by Jeff Elkins
“Well, when you put it that way, chocolate chip it is.”
Chris held his hand out for the food. It was the moment of truth. Jose swallowed. He passed the muffin to him. Chris squeezed it. He closed his eyes and he sighed. “You must think I’m a complete moron,” he said.
“What do you mean?” Jose said, refusing to make eye contact. He took a bite out of his muffin. It was still warm. He savored the sugar crystals sprinkled on the top, crunching them between his teeth. The fresh bread melted in his mouth. It was an amazing first bite.
“Seriously,” Chris said. There was irritation in his voice.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jose said as he hastily took a second bite.
Chris ripped the muffin from his hand and threw it into the street below. His cholate chip one quickly followed. “Hey!” Jose yelled. “I was eating that!”
“From the dumpster?” Chris said. “I have to be able to trust you. You can’t lie to me about shit like this, kid.”
“I did get it from the dumpster,” Jose said.
“Next time you want to lie to me about food, eat yours before you get to me and bring me something from the dumpster. Stupid-ass. I’m not sure what concerns me more: that you lied or that you were so fucking stupid about it.” Chris shook his head in disbelief.
“I didn’t lie,” Jose said.
Chris smacked the concrete wall with both hands. “Stop fucking lying.”
“You didn’t have to throw it over the edge,” Jose said.
“What’s the eighth commandment?” Chris said.
“It’s just a muffin, okay,” Jose said. His voice cracked a little. He could feel tears building. He swallowed, trying to push them away.
“The eight commandment?” Chris demanded.
“What do you want from me?” Jose yelled. His heart was raced. His face was hot. His fists were clenched. He had half a mind to push Chris off the ledge. “I just wanted real food for a change.”
“We go it alone. The eighth fucking commandment,” Chris said. There was a mix of sadness and anger in his voice.
“Fuck you and your commandments,” Jose yelled as he turned and pounded the roof of the car. The pain in his hands helped him hold back the tears. “And fuck eating out of dumpsters. And fuck walking all over town. And fuck all of this. It all sucks. I hate it. And I hate you. It’s just breakfast.”
“Stop lying,” Chris said again. He swung his feet over the wall and stood to face his partner. “I know what you want. You want a home, and a bed, and that nice lady with the muffins to tuck you in at night. You want everything to be alright when you go to sleep and you want to wake up safe with no worries. You want a world with no monsters, with no responsibility. Well, it’s not safe. It’s not fucking alright. And you can’t have those things.”
“Why not?” Jose screamed. “Because you don’t want them. You like it like this. You like finding your food in dumpsters and sleeping on the top of this piece of shit car. You chose this crazy life. But not me. I didn’t choose this. I didn’t ask for this.” Jose couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. They ran freely down his face. “I didn’t choose any of this. And she knows! The muffin lady knows! So what’s your problem?”
“What’s my problem? What’s my fucking problem? How do you still not get this? This isn’t some fucking game. You think those two frat boy meatheads didn’t have homes and families? Is that what you want for this new friend of yours? You want to see her body flopping around after her neck has been crushed by some giant pale asshole? It’s not about what we want. I don’t live in a damn car because I want to. This life keeps other people safe. We live this way so people won’t die. Stop acting like a stupid, selfish brat and grow up.”
Chris’ words cut Jose’s heart. “That’s not fair,” Jose said through tears. “It’s not fair. You don’t know. You don’t know what will happen.”
Chris leaned against the car and crossed his arms. “You think I just made these commandments up? You think I just decided to start living this way? I’ve lost people. I’ve had friends. I let people in and now they’re all dead and I’m not going to let that happen again. So it’s you and me. That’s it. And hopefully, I’ll die before you. Then you can do whatever the fuck you want. But while I’m in charge, we follow the twelve damn commandments. Is that clear?”
“Fine,” Jose said.
“So no more going to see the nice muffin lady, I don’t give a fuck what she knows about us.”
“Fine,” Jose said again.
“Now come over here,” Chris said, turning to face the city again.
Jose jammed his hands in his pockets and slowly stepped toward his partner. They were looking south, down Hanover Street, toward the Hanover Street bridge. Built in 1916. The bridge informally marked the southwestern border of downtown. On the other side of it were old suburban neighborhoods that had been blighted by white flight over the past four decades.
“Azo’s army is coming to town,” Chris said.
Jose strained to see what Chris meant, but he knew it was impossible. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t see the other side of the Veil. “What do you see?” he asked sheepishly, wishing he didn’t have to ask his partner anything right now. All he wanted to do is get in the car and sulk.
“They’re marching into town.I’d guess between two, maybe three thousand troops total.”
“Shit,” Jose said.
“Yeah,” Chris said. “There’s no way we can handle that many on our own.”
“So what do we do?” Jose said. He looked at his partner’s determined face and found courage from the absence of fear in Chris’ eyes.
“I’m going to tell Ernie to call for help. In the meantime, I have an idea that will slow them down. But we’re going to need Hyoi and Bashi to pull it off.”
“Okay,” Jose said, unsure what else to say.
“Alright,” Chris said. “For now, let’s move. We need to stay ahead of them, and I want to see where they decide to camp.” Chris turned, walked past the car, and started down the ramp. “We’ll come back for the car once we know where they’re going to settle. Let’s go.”
Jose sighed. With Chris gone, he retrieved the small business card from his pocket. It read “Imani’s Place 628 S. Broadway, Baltimore.” Jose thought about letting it join the muffins by throwing it over the wall, but he hesitated. He read it again. He remembered the word he received when he touched her, but then he remember the two men who had died. He remembered the terror in their eyes. Looking at the card once more, he crumpled it in his palm and threw it over the side of the parking garage. Looking out at the bridge again, he sighed again, turned, and jogged to catch his partner.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Jose scraped his ribs on the side mirror of a gold Impala as he squeezed between it and a silver Honda Odyssey. The blow slowed him a step. He pressed on, knowing that if he paused for more than a breath he would lose sight of his prey.
He could see the top of the tiny monster’s head ten paces in front of him, weaving between cars in the parking lot. He could hear its high-pitched laughter.
Jose ducked under the side mirror of a pickup. The beast darted to the left. Instead of maneuvering around a red VW bug in his path, Jose planted his foot on the back bumper and ran across the top of the car then down the front of a hood. The quick move caught him up three paces.
Jose’s lungs burned and his knees ached. He’d been chasing the small creature, through traffic and parking lots, for at least two miles. He and Chris had caught sight of the tiny thing while patrolling the Belair-Edison neighborhood on the north east side of the city. They’d been tracking the monster’s scent for a few blocks when, to their shock, it jumped from behind a minivan, pointed at Jose, and then ran in the opposite direction. Both Jose and Chris had given chase, but Chris had fallen behind when the beast took a detour through a crowded store.
Ahead of him the creature emerged from the full parking lot. Without slowing its pace,
the monster sprinted across the busy street. It seemed to time its run perfectly, crossing the street in a straight line as cars whizzed past.
Jose pulled up at curb, watching the cars speed by, trying to time his cross. He put his hands on his knees and sucked in air, struggling to catch his breath.
Just before sliding through a space in the rod-iron fence that surrounded the city cemetery, the beast paused to face its pursuer. The pause gave Jose his first good look at the monster. It was short, about the height of a five-year old child, and thin like a marathon enthusiast. Unlike the other monsters Jose had encountered, it was shockingly innocent in appearance. In fact, it took like a perfectly proportioned, small man. The thing wore a flawlessly tailored, charcoal black, three piece suit, and recently polished, black dress shoes. In the pocket of the suit was a small, blue, silk pocket square. Attached to the beast’s vest was a gold pocket watch chain. The thing’s jet black hair was impeccably parted down the middle, and waxed tightly to his head. Above his lip was a tightly rolled, thin, handlebar mustache.
Jose looked over his shoulder for his partner. Chris was nowhere to be seen.
Once on the other side of the bars, the small thing turned to face Jose again. Reaching into its small vest pocket, it retrieved a pocket watch and checked the time. Pointing at Jose through the bars, it yelled in a quick, shrill voice, “The little beastie must cross the street. It must use its feet and cross the street. Come, come little beastie. Come, come. Use its feet to cross the street. Come, come. Don’t have all day. Don’t have all day. Don’t stop now. Almost there. Come, come slow beastie.”
The light at the intersection up the street turned red, giving Jose the break in traffic he needed. Gathering his energy, he sprinted across the street, toward the gate. The tiny man-thing laughed with glee and ran deeper into the cemetery. Unable to squeeze through the bars, Jose was forced to climb the ten foot high fence. The extra time it took Jose allowed the creature to put distance between them.
Jose landed in the grass on the other side, and scanned the cemetery. It was massive, covering eight city blocks. Still, the monster was easy to find as it didn’t seem to be hiding. Jose spotted the tiny thing leaning against a large head stone, one-hundred-fifty yards in front of him.
Jose approached slowly. “You shouldn’t be here,” Jose screamed, methodically drawing closer. “You should have never crossed the Veil.”
The monster’s eyes were wide with glee. Motioning Jose forward, it sang. “It speaks. It squeaks. It wreaks of fear. Come, come beastie. Come closer. It must. It must come closer.”
“Not only are you on the wrong side of the Veil,” Jose barked, marching forward. “You made me run through a parking lot, and I hate running through parking lots.” His side still hurt from the side view mirror he’d taken in the ribs.
The monster wasn’t listening. The glee in his voice had transformed to desperate begging. “It rants and rants. It takes too long. It must come closer.”
“It’s over,” Jose said. “There’s nowhere left to run.” He took another step toward the monster. The creature giggled with anticipation.
Jose was almost within arm’s reach. One more step and he’d be close enough to pounce.
“Yes. Yes,” the little man cheered, his hands clasped tightly to his chest.
Jose made his move, lurching forward with both hands, he lunged to grab the monster by the neck, but to his shock, he felt his legs being jerked backward and then up, above his head. The force of the yank tore at his knees and hips with such force, he lost the breath in his chest. His forehead scraped through the grass and then rose three feet off the ground. At the same time, with a loud bang, metallic cables shot from something behind him. With uncanny aim, they wrapped themselves around his wrists and ankles like boa constrictors, incapacitating him.
Hanging in the air, suspended from some unseen contraption, hands and feet bound, Jose could here to monster breathing behind him. He heard it approach, slowly. It radiated pride. He felt its breath next to his ear. Then in a shrill whisper it said, “Supposed to find the box. Caught the beastie instead. Boxes are less fun. They will wait, because the beastie is mine now. And I shall pluck it. I will take it apart. I will learn what’s on its insides.”
There was a sharp pain in Jose’s back between his second and third rib, near his spine. He yelped in pain. The monster chuckled. The pain ran from Jose’s mid-back, around to his front. He felt is t-shirt turn wet and heavy. Tears of fear filled his eyes. He knew. He was certain that this was his end. He swallowed hard, forcing his emotions inside, not wanting to give the monster the satisfaction of watching him cry.
The monster was in front of him now. It licked the blood, Jose’s blood, off the blade of the small knife it held. There was fury in its dark green eyes. “The beastie now knows,” it said with a soft, shrill bite. “It is no match for Fenswick the Great. It will now say my name. Say ‘Fenswick.’ Fens-wick. It must say my name.” The monster jab the knife into Jose’s exposed armpit and screamed, “Say it! It says my name!”
Jose clamped his mouth shut.
“I planned, my beastie,” the monster said, licking the knife again. “This is my trap for the beastie. I watched the beastie. I followed the beastie. I learned the beastie’s ways. The trap is perfect. Perfect for the beastie’s height. Perfect for the beastie’s weight. Fenswick makes the perfect traps. Doesn’t the beastie think? But now, the beastie must acknowledge its defeat. It must take ownership of its disgrace. It must say my name.” The monster jabbed the knife into Jose’s under arm again as it screamed in his face, “It must say my name!”
Jose lurched at the insertion of the knife in his arm. The pain shot through his body. He screamed, and then he laughed.
The tiny man took a step back, enraged. “The beastie laughs? It laughs at the Fenswick the Great. It does not laugh. It does not laugh at Fenswick the Great.” The monster moved forward again. With the blade in its right hand, it grabbed Jose by the scruff of the neck with its left. Its hand was cold, dry, and shockingly strong for its size. Steadying Jose, the monster pulled the pre-teen’s face close.
“The beastie will say my name and admit defeat, or I will have the beastie’s eyes.” The blade became a blur as it neared Jose’s left eye. Jose pushed back, but the monster held tight with his left hand. With its right, the monster moved the knife within a few centimeters of Jose’s pupil.
The monster whispered again, “It says my name. It says my name or I takes it eye.”
Jose breathed deeply. Holding as steady as possible, he uttered a single word, “Chris.”
“Chris? Chris is not my name. This is not my name,” the monster screamed.
“No,” came a strong voice from behind the tiny thing. “It’s mine.”
In a swift move, Chris reached forward with both hands and snapped the monster’s neck. The tiny man fell limp to the ground. Chris took a step back and looked at his partner. “Shit,” he said. “How in the hell am I supposed to get you out of that?”
They struggled silently with Fenswick’s machine for hours, until finally Chris was able to cut Jose down. The thin, but incomprehensibly strong wires that had snagged Jose’s feet were attached to a small machine, hovering ten feet off the ground. Unable to cut the wire or pull the machine down, Chris was forced to climb the wire and disassemble the machine in the air.
The metal bands around Jose’s wrist and ankles had been trickier. After some experimentation, Chris discovered they would melt under the flame of cigarette lighter. By the time Jose was freed, the sun had set and night had come.
Back in the car, with the monster’s small body in the trunk, the friends drove in silence.
“They’re planners,” Chris said, finally breaking the tension. “The Sinciputs. They all look like small people. And they’re planners.”
Jose looked silently out the window, watching the street lights blur by. His wounds throbbed. He felt vomit in the back of his throat, but he swallowed it back.
Jose leaned his head against the car door. He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the pain from the knife wound in his armpit. Chris had padded it with gauze, but it that had done nothing to dull the pain.
His back and ribs had stopped bleeding, but his shirt was caked and stuck to his side. The cloth pulled at the newly formed scab. If he moved to quickly, the fresh wound reopened.
Chris pulled the car into a parking garage, circled the seven stories, choosing a spot on the roof that faced the harbor. He put the car into park. “Get some sleep. We’ll get rid of the body tomorrow.”
Jose sighed. His head was pounding.
Chris turned to look at his young partner, taking the pre-teen’s hand he said, “Listen, you can always trust that, if you find yourself alone and in trouble, if I’m still breathing, then I’m busting my ass to get to you. I’ll always have you’re back. Commandment eleven - never leave your partner behind. I’ll never leave you behind. But I’m not going to lie to you. Someday, I may not make it to you in time.”
Jose looked down at the backpack on the floor board between his feet. It was dirty. Its red color had faded to a dull brown. There were rips by the zipper where the fabric was wearing thin. He remembered the day his uncle had bought it for him – a week before the first day of sixth grade. He’d wanted green, but red was all they had. He and Uncle Sal had searched all the racks. Blue. Grey. Red. Pink. No green. Uncle Sal had taken him for ice cream at McDonalds as a consolation.
“My life for the city,” Jose said softly.
“The twelfth,” Chris said, looking forward.
“The twelfth,” Jose said repeated.
They sat in silence for another moment, then Chris pushed his car door open. “Get some sleep,” he said. “I’ll re-dress those wounds in the morning.” Then he swung the driver’s side door shut, and he was gone.
