Another “Yes, I’m Still Alive” Post
Been mostly trying to take it easy the past couple of weeks. Been throwing around a few ideas for some more novels, but nothing’s really stuck yet. Not worrying about it; they’ll come as they come.
There is, however, the possibility that I may have a good change in my life coming up, one that could (potentially) make writing a little easier. If it happens, I’ll definitely write about it here; I don’t want to jinx anything by talking too much about it yet though.
Probably should be working on some of those plot ideas — or trying to scrape out new ones — right now, but been up since about 4:00 this morning, and I’m already exhausted. Hopefully I’ll get a little bit of a nap later on today, but I’m not exactly going to bet the farm on it.
The main thing I have left to say is that I haven’t forgotten about Vanishing Point; it’s one of the novels I’m sketching out. I just haven’t gotten the sketch up to where I’d like it to be yet. Using a different method of writing now — instead of doing everything by the seat of my pants, I’m trying to get a little better organized, outline stuff (at least to some degree) and planning things out. Seems to be a little better so far, but of course I haven’t gotten around to actually writing anything yet, so I can’t really say for sure.
Okay, I think I’ve talked myself into doing a bit of sketching now. Catch you on the flip side.
–Matt
Still Kickin’
Yep, I’m still alive, and I’m still writing. Actually doing some sketching for Vanishing Point — just as an FYI though, that’s strictly my working title, and I’m not sure if it’ll stick or not.
I’m also going about this one differently than Like Glass or Shattered — I’m actually trying to outline this one, in hopes that I’ll be able to make a better story of it. I’ve found it to be difficult, trying to tell the story before I tell the story, but it does seem to be working out fairly well. We’ll see what happens.
Just wanted to drop a line and let you know I’m still amongst the living.
–Matt
Vanishing Point: The Ravine
Chapter 1
John’s Tale
Part I: The Ravine
I made John’s acquaintance, of all times, during a hiking trip with my wife. Oh, by the way, John isn’t his real name; at least, I doubt it is, based on the way he smiled when he said it. It was a kind smile, but also the smile of someone who just thought of a good joke.
Anyways, my wife and I were hiking along one of the usual trails in the Franklin Mountains, when she slipped and fell down a ravine. I don’t know whether she or I were more scared when she finally hit the bottom, about twenty feet down, but it was probably about even. I raced down as quickly as I could while maintaining some kind of semblance of balance, listening to her moaning at the bottom. When I got down there, past all the scree and brush, she lay at the bottom of the ravine, one leg twisted awkwardly behind her and a large gash crossed her other leg. Blood was gushing out of it fiercely, in bright, angry red streams. She must’ve sliced it on a rock on the way down, and she sliced it good – the way it was pulsing out of her it was obvious she’d ripped open her femoral artery.
In a moment, I had my belt off and was wrapping it around her bleeding leg as a tourniquet, while she screamed in pain every time I jostled her. I tried to calm her as best as I could, but it had little effect. Besides, I was pretty damned nervous about the situation, so my attempts were half-hearted. How was I going to get her out of the ravine by myself? I couldn’t keep the tourniquet on her for too long, or she’d lose her leg, but if I took it off, she’d bleed out. I had to get medical help out here, people who knew what they were doing. I checked my cell phone, knowing exactly what I’d find: there never was any reception when you actually needed it, and sure enough, a big ugly “No Service” was flashing across my screen.
I heard a rustling above us, and saw some gravel falling from the side of the ravine. I looked up and saw an older man – or, at least, he looked older, but it was difficult to tell with any kind of certainty. All I could see was that he had long gray hair, with a gray beard to match. He was dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, almost like a cowboy, and the way he carried himself made him seem much closer to twenty than eighty. Within a second, or at least much quicker than it took me, he was standing on the bottom of the ravine next to us.
“How bad’s she hurt?” he asked, his voice quiet but strong.
“Bad. Sliced one leg and broke the other. And that’s all I can see – I don’t know if there’s anything else wrong with her.”
“Ma’am?” he called to my wife. “Ma’am, does it feel like anything’s broken inside?” She started to shake her head, then moaned.
“No,” she panted. “Just my leg. I think.”
“We need to get her out of here,” the man said. I bit back a sarcastic remark; he was trying to help, and it would’ve been pointless to be mean, regardless of how bad the situation was frying my nerves.
“Can we carry her?” I asked, feeling like he probably had a better sense of what to do than I did.
“Your little phone working?” I shook my head. “Then we don’t have much of a choice.”
“Well, one of us could go to the road; it’s only a couple of miles away.”
He glared at me, then shook his head.
“You’re not supposed to be here. Didn’t you see the signs the military has posted all around?”
“The unexploded munitions? Of course. Didn’t think anything of them.”
“Yeah, no one does. We need to get both of you out of here. ‘Specially with her bleeding like that. They’ll be all over us in about ten minutes here.”
“Who?” I asked. He didn’t answer, just leaned down and spoke to my wife.
“Okay ma’am, We’re going to try and pick you up real nice and easy like. You help as much as you can, but don’t force it, okay?”
“Okay,” my wife whispered. The man signaled me to come over with his head, and reached for my wife’s arm. I took the other arm and we picked her up, as gently as we could.
“We’re going this way,” the man said, nodding down the ravine in the direction of the road. “We won’t be able to get her back up to the top, and this will get us on asphalt a lot quicker.” I didn’t see any point in arguing with him, so I just started walking, as gently but as quickly as possible, keeping up with the man so as not to move my wife around too much.
“Who might be after us?” I asked after a couple of minutes of fighting rocky terrain and mesquite bushes. He looked at me and shook his head.
“No one, no one.” I could tell he was lying, but I didn’t see the point in pushing the subject. We needed all our breath to walk as fast as possible; we didn’t need to waste it arguing.
Shortly after that, I heard a sharp cry in the distant – a hawk, by the sound of it. Our new friend didn’t think so though; he looked around briefly, then started walking even faster.
“Hurry,” he said, hardly panting. “They found where she fell. We need to hurry.”
“Who found it?” I demanded, but he still kept quiet on the subject. I thought about stopping and forcing him to answer some questions, but even if no one was following us, the fact remained that my wife needed medical attention, so we needed to hurry. And if something was following us, why give it any extra chance to catch up?
We made it to the road, and our companion visibly relaxed. “Much better now,” he said. “Sorry I didn’t explain back there, but we needed to get out of there. Which direction’s your car?”
“That way,” I said, pointing up the road. I could see it from where we were; it was only about half a mile away. Thank God for small favors. “So,” I pushed on, “what exactly was following us?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he said.
“Try me.”
He laughed. “Let’s just say it wasn’t anything good, that’s for sure. They smelled your wife’s blood, and they came running. I’d seen them earlier in the day, sleeping under a bunch of boulders. That’s how I knew it’d take them about ten minutes – there’s only one thing that’ll wake them up during the day, and that’s fresh blood. Night time’s a whole different story…” His voice trailed off, and I could tell he was remembering something he would’ve rather forgotten.
“Why are we safe here? I’m sure whatever it is can walk on asphalt, right?”
“Oh yeah, they could. But the military’s better at keeping them in than keeping you out.”
We were at the car now, and I could tell my wife was starting to drift in and out. I fished my keys out of my pocket and handed them to him.
“Can you drive? I want to stay in the back seat and keep an eye on her.”
“Sure,” he said. Thinking about it now, the cell phone probably had signal by that time, but I wasn’t thinking quite straight – my wife was injured, strange things had been chasing us, and we’d just met someone who seemed to know something that I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. He helped me get my wife stretched out across the back seat, and I crawled in to sit with her head on my lap. The man climbed in the front seat.
“By the way,” I said. “What’s your name?” He leaned back and smiled, that strange, good humored but slightly “off” smile.
“John,” he said. For the first time, I got a good look at his eyes, too. They were a strange, silver-gray color, almost metallic. I wanted to shudder, but there was something oddly calming about him, something soothing. Not grandfatherly, not at all, but looking in his eyes I felt comforted somehow. He turned back, and I looked out the window as he drove off.
Perhaps it was just my imagination, riled up by nerves and what John had alluded to – strange creatures (or people, maybe?) drawn to blood that slept all day – but I swear I saw a large, almost reptilian tail slither into the bushes as we pulled onto the road.
The Professor
Hector pulled the gun on the professor, and you could tell by the look in his eyes he finally believed we were serious. He held his hands up fast and his face went pale. It was obvious that this was a rare occurrence at the UTEP campus.
“I really don’t know anything at all about the project,” he said, his voice shaky.
“Bullshit,” Hector said. He nodded at me, and I pulled my gun out and pointed it at the doctor. Hector set his backpack on the ground and rummaged in it for a moment.
“Dr. Vargas, right?” Hector asked. “Dr. Emmanual Vargas, Ph. D from Stanford in molecular biology. Right?”
“I … I … I … yes. Yes, I am, but …” Hector threw a stack of papers at the man’s feet.
“These have your name all over them. We found them in your little ‘lab’ in the mountains. About five kilometers north-north-west of Transmountain Rd., about seven and a half kilometers due west of U.S. Route 54.” Dr. Vargas’ expression slowly went from fear to anger.
“That is military land. I don’t know who you are, but you had no business there.”
Hector chuckled.
“I’m standing here pointing a gun at you, and you think I’m going to worry about some Army brat MP telling me I’m trespassing?” Dr. Vargas said nothing, but his expression was still quite indignant.
“Leo, take this,” Hector said, handing me a couple of papers from the backpack. I didn’t pay any attention to what he tossed me; I was just a hired gun here, and the less I remembered, the better it’d be for me after everything was done. I glanced over — Hector’s backpack was empty now, the papers either in my hand or at the doctor’s feet.
Hector glanced at me briefly; I was only allowed as much information as needed to get the job done, and apparently what he was about to say wasn’t part of that. Anything I might learn during the course of the mission, the company was fine with. Hector just wasn’t allowed to go out of his way to break the silence. We were each fitted with mics and video equipment, so the debriefing team would know all about any slip ups. That’s the problem with being understaffed. Damned economy…
“Dr. Vargas,” Hector said, “we believe your presence at that installation is in violation of certain … treaties. Or ‘contracts’ if you prefer. I’m sure you know exactly what I’m talking about.” Dr. Vargas nodded slightly, showing that he did. “Good,” Hector continued. “Then you understand our presence here.”
“You don’t understand,” the doctor interuppted. “We’re on the edge of something phenomenal. Something that will bring humanity leaps and bounds ahead of where we’re at now. My research has only just barely scratched the surface.”
Hector looked at the doctor for a moment, considering him.
“You think so?” he asked, his voice sounding honestly curious.
“Yes! Yes!” The doctor’s enthusiasm was only barely contained, and I sat and watched with a curiosity of my own. “Just the other day,” the doctor continued, his voice sounding on the brink of ecstasy, “one of our experiments neared criticality, and our containment field was holding!” Okay, I admit it, I was lost, but Hector looked intrigued.
“You don’t say, huh?” he said, egging the doctor on.
“It’s true! And just this morning, we were able to send a test subject both ways.” The gleam in his eyes meant this was something impressive; even Hector seemed a little shocked by it.
“Really?” he asked, his eyes looking interested for the first time.
“Yes! Really. They returned safely, with only minor genetic variations.”
“Hmmmm….” Hector rubbed his chin. I stifled a yawn; the moment’s excitement was gone, and I just wanted the mission to be over. The doctor started to lower his hands.
“Please, let me continue my research; we are so close!”
Hector glanced at me, then nodded at the doctor.
“Okay, I’ll see what we can work out.”
The doctor relaxed visibly, almost collapsing in on himself. “Oh, thank you, please, you won’t regret this.”
“Oh, by the way,” Hector said. The doctor looked up at him with a bit of hopeful curiosity. Without further warning, Hector shot the doctor twice, once in the chest and again in the forehead. The shots were fired so rapidly and accurately that I couldn’t believe it was from a single person shooting essentially from the hip.
The doctor slumped to the floor, blood and bits of gore splattered against the back wall. Hector walked over to the doctor and picked up the pieces of paper he’d thrown at the man’s feet earlier. I barely heard him whisper, “I can’t stand liars,” to the corpse, before he stood up and smiled at me.
“Okay, that’s done,” he said, his voice cheerful. “I’ll clean up this mess,” he said, indicating the room with his arms. “You take these papers back to headquarters. Along with these.” He pulled open a drawer and started putting stacks of files into the backpack. I didn’t ask questions of course, though I wondered what was in the papers. Of course, I wondered a lot on this mission, not the least of which was whether I’d live to get my paycheck or not. “I’ll catch up with you later,” he said, and that was the last I ever saw Hector.
The next day, after debriefing, I read in the paper about the blaze that destroyed half of one of the buildings at UTEP — I forget what they called it, but I knew it wasn’t the one we’d been in. That would’ve been too obvious. Nobody was injured, no remains were found. Which meant Hector probably took the body out into the acres of desert, and the fire was used to destroy paperwork the company didn’t want anyone to know about.
I got my check though, signed, sealed, and delivered. Didn’t recognize the name on it, nor the name of the company — certainly wasn’t the one I contracted to — but it didn’t bounce, and, at the end of the day, that’s all that matters. Right?
The Baby
My wife screamed, though in pain or fright I couldn’t tell. It didn’t matter a whole lot anyways — I was trying to get her to the hospital as quickly as I could, and I’d just cut across three lanes of traffic to make the exit. Horns blared behind me, and I knew it was stupid, but I had to hurry. Her contractions were really close together now, to the point where she almost couldn’t talk to me. That was the main reason I’d even taken the chance of crossing traffic like that, because I knew she couldn’t really say anything about it. She tried though.
“You stupid son of a — oooohhhh!” Another contraction ripped through her, and I patted her leg.
“We’re almost there, sweetheart, don’t worry. Almost there.”
“Shut it,” she said, gritting her teeth. She sounded like she was going to say something else, but I interrupted her with the horn, trying to warn off some of the upcoming traffic. It didn’t work, so I pulled around them and cut across two lanes again to make my turn. More horns blared, but we were only a couple of blocks from the hospital. Even if we got into an accident now, at least medical attention was just seconds away.
I screeched into the emergency drop off, scattering some pigeons, turned off the ignition, and jumped out of the car before the engine had completely died. I could hear my wife cursing loudly through the windshield, and was thankful it’d be over soon — she was normally such a sweetheart that it was almost embarrasing to hear her swear like a sailor. A nurse came out as I was opening the door for her.
“She’s in labor. We need a wheel chair,” I said, trying to sound calm. The nurse nodded and ran back inside as I helped my wife out of the car. She grabbed on to my shoulder with superhuman strength, and hissed in my ear.
“I am going to kill you for doing this to me,” she said. I wanted to laugh, and probably would have if my eyes weren’t tearing up from her steel grip on my shoulder. I silently thanked God she’d recently taken up chewing her nails, or else I’d probably be getting stitches while we were here.
The nurse came back and we helped my wife into the wheelchair, comforting her as much as two men possibly could. Once inside, two more nurses helped her up again, then onto a gurney. A doctor came over and examined her briefly, then motioned one of the nurses to take her back deeper into the hospital. I started to follow, and the doctor held me off.
“We need to make sure she’s stable, first, then we’ll come out and get you,” he said. I nodded, then started pacing.
I don’t know how long it was before they came and got me, but it felt like forever. By that time, I was a nervous wreck, countless scenarios playing through my mind. None of them were close to what was going to happen though, and in some ways, even the worst I’d imagined would’ve been a little better.
After cleaning up and putting on some blue cover-alls, they led me back to where my wife was delivering our child. I could hear her cursing and yelling long before I got there, and when I entered, her volume rivaled an operatic singer.
I took her hand, and she crushed my knuckles as she pushed. I tried telling her to breath (because I couldn’t think of anything else to say), but no words would come out. In fact, I was finding it difficult to remember to breath myself.
“The baby’s coming!” the doctor said, waving at me to come over. I walked to him, thankful that my wife let go of my hand; it would take some time before I had enough feeling in it to see if she’d broken anything, but it certainly felt like a possibility. “Push! Just a couple more pushes and it’ll be out,” the doctor egged my wife on.
“I am pushing you assss—aaahhhh!” I heard the moan in her voice take on a different tone, one of relief, and I knew the baby was out. I hurried the short distance to the doctor to see my new child — we didn’t even know if it was going to be a girl or a boy, because the ultrasounds never seemed to come out just right. I looked back at my wife, and she was laying there with her eyes closed, trying to catch her breath.
The room was suddenly quiet, much more quiet than I’d expected it to be. I looked at the doctor, and over his mask, I could see his eyes looking at me in confusion. He shook his head softly, and I could tell it wasn’t good news.
“Let me see, please,” I asked him, my voice muffled by my own mask and by the fear that was welling up inside. It couldn’t be… We’d been waiting for this for years, for her to finally get pregnant, and we’d been so ecstatic when we finally found out. Now…
I could tell he wasn’t very willing to hand the baby over, but I held my ground and reached my arms out. I took the limp infant in my hands and pulled it close to my body, rocking it gently. It was most definitely dead, I could tell that just by the weight and feel of it. I choked back a sob; I couldn’t let my wife hear me cry.
It’s head rolled back in my arms, and I almost dropped it for fright. It’s eyes opened as it’s head moved, and I saw two dimly glowing, red orbs glowing back at me, with elongated pupils like cat’s eyes. The eyes closed again, and before my curiousity got the better of me and I opened them again myself, the baby moved.
It cried like every baby I’d seen born in a movie, wailing fiercely and struggling in my arms. It looked at me again, and this time, there was no glow, and it’s eyes seemed perfectly normal, blue like it’s mother’s. It’s, I thought to myself, and did a quick check; his eyes. It was a boy. And, in the relief of hearing my son cry, I forgot about the glowing eyes and I smiled. The eyes were probably just my own imagination, from emotions run ragged with my wife’s labor and thinking that he’d been stillborn.
I carried him over to his mother, who was waiting with outstretched arms. She smiled as she took him, such a beautiful smile that I completely forgot any remaining fears I had. I knew in that moment what happiness really was, seeing the mother of my child, holding him closely to her chest and smiling down at him as he fell silent and started to sleep.
The Thing in the Backyard
After I got home that night, I hear the scratching at the back door that meant Chip wanted to come in. He wasn’t really an outside or an inside dog, kind of a mix. I kept him outside while I worked, and (most of the time, at least) let him back in at night when I got home.
He was a good dog, a mutt a little smaller than a golden retriever, and probably deserved to be let in more often. Most of the time it was nice enough outside to where it wasn’t that big of a deal though.
Anyways, I let him in and went about my business — dishes needed to be washed, I think I even put a load of laundry in. It wasn’t long before Chip needed to go back outside to do his own business, so I let him out. It was awfully warm for December, probably about fifty degrees even at night — not terribly unusual for early in an El Paso winter. I thought about just leaving him out for the night, and figured I’d decide later.
After I let Chip back out, I sat down and turned on Jay Leno. It was about halfway through his monologue when I started it, and it was during the commercial break before he went to his desk that I heard a dull thud from the back of the house.
Of course, like an idiot, I had to investigate. I’d never understood why people in movies always had to go see what that strange sound they’d heard was, the sound that normally meant a killer was in the house with a machete or something. Well, that night, those movies were the farthest thing from my mind, or else I probably wouldn’t have gone. No, that’s a lie. I’d have gone anyways, I just probably would’ve taken a knife or something with me.
I opened the back door, and at first I didn’t see anything at all. Then some movement caught my eye — only briefly, before whatever it was moved deeper into the shadows. I stepped outside — again, displaying a higher level of stupidty than I’d like to admit — and that’s when I saw poor Chip’s head laying on the back porch. I stood there in shock for a moment; that’s what I figured made the sound I’d heard, given the splatter of blood on the wall.
I looked back to where I’d seen … well, whatever it was, and saw two gleaming eyes in the darkness. I couldn’t make anything else out though, just the eyes. They were lit like a cat’s eyes in headlights, but I couldn’t see any light that would be reflecting off of them. They stared at me for a moment, then started to move towards me, into the light.
Whatever it was, it wasn’t anything I’d seen before. It looked mostly human, or perhaps like some kind of ape or something. It’s skin was a dull gray, and it’s face was smeared with blood. It looked like it was chewing something, and I could only guess what it was (as much as I hated to). It moved hunched over, which probably was what gave me the impression it was an ape of some kind. It seemed bald, and had teeth that protruded over it’s bottom lip, like fangs almost, sharp and glistening red.
It takes a lot of time to explain this, but the thing was only there for a moment. It moved as fast as lightning, and jumped over the fence into the neighbor’s yard before I could even try and get back inside.
Once it left, I stood there, still in shock, looking at Chip’s head. His tongue lolled out on the porch, and he had what almost looked like a grin on his face. I knelt down and rubbed the top of his head, getting some of his blood on my hand in the process, but I didn’t care.
I didn’t know what to do. What if that thing came back? Should I call the cops? They wouldn’t believe me. I thought about doing it anyways — maybe they’d at least keep an eye out in spite of how crazy it would sound — and decided not to. No one else in this town would’ve cared enough to call them, why should I make myself look crazy? They’d probably think I was the one who killed Chip, and just lock me up.
I thought about burying Chip right then, but decided it’d be best to wait until morning, so I could see what I was doing a little better. I kissed Chip’s head one last time, and went to bed, though I did have the sense to lock the door and take a knife with me, just in case.
The next day, I called in sick to work. I wanted to bury Chip, and I didn’t think I’d be able to focus on the job anyways. When I went out to the backyard though, Chip’s body and head was no where to be found. The blood was still on the wall — obviously I didn’t dream about it. But, apparently, whatever had killed him decided to come back and finish the job.
Furious, I punched the wall, sending a sharp pain up my arm. Why couldn’t that thing have just left it’s kill alone? It just had to come back, and finish dinner. I walked back inside to get some paper towels — at least I could clean the wall off — and noticed an envelope sitting on my kitchen table. Curious, and more than a little angry (not to mention scared) that someone had been in my house, I opened it.
Inside was a note, and a large wad of cash. I set the cash off to the side, staring at it — it looked like large bills, and lots of them. The note was short, and either typed or printed on a computer: “We apologize for your loss; a subject of ours got out of control. Please accept this as a token of our regret. Tell no one of the dog or of this gift.”
I counted out the money; there was about twice as much as I made in a month. It wasn’t going to bring Chip back, but it took the edge off of it a little. Not much, as I could still hear a phantom scratching at the back door, the ghost of Chip wanting to be let in.
The Cop
It had been a weird night even before we stopped that guy. Damn, I wish we wouldn’t have; Diego would still be alive and I wouldn’t have had to face his wife. I could almost hear her heart break when I told her Diego wouldn’t be coming home anymore. I know I could’ve gotten away with pawning it off on someone else, but that didn’t seem right. Besides, I’m the one who saw what the guy did to him, so if she had any questions…
No, that’s crap. I wouldn’t have been able to explain it better than anyone else, even though I was there. It still doesn’t make sense to me; the guy wasn’t armed or anything. Don’t know how he … did what ever it was that he did. I still can’t explain it. And I still don’t even really know exactly what happened, just … wow.
We responded to the first call of our shift, some heroin junkie wigging out because he found a dead body. We didn’t think anything of it; we knew who the caller was, even though it was anonymous; there’s only one needle freak downtown who thinks he’s on our good side and would call us for anything.
Apparently some homeless guy met up with a bad night. That’s the story that came out over the radio, at least. Diego and I just looked at each other when we heard it break through the static, and he just shook his head. Didn’t say a word, just shook his head. I knew what he was thinking; some new poor sap bit it, and we’d have to track down (if we could) whatever family he had and break the news if we could find them.
Luckily, we weren’t the first ones on the scene. In fact, they had everything pretty well sown up by the time we got there. Even had the guy in a body bag, and they were loading him up. I saw one officer coming back from the alley, looking white as a ghost. I started to flag him down, but he shook his head and ran back to the alley. I recognized him in that brief second though; he was a rookie, only on the force for a couple of weeks. I smiled. I’d been the same way the first few times I saw a body.
Diego was talking with one of the other officers on the scene, so I figured I’d go over and talk to the paramedic who was loading up the body in an ambulance for a ride to the morgue. He didn’t look like he was doing so hot either, but I’d seen him on more than a few accident scenes. He definitely wasn’t a rookie.
“That bad?” I asked, a little surprised by how sick he looked. He nodded at me.
“Worst I think I’ve ever seen. You want to take a look? Maybe it’ll make some kind of sense to you.”
“Sure, couldn’t hurt,” I said. Kinda regret it now.
But, I said it, and he unzipped the bag. It took me a minute to realize what I was looking at, but when it did I felt my own dinner start to rise up in my throat. There was a gaping hole where the poor schmuck’s face should’ve been, and it continued on all the way down to the guy’s chest. Maybe further, but that’s all I could see.
And I do mean a hole. Nothing there. No brain, throat, lungs, heart. Nothing. If I wanted to, I could’ve reached to the guy’s backbone without getting my hands dirty.
It was clean, too. The edges weren’t ragged, like they’d be if someone had used a regular knife (not that I can think of a knife that would do that). The edges were smooth, the bone almost polished. There wasn’t much blood, either; it looked like something done in an operating room, where they cauterize any bleeders they find. Only difference, was doctors don’t do as clean a job as this – there’s still some raw edges and a hell of a lot more blood.
Besides, doctors don’t normally remove everything like that either. Even in the morgue, they’d at least put them back.
I had to look away after a few minutes or else I’d be joining the rookie in the alley. I waved at the paramedic to zip it up, and I heard him oblige as I walked back over to Diego. We started walking back to our car.
“What happened?” I asked him when we got in.
“Pretty much what they said on the radio. Our junkie found him on the bench, swore he didn’t know nothing about it. They’re taking him down to the station for questions anyways. What’d you see?”
“You don’t want to know,” I said, but I told him anyways. He looked at me in disbelief for a moment, then shook his head. He knew I wouldn’t bullshit him. Not about that, at least.
“Wow,” he said. What else could you say? “Wow” summed it up pretty good.
We made our way back to I-10, and before we even got up to the speed limit, we saw this car, a late nineties BMW, flying down the freeway. He was definitely over the limit; we didn’t need a radar gun to tell us that. I turned on the lights, and sped up to catch up with him. We were doing over eighty before we caught up to him, and he didn’t look like he was slowing down at all. Suddenly, though, he pulled over to the side, stopped, and put on his hazards. I shook my head at Diego. Stupid kid, I thought. Getting in trouble with his daddy’s car, more likely than not. See a lot of that around here, so that’s what we were expecting.
Diego stepped out of the car, and I stayed inside, ready to come out if he needed a hand. It looked normal at first; I could read his lips to know he was asking the usual questions: Do you know how fast you were going? Have you had anything to drink? Run of the mill stuff. He came back to the car with the man’s license and registration, and I took a look at it before he ran it.
That’s when a flag went off. I’d heard earlier about a waitress that had gone missing, last seen with a guy who kinda matched the picture on the license. It was a long shot, I knew that, but I figured we’d at least harass the guy for a bit and see what happened. So, I told Diego what I was thinking, then stepped out. Diego and I walked back to the guy’s car; I stood on the driver’s side, Diego across on the passenger’s side in case the guy did anything stupid.
“Sir, could you please step outside of the vehicle,” I said; it wasn’t a question. He smiled at me – definitely a lady-killer smile if I’d ever seen one, and stepped out.
“What seems to be the problem officer?” he asked. Before I could respond though, everything hit the fan.
It happened a lot quicker than you’d be able to believe by reading it, I know. It was a blur, but it was the last I saw a living Diego standing around me, so it stuck with me pretty good.
The guy moved his hand; thinking about it now, I think he was just trying to straighten his tie or something like that, but I saw Diego flinch. In a heartbeat, the guy spun, and stuck his hand out. This is where it gets weird, and I hope you’ll take me at my word. Lord knows I wouldn’t believe it if I didn’t see it myself.
The guy’s hand started … glowing. Or flashing. Like it was a light bulb, or it was electrified or something like that. Then there was a real bright flash, then something shot from his hand and hit Diego. Diego’s head … it … it just exploded. I think. I don’t know; his head wasn’t there anymore. I didn’t see little … ugh. I didn’t see little bits flying, so I don’t know if it really did explode, but they never found it.
Of course, I drew my weapon and started firing at the guy. Point blank, I shot at least five rounds right into him.
He turned at me and smiled, that lady-killer smile, and put his hands up.
“Officer,” he said, his voice as smooth and calming as silk. “You can put that down. I’ll come freely.” He put his hands behind his back, and just on instinct I cuffed him. I know – now, I know – they wouldn’t have done a damned bit of good if he wasn’t willing, but that’s the only thing that seemed logical at the moment.
I called into my radio that there was an officer down, suspect in custody, and the words sounded dead to my ears. I still couldn’t believe that Diego was dead. I looked up at the guy.
“What did you do?” I asked him, and I didn’t like the way my voice sounded but I couldn’t do anything about it. He just laughed.
“Your friend wasn’t a very nice guy,” he said. “He was going to try and attack me, unprovoked. I merely defended myself.”
I wanted to defend Diego, but I couldn’t bring any more words to my throat. I wouldn’t have gotten a chance anyways, as he continued speaking.
“I know you think I took that woman,” he said. “I didn’t, though. She came with me, willingly.”
“Where is she?” I asked. Where was the damned ambulance? Where was the backup? I didn’t want to be with this guy alone anymore, in case he decided to give an encore performance.
“She’s … safe. She’s out of your … jurisdiction now. She’s safe,” he repeated. I could hear sirens in the distance now though, and wished they’d hurry up.
Thankfully, he said nothing for the rest of the time I saw him. The ambulance came, and I kinda lost it. I don’t really remember too much, just arriving at the station, sitting in the car in the seat that was still warm from Diego sitting there all night, some officer I didn’t recognize (or didn’t take the time to recognize) driving me.
Of course, the night couldn’t just end there. No, that would’ve been too easy. Instead, of course the damned military wanted in on the action. I heard the MP’s come in, talking to one of the officers out front, demanding to see the suspect we’d brought in. I was back in the locker room, trying to block everything out, but it wasn’t working.
Eventually, for whatever reason, the MP’s got their way, and I heard them walking back to the holding cell. That’s when everything hit the fan for the second time that night.
In between the time they brought him in and the time the MP’s came to see him, our suspect disappeared. And I mean he disappeared. I saw the footage from the cameras we have watching the holding area.
He’d been pacing for a few minutes, then looked at his watch. He gave another of his lady-killer smiles – right at the camera, too. Then he picked up his hands, still cuffed together, waved once at the camera, and disappeared. Instantly, just gone. No noise – we have a mic in the room, and it didn’t pick anything up. No flash, or smoke or anything. Even played it frame-by-frame. One frame he’s there, the next, the handcuffs are floating in mid-air, and they’re on the ground in the next couple of frames.
I don’t know what bugs me the most, the fact that this guy killed Diego and got away with it, or the fact that he knew something about that waitress that disappeared, and got away before we could get anything else out of him. I mean, it’s bad enough to tell Diego’s wife that her husband isn’t coming home, but what about that woman’s family? They’re going to be wondering what’s going on until that guy gets tired of whatever game he’s playing. And it looked like he quite enjoyed that game, too – I don’t think she’ll be coming home any time soon.
The Waitress
Yeah, I was the last one who saw Yvette that night. We’d just finished our shifts, and she left with … well, this guy. Never seen him before, but he was nice. Didn’t think anything of it. God, I hope she’s alright, and she just decided to quit her job or whatever. But I don’t think the police would’ve come by if they didn’t think something was up.
It’d been a long shift, one of those ones that just drags on and on. Both of our stations were slow as hell, but the boss wanted there to be two of us on the floor until after the holidays. We weren’t complaining; we both needed the extra money. Yvette more than I did, because her slob of a husband just quit his job. Can you believe that? Only a couple of weeks until Christmas, and he decides he’s better than the company he works for, and just leaves it.
So anyways, she needed the money, I always needed the money, so we were working. About half an hour before we started closing up and doing our sidework, this guy walks in. Looked like a real nice guy, too: suit, tie, short black hair and the sweetest smile you can imagine. He sat at the counter, which was Yvette’s station, and ordered a cup of coffee. Even called her “ma’am”. You don’t get that much these days. You’re lucky to get a tip most of the time, and forget about a “please” or “thank you.”
I went on about my business, and I could hear them talking, Yvette laughing and this guy, his voice was just as smooth as silk. And not like used-car-salesman smooth, either. He seemed genuine, at least. I could see the way she was standing by him too, she looked like a school girl talking to the head quarterback of the football team.
Yvette’s not stupid, let me say that right now. I mean, except for staying with her deadbeat husband for so long, but I can kinda understand why she’d do that; he’d started out good, but things just went downhill. She probably expected him to go back to how he used to be, and that would’ve been great.
But, other than that, she wasn’t stupid. She wasn’t the kinda girl who would just jump all over someone who showed her a little bit of affection. So when I saw her smile touch her eyes that night – the first time I’d seen that since she’d gotten married, actually – I knew something was up. I knew there was something about that guy, and she’d be stupid to let her chump of a husband get in the way.
So, when she came up to me later, when I was counting out what little I’d made in tips that day, I knew what was on her mind.
“What do you think?” she asked me.
“About what?” I said, playing stupid.
“About him. He wants me to go out and have drinks with him after work. Do you think I … no, I couldn’t.”
I smiled at her. She’d told me all about the problems she was having with her husband, and it wasn’t just the money either. The guy didn’t beat her – not with his hands, at least – but he was hardly nice to her. And forget about time in the sack; he’d stay up all night watching TV, and she’d be long in dreamland by the time he came to bed. Never let her do anything with her friends – well, me; he didn’t let her have any friends to speak of. Always got mad at her for working late and not having the house all spic-and-span, or not having dinner ready for him. I knew exactly what she should do.
“Girl,” I told her, “you only live once, and I don’t call what you have going on with that jerk you call a husband ‘living’. I say go for it.”
She looked at me and smiled, but I could tell she was torn.
“Listen,” I said, setting down the ten dollars I’d made that day. “You know what feels right and what doesn’t. Do you think you’d regret going out with him – it’s just for drinks, remember? – more than going home to get yelled at for working late?”
She nodded as I talked, and I could tell she’d made up her mind.
“You know what? You’re right. I’ve been thinking of filing for divorce from that son of a bitch anyways. I think I’ll do it.”
I hugged her. “I knew you’d come along some day,” I said to her, probably a little too proud that she’d finally started making a bit of a difference in her own life. She took off her apron and went back out to the counter and sat down next to her new friend. I poured them each a cup of coffee, and tried not to eavesdrop. I succeeded, for the most part; all I heard was that he was a recruiter for some company, sounded middle eastern and definitely not a company I’d heard of before. Other than that, I stayed away from them as much as I could.
Finally, they left and I locked the door behind them. That was the last time I saw Yvette or that guy – didn’t even catch his name. The cops came by a couple of days later, saying that her husband reported her missing and they were just following up. She never called to quit or anything. I’m worried about her, but, at the same time, maybe she finally just had enough and left that asshole for something better for her. And I say more power to her.
A Stranger
A strange man came into my bar last night. He was old, probably late sixties or early seventies. I didn’t see any lights pulling into the parking lot, so I guessed he’d been walking. That’s not unusual; we get a lot of folks from the nearby apartments walking in, wanting to hedge their bets against the cops. The story he told though, now that was unusual. I’m getting a little ahead of myself though.
The bar was empty both before and after he came in. We’re not exactly a booming place here in El Paso anyways, but this close to the holidays we’re pretty much always dead – everyone wants to save their money for presents, not spend it on beer.
I heard the door jingle – the stupid little decorations the bartenders put up when I’m not around – and looked up to see this old man walk in, covered in jackets and looking like he’d never met a razor before in his life. My first thought, of course, was that he was a bum; we get a few of those around every once in a while, and I’m more than willing to buy them a beer or two for doing odd jobs around the place.
Something about him told me that he was different though. Maybe it was the way that he walked, or something in his eyes, but he wasn’t a regular, run-of-the-mill bum. He sat down at the bar and I walked over to him.
“What can I get you?” I asked as I finished drying the glass I’d been washing.
His accent was strange; not quite British, definitely not American, but it was clear enough to where I could tell he’d at least grown up speaking English.
“I’ll have a … oh, what do you people call it … oh, that’s right. I’ll have a ‘beer’.” His voice was pleasant, happy, not the near-bitter tone that most of our patrons have. I gave him his beer, and he paid me from a large wad of bills that I wouldn’t have expected given his appearance. He put a twenty in the tip jar, and sipped his beer with a sigh of relief.
I went back to my cleaning, letting him drink in peace while I washed glasses and mopped behind the bar. It was mostly busy work; there wasn’t much to clean up, since there hadn’t been any customers earlier in the day or the night before. He called me over for another beer, and I poured it for him. This time, when he offered to pay, I waved him off.
“Don’t worry about it. This one’s on the house,” I told him, and he smiled. He paused for a moment, as if trying to find the right words, and then his expression brightened.
“That’s right,” he said, “‘Thank you’. I knew I’d remember.”
I wiped the bar off to one side of him – again, just busy work. “So, where you from?” I asked. It was obvious that he wasn’t from here, or from any country I could guess. That didn’t mean much; around here, the only two languages I ever heard were English and Spanish, and it’s not like I’ve toured the world or anything.
He smiled, a warm, knowing smile, and sipped from his mug before he spoke again. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he said, and something in his voice made me think he was right.
“Well,” I said, setting my rag down on a shelf behind the bar. “Try me. I hear a lot of crazy stories in this place; I’m sure one more won’t hurt.”
He laughed. “No, no. I’m sure it wouldn’t hurt. But…”
I laughed a little. Truth was I was dead bored, and he could’ve told me he was from the moon and I would’ve probably listened intently. “Well, try me anyways,” I repeated. He sighed, and was silent long enough that I almost thought he’d fallen asleep. Eventually, though, he looked up, a smile still lighting his face and an intensity in his eyes that almost scared me.
“I am,” he began, “a refugee, as your people would call it.” Great, I thought. We’re going to have immigration beating down the door now. I almost kicked him out right then, but he raised his hand before I could say anything.
“Not quite the right word, but close enough,” he said, and I relaxed a little bit. At least I could hear him out.
“I come from a place that isn’t unlike this one, or, at least, it used to be quite similar. Better, actually, but I won’t get into that. It … it doesn’t matter any more anyways.” He said this last part with a distant hurt, and was silent again for a brief moment before continuing.
“My ‘country’,” he said, with the same excitement he’d had earlier over finding the right words, “is currently in the middle of a … ‘revolution’, I believe you call it. I have been lucky enough to … escape. To find my way to your land, one I’d heard of many times but only recently truly believed existed. I must say, I’m quite pleased I made it, too. This place is … nice.”
“You obviously haven’t been here very long,” I said. He laughed.
“No, not long at all. Only a few … ‘hours’,” he said.
I didn’t know what to make of his story. I’ve never paid much attention to the news, so I didn’t know what countries were fighting at the moment. There was something about him that sounded reliable though (and yes, that’s gotten me into trouble before, too), and I figured I’d at least give him the benefit of the doubt. I was going to ask him some questions, but he continued before I could start.
“The place I come from is … scarred, you could say. I’ve come here seeking refuge, to finish out my life in what peace I may be able to find.” He took a sip from his beer, and a look of surprised anguish came over his face. I almost laughed; it was terribly melodramatic, but he took me by the arm with a grip that seemed unnaturally strong for such an old man.
“They’re coming,” he gasped. I stifled a laugh; it was like something out of a bad movie, but the fear in his eyes could only have been real. He stood up and threw a wad of bills on the counter.
“Tell no one I was here,” he said, his voice strained. Before I could say anything, he walked out the door.
I looked at the money he left on the counter – at least two hundred dollars, just from what I could tell at a quick glance. I had to catch him; I could keep my mouth shut for free, he didn’t need to give me a month’s worth of profits for that, especially this close to Christmas.
Even as fast as I ran out the door though, he was gone. I looked up and down the street, and couldn’t see him anywhere. I even ran up to one corner, didn’t see him down that street, and ran back to the other corner. Nothing.
I went back inside and counted the money, which I’d foolishly left on the counter. Thankfully no one had come in during my search, as he’d left a total of three hundred, forty-five dollars to pay for a two-dollar mug of beer. Nice tip…
Roughly a minute after I’d put the cash in my pocket (there was no way I was letting that much money slip into the tax man’s hands), two GI’s came in. They were dressed in civilian clothes, but this is a military town as much as it’s a border town; you can spot a military man a mile away once you’ve been here for a while. They both sat down at the bar and ordered a soda each.
They didn’t say much to me, but they eyed the place much more carefully than a normal customer would. One went to the restroom as soon as I set their drinks down; he returned a few moments later looking a little strange. Disappointed? Relieved? I couldn’t tell.
I couldn’t really get anything from their conversation, either. They talked about Iraq, about UTEP’s football team, about the Dallas Cowboys. It was a little forced, like they were putting up a front, but it was also well practiced. Had I not had such a strange visitor earlier in the night, I probably wouldn’t even have noticed. As it was though, my nerves were a little on edge, and I probably paid them more attention than necessary.
They didn’t stay but for the one soda, and left me a two dollar tip. When they were leaving, though, I heard – maybe just my imagination, I won’t deny it – one of them whisper “Not here; he’s probably back already.” Then he grunted something, and they got into their car (a plain civilian make) and took off.
Never saw the GI’s or that stranger again.
I did hear on the news later that night about a homeless man they’d found dead on a park bench downtown though, and it made me think of him. Hope it wasn’t; he seemed like a decent guy. Maybe a little too loose with his cash, but I ain’t complaining.
Want to find out what happens next? Go to http://matthewcory.com/2008/12/13/the-note/.
The Note
Yeah, I’m the guy who found the body. Saw that dude walking a few minutes before, too. Man, he was … I don’t know. Hepped up on something, I hope. See a lot of them homeless guys wandering around downtown here though, talkin’ to themselves and stuff. But this dude, he was weird, man.
Okay, I was down here trying to get a fix, alright? I won’t deny it. Hell, the cops, they know me anyways, they’re cool with me, as long as I ain’t starting no trouble. I helped them out a couple of times, see? And they leave me alone most of the time.
Anyways, so I’m trying to score me a couple of lines, and this guy comes walking along, all bundled up in rags and stuff. Talking to himself too. But the stuff he was saying? Didn’t make sense. Most of the bums I hear talking to themselves, they be carrying on some kind of conversation you can’t hear all of. Saying stuff like “It wasn’t like that when I was a kid. I don’t care what you say.” Stuff like that, you know?
This dude though, he kept talking about how they was after him, and how he didn’t want to go back. That didn’t sound too strange; maybe the pigs was after him or something like that. Didn’t think nothing of it.
Then he said something like “They can keep their experiments; I don’t want anything to do with it anymore.” That caught my attention. I don’t know no cops that be running experiments on suspects or nothing. You know what it made me think of? Made me think of the Nazis and stuff. Like how they used to experiment on the Jews back in the war and everything. Just the way he said it, you know he wasn’t talking about some kind of “nice” experiment, like getting better gas mileage for a car or nothing.
So I follow him. Made me forget about scoring my hit, though damn do I need one now. I’ll save that for later though. Anyways, I follow him, but he doesn’t say nothing else. He looked over his shoulder at me and starts walking faster. I tried to talk to him. I says, “Hey man, you alright?” He just looked at me, nodded kinda, then took off. I backed off, you know? Ain’t my business. I learned that a long time ago; good way to wake up dead one day, to get into stuff that ain’t your concern, you know?
That’s when it gets really weird though, and I swear to you, I was trying to score a fix; I didn’t get it yet. I was straight when this happened.
But this dude, he turned a corner while I was still looking at him, and there was this big old flash of light, like bright blue electricity or something. I thought, damn, poor fool done walked into some kinda fence or something and fried himself. So I run down there, trying to be all good-Samaritan like, and get this: the dude wasn’t there. There wasn’t nothing there, just buildings and a couple of cars parked on the street, man. Nothing. Nothing all blacked out or anything, nothing looking all burnt or nothing man. Just a regular street in downtown El Paso, you know?
Yeah, I kinda freaked a little bit, and I took off running. Probably shouldn’t have, now that I think about it – some dude disappears, and a black guy’s running from the scene. That’s a damned good way to spend the night in county, you know? Anyways, I run, cause I don’t know if there’s something gonna come after me or not, and I end up at the park with the crocodile statues and the benches and everything.
One of the benches had some homeless guy layng on it, and I could tell by the raggedy old coat, it was the same dude. Somehow that dude got to the bench there and fell asleep before I did, even though I ran the whole damned way. And I may not be no Usain Bolt or whatever his name is, but I’m fast, you know? I can hold my own. Got myself away from the cops a couple of times, but this guy done got there before I did, got hisself comfortable, and crashed out.
I don’t really know why I walked up to him, I guess just to make sure it was the same dude and everything. But I did, and damn do I wish I would’ve just turned and ran the other way. The first thing I noticed was it didn’t look like the dude was breathing, and I’m like “Damn, man. Poor dude done had himself an OD or a heart attack or something.” But I got to make sure, you know? Cause I’m stupid like that. So I roll him over, and I just about shit myself.
The dude had no face. Just a big hole, man, all bloody and … ugh. And his jacket looked all caved in in the front, like it wasn’t just his face that got eaten up, but I didn’t touch it. No way, man. But when I rolled him over, his hand came out and there was a piece of paper in it. I tried to read it, but it didn’t make no sense to me. Here, this is what it said, maybe it means something to you:
EXPERIMENT 27543Alpha9
SUBJECT HAS DISPLAYED CAPABILITIES IN LINE WITH PREDICTED RESULTS. CONTROL GROUP WILL BE TERMINATED. SUBJECT’S MONITORING WILL BE ESCALATED UPON RECAPTURE. IF SUBJECT CANNOT BE RECAPTURED, SENTRIES HAVE ORDERS TO TERMINATE AND REMOVE EVIDENCE OF EXPERIMENT.
There, that’s the note. Make any sense to you? I mean, the words make sense and everything, I ain’t stupid, but I don’t know what the hell it means. Probably some Army crap over at Bliss.
Anyways, I had to call the cops, you know? Damn I didn’t want to, but this dude got himself eaten up bad, and I felt sorry for the guy. And besides, what if whatever was after him decided it was in the mood for a little dark meat? I mean, this wasn’t no regular gang-banger crap or nothing. Those guys just shoot you a couple of times and get on their way. This dude got himself eaten alive. Well, maybe he was dead before whatever it was got a hold of him, I don’t know. But if that was a gunshot, I gotta get me one of those puppies. See some dealer try to give me a bad cut then…
