by Jack Phoenix
And another read:
“Erinyes (Angry Ones); Emenides (Kindly Ones); Furies-According to Greek and Roman mythology, three avenging deities, enforcers of justice in human affairs; Punishers of those who break law within the standard order including murder or crimes against family or nature. Mentioned in Iliad; Popularly known for the persecution of Orestes for murdering his mother and for preventing Helios from reversing the movement of the sun; Regarded as personifications of guilt, penance; Members often listed as Alecto, Maegera, and Tisiphone. Sometimes companions of Nemesis or Hecate. See also Furina (Etruscan), Fates (Greek), Sirens (Greek), Wyrd Sisters (Norse).”
It had to be them. Most of the sources depicted these demigoddesses as engaging in psychological assaults on their victims, driving them insane. So that was it. They were trying to drive him crazy. Was he already crazy for even considering this a possibility? Could they just be figments of his imagination? No, he was sure they were real and they were after him. They were described as ‘persistent,’ ‘relentless,’ and ‘horrifying’ to their guilty victims, but never posed a threat to the innocent. He read they were “Daughters of The Night.”
That phrase made him pause in thought. There was something about that title, ‘Daughters of The Night,’ and it reminded him of something. It was something his father’s lacerated form had said to him. His father had said something about, “moving to where it’s always sunny.” Something else struck him, and he realized that he had only encountered these furious foes at night. Was that their weakness; daylight? How could he use that?
From the corner of his eye, Roderick saw something that allowed, even if only for a moment, distraction from his current dedication. Walking out the front doors of the library, having just finished at the check-out counter, was his daughter, a stack of books in her hands. Who was that with her? Yes, it was that man, his wife’s friend from college; the loser, the pussy-ass teacher that Roderick was sure wanted into his wife’s pants. He couldn’t have her. She was his. What was going on? Why would this man be here with his daughter?
The sight had startled him so that it was a few minutes before Roderick kicked the chair back, stepping heavily to the doors. He exited the building and searched, only to find the two driving away in the man’s car. What was his name? Will? Walt? It began with a “W” he was sure. Wade. Yes, that was it. His name was Wade Loeb and he was trying to usurp Roderick Whithers’ status, steal his family. He could feel the anger, the rage, burning within his gut. No one would dare. He would get his family back, but first, he had to deal with more complicated opponents.
He made his way to the car and took off toward the Guns and Ammunitions Depot. Once there, he made his purchases and then asked to use the phone, dialing 411 and asking to be put in touch with an old friend, David Meyers, owner of Meyers Electricians and Lighting.
“David, this is Roderick Whithers,” he said into the phone.
Meyers replied, “Rod! It’s good to hear from you, how are you? Hey, I’m sorry to hear about your dad.”
“No time for that, I need a favor.”
“Sure, anything you need,” Meyers assured him.
“It’s a huge job, it’s a weird job, I need it done by sunset, and money is no object.”
“Are you okay? You sound kinda off.”
“Will you do the job?”
“It depends on what the job is.”
“You know that property I have on Eleventh Avenue?”
“Yeah, that unfinished building, I drive by it every now and then. Why?”
“Do you have any sunlamps? You know, UV lamps?”
“No, but I can get them.”
“Tonight?”
“Yes…”
“How many?”
“Rod, can you tell me what’s going on?”
“I’ll pay you whatever you want, David, I mean it, you name your own price, but this is what I need. And don’t ask questions.”
* * * *
“What’s this now?”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Okay, I’ll just pretend it’s been forty-eight hours, Elizabeth thought, time to do something.
She dialed the number for the police station on her cell phone and reported her husband missing and her car stolen. She did not bother to mention that she had indeed seen her husband earlier and that she saw him take her car. Instead she chose to omit certain details, hoping it would reflect less poorly upon her for not having taken some sort of action sooner. She told them that her husband was acting erratic and even hostile. She told them about the event at the fund-raiser. They assured her they would send someone to take her report.
Though Elizabeth was expecting a police officer, it was Detective Yost who appeared at her door, and shook her hand. “Hello, Mrs. Whithers, I wish I could say it was nice to see you again, but perhaps these aren’t the best circumstances.”
Elizabeth welcomed her in, showing her to a seat, “It’s Mrs. O’Dell-Whithers, actually, and thank you. I agree, this does kinda suck. Can I get you a cup of coffee or tea?”
“I would love some coffee, thank you.”
“How do you take it?”
“Black is fine, thank you.”
As Elizabeth prepared the coffee, Detective Yost pulled a note pad and a pen from her jacket pocket and began to jot down the basic information. “So, your husband’s gone missing?”
“Yes, I’m so worried,” Elizabeth said from the kitchen. “He’s not himself.”
“How do you mean, exactly? You said that he’s been acting strangely and you mentioned something about a party?”
“Yes, he’s been acting strange for a while, the past few days have just been, well, insane. He hasn’t been home since he freaked out at the party—he looked like he’d seen a ghost or something. He said something about people being after him, he’s acting paranoid and deranged.”
“It is most inconvenient that he’s missing. I have some important questions for him.”
“What do you mean?” Elizabeth asked, coming out of the kitchen.
“When did he first start acting strangely?” inquired the detective.
“Well, I guess it started a few weeks ago, right after his father died. He had this terrible nightmare, scared me half to death. The following night he went out and didn’t come home until that afternoon and was acting really flustered, you know, bothered like something bad had happened. But he wouldn’t tell me what was wrong or where he’d been. And then there was the night that he called the police, because he thought that ‘monsters’ were trying to get into the house.”
“Perhaps we should slow down,” Detective Yost suggested. “I’ll need dates and details.”
“Okay, sure, I’ll be right back,” and Elizabeth went into the kitchen again and returned a little later with two cups of steaming coffee. She took a seat across from the detective and asked again, “So, why did you say you have something to discuss with Rod?”
“Let me get some information from you first, but I’m afraid this may be more than just a missing-person case.”
* * * *
David Meyers was not the kind of man to turn down a job or, more importantly, money. The sight of his old business partner caused him concern, sitting on the dirt floor, ragged and in stained clothing. But he wouldn’t turn down the astronomical amount of money being offered him, regardless of how preposterous of a job it was or how unsound his client’s mind may be.
Roderick sat there, relaxing while he read the book he’d taken from Doctor Jones’ office. He waited for Meyers and his men to finish, and rarely looked up to check on their progress. The building on Eleventh Avenue was framed without walls, floors, or ceilings. It was skeletal in the nippy air with its steel beams and rafters an open ribcage. Out of respect for Roderick’s stipulation of his last-minute deal with Meyers, he and his work
ers did not ask a single question other than clarification on technical items. The purpose of this venture was Mister Whithers’ business and his alone. They were told to just do the work quickly and how he wanted it.
Roderick continued to read, doing his best to drown out the sounds of the workers with his inner voice. What bothered Roderick about this book and the others were the inconsistencies. Nothing was concrete about these demons or demigods or whatever they were. Their details, names, and origins alternated from each source to the next. The books agreed on one detail, their occupation to pursue and punish the guilty. The severity of this occupation bothered him.
Some of the lore told that gods released the Furies upon mankind. In others, they acted as independent agents, enforcing the laws of nature and humanity as they saw fit, and even the gods and goddesses were subject to their wrath.
In one story they halted their pursuit, after being ordered to do so by the goddess Artemis. They were pursuing poor Orestes for killing his mother, but the whole thing was apparently a misunderstanding. In no story does a victim ever escape their mental torture without divine intervention. Some said that they would act in accordance with the severity of the crime and that they were completely objective and impartial. Some said that the punishments were disproportionate.
What interested Roderick the most, were the sources that said that the Furies could be summoned by the victim to seek revenge upon the offender, like a curse.
This part gave Roderick pause to wonder, but he stopped his pondering when David Meyers approached, informing him, “Okay, we’re all done. I think we have it just how you want it.”
“Good,” he said simply, closing the book. He could see the sun setting on the horizon, above the abandoned factories and the landfill that surrounded them. This land was a waste of property, and he had never been able to sell it. “If you’re done then leave. Here’s your check.”
“You got it. Thanks for your business,” Meyers said, inspecting the check. “You sure that you’re okay, bud?”
“Fit as a fiddle. Now, leave me alone.”
“All right, boys, let’s beat it,” David hollered to his workers, and waved his arm forward, directing them to their trucks.
Once they left, Roderick tossed the book aside and opened the backseat of his car where he grabbed a rifle, a handgun, three knives and a baseball bat. He attached all of the small items to himself using his belt and a leather strap across his shoulder. The rifle he held in his hand. He stood in the center of the dirt floor, surrounded by the quiet metal beams and he waited. He waited for the sun to set.
* * * *
“My, sounds like you’ve been dealing with a great deal,” Detective Yost sympathized after Elizabeth, who was now in tears, and had told her all that she could tell her.
“It’s been scary, yeah,” she sniffled. “I don’t know what I should do. I should probably just leave, but that feels wrong to me. I wasn’t raised to abandon someone that I love.”
“And you do love him?” the detective’s question was unexpected, and Elizabeth gave her a curious glance. “Woman to woman. I’m just wondering if you really love him.”
“Yes,” she answered, “yes, I do love him. Even with all his flaws. We were good once, and I can’t forget that. I love him enough to want to see him well.”
“Mrs. O’Dell-Whithers…” the detective began another question.
“Please, call me Liz,” she told her.
“Okay, Liz, do you know a Chelsea Palmer?”
Elizabeth’s face turned to stone as she stood up, looking out the window, into the distance at nothing. “I know of her, yes, but I don’t know her personally.”
“What can you tell me of her?”
“Not much, why?”
“What do you know of her?” the detective repeated.
Elizabeth’s arms crossed and she returned to her chair, but stayed standing. “She’s the woman my husband has been having an affair with.”
“You don’t say…” the detective trailed.
There was something about Detective Yost’s face now that puzzled Elizabeth, it was tart in a way, as though it were holding back this great flood of knowledge, like a hydrant that needs to burst. She also had a look in her eye that Elizabeth recognized, a look of disdain, and she knew what the detective was wondering was why she was still with this guy. Why would she stay with this man when she knew he was having an affair? Elizabeth recognized the look because she had seen it on her own face when looking in the mirror on many occasions. The detective jotted on her pad and both were silent until her pen slipped off the paper, marking her hand instead.
“What is it?”
“Liz, we found Chelsea Palmer’s body in those very woods,” she said, pointing out the window and not giving Elizabeth any time to process the information.
“What? Oh, my God, no,” she stuttered, falling back onto the chair.
“Yes and we also found the murder weapon buried near her. It has your husband’s fingerprints on it.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Darkness had fallen. Night was around him. He was still standing. He stood silently, never moving an inch, his gun cocked and ready to fire. In his other hand, he held a small remote with a small red button. An hour passed.
“Come on,” he whispered, “where are you? I know you’re out here.”
He heard nothing. Saw nothing.
“I know you’re watching me! Come on, let’s do this!”
Another fifteen minutes felt like an eternity. His legs were beginning to hurt. He almost felt a yawn coming on.
“Come on!” he yelled, his voice echoing off the metal around him. “You want me! I’m right here! Come and get me, you filthy cunts!”
He heard a slight ting on the metal behind him. He turned and gazed into the darkness, following the sound. He began to hear what sounded like tiny clicking noises, like chirps from a rodent. He could barely see in the darkness the three small figures hanging from one of the rafters above, like fruit hanging from a tree. From the bottom of each of these figures sprouted sets of glowing green eyes. There they stayed for several minutes, and he could now see what appeared to be bats, hanging upside down. Becoming impatient, he fired his gun at them. He heard the strike of the bullets against metal, and suddenly, their leathery wings spread and they emitted a hideous screech.
The screeching, which he had heard so many times before, still caused him pain, all those voices in his ears at once. Like gargantuan nails across a Brobdignagian chalkboard. He recoiled, head throbbing, nearly losing his balance at the terrible sound. It was enough distraction for the figures to dive at him, releasing their prehensile tails from the metal, the sound of their flapping wings completely dwarfed by the sounds of their screeching, and Roderick felt himself knocked to the ground, dropping his gun and the remote.
The commotion continued. Roderick fought its affects, and struggled to get to all fours when they fluttered in mid air before him. Their scaly snake bodies lacked appendages this time. Leathery wings flapped where they sprouted from bony shoulders, and between them nestled ugly lupine heads with long snouts. Their glowing green eyes, lacking pupils yet still focused, set atop their jaws full of metallic piranha teeth. Their bright red manes flowed down their backs, swaying in the air like fire on an Olympic torch.
The opponents remained motionless faced off momentarily, staring at each other with burning hatred. As Roderick made the first move reaching for the remote, the Furies sprang with lightning speed. Roderick whipped out his handgun, but wasn’t fast enough to pull the trigger as one of the Furies wrapped its slithery tail around his waist. Wings battered his face as it bit him on the shoulder. The fangs penetrated deep, sending trickles of blood down his back as he shouted in pain. He pointed the gun at the creature’s lower body, but felt another scaly tail wrap around his wrist, pulli
ng his arm upwards before he could pull the trigger. As it clenched his arm, the beast flapped its wings fiercely, struggling to fly backwards while Roderick pulled back. He rotated his wrist to aim at his foe and fired the gun four times. Both quickly unwrapped themselves, apparently startled, and dashed back into the darkness.
He wobbled briefly, trying to regain his composure. He took a few giant steps towards the remote lying in the dirt, and attempted to run. Suddenly, he fell flat on his back, and the gun flew from his hand as one of the Furies, flying low, wrapped itself around his legs to trip him. It lunged for his face like a viper, and Roderick instinctively threw his right arm up, protecting his face with his forearm, and it gladly bit the proffered arm. Blood from his arm dripped onto his face as the beast’s head squirmed and shook like a mad wolf with fresh prey. He grabbed its throat, squeezing as tightly as he could to loosen its grip. It opened its mouth to catch a breath, and he slipped his bloody arm out, holding the beast desperately and firmly in place as it snapped at his face. His bloody hand grabbed a knife from his belt and slit the creature across its midsection. It screeched in his face, broke from his grip, and flew off.
All three were once again hidden in the shadows, but Roderick could still hear them. Quickly, he began to crawl towards the remote, but was strangled by one of their tails as it looped around his neck. It pulled him backwards, the wings stroking through the air like a professional swimmer, and dragged him across the dirt, like a lynching victim by a truck. He managed to slide his knife under the creature’s coil and flicked outward, cutting off the end of its tail to free himself.
It wailed, holding its tip-less tail up to its face to examine the damage. A red ring around his neck, Roderick caught his breath and rose to his feet. He glared at his enemies, his fingers tightened around his knife, ready to strike. It snarled at him, and with a flick of its tail produced a blade from the severed tip. He gasped, wide-eyed. He hadn’t seen that coming.