Eve of Redemption

by Tom Mohan

  The Serpent drummed a quick beat on the steering wheel with the fingers of both hands, punctuating the final beat by throwing the car door open. He jumped out and slammed the door behind him. Stealth was unnecessary. People saw what they wanted to see, and they rarely saw him. He was one of the invisible ones, so plain that people looked right through him. He thought of it as a gift, sort of like the gift that connected him with Burke. Of course, when he was younger it had bothered him, but as he learned to use his gifts, he discovered that being invisible was really pretty cool.

  The Serpent inserted the car key into the trunk lock and popped it open. He reached inside, pulled out a large duffel bag, and slung the strap over his shoulder. The bag was heavy, but he hardly gave it a thought. He was the chosen one of Lord Denizen, after all, and had little use for the limitations of the average human body. He turned and started toward the house without bothering to close the trunk. No one would notice, and Burke would be much too busy to catch him setting up the next phase of the game. The Serpent whistled a merry tune as he strolled across the street.

  BURKE SAT IN the silence of the dark house. Since the disappearances, his life had spun out of control. Maybe his mind had finally snapped. The previous night he had seriously contemplated ending his life; he was beginning to wonder if he had tried and something had gone wrong. Too many things in this strange day made no sense—the little girl who kept disappearing, the beating in the park, and the subsequent rescue by Dave Martinez. Now, he felt like the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders. Just like that, the depression and self-loathing were gone.

  He was pulling himself to his feet when he heard a thump from above. His eyes darted upward as he spun the flashlight toward the stairs. He didn’t know what this kid’s game was, but he was determined to catch her and find out. Moving more quickly now, he climbed the stairs to the second floor. He shined the flashlight down the hallway. The door to his right had been Sara’s room. It remained just as she had left it four years ago. The first door on the left was the extra room they had made into an office. Next came the bathroom, and at the end of the hall lay the master bedroom.

  The night had been cool, but inside the house felt hot and stuffy. He shrugged off his coat and let it fall to the floor. A sound at the end of the hallway spun him in that direction. He pointed the light at the door of the master bedroom and took a step toward it. “I know you’re in there,” he called in a hoarse voice. “You come on out now.”

  Burke’s nerves were strung taut; his heart pounded.

  John.

  No, he thought. I didn’t hear that. No way.

  John.

  Again, from the direction of the bedroom—quiet, very quiet, but there.

  John.

  He took another step toward the closed door. The voice, so familiar even in a near whisper. He caught the scent of perfume—Laura’s perfume. It had to be the little girl, he told himself. She must have found some of Laura’s perfume and sprayed it. After all, it was all still in there. His rationalizations were unconvincing. The whispered voice that drew him was not the little girl’s.

  John.

  “Laura? Is that you?” Though he knew it was impossible after all these years, the hope that he had kept from himself for so long erupted within him. “Laura?” Burke stomped the last few steps toward the door and flung it open. He didn’t shine the light in the room, didn’t want to confirm what he already knew—that the room was empty and Laura was just a figment of his crazed imagination.

  He heard his own rasping breath as he peered into the darkness. Someone was there, in front of the window, taller than the little girl but still small and slender. “Laura?” The scent of her perfume was unmistakable.

  Remembering the flashlight in his hand, Burke swung it toward the dark figure. His heart pounded as the light illuminated her—his Laura—wearing the outfit she’d worn the day she disappeared. Her chestnut hair hung down her back in a long ponytail, just as he remembered it. “Laura, it…it really is you?”

  Burke stumbled into the room, his heart bursting as his eternal prayer was finally answered. Thank you God, he thought. Thank you so much.

  John.

  She began to turn. Burke kept the light on her with one hand and extended the other toward her. She looked up, and he gazed longingly into a face that was not his wife’s. He stumbled back, throwing his arm up in a vain attempt to erase what he had just seen. The face he had so expected to be that of his beautiful wife was burned forever in his mind. Her left eye was a gaping socket, the wriggling mass of two entwined worms darting around the edges. The flesh that had once been so perfect now hung in rotting tatters.

  John…John…

  “No,” Burke shouted as he backed toward the door. “Keep away from me.” He made his way through the door and into the hallway. Not wanting to look back but unable to stop himself, he turned toward the room he had just left. The figure that could not be his wife stood just inside the door. He could only shake his head back and forth.

  John. Why John? Why did you leave me, John?

  The scent of her perfume overpowered him. It had become a grotesque distortion of his wife’s scent, unable to mask the smell of death. Burke turned away and tripped over the coat he had let drop moments earlier. He landed hard on his bad hip and tumbled over the edge of the stairs. He rolled, crashing into the wall on one side and the rail on the other before slamming his head against the edge of one of the hard stairs, nearly knocking himself unconscious.

  He landed with his head and shoulders on the floor while the rest of his body lay sprawled across the lower steps. Stars danced in the darkness. For a moment he could not remember what had happened, and then light footsteps on the stairs brought him back. He forced his feet to push him off the last few steps. His shoulder hit the flashlight, and he fumbled for it with one hand as he continued to scoot away from the approaching nightmare. Spinning the light in his shaking fingers, he found the switch and pressed it, but the light refused to illuminate.

  Why John, why?

  “Stay away from me, whatever you are. Stay away!” Horror pervaded his voice. He wondered if his mind had finally snapped. Maybe he was having a nervous breakdown. His only consolation was that it could not get any worse.

  He was wrong.

  Daddy.

  Oh no, Burke’s mind screamed. Please no. He spun on hands and knees, seeking the source of this new voice. His swollen eyes opened as wide as they could while he searched the darkness like a cornered beast.

  Daddy.

  Behind him. Burke spun around as a shadow moved toward him.

  Daddy, why?

  The apparition moved closer, the smell of death closing in with her. Burke crawled backward, anything to get away from this madness. Death and perfume filled the room. The specter of his wife had completed her slow descent down the stairs, and he nearly collided with her legs in his haste to escape.

  John.

  Daddy.

  Why? Why?

  The shadow of his daughter lurched toward him, arms outstretched for one last embrace. A flash of headlights from outside fleetingly lit the room, leaving a burned impression of the ragged and bloodied face of his little girl on his eyes.

  Why Daddy? Why didn’t you save me?

  Burke’s back hit a wall, preventing his escape. “You aren’t them!” he shouted. “You aren’t my family!”

  He threw the useless flashlight at the shadow of his wife, but the specter continued to advance. The stench grew almost unbearable, and he felt a cold touch on his neck. The touch became stronger, more aggressive, as icy fingers closed over his throat. The fingers tightened until he gasped for air. He clawed at the hand that held him in a vice-like grip. His lungs burned for air, and his eyes felt as though they would burst from their swollen sockets. He thought he heard pounding, loud at first, and then growing more distant. As the grip on this throat continued to tighten, he felt his last vestige of hope slip away along with consciousness.


  John…hey John, wake up. Come on, man.”

  From deep within the darkest pit, Burke heard the words and thought they must belong to the devil. With the words came pain and, unfortunately, consciousness. Languid thoughts danced around beneath his closed eyelids. Why was there always pain?

  Again, the voice hovering over him. “Come on, man.”

  Burke groaned and tried to sink back into the darkness, but the persistent voice was not going to have it. “You all right? See if you can sit up.”

  Burke certainly did not want to sit up, but he seemed unable to communicate that point. He felt hands on his arms pulling him, causing his head to explode in a dazzling array of fireworks. Finally, he managed to pry his eyes open. The swelling that limited his sight brought back vague memories of all that had happened over the past twenty-four hours.

  He blinked as his vision cleared. A huge shadow hovered over him. He kicked out at it.

  “Hold up. It’s me, Dave Martinez. Easy now.” Strong hands held him still until he began to calm down.

  “Who…Martinez?” Burke closed his eyes as a light shone on his face. He tried to push it away. “Stop…get that out of my face.” The light turned away far enough to illuminate the hulking police officer. Burke noticed the man no longer wore his uniform. “What’re you doing here?” His words came out slurred through his raw throat.

  “Was worried about you,” the cop said. “Couldn’t get what happened out of my head. Looked up your address. I’m making a habit of finding you out cold. Sounded like a fight going on in here, but when I got the door open you were alone.”

  Burke let out a heavy sigh as his body relaxed against the wall. “Where are they?” he asked.

  Martinez looked confused. “Who?”

  Burke shook his head slowly. “They were here, waiting for me.”

  “Who was here?”

  “Laura…Sara…here.”

  Martinez turned the light around the room. “Your wife and daughter?” he asked. “They were here?”

  Burke sighed. “You think I’m crazy.” He paused. “Maybe I am. I don’t know anymore.” He knew he was rambling. “They were here, though. I saw them. Felt them. But they weren’t alive. Not anymore.”

  “You’re not making sense. Calm down and start over.”

  Burke laughed, but the sound came out much higher than he would have thought possible. “Calm down? You want me to calm down?” He almost said more, but just shook his head before letting it fall with his chin to his chest.

  Martinez put a hand on Burke’s shoulder. “Stay here. I’ll look around.’’

  Burke heard the big cop step away and move deeper into the darkness of the house. Resting his head against the wall, he stared into the darkness. Had it really been less than twenty-four hours since the little redheaded street girl had stolen the picture of his family? He tried to wrap his mind around all that had happened. He knew he had seen the girl in his house, just as he knew something else had been here. Not Laura and Sara. He could never believe that those monstrosities were his family. If they were dead, they would be in heaven, not roaming the planet as rotting corpses. He wondered what would become of him when he passed on. He knew heaven was not an option. Even before the events of four years ago, he had known his wife and daughter were much better people than he would ever be. Working weekends had given him an excuse not to attend church with them, but an excuse was all it had been. He had no room in his life for God and, he suspected, God had no room for him. Maybe if he had been more involved, had at least taken the time to check out that new church that had popped up, things would have turned out different.

  “What the…?” Martinez’s startled voice came from further in the house. His heavy steps pounded back into the room. Without warning, Burke found himself flung face down on the floor. A knee came down on his spine as the much bigger man pulled Burke’s hands behind his back.

  “You scum. I was worried about you…and why?”

  “What? What did I do?” Burke had been taken by surprise. He gasped as the cuffs clicked home, pinching his flesh.

  “Shut up. Just shut your mouth.” Martinez’s breathing was ragged as he finished cuffing Burke.

  “I don’t understand,” Burke tried to say, but Martinez stood up and stomped his foot into Burke’s back, right between his shoulder blades, knocking the air from his lungs.

  “Don’t know why I bother,” Martinez mumbled. “Always the stinkin’ same. Why should I expect anything else? Why’d you do it? Huh?”

  Burke tried to lift his head, but the huge foot planted in the middle of his back kept him flat on the floor. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. “I didn’t do anything.”

  “Didn’t do anything, huh?” Martinez’s voice grew more menacing with each word. Burke heard the big man taking deep breaths, as though trying to get himself under control.

  “I have no idea what is going on here, and not knowing makes me very irritable. Do you understand that, Mr. Burke?” Martinez grabbed Burke by the cuffed wrists and heaved him to his feet. Burke nearly screamed as his shoulders twisted in a direction they were never meant to bend. His head swam, and he stumbled as he tried to keep his balance.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You don’t know, huh? Don’t know nothin’? Well, I’m gonna show you.”

  Martinez gave him a rough shove toward the back of the house. He pointed his flashlight before them as he guided Burke through the kitchen and pulled him to a stop just outside the laundry room’s open door. Without a word, Martinez pointed his light at the laundry room floor where something had been spilled. Burke squinted and saw that the spilled liquid was red.

  Blood.

  “What…? Whose is that?” Burke asked.

  Martinez shrugged. “It’s your house.”

  Burke turned back to the puddle of blood. Martinez held the light steady, and Burke saw that the fronts of both the washer and dryer were smeared with blood.

  “Want to see the rest?” Martinez asked.

  Burke opened his mouth, but no answer came out. He shook his head back and forth. No, if there was more here, he had no desire to see it.

  “Oh, come on. Let’s see what’s behind door number one, shall we?” Martinez’s voice left no room for argument. Burke had not known Martinez well, but he remembered the man to be one of those people who didn’t let things get to him. He had always been calm and professional, not allowing himself to get emotional about cases. Either things had changed, or something else was going on.

  The dryer door sat partially open, and Martinez used his toe to pull it wider. Inside, Burke saw what looked like a pair of jeans. Then Martinez grabbed him by the back of the neck and pushed his face almost into the machine. Even through his swollen nose, Burke picked up the coppery scent of blood. As Martinez focused the light directly into the dryer, Burke saw that the jeans appeared to have a knee in them, and a pale hand rested on that knee. Martinez moved the light just a bit to better display a ragged, bloody stump where the head should have been. A body.

  “See that?” Martinez asked. “Now, let’s see what’s behind door number two.”

  Martinez moved the light from the body in the dryer to the front of the washer. At first, Burke thought he was supposed to look at the smears of blood on the front. Then the light shifted up to the clear plastic window in the door. A face gazed back at him from within, bulging eyes pleading to be let out. Burke stumbled back, but the rock-solid form of Martinez behind him left no room for escape.

  “Know who that is?” Martinez asked. Much of the anger had faded, leaving him sounding tired and drained.

  Burke took another look into the washer. The face was covered in bright tattoos.

  Not waiting for an answer, Martinez said, “That’s one of the kids that beat you up this morning.” He waved the light between the two appliances. “Bit much, don’t you think?”

  Burke tried to think, tried to trace back his steps of the da
y, but so much of it was a blur. He did recognize the kid, now that Martinez had identified him. This was the kid who had started it all. But still, Burke knew he would never do anything like this. He wasn’t even capable. Was he?

  “I didn’t do this,” Burke said. “You have to believe me. I did not do this.”

  “Yeah?” Martinez replied. “Who did?”

  Martinez jerked Burke out of the laundry room and back to the front of the house. He turned Burke so that they faced each other, and then he shined his light up and down Burke’s body. “The blood on you is consistent with the beating you took this morning, I’ll give you that.” He spun Burke around and inspected his back. Moving around so he could look into Burke’s face, Martinez said, “This is some crazy stuff. Someone put that kid in there, and that someone did it very recently. Don’t know nothin’ about that?”

  The big cop grabbed Burke’s arm and propelled him into a chair. “You’re going to tell me a story, Mr. Burke. I don’t care how crazy that story is, or how unbelievable. Just make sure it’s a true story. Got that? Tell me a true story.”

  Burke licked his dry lips and fought to get his mind to put together a coherent sequence of events. He was about to speak, when Martinez’s flashlight went out and a noise from the back of the house caused both men to freeze.

  It sounded very much like the washer door opening.

  Dave Martinez’s hand automatically reached for the gun beneath his jacket. Was someone else in the house with them? He held his breath, straining his ears for any sound, but he only heard John Burke’s ragged breathing. Sweat trickled down Martinez’s back as he forced himself to remain calm.