The Monocle Man Page 16

  The question lingers in his mind a short while. To partake or not to, in the pleasure of the flesh. He laughs aloud, a tiny, indiscriminate laugh as he shakes his head. He sensed it early, and senses it more so now. The things this girl had done. How he longed for the old days. The days when youth retained its innocence and a man could take what he wanted, knowing fully he’d be the first. How much sweeter the skin and the throes of ecstasy. The last several decades, if not century had done much to eradicate such innocence. No, even girls younger than the one standing in front of him bore some trace of having experienced such ways. In truth, it disgusted him.

  For a moment he closes his eyes, leaning his head back in remembrance. All those petals he plucked from the maidens which filled the gardens of his generation. They were countless. So young. Sweet to the touch and taste. Especially the taste. The uncorrupted’s blood flowed with rivers full of nectar. Nectar sweetened by their virginity. Yes. He missed those days indeed.

  He can smell it on her. The boys she’s been with. Traces of their fingers on her, their saliva, their lust, lingering on her flesh like a rotting bouquet. It taints her, and he knows well enough so too will the way she tastes. Never-the-less, this won’t sway him from his ultimate intentions. He reminds himself that her and her friend are merely a trap. And flies of this sort catch the biggest spiders of all.

  He smiles again, hearing the soft touch of her feet on the concrete floor. He admires the slyness of it, her trying to slink away; escape. He’d call it courage but he knows better. Often, courage is misinterpreted for desperation. And that is all she possesses at the moment. A desperate need to flee. So she tries to tiptoe away. He doubts very much if she knows she’s making such a noise he can even hear.

  “No,” he says. Keeping his eyes closed his smile widens. He can smell the new eruption of fear on her. How did he hear her? He knows the question is now running through her mind. “Just… stay.”

  Heather stops dead in her tracks. He laughs. A gasp escapes her friend from just across the room. He turns his head toward the other girl. Kaitlin. She calls out Heather’s name, but Heather doesn’t respond, frozen with fear. Her friend kicks up into a sitting position and struggles to get to her knees.

  “I wouldn’t do that,” he says shaking his head.

  “Let me go! You bastard! Let me-”

  “Shh, shh, shh.” He whispers, holding a finger to his lips.

  “Let me-”

  “Your turn will come soon enough.”

  He strolls over to Heather, eyes running the length of her body again, wishing she maintained her purity and steps behind her. Her friend watches in horror as the man’s hands caress Heather’s shoulders.

  “Leave her the fuck alone you perv!” Her friend screams, struggling to get to her feet. “You fucking animal!” As his hands continue their journey, he smiles again at the girl bound on her knees.

  He inhales her all the same. His nose and lips just at her neck while his hands clutch each of Heather’s arms. Kaitlin struggles to get to her feet again, but he sends another warning. Returning his attention, his fingers brush the back of her neck and Kaitlin notices a strange thing happen. It’s as if Heather’s fallen into a trance almost. Her eyes lull back in their sockets as if the mere touch of this monster causes her pleasure.

  Why isn’t Heather fighting?

  Why is she just standing there and letting him do this?

  He whispers in Heather’s ear. In response she bends her head to the side, eyes staring ahead. It’s then Kaitlin notices his mouth. The teeth specifically. The way they change. And his eyes. His eyes pool with a violent black, while the pupils narrow to reptilian splits, swirling with a dark incandescent crimson. She screams once more as his mouth envelopes Heather’s throat.

  ON THE ROAD

  ON THE ROAD…

  The snow had picked up some while in the diner. Light, fine and fluffy turned to dense and wet during the time he spent speaking with the waitress. He curses himself a little for wasting so much time. And for at least not checking on the weather with his own eyes during that time. But what’s done, is done.

  He trots down the several steps of the diner, taking caution on the slick surface, and makes his way to his car, just a few spaces away in the lot. A coating of an inch or two has collected on the hood, roof, and rear and front windows. Unlocking the front door with his fob, he leans in and sets his breakfast and coffee down on the seat and in the cupholder. When he stands, he takes one swift motion with his arm and pushes the snow from his windshield on the passenger’s side and across and off the hood. He does the same to the driver’s side before pulling off his now wet jacket and tossing in the backseat and settling himself in the car. Pulls the tab back on the lid to his coffee and opens the takeout container on the seat beside him. Reynolds starts his car, takes a sip of his coffee, and puts the vehicle in reverse.

  Moments later he pulls back onto the main route. He takes it easy in the accumulating snow and finds a nice steady pace where he can make progress without his wheels slipping. The snow comes at the windshield in large spots, and there’s barely a few yards visibility with his headlights trying to cut through the early morning storm. He considers pulling off again and finding a place to hold up. Wait the storm out. This storm that was never meant to be. But with the caffeine taking hold, and a few bites from his breakfast, he feels refreshed. Alert. So he carries on.

  His mind wanders to the conversation with his younger brother earlier. It had been good to hear Ben’s voice, even as disturbed as it sounded. And it had flattered him to a degree, that Ben thought Reynolds’ insight might help shed some light on the disappearance of the Holly boy. But the real truth of it was, he just needed to get the hell out of Satin City for some time. He knew it was the only way he’d be able to wrap his head around the uneasy sense about his soon to be ex-partner, John Dori. There was a whole lot there to unpack. To sift through. And without a little clarity, he wasn’t sure how he’d be able to go back and do his job. Allowing himself to fall into another case, one he could stand on the outside of, would help to both offer some reprieve from his current situation and allow his mind to keep working. Therapy. Often he considered his work in that way. His life, and the things he needed to keep in perspective were often reiterated by work. And of course, there was also the benefit of keeping his mind sharp. His senses keen. Which he felt, since partnering with Dori, had dulled. There was just something about that man. His skin crawls now, pondering it. But such thoughts are best saved for later. As he wants to be ready for things to roll this morning.

  So, onto the Holly boy. He remembers something of an accident. The kid wasn’t quite right in the head. Was that it? Had gone missing in the night. Slipped out of the house, presumably, unnoticed and unheard. He shakes his head as his eyes narrow at the storm out in front of him. Hopes the kid hadn’t, in fact, wandered out into the night. Not with the weather like this. And if so, he’s sure they’ll find him frozen to death somewhere on or around the property. But there had been more. What else had his brother offered in the email?

  Setting his blinker, Reynolds turns his car from the main thoroughfare and onto a back road. A shortcut known to locals, which will take him into the heart of Brookwise in just under an hour. Almost as soon as he makes the turn, he regrets the choice. The main road had been snowy, but, had also shown some signs of travel, the snow sloshing beneath his tires. Here, the crunch of fresh powder beneath the tires vibrates up the sides of his vehicle. He considers turning around, but decides to just take it slow. He’ll be a little later than expected. But he can’t avoid that. Not now. Not with this weather.

  A sip from his coffee cup lightens his mood. Almost soothes the touch of anxiety all drivers have when faced with such road conditions. He looks to the seat beside him. His breakfast is all but gone. If you could call it a breakfast. The burger had been thick and juicy. It was a wonder he hadn’t spilled it all over his shirt while driving. He supposed it fell into the category of break
fast, served with a smashed egg on top and a side of home fries. A few of these still linger in the takeout container. He reaches across the seat and plucks a few out, dropping them one by one in his mouth before washing them down with what’s left of his coffee.

  Both hands on the wheel, he lets his car pick up a little pace. He’s the urge to arrive as soon as possible. Brent Holly’s picture was attached to the email. And now Reynolds can’t seem to get the visage out of his mind. Though his mind has altered the image some. Colored the boy’s face blue. Frosted his lips as he sits in a pile of snow, his arms held close around him as if he might find some warmth from the storm. He hardly notices his foot setting down harder against the gas pedal.

  It appears in his headlights from out of nowhere. What it is, Reynold’s mind has little to no time to consider. A blur. A ghost. A black streak of something, sliding across the white without leaving a trail. Reaction takes hold as Reynolds slams his brakes and tries to steer. Though the wheels turn his car stays straight as an arrow. He nearly clips the blur before him, and instinctively turns the steering wheel to avoid collision. Within a second the car is sideways, and Reynolds’ hands try to correct on the steering wheel while his foot pumps the brakes at a feeble attempt to regain control. The car spins in a wide arc, then another. He can’t see, but senses the embankment approaching. In that moment the passenger’s side of the car drops and a period of weightlessness is replaced by the crunch of the side door. Reynolds reaches one hand up onto the interior roof to brace himself. The car flips. Rolls over its top. Several windows burst as the car bounces in its roll. The snow rushes at him; blinds his vision. A weightlessness engulfs the vehicle. Lifts his stomach. The car slams into a tree, bringing it to a violent stop.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  ENGLAND, 1919

  ENGLAND, 1919

  For the briefest of moments, Jakob wondered if the door would even budge. He remembered the previous encounter. How the door seemed cemented shut. As if some force on the other side attempted to hold it closed. Jakob pushed on the structure. It bore all his weight and more during the struggle, and he’d hardly moved it an inch. And when it gave way, it burst open and swallowed him into the room. He wondered if this would happen to Crowley now.

  With a deep breath Crowley set his hand upon the door handle and pushed. The door swung open. Almost silent. In fact, Crowley’s exhales made more noise than the hinges. He turned and nodded to Jakob, who bent and scooped up the bag at his feet. The bag holding Crowley’s instruments of restraint. He watched as the other stepped forward and disappeared behind the doorjamb. Moments later, in an act that might have seemed comical at some other juncture, Crowley’s head poked back out with his eyebrows raised high on his forehead. Jakob mustered an awkward smile and moved forward toward the door.

  Like a little child, afraid of reprimands from a parent at having done something wrong, he peered around the corner of the frame with caution. His eyes scanned the ceiling searching for some remnant of the bugs he’d seen before. The room looked undisturbed. Crowley stood at the foot of the bed. Jakob’s sister lie beneath the covers sound asleep. A silence hung about the room. An unnatural silence and yet, it all seemed… what? Tranquil? Lillian’s breathing, deep and furrowed, was that of someone lost in dreams and the only audible sound within the room. Everything else lay still. And everything seemed in its place. Jakob expected to find the room in disarray. After all, his last visit felt a like whirlwind had come through. But the dressers, night tables, and all the items atop them stood neat in their place. Almost as if someone had cleaned in the time he’d been away. Had his mother returned? He doubted it very much. So, how then? The look on Crowley’s face insisted there’d be little time for such contemplations.

  With some trepidation Jakob forced one foot in front of the other and pulled the bag into the bedroom with him. He walked toward Crowley who held up a hand to stop him, his eyes never leaving Lillian’s sleeping face. Patting his hand in the air, Jakob understood and set the bag down upon the floor. Jakob held his breath as Crowley drew in a deep one of his own and walked the length of the bed closer to Lillian. With slow and steady hands he reached down and pulled the blankets from her. The process was painstaking for Jakob to watch. An eternity seemed to pass in those moments the man took his time to remove her covers. Though the room had seemed to return to normal, his sister had not. She still wore the lower undergarments he’d left her in. The bruises and scratches upon the girls body were evident. Almost glowing. The dark bruises shown even in the low light of the room. He’d hate to think of the way she’d look if the curtains lay open. But Crowley insisted on leaving them closed, to not disturb the creature within with the light. For certain occasions, Crowley reminded him on the carriage ride, darkness would be their ally. Even if they were few and far between. This however, was one of those occasions.

  It took Crowley a length of time to peel back all the covers. These, he draped over the foot railing of the bed, exposing the young girl’s feet. He took another deep breath and pointed to Lillian’s ankles. Jakob nodded. He opened the satchel with care and pulled first, the face and wrist manacles from the bag, setting them on the floor. Next he removed the shackles and passed them to Crowley. Crowley took the apparatus and nodded to the left side of the bed. There, Jakob took up residence and helped Crowley about the deed. It took only moments for the sweat to leak from Jakob’s pores. He wiped his hands on his trousers several times before nervously reaching for his sister’s ankles. With one in each hand, he lifted her legs several inches. Enough for Crowley to scoot the shackles beneath her. He then laid them down, fighting the sting in his eyes as perspiration dripped from under his hairline. They both looked to Lillian when her feet were back on the bed as a slight groan escaped her lips. Both men sighed relief. One by one, Crowley folded over the top of the shackles and set them in place with an iron pin. They seemed on the larger side to Jakob. And he wondered how they would ever hold her. It looked as if her feet might slip right out of them if she chose. Crowley offered Jakob a smile, already knowing the thoughts going through the young man’s head. From the pocket of his coat Crowley removed a small bottle. The glass was dark with no markings. The top, stoppered up. Crowley removed the stopper and first, muttered something incoherent as his hand drifted over the shackles. He then tilted the bottle and wet the tip of his forefinger. When he touched the forefinger to each of the shackles, he whispered some other incantation. Before Jakob’s eyes, the iron device grew snug. It didn’t wrap itself around his sister’s ankles, but shrunk enough that she’d never be able to struggle loose.

  Crowley returned the stopper to the bottle, then the bottle to his coat. With a swift hand he removed a handkerchief from a back pocket and dabbed his brow. The mask of consternation on the man’s face worried Jakob. If the last deed had been nerve racking, he sensed the next would be more so.

  Turning to the bag, Crowley pulled out the manacles. Jakob, who had seemed to have forgotten, remembered then what lie at the bottom of the bag. The dreaded head restraint. He only surmised that once they’d bound Lillian with the manacles, the remaining apparatus would be next.

  “We must make haste,” Crowley whispered to Jakob. “The sun is coming up. And this next part will prove quite unpleasant if she wakes.”

  Jakob nodded to the older man. Crowley nodded to Lillian’s hands. With as much trepidation and caution as before, Jakob leaned over and lifted his sister’s two hands. Crowley worked deftly, but in silence. The chains hardly made a sound. And soon, the manacles were in place, secured. Or, at least in place after a fashion. Once more the older man withdrew the small bottle from his coat. Wetted his finger. And enchanted the manacles. Again, Jakob stood stunned watching the device size itself. As the restraints around Lillian’s wrists closed in, the girl’s eyes bolted open.

  From the corner of his eye Jakob saw the action. But there wasn’t enough time to react. Lillian screamed a throaty, deep, guttural cry as she spun from where she lay and jumped to h
er feet, crouching like a feral thing. Crowley tried to step away, but she lunged forward and grabbed one of his wrists with her two hands. The bottle clattered to the floor. Jakob wondered if the concoction spilled out. She pulled Crowley to her. Any closer and the two would be kissing. His eyes shot wide as the fetid breath of the girl made him sneer. But Crowley tried to muster some semblance of courage. Lillian smiled and spilt flew from her lips as she spoke.

  “Crowley,” she hissed. “Poor, poor Crowley.”

  And with a laugh she pushed on the man. Crowley stumbled back, loosing his feet, tumbling over his backside until he came resting against a dresser along the wall. The items atop clattered. Both the manacles and shackles rattled as Lillian spun to face her brother.