Ice ran down my veins as I recognized the bald-headed man from Aldritch’s mansion. “You.”
I raced to my bookshelf to grab the heavy Lord of the Rings bookend I keep there, intent on throwing it at him or bludgeoning him with it, but he put up his hand and said, “Relax, Roger, I just want to talk to you. I’m not here to hurt you.”
“Bullshit. I saw you in the house. You were with those freaks.”
“No. I wasn’t. I was there for something else. I was not associated with anyone in the house.”
I couldn't believe it. I wanted to scream. I thought this was done with. Had more of those damn cannibals come to find me and kill me?
“I’m not afraid of you,” I said.
“I know you’re not afraid, that’s why I’m here. My name is James Peter Fountain. I have come to offer you something. Can you please put down the . . . what is that? It’s got rather a sharp spire on top.”
“Cast iron miniature replica of Minas Tirith. Came with the limited edition DVDs.”
“Yes, well, can you place it back on the shelf? I don’t feel like getting stabbed by a small . . . whatever that is.”
I put it back and stood against my wall. James Peter Fountain drew closer and motioned for me to sit. So I did, ready to pounce at a moment’s notice. I’m not sure why I was even granting him an audience. If he was in fact associated with Marshalll he probably had a machete under his suit.
“You always use three names?”
He smiled. “No, of course not. I’m merely giving you a bit of extra information to help you make sense of things. I was named after the two monks who raised me in the monastery where I grew up in Poland. I know little of my origins other than I had been abandoned by my mother when I was very young, left outside the monastery alongside the small fountain in the front. Hence the name.”
For the first time I noticed the crucifix hanging around his neck. It was small and gold and looked a lot like the one I had in my car.
“You’re a priest or something?”
“No. Not at all. Though I am . . . funded . . . by many organizations with religious influence. It’s sort of a don’t-ask-don’t-tell policy. I wear this because I believe there is a higher power. Sort of came with my upbringing.”
“So what are you offering?”
“An opportunity. But first I need to explain some things to you.”
“Like what you were doing at that mansion,” I said.
“I was there, in fact, to find you.”
“I don’t follow.”
“I have been watching you for some time, Roger. Well, rather, my people have been watching you.”
“You have people?”
“Here and there.”
“Sounds pretty clandestine.”
“I run a sort of agency, but I will get to that. I was at Marshalll Aldritch’s house because I was following you. I had been following you all day.”
“If you were in that house and saw what was happening why didn’t you do something? Call the cops, help Victoria escape. Are you telling me you stood by and watched all of that?”
His expression barely changed, but there was a hint of regret. It didn’t stop the fact that I wanted to punch him square in the face.
“I had to,” he said. “I had to see what you could do.”
“What’s that mean? You wanted to watch me end up like this.” I raised my broken arm to punctuate my point.
“It was not easy. And before you ask me about the other girl, I was not in the house yet when that happened. I would have changed my plans and helped her. But I arrived too late. At that point I decided to let things play out because I had to know.”
“Had to know what?”
“How you would survive.”
I almost laughed. “Survive? Victoria is ruined. I almost died.”
“But you didn’t. And it confirmed my suspicions. Roger, I came to find you to tell you that you have a gift. An amazing gift.”
“I’m about two seconds away from hitting you with that spire.”
“Roger, I first became aware of you after reading about your incident with a mad man in New Hampshire. It sparked my interest. That’s how it always starts. I find clues here and there, do more research based on that. I delved further into your story and saw signs that no one else was seeing. Signs about you. Have you ever noticed how things tend to work in your favor? How you manage to survive situations most people would never make it out of? I believe you were born with a power, a power that is hard to define. You’re very lucky, Roger.”
I pointed to my face. “You call this luck.”
“I call it destiny. I think you were put on this earth to find yourself in the exact situations you’ve survived.”
“What, you’re telling me I was born to bleed?”
“I think that’s rather a strong and suggestive way of putting it, but for lack of a better argument . . . yes. I think you were born to help. And as such, you have been given a bit more of a chance than others. It’s not much of a power, I admit, but it’s a very special one. Fate works in your favor.”
“That’s crap. I am not meant to do anything. I got out of those situations because psychos are crazy and don’t think things through.”
“Roger, my organization is made for people like you. I could use your help. There are others like you. Gifted, strong-willed, prone to surviving horrors that make the world sick as a whole. I want to offer you a place with my company.”
“Okay, Professor X, I think it’s time I call the cops.”
He withdrew a gun from a shoulder holster and pointed it to my side. It had a silencer on it. “There are unspeakable horrors in this world, Roger, that the law cannot eradicate. The law has rules to follow, and so many bad men know how to exploit those laws. That’s where my team comes in. What you saw in Marshalll Aldritch’s house was just the tip of the iceberg. You saw how far the police got with them. Nowhere. It gets worse. I’ve seen babies torn from their mother’s wombs and eaten alive by grown men. I’ve seen women buried up to their heads in sand and left to die at the teeth of rats.”
“Okay, enough. Is this the last thing I get to hear before you shoot me? I really just don’t care anymore.”
“Roger, you were put on this earth to stop these things. They will find you whether you like it or not, but at least with me, I can prepare you.”
“Okay, this is ridiculous, and I’m done with this.” I started to rise.
He fired the gun. The bullet hit the cushion next to me.
I froze, waiting for the next one to hit my chest.
“Roger,” he continued, “do you ever feel like you can commune with the dead?”
“I’m crazy, don’t you know that? I hear and see all sorts of things.”
“But it tends to work in your favor, correct?”
My eyes didn’t leave the gun. “You saying Tooth is really talking to me from the great beyond?”
“Of course not. I have no proof to explain such a thing. I merely ask the question. Even if his voice is just a figment of your imagination, does it not still help you? Some of my people suffer the same affliction.”
“Tooth is dead. I went crazy long ago and can’t get him out of my head. Dr. Marsh explained all this to me. It’s post-traumatic--”
He fired the gun again. The bullet hit the cushion on the other side of me.
I found myself breathing in gulps now.
“Roger, there are horrors in this world that only you can stop. You have an unexplainable gift that allows you to survive. Trust me when I say I am one of the good guys.”
I grit my teeth. “You’re a crackpot.”
He pointed the gun at my chest and pulled the trigger.
Click.
I flinched, squinted my eyes, felt my heart skip a beat, waiting for another shot.
“Look, Roger.”
I looked. He slid the clip out of the gun and showed it to me.
“It’s a full clip,” he said. “The gun works well e
nough. It just fired twice without a problem. Yet it just misfired when I pointed it at you.” I didn’t know what to say. This was all beyond nuts.
“Not all that extraordinary,” he said. “Guns misfire more often than people think.”
“Yeah, I’ve had my fair share lately.”
“Yes, I know.”
"And sometimes they hit me." I motioned to my arm.
"Sometimes, yes. But you are alive, and here my gun has jammed. This time."
“So what are you saying? You saying that I can’t be killed?”
He chuckled and put the gun away. I thought about rushing him but had to admit what just happened had me weirded out. I wanted to find some sense in it. I wanted to find some sense in why Skinny Man had never rolled my numbers, why that ceiling had fallen on the cannibals, why Mr. Budweiser’s gun had seized on him in the shed.
James Peter Fountain smoothed his suit. “I dare think if I were to fire it again the bullet would go through your heart and you’d be dead in seconds. No, the point here is not to tempt fate, but point out that it tends to work in your favor more than the average person. That misfire would have given you enough time to attack me. But if you failed to attack, and I really was here to kill you, I think you would be quite dead.”
Those words brought me back to reality. “You just fucking shot at me to prove a point! What the flying fuck!”
“But you’re alive.”
“I don’t care! If you don’t leave I’m gonna kick your ass. In fact . . . where’s my phone?” Of course my cell phone had been taken from me and destroyed so I didn’t even bother moving.
“You don’t have to join me, Roger. But you will then have to face any impending horrors on your own. There will be more. They’ll find you. They’ll destroy you one way or another. This is why your therapist can’t cure you. She’s trying to help you think you’re normal, but you’re not.”
“So you do know about my therapy?”
“I know a lot about you. I know this is a burden you will either adapt to or crack under. The only way to find peace is to learn how to use it. Before the next incident occurs.”
Something about that hit home. I was rather unlucky and did tend to end up in bloody messes. “Okay, I’ll humor you. This organization you run . . . it’s big?”
“Not really. There are enough of us.”
“And they have superpowers?” I started to laugh but stopped myself.
“No. This is not one of your comic books. We don’t dress in capes and fly around the earth. My people simply have . . . abilities. Like you.”
I looked at the crucifix on his chest. He followed my eyes. “You kill people?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No. We destroy evil. There is a difference.”
“Not from where I’m sitting.”
“Do you know what the Psoglav are? It’s written with a P in front. Sound familiar?”
“Yeah. That word was on some of the art in Aldritch’s house.”
“Correct. The Psoglav are demons. Cannibals, to be exact, that live in the underworld. Their origins are suspect since much of their religious history was overwritten during the Crusades, but the basic story is that they were half man and half wolf, and they not only ate living humans, but dug up dead ones to eat as well. They did this to appease Veles, their boss, god of the underworld.”
“Praise Veles.”
Fountain nodded. “Marshalll Aldrith and his followers claimed to be Psoglavs. They ate flesh because it appeased Veles, who in turn made them stronger. Did you know that Marshalll was really one hundred and one years old?”
“He didn’t look it. He looked about seventy five. So Marshalll was a demon?” I chuckled.
“Of course not. He was a man. He certainly died like a man. Who knows how he looked so good at his age? Exercise, good medical care, diet.”
“Yeah, well, we know what his diet was,” I said.
“But then again, who’s to say he wasn’t a Psoglav. Who’s to say they all weren’t. They at least believed they were. Maybe if we were to check their feet we’d see they had paws. What is for certain is that they were deadly and evil. They were not men as you and I know the term to be defined.”
“Then you knew about Marshalll and those idiots before. Why didn’t you stop them?”
“Believe me I tried. They moved around a lot. So many of these cults are powerful and act in profound secrecy. Not to mention I am too old to get into fights.”
“You could have sent one of your men.”
“I did. A year ago. He disappeared. I have never found him. No, that mission was meant for you.”
Fountain withdrew a card and placed it on my kitchen counter. “I’m not going to force you to come right now. Please, think about things first. If you want to know more, you can call me at this number. I have a plane leaving in two days back to my head office.”
“Where’s that?”
“I choose to withhold that until I have your final answer. Then I will tell you what you need to know. I know you think I’m crazy, Roger, but I think if you dwell on this enough, you will see I am right. You have a gift. Don’t waste it.”
With that, he left.
I sat on the couch for the rest of the night, thinking about things, and wondering about the luck I’d had saving Victoria. If you could call it luck. I wondered again why the dice in Skinnyman’s basement had never rolled my number. None of it made any sense to me, but then I guess these things aren’t really supposed to make sense. After I’d killed Skinny Man, I’d thought long and hard about what makes a superhero. Are they born special, or are they made special through their unique situations? I still didn’t know.
Fountain’s gun had misfired. I couldn’t deny that. But guns misfire sometimes.
Eventually the sun went down and I slept. When I woke, it was light out.
I took a shower and listened to the voices in my head.
Tooth: Roger, you may not ever get laid, you dumb geek, but you sure as hell know how to kick some ass. Come to think of it, you play your cards right and you might even get some serious pussy from this.
I didn’t know if it was him really talking to me from the dead, or if I was just crazy.
I kept thinking of was the possibility that my life was really going to undergo more horror. Could I withstand it? I certainly didn't want to. For the first time in a while I decided that there are a few things I am afraid of. Maybe not men, but certainly fate.
Later that day I asked the Korean woman if I could use her phone. I called Fountain, who picked up immediately.
“Roger. Good. I was expecting to hear from you.”
“You’re crazier than I am, you know that?”
“So have you made a decision?”
“That depends on one question.”
“Which is?”
I took a deep breath. “Can I wear my Red Sox hat?”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Ryan C. Thomas is the author of several novels, including The Summer I Died, Hissers, Salticidae, The Undead World of Oz, and Ratings Game, as well as many novellas and short stories. He is currently working on three new novels, including part 3 of the Roger Huntington saga. He lives in San Diego with his wife and two dogs. Visit him online at www.ryancthomas.com
For more books like this visit us online at www.grandmalpress.com
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Ryan C. Thomas, Born To Bleed (The Roger Huntington Saga, Book 2)
Born To Bleed (The Roger Huntington Saga, Book 2) Page 20