Frank was in a very dangerous place. Physically he was asleep in his bed at the retirement home. They had moved him here about a week ago from the hospital. He had survived the knife wound and was now stable, but in his weakened state he was no longer able to live on his own, so this was his new home. Dogs were not allowed in the retirement home as pets of course, so when Frank slept, he was on his own.
Adding to the dilemma was Frank's weakened physical state followed him into dreamland, lessening his prowess as a fighter, making him miss his old warrior pal Lloyd even more. If this would have been his sole obstacle, he most likely would have been able to adapt. After all, he had been losing his fighting edge for quite some time now, being in his seventies. He had changed his tactics to using his mind more than his fists against the fiend in dreamland for years now. If he had to change his tactics to rely even more on the mental and less on the physical aspects of the confrontation, he most likely would have been able to pull it off.
The real problem was the drugs. They were giving him all kinds of things for the pain, which was dulling his mind while he slept. If they dulled his brain enough, he wouldn't be able to dream at all, which actually kept him safe from the demon. But once the narcotics started wearing off, the dreaming would start, but his mind would still be sluggish and his perceptions in the dream would be warped. That was where the real danger was. He couldn't fight or think properly, which essentially put him at the mercy of the monster. Needless to say, the demon was having quite the enjoyable time with Frank at the moment, because the drunken dreaming was happening right now for Frank.
He stumbled through the halls of the old folks home, bouncing off the walls like a pinball as he moved much faster than his mind could handle. The fiend's laughter seemed to be coming from every direction, so he wasn't even sure he was going away from the beast or toward it.
"C'mon Franky, What's your rush?" The voice was behind him. "Let's have a beer, like the old days!"
Frank looked back and saw Spider a few steps behind him.
"I knew it," Frank slurred, stumbling over something since he wasn't watching where he was going anymore. He waved his arms like a cartoon character for a moment and then went crashing to the floor.
Spider howled with laughter, pointing at Frank as he lay on the floor, his hospital gown tangled up behind him, leaving him exposed.
"Oh boy, does it shrink up that much when you get old?" It asked, holding its thumb and finger about an inch apart. "Or has it always been that small? That would explain why Marge left you then, wouldn't it, little Petey?" More howling laughter followed.
Frank pushed himself up on his elbows, trying to think of a way to escape, or at least a good comeback, but his brain was so fuzzy. He doubted he could even say his own name right now.
"No, no, don't get up," Spider leaned down. "I'll come to you, it's the least I can do." He loomed above him. "With it being your last few moments alive, I also figure I should finally come clean about the whole Spider charade that you've been hounding me about all those years. You were right, it was me the whole time."
"Why?" Frank asked, stalling for more time.
"Well, just because you were such a horrible failure in 'Nam didn't mean I was ready to give up on you. You see, some people are born with a natural disposition to get involved in this little cosmic war of good and evil." He pointed at Frank. "And you were one of those special little people, and I just wanted to make sure you landed on the right side of the fence. After 'Nam it was obvious that you were a slow learner and needed some special attention." Now he pointed to himself. "Thus came the Spider," now he pointed back to Frank. "To the fly." He chuckled for a brief moment.
"But then I left."
Spider nodded. "And went back to Storm, which is where everything was going to happen anyway. I would have sent you back there regardless, I was just hoping to have you a little more evolved by that time."
"What for?"
Spider looked at him like he was an idiot. "Because of Sarah and the baby. All of this has been preordained, you silly little man. You were just one of many pawns in the game. You were supposed to be one of the good guys, I intended to change that, but you stayed a loser after all. Aren't you just so proud of yourself?"
"My wife, my child," Frank's mind was getting clearer, his plan was working. "Why did you kill them?"
Spider held his hands out, motioning Frank to slow down. "Now, I didn't kill them. That wasn't a lie when I told you that."
"You had Jack do it!"
"Still, I didn't do it myself, so I never lied to you about that."
"As if that makes a damn bit of difference."
"That's true," Spider said with a shrug. "I've got to admit, I really thought that was going to do the trick with you."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"Killing your kid and then helping convince your wife to commit suicide was supposed to make you angry at God, bringing you back to me." It looked off down the hall. "It seemed to do the opposite though, go figure." He looked back at Frank. "Most of the time you mortals do the most obvious things, but every once in awhile you guys surprise the shit out of me. I think you hold the record in that department."
"I knew you were behind it as soon as it happened," Frank replied. "I guess you don't know us mortals as well as you think."
That put a spark of anger in Spider's eye. "I think the time for talking is over, old man."
"How did Marge know my father's knife?" He was running out of things to slow the demon down.
"Oh yeah, now that is a good one," the demon had something in his hand now, shaking it at him. "The night your coworker's car broke down and you had to walk home, making you a couple hours late to get home, you remember that?"
Frank nodded his head.
"Marge was going to meet you out at your house, and she did. When she pulled up, she saw the light in the garage on and guessed you were in there. She went inside and found your dad in there instead. They talked for a little while, then he pulled his knife, put it to her throat and raped her," he ended his words with his famous Spider smile.
Frank's mind cleared even more, but no words came from him as he glared at the demon.
"It went on for quite awhile too," Spider put the thing he was holding up to his lips as he recalled the memory. The item was the switchblade, of course. "A good hour or so, and she screamed and squealed the whole time! Quite the drama queen, if you ask me. Oh, and your mom woke up during it all, didn't do a thing. Just lay there and listened, like a pervert. So much for mom just being an innocent victim, huh?" This time its grin looked like something you'd see on a goofy clown.
Frank's mind was now clear, and he wanted to fight the monster in front of him more than anything, but he knew he had to use his head, not his fists. There was no way he could defeat it right now, on his back with a knife in his face.
Spider pressed the button on the switchblade. The opening click echoed down the hallways.
"Dying time, old man," the demon said, no longer smiling.
Frank forced himself to consciousness as the knife moved forward. He could feel the blade starting to pierce his neck and the demon growl in anger as he slid out of dreamland just in time.
Detective Snider sat in Frank's room, watching him sleep, wondering if his gut was correct on this one.
The night of the tornado left more questions than answers when it came to the murderous rampage of Johnny Cooper. Most of the physical evidence had been swept away with the rain and wind of the storm, but the interviews that had been conducted since then had supported that Johnny had been the sole killer that night, other than the twister. There was just one little piece that didn't fit, which is what brought him here now, waiting in front of the elderly man for almost an hour, waiting for him to wake up.
Frank started to stir, slowly opening his eyes, surprised by whom he saw sitting before him.
"Detective," the old man said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "What brings you to this neck
of the woods?"
"Don't mean to be a pest, Frank."
"Nonsense," Frank replied. "What can I do for you?"
"I was looking over the report from the officers at the scene that night at Margaret's farmhouse, and I saw some conflicting information."
"What's that?" Frank smiled like Detective Snider was his favorite nephew.
"The report briefly mentioned a dog at the scene that had been wounded in a fight with another dog or perhaps a coyote."
"That's right," Frank confirmed.
Snider nodded in agreement. "The officers at the scene assumed it was Margaret's dog, but when I took a closer look at the records, it was actually your dog."
"That's correct," Frank confirmed with a nod.
Snider looked at his notepad. "According to your statement, you drove your bike out to the Simmons farm out of concern from what Jenny Rodgers told you about where Johnny was headed."
"That's true."
"So how did your dog get out there?" Snider asked. "There was no way you could have brought it on your motorcycle, so how did it get out there?"
The old man and detective looked at one another in silence.
"I've heard the stories about dogs making their way back home over hundreds of miles, but how could your dog have known where you were going? And even if it did, how would it have known to cut through the fields to reach the Simmons farm? If it was following you, wouldn't it have taken the same path you did on your bike? Wouldn't it have just followed its nose to you? Cause if it did, it would have taken it half the night to get out there. The police would have got there before the dog."
"It didn't follow him," a voice said from behind the detective. "We saw him on the side of the road, limping along. We knew it was Frank's dog, so we stopped and picked him up."
Detective Snider turned and saw that it was Jake who had answered his question as he walked into Frank's room. He had already spent time talking with the kid about that night, torn with taking it easy on him with the death of his mom and working him over. After all, he had been Johnny's best friend, so who better to interrogate?
"Wolves travel in packs," Snider thought to himself, eyeing Jake for a moment. "That's quite the coincidence, Jake."
"Not really," Frank interjected. "In my haste to get out to Margaret, I shooed Lloyd into the house and probably didn't pay attention to the screen door latching. Sometimes it won't catch without a little extra push. He was probably out the door as soon as he heard me take off."
"And with Frank's house right on the edge of town," Jake added. "The dog would have been out in the country in no time, crossing paths with another dog and getting into it."
"More likely a coyote," Snider said. "Lloyd's not that big of a dog, he's lucky he survived."
"You'd be surprised," Frank replied. "Lloyd's a lot tougher than he looks."
The detective gave Frank a brief smile, getting up. "Well, I guess that covers my last question. Take care Frank."
"You as well, detective, Frank smiled back. "By the way, did you ever find the knife Johnny used, the switchblade?"
"No," the detective replied. "We're guessing he chucked it somewhere out in the cornfield before he died. Since there will be no trial, locating it isn't essential. But we are still looking."
Frank gave a fake smile and nodded his head.
Snider turned to the door, now standing face to face with Jake. "So, what brings you out here? You and Frank old friends or something?"
"He tried to save my mom, the least I can do is come out and visit him from time to time." The look in Jake's eyes was just a little too hard for the detective's liking, but since that wasn't a good enough reason for him to take the kid's face to the floor, all he could do was nod. "Keep your nose clean, kid."
"Back at ya, officer," Jake smiled slightly.
"Detective," he corrected with a growl. "Detective Snider."
Jake gave him a nod and a shrug, turning away, taking Snider's seat.
"Punk," Snider thought to himself, walking out of the room, heat was nearly visible as it dissipated from his face.
Jake rubbed his still cold arm. “Hey old timer.”
"That was pretty good ad-lib for such a young punk," Frank replied. "I'm impressed."
Jake shrugged. "I've been bullshitting cops ever since I was a kid."
Frank laughed. "You're still a kid!"
"Yeah, I guess," Jake replied, grabbing a nearby wheelchair. "How about we go for a spin outside?"
"Great idea," Frank said with a smile.
Jake went out the back door, pushing Frank down the sidewalk. It would have been easier to go out the front, but Jake didn't want to walk past Drew's grandma again. He also didn't want Frank to see that he was riding his old bike. For some reason, Frank had been adamant about him scrapping the bike, saying it was nothing but a death trap, that it made any other motorcycle look safe.
"The frame has got two hairline cracks in it up by the front forks," Frank had told him a week ago. "The brake lines could go at any time. The engine block is ready to crack or throw a rod. Hell, the damn wheels could even fall off, the mounts are so worn. You scrap that thing and use the money to buy a dirt bike or something." He had glared at Jake with one squinted eye, which meant he was dead serious. "Don't keep it or sell it to someone else. It'll kill the next person that rides it, you got it?"
"Oh yeah," Jake lied through his teeth. "I looked at it the other day. Nothing left to do with that old relic but junk it."
It did need a lot of work, but the more Jake looked at it, the more he liked it. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, it was bad-ass but at the same time classic, which was a rare thing. An it was an old Indian, which you never saw on the road, making it one unique ride. Besides, now that he had a job, he needed a vehicle to get him there. Anything that needed fixed, he'd be able to do, and it wasn't anywhere near as bad as Frank was saying anyway.
The leaves were starting to change and it was almost chilly enough for a jacket.
“Are you cold?” Jake asked.
“Naw, feels good,” Frank replied. “How are things going at your new home?”
“Better than I thought they would be,” Jake replied. “I can’t say Steve likes me, but he treats me decent enough.”
“That’s the most you can expect, since you got his daughter pregnant.”
“I can’t argue with you there.”
“I need you to do me a favor,” Frank said out of nowhere.
“Name it.”
Frank pulled out an envelope. “When your child turns thirteen I want you to give her this letter. It's for her eyes and her eyes alone.” He pushed it towards Jake.
Jake took it. “That’s kind of a strange request.”
“Just let it be, Jake. Just do as I ask, and let it be.”
They looked at one another for a moment, and then Jake stuck the letter in his back pocket. “Okay.”
He wasn’t sure why he agreed to it, it just seemed like the right thing to do. He wanted to ask more but at that moment Steve and Sarah pulled into the parking lot in the SUV.
“Aren’t I Mr. Popular,” Frank said with a smile.
“Sure are,” Jake replied. “I better go help Sarah get out of the car. I’ll be right back.” He took off at a jog. Any more thoughts about the letter fell from Jake’s mind.
As soon as Sarah opened her door, Lloyd jumped down and ran full tilt towards Frank. He covered the distance in less than three seconds and jumped right onto Frank’s lap.
Frank replied with a hearty laugh, giving his old friend a rough shake on the head.
He watched Sarah get out of the SUV; she was starting to show, but not much. She didn’t need any help getting out of the car, but Jake helped her anyway. He looked down at Lloyd.
“I’m not getting out of here, buddy,” Frank said with a tear in his eye.
Lloyd let out a quiet whine, resting his chin on Frank’s chest.
“I’m sorry that this is all getting put on your should
ers, but you’re all that’s left for that baby,” he said, watching them approach.
“I won’t be around for that, and I never found a replacement partner for you.” He gave Lloyd another good ruffle on the head. “I let you down boy.”
Lloyd let out a long exhale through his nose.
“This is too much for one little dog to handle.”
Lloyd replied with a big yawn.
“Yeah, you’re Mr. Tough guy, that’s for sure,” Frank said as he rubbed Lloyd’s chest. “You take care of yourself.”
Lloyd licked Frank’s nose.
“I gave Jake a letter for the baby for when she turns thirteen, I think he’ll honor my request, but I can’t be certain.”
Lloyd looked at him and then turned towards the others.
"The demon is coming today to end me. As soon as you guys leave, I'll go back and take a nap and that will be the last time." Frank whispered as the others got closer.
Lloyd let out a low growl.
"We've never tried it like this before, do you think it will work?"
Lloyd let out a loud sneeze.
“Hey Frank,” Sarah said as they walked up to him.
“Hey yourself, good looking,” Frank said with a smile that he didn't truly feel.
Fear gripped him as he wondered how much of a chance the baby in Sarah’s belly had of being corrupted by the demons. There was no way he could explain the peril that awaited the child to any of them. They would just think he was insane, and probably not come see him anymore. All he could do was hope the letter would be enough to guide her in the right direction, and that Lloyd could handle the job on his own of protecting her.
He forced himself to relax as he made small talk. It wasn’t all that impossible, once he considered where he used to be and how he got back on the right side. If he could do it on his own, so could this child. He had to believe that.
They spoke of how the town was rebuilding itself after the twister. They didn't speak of Johnny and how he had been blamed for the death of his father and the injuries that led to Margaret's demise, as well as the speculation that he had killed Jack on the way to the Simmons farm, since his body was found in a water filled ditch a few days after the tornado with obvious trauma from an unknown blunt object. Any real evidence had been rinsed away days before by the rain water.
The Damned Summer (The Ruin Trilogy) Page 23
