The Corruption Within

by Ty Griffin

  “I uh …” I didn’t know how to answer that. I didn’t really understand what had happened to me. So I just said, “I was attacked.”

  “Attacked? Were you mugged?” he asked.

  “No. I just … I wasn’t mugged. Just attacked.”

  “Stay there,” he instructed, and left the room. A minute later he came back with a bar towel filled with ice and a glass of water. “Here, this will help.” He handed me the cold compress. He sat in a chair beside me and set the water on the table. I tried to raise the ice pack to my chin and grimaced as pain again shot through my arm and side. I switched the pack to my other hand and held it up to my chin.

  “What all hurts?” Gabe asked.

  “Face. Arm. Ribs,” I grumbled.

  “Is anything broken? Do you need to go to the hospital?”

  I groaned. “No. I don’t have insurance.”

  “Kid, if you need a doctor, we’ll figure out a way to pay the hospital bills.”

  I shook my head and sighed. “No. I’ll be fine. I just need to lie down for a bit.”

  “Yeah?” he asked skeptically. “Okay. Fine. Just hold on for a minute. Let me get you some Tylenol first.”

  “Maybe just bring me the whole bottle?” I asked.

  Gabe smiled weakly and stood up, lightly patting me on the shoulder. “Sure thing, kid.”

  That small pat on my shoulder, just that little bit of affection, nearly broke me. What Gabe didn’t know I’d seen about him told me he was a man of dark, possibly violent, and likely demented secrets. But when he was with me, and with his customers, he was this genuine, empathetic person. Trying to process the dichotomy between the two was fracturing my brain.

  “Gabe?” I said as he reached the doorway.

  He stopped and turned back to me. “Yeah, kid?”

  “Do you know what a tutuvar is?”

  As I watched, Gabe’s face changed. All the color drained away, and the muscles in his jaw tightened. “Where did you hear that word?” he asked through clenched teeth.

  “I uh … I just heard it around.”

  He was silent for almost a solid minute, just staring at me with cold, calculating eyes. “Do not ever speak that word in this place again,” he said with iron authority. Without another word, he turned and left the break room.

  I sat there dumbfounded, trying to comprehend Gabe’s reaction.

  Crazy? Maybe I was the one the one going crazy.

  Chapter 9

  ◆◆◆

  I woke in the morning and took a quick shower. Well, I tried to take a quick shower, but the hot water hurt beautifully as it worked into my sore muscles. The scrapes and cuts on my face stung, and the giant black-and-purple bruise down my side screamed when I moved quickly, but more than anything my muscles ached. I never knew getting your ass beat was such a workout.

  After my not-so-quick shower, I threw on some clothes and headed to the library, deciding to bring along a large cup of coffee over riding my bike. I had hoped to use library resources to get some information on what tutuvar meant, but an hour’s worth of internet searches, and several minutes with an extraordinarily unhelpful librarian, left me exactly where I had started: lost.

  My walk back was more of a sulk, and it took twice as long as the walk there. I shuffled my feet down the road as I contemplated my options. The more I thought about it, the fewer options I found.

  I was lost in thought when I reached Gabe’s. Which is why I did not hear anyone walk up behind me while I was unlocking the door. Someone grabbed my arm and spun me. The sudden motion sent a lance of pain through my ribs again and I cried out, “Arghhh.”

  “Wow, bro, are you okay?” the man asked. It was Barnett. Only it didn’t sound or even look like Barnett. He was the same bald, tattooed dude in an A-line tank. He was still intimidatingly jacked, and still positioned himself aggressively close when he spoke to me. But, instead of his usual machismo-laced, condescending tone, he sounded like he had forgotten to meet up with Bill and Ted for their excellent adventure. And instead of his petulant smile, he had a look I couldn’t quite pin down.

  Was it curiosity? Confusion? It couldn’t possibly be concern, could it?

  I stared at him in confusion. My howl must have caught him off guard, and he had responded by reflex. In an instant, he recovered and his face returned to his typical abrasive scowl.

  “Easy, homes. I’m just here to talk,” he said.

  “I don’t have anything to say to you, Barnett.”

  Anger flashed in his eyes before he cocked an arrogant smile. “Oh, but I think you do. I hear you been creepin’ round at night. I hear you been following the old bartender. I think maybe you have something to tell me.” He took a menacing step forward, boxing me in against the door.

  “I’m not scared of you, Barnett,” I lied.

  His wicked little grin grew into a full-on Cheshire Cat smile. “Scared?” he asked in mocking disbelief. “No, my friend. I’m not trying to scare you. I’mma offer you a job.” His smile widened again but did not reach his cold eyes. He pulled a stack of folded bills out of his front pocket and counted out several twenty-dollar bills.

  I looked down at the money in Barnett’s hand. The implication was clear. I had a choice to make. I could take the money, give him the information he wanted, and betray the man who was helping me get on my feet. Or I could refuse his offer and probably receive my second ass kicking in less than twenty-four hours.

  I looked at the money and thought about the generous yet mysterious man who had already done so much for me. I thought about how he addressed each person he encountered like they actually mattered to him, about how he did not just serve his customers food and drinks but offered his time and attention as well. I remembered how, a couple nights before, he had sat with a new customer who was going through a messy custody battle and listened to the man cry for over an hour.

  And then I thought about his nights stalking back alleys, the files of women he stalked, the lunatic drawings all over his garage. I thought about how harshly he’d responded when I asked him about the tutuvar and how he had blatantly lied about the thing in the alley my first night. He was, after all, the reason I was in this mess.

  Even as I reminded myself of all the weird and terrifying things surrounding Gabe, I knew that deep down I was trying to justify a decision I would feel horrible about. Gabe didn’t owe me anything. I knew that following him at night and breaking into his garage were both huge displays of ingratitude, but somehow taking money to rat on him felt like an even greater betrayal.

  Everyone had dark corners in their lives they would not want exposed to the light. Mine were probably at least as big and dark as Gabe’s. Unless I knew for sure he was hurting people, who was I to expose his dark places?

  I sighed and took the money from Barnett’s hand. “What do you want to know?” I asked.

  Everyone has dark corners.

  It didn’t take long to tell Barnett what I knew about Gabe. I told him how Gabe had been slinking around the shadows of Walshack Street. I told him about how he peeked in windows and tested doors. I told him about the man Gabe had attacked in the alley, demanding that he give him something. I told him about the files of assault victims with candid pictures. I didn’t say anything about the strange lights or terrifying creatures, though. The last thing I needed was for a gangster to think I was crazy too.

  Barnett listened, occasionally interrupting with a clarifying question. When I had shared everything I was willing to share, Barnett gave me another condescending smile. “That’s a good start, homes. See what else you can find. I’ll be back.” He left without another word.

  The phone was ringing when I stepped into the bar. My heart began to race when I heard Gabe’s voice.

  “Mornin’, kid.”

  “Hey, Gabe. What’s up?” I tried to control the tremble in my voice. A cacophony of emotions pulled me in so many directions that I could not even tell what I thought about Gabe in that moment. One thing I did
know was that the wad of money in my pocket felt like a hot, lead weight.

  “I’ve got something to do this morning. Can you handle opening the bar on your own?” he asked.

  “Yeah.” I tried to display confidence in my voice to cover how flustered I felt.

  Gabe must have noticed, because he hesitated and said, “You sure, kid?”

  “Yeah. No problem, Gabe.”

  “You sure? You were pretty beat up last night.”

  “I’m good.”

  “All right, I’ll be there in a while. Thanks, kid.”

  “Okay, bye.”

  He said goodbye and hung up the phone.

  I put the receiver on the cradle, leaned against the bar, and sighed. “What the hell am I doing?”

  A couple hours later, I had the grill up and running. Everything took a little longer to prep, since I was basically one-handed, and I had to wait for the first customer to arrive to get help pulling some of the chairs off the tables. But it was a slow weekday morning, which allowed me plenty of time to finish the prep work after the restaurant was open.

  Dylan and Jeremiah, two semi-regulars, were sitting at a table in the corner. Jeremiah had just picked up Dylan from the airport, and the two were eating the burgers I had set before them and excitedly catching up on the time spent apart.

  The jingle of the bell above the door caught my attention. Kayla, bright blue hair fluttering in a wind that didn’t seem to affect anything else, came bouncing in. She walked straight to where I stood and leaned against the bar. Her cheeks were flushed red, and she took deep, hurried breaths, which made her “Vote for Pedro” T-shirt move in a quite pleasing way.

  “Kayla, are you all right?” I asked.

  “God, I am out of shape.” She panted. “This is stupid. Humans didn’t go through millions of years of evolution just so running would still be something we have to do.”

  “Uh, what?” I asked, bemused.

  She flipped a dismissive hand and said, “Nothing. We need to talk.”

  “Yeah, I’ve got things to tell you!” Then I noticed how the knuckles of one of her hands were turning white as she clenched the bar tightly. Her eyes narrowed, staring intently into mine, and her lips pressed into a thin line. She had a look about her I had not seen before. She looked serious. And it brought my attention into razor-sharp focus. “What’s going on, Kayla?”

  She shot a nervous glance toward Dylan and Jeremiah and seemed reassured that the couple was focused on each other. When she spoke, her voice was so low I had to lean forward to hear her. “Paul’s been arrested.”

  “Paul the pilot? What for?”

  Kayla nodded toward the far end of the bar, the opposite end from my other guests, and moved toward a stool there. I followed, stopping along the way to pour Kayla a cup of coffee. I dumped in some cream and sugar and handed her the mug. She accepted the coffee with a grateful nod, took a sip, and continued her story.

  “He was arrested for sexual assault. They’re saying he raped four women … on Walshack Street.”

  “Oh god, that’s awful. I couldn’t imagine …” My stomach dropped as Kayla’s words hit me. I stared at Kayla, some pieces starting to fall into place. “You said four attacks?”

  “Yeah, and I have their names,” she said, reaching into her pocket. She pulled out a crumpled piece of paper.

  “Jessica something and Marie?” I asked.

  Kayla’s eyes lit up. “How did you know that?”

  I told her about everything I had seen in Gabe’s garage. The swords, the alter, and the hundreds of demonic pictures. I finished by telling her about the files on the women he seemed to be stalking. Kayla uncrumpled the paper and laid it on the bar. I looked over the list. “Yeah, those are them. How did you get this list?”

  “I’m cute. People like to tell me things.” She shrugged. “So Gabe had pictures of them in his garage?”

  “Yeah, along with addresses and drawings of buildings that I assume are their houses.”

  “So he was stalking them?” she mused. “I wonder if …” She trailed off into silent thought before taking a sip of coffee.

  I waited patiently for her to get her thoughts in order, but when she took another sip of coffee and sat staring at her mug, I whisper-screamed, “Kayla!”

  Startled, she looked back up at me. “Oh, right. Apparently the only real evidence they have on Paul is that he dropped his wallet beside the fourth woman. The night after Gabe took him to the hospital.”

  “Wait.” I raised both hands. “Let me get this right. Three women are assaulted on Walshack street. Then Paul gets attacked in the alley here. The next night, a fourth woman is attacked, during which Paul drops his wallet. The next morning, Paul shows up here looking for his wallet?

  “So maybe he didn’t realize he had dropped it when he was attacking the woman? Or maybe he was trying to make up an alibi: ‘I don’t know how my wallet got there. I lost it. I even went to the bar to look for it, ask them.’” I felt a little spring of hope well up inside me. It would mean that maybe all the weird things surrounding Gabe were just that—weird but not evil. I could deal with that.

  “So, what? The freak out with the demon in the back alley was what? That wasn’t fake, you saw it too, right?” Kayla asked.

  “Well, yeah, but maybe it was drawn to Paul because of all the terrible things he’s been doing.”

  “Okay, and Gabe fights the thing off because he’s a good guy, that could track. But Wesley, he has been stalking the women who were attacked. You’ve seen him wandering the street the attacks happened, looking for someone. You saw him attack someone in an alley. And you said the cops asked him about the assaults the day before Paul was attacked … and then the next night Paul’s wallet is left with a victim,” she said.

  “You’re saying Gabe is setting him up?”

  “I don’t know. I’m saying it’s possible. I think it’s obvious that he’s involved somehow. All the weird creatures and people being attacked, it’s all got to tie together somehow. And Gabe is right in the center of it.”

  “I know,” I said. “God, I feel like I am going crazy with this. I bounce to extremes so hard with him. He’s been really good to me, you know? But there is definitely something dark going on behind the scenes. And honestly, I just don’t want it to be true. I like Gabe. I want him to be a good guy.”

  Even as I said it, I could hear Gabe’s voice in my head. There are no good guys … everyone’s got a little good and a little bad in them.

  As if just realizing where she was, Kayla looked around quickly. “Wait, where is Gabe?”

  “Not here. He called this morning and said he had something to do and would come in later.”

  Her eyes went wide, and a look of horror crossed her face. “He could be stalking someone right now, Wesley. Picking out his next victim.”

  The thought settled on the two of us heavily, and we sat in silence for a moment, contemplating the significance.

  My thoughts were interrupted when Jeremiah came up to the counter, waving a handful of cash. “What’s it take to give away money in this place?” he chided.

  I smiled and took his cash. “How was everything?” I asked in my best customer service voice as I made change from the cash drawer.

  “It was terrible!” he exclaimed. “I had to finish Dylan’s burger just so she wouldn’t have to suffer through it.”

  In equally false seriousness, I said, “Well, I truly apologize for your inconvenience, but we do appreciate the sacrifice you’ve made.”

  Jeremiah took his change from my outstretched hand and, with a heavy sigh, said, “We all have our cross to bear.”

  Looking over his shoulder, I could see Dylan standing at the door rolling her eyes. “Come on, babe. Leave the poor boy alone. I’m sure he has work to do.”

  Jeremiah went to the door and held it open for Dylan. Looking back and forth between Kayla and me, he said slyly, “Yeah, I’m sure he’s going to be really busy.” I felt my cheeks begin to
burn, and a glance at Kayla showed she was blushing too. Jeremiah laughed and waved goodbye as he closed the door behind him.

  Cue awkward silence.

  After a moment of gathering my composure, I risked a glance at Kayla. She was staring intently at the now-empty coffee mug clutched tightly in both hands. I grabbed the carafe and filled her cup.

  “Kayla, this is getting serious and way out of our league,” I said.

  “You’re not going to give up, are you?”

  “No, I can’t. I’ve seen too much. I have to know what is going on or I’ll never be able to sleep right again. But maybe you should. This whole thing feels like it’s getting bigger and bigger. The cops are involved. Maybe Paul is guilty and the bad guy is in jail, but maybe not. Maybe the cops are desperate and willing to arrest the wrong guy. And all this stuff with Gabe. And, god, Kayla, there are legitimate demons here. This is shit is dangerous.”

  She looked at me quizzically. “For you too, you know? You’ve already been attacked once and—”

  “Twice,” I interjected.

  “Twice? When was the second one?”

  “Yesterday.” Kayla responded with a shocked and slightly disbelieving smile. “It was a long day,” I added.

  Kayla fixed her eyes on me with that quiet, stubborn “I’ll just sit here and wait for you to answer the question I know you know I want answered” look that must come encoded in female DNA. So I told her the story of the most recent spiritual creature to show an interest in me.

  “And you don’t know what a tutuvar is?” she asked.

  “No, but the thing seemed to think it had something to do with Gabe, and Gabe definitely recognized the word.”

  “And you have a month to bring it, or him, to this new monster?”

  “Yeah …”

  “And this is your third encounter with a demon in just over a week?”

  “Uh, yeah. Well … fourth.”