My Black Beast

by Randall P. Fitzgerald

  With the girl safely on a surface that wasn’t ooze covered brick, he shook his arms out and rolled his neck. A full body shudder of pleasure ran over him as the burn in his muscles washed out. When his body had settled he looked down at the girl. That cloak needed to go. There was a bone clasp at the top of it, near her neck. She didn’t move as he undid it and lifted her back to take it from under her. The thick hide of the cloak was weirdly spongy, he could tell now. Mottled yellows and purples ran across the cloak with spots of black. It was bone dry and warm to the touch.

  When he laid her back down, the girl shifted of her own accord, but didn’t wake. At least she’s moving. He put the cloak over the back of a crap chair that he’d probably been given by his mom. The seat was home to a stack of unopened mail and a sad, slumped pizza box. He started to turn but the box nagged at him. He looked to the girl and grimaced before reaching down to grab it, sending mail onto the floor.

  Back in the hall, he closed the bedroom door and tossed the box toward the living room. It spiraled to a soft landing on the grey-blue carpet. The box was followed by a wet jacket, shirt, and the rest of his clothes. He was naked now except for a silver locket around his neck. Lowell moved across the small hallway to the bathroom. The chill of the air wasn’t so pronounced in his apartment, but the rain had soaked into him and he could feel it now.

  In the bathroom he wrenched the shower dial to somewhere just south of boiling and let steam fill the room before he turned it down to some reasonable temperature and stepped in. He ran his hands through the long brown hair he’d let grow out and pushed water up through the rough beard that had come along with it. He could hear his mom’s disappointed voice telling him he looked like a bum.

  He just sort of stood in the shower for fifteen minutes, staring at the wall, not thinking about anything. At some point, everything came rushing back in and he realized he’d basically kidnapped a passed out little girl.

  “Fuuuuck.” The word leaked out of him. “Fuck. Fuck! FUCK!”

  He slapped the wall a few times and then just let out this weird goat noise and started flailing his arms around. This went on for longer than it should have for an adult man in any situation and only stopped when his hand slapped off of the hard metal of the temperature dial. It didn’t hurt so much as it turned the water ice cold. Lowell yelped and jumped back, pulling away from the freezing stream. He shifted the dial back to comfortable territory and sighed.

  It was another twenty minutes before he finally felt like it was worth getting out. He half expected there to be cops standing in there. Maybe a girl cop. She’d eye his junk suspiciously and scoff, probably. That’s how things like this went. Insult to injury. Or… or whatever this was. It had been the right thing to do, he figured. Maybe she wouldn’t agree when she woke up, but he would just have to sort that out then.

  The thoughts ran through the typical things you might expect of someone taking in a lost child, minus the whole telling-the-cops bit. It wasn’t until he sat down on the couch, skin red from the heat of the shower, a towel wrapped over him, that the whole idea of a lost little girl started to fall apart.

  Lowell’s brain started to catch up with him. The rush of fleeing duly appointed officers of the law had finally burned away and now all he had left was a swimming head full of pictures of a little girl kicking a goddamn brick through the brain pan of a frog… demon… thing. It wasn’t the sort of thing you saw, so much. Maybe in one of those Guillermo del Toro movies. The ones with the weird shit that aren’t in English.

  He rolled his head back on the couch and played the scene over and over and waited for some sort of wire or rigging to show up in the pictures, but they never did. It’s not like he could go back and look at the hole now. Make sure it was still there. No, that wasn’t going to happen. He could go look at the cloak, maybe. Weird, spongy skin cloak.

  He pulled in a deep breath and knitted his brow. There was nothing for it, after all. She’s just a little girl, even if she had magic bullet legs or whatever. She needed help and the cops weren’t likely to give her anything like it.

  The remote was just out of reach, so Lowell leaned over and snatched it from the far arm of the couch. His finger hovered over the power button for a few seconds before he tossed the remote away. There was nothing good on and he definitely wasn’t in the mood to see helicopter shots of that little alley.

  Lowell pulled himself up off the couch, leaving the towel behind. There was a sliding door beside the TV on the far wall, but he’d never been modest enough to care. There was basket of clothes waiting to be washed against the wall to his bedroom. There were clean clothes in his room, but he didn’t really want to be in there when she woke up. He pulled on a grey shirt and a pair of pajama pants and returned to the couch.

  He’d been laying there, half asleep, half counting the shadows on the ceiling, for about an hour when a thunk sounded from the bedroom. Lowell sat up and looked at the wall, waiting for another sound. There was a slight scratch. It was enough for him. He hopped over the back of the couch and ran to the kitchen. He grabbed a glass from the cabinets above and filled it with water. He nearly dropped it on the way across the room to the door.

  When he finally got there, he had no idea what to do. It all made sense up until the doorknob was in his hand. He’d just open the door and give her some water. It would be fine. Now he wasn’t sure. She kicked a brick through a demon frog’s brain and his brain was probably way softer than that. It doesn’t matter, he said to himself with as much conviction as he was able.

  He twisted the handle and pushed the door open. The girl was standing beside the bed, looking out through the curtain with wide eyes. Her eyes whipped to him as he pushed the door open and the both of them froze, staring.

  “I… uh…”

  It was all he said before she ran up onto the bed and pulled a pillow up over her head in a defensive stance. She cocked her head to the side as Lowell stepped into the room, holding the water out. She pulled the pillow back further to show her intent.

  “I, no… it’s okay.” He held up a hand. “It’s just water.”

  He took a sip from the glass while inching forward. He swallowed the water and held the glass back out in front of him. She eyed the glass as he got close. Lowell stopped where he was and offered it up to the girl when it was close enough to grab. She pulled the pillow aside and looked at the glass a moment.

  She pushed her head closer to inspect the clear contents, not convinced. She sniffed at the air a few times. Whatever it was she smelled, she didn’t like it and with ridiculous speed she swatted the pillow down to the floor.

  “AH!” Lowell shouted in surprise and pulled his hand back.

  The glass hit the carpeted floor and the water splashed and spilled, darkening the spots where it landed. Lowell stared down at the unbroken glass on the carpet, breathing hard from the shock. The girl looked too, watching the dark spread out from where the glass had landed. He looked back up at her and she met his gaze. She had let her guard down and quickly pulled the pillow up again in case this was his plan all along.

  “Look, I have juice…”

  All he saw was a white blur and then there was a burn of fabric dragging across his nose at speed. He quickly turned and put up and arm to deflect the blows that followed. She was unrelenting in her attack and Lowell gave ground until she stopped at the edge of the bed. He moved out into the hallway without another word and shut the door behind.

  When the door clicked shut, he slumped to the ground and leaned his head on the cool wood. For the first time since he’d left the flower shop, he remembered he was hungry. Lowell pushed himself up from the ground and brushed his hands clean of the floor stuff. He looked at the door, there were a few sounds from the other side but he figured it was fine to leave her alone for now so he walked to the kitchen.

  It was the end of the week so the fridge was pretty much empty. Lowell still pulled the door open and gave a look inside. A few eggs, no bacon, some milk, a g
reasy pizza box. It dawned on him that he likely ate pizza a bit too much and he poked idly at a formerly firm stomach beneath his shirt. He shut the door with a sigh and pulled open the freezer. There were a few microwave burritos and a tinfoil square that he couldn’t quite remember the contents of. He grabbed a pair of the burritos. They were nice enough to be individually wrapped but they weren’t those fancy ones with the grass-fed glutens and the all-natural whatever. No, these were the crap sort that blew up even if you didn’t microwave them for the full time. But who can hate that non-specific mixture of meat paste and bean goo?

  The burritos went in and the light of the microwave came on. He watched them spinning around, letting the hypnotic buzz of the machine pull him away from reality. The microwave beeped, he flipped the burritos, and did them again. It was a science, according to Lowell. A cold middle in a cheap burrito is basically like having a birthday without a shitty grocery store cake. It just wasn’t acceptable.

  When they were done, he turned them a last time and gave them another go, half as long as the other two. When they were done he pulled down a pair of plates and removed the burritos from their place on a paper towel in the microwave. He took the plates to the door in his hallway and placed one on the ground. He walked to the couch and put the other there. He got another glass of water from the kitchen and put it beside the plate in the hall. He knocked lightly on the door.

  “I, uh… I don’t know if you do burritos… or food or whatever. I left one out here for you. It’s not spicy or anything. It’s just beef and bean. There’s water, too. They really taste like ass if you let them get cold, so… you know, if you want it.”

  He stood there a minute and heard nothing from the other side of the door, so he shrugged and walked to the couch where his food was. He turned on the TV now. The noise was nice. It gave him a distraction. It was one of those shows where they try to save a restaurant where the owners apparently think frozen Costco food and a strong fear of cleanliness are the way to financial excess. From his right he could swear he heard the sound of his bedroom door opening over the emotionally instructive cues of the TV music. He didn’t move to check. If she was doing her whole inspection routine on the burrito, he’d probably just scare her back into the room.

  The door closed quietly after thirty seconds or so. Lowell stood and did his best ninja walk to look down the hall. The plate and cup were gone. He smiled but stopped himself from doing a little dance, just in case she was listening for danger or something. She wouldn’t starve this way, at least. He could find out who she was in the morning.

  The couch felt more comfortable this time. He didn’t have any cushions or throw blankets or anything that a sensible person might adorn their couch with. Somehow, it didn’t matter. Things were going to be alright. He could help her. A few nights on his lumpy couch wasn’t so bad. Lowell finished his burrito and laid back on the arm of the chair, watching the shapes change on the TV but not really hearing it.

  Before long, he was asleep. A comfortable sleep that came easy for the first time in as long as he could remember. Just before he slipped off into dreams, he wondered whether or not he snored. An ex-girlfriend said he did one time, and now he worried. He hoped it wouldn’t keep the girl awake. She needed the sleep more than him.

  Chapter 3

  The sun was shining through the sliding door in a way that told Lowell he probably shouldn’t be sleeping anymore. He pushed himself up to sit on the couch and rubbed his face. He patted his pants absentmindedly and felt the cloth of pajama bottoms. In a bit of a haze, he stumbled over to the still damp jeans on the ground and fumbled his phone out from a pocket. He looked at the spidered glass of the screen with a grimace and let it fall to the floor.

  He moved to the bathroom. When he got there, the lid was down and the water was yellow. He paused a moment, considering it, and then the girl’s existence wiggled into his mind.

  “Oh!” He immediately looked away and reached blindly for the handle, giving the toilet a flush. “Little gross, but okay. That’s fine. Good, even.”

  When the toilet had flushed, he did his own business and washed up. He stepped across the hall, drying his face on the bottom of his shirt. Lowell knocked on the door and heard shuffling from inside.

  “Are you up? Hungry?” He waited a second but there was no reply coming. “We need to find… you know, your parents or whoever.”

  He waited again, but heard nothing. Lowell turned and moved to the kitchen. Burritos weren’t great for a kid so he figured he’d need to cook something better. He whipped open the fridge again. From the looks of it, there was enough random crap to put together some pancakes, so he did. When the batter was nearly done being mixed, his landline rang. The surprised spin nearly pulled the batter off the counter, but he saved it and grabbed the phone.

  “Yeah? I mean, hello?”

  “Your mom’s been nagging me all fucking morning, man.”

  The voice was high but intense and gruff. Emily. The girl who ran the flower shop. She wasn’t much different with customers. Easy going, given to swearing. She always changed her tone with old ladies for some reason.

  “About what?”

  “She thinks you’re dead or something, I don’t know. Some explosion a few blocks from the shop. I told her I’d call her if I didn’t hear anything by ten thirty.”

  Lowell looked around, realizing suddenly that he didn’t own a proper clock. “What time is it now?”

  “Ten. I don’t want to have to talk to your mom again. It’s weird. You’re a grown up. Call your mom.”

  “Yeah, alright. Look, I’ll be in a little late today.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m not opening the shop today. Whatever blew up has the cops shutting down like three blocks around while they investigate. The news said it was a gas pocket in the sewers.”

  He heard her take a bite of something and then she began again with food in her mouth. The words were a mess so he just made polite sounds until she hung up.

  When Emily was finally done, he called his mother. The phone barely rang once before she picked up in a panic.

  “Lowell?” Her voice was frantic.

  “Yeah, it’s me.”

  “Oh thank the Lord Almighty. I was so scared. Why didn’t you answer your phone? I’ve been calling all morning and there was this explosion near your apartment. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine, mom. I dropped my phone on the way home and it’s busted. I didn’t even know about whatever explosion until Emily called. You shouldn’t bother her. She’s just my boss.”

  The lie was easy since it was a parent. Years of training as a child. There was just that impulse when you’ve probably done something wrong.

  “Well who else am I supposed to bother? You don’t have any friends and she’s a nice girl. Just a boss,” she scoffed. “That’s why you’re single. That and your hair. You look like a hobo when you don’t shave, you know that, right? Like a bum.” He could hear her chewing on something absentmindedly between the judgmental comments.

  Well, this call was going well.

  “Look, mom, I was in the middle of cooking. I was just calling to tell you I’m fine.”

  “What are you cooking?”

  He heard a small thump from the bedroom. “Burned pancakes if I don’t go. Love you, mom. I gotta go, really.”

  “Fine, fine. Cook your pancakes. I just wanted to know you were alright.”

  “Yep. Not a scratch on me.” Probably not true. “I’ll call you later, okay?”

  “Okay, fine. Love you, Lowey.”

  “Yeah, love you too, mom.”

  He hung up the phone more quickly than he probably should have. It was breakfast time and the conversation would have ended that way even if he’d let her ramble on for an hour. He talked to his mother regularly enough, but she was a worrier.

  Lowell put the cordless phone back on the charger and returned to his pancakes. There wasn’t much batter, enough for maybe four? He decided to ju
st do three big ones and find something for himself later. The pancakes were done and loaded onto a plate. He grabbed the fake, butter-flavored maple syrup from the fridge.

  He tapped the syrup bottle against the door and it gave back a dull thunk.

  “Hey. Food. These get cold even faster than the burrito.” He heard some shuffling on the other side of the door. “Okay, well, I’m coming in.”

  Lowell opened the door with the syrup hand and stepped into the room. There was a lump under the covers that shifted slightly at the sound of him entering the room. He walked across the room to the edge of the bed and the lump leaned away. The cap of the syrup popped open and Lowell poured some over the pancakes before sitting them on the floor beside the bed.

  He retreated to the chair and sat himself down, looking at the plate. There was no fork. Shit.

  “Ah, damnit. I forgot a fork. Hold on, I’ll go get one.”

  He stood and started across the room and around the time he made it to the door he heard shuffling behind. The plate disappeared under the edge of the blanket about the time he’d turned around. There was more shuffling and the sound of a tiny mouth chewing.

  Lowell moved back to the bed and lifted the edge of the covers. A pair of cautious eyes shot to him and the girl froze, pancake in syrup-covered hands, staring at him and waiting for him to move.

  “No fork then?”

  Her eyes did not move from him but she took a tentative bite of the pancakes. Lowell let the edge of the blanket fall and he could hear the girl go back to her work on the pancakes. He moved to the chair that was quickly becoming his post.

  “So you eat pancakes with your hands. Super. That’s… totally normal. Probably just… like, I don’t know. Maybe it’s some… some like cute thing you do with your folks? Right?” He heaved a sigh and leaned forward, putting his head in his hands. “Right. She’s like twelve. Twelve year olds totally eat with their hands. Fuck me.”