by P. R. Mason
“Monsters?” He cocked his head to the side.
“Um,” I said, not sure of my decision to come here. But I definitely needed help. I had to trust somebody. “Last night my friends and I were in the tunnel and a vortex opened. Two monsters came out.”
“What did they look like?” His face didn't reveal any expression.
“One was big and hairy and kind of stocky. The other was dressed for riding in the English countryside and he had sharp teeth.”
“And what else?” His attitude somehow told me he knew something about the monsters. Or perhaps that was just my imagination.
Not wanting to tell him about Juliette and Franky I said, “Nothing else.”
“Strike one. You’re out.” He turned on his heel and walked back inside.
“Wait,” I said. “Aren’t you going to help us?”
“Tell whoever sent you here, I’m not playing their game.” He slammed the door in our faces.
“We’re not playing games,” Petra called out.
After scribbling on a piece of paper, I tore it out of the notebook and folded it.
“I’m leaving my name and telephone number. Please help us,” I shouted and slipped the note through the crack at the bottom of the door.
He didn’t answer and the door remained closed, so we walked back to Petra’s Buick. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw the curtains on the front window part before they fell into place again.
Back in the car, Petra twisted the key in the ignition and the engine fired.
“Well! What was that?” she asked.
“I don’t know.” I felt defeated.
“What do we do now?” She backed from the Anderson driveway.
“I have no idea. I guess we go back to school.”
Petra pulled onto the street.
After a few minutes, she sat ramrod strait.
“Uh oh,” she said. “Dad’s gonna have a fit.”
“Huh?”
“There’s a police car behind me with its lights on.”
“What did you do?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, pull over,” I yelled.
“If I get a ticket, I’ll lose the car.” Petra pouted but veered to the shoulder and came to a stop.
A uniformed officer approached on the driver’s side, boots hitting the pavement hard. Petra pushed at the button to lower her window.
“Can you just let me go with a warning?” Petra asked before he’d even said a word.
“Are you Petra Walker?”
“Yes, but—”
He bent and peered in at me. “And are you Kizzy Taylor?”
This wasn’t good. “Yes, officer.”
“You two girls need to exit the vehicle and come with me.” He opened Petra’s door.
Chapter Eight
“You aren’t in any trouble, Kizzy.” The detective sitting at the table opposite me in the interrogation room offered a reassuring smile.
My eyes slid to Mom sitting next to me. She smiled benignly too as if in agreement. Usually when adults said you weren’t in trouble that meant you totally were in trouble…big trouble.
“Although you did skip school,” he pointed out with a chuckle. “It’s not every truant who gets a police escort.”
“Is that why I’m here? Because I skipped a couple of classes?” I pulled the surly teen card. “I already told you my homeroom teacher gave me permission to leave campus to do some research for a history paper.”
“She gave you permission to leave yesterday.” The detective lost his fake smile.
“I thought the permission extended to today.” I turned and said the words to Mom. “But why are we wasting time talking about my classes. Shouldn’t you be looking for Juliette?” I made my tone as petulant as possible while still maintaining minimum politeness. The goal was for him to be so sick of talking to the irritating brat that he’d let me go. “You said she’s missing didn’t you? Shouldn’t you be asking questions about her?”
Apparently, the police had come looking for me at school to question me about Juliette. When I wasn’t there, some alarms had been raised that I too might be missing.
The detective’s lips formed a tense line. “Do you know where she is?” He gulped a swig of coffee from the mug in front of him as if he wished it were whiskey.
“No.” I answered. “Can I go now?”
The detective shook his head.
“My daughter would have told me if she knew where her sister was,” Mom said.
“Stepsister, right?” the detective asked Mom.
“Well, yes but…”
“Mrs. Taylor—”
“Mrs. Moreno. It’s Mrs. Moreno. I’m remarried.”
“Mrs. Moreno I said you could be here out of deference for what your family is going through, what with your ex-husband about to go on trial for murder and attempted murder. But you can only stay if you don’t speak or interrupt my questions to your daughter.”
Mom sat back in her seat with a huff.
“When was the last time you saw Juliette?” the detective asked, turning to me.
“Last night. She was on a date with Billy Broadrick.” I knew my face had the tendency to show my emotions. Let’s just say I had the anti-poker face. So I needed to keep my answers truthful.
“Your mother said Juliette told her she’d be studying with a friend.”
I shrugged my shoulders. “Juliette and I don’t really hang together.”
“How about Franky Abbott?"
“I do hang with Franky. He’s a friend.”
The detective ground his teeth in frustration. “I meant do you know where he is?”
“Omigod. Franky is missing too?”
“Yes.” The detective’s eyes narrowed and he leaned forward in his chair. “Billy Broadrick and Quinn O’Neil also.”
“Billy and Quinn?” My eyes widened in surprise as I processed their disappearance. The two, in freak out mode, were probably hiding somewhere. “Do you think they're all together?”
“Do you?”
“I doubt it,” I scoffed. “Franky hates Billy and Quinn. They bully him quite a bit.”
“A couple of Mr. Broadrick’s friends were picked up the night before last for trespassing at the old hospital. They said you were there too.”
“I’m not surprised,” I said.
The detective’s eyes gleamed.
“Billy’s friends would say anything to get me in trouble,” I continued.
The gleam left his eyes.
“Did they say Billy was there?” I asked.
“No, but—”
“Isn’t it more likely their friend was there with them than someone they don’t like?” I interrupted the detective.
“Are you saying you weren’t there?” the detective asked.
“Are you trying to get me to incriminate myself for trespassing?” I wondered aloud. “Maybe I need a lawyer so I can ask him.”
The detective’s hand gripped his pen so tightly I thought it might break. "You are free to have an attorney, Miss Taylor."
"I do want to help find Juliette," I said, happy that I'd diverted his questions.
“Do you know anyone who would want to hurt Juliette or any of the others?”
“Not really.”
“How about these men. Do you recognize either of them?” The detective removed sketches from his file folder. Unfortunately, I did recognize them. One sketch resembled the big hairy monster man and one the aristocratic horseman.
Mom peered over my shoulder at the sketches and quickly drew in a breath.
“They don’t look like men,” I said. “They look like something out of a monster movie. What do they have to do with Juliette and the others?”
“Have you ever seen them before?”
I half nodded and half shook my head. “If I had I would remember it, don’t you think?”
“All right. You can go.” He gathered the sketches back into the file. “If you think of anything that might
help us find Juliette or the others call me.” He handed me a card with his name and a phone number on it.
“Please,” I said with all the urgency I felt. “What do these two have to do with Juliette and Franky?”
The detective glanced from me to Mom. He seemed to consider for a moment before speaking.
“Last night two vagrants were killed by these men. We got these sketches from witness accounts. The —um —manner of the deaths indicate the perpetrators are extremely mentally disturbed individuals. Naturally, we are concerned about the missing teens and whether they could be undiscovered victims.”
“Manner of deaths?” I asked.
He was silent for a moment then said, “You’ll hear about it on the news anyway.” He stared straight into my eyes. “The victims looked like they’d been torn apart by animals.”
* * * * *
“Where do you think you’re going, Kizzy?” Mom asked as I put my hand on the knob of the front door of our house late that afternoon.
“I’m going with Rom.” Actually, I had no plans to see Rom but she wouldn’t exactly be on board with the idea that I was going to try to convince a whacko gun-toting historian to help me find Juliette and Franky.
“I thought you two had a fight.”
I shrugged. “You know how these things are. We made up.”
“I’m glad but I don’t want you to go out tonight, honey,” she said. “I can’t worry about you too.” Her eyes teared and her face crumbled into a sob.
“Rom is going to help me look for Juliette and Franky.” Lord where had I come up with that?
“Oh no.” She shook her head. “I don’t want you running into those killers.”
Walking her into the living room I sat with her on the sofa. It cut me up that she was so upset.
“Don’t worry, Mom.” I put my arm around her shoulders and she leaned into me. “The police don’t think those weird guys have anything to do with Juliette.”
She pulled away and blinked at me.
“If they did they’d have everybody in the city doing some kind of grid search,” I explained.
Mom nodded. “The detective said their primary theory is that Juliette ran off somewhere with Billy and since they're both over sixteen..."
“See,” I said with false cheer. “They're thinking she’ll come home any minute.”
"I don’t think the cops are getting serious enough.” Mom's eyes welled and she sniffed. “I’ve called everyone I can think of. I even drove around earlier but I don’t really know where she hangs out.”
“Rom’s got a car. We’ll hit the hangouts.” I placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
Mom shook her head. “No. Those killers are still out there.”
“We’re going to be in a car,” I said. “Besides, have you seen Rom? He’ll protect me.”
A knock on the door startled us.
“Maybe that’s her.” Mom jumped up and ran to the door.
She swung it open and Rom stood on the front porch.
“Oh come in, dear. Kizzy’s in the living room.”
Rom stepped over the threshold with a smirky smile and walked toward me.
I leaped to my feet and hurried to his side, not wanting him to say anything that would reveal my lies.
“I’m ready to go.” I linked my arm through his and turned him around before proceeding back to the door.
“Was a date already planned?” he asked in a whisper. “This plan seems to have eluded my notice." He arched an eyebrow and smirked again.
“Kizzy, no,” Mom said. “I meant it. You can’t go out. I’d be too worried.”
“There is no need." Rom turned a brilliant smile on Mom. "I will attend her presence every moment.” Charm oozed from his every pore. “I vow she will come to no harm while I have breath.”
“We’ll just be driving around in his car, Mom. If we see anybody weird, we’ll drive away and call the police.”
Mom sized Rom up for a few seconds. “All right." She sighed. "I’m trusting you with my baby. Don’t let me down.”
An indecipherable expression crossed Rom’s face before he nodded.
Mom turned to me. “But ten p.m. curfew. Not a minute later."
“K,” I said with a smile and kissed her cheek. I scooted us out of there before she could change her mind.
Rom walked me to the passenger door of his car and held it open.
“You don’t have to drive me,” I said, hesitating. “That was just an excuse to tell my mom so she’d let me out of the house.”
“I came to you because your presence is my desire.” He swept a hand toward the open car.
I tried to hide my pleased smile as I got in. But before he could close the door, Petra’s Buick came screeching to a halt beside us. The window lowered.
“Hey, where you two going?” Chase asked through the passenger window.
“And can we come along?” Senji requested from the backseat.
“Yeah.” Petra leaned over Chase to yell out the passenger window. “We wanna come.”
The bad news was the three of them would be a buffer between Rom and me. The good news was the three of them would be a buffer between Rom and me.
“Whether there is room is uncertain,” Rom commented.
“Sure. Get in.” I nodded. “You three can cram into the back right?”
“As long as I don’t have to sit on Senji’s lap,” Chase jumped out of the Buick.
“Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ll sit on your lap,” Petra said.
Judging by the scowl on his face, Rom wasn’t exactly thrilled about the company. He wasn’t any happier about going to Harold Anderson’s house, but he did it anyway.
The historian’s old farmhouse didn’t appear any more inviting at dusk. The five of us mounted the stairs and the dogs I’d heard earlier barked again. This time when I knocked, Anderson opened the door almost immediately. I would have considered this progress except he stood there holding a revolver.
“Kizzy Taylor,” the historian greeted me. “Born October 26, 1995. You have a 3.2 GPA. Mother is Sarah Taylor now Moreno.”
I’d left this guy my name and telephone number. Apparently, he’d been doing a little homework.
“You had a brother named Adam. Your father is Stephen Taylor now in jail awaiting trial for—“
I held up a hand to ward off his words. “That’s enough,” I said.
He turned his gaze on Senji.
“And you, Senji Matsuki, were born on October 11,1995. Your dog’s name is Pokemon and you have a 3.9 GPA.—”
“Woohoo! 3.9? Way to go, bro.” Chase gave him a high five.
“My father doesn’t think it’s so hot,” Senji muttered
“What?” Petra said. “It’s practically perfect.”
“Hello? Japanese,” Senji drawled. “He wants perfect not practically.”
“Are we gonna keep talking about this guy’s GPA?” Anderson asked. “Don’t we have better things to talk about?”
“You’re the one who started it,” I retorted “What’s the point?”
“The point is I know about you,” he said to me. "And I know about you, and you, and you,” he said pointedly to Senji, then Petra, then Chase. “You don’t want to mess with me.”
“What did you find out about me?” Petra clapped her hands while giving an eager hop. “Am I adopted? That would explain why I’m treated like Cinderella BP at home.”
“BP?” Anderson's brows converged in confusion.
“Before Prince.”
“You’re not adopted,” Anderson replied.
“This man can provide us no assistance,” Rom said with disgust. “This exercise has the ridiculous about it.”
Anderson walked onto the porch and stood directly in front of Rom. “I don’t know about you, though.” He examined Rom from head to foot. “Why don’t I know about you?”
“Listen. We’re here because we need help with some monsters. Not to indulge in some kind of paranoia fest. Can you
help us or not?”
He considered me for a few moments before nodding. “I suppose I can handle a few teenagers. All right.” He turned, shrugged and headed into the house. “Come in.”
I expected to see dusty books and papers and certainly the halls and rooms confirmed my expectations. Through the arched entry into the parlor, I saw the sofas and chairs were covered with books as well. A variety of antiquarian weapons were mounted on the walls. Just on my quick scan I noted a battle-axe, metal spiked mace, longbow, musket and lance. But what surprised me most was the array of sophisticated computer equipment lining one entire wall of what would have been the dining room in a normal house.
No dogs attacked us which was explained when Anderson switched off a CD player and the barking stopped.
“Mr. Anderson, what—” I began.
“Call me Zen.” He led us into the parlor and pushing books from the sofa. “It’s a nickname from my days in special forces,” he said. “It was supposed to be ironic.”
Ah that explained a lot.
“I take it you kids were in the tunnel when a vortex opened?” Zen asked
“Rom, Senji and I.” I replied.
“And two monsters came out?”
“Yes.”
“And what else?” Zen asked me.
“I’m not sure what you want me to say?”
“Say nothing,” Rom said. “Let us leave this place.”
“No,” I insisted. “We need him.”
“He can tell us nothing.” Rom's face was set in angry lines.
“I can tell you what you won’t say.” Zen stared into my eyes. “Those two monsters came out after two of your friends went in.”
"How did you know—" Senji started before I elbowed him in the gut.
Zen smirked and added, “I also know how you can find those lost friends.”
Chapter Nine
“It’s called a psychomanteum,” Zen said as he led us up the stairs of his home.
We entered a room illuminated only by the light from the hall. What was probably meant to be a bedroom contained no furniture except for a giant wooden easel at its center and a table along one wall. Three candles topped the table. Mounted on the easel was a frame covered by a drape. The room’s walls had been painted black and the two windows obliterated by heavy, dark shades.