Calling All Writers!
I’m looking for all writers — fiction and non-fiction, all genres/areas of expertise. I’m in the process of starting up a new community site, and I’m looking to see who’s interested. It’s still in the planning stages right now — looking to get it up and running here in a week or so — but it’ll be one more place you can get your content out to the world and help build a readership! You’ll be able to submit your content of any kind, and we’ll edit it for you and work with you regarding the edits! You’ll get feedback on what needs to be changed (if anything!) and why, not just accepted (and possibly changed), or rejected with no reason. You’ll keep all the rights to your work, and we’ll take it down whenever you want it taken off.
If you’re interested, let me know, either via the comments here or by sending me an email at the address on the contact page. If you know someone who likes to write, send them along.
Gotta run — catch you on the flip side.
–Matt
Editing Services Offer
Okay all you writers out there, I know you need editing work done — and if you’re like me, you probably don’t want to admit it 
That’s all good; I still want to help you out though. So, here’s what I want you to do: send me ten pages of your latest work, and I’ll give you a full copy edit and critique/developmental edit on those ten pages for free. I’ll go over it, make my edits and notes, and send it back to you. If you like it, then great — maybe we can work together further. If not, then what did you lose? (And you don’t have to fret over getting exactly ten pages — I won’t be terribly picky about it, just be reasonable on it.)
So, you can head on over to the Editing page and fill out that form, or just head to the Contact page and send me an email directly. (Either one works fine; with email you’ll be able to send the attachment, but the editing page will have some details that I’d like to get from you too.) If you email it straight away, I’d prefer it in either Word doc/docx format, plain text, or RTF. If you can’t do that, we’ll figure something out — no worries.
Well, what are you waiting for? Get your pages over here!
–Matt
New Site Section: Software
I’ve added a new section to the site for software I’ve created. Check it out, either from the menu above or via http://matthewcory.com/software/. There’s only one item there now, a simple todo list manager, but I’ll keep you posted on what else might come up. Open to ideas, and if you find any bugs, let me know so I can take care of them.
Catch you on the flip side.
–Matt
The Accident
I could feel the pills starting to wear off, so I knew it was time to head home. I hadn’t planned on spending so much time at my girl’s house, so I’d left my bottle back in my medicine cabinet. I had a backup in the car, but I didn’t really want to use it just yet — save it for that rainy day, you know? I stood up, and she looked up at me from the couch.
“You leavin’ babe?” she asked me. Damn, I didn’t want to; it was probably twenty degrees outside, but the heater was on full blast in there and she was just wearing a tank top and some shorts. From where I stood, her tank top hung open just right and gave me just a bit of a pause. Then I felt the twitch starting — and not the one I’d have liked right then.
“Yeah, I gotta get back to my side of town.” Her eyes grew a little angry. She knew I was going for my fix, but I knew she was still hooking on the side at her job as a “dancer”. I’d said I’d quit, she said she’d quit, and we both knew the other was lying. Best to keep it unspoken and just enjoy each other as best we could though, you know?
So, she kept it unspoken and just stood up to walk me out. I grabbed her hand as we went to the door and looked out. It wasn’t snowing — rarely does out here — but it was cold and rainy, so the roads were probably nice and icy. Her hand tensed against the cold as I opened the door.
“You sure you gotta go?” she asked, and I could tell she was scared.
“Yeah, no biggie. I’ll call you as soon as I get home honey.” I leaned down to kiss her and could see the fear in her eyes. She kissed me though, long and deep — definitely trying to make me reconsider. It almost worked, too, but I could feel the shake coming on a little. I held it back, gave her another quick peck on the lips, and started to the car. She grabbed my hand and held me back.
“Hey,” she said. I stopped and looked at her, waiting for more. “Be careful Mike.”
“I will sweetheart.” I started to leave again and she grabbed me back.
“I …” she started, then took a breath. “I love you Mike.”
Damn. We’d been doing so good, together for about three months, and we hadn’t come to that yet. I didn’t know what to say, so I just stared in her eyes for a few minutes like I knew I was supposed to, gave her a weak little smile, and kissed her softly on the lips.
“I’ll call you when I get home babe,” I said as I pulled back. She gave me a smile too — ripe with disappointment, I could tell, but how the hell could I say that back to her when she’s screwing half of the east side of El Paso to pay her rent? I turned and hurried against the rain to my car, and waved as I got in. She watched me from the door until I pulled away. Hell, maybe she watched after I left too; I don’t really know.
A few turns later I was picking up speed on the loop, the main stretch of open highway that cuts through the desert and the military base and goes from the east side of town to the northeast. I had the radio on, rock music buzzing softly in the background as I tried to focus on the road through the rain and the windshield wipers. Not happening very well, and I reached for my little backup baggie more than once.
Aside from wanting to save it for that rainy-day that’ll probably never come, I‘ll be honest: I was scared to take it. I stick to Vicodin and the occasional Percocet; the shit in the bag was a purchase I’d made a long time ago from a junkie when I was in a bad spot, dealing with some heavy shit. I’d kept it just in case I needed a quick fix, but never let myself get that bad. Fuck, I don’t even know if it was pure or anything. Probably half Ajax and half baking soda for all I know. Never done smack before, so I don’t even know what it’s supposed to look like.
I was about halfway around the loop when I finally gave in and decided to test it out a little. What the hell — even Ajax ain’t gonna kill me if I just sniff a little bit of it. I grabbed the bag out of the glove box, took a pinch of it, and started to try and snort it while I was driving. I glanced up from my hand just in time to see someone run right in front of my car from the desert, so I slammed on the breaks and swerved. Of course, the roads were nice and wet, maybe even icy by now, and my car didn’t just swerve. It spun.
The next couple of seconds were a total blur. All I know is that I screamed like a little girl, and waited to hear the thud of the car plowing into the idiot who ran into the middle of the road. Then the car started to tip over on its side, and I think I blacked out right about then because the next thing I know, I’m sitting upside down, my leg feels like it’s on fire, and my face is cut up because my window busted in the roll.
As I sat there wondering what the hell I’m supposed to do, I started hearing something walk on the gravel towards me. I look out, hoping it’s someone with a cell phone or something, and I just about crap myself.
I couldn’t see anything but legs and feet from my vantage, of course, but the legs walking towards me weren’t human. From what I could tell, the feet had two toes, spread in a wide “V”, with huge claws at the ends. The legs looked like they might be leathery, but it was too dark to really get an idea of the texture. Not that I really cared; anything that had claws like that and walked upright was probably not something I was terribly interested in getting to know better.
It got maybe ten or fifteen feet away from the car, and stopped suddenly. Then it turned sideways and ran back into the desert, leaving me alone to feel slightly lucky. Then my shakes started in hard core, and my leg reminded me that it was not in its normal, happy state, and I almost wished whatever it had been would’ve stayed and finished me off. The thought of those huge claws swiping me in the gut (and of course whatever other weapons it might have been made of) made me rethink that.
I didn’t have too much time to enjoy my misery though, because a car pulled up soon. I saw its tail lights through the passenger window — which was somehow not busted — and watched two men get out and walk quickly back towards me. They were dressed in civilian clothes, but there was no hiding the military on them. With much screaming on my part and a few attempts at calming me down, they got me out of the car and propped me on their shoulders.
“You guys got a cell phone or something? Call an ambulance?” I asked. I’d forgotten about the baggie, or else I’d probably have been a little less enthusiastic about getting the authorities there.
“No sir,” the one to my left said. “We’ll take you in. It’ll take too long for the ambulance to get here.” They carried me to their car and gently set me into the backseat. When they shut the door, it bumped my foot, sending a lightning bolt up through my hip and spine. I tried to clench back a scream, and halfway managed.
“Get him something for that leg, Chuck,” the one who had answered me about the ambulance said. The other reached into the passenger’s seat and dug in the glove box for a minute. When he came back, he had a syringe in his hand and was tapping it out. It should’ve scared me — people don’t just care major painkillers in their car, ready to go like that — but I didn’t really care. I felt the needle go into my leg, felt my leg scream bloody murder at me for letting them touch it, and felt a mild burning as whatever was in the needle started to spread. Where ever the burn went though, that was the last thing I felt there.
“What the hell is that?” I asked. “Morphine?” I knew that wasn’t quite right; it wasn’t killing my shakes in the slightest. But I didn’t know what else it could be.
“No, not morphine,” the man who gave me the injection said. I was starting to get drowsy, and my leg felt … well, it didn’t feel like anything, and that made me content. “Just relax sir, we’ll get you the hospital as soon as possible.” They got in, and whichever one of them was driving turned the car around across the median and started back down the loop. Whatever they doped me up with hit me like a freight train right then, and I crashed hard.
I woke up — at least, I think I woke up — in a hospital bed sometime that night. The two men were standing off to the side, their backs to me, and whispering to each other.
“Did they catch it?” one of them — I think the one who shot me up — asked the other. I closed my eyes again, wanting to go back to sleep and not wanting them to realize I was eavesdropping.
“Martin said they did. That should be the last of them.”
“Good.”
“I’ll be glad when they get it sealed back up.” One of them chuckled.
“That’s not going to happen, and you damned well it won’t.”
“Hey, a boy can dream, can’t he?”
“What about this guy?” They were referring to me; I could even hear whoever it was turn towards me.
“He won’t remember any of this in the morning. And we can probably leave in a few minutes; the ‘new’ nurse should be on duty any time now.”
The other one started to reply, but whatever was dripping into my IV took a better hold of me and I went back to black.
They were wrong though; when I woke up in the morning, I still remembered it — even if it was just a dream. My girl — Jackie was her name — came by around ten in the morning and sat and talked with me. We talked for a long time, and came to a lot of conclusions. Something about having the shit scared out of you by your car, and then again by something that’s not human, makes you reconsider things. So we talked, and I made sure the nurse didn’t give me any morphine or Vicodin or any other narcotics. I’m off them. Jackie fessed up that she’d still been hooking a little, and I fessed up to my pills, and I think we’re gonna make a bit better go of it.
Those soldier boys were pretty damned nice too. Never saw them again, but someone put my hospital bill on Uncle Sam’s tab, and when I got home a week later I had my car in my driveway, all fixed up again. I checked though; whoever it was that fixed the car took my little backup baggie. That’s okay.
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?
Vanishing Point News
Alright, so here’s what’s happening with Vanishing Point:
The first set of posts — the prologue — is written, and we’re gonna post the last two this week. Cool, huh? Kinda nice to know what you’ve been reading for the past week is just the tip of the iceberg. I’m going to post them Tuesday and Thursday, so keeps your eyes peeled.
After those are posted, we’re gonna start getting into the real story. That’s gonna start the following week, with the first episode up on Monday the 26th. I’ll be adding new posts three times a week: Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. And the way I have things planned out, we’re gonna be in it for a long haul — the first “book” is going to take about six months to go through at that rate, and we’re gonna have three “books” for the full story. Sounds like fun, no?
So the party’s just getting started, and we’re gonna have some good times — I promise
I need to get going and get some of my ideas out of my cluttered little mind and onto some cluttered little pieces of paper. Catch you on the flip side.
–Matt
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 embarrassing 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 might’ve been better.
After cleaning up and putting on some blue scrubs, 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.
Its head rolled back in my arms, and I almost dropped it for fright. Its eyes opened as its 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 curiosity 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 its eyes seemed perfectly normal, blue like its mother’s. Its, 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 Dog
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 stupidity 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 its 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 fought back some tears and kissed Chip’s head one last time. I didn’t know what the hell else to do, so I 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 nowhere 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 whatever 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 near 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.
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 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 side work, 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 (the name sounded middle eastern or something) 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.
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