Emerging (Subdue Book 2)

by Thomas S. Flowers

  “Look. I don’t blame how you’re feeling. I think we’ve all been doing the same thing, to be honest.” Jake sat up from their booth, looking around for the waitress. His stomach growled unforgivingly loud. “Man, I’m hungry!” he added.

  “And what’s that?”

  “Huh?”

  “What have we all been doing?”

  Jake looked back at Bobby. “Keeping our distance. I know I’ve been doing it. Maybe not intentionally, or maybe I have. Something happened. I saw…a soldier died, and I was with him when it happened. I’m sure you’ve seen worse. But it got to me, bad. Started doubting myself; still do to an extent. After the Army, I didn’t really want to be around anyone I knew or had known. Call it guilt. Or call it anger. I don’t know. I call it fear. I was afraid of tainting those good memories of home or even my childhood friends with what I’d become. This darkness inside, you know? So I started a new life without any of you. Never reached out…well, ’til I couldn’t take it anymore. I called Johnathan. The only number I still knew. And you know what, in his own way Johnathan was dealing with the same issues. Though, I imagine it was probably harder on him to keep away, being married to Karen and all. But from the sound of it, I don’t think either of them had spoken with Maggie. And Maggie, well…she’s been doing the very same thing we all have, because of losing Ricky. Or maybe hers was more intentional. Maybe she’s pissed at us,” Jake pointed at Bobby and himself, “because we both signed up. Maybe we had something to do with Ricky signing up.”

  He laughed. “And we all know why Johnathan signed up. Be it for honor or glory or hell because we were all bored to tears living comfortably in Houston watching the world burn on the Nightly News. Maybe we thought we could do something. Do some good.” Jake cleared his throat. Tears ran down his face. He shut his eyes tight and sipped on what remained of his coffee. “Where’s the damn waitress?” he hissed.

  Bobby thought quietly. He hadn’t put much stock in how anyone else’s experience fared in the war. The last time they’d spoken much about it, they were still kids going off to war. God—how long ago was that? It seems like yesterday yet feels like an eternity. Maybe it really was Ricky who held us all together.

  “So, yeah. I’m sorry…What’s going on with Mags? You said she was hurting?” whispered Bobby, dismissing his thoughts.

  Jake wiped his eyes. “She doesn’t sound very good, Bobby. She wrote me this letter—”

  “And?”

  “I have no idea why. It sounds like she doesn’t have internet or anything up there in Jotham; living off the grid or something.”

  Bobby smiled. “Know the feeling.”

  Jake returned the smile with his own. His eyes still gleamed wet. “I guess so,” he said. “Anyways, she wrote me this letter. She wants everyone to come back together. All of us.” He handed Bobby the letter.

  “A Suicide Squad reunion, huh?” Bobby slurped on the remnants of his coffee loudly, trying to piss off the lady next to them as much as possible, not really caring if he read the entirety of what Maggie wrote. He knew the score well enough. She was done being alone.

  “Yup.”

  “Sounds like fun, but—” Bobby stopped. Tomorrow would be a full moon. Could he risk the adventure? Could he risk his friends? He looked doubtful.

  “Please, Bobby. She needs us. All of us to be there.”

  Bobby clenched his jaw. Could I get back in time? Before—the change? Could I make it back to Luna’s before…?

  “Bobby?”

  “Okay,” Bobby surrendered. “But I need to be back in town by tomorrow. Got it? I need to be back, I’m not joking. I’m serious, Jake. Promise me you’ll bring me back to Houston, to Luna’s.”

  “Who’s Luna?”

  “Don’t worry about that. Just promise me, man. Swear to whatever it is you hold holy. Swear to God, Jake, you’ll take me to Luna’s tomorrow, before the sun goes down.” Bobby persisted. His eyes locked with Jakes and held them.

  Jake looked into his friend’s eyes. He looked deep into those brown irises and found…fear. Bobby was afraid. Of going or not getting back, no one knew for certain; no one but Bobby and Luna.

  “Okay, Bobby. I promise. We’ll stay the night. I’ll explain to Maggie you need to be back in town for…whatever it is. She’ll understand. I’m sure of it. I’ll drive you myself, okay? Wherever you need to go, I’ll take you. I promise.”

  Bobby exhaled in relief. His shoulders relaxed. He looked at his empty mug, puzzled. He looked up. “Where the hell is our food?” he asked.

  Jake joined him in his search. They couldn’t see the waitress, but spotted a twenty-something skinny fellow dressed in a faded pink button up, khakis, and a mundane tie heading their way. The man stopped in front of their table, pushing his moppy red hair out of his face. He had braces on his teeth. His name tag said, ‘Roger, Area Manager’.

  “Excuse me, we’re going to have to ask you to leave,” said Roger in a hushed whisper, refusing to make eye contact.

  “Huh?” Jake blinked wildly at him in stupefaction.

  Bobby felt the rage return.

  “You—and your friend—need to leave,” said Roger, pointedly, refusing also to address Bobby face to face.

  “Why?” Jake protested.

  “We have a strict policy.”

  “I bet,” Bobby growled.

  “Please, you’re upsetting our patrons. Just—leave. Okay?”

  “Are you being serious?” said Jake, astounded. Embarrassed, perhaps, or maybe even angry.

  “If you do not leave we will be forced to call the police.” Roger snuck a glance at the surrounding tables, with a look of desperation to end the matter, quickly.

  “What exactly did we—” Jake started.

  “Don’t. It’s okay. I know why shit pants here wants us—me—to leave. It’s fine.” Bobby glared at Roger. “Don’t worry, kid. We’re gone.” He got up and watched with some amusement as the boy manager backed away carefully.

  Jake grumbled, but followed his friend. On his way out the door he watched Bobby snatch two fists of breath mints. He turned and looked over the restaurant. All the eyes watched them carefully, curiously. No one said a word in defense; no one stood up. By the time they were outside, conversations resumed. Forks clattered against plates, spooning mouthfuls of yolk and bacon and waffles.

  Rounding the car, Jake turned and apologized.

  Bobby waved him off. “Don’t worry about it. Happens all the time, really. It’s okay, man. It wasn’t your fault.”

  “Happens all the time?”

  Bobby smiled, wanly.

  “Jeez.”

  Bobby shrugged. “Look. Would you mind if we made a stop at Spec’s? I’ve got some cash and I’d like to pick up a party favor. For the reunion.”

  Jake nodded. “Sounds good, Bobby.” He smiled flopping down inside the borrowed church Volvo. He fired up the engine. Johnny Cash flooded the speakers, one of those last cover songs he did before he died, the one about hurting himself, just to see if he still bled.

  “Ugh!” Bobby punched the knob, killing the radio.

  “What? I thought you loved this song?” teased Jake. “Didn’t you have a poster of Nine Inch Nails back in the day?”

  Bobby grumbled.

  Jake chuckled. “I guess we grow out of things.” He pulled the Volvo out on Bay Area and headed towards the liquor store.

  CHAPTER 6

  SUMMER OF 1995

  Ricky

  The house seemed taller up close. The dilapidated porch looked fantastically dangerous. Shingles peeled from the roof collecting in a hump in the unmowed weeds like some slumbering monster hidden beneath a heap of rock. Hooks and a rusted red chain hung from the ceiling gave evidence that a swing had once existed here, but the bench was nowhere to be seen. Ricky Smith swallowed hard, carefully placing a foot on the precarious wood steps. He turned back and saw his friends watching him from over his shoulder. He swallowed again and took another step. The wood moaned but held. Anot
her step. The wood creaked. He imagined the worst fate, falling through and tumbling into the jaws of some nether-beast or creature from one of those movies he liked to watch late at night. When none of that happened, he took another step and found himself standing on the porch facing the large faded red front door.

  He stalled.

  “Pussy!” yelled Bobby, giggling from the relative safety of the dirt driveway. Maggie nudged him in his hefty gut, but he kept laughing.

  Ricky turned back and shot up a middle finger.

  More giggles.

  Taking a breath, Ricky reached for the door knob. The hinges moaned. He stood there, peering into the dark depths for a moment, unsure if he could go through with it. But a dare’s a dare. Musk and mildew reeked from the unseen places. Seeing no movement, he held his nose and stepped inside. It was hot, though he expected as much. It had been a humid summer and the house had been sitting abandoned for who knows how long, absorbing all the heat without ventilation, without AC. Judging by the look of the dusty and molded furniture, the wet ash in the fireplace, the paintings of people and places he’s never seen or known fermenting with some sort of strange overgrown bacteria blooming in grotesque purple-yellow alien flowers that soaked into the canvas, the house had been unused for quite some time. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he continued through the vast living room, or so he assumed it to be. It was enormous, filled with what could have very well been a valuable couch and chairs had it been untouched by decay. Everything seemed smoky, though whatever smoke had been here had long since dissipated. The fireplace felt gothic, the molding touched the ceiling above. The mantel was decadent, lined with expensive things. A cuckoo clock hung partially off the wall, the bluebird that perhaps chimed the hour in yesteryear now lay open on its mechanical springs as if ripped from its home by some wild or curious thing. Despite its still transcendent beauty, the clock was beyond repair. Further inside he could see a black and empty room and beside that what looked to be a kitchen. The place had been disemboweled. Cooking pots lay about. Cupboards were exposed and rotting from the inside. The cast iron stove tipped over, penetrating the floor boards in broken pieces. What could have been a kitchen table now turned upside down and burned, the wooded pegs charred with soot. The room smelled as appalling as it looked, a faint hint of spoiled meat coming from a dark looking door. Its four locks busted and hung from the wood. The frame was fractured, warped, leaving the door somewhat ajar, impossible to close, had anyone found the need.

  Ricky put his hand on the door frame. It was hot to the touch. He swallowed, unsure. A part of him wanted to run. Another part, equally strong, wanted him to keep going. Perhaps there was something of interest beyond. What that could be; only God knows. He held his breath and—

  —Wood moaned behind him. His heart leapt sharply in his throat. Ricky spun on his heels. Suicide Squad, his friends, stood behind him. None of them were smiling though, as children often do when sneaking up on a friend, except for Bobby, but even his grin waned under the insidious nature of the house.

  “I thought you were all too chickenshit to come inside?” said Ricky teasingly. He exhaled, relieved to not be alone.

  They all shrugged.

  “Got bored,” Maggie offered.

  “And Johnny-Boy here was crying about if you got hurt or fell or some monster gobbled you up,” Bobby snickered.

  “Shut up tons of fun,” Johnathan fired back. “I was just worried is all. Who knows how structurally sound this house is? He could very well have—”

  “Yeah-yeah, keep telling yourself that,” Bobby teased. “Were you worried?” he looked to Jake.

  Jake shrugged, looking to Ricky.

  “I’m fine, you guys.” Ricky relaxed a little, too proud to admit he felt better with his friends here with him.

  “What were you doing?” asked Maggie, ignoring Bobby and Johnathan who started nudging each other with elbows.

  “I think there’s something down there?” Ricky hitched a thumb back towards the door behind him.

  “Well that’s ominous,” said Jake looking at the door. “Did you bust the locks?” he asked, wiping some dust from his new navy-blue polo.

  “No. They were already like that,” Ricky reported.

  “What’s in there?” asked Johnathan.

  “Cellar, probably,” Jake said.

  “There might be something cool.” Maggie looked at the door excitedly, as if peering at some exotic treasure trove, despite the darkness and the malevolent feeling from the house itself.

  “Maybe Lestat’s coffin!” joked Johnathan.

  “Jeez, really?” mocked Bobby.

  “Interview With the Vampire?”

  “You didn’t like it?”

  “It was kinda—gay.”

  “You’re gay.”

  “You’re mom’s gay.”

  “You’re dad.”

  “You’re…whatever.”

  “Nice one.”

  “Will you guys shut up,” snapped Ricky. “We won’t know what’s down there till we get down there.” He turned back to the door. “But I seriously doubt it’s vampires.”

  Snickering came from the group.

  “Could be…” scoffed Johnathan quietly.

  “Well, let’s go have a look.” Ricky reached for the door.

  “You actually want to go in there?” whined Johnathan, his befuddlement amplified by the pubescent strain in his voice.

  “Yup. You scared?”

  “No—”

  Ricky opened the door. The rest stared into the darkness hoping to God nothing was down there. Nothing with large eyes and sharp teeth ready to eat them up for supper. For a while they could only see the deep abyss glaring back up at them from underneath. And the stairs appeared leading downward into what they could only assume to be the cellar. Ricky led, one foot in front of the other, then Johnathan, then Mags, then Bobby. Jake brought up the rear. As they descended, the cellar became more humid, swampy even. The air was thick and soupy, tasting of musk. There was no apparent ventilation, making it harder to breath. Light poured down from the kitchen above, somehow casting enough glow to allow their eyes to adjust to their surroundings. The cellar was empty, for the most part. Dusty with old grey earth. Shelves lined one corner with coated jars. Some of them looked broken. The contents long dried up. Tools were stacked in another corner, garden variety hoes, shovels, and one spiderweb coated scythe, similar to the cartoon Grim Reaper on Bobby’s t-shirt.

  Among the age and dust, the most curious feature of the cellar was a great and impressive seal that anchored the center of the room. It was large and disk shaped with queer markings covering its surface. The symbol was made of a curved line, like a bowl, and above the bowl a circle. Inside the circle strange lettering, almost snake like, of which none of the teenagers had ever seen before.

  “What in the world is that?” said Maggie, unnerved by the sight of such a curious thing.

  “Bomb shelter?” offered Jake.

  “Really?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Whatever it is, there are steps leading down,” Ricky said, peering over the edge of the opened seal.

  “Please tell me you are not thinking about going down there…” Johnathan moaned.

  “What’s wrong, Johnny-Boy? Scared?” Bobby prodded.

  Johnathan said nothing. He swallowed hard, wiping a rim of sweat from his forehead. The darkness beneath disappeared. Cast aside by an unknown yellow glow. The light brightened and faded, back and forth, brighter and then darker, as if mimicking the breath by some mysterious creature, some sort of bioluminescence similar to fireflies or glowworms or those terrible beasts that live on the bottom of the ocean floor.

  “Is everyone seeing this?” Johnathan croaked.

  “Let’s check it out,” Ricky said. He lifted his dusty Vans sneakers, and took a careful step on the stone staircase.

  Johnathan moaned.

  Bobby smiled.

  Maggie touched Ricky’s shoulder. “Lead
the way,” she whispered.

  Ricky nodded, while his heart skipped a few beats, and then took another step. The rest of Suicide Squad followed behind him in the same order they’d ventured into the cellar, except now Maggie was behind Ricky and Johnathan was behind her. Jake brought up the rear; silently praying that the strange yellow glow would not extinguish and whatever lay below was not carnivorous.

  At the bottom of the stone staircase the yellow glow intensified and then began to move, drifting away as if caught in a breeze. But there was no ventilation down here, or at least none that would be felt. The air was humid and stale, more so than the cellar had been. Finding the bottom, without hesitation, Ricky followed the pebble dirt pathway. The yellow phenomenon illuminated a vast cave. The walls looked jagged, at first, and then began to smooth out. Drawings and etches could be seen in the stone, shapes and designs both odd and curious. Some of it reminded Ricky of something he saw in one of his late night movies, The Mummy with Boris Karloff or The Mummy’s Hand staring the beautiful Peggy Moran. The others saw different things. Maggie was reminded of something ceremonial, ritual perhaps. Johnathan was reminded of the Native American paintings from his Texas history classes. Bobby thought of something similar to Maggie, but more tribal, animalistic. Jake thought the shapes looked planetary, cosmic perhaps, the circles representing planets or stars and the wavy lines interstellar dust or particles of some other place in the Heavens. Neither of the teenagers mentioned anything of what they each saw to each other. They walked farther along the path, following Ricky who in turn followed the wandering floating yellow glow.

  Ricky came to a halt. The light faded away. Dissolved, ushering back the dark. The only sound was that of their breathing, growing heavier by the second.

  “Jesus, what now?” Johnathan whispered.

  Ricky was silent, thinking.

  “What do we do now?” Johnathan implored again, panic weaving into the fabric of his voice.

  Nothing.

  “Ricky?”

  “Shh. Listen,” chided Ricky.

  The group tilted their heads, listening. There was nothing but the echo from the enormous space of the cave, water dripping into some unseen puddle from condensation. And slowly, the gut-wrenching grinding of rock moving upon rock. As if something large was shifting or coming apart. Opening? Like the seal in the cellar above? The volume intensified causing them to protect their ears. Earth fractured in a muddied gurgle of stone. Louder. And Louder. And then it was gone. The grinding ceased. Ringing silence replaced the horrifying grating.