Tenants

by Christopher Motz

  "Good riddance," she said.

  You're no good to anyone else if you can't be good to yourself, her mother had told her. She wasn't wrong, and right now, Linda was sure she had other issues to work out, not the least of which was her excessive drinking and blackouts.

  She used the remainder of the day to put the finishing touches on the apartment and clear her head. Theresa never called back, and Linda had begun wondering if it was something she'd done. By all outward appearances, things seemed fine between them, but there was still the subject of Lenny hanging over their friendship like a dark cloud. Just one more thing to worry about.

  Before she went to bed that night, she moved the plastic trashcan from the kitchen to the pantry, placing it tightly against the door to nowhere. If someone came into her apartment, she'd know about it.

  ***

  "You fucking bitch!" Christian growled as he tossed his cell phone on the passenger seat. He'd been sitting in his car for several hours, watching the sun go down, cursing Linda for not answering her phone, and doing his damnedest to finish a bottle of Glenfiddich.

  If he hadn't gotten so drunk, he would have driven around town all night looking for her car... or at the very least, finding that fucking loudmouth Theresa and making her talk.

  "You think you can just pick up and disappear without a word? Not on my watch. I don't care how many old men you're fucking."

  But he did care. Linda was his. Her mouth, her tits, her scrawny little ass. Maybe she wouldn't agree to get his name tattooed on her back, but he didn't need her to be branded to prove ownership. The fact that she was out sucking musty old cock and trying to hide from him only made Christian angrier. He slugged back another swallow of scotch and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  "It's not like I can't do better," he said. "You laid there like a dead fucking fish and made me do all the work. You think you're some hot shit, huh? We'll see about that."

  He slammed down another mouthful and felt the warmth blossom in his stomach. When the moment passed, he realized it hadn't helped one bit. His anger was only stoked by the fire in his belly, and the only thing to quench the flames would be to find her and give her what was coming. He put the bottle between his legs, grabbed the steering wheel, and screamed at the top of his lungs. He lashed out, punching the window and tearing the headliner. He slammed his hand against the dome light, breaking the thin plastic cover and lacerating his knuckles.

  "You SLUT!" he shrieked, bringing his fists down on the dashboard. "You think you can replace me? You think I'm going to allow you to make a fool of me like that? Let me tell you something... when I find you - and I will find you - you're going to wish we'd never met. I'm going to make you pay for what you've done, even if it means bashing in YOUR FUCKING SKULL!"

  The brief sound of a police siren punctuated his tirade. He checked his rearview mirror and saw the unmistakable red and blue lights flashing behind him.

  "That's just fantastic," he muttered. "Just fucking swell."

  "Sir," the officer said, "could you please roll down your window?"

  Where did you come from, pig? Dunkin' run out of coffee?

  Christian did as he was asked while tucking the bottle of Glenfiddich next to his seat, out of sight.

  "Can I ask what you're doing here tonight?"

  "Not doing anything, officer. I was driving for a while and pulled over... for my safety."

  "You know you can't park here, sir?"

  "I didn't see any signs," he slurred. "My tax dollars pay to maintain this road. I figure that gives me the right to park anywhere I damn well please."

  The officer caught a whiff of Christian's breath and backed up.

  "Have you been drinking tonight?"

  "Drinking? I don't understand the question."

  "Have you had any alcohol tonight?"

  "No, I haven't. Have you? You look a little shaky." Christian looked at the man's name tag and said, "Officer Scott."

  "Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to step out of the vehicle."

  "You don't have to do anything. You're choosing to... and you don't want to do that."

  "Sir, step out of the vehicle and keep your hands where I can see them."

  Christian muttered under his breath and cursed his stupidity. He didn't know if the local police station still had a drunk tank, but he had an idea it wouldn't be as simple as sleeping it off and going home the following morning with a slap on the wrist.

  "I'm sorry, Officer. I've been having one hell of a day."

  "I'm sorry to hear that, but I'm still going to need you to step out of the vehicle."

  Officer Scott backed away from the door and waited. Apparently, Christian's chance at talking the officer out of this had passed.

  But maybe it wasn't the only way.

  Christian grabbed the handle and opened the door a crack, just enough so he could push it open with his knee as he exited the car. He put his left hand out in front of his face while his right secretly grabbed the hidden bottle of scotch next to the seat.

  "I'm really sorry about this," he said. "If you knew what I've been through lately. Women, huh?"

  Officer Scott said nothing. His hand hovered over his weapon but he showed no signs of sudden aggression.

  Is he allowed to hold me at gunpoint? Is there some protocol for pulling your gun?

  He wasn't about to find out.

  Christian was out of the car in a flash, brandishing the mostly empty scotch bottle in his right hand. He saw Officer Scott go for his gun, but he had been caught off guard by Christian's sudden movement. Christian pulled the bottle from behind his back and struck the officer across the face. He staggered back as blood poured from his broken nose and covered the front of his uniform. He once again reached for his weapon but missed the mark. He danced to the side like a drunken gunslinger as Christian raised the bottle again and hit him in the forehead. This time, the bottle shattered, opening a bloody gash in Officer Scott's scalp. He fell to the loose gravel and put his hands over his face to protect himself from another blow.

  "Please, don't..." he said.

  "Now you're willing to listen? When I have you on your back? It isn't that easy. You should have kept driving, pal."

  Christian held the broken bottle in front of him, mesmerized by the drop of blood that hung suspended from the glass. He swung the jagged edge in a downward arc and opened large tears in the man's palms.

  "Let me see you reach for your gun now. Fucking pigs have nothing better to do than harass tax-paying citizens." The officer pushed himself away with his feet and slid across the gravel. Christian kicked him in the ribs and laughed at the sound of the officer's breath wheezing from his mouth.

  What are you doing? he thought. You're going to prison for this.

  "Not if I don't get caught," he said aloud.

  He hovered over Officer Scott, holding the bloody remains of the bottle in front of him. Scott looked up with wild eyes; the eyes of a deer caught in the headlights of a speeding truck. He realized Christian wouldn't stop if he didn't stop him. He rolled to the side and reached for his gun, but it slid from his fingers and clattered to the ground. The injury to his hand was so deep that some of the tendons had been severed, making his hand a useless hunk of bloody meat. When Christian swung the bottle again, Officer Scott thought he'd been spared. If he could just get to his car...

  But Christian hadn't missed.

  The soft flesh on the side of the officer's neck parted like a wet paper bag and sprayed blood into the air in a thick arc. Christian stepped back and admired his handiwork as Scott rolled around in a steadily growing pool of his own blood. He opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a wet gargle and a frothy trickle of dark blood. He was still reaching for his weapon.

  "Forget the gun, you simple-minded prick," Christian yelled. He wound up and tossed the bottle fragment into the forest. Luckily, no one had passed. The wooded stretch of road was still empty.

  "Gaaaahhhhhh," Officer Scott
gurgled.

  "I'm sorry but I don't know what that means." Christian grabbed the man's feet and dragged him to the side of the road. "I'm just going to dump you over the embankment if that's okay with you." Scott reached for his neck in a feeble attempt to stop the steady flow of blood pumping from his severed carotid artery. He was quickly losing consciousness. "I can't have you rolling around in the road. You might cause an accident."

  "Stop," Scott said... or something like that. It was hard to tell.

  "You know, when I was young, I killed my neighbor's dog. He was a real son of a bitch. Barked all day and night. He always had that look in his eyes... the one where you knew he was thinking about how to sink his teeth into your leg. I hated that fucking dog." Officer Scott tried to use his legs for leverage and push away, but Christian's grip was far too strong.

  "One night after the sun went down, that filthy mutt was out in the yard, barking at every car that passed. My neighbors weren't home. Very irresponsible of them to leave the dog in the yard if you ask me. I grabbed a steak knife from the kitchen and paid him a little visit. He jammed his head between the pickets, barking, growling, dribbling spit from his muzzle. I jammed the knife so far into his neck, I think I hit his spine. When he went down, he pissed all over himself. His head was still jammed between the fence posts and he bled out that way, watching me with those same angry eyes. I think he was still alive when I cut them from his head. I never told that story to anyone else. I have to admit, it feels pretty good getting it off my chest."

  Officer Scott growled something unintelligible and dragged his fingers through the dirt, trying to stop his forward motion.

  "So, now I have a dead dog under my belt, and soon I'll have a dead pig as well. Ridding the world of nuisances one slit throat at a time. Once I find Linda... oh, that's going to be something else entirely. She's going to suffer for what she's done."

  Christian dropped the man's legs at the edge of the road and knelt down.

  "Bahhhhh," the officer moaned.

  "You're a pig, not a fucking sheep. I'll be sure to pass on your final words if I ever meet your family."

  Officer Scott watched him with eyes full of pain, fear, and rage. He reached out to grab Christian's neck, but his energy was all but gone. Christian slapped his bloody hand aside and shook his head as if dealing with a headstrong child.

  "I'll give you points for trying, but today was not the day to cross me."

  Christian reached his hands beneath the officer's back and rolled him onto his stomach, one foot closer to the edge of the road and the wooded hill leading down to the forest floor. Scott barked another nonsensical few syllables before Christian rolled him again. This time, his body continued rolling. He bounced down the twenty-foot embankment, doing a complete somersault before coming to rest in a tangled patch of mountain laurel. From the road, it was hard to see him buried in the thick shadows beneath the canopy.

  Christian wiped his bloody hands on his pants and went to the officer's cruiser. He leaned inside, put the vehicle in neutral, turned the wheel, and pushed the car toward the edge. When it went over the side of the road, it did so quickly and without the acrobatics displayed by its driver. It reached the bottom and hit a thick oak tree with a crump.

  He wasn't concerned about the cruiser's dash camera, or the multitude of bloody fingerprints he'd left behind. By the time anyone found evidence of the crime, he'd be long gone.

  If it came down to it, he'd eat the barrel of a gun before he went to prison.

  He looked both ways, making sure he still had the road to himself. He picked up the officer's gun, tucked it into his waistband, and spent another few minutes kicking dirt and dust over the patch of blood stained gravel. When he was satisfied, he hopped into his Nissan, turned the key, and sped off.

  If only he had a quick way to find out where Linda had gone.

  As he drove back to town under the cover of night, he formed a plan.

  One way or another he'd figure this out, even if meant leaving a trail of corpses in his wake.

  Chapter 10

  Theresa choked, gagged, and spit onto the concrete floor.

  Her right leg was secured to a block of concrete by a rusted chain and heavy steel manacle.

  "Where am I?" she shouted. "What am I doing here?"

  Her voice echoed in the massive chamber and disappeared into the dark. She couldn't see more than three feet in front of her.

  "Hello?" she called. "Is anyone there?"

  She had no idea how she'd gotten here. Her last memory was of being pushed beneath the rancid water by the thing disguised as a man - its bleeding flesh, its jaw that came unhinged like a cobra. The Blackridge was Hell, and all its demons - its tenants - lived behind locked doors, masquerading as humans. Her worst nightmares had never come close to the level of insanity she'd seen upstairs.

  "Let me out of here," she screamed, tugging on the thick chain.

  A single light bulb came to life above her head. At the edge of the lit circle sat a naked older man. His giant penis hung between his knees. Theresa gasped and pulled on her chain again.

  "Put that fucking thing away," she said. "I don't know what you're planning on doing, but I can tell you right now if you try anything I'll rip it off! Do you hear me?"

  "She's a feisty one," the man said.

  "Just the way you like them," a female voice added. Theresa recognized it. Linda's neighbor, Audrey.

  "What is this? Let me go!"

  "You should have just gone home," Audrey said. "You weren't part of the plan, but now we're going to have to do something very unpleasant." Audrey walked into the light, also naked, arms folded over her breasts. She laughed and put her hand on the man's shoulders, watching Theresa like a specimen behind glass. Theresa looked down and realized that she was also naked. She suddenly remembered what had happened in Linda's apartment the night before. What Audrey had done to her. What Theresa had done as Linda looked on.

  "Is this some sick sex den?" Theresa asked. "Is that what you people are all about?"

  "I'm afraid it isn't quite that simple," the man replied. "Let me introduce myself. My name is Al Sterling and I'm the owner of this fine establishment."

  "I don't care who you are! Let me out of here before I start screaming."

  "Scream all you want, dear," Audrey said. "No one is going to hear you."

  Theresa glared at her and balled her fists, but Audrey's expression didn't change. "You better hope this chain holds me, or I'm going to tear out your fucking eyes!"

  "I've heard things like that before... from much larger prey."

  "Prey? What? What are you talking about?"

  "We'll get to that when you've calmed down," Al said.

  "Calm down? You have me chained up in the basement like a fucking animal! I will not calm down!"

  "It won't be for long, Theresa," Audrey said. "Such a pretty name for a pretty girl. What a shame you had to sniff around where you didn't belong."

  "I wasn't sniffing around!" she cried. "All I wanted was my phone. The elevator... the elevator broke down and left me off on the wrong floor. I just wanted to go home."

  "You will," Al said. "Everyone who makes it this far goes home."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "The gate."

  "The gate," Audrey repeated.

  "What fucking gate?" Theresa shouted. "You're not making any sense."

  "The Queen's Gate," Al said reverently. "The source of our power; the realm of blood and corruption."

  "You're both insane! There's no gate! It's nothing more than a run-down building."

  "It's so much more than that, Theresa. What you see is only on the surface, but calm waters run deep."

  "The Blackridge has been here for thousands of years in one form or another," Audrey said. "It guards the gate and what lies beyond."

  "And we have been here since the beginning," Al added, "making sure the gate remains a secret."

  "Protecting our queen and the land of eternal
midnight..."

  "Protecting our race and ensuring our survival."

  "Let me OUT!" Theresa shrieked. "You've both been drinking the Kool-Aid and I won't be part of your sick games."

  "You don't have a choice," Al said. "You were marked the second you came through those doors."

  "As was your friend, Linda, but she has been chosen."

  "Chosen for what?" Theresa whined.

  "She will have a child," Al said. "The queen will raise it to build her army..."

  "And when the time is right, her army will come through the gate and enslave mankind."

  "Don't take it personally."

  "It has been written in blood for centuries."

  "Survival of the fittest."

  "You can't possibly believe that!" Theresa said. "You're delusional."

  "Of course we believe it," Al said. "It's the truth."

  "And you'll soon find out what part you play."

  "I don't want to," Theresa cried. "I won't be part of your crazy cult."

  "Is that what you think this is? A cult?" Audrey asked. "For some, it's a second chance."

  "For others, it means eternal life."

  "Linda will have that opportunity. She will become one of us once her child is safe in the queen's embrace."

  "She'll become a tenant. A watcher. A protector of our secrets."

  "Like one of those mindless zombies upstairs? Is that what you call eternal life?" Theresa asked.

  "I think she's starting to believe," Al said. He stood and approached the circle of light as Theresa crawled to the end of her tether and cowered on the dusty floor.

  "Get away from me," she screamed. "Please!"

  In one fluid motion, Al grabbed Theresa's arm and slit her wrist with a fingernail that had grown into a black, pointed talon. Her scream became a piercing wail. Audrey joined them and put her mouth over the steady flow of blood, drinking deeply before letting the hot spray cover her naked flesh. She rubbed it over her body before taking Al's head in her hands and drawing a strange symbol on his forehead that resembled an ancient hieroglyph. When finished, Al did the same to Audrey and nodded.