Day of Reckoning

by Isaiah Lee

  “Nothing. That’s the point.” Hank rolled his eyes like that was the stupidest thing he had ever heard. “Johnny’s dad called me asking if Johnny was here. I told him no and that I hadn’t seen him. Mr. Ponder sounded real worried.”

  Jason’s eyebrows furrowed. “I’ve tried Stacy, too. She won’t respond to any of my messages.” This was definitely not typical fashion for her.

  “Shit, dude. What’re we gonna do?”

  “I guess we could try to find them ourselves?” Jason didn’t know what else to do, but he figured that couldn’t hurt.

  “That’s what I was thinking.” Hank stood and grabbed his hoodie from its position on the floor. The possibility of playing detective excited him.

  Jason had assumed it to be dirty when he walked in and saw the hoodie. In truth, the hoodie probably was dirty and Hank was simply too lazy to wash it.

  He stood and pulled his keys from his pocket. “Wanna take my car?”

  “Shit, man. I don’t have a death wish,” Hank said and laughed. “We’ll take my truck.”

  Chapter 3

  The 90s model Dodge Ram 1500 roared down the highway as Hank led the duo to the last place Johnny and Stacy were known to be going. Hank had suggested Shepherd Park as a great place to “seal the deal” and Johnny had agreed. After all, it was a well-known make-out spot. Even with fresh snow on the roads, Hank barely slowed his pace. The Dodge easily navigated the snow-covered streets, plowing through the slush and sliding over the icy patches.

  Jason held on tightly as he instantly regretted his decision to ride with Hank. Even though it was only two-wheel drive, at least he would be the one in control in his car. He never had been a fan of Hank’s driving. His track record spoke for itself. Three accidents in the last two years with three speeding tickets to boot. Today did nothing to change his mind.

  As they neared the park, a fog had appeared. It became thicker the closer they got to the park, nearly blinding them.

  Hank turned the truck radio to a local AM channel. Through the static – he could never remember any sort of static on this station because it was such a strong signal usually – the pair caught a few words.

  “Tonight… blue flashes… Shepherd Park… multiple transformers blown… [static] found… bodies mutilated…”

  Jason thought his heart might burst from his chest. A sickening feeling came over him as he fought back the urge to vomit. “They’ve found bodies in Shepherd Park,” he said as much to himself as to Hank.

  Hank agreed. “That’s what it sounded like to me.” Hank, who usually couldn’t help but run off at the mouth, was lost for words. Eventually he said, “Maybe we misunderstood. I bet that’s not even what they said.”

  He turned up the volume on the radio. Static filled the cab. “Signal’s totally lost,” Hank said.

  As they neared the single entrance to the park, red and blue flashes permeated the fog. They pulled to a stop in front of an officer.

  “Park’s closed, boys,” he said as he shone a flashlight through the window into Hank’s face.

  Hank sat quietly as if he were stricken. He couldn’t find the words to say. Hank being lost for words twice in one night? Surely this was a new record.

  Finally, Jason spoke up. “Sir, two of our friends are missing. We’ve come to see if we could find them. Shepherd Park was the last place they said they would be tonight.”

  The officer got a grim expression but said nothing. Instead, he glanced behind his position. The flashing lights of the emergency vehicles intermittently lit two men dragging a stretcher through the snow. Another shape soon emerged from the fog. Another set of men with another stretcher.

  Jason panicked at the sight. “Wha… what’s happened?” he asked. The body – if you could call the mess of limbs and flesh a body – lay motionless under a blanket. The other stretcher mimicked the first; the thing hidden from view in no way bore resemblance to a body. At least not a human body.

  The officer grimaced. “You said you have two missing friends? Could you describe them for me?”

  Hank took over. Being silent had finally gotten the better of him. “Johnny is tall. Black hair with neon green highlights.” He thought for a second. Johnny had been a year behind him in school. “He’s twenty-one. No beard.”

  Jason added, “And Stacy is blond, green eyes. She’s beautiful with dimples and a slight lisp. I think she’s five-two. Very fit.” He replayed her curves in his head and was not disappointed at his recollection.

  “Maybe you can identify these bodies.” It was the way he said bodies. Bodies. What did the officer mean by this? It was as if just saying the word bodies somehow gave too much credit to the mess on the stretchers.

  Jason’s hands were visually shaking. His breath hitched and he teared up. “Identify?”

  “Follow me, boys.” Normally, Hank would have had something to say about being referred to as a boy. The officer motioned the duo from the truck and led them past a makeshift blockade.

  The flashing from the lights intensified as they broke the fog. Hank and Jason both immediately felt drained. They felt as though their legs were noodles and they struggled to stand upright, let alone walk a straight line to the stretchers that were now still.

  The officer noticed the behavior and nodded. “I know, boys. It’s the strangest thing. It must be the fog. You’re feeling drained?”

  Jason nodded. The movement was barely tangible. It required so much more energy and effort than he thought it should have.

  “Don’t worry. That feeling will ease soon.”

  The assurance did nothing to make Jason feel better. He thought his heart would burst from his chest. He cared little about how he felt. He wanted to know who was on the stretcher. No. He did not want to know. He was afraid to know. But he had to see.

  An aging white hand gripped the blanket on the first gurney and slowly uncovered the body.

  Blood-covered blond hair spilled from the seam. Jason covered his mouth with one hand and turned away.

  “Son, tell us if you recognize her,” a faux-soothing voice slurred through the frigid night. The officer didn’t know if it was hard to speak because of the strange fog or the frigid air. Either way, his lips were nearly frozen and his jaw had already begun hurting from the cold.

  Jason turned back and gasped. The body had been uncovered fully; her right arm was gone. Torn tendons and muscle were all that remained attached to her right shoulder. A deep gash extended from above her right breast down to her left hip.

  Where organs had once been was now just an empty cavity. Bones were broken and splintered; organs had been removed. There had not been cut out. They were torn out.

  Jason tried to look away from the carnage, but found it impossible.

  “Can you identify this woman?”

  Jason looked at her unrecognizable face. It had been smashed to nothing more than a fleshy mass. “No,” he sighed. “I can’t tell.” Then it hit him. Stacy had a tattoo on her right ankle. A music note, to show her love for music. “Stacy had a tattoo.”

  “Where was it located?”

  Jason bent over and touched a spot on his own right ankle. “Here.”

  Hank was speechless until this point. “Dude, it’s not her. It can’t be her.”

  Try as he might, Jason couldn’t shake the sickening feeling from his gut. He moved around the side of the stretcher and glanced toward the body’s foot.

  A small, black music note lay nearly hidden under frozen clods of flesh and blood.

  Chapter 4

  DNA TESTING LAB, UPSTATE NEW YORK

  “Sir, I’ve got a match,” the lab technician called out.

  “Is it Ponder?” a gruff voice asked. Decades of drinking and smoking habitually had not only withered his features; his voice could hardly be heard over a whisper anymore. He knew his lung capacity was compromised and that he probably had some form of cancer or another. He coughed up blood daily now and generally felt like ass warmed over. Still, what he didn’t k
now wouldn’t hurt him, right? His father’s mantra hadn’t seemed credible since he was a child. In his late fifties, his father’s words offered little comfort to cling to. What you don’t know won’t hurt you. He nearly laughed as his father’s voice replayed in his head, but instead found himself in the middle of an awful coughing fit. He thought he may cough up a lung if it persisted.

  “Yes, sir,” the twenty-something man called out.

  “I guess that’s something.” Davis McCall stood from his seat, both knees sounding a report as he stretched, and walked to the coffee maker in the corner. He couldn’t believe he was the one stuck working tonight. Of all things, he didn’t even have a decent cup of brew. Now, maybe, he could head home. Not that he had anything to do. At this point, though, anything seemed better than dealing with this kid. He truly didn’t understand these millennials or their entitled attitudes. They annoyed him to absolutely no end.

  Davis rubbed his balding head with his left hand – force of habit, but it seemed a habit he couldn’t break when something irked him – as he sipped the coffee with the right. “Heard anything of the other sample?”

  The other sample, which was in fact two separate samples, were found at the scene. An oozing substance, thick and deep green, and a pinkish-grey piece of tissue were both found inside the mutilated remains of Johnny Ponder. “The sample came back negative, sir.”

  “Negative. The hell is that supposed to mean?” There was a strict no-tobacco rule on facility grounds. It did nothing to appease the nagging nicotine craving in the back of Davis’s mind. Maybe he would slip one of the cigarettes – hidden in his glove box – if they finished soon. God knew he was dying for one right now.

  “The liquid didn’t match any known liquid. Same with the tissue sample. Sir, there is no known match for either sample.” The sample hadn’t lasted long. Because of its caustic nature, the ooze ate through the containment dish.

  Davis again ran a hand across his scalp. A few stray grey hairs sprung up wildly as his hand passed. “No match. No known sample,” he muttered. What could it mean? They had been told the bodies had been mutilated by someone – or something – and everyone had just assumed coyotes or a pack of wild dogs.

  This development, if it could be called so, would offer no solace to the family of Johnny Ponder. They would probably never really know what had happened to their boy. Had he been attacked by wild animals and fallen from the bridge? Had he been pushed by the no-good whore – as his mother had assumed, based on his dating record – to his death?

  Law enforcement would have to be notified, of course, but Davis thought it could wait until tomorrow. He was having a shitty night and simply didn’t give a fuck enough to want to stick around. He was tired. His bones ached. He was ready to get home to his awful apartment and down a fifth of liquor while watching nudie movies on late-night TV.

  Chapter 5

  Stacy Ledbetter’s funeral followed. It had been closed casket; there was simply no way to salvage the body enough for a showing. Jason attended, but was unable to stay more than a few minutes without causing a scene. Family and other friends had no idea what had happened to Stacy. He figured it best to keep it that way.

  One of his best friends had died a gruesome death. He had recurring nightmares since viewing her mangled body of different scenarios in which her body had been maimed in such a way. He couldn’t help but wonder if she had suffered. His best guess was tremendously so. What could have done so much damage to a person and not left some sort of tell-tale sign?

  Johnny Ponder’s body could not be visually identified. What was left of the corpse was beyond anyone’s ability to recognize. Try as they might, neither Jason nor Hank could make a positive identification. DNA from the corpse had to be compared to samples taken from his room. Johnny’s service had been a few days later after finally managing to make a positive match. It had been a stretch.

  Both Stacy and Johnny’s services had been so tightly packed that there wasn’t even standing room left. They had both been well-liked and the community took the sudden loss hard. Pictures of the fun-loving young adults were on display for all to see; it offered a less-gruesome representation of the deceased than what Jason knew to actually be inside the mahogany caskets.

  Stacy’s church and congregation donated the caskets for both her and Johnny, along with two unclaimed burial plots. She was always involved in church functions and was a member of the choir. Pastor Sizemore said that the gestures were the least they could do for the two distraught families.

  ◆◆◆

  News and media outlets soon heard of the apparent double suicide, as it had been ruled, and ran with the story. “Only days ago in Shepherd Park, the bodies of Stacy Ledbetter and Johnny Ponder were found.” Her voice was high-pitched with a hint of a Chinese accent bleeding through on occasion. Her father was of Chinese decent, after all, so the Asian inflection wasn’t so farfetched.

  The news anchor motioned behind her at the centuries-old rock bridge. She proceeded in giving a false account of how the bridge and park had been commissioned in the 1940s by Mayor Judd Brown. There had, in fact, been no such Mayor as Judd Brown. The news anchor doubted she would ever be fact checked. After all, she had been pretty damned convincing.

  “Police have no suspects at this time as it has been ruled a double suicide. Friends say that neither Ledbetter nor Ponder had ever made mention of being suicidal before, but that Ponder was known to frequent the park late at night. Both were said to have happy dispositions and to love life. If there are any further developments, you can always count on Channel 18 News to bring it to you first. I’m Amy Yun…”

  The overly-cheerful brunette finished her sign off moments before the broadcast signal failed. “We’re off,” the cameraman said in a deadpan voice. In the distance, the cameraman noticed a white fog slowly creeping toward them. I hate winter, he thought. But I hate this bitch more! What’s up with this fog, anyway?

  Amy Yun flipped her hair to a more comfortable position and unbuttoned the top button on her white blouse. “This damn shirt’s killing me.” She considered loosing another button but didn’t want to excite the men. She knew how fine she was, there was no denying it. Her crew would be pouncing on her like starving lions on a gazelle if she were to show any more skin. Not that she would totally mind. Her assistant was fucking hot. Still, how would it look for her to date a man nearly ten years her junior? He had to be fresh out of high school.

  “We didn’t cut the feed,” the cameraman told her. “It was lost.”

  A confused look crossed Amy’s face. “Well, did we finish the broadcast? Then who the fuck cares!” She jabbed the microphone into her assistant’s hands – hot or not, he annoyed the ever-living fuck out of her – and slid on black ice all the way back to the van, which she hoped had been left running with the heat on full blast. She mumbled, “Damned kids killing themselves and I have to be the one to cover it. Figures!”

  She heard nothing as she approached the van. The engine was off. One of the dumbasses had obviously shut it off. She cursed under her breath as she pulled open the driver’s door. The switch was in the RUN position. She turned it OFF, then tried to crank it. Nothing. “Who the hell killed the battery?” she yelled to nobody in particular.

  She had a strange feeling that something was watching her. She peered over her right shoulder and thought she saw a pair of glowing red eyes peering back at her through the fog. She did a double take, but they were gone. Must have been her imagination. God, she hoped as much.

  Her assistant and the cameraman had been keeping a safe distance behind her. Still, they had to get back into the van with this woman. Her voice pierced the silence of the night in such a way that it nearly scared the two men.

  The fog had completely surrounded them now. It felt as though they had been drained. How long had it been since they had eaten? The crew had been counting on the diner up the street from Shepherd Park to be open before time to broadcast, but they closed early due to incl
ement weather.

  Now, with Amy’s poor attitude, nobody wanted to suffer through a sit-down meal with the anchor. The assistant and cameraman agreed, whether through telepathy or just mutual hatred for Amy, that they would not mention food again until back at the office.

  “I said, who…”

  Amy’s shrill voice cut off. The men looked at each other, then back forward. They could no longer see their van. Fog seemed to blanket everything so thickly that it was difficult to see more than three feet around.

  “I guess we should check on…” the cameraman started. A noise, which could only be described as screeching, emanated from where Amy should have been. The men attempted to run, but instead found themselves immobilized. Paralyzed? It was hard to put the way they felt into words. It felt like there was a force keeping them from moving. What the hell is going on? He would have queried this aloud but couldn’t find the voice to do so.

  Then they heard it. Or felt it? It was hard to tell as a buzzing filled their world. Nothing else mattered at that exact moment except that the buzzing existed; it was absolutely horrific and overwhelming.

  Pressure began to build in the men’s skulls. It felt as if their heads would explode. They could not scream. They could not move. It was as if their feet were cemented to the ground.

  As the pressure built, the pain was unbearable. Neither man could speak. Neither man could even form thoughts. Pain was all they knew.

  And, for an instant, the agony was over. The cameraman moved his head slightly to the left, just enough that he could see his coworker in his peripheral vision. The assistant did the same.

  Lrryyynnnn. Woooooorrvv. A sound, or was it a voice, broke the silence. A shape, greyish and… what was the correct descriptor? Oozy? Yes. Something was oozing from the tentacles. The cameraman silently agreed with his assessment in time to see one tentacle shoot toward him. In an instant the slimy appendage latched onto his face. The intense pressure was back, then nothingness.