The Rifters

by M. Pax

  Most of the businesses had closed, but not Greg’s Pizza ‘n Pies across the road. The windows blazed like freshly stoked hearths. Townspeople sat inside, eating, laughing. Families. Earl couldn’t ruin their innocence. They didn’t know the rift. Only a select group in the town knew of its horrors.

  “Let’s go rob a bank. A big one.” Perhaps the lure of riches would divert Haw Shot. Earl had to try. “We can buy ourselves a castle.”

  “The right kind of castle might tempt me. Be that as it may, I have something better than money now. Magic brewing in my gut, a magic powerful enough to change the universe. The more heads I get, the more powerful I become. Can’t you see how much stronger I am with that sweet lady’s head on my shoulder?”

  How did the heads make him stronger? It didn’t matter. Haw Shot had to be stopped. Earl reached out, grasping for the glowing stone in Haw Shot’s throat.

  “Haw, haw.” Hawley laughed like a sick coyote and shoved open the door to the pie shop. “So many pretty ones to chose from.”

  Mothers leaped in front of their children. Chairs toppled. Drinks spilled. Pizza plopped onto the orange tile floor. Screams and wails replaced the happy chatter.

  “Run,” Earl yelled. “Run.”

  Greg dropped the pizza he was about to put in the oven, cheese and tomato sauce coating him from waist to foot. Jaw flapping, he froze in place. Split seconds stretched into infinity, and, in seemingly stop-motion, Greg lunged for the phone on the wall. He was too late. Haw Shot grabbed him by the hair, pulling until Greg fell onto his knees whimpering. “Please.”

  “See, he wants it, Bart. He’s begging. Don’t keep him waiting.” Haw Shot let go of Earl.

  Earl threw himself in front of Greg, shoving him out of Haw Shot’s clutches. “Run.”

  Greg scurried on all fours toward the door. Haw Shot’s phantom boot stopped him, stomping him onto the ground as if he were a cockroach.

  “Running won’t save him. Or you. You know what will. You tell me what I want to know.”

  “Fools gold and empty prospects, let him be.”

  “Wrong answer.” Haw Shot threw an arm around Earl’s neck, squeezing, dragging him to stand in front of Greg.

  Greg stared into Earl’s soul, sobbing. “Help me. I don’t want to die.” He swiped at the ghost, connecting, resulting in audible thuds. It happened again.

  “He’s saying please. Haw, haw.”

  With all his might, Earl pivoted and swung at Haw Shot’s jaw. His fist went straight through it. He tried the same place Greg had landed his blow. Haw Shot cackled, slipping his ghostly hands into Earl’s.

  Earl fought with arms, legs, and teeth, yet found his hands around Greg’s neck. He twisted. “No.”

  “It all ends if you tell me. You know what.” Haw Shot paused with Greg’s head at a gruesome angle. It cut off the pie man’s air so his weeping came out in a stilted gurgle.

  “I did tell you,” Earl said. The pressure he put on Greg’s chin increased like a team of ten horses stampeding to a river. Earl couldn’t stop. The man screamed then screamed no more. A sick pop silenced him. A moment later Earl held the head in his hands, blood cascading down his pants onto the floor. “Oh.” He drew in a sharp breath.

  The door to the pizza shop flew open. Trinidad Cepeda slid in on her knees, firing a crystal gun. Blue energy blasted from the long slim barrel. The pistol grip had elaborate works of bronze and silver—scrolls, coils, gears. Before her first shot dissipated, Culver rushed in, aiming the same type of weapon. Haw Shot quit moving, as motionless as a vein of untapped gold.

  Earl lunged for the stone in Hawley’s throat, but his fingers went through the phantom. “Son of a biscuit and lard.”

  At that precise moment, the weapon wore off. Haw Shot swiped at Earl, sending him onto his butt. Earl skidded into the wall, his back slamming against the solid brick..

  “Shoot it,” Earl groaned.

  Tiny blinked at her weapon, examining the barrel.“Why don’t the neutrolyzers work?” she asked Culver. She straightened her aluminum foil hat as if it might help.

  Tattoos glowed on both of their hands and wrists. Tattoos like the one Charming wore to designate her rank in the Rifters. Earl squinted, trying to make out what level Culver and Tiny had achieved. The tattoos resembled old circuitry and shone softly with blue and violet light.

  Culver fussed with a watch contraption on his wrist. The glow shifted to orange on the device. “Don’t know. I’m calling in backup.” He spoke into his wrist then fired at the phantom.

  Tiny joined in, hopping, yelling, making wild hand gestures. She had a small effect. Haw Shot froze. The chance Earl had been waiting for. He knew how to stop Hawley, and he knew who had to do it.

  He sprinted out the door to the library. He found the spare key Dante had hid above the window and let himself in.

  hapter

  “Please leave your message—”

  Daelin tired of leaving messages. She needed answers. Cobb hadn’t called back. The Paleo Institute hadn’t called. Their message remained maddeningly the same. “We’re out on an archaeological dig for the summer, our offices are closed.” No word from Charming, which wasn’t like her. Daelin’s stomach snarled in knots.

  Earl would save her sister. Why did Daelin keep thinking that? Her stomach gurgled, and she craved another sandwich. Her stomach was crazy.

  How could a man, who had murdered an innocent woman and hid her head, save Charming? Daelin didn’t want his help. She didn’t want to see or speak to him. Yet the same unfounded thought about him rattled her mind over and over. “He’s the key. I know it. Key to what exactly?”

  She sat at the tiny table in the glassed-in room finishing her second egg sandwich. If not for the groceries Earl had given her, she’d be eating her sister’s lawn. Maybe he had been framed. By a ghost? She snorted. Settler’s nutty gossip didn’t equate to fact. The only facts she had were what she had observed in his company. There had been an edge to him, but he hadn’t struck her as psychotic.

  “I’m so tired of thinking about it.” She huffed, and finished her meal.

  Prepared for a day of cleaning at the library, Daelin wore denim trousers and a cotton top. She poured coffee into a thermos she had found in one of her sister’s cupboards. From a peg in the garage, she grabbed one of her sister’s flannel shirts. It didn’t matter if the sleeves were too short. It’d still keep off some of the dirt.

  Daelin picked up her bag by the door and slipped on her new green coat. “Come home today,” she said to Charming’s photo on the bookshelf then locked up. The air had a warmth Daelin had believed she’d never feel again. She peeled off her coat before reaching the end of the street.

  The town had more life this morning. It was good to see. A normal day would be nice.

  People ran down Brucker Avenue. Actually, ran. Not taking the time to speak to each other or to be civil. They shoved past one another.

  “Hmm. What’s the rush?” The townspeople ran in the same direction, up the street. Toward the library.

  “In all the dictionaries.” Daelin picked up speed, gawking at the crowd gathered in front of the library.

  The door sat wide open. The annoying postman shielded the entrance, shooing the curious away. They scurried off to flashing lights down the road from the county offices. A bigger crowd gathered there.

  Culver Swit did an excellent job. The throng in front of the library dwindled to eight with buckets, mops, and cleaning supplies. Culver smiled sheepishly. Strangest event of the morning yet, because he didn’t strike Daelin as the least bit shy.

  “Wald sent us to help you clean,” he said, unable to look her in the eye.

  Right. Wald had promised extra hands yesterday. Daelin recognized the thrift store owner and Culver, but she hadn’t met the others. Moses Kane, a forest ranger with an imposing stare. Beside him stood a firefighter who should be on a calendar, Vance Lambert. Francine Storm, a dusky woman with a stunning smile, owned the general store. The town pha
rmacist, Ken, introduced everyone then pushed up his horn-rimmed glasses.

  Great. Wald had kept his promise, but this was something more. The crowd. The way none of her helpers would meet Daelin’s gaze. The expressions hinting they all wished to be elsewhere.

  “Beauteous day to you,” Starphish curtseyed. “Glad you dig your new coat.”

  “What?” Daelin glanced at the garment draped over her arm. “Uh, yeah, it’s great. What’s going on?”

  Spattered in peach paint, Starphish fiddled with a plastic tulip woven into her braids. “Wald let it be known you could use a hand sprucing the place up.”

  Culver rattled the bucket in his hand. “We’ll guard your back, librarian.” The grimace stealing his dimples chilled Daelin’s blood.

  ‘Guard’ struck her as a strange choice of words. Did she need guarding? She scooted past Culver and Starphish into the library, discovering she needed more than guarding. A typhoon had hit it in the night. Books and papers had been thrown into heaps, some towering as tall as thigh high. Her mouth refused to close. “What happened?”

  Starphish put an arm around Daelin’s shoulders. “The phantom. He came calling for you, man.”

  The ghost stealing heads had done this? Why? Because Daelin had searched for information on him? Maybe she had stumbled onto something George Hawley didn’t want known. Daelin tugged at her collar then chided herself. Ghosts had their place in stories, but she couldn’t believe they were real.

  Then she glanced at the portrait of Cordelia Swit. Right. Reality had a different definition in Settler too.

  “The phantom is one angry dude,” Daelin said.

  “Yup. The vibe is loud and clear. Right? Yeah… Oh, another murder happened last night. The phantom was at the killing before coming here. Glad you had closed up shop, Dae. Wow.” Starphish shook her head slowly.

  Did she imply Daelin could have lost her head? Daelin placed a hand over her throat, finding it difficult to swallow. What if he came back? She stared into Cordelia’s dark eyes.

  Culver steered Starphish away. With the mess, he could only put an extra step between her and Daelin. “She doesn’t need to hear about it.”

  If Daelin had landed in the middle of this, whatever this was, she very well did need to know. “Wh-who? Who was killed?”

  “Greg of Greg’s Pizza ‘n Pies. His head is gone.” Starphish twisted away from Culver. “Witnesses saw Earl wrench off Greg’s head. Can you imagine it?”

  Daelin reached for her desk to steady herself. She didn’t want to imagine anything so gruesome.

  “It wasn’t just Earl.” Starphish picked up a broom, swiping at a particularly long cobweb swooping down from a fluorescent light. “The phantom used him like a puppet. It’s all so existential.”

  Oh, this was bad. But wait… “Isn’t Earl in jail?” Daelin asked. “How could he run out into the street and kill somebody if he was locked up?”

  “The ghost sprung him,” Starphish said. “Freaky, huh? The ghost calls him some other name, but it isn’t Earl.”

  Yeah, far out. Daelin didn’t know what to say, sinking into the chair behind her desk. She opened a drawer to stuff in her bag, surveying the disaster around her. None of this made sense. Daelin had read accounts of ghosts moving objects, but never ripping off heads and causing this level of mess. “Maybe it’s not a ghost, but a demon.”

  Starphish gasped. “Maybe that’s how Earl disappeared. Word has it, he was taken down into Hell.” She made a peace sign, patting the air around her.

  Disappeared? “You’re saying, Earl Blacke vanished?”

  “He ran this way, the ghost in hot pursuit, then Earl wasn’t seen again. I think the demon ate him.”

  “What?” A ghost stealing heads was enough to deal with. Daelin didn’t want to think about man-eating demons.

  “No, no,” Culver said, picking up books, piling them. “There aren’t any demons. That’s just nutty.”

  “Until I moved here, I would have said the same thing.” Daelin arched a brow. “I’m not a nut.”

  “Yeah,” Starphish said, flicking the collar of Culver’s shirt. “What are you implying about our groovy new librarian?”

  Granted, this discussion had threads of insanity. Big fat threads. “No offense taken,” Daelin smiled. Yeah, she needed to nudge her day onto a saner track. Getting to work would do that. “Thank you all for coming to help with this disaster.” She stood, taking papers and books off the floor by her desk, stacking them neatly.

  Her new friends followed suit. She organized them to maximize the effort. The gossip ended. Everyone worked as if their job depended on how well they did. Daelin puzzled over how to repay their kindness.

  Hours passed. She forgot anybody worked with her until she bumped into Culver grabbing for the same mess. He bowed, a gesture from another century. Thirty minutes later, FastR Burger sent over lunch, compliments of Wald Macadam.

  On the floor, Daelin sat with her volunteers, enjoying a ham steak sandwich. The books were piled in neat stacks ready to be shelved. The cobwebs had been banished and the sole window sparkled. Someone had washed the blinds too.

  “I couldn’t have done this alone,” Daelin said. “I owe you all a big party. When I get paid, I’ll throw one at my sister’s place.”

  “That’d be groovy,” Starphish said. “Will it be okay with your sister? She’s more the quiet type.”

  Charming had always had a serious nature, putting her passions before fun. Those passions had been poured into the Paleo Institute. Sure. That was why Daelin hadn’t heard from her or seen her. “She needs me to remind her there’s more to life than dead things preserved in rocks.” Daelin chuckled. Sharing life with her sister again remained the main attraction of Settler. Daelin’s desperation aside, she missed being close. “The Paleo Institute must be onto something big to have been gone this long. Huh?”

  “The director mentioned something about a super swell new fossil bed earlier this month. Don’t know what kind of dead things they’re finding, though.” Starphish shrugged, blessing the air with a peace sign. She leaned closer. “Maybe that’s what happened to Earl. He misses her. Yeah, that jives. They’re almost inseparable some days.”

  Daelin’s scalp prickled. “You’re suggesting he’s on a killing spree because of the pain of missing my sister?” Really? That made sense?

  “Yes.”

  “That’s no excuse for murder.” Daelin glanced at Culver. He shrugged. A shrug? What was wrong with these people?

  Culver wiped his mouth and mustache. “They were on the fritz actually. I think their closeness lately was about breaking up.”

  “Were they fighting?” In her heart Daelin knew Earl had something to do with Charming’s disappearance. “Is he violent?”

  Rearranging his legs, stretching long instead of crossing, Culver gave her question a good amount of consideration. “He has a bite, is cantankerous and private. Before these murders, I wouldn’t have pegged him as a killer. It’s said it’s always the quiet ones.”

  “He seemed so calm,” Daelin whispered. “What would have provoked him?”

  Culver stuffed his trash in the empty food bag. “She broke his heart last summer with an intern she fell for.”

  “Oh right!” Starphish snapped her fingers. “That Cerin guy. They were really heavy, man. She tried to keep it a secret, but there are no secrets in Settler.”

  In a gesture that was almost sexy, Culver bit his lower lip, studying the worn carpet in a color that could only inspire despair. He kept staring. He knew something.

  Daelin watched him. She couldn’t finish her sandwich. Why hadn’t Charming disclosed anything about Cerin or Earl? Had Daelin and her sister grown that far apart, so far Charming couldn’t bother to call and say she was all right? It all needed serious thought. Daelin wanted everybody out so she could think.

  A moist towelette cleansed her hands, then she collected the lunch trash. “Thank you all for coming to my rescue. It was lovely of you to give up
most of your day.”

  “That’s what Settler is about, Dae. Dig?” The plastic tulip dangled precariously from Starphish’s right braid.

  Daelin fixed it. “I do. I get it. However, I can’t take more time away from what you need to accomplish in your jobs and businesses. So, I’ll take it from here. Besides, it’s me who has to shelve the books. That’s all that’s left.” After a round of hugs and personal thank yous, her eight rescuers left. One by one. Until she stood alone amid mountains of books.

  She went to the first stack, shelving the books, putting them in order by the numbers on their spines. Tedious. “I had a farm on the moon and grew the mid of June. We feasted on beams and its radiant glow.” In all the dictionaries, why did she keep singing that song?

  A loud thump from the back of the library kept the next line of the song on her tongue. Bang, bang, bang. She peered around the shelf. The bang didn’t stop. Had the phantom come to finish her? She picked up the heaviest book and tiptoed toward the noise. She passed her desk, the cabinet, the water fountain, and the restroom. The door beside it rattled, a door she had never seen before. The mess must have hidden it, because doors didn’t appear and disappear. “And there’s no such thing as ghosts.”

  She glared at Cordelia’s portrait as she went past, gripping the book tighter. “Hel-hello? Who’s there? Answer me, or I call the police.” She should call the police. However, the phone sat all the way over on her desk, a relic she’d need practice to use with speed. She grit her teeth and readied to strike. “Are you Hawley?”

  “No,” a male voice answered. Earl Blacke’s voice. “I need to talk to you about George Hawley, though. He’s using me. If you don’t hear me out, you’ll die tonight.”

  No way. Daelin whirled on her heels, coming nose to nose with a transparent Cordelia Swit. Her head floating five feet off the ground.

  “Beware of Hawley.” She whispered it so softly, her words could have been the breeze. “He’ll kill us all.”