by M J Preston
“A note? Ten thousand dollars to deliver a note?” Masterson sniffed.
“I represent a company that prides itself on anonymity. So what I expect is that you provide him with shelter, deliver this message, and take payment. If you feel my offer is too risky, I will find another courier for my harmless memorandum.” He reached down and picked up the other envelope.
For two or three long seconds, Scott struggled with the idea. If this was illegal, he could end up dead. If it wasn’t it might go a long way to solving some of his problems. He could pay down the taxes and skim a bit for the tables. What if it is illegal, though? This guy creeps me right out. Two or three days when they come for their blood money I’m screwed anyhow. Maybe God is cutting me a break.
So he reached out and said, “Okay, I’ll deliver your message. What is the name of your company? What is your name?”
“None of your business. I will tell you the name of my associate, though. His name is Daniel Blackbird. He is aboriginal and may look a bit rough around the edges, but he poses no threat. When he arrives, you will have a room ready for him and give him that smaller envelope.”
“Blackbird,” Scott replied, taking the envelopes into his hands.
“This portion of our business is concluded, Mr. Masterson. Ensure that you take care of that note and make sure it is delivered unopened.”
Scott knelt down to place the second envelope with the first. When he stood up the office was empty. The door chime had not sounded.
“What the?”
He ducked back down to see if the envelopes were still there. They were. “Okay, so I didn’t hallucinate.”
He touched the smaller envelope with his index finger and pondered what might be inside. He tried to remember the stranger’s face – but he could only remember the eyes. They were large and dark, and there was a glint of silver in them, almost like chrome.
A chill rolled up his spine. He was not a superstitious man, but there was a side of him that told him that looking into that man’s eyes could drive you completely insane.
4
The Walker strolled along the side of the highway, happy so far with its plan and confident that the man would not break the seal of the envelope it had given him. The man at the hotel was weak-minded and easily manipulated. It had gotten inside his head, made him see things that were not there. That was another one of its talents, one that had been used time and again to lure prey. A man’s lust or greed was an open invitation to exploitation, and the Walker used these shortcomings expertly.
The hunter would be here within a day or two. When this was over, there would be much blood – and it would be free of pursuit at last. The hunter’s days were drawing short: a new beginning was about to cycle.
It had not eaten properly for quite some time. Eating was, of course, necessary – but the taste of animal meat was not as pure or satisfying as that of man. But tonight it decided to make an exception and make a celebratory killing to endorse the new beginning.
The Walker changed form and flew southward, away from the town of Thomasville and the likes of Stephen Hopper. In the chilly autumn night, the raven flapped its great wings, leaving the prairie landscape behind.
But it would be back.
5
US Highway 83
South of Falkirk, ND
Four hours later on a deserted highway, a hitchhiker stuck out her thumb to an approaching car. The driver was a man in his mid-fifties heading home after an extended business trip in Bismarck. Typically he would not have even slowed down for the individual on the roadside, but this was not your average highway straggler out there on the shoulder. She had long dark brown hair, large breasts, and skin-tight jeans which hugged her slender legs. All of that was caught in his headlights, but he did not see her face. Truth be told, with a body like that she could have one eye and three teeth and he still would have pulled over.
When he pulled the car to the side of the road, he watched in the rearview mirror as she ran up through the crimson glow of his brake lights. “Looks good to me,” he remarked, and lowered the passenger window.
“Hi, are you going to, Minot?” she asked.
He reached over, unlocked the car door and said, “Hop in! Minot is exactly where I’m going.”
“That’s great!” She climbed in, slammed the door, and the car pulled away.
As they drove, he stole an occasional glance at her. She appeared not to notice. She was beautiful, dark and raven, with high cheekbones and sultry eyes. The clothes clung tightly to her well-sculpted figure, and as he stole glance after glance, he found himself fantasizing about what it would be like to touch her.
One of her smooth and silky hands floated across the bench seat. It caressed his leg and moved upwards. This startled him at first, but he remained calm, keeping his eyes on the road. As it sank in, he held from letting out a bray of smug laughter. He still remembered all the Penthouse Forum letters he’d read as a teenager.
“Feel good?” she asked.
“Uh huh,” That was all he could manage and thought, Dear Penthouse Forum: I never thought this would happen to me. I was driving down US 83, minding my own business when…
“Good,” she interrupted, unzipped his pants and slid her hand inside. Finding what she was looking for, she clamped onto him and began to squeeze and release. “You’re a big boy.”
He wanted to look at her but knew if he took his eyes off the road he’d crash for sure. “Well, you’re the cause of that, sweetheart.”
She let out a seductive laugh and squeezed a couple more times, then leaned in closer, sliding her butt across the seat, her hip touching his. She whispered, “Wouldn’t my tongue feel better?”
He felt a rush of excitement. She squeezed a little harder, moving her hand up and down and he said, “There’s a motel about forty miles up.”
“Oh no, baby,” she whispered, hot breath in his ear. “I want it now. Pull in the next rest area, and I’ll give you something that will last the rest of your life.” She ran her tongue over his earlobe, continuing to squeeze and release.
Ahead a highway sign declared, ‘Rest Area, 1 Mile ahead’.
When he rolled into the rest-stop, he took a cursory look around for other vehicles but saw none.
Thank you, God!
He barely had the car in park, and she was all over him. She pushed him against the driver’s door, unbuttoned his already unzipped pants. In his excitement he did not see the shadow approaching from behind, or her reaching over to unlock the door.
One moment he was in his car and the next he was being pulled out onto the parking lot asphalt. A dreaded realization hit him: “Oh shit, I’m getting busted.” Then the guy pulling him out kicked him square in the stomach.
“You like touching my old lady, asshole?” he barked and kicked him again. “Do yuh!”
He lay still, prone and whimpering. The girl searched through his pockets. When she found his wallet, she yanked it out. Inside were two twenty-dollar bills.
“This is all you have!” she screeched. “Forty dollars! I had to kiss this slob and touch his cock for forty bucks!”
He decided then that she was not the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.
“You better have more money there, fucker!”
The guy was just about to kick him again when something flashed overhead, and the driver was showered with a spray of warm sticky liquid.
Where did he go? Then, perversely: I guess I’m not getting a blowjob.
Something thudded down in front of him. Then pained amusement turned to terror when he realized it was the kicker’s severed head. Even more horrifying: the head hadn’t yet realized it should be still. The mouth opened, seemed to gasp for breath.
Behind him, the girl screamed and began to run. As he watched over his shoulder, he saw a blur of night air splash across the lot like o
il across a canvas and come to a stop directly in front of her. It looked somewhat like a wingless grey gargoyle – then it grabbed hold of her and lifted her up off the ground.
“I didn’t do anything!” she cried.
Wrapped around her fingers, the driver spied the twenty-dollar bills she had stolen. Even after what she had done he felt sorry for her – but not sorry enough to be a hero.
He still could not find his breath, but he wanted desperately to scream after what he saw next. As she begged, it let out a blood-curdling shriek, then disemboweled her with the razor toe on its left foot. As her entrails spilled onto the cold asphalt, he began to crawl toward his vehicle, desperately praying that his keys were still in the ignition. He slid along on his belly; the kick he’d taken in the guts seemed like a minor issue now, the prospect of highway sex and betrayal forgotten.
It only took seconds to get to the car.
Behind him the grey beast was feasting on her insides as he touched the key chain and slid into the car, trying not to make any noise. He turned the key, and the seatbelt alarm chimed.
Ding ding ding!
That was enough. The monster looked up from its feed. Its eyes locked onto him as he slumped in the driver seat, and it let out another blood-curdling shriek.
“No,” the driver cried, then sat up and turned the key.
The ignition caught; the car rumbled to life. Jamming the gear selector in reverse, he punched the gas pedal all the way to the floor. As he did the monster gave chase, still holding a large handful of the girl’s intestine in its clutch.
“No! No! No!” he screamed. “What in the name of fuck!”
The monster hurled its fistful of innards as it gained – they hit the hood with a vile wet slap. He screamed again, and in turn, the beast let out another high-pitched shriek. Then he rolled backward down the onramp he’d used minutes earlier, all the while transfixed on the unrelenting specter.
“This is a nightmare,” he cried. “A fucking nightmare!”
6
Bobby Dulong had no intention of camping out for the night: he just wanted to make a quick stop, have a piss and draw a line in his log book. He exited onto the ramp a little fast. The need to piss clouded his judgment and he waited to down-shift a couple of gears on the relatively straight ramp. Behind his Freightliner were two Super-B train tankers full up with gasoline. Under any other circumstances, Dulong would have had no problem stopping the big rig, but this was not a typical set of circumstances. He never saw the monster chasing the car: he only saw the glow of backup lights coming the wrong way down the ramp and the explosion of plastic and steel when he collided with it.
He screamed, “Fuck!” But that was all he got out: the car’s gas tank exploded, and his windshield became awash with liquid fire. Then the B train tankers, pushed by gravity, began to jackknife around and lose their balance. Dulong did not see them either, but he knew that his ticket had been punched. The tankers flipped, and the bladders inside them hemorrhaged. What ensued was what witnesses, if there were any, would have called two mushrooming explosions. First, the main tanker exploded, then the pup followed moments later.
From above the raven glided in a circular pattern as the fireballs lit up the night in a brilliant mixture of orange and yellow. When the second blast subsided, the raven landed on the paved lot where it had made its first kill. The two bodies were still steaming. The Walker wasted no time: it changed form, then resumed gorging.
7
Stomach swollen with fresh meat it sat lethargic, the fire reflecting in its eyes. The pain of hunger subsided for now. In the distance, it could hear sirens calling out.
It picked up the two disemboweled carcasses and dragged them to the fire which burned intensely. Heaving each body into the inferno, it watched with fascination and for a moment considered ambushing the rescuers when they arrived. Its hunger was satisfied, but the pull was still there – always there.
Better not, it thought, then changed form and flew into the abyss of night.
***
Chapter 8 - Hopper Talks
1
Pain! Oh my God, it hurts!
Logan massaged his chest after being jerked awake by a burning pain which tore through him. First, it was mild, just bringing him back from the realm of sleep, and then it erupted. It wasn’t heartburn: he’d suffered acid reflux his whole life and knew this was different. The pain was center of the breastplate corkscrewing out across his barrel chest like splinters of glass burrowing into his bones and emitting agonizing fevered heat up into the surrounding muscle. I have a heart attack!
Then, as quickly as it had come, the eruption subsided. He couldn’t see a thing through the pitch dark of the room, and for a brief instant, he wondered if he was destined to die here alone in the dark. The prospect of this terrified him in ways he could have never imagined. He lay there catching his breath, rubbing his chest making a mental note to go see the doctor tomorrow.
The phone suddenly rang, scaring him half to death. He fumbled for it and in his blindness knocked a whiskey tumbler off the nightstand. It dropped onto the hardwood floor, smashed, and sent splinters of glass everywhere. Guess I’ll be getting up on the other side of the bed.
He picked up the phone through the dark, said, “Yeah,” and realized the receiver was upside down. Turning it over, he repeated, “Yeah, what is it?”
“Hi, Chief.” It was Hardy. “Sorry to wake you.”
“Don’t worry about it. What’s up, Sandy?”
“I think you might want to come down to the station,” she said. In the background, Logan could hear what sounded like muffled yelling.
“What’s going on?”
“It’s Hopper. He’s freaking out, big time,” she said and fell silent for a moment. “Can you hear that?”
Logan listened again. He strained to identify what he was yelling – but it was no use. “That’s him?”
“That’s him. Detective Pearson and I went to check on him, and he just kept screaming: ‘Get me, Logan! Get me, Logan!’”
He swung out of bed forgetting about the glass. His toe brushed against its jagged edge, and he pulled his foot back. “Okay, hang tough. I’ll be there in twenty-five minutes.”
“Sorry, Chief; wasn’t sure what else to do beyond gagging him.”
“No problem, Sandy. Sleep is overrated anyhow.”
He hung up the phone and rolled over to the other side of the bed. The pain which had cut through him earlier was now gone, but he popped a couple of antacids the doc had prescribed him for heartburn regardless.
Fuck! I can’t wait to unload this fat pig, he thought while pulling on his trousers.
At first, it was okay. Everything was geared toward the investigation.
But now? Now he felt deep resentment at being the sounding board for this defect of nature.
Another stab of pain spiked in his chest as he dressed, but it subsided. Again, he reminded himself that he had to go to the doc tomorrow. He hated going for two reasons. The only doctor available to him was a woman, and she harped on him about his smoking and the extra thirty-five pounds he was carrying around.
Suck it up, Dave. Better to listen to a little of her bitching than dropping dead, he scolded, then aloud he mumbled, “Better than dying alone in the dark.”
2
When he arrived at the station, the yelling had stopped, and the staff room was relatively calm. He hung up his coat and poured himself a cup of coffee. As he stirred, Hardy walked up to him and grabbed a Styrofoam cup.
“Seems awfully quiet in here, Sandy.”
“He shut up about ten minutes ago,” she replied. “We had to get him into the shower and change his jumpsuit.”
“Why? Is he sick?” He tossed the plastic stir stick into the trash.
“He shit himself.”
Logan laughed. “Better you than me, Sandy.”
Thanks, Chief.” She rolled her eyes. “I checked on him. He’s okay. Well, okay as in not dangling from the ceiling from a homemade noose.”
“As much as that prospect appeals to me, I don’t need the paperwork.”
“Detective Pearson is watching over him right now. He’s in the moaning, whimpering stage of his temper tantrum and he won’t talk to anyone but you. Pearson tried to ask him what’s up and he told him to go fuck his mother.” Hardy smiled, but for different reasons than Logan thought. She had felt Pearson’s eyes crawling over her, examining her chest, and it made her uncomfortable. She usually didn’t mind the attention, but Pearson was creepy.
Logan looked up, a mischievous smile on his lips and said, “Well, did he?”
“Huh?”
She didn’t understand at first, then covered her mouth and giggled. She liked Logan. He was much older than her, but there was something about him that she found attractive. He was a thoughtful man, a little overweight, but he still had a charm about him, and he had a rugged, good-looking face. If not for love she felt for Don Steel, she might well have slept with Logan if the opportunity arose.
“Alright, I guess I better get this over with then.”
Logan began to walk across the staff room. Halfway to the lockup, he sloshed coffee over his hand. He set the cup down on a desk and wiped it off on his uniform pants.
Behind him, Hardy laughed.
“Hilarious,” he said, leaving the cup and winking at her.
Entering the cell block, he saw Pearson sitting in a chair watching over Hopper. He shot a glance Logan’s way and got up to meet him.
“Ah, here comes the cavalry.”
“Thanks. I was briefed by the Duty Officer. You mind hanging for a minute until I find out what’s up?” Logan whispered.
“Not at all. You want to set him up in the interview room?”
“Let’s see what’s up first.”