Night Chill

by Jeff Gunhus

  Huckley leaned in toward the girl until his face was inches from hers. He sniffed, taking in saltiness of her sweat, the sweetness of her blood. She smelled of fear. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to see the images in her mind, savoring the horrific scenarios she conjured for her death. He lingered in her mind, relishing the acts of rape and creative violations of her body the girl imagined. Huckley laughed. She wasn’t even close.

  Huckley slammed the trunk shut and contented himself by listening to the girl struggle inside. This wasn’t his favorite part of the process but he certainly didn’t mind it. He wondered if he would ever get tired of it like some of the others had. God, he hoped not. Even if the Boss figured out the Source, Huckley knew he’d never give it up. For him, death was the only thing that really mattered.

  SEVEN

  Max slid his beer down the side rail to get a better shot at the eight ball sitting next to the corner pocket on the opposite side of the table. “Get out your money, hot shot,” he said through the cigarette clenched in his mouth. In a smooth motion he tapped the cue ball just enough to send it on a slow roll. The shot would have been off on most tables, but Max was on his home turf and the ball made a slow arc to the right as it rolled, ending in a gentle kiss on the eight ball and dropping it in for the win.

  “I knew we should have played the left table,” Jack laughed, throwing a wadded up five-dollar bill on the table.

  “Who are you kidding? You’ve had one beer to my four and you still couldn’t beat me. You’re a disgrace.”

  They walked over to a booth and sat. Max lit a new cigarette. “So what’s bothering you, sport? You’re not quite right with yourself tonight.”

  Jack leaned back and rubbed the back of his neck. He hadn’t mentioned Albert James. Max didn’t need anything else on his mind right now. But Jack couldn’t shake the churning that’d been in the cold pit of his stomach since his run in. He heard Albert James in his head still. They’re gonna get lil’ Sarah, I know it. I jus’ know it. The warning about Sarah spooked him, but it was even more of a reason not to mention it to Max. It hit a little too close to home. So he made up an excuse. “Yeah, I know. I’m driving myself crazy with this writing thing.”

  “I thought that was what you wanted to do. I mean, all that Father-of-the-Year bullshit comes first, but I thought writing was your thing.”

  Jack smiled. He wasn’t fooled by Max’s bravado. His friend was crazy about his own kids and would do anything for them. That was the problem. The reason Piper’s had become his second home.

  “Let’s just say it’s harder than I thought it’d be.”

  “When do I get to read something? Is it any good?”

  “I’m not quitting my day job, that’s for sure. I’m still doing some consulting.”

  “Yeah,” he blew out a stream of smoke, “like you need the money.”

  Jack smiled. Max was always giving him a tough time about money even though Max was one of the wealthiest men in the area. Jack lowered his voice and leaned across the table. “Hey, have you heard anything new?”

  Max looked down at his pint of beer rather than make eye contact. He slid his glass side-to-side in the small puddle of condensation that had collected on the table. “Yeah, we heard back from the specialist.”

  Jack didn’t need to wait for his friend to compose himself. Max’s body language told him the story. The specialist had been the end of the road, the last Court of Appeals. Jack reached out and grabbed his friend’s forearm. “I’m sorry Max.” He left his hand there for a few moments before pulling it back. “Is there a next step? Something else they can do?”

  Max shook his head. “Nothing except wait for a donor. But they said…well, there’s this list.” He took a long pull from his beer and cleared his throat. “They said it didn’t look good. Not to get our hopes up, you know.”

  They sat in silence. The background noise of Piper’s, a country western song on the juke box, the jingle of the old fashioned cash register behind the bar, the grunting laughter of men from the corner, all seemed disconnected, somehow gaudy instead of the comfortable familiarity the same noises had only minutes earlier.

  “You know if there is anything I can do for you. Anything.”

  “Got a spare heart sitting around? Size extra small?” Max smiled but kept looking down at the table. When he did look up, his eyes were red and swollen. “My little girl’s going to die Jack. I’d do anything…. Anything.”

  “You’ve done everything you could, Max. The best doctors. The best medical care,” Jack said.

  Max downed the last of his beer. “Yeah. But, it’s just not enough, is it? No matter what I do she’s still going to die.” He leaned forward and whispered, “You know, sometimes I think I could go out and get them what they needed. I swear to God, if I thought they’d use it, I could go out and get them a heart. Just the right size too.”

  “Easy Max,” Jack whispered. “Easy.”

  “I’d go to jail but Jesse would be alive, you know? I swear, if I thought they’d use it.”

  The lights in Piper’s flickered and then came back on. Thunder exploded outside so loud that it felt like it was in the room. Grown men straightened in their chairs. It was a few seconds before the tension was broken by nervous laughter around the bar as the fight-or-flight impulse buried in each man’s psyche gave way to rational thought. Everyone went back to their drinking.

  “Blowing hard.” Max said, looking a little guilty for his outburst and sounding eager to change the subject. “We better head back to the house.” Max looked out of the window. Without warning, he shouted, “JESUS CHRIST. Someone call a doctor!”

  Max pushed himself out of the booth, his beer mug crashing to the floor. Jack twisted his head to look out the window. His stomach turned. Right in front of him, not more than ten yards away in the parking lot, was Albert James. Or what was left of him.

  Jack turned away from the window. “Call a doctor!”

  “I’m doing it,” Jim Butcher yelled back. “What’s going on out there?”

  People were scrambling to the windows by now. Others were heading out the door to follow Max outside. Jack ran to the door with them and raced to where Max was huddled on the ground.

  Albert James was more in need of a hearse than an ambulance. That much seemed certain. A six inch crater was dug out of the man’s head right above his eyebrows, charred black by the heat of the lightning. The hole marked the entry point for the million volts of electricity that reached out from the black clouds to run the length of the Albert’s body. As it passed through the soft flesh, it blew ragged holes through the skin, holes that now leaked thick, viscous blood on the black asphalt. The blood poured out fast enough that even the driving rain couldn’t wash it away fast enough.

  “Jesus, I think he’s still alive,” someone said.

  “Shee-it. That boy’s dead as they get.”

  Jack got down on his knees next to Max. This close he could smell the burned flesh and see into the head wound. It was deep, probably three or four inches. The intense heat of the lightning had cauterized the wound. Jack realized he was looking at a perfect cross-section of Albert’s brain. It was too much for him. He was going to be sick. He turned to vomit but something grabbed at his leg. He looked down and saw the hand on his knee. It was a bloody pulp, each finger tip blown out where the lightning had left the body. Still, it flexed into a fist, digging into his muscle. The men around the body around saw the movement and staggered backward.

  “Oh shit, Goddamn som-bitch is still alive.”

  “Shut up. He’s tryin’ to say somethin’.”

  Jack shook his head. It was impossible. He was looking right at the man’s exposed brain. There was no way he could be alive. The hand could be nerves, like a frog leg twitching after it’d been cut off. But alive? Couldn’t be. Still, sounds were coming out of Albert’s throat. More than that. His lips were moving as if trying to form words. Reluctantly, Jack leaned in and put his ear next to the dying ma
n’s mouth. The stench of the burnt skin was almost unbearable. Next to him, Max whispered, “What is it Albert? What are you trying to say?”

  Jack was soaked to his skin. The storm raged around him. But for a few seconds all that disappeared. The world faded away and it was him and the man dying on the asphalt underneath him. The words came out slow but clear. They were exactly what Jack feared they’d be. You caint stop the devil, Jack. You jus’ gotta run from ‘im. Gotta run. Gotta… Albert James’s hand went limp. A slow exhalation of breath and then he was gone. Jack looked up at Max.

  “Did you hear that?” Jack asked

  Max shook his head. “I didn’t hear anything.”

  Jack stood to the side as they dragged Albert James out of the rain and waited for the ambulance to come take him away. Everyone wanted to know what Albert had whispered in Jack’s ear, but for some reason he didn’t feel like telling anyone. Somehow, he felt that he wasn’t supposed to, that the message had been meant for him alone. He stood in the rain and wiped blood off his clothes, repeating the warning over and over in his mind. Finally, Max convinced him to go inside and have a quick drink before they went home. It was already eight o’clock. For the second time that day, he was late.

  EIGHT

  Max took clean, dry clothes out to the garage for Jack to change into so the girls didn’t have to see blood on their dad. Putting on a pair of Max’s pants gave Jack another chance to make a smartass comment about Max’s gut which gave them both a much needed light moment. Inside the house, the kids gave Jack hello hugs, not even noticing he was wearing different clothes. They said their goodbyes to the Dahls, ran out to the car, and buckled themselves in.

  Jack was thankful the girls had played hard and tanked up on pizza. It made them too sleepy to notice the crazy weather they were driving through. Of course, Max and Kristi had insisted that he stay and wait for the weather to calm down, especially after what they’d seen at Piper’s. But Jack not only wanted to get home but also didn’t want to intrude. Little Jesse Dahl was worn out from the visit and had developed a bad nose bleed, a regular side-effect from the blood thinning medication she took. Jack couldn’t help staring at the little girl. Outwardly she looked healthy. Knowing that her heart was a ball of diseased tissue was almost too much too bear. He didn’t know how any parent could manage it and still remain sane. Not for the first time he reminded himself that such a thing could happen to one of his little girls. Death kept his own schedule and didn’t discriminate. Just like Albert James. A bolt of lightning and it was over. A visit to the pediatrician and turns out your daughter has degenerative heart failure. He tried to force the thought from his mind but it lingered like a bad headache.

  Despite Max and Kristi’s pleas, Jack decided to head home. One look at his tired kids was all it took. But now he wondered how smart his decision had been.

  Trees lining the highway snapped back and forth in the wind; leaves and twigs flew through the air and bounced off the Jeep’s windshield. The wipers were on the highest speed but they still had trouble keeping up with the driving rain. The right lane of the highway was a murky pool of water. Jack switched lanes after a few tense seconds of hydroplaning, but even there the water couldn’t run off fast enough to keep from pooling. Every couple of minutes he’d hit a deep patch and the Jeep would lose traction with the asphalt. He drove at half the speed limit but still gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles and sweaty palms.

  “Thank God,” he mumbled on seeing the sign. He slowed down even further and moved over to the right hand lane. The flooding was worse here and he felt the water pound the undercarriage of the SUV. He leaned forward over the steering wheel and squinted to try and make out shapes in the night. “Come on. Come on.” A crash of thunder tore through the sky, sounding like someone tearing into the roof off the car with a fire ax. Jack glanced in the rearview mirror expecting to see some shocked faces. He couldn’t believe it. The girls were sound asleep. “Ah, here we go.” Jack took the off ramp and drove into the rest area to wait out the storm.

  NINE

  Nate Huckley watched with only casual interest as a pair of headlights appeared at the far end of the parking lot. As he predicted, the car turned and parked in the spot nearest the rest rooms, in an area that was better lit than where he parked. With the weather he doubted that the people in the Jeep could even see him.

  He leaned his head back and was about to shut his eyes to nap when it hit him.

  Like always, it started in his gut, like nausea. Then it burned and spread out from his stomach, hot pain racing up his body. Into his chest and throat, the pain was a claw scratching its way up his windpipe. A gurgling sound escaped from his mouth as his larynx convulsed.

  Then it was in his head, a hailstorm of nails driven into his skull. A roar hammered against his eardrums. His hands squeezed the sides of his head to block it out, but it wouldn’t go away. The roar became a voice. The voice telling him what to do. How do to it. His eyes bulged outward from the agony inflicted on every part of his body.

  But something was wrong. It never lasted this long. The pain was too intense. He clawed at his ears, willing to tear them from his head if it would just stop the voice. He screamed from the pain.

  His body twitched in his seat. Huckley knew he would go insane if it didn’t stop.

  Then it was gone.

  No pain. No roar. No voice. Just the incessant beat of rain punctuated by the random bass of the thunder. Nothing of the visitation remained.

  Nothing except a new interest in the contents of the vehicle across the lot. And a word. Two syllables that repeated over and over in his brain. He drew in a deep breath to bring the word to life. Exhaling slowly, he hissed the first syllable through clenched teeth, enjoying the way he could undulate the sound. Then, with a burst of air, he let the word out.

  Ssaaa - rah.

  Huckley knew what he had to do.

  TEN

  “All circuits are busy. Please—”

  Jack snapped his cell phone shut and tossed it on the dash. He knew Lauren would be nervous when they didn’t get home on time but phone coverage was horrible in their area on a good day. Tonight he’d have a better chance sending her a homing pigeon than getting through on the cell. Still, he felt awful about making her worry. He should have thought to call her before leaving the Dahls.

  Straight ahead of him, next to the restrooms and a boarded up concession stand, was a pay phone. He twisted around to look at the girls. Sound asleep. He looked out each of the windows, even stretching over to the passenger side to get a better angle. There wasn’t another car in the lot. He figured there wouldn’t be any harm in leaving the girls in the car for a couple of minutes, especially since they’d be in full view the entire time.

  He popped open the door and raised his jacket over his head to block out as much of the rain as possible. Hoping not to wake the girls, he didn’t shut his door all the way, but let it rest against the latch so it was closed just enough to keep out the rain. He took off on a sprint to the pay phone, splashing through puddles that came up over his ankles.

  The pay phones were under a short overhang but the wind was so strong that it provided little protection. Jack fished around in his pocket for change but came up with only pennies. He dialed ‘0’ for the operator and waited as the phone went through a series of clicks. A computerized voice said, “A,T and T,” and then a tone and more silence.

  “Jesus Christ. Come on!” Jack started to glance over his shoulder at the Jeep, but the operator finally came on and Jack turned back toward the phone. He was halfway through giving his credit card number when he heard the blast of car horn behind him. It was followed by the same sound again. And again. Even in the rain it was loud and urgent. The Jeep’s panic alarm.

  Jack was always hitting the panic button on the remote by accident. He dug for the keys in his pocket. God, the girls were probably scared to death. He found the keys and pressed the button as he turned around to point the device at the c
ar.

  There was a man.

  Standing next to his car.

  The driver’s door was open.

  Jack dropped the phone and ran back to the car. “HEY! HEY YOU!”

  The man didn’t acknowledge Jack but just stood and kept staring into the open door. Even over the noise of the rain Jack could hear the girls screaming as he got closer to the car.

  How long was I turned away from the car? One minute? Two? He couldn’t have hurt them in that time. Could he?

  “Get back from the car. RIGHT NOW!”

  The man finally turned. He raised his hands in the air and stepped back. Jack slowed down a few paces from him. He wanted to check on the girls but he wasn’t about to turn his back on this stranger. Jack sized the man up. Late thirties, decent build, average sized frame, nothing too intimidating. Then again, the man could have a gun in his pocket and then none of his physical characteristics would make a difference.

  “What are you doing?” The adrenaline tearing through Jack’s system made it come out more a threat than a question.

  “Hi. Sorry about that. I was just making sure everyone was O.K. Bad weather and all.”

  Jack moved to the open car door, putting his body between the man and the open door. Standing closer, he could make out the details of the stranger. Even in the poor light the man’s pale face stood out from the night, like a glowing mask. He might have been an albino except for the black pits for eyes. Jack didn’t like the look of the man’s thin, colorless lips that twisted into a forced smile as they stared each other down.

  Something about the man didn’t seem right. Maybe it was the storm. Or the scare he got from turning and seeing the man unexpectedly appear at the car. Maybe it was that an hour earlier a man had died in his arms talking about the devil. Whatever it was, Jack’s instinct warned him of danger.