The Dark Trail

by Will Mosley

  She hurled the object at his face, inhaled deeply and screamed, “Somebody help me!” It seemed to take a full minute for the words to escape her lungs.

  The book crashed against his face and head, generating a dull thump.

  “Ow!” He exclaimed, and with a mighty yank, pulled her into him. His grip ratcheted her soft skin, crumpling it like paper, squeezing the bone beneath and stopping all blood flow to her foot. “You ain't going nowhere, missy!” He grabbed at her other foot with his free hand and through the chaos, she realized she had another weapon against him: her left foot.

  She pulled her leg back, bringing her knee to her chest, producing as much torque as possible before shoving her heel first into his forehead. His head recoiled as if it were on a spring, with a crackling sound at the base of his skull. Her leg cocked again and once more she drove her foot into the same spot, this time with a grunt.

  “Let me go, you freak!” She yelled, but his grip remained as restrictive as ever. Again his head sprang back, his chin pointing straight up this time, his torso swayed. Then, he lowered his body, sitting his butt against the backs of his calves and released her. When he recovered his head, returning the focus of those black, marble eyes to her, she saw that he was smiling – laughing even – with no sound. His face had changed. The hate and evil in his eyes just moments ago were gone. His face looked so juvenile that, through the early wrinkles slashed across his forehead, she could imagine how he looked as a child. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness and the faint glow of street light seemed like moonshine. The whites of his eyes were now visible as only grayish pools surrounding two voids. His eyebrows arched squishing his forehead skin, giving him a genuinely jolly expression. So startled at the sight, Erica hadn't realized that the pressure on her lower leg was gone. She snatched her leg back under her, stood up – with her eyes on him, alert for any quick movements – and slowly backed away.

  “You're sick!” She screamed hysterically, thinking of pressing her luck by slapping him in return for the horror he had put her through, until she did. The 'pop' echoed once around the room and she took two steps back to safety. Apparently, it was all one big joke. “You're a sick bastard, you know that?” She yelled, yet he looked happy through defeat, jovial and pleasant with his shoulders slumped forward and his long beard vibrating from the laughter. “You know, you'll be lucky if I don't go to the police about this.” Still, he said nothing.

  Though they had taken a taxi to his home the night before, she fully expected to walk, or to catch the bus now that this had happened. She would just need to collect her things... Shit! She thought. Her purse as well as her shoes and skirt were upstairs. She wouldn't be retrieving those items now in case his fit of madness was some sporadic malady. She would have to leave with the sparse clothing on her back and get the police to return her property.

  “I'm leaving now.” She said. It sounded like a stated question, and she even waited for his approval – which was a quick toss of his hand toward the door. She backed away the first few steps, then turned around – erect and confident – and walked to the door. She snatched her phone from a small marble table in the foyer and checked it for any missed calls. There were no calls, but the phone's ambient light glowed against the wall beside the front door, illuminating three ornate picture frames that hung there. She raised the phone up to the highest mounted photo in which a Nordic looking family – a man, a woman and two children, all blonde, bright eyed and smiling – posed in a photo with a Christmas themed backdrop. She lowered the phone bringing the light over a photo of the same family at the beach, the father shirtless squatting between the two children. Were these pictures of Xoscha's family? Distant relatives, maybe? The third photo sent an icy tremor down her spine, nearly loosening her bowels and bladder. It was a picture of the two children smiling, wearing book bags, waving at the camera and standing in front of this front door.

  In her peripheral vision, at the furthest reach of the cell phone's light range, she saw the dull glimmer of the large nails hammered through the door's molding and into the front door, sealing the exit. At the base of her stomach, dread churned.

  She quickly swung the light to the floor, spreading the glow over broken toys, clothes and garbage. All were scattered across the once pristine, now oil, dirt and blood covered carpet. She studied the splattered, patternless array of blood for no more than a second, then turned the phone up to the mantel over the fireplace. The iPhone's display light was set to go off after ten seconds to reserve the battery and that time was quickly approaching. The faint luminance revealed more pictures of that same family – happy, smiling, pictures everywhere of their gentle faces. Panicked, she swept the phone to the location on the floor where Xoscha sat, but he was gone and in that spot was the book she had thrown at him – a large Bible – which was speckled with fresh blood. He had disappeared with only that irrational madness to guide him, and was now surely in another room seeking a weapon of some kind to bludgeon her to death. She inhaled the tangy, stale air and held it, ensuring her soundlessness, carefully listening for anything. Swinging the phone crazily from wall to wall, she searched for Xoscha, unbelieving that he could have just vanished without a sound. Though her face radiated terror and her cauldron of worry had virtually bubbled over, she knew she had at least a few seconds to plan, to seek a new exit, maybe even to find a weapon of her own. However, a thought occurred to her: If he moved so silently, he could be anywhere! Her skin crawled with the new realization. He could even be...

  She stopped swinging the phone haphazardly and slowly angled it to her back. There was nothing there except the upstairs staircase, a closet positioned at the bottom of the steps, and an arm, then a body covered in thick, black hair. From sheer shock, she launched herself away from the man, shining the phone in his face and slamming her back into the jagged nail heads protruding from the door frame. Wasps stings of searing pain dug into her back flesh, shredding the skin like string cheese. She screamed, and was only able to ignite Xoscha's face in white light long enough to see his yellow-toothed smile, a slash across his nose drizzling blood and smeared across his cheeks, and the mad nothingness in his black eyes before the phone's light faded and the darkness consumed her.

  Chapter 5.

  “Sir, could you remove your hands from your pockets please.” The voice came from somewhere behind the blue lights and flashlight beam.

  Tanner had turned his shoulder into the light so as to not be blinded. “It's cold out here! Cut those damned lights off, man. I'm not breaking the law!”

  “Then, why have you been standing in the road for the last ten minutes? You planning something?”

  “What? No!” Tanner swatted at the light.

  “Do you live around here?” The voice behind the lights said.

  “I was just here to –,”

  “Please remove your hands from you pockets so I can see them!” The policemen said more firmly. With his face turned and eyes squeezed shut, Tanner slowly removed his hands and pointed his palms at the officer. “I need to see your face, also, sir.”

  “You've got your headlights on bright, and those damned blue lights are burning my retinas. You've got to turn one of them off, man. I'll gladly show you my face.”

  The officer reached into his car and put the headlights in their normal position, but the blue lights remained. Tanner turned his face toward him. “Is this good? Can you now see the face of an innocent man before you beat him half to death?”

  “I haven't beaten anyone in the last twenty minutes, so you're safe.” The policeman joked, still holding the flashlight over his right shoulder.

  “That's reassuring.” Tanner mumbled. “A funny man with a gun.”

  “What are you doing out here, bud? You drunk or something?”

  “Drunk?” Tanner asked. “Well, now that you mention it, it doesn't sound half bad. No, officer. I'm not drunk.”

  “Where you coming from?”

  “I've been out of town for while doing my o
wn thing. I'm from here, though. Born and raised. Apparently, I still have family here, so I'm coming to visit my brother.” Tanner looked to his right at the white house with blue shutters and pointed. “It seems he lives here. This address is what I found on the internet.”

  “Your brother, you say. What's his name?”

  “Come on, officer. That's personal information. Let's just knock on the door and when he comes out he'll recognize me and you can go back to... eating doughnuts, or whatever –,”

  “What's his name, drifter?”

  “Drifter?” Tanner thought the officer's word choice strange. Almost as if the cop was trying to be funny. “What is this, the 1920's? Who uses –,” Tanner still couldn't see the officer, but heard the slide of a gun cocking.

  “His name, or I’ll fill you full of holes!” The cop said in a low voice.

  “Okay, fine! Kenneth Lee Garay.” Then mumbled, “It's not worth getting shot over.”

  “Kenneth Lee Garay. Uh, huh.” The cop said, unbelieving.

  “Hey!” Tanner exclaimed and dropped his hands. “You can't shoot me for not providing a name to you! What kinda cop are you? The gun fire would wake these people up,” He held his arms out to the surrounding houses. “And they'd come out to see that I'm not armed.”

  “Oh yeah? You think that's how it works around here?”

  “I'm from here, officer. I know that the police around here aren't... weren't corrupt.”

  “Things have changed, boy. I have an extra, untraceable gun in my glove compartment. After I pop a few caps in you scraggly ass, I'll just toss one of the guns in your hands and say you tried to attack me.”

  Tanner fought with the headlights to get a gauge on the cops face, his expressions and whether a gun was being trained on him, but each time he ducked, or tilted his head, the policeman aimed the flashlight at his face, keeping himself hidden.

  “Fine. Shoot me.” Tanner stretched his arms out, turned his face to the side and winced. With his ear pointing in the cop's direction, he heard what sounded like the man holding back laughter. Tanner turned to face the cop again. “Is this a joke to you, officer?”

  “What did you say your brother's name was again, boy?”

  “Kenneth Lee Garay, officer. He was in a rock band last time I saw him, but that's been years ago. Why? You know him?”

  “See, this is where I catch vagabonds and ne’er-do-wells in lies.”

  “I'm not –,”

  “Shut up and keep those hands up.” The officer said. Tanner brought his palms back to his front, toward the cop. The cop closed his door and moved away from the vehicle. The light he was holding still obstructed his face from Tanner. Now, however, Tanner could see that he didn't have a gun pointed at him. “You see, I get all kinds of people coming through this town, all of them saying that they know this person or that person.” The cop moved closer to Tanner. “The thing is, that house you pointed at is mine, and my name is Kenneth Lee Garay,” The cop lowered the flashlight and, as Tanner's eyes adjusted to the dark, he began to see the tracings of a face that looked vaguely familiar. “And my little brother Tanner's ball's weren't big enough for him to have grown a beard of that magnitude.”

  Ken's face, though slightly rounded and with more age lines than Tanner remembered, was warm, and the smile across his face was so broad, it pushed his plump cheeks and eyelids up to his eyes, making two dark slits of them. Ken wrapped Tanner in his arms and squeezed as if to recover all those lost years he hadn't seen him. “Where the hell have you been, boy? I've missed the hell outta you!” Ken said, gleefully. Tanner returned the hug. Though the embrace was lung constricting, Tanner could feel his mistakes in Ken's hug. He wasn't there to be support for his big brother when he needed him and, though Ken would never tell him that, the hug, that was not letting up even slightly, said it all. Tanner forgot that the temperature was below freezing until he felt the cold moisture running down his cheeks.

  “We thought you were dead, Tanner. You can't imagine how many nights we stayed up and prayed for contact from you. So many nights, little bro.”

  “We?” Tanner asked. Finally the pain of Ken's embrace relented and he stepped back from his brother.

  “Yeah, we. Me, Mary, Lainy, Mom and dad?”

  Mary? Lainy? Tanner wondered about the relation for a second, but nearly screamed, “Mom and dad! They're alive?”

  “Of course they're alive. They live around the corner on the next street. I moved here to take care of their old asses.” Ken pointed to his house at 295 Harbor Lane.

  “So, I am in the right place. I was hoping that this was your house.” Tanner said and sighed in relief. Ken wrapped him up in another hug before Tanner could say speak again. “My God, boy, it's good to see you.” The second hug was strong, but loving. Ken twice patted his brother's back and his smile was etched on his face in stone. Several moments passed, then Ken leaned back and regained his composure. “So, why were you standing in the road?”

  “Standing in the road?” Tanner asked. “I was walking from the bus terminal. I've been walking for hours, but not standing. It's too cold for that.”

  “Tanner, you were standing in the road with this glazed look in your eyes when I pulled up. I'm technically off duty and I was about to pull in my driveway when I got a call. Dispatch said that someone around here, probably from Mr. Winston over there,” Ken pointed to his next door neighbor's home at 305 Harbor Lane. “called in about a strange man standing in the road. It was only obvious that I should check it out. What's up, man? You okay?”

  Tanner didn't remember standing for more than a second or two. “How long was I standing there?”

  “About three or four minutes after I pulled up.”

  “That's crazy! I wouldn't purposely be standing in the road freezing my nuts off.”

  “That's what I saw.”

  “You didn't immediately check to see what was wrong?” Tanner asked.

  “I didn't recognize you at first. When I arrived, I thought you were in shock at seeing a squad car, but the lights didn't phase you. Since I was headed home, and didn't want to alert my neighbors – they're all old busy bodies – I didn't have the blue's on at first. So, I parked the car in front of you, did some paperwork and gathered my things, you know, cause I figured you'd were likely to run. But you didn't and just stood there with that distant stare. After a while, I turned on the blue's and when I got out, you were covering your eyes.”

  The rolling blackness was the last thing Tanner remembered before the blue lights came on, but this lapse of time he had experienced wasn't new. It had happened many times before. Each time it became less of a fright and more of a question. Why did the darkness seem to move and engulf him? Why was he standing in the cold so long? Though, it had happened before, he was sure the lapse lasted probably a second or two. But then again, there was never anyone to tell him how long he was gone. Four minutes of standing in nearly freezing weather, watching the night come alive and surround him, hallucinating about sand, seemed unbelievable – even crazy. And why was it always sand? Not a forest, or dirt, or even an ocean, but arid sand that felt like fire on his skin. He'd never been in a desert and only visited Myrtle Beach twice as a child. Tanner wanted to flee from the subject and rid himself of the blackouts as soon as possible. He was eager to properly restart his life in his hometown. For, if it didn't work out this time, at least he'd be happy dying here. The blackout problem, however, would be something he'd have to fix on his own, less he be thought of as crazy.

  “I'm alright, Ken.” He changed his morose tone, smiled and gently punched Ken in the shoulder. “You're a cop, bro! Now I can get into all kinds of free stuff! I've got the law on my side! I think I’ll start out with something small, first. You know, robbing banks, printing counterfeit money –,” Tanner mused.

  Ken punched him back, “And I'll bust your ass, too! After I get my cut.”

  “When did this happen? When did the anti-establishmentarian turn to a life of pork and doughnuts?
”

  Ken looked back at his house with it's darkened windows and said, “I'm freezing, Tanner. Do you have somewhere to stay?”

  “No, but I don't want to –,”

  “Forget it. You're staying with me.” Ken said. Tanner knew it was useless arguing, and the cold only suppressed any thoughts of debating the topic. “We'll talk over coffee. You like coffee, right?”

  Chapter 6.

  Unable to hide his desire to get into his trailer, Tatem Phiniker dropped his keys on the porch, twice.

  “Tatem, be gentle with Ally, alright buddy?” Billy yelled from across the gravel lot. Tatem acknowledged the question with a waving hand, but Billy truly did not understand the urgency. Billy didn't know Ally as intimately as he did.

  After he found the right key for the lock, the aluminum door burst open. Tatem ran to the TV, pressed the power button, waited for the television to find a signal, and even though it was 8:21pm, Ally McBeal came on the moment the signal was found.

  “Oh, crap!” Tatem ran to the bedroom, stripped down to his boxers and a t-shirt, ran back through the living area, into the kitchen, removed a Hot Pocket from the freezer and its wrappings, tossed it into the microwave, grabbed one of his twelve bottles of beer, and barely closed the refrigerator door on his way back to the sofa. His wait was finally over and the thing he desired most was now happening. After a few sips of beer, he felt a gentle warming throughout his body. He smiled to himself, though the smile felt old and strained as if he had worn it all day in preparation for this moment. His penis began to stiffen and press uncomfortably against his boxers. He held it, straightening it within the shorts to alleviate the pressure and continued to embrace it after the discomfort was gone. When there was a funny moment during the show, Tatem would laugh and lightly stroke the shaft and run his thumb over the head – an act akin to showing affection to a favorite pet. Everything – the moment, this reward for waiting, the refreshing beer – just felt so good. And being so close to Calista Flockhart didn't hurt either.