James Swain - The Night Monster

“Now!” the giant said.

Lonnie was going to break Sara’s neck. I lowered my gun, and continued my retreat. A look of burning hatred filled Sara’s eyes.

“Don’t you dare leave me!” she shrieked.

She sounded just like her father. Bringing her hands up, she grabbed Lonnie’s arms, and pulled herself into the air. She stuck both her legs straight out like a gymnast doing a split.

“Shoot him!” she ordered me.

Sara wanted me to shoot through her nightgown and take Lonnie down. Only I couldn’t tell where her nightgown ended, and her body began.

“Do it!” she screamed.

I told myself that it was her life, not mine. Raising my Colt, I aimed a foot below her outstretched legs. My arm was trembling, and I grabbed my wrist with my other hand, and squeezed the trigger.

A black gunpowder hole appeared in Sara’s nightgown. Lonnie howled, and staggered backward. He released Sara, and she rolled on the ground next to Buster.

“Freeze,” I said.

With a puzzled look on his face, Lonnie examined the bullet hole in his pant leg. A flesh wound. Realizing he was not badly hurt, he charged me like a mad bull.

I didn’t like shooting an unarmed man, but I had no other choice. I fired again. The bullet went into the center of Lonnie’s chest, but did not slow him down. I got off two more rounds and saw the bullets smack into his body, yet somehow he kept coming forward. It was as if he didn’t know he was dead.

There are people who don’t believe in evil. I am not one of them. Lonnie was filled with evil, and killing him was the only way to stop his murderous ways. I waited until he was right on top of me before firing again. The shot went straight into his heart, what cops call a kill shot. This time he went down for good.

I sat on the ground with Sara and let her cry on my shoulder. Buster began to lick her face, and Sara pulled him into her chest and hugged him. Lonnie lay nearby with a childlike grin on his face.

“You’re very brave,” I said.

“Lonnie wanted to marry me,” she said. “I’d rather get shot than let that happen.”

Lonnie had killed four women that I knew about. I wondered how many of them had shared Sara’s sentiment. My cell phone rang and I pulled it from my pocket. It was Linderman. I answered it, and over the line heard heavy gunfire.

“I’ve got Sara Long,” I said.

“She’s not in the farm house with Mouse?” Linderman asked.

“She’s sitting right next to me. Would you like to speak with her?”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

I heard Linderman tell Wood that the hostage was not in the house. Wood responded by telling the SWAT team to open fire. Over the phone I heard an explosion of bullets as the SWAT team’s assault rifles riddled the building.

I’d had enough killing for one day, and folded my cell phone. In the trees, the birds were chirping; next to me, Buster wagged his tail. It was the way things were supposed to be. Quiet, serene, beautiful. I glanced at Sara, and saw the beginnings of a smile.

“What’s that sound?” she asked.

I didn’t hear anything, and shook my head.

“It sounds like a cell phone.”

Sara got to her feet and walked over next to Lonnie. “It’s coming from him.”

I stood up and moved next to the dead man. A chime was coming from his pants pocket. Kneeling, I stuck my fingers into his pocket and extracted a cell phone. There was a call coming in, and I looked at the cell phone’s face. It said MOUSE.

I let Sara see the phone. Then I put my fingers to my lips.

“Don’t say a word,” I said.

I flipped open the phone and we both listened.

“Lonnie, it’s me. I’m coming out through the tunnel. Meet me by the old outhouse behind the property.”

The line went dead. Sara said, “Mouse showed me the outhouse when we got here yesterday. He said he’d make me go to the bathroom there if I didn’t behave.”

“Think you can find it?”

“I sure can.”

He left the clearing and headed down the path toward the house. I tried to reach Linderman and tell him that Mouse was escaping but had to leave a message on his voice mail. As we drew closer to the farm, the sound of gunfire became more pronounced.

Sara stopped at the fence that surrounded the property. She pointed at a building the size of a phone booth that sat outside the fence. It had a half moon carved into the door and a wash basin with a dripping faucet.

“Get behind me,” I said.

Sara slipped behind me. I aimed my Colt at the outhouse and started walking toward it. Buster ran in front of me with his nose stuck to the ground. Reaching the outhouse, I walked around it with my eyes peeled to the ground. I didn’t see any hidden trapdoors in the earth, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t one there.

A few feet away, the ground started to shift. I made Sara stand behind a tree, then went into a crouch and aimed my Colt at the spot. Buster was kneeling a few feet away, not knowing what to make of the situation. I heard a man’s voice.

“Fuck, this thing is heavy.”

It was Mouse. As I watched, a round piece of earth came out of the ground, and was tossed aside. Then a man popped out of the hole with his back to me. He was covered in shit and smelled like the devil. At his trial, Mouse had played with his own feces to convince a judge he was crazy. It was a perfect metaphor for who he was.

Mouse crawled out of the hole. I couldn’t see his pistol, but felt certain that he was carrying it. I got up right behind him, and pressed my Colt to the back of his head.

“Freeze.”

Mouse stuck his arms into the air. He looked over his shoulder at me, saw Sara and my dog, and knew it was over. He turned around slowly. His pistol was tucked down behind his belt buckle. I reached for it, and he took a step back.

“Where’s my buddy?” Mouse asked.

“Give me your gun,” I said.

“You shot him, didn’t you?”

“Right now.”

“Did you kill him?”

I didn’t answer. But it was answer enough. A look of sadness spread over Mouse’s face. Taking a step forward, he jumped back into the hole.

Sara came out from behind the tree. “Aren’t you going to go after him?”

I shook my head. There was no reason to chase a man who’s run out of road.

A gunshot ripped through the air. I went to the hole and had a look. Mouse lay on the bottom with the pistol stuck in his mouth and the back of his head gone.

It was over.

An ambulance took Sara to a hospital in Daytona for a series of tests. As she was taken into the emergency room, I heard Sara tell the doctors that she was fine, and asked if she could be released. Abduction victims often suffered post-traumatic stress, and I talked her into staying at the hospital until the tests were completed.

A few hours later, Karl Long arrived at the hospital, and came into the hospital’s emergency room hobbling on a cane. I was sitting in the visitor area thumbing through a magazine. I rose from my chair, and Long hugged me like a long-lost brother.

“How’s my baby?” Long asked.

“Your baby is doing fine. We got her just in time,” I said.

“Can I take her home? My private plane is at the airport.”

“You’ll have to talk to the doctors, but I don’t see why not.”

Long made a check appear out of thin air. Something told me that he’d been practicing doing that on the ride up, just to impress me. With a smile he stuffed it into my shirt pocket. “Thank you, my friend,” he said.

I waited until Long had gone back to see Sara before looking at the check. It was for more money than we’d agreed upon. A lot more.