The Whittier Trilogy

by Michael W. Layne

  Even though he wasn’t looking forward to fighting with these guys in a remote alley in Las Vegas, Trent knew he would survive.

  As they closed to about ten feet, the males stopped and Zana stepped forward by herself. As soon as she did so, Trent realized that they were here to talk and not to hurt him. In fact, as he observed Zana’s three friends a bit more closely, it was clear that they were looking back and forth at each other and fidgeting where they stood as if actually afraid of Trent.

  Zana stepped closer, and Trent started to relax his hands, which had been balled into fists without him even realizing it.

  She stood as straight as she could and looked him directly in the eyes.

  “I’m sorry for all the drama,” she said, “but I need your help, and I was afraid you wouldn’t listen to me any other way.”

  Trent waited for her to say something else, but she seemed to be preoccupied with looking at the space that surrounded him instead of actually looking at him. It was if she was observing something only she could see.

  “What do you need my help with?” he said.

  “I saw what you did last night. And I can tell. I can always tell. You carry a lot of strength with you, Trent. You carry the power of an avenging spirit, and only you can help us.”

  “Listen, Zana, right? I know it looked like I had special powers last night,” he said, “but trust me, it was just a show. I’m a regular guy with just a really good memory and well developed observational skills. That’s all. No avenging spirit here. Just me.”

  Zana smiled wistfully as if to convey how adorable she thought it was that Trent was so blind to his own spiritual situation.

  “It’s sitting on your shoulder right now, and you can’t even see it. But I can. It’s like a dark gray wisp of smoke attached to the back of your neck. It’s actually a little scary, you know? You asked us last night if we were scared—well, I was, but it didn’t have anything to do with your show. That thing that’s attached to you is what really scared me.”

  She leaned in close, so Trent could smell the faint scent of almonds from her skin.

  “About what you made me do to Greg over there?” she said. “Not cool. But still, you were good. I gotta give you that. I can barely remember anything that happened. It was like I was someone…something else, and the real me was just watching everything go down. Nope. Doesn’t matter what you say—you’re exactly the guy I’ve been waiting for.”

  “It does matter what I say,” Trent said. “And I say that I’m definitely not an avenging spirit that’s been sent here to help you out.”

  He looked at her three friends standing several feet behind her. They were still nervous, but they were trying to man-up and were doing their best to come across as Zana’s guardians. He wasn’t sure what they would do if anything really went down, but Trent was more interested in finding a more peaceful way out of the situation anyway.

  “Tell you what…I’m probably not going to help with whatever you think you need my help with, but if you want to chat, you can come with me, and I’ll buy you a cup of coffee. Deal?”

  She smiled and nodded.

  “And no offense, but your boys are not invited. It looks like I’m hanging out with The Cure or something when they’re around.”

  “The cure for what?” Zana said.

  Trent just shook his head.

  “Never mind,” he said. “Maybe I’ll explain it to you later. Right now I need a coffee, or I’m going to snap.”

  Chapter 13

  ZANA’S FRIENDS were reluctant to leave her, but she was clearly the one in charge.

  When she told them she would meet them back at camp later that evening, they readily obeyed and left Trent and Zana to walk by themselves. Her use of the word camp solidified Trent’s previous guess about her being homeless.

  As they strolled along in the sweltering mid-afternoon sun, Trent observed his new companion more closely.

  The first thing that struck him, besides her beautiful face, was again the fact that she smelled slightly of almonds. And for someone who probably lived on the streets, she was extremely clean. Her hair smelled lightly of shampoo. Her underarms were clean shaven. Her knuckles were rough, and her fingernails were bitten, but other than that, her skin was unblemished except for a single spot of acne near the bottom of her chin.

  Trent led a fairly nomadic existence himself, but he couldn’t imagine not having a place to call his own—a home base that provided him with some privacy. Even though he had the benefit of staying in decent hotels wherever he went and always eating at least three square meals a day, he often looked much worse than Zana did as they made their way to the coffee shop. In fact, anyone who saw them together—their shoulders occasionally grazing each other—would think that Zana was the one lowering her standards by hanging out with an older man in a baggy suit such as Trent.

  He also wondered how she stayed safe while living on the streets of a town like Las Vegas. Given the looks of her friends, it was not like she was walking around with lots of muscle-bound protectors from the pimps and criminals that infested this place almost as badly as the gamblers.

  Trent wanted to know a lot of things about her, but as they walked along, all he could manage was a simple question that he immediately was embarrassed about asking.

  “Do you and your friends live around here?” he said.

  Zana looked up at him while they walked down the sidewalk past a particularly flashy strip bar that seemed like a hibernating animal waiting to come to life after the sun went down.

  “We live down there,” she said, pointing to a manhole they passed that was in the middle of the street. “In the tunnels.”

  “In the sewage tunnels?” he said.

  Zana laughed.

  “Do I smell like I live in sewage?” she said, leaning in to him so that their sides touched and their arms overlapped. Once again, her smell was intoxicating.

  “There’s a whole city down there in the storm drain tunnels, you know. Probably about a thousand of us. I never really stopped to count,” she said, with a laugh, “but that’s what I heard once.”

  Trent hadn’t thought of the tunnels that were used to protect against flash floods as being a place where people would choose to live, but it made sense. Vegas was in the middle of the desert, but it was also at the bottom of a huge natural basin, and when it did rain or when water came down from the surrounding mountains, the water would have nowhere to go but straight toward the town. Flood tunnels would be critical to the city’s long-term survival and to the safety of its people.

  “Don’t you worry about drowning when the tunnels flood? It can’t be very safe down there,” Trent said.

  “Safer down there than it is up here with all the sickos and the perverts. I used to live on the streets before, and I’m telling you, I feel more secure at our camp than I did in my little shit apartment with crackhead moms living on one side of me and gang bangers living on the other. I’d rather deal with rushing water any day than with human beings like that.”

  Trent couldn’t argue too much with that.

  A few minutes later, they entered the Mirage and found the Roasted Bean with its small round tables and its leather-backed dark wooden chairs. The place was surrounded by marble pillars and had shining marble floors indicative of the opulent flair for which Vegas hotels were known.

  After ordering their drinks, they sat down at a table that was located away from the tourists. Within minutes, their drinks were called, and Trent retrieved them from the bar. He was pleased that he could get his soy latte, and Zana seemed happy with the steaming cup of black, high test coffee Trent bought for her.

  Her drink was just like her. Unadorned, but potent.

  Before Trent could start in with a few pleasantries or even flirtations, she leaned forward on the little round table top with her coffee mug cradled between her hands.

  “We really need your help, Mr. Walker. I need your help. There’s something in the tunnels killing our
people, and…”

  “Whoa. If murders are involved, you need to go to the cops. I’m a mentalist, not a trained investigator, and I’m certainly not a cop.”

  Zana, for the first time since he’d met her, seemed a little flustered. She repositioned herself in her chair and leaned in again.

  “First of all, cops don’t come down to where I live, unless they feel like making a sweep and ousting some of us to make their monthly quotas or to give some political asshole a statistic he can brag about. Secondly, about the thing under Vegas that’s killing us?”

  She took another sip of her coffee before continuing.

  “I don’t think it’s human.”

  “You mean like a wild dog or something?” Trent said.

  “Not like a dog. Like a…well, like a troll.”

  Trent just stared at her for a few seconds, then took a long sip of his latte.

  “A troll. Like a troll troll?” he said, laughing hesitantly. “Well, if there really is a troll killing people under the streets of Las Vegas, then maybe you should call a TV reporter…or maybe a wizard or something.”

  Zana did not laugh.

  “OK. Not funny,” Trent continued. “Why in the world would you think I’m the right person to help you with something like that? Which I’m not, by the way.”

  “I read about that exorcism you did last week over in Utah,” she said.

  It was rare that Trent was shocked, but his eyes could not fully hide how surprised he was that this homeless woman had managed to uncover such a fact about him, and so quickly.

  “Right,” he said. “The exorcism in Utah you’re talking about was complete fakery. The kid wasn’t possessed, and I didn’t cast out any demons. He was just pretending. How the hell did you find out about that anyway?”

  “We have wireless in the tunnels,” Zana said.

  Trent looked at her, his expression frozen.

  “I’m kidding,” she said. “Ever heard of the public library, genius? They have this thing called the Internet there…”

  Trent laughed involuntarily. She had a better sense of humor and attitude than most of the people he knew who lived in the regular world, that was for sure.

  “Even if the exorcism had been real, that wouldn’t qualify me to help with a troll problem,” he said.

  “What about your show last night? That was incredible—how you read everyone’s minds and knew everything about them. And when you made us all believe we were animals…I barely even remember what I did, but I do remember that I liked the way I felt when you turned me into a bear. I felt…strong. Full of clear and simple purpose.”

  She turned her face slightly away.

  “Still wish I hadn’t attacked Billy,” she said.

  “Let’s talk about that for a second,” Trent said. “You didn’t actually freak out and attack your friend, you know. I whispered in your ear while you were under that I wanted you to attack your friend. I knew he wouldn’t fight back—and that he probably wouldn’t sue me. It was just another trick to scare people and to make them believe that what they were seeing was real.”

  “It still felt amazing to be a bear,” she said. “And maybe it was a trick, but it was a trick I haven’t seen anyone else do before. I know you don’t feel this way, Mr. Walker, but you’re the closest thing I’ve seen to someone who has some actual supernatural abilities. Plus, like I said, I can see you have that dark spirit hanging off of you, and I’ve only seen that kind of thing once before.”

  Trent took a sip from his latte and looked away. She was a little crazy, but he was starting to like this girl, and knew he had to be careful.

  “I can really see it, you know,” she said. “I’m not making it up. You’ve got a spirit of vengeance latched on to you, and best I can tell, that’s exactly what we need.”

  “Tell me about this guy. You call him the Troll?”

  “No. Not a him. It’s an it. A real troll. I’m not making that up, either. I saw it once…right before it killed my friend Sarah. And I can tell you one thing—maybe it was a troll. Maybe it wasn’t. But whatever it was, it sure the hell wasn’t a man. At least not a normal one.

  Chapter 14

  TRENT TRIED unsuccessfully to change the topic of conversation a couple of time before giving up. Zana didn’t want to talk about what it was like to be a mentalist, and whenever he’d ask her a question about her past, she just sipped her coffee and didn’t say a thing.

  After a few minutes, the topic of her friend’s recent death resurfaced.

  “Was the Troll short with a really big nose?” Trent said.

  “No. It was not short!” she said. “It was tall. Real tall. It was carrying this huge club, and it smelled really bad, too. The thing had long black scraggly hair and was so tall that it had to crouch down when it walked through the tunnels. When I saw it disappear down the tunnel where Sarah lived, I was too afraid to follow it in there. Thought it might hear me and get me instead. I feel horrible about that now, of course. I should’ve done something. Maybe if I would have, Sarah could’ve figured a way to escape.”

  “Did you actually see it kill your friend?” Trent asked.

  “No. I just heard her screaming. But like I said, I was too afraid to follow the creature down the tunnel. I hid in this little space behind one of the tunnel walls, and when the creature walked past me, I could see it had something gray and smudgy hanging off of its neck, too. It didn’t feel like an avenging spirit though, but it was definitely dark. More dirty than dark. I don’t know what it was exactly, but it scared me worse than the Troll did.”

  Zana reached out and touched Trent’s forearm that was resting on the table in front of him.

  “Can’t you at least come with me and check things out? Please. I could show you were she was killed. Maybe you could get some vibes from the place or something.”

  “One last time, Zana. I don’t have any real psychic or supernatural powers. I just have a good brain, a better-than-average memory, and I know a lot of tricks. And that’s it. I wish I had some kind of avenging angel attached to me that I could unleash on the bastard who killed your friend. But I don’t.”

  Zana looked deep into Trent’s eyes, as if searching for something in his mind.

  Another few minutes of silence passed before Zana started to say something.

  But she seemed to catch herself, and instead just took another sip of coffee and looked away at a table filled with loud young women discussing how drunk they had gotten the night before.

  Even though Trent had plenty of questions he still wanted to ask Zana, there was suddenly a wall between them, and they spent the next half of an hour engaged in forced small talk about the hotel and the occasional odd-looking tourist who passed by.

  Despite the awkwardness of the situation, Trent didn’t want to leave her. Eventually, his stomach started growling, and he looked at his watch. The afternoon had slipped away, and as much as he wanted to stay with Zana, he had things to do.

  “Hey listen,” he said. “I have to get ready for my performance tonight. I kind of skipped lunch today unless you count my latte, and I need to get something for dinner and rest up a little before my first show at ten tonight. You can come with me if you want. For dinner, I mean.”

  Zana took a last sip of her now cold coffee, and sat back in her chair, studying Trent.

  “I’ve gotta go too, you know,” she said. “I took a day off from work today to talk to you. Being homeless doesn’t mean I’m jobless. I work over at the flower shop on Riviera. Not much of a living, but rent down below is pretty cheap, as in free. Gives me a chance to even save a little bit here and there,” she said as she got up from her chair and dropped a couple of dollar bills on the table as a tip.

  Trent stood up as well, still reluctant to let her go. Truthfully, he did feel a little bad that he wasn’t helping her, but he wasn’t going to volunteer to hunt some overly tall guy nicknamed the Troll, either.

  Even if everything Zana had said was true, he still
wasn’t the guy she needed.

  As Zana turned away to leave, he remained silent.

  She stopped after only a few feet and turned back around as if she had just remembered something important.

  “Maybe I’ll swing by for one of your shows later, Mr. Walker,” she said. “Would that be OK?”

  “I’d like that, I think. Very much.”

  Zana turned again to leave.

  “Hey Zana,” he said, “call me Trent, all right? Mr. Walker makes me feel just…kinda old.”

  In truth, Trent didn’t want Zana to call him Mr. Walker because it made him feel guilty for the impure thoughts running around in his head.

  Zana just smiled.

  “OK then, Trent. Maybe I’ll see you later tonight…if you’re lucky,” she said with a grin.

  “Oh, and one last thing,” she continued—her face serious once again. “That dark thing trailing out the back of your neck? I’m pretty sure it’s getting bigger.”

  Chapter 15

  AFTER TRENT’S MIDNIGHT show, he emerged from the hotel and pulled his tired body up the outdoor set of stairs to the open walkway of the second floor.

  Zana had not showed up for either of his shows, and as he shuffled along, he tried to convince himself that it was probably for the best.

  Of course, when he looked up from the cement walkway and saw Zana waiting for him outside of his room, he quickly changed his mind about what was really good for him and what wasn’t.

  “Hey there,” he said as he walked toward her. “You missed a couple of decent shows. The audience was really into it both times. Even had another bear tonight.”

  Zana cocked her head slightly and grinned.

  “So, to what do I owe the pleasure?” he said.

  “Honestly, I thought I’d try fucking your brains out until I convince you to at least come down and see where I live. How does that sound to you?”