Number of the Beast (Paladin Cycle, Book One)

by Lita Stone

  Derrick lunged onto her. Lying between her thighs, his erection grazed her burning slit.

  Throatily, she hissed, “Fuck me.”

  A flash of white light beamed in his face.

  Derrick and Carmen gawked at the shadowy figure moving closer. When the mysterious figure leaned over the tailgate, a familiar face came into view. Sheriff Bowden stood dressed in a white shirt and checkered sleep pants. He propped the Maglite on the edge of the truck bed.

  Derrick jumped up and scrambled for his jeans. “Son of a bitch.”

  Carmen grabbed his wrist. “Don’t you stop goddamnit!”

  Derrick frowned and pulled from her grasp. He slid his jeans over his damn fine ass.

  With a tilt of his head, Bowden gestured to his police car. “Fun’s over. Let’s go.” He turned his back, giving Carmen some privacy. She slid her dress down and smoothed it to cover her lady bits.

  Foregoing the handcuffs, Sheriff put them in the back of his car. Bowden circled the vehicle and paused in its headlights. He waved at the two-story house beside the Rising Bull. “Thanks Ruth Anne! I’ll make sure these outlaws never see the light of day.”

  Carmen gave the bird to the old Pentecostal woman.

  Ruth Anne opened her window and leaned out. With a wave at the Sheriff, she said, “It’s disgusting what these young people do these days.”

  Sheriff Bowden got in and cranked the car. “Crazy old bat.” He took a swig from a large paper cup and turned to face them. “Evenin’.”

  Carmen grumbled. “I swear to God, Sheriff, I’m gonna start a drug ring in this fucking town just to give you something better to do with your time.”

  “Mighty kind of you, Miss Vallez.” Bowden shifted to drive and pulled from the parking lot.

  “How long had you been standing by the truck anyway?”

  Bowden set his drink in the console cup holder. He flicked his blinker and pulled onto FM 1085. “I gotta admit I’m more of a Miller man myself.”

  “Just throw me under the jail and lose the key.” Carmen slumped against the door. “So what’s the deal, Sheriff? You going to drop us off somewhere and let this slide?”

  “No ma’am. You two just earned an all-expense paid night in the drunk tank.”

  “We’re not even drunk!”

  “I missed the last half-hour of American Idol ‘cause of you two, so if my night’s ruined, so is yours.”

  Carmen plucked her phone from her purse and dialed Mike. Hopefully he could keep an eye on Amy and maybe even give her a ride home.

  #

  Mike wrapped his long arms around Amy as he led the way from his truck to the trailer’s front door. She stumbled on the first step and giggled.

  “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll go straight to bed and sleep this off,” Mike said as he opened her front door. The television in the living room blared.

  Amy threw her arms around Mike. “I love you. I don’t know what we would’ve done if you hadn’t brought you home tonight.” She nestled her face into his shoulder. Then she burst into laughter. “I mean brought me home today.”

  Mike said goodbye and hurried off the wooden deck. From the front door, Amy waved him farewell. “Thanks Mike! Love you!” After the taillights vanished she stumbled into the living room.

  Shane’s brother Scooter was sprawled on the couch watching an animated show.

  She wobbled toward the edge of the sofa cushion.

  “Futurama.” The gangly teen peered at her. “How was your night?”

  She plopped beside him. “I can honestly tell you that it was perfectly and absolutely out of this world.” Covering her mouth with her fist, she quietly burped. “Should you be up this late?”

  “For God’s sake, I’m seventeen. According to the experts I only need five hours of sleep to be functional as long as I sleep in on the weekend to recharge.”

  “Is it wise to stay up late on a school night?”

  With a scoff, he eyed her. “Is it wise to be drunk on a work night?”

  Giggling, she swatted his leg. The room suddenly spun. Crap. “You can put all the blame for that on Aunt Carmen.”

  “Aunt Carmen?”

  “You know what I mean. Don’t be giving me so much sassafras.” The room tilted sideways and she gripped the cushion. At least her right hand gripped the couch, her left hand accidently clasped Scooter’s thigh. When the room leveled she snatched her hand back, but already a gleam filled Scooter’s eyes.

  His hand covered hers. Scooter sat up, positioning himself closer to her. Too close.

  Amy cleared her throat. She pulled her hand from beneath his and stood. “I need sleep.”

  He jumped to his feet and caught her wrist. Yanking, he twirled her to face him. Now the room was really spinning. Crap. Crap. Crap.

  “What do you see in him?” he asked.

  This conversation had been a long time coming, Amy knew. And it was a conversation that desperately needed to be had, but not while she was drunk as hell.

  “I love him,” she simply said. “And that’s all you need to know.”

  “Well, he doesn’t love you. Shane’s too stupid to know what love is.”

  Amy shook her head. “And I suppose you know what love is?”

  “Yes. I do. Because I love you. Want to know why I love you?”

  Amy swallowed a bitter bubble of whiskey. “No.”

  Like every other seventeen-year-old boy, he was confusing love with lust. He didn’t love her. He wanted to have sex with her.

  If she didn’t love the kid so much, she’d have lost it on him long ago and told him off, called him out for his wildly inappropriate advances. Called him a snake!

  But he was like a brother to her. She’d raised him for the past five years.

  Besides, it wasn’t all his fault. If grown men couldn’t help but let hormones rule their brains, what chance did a hormonal teenager have at controlling their primal urges?

  What Scooter felt for her would pass with time and life experience. And if it didn’t, God help him. Because she couldn’t keep his advances on her a secret from Shane much longer. Eventually, no matter how careful she or Scooter was, Shane was bound to eventually clue in.

  Then he’d beat Scooter unconscious.

  A wave of nausea made her blink. She palmed her rumbling stomach. Crap.

  “Because you’re smart and sexy,” Scooter said. “And loyal to your friends. A heart of gold, even good to animals. You appreciate good hygiene...”

  “Love isn’t something you can define. It’s not something you can make a bulleted list of; if you can name it then that’s not love. And that’s what you don’t get. And that’s why you’ll never get…” She thumbed herself, jabbing at her chest. “Me.” With those final words Amy turned and hurried down the hall.

  “At least I’ve always been here for you!” Scooter called out.

  Inside the master bedroom, she locked the door before entering the adjacent bathroom. She closed the door. Hung over the shower rod was her flimsy cheetah night gown, but the pair of matching panties were missing.

  “Dammit, Scooter,” she mumbled. She stripped her liquor-and-smoke infused clothes off and slipped the nightie on.

  Amy copped a squat on the porcelain throne, as Shane would have put it. Her mind reeled and yo-yoed from the alcoholic stupor. She was already regretting the night. She fished through her purse on the counter and found the vial. Desperate to ward off what was sure to be a hell of hangover, she drained the tube nearly empty. The syrupy potion didn’t taste half bad after...however many drinks she’d consumed.

  Female! You must cease this drunkenness at once!

  Amy jumped to her feet, ignoring the pee trickling down her legs. Stumbling to the sink, she wagged a finger at her reflection. “We gotta set up some ground rules.”

  A deafening roar erupted inside her foggy head. She covered her ears, and winced at the return of the excruciating throbbing from the manhandling she’d received earlier thanks to that
Neanderthal Chris.

  He dare touch the Beloved mother!”

  A malevolent growl hissed inside of her mind, slithering wickedly through her body like an invading serpentine spirit, leaving chills in its wake.

  I will kill him!

  Amy cleared her throat. She closed her eyes and burped, swallowing the last Cosmopolitan she’d drank all over again. She shook a finger at her reflection. “Ground rules...we w-were about to d-discuss ground rules. And stop shouting!”

  A deep sigh echoed inside her head. I am unclear to your meaning of ‘ground rules’, Female.

  She growled her frustration. “Rule One. You are to respect my privacy during...” She widened her eyes at her reflection. “You know.”

  Speak not in rhyme. I lack time and patience.

  “When I’m on the toilet I don’t want to hear a strange man yelling at me.” Amy waited but the voice remained silent. She let out a huff. “Okay?”

  I am no stranger.

  “Now who’s talking in rhyme?” She glared. “Will you respect my privacy?”

  I will abide by your ground rule, as you call it, but I have a stipulation. I came to protect you. If your safety is at risk, I will forsake your ground rule.

  “Fair enough,” Amy said. “Rule Two. No communicating with me when—”

  Enough Female! I will abide by no more of your absurd rules. Have you no idea of the being that speaks to you now? If you knew of my powers, you would not quote moronic rules. You would fear me, and you would be wise to do so.

  In the mirror, a ghostly image of a young man’s face replaced her own: rugged tanned complexion framed by wild coal colored hair, jawline lean, cheek bones strong. The visage was familiar but also unknown.

  Fear me, Female and heed my warnings. The Beast will come. And thou cannot reckon with the Beast without my protection.

  Either she had lost her ever loving mind or was really, really, really insanely drunk. Perhaps both. Regardless, she refused to be bullied by her own psyche. Straightening, Amy said, “Rule Three.” The room spun. She gripped the rim of the sink, steadying herself before continuing. “I would appreciate a little courtesy. Does your mother approve of how you speak to women?”

  I sense not. The voice hesitated. What is this courtesy you speak of?

  “Instead of barking orders, I would appreciate a ‘thank you’ or a ‘please’. And you will not address me as female. My name is Amy or you can simply refer to me as ma’am.”

  Silence.

  “Are we clear?”

  Yes.

  Amy cupped her ear. “I’m sorry. What’d ya say?” She heard a sigh.

  Thou are the most ornery Fem-, Ma’am, I have encountered in all my seasons.

  “Rule Four. You will not speak to me when I’m being...intimate with my boyfriend Shane.”

  It is grossly improper to speak of such things! To say the least with your...this rule I will certainly follow, as long as your safety is not at risk.

  “Good. We just might be able to coexist. Now answer me just one dang question. Who the heck are you?”

  The image in the mirror wavered like frail branches in the wind and an animalistic mask covered the young boy’s rugged face. Behold, I am the Dark Trinity!

  Chapter Fifteen

  Amy waited inside her Escort outside Roxy’s until school bus number 71 pulled into the parking lot. Scooter exited the bus. His brown hair was unkempt, and his polo shirt wrinkled, not typical of Scooter’s usual neat style. He climbed into the passenger side of her car, scowl on his face.

  “How was school?”

  Scooter glanced at her, suspicion in his eyes.

  That wasn’t really what she wanted to ask and he probably knew it. She really wanted to ask: Did anyone stuff you in a locker or make you eat ABC gum. Or Heaven forbid, did anyone put a cigarette out in your hair again?

  “I want my own car.” he said.

  “Maybe you should think about getting a job. I can talk to Carmen and see if they need a workhand on the chicken farm.”

  Scooter let out a huff. “That’s disgusting. Those places stink worse than paper mills.”

  “You have to start somewhere.”

  Scooter folded his arms against his chest. “Shane could give me the Jalopy and buy himself a new truck.”

  Amy bit her lower lip. Scooter was about to graduate high school and hadn’t worked a day in his life. Part of her felt worried for him since he didn’t seem worried for himself; but another part of her wanted to see him get his hands dirty. She decided to change the topic. “Mrs. Wright came into the diner today. You’re not being mean to her daughter, are you?”

  “I’m usually the one taking the beatings, I’d never bully anyone else.” He hesitated. “But what does Joanne expect? I mean who’s dumb enough to get pregnant at sixteen?”

  “Lots of kids make dumb mistakes,” Amy said. “But you won’t be one of them. You’re too smart for that. Right?”

  “I have a summer project,” Scooter said abruptly. “It’s on the effects of animal behavior in relation to moon phases. If I complete it before July then my science teacher will write me a reference letter for UCLA.”

  “Interesting,” Amy said.

  “UCLA professors won’t help but be impressed.”

  “Are you sure you won’t miss Buckeye if you head out west?”

  “The only thing I’m gonna miss about this place is you.”

  “Well isn’t that sweet.” Amy smiled. “I bet Abe would be perfect for helping you out on that project.”

  Scooter’s eyes grew wide. “Really? Isn’t he crazy and a drunk?”

  “I don’t think he’s a drunk,” Amy said with certainty.

  “The guy’s kind of a weirdo.”

  “People say that a lot about me, too.” She patted his jean-clad thigh. “But you still like me.”

  He gave her a sidelong glance, grinning. “That’s true.”

  “Come on, we’re gonna go see Abe right now. I need some worms. Your brother’s coming home early.”

  “They fire him?”

  She’d been wondering the same thing but hadn’t the nerve to text Shane and find out. “I hope not.”

  Scooter said, “I got a new board game called Knight City. You want to try it out later?”

  “I would love to.”

  Scooter’s board games were elaborate and complicated but she knew he didn’t have many friends, except Zack Grouse. Sometimes it had gotten hard for her being solely responsible for Shane’s brother while he was away, but she wouldn’t trade the kid for a million of Roxy’s pecan pies. After looking out for him for the past five years during Shane’s stint in the Army and now in the oil field, she couldn’t imagine a day without him or his mind boggling board games. And if it wasn’t for her watching Scooter, she and Shane would’ve gone their separate ways just as they’d done after Victoria’s accidental death.

  After a short drive, Amy flicked her blinker and steered into the drive of Abe’s Bait & Tackle. Shorthand for Abe’s Beer, Bait, Ammo, Tackle and More which was printed on the receipts. The little brick building was nestled between a dilapidated warehouse and a dinky gas station with only two pumps. Stacks of dog, horse, and cow feed bordered the doorway.

  Amy and Scooter walked between two drink coolers filled with beer. They stopped at the glass counter where the grizzly old man sat with his back to them. His waist-length silver hair was tied into a ponytail. He focused on a bigmouth bass swimming in an aquarium built into the wall.

  “I’ll be with you in a moment, cher. I’m having me a talk with Apollo.”

  “What’s he saying?”

  “I said I was talking to Apollo. If the damned fish starts talking back to ol’ Abe—”

  Amy laughed. “I need some night crawlers.”

  “Don’t understand why you people don’t just go find ’em yourselves. All you got to do is move some pine needles and them bebettes be crawling on that sweet, moist soil.”

  “Wouldn’t that hur
t your business?” Amy folded her arms on the glass countertop.

  Abe swiveled his stool to face her and Scooter, a can of beer in one hand, a briar pipe in the other. Wisps of spicy sweet Latakia rose to the ceiling in halos. A dark purple gris-gris bag dangled around his neck. “You think I make my living off worms? That makes me want to laugh, cher. You going fishing tonight?”

  “That’s the plan. When Shane gets home.”

  “It’s a full moon. Fish be biting real hard when the moon’s full.” He puffed on his pipe. Speaking around the stem, he said, “But you best be staying outta them woods. You hear me?”

  “I hear you,” Amy said, shaking her head. “I don’t need any more adventure in my life than I already got inside my head.”

  Abe’s pipe bobbed up and down. “What adventure you gettin’ up to, cher?”

  “Oh, nothing out of the ordinary. Just the voice in my head and finding out that there’s a ‘beast’ out to get me.” Amy enunciated the word ‘beast’ and swiped the air with a claw-shaped hand.

  “Excuse me,” Scooter said. “What do you know about how the fish bite on a full moon?”

  “I know a lot about such stuff. I tried to teach your stubborn brother, but his head is harder than a crawdad’s claw.”

  “Scooter’s doing a science paper on the effects the moon has on animals.”

  Abe sipped his beer. “I was born under a full moon. Whenever it’s full now my big toe twitches and strange women come knocking on my door. Hell, last month a saucy Latina showed up and gave me a hell of a blowjob. That woman could suck a—”

  “Gosh all mighty! I don’t think Scooter or me want to hear about that.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Scooter said, while giving Amy a teasing grin.

  Abe chuckled. “I bet you would, pony.” He tampered the leaves and relit the tobacco. “In nature, after the autumnal equinox, a female gets frisky three days before the second full moon. Some folk say that’s when the Earth Mother reunites with her lover-consort-son.”

  “After both lying dead for the whole winter,” Amy finished. “What else you got, Abe?”

  Scooter removed a notebook and pen from his backpack.

  Amy nipped at her lower lip. “Is there anything you know about the moon and animals that doesn’t involve sex?”