She made it to the other side of Town Square before she dared turn around. Gary was still there. She hadn't shaken him like she'd hoped.
At this point Claire wondered what to do. She didn't want anyone hurt because of her, but she didn't want to talk to Gary either. The way his eyes slid over her made her think he wanted to do more than just talk.
Not having enough time to think through her options, Claire ran. She sprinted down the street then turned left onto the sidewalk. Up ahead she noticed a small souvenir shop with its lights still on. She prayed for the door to be open. Her prayers were answered.
"Hello?" she asked, gasping for breath.
No answer. She walked to the back of the store and stuck her head in a darkened stock room. "Hello?"
The owner must be outside celebrating with everyone else. She turned around to go back but stifled a scream. Gary stood outside, staring at her through the window. His hand was pressed to the glass and when he slid it down, the force of his sweaty palm against the window made a screeching sound.
He grinned.
Claire turned and ran into the storage room, searching for a back door, but found none. Air caught in her chest when she heard the jingling bell of the front door opening. Heavy footsteps, one sliding behind the other, crossed the tiled floor.
She quietly slipped behind a stack of boxes, praying the darkened room would conceal her. This time her prayers were ignored.
A light flipped on.
"Claire," Gary breathed and she imagined his breath killing every spider in the room.
She tugged on her necklace reminding herself that she’d beat a man like Gary before. Besides, Gary wasn’t Gage. She was grateful for that. Had he been, she would’ve been trying to claw her way through the wall to get away. No, Gary could be handled if she was careful. She stepped into view.
"Let’s get this over with,” she said.
Claire didn't know if it was the sight of her, trapped and trying hard not to look frightened, that made his eyes grow big like an addict in a meth house. All of a sudden he rushed her. She jumped over a box, while shoving another in his direction. He stumbled but only for a moment.
She managed to make it to the door before he was upon her. His cold, clammy hands gripped her arms and pushed her into the wall. She turned her head away, afraid to smell his breath.
"Who have you told?" he said, inches from her face.
Claire shook her head. "No one, because I didn't hear anything.”
She squirmed beneath his grip.
"You heard all right, or you wouldn't be so afraid." He sniffed her, the tip of his nose grazing her neck. "You reek of fear."
She tried to push back, but even her legs were being pressed up against the wall by his body. "Let me go!"
"If you tell anyone, you'll ruin a lot of lives. Is that what you want?"
She struggled again, finally crying out in frustration. Her upper arms felt like they were going to snap. How was he so strong? He looked like a skeleton with glued-on skin.
"Is it?" he shouted.
Claire shook her head, and then relaxed because she didn't know what else to do.
Gary smiled. "Good girl. The others wanted me to use tact in talking to you, but I knew only fear would make you understand how important it is that you keep your mouth shut."
He ran his greasy fingers over her lips. "Are you afraid?"
Tears filled her eyes. She willed them not to spill over. Something told her it would excite him even more.
His fingers continued to stroke her face and trail down her neck. Claire would count to three, she decided. When she reached three she would fight as hard as she could until she either passed out from exhaustion or he killed her. She refused to let this go any further.
One...
His hand slid to the top of her shirt.
Two...
He ripped off the first button.
"Get your hands off her before I blow your damn head off!"
Ethan.
Claire laughed, sort of cried. Hot tears spilled onto her cheeks at the same time Gary let her go. She fell forward.
It was Logan who caught her.
"Everyone just calm down," Gary said. His voice had changed. No longer threatening but gentle.
"Don’t move," Ethan said. It was his voice that was cold and hard now. He was gripping the handle of a handgun, the barrel pointed at Gary. “You’re going to wait right here while we call the police.”
Logan pulled out his phone. Claire looked at it and then at Gary who narrowed his eyes and tilted his head just barely, giving her a silent warning.
She obeyed, remembering his threat, and took away Logan’s phone. “It’s not a big deal. Let him go.”
Both Ethan and Logan looked at her, their mouths open and eyes wide.
“You can’t be serious?” Ethan asked.
“Please, Ethan. Let him go.”
Logan, who was still holding her, said, “There’s no way. He attacked you!”
“You heard her, boys,” Gary said. “Let me go. Now.”
Ethan kept the gun pointed.
Claire shook free of Logan and stood up, erasing the tears on her cheek with the back of her hand. She placed her hand on Ethan’s arm and lowered the gun. “Please. Trust me. Let him go.”
At least for now, she thought. Something had to be done about Gary, but it had to be done in private and handled delicately. Maybe tomorrow she’d speak to Smith about everything.
Gary didn’t wait for Ethan to respond. He quietly slipped out the door like a cockroach in search of a new home.
Ethan stared at Claire, searching her eyes, but she kept them steady. "Are you okay?"
"I think so. Just freaked out."
"We need to tell the police," Logan said.
She shook her head vehemently. "I'm not talking to anyone. He didn't hurt me. I'm fine."
"Maybe she's in shock," Logan said to Ethan.
"I am not in shock! He wasn't going to do anything to me. He was just trying to scare me."
"Why?" Ethan asked.
"I don't know. Maybe because he's crazy." She turned and walked toward the front of the store.
"Claire!" Logan called. She kept walking.
"What if he attacks you again?" Ethan asked, following her shadow.
She kept her back to him. "He won't."
"How can you be so sure?" Logan countered.
She had to change the subject and quick before she spilled the truth. She turned around. "Where did you get that gun, Ethan?"
This seemed to peak Logan's interest, too.
"So I have a gun," Ethan said, shrugging.
"Why did you bring a gun tonight?" Logan clarified.
Ethan raked his fingers through his hair. "You never know when you might need one."
"But who does that?" Claire asked.
"It came in handy tonight, didn't it?"
"But it wasn't necessary," Logan said. "We could've taken that guy. You could've accidentally hurt someone."
"If I hurt someone tonight, it wouldn't have been an accident. Now let's get out of here." Ethan took hold of her hand; the grip was surprisingly tight.
Claire followed after him, wondering who it was she was falling in love with.
Chapter 19
EVERY PART OF Albert trembled. Sweat had broken all over his body hours ago and the liquid was hot as it raced down his naked skin to puddle on the floor beneath his chair. He couldn't hold on much longer; already his head was beginning to tingle from the lack of oxygen, and it was impossible to take a deep breath. He could only pant. Like a wounded dog.
It all began when Albert saw Gary harming Claire. Anger and rage had cracked his sanity’s foundation just enough to allow Gage to escape. Slowly. Painfully. Scraping at him from the inside out, like a dead man clawing his way free from his grave. Albert was trying everything mentally possible to keep Gage contained, but he simply wasn't strong enough anymore.
Gage had seen how Gary had hurt Claire t
oo, leaving the finger marks on her arms that she had tried so hard to hide. But Gage was angry for a different reason. He didn't care about Claire's safety. He cared that someone else was causing harm to what he thought was his alone. No one should frighten Claire but him. No one should lustfully touch Claire but him. And lastly, no one should crave her the way he did.
Albert could sense all of these mad thoughts from Gage and it terrified him. He was afraid of what Gage might do. And he was terrified that once Gage was released, he might never be able to contain him again.
A clock on the wall ticked. Slowly. The crisp, sharp sound reminded him of his mother's voice. "One day your battle will come,” she’d said once. “You will face your demons and you will lose.”
Albert refused to believe her, convinced he'd prove her wrong and show both his parents that he was worthy to exist in the world. But in the last hour, as the clock sung its monotonous tune, doubt had crept into his mind. Maybe he wasn’t such a good person after all.
He thrust his head back, his nails digging into the wooden seat of the chair. Gage was coming. His voice whispered in Albert’s head, speaking of revenge. Of pain. Of blood. The words seared themselves onto his mind. And then his heart. The pain became too great and he cried out. A sound of the tortured. The battered. The conquered.
And then there was silence.
Gage inhaled deeply and raised his head, smiling. Freedom. As if a caged genie finally freed, he stood from the hard chair and stretched. Muscles rippled in a wave across his body. He went to the window and opened it. Night's air raced in and twisted around his naked body, cooling his skin. He took a few deep breaths before he moved around the room, preparing for the evening.
He finished getting dressed by pulling on a black Bandon High sweatshirt and positioned the hood over his head. Then he pulled out Albert’s cell phone and typed a man's name into an online directory. The address became as permanent as his hate.
Before he left, Gage punched the nearest mirror, shattering it into a million pieces. Time to spread the pain, he thought and jumped from the window.
Gage raced through the forest, a predator hunting its prey. The woods were still except for the sounds of his hurried footsteps crunching leaves. His fists punched through branches. His breath poisoned the air. There was only one image in his mind. The eyes of the rat claiming Claire as his own: Gary.
It didn't take him long to reach the other side of town to an area Albert’s friends called "white-trash land". There were about forty trailers lined next to each other. Most of them looked like they'd survived a tornado but just barely. The lawns were littered with trash: a broken doll, a bike missing a tire, an overturned garbage bin. He counted at least three soiled diapers.
Gage stepped over a splattered watermelon. The city should have this place condemned. Maybe he would visit the Mayor later and have his own private town hall meeting.
He found the home he wanted at the very end of the trailer park. If one could call it a home. Half of it looked the same as the others, but the rest of it had been pieced together by plywood and roofing tin. Apparently, the idiot could only afford half a trailer.
Gage wondered what Gary did with his money from his job at Bodian. He didn't have to wonder long. Peeking into the only window without boards crossing over it, he saw Gary sitting on a seventies floral sofa, a belt cinched around his upper arm, injecting something into his arm from a syringe. When Gary sat up his eyes bulged and seemed to vibrate within their sockets, but what Gage didn't expect were the veins on Gary’s face. They looked swollen and stretched his skin thin.
Gage waited to see what might happen next, but when Gary fell back into his seat, mouth open and eyes fixed on the ceiling, Gage got bored.
Because of the close proximately of neighbors, Gage didn't break the door down like he wanted. A much quieter entrance was needed, even though he preferred the louder, more attention-grabbing kind. He approached the front door quietly and turned the doorknob. It was unlocked, which didn’t surprise him. He quickly slipped inside and closed the door.
Gary didn't move. Didn't bat an eye. Just stared at something beyond the universe. Gage wondered how long his eyelids could stay open like that before they dried up and turned to dust inside his skull. It was tempting to find out, but he couldn't take all night.
Gary’s place was a wreck. Piles of newspapers and garbage were stacked high against every wall. Either he was a hoarder or they'd purposely been placed there to try and keep the trailer warm. On the ceiling Gary had taped pictures of nude women in provocative positions.
Gage moved into the cramped kitchen to see what he had to work with. A drawer revealed three spoons and forks and one sharp knife. He chose a spoon. And inside a refrigerator that smelled of beer and cat urine, he was happy to find lemon juice. Luck seemed to be smiling upon him.
After gathering a few more items: cheese grater, apple slicer, salt, and a toilet brush, he filled up a tall glass with water. He took the items and stood in front of Gary, whose eyes were now closed. Gage took a sip of the water and tossed the rest of it into Gary’s face.
No reaction.
Gage leaned in close to inspect Gary. His breath, smelling like rusted iron, puffed into Gage’s face. Gage grimaced and straightened. He took his finger and pressed it into Gary's cheek, smearing the wrinkled leather-like skin around a sharp cheekbone. Gary’s eyelids fluttered, but remained closed.
Gage frowned and stepped back. How could he torture him if he wasn't awake?
He glanced down at the syringe on top of the cardboard box. Lying next to it was a vial. Gage picked it up and noticed Bodian Dynamic’s logo on the side. He inhaled its top; it smelled of ammonia and something else bitter and foul, not the same stuff Albert had stolen from Bodian. What else were they into?
He glanced down at his clock. Four more hours until sunrise. Best get started. At some point, Gary would wake up and when he did, he would wish he hadn't.
Gage guessed right. Five minutes into his torture, Gary woke up screaming. Of course his screams were muffled through a tennis ball Gage had found and stuffed into his mouth. It looked extremely uncomfortable, and he was pretty sure he had broken Gary’s jaw when he had jammed it in.
The sound of Gary’s smothered voice was music to Gage's ears. He loved it more than he did the sight of Gary's blood, which glowed a bright red as it ran in rivers down his arms. Gage could've continued for hours more, but when the first of the sun's rays crawled beneath the taped cardboard on the window, Gage knew he had to leave.
He bent down, directly in front of Gary. His eyes no longer appeared to be bulging from their sockets, but now looked like they'd collapsed. Gage could barely see his pupils beneath lowered eyelids. His color was death-pale, and his skin, which had once been drenched in sweat, was now dry and flaking. At least the parts that weren't covered in blood.
Before Gary took his last breath, Gage whispered in his ear, "Claire is mine.”
Chapter 20
RATS. AS BIG as dogs with foaming saliva, dripping from razor sharp teeth. This was what Claire was dreaming about when a loud pounding woke her up. She sat up, gasping for air.
There it was again. Someone at the front door, knocking like the house was on fire. She glanced at the clock, 8:30 a.m., and blinked.
"Claire," a familiar voice shouted from behind her front door.
"I'm coming," she said to no one. Claire threw off the covers and pulled on a pair of jeans from off the floor.
"Where's the fire?" Claire asked when she opened the door, but when she saw Smith’s expression, she followed it up with, "What's wrong?"
Smith placed his hand on the door jam as if to steady himself. His face was pale, and his legs looked like they were about to give out beneath him.
"I'm so glad you're here," he said.
"Where else would I be?"
Smith looked past her into the living room. "Where's your mom?"
Claire stuck her head out the door and looked toward the gar
age. Her mom's van was parked out front. "She had to work last night, so I'm sure she's crashed. You want me to get her?"
"No. I’ll talk to her later today. It's you I want to see."
"Smith!” a voice called out from around the side of her home. “You're going to want to see this!"
"Who's that?" Claire asked and stepped onto the porch. The sun shined bright, but the air was surprisingly cold. She shivered.
"Doug," Smith said, walking down the stairs.
Claire followed him. "What's your deputy doing snooping around my house?"
If she puffed hard enough, she could see her breath.
Smith didn't answer. Instead he walked to the back of her house and spoke quietly to Doug.
"What's going on, Smith?" She came up behind him and froze. On her bedroom window was a bloody handprint. She stumbled back.
Smith took hold of her hand before she fell. "It's okay. Everything’s going to be fine."
She jerked away from him. "What the hell is going on?"
"Maybe you should tell me," he said, suddenly becoming just as defensive.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
His expression softened and he took a deep breath. "What do you know about Gary Lewis?"
A knot formed in Claire’s throat. She tried to swallow it but couldn’t.
Smith continued, "He's a man in his forties. Lived over on Clover Street in the trailer park. He worked as a security guard at Bodian Dynamics. Do you know him?"
She nodded but said, “No.”
“Which is it, Claire? Do you know Gary Lewis or not?”
This time she said, "Sort of."
"How?"
She looked at the smeared handprint, her eyes blurring a bit, then turned around searching the woods behind them. They seemed to be alone. She looked back at Smith. "I fought with him at the festival last night. Is that his handprint?"
"What did you fight about?"
The morning light held the maroon-colored flakes of blood pressed to her window. It reminded her of her first day of kindergarten. She had made a handprint with red paint as a gift to her father. She later destroyed it.
Paranormal After Dark: 20 Paranormal Tales of Demons, Shifters, Werewolves, Vampires, Fae, Witches, Magics, Ghosts and More Page 156
