Symphony of Blood, A Hank Mondale Supernatural Case (31 page)

I reached towards an end table and flicked on a lamp.

“I don’t mind the dark. Just asking.”

“Sit down. Watch some TV,” I said, then flicked the lamp back off.

She took a seat on the adjacent couch and leaned back, then leaned forward, then back again. She sat up straight and her knee started popping up and down. I looked directly at her, and noticed the flaps of her nose looked red, and it was running.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Fine.” The irritation crackled in her voice. I kept looking at her, almost like a cop, the way she hated. She looked at the television, then finally looked at me, shrugged aggressively and said, “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Fine.”

I sat back and put my feet up on the coffee table while turning up the volume on the television. A movie was on, and we both pretended to be interested.

A loud squeak pierced my ears. It was coming from outside. I reached over and moved the shotgun closer to me; it was stuck between couch cushions, pointing downward.

Mackenzie looked at me, then quickly back towards the television. Her eyes faced down.

“Did you hear that?” I asked. I knew that she did.

“Hear what?”

“That squeaking noise.”

“Oh, that. It was probably nothing.”

“I think it was the front gate. Someone or something just pushed it open.”

“You think?” she said.

I sat up, but didn’t get off the couch.

“Don’t leave me,” she said. “What if that’s Symphony?”

“I should check it out.”

“No! Please don’t.”

She got up and then quickly plopped down on the couch next to me. She slid closer, cozying up to me, her thigh brushing against mine, her shoulder leaning into my arms.

I looked across the room. There was a mirror posted on the wall above the TV, which was on a stand about two feet off the ground. Through the mirror, I could see the glass door that let out to the beach. It was dark, but I could see the wood railing and the steps that faded into the sand.

Mackenzie watched the TV while I watched the mirror and listened for any signs of someone approaching.

She whispered in my ear, “Protect me, Hank.”

A shadow scurried by just as she did. I turned, just my neck, and looked towards the beach. I didn’t see anyone. I felt for the shotgun, just to pacify my nerves. It was still there, between the cushions.

She sniffled, then started playing with her nose. Then she stood up, then quickly sat back down.

“Are you alright?” I asked.

“I’m fine,” she whispered.

“You’re wired.”

“I am not!” she said, no longer whispering.

“Fine. Just relax.”

Several minutes passed, and it was quiet, other than the television. She seemed engrossed in the movie, although I couldn’t imagine she really was. My concentration wandered, but only for a moment.

The glass door slowly slid open. I didn’t hear it; the door was oiled far better than the outside gate, but in the mirror I saw the reflection of the sea moving sideways. Then I saw him. Blake slipped inside. He carried something in his hand. He crept towards us, slowly, not making so much as a peep. It looked like a baton, or a pipe; I couldn’t quite make it out. My arm returned to the shotgun, and I eased it up towards me as Blake also eased towards me.

Each step Blake took was deliberate. The pipe rose ever so slightly with each step. I watched in the mirror with my peripheral vision, pretending to be watching the movie. The volume was just loud enough that I couldn’t hear my own breathing, but I could feel it get heavier as I anticipated Blake making his move.

He was right behind me, pipe raised high in the air. Blake brought the pipe down swiftly, and I ducked. The air sizzled as the pipe flew by the side of my face. Blake wasn’t able to stop, and he smashed Mackenzie in the jaw.

“Ah!” she cried out and fell to her left, burying her face in the fluffy cushions.

I pulled the gun from the couch, but Blake was too quick. His second swing connected with the back of my head.

I fell forward and dropped to the floor.

The dizziness set in first, then an awful stinging radiated through my head. It took a minute to get my bearings. Once I did, I realized Blake didn’t hit me again. Just once. One good shot, but only one.

I tried to roll over and stand up. My vision came into focus, and I saw Blake on top of Mackenzie, his mouth on hers.

Was he making out with his daughter? I knew their relationship was weird, but I was shocked.

Then I heard a noise: a man, hollering.

Blake’s mouth pulled away from Mackenzie, and I saw blood trickling out of her mouth.

Something dark curled up quickly into Blake’s mouth.

The hollering man raced across the room and tackled Blake. They fell over the couch and rolled along the floor.

The pain in my head was searing, but I found the strength somewhere within me to grab the shotgun and rise to my feet. I turned on the lamp to see the two men grappling.

They were both Blake. Identically dressed in dark blue suits. Posh haircuts equally disheveled. I ran across the room and turned on the overhead lights. With the added light, I could see one had blood marks on his mouth and cracks in his face exposing scales beneath the surface.

I raised the gun and aimed. They continued to wrestle, Blake putting up a brave fight. The creature got the upper hand, his eyes growing redder and redder; nails of a claw poked through the skin of his faux-fingertips and dug into Blake’s shoulders. The creature rose up and hurled Blake into the glass door. The glass shattered and Blake plunged through, busting the wood railing to splinters and finally rolling off the porch to the sand below. I tried to steady my aim, but I was still dizzy. Before I could fire, the creature jumped through the doorway after him.

I quickly followed, leaping through the busted door and landing on the beach. I felt a pain in my leg, and saw the creature’s tail coil around me, working its way up my body, until finally it wrapped around my neck. The tail squeezed me. I sucked desperately for air. The gun was still in my grasp, but it was stuck tightly to my chest, the barrel pointed upwards.

I twisted as it wrapped tighter and tighter. I felt the oxygen leaving my belly. Its true face was poking through the half-shed façade of Blake’s, and it moved towards me. I bit down hard on the tail; the scales were firm and tough like an overcooked steak. I twisted and turned and ripped at it.

The creature let out a squeal, and its grip loosened for just a moment. I heard sirens wailing, and growing louder. It heard them, too and turned away from me. The fake skin on its back peeled away, and sprouting wings ripped through.

I quickly raised the shotgun and fired it. The blast went directly into its back. Dark blood coated the beach, and it stumbled, shook and then fell, face first. It rolled over onto its back, and looked up at me. The redness of its drooping eyes were locked on me, not with anger but with something else. I couldn’t really be sure, could I? But I knew that look. One part sadness, two parts regret. I recognized the look in its glance. It was a look I knew all too well.

Maybe I was imagining it, and the creature was simply in a lot of pain. It made little noise, just a faint murmur I could barely hear over the racket of the sirens.

Flashing lights now accompanied the sirens. The cops were close. I heard shouts, and the squeal of the creaky gate being opened.

I took a baby step towards it. It began to shrink. The creature’s features faded and soon became unrecognizable in the darkness.

The cops busted in the front door. I could heard them shout, “Nobody move! Come out now with your hands up!”

Then I heard another voice, “Give it up, Blake! It’s over.”

I turned towards the house for just an instant, then when I turned my head around, it was gone. I looked left and right, but I didn’t see it anywhere. Then, I looked out at the water. The creature was up on two legs, stumbling into the water, its body continuing to shrink as it struggled. I took a step towards it, my shotgun at the ready. It tried to steady itself, then plunged down in the sea. I took another step towards it, then another step towards the water. Soon the waves ran up to fill my shoes with chilly water. A strong wave crashed down, and it was sucked into the tide. All I could see was a tiny corner of its dark wing poking out of the white cap when a voice hollered from behind me.

“Don’t move. Let me see those hands. Now!”

I dropped the shotgun at the shoreline, then I raised my arms in the air…slowly.

* *

“Henry, will you pass the salt please,” Mom asked. I heard her, but it didn’t really register. I was looking at the television. “Henry. Henry! The salt please.”

“Here you go, Mrs. Mondale,” Sandy said, reaching over my arm to grab the salt, then giving it to my mother.

Sandy and I sat on one side of the booth, facing the bar and the television above it; Vic and my mother sat on the other side, facing the back of the restaurant. I always preferred the lunch menu, but dinner at Dempsey’s Pub was never a bad thing. Especially a celebratory one.

“You are one lucky man, Hank, that the DA decided not to file.” Vic said as he stuck a French fry in his mouth.

“Nonsense,” Sandy said as she smiled. “They had nothing on Hank How can they file charges?”

Vic shook his head. “Oh, I don’t know about that. Aiding and abetting. Obstruction of justice. I’m sure the DA could have come up with a few more.”

“With no witnesses? No evidence? Come on, Vic. You know they had nothing on Hank.” Sandy folded her arms with contentment and gave Victor that cute yet condescending look she gives when she knows she’s right.

“Oh, so you’re a district attorney now?” Vic said, equaling her smirk with one of his own. “Until they find that vagrant, dead or alive, Hank could still be considered a suspect.”

“Vic, you know Hank didn’t kill anyone. So do the cops.”

“Well, he did fire that shotgun. The cops know that much.”

“Just eat your dinner, please,” Mom cut in. “We are here to celebrate, not argue.”

“You bet, Mrs. Mondale. You bet,” Vic said. Then he whispered to me, not caring that the rest of the table could hear, “You are lucky, Hank.”

Looking over his shoulder while grinding my teeth, I saw the visiting Houston Rockets’ star center high-flying through the air and slam dunking on the wretched Knickerbockers’ porous defense. The Rockets had run their lead up to twenty-six points. “Yep, that’s me. Lucky.”

“Can anyone on this team play some goddamn defense?” I heard Big Joe’s voice yell from somewhere in the back of the bar.

Monica, the evening waitress walked over, smiled and ripped the check from her book and dropped it on the table. “I’ll take that whenever you’re ready,” she said.

“Who’s got money?” I asked.

“I’m broke.” Victor shrugged.

“Don’t look at me,” Sandy said, “You haven’t paid me in two weeks.”

My mother didn’t say a word, she just glared at me.

“Okay. I guess I can charge it to my tab.” I checked my pockets. “Sandy, can I have a pen, please.”

She reached into her pocketbook and pulled out an unopened box of pens, took one out and handed it to me.

A monstrous hulk of a man in a bright blue, shiny Fila sweat suit walked in and gave me a dirty look while mussing with his greased-back hair; it was Marco. He turned and bellied up to the bar and waved Rory over.

“
Yo
, I need a drink ova’ here.”

“You can say that again. I am one lucky guy,” I said as I signed the check.

About the Author

At times disturbing and grim, others raunchy and comical, Adam Pepper’s work is known for a unique blend of horror, suspense and speculative fiction. MEMORIA, Adam’s debut novel, reached #1 on the Dark Delicacies Best Seller list and received rave reviews from Cemetery Dance and Chronicle. "Super Fetus," his outrageous
Bizarro
novella was called "In-your-face, allegorical social commentary" by esteemed reviewer, Paul Goat Allen. His quick-hitting short work has appeared in genre magazines including THE BEST OF HORRORFIND, Vol. 2 and SPACE AND TIME. Adam’s non-fiction credits span from NEW WOMAN MAGAZINE to THE JOURNAL NEWS. Learn more about Adam at his website:
www.AdamPepper.com
.