by Hunter Blain
I laughed, and it hurt my everything.
“Knew I’d get ya to smile, blood sucker,” Depweg said, punching my arm playfully.
“Bone licker,” I countered just before a thought entered my mind. “How did you know I was at the church?”
“Val told me the direction you were heading based off his security cameras and mentioned the only other place you openly talk about is the church. I followed your path and found some scent trails. Then I saw a building that could only be the church you had so fondly described. It definitely looked as if it were made just for little ‘ol you,” he finished with a smile.
“How did you know he had me in the catacombs?” I asked, perplexed. “Your nose can’t be that good, man.”
“I’m not telling if it is or isn’t, for fear you’ll go and tell everyone who will listen!” Depweg joked. “The truth is, I searched the grounds until I was certain your scent ended at the church. Then I waited.”
“Why didn’t you try to break in?” I asked.
“I could sense the traps the father had placed. Plus, I knew he was your friend and I didn’t think you were in any real trouble.”
My mind flashed to the special John Room that was my cell, and I shuddered.
“Imagine my amazement when I saw you flying off the roof with a freaking statue of all things,” Depweg said, amused. “They really wanted you, brother.”
“They were obviously girl statues. Happens all the time. Sometimes I’ll just be walking down the street and a mob of women…” I started.
“Will cross to the other side of the street?” Depweg finished, interrupting me.
“Oh Depweg, it’s almost as if we finish each other’s…” I said, leaving a moment of silence at the end and waving my hand in the air like reeling in a fish.
“Sandwiches, I know,” he said, rolling his eyes.
I sat up on the table, letting my baby feet dangle off the side, kicking to and fro. My eyes fixated on the floor in front of me. “Did…” I began, “Did Val tell you anything?”
“No,” said Depweg
I breathed a sigh of relief.
“But Da did,” he said while staring directly at me, expressionless.
I looked up at him in shock, mouth open.
“I went by your house first, just to cross it off my list. Da was there, cleaning up what looked like a night to remember,” Depweg said.
“What did he say?” I asked, afraid of the answer.
“The truth,” he said. “That you lost control and made some mistakes. He was pretty upset, but was also worried. He confirmed that you could only be at the bar or the church.”
“Am I really that boring?” I asked. “I mean, sometimes I go to the movies, and stuff.”
He rested a hand on my shoulder. I met his eyes. There was understanding in them.
“You aren’t mad at me? Everyone else is,” I said, defeated.
“I’m a werwolf, John,” he said, using the German wording again. “Losing control is something I know a lot about. To feel the call of the primal rip you from the pilot seat.”
I barked out a quick laugh and pointed at him. “I use a similar metaphor!” I said with a beaming smile and wide eyes.
Depweg smiled again and patted my shoulder before letting his hand fall back to his side.
“Now then,” He said, “how about you rest at my place while Da fixes up your house? I have the newest John Wick movie on Blu-ray.”
“Lair,” I corrected him. “House sounds so…white picket fence and stuff,” I said, trying to find the right words. “But a lair, mmm yes.”
Depweg paid the doctor with a stack of cash, shook his hand, and headed for the door. I put on my coat which dragged the floor behind me like a kid wearing his dad’s clothes. The doctor gave me a medical bag filled with bloody rags and bandages.
“Figured you’d want to dispose of these yourself, personally,” The doc said with a smile and using a terrible Sylvester Stallone voice.
“Judge Dredd,” I said without hesitation. “Give me a challenge next time,” I finished with a wink.
I hopped down off the table and landed on my adorable little nubs and started walking, swaying to the sides and pivoting at the hip until my knee caps grew back.
As we walked, I looked up at a now towering Depweg and asked, “Seriously, why didn’t anyone tell Stallone that his redundant statement was, well, redundant?”
Depweg smiled and chuckled a few times, always entertained by my theatrically based commentary.
We got into Depweg’s reinforced Jeep and took off. I was ready to relax. But first, I needed a drink.
Chapter 29
“Pull down this street and slow down,” I told Depweg. He did so with a wrinkle in his brow, compliant but confused.
“I need to eat,” I informed him, pulling my legs up with my hands and wiggling my baby toes. “This is one of my favorite parts of town. I call it the ol’ fishing hole.”
We crossed an intersection with a group of savory characters standing around a car listening to loud, verbally suggestive music. “Pull over here and turn on your emergency lights.”
Depweg did, trusting me. “Pop your hood and for Lilith’s sake, stay in the car. You’ll scare the fishies!”
I got out of the jeep and wobbling adorably to the front, cringing as my ancient duster dragged the ground behind. Climbing up on the bumper and lifting the hood, I stared at the engine and cursed.
“Ah Jeez!” I said loudly. “The gosh darn flux capacitor is busted!” I normally wear a reflective Movado watch made of tungsten when I fish, showing it off by keeping one hand on the hood and letting the sleeve of my duster slide down. Since this was an impromptu hunt, I left it at home in my hopefully not flooded dresser. Fishies love shiny things.
Instead, I pulled out my wallet and fanned out my cash and asked loudly, “How much is it for a tow truck?”
The fishies, who had been pointing and laughing at my nubs, stopped talking. I reached out my senses and could feel them behind me. One was sitting on the car and now stood up, looking around at his friends to make sure they were all on the same page.
“That’s it,” I whispered. “Come to mommy… I mean, daddy.”
“Heard that,” Depweg stated from the driver’s seat.
“Shit,” was my only response.
“Yup,” he said, while audibly unlocking his cell phone, uninterested in the outstanding citizens approaching from behind.
With my back to the gentlemen, I let my wallet fall to the ground and loudly cried out, “Oh noes! My wallet full of monies! Can anyone help me!”
“Say homie,” said one in perfect elocution. “I think I can help wit dat,” he said, bending over to scoop up my wallet.
A smile spread across my face, and then I let it drop to feigned sorrow. I dropped to the ground and turned to face them. I reached out my hand palm up, giving him the chance to return the wallet.
He smiled at me instead and asked, “What else you got, McNubbin?”
The irony was not lost on me with that comment.
In a sheepish voice I said, “No… nothing, sirs. I just need my wallet for my grandma’s operation.” My hand was still outstretched.
The thug pulled out my cash and pocketed it, handing me back my wallet and saying, “Here ya go, fool. As requested.” His posse laughed and they spread out, surrounding me. There was five of them. The leader had a bald head with tattoos on his face and neck. He wore a white hoodie and Adidas athletic pants.
The others had on various clothing that were clearly bought at the same shop, or taken from someone’s house. Tattoos were prominent as were gold necklaces. I was somewhat impressed that the races were mixed. “Progress,” I thought to myself.
One of the blood jugs reached down and seized my arms from behind while another kneeled down and started riffling through my clothes.
A toothy, predatory smile crossed my face and I head butted the fool in front of me, sending an eruption of blood in a
ll directions around his nose. His hands reached up to grasp his broken smeller and the other gents pulled out switch blades, except the leader. He pulled out a Springfield 1911 and pointed it directly at me.
“Can we hurry this up, John?” Depweg asked from the driver’s seat, followed by laughter and the sound of the ‘like’ button being pressed. “Puppies playing with a tennis ball,” he said to himself while chuckling. “That ball’s too big for you fella.”
Two of the thugs went around the side of the car, one on each side, knives ready.
My arms shot forward, breaking the fingers of the punk who had been holding me from behind. He inhaled sharply as he held his fingers in front of his face. His eyes were the size of cue balls.
Turning on him, I tilted his head to one side with a finger, then pretended to put a napkin in my shirt while licking my lips.
I could sense the leader behind me, frozen in surprise, still holding the gun on me.
Whispering in the tax paying citizen’s ear, I said, “Now, this may sting a tad,” and bit into his neck, letting the blood flow from him to me. My nerves were alight with renewed energy and my legs started healing. The bruised feeling over my body withered and was replaced by strength and energy.
The big gulp started sinking to the ground, weak in the knees, as I started to rise, growing at the knees. His eyes rolled back into his head and his cheeks became sunken. I let him drop lifeless to the ground, skin matching the color of his wife beater.
I stood on brand, spank’n new legs and turned on the leader who was rubbing his eyes muttering, “It’s a bad trip man. A bad trip!”
His gun barked as I stepped toward him, his free hand unironically clutched at a crucifix that hung from a gold chain around his neck. My acting classes paid off as I did my best Bugs Bunny impersonation of when he was shot. I made “Ooo” and “ahh” noises while stumbling around jerkily, my face contorted in hilarious dramatic poses.
“Stop playing around,” Depweg commanded as one of the goons flew toward the front of the jeep, landing next to the leader. There was rustling and protests from the shocks of the jeep as Depweg moved to the other side of the vehicle. This was followed by a shaky voice screaming a machinegun succession of “no” that were interlaced with the growing epiphany that a mistake had been made. His body flew onto the street in front of where I stood.
Taking my cue, I grabbed the leader and pulled him close with one hand. The other plucked the cheap, gold painted cross from his chain and brought it up to his bulging eyes, where it was crushed between forefinger and thumb. By reflex alone, he kept the gun pointed at my chest, barking until empty. Even as I drained him, the sound of clicking could be heard as the trigger was squeezed repeatedly. The clicking slowed and eventually stopped along with his heart. I let him drop and finished off the other two morsels with my blood-whips, draining them completely before climbing back into the jeep with Depweg.
“Feeling better?” Depweg asked.
“Oh man, I am stuffed to the rafters!” I claimed, rubbing my stomach with enthusiasm.
“Did you have to scare him so bad with the cross?” Depweg asked, only half accusingly.
“First, how the hell did you see that? And second, yes. He clearly wasn’t the church goer he pretended to be. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be in his current predicament, now would he?”
Depweg pointed forward and I followed his direction through the windshield to the hood that was still up. At the bottom, I could see a gap which allowed Depweg to view my theatrical performance.
“Oh, sorry about that. Didn’t think you’d see me go all anti-hero on him.”
“Not that,” Depweg started, “The hood. Close it.”
“Right. The… the hood,” I said as I slid out of the passenger’s seat and walked to the front, slamming the hood down.
As I got back in, Depweg looked at me and said, “They deserved their fate. The bed was made, now they sleep in it.” As he finished, he looked forward and started the jeep up, continuing on our journey.
As if to further cement his approval, Depweg broke the silence and said, “Well, I see you got your shoe holders back,” he said, nodding at my legs.
Taking the life line, I said, “To the shoe store!” while pointing forward, relieved to have him on my side.
Depweg smiled and we were on our way back to his cabin in the woods.
Chapter 30
Depweg and I had a long talk about different things, re-solidifying our bond as supernatural brothers from another mother…and species. We hadn’t spoken as much since Father Thomes and I had begun our missions, and it felt good to catch up. Though I knew I was doing the right thing with Father T, it had caused me to divide myself from my only true friend. I mean, Da and Val are, or were, friends, but they didn’t understand me like Depweg did. He was my hetero soulmate.
Depweg filled the time by further explaining about his canine shelter and how he built every kennel himself. He had used wood he chopped down from the trees on his vast property. He had enough stories about the dogs and how they came to be in his care that the car ride felt like minutes instead of the hours it actually was. The most heart breaking was Tiny Tim, who had been abused by his drunken master for being different, culminating with the piece of shit throwing a cinder block at the poor pup and snapping its little back. I wanted to pay a visit to the bastard, but Depweg assured me it had been taken care of. I wasn’t entirely sure if he meant by the mortal authorities or by the justice of the food chain.
He asked about the Father and I explained how we had met during a time when I felt aimless with my unlife. I was doing good things, but on a small scale: Stop a murderous cartel ring here, catch a serial killer there. There was so much more good I could do with my abilities and Father Thomes Philseep provided just the direction I was looking for. Plus, it didn’t hurt to be doing favors for an emissary of the big guy upstairs.
All caught up on what we had been doing since we last parted, we discussed our next plan of action which meant grabbing some of his arsenal from his house/lair. The silver and iron laced bullets would make our lives so much easier when dealing with what was coming. There were semi-automatic rifles, bolt action sniper rifles, shot guns, and varying sizes of easily concealable hand guns we could use. Plus, body armor that could cover us from head to toe. Nothing would be able to stop us!
At one point, I asked Depweg to pull over. I picked up a nice, baseball sized rock, and heaved it across the road into a certain tanning salon/ car repair. Chuckling to myself, I got back into the jeep to face an astonished Depweg.
“He’ll fix it,” I said confidently. “He’s good with glass.”
Shrugging, Depweg pulled back on the road and toward the beginning of the end.
As we turned to pull down his long, gravel drive way, we saw the black smoke pluming into the sky. Depweg saw it first, eyes growing wide with dread.
He slammed on the gas, throwing us back in our seats. We traversed the gravel driveway with highway speeds, bumps and potholes threatening to dismantle the undercarriage.
The smell of burning wood, grass, fur, and flesh grew denser in the night air as we closed the distance.
I could hear Depweg next to me crying out in dismay as the winds let up, allowing the sound of whimpers and piercing howls to fill the vast expanse of his violated property.
Depweg smashed on the brakes and we skidded to a halt. I used the momentum of the braking to propel myself forward and sprinted on bare feet toward the burning house. The fire raged red and orange with highlights of green hellfire. The heat forced me to slow and shield my face. I was intent on getting the silver weapons and pushed forward.
From the house came a barely audible whimper over the rolling thunder of the hungry flames.
“Tim!” I screamed in gut-wrenching panic. That gave me all the motivation I needed, and I ran full speed at the engulfed cabin, veering at the last second to jump through the rain water collector attached to the side of the house. I burst through th
e white plastic and came out drenched from head to toe in cool water.
I could hear Depweg behind, running for the kennels. His breath came in raged, panicked gasps, as if he were barely holding onto his sanity.
Leaping through the flames and the already broken window of the living room, I called out to Tiny Tim. I was met with a deafening roar of flames as they consumed everything in the house. I ran through the house at preternatural speed, looking for my little buddy. The sound of pure anguish being screamed at length into the night from outside made me pause. Depweg had made it to the kennels.
Water evaporated in plums off of me at an alarming rate, snapping me back into focus.
Feeling the fierce strength of the hellfire threaten to eat my protective layer and burn my essence, I continued my search, desperate to find Tim. A fresh scent of singeing fur caught my attention and I followed it into the bedroom where the bed was a pit of dancing fire. Throwing myself on the floor, I found him. There, underneath the inferno, was Tiny Tim, wheel chair overturned and fur smoking and shriveling before my eyes. His breathing was quick and shallow, and I grabbed him by the chair and pulled him out. I stood, pulling him to my chest, and leaped through the bedroom window onto the back porch. Twinkling glass rained down around me like the stars winking in the night’s sky.
I set down Tim, who was limp, and noticed he had stopped breathing. Dropping to my knees, I frantically started CPR, trying my best to no blow out his little lungs. Between breaths, I placed my index and middle finger on his sternum and pressed in and let up in quick succession.
“Come on little buddy! Don’t leave me!” I begged between breaths.
I put my ear to his chest and could hear his little heart fluttering erratically. I placed my lips around his snout and continued administering CPR. After a few more breaths and compressions, I leaned down again and listened.
His heart slowed, and then gave up, beating for the last time. I lifted my head up and looked down on him in dismay. His little mouth hung open with his tongue hanging out the side. His eyes were half closed with only the whites showing. The fur on his body was black around the edges. I leaned down and kissed his little nose, which had split open from inhaling the blistering smoke of the hellfire.