by Aaron Gansky
She paused for a minute before she said, “I was going to hit her today. I mean punch her really hard,” she said, picking up the conversation she’d started when she called him after school.
“But you didn’t?”
“Couldn’t. She was crying. Big tears, too. She didn’t send the text. So if you thought she had anything to do with it, she doesn’t. Don’t call her or harass her or anything.”
Detective Parker scratched his left eyebrow. “You think I would harass her?”
“I’d hoped you would.”
He smiled. “Couldn’t tell me that when you called?”
“I could have.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Wanted to come here.”
“Didn’t want to go home, did you?”
She stuck a piece of gum in her mouth, then took one of the photo frames. “May I?”
“Knock yourself out.” Parker took the other cigarette from his ear and mimed lighting it.
Instead of a photo, he’d framed a simple sketch of a young girl, probably about her age. Matter of fact, if she didn’t know better, she’d think that the sketch was of her. “Your daughter?”
“No,” he said.
“Who is it?”
“You’re stalling,” he said.
“You’re avoiding the question.”
He sighed and took the frame from her. Putting it back on the desk, he leaned back in his chair. “A girl I knew growing up,” he said.
“The one that got away?” she asked.
“Something like that,” he said. He paused a moment, giving her plenty of opportunity to continue the conversation, but she didn’t. So he continued. “Did you think of any other connections between the four kids?”
“There’s a connection. I just don’t know what it is right now.” She sighed. “So what do we do now?”
“Not much we can do. Still haven’t heard back from your father.”
“No surprise. He’s kinda tough to get a hold of. Lauren tries to call him every year on his birthday and on hers. She’s only reached him once in the last ten years.”
He stood up. “I’m going to get a burrito.”
Bailey stood up quickly. “Can you tell me where Erica lives?”
He put the damp cigarette back in his mouth. “I can’t tell you that.” With a final glance at the strange sketch, he stepped out of his office.
Bailey put her jacket back on and followed him out. “Come on. I just want to talk to the family to see if they know anything.”
“We’re way ahead of you.”
“No offense, Detective, but sometimes cops scare people. Sometimes people don’t say as much as they would if they were talking to their kids’ friends or something.”
Parker froze near the front exit of the department. “You want to come with?”
Bailey frowned. “What?”
Parker spoke slowly. “I’m getting a burrito. Do you want to come with?”
“Excuse me?”
Parker walked out of the station. He opened the door to his car. “You make a good point about people not wanting to talk to cops. Get in the car. I’ll call your mom.”
Bailey Renee zipped up her coat. The temperature dropped to about a million below zero. “I really should get home.”
“Weren’t in that big of a hurry two minutes ago. Tell you what, I’ll drop you off,” he said. “Now get in the car.”
* * *
Oliver’s head started to clear. He lay on the floor. His fingers and toes tingled. He took the rognak staff that lay near his hands and pulled himself up. Next to him, his four friends knelt before Belphegor. Aiden had one knee and one fist on the floor, his head bowed slightly. Erica and Lauren bent both knees, their arms before them, foreheads to the ground. Ullwen had one knee and two fists on the ground. His head bent toward the beast.
Anger washed over him. How could they bow?
Then, looking closer, he realized they hadn’t. Their necks strained to raise their heads, and Aiden and Ullwen grunted as if they were lifting weights. Belphegor must have forced them into this position.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Can’t stand up,” Erica groaned. “Too heavy.”
Gravity.
Somehow, Belphegor could manipulate the physical laws of gravity. He’d somehow increased it beneath the feet of his friends, forcing them to break knee before the brutish man-bull.
Belphegor sat in the throne with his stave across his knees. The eye sockets of the skull glowed red. He blinked his stitched eyes. Crusted blood from his eyelids fell like crimson snowflakes to the hairy torso.
“Let them go,” Oliver said.
Belphegor sneered at Oliver. “Adonai will not let my power touch you.” He stood up and pointed his stave at Oliver. “But my hands and my stave can. My reign will be unmarred with your weak faith.”
In a streak of shocking boldness, Oliver straightened his back defiantly. “You mock Adonai. Today, we will stand over your dead body and show all Alrujah that Adonai is God.”
Belphegor stood over him, taller by at least three feet. His huge bone horns curved out from his forehead and ran up to gleaming points. His bullish face sneered, and he swung his massive stave, twice as thick as Oliver’s legs, at Oliver’s head.
Oliver ducked the attack. He moved faster than he thought possible. Fear and adrenaline made him faster, stronger, more flexible.
Belphegor stomped on the ground and the stone shook under Oliver’s feet. He struggled to maintain balance, but as he did so, the beast of a man brought the butt of his stave into Oliver’s chest.
He flew back and hit something hard and cold. Metal.
Aiden grunted. The others still knelt under their own weight, under the massive pull of the increased gravity. Oliver rolled over the top of the knight, found his feet, and pulled his staff under his arm. He wished he had something else, another weapon with which to defend himself. What could a staff do against such an abomination?
David had only stones. David tended sheep.
Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.
The verse gave Oliver strength, courage. Belphegor roared and charged. Oliver rolled away from his friends, hoping to keep them out from under the Minotaur’s feet. He moved on instinct, hoping whatever skill and training he’d acquired in Alrujah would come back in some form of muscle memory.
He rushed the giant throne, bounded up the steps leading to it. Belphegor followed, his stave raised high. Oliver leapt forward, planted a foot on the back of the throne and used it to push himself further up. Something behind the throne caught his eye.
A book on a pedestal, encased in glass.
The Book of Things to Come.
He spun in mid-air, and, with every ounce of strength in him, swung the rognak prayer staff around toward Belphegor’s face.
It connected and glanced off something hard before it glided through the beast’s open maw. The Minotaur staggered back one step and spit out a tooth the size of a can of green beans. Belphegor’s stave crushed the back of the throne, narrowly missing Oliver.
For Thou art with me.
Oliver moved quickly, leaping off the rubble of the throne to the wall behind, back-flipping, arms spread out, staff firm in his right hand, and somersaulted over Belphegor. The Minotaur chased after him, blood seeping from the stitches in his eyelids, from the corner of his mouth where Oliver’d knocked the tooth out.
Oliver was faster, more agile than the beast, but running would only keep him safe for so long. At some point, he’d have to face the monster, find a way to free his friends. As he landed, his hand sought the prayer amulet. He lifted hasty, earnest prayers to Adonai.
Belphegor swung the stave hard, the gold plated human skull racing toward Oliver.
Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.
Oliver jumped, twisted, landed on Belphegor’s back.
The beast stank of smoke and ox hair.
O
liver put the staff under Belphegor’s chin and pulled it hard. He sank his feet into the thickly muscled back of the monster, but Belphegor simply plucked him off and threw him down on the stone floor.
Hot white flashes of pain lit in front of Oliver’s eyes. Vision and breath left him. Belphegor didn’t stop.
Thy rod and thy staff…
He brought the rognak staff above his head. Belphegor brought the fat stave down at him, smashed it into his staff. Stave cracked over staff. The top half with the gold-plated skull skittered along the floor to the wall.
How had the impact not broken both his arms?
Belphegor stood over him, incensed. Nothing quite as terrifying as an angry Minotaur with a shattered tree-stump of a stave. Belphegor raised his fist up and brought it down fast.
Oliver had to move, but he couldn’t. His back felt like it was broken in twelve places.
So this was how his life ended? At the blunt end of the fist of a Minotaur. He’d have divots in his skull the size of golf balls, one for each of Belphegor’s knuckles.
Oliver closed his eyes and waited for the end.
For thou art with me.
The blow never came. Instead, Belphegor roared.
Oliver opened his eyes. Aiden stood over him. He must have deflected the blow with his shield somehow, moments before Belphegor sent him flying.
But how did Aiden get free? The shattered stave.
Oliver wrestled his remaining strength to turn his head to the left a bit and see all his friends standing.
Thank you, Lord God.
Lauren launched fireballs the size of watermelons at Belphegor.
“Not by the throne!” Oliver cried. “Keep the fire away from the throne!”
Aiden stood back up and held his flaming sword in his hand. His sneer said he meant to cleave Belphegor in two. Ullwen had already nocked an arrow and loosed it. It found its mark in Belphegor’s shoulder. Sparky howled and snapped his jaws at Belphegor.
Belphegor roared, and in a move that defied his size, rolled quickly to the skull on the floor. He snatched it up, grunted, and deflected the fireballs. The slits of his closed eyelids glowed red. He snapped the arrow from his shoulder as if he’d been pricked by a toothpick. Sparky set his jaws on the beast’s wrist and bit down hard. The Minotaur brought his hand toward the ground, but Sparky released moments before being crushed and rolled away.
Erica shrieked, but Belphegor held the skull out to her. Immediately, she flew up toward the ceiling. Her screech morphed to a scream as she deftly twisted in the air in time to land on the ceiling.
He’d flipped gravity.
Aiden flew toward the roof, too, as did Lauren and Ullwen. Only Oliver and Belphegor remained on the ground.
Oliver rushed him, rognak staff tucked under his arm. Belphegor brought the skull down, and Erica crashed into Oliver. Aiden landed, twisted around, and leapt at the beast, flaming sword stretching out toward the abomination.
Belphegor grabbed Aiden in mid-air, then threw him to the ground. He squeezed the skull, and Aiden groaned under the weight of the armor.
The gravity would crush him. “Get out of the armor!” Oliver shouted.
Aiden’s fingers sought the leather straps connecting the armor to his body but couldn’t lift his arms. “Too heavy!” Aiden screamed.
Erica rolled off Oliver and threw her dagger into the chest of Belphegor. The beast didn’t stop. He lowered his head, rushed at Lauren, who, like Aiden, had been pinned to the ground.
Lauren struggled to lift her hand, to conjure flames or ice or electricity, but her weight threatened to break her bones.
Oliver had to get the skull from Belphegor’s hand. He rushed the beast, leapt at the monster in mid-charge, and deftly threaded his staff between the skull and Belphegor’s fingers. It popped loose, and Oliver brought the opposite end of the staff up under the beast’s chin. Belphegor stumbled, crashed hard to the earth.
Momentarily freed, Aiden scrambled to his feet. Ullwen, ran, then slid across the floor to kick the skull further from the Minotaur. Erica pulled her gloves up, twisted both her bracelets, and pulled her hair back. “I got this one, fellas,” she said. Her tongue clicked and clacked.
Oliver had heard that sound before, far too many times in the last couple days to mistake it.
Erica was calling the nar’esh.
* * *
After stopping by Burrito Union, Detective Parker drove down Park Street to the part of town Bailey didn’t like going to. Several dilapidated apartment complexes lined the streets. The few paranoid people out in the cold gazed suspiciously at Parker’s car. They stood in tight circles like a football huddle.
Putting his unlit cigarette behind his ear, Detective Parker pointed to the mass of people. “Thirty bucks says its drugs.”
“Where are you taking me?” Bailey asked.
“Erica Hall’s house. She lives there.” He pointed to a house straight out of The Ring. Even covered in snow, it looked creepy, like some fairy-tale witch’s cabin. Pointy in all the wrong places, the roof jutted out over the front door. Paint peeled around the windows and off the doors. Duct tape loosely covered the cracks in the front windows. “I don’t remember this place coming up in the phone book.”
“I’m guessing you searched under Hall. Erica’s mom’s name is Gertrude Adams.”
“Gertrude?”
“I know. Sounds like she’s eighty, right? She’s thirty-seven. Technically, she’s a foster mom. Took Erica in about a year ago now. I’m pretty sure Gertrude here is using her to get the cash. It’s not uncommon. Take a teen, lock them in their room, collect a check, let the school district deal with discipline.”
Bailey shivered. “Is it really that bad?”
He frowned with half his face and stuck the cigarette back between his lips. “I’ve seen worse. Then again, so has Erica.”
“Is it safe?”
“Wouldn’t bring you out here if it wasn’t. Here’s your chance to talk to her.”
“I didn’t really expect this. I wouldn’t even know what to say.”
Detective Parker steered into the driveway and parked the car. He wiped his mouth with a paper napkin and replaced the unlit cigarette between his lips. “Introduce yourself. Bailey Renee Knowles—super sleuth.”
She sighed but got out of the car. She walked up to the front door, which inexplicably still had cobwebs in the corners, and knocked. A blonde woman in a pink bathrobe answered the door. She’d pulled her stringy hair into a hasty ponytail. Lines creased the corners of her eyes. She had a scar on her lower lip, as if someone had ripped out a lip ring at some point. Sleep clouded her bloodshot eyes. Thirty-seven? She looked more like fifty. She inspected Detective Parker’s car before she made eye contact with Bailey Renee. “Can I help you?”
“Ms. Adams?”
She kept the door mostly closed. A chain ran from the door to the jamb. “Who are you?”
“My name is Bailey Renee Knowles.” Gertrude should recognize the last names of the other missing kids.
“Are you from the school?” She wiped at her nose and scratched her cheek.
“Yes, but it’s not like I work there. I’m a student. I’m Lauren’s sister.”
“Who’s Lauren?”
“Lauren Knowles. She went missing the same day as your daughter Erica.” It broke Bailey’s heart to have to give her such information. Shouldn’t she already know?
“Oh? I’m sorry. Good luck finding her.” Gertrude went to shut the door.
Bailey Renee slapped her hand on the door, held it open. “Don’t you want to figure out what happened to them?”
Getrude opened the door again. “Don’t you know? They ran away together. All three of them.”
“Four.”
“Sure, all four of them. Kids run away. Especially foster kids. You can’t really stop them.” She scratched at her elbow. “Listen, thanks for stopping by. I’m sure Erica will come back when she’s ready.” She slammed the door quickly and latch
ed the lock.
Bailey shuffled through the snow back to the car. She dusted the snow from her boots and sighed.
“Sounds like you had as much luck as us,” Parker said. “She wouldn’t even let us in without a warrant. Didn’t even report Erica missing.”
“Who did?”
“No one. When the Shaws called about Oliver, they mentioned him meeting Erica. We paid Ms. Adams here a visit. She didn’t even know when to expect Erica home. Said it wasn’t uncommon for her to be out late. She’d come back eventually.”
“How sad,” she said.
“Sadder still, Ms. Adams is probably the best mom Erica’s had. Most of her parents, foster and otherwise, have ended up in jail for one reason or another. I’m surprised I haven’t seen Erica down at the station. Criminals make criminals, sure as I’m an ex-smoker.” He flicked the damp, unlit cigarette out the car window. “Erica’s either already turned, and she’s very good at getting away with it, or she’s the exception to the rule.”
“Let’s hope she’s the exception,” Bailey said.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Solous cried out to Adonai as the suns descended. He petitioned Adonai’s favor, sought His glory. And for as long as Solous remained on his knees, and while his forehead touched the feathered grass of Harland, Solous’s armies pushed the elves back.
—The Book of the Ancients
ENRAGED, BELPHEGOR PUNCHED AIDEN. He grabbed Oliver before he could roll away, lifted him, then slammed him onto the ground, back first. Oliver tried to sit up, but the pain spread out in a million places, like he’d gone spine first through the windshield of a car and had every scrap of glass in his back to prove it. He prayed and prayed for God to heal him, but no relief came.
Screeching echoed through the foyer, from down the corridors, from the doorway to the throne room. Oliver’s eardrums nearly split, but he was helpless to move his arms to cover his ears. Hundreds of nar’esh skittered in, swarmed the walls and the ceiling and the floor. Hundreds became thousands, all circling in and around Erica. She pointed to the Minotaur and said, “Sic ’em, boys.”
Oliver hadn’t realized it before, but the gaping sores on Belphegor matched the marks he’d seen on Lauren. The nar’esh must have poisoned him at some point, but he survived. Must have an incredible fortitude.