The Broken Ones (Book 2): The Broken Families

by David Jobe

  “Of course, Mr. Patton. Hold on. Let me get a pen and get all the details.” There was some scraping in the background. “Go ahead.”

  Mac gave him as much detail as he could, then added he needed this rushed as he worried about the safety of his friend.

  “I will get on it straight away, Sir. Can I reach you back at the number you called from, or your cell?”

  Mac had forgotten about his cell. It was still at his house sitting on his dresser. He hadn’t taken it with him when he went to stop the jailbreak of Miss Fire. “Here for now. I’ll have to call the house and have someone bring me my cell.” He resolved to make a few more phone calls. He would need a few things.

  “Understood, Sir. I will call back as soon as I have any pertinent information.”

  “Thank you.” Mac set the phone down and sighed. He started to make a few more calls, asking for some of his stuff to be brought to him. After he had finished the calls he laid his head back on the pillows. He hadn’t moved but he felt exhausted. He reached over for the medicine button and pressed to inject more pain medicine. As he heard the machine click its acceptance of the order, Mac remembered.

  “Shit.” He stared at the doorway to his room. Were the cops still out there? He knew Henchwomen was still out there. How many of her were there? “Shit.” He said a little lower as he felt the pain medicine race to his head and start to drag him into sleep. He lay his head to the side, his eyes going to the chair that sat beside him. He hoped he wouldn’t wake to find her sitting in it. If she let him awake at all. He stared at the empty chair for a few more moments before he fell asleep.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Not Quite Home

  The metal gate to the Chalice House rumbled open on wheels that looked like they belonged on lawnmowers. The metal mesh rattled with each lopsided roll of one wheel that appeared to be bigger than the rest. It could have just been the weird oblong shape it had that gave the impression. Julian hugged himself as he waited, watching his breath mist and rise before him. Winter had decided to step up in a hurry, and Julian found himself without a jacket.

  Just beyond the rumbling gate, a tall white woman with gray hair in a bun waited with the stillness of a statue. Better dressed for the weather, she wore a blue jacket buttoned up to her high chin. She regarded him with icy blue eyes and a posture resembling a drill sergeant. When the gate had opened to about three feet, she yelled for the guard inside the guardhouse to stop. “That is plenty wide enough.” She raised a gloved hand and beckoned Julian forward. “Come in. Quickly. I detest leaving that thing open too long.” Sure enough, before he had stepped all the way through, the gate started rumbling closed again.

  Julian turned to regard the gate as it came close to nipping at his backside. He noticed a blue van cruising by. It drove no faster or slower than any other car on the street, but something about it sent his hair on edge. The windows on the van had been tinted so dark that Julian couldn’t even make out the shape of the driver beyond. Julian watched it ease by when it shifted gears and sped out of view.

  “Everything okay?”

  Julian turned to face the woman in the blue jacket. “Nerves, I guess. Has my stepfather been around.”

  A tight frown creased her face, making lines around her eyes appear as she did. “Once. He cracked the glass at the guard house with his fist. An alarming feat considering that glass is meant to be bulletproof.”

  “Bulletproof?”

  She turned to him, blue eyes regarding him as a teacher might a student who had been discovered sleeping in class. “Mr. Johnson. The women who come here are escaping dangerous men. Dangerous men who are oft times not used to being told no, or turned away. Some respond with escalating levels of violence.”

  “You think my Stepfather would..” Julian couldn’t complete the question.

  The lady in blue answered nonetheless. “The fact that he has only shown up once is troubling. It usually takes them a few tries to get the hint. Sometimes they bring gifts or flowery words. They leave spouting horrid things. I do not believe that your stepfather is done trying. Not by a long shot. Now come inside. Your mother is eager to see you, and I’ll not report to her that I let you freeze to death on the lawn.”

  Julian nodded. “Thank you, Mrs.?”

  “Ms. Tamathaw.” She moved before him, standing between him and the keypad as she hunched over to enter a code. “I am your mother’s guardian. It is my responsibility to make sure she is kept safe and is given the tools required to create her own foundation.” She pulled open the door for him.

  “I can’t thank you enough.” He slipped inside and waited, figuring that rushing through the halls would get him in trouble. Though his whole body ached to find his mom and brother.

  She closed the door and tested the lock. Satisfied the lock had engaged she nodded. “You can thank me by following the rules we have in place. All of them are designed to keep us protected. You disregard even the smallest, and you put us at risk. Am I understood.”

  “Crystal clear, Ma’am.”

  She offered him a tight smile. “Follow me.”

  They walked for a few minutes in silence as Julian took in the scenery. The Chalice House looked like an old dormitory that had been remodeled. Here and there, women sat hunched in corners, talking in hushed tones with other women. Every now and then he would see a child scamper from one opened door to the other. All gave him wary glances. He started to gather that he saw no young men here. The oldest kid he had seen had been about his brother’s age, and he had been sporting a black eye that made Julian wince. Just as he opened his mouth to ask how soon they would be, he heard his mother say his name.

  Just beyond the next hallway, the area opened up into what could be called a living room. Next to a brown couch that looked like it had been salvaged from the side of the road, his mother sat in a wheelchair, wet eyes staring at him.

  “Mom?” He stepped around Ms. Tamathaw.

  His mother smiled wide. “Your mom gains a little weight and suddenly you don’t recognize her?”

  Julian was across the room so fast he thought he might have teleported, though there were no flashes of white that usually accompanied it. “Momma!” He bent over awkwardly to enfold her in a hug. A hug that she returned with more strength than he had expected. “You look good,” he said still hugging her.

  A soft laugh escaped her lips. “I feel better than I have in years. More so now that my baby has returned to me.”

  “You should tell em, Mom.” James stepped out from behind the wheelchair, barely tall enough to be seen over the handles. He wore Julian’s letterman jacket.

  Julian enfolded him in a giant hug.

  “Hey!” James protested with a giggle.

  Julian set him down. “Nice jacket you got there.”

  James frowned and began to take it off. “They said we could only grab a few things when we left. I knew how much you loved this, so I grabbed it for you.”

  Julian had a hard time seeing through the tears. His brother had been more concerned with grabbing Julian’s stuff than his own. He wondered if James’ teddy bear had made the trek. “Tell you what, kiddo. You keep it for right now. It looks good on you. Plus, my stitches are still healing and I’d hate to get blood on it. Keep it safe for me?”

  James shouldered the jacket back on. “Of course! I’ll never let it out of my sight.”

  Julian smiled and wiped away tears. “I’ll hold you to it.” He moved back to look at his family. “It’s good to see you two. I am so sorry I couldn’t get here any sooner. The doctor’s refused to let me leave.”

  His mother smiled and nodded, wiping her own tears. “Just glad to have you back. But, James is right. There is something I need to tell you. Have a seat.” She gestured to the ratty couch as James stepped in to push her to a position where she could face him. “Now, before I start, I want you to promise you won’t storm off and do anything rash.”

  “What?” Julian sat down, giving his brother a questioning
look. His brother replied with a look that told him to go with it, but that he had other plans. Like when his mother told them to go to bed and they both planned to sneak out after she was asleep so they could watch South Park in the front room.

  “Promise me.”

  “I promise.” Julian reached out and held his mother’s hand.

  She gave a long sigh and then began. “Your stepfather was poisoning me. The doc’s gave me the name of the drug, but it was long and confusing. The short of the matter is that they say he had been slowly poisoning me for awhile now. We’ve got no proof, but as soon as I was clear of him, I started getting better. I suspect he has a life insurance policy out on me.” More tears slipped from her eyes.

  “I am going to kill him.” Julian vowed, wiping away his mother’s tears.

  “You’ll do no such thing. You are a good boy, and God has seen fit to grant you with extraordinary abilities. I will not have you taint that with vengeful blood.” She held his hands tight.

  “God can be vengeful too, Momma.”

  “That He can, but that is His prerogative. For us, He expects something different. Your stepfather will find justice without our help. The police are already looking for him. You just get ready to get back into school and get you a scholarship. You hear me? You both are going to be well-educated boys.” She smiled wide at the both of them. “You see him, you promise me you will run. No questions. Just run. Promise me.”

  Julian sighed, risking another glance at his brother, who mouthed to promise. “Fine, Momma. I promise. As long as you two are safe.”

  “Good. Now tell Momma what has been going on with you. How are you hurt?”

  Julian spent a good long time explaining how he had ended up in a church a state over, and the pastor that had helped him. He then went on to how he had teleported out to the scene on the highway to help the wounded people. He tried to explain that he had wanted to go back and save more, but he collapsed when he had gotten back to the hospital.

  They explained to him how after the ambulance had come to get Daniel, the police had come asking questions. Fearing for Julian’s life, his mother had laid bare everything. All the abuse and fear came spilling out. They had instructed them to grab the essentials and they would take them to the Chalice House. Julian was glad to hear that James’ bear Hasbeen had made the trek, along with a small bag of clothes. He didn’t ask why they hadn’t gone back. They were afraid Daniel would be there.

  “Mr. Johnson.” Ms. Tamathaw stood at the edge of the hallway, escorted by two police officers.

  Julian rose, giving his mom’s hand a squeeze before he let it go. “Yes?”

  One of the officers stepped forward before Ms. Tamathaw could say anything. “We need you to come with us.”

  “Am I in trouble?”

  “No. Just some questions we need to ask you.” The look on the older officer’s face didn’t match his words.

  “Officers, I just got my boy back. Can’t you ask them here?”

  “I am sorry, Ma’am. Your son needs to come with us. We will get him back here as soon as possible.” His face said that might be in five to ten years.

  “It’s okay, Mom. I’ve done nothing illegal.” He hoped. “I’ll be back soon.” He moved over to stand in front of Ms. Tamathaw. “You called the police on me?”

  Ms. Tamathaw stared him straight in the eyes. “This place is safe because we have the support of the police. I am sorry, but we cannot risk that to harbor a possible fugitive.”

  “I am not a fugitive.”

  “Then you shall return shortly. When you do, I will have a cot waiting for you in your mother’s room.” She lied as well as the police officer.

  “Are you going to handcuff me?”

  “Not here,” said the younger police officer. “As long as you come along without issue.”

  Julian nodded and stepped between them as they began to escort him from the building. Outside dark had already fallen. That gave him some pause. He had shown up around noon, and while darkness came earlier this time of year, Ms. Tamathaw had given them almost half a day to get caught up. Maybe he was wrong about her. As they slipped him into the backseat of their cruiser, sans handcuffs, he noticed the same blue van slip by the front of the gates. He looked out and back at the house. “Keep them safe,” he prayed.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Broken Puppets

  It had been a shit show reporting in what had happened with the once invisible dead guy. Lanton had been careful in his report to stick to the vaguest of explanation. Body missing. Suspect the work of one or multiple Altereds. Since they were getting multiple reports of bodies being snatched with no one seeing anything, the station didn’t question too hard. He had told Grimm everything.

  More than once.

  “Can you walk me through it again,” Grimm asked.

  Lanton shook his head in dismay. They were walking down one of the long corridors of Mercy Hill, cells flanking him on each side. A few feet back two guards followed, talking amongst themselves about the morning’s turn of events. Lanton paid no mind to them as he moved toward his goal. A quaint little cell near the end of the block. This wing was designated for those not yet convicted and awaiting their trial date.

  “You saying they was greyhound dogs?” Grimm continued to prod.

  “No. That was the closest thing I could think of. They looked like horror movie monsters, Grimm. Now can we drop it?” Lanton could already feel the reality shift waiting to happen a few yards down the way. He wasn’t sure what he should call his power, or how the limitations seemed to work. Best he could figure was that it would show him crimes in reverse. He found himself curious as to how literal this ability might be. Would he watch jaywalkers in reverse? So far it had only been deaths, but then again he had been a homicide detective before his recent promotion.

  “Aliens, maybe?”

  Lanton stopped before he reached the doorway to the room and turned to look at his old partner. “Could be,” he admitted. “But with how things are working out these days, I am thinking more earthly, but tied in with whatever is changing people.”

  “Altered dogs, maybe?”

  Lanton gave a long sigh. “Maybe. Look. I need you to stand here while I check out the scene on my own. No more questions or your first assignment will be guarding the morgue at night.” He chuckled as a panicked look ran over Grimm’s face, but it also reminded him. “Better yet. Call someone at the office and have them run down to the morgue. There is no answer down there, and that isn’t like Carrie Anne at all.”

  “Got it, Boss.” Grimm moved away, pulling his cell phone from a brown overcoat that did not match the rest of his clothes.

  Lanton took a deep breath and moved to where he could see into the small cell that Mr. Swandon had occupied for a short period of time. Before he had killed himself, that is.

  Though the body had been moved for about an hour now, Lanton could see the ghostly outline of it hanging in the back, a rope made of sheets around its neck and over a section of concrete that moved across the top of the cell. There the dead man dangled for a few moments before he started to swing from side to side. This went on for a few moments, the swing getting more and more wild. Though Lanton understood the mechanics of it, it still caused a churning in his guts. With one graceful sweep of its arm, the corpse grabbed the edge of the bunk bed and pulled himself up onto the top bunk. On the top bunk, Mr. Swandon untied the rope from around his neck and slid onto the ground with the end in hand.

  It answered the question on if Mr. Swandon had done the deed himself. Lanton had had his suspicions, but the evidence appeared to contradict his theory. As he turned to leave, he noticed something. The scene continued to replay. Though he had only seen this a few times, they had all seemed to stop at the logical start point of the crime. Yet this one played on. Lanton stepped into the cell to take a closer look at Mr. Swandon as he now pulled down the sheet and began to unravel it. Though the specter was a ghostly outline of himself, Lanton
could see that there was something else involved in the vision. He kept moving in closer, a part of him afraid that at any point the specter would suddenly change its task and grab him. So far, it kept about its grim work in reverse. He found himself almost on top of the specter when he could finally make out what his mind was trying to get him to see. Tiny lines of interwoven black and white rose from the man’s arms, legs, and head. Lanton found himself baffled. “A ghost puppet?” He wondered if he would ever get a handle on this power of his. In the comics and movies, the hero always seemed to immediately grasp what their powers could and could not do. Lanton couldn’t even tell what the basics of it were. “I saw the black lines on you at the press conference,” he told the specter. “They were like wisps compared to this.” Indeed the black and white lines, even in their shadowy stage, resembled more of cable wire now than the barely formed lines of before. “Whatever it was, it got stronger.” He stood back, resting his head against the part of the bars that did not move. “Puppets. Why do puppets ring a bell?”

  He opened his eyes and found the demon seated on the lower bunk bed, coal black eyes regarding him. A smile played across thin pale lips that pulled apart to reveal a zipper pattern on razor sharp teeth.

  “Not now,” he told the beast. “I don’t need this.”

  The demon appeared to chuckle, nodding a horned head at Lanton’s left side.

  Lanton looked down and found his left hand pawing at the empty space where his gun would have been. Luckily for him, the prison allowed no guns inside, even on officers. Lanton closed his left hand into a fist, then raised a finger at the demon. He tried not to think of how the demon looked a great deal more realistic now. “Puppets,” he reminded himself. “Who had said something about puppets?” He tapped his head against the bars again and again, trying to rattle loose the memory. “Chris! Shit.” He went over what Chris had said about the last vision he had had. Something about a tree full of puppets, all cackling at him. He said that some were real people, and others were wooden. “But why the two color of strings?” A thought hit him. “Shit! The girl.”