by Jim Moens
The two Shadow Warriors stood. One suddenly had a short sword in hand.
Doug wobbled to his feet to face all three. “Why are you doing this?” he said weakly.
“Because you don’t know your place, Doug.” Damon replied. Then to the Shadow Warriors, “Have some fun, boys. I have things to do.”
One Shadow slid into a broad Dragon stance, sword still in hand, while the other stood in a smaller and tighter Tiger stance. Doug went on the offensive immediately, pushing the Dragon Shadow back with a front kick, then launching out his other leg and getting the Tiger Shadow with a side kick. Doug twisted around to attempt a backhand to Dragon Shadow, but the warrior grabbed his arm and tossed him like a ragdoll into the kitchen door. Tiger Shadow jumped forward, grabbed Doug with both hands, pulled him up and pushed him through the door and into the backyard.
“Damon!” Doug shouted as he stood, “I will kill--”
Doug was interrupted by an impossibly high jumping kick from Dragon Shadow that sent him spinning to the ground.
Doug struggled to stand again.
This hurt. This was real. And this Damon character was in the house with Frankie.
Time to finish these two.
Doug stood and faced the two Shadow Warriors.
“I don't know where you came from,” Doug shot out, “And I don't care. All I know is I'm going Jet Li on your asses. Right now.”
Doug leaped up for a high kick to the Dragon Shadow's head, but found himself sailing above his opponent and landing behind it with a thud.
“Whoa...” Doug whispered as he landed.
The two Shadow Warriors turned to face him as he stood. Doug leaped at the Dragon Shadow, twisted in mid-air, and landed a double kick that sent the Shadow flying back several feet end over end. Doug and the Tiger Shadow leaped high in the air at each other. Doug landed a midair roundhouse kick, while the Tiger Shadow arced its leg directly at Doug's head. Doug got in a front kick before they landed.
Damon twisted the join in the pipe until he heard the telltale hiss. He stood, motionless and silent, until he was satisfied that the room was full enough with gas.
Doug landed on his feet, while the Tiger Shadow fell in a tangled heap a few feet away. The Dragon Shadow jumped at Doug, who rolled right out of the way. He stepped over to the Dragon Shadow, picked it up by the neck and tossed it into its companion. Doug didn't wait for the two Shadows to stand and attack.
He had a thought.
The sword. The short sword one of them was carrying. He looked about the yard and saw the dark gleam of the black blade in the moonlight. The sword lay in the grass just outside the back door, not three feet from where he was standing.
Time to end this.
Frankie stirred. She knew it was late, but thought maybe she heard dad yell something. Maybe it was just a dream. Back to sleep.
Damon turned on one of the burners atop the stove. It would only be a minute or two before the house was filled with gas.
Doug strode over to the Shadows. He swiped the sword at the Tiger Shadow, decapitating it. Its body dissipated into the night air before it could hit the ground. Doug turned and cut the Dragon Shadow in half at the waist. It disappeared as well.
Damon's turn.
“Frankie... Frankie, wake up.”
Damon stood at the foot of Frankie's bed. She eyed the strange man.
“Who are you?” Frankie said, more than a little scared.
“I'm a friend of your dad's,” Damon replied.
“I don't know you,” Frankie said.
Doug stepped back in the house. The smell of gas was strong enough that it stung Doug's nostrils.
“Frankie!” he shouted.
“See, there he is,” Damon said with a smile.
Doug rushed into Frankie's bedroom. “Get the hell away from her,” he growled to Damon.
Doug stabbed at Damon with the short sword. Damon grabbed Doug's wrist and handily tossed him to the floor.
“Dad!” Frankie cried.
“I should probably go,” Damon said. “I feel like I’ve worn out my welcome.”
Damon calmly walked out of the bedroom as Doug lunged for Frankie and gathered her up.
“Dad?”
“We have to get out of here, n--”
Doug was cut off by a deafening boom. The entire house shook and the bedroom immediately filled with smoke. Doug could see that flames had already started to eat through Frankie's bedroom wall.
“Hold on tight,” he told Frankie. She wrapped her arms around Doug's neck.
“Dad, what's happening?”
Doug could feel his daughter shaking. He peered out of the bedroom. The hallway was engulfed in flames. He doubled back into the bedroom and put Frankie down.
“Dad?”
“I'm getting us out of here,” Doug said as he slid the window open and popped out the screen. For once he was grateful they lived in a one-story home. He lifted Frankie through the window and followed her out. Once Doug was fully out the window, he picked Frankie up again and carried her away from the house. She was wracked with sobs.
Neighbors were already filtering out of their houses. Doug's next door neighbor, a slight, elderly Hispanic man by the name of Guillermo, approached.
“Doug, what happened?” he said in heavily accented English.
“I woke up, I smelled gas,” Doug said as he watched his house burn. “We barely got out.”
Guillermo gently patted Frankie on the back. “Thank Jesus Christ you're alright,” he said.
“Thanks,” Doug said as he softly stroked Frankie's hair.
Doug could hear the sirens already, but it was too late... the house was a total loss.
Everything was gone.
This wasn't a dream. This was real. Very real.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
1951
Dennis pulled into the quarry on Saturday morning just a few minutes late. He had warned his father ahead of time that given Friday night's bachelor party, he might struggle with getting out of bed at a decent hour. He looked at his watch. Only ten minutes late, actually. Not bad.
Dennis had gone over last night's conversation with Ayala almost non-stop since waking. He realized that it might take some time to formulate the best approach to walking away from the family business. His own father certainly wouldn't disown him, but Desmond might. Dennis knew that grandfather would attempt to browbeat him into submission. Resisting that would probably require more intestinal fortitude than Dennis thought he had at his disposal. Desmond would use every weapon at his disposal. Guilt. Shame. Fear. More guilt. More shame.
Dennis pulled into his usual spot adjacent to the quarry's small office building. A police car was there, in the spot next to his. Strange.
Dennis entered the office. Usually he would greet his father, they would go over the day's agenda and share a pot of coffee. Dennis knew right away that today was not going to be one of those days. The police car, along with the gnawing anxiety rapidly growing in the pit of his stomach told him that.
“Dad?” Dennis said as he entered the office. “What's going on?”
David Schmidt sat at his desk, his hands shaking, his face ashen.
“Dad?”
Dennis was suddenly confronted by a tall, beefy man with an impressive pompadour. He wore a suit that was just a bit too tight. “Dennis Schmidt?” the man said.
“I'm Dennis Schmidt. What's going on? Is everything okay?”
Dennis glanced at the other man in the room. He was also in a suit, but shorter, portly and almost completely bald.
“Dennis,” the taller man said, “I'm Detective Brady, this is Detective Williams.”
Dennis nodded to each of them. His mouth was completely dry.
“We just need to know where you were last night,” Detective Williams said.
“I was at my bachelor party. At Adolfo's.”
“And there's some people who can back you up on that?” Detective Brady asked. He fished a small notebook and p
en out of his jacket pocket.
“Yeah,” Dennis said. “Fred and Chuck, my buddies. There were about twenty other guys there too.”
“And then you came home after?” Detective Brady said.
“No, I--” Dennis said and stopped himself short.
The detectives looked at Dennis expectantly.
“I came here,” Dennis finally said.
Dennis looked at his father, who began to sink into his seat.
“You came here?” Detective Williams said. “To the quarry?”
“Yeah,” Dennis said quietly. “I came here.”
“Dennis, why--” David started to say, but Detective Brady held up a hand to quiet him.
“We'll handle this, sir,” the detective said. Then to Dennis, “Did you come here alone?”
“No.” Dennis shook his head vehemently. “I came with my fiance, Ayala. Ayala Cristescu.”
The two detectives looked at each other. Detective Brady slid his notebook and pen back into his jacket pocket.
Detective Williams stepped forward. “Maybe you should come with us down to the police station.”
David suddenly stood. “My son didn't do anything!” he cried.
Dennis began to shake. “Dad?”
“We'll get you a lawyer,” David said. “That Jacob Carter man your grandfather knows. He's the best in town. I'll call him.”
David reached for Dennis' arm, but Detective Brady stepped in between them. “He's not under arrest, sir,” the detective said. “We just need to talk to him.”
“You can talk to him here,” David said.
Dennis thought that was a pretty good idea.
“It's better for everyone if we talk to him in private, at the station,” Detective Brady said. “Away from all this.”
Dennis didn't agree, but he thought it best to follow the detective's wishes.
“I'll go with them, Dad. It'll be fine. I didn't do anything.”
Dennis followed the detective's slow walk out of the office. Detective Williams held the door open for him.
“Thanks,” Dennis said as he stepped out into the morning air.
Detective Williams also got the car door for Dennis. “Why don't you sit in the back,” he said.
Dennis nodded, and as he settled into the seat, he heard Andrei Cristescu's anguished wail somewhere off in the distance.
It wasn't like an interrogation room from a detective movie. It was just an office. There was a desk, nice padded chairs on wheels, a filing cabinet and even a telephone. Detective Brady sat at the desk. Detective Williams stood behind him, his arms crossed in front of his chest. Dennis sat directly across from Detective Brady. He tried to remain still. It was near impossible. He kept his hands in his lap so the detectives wouldn't see that they were shaking. Between the awful howl he heard as they left the quarry and the detective's grave demeanor, Dennis had pieced together what was going on.
“I think I know what happened,” Dennis said, his voice quieter than he had anticipated.
Detective Brady cleared his throat. “Do you?”
Dennis nodded. “Yeah, my uncle. My Uncle Dean?” He looked at each of the detectives in turn. “He was following her around. I told him to stop, but... he said he loved her. I told him he was just being crazy, but I thought he stopped. I really did.”
The detectives looked at each other, their faces unreadable.
“Maybe I should've gone to the police,” he continued.
“You seem awfully calm,” Detective Williams said.
Dennis shrugged. “I think maybe... I don't know... maybe it hasn't sunk in yet.”
“Still, if it were me...” Detective Brady said.
Dennis sighed. “And I guess I'm wondering what I'm going to say to Ayala.”
The detectives were silent for a moment.
“I'm sorry,” Detective Williams said. “I'm confused.”
“Ayala. My fiance. She's Adela's sister.”
“Oh, Jesus Christ almighty,” Detective Williams said under his breath.
“Son...” Detective Brady began. “A young woman was found floating in the lake in your quarry. She had apparently been strangled first, then thrown in the water.”
Dennis bowed his head. Poor, sweet Adela.
“The girl that was found was not Adela Cristescu,” Detective Williams finally said.
Dennis furrowed his brow. “But... I... I heard Mr. Cristescu...”
His heart began to pound.
No.
His whole body began to shake.
No.
Not Ayala.
No.
No.
“NO!!” he screamed, pounding his fists on the desk. “NO! NO! NO!” until there was nothing left in him.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The fire department investigator quickly determined that the explosion was caused by a faulty gas line that had come loose. Doug's landlord called him the next morning from Connecticut, expressing his apologies. Doug assured him that “it was no one's fault” and that insurance would pay for everything. Frankie briefly mourned the loss of several favorite books and action figures, until she was reminded that she would soon be getting all new books, comics, and toys (and maybe an Xbox, if all went well). Neither of them had anything other than the clothes they slept in, a problem that was quickly remedied by a quick shopping trip mid-morning.
Doug and Frankie quickly got set up to stay full-time with Dale and Karen until they got a new place of their own. Karen suggested that Doug stay in his old room, while Frankie would sleep in Megan's. Neither room had changed much, if at all. There were a few boxes in Doug's room, put in there for storage, while Megan's room had apparently been untouched, save for an occasional dusting. Doug surmised it wasn't so much that his parents wanted to preserve his late sister’s childhood memories, but rather, a sort of benign neglect.
Doug ascribed the bruises and scrapes on his face to flying debris from the explosion. Everyone seemed to accept his explanation, even his father, who said it looked like he had gone “ten rounds”. He had some aches and pains too, but he was already on the road to recovery.
Doug was plagued with unanswered questions. What weighed most heavily was whether he was putting his family in danger by keeping them close. Ultimately, though, he knew he would best be able to protect them from this Damon character by being nearby.
Rebecca invited Doug over for dinner. He brought Frankie along as well... the cat was out of the bag as far as their relationship went, besides, Frankie already knew Rebecca. She prepared an excellent pasta dish with pesto sauce and chicken. Frankie initially poked at her food, but eventually managed to nearly clear her plate when prodded by Doug.
Nick, Tommy, Carl and Kevin were at their table in the nerd cave when the three of them went downstairs.
“What are you guys playing?” Frankie asked Nick.
“Wizard Wars,” Nick replied. “You want to watch?”
“Yeah!” Frankie said, delighted. She was captivated by the cards, especially those representing fantastic creatures like dragons and demons.
Nick grinned. “Then pull up a chair, little lady, and watch as I conquer this realm.”
Nick's comment was met with a derisive snort from Carl.
“I'm taking you out first,” Nick said, pointing at Carl.
Rebecca gave Doug’s hand a quick squeeze. “Do you want to get some air?” she said. “Chat for a minute?”
Doug glanced over and saw Frankie talking and laughing as Nick showed her the ins and outs of Wizard Wars. Rebecca noticed too.
“Frankie is fine,” she said.
“Thanks for dinner,” Doug said as they stepped out onto the deck.
“No problem,” Rebecca said. “You've had a hell of a week, huh?”
Doug nodded. You have no idea, he thought.
“I have to get all new clothes for me and Frankie, kitchen stuff, furniture. We have to find a new place to live. Ugh.”
“Look at it this way,” she said, “you
can really, really make a fresh start on things.”
“I suppose,” Doug said. He took her hand and kissed it. “Are you always this positive?”
Rebecca thought for a moment. “I guess I don't see any reason to be any other way.”
“And I guess I can't really disagree with that,” Doug said. “It's just...”
“It's just what?”
“Nothing, I guess.”
“It’s not nothing,” Rebecca said, turning Doug's face toward hers. “You have something to say. So say it.”
Doug slowly rubbed his hands together. “It just seems like... I don't know. Whenever I think I'm about to make things better, it just stirs up a bunch of crap.”
“Make things better?”
“I sort of thought writing that book might lead to something good.”
“It might.”
Doug turned to look straight at Rebecca. “And you too.”
“Me?”
“I always hoped I'd meet someone like you and now that I have...” Doug paused and shook his head. “Everything's a mess.”
“You can fix it.”
“But don't you see? I try to fix things and make things better and it just stirs up all this crap. That's what always happens.”
“So you try to, say, write book... maybe do something super-cool with your life, and that somehow magically makes your house blow up?”
“I knew you wouldn't understand,” Doug muttered.
“I'm trying to,” Rebecca said. “I really am.”
Doug fell silent for a minute. “Sorry,” he finally said.
Rebecca took his face in both hands and gave him a kiss. “Why don’t you take a minute to think? Come on in when you’re ready. I’ll get some ice cream out for everybody.”
Doug nodded. “Sounds good,” he said.
Rebecca gave him a peck on the cheek. Doug watched as she entered the house, somehow feeling, despite his mood, like a fortunate man indeed. He leaned on the deck railing and took a deep breath. His thoughts wandered about as his gaze fell on the lights from a large house on the hill. It was the old Schmidt house, now a bustling bed and breakfast, run by the retired owner of a machine tool company with a taste for gourmet cooking. Doug had never set foot in the place, as he couldn’t ever afford to stay there.
