For the first time in his cop-life, Nick Grayson decided he didn’t want to get involved. He wouldn’t call it in. What he’d witnessed had been strange but it had clearly been consensual. “Jesus Christ Almighty.” He started the Highlander and headed back to Prominence, his mind reeling. Perhaps the whole thing would seem funny in time, but he doubted it. It was too creepy to be funny. And he dreaded seeing the orgiasts around town. That’ll be nice and awkward. He shook his head.
Just as he entered Prominence city limits, his CB radio crackled to life. “We’ve got a possible 10-56 at the Le Grande Apartments off Bushberry, apartment number 9A. Copy?”
“10-4,” said Nick. “On my way.” Suicide. What next?
* * *
After hours spent online viewing images of the Disrobed Daredevil - and masturbating so furiously she felt raw - Rebecca McNair fell asleep.
Though she wasn’t aware of it, the silver moon pendant began burning hot between her breasts. In her dream, she was beautiful, her hair pinned atop her head, loose curls tumbling over her shoulders. She wore a flowing transparent gown, but she didn’t feel self-conscious. Though her feet never moved, she was gliding - out her window, along the streets, like a magnet drawn to steel.
The cool night air kissed her face. She shivered … but a fire burned within her that would not be doused. It burned and blazed as she arrived, looking up at Madison O’Riley’s house, high on the hill above Prominence. A scent tickled her senses - it was the smell of rain-washed roses, her favorite fragrance of all. And it told her where to go. She followed that beautiful perfume, hovering near a window at the back of the house.
He was in there. And she had to have him. Right now.
* * *
Dette had no trouble falling asleep. After a quick shower, she’d intended to do some reading, but still drunk and bound by her thoughts of Madison, of Alejandro, and of the betrayal she felt, she was unable to focus and soon fell into unconsciousness. When she awoke, her bedroom was dark, her body lacquered in cool sweat, and she was breathing hard, though she couldn’t recall her dreams. Her mouth tasted of stale alcohol.
The digital clock told her it was after two in the morning.
She sat up, rubbed her eyes, and set the alarm. Before falling asleep, she’d been undecided on how to handle tomorrow, but now she knew what she had to do. I need to go in, apologize and beg Madison’s forgiveness. She hoped the damage hadn’t been permanent. The booze was wearing off and she felt much less hostile than she had. Now, the whole ordeal seemed silly.
Memories rushed back at her, and she recalled flirting with the cop … yelling at Madison … and … what else? … I tried giving Alejandro a handjob under the table! She dropped her head in her hands. “Oh, God!”
“Not quite.”
Dette gasped, searching for the deep, disembodied voice. She saw nothing but black shadows that hung like funereal crepe down the walls and in the corners. “Hello?” She strained, hearing only the thrum of blood in her own ears. “Who’s there?”
A man appeared. He seemed to step out from behind the bookcase, but that was impossible. He was shirtless, his skin marble-white in the near darkness. His lower body was sheathed in shiny tight pants that were so dark they looked like dried blood. His hair stood in short white spikes.
“Astaroth?” Dette pulled the sheets tight around herself.
He approached, his lips drawing back in a smile that showed gleaming white teeth.
“What are you doing here?” She fumbled for the lamp, knocked it off the nightstand. It hit the floor like a gunshot in the silence. Dette jumped.
Astaroth tipped his head, his sapphire eyes glittering as he stared down at her. “Sweet girl. You are failing.”
Dette was frozen, her mouth working. She knew she wasn’t dreaming. “I … I don’t understand.”
“Yes, you do.” His smile was saccharine but his jewel-like eyes burned with something that wasn’t sweet at all.
“F-failing? At what?”
“You know what you need to do.”
Her racing thoughts were a tangle of impressions, tripping over each other. “No … I don’t. What is this abou-”
“Listen.” He hissed the word like a snake. “Listen to the voice inside you.”
“Voice? What voice?” Her moon pendant grew suddenly hot. “Ouch!” She plucked it away from her skin, startled to find that it wasn’t hot at all. When she looked up, Astaroth was gone. “Astaroth?” I’m going mad! She threw her blankets off, switching on lights as she padded to the bathroom for a splash of cold water. She realized that she did know what Astaroth wanted her to do. But how do I do it when Alejandro won’t let me? She wasn’t sure she wanted to try again.
But I have to. I must. She didn’t know why, but she had to keep trying.
In the bathroom, she clutched the sides of the sink and stared at her reflection. Her face was oyster-gray. Dark circles hung like drooping shadows beneath her eyes. Her skin looked blotchy, unhealthy. She’d been trying to cover her new wrinkles with makeup, but it was getting harder and harder. I’m sick, she thought. I’m sick and dying and I need to see a doctor.
“No,” said another part of her mind. “Do what needs to be done and you’ll feel and look better than ever.”
“I’m trying.” She spoke to her reflection through gritted teeth. “Can’t you see I’m trying?” Her eyes hardened with anger. She gasped as the mirror cracked, shooting a silver tine across her face and splitting it in half.
“Try harder,” said that foreign part of her mind.
I will. I’ll apologize to Madison tomorrow so I can win back Alejandro’s favor. And I’ll make sure he can’t resist me next time.
In the mirror, one side of her cracked face smiled.
But Dette was not smiling.
* * *
Nick Grayson had seen a lot of things in his career as a cop, and the suicide of Stardene Cassel hadn’t been the worst, but it had been bad enough. Back at home, he sat on the musty old recliner in his living room, wanting a drink.
It’s been a rough day, said the voice he now recognized as his inner-alcoholic. Anyone could use a drink after that shitstorm.
No. That’s a bunch of bull. Nick didn’t know what had changed within him, but it was undeniable that something had. Perhaps he was just too tired to play the game anymore. Or too old. And besides, the liquor stores are closed.
Just go get some beer at 7-11.
It was tempting. Too tempting. Nick picked up his phone, looked at the time, and hesitated a moment. He was supposed to call Tom every day, no matter what, but this late, it seemed rude. But if there was ever a day I really needed to talk to him, this is the one. He went ahead and punched in his sponsor’s number.
Tom picked up after a few rings, his voice thick with sleep. “Hola. I was starting to worry I wasn’t going to hear from you today, Bullet.”
“Sorry to bother you so late, Padre.”
Tom yawned. “Like I said, anytime, day or night, right?”
“Right. So really, this is kinda your fault.” Nick smiled but didn’t feel it.
“You sound worn out. You okay?”
Nick was unnerved by how easily the other man could already read him. “I think so, yeah. It’s been a hell of a day.”
“Talk to me about it.”
Nick found himself telling the father about Stardene Cassel - her bloating body in the bathtub, her glazed staring eyes, and all the blood … so much goddamned blood.
The padre let out a low whistle. “I can’t say I blame you for being rattled.” His voice turned philosophical. “So often, it’s the young ones. They can’t see any future, I suppose. It’s a tragedy.”
“And that’s just the tip of the iceberg, Padre. There’s more. Much more.” Nick told him about stumbling across the orgy in the forest and Tom snickered a little, but refrained from comment.
Then he brought up dinner at Madison O’Riley and Dette Watkiss’ drunken scene. Tom listened, remarking on
ly that he’d love to see Madison O’Riley again. But when Nick told him about Alejandro, the frosty breath, and the temblors, the priest was silent.
“I don’t know what to make of it, Tom. Between that and this house, I feel like I’m losing my fu-, uh, my mind.”
“I saw it, too, Nick. I have every faith that the anomalies you’ve witnessed aren’t in your mind.”
That was both a relief and a whole new set of worries. “I just can’t quit thinking about this Alejandro guy. There’s something … almost … unnatural about him. You’d have to see it to understand. I can’t explain it.”
“Well, I’m definitely intrigued. You mentioned Madison said she’d like to see me. Why don’t we set something up?”
“I was actually thinking of having a little barbecue - at my place, this time - and inviting them over. Why don’t you join us? It’d be a great way to catch up with Madison and … get a look at Alejandro.”
“I’d love to. I haven’t seen her since she was a little girl - except in passing of course.” He was silent a moment. “Her father was a great man. I wish you could’ve met him.”
“Me too.” Nick hesitated. “What happened to him, Padre?”
“Heart attack.” Tom’s voice thickened with emotion. “This was during a boating trip with Madison. She saw the whole thing and she was just a child. That man was her hero. Such a cruel thing.”
“You were close, you and her father?”
“He was my best friend.” Tom cleared his throat. “Anyway, are you feeling any better now?”
“I am, yeah. Thanks for listening. And again, sorry it’s so late.”
“Never apologize for calling me. That’s what I’m here for. You realize what a huge step you’ve taken, don’t you?”
Nick was silent.
“I’m serious. Asking for help is one of the hardest thing you’ll ever do in this program. I speak from experience when I say that tiny little phone feels like it weighs about a thousand pounds when I’m in trouble.”
Nick laughed. “You got that right.”
“Anyway, about the barbecue. How’s Sunday after church?”
“Sounds good to me,” said Nick. “I’ll check with Madison and let you know.”
He hung up the phone, settled back in his chair, and considered watching Rear Window for the hundredth time. No, it’s too late. Nick closed his eyes and found himself thinking of Alejandro - the frozen breath, the shaking house, the rattling drawers. He thought of the inexplicable events in his own house - the bucking table, the flickering light, the broken mirror. And the accident when he was a kid - the one that had killed his parents and nearly killed him as well. He thought of what he’d seen in the hospital room - the tall man who’d loomed over his bed and … and done something … done what? That’s where the memories ended. It was a dream. What else could it have been? “What a bunch of bullshit,” he told the empty room.
The back of the recliner suddenly dropped. Nick fell back with it. He couldn’t move. An invisible pressure held him, as if he were in an airplane or on a roller coaster. The whole chair began moving, turning to face the television. A scream stuck in his throat, Nick fought the invisible restraints but it was useless. Am I having a stroke? A seizure?
The television shot on, blaring a rerun of Reverend Bobby Felcher’s God Club.
“DEMONS!” shouted the white-haired evangelist. “Demons! They walk among us, people!” He slammed a fist on his podium. “The bible says, ‘These signs shall follow those that believe! In my name they shall cast out DEMONS!” Felcher’s nostrils flared, his face went crimson with passion. “What’s keeping you from receiving YOUR miracles, brothers and sisters?” The crowd went wild. “What’s keeping you glued to your seat and stopping you from receiving your deliverance? What DEMONS are holding you down and blinding you against GOD’S HOLY LIGHT!” His jowls shook with lunatic zeal as he stabbed his finger in the air. The crowd quieted down as his face turned contemplative.
Nick struggled, tried to sit up, but it was like sleep paralysis - except he was wide-awake.
“Demons.” The reverend spoke softly, seriously. “They’re here, people. They’re here.” He looked straight into the camera. “They’re all around you, and I only hope and pray you’ve got an angel on your side when they reveal themselves.”
Reverend Bobby was silent. The crowd was silent. Nick’s living room was silent. He tried to push out a sound. A dry click at the back of his throat was all he could muster.
“Do you?” the reverend asked the camera. “Do you have an angel on your side, Mr. Grayson?” Reverend Bobby grinned.
Nick’s eyes went wide. What the hell’s going on?
“I suggest you find out fast.” The reverend spoke solemnly now.
The television went black.
The pressing weight lifted and Nick shot up like a toy on a spring, stumbling to his feet, gasping. The room was hellfire hot and somehow seemed smaller; his vision strobed and he thought he might pass out. Sweat covered his body, cold, clammy, and sour with terror. His stomach writhed.
* * *
The scratching sound entered his dreams. Alejandro turned in his sleep, pulling Madison close to him, losing himself in the clean scent of her.
Scratch, scratch, scratch …
He sat up, rubbed his eyes, and stared into the darkness. “Who is there?”
Scratch, scratch, scratch …
It came from the window. He tossed off the quilts, careful not to wake Madison, even though he wasn’t quite sure whether or not he was dreaming.
Scratch, scratch, scratch …
He reached for the curtains and paused. He sensed something dark, something terrible, on the other side.
“Please,” said a soft voice. “Come to me.”
Alejandro pulled the curtains open, then stepped back, startled and confused.
On the other side of the glass, cloaked in thick plumes of swirling fog, was a woman he’d never seen before. Her hair was pinned up and she wore much makeup - lots of shadow on her eyes, and her lips were the color of blood. Through her flimsy white garment, he saw her breasts, and clearly made out her small pink nipples.
Then he noticed the silver moon - it was just like Dette’s. Alejandro did not like this ornament at all, but despite it, desire stirred within him.
“Please …” She seemed to be floating above ground, hovering. Placing a hand on either side of the window she pressed her body against the glass. “Let me in … ”
For a moment, Alejandro was mesmerized, wanting nothing more than to touch this beautiful young woman, to lay with her. Slowly, he reached out, put a palm to the window, felt the heat of her breast through the glass.
“Yes … ” She writhed against the window like a feline under its master’s touch. “Yes, yes, yes … ”
He felt his body begin to stir, to stiffen, to betray his need.
“Let me in … ”
Transfixed, feeling he might explode, he nodded. “Yes.” Nothing seemed more important to him right now than having this lovely woman.
Until Madison began mumbling. “Alejandro.”
He tore his eyes off the window, looked at Madison, and saw she was still asleep. The moonlight lay upon her, turning her skin to porcelain, her hair to obsidian, her lips to crimson. She was beautiful, so very beautiful.
“Yes, Alejandro.” Madison rolled onto her side.
She is dreaming of me. Alejandro smiled.
Scratch, scratch, scratch …
The woman at the window stared hard at him. “Let me in.”
He glanced at Madison then back to the stranger. Suddenly, the woman was not so lovely - not like Madison. “Be gone from me. I do not want you.”
Anger lit the hovering woman’s eyes.
“Go.”
Her mouth pulled into a tight line and she narrowed her eyes, floating away from the window as if being pulled by invisible strings. She disappeared into the fog.
Dirty Deeds
They were
days away from the Founder’s Day Festival and that meant business was good. Even so, when Dette walked into the rock shop the next morning, Madison wasn’t sure she was happy to see her.
Though dressed conservatively in blue jeans and a sweater, Dette looked ragged. “Maddy, I mean, Madison.” She spoke softly. “I’m so sorry about last night. I don’t know what got into me.” She wiped a tear from her eye with a trembling hand. “I don’t even know if I’m welcome here. I don’t blame you if you fire me, but I hope you won’t.”
Madison stared at her. Fine lines, like parentheses, were etched around her mouth and darkness circled her eyes. She looked like she’d been up all night long. “Do you feel okay, Dette? You look ill.”
“I’m fine. As long as you forgive me, that is.”
Though she had every right, Madison couldn’t fire her friend - especially given Dette’s sickly appearance. She looks so ill. “You’re not fired,” said Madison. “We’ll talk about it later.”
Dette hesitated. “Is Alejandro here? I’d like to apologize to him, too.”
Madison shook her head. “He prefers to stay home lately.”
“Maybe I’ll stop by the house later and apologize,” said Dette. “If that’s okay with you, I mean.” She smiled but it didn’t reach her eyes. Outside, police sirens screamed past and she winced at the sound.
“Headache?” Madison asked.
“Like you wouldn’t believe.”
“There’s aspirin in the back. And get used to the racket. This is the third siren I’ve heard in the last five minutes.”
“Do you know what’s going on?”
“Not a clue.”
* * *
Roxie Michaelson watched the police car speed past the diner. She couldn’t see who was behind the wheel, but it made her think of the chief, Nick Grayson. Maybe I should call him for another date. He sure fucks better than Eric Cooterman. She’d so hoped he’d join their little soiree in the trees last night, but no. He’d looked mortified.
The Angel Alejandro Page 38