Mark Lukens: Ancient Enemy

He set the pills back inside and shut the mirrored door. Cole knew someone lived here, this wasn’t a seasonal cabin or a hunting lodge – this was someone’s home. And that someone had just been here not too long ago. But where was that someone now? Where was Tom Gordon?

Cole looked down at the sink. The faucet dripped water into the basin. He turned the water on for a second, and then turned it off. He turned the handle as hard as he could, but the water still dripped.

Cole left the bathroom and went to check out the other bedroom.

In the living room, Frank stared at Needles who still sat at the dining room table. Needles still had a frightened look in his eyes as he stared around at the cabin in disbelief. Frank pulled out a chair and sat down next to Needles, watching him the whole time. “You okay, Needles?”

Needles didn’t answer Frank.

Frank leaned towards Needles, speaking to him again, his voice sharper, louder. “Needles!”

Needles turned and stared at Frank for a long moment, his expression miserable, his eyes lost in some other world. “I didn’t mean to shoot that old man in the bank. I swear I didn’t. It was an accident. You know me, Frank.”

Frank nodded. “I know.”

Needles pulled out a crucifix on a chain from under his thermal shirt as he looked away from Frank. He rubbed the cross gently over and over again with his fingers – a nervous habit. “This place,” Needles said in a low voice. “I’ve seen it before.”

This caught Frank off guard. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Needles turned and faced Frank, his rheumy blue eyes boring into Frank’s coal-black eyes. “When that old man grabbed me in the bank, I saw things. Bad things. I saw this place.”

Frank inhaled a deep breath; he let it out slowly, trying to calm himself. This was the last thing he needed – Needles taking a nose dive off the edge of sanity. “Needles, just take it easy. I know you’re still upset about what happened.”

“Upset?!” Needles screamed at Frank. He jumped up from his chair and jabbed a finger at Frank. “You don’t understand what the fuck’s going on here!”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Cole entered Tom Gordon’s bedroom; he walked around the bed, which wasn’t made, and he scanned the room with his eyes. There were books and magazines stacked up against one wall. A pile of dirty clothes near a closet door, a flannel shirt and T-shirt draped over a chair. An old TV, one of those big heavy ones, sat in the corner on top of a scratched and scarred table.

Cole found the remote control to the TV on the night stand next to the bed; the remote was lying right beside a Louis L’Amour book: The Haunted Mesa, which was open and face down, a place being saved in the book. He pressed the power button on the remote and turned the TV on, but there was only static. He switched through channel after channel – only static. He shut the TV off and tried the telephone next to the bed; it was one of those older telephones that made an annoying ringing sound when someone called. There was no dial tone. He checked to make sure the phone line was plugged in. He jiggled the hang-up buttons – still no dial tone. He ripped the cord out of the wall, unhooked it from the phone and balled up the cord in his hands.

Phone lines must be down from the storm, he thought. Maybe the TV, too. But the electric was still on. The water was still on. Those were good things. Cole stood at the foot of the bed a moment longer, staring down at the messy bed. He bent down and looked underneath the bed. No Tom Gordon hiding there. No Tom Gordon in any of the closets.

If this Tom Gordon wasn’t here in the cabin somewhere, then he’d left in a hurry just before they got here. But what would make someone leave so suddenly in the middle of a snowstorm?

A small dark spot on the carpet near the foot of the bed caught Cole’s attention. He bent down and touched the spot on the carpet – sticky, a little wet. He brought his finger up to his face to inspect the red liquid on his finger tip. Blood? It sure looked like it.

Trevor entered the bedroom and Cole quickly wiped the blood from his finger. “All clear in the other room,” Trevor said. “How about this room?”

“No one here,” Cole said.

The yelling from out in the living room caught their attention; Frank and Needles were screaming at each other out there. They hurried back out to the living room. “Everything okay out here?” Cole asked.

Frank glared at Cole and Trevor, and then he looked at Needles. “Sit the fuck down, Needles.”

Needles remained standing at the dining room table, his finger still pointed at Frank, his hand trembling. For a moment Frank thought Needles was going to yell again, start babbling again, but Needles sat back down without another word, he looked down at the table as he rubbed the crucifix around his neck with his fingers.

Frank’s eyes darted over to Stella and David who sat on the couch, David still held Stella’s hand and he stared at Frank with his large dark eyes. Frank looked away from David, to Needles. He had to get Needles back in line, get this whole thing under control. “That’s right, Needles,” Frank said. “Just calm down. We all need to stay calm.”

Needles looked at Frank, a bead of sweat trickled down the side of Needles’ forehead despite the chilly air. His face twisted into a tortured mask and he seemed to be on the verge of tears. “You don’t understand, Frank. We can’t stay here. We’re all going to die. I’ve already seen it.”

Frank pointed his finger at Needles and glared at him with murderous eyes. “Not another fucking word – you hear me, Needles?”

Frank walked away – he needed to get away from Needles for a moment.

Cole glanced at Needles who went back to rubbing the crucifix around his neck, whispering something to himself, a prayer perhaps, and then Cole followed Frank into the kitchen. Cole set the balled-up telephone cord on the kitchen counter as Frank opened the refrigerator, checking the food supply.

“Nobody in the back rooms, but someone definitely lives here. Someone named Tom Gordon. I think he lives here alone.”

Frank looked up from the refrigerator, their eyes locking for a moment.

“I found a prescription pill bottle with his name on it.” Cole looked over at the stove, at the two frying pans on the burners, at the couple of cans of food waiting to be opened. “It’s like this guy was just here. Like he was just about to make some lunch, then he suddenly left.”

Frank closed the refrigerator door. “You should’ve been a fucking detective. Maybe this guy forgot something. Went to the store.”

“This guy’s kitchen is stocked for the winter. And why would he leave when a blizzard is moving in?”

“Maybe he saw us pull up and he took off out the back door.”

Cole nodded. “But there would’ve been footprints in the snow; the storm wouldn’t have covered them up that quickly. And leaving on foot? I don’t think this guy would’ve panicked just because someone pulled up in his front yard.”

Frank glanced at the freezer against the wall as Cole continued. “And this house was cold when we got here. No lights on. No heat on.”

“You said you thought this guy just left,” Frank said.

“It seemed like he left suddenly, but it must’ve been a little while since he was here.”

Frank shook his head, like this was beginning to give him a headache.

“I think we should move that lady’s truck around to the back of the cabin in case this guy comes back,” Cole said. “Get it out of sight.”

Frank thought this over for a moment, and then nodded. “Yeah. You and Trevor move the truck around back. And bring those cases inside.”