by Terri Reid
“It doesn’t look like much once you’ve wacked its head off,” the girl said, wiping green ooze from the blade of her broadsword.
“What?” Sean murmured, finding it hard to comprehend that he was not going to die.
“Heldeofol,” she replied. “Nasty creature. Poisonous. I’ve never seen anyone daft enough to take it on with just a stick.”
Even in his nearly unconscious state, Sean didn’t like her attitude. “Saved you,” he gasped.
“Oh, aye, you helped,” she replied casually. “But don’t be looking to get a medal for it. I’d have been out of the fix on my own in a moment or two. You really had no reason to bother yourself.”
Sean glared at her.
“Well, no need to get nasty,” she said, kneeling down next to him.
She lifted his arm and tore his shirt away to expose his wounded arm. “Ah, he got you right good,” she whispered sympathetically. “It’s a scar you’ll wear for the rest of your days, if I’m not mistaking.”
The wound was red and puckered, and blood was oozing around the edges. Small veins of black poison crisscrossed underneath Sean’s skin up his arm. The black was creeping slowly and was nearly to his shoulder. She ripped a piece of his shirt, formed a tourniquet and tied it high on his arm.
“We can’t have the poison get to your heart,” she explained. “Then you’d be a goner for sure.”
Pulling a few leaves from a nearby tree, she put them in her mouth and chewed on them a little before pulling them out and placing them on the wound. Sean scrunched up his nose in disgust and she laughed. “Aye, I know, ‘tis disgusting, but it’s the only way to release the healing properties.”
She sat back on her heels and looked at him. “Your wound is deep and poison is traveling quickly. There is a way I can help you, but you must know, we will be bound because of it. Do you agree?”
Sean could barely hear her through the pain of his wounds and the lethargy caused by the poison. He watched her mouth move and heard the words: help, bound and agree.
Nodding he took a deep shuddering breath and watched in detached interest as she withdrew a small silver knife from a sheath at her waist. She’s going to kill me, he thought. After all this, the girl is going to kill me.
She lifted his hand and drew her blade across the mound of flesh below his thumb and then repeated the same process on her own hand. She placed the knife back in the sheath and placed their hands together, her hand on top so the blood flowed from her body into his.
Sean gasped at the burning sensation he felt at her touch. It was worse than the Mercurochrome his mother used for their scrapes and cuts. He wanted to pull his hand away, but he couldn’t get his arm to respond.
“If it makes you feel any better, I can feel the burn too,” she said, grimacing in pain. “Your blood is no treat to my system either.”
As she transferred her lifeblood into his system to kill the poison, she watched the blackened veins slowly fade and move back towards the initial wound. It was working. The lad was going to live. She breathed a soft sigh of relief. She knew she’d lied. If not for his interference, she would have died. Her trainers had warned her to braid up her hair, but she’d been too stubborn to listen. She owed him her life, a boon she’d never forget.
“Your name?” she asked.
“Sean,” he mumbled.
“Well then, Sean, you’re going to be fine,” she said. “And the remnants of the poison will turn this experience into naught but a bad dream. Now all we have to do is get you up and to the edge of the woods where you’re people will be looking for you.”
She slipped her arm underneath Sean and sat him up. He was still dazed, but he felt stronger. He struggled to his feet and leaned against her.
“Can you walk?” she asked.
He nodded and stumbled forward.
Grabbing hold of him, she stopped his movement before he tripped himself. “Aye, you are the brave one, aren’t you?” she asked, a smile dancing across her lips. “Two sheets to the wind a moment ago and now you’re about running back home. Well, let’s take the slow route and let me help you just a wee bit.”
She guided him back through the forest, taking most of his weight on her.
He was still in a fog, but he understood he was going back…going home. As he moved forward, he realized that he was dizzier than he thought because it seemed that the vegetation opened up to them as they passed, branches lifted and bushed bowed so they could walk through undisturbed. “They’re getting out of our way…” he whispered.
“Aye, you’re half-daft,” she whispered, although he could hear the smile in her voice. “Trees and plants cannot move as we bid.”
In only a few minutes, they arrived at the edge of the woods. He tried to quicken his pace, but she held him back.
“Just a moment,” she said. “I need to be sure the way is clear.”
“I’ll be fine,” he mumbled, his voice stronger than before.
“Aye, you will be,” she said. “But I need to be sure for meself. Your people react a little strangely when they see folks like me.”
She left him, leaning against a large tree, as she surveyed the clearing ahead of them. “There’s a car heading this way,” she reported to him, calling back to him over her shoulder. “They should arrive here within a few minutes.”
“Mary must have gotten ma and da,” he replied. “They’re probably worried.”
“Well, that’s nice you have parents who care,” she said wistfully.
She hurried back and helped him the remaining steps to the clearing, guiding him along the lower side of a rise, so she was hidden from view. Stopping at a large boulder, she helped him rest against it. Placing her hand on his brow, she waited for a moment and then smiled. “You’re going to be fine, Sean the brave,” she said. “I wish you good health and a blessed life.”
Sean had so many questions, but he barely had the strength to keep his eyes open. He rested his head against the rock. “But…” he murmured, not able to finish the question.
She bent down and placed a quick kiss on his forehead. “Thank you, Sean,” she whispered. “I owe you and I won’t be forgetting.”
He watched her hurry back into the shelter of the woods and then she just disappeared. That was the last thing he remembered for a long time.
Chapter Five
The lights were low when he finally woke up. Sean didn’t know if it was early in the morning or late at night. He looked around slowly and realized he was sleeping on the couch in the front parlor of the cottage and a banked fire glowed in the fireplace. Why am I sleeping on the couch? he wondered. I don’t remember being sick.
`Then, in the far corner of his mind, almost out of reach, he remembered entering the woods. “The woods!” he exclaimed aloud.
“Sean, you’re awake,” his father said, jumping up from the nearby recliner and hurrying to his son’s side.
His father, usually the epitome of good grooming and tidy dressing, looked awful. His hair was disheveled, his face was covered with stubble and his clothes looked like he had slept in them for several days. He pushed his hair out of his face and laid his hand on Sean’s forehead. “How are you feeling?” he asked.
Sean did a quick self-assessment. “Um, thirsty and hungry, really hungry,” he said, the woods pushed from his mind by his dad’s unkempt appearance. “Dad, are you okay? You kind of look like a mess.”
His dad laughed and nodded. “I’m fine, Sean, just fine,” he said, “and feeling much better now that you’re awake and hungry. What would you like to eat? Some broth? A bit of oatmeal?”
Scrunching up his nose at those suggestions, he shook his head. “Can’t I have a burger or some cookies?” he asked.
Timothy leaned forward and rubbed his son’s hair, “Yes. Yes, you can have whatever you’d like,” he said. “Give me a few minutes and I’ll whip you up a burger and some cookies.”
“And a shake?” Sean asked, deciding to take advantage of the situation.
“Sure, why not?” Timothy replied as he stood up and walked to the doorway. “Your mom is asleep right now, but your Grandma is awake. I’ll have her sit with you while I cook.”
Sean smiled and wondered what all the special treatment was about, but he didn’t dare ask, in case questioning things might cause them to reconsider. He started to push himself up to a sitting position, but winced as a pain shot through his arm. He pushed down the blankets and looked down at the white bandages wrapped around his forearm.
“Do you remember what happened?” his grandmother asked from the doorway.
Sean looked up and shook his head. “I thought I remembered something about the woods,” he said. “But every time I try to concentrate on it, it floats away.”
She came closer and pulled up a wooden chair next to the couch and sat close to his head. “Do you remember the woods?” she asked.
Nodding, he tried to picture it again. “Yes, we were playing hide and seek,” he said slowly. “I wanted to find a great hiding place, so I climbed the fence and went into the woods.”
“And once in the woods, what did you see?” she asked.
“There were, you know, woods stuff,” he replied. “Trees, bushes, rocks and…”
His eyes widened and he quickly turned his hand over and looked at the scrape across his palm. “There was a girl,” he said, staring at his hand. “And she cut me with her knife. She cut me because I was poisoned and we mixed our blood.”
His grandmother took his hand into her own and studied the wound. “Aye, ‘tis so narrow you wouldn’t know it was a cut, just a wee scrape that didn’t break the skin. A fairy cut no doubt.”
“What?” he asked, meeting her eyes.
She wasn’t teasing. She wasn’t telling a story. His grandmother actually believed he’d been cut by a fairy’s knife. But that was impossible, wasn’t it? There were no such things as little people. No such things as fairies. No such things as…
“Well, Sean, you’ll have to make due with grilled cheese,” his father said, as he entered the room carrying a plate filled with food. “Will that work?”
Sean nodded absently. “Yeah, da, that will be great,” he said.
“What’s wrong?” his father asked, looking back and forth between Sean and his grandmother.
Knowing how his father felt about fairy tales, Sean decided not to tell him what his grandmother had just suggested. “What happened to me?” he asked.
Timothy pulled over a TV tray and set Sean’s food on it, then he pulled up another chair and sat alongside his mother-in-law. “Well, the doctor said there’s a vine in the woods that has some pretty nasty thorns on it and the leaves are actually a hallucinogen. He figures you got caught up in the vines and struggled to get out and the plant matter got into your wound, causing your hallucinations.”
“What hallucinations?” Sean asked.
Timothy chuckled. “You kept talking about a monster with long claws and a red-haired girl with a sword. It would have been pretty funny if we hadn’t been so frightened for you.”
“Yeah, pretty funny,” Sean agreed half-heartedly, glancing over to his grandmother who met his eyes and shook her head quickly.
Taking a deep breath, Sean nodded to her and turned to his dad. “Good thing the doctor knew what he was talking about,” he said. “Or else the rest of you might have thought I was crazy.”
“Yeah, I’d hate to have to lock up my own son,” Timothy teased.
Sean picked up the sandwich and took a bite. “Yeah, me too,” he murmured, “me too.”
Chapter Six
(present day)
The Grant Park Garage was nearly deserted, except for a few vagrants who were looking for a place to shelter from the cold Chicago spring rain. Sean hitched up the collar of his jacket as the wind blew rain down from the sidewalk above. Watching water run in rivulets down the stairs and across the cement into the drainpipes as he walked down the stairs, he wondered if the rain was ever going to stop. This was the sixth day of rain and he was wondering if he’d grow webs between his toes.
The crime rate had dropped during the first few days. What self-respecting criminal would want to break in weather like this, leaving muddy tracks and footprints all over the place? But after a few days, cabin fever set in and the domestic disturbances calls had tripled. People were just tired of being stuck indoors with each other. Besides, neither the Bears nor the Bulls had made it into the playoffs, and both the Cubs and the Sox were already being beaten in the Cactus League games. There was not a lot to be happy about in the Windy City.
But Sean O’Reilly wasn’t interested in sports or weather. He was only interested in one thing, a serial killer loose in his city who had brutally slaughtered seven people in the past seven days. What little remained of the victims had to be identified by either dental records or, in two even more disturbing cases, DNA. This guy was an animal and the sooner they caught him and tossed him in some dark, lonely place for the rest of his life, the better, as far as Sean was concerned.
His walked silently, years on the force had taught him that the element of surprise was often his best weapon. And now, moving stealthily was second nature.
The air was cold and damp and smelled of mold and rotting garbage with an underlying hint of urine. Despite that, he’d always liked the feeling of the garage, like an ancient castle, solid and unyielding. There were only a few cars down here. Sean paid a monthly fee and liked being down in the bowels of the city. He thought it was an appropriate place for a cop to park. Kind of like his own personal Batcave.
Walking down the center of the garage, he passed from one section to another, the thick concrete walls and faded black paint on the floor the only thing that distinguished one area from another. Then he noticed the vapor hovering above the garage floor, like a thin barely perceptible mist, it was moving towards him from the far end of the garage. Must have something to do with all this moisture, he thought.
The concrete wall in the next section was surrounded by another dark puddle. He started to bypass it, turning and walking around, when he realized it wasn’t rain water. It was blood.
Pulling out his radio he swore softly when he realized there was no connection this far down in the garage. Now he had to make a choice, turn around and get back up or continue on and finally get a chance to catch the bastard. The choice was easy.
Sean slapped the radio back into its holster and pulled out his gun. He was going to catch the killer.
He slipped past the wall and he stomach turned as he spied the remains of the latest victim. There was a sparkling gold high heel shoe in the middle of puddle. The victim had been a woman. There was nothing he could do for her now, but her blood was still putting off steam in the cold spring air. She hadn’t been dead for long and that meant the killer couldn’t be too far away.
He saw what looked like a partial footprint in the puddle and turned to see the track led further into the garage. He flicked off the safety. He was going hunting.
He noiselessly jogged in the direction the killer’s path led. Moving through each new section, he stayed close to the vehicles for cover, listening for any noise that might convey the killer’s whereabouts.
Finally, as he moved to the last section, he heard the slow shuffling footsteps of the killer. He must have been wounded, Sean thought, to be moving so slowly. He crouched low, his gun drawn and darted alongside a panel van parked in the far corner of the garage. He inched his way alongside and peered through the driver’s window into the shadowed section ahead. He saw a shadow. The guy was a freaking hulk!
That’s okay, the bigger they are, the harder they fall.
He sprinted forward. “Police! Freeze!” he screamed, his voice echoing throughout the garage.
Then he saw it and his blood ran cold. There it was; the creature from his nightmares. The bear-like creature with the long claws that had haunted his dreams since he’d been a boy. The scars on his arm started to burn and for a moment he was tw
elve again and terrified that he was going to die.
It turned and looked at him, blood, still fresh, dripping from its teeth. The victim’s blood. That was all it took to bring him back to reality. Tonight an innocent woman had been killed by this creature and others had died the same way. This wasn’t Ireland, and this wasn’t some damn enchanted forest. This was Chicago. This was his city. And he wasn’t going to let some oversized beast get away with murder.
“Hey, Magilla, I’m not twelve anymore,” Sean growled through gritted teeth. “I said it once and I’m only going to say it one more time. Police! Freeze!”
The creature started to lunge and Sean lifted his gun and shot it in the heart. The impact knocked it back a few feet, but it regained its footing and came at him again.
Sean shot again, and again, and again. He emptied the entire magazine into the beast, but it only slowed it down. He was out of ammunition, so he pulled out his Taser. He set at the highest possible setting and aimed at shot. The probes attached themselves to the creature’s chest and Sean shot 50,000 volts of electricity into its body.
The creature roared, grabbed the lines and ripped them from his chest, pulling the Taser out of Sean’s hands. The gun clattered to the ground.
Sean reached back and pulled out the final weapon in his arsenal, his wooden nightstick. He moved into a hand-to-hand combat position, his stick in his right hand, and faced the creature. He knew he needed to stay away from the talons, and he prayed he could find some spot of weakness before he became victim number nine.
The beast approached him slowly, its black tongue darting in and out along its elongated jawline. Its yellow eyes never blinking, staring coldly into Sean’s soul. He remembered those eyes. He remembered the last time he faced the beast clearly now. He remembered thinking he was going to die.