A Monster Escapes

by Lewis Wolfe

  She carefully walked up the stairs as she illuminated each next step with her flashlight. Tonight a subtle mist lingered on the floor, bringing a cold that she rarely felt when she slept. It came from her own confusion, she knew. Had she done the right thing, showing Caleb the things she did? Could he help her? Would he, when the time came?

  The cold tickled her toes as she reached the second floor of her house. There were two more floors after this one where her most important moments were stored. Below, of course, lay a basement so large that Mount Everest would fit inside twice, containing all her memories.

  Jane had memories of everything. Nothing got discarded. It just got piled up underneath the surface where it sometimes screamed at her in the most inconvenient moments. Because she heard so many thoughts she had not only her own memories, but all the memories she found in the minds of others, as well.

  She stopped walking when she passed a glass case to her right. Carefully she pointed her flashlight in its direction and saw the stuffed red cat shielded by the glass.

  As part of an experiment she had been given a cat when she was twelve. They had wanted to know if she was capable of forming attachments to animals, and, if so, what her attachment style would be.

  The experiment hadn’t been a great success. Not because Jane had harmed the cat, but because the animal had been deathly afraid of her. It would not even approach her. When two researchers had forced the animal near her, it had struggled so terribly that it broke its own neck in a blind panic.

  Why was this memory important enough to feature on the second floor of her mental house? Animals were supposed to be pure; that was what everybody said. They didn’t care about what you looked like or what kind of clothes you wore. They looked only at what was inside of you. The cat had looked and came to a painful conclusion. Whatever was inside of Jane was meant to be feared.

  The cat was not alone. All animals were afraid of Jane and stayed out of her way. They emphasized her inability to connect with anyone. For all the most intimate thoughts she heard, she had never once known another’s loving embrace. There hadn’t been a mother to hold her. There was no father to protect her. No shoulder to lean on.

  But at least the girls were with her, Jane thought as she listened to the giggles coming from the floor below her. She decided to join them tonight and leave her worried mind to sort itself out. She turned around and started walking back.

  A flash of lightning drew her attention when she passed the window to her right. Then a loud bang sounded outside.

  Jane looked out the window and saw only the vast darkness that always surrounded her house. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, and when they did, she saw him standing outside, looking up at her.

  He was gorgeous. His pale, almost silver body was sculpted to absolute perfection. Each and every one of his strong muscles was visibly accentuated, forming the most beautiful man Jane had ever seen. His dark hair, so long that it fell to the middle of his back, graced a deeply distinguished head. His eyes were wide and betrayed an intelligence that was far deeper, and far older, than any normal man could possess.

  If Jane had not felt the evil in his heart she would have fallen in love with him. She would have rushed outside and, in the comfort of her sleep, she would have made passionate love to him.

  Even now, though she knew how dangerous he was, part of her wanted to jump his perfect body and press it against her own. Run her hands through that perfect, thick hair. Feel his lips on hers.

  That wasn’t why he was here, Jane knew. He was here to see who she was and why, even if only temporarily, she had caused so much trouble for him. It was Jane that had prevented him from completely consuming Ethan Walker, same as it had been her that pulled him off Caleb.

  Their eyes met and locked, and then he raised his hand to greet her. If nothing else, he appreciated a good challenge and knew that he had just found one.

  Jane opened her window and leaned outside.

  “I don’t know what you are yet, but I will find out,” she called.

  The man said nothing. Instead, he listened to her patiently.

  “And if you are truly intent on destroying this town, I will find a way to stop you. I know that you have been doing this for a very long time, and that you are very good at it.”

  Still the man said nothing.

  “I’m good at what I do, too. This will end before the month is up. Promise.”

  It was then that the man first spoke, his grin unnaturally wide. “Before the month is up? Deal!”

  Another flash of lightning filled the darkness outside her house and, after it faded, the man was nowhere to be seen.

  Jane leaned out of her window a little longer. The gauntlet had been thrown down. They now knew each other and, from now on, they would see each other coming.

  Maybe it was only fair.

  DAY 3

  October 26, 2019

  1

  Isabelle lived in the small apartment above her store, Arts & Crafts & Antiques. She couldn’t remember how long she had lived there, or when she first opened her store. There were days that she couldn’t remember her own first name; her family name had lost all meaning to her years ago.

  She always got up when the sun arrived to shine through her bedroom window. This meant that she held no real schedule and that, when the weather was bad, she would sometimes spend the whole day in bed waiting for rays of sun that wouldn’t come.

  This morning the sun had graced her apartment at quite an early hour and Isabelle found herself at her small kitchen table, attempting to drink tea from an empty mug. Her thoughts, for as far as the old woman still had them, were always chaotic.

  I have to open the store, and brush my teeth. Where are my glasses? Wait, do I have glasses? Where are my glasses? I have to brush my teeth. Do I own a store? I am not sure but I think I might. What do I sell again? How can I make tea if I don’t even have glasses?

  Isabelle got up from the kitchen table and threw off her yellow bathrobe. Now completely naked, she stood in the middle of her kitchen and looked around. It was cold, she realized, and she folded her wrinkly arms around her body.

  Why is it so cold? If I had my glasses I would warm up, I am sure of it.

  She walked out of the kitchen and into the small hallway that connected all her rooms together. In the near distance lay the front door to her apartment, but Isabelle knew that her glasses probably weren’t outside.

  Isabelle walked into her bathroom and looked between the pile of towels sitting in a corner on the floor. The towels were wet and some of them smelled of a fungus that was beginning to grow on them.

  That smell is just because I don’t have my glasses yet. The world is always prettier when I have my glasses on.

  The naked woman walked toward the small shelf hanging below her mirror. It was filled with lost strings of wet hair, old remnants of small soaps she collected, and her teeth that sat in an uncleaned glass filled with a pungent yellow substance.

  These are my teeth! Not my glasses, you silly goose!

  Perhaps it was random, or perhaps it was a woman’s ancient instinct that refused to stay dormant, but she looked at herself in the dirty mirror.

  The mirror’s glass was stained by her own confused fingerprints and the chalky deposits caused by Isabelle’s erratic use of her showerhead. As far as it reflected anything, it showed Isabelle her wrinkled face and the deep blue eyes that seemed untouched by the hands of time.

  For the briefest of moments a memory graced the forefront of her mind, but it withdrew quickly and Isabelle couldn’t hold on to it.

  Have I been beautiful once?

  She looked at the reflection staring back at her. Those dark blue eyes, could men not have fallen in love with those? Her hair was still curly, though it was white and thin now.

  Was my hair once a different color?

  Isabelle took a step forward and leaned closer toward her reflection. She looked at herself, left, right, top and bottom. The wrinkles t
hat tore her weak flesh apart hadn’t always been there. At one time her skin had been pure and soft and the envy of others.

  What others? It’s just me here, looking for my glasses!

  No, the envy of others. There had been others and they had looked at her with a mixture of admiration and jealousy. She had loved their jealousy and feared it at the same time.

  What others? I’m alone! I have always been alone, with my glasses.

  Isabelle stepped back and her upper body was reflected in the mirror. Her breasts had fallen victim to the cruel powers of gravity, her nipples almost pointing to the floor.

  They are big, aren’t they? Weren’t they stronger once?

  She shook her head in frustration. None of this stuff was helping her find her glasses and she was cold, so cold.

  How can I possibly warm up without my glasses? Enough of this silly business!

  When she turned away from the mirror a voice rang inside her head. Gently at first but, when it realized she could barely be reached anymore, it spoke louder. It told her about the moon and the stars and the truth of nature. Destruction was the truly divine; without it there could be no room for the brutal beauty of existence. It was all a macabre dance of absolute chaos and she, the voice told her, had once been the most beautiful song it had ever heard.

  Isabelle returned her gaze to the mirror but did not find her own reflection looking back. Instead, a man appeared to her with a gentle smile. Even in her current state of mind the man’s exquisite beauty could not escape her. His pale skin and perfect black hair were only the beginning. His eyes were deep and wise, as if they had seen the truths of life revealed to them, and his muscular shoulders betrayed a strength that felt otherworldly.

  He placed his hand on his side of the mirror and waited for Isabelle to approach him.

  When she did so she touched the mirror and together they stood in a strange embrace, separated only by the glass of the mirror between them. To Isabelle his touch felt warm and familiar, though she couldn’t remember where she had seen him before. Felt him. Known him.

  She had known him once and he knew her still.

  Isabelle asked, “What do you want from an old hag like me?”

  He answered, “Your soul is enough.”

  Isabelle shook her head at the sight in the mirror and withdrew her hand.

  “My soul is old and rotten. It’s no good to anybody.”

  “It doesn’t have to be like that. I can make you young and beautiful again. You may be valuable once more, if you desire it.”

  He pointed at the teeth on the shelf below the mirror as he said, “Take your teeth. I have brought you breakfast.”

  “Breakfast?”

  Isabelle took the teeth from the dirty glass and, without rinsing off the old yellow substance, put them in. A sour taste ran through her mouth, tormenting the back of her tongue with an almost vicious bite. She didn’t care. Something about the man inside her mirror had captivated her, put a spell on her.

  He pointed to his right as he said, “Breakfast. In the kitchen.”

  It was hard for Isabelle to leave the beautiful man behind. Even without his touch she had felt his warmth and now to be alone again felt like a cruel punishment. Her naked body was so, so very cold.

  Still, she retreated from her bathroom and stepped back into the hallway. It took her a moment to realize where her kitchen was but then determined steps took her there.

  The smell in the kitchen was wonderful. It filled her chronically inflamed nose and cleared the slime clogging up her airways.

  The aroma came from a big plate on the kitchen table, and lured her back to the seat she had abandoned earlier.

  Isabelle sat down and pulled the plate closer to her. At first she had difficulty understanding what she was looking at, but then something jogged her memory and she realized that she had eaten this many times before. It was too big for her now, though.

  She got up and walked to one of the drawers where she kept her cutlery. Her wrinkly hands traced the unwashed spoons and forks until she found what she was looking for. A big butcher’s knife.

  Isabelle returned to her seat and, with her rusty knife, cut into the roasted arm that lay on her plate. It was big and strong so Isabelle knew it must have come from a man. Hastily she separated the skin from the bone and, with greedy hands, stuffed it inside her hungry mouth. It was nice and crunchy and the familiar texture sparked one memory after another.

  As her memories returned to her, so did her precious youth. With every bite her skin became smoother, until all the wrinkles had left her body. Her flesh that had once draped all around her in a vest of redundancy regained its supple strength. The sagging breasts that had dragged her down returned to their firm shapes, her nipples staring proudly into the distance rather than at the ground.

  Her mind cleared up a little too. Though much of her recent past still remained hidden to her, she once more felt the deep connection to her roots. Only now did she realize how much she had missed them. How lost she had been without them.

  Her sisters, her mother. Red, Black, Margaret. And the man that had killed them all.

  Her father. He had spared her once and she never understood why. Now, it seemed, he was here to collect. To ask things of her that he knew she could never deny him. After all this time, after all these years, she still only wanted to be one thing and one thing only.

  Gold wanted to be perfect for him.

  2

  Arthur sat in his office, slowly chipping away at the seemingly endless piles of paper that inevitably invaded his desk.

  Even though he had Mary, who handled most of the day-to-day of the Southeast Reintegration Project, there were some things only he could do. Decisions only he could make and signatures only his hand could put down.

  The most promising, he felt, was that there were several factories in Alabama that had responded very favorably to his offer. He would finance them and, in return, they would take in a few people that the project was seeking employment for.

  Arthur knew that, eventually, the Southeastern Reintegration Project couldn’t sustain itself. It wasn’t viable, economically speaking, and he was hemorrhaging money left and right.

  What would happen to the people he wanted to help after his funds eventually ran out? Arthur couldn’t be sure. He knew, however, that when it happened, those young men and women had at least developed marketable skills and could put something on their resumes. If they became good at their jobs, he believed most employers would keep them on.

  That was always the point of the project. Arthur knew that he was aging, perhaps rapidly, and that his life wouldn’t last forever. He would see this place better off the only way that made sense to him. He invested in people, not businesses.

  One of the people he had invested in was Ethan Walker. The young man who had shown up at his door, haunted by a terror nobody else could see.

  Ethan Walker, who was now a vegetable lying strapped down in a hospital bed. Such a cruel fate for a young man that deserved better.

  Ethan had been a burglar before he enrolled with the project and came fresh out of prison. If you turned to a life of crime, no doubt about it, you made bad choices. Arthur knew, however, that bad choices were sometimes forced through the complicated dynamics of our pasts and environments. Who really chose to become a burglar if other avenues were open to them?

  Arthur’s friend Dr. Stewart had briefed him on all that had happened at the hospital. Including the awkward meeting in his office between the special agent and the strange researcher with her bodyguard.

  Special Agent Bradford had decided Ethan would stay, even though the researcher they supposedly trusted recommended differently. Thus was the folly of bureaucracy, Arthur thought.

  Between the arrogant demeanor of the special agent and the uncommon appearance of Jane Elring, Arthur wasn’t sure who to put his stock in. They both seemed to exist in worlds that he, even though he was well connected, had no real access to. As if the shadows
that lingered beneath the worlds of common men had decided to visit him. Only he had invited them himself, of course.

  Yet it was the young investigator that had offered him a strange kind of solace when she confirmed his own worst fear about Ellie. “You squeeze a runaway too tight, she’ll just run again.” That’s what she had told him.

  If nothing else, Jane Elring had showed that she cared about what was happening in this town. Whether she was right or not, her concern for the safety of Ethan Walker seemed to rival Arthur’s.

  Arthur couldn’t shake his fears for the young man. If only they could find out what ailed him. No expense would be too large for Arthur if a solution could be brought forth. Second chances, third chances, fourth chances. Arthur was willing to hand them all out, no questions asked.

  The only person he was ever really hard on was himself. There was so much to do and there was so little time. If he could just be faster, a little smarter, or a lot younger. If he had only known earlier in life what he wanted to do with the enormous wealth left to him.

  Blood money could never truly be cleaned. Arthur knew that. You couldn’t wash off the dark and horrible red taint. The metallic scent would stick forever.

  He would never be enough. What he did would never be enough. But he did it anyway because it was the only thing he knew to do.

  Arthur was happy that the hatred ended with him. There was no offspring to be seduced by the darkness that roamed in his family’s past. The blood they had shed, the suffering they had caused. Power was a tricky concept, Arthur knew, and its seduction came upon you slowly and often from behind. Once you realized how horribly you had abused the power given to you, it was very often already far too late.

  The closest he had to an heir now was Ellie.

  A smile drew itself on his face as the young girl entered his mind’s eye. Energetic Ellie with her blue eyes and dark skin. She could sometimes see straight through him and ask questions no ordinary teenager would dare ask. He wasn’t sure if Ellie was brave or simply unaware of the rules of etiquette she broke. Perhaps both, he thought.