John Coffee glanced over at the wrapped packages on the passenger seat. Gifts. Carolina was one of the few good things to come out of his life. He smiled as he thought of her eyes, sparkling green as dew lit grass on a fresh morning, her crooked smile showing perfect teeth. Most people wouldn’t believe what he had to tell her, but she would, because they never lied to each other.
It tore at his heart, the thought of telling her, because it would probably steal away her childhood. But she had to be warned, even if it meant the steep price of her innocence. But first he wanted to just sit and talk, gab about baseball, school and whatever else she might be interested in.
He parked across the street and shut off the engine. He had the windows down and he felt a chill as the evening breeze blew through, bringing the scent of the sea and something else.
He sucked in his breath and held it, listening to the silent breeze. An electric charge danced through the air. He tasted a faint rotten egg smell, and he knew he wouldn’t be knocking on his daughter’s door with gifts and a smile and gabbing about the Atlanta Braves this evening.
The wind shifted, taking the faint sulfur smell away, but he’d tasted the familiar scent and knew that she was near. He opened the door, cringing at the sound it made. He knew what he’d tasted on the wind. He opened the glove compartment, took out a small jar and dropped it in a coat pocket. Satisfied that it was secure, he reached back in and took out the holstered forty-five automatic. Not very accurate at distance, but hit a person anywhere at close range and you picked him up and slammed him back about six feet.
He took the gun out of the holster and shifted it to his left hand. There was a reason children feared shadows on the wall and primitive people feared the night. A gun would be useless against whatever tore at their hearts, and he doubted it would be much good against what he was about to face, but he felt naked without it.
The charged air sent the hair on his arms tingling in warning, and he crossed himself.
She was close.
He stepped out of the car, looking up and down the block as he closed the door, checking to see if anyone was watching. The small residential street was lit by a street light at either end, the two in the middle of the block were dark.
Was it coincidence?
She was clever.
It started to rain.
The house was covered in darkness and it reminded him of another dark house on another dark night. It was overcast then too. And, he remembered, it had rained the night he broke into her house at the end of the road. There were stories and legends, whispers and pointing fingers. The locals knew enough to leave the old woman alone. Not him. She was old and he thought she would be easy. Old, she was, and now his daughter might wind up paying, because easy, she wasn’t.
He moved across the lawn with the practiced ease of a burglar, glancing again at the light at the northern end of the street, then at the southern.
Nobody at either end.
The living weren’t out tonight.
He turned his head away from the far off street light and moved his eyes back into blackness, so they would get used to the dark. He wanted to flee and he would have, the locket wasn’t worth it, but Carolina was. He headed toward the side of the house.
There was a space between each house, in most cases covered by bushes or small trees. The houses were about ten feet apart. That space made a perfect den for an animal, or one of the many homeless that were starting to dot the landscape, or an excellent way for a thief to enter a house unobserved.
One of Carolina’s bedroom windows faced the front of the house, but was hidden from the street by a small pine tree. He liked that, as there was no way a passerby could see into his daughter’s bedroom.
Carolina’s other bedroom window faced into the dark space between the two houses. He knew this as surely as any professional housebreaker knows what he’ll find when he enters an empty house through a window. He’d cased the place earlier. He’d been inside when his ex-wife and daughter had been away. In and out without being detected. He was good at his trade.
He closed half the distance between himself and the bushes guarding the space between the houses. He saw something out of the corner of his eye. He turned toward the light at the southern end of the block. A child had just come jogging around the corner on the other side of the street.
He sprinted toward an aging Chevy pickup. He was over the side and lying flat on the wooden bed, before the boy was able to cross over to his side of the street. He’d been in the truck for less then a ten count when the boy came struggling by, breathing hard. A boy in a hurry.
He peeked over the side as soon as the boy was by and watched as he climbed the steps and knocked on the door of his daughter’s house. The boy rushed through as soon as the door opened, and even from his position he was able to hear the sound of the deadbolt clicking in place after him.
He wondered why all the lights were out if someone was home, and why let the chubby kid in and not turn them on? Jane would never do that, he thought. Then he figured it out, Jane wasn’t home. Carolina was home alone. She had the lights out because she was frightened and she wanted it to look like nobody was home.
Was it the old woman? Had she seen it?
For a few seconds he hated Jane for leaving her alone. Then he turned the hate toward himself for bringing this down on his daughter, and for not being available when she needed him.
But he was here now.
He swung a leg over the truck’s bed and hopped out. The light in the living room went on.
Why?
He was standing by the truck, trying to work it out, when the light in her room went on. The chubby kid isn’t afraid, he thought, or he wants it to look like someone’s home, an adult maybe. Time to find out.
He closed his eyes for a second and imagined a small sandy island, some palm trees and a fantasy blond in a string bikini. If he was going to die, that’s what he wanted on his mind as he checked out.
He reached into his coat pocket and took out the jar. He kept the gun glued to his left hand as he used the heel of his right palm against the lid to open it. Then holding the jar between thumb and forefinger, he rotated it, filling his right hand with hot pepper. He said a silent prayer to the Blessed Virgin, asking for strength, as he dropped the open jar back into his pocket.
Prayer finished, he took a deep breath, crouched low and moved quickly to the bushes, because if she was here, this is where the old horror would be, in the dark, between the houses. Three feet away, he bent even lower and moved in.
She was on him before he exhaled, battering him like a charging bull, sending him flying backwards, while she raked his face with long fingernails. The force of her attack sent them rolling onto the front lawn. Halfway to the street, with her decaying hands on his throat, he stuck the gun into her stomach and started pulling the trigger.
The sound of the forty-five filled the night as he emptied three rounds into her belly, but the witch held on to his neck with her left hand, while grabbing and flinging the gun aside with her right. After the gun was gone into the night, her right hand joined the left in taking his breath away. Then she relaxed her grip for an instant and he inhaled, expecting to get a great lungful of crisp, clean air, but instead he inhaled the stench of her, a rotting stink that smelled of something long dead.
She wanted him to sense her, to know what she was, before she killed him. She knew where the locket was now. She no longer needed to follow him. She wanted him dead, but not before he suffered. He felt the cold surging from her lifeless hands as they rippled like electricity, sparking on his skin.
And he felt the opposite, a burning heat screaming from his oxygen starved lungs. He craved air. He was going to die. He was going to fail Carolina. Carolina, the thought of her wiped out the image of the fantasy blond and gave him the will for one last, desperate effort. He raised his right hand, opened it and slapped her face, shoving the hot pepper into her leathery skin.
She screamed. Her eyes bore into his, locking on as sure as a fighter plane’s radar. Twin doors dragging him into a world where no one gets out. Where dead is better than alive, but death is only a dream. But she couldn’t hold him, her pain was too great and she was used to dealing with innocents. It’s hard to capture a soul that’s already lost.
He tried to raise his hand to slap her again, but couldn’t. His lungs were about to burst, his brain about to shut down, when she surprised him by breaking eye contact and throwing him backwards with gorilla power and machine force.
He landed on his back, grabbing air like a man breaking the surface after being too long under water. Three great breaths and he was able to think. A fourth and he could see. She was clutching her face, clawing at the place where he’d slapped her. The light in her eyes was blazing, promising him that special place in her special hell. She raged at the night, sounding like a wounded animal. Her kinky hair caught fire and lit up her face. The black of her skin changed to a hot glowing white and shifted again to icy clearness, allowing him to see her burning brain and the glowing orbs of her eyes.
She hissed and steam rolled out of her mouth. Her lips turned into a pair of burning worms, struggling to crawl off her face. She caught him in a glowing gaze. For an instant he thought she was going to come at him again, and engulf him in the fire and heat of her, but her eyes burst into flame, taking away her sight, leaving her to rage aimlessly, while the fire consumed her, changing her into a mass of glowing oranges, whites and reds as she burned.
Crab-like, he scooted away from her, buttocks scraping the ground as the fireball blazed, radiating the heat of hellfire, singeing his eyebrows from over half a lawn away. He covered his face with his palms and lost the hair on the back of his hands. He tucked his head and rolled across the sidewalk, over the curb, and into the gutter, which afforded him some protection.
Beaten and battered, he raised his head from the protection of the cement curb and chanced a look. The night was losing oxygen to the flame, forcing him to fight for air. He thought again that he might die this night, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the spectacle of her. The ball of hot fire and death rose a few feet from the ground, hovering above the lawn, lighting up the block and casting long shadows.
Then, without warning, it shot into the night sky, pierced the clouds and was gone.
“ Time to move,” he said aloud. He pushed himself up from the gutter, took a quick breath and looked out into the dark. He wanted the gun, but it would take too long to get his night vision back. He had to give it up, which he regretted, because if Carolina found it, she’d know it was his.
Aching, with his hands on his knees, he jerked and staggered back to the car. He crossed himself with his right hand as he reached for the door with his left. He gasped when he saw the back of his hand on the handle and felt pain as his fingers closed around it. He hoped the burns weren’t as bad as they looked.
Fighting the pain and fighting to stay conscious, he managed to get the door open. The key was still in the ignition. He pulled himself inside and started the car. The engine burst to life and he shoved his foot to the floor. The car screeched down the block, leaving behind black skid marks, as porch lights came on and doors started to open.
He was still standing on the gas as took a corner six blocks away. She was angry now and that was good. It would keep her coming after him and he was putting as much distance between himself and his daughter as he could. He took another corner, but was going too fast now and lost control on the rain slicked street.
He tried to turn into the spin, but was too late. The wind was knocked out of him as the car charged over the curb and up onto a lawn. One of the front tires blew, ricocheting through the night like a gunshot. He grabbed a weak breath and stomped on the brakes. The car, still out of control, chewed up a row of hedges as it barreled toward a lone pine tree.
He pushed harder on the brakes. The rear tires locked, ripping up the lawn even more. He yanked on the wheel, pulling it to the right to avoid a head on collision, but he wasn’t quick enough. The left headlight made a popping sound as the glass broke and the left fender screeched as it scraped against the tree. He felt a stinging sensation as a pine branch, bent back by the charging car, gained its freedom when it encountered the open window. Pine needles tore across his face, stinging him and leaving small trails of blood in their wake.
He kept the wheel cranked hard to the right as he pulled his foot from the brake and shoved it back onto the accelerator, and he gobbled more air as the rear wheels sought purchase, digging into the wet grass.
He started to ease off the gas when he saw the wolf, two houses away, in the middle of a another lawn, surrounded by a chain link fence. Staring at him. Daring him. He bit into his lip and tasted blood. Lightning cracked overhead, lighting up the cloud cover and bathing his world in a ghostly glow for a flash of a second. Then black reigned again, greeting the thunder blast that sent shock waves through the night, through the neighborhood, through his body, through his very soul.
He gripped the wheel with a white knuckled fury that set his arms shaking. He hunched over it, clenching his stomach muscles, and shivered, but with anticipation, not fear. He had done battle with her, and he had survived. He had looked into those eyes, and he had survived. He had tasted the stench of her, and he had survived. She was his destiny.
He put his foot to the floor, causing the rear wheels to spin, seeking traction as they dug into the lawn. He eased off on the accelerator a fraction and the tires grabbed into the earth as he slammed the pedal back to the floor. The car started to spin, but when the wheels caught, it shot forward, like a bull charging the cape, tearing through one yard, then the next.
The screeching metal chilled him and charged him as he blasted through the chain link fence. He screamed and locked on to the glaring red eyes of the wolf, glowing with the reflection of the single headlight, and once again he was staring into the pit of her, and once again he tasted her stench.
The beast charged the car, leaping onto the hood, snarling as it smashed into the window. A thousand spider web cracks sizzled through the glass as the wolf bounced off of it, and the car continued its journey across the lawn and through the fence at the other side.
He jerked the wheel to the right, tearing up a fourth lawn as the rear wheels spun on the grass and the car sought the street. He had to drive with his head out the window, with the wind whipping his face, because he couldn’t see through the cracked glass. He held his breath as the car thumped over the curb, fought for control, with only his right hand on the wheel, got it and guided the car down the block, and was around the corner before a single porch light came on.
Two blocks away, going slow with the right front tire thumping like a jack hammer, and his head lolling out the window, like a dog sniffing the breeze, he turned into the alley behind Fremont Avenue. He’d brought two different neighborhoods from sleep to noisy violence. The police were going to be involved. Questions were going to be asked. It was a small town. He was going to have to get rid of the car, but first he had to change the tire.
He stopped behind a restaurant, turned off the single headlight and shut off the engine, plunging his world into sweet, silent dark. It was cool and still foggy. He would have to be very fast. He pulled the keys out of the ignition and stepped out of the car, groaning as he tried to stand. Already his body was sore. He gently touched his neck and winced at the pain. It would be black and blue in the morning.
He touched his left check and winced again. It was wet and sticky. He removed his hand and wiped the blood on his Levi’s. His face would be scabbed over soon. That along with his neck, would make him noticeable anywhere, but in this small town he would stand out like a man wearing a tuxedo in jail.
He stepped around a puddle of water and wished he was some place warm, but wishing wouldn’t change the tire. He opened the trunk and pulled out the jack and the tire iron. He set them on the ground and reached in for the spare. His hands screamed as he wrapped them around the tire and his arms and shoulders roared as he lifted it. He dropped it by the jack and hoped his body wouldn’t quit on him before the night was over.
He bent and picked up the tire iron and frowned. The right front tire was sitting in a puddle of muddy water. He had two choices, move the car and get only a little wet as he changed the tire, or kneel in the puddle and get a lot wet. He decided on the latter, mounted the jack and raised the car till most of the pressure was taken off the tire. Then, using the tire iron, he popped the hubcap and loosened and removed the lug nuts. The rental people weren’t going to be happy about the state of their car, he thought, as he was loosening the last nut.
He was back at the jack, raising the car the rest of the way, when he heard the wolf howl. Three quick pumps and the tire was off the ground. She would find him soon. He moved to the side of the car, no longer conscious of his tired and whipped body, and pulled the flat off and set it aside. The wolf howled again, but instead of filling him with fear, the piercing animal scream fused him with new energy. It would wake the whole town, he thought, as the wolf cried again, closer.
He picked up the spare and was bending to fit it in place, kneeling in the wet, when he heard the wolf growl. Fast, well trained reflexes commanded him to stand, turn and face the enemy. He had no weapon save the tire, which he clutched in front of himself with a double fisted grip, like a heavy shield.
The enraged animal came at him for the kill. She leapt from fifteen feet away, turning herself into an airborne missile, deadly as any that ever rained from a warplane. Jaws gaping, she collided with the tire’s metal rim. The force of the attack sent him reeling. The wolf flew over him as he fell. He rolled away from the beast, toward the car, grabbing onto the tire iron. He would not surprise her again. If he waited for her to attack, he would be a dead man.
He pushed himself off of the wet pavement, raised the tire iron over his head, and charged the wolf as she turned to face him. She growled, but it was cut short as he swung the tire iron across her right foreleg. She howled as the leg broke. The fight was over. She growled at him defiantly, then hobbled away. He stood back as the wolf was engulfed in fire and watched again as flame shot upward, through the fog and into the night.
He turned back toward the car, wondering if he could get the tire changed before she came back. He stooped, picked up the tire and rolled it to the car. He knelt in the puddle, but his adrenaline stopped pumping almost as quickly as it had started and he was covered in pain. He dropped from his knees onto his ass in the muddy water, caught a few seconds of rest, and started to plan.