The Frenzy Way

by Gregory Lamberson

  Dropping into a fighting crouch, he aimed his cell phone across the room with his left hand and his .38 with his right. Terrified eyes reflected the blue glow back at him as a dozen wire mesh pens stacked on top of each other came into view. Imprisoned cats, pigeons, and chickens cowered before him. Lightning flashed, outlining the kitchen. A moment later, thunder boomed, driving the animals into a panicked frenzy. Sliding his gun hand along the wall behind him, Mace found a light switch and flicked it.

  Nothing happened.

  No electricity.

  As the animal shrieks grew louder, he opened the blinds over the window above the sink, admitting gray light through the rain hammering at the glass. He counted three cats, two pigeons, two hens, and three empty pens. Pools of dried blood had stained the floor.

  Janus likes his midnight snacks raw, he decided as he photographed the livestock.

  A refrigerator occupied the corner next to the pens. Passing the animals, he opened its metal door, braced for God knew what. The contents had been removed, and no light came on. Closing the door, he opened a pantry: also empty. His gaze settled on another door.

  The basement.

  The hair on the back of his neck stood up, and he took a deep breath. Opening that door, he shined his cell phone down wooden stairs. The darkness swallowed the faint glow. Rooted to the spot, he stared into the deep blackness below. Was it his imagination, or did he feel heat rising toward him? He slowly registered a concrete floor and a cinder-block wall.

  Only one exit …

  Mace did not want to go down there. Every instinct in his body told him to remain upstairs. Swallowing, he descended the stairs. Unable to grasp the railing with the cell phone in one hand and his gun in the other, he moved with great caution, testing each stair before setting his full weight on it. Who knew what traps Janus might have set for inquisitive visitors?

  With sweat slicking his face, he reached the bottom of the stairs and aimed the cell phone around the basement. The blue light revealed several large objects he could not identify. Lightning flashed through glass block windows, which offered Janus privacy. Mace stood near what appeared to be a large wooden slab tilted at a forty-five degree angle. On closer inspection, he saw that it was not a slab at all but twocross boards designed to support a person’s head and buttocks, with giant wooden rollers above and below them and knotted ropes threaded through the rollers. A crank wheel protruded from the base beneath the torture rack.

  Good Lord. He’s recreated his own Inquisition right here in Lower Manhattan. Peering at the bloodstained ropes, he realized the torture rack had been put to use. He photographed it—long shot, medium shot, close up—and continued on. Moving through the darkness, he banged his knee against what turned out to be a cast-iron, wood-burning stove with two pokers protruding through its open door. With pain flaring through his knee, he examined the pokers. A congealed substance, like egg yokes, had oozed down the metal rods from their points.

  Eyeballs.

  His stomach twisted, and he experienced a flash of nausea.

  Get a hold of yourself!

  Next he came to a metal cage the height of a human being, two feet wide at its circular base, which hovered a foot above the floor, and three feet wide at shoulder height, suspended from a thick chain anchored in the ceiling. His shoulder brushed against the cage as he passed it, causing it to swing away from him and then strike his back, which made him flinch.

  Jesus Christ!

  Stilling his pounding heart, he approached the hellhole’s far corner. Chains with manacles hung from the wall. Even before he pointed his cell phone at the restraints, he registered the foot-deep pile of human bones on the floor. Stomach acid burned the back of his throat as he went closer, the cell phone casting its blue glow over the human remnants. He saw no skulls in the dense pile, but he saw teeth marks all over the bones. Had Janus eaten his victims alive or dead? Taking a horrified step back, he raised the cell phone for another snapshot. Lightning flashed outside.

  How many people had Janus tortured to death to produce such aspectacle? Ten? Twenty? He recalled documentaries he had viewed in high school history class of the corpses uncovered in Nazi concentration camps. He had been unable to comprehend such evil then, and he experienced a similar bewilderment now, despite all the atrocities he had viewed during his years as a homicide cop. Human or beast, Janus Farel was a monster who had to be stopped.

  If Stalk had been unable to slay Janus, what made Mace think he could do it? Thunder exploded outside, reverberating the building, and his fear bubbled to the surface and seized control of him. Spinning on one heel, he bolted forward and shoved the suspended cage out of his way. He managed to avoid the stove but crashed into the rack. Before he knew it, he had dropped his cell phone. The device’s lid closed when it struck the cement floor, shrouding him in darkness.

  Oh, God, no!

  With his heart slamming in his chest, he dropped to all fours and slid his left hand along the cold cement, his fingertips contacting textures that stirred revulsion within him. Refusing to pocket his .38 and search the floor with both hands, he crawled around the rack and sighed with relief when his hand closed around the cell phone. Opening it once more, he launched himself forward on the balls of his feet, charging in the approximate direction of the stairs. His right shoulder slammed against the two-by-four that served as the stairway banister, and his body rebounded against the wall to his left.

  As he scrambled up the stairs, his right foot caught beneath one, and he pitched forward, smashing his left shin. He tightened his grip on the cell phone and his gun, determined not to drop either one as he jerked his head back to avoid driving his face into the wood. His chest absorbed the impact. Pedaling his fisted hands over each other, he regained his momentum and dived through the open door into the kitchen, sending the animals into another frenzy.

  Mace ran through the dining room, grateful for at least some natural light. In the music room, he suddenly found himself slidingthrough plaster dust and his feet flew up from beneath him and he crashed onto the floor. Rolling over, he pocketed his cell phone and reached up with his free hand, searching for the wall he knew to be there. His palm grazed a doorknob, which he grabbed for leverage to get to his feet. Halfway up, the door came open and dozens of heavy objects rained down on him from the closet’s shelf. The objects struck the floor like bowling pins and rocked back and forth. One of them smashed against his head, and he raised his hands to shield himself, dropping his cell phone and .38. Standing, he backpedaled away from the closet as the last of the objects hit the floor.

  Empty eye sockets stared up at him. Crooked teeth leered at him. His temples pulsed as his mind absorbed the sight of the human skulls. Fully three dozen of them had poured out over him, many of them shattering on the floor, and he recalled Special Agent Norton telling him the FBI believed their killer had murdered over twenty people before coming to New York City.

  Holy Christ!

  Janus had packed the skulls in the closet as another security measure. If he failed to see Mace’s footsteps in the petrified shit, he couldn’t miss these skulls. Unless Mace packed them out of sight again. Then he realized that his cell phone and gun lay buried somewhere in the grimacing pile at his feet. Some of the skulls pulsed faint blue light, and he reached toward them.

  Fuck this! He intended to get the hell out of here. He’d call in backup after all, and they could retrieve his gun. Staggering into the front hallway on wobbly knees, he raced past the curved staircase to the inside front door, which would lead him into the foyer and freedom beyond it.

  As he reached the door a lightning flash illuminated the silhouette of a figure standing on the other side of the stained glass. Mace stutter-stepped to a stop, and thunder exploded around him.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  Holding an umbrella, Janus trotted up the stairs outside his brownstone. He despised the rain, especially when it doused cities, freeing the stench of Man to rise from the sidewalks along with other o
ffensive odors. Entering the foyer, he took out his keys and came to a sudden stop, nostrils flaring as he sniffed the air.

  Someone’s been here.

  His gaze shifted to the stained glass ahead.

  The mailman?

  No. He smelled fear.

  Smiling to himself, he inserted the key into the door lock and turned it.

  Life is full of surprises.

  Mace struggled to form a plan of action fast. If he had retrieved Patty’s gun, he could have fired at the silhouette. Taking a step back, his eyes zeroed in on the dead bolt. Rather then wait to see it turn, he turned around.

  I’ve got to get that gun!

  Completing his pivot, he faced the curved stairway instead of the hall. Animal instinct took over, and he dashed up the stairs, one hand grasping the polished wood railing. Halfway up he remembered the Blade in his inside coat pocket, but he needed to be close—and ready— to use it. Lightning flashed above the skylight, illuminating the top of the stairs as he reached the second floor. Even as he darted behind the hallway’s curved wall, he glimpsed an elongated shadow at the open foyer door. With his back pressed against the wall, he took a deep, tremulous breath.

  How could he have been stupid enough to leave his gun behind? What had he been thinking? He couldn’t even remember now.

  Pull yourself together.

  His heart pounded in his chest so hard that he thought Janus would hear it.

  Screw your head on straight…

  His brain throbbed.

  Think!

  If he could just escape before Janus realized he was there, before Janus saw the skulls on the floor—

  “Hello?” he heard Janus call out at the bottom of the stairs.

  Standing in the open doorway with a cocksure smile on his face, Janus set his open umbrella down, pocketed his house keys, then closed the door behind him and turned the lock.

  “I know you’re here,” he said, scanning his lair’s interior. A trail of footsteps led through his dung to the living room. “I smell you. I smell your fear.”

  An adult male, he thought. An alpha, despite his fear.

  Following the footsteps into the living room, he said in a singsongvoice, “Come out, come out, wherever you are—or I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll tear your head off.”

  As he passed through the archway into the music room, he saw the skulls strewn in a haphazard fashion before the open closet and a faint blue glow shining through some of them. Walking forward, he peeled off his jacket.

  With sweat pouring down his face, Mace peered around the wall. He did not see Janus. Perhaps he could make it down the stairs and out the front door—

  No. Too dangerous. You’ll never make it. He’ll take you from behind.

  He needed his gun. With it, he could create enough of a diversion to flee or drive the Blade into Janus’s black heart. He looked down the hallway behind him. At least forty feet deep, with half a dozen open doors between him and the end. What would he find down there?

  Don’t know. But I can’t stay here.

  Moving his right foot past his left, he set it down on the rug, then eased his weight onto it. The floor did not squeak.

  Good.

  For all he knew, Janus possessed a canine’s superior hearing. He moved his left foot past his right leg, holding his arms out at his sides for balance.

  So far, so good.

  But why had Janus stopped taunting him? He continued on, one cautious step after another, glancing through the half-open doors at the empty rooms beyond them, hoping to stumble across something—anything—that he could use as a weapon or a distraction. One room actually had furniture—a bed, a desk, and a TV—and he glimpsed clothing hanging in the open closet.

  The master’s bedroom.

  Halfway down the hall, he stood looking down at a single wooden step that descended to the remainder of the floor. If he set his full weight on that step, it might make a loud squeak. If he stepped over it, his weight would surely make a sound that would alert Janus to his presence. His heart pounded faster, and sweat stung his eyes. He cast a glance behind him at the stairway banister. He had no way of knowing if Janus stood on the other side of the curve.

  He could be waiting there right now.

  Swallowing, he wanted to slip inside one of the rooms.

  But then I’ll be trapped for sure.

  Setting his left foot on the step, he allowed a small sigh to escape his lips when the move created no sound. Then he brought his right foot forward and set it on the floor below. The creak that followed caused his heart to skip a beat.

  Damn it!

  Setting his left foot on the floor as well, he froze and listened for Janus, gaze darting to the stairway behind him. Thirty seconds passed. Feeling the desperation of a cornered animal, he started forward again, cognizant of the Blade swinging against his left hip. The hallway angled so that he no longer saw the banister behind him when he glanced over his shoulder. Thunder roared overhead.

  The hallway grew darker, engulfing him. Reaching its end, he saw that the final door opened into a bathroom. Despair settled in: he had found nothing that could help him.

  Unless there’s something inside the bathroom …

  Then the door on his right flew open, and Janus stood naked before him in the service stairway, a malevolent grin on his face.

  “Looking for something?” the werewolf said.

  Before Mace could react, Janus seized him by his throat and slammed his back against the opposite wall with such force that he nearly knocked the wind out of him. Mace felt Janus’s hand change into what felt like knife blades that threatened to cut his throat from his neck. Gasping, he grabbed Janus’s wrist with both hands. It felt like scratching steel.

  The grinning man leaned close to his face. “Why, Captain Mace, what big eyes you have. The better to see me with, I suppose.”

  In that moment, the brown irises of Janus’s eyes expanded, blotting out the whites, so that he stared at Mace with two dark orbs. Mace aimed a kick at the creature’s groin, but Janus turned his body sideways and Mace’s foot struck air. Laughing, Janus hurled Mace to the floor, where Mace saw Patty’s .38 clutched in his foe’s hand.

  “What a brave little pig,” Janus said, aiming the gun at Mace’s head. “You’ve been dogging me. Are you still investigating Glenzer’s death, or are you here to settle the score for that bitch in blue I killed the other night?”

  “She was under my command,” Mace said as if that answered everything.

  “She had good taste.”

  “I’m going to kill you.”

  Janus’s smile turned contemptuous. “Not by the hair of your chinny-chin-chin.” He moved the .38’s barrel between Mace’s eyes. “If it hadn’t been for the invention of this foul maker of death, my kind might still be roaming this country’s wildernesses. Your kind has nearly wiped mine out. Our retarded cousin, the wolf, has practically vanished.”

  “You killed Glenzer for the Blade. How did you know he had it?”

  Janus glared at Mace before answering. “I spent several years with a small Wolf cell in Europe. My brothers had grandiose ideas about striking out at your species, but I found their methods lacking. So I came home. When they intercepted several phone calls between Glenzer and a monsignor in the Vatican, they informed me that the old man possessed the Blade. It was my obligation to take it from him. With that damned silver no doubt buried in an avalanche of bureaucratic redtape, we can kill whoever we want. If one rogue Wolf can turn your entire city upside down, imagine what thousands of us can do.”

  “What about Sarah Harper and Mandy Lee?”

  Janus appeared puzzled. “What about them? Are you looking for a confession? I killed them because I could. It brought me great pleasure to drink their blood and chew their flesh. They were dessert.”

  Mace looked deep into the fiend’s dark eyes. “If you kill me …”

  Janus’s thin lips tightened. “You’re in no position to threaten me, Little Pig
. But I’m curious. How did you find me?”

  Taking a deep breath, Mace got to his feet. The revolver in Janus’s hand followed him. Facing the killer eye to eye, with his chest rising and falling, he braced himself for the impact of a bullet.

  “Did Glenzer leave instructions in that safe that tipped you off?”

  Mace stared back at the predator.

  “It was that whore in the bookstore, wasn’t it? She didn’t want to tell me who she gave her copy of Glenzer’s book to, but I smelled Man all over her. And I guess it was no coincidence that you showed up when I gutted that half-breed. I’ll deal with her in my own way, in my own time.”

  “She’s gone.” It felt good to deprive Janus of his twisted pleasure.

  “Oh, I’ll find her when I deal with her siblings. I have a knack for drawing my enemies into the open. But that’s for the future. Let’s stick to the present, shall we? I admire you, Little Pig. Even though you saw me in action, it took an open mind to accept my existence. Despite all the evidence I’ve left in my wake, your superiors stubbornly maintain that I’m a human psychopath. I’m insulted. How can I top myself? Thank God for your media. And even though you had help, it showed real courage to come here alone.”

  “I’m a police,” Mace said.

  “‘To protect and serve’?”

  Mace ignored the insult.

  “I’ll tell you what, Anthony. Let’s have some fun. See those stairs?” Janus used the gun to gesture past Mace, who glanced at the far end of the stairway.

  “No, but I know they’re there … Julian.”

  Janus raised his eyebrows. Then his smile turned genuine. “So she did remember me. That’s sweet. I’ll make a deal with you: if you can reach those stairs, get down them, and leave this building before I can kill you, I’ll allow you to remain alive.”