by Paul Sating
Serenity’s thoughts clouded with images of Patch’s horrific memories.
“Other men weren’t so lucky. Men like me,” Patch’s words hung in the air between them, promising more darkness. “Days later, they load us in vans and take us to a new place. Looks like an indoor rodeo. They say they're conducting psychological reactions to the injections.” Patch laughed bitterly. “We weren’t in there for more than a few minutes and the Black Suits disappeared, leaving us where we was standing. That’s when it happened. The floor rose and caved back in on itself as something big burrowed toward us. We ran for our lives, of course. Didn’t do any good. That’s when I saw it for the first time.”
Patch struggled with his memories. Serenity wasn’t about to prod him but, still, she wished there was something she could say that would make this easier. Then Patch locked his eyes on her. She was aware that neither her mother nor brother had spoken since Patch voiced his recollection. “You’ve seen it. I can spare you the description…” His voice drifted. “Plus, it wouldn’t matter. What I saw isn’t what you’ve seen. It was then what it is now. Always changing, that bastard. Something like that was never supposed to walk God’s green Earth. When it rose out of that dirt floor and let loose with…that sound. That demon of hell, some damn thirty feet tall, screeched like that and started attacking. Moved like a snake, taking out two men who weren’t quick enough to get out of the damn way. When I heard their bones snap and their…screams. I fell. I cried out; I’ll admit it. Couldn’t breathe, but I got up and ran, ran for my life. All I could think about was my wife and kids. If'n I could get out of the arena, I’d be safe. That belief kept me going. I ran and ran, and I dared anyone to get in my way. They was gonna have to shoot me to stop me, and I'd take that fate before I fell to the beast. I was grateful each time it screeched…because it drowned out the screams of my dying friends.” He paused, looking every bit of a man who didn’t want to think about the rest of the story. “Eight of us made it out. Maybe wish we hadn’t, not if we could have seen the future.”
Ida sat back and crossed her arms. “Why in the heavens wouldn’t you want to get away from something like that?”
“They couldn’t outright kill us. That would have raised too many questions beyond the ones already being asked. Drawing too much attention in one place would cause them problems, so, they rolled over two of their own vehicles and claimed that’s how our men, and some of theirs, died.”
“But they still had to worry about everyone who survived,” Serenity said.
“Exactly.” Patch nodded. “Their answer was to keep us drugged and receiving therapy, they called it. That was their story and no one in authority asked questions. They were paid too well to be asking. Watched my co-workers, my friends, turn into damn zombies. Most of them killed themselves within a few years; last one died nearly thirty years ago. Dementia, they said, broke him…but I know. I know what really happened. The shots wiped memories, personalities, humanity from those men.” Patch’s jaw locked in anger.
“But not you,” Serenity said. “You remembered.”
“For whatever reason, maybe God’s will, those shots never worked on me. Took me a while to realize what was happening, what all the treatments were doing. By the time I did…well, it was too late.” Patch’s eyebrows turned up as his forehead wrinkled. The corners of his eyes turned down. In between the blotches of hair in his beard, his skin reddened. It was brief as if he’d had a lot of practice composing his responses to this question. Patch lifted his head. “They figured out I remembered, and they killed my family because of it. The Black Suits killed my poor family to keep me quiet! Woulda died right there screaming the truth from Sunrise Peaks if it hadn’t been for an old friend’s intervention.”
Serenity jerked back. Though scrambling to understand, she didn’t doubt him for a second.
“How did your family—” Jerrod caught Serenity’s shin kick with oafish splendor, making it obvious to everyone what just happened.
Ida didn’t give the pair a second of her attention. “I’m sorry for that. Your family? How?”
Patch didn’t seem bothered. “Car accident. Marie’s mother had taken ill, ‘cross state. One weekend she packs up the kids and leaves to spend the next few weeks caring for her mother. Kissed 'em goodbye in the morning and never saw them again.”
“I—I’m…,” Ida stuttered.
“Nothing for you to be sorry for,” Patch said. “Wasn’t like Marie to not call as soon as she got to her mother’s. She always did. Recognized something was wrong before the sheriff came knocking at my door.”
Serenity had to ask, “But, how do you know it was the Black Suits?”
At the question, Patch’s shoulders slouched. “Marie was an excellent driver, and the weather was perfect. I’d gone out to the site. Saw the straight stretch of highway. Talked to locals and the authorities…well, until the authorities told me to stop coming around. To stay away, said I didn’t need to be prying. Can you imagine? Prying into the death of my family?
“The Black Suits were there, never too far out of sight. For another ten years, in fact; then one day they was gone. But I was dead inside by then. The only reason I kept crawling out of bed was biological. The Black Suits had done their jobs. Lost everything, into the bottom of a whiskey bottle. I did my job better than I paid my bills, so I was homeless within a few months.”
“That’s horrible,” Ida said. “Are you getting help from somewhere? Our church—”
“I didn’t ask to meet with your wonderful family because I needed anything. I’m here to give.”
“Give what?” Jerrod asked.
“A warning.” The air thinned.
Ida sat up straight. “What kind of warning?”
Serenity knew the steeliness to Ida’s voice all too well. Her mother was back in protective mode.
Patch leaned forward, interlacing his fingers in a tight grip. The skin on his liver-spotted hands lightened from the pressure that never made its way to Patch’s face. “You’re being targeted by the Screecher,” he said compassionately.
A drop of sweat slid down Serenity’s spine. “Wait,” Serenity said. “You mean us? You know a lot about this, but you can’t possibly know that. You can’t.”
Patch’s aged eyes crinkled at the corners, and that calmed the tightness inside. Her lungs filled as he examined her. Serenity adjusted herself on the booth seat. Time ticked. When he responded, Serenity wished she’d never asked.
“How’s that itch behind your ear? Still itches, doesn’t it? Bugging you too, son?”
“I’m sorry, Patch,” Ida said, rolling her bottom lip under her top and looking every part of someone who wanted to be anywhere but where she was. “We don’t need to waste time talking about this. I thought you’d—”
“What’s this all about?” Serenity said. She wasn’t going to let her mother deflect.
“Been almost two weeks ago, hasn’t it? You don’t think it’s strange that a mosquito bite has lasted that long?” Patch asked. “That’s because it’s not a bite.”
“What is it then?” Jerrod’s voice cracked.
“A tag.”
“A what?” Serenity asked. Ida growled beside her.
Patch’s lips pinched. “You got bit the first time you saw the Screecher, right?”
Serenity nodded.
Patch mimicked her. “That’s what it does. Listen, you ain’t in danger from the tag itself. It ain’t poisonous or anything of the sort. The tag is a way of marking you. And that’s the real danger. That’s why I’ve been following you. Why I wanted to have this chat.”
“Mister.” The displeasure in Ida’s voice couldn’t be plastered over by her disingenuous smile that looked more like a snarl as she addressed Patch, her prior empathy fading. “I won’t stand for this talk. They don’t need to hear any more of this silliness.”
“Ms. Dorsey, I have your children’s best interest in mind,” Patch said. “They wasn’t supposed to see the beast. We’re luck
y worse didn’t happen.”
“What does it do? The tag,” Serenity croaked.
“A tracking device, you could say. A way for the Screecher to find you when you are near.”
That thing was tracking her?
“Why?” The question came out in a whisper.
“Most people don’t walk away from their encounter with it. You’re lucky. The tag? It’s there to ensure you don’t get away for good.”
Everyone on Serenity’s side of the booth squirmed. From the corner of her eye she saw her mother wringing her hands. That didn’t make her feel safer.
“But how?”
“Not sure how the Screecher tags. Not sure anyone does, and I have friends who know much more about it than I do. There’s a lot about the creature that is a mystery.”
“But that was forever ago,” Serenity whined. “If what you’re saying is true, it would have done something by now.”
Patch looked out to the parking lot. Serenity followed his gaze. Two poles cast a weak, yellow light onto the few cars parked there, but he wasn't looking at anything. Patch turned his head and pulled his ear forward, showing them a distinct red dot behind it.
“You’ve been tagged too!” Jerrod exclaimed.
“Yes, son.” Patch’s lips formed a thin line as if he were proud. “Coming up on forty years now.”
“But…you’re alive,” Jerrod said.
Serenity moaned.
Patch laughed. “I sure hope so because this is not how I’d spend my free time in heaven. If’n it was up to me I’d be fishing instead of taking up your time. You can avoid the Screecher, but it won't be easy, and you’re not going to like it. It’ll change the way you live. Inside the town you’re safe; the Screecher won’t come here. But…” He pointed out the diner window. “Out there, in the desert, there’s only one way to stay safe. Stay out of it.”
“You mean we can’t leave town, like ever?” She recalled Patch across the highway when they’d come back from the mountains. After it killed a man. “But I saw you when we came back from Sunrise Peaks. When we were talking to the deputies," Serenity countered. “You were there.”
“Yes, at great risk to myself. Had I known that the sheriff was having tonight’s big get-together, I might have waited. But I couldn’t risk not getting to you before the Screecher or the Black Suits.”
“That’s about enough of this.” Ida slapped the table, the vibration introducing the salt shaker to its pepper cousin with a clatter. “I won’t be having you scaring my children anymore, Mister.”
“I’m only trying to help them,” Patch said, sounding hurt. “To protect them.”
“They don’t need protecting from you!” Scattered patrons across the diner turned toward their table. Serenity wanted to crawl into a hole and hide. “They’ve got me and their father and that’s all they need. And, I’m not about to sit here and let you frighten us. They are children. Have you forgotten that?”
“Not for one second.” Patch pulled his hands away from the coffee mug and cupped them. “That’s why it’s so important. They must know. You must. How else will you keep them safe?”
Ida harrumphed. “I’ve been doing just fine for twenty years.” She gave Serenity a tap on the hip. “Come on. Scooch out. Let’s go.”
Reluctantly, Serenity slid out of the booth, her eyes lingering on Patch’s face as it sagged.
“Please sit. I don’t mean to frighten you, only to help.”
“Mister.” Ida wagged a finger. “You keep up with this nonsense, and you will get more than my attitude. Best to not say another word. I will not listen. They are not going to listen to this. I’ve heard all these old stories before, and they’re not any better today than they were back then.”
By now the entire diner was watching. Serenity’s cheeks warmed. She wanted to shout at them to mind their own business. They did not understand, had no idea what horrors this family was facing. But what good would that do? She didn’t want any more attention.
Patch examined Ida, paused, and shook his head.
Ida pressed two twenty-dollar bills on the table like she was trying to force them into the laminated surface. “For the meal,” she said stiffly.
Patch pursed his lips, looked away from the money, and released a stout sigh.
Ida unceremoniously ushered away Serenity and Jerrod. As Serenity left the diner, she bashed the metal release bar on the door, jettisoning it against the rubber stopper. She stalked away, not caring if that meant stepping out in front of a tractor trailer flying through the parking lot. She wouldn’t have to worry about the Screecher anymore or her mother humiliating her. Being far away from that woman was all she cared about.
Patch’s warning floated in the murkiness of her frustration. She was tired of being treated like an infant, of being suffocated, of life in the Tri-Counties. Everything would be so different the minute she got away from the constant supervision of the all-seeing-Mother-Eye.
“Serenity!” Ida’s voice echoed across the stale evening.
Serenity spun. “What?” she shouted, matching her mother’s loudness. “Want to tear me down or patronize me, tell me you’re doing this for my own good? Maybe you want to remind me, yet again, that I need protecting from the big, bad world? Spare me. I’ve heard it a thousand times. One more won’t make a difference.”
Ida pulled back, her hand to her chest. But Serenity didn’t care. She had a right to be angry.
“That’s not it at all,” Ida said, sounding less sure, a small victory that didn’t go unnoticed. “There’s more to this.”
“Really?” Serenity pressed. “You were going to justify that scene. What do you think will happen now? Those people will go home and tell all their friends what they saw, and they will mention us! As if all this isn’t hard enough to deal with, now I can look forward to all the attention I’ll get after this crap? That’s exactly what I needed. Thanks, Mother.”
Ida pointed an unsympathetic finger at her. “Don’t you dare take that tone with me, Serenity! What kind of mother would I be if I allowed that crazy loon to play tricks on you two?”
“How are you so sure? You know something?”
Ida crossed her arms. “You saw him. He’s hardly a sane person. A homeless drunk.”
“That is not fair,” Serenity spat.
“Fair or not, doesn’t matter.” Ida sniffed. “I will not allow that nonsense. He won't be filling your head with talk of the Screech—that thing. The least I can do is keep you away from that strange man.”
Serenity was about to respond when Ida cut her off. “And don’t you think about trying to sneak around behind my back to continue that conversation either, young lady. Let me find out, and I’ll report him to the sheriff for touching you.”
“Mother!”
“I’m not kidding.” Ida’s threat was devoid of emotion, making it more frightening. “You keep away from him or that old creep will spend the last years of his life in jail!”
Serenity’s jaw clenched. She wanted to say so many things—so many horrible, but deserving things. But her mother was the kind who would follow through on her threat.
“I hate you,” Serenity said.
Ida lifted her chin. “Well, at least you’ll be alive to hate me.”
With that, she stormed past Serenity, brushing her shoulder. Half of Serenity wanted to race in the opposite direction, to escape while Ida stomped toward the car. But the desert was in the opposite direction and if Patch was telling the truth, the desert was no longer safe.
11
Lilacs.
That’s what that scent was. A floral assault of spring, though none of the purple petaled flowers decorated this front room.
Life was getting strange. When did she ever think she’d be sitting in the immaculate home of an elderly white woman? Yet, here she was, sipping tea she was convinced would taste horrible but actually enjoyed while spilling her guts to Mitzie about all things Ida Dorsey.
“I don’t disagree with her.�
� Mitzie titled her head and gave a tight smirk, her finger and thumb on the teacup’s handle. “A mother’s love makes up blind to the pain it inflicts, Serenity. From the outside, it’s difficult to see, but not for the mother. To us, it's so clear, at least in the moment.”
Serenity didn't know how to respond. Comforting her through trauma was Mitzie's entire contribution to Serenity's life until this point. She didn’t know this woman from any of the other twenty thousand strangers in the Tri-Counties. But something happened during that event that convinced Serenity she could trust Mitzie enough to question her mother’s behavior at the diner the previous night.
“What do you mean?” Serenity asked, making sure her voice didn’t carry any of the heat she felt for her mother. Mitzie didn’t deserve that.
Mitzie tapped the side of her tea cup with rolling fingers. “She loves you, Serenity. And she’s doing what’s best for you. It might not feel like it now, but that’s what is happening. That’s why she said what she said to that man.”
“Patch,” Serenity said into her tea cup. “His name is Patch.”
Mitzie looked like there was more she wanted to say, but she only nodded.
“He’s just trying to help.”
“So is she.”
The counter argument didn’t work if that’s what Mitzie was trying to do.
Mitzie lived alone, but there were pictures of her with children spotting the room: dated pictures of a much younger Mitzie with babies, one with a more mature Mitzie standing between two teens, another featuring a woman who looked a lot like the Mitzie beaming in formal attire with her arms wrapped around two adults who resembled the teens in the other pictures. Mitzie’s children were grown and off on their own lives. Was it possible she’d forgotten how to parent since that time? My own mother has, and I still live at home.