After Death (32 page)

Fernando’s heart raced and a new emotion took hold as he recovered from his fright — Revenge.

He started the car with a sharp turn of his wrist.

That thing had scared the shit out of him — Time for a little payback!

He drove around the block half expecting never to see it again — it had been like a specter — able to appear and disappear at will. To his surprise, there the mangy beast was, loping away from him right down the center of the street.

His mouth set in a vengeful smile. It was a reverse of the earlier scenario, instead of coming towards him through the lit pools of the streetlamps, now it was running away — passing through a light circle and then reappearing in the next one farther on…

He swung into pursuit, pushing the gas and accelerating. He gained on it quickly — it still ran directly in the center of the street, there was no increase in speed or deviation.
This would be too easy.
He laughed;
payback was a bitch.

“Teach ya to fuck with me, scrounge hound.” He called out to it as he closed the final distance and brought his bumper right up on its tail —

It abruptly made a right turn down another street and Fernando barely managed to control the car, spinning wildly, then managing to correct and point the car after it in a squeal of breaks and rubber.

At a dead stop, with his headlights righted, a strange scene was illuminated — The beast now stood in the center of the street and
faced
Fernando’s car in confrontation, its baleful yellow eyes glaring, teeth bared.

Fernando stared at it in disbelief. The situation was surreal — could it really hope to withstand several tons of speeding metal? When it snarled defiantly, he couldn’t help but laugh and his eyes narrowed down to intense slits.

“See ya in speed bump heaven, scrounge hound!”

He thumped the gas pedal to the floor and the car thundered ahead, loud and aggressive in the still night air. But the beast didn’t move a muscle. Hackles raised and saliva dripping onto the cement, it waited on bristling haunches for the final showdown. The car was on it in seconds — and Fernando braced for impact —

And then Frank stepped awkwardly into the headlights, his clothes rumpled, hair disheveled.

Fernando swerved and narrowly missed him, the passing air making Frank’s un-tucked shirt dance and his hair rise straight up. Fernando fought with the wheel for control and the car shimmied on the wet street and spun, headlights racing across the neighboring houses in a tight arc. It finally came to a hard stop against the side of a high stucco yard wall with the loud scrape of metal and a deep drum-like thump.

Fernando was rattled and shook his head sharply side-to-side as if trying to get his wits realigned in his head. He saw Frank still standing in the middle of the street and rolled down the window to scream at him.

“What THE FUCK you doing, Frank! I almost killed you, you crazy son of a bitch! You know how close you came!”

Frank turned and faced him and Fernando saw that he was wild-eyed, his face haggard and drawn. He seemed confused and his movements were oddly discombobulated.

“My wife, Fernando..!” He barely suppressed a sob and continued: “She’s gone! You gotta go to the police for me — file a missing person’s…”

Frank continued to turn in an ambling circle, his arms bouncing up and down as though controlled by a drunken puppeteer.

“What’re you talkin’ about, Frank?”

Fernando was trying to absorb all this; the near miss, Frank’s terrible appearance, now this news about his missing wife… and Frank kept turning, looking around, his eyes rolling.

“My wife, Fernando! Gone! Fucking gone!”

“Jesus, Frank…”

Fernando opened the car door.

“Let’s go, Frank. Get in.”

Frank shook his head in long wags side-to-side and almost looked as if he would fall down from the exaggerated movement.

“I gotta find the fucker. I gotta get him.”

He turned away and began walking off down the street, his steps uneven, his route an exaggerated zig-zag.

Fernando yelled after him.

“Hey! Frank — Get back here! Where you goin’, man?!?”

Lights came on in several nearby houses. A robed woman opened her window and yelled at Fernando with an annoyed snarl.

“I called the police!”

He slammed his car door and pulled out into the street, a long thick scar of paint left on the stucco wall in his wake. He drove quickly around the block twice — then widened his search to a larger area. The wail of a siren in the distance interrupted his investigation — It was time to go, if they caught him he’d be in more trouble than he could handle. He tried one more street.

There was no sign of Frank or the dog.

The ancient door rattled on its hinges and Frank didn’t wait for an answer, just went right on pounding — the blood from his cut hand running into the dark grain without him noticing.

“Open the goddamn door, Burt! OPEN IT NOW!” He yelled.

He kicked at the door in maddened frustration. One of the vertical sections splintered and started to break. He backed up and bellowed for the fifth time:

“OPEN THE GODDAMN DOOR, BURT!”

A strange guttural groan that was somehow defiant sounded from inside and incensed Frank. He rushed at the door and slammed into it hard with his shoulder. Another plank cracked. There was pain from the impact but he could barely feel it — it was way at the back, submerged under the focus of his one and only goal —

He had to get to Jackie — That was the only thing that mattered now. How dare this cretin obstruct his rescue when Jackie was in harms way!

He backed up again —

One more good bash should do it.

He lumbered forward in long, even strides — He would obliterate that door if he had to. He leaned into the final lunge — and the door abruptly opened and he had to fight to regain his balance and avoid collision. A part of Burt’s disheveled face peeked out.

“I’m gonna call the police you crazy nutball!”

Frank stepped up to the ruddy nose of the quaking fat man and glared, voice a seething hiss.

“By the time they get here you’ll be dead unless you tell me what I need to know, Burt. The cave you described as Eli’s lair — WHERE IS IT?”

“You’re crazy!” Burt blurted and shut the door — but not before Frank stuck his injured hand inside and when Burt forced it closed, blood squeezed out like jam from a jelly donut. Frank didn’t even flinch — He simply didn’t care anymore.

Frank used his gory hand to wedge the door open further, gradually forcing his arm in until he could finish with a swing of his elbow that sent Burt flying back out of the way.

Burt landed against a wall on his butt and Frank thundered inside and leaned into his bleary face with menace:

“THAT’S RIGHT! I’M CRAZY! And I’m gonna rip your fucking head off unless you tell me where that cave is!!!”

Burt tried to crawl and escape behind some leaning stacks of newspaper, mumbling feebly as he went.

“Go to hell.”

Frank stalked after him with renewed purpose.

He had no time for this bullshit — No Time! His Jackie was in danger — He WOULD rip this imbecile’s head off if he needed to! He meant every word!

He flung the first thing in his path tumbling out of the way — A microwave crashed loudly to the floor.

What would it take to make this cretin understand?

“That’s exactly the point, Burt! That’s exactly where I want to go. You think I’m kidding?!?”

He turned a corner and found Burt cowering behind a broken refrigerator.

Frank snatched up a lamp at the top of another pile of used items. He looked it over — It looked pretty good, the shade was in good shape, almost new —

Not anymore
—

With a snarl he hurtled it against the wall over Burt’s head with such force, the bits scattered across the room like shrapnel. He took another step towards Burt on the floor and barked at him making him flinch.

“Hell is where the heart is, Burt! The heart of evil!”

Frank knew he appeared like an absolute psycho, he could feel the little fragments of spittle gathering at the corners of his mouth like a rabid dog — He could feel the adrenalin rippling through him like electricity, making his hands shake and his fingers quiver with rage. But none of that mattered, nothing except finding his loving wife, making her safe — And Burt was protecting that monster! A new current of fury washed through him:

“I want a fucking map to get me there or your shit won’t be the only thing I smash, Burt!”

Frank felt his reason cloud — All he could think was:

This fat turd is in my way — He needs to tell me what I want to know before it’s too late!

He grabbed things around him at random. A toaster — Boom! It exploded against the wall. A radio — Boom! Now total wreckage. A chair — Crash — right through the back window. Again, he turned his eyes on Burt.

Enough of this fucking shit! Next his head — his head through the fucking window!

The words slithered out between enraged teeth:

“Tell me what I want to know, Burt.”

He grabbed the next thing he found within reach — a color TV.

Nice and heavy — It’ll make a nice crash. But not as nice as Burt’s head —

Burt pulled himself to his feet, wailing.

“Stop! Stop! Not the TV! Not the TV!”

The fat fuck lives
, Frank thought grimly.
Too bad — The TV would make a nice crash. Okay, speak, imbecile. Speak fast!

Frank grunted and glared, the TV poised over his head, his arms quivering with the exertion — waiting. But Burt seemed to freeze up. The impulse to heave it at the fat fuck’s head rose up in his mind.

Two pieces of crap destroyed in one heave. It would be justice. The idiot crushed to a pulp by his precious TV. It was almost poetic. But it wouldn’t get him what he needed. It wouldn’t get him to Jackie.

“Well, where is it, you piece of shit? WHERE THE FUCK IS IT?”

Burt finally awoke with a facial twitch.

“Top of the Willoma trail.” He said quickly but quietly, as though considering what this information would cost him. He finished even more quietly, resigned. “Right of the forked oak.”

Frank made a motion as though to heave the TV anyway — He wanted to get a reaction. He wasn’t about to let him off the hook yet — not until he had what he needed.

“I want a map, Burt. Very detailed, very accurate.”

Again Burt seemed frightened into inaction. Frank knew the answer to that problem. He towered over him with the TV ready to drop on his head. It was so heavy, it would’ve been so easy to just let it drop, let it end this poor slob’s miserable existence. He resisted the temptation — barely.

“RIGHT NOW, BURT — RIGHT FUCKING NOW!”

Burt twitched back into action and crawled pathetically towards the kitchen for pen and paper.

***

Frank stepped out into the chill night air moments later with the map clasped firmly in his hand.

He should have hurt him
, Frank thought.
He was an accomplice of the monster — both then and now, he was an accomplice.

He looked again at the crude map in the light of the bare porch bulb.

It had better be right. It had better get him there or he would come back and really finish the job.

Frank looked around the shabby neighborhood full of decrepit shacks that seemed dark and abandoned. He whistled sharply through his teeth.

“Argus! Argus, where are ya boy?”

There was no sign of his dog and he had pressing matters to take care of. He tried a few more times without result.

He’s a resourceful dog — He’ll turn up
, he thought, but it disturbed him.
Where had that dog gotten to?

He had no choice. With a heavy heart he got into his car and whistled one last time before taking off back down the mountain. He would find Jackie, save her, and then find Argus. He hated having to choose but what else could he do?

***

The shakily drawn map was barely adequate but Frank made it to the winding roads of the Santa Monica mountains without incident. It was a different route than he’d taken before with Jackie — this time he connected with the pass from the backside, where the roads were wider and less steep and the mountain was mostly long rolling hills rather than the steep grade of earlier in the night. It was strange to think that he had lived his whole life not far away and yet was still totally unfamiliar with this local geography.

A thickening fog began to rise and he slowed down on a straightaway to check the map. He fumbled with one hand in the glove compartment until he found his flashlight and shone it on the wrinkled paper in his lap. There was supposed to be a turn-off soon but he had no idea of how far along it was because Burt’s map was a piece of crap… Nothing was even remotely to scale and there were no indications of distance. With the combination of the map and the worsening weather, his anxiety was growing. His adversary was virtually unknown to him except for the memories he had of Eli as the kind old man at the hospital — memories that he now knew were completely false. They vied against the contradictory images of a shadowy figure cajoling his boys into killing their mother or a younger Eli luring innocent Ricky into the cave or the even more disturbing memory of Eli’s crackling face rising out of the plaster visage of Christ and taunting him. He tried to put these distracting thoughts away. Now there was only one thing that mattered, it was the most critical piece of the puzzle and everything was riding on it: How vicious was Eli likely to be with a hostage.