Freeney

by Clay Zimmerman

  “Maddy, don’t let him do this. Open the door, honey. Let daddy in!”

  Never underestimate the power of denial. As it would appear, Mr. Henley wasn’t quite ready to accept his eldest daughter’s participation in the trickery. She didn’t dare justify the old man by giving him her eye contact. Instead, she responded by sliding the key into the ignition for young Patrick and twisting the automobile into action. A plethora of knobs and sensors sprang into existence, decorating the cabin with a symphony of lights and bells.

  “No! No, don’t do this! Stop this right now!”

  Bob began slapping the windshield with more intensity now, hoping against hope that his eldest daughter would come to her senses. Patrick actually feared Mr. Henley’s hand might damage the integrity of the windshield, with such ferocity was he banging upon the threshold.

  THUD

  THUD

  THUD

  Madison was rife with poise. She calmly reached over Patrick’s head and activated the garage door clicker, sending the suburban portcullis automating upward, whirring at a burdened yet steady clip. At this, Bob disappeared from view. Patrick assumed he had bounded through the laundry room door, where another garage door clicker was traditionally located but enough time lapsed for him to determine that the old man had returned back into the house. He balked at the inference he might be on his way to the bedroom to recover his firearm and the subsequent outrage that would be added once it was discovered to be missing. He could only imagine the different scenarios of ramifications this would give birth to.

  The garage door was nearly adjusted to the point where they could fashion an ejection of the automobile from bay. Though precious little time had surpassed to this point, Bob had already made a return, this time with a menacing 9 iron in hand. He began waylaying into Patrick’s driver side window with righteous indignation. Within one strike, the glass barrier separating him from the enraged papa bear was totally compromised, sending fragments cascading onto Patrick and Maddy’s lap. Patrick shifted his weight all the way to the side towards his friend, anything to escape the onslaught. In this moment, his instincts persuaded him to stamp his foot firmly down onto the gas pedal lurching them out of the garage like a rocket ship launching onto the driveway and quickly down the cul de sac.

  Once the Subaru had plummeted down onto the asphalt, he poked his head up and smoothly guided the vehicle out of the cul de sac but not before Bob’s golf club clanged innocuously off of the backside of the hatchback, having been hurled from the driveway by the angry dad.

  The next few blocks, a veritable tour of Main Street, was an adrenaline fueled blur of unanticipated elation. The escapees may not have actually considered that they would have achieved this level of success and their souls savored the moment in silence.

  Once this temporary interlude of triumph had subsided, they found themselves cruising comfortably through a suburban landscape. Patrick had merely been trying to put as much distance between them and the riled hornet’s nest that was the Henley homestead but this had probably been adequately achieved a fair distance ago as the thoroughfares became more frequented and thus larger. His lack of hours at the helm of the craft would soon become apparent as a four way stop would prove to be a considerable demand. His primary objective being a desirable speed to create separation, he hadn’t fully grasped the concept of the gradual decrease of velocity needed to safely negotiate the octagonal stop sign. More aptly, the fact that they were travelling uncharacteristically fast for a vehicle in that area was lost on them as well. Most likely, they were thinking ahead towards their next objective and the mandatory stop had become more of a formality as Patrick had no more time to all but tap the brakes as he glided through the intersection, prompting the heavy handed horn of a perturbed motorist they’d managed to cutoff in the process.

  Madison, though truthfully uncalled for as the honking had returned his focus to the roadway, had sprung to the steering wheel as though Patrick were unconscious, wiggling it in a plea to gain Patrick’s concentration.

  “What are you doing?” She scolded. “I thought you said you knew how to drive. You’re going to get us killed!”

  “No, no.” He reassured her. “It’s ok. I got it.” He was revisiting a more manageable clip.

  “Damnit.”

  Patrick swore to himself underneath his breath. How many times can one be saved by grace? He mused. Surely there would reach a point when his luck would run out. The absence of Maddy’s criticism was painfully clear now as he turned his head to check the wellbeing of his friend but she was ghost white, her gaze focused solely on a single point in the rear view mirror.

  Please, not this. Don’t tell me.

  Verily, Patrick’s lack luster driving skills had realized the one thing they needed most to avoid as his senses calibrated to the red and blue flashing lights rebounding from the reflective surface of the mirror directly into his corneas, settling on a location deep with his spirit reserved only for certain terror.

  Patrick shrank with despair. The end to their hopes of escape seemed inevitable now and he felt foolish for allowing himself to think otherwise. He aimed a glance at his young flame. She was still frozen with fright and helplessness. Would this be the last time he would see her? He’d already conceded the grim reality of a difficult life ahead for himself but now her fate was hopelessly entangled with his and the guilt sunk it’s fangs deeper into his nervous system, savoring the sweet nectar of defeat.

  He allowed the resolve to exit his body and drift away capriciously. Angling the station wagon to the shoulder, there was no more evasion to be had. The jig was up. Whether it was Big Bob having successfully called in their little heist and the station wagon easily identified or his erratic maneuvering had attracted the squad car’s attention, it mattered not. The Subaru would not be able to contend a high speed chase with the suped-up law enforcement Impala. There was nothing left to do but simply accept the variation of reality in which the good guy doesn’t win. Patrick winced at the prospect of frittering away access to whatever dimension existed where they hadn’t gotten pulled over and emerged from their harrowing trial unscathed. Jealousy filled him.

  Patrick brought the ramshackle bucket of bolts to a halt and shifted the transmission to P. It was all over now. Just relax and let Johnny Law take it from here. Maybe he would make an attempt to contact Maddy whenever he got out of juvie after he turned eighteen. Of course, by then she’d probably have her college picked out and an engagement ring from a promising and capable, young beaux.

  Without looking, he could sense his colleague’s disgust. She was face down in her lap, hiding behind a lattice of clasped fingers. Reluctantly, his vision returned to the rear view mirror. The driver’s side door of the APD Impala had swung open and out had emerged a remarkably porcine law enforcement official. Even though he was still in shock and only halfway paying attention, something struck him as peculiar. If this officer was responding to a grand theft auto call, procedure would dictate that he wait for back up. His course of action was a clear indication that this officer was approaching the situation as a routine traffic stop. It didn’t much make any difference to the outcome of course, as it would soon be determined that a crime had taken place and the end result would be the same. But as Patrick’s eye drew in more and more detail, he became increasingly aware of a multitude of troubling incongruences.

  He could see clearly now, a figure strapped into the passenger seat, it’s wings hardly contained by the seat belt, a glowing pair of ruby red eyes betraying it’s location, sitting so patiently as if it were perfectly normal, what appeared to be some kind of reptilian creature. If this revelation wasn’t strange enough, he could actually make out a set of instructions being relayed to the cop as he hunched over onto the driver’s seat to take in his orders and continue to carry out a communique. Patrick could only imagine what was being discussed. Suffice to say, there may have been a great deal or perhaps the hypnotic control the imp was exercising over the law man requir
ed so much effort.

  It was in this window of time, just before the fat boy began waddling toward the station wagon, that Patrick’s breaking point was reached. Nothing good can come from this, he told himself. If his treatment at Central Booking had been any indication of what might be waiting for him, the redundancy of a return trip loomed. Foolish it may have seemed, originally, to have attempted escape then, even more foolish now, it occurred to him, to stay.

  Madison returned her presence to the cabin of the hatchback with the jerk of the gear shifter into the R position. Her eyes bulged with alarm. She reflexedly opened her mouth to make her protest known but she couldn’t bring herself to enunciate it, not once they’d made eye contact. It was a look of resolve she’s been eager to see but until this point had not. Without words, the conclusion was totally understood between the two of them. Sometimes life twists and contorts itself in ways that are seemingly acrobatic in nature in order to force one’s hand. Despite all of the training and schooling and mindful advice, there really are no written rules and for everyone, at least once, a day comes when the sun doesn’t rise. This was one such time and these two adolescent cohorts were well aware of it. You can run from your problems all you want but eventually they’ll find you. The only direction to travel reasonably is…..forward.

  With that, Patrick depressed the brakes in tandem with his other foot crushing down on the accelerator. His timing couldn’t have been any better. Despite his inexperience behind the wheel, he was able to coordinate the machine to pivot and thrust directly into the police officer, caught in no man’s land halfway between the station wagon and squad car. He couldn’t have been more caught off guard. The rear bumper of the Subaru slammed into his shins, removing his feet from under him. Of course, the upper portion of the family car was soon to follow, the inertia hurling the large man just far enough into the roadway for the ill-timed arrival of a Ford F-150 pick-up truck to complete the patrol officer’s life, with the unforgiving tire of the cumbersome transport reducing his capital into so much apple sauce.

  “Oh, my gosh!” Maddy gasped. Her hands speedily finding the sides of her face with panic.

  She knew full well the police man’s status as an antagonist, a representative of evil. Still, the dramatic conclusion of that life and the sheer gravity of their disposition was not lost on her.

  Chapter 20

  Rosicky found himself in a long, dank corridor leading him from the activity area to what he assumed would be the sanctuary of Abundant Grace. It had been many years since he’d entered a place of worship on his own volition and he was well aware of the irony in that he had come fully prepared to ‘break in’ as it were, though he had encountered little resistance to his infiltration of the church facility. One can embark on any number of avenues in a quest for knowledge but invariably is led back to an institution of religion. It doesn’t seem to completely satiate the unanswered questions left by science and sociology but for thousands of years it has served as a pervasive theme even the brightest can’t seem to discount or avoid.

  There could be no doubt now. Marscese’s information was accurate as always because there was no ambivalence in Martin’s mind that this was the epicenter of the maelstrom having enveloped his city.

  He had successfully navigated the obstacle course of carnage consuming the parking lot. Mangled cars, trucks and even heavy commercial machinery, for some reason, had reached a catastrophic end on these grounds. Even the grass itself, normally golf course like by description, in many places appeared to be singed. Despite the light misting of drizzle as a constant in the present atmospheric conditions, whatever had previously transpired must have been quite violent as smoke and small contained fires snapped and popped intermittently. But even the casual passerby would be forced to conclude that something supernatural was taking place here. An ominous thunderhead was forming over the location. Inexplicably, it even seemed to be developing directly from the church itself, one might conclude.

  The town was replete with crimes of all types both petty and largescale. Suffice to say, law enforcement manpower was being stretched thinly and at this, Rosicky was not dismayed. He preferred to work alone and seldom called for back up until he had a concrete case built to his liking. The town was, by all accounts, unraveling by the minute but for Rosicky, he found it strangely liberating. He was free to follow his whims without the threat of oversight and it felt like it was garnering tangible results.

  He’d arrived with a mindset of negotiating the church house’s perimeter by any means but to his perplexity, he’d found all the doors to be unsecured. For such gravitas, the lack of security occurred to him to be a bit lop sided. It was almost as if the phenomena inside was inviting him in.

  But now, in the hallway, he was confronted with a measurable degree of angst. Was it really down to him to unhinge the Pandora’s Box of mystery? Whatever was going on here maintained all the allure of a dead dog removal from beneath a double wide on a hot summer’s day yet still he pressed on. The senior law man crept forward, placing toe before heel so as to stifle the echo of his footsteps in the baron tunnel. The make of the polished granite surface inciting him to control his breathing pattern, he could hear a pin drop from the other side if he wanted to. He was uncannily sneaky.

  He was about halfway down the length of the passage now. His mind’s eye perceived the supply closet door slightly ajar as he overtook it. Had it been a less precarious set of circumstances, he most likely would’ve checked it but his eyes demanded their focus ahead. Scanning for movement, he gripped the Glock 9 mm with silencer attachment he’d purchased under the table from Marscese years before. Rosicky was a ghost who could not afford detection and certainly not by any hostiles should his presence be deemed unwelcome. It was a brave new world and the rules were being rewritten in real time.

  No sooner had he progressed past the supply closet did the door fling open and Rosicky was made aware that he was no longer alone. He produced his firearm and about-faced, his index finger flexing. Only a minute exertion of pressure would activate the firing pin but an unsettling sight awaited him, prompting his hesitation.

  It was a creature, reptilian in nature, on it’s hind legs, standing no more than waist high. Martin didn’t feel imminently threatened by it’s physical stature but for a ghastly hissing noise it emitted, lunging forward at Martin with outrage in it’s purple, other worldly reticles.

  Rosicky’s instincts, as a default, were to err on the side of caution which, in this case, amounted to his trigger finger decisively squeezing off a round, striking the animal squarely in it’s chest. It catapulted backward, grunting and squealing with indignation, a bull frog like noise.

  The detective took a moment to gather himself. What the hell is that? Something that should only exist in a J.R.R. Tolkein book he thought. An organism unlike he had ever encountered before. He could see now, a humanoid figure possessing all the qualities of a snake or lizard perhaps. Moist, scaly flesh. Talons. Fangs. Sparsely situated patches of hair. No, this was not some twisted derivation of an extreme drug addict nor a freak mutation from the animal kingdom. Could this be the infamous Chupacabra? Great, a discovery of National Geographic prestige and his first gut reaction was to murder the animal. His mind parsed through the consequential scenarios, to him the most probable of which involved; odd ball detective, possibly under the influence of alcohol on the job, poaches a federally protected endangered species. ‘He’s now serving 15 years in a federal prison while his superiors soak up the lime light and revel in the accolades of a ground breaking scientific discovery.’

  I am not here right now. This never happened, he reminded himself. Chaos carries with it a convenient little facilitation for the clandestine. He could probably get away with it, no questions asked, with any luck. I wonder if there are any more of these things out here? If so, a documented instance of someone getting bitten could serve as vindication enough but he wasn’t in a hurry for it to come to that.

  He rapidly checked hi
s vectors. No one else had made their presence known, he discerned, and he intended to keep it that way. A devious arch to his eye brows, the only indication he knew he was getting away with something, tampering with evidence. Cops break the law just like everyone else does, a noteworthy dichotomy in the mind of those charged with upholding the law yet also not constrained by it.

  Martin moved decisively now. Reaching in the breast pocket of his beige trench coat, he slapped on some royal blue colored latex gloves and located the shell casing having pinged onto the well-polished granite surface where it had rolled teasingly to the crevice where the narrow hallway wall began, shoved it in the opposite breast pocket. Another one or two furtive glances just to make sure the coast was clear.

  A filthy, unpleasant, black substance was collecting beneath the ‘Chupacabra’. This, he surmised, was it’s blood. The animal struck him as wholly other worldly. His first instinct was to drag the carcass back into the supply closet. With any luck, there would be a mop bucket and some bleach or something he could revisit once more urgent matters had been addressed.

  Despite it’s decidedly lithe frame, it was found to be remarkably cumbersome to maneuver, no less so from the revelation that it was endowed with a neatly folded set of bat like wings. Rosicky wondered briefly if they were strictly ornamental in nature as he could not imagine them creating enough lift to afford the creature airborne ascension, given the mass of the beast in comparison with the size and estimated strength of it’s wings. But it wasn’t pertinent. This was a hideous, chimera like amalgam. Is this where my tax dollars have been going? Surely the product of some off the books, underground military laboratory gone unsupervised.

  He had hardly advanced to the threshold of the supply closet with the corpse before he was made aware of the impending approach of others. The echoes of voices and footsteps, and this did cause him duress, incited him to, rather ungracefully, heave the scaly varmint into the abyss, a clattering of various tools and objects followed. He saw no more attractive option but to join his new found, slithery friend in the musty enclave. Perhaps he could learn something from these fresh entrants but he wanted to control that dynamic. The party would be upon his position soon. He left just enough separation between the door so as to have an optimal vantage point to see but not be seen. Gripping his service weapon tightly, he braced himself for the next moment and monitored his breathing.