The Lot

by Snyder, Clayton

  "Where are we going then?"

  "I have a place in the hills. We'll stay there."

  "Until when?"

  He shrugged again. "Until after tomorrow night, I think. The moon will be full."

  "And you want me in your house for that? Aren't you worried about your decor?"

  "The basement is...reinforced."

  Another chill crept up my spine. We rode the rest of the way in silence.

  *

  The car pulled up to a house in a line of houses that cost more than I'd made in the past ten years. The drive was a gravel half-circle, enclosed by a gate and tasteful landscaping. The house itself was both multi-storied and low, with a flat roof that reminded me of pictures I'd seen of Frank Lloyd Wright's work. I wondered if it wasn't one of his - Vlad was very old, and as he'd made very clear - he knew people.

  We got out and Vlad tipped the driver and spoke to him in a low voice. Probably doing that listen to the sound of my voice thing. Creepy. When he was done, the car pulled away, and we went inside.

  The interior was just as tastefully done as the exterior, all cream and taupe with deep-pile carpet and one wall of glass that looked out over an expansive backyard garden and a rolling view of the hills in the distance. The furniture was clean leather and the kitchen sported granite countertops and steel fixtures. I whistled low under my breath, thinking again of the cost of the place, and wondered briefly why Vlad chose to live in the Lot.

  He was in the kitchen, opening a bottle. Something occurred to me. "Does Adam know about these places of yours?"

  He looked up from wrestling with the cork and shrugged. "We've never spoken of it. But he's not stupid."

  "For all his size, he's also kind, and gentle, and has a big heart."

  Vlad nodded. He had managed to get the cork out of the bottle and was pouring a glass. "A good reason not to remind him I am more of a monster than he would probably like to acknowledge."

  I decided to change the subject. "Reinforced basement?"

  He shrugged and took a sip of his drink. It was thicker than wine, and darker. "Monster."

  *

  Night came on fast. I heard the sound of a car pulling into the drive outside, and Vlad appeared from the interior of the house, dressed in a suit. He grabbed a set of keys from a bowl beside the door and turned to me.

  "Don't wait up."

  I waved him off, and he stepped out the door, leaving me to sit in the living room. I turned on the TV and found a news station. The images were those of the Lot, lights flashing in the background. The reporter was downtown, the castle in the background. Here and there, men and women in uniforms moved through the scene. The reporter was young, Asian, and pretty. She was talking about the body the police had found, and signs of fighting. Nothing about the other bodies, or the Church, or a nearly seven-foot tall psychopath running amok. I breathed half a sigh of relief.

  After a while, I turned off the TV, and paced. I checked the fridge and made a sandwich. I paced some more. I wandered through the tasteful but sterile rooms. I made my way downstairs and found it furnished and coolly comfortable and windowless. Back upstairs, and I paced some more. Finally, I couldn't stand it any longer, and I grabbed the spare key from the bowl, and left. I locked the door behind me, the latch clicking to with a loud finality in the near silence of the night.

  I stood in the drive and looked around, at the three-quarters moon overhead, and the clouds that drifted by. I made my way to the sidewalk, and started walking.

  Where are you going? This from the voice in my head that sometimes disapproved of the things I did. I shrugged in response, and felt the Beast stir. This close to the full moon, I knew I was running on instinct. There was a tug in my gut, and I followed it.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  I walked. I've never been much of a fisherman - no patience for it - but I imagine the thing I was feeling was similar to what a bass or a carp feels when its got a line in its mouth and a hook in its jaw. I was being pulled in no particular direction, but still being pulled, and I followed that instinct, for better or worse.

  Two blocks up from the house, near a park that lay dark in the night, a shadow detached itself from the trees and approached. I stood still, my body tensing up, ready to fight, ready to run like hell. The shadow stepped into the moonlight and resolved itself. Sheling smiled at me and chewed on a toothpick. I relaxed, a little. Paranoia has served me well.

  "Where's your henchman?" I asked.

  His smile grew wider. "In a car about a block down. You step out of line, and he has authorization to use...necessary force."

  "Nice, very menacing." I started to walk, following that tug. He fell into step beside me.

  "Living with your lawyer?"

  I shrugged. "My office burned down, the police are out to get me - maybe I don't feel safe at home."

  "And where is that?"

  "I've got a place."

  "That's interesting. Because it looks like someone was living on that old back lot."

  "Huh. Interesting."

  We walked another block in silence. He seemed content to stalk alongside me. I pretended not to notice the sound of the engine behind us, the car tailing us. He spoke again.

  "Where you headed, Mr. Peckinpah?"

  I shrugged. "On walkabout. TV sucks. Needed fresh air."

  "Not back to the crime scene, I hope?"

  I glanced over. "What if I were? Am I a suspect?"

  "No, I told you. But it might be viewed as interference. Maybe obstruction." He was quiet again. "You know, if you happened to know something more, maybe things would start going your way again."

  He gestured, and the car behind us lit its lights and pulled up. I could see Mack behind the wheel. Sheling opened the passenger door, and got in. He rolled the window down.

  "You've got my card, Mr. Peckinpah."

  I nodded, and they pulled away. I waved them off, and when they turned a corner, flipped the bird. I was brave, but not stupid. I walked on.

  *

  The tug in my gut pulled me to a plaza. Despite the time of night, or maybe because of it, it was fairly full of men and women going about their business. It looked like an impromptu market had set up, with food vendors, buskers, and small stalls selling everything from scarves to hand-knitted golf cozies to vials of emu oil. It was one of the things I loved about the city, despite not living in it. There was always life. There was always some new thing gaining strength, and taking its first steps.

  I was pulled toward a railing that overlooked a fountain and a small park. A man stood against the railing, framed in the moonlight. The light caught something in his hands, and it glinted white and red in the light. I approached, and leaned next to him, looking out over the park.

  "Hello, Wolf."

  "Hello, Timothy. Care to explain how I got here?"

  He held up the container. It was a jar filled with that sluggish red goop. It seemed to move against the walls of its prison as I watched, as though it were eager to be free.

  "You've touched a part of this enough to know it when it calls now."

  "Tell me why I shouldn't put you down right here?" I made the threat, but was worried. I smelled no fear on the man.

  "Because if you do, I will drop this into the water down there. Water children play in. Women dip their feet in."

  My hands clenched, and I felt the Beast rage against the bars of its cage, urging me to rip him in two and deal with the consequences later. Part of my rational mind even agreed. I struggled, and regained control.

  "What do you want?"

  "Unity. Cooperation. Peace."

  "You mean to achieve that through force?"

  He shrugged. "I mean to achieve that through any means possible. You should understand. You struggle every day with a part of you that is savage and brutal and runs on instinct. A force of nature, but a killing machine at heart. Man's not much different. Millions of years of evolution, and even the best of them are sorely tempted from time to time to pic
k up a knife and slit his neighbor's throat. Now multiply that impulse by a few billion, over several thousand years, and ask yourself what kind of a death toll that amounts to."

  "And your way is better? You hurt my friends. You killed my friends. You're a hypocrite." I said.

  "You, my friend, killed Manny, not I, in case you forgot. You also killed several of my brothers. Men who believed so fully in the cause they died for it."

  I felt the rage in me, threatening to spill over. "You're nuts. Every nut job in history thinks they're doing the world a favor. In the end, it's just another excuse for mayhem while they profit."

  He frowned. Rage flashed across his face for a moment.

  "Speaking of, what is your position in this new world? CEO? King? Emperor?"

  He shook his head. "I'm giving you a chance here. Your friend Hyde saw it."

  "Holding Hyde up as a shining example is like telling me you're going to cure herpes with a grenade."

  He made a frustrated sound. I pressed on.

  "What about the boy? Did he deserve to die? Is that how you bring about enlightenment? With the slaughter of innocents?"

  Something broke in him. He snarled, and his face flashed into an expression of pure madness. His arm swung upward, and I couldn't move in time. The jar shattered, glass shards cutting my face, and the red stuff inside jumped out, and into the wounds. I felt it, burning at first, then a numbness and lassitude that crept into my brain. I felt it checking out my mind, exploring my senses, searching. There was a feeling of elation when it found it, the trigger for the Beast, and I knew what it meant to do. I fought the Change, and as it came on, caught sight of Timothy disappearing into the crowd. I saw the people there in the plaza, and knew what the Beast was capable of.

  With a tremendous effort of will, I took control of myself long enough to fling my body over the rail. There was the feeling of wind on my skin, then the cool wetness of water, and impact, as though someone had thrown a wall in the way of my falling.

  The world went black and red.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Violence is a red thread in a white sheet.

  The voice in my head, the Presence, flees at the Change. Water, cold and clear matting down my fur. I can smell warmth nearby. I piston from the man-pool and sprint into the nearby trees. I hate these gardens of stone, these bastions of rocky earth and false light. I push for the comforting browns and greens of the mother, the cool dark, and the soft earth.

  Pine needles and leaves caress my feet. I smell the stink of the carriages the men glide in, the stink of their factories. I smell the fresh blood of a dormouse killed by an owl, and the spoor of a rabbit. I also smell the warm blood of men, and the chemicals they slather themselves in. I smell something else, pale and cold, and dismiss it as another corpse nearby.

  Hunger stirs in my belly, and I stalk through the trees, following the scents of men. I am quiet, and careful. Trunks pass me like the columns of ancient temples devoted to Diana, and I stalk forward unafraid. I come to a clearing in the trees. Someone has planted flowers here, but confined them in man-made prisons. I can see a bench, and men sitting on it. I crouch, and assess.

  They smell like their chemicals and metals. They smell of sweat from a warm night and the remains of their meals. They smell of unease. Perfect. I move through the shadows, until they're only a few feet away. Their fear is strong. Do they know something? I dismiss it. Doubt is for the weak.

  I growl, low in my throat. They startle, and jump from their seats. I pace from the shadows. They shrink back, afraid. Good. I am fear. I am the thing that goes bump in the night. I am the wolf in the woods.

  I leap, and something makes a sound like thunder. I smell metal and chemicals and smoke. I feel something stinging slam into me, and knock me to the side. The pain is intense, but fleeting, as a lassitude overtakes my muscles. I crane my neck to see how I've been hurt, and see something long and cylindrical and metal protruding from my flank. I growl, but exhaustion is overtaking me.

  For the second time, night closes in.

  *

  Life's a bitch, and then you wake up naked, tied to a chair in an empty warehouse. I opened bleary eyes and immediately wished I hadn't. There was a bright light directly above me, and my brain screamed in protest at the intensity. I shut my eyes again, squeezing them hard until yellows and greens flashed behind my eyelids in the dark. My head mellowed to a dull throb that my leg echoed in sympathy.

  I tried to reach out with my senses, and got a headache in return. I could dimly smell cologne and metal and water somewhere near, but that was it. I could only really hear my heartbeat and a fan spinning lazily in a wall nearby. I reached for the Beast in hopes of using him to escape, but nothing came. Mild panic settled into my chest, and I felt my pulse and breathing quicken. He'd never not been there before.

  "Mr. Peckinpah. You'll find you can't turn. The sedative is quite powerful." I recognized the voice, and managed to slit my eyes open enough to see the man standing in front of me. He was wearing an expensive suit, his hair slicked back. A short Asian man with a tray full of instruments stood next to him.

  "Mr. Reznick. How very cliché."

  Instead of a response, I heard the sound of a lighter being fired, and could smell cigar smoke. I pressed on. What else can you do when you're naked and in mortal danger? If your name's Peck, probably nothing sane.

  "I take it you know Timothy? Did you hire him to kill your son?"

  "This is my associate, Mr. Chan. He's going to hurt you. Make it look like a fight. Then he's going to dump your body in the water." Reznick said.

  I took that as a yes. I guessed this had been planned for a while. Timothy and Reznick had worked together to kill his son, and set me up for the murder. They wanted me out of the way, but unharmed, initially. The cops had been uncooperative when it came to railroading me, so I was guessing with the introduction of Mr. Chan, that plans had changed.

  Chan stepped forward, holding a blade in his tiny fist.

  "That, Mr. Peckinpah, is silver. It's going to hurt like a bitch."

  Reznick turned and walked away. Chan didn't say a word, and the next thing I felt was the intense burn of silver cutting my skin. I felt the blade bite deep into my chest, tearing muscle open. Pain washed over me in a wave. I'd like to tell you I was tough, stoic. I'd like to, but that would be a lie. I screamed.

  *

  I lost track of time. I bled and was hurt in ways I don't care to recall. I still wake from nightmares, I still ache in deep places in my body. I'm missing two molars. I struggled, I fought, I cursed, and I screamed. I passed out, and he brought me to with smelling salts, and went right on hurting me. I saw the glint of the pistol and smelled the metal. I knew that moment that it was the end. I closed my eyes and asked for forgiveness.

  In the interminable silence that came between the sound of the slide chambering a round, and the pull of the trigger, there was another sound, wet and violent and sudden. I smelled that pale cold thing from the night before. I opened my eyes when it was over, and saw Mr. Chan was on the floor, missing his throat. Someone was untying my ropes, and when they came loose, I sagged forward, and nearly fell on the floor. Strong hands lifted me. I was carried, a child in that grip. I looked up and saw a tall, pale man with a bloodied mouth and a grim expression. Vlad.

  "Than-thank you." I managed.

  "That's four, Peck." Was all he said.

  We left the warehouse into a cool morning. A black sedan was parked to the side, a similar one beside it. Reznick was nowhere to be seen. I asked Vlad, and he shook his head. I had just enough strength to curse.

  We got in the other car, Vlad laying me on the back seat and covering me with a cot blanket. He disappeared into the front, and the car rolled into motion. I watched the sky pass the windows for a little while, and when I couldn't bear to look anymore, closed my eyes and slept.

  *

  Waking up in the castle told me one thing. Vlad was not a triage nurse. I tried to imagine how
much blood I had lost, and immediately after that, tried to imagine what a world where I hadn't had the shit kicked out of me felt like. I looked around, and into the smiling eyes of Adam.

  "Wulfy, you are awake! Good. When do we start kicking the asses?"

  I struggled to sit up, and saw I was shirtless. My wounds had been stitched, and though inexpertly, I knew they'd heal. I felt a little encouraged by that. I smiled slightly at him despite the pain.

  "As soon as I get a shirt and some breakfast."

  He turned his head and called into the castle. "Vlad! Waffles for Wulfy!"

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Heaven is filled with waffle cooks, I'm sure of it. I devoured my fourth one while Vlad and Adam looked on. When I finished, I pushed back from the table and tried not to scratch my wounds. They were already itching like crazy. I looked around.

  "Where are Cora and Henry?"

  Vlad cleared his throat. "Back at the museum."

  I raised an eyebrow. "That doesn't seem -"

  "Safe?" Vlad finished. "Henry can handle himself."

  "What are they doing there?"

  "Cora's helping him figure out that red gunk."

  I shuddered. The memory of that shit running through my brain was still fresh and unpleasant. I quietly thanked the Beast in my head for wiping it from my system. I thought about what to do next, and decided I should go check on Henry and see what he'd figured out.

  I stood up.

  "Where are you going?" Vlad asked.

  "To check on Henry."

  "Adam should go with you."

  I thought about it. I was only running at about fifty percent yet. I didn't argue. "Yeah, good idea. Come on, big guy."

  Adam gave Vlad a kiss, and we left. The day outside was bright and blue and hot. To the west, storm clouds were creeping in.

  *

  Henry was in his room with Cora lounging on the divan. Patsy Cline was once again playing in the background while he stood over his card table. He had a few things lined up to one side, and in the center of the table was a dish with that red gunk in it. I flinched out of instinct, and took a breath.