Fallen Giant

by Monica Owens

  Olivier looked at him calmly, still leaning leisurely against the wall.

  “And-and Jeannie went home. The post office didn’t open either.”

  Olivier blinked.

  “So I thought…,” Elliott trailed off.

  “I see,” Olivier said softly.

  “That’s why I came here…”

  The mayor stood there, fidgeting slightly because ultimately he was still that thirteen year old that was nervous about being alone with Olivier. Especially when Olivier stared at him like that.

  Olivier pushed off the wall and limped over to the mayor. “What do you think the endgame is, Charlie?”

  “Um…”

  “Come on, Charlie. What do you think it is?”

  The mayor’s heart thumped in his chest. He was never normally nervous around Olivier. Not like this anyway. He didn’t know what to say. Olivier had dead people in his house, after all. He didn’t want to be one of them.

  “Unleash those?” Elliott whispered.

  “Those?”

  “Those,” he confirmed.

  Olivier leaned back a bit. “What do you think is back there?”

  The mayor swallowed hard. He’d been watching Olivier collecting corpses for years. What else was back there?

  When Elliott didn’t answer, Olivier shoved his face back into the mayor’s. He slapped a hand to the back of Elliott’s neck and put his forehead on Elliott’s.

  “Come on, Charlie.”

  “Olivier, no, I just…”

  The mayor tried to dig his heels in, but Olivier was too strong. He dragged him down the hallway, Elliott grappling with the drywall to stop himself. At the end of the hallway, surrounded by three doors, Olivier laughed.

  “Charlie, you’ve never grown up.”

  Elliott clapped his hand over his eyes as Olivier threw open all three doors.

  “Open your eyes, Charlie.”

  Olivier’s deep voice tumbled against Elliott’s ear. All he could hear was the chirp of crickets and his own breath sawing in and out of his lungs. He was better than this. He was so much better than this. He was the mayor of this town for God’s sake. Olivier was nothing…a drifter. A no one.

  He lowered his hand but didn’t open his eyes. He took a deep breath and flicked open his eyelids. He knew what would be there. Those bodies always were.

  The first room, the one he’d been in before, was filled with black file cabinets.

  The second room, more file cabinets.

  The third, a bed and chest of drawers.

  The mayor’s mouth dropped open.

  “Here’s the thing, Charlie, when I need you to fall in line, it’s important that you see what I need you to see. If you’re scared of me, even a tiny bit, I’ve done my job.”

  The mayor’s heart painfully thumped. “I don’t understand…”

  “I’m not here for you,” Olivier whispered. “I wasn’t here for your parents. I couldn’t give a shit about you. No, I’m here for money, Charlie. All that you’ve got.”

  Elliott remembered the late nights his parents had spent with Olivier. All the paperwork. And when the mayor’s parents had “passed on,” he’d quickly learned that he only owned the old Victorian they lived in. All the money had passed to Olivier. Which is why he’d left in a fit of rage. Gone to college in California. But he’d come back when Lester called him. Told him about the apartments. The new mayor trying to bring new blood into the town. Elliott had come back, met with Olivier, tried to clean the rabble out.

  “Because the rabble has no money,” Olivier whispered.

  Elliott jerked around. “What?”

  “The rabble has no money,” Olivier repeated. “And that’s all I care about.”

  The money. The land beneath his feet was valuable. The old money his parents had was astronomical. And Lester’s family. And Mrs. Feeney’s family…

  “You milked us dry,” the mayor said, astounded.

  “Bled you dry,” Olivier corrected.

  Elliott glanced back at the bedrooms. No bodies. “They were never there.”

  “They were there,” Olivier responded. “You thought they were there, so they were.”

  The mayor turned back. “When I saw you, that first time…”

  “Yes?”

  “You killed someone…”

  “Yes.”

  “You didn’t keep him here.”

  “Why would I? There’s plenty of desert out there to swallow a body up.”

  “But I saw…”

  Olivier put his arm around the mayor’s shoulders. “Charlie. Fear is a great deterrent and a fabulous motivator. And now my endgame begins.”

  The mayor felt a punch to his chest. Light-headed, he looked down. Olivier’s fist was gone, caught up in his own chest. He felt fingers worm their way inside of him, squeeze down on his heart. He tried to catch his breath.

  Olivier leaned forward and put his mouth to the mayor’s ear. “Son, this land is expensive. All I needed were a bunch of rich idiots to believe in me so I could take their money and their land. Tomorrow I plan on selling this piece of shit town. You’ve been played like a fiddle, Charlie. What was the first thing I had you do when you came back?”

  Elliott opened and closed his mouth, but no sound came out.

  “That’s right. I had you sign some papers, didn’t I? Well, you signed your death warrant, son. I got life insurance on you and all your townspeople. I had you make your wills out to me as the only heir. I had you sign deeds so that all this land was mine. I’ve been living off you and your family for years. Now it’s time to cash in, Charlie. Because all I care about is money. Not you. Not a one of you.”

  Elliott felt a coldness swipe through him, starting at his feet. He gurgled, but couldn’t speak.

  “That’s right. You just live your last seconds knowing that your whole life has been a lie. That all that money you made in the stock market went into an account with my name on it. And when I put you down like the dog you are, you’ll go straight to hell because I also took your soul. Deal with that, Mayor.”

  Elliott choked, blood burbling into his throat.

  Olivier pulled his fist out, covered in blood. He held Elliott up for a moment, looking down into his face.

  “Let’s lay you down, Mayor. You look peaked.”

  Olivier let him go and Elliott crashed to the floor, unable to stop himself. He watched Olivier’s boots walk around him, the file cabinets opening and closing. He heard whistling, but how could Olivier whistle with no lips? His eyesight fogged and his head throbbed. Was he dying?

  Olivier crouched down next to him. “Sorry about all this, old man. You seemed to have gotten into the wrong crowd. Be sure to say hello to the devil for me.”

  Elliott watched as Olivier struck a match and waved it in front of his face. A grin, first normal and then becoming more and more grotesque, arched up Olivier’s cheeks until finally the face winked out. Darkness crowded Elliott’s vision. The match flicked down to the floor beside him. He couldn’t move, couldn’t scream, couldn’t do anything.

  Money. This had all been about money.

  Charlie watched his hero leave for the last time.

  *****

  Olivier watched from the shadows as Charlie breathed his last. Charlie had always been easy to fool. The young boy Charlie once had been lived with a fantastical imagination and the man he’d become still enjoyed that imagination. It wasn’t hard for Olivier to pick through the mayor’s brain and find the images Charlie feared most. Olivier wasn’t the best at projecting, but Charlie was willing to see whatever Olivier put out there.

  So Olivier didn’t have to punch his fist into Charlie’s chest so he didn’t. But he pretended. And Charlie went with it. Sad, really.

  One time, a long time ago, Olivier would have felt bad about the whole situation. Taking this town under his wing. Fleecing them of all their money. Destroying all their dreams.

  But his heart had withered and died a long time ago.

&nb
sp; Now Olivier did pull out a match. Now he did scrape it along the wall, the flame leaping to life. He looked into it, saw the beauty of it, and the sadness that fire could bring.

  He had everything he needed from here.

  He flicked the match onto the carpet where the flame immediately whooshed to life.

  Olivier walked out without looking back.

  Chapter Twenty

  Levi took off running in the direction he’d heard the screams. In the back of his mind he worried that Colton would follow him, but he hoped the kid would be too terrified from what happened before. But really at the forefront of Levi’s mind was Trish and why she was screaming. So help him God if Olivier had done something to her…

  Another scream.

  Levi tried to run, but the sand made the run nearly impossible. He hurried and turned sideways to get his body between the rocks. Underneath his feet the sand gave way to undergrowth, wet leaves and mud. The light barely penetrated but Levi could see the footprints in the mud. First what he assumed were the sheriff’s, then the smaller prints of Trish.

  Fuck preserving the prints. Levi thundered through the broken shrubs and muddy pools. The scent of something dead wafted to his nostrils. He paused for a moment, sniffing, then caught sight of a light blue scrap of fabric. He moved closer and saw the pieces of body strewn about.

  Mrs. Feeney.

  Figured.

  He lurched past the scene of death and stumbled into a muddy puddle. He nearly fell when he spied the signs of a struggle.

  Dammit.

  The blade in his hands slipped slightly because of the blood on his palms, but Levi ignored the sting of the deeps cuts. Fuck all of that. Where the fuck was Trish?

  He heard a scuffling and then the telltale sound of a woman shrieking.

  Levi spun in a circle, but saw nothing.

  “Trish!”

  He thought he heard his name, but couldn’t be sure. And he thought, he thought, it was coming from below the ground.

  What the fuck?

  “Trish!”

  Another muffled sound. Levi swept his foot over the broken twigs and fallen leaves, uncovering the deep grooves in the mud. The grooves that resembled fingers digging for purchase. Levi moved faster, shuffling aside the wet, matted covering on the mud.

  “Trish!” he shouted again.

  He used the blade to shove aside a dead branch and uncovered deeper furrows in the mud. These looked like shoe heels as someone tried to stop themselves from being dragged.

  Levi searched more frantically. He glanced around but didn’t see a soul, so Trish had been dragged away. Dear God, where had she been dragged to?

  The trail came to a halt abruptly.

  At a muddy puddle.

  “What the fuck?” he muttered.

  “Levi!”

  Now the scream was loud and he knew she was close.

  How could she be in this puddle?

  How could he be a fucking fallen angel living on earth? How could he now have a son, a dog, and a woman?

  It didn’t matter how. It just was.

  He took the blade and buried it deep in the mud. Then he stepped into the puddle.

  Nothing happened.

  “Motherfucker,” he whispered.

  He moved forward, his foot searching through the dank water. His boot hit a gnarled tree root, but the ground was solid. His eyes tracked Trish’s desperate attempt to stay above ground. Maybe over here to the left…

  The ground sucked him in to his knees. Quickly and painfully. His hands stung in the dirty water. He floundered in the sludge, trying to get deeper. Nothing.

  “Fuck!” he yelled.

  Trish had been dragged. He wasn’t being dragged. But she’d been pulled through. So he had to push himself through.

  He took a deep breath, his heart hammering in his chest. He might only have one shot at this. He slicked his hair back with bloody, muddy hands.

  Then he took another, last deep breath and plunged his body into the puddle.

  Just as Trish screamed again.

  *****

  Trish cradled her arm to her and tried not to look at the broken appendage. Instead she kept her eyes on the man across the cavern from her. She slid along the ragged wall behind her, her breath coming out choppy.

  The man was dirty. Not just from the mud, but filthy. His hair was matted, his nails long and jagged, his arms and legs covered in grime. There were even stains that Trish was convinced were blood. He wore no clothes and stood unashamed in front of her.

  He breathed deeply. “Ah, yes. The blood…”

  Trish glanced down at her hand, still numb from her fall. But she could see a bone jutting out from the side of wrist. Two of her fingers were gashed and twisted to the side, blood pouring from the injuries.

  She quickly flicked her eyes upward. If she looked, it would hurt. So she wouldn’t look.

  The man moved closer.

  “No, please,” Trish whispered. Her voice echoed off the cavern walls.

  He smiled.

  She slid further, the fabric on the back of her jacket catching on the rock behind her. She wrenched herself along, the fabric tearing and a sob seizing in her throat.

  He stalked her.

  “No, please, please don’t hurt me.”

  “You seem to already be hurt, princess.”

  Trish shuffled further, but came up against more rock.

  “I can fix that,” he goaded with a grin. His teeth, long and white, mocked her.

  “No, please.” Trish cradled her arm close and attempted to stand. Her foot slipped and her injured hand smashed against a stalagmite near her. She bit back the scream of pain the movement caused. She shrugged her torn jacket off her shoulders, wrapping it around the injury to her arm. And she furiously thought. How could she get out of this? Because Levi wasn’t coming. And this man wasn’t going to just let her go. She sure as hell wasn’t going to “please” her way out of this.

  Her hair was sopping wet from the puddle, her clothes were drenched. She felt tears track down her cheeks but she ignored them. There’d be plenty of time to cry later. If this man wanted to kill her, he was going to get a battle. She might not win, but she wouldn’t stop fighting.

  She pushed her bangs off her forehead, but they flopped back over, dripping muddy water over her face. She took inventory of what she had and, even to her, the list was achingly short.

  “My name is Trish,” she announced, proud that her voice sounded strong.

  “Nice to meet you, Trish,” he rasped. “Come on over here.”

  “What’s your name?”

  He laughed. “I didn’t know we were getting to know each other.”

  “Well, we are.”

  He lunged for her and Trish instinctively moved back, smacking her head against the cavern wall.

  “I’m your worst nightmare,” he said with a laugh.

  Trish put her palm to the back of her head and came away with a smudge of blood. She gritted her teeth and glared at him. “Why don’t you come up with a better line?”

  “Because I don’t have to.”

  This time when he lunged, Trish didn’t move. She had nowhere to go. Now her head throbbed and pain was inching into the ice-like numbness of her arm. She watched as he bounced back on the balls of his feet.

  “We gonna do this?” she demanded.

  “You gonna fight me?” he asked incredulously.

  She shrugged and shook out her good arm. “Why not? I’m not going down easy.”

  He grinned again. “I like your style.”

  While he grinned and laughed, it was her turn to lunge. Her left hand fisted and smashed into the underside of his jaw. When he stumbled, she followed with a quick jab into his stomach, hoping to knock the wind out of him.

  She didn’t, but he took a couple steps back out of surprise. Trish followed, her fist ready to connect again.

  But he grabbed her right arm. Trish took in a swift breath, but then let it out in a scream when he tw
isted. She heard more bones pop and huge blobs of blood dropped to the floor.

  “Don’t fuck with me, Trish,” he said between clenched teeth.

  “Don’t fuck with me, either,” she retorted, panting between the shards of pain that seemed to echo the beat of her heart.

  Because she was close enough, and because he was already playing dirty, she reached out and grabbed his balls.

  “Fuck!”

  “Yeah, you’ll be lucky if you’re ever able to again,” Trish shouted.

  He didn’t let go of her arm and he twisted even harder. She squeezed as hard as she could. She’d rip his fucking balls off if she had to. But then, she imagined, he was probably willing to rip her arm off.

  “We seem to be at an impasse,” he grunted.

  “Yeah, impasse,” Trish agreed. Sweat trickled down the side of her face and more blood plopped onto the floor. Spots began to appear in her vision.

  “Count of three we both let go.”

  “How can I believe you?” She gritted her teeth.

  “Because I don’t want to lose my balls, bitch.”

  Yeah, both of them letting go would be good. If they didn’t, Trish would be on her knees in about five seconds.

  “One, two, three.”

  On three, she let him go, but gave him a little shove, just as he gave her. They both skittered back on the wet rock and Trish bent over, her arm supported by the curve of her body.

  “You’re a feisty one,” he muttered.

  “You’re an asshole,” she retorted. The pain was making her brain short circuit. Why was she antagonizing him? He was trying to kill her.

  “Let’s make this fast,” he spat. “I don’t like playing with my food.”

  Trish heard a sound. Footsteps?

  He advanced on her but she twisted out of his grasp and slid to the other side of the small cavern. How the hell was she going to get out of here?

  Now she was almost under the fucking puddle he’d dragged her through. Could she get up there? Now closer to the puddle and the obvious hole in the cavern ceiling, she heard the unmistakable sound of steps above her.

  “Levi!”

  Her heart raced. Could he be there? Looking for her?