Rise of a Phoenix: Rise of a Phoenix

by phill syron-jones

  The chimes seemed to be moving round her, not getting closer, just circling round. She almost felt like a zoo animal being stared at. Around and around the direction of the sound seemed to be travelling, but not quickly. She listened harder and could almost hear footsteps mixed with strange breathing. The music stayed in place for a moment, it seemed to be near her head. Suddenly she felt something moving across her hair. It was not an animal, no, it was more like fingers gently brushing across the top of her scalp.

  She started to shake uncontrollably, and sweat began to pour across her brow as a mix of the fear of not knowing who her captor was, coupled with the terror of not knowing what was going to happen Her imagination was going wild with images of what this maniac could be capable of. This was too much for her to bear.

  “Please don’t hurt me,” she begged. “I’ll give you whatever you want, but please don’t kill me.”

  She sobbed uncontrollably, hoping that this stranger might feel some sort of compassion for her.

  “You will give me whatever I want, is that correct?”

  The voice that filled her ears sent shivers down her spine. His tone was calm and lucid, while the pitch was a miss-mash of highs and lows, like nails running down violin strings. But most of all she sensed the pleasure in the eerie murmur that filled her ears. Whereas before she longed for someone to speak, she now yearned for the previous deathly silence.

  “Now, now, there is no need to cry, my dear,” said the stranger.

  His sickly sweet now high-pitched voice rang in her ears; she tried imagining the face that belonged to this monster but nothing in her worst nightmares could conjure something that obscene. Something deep inside her wanted to see his face; something in the darkest reaches of her soul wanted him to look her in the eyes. A tear rolled down the side of her face and she felt a gentle hand brush it away. As she stared up at the dimly lit ceiling, she could make out a shadow here and there, then a shape in the distance coming closer. She blinked for a second or two, just so her eyes could adjust to the light conditions but as she opened them, she was greeted by a face with large maniacal eyes and a smile that froze her with terror.

  “So you would give me anything I wish?” he repeated. His smile widened and his brow creased with a scowl.

  “I like your eyes my dear, so blue I have never seen the like.”

  “Th...Tha...thank you,” she replied, somewhat shocked by the change in mood.

  “No, I am afraid you don’t understand. I really like your eyes.”

  For a brief second she saw the strange instrument come into focus above her right eye then there was blackness. Her ears filled with the sound of her own screams until she passed out, while all the time the chimes from the pocket watch played in the background even after her screams had faded into the shadows of the room.

  EIGHT

  A slight breeze blew through the streets of little Italy, but that just cooled the warm air left over from the scorching day’s sun. People sat outside on the tables and chairs that lined the streets outside the many restaurants scattering the well-lit streets, the reds, greens and blues of lights reflected in windows and from vehicles. The night air was filled with music and laughter, and everyone was happy and having a good time, bar one.

  A shadowy form crept into an alleyway, carefully clinging to the shadows as it went. It stopped just before a group of stacked boxes and observed someone at the end of the passage. The stranger looked at a large man who was watching a TV that was somehow plugged into the local power, and light from the set lit up the alleyway but also created convenient shadows—convenient for the stranger.

  Vince Carbone was a large bald man, his giant form seemed almost too large for his blue hand-stitched suit, and he danced up and down as he watched the ball game on TV.

  “Come on, God dammit!” he barked in a gruff, almost gravelly voice.

  “Where is Santini?” asked the figure bathed in the darkness.

  “Well, well, my mystery guest is here,” answered the large man, whose name was Vince.

  “We have been expecting you, didn’t think you would show, but hey...”

  The man turned halfway round just so he could lay eyes on the idiot who was disturbing him, but all he saw was shadows and a form that was bathed in darkness. The form did not move at first but then stepped into the middle of the walkway. As the newcomer moved all light seemed to disappear from around him, as if he was himself a shadow.

  The mysterious figure stood upright, almost alert. From behind him, several large brutish-looking thugs in jeans and t-shirts appeared, brandishing weapons of all descriptions.

  Vince turned fully, not wanting to miss this confrontation. His suit was matched with a white shirt that was opened wide enough to show off his bronzed barrel chest and a gold chain with a large crucifix that hung amidst the grey hair.

  The light from the TV set caused flashes of light that danced up and down the alley, but still the stranger was hidden.

  “Take this bastard apart, boys.”

  The fat man nodded to his counterparts who were behind the mystery man. The shadowy character felt a man coming up steadily behind him. The thug swung a baseball bat, brining it downwards with such power that it splintered on the ground as the ‘shadow’ sidestepped. The thug let out a painful, “Ooff,” sound as the other man spun round and elbowed him in the back of the neck; this motion knocked the bat-wielder off balance and he then received a knee to the face as his head travelled downwards.

  The air was filled with an eruption of blood and bone as the man’s nose exploded from the impact. Another guy rushed forward, slashing blindly with a large blade. Instantly the Shadow blocked the hand wielding the weapon, dragging his attacker’s arm underneath his own armpit so that the outstretched arm was in a lock. There was a brief moment before the stranger pulled down on the arm, and snapped it at the elbow. The thug screamed and the knife fell straight into his adversary’s hands. “Stick around, we haven’t finished yet,” called out the fight’s winner. The newly-acquired blade whistled through the air and embedded itself into the back of Vince’s knee, the fat man creaming in agony as the steel cut through muscle and met bone. Vince hit the ground with a crash, reeling in pain.

  The Shadow turned, only to be met by two more men, one with a bat and another with a pistol.

  The bat was swung at head height, but The Shadow leaned back just as the business end sailed past so close that he felt the displaced wind tickle his nose. As he came back up, he used the full force of his body, to drive his forehead crashing into the face of his attacker. There was a sickly crack, like snapping twigs, as he shattered the man’s nose. The thug stumbled, but not too far from reach, as The Shadow used the falling man as a shield from the remaining attacker, who had a gun. The armed man bobbed and weaved, trying to get a drop on him, but The Shadow pushed the batsman towards his mate, then rushed him. There was a scraping sound as The Shadow slid across the floor, knocking his enemy to the ground, then in the blink of an eye, using one swift punch, the man was out cold.

  Vince scanned the alleyway, still lit by the flickering TV images, but saw nothing. He called for his crew but there was only silence. Crawling forward, leaving a trail of fresh blood on the dirty ground, Vince went to see if his boys had got the man shrouded by shadow, but all he saw were bodies lying motionless across the passage, bodies that were all familiar to him.

  “Where the fuck are you, jerk off?” he screamed, his head dancing backward and forward checking everywhere, except...

  Behind him, a shadow loomed over him like a phantom, a long coat moving with the wind, like some beast clawing at the breeze. “Now where were we?” The Shadow said. “Oh yes.” A scream filled the alley but it was drowned out by the nearby festivities of the night. The TV flickered on, lighting up the alley and after one more scream, it flickered no more.

  NINE

  The morning tabloids were packed with tales of a psycho killer at large in the city, and the police had released a s
tatement but had supplied only enough detail to feed the press’s appetite, rather than satisfy demand.

  Sam McCall read the article and chuckled to herself, wondering how long the vultures had waited before printing, but she was more interested in the sports page to be bothered about what was fact and what was fiction. Today was Saturday, and tomorrow she would be at her mom’s for the usual family get-together, Saturdays were her ‘kick back and recharge her batteries days’, and she was going to enjoy her relaxation time.

  Why not, she thought? The bad guys were not going anywhere and her two colleagues were more than capable of handling things; on the other hand she had left instructions for someone to notify her if she was needed.

  McCall sat down on her brown fabric sofa and flicked on the TV, her finger pressing the remote’s button as she tried to find something decent to watch. Not quite a breakfast feature, she thought, but then her choice was better than nothing: an old Basil Rathbone Sherlock Holmes movie came on. She watched cross-legged, eating her milky cereal slowly, savouring the quiet of the moment.

  As she sat watching she noticed her cell phone dance across the table in front of her, driven by the vibration alert of an incoming call. McCall leant forward and noticed the caller’s ID: it was the precinct.

  “Yes, what’s up?” she inquired, trying to sound annoyed but feeling somewhat relieved. A day off, who needs one, she thought? There’s too much to do out there.

  “Get your butt back here, Detective, we got another one. The bastard’s back.”

  It was the Captain on the other end of the phone and he did not seem happy. In fact, there was something different about his tone that she could not put her finger on.

  It took but a moment to shower and change, and before she knew it she was at the door of her car. The address she had been given was the Pier 15. She knew that it was going to be a nightmare of a drive but she blue-lighted all the way. Finally reaching a safe parking area she parked up under the viaduct next to a public parking booth. This was a short walking distance from the scene. It was a beautiful sunny morning and she wanted to walk towards the crime scene, it gave her a moment to look at things that may have been missed or try and see the scene through the killers eyes. The police tape confines the scene at hand but a sometimes thing outside the box gets missed.

  McCall sat for a moment, composing herself for what they would find. She got out and began to walk, looking back to see her car’s bodywork being stained by the red of the sunrise, as she headed for Pier 15.

  The scene was chaos, with camera teams, and reporters of all description pushing and shoving to get the best shot, and microphones waved about in the hope of finding someone who would answer their questions. Heading for the tape, McCall was immediately engulfed in a frenzy of press people.

  “No comment,” was all they got from her as she pushed through the masses. Finally, as an officer lifted the tape, she ducked and went through, followed by a couple of shifty-looking photographers who tried to dodge the wire, only to be caught by the large stocky built officer.

  “Get your ass back over the wire, people.” His tone was loud and aggressive, and the two men backed away sheepishly. McCall looked round and smiled at the performance, then carried on to the end of the pier.

  On the way, she saw the crowd that had gathered in the food court peering through the sun-kissed windows, flashes from cell phones and cameras lit up the glass that separated them from the crime scene.

  “Captain, Guys” she greeted them with a nodded.

  “McCall,” the Captain returned the greeting.

  “Okay, so what we got?” McCall asked, putting on her sunglasses.

  The Captain pointed to a group of CSU officers huddled round a railing at the far end of the wooden boardwalk; they seemed to be pulling on something. McCall looked at her Captain with a searching look, but received a shrug and an equally puzzled response.

  The four detectives crept forward until they reached MD Tina Franks, who was waiting with her crew and a dolly ready to transport whatever it was they were all waiting for.

  “Doc,” the Captain spoke softly.

  “Captain,” she replied, and just nodded to the others. “Well, I must say this is a weird one. All we were told was that there was something hanging from the balcony.” She pointed with her head towards the congregation of CSU guys in front of them.

  “So,” said the Captain, puzzled, “maybe it was kids messing around.” His look was slightly annoyed, as if he was afraid that their time was being wasted.

  “Well, that’s what we thought,” Tina agreed, “at first. Until we knew it was bleeding.”

  “Bleeding!” McCall had a disgusted look on her face as she spoke.

  “Yeh, two fishermen this morning tagged it by accident and they said they saw blood in the water.”

  They were interrupted by shouts from down in the water:

  “We are ready here, you ready up there?”

  “Yes, OK, cutting now.”

  The CSU had cut the rope holding whatever was hanging over the side, and another crew below in a patrol boat caught it. McCall and the others made their way to the other side where the boat was about to dock so they could see what all the fuss was about.

  As they got to the dock they noticed a crowd of people in blue overalls with CSU lettering on the back of their uniforms. Some were taking photos, others just acting as a barricade against prying eyes.

  McCall and the other three drew near the scene to find Tina bent over something; it was around three feet long, wrapped in what appeared to be brown-stained bandage wrappings. The MD cut the fastenings open carefully, using a scalpel from her medical bag. When it opened, the audience standing behind her, suddenly reeled away holding their mouths.

  The open sack contained what used to be a woman; both her arms and legs had been removed, but unlike the other bodies there were small amounts of blood visible, that had found their way to the bottom of the cocoon. Taking out a small white device that looked almost like a pregnancy testing kit, Tina dabbed some of the blood on to it and waited. She searched the body and sack for any evidence that may have been left behind, but she knew there would be nothing. She was only too aware that the killer was too smart to leave anything incriminating, unless he put something there to deliberately mislead them. The CSU team began to take photographs but would have to wait until they took the remains back to headquarters before they could look for fibres and fingerprints.

  Tina examined the corpse painstakingly to see if there was any evidence, but came up empty, working from the lower part and slowly moving up the body until finally reaching the head. Carefully, she opened the woman’s mouth, noting that everything seemed normal. Then she opened an eyelid to check for any signs of eye dilation or other unusual signs.

  “Uh, guys, we have a problem,” said the doc, sounding confused.

  “Why? what’s up, doc?” asked the Captain bracing himself against the sight and trying to hold on to his breakfast.

  “Her eyes are gone.”

  “What do you mean, gone?” replied Tooms, horrified at the thought.

  “I mean gone! Not there anymore.” Tina stood up and waved the two orderlies to bag the body and take it downtown. The atmosphere was tense, as the Captain looked as if he was about to explode.

  “OK, people, I have had enough of this dirt bag taking our city apart! We are going to find this son-of-a-bitch.” He clenched his fist and shook it at them, more as a gesture of anger and promise than a threat.

  “Call in all shifts,” he announced angrily. “We work round the clock if we have to, but I want this guy.”

  The teams in front of him were New York City’s finest and if anyone could get the killer, it would be these men and women. McCall knew it and felt the surge of energy that the Captain gave off just in those few words, words that inspired everyone to think that they could do the impossible.

  From behind them came a voice that broke the silence, like a soft breeze on a still morn
ing. It was softly spoken but had a hard tone to it:

  “Maybe I can help.”

  The group turned as one, to find a man dressed all in black; he was sitting on the backrest of a bench, his black shiny boots that rested on the seat of the bench were glinting in the morning sun, and the long black jacket he wore that had fallen behind the backrest was flapping in the breeze.

  “Who the hell are you?” asked the Captain, shocked not just by the arrogance of the suggestion that they required help, but wondering just how the hell did he get there and when?

  “You have got to be kidding me.” McCall’s jaw hung slack at the sight of the man who had caused her so much trouble and kept eluding her. Now he was finally within her grasp but why was he coming forward? And why now? No, the only question she had, and it was a simple one, was not ‘Who are you?’ or ‘What are you doing here?’ No! The question she wanted to ask was much less complicated. It was, ‘Can I shoot him?’

  Tina Franks was busy checking over what remained of the female from Pier 15. She scanned the remains carefully inch by inch, taking photographs of any distinguishing marks such as bruises and scars. In the background there was music coming from her MP3 player that sat happily on top of the stereo; its blue lights broke up the sterile whiteness of the morgue.

  McCall entered, her footsteps sounding loud and aggressive. Her expression could have frozen the very depths of hell.

  “Hi, what we got, Tina?” asked McCall, trying not to think about the events on the pier, and the details of their ghoulish discovery.

  “Well, I have got a Caucasian female with lots missing. What I heard too, is your white knight in black armour put in an appearance.” Tina gave McCall the look that said ‘more information please’.

  “Oh really, and what else did you hear?”

  “I heard he was British and kind of cute.”