Hollingsworth

by Tom Bont

  “The Doctor believes he’s onto some scientific breakthrough. He’s performing experiments at the behest of some internal demon….” She opened her eyes wide and closed her lips for a moment. “Hell, it might be a real demon for all we know,” she muttered. “Anyway, we sometimes see these crackpots in cults. But no matter how smart he is, he’s still a psycho. And like all psychos, he wants to get caught. He’ll get careless because he wants to show the world what he’s created.”

  Danny snorted. “He doesn’t seem like the careless type to me.”

  “I know.” She glowered back at the pictures of the laboratory. “He’s also showing traits for your typical Organized Serial Killer, too. Meticulous.”

  He licked his lips and blinked his eyes. For a brief moment, her brother’s hunting dog’s excitement appeared on his face. “So, what do we do? Wait for him to surface? How many more—”

  “No,” she argued, looking back at him, “We don’t wait for him. You want to catch him? Help me read the evidence. He’s left us a map. We just have to find it.”

  Danny regained control. He stood and pulled his jeans up a little higher. He licked his lips again and asked, “Okay, what’s he trying to create?”

  “Start with this.” She slid the digital picture of the mysterious animal across the table to him. “The lab rats are sequencing the DNA, but it may be some time before we know with any certainty.”

  “You got it,” he exclaimed with renewed direction.

  Her pep talk had an amazing effect on him because a short time later, he interrupted her with a low whistle of disbelief. “You are not going to believe what this thing is.”

  Angela peered at the main screen. The FBI’s facial recognition software was running on the picture, searching the internet. Right there on a conspiracy website called, They Walk Among Us, were several different images of the same type of creature. “Well, what is it?”

  “We have us a real-life Chupacabra.” A huge grin stretched across his face. “I didn’t think these things were real!”

  Angela peeked over her shoulder to make sure they were alone. “Danny, coming from a werewolf’s mouth, that has got to be the most ironic thing I’ve ever heard.”

  They worked late into the night, sorting through the evidence, and arrived early the next morning to start again.

  Kent came into the lab as they sat down at the terminals. “That was good work out there, you two,” he said, his voice low and abrasive.

  “Thanks,” they answered.

  “Any progress other than what’s in your report?”

  “Nothing concrete,” Angela grumbled. “Still waiting to hear about our tipster.”

  Kent slid a folder across the lab’s main table. “The call came in from the ‘Groupie.’ That’s what we call him anyway. He usually calls with realistic-sounding tips he’s gleaned from redacted Open Records Act requests. It’s mostly tabloid trash. Still got to follow up though.”

  “Better lucky than skilled,” Danny sassed.

  “Today anyway.” Kent’s icy glare flashed for a moment. “Time to let him know that we know who he is.”

  Angela nudged Danny’s elbow as a short, skinny rat-man with little, beady, brown eyes eased through the front doorway and stood back against the wall next to the door. “Is that him?” He had thin, mussed hair of an indeterminate shade of greasy, toasted bread, and clothes two sizes too large for him.

  “Could be. Doesn’t exactly blend in with the rest of our friends here.”

  Fat Charlie’s, the smoky, stale beer stinking biker bar they were huddled in, wasn’t overly crowded, but it was crowded enough with the type of men and women who wouldn’t have appreciated one FBI agent and one police officer lounging in their midst. They needed to blend in.

  The Groupie had insisted on meeting here. “It’s a public place, and they don’t like cops so don’t try anything stupid like trying to arrest me.” Of course, he only said that was after he got control of himself. Receiving a call from the FBI on his latest burner phone rattled him a bit.

  Angela had to admit Danny could dress down when he needed to. He used his lupus virus to grow hair along his cheeks, jowls, chest, and the backs of his hands, the latter being a bit too weird for her. Mixed in with a little grease under his fingernails, he passed for an authentic scumbag. Couldn’t maintain a normal eye color, though. They were that freaky shade of pale blue identical to all the other werewolves in Redstick.

  He’d shrugged when she brought it up. “Part of my Luna Amator clan heritage. It’s the first thing to change when I’m performing a renovatio.”

  She didn’t possess the same abilities, but she did happen to be a woman. It didn’t take much—tight jeans and t-shirt, hiking boots, and lots of cosmetics. No tattoos, but a light jacket hid their absence. Puppy noses proudly sticking out from her shirt—thanks to an overzealous air conditioner—finished off the façade. Danny turned out to be the consummate gentleman. He didn’t stare unblinkingly like the large, sweaty potbellied bartender or even try to steal surreptitious glances at them.

  Rat-Man took a few moments to scan the bar, and when he spotted Angela and Danny, scurried over along the wall, and straddled a barstool.

  So much for our disguise.

  The bartender set a cold, draft beer in front of him. It appeared Rat-Man was a regular.

  “Marion Dinkleton?” Angela asked as he took a sip of his beer.

  Rat-Man sputtered as he tried to inhale the brew with a surprised gasp. After wiping the mess from his face, he gaped at Angela and pronounced, “Speed. My name is Speed.”

  “Okay, Speed. I’m Angela, and this is Danny. Why don’t you tell us what you know?”

  Speed shook his head. “Nope. Y’all promised a tip-reward for reporting the killing field if I met with you.”

  Danny pulled out an envelope and handed it over.

  Speed looked shyly over both shoulders and huddled over his prize while he counted it. Convinced he hadn’t been taken advantage of, he visibly relaxed. “Okay. What do I know…well, I know we’re all in for a world of hurt.”

  “Who from?” Danny asked.

  “The Forsaken Dweller. It’s hungry, and Earth is its own personal pan pizza.”

  Angela resisted the temptation to search for a Candid Camera crew but forced a severe expression. “Forsaken Dweller?”

  “It’s from a parallel universe.”

  “A parallel universe?” Danny quipped. “Like on Star Trek when Kirk and them went to a different Enterprise?”

  “Yeah, exactly!” Speed exclaimed.

  Danny sat a little straighter and pulled his shoulders back. Angela wasn’t sure if the prideful grin on his face was because he guessed the answer or because he’d managed to squelch a laugh. “Okay,” he argued, “but I don’t remember no big monster eating everything up.”

  “Joke all you want, Agent Danny-Boy, but it’s coming. I’m talking H.P. Lovecraft here.”

  “Who?” Angela asked.

  “H.P… Never mind. Think monster of biblical proportions.”

  “Well, it’d have to be if it’s gonna eat a whole dang planet.” Danny leaned back in his chair, done with the conversation.

  “Let’s assume this Forsaken Dweller is coming,” Angela allowed, picking up the questioning, “why would it do that? Aren’t there enough planets in its own universe?”

  Speed guzzled the last of his beer, snapped his fingers at the bartender, and pointed at his mug. “You saw what was in the church, right?” The bartender dropped a fresh mug in front of him. “Those weird-ass dogs? The human experiments in the basement? That’s just the start.”

  Angela raised an elbow onto the bar. “The start of what?”

  “I don’t know!” he exclaimed, taking a deep swallow from his beer. A few burly bikers took a keen interest in Speed’s excitement. “But someone from its universe is already here. And they’re performing other experiments that are way worse than those. There should have been some kinda proof where the mai
n lab is at.”

  “I tell you, Speed, I just don’t know,” Angela grunted. “Why don’t you come on down to our office.” She stood and reached into her pocket for her handcuffs. “Seeing as you know so much about the church, maybe you can help us figure out what these mysterious beings from the other universe are trying to do.”

  Speed glanced at the both of them in turn and smirked at Angela with his eyes. “Can I finish my beer at least?”

  While Danny stood and monitored the bar, Angela pointed her head at the mug, “Sure, go ahead.”

  Speed finished the beer in a long series of gulps and flipped the mug over on the bar. When he removed his hand, five of the larger bikers huddled near them stood up, their chairs’ wooden legs scraping across the gritty linoleum floor. They formed a semi-circle, blocking Angela’s, Danny’s, and Speed’s path to the door.

  Their apparent leader had a shaved head along with blue flame tattoos running up his neck from under the top of his vest. He stepped to the front. “I’m afraid Speed’s with us. See, he’s our wrench. Keeps our bikes purring. I’m afraid I can’t let you take him.”

  Angela shifted in front of Speed. “My name is Angela Hollingsworth. I’m an agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation.” She pointed her head to the side. “This is Officer Danny McIver.”

  “FBI? Fucking Bitches Incorporated?” Blue Flame Man wisecracked. Angela’s nose whined about his lack of regular dental hygiene procedures. “You ain’t no FBI agent…unless they’re hiring high schoolers these days.” He eyed her breasts. “You wanna play house? You can be my bitch.”

  Danny slipped out in front of Angela and Speed before anyone had a chance to stop him. One moment he was off to the side and the next he wasn’t. “I don’t think you boys underst—”

  Blue Flame Man punched him in the mouth. “I wasn’t talking to you, shithead.”

  Danny’s head whipped to the side from the whack. His bottom lip showed the first signs of a split by oozing blood down the corner of his mouth. He slowly righted his head, looking Blue Flame Man right in the eyes. Most men would have gone down under such a blow.

  Five against two weren’t good odds, werewolf by her side or not. She slipped her hand under her jacket, and her fingertips had barely brushed the butt of her Glock when one of the other men rushed forward and pinned her to the counter. He seized her wrist and slammed it on the bar before she had a chance to skin her weapon.

  “Uh-uh, Honey. You stay right there.” Honey Man had utterly immobilized her.

  She sincerely wished this had been a television show where upper body strength didn’t matter in a brawl against huge, hairy bikers.

  He pulled her pistol out. “Little girl here had a hog leg on her!” He put it in the back of his waistband and winked at her. “That’s way too much gun for you, sugar.”

  Most of the bar’s patrons were yelling and beating a hasty retreat to the door. Speed disappeared out of her periphery. Two of the men had pinned Danny’s arms against the bar and had taken his weapon. He wasn’t resisting though. Blue Flame Man gut punched him. When it connected, the officer grunted and fell to the floor, bloody spittle flying from his mouth.

  He stayed on his knees but slowly lifted his head and stared into Blue Flame Man’s eyes again.

  The fifth man in the group was shorter than the rest, but still above six feet. He sidled up next to Blue Flame Man. “Look at his eyes, Angus. Ain’t them some of the weirdest eyes you ever saw?”

  The corners of Angus’s eyes twitched at the pale blue lupus eyes glaring back into them. He whirled around on Shorty. “Cooch, you dumb shit! Stop using names!”

  “You just used my name!” Cooch complained.

  “It ain’t your real name!”

  Cooch gawked at Angela, a shiver of fear bouncing around on his face in the shape of half-formed words and jerky head movements.

  “That’s right, Cooch,” she snapped. “We there at the FBI have lots of files on people. Some of those files even list nicknames. So far, I’ve got two. Yours and Angus’s here.” She scanned the others. “What about y’all? You gonna make my job easier? My ID’s in my pocket if you don’t believe me.”

  Angus backhanded her across the face. “Now see what you made me do?”

  The sharp, stinging crack across her cheek was one of experience. Angela’s head snapped to the side like a ragdoll, and she squinted one eye, trying to get the tearing to stop. The second blow was perfectly executed to cause pain but not permanent damage—an experienced woman beater obviously. Shaking her head, trying to clear the gathering fog, Angela slid back and up against the bar. She attempted to wrench her arm free but only succeeded in pulling up face to face with Angus.

  “Let me kiss that and make it feel better.” He grabbed her by the hair and licked her from chin to forehead. Tasting her. When he pulled back, the look in his eyes was clear. He had passed the point of no return. This wasn’t going to end well for her if the swelling and throbbing on the left side of her face was any indication.

  Angus ordered, “Search her.”

  Honey Man rummaged around in her jacket and pulled out her badge. “Oh, man, we are so screwed,” he whined as he handed it over.

  Angus snatched her badge, scoffed, and focused on her with laughing eyes. “Fake.” He glanced over her shoulder. “Where the hell did Speed go?” He looked around at the empty bar. “Cooch, go outside and watch our bikes.” When he didn’t move fast enough, Angus yelled, “Move it!”

  He twisted back to Angela’s breasts and pulled a switchblade knife. “Time to taste something else.” He slowly gripped the bottom of her shirt with his free hand and sliced upwards in long, deliberate strokes. The fabric parted like silk threads under a scalpel.

  So concentrated on the forthcoming rape, no one was paying attention to what was happening on the floor next to them until the werewolf reared up with a loud, rumbling roar and ripped its clothes off as if in pain.

  Along with the bikers, Angela spun around and backed off, peeing a bit in surprise.

  Danny-Monster pointed its blunt snout at the ceiling and howled. A near-replica of Evan-Monster. Long-legged. Over seven feet. Covered in bristly, short, brown fur. Huge, sharp teeth protruded from its snout. It stank of two-day-old road kill.

  She still had the occasional nightmare where she relived Evan stalking her in Archives, but she’d fooled herself into believing werewolves weren’t dangerous. The human mind was not equipped to understand something so predatory, so well designed to eat her. Humans had been at the top of the food chain for millennia, or so they thought. The monster standing before her, growling and roaring into the faces of Angus and his crew, distorted her worldview in an instant.

  Angus and his men staggered back, Honey Man among them, and stared at the horror. Awestruck fear blotted their faces white. The howl overrode their fight or flight instinct and anchored them in place. If she had not known the creature standing before her was her partner, she would’ve been right there with them.

  Danny-Monster took one, long step towards them and snarled. It snatched Angus by the throat with lightning speed, pulled him close, and raised him up into the air until his nose sat even with its snout. Growls rumbled from its chest. It sniffed and spent a moment considering him before it stuck its tongue out and licked him from chin to forehead, slowly and deliberately. Tasting him.

  Thanks, partner.

  A wet trail snaked its way down the leg of Angus’s dirty jeans and splashed onto the bar floor beneath him. Danny-Monster’s lips curled up in disgust, and it chucked the biker away, sidestepping the puddle.

  Proving he had control of his curse, Danny pointed at the floor with a menacingly long talon.

  The rest of the crew stumbled into seated positions.

  Angela stepped forward, keeping one eye on Danny, and took her pistol from Honey Man’s waist. She turned around and punched Angus square in the nose.

  She held her bruised hand under her arm and mumbled, “Say hello to my little
friend.”

  “I’m telling you, man, that fucker right over there is a werewolf!” Angus scowled at Danny as the deputy sheriff slammed the police cruiser door shut.

  The deputy laughed and shook his head.

  “I mean it, man!”

  “Yeah,” Honey Man insisted, “those aren’t even his clothes. He stole ‘em from my pack after he changed back.”

  Angela signed the arrest report for another deputy while the bikers continued their tirade. “Thanks for your help. We’ll have the Marshall Service pick them up in a few days.”

  “No problem,” the deputy replied.

  “What are they yelling about anyway?”

  “Something about your partner here being a werewolf?”

  “A werewolf?”

  Danny was leaning against the fender of one of the cruisers sharing a cup of coffee and a laugh with another deputy.

  “Him? I thought werewolves were supposed to be hairy? And only on a full moon?”

  “They’ve probably been cranking,” he guessed. “Explains why they would assault you two like that.” He clicked his pen and put it in his shirt pocket. He studied her from under narrowed lids, his sunglasses shadowed under the brim of his hat. “How the hell did y’all manage to handcuff four bikers anyway? In a biker bar?”

  “Danny over there?” She tilted her head at him. “Yeah, well, he’s some kind of martial arts expert. Tai Chi, I think. I pulled my pistol on two. He wrestled the other two by himself. And two got away.”

  The deputy didn’t seem too convinced, but he nodded anyway and handed her a copy of the arrest report. “Y’all have a safe drive back now.” He took the brim of his hat in courtesy and walked off.

  Angela whistled for Danny as she scanned the crowd for Speed. No sign of him or Cooch.

  We’ll get them.

  Danny and Angela slid into their seats at the same time. She put the key into the ignition, stopped and twisted in the seat towards him. “We’re going to have to work out some kind of signal. I don’t want to have to change my panties every time you decide to go all wolfy on me.”