Dire Symbiosis

by William Seagroves

  Alex went to the chest. After checking all the drawers, he turned toward the bed. The small twin bunk looked as if it would fall apart if any weight were placed upon it. He rummaged through the bedclothes, still nothing.

  He finally checked the nightstand; other than a Gideon Bible, the drawer was empty.

  “Damn,” he said. Silverman had rented this room, but why, as a front for his job? Perhaps to throw off his pursuers.

  Alex decided to stop using his vision and start using his other senses. He sat on the bed, which groaned with his weight, and leaned against the wall. Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply, taking in all the smells in the room. Besides the faint scent of blood, he detected Silverman’s own and the text’s. He had been there recently. His spiced cologne still hung in the air and, when mixed with the repugnant odors, could only be described as ‘sweet funk’. Alex filed Silverman’s scent in his mental cabinet. But it would do Alex no good, he would quickly lose the trail out on the street. He still had an option, though it would cost him.

  After finishing up in the room, Alex returned the key to the clerk. “Thank you,” he said.

  “You’re not welcome,” the clerk replied flatly.

  “I have one other favor to ask of you.”

  The clerk rolled his eyes. “Yeah.”

  Alex produced a business card and handed it to the clerk. “If Mr. Edwards returns, would you give me a call?”

  “Yeah right.”

  Alex then pulled a roll of money from his pocket and peeled off a one hundred dollar bill. “I’ll double that when you call,” he said.

  The clerk’s eyes became as big as saucers. He quickly reeled in the money. “Yes sir, you can count on me.”

  “I knew I could.” Alex turned and headed for the door.

  From behind him, the clerk said, “If you need anything else, just come by.”

  Alex only waved as he continued out the door. He hated using money to attain someone’s confidence, but in today’s society it was the only way to get results.

  The dark waters of the Savannah rolled by the abandoned mill heading back into the ocean, the moon’s silvery beams playing off its brackish surface. From the embankment, an alligator slid into the water and disappeared, the large reptile heading for the wildlife refuge across the river where the hunting was better.

  Three squat structures lay within the confines of the mill, their tin roofs shaking wildly under the strong winds blowing off the water. Nothing else moved. The place was like a ghost town.

  In the sub-level basement of the larger of the three buildings, Serena Young was engaged in a very interesting conversation. The crazed man, Rick Ziegler, the one sent to capture Silverman, knelt before her, pleading his case.

  “I couldn’t contain the beast and Silverman managed to slip away,” he said.

  “So why did you kill the woman?” Serena asked.

  “I had to feed the hunger. It made me do it,” Rick began laughing uncontrollably like a crazed hyena.

  Serena glanced over at Kyle standing beside her, he had told her not to send Rick, the man had clearly been driven mad by the merger. This was not the first time they had been unable to control him.

  Two years before, he snuck away and killed an entire family, two adults and four children. Usually this was forgivable, after all, humans were their prey, but the murders Rick committed were particularly brutal even for one of their kind. Rick’s other was enjoying the killing. Serena knew she would have to destroy him if they couldn’t find a way suppress his murderous impulses.

  Serena felt for Rick, the raging instinct to kill had stricken her more than once, but she had the rest of the pack to think of also. If we could only get our hands on the text, she thought, we could find a way.

  “There’s more, seen Thorpe there too,” Rick said.

  Serena looked back to Rick, shocked at the mention of the name. “How can you be sure?”

  Rick tapped his nose. “The nose knows,” then he cackled with glee.

  Serena glanced back at Kyle. She knew what he was thinking, death to the bastard who did this to us. But, she also knew that Alex would be able to help them, even though he had hounded them for the past seven years. She looked back to Rick, “All right, Rick, you can go, but you are to stay inside the den. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, of course, thank you.” Rick knew he had just gotten a stay of execution, the mention of Thorpe’s name preoccupied Serena to such a degree that she forgot about the murder he had just committed. He quickly exited the chamber.

  “You know we’re going to have to kill him sooner or later,” Kyle said, when Rick had exited the room.

  “I know, but first things first. I want the Professor found, and I want Thorpe brought here.”

  “Why can’t we just kill him and be done with it?” Kyle said.

  “Because, he’s more valuable to us alive.”

  “You know how I feel about him, and what he’s done to us. Besides, it’s not going to be easy bringing him in with the power he’s got.”

  “That’s why I want you to take five men with you. That should even the odds. If he can’t be brought in, then you can kill him. Fair enough?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Kyle said, his face suddenly creased with a mad grin. He knew that he would be unable to bring Thorpe in alive. Without another word, he rushed off to gather his troops.

  When Marla arrived home, she was greeted at the door by a two-pawed slam to the chest that nearly sent her to the floor. Sparky, her 180-pound Tibetan Mastiff, always greeted her in that manner, accompanying the blast with a ton of slobbering licks.

  “Okay, okay,” she said, rubbing him behind his ears. “Have you been a good boy today?”

  Sparky dropped to the ground, the loud click of his claws resounding off the parquet flooring of the foyer. He circled twice, then sat and chuffed at her, wagging his tail. “Are you hungry?” Marla said, placing her hands on her knees and leaning close. “Woof,” Sparky replied.

  “Okay, come on.” Marla left the foyer, moving into the living room and through to the kitchen. She opened the pantry door, grabbed three cans of Alpo and showed them to Sparky, who had stayed on her heels the entire way. “Is this what you want?” she teased.

  “Woof,” he replied again.

  “I thought so,” she said.

  After feeding her voracious companion, Marla changed into sweats and went into her home office, which was set up in the largest of the three bedrooms. The room was lavishly furnished; a large mahogany desk was positioned in the center of the room, two stained-glassed lamps, genuine Tiffany’s, gave the room a warm and welcoming appeal. The Queen Anne sofa and chair set complemented the desk perfectly and the sheet rock had been replaced with mahogany bookshelves that encompassed the room. The only sign of contrast was a computer sitting on the green felt blotter on the desk. The room was an exact replica of her father’s study. She felt she would be more capable of using her ‘gift’, if she worked on her cases in a place where so many murders had been planned.

  Marla sat in the burgundy leather chair behind the desk and switched on the computer. As she waited for the hard drive to boot up, she pulled the Booker file from her briefcase. Linda Booker had been the third murder in the downtown area within a month. Marla believed the murders were connected, though the other two victims came from the ranks of the homeless.

  The first one, Arthur Harris, a Gulf War veteran, was found near an exhaust vent behind Valerie’s, an upscale clothing store on Wheaton Street, his head completely torn from his body. Doris Reynolds, the second victim, who was a permanent fixture in Wilson Park, was fittingly found resting in the arms of the statue of Andrew Wilson, the park’s namesake. Her spine had been snapped in two at the fifth vertebrae. All the murders were acts of extreme violence. Whoever the culprit was, he possessed tremendous strength.

  Marla looked to the computer’s monitor. She had taken so long in her reflection that the screen saver had come on. She suddenly didn’t feel much like wo
rking, so she powered down the unit and went into the living room. Sparky was lounging in the middle of the floor gnawing on his favorite toy, a Cabbage Patch Kid.

  Marla went to the kitchen and poured herself a tall glass of milk, grabbing a bag of cookies on her way back to the living room. Sparky’s ears pricked forward at the sound of the crinkling bag, knowing the treats that lay inside. He got up and blocked Marla’s path to the sofa. She started to go around, but the crafty canine stymied her every attempt to reach the couch. “All right,” she said, exasperated, producing a cookie and dropping it into his waiting mouth.

  Marla sat on the white leather sofa and clicked on the television. After flipping through the channels four times she switched it off and picked up the Dean Koontz novel she had been reading. Koontz’s fantastic accounts of superhuman psychopaths always made Marla feel that she dealt with a more mundane lot of killers. She paged through a few chapters and replaced the book on the coffee table, after dog-earing the page where she stopped.

  Tired from the long hours in the records room, Marla went back to the kitchen and rinsed out her cup, placed it in the dishwasher, then headed for the bedroom. Sparky took the cue and followed her, jumping on the bed and settling down. Marla took off her sweat bottoms, folded them neatly and placed them on the dresser, then climbed into bed.

  Half an hour later, with sleep still eluding her, she got out of bed and dressed in the darkness, not wanting to wake Sparky. Grabbing her keys off the counter, she headed for the door. She was never able to sleep when working a particularly puzzling case. Work was the only thing that mattered.

  Alex pulled the desk’s magnifying glass over the clump of hair. There was no mistake, it was the creature's. He brought the hair up to his nose and inhaled deeply, the vile smell of the creature’s odor still strong in the follicles.

  The door to the study opened and Quong entered, carrying a tray with tea and sandwiches neatly arranged upon it. “Is it them, Doctor?” he said, sitting the tray on the desk next to Alex.

  “Yes, it’s them,” Alex said, not bothering looking up. “I caught this one’s scent in the garage. He was watching me nearby.”

  “What do we do now?” Quong asked.

  “If I’m right, he’ll report immediately to Serena and tell her that I’m here. We can expect some visitors sooner or later.”

  “Then what, we just wait?”

  “No, I want to check out the crime scene again and see if the Professor’s scent is anywhere near where the victim was found.”

  Alex went over to a long metal workbench against the wall and opened the top draw. Inside was a various assortment of handguns and holsters, arranged by caliber. He took a shoulder strap out and pulled it on, its twin holsters fitting snugly under his arms. Tightening the strap to achieve a comfortable fit, he then withdrew two ten millimeter Omega auto pistols. He slid fresh clips into both weapons and holstered them.

  Alex put a light trench coat on to conceal the weapons and looked at Quong. “If you’re ready, we need to leave,” he said.

  “We, Doctor?” Quong said, in surprise.

  Marla entered the double doors marked forensics, stopping only to sign in at the desk. She then moved to the second door on the right and went inside.

  The general disarray of the office, with its stacks of papers, piles of evidence, and usual office material on the small lab tables made her wonder how any cases were solved. Then she noticed Chad Carpenter leaning over a microscope and had her answer. Chad, barely out of college, was the best forensics pathologist Marla had seen in her twelve years with the department. His finesse and determination were legendary in the forensics field. He had been instrumental in a child murder case that Marla had worked on, bringing to light crucial evidence that put the sick bastard away. Though nice looking, Marla had never seen nor heard of Chad being with a girl, spending most of his time locked in the lab.

  She tiptoed over to where Chad sat peering into the microscope, he never even looked up. Upon reaching him, she grabbed his shoulder forcefully, “What the hell are you doing!” she yelled.

  Chad nearly jumped out of his skin. Breathing hard, he said, “What…Marla! You scared the hell out of me.”

  Marla rolled with laughter. After composing himself, Chad joined her.

  “What are you up to, Chad?” she said, wiping a tear from her eye.

  “I was going over the evidence brought in from the Booker case,” he replied sarcastically. “Strange stuff.”

  Marla immediately stopped laughing. “What do you mean, strange?”

  Chad reached over and picked up a thick file and handed it to her. After reading it for a moment, Marla looked at him. “Is this right?”

  Chad looked hurt. “I had hoped, by now, you wouldn’t have to ask me something like that.”

  Berating herself, Marla said, “I’m sorry, but this seems impossible. Do you think the equipment is faulty?”

  “At first I did, then when I ran a full spectrograph, it came up with the same results.”

  “You mean to tell me that a hair sample, taken from a crime scene less than twenty-four hours ago, completely altered its genetic structure.”

  “Fascinating, isn’t it?” Chad said, in awe.

  Marla looked at the report again. “It says the sample was originally canine. What did it change to?”

  “Human,” Chad said.

  Marla’s eyes went wide. “Human, no human could have done the damage I saw.”

  “It wasn’t human.”

  “Then what was it?”

  “I took a cast of the bite marks left on the right calf, it matched perfectly with that of the crocuta.”

  “English, Chad.”

  “A Hyena. Linda Booker was killed by a very large Hyena,” Chad said.

  A chill went down Marla’s spine, she was about to ask something, but suddenly forgot the question.

  Marla looked at Chad. His look told her he was as frightened as she was.

  Thomas Harden sat behind the wheel of his car outside Thorpe’s apartment building. It looked as if the doctor was in for the night and Harden was about to leave when Thorpe’s black Mercedes pulled out onto the street. “Out a little late for a drive, aren’t you, Doctor?” he said, putting his car into gear.

  The Mercedes drove away from the building into the darkness, turning right on 38th street, following the road for two blocks, then left on Hudson, heading toward the freeway. Harden hung back, not wanting Thorpe to realize he was being tailed, but always keeping the taillights within plain sight.

  When the Mercedes hit the off-ramp to Wilson Boulevard, Harden began to wonder just where the hell Thorpe was headed. Then the car made a U-turn back onto the freeway and Harden knew the man must be taking evasive precautions. As the ramp to the downtown area approached, the Mercedes’ left turn signal told Harden the destination of the vehicle, the Chase Building.

  The car stopped a block away from the building. Harden drove past and turned on the street in front of the First Interstate Bank, which was adjacent to the Chase building. He cut the engine, switched off the lights and waited. Not long afterward, Thorpe appeared in the alley on the same side of the street that he had parked. Harden ducked down low in his seat to avoid being seen. Another person was beside Thorpe, though from his vantage point he couldn’t make out any details, other than a shiny bald head. The pair in the alley watched the Chase building a few moments, then moved quickly across the street, taking the garage entrance. “Why, Dr. Thorpe, what are you doing out so late and who’s your little friend?” Harden whispered.

  Atop the First Interstate Bank building, twelve pairs of eyes watched as Thorpe and Quong entered the garage. Kyle stood amongst five creatures, his six foot tall frame, normally an imposing figure, was dwarfed by the hulking beasts. He looked down to the car that had just parked below the building, then to three of the creatures, with a few guttural grunts he issued them their orders. The three monsters moved out quickly.

  Turning to the remaining tw
o, he ordered one to remain behind and motioned the other to follow. Kyle and the creature went to the far side of the building. As they looked over the side, they saw that the alley below was empty. Kyle stepped on the three-foot tall ledge, then leapt off the side, dropping the forty feet to the ground with no regard to injury. The creature followed his example. Hitting the pavement with only a slight groan, Kyle moved to the exit closest to the street. He peered around the corner at the parked car in front of the building, just to make sure that his orders were being followed. They were, the other three creatures had moved into position and his plan was about to be carried out.

  Kyle looked to the Chase building, then motioned for the creature to follow him. Reaching down inside himself, Kyle tapped the raw power that had been bestowed upon him. He tensed his muscles, rocking back on his heels slightly like a jungle cat getting ready to spring. Then with a burst of blinding speed, Kyle and the creature shot from the alley entrance and crossed the street, entering the garage in the blink of an eye. They stopped just inside the entrance. Kyle breathed hard with the exertion, but the high he got from using his powers soon wiped away any fatigue he felt. He tried to calm his racing pulse, the adrenaline working overtime in his veins. He drew deep, cleansing breaths. Got to stay in control, he thought. Getting a grip, Kyle moved deeper into the garage.

  Harden waited a few more moments after Thorpe and his friend disappeared into the garage, not wanting to follow too closely. Better to let them get a head start. He was about to get out and follow, when he saw the most peculiar thing, two black streaks shooting across the street, too fast for him to identify. He could hardly believe that he had actually seen them; he rubbed his eyes. “Damn I must be tired,” he said.

  Exiting the vehicle, Harden went directly for the entrance. Halfway across the street he heard a voice cry out. “Help me.” It came from behind him and was very faint. “Help me,” the voice came again.