by C R Langille
“Thanks, I think.”
Their meals arrived, and they both took a moment to relish the sights and smells of the dish. Two identical plates of food sat in front of them, sending off steam and the aroma of a finely grilled steak. Mashed potatoes, gravy, and a side of broccoli accompanied the main course, giving the whole thing a lovable rustic quality that reminded Allison of a home-cooked meal.
“Ambrosia, food of the Gods,” Dan said. “Or at least it should be.”
She took a bite of the steak and slumped into the back of her chair. Her eyes shut, and she let out a small moan of joy as she chewed. Dan watched her and wondered what he could do to elicit another sound like that from her. It was more intoxicating than the alcohol.
“See, I told you,” he said, taking a bite.
“Okay mister, you were right about this one, 1-2. Just don’t expect me to have any more of that devil water.”
“Okay, okay. Anyway, you didn’t answer the question. What makes you tick?”
“Well… I don’t know. I guess you could say I love old things, if you get right down to it.”
“Fair enough. What got you into elder things?”
“My mother. She was always taking me on some different adventure each weekend. We would see the normal vacation hotspots, but she made sure to teach me the significance of what we saw, the history behind it. After a while, I started looking things up myself and telling her things. I guess it stuck through school and pushed me through college. That’s where I ran into Garrett.”
Dan found the story interesting, but he fought to keep his attention rapt on her story. Something about her fiery red hair continued to steal his concentration. He noticed how it fell in front of her eyes at times and fought the urge to reach up and brush it back for her. Whether it was the beer or something else, he was more alive than he had been in a very long time. That put him on edge.
“…do you think I’m weird for doing that?” she asked, brushing away the exact lock of hair he had keyed in on. The act brought him back to the present.
“I, uh… What?” he asked. It was his turn to feel flummoxed, and he tried to hide it by taking a large gulp of the devil water.
“Were you even listening to me?” she asked, narrowing her eyes again. Even though her eyes tried to tell him that she was annoyed, her smile belied her true feelings.
“Of course! At least until I lost myself. I’ll be honest, I find you very beautiful. The way your hair frames your cheekbones is bordering the divine.” Honesty, the best answer.
Dan took another drink.
She didn’t know exactly how to respond, at least not vocally. Her skin, however, tried to match the color of her hair. She involuntarily let out a small laugh.
“What about you? Have you always lived here?”
Without missing a beat, Dan shook his head. “No ma’am. I’m kind of from all over and nowhere in particular. I ended up here and took up the calling.”
“Well, that didn’t answer very much.”
“I’m a man of mystery.”
“Before the night is over, you will tell me what you know comrade,” she said in a cliché Russian accent.
“Game on, golubushka, game on.”
They finished their dinner and drinks. Allison pushed through two more glasses of wine. The alcohol helped her relax, and it didn’t take long before she was laughing a little louder and a little longer than normal. Dan, on the other hand, finished ten tall glasses of beer but still held his faculties in check.
“Sheriff Blackwood,” a soft voice said from beside the table.
A small man in a gray business suit stood by their table clutching a clipboard in his hands. The odor of sulfur invaded his nose and Dan lost all desire to finish his beer. He pushed the mug away. Dan shot the man a look filled with violence and hate.
The man merely smiled a crooked smile and looked over to Allison.
“My, my, Sheriff, who is this fair creature you have with you?”
Allison’s face screwed up as the smell slapped her in the face and stole any response she could have mustered.
“None of your concern. What do you want?” Dan asked.
“No need to be rude, Sheriff. I was just trying to be polite.” The man spat the word like it was in another language.
“Allison, could please excuse us?” Dan asked, never taking his eyes from the man.
She looked to Dan then to the short man and nodded. She scooted back, and the legs of the chair squealed on the wooden floor like a banshee.
“Thank you, Miss Montgomery,” the man said, taking her seat.
“How do you know my name?” Allison asked.
“It’s my job to know things,” the man said, adjusting his glasses. He shot her a look seeping with vile perverseness. “All sorts of things.”
“That’s enough,” Dan said.
The man winked at Allison, and she stormed off. The man watched her go, his gaze lingering on her much longer than Dan liked.
“What do you want?” Dan asked again, forcefully this time.
“A taste of that cherry pie,” the man said.
Dan grabbed the steak knife off his plate and stabbed it into the man’s clipboard, pinning it to the table. The man turned his attention to Dan.
“No need to get violent, Danjal,” the man said.
Dan’s skin shuddered when the man said his name. The power of the invocation rolled across the table and through his body. The man’s eyes flashed red, and the rotten smell hit him hard again.
Dan sighed and leaned back in his chair. He put his hands up signaling his ability to play nice and motioned for the man to continue.
“Better.”
“I don’t think I got your name before,” Dan said.
“My name isn’t important, but you can refer to me as Mr. Bumble. I represent the Duke.”
“By Duke, I assume you don’t mean John Wayne,” Dan replied.
“Funny, but no.”
“Okay Bumble-butt, what do you want?” Dan asked again.
“It’s not what I want, but what lower management wants. I’ve been sent back to ensure that you are accomplishing your task: watch the vessel and ensure it doesn’t get close to the Tyrant.”
Dan sat up straight. He wasn’t sure if he heard Mr. Bumble-deer correctly.
“Orders modified? Before I was only supposed to observe.”
Mr. Bumble let out a growl and knocked the knife from his clipboard. He stood up, the chair letting out another shriek.
“Stay on target, Danjal. Otherwise, next time lower management might send Forras to deal with you,” the messenger said.
Dan grumbled in response. If he never had to deal with Forras again, he could die happy.
“One more thing. You are to discontinue contact with the woman.”
Dan froze. What was she? If she had caught the attention of lower management, his instincts were right, and she was more than what she appeared to be.
“What’s it to you?”
“Nothing to me. I’d personally love to see the fallout of you disobeying this particular order. The Duke was explicit in this. No contact. Take her back to her friends and leave it professional.”
“Or what?”
Dan tightened his grip on the arm of the chair. He didn’t like getting bossed around by anyone, in particular lower management, but this was something different. Never before had they even batted an eye at who he took an interest in seeing. It didn’t sit well with him. It also meant they were watching her, and it was never a good idea to get on lower management’s radar.
“Or you’ll be pulled back to the executive offices for retraining.”
His gut dropped. Getting called back would end any hope he had of getting out from underneath this servitude. Everything he worked towards would be dashed across the rocks.<
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The man spun on his heel and walked off, disappearing into a small group of men near the jukebox. A moment later Allison reappeared.
“Who was that guy?” she asked.
“Someone I wished I didn’t know,” Dan said, finishing the beer on the table. “Let’s go.”
“Are you okay?”
Dan didn’t say anything. He growled underneath his breath and got up. As they got to his Bronco, Allison stopped before getting in.
“You sure you’re up to driving there, Sheriff? Last time I checked, drinking and driving was still illegal, even in this small town,” she said.
“Don’t worry about me; I’m fine.”
There was ice in his words, and he winced a little as he said them. Dan wasn’t sure if he was going to follow the rules in this particular case, but he couldn’t make the decision lightly. Too much was at stake. As much as it hurt him to be curt with her, it was the safest move at the moment.
“Okay,” she said, a little quieter than before.
They drove back to Randall’s place in silence. He avoided eye contact with her the whole trip. She fidgeted along the way, almost starting a conversation a half-a-dozen times, but ultimately staying silent.
“Do you have a motel room or something? Can I drive you somewhere?”
“Just back to Randall’s. I’ll see if I can get a hold of Garrett or something.”
“Okay.”
He pulled up to Randall’s shop, and the interior light was still on. She sat in the passenger seat for a moment before she undid the seatbelt and shifted so that she was facing him.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
Damn, Mr. Bumble. Damn the Duke. Damn them all!
He was about to turn and kiss her when a voice spoke from the back seat.
“I wouldn’t, Danjal.”
The voice was light in tone but held an experienced, older quality to it. Dan spun in his seat drawing a pistol from his waistband. A man with long blonde hair and chiseled features sat in the back seat. He wore a finely tailored dark suit with a white tie. He had his hands folded on his lap and wore a plain expression.
Allison hadn’t said anything or reacted in any way. Dan stole a glance and found her mouth open as if she were in mid-speech, her eyes still locked on him. She was frozen in time.
Dan lowered the gun. He knew the stranger, and his presence was both a boon and a slap across the face at the same time.
“Sir, I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again,” Dan said.
“It’s nice to see you, Danjal. I wish it were under better circumstances.”
The man had a pained expression.
“So, I suppose this means you’re aren’t here to take me back upstairs?” Dan said. He laughed a little, but it was soft and carried more than its fair share of sorrow.
“No, unfortunately not. I’m here to offer a warning.”
Dan holstered his weapon and ran a hand through his hair.
“It’s about her, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” the stranger said. “You must not pursue your feelings. Leave her be.”
“What is she? Why is she so special?”
The man looked away, throwing his gaze upon Allison. He brought his hand up to her face, brushing away a strand of hair. Dan growled a little but stayed still.
“I’m not at liberty to say. Just know that you must stay away from her. This comes all the way from above. Plus, I’m asking as a personal favor. Please, let her be.”
Dan stared at Allison, locked in place by the man’s will. His attraction to her wasn’t just physical. The longer he stayed close to her, the more it felt right. There was something special about her, something that had caught the attention of both upper and lower management.
“I’m almost afraid to ask ‘or what?’” Dan said.
“Or you’ll be forever barred from returning home.”
The man disappeared.
“Dan? You okay?” Allison asked.
Dan turned to her. She had a concerned look on her face, almost bordering on scared. If she noticed that the man had been in the back seat at all, she didn’t show it.
He cast a cursory glance to the back seat once more, but the man was gone.
“I’m fine. Have a nice night, Miss Montgomery.”
“Um, okay. You too, I guess.”
Allison opened the door and slid out into the warm air. Before she shut the door, she looked up at Dan.
“Was it something I said?”
“Goodnight. Don’t speed anymore.”
He fired the engine up and put the Bronco into gear. Confused, Allison slammed the door and stormed off.
Damn them all.
His police radio blared to life.
“Sheriff, this is Deputy Rockwell. I think you better come back to Jared’s place. We have a situation.”
He looked at the radio, and his eyes narrowed. Something didn’t seem right.
“Copy, I’m on my way,” he responded.
He needed to take care of this situation quickly and quietly. It was getting out of hand, fast.
Chapter Twenty
November 1, 1180
Sir Ralph thinks himself sly with his meanderings about regrouping. I can see through his veil of deceit, yet I am not angry; no, I am disappointed. We began this journey at the request of Sir Geoffrey, and now we stand at the precipice. That which we have sought after dwells deep in this mountain. We have suffered its wrath, and we have lost too many to turn back now. I must try to sway his opinion.
However, returning to the surface to regroup, though a lie, was a smart maneuver. Through the oppressive weight of the darkness, there were whispers. Tantalizing whispers promising me many things. As seductive as they were, I held faith; faith that we, a pair of knights and a handful of men-at-arms, can smite this evil and restore the glory of God to this godless patch of land. It will require the full support of Sir Ralph, and that will take an act of God in itself.
Another problem has arisen as well. Sir Geoffrey and the other natives that have been sequestered are acting more strange than normal. They have clustered to one corner of their cell, all their backs turned to us—all except one. Sir Geoffrey. He deigns to stare at all who pass, pointing and smiling that devilish smile that he has grown so very fond of. He speaks the same word over and over—soon.
-Sir William Brock
Canyon Shadows
Troy drove down the streets of Canyon Shadows feeling more alive than ever before. As he navigated the roads, he saw things and knew things about people. A couple was locked in an embrace under a flickering street lamp, and he knew the woman planned on killing the man later that evening by slitting his throat ear-to-ear with a kitchen knife. As he drove by, she looked up, meeting Troy’s gaze, her eyes momentarily smoldering with a molten darkness.
He smiled and continued. An old man shuffled across the street, Troy’s headlights shining in the octogenarian’s face. The old man shot Troy an unearthly smile, and the darkness in the man’s eyes ate at the light. He nodded in Troy’s direction. An image flashed in his mind of the old man’s basement. A beat-up chest freezer occupied a gloomy corner of his storage room, filled to the brim with human meat. Troy knew the man liked to have BBQ parties with his neighbors and serve the meat to his guests.
Two teenagers were riding their bikes on the sidewalk. The boy in the lead secretly hated his friend.
I’m so sick and tired of Kevin! He always has the nicest shit and newest everything! Whatever he asks for his puss-ass parents buy for him!
The muscles in Troy’s face strained against the monstrous grin that consumed his mouth. With a little bit of will, it was easy enough to prod the boy to act on his rage. The boy turned on his friend, knocking him from the bicycle. The boy’s rage tasted sweet, and the smile on Troy’s face pushed out fur
ther when the boy picked up a large rock from the side of the road, crashing it down on his friend’s face. The brake lights from his car painted a soft, sanguine glow upon the pair as he left them behind.
Troy chuckled as he pulled up to his destination—a burned down pawn shop. A police car was parked out front, but it didn’t concern him in the slightest. Something drew him to the ruined building, and he was far beyond questioning the pull.
The events from the gas station left him with a feeling of euphoria. The pain in his head and the nosebleeds were minor annoyances. His body ran on autopilot now, and he was along for the ride. Finding what drove his father to suicide no longer concerned him. Getting closer to He who dwelt under the mountain fueled his motivations now.
As he stepped out of his car, blood poured freely from his nose. A strange feeling of pleasure and pain wracked his brain, as if someone ran an ice pick through his skull but also pumped him full of morphine. The pain was there in the background, but he didn’t care.
He pulled a cigarette from his front pocket and lit it. The blood from his nose started soaking through the filter, but he didn’t care. Troy walked into the shell of a building and made a beeline to the office area. He walked through the doorway and greeted the darkness.
The cherry from his cigarette provided the only source of light. Every time he took a drag, it flared to life, and the ember matched the glow in his black and smoldering eyes. A flash of pain split through Troy’s skull, causing him to growl and drop his cigarette on the ground. His hands shot up to his forehead, and he almost sank to his knees. Within moments, the pain faded. When he looked back up, he could see, and it seemed as if the darkness disappeared. The office area was full of people.
Destroy the Spirit and the Star. Bring the host.
A voice came alive near the back of the room.
“Troy, welcome. We’ve been waiting.”
Troy followed the sound of the voice, and the crowd parted as if to give him a view of the person. Somehow, Troy immediately knew it was Jared Barlow, even though he had never met or spoken with the man. Jared’s visage was similar to Troy’s in that it was bloody and decorated with an unnerving grin that defied human characteristics, his eyes holding the same look of burning coals. In fact, the twenty other people in the small office area shared the same distinctive details. Every so often, one of the people would rub at their temples or forehead, trying to massage a pain that Troy was more than familiar with.