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26

I left Scott shortly thereafter. There wasn’t much more I could do, or say to him. He would have to evaluate and reason with everything on his own, in his own time. I had been dealing with this long enough to realize that much, at least. The way I saw it, he would either handle it the way I had or an entirely different way.

I had far too much on my mind to worry about it, or even consider the latter of the two, as I ran out of fence and approached my brightly lit house where the music had been raving on without me. I cringed as I cautiously stepped up onto the deck, nerves and joints screaming to me all at once–-when that soon became the very least of my worries.

Just as I slowly made the few steps across the deck and reached for the door handle, all life within the interior of my home became instantly dark and quiet once again, as if I were being pranked. The timing was far too coincidental to even consider a lapse in payment. Besides, I knew what was really happening. It didn’t take a reach of genius to understand that I had an unwelcomed visitor nearby. Without bothering to turn around, smelling and feeling its presence, I calmly called out to it.

“Back for more?” With the help of the moon’s attendance, my daughter’s bedroom window became a dark mirror of reflection in front of me. I saw it step out from behind a tree at the far end of the yard behind me. I remained still, making no sudden advances. I only watched its eerie image in the dark glass, as I continued on with my one-sided conversation.

“I know you can’t kill me… I know your law!” I yelled.

I then saw it tilt its head, as if either it were trying to understand what I was saying, or rather how it was that I knew so much. It took one step in my direction, stopped, tilted its head back, and screamed. I could only guess that it did in fact understand me, and was frustrated by the truth. I could also surmise it was aware of the fact that my human body could take no more physical abuse, before putting me at risk of dying; a risk its law forbade. This was killing him, or rather it, and I basked in retribution.

“Sorry, Charley!” I said, as I turned around and gave it a solemn smile with my swollen mouth, feeling, even if only for that short moment, that the tables had turned.

A look of desolation came to its face. It reached up and touched actual tears. It pulled its fingers away and just stared at the curious dampness in amazement, before looking back to me again, confused, and yes-–even scared. It then moved yet another step towards me and growled, gazing a deep and cold stare, before running off into the night.

It was gone for now. My battered and overly abused condition had been the one element that had saved me from further torment. Maybe I would even be able to sleep tonight. After everything I had been through, I would finally have a small piece of reward; if you don’t consider the fact that I had to be beaten nearly to death, just to attain it. But I knew at least for now, it wouldn’t be back, at least not until I was healed enough to forego any more punishment, or on an even more severe note-–until it found and killed Powder. Only then would my pain and suffering be quieted… for good.

“Powder. Where the hell are you?” I whispered to myself, hoping he would somehow have an answer. I still felt that with him here, he and I could form some sort of plan; a way to overpower, and possibly even kill it. I only wished I had some idea where Powder was, and how I could reach him. I took in a deep breath and coughed, as the severe pain in my ribs and chest made me wince in terrible anguish. I looked to the sky, and the bright moon that governed it.

And as I gazed up into its awesome beauty, thoughts of other worlds and other creatures inhabiting them took control of me. I thought about my world, and just how insignificant we might be in respect to the whole vast unknown that we as humans could never have the chance of ever knowing. And then, I thought that maybe that was a good thing.

Certainly, in my case, it would have been. But I was too human to let that happen. And now here I was, fending off the likes of a creature only written about in books, portrayed in unrealistic Sci-Fi films and magazines. I, Joshua Norman Stone, had boldly gone where possibly no other man had gone before. And then I drew in another breath, feeling my lungs raw and burning, coughing again, spitting blood. The passage I had taken, willed or otherwise, had been taken with absolute and undeniable consequence.

I felt that if I were to be fortunate enough to survive this, and see normal days again-–it would all become my secret. Every horrible and twisted diverse event could just go away as if it never happened. Because I had to take the chance that another presence, bigger and more powerful than all of this, would grant me my life, in exchange for secrecy. So I pleaded to whomever or whatever would listen. I told them I was sorry. I proceeded with a vow to never speak of this again-–and that I should live–-please. The desperate feeling of tragic surrender was rearing its ugly head, gnawing away at hope, making any promise a lie… and all this before I opened the door.

When I stepped inside, into the cool and dark quiet, away from anything but just me, I found it hard to suppress the monstrous feeling of anxiousness that was erupting in my chest as my attention was drawn to our family pictures that had been carefully and strategically placed along the mantle over the fireplace.

The bright moon outside had given me barely enough light to see the joyous spaces of time, captured and framed. Smiles exuberated from happy and familiar faces, a million miles it seemed from where I was now. I moved closer still, and looked up at our family portrait which hung dead center and directly over the mantle; a sitting that had been photographed just this past spring.

I thought it cruel that our plight had taken us so far from so much, and everything that anyone would have been thankful for—to this. How did that happen? Could there still be some off chance that this was all just a very cruel and bizarre dream? I was anxiously overwhelmed by the unbelievable, besieged by the impossible, and yet, solely fitted to wear this suit that had been chosen for me, right to the very end.

I wasn’t ignorant. I knew we all had our own crosses to bear, at one time or another. I only wished that mine was consistent with human nature. My eyelids grew heavy, and at least for now, I felt it would be safe to sleep. But if I were going to do that, my bedroom, or any of the bedrooms, would be out of the question. I’d feel too confined and trapped in there, with nowhere to run to. No, I would be sleeping in the living room tonight, on the couch, with my-–and then I panicked, feeling my front pocket for my knife. It was gone. It must have fallen out earlier, maybe it happened sometime during the painful landing of my unscheduled flight into the backstop.

“Dammit!” I would have to go back for it. It was beautiful, and it was mine; the gift that would hopefully keep on giving. I’d left my golf club behind, as well. But I was more concerned about the knife. Perhaps if I found the knife, then I would have the courage to go after my club.

And then there was Officer Daniels… “My God,” I whispered. In all of this, I hadn’t even given his body a second thought, until now. Just how disturbed was I? Surely someone would be missing him, eventually. And then they would be looking for him. His car! They would find his car, and then they would find him–-like that! And then what? News crews, investigations. Questioning the neighbors, questioning me–-like this! How would that look? And how could I explain my condition? Beaten, bruised, and bloodied, only a short distance from where they found poor, dead Daniels. Not good, not good at all. Things had just gotten a whole lot worse; something I would have never dreamt possible. But it had, and I knew someone should take care of it, make things better for everybody… I would have to take care of the body.

Two ideas immediately came to me. Neither one holding merit for being better than the other. Neither one shy of impossible.

Tap Tap Tap!

I spun around to see Scott tapping the barrel of a hand gun against the glass door wall, with a crazed look in his eyes. Once he got my attention, his mouth turned into a smile and he spoke slowly and precisely.

“Let’s go get that fucker!” He looked far too excited. Obviously he hadn’t seen what I thought he had seen, or if he had, he was a much braver man than I.

“You scared the shit out of me!” I yelled. “A gun?

Really?”

He slid open the door and came in, moving so close I could smell the alcohol on his breath. “This is the one thing I know, bro. It’s like I finally have a purpose,” he announced.

I could actually see him shivering with the intensity of the moment. It truly felt odd having someone here with me, in my house. It seemed that I had been alone in my own private hell for so long, that I almost felt invaded; harshly pushed to the edge of my comfort zone. Comfort-–that was a laugh! But I also felt a stronger sense of security with Scott here, as well, especially with his gun and the excellent marksmanship that came with it.

“Well-–are you with me?” he asked, impatiently.

“I need you for something else first,” I confessed, wondering all the while if I were taking this too far for Scott to handle, if I were dragging him in way beyond his comfort zone. I took in a long breath and held it, weighing my options in the process. I then flushed my breath away, drew in a new one, and told him what was on my mind.

“We need to get rid of a dead body… that’s if you want to help me, of course.” I looked at his face, desperately trying to read his immediate, physical response, before hearing it in his words.

He was stunned. “What? Like a dead dog or something?” he asked, knowing all the while that his question was merely a frightened stall from the truth. When I just stared at him without an answer, his face responded to the reality he could no longer deny. “A dead person?” he grimaced, taking on the guise of a frightened kid.

Whether I thought he could or would believe me, or not, had no bearing anymore. He had stepped just a bit too far past the line of no return, and he would now be a part of this.

“Really… a dead guy?” was all he could say, desperately clinging to whatever small fragment of denial was left, even as the words rolled off his tongue and left his tight, quivering lips.

“You better sit down,” I said. I went on to tell the tale, leaving out only specific parts that made the whole thing a bit more special to me. He would know the basics, and that was good enough. But well informed was what he had to be if he was to be a part of this. I was about to test him even further.

“A cop, Scott. It killed a cop!”

“What killed a Cop? A dead cop?”

“It killed him.”

“What?”

”It!” I yelled, frustrated.

“Okay, and who’s on first? What the fuck is it?” he yelled, standing again, still trying to avoid the inevitable.

“What did you see? You said you saw it!” I stood also, confronting him.

“Yeah. I mean, I saw this white-–” and then he stopped talking. He walked over to the window and looked out, gripping the gun so tight his knuckles were white. And then he turned back to me, and his excitement had faltered to a look more questioningly lost.

“What the hell is it, Josh?” he asked, in a quieter tone that desperately cried for answers.

“I don’t really know. I only know that it’s evil. And strong.” There was no way I could tell him about Powder. That would only make things more complex and unbelievable.

“And it’s here for you because you know about them now–-is that right? You know how crazy that sounds?” he asked, still barely holding on to that last small slice of denial.

“You saw it!” I shouted.

He didn’t respond.

“You saw it. And you brought a gun!” I placed both hands on the table between us, leaned towards him, and lowered my voice to almost a whisper. “Now let me ask you the same thing you asked me a few minutes ago. Are you with me?”

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