Crowley’s hand moved down to Tony’s shoulder. The voice grew even sweeter, even more menacing. You can do that for me, can’t you Tony?” The soft tones were emphasized by a steadily increasing pressure on Tony’s shoulder, one that just avoided being truly painful. Tony nodded hard enough to blur his vision. When he stopped nodding, he was surprised to see how pale his reflection had grown, doubly surprised by the sweat he felt beading on his forehead and under his arms. Butterflies hatched in his stomach and beat at his insides with their wings. “You’re a real pal, Tony. Listen, you do this for me and there’s a hundred bucks in it for you. Deal?” Even without the incentive of money, Tony would have nodded again. Both of them knew it and the slow, sarcastic wink that Crowley threw from his reflection made the situation very clear. Tony felt the paper press into his hand as he watched his reflection grasp at the offered prize. “You call me if he does anything too weird, okay Tony? Here’s my number. Just let it ring four times and then hang up. I’ll know who called.” Crowley’s reflection walked slowly back away from his own. The face of his assailant grew stern for just a moment as he continued. “I’m counting on you, Tony. Don’t let me down. I’d hate to see any more strains put on our relationship.” The smile, the one that made Tony feel faint, flashed on Crowley’s face again. “Talk at’cha later, Tony. You stay cool, okay?” Tony nodded vigorously and closed his eyes to stop the first spillage of humiliating tears.
When he opened his eyes, he was alone. His reflection was alone. Tony wanted nothing as much as he wanted the comfort of his home. But that would have been foolish. Instead he turned sharply and started towards the Red Oaks Subdivision and Mark Howell.
When he was a safe distance from the town, in a spot where no one could see him, Tony finally let the violent shaking and the tears win out. He cried for five minutes, hating himself for his cowardice, hating himself for what he let be done to him. He swore to God that he would never, not as long as he lived, ever do to another person what he had done so often in the past. He was fairly convinced that if he did, Crowley would come back for him.
Never, never again.
4
While Tony was learning what it felt like to be truly scared, Cassie was doing her last minute shopping for school. She had missed the entire exchange between Crowley and Tony as she did her shopping inside of Evvy’s Boutique. Evvy’s was, to Cassie’s thinking, the only clothing store in Summitville worth noticing; she was trying to decide between two pair of jeans that, to the casual shopper would have appeared identical, when Chuck Hanson walked past.
Cassie waved enthusiastically after spotting the man, but he didn’t seem to notice. Cassie frowned. Sheriff Hanson always noticed when someone in town noticed him, it was like a special set of eyes was in his head just for recognizing a friendly wave. Well, even sheriffs were allowed to have off days, she just hoped that he was okay. It just wasn’t like the man not to wave back, or at least to tip that big old hat of his.
The jeans finally recaptured her attention and she went back to her careful study of the denim. After a few more minutes of intense observation, Cassie decided to go with both pairs. Evelyn Pratt wasn’t in the store that day, she had broken her ankle just a week earlier when stepping off of the curb in front of the store, so it was up to her niece, Kathy Olsen, to take care of the pre-school rush. Kathy was the first to point out that her aunt normally managed to injure herself directly before the busiest seasons at the store reached their peaks. Cassie was equally fast on the draw and pointed out the benefits of having an aunt who sold you your clothes at wholesale, on top of paying you to do what you loved anyway. Kathy agreed to the logic in Cassie’s argument, but pointed out that the job wouldn’t be half as much fun if she couldn’t gripe about it whenever possible. Had Cassie been carrying a tape recorder for her annual fall clothes shopping spree over the last three years, she would have been hard pressed to notice any real differences in the conversations. It was a part of the ritual, like part of a dance; it just wouldn’t have been the same without the words.
Cassie paid her bill and said her good-byes to the older girl, pausing long enough to give her a hug and her best wishes for a good start at the university over in Denver. Then she was off, her hands filled with packages and her mind filled with thoughts of Mark. It was a glorious day, the temperature was perfect, the air was sweet and on this last weekend of the summer, Cassie had decided to consummate her relationship with Mark. There was no more debate, no more bouncing the idea around in her head, she just knew that it was time.
Cassie slipped her new clothes into the basket on her ten-speed bike, dreaming simultaneously about Mark and the new car her parents had promised her for her next birthday. Everything about that Friday morning brought pleasant fantasies into Cassie’s mind, it was just that kind of day for her.
Cassie had one more stop to make before going home. She pedaled her Schwinn over to B. Dalton’s, the latest issue of Writer’s Digest was due out, along with a book she had special ordered on women in the writing industry. She intended to know everything she possibly could about the business of writing before she cemented any plans for the future; unlike Mark, she wanted all the gory details on publishing that she could locate. P.J. was a great source of information, but of late he simply hadn’t been in the mood to deal with questions from either Mark or Cassie. That was okay, everyone had their off days and everyone was entitled to their times of privacy. Besides, she didn’t want to bother the man too much on the small things, better to push for favors on the big stuff than on a thousand little details she could learn on her own.
Looking to her right, as she signaled to turn in that very direction, she saw Mark’s friend Jonathan Crowley and waved. He started to return the gesture and then froze, eyes looking past her, to the other side of the street. As Cassie came to a stop, she turned to see what had captured the man’s attention. Off to her left, slightly in front of her and on the other side of the street, she saw Chuck Hanson reaching for his gun.
Cassie stood perfectly still, as immobile as a bird paralyzed by the eyes of a snake. Hanson’s gun gleamed blue-black in the bright sunlight as he aimed the barrel straight at Cassie’s head. The only thought that would stay with her was that today was too nice a day to end up being murdered.
Then the ten-foot wide barrel shifted slightly and Cassie realized that death was not meant for her that day. Half a dozen blessings of thanks went in the direction of God, never having actually passed her lips. The gun had never seemed that large while resting in its holster and her eyes tracked the slow steady movement of the muzzle as it moved away from her.
The hypnotic effect of staring death in the face wore off and Cassie dropped off of her bike, hugging the asphalt for all that she was worth. To her left, almost in perfect synchronization with the sound of shattering glass on her right, the sound of thunder ripped open the early morning bliss.
5
Crowley did a very fast goosestep away from where the girl stood on her bike. She had no part of what Hanson wanted and Crowley saw no reason for her to die. The grim look cast his way from Hanson’s stern face softened for just a second, a small nod of thanks almost completing itself before he squeezed the trigger on the .38 revolver.
The idea of dodging a bullet is ludicrous, Crowley dodged away from where the gun was pointed and simply prayed that the bullet was not already in transit. It saved his life. The show window of B. Daltons spiderwebbed and collapsed on itself as a copy of Judith Krantz’s latest best seller jumped towards the cash register inside the store. Crowley didn’t have the time to take notice.
From forty feet away, Hanson started to take aim again. Jonathan Crowley crab-walked to the shelter of a nearby car. He had known that the Folk would retaliate for last night’s interference, but he had not known that the sheriff was Theirs. That was the worst part of being in his present situation, he hated surprises.
The cement off to his right screamed in protest as a bullet missed his head. Now was not the ti
me for complaints and Crowley chastised himself for his stupidity. The little bastards had learned a few tricks and he was not at all pleased to see what They had pulled out of Their sleeves.
The next bullet hadn’t come his way yet and Crowley had already given a hundred count. Hanson was playing it smart, waiting to see what Crowley was going to do. Peeking under the car, he could just make out the Sheriff’s boots. They were motionless. Okay, he thought, Girl as hostage is useless here. He’s perfectly willing to kill her in order to get to me. A dozen other tentative plans came to mind: they were dismissed just as quickly. The sheriff was in no mood to play games.
He looked behind himself, assessing the stores on the row and wondering which ones would be useful. No, B. Dalton’s did not have anything that he could use against the sheriff. No again, Wing Pu’s Chinese Garden was closed, the potential weapons locked away from him. Buddy’s Hardware was also closed, a sky blue sign with movable red arms inset into a clock face pointed to the noon hour, with the important message WE’LL BE BACK AT…above the clock and the massage at the bottom: THANKS FOR YOUR PATRONAGE in bright red letters. The Healthy Housewife was open. A quick scan of the window told him all he needed to know.
The girl, Cassie, was starting to stand up and Hanson turned to scream at her, warning her to stay down. As far as Crowley could tell, it was now or never. He bolted for The Healthy Housewife hearing the gun go off just before he realized that he had been shot. Crowley bounced off the side of Buddy’s, right before he reached the Housewife. The plate glass door was mentally added to the number of casualties, but he wasn’t certain if it was the force of his push or another damn bullet that had caused it to break. The stupid cowbell tied to the inside handle had rattled too much for him to know one way or the other. First he got hurt, then he lost the count on bullets. Now he was just plain getting pissed off.
Inside the store proper, he grabbed the portly owner and pushed hard at her chest. With a squeal of terror, she went down and he landed on top of her. The woman looked both terrified and furious, before she could scream rape or start beating on his face with her huge fists, he politely asked, “Excuse me, Ma’am. Could you tell me where you keep your spices?”
Alberta Kornfeld just knew the man was a serial killer. Fortunately, all the books she read along with her true detective magazines had informed her that cooperating with a psycho-rapist-serial killer was the best way to live through the experience, so she knew just what to do. Folding one arm over her ample bosom and clenching both thighs together as fiercely as she could, she pointed with her free hand to the wall behind the cash register. The very polite homicidal maniac nodded his thanks and winked at her before he scurried over to the counter where the register rested. She was very glad that she had deposited her receipts last night instead of waiting for today; one could never tell what all a man might want to take.
Crowley grabbed the spices that he needed and poured the contents of both bottles into his hand, regretting the excess that spilled to the ground. He crouched behind the counter and watched the front door, warning the quivering storeowner to stay down when she started coming his way and demanding payment for the bottles of spice. His arm was starting to piss him off, the small amount of blood that came from the wound told him that it was nothing serious, but it hurt like hell and he just didn’t have the time to deal with it right then.
He tried to wait patiently, but the sounds of the woman breathing and the sound of his own thudding heart beat made him all too aware of the fact that Hanson hadn’t shown up yet. Crowley’s nerves were starting to send him false signals, which could get his head blown off. Hanson should have shown by now, the front of the store was very clear in his sights and not even a shadow had moved yet. The hairs of Crowley’s neck started crawling around like a wrestling group of puppies. One minute. Two minutes. Three minutes. Four…
Behind him, he heard the not-so-happy- and-none too- healthy- storeowner gasp. He turned away from the front of the store, almost certain that he was making a horrible mistake and saw Hanson aiming the revolver at his face. The “Employees Only” door in the rear of the store was softly closing behind him.
Crowley threw the Nature’s Own All Natural Lemon Pepper and Nature’s Own Sea Salt into the sheriff’s face as hard as he could. Instinct made the sheriff’s hands go to his face. Surprise made him fire into the ceiling of the health food store. Citric acid, salt and pepper flew into the man’s eyes before they could completely close and Crowley smiled at the sound of Hanson’s screams. It was music to his ears, a good harmony to go with the rhythmic beating of his heart.
Crowley stood, watching as the sheriff was rubbing frantically at his eyes, howling out his pain and backing up. Sympathetic tears started in his own tearducts as he thought of what the man’s rubbing must be doing; that didn’t stop him from kicking the man in the head just as hard as he could. Hanson grunted and hit the floor, already struggling back to his feet.
The Healthy Housewife, forgotten momentarily in the struggle, made her presence known as she sank her teeth into the meaty part of Crowley’s left calf. “Oww! Shit woman, what the hell are you doing?!” She didn’t bother to answer his question, instead she started shaking her head back and forth, rather like a terrier with a rat in its jaws.
Crowley did a staggering hop in the air, tearing a few muscles in his calf as he lost his balance and landed on the woman with his full weight. Alberta Kornfeld whooofed out the air in her lungs and was forced to try gathering more air repeatedly as Crowley climbed off of her. Her squealed protests were falling on deaf ears and for added measure, Crowley gave a solid stomp on her buttocks as he again regained his footing.
He stood at almost exactly the same moment as Chuck Hanson. Hanson was obviously beyond seeing, his eyes were bloodied and watering madly. That did not stop him from shooting Crowley in the same arm again. Crowley let out a shriek worthy of the Healthy Housewife and aimed a side kick into the sheriff’s stomach. He followed through with an elbow to the man’s face and vicious punch to the man’s throat.
Hanson looked utterly unfazed by the killing blows. He moved quickly and pointed the barrel of his revolver directly into Crowley’s face. He squeezed the trigger three times.
Nothing happened.
Crowley laughed with a serious edge of hysteria and started in on the sheriff with everything he had. He threw cookbooks, Nature’s Own Sunflower oil, bottles of all natural herbal extracts and half a dozen kicks at the man. Hanson kept going down and getting right back up. All the while, the Healthy Housewife continued her screaming tirade, “You get that psycho bastard, Chuck! You take his ass to jail! I’m gonna sue you, I’m gonna press charges, you rapist!” The words were screamed again and again, a Holy litany meant to ward of the evil that was John Crowley. The only reason Crowley didn’t bother with breaking the woman’s fat neck was that he was occupied with Hanson. But, it was sorely tempting to take the extra risk.
Crowley dodged behind the sheriff of Summitville and Summitville County. Cursing and flailing wildly, the man tried his best to stop him. When Crowley managed to wrap one arm around the lower jaw of the man, Hanson sank his teeth into Crowley’s forearm. Crowley gritted his teeth and wrapped his other arm around Hanson’s forehead. With a sound half like firecrackers and half like a zipper being pulled, Crowley broke the sheriff’s neck.
Yep. That did the trick. Hanson fell to the ground and stayed there. Crowley closed his eyes for a moment, trying not to think about what he had just done. He’d liked Hanson, he really had.
Behind him, the Healthy Housewife started screaming, not with anger but with fear. Crowley opened his eyes and saw why; the flesh on Hanson’s body was rotting away, putrefying and wisping away like steam in a cold winter wind. The smell was reminiscent of burning hair. Crowley managed not to gag, the Healthy Housewife was not as lucky and tossed her Carob Coated cookies all over the floor.
Crowley looked down on her and smiled. “I’d like to pay for the damages, but I’m af
raid the money will now be needed to stitch up my calf. Not to worry, I won’t press charges.”
Outside the store, he smiled politely at Cassie Monroe and told her it was all right to get off of the ground, he even went so far as to help her to her feet. He righted her bike and asked her to let Mark know that he said “Hi.” Then he was on his way, after making certain that she was uninjured.
Crowley was feeling good about himself as he hobbled towards his motel room. The sun was warm on his flesh and his injuries were already mending themselves, the annoying itch of healing telling him that he would be just fine in an hour or so.
He couldn’t help breaking into his habitual grin as he walked. They knew he was coming for Them and They had attacked him. The thought sent chills of pleasure through his entire body. A good fight was just about the best way he could think of to start the weekend.
6
Rick Lewis took one look at the body that Dave Palance had called him about and then he threw up. It wasn’t so much the state of advance decay on the body, nor even the horrid stench that wafted from the black ichor that stained the bones to an antiqued brown. It was the clothes on the corpse. Until he had actually seen the body and the familiar hat that lay next to the familiar scuffed boots, he could pretend that this was not who Dave claimed. He could pretend that the man he had been talking to only hours ago, his best friend in the world, Chuck Hanson, was still alive.
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