Moonlight Equilibrium: Book 3.5 of the Preternatural Chronicles

by Hunter Blain

  The man strode forward without a destination in mind, the events of last night playing over and over in his head. It was at that moment that he became jealous of his son’s ability to forget what had happened as if it were nothing but a bad dream.

  Even as the thought formed, Jose knew that Julian might be repressing the memory for now, but that it would come full circle later in life. He would have to spend untold amounts on therapists for his son, and the simple suggestion made Jose clench his fists as his pace picked up. Strides turned to stomps as breaths came in ragged heaves. Jose didn’t have the kind of money that therapists required. Not anymore.

  The night grew hot as shoulders tensed and closed fists pulsated, ready to deliver a payload of rage. Why couldn’t his son be strong and accept what had happened now and get it all over with?

  Jose abruptly stopped in front of a shiny El Camino and kicked at the quarter panel by the wheel well. The car lurched a few feet into the street with a protest of crunching metal and dragging tires.

  Jose felt both surprised and pleased at his lack of control over his building anger.

  “Hey, fool! The fuck you think you’re doing to my car, cabrón,” an aggressive voice demanded from a nearby alley.

  Jose’s eyes shot to a man wearing a flannel shirt that was only buttoned at the top, long khaki shorts that went almost to his ankles, and black house shoes.

  From behind the man, several shadows appeared to spill from the darkened alley, with a few of the men quickly pocketing what looked like money and clear plastic bags before rushing to join their angry friend.

  Jose felt as if plumes of steam were rising off him like a car’s exhaust in below freezing temperatures. Pupils dilated to allow more of the scene to come into focus before squeezing to the size of a needle point at the sight of his prey. Nostrils flared, sensing the fight-or-flight hormones wafting from the apparent owner of the crappy car as he pulled a switchblade from his pocket.

  How cliché, Jose thought to himself as he squared his body and bent at the knees, lowering his center of gravity.

  The driver noticed the change in posture and immediately lunged, furious at being disrespected in front of his posse.

  Jose saw the man shoot the knife toward his chest as if the man were completely submerged in water, slowing his movements. The comparison of being in a dream and punching in slow motion sprang to mind before reflex took over and Jose pivoted on his right foot. His left swung behind him and he leaned back right as the knife passed through where his torso had just been.

  Without thinking, Jose launched a backhand at the liver of the man who had left himself fully exposed. Where the driver was moving in slow motion, Jose had his movements on fast-forward and slammed into the man at an impossible speed. He could feel the man’s liver explode, like a speeding truck hitting a water balloon that had been dangling in the middle of the road by a string.

  A blast of air that was the accumulated contents of now deflated lungs hit Jose in the face. His nose crinkled as the aroma of cheap fast food, alcohol, and cigarettes hit his face.

  The man flew into the corner of the building and crumpled to the ground in a heap. His body was angled in such a way that it looked like he was stretching his lower back by bending like a banana. Wide eyes grew unfocused as a thin stream of blood snaked out of his lips and dropped to the ground. The knife fell from his limp fingers.

  “The hell!” someone shouted in disbelief right as Jose leaped into the collection of drug-dealing citizens.

  Three went down with a cry of surprise and pain as Jose growled with a voice that was edged with something bestial. A hand clutched around then tore out a throat, rewarding Jose with the sounds of panicked gurgling. To him, it felt as easy as tearing the fat from a raw chicken breast, barely requiring any substantial effort.

  Jose slowly turned his gaze while animalistically pivoting his body so that he was nose to nose with the dying man. Frantic hands clutched at a mass of flesh that was no longer there, trying desperately to stop the bleeding while fingers felt a hard, foreign collection that the dying man knew shouldn’t be in a throat.

  Jose watched as the man clawed at his own vertebrae before jerking his head up to see two men fleeing deeper into the shadows of the alley. For a reason Jose couldn’t understand, the darkness was swallowed by a gray light, as if putting on a pair of night vision goggles. He could see almost as clearly as during the day.

  The beast of a man brought his left hand up to his right shoulder and then backhanded the remaining two men on the ground. The hand exploded through the first man’s skull, like hitting a watermelon with a baseball bat. The second man wasn’t as lucky and had his lower jaw torn off with a delicious tearing and popping sound.

  Fingers that looked like they were attached to electrodes shot up while a screaming whistle pierced the night. The man’s eyes flickered around, desperate to find any means of escaping the unimaginable pain. Blood began flowing into the exposed throat, choking the man who coughed huge gouts of blood several feet into the air. Pain was replaced by the terror that only a drowning man could understand as he fought for air, sucking more of the blood down his throat and into his lungs with every breath.

  Jose rocketed forward on all fours in pursuit of the remaining men. One had jumped over a barbwire fence, cutting himself in several places in his desperate attempt to flee.

  The other was huddled against the far wall with nowhere to go.

  The shaking man muttered, “Dios mío,” as two yellow orbs bounced from the darkness.

  The man with several cuts over the entire front of his body heard a cry of “NO!” before the sound of crunching bones silenced his friend. To him, it had sounded like someone tearing a leg off a chicken, but magnified several times over. It made his stomach send a request to vacate its contents, but was overruled by a whirling mind whose only goal was to pump legs.

  The man ran faster than he ever had in his life, not feeling the cuts as they dripped blood.

  “No, no, no, no, no,” the man repeated to himself in a chant as he heard something galloping behind him. His breaths came in wheezing gasps that bordered on screams as the man fled.

  Ahead, a cop car was sitting at a red light, and the man had never been happier to see the police in his entire existence. His gaping mouth formed a weak smile as the man continued to run toward the symbol of protection.

  “He-hey!” the man tried to cry out over his heaving breaths. He told himself he would do more cardio after this was all ov— Something crashed into him from behind, and the ground rushed up to smash into his face.

  His world spun as he weakly forced himself to look around as his brain tried to reboot. His depth perception was off. The man pulled a hand up to his face and felt warm, sticky liquid pouring from an empty socket. With his remaining eye, he looked at the ground and saw an eyeball still locked onto the police car that had begun to accelerate at the green light.

  “Wa-wait,” he exhaled as something grabbed his shoulder and flipped him on his back. A man with bared teeth and feral, yellow eyes stared down at him only inches away from his face.

  “El diablo,” the man said as the beast lifted a fist and punched through the center of the man’s face. A hand exploded out the back side of his skull, and the remaining eye lolled downward in its socket before blinking once and going unfocused.

  Jose yanked his arm free with a loud crunch as he stood up, only to realize he had taken the man’s head with him.

  With a look of disgust, Jose placed his free hand on the man’s forehead and pushed while pulling his arm free. The head smacked into the pavement with a single dull thud before Jose looked up at the gray cloud cover and howled into the night.

  The full moon was only a few nights away. Jose didn’t know how he knew, but he knew, and could feel its pull.

  Chapter 10

  T hunder cracked as rain began to fall, coating Jose in sobering cool drops that soaked his feverish body. Bloodstained hands were cleaned in the sud
den downpour. Jose held them up, inspecting them as if seeing them for the first time as crimson drops fell away.

  Jose looked inward, knowing he should be mortified at what he had done to those men, but was both surprised and dismayed to find he was simply . . . empty. He felt nothing for the lives that he had taken. A part of his brain, which had always been under control and had only whispered to his consciousness, had grown in volume and yelled, They were prey.

  Thinking about what this new impulse declared, Jose thought about a quote he had either read or seen in a movie, probably the latter: “The fox cares not to the plight of the hen.” He didn’t know how accurate he was being in his words, but knew the meaning was there.

  Looking downward, water began cascading off his nose and chin as Jose pondered on what was happening.

  “No. I’m a human, not a goddamn dog,” he reassured himself as he shook his head, sending sheets of water off his head.

  The predatory part of his mind seemed to recede, and Jose looked around at the scene he had created like a drunken artist who had created a horrifically beautiful masterpiece.

  He took a step back with his hands out in front of him, as if doing so would shield him from the reality of the body at his feet. A single eye seemed to regard him with careless indifference.

  A car pulled up to the red light at the end of the parking lot, drawing Jose back to the now. He had killed those men and needed to get away before someone saw. Self-preservation kicked in and Jose turned to begin sprinting away from the headless body.

  With a near effortless leap, he cleared the barbwire fence and rebounded off the brick wall, stumbling to stay on his feet as he landed. Regaining his balance, he ran down the alley, leaping over the three bodies only to realize one was still alive. The one without his jaw was in a fetal position, pressing his balled-up shirt into the opening to try and stop the blood flow.

  Hearing someone coming, the jawless man looked up and extended a hand, pleading for aid. Eyes locked onto Jose before growing wide in recognition. The arm that had been reaching for help went palm out in the universal sign of “stop” as the man’s muffled cry escaped from around the shirt.

  Jose felt both disgusted and regretful for what he had done to them. What had been their crime? Selling drugs? Then by that measure, Jose should wrap a noose around his own throat and jump off the city’s tallest building.

  Once in the street, Jose got his bearings and ran toward the motel. As it came into view, Jose slowed down and noticed he wasn’t even out of breath. The revelation took a back seat as Jose looked at the red door of their room. How could he face his innocent wife with hands that would be forever stained crimson?

  Jose stood in the middle of the street, the warm rain cascading down his face. A few cars swerved by, with one honking in annoyance. He took in a long, deep breath and was almost choked by some of the water that was sucked up his nose.

  A howl tickled his ears, barely audible in the fat rain that slammed into the ground. Jose looked around, stumbling as he tried to locate the sound. Another one sounded, and he almost barked out a laugh as he realized it was just a train horn as it went through the city.

  Turning back to the motel, Jose took a step forward before his stomach rumbled enough to give him pause. As a hand rested on his belly, the images of broken bodies in the alley flashed through his mind, making him lick his lips. All that fresh meat. It’s not like the men needed their muscle and organs any longer, right? Why let them go to waste?

  Jose began to hyperventilate as the thoughts dominated his mind, refusing to give way to any other ideas. He needed to feed, and he needed to do so now.

  With a salivating mouth, Jose turned and began walking to where the men were marinating in the rain. He wasn’t sure how he was going to eat their flesh, but knew his body would guide him.

  As he drew closer, Jose saw the unmistakable flashing lights of a police cruiser. Squinting, he could see a single officer inside animatedly speaking into a handheld radio.

  While peering at the car and frozen with indecision, Jose drew the attention of the officer, who stopped speaking as he locked gazes with the odd man standing in the rain.

  Jose turned and began walking away, trying to act as natural as possible.

  “Hey! Hey, stop!” the officer ordered over the rain.

  Jose answered by dropping into a dead sprint.

  The officer fumbled with trying to replace the radio and opening the door at the same time, opting to let the handpiece rest where it clattered on the floorboard. Officer Aguirre was a young man, only having been on the job for less than a year, and started after Jose on foot. He was immediately taken aback by how far the perp had run in the few seconds it had taken him to exit the vehicle.

  Jose turned over his shoulder and watched the young officer shrink with the growing distance. He dared a smile right as he turned his head around to see an old pickup truck — much like his own — stopped at a red light. Jose crashed into and rebounded off of the metal vehicle, hitting his head on the light pole on the street corner.

  Officer Aguirre heard the pang of skull on metal as the running man flopped to the ground and lay still.

  While not being out of breath but still heaving from both adrenaline and exertion, Officer Aguirre slowed down with his weapon out and muzzle pointed to the ground. Once he reached the corner, he dared to take his eyes off the downed man to look at the truck. The owner had also gotten out, and both men stared in absolute awe at how damaged the vehicle was.

  Officer Aguirre holstered his weapon as he took in the impact site, knowing the man had to be dead. The hood was open and jagged while the entire side in front of the driver’s door was dented into the engine block. The tire had bent inward, breaking the axel in the process. White smoke began spilling out, and Officer Aguirre knew that meant oil was leaking somewhere it shouldn’t be.

  “Cut the engine. Can you call a tow truck?”

  “Su-sure,” the elderly man answered as he ran a hand down his face in disbelief.

  “Do you have insurance?”

  The rain began to let up as the man looked at Officer Aguirre and said, “Only liability.”

  The police officer nodded his head, feeling sympathy for the elderly man before turning to inspect the man on the ground.

  Eyebrows knitted together as he searched the man’s exposed skin for breaks or abrasions. Kneeling, the officer reached for a pulse, not expecting to fi— Holy shit . . . he was alive.

  Jose’s eyes flung open, startling the officer, as a hand shot up to smash into Officer Aguirre’s vest. He flew backward through the air, landing in a large puddle in the middle of the street, gasping for air. Veins bulged as the officer curled into a ball, trying to suck in air from his seizing diaphragm.

  Training took over and Officer Aguirre removed the safety on his sidearm and rolled onto his side to better see the assailant.

  Jose was already on top of him before the officer even saw him coming. A trembling hand held up the pistol before squeezing the trigger. A single round launched forward and into Jose’s chest, sending a small spatter of blood out. Some landed on Officer Aguirre’s hand right as Jose knocked the gun from his hand, seemingly unfazed by the gunshot.

  The rain died completely and Jose stared down at his prey. A swift kick to the forehead knocked the officer backward, robbing him of his consciousness.

  NO! He’s an officer, for the love of God! Jose yelled inside his own mind as the darkness tried to swarm forward from the recesses of his mind. It seemed to pause at Jose’s determination.

  The unmistakable sound of a shotgun racking brought Jose out of his internal debate, and he turned to see the elderly man pointing a twelve gauge right at him. Firearms weren’t allowed by citizens, but some elderly people still had theirs from times long since passed for use in cases of emergency. This was one of those times.

  Jose stood up straight and turned his torso to square off with the man who held a determined expression. Though the old m
an was stoic, fear was trying to bubble to the surface.

  A blinding flash preceded a blast of what felt like boiling water across Jose’s abdomen, followed closely by a sonic boom that stung his sensitive ears.

  Scowling eyes looked down to see countless tiny holes littering his shirt. A hand moved to further inspect the damage to the cloth as a bright red color began to bleed through. With a jaw that was tightening with every passing moment, Jose pressed two fingers into the ink before lifting his hand to his face. His thumb rubbed across the coated index and middle finger, smearing the blood that had belonged to him.

  Yellow-tinged irises shot up to the elderly man, who took a step back, his blanket of stoicism succumbing to the boiling fear.

  Gazes locked. Jose’s brow furrowed while the hapless man’s own went up. They stayed like that for a few heartbeats before Jose sprinted forward, reaching maximum speed impossibly fast.

  The elderly man fumbled as he racked his shotgun right as the weapon was smacked from his shaking grasp. His trigger finger broke as the gun tumbled, causing the man to yelp before a hand closed around his throat.

  Without telling his body to do so, Jose pulled the man in close as flaring nostrils hopped over exposed skin. The man put a hand on Jose’s face in an attempt to push him away. A finger slipped into a welcoming maw before teeth came together, severing the digit with a sound that reminded Jose of a particularly crunchy French fry.

  It. Was. Delicious.

  Jose didn’t understand why the screaming man’s finger was one of the tastiest things he had ever eaten, but at that moment, he didn’t care. He needed more.

  The man yanked back his hand, prompting Jose to grab the man’s wrist and effortlessly pull it back, struggle as the elderly man might.

  Another finger disappeared into a salivating prison, with teeth that were a little too sharp acting as the cell door. Opening his mouth again, Jose took in the next two fingers, saving the thumb for last. Severed inmates tumbled over one another before being pulverized and slipping down a dark slide and into a pit of acid.