Knight in Charlotte

by Edward McKeown

  “Debbie,” he screamed. He let the sword slip back into its sheath and threw his shoulder at the door.

  Debbie leapt to the truck’s runner, wrenching the door off the frame with inhuman strength. Grabbing his arm in a way that made him glad it was numb, she yanked him out of the cab. They thumped onto the oil-soaked ground. Diesel fuel spilled out of the ruptured tanks and the truck burst into flames. Debbie threw him up on her shoulders and they sprinted for his Mini.

  By the time they reached the car, Jeremy’s body again responded to his demands, though his arm felt like it had been pulled from its socket. They jumped into the Mini and roared out of Bubba’s.

  An hour later, Jeremy let Debbie out by her pink VW Bug.

  She smiled. “You sure know how to show a girl a good time.”

  “Thanks,” he managed.

  “Just let me know when my White Pass is ready. I’m looking forward to getting my new ring.”

  “I’ll call the Grandmaster and have it Fedexed.” Jeremy drew a breath. “I owe you.”

  She looked at him, her smile fading. “Jeremy, honey, I like you, so I’ll tell you a couple of things. Don’t get too fond of me. I ain’t good for you or anyone living. You are a little too trusting and way too naïve. Try not to get killed.”

  “Deal. Sunrise soon. Better get underground.”

  She shook her head and sashayed off toward her car.

  Jeremy drove home, staggering up the thirty-six steps to his top floor apartment. He gratefully made it to his bedroom, collapsing across the bedspread, fully dressed, too hurt and miserable to draw the curtains. He stared at the rising sun.

  Suddenly Shadowheart stood in the room. Sunshine streamed through her simple blue shift and her golden hair made banners on the wall. She vibrated with health and energy. “I’m back,” she sang, spreading her arms, “restored and returned.” She danced her little joyous dance to greet the sunrise, smiling beatifically at all God’s creation. Then she turned to Jeremy, who lay unmoving on the bed, glaring at her from one open eye and stinking of oil and smoke.

  “You look like crap,” she said.

  The End

  Photo by Schelly Keefer

  Kudzu Jesus

  Samantha Jean Pelton looked up at the telephone pole in disbelief, brushing golden brown hair out of her face with a frown. “Rub, you dumb ass. You dragged me out here at nine in the evening to see this?” She folded her arms and glared up at the lean, cigarette-wasted man in his fifties, his faded blue shirt tucked into worn jeans. In the distance a car drove by; its lights briefly illuminated the empty parking lot and the woods beyond. Crickets chirped. Overhead a few bats swooped past the lone sodium light hanging off the abandoned factory building.

  Ronald “Rub” Finger shook his head. “‘There are none so blind as those who will not see.’” Open your heathen eyes, girl, and see our Lord.”

  “Oh, for crying out loud, Rub. It’s a bunch of foliage hung on a pole and some wires.”

  “In the shape,” Rub said with some heat, “of our Lord on his cross. Look girl, look.” He gestured upward. “See the head, the spread of the arms and the feet, as if nailed. It’s a sign. A manifestation of the divine, right here in Dallas, North Carolina.”

  “Oh, Rub,” Samantha laughed. “Jesus come to Dallas, population 3,200, as a plant? Please.”

  “It’s a sign, Samantha,” Rub said sternly. “We are living in the final days: wars and rumors of war. If Jesus decided to come to Dallas and use the humble kudzu for his body, who are we to question?”

  Samantha flashed a rueful smile. “I hate to rain on your apocalypse, while I grant it kinda does look like a man on a cross, that ain’t kudzu, looks more like poison ivy.”

  “Not the point, girl. We are entering the end times and we have been given a sign. It’s time to get right with Jesus.”

  Samantha cocked her head and gave Rub a warning glare. “Am I in trouble with Jesus and no one told me?”

  “Do I need to quote Leviticus to you?” Rub said, drawing himself up.

  “Only if you want me to stomp on your toe,” Samantha shot back.

  “You’re a good girl, Samantha. I know that,” Rub said in a more placating tone. “Heaven knows you’re pretty enough to get a proper man if you just said yes to one. But you’ve fallen onto the sinner’s path.”

  Samantha sighed. “Rub, if you hadn’t been so nice to my Dad when his truck broke down, I would put my delicate and attractive foot up your behind. I don’t think Jesus worries about my dating preferences and neither should you. But you have given me a great idea. When I finally do open a bar in this pesthole, I’ll name it the Sinner’s Path. Now, it’s late, I’m tired and I’m going home.”

  Rub, shook his head. “I will pray for you, Samantha Jean.”

  “You do that, Rub,” Samantha said as she got in her silver Subaru. Seconds later she sped off.

  Rub turned back to the foliage figure that seemed to gaze down on him. The head, sunk on the mighty chest, looked as if it was crowned with a halo of faint stars. Rub composed himself for prayer, bowing his head and dropping to one knee.

  From the center of the foliage, two long ropy vines snapped down. One looped around Rub’s throat, stifling the startled cry. Another seized his arm. Instantly, Rubs’ face and arm swelled and discolored. Rub clawed at his throat but it was already too late. With the inexorable power of a tree root cracking a rock, the vine tightened and his neck snapped.

  The vines drew the limp form up into the center of the mass, which for hours rustled and crackled. Eventually, in the early morning hours, torn clothing tumbled loose from the poisonous embrace. A pair of shoes was spat out, tangling in the phone wires to twist like hanged men. Before dawn, the mass of vegetation slid loose of its perch, thinned out and traveled atop the phone and power lines strung over Dallas. A few cars were out and each time their lights touched the plant, it froze, waiting for them to pass before reaching a shady area on the back roof of a tumbled-down barn.

  *****

  Jeremy looked up as the buzzer to his studio sounded. As usual he was surrounded by the paraphernalia of his cover as a photographer and graphic designer. He made a decent living at his cover. Which was good, as the Poor Knights too often lived up to that name, fighting supernatural evil on a shoestring.

  A girl walked into the studio looking about and failing to spot him behind the reflecting panel.

  Cute, he thought, about 5’4”, athletic with golden brown hair wearing the traditional clothes of the South-- jeans and a T-shirt. Her glasses complimented an attractive, intelligent face.

  “The day looks up,” he murmured.

  “Easy, boy,” the voice of his guardian angel sounded in his mind. “She’s older than she looks.”

  “Vampire old?” he asked, his hand unconsciously covering the gold and crystal pendant that housed his guardian’s essence.

  “No, Mrs. Robinson old, you snorting, pawing miserable excuse for a warrior-monk.”

  “Celibacy is just institutionalized misogyny,” he said. “Besides, there are whole books devoted to the virtues of older women. Now be quiet”

  “Can I help you?” he called.

  She spotted him. “Jeremy Leclerc?”

  “Yes,” he walked up and shook her hand. She had a firm grip. She looked up at him with a puzzled, dubious expression.

  “Something wrong?” he asked.

  “Umm. I was expecting someone older and kinda different-looking. What are you, about twenty?”

  Jeremy smiled. “Well, I haven’t been in Charlotte long, but I have a list of clients and references--”

  “Debbie said to say hello.”

  Jeremy concealed his surprise and casually put a table between them. His bloodsword rested under the table where he could reach it in a second. Next to it hung a 7.65MM Walther PPK. “So,” he said, “you know Debbie?”

  “Not really,” Samantha said. “But I went looking for help. Very specialized help. I put the word out in some sp
ecial circles and the word came back. It led me to her. But she wouldn’t help me. Said that sort of thing was more up your alley.”

  Jeremy studied Samantha. She looked to be human. He checked her neck. Debbie either hadn’t bit her or had chosen some other spot. The vampire’s truce with Jeremy and the forces of light relied on her not killing or turning humans. Not that she usually did, preferring to trade her several hundred years of sexual expertise for a moderate blood loss and Band-Aids. Debbie had even aided Jeremy several months ago against a demon preying off the Nordstrom’s crowd at South Park Mall.

  “I had… had questions,” Samantha began, “about some disappearances in my hometown, Dallas.”

  “Texas?” Jeremy said.

  Samantha sighed the sigh of a woman who had heard this way too many times. “North Carolina, out beyond Gastonia. I asked Debbie to come out and help me solve the disappearance of a friend of my father’s. He’s seen a vision of Jesus in a giant mass of kudzu or something atop a pole. It kind of looked like a man, I’ll grant that. In the morning, they found a pile of his clothing torn to shreds and the thing was gone from where I saw it.”

  “And she said?”

  “She said, “‘Debbie doesn’t do Dallas’” and that I needed you.”

  “What else did she tell you?”

  “That you’re a Knight Templar. You fight monsters. You have your own guardian angel.” Suddenly Samantha was shaking her head. “This is nuts. Nuts. Look,” she backed away. “I am really sorry to bother you. This was a mistake.”

  Shadowheart popped into existence in front of Samantha, who jumped a foot in the air. The angel wore her usual guise, a girl of about Samantha’s size, blond and blue-eyed, barefoot, clad in a simple blue shift, belted in gold at the waist.

  “I figured it would save time earning your belief if I just appeared,” she snapped. “Yes, he’s actually a Templar. I’m a guardian angel. Demons and monsters are real, yadda, yadda.”

  Samantha stared wide-eyed at Shadowheart, then reached out a hand toward her, it went through and Samantha jumped again.

  “She usually doesn’t manifest in solid form,” Jeremy said. “Says it is difficult.”

  “You’re an angel,” Samantha said. “An actual, made by God, freaking angel?”

  “Yep.”

  “Good,” Samantha said, breathing hard and pushing her glasses back on her nose. “I want to talk to your boss. I got a lot to say to him. I want some damn answers.”

  Shadowheart gave Jeremy a disgusted look. “Crap, another one like you. I’m for my crystal. Call me when you know what sort of boojum we are hunting. Bye.” She was gone. No flash, no sound, just gone.

  “Don’t bother,” Jeremy said gently. “I’ve tried to ask her about Life, the Universe, and Everything. She either can’t or won’t tell me much. I’m afraid I’m something of a disappointment to her.”

  Samantha gave him an uncertain look. “So, will you help me? I’ve got some money.”

  Jeremy smiled and said in his best Bogart accent, “Fifty dollars a day plus expenses.” Then he shook his head. “No, I’m not Sam Spade. My help is free.”

  *****

  Jeremy followed Samantha in his red and white Mini back to the place where the man she’d called “Rub” had disappeared. They parked and crunched over the gravel to the spot where the torn clothes had been found by the sheriff. He stood next to Samantha staring up at the bare poles lit by the afternoon soon.

  “It was there,” Samantha insisted.

  “Don’t doubt you,” Jeremy said. “Shadowheart, do you sense anything?” he turned slowly about looking at the rundown sections of the town’s edge.

  Shadowheart popped in, looked about at the town. “Ignorance and provincialism,” she said and popped out again.

  “That cannot possibly be an angel,” Samantha said.

  “That’s what they told me when I was issued her,” Jeremy said. “She’s really not so bad. She’s kind of snarky just now since I ran off for a weekend with an incredibly attractive Asian physical therapist. She gets jealous when I am with other women.”

  An irate Shadowheart reappeared. “Before this gig I was the heart of a flaming star. I have never been a human soul and have no interest in your sweaty gropings and lusts.”

  “Glad you’re back,” Jeremy said. “Now that you are, riffle through your angelic memory for man-eating plants.”

  “Nothing comes to mind,” she said, her feet making no sound as she moved over the gravel. “But as you should know by now, there are many ancients from the other side that manifest differently when they break through to Earth. This may be one of those as opposed to a vampire, zombie or such.”

  “Vampires,” Samantha said with a laugh.

  “What do you think Debbie was?” Shadowheart asked.

  Samantha’s laugh was cut short and she turned pale. She looked at Jeremy, who nodded. Samantha wrapped her arms around herself, shaking her head.

  The sound of engines made them turn and Jeremy saw an odd procession heading their way. A motorcycle with sidecar rolled toward them, followed by a police car with Dallas markings and a van that said State Police Forensics on it.

  “Hey, Samantha.” The motorcycle rider was revealed as a sprightly older woman as she pulled off her helmet.

  “Mayor Crossley,” Samantha returned.

  “Still looking for Rub?”

  “Yep.”

  “See you got yourself a handsome youngster.” She winked at Jeremy. “About time.”

  “Ah, yeah,” Samantha smiled weakly. “This is Jeremy, my…ummm…friend. I thought he might help me look. What are you doing here?”

  “We got another missing person report,” she frowned. “Seems that young Rita Mackey went missing after leaving her job at the M&M Superette. Only her clothes have been found. We were on our way when I saw you at this crime scene. Thought you might have learned something.”

  “Nothing yet,” Samantha said.

  “Come on, you crazy kids,” Mayor Crossley said. “Jeremy, you can ride shotgun. Been a while since I had a handsome young man’s arms around me. Samantha, you get the sidecar. “Hop on, sonny. We’re off to fight crime.”

  Seconds later Jeremy wished he’d insisted on getting one of their cars as the mayor roared off with the cruiser and van in trail. The bike went briefly airborne over a curb and across the centerline, causing a Hummer to screech its brakes.

  Jeremy found himself tightening his grip on the aged mayor, which she seemed to like as she sped up even more.

  “Isn’t there a helmet law in this state?” Jeremy shouted.

  “Sure,” the mayor cackled, gunning the engine. “Good thing I got mine.”

  Samantha looked up from where she had a death grip on the sidecar. “Sometimes life in Dallas is like being caught in a horrible Saturday morning cartoon.”

  After a few harrowing minutes they arrived at the foot of a cell phone tower. Another cruiser sat there. A tall, lean, uniformed officer stood over a pile of clothing. He briefly took cover behind his car until the mayor stopped. The cruiser and van pulled up behind them.

  The mayor pinched Jeremy’s butt as he got off the bike.

  Jeremy and Samantha followed the mayor to the foot of the cell tower. A shredded leather jacket with metal studs stood out from a pile of miscellaneous rags and two sneakers.

  The sheriff looked over at Samantha. “Hello, Samantha. Sorry, no news about Rub.”

  He turned a look at the mayor that clearly said he wished her back at the Town Hall. “Hello, Mayor. It’s Rita Mackey’s clothes all right. She was wearing that jacket when I used to pick her up for truancy. I always told that girl that she’d come to a bad end if she didn’t mend her ways.”

  The mayor shook her head, her mouth in a grim line. “Have you found a body?”

  “Not yet. He may have stripped her here and taken her somewhere else to molest her.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Samantha said, looking straight up.

  The
y all lifted their eyes. Atop the cell phone tower hung a mass of foliage.

  The mayor and sheriff looked up. “Well, yeah,” the sheriff said. “It does kinda look like Jesus if you think of it.”

  “That’s it,” Samantha shouted. “That’s the thing that Rub was showing me.”

  “Now, Samantha,” the sheriff said wearily. “No more of that please. We didn’t find your plant by Rub’s clothes and that was miles from here.”

  “What’s this?” the mayor asked

  “Samantha thinks some plant has something to do with Rub’s disappearance.”

  “Oh come on, Samantha,” the mayor said. “You’ve been watching too much ‘X-Files’ again.”

  “I tell you it’s the same plant,” Samantha yelled, pointing. “Shoot it or something!”

  “Samantha,” Jeremy said, “let's take a walk and leave these folks to their work.”

  She gave him a mutinous glare but followed as he led her away.

  “No use,” he said. “Ordinary people will never believe.”

  “Get Shadowheart to tell them,” she said.

  Jeremy shook his head. “She won’t. Something about rules and our free will. You’re the first person that she’s actually manifest for and she only did that cause you are already involved.”

  Samantha looked up. “It’s the same damn thing.”

  Shadowheart appeared next to Samantha. “And things are worse than that. Now it’s aware of you.”

  “What?” Samantha said. “You think it’s listening?”

  “It’s not a natural creature,” Shadowheart said with unusual patience. “It’s demonic and aware. It heard you without ears. It sees you now without eyes. It may have been here for years. How many times have you seen clothes by the roadside or shoes hung in lines? Ever wonder what happened to those people?”

  “Does it know where she lives?” Jeremy asked.