner said. He leaned down to kiss her sloppily on the hand as if she were a princess. Emma could definitely smell alcohol on the man’s breath, enough to nearly gag her.

  The director abandoned Emma with the councilman. Emma looked around for a route of escape, but at the moment they were pressed too close together. Lintner leered at her and then said in a drunken whisper, “I have to say you’re the best looking doctor I have ever seen.”

  “Thank you,” Emma said. She looked around helplessly. “I should find Dr. Dreyfus—”

  “Dan? What do you need to see him for?” Before Emma could answer, Lintner guffawed. “Oh, I get it. You’re his date. Danny Boy always did have good taste in women.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “He hasn’t told you yet, has he? Well, back in the day Danny was quite the ladies man. Always some girl sniffing around his trust fund. One of them even came around with a bun in the oven. Those were an interesting couple of weeks, I tell you what.” Lintner pressed closer to Emma. He whispered in her ear, “I don’t think he’d mind sharing with his old godfather. How about we sneak off and you can give me a personal tour of the place?”

  It took every ounce of restraint for Emma not to slap him. Before she could say anything, a woman said, “There you are!”

  Emma’s eyes widened as the woman in an emerald evening gown that went perfectly with her dark red hair came to stand beside her. At first Emma thought she must be dreaming, that her mother couldn’t possibly be here. Then the woman turned and Emma saw her eyes were green, not blue like Mom’s. She had never seen this woman before, but the woman seemed to recognize her. “Excuse us for a moment, Roy. It’s been so long since I’ve seen my niece.”

  Emma let the woman steer her away from Lintner, over by Alex the mastodon. Only then did she say, “You’re not my aunt. She’s in the nursing home.”

  “You’re right about that,” the woman said. “I just thought you needed rescuing from that creep.” She held out her hand for Emma to shake. “Name’s Sylvia Joubert.”

  “Emma Earl.”

  “This your first time at one of these shindigs?”

  “Yes.”

  Sylvia nodded. “You seem too nice for that crowd. Rich people aren’t really any better than anyone else. Usually they’re a lot worse.”

  “Oh.”

  “So what are you doing here?”

  “I work here.”

  “Really? You’re a little overdressed for a waitress.”

  Emma blushed at this. “I work for the museum. I’m a geologist.”

  “I’m sorry. You look a little young to be a geologist.”

  “I know. That’s what everyone says.”

  Sylvia led her over to a bench to sit down. “Hey, how about I get you a drink? You look like you could use a stiff belt.”

  “I can’t. I’m underage.”

  “That’s all right, they aren’t going to card us.”

  “I couldn’t do that.” The director might be able to overlook her fraternizing with Dr. Dreyfus, but if Emma got drunk, then the director might decide to fire her.

  “Well, how about some water then?”

  “Water would be fine. Thank you.” At this point she really wanted another cup of tea, this one in her apartment. Then she could curl up on her bed and try to forget this whole thing. It had been a mistake to come here, among all these wealthy and powerful people.

  Sylvia returned with a flute filled with water. She handed this to Emma before she patted Emma’s shoulder. “You shouldn’t let that creep get to you. Another three months and he’ll be nothing.”

  “No, you’re right: I don’t belong here.”

  “Hey, come on, don’t talk like that. You look great. Better than I did when I was your age. Of course that was a long time ago, way before you were born.”

  From the look of Sylvia’s face, Emma figured she was probably in her late forties, or early fifties at most; about Aunt Gladys’s age, though without the ravages of Alzheimer’s. “Thanks. You look good too.”

  “So how about we go back out there and show them our stuff?” Sylvia elbowed Emma in the ribs hard enough for her to wince. “I’ll be your bodyguard.”

  “Sure, Ms.—”

  “Call me Aunt Sylvia for tonight.” With that, Sylvia took Emma’s hand and then led her back into the fray.

  ***

  A tone sounded to indicate it was time for the presentation. Emma made sure to stand near the front with her new friend Sylvia so Dr. Dreyfus could see her as he made his speech. Someone had set up a podium in front of the entrance to the exhibit so Dr. Dreyfus could speak.

  The director spoke first to thank those who had shown up, especially the donors for their generosity. She concluded with, “And now we’ll hear from the man who made this tremendous discovery, Dr. Daniel Dreyfus.”

  Dr. Dreyfus came up to the podium amidst polite applause. “That’s your friend?” Sylvia whispered into Emma’s ear.

  “My colleague,” Emma said.

  “I’m in the wrong line of work,” Sylvia grumbled.

  Dr. Dreyfus stared at the crowd and then cleared his throat. He turned to where Emma stood and met her eyes. At last he spoke in a clear voice, his speech as passionate as when he’d guided her through the Karlak II exhibit.

  He had gotten up to Karlak II taking the throne as the first king of Egypt when the main exhibit floor shook as if from an earthquake, accompanied by a noise like thunder. The guests screamed and ran in all directions while the smoke alarms blared. Dr. Dreyfus remained frozen at the podium, a note card held in one hand.

  Emma wanted to help him, but there was more important business to take care of at the moment. She saw black smoke rising up from the third floor. She thought of her work and that of the other scientists, all of that knowledge about to go up into flames.

  Sylvia grabbed her arm to haul her towards the front door, where people were pushing and shoving to free themselves. “Come on, let’s get out of here,” she said.

  “Not yet,” Emma said. She managed to shake free from Sylvia’s grasp and run for the stairs. Everyone else was going the opposite way, which made it easy to reach the stairs and begin climbing up.

  The museum had firefighting systems of course, but those might not be enough in this case. She couldn’t let all that research go up in smoke. Maybe she would be too late, but she might still save something of value.

  As she neared the door for the third floor, it came flying open. The door tore off its hinges, bouncing down the stairs. She managed to press herself against the wall in time to avoid being decapitated. Undaunted by this, Emma continued up the stairs, into a nightmare.

  There was no way to think of the thing that stood on the landing except as a nightmare. It seemed ripped out of every child’s worst dreams, those that involved running from some undefined monster. Its black form was vaguely humanoid, but with spikes jutting out from its shoulders, knees, and feet. Its hands had five fingers, but these ended in claws like those of a grizzly bear. Worst of all were its eyes, a pair of glowing red orbs that seemed to bore into her.

  The growl it let out was more animal-like than human. Then it raised its clawed right hand. It swiped at Emma with its claws. She jumped back; her shoes caught the edge of a step, but didn’t hold. She tumbled down a flight of stairs; she flipped end-over-end several times before coming to rest on the second floor landing. She saw the creature standing at the top of the stairs, glaring down at her with those red eyes. It raised its right hand again, seeming to point at her—

  What happened next Emma couldn’t explain. Sylvia appeared at her side and knelt down beside her. She looked up at the creature and then held up her hand. Emma was certain she must be suffering from a concussion, because it appeared Sylvia’s hand was glowing white. Stranger yet, the ceiling over the creature gave way. Chunks of ceiling tile and concrete crashed down on the monster.

  “What?” Emma managed to get out.

 
Sylvia scooped her up into her arms, not seeming to strain at all from Emma’s weight. “Let’s get you out of here,” Sylvia whispered.

  The world around Emma disappeared in a flash of white light.

  Chapter 10

  Roscoe Caffee did not have a real home. He had lost his last apartment three months ago thanks to a run of bad luck. Like most of the homeless, he took to occupying one of the abandoned factories in the industrial sector that had closed down before Roscoe was born, when manufacturing headed south and west.

  His present roommates were three homeless guys and a mangy gray dog. He didn’t know their names and they didn’t know his. No one bothered to ask; they weren’t much for small talk. They only sat around a flaming garbage can, to bask in its light and heat against an especially chilly August.

  Roscoe had went out earlier to lift a newspaper. As expected the story took up most of the front page. The woman’s name was Sarah MacGregor. It took Roscoe a long time to read the story and he had to skip over more than a few words, but from what he could tell, the woman’s husband was some kind of scientist at the Plaine Museum. Roscoe remembered the museum from a field trip in third grade, back when he still went to school; he had really liked the big elephant-looking thing they had.

  He breathed easier once he read the police didn’t have any suspects at the moment. They didn’t even have one of those artist’s conception things with a vague description. For the moment he was in the clear. That didn’t mean he would stay that way. A dead pregnant woman was the kind of case the cops would go all-out on, second only to murdering a cop or some other really important person. They would lean on all of their snitches and offer a big reward for information. Someone like one of his three roommates would turn him in without a second thought for a big reward.

  He told himself to calm down. The gun was gone and no one had identified him. So long as he kept his mouth shut and his wits about him, he would be fine. Still, it would probably be a good idea to get some money for a bus ticket out of here. Maybe he could go down to the harbor and stowaway on a boat. He didn’t care where he went, so long as it was far away from here.

  He saw the woman’s face even when he closed his eyes. She had been so pretty, almost like his mama. The last time he had seen his mother, she had screamed at him that he wouldn’t amount to a damn. She had been right about that.

  The eyes of the pregnant woman began to turn red. The woman’s eyes glowed blood red; the heat of them prompted Roscoe to cringe. To his horror Sarah MacGregor stood up, the eyes still staring at him. Her mouth opened, an inhuman voice rumbling out of it. “I’ve found you, Roscoe Caffee. Now you’re mine.”

  Roscoe heard glass shatter, followed by something metal clanking on the ground. He scrambled to his feet in time to see the same awful red eyes from his nightmare. Except now he was fully awake.

  The eyes belonged to a monster. Roscoe saw its heavy, spiky frame outlined in the flickering light of the fire. Worse yet, the monster had claws like some kind of wild animal. It raised its left hand; the claws lengthened. “You’re mine, Roscoe,” the monster said in the same voice as his nightmare.

  Its eyes still on Roscoe, the monster pointed its left hand at the fire. The claws actually fired from out of the fingers like darts. Three sliced open the throats of Roscoe’s roommates while the fourth went clean through the dog to embed itself in the wall. Roscoe didn’t need to be told he was next on the list.

  He took off running through the factory. Though he didn’t see the red eyes following him, he knew they were there. He could hear that demonic voice whisper in his ear, “You can run, little man, but I will find you.”

  Roscoe was too petrified even to scream as he ran through the maze of alleys in the industrial sector. No matter how fast he ran, he sensed the monster was still right there. He forced himself to keep running; it was the only way he might survive. Despite this, his body slowed and his legs grew heavy.

  He finally had to stop in an alley to rest. A fence topped with barbed wire blocked the other end of the alley, but he saw doors that led into a couple of old factories. He could hide in one of those until the monster went away.

  He got five steps down the alley before he heard a clank like he had first heard by the fire. He saw the monster standing there, its red eyes still glowing at him. Roscoe took off running for the end of the alley, for the doors into the other factories. He tried one after the other of these, but like in a horror movie they were locked. He tried to bang on these and even throw himself at them, but it didn’t do any good. All the while the monster made its way slowly towards him.

  Roscoe finally tried to climb up the fence at the end of the alley. He didn’t care if he tore up his hands from the barbed wire; it was better than being dead, which would certainly happen if he stayed here. He leaped onto the fence and then climbed.

  He got halfway up before he felt a sharp pain in his left shoulder. He saw a black metal dart like the ones that had killed his roommates stuck out of the shoulder. Before Roscoe could scream, a second dart went through his right shoulder. He lost his grip on the fence and tumbled to the ground.

  He turned onto his belly, so he wouldn’t have to look up at the monster. “Please don’t kill me,” he said. “I’ll go to the police. I’ll turn myself in. Please don’t kill me.”

  “The police are fools. You will meet my justice,” the monster said.

  A metal foot kicked Roscoe in the midsection, propelling him like a soccer ball into the wall. He lay on his back, staring up at the night sky for a moment before the awful red eyes reappeared. These glowered at him, seeming to brighten until Roscoe had to close his eyes, but even then he could still see them. He finally let out a scream as the claws raked across his midsection, nearly cleaving him in two.

  The monster took a few steps back; it watched as the life faded from him. “I’m sorry,” Roscoe said with his last breath, the pregnant woman’s face in his mind.

  Chapter 11

  Emma thought for certain she was dead. She had never really been religious, her mother a lapsed Catholic and her father an equally lapsed Jew, so she hadn’t put a lot of thought into the whole afterlife question. It was theoretically possible as a matter of quantum physics perhaps, though she didn’t see it as very likely. She had hoped there was some nice place where she might find her parents, although she didn’t see it as very likely either.

  It came as a surprise then to find herself standing—or perhaps floating—amidst a sea of bright white light. No fluffy clouds or angels with wings and halos, just white light everywhere.

  Then she heard Mom’s voice. It was as soft as when Mom had used to sing to her as a baby. “Don’t be afraid,” Mom said.

  “Mom? Where are you?”

  Right on cue, her mother appeared in front of her, or perhaps above her; it was difficult to gauge perspective in this place. Most of her mother was bathed in the same bright white light as everything else, but Mom’s eyes glowed a brilliant sapphire and her hair a more subdued ruby color. “I’m right here, baby. I’ve always been here.”

  “Am I dead?”

  “No, baby. Not yet.”

  “Then what’s going on? Why am I here?”

  “I have a job for you, Emma. I need you to do something very important for me. Do you think you can do it?”

  “What is it?”

  “I need you to find a very special box for me.”

  “A box? What’s in it?”

  “You’ll know when you open it.” Mom’s hand appeared from the light; her skin glowed with golden light as she caressed Emma’s cheek. “Can you do this for me, baby?”

  “Mom, I don’t understand—”

  “It’s very important, Emma. You have to do this. Not just for your father and I, but for everyone.”

  “Everyone?”

  “I always knew you were special. That’s why you’ve been chosen.”

  “Chosen? Mom, please, I don’t understand what’s going on.”

  Her mother b
egan to drift away, her touch fading from Emma’s cheek. “Just follow me,” Mom said.

  “Mom, wait! Don’t go!”

  “Follow me—”

  Emma wasn’t sure if she were running or swimming through the light, vainly trying to keep her mother in sight. All she could see was a hint of her mother’s eyes and a golden hand that beckoned her onward. As Emma struggled to keep up, she heard a second voice, this one much louder and angrier. “Emma, what the hell are you doing?” Becky shouted.

  Emma opened her eyes and saw Becky’s a few inches away. For a moment it didn’t register that she wasn’t in that strange universe of white light—the afterlife or perhaps limbo—until Becky gave her a slight shake. Only then did she realize she was in a hospital room and wearing a hospital gown, her bare feet on the cold linoleum.

  “What’s going on?” Emma asked, her voice hoarse. “Where am I?”

  “St. Joseph’s,” Becky said. “They moved you from the emergency room about six hours ago.”

  “Emergency room?” Belatedly the memories came back to her: the explosion in the museum, the monster at the top of the steps and then her falling backwards. From there things went fuzzy, though she thought that nice woman Sylvia had been there.

  “Yes, the emergency room. You’ve been asleep for ten hours now.” Becky squeezed Emma’s arm and then turned her around. “Let’s get you back into bed before a nurse sees you and has a conniption.”

  As she shuffled back to the bed, Emma felt a sharp pain in her midsection and a lesser pain in her left ankle. Her head also felt as if someone had stuffed it full of cotton. Emma looked down her gown to see a very large bandage covering most of her abdomen. She didn’t remember that monster actually cutting her, but then maybe she hadn’t time to feel it with the fall. “How bad is it?” she asked.