Chapter 9

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Hi and thanks for reading again.  Now that school is over I can put out more writing without school work suffering.  I will now be posting twice a week on Tuesday and Friday mornings.  Enjoy!

Earl woke up with a pounding headache, blood spilling from a cut above his forehead.  He was being dragged across the grass of the Brokman lawn by his left arm.  It was Algharoob.  The pain from the stress on the shoulder joint and from his cut forehead kept him conscious and made him want to hurt someone…just not it.  The dew from the early morning grass chilled him but not as much as the sight of the small woman who was pulling him.

He looked at it.  It was filthy.  Swathed in red, from head to toe, dripping the life giving blood that it had violently stolen from somebody or more likely somebodies.  Earl noticed it was limping and saw through its blood soaked jeans a hole that leaked brighter: fresh blood.

“What’s going on?” mumbled Earl.

No answer from Algharoob, just a tightening grip on his wrist.  The monster didn’t even slow down after he had regained consciousness, and every time he tried to stand up, it pulled him off balance and kept dragging him.

“Algharoob.  Hey wait.  Let me up!” he whispered trying to be conspiratory.

It ignored him and kept walking, aiming for just past the bushes at the front of lawn where the cars were parked.  Pulling the remote starter out of its stained pocket, it started up the black Ford Explorer which sat behind the white Cadillac containing Lewis’ mutilated body.  Opening the passenger door of the black car, it manhandled Earl into the seat and put a hand over his mouth.

“We are leaving and unless you are with us, we will kill you now.  Clear?” it hissed.

Earl nodded uncomprehendingly, and Algharoob made its way to the other door easing the damaged left leg in after it.  Turning on the car, it turned on the lights.  The lights reminded Earl of other lights he had just seen.  Lights that someone had turned out for him.  The memory came back to him; his face had collided with someone’s small fist.  That someone’s fist was connected to Kelly’s small body.  The last thing Earl had seen after the easy massacre was a mask of rage on its face looking like it was going to shout at the men standing before it in the hallway.  Then there was a flurry of motion and then nothingness.

“Hey!” he shouted, “What happened?  Why did you-”

He was cut off by a look of rage similar to the one earlier from Algharoob.  Not wanting to trifle with the monster, he merely turned on the radio until he found a classic rock station.  It was playing Credence Clearwater Revival’s “Bad Moon Rising.” 

“Huh,” he thought to himself shooting a sidelong look at the creature next to him, “this is appropriate.  Even staying in didn’t help these folks.  Nor my men either I guess.”

As the car pulled away and headed back to their base of operations, Fischer’s Club, now eleven men shorter, the original nine plus two hired for the breaking and entering, police lights finally showed in the distance approaching the house awash on the inside with blood.

After pulling Baybars into the car, Harvey drove off heading away from Aisha’s house towards his own.  He pulled into an almost empty Dunkin Donuts parking lot, save for the employee’s cars and sat in the empty glow of the parking lot lights.  He looked back at Aisha and Baybars noticing how the two clung to each other.  She had tucked herself under his arms and was crying softly while Baybars rested with his head back and eyes closed. 

“What happened?” asked Harvey calmly, immediately getting a feeling that it had something to do with his earlier encounter in the library.

Baybars sat up and opened his eyes, the left one filled with blood.  He shrugged, blood also dripping from his left ear, as he tried to collect himself after the violent invasion of a human being’s most sanctified area: his mind.  He hadn’t spoken about this yet, and Harvey had assumed he had experienced some sort of seizure.  Baybars opened his mouth to speak when he was interrupted by Aisha’s small voice.

“They’re-they’re all dead,” she sniffed quietly.

“Who?” asked Harvey scratching at the growth under the skin of his jaw.

“The hefflelumps and woozles and pooh bear and-and everyone.” she bust out reverting back to her childhood stories, “They’re all dead!”

“Who is this Aisha?” asked Harvey unable to deal with a crying child.

“I think she means all of her family,” cut in Baybars speaking for the first time, “We were attacked by some people.  There was a lot of loud noise and shooting, but we escaped.  Is that right Aisha?”

Aisha nodded again nestled under Baybar’s arm adding, “And the woozles.”

“Woozles?  Do you mean the bad guys?” he asked her gently.

Another nod.  Harvey sat back for a second taking this all in from the chaos and fear of his escape from the library to this new set of problems created after a murderous act against a little girl’s family.

“Well let’s go back then,” said Harvey reaching for the ignition with his keys.

“No!” said Aisha shooting out from her cocoon of safety, tear stained eyes wide and scared. 

“But the police will be there by now,” gestured Harvey to the road.

“We can’t go back,” she said quickly, “it was in my dream.  The snake was there looking for Baybars and then everyone fell down dead—woozles included.

Harvey glanced at Baybars who shrugged, “Okay, I’ll take you to my place for now.”

“Wait!” she said again, and then continued a little more shyly while staring at the neon glow of the twenty four hour Dunkin Donuts sign, “I’m hungry.”

They sat in Dunkin Donuts all munching on donuts and sipping hot coffee.  After his first sip, Baybars remembered something else about his life before Aisha and the fire: Nescafe.  Since breaking the dam of silence in Dr. Brokman’s office, bits and pieces occasionally came back to him.  Baybars had finally figured out why he didn’t eat pork; it was because he was Muslim.  He stared at an advertisement of someone, the picture labeled her as Rachel Ray, with a scarf that looked faintly like a kuffeya when it clicked.  He had never had coffee this good before, and he had seen something like that scarf before, in fact even owned one.  He remembered sitting in a café with…Jason both sipping Nescafe.  The last puzzle pieces finally fell into place.  He had lived in Egypt.

“Whoo!” he yelled standing up getting strange looks by Aisha, Harvey, and the cashier.

Harvey pulling him down said, “I don’t think this is the time to be celebrating.”

“I know,” Baybars said somber again, “but I finally remembered where I come from.  I am Egyptian!”

“Egypt?” asked Harvey.

“Hey, if you don’t believe me-”

“No, no.  I believe you,” interrupted Harvey who had seen and experienced weirder things.

“Oh, okay then.”

Baybars once again serious looked at both of them, seeming somewhat off kilter as he stared at them with one clear eye and one red one.

“I fell down when you picked us up because Jason spoke to me.  In my head.  I know that sounds weird but that is what happened.  It was so loud and painful.  I think it did this,” he said pointing to his eye and ear and then continued, “He said he needed help and to come and rescue him.  I personally think that he is over exaggerating.  He always does that, but he would enjoy our company.  He is in New York and we need to go to him as soon as possible.”

“How?” asked Harvey.

“You’ll take us,” chimed in Aisha immediately accepting his story, and Baybars nodded.

“But my job,” Harvey protested.

“It’s Friday morning.  Call in sick and then you have the weekend to help us.” suggested Aisha. 

The other two stared at her as if such a suggestion could never come from such a small innocent girl.

Harvey thought for a moment and then said, “You’re in luck.  This Friday I have off and won’t be going back to the station until Tuesday.  You have me for a couple of days.”

Baybars and Aisha smiled.

Detective Trach and several other officers in two marked cars rolled up the driveway to the Brokman house.  A phone call from a worried but geographically distant neighbor had brought them all here.  The houses in this neighborhood had larger than usual acreage found in the city, so the sounds of violence had woken the neighbors but just barely.  Trach had left two officers to check out the three empty cars especially the one with the massive amount of blood that could be seen on the inside while he and four other officers went up to the house.  It was eerily quiet.

“Trach this is Tennitus.” 

“Go ahead,” Trach replied back over the radio.

“Sir, the body is male and is missing his head…Uh, it looks like it was hacked off with a dull blade, but Roberts thinks it was…uh chewed off, sir.”

Trach’s stomach clenched, “Okay keep searching and call for back up.  We’re probably going to need more men with the amount of empty cars that we have.”

He increased his speed up the winding driveway until he got to the garage.  Getting out and drawing his revolver from his holster, he motioned for two officers, Linda Asher and Demetoid Bones to circle around back.  The other two were to stay with him.  The three approached the door with Trach in the lead completely unaware of what waited for them behind Dr. Brokman’s front door.

Saying a small prayer he tried the handle and found it unlocked.  Looking back at his two other officers, Leroy Burnes and Chelsea Anderson, he nodded and they returned the gesture.  Trach was an aging man, but not so old that he wasn’t able to move when he needed to.  Throwing open the door he stepped in fast and low, gun and eyes scanning the room, and he slipped and fell on his back with a loud crash and grunt.

Burnes immediately crouched down and helped him up saying, “Sir are you okay? He-kul…ughh!”

Anderson who had been covering the other two also dropped her gun and guard after scanning the room.  She stood slack jawed.  Trach sat up rubbing his salt and pepper hair, and then feeling the sticky wetness on his fingers, scrambled to his feet.  His stereotypical detective’s jacket was soaked with coppery smelling blood.

“Check out the upstairs.  Make sure there is no one around,” he ordered trying to regain his dignity while grabbing his radio and continuing to the others, “Asher, Bones come on through and sweep the first floor.  HQ, this is Detective Trach.”

“Go ahead.”

“Our location is the Brokman house.  We are going to need two ambulances and a large forensics team.  Now.”

As his two officers moved upstairs, Trach stared around the hall, living room, and what was visible of the kitchen and his stomach clenched further.  All around him were bodies, radiating from where he stood.  It looked as if some had tried to run, hence the blood in the kitchen, but of these eleven, none had made it.  Their mutilated bodies lay in a radial pattern as if a bomb had gone off, but there was no sign of any sort of explosion whatsoever.  Limbs lay separated from bodies as if they had participated in a mad celebratory dance of death with the only goal of physical destruction.  Their blood was everywhere, and it lapped at the tops of his shoes in some places as he walked around on the slightly warped old floors. 

“Doesn’t seem right,” he said looking at the dead men, “Why are the ones who did the breaking and entering all brutally dead?  Why?”

He closed the door and startled from shock.  There on the back of the door hung the lifeless body of Rose Brokman.  She was held up by a machete which pinned her body to the door seeming to be the end result of a twisted and macabre game of pin the tail on the donkey.  He didn’t stare at her lifeless eyes, though they were creepy enough, but at the hole where her heart should have been. 

Blood dripped every few seconds off his coat into the pool below sending out small ripples, and Lazarus Trach began to have a very, very strong hunch that his friend Ronald Brokman was dead.


1 Comment

  1. Can’t wait for twice a week!

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