by Joey Ruff
I threw myself into one of the open offices as the walkway in front of it crumbed, hitting the top of the desk with my shoulder, rolling against the back wall, and collapsing into a heap.
The troll roared again, and I could hear the continued tearing and smashing noises as it raged. Then a car honked, and Chuck shouted in defiance. As the demolition silenced for a moment, I heard the hissing of gas.
I just lay there, catching my breath. If there was a new threat, it might forget about me briefly, but only if I stayed out of sight. While I knew tear gas wouldn’t actually make it sad, it would burn and annoy. With any luck, it might help it let go…at least for a minute.
I was prepared to wait it out, but then Chuck screamed. I moved for the door and stopped when I realized there was no floor, the balcony having crumbled away. Thick, white mist filled the room, and from what I could see of the ground below me, it was littered with broken rock and debris. I couldn’t jump; landing on that, I’d twist my ankle…or worse. The walkway on either side of the door was intact, but there was at least five feet of open air and a sharp drop keeping me away.
I couldn’t see Chuck, but Stone’s sedan pulled up next to the squad car outside, and another can of tear gas came flying from one of the uniformed officers who stepped from the passenger door. The troll watched as the can sailed through the open window, bounced off its shoulder, and clattered to the floor with the other four cans that had already been spent. At once, it began hissing and spewing a generous cloud.
The troll backed up a step, then another. Its hand went to its face, but the aluminum beam was still tied to its fist. It coughed and sputtered, staggered to the side drunkenly and shook its head. Then it mewled softly and took another step to the side. As big as the fucker was, it was bizarre to see it act so helpless. For a moment, I almost felt bad for it. Then I remembered the ache in my shoulder and the dull pain in my hip.
To the right of the door, a window maybe four feet square sat about waist level in the wall. I grabbed a chair from the desk and tossed it through the glass. I knocked a few jagged shards out of the frame with the butt of my gun and climbed up on the sill. From there, the jump was easy enough to the walkway.
While a heavy fog of gas hung low and thick over the showroom, on the balcony, it was only just a haze. I covered my face with my shirt and ran along the walk, holding the handrail until I found the stairs. As I hit the bottom, I glanced over at the troll in time to see it blink away, just the same as a light going out. I held my breath and ran, leaping through the open hole made by the convertible.
I was outside. To my left, Stone, Chuck and one of the officers stood at the vehicles. They wore gas masks. As I stood, coughing and hacking on the little gas that managed to get to me, Chuck turned and came over.
He slipped his gas mask up and said, “You okay? What the hell happened in there?”
“I’m fine,” I said. I noticed the other squad car in the same place it was earlier and the other three officers working crowd control on the scant passersby and a lone news van who had gathered.
“It worked.” I said, turning back to Chuck.
“The gas? Is that thing still in there?”
I shook my head. “It’s gone. I guess the gas gave it something else to think about.”
“What do you mean ‘it’s gone’? Where the hell did it go?”
I shrugged. “It’s a long story. We need to get out of here.” I looked back at the crowd, the reporter taking his place before the cameraman. “Cuff me.”
“What?” Chuck asked.
I motioned to the dealership. “You want them to think a troll was responsible for all of this? We’ve drawn a crowd, mate. You need a vandal.”
He seemed to mull it over before nodding at me. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
He grabbed the shotgun and spun me, clapped me on the shoulder, and kicked my legs out from under me. As I landed on my knees, he grabbed one arm forcefully and pulled it behind my back, slapped a cuff on it, and then grabbed the other. I winced in pain as he pulled on my shoulder. Then he took Grace from my leg and lifted me by the handcuffs.
“Easy, mate,” I said.
“Gotta sell it, right?” He positioned me in front and marched me towards Stone and the officer. “I got him!” he called.
Stone took her mask off and turned with a look that was just priceless. She’d been looking for a reason to get me in cuffs for some time, and I’d just handed her one. Her look wasn’t triumph, though, but confusion. She must’ve thought Chuck had just gone mental.
“Throw me in the back of the car,” I said.
Stone holstered her weapon as she approached, looked at Chuck and turned her face from the camera that was undoubtedly filming us. “What are you doing?” she asked.
“Scapegoat,” Chuck said.
“Your idea?”
“His.”
She looked at me. “Throw him in the back of the car,” she said with a cold grin.
“You know this is pretend, right?” I asked.
Stone opened the rear door of her Sedan and Chuck tossed me in on my stomach. He put Grace and the Mossberg in the trunk.
“You might wanna get my Glocks,” I said. “They’re in the service bay.”
As he closed the door on me, I heard cheering from the growing crowd at the street.
22
It didn’t take long to clear the crime scene, and as we were pulling away from the building, we passed slowly through a crowd of onlookers. They pressed their faces against the glass to see into the tinted windows. Maybe they just wanted a look at the man who busted up a Camry. It wouldn’t have bothered me so much if it hadn’t been for their stupid expressions. They were some of the ugliest people I’d seen in a long time. Sure, it was possible that some of them were less than human, the way Seven was, but the looks that they were giving me, the bizarre curls of their lips and the lazy eyes, they could have also been stroke victims.
Once we’d left the crowd behind, Chuck reached back and unlocked the cuffs. I rubbed my wrists and thought for a moment. “Hey…Chuck…I need to see the last murder scene.”
“What?” Stone asked. “Why?”
“You said it looked related to Seven’s murder. I might be able to find something you missed.”
She didn’t say anything, but didn’t have to. I could imagine the way she twisted her puckered lips in annoyance at me.
“He’s some kind of psychic, you know,” Chuck told her, trying to keep his voice low. I wasn’t exactly psychic, but it was the rumor circulating the local precincts, and I wasn’t in the mood to argue.
“Fine,” she said.
Chuck looked back at me. “Did you figure anything more out on Seven?”
“Well, I was operating under the notion that someone was after me.”
“What changed your mind?”
“Tom Robinson,” I said.
“Why? Who was he?”
“No fucking idea. That’s my point. He wasn’t tied to me at all. Kevin Hastings, I can kind of see that, but there wasn’t any emotional attachment…”
“Who told you about Dr. Hastings?” Stone asked.
“A friend.”
“He was one of the first vics,” Chuck said.
“Who were the others?”
“I don’t remember their names: a school teacher, a scoutmaster, a butcher, a baker, and a candlestick maker. Is that significant?”
“Not even if it were true.”
He smiled.
“Five murders then?” I asked.
“Counting today’s?” He counted on his fingers. “Nine. All the same MO.”
“In a week?”
“Thereabouts.”
A minute later we pulled up to a house and got out. Tom Robinson didn’t have a fancy house, but it was clean, and the yard was well-kept. It was a single story Tudor home with blue siding and a front porch with a swing.
EMTs had come and gone. The body had been taken, and yellow police tape over the doo
r proclaimed it was still a crime scene.
“He didn’t have a car,” Chuck said. “Eye-witness reports say he walked everywhere.”
“That’s some commute,” I said.
“He worked from home.”
“Why is any of that relevant?” Stone asked.
We stood before the porch as she approached from the sedan, and she motioned for us to follow her around the side of the house. Yellow tape held the gate to the backyard, and we ducked under that.
“I don’t know what kind of information psychics need,” he told her.
“I’m not a bloody psychic,” I said.
In the backyard, I found the white outline where the body had lain. Rather, it was where the legs had lain. Then I found the white outline against the fence where his torso had apparently been hurled. I was glad the body had been taken. I didn’t need to see it to imagine what had happened.
I stood at the first outline and looked towards the second. It was a straight shot from one to the other, and on the fence around the second were scattered dried droplets of dark reddish brown. It looked almost like paint.
The shape of the outline, the way the arms had been positioned gave the appearance of running. It was as if something in the back yard had spooked him and he fled to the house.
I faced the rear fence and knelt over the first outline, taking note of the dark stains in the grass. When I looked up, I saw a sturdy, wooden shed.
“It flew down,” I said. I stood and walked over the outline towards the shed. “It landed here.” I ran my hand over the edge of the roof that came to about eight feet at its peak. I felt them before I saw them. They were faint, but they were there: scratches in the wood. Had I not been looking for them, I might’ve missed them completely. “Claw marks.”
The agents came closer and examined the wood.
Stone looked at me like she wanted to say something, but she didn’t. Chuck just smiled.
I slid my glove off. I wouldn’t get a reading from the wood, but I focused on the shingles of the roof near the claw marks. When I felt the familiar thrum, I let it take over, let it envelop my arm to my shoulder, let the tingly warmth spread over my chest and into my head until it hovered just behind my eyes.
Then it was dark, and I saw what the roof saw – which, let’s face it, wasn’t that much.
At first, all I could see was the night sky, beautiful and bright. There wasn’t a cloud in sight, which was odd as it had rained the last two nights. Then I remembered…they said the body was at least three days old.
I watched the sky, as a roof does, and began to pick out constellations. When I was a boy, my father used to point them out to me and tell me their stories. He was a fisherman. He used the stars to navigate.
A winged shadow passed overhead and was gone.
I heard whistling coming from the direction of the house, and while I couldn’t be sure, I assumed it to be from Tom.
The shadow passed over again, lower this time, and it hovered straight above me for a few seconds. Huge leathery wings flapped mightily. Large gusts of wind brushed against me.
Its toes were clawed, and its scaly skin was a yellowish grey. Long, muscular arms hung at its sides, and its eyes shone with a fierce, red light.
It wasn’t just any gargoyle; it was the one from DeNobb’s apartment, the one that had been smashed to bits by the troll.
The gargoyle landed atop me, and I felt the full force of its weight, just barely saw the way it spread its wings wide in intimidation and ran the tips of its taloned hands under the overhang of the roof.
Tom screamed, and there was a shuffling of quick steps. The gargoyle howled. Its wings flapped once, twice, and then it took off after him like the bolt of a crossbow. Its tail swished back and forth over the shingles as it went after him.
The last thing I heard was strange, garbled agony.
I came out of the vision and looked at Chuck and Stone. They were watching me curiously. I’ve never seen it, but I’m told when I read an object my eyelids flicker in a way that reminds some of REM sleep and others of a seizure.
“I’m okay,” I said.
“That was…wild,” Chuck said. “What happened? Did you see anything?”
“Yeah. I was wrong.”
“About what?” Stone asked.
“We’ve been operating under the assumption this was a thunderbird.”
“Because of the feather,” Chuck said.
“Right.”
Stone looked at me curiously. “Swyftt, what is it?”
“A gargoyle killed Tom Robinson.”
“Is that bad?”
“Actually, gargoyles would have killed everyone. Seven, especially. A dragon’s claws are just like iron when it comes the the Faye. It explains the cauterized wounds, and…”
“Well, obviously, it’s bad,” Chuck said. “I mean, is that worse than the bird?”
“It’s confusing. Gargoyles are earth dragons.”
His eyes went wide at that. “Oh, God. Not again.”
“Not like that. The last one was a Manticore. Gargoyles are smaller.”
“I don’t get it,” Stone said. “Why is that confusing?”
“Well,” I said. “Despite the stories you hear, dragons aren’t the bad guys.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” Chuck mumbled.
“They were created as hounds, of a sort. They’re God’s hunting dogs.”
“For what? Sinners?”
“The Fallen.”
“Like, fallen angels?”
“Yeah.”
“Wait,” Stone said. “Someone want to catch me up to speed? What the hell are you two talking about?”
“You ever go to Sunday School?” Chuck asked.
I walked away. I figured he could tell her. Half the time, she didn’t believe the shit that came out of my mouth anyway.
I walked over to the white outline on the ground where Tom’s legs had been. The dark spot in the grass was still wet, and I touched it. It was warm and oily like motor oil. I didn’t know what he was, but Tom Robinson wasn’t human.
Behind me, Chuck said, “So the fairies are the Swiss angels, and the Fallen would be the Nazis because everybody hates them.”
Stone didn’t say anything at first, and then she said, “You really believe this?”
I stood and turned to her. “You do, too, Nat. You just won’t let yourself admit it.”
She watched me, and her eyes were hard, stern.
I shrugged. “The evidence is all around you. I can’t make you believe anything, but you can’t keep blaming me for shit. I didn’t do this.”
Chuck crossed to me, leaving Stone alone by the shed, her arms crossed over her chest. “It’s okay,” he said, his voice lowered. “I know her. It’s just a lot for her to take in right now. She’ll come around.”
“So…. What’s your story?”
“What do you mean?”
“Chuck,” I said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I’ve been doing this since you were in primary school, mate. I’ve seen new recruits and I’ve seen people lose their shit. I know some handle it better than others and some never accept it at all. But I know the ones who accept it easiest are the ones who have stories, experiences. Sometimes its angel encounters, sometimes its alien abduction arse raping.” I looked him in the eye for an uncomfortable moment. “Were you arse-holed by ET?”
He laughed. The sound was part humor, part awkward horror. “I…” He took a deep breath. When he spoke again, his voice was far-away, his eyes were hollow. “When I was a boy, I spent the night at a friend’s house.”
“I’m not sure I like where this is going…”
He took a deep breath. “You know how sometimes when you’re in a strange place, you can’t sleep? I don’t know if it was because I was on the floor in a sleeping bag or because the pillow was too hard or what, but I kept waking up.
“At one point, I went to the bathroom. The house was dark, and it was quiet. I don’t know what time it was
. My friend, Andy, he had a cat, but the cat had been missing for a day or so. Nobody had seen it, and we had already spent a few hours looking for it earlier that day.
“When I came out of the bathroom, I saw something run by, and I got excited, because I thought the cat had come back, so I tried to catch it, and it disappeared into the basement. Andy and I had found some dead mice down there earlier that day when we were looking for the cat, and it wasn’t that big of a deal. We even had flashlights we were using, so I grabbed one and I went down the stairs quietly.”
“It wasn’t a cat,” I said.
He looked at me, wide-eyed. He was seeing it again in his mind. I had the impression he hadn’t thought about it for a very long time. “I found the cat,” he said. “Behind the furnace. Its stomach was cut open and all of the guts and stuff were spilled out. There was something bent over top of it, and this…thing…was eating it.”
“What did it look like?”
“You ever see that movie Gremlins?” he asked.
“Why does everyone keep referring to that movie?”
“Well,” he said. “It looked like one of those things, about that size I guess, with those bat ears and those buggy eyes, but covered in hair or feathers or something. It had a mouth more like an alligator and all of these teeth. I’d never seen anything like it…”
“It sounds like a Kelso,” I said. “A chupacabra…They eat small animals, goats mainly.”
“It attacked me,” he said. He held up his hand, and there was a faint pink crescent scar between his thumb and forefinger on his right hand. “It clawed me.”
Stone approached slowly from behind, listening, and she just stared at him, dumb-founded.
“I ran upstairs and closed the door to the basement. I put a chair in front of it and went back into Andy’s room, locked the door and huddled up inside my sleeping bag and prayed for morning. I told Andy and his parents about it, but they didn’t find anything and the whole thing was blamed on sleepwalking. I dreamed it, they said. They told my parents, and my father humiliated me. I don’t know if he was embarrassed by the incident or what, but he forbade me from talking about it. So I never did.” He looked me in the eyes and said, “Not until now.”
