by Lee Driver
Moonlight streamed in from the opening and Skizzy watched as the man tilted his head and soaked in those rays. And he seemed to grow. Skizzy thought it was his imagination, but the man was getting taller, bulkier. The back of the shirt split open as if he were some Incredible Hulk bursting out of his clothes. And when the man raised his arms to rip off the unwanted clothing, Skizzy saw what had caught his attention before. The man’s hands were more like claws, hairy with long nails.
Skizzy fumbled for the controls to zoom in, get a closer image from Mick. But as soon as he touched the mouse, the man jerked his head up, as if he had heard the noise, the soft whirring from Mick, the inaudible tap-tapping of Mick’s metal legs. Popcorn dribbled out of Skizzy’s mouth as he was fixed in horror at the image on the screen. The head had transformed into something more animal than human, the mouth jutting out, teeth long. The fair skin was now covered with a mat of dark hair. And the eyes. As the creature searched for the noise, it’s yellow slitted eyes ringed in red seemed to glow. It fixed on the bookshelf and located the mechanical spider. As if it had a mind of it’s own, Mick backed away. Skizzy wasn’t even aware his hand was still on the controls. When the creature jerked forward, its face pressed close to the bookshelf, Skizzy jumped back sending the bowl of popcorn tumbling to the floor.
But he couldn’t pull his gaze from the screen. Mesmerized, he watched the creature draw back, a demonic laugh emitting from its mouth. It seemed to know it was being watched and didn’t care. And it seemed to be performing as it retreated, folding into itself, morphing again, its arms developing into wings, its large bulk reducing in size to some winged creature. It seemed to levitate in front of the opened hatch before flying out.
Skizzy blinked, not quite sure what he had just seen. His hand shook as he wiped the butter from his chin. “Goddam government experiments.” He fumbled for the phone and dialed Dagger at home but all he got was the answering machine. He left a cryptic message for Dagger to call him ASAP. Then he tried Dagger’s beeper and waited in the darkness of his bunker, wanting to play back the videotape but not sure he wanted to watch again. The thought of calling Padre crossed his mind but what would the cops think? That he was loony. Next thing he knew he’d be carted off to the nut house.
10:45 p.m.
Sara stepped out of the shower and dried off. After slipping into a nightgown she unfastened her hair and sat down at the dressing table. Her eye caught sight of the clock on the nightstand. Where could Dagger be? Did they arrest him? Running a brush through her hair she thought of calling Padre but then wondered if it were too late. But if Dagger were being held overnight, wouldn’t he have called? She set the brush down and picked up the phone.
“I hope I didn’t wake you.”
Padre assured her she hadn’t. Matter of fact, Sergeant Flynn was staying overnight at his house. Sara explained that she hadn’t heard from Dagger.
“Would they keep him overnight without letting him make a phone call?” Sara asked, her one knuckle finding its way to her mouth. She nibbled nervously as she walked over to the windows and looked up at the moon.
“Definitely not. But I wouldn’t put it past Spagnola. Let me make a few calls and I’ll get back to you.”
Sara hung up and went downstairs to check on Einstein. The medicine should have had him sleeping like a baby but he was on the perch in front of the windows in the aviary. She walked into the kitchen to make a cup of tea and wait for Padre’s call. She didn’t notice the blinking light on the answering machine on Dagger’s desk.
11:15 p.m.
“Oh boy, oh boy. What do I do now?” Skizzy had been pacing and mumbling to himself for the past half hour. Popcorn crunched under his shoes and his hands were clammy. He pulled at his hair, a tuft which had already been shortened by his nervousness, jutted out from the right side of his head like a cowlick. “What did Dagger say? Fire? Yeah. We need fire. What else?” He paused at his desk and rifled through pages of notes. “Concrete buildings, unincorporated areas. Farmhouses. Yeah yeah. Gotta find the house. Let Dagger know.” He dialed Dagger’s beeper number again and kept dialing. Maybe if the thing vibrated continuously, Dagger might pay attention.
“Play back the tape, play back the tape.” He pressed several buttons and with one hand still gripping the phone, he replayed the tape. Since Mick hadn’t been destroyed and had night vision and zooming capabilities, it was possible Skizzy could catch some hint of the area outside of this guy’s house. He watched the transformation again. Man to beast, beast to some winged creature. He played it in slow motion, feeling as if he were watching some sci-fi movie. No one could do that. It just wasn’t possible. But neither are UFOs and aliens yet people claim to see them. Skizzy grabbed his glass and sniffed it, thinking someone might have slipped some hallucinogenic into his water. Maybe it was the accumulation of pot in his system from his youth. What he really wanted was for Dagger to see this on his tape. That would at least convince Skizzy that it wasn’t his head playing some trick.
11:30 p.m.
It waited up in the trees, its body reclining on a large tree limb, feeling the lunar energy. It had shifted back to the beast, to its more powerful and speedy form. All it concentrated on was destruction, feeling its strength and power growing by the minute.
The sound of laughter pierced the air. The beast was at least a mile from any activity but its acute hearing allowed him to pick up sights and sounds never possible in his human form. This is what he had been waiting for since 1998. He had had a taste of power and the thought of experiencing that same exhilaration was mind-boggling, almost orgasmic. He had felt a hint of the energy during normal full moons, but nothing like this. Nothing like the combination of a full moon and a Friday the thirteenth.
Thoughts of his human life were a distant memory, pushed aside, as non-existent as this form would be by tomorrow morning. Josie, a vague remembrance of a whiny, clinging bitch, but a necessary evil. She had given him some semblance of normalcy, at least to the outside world. And there was a reason he had to be with her, he just couldn’t think now what that reason was. Brian Andrews. He should know that name. But the only one that sounded familiar was Paul Addison. The Addison lifeblood pulsed through his veins. Unstoppable and stronger with each generation.
He stood and stretched his body. Almost seven feet tall. He could be as small or large as he wanted. He could slither under a rock or tuck himself into a blemish in the tree. Just by thinking it, his form could change. Such power. But something nagged at him. What was it? What was he forgetting?
Laughter again drifted to the beast’s ears. It jerked its head up. Blood rushed and hearts pounded. Excitement, he could feel it, he could smell it. The sounds of his victims. Standing upright like some hairy neanderthal, it took a step into nothingness, its body plummeting, like an uncaped crusader, testing its skills, quickly maneuvering around branches as it fell, then folding its legs inward and imagining a large wing span. Instantly it shifted to a falcon and sped toward the source of the sounds.
“Come on, Steve. It’s only dinner with my parents.” The young woman clung tightly to her boyfriend’s hand. “They won’t bite.” She looked up at the star quarterback for Cedar Point High School and admired his rugged features. Sun-bleached hair and dimples, like he just stepped out of an ad for a tanning lotion.
“I’m sure I’m busy Sunday. Besides, all your father’s going to do is tell me what play I should have used at third and ten.”
“Well, he was a former coach, you know. Besides, you two have a lot in common when it comes to football.” Chrissy checked her watch. It was getting close to midnight, close to curfew and the last thing she wanted was to be grounded before the Sweetest Day dance.
“I’ll get you home in time.” He opened the passenger side door for her, walked around and climbed in behind the wheel. With a push of a button, the convertible top to his Mustang folded down. “Are you going to be too cold?”
Chrissy shook her head and cuddled up next to him, gatheri
ng his letter jacket around her. Steve turned the key in the ignition and put the car in gear just as he heard a loud hissing noise.
“What’s that?”
“What’s what?”
“Shhhh.” Steve turned the car off and listened. The sound of rushing air was distinct. “Damn.” He pounded the steering wheel. Tossing his phone in her lap he said, “Better call your parents. I think I have a flat. Matter of fact, I don’t have a spare so ask your dad to come out here. At least he’ll know we’re not lying about the flat tire.”
Steve opened the trunk and retrieved a flashlight. Shining it on the rear right tire, he saw a large gash and the rim resting on the pavement. “Sonofabitch. Looks like someone slashed it.” He set the flashlight on the ground and dug around the trunk. He could hear Chrissy pleading with her father, using her best Daddy’s-little-girl talk on her old man. Grabbing the tire iron, he turned and felt something sharp enter his body. But he didn’t feel any pain. He was too horrified at the site in front of him. His body was on total meltdown, felt a warmth spreading down his inner thigh and felt the tire iron slipping from his grasp.
“Okay, Daddy. We’ll wait right here for you.” Chrissy heard the tire iron clang as she ended the phone call. “He’s on his way,” she announced as she turned around and knelt on the seat. All she could see was the opened hood of the trunk, the moon illuminating the copper-colored exterior. “Steve? What are you doing?”
The night air was crisp and she could smell the residual of burning leaves. The car was parked on a side street a block from Dot’s Diner, a hamburger joint the gang frequented after hitting the movies. But parking was scarce and Steve had been forced to park down an uncurbed and unlit street leading into an industrial complex. It was a good thing the moon provided some light.
“Steve?” Chrissy climbed out of the car. “Steve?” The flashlight lay on the ground beside the deflated tire. Maybe he hit his head, Chrissy thought. But the only thing lying on the ground by the trunk was the tire iron.
Bushes by the side of the road rustled and Chrissy felt chilled. Gathering the jacket tighter, she picked up the flashlight and headed toward the bushes. Maybe Steve was taking a leak. But why didn’t he answer?
“Steve?” She shined the light on the opposite side of the road but there was just vacant land with dark buildings set back from the road.
Bushes rustled again. “This isn’t funny, Steve. Are you taking a piss?” If all he was doing was trying to get her into the woods for a quickie before her father came, he had better think again. “I’m not coming in there after you.” She shined the light toward the noise, saw the fall-colored bushes buck and sway.
This wasn’t really a woods. She knew it was just unincorporated area, not that it made it less frightening. She entertained the thought of just leaving him here and walking back to the restaurant. But the restaurant was closed.
“Chrissy…help.”
“Steve?” The voice she heard was more a painful moan. Panic swept through her body and she wrestled with the sudden urge to run.
“Chrissy.”
Her name seemed to echo through the darkness, coming from above and even behind her. And she thought she heard a laugh, a soft, crazed giggle.
“Damn you, Steve. Quit scaring me.” She flipped back her long, dark hair and mustered the courage. With a strong grip on the flashlight, she trudged forward, dried twigs snapping under her canvas shoes. “You are going to get this flashlight smacked right against the side of your head.”
“Chrissy, help me,” a voice whispered again.
There was something eerie about the way it sounded. More ethereal, disembodied. Chrissy felt a cold sweep through her body. But she and Steve were alone here, right? He was the one who had forced her to sit through three showings of Blair Witch Project last summer. Now her mind was playing tricks on her. She never did like scary movies.
She heard another rustling, like someone scurrying through the woods. She shined the flashlight at the source, but all she saw were bushes and tree limbs swaying.
“Damn you,” she whispered. She cautiously moved forward, toward a path which led into the woods. The beam from the flashlight brought the woods to life but pockets of shadows looked sinister and a voice beckoned.
“Chrissy.”
This time there was no mistaking the pain in the voice. Maybe Steve stepped in a trap. Were there animals in these woods? “Steve? Honey?” Her steps quickened as she moved deeper into the woods. Gnarled branches reached out to her, slapping across her back. Then she saw him, propped against a tree, his back to her. She rushed over to him. “Are you hurt?”
His eyes stared vacantly and she heard him say, “Put it back.” But she didn’t see his lips move. “Put it back,” he said again. It was Steve’s voice but his lips were frozen in a grimace. It was difficult to tell if it was the glow from the flashlight that made his skin look white and pasty or if he really was in shock.
“Put what back?” she asked him. “Steve, what’s wrong?”
Slowly, her gaze dropped to his lap and she suddenly realized his brown shirt was soaked, pulled out of his pants, the bottom buttons missing. She wasn’t quite sure she was seeing things clearly. A buzzing echoed in her ears, and her body felt lightweight, detached. Spots danced in front of her eyes and bile crept up her throat.
Steve’s hands were in his lap, cradling his heart. “Put it back,” a disembodied voice said again.
Her arms and legs felt heavy, as though she were treading water. She vaguely remembered dropping the flashlight and trying to back-peddle away from Steve, away from the horrible scene in front of her. Try to get away, run. Her head was telling her what to do but she couldn’t get her feet to cooperate.
Finally, she stood on shaky legs, and the most she could conjure from her vocal chords was a painful whimper and the word, “no” mumbled over and over again, until she finally found her voice, emitting a howling scream. She stumbled down the path but it was blocked. She was frozen in mid-step, staring at a horrific-looking creature standing on its hind legs, its body covered in thick hair. But there was something cunning and human about it. It raised a large hand to its face, fist clenched with just one finger in front of its mouth. She could see a long purple talon jutting out from the tips of each finger, razor sharp and bloody.
Chrissy tried to scream but the sound was caught in her throat. This thing, this creature, smiled at her, and its large eyes glowed yellow. It shook its head back and forth slowly and said “shhhhhhhhhhhhh” from behind its finger.
CHAPTER 31
Friday, October 13, 12:05 a.m.
“Spagnola is jerking his chain,” Padre told Sara. “The desk sergeant told me Dagger hasn’t been charged but if they don’t release him within the half hour, I’m going to go down there.”
“I hate to make you go out this late, Padre.” Sara made another cup of tea and stood in front of the sink staring out at the large glowing ball in the sky. If everything was over with, why was she feeling this tremendous anxiety? Maybe Einstein was making her jittery. Maybe all this talk about Friday the thirteenth and a full moon and the professor’s theory about shapeshifters had her panicked. Padre’s voice sounded exhausted and she hated the fact that he had to spend all this time making phone calls but she knew how Dagger was about police stations. “Maybe I should go down there.”
“You stay put. That’s the last thing you need. According to the desk sergeant, Spagnola has a taped telephone conversation between Dagger and Sheila where he admits both of you planned the murder.”
“What!?” Sara set her cup down on the counter and marched to Dagger’s desk. “That’s ridiculous. I heard his conversation with Sheila. I can play back the tape for you.”
“I believe you.”
“Besides, why aren’t they taking your word for it that you were with us that night? I don’t understand why he is questioning Dagger at all.” She noticed the message light blinking on Dagger’s recorder.
“Politics, sw
eetheart.” Padre sighed heavily.
“Dagger has a message. Hold on a sec.” Sara pushed the PLAY button and heard Skizzy’s frantic call for Dagger to check the recording from Mick.
“Sounds like Skizzy might have some movement from Mick,” Sara reported. “Now all I have to do is figure out how to work this darn thing.”
“Give me Skizzy’s number. I’ll find out what he’s got. Doesn’t look like I’m going to get any sleep tonight anyway.”
“He won’t talk to cops, Padre. Skizzy trusts us not to give out his number.”
Padre mumbled, “Shit. Long as I’m up I may as well come over and see the damn tape for myself. And as long as the station is on my way, I’ll stop by and end Spagnola’s self-grandizing exhibition.”
“I don’t want to take you out of your way.”
“No problem. It will do my heart good to get in that asshole’s face.”
12:17 a.m.
“This is fuckin’ ridiculous.” Dagger checked his watch. He had been cooped up in the interrogation room for hours. His beeper had been vibrating his body continuously and the only number on it was Skizzy’s. “If you aren’t charging me, I’m walking.” He pushed away from the table and stood.
“I wouldn’t do that.” Spagnola rose and moved toward the door. Sweat stains ringed the underarms of his silk shirt and his unsmiling eyes challenged Dagger.
Ignoring the threat, Dagger walked to the door, hand on the knob. He wanted a reason to give this guy a few more facial scars. He heard movement in the room behind the mirror and wondered how many armed officers were going to be in front of the door when he opened it. Instead, Dagger turned the lock and looked at Spagnola. It took the cop by surprise. He hadn’t expected that. And Spagnola wasn’t armed so Dagger needn’t worry about getting shot.