Shining in the Dark
Page 6
She crawls across the rough floor to the pile of clothes near the entrance to her lair. After dressing, she finds a scrap of cloth long enough to wrap around the wound on her foot.
A light flashes across the grime-covered windows at the top of the basement wall. She hears a scuffling noise. Another flash of light. Then she hears the distinctive squeak of the hinges as the door above swings inward.
Someone’s coming.
* * *
Officer Kate Emerson’s heavy duty flashlight picks up the splashes of red leading down the alley. She’s the senior partner, so she leaves Philips to preserve the crime scene and wait for backup while she follows the trail. Her sidearm is still holstered, but the flap is unsnapped for quick access.
Philips thinks he saw a wildcat, but the darkness can play tricks on a person. If it was the killer who has been dumping bodies in this part of town for the past several months, she can’t let him get away. Catching this perp will look very good on her record—another step up the ladder toward a gold shield, bumping her pay and getting her off the streets at night. A detective’s life is less dangerous, and she has a little girl at home without a father.
The trail leads around the corner to a wooden door at the end of the next alley. Three drops of wet blood on the sill gleam in her flashlight beam. She considers radioing Philips, but he’ll only tell her to wait for backup. That would be the by-the-book thing to do, but she doesn’t want the killer to escape.
She puts her hand on the doorknob and twists. The door swings open. The hinges utter a loud protest. So much for sneaking up on whomever or whatever Philips wounded.
The dirt on the floor in the entrance is undisturbed, but she finds tracks on the basement stairs to the right. Recent, from the look of them. If they’re paw prints, they’re unlike any she’s ever seen. She also finds a drop of blood on the second step. As she descends, she unholsters her pistol and extends it, bracing her gun arm with the one holding the flashlight.
Once she reaches the basement, she sees signs that something was dragged—or has dragged itself—across the filthy concrete floor. More blood, too. She takes a few cautious steps forward, sweeping the area with her flashlight. The basement is littered with trash. In one corner she sees what might be a stack of bleached bones. Is this the killer’s lair?
Her flashlight makes her an easy target, but she’d be more vulnerable in the dark. Moving forward, she sees something that looks like a hovel or a lean-to. Then she sees a flash of color and swings the flashlight—and her gun—a few inches to her left.
She gasps and eases the pressure on the trigger. It’s a little girl, crouching like a leopard ready to pounce. Ten years old, maybe a little older. Her mane of curly golden hair looks like it hasn’t seen a brush in…forever. She’s dressed in tattered, filthy rags.
“What are you doing down here?” Before holstering her sidearm, she looks beyond the child to see if there’s anyone else in the shelter. “Where are your mommy and daddy?”
The girl stands, but remains mute.
Emerson steps closer. Her beam washes over the girl from head to toe. She’s barefoot. A makeshift bandage on her right foot is oozing blood.
“Let me take a look at that.”
The girl doesn’t move.
“I won’t hurt you. I just want to look at your foot.”
The girl shakes her head.
Emerson kneels to make herself less threatening. After a few seconds, the girl limps across the basement floor.
“What’s your name?” Emerson asks. She’s unprepared for what happens next. Her thoughts are flooded with a name that announces itself inside her head so loud it might have been delivered by a concert hall PA system. She reels, putting out a hand to keep from falling over.
After taking a deep breath, she looks at the girl. She reminds Emerson of one of those kitschy paintings of little waifs with oversized eyes. Her grime-covered face is somber, as if she’s lived a life of sorrow and torment.
“Did you do that? Are you Aeliana?”
The girl nods. A hint of a smile curls her lips. She rocks from one foot to the other and then grimaces in pain.
“Pleased to meet you. I’m Kate.” Emerson pats her bent leg, guiding the girl over to the makeshift seat. She wraps one arm around Aeliana’s waist and picks her up, clutching her to her chest. She pivots and heads toward the basement steps. “Don’t worry,” she says. “I’ll take you somewhere
safe.”
The girl squirms, forcing Emerson to use both hands to maintain control. The flashlight traces an erratic tattoo on the walls and ceiling as it tumbles to the ground.
An unusual, bitter odor envelops Emerson. The frail body clasped in her arms feels like it’s melting away to nothing. A wave of heat rolls over her and something flows down her body, as if a bucket of lukewarm water has been poured on her. After a few seconds, her arms are pressing against her breasts. She’s an experienced cop who knows how to restrain perps, but somehow this little girl has managed to escape her grasp. Taking deep breaths to maintain her composure, she fights the urge to turn and flee. It’s just a little girl, she tells herself. A frightened, injured girl. And it’s her duty to protect her.
She picks up the flashlight, which survived its fall to the cement floor. The beam illuminates Aeliana, who is crouching in front of her hovel again, like a feral animal. For a few seconds it seems like her features are shifting. Her nose narrows and her broad forehead flattens. Emerson tells herself it’s a trick of the shadows and light, because now Aeliana looks just like a little girl.
“Will you stay here until I come back with something to take care of your foot?” she asks. “I won’t try to take you away again.”
Aeliana nods.
“Was that your daddy? In the alley?” Emerson’s head jerks back when a vivid mental image of the body imprints on
her mind.
Aeliana shakes her head.
“Wow. Okay. And what about your mommy?”
The girl shrugs.
Emerson doesn’t know how to process the things that have happened since she arrived in the basement. All she can do is take care of the girl’s injuries. For now, at least. “I’ll be right back,” she says. “Stay here.”
She’s halfway up the stairs when her radio crackles on her shoulder. “Emerson? You there?”
“I lost the trail. I’m on my way back to you now.”
“Reinforcements are five minutes out,” he says.
“Roger,” she says.
The crime scene turns into a beehive of activity. In her absence, Philips strung yellow tape to keep all but essential personnel from the area. CSI techs erect lights and begin the arduous task of collecting evidence. The detectives who take over the scene send Emerson and Philips to canvass the neighborhood for witnesses. It’s busywork—no one around here would ever talk to the cops about anything—but it’s part of the job.
Philips takes the east side of the alley and Emerson the west. Before she heads out, she removes some first aid supplies and other items from the trunk of their squad car. She makes a show of knocking on doors and then, at the first opportunity, disappears around the corner.
Aeliana emerges from the shanty in the basement when Emerson reaches the bottom step. Emerson shows her the supplies. “I promise,” she says. “I won’t try to take you away again.”
The girl approaches slowly but eventually agrees to sit on Emerson’s lap again while the officer cleans the wound, applies ointment and wraps the foot with a gauze bandage. “Try to keep it clean,” Emerson says. “Are you hungry?”
The girl nods.
Emerson hands over the turkey salad sandwich that was supposed to be her lunch. She twists the cap on a bottle of water before passing it over, too. “Do you know anything about the man in the alley?”
A scene plays out in Emerson’s head, like an old news reel. The perspective is unusual, low to the ground. A car tire rolls to a stop at the entrance to an alley. The door opens and a foot
appears. The view pans up to show a man removing something heavy from the trunk. He carries it down the darkening alley, dumps it on the ground and returns to the car, which drives off a few seconds later.
“Did you see his face?”
Emerson receives an image of a man cloaked in shadows. She can make out a few features—prominent ears, receding hairline—but not enough to identify him.
“He’s the Lord of the Dusk,” Aeliana says, speaking out loud for the first time.
“Why do you call him that?” The media hasn’t yet caught wind of the fact that someone is dropping bodies in this part of town—and no one cares enough to inform them—so the killer doesn’t have a nickname.
“I am a disciple of the moon and the stars,” Aeliana says, pointing at herself. “You are a daughter of the sun. He comes in between.”
Emerson nods, even though she has no idea what Aeliana means.
“If I see him again, I can summon you.”
“How?”
Another image floods Emerson’s mind. Aeliana beckoning her.
“Can you do that wherever I am?”
Aeliana shrugs. “I think so.”
“He’s dangerous.”
More images parade through Emerson’s head. Hideous monsters with fangs and claws. She looks again at the little girl and tries to imagine what happened earlier when she melted out of her arms. Does she have an aspect like this, too? She understands the message, though. Aeliana is dangerous as well.
“Okay, but don’t take any chances,” she says. “Keep safe. I’ll come back when I can.”
Emerson brushes the tangled hair away from Aeliana’s face and kisses her forehead. Once again she smells the unusual aroma. It reminds her of death.
* * *
Aeliana senses the Lord of the Dusk bringing a new present before she sees him. She closes her eyes and transmits a message to Kate. Their empathic connection is strong. She hasn’t bonded with a human in a long, long time. Not only can she send Kate messages, she can see through her eyes and allow Kate to see through hers.
Kate has visited her three times since that first night, bringing food—some of it unlike anything Aeliana has ever experienced before—and tending to her wound, which is healing nicely. Each time she tried to convince Aeliana to go away with her. She has banished from her mind the images Aeliana showed her and thinks of Aeliana as a child.
Aeliana knows that what Kate wants is not possible. They are from two different worlds—worlds that must always remain apart.
It’s early evening when Kate parks her car on the street near Aeliana’s alley. From the safety of her enclosure, Aeliana sends her mind out into the foreign realm of daylight, as seen through Kate’s eyes. She flinches at first, unaccustomed to the brightness.
“You’re sure he’s coming?” Kate thinks.
“Soon,” Aeliana says. She looks to the sky through the car’s windscreen, taking advantage of the rare opportunity to see the sun, which is about to disappear behind the city’s sprawling skyline. Kate raises her hand to shield her eyes, which amuses Aeliana. Even humans aren’t immune to its oppressive radiance.
They sit in comfortable silence for a while. Aeliana enjoys being inside Kate’s mind. She has been alone for so long that it feels good to have company. She wanders through the woman’s memories. Most of them involve a little girl—Kate’s daughter. Aeliana feels like she’s wrapped up in a warm blanket.
* * *
Emerson hears an approaching vehicle. The sun is now behind the skyscrapers. Shadows stretch into impossible lengths, distorting even the most familiar objects. She slumps behind the steering wheel as a car crawls past, going barely twenty. Once it’s out of sight, she gets out and creeps down the street, sticking to the shadows. Aeliana approves.
Ahead, brake lights illuminate. The driver’s door opens and a tall figure gets out. He puts his hands on the car roof as he surveys the area. Apparently satisfied that he’s alone, he eases the door shut and walks to the back of the car. The trunk pops open. He reaches in and removes something large and cumbersome, dragging in toward the alley.
Emerson takes advantage of his distraction to ease closer. She has her gun out now, ready for the confrontation that will put an end to this killer’s reign of terror. She should call this in, but she doesn’t want to share the credit. Once she has the upper hand, she can make the call. It won’t matter that she’s off duty. Her bosses will lavish her with praise and the promise
of promotion.
At the entrance to the alley, she braces herself and swings around the corner, gun at arm’s length. “Freeze,” she says in her loudest, sternest, most authoritative voice.
The man tackles her, knocking the gun from her hand. Something solid hits her head. She collapses. Then the man is on top of her slapping and punching. He pins her arms to her sides. Aeliana is screaming inside her head and Emerson thinks she’s screaming out loud, too, but she can’t be sure.
The man snarls. Emerson can’t make out his words. They’re the ravings of a maniac. Something pierces her belly. She looks down in time to see him pull out the knife and plunge it into her again. The pain is worse than when she was wounded in a shootout a few years ago. Her body goes cold, then hot, then cold again. Her attacker removes the knife and wipes it on her shoulder. Then she passes out.
* * *
A golden aura envelops Aeliana as she shifts into animal form. It’s not quite dark outside yet, but she is driven by fury. Kate needs her help. She can already feel the woman’s essence draining away.
Within seconds, she’s bounding down the alley. The Lord of the Dusk is still leaning over Kate. He does not hear her approach. In a single leap she’s on him. Her fangs find the soft meat of his neck and her claws dig into his back and arms. The knife clatters to the ground. He tries to reach for her, but she’s too agile. Gouts of blood erupt from his neck. She closes her mouth, ripping off a huge piece of meat. Her molars grind it and she swallows.
The man collapses. Aeliana drags him away from Kate so his blood won’t taint her. He isn’t dead yet, but he won’t last long.
She doesn’t want Kate to see her like this, so she retreats into the shadows and shifts once more. The sun is almost gone, but she can still feel its diffuse rays singeing her flesh. She tugs on Kate’s arm, trying to get her to wake up. Aeliana doesn’t know how to staunch the flow of blood from the stab wounds in her abdomen.
Soon, it’s dark and Aeliana is in her element. The man is dead, but Kate is still breathing, though her respiration is shallow and uneven. Her eyelids flutter open and she tries to focus on Aeliana. The little girl who isn’t really a little girl.
“Get up,” Aeliana says.
“Oof,” Kate says when she tries to move. She puts a hand on her stomach. It comes away coated with blood. Something that should have been on her insides protrudes from one of the
gaping wounds.
Aeliana flows into Kate’s mind. Her thoughts are muddled. She’s on the verge of passing out again. “Get up,” Aeliana yells, both out loud and inside the woman’s head.
“No use,” Kate says.
Aeliana knows it’s true. No one knows she’s here. Even if an ambulance arrived this very minute, she’s lost too much blood.
“No use.” She shivers, and a tear rolls down her cheek. “My little girl,” she says, and Aeliana, who is both beside Kate and inside her, understands that Kate isn’t talking about her.
Kate’s lungs are screaming for oxygen. She will die soon, and Aeliana can’t take away her pain. Dying terrifies Kate, Aeliana realizes. For her, it’s the end. Some of Aeliana’s kind can go beyond death, but Kate can’t.
As if Kate can hear Aeliana’s thoughts, she turns toward her. “Change me. Make me eternal. Like you.”
Aeliana shakes her head.
“Want to see…my little girl…grow up.”
“I can’t,” she says.
“Please.”
“You would have to leave your world behind.�
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“Don’t…understand…”
“Your daughter would become as a dream to you.” Aeliana doesn’t add that Kate’s daughter would also likely be repulsed by her.
“No.” Pain wracks Kate’s body. She can barely keep her eyes open. She stretches out a bloody hand toward the little girl at her side. “Melissa.”
“I’ll find her,” Aeliana says.
She’s still intertwined with Kate’s mind when the woman dies. She’s always wondered what it would be like. Someday, her turn might come. Or maybe she’ll live forever.
It won’t be long before the feral cats and rats and other vermin of the streets lay claim to the bodies in the alley. She wishes she could protect Kate from this indignity, but the world will have its way with her.
Aeliana turns to the other bodies, those of the murdered man and his killer, whose blood she has already tasted. She will feast on these remains before the scavengers arrive, and take enough with her to last for days. Eventually the men with the red and blue flashing lights will come and cart away what’s left of them.
After that?
Aeliana isn’t afraid of the future. Even without presents from the Lord of the Dusk, there will always be something to eat in this seedy corner of this dismal city.
PIDGIN AND THERESA
BY CLIVE BARKER
(PRESENTED IN ITS original British format.)
THE APOTHEOSIS OF Saint Raymond of Crouch End took place, as do the greater proportion of English exaltations, in January. Being a murky month, January is considered in celestial circles a wiser time to visit England than any other. A month earlier, and the eyes of children are turned heavenward in the hope of glimpsing reindeer and sleigh. A month later, and the possibility of spring—albeit frail—is enough to sharpen the senses of souls dulled by drear. Given that angels have a piquancy which may be nosed at a quarter-mile (likened by some to the smell of wet dog-fur and curdled cream) the less alert the populace the greater the chance that an act of divine intervention (such as the removal of a saint to glory) can be achieved without