by Ty Griffin
Gabe’s wide eyes showed his surprise as I crossed the few feet between us. I swung my fist over my head, bringing in down on him like a sledgehammer. I was going to crush the deceit out of him in a single devastating blow.
Or at least that was my plan.
At the last possible moment, Gabe reacted with the reflexes of an experienced fighter. He twisted his shoulders, moving his body off-center from my swing. At the same time, he clasped his hands together and raised his arms up at an angle. My wrist hit his forearms and slid off away from his body.
In a single fluid motion, Gabe dropped his back shoulder, twisted his hips, and drove his doubled fists into my stomach like he was swinging a bat. It wasn’t a terribly powerful blow. There hadn’t been a lot of space between our bodies, and he had gone for a quick strike rather than pulling back to add more strength into his swing. But I was not expecting my strike to fail, much less for him to strike back so quickly, and Gabe knew how to deliver a blow much better than I knew how to take one. The double-handed punch forced the air from my lungs, and I immediately bent over, gasping for breath.
Gabe put a strong hand on my shoulder and shoved. I fell to the floor on my side.
I worked my hands and knees underneath my body. I looked up to see Gabe towering over me, staring down with contempt in his eyes. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he asked.
I planted my feet against the wall behind me and lifted my shoulders. I pushed off the wall like a diver springing off the board. I used my arms to shove myself up off the ground as my legs pushed against the wall with every ounce of strength I could muster. My shoulder took Gabe square in the stomach, and the force drove him back into the shelves.
The impact into Gabe halted my momentum and shifted my center of gravity. Instead of following through and landing on my feet, like I had hoped, I crashed back to the ground. Spare beer mugs and stacks of to-go boxes came tumbling off the shelf and landed on the ground around me. Shattering glass flew everywhere.
Before I could recover enough to get to my feet, I heard a crunch of boot on broken glass as Gabe took a pivoting step toward me and landed a kick to my side. Pain exploded through my body, and I had to fight off a nearly overwhelming urge to vomit all over myself.
Fortunately, the way I had fallen left Gabe with a clean shot at my side that was not already injured. Unfortunately, sometime between me entering the bar and Gabe planting his foot for the kick, Veikr had again released his hold on my pain controls. So Gabe’s kick did not land on possibly cracked ribs but it did send a jolt through my body strong enough that it felt like someone had shoved a hot knife into my ribs.
I lay on the floor, fighting to breathe between the stabbing pains in my side. I heard Gabe take a step closer and felt him lean over me before snarling, “Weak, kid. That was weak.”
I slowly, painfully pushed myself up to my knees. I looked up to see Gabe still towering over me, his face tight with a demented fury. “I know what’s going on, Gabe,” I spat at him. “I’ve seen you at night. I’ve seen your garage. I know what you are!”
Gabe’s mouth dropped open and a throbbing, red anger crept up his face. His cheeks bulged from him clenching his teeth, and a large vein popped on the center of his forehead. For a moment, I thought his head might explode.
“After everything I’ve done for you!” he roared. He reached down and grabbed the collar of my shirt, jerking me to my feet with almost supernatural strength. “You will not come into my bar and threaten me!”
With one arm, he shoved me into a shelf face first. I didn’t even have time to turn around before he was on me again. He grabbed an arm, twisted it behind my back, and clamped a vice-like hand on the back of my neck. An involuntary gasp of pain escaped my lips as he wrenched my arm further up my back, forcing me to my toes to try to relieve the pressure. He shoved me toward the fire door and, with one strong shove, threw me out into the alley. I hit the pavement with a bone-jarring thud and skidded a couple feet across the ground.
I heard the bang of the door slamming closed behind me. I jumped to my feet and ran to the door, banging, yelling, cursing. I didn’t say anything worth repeating here; in fact, I doubt I said much coherent, but I vented my impotent rage at the door for a solid couple minutes before wearing myself out.
Once my tantrum had run its course and my adrenaline had begun to fade, pain came rushing to the forefront. My arm ached from being twisted, and my stomach cramped into a tight ball, but neither of those registered as more than nagging nuisances compared to the pain in my sides. The older rib injury seemed to out-hurt the newer, which I guessed could be considered a good thing. It likely meant I had not broken a rib. It still hurt like hell, though.
I took a few minutes to brush myself off and check for additional injuries. Other than some scrapes on my hands and some areas that were sure to bruise, I figured I had come out about as good as I could have hoped for, getting my ass handed to me by an old man.
I gave the door one final punch with the bottom of my fist and walked around the corner toward the street. Halfway to the street, it dawned on me that I had no idea where I was going. I had nowhere to go. I had no job and no place to live. I could go to the cops to point the finger at Gabe again, but I didn’t have any solid information to give them, and the little we had learned today would be better coming from Kayla.
I briefly considered going back to Kayla’s. She would have likely let me crash on her couch, but she had said she wanted a quiet night. Besides, I wasn’t ready to admit to her how my confrontation with Gabe had gone. No one wants to admit they got beat up, especially not to a pretty girl.
I thought about finding a shelter to stay for the night, and knew if I was going to do that I should get there soon, before the beds filled up. But part of me revolted at the idea. It hadn’t been but a few days since I was sleeping on the streets with nothing to eat. The idea of being homeless again made my chest ache in a way that was difficult to breathe through.
I knew it was not the smartest idea, but if I was going to end up homeless again, I would first use whatever money I had to stay a few nights in a cheap hotel. There was only a little money, but I could not force myself to consider other options at the moment.
The only problem with that plan was that my money, along with the few other things I owned, was in my apartment—inside Gabe’s Bar and Grill. Even my bike was still in the storage room Gabe had just tossed me out of. There was no way I was going to leave all my stuff there, but I also couldn’t show my face back inside at that moment. Sometimes even a whipped dog has a little pride.
With a flare of hope, I shoved my hand in my pocket. I felt the jagged edge of a key. Gabe’s keys! I would just have to wait until Gabe closed the bar down to sneak back inside and get my stuff. I could leave the keys on the bar and walk out the back door when I was done. That way Gabe would know I didn’t plan to come back and take anything that wasn’t mine. Maybe he wouldn’t call the cops then.
That seemed like my best plan. I just needed to find a place to kill some time for a few hours, and then I would probably need to find a good hiding spot where I could watch to make sure Gabe had left the bar.
Then a thought struck me.
Keys. I had Gabe’s keys. Not only to the bar, but also the keys I had copied to his house and garage. I had told Gabe I had seen his garage. It probably wouldn’t take much for him to put together that I had made a copy of his keys. Which meant the window to get back into his place and get some actual evidence I could take to the police was pretty small. Likely just the next few hours.
I made up my mind. I would go to Gabe’s house and search his garage more thoroughly—maybe this time I would risk the bear of a dog—and after I would sneak into the bar and get my stuff back. My nerves calmer at having a semblance of a plan, I stepped onto the street.
The sun had finished setting while I was inside the bar, so when I left the dark alley I was grateful to be on a lit street. Movement across the street caught my
attention. I stood still at the corner of the building and watched. A figure, half covered in shadow, was peering into the darkened windows of Painted By Genevieve. Judging by the figure’s outline and long blonde hair, I was sure it was a woman.
Even from that distance, I could see the woman’s shoulders slump in disappointment as she realized the art studio was closed and empty. She turned and headed toward a light-colored SUV parked a few spots down from the studio. As she walked, she passed under a street light, and I was briefly able to see her face. It was Jessica Jenkins.
I ran across the street, trying to come around at an angle from which she would see me coming. I didn’t want to come up from behind her and scare her. She had been pretty skittish already, and I knew I might not have another chance to get her to talk.
When I was close enough to not have to yell, but still far enough to not seem a threat, I held up a hand in greeting and called, “Jessica?”
She froze, frightened despite my efforts. I slowed my walk to a cautious pace and held up both hands palms out, trying to show I wasn’t a threat. “Jessica?” I asked again. “My name is Wesley. I was with Kayla today at your house.”
Her body relaxed a little, but her face still showed significant distrust. I spoke quickly, trying to reassure her.
“I work across the street at the bar,” I said, gesturing to Gabe’s. In the back of my mind, I thought I should have used the past tense, but I didn’t think the distinction would help Jessica at the moment. “I saw you over here and figured you were looking for Kayla. Do you want me to take her a message? Or I could tell her to call you? I won’t see her until the morning, but I’d be glad to give her a message for you. I know she would be really interested in talking to you.”
I stopped about five feet from her, allowing her plenty of personal space, which she seemed to appreciate. She was still apprehensive, and I waited patiently for her to feel comfortable enough to talk.
“I do not want to answer questions,” she said finally.
“Okay. I understand. But you came here for a reason, right? Was there something you wanted to say? Do you have some information that might help us?”
“I … no. I already gave a statement to the police.”
A smidgen of insight dawned on me. “But you didn’t tell the police everything, did you?” I asked.
Even in the poor lighting on the street, I could see the color drain from her face. Confirmation if ever I had seen it. I just needed to find the right way to get her to start talking.
“This is taking too long,” Veikr complained. I could feel his agitation building inside me. “We can make her talk, Vessel. We would not have to hurt her, just step a little closer. See how frightened she is. She will tell you what you want to know.”
I struggled to ignore Veikr’s voice. Even more, I struggled to beat down his irritation. I tried to focus on calm, empathetic emotion and communicate it to Jessica, and use that emotion to drown out the aggressive, impatient feelings Veikr was flooding my body with.
“No, I told the police everything,” she said, obviously lying.
“Okay, okay,” I said. “Then why did you come here?”
“I just wanted to warn her …”
“Warn her about what?” I insisted. Ice-cold fingers gripped my heart.
Her resolve broke. “I shouldn’t have come here. I shouldn’t have come out. I have to go.” She turned her back to me, stepping toward her car door and fumbling for her keys. Her hands must have been shaking, because she seemed to have trouble getting her key in the door.
“She was already attacked,” I said. “What else could she possibly need to be warned about?”
She must have finally remembered her key fob, because I heard the click of all four door locks, and Jessica got inside her car.
“Jessica, please!” I said in desperation.
She stopped halfway through closing the door, staring at the steering wheel in front of her, refusing to look at me.
“He came back,” she said weakly.
“What?”
“The next night I woke up to him standing over my bed.”
“Oh god,” I whispered.
“He didn’t do anything the second time … but I couldn’t move. It was like I was paralyzed, literally paralyzed with fear. He made me”—she let out a soft sob before continuing—“he made me talk about what he had done to me. He made me tell him what I felt during it and how I felt after. He didn’t threaten me. I don’t know how he did it, but I knew I didn’t have any choice but to tell him every detail of how he had made me feel.”
“Jessica,” I said softly. “If he stood that close while you spoke, you would have had a chance to see him, to see his face. Can you tell me what he looked like?”
“No!” she cried loudly. “I tried to look. I really did. I was so scared. Once I saw him, I knew it was him and I closed my eyes so tight. I couldn’t make myself open them again until he was gone. I was so scared.”
She looked down at her trembling hands and said, “I think that was what he really wanted, anyway. I think he got off on hearing how he made me feel even more than he did during …”
My heart dropped to my stomach. Thoughts raced through my brain in a frenzied cloud, each thought screaming for attention. It seemed that one thought should be of most importance, but in a near panic I could not grasp hold of which it should be.
Kayla had said she felt like Marie had something else she was too scared or ashamed to say. Could she have been wanting to say that Gabe had come back to torment her as well? Could that have been why Chanel had abandoned her house, even though it wasn’t where she had been attacked? Maybe she had been visited in her home as well, just like Jessica.
“Vessel,” Veikr said, “you are ignoring the obvious. If he came back to torment his victims …”
Kayla! The thought burst through the swirling confusion. Kayla! He was going to come back for Kayla, and if he had been interrupted the first time and hadn’t gotten what he wanted, who knows what he would do the second. A cold, vile sensation churned in my stomach when I thought about the things I had said to Gabe. What if he considered Kayla a witness? What would he be willing to do then?
In the few seconds after Jessica stopped speaking, thoughts continued to churn and whirl frantically, while realizations and clear directions came sluggishly. I looked toward the bar, back where Gabe always parked his truck. It was gone.
Chapter 19
◆◆◆
I ran. Not waiting to say a word to Jessica, not even waving goodbye, I turned and raced as fast as I could. I was only a few blocks from her apartment. I could be there in just a few minutes. I tried to estimate how long I had yelled at Gabe through the back door of the bar. Had it been five minutes? Ten? Fifteen?
And how long did I take cleaning myself off and trying to plan what to do next? How long had I talked to Jessica? It couldn’t have been long, maybe five minutes. Was Gabe’s truck parked out front when I crossed the street to speak to her? I couldn’t remember.
Twenty minutes since I had seen Gabe last, maybe thirty? Hell, it could have been ten minutes. But he had a head start and a car. Even if he hadn’t left right away, he would easily have several minutes alone with Kayla before I could get there.
Kayla was smart and strong in mind and spirit, but her body was small and frail. Maybe she could find a way to run away, but she would not be able to put up much of a fight against Gabe. I tried not to think about how I couldn’t even put up any kind of fight. And I tried not to think about how the sheer presence of his demonic counterpart terrified his victims into not being able to fight back in the first place.
Except Kayla had fought. At least a little. Her busted knuckles proved, if not her physical ability to fight back, the strength of her soul. The thought gave me an inkling of hope, and I pushed myself to run faster.
Both my sides were aching with deep, gut-wrenching pain and my legs felt like they were on fire. “Veikr, help me!” I panted.
/> Quick bursts of fiery pain shot down each leg, and suddenly each step took me a couple feet further. The pain in my sides and the burning in my chest eased, and I was able to breathe deeply as I sprinted down the sidewalk.
When I reached the intersection of Kayla’s street, I remembered I was on the wrong side of the road. I crossed the intersection kitty-corner as a car was blowing through a yellow light. I caught the motion out of my peripheral vision just before it plowed into me. On pure reflex, I shifted my weight mid-stride, and instead of propelling myself forward, I bounced off the ball of my foot, pushing myself straight into the air.
I landed on the roof of the car, rolled, spun, and hit the ground with a thud. The mostly quiet night was split by the sound of the car’s screeching tires as the driver slammed on their brakes. With a groan, I pushed myself to my feet and did a quick body scan for life-threatening injuries.
I realized nothing was broken but let out a quiet curse as I imagined how sore I would be once Veikr stopped shielding me from the pain. Then, remembering why I had been running, I cursed again and took off. Within three steps I was back to full speed, thanks to the extra push given by Veikr.
As I sped by the car that now had a me-sized dent in the roof, the driver stuck his head out of the open door and yelled, “Dude, are you okay?” in a perfectly toned Tommy Chong impression. I didn’t bother answering.
A couple minutes later, I slid to a stop in front of Kayla’s apartment building. I felt Veikr’s power leave my legs, and they began to tremble, but fortunately he continued to regulate my body’s pain signals. I stood in front of the steps and stared at the building. The thick wooden door was hanging at an odd angle, attached only by a single hinge. Strewn around the floor inside the entryway were little scraps of wood from the door frame. I realized with a start that the door had previously swung out toward the street but was currently hanging inside the building.