Dead Wrong

by H L Goodnight

  The wind was knocked out of me.

  It held its tendrils close and said, "Unchild. Stop. Join us and feast forever."

  Breathless, I shook my head as I stood. The disc lay on the ground next to me. I scooped it up and ran for the front window.

  "Pretty general wants Unchild. Join us."

  Blackened, peeling vines tripped my ankle. Hitting the ground hard, my head hit a nearby shelf, knocking over some of the antiques being repaired. Most shattered hitting the concrete floor.

  Tentacles wrapped around my legs and whipped me into the front of the store. I shielded my head with my arms as I hit a glass shelf full of the music boxes I had admired earlier. Bits of glass and wood tore through my clothes, lacerating flesh.

  Crawling to a sitting position, the world seemed sharper. Screaming, I almost ran again for the front door.

  If I did, would I ever stop running?

  The Shadowed Man's tendrils wrapped around my waist again; pulling me back into the darkness during the moment's indecision. Shifting my weight, I grabbed a large piece of broken glass. Slashing at the putrid tendrils as they inched me closer to death. Spreading my legs on either side of the open door frame my feet stopped me from entering the back room. The glass was pushing and cutting deeper into my own hand as the sharp edges sliced at the tentacles.

  "Join!" The shout of the Shadowed Man reverberated through the shop, shattering what was left of the unharmed glass.

  The loud pounding noise kept pulsating in my head, and I fought the voices of those I'd failed. Those fallen to the creature. The piece of glass in my hand was slippery due to the wound as my blood poured on it. Shouting, I swung the glass in an arc while grabbing at the writhing flesh with my other. As the make-shift blade lacerated the crust like flesh and underneath to the sinew, I pulled as hard as I could using my braced legs.

  The Shadowed Man screamed in pain. Finally, the tightness around my middle was gone as the tendrils fell away. My bent knees pushed me back as the tension was suddenly gone. At the same moment the tentacles loosened, I slid along the broken remains of the shop. Ignoring more shards poking into my backside, I rolled, turning towards the door. Shaking I stopped moving. Hearing a muffled scream, I looked back.

  The creature had bitten off the bottom of Novak's legs from the knee down. Its wide maw gaped in a grin as it fed.

  Vomit came out of my mouth as I picked up a board that had once been wooden shelving. Sprinting towards the beast, I slid towards it in a crouch on the scattered pieces and swung with all that was in me. The wood splintered, some of it hitting my face and torso. The impacted made the beast stagger.

  The Shadowed Man spit out a leg and grabbed me as I took hold of a mass of smaller tentacles near his bottom. The ichor that was under him coated my hands, burning my flesh slowly. Crying out, I held onto the squirming tendrils as the creature lifted me. The rip sounded like fabric tearing as the mass ripped free. I dropped them and clawed at the vine like tendrils on my waist.

  Suddenly I was flying through the air as the creature threw me against a back wall. Trying to turn, I wasn't fast enough, and my left shoulder took most of the impact. The ligaments tore. I lay on the ground, the wind knocked out of me. I pushed up, but my left arm hung useless and completely dislocated. Grinding my teeth, I stood up. Hammers were on the floor.

  I picked up the biggest one. It had a ball on one side, but the other was looked flat.

  The Shadowed Man abandoned Novak and focused on me.

  The shop owner looked either dead or dying from blood loss. I couldn't leave him, even though he'd sold me out to this monster. I needed to know who he called.

  "Foolish Unchild!" Its form stretched, growing as it unbent in the small room. "You will join us!"

  It walked towards me on its wrong arms and legs, bits of the perpetual tar-like goo at its bottom headed towards me. Its arms didn't match in length any more than the joints of its fingers, so its gait as it moved was more of a limp.

  "Unchild. His Dead Red Girl!" The things face was level with mine as it spit out the last words.

  So close the tar-like goo soaked my boots. My whole body shook. I wanted to face this nightmare. But with its breath of decay right next to me, the wall broke.

  You left me to die!

  You failed me!

  Help us!

  You let us die!

  Voices overwhelmed my senses as everything shifted back to that night.

  The creature looked at me inside the ruins of the kitchen. Brad bleeding to death, pointed towards the exit. The smells of the dead and dying filled the room, choking me.

  "New unchild."

  Its hand caressed my face with its own covered in fluids and bits of my friends. "Dead," it spread bits of Brad on my face. "Red," It caressed my hair, and my body shook so hard I almost fell over. Held in place by the delicate touch of its tendrils. “Girl," it said releasing me.

  I turned, dashing out the hallway. Once again, twisting my ankle in the slippery gore and bodies. The pounding noise pressed on my head, as I pushed down the bile and vomit and focused on running. Crying and screaming I didn't stop until I found a tree with a hollow I could crawl in.

  Closing my eyes, I tried to speak through the snot and jagged crying breaths. "This."

  "Is now." I stopped, hugging my knees tightly to my chest with my right arm. "It is over. This is now."

  Constant pain had my eyes open.

  I was in a tree. Snow covered my boots, blowing in through the tree’s opening.

  I was covered in blood, bits of glass, wood, and gore along with some yellow police tape. My arm was still dislocated at the shoulder. I kept my breathing quiet and listened.

  The beast was gone for now.

  Novak's wrinkled, traitorous ass didn't deserve such a death. No one did.

  It took a bit to get out of the tree. I stood in the snow, the wind raging around me.

  I hadn't meant to.

  I'd fled.

  Once more, I failed.

  Screaming my rage and pain into the night, I prayed.

  Chapter Thirty

  A trip to a clinic would have fixed my wounds and shoulder but would have left a paper trail and definite police involvement. Keeping to the shadows, I'd gotten to my apartment unnoticed.

  After looking online, I decided to tie my wrist to the foot of my dresser and tug on it. After the white flash of pain faded, I thought about pulling the head off of the asshole who posted such shit advice. Shoving deli meat in my face and some jerky, I decided to wait. The shoulder slowly moved back in place. Feeling the movement of the joint through the pushing ligaments made me nauseous. I leaned back and tried to focus on other things.

  While picking glass out of my body, I looked at the phone number of Samuel Olson. The story of Deidra was another clue about the Shadowed Man. As was the proprietor of the antique shop. Both dead ends.

  No one survived the Shadowed Man. Looking into my bathroom mirror, I thought, no one but me.

  The broken glass shards were piled inside a blue carnival-glass bowl. The bowl had been my great-grandmothers. One of the few family heirlooms I owned aside from quilts and photos. There was quite a lot of glass inside the bowl.

  I shoved a piece of jerky wrapped in deli meat in my mouth. It tasted awful but helped to speed up the healing.

  The wound in my hand ached as the flesh knitted. Duct tape had kept the slash closed on the way home. After washing up, I put gauze and tape on it since it healed up enough to not bleed everywhere.

  Debating whether this Olson was even real, I did a search for him online.

  One Professor Samuel Olson taught at a not too far college and was a musician. It wasn't a large university, but it was a sister to the main state university downtown. The focus of the students at the campus where he taught was the fine arts. Including music, dance, visual arts, and theater.

  I hadn't known that schools like that existed outside of fancy private ones. Perhaps he might know something about the di
scs. However, he could be in league with whomever Novak had called.

  Deciding to take the crap shoot, I called him.

  I got his voicemail and left a brief message stating my name, the referral from Novak, and that I would like his help with the disc.

  Taking a moment, I listened to my own voicemails. The first voicemail from Dominick was a grunt. The second, "Call me." The third a sigh, "Dianna, call me." The fourth was him yelling at me in the language he'd been swearing in. Dominick's text messages all said, Call me.

  One was a call from Roth. He simply asked, “Are you safe?”

  I bit my lip and deleted the voicemails. Rubbing my chest, I clicked on the text message from Kian.

  Kian had taken a selfie with his shirt off and texted, "I'll be waiting."

  Right. Waiting patiently. Waiting for me to come to him.

  I needed help in dealing with Kian, but I didn't want Dominick or Alec to be in his vision. Or Whisper. Or Roth. I didn't want to endanger any of them more than I already had.

  I was on my own.

  On the other hand, I needed to warn them. I sent Dominick and Alec a group text, "Be careful. I’ll be out of touch."

  I was afraid if I mentioned Kian's name, they'd seek him out. After seeing Kian beat the Shadowed Man, None of them would survive a confrontation. Alec might have access to answers for the Kian-Max mystery, but they weren't worth his or his brother's life.

  Out of options, I decided to visit this professor of musical antiquities. As I was contemplating just going for a drive to see the Olson, my phone started to buzz on vibrate. The caller name read Samuel Olson.

  "Hello."

  "Dianna! Greetings this is Dr. Samuel Olson." His voice held some of the extra vowel sounds people from farther north, and closer to the border had. "Just wanted to get back to ya. I'm home today, grading compositions, so if you would like to stop by, that would be good for me."

  "That's great," I said.

  He told me the same address I'd already found.

  “I’m still in the city so it will take me a bit to get out there,” I replied.

  “It’s a quick trip. About fifty minutes.”

  “See you then,” I said. “Bye.”

  I hung up and thought it was odd. People aren't usually so eager to help a stranger. Either Professor Olson was a huge collector of these types of discs, or he was indeed working with Novak and the mysterious person on the phone and the monster.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The drive to the university didn’t take longer than an hour by highway. I parked and got out of the rental, hearing the crunch of snow under my boots.

  The campus was slightly secluded. Trees and other foliage were covered in the snow. The campus was compact, instead of the usual sprawl of larger universities. Following Olson's directions, I found his home, just off-campus.

  The homes were all craftsman style but on the narrow side and recent builds, maybe ten years old at most. His house was painted olive green with white trim. The rows of homes stretched three blocks. Each was a different set of muted colors, but all had white trim. The doors to each home all had leaded glass. It seemed very appropriate for an art community.

  Knocking on Professor Olson’s door, I glanced around. No one was around.

  A man in his sixties opened the door. He was the typical northerner with the standard height: six foot plus, even with the shrinking of age. His coppery beard was short and tailored, but his hair was white blond, that had mostly faded to white.

  He smiled widely. "Come on in," he said, holding open the door.

  His house was decorated in a minimalist style: very little furniture, and minimal knickknacks. The photos and pictures on the walls were all of concerts from rock to classical events. Sitting down on the leather and metal couch he patted the seat next to him.

  I sat down near him and brought out the disc.

  Olson's eyes lit up. He grabbed the baggie with the disc out of my hands. He stood up, pacing.

  "I can't believe you found it." His voice was clogged with emotion.

  Something was off. I remained silent watching him.

  As he walked back and forth across the wooden floors of his living room, his shoulders stayed bunched. He was fidgeting with the plastic bag's edge. And his eyes kept going to a large brushed nickel clock. He was nervous. Excited, judging from his words but upset.

  "What's going on Olson," my voice was steady.

  He jumped slightly. He smiled at me, but it looked apologetic. "You have to understand." Red and pink flushed his face. "I thought it wasn't real." Tears filled his eyes as he looked at me. "It seemed to be a dream. Not real. I thought it was a dream."

  His pacing resumed. I remained calm. This could just be over the disc, but I really doubted it. My luck was on the rise, but historically it sucked.

  "Samuel," I kept my voice soft. "Samuel."

  The professor looked at me and stopped pacing.

  "You should take this and go." His body was starting to shake, and his pupils were dilated. "I thought it was a dream."

  "Dianna! Run!" Brad appeared running through the clock's wall. "Dianna it's coming here for you!"

  "Good."

  Before the professor could start pacing again, I stood up and invaded his space. "Samuel, what is it?"

  Shaking his head, he turned the disc over and over, "It told me that the red girl would come with the disc. That if I kept her here, until his master arrived I'd be rewarded with riches and fame. I thought it was a nightmare." He grabbed my shoulders, as the disc fell to the ground, "I thought it was a dream."

  Snot was coming out of his nose, and his breathing was shallow. He was hyperventilating. "Samuel. It is okay." I didn't remove his hands but reached up to pat them. "It's okay." I removed his hands and led him to his couch. He sat down, and I pressed his head towards his knees. “Breathe. There you go." I sighed.

  "Who told you to keep me here?"

  "A man. He had long golden hair." He paused. "He looked like an angel. But around him." His voice broke. "It looked like black smoke." He started to sob, "Its voice was like cymbals scrapping on a chalkboard." He sat up, and held my hand, "Run. Take it and run. I thought it was a horrible dream." Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped his eyes and nose.

  "I will no longer run," I said.

  Brad brought up his arms, gesturing wildly for the front of the house. "He is right, Dianna. Run! Death is coming!"

  "The winged man said he needed you." He sniffed loudly. He patted my knee. "I will be fine. You leave."

  He pointed to a picture on the wall of an orchestral concert. "My grandchildren all value music, I had a wonderful wife and children, and the respect of my students and friends." Sniffing again, he looked at me, "It is best you run. Don't let that demon get you." He patted my knee again.

  "I don't know who or what is coming, but I won't leave you to die."

  He looked at me with sad eyes. A knock sounded at his door. Wiping his face, he shouted, "Coming."

  Looking back at me as he rose to answer the door, he said, "Please leave out the back. The kitchen has a door."

  Brad looked panicked. He ran back through the wall, shouting, "Run!"

  The professor picked up the disc and pressed it in my hands. As he left for the door, I thought maybe I should answer instead. But if it were a friend, student, or fellow university worker, it would raise unwanted questions.

  I stood up. I wasn't budging. Olson was resolute to protect me; I wouldn't let him suffer for it. The Shadowed Man was not the type to knock on doors or ring bells. I touched the tonfas in the inner jacket pockets.

  The jacket Whisper had loaned me had wonderful pockets. This would end.

  Listening to Samuel greet the person at the door, I heard them talking in Swedish. Pretty sure it was Swedish. If you live in the city long enough, you start to identify certain languages, even if you can't speak them. Samuel was bringing the man back here.

  As they entered the room, Samuel'
s face was one of peace. Gone were the earlier signs of anxiety. Professor Olson sat down on the sofa, gazing at the wall. His behavior reminded me of movies with people being treated, or mistreated, in mental wards. Zoned out on meds, while happily staring at nothing.

  Behind him walked a man wearing a dark blue coat. He wore jeans and had on a tattered Saints, the city’s hockey team, ball cap. His long golden blond hair was in a thick braid, hitting his waist in back. Dark indigo eyes fringed with black lashes met my gaze. His brows were dark brown, almost black. His face was pale towards peach coloring. Bright pink spots flushed his cheeks from the cold outside. His smile revealed perfect straight white teeth with sharp canines.

  He reminded me of Kian. Everything about him was too flawless. No scars. Looking at him was giving me a headache. Something about his presence hurt. I crouched down, pulling out the tonfas.

  He laughed, "Girl." Shaking his head, he said, "Now that is a bad idea."

  The sound of his laugh and voice made the headache worse. It felt like the beginning of a migraine. Velvet black mist rose from the shadows of the couch. Tendrils unfolded and caressed the professor. The Shadowed Man wrapped one arm around Samuel Olson.

  The blond man said, "Your choices are simple. Come with me, or your old friend gets another meal. This one is older than his usual prey." His smile never wavered.

  Whatever the blond was, he appeared human, but he looked like he trained since he had some muscles under his jeans.

  I decided to see if he could bleed. I didn't want to risk the Shadowed Man killing the professor. Blood dripped from my nose as the pain in my head grew again.

  Seeing the blood, the man's smile faded. He made a tisking noise. "Sorry. I'll tone that down."

  Suddenly, the pressure was gone. I stopped squinting. I kept focussing on the man while shifting my weight.

  Whatever Kian had done to me, it had supercharged me, as the jump to Whisper's fire escape proved. This was a real chance to destroy the Shadowed Man. But it wasn't worth letting another person die. A person who would sacrifice their life for a stranger would not become the Shadowed Man's snack.