Tales of the Scarlet Knight Collection: The Wrath of Isis

by P. T. Dilloway

  “Where is she now?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Now he decided to put a hand on her shoulder; he made sure he didn’t press down too hard so he wouldn’t break her collarbone. “You have to know where she is. She’s your friend.”

  Becky laughed through her tears at this. “She’s not my friend. Not anymore. She’s just a selfish bitch.”

  “Where is she?”

  “I don’t know!”

  “You must have some idea where she would go.”

  “I don’t know!” Becky wiped at her eyes. “Try her mother’s house. In Parkdale. That’s all I can tell you. I swear.”

  Tim searched his memory for something that would sound tough enough. “If you’re lying, I’ll be back.”

  As he stood up, the lights in the apartment went out. When his night vision gear kicked in, he barely suppressed a gasp. Curled up in front of the door was no longer Becky, but a little girl. He turned up his visor just as the lights came back on. In the light, he could see the little girl had the same color hair as Becky, only tied in mismatched pigtails and a pink dress that clung to her rotund stomach. The little girl looked up at him, her eyes the same as Becky’s. “Are you a monster?” the little girl asked.

  Before Tim could answer the door exploded.

  ***

  The blast didn’t knock Tim off his feet, but he did stumble back a couple of steps. Little Becky screamed and flattened herself on the floor as splinters flew over her head to ping harmlessly against Tim’s armor. A gun fired through the opening in the door; the bullet embedded itself into the armor without any damage.

  Tim brought the visor down while he raised his right hand. He fired a dart wildly. Something smashed against the door to clear out more of it. Hands reached through the remains of the door to snatch the back of Becky’s dress. Through the visor, Tim saw a trio of men in black body armor; two carried machine guns and one carried a shotgun. He barely had time to dive to his left as the one with the shotgun fired again.

  From the floor, Tim heard Becky squeal. “No! I don’t wanna go! I want Mommy!”

  Tim crawled forward; he knew his darts wouldn’t do any good against that body armor. He would have to get in close enough to use his hands. This became impossible when he stood up to find one of the gunmen clutched a thrashing Becky to his chest. “Don’t move or the kid gets it,” the gunman said.

  The other gunmen abruptly moved back a step as the rats in the sewer had to Pepe. Only in this case the leader of the gunmen was a young woman, who with her dark brown hair and brown eyes could have passed as Becky’s sister—or mother in Becky’s current state. Unlike the others, the woman wore a black leather jacket with a sort of stick figure with its arms curved down outlined in silver on the sleeves.

  “Who are you?” the woman asked.

  “I could ask you the same question.”

  “I’m Captain Murdoch, Special Police Division. Do you know what that means?”

  “You’re the Specials?”

  “Very good.” Captain Murdoch motioned to Becky, who had gone limp in the other officer’s arms. “The girl is ours.”

  “What do you want with Becky?”

  “That’s none of your concern.”

  “I’m making it my concern. Let her go and change her back.”

  Captain Murdoch smiled thinly at this. “Only the boss can change her back.”

  “Isis.”

  “What do you know of the boss?”

  “More than I want to.”

  “The boss said there would be people coming from the outside. You must be one of those. Where did you get that armor from?”

  “That’s none of your concern.”

  Tim hoped this might intimidate Captain Murdoch, but she only shrugged. “You’ll tell us—one way or another.”

  He had to admit she was a lot better at intimidation than he was. Tim was grateful the suit kept anyone from seeing him shiver. He needed only to look at chubby little Becky in the officer’s arms to know the kind of things they could do to him—or rather, what Isis could do to him. “I think I’d rather not.”

  “You’re not going to have—” Captain Murdoch hit the floor; a tranquilizer dart stuck out of her neck. Tim sprinted back to his left before the other Specials fired. Bullets tore through the beanbag chairs, pizza boxes, and tiny television in the living room.

  Over the sound of gunfire he heard Becky scream and cry. He imagined her thrashing in the officer’s arms, to free herself. “Let me go!” she howled. While he wanted to go back and help her, there wasn’t much he could do at the moment. If he tried to go back and rescue her, they would probably shoot her. And as much as he hated to admit it, his mission was to find Emma and bring her back. He couldn’t afford to be captured now, not even for Becky.

  Tim found Pepe still in Emma’s bedroom. At least the rat didn’t seem to have been affected by whatever Isis had done to Becky. “Hop on,” he said to the rat.

  He used the boosters to clear the fire escape and touched down gently in an alley. It wasn’t a surprise to find more Specials at the entrance to the alley. They leaned against a motorcycle, but straightened at the sight of him. One shouted, “Hey, you!”

  He wished at a moment like this his cape could make him turn invisible the way Emma’s did. Since his cape was just for show, he had no choice but to run down the alley. The Specials followed, one on foot and the other by motorcycle. The one on foot gave up after a few paces; he pulled his pistol to take a shot that just missed Pepe. The rat shrieked at this. “Just hold on,” Tim said.

  The motorcycle was catching up to him; its rider pulled out his pistol. Tim fired a dart over his shoulder. It would do no damage, but it would at least distract the motorcyclist for a moment. The bike swerved and closed within a couple yards of Tim.

  While he didn’t have a magic cape, Tim did have one advantage: he lit the boosters to climb into the air. The motorcycle came to a stop beneath him; the Special fired his weapon to try to hit Tim’s boosters. One shot nicked Tim’s foot, but did no damage.

  Tim soared up and over the wall of the alley and came down gently on the other side. “I think we’d better get back to the sewers,” he said to Pepe. From there he knew it would be a long walk to Parkdale.

  Chapter 19

  To get to Parkdale, Emma faced a terrible dilemma. She worried if she took a bus or train the bloodlust from so many people in such close proximity would drive her into a frenzy. She decided to use probably the last of her money for a cab; she hoped she could resist one man separated by a plastic barrier.

  She gave the cabbie the address on her state identification card, not sure what exactly she would find. Becky had said Emma’s mother had helped get her the job at the museum, which didn’t seem right. As with most things in the last few days, she couldn’t quite figure out why she felt this way.

  The ride to Parkdale was uneventful. Emma sat in the back of the cab and kept as much space between herself and the cabbie as possible. She kept her eyes down on the floor so as not to see his neck. Still, she could smell his blood, even through the plastic divider. Her fists clenched as she fought against the beast within her for control. She reminded herself that even if she did try to bite him, to do so while the cab went forty miles an hour would be suicide.

  Her stomach cramped as the cab neared her destination, only this time it wasn’t because she was so hungry. It became apparent as they passed a row of mailboxes that Parkview Estates was a trailer park. She shook her head and barely resisted the urge to cry. She wasn’t trailer trash! She had grown up in a real house with her mother and father.

  Nevertheless, the cab pulled up to a green trailer with white trim. The numbers on the house left no mistake; she was in the right place. She stuck the money through the divider of the cab; she kept it at arm’s length so the driver wouldn’t tempt her. “Thank you,” she mumbled before she got out.

  With a deep breath, she approached the front door. She didn’t see a car in th
e dirt driveway, nor could she hear any noise from within. That didn’t mean her mother couldn’t be here. She might be asleep or in the shower or something. Then again, maybe her mother didn’t live here at all. Maybe this was some other house where she had lived that might now belong to a complete stranger.

  She mounted the cinderblock steps to knock again. She waited a minute, but received no answer. She tried again with the same result. Whoever lived here might not be home after all.

  Emma collapsed on the steps and put her head in her hands. This was stupid. Even if her mother lived here, what was the point? Her mother couldn’t cure her of being a vampire. Her mother probably wouldn’t even believe her. She would just turn Emma away as Becky had.

  “Emma?” a very familiar voice asked.

  Emma looked up to see a chubby woman with curly gray hair who carried a pair of plastic grocery bags. The gray hair and fat both struck Emma as wrong, but the eyes were definitely those of her mother. “Mom?”

  “Are you running from the law again, Emma?”

  “No.” At least she didn’t think she was, though Dr. Dreyfus seemed like the type who would press assault charges against her. She leaped to her feet and threw herself at her mother the way she had Becky in the diner. Her mother dropped both shopping bags; the contents spilled onto the dirt. “I need help, Mom. I’m so scared.”

  Her mother patted her greasy hair and shushed her as if she were a small child. “It’s all right, baby. Let’s go inside.”

  Emma pulled away with a nod and then picked up the spilled groceries. She carried these into the trailer and put them on the kitchen counter. Her mother had already settled onto a battered plaid couch and turned the old nineteen-inch TV to some religious channel where a televangelist railed against the evil of Satan. Emma put a hand to her mouth to make sure her fangs were still hidden.

  Emma turned the television off. “Mom, we need to talk.” She sat on the wooden coffee table and looked down at the worn gray carpet.

  “What’s wrong, baby? Did you and Becky have a fight?”

  “Yes. She threw me out.”

  “What did you do?”

  Emma realized she wouldn’t get much more sympathy from her mother. “I lost my job at the museum.”

  Her mother clucked her tongue. “Emma, do you have any idea how difficult it was to get that job for you?”

  “Yes. I’m really sorry.”

  “What was the problem this time?”

  Emma forced herself to look her mother in the eye. She took one of her mother’s hands in both of hers. “I know this is hard to believe, but it’s true. Mom, I’m a vampire.”

  “Emma—”

  “Please, just listen to me. I woke up a couple of days ago and everything seemed so strange. I felt like I wasn’t myself, like I had stepped into someone else’s life. I got sick every time I tried to eat something. Then this nice boy asked me on a date and all I could think about was biting him and…sucking his blood.” She paused for a moment to choke back a sob at the thought of what she’d nearly done to Jim.

  “There was this girl in an alley. I nearly killed her. I keep getting hungrier and hungrier. I almost ate a rat.”

  “Oh my.”

  “That’s not the worst of it. I was so hungry this morning that when the assistant director cut his thumb—I attacked him. I couldn’t control myself anymore. My stomach hurts all the time and I smell bad and…it’s like I’m rotting but I’m still alive. And when I told Becky she threw me out so I don’t have anywhere else to go. I need your help, Mom. I need—I just need to rest and think about things. There has to be some way to stop this. Please, can I stay here for just one night?”

  To Emma’s relief, her mother smiled. “Of course, baby. You can stay as long as you want.” She patted Emma’s hand. “I left your room just the way you left it. You go and take a nap and then I’ll call Aunt Gladys. Maybe the three of us can figure something out.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” As she hugged her mother, she forced down any thoughts to bite her mom’s neck to suck her blood. She couldn’t do that to a stranger, let alone her mother. “I love you,” she whispered.

  “I love you too, sweetheart. Now go on and try to rest.”

  Emma went down the narrow hallway. Mom said she had left Emma’s room the way she left it, which apparently was a mess. The floor was even messier than her old apartment, with more clothes spread across the floor, as well as old school papers. They were uniformly below average, mostly D’s. On the shelves she saw CDs, videotapes, and even a few worn romance paperbacks. On another shelf was an assortment of Barbie dolls in various states of dismemberment, most with their hair cut off and faces colored on with markers.

  The entire room seemed wrong to Emma, even more wrong than her apartment. Besides real books, she knew something else was missing: awards. Where were the trophies and the ribbons from school? She supposed she hadn’t earned any. She confirmed this when she opened a large manila envelope on her desk. Inside was a copy of her GED. She hadn’t even earned a diploma from her high school. She thought of her trouble in the library. I am stupid, she thought just as something heavy hit the back of her head.

  ***

  When Emma woke up and saw a nun over her, she thought she must have died. In a way that would be a relief, as it would mean she wouldn’t have to worry about sucking anyone’s blood anymore. Then her stomach cramped again and she realized she wasn’t dead.

  Despite that the nun’s habit kept most of her face covered, Emma recognized the woman’s blue eyes as the same as hers and her mother’s. “Aunt Gladys?”

  “Quiet, dear,” Aunt Gladys said. “We’re almost ready.”

  “Ready? For what?” It was then Emma tried to sit up only to find she couldn’t move. She managed to tilt her head enough to see that her legs were splayed apart and chained to the bedposts. “What’s going on here?”

  Mom appeared on the opposite side of the bed, her eyes moist. “It’s my fault, baby. After your father left, I never had the time to make sure you went to church. All those terrible things you did, I just kept looking the other way. Then I thought maybe the rehab would straighten you out, maybe you would finally accept Jesus.”

  “Rehab,” Aunt Gladys said with a sneer. “There’s only one way to cure her from becoming a bride of Satan.”

  “Bride of Satan? I’m not—” she had to stop as Aunt Gladys shoved a wooden spoon into her mouth.

  “Bite down on that,” Aunt Gladys said. “This could get rough.”

  Emma turned to her mother to silently ask her what was going on. “Gladys has been doing some research on how to expel demons.”

  Emma’s eyes widened. For the first time she noticed the candles around the room. An exorcism. They were going to try to do an exorcism on her. She thrashed against the chains that held her to the bed, but it did no good. The wooden spoon muffled her screams and pleas for help. She could only look into her mother’s eyes again and beg her not to do this.

  Mom bent down to kiss Emma’s cheek. “I’m sorry, baby. I wish there were some other way to make you better, so it could be like it was when you were little. You were so sweet back then.”

  Aunt Gladys snorted at this. “She’s always been a hell spawn. Or have you forgotten when she nearly burned down the house on her second birthday?”

  “That was an accident.”

  “She lit the curtains on fire.”

  “She was just a baby. She didn’t know better.”

  “Whose fault was that?”

  “Mine. But don’t worry, baby, soon it will all be better.”

  Emma closed her eyes as Aunt Gladys made the sign of the cross and then began to read from a book. Despite the prayers, candles, and holy water, Emma didn’t feel any different. She could still feel the beast within her, demanding to be fed.

  “Is it working?” Mom asked.

  “No. She’s too strong with the devil. We’ll have to try something else. Something older.”

  Emma opened her
eyes to see Aunt Gladys brandished a knife. “Are you sure about this?” Mom asked.

  “It’s the only way. We’ve got to bleed the evil out of her.”

  The spoon in her mouth kept Emma from biting down on her tongue as Aunt Gladys brought the knife down across her right forearm. “Merciful Jesus,” Aunt Gladys said.

  Through tear-filled eyes, Emma saw it wasn’t blood seeping from the wound—it was a black sludge, like concentrated evil. “What is that?”

  “It’s the devil’s blood. Get a bowl to drain it into. We’ll have to burn it later.”

  The pain from the wound overwhelmed Emma’s defenses. She could feel her rational mind slip away; the beast charged out of its cage to take control of her. Her fangs elongated and snapped the wooden spoon. She spit out the pieces and then let out a scream.

  Aunt Gladys held up her Bible and a crucifix. “Back, foul demon! Go back to Hell where you belong!”

  Emma ignored this; her arms snapped the chains as if they were made of paper. She batted the Bible and crucifix out of her aunt’s hands. Then she grabbed the front of Aunt Gladys’s robe to hurl her into a wall. The old nun lay motionless on the floor. Emma snapped the chains on her legs as easily as the others and sprung free from the bed to kneel over her aunt.

  The sound of glass shattering brought her head around. She saw Mom in the doorway, a broken bowl at her feet. “Emma? Oh God, it’s true. My poor baby!”

  For a moment Emma stared at her mother and saw only a piece of meat to be devoured. Then she saw her mother’s tears and that part of her that remained civilized—that part of her that remained Mom’s daughter—regained control. “I’m sorry, Mom,” Emma said.

  Then she leaped out the window.

  ***

  Emma ran until a cramp doubled her over. She collapsed onto the sidewalk to clutch her stomach. Her fangs were still extended; her brain still howled for her to feed. “No,” she whispered. “I won’t.”

  She managed to limp over to a bench, which was mercifully deserted. She stared at her arm, at the black sludge that drained from the wound. The wound was the final proof that she wasn’t a human any longer; she had become a monster.