Forever Man

by Brian Matthews

  “No!” she screamed, and began thrashing and slapping and kicking. “I didn’t mean it! Don’t put me in there!”

  Izzy tried grabbing Aggie’s wrists, but the woman was fighting like a terrified child. One hand lashed out and smacked Izzy hard across the face. Gene let out a grunt when her foot connected with his knee. All the while, Aggie kept yelling, “Don’t put me in there! I’m sorry!”

  “Aggie, listen to me!” Izzy was still trying to grab the woman’s arms, but it was impossible. The dispatcher’s knee came up and slammed into her chest. “Damn it, stop!”

  A sharp crack rent the air, and Katie yelled, “Oh God!”

  Izzy spun around. The upper door had broken apart and exploded inward. Jagged pieces of wood lay on the floor. Owens had hunched down further, sweat running down his face, his legs shaking as he pushed against the metal cabinet.

  One hideous arm reached in through the opening, clawing the top of the cabinet, while the other pushed through, stretching, rearing back and smashing into the side of the cabinet, collapsing the metal.

  “Look out!” Izzy shouted, drawing her gun

  A claw ripped through the air. Owens turned his head, but he was too slow. It caught his cheek and neck, tore jagged gashes into his skin. Bright red blood erupted down his face. Then his legs gave out and he slid to the floor.

  Without Owens holding the door, the thing shoved it open, charged into the room, leapt at Izzy. She dove under the conference table, scrambled to get to the other side. The creature landed, snarling, and with a sinuous turn it sped around the table after her. She rolled back under the table, aimed and fired BANG BANG, the bullets thundering through the air, grazing the thing’s leg, blood flying. It howled in pain, then grabbed the table and flung it into the far wall. And now the creature was over her, its stench overpowering. She flipped onto her back, brought her gun up, but it was so fast, too fast, and it swiped at her wrist, tearing open her skin, sending the gun sailing away, landing across the room, and its black lips peeled back into an ugly grin as it raised a deadly claw, oh God NO—

  “Hey!” Gene Vincent shouted. When the creature paused, he launched himself across the room and hammered into it, wrapping his arms around its middle like a pro linebacker. Both tumbled to the ground.

  But the monster was too strong for him. It shrugged out of his grip as if he were a child and rose. Gene cried out in pain as one massive claw clamped down on his chest, pinning him to the floor. Then it lifted the other claw high, ready to deliver the deadly blow.

  Izzy scrambled for her gun, but she was too far away. She’d never make it in time.

  A chair came crashing down from behind the creature, knocking it away from Gene. Snarling in rage, it turned to face this new threat.

  Bart Owens was back on his feet. He stepped away from the thing, his sweatshirt wet with the blood flowing from his wounds, his steady gaze locked on the creature. When he spoke, his voice was hard as steel.

  “I never did like your kind.”

  The creature snorted, blowing fetid air from its nostrils, then it turned and charged after Izzy. Panicked, she sprinted across the room toward Owens, barely missing another attack. The monster followed, and in two quick, loping strides, it had crossed the space between them, its head raised, jaws stretched wide.

  Owens stepped up and threw his shoulder into its chest. The heavier creature knocked him back into the broken cabinet, but the block gave Izzy enough time to retreat back across the room. The monster turned, claws scrabbling for purchase. It shot across the floor after her, this time coming in low.

  With a quickness that defied his age, Owens dove onto the thing’s back. He clamped his arms around it before it could reach Izzy. His hands locked together.

  And then he squeezed.

  The creature convulsed, dropping to the ground, dragging Owens down with it. It began shrieking—a cry of pain so horrible Izzy hoped she’d never hear anything like it again. With claws raking the air, it rolled and rolled, howling in agony, smashing Owens repeatedly against the ground, trying desperately to dislodge him. The old man grunted when his head smacked hard against the floor. And when a claw laid open his arm down to the bone, he let out his own cry of pain and tightened his grip. The thing screamed—dear God how it screamed! Frantic to escape, it spun, fast. Owens suddenly found himself facing it, its jaws snapping at his face. He angled his head back, away from the teeth. Claws dug into him, shredding his sweatshirt, carving deep, lethal wounds into his chest, his stomach. Owens sagged, released his grip, and shoved the creature away.

  Once released, the monster fled out the broken door, down the hallway, and was gone.

  Bart Owens, blood flowing from too many injuries, lay on the floor. He wasn’t moving.

  Izzy tossed her cell at Katie. “Call for an ambulance!” As the girl put the phone to her ear, Izzy scrambled over to Owens. She watched his wounded chest rise and fall in thin, rapid breathes. When she grasped his hand, he opened his eyes. His gaze found hers. She smiled, squeezed his hand, and she felt him squeeze back.

  “The ambulance,” she told him. “It’ll be on its way soon. Try to keep still.”

  “Where’s Gene?”

  “Right here,” Gene answered, crawling over to them, a hand clutching his chest. “I feel like someone kicked the shit out of me, but, thanks to you, I’m still alive.” He picked up a broken piece of door and held it up. “What was that thing?”

  Owens coughed, and a thin stream of blood trickled out of one corner of his mouth.

  Katie snapped the phone shut. “This whole town’s messed up. I keep calling 911 and no one answers.”

  Izzy cursed herself for her stupidity. Emergency calls were routed through the police, and her dispatcher was currently sitting in a corner with the mental acuity of a scrambled egg. She was about to tell Katie to call the fire department directly when Owens stopped her with another squeeze of his hand

  “Don’t bother.”

  Izzy shook her head. “I’m not going to let you die.”

  The old man gently lifted the tattered fabric of his sweatshirt, exposing his abdomen. He angled his head to examine his injuries. Gene winced. Katie covered her mouth and turned away. His flesh was a mass of torn muscle, exposed bone, and red gore. With a sigh, Owens said, “What could they do?”

  Izzy was stunned. The damage was worse than she had expected. How much blood had he lost? There were only trickles of it seeping from his wounds. And the pain he must be in—she couldn’t understand how he was lying there, like that, and not be either screaming in agony or passed out from the pain. “I’m still going to try,” she said.

  Owens gripped her hand until it hurt. “Let me do this with dignity. Not surrounded by a bunch of strangers.”

  That made Izzy pause. She stared at the old man. His skin already seemed lighter. Given his wounds, she supposed his request wasn’t all that outlandish.

  “Katie,” Izzy said. “Go get a blanket. There’s one in the room across the hall.” At least they could keep him warm.

  Katie’s face flushed. “What—you’re not giving up, are you?”

  Izzy put her head close to Katie’s. “You saw the wounds,” she whispered. “There’s nothing—”

  Turning to Owens, Katie said, “So you’re not even going to try? You’re going to let yourself die? Take something precious and throw it away?” The grief in her next words was immeasurable. “You’re no different than my father.”

  Izzy felt herself go cold. “Oh, honey, no. This isn’t the same thing.”

  Gene gave Izzy a puzzled look. Owens managed to turn his head to look at Katie, who continued to glare defiantly at him.

  “Her father,” Izzy said. “He…well, he had a history of depression. Let’s just say she has a reason to be sensitive about this.”

  Gene muttered something unintelligible and looked away.

  Owens continued to stare at the girl, his expression unreadable. Finally, he called her name. When she didn’t respond, h
e said it more forcefully. After a few silent moments, she asked what he wanted.

  “What I’m doing…you have to trust me.”

  Katie shook her head; she had progressed beyond mad to furious. “Don’t tell me that. Don’t lie to me. What you’re doing—it’s no better than what my dad did. It’s just another form of cowardice.”

  Bart let out a wheezing breath. “Don’t expect you to…understand.”

  “Fine.” Katie spat out the word like it was poison. “It’s your life. Throw it away if you want. I’ll go get the blanket.” She stormed out of the room.

  After Katie had left, Izzy said to Owens, “She’s had so many losses. I can’t blame her for how she feels.”

  “Me either,” said the old man.

  “I really don’t want to leave you here alone.”

  He managed to nudge his head toward Aggie. “Go help that poor woman. She needs you.”

  Gene touched Bart’s shoulder. “It doesn’t have to be this way. You know we’ll stay with you until….”

  Bart closed his eyes. “Must I beg?”

  “No, of course not.” Gene’s voice was tinged with sorrow. “You’re a strange man, but I like you. Thank you for saving my life.” He patted the old man’s shoulder, then went over to help Aggie.

  Katie came in with a gray wool blanket and hastily draped it over the old man. “There. Now you’ll stay warm while you die.”

  “So angry,” Owens whispered. He opened his eyes. “I have…a deal for you.” A breath. “Katie, you can stay. But your father…you have to tell me about him.” Another. “Not his death, but his life…the good things you remember about him. Deal?”

  “Wait a minute,” said Izzy, worried about where the conversation was headed. “She doesn’t need to see another—”

  “No,” Katie said, sitting down next to him. “I’ll do it. But you have to give me something in return. You have to tell me why you’re doing this. Why you’re letting yourself die. So there. Deal?”

  Owens nodded. “I’ll try.”

  Izzy didn’t like this recent turn of events, but short of dragging Katie out of the room, she didn’t have a choice. “Have it your way,” she said. “If you change your mind, we’ll be in my office.”

  She left the two of them alone, hoping this wasn’t another one of her mistakes.

  * * *

  Tuesday

  Jack Sallinen was dreaming. Running—he was running, through the woods, past buildings. And there was pain, unimaginable pain ripping through his flesh. And then…and then….

  And then he woke. At first, he felt disoriented. He was confined, restricted. It took him a few seconds to realize that sometime during the night, he had crawled under the covers of his bed; they were knotted around him, binding his arms, and his pillow had ended up on the floor.

  As he extricated himself, he heard Webber snoring softly in the bed next to him. There was a faint pink glow coming through the window. With his arms free, he squinted at his watch. A little past six. He smiled.

  Morris would be dead by now.

  He reached for his cell phone—he wanted to see if her death had made the news—but found the nightstand empty. Then he remembered. Webber had set it onto the dresser last night.

  Rolling out of bed, Jack walked across the room and snatched up the phone. That’s when he saw the little red light flashing. He had a message.

  He hit the call log, and then swore when the password screen opened. He thumbed in the code. J.J. had called him. Last night, before Jack had gone to bed. J.J. had probably learned that his little girly-friend’s mother was dead.

  He pressed the 1 button and connected to his voicemail. As he listened to the message, his euphoria seeped out of him like helium from three-day-old balloon.

  J.J. Sallinen was dreaming. He was lying in a hammock on a beach, but there were no trees, and he could see that the hammock wasn’t tied to anything. He seemed to be floating in air. He wondered briefly where Katie was, why she wasn’t here with him. The hammock started swaying. Then it started jerking back and forth. In the distance, he could hear someone calling his name. It didn’t sound like Katie. It didn’t sound like anyone he knew.

  “J.J.! Wake up!”

  “Go ‘way,” he mumbled.

  “You got to wake up NOW!”

  Pain, like he’d been punched in the arm. J.J. cracked his eyes open. Kevin stood over him, his young face anxious.

  “They’re here,” Kevin cried, shaking his shoulder. “I can feel them. Somewhere nearby.”

  “What do you mean? Who’re you talking about?” J.J. tried to shrink back from his brother, but Kevin’s grip on him was surprisingly firm. Then he realized who he was talking to. Saw the awareness in Kevin’s expression. The sense of being there that he’d never seen before. “Holy shit, you—you’re—”

  Kevin was trembling. “A man. A man and…and a woman. And…a thing.”

  “What going on?” said J.J., wide awake now. “I mean, you’re talking. I can even understand you.”

  “Listen to me! The man, he’s closest. Closer than the woman. But the thing…it scares me, J.J.. Scares me bad.”

  “Wait a minute.” J.J.’s brows drew together in an angry knot. “You’ve been able to talk all along, and you’ve been hiding it?”

  “No,” panted Kevin. “No, it…won’t last. I can….” He screwed his eyes shut. “It’s bad, J.J.. Really…wheelly…rad…no, BAD! Baddity bad.” Kevin gritted his teeth. “Not yet!” Kevin opened his eyes, and J.J. saw that they were twitching, as if he were going through a seizure or something. Kevin suddenly drew a hand back and slapped his own face—hard. The twitching stopped. Kevin looked straight at J.J. and said, “Please, help me. I’m scared.” Then Kevin lost whatever battle he’d been fighting. The awareness faded from his expression, replaced with the familiar dullness of his autism. He turned from J.J., his attention drawn once again to the cartoon images flitting across the television screen.

  J.J. gently shook his brother’s shoulder. “Hey, you in there?”

  Kevin shrugged his shoulder away, frowned, and began picking his nose.

  He sighed. His brother was gone—or back, depending on how you looked at it.

  Man, woman and thing? He wondered what that meant.

  J.J.’s cell phone began vibrating in his pocket. He pulled it out. His dad was calling him.

  What was he supposed to do now? He was going to use Kevin as a bargaining chip, but after what he’d just witnessed—

  His phone buzzed insistently in his hand. Answer, or let it go to voicemail?

  His brother sat there, still rooting around his nasal cavity, oblivious to everything around him. Or was he really? J.J. wasn’t so sure now.

  The phone continued to vibrate, his father’s name on the display screen.

  He had to think fast. How was he supposed to choose between an asshole father and a dumb-shit brother who may not be so much of a dumb-shit? Too bad there wasn’t a third choice.

  Wait a minute. His eyes widened. Maybe there was.

  J.J. thumbed the answer button and said, “Hi, Dad. Just the guy I wanted to talk to.”

  Jack Sallinen sat on the motel bed, his cell phone pressed tightly to his ear, and waited for his older son to answer. The phone kept ringing. He was getting ready to hang up when he heard J.J.’s voice.

  “Hi, Dad. Just the guy I wanted to talk to.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Jack said. “And you’re the bright spot of my morning, too.”

  A brief pause, then, “Couldn’t you to at least pretend you like me?”

  “I’m severely lacking in ‘warm and fuzzy’ at the moment. Get to the point. You said you had something I wanted.”

  “You’re a real jerk, you know that.”

  “Tell me what this is about or I’m hanging up. I don’t have time for games.”

  “What, you and Silverado Man busy getting all buddy-buddy?”

  Jack’s eyes slid over to Webber. Silverado Man was currently sittin
g in a chair, eyes closed, his hands held protectively over his abdomen. After waking, he’d changed out of the blood-stained shirt. He now wore a black pullover.

  “Been sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong, huh?”

  “Who is he, Dad? Why’s he so interested in Kevin?”

  Oh, great. Like I need another complication. “I’m still not hearing what you want.”

  “Answer the question. What’s so special about Kevin?”

  Jack thought for a moment. Maybe a little truth could work to his advantage about now. “All right, I’ll tell you. Your brother’s been kidnapped. That colored guy in town, Owens? He took him. Silverado Man and I are trying to get him back.”

  “Oh, man, this is great.” J.J. was chuckling. “You don’t have a freaking clue, do you?”

  “About what?”

  “About Kevin.” J.J. paused before going on. “No one took him. I have him.”

  Jack shot to his feet. “You what?”

  Webber looked up at him, curious.

  “Yeah,” J.J. said. “He’s sitting right next to me.”

  “Who’s there with you?”

  “Nobody. Just me and Kevin. Why?”

  Jack was speechless. Morris had been playing him, lying to him about Kevin. She and Owens both. And he’d fallen for it. He’d let a couple of Be Nothings stick it to him. Anger burned through him. How could he have been so goddamned stupid?

  “Okay,” Jack said, pulling himself together. “Give me a second here. So you have Kevin.” Across from Jack, Webber sat up straight in his chair, his expression eager, almost hungry. “Good. At least he’s safe. Now, tell me where you are. Even with the snow, it shouldn’t take me long to get there.”

  “There’s something different about Kevin. I mean, more than just his autism.”

  Jack frowned. That hadn’t sounded like a question; it was more like a statement of fact. “What are you talking about? Did something happen? Is Kevin okay?”

  “So you really don’t know.”

  “Know what? For Christ’s sake, spit it out.”

  “No,” said J.J.. “I think I’ll keep this one to myself. It’s nice to have the upper hand for a change. But I do want to talk to you. Face-to-face.”