by Ryan Hill
“Go to the balcony.” He tossed Julie the car keys. She dropped them. “Jump off and get the car started.”
She bent down to pick up the keys. “Are you crazy? I’ll break my legs.”
He smirked. “Honey, where’s the trust?”
Julie backed toward the patio. Her mouth hung open a crack, and she gave Franklin a look that said, If you’re wrong, you’re dead. She turned, opened the sliding door, and stepped onto the patio. Julie glanced back at Franklin with a knowing smile and then jumped off. A couple seconds later, he heard the splash of her safely landing in the pool below.
Portman stepped into the foyer, smashing a hole in the wall with the ram for the fun of it. Jackson followed behind, his service weapon aimed at Franklin’s head.
“I wouldn’t do anything stupid, like pulling that trigger.” He dangled the vial between two fingers. “I drop this, we all die. Badly. Painfully. It won’t be pretty.”
“What a load of bull.” Portman dropped the ram on the floor and took out his Taser. “Set it down nice and easy, or I’ll pump you with so much juice your hair will turn gray.”
Franklin wanted to slap his own forehead. Morons! “Dummy, I’ll still drop the vial. Then your face, my face, and the face of your special friend over there will all melt off.”
Portman and Jackson exchanged glances. Franklin hoped they were buying his threat.
“That’s idiotic,” Portman said.
You’re idiotic, Franklin wanted to reply.
“We’re here, might as well get something out of it.” Jackson aimed the gun down, away from Franklin’s face. “I could plug him in the leg. He wouldn’t drop it if I did that.”
“You sure?” Franklin took a few long strides back toward the patio. “You shoot me anywhere, I may drop this anyway, for shits and giggles. Maybe even just throw it at you. See how you like the feeling of your face melting off.”
“Only one way to find out.” Jackson’s eyes narrowed as he took aim. The idiot was going to shoot.
Franklin threw the vial at the cops. It smashed on the linoleum by their feet. The tube released a small, red, cloud that made the cops cover their faces with their arms. Franklin used the distraction to run onto the patio and leap off the rail, falling through the air, and landing in the pool. He swam to the edge, laughing. If only he could’ve seen the look on their faces when they realized that stuff was nothing more than cherry drink mix.
Water dripped off Franklin as he climbed out of the pool and ran to the parking lot. The Mustang’s engine rumbled as it moved across the parking lot, coming to a stop next to him. The passenger window rolled down.
“Need a ride?” Julie asked, looking very comfortable with one hand on the wheel.
“You have no idea.” Franklin got in the car. “Two hands, please.”
“Spoil sport.”
They sped out of the parking lot, the Mustang’s tires screeching and leaving two cloudy lines of rubber in its wake. Percy’s van passed them, heading in the opposite direction.
“Next time, you might want to have some towels in here,” Julie said. “We’re dripping everywhere.”
“Whatever. If it molds, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to replace the upholstery.” Franklin ran a hand down his face, wiping it on his pants.
“Sounds like there’s a story that goes with that.”
“Probably, but you’ll never know. Just drive as fast as you can.”
The engine purred as Julie pushed down on the gas pedal. After looking behind them every minute or so, Franklin felt comfortable that they’d lost the cops and Percy. Franklin relaxed, wishing the rush of Jackson and Portman storming in hadn’t killed the whiskey buzz, especially since his pants were soaking wet. It felt like he had a soggy bottom.
“We good?” Julie asked.
“Yeah.” Franklin closed his eyes, fatigue setting in as the adrenaline wore off. “You look good behind the wheel, by the way. It’s not often a woman gets to handle El Cid.”
“Thanks, but I feel sort of like I’m committing adultery. My Camaro won’t like this one bit when she finds out.”
“She’ll live.”
And thankfully, Franklin thought, so will Julie.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Wake Up
Bailey’s body felt like it’d been beaten with an aluminum bat, particularly his stomach and legs below the knees. He opened his eyes, and was greeted with the early morning sun glaring through a window on his face. The brightness forced Bailey to look away. It couldn’t have been much later than dawn, which was entirely too early to wake up. He rolled over and fell on the floor. Wait. Where was he? His brain still half-asleep, it took a little longer than usual to figure out he was in the upstairs playroom of Tim and Alexis’s. But how did I get here? After running into a car, everything became a swirling mishmash of confusion.
Whatever. I’m here. I’m probably safe.
Bailey crawled back onto the couch, taking care to lie down in the opposite direction to keep the sun out of his face. Sleep overcame him the second his eyes closed.
He smelled something good when he woke up for real. Bacon. His body ached as he sat up, but not like before. He lifted his shirt to survey the damage. There was a deep purple bruise the shape of a rectangle on his stomach. He touched the area, and immediately regretted it. A bolt of pain shot through the bruise. His shins were also bruised badly.
The soreness dimmed down, and Bailey got off the couch to stretch his legs. Time to figure out how he got there, beyond Alexis, Tim, or some unknown third party bringing him. Bailey’s shins felt like cracking under the support of his body as he took a step. Going down the stairs was especially tricky. He had to hang onto the rail to keep from tumbling down the stairs.
“Hey, Peeping Tom. What do you think you’re doing?”
Bailey almost gasped. Marshall sat at the kitchen table, a pile of pancakes on a plate in front of him. He was slathering them in syrup.
Bailey sat down next to his friend. “Dude, I just woke up. My brain can’t handle sarcasm this early.”
“I know. Why else would I do it?” Marshall stuffed a forkful of pancakes into his mouth.
Alexis and Tim walked into the kitchen. Each of them got plates, piling on the pancakes and bacon, and then sat at the table.
Why was everyone here?
“Is this some kind of party nobody told me about?” Bailey asked.
“Alexis called us to help get you out of trouble.” Marshall chomped down on a slice of bacon.
“I tried to use the Leviosa spell on you. Sadly, I am but a mere Muggle.” Alexis went on to explain that after Bailey’s dad dragged him out of the car, she’d stuck around to make sure everything was okay.
“So you were the one following me.” Bailey felt stupid, knowing she was the one he’d run away from. He went to the kitchen counter to get some breakfast and hide the embarrassed look on his face.
“Bingo,” Alexis said. “And then, you ran face-first into Mr. Walton’s car. It was kind of hilarious.”
Great. Nothing like crashing into a parked car to look manly in front of a girl. Bailey sat down at the table. “Thanks.”
“But, since you’re so fat, she called us for help.” Marshall picked up an entire pancake with his fork, and then stuffed half of it into his mouth. “T’en we dra’ed your whale ass uh duh stare.”
“It would’ve been great if some of that food flew out of your mouth when you spoke,” Alexis said. “And he’s not fat.”
Marshall swallowed his food. “I know. It just sounds better that way.”
Tim drank some orange juice and then burped. “You just like stuffing things in your mouth, no matter what it is.”
Alexis sighed. “There is a lady present, you know?”
Tim looked around the kitchen. “Where? Mom isn’t in here.”
Bailey was still a little confused. “So Marshall, you slept over here?”
“In Tim’s room. On his floor. By myself.” He gave Tim
a satisfied beat you to the punch look.
The doorbell rang, giving everyone pause, especially Bailey. He froze, mid-bite, waiting to see who was there. Marshall was the only one who didn’t seem worried, as the last half of the pancake disappeared into his mouth.
Alexis’s dad walked into the kitchen. “You kids have done it now. The cops are here.”
Tim dropped his plate, which shattered on the deck. “Damn it. I mean, dang it. Sorry, Dad.”
Chuck snapped his fingers. “I swear, if we had a swear jar, your mother and I would end up making money off you two.”
“Damn shame, isn’t it?” Alexis grinned.
Jokes or not, Bailey was still scared. “What do the police want?”
“Funny you should ask, Mr. Southwick.” Chuck pointed at him. “It’s you they want. Something about stealing toilet paper from port-a-potties?”
Mr. Lovell walked out of the condo development’s rear exit, a beach towel tucked under one of his arms. The tickling in his stomach was almost enough to make him laugh. He walked past the swimming pool and onto the beach. With it being so early in the morning, the tide was still out. The waves were small, but the sound of them crashing calmed Trenton.
The ocean has always felt like home. Mother died giving birth to me, and Father was forced to take us with him on all of his fishing trips. I love the sea.
“I’ve heard,” Mr. Lovell said, rubbing his stomach.
Percy followed behind, carrying a duffle bag full of the necessary items for Phase Two. Mr. Lovell stopped thirty feet from the water. It felt like the perfect spot. He unrolled the beach towel to discover the main design was a unicorn, complete with lines shooting out the end of the horn.
Oh, Percy. Unicorns? Ludicrous.
Mr. Lovell glared at his minion. “Percy?”
“Yeah?” He’d set the duffle bag down and was rifling through the contents. “What’s up?”
“The towel?”
Percy looked at the towel, shaking his head defensively. “What about it? You said to get a towel. You didn’t specify what kind, so I figured any old thing would do and grabbed the first one I came across.”
Mr. Lovell decided to let it go and moved closer to the ocean. The salt air helped calm himself and Trenton, while Percy placed candles at each corner of the towel and lit them.
We’ve never been so close, my compatriot.
With one last, deep breath, Mr. Lovell took off his gloves as he walked over to the duffle bag. He set them in the bag, and took out a small jar of brown powder, or as Trenton called it, smelling salts for his army.
“Get back,” Mr. Lovell warned Percy. “This will take a few minutes. Call your son, if you want.”
“Thanks.” Percy was excited at the mention of his kid. He popped a cigarette in his mouth and backed away toward the condo development.
Mr. Lovell opened the jar but stopped to watch a couple of joggers pass by. They gave the prayer display a funny look. Mr. Lovell didn’t care. He knew the pair would forget the scene soon after they were gone.
The powder felt fine and coarse between Mr. Lovell’s fingers. He took bits out and scattered them in the beach wind, the brown powder disappearing almost as soon as it left his fingers. The process repeated ten more times, and then he spread the rest around the towel. The jar empty, he got the Conch Shell of Doom out of the bag, held it above his head, and then dropped to his knees on the towel. Trenton began chanting in Aquala, the language of the ocean.
Hear me, my army. Awaken from your slumber. You’ve slept for far too long. The time has come to make the world tremble at the ocean’s true power.
Mr. Lovell joined in the chant, shouting “Hear your master, awaken!” over and over in Aquala.
The ocean rocked back and forth. Waves crashed more violently, and could be seen forming farther from shore. Pelicans shrieked as they flew away from the beach. A gray patch formed on the horizon. Storm clouds.
The ritual had almost reached its climax. Mr. Lovell chanted at the top of his lungs, eyes locked on the Conch Shell of Doom. A single bolt of lightning came down from the heavens, striking the Shell. The current passed through Mr. Lovell’s body and into Trenton. The metal in Mr. Lovell’s sunglasses attracted some of the energy, and the burst made them fly off his face. The extreme voltage made Mr. Lovell shake uncontrollably, but Trenton loved it. He laughed, the charge only making him more powerful. The bolt disappeared. Mr. Lovell fell down, exhausted and in pain.
Rest well, my friend. Your mangled body was the only one capable of handling that. I couldn’t be more proud.
Percy rushed over. The first thing he did was put the sunglasses back on his boss’s face. Lying on the towel, Mr. Lovell’s breathing was hoarse. His body felt like each cell had been pierced with a million needles.
Percy patted his back. “You good?”
“I’m fine. Don’t touch me.” Mr. Lovell got to his feet and brushed some of the sand off. Percy moved out of the way, hands up in a you-got-it fashion. Mr. Lovell put his gloves back on, and then looked at the small, gray spot on the horizon. He smiled. “Excellent. Do you see it?”
Percy used his hand as a visor and gazed out to the spot his boss pointed to. “Looks like a tiny storm cloud.”
Mr. Lovell clapped his hands. “That’s exactly what it is. And from this point on, it will only get larger. Soon, it will cover the entire sky. May I use your phone?”
“Have at it.” Eyes still on the horizon, Percy handed over the phone.
Mr. Lovell dialed the mayor, who answered after the second ring. “This is Mayor Benchley.”
“Mr. Mayor. Time to order the evacuation.”
“Y—yes sir.”
Mr. Lovell ended the call, and then tossed the phone to Percy. Trenton’s head rolled around in Mr. Lovell’s stomach, the only sort of dancing he could do. There was no stopping it now. The Awakening had begun.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
A Storm is Brewing
Franklin spent most of the night struggling to get comfortable on Julie’s couch. It was old, the cushions worn thin in certain spots, and springs squeaked whenever he moved, but it beat sleeping in his car. Sort of. El Cid didn’t have a dusty, stale pizza and dried beer musk to it.
After Jackson and Portman busted in on his apartment, Julie insisted he spend the night at her place instead of his car. She never got over the sex and violence thing either, refusing to give up trying to talk him into sleeping with her in the bed, “Where it would be more comfortable,” she said, but he insisted on taking the couch. Sex was the last thing on his mind. Well, one of the last. More like middle of the pack. Much lower than it normally was.
No, Franklin’s thoughts were focused on taking another go at the Conch Shell of Doom, but between saving a girl’s life and getting the piss beat out of him by the cops, he was too tired to lift even a saltine cracker. A few hours had passed since the police station, yet his body still ached, especially the ribs. Usually, he’d be fully healed by now. That whipping must’ve been a lot worse than he thought. Next time, he wouldn’t roll over so easily.
Franklin twisted and turned, trying to get comfortable without anything sticking up from the cushions or squeaking. It took several minutes, but he got comfortable, and soon after fell into a deep sleep. He awoke to the sound of a faucet running. He sat up and peeked around the corner of the den into the kitchen. Julie wore a button-down shirt that stopped just past her rear, probably one a guy left behind after a one-night stand. Purple underwear peeked out from beyond the shirt’s bottom. Her legs were long, molded and toned by hours of working on her feet. Franklin wanted to eat them up. Women rarely captured his interest since his wife died, mostly by choice. It wasn’t worth the risk. He’d pretty much kept to prostitutes since Molly was murdered. But there was something about Julie.
Franklin coughed, subtly letting Julie know he was awake without scaring her. She turned the faucet off and then walked into the den with no regard for her appearance. He liked that kind of co
nfidence in a woman.
Julie eyeballed his bare leg sticking out from under the blanket. “Don’t get dressed for my sake, please. I don’t mind.”
“Right back at you.” Franklin threw off the blanket, and noticed Julie’s eyes go wide for a moment. He grabbed his pants and slid them on.
“Ouch. Get stuck under a lawnmower?” Julie pointed at the large scar on his leg.
“Broken bottle.” Franklin vividly remembered the run-in with Deckland O’Halleran. Vancouver, 1853. Franklin had been waiting to take a boat up to Alaska when he’d crossed paths with O’Halleran, one of Mr. Lovell’s hired thugs. O’Halleran lost an ear in the fight, Vincent Van Gogh style. Franklin was stabbed in the leg with said broken bottle and then screamed as his adversary pulled it down several inches, creating a massive gash. He even felt the glass rub against bone. It was the closest he’d ever come to finding out whether or not an immortal could bleed out. The cut was so deep it never fully healed. “This brute tried to jump me, but that was a long time ago.”
Julie took that in with a hm. “So, what magical feats of strength do you have planned for today?”
Franklin flexed. “Nothing magical about my strength. I’m all natural.”
“Really.” Julie eyed him incredulously.
“Sadly, no.” Franklin zipped up, making an effort not to look at Julie’s exposed skin. “I’m going to see if Mr. Lovell and Percy are still in that condo. They’ve probably closed up shop, but I might get lucky. Want to check it out?”
“Can’t. I have stuff to do at the Gator. I’m free later, though.”
“Well, be careful. Keep that boom stick of yours close by.”
“Aye aye.” She saluted.
Bailey saw two cops with the nametags Portman and Jackson standing on the front porch of Alexis and Tim’s home, each resting a hand on their holsters. A pair of policemen looking for him was intimidating enough, but why were their hands like that? Did they think he was some kind of fugitive? It made Bailey’s arm twitch with anxiety. These guys had badges, nightsticks, Tasers, and, of course, guns. Bailey figured they were here to bury him alive at sea or pluck out his eyeballs with toothpicks. He turned to run out the back door but ran into Chuck.