The Equinox

by M J Preston

  3

  Detective Sean Woodman sat sipping coffee inside the surveillance van while watching the suspect. The suspect was a native man, a little taller than six feet, sporting a braided ponytail which ran down the length of his back. He looked to be approximately twenty-six years old.

  “What’s our mystery man doing tonight?”

  Woodman’s partner, Brad Rosedale, was just sitting down beside him with a fresh cup of coffee.

  “He likes to watch,” Woodman remarked. “Beyond that, not too much.” He adjusted the video camera and zoomed in a bit.

  “Three days I haven’t seen him proposition one girl.”

  “He’s just working up his nerve,” Rosedale said.

  “At this rate, the guy is going to be a virgin for life,” he said and took a sip of his coffee. Just then, their suspect began to walk towards one of the girls. Woodman lowered his coffee, leaned forward in his chair. “Hello, looks like cold feet just got his nerve.”

  4

  She was ready to give up when a friendly male voice spoke up from behind her.

  “Hello,” he greeted, “how are you doing this evening?”

  A tall man stood on the sidewalk to her left. He was dressed all in black. Like that old Country singer, Johnny Cash, but this guy was an Indian, not a cowboy.

  “Better now,” she replied, a smile forming on her face as she sized him up. He wasn’t a bit like what she was used to – he was good-looking, for a start. Most of the guys who frequented the red-light district had some kind of baggage. Fat, ugly, shy, mother issues – so the odd good looking ‘John’ was definitely a red flag. Good looking guys had issues; odds were that a ‘Looker’ was either an abusive asshole or a cop.

  “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

  “Franklin. And you?” The tone of his voice had an air of sexuality in it that she couldn’t quite explain, but it turned her on.

  “Kerry.” She drew her fingers across her breast provocatively. God, he’s charming! She almost felt hypnotized by his gaze.

  “Chilly evening Kerry.” His eyes moved over her from top to bottom, a shameless smile across his lips. He had a soft accent which she could not place, and it was clear that English was not his mother tongue.

  “Too chilly to be outdoors, Franklin.” She looked behind him. “I didn’t see your car.”

  “I don’t have a car. I’m here on business.” His smile broadened. A sudden uneasy shiver pulsed up and down her spine.

  This guy is a cop. He could have any girl he wants at a club. He’s too charming, too good-looking. Walk away, Kerry. Don’t take the bait.

  “My hotel is a block from here. Would you like to come with me?” he asked. Before she could answer, he continued, “I know what you’re thinking, Kerry.”

  Yeah, I’m thinking all sorts of things: that you’re a cop. A women beater. Or maybe even a biter. You have no idea what I’m thinking, Franklin.

  Though her mind argued, her mouth invited. “Oh really? What am I thinking, Franklin?”

  “Well, you think I’m with the police, that this is some kind of set up,” He picked a bit of lint off his black shirt. “But you’re wrong.”

  This was a new approach, she thought, and said, “Well, a girl can’t be too careful, Franklin. Maybe you could show me some I.D.?”

  “I don’t carry a wallet on me. Too dangerous – especially when I’m talking working girls.”

  Fuck this! I’m not spending the night in jail or the emergency room! She turned and began to walk away without saying a word.

  “Wait,” he called after her. “I have an idea.”

  She spun around, her expression solemn, her mind screaming, Don’t be an idiot! It’s a trap! Fuck, Kerry, what are you doing?

  He pulled out a wad of green notes and removed a 100 dollar bill. Kerry’s eyes froze upon it, transfixed. “This is a gift, Kerry,” he said, handing her the bill. “I am not paying you for any services. I am just giving you a gift.”

  Maybe he’s an eccentric rich guy who likes getting down with the whores on Saturday night. She reached out and took the bill from him. Yeah! Sure! I’m a goddamned no-brain idiot.

  “Now, here is what I am proposing. I am going to give you another gift when we get back to my hotel room. You are not obligated to do anything but come back with me and talk. I find you very attractive, Kerry, but where our friendship goes from there is up to you. We can talk, and if it goes beyond that, it will because it was what two consenting adults wanted. There is no financial transaction attached to it. Therefore no crime has been committed, and no chance of arrest.”

  She’d already tucked the hundred away.

  Are you a bad guy, Franklin? Will you hurt me?

  If she went with this guy and he decided to give her more money she could sock a bit away for a rainy day. She still felt uneasy, but it was cold, and it was only going to get colder. Maybe he’ll give me four hundred instead of two. Screw it!

  “Okay, Franklin. Let’s go to your hotel and get to know each other.” She reached out her hand, muting her internal voice of reason as she did. Maybe he’s okay. There came no response: just indifferent silence. She was on her own. The voice of reason would be back later to gloat if this all went terribly wrong.

  “I’m glad you saw it my way,” he said taking her hand in his. It felt smooth and cold, devoid of lines or callous, almost like plastic.

  Then he suddenly released her and began to walk away, leaving her to chase after him and the money. As he walked something small flapped about on the back his shirt, just below where his long hair swept across his shoulder blades.

  When Kerry caught up with him, she snatched it up and showed him the tiny black feather. “What’s this, Franklin?” she asked. “You’re not into kink, are you?”

  He plucked the feather out of her hand and for a moment she thought she saw something flicker on his face. Or was it his eyes? But an instant later it was gone, and that seductive smile returned. He tickled her chin with the feather. “That, sweet Kerry, is yet to be seen.” Then he tossed it, retaking her hand and leading her down the street.

  As they walked away, the small feather danced in the autumn breeze back and forth, back and forth, drifting gently down as it fought gravity. At last, it fluttered down, settled in the gutter next to a condom wrapper and Popsicle stick. Then it began to crystallize, tiny diamonds of frost sprouting across it. By the time they were 15 feet away, it had become hard, frozen, and too cold for human touch.

  5

  If Daniel Blackbird were a man to complain, he most certainly would grumble about his feet, because they ached horribly. But he muttered not. He had not been raised a complainer. He was not a full blood Chocktee like his mother or grandfather and bore the brunt of judgment from not only the prejudices of white men but his own people. In any other circumstance, he may have become bitter and weak, but his grandfather would have none of that.

  You must always be strong, Daniel. Never take umbrage with the shortcomings of others. Instead, draw strength and show them that you are unaffected by the blindness of their judgment,” his grandfather counseled.

  That was a voice from another time. When his grandfather was alive. When he had been welcome: not cast out by the Chocktee or spirit woods. He had disgraced himself and carried with him a burden no man would want to carry.

  Focus. He’s here somewhere. Stop mucking around and figure out where Skin is, before he smells you and runs again, he scolded himself and tried to concentrate on the tug that had brought him to the city.

  6

  Woodman lifted out of his seat. “Where did he go?”

  Rosedale leaned in and scanned the monitor. “Christ, he was just there a minute ago.”

  Woodman’s heart began to pound in his chest. “Where the fuck is he, Brad?”

  “I don’t know. He just vanished, like smoke.” />
  “Fuck!” Woodman picked up the radio. “All units, this is Team Leader. We have lost contact with the subject, report status.”

  The reports came in. “Team Alpha no visual. Team Bravo no visual.”

  Woodman got up and put on his coat, adjusted his shoulder holster, then zipped up. His face broadcasted panic, his words were jittery. “Jesus Christ! Alert them I will be doing a walk by.”

  “All Units, be advised that Team Leader is doing a walk by.”

  Rosedale scanned the street anxiously. If the subject was their man and they lost him there could be dire repercussions, especially if he killed someone.

  “Let’s hope we can un-fuck this, Brad,” Woodman said. He opened the door and stepped out of the van.

  Carefully, he stepped out onto the sidewalk, first looking left, then right. The crisp night air cooled the hot panic he felt by a fraction. Stay calm. He’s only been out of sight for a few minutes. Besides, he might just be a Looky Lou, anyway.

  But he doubted his own reassurances: he was pretty sure this was their guy.

  7

  Kerry and Franklin turned the corner down an alley between a warehouse store and an apartment building. “It’s a shortcut,” Franklin insisted, but halfway down he stopped. There on the ground, he saw what he needed. This place would suit his needs fine.

  “Come on, Franklin, I’m freezing. Let’s get to your hotel.” Kerry tried in vain to pull the miniskirt down over her legs. Goosebumps prickled up between her thighs.

  He turned and caught her eyes in his hypnotic gaze. It disarmed her: suddenly she felt calm and disconnected; as if she had just smoked some premium weed.

  “It’s not cold, Kerry. It’s actually quite warm,” his voice soothed.

  Yes, it is warmer.

  She could feel him holding her there using some strange telepathic anesthetic to control her. Yet she was strangely at ease―and aroused. She was being seduced, as a vampire might lull its victim or a leech will inject numbing chemicals into its prey, readying itself to feed. He’s feeling me; touching me inside.

  “It feels good, doesn’t it, sweet Kerry?” he asked, as he had so many times before.

  “Yes.” There was a slur to her speech: minute, but there nonetheless. “Please don’t stop.”

  “I wouldn’t think of stopping.”

  He began to change physically. His copper skin washed out, becoming grey and translucent. His eyes fell back in his head, growing and warping until they were steel balls, while his nose melted into the flat alien landscape of his face. His dark grey lips now exposed the tombstones protruding from his – its – grey rotted gums as the cloak he wore melted away.

  A witness would have turned, run in terror. This creature was a man, but not a man: grey, without a nose, and three talons on each hand for fingers. Its eyes glowed fiery white in the darkness of the alley.

  Kerry could not see the physical change; she only felt the immense loss of control as it anesthetized her. She could not feel its talons wrap around the nape of her neck.

  Then it began cutting off its anesthesia and bringing her back, and she came down at an incredible rate. She was unaware that it was holding her in its clutches. Her eyes still closed, she tried very hard to hang onto the high that enveloped her – but reality loomed.

  “Open your eyes, Kerry,” it urged her.

  I don’t want to. I want to stay here. But she sensed something was wrong.

  It needed her fear to sate its appetite. “Open your eyes.”

  She tried to fight it, but couldn’t: the calm tide was receding. She heard a hollow whistle of labored breath and smelled a stench she could only compare to rotten meat or garbage.

  Please let me stay; feels so good.

  “Open your eyes. Open them now.” The words came from inside of her somewhere, pushing.

  At first, she saw a reflection of herself in the chromium spheres set before her, and then her most vivid nightmare came to life.

  “Hello, sweetheart,” her father, Rodney McNeil, laughed.

  She tried to pull away, unable to scream, but he held her in a death grip. “You’re not going to make Daddy pay, are you?”

  He grinned layers of jagged teeth set neatly within black infected gums. Terror cut through her, and before she could cry out, he unscrewed her head. There were crunching sounds as bone and ligament cracked and tore, but she was sure it could not be her. Then it elevated her up, and she felt weightless, her body numb. In the millisecond it took for Kerry to compute that her head had been removed, her world went black as the synapses in her brain fired their last electrical pulses.

  Her head thudded on the dirty concrete, bits of grit embedding in her cooling cheek, the last bit of blood expelling from her lifeless brainstem mixing with oils and grime. Then the monster lifted her torso, opened her belly with its razor toe, and began to feed.

  8

  Blackbird was a block away when the Walker he tracked pulled Kerry McNeil’s head off. He knew he was close, but he had no idea just how close – all he could feel was it pulling him down the street, calling to him. The scar on his face tingled. His body pulled westward, like a magnet.

  9

  Louise Weatherton would never forget what had drawn her to the window of her third-floor apartment that night. It was a grating sound. A sound everyone knows but hardly gives a second thought. The sound was that of a heavy manhole cover being dragged across pavement. She might never have heard it except for the fact that the low-income apartment she rented had no air conditioning. The night air might have been cooler outside, but the 10-story apartment building was a humid chamber, heat retained within its brickwork and hollow cavities.

  She was just finishing up the dishes when she heard the noise.

  It’s a little late for city workers.

  She looked toward the window, folding the tea towel she’d been using, and laid it on the countertop. At that moment she was about to go into the living room and watch Jeopardy. Then she heard it again.

  Louise was a nosy woman in her mid-forties. She did not deny this fact, nor did she feel ashamed. She had little to do but inject herself into the lives of others. Which, much to the chagrin of her neighbors, she did often.

  She opened the curtains on the kitchen window as carefully as possible – because, like most voyeurs, she did not want to be spotted watching.

  When she peered down into the alley, she suddenly lost her ability to breathe. Somebody had removed a manhole cover, but it wasn’t the Department of Works.

  Am I really seeing this? Is this real?

  She reached blindly for the phone, which was just out of reach, unable to tear her eyes away from what she was witnessing. In the alley below, a creature that could only be described as a monster held before it a disemboweled and headless body. The beast stood about seven feet tall, skin grey, rotten. It was bald and had long arms with claws for fingers on each hand. Its face was smooth, and its eyes glowed. Its blood-smeared mouth opened and closed as it fed, revealing two rows of top and bottom teeth. It reminded her of the things from the movie ‘Alien’ – except this thing was uglier.

  She fumbled for the phone and somehow managed to grab it. She mashed 911 into the keypad without looking.

  “911. What is your emergency?” the voice on the other end of the phone asked.

  In any other situation, her response would have been comedic – but the monster heard the operator and turned its fiery gaze upon the window.

  Louise let out a shrill high-pitched scream.

  10

  Daniel Blackbird heard the scream and picked up on its direction instantly. He reached up and touched the scar that ran from eye to cheekbone, an ugly wave of white skin on a sea of unblemished copper. He felt the tug inside him, the tingle in his face, and began moving in the direction of the scream.

  By the third stride, he was ru
nning.

  11

  Frozen with fear, Louise stood there at the window as the monster dropped the body into the sewer. All the while it never took its eyes off her.

  Louise was paralyzed. She could not move no matter how hard she tried.

  A thousand miles away she heard a voice saying. “Miss? I have dispatched police to your location. Please stay on the phone.”

  She couldn’t respond – but she thought, Oh please, tell them to fucking hurry!

  Stay there, the monster told her. Its command came from right inside her head. It was now at the base of the building and bashing its claws into the masonry as it began to scale the wall.

  I’m going to die, she thought.

  Yes, you are going to die, the monster echoed.

  “Oh my God,” she whimpered.

  The monster was ten feet away now. Its horrible teeth grating as the stench of rot filtered upward to the open window. The blood from its last victim was already coagulating on the corners of its mouth.

  Don’t move.

  She could feel its hunger, a spinning lust coalesced with madness. A desperate prayer rocked through her: Let it be quick.

  It let out a low, guttural shriek.

  Only a few feet away, the stench was overpowering.

  She wanted to close her eyes, but it would not let her.

  Be afraid! This is going to hurt! Be afraid!

  The phone fell from her clutch onto the counter, and when she was face to face with the abomination the masonry beside her window exploded. At first, she thought it was the monster, but then she realized that someone below had fired something at the window. It turned and looked below, breaking its hold on her.

  Shooooooooothunk.

  Again something ricocheted off the brick wall.

  The monster turned its attention on the man below. He was holding some kind of bow and arrow. But Louise didn’t stop to contemplate why. Its grip on her was suddenly gone. She broke from the window and dashed for her bedroom, screaming all the way.

  Blackbird knocked another arrow into the crossbow and armed it. It dropped from the wall and landed on the ground. It stood in front of him, unfurling its long arms and extending its deadly talons. Blackbird had never been this close, except for that one night. It was huge; much larger than he remembered.