by Shaun Meeks
RINGRINGRING!
Oh damn!
My hand shoots down to my pants, but it’s too late. I hear the footfalls of the Caaraan who heard the ringing of my cellphone. I should’ve turned it off or at least set it to silent, but sometimes I just forget. What a great time for me to have a slip. I know that cellphones are supposed to be convenient, such a helpful technology, but there are times when they’re a real pain in the ass.
Right now is one of them.
I pull my phone out and Rouge’s number and contact picture pop up. Usually I love to see it, but right now I have other things on my mind. The Caaraan is going locker to locker, opening each one no doubt trying to find the source of the noise, to figure out where I am. I want to ignore it, but it’s Rouge after all. I need to make this quick.
“Hey sweetie, I’m right in the middle of a job,” I whisper as quietly as I can.
“Sorry. I just wanted to know if you made plans for tonight.”
“Yep. I’ll call when I’m out of here.”
“Okay. I just wanted to know if it’s a dressy thing. So I know if I should set my hair.”
The locker door in front of me flies open and shit breath is right in my face, hulking over me, mouth open wide as though he means to eat me. The smell of caked on feces and urine wafts at me from the dark, black hole in the middle of his raggy face and more than ever I hate cellphones.
“Set it. I love the Victory Rolls.”
As I say this, I lunge outward. The hand holding the knife goes forward and upward, straight into the Caaraan’s mouth. I have no idea if this will work, or if he’ll just bite my arm off, but there’s no other choice. I’ve already made a ton of bad ones today—what’s one more.
There’s something close to shock I can clearly see registering on his face. Maybe he expected me to be curled in a ball, terrified of him, or he thought I’d plead with him and try to make some deal so I could save my ass. He’s clearly never dealt with Dillon the Monster Dick before. It’s a mistake so many others have made in the past.
The knife slides easily thought the rags he used to make his body, the razor sharp edge making it tear like paper. Before he can even close his mouth, the Tincher’s blade goes right through and out the back of his head. He stumbles backwards and green light begins to spill out of him.
“Okay then. I’ll go start fixing my hair up now. Stay safe and see you soon. Love you,” I hear Rouge say, and can’t believe I still have the phone to my ear.
“Love you too,” I say before I hang up and toss the phone onto the disgust couch that’s close to the lockers.
Then I go back to work.
As the Caaraan moves away from me, grasping at his head, I know he’s already done, but I need to get out of there and soon. Right now, the first part of the soul that’s come here illegally is spilling out. It won’t be long before it’s all out and heading back to where it belongs thanks to the spells on the Tincher.
I kick the giant monster in the chest, and push him so he tumbles over some mops and crashes to the floor. I pounce on him, grab the demon with my gloves and confirm they do in fact work on Caaraans. He tenses up, like someone who’s just been punched in the temple and has been knocked out. His eyeless sockets go wide and I see more light is bleeding out of them.
“P-p-please,” he whimpers, as he chokes on the light spilling from him. I have no sympathy for him. Even if I wanted to, I can’t feel bad for them. These creatures aren’t supposed to be here. There are rules and laws they must follow. I have to follow them too.
Well, I do try from time to time, but it’s not always easy. Rouge makes following the rules hard, among other things.
I bury the knife in his throat and move the blade down until it comes out where his crotch is. I quickly get off him as the last of his spirit light explodes out of him and dwindles to nothing, to the point where I know he’s gone back to wherever he came from. There is a sizzling sound as the light blinks out and then all that’s left are the old rags and a pile of shit the Caaraan had eaten. I look down at it and shake my head.
Some days I really wonder if I’ve made the right choice to come to Earth and do this crappy job. At least I don’t have to clean that up too.
I wash my knife off in the bathroom, grab my phone and my bag and then head to the management office to get paid. I know getting a nice cheque will make me feel a little better and seeing Rouge tonight will make all that doubt slip away.
But some days…
I’m nearly home. I feel exhausted as usual right after a job like that. I’m really looking forward to getting there and just passing out. The streets aren’t as busy as they would be if it were the weekend. That’s something at least. There’s not much worse than driving home in Friday or Saturday traffic to ruin your night, especially when you’re tired. I pull into the parking lot and click my alarm on when my phone rings. I can’t help but to curse before I even pull it out of my jeans pocket. I know who it is and I feel like an idiot.
“Hey, Rouge,” I say as soon as I answer it.
“Please tell me you’re not still at work.”
I can hear the annoyance in her voice and I’m mad at myself because I forgot to call her back like I promised. Even the plans I’d made had slipped my mind so I have to mentally kick my own ass for that one. It seems idiotic and it is. She even called me at the job to ask about it, so you’d think it’d be at the front of my mind. Yet, when I finished with the Caaraan and then had to deal with trying to get paid from the stingy Sartell, I just plum forgot. It actually slipped from my mind because all I wanted to do was get home, take a long shower to get the feel of that dirty room off of me, and fall fast asleep. Once the idea of curling up in my bed and resting weaseled its way in there, it was nearly impossible to think of anything else.
“Just left a few minutes ago,” I tell her, half lying. “I’m going to head home and get changed and I’ll be right over.”
“Hurry. My stomach is eating itself and I don’t want my face to start melting. I put a lot of working into getting dolled up for you, Mister.”
“I’ll hurry. I promise.”
“Well, I guess I’ll sit in front of the fan and eat some chips until you get here. Hurry!” she says, and laughs. “If I eat too many of these medallions of deliciousness, I won’t be able to wear this corset tonight. Your haste is all that will save me from popping like a container of Pillsbury dough.”
I chuckle. Even though I really wanted to go to sleep, I’d rather see her. I’m sure I’ll feel more awake once I get to her house.
“You’re always gorgeous and there’s no way that would ever happen. I’ll text you when I’m back in my car and on the way.”
We say our goodbyes and I walk into the building where I live. The apartment building is small, not one of the skyscrapers that litter the skyline. This one is only nine floors. It’s pretty quiet and for the most part, bug and homeless-guy-sleeping-in-the-stairwells/lobby-free. I’ve worked in buildings with hallways that reek of drugs and urine, stairwells and elevators covered in blood and/or feces, not to mention lobbies full of thugs or prostitutes looking to spread their legs and their diseases. The city seems plagued with these kinds of properties at times. There are days when I go out for a job and see how much of a downward spiral the city is in and I have to wonder how long before it all implodes on itself.
Even where I live isn’t the best. I’m not sure you could find the perfect place to live here anymore. I certainly haven’t found one like it, but at least I’ve been able to find somewhere half decent. My building is a little grimy, but when you compare it to many other areas in Toronto, it’s not all that bad.
I walk up the stairs. I never take the elevator here. It’s not that I’m afraid of enclosed spaces, though I’m not a huge fan, especially after hiding in a locker from a monster with poop smeared on his face. It’s just one of the small things I
can do to stay in shape. So, as I head up the stairs, something catches my eye on the third floor. There’s a shadow I see through the frosted glass door and, at first, I think of ignoring it and walking by. Yet there’s something there, a thing I’m sure I know. It’s a little tickle on the back of my neck and it sparks my curiosity, so I have to see what it is now.
Slowly, I open the door, bracing to find some woman or man going door-to-door selling long distance, God, or the opportunity to buy a tree in a rainforest. I know if that’s what’s there, I’m going to quickly shut the door and run. There’s nothing worse than solicitors. I’ve always wondered if the Hell Catholics and Christians always talk about is full of door to door sales people, allowed to go back to Earth just to keep working. Or perhaps it’s some afterlife punishment. No lake of fire, just the worst job ever. I do feel bad for them sometimes, and the way people look at them or just straight up yell at them. That feeling usually fades when I open my door to one and they start off with their I’d like to talk to you about fill in the blank here.
There are no solicitors of any kind there. In fact, when I open the door, I don’t see anything at all and I breathe a sigh of relief. Letting the door go and I’m about to turn back to walk up the stairs. It’s only then that I see it from the corner of my eye in the hall. It’s small and it’s fast. Even before I can realize what it is I feel something hit me from behind and the world in front of my eyes gets a bit darker. I can’t let myself go down and yet the strength in my legs is draining and I feel my body sag.
“He ain’t gone down, hit ‘em again, idiot!”
The voice is coming from in front of me, yet when I look towards where the source should be, there’s nothing but hallway there. I squint, but as I do, I’m hit again. And it’s a hard one. The first blow had struck me in the back of the head, but this one bounces of the side of it, close to my ear and most of the force hits me in the left shoulder. I cry out and know that if I don’t move and do something fast, I’m not going to be conscious enough to see what comes next.
My hand fumbles at my belt where I have my Tincher attached. I can hear the voice from hall ordering another hit and something behind me shuffles. I act fast. The sound of whatever it is hitting me whistles through the air. My ears pick it up. Before it finds a home on my aching body, I move. I roll to the right, away from the hall, and try to get to my feet. I fail at that.
With one foot on the ground and the rest of my weight balanced on my knee, I turn away from the hall to meet with my attacker. I don’t know what I’m expecting, but to be honest, I did think it would be some monstrous beast with a club. Instead, it’s a ragged looking man with a taped up baseball bat in his hand and a lost, dead look in his eyes. There’s little doubt this man is a junkie. His eyes aren’t on me though; they’re on the spot I was, where his bat had struck. I can only guess he’s trying to figure out how he missed.
I press my empty hand against the wall and use it to help me get to my feet. Once on them, as shaky as they are, I hold the knife forward and whistle to get the junkie’s attention. He turns to me, his mouth open and his eyes are slightly vacant. Not sure what this guy’s drug of choice is, but if his plan is to rob me, he has another thing coming.
“You have two choices,” I say though gritted teeth, as my head booms and throbs. “You can drop the bat and run like the wind, or I’m going to see how much jerky I can make out of your flesh, asshole.”
He’s not moving. Well, his lips are moving, as though he’s talking, but no words come out. I wonder if he’s talking to himself, or if he can even speak at all. He looks at me, standing in front of him with my Tincher in hand. Slowly he looks at the hallway, the door still hanging open. His eyes turn back to me again for a moment. Before I can say any more to him, he drops the bat and runs down the stairs. I think he made a wise choice.
I breathe a sigh of relief, but I know there’s still someone else there. Well, unless they’ve run off too. I move as quickly as I can to the hallway door. My head is spinning slightly, but I want to try to catch the one that had barked the order, whoever it is on the other side of the now closed door.
When I yank it open, the hallway is empty and I’m pissed that they’ve taken off. I curse to myself and then something hard hits my shin. I wince and yell out. As I go to look down at the injury, I see the source of the pain and the one who’d been ordering the junkie to hit me. I’m holding back the urge to laugh.
“I should’ve known it’d be a damn Skell!” I blurt out, and all but stagger towards the small creature.
Skells come from a distant world. Their planet is on the edge of a galaxy, which lies on the edge of this one. The planet, like its inhabitants, is small and dim. When these creatures cross over, they tend to be confused with the mythical leprechauns. He’s short and stubby looking, thick around the middle with a blunted square head. Looking at him, in the dark or at a distance you might think there’s a rainbow and a pot of gold close by, but I know better. I’ve dispatched plenty of the little cockroaches before and this one will be no different.
“Back away from me, meat sack,” the Skell nearly cries out, and steps away. His body is small and compact, comprised of dirt and grass. He smells earthy and a little bit like there might be dog shit on him. Typical for his kind.
“I don’t think so, Skell. I don’t know how you found me, but you should never hunt a hunter. Didn’t your mommy knock any sense into that pea brain of yours?”
“Shut your mouth, traitor, and don’t you dare speak ill of her,” he says, and I think he almost sounds offended. I have to hold back laughing at him. Luckily, my bleeding head is spinning enough that I can disregard the humour as I try to stay upright.
“I won’t. Instead, I’ll send you back to her so she can teach you some damn manners.”
At that, he spins and goes to run. I won’t be able to catch him if he gets away, so I can’t let him. The way my brain is feeling, the fact that I’m close to being sick from the swaying of the world around me lets me know I won’t be any good in a chase, so I have to think of something better.
He gets four steps into his fleeing when I throw my Tincher at him with precision aim. I watch as the blade sails through the air and hits him dead in the back. The little bastard cries out and falls to the ground. I limp over to him, the hall in front of me still spinning a bit, and I hold back the urge to stomp on his makeshift head. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve managed to bite back my temper quite a lot. There were days not that long ago when instead of just sending him back, I would have tortured him a bit, gotten answers about the weak spot he came through or anything else I wanted to know. It wasn’t nice, and I’m not proud of how I could prolong the pain if I wanted, but it was a different time and I’m a different man now.
The Skell is trying to crawl away. His tiny arms and legs are moving, making him look like he’s swimming on the carpeted hall. I know it can’t be easy for him. The curses and spells carved into the blade cannot only kill, they help to incapacitate anything I stab or cut long enough for me to do my job. I’d say it’s a little like being anesthetised, only there is still quite a bit of pain involved. In order to send it back, I can’t just stab it, I have to breech the creature and release the mist within. Then it goes back.
Now, if I use the Tincher and go deeper and actual pierce the core of the mist itself, well, let’s just say the creature, demon or monster will soon be no more than a memory.
I stand over him, put my foot on his ankle and he cries some more. Carefully, I crouch down and flick the handle of my knife to send a tremor through the trespasser’s body. I wonder briefly what it must feel like. Does it burn? Itch? Or does it simple throb with every false breath he takes? In the end, I just don’t care.
“So, Skell, you want to tell me how you found me?” I ask, and doubt I’ll get an answer.
“Will you let me stay? I’ll tell you anything you want if you let me stay here. You have
my promise.”
Should I consider it? Do I want to give this turd a break so I can find out? I’ve lived here so long and never once found any creature not of this earth close to it, so I do want to know. But do I make a deal with some low being to find it? It’s a conundrum.
“Fine. Tell me what I want to know and I’ll take the blade out of you.”
He’s not saying anything and I don’t doubt he’s questioning whether I’m lying or not. I can’t blame him really. If I was in the same position, and I have been once or twice in my time, I’d want some sort of reassurance. Bad luck for him because I’m not going to do anything to tell him if I’ll live up to my promise or not. Sometimes, you just have to take a chance.
“Okay, I’ll tell you, but you promise, right?”
“Sure,” I agree, and wait for the answer.
“Since you stopped that Hellion, word is going through the universe, to every realm what you’ve done. Some are more scared of you and the hunters than ever before, but not everyone. There’s a group out there, spanning numerous planets, realms and planes of existence, that are coming together and want you dead. They’re paying any cost to get you, rid them of the last Treemor. They thought they already had, yet here you are. And it’s not going to stop there. They want the Authority brought down too. You and the other hunters are just the start, the beginning of a bigger plan to make all planets, universes and realms free.”
“So, who is this group?”
“I can’t say. If I do, I’m better off dead. So if that’s not enough to spare me, well then—”
I tear my Tincher through his false body and split him in two without letting him finish his thoughts. I know when someone is done telling me what I want to know, and he was at that point. I wouldn’t have spared him anyway, but holding back made me mad. If I could, I wanted to extinguish his light completely. After all, he was trying to kill me. I guess he can count himself lucky when he gets back to his little hellhole deep in the stars.