Curse of the Dragon

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Curse of the Dragon Page 3

by Madison Johns


  I politely honked my horn to get his attention and he stepped away from the blonde’s car. She proceeded to pull forward even though she hadn’t put up her convertible top. I had an inclination to bump her car and send it through the car wash with her top still down.

  I drove forward and Nate smiled. “Hey. Alex! Haven’t seen you in here lately.”

  “For some reason washing my car just isn’t a priority when I have so many more important things to do,” I said as I rolled my eyes.

  Nate nodded. “You really should make it a priority. Where did you pick up all that ash?”

  “Ash?” I asked as I nudged up my sunglasses with the tip of a finger.

  “It’s all over the side of your car.”

  “I thought that was just dust.”

  “It’s ash, and unless someone has forgotten to tell me, we don’t have a volcano in this state.”

  “I must have picked it up when I went jogging.”

  “Is there a forest fire I’m not aware?”

  I rolled my eyes and my fingertips danced along my steering wheel. “I wasn’t near a fire.”

  Nate frowned in concern. “I’ll have to check when you exit from the other side.”

  “Why is this so important to you?”

  “Because I have to look after my girl. Who else would I talk to in the Starbuck’s line?”

  I handed Nate a ten for the wash and accepted the moistened towelette most car washes hand out. I honestly think it’s so we have something to do while the car is dragged through the darkened wash. I didn’t mind today because I hoped it would take my mind off what Nate was babbling about.

  “See you tomorrow.” I waved at my young friend as I pulled forward in the line.

  As my car moved through the tunnel I closed my eyes tightly, trying to concentrate on anything other than what Nate had suggested. How was it possible that my car had fire damage? I let the thought drop from my mind until my car coasted to where it the day laborers toweled off the vehicles. The mirror reflected perfectly the burn pattern on the driver’s side of my car.

  I rolled up to the free vacuum area and hopped from my car and stared at the unusual burn pattern. It almost appeared to be in the shape of an animal. I’ve never been good at inkblots and the way my brain worked I often saw more into shapes than the average person. I took a temporary job for the opening of an art gallery in town once and I saw something unusual in most of the paintings. A black rose that had a bird head on it struck me the most. It was quite unintentional, the artist said, which made me wonder how many things are truly unintentional. That day near the jogging trail most likely was one of them.

  Nate joined me. His eyes widened and his biceps popped as he ran his large hands over the side of the car. “You have heat damage, just as I suspected,” Nate said.

  I mimicked his movements along the mark on my car. “I can’t say how this happened,” I said. I didn’t recall any sense of warmth that day. It had been a cool morning. When the shadow knocked me over I didn’t feel hot other than the sweat that clung to my body from my run.

  “It’s certainly strange, but Westland is like that. We are surrounded by a thick forest and mountains.”

  “Do you have a point here?” I asked with a smile.

  “Not really, but hopefully you have full coverage insurance.”

  I didn’t, but I nodded as Nate excused himself to go back to work.

  I quickly vacuumed my car and mats, which were caked with mud and dirt. I picked up most of it from the jogging trail because I never took the time to bring a spare pair of shoes.

  I ran my hand under my seats to locate the two empty soda cans that so far had evaded me on the last few cleanings and tossed them into the trash can before finally heading home. But when a thought occurred to me, I instead headed to the police department.

  Detective Blake motioned me to take a seat as he listened intently to whoever he was on the phone with. “I’ll check it out even though it sounds far-fetched.”

  Blake ended the call and sighed as he eased back in his chair.

  “What was that about?”

  Blake’s eyes met mine. “Police business.”

  “I know that, Blake, but I know you want to share with me about the far-fetched tip.”

  He leaned forward. “Oh, you know, your run of the mill nut jobs. The tip line received a call about a man who confessed that he believes he might be responsible for the murder. Now get this. The man is supposedly an honest-to-goodness werewolf. Now can you imagine that right here in our city?”

  “Last night there was a full moon.” I smiled flirtatiously. “I believe the moon was still up when I went jogging.”

  “Did you hear any growling, snarling or snapping?”

  “Nope. No howling, either,” I sighed. “I don’t suppose you could give me the names of the psychics you spoke to?”

  “Since when do you believe in psychics? You’re as cynical as the day is long.”

  “Which is why I want to speak to them. When I get them to admit they’re fakes, you can concentrate on other leads.”

  “Wish I had some, but right now I’m batting zero.”

  Blake scrolled through a stack of papers. He wasn’t the most organized detective. He did it the old fashioned way, jotting notes in a small notebook. The pages wound up on his desk in a disorganized mess.

  “You need to get more organized.”

  “What’s wrong with the way I do it? I know exactly where everything is.”

  “Except for the psychics’ names.”

  “Here we go. Wilma and Gracie Walfie. They’re sisters.”

  “You mentioned they called you directly. I wonder why they didn’t call the tip line.”

  “They didn’t want to leave a tip. They want to help me with my case.”

  “That could be fun.”

  “Psychics aren’t exactly the help I need.”

  “You don’t believe in psychics,” I gasped in feigned shock. “How else would you have found out about the paranormal activity?”

  “See the door over there,” Blake pointed out. “Hit it.”

  Blake preferred to spar with me verbally. It’s how we got along, and secretly I found it mildly amusing. I really needed to get out more and meet people.

  I stood up and stretched. I thought about asking Blake about the remains that were found and if anything was charred or looked as if it was too near a heat source. I decided instead to head to the crime scene and check it out myself.

  I slid into my normal corner booth in Hank’s Diner. I considered it my booth and would wait until it was empty. On Tuesday I waited longer than normal because the egghead manager decided to work on his paperwork in the dining room. I don’t know about the other customers, but it always made me uncomfortable whenever a manager sat in the dining room. I always felt as if I was being watched or critiqued. After all, this was a burger place and I was a strict vegetarian. But I rather enjoyed the atmosphere and the salads. It took months for me to drill into the server that I wanted a salad with no cheese or croutons since most of the salads were loaded with cheese, bacon bits, boiled egg, and ham or turkey. Yup, this place went all out to make sure you were full before you left, even with a salad.

  “Well, look who decided to fly in,” Mable, the server, said, the dark bruise under one eye barely visible thanks to the concealer and foundation she had thickly applied this morning.

  Mable was in her fifties, but despite her tired humor she was one of my favorites.

  “You mean like on a broomstick?” I asked.

  “Is that how you’re traveling these days? I consider you more of a demon.”

  If Mable saw my pupils she’d wish she hadn’t made that comment.

  “Sorry, you’re barking up the wrong tree. How you doing this week?”

  Mable palmed the table. “Who are you and what have you done with Alex Frost?” She cackled. “Alex would never ask me how my week is or how I’m even doing. She’d snap her fingers from across
the room and roll her eyes when it took me too long to get to her table.”

  “I hope you’re not trying to school me.”

  “Oh, of course not, Alex. You are beyond hope, I’m afraid.”

  “I’m not that bad.”

  Mable rolled her eyes. “Huh!”

  Mable had no idea how much I looked forward to seeing her.

  “What if I told you I was turning over a new leaf?”

  “I’d ask you if you lost your mind.”

  “So are you going to tell me how your week has been?”

  “Been fighting with my old man all week, but I managed to avoid getting hit, so things are looking up.”

  I bit the inside of my cheek. I knew something was wrong at home with Mable. A few times she’d come in with what looked to be a shiner. There was nothing I hated more than a man who knocked his woman around.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “What are you sorry for? You weren’t the one who tried to hit me.” She straightened up. “Are you having your usual?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Stop with the pleasantries. You’re making me uncomfortable.” She shook her head as she walked away with a smile.

  Maybe being pleasant had some benefits if it could make Mable uncomfortable. In some small way I knew her better than I ever had. I flexed a bicep. It didn’t feel any bigger than before the incident with the mugger. But just maybe I was strong enough to knock Mable’s husband out. Okay, that was strange. I’ve never actually thought of hurting anyone, even a no-good wife beater.

  I grabbed the table tent that advertised the diner’s special of the day: a half-pound burger with Swiss cheese, bacon, tomato, lettuce, pickles, and grilled mushrooms and onions. It was a mess. Worse than that, it was a heart attack on a plate. I just couldn’t understand meat eaters.

  My uncle had a nice-sized spread where he raised cattle. Beef more times than not was on the table for meals. When I was younger I didn’t know any better, but when I got older and saw firsthand what slaughtering cattle entailed it disgusted me and gave me the incentive I needed to become a strict vegetarian.

  I moved the plastic cardholder back, but all I could do was stare at it. I turned it around, but I still knew what was on it. It was all I could think about.

  Thankfully Mable distracted me when she brought my ice water with lemon, and salad with a side of vinaigrette dressing. I stabbed my fork into the iceberg lettuce that I’d insisted upon. I don’t much care for spinach leaves or spring mix in my salads.

  I forced down the salad. The burger on the flyer beckoned to me … scratch that, it screamed my name. My mouth salivated thinking about it. I felt like a starving man who hadn’t eaten in weeks. What is wrong with me? I’m a vegetarian and yet I’m craving meat … a juicy burger … cooked medium. I could almost taste it.

  I worked on my salad, and each bite was agony. It was vile tasting and bitter. I felt downright carnivorous!

  Four

  My car slowly crept to a stop where I had been attacked the other day, but I was hesitant about putting it into park just yet. It was midday and the sun was at its peak. I finally put the car in park and slowly moved out. I couldn’t seem to get the thought of that dark shadow out of my mind. The incident was still fresh in my memory, and my car had the scorch marks to prove it.

  I jogged up the trail until I spotted the crime scene tape wound around the trees in an attempt to preserve the scene. I carefully pulled it up enough to step under. I couldn’t imagine the cops would still be up here, but I believed they figured if the tape was kept up nobody would come poking around.

  I was the last person who should be here after putting myself near the scene. But I knew it wasn’t wise to hold that back from Blake. . I knew that would make me appear even more suspect. Lying to the cops is the worst thing you can do, especially when you’re a horrible liar to begin with. I would put myself somewhat in that category. But I didn’t have a choice except to conceal the truth at the moment. I could hardly tell Blake what had really happened to me. I was having a hard enough time myself trying to figure it out.

  I kept to the side of the trail so my footprints wouldn’t be visible. And thanks to the cops traipsing through the woods to reach the crime scene the leaves were scattered, leaving a muddy trail.

  I continued up the trail in silence. No birds singing or frogs croaking. No coyote howls. On those rare occasions that I didn’t wear ear buds during my jogs I paid attentions to the sounds of the forest. Bugs buzzing in my ears and the crescendo of katydids, pattering the leaves far overhead. The rain barely made it past the canopy unless there was a torrential downpour.

  The cops entered the forest, making their own pathway as they stomped even the smallest of plants to reach the scene. When I entered the clearing, I breathed in deeply at the unmistakable fragrance of recently burned wood and approached the remnants of a cabin. Only one wall remained upright, and my nose wrinkled at the sulfur ashes.

  I knelt to feel the ashes as though I could determine if the fire was recent. There’s no way I could tell that, but it’s certainly something I’d ask Blake about.

  Marked trails were prevalent in this area of the forest, and I heard the roar of the waterfall a mere half-mile to the west. Even a stranger to the area would head in that direction. Rivers could mean the difference between lost and found. In my experience they led somewhere.

  If the victim had made it to the edge of the waterfall he would have seen the city in the distance from the edge of the cliff. There were trails that ran alongside the cliff, and the victim could have followed them out of the woods. There was plenty of signage to point even an amateur hiker in the right direction. It was obvious that the victim hadn’t made it that far.

  Branches and small trunks had been cut, and I surmised the cops had cleared the scene of vegetation during their survey of the scene. Either they had cleared the area for potential evidence or the remains had been spread within a large area.

  I gingerly touched a fern with charred fronds. A breeze blew past, and I stumbled and tripped backward over a branch. I landed on my back in the dirt and laughed in frustration about being so clumsy. I stared at the branches overhead … all of the leaves were flame scarred. Whatever had caught fire happened right here, not where the cabin once stood. How hadn’t a forest fire started when the cabin burned? I’d be paying Blake a visit to clear up a few things.

  I closed my eyes at a building pain in my chest … a burning that moved under my skin and along my limbs. Tears rolled down my cheeks and dread filled my heart when I couldn’t move my limbs. I was immobile! This was worse than that day the dark shadow attacked me.

  When I was finally able to move again, I rolled to my belly and painfully crawled, falling several times face first in the dirt. I spit the dirt out as it filled my mouth and my eyes widened in shock as smoke escaped from between my lips! It temporarily took the burning pain away, but smoke now drifted from my nostrils!

  I covered my sweltering face with my hands, and as my tears fell they sizzled on my scorching skin. I screamed, terror-stricken as a small flame appeared from my mouth and vanished as the wind took it. I gingerly felt my face.

  What in the hell was happening? I laughed hysterically and my tears pooled in the crook of my neck. Was I losing my mind? Please let me wake up in my bed.

  I climbed to my feet as a pain rippled up my back. It felt like something had pierced my skin, I felt the sticky wetness. I had to get out of here!

  I hobbled back through the woods far from the trail and wandered aimlessly for a time. I jumped at every sound and ignored the wind whispering my name. I wasn’t anywhere near my car, and I was panicking.

  I knew the forest and the trails that led in and out of the woods. And it wasn’t until I passed a tree that still carried the scars of names carved into it before I regained my bearings. When I was younger the forest was my backyard, but now it was a source of fear. I had to get back to my car.

  I sighed as I cut onto
the hiking trail, and only then did I take time to wipe the sweat from my brow with the sleeve of my shirt. Droplets of perspiration sizzled on my skin. Whatever caused my skin to scorch, releasing that bit of fire had obviously also cured it.

  I grabbed a branch tightly until the notch cut into my palm and I winced. This isn’t real, I told myself.

  I hurried to my car and sped back to the city. I needed to get back to my apartment before something else happened.

  I raced my car into my spot in the parking garage and climbed out to encounter Mr. Asshole, who acts like my parking space belongs to him.

  “Didn’t you see me pulling up?” he asked arrogantly as he climbed out of his idling car parked behind mine. “I was going to park there.”

  Any other time I’d walk away and curse him under my breath, but not today. Something primal in me was eager to come out and I hadn’t the will to stop it. “This is my parking spot, not yours,” I spit.

  Mr. Asshole squinted as he moved closer and actually poked me in the chest. “Move your car, bitch.”

  I narrowed my eyes as I pushed him back, knocking him across the concrete parking lot twenty feet from where he had stood. “Park in my spot again and I’ll drag you out of that shitty apartment you share with your mother and beat your ass in front of her.”

  Mr. Asshole whimpered as he got back into his car and drove off.

  I walked into my building feeling lighter on my feet. It was about time I told that jerk off. And if my car has one mark on it in the morning, I’ll do exactly as I told him.

  I entered my apartment with a sigh, my mind traveling back to what happened in the woods. Had I actually breathed fire? I swallowed hard, but my throat didn’t hurt. I felt normal now.

 

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