James Swain - Shadow People

“For the love of Christ, you nearly tore his head off.”

“Guess I don’t know my own strength,” Peter whispered.

“That’s brutal, man. Did he hurt you?”

“No. How’s Rachael?”

“She’s fine. The woman’s amazing.”

“You still need to take her to a hospital.”

“I plan to. And you as well. Now stand aside for a minute. I need to record this.” Garrison memorialized the crime scene through photos snapped on his cell phone.

Lowering his hands, Peter took another look in the mirror. He had become his old self again.

“I need to get some fresh air,” he said.

“Be my guest. I’ll be done in a minute,” Garrison replied.

Outside, Peter stood in the gravel driveway and sucked down the chilly night air. Rachael was gone, and so were the pair of wounded officers, the ambulance’s siren carrying across the hills as they were taken to the local hospital.

He took out his cell phone to call Liza, and found a text waiting for him. U OK?she asked. THINK SO, he wrote back, then added, SAVED RACHAEL. That got a dozen exclamation points in reply. He found it in him to smile. Something good had come out of this.

Garrison came out of the house holding a promotional mailer in his hand. He shoved it into Peter’s face and said, “Take a look at this. I found it on the dining room table.”

Peter held the mailer up to the light coming from the house. It was for a tattoo parlor called the Blue Devil, and featured glossy photos of various tattoos that you could have inked onto your body for a nominal fee. The tattoos were routinely hideous and featured snakes and demons. One tattoo in particular caught his eye: the shimmering symbol of the Order of the Astrum. He flipped the mailer over. On the postage side was a photo of the owner, a biker type with a ponytail. Only his surname was given: Ray.

“This is the same guy with the hunting rifle who killed Chief Burns, and rammed the police cruiser at the train station,” Peter said. “He’s part of the Order as well.”

Garrison took the mailer and studied the address. “We need to run this character down before he skips town. Let’s move.”

“What about Munns?”

“You afraid of him coming back to life? Trust me, he’s dead.”

Garrison walked down the hill toward his car. Peter started to follow, then went in the opposite direction, and returned to the house. Munns had not moved from his spot on the living room floor. He looked dead, but looks could be deceiving. Peter wanted a sign, just to be sure.

“Show me,” he said aloud. “I have a right to know.”

In the oval mirror over the fireplace appeared a swirling form. Munns falling down an endless black hole as a silent scream came out of his mouth. It was fair punishment for all the terrible things he’d done, and Peter left the house believing there was still justice in the world.

Peter sat in the backseat with Liza while Garrison drove into town under the guidance of his GPS system. In a voice that was barely a whisper, Liza said, “What happened up there?”

“I really don’t want to talk about it,” he whispered back.

“Come on. No secrets.”

He had taken no pleasure in killing Munns, and wouldn’t sleep for the next few nights because of it. Talking about it would only make how he felt worse.

“Was it bad?” she asked, refusing to let go.

“On a scale of one to ten, it was a fifteen.”

“Ugh. Will you tell me later?”

He didn’t know if he could. Better to bury the memory and act like it had never happened. Just like all those times he’d killed as child. Just forget about it, and move on. The silence troubled her, and she squeezed his hand. “Is that a yes or a no?”

“How about, I don’t know?”

“You aren’t the same. The rage is boiling right below the surface. I can feel it.”

She was right. The rage had not gone away like it had the other times. The demon was lurking in the shadows of his soul, ready to rise up and kill again. He needed to get his emotions under in check, and he said, “I just killed somebody, okay?”

She fell back in her seat. Looked out her window at the two-story shingle houses that lined the road at the bottom of the hill. “You’ve changed. I can see it in your face and hear it in your voice. You look scary.”

“Do you want to get away from me?”

“No. Not yet, anyway.”

“But you might.”

“I will if I don’t get some answers.”

Garrison was doing a fine job of chauffeuring, and Peter guessed the FBI agent had overheard every word they’d said. Placing his mouth against Liza’s ear, he said, “I’ll tell you everything that happened, just not here.”

She mouthed the word “When?”

“Later tonight. At home.” And nearly added, “Lying in bed in the darkness.”

“Is that a promise?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Come on, say it.”

“It’s a promise.”

His answer seemed to satisfy her. They held each other and kissed, and it all felt good again. His whole life, he’d been holding back his innermost feelings. Not since he’d lost his parents had he truly confided in anyone. That had changed when he’d fallen in love with Liza. Yet even with her, he’d held back certain things. Somehow, that was going to have to change.

“I also want to hear about your friend Holly,” Liza said. “She sounds like someone I should get to know.”

The words hit him like an invisible punch and he winced in the darkness.

“She actually kind of dull,” he said.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” she replied.

The Blue Devil was located in a half-ugly strip mall on the outskirts of Pelham. In the parlor’s front window was a blue neon sign of a smiling devil wielding a pitchfork. Beneath it, a second blue neon sign said CLOSED. A pair of police cruisers had taken the parking spaces in front of the store. Garrison said, “Stay put,” and hopped out of the car.

Staring at the neon devil in the window, Peter had an unpleasant thought. Ray, the store’s owner, had sent a mailer to people in town, shopping for clients. Each of the tattoos in the mailer had a demonic theme, and would attract a certain type of clientele. Munns had taken the bait, paid Ray a visit, and gotten an Order of Astrum tattoo stamped on his neck and become their slave. That meant Ray was a recruiter for the Order, and knew how things worked. Perhaps Ray could lead him to the elders, and he could pay them back for murdering his parents. Just thinking about it ignited a hot wire in his blood, and he threw open his door.

“Didn’t you hear what Garrison just said?” Liza asked. “He meant it this time.”

“Was he talking to me?”

“You’re not funny. Please stay here.”

“I need to talk to the man who owns this place. He knows things.”

“You have that look in your eye again.”

“You mean the suave and debonair look?”

“No, the evil one. No more bloodshed. I mean it, Peter.”

Her voice had a finality that he could not ignore.

“Okay,” he said.

Inside the Blue Devil, he felt a drop in temperature that chilled him to the bone. The reception area had a pair of cheap folding chairs and a counter with brochures strewn across it, the walls covered in posters of naked men and women whose bodies were tattoo canvases. A beaded curtain led to a cluttered back room with a low ceiling and jet-black walls. A barber chair sat in the room’s center. It was here that customers got their tattoos inked onto their bodies while listening to music coming out of a boom box on the floor. Ray, the owner, sat in the barber chair, his wrist handcuffed to the arm. He reeked of smoke and was covered in bandages. There was no doubt this was the person who’d been shooting at them with the hunting rifle.