by Hunter Blain
The thumb was next, then Jose moved on to the palm itself. He moaned with each bite, enjoying the crunch as if he were eating a sandwich with extra fresh lettuce.
The elderly man’s bulging eyes seemed to pulse as he struggled not to faint. He watched — completely certain that he was having a bad dream — as the stranger moved onto his wrist. All strength left him as his brain surrendered to the shock that was patiently waiting to relieve the man of the burden of pain.
The rain let up, and whimpers that were more akin to the groans of an unconscious person roused Officer Aguirre. Peculiar crunches also grabbed at his attention. It sounded like someone was breaking twigs as they sat around a campfire.
Posting up on his elbows, Officer Aguirre shook his head to clear the cobwebs before his eyes landed on a sight that stole his breath.
The weird man was effortlessly holding the elderly man up with one hand while . . . while eating the man’s arm.
Letting his mind go completely on trained reflexes, Officer Aguirre quickly scanned the area around him, found his gun half submerged in a puddle, and lunged for it.
Jose heard the movement from behind, knowing what was happening without having to turn around.
The elderly man rag dolled to the ground, his eyes rolling back into his head as Jose began sprinting down the street toward the motel. Nothing else mattered but getting back to his family.
A rapid, controlled staccato of gunfire barked in the night as bricks from a nearby wall sent stone projectiles exploding outward. A few smaller pieces landed in one of Jose’s brown eyes and his hand flew up in instinct. Feet that were all but flying continued to carry Jose forward on autopilot.
A section of dilapidated curb had been pushed upward; it caught the toes of one of Jose’s feet, throwing him off balance and sending him skittering to the ground, gliding on the slick surface for several feet. It reminded Jose of the times when he had been at the drug house bored out of his mind and watching YouTube videos of the shallow surfers that rode in ankle-deep ocean water.
Before coming to a halt, he did an explosive push-up and almost had to correct course in midair from using too much force. The elderly man’s flesh had given Jose noticeable, even substantial, strength. His muscles felt tight and powerful while his energy levels promised they could finish a marathon without even having to breathe harder.
Jose continued sprinting toward the motel as Officer Aguirre clicked empty, lowering his weapon as if it weighed a hundred kilos at that moment.
After a few moments, the weird man that had been standing in the middle of the road when Officer Aguirre had first laid eyes on him, was gone. He pressed the magazine release and replenished the ammunition of his sidearm with a fresh one. After freeing the slide from its lock, he slid the weapon back into his holster as he posted up on his knees. His head felt like it was made of solid rock and his neck had been replaced with a spring. It took two hands to keep his head steady as he looked at the man lying by his truck.
Officer Aguirre found new motivation and a release of adrenaline at the sight of one of his citizens on the ground, dying.
He shambled to the downed man with determined focus, like a drunkard trying to make it to the toilet before his stomach won the race and voided its contents in transit.
Officer Aguirre dropped painfully to his knees, sending up a small sheet of water as he did, and noticed in the dim light of the streetlamp that the color of the water was wrong.
Eyes followed the misty water to where it was darkest and noticed the man’s right arm was fully covered by the thin sheet of water that was on the road.
He reached out and plunged his hand where the wrist should have been. Fingers touched rough pavement, prompting the officer to probe the water around the area further.
The image of the weird man eating the elderly man’s arm flashed in his mind, and the officer cursed as he reached for his handcuffs. He picked up the man’s elbow and saw there was only about half an inch of flesh below; it spurted blood with each heartbeat.
Officer Aguirre slid the handcuff on the thin man’s bicep and closed the latch tightly. For some reason, he thought about the only time he had clamped his cuffs harder than he was doing now, and it had been for a child rapist that had been caught and had laughed about it to the officer.
Officer Aguirre pressed one last time, feeling the click and seeing the gushing blood slowing down to a mere trickle.
He used his cell phone to call the local precinct, having dropped his handheld radio in the car.
“Stay with me, sir. Help is on the way,” he said to the man whose skin was an alarming gray color in the light.
After giving the dispatcher his location, Officer Aguirre pressed the end button and looked down the street where the weird man had disappeared.
Something caught his attention from behind and he quickly turned with his pistol at the ready to see a man shambling on his knees and one hand. His other was holding a blood-soaked shirt up to his face.
“Oh Dios,” Officer Aguirre breathed as the man reached out with the hand that was supporting him, sending him falling to the wet pavement. To get his face out of the puddle of water it had landed in, the man pushed himself up with both hands on instinct, and looked at the officer. The man did his best impersonation of a snake, his jaw half detached and hanging down around one of his collarbones.
If he survived the night, Officer Aguirre knew he would wake up from sweat-inducing nightmares for the rest of his life; always seeing the elderly man’s arm being eaten and the younger man’s gaping mouth.
Chapter 11
J ose ran as his mind tried to cope with the events of the evening. He could still taste the flesh on his tongue, like a fine steak at an expensive restaurant that you wanted to savor.
As he approached the motel, he slowed his pace and began to power walk to the red door that led to his family. Passing by a window, he saw his reflection and almost cried out in surprise at the man staring back at him.
A huge maroon patch encircled the man’s mouth, some blood dripping off his chin. His shirt was covered in holes and bright red speckles, with a larger splotch on his chest. Confused at the lack of flowing blood, Jose lifted his shirt and stared in wonder at his skin, which was covered in what looked like acne marks instead of the holes that were supposed to be pouring blood. He further lifted his shirt and saw the wound on his chest. Something metallic shone in the light that weakly illuminated the cheap motel.
Lifting a finger, Jose used his nail and scratched at the shiny object lodged in his muscle. With a tiny pang that was more alarming than painful, a mushroomed round clattered to the ground. Jose could see his blood washing away from the bullet where it lay in the moving water, which gave him an idea.
He jogged back to the street where a river was flowing at the curb and got down on his hands and knees before pressing his face and torso into the rushing water. In an instant, Jose knew his face had been completely washed free of the sins of the evening. Looking down, he was relieved to see that his shirt was also losing the fresh blood that it had tried so desperately to hold on to.
Once satisfied, Jose looked up and down the street to make sure the coast was clear before getting up and striding over to his door. He patted his pants pocket and realized he didn’t have the key card.
With a hesitant fist, Jose gently rapped on the door. He could hear his wife getting out of bed and making her way to the door. Before she opened it, he stopped himself, took in a deep, steadying breath, held it, and then willed himself to smile as the door opened.
“Where have you been?” Isabel asked in a harsh whisper as she moved out of the way and allowed Jose to enter. He could see an open book by the small bedside table. A quick glance showed Jose that both his children were fast asleep.
“I just needed to go for a run.”
“In the rain?” she asked accusingly as she sat on the bed.
“It-it actually felt . . . great,” Jose said, not lying but not telling th
e full truth either.
“Well, get in the bathroom and dry off. You’re dripping everywhere. Then come to bed.”
“You waited up for me?” Jose asked, touched after how he had acted toward his wife.
“Of course I did,” she answered in a tone that suggested he had just asked the most redundant question of their marriage. She closed the book and turned off the light on the nightstand.
Jose’s smile turned real as he made his way to the bathroom, feeling like everything would be okay.
After he was dry and in his PJs, Jose climbed into bed next to his wife. She turned to face him and placed a hand on his chest. Jose almost winced out of reflex, but the wound didn’t hurt. Jose could see clearly in the dark that his wife was squinting to look at him.
“You are wearing a shirt?”
“Felt like it. The rain . . . made me a little cold,” Jose lied, both surprised and dismayed at how easily the lie flowed from his lips. “Isa?”
“Yes?” she asked through a yawn. Sleep would come easily to her now that her pent-up worry had been erased like blood in rainwater.
“You know I would never hurt you, right?”
They both felt the question and what it really meant. Jose had crossed the line tonight, and though he hadn’t physically hurt his wife, she had been slightly damaged. What he was asking was for her to forgive and forget. A clean slate.
“I know,” she answered while placing a hand on his face.
He grabbed her wrist and brought it up to his lips, where he placed a tender kiss. The image of the gasping elderly man watching as Jose ate his wrist flashed for the briefest of moments, and Jose could feel a tear roll down his cheek.
Chapter 12
A shriek slammed into Jose’s ears, who shot his eyes open while flinging at the air with his hands and feet, sending the blanket flying to the foot of the bed.
Confusion kept clear thought at gunpoint for a few seconds until Jose heard Julian’s high-pitched scream again. Ana began crying as well from the ferocity with which Julian was crying out.
Isabel was on her feet in a split second, rushing to her child who was thrusting his hands out in front of him and yelling, “NO!” between cries of terror.
Jose regarded his son, knowing immediately what was happening, as Isabel grabbed both of Julian’s shoulders and began lightly shaking him.
“Wake up, baby,” she cooed. “It’s safe now. You’re safe.”
Screams diminished to yelps before faltering to whimpers as Julian opened his eyes and wrapped his trembling arms around his mother.
Isabel picked her son up as she sat on the bed, and cradled him in her arms. Her free hand reached out to stroke the crying Ana.
“Shhh, shhh. It’s okay,” Isabel promised both of her children. “Nothing’s going to hurt you.” As she finished, her eyes flicked to her husband in such a way that made him understand that a demand had just been made. Keep them safe.
Jose nodded once with a scowl, knowing he had brought this nightmare upon his family.
Julian’s whimpers faded to snores in his mother’s arms. Ana followed suit.
Isabel looked at her husband and nodded her head downward as she slowly began lying down in their children’s bed, still holding on to Julian. Jose understood what she was conveying and sat down in their own bed across from them.
Reaching down, he grabbed the blanket he had knocked to the ground and lay back, only to nearly gasp in surprise as a cold, wet bed met him.
Jose stood and made his way to the bathroom, feeling his shirt clinging to his skin, and took it off before hanging it on the shower rod.
After picking up a used towel from the ground and wiping the sweat away, he grabbed the last remaining one that was folded underneath the sink and walked to his side of the bed.
Laying the dry towel down, he climbed into bed and pulled the covers up. After a moment, he pulled the thin sheet away from the comforter and threw the bigger blanket to the side so that only the sheet covered him.
Jose stared at the ceiling and willed himself to close his eyes.
He didn’t know how long it took for sleep to envelop him, but it finally relented, and he slipped under the waves of consciousness.
Chapter 13
L ight peered through the curtains and created a line across Jose’s eyes as if it were a bandit mask that was the wrong color.
Fluttering eyelids accompanied a well-deserved stretch as Jose groaned himself awake.
Sitting up on the side of the bed, Jose was perturbed to see the fresh towel was now damp, along with the thin sheet.
Looking up, he saw his wife standing in the bathroom doorway holding his damaged shirt up. Her fingers probed the bullet holes as her scowl deepened across her forehead. Angry eyes shot to him demanding to be told what happened. Only the sleeping children stilled her sharp tongue.
Jose answered by staring back at her with a dead expression, unable to convey that it had all been a bad dream that he wanted desperately to forget. A fork of lightning cracked the sky at the back of his mind as twin yellow orbs glared at him from the darkness.
Isabel snapped her husband out of his trance as she quickly, but quietly, strode over to him. She grabbed his wrist and began walking to the door. When he didn’t budge, she turned and shot daggers at him.
With a gulp, he stood up and followed her just outside the door. She had engaged the lock, which prevented the door from fully closing behind them.
“What happened last night? You didn’t go for a walk or jog or whatever you said.”
Jose stared into his wife’s eyes as she crossed her arms, fearing the answer but ready to hear it regardless of its weight.
“I-I don’t re—”
“Don’t you lie to me, Jose Villalobos Gomez.”
That threw him off. He knew he should be honest with his wife, since a lie right now could be the catalyst that weakened the glue holding their family together.
“I ran into some trouble. I-I think I hurt some drug dealers,” Jose admitted, leaving out the part where he fucking ate the arm of an innocent elderly man who was only trying to protect an officer of the law.
“That’s not all you hurt,” she stabbed with cold words as she lifted her cell phone. On the screen was a local news story with the title that read, “Several Dead: ‘Psychopath on the Loose,’ Says Local Cop.”
Jose saw a few keywords and decided he didn’t want to read anymore, opting to turn his gaze to the outside world. It was humid today.
“You ate—” Isabel started before lowering her voice and looking around. “You ate someone’s arm?”
Tears welled in Jose’s eyes, and he continued to stare off into the distance, focusing on nothing.
“I think I should go to my sister’s alone,” Isabel stated with a conviction that teetered on finality, which startled Jose.
“No! Please!” Jose pleaded, finding the strength to lock eyes with his wife. “Look,” Jose started as he inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. “Something is happening to me, but I think I can control it.”
“You think you can control it? Well, I think I can’t let you put my children in a situation where you might hurt them. Even if there’s the slightest chance you can’t control whatever is happening to you, I . . . I-I-I . . .” she stammered, unable to finish the thought aloud.
Jose grabbed both of her wrists and brought her hands up to his mouth, where he kissed her curled fingers. “I know, I know,” he said between gentle pecks. He continued to kiss her digits, buying himself time to formulate what he wanted to say. She seemed to relax at the gesture, but though her shoulders loosened slightly, her eyes remained pensive, as did the divots between her perfectly groomed brows. Jose had never noticed the crow’s feet in the corner of her eyes, and the realization that she had aged a decade in the last twenty-four hours dawned on him.
“Let me get you to your sister’s and then I’ll go off to figure out what is happening to me. I-I’ll seek help.”
“From
who?” she asked, knowing that if he turned himself over to the Mexican government — or any government for that matter — she would probably never see her husband again.
“I don’t know. I can figure that out later. First, I need to make sure you and the kids are okay at your sister’s.”
After a few heartbeats, Isabel nodded once, followed by two more quick nods, before abruptly leaning forward and kissing Jose on the cheek before disappearing back inside their room.
Jose stood, stunned, as a hand rested on his cheek. A lot had been said with that kiss, and it gave him the briefest glimpse of peace.
A cop car drove by slowly. Officer Aguirre — who had been obsessively traveling up and down the street the murderer had disappeared down — peered at the person standing in front of a motel room.
He looked familiar, making the officer squint at the man, who seemed to freeze at the sight of the car.
A hesitant hand rose and waved at the officer. The officer stared at the smooth chest and torso of the shirtless man, content that he couldn’t be his guy since he didn’t have a gunshot wound.
The officer waved before pressing on the accelerator and continuing to scan the area. He should have been clocked out by now but refused to go home just yet, knowing that sleep would not come unless it was coaxed out the bottom of a very large bottle.
Jose nearly collapsed to his knees as he let out the breath he had been holding in a blast. Black bugs swam in his vision as he comprehended that his beating heart was demanding oxygen from lungs that refused to take in a fresh supply.
“Dios mío,” Jose muttered to himself as he bent over and rested his hands on his knees. A single palm rubbed at his perspiring forehead, and Jose turned to go back into his room.
Chapter 14
A fter everyone was awake, cleaned, and fed with eggs, yogurt, chewy bacon, and bland pancakes from the lobby of the motel, the family loaded up into the green Kia Soul sometime after noon.
