by Joey Ruff
I took the three stairs leading to his front door in a bound and crossed the porch in two strides. Peeling open the storm door with a squeak, I tried the knob. It was locked. A stained-glass cross hung on the window beside the door. It made me laugh.
I thought about knocking, thought better about it. I wasn’t trying to make a lot of noise. Not yet, anyway. It would be better not to wake up the entire neighborhood. He was likely sleeping. No lights in any window, same as every other house.
I retreated back onto the lawn and followed the driveway around to the backyard. Next to the detached garage, there was a small patch of green, a small, raised-box garden with a few sprouts, and a square of concrete that supported a charcoal grill, a glass-top table and outdoor chairs.
The backdoor, which was also locked, was basically just a wooden frame with a glass center. Although, instead of one piece of glass, it was composed of a grid of small pieces held together by a lattice trim. Since I was wearing my gloves, I punched through the small glass panel closest to the door handle, reached inside and unlocked the door.
I entered into a small dining area off of the kitchen. It was cooler inside, and the only sound came from the hum of the icebox. From where I stood, I could see a hallway that led off to the left and the living room straight ahead. I took the hallway, which was carpeted, and made no noise as I walked. No squeaking boards.
The first door was on the left. It was a bathroom. There were two other doors at the end of the hallway, both slightly opened. Both dark.
As I neared, I pushed the doors open as quietly as I could, noting one as an office with a cheap desk and a few bookcases. The other was a bedroom. And someone was sleeping.
I walked over to the bed, standing over the man, watching him sleep, wondering what kind of sick, perverse images flashed through his head. Wondering, for all he’d done, what the wanker had to tell himself each night to be able to sleep so well. I considered it a moment, decided it didn’t fucking matter anyway, and I cleared my throat. “Wake up, St. Clair.”
He didn’t immediately move, just made some mewling noises. I pulled the blankets off of him, letting them fall around the foot of the bed, leaving him there, exposed, in a pair of sweatpants. Lazily, he rolled to look at me, opening his eyes. He didn’t immediately recognize me or understand what was happening, and I didn’t wait for the realization to set in.
I reached down and grabbed him like a fucking toddler, one hand in each armpit, and hoisted him from the mattress, turning as I did so, allowing the momentum to carry him around. I didn’t hold him up, just threw him. He crashed into the closet door, cracking and denting it, then fell into a heap on the floor before he had time to find his balance.
Groggily, he moved his head and looked up at me. There was no light in the room, only what spilled in through the blinds from the street lights outside. It backlit me, at best. “Who…,” he said. “What do you want?”
“Don’t play stupid, St. Clair. You know exactly what I fucking want.”
“You… John, right? From the church?”
I didn’t say anything.
“What are you doing here? You can’t… I’ll have you arrested.”
“Did that once,” I said. “It didn’t take. Thought you could hide behind a fucking police escort?”
“I don’t owe you an explanation. Why the hell are you in my house?! I want you out right now!!”
“Answer my questions.”
“I’m not answering anything. I have an alarm. The police will be here in a few minutes. You better leave.”
“Bullshit. Who gave you the Ballad?”
“The police are coming.”
“It was the Tree Man, wasn’t it? He was there at the church. Of course, it was. Who is he?”
“What are you…what are you talking about?”
“Mr. Tremaine. Wake the fuck up. We’re having a conversation. It’ll go a lot smoother if you’re cognizant for it.”
“What do you want?!” he screamed. I couldn’t tell if he was angry or scared. Maybe both.
“I want my daughter!” I roared back at him. “Those things in the forest. They took her. The Saksanai. The skunk apes.”
At the mention of the apes and forest, he seemed to grow a bit agitated. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You…you need to leave.”
I shook my head. “I thought we played this fucking game earlier. Fine.” I pulled out my FN and aimed it at him. When I pointed the gun at him, his eyes went wide. “Did Tremaine give you a flute? How do you play the song?”
“What song?!”
I put a bullet in the closet door, right next to his head. The gunshot was loud, deafening. There was no way the whole neighborhood slept through that. Maybe I had a few minutes. Maybe they wouldn’t understand what it was, but the next shot would result in a neighbor dialing 911.
It didn’t matter. That one shot seemed to be enough. St. Clair was crying. From the smell of it, he’d also pissed himself.
“Was it a flute?” I asked again. “Did Tremaine give you a flute?”
St. Clair attempted to say something, but his voice was too muffled with the tears. It didn’t help that I was still aiming the gun at his head. “Nod,” I said. “Up and down for yes, side-to-side for no. Do you play the song?”
He nodded, still crying.
“On a flute?”
A nod.
“That Tremaine gave you?”
Another nod.
“So much better when you fucking cooperate,” I said. “Now, I’m going to ask a question you won’t be able to answer with a nod. I’m going to need you to take a deep breath and use your words like a big boy. Nod if you understand.”
He nodded.
“Good. Ready? Take a breath.”
He tried. He was sobbing something awful, and as he inhaled deeply, he choked, presumably on his own spit. He started coughing.
“I don’t have time for this, St. Clair. Pull yourself together. Where is the flute now?”
I waited for a second, but he continued only to cough and sputter and gag.
“Is the flute here? In the house?”
He managed to shake his head, side-to-side.
“At the church?”
A nod, clumsy.
“In your office?”
His head was nodding up and down frantically. He was also managing to choke back on the tears and regulate his breathing.
“Were you aware of the apes?”
“I don’t…” He coughed, took a deep breath, and steadied himself.
“It’s a simple fucking question. Did you know they lived in the woods?”
He whimpered a little, but managed to choke out a few words. “The…bigfoot things? No. How could I? They were stories.”
“So it was Tremaine what gave you the flute and the song?”
That merited a nod.
“At what point did you know you were causing the attacks?”
“Not for a while.”
“And they attacked you?”
“Yes.”
“You really thought it was the golem, didn’t you?”
He nodded.
“But then you realized what was really fucking going on, and you figured, well, maybe the end would justify the means?”
“What?! No!” He got a little too worked up and started coughing again. His voice was strained when he managed to say, “I swear to you. Everything that happened… I didn’t… didn’t want any of this…”
“Sure,” I said. “I believe you.” And I did, too. “There’s a lot of truth in that old adage: the road to hell is paved with good intentions.”
I paused, thinking he would nod or something, but he didn’t. He just stared at me. Well, no. Not me. He stared at the barrel of the FN as if it might give him a kiss.
“I have no doubt that you came here a good man, St. Clair. I don’t doubt that what you told me in the church was mostly accurate. You wanted to save the heathens and rid this town of the witchcraft that the ol
d preacher had turned a blind eye on.”
“I tried,” he stammered. “Oh God, forgive me. I tried to stop. I tried to… Tremaine wouldn’t let me. He has this…this…self-righteous attitude.” He coughed a few times, clearing his throat more than choking, this time. Then he screwed his eyes shut, trying to shut out the image of the gun, maybe gathering his courage. Because then he plead his case, all at once, in rapid-fire speech, words stumbling over each other. “He had zero tolerance. I commended him at first. I respected his conviction. He was a staunch early supporter. He backed my plays, even when nobody else did. I didn’t even question when he brought me that song. It was in German. I didn’t understand what it meant. He just said it was an old hymn. I knew how to play the flute, from school. Band class. We sang it during service. I had no idea. No idea. That night the church was attacked. Then the factory, and…”
“Fine,” I said. “But I need you to focus right now and talk to me. This is the most important question. They took my daughter. Where?”
He opened his eyes, startled almost at the sight of the gun again. I pushed it a little closer to his face.
“Where did the apes take my daughter?”
He didn’t say anything, just made a noise and swallowed hard.
“St. Clair?!”
“I don’t know,” he said quickly.
“Where…?”
“I swear. I swear. I swear to God. I don’t know where they go. They live in the bayou.”
“Bayou is a big place. Think hard. Maybe Tremaine said something? Something you heard? Something you saw?”
“No. I swear.” The gun inched closer to his face, and the closer it got, the weaker his voice became. When I placed the barrel against his nose, he was barely whispering.
There was something in his demeanor. Something in the intonation of his voice. I just didn’t believe him. He knew where they took her. I knew that he knew.
“Did you see? Have you been there?”
“No…”
“St. Clair,” I said, trying to keep my voice low, calm, even. The clock in my head told me I was running out of time. If someone had already called the cops, they would be here in a minute. I got down on one knee in front of him, still holding the gun against his nose. “Are you a father?”
Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes, and he sniffled once, fighting the urge to cry again. He shook his head.
“No,” I said. “Years ago, I lost a daughter. Helplessly, I watched her die. There was nothing I could do.”
St. Clair whimpered, screwing his eyes shut, trying to take deep breaths.
“I will not lose another daughter. Because I’m not helpless anymore. Just tell me…” I moved the gun from his nose to the side of his face, jammed the tip of the barrel right up against his temple, burying it in the scruff of his hair. “Tell me where she is.”
“I don’t know.” His words were quiet, weak. “I don’t know.” He started to cry. Tears, big and wet rolling down his cheeks. “Oh Jesus. Oh God.” He said it like a prayer. “I would tell you. I would. I swear. If I knew. I wish… Oh Jesus. I wish I knew. Please… God…”
“Tell me where the apes go!” I said louder, more forceful. I was convinced he knew. Gut instinct told me he was lying. He’d lied about so much else already.
“I don’t know,” he said in a normal speaking volume. His words sounded unsure. Unconvincing.
I cocked the hammer back.
“South,” he said, his eyes growing wide with panic. “That’s where they go. South. East. I guess.” His breathing was shallow, quick gasps. He was losing it. He was panicking. I just had to push a little further. He was breaking.
“Which is it? South or East?”
“It’s South. South! Somewhere to the south…”
“Give me a place!”
“I don’t know. I don’t know.”
“Where did they take my daughter?!” I yelled. I had no patience left. No time left. It was now or never. “South, where?”
“I. Don’t. Know.”
“WHERE!?!” I screamed, my voice rising and breaking like a wave.
“I don’t know!” he yelled, crying.
“WHERE!!!” I growled.
He said nothing, just held my gaze, saw the pure desperation in my eyes, and I saw the panic in his.
I pulled the trigger.
28
Ape
I stopped back by my bedroom and traded the crutches for my cane. The shaft of the cane was carved of ebony wood, with white Japanese kanji etched along its length. The head was an eagle’s talon gripping tightly to a yin yang symbol, of which the white was formed of pure ivory and the black, jet. I would be a little slower moving with just the cane, but it would be more practical than the crutches, as the cane doubled as a sword with a three-foot blade. Unlike London and Swyftt, I wasn’t a gun guy.
London was waiting in the hallway outside and as I emerged, he said, “Smart money says these fucks came in the same way as our buddy upstairs. Through that empty wing. How do you want to handle this?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “How can I make a plan until I know what they’re after? Why are they here?”
He stared at me blankly. “I don’t fucking know.”
“Of course not. But Levi does.”
“Yeah, but that bastard ain’t talkin.”
“We’ll see about that.”
London followed me back into the kitchen, but I stopped him at the top of the basement stairs. “I’ll talk to him. Stay here. Back me up.”
“Fuck that. I’m coming with, brother.”
“Think strategically, London. If they make it to these stairs, we’ll be trapped in the basement. They’ll have the upper hand. That’s a good way to die. Stay here and watch my back.”
He started to say something else, but stopped. He nodded and pulled the Judge from his waist band. I clapped him on the shoulder and moved as quickly as I could on the cane, throwing most of my weight against it, and was back in the dungeon in only a few minutes.
I didn’t pause outside this time, but walked straight in. Levi was a little startled as he looked up at me. I flipped the Babel stone over so he could understand me and said, “What’s going on here? What are you after?”
He smiled, shook his head, and said nothing.
“I take it you were sent ahead, right? They send the scout to get the lay of the land, then report back. Best way to formulate an attack plan.”
Levi continued to be silent, but the way he was growing uncomfortable as I talked told me that I was on the right track.
“Talk to me, Levi. I don’t want to hurt you. There’s no reason for it.”
Levi looked straight into my eyes and laughed. “Like I would speak anything against my aluf. I would not betray him.”
“Aluf?” I said. “That’s your ruler, right? Your tribal leader? I did a little research. He’s the head of the patriarchal tribe. What’s your aluf’s name?”
Levi looked away. “You know nothing, imposter. You speak of the old way. Under the covenant with Dusares, we do not value the wise and eldest. We value the strongest. The aluf is the greatest warrior of the bet’ab.” He nearly spit the words at me. “Do you know this word, also?”
“Yes.”
He nodded. “Omri is aluf now. And he will show you no mercy. Just as he showed none to Josiah.”
“Who is Josiah? Was he the aluf before?”
Levi nodded. “Omri was tired of the way Josiah led. He challenged him and beat him.”
“Challenged? Why do I get the feeling you aren’t talking about arm wrestling…?”
“Omri is the youngest aluf we have known. He is angry. Merciless. Josiah was like a father to him. You are but an abomination to our people.”
“That’s what you keep saying. Why are you here? What are you guys after?”
Levi kept his mouth shut. He didn’t just avoid my eyes, he actively looked in the opposite direction, staring off at the stone wall. “Omri detests outsider
s most of all. Because of what happened to his family.”
“What happened?”
Levi didn’t look at me, and from the body language, he was done with the subject.
“Who hired you?” I asked.
No response.
“Tell me, and I’ll let you go. You can go back to Omri and tell him whatever you need to. Hell, maybe I can even help you complete your mission, if you agree to leave me alone and leave once it’s completed.”
Still not looking at me, Levi shook his head. “I do not even know the benefactor, but the payment was significant. We were paid simply to bring the creature and kill that which it showed us.” He looked at me. “You are not the target, I promise you that. You are not worth such a price. We will kill you for honor alone.”
“Bring the creature…? What does that…?”
From somewhere above, there was a loud crash. Levi looked up at the ceiling and laughed. “They are already here. My time to report back has come and gone. Release me back to them and I’ll ensure your death is quick.”
I grabbed the Babel stone from the ground and said, “Like that’s going to happen. Just sit tight.”
I pocketed the stone as I stepped out of the cell, and as the door closed behind me, Levi yelled, “Omri will tear you apart with his teeth, and we will gather round and piss on what remains.”
Levi continued to yell, but once I got about thirty feet from his door, the stone’s effects couldn’t reach him any longer, and his muffled cries chased me out in Hebrew.
At the top of the stairs, I found London pacing the kitchen. A series of knocks and banging was going on a floor above and further into the house, from the direction of the West Wing, and he was clearly chomping at the bit to track down its source. But like a good guard dog, he stayed where he was told, and also like a good dog, he came directly to me as soon as he saw me.
“They’re fucking up there,” he said. “Did that ball licker talk?”
“I think Levi was sent in ahead to scout. When he didn’t return, they came in after him. They’re likely hostile.”
“Well,” London said with a laugh. “So am I.”
