by Anthony Izzo
How did it come to this?
The house was a total loss, the paint around the windows scorched black where the smoke and flames had jumped out. The acrid tang of smoke and charred wood hung in the air, like the world’s biggest bonfire. The right side of the roof was caved in, beams and joists burned black and sagging, leaving an open wound in the house. More likely than not, the town building inspector would deem the house unsafe and an emergency demolition would be performed.
Looking at the house, her throat tightened and she willed herself not to cry again. But she felt like she had let Rhonda down by not bringing her killer to justice.
The excursion into the house had left the murder suspect dead and the house ruined. Not to mention that she had witnessed a monstrosity take shape and chase her through the house. To top it off, her days as police chief were probably numbered once the full story of the incident got to the Marshall Town Supervisor.
She had to pull it together, somehow find a positive in this whole mess. If ever she needed redemption, it was now.
Calling Jill Adams would be a start.
Matt flung the car door open, making the hinges whine. He sprawled over, stuck his hand under the passenger seat and poked around until he gripped cold steel. He pulled the Beretta out and slipped out of the car.
Today was the day Ed Rafferty might die. Upon seeing Matt pull up, Rafferty had shoved a dazed-looking Jill up the driveway and into the side door of the house. If Rafferty hurt her, he would put one bullet hole in his body for every mark on Jill.
Keeping the gun pointed at the ground, he moved in a crouch to the side door. He tried the doorknob and found it locked. Matt kicked the door and it rattled. He lowered his shoulder and slammed into it. Still, it didn’t give. He didn’t want to resort to blasting the lock, but he had no choice. In a few minutes, neighbors would all be coming out of houses and gawking anyway.
Leveling the gun, he fired twice. The bullets splintered the wood and gave a ping as they shredded the lock. He kicked the door and it flew open.
Opening the screen door, he padded up the stairs to the landing between floors. Again he listened but heard only an appliance humming in Jill’s apartment.
A refrigerator?
If he’s hurt her ...
He moved to the landing outside the kitchen door. To his dismay, that door was locked and he had to blast it as well. His ears rang from the gunshots.
He nudged the door open with his foot, both hands on the nine, in a shooter’s stance, ready to fire.
He slipped into the kitchen, where one of the chairs lay on its side. Positive the kitchen was clear, he advanced to the dining room, where a glass lay on its side, a pool of water sinking into the rug.
Matt moved through the arch that separated the living and dining rooms, expecting Rafferty to pop out at him any moment. Rafferty had taken his family from him, and now he faced the possibility that the police chief had taken Jill. This gave him more reason to waste Rafferty, but the rate at which today’s events had accelerated made him feel dizzy. He also felt vibrant, alive.
The living room was empty save for the furniture.
Sweat dripped down his back, plastering his shirt to the skin.
There was only the bedrooms and bathroom left.
He advanced to the windowless hallway.
Jill’s bedroom was the first room on the left; its door was closed.
Matt braced his back against the wall and faced the door.
Coiling his leg, he kicked the door right below the knob. The door flew open and hit the wall.
Matt pointed the nine straight ahead, ready to fire. Instead of finding Rafferty behind the door, he found Jill.
She lay on the bed, one arm over her head, tied to the bedpost with a scarf. Her top was slit down the middle and sticky blood covered her abdomen. A brown leather belt covered her mouth, serving as a gag.
“Jesus, no.”
She covered her wounded belly with her free hand, the blood staining her fingers.
Matt sat on the bed, setting the Beretta next to Jill’s right arm, the one covering her wound. She shook her head furiously, motioning to the doorway.
“Let me see the wound.”
He moved her hand to look at it. They were just scratches. Thank Christ.
Matt untied her hand and the gag, and kissed her on the cheek.
“I’m gonna get you out of here.”
“Matt, he went and hid when he heard the gunshots. He’s still here.”
From behind him, Rafferty said, “Damn right I am.”
Matt didn’t have to turn around to know that Ed Rafferty had him covered with a gun.
“You should’ve checked the porch, loverboy.”
The son of a bitch was hiding on the upstairs porch. How could he be so careless as not to check the porch?
“How do you like my artwork? You can’t see it but it says ‘bitch.’ I couldn’t finish the rest of my carving because you showed up.”
Matt turned around to look at Rafferty. He held a big chrome revolver on Matt. “I’m gonna fucking kill you.”
“I think not.”
“Here’s a souvenir for you. The artist’s tool, if you will.”
He tossed something onto the floor next to the bed. It was a steak knife, fresh with Jill’s blood.
“Hands on your head.”
Matt put his hands on his head and clasped his fingers. “Do you know who I am?”
“You’re the little prick I stopped for speeding the other day.”
“Close but no cigar.”
“There’s something else I should know?”
“Emerling Park. Family of four. You killed my parents and my little brother.”
Rafferty raised an index finger, wiggled it back and forth. “I knew I knew you from somewhere else. Well, maybe I’ll pick off the last family member today. Who knows?”
“You’re gonna die, Chief Rafferty.”
“If you say so,” Rafferty said. “Get on your knees.”
Matt looked down at Jill. She had inched her hand over to the Beretta, and now she gripped it.
Rafferty hadn’t seen her grip the gun, for Matt was blocking his line of sight.
She mouthed, “How do I fire it?” to him.
“Point and pull,” he mouthed back.
Rafferty said, “Enough of the sweet nothings. Get on the floor.”
“Are you sure you want to do it?” Matt said to her.
“I’m sure,” she said.
Matt nodded toward the floor, hoping that she would get the message that he was going to hit the deck. He hoped Rafferty would follow him with the gun and not have it pointed at Jill. She was putting herself in harm’s way, and given the fact that she hated guns, he loved her for what she was about to do. It took incredible guts.
He nodded to her.
“On the ground now!”
Matt dove right, toward the foot of the bed. Rafferty tracked him with the revolver.
Jill raised the gun and fired, the gun bucking upward, causing the bullet to go high. Luckily Rafferty was a big target. The bullet caught him in the side of the face and spun him around, forcing him out the door and slamming him into the hallway wall.
Rafferty worked his way to his feet, ready to bring the big revolver up. Matt pushed himself up, ready to do damage.
Jill couldn’t believe she had fired a gun at somebody.
Her wrist ached from the recoil of the weapon, and ringing buzzed in her ears. If they got out of this alive, she hoped her hearing would eventually come back to her.
Her stomach felt raw and sticky, thanks to Rafferty’s artwork. He had thrown her over his shoulder and carried her up the stairs with tremendous speed. On the way into the apartment, he took a steak knife from one of the drawers, took her to her bedroom and tied her to the bed with the belt from her silk robe. To top it off, he took another belt off the dresser and gagged her. Then, working with quick strokes, he carved up her abdomen.
She hadn�
��t given him the satisfaction of crying out while he was cutting her.
He told her he would wait for Matt to come upstairs, enter the room, and then sneak up behind him. If Matt were lucky, he would only frame him for Jill’s assault. If he was unlucky, Rafferty would kill Matt, rape Jill and then get rid of both their bodies.
Now, Rafferty rose to his feet. A flap of ragged skin hung from his cheek where the bullet had grazed him. The exposed bone gleamed; black fluid leaked down the side of his ruined face. She obviously hadn’t scored a direct hit, because his brains would’ve been all over the wall. Although, who knew how much damage the thing under Rafferty’s skin could sustain? Maybe it was immortal.
He started to raise the gun when Matt charged him. Matt drove his shoulder into Rafferty’s gut and knocked him off balance. The revolver discharged, thundering a blast through the window and spraying glass across the floor.
Jill flattened herself against the bed, angry with herself for not pulling the trigger again before Rafferty got up. She felt numb, disconnected. It was like being in a slow-motion movie.
Matt wrapped his arms around Rafferty, tried to throw him to the side. Rafferty brought the revolver butt down on Matt’s shoulder. Matt grunted but hung on to the Chief.
Matt hooked his leg behind Rafferty’s and shoved, toppling him into the clothes hamper in the corner, hitting his head against the wall. Rafferty lifted the revolver again, but Matt slapped his wrist away, causing Rafferty’s shot to blast a hole in the plaster.
Matt gripped his wrist, but Rafferty was too strong. He broke away and swung the gun at Matt, clipping him in the side of the face and knocking him aside.
Jill saw Rafferty swing around again, aiming the gun at her. The barrel looked as big as a subway tunnel.
“Die, bitch.”
She rolled off the bed and onto the floor as he fired, the bullet taking out the plaster in chunks, spraying dust and chips on her head.
Rafferty got up, and Matt caught him in the throat with a punch. The blow sent Rafferty back against the wall, holding his throat, but still gripping the gun. Matt charged him, but Rafferty had the presence of mind to get his boot up, catching Matt in the gut and sending him to the ground.
Rafferty choked and gurgled in the corner. Jill hated herself for thinking this, but she hoped his windpipe was busted and he would choke to death.
He took his hands away from his throat and grinned. He aimed at Jill. Matt got his hand up and knocked Rafferty’s hand aside before he could fire. Rafferty kicked him again.
Flat against the ground, Jill looked underneath the bed and saw Matt on the other side, his face still contorted in pain from Rafferty’s kick.
“Matt!”
She slid the gun under the bed and it hit him in the chest. He looked surprised, as if the gun had dropped from the sky, and she yelled, “Shoot him!”
Matt picked up the gun, rolled on his back and fired.
She closed her eyes and prayed for Rafferty to die.
CHAPTER 23
The bullets exploded out Rafferty’s back, taking chunks of flesh and spraying the ebony blood on Jill’s walls.
He gurgled once and collapsed against the bed, a big man in a small space, his arm folded at an odd angle over his head. The revolver fell to the floor next to the bed.
Matt had done what he came to Lincoln to do: kill the man who had taken his family from him. It all happened so quickly, he didn’t have time to tell Rafferty exactly what he thought of him, or express the rage that had built up in him over the years like steam in a radiator. But the bastard was dead, and that was what mattered.
Matt said, “You can get up. He’s dead.”
Jill peeked over the mattress and then stood up. Her shirt was torn, exposing her stomach. Blood stained her skin, soaked her shorts.
“Are you sure he’s dead?” she said.
“He looks dead enough.”
“What about the thing underneath the skin? Do you think it dies with him?”
“Good point. Maybe I should finish him off.”
“How?”
“Cut his head off.”
“Omigod, Matt, no.”
“Any better suggestions?”
“I suggest we get out of here. You and I know about the monster underneath, but other people may not. It looks like we just killed the Chief of Police.”
“How long to get a few things together and patch yourself up?”
“Fifteen minutes.”
“Make it five,” Matt said. “I’ll get the first-aid stuff.”
Jill rifled through her dresser, pulling out underwear, shirts, shorts and jeans, and kept her head as far down as possible, trying not to look at Rafferty’s corpse.
Matt checked the medicine cabinet in the bathroom and found a tube of Neosporin and some Band-Aids. He yelled to Jill, asking if she had any big gauze pads, and she answered no.
He dug through the linen closet in the hall and found a blue washcloth and matching towel. He ran the water in the bathroom, letting it get steamy hot, then soaped up his hands and scrubbed them vigorously. After wetting the washcloth, he returned to the bedroom with it, the towel and the Neosporin.
He glanced at Rafferty, half expecting him to jump up and leap at them. But his corpse remained in place, arm cocked over his head.
“You got any crop tops? You don’t want anything rubbing against that.”
“I’ll throw my scrubs on. They’re nice and loose.”
“Now it’s my turn to take care of you.”
He touched the washcloth to her abdomen and she winced. He mopped the blood off of her belly and then cleaned up her legs. Once the blood was wiped away, he could see the marks Rafferty had made, crude strokes that luckily were only superficial cuts. If Jill were fortunate, they would heal without leaving any scars.
“How’m I doing, nurse?”
“It’ll do under the circumstances.”
He unscrewed the cap from the Neosporin and squeezed a dab onto his index finger. Gently, he applied it to the cuts, her abdomen tightening with pain. When he was done, he put the cap back on the Neosporin and stuck the tube in his pocket.
“We’ll stop and get some gauze pads for that.”
She stripped off the shorts and her panties, surprising Matt.
“Don’t look so surprised. We’ve got no time for modesty. Besides, you’ve seen it before.”
She took a set of gray scrubs from the closet and put them on. After tying her hair back in a ponytail, she slipped on socks, and grabbed her spare clothes off the bed.
“Let’s get going. He’s giving me the creeps.”
The phone rang, jolting them both.
“Forget it,” she said.
It rang four times before the answering machine came on. Jill’s voice came on the recording, sounding fuzzy. The beep went off.
“Jill, you there? It’s Donna from the hospital. If you’re there, pick up.”
Jill took two leaping steps to pick up the phone before Donna hung up.
Matt overheard Jill telling her that they were in bad trouble, and that Rafferty was dead. He wanted to tell her to keep it quiet, not tell this Donna what had happened, for Matt hadn’t met her and didn’t know if he could trust her. But Jill had let it out of the bag, and they had to trust Donna not to turn them in to the cops.
Matt took out the phone book from underneath Jill’s desk and looked up the number for Lincoln Firearms. He didn’t have Harry’s number with him, and he couldn’t remember it off the top of his head. Hopefully Harry would be in the shop.
Jill said she would call Donna back and then hung up the phone.
“Ready?” she said.
“One more call and then we go.”
Hands shaking, he punched in Harry’s number and the phone rang. Eight rings, nine rings.
“Lincoln Firearms. Yello.”
“Harry, it’s Matt.”
“Looking forward to our dinner. Still bringing that date?”
“Listen
to me. We killed Rafferty. He was waiting for Jill in her apartment. He’s dead.”
“Jesus Christ!”
“We’re getting out of town. We’ll hole up at a hotel.”
“No, don’t do that. I’ve got a cabin up in Pottsville. Take Four Hundred to the end and turn right on Sixteen. Make the first right you see and take that road up into the hills. Cabin’s at the top. There’s a spare key inside the mailbox.”
“Thanks, Harry. You sure you want to do this?”
“The shit’s gonna hit the fan here anyway, Matt. I’ll be up in the morning with a care package for you.”
“And you can tell me what you know.”
“Get going. I’ll see you in the A.M.”
The line clicked on the other end and Matt hung up the receiver.
“Where are we headed?” Jill asked.
“Pottsville. Harry’s got a cabin off of Route Sixteen we can stay in. He’s gonna bring us some goodies tomorrow.”
“Guns?”
“Hopefully. We might need them.”
“We’d better go.”
They linked hands, Jill carrying a blue duffel bag with her clothes in it.
Jill locked the door behind them and they went.
The tingling started in his fingers. His arm was bent over his head as if he were doing a crazy aerobics stretch; he wiggled his little finger.
His limbs were paralyzed and his chest burned like hell, but he was alive, and even better, he had heard every damn thing the two of them said. Rafferty had taken worse punishment than this and lived to tell the tale. Once he was hunting a gang member named Johnny Fernandez, and Johnny surprised him by flicking open a switchblade and stabbing him in the throat. The wound would have killed an ordinary man. Rafferty had torn Fernandez’s arms off before he killed him.
He wiggled all his fingers, then rolled his hand in a circular motion at the wrist, the paralysis slowly fading. Within ten minutes he had sensation back in his entire body, although his tattered face and wounded chest hurt like hell.
His skin itched as it mended itself together, the slugs that had entered his body falling out like gumballs from a machine. Reaching up to his face, he held the tattered flap of skin to the cheekbone and it fused with the flesh.