by David Skato
“I will come get you as soon as this is over. I promise.”
“Dontae’ I think you just need to let it go. Baby they tried to kill you!” Sandy argued.
“That’s exactly why I need to find out who’s behind this.”
“So, what I say doesn’t matter?”
“Yes it does, baby,” He placed his hand on her shoulder. “How about this, when this is over, we take that vacation we’ve been planning? Just you and me.”
Sandy wasn’t swayed but decided to let it go. “Just be careful. You don’t owe anyone anything. Especially your life.” Dontae nodded; bending down, he places a chaste kiss on her soft lips.
“I love you; I need you to trust me.” He whispered. Sandy nodded.
“I love you too.”
CHAPTER VII
Dontae and Jessi pull up at a modest house in a secluded area where he thought only farmers resided. The rain had subsided, but the night air was still a bit chilly. The light-colored brick house had a small garage just to the left of a large bay window left of a small wooden front door. The exceptionally green grass was manicured to perfection. This looked like a good old fashion family home. What was a Vasquez doing at a place like this?
Dontae’, looking at the house confused, “is this the right place? I was expecting an abandoned barn or something.”
“If Vasquez can afford two houses on his salary, I need to renegotiate my contract,” Jessi remarks.
“It's the police department, not the NBA,” Dontae’ corrects her.
“Hey, I'm just saying. That would be dope. You know like, bust a few motherfuckers with a minimum guarantee, whoop a few asses with two three-year options.” She says excitedly.
Dontae’ couldn’t help but laugh. Something was seriously wrong with his partner. “Come on rookie.”
They get out of the car and walk to the front door, but upon approach, Dontae’ notices a broken windowpane and the smell of gasoline. They pull their guns and slowly step onto the porch. They can hear someone moving about the house. It appears that the person is thrashing the home and pouring gasoline all over. He nods to Jessi before kicking the door open.
Dontae’ shouts. “Put your hands up! NOW!”
A man who is facing the wall stops cold. He drops the gasoline can and raises both hands.
The house was homely decorated with what you would expect from an ordinary family home. The small brick fireplace was decorated with simple what-knots and family pictures. Dontae’ could barely see one of the images, but he was sure that it was that of Rochelle. She was smiling with a group of people appearing to be at a picnic. He looks to the left and sees a bigger image of Rochelle from high school wearing a cap & gown. He took a whiff and realized that there was something other than the gasoline in the air.
The man slowly turns around with his hands up, but his fist stayed clenched tightly. Jessi immediately recognizes that it’s Harnando Vasquez.
“That was fast.” Vasquez calmly states.
Dontae’ couldn’t get that smell out of his head. What was it?
“Who killed Rochelle?” He demanded.
“He's coming. And he can't be stopped.” Vasquez continued.
Again, Dontae’s thoughts go to the smell. It was familiar but the mix of adrenaline and trying to make sure Vasquez didn’t make any sudden moves diluted his sense of direction.
“Who? Who's coming?” Dontae’ shouted.
“Lock your hands behind your head!” Jessi shouted.
Vasquez did not comply with the request.
“Why did you take the evidence? Who are you working for?! Talk!” Dontae’ Shouted.
At that moment, he knew what the smell was. His heart dropped to his knees. It was that smell when you turn the eyes of a bar-b-que grill on but forget to light it. It was the smell when the city workers digging in the ground break a pipeline by mistake. It was the smell of natural GAS. Dontae’ took a second to view the surroundings and realized that Vasquez had not only spewed gasoline throughout the house, but he had also turned on the eyes of the stove. This wasn’t a hideaway. This was a suicide.
“Hold fast because the one true king will rise and who shall be able to stand?” Vasquez said as he opened his hands, revealing a lighter. “Amen,” He states as he strikes it.
Dontae’ tackles Jessi sending them both crashing through the large bay window and onto the green lawn as the house explodes, sending fire, brick, and glass in every direction. The explosion sends a fireball several feet high, lighting a once dark field of cows chewing cud and briefly glancing at the light. The detectives lie on the ground, covered in debris. They both sit up quietly, trying to take in what had just happened. What kind of cult could convince a police officer to hide evidence, quit his job, and then blow himself up? Whoever these people were, they were dangerous. The once clean air was now fiery red as pillars of smoke raced to the sky as far as the eyes could see. The once silent night was now filled with the sound of crackling fire and the smell of burning wood.
The night was still and quiet outside of the large urban building that Dontae’ and Sandy called home. She had really liked the city and found it so wonderful that the man she loved did also. This was just one of the many things they had in common. She had grown up in Suwanee, Georgia, with one sister in a borderline poor but very religious family. When she told her mother that she was moving in with Dontae’, she could recall the old lady’s preachy voice. “You don’t need to be shacking up with no man. All he going to do is leave you barefoot and preg-ant.” She never pronounced the “n.” That was the biggest fear for her children; to get pregnant. Not drugs or alcohol. No. Just pregnant. That was a fate worse than death in this family.
This was driven by the fact she, herself, was a single mother for years before she met Sandy’s stepfather, Mr. Garry. Sandy’s biological father died in a horrible plane crash when she was about four. He was headed to see his family in St. Louis when the large 747 went down just before landing. Everyone died. It was one of the worst traveling events in American history. Sandy didn’t know how to feel at the time because the crash was a big deal but not because of the 337 souls that perished, but because of one. There was a famous baseball player on the plane that overshadowed the rest of the deaths. The crash came to be known as the Jose’ Camelo crash. She guessed that if her father had been a singer or something just a bit more famous, it would have been the Joseph Mayhew crash. It wouldn’t have made a difference. He was gone, and she didn’t know how to react. She cried at the funeral but only because she was supposed to. She didn’t remember much, but she did remember thinking that her mother must have worn shoes that were too tight because she stood at the burial site barefoot and pregnant.
Sandy stood at the kitchen sink, rinsing the dishes smiling while humming a tune she couldn’t get out of her head. Tonight was going to be perfect. She had prepared Dontae’s favorite meal, which consisted of smoked turkey necks, white rice, and mac & cheese. She fantasized about the smile on his face once he walks in and sees the spread laid out for him. Although she trusted Dontae’, she wanted to make sure he knew what he was missing if he cheated on her while she was in Suwannee. Not all women can throw down in the kitchen. She wasn’t a bad lay either. She laughed at the thoughts.
In the living room, the still air became stale and musty. A black mist started to seep under the door, almost oozing across the hardwood. At the center of the room, the mist stopped and began to form into a figure of a man. The mist grew thicker and darker to the point where it started dripping inky black soot on the floor. The arms protruded out slowly, and the fangs grew sharp. The eye sockets deepened, and the skull became firm. The Carasaca now stood in the middle of Sandy’s living room.
Ω
Dontae’ and Jessi lean on her car as firefighters continue to spray water on the flames. County police line the country street as passersby rubberneck to get a view of the spectacle that has unfolded in their small town. It’s probably safe to say that these parts have
never seen anything like this before. The nearest house was about a half-mile down, and something that resembled civilization was about 3 miles away. It had taken Dontae’ and Jessi an hour and three minutes to get there, and that time was probably pretty close to the amount that it took Chief Wilcox to arrive as he pulls up to the scene. He thunders over to the detectives as Dontae’ pulls the phone from his ear, indicating that he has just tried to make a call but is disappointed that he did not get an answer.
“What the fuck did I tell you two? Huh? You out here in the middle of nowhere playing motherfucking Bonnie and Clyde, blowing shit up over a goddamn publicity stunt! How am I going to explain this to internal affairs? You are out of jurisdiction, you didn’t have a warrant, and, and, and look at this place!” He screamed in a rage, stuttering, shaking, and sweating profusely.
“Vasquez blew himself up and tried to take us with him.” Jessi said, taking a drink of water from a bottle that a nice fireman gave her.
Dontae’ chimed in. “Chief, Rochelle is dead. This is her house, and Vasquez burned it down to hide something.”
“Hide what?” He asked, skeptical.
“Well, I don’t know. He didn’t give us a chance to find out,” He answers.
“And how the fuck did you come to the conclusion that this was her house?”
“From the pic-“he takes a look at the burning rubble. Realizing that he had no evidence and in the frenzy of smelling the gas, focusing on Vasquez, and seeing the pictures, it never dawned on him that this could be one of Rochelle’s family member’s residence. Maybe even her mother.
Chief Wilcox steps closer. “Let me tell you something, this is not Rochelle’s house asshole. Whatever little side information you gathered was incorrect. I came down here because I wanted to get to you before I.A. does. As a friend, Dontae’, I’m telling you to let this go. As your boss, I’m telling you that it’s in your best interest to give yourselves a narrative for being out here that’s better than investigating a hoax.”
“Chief, how long have you known me? Huh? Have I ever done something stupid like blow up a damn house? Tell me! Look around! You know something is going on. You know this doesn’t feel right?!” Dontae’ screams.
Chief Wilcox thinks for a second. He knows now that he has to take more drastic measures. He then shakes his head. “You both are on administrative leave until further notice. Give me your gun and badges.” He holds out his hands.
Jessi, now extremely agitated. “You shitting me right? We almost get blown up and we’re suspended?”
Wilcox responds. “You still on probation young lady you better watch it.”
Dontae’ takes his gun out of the holster and manages to slip Jessi’s out just as she charges Wilcox. Dontae’ grapples her by the waist before she could reach him.
“Hell no! You Forest Whitaker looking son of a bitch! Who do you think you are?!”
Dontae’ pulls her back as she screams.
“Jessi, get in the car!” he demanded as he opens the door and pushes her into the passenger seat.
“All those bumps on your forehead. Looks like a motherfucking star crunch.” She screams just before he shuts the door in her face. He walks over to Wilcox and then goes to the driver’s side. He gives Wilcox a last look before opening the door. “This is bullshit chief, and you know I’m not going to let it go.” He gets in the car and spins off with squealing tires echoing in the distance.
The drive back to town was quiet as they both reflected on the recent events. Jessi glared out the window as she picked glass from her hair every once in a while and tossed it to the floor. Dontae’ dialed Sandy multiple times but only got the voicemail. He wondered if she had gone to Suwannee yet or was she waiting for him to get home so that he could see her off. He remembered the engagement ring he had hidden in his car a few months ago. “Damn,” He thought. He wondered if it was still there. It should be. There was no need for the investigators to go inside the car. He wanted to pop the question in a way that made Sandy happy, although he knew she would be happy no matter when or how he did it. She wanted to get married, and so did he. She was the one. He had waited so long for no reason other than he just never got around to it. She didn’t pressure him, and things were so good he just forgot. She was his, and he was hers. They didn’t need a paper to tell them that. He looked forward to growing old with her and sitting on the porch drinking cold iced tea talking shit about their children’s spouses. He loved Sandy, and she loved him.
Ω
It was deserted on the 27th block of harbor street in the Atlanta suburb. A plastic grocery bag tumbled down the dark road carried by a small gust of wind before getting snagged on a flickering streetlamp. Cats waled in the distance, hissing and yanging in a dispute that only they could understand. A saxophone played soft music from an open third-story apartment window. Dontae’ had heard this neighbor’s music before, and every so often, he would open his window to get a free concert. Dontae’ and Jessi pull into one of the many empty parking spots that lined the road.
“You okay?” Dontae asked.
“I’ve been better.” She said.
“Don’t worry, the adrenaline will go away. I still don’t know why you won’t stay with us for the night.”
“With you and Sandy? I’d rather get blown up,” She smirks.
“Don’t be like that. I don’t want you going home. Get a room or something or go stay with some friends. Tomorrow, you’re leaving town until this is over.” Dontae suggested.
“Bullshit. I’m staying right here. They don’t scare me. I’m a cop, same as you.”
“It’s not about being scared.” He countered. Dontae’ got out of the car, and Jessi slid to the driver’s side.
“Well, the – “She tries to speak, but he cuts her off.
“We will talk about it tomorrow. Just don’t go home.”
“Yes, paw paw.” She snarked as she looked up at him while starting the car.
“Text me when you get to your destination. Don’t text me where you are though. Don’t tell anyone.”
“Gotch ya.” She puts the car in gear and drives away. Dontae walks across the street towards home. Out the corner of his eye, he could see someone standing on the street staring in his direction. He turns to get a better look. A man stood on the corner maybe forty feet from Dontae’. He could make out fuzzy white hair but not much else. He thought it could be the same people who blew up the house but then he thought it would be foolish to send one man, an old man, directly to a detective’s home. This was probably a homeless person or drug addict. The man begins to walk away, and Dontae’ continues into his apartment building.
He walks up the stairs to his apartment door, but as he puts his key in, he notices black soot lining the bottom. The same kind he’d found at Rochelle’s crime scene. Pulling his gun, he unlocks the door and lightly pushes it open. The soot left a trail to the middle of the living room floor. From the door, he could see broken dishes scattered on the floor of the kitchen. He steps forward, being careful not to walk in the soot. Suddenly, he hears a gurgling sound coming from the bedroom. He aims his gun and heads in that direction. He pushes the door open to see Sandy lying on the floor bleeding from her mouth and a vicious wound in her chest. He rushes over without giving it another thought. He lifts her head and places it into his lap, holding her tightly.
“Babe, you’re going to be ok. Just hang in there. I’m going to call an ambulance.”
Sandy’s eyes are filled with terror, confusion, and helplessness as she looks at Dontae’ wanting to say something but unable to speak. Her eyes roll in and out the back of her head as she tries to hold consciousness. She then looks towards the door and raises her arm, and points with her last bit of strength. Dontae’ looks in the direction only to see a dark shadowy figure coming towards him at full speed. The Carasaca grabs him by the neck and slings him across the room, sending Sandy tumbling to the floor. The creature screeches with the sound of a thousand sirens causing Dontae’ to put h
is palms over his ears as he winces in pain. As the monster screams, Dontae’ briefly opens his eyes to see a lamp lying on the floor. He remembered these were the lamps Sandy picked out, and he complained about them because they were too expensive. They were also too heavy. With a moment of clarity, he grabs the lamp and swings it so viciously that when it hit the Carasaca across the face, black inky residue spewed all over the bedroom wall. The creature went down, crashing onto the wooden floor. Dontae’, brandishing the lamp, stands over the creature and cracks it once again across the face. The creature looks confused for a second, as if this was not supposed to be happening. Dontae’ swings once more, but this time the Carasaca grabs his arm mid-swing and tosses him across the room. The creature rises and looks for an exit. He notices the balcony window and slides towards it. Dontae’ rises, “oh no son of a bitch” and dives into the creature causes them both to crash through the window. The creature manages to turn them both mid-air and land on top of Dontae’. He snaps profusely, only inches from Dontae’s face dripping the nasty inky mess all over his eyes and mouth as he holds the creature steady by its neck. The creature finally gives up and breaks Dontae’s grip, flipping from the 2nd-floor balcony landing unharmed on the street below.
Dontae’ roles over just in time to see the creature slither down the street. He stands as the creature turns around and lets out the same loud screech. It then starts to dissipate into a cloudy smoke as Dontae’ turns and rushes back to Sandy. Dontae’ picks Sandy up and moves her to the bed. He looks into her eyes and knows that she could be taking her last breaths. He starts to weep and whispers, “Stay with me baby.” He pulls out his phone and dials 9-1-1. Instead of ringing, the phone beeps once and hangs up. He tries again, but he gets the same response. He immediately dials “Jessi.”
She answers. “You miss m- “
“Help! Jessi, something has happened to Sandy, please help!”
