Chapter Nineteen - All Kinds of Monsters
After coffee, where Hugo detailed the conversation with the Agency to Dr. McFadden, they headed back to the office. CJ was waiting for him on a bench outside of the building. She looked quiet and withdrawn again, causing Hugo to tense up; something was wrong.
The girl's eyes shifted to Dr. McFadden, but only briefly, "Hi Dr. McFadden," she mumbled.
Crysta looked like she was about to say something, but Hugo shook his head, "Thanks for the coffee, I'll talk to you later."
She glanced at CJ again, her eyebrows drawn towards each other, and then back at him, "Anytime, I'll see you both later." She took a few steps, hesitated, and then went through the glass doors.
The moment the doors shut, CJ looked up at him, “I need you to look at something,” she stated softly. She was tracing the back of her left hand with a finger.
Hugo nodded, “Ok, what?”
“My house.” She wouldn’t say anymore than that until he drove her there while she quietly fidgeted in the passenger seat.
It was a small, one story flat with dingy white, peeling paint, and a dead, shriveled up front yard, broken in two by a gravel path littered with glass. They walked up to the door and CJ put a finger to her lips before turning into lightning to jump into the wall. Several moments later she opened the door for him.
Hugo took a step inside, to the crunch of plastic. He’d seen this room before, everything covered in the clear tarps.
“He’s not here,” she pointed out in an exaggerated whisper, “can you…do your thing and see what he’s been doing?”
Hugo drew in a slow breath, “I’ll try.” He walked to the center of the small living room, turning around slowly. What could he touch that would give him something? He shrugged and squatted down, placing his palm on the floor. Nothing happened. He waited. CJ was fidgeting by the door, an uncharacteristic frown turning down the corners of her mouth, her hazel eyes focused entirely on him. He wanted to see something for her. Anything.
His head started to hurt, just at the threshold of a full-blown headache, but he didn’t remove his hand from the tarp covering the floor. It was really carefully done. Meticulously cut to meet the edges of the tarps that hung from the ceiling, all of them anchored by staples. It was incongruous with the outside of the house. The furniture under the clear plastic didn’t match at all and was musty and old. Something was wrong with CJ’s father, and he needed to know what.
A beam of light swung around in the sudden darkness, illuminating hulking bits of furniture; the tarps weren’t down yet. Behind the person dimly illuminated by their flashlight, a shadow detached itself from the others, moving soundlessly. There was a brief gleam, and then the shadow was sticking a needle into the neck of the man with the flashlight. He turned, wide-eyed, catching in the beam of light a gaunt, tall man dressed all in black, the needle still in his hand. His expression was flat, eyes black. And then the flashlight tilted and fell with its owner. The shadow put the needle away and grabbed the man’s feet, dragging him towards the kitchen.
CJ was still staring at Hugo by the door, repeatedly shifting her weight. He stood, took a step to correct his balance, and then walked into the kitchen. There was a gurney in there, the only thing not covered by a tarp, but it was pristine white. Hugo touched one of the leather cuffs along the edge and saw the unfortunate man limp on the table, strapped in. He jerked awake and immediately started screaming around the gag in his mouth. The gurney tilted, thumping on the floor in time to his thrashing. A screen door opened with a creek and the gangly man entered, this time wearing surgical gloves and a clear plastic apron. He held a scalpel poised in one hand. As he approached the gurney he set it on the kitchen counter in favor of the needle. He held the man’s neck down and stuck the needle in again. The thrashing slowed to a halt and the gaunt man took up his scalpel again. He carefully unbuttoned the man’s shirt, and then started to cut open his chest. A very clean, straight line. He pushed his hand in below the sternum, looking for something. Hugo let go of the handcuff, taking a quick step away from the stretcher.
CJ followed him out the back door to a rickety shed. Garden tools lined the walls, each carefully in its place. There was a tarp that could be pulled back to access the tools, but the shed had no clear plastic on the ground of it. In the center of the room there was a square arrangement of bricks, blackened in the middle, blood splatters leading up to it. Hugo didn’t want to touch it, but he placed his fingertips in the fine pile of ash and watched as CJ’s father walked into the shed, apron gathered up around a pile of internal organs. He set most of them in a bucket off to the side, but the heart he placed in a pan before lighting the pile of logs in the middle of the bricks. He pulled a flask from a hidden pocket, poured some clear liquid over the heart, and then stuck the thing over the fire. It burst into blue flames, and the man smiled.
Hugo stepped away from the pile of bricks, wiping his hand on his jeans, and walked back into the house, CJ following him closely. He took her hand to lead her out the front door, but he saw the argument. Her father was much pudgier back then, scruffy, eyes bloodshot. It wasn’t an articulate argument, just a screaming match. He swung his arm, a big hand catching CJ on the side of her face. She hit the wall and then she fell through it as lightning. She didn’t go back.
Hugo continued the trek out the front door, CJ in tow. He had a huge headache now and it felt like his insides were mush. He walked to the curb, dragging CJ down into a sitting position with him. He stared at the dark clouds gathering above the other crippled houses in the neighborhood.
“CJ, that man is a monster, always has been,” his voice shook.
She didn’t make him explain any more than that. Just continued to hold his hand.
The Sound of Wind Page 77