Gargoyles I, II, III: Dark Angel Alliance

by Rach Elle

  Now Kingsley Leon wandered the city of Charlotte, North Carolina; the big city just outside his little hometown, waiting for the end. He still used his cane to walk, but it was just for show. He pretended to be frail, but had the strength of a Clydesdale. It was all an illusion. Now he followed an armed guard through the halls of a maximum security prison to speak to the one man who could actually relate.

  Kingsley sat on an uncomfortable stool and waited patiently. The door on the opposite side of the glass finally opened and Junior Cross or, Toby Pierce as he was known here, entered the room. He spotted Kingsley and sat down across from him. They picked up their telephones so they could hear one another.

  “You’re coming here too often,” Junior began, “they’re starting to call you my boyfriend.”

  Kingsley laughed, “Nice to see you too.”

  Junior was a tall, muscular man in his early thirties at shifting age. His jaw was chiseled and his eyes a piercing blue. Kingsley knew underneath that orange jumpsuit were sleeves of tattoos and a physique made for barroom brawling. The kid had it made. He could have any woman he wanted and get away with whatever he wanted. He was charming and everyone swooned after him; male and female. But he was also an ignorant prick; too absorbed in his own swan song to actually have a life. And the kicker? He already had a Responsibility. She was in her seventies and as much as Kingsley hated to think about it - nearing her end in this world. Once that happened Junior would return to normal. He would age again; and most importantly, he could die. His end was in sight and the lousy bum didn’t have enough brains to enjoy it. Oh how Kingsley envied him.

  “So, what’s going on King?” Junior asked.

  “I’m leaving.”

  Junior crooked his brow, “For how long?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m taking Elizabeth with me.”

  “Like hell you are!” Junior growled, his eyes flashing to red for only half a second.

  “I have no choice kid. I made a promise to you that I would keep her safe, didn’t I? Well I can’t very well do that from across the country and you can’t do it from inside a prison cell.”

  “Why are you leaving? And where?” Junior was trying to calm down.

  Kingsley pulled out a tabloid from his jacket pocket and unfolded it to show the front page. “I’m going to Portland, Oregon for her.”

  “Who is she?”

  “I don’t know, but something about this photo spoke to me. I can’t get it out of my mind. I think she might be the one, kid. I won’t know until I see her in person. I have to go.”

  “Are you going to call?” Junior’s voice had a hint of vulnerability. It was an odd thing to hear coming from such a giant.

  “You know you can’t get phone calls here.”

  “Write then.”

  “You wouldn’t get my letters for several days and by then I’ll be back, hopefully.”

  “You know I can’t handle being away from her.” He began to shiver uncontrollably.

  “I know, but it’s the only way. Besides, you haven’t exactly been near her for the past eleven years.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I do.” Kingsley thought for a moment, “How about I bring her here to say goodbye so…”

  “No!” Junior snapped. “You know I don’t want her to see me like this.”

  Kingsley sighed quietly. He believed the kid in the beginning, but over the past several years he wondered if he just didn’t want to see Elizabeth ever again. She was no longer the young, vivacious woman he fell in love with fifty years ago. She, unlike him, had aged.

  “Fine,” Kingsley said quietly, “we’re leaving tonight. I’ll let you know as soon as we get back.” He stood from the stool and left Junior, shivering, rocking back and forth like a junkie going through withdrawals. He was in pain, both emotional and physical, and Kingsley couldn’t help but smile about it.

  That night Junior Cross couldn’t sleep. He lay in his bed and listened for any sounds of conscious behavior. He could hear the individual breathing of every prisoner on his cell block; but he couldn’t hear the presence of a guard. Based on the time of their last rounds, they weren’t due for at least a few more minutes. Junior took a deep breath then quietly got out of his bed. He made his way to the back corner of his cell and peered through the small barred window. He carefully wrapped his large hands around the bars and forcefully pulled them apart, bending the steel to create a larger opening. He tried to fit his head through and realized there was no way he could fit his entire body. He weighed his options before pressing his palms against the cement wall just underneath the opening. For fear of making too much noise he pushed lightly at first; but when the cement wouldn’t budge, he pushed harder. The concrete crumbled and large pieces fell three stories to the ground below. Junior was about to pull himself through the opening when he thought twice about his flashy orange jumpsuit. He unzipped the front and stripped himself of his prison attire. He left his shoes lying in the middle of the cell, he wouldn’t need them anyway. In only a pair of black briefs he hoisted himself through the opening and to the outside world. He figured he had only a minute before a guard or two would notice something amiss. He dug his fingertips into the cement building and pulled the rest of his body into the fresh air. He curled his toes to grip into the siding and scaled across the prison with ease. Worried that he was running out of time, he picked up his pace and moved faster. He considered climbing to the top of the roof and shifting entirely to take flight, but that was before he noticed a car in the distance.

  He stopped and stared at the car for a moment. It sat in the middle of the field behind the prison. There were no roads leading to its parking spot and no reason for it to be there; except… The headlights flashed quickly and Junior picked up his pace. He could hear the frantic rustle inside the building and knew a guard had realized he was gone. A loud siren went off and large search lights blasted on high from watch towers. He needed to disappear; and fast. Junior lunged from the wall and fell three stories to the ground, landing perfectly on both feet and bended knees. He didn’t waste any time and took off running toward the field. Guards began patrolling the prison yard as Junior blended into the shadows.

  Kingsley sat behind the wheel of an old station wagon. Elizabeth was in the back seat, extremely nervous and growing even more so by the second. “Do you think he got out?” She asked. She couldn’t see too well in the dark.

  Kingsley saw the nearly naked man running toward the car. “Well that’s just inappropriate,” he mumbled as Junior flung the door open and plopped down inside. “Oh, please,” Kingsley scoffed, “you didn’t have to get all dressed up for me.”

  “How’d you know what I was doing?”

  “I figured you’d come around eventually.” Kingsley smiled.

  “Junior,” Elizabeth blushed, “you haven’t changed a bit.”

  Junior smiled sweetly as he looked upon his Elizabeth for the first time in eleven years. He reached his body into the backseat and kissed her softly on the cheek. “You too Lizzie,” he whispered.

  Kingsley hit the gas pedal and the three disappeared into the night.

  Portland, Oregon…

  Awilda Rose sat in her private, sterile room in Bain Asylum. She had been uneasy for the better part of the day. Her stomach had been twisting and churning and making it nearly impossible for her to keep any food down. Now it was after nightfall and everyone had retired to their respective rooms. Most of the employees had gone home for the night and all was silent throughout the Bain halls.

  Awilda sat in the corner of her room, twiddling her thumbs and biting her bottom lip. She could remember vividly how the last group of psychology students had looked at her earlier in the day. She hated it when the ‘tour guide’ stopped in front of her room and spoke without regard about her problems. The students would then take turns peeking through the glass window embedded in the door. They looked at her like she was crazy. She supposed she was. She’d had delusions, nightmares and d
ebilitating paranoia for years without break. Only when she would consume those pills the nurses here liked to shove down her throat would she be able to sleep through the night. Although, she questioned herself, wasn’t the fact that she figured her problems were due to some mental disorder a sign that she wasn’t crazy? If she were crazy then she would think those monsters were real; but she was well aware that they were not, right? Awilda sighed heavily. This was all enough to drive someone insane.

  The churning in her stomach resurfaced. She placed her hand on her abdomen and applied pressure to stabilize it. Something was wrong, she thought. She couldn’t pinpoint why, but she had the feeling of a shift of balance in the world, like something was coming; something big; and she didn’t know what. It scared her, as most things in the outside world did; and for that reason she would remain in her little room; the room without sharp edges. Nothing hanging on the walls or objects that could hurt her; not even a piece of paper to give her a paper cut. She was safe.

  A branch from a nearby tree wrapped against her barred window. The wind was growing stronger outside and she could now hear its whistle; calling her like a dog. She cautiously obeyed, got up and walked across the tiny room. She hesitated before peering outside to see a silent, dark street; only the light of the streetlamp to give shape to an otherwise shapeless night. Awilda was just about to turn away when she saw something moving toward her. Her heart raced and eyes narrowed curiously.

  An old woman walked into the light. She was frail and looked near death. She could barely stand on her shaking knees. The light shined on her silver hair, creating the illusion of a halo. She stood on the sidewalk for a moment before lifting her head to see the third story window. Awilda gasped as she made eye contact with the familiar, old woman. She wanted to call to her. She wanted to run downstairs and open the front door. Instead she watched through the window as the old woman, with pained and apologetic eyes, lowered her head and walked into the middle of the road. A horn blared as an oncoming car tried to stop but it was too late. It sped through the old woman and dragged her body underneath, mangling her beyond recognition. Awilda screamed violently as she burst into tears and ran to her door. She tried to open it but of course it was locked for the night. She cried for someone to get her out. She searched the hall desperately through the tiny glass window for a night guard; anyone to help her. She banged on the door with both fists until her hands went numb and her breathy screams fogged the glass. She was trapped, with death just outside her window. She huddled tightly in the far corner of the room and shuddered; she was far from safe.

  1

  Dr. Simon Crispin angrily walked through the halls of Bain Asylum. He’d received a call from his superior and it contained news he didn’t like to hear; but this was the life he chose; an inferior to corporate suits who looked at nothing more than the bottom line. Perhaps in his next life he would be a part of that upper echelon. Today, however, his sole responsibility was to escort a visitor through the asylum.

  Dr. Crispin entered the lobby and headed toward Angie, the receptionist. She spotted him instantly, blushed, and tried to look away as soon as possible. She thought he was handsome. He knew this. His dirty blonde hair was cut perfectly and bounced effortlessly as he walked. His features were elongated and his eyes were a mysterious gray. He always had just the right amount of stubble and his teeth belonged in a Crest commercial. But Crisp never acted on the desires and occasional impulses of his colleagues. He was a professional.

  He approached the receptionist desk to the sound of the small television they kept sitting on the tabletop. As always it was turned to the local news at this hour. He briefly listened to the broadcast.

  “Barbara Cohen, the chief editor of the tabloid The Global Observer tragically ended her own life two nights ago in Los Angeles, California. Sources say she used her final minutes to approve the latest issue of the magazine with the printer before reportedly overdosing on prescription drugs…”

  “Dr. Crispin,” Angie began, “Dr. Harper is here to see you. I checked him into the waiting area.”

  Crisp narrowed his eyes. “Did he show you his ID?”

  “Of course,” Angie looked taken aback, “is there a reason why he wouldn’t?”

  “No, just checking.”

  Angie relaxed, “Let me just grab the log book for you to sign.” She wheeled her chair to the other side of the U-shaped receptionist area.

  “And now for the weather…”

  Crisp tuned into the broadcast again.

  “Thanks Tanya; well it looks like this cold weather is going to be with us for a little longer. I know what you’re thinking, it’s the middle of April, where is the sun? Well good news; looks like we’ll be seeing our good friend the sun this week, unfortunately, the temperatures aren’t going to be much higher. This has been the longest winter we’ve had in the last century; but don’t worry folks we will get through it…”

  “Here you are.” Angie handed the log book to Crisp. He signed himself in, stating the reason for his late night visit and returned it to the delicate but capable hands of the receptionist.

  “It’s almost the end of your shift Angie. Don’t wait up for me; I know my way out.” He smiled.

  Crisp opened the door to the waiting area to see a tall, older gentleman standing in the corner looking at photographs that hung on the wall. They all depicted the happy staff and residents of Bain. He looked toward Crisp and smiled, revealing his crow’s feet.

  “Looks like a wonderful place you’ve got here.” He spoke.

  “Where did you say you were from?”

  The man walked toward Crisp and held out his hand. “London, England. Hi, I’m Dr. Sunders Harper. I believe it was your manager that I spoke with on the phone.”

  Crisp didn’t shake his hand. “You don’t have an English accent.”

  “Hmm? Oh, how observant of you. Yes, I’m originally from Scotland but I’ve since moved to London. And I’m assuming you’re Dr. Crispin?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well then, shall we get this show on the road?”

  Dr. Harper’s overly enthusiastic attitude annoyed Crisp. He wasn’t sure why, he didn’t typically have these types of emotional responses to other members of the species; but something wasn’t right about this one.

  “Yes, we should.” Crisp turned and led Dr. Harper to the elevator. Neither of the men spoke a word until the doors opened to reveal the third floor. Crisp led the way and spoke over his shoulder. “So, Dr. Harper…”

  “Call me Sonny.”

  “Okay, Sonny, how did you hear about our dear Awilda Rose?”

  “I read an article about her. It was fascinating. I just had to come here and speak to her myself.”

  “And by article you mean the tabloid? Let me be clear, the employee who allowed the story to be released no longer works here. I made sure of that myself. We take pride in keeping the confidentiality and trust of our patients and I assure you I will be closely monitoring your little chat with Miss Rose. Do you understand?”

  “Of course, I would expect nothing less.”

  Crisp looked over his shoulder at Sunders. It was night but there was just enough light from adjacent streetlamps pouring into the halls to highlight the gray streaks in his brown hair. His suit was wrinkled, as if he stepped off the plane and didn’t bother to check into a hotel to freshen up. Crisp wondered if he would find a carry-on suitcase in his rental car. He was too eager. It didn’t sit well with him. He looked straight ahead at the locked door at the end of the hall.

  “So, tell me a little about this girl.” Sunders requested.

  “You read the article.”

  “Aye, but there has to be more to it. The article only focused on her mental stability or lack there of; but there was no background. What led her to this?”

  Crisp rolled his eyes. The empathy in Sunders’ voice was underwhelming. “She was raised by her grandparents. Her mother was a junkie who died at birth and her father left when she was ten
. No one knows where he is; probably dead.”

  “Hmm,” Sunders began.

  They reached the locked door and Crisp swiped his ID through the card reader. The lock released and they pushed their way through. “What?” He asked.

  “While the abandonment is sad, it doesn’t really explain hallucinations and paranoia.”

  “That’s not the extent of it. Her problems began when she was twelve.”

  “What happened?”

  “Her grandfather tried to kill her.”

  Sunders stopped, forcing Crisp to stop as well. “What?”

  “Whatever mental disorder Awilda has, apparently her grandfather had as well. He too began having delusions and they led him to believe his granddaughter had to die. Thankfully her grandmother was there when it all happened.”

  “What did her grandmother do?”

  “Killed her grandfather,” Crisp began walking again and Sunders followed. “Awilda started coming to me for therapy; I had a private practice back then; but nothing ever seemed to help. It was getting worse as the years went on; and her home life wasn’t helping either. Her grandmother, Gayle, was becoming increasingly neurotic and obsessed with her late husband’s condition. She was frantically trying to find answers but coming up short. She began experiencing signs of schizophrenia, although I seriously doubt she actually had the disease. Now we’ll never know.”

  “Why?”

  “She died last night.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “She was hit by a car just outside our facility. Just outside Awilda’s window, actually. Awilda saw everything.”