by Aaron Crash
After Jack drove Horns away, Evelyn Mundi was free for a second. And then she was gone in a cloud of that spicy perfume. Horns smelled like shit. This other thing? It smelled good.
No, it wasn’t an it. She was a definite she. If there could be trapped mothers and horned demons, there could be some woman out there who smelled good.
Had this mystery woman saved him? Had she stopped time?
That shotgun blast should’ve torn him in half. Instead? He’d sidestepped it.
The beer went well with the burrito. And he had his window open as he sipped the gin. It was good gin, the best around, and he’d drive up to Littleton to buy a bottle every month or two.
Then he took out the toy soldier he’d gotten from Hugo. The paint was fading, it was chipped, and that key seemed stuck. He should be able to wind it up, but he couldn’t get it going. He put it on his nightstand when he went to take a shower.
Later, he spent some time online Googling shit, but there wasn’t anything on time travel or stopping time or any of that. No.
He went to bed figuring it had been some one-time event. Maybe he’d been chosen to save the woman from Horns just so the sweet-smelling woman could sweep her away.
Jack was just a bit drunk, a nice buzz, and that made sleep easy. He was out, and when that fucking alarm dinged, he felt like shit.
He didn’t have an actual nightstand. It was just a series of bricks with a piece of wood on top. It held his phone, which was charging. And his phone went off.
Light leaked in through the shutters, making the walls glow. He glanced at his clock. It was 7:07 a.m. The bank was open on Saturday mornings, and he had to take the shift, even with what had happened the night before. Jack’s boss had called, and Ernie wasn’t available.
Fucking Ernie. He owed Jack about two cases of beer and a bottle of the good stuff for skipping out the night the place got robbed, and now he’d stiffed Jack on a weekend? Jack hoped there was something wrong in Ernie’s life, or he’d have to make sure there was. His head felt like someone dropped a bag of hammers on it. He did not want to get out of bed.
If only he could make time stop now. Give himself another hour of sleep. That would be ideal. But how did a guy stop time?
Jack had to laugh at himself. He focused on his phone and willed it. Nothing happened. He didn’t feel a thing.
He raised his right hand out of his blankets. He snapped his fingers.
That was stupid. There was no way it was going to work like that.
He then tried both snapping his fingers and willing the clock to stop. Nothing.
He saw he’d left the toy soldier by the bed. He grabbed it and again tried to turn the windup key. Unlike last night, it clicked to the left. There seemed to be a pop in his skull. He waited for a second to see what happen. Nothing, probably. He was being dumb.
He closed his eyes and fell back asleep. The dream was a confusing tangle. There was a woman with bright red lipstick and smoky eye makeup. Her right eye was an icy blue, the left a bright red. Her long, slender face was framed by a tangle of black hair. She smelled like spice and sex. Not just that. She had horns. Black horns and fangs, and she had claws. Was that a razor-sharp onyx spike on the end of her tail? He thought so.
The demonic figure was standing in a crowd of frozen people, giving him a long, sultry look.
A flash later, Jack held a sweet blond woman in his arms, and they were kissing. This new woman had pale, shining skin, and she smelled fresh, clean, and a little flowery, like a spring meadow. A second later, the blonde was gone.
And Horns appeared, towering over Jack, digging his long, cruel claws into Jack’s temple—through skin, through bone, right into Jack’s brains.
The pain shocked him awake.
The dream had been bad, but this new pain was worse, far worse. And his phone was lit, showing him 7:07 a.m. He’d fallen back asleep. He’d dreamed. Had it been less than sixty seconds?
He waited, the pain growing more intense. He listened. Generally, he heard traffic from Plum Creek Boulevard, or his neighbors tromping around upstairs, or some kid crying somewhere. Jack didn’t hear any of that.
The pain was getting severe and growing worse.
His phone never switched over to 7:08. Jack saw he’d dropped the toy soldier. He picked it up and clicked the key to the right. Immediately, he heard the traffic, a baby crying, and booming from upstairs.
Jack pressed the toy soldier to his temple, careful not to hit that key. The pain lessened. He waited. The nice thing about time is that it always moved forward, or seemed to. He checked his phone. 7:10 a.m.
Time was flowing. Only, what had Horns called it? The Tempus Influunt. That shit sounded like Latin. As in tempus fugit. In English, that translated into time flies.
Jack showered and dressed in his uniform. Breakfast was apple-cinnamon oatmeal and coffee, and then he was out the door.
Had he stopped time? The windup toy soldier was in the pocket of his jacket. If he could really stop time, he wouldn’t need to drive. He could just walk. But he decided to drive. His headache was slowly going away, and he didn’t want to risk another migraine—stopping time gave his brain a pinch, and he didn’t want to break his front cortex.
He pulled into the bank’s parking lot a little before eight. His car was nothing to write home about—it was officially a Ford Whatever, your typical crappy sedan, ten years old. It clanked him around Plum Creek just fine. He would’ve liked a better car, but he’d rather have an apartment, and he’d rather help out his mom and aunt.
The bank opened at 8:30, but the employees arrived just after eight to get things taken care of. Jack sipped his coffee, and that was when Mac Satterstrum pulled up in his police car.
Kyle then pulled up in his old BMW. From the look on his thin face, Jack knew some shit had gone down. But what?
Jack got out of his car and approached the men.
Kyle was pale and more freaked out than usual. “Jack. Thank God. Annie Blackburn is missing. She went back to the bank last night. I was with her, and dammit, I turned around and she was gone. I figured I might have not seen her leave, so I called her phone but didn’t get an answer. I hoped she’d be here this morning. I don’t think she’s going to be.”
Mac stood with his hand on his gun. “This is damn strange.”
Jack tilted his head. “Why did you two go back to the bank last night?”
Kyle frowned. “It was crazy yesterday. You left to go to the police station. The police were there. Annie left her purse. She called me to go back for it. I was in my office five seconds. Five fucking seconds! She vanished.”
Jack felt his heart drop into his shoes. What remained felt like a hole in his soul. He and Annie were on the verge of something, and with how funny and sweet she was, and smart, they might’ve had something serious. To have her gone? Just like that?
“Fuck this,” Jack cursed. “Let’s get into the bank. I think I might know what happened.”
Jack both hoped he was right and prayed he wasn’t. He had his gun holstered on his belt, but more important was the dumb windup soldier in his jacket pocket.
Kyle went through the whole thing of opening the bank, unlocking the doors, turning off the security system, and checking his surroundings. Jack didn’t like the weaselly bank manager, but he did a fair job when it came to security.
Mac stood with his arms crossed.
“So where was she?” Jack asked.
Kyle pointed to her normal station. Jack went around the counter and approached her chair. The migraine from the morning was still kissing his frontal lobe, but he was going to have to push himself. He studied the toy. Normally, you’d wind it up and the soldier would slam his drumsticks on the drum. It seemed broken. However, its job wasn’t drumming anymore.
Jack hadn’t thought he’d hit the toy soldier’s key when the guy last night had unloaded his shotgun, but he wasn’t sure. There had a been a massive dump of adrenaline into his system and that could mess with y
our memory.
A click to the left. Time stopped.
Jack felt the ice pick in his skull right away. Wincing, one eye closed, he went out from behind the counter to stand in the lobby. Kyle was talking, his mouth open, but he was frozen. Mac’s face was locked into a frown.
“Annie!” Jack yelled. “Evelyn Mundi? Horns?”
Yeah, he didn’t really want to see the demon again. The bank was empty of any ghosts, no one was lost in time, and there were no creatures.
Jack couldn’t stand the pain. He gripped the toy soldier in a sweaty hand. He was about to turn the key to the right when he smelled that perfume from before—spicy, musky, sexy. That toilet water must’ve cost a billion dollars.
“It’s not the toy, fucker,” a voice whispered behind him.
And from out of the corner of his eye—no, from out of nowhere—walked a goddess in high heels. A demonic goddess. She was tall, as tall as he was, and she had dark hair, and pretty dark eyes, heavily made up—her right eye was a bright, icy blue while the left was as red as the sweet bow of her lips. She was model gorgeous, in a red dress that opened to reveal miles of cleavage. She had huge titties, and a big butt, big hips, and a Kim Kardashian narrow waist. Her arms showed brown skin and knotted muscles. Okay, this nowhere girl was hot. Literally. He could feel the heat coming off her. And she smelled so good.
She opened her mouth and she had fangs. Horns curled back from her temples, black horns that matched her dark hair. She smiled with those lips. “It’s you, fucker. Use the toy for now. Ha. This is hard on you, sure, because what you’re doing shouldn’t be possible.”
Jack squinted against the unbearable pain. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Names are powerful, and I’d rather fuck a broke dick dog than tell you mine without getting something in return.” She kissed two fingers and waved at him. “I’m gonna go. But I’m watching what you do, mystery man.” She sighed, stepped forward on her dagger-like high heels, and strode into nothingness. She was gone in a snap of noise and the streaming energy he’d seen the day before.
Jack turned the key to the right. Time started again.
Kyle frowned at him. “How did you get there, Jack? You were just behind the counter. And, I hate to say it, you don’t look so well.”
Jack swallowed. “Worried about Annie. I checked her computer...I had a hunch. But nothing.”
Kyle and Mac exchanged glances. Eyes were rolled. Jack didn’t care.
Jack jammed a knuckle into his temple. “I can’t work the morning shift, Kyle. But I’ll call and get a replacement. My head is killing me. Hopefully, I can come back for the afternoon close.”
Mac looked more worried than suspicious. Perhaps Officer Satterstrum was growing a soul. “Kyle’s right. You don’t look so good.”
“Thought I saw a ghost,” Jack replied. In reality, he thought that the woman in red was more demon than ghost. She said she’d be watching him. What in the fuck did that even mean?
Chapter Four
AFTER CALLING VIGILANCE Incorporated for a backup, Jack waited for his replacement to get there. They sent Kevin Burkhalter, a good guy.
Jack then went home, closed every blind, and laid on his bed with a cold washcloth over his eyes. He’d taken two ibuprofen and two extra-strength aspirin and drunk a bunch of water. He lay in the dark, on his bed, and waited for the migraine to go away.
Then he’d see what was known about Annie. Thanks to a friend of Jack’s father, Jack had a backdoor into both the NCIC and the CBI. That would be the National Crime Information Center and the Colorado Bureau of Investigation. The databases would have vital information. Jack shouldn’t have access. But Dave Winehouse was over seventy years old and trusted the Masterson family completely. At that age, trust was more important than rules.
Jack could check those databases, but there would also be news stories on both the bank robbery and disappearance of Annie Blackburn.
Even if he could stop time, he might still need to investigate Annie’s disappearance the old-fashioned way—detective work. However, Horns and the lady in red seemed to be his prime suspects.
What had Horns said? Something about something called the Tempus Influunt? He’d Googled it. Tempus was time. Influunt was flow. Okay, so that was the flow of time. So these creatures were outside the flow of time? How did that work?
The headache went away, and Jack thought about going to see if Kevin needed anything, but that bank was now probably one of the safest places in the city, statistically speaking. Bank robbers hitting the same place again was highly unlikely. A demon or a ghost showing up? Less so, it seemed.
Jack hung up his uniform, put on a T-shirt, jeans, and his normal shoes, and threw on his leather coat. He stuck the toy soldier in his pocket.
He then drove his Ford Whatever to go help his mother and aunt with their money. He’d tried to get Moms to do auto-pay online, but his mother was very anti-computer.
“It’s all just porn, Jackie!” she’d yell.
She wasn’t wrong.
His mom and his aunt lived in a duplex owned by his cousin, Eddie. Cousin Eddie was a piece of shit. It was probably because his mom—Jack’s aunt—was such a piece of work.
Aunt Sue stood outside their basement door, smoking a cigarette. Aunt Sue didn’t like much in life. However, she liked cigarettes as much as Jack’s mother liked beer. The pair could do advertisements on what not to do with your lungs and liver.
At seventy, Aunt Sue dyed her hair black, and it looked terrible. She didn’t do much makeup except for lipstick, and then she did too much. “You should’ve been here last night. If we’re late, you should pay our late fees.”
“You won’t be late,” Jack assured her.
He walked by her and ignored her frown. He just smiled and kissed her cheek.
She slapped his arm playfully. “Now, none of that, Jackie.”
Inside the duplex, his mom was sitting on the couch, watching TV. Broadcast TV. He’d replaced her antennae from 1950 with something a bit more modern, and he offered to help her set up Netflix. She refused.
His mom had a big belly and a big smile. Her white hair was short and thinning, but her eyes were blue, and she liked to smile. “Jackie! I have our checkbook ready. I have questions about my account. Money is always so tight. Cousin Eddie is going to increase our rent. I understand why, everything is more expensive, but I don’t like it.”
His mom wobbled up and he helped her to the table in the kitchen area. The wall had been removed, so it was really just one big room...kitchen into living room. The table itself was piled with bills. Sue came in to fight about money. She defended Cousin Eddie—he was a piece of shit, but he was her son.
Jack promised his mom to help her with the rent increase. Or he could beat Eddie until he was bloody. That wouldn’t be too hard since Cousin Eddie was almost forty now. Aunt Sue had started having kids early, and Jack’s mom, Rosemary, had started late.
The three sat at the table, all drinking Milwaukee’s Best out of cold cans that came from the refrigerator. There was a Milwaukee’s Best shelf.
They were careful not to get the bills wet. The beer was bad, but it helped them lick the stamps.
“I have cheese in the freezer,” Jack’s mom said out of the blue. “We could have grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup...like when you were little.”
Jack laughed. “No, thanks. There’s something I’m working on.”
“Did you kill those fucking bank robbers?” Aunt Sue asked, eyes twinkling.
“Language!” his mom protested. “I saw that on the news. I was worried for you, Jackie. You need to get a less dangerous job. I’m glad you didn’t become a cop, but what you’re doing, this security business, seems just as dangerous. Can’t you become an accountant? Is it too late to become a plumber? You know, your brother Bart had a friend who did well in plumbing. Poor Bart, God rest his soul.”
Bart had gone to Iraq and did not come back. Just one of the many deaths they’d had t
o endure. Bart had been the oldest, then Charlie, who’d been gunned down at a traffic stop, just doing his job. David died in a car accident, but he’d also been a policeman. Then there was Eli, the last of the Masterson brothers to become a policeman. He’d gotten an infection from yardwork, a freak thing, but it was enough to kill him. Then losing Andy to cancer that September.
Some of the bills on the table were to pay off the funeral.
The silence was hard to bear, especially since their house had been so loud growing up, six boys, with Jack being the youngest.
“I’ll consider plumbing.” Jack raised his beer can. “To our family, Moms. We’re the last of us, but we’re here. We’re here.”
Moms raised her can, as did Aunt Sue, and they toasted the fallen.
Aunt Sue patted her sister’s shoulder. “Helluva thing, losing so many, so young.”
Jack’s mom sighed, but she didn’t cry. She often said she already cried an ocean over their many losses, and that the world didn’t need more water. She was brave and optimistic, if a little dependent on her beers.
Jack figured he could soften the heavy tension in the air. He might as well talk about what was on his mind because it wasn’t like these old women would ever believe he had magical powers. “Hey, Moms, Aunt Sue, what would you do if you could stop time?”
Aunt Sue fell apart in laughter. She had a cigarette in her fingers, and she was toying with it. “Go back in time? I’d go back to right before Eddie’s father cheated on me and kill him and that conniving bitch at the King Soopers.”
Did grocery stores hire people based on their capacity for drama? From dating Mindy, and from his own family’s history, Jack thought so. He set his beer on the table, careful not to get any of the papers wet. “Not go back in time. Just stop time.”
Jack’s mother furrowed her brow. “That’s a strange question to consider.” Then she blushed and put a chubby hand to her mouth.
Jack sighed. “I don’t want to know.”
Sue laughed more. “She’d go into the men’s locker room at the YMCA, wouldn’t you, Rosie?”
