Scott Sigler - Nocturnal - A Novel

The shape was a cellar door.

A cellar door that led down .

Drenched in thick shadow, he saw something come out of that door. The door shut, then that something moved. Smooth movement. Effortless movement.

In his pants pocket, Bryan’s cell phone let out a boo-beep . He twitched a little, suddenly afraid the something would hear, would come for him, but he was six stories up and the phone’s sound was little more than a whisper.

The moving shadow crossed the yard, then stopped, vanishing beneath a tree. Bryan waited. The shadow moved to another tree, where it stopped again.

The shadow was making sure no one was watching.

Another few steps, almost between the buildings now. A thin bit of light fell upon the figure and Bryan saw it—

A dark green cloak.

The cloak hung almost to the ground, big hood pulled up over the wearer’s head. Slipping beneath the cover of nighttime trees, the cloak was a silent shape sliding across the grass.

The cell again let out a boo-beep . Pookie, trying to reach him. Bryan ignored it.

The shape moved to the base of Bryan’s white building. Bryan leaned out, carefully, but couldn’t see anything in the shadows down there — the cloak, and whoever was in it, had vanished.

Bryan hadn’t seen a bow. Had there been one somewhere under that cloak? He knew better than to give chase; by the time he got down to the street the perp would be blocks away in an unknown direction. Calling in a BOLO would be futile — Zou or Robertson or Sharrow would just cancel it, and know exactly what Bryan was doing.

The cloaked figure was gone, but the house wasn’t going anywhere. This could be Bryan’s chance to find some answers. Maybe the vigilante had information on Marie’s Children. At the very least, he might find some custom-made arrowheads that could connect Erickson to Blackbeard’s murder. Something that would let Bryan and Pookie push back against Zou.

No one is above the law.

The cell phone let out a third boo-beep . Bryan looked once more to make sure he’d lost sight of the cloaked figure — he had — then pulled out the phone. He didn’t want to mess with the stupid two-way button, so he just dialed instead.

“Bryan!” Pookie answerd. “You okay?”

“Pooks, I saw him, he’s moving.”

“I’m already on my way,” Pookie said. “I’m in the car now. Don’t do anything.”

Bryan forced himself to whisper, as it was the only way he could control his excitement. “I can’t believe it, I saw a guy in a big-hooded green cloak. He came right out of these storm-cellar doors in the back of Erickson’s house, and the way he moved , man, like a … wait, you’re already on the way?”

“Ten minutes, tops.”

Something was wrong. “Why are you on your way before I called you to come get me?”

A pause. A long pause.

“Pooks,” Bryan said, “answer my question.”

He heard Pookie let out a big breath. This didn’t sound good.

“Bryan, it’s over. Zou came to my apartment. She’s kicking us out of San Francisco. She said if we quit now, she can get us a job anywhere in the country.”

No. Not now, not when he was so close. The nightmares, the killings, the connection with Rex, the weird Zed chromosome … the answers might be right inside that house.

“Bryan? It’s not so bad. I hear Hawaii is great. Honolulu Homicide has a real nice ring to it.”

Zou had fired them? But the house … there had to be something in the house.

“Bryan? You there? We’re done, did you hear me?”

“I think the house is empty, Pooks.”

“Do not go in there, man. If you go in there, we’re done as cops, for good , and trust me, she will send your ass to prison. Just get the fuck out of there.”

None of that mattered. Bryan knew he was on the edge of madness. He didn’t care about his job. He didn’t care about prison.

All he cared about was finding the truth.

“Bryan, dude, I am begging you. Wait for me, please .”

The slate-blue Victorian called to Bryan. I know what you don’t, come and play … come and play …

“Bryan! Answer me, man. You can’t go—”

Bryan hung up. He turned the phone completely off, put it in his pocket, then headed for the tree that led down to the sidewalk.

Tard’s Job

Tard tried to put it all together, but it was confusing. His skin itched. This roof always made him itchy. But he dare not scratch, dare not even move , because the monster had left the house.

Tard’s job in life was to be terrified. Every night. Every single night he watched the monster come out of the house and disappear somewhere out on the streets. Tard never knew where he went. The monster could double back somewhere, close in on Tard and then it would be too late — Tard would feel an arrow, or a knife, or a bullet.

The only time Tard could breathe easy was for about five minutes when the monster returned to the house’s back door, but then the feeling slipped away — maybe the monster had another door, a secret door, maybe it slipped out, circled around the block, scaled a building, and …

Tard forced the thoughts away. Focus. This was an important job. Sly had told him so. Important, and tricky, like James Bond. That’s what Tard wanted to be, like James Bond, all smooth and stuff.

Tard’s hands trembled as he reached down — slowly — to pick up the cell phone. He couldn’t have it on his body, not when he was hiding, so he just set it on the ground.

He dialed.

Sly answered on the second ring.

“Chameleon,” he said. “How goes your mission?”

Chameleon . That’s what Tard wanted to be called, but no one called him that. Not without laughing, anyway. No one except Sly. Sly never laughed.

“Sly, he left the house.”

“Good man,” Sly said. “Just stay there, call me when he comes back in.”

“But can’t I join you guys this time?”

“You need to stay,” Sly said. “Something glorious is happening, Chameleon. It’s happening tonight. We must know when the monster returns. We can’t do this without your bravery.”

Tard wanted to go with Sly and the others. He was sad he could not. But Sly said this job, the watching, was very important.

“Okay, Sly, I’ll stay. I’ll be brave. Has Marco come back yet?”

“No,” Sly said. “We think the monster got him.”

Sadness. Tard wanted to cry. First Chomper, now Marco. The monster murdered people. And Tard was up here all alone.

“Sly, I’m scared.”

“Just stay there,” Sly said. “If you stay still, the monster won’t find you. And if you move around, what happens if Firstborn finds out where you’ve been all these nights?”

Firstborn. Firstborn could make you go away. Forever. And Firstborn had said no one was to go near the monster’s house.

“Do you really think he’ll find out?”

“Not if you stay there,” Sly said. “When the monster comes back, call me.”

Sly hung up.

Tard slowly set the phone back down on the roof. So slowly — if you didn’t want the monster to take you into his basement, it was best to not move at all.

Fear of the monster. Fear of Firstborn. The need to go out, to find a won’t-be. Wanting to be brave so Sly would like him, so Tard could make some friends. Too many things to think of.

Sly had said only the bravest of Marie’s Children could watch the monster. The monster had killed everyone who went near the house. Many brothers and sisters had tried to kill the monster, sometimes with guns and everything. None of them ever came back. So watching the house, well, even that was just dang dangerous. But if you could do it, if you could watch, Sly said, then everyone would know you were brave and everyone would like you .