by Lee Driver
Spagnola threw the first punch and hit air. He may have a few more pounds of muscle than Dagger, but he doubted he was familiar with the self-defense course Dagger had taken. Spagnola’s face took on the frenzied look of a wrestler, the face of a growling linesman across the five-yard line. And when he let loose with a second punch, Dagger just grabbed the fist in mid-flight and with a jerk, flipped Spagnola through the air, his body landing with a thud.
“What’s the matter? Swallow your gum?” Dagger taunted. He was vaguely aware of the scraping on the opposite side of the door, cops probably trying to maneuver a key in the lock. Spagnola jumped to his feet and Dagger’s eyes never left his. Dagger raised his arms, slowly pulling his hair behind his ears. Spagnola charged but wasn’t expecting Dagger’s elbows to be just as dangerous.
Dagger barely moved, making Spagnola come to him. It was like playing racquetball. The smart player stayed in one spot. The inexperienced player was the one darting left and right, tiring himself out. Dagger’s deep, inset eyes seemed to recess even more, his elbows making tight circles, Spagnola making a major blunder. He was watching the elbows. And when the cop charged again, Dagger straightened his arm, the palm of his hand striking the cop on the forehead, then he made a wide arc with his leg and swept Spagnola’s legs out from under him.
That was when the door burst open and four uniformed cops were on Dagger, pinning him face down on top of the table. He smiled at their efforts. It had taken them close to four minutes to get the door open. Now, like some wet seal, he slipped right out from under their grasp before the four youthful cops realized what was happening. Dagger stood watching them, smiling. Embarrassed, all four of them pulled their weapons.
Spagnola parted through the crowd and got into Dagger’s face. “You just made one big ass mistake.”
Dagger’s smile broadened. Then he heard the clicking of the handcuffs and before he knew it Spagnola had him cuffed to that torturous hardwood chair.
Spagnola ushered the cops out of the room and wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’ll get your cell ready.”
“I still get that one phone call,” Dagger yelled at the cop’s back. But Spagnola just closed the door.
The beast crouched on a large boulder like some grotesque gargoyle, studying the body of the young woman. There was something about her, something his human self had seen or heard. Something important.
It jumped from the boulder and landed next to Chrissy. Her eyes were lifeless orbs, her mouth frozen in a scream. Dragging a talon through her long brown hair, he felt a sudden surge, a brief tugging at his memory. It was the hair. Who else had long brown hair? Who else…? Then it hit him.
12:32 a.m.
Sara knew there was something in the communications program that would let her play back the recording of Mick. But without Dagger to show her what to do, she was afraid she might push the wrong buttons and erase the tape.
Checking the clock on the desk, she wondered again about Dagger. Why hadn’t he called? And why wasn’t Padre here? Sitting around doing nothing was driving her crazy. Sara ran upstairs and changed clothes. She looked like a ragamuffin in a denim dress. Shoving her arms into a denim jacket, she raced down the stairs, retrieved the keys to the truck and ran out the door.
The truck rattled down the drive. The remote control gate opened and the truck sped through. Maybe Dagger needed bail money. He had more than enough of it in his vault. She was just entertaining the thought of turning around to go back for money when she heard it.
Saraaaaaaaaaaaa.
The truck swerved onto the shoulder of the road and skidded to a stop. Her heart pounded in her chest and she felt a cold sweat envelope her. How could it be? Wasn’t the professor dead? Panic set in as she hugged the steering wheel. Staring through the windshield of the truck, she saw the massive ball of glowing light suspended over the road. The man in the moon appeared to mock her, its mouth in a hideous scowl.
What should she do? Where was it? Was it nearby? Is that why she hadn’t heard from Dagger? Was he in the police station or was he dead? Had Dagger already lured it to the isolated building in Beacon Preserve?
Saraaaaaaaaa, the voice called out again. I know you can hear me.
Sara put the truck in gear, made a U-turn, and sped down the road toward the preserve. The map Dagger had brought home showed a gravel road leading to the building. But it was too long of a drive. She had studied the map and noticed an unused access road near Fox Creek. The road could be grown over with weeds by now but at least it would place her closer to the building. The hawk would be able to see any activity taking place. Also, when she shifted, Dagger would be able to hear their conversation and know that the killer was still alive.
The handcuffs were starting to cut at Dagger’s wrists. This wasn’t fun any more. He should be home in bed, not placating a crooked cop. Thoughts of suing the hell out of the police department was the only thing amusing him right now.
He checked his watch and swore under his breath as he stared at the large face, the new toy Skizzy had given him. He had a telephone at his beck and call all along. Dagger pushed AUTO 1 and let the phone automatically dial Skizzy. Feigning exhaustion, Dagger pressed his forehead to the table, trying to get his mouth as close to the wrist phone as possible.
“What’s up?” Dagger whispered. “I’m a little tied up right now.”
“Dagger! Finally,” Skizzy said, his voice in a frenzy.
Pretty clever of you, making everyone think the professor committed suicide.
Sara’s voice echoed in Dagger’s head. Clear and loud as if she were standing right next to him. An icy chill gripped him as he realized she wasn’t talking to him.
I’m not just another pretty face. The beast cackled, a demonic laugh that sent a shiver up Dagger’s spine. Between the blood rushing to his head and Sara’s conversation in his head with the killer, Dagger could barely make out Skizzy’s frantic explanation about the Evidence Room thief and how he was some kind of government creation that could fly.
What do you want? Sara asked.
Dagger wasn’t sure whether to jump into the conversation or not. Did the beast know Dagger could hear them? Had to if he had heard them communicating during the warehouse bust.
Youuuuuuuuu, the beast replied.
“NOOOO!” Dagger screamed and jerked up, the cuff cutting into his wrist. Sara, don’t listen to him.
Ahhhh, the knight wants to come to your rescue. But I think not. You’ll be locked up tonight, Mr. Dagger. Can’t help Sara this time.
SARA, DON’T LISTEN TO HIM, Dagger screamed in his head. He lifted the chair, hurling it against the wall, splintering it until the cuff was free from the chair. If you harm one hair on her head, I’ll kill you, you sonofabitch.
Lesser men have tried. The beast laughed again, a piercing howl.
Now Dagger didn’t care how many cops came in to subdue him and it seemed half the department was pouring in. He flung bodies over the table, against the wall, through the one-way mirror. A human wrecking machine completely oblivious of drawn guns and orders to get down on the floor. Somewhere in the commotion he heard Padre’s voice.
“BACK AWAY, NOW.” Padre shoved his way into the room while three officers held Dagger.
“He’s still out there, Padre. Sherlock wasn’t the one. He’s still out there.” Dagger nodded toward his wrist, his hair damp and clinging, eyes like a madman. “Talk to Skizzy.”
Dagger blocked out Spagnola and the others, tried to concentrate on Sara and who, what, she was talking to, what they were talking about. At some point Padre had unlocked the cuff from his wrist and even unstrapped his watch.
“We have to go, now.” Dagger pushed his way out of the room and no one tried to stop him. Spagnola was yelling something about having Padre’s badge.
“Just give me his phone number. I can’t talk on this damn Cracker Jack toy watch.” Padre shoved the watch at Dagger. “And stop by my house. We have to pick up Marty.”
Once they were in the Lincoln Navigator, Dagger punched Skizzy’s number on the keypad and then pressed a button on the dashboard. The screen lit up and the red blinking light showed him Sara’s location.
“We have a tracking device on the killer,” Dagger lied.
Skizzy answered the phone on the first ring. “Why’d you hang up on me? What the hell’s going on?”
Dagger told him to repeat everything so Padre could hear.
Skizzy spoke in a rapid clip, as though Dagger had given him a time limit. He explained what he witnessed from the surveillance at the home of the Evidence Room thief.
Dagger tried to concentrate on Skizzy but had to listen to Sara, too. She would be their only lead to the creature’s location. But he didn’t like what the creature was saying.
Ahhh, the police must have silenced your knight. I would have rather enjoyed destroying him. Now with him out of the way, it’s just you and me. We can be so strong together, Saraaaaa.
The hawk didn’t detect any movements when it located the isolated structure so it rose, carried high on the wind currents, and glided over the preserve searching for the beast. It heard commotion off in the distance and turned south to get a closer look.
“Put it up on the screen, Skizzy,” Dagger said. Another monitor on the dashboard came to life and Skizzy started to play back the tape from Mick’s surveillance.
I’m strong already. You can only shift during certain times. When was the last? March of ninety-eight? I can shift any time I want. Sara laughed at him.
Dagger’s mind raced. What was she doing? Goading him?
“Holy shit,” Padre whispered as the face on the screen changed, shifting into a hellish looking creature. “How the hell do we kill it?”
“Stick to the original plan, Skizzy,” Dagger said as he maneuvered the Navigator around a turn and sped toward Padre’s house.
Padre sank back against the seat. “That sonofabitch killed Sherlock.”
“And probably Caroline Kirby too,” Dagger said.
CHAPTER 32
Friday, October 13, 1:30 a.m.
The hawk glided two hundred feet above the treetops. Not only could the raptor see in color but it also had ultraviolet detection capabilities. Its retina had two fovea for higher density versus the one fovea contained in a human retina. And although raptors had poor olfactory capabilities, this gray hawk’s sense of smell was enhanced by Sara’s shifting abilities, drawing sometimes on the senses of the gray wolf.
From its height the hawk had a good view of the marsh and woods where the creature might be hiding. Sara wasn’t sure yet if by communicating with the creature it would be able to detect her location. But she couldn’t stay silent forever.
What’s the matter? Did I scare you away, Paul? That is your name, isn’t it? Sara asked.
The beast ambled from limb to limb, distancing itself from the flashing strobe lights. The police had just arrived to check out the disabled Mustang. He smiled at the frenzied antics of the worried parents. Too bad he couldn’t wait for the main attraction— the discovery of the bodies.
You are pretty bright, Sara. What else do you know about me?
Sara wasn’t sure how far his powers extended. All she could hope for was by keeping Paul talking, Dagger might be able to pick up some hint of what the beast had in mind.
So Sara told the beast what the professor had found out about the Addison heritage. All the while the hawk searched for movement, searched for the beast which was difficult because it didn’t know what shape it was in. What was becoming apparent as the hawk circled was that there wasn’t anything else moving. It was as if every creature in the animal kingdom were in hiding.
“This is where we have to lure it.” Dagger pointed to an area on the map. They were clustered around the coffee table in his living room. His hair felt damp and the shirt clung to his body. Although they had lined the handguns and clips on the couch, they all knew it would take more than a bullet to stop this thing.
Marty rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Sure could use the professor about now. Where do we get the fire power?”
Dagger replied, “Skizzy is bringing that.”
“Skizzy?”
“Don’t ask. The guy is a cop’s nightmare,” Padre responded. “I could fill a citation book every time we cross paths.”
“If he’s got what it takes to kill this thing, I’ll leave my citation book at home,” Marty said.
“Skizzy will meet us at the mouth to the gravel road.”
Padre looked up from the map. “I thought Skizzy doesn’t own a car?”
“Not that the DMV knows about.”
Padre tossed a look toward Marty. “See what I mean?”
Dagger found it difficult to concentrate and even harder to not join in on Sara’s conversations. He didn’t understand Addison’s interest in her. Why waste time talking when he could be out killing? What was he hoping to accomplish? Had he never dealt with another shapeshifter? But what about his family?
Turning to Marty, Dagger asked, “How do we know there’s only one? How do we know this Addison guy doesn’t have a twin or some other male relative running around some other part of the world?”
Marty sank back against the couch cushions. Weary lines criss-crossed his face. He thought back to his many conversations with Professor Sherlock, trying to remember his exact words. “From what I recall from the professor’s investigation, there can be only one.”
“Only one?” Padre repeated.
“Yeah. Whenever a male was born on that certain day or came of age, whatever that means, he took over. The other dominant male in the family relinquished his power, energy. Usually relinquished meant died. If there were two, each would be half as powerful. But if there were only one…”
Marty’s words faded as Dagger realized what the beast was up to. No wonder Addison was so fascinated with Sara’s abilities. There can be only one. And right now there were two. How much more powerful Addison would be if he had Sara’s abilities, to shift whenever he wanted, to not have to wait for a full moon on a Friday the thirteenth.
Dagger bolted from the couch. “When did Sherlock say was the exact time of the full moon? Three fifty-four?”
Marty shifted through Sherlock’s notes, scanning dates and times. “Right.” He hesitated, flipped back to the first page. “NO, that’s Eastern Time. You’re on Central here, right?”
Dagger checked the clock. “Shit, that means it happens at two-fifty-four!”
2:25 a.m.
The vehicle lumbering up the road looked like a large shed on wheels. The men shielded their eyes from the glare of the headlights. The engine groaned to a stop.
“Holy shit,” Padre whispered as Skizzy stepped from the Humvee.
He was dressed in a camouflage jumpsuit, military boots, with black paint on his face, and carrying a large contraption over his right shoulder. A chin mike was strapped to his head and an eye piece was flipped up.
“What the hell?” Marty whispered.
Dagger inspected Skizzy’s equipment as if it were a piece of artillery he sees every day.
“Yeah, what the hell is it?” Padre studied the strange-looking weapon.
“M4 Module System machine gun. Known as a Land Warrior,” Skizzy replied in a monotone voice. “Currently in prototype stage and being tested in an underground lab in D.C.” He held his toy up for the men to see, opening compartments, pointing to switches. “Has a range finder, day light video camera, video viewfinder, infrared and thermal sighting, a computer mouse control button relaying what I see back to Dagger’s monitor.”
Marty pursed his lips and shook his head. “Don’t care how much fire power you have. It won’t kill that thing.”
Skizzy grinned. “Mine is modified.” He pointed to his back-pack. “I’ve got the biggest blow torch known to man. Like having a mini-napalm bomb on my back. Just point me at the sonofabitch.”
While Skizzy showed his new toy to the cops, Dagger slipped i
nto the Navigator to check on Sara. The red blip seemed to fan out in a circle. Right now Dagger had the advantage. The beast had set him up but he had killed Caroline rather than Sheila. Didn’t matter to the beast. He accomplished what he wanted—got Dagger in jail and out of the way, or so the beast thought.
Why couldn’t Sara have just stayed home? He and Skizzy could have handled it. How can he be expected to protect her when she was using herself as bait?
The red blip on the screen stopped, a steady pulse indicated the hawk was no longer flying. Had Sara found the beast? If so, how did she plan to lure it to Beacon Preserve? Up to now, Sara had been doing most of the communicating. Was the beast using it to his advantage, picking up her telepathic communication like a radar signal?
Don’t you ever want to kill for the sheer thrill of killing?
No, Sara replied.
The hawk searched for movement, for life. Wind ruffled its coverts and parted the branches. It moved down several limbs, its gaze sweeping quickly. Turning, it dropped down another branch.
So naïve. I could really teach you a thing or two. I doubt that.
The hawk felt the entire tree sway, as if something or someone was shaking it. It peered around the trunk to the opposite side. The beast was standing on the next branch. A shiver ran through the hawk. The beast was huge. It had a large protruding jaw and lips that curled over pointed teeth. Its hands and feet were scaly but there was still something human about it. Maybe the shape of the hands, its size, its cunning intellect.
Before it had seemed like a game of wits. Sara hadn’t seen the beast. Can’t fear what you can’t see. Now that she had, she wanted to flee. The hawk was acting on instinct; Sara was on auto-pilot.
