The Monocle Man Page 13

  “She must be bound! If she is bound, then so too will the creature inside. And to do this, we may have to get physical. Some harm may even come to her. I venture to conject, harm will most certainly come to us all!”

  “All right,” Jakob acquiesced in a near whisper. “What do we do?” He finished, sitting up again and leaning back in the seat. His eyes locked on Crowley’s, and though they flooded with intense fear, a level of resolve lay stern beneath the surface.

  “Listen well, and I shall elaborate.”

  3

  3.

  When the carriage pulled up alongside the curb to Jakob’s residence, he nearly got sick on the sidewalk as he stepped down. His head swam. His heart felt leaden. Without prodding, Jakob’s limbs refused to move. No, he would not enjoy what came next at all. Especially, as Crowley insisted, if the creature within his sister stirred.

  Crowley patted Jakob on the back, a vain attempt to console the young man. He tried so desperately throughout his life to at least appear bothered or worried. But his attempts at feigning pity or sorrow were so very scarce. Crowley was simply not built in that fashion. He couldn’t relate to the young man any more than he could relate to a piece of toasted bread. He bore no sense of pity for the lad though he knew he should. Or at least, he expected that society and the world as it were, demanded such things of him. But he was not sorry in the least. No, far from it. Crowley was far too excited for this opportunity to feel anything but an ebullient joy. Disconnected. That’s how Crowley had been described by so many throughout his life. But he brushed the comments off. To him, all the phrase meant, was that he didn’t hold the same sentiments or morals as most. He couldn’t allow himself to. Not in the least. Not if he wanted to succeed where others failed. And he planned to be remembered throughout history.

  He patted Jakob none-the-less. Consolation could go a long way in the world, he had learned, even if it were far from genuine. Jakob needed the encouragement. He sensed a certain resolve in the young man. A purpose that lingered because Jakob had no other choice. And the fate that would await his sister seemed far more sinister than that of which they were about to embark upon. But Jakob also looked scared. As he should be. Crowley’s only concern being, whether the creature inside that little girl would see it as well. And if so, how would the demon use that against the two of them? So Crowley gripped the young man’s shoulder with force, trying to pour some sense of confidence into him through touch.

  But Crowley’s patience only lasted so long. With a stern pat to Jakob’s upper back, he stepped in front and led the way to Jakob’s front door. Jakob shook himself from his reverie, the blur barely dissipating, but waning enough for a moment’s clarity. He slid the key home and the bolt echoed from within. When the door swung open on its hinges, both were assaulted with two things. The first, imminent silence. The quiet wrapped itself around everything, like a thick fog, oozing out of the door. Jakob would swear it wafted over his shoes as its tendrils crept up his ankles and slid beneath the fabric of his trousers. His skin grew cold as it slithered against his legs. Crowley however, appeared invigorated. As if the cool, dreadful touch of that silence were an ice bath, shocking him awake.

  The second assault bore a sensory aspect as well. A stench clung to the air. Clung to the very silence. It didn’t waft so much as hung in sheets. As if it dared not leak too far out into the street. Afraid the fresh air outside might somehow tarnish the pure, evil thickness. Jakob bit back, his stomach lurching and the contents of breakfast threatening to evacuate his stomach. Crowley closed his eyes against it as he took several steps and entered the home, closing his mouth and inhaling deep through his nostrils. Again, the two men were opposed. One, affected to the point of mental disintegration. The other, almost invigorated by the experience as a whole.

  Crowley waited a moment, just a few feet inside the door as Jakob steadied himself. He urged the young man forward, raising his eyebrows with an expecting look. When Jakob entered, Crowley pushed the front door shut. A near-complete darkness swallowed them both. The waning moonlight filtered through a few of the downstairs windows. It peeked out into the hall here and there once their eyes adjusted, from the few rooms on the first floor where the curtains stood ajar. The one window at the end of the upstairs hall allowed a streak of moonlight to cast about upstairs. But it did little more than light anything but the floor and a few of the top stairs.

  Jakob blinked, trying to get his bearing. This was of some concern. For at once he seemed a stranger in his own home. It didn’t smell like the home he knew. It seemed the building was in disrepair. Unclean. As if his mother, who toiled often with keeping things dust free and tidy, had long since vanished, the only occupants now, neglect and discomfort. But a sound from above proved the building hosted at least one more tenant than those. Jakob’s head snapped in the sound’s direction, his eyes looking above, to the hazy bit of moonlight showing through the second floor railing. No. This was no longer his home. It belonged to something far more sinister and unwelcome.

  The muffled echo of heavy, industrial metal pulled Jakob from his gaze. At the foot of the stairs Crowley was shaking the satchel in his grasp. Jakob remembered why they’d come. Their true purpose. And the implements of their endeavor within the bag grasped by Crowley’s thick fingers.

  “Steady yourself Jakob,” Crowley spoke in hushed tones. Jakob nodded back.

  With cautious steps, Crowley ascended the flight of stairs to the second level, Jakob close in tow behind. Outside the bedroom, Crowley set the satchel down and pressed an ear to the door. With a finger to his lips, he motioned for Jakob to maintain silence. The object here would be to capture the child while she slept. Or at least while the creature inside her slept. Jakob strained his ears. He heard a soft thud earlier when they entered. But now, everything seemed calm. How long they stood like that, Jakob holding his breath and Crowley, his head to the door, was hard to tell. For it seemed an eternity. Crowley licked his lower lip, his tongue playing over its skin a moment before nodding to himself. He pointed to the bag at his feet, and Jakob understood the meaning. Understood his new charge. With a deep breath, Crowley turned the handle on the bedroom door, while Jakob prayed it would make no sound when the man pushed it open.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  BROOKWISE, NH

  BROOKWISE, NEW HAMPSHIRE

  The cough sounds as if it might shake the walls. In the evening’s quiet it echoes loud through Garrison’s bedroom. He grits his teeth a moment, wondering if it might be heard down the hall in his parent’s room. His shoulders raise, his head bows while waiting for any indication of movement in the house. When Annalise clears her throat a second time, this time louder than the last, Garrison spins on heel, shooting a glare from a face turned stone. He puts a finger to his lips, while Annalise lays propped up on one arm looking back at him, smiling.

  “And you’re going?” She questions, gesturing with a hand.

  “Shh. Just wait! All right?” He purses through tight lips in a whisper. Garrison cocks his head to the side, listening. Moments pass before he breathes a sigh and tiptoes over to the bed. He kneels next to it, his hands steadying him atop the mattress. Annalise doesn’t pull back, but leans closer.

  “Well?”

  “Well, what?”

  “Come on Gar. What are you up to?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  “Yeah. Nothing.”

  “Dressed with your boots on, you’re doing nothing?”

  “Yeah.”

  Her eyes burrow into his as she shoots him a “give me a break” kind of look. With one stroke, Annalise sweeps back the blankets. She nearly bowls him over with her arm. She swings her feet off the side of the bed and walks across the room. Her boots sit next to a bookshelf, socks bundled together but peeking out of one.

  “What are you doing?” Garrison asks, trying to resolve his voice to a simple hush, but his angst nearly getting the better of him.

  “Same as you,” sh
e returns, pulling the socks from the boot and unfurling them. At the end of the bed she sits and tugs one on. “Nothing.”

  “Annalise… listen. Um… I… You can’t… we…”

  “I can’t what? Can’t come?” She gives him a moment to retort, but is met with silence. “Well, I am. Especially if you’re not gonna tell me what you’re up to.” Garrison’s sigh whistles in the darkened bedroom.

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “Can’t? Or won’t?” Annalise straightens the sock across her toes and bends to pull on her first boot.

  “Can’t. You’ll think I’m crazy.”

  “Crazy?” Intrigued now more than ever, she pauses with the second boot and leans closer to Garrison, a smile spreading across her lips and question in her eyes. “Try me.”

  So Garrison divulges everything. As he paces the floor, the story leaks from him in a trickle at first, with hesitation and concern. But soon his lips are moving fast and the events spill from him in a flood. He tries desperately to keep his voice a near murmur while his heart races and nervous beads of sweat form on the back of his neck. He leaves no details untold, right down to the small piece of wood left to mark the trail he plans to embark on this evening.

  At first, he can see the doubt in Annalise’s eyes. He shouldn’t have expected anything less. But the longer he talks, the more she furrows her brow. Not in the sense of doubting his words, but with true consternation regarding the dilemma. He finishes the tale and waits for a reply. She sits there, at the end of the bed, one boot pulled on, her other leg bent at an angle over her knee; the remaining boot resting atop her lap. But for a while she remains silent. Her eyes don’t reveal whether she’s contemplating the tale. But they search his.

  For truth?

  For sanity?

  Garrison can’t be sure, but he fears time is running low, even if it’s still early evening. He breathes deep, about to speak when Annalise adjusts her position on the bed, leans forward and pushes her other foot into the empty boot. She stands and tucks the sweatpants Garrison gave her to sleep in, into the tops of the boots and laces both tight without saying a word. Once her boots are laced, she stands and walks over to him. Places her hands on his arms, just above the elbows and leans in. She kisses him on the lips, then pulls back looking a little frightful at her boldness, but smiles again.

  “I’m coming with,” she whispers.

  “Are you sure?” Garrison’s still stunned by the remaining warmth on his lips, left by hers.

  “Of course I’m sure.”

  “And… you… you believe me?”

  “I think so.”

  “Think so?” The dismay in his voice couldn’t be any clearer. He hoped she’d believe. But can he really blame her for being skeptical? No, he can’t. Even he isn’t entirely convinced his mind wasn’t playing tricks.

  “Hey,” she says, fingers lifting his chin. Her eyes finding his again. “Whether I believe everything isn’t really that important. Is it? If you think there’s a chance we might find Brent, I’ll go with you.”

  “Right,” Garrison says, resolved. “Good. Ok. Let’s go then.”

  2

  2.

  With trepidation the two exit Garrison’s bedroom, walking on the carpeted hallway and down the stairs into the kitchen. A little luck is on their side as his dad left the flashlights on the table. Three, standing erect on their glass fronts, like metal spires growing from the wood. Garrison grabs one and hands it to Annalise. The second he takes for himself and the two tiptoe to the front door. Both claim their winter coats hanging on the hooks in the small foyer, pulling them on. His hand turns the handle and pulls the front door open. They shiver in turn at the chill as they step out into the night and onto the front porch. Annalise pulls the front of her jacket closed and works the zipper, yanking it up near her chin. Garrison follows suit to a degree, zipping his as the two bolster themselves against the cold.

  The moonlight playing through the clouds helps to illuminate the yard to a degree, and Garrison suggests they keep their flashlights off for now. At least until they’re behind the woodpile where their light will be harder to spot, in the event one of his parents happen to wake and look out the window. Annalise keeps close as Garrison leads the way around the house and to the pile stacked high with wood. Just beyond, she spies the small piece Garrison used to mark the trail. Here, he pauses. Looks out into the night. She follows his gaze, but sees little. Just beyond the edge of the wood, the trees sit in a thick grouping, closer together, making it difficult to peer too far in. But his gaze doesn’t wane. As if he knows what he’s looking for. As if… he can see clear as day.

  “Something there?” Annalise asks. Her voice is barely a whisper, the cold restraining her vocals as is the consternation on Garrison’s face.

  “Nothing yet.”

  “How do you know you’re in the right spot?”

  “This is where I heard him.”

  “Brent?”

  “Yeah. This is just about where I was standing when he first called to me,” he states, pointing at the small piece of wood just a few feet before them. She’d already seen the wood. Had already surmised this was why they were standing here. But in some way, she’d expected he’d have a more direct course of action.

  “It’s cold,” she mutters, trying not to sound like a whiny girl. But it really is cold outside. Both their breaths dance in the moonlight. More so when they speak. Each a reminder the temperature is dropping.

  “It shouldn’t be too long.” His statement is barely consoling. There isn’t much hint of actual consideration in it. It’s more something he’s expected to say, given the circumstance. If anything, Garrison’s distraction shows on his face. He’s convinced Brent will call out to him again. She can only hope he’s right. Her toes are growing numb, even in her boots. And she silently wishes she had on thicker socks.

  Annalise tucks the flashlight between her legs and raises both her hands, grasping her arms up near the shoulder and rubs some life and warmth back into them. Her fingers grow brittle in the night, and she curses herself for forgetting to grab a pair of gloves. She’d thought they were in the pockets of her jacket. But didn’t bother to check during their stealthy escape from the house. But they’re not there. And she’s paying for it now. Swapping out, she spends a few moments rubbing her arms and the next blowing warmth over her hands as she cups them in front of her mouth.

  Garrison takes a step, and it pulls her mind away from the cold for just a moment. The look on his face. As if he’s heard something. She turns her head, listening. But hears little more than the breeze in the branches. It whistles in a way, high pitched, soft and somewhat melodic. Though occasionally the sound dips to a lowered register and becomes almost haunting. But only for a moment, before it picks back up again and the soft whine lightens the air with its music.

  “Did you?”

  “Shh,” Garrison snaps, holding out a hand to quiet her. She wonders how his fingers aren’t freezing like hers. His eyes never waver from the treelike ahead, but his brow furrows, and she senses he’s listening as well. Not like her though. He’s not straining. Rather, waiting for a sound obvious to him to play again. “There… you hear it?” He asks her. But in fact, she doesn’t.

  “Gar, I don’t-”

  “Listen,” he insists. And so, she closes her eyes. And listens. Again, the wind carries through the trees. Soft, high, melodic until just there, underneath it somewhere, a whisper trails. The sound is muffled. Beneath the rest, like a cloth stuffed in a mouth, while that mouth tries to speak. Soon it grows a little louder; more distinct. A voice. Her breath catches in her chest. “See,” he says, smiling. “I told you he’d call for me again.”

  Garrison wasn’t lying. She hears the voice. It calls out to Garrison. And even to her there’s no mistaking who it belongs too. His little brother, Brent.

  “I told you I wasn’t crazy,” Garrison mutters into the night.

  “Gar, I never thought you were crazy,” Ann
alise insists.

  “No?”

  “No,” she answers with certainty.

  “I would have,” he offers with just the touch of a smile. He’s looking at her now, and she finds it harder to breathe. Not from the cold, but from the hold he has on her at this very moment. The something in his eyes, both wild looking and yet so full of hope. Almost on the verge of tears. As Brent’s voice carries on the night, calling out for his older brother, she watches so much emotion flood across Garrison’s face. She wonders how he’s coping with even a fraction.

  “What now?” She asks, rubbing her hands together.

  “We find him,” he states as a matter of fact.

  “Lead the way,” Annalise insists.

  Garrison takes one step before pausing. He looks back at her as she takes her first step. With a smile, he reaches down and pulls up her hand in his. His fingers are warm, and wrap around her little hand like a blanket. She can’t help smile back. He turns on his flashlight and shines it ahead of them. She grabs up hers with her free hand and turns it on in like. With a tug, he starts off again, towing Annalise behind as they make their way away from the woodpile, and trudge through the snow, breaking the tree line ahead of them. Soon, the trees and the night swallow them, the gentle beams of their flashlights barely cutting the dark.