Suspenseful Tales (2011) Page 7

  I dashed back to Stacy. The theater had darkened; a preview of an upcoming film flashed on the screen.

  "Where's the popcorn?" Stacy said.

  "I didn't get any. Your dad's here. I saw him buying a ticket."

  "Oh, no." She covered her face with her hands.

  "If he comes in for this movie, we're going to see something else," I said. "I couldn't stand having him in here."

  She sucked in air. "Daddy has never gotten on my nerves this badly. I think he knows there's something special between us. He's scared of what it might lead to."

  I frowned. "And what might it lead to?"

  "Later, " she said. "I'll explain later. Please trust me."

  "Why don't you just tell me what's on your mind?"

  But she had raised a finger to her lips, motioning behind us.

  I turned. I saw a tall, hulking silhouette in the doorway at the back of the theater. There were two aisles, and we were near the left one; slowly, the figure marched down the right aisle, head swiveling back and forth, looking for either a seat—or for us.

  "That's him?" I said in a whisper.

  "I think so."

  I grabbed her hand. "Come on, let's go see something else."

  Masked by darkness, we slipped out of there. I did not look back to see if Mr. Payne saw us leave. I had the bizarre notion that if I glanced in his direction, he would be watching me. Like a creature of the night, he seemed to have heightened, almost extraordinary senses.

  We entered the theater at the end of the hallway. It was a horror flick, and it was dark inside. Luckily for us, the opening credits had just begun.

  We found seats in the same area as before. Far left corner, against the wall. Stacy took the seat near the wall, and I sat beside her. I put my arm around her. She snuggled closer.

  "I forgot to ask you," I said, "do you like horror movies?"

  "I love them," she said. "Especially monster movies. This is one of those, isn't it?"

  "Yeah, something about a werewolf." I recalled the lurid poster beside the movie entrance.

  She grinned. "Ooooohh, that's perfect. I only hope it's realistic."

  I was about to ask how a film about a werewolf could possibly be realistic, but then she kissed my lips, no, tasted my lips, and I didn't care about asking her questions. I didn't even care about her father. I cared only about being with her.

  She lay her head on my shoulder. I stroked her lustrous hair.

  Maybe we were falling in love. The idea worried me. How could I resolve my case if I were in love with her? Love would make it difficult, if not impossible, to carry out my assigned task.

  Rather than mull over the situation, I immersed my attention in the movie. It was a gory show about a pack of werewolves that tore through a quiet Illinois town. The acting was terrible, the dialogue was stilted, and the plotting was choppy, but it nonetheless got a huge response from the audience, especially Stacy. Every time a werewolf ripped out someone's throat, she whooped, and she sighed with something approaching ecstasy at every drop of spilled blood. I got the weird feeling that she rooted for the werewolves to prevail over the humans.

  But I didn't complain. We explored each other's bodies quite a bit during the show. At several points, we become so entangled that I wasn't sure whose limbs were whose. We might never have done any of that if she hadn't been so engaged by the film. Not only was I curious to see if this new level of intimacy would loosen her tongue on family matters. I also, I admit, looked forward to becoming better acquainted with her body.

  As the closing credits rolled down the screen, the theater lights brightened. Hands entwined, we stood. I led the way to the crowded aisle ... and then I glimpsed a familiar shape in the corner of my eye. I spun.

  It was Mr. Payne. He stood two rows behind us. He glared hatefully at me. I realized, with despair, that he had witnessed every kiss, every forbidden touch that I had shared with his precious daughter.

  Mr. Payne pointed a long finger at me. "You!"

  I shrank back. People around us looked, curious and alarmed.

  Stacy gripped my hand. "Daddy, you shouldn't have followed us!"

  "I'm only looking out for your best interests, sweetheart," he said. His eyes burned into me. "I should kill you."

  "Will you relax?" I said. "We only watched a movie!"

  "Bullshit. I saw you. You were all over her!"

  The crowd snickered. Heat flushed my face. I hated that he had chosen this place to make a scene.

  Mr. Payne charged toward us. The crowd fled out of his path like antelope fleeing a lion. Indecision, disbelief, and fear had rooted me in place. I stood there holding Stacy's hand, while fury seethed in her father's eyes. His hands clenched and unclenched, as if in eagerness to crack my neck.

  Spurred to move, I pulled Stacy backward. As though she weighed no more than a Barbie doll, Mr. Payne grabbed Stacy by the arm and yanked her toward him. She cried out, her hand slipping out of mine. Using one huge arm to cradle his daughter against him, he thrust his other arm toward me.

  "Stay away from my little girl!" He shoved me. I flew backward, tripped on something, and hit the floor.

  I lay sprawled in the aisle, gazing at the ceiling.

  Agreeing to this assignment had been a mistake. Mr. Payne was too volatile for me to get close enough to him to learn the truth. The safe, slow-moving course of action sanctioned by my superiors was not going to work. If I were to succeed in my mission, I'd have to break protocol.

  I was more certain than ever that Mr. Payne was a killer. With his tendency toward violence and fiery temper, I could believe that he had slaughtered several men, as the rumors indicated. All in the name of protecting his lovely daughter.

  By the time I got out of the theater, Mr. Payne was roaring out of the parking lot in a silver Cadillac. Stacy was mashed against the rear windshield, mouthing my name.

  I raced to my car. I was about to jam the key in the ignition, when I noticed the front of my shirt, in the area of my chest that Mr. Payne had pushed. A couple of buttons had been torn off. Dark blood—my blood—stained the cotton. The blood had clotted and the small wound didn't hurt—in fact, I hadn't noticed the injury until now, maybe due to my dazed shock. But I thought of Mr. Payne's long, sharp nails. Nails like claws. Mr. Payne had left me no choice. I opened the glove compartment. Inside, a revolver gleamed. It was already loaded.

  With silver bullets.

  * * *

  When I arrived at Stacy's house, she answered the door. She ushered me inside.

  "I'm so glad you came," she said. "I'm sorry about what happened."

  "Your father went nuts," I said. "Is he here?"

  "He's out running."

  "Running? At this hour?"

  "He does it all the time," she said. "I usually go with him, especially when there's a beautiful full moon like there is tonight. But I was mad at him for what he did to you, so I stayed in." I nodded. "When will he be back?"

  "Later." She smiled seductively. "Relax, Nathan. We have plenty of time to pick up where we left off."

  She led me to the sofa. She sat on my lap, put her arms around my neck, and leaned toward me. I put my finger on her lips.

  "Not now," I said. "We have to talk." "What's wrong?"

  I was going to put everything on the table. "Do you remember Terrel Williams?"

  She suddenly drew back. Anxiety lit up her eyes.

  "Who is he?" she said, her quavering voice betraying the fact that she knew who I was talking about.

  "You dated him three months ago," I said. "You went out with him a few times, until your father apparently decided that he didn't like him. Someone discovered Terrel's body in a forest. His corpse had been mauled, like a pack of wolves had attacked him."

  I drew the crime-scene photograph out of my jacket pocket and held it in her face. She gasped. She climbed off my lap, her hand covering her mouth.

  "Nathan," she said. "I'm sorry. I ... I don't know what to say."

  I whi
pped out another grisly photo.

  "How about David Taylor, a guy you dated last year? Remember him? Yeah, this rotted corpse with its neck chewed in half doesn't resemble him at all, but I think you know who I'm talking about. Your father hated him, too."

  Tears shimmered in her large eyes. She hugged herself.

  "Where did you get those pictures from?" she said shakily.

  "Doesn't matter." I didn't enjoy forcing her face into this dirt, but it was necessary to stop these games. "We know what's been going on."

  "I'm so sorry." Tears rolled down her cheeks. "Daddy can't control himself. He gets crazy when he doesn't like the guys that I date--"

  "Don't make excuses for him. Your dad is a blood-crazed killer. He's only using his desire to protect you as an excuse to indulge in these wild killings. He has to be stopped."

  "What do you mean, stopped? Are you a cop?"

  "I am a cop, but not the kind of cop that you might think."

  "What do you ..."

  A howl pierced the night, silencing her I did not know exactly where the howl had come from, but I knew what it had come from, and I knew it was not far away.

  I gripped Stacy's shoulder. "If you like me as much as I like you, you'll tell me everything. No more secrets, Stacy."

  Her eyes were wary. "But he's coming, Nathan. Do you have any idea what he'll do if he finds you here?"

  "I'll take the risk. I have to know the whole story."

  She slumped on the couch. Stared at her lap.

  I pulled over a rocking chair, sat across from her.

  "I'm waiting," I said, rocking back and forth. I was trying like hell to convince her that I wasn't afraid.

  She said, "Eight years ago, on a family vacation in Arizona, my mother was killed." She paused and looked at me, as though checking to see whether I believed her. I said nothing, only nodded. She continued: "My dad and I found her body. It was torn to pieces. Before we could even think about what to do, me and my father were attacked, too. But we weren't killed. We were bitten and turned into ... well, you know what we became, don't you, Nathan?"

  "Yes," I said.

  "What happened to my mom scarred both me and my father pretty deeply, but my father's pain is more obvious. He became obsessed with protecting me, with making sure that I never ended up like my mom. Pretty foolish for him to worry about that, considering the abilities I have, but in his mind I'm just daddy's little girl, like I've always been."

  "Go on," I said.

  "He's as obsessed with protecting me as he is with making sure that I hook up with the right guy. I mean, the right guy, whoever he turns out to be, will have to become one of us. He'll have to become part of the family, in every way. That's why he's been giving you so much hell, Nathan. He doesn't think you're right for me, and he's trying to scare you off."

  "Without resorting to killing me, I presume," I said. She winced.

  "Terrell and David were sweet guys, " she said. "But they were much more aggressive than you are. Daddy didn't like that at all. He tried to make them leave me alone, but the harder he tried, the pushier they became. Daddy had finally had enough. So he ..."

  "Slaughtered them," I said. "There are others, Stacy. I don't have photos, but I know that Mr. Payne had been busy 'protecting' you for at least the past five years. Over a dozen innocent guys have paid the price for being interested in you."

  "He's not a killer, Nathan. Please don't make him sound like he's evil."

  I touched her face. I felt bad for her. She was immersed in denial.

  Another howl shattered the night. It was getting closer.

  I glanced at the windows, at the shadows surrounding us. He would be there soon.

  Stacy straightened. "How did you learn so much about us?"

  "Word gets around," I said. "When someone has been as wild as your dad has been, others notice. I pursued a relationship with you because I was asked to learn the full story."

  "You mean you dated me only to learn about my father?" she said. "You used me?"

  "Hold on, don't get mad. Yes, I first wanted to date you to find out about Mr. Payne. But when it became obvious that we clicked so well, I started to fall for you."

  She smiled a little. I could not return her smile. I was conscious of the howls. They were getting much closer.

  "So who sent you to me?" she said. "What kind of police do you work for?"

  I opened my mouth to tell her when an angry roar filled the air. A huge, dark shape hurtled like a torpedo through the living-room window, shattered glass flying everywhere.

  The intruder landed in the far comer of the room, an area dense with shadows. I glimpsed a hairy, hunched form, like a big man on all fours, and I heard husky breathing issuing from the beast.

  Stacy grabbed my hand. "Come on. If you want to live, we've gotta get to my room!"

  We ran to the staircase. Behind us, the creature growled. I looked over my shoulder.

  The animal had moved out of the shadows. In spite of the glossy coat of grey fur, the long snout, and the sharp, canine teeth, I recognized who it was. The eyes gave it away.

  Mr. Payne. The werewolf.

  "Hurry!" Stacy pulled me upstairs. We scrambled into her bedroom, then she slammed and locked the door.

  "Do you want to be with me?" she said. Her eyes blazed.

  "Be with you?"

  She grasped my shoulders. "Do you want me to be with me? Forever?"

  I stammered. "Stacy, I have to do something."

  "What?"

  I opened my jacket, revealing the gun holstered on my hip. I pulled the revolver out of its sheath.

  Stacy retreated a few steps. "Please, put away that gun, Nathan."

  "Sorry, but I'm only following orders." I grabbed the door knob and flung open the door.

  "No!" she said.

  Ignoring her, I moved to the staircase. Mr. Payne, the werewolf, bounded up the steps. The beast leaped over three and four risers at a time. It snarled, saliva flying in thick ropes, eyes aflame with inhuman rage and hunger.

  My hands trembled. He was so enormous. If I missed, I was finished.

  The werewolf sprang toward me.

  I squeezed off one-two-three shots, the revolver booming like a cannon. One misfired round plowed through the railing; one smacked into the creature's chest; and the third drilled it between the eyes.

  The beast shrieked. Leaking dark blood like a busted water hose, the werewolf rolled down the stairs. It crashed to the floor with an impact that reverberated through the house.

  Then, silence. The creature lay on the floor unmoving. Dead.

  I closed my eyes.

  My assignment was accomplished. It wasn't handled in the neat, thoroughly documented manner that my superiors would have preferred, but they would accept my work. They would have to accept it. I was one of the few detectives in the world qualified to handle this kind of case. The scarcity of individuals in my position provided job security.

  "You killed him," a guttural voice said from behind me.

  It was Stacy. She crouched in the doorway. She had begun to metamorphose, too: pretty nose lengthening into a canine snout, claws pushing through the tips of her slender fingers, coarse hair covering her creamy skin...

  "I had to kill him," I said. "Unchecked beasts like him make it more difficult for all of us. He was violating the code."

  I thought I saw confusion on her rapidly transforming face.

  I wanted to explain, so I said, "Our power lies in our secrecy. Your father was killing at will, and that isn't allowed. Kills have to be carefully planned and concealed, or else, the safety of our entire breed is threatened."

  She dropped to the floor on all fours. She raised her long neck, stretched her jaws wide. Her thick tongue swept across her rows of sharp teeth.

  She howled.

  "I'm responsible for enforcing the rules for us," I said. I looked at the revolver in my hand. "According to the rules, I'm supposed to slay you, too. I'm not allowed to leave witnesses."
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  I studied Stacy's werewolf form. She regarded me with her dark eyes, panting softly, expectantly.

  She was gorgeous.

  I tossed aside the gun.

  "But you know what?" I said. "I never follow all of the rules. There's a full moon tonight. And I don't know about you, but that tiny steak I ate earlier left me hungrier than ever ..."

  DEAD TO THE WORLD

  The man kept calling about his check . . .

  "Where's my check?"

  Sitting at my desk in my tiny cubicle, rocking slowly in my chair, I bolted upright and tightened my grip on the telephone handset. Don't let this guy be another one, I prayed. I'd been answering calls for two hours that morning, and I'd taken enough blows from irate policy owners to leave me feeling like a punching bag. I didn't have the endurance to face another angry customer. After all, during my drive to work, I had miraculously avoided what could have been a fatal collision with an eighteen-wheeler. I wanted to spend the day gazing out the window, silently thanking God for sparing my life.

  Please, let this guy be a quick transfer to another department.

  "Before I can answer your question, sir, I'll need your policy number," I said. "Can you give that number to me, please?"

  He rattled off a series of digits. As he spoke, I entered the numbers on my computer. His policy information, visible in green type, filled the black display.

  The Chicago-based company I worked for, Lake Shore Insurance, offered medical, disability, group life, and individual life coverage. Separate departments administered each kind of insurance; I worked in the individual life area. Although our toll-free number gave callers a department menu that should have always connected them to the appropriate areas, in the course of a day I often transferred a dozen misdirected calls. But there would be no quick transfer this time. As I studied the screen, I saw that this guy had an individual life policy. Great.

  I steeled myself for the oncoming abuse. "And what is your name, sir?"

  "Ralph E. Stone, from Peoria, Illinois. Ain't you got that on your screen, boy?"

  "Yes, sir, I do, but I needed to confirm your identity," I said. "Okay, Mr. Stone, you were calling about a check?"