The Monocle Man Read online

  The flames cut the distance between it and Jakob. They pushed through Jakob’s monocle in a fury, the dirtied glass no longer reflecting the flames away, erupting from the back of the young man’s head in a blaze of sinew and fire. Lillian and Crowley looked on in horror as Jakob fell back, his lifeless body crashing to the ground. Where the stream of molten fire fell, the wood ignited. In seconds it spread. Crowley scooped Lillian up in his arms as she screamed for Jakob. But Crowley knew the time for his saving had come and gone. He raced out of the house with Lillian in his arms. Moments later the two stood outside the house on Loch Ness, and watched it burn.

  THE WAREHOUSE 3

  SATIN CITY/THE Warehouse…

  Kaitlin’s screams fade in and out. They come in a series of roars, only to dwindle into murmurs. The pain has taken hold in her wrists and broken arm. But worse is the sense of dangling hundreds of feet off the ground. The weight of her, being pulled by gravity, wrenches every muscle in her body. Her head lolls, eyes threatening to close as she drifts in and out of consciousness.

  All of this is fine with him. He doesn’t need her to scream long. Not loud even. He’s sure the creature is somewhere near. It has a sense of sniffing him out; knowing where he might be on a regular basis. Sure, the big man does his best to hide himself, but he who he hides from has a much more keen sense of smell. Like now. He can smell the age of the creature. Smell the stitching in his skin, the chemicals used to sew and preserve the man over a century ago. So no, the screaming doesn’t need to last. And when he looks up he can’t help but smile as the girl’s head falls limp, her eyes shut. He’ll enjoy the quiet while he waits for the other to arrive.

  It doesn’t take long. The big man’s footsteps crunch on the gravel outside the warehouse door. He walks around the building, stopping at the entrance. With a grunt, he forces both hands forward. The door blows in off its hinges. It skids across the concrete floor for several yards before coming to a splintery stop. His eyes scan the warehouse as he steps through the doorway. They see first, the girl dangling from the rafters. His big heart aches at the sight. Though he’s been around for generations, there’s always one thing he can never wrap his head around. The need for evil to always present itself.

  Across the way, he sees another. This one looks more familiar. In his nearly two-hundred years of walking this earth, it’s one sight which will linger in his mind until his dying day. If such a day exists. The husk lying on the floor, curled and crumbling, jolts memories of the previous he’s found like this. Countless young girls, raped of their innocence, sucked dry of their essence. He only hopes that beyond this realm, there’s a place where souls such as theirs can find peace.

  His brow furrows, the seams in the patchwork on his face standing out more. Time has helped to fade the patches of various skin so their color is more consistent. But where the stitching that once held him together lies, the seams there redden as the skin wrinkles in his disgust. He grits his big teeth, his breathing heavy, angry, and a little spittle falls from his lips. His massive hands work open and closed, the fingers tensing, wanting desperately to choke the life out of the creature who did this to these girls. Maybe once and for all, he’ll get his chance. The scuff of a shoe on the concrete pulls his attention back toward the girl dangling above. From around the side of the support column, a man emerges. He knows this man. Knows him all too well.

  Leaning against the column he looks across the warehouse at the big, patchwork man. He can’t help but admire him. The artwork. The science. Even the immortal evil which spurned the thing to life. All of this is wondrous. But two-hundred years is a long time to be looking over one’s shoulder. And as he considers entering his next two-hundred or more, as he himself has walked the earth long before the patchwork creature came to be, he’d like to do so without this looming shadow over his shoulder.

  “Have you taken a name yet?” he asks the hulking man. The big man frowns, biting back the rage within. Always with the talking. Every time the two of them meet.

  “Forest,” the patchwork man answers.

  “Forest?” The other inquires, his tone suggesting sarcasm.

  “Man call me Forest. I Forest.”

  “Ah, yes. I see now. A giant among the trees. A man so large, only a name as such might fit.”

  “Why, girls?” Forest’s eyes lean up to Kaitlin, hanging limply above.

  “Why girls? Or why do I do this to these young ladies? My friend, you’ll have to grasp the concept of the finer points of conversation if you’re to continue in this world. One must articulate.”

  “Why girls?” Forest’s huffs.

  “Firstly, girls because I am a sexual creature. I am a daunting figure of the night, and figures as such always prey on the young, the beautiful, the innocent. Secondly, why do I do it? Because I can. It’s what I was made to do.”

  “Made?”

  “I say made, but it’s not as you comprehend such a word. You, in fact, are made. Scrapped together of many, with no singular soul within. An abomination.”

  “You, abomination.” Forest nods toward the man.

  “Ha! Maybe.”

  “Let down,” Forest commands.

  “How do you know she is still alive?”

  “I hear breathe.”

  “Astounding,” the man returns, looking truly interested. He’s never considered how far the patchwork man’s senses or capacity for thought may have progressed over all these years.

  “Now, let down.”

  “Just a moment. Just a moment.”

  “Let down. Maybe I not kill you.”

  The man lets a moment of silence pass between the two of them. He looks across at the big man, this Forest, furrowing his brow and pursing his lips as if in deep contemplation. Slowly, a smile spreads across his lips. He does enjoy the sport. The fervor Forest carries with him. His laughter fills the warehouse. It bursts from his lungs in a huge bellow, crashing through the silence.

  “You really are a piece of work. Try as you might though, you can’t kill me.”

  “Not have to. Make call already. But will. Want to.”

  “You… wait. You made a call already?”

  “Yes. Call. On way.”

  “Ahhh…” the man’s face lights up, understanding the meaning. The authorities were surely en route. He contemplates how much time he has, given the amount of time the two already spent talking. “Well then. I guess time is short.”

  He smiles once more at Forest, then reaches out to his right and grabs the rope wrapped around the column. Forest’s eyes dart up to the girl hanging there. With a yank, the man unfastens the rope and lets go. The sound of the rope grating against the rafter echoes throughout the warehouse, a chainsaw cutting the silence. Forest’s eyes widen. He watches in dismay and jumps forward. Just a few yards from the falling girl a hand slams against his throat, stopping him in mid-stride. In his anguish, he’s forgotten who this other man is. What, he is. Forest is pushed back, the man anchoring his strength against his own bulk. The rope on the rafters goes quiet in a whoosh.

  Kaitlin’s body crashes to the ground in a fury of limbs. They break, snap like twigs. Her arms and legs bend at awkward angles, a jumble of flesh. Here and there the impact explodes her skin. It tears and rips as she collides with the ground, bursts of crimson spray in all directions. Her head makes the loudest of thuds, her skull splitting.

  The two men stop their wrestling a moment, Forest’s eyes gazing over the other’s shoulder at the mess of a body just yards away. The young girl’s become a heap of broken flesh and bone. A puddle of red pools beneath her. Her head is turned toward them. One eye closed, the other open, as if pleading with the big man. Her face is mashed, teeth lying on the concrete, tongue hanging from her lips. The rage within takes hold.

  He reaches up and slaps away the other’s arm. Takes the man’s neck in his own large hand and squeezes. It’s the first time in all their meetings that Forest finally sees fear on the other’s face. With the other hand he grabs th
e man’s belt. Hoists him overhead. Without thinking, he throws him; tosses him as if he weighs nothing. The man’s body arcs through the air. He crashes to the ground just left of Kaitlin’s broken body, sliding a few feet along the concrete until his back slams into the support column. There’s an audible crack. Pain seizes the man’s face. A pain he all too rarely feels. A feeling he’s almost forgotten.

  The big man then takes strides; angry, his feet thud against the warehouse floor. His chest and back heave with massive breaths, a man driven by rage. Rage and opportunity. For once, he has the upper hand. For once, he might finally conclude that which he was brought into this world to do. Destroy this thing lying before him. He reaches down with his hand, ready to seize the man’s throat and crush the life out of him.

  The first bullet echoes in the warehouse. It cuts the distance, the sound following only slightly after the projectile leaves the barrel of the gun. It slams into the big man’s shoulder. He’s caught unaware, though it does little damage. A second and third erupt from somewhere else. The first of these blows through his calf, catching mostly meat. The second lodges in the back of his upper thigh. Forest stands and turns.

  In the heat of the moment he hadn’t heard the officers enter the building. He’s surrounded. They both are, he thinks. Then realizes his mistake.

  “Stay where you are,” one of the officers shouts.

  “Detective Dori? Are you all right?” Another adds.

  “Just in time boys,” Dori hisses with amusement, watching the hope drain from Forest’s face.

  Forest lets out a bellow; a roar that nearly shakes the warehouse’s foundation. He takes several steps toward the door. Pop! Pop! A few more bullets are let loose. One in the shoulder, one in the other thigh. But Forest isn’t going down. He barrels through two officer’s standing by the exit, pushes them aside like rag dolls. Steps through the door into the daylight. The cacophony of gunfire rings loud. Bullets slice the distance between him and the officers outside. Most are standing behind their cruisers. Shotguns and firearms sound over and again. The patchwork man is a pincushion of tiny crimson eruptions as each bullet finds its mark.

  With an immortal vigor, he takes more and more steps. He’s slowing, but not close to stopping. He continues out across the landscape, across the parking lot to the brush in the lot next door. He ventures escape. His back is peppered with more shots, and he can hardly wrap his head around the scenario. All he wanted was to do good. To help destroy something truly evil. He falls to one knee. Is pushed forward by a few shotgun blasts. Goes down on one hand. Smiles. Maybe this it. Maybe this is over. Maybe, he’ll finally get to sleep forever.

  “Sir,” one of the officers says. He leans over Dori, trying to keep his eyes off the battered remains of the girl lying not a few feet from them. “Sir, are you all right?”

  “I’m… yes. I’m ok.” Dori responds.

  “Let me help you,” the officer says, gently plying Dori from the ground with a hand beneath his arm.

  “Did… did we get him?” Dori asks, sounding exhausted and beaten.

  “I’m not sure. I still hear gunfire.”

  “Take me,” Dori commands.

  Dori and the officer step out of the warehouse. Nearing the cruisers, Dori shrugs the young man off and continues. He listens as the other officers contemplate among themselves.

  “What is he?”

  “It… don’t you mean it?”

  “How is it not dead yet?”

  “Jesus, I’m all out. I unloaded everything and he’s still breathing.”

  “Not for much longer.”

  “Look, he’s going down.”

  “But how is he not dead yet?”

  Dori extends a hand as he passes one of the officers. The officer looks at him in confusion. Dori wiggles his fingers and nods with his chin. The officer gives up his firearm and watches as Dori cuts across the lot and into the brush. Several officers have the big man circled, guns trained on him, telling him to stay down. Forest remains on one knee, hunched over, leaning on one hand planted in the soft ground beneath. He smells the other near him. He’d be able to pick the stench of evil out of anywhere. Sighs. Offers a silent prayer that at least maybe this will be over for him. Accepts his failure and closes his eyes.

  Dori extends his arm, setting the barrel of the firearm just inches from the patchwork man’s head. Pulls the trigger.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  BEYOND THE VEIL 1

  BEYOND THE VEIL…

  Garrison and Annalise follow Brent as the boy races after the man with the monocle. Annalise gives Garrison a questioning glance. What did Brent mean by the man being on fire? Something about the man, his appearance, the way he speaks, the way he looks at all of them makes her uneasy. She hopes she’s wrong about him.

  Garrison watches in astonishment as Brent trails the man with the monocle and cane. His little brother scurries after and occasionally reaches out with a hand. The kid looks as if he’s trying to catch a fly, or some other invisible insect. Though the joy on his little brother’s face is as unnerving as the entire situation is. He’s getting a good deal of amusement out of all this. Garrison wishes he could feel the same. But what other choice do they have? They need a way out. So, do they have any other choice at the moment, other than take him at his word?

  The Monocle Man crosses the street in long strides; continues down the road in haste. He doesn’t once look back to check if the three are still in tow. Doesn’t need to. He can sense the currents of their souls. Knows very well they’re behind him, especially the little one. The one responsible for breaching the Veil. For the moment, he’s confused. The Veil itself, presents an array of problems. Getting in, and of course, getting back out require a certain divine intervention. One bestowed upon the caretaker of this place. As far he knows, no such intervention has taken place. So, how then? The situation doesn’t leave many options. Certainly, he can consider a variety of ideas, but in the end, there may be only one relevant answer. He’s asked the question already. Ponders it now. The answer however, will prove difficult to come to light. Things here are never as black and white as they are on the other side of the Veil.

  Up the street he banks a left down an alley. Part way down he pulls to a stop. When he turns, Brent is on his heels, nearly walks right into him. The other two, however, stand at the mouth, beckoning for Brent to come back. At first it doesn’t register. Then, the Monocle Man smiles as he realizes their fear. The alley is dark, almost black. Being in this place is unnerving enough. Especially for a group of children. Their imaginations brim with things conjured from and living in the shadows. With a snap of his fingers an eruption of light explodes from the sky above. Bright droplets of light drift down from unseen clouds. They dance and bounce as they hit the roofs of the buildings on either side. They jitter and come to a stop when they touch the ground, bouncing along playfully. The illumination brightens the alley. He tips his hat at the two still in the street, turns, and continues along his way.

  “Brent!” Garrison yells again. But his little brother doesn’t seem to hear him.

  “Should we follow?” Annalise asks, her eyes reflecting the droplets of light shimmering from the black skies above.

  “Don’t have a choice,” Garrison concedes. He takes her hand, pulling her into the alley.

  They walk for what seems like an eternity. The ever-growing dark stretches out before them, and as the Monocle Man takes each step, so too, do new droplets of light appear from nowhere, pushing a soft glow forward to light their way. Eventually, Garrison notices the differences. The alley which surrounded them not that long ago by buildings on either side is now lined by walls. Not walls of a building, just straight walls. Their immensity can’t be understated. He’s not sure when it happened, as it seems the structures somehow just melted into one another. To his left, behind one wall, he hears shouting. Cheering? The wall rises to great lengths. It stretches so far that it disappears into the sky above, out of eyesight. Annalise not
ices as well. She gives his hand a nervous squeeze, the structure looming malignantly over them.

  Soon they come to a door. This too is massive, double, constructed of old, thick wood and latched together by rusted wrought iron. The Monocle Man doesn’t pause, doesn’t stop to take out a key or touch the door handle. He walks toward it and both doors open inward, spilling out a hazy blueish hue into the alleyway. The man enters with Brent still at his heels, trying to catch the fiery aura trailing behind him. Inside, they follow him down a long corridor. The cheers become more clear now, louder. Part way down the corridor, another door opens, and the Monocle Man and Brent disappear within the room.

  “Please, sit,” the Monocle Man says, motioning to several chairs. They’re high-backs with a velvet fabric stretched over their cushions. They look pristine, brand new. “I’ll be with you shortly.” He leaves the room through another door to the right, closing it behind him. Or rather, it closes behind him. He makes no effort to touch the structure.

  “What are we doing here?” Annalise pleads once the door closes.