by Gary Starta
Burnham gasped. He had become her prey once again but only for a second. The whoop of a siren interrupted. Free from her grasp, Burnham catapulted twenty feet upwards finding the rail of a fire escape to cling to. He grabbed the rail with both hands and somersaulted to safety landing on metal plating.
Below him he could see the woman scrabbling. She took cover underneath his makeshift cardboard mattress.
The patrol car proceeded to make its way along the alleyway below, its search light illuminating litter, dumpsters and the nest of some rats. They scuttled from their home, their tiny mewling voices protesting the invasion. Perhaps, Burnham thought, the police were just on routine observation. He could only hope they hadn’t been called in response to his nocturnal sparring match. It wasn’t very likely. They had arrived much too soon to respond to a call.
The skittering rodents caught in the headlight of the car forced it to slow. Burnham could hear what the officers were saying with his special hearing. They were laughing at the rats.
He sighed in relief spying upon the cardboard below him. She hadn’t moved. She was like him, not only a reanimate, but someone on the lam as well.
After the car passed, he dared a whisper.
“It looks like we’re on the same side here. Promise me you’ll talk-not fight-and I’ll come down from here.” He really didn’t believe they were on the same side. She probably had murdered Comiskey. But how he would bring her to justice was another matter right now. He would not best her in a fighting match. A plan to subdue her would have to come later.
She tumbled from the cardboard and mouthed, Okay.
Back on the alleyway they both called home these days, Burnham nodded for the woman to begin her story.
“I suppose you want to know why I approached you.”
Burnham laughed sarcastically. “Approached…?”
“Okay, I can explain the licking.” A glint of a smile mixed with a hint of embarrassment danced across her pupils.
They are an ocean. I’m going to fall in, Burnham thought. But he sobered when he observed the rest of the woman’s body language. She kept her arms folded across her chest, her mouth remained taut. She’s in no mood to play. I’ve seen this look on Colleen a million times.
“Let’s begin with an introduction. I’m Lorelei Lindquist. I know you’re a cop. I’ve been watching you, for some time now.” She paused, her lower lip trembled and her eyelids blinked in rapid succession. She removed her right hand which had been cradled underneath her armpit not to engage in a handshake but to point an index finger at him.
Great, she’s going to verbally pistol whip me…
She gagged, removing her finger gun away from Burnham to cover her mouth.
“Are you all right?” Burnham asked, nearly cheerful, welcoming the distraction.
“It doesn’t matter anymore. Let’s just say I wanted to wake you gently so we wouldn’t fight. Some fucking plan, huh?” Burnham would have laughed if she wasn’t bent over, resting her hands on her knees, taking in huge gulps of air. She rose after a long moment.
“I know you have the compulsion, the hunger. As I said, I’ve been observing you. I saw how you were attacked. I didn’t want to raise our hackles so to speak. Once you engaged me in a fight, I was helpless but to respond in kind. It’s just the way this fucking thing works I suppose.”
“I take it you were changed by somebody as well. Not willingly?”
“You’ve got that freaking right. The bastard…” Lips pouted she dropped her hands to her waist. “He was supposed to help me. But that’s beside the point now. I had a plan until you came along and screwed it up.” Her right hand now up and pointed again, finger gun style.
Burnham shuffled his feet and brought his hands to his chest. “Hey, I did not do anything wrong here. I’m a victim, too.”
She stared into his pleading eyes for a second but broke the graze to reflect upon the surrounding buildings. “Shit, someone’s going to hear us. Stop elevating your voice.”
“No, don’t worry. These are warehouses. No one’s at work yet.”
“Well tone it down. You don’t hear me yelling.”
No, Burnham thought. She had the whisper scream down to a science. Just like Colleen had done to him on a five-hour airplane trip, the prelude to what was supposed to be his honeymoon. Damn whisper screamer…
“As I said, I had a plan. That man you fired two bullets into was supposed to help me. He was supposed to come back.”
“What? How did you see that?”
She pointed to her eyes. They were so large, magnetic. Burnham couldn’t help but be pulled into them. He didn’t feel the tug to be supernatural despite Lorelei’s theory. “It looks like I was gifted when I came back. I was damn near blind, wore prescription contacts. Now, my vision is better than 20/20. I can see things a block away.”
“So, wait a minute. Are you telling me you bit my friend?”
“I only did it because he begged me. He said it would help him catch the man who did this to me. But he was going to do more than just that. The man who did this to me is being extorted. Someone changed him. Your friend was supposed to find whoever he was as well.”
“Damn it. How many more are like us?”
“I think just the man, James, who bit me.”
“Do you mean Amado James, the crime lord?”
“One and the freaking same, someone hit him with a dart to infect him. That’s why I think there are only you, me and James. Whoever did this to James used some kind of drug. He thinks this is some kind of medical experiment.”
“And you believe him?”
“I believe him because I saw one of the bastards in the act of extorting him. James has to make payments to him.”
“Why would he be making payments to the person who infected him?”
“Because there’s a pill to treat our condition, that’s why I believe James when he said this is about medical tests. It’s one of the reasons I came to you.”
“That’s great. You mean there’s a chance we can be cured?”
“No, the pill only works to curb our hungers. It also helps with our faces. Your veins won’t be pronounced when you’re on the pills.”
“You said that’s one of the reasons…?”
“The other is I expect you to take over for your friend. He gave his life to become whatever the hell we are now. He believed becoming one of us would enable him to find the sick bastard who’s experimenting on us. I explained how it improved my eyesight. He thought he would end up gifted as well. I warned him he would awake hungry, that’s why I kept a distance from him after I bit him. But in time he would have mellowed. Then I would have given him the pills. When you and that coroner came along you screwed everything up. If you call the man you shot a friend, then you’ll take over his mission.”
Burnham recalled his hunger. He would have surely maimed or killed people when he first awoke, but the circumstance did not present itself. He had been alone for quite some time on the highway. It made sense that the woman would observe Comiskey from afar. The word choice of „mission" also seemed to reek of Bobbie the Commie. But he had to wonder how this all transpired in the first place.
“How did you meet him?”
“In a coffee shop after I escaped from James. I may be a single mom, but I’m no candy ass. I took up Tae Kwon Do to defend myself. It helped me get away from James. Anyway, your friend saw how distraught I was and approached me. He was going to be my savior.”
It sure sounds like Comiskey. The man was too dedicated for his own good…
“Hell, maybe you’ll avenge him. Avenge us. Speaking of saviors, you look like some kind of prophet yourself.”
Burnham ignored the jab. “Did this man give his name?”
“Yeah, Kersey; said he was undercover and that probably this would be the biggest drug bust of his career.�
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Burnham chuckled. “I’m sorry, didn’t mean to laugh. It’s just that I believe you now.” Burnham recalled how Comiskey always used „Kersey" when going undercover. It was sort of an inside joke in reference to the Death Wish character who portrayed the ultimate vigilante. Comiskey always dreamt of cleaning up the streets without the red tape of the judicial system. Burnham reflected upon the task at hand. His gifts now enabled him to chase some of the scum who ran the streets of Ybor City. But if this woman was telling the truth, there was an even greater evil to bring down. Possibly, his new gifts would enable him to bring Chomsky’s dreams to life.
“Well, now that you believe me. Let’s take a walk. I’ve got something to show you.”
They had walked two blocks from the alley when Lorelei stopped to warn Burnham. She whisper screamed at him with her index finger covering her lips. “I mean it, keep your voice down. We can’t afford to lose what we’ve got here.”
Crawling behind a dumpster, she emerged with a backpack. “Here’s our salvation, at least for the moment. I stole them from James the day I escaped.”
Inside the bag was a large quantity of blue colored capsules. They appeared to Burnham just like any other prescription drug. The entire story seemed unbelievable. The extortion, Chomsky’s sacrifice, possible medical testing…towards what end…? If Lorelei hadn’t mentioned Chomsky’s „code name" he might have thought she was a conspirator, perhaps employed by James to unleash some new addictive disease upon Ybor City for financial gain. But when he witnessed her whisper screaming at him Burnham believed her anger to be genuine.
After she secured the bag about her, Burnham inquired how she had become involved with James in the first place.
“Stupidity, desperation, I suppose. You will probably think I am a weak, ignorant child of a woman. And you wouldn’t be wrong. I knew there would be a price to pay for James’s help.”
Lorelei recounted how one of James’s henchmen had approached her, offering her financial assistance in hard economic times. The man had been behind her and her daughter Kasandra in line at the grocery. Lorelei, humiliated because she hadn’t enough money to buy all her items, apologetically asked the cashier to put back a package of meat. The man in line gallantly offered to pay for the item noting he didn’t want to see a child go hungry. A conversation followed. The man offered Lorelei financial aid, a loan of sorts, if she would be willing to meet with her boss.
A day later, Lorelei met with James, suspecting the thirtysomething man to be involved in some kind of organized crime because of his lavish home and foreign sports car. She prepared herself for a physical exchange with the man, realizing full well she would have to pay for her „loan" somehow. She would however gladly sacrifice herself for the welfare of Kasandra. She had nearly lost her apartment several times but was too proud to seek assistance from her best friend, Lyla. The money offered by the man would come with guilt but no repercussions between her and her friend. Lorelei feared fallout between herself and Lyla over money. Lorelei surmised Lyla would most likely become Kasandra’s legal guardian now. “I believe Lyla thinks I’m dead. I just disappeared after asking her to babysit. Thank God, I can trust her, trust my baby will be well cared for. My mother practically disowned me and I never knew my father.” Burnham could relate. His mother returned to her birthplace of London after his father died at an early age. They were never close. His mother only moved to America because of her love for his father. He also felt his mother only gave birth to him to appease his father as well. Not surprisingly, he certainly could equate with feeling all alone. And now a situation had conspired to emphasize just how alone they really were.
Burnham told Lorelei he understood James’s desires. “He wanted sex, but why did he bite you? How did you let this happen?”
“I was tied up. I thought it was some sex game. I became aware why after he bit me and I awoke from what I had only believed to be a nightmare at the time. I was ravenous with a hunger…for flesh. But I didn’t desire sex. All I wanted to do was eat flesh. After I calmed down, he gave me the pills. Explained I had died and came back. He wanted to test a theory. To see if what he had could be spread. But I also believed I was involved in some kind of Frankenstein story. He wanted a girlfriend who was like him. Because he had the benefit of the pills, I never suspected what he was. I certainly wouldn’t have gone quietly. I would have fought for my daughter. Because now, it’s as if I am dead to her.”
“That’s not true. You could go back.”
“No. God no, don’t you realize what you’re saying? You’re a cop. You should know more than anyone what would happen. James would retaliate if I showed up at my home. I could never put my daughter in that kind of danger. But that’s not the only reason. As long as I have this hunger in me, I can never go back to Kasandra. I can never endanger her. It’s my fault though, and now I guess I’ll have to live with it. That part of my life is over. I can only hope to avenge myself by exacting justice on James and whoever infected him. That’s how I willed myself to go on the last few weeks.”
“I’ll help you, Lorelei. We’ll help each other. You’ll get back to your daughter.”
“No. It’s a nice thing to say, though. But the sooner you realize you’re no longer who you are the better off you’ll be. I’ve seen you in action, playing the supernatural vice cop. You’ve got to stop. You’ll expose us and then we’ll never get our justice. Because remember, justice is all we have now. There’s no going back to what we were.”
Chapter 9
How the hell can I go back to the way I was? Crime boss Amado James nagged by a desperate idea and the bizarre manner it had presented itself to him laid curled in a ball on his leather couch, contemplating. Vulnerable and pathetic, the most powerful underworld man on the west coast of Florida resembled a cowering school boy clutching a photo of his mother. His soldiers would find him like this sooner or later. Maybe they already had. One of them might very well rise up to usurp him. The only thing stopping them, he thought, was his hunger. They wouldn’t risk being bitten, and ultimately becoming infected like him. To die and then live again, to become dependent upon some blue pill sold by some nameless thugs, to lose more than half the money they made to an extortionist.
Going back… It didn’t seem possible. James had posed the question to the lead man who sold him the pills, the no name freaking bastard who had the audacity to walk into his home and demand a suitcase full of money for some capsules that barely curbed his voracious hunger for flesh and sometimes helped to cosmetically maintain a human appearance about his face. James had already researched who Mr. No Name was, an ex-cop; but his identity hadn’t aided him in finding the person extorting him.
Mr. No Name said he doubted a cure existed, no matter the price. If that were true, existing just to survive wasn’t a viable option for a man who earned a lavish living by simply commanding men to earn money for him. Would he exist to be some kind of toothless tiger? Yes, he had the bite. But the power he now had held little value to him. He didn’t want to risk missing a dosage of his pills and turning one of his muscle men into what he had become because they might use their physical gifts to replace him. He had risked turning Lorelei into what he could only describe as some kind of designer zombie; a manufactured monster, one born from a lab, not from some filmmaker’s imagination. The changes made to Lorelei may have taken away her ability to rationalize. It’s probably why her escape had not resulted in the type of public exposure he sought. Possibly, she might not be motivated to seek justice because of nature. After all, Lorelei was a civilian, a struggling mother, not the cold-hearted bastard who depended upon crime to sustain her. Who could predict her motives, if she was even still alive? If so, she was now under the influence of her maker. Not him. His bite didn’t make her into what she now was. He had only served as the long arm of an unknown assailant.
In theory, what he shared with Lorelei had been thrust upon them, unnaturally,
from some kind of strange science. It had to be. He Googled and Binged to find that research-sometimes referred to as fringe science-existed on the twilight of reality, on a fleeting cusp of tangibility.
In any event, a scientist most likely had conjured this unnatural condition. A man of science most likely was a learned man and a learned man might still be a reasonable man. The equation spelled: weakness. Possibly, this person’s sensibilities, a burden which surely had to be carried by the educated, would give James an edge to catch him. A humanitarian had to quantify some of this person’s makeup. How could a humanitarian hope to continue such an underworld quest or be ruthless enough to mingle in some banal, jungle like act of extortion? James had the street sense, the heartless savvy to pull off such an endeavor. How had a learned man acquired the innate ability to be contemptible? Abject behavior was not taught in a classroom. So, was this man on personal quest? Had it now become personal? Did he perhaps harm one of this man’s relatives? Had this made him a target?
James had plenty of time to ponder. He slept barely an hour a night. Rest was optional. He supposed this to be a gift, a side effect from his condition. Another side effects recent surface gave James hope to find and catch the bastard responsible for his changes. If he couldn’t go back to his past, at least he could exact revenge. It was a concept a crime lord could easily understand.
A week ago, in a moment of supreme weakness, James risked a call to his mother. He had cut off any relations with family not only because they abhorred what he had become but because that kind of contract might be traced back to him. A Fed might listen in on this type of call and then appeal to that family member to do the right thing, to give up their blood relative as part of their civic duty, moral consciousness or religious obligation-he wasn’t sure what exact tact the Feds were using nowadays. It all added up to manipulative bullshit. His own mother could be manipulated. She could be convinced to turn on him. Provide some key evidence to link him to his crimes. Nevertheless, he risked the call that day. It’s what his mind’s eye compelled him to do.
