Blind Sight

by Nicole Storey

  While she was lost in food ecstasy, a gentleman took the stool next to hers. Ruthy hurried over. “How is it, hon?” she asked.

  Jordan made a swooning motion. “I swear, Ms. Ruthy, if my brother were here, he would want to box you up and take you home with us just so we could enjoy cooking like this every day.” Quinn loved to eat almost as much as he loved destroying monsters.

  Ruthy laughed and gave Jordan’s arm a pat. She turned to the man beside her and Jordan took a moment to study him. He was an older gentleman with the scruff of a three-day beard and long hair. He was dressed in a t-shirt and hunting vest of bright orange. He removed a stained baseball cap when Ruthy addressed him.

  “What can I get ya, Ed?”

  The man smiled, but his eyes were tired. “I’d love a cup of coffee, Ruthy. I gotta get back soon, but if I don’t get some pep in me, I ain’t gonna make it much longer in them woods.”

  Ruthy snatched a cup from a stack on the counter. “Any news yet?” she asked as she poured.

  Ed took a sip of his brew and sighed. “Not a damn thing. We ain’t seen no tracks, spoor, or anything resembling a bear out there. I tell ya, if it ends up being a bear that took them campers, I’ll swear off smoking for a month.”

  Ruthy turned to Jordan, frowning. “Are you and your family staying at the campgrounds?”

  She swallowed another bite of biscuit. “Yes, we arrived last night.”

  Ruthy clucked like a mother hen. “Girl, y’all be careful out there. I guess you know what happened?”

  Jordan nodded. “It’s terrible, but don’t worry about us. Our local sheriff usually calls on my family to deal with pesky animals when they get out of control in our neck of the woods. We have lots of experience.” Jordan took another gulp of coffee and Ruthy topped off her cup.

  Ed studied her from behind his own cup. His appearance screamed redneck, but the sharp look of a trained hunter stirred in his eyes.

  “You say your family has experience in hunting?” The question was innocent enough, but Jordan detected a motive behind it.

  “Yes,” she replied. “We live on a ranch in Wyoming. It isn’t unheard of to have a rogue bear, a pack of wolves, or coyotes cause some problems.” In all honesty, they’d never hunted anything as simple as those types of animals, but Ed didn’t need to hear that.

  Ruthy left to pack up Jordan’s food as he rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Where abouts are ya’ll staying at the campground?”

  Jordan stood up and pulled a stack of bills from her front pocket. “We’re in the cabin by the lake.”

  “You say you’re there with your mom, dad, and brother?”

  Ruthy returned with a huge bag of food. She tossed in some containers of syrup, butter, hot sauce, and other essentials.

  “No,” she answered, handing Ruthy the money she’d counted out. “I live with my older brothers and my uncle. Both of my parents have passed.”

  Ruthy clucked again, shaking her head.

  Ed gave her a long look that made her uncomfortable. “You know how to hunt?” He smirked, skepticism as thick as curdled milk falling from his lips.

  Jordan hefted her giant bag of culinary goodness before answering, “With the best of them.” She gave Ruthy a warm smile and headed for the door.

  In the parking lot, the three stooges who drove the wanna-be monster truck were standing around the Charger. Jordan groaned. She didn’t have time for immature boys with Peter Pan syndrome and Napoleon complexes. After all, they were driving that huge contraption to make up for something. With resignation, she hefted her bag and went to play pre-school teacher.

  The boys nudged each other, smiling like they’d just won the lottery when she approached. Two of them were scrawny, even bird-like, in physique. One of those two sported a Superman tattoo, as if the symbol made him appear more macho. The only resemblance he had to Clark Kent was greasy black hair and glasses. His skinny side kick had a shock of white hair cropped close, buck teeth that might have had a date with a toothbrush a week ago, and freckles. He could have eaten corn-on-the-cob through a picket fence with those chompers. He looked as if he’d just crawled out of the movie Deliverance. The only thing missing was a banjo. Their obvious leader was a big boy – at least 6’3” and easily three-hundred pounds. A pentagram dangled from his thick neck, his muscles straining against the attached silver chain. Interesting, Jordan thought.

  “This is a nice ride,” Deliverance stated as she neared the car. It irked her to see his ass leaning against the driver-side door. “How can a tiny girl like you drive a car with all this power?” He finished by spitting a stream of tobacco across the gravel. It splattered next to her hiking boots. Jordan wrinkled her nose in disgust.

  She switched her bag to her left arm, freeing her right in case she needed to grab her knife. “I can drive it just fine, thanks.” She moved beside him, nudging him out of her way as easily as pushing a toddler. “And you’re the last person in the free world who should throw the word ‘tiny’ around, lightweight.”

  Deliverance scowled while his friends laughed. Jordan fished the car keys from the pocket of her shorts. Opening the door in one swift movement, she leaned over and placed the bag of food on the passenger side. She leaned back out, fully intending to slide into the driver’s seat and shut the door. Before she could, a hand as large as a country ham slammed the car door, almost catching her head in the process.

  They’d surrounded her. Big Boy pressed up close against her, so close she could detect peppermint faintly underneath the smell of decay and week-old onions on his breath.

  “What’s the hurry, sweet thang? We were just about to get acquainted.” He twirled a strand of her hair around one sausage-like finger. He gave her a wink and Jordan sighed, rolling her eyes.

  “Look, Abominable, you and your boys go find yourselves a crapper to play in because I have zero tolerance for bullshit today.”

  Big Boy chuckled. “You’re funny,” he replied, reaching to stroke the side of her face with a calloused hand. Dirt (and God only knew what else) was embedded in his knuckles and around his fingernails. “I’d rather slide your sweet fanny in my truck and play games with you.”

  She’d had enough. Faster than a trap, she grabbed his index finger and bent it back, hard. Using leverage, she put him down on his knees. Clark Kent, who’d been quiet thus far, moved in to help his buddy and she planted a side-kick to his gut. She could hear his oof of surprise as the air left his body, even over the litany of expletives rolling off Big Boy’s tongue.

  Deliverance fidgeted, hopping from one foot to another, obviously unsure of how to proceed. One buddy was gasping on the ground and the other was now pleading for her to let go, tears forming in his eyes. Jordan took a quick second to look towards the diner, sure the chaos from the parking lot had drawn others outside. The only audience was Ed, leaning casually against a banister on the front porch, still sipping his coffee and looking on with interest. He would not interfere. She knew he was watching to see exactly what she was made of. Jerk.

  Deliverance finally decided to man up and take action. He rushed in, slamming her against the car – not hard enough to really hurt, but enough to piss her off. If he made her dent Quinn’s car, she’d kill him.

  He threw one stick-like arm around her neck, dragging her away from Big Boy, who fell to his side, cradling his hand against his chest. “Crazy bitch!” he hissed in her ear, causing shivers of revulsion to run down Jordan’s spine. “I’m gonna fuck you up! I’m gonna take you to a special place I know and screw you three ways from Sunday! I’m gonna--”

  His tirade ended in an abrupt yelp as Jordan reached behind her and grabbed him between the legs, digging her nails in and twisting as hard as she could. He squealed like a pig, just like in the movie he reminded her of. She let go, spun around to face him, and buried her fist in his nose. Cartilage cracked under her knuckles. Blood flew, painting Jordan’s shirt in a Rorschach pattern.

  Just as Deliverance fell to his knees, Clar
k Kent managed to struggle up to a standing position. Jordan pulled her knife from its sheath as he reached her side. He grabbed her by the hair, but paused when he felt something sharp against him. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing like a cork. Gulping, he looked down. Jordan was tapping the inside of his thigh with her knife.

  “Let me go or so help me, I’ll rip you from asshole to appetite,” she snarled.

  Clark Kent released her hair, raising his hands slowly and mumbling a prayer under his breath that God would protect his jewels and other parts.

  “Looks like you boys bit off more than you could chew! Here you thought you were teasing a kitten and she turned out to be a wildcat.”

  Jordan turned around to face Ed. He was leaning against the Charger, a cardboard container with four coffees balanced in his hands.

  “You forgot your drinks. Ruthy sent me out here with ‘em. I’m glad I caught you before you left.”

  He snickered as Jordan sheathed her knife and took the coffees. As she pulled open the car door and stored the drinks inside, she sneered, “It was so nice of you to let the coffee get cold while standing on the porch watching these inbred hillbillies harass me.” She leaned back out of the car and crossed her arms, daring him to deny it.

  Ed shrugged, seemingly unconcerned. “It looked like you were holding your own. It was actually kinda fun, watching you take these boys out.”

  “So glad I could entertain you,” Jordan seethed, grinding her teeth. The thought of putting Ed on the ground with a swift chop to his thorax was so tempting she had to ball her hands into tight fists and cross her arms to restrain herself.

  Big Boy took offense to Ed’s remark. It was obvious he was one of those types most were afraid to cross. He probably strolled around this little town like a rooster with his first hard-on, wearing tight-fitting t-shirts to display his muscled arms, and flexing them threateningly at anyone who dared to raise an eyebrow in his direction. The fact that he’d been spanked like a little boy by a girl a third of his size contrasted horribly with the tough-guy image he worked so hard to maintain. He was pathetic.

  “Bitch, you’re gonna regret you ever laid eyes on me.” Pushing with his uninjured hand, he managed to stand. Jordan noticed he grasped the pentagram around his neck protectively. Most people in this neck of the woods considered pentagrams taboo and were convinced that anyone who wore them sacrificed live chickens, drank the blood of babies, could shoot lightening from their eyeballs, and called Satan “Daddy.”

  Jordan rolled her eyes. “Why don’t you go inside the diner and have a big bowl of shut-the-hell-up. You could pull off the dangerous attitude if you didn’t have the I.Q. of a mushroom.”

  He advanced, but Ed stepped in between them. “Corbett, stop being an ass.” He jabbed his finger into the teenager’s chest. “Most people in this town might let you get away with all the crap you pull, but I ain’t most people. I’ll lay you out faster than shit runs through a goose.”

  Corbett looked to his buddies for support, but they’d already limped back to the truck and were busy licking their wounds. He scowled menacingly, but Ed ignored and turned to Jordan.

  “I was wondering if it might be okay to stop by your cabin later. The sheriff could use more warm bodies to help us search for whatever took those campers.”

  Corbett snorted. “They ain’t gonna find anything no matter how many people they got searching. Those people are long gone.” His lips turned up in a malicious smile. “And somethin’ tells me it ain’t over yet.”

  Ed spun around. “Shut your mouth, boy. You knew all three of them kids who went missing. They’re probably dead, so show some respect.”

  Jordan filed the information that Corbett knew the victims for later. She touched Ed’s sleeve. “Drop by this afternoon. I’m sure my uncle and brothers will be happy to talk with you.”

  Ed nodded as she pulled the car door open and slipped behind the wheel.

  Chapter Eight

  When Jordan got back to the cabin, Uncle Case and Nathan had returned. While doling out the food, she came across a white box filled with warm biscuits and another jar of blackberry jam – a surprise gift from Ruthy. The woman was an angel here on earth.

  As she crammed the rest of the biscuit in her mouth, she scanned over a webpage. Other than the occasional tap of the keys as she searched for information on the Kongamato, the only sounds to break the silence were the moans of pleasure from the guys as they scarfed down the scrumptious food. Sipping her coffee, Jordan pulled up another webpage on ancient myths and legends – this one revolving around Native Americans. A picture immediately drew her attention and she clicked on it to read the script underneath. A quick phone call to another Slayer in the Circle (which she made outside on the porch) confirmed she was on the right track.

  “We need to eat at this diner every meal,” Quinn stated, shoveling another forkful of pancake in his mouth. He’d already eaten his food and was finishing up what Jordan left behind. She’d stuffed herself on the delectable biscuits. Her brother could put professional eaters to shame.

  Uncle Case pushed his chair away from the table with a satisfied sigh. He grabbed his coffee and came to sit beside Jordan on the couch. “What time did that guy say he’d be by? I need to make sure we don’t have any unusual items lying about.”

  Jordan smiled. A good ‘ole boy finding vials of lamb’s blood, holy water, silver knives, and books filled with monsters would be inviting disaster. They’d be strung up in nooses before sundown. People in small towns like this tended to take matters into their own hands and the police were good at turning a blind eye.

  “He should be here any time.”

  Case got up to do a sweep of the cabin and Jordan helped. While they were piling their unmentionables in one of the bedrooms, she said, “I’ve been doing some research on the Kongamato and I think I’ve found something important.”

  Case pushed a gun under the bed and stood up to face her. “Well, let’s go back to the table and you can fill us in – that is, if Quinn is finished cramming his cakehole.”

  At the table, Jordan quickly filled her family in on what happened with Corbett and his friends, Dumb and Dumber. Quinn frowned as she rehashed the fight while Nathan shoved away from the table, agitated. She’d changed her shirt before they’d gotten a look at all the blood, so they were unaware of her adventures at The Broken Yolk.

  “You should have told us this as soon as you got back! Who the hell does this hayseed think he is, putting his hands on you? I swear to God, I’m gonna pull his spleen out with my bare hands!”

  Nathan hardly ever got riled over anything, but when he did it was best to let him get it out of his system; everyone remained silent. Even Quinn stayed out of his twin’s way when Nathan got mad.

  When Nathan’s burning rage had died to a low flame, he sat stoically in his chair, muttering threats under his breath and sharpening his favorite knife. Jordan squeezed his leg, reminding him that she loved him, and then continued. She told them about Corbett’s pentagram charm and Ed’s offhand comment that the oaf knew all of the victims.

  “Why would a backwoods redneck with three teeth need -- or even want -- a pentagram? It isn’t as if this town is a mecca of free-thinkers. Most of the people living here are blue-collar workers whose social lives revolve around church and football. They drink and sin all week and ask God for forgiveness on Sunday.”

  “What are you getting at, Jordan?” Case looked pointedly at his watch, reminding her they had company on the way.

  “I did some research and found that the reason Kongamatos are so rare is because they are usually summoned by someone. They can be called upon to inflict punishment on specific people.”

  “Punishment for what?” Quinn asked.

  “Revenge. The person who summons them uses an item belonging to the individual he wants punished in the spell. This is how the Kongamato knows who to hunt and…and kill. It can be anything – a strand of hair, clothing, jewelry -- As long as it
belongs to the person, the beast can track them. Often, a Kongamato will bring his mate along so she, too, can feast.”

  Quinn picked at a biscuit, crumbling it in his hands. “And you think this Corbett is the one who summoned them here? I don’t know, Jordan. Most of the people here have never seen a diploma. A lot of them can’t decipher the instructions on the back of a soup can, much less work a complicated spell to summon a monster to do their dirty work.”

  “We’ve seen stranger things, Quinn,” Jordan reminded him. “Besides, I didn’t say for sure that Corbett is the one, but someone summoned it here.

  “I also found three ways to get rid of it.” She counted off on her fingers: “One, we kill it with silver and holy water to the heart; two, the person who summoned it reverses the spell; or three – as a last resort if everything else fails -- we kill the person who brought the bastard here, and thereby cancel the spell.”

  Case stared at Jordan as if he’d never seen her before. She didn’t understand why it was so easy for him to accept a justifiable death if he or his nephews were the ones discussing the possibility or delivering the final blow, but when Jordan was involved, he immediately donned his “substitute father” hat and had a cow. If he was trying to protect her innocence, he was a few years too late. Case’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. She decided to ignore his self-induced seizure for now.

  “I need to do more investigating into Corbett’s extra-curricular activities. I guarantee he’s not into football and the Future Farmers of America.”

  “Not on your own, you won’t!” Nathan pinned her down with a glare.

  A knock on the door saved her. She jumped up to answer it, kissing Nathan’s cheek as she rushed by. “I’ll be careful; I promise.”

  Ed and a sheriff straight out of The Andy Griffith Show were standing on the rickety porch looking a bit nervous -- whether from fear of falling through the boards or meeting them, Jordan wasn’t sure.