by Ty Griffin
Well yeah. How about the fact that he stalks the streets where the attacks have happened every night? Or the fact that he has pictures of the victims in his creepy-ass garage. Or just the fact that every time I turn my back on him, some weird, scary shit happens?
“No,” I said. “That’s it.”
She didn’t believe me—I could tell that right away—but all she said was, “Okay. I appreciate you coming down, Mr. Petterson. Lark and I will go over the information and investigate appropriately.” She stood and offered me her hand, signaling that the conversation was over. I shook her hand with little enthusiasm.
“Yeah, okay,” I said before turning to walk away.
I had only taken a couple steps when Tilley stopped me. “Mr. Petterson,” she said. I stopped and turned to face her. She stepped toward me and leaned in close enough that only I could hear her speak. “I don’t know what your deal is, or what all is going on with Gabe Huggins, but I think you should be careful. Gabe has an excellent reputation and has never been anything but helpful. But I believe there’s more to him than meets the eye. Things seem to happen around him all the time, and he has a tendency to know about things happening more than a simple barkeeper should.
“I have never had anything specific to put my finger on with him, but I’ve always had the feeling that there’s a lot more beneath the surface. And I believe that some of those things could be dangerous. I don’t know if Gabe is involved in any of this, but if he is, we will get him. Five women have already been attacked. I’d really like to not let it get to six. Just … be careful and keep your eyes open.”
I stared at Tilley for a moment in disbelief. This cop that had given me nothing but trouble and veiled accusations was warning me about Gabe? More than that, she believed there was something about Gabe that I needed to be warned about?
Unsure of what to say, I just nodded and grunted thanks.
Tilley smiled wryly and said, “To serve and protect, Mr. Petterson.”
I left the police station and grabbed my bike. I headed in the general direction of Gabe’s but wasn’t too concerned about taking the most direct path. I needed to clear my head a little before I saw Gabe again, and an extra few minutes riding my bike was going to have to do the trick.
I tried to weigh out my emotions after my conversation with Tilley. I should have felt a sense of relief or completion or something. I had done my part. At least I had pointed them in Gabe’s direction. If he was involved, the cops now knew to be looking for it, and it was their responsibility to find the truth.
I knew, in the rational part of my brain, that I was not responsible to any of those women to do anything else. I didn’t know any of the victims. I hadn’t been involved or witnessed any of the attacks. I had met the guy arrested for the crimes twice and I worked for a guy who—well, I don’t know what exactly, but who was connected to the case in some way. But that was it. I had no real attachment or responsibility to do anything.
I knew it, but I didn’t feel it. Something inside me would not let it go. I had seen smaller, weaker people pushed around and taken advantage of by those bigger and stronger my entire life. I had seen those willing to use their power, authority, size, and disregard for others to take what they wanted from those too vulnerable and timid to protect themselves—and it pissed me off.
I felt responsible because I was involved, to whatever tiny degree. I did know someone accused of the crimes, and someone else very likely involved in them. Details about the attacks kept popping up around me in different ways, and I could not just ignore them. And while I didn’t know the women attacked, I had seen pictures of them, which had turned them from faceless, nameless concepts into living, breathing human beings. Well, I had seen pictures of the four women—
My scattered mind snagged on a detail I had missed before. Four victims. Kayla and I had discussed four victims. There were files for four victims in Gabe’s garage. But Tilley had said five women had been attacked. There was another victim. Someone else had been attacked.
A sinking, haunting, hollow feeling permeated my chest. I let my bike coast to the corner of a building and leaned against the alley wall. A fifth victim. A fifth victim between yesterday and today. Pieces started falling into place. Kayla had not shown up for work today, which according to her boss, was unusual. And this morning Officers Tilley and Lark were walking into the studio where Kayla worked.
Tilley had seemed like she had expected something else from me when I first showed up to the police station. Had she thought I had come in to confess? Did she think I maybe felt guilty after attacking someone I knew?
“Vessel,” Veikr said.
“Not now,” I dismissed him, intent on my thoughts.
Again, my rational mind tried to focus on known facts and reasonable explanations, but deep down I knew it had to be true. I knew without a shadow of a doubt, and without an ounce of actual proof, that my friend had been the latest victim.
“Vessel,” Veikr said again. There was a hint of impatience in his voice, but I ignored it.
I had only spent a little time with Kayla over the last several days, but she had quickly become a good friend. Not just because she was basically my only friend other than Gabe and not just because she was a pretty woman. She was kind, adventurous, and immensely interested in people. Kayla was open to the world in a way I had never been, and I respected her greatly for it. I knew I had no claim of protector over her, but she was my friend, dammit. The thought of someone hurting her pissed me off, and I felt my body begin to tremble as the rage flooded my muscles with adrenaline.
“Wesley!” Veikr shouted. His voice resonated through my body with a sense of panic, but more than anything it was the fact that he had used my name that caught my attention.
“What?” I shouted back.
“Look up!”
I looked up. Above me maybe fifteen feet was the worm-leech thing that had attacked me the night before. Its spider-like legs held it against the wall of the building I was leaning against, and its eyeless head was swaying back and forth like a snake ready to strike.
I saw its body tense just before it launched itself at me. I didn’t scream—a fact that I was immensely proud of, but probably had mostly to do with my body’s fight-or-flight response rather than any kind of courage. But still.
I threw myself off my bike and to the side a breath before the creature crashed into the spot I had just been. Its legs passed right through my bike as if it weren’t even there. From where I landed, it looked like it hadn’t done any damage to my bike, but the bruises covering my body assured me that had I still been there, I would not have been quite so lucky.
“I told you I would find you, human,” the creature sneered.
I vaguely recognized the heated pressure building in my legs and felt Veikr’s voice echo through my body, “Run, Vessel. Get up and run!”
I scooted a few feet on all fours and quickly scrambled to my feet. I turned toward the busy street behind me, but the creature sidestepped in that direction, almost taunting me to run. Behind me the alley extended for a few hundred feet full of nothing but dumpsters, brick walls, and doors that were sure to be locked. I had outrun the creature the night before, with the help of Veikr, but I had a feeling that had been mostly luck and surprise. If I tried to run down that alley, I would be trapping myself between two walls and ensuring this thing an easy meal.
“Run, Vessel!” Veikr yelled again.
The creature, mouth unmoving, jeered, “Yes, little human, run.”
I stepped back until I bumped into the wall and tried to slowly edge my way toward the main street, but the monster moved on a handful of spidery legs to choke off an escape route. It continued to move at an angle, slowly closing the distance between us. I tried to move away, my back sliding along the brick wall as I took several careful steps further into the alley. The creature continued toward me, maintaining the space between us. I increased my speed, careful not to turn my back to him. it quickened its steps,
too, just enough to keep pace with me. I sped up a little more, and again the creature matched my speed.
It was playing a game with me. Like a cat with a mouse, this monster was playing with its meal, taking perverse delight in my struggle and fear. A shudder went through my body at the accuracy of the analogy: I was the meal. A sick, twisted knot formed in my stomach at the memory of the creature attaching its teeth to my back and … draining me of my life.
For the briefest moment I froze, locked in place by the fear and disgust brought on from that memory. In that moment, the creature took an additional few steps toward me, closing the distance, and began stretching a menacing leg toward me. Its leg moved slowly, too slowly. The thing was intentionally drawing it out, taunting me, intimidating me.
Something inside me flipped. My fear changed—or maybe not so much changed but fused with my anger. I felt insulted, challenged. A foolish, feral rage turned my vision red.
I cannot stand bullies.
The fear-tinted anger was a bucket of gasoline on the pilot flame of my raw emotions. In a mindless moment of exploding rage, I threw my arm up like a boxer blocking a jab. I slapped the monster’s extended leg with my forearm and barely noticed its spiny exoskeleton tear though my shirt and into my skin. I stepped forward as I balled my fist, pivoted my hips, and drove my fist into the creature’s head using the full force of my legs, hips, back, and shoulder.
It felt like I was punching a giant pillow.
The monster’s body gave way beneath my fist, effortlessly absorbing the blow, before bouncing back. The creature didn’t make a sound. Not a shriek or howl of pain, not even a growl of anger. It just stood still. If it had eyes, I swear it would have stood there blinking at me.
I hadn’t hurt it, I was sure of that, but I startled it. It had assumed I would be cowed by my fear, either running for my life or frozen in terror. It had not even considered the possibility of me fighting back. Of course, neither had I.
Apparently, neither had Veikr. “Human, what did you just do?”
The monster quickly overcame its surprise and let out a terrifying roar. Still full of stupefying rage, I yelled back and punched the creature two more times just below its teeth, where its chin would have been. The first punch was a quick jab with my left arm, the same arm I had blocked its reaching leg with. Blood had already started trickling down my arm, and my strike left a small bloody smear where I had hit it.
I followed the jab with a quick right, aiming at the same bloody mark. In the split second between launching and landing, I felt a flash of fiery pressure explode down my arm and into my fist. This time when my punch landed, I felt the shock of it resonate through my body. The entire torso of the creature was flung back, nearly folding its worm-like body in half.
The creature straightened itself and shook its upper body as if trying to clear its head. I had hurt it. I didn’t know how, but I had caused the hellish thing pain. I glanced at my hand, still curled into a fist. My entire arm was covered in some kind of black, cracked, jagged shell. The cracks looked like veins of deep, ember-red lava and pulsed with deep, red light.
I looked back at the creature and saw a spot of seared flesh where I had punched it. A wisp of smoke rose from the wound. My brain only half processed what my eyes had seen in the couple of seconds it took the monster to compose itself.
It reared back on a handful of its legs and lunged at me. It moved with such speed I had no chance to dodge it. It slammed its upper body into me, and I crumpled to the ground like a Coke can crushed by a foot. Two of its legs pressed down on my shoulders, pinning me in place, and it raised several more of its legs over my chest. I tried to wiggle my way out, but the thing was much bigger and stronger than me, and I wasn’t able to move it even an inch.
I watched, as if in slow motion, as the first of its legs came down aimed to pierce through a lung. My heart stopped, and in flash of clarity, I knew I was about to die. A sharp, heated wave of pain shot through my chest the instant before the creature impaled me. Then I felt the impact of its leg in my rib. Instead of the sharp, piercing pain of my chest being punctured, it felt like the dull thud of being hit by a golf ball. It hurt, but I felt the sharp leg continue sliding off my chest, down my side, and into the concrete beside me.
After the first strike, the creature followed up with a flurry of strikes meant to stick me like a pincushion. I felt the impact from each hit, felt the air violently thrust from my lungs, but not one of the legs pierced my skin. After a long moment of violent assault, the creature reared back to inspect its victim.
“Kick it!” shouted Veikr. “Do it now!”
I raised my knees to my chest and shoved my heels up into the underbelly of the monster as hard as I could. As I did I felt that same pressure explode through my legs in a quick, fiery flash of pain, and when my kick landed I pushed with a strength I didn’t know was possible. The creature roared in frustration and pain as I flung it back several feet.
Not wanting to waste time trying to understand what had just happened, I took advantage of the space I had created and scrambled to my feet. The monster wasn’t disoriented for long and quickly rushed me again, teeth bared.
I threw myself to the side to avoid its rush and crashed into the far wall maybe a dozen feet away, landing with my back on the ground. The monster must have crashed into the other wall at least as hard, because when I looked up it was piled in a ball on the ground too. The creature turned its head to watch me as it slowly rose to its feet. I pushed myself up as well, my muscles tense and ready to spring into motion.
The creature stalked toward me, slowly this time, four of its legs raised and ready to strike. I realized the creature was no longer between me and the main road and briefly considered running, but the thing leapt and was on me before I could move. Again, the creature struck at me with one of its legs, this time aiming for my head.
For the briefest moment, everything slowed down, or maybe my thought process sped up. I realized I felt a solid, cylindrical object in my hand, and from the weight could feel it extended at least a couple feet out. I must have grabbed a broom handle or a stick or something off the ground when I fell. I swung the stick at the creature’s thrusting leg and felt just the slightest resistance when it connected.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a long, thin object hurtling away from us and then felt warm, slimy liquid splatter across my face. With shock and disgust, I realized the creature’s leg had just been completely severed. The thing howled in pain and anger, wrapped two of its legs around me, and flung me down the alley.
I hit the ground several yards away and tumbled several more. I felt the muscles in my back tighten. I was somehow able to control my fall enough to not break every bone in my body and ended my roll sitting up on my knees.
The monster roared and charged me again. This time it hurled itself down the alley with no regard for strategy and no interest in playing games. It was going to kill me, and it was going to do it right then and there.
I’ve been in a few fights in my days. A regular street fight is nothing like what you see on television. There generally aren’t many clean, squared-up hits. Usually it’s just a jumbled mess of flailing limbs for about fifteen seconds before both parties fall to the ground, rolling and swinging until their friends pull them apart. Or it’s a beatdown where both end up on the ground with one person on top of the other, smashing their face in. Most street fights don’t last very long and don’t have a whole lot of strategy involved.
I can hold my own in a street fight—I have had to learn how—but surviving the battle with that monster had already been more than anything I had ever experienced. My mind had already surpassed its threshold of belief, and every muscle in my body felt weak and tired.
As several hundred pounds of furious, monstrous rage came barreling toward me, I panicked. I froze up, unable to run or fight or think. I curled into a terrified, pathetic little ball and wrapped my arms over my head.
I felt the monster’s bo
dy crash down onto me, felt its crushing weight pushing me into the pavement. My body tensed, anticipating those spidery legs would start tearing me apart and viciously sharp teeth would bite into my flesh. But I felt none of that. I waited a moment, expecting a taunt or a sneer, but instead I felt warm, foul liquid coating my hands and hair. I waited a moment longer, fearing the hope welling up inside me, but the creature did not move a muscle. It didn’t even make a sound.
I opened my eyes, but my arms were pinned to my head by the thing’s weight. I squirmed and shoved at the creature with my feet until I could roll out from under it. I stood shakily to my feet and looked at the thing now lying on the street.
Dead.
Chapter 13
◆◆◆
Stuck through the underside of the monster’s body, running through its mouth, and coming out through the top of its head was a three-foot-long sword with a straight, flat blade about the width of my forearm. It looked to be made of metal, but the sword glowed that same red, like an ember burning at night.
“What the hell?” I mumbled.
I tentatively stretched my foot out to poke at the monster, hoping to verify it was indeed dead, and as I did I got a good look at my leg. I stumbled back a couple steps in shock and had to lean against a wall to get a better look at myself.
My legs, chest, and arms were the same shape and length they had always been, but everything was thicker and looked like blackened rock with veins of liquid fire. It was as if my entire body was covered with a thick shell of slightly cooling molten lava. My hands, I noticed, were not the same size and shape as normal. Each hand had a thumb and three fingers, and each finger was thick and long and ended in what looked to be a sharp talon.
I noticed a movement out of the corner of my eye and turned my head to see an enormous wing shifting behind me. I flinched on instinct, and the wing flinched along with me. I looked over my other shoulder, saw another wing, and realized with a mixture of horror and awe that the wings were attached to me. They jutted up out of my back in sharp angles and had the smooth, membraned look of bat wings. If a bat had been made from the glass-like rocks of quickly cooled lava.