The stranger looked into Toby’s eyes with his penetrating, deep blue stare. Once again he saw the life ebb from those eyes as the man opened his mouth, exposing those bizarre and lethal fangs. Saliva dripped from the tips and Toby had the fleeting image of a wolf about to maul him.
Something came over him with certainty then. He was a goner. He didn’t have the strength to fight off his attacker. He was just too young and way too strong; more powerful than any man Toby had encountered in his sixty-two years. He just hoped his death was a quick one.
In a flash the stranger’s head moved. Toby felt a new pain then as the pair of fangs pierced his neck. The man on top of him grunted as if in orgasm and made a loud, disgusting slurping sound. Toby literally felt the life draining from his body, and as he succumbed to the everlasting blackness of unconsciousness, Toby’s last thoughts were that of his wife, Margaret. She would be waiting for him on the other side, and that thought alone made death much more bearable.
When he’d had his fill, Michael got up on his knees, gripped the dead man’s head in his hands and twisted so violently that the head ripped away from the neck and rolled into the fire.
There it hissed and sizzled as it was quickly charred by the flames.
Seven
Ryan slipped into a light sports coat and headed out the door. He needed to go for a walk. Whenever something was on his mind he either walked or drove. The movement helped calm him down so he could collect his thoughts.
He may have been very frustrated and somewhat depressed before, but Ryan was never going to leap to his death from the balcony. That wasn’t his style. He wasn’t one to just give up and quit. When the day came that he died, he planned to go out with a little more dignity than suicide.
He strode across the highway dodging traffic, not bothering to wait for a green Walk signal at the lights, and headed into town. As he walked he kept his eyes open for his sister. Even if he spotted her he probably wouldn’t approach her. Better to let them both cool down a bit. He really just wanted to know that she was okay, despite the fact that she hated him.
He cut through the Centre Arcade, where the aromas of Asian cooking filled the air. The old arcade was made up of Japanese, Chinese and Korean eateries, and for the most part, only other Asians seemed to eat there. Although there were plenty of good Asian restaurants in town, the ones in the Centre Arcade had that cheap, dodgy look. Ryan had always steered clear of sampling their wares.
After travelling up Cavill Mall, he crossed The Esplanade, glanced all about, spotted Chelsea nowhere, then walked down onto the beach.
Shoes were cumbersome in sand, the fine grains tending to slip beneath the flat soles. He walked rather awkwardly down to the water’s edge and onto the firm, damp sand, where he went north and out of the floodlit area of beach.
In a way Chelsea had been right with what she’d said earlier. He was partly responsible for the death of their parents, and he felt it. If he hadn’t pressured Dad into coming down that day to sign the documents, they would never have been out driving in that storm, and the fatal collision with the truck would never have happened. He knew it was an accident, but he shouldered some of the blame nonetheless. There was nothing he could do to change things now. He just had to try and get on with life, and so did Chelsea.
Now she wanted to quit school, with only one month to go. That would be such a waste and a huge mistake. Education was so important in the job market in the modern world. The bare minimum now was completing your HSC to get a look-in for employment in most industries. Many required tertiary qualifications as well. He had to find a way to convince her to finish her studies. If she refused to listen to him, then he’d have to find someone she would take notice of. One of her friends maybe.
Ryan walked and thought for fifteen minutes, then he diverted left and headed back up to the footpath. He turned south and strolled down toward the mall. As he walked he placed his hands in his pockets. That was when he found it.
He withdrew the lone cigarette from his right pocket and studied it, then sniffed it. It was a little wrinkled and squashed, and probably a bit stale - it had been ages since he’d worn that jacket - but certainly worth smoking.
His mouth started to salivate for a nicotine fix as he continued to examine the cigarette.
“What the hell,” he said and stuffed it between his lips. Now all he needed was a light. Rather fortuitously a gent walking towards him was smoking a cigarette and Ryan hit him up. “Thanks,” he said, touching the smoke to the flame that was offered him.
The smoke was heavenly. Ryan took long puffs and drew the smog deep into his lungs, holding it there before exhaling as if he’d just had a toke on a bong. He couldn’t remember ever enjoying a cigarette so much. It was burning far too quickly, though. He willed it to go on and on, but eventually he had to take the final puff before stabbing it out on the side of a rubbish bin.
Now his mouth tasted a bit like charcoal and his lungs, which had been feeling very clear after two weeks of abstinence, felt congested and contaminated. He was disappointed with himself. He’d been doing so darn well. Why did that cigarette have to be in his pocket?
“Lead us not into temptation,” he softly quoted a line from the Lord’s Prayer.
Oh well, it wasn’t the end of the world. So he’d stuffed up and succumbed. From now on he’d just have to try harder. Ryan was determined not to be a slave to the habit any longer. He was going to quit and stay quit.
He passed McDonald’s and once again checked around for any sign of Chelsea. Across the mall his eyes came to rest on the pulsing pink and blue neon sign of Bliss Night Club. He paused in the centre of the mall, contemplating whether he should duck into the club and see Selena Thorne.
No, he decided. He didn’t want to be a pest or look desperate. If she had some work for him she would call him.
Instead, he decided to head for home.
* * *
It was now after nine PM and there was still no sign of Amanda. Her mother had tried calling her phone several times, but she just kept getting her message bank. Twice she left a message demanding Amanda call her back. The third time she didn’t bother.
“I’m getting really, really worried now,” Stacey said to her husband.
“Try calling that friend of hers,” Sean suggested. “What’s her name?”
“Rebecca?”
“That’s the one.”
“I don’t know her number.” Stacey sighed heavily with exasperation. “I’ll check in Amanda’s room. Maybe she has it written down somewhere.”
Stacey retreated to the rear of the house and searched her daughter’s bedroom for a book of phone numbers or something. As luck would have it she found just that in the draw of the bedside table. In it she located Rebecca’s phone number, along with the numbers of numerous guys. Stacey ignored that fact for now and punched Rebecca’s number into the phone. The call was answered quickly.
“Hello?”
“Rebecca,” Stacey said quickly. “This is Mrs Simms, Amanda’s mother. I was just wondering if you’d seen her lately.”
“No, not since Saturday night. I’ve been trying to call her for two days.” Rebecca sounded extremely concerned.
“Where did you see her last?” Stacey wanted to know, trying to keep the edge of fear out of her voice.
“We were at a night club. I picked her up. She ended up leaving with some playboy. I tried to talk her out of it, but she wouldn’t listen to me.”
Stacey’s heart was in her mouth now.
“Do you think this guy was dangerous?” she quizzed.
“I don’t know. Maybe. There was something about his eyes that I didn’t trust. They were really spooky.”
“Can you tell me anything else? Do you know where they were going, if they were coming back here? The quilt’s missing off her bed.”
“That’s all I know,” Rebecca replied. “I’m really sorry, Mrs Simms. I feel like it’s my fault that she’s gone missing.”
“It’s not your fault, Rebecca. You can’t control Amanda any more than I can. Let me know right away if you hear from her. Okay?”
“I will.”
Stacey hung up and went back out to the kitchen. Sean looked at her expectantly and Stacey shook her head. She dialed another phone number.
“I’m calling the police,” she said and put the phone to her ear.
Eight
It was early Tuesday morning and Summer Croft was taking a drive with her Golden Retriever, Samson. He looked across at her from the passenger seat, eyes wide with excitement, pink tongue hanging out as he panted. The breeze blew in through the open windows and tussled his furry coat. He loved a drive, with the feel of the wind in his hair.
Summer glanced at the number two love in her life - her husband being number one - and smiled contentedly. She loved seeing him happy.
She didn’t know where they were going as she headed west from Nerang. Anywhere would do. Maybe they would stop somewhere and take a walk. It was her day off. Normally Matt would come with them, but he had to work. Not to worry. Samson was great company, and sometimes it was nice to have good company that didn’t talk.
“How you doin’ there, boy?” she said to her dog.
He responded by glancing at her, then poked his head out the window where he got the full brunt of the wind. His eyes squinted against the air torrent, his mouth agape, tongue dangling out and catching the breeze. He twisted his head to follow the path of a low-flying bird, then scanned the bush land for anything else of interest. Seeing nothing, Samson drew his head back inside the vehicle and looked across at Summer again. She reached over and rubbed one of his droopy ears. Samson licked her forearm as she did this, something he often did when she patted him. Some people despised being licked by a dog, but Summer didn’t mind. She loved him too much to care about things like that. Any sign of affection from him warmed her heart.
Up ahead she spied a bit of a clearing at the edge of the road. She took her foot off the accelerator and the car instantly slowed. Summer applied the brake and pulled over to the side of the road, bringing the car to a complete stop, pebbles crunching under the tyres. Before getting out she hooked the lead up to Samson’s red leather collar, then went round and opened the passenger door.
“Let’s go, boy.”
Samson jumped down onto the dirt and immediately started sniffing around. It was only early, but already the sun was quite hot. By the time they’d walked around for five minutes, a sheen of sweat was forming on Summer’s forehead. She wiped it away with the back of her hand and let herself be dragged into the forest as Samson explored further. His keen nose had picked up a scent that really had him excited and he took off, almost pulling Summer’s right shoulder out of its socket.
“What is it, boy?” she asked, trotting along behind him, her shoes kicking up dust.
Samson’s nose was going crazy now as he made a beeline for what he could smell. Even before he’d reached it, Summer saw the standout colour of pink on the ground beneath some branches and bits of wood. Samson led them right up to it and started whining as he sniffed his find.
Curiosity getting to her as she got a whiff of something unpleasant herself, Summer started removing the branches that loosely covered the object. She soon discovered it was a pink blanket of some kind with something wrapped inside it. With feelings of trepidation, knowing full well what it looked like it might be, Summer let go of Samson’s lead and bent down to unroll the blanket. The object inside was heavy, the stench stronger as the material was removed. She gagged and felt bile rise in her throat. When she’d uncovered it completely, she staggered back in shock and disbelief.
Inside was a naked young woman, the skin extremely pale and slightly greenish in hue. Lifeless blue eyes bulged from the face, and the body was bloated from bacteria, intestinal gases and the heat.
Samson started sniffing around the corpse and nuzzling his nose into the face and neck area. Summer roughly dragged him away. With a shaking hand, she struggled to remove her mobile from her pocket so she could call the police.
* * *
Homicide Detective David Marks came to a stop behind a bunch of other vehicles; including unmarked cars, patrol cars and a waiting ambulance with its red and blue lights flashing. Marks figured that the ambulance wasn’t going to be needed.
He jumped out of his blue Ford Falcon and made his way towards a line of a yellow and black crime scene tape that cordoned off a section of the forest. The tape had been looped around tree trunks and the branches of small shrubs. Marks lifted the tape and ducked under it, nodding at a couple of uniforms as he made his way over to the body.
The Scenes of Crime Officers (SOCOs), today wearing fluorescent orange suits, were already there doing their thing. They had on their mandatory latex gloves and plastic boots. Some were busy gathering evidence and placing items into labeled plastic bags. Video footage was being shot and a police photographer was actively taking numerous photographs of just about everything. Numbered yellow markers had been placed on the ground near anything of interest.
Marks saw what looked to be a pink quilt from a bed lying spread out on the ground. On top of the quilt was the body of a young blonde woman. One of the SOCOs was currently taking some measurements while another was performing various cotton swabs on the corpse and placing the results inside plastic vials.
Sitting on a fold-up chair, just outside the line of tape, was a woman with a Golden Retriever dog beside her. Marks figured she must be the lady who found the body. A female constable was there talking to her.
“Please don’t come any closer, Detective,” one of the SOCOs warned. “We’re not done processing the scene yet.”
Marks stopped in his tracks, then ducked back under the tape and decided to chat to the woman with the dog. As he approached, he nodded to the constable and she stepped away.
“I’m Detective David Marks,” he said to the woman, who was constantly rubbing the ears of her canine. “I’ll be in charge of handling this case. I know you’ve probably already given details to the constable over there,” she was now leaning against the trunk of a tree, perusing her notes, “but I’d really like you to tell me exactly what happened and what you know, if anything.”
He knew he could gather all that information from the uniforms, but Marks preferred first-hand knowledge straight from the source if he could get it. He clicked on a digital voice recorder.
“Do you mind if I record our conversation?” he asked. She eyed the small device, then shook her head. “Can you state your name for the record?”
“Summer Croft.”
Summer then went on to fill Detective Marks in on how she and her dog had stumbled upon the body.
“Did you disturb much of the crime scene?”
“I unraveled the body from the bed linen, and Samson had a bit of a sniff, but that was it. I then dragged him away and called the police.”
“Is there anything else you can tell me, Miss Croft?”
“It’s Mrs Croft. And, no. That’s all I know.”
“Did you see any sign of anyone else in the area at the time?” She shook her head. “Okay. Thank you, Mrs Croft.” He switched off the voice recorder. “I take it you’ve given your contact details to the officer over there?” He nodded towards the female constable. Summer nodded in confirmation. Marks fished a business card from the pocket of his suit jacket. A breeze whipped through the forest and made his red tie flap about his torso. He handed the card to Summer. “If you think of anything else, no matter how minor or insignificant it may seem, please give me a call on this number.”
Marks left her then and gathered some contact details from the constable who’d interviewed Summer earlier, after which he stood at the edge of the crime scene, just outside the tape, and waited for the SOCOs to finish up so he could get a preliminary report from them. While he waited, the morning sun beating down on his bald head, his fingers played with his goatee. It was a habit of his; especially when he was deep in
thought. Sweat started to bead on top of his head and he rubbed it off with his other hand.
He was only thirty-one, but started losing hair in his mid-twenties. It had begun as a typical receding hairline that just kept on receding at a rapid rate until the only hair he had was on the sides, and a little at the back. Rather than remain that way, or growing the sides long so he could do the unfashionable ‘comb-over’, Marks decided to just shave his head completely bald. At least that looked kind of cool.
Now, as he rubbed sweat from his shiny pate, he felt prickles at the sides and realized it was overdue for a bit of maintenance.
Another hour went by before the forensic team started to pack up their gear. Marks decided it was now safe to enter the area, so he slipped beneath the tape and walked over to take a look at the body before it was bagged and shipped to the morgue.
SOCO team member, Chris Saunders, was waiting expectantly for his arrival. He still had his gloves on and refrained from shaking hands in greeting.
“Chris,” Marks said with a nod. “Anything you can tell me so far?” He switched on his voice recorder again as he hated taking handwritten notes. Maybe he was lazy, but he figured why not use modern technology. Some of the detectives had taken to jotting down notes on iPads or smart phones. Detective Marks couldn’t be bothered doing that either.
“She’s dead, for starters,” Chris said with a grin.
Marks nodded grimly, not sharing the joke. “I think I’ve gathered that much. Estimated time of death?”
“Not sure until an autopsy is done, but a rough estimate would be at least a couple of days.”
“Cause of death? Anything obvious?”
Chris shook his head. “Again, not certain. There are no signs of bullet wounds or stab wounds. No bruising around the throat or crushing of the wind pipe to suggest strangulation or asphyxiation. She doesn’t appear to have any broken bones. No major bruising. Really doesn’t look like she put up a struggle at all.” He glanced at the body, then back at the detective. “We did find something really odd, though. Come here and take a look at this. See what you make of it.”
Night Realm Page 5