"Fallback plan?" I asked.
"I made him an offer," said Charlie. "A change of direction for his life. He can stay on my couch for as long as he likes, if, and only if, he applies for and gets into the police academy."
"Ben? In the police academy?" I said. "Besides that sounding like a bad movie, are you sure that's a good idea? He seems ill-suited for that work."
"That's what I said!" agreed Ben.
Charlie shrugged. "Everyone should get chances to turn their lives around. This would be good for you, Ben. If you actually accept the help."
"We'll see, we'll see," said Ben, waving off the concern. "I still have a few days before I'm officially evicted. Maybe some new movie will start up in town and some hot chick producer will hire me. Miracles do happen."
"Miracles, huh?" I thought back to Hornswaggle. Deb had said he was a god - what were his miracles? I remember only tragedies. I shook my head again. "I went by the studio."
"I told you not to," said Charlie.
"Yeah, yeah, I know. I just had to see it for myself. To see what was left."
"And?" said Charlie.
"It's a burned down building," I said. "No horse-headed demon so far."
"Was that a concern?" said Charlie.
I shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe I'm being pessimistic. Something in me says it's not over."
"It's totally over! We burned the fuck out of it!" said Ben. "I'm not letting Terry's... Terry's..." He paused. "I'm not letting it be for nothing."
I nodded, but I still had doubts.
"You've been playing nurse for a week," said Charlie. "It's good for you, but that's also probably got you thinking the worst. Now that you're out and about, you need to clear your head and relax."
"If you wanna go down to the garage, I have a little of the bud to smoke," said Ben. "It will totally get you grooving."
Charlie shot Ben a look.
"I mean, I have nothing of the sort! How dare you even ask that!" said Ben.
"Just sit down and have a drink," said Charlie. "Sit and shoot the shit with us. There isn't much else to do."
I clutched my stomach involuntarily, feeling it twist at the idea. After some dry heaving at lunch, I had just barely gotten things under control. The nausea was now at least stable. Adding alcohol to that mix did not seem like a good idea. "No thanks, I really just wanted to stop by and see how you two were doing. I guess get some reassurance after going to the studio."
"We're fine and that demon's not coming back," said Charlie. "Is that enough reassurance for you?"
"Yeah, I guess so."
"Good, now get going! Come back when you're going to actually hangout like buddies!"
I smiled. "Thanks, Charlie."
Next I finally went home. Had it been a normal day, I would have stopped at the office to check in on things. But I wasn't currently taking cases. I had alerted Morty and Sally to my safety the day after the death of the studio. They didn't need to worry anymore and they could contact me freely. But I also told them I was taking a brief vacation. A week, maybe two weeks to get my head together, to calm my nerves, and... well, it was mostly to take care of Franny.
When I got home, I didn't go into my own apartment. Instead I unlocked her door and walked inside. As her unofficial nurse, I had a key and an open welcome. In the past week I had spent more time at her place than I had at mine. It was all I could do to try to make things right.
I expected her to still be in bed. Instead, I found her at her desk in the living room in front of her computer. She still wore her jammies with a robe over them. Her curly red hair was pulled back to not get stuck on the lines of bandage tape that were across one side of her face.
"What are you doing? You're supposed to be in bed!" I said. First Charlie, now her. I guess I had become the naggy nurse.
Franny rolled her eyes, wincing in pain as the movement pinched the skin near one of her wounds. "I can't stay in bed forever. Besides, I'm finally off antibiotics. That's a sign I can at least come in here and sit on the computer. You've kept me in the sick bed for longer than I've wanted by claiming I was healing. Well, now I can work and heal."
"But you still have the bandages..." I said.
"And I will for a while," she said pointedly. "That's not a fact I'm going to miss any time soon."
"I'm sorry," I said for the hundredth time.
"I'm also sick of you apologizing. Stop. I don't want to be reminded of the cuts either. Don't make me have to kick you out."
I sighed and nodded. Just as she had nursed me back to health, so I returned the favor. Of course, I did so with far more guilt, since I felt like I had indirectly caused the attack. I had confessed the whole crazy story to her, both to unburden my conscience and to explain why I felt I should be blamed for her face. After hearing all that, she said I was silly to think it was my fault and to stop blaming myself. It was kind of her, but I had seen her looking in the mirror a few times when she thought I was doing something else. Her face was sad and regretful.
I think the reason why she didn't blame me was because she didn't really believe it all. It was a good story, but I don't think she could believe something like that had happened. She knew she had been attacked by something weird, but the more that event receded into the past, the less she believed her memory. Especially after being sedated at the hospital, she was apt to believe her "monster" memory was just trauma and panic. So my story was a fantasy that I think she accepted only for my sake. She just explained away her attack as a random and unfortunate act of violence, at times saying she was going to hunt down the guy who did it to her. I wish I was so lucky to be able to explain it all away as something so mundane.
As she typed away at the keyboard, undoubtedly either answering an email or constructing some code, I looked at the bandages. They still ran a few inches on her face. The doctor had been optimistic, suggesting that only one of them might leave a permanent scar on her face. While he meant it as good news, it still made me feel terrible. That was still a scar that she'd always have due to something she wasn't involved in. I should have had that scar. Instead my face was fine; my scars were on my chest and in my stomach.
She noticed my look. "Would you stop looking at them? It's fine!"
"I just..."
"Go! I banish thee to thine own apartment!" she said with a wave of her arm. "Go rest. You've taken good care of me for a week, but it's time to get some recuperation of you own."
"I'm fine, I don't need to. I need to be here for you, I need -"
"Go!" Her eyes were intense, her expression stern. There was no arguing with her when she was like this. I nodded in agreement.
Sufficiently banished, I slunk back to my own apartment where my cat awaited me. At least he was welcoming. He seemed to never judge me for more than my lack of time at home. I petted him for a while and then laid in bed. It was late afternoon, so I had no expectation of sleep. In the dim light I stared at the ceiling fan and felt the weight of everything that had happened. Of everyone who died.
We had lost Terry. He died fighting the good fight, which was commendable - a "good death" according to some - but it still meant he was dead, his life snuffed out too soon. Deb had also died in that fire, but I didn't care about her. Nick and Jennifer had also died at Hornswaggle's hands, the violence an effort to keep them silent. We had some wins though, right? Franny was going to be fine, just a cosmetic scar. Charlie was going to be okay, he just had to take it easy for a while. Nobody else was hurt.
Was that all worth it? Was that a satisfactory price for defeating Hornswaggle and stopping whatever he was going to do with his children's show? That was victory, wasn't it? I should be happy at least about that fact.
So why did I feel like it wasn't over?
Nine months crawled by and life returned to normal. I resumed working on cheating spouse cases, Charlie returned to work after his suspension, Franny healed remarkably well leaving only a single very faint scar, and Ben actually did enroll in the police acade
my, to the surprise of all of us. Life lapsed back into a comfortable rhythm and the Hornswaggle affair was mostly forgotten. Life moves on.
I found that I had traded up one poor health symptom for another. The anxiety dreams of Bellingham disappeared; I stopped running through halls trying to escape an unknown attacker. So I found I was able to sleep at night. Instead of sleeplessness, now I had a persistent stomach ache that never went away. Some days were better than others, and it varied in intensity throughout the day, getting the worst right after eating. I started eating less often and more lightly. I did go to the doctor about it, but received no useful advice. Other than suggesting it could be cancer, they could find nothing wrong with my stomach. X-rays showed nothing, not even a mass to biopsy. I was given medication and probiotics before being sent home.
I had my own fear of what had caused my symptoms. All I could ever think of was the black stuff which came out of me and swallowed the Seer. And then it receded back into me. I had not seen it since then, but I didn't think it was gone. I still had dreams of dark figures standing by my bed as the walls bled black. I couldn't shake the feeling that the darkness was still with me. Only now it was dormant. Biding its time. Waiting.
Due to my ill feelings, on this day, I was laying on my couch again. My stomach was acting up and my current case wasn't pressing. I knew he was cheating, I just needed better pictures for his wife. I had placed my target in a hotel with his secretary twice this week already, so I expected that I'd be able to find him there tomorrow. I took the day off, laying on the couch in pain and in my hazy attention watching television.
I don't remember when I switched on cartoons, but it seemed like something I would do. There's just something comforting about Scooby Doo, at least the old episodes. But I hit two in the afternoon and the channel I was on changed fully to children's programming, not just old cartoons. I guess this was when the kids got out of school.
The next show came up. It was live action puppets. Just seeing a puppet at this point made me uneasy, so my eyes fluttered awake as I watch the introduction. The music was playful and tinny, but I recognized the old song - It's Only a Paper Moon. As colorful animations played, there was a logo for the Horatio Swiggins Show. Déjà vu struck me. I watched as the show displayed a strikingly familiar set - not exactly the same, but close enough. As my anxiety mounted, the familiar but different theme continued when they started showing each of the puppet characters.
And then I saw it.
This puppet was clearly different from what I remembered, but anyone who knew the original would see the resemblance. Instead of a green knit cap, there was a top hat. The goofy sunglasses had been traded in for a monocle. The dreadlocks were now pulled back and less obvious. Instead of a green shirt, there was now a suit. Interestingly, some of these new elements were what Studio Austin had used on Victor Victorious, but here they were superficial difference. To anyone who knew Studio Austin's work, it was obvious. Horatio Swiggins was Hornswaggle.
At the end of the show's intro, I noticed something in the credits. A Production of PBS Studio Boulder. Shit. Suddenly it all made sense, giving me a sense of vertigo. Lindsey the former Austin Producer and Ken the former Austin Key Grip had transferred over to Boulder. Jennifer had called Hornswaggle an infection, and she was right. They had brought Hornswaggle with them to Boulder! Everything we had done to burn down the studio and destroy him had been for nothing! The scrap didn't matter! I broke out into a panic sweat. We had been duped.
And then he was with me.
The room was filled with a large figure. He was taller than I had known him. He couldn't even stand at full height, his head and shoulders hunched over and pressing against the ceiling as he bent to look at me. The eyes glowed red and he still looked like a horse. But this was a different Hornswaggle. Before he was emaciated and diseased, his hair matted, his skin coarse. He had smelled of manure and rot. Now he was not thin. His body was rippling with muscle. His hair was clean and smooth, as if he had been well brushed. He smelled of apples and fields. As opposed to his previous appearance he seemed... healthy.
"There you are, Detective," he said. His voice was still gravelly, but so much stronger. His massive hand grabbed me and easily pulled me up in the air, bringing my face close to his enormous horse head.
"We stopped you!" I said, but I realized even I hadn't believed it. I had been inwardly doubting that for nine months.
"When there is still one mind who believes in me, I will exist," he said. "As long as even one of your pitiful race carries me, I shall persist. And now, so many of your children carry me, I am so much stronger than have been in ages. Far stronger than when we last met."
I had no defense, no attack. Even if that horrible thing were to come out of my stomach, it would take a minute to do so, during which Hornswaggle would kill me. Worse, I didn't want to go through that again; I didn't want to feel it drag its way out of my bowels. I would rather die than suffer that again.
"Just kill me," I said. "I don't know why you're bothering to gloat."
"I enjoy gloating," said Hornswaggle with a smile in his voice. "And I am not going to kill you. You are no threat to me anymore. You cannot stop what I have become, what I will become."
"Evil," I spat.
Hornswaggle laughed. "I have always been kind to your race - kind enough, at least. It is a symbiotic relationship. You help me, I help you. Under my tutelage your race has come far, even if I could not guide them for centuries. But now that I am back, you will do so much under my watchful eye."
"Leave us alone!" I said. "We don't need your help!"
"Oh? Would you have me leave them all to your master?" said Hornswaggle. "That is a far worse fate for humanity."
"I serve no master," I said. My words were truth, but they were chewed at by doubt.
Hornswaggle laughed again. "It is another time of conflict. Gods and monsters, Detective. You should have picked your allegiance before it picked you. When war comes, I won't hesitate to kill you if I have to."
"Instead of killing me now?"
"I am no friend of your master, but I see no reason to start a fight so soon. There's more work to be done, and should my enemies defeat each other, it would just improve my position. But no, I came not to kill you. I came instead to gloat."
Hornswaggle suddenly disappeared, letting me fall to the carpet hard. I looked around the room for him but did not see him. Then I looked to the television, where the show seemed to have frozen on Horatio Swiggins.
"Know that you lost, Detective," said Horatio in his puppet voice, not the gravelly demon voice. "But the war that's coming, the doom that approaches, is so much bigger than you. In time you will learn to realize you are glad to have failed."
"You're a monster and we don't need you!" I shouted at the puppet at the television.
"When the dark comes out," said the puppet, "you will."
About the Author
Dennis Liggio is the author of fifteen books, including I KILL MONSTERS, the DAMNED LIES series, THE LOST AND THE DAMNED, and the books set in the city of New Avalon. He is a veteran of the game industry, enjoys long walks on the beach while thumbing through tomes of unspeakable evil, and rumor has it that if you say his name three times in front of a mirror at midnight he will appear and give you Hostess Fruit Pies. He writes primarily in the genres of geeky absurdist humor, horror, and urban fantasy. He lives in Austin, Texas with his wife and daughter.
www.dennisliggio.com
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Books by Dennis Liggio
I Kill Monsters (Nowak Brothers #1)
Mikkel and Szandor kill monsters. They're not government funded, they're not from a time-honored lineage of hunters, nor are they rich kids with lots of toys. They're two twenty-something brothers from the poor side of town who have taken it on themselves to rid the streets and underground of creatures who would prey on the innocent. Donning
gas masks and using makeshift weaponry, they delve into the labyrinthine sewer system of New Avalon to grapple with snarling zombies, flesh-eating ghouls, insectoid hive creatures, and more. It's a dirty job and it rarely pays, but someone has to do it.
Hired by a woman from the rich side of town who believes she's being stalked by monsters, the two brothers think they've finally gotten an easy job that will pay well. But as they follow the clues, things are not adding up. Kidnappings, jackbooted commandos, and mysterious emails are just the beginning. Soon they find themselves involved in something bigger than monsters. It's anybody's guess whether they'll come through it alive, much less get paid.
I Kill Monsters is an exciting punk rock urban fantasy for those who enjoy their protagonists with a mouth on them and a weapon in their hands.
Jabberwock Jack (Nowak Brothers #2)
Mikkel and Szandor are back! Everyone's favorite monster hunters return for a new adventure, and this time it's a monster that's bigger than they have ever dealt with before! While on a routine job in the city's underground tunnels, they stumble on a creature thought lost for years. They are then invited to join a hastily assembled team of hunters going underground to try to kill the enormous serpent. Delving deeper into the dark tunnels than they have ever gone before, Mikkel and Szandor find themselves searching for this massive beast in dark overflow tunnels and the endless labyrinth under New Avalon. But creatures beneath the city are not their only problem. Soon tensions begin running high among the assembled hunters, threatening to derail the mission and put them all in danger. Will they succeed, or will they fall prey to the gigantic monster known as Jabberwock Jack?
Support Your Local Monster Hunter (Nowak Brothers #3)
Support your local monster hunter! And specifically, support Szandor Nowak, because he needs help. After an unfortunate and unwilling break from monster hunting due to debt and poor health, Szandor is getting back into the business, riding along with older, more experienced hunters to get a feel for the work. This should have been easy and boring, but instead it all goes wrong. In a dark alley, Szandor finds a man hidden in trash. When he tries to help, the man's head explodes bloodily and spontaneously... and all over Szandor. This seems a horrible but otherwise anomalous encounter, so with no leads or reason for the man's death, Szandor continues on with his reckless life and hunter ride alongs. But when he encounters a second man whose head also explodes, Szandor's life starts to fall apart - his relationships, his friends, even his chance at hunting again. He even finds his brother Mikkel turning his back on him. But in the blackest night of loneliness, he finds a new hope - a mentor and a friend. But with this comes a hidden secret of Avalon's darkest places, a hidden underbelly he didn't know about. Things are going to hit the fan in Szandor's life - an army of monsters, a police homicide investigation, and his back against the wall. When all doors are closed, when he finds himself all alone, can Szandor fight a war he knows he can't win?
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