by Jobe, David
The demon laughed. “Sure. Like you’ve fixed all of this before? You’ve got six killed at that halfway house, and two critically injured in surgery right now. If that kid’s friend or mom dies, how easy do you think it will be for him to switch over? He’s already beat down four men and tossed one to the wolves in prison. That sound like the actions of a rational person?”
Lanton shook his head. “He was defending himself.”
Another cold-hearted laugh. “He disarmed them and then beat them. All the witnesses will testify to that. The threat was neutralized, and he still broke a man’s knee. No jury is going to see that as anything other than aggravated assault. Your entire squad is going straight to jail. How long before that nutjob shrink gets her hooks into them and they kill themselves? This city is hanging itself, and here you are trying to hold up the body like an idiot. Truth is, you are just weighing the body down. Tightening the noose and accelerating the demise. This city would be better off without your meddling. Take the gun.”
Lanton looked down at the gun and found it once again in his hand. Now the hammer was cocked back. Just a quick squeeze of the trigger and it’s goodnight forever. He let the hammer back down and slammed the gun on the table. “I have a kid on the way.”
The devil shook its head, mirth in its grin. “That thing will be me, or some version of me. Like a spoiled rich kid, they’ll be born with powers that put them above the rest. And they’ll be bathed in blood at their birth. Your woman will die, and your kid will grow stronger off the death. You’ll be bringing in a nightmare to this world all in the name of misguided love. And with you raising it?” A deep rumbling laugh escaped its blood red lips. “Oh, it’ll be twisted indeed. A psychopath with godlike powers. All because you don’t have the guts to cash out now. Put the gun to your temple.”
Lanton felt the cold steel of the gun pressed against his right temple. A loud click let him know the gun had been cocked again. “I don’t want to do this.” Tears streamed down his face. A part of him thought that maybe his power would allow him to phase when the gun fired, but since it was in his hand, something told him that the gun and the bullet would follow him in his phasing and he would be just as dead as if he didn’t have any power. “Please.”
“This is what you want.” It leaned in, smiling wide and revealing both rows of pointed teeth. A forked tongue slipped across his lips as it appeared to contemplate. “You know it is. The sweet release. Let these other people deal with this madhouse. You aren’t equipped for this. You’re old. You’re slipping up. The longer you try to hold onto power, the more innocent people will die. Then, people will sigh in relief to know that you are gone. The master of misery has met his violent end, let us rejoice in the streets. Do it.”
“I can fix this.”
“You can’t fix anything. You’re the opposite of Midas. Everything you touch withers and dies. Or bleeds out and dies. How many people have died under your watch? Can you even count them? The bullet boy wasn’t the first or the last. The guy who shot him is dead because you took forever to clue in. The same for the tailor, the cops. Oh my, the number of cops that are dead because you drug your feet. How long before you best friend, your partner, the one with the bad fashion sense, takes a round in the eye? The head? Maybe his power will manifest, and you’ll be the one to put him down. How about the future dreamer? Locked away because of his drug addiction. You could have helped him so many years ago, yet you slinked off, dragging your feet yet again. He lived just a few doors down, and you didn’t bat an eye at his descent into madness. Now he’s stabbed someone and is at large, taking another psychopath with him. Again, that is on you.”
“It’s not like that.”
It shook its horned head. “It is, and you know it. I’m your echo chamber. Think of all the bodies you’ve lost in the past month alone. You’re supposed to protect and to serve. Now families are having empty casket funerals because you stood still while those time beasts ran off with the bodies. And do you think their master is just keeping them as trophies? Oh no, he’s out there somewhere, plotting and planning and you keep making more bodies for him to steal. Face it, you are a bumbling detective, shooting at shadows and hitting bystanders. How long will you keep this charade up? How long must the bodies pile up before you throw in the towel and let someone younger and wiser do it?”
Lanton sighed, nodding his head. “I...” He squeezed the trigger. A sharp pain pierced his neck at the base. The shock of it made him drop the gun. As he did, he flinched, afraid that the gun would go off. Instead, the gun hit the table top and shattered into several dozen Lego pieces. He stood and spun, the chair flying away from him.
Allison stood there, a hypodermic needle in one hand, his gun in the other. “Sorry! Sorry!” She backed away, dropping the needle. “Grimm said it had a serum or something for battling suicidal thoughts.” As she stepped backward, her now free hand ejected the magazine on his gun, and she racked the slide back to eject the bullet inside. “Please don’t hurt me.”
Lanton took a step forward, but then his vision began to swim. The next step felt like he was trying to walk through mud. “What?” He couldn’t seem to get his thoughts together. He looked over his shoulder to find the demon dissolving.
The demon gave an apathetic shrug and then turned into a puff of black smoke.
Lanton turned back to Allison. He opened his mouth again, but whatever came out sounded far away and garbled. He pitched forward, the ground rushing up at him.
As he faded from consciousness, he heard Allison yell, “Oh shit, Eleanor! Come here! Quickly!” And then he passed out.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Physician, Heal Thyself
Dr. Rebecca Landers sat on a stool in her bathroom, pulling bits of fake flesh from her face. Removing even three pieces of prosthetics took a great deal of effort and time. Not as much time as she had taken applying them, but still longer than those hacks she had seen on television, peeling off layer after layer of makeup like they had an unlimited budget. She had perfected this look, and she needed each piece to be pristine. Free of the pieces, she began to scrub her face. She hummed as she worked, finding joy in this. She missed being a graphics tech behind the scenes of movies, but the pay was nothing compared to what she got now. Besides, she was changing lives now, not just entertaining a room full of idiots at a time.
The doorbell rang just as she was standing to start the bath. She tossed in a bath bomb and turned on the hot water. Tonight she wanted it scalding. She pulled her white robe over her body, having no intentions of answering the door in just her bra and panties. She wasn’t one of those hussies her mom had warned her about. Granted, this pair was pristine white and lacy, but she wore these because she had been masquerading as an old woman most of the evening. It gave her a thrill to wear her best undergarments while walking around in costume. After all, wasn’t that the truth of the human condition? There is no telling what lies just beneath the surface of anybody you meet.
Tying the robe tight, she peered through the peephole. An older face filled the view, a pizza delivery hat sitting off center on his head. She shook her head and unlocked the four deadbolts on her door. Swinging the door open she thrust her hand out and motioned for the man to hand over her order.
He turned to see her fully, having been looking back at the street and his idling beat-up pickup truck. Rebecca could see smoke drifting from the hideous thing’s exhaust pipe. He smiled and looked down at the receipt. “One large veggie pizza, cheese bread sticks and a 2 liter of diet cola?”
Rebecca looked him over. The man looked to be in his early forties. He wore ragged jeans with holes at the knees and a Grateful Dead t-shirt with the skull on it. The only thing of worth in his wardrobe was a pair of pristine sneakers that looked to be worth more than the truck behind him. She frowned and crossed her arms. “Aren’t you a little old to be a delivery boy?”
His smile wavered for a second but returned as if it had never left. “Is all of this for you?” H
e hefted the pizza to emphasize.
Rebecca glowered at him and snatched her items. She tossed a twenty out the door, letting it fall to the ground. Without looking at him or his beat-up truck, she slammed the door and engaged the locks. “Last time I order from them. Inconsiderate jerks.” She walked the pizza over to the dining room table. She tossed open the cover. The wonderful aroma of fresh pizza wafted up to her, bathing her face in the delicious smelling warmth. She scooped up a piece and start chewing on it as she walked to into the kitchen. There she poured herself a large glass of red wine, intent on making tonight a minor celebration. One more night and her client would crack, she just knew it. Her skills were growing more refined and her turnaround time on conversions was becoming close to four days. That would be a record.
She took a long drag of the wine before returning to grab a second pizza. “It’s veggie pizza, I’m allowed to eat as much as I want,” she said to the closed door. She opened her robe to look down at her body. She could see her abs poking through just from breathing. She didn’t hit the gym for an hour each day to have some washed out pizza delivery guy imply she was a glutton. She took another long drink of wine and headed for the bathroom.
Once there, she set aside the glass of wine and took off her robe. She reached back for the clasps on her bra and stopped. Something was off about the room. She looked around, but she couldn’t place it. Never one to doubt her senses, she hurried to the kitchen and grabbed a butcher’s knife. She padded toward the bathroom, knife ready. “I’m armed.”
No sound but the running water of the tub.
She eased around the corner of the bathroom, knife sweeping from right to left. “Come out now.” The bathtub curtain had been pushed back, so there was no way someone could be hiding there. The closet shelves touched the back of the open door, so unless they were two feet tall or had managed to remove all of the screwed in shelves, they couldn’t be in there. She pointed the weapon at the window, expecting to see two eyes peering through the bubbled glass, but just darkness greeted her.
Then she noticed it. The water in the bathtub had a murky red hue to it. As she stepped closer, she could see that the red tint came from the faucet itself. She was reminded of those old movies she had worked on where one of the first scare points would be the damsel noticing blood flowing into her tub. After a few moments it would result in a jump scare, and then the water would be normal. The helpless, no hapless, damsel would shrug it off and go about her life as if she hadn’t just had a psychotic break. Rebecca closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. She counted to three and exhaled. Once done, she opened her eyes to find the bathtub near overflowing with what looked like diluted blood.
A bubble erupted from the water, giving off a hollow burping noise. It popped as it drifted a few inches above the water’s surface. Another bubble emerged, popping as it hit the surface. The smell that wafted off of it held the stench of rotting flesh.
Rebecca took a step back, knife at the ready.
From the murky red water, a hand emerged. It raised up just long enough to reveal the long deep gash along the wrist before it slammed down on the edge of the tub, gripping it tight and spraying blood water over the side of the tub and floor. The word “Free” had been tattooed in faded blue ink across the upper knuckles.
“I know that tattoo,” Rebecca said. Her mind raced as she tried to remember who it belonged too.
Another hand emerged, displaying another savage wound on the wrist before it too slapped down on the edge, revealing the word “Domo.” Rebecca knew the face that started to emerge from the water even before it had gotten to the hairline. Robert Lewis had been the only one of her subjects that had not chosen to end his life with a noose. Somehow, he had managed to find a razor in prison and had used it to slash his wrists. As he bled out, he had written “I’m sorry” across the back of his cell. The eyes that emerged stared at her with unchecked hostility.
“I must be doing this,” she said. She took another step back and felt the door handle push into the small of her back. “Stop this, Rebecca.” She took a deep breath and focused her will.
Robert emerged from the bloody water that now splashed in great waves onto the floor. He wore his Sunday best, now soaked through with blood. He set one soggy loafer onto the white tile floor, splashing blood as he did. The odor that drifted off of him burned her nostrils.
She shook her head. Her illusions were only visual. No matter how hard she had tried, she couldn’t make them make noise. She definitely couldn’t give them a smell. Even through trickery, this horrid stench was beyond her talents, and she was one of the best. “This can’t be.”
She slid away toward the hallway, keeping the knife pointed at the advancing dead man. “Stop!”
Robert stared, his eyes that milky white of corpses, and kept on. He dragged his other foot from the tub. He raised a hand toward her, the flesh of the cut hanging just enough for her to see it dangling below the line of his palm.
She fled down the hallway, intending to go for the phone. As she stepped into the living room, she saw them. Hanging from the rafters of her vaulted ceiling were close to two dozen corpses. Around their necks, they sported nooses made of clothing, towels, or bedding. They varied in stages of decay. One body looked little more than a skeleton with papery skin stretched across it; the thing’s hollow eyes staring at her. Another looked to be a fresh corpse with the gaseous bloat of death making the body stretch and distend, purple and bluish bruises covering its body. Eyes covered with a thin film stared at her. They all stared at her, and she knew their names. She had read the file of every person that hung before her. She had studied them meticulously. In unison, they stretched out what arms they had as if beckoning her to join them or to plead for help.
She waved the knife before her as she staggered back into the closest corner of her front room. There she slumped to the ground, pulling her knees up to her chest and curling her feet inward. “This can’t be.”
The odor of the room hit her, rolling over her like an invisible crashing wave. She gagged as tears formed in her eyes. Still, with wet eyes she stared back at them, watching as their mouths opened and closed in some form of speech, though all that escaped them were whispers of air and fetid stench.
To her right, she heard the first of her four locks disengage. Glad to be distracted from the horror that hung before her, she turned her gaze and her knife toward the door. The second lock disengaged a few moments later. She could hear faint mumbling from beyond, but she couldn’t make out the words themselves. The mumbling sounded urgent and concerned. The third lock disengaged. She could hear the faint scraping of the lock, metal on metal. The fourth lock disengaged and the door handle rotated in slow, steady increments. The door eased open, making the hinges creak with the tiniest of squeaks.
Through the door stepped the delivery man, his gaze sweeping across everything. They widened when they saw her a few feet away, knife pointed at him, but his jaw dropped when he looked up toward the ceilings of her living room. “Jesus,” he said through clenched teeth. He motioned to someone behind him as he moved further into the foyer. Behind him crept in Allison Knox. Rebecca could see now that they both wore those blue foot covers that you saw furniture movers using to not dirty up your floors. Allison took one look at Rebecca and shook her head, then she slipped out of view toward the direction of the kitchen and the bathroom beyond. Rebecca opened her mouth to warn Allison that Robert was back there somewhere, but her attention was diverted when the delivery man crouched down before her, just far enough back that if she swiped at him, she would miss.
With forearms on his knees, Rebecca could see that the delivery man was wearing surgical blue latex gloves. He gave her a sad look, shaking his head. “Why are all the pretty ones crazy?”
“I heard that,” Allison said from the direction of the kitchen. “Should I get them all, Grimm?”
The delivery man gave a sad smile. “Yes, get whatever is left.” He turned his attention back to Re
becca. “We put cameras in the prison the day you spoke with Lanton. Her boyfriend,” he gave a head nod toward the kitchen, “began running facial recognition software on everyone at night, making sure you didn’t show back up. Your face never registered. Your make up was that impressive. What did catch our eye though is when the facial recognition software caught a match on someone who had been dead a few months. Sure enough, when we looked at the tape, there you were, a little hobgoblin in the corner, back to your old tricks.”
Allison came back into view, holding a Ziploc back full of something. She too had her hands covered in blue surgical gloves. She shook the bag at Rebecca, a cruel smile playing across her lips. Rebecca could still see the faint purple bruise on the girl’s neck.
“So, we decided to give you a taste of your own medicine. With a little help from crazy mother nature.” The delivery man gave a soft chuckle. “I didn’t expect it to work this well.” He waved a hand at the corpses displayed like trophies behind him.
Rebecca leaned forward. “I can smell them.” Her eyes darted toward them, then back to the delivery man.
He blinked for a moment, looking at her and then up at the corpses. After a few seconds, he nodded in comprehension. “I see. Your skill doesn’t cover smell.” He gave another chuckle. “That would be the magic mushrooms you ate. Unlike you, they have full control over all your senses. These things could probably even touch you. Looks like they are working hand in hand with your own talent.”
