by Sahara Foley
From behind him, Carter heard Pepper's soft voice say, “That mother fucker! Look at that mess.” Violently opening the door, she stormed out as Alvarez came in.
The short, thin Alvarez stood in the entryway in a heavy, gray topcoat, looking at the puddle of congealed vomit on the floor, then up at Carter.
Carter glared at Alvarez, face flushed with anger. “Sergeant, what the hell happened out there? Do you realize you wrecked a police car and came damn close to running over one of our officers?”
Taking off his topcoat, Sergeant Alvarez folded it neatly, laid it on the arm of the beat-up sofa, bent, and picked up his oversized briefcase. “The streets were slick,” he answered nonchalantly.
Carter stared dumbfounded at him. Alvarez offered no apologizes, or showed any remorse.
Holding out his hand, he said, “I am Sergeant Pete Alvarez. I know you. You are Lieutenant John Carter. Kind of far from your area, are you not, sir?” Looking around, he asked, “Where is the body?”
Carter looked at the pro-offered hand. His anger at this strange man wouldn't help their investigation any. It also looked like they might be stuck together, at least for a while. With a sigh of resignation, he shook Alvarez's hand. “The body's gone, Alvarez. Coroner has it.”
“What?” the little man admonished. “I wanted to see the body where you found it. I told them to wait. Dammit!” As an afterthought, he added, “By the way, call me Pete.”
“Relax, Alv, uh, Pete,” Carter reassured him, “we have one-hundred Polaroid's for you to look over.”
“Yeah. Pictures,” Alvarez exclaimed, shaking his finger at Carter. “But that is not the same as being able to put your hands on the actual body, is it?”
Carter shuddered, remembering the body and the pictures. “Uh, no, I guess not.”
In the kitchen, Carter introduced Waltham, who then began to fill Alvarez in on the facts. There wasn't much to tell; a young male with his genitals either ripped or torn out, who then bled to death. No suspects, no motives, and no missing body parts found.
Alvarez set his overstuffed briefcase on the kitchen table, and started shuffling through the photos. Removing his suit coat, placing it on the back of a kitchen chair, he rolled up his sleeves, revealing thin, brown arms. Taking half a dozen photos, he walked into the bathroom. Waltham looked over at Carter, who shrugged and sat at the kitchen table. Carter poured himself more coffee, adding brandy from the sliver flask. Hearing a heated conversation between Rickerman and Pepper as they came in the front door, he poured more coffee and brandy for them.
Rickerman's uniform was caked with brown, slushy snow mixed with antifreeze from the busted radiator. He jaw muscles were flexing as he gritted his teeth, eyes glaring with anger. “Did you see what that basta–?”
Holding a finger to his lips, Carter pointed to the bathroom, and held out a cup of coffee.
With shaking hands, face red with rage, Rickerman took a big gulp of hot coffee and started coughing, Pepper thumping him on the back. When his coughing fit subsided, he croaked out, “Thanks, Lieutenant.”
Looking into the bathroom with angry eyes, nose turned up in disgust, Pepper whispered, “Sir, I already did that.”
Striding with curiosity to the bathroom doorway, Carter peered down at Alvarez kneeling in front of the toilet, his arm deep inside the bowl full of bloody water and human waste.
Rickerman whispered back, “Yeah, Pepper, but you had sense enough to use a coat hanger, not your hand.”
Carter walked away from Alvarez, his stomach doing a flip-flop again. Yep, one oar in the water alright. And he wasn't sure if that one was wet.
Pepper, staring for a few seconds, scowled. “Yuck!” Taking her cup, she went into the living room, alone.
Alvarez walked out of the bathroom, photos in his left hand, leaving a trail of bloody, brown, gray chunks on the dirt encrusted floor, dripping from his gore-covered right forearm and hand. He deposited an unrecognizable glob on the dirty counter by the sink, then began washing his hands under the faucet.
Wiping his arm and hands on a dirty, yellow dish towel, he smiled at Carter as if he had solved the world's mysteries. “John, I have your case figured out.” He froze at the sight of Rickerman pouring some liquid from a silver flask into his cup. “Officer, are you drinking alcohol while on duty?” Alvarez asked sternly.
From the doorway came Pepper's disdainful voice. “For your information, SERGEANT, because you wrecked our car, we are no longer ON duty. We were told by Dispatch to aid the Lieutenant, and try to find our way either back to the station or home, or worse, to stay here overnight until tomorrow. And I am NOT staying here, Sergeant!”
The thin man went on undaunted, “But you should not be drinking alcoholic beverages while in uniform, and in front of a minor female involved in a homicide case. Do not worry about getting back to the station. My vehicle will make it.”
Pepper's face became beet red as she snapped, “Sergeant Alvarez, I am NOT riding anywhere with you. I'll walk home first.”
Trying to ward off an argument in front of civilians, Carter held up his hand. “Enough! Pete, I gave the officers the booze, so yell at me. As for your recent actions outside, I'll talk with you later, in Captain Reames' office. Now, what have you figured out?”
Alvarez stared at Maria for a few seconds. “First, I think she should be removed to another room. She cannot help us here, and I do not want her hearing this.”
Carter nodded to Pepper. She held her hand out toward the Maria. “Come on, Maria. Let's go into the front room so they can talk.” Standing, the frightened girl walked out with Pepper.
Sitting in the chair Maria had vacated, Alvarez instructed the two detained Mexicans, lined up against the fingerprint-smudged fridge, to sit on the floor. Rickerman removed Martinez's cuffs, and he joined the shorter Mexican already seated, both wide-eyed with fright.
Noticing the Styrofoam cups, Alvarez asked, “May I?” Carter nodded so Alvarez pumped coffee from the airpot, pouring brandy into his cup. Rickerman's eyebrows rose. Carter winked at him and smiled.
After taking a long drink, the thin, little man unsnapped and opened his overstuffed briefcase. Looking at the two men sitting on the floor, he started asking questions in rapid-fire Spanish; which part of Mexico were they born, and how long ago had they left their birthplace.
Neither Carter nor Waltham could follow the interrogation. Carter noticed the two men seemed more than willing to cooperate with Alvarez. Was it because Alvarez was Mexican as well, or because he spoke Spanish? Carter decided it was a little of both, and sat waiting while they finished talking.
Alvarez handed one of the Mexicans a plastic-covered map and a grease pencil. Making some marks on the map, he then handed it back. After glancing at the marked map, Alvarez's eyes lit up with excitement. “Okay, John. This is a top secret project I have been working on for most of my life. I never thought I would find one, but I think, no, I KNOW I have now.”
Carter remained quiet, the obvious question not coming from him, but from Waltham. “Found one what, Sergeant?”
Leaning forward, Alvarez whispered, “A TESCARA, gentlemen!”
At the mention of the word 'Tescara, the two Mexicans on the floor moaned, eyes as round as pesos, scooting even farther away from the bathroom, trying to become part of the wall.
Carter kept silent, wondering about that oar in the water.
A confused Waltham asked, “A what? I never heard of a Tescara before.”
But it was obvious to Carter the two men on the floor had. They were terrified of the word.
Taking another drink of his coffee, which emptied his cup, Alvarez refilled it. He started pulling papers, drawings, pictures, and other items in plastic bags from his oversized briefcase. “First, let me fill-in some background. The village these men come from is not far from where I grew up. Did you know I was born in Mexico? Oh, it does not matter.
“About halfway between where they were born and where I was born, lies an
ancient city called Palenque. In this ruined city, is a temple called the Temple of the Inscriptions. The temple is actually a pyramid, and deep inside is a figure in stone, of ancient man or a god; no one really knows. Some archaeologists have hypothesized the builders of the temple were the same people who built the magnificent city of Tiahuanaco in Bolivia, oh, maybe five thousand or six thousand years ago. There are other structures, all over the world, that appear to be built by the same architects, but no one dares to admit it. That is crazy, they say. How could one civilization, within their lifetime, have built all these structures in different parts of the world?
“But, gentlemen, where I grew up, and where these men are from, legends, stories of these old gods are still told and believed today. One god in particular, named Viracocha Pachayachachi, which means 'Creator of all Things,' is said to have risen from the sea, and he taught the people his ways and secrets. This sounds crazy, I know, but I believe the legends. If you have ever seen those ancient temples, and the huge stones they were built from, you would have to wonder how those stones had been moved for sometimes miles, with the simple tools that were available to our ancestors at that time. Even today, with our technology, we would not be able to build those temples. Yet our ancient ancestors did.
“Now, back to Palenque and the temple. I have seen these types of temples a dozen times. Mexico, Peru, Bolivia, and other places, are covered with them, erected to the various gods as they were known by the people who lived there. The old legends say the gods had left the people for one reason or another and some legends even state when the gods will return. None of this is important to this case, merely as background information.
“But some legends are the same, repeatedly. These legends are so old, the names have lost their context over the years due to being handed down orally generation to generation. The name Tescara, for example, is only part of a name; the rest of the name lost over the centuries. The clear definition of Tescara is no longer known. But the name is always used in the same context, to describe the same thing. What I am saying, and will say, is going to sound crazy to you, but what I found in that toilet proves I am not crazy, and neither is what I am telling you.”
Neither detective had ventured over to look at the gooey, brown glob Alvarez had fished out of the toilet. Neither of them wanted to. As Alvarez took a sip of his coffee, Carter asked him, “Uh, Pete, what are you saying?” Carter didn't care for the glazed expression in the little man's eyes, but he was going to listen anyway. He knew he didn't have a clue about what had happened to the doomed man in the bathroom. Maybe Alvarez did.
After his long half-cup sip, Alvarez began again. “John, I am sure I will not explain this correctly, as I have been chasing these legends for so many years, even I get myself confused. So, please, bear with me.
“Some legendary gods that came to our world did experiments on our primitive ancestors and other life-forms indigenous at that time. Today, we call it genetic manipulation, or engineering. But back then, our ancestors had no word for it. So they would group words to help them explain an action or event. The word, Tescara, alone means nothing. But when you understand our ancestors grouped together words, descriptive names, you have something else entirely.
“One of the ancient gods was called Conquite. Roughly, the name means 'One of Starlight,' or 'The Starlight.' The legends claim he arrived here in a giant, fiery vessel, with several other godlike people. This man, or god, according to legends, experimented with vast amounts of the life-forms he found here. To what purpose, no one knows. The legends also state Conquite took men, women, children and every kind of life-form he found into his fiery vessel, where they were taken apart, piece-by-piece, and remade into new types of life-forms.
“Now, obviously, many of Conquite's, uh, experiments did not work. There are many references to a pit Conquite threw his failed experiments into. Before the fiery vessel showed up, that pit was a natural well the people used for drinking and cooking. After the gods came, a trench was dug from the vessel to the drinking well, where the waste from the fiery vessel ran down the trench into the well, eventually turning it into a slimy pit.
“After a span of time, the people found they could no longer drink of the water without terrible things occurring, but only to the men, never to the women. The men affected would die horribly, within a few months. The same way this man in these pictures died right in this house, six thousand years later.
“For more than forty years, after I saw one in my village as a small boy, I have been hunting the Tescara. As boys, our job was to watch over the sheep at night. On this night, it was my brother, Antonio's, and my turn, plus half a dozen other boys. Our village had a large flock of sheep: our main source of income and meat. The moon was full, and the sheep were stirring around, not sleeping. Something was bothering them.
“My brother saw it first. He pointed to it. What I saw looked like a small brown dog or fox, moving across the field very quickly. Much too fast for any dog or fox. The sheep bolted and ran from it. It stood on two legs and chased down a big ewe, on just two legs. It threw the ewe to the ground, killed her, then picked her up and ran away with the body.
“Please realize I was the youngest, being only ten. Some of the boys were almost men, of seventeen and eighteen years, and we ran after it with our clubs. This hairy, brown thing we chased was maybe three feet tall when standing on its hind legs, and could not have weighed as much as I did, but it outran us easily while carrying a two-hundred-pound ewe in its arms.
“When we returned to the village, we feared the wrath of the elders for the loss of one of our prize breeding ewes. But when we told them what we had seen, they fell to their knees and began crossing themselves repeatedly. The elders kept chanting, 'Tescara' every time they crossed themselves. One of the oldest women in the village, who could barely speak any longer, kept saying a different name. That was the only time I heard the full name spoken out loud. She kept chanting, 'Conquite-Scarapam-Quotzil.' She was found dead in the morning. She had killed herself. No one else in the village seemed to know what she knew.
“Many years later, in a Bolivia temple, I found some broken stone tablets, and thought to be useless as some ritual stone no one understood. But I saw it then, carved in six-thousand year-old chisel strokes, two-legged, two-armed, covered in long hair, head very similar to a cat or a monkey, maybe both, and about three feet high. It stood next to the god Conquite, and he had a hand on its head. The name carved there gives me terror even today: Conquite-Scarapam-Quotzil.
“Remembering what I had told you before about descriptive words being linked, what this name roughly translates into is – 'One of the God Conquite's Failures.' Conquite had dumped all his failures into that slimy pit. This one failure somehow adapted enough to survive. The name today is Tescara, and is pronounced as Te-scara. The name is a broken short form of ConquiTE-SCARApam-Quotzil. And it is the very definition of what, now that I have the proof it lives, I wish to God it did not.” Another long drink, then Alvarez refilled his cup with a trembling hand, more brandy than coffee.
Waltham and Carter were quiet, holding their judgment, but Rickerman asked in disbelief, “Are you trying to say that some god from an old legend has come back, and is killing people?”
Alvarez shook his head. “No, Officer, I am not. But I do know what is, and we have a serious problem.”
Carter, after hearing the story, peered over at the red, brown, gray glob Alvarez had retrieved from the toilet. He was pretty sure Alvarez's one oar was out of the water. Hell, neither of his oars were anywhere near the water. He probably didn't even have his damn boat in the water. Carter knew he didn't want to be stranded in this house with this lunatic cop.
Clearing his throat, he asked, “Okay, Alvarez, uh, Pete. Then exactly what are you saying? I'm afraid you lost me somewhere. None of this seems to clear up any of my problems.”
The brandy flask empty, Alvarez, with shaking hands, rummaged through his bursting-at-the-seams briefcase. With a
small triumphant smile, he pulled out a full liter bottle of blackberry brandy, sitting the gleaming bottle on the table. “Please, help yourselves. I must think before I speak now, so you do not misunderstand.”
Carter opened the bottle, thankful for time to hash out in his mind what he had just heard. He poured stiff drinks for his fellow officers and himself.
Rickerman's radio blared again, but this time, there was no request to go to the car radio or a phone as before. After Rickerman acknowledged the call, Captain Reames' voice boomed loudly and with authority, “Give me Carter.” Rickerman handed Carter his radio, who acknowledged he was listening.
Pepper's radio, in the living room, echoed through the silent house as Reames spoke in a very tense voice. “Did you hear me, John? The ME flew in here like a crazy man. He says the autopsy confirmed that your corpse was eaten, John, from the inside out! Do you understand? Something was alive in Carlos Doe and ate out his, uh, well, you know, when it left his body. The ME says they found brown hairs that weren't identifiable; seems they were a cross between, human, monkey and feline hair. He advises looking for a small animal, covered in brown hair. He wants it shot dead, and brought here ASAP. He even has the traffic chopper on standby to pick it up when you find it. Start looking, John. Now!”
Carter stared at the radio like it would explode any second, then acknowledged, “Yes, sir.”
Pepper, standing in the kitchen doorway, asked, “Should we search again, Lieutenant? I know we had before, but then we were looking for the guy's uh, privates. Not a small animal.”
With a shaky voice, Alvarez advised, “I would not, people. Tescara are only small when born. They grow rapidly, up to three feet or so, and are highly intelligent, extremely strong, fast and dangerous. They do not like the cold; they go into the ground, rapidly digging a tunnel. Because it is frozen outdoors, if you must be foolish enough to look, take shotguns and look for an opening in the concrete or bricks of the basement, where it could get to the dirt. But I would not go after it. It will kill you! You will die, and it will feed on you to grow and become even stronger.”