PREFACE

8:00PM, a routine security check.

When there was no response to his gentle but constant knocking on the door, the Head of Building Security Martin Kemp grew concerned. Usually Elsa answered after the first or second knock telling him to go away, but this time there was only silence.

Reasoning she might be indisposed Kemp tried the intercom, letting it buzz continually for several moments. When there was still no response he knew something was wrong. Elsa had been growing increasingly depressed lately and he naturally feared the worst.

Without waiting for clearance from Mr. Whitfield, Kemp took a single step back and kicked the carved mahogany doors open, allowing the bright glare of the fluorescent lighting in the corridor to spill into the dark penthouse apartment. "Elsa?" he asked, cautiously stepping across the threshold.

Still no answer.

And still no sign of her, not that he could see much beyond the faint circle of light he stood in. Able to see in total darkness Elsa never turned on the lights. Switching them on Kemp made a quick but thorough search of the penthouse. He even looked inside the closets and kitchen cabinets. Elsa could be pretty cagey when she wanted. But unless she possessed the power of invisibility she wasn't there.

Clenching his strong white teeth, Kemp spoke into the small two-way radio on his collar and less than a moment later was joined by two men dressed in matching dark blue, military type jumpsuits, each wielding a tranquilizer dart gun.

"She has to be here somewhere," one of the men said, retracing Kemp's steps. She couldn't have just hopped in the elevator and strolled out the lobby doors."

"You don't know Elsa," the other man replied, holding his weapon at the ready as if expecting to be attacked from any direction at any moment. Despite being exactly six-two and two hundred and thirty pounds of muscle he was shaking like a kid investigating the neighborhood haunted house. "God only knows what black magic or voodoo that chick is capable of."

Kemp started to tell the men to be quiet when he noticed that the terrace doors were open. The heavy drapes used to keep the sunlight out fluttered in the cool night wind. Breathing a sigh of relief he stepped through the doors, expecting to find Elsa, quite pleased with herself for all the trouble she had caused. They had played this little game of hide and seek several times before. But this time his relief was premature.

Elsa wasn't in the pool, or hiding behind the small jungle of potted exotic plants she kept. There was nowhere else she could possibly be, nowhere she could have gone. Except....

Kemp's blood ran cold as his eyes were drawn toward the thick brick wall enclosing the terrace. "Oh my God," he muttered as he walked over to the wall. "I know she's been depressed lately but I never would have imagined she was capable of--" The words died on his lips as he looked down, fully expecting to see Elsa's broken and twisted body on the sidewalk some hundred and fifty stories below. But there was no body, no morbidly curious crowd gathering to gawk at the tragedy.

Kemp silently thanked God. He was about to order a search of the entire building when he noticed several deep gouges in one of the sheets of granite cladding the walls of the building, holes where Elsa had used her claw-like fingernails to climb safely down to the street.

Kemp shook his head slowly in utter amazement. He knew Elsa was incredibly strong, she had once accidentally broken his wrist while arm wrestling.

The two security guards joined their leader. One of them, a black man with a shaved head whistled, unable to believe his eyes. "Martin, did she really do what I think she did?"

"Oh yes," Kemp replied, sticking his right forefinger into one of the holes. It went all the way in to the second joint. "Come on, boys. Let's go tell Mr. Whitfield his daughter has escaped."

CHAPTER 1

Two men stood in a small, brightly lit room with white tile walls. A third man, or rather what was left of one, lay between them nude on a cold, stainless steel table.

Mack Kincaid, one of the living, stared silently at the mangled body, growing increasingly nauseous as the autopsy continued. He would never have imagine a human being, even a dead one, could smell so bad but Bill Metts, the County Coroner and Mack's brother-in-law had declared the pathetic lump of torn flesh and jagged bones had indeed at one time been human.

Bill Metts hated his job and was in an even worse mood than usual this evening. It had been a long hard day and he had been on his way out the door, looking forward to catching the first game of the World Series on TV when the State Police called, asking him to come out to the train crossing on Highway 12 to pick up the body of a local man who had been drinking and thought he could beat the train. Or at least that was what someone had wanted it to look like.

Bill was half tempted to list the grossly obvious cause of death as heart failure but unfortunately the Police didn't have much of a sense of humor. More than once someone had taken offence at some small wisecrack or what he thought were humorous personal observations scribbled into the margins of his reports. Next time stick to the facts, they would say, your personal opinion in official police affairs is neither wanted nor appreciated. But then all they did was push papers from nine to five, they didn't have to poke and prod around dead people's insides for a living. A macabre sense of humor was vital when you worked with the dead.

Mack, a professional writer of mystery and horror stories with just a touch of soft-core pornography mixed in to keep the reader's attention, jotted down Bill's off color comments as he performed the autopsy. All the wonderfully gory details and medical terminology would eventually find their way into one of his novels featuring his mystery solving adventurer the daring and devilishly handsome Dirk Steele. In fact, most of his stories were based upon actual cases that made their way onto Bill's dissection table. It gave his work a sense of knowledge and gritty realism few other authors could match. It also spared him from having to do too much real research.

The two men were quite a pair, complete opposites yet closer than brothers. Mack, at six-five and one hundred and seventy pounds was an ungainly figure of a man with bone thin arms and legs ending in unusually large hands and feet. He had a long, drawn out face with sharply defined yet pleasant features and a head of unkempt straw blonde hair he constantly had to brush out of his eyes. All his life he had invariably been compared to Ichabod Crane from "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow."

On the other side of the spectrum, Bill was somewhat short at five-eight and considerably heavier at an even two hundred pounds which was just beginning to spill out over the top of his belt. He had pleasant but unimpressive features, the kind that allowed him to easily blend into a crowd. His eyes were light blue and looked out at the world from behind a pair of old fashioned wire frame glasses where they always seemed to be hiding some deep and melancholy thoughts. Unlike Mack who was almost always disgustingly cheerful, he was soft spoken and solitary. He was also only too aware that his sanity was hanging precariously near the edge.

"Death," Bill proclaimed in a rather bored tone as he returned the corpse's organs to the body cavity and closed the skin flap, "was due to massive trauma resulting in deep lacerations across the chest, carotid artery, thorax and abdominal cavity."

Mack glimpsed up from his notepad, cocking an eyebrow. "Say again?"

Bill smiled. "He got tore up when the train hit him. It must have been doing eighty when it came around the corner, didn't have half a chance to stop."

"Torn up is an understatement," Mack replied going back to his scribbling. "This poor guy is in more pieces than a bucket of the Colonel's chicken."

"Yes and there's still ickier stuff to come."

"Oh joy."

Bill grinned. "Cheer up, your readers ought to get a real kick out of this gruesome little tidbit."

Now Mack was interested. "Well do tell, Doctor Metts. Our dozens of fans are waiting."

"Well to begin with, despite what you might think, our friend here was murdered. He was dead long before the train got to him. Here, see for yourself." Bill rolled the corpse's partially crushed head over, revealing a small hole behind his left ear.

"What is that?" Mack asked, squinting to get a better look.

"That is a bullet hole, small caliber, probably from a .22 pistol. I believe that's the way the Mafia used to whack people they didn't like back in the good old days.

Mack's large brown eyes lit up with excitement. "You think the mob has come to Montevallo?"

Bill laughed softly as he turned toward the gurney holding his surgical tools." I seriously doubt it. More than likely it was his wife's doing. One of the cops that helped me load him up in the wagon knew him, said he was a violent drunk and wife beater. As a matter of fact he got drunk and smashed his wife's face in this evening just before his little encounter with the train."

Mack chewed the eraser on his pencil, attempting to mentally piece the gruesome scenario together. "So, wifey finally decided she'd had enough abuse and plugged him when he wasn't looking, and then she took him for a ride down to the tracks."

"More than likely," Bill said, reaching for a surgical probe. Removing the slug he held it up to the lights for a moment where Mack could get a good look and then casually tossed it in the waste basket in the corner.

"Hey, wait a minute. Don't you need that for evidence?"

"Evidence of what?"

"Murder, of course. You can't just throw away a piece of evidence that will allow a murderer to go free."

Bill sighed as he removed his surgical gloves, dropping them in a hazardous waste container on the wall. "Look, Mack, the guy got what he had coming to him. There's no sense in ruining some poor woman's life just because she couldn't take his abuse anymore. As it stands now he's dead and no one will bother to question my findings or her alibi."

"Well, I suppose I can still salvage a story out of it," Mack said, clearly disappointed.

"Terrific, I'm delighted. Just make sure you change the names and locations just in case some local law enforcement official who secretly enjoys reading trash fiction stumbles along and puts two and two together."

Mack smirked at Bill's little barb, not the least bit offended. They had been best friends since grade school and were always trading insults, all in good fun, of course. "You're developing quite a cruel streak, Doctor. Have you ever thought about becoming a literary critic? Or maybe the guy that pulls the switch down at the state prison?"

"At least I'm not hanging around the morgue when I don't have to. Don't you have someone else you could pester for awhile, like maybe my sister who was crazy enough to marry you, bringing eternal shame to my family?"

"No, Bill darling," Mack replied with an exaggerated lisp. "It's you that I love! It's always been you! I know, what say we run away together? We'll go to San Francisco. They'll understand us there!"

Ignoring Mack's playful banter Bill rolled the table and its inanimate occupant over to the cooler at the far end of the room. He then made his way over to his desk. Picking up a clipboard and a ball point pen missing its cap he began filling out the forms to make the death of one Jack Pritchard, 46 nice and official just the way the law liked it.

Halfway through the second page of paperwork he let out a sigh, leaning against the edge of the desk. "What is it?" Mack asked.

"The same as always, too many customers. It's been like Labor Day for the last two months, gunshots, stabbings, auto wrecks, drug overdoses. Just the other day a seventeen year old kid was brought in after shoving a cherry bomb up a cat's ass."

"How the hell did he manage to kill himself doing that?"

"The cat's owner lit another one and made the kid swallow it. Turned his insides into spaghetti."

"Ouch."

Bill shook his head slowly, staring at his sneakers. "I'll be honest with you, Mack I've just about had it. I don't know how much longer I can keep going. Maybe it's time for a change."

"Now don't go talking like that," Mack said, leaning against the opposite wall, his long spindly arms folded. "Where would I get all those wonderful ideas for killing off the characters in my stories if you didn't get so many interesting customers? Why we're the Elton John and Bernie Taupon of second rate pulp literature."

Bill nodded as he went back to filling out the forms. "I know, Mack. And believe me, I certainly don't mind my share of the money from the paperback sales, but this is supposed to be a three man operation at the very least, and that's without all the extra business we've been getting lately. I don't know how much longer I can play butcher, baker and candlestick maker."

"Well have you asked for help?"

"Of course, at least once a week."

"What do they say?"

Bill shrugged. The same old excuses, there isn't any money in the budget to hire me any assistants or it's already been allocated elsewhere."

"Maybe they could legalize murder and sell hunting licenses for humans," Mack suggested. Then they'd have enough money to buy you an entire staff of assistants."

Bill ignored Mack's wisecrack, once more attempting to concentrate on filling out the forms. Finally he gave up and set the clipboard and pen on the desk. The pen rolled off the edge of the desk and halfway across the floor but he made no effort to retrieve it. His face was ashen and for just a moment it looked like he was about to break down in tears.

"How long have you been here?" Mack asked, growing concerned.

Bill shrugged again, exhaling softly before replying. "Since about six this morning, I wanted to come in early and at least try to catch up on some of this blasted paperwork."

Mack shook his head, clearly disgusted. "Jesus, Bill, no wonder you're in such bad shape! You're killing yourself with these crazy hours you keep."

"It isn't the hours, Mack, or even the work, it's the monotony, one mangled body after another. Sometimes I wonder if all human beings are capable of is inventing new and more gruesome ways of killing one another, bigger guns, faster cars and more powerful drugs."

"Maybe you could take some time off," Mack suggested. "You could sit around the house for a few days, drink beer and watch TV in your underwear."

"I don't like beer."

"Then take a trip down to the Gulf and watch all those pretty teenage girls falling out of their bikinis. Hell, I'll even go with you in case you've forgotten what you're supposed to be looking at."

Bill managed a slight smile as he scratched his chin. "I'm too old to even think about teenage girls anymore, and so are you, Mr. Kincaid. Besides, who would take care of all my stiff friends if I took off? You know how easily dead people get bored."

"Yea, I know." Bill was still smiling but Mack could tell he was in great pain inside. The poor guy was so miserable and lonely it almost hurt to look at him. He had even taken to talking to himself when he thought no one was around. Mack wondered how long it had been since he'd enjoyed a little female companionship. "Bill, Eve has this friend in her Wednesday night ceramics class, Nancy something. She's just gotten divorced and--"

"Forget it, Mack, no divorcees. My nerves still haven't recovered from the last jealous ex-husband that tried to run me off the road. Besides, you know how I feel about divorce."

"Just think about it, Bill. Please?"

"Sure," he said as the smile faded from his lips. "Now help me tuck our friend here in the cooler. I believe I'll put him in Drawer-14. It's a little on the small side but it's got a terrific view and the walls have just been painted the most delightful shade of mauve.

Realizing his oldest friend wasn't in the mood to play any longer Mack helped Bill load the body into the cooler then left, grabbing his coat off the rack on his way out the door. He had enough rough facts to begin outlining the murders in his new novel and needed to get to work on it while the ideas were still fresh in his mind.

But he couldn't stop thinking about Bill. Mack had realized long ago, back when they were just kids, that Bill wasn't exactly what one might call a people person. He'd always had trouble interacting with others, especially women. In fact Mack wasn't entirely certain he wasn't still a virgin. If they hadn't grown up together he might have been completely friendless, and probably just as happy, or miserable depending on which emotion his ever changing disposition leaned toward at the moment.

Climbing into his car, an immaculately restored 1976 Buick Electra convertible, Mack made his way home, still fretting over his best friend's psychological wellbeing. He and his wife Eve had already discussed the possibility of an intervention to suggest that Bill get some help but there was no telling how he might react.

While Mack made his way home Bill sat at his desk in his office. Fishing a bottle of Zoloft out of the cluttered top drawer he popped two of the pills in his mouth, washing them down with a sip of warm 7Up. The medication helped but even it wasn't enough to completely silence the voice.

The voice had been Bill's constant companion since childhood but up until the last year or so it had been a minor nuisance that would only occasionally whisper some negative thought to upset him when things were going too well. Now it was screaming, nitpicking every little thing he did, every thought he entertained.

Despite what Mack and Eve thought Bill was only too aware that he needed help. He also realized that a very sizable part of his illness was due to his work and the social stigma surrounding it. After all, he was a licensed GP and could make a hell of a lot more money looking down the throats and ears of runny nosed six year olds than he was prodding around the insides of dead people. Eve was always pressuring him to do just that. She even had a girlfriend down at the local real estate office that had already picked out the perfect office space.

Leaving the morgue and his inanimate customers behind was a nice idea, but whenever Bill seriously entertained the prospect the voice would bring up all the bad memories. Despite what most people thought being a doctor wasn't all leisurely six hour days at the office with every week scheduled around Wednesdays playing golf or tennis at the country club.

There were also those times when something went wrong. And no matter how much a patient might fear getting bad news it was almost as traumatizing for the physician to be the bearer. "Of course, you can always get a second opinion. And then there is prayer."

Mack was right about one thing though, why should he kill himself putting in twelve and fourteen hour days when the State couldn't even cough up enough money to at least hire him a part-time assistant? What he ought to do was take some of those vacation days he'd been saving, just long enough for the bodies to start piling up. But what was the use? It was just as bad being alone at home as it was the morgue.

Finally finishing up the rest of the paperwork on the corpse in drawer-14 Bill tossed the clipboard on the desk and switched off the lights. He'd had enough gore for one day and was ready to go home, grab a bite to eat and doze off in front of the TV. Yes, there was no doubt that he led a rich, full existence, he thought, grabbing his coat off the hook on his way out the door.

Sometimes Bill found himself wishing that at least some of the crazy stories the kids in his neighborhood whispered about him were true. According to the juvenile gossip, weird Doctor Metts often brought dead bodies home from the morgue and performed all sorts of experiments on them in his garage late at night, the results of all this sinister activity being a monster rivaling that of Doctor Frankenstein himself.

Some of the little bastards even claimed to have sneaked a look through the garage doors and observed him hard at work stitching his creation together.

And when the kids weren't whispering about him it was their parents. "A man his age and still a bachelor. You know what that means. I won't let my kids go anywhere near his house.

Once, Bill's next door neighbor, Edna Martin, an incurable snoop and indisputable queen of the town grapevine took it upon herself to walk over to the fence one Saturday afternoon while he was washing his car and bluntly ask if he ever dated. Just as a joke he replied that yes, he did. As a matter of fact he had recently met someone wonderful and was seriously contemplating marriage. Paul, his name was.

The look of utter disgust on Mrs. Martin's face was priceless. But before he could tell her he was just kidding she hurried inside her house, slamming the screen door behind her. Naturally, she hadn't spoken to him since. Some people simply couldn't take a joke.

Of course most of the time it wasn't so amusing being the town eccentric, especially when coming home from work so late at night. The house would be empty and silent, the lights off. A house without a family was like a grave no one ever visited. But there he went, thinking about his future again.

Bill was also painfully aware of what both Mack and Eve really thought about him. He had overheard them whispering more than once, seen the way they looked at him, pitying him. Weird Uncle Bill their kids, that is if they ever got around to having any, would call him.

With all his emotional problems it had been difficult enough trying to maintain a healthy social life as a GP but becoming County Coroner all but destroyed it. For some strange reason women were instantly turned off when you told them you worked with the dead.

Of course there was that one very nice girl he met at Mack and Eve's Christmas party last year, the one that said she had always fantasized about making love in a real morgue, surrounded by corpses in the dark.

And as if his life wasn't already tragic enough tonight was grocery night. He was exhausted and reeked of a delightful mixture of antiseptics and death but the old kitchen covert was bare except for a couple of cans of tuna that were about a year past their expiration date. If he wanted to eat he would have to stop by the all night market.

Following Mack's enormous size-18 footsteps Bill left by the rear exit, closing the heavy steel door and activating the security system with his personal eight digit code. As soon as he punched in the last number three red lights above the keypad flashed on, indicating the system was armed. For all the good it would do. Kids from the local liberal arts college were always breaking into the morgue when the fraternities were pledging new members. At least once a year some poor unsuspecting kid was blindfolded and locked in one of the cooler drawers.

The fifty thousand dollar security systems stopped the unwanted nocturnal visits for a little while but the kids soon broke the code and were now able to come and go as they pleased, no matter how many times the numbers were changed.

After securing the building as best he could, Bill made his way across the parking lot to where a lone car waited, covered in a thin layer of water where it had rained that afternoon. Removing the key fob from his jacket pocket he unlocked the doors of the Plum Crazy Purple Dodge Challenger and climbed behind the steering wheel.

Pushing the key into the ignition he twisted the switch and the powerful 392 HEMI engine roared to life, causing him to smile. The Challenger was the kind of car he had always dreamed of owning as a miserable, dateless teenager in high school. Back then all the girls wanted to go out with the guys that had the sportiest cars and he would have gladly sold his own grandmother to the Arabs for a Trans-Am or 5.0 Mustang. But now women his age were more interested in mini-vans and Volvos than sports cars.

Waiting for the engine to warm up Bill studied his face in the rearview mirror. It wasn't a bad face, a little on the plain side maybe but far from hideous. And other than the beginning of a little belly he wasn't faring all that bad physically either. At the ripe old age of thirty-five he still had a full head of hair and all his teeth. A woman could do a lot worse.

The voice in his head laughed ever so softly. "And what woman in her right mind would have you?" it asked. Sighing, Bill closed his eyes, silencing his unwanted companion for at least awhile.

Fed on a volatile not to mention toxic combination of dry brush, several old automobile tires and half a can of gasoline the fire roared some ten feet into the sky, illuminating the dead gray leaves still clinging to the trees surrounding the clearing.

A group of teenagers stood around the fire drinking warm beer and wine coolers. Some of the heavier drinkers gulped whiskey and cola from red plastic cups. And of course the cool fall air was heavy with the rancid stench of marijuana and cigarette smoke. Music blasted from several car stereos.

The atmosphere was jovial with the exception of one Kerrie Hemmings as he sat on the hood of his vintage 69 Chevy Impala sipping Jack and Coke as he watched Sandy Rush, who he considered to be his steady girlfriend after only two dates, talking to Clyde Winslow, the school nerd and leading authority on Star Trek.

Clyde, a short and somewhat stocky boy who wore glasses and had a slight but noticeable stammer, read books for pleasure and regularly used words consisting of more than two syllables. Kerry had to admit he was surprised Clyde even liked girls let alone had the balls to talk to one, but there he was, just jawing away, having a good old time.

A few moments earlier, Kerrie had overheard Vicky Strong say that Sandy had personally invited Clyde to the party. That suited Kerrie just fine. He had been looking for a reason to beat the four eyed geek's ass into the ground since grade school. And now he had one. Anyone who would steal another fella's girlfriend deserved to get his ass kicked.

Taking another gulp from his cup Kerrie gritted his tobacco stained teeth and slid ever so slowly off the car's polished hood. Walking over to where Clyde and Sandy stood beneath the drooping limbs of a Formosa tree he balled his hands up into fists so tight his knuckles popped.

Clyde, clearly embarrassed as he attempted to screw up the courage to ask Sandy out on a real date didn't see Kerrie approach. Sandy, however, did but before she could warn the unsuspecting boy Kerrie struck him in the right side of his head, sending his glasses flying across the clearing.

Clyde dropped to his knees, almost losing consciousness. But his attacker wasn't finished with him yet. "Kerrie, what are you doing?" Sandy screamed as he took a half step back and then rushed forward, kicking the injured boy in the belly.

Clyde rolled over on his side, gasping as he tried to catch his breath. Eyeing his unprotected testicles, Kerrie started to kick him again but before he could Roger Moss, a tackle on the school football team blindsided him with a ferocious shoulder to his ribs. The impact of the blow was tremendous, sending Kerrie staggering backward until his feet came out from under him and he landed hard on his backside.

"That's how it feels to have someone bigger than you hit you," Roger said as Kerrie slowly got back to his feet, swaying from side to side as he struggled to keep his balance.

Looking about the clearing Roger spied Clyde's glasses. Retrieving them he returned them to the injured boy, offering him a hand up.

"Thanks," Clyde said, putting the slightly bent spectacles back on. His vision was still blurry, his head spinning as he turned and walked off into the darkness where his father's car was parked. Sandy followed, calling after him to wait up.

"I think it's time you left," Roger said, turning his attention back toward Kerrie as two more member of the team, equally as large, joined him, creating a seemingly impenetrable wall of blue jerseys.

Seeing his best friend was in need of some support, Billy Jenkins stepped out from behind his pickup truck where he had been attempting to get Mary Waters to make out with him. Grabbing a rusty lug wrench out of the bed he joined Kerrie, gently slapping the curved end of the wrench against the palm of his free hand.

"OK, who wants their skull crushed first?" Billy asked, doing his best to sound tough. In all reality he didn't see any possible way the situation could turn out well for him or his confederate but at least they could go down fighting.

The answer to Billy's question was delivered by the rest of the football team as they joined the others.

"The doctor is going to have a hell of a time pulling that lug wrench out of your ass," Michael Clark said, grinning at Billy.

"Leave," Roger said again. From his tone it was obvious it was the troublemakers' last chance to end the situation without acquiring any bruises and broken bones.

Kerrie and Billy exchanged quick glances and then wisely took Roger's advice. The several dozen onlookers cheered and applauded as they retreated to their vehicles and drove slowly off into the night.

Kerrie led the way in his car, driving slowly to avoid the deep ruts and mud holes in the old dirt road leading to the highway and Montevallo. But that wasn't Kerrie's destination. Half a mile from the highway he pulled over on the side of the road, crushing the waist high grass beneath his chrome rimmed wheels.

Billy pulled his truck up behind the Impala and climbed out, grabbing a 30.06 hunting rifle off the gun-rack behind the seat. Removing the clip to make certain the weapon was loaded he shoved it back into the magazine and nodded to Kerrie. Without saying a word they walked into the dark woods.

Following a small creek by the light provided by the full moon they eventually came to the river. On the far bank they could see the others, the flickering glow of the bonfire casting their long shadows against the trees.

Staying in the dark, Billy dropped to one knee. Pointing the rifle across the river he levered a bullet into the chamber and squinted into the scope. Moving the gun-sights from one unsuspecting face to the next he finally located Roger Moss standing near the edge of the clearing sipping a beer and talking with Belinda Murphy.

Grinning, Billy took a deep breath, held it and squeezed the trigger until the safety prevented it from dropping the hammer. "And you are one dead son of a bitch," he said, rising to his feet.

"Here, let me see it," Kerrie said, almost yanking the gun from Billy's hands. Locating a suitable target he repeated the act of pretend murder, feeling a perverse sense of satisfaction knowing he had someone's life at his mercy.

They played the disturbing game for several moments, somehow resisting the urge to flip the safety off and really take someone down. "What do you suppose it feels like to really kill someone?" Billy mused as they made their way back to where they had parked. "I wonder if it feels as good as shooting a load of jizz on a girl's face."

Kerrie laughed as they waded across the creek. "How the hell would you know how that feels either? And before you say anything girls in magazines don't count."

"Fuck you," Billy replied.

Both boys laughed.

"Say, I've got an idea," Kerrie said as they reached their vehicles.

"Guess there really is a first time for everything. Did it suddenly occur to you that you can wipe your ass after taking a shit?"

"No, I was thinking about Sandy and her fag friend Clyde. Why don't we give them a real scare?"

"What have you got in mind?"

"That store down in Landmark that sells fireworks will sell you M-80s if you slip the guy behind the counter a twenty."

"How do you know that?"

"Never mind that, junior. Just imagine a bagful of those overgrown firecrackers going off on Sandy and Clyde's front porches, say around three o'clock in the morning. Old Clyde would probably shit his cowboy jammies."

Billy laughed softly. "It's a long way down to Landmark."

"So, you got anything better to do? We'll take my car. You can pick your truck up later.

Shrugging his shoulders, Billy climbed into the car's passenger side. Sliding behind the wheel Kerrie started the engine.

CHAPTER 2

Bill pulled up in the empty parking lot of a small all night market called STOP-N-SHOP. Shutting the Challenger's engine off he climbed out and activated the alarm before making his way inside the brightly lit building. Stepping through the automatic doors he nodded to the two cashiers on duty and grabbed a shopping cart intending to make a quick run of the aisles. The two girls, both teenagers, seemed strangely upset and were constantly glancing toward the back of the store.

Starting in the frozen foods section, Bill paused long enough to load the cart up with fish-sticks, pizzas and TV dinners, the three basic food groups which made up the bulk of his somewhat less than healthy diet. From there he pushed the cart, its left front wheel wobbling and creaking all the way, into the cereal aisle where he grabbed two extra large boxes of Fruity Swirls breakfast cereal, the ones with tiny marshmallow penguins that he had ate since he was a child.

Coming to the end of the aisle, Bill was trying to remember if he needed any margarine when he spied a young woman standing alone in front of the meat counter. She looked to be in her mid-twenties and was rather shabbily dressed in a pair of faded jeans and an extremely large red flannel shirt which went halfway to her knees. On her feet was a scuffed up pair of hiking boots, the bottoms caked with dry mud. Her hair looked like it had never seen a brush.

Bill pushed the cart a few steps closer to get a better look of the girl. Her small, oval shaped face was free of any trace of makeup with an almost sinfully cute upturned nose and full, shapely lips. Her eyes were a rich chocolate brown and unusually large. In some strange way he couldn't begin to understand he thought she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. His heart started racing and he felt a sudden pulsating warmth in his groin.

Wait a minute, what are you doing? He thought, forcing himself to turn away from the girl and look up the next aisle. She's at least ten years younger than you. Besides, she was probably homeless, or a drug addict, or both and he had enough problem of his own to deal with, the very least being the voice in his head which was constantly growing louder and more obnoxious.

Shrugging his shoulders, Bill started pushing the cart toward the canned goods but came to a stop after several increasingly shorter steps. Suddenly he felt an overwhelming sense of shame as the warmth in his groin moved up to his cheeks. He couldn't do it. It simply wasn't in him to ignore someone in need. Maybe, just maybe he could help her.

"You're going to make a fool out of yourself," the voice said. "Better to leave well enough alone."

Despite the voice's suggestion, Bill took a deep breath and turned the cart around, pushing it slowly up to the meat counter. The squeaking wheel announced his approach, causing the girl to look up from the counter. He offered her a slight smile but her face was free of any expression.

"Uh, excuse me, Miss."

Quickly thrusting her hands into her hip pockets she turned toward him. "Yes?" she said.

Bill could feel his throat tighten. He prayed to God that he didn't start to stammer like an idiot. "I was, uh, wondering is you needed any help. I mean if I could help you....somehow."

A slightly amused smile curled the girl's delicately shaped lips. "What do you mean?"

Bill could feel his mouth go dry as he forced himself to speak again. "Well, I saw you standing here, and was just wondering if you were....hungry."

"Well that is why I'm here," she said, turning back toward the stacked up cartons of meat. "I was just trying to decide what I want. The calf's liver looks fairly good. It's very bloody, that means it's still fresh. There's nothing worse than bad meat."

"Yea, I guess not," Bill agreed, not knowing what else to say. "Why don't you let me get it for you? He picked up the package of meat the girl was staring at and placed it in the top section of his cart. He then asked her to join him. Clearly embarrassed she reluctantly agreed, hands still deep in her pockets.

"Thank you for your concern, but there seems to be some misunderstanding at work, Mr.?"

"Metts," Bill replied, "like the ball team, or at least some call them a ball team. Bill Metts. Could I ask what your name is?"

"Elsa," she answered, looking about as if expecting the Huns to come charging down the aisle any moment."

"Well, Elsa, it's very nice to meet you," he said, innocently offering her his hand. She merely nodded, hands still tucked away.

"I'm afraid you'll have to excuse me. I've got this thing about shaking hands. As I was saying I believe there's been some misunderstanding. I realize I'm not exactly dressed in the latest women's fashion but I'm not destitute, and I do have money."

"Oh," Bill said, feeling his cheeks grow even redder. "I'm sorry if I embarrassed you."

"Why should she be embarrassed?" the voice asked. "You're the one that just made a fool of yourself. You should have listened to me and minded your own business, and now you've stepped in it."

Elsa smiled but was still clearly ill at ease. "You didn't embarrass me. It was very kind of you. I wish there were more people willing to do what you did."

Bill nodded, swallowing the nauseating lump rising up in his throat. "Well look, I noticed there wasn't another car in the parking lot. Could I maybe give you a lift somewhere?"

Elsa's smile broadened slightly as she eyed Bill more closely. "I don't know. It might not be safe. Are you a pervert?"

"Yes I am, but not the dangerous type."

Elsa considered it for a moment then said, "Well, I suppose it would be all right. Thank you."

"Great," Bill said attempting and failing to hide his excitement. Elsa was the first woman he had carried on anything that could be considered an actual conversation since the lady from the cable company came to the house to hook up his service. True the topic of that particular discussion had been how armadillos had been chewing the cable wires up but it still lasted long enough to officially be counted as a conversation.

"Don't get your hopes up," the voice said. "She looks like she'd accept a ride from Ted Kennedy to keep from having to walk."

"Just let me grab a few more things and we'll be on our way."

Nodding, Elsa walked patiently alongside Bill, watching him with somewhat more than slight interest as he finished his shopping. He attempted to gently pump her for more information about herself but she said as little as possible, choosing the few words she spoke with great care. Finally he gave up and went back to talking about himself.

Several moments later, there was a brief but extremely awkward incident at the checkout lane. The girls at the registers were talking quietly, still very upset about something, but as Bill pushed his cart up to the nearest register and began unloading items the look in their eyes was one of absolute horror.

Her hands shaking the cashier began sweeping the groceries across the scanner as fast as possible, doing her best not to look up. "Help me," she squeaked, turning toward her coworker.

Nodding the other girl reluctantly abandoned her register and began bagging the scanned items with all the grace of a three hundred and fifty pound offensive tackle. Ten pounds of sugar crushed a box of Krispy Kreme raspberry jelly doughnuts. The bag was then dropped back into the buggy where it broke open on impact, allowing dark red drops of raspberry flavored goo to drip onto the floor. The rest of the items received the same lack of care.

Bill had never seen anything like it. He couldn't help but wonder why the girls were so upset or why they refused to look up anymore than was absolutely necessary. Maybe some odors from work still clung to his clothes. He offered Elsa an uncomfortable smile as the carnage to the groceries continued.

Elsa returned Bill's smile. She was only too aware of what was wrong with the girls. It was the natural reaction all humans had to her kind. The only thing she couldn't understand was why this Bill Metts fellow wasn't affected likewise.

Once the last item was shoved into a bag and dropped into the cart the cashier rung up the total, tore the receipt off the instant the register finished printing it, and offered it to Bill, nearly on the verge of tears as she said, "Thank you for shopping with us. Please come again." Turning about she started to walk away.

"Hey, wait a minute. Don't you want me to pay for any of this?"

"Huh?" she replied, glancing back over her shoulder."

"I haven't paid you."

"Oh yea, right." Stepping back behind the counter the girl consulted the green digital numbers on the small screen. "That'll be one-sixteen eighty-three."

More confused than ever Bill removed six twenties from his wallet, offering them to the horrified girl. She grabbed them out of his hand and shoved them into the cash drawer and began clumsily fiddling through the trays for his change. "Keep it," he said, pushing the cart toward the doors.

"I don't believe I'll be coming back here anytime soon," Bill said to Elsa as he led her over to the car. She nodded in silent agreement. Although he chalked it up to just his imagination or merely a trick of the harsh mercury lights illuminating the parking lot the darkness seemed to swirl about her, almost like a protective aura. Pushing the thought aside he opened the passenger side door for her and then loaded the remains of his groceries into the trunk.

"So, where is home?" he asked climbing behind the wheel.

"The caretaker's house at the old cemetery on Highway 22," she answered, looking out the window as she spoke. She studied Bill's reflection on the dark glass.

"Did you say the old cemetery?"

Elsa turned back toward the windshield, nodding.

Shaking his head Bill started the engine and shifted the transmission into reverse. "I didn't know anyone lived out there anymore."

"I live there with my father."

"Just the two of you?"

"Yes."

Bill backed out of the parking space and cut across the empty lot. "Doesn't it bother you living out there all alone?"

Elsa smiled, amused at the tone of Bill's voice. Just as she suspected, and hoped, the mention of the cemetery had frightened this strange but well meaning human. "Why should it, Mr. Metts?"

"Please, call me Bill," he said as they pulled out onto the street. "What I meant is don't you ever get nervous living all alone out there? Your nearest living neighbor is better than three miles away."

Elsa started to laugh but caught herself at the last minute. "Not really. To be honest I kind of like it. It's so nice and quiet. You can hear the birds singing all day and the crickets chirping all night. Besides, it's the living you have to be afraid of. You meet creatures far more dangerous than Freddy Kruger or Jason everyday on the sidewalk."

"Well you've got a point there," Bill admitted. "But most people in town don't see it that way. They're afraid to go out there in broad daylight. Do you mind if I ask why you chose to live all the way out there instead of somewhere in town?"

"We're the new caretakers," Elsa explained once more looking out the window. She was silent for a moment then added, "The State is going to reclaim the cemetery, turn it into a historical site due to the age of some of the graves."

Bill nodded. "Yea, there are some pretty old graves out there. Most of the Town Fathers are buried near where the old church used to stand. Still, it must be hard work cleaning that place up, what with just the two of you."

"It is but we enjoy it. Hard work and solitude are good for the soul."

"That's what they say," Bill agreed as they reached the city limits and continued on down Highway 10. After several moments of listening to the engine's throaty rumble they reached Highway 22, or at least what was left of it. Most of the asphalt had been cracked and shattered by the almost constant traffic of logging trucks back in the Seventies, and since no one lived out that way anymore the State never got around to repaving it.

Slowing down to a crawl, Bill turned onto the decimated road, doing his best to avoid the larger potholes. "While the State's at it they need to fix this road," he observed. "It could tear a tank up."

"My father has a four wheel drive truck," Elsa offered.

Half a mile down the old road they came to a narrow gravel driveway leading to the cemetery.

"I can walk the rest of the way," Elsa said.

"No need for that," Bill replied as they turned into the driveway. "The Metts' Taxi Company guarantees full service and satisfaction for all our customers." Almost at once he heard the noisy clatter of loose stones striking the Challenger's lower quarter panels. He dreaded to think of the damage they were inflicting on the paintjob.

The driveway was narrow, barely large enough for a single vehicle, bushes and weeds crowding in on both sides. Overhead the gnarled branches of ancient cedar trees dripping with Spanish moss formed a nearly impenetrable canopy that blocked out most of the light from the waning autumn moon. Even on high beam the headlights could barely illuminate the road several feet in front of the car.

Bill slowed down to ten miles per hour, squinting to see through the stygian-like gloom. Already nervous it was impossible to ignore the traditional graveyard at night chill creeping up his spine as the first headstone came into view off to his left. Once as a kid he rode his bicycle out here on a dare. It had been broad daylight but as he recalled it had been the most frightening experience of his life for several years after. But this was even worse. How on earth could Elsa, or anyone with the possible exception of Boris Karloff, enjoy living there?

Bill had to force his eyes to look straight ahead as they emerged from the tunnel of branches and more headstones appeared, bathed in the full glow of the moonlight. If he averted his gaze he knew he would see something that he definitely didn't want to. He wasn't exactly certain what it might be but a vivid imagination fed on a childhood of old Universal and Hammer horror movies could always come up with something to make his skin crawl.

Despite Elsa's claim there was no sign of any recent renovations as they came to the tall wrought iron fence enclosing the cemetery. For just a moment Bill looked up at the arch over the gate. The rusty capital letter I in PILGRIM CEMETERY still hung loosely, held in place by a single bolt and on the verge of falling like it had been for as long as he could remember. He could still hear his mother saying how it was going to fall and kill someone one of these days.

Just beyond the gate stood a small white house bathed in the glare from the headlights. Like the cemetery surrounding it it too was ancient and decrepit. Hardly any paint clung to the warped and cracked clapboards, and the windows, at least those that hadn't been broken, were covered in countless years' worth of grime. Needless to say it wasn't the cheeriest looking place Bill had ever seen."

Bill brought the car to a stop and Elsa opened the door and climbed out, her bag of liver in hand. There was a slight smile on her lips as she bent down and said, "Thank you for the ride."

"You're welcome, but the lights are off. Maybe your dad isn't here. Are you sure you'll be all right?"

"Of course, like I said, it's the living ones you have to watch out for."

"Well OK then, take care."

Nodding Elsa started up the front steps, Bill watching until she was safely inside and a faint light appeared in one of the front windows. It was far too dim to be an electric light. Apparently Elsa and her father hadn't gotten around to having their service turned on. Shrugging he put the car in reverse and turned around, heading back through the cemetery gate. Glancing up in the rearview mirror he could see Elsa peeking out from behind one of the shattered windows.

For a moment Bill forgot his childish fear of the dark graveyard. Elsa seemed like a nice enough girl, maybe a little more on the odd side of the fence than most but still nice.

"And you're normal?" the voice asked.

Elsa watched as the Challenger's taillights disappeared down the long gravel driveway. She then blew out the candle she held in her unusually large hand and darkness reclaimed the old house but she wasn't the least bit frightened. Nor did she have any trouble seeing as she made her way through the empty rooms and out onto the back porch. Climbing down the steps she removed the package of liver from the bag, unwrapped the plastic covering and began to devour the bloody meat.

Mack Kincaid sat on his front porch swing, lost deep in thought as the occasional car passed by the house, momentarily blinding him with the glare from its headlights. He needed to be working on the new book but was too worried about Bill to concentrate. Checking his digital watch he let out a deep sigh. He had tried to call Bill twice, first down at the morgue and then at home but hadn't gotten an answer either time. Eve, already greatly concerned over her brother's increasingly erratic behavior, was beside herself.

A few moments later she joined Mack on the porch. A glass of Pepsi cola in each hand she backed through the screen door, letting it slam shut with a bang behind her. Mack looked up at her and then quickly went back to staring off into the darkness. She had been to the beauty parlor that afternoon and had gotten her beautiful long hair cut almost boyishly short, a look he did not care for in the least. He would have said something about it but didn't want to upset her, not with the shape her heart was in.

"Bill still isn't answering his phone," she said, handing him one of the glasses before taking a seat beside him in the swing. "Why that brother of mine won't break down and buy a cell-phone I'll never know."

Mack smiled sadly as he took a sip of the ice cold soda. Eve might be Bill's sister but she didn't really know him. Bill hated phones. To his way of thinking they were the ultimate act of intrusion into his privacy. "I'm sure he's OK. He probably has the phone off the hook."

"Why don't we drive over there and see? If what you said is true he might have hurt himself."

Mack sighed. How he wished he hadn't told Eve that he'd overheard Bill talking to himself down at the Morgue that evening. But the poor guy hadn't been thinking out loud like everyone did sometimes, he had been carrying on an entire conversation with a voice only he could hear. "Ok, Eve."

Getting up Mack made his way inside, returning a moment later with the keys to his car. "I'm going with you," Eve said.

Climbing into the white Buick they drove the eight blocks to Bill's house, the house he and Eve had been raised in. She had often tried to talk him into selling the old place but he wouldn't hear of it. After all these years he was like a prisoner afraid to leave his cell.

The house was dark, the carport empty. "Where is he?" Eve asked, gently tapping her knuckles against her right knee.

"I'm sure he's all right, Eve."

"Let's drive around for awhile and see if we can find him."

Nodding, Mack backed out of the driveway, rolling slowly down the street. Less than a moment later Bill's Challenger came around the curb at the other end of the street, just missing his would-be visitors.

Pulling up in the carport Bill glanced at the clock on the radio. It was after ten. His thoughts were still on Elsa as he climbed out of the car. Lugging the groceries inside the house he left them on the kitchen table long enough to switch on the TV in the living room. He usually kept it on constantly, even when he was in another room. The noise helped to keep the voice at bay.

The local news was on, Channel Six Action News to be precise, not that there was anything particularly exciting about it, disturbing, even terrifying yes but nothing to warrant the title Action News. The leading story was about a known child predator in Birmingham that had been arrested for abducting and sexually abusing a two year old little girl before being caught by deer hunters while attempting to dump her body in the woods. The hunters beat the man to a bloody pulp before calling the Police and were now being sued by his lawyers. The story after that concerned two teenage boys that had burned down a small church in Bibb County, the third such crime in the last month.

Not in the mood to deal with the cruel realities of life at the moment Bill surfed through the channels for something a little less grim. There was nothing on but re-runs of old sitcoms that weren't that funny the first time they aired and more news on the local channels. And then there were the infomercials. Channel-22 was showing one for some gizmo that turned an ordinary vacuum cleaner into your own personal barber shop, and a guy on Channel-38 was hawking stainless steel kitchen knives that could saw through a quarter inch iron pipe yet still remain sharp enough to slice a tomato so thin you could almost see through it. Permanently sharpened by a laser beam the set of knives was the very last word in cutlery technology and would last a lifetime.

Still another channel offered two aging child stars from the Eighties trying to unload the hundred greatest soft rock ballads from the same decade on CD for the first time for only four low payments of 29.99 each. It would take years and hundreds if not thousands of dollars to collect each song individually. At least that's what they said through their blindingly white capped teeth. Apparently they had never heard of computer file sharing.

Finally switching channels over to TV Land Bill listened to a re-run of "The Munsters" while he put away the groceries.

Landmark was the name of a small convenience story straddling the Shelby and Jefferson county lines. Actually there were two stores. One building, the larger of the two, stood just within the boundaries of Jefferson County where it was legal to sell liquor. The smaller building housing the fireworks was on the other side in Shelby where fireworks were legal.

Pulling up in front of the larger structure Kerrie shut off the Impala's engine and the two juvenile delinquents climbed out, each with a mission. Billy, whose cousin Marty worked in the store went to pick up the liquid refreshments while Kerrie tried his luck with the fireworks.

Stepping inside the smaller building he looked up and down the crude wooden shelves loaded with boxes of bottle rockets, smoke bombs, black snakes, flying saucers and even those wussy sparklers they put on kids' birthday cakes.

There were firecrackers too, of course, but they were the small kind that barely made enough noise to frighten an ant. There were various other explosive novelties as well, including a large red, white and blue cardboard tube called The Cannon of Liberty that shot exploding black plastic balls the size of a grapefruit some two or three hundred feet up in the air. They were plenty loud enough, but not for what Kerrie had in mind.

Grabbing a pack of whistling bottle-rockets and some Roman candles he made his way up to the front of the store, setting the items down on the counter. The stocky, middle-aged man seated behind the counter looked up from a small TV he had been watching the World Series on and began ringing up the items. "That'll be twenty-nine dollars and sixty-five cents," he said, turning back toward the TV as the unmistakable crack of ball meeting bat sounded. The ball was high and looked good but dropped at the last moment, landing in the right-fielder's glove.

"A friend told me you had m-80s," Kerrie said, attempting to regain the man's attention. It worked. The man turned toward him, frowning.

"M-80s are illegal. They'd put me under the jail if I tried to sell them. We do have some M-60s on the shelf over there behind you. They're pretty good."

Nodding, Kerrie reached for his wallet. Removing a hundred dollar bill he had been holding onto to help buy a new subwoofer for the Impala he placed it on the counter. "A friend said you had m-80s," he said again.

Shaking his head the man turned and looked through the store's plate glass window. Turning back he then reached way underneath the counter and brought up a small box, sitting it down in front of Kerrie. Inside were at least fifty bright red cherry bombs. "Like I said, I don't have any m-80s."

"These will do," Kerrie said, picking up the box and the other packs of fireworks. Making his way back out to the car he found Billy waiting with a quart of Old Black Bear Number Three and a six-pack of Cokes.

"Did you get them?" Billy asked as he tore one of the Coke cans free from the plastic holding them together. Popping the top he poured half the can's contents out the window and replaced it with whiskey. Grinning, Kerrie tossed the box of brightly colored explosives in the other boy's lap.

"Hey, watch it," Billy said, spilling a small amount of his drink on his shirt. "I had to slip Marty a Twenty before he'd sell me this stuff."

"Shut up and fix me a drink."

Setting the Cherry Bombs and other fireworks in the floorboard between his legs Billy proceeded to fix Kerrie's drink. Climbing behind the wheel Kerrie took the can and turned it up, quickly gulping down its contents without once having to come up for air. At the age of seventeen he was already a hopeless alcoholic whose liver would have given out before he was forty, but fate had other ideas as to the nature of his demise.

Backing out of the parking space Kerrie popped the clutch and stomped the accelerator, tearing off across the parking lot with the deafening peel of burning rubber. The speedometer needle was on seventy-five in less than six seconds and climbing rapidly as they roared down the old two lane highway. "Make me another," he said, shifting gears. "And this time not so much coke."

Fixing Kerrie another drink Billy set his own down between his legs long enough to open the glove box and search through the stacks of CDs. Finding the one he wanted he placed it in the player and turned the volume up as high as it would go. A moment later KISS' Detroit Rock City was blasting over the speakers.

The mixture of alcohol and loud music caused Kerrie's already lead foot to grow even heavier, pushing the accelerator closer to the floorboard. The road ahead was straight for another two miles and he let the car roll. The big 383 stroker engine roared like a mechanical lion. Kerrie had tuned it that afternoon. Unfortunately he didn't close the hood all the way afterwards and it chose that particular moment to fly up, smashing into the windshield.

Startled, Kerrie instinctively stomped on the brakes, causing the car to swerve into the other lane. His thought process slowed by the nearly toxic amounts of alcohol in his blood he turned the steering wheel hard in the opposite direction. The results of his split second decision were catastrophic. The tires lost traction and the car flipped over on its roof, crashed through a metal guard rail, and went tumbling down the side of a steep embankment.

CHAPTER 3

It was after nine AM before Bill, unshaven and still dressed in his clothes from the day before, shuffled into the morgue. He'd had a bad night. Sleep had been harder to come by than usual and when he did manage to drift off he'd had nothing but nightmares thanks to the side effects from the ever increasing amounts of medication he was taking to keep the voice at bay. It was becoming obvious that pills alone weren't the answer. He would have to seek professional help, and soon. But at the moment he didn't want to think about it.

Taking his lab coat off the hook behind his desk he put it on, yawning sleepily as he made his way down the white tiled corridor leading to the cooler room to see if anyone had checked in since last evening.

As it turned out there were two new arrivals resting in drawers 1 and 2. The names of the occupants didn't come as a surprise to Bill either: Kerrie Jenkins and Billy Hemmings. Bill knew both boys. According to the police report they had been killed in a car crash down on the county line.

Pulling the drawers open Bill gave the boys a quick once over before suiting up to perform the autopsies. It was not a pretty sight.

Billy Hemmings forehead had been crushed inward, the skull shattered like an egg shell. His neck was broken in two places. No doubt there was also serious internal damage considering the hood emblem from a 69 Chevy was protruding from his sternum.

Kerrie Jenkins had fared somewhat better than his cohort. There were no broken bones, just a cracked skull and massive trauma to the chest courtesy of the steering wheel.

Both boys still reeked of liquor. It didn't take a medical degree to diagnose that the cause of death had been a bottle of whiskey and a fast car.

Ordinarily Bill couldn't help feeling some small amount of grief over his customers, especially such young ones, but he had absolutely no pity for drunk drivers. To his way of thinking there was no difference between getting behind the wheel after one too many and putting a pistol up to someone's head and pulling the trigger, both were acts of murder.

As far as he was concerned the two little bastards had gotten exactly what they deserved. Both of them had been stopped countless times for reckless driving and D.U.I. but had stubbornly refused to learn, not even after Sheriff Kimbrell dragged them down to the morgue to see the remains of another drunk driver that had been cut out of his car after slamming into an oncoming Greyhound bus at better than a hundred miles per hour.

Fortunately, according to the police report, there had been no other car involved in the accident which had brought the two juvenile delinquents' hell raising days to an abrupt end.

From the singe marks on Billy Hemmings' neck and shoulders it was obvious the paramedics had used a torch to cut him out of the wreckage. The undertaker would have his hands full trying to make him presentable enough for an open casket funeral.

Luckily for his parents, Kerrie Jenkins had been wearing his seatbelt. A little reconstructive putty and some makeup and he'd look as good as new.

Walking over to his desk Bill took a seat on the edge, folding his arms as he studied the two lumps on inanimate flesh that had once been living, breathing human beings, pretty much worthless and a threat to public safety but human nonetheless. For a moment he considered skipping the autopsies, after all the cause of death was obvious in both cases and he didn't really feel like going to all that time and trouble. Finally, he decided to flip a coin and let fate make the decision for him. He chose tails. It came up heads.

Sighing, Bill got up and got dressed to perform the gruesome procedure. He started with Kerrie. Since there was no one to help him he had to lift the boy's cold body up off the slab by himself, groaning as he eased it down on a gurney and pushed it into the operating room.

Four hours later Bill returned the bodies to the cooler, washed up and sat down to fill out the paperwork. Both boys' blood alcohol had been far above the legal limit. Kerrie's liver already showed early signs of cirrhosis. But what could you expect? He had been the product of a society that glamorized the consumption of alcohol, programmed from childhood to believe you had to drink in order to have a good time.

Once he finished the paperwork and tossed it in the out basket he eased back in his seat, kicked his shoes off and rested his stocking feet on the desk. There was plenty more paperwork requiring his immediate attention but he didn't feel like doing it. If whoever he worked for didn't like it they could always fire him. Just let them try to find someone else willing to take the job.

The rest of the afternoon passed without anyone else checking in. Ordering a large all meat special from the local Durango's pizzeria Bill listened to music and watched old TV programs on the small computer tablet he kept in his top desk drawer before dozing off. Several times the phone rang. Most of the calls were from Mack, but one had been from the State Capital, but none of them roused him from his much needed rest.

Finally waking shortly after eight PM. Bill decided to call it a day. Tossing the now cold remains of the pizza in the garbage can he pulled off his coat, returning it to its hook. On his way out he stopped by the cooler, knocking on the door of the drawer containing Kerrie Jenkins' remains.

"Goodnight boys. Don't forget to brush your teeth and say your prayers, and no horsing around. It's all fun and games until someone gets hurt." It seemed like a good joke until an unseen but icy hand suddenly came down on Bill's right shoulder. Letting out a startled gasp he whirled about to see who the hand belonged to but there was no one there.

Strange, he thought rubbing his shoulder. He had never been the kind to get goose bumps, especially not in his own morgue. Maybe Mack was right and he did need to take some time off to spend among the living. Shrugging the incident off as a bad case of nerves he walked faster than necessary toward the EXIT.

Locking the doors and activating the alarm Bill had the unnerving feeling that he was imprisoning some great evil behind the building's thick concrete walls. He briefly considered going back inside to have another look around but wisely decided against it. It's just your nerves, he muttered, climbing into the Challenger, and quickly leaving the morgue and its inanimate inhabitants far behind.

Midnight:

While Bill Metts and most of the citizens of Montevallo were tucked safely in their beds a car with its headlights off turned into the alley between the morgue and the City Annex, coming to a stop in front of the steel door marked AUTHORIZED PERSONELL ONLY. At that very moment the building's security system crashed, the surveillance cameras going dark.

"Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?" the driver asked, gripping the steering wheel.

"No," a woman replied, opening the passenger side door and climbing out. "I can move faster alone. You just keep the motor running in case something goes wrong and we need to make a fast exit."

Nodding the driver, his face illuminated by the faint glow from the instrument panel, reached over and opened the glove-box, pressing the trunk release button. He also removed a gleaming, nickel plated 1911 Colt Automatic pistol, setting it on the armrest where it was easily within reach if needed.

Walking up to the door, the shadows closing in around her, the woman placed her small hands on the handle and pulled with all her strength. Despite her modest stature the steel groaned and began to crinkle. The driver of the car shook his head in amazement as the concrete wall the door sat in cracked and suddenly gave way.

Throwing the door behind the car as if it were as light as Styrofoam, the woman disappeared into the dark building. Without bothering to look for the light switch she made her way through the pitch blackness to the cooler, approaching the drawers containing the remains of the two dead boys.

Bill lay in his dark bedroom, having given up hope of getting any rest. The small stereo on the bedside table was on, a CD of Elton John's Tumbleweed Connection barely audible over the speakers. The voice seemed to have a genuine affinity for Elton and often remained quite for some time after listening to a few songs.

This must be how it feels to be normal, Bill thought rolling over on his side toward the window looking out over the backyard. But then what was normal, and had anyone ever really achieved that much vaunted state of mind? Lord knew Mack sure hadn't.

Mr. Kincaid had called not once but three times that evening in search of gruesome little tidbits of information.. The first time he wanted to know how long a human heart could remain outside the body and still be viable for transplant. The second call involved blood taken from a dead person and what would happen if it was given to someone still alive. Finally, he wanted to know if it was possible to concoct a homemade sedative powerful enough to keep someone under for a little do it yourself surgery.

The reason for the series of such pleasant questions was Mack's latest literary epic about an opportunistic organ dealer masquerading as a Jack the Ripper type serial killer at large in the same city.

Sometimes Bill wondered what his sister ever saw in Mack. Let alone how she managed to sleep in the same bed with him in a dark room. Maybe she just loved him enough to overlook how weird he could be. It must be nice to be loved.

The CD finished playing. Bill was about to press the re-play button when the phone on the other side of the bed rang. Sighing, he rolled over to answer it. It was probably Mack with yet another inane not to mention nauseating question.

"Hello?"

The voice on the other end of the line wasn't Mack's. It was that of the new night watchman down at the morgue. Bill wasn't surprised by the call; as a matter of fact he had been expecting it. Next to Coroner the position of night watchman down at the Courthouse was probably the worst job in the entire county. Usually it was held by someone too old or too incompetent to do anything else.

The pay was great, the benefits even better considering the small amount of actual work the job required. The only problem was that the watchman had to check the morgue as part of his hourly rounds, and most people were completely unaware of just how active a dead body could be as it went through the process of decomposition.

More than once Bill had been awaken at some ungodly hour to try and convince the new man on the job that the recently deceased were not about to rise from the dead to feast on living flesh like in the movies.

The last man actually knocked one of the receiving doors off its hinges when a corpse he had just signed for suddenly sat up and farted. Bill had to drive down to the morgue and spent the better part of an hour trying to convince him that it wasn't at all unusual for a fresh corpse to move or for gases to escape as the intestinal tract began to breakdown but the man refused to listen or even finish out his shift.

There had been eight watchmen in the last year alone, each one of them passionately insisting the dearly departed weren't departed enough. No doubt this call was more of the same macabre fun.

However, much to Bill's surprise, this new guy sounded calm and lucid. "Dr. Metts, I'm sorry to disturb you at such a late hour but I'm afraid we've had a break-in down here."

Sighing, Bill felt about until his free hand found the lamp on the bedside table. "Are you sure it wasn't just some kids looking for trouble?" he asked, switching the light on. "Kids from the University sometimes break in and lock pledges in the cooler for fraternity initiations."

"Mr. Metts, have these college kids ever ripped the morgue door out of its frame and stolen corpses?"

"No, they haven't. Have you called the Police?" Bill asked, sitting up and throwing his legs over the side of the bed.

"Not yet. I wanted to let you know first."

"Thanks. I'll be right there."

"How did you do?" the driver of the car asked as it crossed the Shelby County Line into Jefferson County.

"Slow down," the woman in the passenger seat said as they roared past a 55mph speed-limit sign at better than 80. "The last thing we need is to get stopped by the cops with two bodies in the trunk. Only one of them is useful though. Not that it was much of a body when it was alive. But it'll have to do until we can find someone better suited for our needs."

"If only one body was any good why did you get the other?"

The woman turned toward the man, a devilish smile curling her lips. "Well it's going to need something to eat."

"Do you think it can really find Elsa?"

"It better."

The Police were already on the scene by the time Bill reached the morgue. The new watchman, a big fellow named Mitch Sinclair, hadn't been exaggerating when he said someone had broken in. One of the heavy steel receiving doors had been ripped clean out of the wall. Drops of sticky black blood led from the now empty cooler drawer and out into the alley, disappearing behind a set of fresh tire marks.

"Whoever is responsible must have had a vehicle waiting out here," an all too familiar and at the moment very unwelcome voice said, "probably some sort of big truck, like a wrecker. It must have taken a winch to rip a door that heavy out of solid concrete."

Sighing, Bill turned about to find Mack approaching, note-pad and pencil in hand. "Come on, Mack, not now."

"Why not?" he asked, gently kicking the door's twisted frame with the toe of one of his size-16 sneakers. "This isn't your fault."

"Someone has to take the blame."

"And that someone automatically has to be St. William?" Mack asked, putting the pad and pencil away.

"More than likely. Hell, Mack, I don't know. But this new man Sinclair is a good guy. He's an ex-Navy SEAL and he needs the job. I'd hate to see him lose it on account of this."

"Wow," Mack said stifling a yawn, "I thought those guys wound up working as secret agents or private detectives. Do you think you can get me inside to have a look around?"

Bill felt his temper rising, having to bite his bottom lip to keep from saying something he might later regret. Instead he said, "Mack, why don't you go home and keep my sister company? People are going to start thinking you're married to me rather than her." With that he made his way inside, leaving a stunned Mack standing alone in the alley.

"Well all right then, Dr. Metts! If you're going to be that way about it I will!"

Mack understood that Bill was upset, but there hadn't been any reason to jump down his throat. A simple piss off would have been sufficient. More than a little hurt he turned and made his way home to tell Eve what had happened.

CHAPTER 4

The Police questioned Bill and Mitch Sinclair for nearly two hours. Already nervous by nature, Bill couldn't help but be impressed at how calmly Mitch Sinclair handled himself under interrogation. He might have looked like a misplaced California surfer-dude type with his sandy blonde hair, perfect tan and muscular build, but behind those soft gray eyes was an extremely high intellect, not to mention a photographic memory. He easily recalled every move he had made that evening and how long each individual task had taken.

Sinclair had been upstairs on the fourth floor, getting a cup of coffee and a jelly doughnut, blackberry jelly, when the alarm went off down in the morgue. By the time he got there the intruder, or intruders, were long gone, as were the bodies of the two teenagers.

"I thought it best not to touch anything in the morgue so I went back upstairs to call the police," he related to their interrogator. "That was at 1:45. Right after that I called Dr. Metts at his home and told him what had happened."

The officer questioning the men was a short, stocky fellow who appeared to be of Italian descent. From the way he kept blinking and rubbing his eyes while he scribbled things down in a small notepad it was obvious he wasn't accustomed to working the night-shift. He might have been only half awake but he wasn't a fool either. He knew a well rehearsed statement when he heard one. "Tell me something, Mr. Sinclair, how are you able to remember all those details so clearly?"

Mitch smiled as he casually leaned back in his seat, throwing one leg over the other. "I'm a SEAL, Sir. I was trained to know where I am and what's going on around me at all times."

The officer nodded sleepily, far too tired to be impressed. "Semper-Fi and all that, huh?"

Mitch's smile broadened, revealing even more perfect, white teeth. "That's a different organization, Sir."

Eve was sitting on the front porch swing with the lights off when Mack's car turned into the driveway and rolled up into the open garage. Mack emerged a moment later holding two large chocolate milkshakes from Dairy Queen.

Eve could tell he was upset by the way he held his head, chin resting on his chest, as he made his way up the front walkway to the steps. "What happened with Bill?" she asked, taking the clear plastic cup and straw he offered her.

"Oh nothing much," Mack huffed Plopping down on the empty side of the swing. The rusty chains suspending it from the ceiling creaked and popped under the additional weight. "He pretty much told me to go fuck myself."

"Oh, I don't believe Bill said that," Eve said, taking a sip of her shake. "Bill might talk to himself but he hardly ever curses."

"Well, he didn't use those exact words, but the meaning was clear. He thinks what happened down at the morgue is his fault. He'll probably take the blame for it and lose his job."

"I wish he would," Eve said. "I think the largest part of his problem is that place.

"Well, he's always been strange, even before he took that job."

Eve started to say something only to suddenly drop her shake and break down in tears. "I feel so sorry for him, Mack. He's always felt so all alone and different. I can still remember mamma and daddy talking about him at night when they thought I couldn't hear them. They knew he was sick and wanted to get him help but they couldn't afford it."

Sighing, Mack placed his long arm around Eve, gently pulling her closer until her head was resting on his shoulder. "I know, honey. But we can help him now."

"What if they want to put him away? I don't think I could do that to him no matter how sick he got."

"Maybe it won't come to that," Mack said.

Although the Police finally decided no one was to blame for the break-in down at the morgue, Bill, still upset over the interrogation, decided it was finally time to take some of his long overdue vacation days. Hopefully things would blow over by the time he came back. That is if he came back. Now seemed like a pretty good time to abandon ship and hopefully swim into calmer waters.

But Bill and Mitch Sinclair weren't completely out of the woods yet. When the parents of the missing boys learned of the theft of their bodies they immediately threatened to sue not only the State and County but both of them also.

Bill assured Sinclair that there was nothing to be worried about. The families were just taking advantage of the situation in order to make some easy money. If they had been as concerned about their children's whereabouts just a few days ago their bodies might not have been in the morgue to begin with.

After sharing a cup of coffee Sinclair walked Bill out to his car, watching as he drove off. Once the car was out of sight he reached into his jacket pocket, removing a cell-phone. Punching a single digit he hit the send button and brought it up to his ear as a dangerously overloaded pulpwood truck rumbled by.

The line rang only once before there was an answer. "Mitch, what have you got for me?"

"Martin, I'm afraid it's bad news."

"We know about the break in, we've been monitoring the police band. Was it Elsa?"

Sinclair leaned up against the side of the morgue, waiting for yet another big truck, this one without any sign of a muffler to blast by. "I don't think so. I was upstairs when it happened but I did get back in time to see a car tearing out of here in a real hurry."

"Well that's a good sign anyway," Martin observed. "Elsa can't drive. Could you tell what make and model of car it was?"

"All I saw were taillights. It must have had one hell of an engine though, sounded like a racecar."

"Could you make out the license plate?"

"Sorry, Boss, it was just going too fast to get a good look. What do you want me to do now?"

"Stay put. Even if it wasn't Elsa this time she still might show up if she gets hungry enough."

Mitch shook his head, exhaling slowly. "Martin how do we know she's even in this area, or this state? What makes Mr. Whitfield so certain?"

"Minka," Martin replied.

The single word caused Mitch to frown as if he had just swallowed something extremely distasteful. "Sorry I asked. Elsa might give me the heebie-jeebies but I'd trust her over Minka any day."

"That makes two of us. Just keep your eyes open for anything out of the ordinary."

"Will do, Martin." Switching the phone off, Sinclair returned it to his coat pocket and made his way back inside the morgue.

Bill drove straight home. Pulling up under the carport just as it began to rain he made his way inside. Turning all the lights out he drew the curtains in the living room, undressed down to his underwear, turned on the TV and collapsed on the couch, flipping through the channels with the remote.

When the premium channels failed to provide any movies he wanted to watch he switched to the Oldies Channel on Basic to find a marathon of Gilligan's Island on. The show was silly, almost moronic but he could remember watching it when he was a kid, wishing he could be shipwrecked all alone with Mary Ann. Smiling, he closed his eyes and listened to the inane dialogue until finally drifting off into a much needed restful sleep.

Mack sat in his favorite chair, across the coffee table from Eve who reclined on the sofa, silently reading the last of six pages he had just printed out. "Well?" he asked, the very instant she read the last line.

"It's amazing," she said sitting the pages on the table. "Absolutely incredible. I honestly don't know how you do it."

"So....you liked it?"

"No, not at all."

"Huh? But you just said it was amazing."

"Oh it is. It is without a doubt the single most amazing piece of sleazy writing I've ever read, hardcore pornography softened ever so slightly by scenes of sheer, mindless violence. You should be writing for Hustler magazine."

"Oh," Mack said, clearly disappointed. "Well, what would you change?"

"Nothing."

"What?"

Smiling, Eve made her way into the kitchen to check on the pot roast in the oven. "I don't understand," Mack said following.

Still smiling, Eve grabbed a bottle of cold 7Up from the refrigerator and walked out on the front porch, leaving a very confused Mack behind. No sooner had she eased down in the swing than she heard the unmistakable sound of his big size-16 feet stomping toward the front door.

"I'm confused," he said, joining her.

Eve's response was to lean toward him, kissing him softly on the cheek. "You're better than the stuff you write, Mack. I just know that somewhere, locked away in that wonderfully talented mind of yours is a good book just waiting for you to write it, something that doesn't have lesbian vampires or female werewolves that sing rock and roll music. But I also know that's what sells, and you do it better than anyone else. Still, couldn't you just try to write something more serious?"

Mack shrugged, his pride still a little bruised. "But why should I if no one wants to read that kind of stuff?"

"Because you can."

While Bill continued to doze away on the living room sofa and Mack sat in front of an blank computer screen contemplating attempting to write the next great American novel, Mitch Sinclair stepped through the door of the Sizzler Grill on Main Street. The place was crowded as he made his way into the back where a single table was fortuitously unoccupied. Taking a seat he just had time to pick up a menu when the waitress approached to take his order. Deciding on the extra large cheeseburger and fries dinner and a glass of iced tea he eased back in his seat, closely observing his surroundings.

Most of the other diners were obviously locals, city workers, guys from the wooden trim factory down by the train tracks and older retired fellows talking about hunting and fishing, and of course college football. Mitch had only been in Alabama for a little over two weeks but had already discovered college football was practically a religion in these parts with legions of zealous followers of a man in a checkered hat.

The only two people who obviously didn't belong in such a rustic setting were a couple of rough looking characters seated at the bar. Both were huge and dressed in faded, torn jeans and leather jackets and boots. One of them even wore spurs. No doubt they belonged to the two chrome clad Harleys illegally parked outside in a space reserved for the handicapped.

Even from his seat some thirty feet away, Mitch could tell neither of the men had bathed in quite some time. Their arms were the size of tree trunks and almost every square inch of skin visible was covered with tattoos of devils and grinning skulls. Needless to say no one would ever mistake them for members of the local PTA.

"Hey, waitress, this stew taste like shit!" the thug wearing the spurs exclaimed, slamming his fist down on the counter so hard he almost overturned the bowl in front of him. "I can't eat this crap!"

"Would you like something else?" the woman asked, clearly scared to death.

"Yea, get me a burger, rare, and don't fuck it up too!"

By now everyone in the diner was watching, including Mitch. The only one present not afraid he merely smiled as one of the thugs got up and made his way toward the jukebox. On the way he knocked a greasy baseball cap of the balding head of one of the old-timers.

Bending over to read the song selection and not finding any tunes he particularly cared for he slammed his fist against the Plexiglas cover, causing the CD playing to skip over and over before growing silent.

"Hey, stop that!" a teenager at one of the other tables exclaimed, rising to his feet. He wore a blue Montevallo Bulldogs football jersey. The thug turned slowly about. From the amused grin curling his lips it was obvious to Mitch that he had been looking for trouble and was delighted to have found it.

The kid wasn't small by any means, but he was young and from the amateurish way he raised his fists clearly inexperienced in hand to hand combat and no match for his would be opponent. More guts than common sense was more often than not a deadly combination.

Deciding he had better step in before the kid got himself killed, Mitch started to rise to his feet when the diner's glass door swung open and a female police officer stepped inside. Looking about and spying the lone biker at the bar pouring a sickening amount of ketchup on his burger she walked up to him, clearing her throat to get his attention. When that failed she tapped him on the shoulder and said, "Is one of those bikes out there yours?"

The thug continued to ignore her.

Undeterred, the lady cop rephrased her question. "Those bikes out there, is one of them yours?" The thug's only response was to turn about on his stool until they were facing each other. Looking her up and down he laughed softly and went back to his meal. "You parked in a handicapped space. I want those bikes moved....now."

"We'll move them when we finish eating the first thug said, brushing past the teenager as he made his way back up to the counter and took his seat.

"You'll move them now or I'll haul your grubby asses off to jail," the officer said, her right hand moving slowly toward her holstered pistol. Both bikers laughed as they rose to their feet to confront her. The shortest man towered over her by more than a foot and yet amazingly she showed no sign of fear.

Deciding the situation was getting out of hand, Mitch got up, approaching the thugs. Without saying a word he tapped one of the them on the shoulder, nodded toward the door and then stepped out on the sidewalk.

Everyone in the diner watched as he walked over to where the two motorcycles were parked. And then, turning back to make certain he had the thugs' attention he casually kicked the first bike over. It struck the other one and both of them fell to the ground with a crash. The other diners cheered and clapped their hands.

The thugs nearly knocked the officer down as they rushed outside. "You are a fucking dead man," the thug wearing spurs said, so enraged he could barely speak. Reaching into his left hip pocket he removed a short length of chain and started spinning it about until it made a harsh swooshing sound.

Mitch's response to the promise of grave physical injury was to rip the seat off the nearest bike and toss it at the thug's feet. "Son of a bitch!" the thug said, charging him, swinging the chain toward his head.

Mitch easily dodged what would have been a devastating blow and retaliated with a powerful kick to the thug's bearded chin. The man went down like a felled tree, sprawled out cold on the sidewalk, bringing more cheers from inside the diner.

The second thug, seeing how easily the former Navy SEAL had dispensed with his partner, slowly raised his hands in a non-threatening fashion, turned and began walking away. Or so it seemed before he turned back, pulling a pistol from inside his leather jacket, but before he could use the weapon Mitch sprung forward, sending him crashing to the concrete. He then grabbed the wrist of the arm the thug held the gun in and squeezed until bones began to pop. Once the gun hit the ground he delivered a lightning fast jab between the man's eyes, instantly rendering him unconscious.

Picking the fallen weapon up Mitch stood up straight, inspecting it. Just as he suspected, the serial number had been sanded away.

"Drop it!" the female officer exclaimed rushing out of the diner with her own weapon drawn.

"Not a problem," he said, letting the pistol fall. "Now if you'll excuse me I've got a burger and fries getting cold."

"And just where do you think you're going?" the officer demanded. Reaching behind her back she removed the handcuffs from her belt.

"Inside," Mitch replied, attempting to hide his amusement. This chick thought she was a real bad ass.

"Oh no you're not. You can't destroy private property, beat two men senseless and expect to just walk away. This isn't a Chuck Norris movie."

"Well now that you mention it, officer, I did feel rather conspicuous having to do your job for you. You do realize these two goons were about to beat you senseless, or worse."

"Don't worry about me, just turn around and hold your arms together.

Mitch merely sighed, making no effort to obey the officer's commands. "Before you make an even bigger mistake than you already have just let me reach for my wallet, there's something you should see."

"All right," the officer relented. "But do it very slowly."

Reaching into his left hip pocket Mitch pulled out his wallet. Opening it he removed a card encased in plastic, offering it to the officer.

She read the writing on the card, the frown on her face disappearing. Returning her pistol to its holster she said, "You're with the NSA?"

Mitch nodded. "Not so loud. I don't want it getting around."

"I'll have to check this out, of course."

"I'm not going anywhere."

Keeping one eye on Mitch the officer made her way over to her squad car, reaching for the radio receiver. "Clara, Anne here. Can you run a quick check on one Mitch Sinclair? He claims to be with the NSA."

Mitch leaned against the dented bed of an old Chevy pickup, hands shoved into his front pockets, hoping Mr. Whitfield's friends at the real NSA would come through backing his cover story. After several very tense moments the officer returned, now wearing an extremely embarrassed expression as she offered the fake ID card back to him.

"Everything checked out. I do hope you understand I was only doing my job."

"Of course, officer. Your devotion to duty is very commendable. Do you need any help with these two?"

"I can handle it," she said, her tough girl persona already reasserting itself. Mitch couldn't help smiling. Given time to get used to her he could probably get to like her.

"I'm sure you can," he said, turning back toward the diner.

CHAPTER 5

That evening, while flipping through the channels to find something that agreed with his frozen dinner of mostly white meat turkey and dressing, Bill noticed that the five pm edition of Channel-9 news had a new head anchor, a woman, and a very attractive one at that. Suddenly the bland TV dinner tasted pretty good. Shoveling a forkful of the still half cold cranberry cobbler into his mouth he turned the volume up to hear what she was saying.

The lead story had something to do about rising tensions in the Middle-East or some other such nonsense but Bill hardly heard a word as he continued to stare at the woman, wondering what she looked like naked. There was something about her face that seemed strangely familiar. He felt as though he should know her from somewhere, but that was impossible because he never went anywhere to meet anyone, especially such a beautiful woman.

Deciding he had probably just seen someone that resembled the woman Bill started to switch the channel only to change his mind and set the remote back on the sofa cushion. There was definitely something familiar about the woman, the delicate shape of her face, the exquisitely small, upturned nose and those large brown eyes that seemed to stare right through the screen at him.

Bill took another bite of turkey, chewed slowly and started to swallow when the answer suddenly came to him, almost causing him to choke. He took a deep swallow from the one liter bottle of Pepsi cola on the coffee table then eased back into the sofa cushions, pausing the TV the instant the camera panned back toward the woman.

It was amazing. He couldn't believe the resemblance between the two women, but if she were to get all cleaned up Elsa could have easily passed for the anchor woman's twin sister. The likeness was uncanny.

Suddenly realizing what he was doing Bill let out a disgusted sigh. He had been thinking about Elsa ever since they met. She had been worming her way into his thoughts, constantly popping up like a song he couldn't stop humming.

"Jesus Bill, you have got to stop thinking about that weird chick. And you have got to stop talking to yourself."

"Remember what mom used to say," the voice said, inviting itself to join the conversation, "only crazy people talk to themselves."

Ignoring his invisible companion's taunting, Bill set the DVR up to record the rest of the news. As he continued to study the woman's face and compare her voice to what he could remember of Elsa's there was only one conclusion his addled mind could arrive at. Either she had twin and obviously far more successful sibling or they were one in the same person.

"That is the dumbest idea you've ever had," the voice said. "From now on you'd better let me do the thinking for both of us. Now turn the TV over to channel 153, it's time for The Munsters."

Bill focused in on the small digital clock on the DVR. It was almost 5:30. Looking out the living room window he could see the sun beginning to set, turning the cloud swept sky a soft hue of purple and orange. The old cemetery was only five miles away. If he left now and put his foot down he could easily get there before it got dark.

"You can't be serious!" the voice exclaimed. "The Munsters is about to start! Tonight it's the episode about the Fregosi emerald!"

Ignoring the voice Bill lifted himself up off the sofa, making his way into the kitchen. Grabbing the car keys off the counter he headed out the door. Climbing in the Challenger he started the engine and put a Deep Purple CD in the player, turning the volume up loud enough to drown out the voice's grumbling.

Obeying the speed-limit until he reached the town limits he applied a good amount of pressure to the car's accelerator pedal, taking off down Highway-10 like a rocket sled. The speedometer needle nudging 100mph he took one hand off the wheel long enough to switch the headlights on just as the turn off onto Highway-22 came into view.

Slowing down to 50mph Bill turned the wheel hard, taking the curve much faster than necessary. The fat high performance tires squealed, leaving matching skid marks on the gray asphalt.

The closer he came to the cemetery the more Bill continued to slow down. As the narrow driveway came into view he came to a complete stop, switching the headlights to high beam. Did he really want to do this? If Elsa was there and he told her what he was doing there she'd think he was crazy. You didn't just barge into someone's home and demand they tell you everything about themselves. He was fairly certain Emily Post would not have approved of such behavior.

Looking down at the gas gauge Bill shook his head, trying to decide whether or not to go on.

"Well, Idiot, what are you going to do now?" the voice demanded. "You'd better make up your mind soon; you've only got half a tank of gas."

Bill sat there a few moments longer, gripping the steering wheel so tight his fingers grew numb. The engine rumbled softly as the remaining daylight continued to fade. "Oh what the hell," he finally said, throwing the car into first and starting down the driveway. All Elsa or her father could do was tell him to get lost. Or have him arrested."

"They could shoot you too," the voice said.

Bill's hesitating had caused him precious time. Already the shadows just beyond the reach of the headlights were playing tricks with his peripheral vision, creating disturbingly misshapen forms out of the corners of his eyes as he approached the first of the long neglected graves.

He slowed down to a crawl to keep the loose stones on the driveway from damaging the car's paintjob. Still, a few rocks did find their mark, each striking the car high of the driver side door, as if they were being thrown by someone, or even worse some thing, hiding behind one of the leaning headstones. Although he knew it had to be his imagination he didn't dare look.

Driving through the gate he pulled up in front of the dark house. Apparently the Power Company hadn't been by yet. Either that or there was no one home. Leaving the headlights on he climbed out of the car, quickly glancing toward the graves off to his left as he made his way up the front steps.

Still trying to decide what he was going to say Bill knocked softly on the door. He barely touched it but is swung inward on creaking hinges. Wonderful, he thought taking a couple of cautious steps back. Now they'd think he was trying to break in. Knowing his luck he'd probably get shot for trespassing.

A moment passed but nothing happened. The ensuing silence was overwhelming, causing Bill's ears to ring. Taking another quick look about the cemetery as the daylight continued to fade he decided to take a chance and push the door open just a little further. "Hello? Anyone home?"

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness Bill could see no one was home. From the looks of it no one had been for quite sometime. The inside of the house was in even worse shape than the outside. The plaster on the walls was rotted. Large clumps had fallen away revealing the rusty electrical wiring beneath. The oak floorboards, or what was left of them, were badly worn. What must have once been a beautiful stone fireplace was slowly disintegrating back into a pile of loose rocks.

The only evidence anyone had recently been inside the house was a single set of footprints on the dusty floor. From the tread pattern Bill could tell they had been made by some kind of hiking shoes, like the ones Elsa had been wearing the night he drove her home from the market. They had to be hers.

Taking care where he stepped on the rotten floorboards Bill followed the tracks through the house and out onto the back porch where they disappeared. There was nothing behind the house but tall grass and more headstones. Not twenty feet from the porch steps stood a large stone of black granite that read KELSEY, 1890-1975.

Bill silently thanked God it didn't say ELSA. That would have been the final straw snap necessary to relieve him of his already precarious grasp on sanity. "Now where in the world could she have gone?" he muttered, taking a seat on the back steps. "It's obvious she isn't living here. So why would she have me drive her all the way out here?"

"Maybe she didn't have you drive her out here," the voice offered.

"What?"

"Well, think about it, William. She could have very possibly been a figment of your imagination."

"Surely not." Bill rubbed his temples as they began to throb. Could his sadistic companion be right? Could his encounter with Elsa have been some kind of hallucinatory episode? Sure, he had been under a tremendous amount of stress lately and the voice was getting increasingly stronger but was he that far gone?"

The sudden hooting of a screech owl in one of the nearby trees roused Bill from his mental ramblings. The daylight was gone and he could feel what precious little courage he possessed fading just as quickly, reminding him that he was first and foremost a coward. This little mystery he had dreamed up could wait until he was safely back home with the lights on and the doors and windows locked.

Rather than going back inside the house Bill made his way around it. He started at a brisk pace but by the time the car came into sight he was running. Jumping into the waiting machine he slammed the door and locked it.

Turning the car around he started back up the driveway, this time completely unconcerned by the occasional pop of a rock against the paintjob. He decided he had to do something about his obviously deteriorating faculties before he really did lose it. But after taking a final glimpse in the rearview mirror he feared it might already be too late. His blood seemed to turn to ice. It was all he could do to keep from screaming.

Elsa stood just inside the cemetery gate, watching him.

Suddenly discovering an unexpected streak of courage, Bill stomped the break and clutch pedals, turning the wheel hard enough for the car's tires to dredge up a pile of gravel as its rear and front ends traded places. The headlights fell on Elsa for just an instant before she turned and ran behind the old house with an incredible burst of speed.

His newfound courage fading just as quickly as it first appeared, Bill turned the car back around. By the time he reached the end of the driveway he was doing better than 100mph. Once more slamming on the brakes and sliding to a stop he opened the glove-box and removed a bottle of Zoloft. His hands were shaking so badly he could barely get the top off and shove two of the pills into his mouth. He swallowed them dry.

Risking another look in the rearview mirror all he saw was an impenetrable cloud of gravel dust beyond the red and orange glow of the car's taillights. Still trembling he drove all the way back to town. It was a warm night but a nagging chill had attached itself to his spine, sending out icy tendrils to his arms and legs like a parasite attempting to take over its host's body. He had the heater on full blast but the hot air coming through the vents offered little relief.

By the time he reached the house he was covered in icy sweat. Pulling up under the carport he shut the car's engine off but remained behind the wheel, in no great hurry to surrender the small sense of security he felt being locked inside.

He couldn't just go inside the house and sit in front of the TV like nothing had happened. He had to do something to take his mind off it, keep himself from thinking about it. Drumming his fingers against the steering wheel in search of a solution to his dilemma he let his eyes dart toward the garage.

Finally climbing out of the car he approached the dark building. Opening one of the wooden doors he propped it in place with an old brick and made his way inside, feeling about for the light switch. The two old fashioned light bulbs hanging down from the bare rafters came to life, revealing a scene of great clutter, including everything from the old console stereo-record player he used to play his KISS and Cheap Trick albums on to the candy apple red Western Flier bicycle his parents had given him for Christmas when he was ten. It was the same one he rode out to the old cemetery all those years ago after Daryl Walker bet him all his Captain America comics that he didn't have the nerve.

Patting the old bicycle's dusty banana style seat Bill made his way to the very back of the garage, pushing a faded cardboard box full of old clothes and several stacks of even older National Geographic's off to one side. Behind them was a large object covered with a paint stained canvas drop cloth.

Grabbing one corner of the cloth Bill pulled it away, revealing an antique 1978 BMW motorcycle. He had bought the bike several years ago as a weekend restoration project but for one reason or another had never gotten around to replacing the busted fuel pump and a few other worn out parts.

He had all the parts to repair the bike, including a new set of high performance tires but he had let it sit up so long it now needed a complete overhaul. But that was good, it would give him something constructive to take his mind off what happened out at the cemetery.

Pushing the bike over to a homemade work table covered in rusty mechanical tools he turned the old stereo on, twisting the tuner knob until the indicator needle landed on a classic rock station out of Birmingham. Meatloaf's Bat out of Hell came in over the busted speakers.

Selecting the tools necessary to tear the bike down Bill got to work. It was a dirty and time consuming task, most of the nuts and bolts were frozen and screws were either broken off or stripped. Several wires in the electrical harness were also burned in two, needing to be replaced.

He consulted the repair manual until his eyes were bleary but he was wide awake, paying no attention to the time as he slowly but surely corrected one mechanical problem after another. Somewhere along the way he had forgotten how much he enjoyed working with his hands.

By the time he removed his grease stained work gloves the bike's engine was purring like a baby lion. Easing down on the faded leather seat he gave the throttle a slight twist, closing his eyes to get the full effect of the sound of the engine and the smell of oil smoke pouring out of the rusted chrome exhaust pipe. It was a very masculine moment, man and machine working in unison to wake up the neighbors. Some patients you really could bring back from the dead.

Suddenly feeling the effects of almost six hours of physical labor, Bill shut the bike's engine off, yawning as he rose up off the seat. Tomorrow he would take the old girl out for a test ride but right now he had to get some sleep.

Closing the garage up for the night he made his way inside the house, opting for the comfort of the living room sofa over his bed. Still unnerved by the events out at the cemetery he left the lights on.

CHAPTER 6

Mack Kincaid was not a happy man as he sat in his beautifully restored Buick Electra parked outside the Shelby County Courthouse. His head was throbbing from a sleepless night and the glare of the afternoon sun reflecting off the windshield was killing his eyes. Sighing he reached for his sunglasses sitting on the dash and put them on.

Mack was angry, furious to be precise. Yesterday, after speaking with a therapist at the mental health clinic in Pelham, Eve decided the time had come to hold that long discussed intervention with Bill concerning his wellbeing. And if that didn't work, the therapist added, "you can always have the individual temporarily committed for psychiatric evaluation."

And that was why they were at the Courthouse. Eve insisted she would only consider such a drastic action if Bill refused to voluntarily seek help. She had even set up an appointment for him with the doctor for next Wednesday, but here they were, getting the papers to have him tossed in some nuthouse just in case.

Mack was angrier with Eve than he had ever been. For the first time he honestly had to resist the urge to hit her. Yes, Bill was ill, there was no doubt about that and he would do anything possible to help him, but what Eve was up to and he was grudgingly going along with was heavy with the stench of betrayal.

And here came the female Judas now, a bunch of papers in hand. Mack frowned as she climbed inside the car, placing the papers in the already cluttered glove-box. "Sorry it took so long. What say we get some KFC for supper? We can invite Bill over and talk with him."

Mack didn't utter a sound as he started the car and backed out of the parking space. The big Buick's gleaming chrome rear bumper missed the left fender of a much smaller and flimsier Toyota with only several inches to spare. "Damn small parking spaces," he grumbled, shifting the transmission into drive.

"You're still mad at me, aren't you?" Eve asked as she fastened her seatbelt in anticipation of a nerve wracking drive home. Mack remained silently, eyes locked straight ahead. "Are you ever going to speak to me again?"

"There's a KFC on Main Street. Do you want original or extra crispy?"

"Damn it, Mack, it's for Bill's own good."

"I don't want to talk about it. I agreed to go along with it but I don't have to act like I'm happy about it."

"And do you think I am? He's my brother. I've known him all his life."

Mack laughed as they turned onto Main Street and he pointed the car's broad front end toward a red and white building with the smiling visage of Harland Saunders painted on the side. "Do you want original or extra crispy? You never did say."

"What's so funny?" Eve demanded.

"You saying you know Bill. He might be your brother, but you don't know him, Eve, not really."

"I know him well enough to know he needs help? Go ahead, make me out to be the bad guy, but someone has to be an adult and make the hard decisions. I always thought you were the man in this relationship, but if you're not up to the job--"

Mack balled his right hand into a tight fist, smashing it against the car's dash. "Eve, I never thought I'd have to say this but please just shut-up."

While Mack and Eve were silently cursing one another, and occasionally trading fiery eyed expression that said more than any combination of words ever could, Bill took the newly resurrected R-100 motorcycle out for a test ride to see if all his hard work had been worth it. He wasn't disappointed. It rode like a dream, the four-stroke boxer engine producing more than enough power to push it along almost effortlessly. The hand-brake was a little loose but that was nothing a few twist of a ratchet driver couldn't fix. It was a sturdy, well crafted machine, a real credit to German engineering.

After a few circuits around town Bill decided the old bike was reliable enough to cruise the back roads. Stopping by the local Exxon to top off the gas tank he headed down Highway-54 to the County Limits. Entering Bibb County he decided to ride out to the old train trestle where the cool kids used to party back in high school. "Not that we were ever invited," the voice observed.

Coming to the end of the old dirt road where the trestle was located he was surprised to see it had collapsed and fallen into the deep ravine it had once spanned. Only several of the enormous concrete pillars that it had been built upon remained, now covered with obscene spray-can graffiti, including one extremely well rendered image of a giant vagina being pursued by an equally as impressive purple headed penis with bulging eyes and legs.

From the trestle Bill rode on to Little River Church where he and Mack sometimes went fishing. That was when Eve would let him go. Parking the bike in front of the small, white church, Bill climbed off, walking over to the faded slate headstone of a distant relative from the 18th Century.

Back before his mother passed over she had developed an intense interest in her ancestry. Knowing she was ill Bill humored her by driving her all over the county to locate the graves of newly discovered but long dead ancestors, including one fellow from Briarfield, a doctor and minister who supposedly had a rather sizable plantation and a number of black slaves.

The old church was also the scene of a few good and now humorous memories for Bill, including his first kiss. It was Homecoming back in 1985 and he asked Carmen Finely to walk down to the edge of the river with him on the pretext of looking at a bunch of newly hatched baby turtles. Once they were alone, and before he lost his nerve he gave her a quick peck on the cheek.

Carmen's reaction to the innocent act of affection was to push Bill into the river and walk back to the church, wiping her mouth on the sleeve of her blouse. She never spoke to him again but always seemed to have a hateful drop dead look to offer him. Today she was a tattoo artist and lived with another woman strangely enough named Jeff.

Climbing back on the bike, Bill rode back to the highway. Coming up on an extremely straight stretch of asphalt he decided to see just what the machine could do. Twisting the throttle he watched the speedometer needle as it quickly touched the 100mph mark. The old Boxer engine sounded like a swarm of angry killer bees.

The bike's speed was still increasing when Bill's common sense overruled his boyish excitement. It wouldn't do to take a high speed spill on such a desolate stretch of road. He could lie there all day before someone came along.

Slowing down to a more conservative 30mph, Bill playfully swerved from one side of the white line to the other, turning the front wheel just sharp enough to make the back tire squeal. He rode on for several miles with no real destination in mind. The highway would eventually run into Pilgrim Road just outside of Montevallo. Unless he turned back and went the long way he would have to pass the old cemetery in order to get home.

Coming to a stop straddling the center line Bill removed his helmet, running his fingers through his sweat dampened hair as he stared off down the road, wondering if the cemetery had subconsciously been his destination all along. He let his head drop, sighing. "Damn it, Bill, there is no Elsa," he muttered, stomping one foot on the warm asphalt. "She's just a figment of your imagination. In a few more days the medication you've been taking will take full effect and you'll be far less imaginative, a regular zombie. Maybe then you'll stop talking to yourself."

He stood there for several minutes, gently twisting the bike's throttle.

Finally deciding the very best thing he could do was to just go out to the old cemetery and prove to himself once and for all that there was no Elsa, Bill pulled the helmet back on and took off, rolling forward slowly.

Other than the rumble of the engine's exhaust pipe the miles leading out to the cemetery rolled by in complete silence, even the voice was quiet, apparently enjoying the lonely solitude of the ride.

Finally the old driveway came into sight. Bill slowed down much sooner than was necessary to safely take the turn. When the time came to make it he came to a complete stop, looking down the tree lined stretch of gravel. The branches of the trees were so thick that it had a gloomy tunnel-like aura about it even in broad daylight.

"Well what did you expect?" the voice asked, finally reasserting its presence. "After all it is a cemetery not Disney Land."

Shaking his head, Bill gave the throttle a very slight twist, causing the bike to creep forward. All he would find would be a deserted cemetery. Not Elsa or anyone else would be there. Coming to the old caretaker's house he eased on the brakes, rolling to a complete stop. And then, for absolutely no reason at all, he suddenly gunned the engine, cutting several doughnuts. A shower of lose stones struck the house, bouncing off the rotted clapboards and breaking several of the grimy window panes.

Finally having sated the urge to destroy something he shut off the bike's engine and popped the kickstand to have a closer look around. Looking down at his feet as he walked among the headstones the only things he found that didn't belong there were empty beer cans and condom wrappers strewn about in the tall grass. Obviously the local high school kids had adopted the forsaken place as their version of a make-out spot.

Shaking his head Bill sat down on one of the smaller stones, silently absorbing the warm rays of the sun. The kids today were either a hell of a lot braver, or hornier, than they were back in his day. When he was in high school not even the members of the football team would come out here after dark.

Making his way back to the bike Bill rode across the cemetery and up a steep, grassy hill to the edge of the woods surrounding it. The position afforded him an eagle's eye view of over half the graves, including the caretaker's house and the front gate. No one would be able to come or go without him seeing them.

Bill shut the bike's engine off. Since the ground was so steep and he couldn't use the kickstand he climbed off the bike and gently leaned it up against the trunk of a small pine tree. He then took a seat on the ground, leaning up against another tree.

The ensuing silence was deafening, causing his ears to ring. It seemed like the entire world was as motionless as the dearly departed resting in the cool dark earth below.

Glancing at his watch Bill frowned, more than a little disgusted with himself. Here it was, a gloriously beautiful fall day, not a cloud in the sky, and he was hanging around an old abandoned graveyard attempting to convince himself that the first beautiful girl he had gotten to talk to him in months was merely a figment of his imagination. This was probably how Ed Gein got started. Oh well, better here than cooped up in the morgue, he thought closing his eyes, slowly breathing in the sweet, crisp air. Before he knew it he was sound asleep.

As the minutes turned into hours, Bill shifted about in his sleep, attempting to get into a more comfortable position before finally sliding down the side of the tree until his head came to rest on one of its exposed roots. While he dozed a large raven sailed down from the cloudless sky. Lighting on the motorcycle's seat it glanced over at Bill, its black eyes seething with curiosity, or possibly amusement. After a moment of studying the sleeping man it began to preen its gleaming blue-black feathers.

By five o'clock the sun was beginning to set and the air grew uncomfortably cold. The raven, still perched on the bike's seat turned toward Bill, letting out a soft caw.

Bill continued to snore, dead to the world.

The raven cawed again.

Still no response.

Hopping down off the bike the bird made its way over to where Bill lay flat on his back and proceeded to gently pecked at the left side of his head, even biting his earlobe. When that failed to rouse him, the bird emanated a sound that was unmistakably a sigh. It then hoped up on Bill's chest, looked him straight in the face and let out a deafening "CAWWWW!"

Startled back to his senses Bill bolted up; looking about but there was nothing to see. His feathered visitor had vanished. Seeing how dark it was getting he decided it was time to leave also.

Climbing back on the bike, Bill was about to start the engine when he caught a sudden movement out of the corner of his left eye. Looking over his shoulder he saw someone wading through the tall grass among the graves at the base of the hillside. His heart skipped a beat as he recognized who it was. It was Elsa.

"All right, cowboy, here's you chance," the voice said in an amazingly good John Wayne accent. "March right down there and tell her she's not real."

Rubbing his eyes to get them into focus Bill took another look, squinting in an attempt to overcome the rapidly accumulating darkness. There was no doubt about it, it was her, but if she wasn't simply a figment of his mental illness where had she come from? Only a moment before the cemetery had been empty. He had only looked away long enough to climb on the bike and turn it around.

Another kind of chill having nothing to do with the dropping temperature suddenly fell over Bill as he found himself recalling all those stories from his childhood about the old cemetery being haunted. Over the years he had managed to push them away to the back of his mind, even sometimes laughing about them from within the safety of his well lit house, but now, standing there alone in the icy twilight those stories about ghosts didn't seem quite so silly.

It has to be in my mind, Bill thought gripping the bike's handlebar, struggling to find the courage to call out to Elsa and see if she would answer. And what would he do if she did? But no, he had to remain calm, think clearly.

He first saw Elsa at the market three days ago, after putting in a long shift down at the morgue. He spoke with her, of that he was absolutely certain. And that meant only one of three things could possibly be happening to him now: Either A, she was indeed a real flesh and blood person, "B, as he suspected, a hallucination, or C, and most disturbing of all, she was a ghost. Now all he had to do was figure out which answer was correct without winding up in a straight jacket.

Bill thought back to how strangely the cashiers had acted when he was checking out his groceries, almost panicking. Maybe they had acted that way because he had been walking around talking to someone that wasn't there. And if so just how long had he been doing it? Surely Mack or Eve would have said something if he was really that far gone.

Bill shook his head, forcing all the troubling thoughts from his mind. They were only adding to his confusion. The first thing he had to do was find out if Elsa was real or not. And there was only one way to do that. Closing his eyes tight he slowly counted to five and opened them. She was still down there, not a hundred yards away. He continued to watch as she passed beneath the cemetery gates and started down the driveway.

Letting the bike fall to the ground Bill took off down the hillside after her. Reaching the end of the driveway he came to a stop, looking toward town. The road, or what remained of it, was almost arrow straight for at least half a mile, but there was no sign of her, or anywhere she could possibly be hiding. She had done it to him again, vanished without a trace. That was if she had ever been there in the first place.

Doubting his sanity more than ever, Bill retrieved the bike and started toward home. He hadn't gone more than a mile when a small red light on the bike's fuel gauge started flashing. Slowing down to a crawl to conserve what little gas remained in the tank he somehow made it to the service station without a fume to spare.

Shutting the engine off Bill climbed off the bike, looking about as he reached for his wallet. There was no one else around except for the station attendant and some old guy buying a carton of cigarettes and a case of beer, and yet he couldn't shake the unnerving feeling that he was being watched.

Removing his helmet and setting it on the bike's seat he pulled a VISA card from his wallet and shoved it into the slot in the pump. While he filled the tank up the older customer emerged from the store, placed his purchases in the back seat of a dark gray Ford and drove off into the night, leaving Bill alone with the attendant. Turning toward the store he offered the man a friendly wave and was treated to a sour faced sneer in return.

Grabbing his helmet off the seat Bill started to put it back on when he noticed a small piece of paper sticking out of a tear in the lining. Neither the tear nor the paper had been there earlier. Pulling the paper out he unfolded it and nearly screamed. It was a note and it was addressed to him. It read: Bill Metts, I know you are following me. For your own sake please stay away from the cemetery. I do not need your help.

The note wasn't signed but there was no doubt in Bill's mind as to its author. Folding the paper back up he shoved it into his coat pocket, taking another look around. The attendant was watching him, no doubt wondering why he hadn't left yet.

Deciding he had better leave before the guy called the cops on him he climbed on the bike and started the engine, once more offering the creep a friendly wave before taking off with a slight scuff of the tires

CHAPTER 7

"Damn it," TJ Perkins hissed as he leaned forward underneath the raised hood of the 69 Chevy Camero. Holding a small flashlight in one hand he was attempting to figure out why the blasted thing wouldn't go. It had to be the carburetor. He had rebuilt it just that afternoon and thought he had done a pretty bang up job. Maybe he should have tried a little harder to figure where those extra couple of pieces left over were supposed to go.

"Can you fix it?" the girl in the passenger seat asked for at least the tenth time in the last five minutes.

TJ rolled his eyes. "Sure, no problem if I was in my garage and had the right tools and a little more light. Stupid bitch," he then muttered, leaning down closer to the engine.

"What did you say?"

"I said it might be the ignition switch."

Arlene Meyers shook her head in disgust. It was bad enough that TJ spent more time fiddling with his stupid car then he did her. And when he did pry his head out from under the hood long enough to take her out the damned thing would have to break down in the middle of nowhere. If they missed the party at Cindy Wilson's house he could forget about getting some tonight...or ever again.

In a huff, Arlene got out of the car, impatiently folding her arms as she leaned against a cedar post of an old barbed wire running alongside the highway, listening as her soon to be ex-boyfriend continued to tinker with the engine, speaking to it like it was a sick child. It had to be all that testosterone affecting his brain. Still, he did have a cute little butt. Too bad he was getting his Levis all greasy.

"Come on baby; start for daddy and I'll buy you a tank full of the expensive stuff first thing in the morning."

Looking about at their desolate surroundings Arlene released another disgusted sigh just loud enough so that TJ could hear. And that wasn't all she needed to release. Aside from being stranded in the middle of nowhere with no cell-phone reception she had to pee really, really bad. If they had taken the main road like she had wanted to they could at least have flagged down some help. Men and their stupid short cuts.

Thrusting her hands in her back pockets she joined TJ in front of the 46 year old hunk of junk he called a car. "If we had taken Daddy's car like he offered we wouldn't be here now."

"No we wouldn't," TJ snarled in agreement as he burned his knuckles against the still hot manifold, "we'd be in a Toyota, and I'd rather walk than drive a rice-burner."

Arlene looked toward Heaven, as if seeking Divine assistance, or maybe a lightning bolt. "Well, smart ass, it looks like you're going to get your wish, and in the rain yet. I hope you're satisfied."

TJ ground his teeth. If Arlene wasn't so willing to put out he would have asked Susan Fisher, who was prettier and had bigger tits to the party instead. Sometimes he wondered if women were worth all the trouble, not to mention expense. Maybe the gay guys had the right idea. "Just get in the car and try to start the engine. Please?"

"It's a stick-shift. I can't drive a stick."

TJ wiped the greasy sweat from his forehead. God she was stupid, even for a chick, it had to be all that estrogen. It was almost enough to make a fella seriously consider turning queer. "All you have to do is get in the car....press the clutch all the way to the floor....then turn the key." He said it as if speaking to someone mentally deficient.

Holding her peace Arlene climbed behind the wheel and pressed the clutch all the way down as instructed, waiting for the word. She did not like the way TJ had been talking to her all night, even before the stupid car died. And then she smiled as a wicked thought entered her mind. It would be so easy to make the car lurch forward, if by some miracle he was able to get the damned thing started.

"It was an accident," she would tell the Police with tears in her eyes as the Paramedics pulled TJ's crushed body out from under the car. "I told him I couldn't drive a stick-shift but he wouldn't listen. Then, when the car started it lurched forward. I tried to stop it but his head got caught under the wheels and I panicked. No one would blame a hysterical young woman..

Unaware of the mortal danger he was in, TJ pulled the stuck choke loose and hollered for Arlene to give it a try. Making certain one foot was on the clutch and the other the brake she gave the ignition switch a half-hearted twist, expecting more of the same sputtering as before. TJ's cute butt had save his life....again.

Much to Arlene's surprise the big 502 V8 roared back to life with a deafening backfire and clouds of smelly blue smoke pouring from the dual exhausts. "Like a fucking top," TJ said, slamming the hood and sliding the pins back in place. He was so busy congratulating himself on his mechanical expertise he didn't notice the dark blue Cadillac CTS-V as it pulled up to a stop alongside him. The tinted driver side window rolled down with barely a sound.

"Need any help?" the car's driver asked.

Startled, TJ whirled about. "Huh? Oh, uh no thanks," he replied, regaining his composure. "The choke got stuck but it's fine now. Thanks for asking though."

"No problem," the driver said, taking a moment to admire the Camero's muscular lines and stance. "That's a real beauty you've got there, a 68, isn't it? What size engine are you running?"

"It's a 502 with a manual 400 transmission and a Dana positive-traction rear end," TJ said, more than happy to get in a little bragging. "I rebuilt her from the frame up."

"Well, she's a real road monster. Don't let her get away from you."

Nodding, TJ watched as the man drove off and then climbed back into the Camero. "Who was that?" Arlene asked, glancing in the rearview mirror as the other car's taillights disappeared into the darkness.

"I don't know, just someone seeing if we needed any help. Mighty friendly of him stopping for a stranger, especially the way people are nowadays." With that TJ threw the transmission into first, gunned the engine until the RPM gauge was in the high yellow and then popped the clutch. The fat back tires spun for several seconds, causing the rear end to fishtail before finally catching traction. The needle on the speedometer jumped from 0 to 80mph almost instantly and continued climbing, 100, 110, 120.

"Why don't you put a CD in the player? TJ shouted over the roar of the engine, reveling in the look of absolute terror on Arlene's face.

"Why don't you slow the fuck down?" she countered, placing both hands against the dashboard in grim anticipation of their impending deaths when the idiot inevitably lost control of the car.

TJ laughed as he shifted gears. "Relax. You don't want to be late for the party do you?"

"It beats just being late!" she huffed, once more glancing over at the speedometer. She was so nervous she could feel her bladder about to give way. "Now please pull over! I'm going to die if I don't pee."

"Can I watch?"

"Degenerate."

TJ was about to ask what the word meant when a blindingly bright pair of headlights appeared in the rearview mirror, approaching the Camero like two heat-seeking missiles locked onto their target. Before he could react the Cadillac roared past him.

"Isn't that the guy you were just talking to?" Arlene asked.

"So the son of a bitch wants to play!" TJ snarled. Grabbing the pistol grip shifter he threw the transmission into third and stomped the accelerator. The Camero's back tires squealed like an animal in pain, the bumper disappearing in a cloud of smoke. The speedometer needle shot up to 150mph and started bouncing as he gradually caught up with the Cadillac then pulled over into the other lane to pass.

TJ and the driver of the Cadillac exchanged quick glimpses, the younger frowning the older smiling slyly. And then the Cadillac's engine produced a tremendous burst of power that left the Camero behind like it was standing still. The look of utter disbelief on TJ's face was priceless to Arlene. "Well, that's the way it goes," she said crossing her legs a little tighter as the urge to pee became unbearable. "There's always going to be someone with a faster car or a bigger dick, and now I've seen them both. So slow down!"

The fence posts along the right side of the road had been reduced to a constant blur as a despondent TJ eased off on the accelerator. He couldn't believe it, fifteen thousand dollars to rebuild and soup up the Camero, and then along comes some old geezer in a dad-mobile and blows his doors off. And what was worse Arlene was laughing at his emasculation. "Maybe you'd like to get out and walk after all."

"Oh relax, I promise I won't tell anyone that Mr. big bad muscle car lost his first race. "Now will you please find someplace to pull over where I can pee?"

"Yea, whatever, there's a dirt road about a mile up ahead."

TJ slowed down to a somewhat saner 60mph. In no mood to talk he grabbed a CD from the glove-box and slid it into the player. Finding the track he wanted he pushed the play button and Sammy Hagar's "I can't drive 55" blared over the speakers, making Arlene's ears ache. She hated loud music. It was his little way of getting back at her for laughing at him.. And then he slammed on the brakes, coming to a sudden stop.

The Cadillac stood in the middle of the road a quarter of a mile ahead, headlights off.

"What the hell is that guy's problem?" Arlene asked. Before TJ could offer an answer the Cadillac's lights came on and it headed directly toward the Camero. TJ twisted the wheel hard, having to run off the road and into a small ditch to avoid a collision.

"Sorry son of a bitch!" the enraged boy hissed, making a sloppy one-eighty in pursuit of the other car.

Terrified, Arlene fumbled with her seat-belt. "TJ, what are you trying to do?" she exclaimed as the Camero's rapid acceleration pushed her back in her seat like an astronaut on lift-off.

"I'm about to give some old dude a driving lesson," he replied, shifting into fourth. "Hold on, babe!"

"You idiot! You couldn't catch him before!"

"Shut-up!"

The Camero's engine screamed as it slowly caught up with the other car. TJ flashed his lights off and on, letting his opponent know he was still very much in the race.

"TJ, please!" a now terrified Arlene cried.

"Shut up! I know what I'm doing!"

"The famous last words of many an idiot!"

Pulling up along side the Cadillac, TJ gave the still grinning driver the finger, about to pass him and regain his manhood, but before he could the much larger and heavier machine produced another unbelievable burst of speed, once more leaving him far behind.

TJ's jaw dropped lower than his balls as he glanced down at the speedometer. The needle had broken and all the warning lights were flashing. Arlene was screaming for him to slow down. But she was just a stupid chick, she couldn't possible understand something as complicated as masculine pride.

The old guy in the Caddy was challenging him, and he was going to show the cocksucker who the better man and machine was. But that was easier said than done as the Camero was becoming impossible to control, the front end shuddering.

"If we have a blow-out--"

"Shut-up!"

And then something broke with a loud pop and the steering went out. The Camero once more ran off the road, shattering several fence posts before finally coming to a stop in a cow pasture. The engine continued to sputter for a moment before finally expiring with a loud backfire. The busted radiator spewed boiling coolant like Old Faithful.

Arlene was shaking like a leaf in a wind storm as she realized they were still alive, and they were going to stay that way if she had anything to say about it. As a last resort she attempted to reason with her idiot boyfriend. "TJ, you can't beat this guy. Just be a man about it and let's get out of here."

"Are you saying I ain't a man?" He gripped the steering wheel tight, calling on every shred of self control he possessed to resist the urge to slug her in the nose.

"Well you sure as hell aren't acting like one. Look at your car. All that money and hard work shot to hell. If you had let that guy go you wouldn't have totaled it."

That brought TJ back to his sense. "Oh fuck," he groaned, climbing out of the car to inspect the damage. He felt like he was about to shit blood. The sleek front end of his once beautiful street-machine was crumpled inward halfway to the windshield. The hood was gone and a fence post protruded from the mangled chrome grill like a stake from a vampire's heart.

TJ dropped to his knees, gently banging his forehead against the front bumper. It just wasn't fair. He took a deep breath to steady himself and hold back the tears welling up in his eyes. "Looks like we'll be walking after all."

"Serves you right," Arlene said, feeling a perverse sense of pleasure as she climbed out of the wreck. "I'm calling daddy to come and get us," she added, removing her phone from the hip pocket of her now soaking wet jeans. "Maybe from now on you'll think with your brain instead of your dick. That is if you're still alive after daddy's finished with you."

"Your daddy can suck my---" The words froze on TJ's lips as the Cadillac returned, rolling slowly down the highway toward them. He could see the driver's grinning face in the glow from the instrument panel lights. Rising to his feet he picked up a large rock, throwing it at the car and cursing as it fell short. "Come on out of there you son of a bitch! I'll give you something to grin about!"

To the enraged boy's surprise the man obliged. The driver side door opened and an unusually small man dressed impeccably in an Armani suit climbed out. There was no fear whatsoever in his bright green eyes as TJ charged toward him like a raging rhinoceros. The reason for his seemingly suicidal lack of concern was the rather formidable chrome plated .45 Colt Automatic he held in his in his right hand, just out of sight,

Running his free hand through a head of bushy black hair he waited until the boy was just twenty feet away before disengaging the pistol's safety with his thumb. By the time the boy caught a faint glimmer of polished metal in the moonlight it was too late.

Raising the weapon the man pulled the trigger twice, putting two hollow point slugs deep into TJ's left shoulder and chest that sent him crashing to the ground. Arlene screamed.

Approaching the fallen boy the man knelt and checked for a pulse then turned his attention toward the terrified girl as she turned and started running across the pasture, still screaming bloody murder. It was really a rather amusing sight the way she was flailing her arms, like some big, clumsy bird attempting to take flight. Stepping over TJ he took off after her.

Arlene had no idea where she was going. In her blind panic to escape her pursuer she didn't even notice as the sandals slipped off her feet or the sickening feel of fresh cow manure squishing between her toes.

Glancing over her shoulder she saw the man was getting closer. She couldn't outrun him, he was going to catch her. But why? Why not just shoot her like he had TJ? Idiot, isn't it obvious? He's going to rape you first! Run! Think later!"

Coming to another fence Arlene squeezed between the second and third strands , oblivious to the rusty barbed wire as it tore through her clothes, scratching the sweaty flesh beneath. There was no pain, only the primal urge to survive. When the gunshot finally came she couldn't hear it over the pounding of her heart. The bullet slammed into the back of her left thigh, the tremendous impact knocking her to the ground.

Amazingly, Arlene immediately scrambled back to her feet, nearly falling with every step she took. She would have screamed or cried but no longer possessed the presence of mind. All she could do was keep moving.

In her pathetic hysteria she didn't even see the enormous bull grazing on the wet grass ahead of her. She slammed into the munching bovine with a tremendous impact but the animal hardly even noticed, just another pesky fly, not even worth a swipe of its tail.

The next thing Arlene saw were stars, real ones. Flat on her back she stared up dumbly at the shimmering Milky way. The threatening storm clouds from just a few moments before had dispersed, leaving her with an unobstructed view of the heavens.

Suddenly a face was looking down at her. Oh God, she thought, this was really happening. She was about to be raped and killed, and in the middle of a cow pasture yet. Still, despite her fear and confusion she couldn't help noticing how delicate the man's features were, almost feminine. He seemed more the type to shave his chest and listen to show tunes than to murder someone in cold blood.

Kneeling down beside Arlene the man offered her a slightly embarrassed expression. "Excuse me my dear, but could you tell me how to get to the interstate? I'm afraid my GPS is on the fritz. Sixty thousand dollars I paid for that car and the bloody GPS doesn't even work."

"Huh?"

"The interstate," he repeated, tapping the gun's still smoking barrel against her forehead, "how do I get there from here?"

Arlene couldn't believe her ears. This joker was even crazier than she imagined. Maybe if she just told him what he wanted to know he'd go away and leave her alone.

"Well?" he said, growing impatient.

"G-g-go about ten miles west and ta-take....take the first ri-right."

"Thank you." With that the man squeezed the .45's trigger. The slug left an almost perfectly round hole the size of a quarter in the very center of Arlene's forehead but completely shattered the back of her skull upon exiting. Bits of brain and bone splattered across the wet grass.

The man didn't move for several moments, silently studying the dead girl. Using the gun's barrel he brushed the loose hair out of her face. She had been quite a looker with nice round tits and a firm little ass. If he hadn't been a married man he could have thought of a lot better things to do than kill her. Squeezing one of her still warm breasts he sighed and rose to his feet, returning the pistol to a holster beneath his left shoulder.

Hefting Arlene's body up over his shoulder he carried her back across the pasture, placed her in the Camero's passenger seat and strapped her seatbelt in place. He then placed TJ behind the wheel, but he wasn't finished with him just yet.

Whistling a disturbingly cheerful tune, the man made his way over to the Cadillac. Opening the trunk he removed an Igloo cooler filled with dry ice, a black handbag and a disposable plastic rain poncho.

Taking a quick look up and down the highway he hurried back to the Camero where TJ sat with his legs hanging out the door. Ripping the dead boy's shirt apart he opened the bag, removing a pair of surgical gloves and a very large butcher's knife with a serrated blade.

"Well now my young friend, I really hate to have to do this but I'm afraid you have something I need rather badly. We can go about this the easy way or the hard way, it's all up to you. So what's it going to be?" There was no response. "Yes, that's what I was hoping you'd say."

Running his hands along the boy's abdomen, the man located the spot he wanted and thrust the knife deep into the already cold flesh, moving it about with the speed and skill of an expert surgeon. Quite familiar with human anatomy he had the liver and kidneys removed in less than five minutes.

Placing the stolen organs in the cooler the man patted a now much lighter TJ on the shoulder. "You made the right decision, Son, your parents would be proud." He then removed the gore covered gloves and poncho, throwing them in the Camero's back seat.

Returning the cooler to the Cadillac and closing the trunk he hurried back to the wrecked car and removed the gas cap. Stuffing a handkerchief in the tank he lit it with a disposable lighter and made a hasty retreat before fire and gasoline vapors met with the predictably explosive results.

Climbing back in the Cadillac the man started the engine, waiting until the Camero suddenly erupted into a ball of flames before racing off down the dark highway.

Attracted to the burning car sleepy cows gathered along the fence and began grazing in the cheerful glow of the fire.

Bill sat at the kitchen table, silently rereading Elsa's note for at least the hundredth time. It still didn't make any sense. If Elsa thought he was trying to harass her or something why hadn't she just gone to the Police? Why leave a note? And even more troubling how did she get close enough to place it inside his helmet?

"Maybe she is a ghost," the voice offered. Sighing, Bill removed the bottle of pills from his jacket pocket, popping two in his mouth and downing them with a swallow of iced RC cola. "Those won't do you any good."

Ignoring his sadistic companion's taunting Bill read the note yet again. At the moment he really didn't care if Elsa was real, a figment of his imagination or a ghost. Nor was he going to obey her somewhat less than friendly warning to mind his own business.

Although he couldn't put his finger on it there was something strangely attractive about the girl, and it wasn't just her obvious physical attributes either. He couldn't remember the last time he spoke to a woman for any extended period of time without automatically trying to imagine what she looked like naked.

He was also fairly certain it wasn't just pity because she was obviously homeless and needed help. And he wanted to know why she so resembled the Channel-9 news anchor and if there was some possible connection between them.

"And just how do you plan on finding that out?" the voice asked, somewhat softer as the medication began to take effect. "Are you going to drive to the Channel-9 studios and ask the anchor chick if she has a crazy twin sister that hangs out around cemeteries? Face it, Bill; it's you that's crazy. You should have been locked away long ago."

Bill sighed as he bent over, resting his forehead on the table. "Tell me something, just what exactly are you?"

The voice laughed, now barely audible. "I'm an earwig. I crawled into your skull when you were a kid and I've been slowly chewing on your brain ever since."

"Very funny."

"I thought you could use a laugh. Actually you created me. At first I was your imaginary playmate because none of the other kids would have anything to do with you. Then you started talking to me and it would have been rather rude of me not to reply and so here we are, thirty years later. You know, Bill, we've been together longer than most married couples."

"Well, I hate to hurt your feelings but I want a divorce."

Without another word Bill got up and went into the living room, lying down on the sofa.

CHAPTER 8

Eliot Quimby had been a soldier in the US Army for ten years and had intended to make a career of the Military. But fate, unfortunately, had far less glorious plans in store for Eliot. Receiving a traumatic brain injury during the second Iraqi War when his humvee was destroyed by a roadside bomb he reluctantly left his comrades and returned to the States where he rather naively believed the Government would provide the expensive medical care he would require for the rest of his life.

The Government, however, as it had done so many of his fellow soldiers, let Eliot down. With no room at the VA and unable to hold a job due to his injuries he soon found himself homeless and living on the streets.

The last three years had been, without exaggeration, a living hell of wandering across the country, sleeping in gutters and alleys in the deadly chill of winter and the miserable heat of summer and eating in men's shelters and when things were really bad what precious little he could scavenge from trash cans and dumpsters.

During his final two weeks on earth, Eliot's body had been ravaged by a fever caused by several severely infected teeth leaving him in constant almost unbearable agony. By the time he happened across the old abandoned building and found a way inside he only had a few hours left.

Unable to go any farther he collapsed on the cold concrete floor and closed his eyes. All alone and in terrible pain he died.

A month later an unsuspecting Luke Hamblin and Maggie Green unknowingly retraced Eliot's final steps. "I don't like this place," she said, shining the flashlight's beam about the cavernous factory. "There's no one around for miles."

"That's what we want," Luke replied, dropping the sleeping bag he had been carrying under one arm and a radio in the other. In his shirt pocket was a pack of Trojan condoms, Magnum size. He'd had no idea what kind to buy so he thought it best to get the largest size just in case.

Turning the radio on, Luke sat it on the floor; un rolled the sleeping bag and began to undress. His fully erect penis popped up the instant his jeans fell to the ground, revealing just how eager he was. Maggie smiled as she too began to remove her clothes, starting with her tee-shirt, revealing her ample breasts.

"You're beautiful," Eliot said, taking a few awkward steps toward her.

"The rubbers," she replied, grabbing hold of his member.

"Oh yea. Wanna help me put it on?"

Still smiling Maggie bent over and retrieved the package of condoms from his shirt. Opening it she removed one of the foil packets, tearing it open with her teeth. Getting to her knees she attempted to roll the condom onto Luke's penis like she had been taught in Sex-Ed but it was at least three sizes too large. "Uh, we were a little optimistic weren't we?"

"I didn't know what size to buy," Luke offered, clearly embarrassed.

"Hey, it's all right. You've got a very nice cock, I'd say it's slightly larger than average."

"Then can we still--"

"No."​  
"Well, I guess we'd better go."

"Not just yet," Maggie said, retrieving the flashlight. "I've got an idea. What say we play hide and seek? If you can find me I'll give you a blowjob."

"Swallow?"

"Don't press your luck."

"You've got a deal."

"Good. Now close your beady little eyes and count to one hundred, slowly."

Nodding, Luke closed his eyes and started counting. Waiting until he got to ten Maggie walked off into the darkness in search of a hiding place. He had just reached the halfway point when she let out a horrified scream.

Bill couldn't sleep. His mind simply refused to rest, thinking about almost everything imaginable, from the mistakes and humiliating failures of the past, to what new catastrophes the future might hold in store. That is if he even had a future outside the confines of a padded cell. Mostly he thought about Elsa. Where was she? Was she safe? Hungry? It got awful cold at night this time of year.

Lying in the darkness, his head propped up with one of the sofa cushions and eyes wide open Bill was more certain than ever that Elsa and the woman from Channel-9 News were one in the same. The resemblance was simply too great to be a coincidence. They both had the same build, at least from what he could make out on the TV screen, their faces were the same shape and both had those beautiful, unusually large brown eyes that a man could get lost in forever.

Of course Elsa had practically told him to get lost and drop dead, the same as most women he had ever shown any interest in. Usually that was the end of the matter but not this time, he absolutely wanted this woman more than he ever had any other. And it wasn't just sexual, he wanted to be with her, to talk and go on long walks.

Closing his eyes Bill attempted to think about more pleasant things in hope of forcing sleep to come, like that log house he always wanted to build. But the constant ticking of the old clock on the kitchen wall refused to let him drift off into a much needed peaceful oblivion.

An hour later he was still listening to the ticking devil. It was taunting him, doing everything in its power to keep him wide awake. Clocks could be merciless when they knew you were lonely or depressed, especially late at night when you were most vulnerable.

"TICK!" and another second of your life is gone forever," it seemed to say. "And here come another one, Billy boy, TICK. That's right, you just lie there and let me eat up the rest of your miserable existence. TICK TICK TICK!"

"You know, Bill, if you had made something of your life you wouldn't be here now listening to me. You'd have a wife and kids, or at least a steady lady friend like other guys your age. You know what they say about guys that never move out of their parents' house or go one dates. What a loser."

"Why the next thing you know you'll be talking to yourself and dreaming up imaginary girls that hang out at old cemeteries at night to fall in love with. TICK TICK TICK. Loser! Failure! Joke!"

Finally the clock's sadistic taunting grew so loud Bill was forced to seek refuge in the relative peace of his bedroom at the other end of the house. At least the digital alarm clock on the nightstand was considerate enough to keep its opinion of him to itself.

Swallowing two more Zoloft Bill lay on top of the covers, eased his head down on the pillow and let out a weary sigh before closing his eyes. Several moments passed, the only sound his breathing. Now it was too quiet. Eyes still closed, Bill reached over on the unoccupied side of the bed, feeling about until he found the remote control for the stereo on the dresser. Switching on the CD mode he searched through the disks on the carousel: CCR, Queen, Elton John, Steely Dan and finally Jefferson Starship.

Selecting Starship he lay there in the darkness, listening to Marty and Grace singing Miracles. He hoped it would help him relax enough to drift off to sleep, but as one song ended and another began he remained wide awake, every muscle in his body tense. By the time the next CD started playing Steely Dan's Aja he grudgingly accepted that he wasn't going to get any rest tonight.

Climbing out of bed Bill made his way through the dark house to the kitchen. Grabbing a bottle of cold Pepsi cola from the refrigerator he sat at the table, once more fretting over his deteriorating mental health. In a moment of macabre whimsy he wondered what people would say about him if he were to finally snap and do something terrible.

"He always seemed like such a nice, quiet young man."

"True, he was a little strange but he never bothered anyone....until now.

"I guess you never can tell."

"I always suspected that Metts' boy was fucked up."

Bill's less than cheerful thoughts were suddenly shattered by the ringing of the ancient rotary style telephone on the wall next to the back door. Glancing at the clock he got up to answer it. "Hello, you've reached the Metts' home. It's three twenty-five in the morning and you really should be asleep instead of calling me."

"Where the hell have you been for the last two day?"

Bill grimaced as the angry voice reverberated in his eardrum. It was Eve.

"Well?" she demanded.

"Oh I've been around, goofing off and stuff like that. How are you?"

"Don't lie to me, Bill. Mack was around there twice today looking for you."

"Well if you can't give him what he needs at home...."

"We've been worried about you!" Eve exclaimed.

"Sorry. Thanks for your concern." He didn't sound at all sincere.

"All right, William, what have you been up to?"

"Nothing. What makes you think I--"

"Because I know you," she said cutting him off. "I'm your big sister; we used to live together with Mom and Dad. You do remember me, don't you?"

Bill laughed. "How could I ever forget? You only used to beat me up once or twice a week."

"And I still can. Now tell me what you've been up to. You've been gone all day and you've had the phone off the hook all evening, so I know you're up to something."

Bill rolled his eyes. Eve was using their mother's voice to interrogate him. It was an unfair advantage she had over him. "Nothing is the matter, Eve. And I am not up to anything that might get me in trouble. I'm simply taking some time off from work to recharge my batteries."

"And just what have you been doing to recharge them? It must be something very important if you couldn't even find the time to pick up a phone and at least let your family know you're still alive."

"You want a detailed list, Mom?"

"Smart ass. I wouldn't bother asking if I didn't care about you."

Bill shook his head. Suddenly he was very sleepy. "Really, Eve, I've spent the last two days working on that old motorcycle of mine and the rest of the time riding it out in the country. As for the phone being off the hook, I've been reading a lot and didn't want to be disturbed."

"Well thank The Lord for that," she said, clearly relieved. "At least you haven't been moping around that old house getting weird."

"You mean weirder, don't you? Say, maybe you'd like to read this book when I'm finished, it's a tender love story about two lesbian sisters who open a bondage shop in a small mid-western town only to encounter hatred and intolerance because they're not Mormons and don't have a pickup truck."

"Whatever, William. Since I finally have you on the phone do you think you might possibly find time in your busy schedule to make it over here for supper tomorrow night? I'd really like to see what you look like so I can recognize you should we ever meet on the street someday."

"Very funny, Mrs. Kincaid."

"Seriously, Bill, will you please come? There's something important I want to talk to you about."

"Sure, Eve, I guess I can put up with Mack for a few hours. What time do you want me there?"

"Supper is around six but come as soon as you can."

"All right, only please don't let Mack cook again. My stomach lining still hasn't recovered from that Texas chili he made last time."

"I promise, now will you please go to bed and try to get some sleep like a normal human being."

"Sure, Eve, good night."

Bill hung the phone up, his fingers gently tapping the wall. Mack and Eve, what a pair, sure they meant well but they could also be incredible nuisances at times. Mack was growing crazier by the day writing all those weird stories and Eve was ever so slowly turning into their Mother. It was frightening just to be around them.

No sooner had Bill hung up and sat back down than the phone rang again. Sighing, he once more rose to his feet and picked up the receiver, expecting it to be Eve, or even worse Mack, but instead it was an entirely different voice identifying itself as Deputy Carson with the Bibb County Police Department. "Is this Dr. Metts?" he then inquired.

"Yes it is. Is there something I can do for you, Deputy?"

Carson took an audible breath before answering. "Yes Sir, I'm afraid so. Sheriff Jones said to tell you he realizes you're on a brief leave of absence but we could really use your help."

"What is it, an automobile accident?"

"Nothing that bad. We have an unidentified corpse on our hands and we were hoping you could identify it for us. We're sorry to bother you at such a late hour but--"

Bill laughed softly. "Don't worry about it, Deputy; getting phone calls at three in the morning is all part of being a coroner. It can't all be glamour and girls. But Bibb County is Malcombe Forbes' jurisdiction, why wasn't he called in?"

"Malcombe is on vacation also, but he knew well enough to leave the country to take his."

Bill shook his head. "Where did he go?"

"Greece for three weeks. He said we were to call you if anything came up."

"Well it's the first I've heard about it. Where do you want me?"

"Do you know the old soft-drink bottling plant out on the county line?"

Sure. I'll be there. And, Deputy, while you're at it you might want to go ahead and write out another crime report because I am seriously considering committing homicide when Malcombe gets back."

Bill hung up the phone, fuming with rage. Pretty clever that Forbes fellow, he never did like him much. He was the very personification of the creepy coroner from almost every horror movie ever made, a sickly, almost vulture-like creature that looked like he had been nursed on embalming fluid. He had a shiny bald head with beady black eyes that were constantly darting back and forth with sinister intent. And when he did lock his gaze on you you had the very uncomfortable feeling he was wondering what you would look like sprawled out dead and naked on his autopsy table. Now his garage they should check for bodies.

Getting dressed Bill called Mitch Sinclair down at the Morgue, asking him to have the Coroner's wagon warmed up only to learn that several new guests had checked in that morning, including two badly burned corpses pulled out of a wreck on Highway 34.

Since it was late Bill managed to make most of the traffic lights and simply ran through the ones that weren't being cooperative. .

Reaching the Morgue he found Sinclair waiting inside the wagon. The two men shook hands then exchanged places.

"Thanks, Mitch."

"Not a problem, Dr. Metts. No rest for the weary I guess."

"Guess not. Old Man Death never takes a vacation....unlike that ratfink bastard Malcombe Forbes."

Smiling, Sinclair patted the roof of the car, wishing Bill a safe trip.

Once he was out of sight Bill turned on the radio. While he was searching through the stations Sinclair reached for his cell-phone.

Hanging up the phone Eve lay back on her pillow and then looked over at Mack's empty side of the bed. He had hardly said a word to her since they returned from the Courthouse.

Sighing, she rolled over on her left side, staring at the wall. What was she supposed to do about Bill? Mack knew how ill he was, and he wasn't going to get any better without help. So why did she feel like a Judas? She was only doing it for his own good.

Unable to rest on her side Eve rolled over on her back, now staring at the blades of the ceiling fan as they slowly rotated. Bill was the only family she had and that made it her responsibility to take care of him. What she needed to do was to get up right now, drive over there and tell him how worried she was about him.

"And that's just what I'm going to do," she said, almost jumping out of bed. Stepping into her slippers she put her robe on and made her way through the dark house to the room Mack called his office. The small sliver of light underneath the door and the noisy sound of the plastic computer keys being punched in rapid succession told her that he was still at it, no doubt writing another juvenile and obscene horror story.

Usually Eve knocked before entering Mack's private domain but this time she simply barged in. "I'm going over to Bill's house," she said in way of a greeting. The activity on the keyboard came to a sudden stop.

"Why?" he asked.

"I'm worried; I want to talk to him now."

Mack closed his eyes, letting out an audible sigh. "He's probably asleep, Eve. Surely whatever you have to say can wait until tomorrow."

"Fine, I'll just go alone," she said, turning around and slamming the door on her way out. Mack stared at the door for several seconds then cursed under his breath as he rose to his feet. By the time he stepped out the kitchen door into the carport Eve was in that ridiculous little Fiat she called a car and about to back down the driveway.

She gave him just enough time to squeeze his awkward frame into the car before racing down the driveway and into the street, without looking either way for oncoming cars. Gripping the armrest Mack held on for dear life as she shoved the transmission into drive and started off with an anemic squeal of the front tires.

"Front wheel drive," Mack huffed as they came to an intersection and Eve turned right, just beating the yellow light.

"You didn't have to come."

"Oh yes I did. Someone has to keep Bill from killing you for disturbing him in the middle of the night."

The next five minutes passed in absolute silence. When they finally reached Bill's house Eve pulled up into the driveway, the Fiat's headlights revealing an empty carport. "I knew he was up to something," she said, finally breaking her self imposed silence.

"He probably couldn't sleep and went out for a drive," Mack offered.

Without offering a response, Eve once more backed blindly out into the road, but rather than heading home she raced off in the opposite direction.

"Where are you going now?"

"Where do you think?"

A moment later they pulled into the small employees' parking lot behind City Hall. As Eve suspected Bill's car sat in its space just outside the Morgue entrance. Pulling up along side it she shut off the Fiat's tiny engine and climbed out. Mack reluctantly followed as she raced up to the doors and pressed the buzzer.

"I still say you're letting yourself get all upset over nothing. Bill is going to think we're the crazy ones."

Eve rang the buzzer again, letting it drone on until the doors suddenly opened and Mitch Sinclair stepped outside. "Can I do something for you folks?" he asked.

"I have to speak with Dr. Metts," Eve said, starting to squeeze between Mitch and the open doors.

"I'm afraid he isn't here, Ma'am. He was called over to Bibb County on Police business."

Without another word a frustrated Eve turned away and headed back toward the car, leaving Mack alone with Sinclair. "When Dr. Metts gets back will you please tell him Mack and his crazy sister were here looking for him?"

"Of course."

Nodding, Mack hurried back to the car, once more performing the series of awkward contortions necessary for him to fit inside. "Let's go home," he said, reaching for the seatbelt.

"I'm going back to his place to wait for him," she replied, reaching for the gear-shift.

"It'll wait until morning, Eve, now let's go home."

In no mood to argue she reluctantly backed out of the parking spot, Mitch Sinclair watching until they drove out of sight

CHAPTER 9

The large buck pawed at the damp earth with its front hoofs, snorting triumphantly. It had found the doe it had been tracking all evening and done its small part to ensure the survival of its species for another generation. It was a beautiful, muscular yet graceful animal, the dominant male in the forest; and as such nature demanded that it mate as often as possible. Tomorrow it would find more females. But now it was time to rest.

The buck made its bed in the tall grass in front of the old cemetery, mercifully unaware that for it there would be no tomorrow, no more does. A predator perfectly designed to stalk its prey by night crept silently up behind the weary animal. The fallen autumn leaves were damp from a recent rain shower, covering the sound of its footsteps.

Waiting until the animal eased its head down the predator leapt forward, wrapping its incredibly powerful arms around the animal's neck, instantly cutting off its breath. Panic-stricken the buck rose to its feet, fighting back as best it could. It reared up on its hind legs, shaking its massive antlers in a desperate attempt to escape its unseen attacker. It squealed and snorted but in the end it was hopeless. The predator was simply too strong, refusing to let up on its crushing death grip.

In a last ditch effort to escape the buck kicked blindly at its opponent in the life and death struggle but all that accomplished was to send it crashing to the ground, landing on top of the predator.

The predator tightened its grip, patiently awaiting the inevitable. Finally the buck stopped struggling, its flailing legs growing still. Listening with its highly sensitive hearing it could tell exactly when the animal's heart stopped.

Once she was absolutely certain the animal was dead, Elsa rolled it over on its side and proceeded to use her razor sharp claws to rip its belly open, causing its internal organs to spill out across the wet ground.

The old Fantastic Fizz bottling plant No 27 had been built back in 1910 by what was then the largest soft-drink company in the world. In its heydays of the 1950s and 60s Fantastic Fizz boasted a staggering one hundred and one flavors, most of them good, although the company's founder, Jay Albert Franklin's particular favorite Celery flavored soda never did catch on like he had hoped.

For six decades the plant had been one of the largest employers in both Shelby and Bibb counties but times and people's tastes change and Fantastic Fizz's popularity waned. By the late 70s the Big Two of the cola game had all but driven the company out of business in the States.

So in 1978, Fantastic Fizz incorporated moved south of the border to the more hospitable economic climes of Mexico where ten Mexicans would work for the same amount of money as one American. Almost one thousand people lost their jobs.

Fantastic Fizz had helped put bread on his family's table when Bill was a boy. When he closed his eyes and thought back to those long gone days he could still taste the Red Raspberry Blast soda his father used to bring home by the case every Saturday afternoon.

Of course you could still find some of the more popular Fantastic Fizz sodas in the larger supermarkets but it didn't taste the same thanks to the cheaper ingredients and recyclable plastic bottles the company now used.

Unfortunately no other business showed any interest in what was then a state of the art factory. It was in an excellent location and could have easily been retooled to accommodate almost any type of industry but instead it remained empty, gradually falling into disrepair.

The years following the closure of the plant had been hard for Bill's family. Money had always been tight even before he lost his job but his father and mother still somehow managed to eek out a comfortable living. They didn't have many luxuries but they never went hungry and he and Eve always had new clothes for school.

A sad smile curled Bill's lips as he drove on into the night. He hardly ever thought about his father anymore. Sometimes it was hard to remember what he looked like or the sound of his voice.

William Metts Sr. was a wonderful, talented man who could have easily made something of his life but fate, or just plain bad luck always seemed to conspire against him. Still, no matter how grim things got he never gave up or lost hope that everything would work out for the best. He called it faith, and God never once let him down.

His father was the main reason why Bill worked so hard to win a scholarship to UAB and then onto medical school. He both loved and admired his father for pulling the family through all those lean years, but even back then he knew he wasn't half the man his father was. And he had no intentions of personally enduring such hardships.

But all that was ancient history now, another lifetime. Realizing you would never live up to the dreams of your youth was rather ego shattering. Sighing, Bill shut the radio off, enduring the rest of the drive in complete silence. Not even the voice had anything to say. It was an all too brief moment of sanity.

Finally a rusty but still familiar cola bottle shaped sign appeared in the car's headlights. Bill could just make out the letters spelling FANTASTIC FIZZ THE KING OF COLAS. It was like seeing the ghost of a long lost friend.

Just beyond the sign was a long asphalt driveway-or what remained of one-leading up to the main gate. A lone police man stood guard, flashlight in hand. Bill brought the car to a stop and the man approached.

"DR. Metts?"

"Yea, Bill replied. "Where should I go, Officer?"

"Sheriff Jones said for you to park on the loading dock at the rear of the main building, just follow the yellow line once you reach the parking lot."

"All right, Officer."

Bill didn't need to be told how to get to the loading dock. As a kid he used to sometimes ride along when his father made Saturday cola deliveries to stores in Birmingham. He could still remember feeling like he was a mile high sitting up in the cab of that big orange semi, flying down the highway. Those had been wonderful days; it was just too bad they couldn't have lasted a little while longer.

Shaking his head Bill slowed the wagon down to a crawl, steering one way and then the other in a futile attempt to avoid most of the deep potholes in the driveway. Each time he had to go through one the bottom of the wagon scraped the asphalt.

Up ahead the dark buildings loomed silently, standing out against the starless sky like enormous headstones. It would have been the perfect setting for a horror story, Mack would love it.

Making his way around the largest rectangular shaped building Bill parked the wagon between two police cruisers. Before he could shut the engine off there was another bright light shining in his eyes.

"Dr. Metts?" the wielder of the light said, approaching.

"Yea. Could you please get that light out of my eyes?"

"Sorry, Doc."

"Can you show me where to go?"

"Sure, follow me."

Climbing up the loading dock steps the two men made their way inside the building. Bill suddenly found himself in a cavernous room that reeked of ancient motor oil and gasoline. From the three enormous hydraulic lifts in the floor he could tell it was where the maintenance crews use to service the delivery trucks. He seemed to recall his father saying each lift could hold over sixty tons.

Glancing about Bill tried to envision what the old garage must have been like back in the day. The whining of pneumatic wrenches, the noisy clatter of tools and men laughing as they worked on the big trucks, sharing the occasional off-color joke or talking about hunting or sports, and of course women. The sort of men his father would have called friends.

It took almost a minute to walk the entire length of the garage. From there it was down two flights of steps and then a long corridor that opened up onto an even larger room. Bill estimated it was at least five hundred feet long and two hundred feet wide. The ceiling was at least fifty feet high. "My Lord," Bill muttered, "I forgot how large this old place is. It's like the inside of an aircraft carrier."

"You haven't seen anything yet," the officer said as they came to a set of large metal doors marked STOREROOM. Stepping through the doors Bill whistled in awe. It was the largest room yet, at least a thousand feet long and three hundred feet wide. Two rows of steel girders held up the ceiling. The cavernous space was completely empty with the exception of several large stacks of wooden pallets.

A small corner of the room was illuminated by several battery operated emergency lights. Standing in the harsh glare of the lights were a dozen or so police officers and one extremely nervous teenage couple.

The girl was crying, almost hysterical. She was also painfully cute, blonde, with the kind of body only underage teenage girls have. Bill couldn't help staring at her plump breasts straining to break free from the tight confines of her Aerosmith tee-shirt. She wasn't wearing a bra.

"We haven't done anything wrong," she insisted. "We just found him here, then we called you guys. Wasn't that what we were supposed to do?"

"Relax," the lone female officer said, trying to calm the girl down. She was some twenty years older and pounds heavier than the girl and quite obviously not as immune to the effects of gravity. Her hair was extremely short and she wore no makeup. She wasn't at all unattractive but she lacked that youthful perkiness so many middle aged men risked prison to indulge in. "All we want to know is what you were doing here in the first place. Surely at least one of you noticed that big no trespassing sign on the front gate while you were climbing over it."

"The girl's pretty face turned bright red as she turned toward the equally embarrassed boy. She then looked down at the sleeping bag rolled out on the floor.

"I see," the officer said, struggling not to laugh as the boy bent over and picked up an opened package of condoms.

The girl took a few steps toward her bemused senior, barely speaking above a whisper. "We don't have to tell my parents about this, do we?"

"So much for the purity of young love," Bill muttered, resisting the urge to throw up. Unable to endure anymore he made his way over to the main group of uniforms. They were standing in a tight circle, their backs to one another.

"This is Dr. Metts," the officer that had brought him there said.

As Bill approached the men broke apart, affording him a good view of what they obviously didn't want to look at. "Oh boy."

The body, or more accurately the pathetic puddle of putrid goo and bones lay on the dusty concrete floor. What the rats hadn't gotten to the maggots were finishing off. The corpse's belly had swollen with intestinal gasses until the skin split wide open and the slimy creatures writhed about inside. Some were so engorged from the rancid feast they could no longer move. The only thing holding the upper part of the corpse together was a faded US Army jacket. Around its neck was a short, metal chain.

Bill turned away from the ghastly sight, swallowing the nauseating lump in his throat. "Dear God I've got to find another line of work."

"Bill, are you all right?"

Sheriff Jones came over, patting Bill on the shoulder. He was a big man, three hundred pounds stretched out across a six and a half foot frame. He was an old friend of Bill's father.

Bill nodded as he forced himself to turn back toward the corpse. "Yea, Sheriff, I just wasn't expecting anything like this. If I had to make a guess I'd say that poor bastard's been lying there for at least three weeks, maybe longer. I can't be certain until I get him back to the Morgue. Could you have one of your men run out to the wagon and get a body bag?"

"Sure thing." Jones nodded to one of his men, who was more than happy to put some distance between his nose and the corpse.

While he waited for the body bag, Bill bent down over the corpse, grimacing as he pulled the slender chain hanging around its throat out of the swarming sea of maggots. As he suspected it was a set of military dog-tags. He read the name stamped into one of the tags aloud. "Quimby-Eliot."

Well at least we know who he was," Jones observed.

Once the officer returned with the body bag Bill and Jones placed as much of the corpse as possible inside and then carried it back out to the wagon. When it was loaded in the back Jones took a seat on the wagon's hood, removing a cigar from his shirt pocket and tearing off the cellophane wrapper. "Bill, how is it going?" he asked before striking a match.

Bill shrugged. "Well, other than being called out at three thirty in the morning to come and get a corpse that looks like it was put through a blender everything is fine, I guess. I could use a little help down at the office but that's nothing new."

Taking a deep draw off the cigar Jones held the smoke in for a moment before exhaling through his nostrils. "Seems like only yesterday me and your daddy worked here. I suppose in the long run it was a good thing for me when the plant closed, otherwise I might never have run for Sheriff, but I know things were a lot harder on him. I offered him a job as a deputy but your mamma wouldn't hear of it."

Bill smiled sadly as he leaned against the car, thrusting his hands into his jacket pockets. "I never knew that. Daddy never talked about that kind of stuff around us."

"Well you were just a kid back then, it wasn't your problem. But you do have one now, don't you, Son?"

Bill laughed softly as he stared at several dozen barrels marked CARBOLIC ACID sitting underneath a partially collapsed wooden awning at the far end of the loading dock. "Don't we all?"

Jones sighed. "Come on, Bill. It won't go any farther."

Bill was silent a moment longer before finally blurting out, "Well, Doc, I believe I'm losing my mind."

"Oh is that all? Everyone feels that way sometime. It's when you stop worrying if you're going crazy that you're in trouble. Tell me, have you been getting any?"

Bill laughed. Fortunately Jones couldn't see him blushing in the darkness. "It's been so long I've forgotten what it is I'm supposed to be getting. No offence, but I hope you're not going to offer to fix me up with someone."

"I am, but not a woman."

"Huh?"

Jones took another draw off the cigar then shook the smoldering ash from the tip. "Bill, it's a lucky man that loves his job. Take old Malcombe Forbes for example. Personally I hope he stays in Greece but the man does love his work. So do I. Of course all I do for the most part is sit on my fat ass, waiting to collect my pension. But I believe you're about the most unlucky fellow I've ever seen."

"What are you getting at, Sheriff?"

"Get out of the Morgue, Bill. A bright young fellow like you deserves so much more out of life than what you're settling for."

"Are you offering me a job as a deputy?"

Jones smiled, clearly amused at the idea. The thought of Bill Metts in any kind of uniform was hilarious. "No, not me, but Elias Huer would in a heartbeat.

"Who is he?"

"He's a doctor, been practicing medicine down in Centreville for almost forty years but I'm afraid it's becoming too much of a strain on him. His kids want him to retire but he's stubborn and won't hear of it. He says God made him a doctor and he'll be a doctor until God calls him home. But he still needs a younger man to take over the brunt of the workload."

"You make it sound tempting," Bill admitted, still staring at the rusting barrels. "But it would mean moving."

"Starting over in a new town might be just the change you need to pull you out of that blue funk you're stuck in, new friends, new ladies."

"I'll think about it, Sheriff."

"Really?"

"Yea, really."

Standing up Jones dropped his cigar, stomping it out underneath his right boot. He then patted Bill on the shoulder. "Elias' number is in the book, why don't you give him a call?"

"I might just do that, Sheriff."

Wishing Jones good night, Bill climbed into the wagon and began the long drive back to Montevallo. He had only gone a few miles when his passenger's less than pleasant aroma began to get to him. Wanting to get the unfortunate Mr. Quimby in the cooler as soon as possible he sped up.

The wagon's big engine wound out at 110mph but he still had to stop twice along the way to get out and catch his breath. The second time he threw up, retching until his belly ached. In all his years as coroner he had never experience such a stench. Even with the partition up and the windows down it was overwhelming.

Switching on the two-way radio mounted underneath the dash Bill grabbed the transmitter. "Mitch, can you hear me?"

There was a momentary crackle of static and then a reply. "Loud and clear Dr. Metts. You know, you really should think about getting a cell phone."

"I hate phones, Mitch. Listen, I need you to do me a favor. In the locker behind my desk are a bunch of scented candles. Could you take them into the autopsy room and light them?"

"I take it you've got a ripe one."

"Very ripe. Turn the air conditioning down too....all the way."

"Will do, Dr. Metts. Oh by the way, your sister and brother-in-law were here looking for you about an hour ago."

"Terrific, now she's going to start bothering me at work."

CHAPTER 10

Elsa hadn't been exactly truthful when she told Bill Metts about the old cemetery being a nice quiet place without anyone around to bother her. As a matter of fact it was extremely crowded. You just had to be able to see the inhabitants.

The spirits haunting Pilgrim Cemetery were not those of the dearly departed resting in their graves. These beings had never inhabited a physical body, at least not one of their own, and were even older than the earth itself. That is if some of the stories they told Elsa were true. Some spirits were not above lying.

For the most part spirits preferred dark and lonely deserted places like old graveyards and abandoned buildings where they often congregated to socialize like the living. And also like the living some of them were unfortunately quite evil.

A creature of the night herself, Elsa could manipulate the darkness and to some extent the lesser beings that called it home. Unfortunately that ability often caused some of the more sinister spirits to become quite bothersome. Such was the case at the moment.

Sitting on a small headstone near the back wall of the cemetery she was attempting to render a charcoal image of the moonlit landscape in a large sketch pad resting on her knees while one of the disembodied nuisances tried to enlist her aid to carry out its nefarious agenda against a certain County Coroner.

"All you have to do is let him see you one more time and I'm certain he'll go off the deep end," Bill's little voice said.

"Why would you want to hurt Bill Metts?" Elsa asked, lightly scratching out the gnarled limbs of one of the cemetery trees.

"Because I'm a demon," the voice answered. "Hurting people is what I do. Old Billy boy is a special case; it's taken me years to get him to this point. I'm certain one more good shock will be the final straw to make him take his own life. And then I'm going to go after his sister, or maybe that beanpole husband of hers, I haven't really decided yet. But I need your help because tomorrow they're going to ask him to commit himself to a mental health facility. If that happens I might lose him, all that time and effort wasted."

"Go away."

"No! You have to help me! We're both creatures of darkness, kindred!"

Elsa finally looked up from the sketch pad, breaking the charcoal pencil in her right hand. Her large brown eyes seethed with rage. "I am nothing like you, you loathsome monster! Now go away and leave me alone! And if you don't I'll have to hurt you!"

Enraged the demon flew off into the night. But it wasn't through with Elsa just yet. If she wouldn't deliberately help it destroy Bill Metts it would just have to put her in a position where she had no other choice.

Once she was alone Elsa closed her eyes, silently praying to God for the strength to resist the darker side of her nature. Opening her eyes she looked at her watch and sighed. It was five AM. At this time of year daybreak was still more than an hour away but she could already feel the uncomfortable heat emanating from the Sun.

Soon she would have to retreat to her hiding place deep within the earth where the deadly light couldn't reach her. Closing the sketch pad she started down the steep hillside, trying to think of some way to help Bill Metts without drawing any attention to herself.

Having a former Navy SEAL for a night watchman proved to be extremely fortuitous for Bill. None of his predecessors had had the nerve let alone the stomach to help unload a fresh corpse, much less one in such an advanced state of decomposition, but Mitch Sinclair was made of stronger stuff than most. And when he realized the dead man was a fellow soldier he invited himself to observe the autopsy out of respect.

After killing off the maggots they hefted the body of Eliot Quimby up on the examination table. Switching the overhead lights on Bill whistled between dry lips as he pulled on a pair of latex surgical gloves and began the gruesome process of seeking the cause of death.

Mitch couldn't help being impressed by how calmly Bill handled himself. He knew the man was silently screaming as he touched the putrid flesh but he appeared rock steady, not so much as a bead of sweat on his brow. Of course he had swallowed a couple of pills beforehand and the air conditioning was set to about forty degrees.  An hour passed in complete silence except for the gentle clatter of surgical tools being picked up and dropped on the stainless steel gurney before Bill finally muttered a soft, dear Lord."

"Can you tell what killed him?" Mitch asked from where he stood in the corner.

"Lots of things, but mostly society."

Mitch cocked an eyebrow, clearly confused. "I don't understand."

Bill looked up from the body, his face ashen. "He's a veteran; he served his country and looked how he ended up, homeless and malnourished. He had a head full of rotten, infected teeth, lice and intestinal parasites, he must have been in constant agony. But to answer your question he died from peritonitis caused by a ruptured appendix."

A tear rolled down Bill's right cheek as he removed the gore stained surgical gloves.

"Dr. Metts, are you all right?"

"To be perfectly honest, no, I'm not. Look at this poor guy. Life treated him like shit, and then to die all alone without even so much as someone to mourn for him or remember who he was. No one deserves that, especially not a Soldier. And the bad thing is that in a hundred years we'll all be in the same boat."

"What do you mean?"

Bill smiled sadly as he dropped the soiled gloves in a hazardous materials container. "Do you know your great grandfather's name? Or who was the twentieth President of the United States? Time wipes us out, Mitch. It erases every trace of us, who we are, what we did. I mean what's the point, why bother?"

Excusing himself, Bill hurried off to the men's room. After throwing up yet again and splashing water on his face he called Sheriff Jones, to give him the results of the autopsy. Returning to the examination room he saw that Mitch had already placed the body in the cooler and was cleaning the operating table with bleach.

"Thanks, Mitch."

Sinclair smiled. "Don't mention it. Now go home and get some rest."

Sinclair walked Bill outside to his car, watching as he pulled out on the street and drove off. He decided he liked Bill Metts, especially after the way he had shown such respect and compassion for the fallen soldier in the cooler. There weren't many people like him left.

Sinclair was about to go back inside and punch his time card when one of the City of Montevallo's Police cruisers unexpectedly pulled up in the parking lot. Even more surprising was who was behind the wheel. The door opened and the lady cop from the diner climbed out. "Good morning, Officer Yates."

To Sinclair's surprise she offered him a friendly smile. She also seemed to be somewhat nervous. "Good morning, could I talk with you? Do you have a minute?"

"Sure, I was just about to clock out. Would you like to come inside for a cup of coffee?"

"No thank you. To be honest I don't care to say what I want to around a bunch of corpses. We could go down to the Sizzler, the coffee is better there anyway."

"That'll be fine, just let me run inside and punch out. Sinclair turned and made his way back inside, wondering what had gotten into Dirty Harriet, why she was suddenly acting like a human being. Punching his card in the time-clock he grabbed his jacket off a hook on the wall and hurried back outside to find out.

"Don't you have a car?" Yates asked when he returned.

"Yes, but my apartment is only a couple of blocks from here so I usually just walk."

"Well I'm lazy, climb in."

Nodding Sinclair obliged but not before opening the driver side door for Yates. "Thanks," she said, clearly uncomfortable with the old fashioned display of gentlemanly manners. She watched as he closed the door and made his way around the car.

"So, Agent Sinclair, do you like working at the Morgue?" she asked once he was inside the car.

"I've had worse assignments."

"I don't suppose you can tell me what you're really doing here, can you?"

"I'd rather not. Let's just say it's a sticky issue and some very important people could be embarrassed if things go wrong."

Yates shook her head softly. "All the same, I don't see how you stand working with Bill Metts," she said as they pulled out of the parking lot onto Main Street. "Everyone at the Station knows he's a few bricks shy of a full load. My partner came into the Morgue once and overheard him talking to some poor stiff he had on the table."

Mitch smiled. "I think you would be quite surprised if you would only take the time to get to know the good doctor better. He respects his patients."

"But they're dead, they don't know anything."

"What did you want to talk about, Officer Yates? Surely it wasn't about Dr. Metts."

"No, it wasn't," she admitted as they came to the diner and she pulled into the first available parking space. Shutting off the engine she looked forward, through the windshield as if afraid to make eye contact with her passenger. "I really just wanted to apologize for the way I acted the other day."

"You were just doing your job."

"Oh please, I came on like some hard assed dyke with a badge."

"You were under a lot of pressure at the moment."

"That's true, still...."

"What?"

Yates turned toward Sinclair. To his surprise she appeared to be blushing. "I've got something to ask you. I've never done anything like this before so just let me say it and get it over with." Sinclair nodded. Taking a deep breath she finally blurted out, "Would you like to go out sometime?"

"You mean like on a date?"

"If you want to. That is if you aren't married, or seeing someone...or gay. You don't have to, of course."

Sinclair had to resist the urge to laugh, she had covered all the bases for a possible rejection. Instead he said, "No, I'm not married or seeing anyone at the moment, or gay. And yes I would very much like to take you out on a date, but only if you let me pay for dinner."

The old confident expression Sinclair was accustomed to seeing promptly returned to Yates' face. "Great. Let's go inside and have that coffee. You can pay for that too if you'd like."

Bill pulled up in the carport just as the school bus rumbled to a stop in front of the house across the street to pickup some of the neighborhood children. In no mood to see them pointing and laughing at him he waited until the gigantic yellow asylum was gone before climbing out of the car and making his way inside the house.

Still nauseated by the stench of death that clung so tenaciously to him he dropped his keys and wallet on the kitchen counter, then made his way into the living room where he removed his clothes and burned them in the fireplace.

His head still reeling from the sickeningly sweet odor of decomposition he shambled down the hall to the bathroom and took a hot shower, but the soapy lather he worked up only seem to exacerbate the sickeningly sweet smell. The harder he scrubbed the worse it became until he nearly lost consciousness.

Leaning against the slick shower tiles to keep from falling Bill looked down, spying three obese maggots from the corpse wriggling about his feet. Throwing up he watched as the bile swirled about the drain, taking the disgusting creatures with it.

"That is enough," he muttered, holding his head under the spraying water. "I have officially had enough, I can't take anymore."

"I've heard this a thousand times before," the voice said, making its presence known after an unusually lengthy absence.

Bill's response was to slam his forehead against the tiles. "Shut up!"

"All right, if that's what you really want."

"What I really want is for you to go away and leave me alone."

"Oh I could, but we both know you'd be lost without me. And how would you ever find Elsa?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I know where she is."

"I don't believe you," Bill said turning the shower off and stepping out of the stall. "And even if you did know why would you want to help me?"

"Hey, we're chums, aren't we? You've given me a place to crash for years. I'm just trying to return the favor."

"What are you, really?

"At the moment I'm your guardian angel. Now dry off and get dressed and I'll show you where you can find her."

Bill shook his head, laughing softly. "I've lost it, I've really, finally gone off the deep end."

"Well if that's the case you might as well go all out and enjoy it. Go on, get dressed, what have you got to lose now?"

Deciding his unseen tormentor had a point Bill made his way into his bedroom, removing a pair of jeans and a sweater from the chest of drawers. Pulling the clothes on he returned to the kitchen and started to grab his car keys off of the counter.

"Better take the bike," the voice said.

"Sure, why not? But don't for one minute think that I believe you. I'm just going for a little ride to clear my head. You can stay here if you like; it won't hurt my feelings any."

Making his way out to the garage Bill climbed on the bike, starting the engine. "All right, now what?" he asked pulling his helmet on.

"Drive out to the cemetery and I'll show you where Elsa is, just like I promised."

"Elsa doesn't exist. She's a product of my mental illness, just like you."

"That really hurts, Bill. I know you can't see me but right this moment I am standing beside you, one hand over my heart and the other making the Boy Scout salute. She is as real as you are, and I'm going to take you to her."

"I'll bet," Bill said, rolling the bike out of the garage. He rode slowly through town but once he reached the limits he twisted the throttle all the way, racing down the highway. By the time the old road was in sight he was traveling at better than 120mph. Slowing down to 70mph he leaned the bike sideway, barely making the turn. What did it matter if he killed himself? The world had more than enough crazy people to go around, one less would make no difference.

Coming to the cemetery driveway Bill brought the bike to a tire screeching halt, turning halfway about in the middle of the road. "OK, here we are, now what?"

"Drive to the back of the cemetery, to the old Saunders mausoleum, that's where you'll find her."

Shaking his head Bill rode down the driveway and past the caretaker's house. He didn't expect to find anything, after all Elsa was just a figment of his imagination, but he didn't have anything better to do.

The northern slope near the back of the cemetery was where the richer and more influential families in Montevallo had been buried back during the 18th and 19th Centuries. And the Saunders family had been the richest and most influential of them all.

Built in 1825, the mausoleum was the size of a large house and had supposedly been furnished like an ancient Egyptian tomb with the earthly belongings of those interred behind its thick marble walls.

There were no more Saunders. The last member of the family died off back in the 1940s but they left behind a wealth of colorful if not lurid stories about their escapades that were still recounted today. Local legend had it that one member of the family who died during the Civil War had been buried with a fortune in gold coins and precious gems to keep it from falling into Yankee hands. And just in case someone had been foolish enough to break into the mausoleum and open the casket several very large, and no doubt pissed off rattlesnakes, would be waiting to greet them.

Another even more eccentric family member was rumored to have been laid out in the nude on a brass feather bed when his time came. No one outside the family ever knew if his final wishes had been granted.

Bill stopped the bike on the summit of the hill overlooking the old mausoleum. It was constructed of large marble blocks with a domed roof and a broad portico held up by four Corinthian columns and surrounded by a small grove of ancient willow trees. It was as creepy and depressing a place as one could ever hope to find.

"Well, Billy boy, I'm afraid this is where we part company," the voice suddenly announced.

"What?"

"I can tell you're devastated, but you are a big boy now and there are plenty more people out there who could use my help. So long and thanks for all the laughs."

"What are you talking about?"

There was no response.

Shrugging his shoulders, Bill put the bike in neutral, coasting down the hill, and coming to a stop in front of the mausoleum steps. Climbing off the bike he popped the kick-stand, walking slowly toward the forlorn structure. As he grew nearer he saw that the weathered mahogany doors hung slightly ajar, allowing a thin shaft of sunlight to penetrate the interior.

Climbing the steps, Bill walked up to the doors. Holding his breath he nudged one of them with his right foot, half expecting something to reach out and grab him by the ankle, dragging him inside the dark crypt never to be seen again. Fortunately that didn't happen, instead the door swung slowly inward, allowing the sunlight to spill in, chasing any monsters away.

Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, Bill stepped over the threshold only to discover that the rumor about the old place being decorated like a house was in fact true. He found himself standing in the middle of an old fashioned sitting parlor, obviously an area where the living could come and visit their deceased loved ones, sort of an eternal waiting room. As a doctor he could appreciate that.

The room boasted a fireplace with an exquisitely carved marble mantle, polished hardwood floors and a tin ceiling. It was furnished with a faded blue satin sofa of some old European style and two matching chairs. There was even a coat rack and a tarnished brass spittoon in the corner behind one of the doors. The walls were covered with portraits of members of the Saunders family. Bill could feel their painted eyes watching him, letting him know he was not welcome.

Strangely enough there wasn't the first sign of a cobweb or any dust. Apparently even in death the rich couldn't do without maid service.

At the far end of the room was another set of doors. Turning the knobs Bill pushed them inward then took half a step back. "Anyone here?" he asked. "Elsa? Uncle Creepy? Cousin Eerie?" There was no response.

The crypt itself was divided into two rooms. The first, smaller space held only four caskets resting on marble biers. Approaching one of the caskets, Bill read the tarnished brass nameplate aloud. "Jeremiah Saunders, 1765-1840." Quite a long life back in those days. The fellow's epitaph read: HE IS NOT DEAD BUT SLEEPETH, Bill, however, reasoned if the old boy hadn't woke up by now he probably was dead after all.

The second, much larger room held the mortal remains of later generations of the family, their caskets wedged neatly away within narrow recesses in the walls. Each bronze nameplate boasted an embossed image of a casket's occupant along with their name and dates of birth and death.

Discovering a set of drapes near the back of the crypt Bill pulled them apart far enough to look beyond them, expecting to find more deceased member of the Saunders family, instead there was only one, but what he saw brought a smile to his lips. "Well I'll be damned."

Before Bill's very eyes was the mummified corpse of a nude man stretched out on an enormous brass bed, its head resting on several moldering pillows like someone watching the late show on TV.

Bill couldn't help laughing at the macabre scene. The Saunders must have been some characters to carry out such a bizarre final request. No one would ever believe it. And there was still another surprise waiting in the shadows. On the other side of the bed and its gruesome occupant was a small opening in the crypt floor..

Carefully kneeling down Bill leaned forward, squinting in an attempt to see what was below but couldn't make out anything in the stygian-like gloom. And while it had to be his imagination he thought he smelled the faint aroma of vanilla, as if someone had been burning a scented candle.

A burning match held down into the dark opening revealed a set of stone steps leading deep into the earth before the flame died out. Removing a candle from a wrought iron candelabrum next to the bed Bill lit it and started down the steps. He took them slowly in an attempt to keep from slipping on the strangely luminescent mold growing on them.

As he descended into the bowels of the crypt Bill was reminded of an old H.P. Lovecraft story he'd read in college called "The Tomb." Like the protagonist of that tale he couldn't believe he was actually exploring the forsaken resting place of a long dead family of notorious characters. The only difference was, unlike that story's hero, he was a crazy man in real life without some uncaring author placing him in such an unnerving situation.

Bill's sense of unease increased with each step he took deeper into the earth, his only source of illumination the candle's feeble flame. He could scream as loud as he wanted and no one would ever hear him.

Finally reaching the bottom of the steps he discovered another candelabrum holding the nubs of three candles. In the glow from his own candle he could see their wicks were still smoking where someone had only recently snuffed them out. His heart racing he turned around to see just who, or what had blown the candles out only to be suddenly swallowed up by the surrounding darkness.

CHAPTER 11

Eve had spent the better part of the day preparing Bill's favorite meal of pork roast with potatoes and carrots in hopes that some home cooking would make him more agreeable when she told him the real reason she had invited him to supper.

Mack, who was still only speaking to Eve when absolutely necessary, had even brought in a bowl of apples from the small orchard he had in the back yard for a pie.

Eve had carefully planned out the entire evening with Dr. Mitchell from the Mental Health Clinic. They would sit down to supper at six, and at six-thirty the good Doctor would come knocking at the door and the intervention would begin. What would happen after that only God knew for certain. Hopefully Bill wouldn't get too upset.

Checking the digital clock on the stove Eve sprinkled the seasoning on the roast and placed it in the oven. Once that was done she made her way out to the front porch to put an end to Mack's childish behavior.

He was sitting on the swing; still sulking as he munched nacho cheese flavored corn chips from the bag. "Still mad at me?" she asked joining him on the swing. His response was to pull another chip from the bag, biting it in half with a defiant chomp.

Realizing there was only one way to get Mack on her side, Eve resorted to woman's ultimate weapon against man: Tears. Just as she hoped the unexpected cloudburst caught him completely off guard.

"Hey, what's the matter?" he asked, instinctively wrapping a protective arm about her.

"What do you think?" she sobbed. "This is going to be hard enough without having to fight you too."

Mack let out an inaudible sigh. He knew only too well what she was doing, but she was also right, Bill did need help so he'd play along. "Now don't cry," he said, pulling her close. "It's going to be all right."

"Oh Mack, he's the only family I have. I don't know what I'd do if I were to lose him."

"Don't talk like that. Everything is going to be OK. Bill will listen to reason and agree to get help. He'll be mad at first, probably even a little hurt but he'll get over it."

"But what if he doesn't agree?"

"Then we'll go to the Judge."

Mitch Sinclair returned to his apartment after spending a very enjoyable afternoon in the company of Deputy Cassie Yates. Whistling as he unlocked the door he stepped inside to find Martin Kempt seated on the sofa, drinking beer and watching TV.

"You're out of beer," Martin said in way of a greeting as he switched the TV off with the remote control. "Not that I'd call this stuff beer. As well as Mr. Whitfield pays you you could afford the good German or British stuff."

"What's up?" Sinclair asked, falling into a chair across from Kemp.

"A lot, so don't get too comfortable."

"Have you got a lead on Elsa's whereabouts?"

"Not me, Minka."

Sinclair rolled his eyes. "Don't tell me, let me guess, some invisible spook that only she can see told her where Elsa is."

"So she claims," Kemp said rising to his feet.

"Well, let's go get her then."

"Not so fast, Mitch, if by some chance Elsa is there you and I would have very little hope of subduing her if she were to put up a fight. I've called in for reinforcements, they should be here around ten this evening."

"Well where did Minka say she was hiding out?"

"An old cemetery on the outskirts of town, in a crypt yet."

"Oh boy."

"Wake up, Bill Metts!"

Even through the intense pain throbbing in his skull he recognized the voice.

"Bill Metts! Wake up!"

Bill opened his eyes. Thankfully the figure emerging from the darkness was Elsa and not some shambling reject from a George Romero movie. But his ease was short lived. She stood over him like a wild animal ready to strike the instant he attempted to move. In her right hand she griped a very formidable looking cane with a gleaming golden handle shaped like a wolf's head.

"Why have you been looking for me, Bill Metts?"

"I was worried about you," he replied, sitting up and rubbing his aching temple.

"You're a lair!" she hissed. "You found out who I am and you're working for my father! But I'm not going back!" She brought the cane back as if to strike Bill again, causing him to instinctively raise his hands in an attempt to fend off the impending blow.

"Elsa, don't! I admit I've been looking for you but no one sent me! I don't even know who your father is!"

"Then what are you doing here?"

"The voice sent me. It told me where I could find you. I can't believe it actually told me the truth."

Confused, Elsa lowered the cane. "What are you talking about? What voice?"

Bill shook his head, attempting to stop the ringing in his ears. "It's a long story. Let's just say I haven't been well for some time. I wanted to make certain you were real and not just a figment of my imagination. Tell me, you and I did meet at the market the other night, didn't we?"

"Elsa let out a disgusted groan. "Damn it! I honestly thought I'd be safe here, but if you found me then the others will as well. Why couldn't you have left well enough alone and minded your own business?"

Bill attempted to sit up again, causing Elsa to once more raise the cane. "Easy, I'm in no position to try anything," he offered. "Let's just try and stay calm, OK?"

Elsa backed away from her unwanted guest, never taking her eyes off him. He used the reprieve to take a quick look at their surroundings. They were in a vault not much larger than the sitting parlor above. She had apparently been living out of a single canvas travel bag, its contents, mostly clothes, carefully folded and resting on top of one of two mahogany caskets. There was also a very large roll of cash held together with a rubber band.

Bill shook his head. "Elsa, why on earth would you want to live here?"

"Because I have to," she replied.

"You said something about your father. Is he the reason you're--"

"I thought the person holding the stick got to ask the questions," she said, still extremely upset.

"Sorry, you're absolutely right, ask away."

"You said you wanted to find out if I was real and not some figment of your imagination."

"That's right."

"I find it very difficult to believe that you just wanted to find me and then intended to go away. What do you really want?"

Bill offered Elsa a timid smile. "Do you want the truth?"

"Unless you want your skull cracked again."

"All right, the truth of the matter is I've sort of become infatuated with you. I haven't been able to stop thinking about you. And no offense, you look like you could use a friend. I know I sure as hell could."

"You're after friendship. Is that all?"

"Yes...that is at the moment anyway. I thought that maybe once we got to know each other a little better we might, well...."

"You want sex."

Bill laughed softly.

"What's so funny?" Elsa demanded.

"Nothing really, I've just never heard a woman being so blunt about it. But to change the subject before I make an even bigger fool of myself than I already have, you are saying that you are hiding from your father?"

"That's right. And I'm not going back, nor are you and I going to get to know each other any better."

"Relax, I haven't asked you to do anything, I don't think I could make you even if I wanted to. But I would like to know why you hate your father. Did he hurt you, or is he just an all around rotten person?"

"My father is a good man!" Elsa exclaimed, clearly on the verge of losing her temper yet again. Bill once more raised his hands in submission.

"OK, I'm sorry. But I don't understand. If your father is such a good man why are you hiding from him?"

"I have my reasons!"

"May I ask what they are?"

"No you may not, Mr. Metts! It's none of your business!"

"You're absolutely right," Bill admitted before pushing his luck further. "But would you at least tell me what your father's name is? Just for my own edification. I promise I won't try to turn you in for a reward or anything like that."

Elsa sighed. "Whitfield," she then said, offering Bill a hand up. He couldn't believe how easily she lifted him up off the floor. The strength of her grip was phenomenal. She could have easily crushed every bone in his hand. "Tyler Whitfield," she added. "But I'll be miles away from here before you can contact him."

"Whitfield," Bill muttered aloud. The name sounded vaguely familiar, and then it came to him. "The only Tyler Whitfield I've ever heard of is the one with the big IV behind his name, the big-shot industrialist that dates all the movie stars and fashion models."

Elsa nodded. "That's right, now please go away. You have no idea the danger you're in."

Bill offered her a skeptical expression. "You're telling me that your father is one of the richest men in the world."

"He has money, but so do I," she added, nodding toward the roll of cash on the casket. "Take it and go away."

Bill shook his head softly, never letting his eyes stray too far from the cane Elsa still clenched like a weapon. "I don't want your money, and I'm not going to turn you in for any reward either. I want to help you."

Elsa rolled her eyes. "I've already told you I don't need any help."

"You mean you don't want it, you definitely need it. Look around you, you're living in a grave."

An appropriately deathly silence followed. They stared at each other for a long moment, neither certain of what to say or do next.

Elsa couldn't understand why this odd little man had taken such an intense interest in her after their brief encounter. But more important than that could she trust him, or would she have to hurt him? All the while he continued to stare at her like a love-starved puppy. Her darker instincts were urging her to kill him, to protect herself, but the human part of her wouldn't allow it.

"That's a mighty fancy walking stick you've got there," Bill finally said as Elsa leaned against the cane. "Where did you get it?"

"In there," she replied, tapping the cane's golden tip against one of the caskets, "it belonged to Eli Saunders."

Bill couldn't help gasping. "It was in his casket? You robbed his grave?"

"Of course not, I only took it to protect myself. And from what's happened here today it wasn't such a bad idea either. If you don't believe me look for yourself." Elsa leaned the cane against the casket and raised the lid. Inside laid the mummified corpse of a man dressed in a faded red velvet suit. The casket was filled with gold and silver coins, including two English sovereigns resting in its empty eye sockets.

"How did you know the cane was in the casket?" Bill asked.

"A spirit told me."

"A spirit?"

Elsa nodded as she closed the casket's lid. "I would never have touched the man's remains, even if they had been fresh enough. There's nothing to eat in any of these graves, just dry bones and dust, that's why I chose to hide here. I'm not like the others of my kind."

"What others?" Bill asked, instinctively looking about the crypt to see if they truly were alone. "Is someone else living here with you?"

"No! Now will you please stop asking so many questions and just go away?" It was obvious she wasn't accustomed to carrying on an extended conversation. Remembering how strong she was Bill tried to be more understanding.

"Look, what say we start over?" Elsa nodded. "I'm still a little confused, would you please tell me what you meant when you said you weren't like the others of your kind and that there wasn't anything in the graves to eat? You make it sound like you're some sort of ghoul or something."

"No I'm not!" Elsa roared. She moved so quickly Bill never saw her hand but he definitely felt the tremendous impact of it striking his cheek, causing him to crash to his knees. He had to grab hold of one of the handgrips on the casket to keep from going all the way down.

"Damn it, girl, I was only making an observation!."

"Then I'm sorry," she offered, still enraged. "But I hate that word! It's a cruel thing to call anyone, besides you know I'm not. You bought me the calf's liver when you thought I didn't have any money!"

Nodding, Bill carefully moved his aching jaw back and forth. Thankfully it wasn't broken. "Yes, I remember that. But are you saying there are people out there that do rob graves for flesh to eat?"

Elsa only nodded.

"And your father, one of the richest, most famous men in the world, is one of those people?"

"No," she groaned, resisting the nearly overwhelming urge to render Bill Metts unconscious yet again, "not my father. My mother did eat human flesh, but she never robbed graves or killed people to get it."

"I see, but you don't eat people?"

"Of course not! I only feed on animals."

Bill couldn't help smiling. He couldn't believe he was actually having a conversation about eating people with a beautiful girl in a hidden chamber beneath an ancient crypt. No doubt he was already safely confined to some nice asylum, lost in the throes of a drug-induced delirium so why not just lay back and enjoy the ride? "Just one more question, where did you cook the liver I bought you? I don't exactly see a kitchenette down here."

"I didn't cook it. If I had I couldn't have digested it. I have rather unusual dietary needs."

Bill took a deep breath, swallowing the nauseating lump rising in his throat. "You mean you ate it raw?"

Elsa nodded.

"What say we change the subject?"

"Very well, Mr. Metts, what are you going to do now that you've found me?"

"I really don't know. All I know is I have to be with you. I'll keep your secret as long as you like just please don't run away. And call me Bill, I can't stand Mr. Metts."

Elsa's lips curled into an involuntary smile. Her instincts told her she could trust this strange little man that had taken a fancy to her. He might even prove to be quite useful. "All right, Bill, I'll give you the benefit of the doubt for now. But if this is some ploy to trap me I can and will kill you."

Boy, I really know just the girls to fall for, Bill thought to himself. Still, he had to help her if he could. But first he had to get out of the gloomy crypt, the walls were starting to close in on him. "Listen, would you like to go for a walk upstairs, this place is starting to get to me, claustrophobia you know."

"After you," she said pointing toward the stairs with the cane.

CHAPTER 12

Eve sat at the empty table, staring at the cold uneaten food. Cursing silently she then looked at the digital clock on the stove. It was seven-thirty and Bill still hadn't shown up. Dr. Mitchell had long since come and gone. Needless to say he wasn't very happy having driven all the way from Pelham just to have his patient stand him up.

"I'm going to go over there and give that inconsiderate brother of mine a piece of my mind," she said, smacking the palm of her right hand against the table top.

"I'll go with you," Mack said, tearing a small piece of the roast off and popping it into his mouth. Deciding he liked it he tore off a much larger piece.

"How can you even think about eating?"

"I can't help it; my metabolism is on hyper-drive. When I'm upset I eat."

"Just get the car keys."

Mack grabbed the keys to the Buick off the counter, opening the carport door for Eve. Climbing into the big land-yacht he started the motor, gently patting the accelerator.

"I still can't believe Bill did this to me," Eve said, rolling her window down.

"I'm sure he had his reasons."

"Well they had better be damned good ones."

Driving across town to Bill's house they found it completely dark with the exception of a single light burning on the front porch.

Without bothering to knock Eve used her key to let them inside and switched on the lights. To her surprise the place was fairly clean, the air still smelling of Lysol.

"Looks like Bill's been catching up on his housework," Mack observed. Ignoring him Eve made her way from one room to the next in search of her wayward sibling. When her search failed to turn him up she made her way back out to the car, slamming the door shut.

Shaking his head Mack stepped out on the porch, closing and locking the door. Wherever Bill was he'd better be having a good time because there was going to be hell to pay when Eve finally caught up with him.

Climbing back behind the steering wheel Mack reached for the gear-shift. "Drive down to the Morgue, Eve said before he could put the car in reverse. In no mood to argue he reluctantly obeyed.

Several moments later they reached their destination to find the parking lot empty. Climbing out of the car Mack tried the visitor buzzer but there was no answer. Looking about he then tried to remember the security code. Pretty sure he had it he started pressing keys on the touchpad. The first five digits must have been correct, and then he pressed the sixth and all hell broke loose. The alarm blaring in his ears he jumped back in the car and sped off.

"Let's go back to Bill's house and wait for him," Eve said.

"We're going home."

Stepping outside of the crypt Bill was startled to see it was dark. He had been unconscious for the entire day. Considering the size of the rather painful lump on his skull he supposed he should be grateful he came to at all. Rubbing his head he attempted to begin a conversation in hopes of gaining Elsa's trust. If anything his efforts only seemed to make her even more suspicious of his motives. "So, do you mind telling me how old you are?" he asked off the top of his head. Only too late did he remember how much women hated that particular question. Next he'd be asking how much she weighed. Fortunately she seemed to take no offence and said, "Twenty-five, what about you?"

"Thirty-six....but going on a hundred."

Elsa smiled ever so slightly but still refused to let her guard down. Allowing someone to get close to her was a luxury she simply couldn't afford if she hoped to maintain her freedom. Still, her curiosity had been piqued. "You said you were attracted to me," she said bluntly. "I'm flattered but I don't see how it's possible. Most people are terrified of me, why aren't you?"

Bill shrugged, "I don't know, just lucky I guess. Sure, I'll admit it was purely a sexual thing at first. I hope it doesn't offend you but you do wonderful things with a pair of tight jeans. Now I'm glad I listened to the voice about where to find you, for once it wasn't lying."

Elsa shook her head slowly. "About that voice you keep talking about, it wasn't in your mind, Bill, it's real. It's a demon and it's been trying to drive you insane for years, hoping you'd eventually take your own life."

Bill offered Elsa a startled expression. "How do you know?"

"Because it came to me last night, asking me to help it make you hurt yourself. It wasn't trying to help you when it brought you here; it was hoping I'd do its dirty work for it and kill you. And for awhile there I thought I had. I didn't mean to hit you so hard."

Bill felt his blood run icy cold. He had always believed the voice to be a mere figment of his imagination, learning it had been real all those years and plotting to destroy him was almost more than he could handle at the moment. "Oh man, I've got to sit down," he said, taking a seat on the nearest headstone. "It's a miracle I didn't wind up like Linda Blair in the Exorcist."

"Well it's gone now so try to relax. But I still don't understand why you aren't afraid of me. Most people go out of their way to avoid me. Surely you noticed the way those girls were acting at the market the other night."

"I did notice," Bill admitted, still unnerved to learn the true nature of his constant companion of the last thirty years. "I was beginning to wonder if it was me, if I was standing there speaking to someone that only existed in my mind."

"It was me. It has something to do with pheromones, a natural defensive mechanism designed to frighten away any creature that might try to harm me, unfortunately it also affects people in the same way. And if you really are interested in helping me--"

"Oh I am," Bill blurted out.

Elsa smiled again. "Well in that case there are several things you need to know about me, and some of it is going to sound even crazier than what you've already heard."

"I'm listening."

"All right. While I do take more after my father there is still a lot of my mother in me. I'm not completely human. Believe me, I know how it sounds but it's the truth."

Bill nodded. "In what way are you different, other than your dietary habits that is?"

"Well, my physical senses are all much more highly developed than a normal human being's. I can see in complete darkness, read the fine print in a newspaper someone is holding a hundred yards away. My senses of hearing and smell are even more acute. Then there's my intense aversion to bright light, especially sunlight but even a car's headlights can burn my skin. And of course there are these." Elsa held up her hands, revealing her abnormally long fingers. Each digit, including her thumbs, possessed an extra joint and her nails were curved more like claws. "As you can see nature made me a predator, designed to hunt down and kill my prey with my bare hands."

"Well, we're all predators in a broader sense," Bill said, "even vegetarians feed on death."

Elsa smiled sadly, once more burying her hands in her pockets. "Don't lie, Bill, it disgusts you just like it would any ordinary, normal person."

"Thanks for the normal person part. But seriously, I think it's extremely human of you making a conscious decision not to be like your mother. And I don't see anything immoral about eating raw liver; I suppose it's no different than eating sushi. As for your more unusual physical characteristics I could name at least half a dozen medical conditions that could produce the same effects in anyone. There's nothing inhuman about any of it."

Elsa offered Bill an bemused expression. This one she couldn't quite figure out, his motives still bore closer scrutiny but for now she would give him the benefit of the doubt. And if he did try anything she would just break his arm.

"Your aversion to sunlight explains why I could never find you during the day," Bill said as they started walking again.

"Oh I knew you were around. I could hear you stomping about the headstones talking to yourself."

"You have my sincerest apologies. Now that I have someone real to talk to would you mind answering a few more questions?"

Elsa sighed. This nosey human was relentless. " All right, go ahead."

"Downstairs you said they were after you. Other than your father who are they?"

Elsa stopped walking, gently tapping the tip of the cane against one of the headstones. "If I tell you will you please let up with the interrogation?"

"Absolutely, now give."

"All right, but just remember you asked for it. Other than my father and his squadron of security guards looking for me there's also my sister and her husband. They're the ones I'm most concerned about. They're both extremely dangerous."

" Why? Are they like you?"

Elsa shook her head. "Only my sister, in some ways she's even less human than I am."

"How so? I mean don't take this the wrong way but is she deformed or something?"

"No, just the opposite in fact. Minka, that's her name, looks completely normal, it's on the inside where we differ. She wasn't forced to live the way I was growing up. She can move about in the daylight and eat just like anyone else. She simply chooses not to."

Bill felt the nauseating lump rising in his throat again. This time it was almost impossible to force it back down. "Are you telling me your sister does eat human flesh?"

"Whenever she can get it, and she isn't all that particular as to where it comes from."

Bill shook his head. "Well how does she get it? You can't just walk down to the corner deli and buy it like a pound of salami."

"You can get anything you want in this world as long as you have money. People disappear all the time, accidents happen, and then there are less than honest undertakers willing to make a little extra money on the side. That's how my father kept my mother fed. Gruesome, but it was better than murder I suppose."

Elsa started walking again, twirling the cane like a baton. Not wanting to be left alone in the dark Bill quickened his pace to catch up. "And that's how your sister obtains it?"

"No, she prefers killing for her food. It's all a sick game with her. Sometimes she'll befriend her intended victim months in advance, get to know them, gain their trust. Then she moves in for the kill. I've even known her to rob funeral homes just for the excitement of it, or to feed one of her pet helgums."

Bill was so busy looking at Elsa he walked right into a cross shaped headstone, falling flat on his backside. His expression was one of utter horror. "What's the matter?" she asked offering him a hand up. "You're white as a sheet."

"I'm also the Coroner for Shelby County and not a week ago someone broke into the morgue. The bodies of two teenage boys were stolen. And whoever took them ripped a steel door out of its frame."

"Helgums," Elsa said. "The corpses must have been stolen to feed one of the wretched creatures."

"That's the second time you've used that word," Bill said, wiping the dust from the back of his jeans. "What exactly are these helgum-things?"

Elsa frowned. "Since you're a doctor I know you won't believe this but a helgum is a dead person that's been brought back to life by black magic as a slave, like zombies in a horror movie. They're ravenous, starved for human flesh, and they're even less discriminating than Minka as to where it comes from. Sometimes they'll even eat parts of their own bodies."

Bill offered Elsa a skeptical expression.

"I know, you can't accept it, and I don't blame you. I wouldn't believe it either if I were you but unfortunately it's true. Why else would someone want the bodies from your morgue?"

"Necrophilia?" Bill offered at a loss for a better answer.

Elsa couldn't help smiling. "I almost wish it were just your average human psychopath."

"Elsa, believe me, there is no scientific way of reviving someone once brain-death occurs."

"You're absolutely right, there is no scientific means. But that doesn't mean there isn't another way. Helgums are creatures of the supernatural. And if there are any of them around you can be sure Minka is somewhere nearby pulling their strings."

"Tell me about your sister," Bill said, attempting to change the subject. "What does she look like, could you describe her?"

"Of course, except for her hands she looks exactly like me, we're identical twins."

"Oh my Lord."

CHAPTER 13

The Cadillac's headlights illuminated the luminescent green metal sign that read: MONTEVALLO CITY LIMITS. This was it, the place where Minka said to drop the goon off. With the damned GPS on the fritz it took him over two hours to find his way there, according to it they were in Berlin, Germany.

The car slowed down, finally pulling off onto a narrow side road a quarter of a mile beyond the sign. Making certain he couldn't be seen the driver shut off the engine and climbed out. Dark storm clouds were blocking out most of the light from the full moon but he still had to hurry.

Taking another quick look about he opened the trunk. An odor like a slaughterhouse in August instantly assailed his nostrils. "Come on," he said, trying not to gag.

"Where are we?" came a watery voice from within the dark recesses of the trunk.

"You're home. Now get out of my car, you're stinking it all up."

Slowly, and with a sickening squishing sound, a semi-human creature dressed in a tattered leather jacket and bloodstained jeans climbed out of the trunk. Very dead and yet somehow animated it was not a pleasant sight to behold. "I'm hungry," it said.

"I know. Stay right there and don't move." The driver opened the car's passenger side door. Reaching underneath the seat he removed a long object wrapped in black plastic. Tearing the plastic open he emptied its contents out on the ground at the creature's sneakered feet. "There, eat."

The thing that had been Kerrie Jenkins looked down at the disembodied arm and frowned. "Was that part of Billy?"

"What does that matter to you? If you want to go on living you'll do as you're told. Now my smelly friend, tell me exactly what it is you're supposed to do."

"Find Elsa," the dead boy replied picking up the arm and biting off a large chunk of the cold flesh with his gleaming black teeth.

"And?"

"And bring her back to you. Then you'll make me normal again, right?"

"That's the deal."

"What if she doesn't want to come back with me?"

"She doesn't have any choice in the matter. And if anyone tries to stop you, kill them. Now get going." With that the man climbed back in the car and drove away, leaving the creature standing alone in the darkness

Elsa was fairly impressed with Bill Metts' home. It was surprisingly well kept for a bachelor's house. Now that she knew him somewhat better she was no longer worried about him trying to contact her father. He was clearly infatuated with her and that made him easy to control. Truth to tell she was more than a little attracted toward him. Of course he was a little old for her, and not exactly her idea of handsome but he was incredibly kind, a moral commodity sadly lacking in most members of his species.

She also greatly appreciated his efforts to be hospitable, including providing her with a late supper of raw calf's liver, but was far too concerned about the recent theft of the bodies from the morgue to really relax.

"Would you mind if I asked why you chose to become a coroner?" she said between neatly cut bites of raw meat. "No offense but it seems like a depressing way to make a living, especially for such a young man."

Bill smiled, attempting to hide his disgust as Elsa ate. "Thanks for the young man part, but I didn't start out as Coroner, I was a doctor, but I gave up my practice."

"Why?"

Bill leaned back in his chair, his cheeks bulging as he exhaled through his mouth. "I just wasn't cut out for it. I only wish I had realized that before going through all the time and trouble of college and medical school."

"Didn't you enjoy it? I would think it very rewarding being able to help people."

"Oh it was," he said, refilling their glasses with iced tea. "And I was a good doctor," he added taking a sip, "at least that's what they told me. Unfortunately I didn't take losing patients very well."

Elsa sat her knife and fork down, giving Bill her undivided attention. "You had a bad experience?"

"Well, my patients weren't exactly dropping like flies...but there was this one kid...a six year old with cancer. Can you imagine anything as horrible? Anyway, I made the mistake of promising his parents everything would be all right. It should have been. We caught it early, treated it aggressively but he didn't respond. About six weeks later the kid just slipped away in his sleep."

Elsa offered Bill a sympathetic expression. "I'm so sorry. I can tell you're a very compassionate person, maybe too much for your own good. But I'm also more than a little confused. If the child's death was such a traumatic experience why on earth did you decide to become a coroner?"

"That's an easy one," he said taking another sip of tea. "I'm not involved in my patients' struggle, just the outcome. I mean everyone has to die. I can grudgingly accept it. I just don't want to watch."

Mitch Sinclair and Martin Kemp stood in the shadow of Sinclair's apartment building while waiting for their ride. Wearing matching blue coveralls their topic of discussion over fine cigars was Deputy Cassie Yates.

"So, you like her," Martin said, letting out a heavy cloud of smoke as he leaned against the left fender of Mitch's rented car. "I never took you for the type to fall for a lady cop. Is she cute?"

Mitch smiled. "She's extremely attractive, especially when she lets her hair down. She wears it real tight when in uniform.

"A blonde, huh? I can't recall you ever going for a blonde."

"Yea, I guess hanging around you all these years gave me a yearning to expand my boundaries."

"So, did the carpet match the drapes as they used to say?"

"Hey, a gentleman never tells. As a matter of fact I'm going to take her out tomorrow night. She even promised to wear a dress."

While the two men talked a shadowy figure just beyond the reach of the street lights shambled down the sidewalk. From his awkward gait and the way he kept leaning to one side as if about to collapse both Mitch and Martin merely assumed he was just a drunkard staggering home after a few too many down at the local bar. Had the cool autumn wind not been blowing toward the figure they would have smelled the horrible stench of decay emanating from him.

The topic of discussion had switched from Cassie Yates to who would win the seventh game of the World Series now that both teams involved had won three each when a large blue van pulled up in the parking lot. The sliding door on the passenger side rolled open and both men climbed inside.

Martin made his way up front, taking the passenger seat while Mitch stood between him and the bald black man driving.

"Well don't look now but the golden boy is back," the driver said, a clearly false gruffness to his voice. Mitch's response was to lean over, kissing him on the top of his shiny head with a loud smack.

"I've missed you too, Curly darling."

"Oh sure, you say that now but you never bothered to call."

Martin rolled his eyes as the van rushed through an intersection, cutting off a Jeep wagon. "Curly, if you and Mitch are through making up how about not running anymore red lights? I'd kind of like to avoid any unwanted attention from the local constabulary."

"Huh?" The big man looked out the side view mirror just in time to see the driver of the Jeep giving him the one digit salute. "Oh, sorry about that, Chief."

"Just keep your mind on the road and not Mitch. Besides, the lad's gone and found himself a lady friend, a lady cop yet."

"A combined "Oooooh," came from the six big men in the back of the van.

"Her name is Cassie," Martin added, knowing what was coming next, and from the way Mitch frowned it was obvious he did too.

Everyone in the van, with the exception of Mitch started singing: "Mitch and Cassie sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G."

While Bill washed the dishes Elsa used the opportunity to have a better look about the house. She was curious to see how this extremely eccentric but strangely decent man lived. The place was clean but still cluttered in an oddly masculine way. Sitting on the fireplace mantle were several pictures of people she took to be Bill's family, and right next to them was an old baseball glove with loose webbing.

Several copies of TV Guide, a book of crosswords opened to a half finished puzzle, several stacks of old baseball cards held together with rubber bands and a small box filled with dozens of metal and plastic parts sat on the coffee table. Picking up a small booklet Elsa discovered the parts belonged to a build it yourself remote control helicopter.

It was obvious that Bill Metts had a lot of spare time on his hands. He was like a big kid, always looking for something to amuse him. He even had a lava lamp, a bean bag chair and a small curio cabinet filled with miniature die-cast metal replicas of exotic sports-cars. Propped up behind the model of a cobalt blue Dodge Viper was a 3×5 card that read: BEFORE I DIE in large capital letters.

Finishing up in the kitchen Bill stepped into the living room to find Elsa still looking about. He leaned in the doorway, smiling as she continued to pick things up and study them. "This month's issue of Gallery is beneath the middle sofa cushion," he said, finally said, making his presence known. "I used to subscribe to Playboy but the pictures weren't dirty enough."

Startled Elsa whirled about. She couldn't believe she had let her guard down long enough for him to sneak up on her. She leaned against the bookcase on the left side of the TV, looking like a small child that had been caught doing something she shouldn't. "I hope you don't mind my snooping about," she offered.

"Not at all, make yourself at home. I'm afraid you won't find anything very interesting though. I know coroners have this glamorous image but I'm really a rather dull guy."

"Oh I don't know about that," Elsa said turning back toward the shelves. "They say you can tell quite a lot about someone from the books he reads. So let's see what I can deduce about you, Bill Metts."

She removed a large book from the top shelf, reading the title embossed on the spine aloud: "Diseases of the Lymphatic System. Oh Lord." Undeterred she tried again selecting an even more disturbing title. "Diagnosis and Treatment of Diseases of the Bladder, revised edition, hmmm, for some reason I pictured you as more of a casual reader."

"My old medical books," Bill explained. "I'm afraid they don't make for very good reading, especially so soon after eating. Try the next shelf."

Elsa obliged, this time finding some far more palatable reading material, including very old editions of Walt Whitman and Thoreau. Some of the more modern authors represented were Dean Koontz, Arthur C. Clarke, Anne Rice and Clive Cussler.

And then Elsa spied a bunch of paperback pushed into one of the shelves with their spines hidden, almost as if Bill Metts didn't want anyone to know what they were. "Well now, what do we have here?" He started to say something but she had already grabbed a handful of the books and began reading the titles aloud. "Passion on Zombie Island, The Corpse Danced at Midnight, Chopper Chicks in Heat, Now I Lei me down to Die, a Hawaiian Murder Mystery from the authors of Bikini Vampire Babes."

Bill rolled his eyes, clearly embarrassed as Elsa studied one of the luridly painted covers showing a very buxom and nude redhead with a sword struggling in the coils of a giant, horned serpent with glowing red eyes. The image had obviously been chosen to attract the attention of a younger, mostly male reading audience. "Zandra, The Barbarian Bitch. Some very interesting titles, and all authored by a Kincaid and Metts. That wouldn't happen to be a certain Doctor Metts, would it?"

Bill offered her a timid smile, almost blushing. "I only supplied the author with medical information," he explained. "I take absolutely no responsibility for what he does with it afterwards. The plots, situations, characters, and acts of extreme violence and sexual deviancy described and especially the titles are solely Mr. Kincaid's' doing. Only the corpses are mine."

Elsa cocked an eyebrow. "Come again?"

"Most of the victims in the books are based on actual cases I've worked on," Bill explained. "Of course, Mack usually twists them all around to give them a more mysterious or supernatural flavor. He's actually quite talented."

"Mack?"

"As in Kincaid," Bill replied. "He's also my brother-in-law as well as the sole author of those literary masterpieces you're holding in your hands."

"Masterpieces, huh?" Elsa opened one of the books and began to read aloud: "Dirk grabbed Ileana from behind, his powerful arms pulling her closer, his strong hands cupping her swollen breasts, causing her to tremble uncontrollably in anticipation of the long night of passion that was to come. She was his, body and soul, and they both knew it."

Elsa read the next paragraph silently, her soft brown eyes growing even larger as Dirk and Ileana consummated their fierce lust for one another. Finally she managed to tear her eyes away from the pages. "My God, this is absolutely pornographic. Are some of those sexual positions even possible?"

"Ok, so it's strictly lunchbox reading, but you have to admit Mack knows his audience."

The helgum continued to shamble along the dimly lit sidewalk, its dead eyes moving slowly too and fro in search of its prey but it had absolutely no idea where to start looking for her. Standing still for a moment it tried to think, to decide what to do about its dilemma but the damage to its brain made it all but impossible to hold the simplest thought for more than a few seconds. What was it supposed to do again?

And then the wind picked up, fortuitously carrying with it the faint scent of the very person the pathetic creature was looking for. "Elsa," it gurgled, starting across the street in the direction the scent had come from. Stepping up under the dark marquee of The Strand Theater it spied a stray cat sleeping on the narrow edge of the ticket box.

Grabbing the sleeping animal by the scruff of its neck and the tail the creature bit its spine in half, killing it instantly. It then proceeded to devour the unfortunate feline fur and all. As best as its damaged brain could recall it had always enjoyed eating cat...or something like that.

Its ravenous hunger momentarily sated and cat flesh and blood dripping off its tattered leather jacket the helgum continued its mission. Unfortunately the wind had stopped and it had lost Elsa's scent. Yet another attempt at simple thought failed, leaving it clueless as to what to do next. Finally deciding one direction was as good as the next it turned about and started retracing its steps.

Bill sat on the sofa, waiting for the ten o'clock edition of Channel Nine News to begin while Elsa enjoyed a long, hot bath. Glancing at the door at the end of the hall he tried to imagine what she looked like naked, he felt he was entitled to that much now. Did she work up a thick soapy lather, paying special attention to those perky breasts and long, slender legs? Maybe she needed someone to scrub her back and all those other hard to reach places.

Bill was still fantasizing about Elsa when she joined him a few moments later. She wore a faded red flannel robe that was at least three sizes too large and tube socks that went all the way up over her knees. Her hair was still damp and combed straight back. Clean it was sandy blonde, verging on light brown. He also noticed that her ears were slightly pointed like Mr. Spock's younger sister. "Do I look more human now?" she asked.

"You look wonderful," he said, patting the empty sofa cushion next to him. "Have a seat. There's someone on TV I think you're going to want to see."

Elsa joined Bill on the sofa, making sure to keep a respectable distance between them. Once more her eyes widened to nearly twice their normal size as the news broadcast began and the camera zoomed in on the new Head Anchor. "That's her," she said, that's my sister." The name Mina Whitfield suddenly flashed beneath the woman's image as if to verify Elsa's claim of kinship. "How long has she been on this program?"

"About a week that I know of, I first saw her the night we met at the market. To begin with I thought I was just imagining the similarities between the two of you."

Elsa closed her eyes, sighing. She didn't know whether to curse or laugh at her unbelievably bad luck. "I almost wish you had been imagining things. So, this is where Daryl and Minka moved to after leaving New York. Leave it to me to run off to the very same place to hide. By now she must know I'm close by, it's only a matter of time before she sends Daryl or one of her pet helgums after me. I have to leave now."

Bill nodded as he switched the TV's volume to mute. "Well before you go running off into the night would you please fill me in on what's really going on? I believe what you told me earlier but I have a feeling you still haven't told me everything."

Elsa closed her eyes again, silently debating whether or not to burden Bill with the whole sordid story. It could put him in even greater danger than he was already in. Still, he was the first human she had encountered that had shown her any kindness, she supposed she owed him at least that much. Leaning back on the sofa she crossed her legs and said, "All right, but let me warn you the truth is almost impossible to believe. If I didn't know it was true I wouldn't believe it."

"I'm all ears," Bill said.

Elsa took a deep breath and began. "Well, my father, like most wealthy people, inherited his fortune. He's never had to lift a finger for himself or lose a single drop of sweat in any form of physical exertion not requiring a woman or a tennis racket, but as a child his parents neglected him. Both of them had their own interests to follow and didn't have time for him, he was simply their heir and nothing else.

"He was often left alone for weeks and months at a time in a house filled with servants while they wandered around the world. All his physical needs were met but emotionally he was malnourished. He had to find ways of amusing himself, so I suppose it's only natural he grew up to be such an unusual man.

"Some switch in daddy's brain must have clicked the wrong way, causing him to develop an intense interest in the stranger, more bizarre things in life. The supernatural and occult became an all consuming passion. And when he was old enough he began to travel, searching for the truth behind the ancient mysteries and legends he had read about in his books. He went all over the world, Egypt, Greece, the jungles of Africa and India.

"What he hoped to find I don't know. Maybe he didn't either. Maybe all he was really looking for was something magical to believe in, to make life seem more worthwhile. But in time he grew increasingly disenchanted with all the mundane explanations he discovered behind even the most exotic of legends. There was no Atlantis waiting to be rediscovered, no golden city of El Dorado or dinosaurs still living in the swamps of the Congo.

"Disheartened, daddy eventually gave up his search and returned to the States, taking up residence in the family mansion in Maine. Shortly after that he received a letter from an old acquaintance who shared his taste for the bizarre. I never found out who the man was but he had discovered something extraordinary in the jungles of India and needed daddy's financial aid in order to smuggle it out of the country.

"The man made no effort to hide the fact that what he had discovered was not only extremely unusual and valuable but also highly illegal contraband. Not that it mattered, I seriously doubt the prospect of breaking the Law bothered daddy. With his financial aid customs officials were bribed and arrangements made to have "it" crated up and loaded onto a cargo ship bound for the States."

"What exactly was "it"?" Bill asked.

"It" was a young woman from an all but extinct tribe of primitive people, my mother." Elsa grew silent, studying Bill's reaction to her revelations. Just as she expected doubt was beginning to creep into his eyes but he had insisted on hearing the truth. "According to daddy's research there were once several different races of man on earth. He believes they were the offspring of angels and human women mentioned in the Book of Genesis. Most died out, unfit to survive for one reason or another. Those that remained intermingled until only two different groups remained...yours and mine.

Once, my mother's people were as plentiful as humanity and for thousands of years the two races lived in relative harmony. But whereas God must have decided that your branch of the family tree should continue to grow and develop He must also have decided that mine should wither away into extinction. As humans continued to increase in number and develop their individual civilizations they began to notice just how different we were.

"Humanity developed agriculture and domesticated animals to sustain itself while my people continued to live as they always had, scavenging for their existence, hunting at night like wolves. Nor did we limit our prey to lesser creatures. When your ancestors realized that mine made no distinction between a dead animal and a human being the killing began.

"To survive, my ancestors were forced to retreat into the caves and the other dark places of the world that Man instinctively feared. They continued to hunt by night, avoiding contact with humans at all costs. Fortunately they eventually forgot about us and began killing one another instead, but every now and then throughout the ages there have been chance encounters between the two races. Needless to say they usually ended in violence."

Bill nodded, scratching his chin softly. "And those encounters were the basis for our legends about, uh....ghouls?"

"That's what daddy thinks. All I know is what I've been told, which is probably far from the whole story. Anyway, something very bad must have happened to daddy's friend because he never showed up to collect his prize once it was safely in the States. Mind you I've always suspected daddy had something to do with the man's disappearance since he had already opened the crate.

"He kept the half wild girl locked up in the sub-basement of the family mansion; his parents weren't even aware of her existence for several years until she became pregnant and needed medical attention. I can only imagine what happened when the secret was finally out. My grandparents were the most blue-blooded of Yankee snobs, real Old World Anglo-Saxons."

"What was your mother like?"

"She looked more or less like someone from India but her complexion was much lighter, and of course she had these horribly ugly fingers. Her teeth were also more like a animals, all canines designed to tear and rip flesh from bones." Elsa then opened her mouth and removed a small dental plate covering her own razor sharp upper set of teeth. Bill tried not to show his sudden unease but she easily sensed it and quickly put the plate back in place. "Sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you, I promise I don't bite.

"But to finish my gruesome little story, daddy's unfortunate friend had been considerate enough to send along a very detailed list of mother's dietary needs and even a few words of her language he had been able to decipher. However he still had his hands full. She was incredibly strong and extremely mistrustful of him for the longest time. It was months before he could even get near the cage he kept her in without risking his life."

"But I take it they eventually got much closer," Bill observed.

Elsa smirked. "Obviously, but don't make the mistake of thinking mother was ever anything but a pet. Daddy isn't the type to fall in love easily if at all. And while Minka and I took after him enough to be raised in a somewhat normal fashion mother was never allowed the slightest freedom."

Bill gasped. "Do you mean he kept her in that cage for the rest of her life? That's inhuman!"

"Oh no, you misunderstood me," Elsa replied. "Daddy was extremely kind to mother. He turned the basement into a very comfortable home for her. As a matter of fact it was absolutely luxurious, better than the finest hotel suite."

"Was she ever allowed to leave the house?"

"No, but I don't believe she really wanted to. Other than my father she absolutely despised humans. And she had Minka and I to care for."

"Did she ever learn to speak English?"

"Yes, and how to read and write also. She wasn't an animal, she just wasn't human."

"Sorry," Bill offered.

Elsa smiled. "Me too, I suppose I am a little oversensitive about my ancestry. My poor grandmother, the few times she did show me any affection, she didn't know whether to hug me or pat me on the head."

"I guess I can understand why your father felt like he had to protect your mother from the outside world, but why did he keep you locked away, surely it wasn't just because of your hands."

Elsa shook her head. "You really don't feel it, do you?"

"What?"

" What we talked about earlier. An overwhelming sense of dread that seems to emanate from me."

"No, I honestly don't feel it."

"Then you're one of the rare few that doesn't, so far only daddy, the man hired to guard me and my personal physician haven't been affected. Everyone else grows frightened, like their primal instincts are warning them about me, some even become violent. Once, we had a maid that tried to kill me with a butcher's knife."

"Well, I'm grateful I'm in the minority," Bill added.

"Thank you. Of course Minka isn't exactly free either," she said, turning her attention back toward the television screen. "She has to live by an extremely strict set of rules and she isn't allowed to go anywhere without her husband."

"But how could your father control your lives so completely? You're an American citizen, you have rights."

"And he has money," Elsa replied, "enough to do whatever he wants and get away with it. Several years ago a friend of his in the Senate tried to talk Daddy into running for the Presidency but he thought it would be a step down in power. He usually has one or two private security guards monitoring Daryl and Minka's activities at all times. The leash is pretty tight but at least they're able to enjoy life, while I'm locked away like my mother was."

Bill could hear the bitterness creeping into Elsa's voice. Reaching over he cautiously took one of her hands in his, squeezing it gently. He was thrilled she when she made no attempt to pull away. "You've never been in the outside world before, have you?"

"Not often," she replied, looking down at their joined hands. "I watch TV, of course, but I don't care much for it, all the vulgar sex and violence. When I was little and we still lived in Maine Minka and I were allowed to play on the estate grounds. But as we grew older I began to shy away from the light of day.

"Not long after we moved to New York and I lost what little freedom I had while Minka was shipped off to a very exclusive boarding school for young girls. Now I live in a penthouse over daddy's corporate headquarters, six thousand square feet of ultra-luxurious boredom. It was nice at first; I enjoyed living so high above the rest of the world. And I loved watching all the people on the sidewalks below."

"Then why did you run away?"

"To see something of the world for myself. You can't imagine what it's like to live in the most exciting city in the world and never be able to leave your apartment."

"I'm not so sure I'd want to," Bill mused. "I'm just your typical small town yokel type; Birmingham is too big for me. So what did you think of New York? Was it everything you thought it would be?"

Elsa huffed softly. "Not hardly. It looked so different from my patio, especially at night when all the buildings were lit up, but to actually stand in the very middle of all that commotion, that was something else entirely. There were prostitutes, drug dealers, gangs, anyone of which would gladly cut your throat for a dollar."

Bill nodded in silent agreement with Elsa's opinion of the human race. "I suppose we are still a pretty savage lot."

"It didn't take me long to find that out. One man tried to pull me into an alley, Heaven only knows what he was planning to do to me."

"What did you do?"

"I panicked and beat him up, broke his jaw, I think."

"It's amazing someone as sensitive as you made it out of there alive," Bill said. "But New York City is hundreds of miles away, how did you get here?"

Elsa laughed. "My feet, of course, I walked at night, always on the look out for some safe, dark place to spend the day. I've slept under old houses, abandoned barns, even in a drainage tunnel. I even hoped a freight train once, like a hobo in the movies.

"Finally I happened across the old cemetery and the mausoleum. It was so out of the way I thought no one would ever look for me there."

"Because there were no graves fresh enough for you to break into," Bill said. "Not that you would have," he quickly added.

"Exactly. And I was right. No one bothered me for almost a week."

"And then I started snooping around."

"Well, I'm actually kind of glad you did now," Elsa admitted, "now that I know I can trust you. Hanging around old cemeteries isn't exactly my idea of fun."

Bill let out a sudden and obviously exaggerated gasp. "Why, Elsa I am truly flattered! That is practically the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. Of course you can trust me. And you can also be certain I'm going to do everything in my power to make you fall hopelessly in love with me. Have you given thought to how many children we should have?"

Elsa laughed, the slightest hint of a blush appearing on her cheeks. "I think we'd better wait awhile before picking out wallpaper for the nursery, Mr. Metts."

"Why would you say that?"

"Because of my family, remember, the weirdoes?"

"Don't worry, we'll think of some way of dealing with them. I can be a pretty persuasive guy when I want to. I'll use the same overwhelming charisma I employed to get you to come home with me; they'll be eating out of my hands."

"Yes, of course they will," Elsa said, clearly amused. She knew Bill Metts meant well but he had no idea of the danger he was already in just for trying to help her. She would have to leave soon. "In the meantime, where is that TV station located?"

"In Tuscaloosa, about two hours from here if the traffic's light."

Elsa sighed. "Then Minka is even closer than I imagined. And that means so are my father's hired thugs."

"Relax," Bill said attempting to calm her fears. "No one knows you're here and you're welcome to stay as long as you want."

"That's very kind of you, Bill, but you don't understand, we can't just sit here and play house like a couple of kids. Minka is a hunter, she'll follow her instincts, they'll lead her right up to your front door, and it will not keep her or one of her pet helgums out."

"Helgums," Bill said, intentionally ignoring Elsa's warning, "those were the zombie-like creatures you were telling me about earlier."

"Yes, and I'm certain it was Minka that stole the corpses from your morgue to create one of the beasts. When did you say they were taken?"

"Four days ago."

"Well, that's a good sign anyway."

"Why is that?"

"Because helgums can't function effectively for very long. They're incredibly powerful, able to tear a man to shreds, but their bodies; especially their brain tissue continues to decay just like any other corpse. If they can't find their intended prey quickly they tend to just fall apart. Of course, Minka could always make another one."

Bill closed his eyes, exhaling softly. His expression said it all.

"You still don't believe me, do you?"

Opening his eyes, Bill leaned back in the sofa. "Elsa, I believe you are who you say you are. I also believe you're hiding from your family for some reason. And I also believe science might some day rediscover your mother's race. But dead men being revived as slaves, I'm sorry, that's just too much to expect anyone to believe, it's fantastic."

"Why?" Elsa demanded, finally pulling her hand away. "Just because science can't do something doesn't mean it can't be done. There are forces in this world every bit as real as gravity and light, just because you can't see them or quantify them doesn't mean they don't exists. The very air around us is filled with spirits capable of almost anything. And please wipe that pitying look off of your face, I am not crazy."

Bill held up his hands, silently calling for a truce. "All right, just take it easy. "I'll admit these things you're talking about might exist, but science only deals in facts that can be proven."

A wry smile suddenly curled Elsa's lips. "You mean what they call concrete evidence?"

"Exactly. Before science can accept any phenomena as an established fact of nature it has to be studied and tested over and over under strict laboratory conditions."

"What about precognition?"

"Huh?"

"Answer your phone, Mr. Science. After that we'll continue our little discussion, if you still want to."

"What are you talking about? It hasn't--" Bill was cut off in mid-sentence by the sudden ringing of the phone. It had to be a coincidence, he told himself.

"You'd better answer it," Elsa said. "It's your sister Eve, and boy is she ever mad."

Nodding rather sheepishly, Bill got up and made his way into kitchen. Picking the receiver up he held it up to his ear as Eve's enraged voice roared across the line.

"I don't even want to hear your excuse! I spent all day fixing a nice supper because I was worried about you and wanted to talk about something very important, but you couldn't even pick up the blasted phone and tell me you weren't coming! Well I'll tell you one thing, William, I am coming over there tomorrow and you had better be there!"

Eve hung up. Even the dial tone sounded angry.

His faith in science shaken Bill rejoined Elsa in the living room.

"What did he say?" Mack asked from his side of the bed. Lying on his back he stared up at the ceiling fan as the blades spun slowly about.

"I didn't give him a chance to say anything," Eve replied, still fuming as she crawled back under the covers. "Tomorrow morning we are going to petition the court to have Bill committed for observation."

"Let me go talk to him first. Maybe he'll listen to me."

Eve sighed as she rolled over to face her husband. "He's beyond listening to reason, Mack. It's for his own good."

CHAPTER 14

Ordinarily Minka didn't feed on women. For some reason their flesh simply didn't taste as good as a man's. But she was about to make an exception to that rule.

Susan Chandra, a prostitute advertising her wares on a street corner had unknowingly made the fatal mistake of looking a little too much like Minka's late mother. It had always been one of Minka's favorite fantasies to kill someone she knew and loved, to commit the ultimate act of betrayal. And this might just be the opportunity she had been hoping for.

Susan was clearly of Hindu descent with a little Caucasian mixed in. Her complexion had a slightly dusky tint to it and she wore her lustrous black hair long and free, allowing it to blow about in the wind. Her face still had a glimmer of youthful innocence and hope informing Minka that she hadn't been on the streets very long.

Despite the danger of being caught, or maybe for that very reason, Minka simply had to stop and try to pick the unsuspecting working girl up. Pulling her champagne colored Mercedes up to the curb she lowered the passenger side window.

Susan cautiously approached the expensive car, bending over to look inside. "Looking for some company she asked before realizing her potential customer was a woman.

"For something to eat, actually," Minka replied wearing a deceptively sweet smile.

"I don't ordinarily do women," Susan said growing queasy at just the thought of it, "it'll cost you extra."

"Name your price."

"Five?" Susan hoped the insanely high price would turn the dyke chick off, unfortunately for her the gambit failed.

"What say we make it an even thousand?" Minka said. "But that's for the entire evening."

"Let's see the money first."

Reaching for her purse Minka opened it, removing an obscenely large amount of hundred dollar bills. Peeling ten bills off the bundle she dropped them on the passenger seat one by one. "There, you can sit on them until we get to my place, keep them nice and warm."

Hating herself for doing it Susan opened the door and climbed in the car, all the while dreading what was to come. She had gone down on several women and nearly thrown up each time but a thousand dollars was just too much money to turn down.

They rode in silence for several moments, Susan taking advantage of the illumination provided by the passing headlights to study her client more closely. There was something vaguely familiar about her face, she was almost certain she had seen her before. "Say, haven't I seen you seen you somewhere?"

"I doubt it," Minka said, keeping her eyes on the road.

Susan shook her head, growing increasingly uneasy. "No, I'm pretty good with faces, and I know I've seen yours somewhere before."

"I guess I just have one of those kinds of faces."

Susan continued to stare and Minka, attempting to attach a name to the face, and then it came to her. About a week earlier she had given a TV repairman a blowjob in the back of his shop, and this chick's face was on several of the sets playing. "That's it!" she exclaimed. "You're that chick on the news!"

Minka let out an exaggerated sigh. "Well now you know. Satisfied?"

Indeed Susan was. She threw her head back, laughing.

"What's so funny?" Minka asked, clearly amused.

"You, Ms. Prim and proper news lady, I'll just bet your employers didn't know you were queer when they hired you."

"Actually I'm not. In fact I've got a very handsome man at home who keeps me nice and satisfied."

"Then why the hell would you want to pick me up?"

"It's my husband's birthday," Minka explained.

"And I'm the present, huh?"

"Something like that."

Nodding, Susan eased back in her seat. She was accustomed to being a birthday present for married men, even kind of liked it. "So Ms. News lady, where are we going? No doubt you live in the high class part of town."

Minka turned toward Susan as if to answer her, and then in a burst of movement too fast for the eyes to follow struck her on the forehead, instantly rendering her unconscious. "If there's one thing I can't stand it's an uppity whore."

Bill finally convinced Elsa to at least get some rest before leaving. Of course he had no idea where she could go if her father really was who she said he was. It would be easier to find a teenage virgin in Bangkok than to hide from someone with Tyler Whitfield the IV's resources. In the morning he would try to talk her into staying.

Bill had even talked Elsa into taking his bed. He only hoped the shock of a woman's body wouldn't be too much for it. Fortunately he had changed the sheets while catching up on the housework.

Camping out on the sofa Bill was grateful the cushions had been softened up by years of catnaps in front of the TV. He was exhausted but sleep still eluded him. He couldn't stop thinking about Eve. She had sounded really hurt on the phone earlier, on the verge of tears. He supposed he was lucky Mack hadn't come over and punched his lights out. He would have to go over there in the morning and apologize. That is if they would even answer the door.

And speaking of doors, Bill's eyes suddenly darted toward the one at the end of the hall. Elsa was behind that door, sleeping in his bed, in a pair of his old pajamas. God he wanted her. And it wasn't just a sexual desire, yes, passionate, sweaty sex was definitely on his want-list but he also wanted to hold her close on a cold winter night, nibble her earlobes and all those other corny, romantic things he had never wanted to do with any other woman.

Bill's fantasizing was suddenly interrupted by a loud knocking on the front door. Startled he sat up and checked the flashing clock on the DVD recorder: 12:43, far too late for any casual visitor to come a calling. More than likely it was Mack and Eve come to give him a hard time. Maybe if he just lay there and didn't move whoever it was would go away.

Unfortunately that didn't happen. The knocking grew louder. If he didn't answer it the racket would wake up everyone in the neighborhood. "All right! I'm coming! Give me a minute!"

Getting to his feet Bill, staggered over to the door, unlocked it and flung it open and almost passed out as an overwhelming stench hit him square in the face. It wasn't Mack and Eve but rather the tall, gawky figure of a young man standing on the front porch. Unable to see his smelly visitor's face he switched on the outside light and nearly screamed.

"Hi, Mr. Metts, sorry to bother you but I've been sent to pick up Elsa."

Bill just stood there, mouth agape as the badly decayed form of Kerrie Hemmings brushed past him and took a seat on the sofa. It looked at him with lifeless, milky eyes, smiling. Suddenly he understood why mad men laughed. Heaven help him, Elsa had been telling the truth.

"Nice weather," huh?" the creature said.

Bill nodded, attempting to get his stunned brain going again. When he finally did he said, "Uh, Kerrie, I don't know how to say this gently but you shouldn't be here...you're dead. You and Billy Jenkins were killed in a car crash last weekend."

The dead boy sighed. "Yea, I know, and that wreck hurt like hell, but I ain't half as dead as Billy, that idiot never would wear a seatbelt. There was too much damage for Minka to revive him, still he tasted pretty good." Kerrie licked his lips with a shriveled black tongue only to have the lower one fall off. Leaning forward he looked down at where it lay between his feet, oozing a thick black substance. "Awwww shit. You got a needle and thread, Mr. Metts?"

Bill shook his head.

Kerrie retrieved the fallen lip, shoving it in his jacket pocket. "Oh well, if you'll just go get Elsa we'll be on our way."

"Who?" Bill asked. Kerrie looked at him with those cold, dead eyes.

"Ain't no use trying to lie, Mr. Metts. I know Elsa's here. I can smell her. Just hand her over and no one gets hurt."

"Uh, sure thing, Kerrie, I'll run and fetch her right now. But would you mind waiting here, you seem to be falling apart."

"Sure," the dead boy said, crossing his legs and drumming his skeletal fingers on the end table. Every time bone struck glass it made a nerve racking clacking sound.

Shuddering, Bill turned toward the bedroom door, his mind racing. When a brilliant plan to deal with his unwanted guest failed to coalesce he called out, "Oh, Elsa, Kerrie the helgum is here to take you home." A moment passed but she didn't appear. He then turned back toward the dead boy, offering him an apologetic smile. "I'm afraid she's a real heavy sleeper. Hold on a minute, I'll have to go and shake her awake."

"OK, but don't take too long, I'm in kind of a hurry. I have to get Elsa home so Minka can make me normal again."

Nodding, Bill turned back toward the bedroom door, all the while looking about in search of something he might use as a weapon against his uninvited not to mention smelly visitor. His racing mind quickly identified every object around him but rejected them all for one reason or another. It was hard to believe a single man living alone didn't have anything more dangerous than an old catcher's mitt lying about.

And then he spied the heavy marble mortar and pestle Eve had given him when he graduated medical school sitting on one of the bookshelves. He had been using it to crack nuts. Casually walking over to the shelf he picked the pestle up, weighing it in his hand. Gritting his teeth he turned back toward the unsuspecting dead boy, took a deep breath as he raised the would-be instrument of murder and struck him on the head with all his might.

There was a loud cracking sound as the creature's greasy hair and rotting flesh gave way, revealing the gleaming white skull beneath. Still gripping the pestle Bill took a step back, observing the situation.

For a moment it appeared as if the blow had had no effect or that Kerrie had even noticed he had been hit. And then he slowly brought his hand up, gingerly feeling about the top of his skull. From the expression on his grayish face he seemed just as shocked as Bill by the absence of any pain. "Aw shit," he gurgled, suddenly remembering his orders. "Why did you have to go and do that, Mr. Metts? Now I've gotta kill you."

Rising to his feet, Kerrie started toward Bill, dragging his left leg behind him like a mummy escaped from some old horror movie. Apparently the blow had caused some damage after all.

Resisting the urge to run Bill stood his ground, waiting until Kerrie was close enough to use the pestle again, this time destroying the front of his skull, along with a generous portion of his frontal lobe. Specks of decayed flesh and shards of bone went everywhere, splattering the walls and furniture.

Kerrie staggered backward but remained standing. A thick black substance oozed slowly down what remained of his face. If possible the stench grew even worse. Touching his forehead he pulled away a large section of bone, revealing the pulsating mass of grayish black tissue that had been his brain. And then he let out an enraged growl, charging Bill and knocking him to the floor.

Bill absorbed the full brunt of the blow, the back of his head bouncing off the floor. Dazed, he struggled to crawl out from under the dead boy but Kerrie was too powerful. The black substance dripping from the creature's injuries splattered on his face, worming its way into his mouth and nostrils as if deliberately trying to suffocate him.

Kerrie snarled like a rabid dog, grinding what remained of his teeth. "I've gotta kill you, Mr. Metts! I'm sorry but it's your own damn fault! Daryl says I have to kill you!" He drew his boney right fist back, striking Bill between the eyes. The impact was tremendous. For a corpse on the verge of falling apart he was unbelievably strong. Bill tried to fight back but was quickly beaten into submission by the sledgehammer-like blows, absorbing one after another until he no longer felt them.

Bill's eyes grew wide and then rolled over in his head as Kerrie once more brought his fist back to deliver the killing blow. In just a moment it would all be over. He readied himself for the end and whatever might lay beyond, all the while praying he had bought Elsa enough time to escape. But the lethal impact never came.

Kerrie's arm was suddenly caught in mid-swing by a much smaller but far more powerful hand. Startled, he looked up just in time to see Elsa rip his arm clean out its socket. There was a sickening popping sound as bones and ligaments gave way but still no pain. More of the vile smelling black goo oozed from the new injury like cold molasses as he rose to his feet, smiling as if nothing had happened. "Oh hi, Elsa, ready to go?"

Her answer was to toss the still moving arm across the room and then kick Kerrie square in the chest. The force of the blow sent the wounded creature staggering backward, through the still open front door and down the steps.

Kerrie landed on his back, staring up at the stars. Momentarily forgetting what had happened he just lay there. And then when his brain started functioning again he attempted to sit up in an unintentionally hilarious display. Finally grabbing hold of the porch rail he managed to pull himself up only to stagger back and forth about the lawn before once more crashing to the ground, this time face down . "Come on, Elsa," he cried into the wet grass. "Minka's going to be pissed if I don't bring you back! She won't change me back to normal!"

Ignoring the dead teenager's pleading, Elsa helped Bill up onto the sofa. He was still dazed from the beating he had taken, gasping for air as the foul substance from Kerrie's injuries clogged his nostrils. Grabbing a handful of paper towels from the kitchen she wet them and wiped most of the filth away.

Bill's face was already starting to swell causing her to feel a tremendous amount of guilt. He had gotten hurt, nearly killed, trying to protect her. "Bill, are you all right? Do you need a doctor?"

"Huh?" he grunted.

"I said are you all right?"

Bill laughed softly, blood oozing from his busted bottom lip. "Oh no, I'm fine, that is for someone just ran over by a 76 Buick Electra?"

"A what?"

"It's a car, the last of the gigantic V8 dinosaurs that used to prowl the roads of North America, all steel and chrome...no plastic bumpers back then."

Elsa brushed the hair out of Bill's face, checking his eyes to see if he had suffered a concussion. "You poor thing. Just how many times did that thing hit you in the head?"

"I'm OK," he croaked. "Just give me a minute to catch my breath and find my baseball bat. I want to show our smelly friend where Hank Aaron autographed it."

"It's outside," Elsa said leaving Bill alone long enough to walk over to the open door. To her relief the creature was gone, a trail of black slime leading off down the sidewalk. Hopefully it had wandered off to find someplace to die for a second and final time.

Closing the door and locking it, Elsa helped Bill into the bathroom. He sat on the commode, still trembling as she turned on the shower. Once the water was warm enough she removed his clothes and helped him into the stall. The water soaked her pajamas, making her breasts visible through the fabric but now wasn't the time for modesty.

"Do you feel any better?" she asked, reaching for a bottle of liquid soap.

"I'll never be better," Bill replied holding his head under the stream. He was so weak he could barely stand as the black slime rolled down his body and onto the tiles. "What is this muck anyway?"

"The stuff that brought the helgum back to life," she said, rubbing the soap onto his back and shoulders. She couldn't help noticing how firm his muscles were. He was in surprisingly good shape for a man his age. "You know, Bill Metts, this isn't exactly how I imagined our first shower together would go."

"Very funny, now help me get the rest of this stuff off or it might be our last."

Darkness, silence, nothingness. It was nice.

And then there was a sound, a soft, loving voice from long ago. "Susie, time to wake up. You don't want to be late for school."

"Mom? Is that you?"

"Come on sleepyhead, up and at em. If you don't get a good education you might wind up a filthy whore selling yourself on street corners."

Startled, Susan forced her eyes open. The voice had sounded for all the world like her mother's but the beautiful yet malevolent face looking down at her was definitely not mom's, nor was she a little girl back in her old bed.

The frightened girl attempted to sit up only to find herself strapped to a large metal table in a dimly lit room. She was nude and the bare metal was painfully cold. Mina Whitfield stood next to the table, also nude. "What the fuck's going on?" she demanded, struggling against the leather restraints on her wrists and ankles. "What are you doing?"

"I'm preparing to disembowel you," Minka answered in an insanely calm tone. Rolling a small gurney over to the table, she selected a large butcher's knife from the disturbingly mixed collection of kitchenware and surgical tools, holding it up to the overhead lights where Susan could see its gleaming blade's serrated edge. "Ah, this should do nicely. Now you just lie back and try to relax. I know you're upset so we're going to take things nice and slow."

Susan let out a horrified scream. Rather than trying to silence her Minka merely waited until she ran out of breath. "Scream all you want, dear, it won't do you any good. We're fifteen feet underground. The walls are solid concrete and the ceiling is sound proofed, double insulated to insure our privacy. I guarantee you no one is going to disturb us."

"You're fucking crazy! Let me up!"

Minka frowned. "Well, that's a rather harsh and premature evaluation of my state of mental health. Actually I'm not crazy in the least, I'm in complete control of my faculties. I know exactly what I'm doing. And no, I won't let you up Are you ready to begin?"

Susan continued to struggle against the restraints until the flesh on her wrists and ankles was torn and began to bleed. Minka dipped her finger into the trickle rolling down Susan's right forearm and tasted it, her eyes rolling back in delight. "Yummy. Oh Susan, I knew you were something special. Now you go ahead and get as worked up as you like, scream, cry, whatever. The extra adrenaline will make your flesh taste even sweeter. And when you're ready I'm going to cut your belly open and rip your guts out, particularly your liver and kidneys."

"That doesn't explain why you're naked too," Susan said, stalling for time as she attempted to slide one of her now blood-soaked hands through the restraints.

"Oh this," Minka said, taking a moment to admire her compact but well proportioned body. "I am beautiful, aren't I? I'll bet now you wish I were queer. But to answer your question this is because of all the blood. I wouldn't want to ruin any of my lovely clothes when you start bleeding all over the place. Now let's get started, shall we?"

Susan screamed as Minka placed the tip of the knife's blade against her abdomen and began to ever so slowly cut into the tender flesh. Her horrified cries bounced off the basement walls.

"That's a girl, Susie."

Minka then ran the blade down the terrified girl's right cheek, drawing even more blood. She ran her tongue along the cut, savoring the intoxicating flavor of fear.

"Stop it! Please!"

"No. Death is a once in a lifetime experience, enjoy it."

Minka then eased the knife into Susan's right side, slowly probing about her insides. The pain was beyond description. Twisting the blade as she withdrew it with a sudden jerk she proceeded to slice her victim's forearms, severing the connective tissues.

Susan's heart thundered in her ears as Minka continued the cruel game by carving the word WHORE into her forehead. "Oh God!" she croaked less than a moment before death freed her from her tormentor's merciless grasp. "Why are you doing this?"

Minka giggled. It was a cute, yet sadistic sound. "Because I'm a first class bitch. But don't be too angry with me, it's just in my nature to kill." Climbing up on the table she straddled Susan's waist, running the blade across her jugular vein with just enough pressure to slice through the sweaty flesh.

Susan attempted to scream as her life's blood spurted high into the air, falling back on Minka's bare flesh like warm red rain, but all she could produce was a sickening gurgling sound. As her vision began to fade she suddenly realized she and her tormentor were not alone. Dark, slithering shapes floated through the air, wrapping themselves around Minka's gore covered body like monstrous snakes. They leered at her, reveling in her pain and fear. And then, mercifully, the darkness of death overtook her.

Minka tore Susan's liver from her body, devouring it in huge, bloody bites. She still didn't taste as good as a man but her adrenaline saturated tissue produced an almost narcotic-like effect.

Once she had eaten her fill, Minka climbed off the table and made her way across the basement, removing several loose floor tiles to reveal a hidden trapdoor. Beneath it was a small vat of sulfuric acid just large enough to accommodate a single body, a garbage disposal of sorts she'd had Daryl install as a way of getting rid of leftovers.

Returning to the table she loosened the restraints on Susan's already cold body, hefting what remained of the girl up in her arms. "Come on, Swoozie Woozie, time for your bath." Laughing at her little joke Minka eased the body down into the acid, causing the corrosive substance to boil and froth. In twenty-four hours there would be nothing left of the young prostitute but a puddle of sludge floating on top of the acid.

Closing the trapdoor and replacing the tiles Minka rolled up the drop cloth she had placed around the table to catch any blood stuffing both it and Susan's clothes into a large garbage bag. After cleaning the table off with a bottle of 409 spray and a handful of paper towels she turned the lights off and made her way upstairs to take a nice, long bath.

CHAPTER 15

After changing into some clean clothes Bill helped Elsa straighten up the living room. The arm she had torn from Kerrie the helgum's shoulder now resided in the wastebasket, still thrashing about with a life of its own.

Bill knelt beside the basket, sliding his glasses down the bridge of his nose to examine the disembodied limb more closely. "This is impossible," he observed as the arm made a fist and attempted to strike him. "It's still alive and acting like it's attached to a brain. There's no way on earth it can do that."

As if to disagree the arm gave him the bird.

"It's like black magic."

Elsa joined Bill, resisting the childish urge to say I told you so. "That's exactly what it is. And it's just a small example of what Minka is capable of." Sensing her presence the arm twisted about in the wastebasket, reaching for her.

"So, Kerrie Hemmings has been turned into a zombie."

"Not very pleasant creatures, are they?"

Bill huffed softly as he pushed his glasses back up his nose. "That's putting it mildly. One of these goons could make Mack lose his cookies. How long will it keep moving like that?"

"Until it completely falls apart."

"If only I could figure out how this was possible. I could-"

"I have to go," Elsa said, cutting Bill off. "Minka knows where I am and that means my father's men could be here at any moment."

"You're not going anywhere," Bill replied, rising to his feet. "We are."

Elsa shook her head. "No, Bill, forget it, this is my problem. You can't just pull up stakes and runaway with me. You have a life here, a sister and brother-in-law that care for you. It would be foolish to throw all that away for a perfect stranger."

Bill laughed. "Elsa, I don't have a life or anything that even resembles one. I exist between this house and the morgue with an occasional evening of supper and Monopoly over at Mack's and Eve's. I'd still be better off if we would up in the Amazon being eaten alive by crocodiles."

"Bill-"

He shook his head. "Believe me, there's no life in death or loneliness. Admittedly we are a little mismatched but there is something here and we both know it. Besides," he added in his best exaggerated southern accent, "we've already seen each other naked. I don't know about you big city folk but around these here parts that means we're practically married already."

Elsa looked at the pitiful, love starved fool grinning at her, his face all bruised from the beating he had taken trying to protect her. If she didn't let him come along he would just follow her anyway, and probably wind up getting killed for his trouble. "All right, Bill. But we have to leave, now."

"I'll get my keys."

Deputy Sheriff Cassie Yates hated working the graveyard shift. No, hate was too mild a word for it, she despised it. It was about as boring as Monday nights on the dark side of the moon. Like most small southern towns the streets of Montevallo were all but deserted by 9:30, leaving the unfortunate peace officer on duty with nothing to do but drive around and around all night long. She often prayed for something to break the monotony, anything at all. And tonight the fates were about to grant her that very wish.

It was a warm night and she was driving with the windows down, enjoying the fresh air when she turned onto Main Street and right into the worst odor she'd ever had the misfortune to encounter. It smelled like a combination of raw sewage and something dead with just a smidgen of skunk thrown in. Reasoning there must be a backup in the sewer she rolled the windows up and was about to report the smell to the city sanitation department when she spied a lone, slumped over figure limping down the sidewalk in front of the Sizzler.

Slowing the car down, Yates activated the spotlight, directing its powerful beam at the figure. The figure stopped walking and slowly turned about. What she saw in the blinding circle of light caused her to bring the car to a tire screeching stop. It was a kid, covered in some kind of black junk and missing one arm. A good portion of his forehead appeared to be missing as well. Since it seemed unlikely anyone would be walking around in such a condition and the fact that Halloween was less than a week away, she naturally determined it was just some kid in a costume.

Turning away, the kid started walking again, staggering right to left. "Hey you, stop!" Yates exclaimed, climbing out of the car. When the command went unheeded she reached for her flashlight and gave pursuit. It wasn't hard to catch up with her quarry but the now overwhelming stench was sickening. "All right, buster, that's far enough," she said bringing an arresting hand down on the kid's shoulder.

The late Kerrie Hemmings' reaction to the lady cop's unwanted attention was to whirl about, using his remaining arm to knock her to the sidewalk. Yates landed hard on her backside, the flashlight falling from her hand, and as her rotten luck would have it, rolling right into a gutter. "All right," she said, reaching for her pistol, "you just earned yourself a free ride down to the station, followed by a luxurious vacation in the County Jail for assaulting a police officer!"

Kerrie started walking again. Glancing back over his shoulder he gave Yates the bird. Afforded a better look at the kid's face she suddenly realized that he was the source of the horrendous smell assaulting her nostrils. Scrambling to her feet she took off after him before he could stink up the entire town. They were going to love her down at the station when she brought this one in.

"Hey, you are under arrest," Yates said, catching up to the dead boy.

"Piss off, lady. I don't want to have to hurt you."

"Oh don't worry about me," Yates said, running ahead of Kerrie and raising the pistol. "Now don't you take another step."

Shaking his head Kerrie took that forbidden next step, and then another, forcing the flustered deputy to back up. When she still wouldn't get out of his way he let out a weary sigh and charged her, driving his left shoulder into her hard enough to send her staggering off the sidewalk and into the street.

Losing her temper Yates decided the use of deadly force was definitely in order and fired a warning shot into the air. When the smelly perpetrator still refused to stop she reluctantly put the next bullet into his left leg. To her utter disbelief the kid kept walking, dripping more of the black gunk on the sidewalk.

Not knowing what to do now Yates discharged her weapon again, putting a second slug in the kid's other leg, and the next in his back. Both projectiles had the same effectiveness as the first. Letting the pistol fall to the ground she just stood there in the middle of Main Street, watching as the kid shuffled away, calling her every dirty name and derogatory term for a woman imaginable.

Elsa was silent as they climbed into Bill's Metts' extremely purple car and headed across town to his sister's house. She had to leave while it was still dark and didn't want him tagging along. He was an admittedly strange but decent little man and she didn't want him getting hurt because of her.

However, neither his sister or brother-in-law appeared to hold Bill in such high esteem, especially not after being awakened at half past four in the morning by the constant ringing of their doorbell. Explaining the terrible bruises on his face as the results of a bad spill taken on his motorcycle that afternoon, and as the reason why he missed supper, he introduced Elsa to Mack and Eve as a senior year medical student met by chance.

"Elsa is on vacation also," Bill added, attempting to give his story a little more substance, "she's been riding her bike across the state." At least it sounded better than meet the girl I found hiding out at the old cemetery.

Still angry, Eve was suspicious of her brother's story, and Elsa in particular, from the beginning. She seemed friendly enough but there was something just not right about her. Mack would have noticed it himself if he hadn't still been half asleep. "Bill, can I speak with you in the kitchen?" she asked.

Nodding he followed her through the swinging door. Waiting until the door grew still he once more apologized for supper and for waking them up at such an ungodly hour, explaining that he wanted to borrow the keys to their father's old hunting cabin out on Lake Guntersville.

"That can wait," she said, leaning against the kitchen counter, arms folded tightly in an unsuccessful attempt to hide her anger. "What have you been up to for the past four days? And don't think you're off the hook for supper either. I had something very important to talk to you about."

Bill frowned. "I'm sorry, Eve, really. Something came up and I couldn't help it."

"Oh I know something came up, I saw her. But did it really take all day for it to go back down?"

Bill smiled, his cheeks flushing slightly. "What can I say, I've been a little dry lately, I was overdue."

Eve sighed, far from satisfied with his answer. "Maybe so. But I don't trust that girl. There's something about her that just rubs me the wrong way. I do hope you're at least using protection when you're with her."

Bill rolled his eyes. He felt like a teenager being interrogated by his mother. "Of course, Eve, now please try and relax. You know you're not supposed to get riled up. Besides, Elsa's a good kid."

Eve offered Bill an icy stare as she removed the lid from a green, frog shaped cookie jar and grabbed a gingerbread man from inside, biting its head off. "Oh I'm not upset at all, William, I'm pissed off big time. I told you there was something very important I wanted to talk to you about. Even if you did get banged up on your bike I find it extremely hard to believe you were incapacitated enough to be unable to pick up a phone and tell me you weren't coming over."

"Well I'm here now. What is it."

Swallowing a mouthful of gingerbread Eve started to blurt everything out only to unexplainably take another bite out of the decapitated cookie. "I suppose it'll have to wait for now. But what do you really know about this girl, other than the fact she's an easy lay?"

Elsa stood in front of the living room fireplace, listening to the conversation being carried out in the kitchen, hands buried deep in the pockets of the loose fitting fleece jacket she wore. Mack recognized it as one of Bill's old jogging outfits but didn't say anything. She seemed like a nice enough kid, maybe a little young for Bill but if he could reel her in good for him. Mack could also tell she was almost painfully shy. It was no wonder Bill was attracted to her.

Elsa had been studying Mack as well, more than a little amused by her observations. He was a tall, gangly man, at least nine inches taller and twenty pounds lighter than Bill. He wore a full length orange terrycloth robe that still wasn't long enough to cover his extremely knobby knees. His face was just as long and thin as the rest of his body and crowned with an unruly mop of blonde hair. So, this was the true author of "Passion on Zombie Island" and countless other literary classics but he reminded her more of Ichabod Crane from "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow" than the alter-ego of the adventurous, womanizing Dirk Steele.

"Elsa, why don't you have a seat?" Mack finally asked. "Make yourself comfortable."

"Thank you but I'd rather stand if you don't mind. The fire feels good on a night like this."

Mack nodded. "Yea, I know what you mean. There's nothing quite as nice as a warm fire on a cold night. Would you like something to drink, coffee or hot chocolate?"

Elsa offered her host an appreciative smile but said, "No thank you. I'm fine."

But she wasn't fine at all. Mack could tell she was terrible nervous about something, and she grew even more uneasy when FurFace, Eve's mangy old cat, strutted into the room, his bushy tail held high and slowly moving back and forth.

The animal was headed for his favorite sofa cushion when he suddenly froze in his tracks. He then turned toward Elsa, hissing and arching his back as if the devil himself had crossed his path.

"Cat, what on earth has got into you?" Mack asked. He bent over, attempting to pick the animal up but it went berserk, biting and clawing at his hands until he finally had to let it go. In true, feline fashion it landed on its feet, once more taking up an extremely aggressive stance between him and Elsa. She slowly started backing up toward the door, never taking her eyes off the growling feline.

"Elsa, are you all right?"

"I'm fine. I think I'll wait for Bill outside. I'm allergic to cats." Mack noticed her hand as she reached for the doorknob. frantically twisting it. It was horribly deformed.

"I'm really sorry," he offered, trying not to stare at her almost serpentine fingers. "I don't know what's got into that cat. He's usually mellow as can be. He's never even killed a mouse."

"Don't worry about it, I guess I'm just not a cat-person," she replied, stepping out on the porch and quickly closing the door. FurFace calmed down immediately, reverting to his usual, easy going manner, satisfied he had protected his home from an unwanted and possibly dangerous intruder. Jumping up on Mack's lap he made himself comfortable, wondering what these dim-witted humans that worshiped him would do without him.

"Cat, you are certifiably crazy."

Back in the kitchen the discussion between brother and sister continued.

Even though Eve couldn't explain why she was so mistrustful of Elsa she was still reluctant to hand over the keys to their father's old cabin to Bill and his new playmate. Just the thought of him being alone with the strange girl terrified her. But of course Bill couldn't see it. Like most men he only had one thing on his mind.

Finally, Eve relented and surrendered the keys.

"Thanks," Bill said, shoving them into his pocket.

"I still don't like the idea of the two of you being all alone up there. At this time of year there's no one around for miles."

"I know, that's why we're going."

"But why? What can the two of you possibly do up there all alone?" Eve realized how stupid her question was the moment it left her mouth. She felt like banging her forehead against the countertop.

"We're going to take our clothes off and run naked through the woods," Bill explained, still grinning.

It was only a joke but Eve wasn't laughing as she relieved yet another unfortunate gingerbread man of his head.

A few moments later Bill joined a still upset Elsa on the front porch. "What happened?" he asked as they made their way back to the car.

"Their cat didn't like me," she replied as he opened the passenger side door for her. Hands still buried deep in her pockets she climbed inside. They remained there until they were moving again. "Do you mind if we make a slight detour before starting for the cabin," she asked over the soft rumble of the engine. "I need to pick up a few things we might need."

Nodding, Bill shifted gears.

Mack and Eve watched from the porch as the Challenger's taillights disappeared into the darkness. "She was kind of cute," Mack said, wrapping an arm around Eve.

"I still say there's something about that girl that isn't quite right. She's going to get that crazy brother of mine into trouble. I can feel it."

Mack kissed Eve on the top of her head, pulling her closer. "Now, Evie, Bill's a big boy, he's entitled to a little fun every now and then. Some wild dirty sex might be just the thing he needs to straighten him up."

It was an extremely shaken Cassie Yates that picked up her fallen pistol, returning it to the safety of its holster. She had seen a lot of strange, weird things in her time, including the ghost of a girl named Connie that haunted her old dormitory on the University of Montevallo campus, but that bone chilling chance midnight encounter with a spook hadn't upset her nearly as much as what had just occurred in the middle of Main Street.

Walking over to the circle of sidewalk illuminated by the squad car's spotlight she was in for yet another surprise. "What the hell?" she gasped as the blood, or whatever it was the creature had bled moved about on the concrete, all the tiny drops assembling into one large puddle.

Eyes wide in disbelief, she followed it as it began to roll down the sidewalk. Taking a chance she placed her foot in the fluid's path only to have it move around the obstacle before disappearing down the same gutter as her flashlight.

Unable to believe what she had just seen Cassie took a seat on the curb, shaking her head. When the two-way radio attached to the collar of her uniform suddenly erupted in a burst of static she nearly screamed. The noise was followed by a woman's voice.

"Cassie, where are you?" It was Myra, the switchboard operator at the station. "You've been away from the car for twenty minutes."

"Oh, I was, uh....investigating something, guess I forgot to call it in first."

"Do you need back up?"

"No!" Cassie exclaimed, attempting and failing to sound calm. "I mean there's no need. I thought I saw someone going inside the book store but it was just the streetlights playing a trick on my eyes. What's up?"

"You need to get over to the Falcon Manor Apartments. There's been some kind of domestic squabble in Unit-Thirteen. Gunshots were reported so be careful."

"I copy, on my way."

Deciding the wisest thing to do was to just try and forget what she had seen, Cassie climbed back in the squad car and hurried off to answer the call. Halfway to her destination she had to slam on the brakes to avoid a collision with a speeding Dodge Challenger running a red-light. Fortunately for the car's driver she didn't have the time or desire to pursue.

"You just try that when I'm not scared to death."

CHAPTER 16

Bill was reluctant to return to the old cemetery. After his near fatal encounter with the late and extremely pissed off Kerrie Hemmings the very last thing he wanted was to be surrounded by the dead, but Elsa insisted on collecting some of her possession from the Saunders family crypt.

They were silent as the Challenger rumbled slowly up the graveyard driveway until Elsa brought a hand down on Bill's knee saying "Wait. Something isn't right here."

He brought the car to a stop, looking about. "What is it?"

"Something feels very wrong. And look at the gate."

Bill obliged but saw nothing out of the ordinary. "What about it?"

"The I is gone," she replied, referring to the large capital letter that had hung from the gate just earlier that evening. "Someone's moved it."

"It probably just fell," Bill replied, stifling a yawn. "It's been hanging up there since I was a kid."

"Then where is it?" Elsa asked, momentarily forgetting her companion couldn't see in the dark. If it had just fallen it would be lying on the ground beneath the gate but it isn't there."

Bill squinted, attempting to see in the darkness beyond the headlights' reach. He couldn't see anything but if Elsa's instincts were warning her that something wasn't kosher they were probably right. Shifting the car into reverse he started backing up the driveway.

"Where are we going?"

"To see whether or not we have company."

Reaching the highway, Bill put the car back in first and drove for another half mile before turning off onto an extremely rough dirt road. After evading several deep ruts and fording two even deeper mud puddles they finally came to the burned out shell of a small brick house. It stood alone in a clearing, surrounded by a seemingly endless stand of tall pine trees swaying gently back and forth in the cool pre-dawn breeze.

"OK, now what?" Elsa asked as Bill shut the engine off.

"We enter the cemetery through the back gate," he said, climbing out of the car. "Or rather over the back gate."

Elsa shook her head, clearly confused. "What back gate? I was there for over a week and I never saw any back gate."

"You probably did, you just didn't recognize it," Bill replied. "It was sealed up over sixty years ago when Alabama Timber and Coal bought out everyone that lived out this way. They harvested trees for better than twenty years before someone from the State discovered a rare species of lily that supposedly doesn't grow anywhere else on earth except in a stream behind the church. The environmentalists put up such a stink about the clear-cutting polluting the stream that the Government finally stepped in and turned the entire area into a wildlife preserve."

"How did you know about the gate?" Elsa asked.

"My dad showed it to me when I was a kid. This is the highest spot in town. He used to bring me out here so I could look at the planets through my telescope. Of course, to be honest I was really hoping to see a UFO. He also told me that when he was dating my mother he used to bring her up here when they wanted to be alone. They'd bring a radio and dance beneath the stars."

Elsa smiled. "That sounds like the sort of thing you'd do. But I'm afraid I don't know how to dance."

"Neither do I, but it is a nice idea. I guess we'd better hurry before it gets any later. The gate is this way, just a couple of hundred yards through the woods."

Nodding Elsa took the lead, offering Bill her hand. Thanks to her highly developed night vision she navigated the nearly pitch black maze of trees as easily as he would cross the street in broad daylight.

Several moments later they emerged from the woods, the wall directly before them. Bill began feeling about for handholds between the moss encrusted stones while Elsa merely squatted down and jumped a good five feet into the air, landing atop the wall with the grace of a ballerina. Dropping to her knees she offered Bill a hand up. The surprised expression on his face as she effortlessly lifted him caused her to smile. "Better be nice to me, Bill Metts."

"Yes, Ma'am."

Turning about Elsa jumped down, landing in a perfect three-point stance. A still startled Bill followed, only not so gracefully. His feet slid out from under him on the dew soaked grass and he landed flat on his backside.

Careful," she said helping him up.

"Thanks. Tell me something, have you ever considered trying out for the Olympics?"

"I don't believe I'd enjoy all those camera flashes going off in my face," she replied as they began making their way toward the mausoleum.

The back section of the cemetery was located on a steep slope overlooking the rest of the burial grounds. Once they reached the top they would have an unobstructed view of the entire area below, including the mausoleum. Unfortunately it was also the most neglected section. Briars and weeds were waist high between the graves while trees once planted to provide shade had grown unchecked over the years, their enormous roots overturning many of the headstones. To his amazement, Bill saw where one particularly large tree had grown around a concrete bench, partially absorbing it into its trunk. Shaking his head he took a single step forward, lost his balance and nearly fell into a sunken grave but Elsa caught him just in time.

"Thanks. It's a good thing at least one of us can see where we're going."

"You can be our eyes in the daytime. Now you stay here while I see if it's safe."

"Do I have a choice?"

"Can you run as fast as me?"

"No."

"Then stay put."

Nodding, Bill watched as Elsa made her way to the summit of the hill only to immediately drop to the ground. A large blue van was parked in front of the mausoleum, the missing capital letter I from the gate resting on its roof. Men dressed in coveralls and wielding machine-guns searched among the headstones with flashlights.

Silently cursing, Elsa turned about, motioning for Bill to join her. Dropping to his hands and knees he crawled toward her, carefully looking over the top of the hill. "Who are they?" he whispered.

"My father's men."

"Looks more like the whole bloody Army to me. Come on, we're getting out of here before someone gets shot, someone probably being me."

"There's no probably to it," someone behind them replied in a rock steady tone. "Try anything and I will put a bullet in your brain."

The voice sounded strangely familiar to Bill. Rolling over on his back he saw a blue garbed figure emerge from behind one of the trees, an M-16 rifle at the ready. And then a beam from one of the lights below fell on the man's face and Bill let out a startled gasp. "Mitch?"

Sinclair was equally as surprised by Bill's presence but his aim never faltered. "Dr. Metts? What the hell are you doing out here in the middle of the night?"

"He's with me," Elsa replied, slowly glancing over her shoulder, looking Sinclair dead in the eye. Momentarily overwhelmed by her almost hypnotic gaze he unconsciously took a few steps back. Before he could stop Elsa pushed herself up off the ground, tumbled over backward and came up on one knee directly in front of him, driving an elbow into his rock hard belly. The force of the blow sent crashing him to his knees. "Run, Bill!" she exclaimed before jumping up and disappearing into the darkness with an inhuman burst of speed

"Don't try it!" Sinclair gasped, still able to point the gun at Bill. "These are only knock-out darts but I don't want to have to use one on you!" The big Navy SEAL rose to his feet, attempting to remain calm even as Elsa's presence turned his insides to jelly. "All right, Elsa," he said, looking about the headstones, "Come on out. It's time to go home. Your Father has been worried sick about you."

"Mitch, it isn't what you think," Bill said, rising slowly to his feet, hands in the air. "Elsa is a good person, she would never harm anyone unless they forced her to."

"I know that," Sinclair replied, taking his eyes off Bill long enough to make another complete circle of the area in search of Elsa. "But she can't be allowed to run around free. With those crazy vibes she puts off it's only a matter of time before someone hurts her, or worse."

Sinclair took one hand off his weapon long enough to activate the two-way radio on his collar, but before he could speak into the small microphone Elsa leapt out of the darkness, landed on his back and wrapped her arms around him. The pressure she exerted on his ribcage was more than enough to force him to drop the rifle and squeeze all the air from his lungs.

Sinclair attempted to break Elsa's hold with his much larger arms but her grip was unbreakable. His handsome face grew bright red and then a deep shade of purple until he stopped struggling and began to lose consciousness. Finally she surrendered her hold, allowing him to fall to the wet grass like a felled tree.

Bill immediately dropped to his knees, checking Sinclair for a pulse. "He's all right," Elsa said, rolling Sinclair over on his back. Grabbing hold of his collar she lifted his head up until they were face to face. The ordinarily fearless SEAL's blue eyes burned with stark terror.

"Elsa, please listen to me, you've--"

"No, now you listen to me, Mitch Sinclair. You tell my father I'm not the one he has to worry about, it's my sister and that psychopathic dwarf she's married to. They're the ones responsible for those bodies stolen from the morgue. Tell my father to ask Minka about the Hemmings boy she turned into a helgum to send after me and that nearly beat Bill to death."

"Uh, I think we should be going now," Bill observed as several men, each as large as Sinclair, started up the hillside toward them.

"Yes, I think you're right," Elsa agreed, releasing her hold on Sinclair's collar.

They started running back to the cemetery wall. Fortunately Bill's eyes had adjusted to the darkness well enough for him to avoid the headstones and any other obstacle in his path. Reaching the wall first Elsa dropped down on one knee and cupped her hands together. Realizing what she had in mind he accepted the helping hand. The next thing he knew he was flying through the air, clearing the top of the wall by a good six feet before tumbling back to earth with all the grace of dizzy penguin.

Elsa followed Bill over the fence, finding him lying on his back. "Are you all right?"

"Oh sure, I'm fine. I always wondered how it felt to be The Six Million Dollar Man."

"Who?"

Bill sighed as Elsa helped him to his feet and they retreated into the woods. "Never mind, I'm just showing my age."

"Well you might not have to worry about getting any older if we don't get out of here," she said, glancing back over her shoulder as the first of their pursuers pulled himself up on top of the cemetery wall, shining the blinding beam of a high powered flashlight toward the woods.

Elsa could have easily escaped into the dark trees but refused to leave Bill. Holding his hand she pulled him along, almost dragging him. Several times a red laser beam from a rifle scope splashed on one of them but fortunately never long enough for their pursuers to take a shot.

Finally reaching the car they piled in. Bill started the engine and the big HEMI roared to life as several loud pinging sounds rang out. Looking in the direction the noise came from he saw half a dozen large tranquilizer darts embedded in the driver side door. "Well, there goes my beautiful paint job," he grumbled, shifting into first and taking off.

This time Bill made no attempt to avoid the gullies and mud holes as they raced down the dark driveway. Better for the car get beat up instead of him. Reaching the highway he jerked the wheel hard to the left, causing the fat back tires to squeal as they hit the hard packed clay. The car's rapid acceleration pushed them back in their seats like astronauts on lift-off.

Elsa looked over at the speedometer. The needle sat rock steady on 160mph. "Bill, slow down." He didn't hear her. He's trying so hard to be brave, to protect me, she thought reaching for his hand as it gripped the gearshift.

As if by magic her touch filled Bill with a sudden sense of calm and wellbeing. His grip on the shifter relaxed and his foot finally eased up on the accelerator.

"Exactly how far away is this cabin of yours?" she asked, glancing at the digital clock on the radio. It was a quarter past 4:00am.

"About a hundred miles."

"Then we're not going to get there before dawn, are we?"

"Not if I obey the speed-limit."

Nodding, Elsa turned and looked out the window. The horizon of the eastern sky was already growing lighter. "Just how big is the trunk on this thing?"

Martin Kemp stood beneath the portico of the old mausoleum as a still shaken Mitch Sinclair started up the damp marble steps to join him. "You OK?" he asked.

Sinclair smiled, rubbing his aching ribs. "Yea, but I have to admit I have been better. Thankfully Elsa didn't want to hurt me. My God she's strong. She threw me around like I was a rag doll."

"Did the car she and Metts took off in sound like your racecar from the morgue?"

Sinclair shook his head as he made the last step. "Not even close. Metts' car is a roller skate in comparison to that brute."

Kemp scratched his left cheek thoughtfully. "I wonder what Metts was doing with Elsa. How on earth could two such different people ever come into contact in the first place let alone hook up?"

"I don't know, Martin, but I've gotten to know Metts pretty well, he's got character. If he's helping Elsa then he believes he's doing the right thing. He even checked to make sure I was all right after she put me down."

"Did either one of them say anything?"

Sinclair smiled again. "I was hoping you'd ask me that. Elsa said it was Daryl and Minka that should be locked up and that they were behind the break in down at the morgue. Then she said something else, something crazy?"

"What?"

Sinclair shrugged. "Well, I was on the verge of blacking out so I might not have heard her right but she said that Minka had sent something called a helgum after her, said it nearly beat Metts to death, and his face was all bruised up. Have you ever heard of anything like that?"

Martin shook his head. "No, but five will get you ten Mr. Whitfield has. That family has a lot of secrets they'll go to almost any length to keep."

"Well, I see you let her get away. I suspected as much."

Kemp and Sinclair turned about in time to see a small, almost petite and extremely well dressed man with a head of long unkempt hair standing at the bottom of the mausoleum steps.

"Wonderful," Sinclair muttered under his breath.

Kemp nodded in silent agreement. "What are you doing here, Daryl?"

""That is none of your concern, Kemp. I would remind you that you are just an employee of Tyler Whitfield and not a member of the family."

"Thank God for that."

Sinclair turned and walked away, softly whistling the theme to Pop goes The Weasel.

"Asshole," Daryl bravely replied once the much larger man was out of earshot.

Kemp folded his arms, resisting the temptation to push Daryl back down the steps. "I wouldn't take ten of you for Mitch Sinclair, you pompous little toad. What are you doing here anyway? Shouldn't you be home in bed?"

Sighing, Daryl stopped halfway up the steps. Removing a monogrammed silk handkerchief from his vest pocket he wiped a single bead of perspiration from his brow. "Tell me something, Kemp, just what have you got on Tyler Whitfield that makes you think you can speak to his son-in-law so disrespectfully?"

Kemp grinned like a gigantic Cheshire Cat. "Mr. Whitfield knows he can trust me. Honesty is a commodity sorely lacking in most members of his immediate family."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Daryl demanded as he started climbing again.

"What it means, Daryl, is that I'm very close to finding out what's really been going on around here. Both you and that witch you're married to had better keep your little button noses so clean they squeak."

"Witch!" the smaller man snarled, baring his perfectly straight, white teeth. "I'll have your job for that, Kemp!"

"Try it."

Daryl wisely dropped the subject as he joined Kemp beneath the portico. He knew he was no match for the ex-Navy SEAL. Either one of Kemp's arms was wider than his waist. And the man was no slouch when it came to brains either. According to the personnel files he had read Kemp had a certified IQ of 150. He was an opponent to be respected, even feared. "Let's just see how happy Mr. Whitfield is when he learns you and your bunglers let Elsa get away after Minka dropped her right into your hands. And keep something else in mind while you're at it, old man Whitfield can't live forever. When he finally checks into hell I'll be in charge and you will be looking for a new job."

Martin laughed softly as he placed a big hand on Daryl's shoulder. "I wouldn't count on that if I were you. Mr. Whitfield just might outlive us both." With that he turned and made his way back into the mausoleum, descending the stairs into the crypt. He still couldn't believe Elsa had actually been living down here. Even fully armed and surrounded by his men he felt uneasy being around so many corpses, especially the nude one in the old brass bed upstairs.

But then what did Elsa have to be afraid of? She could see spirits, communicate with them. She was also as strong as ten men and could run faster than a jack rabbit amped up on amphetamines.

The more Martin looked about the more convinced he was that Elsa hadn't disturbed a soul living or dead. She merely wanted to be left alone, to experience a well deserved taste of freedom. And it was really a rather clever hiding place. He would never would have thought of looking for her in a cemetery.

Walking over to the casket Elsa had been using as a shelf Martin picked up a paperback mystery novel, opening it to a dog-eared page. It was a good sign, most people up to no good rarely found the time to read. He also found a sketchpad, the pages filled with charcoal landscapes of the surrounding area. She was a talented kid, it was too bad life had chosen to deal her such a rotten hand.

Yet another encouraging sign, of a somewhat more grisly nature, was the carcass of a dead deer they had discovered earlier with most of its internal organs removed and a dozen or so plastic meat containers from a local market called STOP-N-SHOP, proving old man Whitfield's fears that Elsa might resort to cannibalism were unfounded.

Still, someone had taken those corpses from Bill Metts' morgue. And as far as Martin knew there was only one other person in the immediate vicinity that might develop a sudden craving for human flesh.

"What a fucking dump!"

Martin turned, watching as Daryl made his way down the steps. How he prayed the little weasel would trip and break his neck. "Do not touch anything," he ordered, noticing how the smaller man's gaze had instinctively locked onto the stack of money on the casket.

"I have as much right to be here as you do, Kemp. Tell me, have you thought about how you're going to explain all this to the Old Man? You and your GI Joe rejects really dropped the ball this time."

Martin took a deep breath to control his temper. Unfortunately the source of his irritation wasn't finished riding him.

"So, Kemp, did you find any bones our little dog girl has been gnawing on?"

Martin's response to the spiteful question was to walk up to Daryl, wrapping his big right hand around the smaller man's throat. When he did speak it was barely above a whisper. "I'm only going to say this one more time, little man, so listen very closely. You stay the hell out of my way. That goes for Elsa also because I know who really broke into the morgue, and whose car Mitch saw hightailing it out of the alley. All I have to do is prove it, and I will."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Daryl gasped as his Adams apple started to give way beneath the crushing force of Martin's grip.

"Then know this, you effeminate little psychopath, get in my way just one more time and I will kill you. But before I do I'm going to perpetrate acts of such indescribable cruelty on your person that even Lucifer will cringe. And then I'm going to feed what's left of you to Minka, bit by bloody bit."

Daryl coughed up something resembling a laugh even as his face turned purple. "Spare me the macho bravado, Kemp. Old man Whitfield would--"

"Probably give me a big fat raise. In case you haven't noticed Mr. Whitfield likes you even less than I do. I don't imagine he'd be too grieved if something very, very bad were to happen to you. Now do we understand each other?"

"Got it," Daryl croaked on the verge of passing out.

"Good." Martin released Daryl, letting him fall to the floor gasping. "You will pay for this, Kemp," he said, loosening his tie and collar.

"Try and collect, please." Wearing a satisfied smile Martin made his way back upstairs. Emerging from the opening in the mausoleum floor he found Sinclair sitting on the bed with the nude corpse. "You heard?"

Sinclair shook his head as he rose to his feet. About you promising to wring Daryl's scrawny neck if he gets in your way? No, I didn't hear anything like that. Are you ready to go?"

Martin took a quick look about their surroundings, an icy chill creeping up his spine as the musty odor of death seemed to grow stronger. "I suppose so. We'll all end up in the grave soon enough, no sense spending anymore time here than necessary."

"Well that's a mighty cheerful thought. Maybe you should come back to the morgue with me. I have been neglecting our quality time. We can play hide and seek in the cooler and remove all the toe tags and play name that corpse."

"No more morgue duty for you," Martin said, pausing long enough to place his left boot on the footboard of the bed and tie a loose shoestring. "I've got a new assignment for you, one where you'll get plenty of fresh air. But lets not discuss it here."

CHAPTER 17

A small, slightly balding man in his mid-fifties sat behind an enormous antique desk of polished teakwood that reflected a mirror-like image of his tortured expression. Beyond the closed blinds of his office the countless lights of New York City flashed and twinkled.

Usually, Tyler Whitfield enjoyed the spectacular view of the city his office afforded him but not tonight, not while his little girl was missing. Taking a sip from the same glass of bourbon he had been nursing for the better part of two hours he leaned forward, burying his face in his hands.

Merciful God where was she? Was she even still alive? If he had known Elsa wanted to leave the building so badly he would have arranged something. Maybe if he had trusted her more it wouldn't have come to this. She had no idea what the outside world was like, how cruel and dangerous so-called civilized people could be.

Studying his reflection on the desktop Whitfield slammed his fist down on it, laughing bitterly. If only his many enemies and competitors could see him now, frightened and crying like a tired old man. He knew he had no one but himself to blame for his present troubles, all the while regretting he had never learned how to drink. Now he would have to face whatever happened sober.

Turning toward the glass Whitfield picked it up, about to force himself to take another sip of the Tennessee whiskey when the phone rang. He stared at it for a moment, afraid to answer it. Something terrible had happened to Elsa, he knew it. Finally he screwed up enough courage to pick up the receiver, bringing it up to his ear. "Martin, please tell me you have good news," he said through clenched teeth.

"Well, yes and no. Minka was right about Elsa hiding in the old cemetery just outside Montevallo, that's where I am now."

"And?" Whitfield pressed.

"And I'm afraid she got away. But she wasn't alone, our favorite county coroner was with her, helping her, so at least we know she's all right for the time being."

"The Metts boy," Whitfield said, closing his eyes. What do we know about him?"

"Mitch Sinclair says he's OK, a little on the odd side but that probably comes with the job. I don't know how he hooked up with Elsa but his record is as clean as a preacher's whistle, not even so much as a traffic citation."

"What about the car Mitch heard at the morgue the night of the break-in, was it Metts'?

"No Sir, but I have come up with some information of a highly suspicious nature concerning Daryl and Minka. I'm afraid you're not going to like it."

"It doesn't matter whether I like it or not," Whitfield said growing impatient, "just tell me."

Martin paused long enough to take a deep breath then said, "Our operative at the DMV sneaked us the photos taken by the traffic cameras in Montevallo the night the morgue was broken into. They show Daryl's car running every red-light on Main Street almost immediately after the fact."

"Oh my God," Whitfield groaned.

"I'm afraid it gets worse," Martin said. "Mitch said the car he heard sounded like it had an incredibly powerful engine, like a racecar. I've been making some calls and it seems Daryl has spent a sizable amount of money at a custom speed shop in Pelham. The man that owns the place says he's built himself a regular rocket with over eight hundred horsepower."

Whitfield could feel his stomach turning sour as he mentally digested the disturbing piece of information. "I see. What is Daryl and Minka's present location?"

"Daryl just left the cemetery," Martin replied, "where he's headed I don't know but we're keeping an eye on him. Minka is at home. Just to be on the safe side I've doubled the number of men keeping the house under observation."

"What's the good news?" Whitfield asked.

"Yes, the good news. It would appear your fears about Elsa resorting to cannibalism were unwarranted. She's been living off Calf's liver from the local market. We also found where she killed a deer."

"Well thank God for that."

Martin took a seat on the top mausoleum step, running his fingers through his hair. "Mr. Whitfield, I honestly don't believe Elsa is capable of hurting anyone unless they forced her. She could have easily killed Mitch but she didn't. She also had a message for you. She said to tell you it was Daryl and Minka that needed to be locked up. She also claims they were the ones that stole the bodies from the morgue, turning them into something called helgums. Mr. Whitfield, what is a helgum?"

Whitfield sighed wearily. "You don't want to know, Martin. But it's beginning to look like she was right about Daryl and Minka. Have your men stand by in case we have to bring them in. And whatever you do be careful. If Minka is practicing black magic she'll be extremely dangerous."

"What about Elsa? We're not giving up the search, are we?"

"No," Whitfield said, much louder than he had intended to. "Find her, Martin, please. And if anyone gives you any trouble take them out."

"Understood. I'll contact you again as soon as I have anything new to report."

Nodding, Whitfield hung the phone up, once more turning his attention toward the glass of whiskey. Picking it up he swallowed its contents in one gulp and promptly threw up.

The drive to Lake Guntersville seemed considerably longer than Bill remembered it being from the back seat of his father's old Dodge station wagon. Even breaking the speed-limit it had taken the better part of two hours and according to the signs they still had another twenty seven miles to go. There was no way they would make it before the sun came up. And to make matters worse the needle on the car's fuel gauge was nudging the empty mark.

Finally having to stop for gas and groceries at a small convenience store, Bill also bought a straw sunhat and pair of sunglasses for Elsa. They helped somewhat but by 6:00am even they weren't enough to protect her highly sensitive eyes and skin from the burning glare of the rising sun. By 6:15 she was forced to retreat to the back seat, covering herself with one of the sleeping bags they had brought from Bill's house.

Seeing Elsa's discomfort Bill sped up, pushing the needle on the speedometer to 100mph. By the time they finally reached the cabin Elsa's skin was so badly burned even the soft rustling of her clothes caused her to gasp in pain.

Bringing the car to a brake screeching stop Bill jumped out and unlocked the cabin door. He then hurried back to the car and carried Elsa, still wrapped up in the sleeping bag, inside. The interior of the decrepit looking old structure was hot as an oven but at least it was dark. "It's going to be all right," he said, helping her lay down on a sofa in front of the fireplace. Stay here and I'll see what I can do about cooling the place off."

"I'm not going anywhere," she replied before giving into the desperate need to sleep.

Making his way back outside, Bill walked around the back of the cabin and opened an electrical box attached to the wall, throwing several rows of breakers into the ON position. The old cabin wasn't connected to the electrical grid but half a dozen solar panels located on the roof provided enough power to run a small refrigerator and an air-conditioner. Once the system was activated he hurried back inside to check on Elsa.

Rather than switching on the electric lights he lit one of the coal oil lamps on the fireplace mantle, examining Elsa by the soft yellow glow of its wick. He had never seen anyone with so little tolerance to ultraviolet light. Even through her clothes and the sleeping bag she had received a severe case of sunburn. She was also temporarily blinded, her eyes swollen shut with matter. Bill had no doubt that any prolonged exposure to the sun would prove fatal.

Since there was nothing else he could do for her at the moment he took a seat in the chair across from the sofa, kicked his shoes off and rested his stocking feet on the dusty coffee table. Within just a few moments he too was sound asleep.

Despite his rapidly diminishing faculties the small brick house Kerry the helgum stood in front of seemed strangely familiar, especially the badly faded American and Confederate battle flags hanging from the posts holding up the front porch.

Shambling over to the mailbox at the end of the driveway, leaving a trail of black slime on the sidewalk, he attempted to read the name on it. Strangely enough whoever lived there had the same last name as him. What were the odds?

Having lost the part of his brain that recognized the passing of time he had no idea how long he remained standing there, but the sun had long since risen behind him, casting his shadow across the neatly mowed lawn.

Fortunately it was a Saturday and Kerry's parents were sleeping in, dreaming of all the things they were going to do with the millions of dollars they were hoping to be awarded in the lawsuit they had against the state. They had already been looking at houses in the better part of town.

Unfortunately for him, Larry Fisher, the town's premiere building contractor wasn't expecting an undeserved windfall and couldn't afford to take Saturdays off. He was still half asleep as he turned his big 4X4 Dodge Ram pickup off Blossom and onto Vine Street, blissfully unaware of the unexpected turn the new day was about to take.

Surprised to see someone else up so early on a weekend Larry blinked his eyes to get a better look and then immediately wished he hadn't. Gasping, he dropped the large Styrofoam cup of coffee he held in his left hand onto his lap, drenching his testicles with its scalding hot contents. Crying out in pain he momentarily let go of the steering wheel, allowing the truck to jump the curb, run across Edna Bailey's front lawn, crush her immaculate bed of yellow daffodils and crash into her living room bay window.

Turning around to see what all the commotion was about Kerry started across the street to see if the guy in the wrecked truck needed any help when an already terrified Edna Bailey came running out on her front porch. Spying the dead, one armed boy covered in stinking black goo approaching she let out a horrified scream and passed out.

By the time one of the neighbors called the Police to report the accident Kerry had already shuffled away in search of some place to lay low until it was dark again. He had just turned the corner of Vine and Oak when the wailing of a siren caused him to speed up his pace, cursing the rotten luck that had landed him in such a shitty situation. He had always suspected God hated him.

Among the officers to respond to the call was a still unnerved Deputy Sheriff Cassie Yates. She hadn't reported her frightening encounter with Kerry the night before, or the fact she had discharged her weapon several times, she liked her job too much. Just forget it happened, she told herself yet again as she leaned against the passenger door of her squad car, watching while the wrecker from the gas station used its wench to extricate Larry Fisher's truck from Edna Bailey's house.

Glancing at her watch, wishing 8:00am would hurry up and get there, Cassie looked about the block when she noticed a group of kids across the street. The little urchins were standing in a tight circle, staring at something on the sidewalk.

Grabbing a cup of coffee off the roof of her squad car Cassie made her way across the street to see what had captured the attention of the future taxpayers of America. "Look at it move," one of them said, nudging something with the toe of his left sneaker. "I'm telling you that stuff is alive.

"What have you guys got there?" Yates asked, stepping up on the curb.

"Dunno," the same kid replied, taking a few steps back onto the grass. The others did likewise, affording Yates an unobstructed view of a small puddle of an all too familiar black goo.

"Act like you're gonna step on it," one of the kids said.

Nodding, Yates pulled the plastic top off the cup of coffee, pouring out its contents. Bending over she attempted to scoop some of the wretched smelling glop up in the cup but it slithered away. "You guys give me a hand," she said, turning toward the kids. Nodding, they once more formed a tight circle.

With any avenue of escape blocked the puddle remained still long enough for the young deputy catch about half of its mass in the cup.

"Good job, Men," Yates said, replacing the lid on the cup.

"What is that gunk? one of the kids asked as they followed her back to the squad car. "I honestly don't know," she replied as she climbed behind the steering wheel, "but I think I know someone who can tell me."

Mack rolled the creeper up under the front end of the Buick until he was wedged in tight between the driveway and the enormous 455 V8 engine. Barely able to move his spindly right arm he began feeling about for the oil plug with the open end of a wrench. After fifteen years of changing the oil religiously every five thousand miles he should have been able to find it with ease but that was not the case. He was pretty convinced the damned thing moved to a harder to reach area after each change.

Finally finding the plug and getting the wrench on it he gave it one good turn when there was a sudden, gentle tug on the tip of his left size sixteen sneaker followed by a childish, "Hey, Mr. Kincaid."

Sighing quietly Mack dropped the wrench and said, "Hey, Danny. How are your folks?"

"OK," the barefoot six year old dressed in overalls and no shirt replied. "I was wondering if I could have an apple from your tree?"

"Sure, Danny."

A moment of silence passed, and then, just as Mack retrieved the wrench and renewed his attack on the stubborn oil plug the child said, "Can my friends have one too?"

"Sure, Danny, help yourselves. But don't climb the trees."

"OK, Mr. Kincaid, thanks."

Before Mack could say you're welcome at least half a dozen pairs of tiny legs ran past the car, heading toward the trees in the backyard. Shaking his head he went back to changing the oil when Eve's pathetic excuse for a car pulled into the driveway. Mack listened as the door opened and closed, followed by the sound of Eve's shoes on the concrete.

"Are you still working on the car."

Mack frowned, resisting the urge to employee sarcasm. "Yes, Dearest. "Where have you been?"

"Over at Bill's."

Dropping the wrench, Mack rolled himself out from under the car. "Why?" he asked.

"To look around."

"You mean to snoop."

"Semantics, Mr. Writer. Do you want to know what I found?"

"Porn?" Mack said, resting his back against the Buick's gleaming chrome bumper.

"No."

"Well then what did you find?" he asked as the crowd of kids, their arms now loaded with enough bright red apples to feed more than three times their number emerged from around the house.

"Thanks, Mr. Kincaid," Danny hollered, chewing on one of the apples as he brought up the rear.

"You're welcome. Say hi to your parents."

"Aren't those your honey crisp apples?" Eve asked. "The ones from the tree you've been babying for the past five years just to get it to bloom?"

"What? Oh, no." Rising to his feet, Mack made his way to the edge of the house to find the small apple tree beside the patio with its slender limbs stripped bare. The little urchins hadn't left so much as a single apple. "Damn. So, what did you find at Bill's?" he asked, turning away from the ravaged tree before he broke down in tears."

"Nothing. And I mean absolutely nothing. It's even worse than I imagined, Mack. All poor Bill must do is come home, watch TV and go to bed. The man has absolutely no social life."

Mack sighed as he returned to the Buick, closing the hood. All of the sudden changing the oil didn't seem so important. "Well he's all right now, Eve. He and Elsa are all alone up at the cabin and I'm sure he's making up for lost time."

"Did you think she was cute?"

Mack shrugged. "She's OK I guess, but those fingers of hers, they're just weird."

"What's wrong with her fingers?"

"You didn't see?"

"Would I ask if I had?"

"They're deformed, they're almost twice as long as ordinary, and her nails. Well let's just say if I were Bill I wouldn't ask her for a hand job."

Eve rolled her eyes. "I'm liking this entire situation less and less. I knew there was something about that girl that wasn't right. I want to talk to her. Drive me up to the cabin."

"No, Eve. You've been crying about how strangely Bill's been acting for months and now that he's doing something normal you're worried about that to."

"All right then, I'll go by myself," she said, turning back toward her car but before she could reach it Mack ran past her, grabbing the keys out of the ignition."

"Give me the keys, Mack."

"No," he replied, dropping them in his pocket. "I agreed to help you talk Bill into getting some help and I will just as soon as he gets back, but you are not going to bother him now."

"Is that supposed to be an ultimatum?" Eve asked, clearly ready for a fight.

Instead of answering Mack turned and made his way inside the house, the screen door banging shut behind him.

CHAPTER 18

Awakening Bill found Elsa sitting on the stone fireplace hearth, attempting to tie a fishing lure onto a spinning rod's line but her long fingers made it next to impossible. "You'd better let me do that," he said joining her. "You're liable to hook yourself."

"Thanks, these fingers of mine can be a bloody nuisance at times." She waved them playfully in Bill's face, her curved nails making a soft clacking sound. "They come in handy playing the piano and reaching where it itches but that's about it."

Bill laughed as he looped the line through the lure's small eyelet, pulling it tight. "Do you like to fish?"

"I used to but I haven't been in years, not since we lived in Maine. I caught a pike once, damned thing nearly scared me to death."

"Then stick with me, Kid. I just happen to be a master angler. Maybe we'll catch a Garr."

"I've never heard of a Garr. Are they good to eat?"

"I don't know about that, but if you're not careful they'll eat you."

Elsa waited until Bill rigged another line for himself and then they headed for the small stream running behind the cabin to try their luck. It was almost dark by the time they reached the sandy banks. Off in the distance they could see the lake's mirror-like surface.

The chill of approaching winter was heavy on the evening breeze so Elsa was more than a little surprised when Bill removed his shoes and socks and proceeded to wade into the knee deep water. "Come on in," he said, trying to pretend he wasn't freezing. "It's really refreshing."

Shrugging her shoulders Elsa removed her shoes and joined him. They spent the next hour wading down the stream to the spot where it emptied into the lake, reeling in five nice size bream and one huge catfish. They had more then enough for a meal but Bill wasn't finished yet. Sloshing over to where Elsa stood he pointed toward two large rocks about ten yards downstream.

"See those rocks?" he asked.

Elsa nodded.

"Well that is the perfect spot for big daddy bass to be lying in wait for some unsuspecting little minnow to come grooving along. Watch me snag him with my patented technique."

Bill raised the rod, casting the lure with a precise flip of the wrist, but his confident smile quickly faded as it overshot its mark and got hopelessly tangled in the drooping branches of a willow tree growing along the shore.

Elsa grinned. "Are you fishing for bass or squirrels, oh Master Angler?"

"Oh well, I guess we've caught our limit for one day."

Retrieving their shoes, they made their way back up the small trail leading to the cabin. Since it was dark and he could barely see Bill let Elsa lead the way. "You'd better let me clean the fish," she said, reminding him of her rather unusual dietary habits. "I'd hate to make you lose your appetite."

"Hey you want the guts they're yours."

Reaching the cabin Bill followed Elsa into the kitchen. "I honestly don't think you want to do this," she warned again. "The sight of me eating can be pretty disturbing if you're not used to it."

"I've got to get used to it sometime. Besides I'm a doctor, I'm used to seeing icky stuff."

"All right, suit yourself." Placing several sheets of old newspaper out on the kitchen counter Elsa began cleaning the fish, Bill looking on in amazement as she used her claw-like fingernails to slice the breams bellies open and scoop out the organs. She ate everything but the intestines, tossing them out the open kitchen window.

And then she started to clean the catfish. "Oh row," she exclaimed as the bright yellow eggs spilled out on the counter. They too were quickly devoured one handful at a time. Her hunger sated she then proceeded to cut the fish up into fillets with the speed and skill of a Japanese sushi chef.

"Tell me why your diet is so limited," a mildly nauseated Bill said, leaning against the counter."

"It has something to do with an unusual bacteria that lives in my intestines. I can't digest anything but organ meat. I can tolerate stuff like milk and yogurt but I don't much care for it."

"Have you always been that way?"

Nodding, Elsa removed a large cast iron skillet from a hook on the wall and placed it on the stove.

"I've never seen anything even remotely like it!" an extremely excited Gerald Miller exclaimed with his eyes glued to the microscope's twin lenses. Miller, as well as being the Professor of Chemistry at the University of Montevallo, was also Deputy Sheriff Cassie Yates first cousin.

Naturally being a man of science and a staunch agnostic on matters concerning the supernatural Miller at first didn't believe his cousin's crazy story about a walking dead man, but now he was dreaming of the Nobel Prize he was certain to be awarded once he figured out exactly what the tiny spot of goo on the microscope's slide was and where it might have come from. At this point he was leaning heavily toward an extraterrestrial origin. How it got to earth he would worry about later.

"What is it?" Yates asked, hovering over Miller's shoulder.

"I have absolutely no idea," he replied."

"Then why are you so excited?"

"Because of what it isn't. This is a completely undiscovered substance, I could spend the rest of my life and never encounter anything like it again."

"Well I haven't got that long to wait. Don't you have any ideas at all?"

"None whatsoever, it defies analysis by any known means. I'm telling you it's terrific."

"Well that gives you a hobby but it doesn't do me any good."

Miller finally looked up from the microscope, rubbing his eyes. "Cassie, are you absolutely, one hundred percent certain the person you shot was dead?"

"I know a dead person when I see one, Gerry. He was falling apart all over the place, and the smell was horrendous."

"Strange," Miller observed leaning back in his seat. Reaching inside his lab coat he removed a pack of Winston cigarettes from his shirt pocket despite the NO SMOKING sign on the wall.

"Those things are going to kill you," Yates warned as he reached for a disposable lighter on his desk.

"What isn't going to kill me?" he asked placing a cigarette in his mouth and lighting it. "There were more carcinogens in the chili-dog and onion rings I had for lunch than in an entire carton of cigarettes."

Miller started to lift his thumb off the button feeding the flame when the lighter suddenly exploded in his hand, creating a massive ball of fire. Rather than dispersing the ball bounced across the desktop, coming to rest on the coffee cup containing the smelly goo and instantly reducing it to ashes.

"Son of a jumping bitch," Cassie gasped. "Well, I guess that's that."

"Not quite," Miller said, quickly removing the slide and the small surviving dot of the mysterious substance from the microscope. "Cassie, can you get me some more of this stuff?"

"Not on your life. The rest of it ran into the sewer, and it can stay there as far as I'm concerned."

"The sewer, huh?"

Fortunately for her Elsa enjoyed the proverbial cast iron stomach but she couldn't understand how Bill could possibly enjoy the golden brown filets of bream and catfish he hungrily devoured in between handfuls of fried potatoes. Taking a moment to look up from his pate he offered her a smile. She returned it, stifling her nausea. Reaching for a napkin he cleaned his lips and said, "We have to make plans, decide what to do next."

"What's to decide?" Elsa asked, taking a sip of cold 7up. "Either we keep moving or they'll eventually find us again."

Bill nodded, taking another bite of fish. "Well, we do have a few options."

Elsa cocked an eyebrow. "Such as?"

"We can drive into Birmingham and call your father from a payphone where it cant be traced. We'll tell him what Daryl and Minka are all about and convince him to call his private army off."

Elsa resisted the urge to laugh. At least Bill was trying to help. It felt good to have someone on her side. "I'm afraid Daddy wouldn't listen to you anymore than he would me. And even if he did believe you about Daryl and Minka he would never call Martin Kemp and his men off. They'll keep on searching for us until they find us."

"Then maybe we can reason with Kemp, get him to convince your father you're not dangerous."

"That isn't the reason he's looking for me."

Bill shook his head. "I don't understand.

Elsa let out a weary sigh and took another sip of her drink before explaining. "My father doesn't care about anyone getting hurt he just doesn't want them to know about me. You see, I'm something of an embarrassment. Unlike Minka I don't fit the typical spoiled rich girl image. Only a small handful of people know I even exist. and most of them believe he keeps me locked away because I was born horribly deformed. And I suppose I was," she said, placing her hands on the table.

"You are not deformed," Bill insisted. "You're just different."

"It's the same thing in my family. You see, a Whitfield is supposed to be perfect, attractive, intelligent and very blue blooded. The occasional trip to some ultra exclusive clinic for alcoholism or drug abuse might be tolerated, even expected in fact, but no one must ever know daddy's little girl isn't quite human."

"You are human," Bill insisted. "And as for all that other stuff, you've got far more class than any of those sleazy heiresses in the tabloids."

Elsa smiled, clearly touched by Bill's opinion of her. "Well thank you, but unfortunately my father doesn't think as highly of me as you do."

"I still say we should tell him about your sister, we could show him the arm of the helgum she sent after you."

"I wouldn't count on that convincing him either. I could just as easily have created the brute myself, easier in fact. I might not use them as much but my powers have always been stronger than Minka's. Besides, she's too clever not to have covered her tracks."

"She's not infallible," Bill insisted. "She has to make a mistake sooner or later."

"I wouldn't count on that either. She's a master at manipulating people. Even Daryl was originally hired to keep an eye on her. He was a decent man in the beginning but little by little she wormed her way into his mind, gaining control of him."

Elsa took another sip of cola and then crossed her fingers, resting her chin on her hands. "Daddy doesn't have the slightest idea how they carry on, the people they hurt and murder."

"Wait a minute. How do you know all that if you've been locked away all this time?" Bill asked. The first sign of doubt was creeping into his voice. Elsa had been expecting it.

"Because Minka and I are psychically linked," she explained. "Remember the spirits I mentioned earlier?"

Bill nodded.

"Well they tell me the things she does, try to convince me to do even worse. Of course they never told me that Daryl and Minka were here in Alabama, the deceptive creatures. I thought they were still living on the estate in Maine."

"It must have been pretty rough on you, being left alone like that.. You must have been terribly lonely."

"Not really. Minka and I were never close, not even as children. I suppose you could say we're the female version of Jacob and Esau. But Lord what I wouldn't give if just once Daddy could see Minka for what she really is."

"Well, somehow we're going to show him."

Elsa got up from the table, making her way over to the fireplace. "I don't know," she said, staring into the crackling flames, "maybe I'm the one in the wrong. Minka is only being true to her nature. Maybe I am the real hypocrite in the family."

"No, you're not," Bill said joining her. "You're a young woman, one who's bright and beautiful and just in need of a little help."

Elsa smiled, still staring into the fire. "Are you offering your protection, brave sir knight? Are you going to slay all my dragons and carry me away on your white charger?"

Bill laughed softly. "Are you kidding? I've seen you in action, I should be asking you for protection. Besides, I drive a purple Challenger." Wrapping his arms around her he blew softly in her ear.

"Mmmmm, that feels good," she purred.

"It's supposed to. So how about telling me more about these helgum things. How is your sister creating them?"

Elsa smile faded. So much for romance.

CHAPTER 19

While Elsa reluctantly related the gruesome details involved in reviving the dead a light blue Cadillac pulled up to the curb in front of Bill's house. The engine died with a threatening rumble and Daryl emerged, casually making his way up to the front door. All the lights were off but he knocked anyway.

When there was no answer to his summons he tried the doorknob, much to his surprise it wasn't locked. Very careless to go away and leave a door unlocked, anyone at all could just walk in off the street and rob one blind.

Stepping across the threshold Daryl felt along the wall for a light switch. Flipping the switch into the on position he took a long look about the living room, frowning in disapproval. No wonder Metts hadn't bothered to lock the door, there wasn't the first thing anyone with even a modicum of taste would want to take.

For a moment Daryl thought Minka must have made a mistake about Elsa or the helgum ever being there, but then he spied several small specks of the black goo from the creature on the arm of an easy chair. Obviously the smelly goon had been here and been unsuccessful in its attempt to retrieve Elsa and had either been destroyed or wandered off somewhere to die again. Now Minka would have to create another one, and that meant finding another body and with Martin Kemp and his men following him around that was not going to be easy.

Tearing the house apart in search of a phone book and finally finding it, in all places on top of the refrigerator, Daryl let his manicured fingers do the walking until he found the number of the nearest hospital. Grabbing the telephone receiver he saw it was connected to an old fashioned rotary style phone. It was an original Bell model from the early Seventies, he hadn't seen one since he was a kid.

Daryl dialed the number. The line rang twice on the other end before a very bored sounding feminine voice answered. "Admission's desk, how may I help you?"

"Yes, this is Mr. Hoffman from the Montevallo Funeral Home. I'm calling about a patient that passed away today, a young man I believe."

"Hold on a moment, I'll have to check."

There was a dull bumping sound as the woman set the phone down, followed by the unmistakable sounds of papers being shuffled about and then the noisy clatter of fingers on a computer keyboard.

The woman came back on the line a moment later sounding somewhat more alert. "I'm sorry Sir but there must be some mistake. According to the computer we've had no deaths this week. Are you sure you've got the right hospital? People sometimes mistake us with Shelby Mem---"

"Thank you, good bye."

Daryl hung the phone up. That was strike one, but the ball game was far from over. There were always homeless people or drunks roaming the streets that no one would ever miss. And Kemp and his men couldn't be everywhere at once. But he would have to hurry and be extremely careful at the same time.

Whistling, Daryl made his way back out to the car, leaving the living room door standing wide open. A moment later he was prowling the streets of Montevallo in search of a suitable victim for Minka to work her magic on.

Almost anyone would do to make a helgum as long as their mind was sound at the moment of death. Deterioration was inevitable but if the body was revived quickly enough the process could be forestalled.

Unfortunately there was no sign of life in Montevallo this lovely Saturday evening, amazing for a town that claimed to have over two thousand citizens. If they weren't going to be cooperative he would just have to move on to more abundant hunting grounds.

An hour later Daryl was cruising the streets of Birmingham. A lot of potential victims were out and about but none within easy grabbing distance. There were a few rather rough looking hookers standing around a street corner but he needed a man, one with considerably more meat on his bones than the scrawny Hemmings kid they'd borrowed from the morgue.

It was beginning to look like this particular fishing trip would be a failure also when he turned a corner and found the answer to his dark prayers in the forms of two enormous bodybuilders waddling out of a small gym wedged between a dry-cleaners and an old Western Auto store. They were perfect, just what he had been looking for. And now for the hard part.

Stepping on the Cadillac's accelerator Daryl rounded the next corner, pulling into an alley between two crumbling brick buildings. Physically he knew he was no match for either of the approaching men but the gleaming chrome .45 Automatic Colt he grabbed from the glove-box was another matter. A hollow point slug didn't care how much dead weight you could bench press.

Making certain the gun was loaded and the safety off, Daryl popped the trunk release and jumped out of the car. Dropping to one knee he brought the gun up into the firing position, gripping it with both hands to steady his aim.

A moment later the two unsuspecting behemoths stepped directly into his gun-sight. Daryl swallowed as he got his first good look at them. They were huge two-legged rhinos in tight spandex that unfortunately left nothing to the imagination and tee-shirts stretched to the max, reading FLEX-STATION across their barrel-like chest.

The smaller of the two gentlemen, if indeed he could be considered small, had a painfully shiny bald head with simian-like features and he walked like he had a dumbbell shoved up his ass. No doubt he was a college graduate and his mother's pride and joy.

The second hulk was the exact opposite of his homely companion. He was a pretty boy with muscles that looked like he had been carved out of solid marble by Michelangelo himself. He also sported a flowing lion's mane of blonde hair that would have made Samson envious.

Daryl reasoned the smaller goon was at least two hundred and fifty pounds. Now the pistol in his hands didn't feel quite so reassuring. If he missed either of them it would all be over. Fortunately, the walking muscles were so engrossed in conversation over all the things they wanted to do to some little brunette on a Stairmaster they didn't see him until it was too late.

His heart racing Daryl squeezed off two quick shots. To his immense relief both slugs found their mark, easily knocking the giants down. Too stunned to realize what had happened the largest one struggled back to his feet only to be put down for a final time by a second slug to the chest.

Satisfied by his accomplishment Daryl blew on the .45's smoking barrel like an old time gunfighter. Now Minka had two perfect specimens to work her magic on. That is if he could get them home, which was not going to be easy.

Dragging the enormous carcasses over to the car and getting them up into the trunk was considerably harder than putting them down had been. It was all he could do to heft them up one muscle bound limb at a time. The car's heavily modified suspension groaned underneath their immense weight but somehow he managed to get them tucked in nice and snug before gently closing the trunk lid. But his trouble were still far from over.

Fifteen minutes later Daryl found himself stuck in the middle of a massive traffic jam, waiting to get onto I-65. In a strange way it made him nostalgic for New York City, all the angry blaring of horns and dirty looks.

And then there was the accident to make him even more homesick. Like all great catastrophes it started small. About fifty feet ahead of Daryl a woman in a Volvo station wagon filled with screaming kids was contemplating suicide as the traffic crept along at about three inches per minute. In her impatience to get home and feed and put the little bastards to bed she accidentally bumped into the back of the rust bucket Chevy in front of her.

The impact was little more than a nudge, causing no damage to either vehicle, but two men, each so drunk they could barely stand, climbed out of the Chevy, looking for a fight.

Frightened, the woman automatically locked the station wagon's doors. In response they started pounding on the roof with their fists. All this was witnessed by a State Trooper also caught in the jam. Switching on his lights he climbed out of the squad car and made his way through the narrow spaces between the front and back bumpers of the other vehicles.

Spotting the approaching Trooper the driver of the Chevy, already on the verge of having his license permanently revoked for multiple D.U.I.'s jumped back in the car and took off , driving over the curb and onto the grass, leaving his hapless companion to face the Law alone.

Daryl watched as the Chevy turned back onto the highway only to race the wrong way up an on-ramp where it smashed into the gleaming chrome front grill of a Ford F250. Undeterred, the driver of the Chevy shoved the car into reverse only to back up into a VW Beetle, crushing its passenger side door inward and knocking it over on its roof.

Several motorist abandoned their cars to see if they could help the woman trapped inside the Bug but both doors were jammed. One man took off one of his shoes and attempted to bust out the rear window while the others argued over what to do next. Still other motorists filmed the crisis with their cell-phone cameras but no one thought to call for help.

Finally, one man got the lug wrench out of his pickup and pried the driver side door open, helping the now sobbing woman out of the crushed Bug. At the same time smoke began pouring out from under the Chevy's crumpled hood. And then it burst into flames while the driver, unconscious, hung halfway out the window. Several of the would-be rescuer's clothing caught fire and they proceeded to run about, screaming and flailing their arms.

But the real show stopper was the poultry truck. Stopping on the overpass to get a better look at all the carnage below, the driver forgot about all the cars still moving behind him. Naturally they were all speeding and couldn't stop in time, crashing into one another like a row of dominoes. Miraculously no one was injured in the ten car collision but the damage had been done.

The dangerously overloaded truck slid up against the metal guardrail, tipping over on two wheels for several of the longest seconds in recorded history before spilling its cargo of live chickens out onto the already stunned motorists below.

The unfortunate birds and their cages exploded on impact, shattering windshields and denting hoods and roofs. There were feathers and flames everywhere, children crying, adults cursing. Armageddon had come and the chickens were bringing hell with them.

Sighing, Daryl rested his forehead on the steering wheel. He had to wait over an hour while the road was being cleared. He hated to think how much brain damage the delay was causing his two passengers in back and he wasn't too crazy about the cop standing just outside his door either. Thankfully the trunk didn't leak. Overhead, several news choppers hovered about, getting footage of all the commotion.

He finally made it home shortly after 9:00 pm. At the moment the large Federal style house standing alone at the end of Red Mountain Drive was as welcome a sight as the gates of Heaven.

It began to rain as Daryl turned into the driveway. He cursed his continuing streak of rotten luck, rain always played havoc with his sinuses. The first few large drops on the windshield rapidly turned into a torrential downpour as he reached for the garage door remote. He pushed the button several times but the doors didn't budge. Sighing, he climbed out of the car and opened one of the doors manually. By the time he got it raised and climbed back in the car he was soaked to the skin.

Minka was sitting at the kitchen table when Daryl stepped through the garage door. "And where the hell have you been?" she demanded, stirring several heaping spoonfuls of sugar into a cup of scalding hot coffee.

"Sorry I'm late, Love. There was something of a traffic jam and I was caught right in the middle. Also the helgum is dead, for good this time I'm afraid."

Minka huffed as she took a sip of coffee, once more reaching for the sugar. "I don't suppose you thought to do anything about it while you were out."

"Nope," Daryl replied, offering her a devilish grin, "I did two things about it, two very big things. Be right back." He returned a moment later, dragging the smaller of his victims into the kitchen feet first. He then let go, allowing the corpse's feet to hit the floor with a dull thud. "And if this big boy can't get the job done there's an even bigger goon still out in the car."

Minka's eyes widened with delight at the sight of the dead body builder. Finally she had something decent to work with. "Oh, Daryl I'm so proud of you! He's an excellent specimen." She rewarded him with a kiss on the cheek and then hefted the massive corpse up in her arms with infuriating ease. "Now be a dear and run along and fetch the other one. I'm going to be late for work as it is."

Minka carried the body down into the basement, strapping it onto the metal table the unfortunate Susan Chandra had occupied only a few hours earlier.

"I almost didn't have enough room in the trunk for this one," Daryl grunted dragging the second body down the basement steps. "He's bigger than Martin Kemp, at least three hundred pounds. I think I gave myself a hernia lugging him around. I don't suppose you'd want to kiss it and make it all better."

"Later, strap him in the chair, and make extra certain those restraints are tight." Nodding, Daryl dragged the corpse across the basement, hefting it up into a large wooden chair. Rigor mortis had already set in and it was all he could do to get the leather straps around the dead man's wrists and ankles.

Minka grabbed a large hypodermic off the gurney of surgical tools and made her way over to the corpse strapped down on the table. Daryl watched, cringing as she pushed the large gauge needle into a vein in her left arm and pulled out a small amount of blood. "I still don't see how you do that."

She laughed. "Sissy boy, I'm used to little pricks. Now hold our overgrown friend's ear back where I can get a clear shot."

Daryl did as instructed, pulling the dead man's earlobes back so Minka could insert the needle through the small openings in his skull and inject the blood directly into his brain. Almost immediately his eyelids began to flutter. A moment later she had injected the rest of the blood into the second corpse with similar results.

"Make sure they don't get loose," Minka said, handing Daryl the spent syringe, "I'll finish them up when I get back from the station. Don't forget to watch me."

Kissing Minka good-bye, Daryl took a seat on the bottom of the steps, watching as the corpses' arms and legs began to flail about madly against their restraints. "Well boy, it looks like its just you and me for the evening."

CHAPTER 20

The instant Minka injected the first corpse with her blood Elsa's heart started to flutter wildly, causing her to almost pass out.

"Are you all right?" Bill asked as she caught hold of the fireplace mantle to keep from falling. He attempted to place his hand on her shoulder but she pulled away, walking over to the sofa. "What is it?"

"It isn't you," she said, taking a seat before her legs gave out from under her.

"Are you ill?"

"No, I'm fine. I just picked something up, tuned in on a sudden sense of dread. It caught me off guard." Elsa grew silent, taking a deep breath to calm her nerves. Sitting next to her Bill took her hand, checking her pulse.

"My God!" he gasped. "Your heartbeat is over two hundred!"

"It always gets a little high when I'm upset," she explained.

"Why are you upset?"

"I wish I knew. Even if I were to ask the dark spirits why they probably wouldn't tell me the truth. Bill, do you trust me?"

"Of course."

"Then would you happen to know where we could get a gun?"

"Sure, but do you really think that's necessary? There's no one around the lake this time of year."

"That's probably true, but I would still feel safer if we had a gun, just in case."

A few moments later, Bill climbed up in the cabin's storage loft where he kept his father's collection of hunting guns. Although he personally despised the cruel sport he had kept the firearms safely stored away for sentimental reasons. He found them exactly the way he had left them several years earlier, still tightly wrapped up in thick plastic and old rags to keep them from rusting. Selecting a Remington 12 gauge automatic shotgun he handed it down to Elsa stock first. "Here, be careful."

Taking the gun Elsa used her razor sharp nails to cut away the plastic and rags. It was a beautiful thing with a deeply burnished maple stock and gleaming blue steel barrel. "Is this a powerful gun?" she asked.

"Very," Bill replied, climbing back down the ladder with two boxes of buckshot in hand. "A 12 gauge Remington loaded with .00 buck can kill just about anything within fifty yards. There are a couple of high powered rifles up there too but this is the safest of the lot, that is if there is such a thing as a safe gun."

"Why is this one any less dangerous?" Elsa asked, handing it back to Bill.

"Range," he explained. "Any gun is dangerous but at least a shotgun has a very limited range, the pellets spread out the farther they go, but if you miss what you're shooting at with a rifle you could kill someone a mile or two away."

Elsa could hear the contempt he held for guns in Bill's voice. It seemed that he, at least, had grown beyond the human race's almost insatiable taste for violence. "You don't like guns, do you?"

Bill shook his head. "No, I don't. I've seen what they can do to people, or I suppose it might be more accurate to say what people do to one another with them, They're just tools, the evil is inside of us. During my residency, I treated a lot of gunshot wounds, and not just cops and criminals. There was this one guy, I removed three .38 slugs from his left thigh. He shot himself while cleaning the pistol. The damned fool swore it was empty even while I was pulling the bullets out of him."

"But you do know how to use one," Elsa said.

"Sure, and that's the problem, any idiot with an IQ higher than fifty can."

Elsa watched as Bill loaded the gun, showing her how to disengage the safety. He then set it on the fireplace mantle where it would be in easy reach if needed. Once that was done they pulled a couple of cushions off the sofa and sat in front of the fire, waiting for something to happen.

Elsa was nervous as a cat, jumping at every little sound coming from the dark forest beyond the safety of the cabin's thick log walls. Creatures little and large scampered and trampled through the bushes, tree branches creaked and groaned in the night wind. At any moment she expected someone or some thing to come crashing through the cabin door while the dark spirits tormented her mercilessly, telling her how easy it would be to use her supernatural abilities to protect her and Bill from harm.

Bill couldn't hear the disembodied voices Elsa kept telling to be silent but he had no doubt they were right there with them. All he could do was keep the fire burning and try to comfort her.

An hour passed.

The logs crackled and popped softly as the flames slowly devoured them but Elsa simply couldn't relax. Finally, Bill gave her a nerve pill from the small pharmacy he kept in the Challenger's glove-box. She took the pill but continued to fight off its effects until it finally overwhelmed her and she gave into sleep with a weary sigh. Bill could feel her body go limp.

Rather than carrying Elsa into the bedroom, Bill got the quilt off the bed, draping it over her. Removing his shoes he then laid down beside her, his head resting on one of the sofa cushions. He continued to watch the fire, wondering what the future held in store, as the long hours of night passed with agonizing slowness.

2:30am.

Daryl pulled the Cadillac up to the curb in front of Bill's house, shutting off the engine. Despite the lateness of the hour and all the dark windows in the surrounding houses he still looked about, making certain no one was watching before popping the trunk release. Climbing out of the car he walked around to the trunk, whispering. "All right boys, times a wasting and so are you."

The car's suspension groaned with relief as the two muscle bound helgums climbed out of the trunk. "What do you want us to do?" the larger of the two asked in a severely slurred voice.

"Just shut up and follow me, I'll explain it again once were inside." Daryl led the shambling brutes into the dark house, closing the door before turning on the lights. "Now, do you boys smell the scents of the people who live here?"

The helgums cocked their heads, sniffing at the air like bloodhounds. "Yea," the smaller one said, "a guy and a girl." He then turned to his companion and both of them started snickering like schoolboys.

"What is it?" Daryl demanded.

"The chick smells like Minka. Maybe you ain't been giving her what she needs at home."

Daryl sighed. "It's her sister you muscle headed idiots! I've already explained that to you at least half a dozen times! Now get going and find her!"

"Yea, whatever," the larger creature said, heading for the door only to walk right into it.. He stood there, trying to remember how to open it.

Rolling his eyes, Daryl shoved the helgum aside, throwing the door open. "Now get going!"

The larger creature stepped through the door, his companion following close behind, still snickering. Daryl watched from the front steps as they shambled off down the dark sidewalk, following Elsa's scent, shaking his head. All of this had the ingredients for a disaster of epic proportions. He had never seen such a pair of idiots, it would be a blessed miracle if they didn't walk in front of an oncoming car or off the edge of a cliff. Checking his watch he decided it might be a good idea if he kept an eye on the Einstein twins for awhile.

While Bill and Elsa lay in front of the cabin's fireplace and Daryl kept an eye on the two undead creatures following their scent, Professor Gerald Miller stood in the middle of Main Street, attempting to remove the iron cover off the manhole in front of the Sizzler Grill with a long pry bar but it wouldn't budge despite his most strenuous efforts. He had been at it for five long minutes and was already covered in sweat.

Miller was just about to give up and walk back to where he had left his car down by the creek in Orr Park when he noticed an arrow on the manhole cover along with the instructions turn right then lift. Sighing, the so-called genius with three PhDs followed the simple directions and a moment later was climbing down the metal ladder into the sewer .

Much to Miller's surprise the sewer wasn't as dirty as he had imagined and as long as he breathed through his mouth the smell was more or less tolerable. It was dark however. Reaching into the tote bag resting on his left shoulder he removed a large flashlight, switching it on. What the powerful circle of light revealed was nothing more than a very large section of concrete pipe some six feet in circumference with a small stream of water running along the bottom. Other than the occasional used condom or piece of feces floating by the water appeared deceptively clean but there was no sign of the mysterious black substance.

Trudging through the water he came to the first rain gutter. Looking out he could just see the lower half of the glass doors of the old Falcon Theater and then two pairs of sneakered feet passing by on the sidewalk. At the same instant he caught a strong whiff of the horrendous stench of the substance he was searching for.

Turning back Miller shined the light about the sewer just in time to see a small black puddle of the stuff turning a corner where the pipes intersected. Once more reaching into his tote bag he grabbed an empty specimen bottle and took off in pursuit, splashing through the sewage.

Reaching the intersection Miller turned to his left only to find himself face to face, for lack of a better expression, with the horrendous visage of Kerry Jenkins. For a moment they just stood there, staring at one another. And then Miller's brilliant brain came up with a simple yet inspired solution to the horrifying situation: Run like bloody hell. But before his legs could carry out his brain's commands the snarling, one armed creature tackled him and proceeded to devour the unprotected flesh on his forearm.

Screaming in pain, Miller used the long metal flashlight in his other hand like a club, shattering what little remained of Kerry's skull but the blows were ineffectual. Miller's screams echoed down the concrete tunnels, emerging from several rain gutters but no one was around to hear them. Howard Morris, however, was at the same time sitting in his bathroom, perusing the latest issue of Field and Stream, when he thought he heard something. Finally the dead boy's gleaming black teeth found his throat, severing his jugular. Death was instantaneous.

The flashlight rolled out of Miller's dead hand, revealing the shadow of the ravenous creature bent over the former scholar, devouring his flesh one mouthful at a time.

Later that morning the head of the City Sanitation Committee, making a routine inspection of the sewers would discover a skeleton dressed in tattered, bloody clothes and a trail of an evil smelling tar-like substance leading off down one of the tunnels. With the County Coroner on an extended leave the body could not be identified through dental records but a driver's license, Social Security and several credit cards found in the corpse's wallet identified it as belonging to one Professor Gerald Miller.

Bill spent the better part of the day trying to help Elsa forget the overwhelming sense of dread that had been plaguing her since the night before. He understood she possessed a far greater sensitivity to the supernatural than the average person but they were miles from the nearest living soul and the cabin was almost completely obstructed from sight by the branches of the tall pines and cedars growing around it. Unless they knew exactly where to look no one would ever find them, not even from the air.

"I'm sure all that's true for a human being," Elsa said, lying on the sofa, staring at the flames in the fireplace. "But Minka isn't human, she will find us. It's only a matter of time."

CHAPTER 21

Tatiana removed her red satin cloak, letting it fall to the frost covered ground. She then slowly, seductively, started to unbutton her blouse, freeing her heaving breasts from its tight confines. The rest of her clothes quickly followed, revealing the very personification of feminine perfection.

Her breasts were large yet firm, the pink nipples swollen with lust for the beautiful mortal boy lying helplessly at her feet. "Come to me, Stefan," she whispered, licking her full red lips with a long tongue. "Come to me my darling, share with me the immortal passion of the damned."

Stefan, the once proud warrior prince, crawled toward the beautiful creature of the night that held him captive in the moonlit forest clearing, the frost crunching beneath his hands and knees. All around him lay the cold dead bodies of his soldiers, over a hundred men that had been alive only a few moments before, every one of their throats torn out by his captors gleaming white fangs. He knew he should resist her, to draw the silver dagger the old priest at the monastery forged for him to kill the inhuman monster, but all he could do when he reached her feet was to rise to his knees, reach out and touch her potato chips.

Mack stared at the words on the computer screen, sighing. He had been pushing keys since noon and at the moment Tatiana the vampire princess and her heaving breasts were the farthest thing from his mind. But the kitchen and the potato chips he so craved were all the way at the other end of the house. That left him with only one option.

"Evie, would you please bring me a bag of chips? Sour cream and chives! No, make that barbecue flavor!"

Mack waited for a response but it never came.  Naturally there was only one thing to do. "Eve! Will you please bring me a bag of potato-chips? I'm starving to death! Evie?"

Mack let out a disgruntled sigh. He couldn't understand it. That woman could hear the slightest whisper from a hundred feet away when he said something he didn't want her to hear but couldn't hear a desperate scream for help when he wanted to gain her attention.

Pushing himself away from the computer Mack rose to his feet. Trudging through the house, turning on every light switch he passed he found Eve on the living room sofa, watching TV. She offered him a displeased expression as he switched on the living room lights too but he pretended not to notice as he made his way into the kitchen.

Opening the upper cabinet doors between the stove and refrigerator Mack searched for his much needed fix of junk food. There were plenty of bags of chips to choose from: regular, regular with ruffles, vinegar, sour cream and chives, even dill pickle flavor but not the desired barbecue variety. Once more there was only one thing to do.

"Evie, don't we have any barbecue flavor chips?"

"How should I know?" she replied. "You're the one in the kitchen. You know where we keep them."

Grudgingly accepting he wasn't going to get any help from his loving spouse, Mack grabbed a bag of regular chips and a bottle of cold Pepsi cola from the refrigerator. "Some life," he grumbled twisting the blue plastic cap off the bottle and taking a deep swallow. "A man works hard to provide for his family and can't even have a lousy bag of barbecue potato-chips."

"What did you say?"

Mack shook his head. "Just counting my many blessings, honey." Tossing the other bags of chips back in the cabinet, resisting the childish urge to slam the doors, he joined Eve in the living room to watch a little TV. Plopping down in his favorite leather easy chair he kicked up the foot rest, tore the bag of chips open and started shoveling them into his mouth one handful after another.

Eve cut her eyes up at Mack, frowning at the loud crunching sounds accompanied by the occasional slurp of soda. When he didn't take her subtle suggest to eat quieter like a human being she turned the volume up on the TV. He always did this when there was something on she wanted to watch. "What have you been working on?" she asked, switching the TV over to Channel 9 to watch the late news.

"Oh you know," he replied between mouthfuls of chips and soda, "same old same old, brave men of steel and evil seductive women with heaving breasts."

"Heaving?" Eve glanced down at her own modest B-cup size breasts. They certainly weren't small but they weren't heaving either. One of these days she was going to ask Mack's mother if he had been a bottle baby. "Tell me something, what would you write about if women didn't have breasts?"

"Their butts I suppose," Mack said without missing a beat. "And of course their legs," he added shoving still more chips into his mouth.

"Do the women in your books even have faces?"

"Of course they do. They all look just like you, beautiful. After all you are the girl of my dreams." Handled that pretty well, he thought smiling slyly.

Shaking her head Eve turned back toward the TV screen. Usually, she watched Channel-13 News but tonight some stupid baseball game had gone into extra innings making everything run late. The camera zoomed in on Mina Whitfield's pretty face, causing her to let out a startled gasp. The annoying crunching stopped at the same instant.

"Gee whiz," Mack muttered as the beautiful young blonde began to read the evening's top news stories only to suddenly and without any warning break down in tears.

Cassie Yates called on every ounce of physical strength she could muster to move the manhole cover far enough for her to squeeze by it. Climbing down the metal rungs of the access ladder she stopped waist level with the street, grabbing the large brown paper bag beside the manhole. Inside was a high powered halogen beam flashlight, a bottle of liquid charcoal lighter and half a dozen road flares.

After its lack of effectiveness during her previous encounter with the creature she was hunting Cassie hadn't bothered to bring her pistol along. She had spent the better part of the day attempting to comfort Gerry's wife Susan and to find out the whereabouts of the County Coroner in hopes that he might cut his extended leave of absence short long enough to identify Gerry's remains. Unfortunately Cassie hadn't been very successful in either endeavor. And now she had revenge on her mind.

Reaching the bottom of the ladder she stepped off and right into the stream of raw sewage. Unlike her late cousin she hadn't had the foresight to wear protective footwear and was now the owner of a ruined pair of Reeboks.

After a lot of consideration, Cassie had decided to drop by the morgue and tell Mitch Sinclair about her encounter with the creature and to hopefully get his help in tracking it down but there was no sign of him there or at his apartment. But from the number of small black drops of goo leading off down the sewer it appeared that finding it would be the least of her problems.

The main thing bothering her at the moment was how did one go about killing someone that was already dead. Would even fire do it? Unfortunately there was only one way to find out.

Making her way down the tunnel, following the trail of foul smelling slime, she reached into the paper bag for one of the flares and lit it, bathing the damp concrete walls in an eerie red glow. Sensing the intense heat emanating from the flare the highly volatile puddles rolled out of her way, taking shelter in the filthy waste water.

Cassie reasoned she had walked close to two blocks and was probably somewhere beneath Blossom Street when she came to an intersection in the tunnels. The flow of water was stronger now as the two streams converged, rising up to her ankles but she had to ford across it to continue on her undead quarry's trail.

Fortunately the tunnel walls were smooth, providing no place for the creature to hide, but she didn't let her guard down for a moment. Nor did she bother to look behind her. If she had she would have seen that the shambling, one armed creature had been following her, watching her ever since she climbed down beneath the street, waiting in the shadows for the opportune time to make its presence known.

If Cassie hadn't paused to bend over and tie a loose shoelace she wouldn't have heard the unmistakable sound of a footstep that wasn't her own and things could have ended very badly very quickly.. Suddenly finding her heart beating in her throat she straightened up slowly, forcing herself to remain calm even as a bone chilling cold came over her. And then the creature growled softly. Taking several steps forward she casually as possible slipped a trembling hand into the bag, gripping the plastic bottle of lighter fluid. Flipping the cap off the bottle with her thumb she took a deep breath and whirled about.

There was no one there.

Had Cassie looked up she would have found Kerry clinging to the ceiling like a spider. Gritting his gleaming black teeth he was about to drop down on her when a single maggot fell out of his long, greasy hair.

The wriggling larva landed at Cassie's feet. Suddenly realizing the vulnerable position she was in she let out a very un-cop-like scream and took off down the tunnel, dropping the bottle of lighter fluid and the bag of flares.

Dropping back down to the tunnel floor Kerrie started off after the fleeing woman when he spied the brown paper bag. Ravenous, his rotting brain seemed to recall that people often put food in bags. Opening the bag he pulled out one of the flares, sniffing it to decide if it was edible. When that didn't work he put it in his mouth and took a small bite.

The flare's cap came off, it ignited and he was instantly engulfed in flames. There was no pain as his cold slimy flesh and hair burned away. He just stood there, having already forgotten about the girl he had been following before collapsing into the filthy water.

Half a block ahead, Cassie jumped on the first service ladder she found and started climbing up toward the street. This time she didn't even feel the weight of the manhole cover as she pushed it up and stuck her head out only to find herself about to be run over by an oncoming car.

Fortunately the driver saw her in time and managed to swerve out of the way at the very last instant, cursing as she climbed up onto the street and took off running.

After supper Bill challenged Elsa to a friendly game of chess before taking their nightly stroll down to the lake for a moonlight swim. Unfamiliar with the game she was easy to beat at first but Bill soon discovered she was a fast learner as she moved the black plastic pieces with one hand while consulting the rule book she held in the other.

It was a simple enough game but she was careful not to bruise his fragile masculine ego by trying too hard to win. Besides it was fun to watch him squirm about uncomfortably whenever she made a sudden unexpected move that threatened his poorly protected Queen.

"Are you this fast a learner at everything?" he asked as she captured his Bishop.

"You learn to read directions very carefully when there's no one else around to explain them to you," she replied.

Bill nodded as he pondered his rather precarious situation on the board. "I would imagine so. I still don't see how you kept from going crazy being locked up with not another soul around."

"Well it wasn't really as bad as all that. Daddy hired the occasional companion to keep me company."

"Women?" Bill asked. The jealously in his voice was unmistakable.

Elsa smiled. "Men, actually...for obvious reasons."

Bill's mouth fell open, his jaw nearly hitting the table. "Wait a minute. Are you telling me that your very own father hired men for you to sleep with?"

"Not to sleep with, to have sex with," she said. "I could never sleep with someone I didn't care about."

"Well what about that little problem with your pheromones? Why didn't they freak out like the girls at the market?"

"Jenna gave them some kind of drug that temporarily blocked their sense of smell."

"Who is Jenna?" Bill asked, attempting to regain his composure.

"Jenna Taylor, my personal physician," Elsa explained. "In return for taking care of me my father provides her with a lab and all the resources she needs to conduct her experiments. She's a genius, has more letters after her name than the alphabet. Last time we talked she was working on some kind of serum to regenerate human organs."

"I've heard of her," Bill said. "They say her IQ is off the charts, graduated college at ten and medical school at thirteen. I tried to read one of her papers once but I couldn't understand one tenth of it."

"She's really a very sweet person," Elsa said, taking another sip of 7Up and then added, "a lot like you."

Bill could feel his cheeks flush as he smiled. "Thank you. Still, what I wouldn't have given for a father like yours."

"Didn't you like your father?"

"Well sure, I loved him, my mom too. They were great people, just a little on the dull side is all. They certainly weren't the kind to help their kids get laid. My dad never even gave me that father-son sex talk thing. I was thirteen before I knew the real difference between men and women."

"How did you find out?"

"Mack swiped one of his dad's copies of Penthouse magazine and we snuck it into the old barn behind his house. And let me tell you it was an eye opener, I didn't know whether to be aroused or disgusted."

Elsa laughed softly. It was a sweet, wonderful sound that sent chills up Bill's spine. "Tell me more about your parents. Other than their love for dancing under the stars you've hardly mentioned them."

Bill's smile faded. "Well there's really not that much to tell. They were pretty much like everyone else, they worked hard, struggled to raise a family and died much too young. My dad drove a delivery truck for the old Fantastic Fizz Cola Company and mom was a housewife and part time school teacher. Mr. and Mrs. White bread in all their lower Middle Class splendor, right down to the two tone Dodge station wagon and dog named Skip."

"They sound like they were wonderful people. I would have given anything to grow up in a family like yours. I could say plenty more about mine but I imagine you've already heard all you want to."

"Well now that you mention it there is one thing I would like to know," Bill said, looking up from the board.

"What is it?"

"It's about your father. No offence but are any of those stories about him in the tabloids true? The affairs with movie stars, shady business deals with the government?"

Elsa turned away from the chess board, staring at the flames consuming the logs in the fireplace, the look in her eyes however was much farther away. "I honestly don't know. Daddy never discusses his personal or business affairs with me. But I have overheard the guards saying he can be pretty ruthless when it comes to dealing with his competitors. I imagine if he wanted something, or someone, badly enough he would do whatever was necessary."

Elsa paused, took in a deep breath through clenched teeth, held it for a moment then exhaled through her nostrils. "Don't get me wrong, I love my father, he's always been good to me. I was never neglected and he would give me just about anything I want for the asking. But I do believe he is maybe just a little....ashamed of me. Oh he tells me he's protecting me keeping me locked away and that might be true to some extent, but I've always believed he was really doing it more to protect himself, his reputation. An internationally known billionaire in his fifties screwing a movie star half his age is one thing, but admitting you have a daughter who isn't exactly human is something else again."

Elsa grew silent again. This time she didn't pull away when Bill came closer and placed his hand on her shoulder, but she didn't acknowledge the intended act of affection either. "Are you OK?" he asked.

"Yes. But would you mind if we finished our game later?"

"Not at all," Bill said, watching as she picked up the cast iron fireplace poker and began stirring up the shimmering coals in the bottom of the hearth. Orange sparks floated slowly up the chimney. "Can I do anything for you?"

Elsa nodded.

"What is it?"

"Hold me. Nothing sexual. I just want to be held for awhile. Does that make any sense?"

"Of course it does. It's a very human need."

Elsa closed her eyes, allowing Bill to wrap his arms around her from behind. They stood there for several moments listening to the crackling of the fire and the steady rhythm of their breathing. It was as if they were the only two people left on earth. Unfortunately such wonderful moments were never meant to last long.

The angry roar of a car racing toward the cabin and its brakes squealing as it came to a sudden stop just outside the front door shattered the blessed solitude. Bill instinctively reached for the shotgun on the fireplace mantle.

"Wait!" Elsa exclaimed. Turning toward the door she sniffed at the air, letting out a weary sigh of relief. "It's your sister and her husband. You'd better put the gun away, fast."

Nodding, Bill just had time to grab the gun and hide it in the narrow space between the hearth and the cabin wall before Eve stormed inside ready to take on the world. Mack on the other hand seemed rather amused as he ducked his head to step through the door.

"Well hello there," Bill said, attempting to act perfectly calm despite his racing heart. "What brings you kids all the way up here on such a cold dark night?"

"Her!" Eve snarled, pointing an accusing finger at Elsa, "Miss Elisabeth Whitfield, billionaire heiress and escaped psychiatric patient!"

"How did you find out?" Elsa asked, instinctively moving closer to Bill and taking hold of his hand. Eve continued to glare at her.

"Everyone in the whole damned state knows who you are, Ms. Whitfield! Including everyone that's seen you with my addle-brained brother, whom, by the way, the Police are looking for!"

Eve then directed her fiery gaze toward Bill, ready to tear him into tiny, bloody pieces. "My God, Bill, it's in all the news! Please tell me you didn't know! I didn't want to say it this way but you've been sick, you're not thinking straight! We'll go to the Police and explain everything. Under the circumstances I'm sure they'll understand, and then we'll see to it that you get the help you need."

Bill shook his head. "No, Eve, we're not going to do any such thing. Now please calm down before you give yourself a heart attack and tell me exactly what the news said."

"You want to know what they said? OK, I'll tell you. They said your little playmate here is the daughter of one of the richest men in the world, not to mention bat shit crazy. Oh and one more thing, they suspect you of helping her avoid capture. That's a Federal offense in case you didn't know. That means they throw you in prison with other not so very nice men who will rape you. Is that calm and clear enough for you, William?"

Mack sank his lanky frame on the middle sofa cushion, resting his long arms along the backrest. There was a broad, toothy grin on his horse-like face as he spoke. "Bill old buddy you really know how to pick them. You'd be in less trouble if you'd kidnapped the President's daughter. At least she isn't under age."

Bill could feel his temper flare up. "Shut up, Mack! You too, Eve! Elsa is no more an escaped mental patient than I am! And that's saying a hell of a lot considering what she's been through!"

"Well her sister just so happens to tell another story," Eve insisted. "She's the Head Anchor on the late news and she broke down on the air this evening, pleading for anyone that might have seen Elsa to contact her immediately. She also said their father is offering a ten million dollar reward for Elsa's recovery."

Bill felt the bottom of his stomach give way. "My God, Eve, you didn't."

She acted as if she were about to slap him then balled her hand up into a tight fist, shaking it at him. "Do you honestly think I would ever do anything that might get you in trouble or hurt? That's why we drove all the way up her in the dead of night to warn you and try to decide what to do to keep you out of prison."

"But none of what my sister said is true," Elsa said, finally speaking up. "I don't expect you to believe me but she's the one that's disturbed."

"You're absolutely right," Eve replied, "I don't believe you. She said you were delusional, out of touch with reality."

"Elsa is telling the truth," Bill said, starting to lose control of his temper. "Her sister has already tried to kill us once."

"I don't really care who is telling the truth," Eve came back. I'm worried about you, William. At this very moment at least half of the police in this state are out looking for you, not to mention all the crazies with guns out to make ten million dollars."

"Relax, Eve, they'll never find us here. I seriously doubt anyone else even knows this place exists."

"Does anyone include Sheriff Jones? He and Daddy used to come up here at least once a month during hunting season, remember? And the clerk at some convenience store not ten miles from here positively identified you not fifteen minutes after seeing the news. It's only a matter of time before someone comes and kicks that door down."

Mack had remained uncharacteristically silent while Bill and Eve discussed his present situation. At the moment Eve seemed to have the upper hand but he knew Bill, maybe even better than she did. If Bill said Elsa deserved the benefit of the doubt he would give it to her. Finally he spoke up. "Oh children, why don't the two of you be quiet for a moment and let Elsa speak for herself?"

"Mack!" Eve exclaimed. "You heard what her sister said! She's insane!"

"She has a right to defend herself," he insisted. "If she's even half as disturbed as her sister claims she shouldn't be able to."

"There's just one small problem with that," Bill said, sounding rather sheepish. "The truth will only make you more doubtful. It's pretty fantastic to say the least."

"Then you tell us. I know you're in your right mind."

The two men turned toward Eve to see if that met with her approval. Seeing she was outnumbered she threw up her hands in submission. "I'm even less certain about that than before, but go ahead, Bill."

Nodding, Bill took a seat beside Elsa on the hearth. "Well, first of all Elsa has been locked away most of her life like her sister claims, only not for the reasons you were led to believe."

"Then why was she locked up?" Eve demanded.

Bill turned to Elsa, questioning her with his eyes. "Go ahead." she said.

Bill grimaced even as the words left his mouth. "Well you see, Elsa isn't quite...human....at least not in the physical sense of the word. Her mother was one of the last members of an all but extinct race of people from India. And she isn't dangerous. All this time her father has been protecting her from us."

Mack lowered his head, sighing. Apparently he had been all wrong about old Bill's mental state. Eve would never let him live it down. His reaction did not go unnoticed.

"Blast it, Mack, you said you'd listen!"

"And I am....to every word of it." Lifting his head he turned toward Elsa. "So, Elsa, is you sister not quite human either?"

"Even less so in some ways," she answered.

Mack only nodded, almost afraid to look Eve in the eye. He knew she was wearing a triumphant "I told you so," expression so he focused his full attention on his oldest friend. "Look, Bill, we've known each other all our lives. I would believe almost anything you told me, but this is simply too crazy for anyone to swallow. It sounds like one of my stories."

"I know how it sounds," Bill admitted. "But I am a doctor and I've examined Elsa thoroughly."

"I'll just bet you have," Eve huffed, "every square inch of her."

Elsa found herself struggling to control her temper. She didn't appreciate the way Eve was speaking to Bill and desperately wanted to throttle her. It appeared she would just have to speak up for herself. "It seems I'm going to have to try and convince you Bill is telling the truth," she said rising to her feet.

"Don't waste your breath sister."

Picking up the fireplace poker Elsa stepped in front of Eve, slowly bending it into circle before dropping it at her feet. She then walked around Eve, studying her like someone trying to decide whether or not to buy a used car. "You have heart trouble, don't you?"

"Bill told you," she said, rigid with fear. She didn't know whether to try and kill the strange girl or run away.

Elsa shook her head. "He didn't have to, I can hear the murmur from here. It gets even more noticeable when I'm around. You're terrified of me and you really don't know why. It's like some small voice locked away deep within your brain is telling you to beware. That voice is why your race destroyed mine." Elsa then held up her hands where Eve could see her abnormally long fingers.

"Your sister said you were slightly deformed," Eve said, slowly backing up toward Mack.

Elsa smiled. It was an amused yet slightly sinister expression. "Did she now? Did my sister also mention that I can see better in the dark than you can in broad daylight, or my highly developed sense of hearing and smell?"

"Crazy," Eve hissed, pushing up closer to Mack.

Elsa continued. "You had to stop for gas on the way up here. I can smell the fumes still on Mack's clothes. He's also been eating potato chips, and you, Eve, had tuna fish for dinner." She then approached Eve, whispering in her ear. "You're also on your monthly cycle. I can smell the smallest amount of blood a mile away."

Eve's face turned bright red. Suddenly she felt completely naked.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to embarrass you," Elsa said taking a few steps back. She then turned to Mack. "Do you need proof too?"

"That was pretty impressive," he admitted uncrossing his legs, "but other than your hands none of it proves you're different from anyone else. I imagine a good many people could smell the gasoline on my clothes."

"And what about that? Bill asked, nodding at the bent fireplace poker lying on the floor.

"The heat from the fire warmed it up, made it soft enough to bend."

Rather than arguing, Elsa reached down and grabbed hold of Mack's belt buckle, lifting him off the sofa and up over her head with one arm. "So tell me, Mr. Kincaid, did the heat from the fire allow me to do this?"

"No, guess not," he squeaked.

OK, we believe you!" Eve exclaimed. "Just put him down!"

Elsa complied, gently setting a stunned Mack back down on his feet. His long legs gave out from under him and he fell back on the sofa. Eve promptly joined him.

Bill continued his story.

CHAPTER 22

Jason Weiss had been speeding along Highway 55 at better than a 115 mph, taking an occasional slurp from a bottle of warm Budweiser when the front driver side tire of his 98 Mustang convertible suddenly blew out. It shouldn't have happened. The high performance tires were brand new and Led Zeppelin was blasting over the stereo speakers when the rubber simply disintegrated and the shiny chrome rim hit the asphalt, creating a shower of sparks.

Jason was on his way to pick up Veronica Hammel to take her to see the new Aliens movie. Veronica was a cheerleader and the proud owner of a couple of the nicest tits in school. He had dreamed about getting his hands on them since they started growing back in the 6th grade. But he would never get the chance to squeeze the grapefruit sized boobs of his dreams.

Forgetting everything he had learned in Driver's Ed, Jason slammed on the brakes in a desperate attempt to bring the speeding sports car to a controlled stop when the steering locked up. He didn't know whether to pray or curse as the car raced off the road on a collision course with a single tree in the middle of an otherwise empty field.

Time slowed down to a crawl as the Mustang's hood crumpled inward and the windshield exploded into countless tiny shards of glass. Much to Jason's surprise dying was a painless experience. He didn't feel a thing when the steering column broke through the dash and crushed his face and chest.

But hunger was not a painless experience, as the two muscle bound helgums who had witnessed the accident knew only too well. They had been shambling along the side of the road, hot on Elsa's trail when the car came screaming by them.

Deciding Elsa could wait the two zombies shuffled over to the wreck and pulled the dead teenager's mangled body free. Dropping to their knees they proceeded to help themselves . They were ravenous from walking all day and night and the fresh bloody flesh tasted wonderful. Traffic came to a halt as motorists stopped to watch the unbelievably gruesome spectacle.

Fortunately the helgums didn't mind an audience as they continued to tear large, bloody chunks of flesh from the dead boy's body, blood rolling down their chins as they greedily chewed it up. The smaller of the two creatures bit his own finger off, unaware of it as his gleaming black teeth quickly reduced it to a pulp.

When their bellies were finally full the two creatures left what little remained of Jason for the birds to finish off and resumed their search for Elsa. They could tell she was somewhere nearby, her scent growing stronger with every awkward step they took forward.

About a half a mile ahead to the left was a narrow dirt road closed off by a crude wooden gate. Just a little over a mile down that road stood the cabin.

Cassie Yates knocked on Mitch Sinclair's apartment door, looking about nervously while waiting for a response. When none came she knocked on the door again, much harder. Frustrated and frightened she shook her head. She had to talk to someone about her recent encounters with the creature. Being a government agent Mitch might be able to help, that is if she could get him to believe such a crazy story.

Mitch hadn't been back to the morgue in two days and he hadn't answered one of the half dozen phone calls she had made to the apartment either. True she didn't know him all that well but he didn't seem the type of guy to sleep with you and never call back. Something had to be going on. Maybe he already knew about the creature. Maybe that's why he was in town to begin with. Still....

Removing a credit card from her left hip pocket Cassie slid it into the narrow gap between the apartment door and its frame, tripping the locking mechanism. Pushing the door open she stepped inside just as a large blue van pulled up in the driveway.

"Don't look now, Mitch darling but you've got company," Curly said bringing the vehicle to a stop, "Female lady company at that."

"Looks that way," Mitch agreed from the passenger seat. "What can I say? Once a lady's been loved by Mitch Sinclair she can never get enough."

"And you ain't even black."

Grinning, Sinclair opened his door and climbed down out of the van. "You guys stay here, I'll see what she wants."

"We know what she wants, just keep it in your pants."

"I want to hear everything," Martin said from his seat. Nodding, Sinclair activated the two way radio on his collar as he approached the door. Stepping inside he found Cassie on the sofa, drinking a beer.

"I have to talk to you," she said before he could ask what she was doing there.

"OK, what is it?"

"What it is is crazy....but I swear it's true."

Sinclair didn't like the sound of that. "Well tell me," he said closing the door.

Cassie took another deep swallow of beer before blurting out, "Mitch, do you believe in zombies?"

"Like in the movies?" he asked, taking the seat across from the sofa.

"Worse. Believe me, I know it sounds crazy, but after what I've seen over the last few days I don't know what else you'd call it. I haven't closed my eyes in forty eight hours, I'm afraid to."

Mitch nodded. "Just take it easy and tell me what happened."

Unaware her voice was being broadcast over the radio Cassie recalled her earlier encounters with the reanimated corpse of Kerry Hemmings. Martin Kemp listened in over a pair of headphones, shaking his head. After a recent discussion with Tyler Whitfield he knew only too well what kind of creature the frightened girl was attempting to describe.

"What do we do?" Curly asked wearing an uncharacteristically grim expression.

"We bring her in for debriefing," Martin said, removing the headphones.

"But we aren't equipped to accommodate guests."

"We don't have any choice." Martin opened a door on a storage bin secured to the van wall, removing a tranquilizer dart pistol intended for Elsa. Climbing out of the van's back doors he walked up to the door of Sinclair's apartment and made his way inside.

"Who the hell are you?" Cassie demanded.

"He's my boss," Sinclair explained.

"I'm afraid we need you to come with us, Ms. Yates," Martin said, hiding the pistol behind his back. "It's a matter of national security."

Cassie turned to Sinclair. "What's he talking about. Mitch?"

Before Sinclair could explain Martin revealed the pistol, aimed it at Cassie and squeezed the trigger. The hypodermic dart pierced her left shoulder, releasing a powerful sedative into her blood stream that immediately rendered her unconscious. Mitch caught her before she fell off the sofa.

"Let's get her out to the van," Martin said.

Half an hour later Mack and Eve found themselves believing at least part of the fantastic story Bill had related. They believed but were still less than sympathetic to Elsa's plight. Eve in particular was unnerved by her presence and more convinced than ever that Bill was in great danger. Somehow Elsa had gained his trust and was using him and that was unacceptable. "She's a freak, Bill, and I am not about to just stand by and watch you get hurt just because you've got a hard-on for her. You are not going to wind up in prison, or worse, because of some poor little rich girl."

Elsa sat on the fireplace hearth, wearing a bewildered expression. Bill and his sister were at each others throats because of her. And it was just as hopeless trying to convince anyone else that she wasn't dangerous. Maybe she should just give herself up before someone really did get hurt. She didn't want that on her conscience.

But Bill wasn't about to give up the fight. Even he couldn't believe how fervently he was defending Elsa. It was unnerving for such a sensitive and soft spoken man to experience such intense feelings for anyone but he was determined no one was going to take her away from him.

Eve recognized the crazy gleam in Bill's eyes. She had seen it years before in Mack's eyes when he and her former boyfriend Roy Mayes had fought it out over her. The poor crazy fool was in love and there was absolutely no point in arguing with a man in such an emotional state, it made them even crazier than usual. Finally she gave up the fight and joined Mack on the sofa. "You talk to him. You're his best friend."

Shrugging, Mack leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "There's nothing left to say. It's pretty obvious Bill has made up his mind, and I for one trust him."

Eve let out a disbelieving gasp. "You what? Have you gone mad too?"

"Probably. Don't get me wrong, she gives me the willies too, but if Bill says Elsa is a good girl that's good enough for me."

Elsa appeared just as stunned by Mack's decision as Eve, her large brown eyes growing even wider in astonishment. Maybe things weren't completely hopeless after all.

"Only don't get me wrong," Mack warned, turning toward Elsa. "You might be stronger than me but I've got a very big and shiny .50 caliber Desert Eagle automatic at home, and daughter of one of the richest men in the world or not if anything happens to Bill because of you I will shoot you."

Elsa turned to Bill, struggling not to laugh at Mack's melodramatics. "And you said they were a couple of tight asses."

"Oh they are, but they can be reasoned with. Sometimes you just have to slap them around a little first."

The sight of Bill and Elsa embracing made Eve cringe. "Well it seems I'm outnumbered," she said, casting a displeased look in Mack's direction. "So tell me, William, when is the wedding? Maybe whatever prison you end up in allows conjugal visits."

Mack reached out and grabbed Eve by the wrist, pulling her down onto the sofa. "Let it go," he whispered.

Eve grew silent, feeling deeply betrayed by the two most important people in her life, but especially Mack. They would reconcile, but not until after he spent a few nights on the living room sofa with FurFace. She looked back up at Bill and Elsa. They were holding hands, her long, claw-like fingers reaching around his wrist. "All right, so the two of you are together. I suppose I have no choice but to accept it, but the Law is still after you, William. What are you going to do about it, skip the country?"

"If we have to. They need doctors in Mexico too."

It had been a joke but Eve wasn't laughing. "Bill, please be sensible. You're not thinking straight."

Bill sighed. "Eve, try to understand, for the first time in my life I don't feel completely empty inside. I've never experienced feelings like I have for Elsa but I know it's what I want, regardless of where we have to go. So what do you say? Are you on our side?"

Eve desperately wanted to shout out no, to knock Bill upside the head and drag him off to the nearest psychiatric ward, but she couldn't risk losing him. Rising to her feet she approached Bill, offering him a reluctant embrace. She then repeated the act with Elsa. It made her skin crawl but she managed to get through it.

Equally as uncomfortable, Elsa started to say something when she detected the unmistakable scent of decomposing flesh. "We've got company," she said, gently pushing Eve away.

"What are you talking about?" Eve demanded.

"They've found us again," Bill said, retrieving the shotgun from its hiding place and disengaging the safety.

Eve's jaw dropped at the sight of the gun. "Bill, what's this all about? What are you doing with that terrible thing?"

"I'll explain everything later. Mack, take the girls into the bedroom and barricade yourself inside."

"Why?" he demanded, rising to his feet. "Who are you expecting, the Marines?"

"Just do it! Now!"

Mack frowned with intense displeasure. He had heard just about enough of this nonsense and was about to tell Bill off but Elsa shushed him before he could open his mouth.

"Listen," she whispered.

They all grew silent, ears straining to hear anything out of the ordinary. Someone was moving around the cars. Doors were opened and slammed shut, followed by the clumsy shuffling of heavy footsteps and the creaking of the floorboards on the front porch.

There was a knock at the cabin door.

No one dared move for over a minute.

Eve was the first to recover her senses. "Oh for Heaven's sake, what's the matter with us?" she said, starting toward the door. "It's probably just some hunters that have gotten lost...or the Police." Grabbing the knob she twisted it and pulled the door open before the others could stop her. "Oh my...God," she gasped as the stiflingly sweet aroma of decay assaulted her nostrils.

The smaller helgum stepped inside the cabin, grabbing Eve by the throat and lifting her up off her feet. Her face was deathly pale as he sniffed at her. "Nope, not Elsa," he then said, casually tossing her outside like an empty soda bottle.

Even tumbled across the porch and down the steps, landing face down on the frozen ground. There was a sudden, sharp pain in her chest and then darkness.

Back inside the cabin Mack charged the smelly brute with murder in his eyes but a mere slap of the creature's left hand sent him crashing to the floorboards. Undeterred he struggled to get back up when the larger helgum stepped inside, closing the door. Its lips and chest were still sticky with Jason Weiss' blood as it spoke in a deep, watery voice. "We want Elsa. Hand her over and there won't be any trouble."

Bill's response to the creature's ultimatum was a deafening shotgun blast to the belly. The impact of the blast knocked it back up against the door but incredibly the brute remained standing. A moment of utter silence passed before it realized what had happened. Ripping off the tattered remains of its tee-shirt it inspected the gaping fist sized hole in its well toned abdominal muscles then looked up at Bill, snarling. "Damn it fella! It took me years to build up these abs, all those fucking sit-ups and stomach crunches! I'm just gonna have to kill you!"

Bill fired the shotgun again. This time the blast hit the enraged helgum square in the chest, knocking it down....for all of five seconds. "Motherfucker," it hissed, inspecting the additional damage to its once perfect physique. The blast had completely disintegrated its dead heart and lungs. "I don't know who you are but you are really starting to piss me off!"

Bill raised the shotgun to fire yet again but this time the creature managed to rush him before he could pull the trigger. It was like being ran over by a bulldozer. A rock hard forearm caught him in the throat, knocking him senseless. And then the beating began in earnest.

While his companion pounded a helpless Bill into oblivion, the smaller helgum backed Elsa into the kitchen. Determined not to give up without a fight she grabbed one of the chairs from under the table.

"Hey, relax," the creature gurgled, raising its hands in a non-threatening fashion. Even its fingers were heavily muscled. "It doesn't have to go down like this, Elsa. No one else has to get hurt, but you are coming back with us."

"Back off, helgum! I know how to hurt you!"

"Then do it. But you're still coming with us."

The smelly brute lurched forward, arms opening wide to engulf Elsa but she easily evaded him, bringing the chair down across his broad back. The blow reduced the chair to kindling but apparently had no effect on the creature.

"Boy, never thought I'd be glad to be dead." There was no anger in the creature's voice, no emotion at all. "Well come on, Elsa. Me and Robbie are in a real hurry."

"Then why don't the two of you just toddle along without me? I'll catch up with you later."

"Sorry, can't do that, Minka says you've gotta come with us." The creature reached for Elsa again. This time she used her greater speed and agility to jump between its legs and come up behind it, driving her right elbow between its broad shoulders. By the time it managed to turn about she had retrieved the fallen shotgun. It shook its head, offering her a disgusted expression. "Come on, Elsa. Ain't you figured out yet that won't stop me?"

"Guess I'm a slow learner," she said, pulling the trigger. The ensuing blast struck the bald helgum between the eyes, shattering its skull like a rotten melon. Sticky globs of black goo and pulverized bone went everywhere.

Incredibly the creature remained standing, albeit minus its head. It turned around several times, feeling about blindly before walking into a wall like a child's wind up toy. Startled by the blast the creature attacking Bill paused long enough to look up from its gruesome task. "Lennie! Hey man, are you OK?"

Unable to respond Lennie continued to stumble blindly about the cabin, smashing everything in his path before finally finding the open door and disappearing into the darkness. Unfortunately a still stunned Mack had crawled outside to where Eve lay a moment before, managing to revive her just in time to see the headless zombie running off into the nearby woods, madly flailing its arms about in an almost comical fashion.

The other creature came running out of the cabin after its decapitated companion, shouting. "Hey, Lennie! Come back man! What about Elsa?"

Eve watched the macabre spectacle play itself out before once more losing consciousness. Lifting her up in his arms Mack carried her back inside the cabin. Easing her down on the sofa he closed and bolted the door. Elsa was busy tending to Bill's injuries and hadn't noticed he had returned until he touched her on the shoulder causing her to turn her head. There were tears in her eyes.

"How is Bill?"

"I don't know," she said, brushing the tangled, blood soaked hair out of his bruised and swollen face. "This is all my fault. The poor darling has already taken one beating because of me. Once I'm certain he's all right I'm leaving."

"It wouldn't do any good," Mack said, turning back toward Eve. "He'd only come after you. There's nothing in this world as crazy as a man in love with a woman. I got in more than one nasty scuffle with this big fella named Roy Mayes back when I was dating Eve. He always beat me black and blue but I never backed down. Now he and another guy named Manuel run a florist shop in Hoover, even sent us an invitation to their wedding."

Elsa attempted to laugh but it came out as a miserable sob. "I suppose now you're going to have to shoot me with your big gun." Smiling sadly Mack patted her on the shoulder. God she gave him the willies, but if Bill loved her he could learn to live with it.

"Maybe later. Right now we have to get these two out of here before our smelly friends come back. I only wish Bill would hurry up and come around, Eve isn't looking so good."

Eve regained consciousness a few moments later and immediately wished she could go back to sleep. Her head was ringing like a blacksmith's anvil as she opened her eyes and attempted to sit up. Unfortunately the first thing she saw once her vision cleared was Elsa kneeling over a still unconscious Bill. It didn't take her befuddled brain long to decided what must have happened. "Dear God! You've killed him!"

"No, I haven't," Elsa said, attempting to calm the terrified woman. "Now please stay put while Mack and I carry him out to the car. I think he needs a doctor, you too."

"Minka didn't say anything about a doctor," an all too familiar voice said from the other side of the cabin door. They all turned about in time to see it come flying off its hinges. The surviving helgum stood in the doorway, its enormous hands balled up in tight fist and a determined gleam in its black eyes.

Elsa grabbed the shotgun leaning against the fireplace, took aim at the creature's face and pulled the trigger. The firing pin fell on an empty chamber with a loud CLICK!

The helgum grinned, revealing its sharp black teeth. "Empty huh?" it said, stepping inside the cabin. "I guess that means we'll be on our way. You know, Elsa, I really wish I could kill you for what you did to Lennie. He was the best work-out partner anyone ever had, but Minka wants you alive. Now grab your shit and let's get moving before I decided to take it out on your friends."

Enraged, Elsa flipped the spent gun around, gripping it by the barrel. Rushing the creature she used it like a club. The hard ash wood stock shattered against the creature's muscular body, not fazing it in the least. Undeterred, she reared back with what was left of the gun, taking a second swing, this time at the brute's head.

Displaying an unexpected burst of speed the creature brought up its left hand, catching the barrel and then kicked her square in the belly with one of its enormous sneaker-clad feet. The impact was tremendous, forcing all the air from Elsa's body in one red hot blast. Gasping in pain she dropped to her knees as the muscle bound brute hovered over her like the angel of death.

CHAPTER 23

Mitch Sinclair parked his rented Buick Regal near the back of the vacant lot across the street from the large house at the end of Red Mountain Drive. It was a painfully cold evening and a thin blanket of glistening frost already covered the ground. A light rain was falling but if it got much colder it would probably be snowing before morning. And to think they called it the sunny south.

Zipping his leather jacket halfway up Sinclair poured himself a cup of coffee from a large thermos, sipping it slowly . After the better part of a month cooped up down at the morgue he was grateful for the change of scenery, even if it was colder than Antarctica in February. But after an hour or so of constantly dropping temperatures his attitude began to change. Metts' office was heated and he could always pig out on coffee and Danish while watching TV on the computer tablet Metts kept in his desk

Earlier that afternoon, Sinclair had stopped by Metts' house to look around for anything that might tip him off as to where the good doctor and Elsa had gotten off to after leaving the cemetery. He was also extremely curious as to how the two of them managed to hook up in the first place. In this instance that old line about people coming from two different worlds was only too true. But then again you never could tell.

Elsa was a sweet kid and not at all unattractive, but the vibrations she gave off were enough to give even a granite tombstone the heebie-jeebies. It had always seemed a shame to Sinclair that God had gone to all the trouble to put together such a hot little package of blonde goodness and then put it off limits.

Of course, Metts was kind of an odd duck himself. Odd but extremely decent, not to mention lucky if he could get close to Elsa without acquiring a terminal case of icy chills. The fact she was a billionaire heiress didn't hurt either. Sinclair found himself wondering if the two of them had gotten it on yet.

And speaking of hot little numbers here came his now. Sinclair scrunched down low in the front seat as Minka's champagne colored Mercedes appeared, turning up the driveway toward the dark house on the hill. One of the garage doors opened and the car rolled inside, the headlights going out.

While the door was open Sinclair noticed that Daryl's Caddy wasn't there. One little bunny was safe in the hutch but the other was still out and hopping about. In a moment of bizarre curiosity he found himself wondering what those two's home life was like. The image that came to mind was not a pleasant one.

Pushing such disturbing and possibly psychologically scarring thoughts out of his mind Sinclair grabbed his cell-phone off the passenger seat, pressing Martin's personal code number. As usual it only rang once. Good old Martin, as dependable as death and taxes.

"Mitch, what have you got for me?"

Sinclair sighed. "You know, Martin, just once I'd like to hear Hi Mitch, how's it going? I feel neglected."

"We'll play pitch when we get back to New York."

"Promises promises. Anyway, Minka just got home. She appeared to be alone and Daryl is still out somewhere."

"Don't worry about him. I had a tracking device hidden in his car at the cemetery. He's in Birmingham, at some big car show at the Civic Center."

"Then I would advise your man watching him to keep his eyes peeled. That little weasel is as slippery as a greased eel. By the way, would you mind telling me what I'm doing out here, other than freezing my balls off?"

Martin laughed. It was barely audible but still enough to catch Sinclair off guard. "Minka spilled the beans," he explained. "She broke down on camera tonight, extra heavy on the crocodile tears, spouting off about how emotionally disturbed Elsa is. And then she said Mr. Whitfield was offering a ten million dollar reward for any information leading to her recovery. The only problem is daddy didn't know anything about it."

Sinclair whistled. "Old man Whitfield must be real happy about that."

"Like a wolverine with a toothache."

"Not meaning to change the topic of this delightful conversation but do you have anything new on Bill and Elsa?"

"That's the only bright spot in this entire fiasco. Less than fifteen minutes after Minka's little performance a clerk at some convenience store in Albertville called the police asking about the reward. He positively identified them both, said they bought a ton of groceries, including a cooler full of calf's liver and tripe. Said they took off in a purple Dodge Challenger."

Sinclair nodded as he stared across the street at the still dark house. "Listen, Martin, how about putting someone else on babysitting duty and let me help you look for them? I know I can reason with Metts. He's a good guy and I don't want to see him get hurt."

"Sorry, Mitch, I need you right where you are. I have a sneaking suspicion that Daryl and Minka are going to try and bring Elsa in themselves."

"So?"

"So I want to observe just how they go about it. I'll bet you a steak dinner they employee means Mr. Whitfield would not approve of."

"You mean more hocus pocus."

"Exactly. and nothing would please me more than catching those two with their pants down. Keep your eyes open for anything even remotely out of the ordinary."

"As command oh Illustrious Leader, catch you later."

Sinclair switched the phone off, continuing his lonely surveillance of the big house. There were a few lights burning in the first store windows now and the occasional shadow passing in front of them but nothing even remotely suspicious, It looked as if he was in for yet another long, boring night.

Switching on a small AM-FM radio sitting on the passenger seat Sinclair refilled his cup with coffee and sighed. If there was anything Mrs. Sinclair's little boy despised it was surveillance duty. Give him a gun battle in some steamy South American jungle any day.

Yet another thing Sinclair disliked with a passion was rental cars. They always reeked of those nauseating artificial air-fresheners with idiotic names like Forest Glade or Lavender Breeze. The small piece of green, tree shaped felt hanging from the rearview mirror had the whole car smelling like Pine-Sol.

But it wasn't getting stuck keeping an eye on Minka or the chemical smell of the air-freshener that was really bothering Sinclair. It was Bill Metts. Sinclair had always considered himself a good judge of men and Metts was just about as decent as they made them. He still had absolutely no idea how Metts and Elsa could have possibly met but he had no doubt Metts thought he was doing the right thing in trying to help her . Unfortunately in this particular instance doing the right thing could also get him killed.

Sinclair leaned back in his seat, listening to but not really paying any attention to some political talk show on an AM station when a particularly loud and painful burst of static erupted from the small speakers. Strange, he thought attempting to adjust the digital tuner, AM signals were usually pretty clear on overcast nights. He tried every other setting on the dial but they were all blocked out by the same almost angry crackle.

Switching the radio over to the FM band he discovered all the stations on that wavelength were also being blocked out by the unusual interference. Maybe the little radio was defective, or more than likely the cheap batteries that came with it were already going dead.

To test his theory Sinclair switched on the car radio. Once more there was nothing on any of the stations but static, now accompanied by a high pitched squealing. Maybe some national emergency had forced all the stations off the air. But if that were the case they would be playing some kind of pre-recorded message .

Sinclair was so preoccupied with the radio he didn't notice the swirling black shapes that began to gather around the car. He cringed as the already chill air suddenly grew even colder. Within a matter of seconds a solid layer of ice crystals formed on the windshield and windows, causing the glass to make a soft popping sound. "Good Lord," he gasped, starting the engine to run the heater.

The dark forms continued to gather, swirling about the car, growing thicker by the minute. And then a single tendril began to worm its way up the smoking exhaust pipe. Sinclair held his now trembling hands up in front of the vents in the dash, so consumed with staying warm he didn't notice the nauseating stench of carbon monoxide building up.

Sinclair had never been so cold in his life. Once during a mission with the SEALs he fell out of a small Zodiac raft into the North Atlantic and almost froze to death but that was nothing compared to his present discomfort. The heater was on full blast, the needle on the engine temperature gauge nudging into the red and yet the air coming out of the vents was frigid.

Bones aching and teeth chattering Sinclair reached for the thermos, pouring himself another cup of coffee. The scalding hot liquid froze solid before reaching the cup. Suddenly the static on the radio cleared and Minka's voice came over the speakers. "You should have minded your own business, Mr. Sinclair. Didn't your mother ever tell you what happens to naughty little boys that spy on people?"

Startled, Sinclair switched the radio off but that didn't silence Minka's shrill laughter. It then dawned on him that something very out of the ordinary was going on and Old Man Whitfield wasn't paying him nearly enough to hang around long enough to find out what it was.

Despite being unable to see through the frost covered windshield Sinclair put the car in drive, pressing the accelerator halfway to the floor. It lurched forward a few feet and then the engine sputtered and died. Deciding it was time to bail out and make a run for it he grabbed hold of the door handle and immediately cried out in pain. The piece of chrome plated plastic was red hot, blistering the flesh of his palm. Meanwhile the laughter on the radio grew even more shrill and demonic, gnawing its way into his brain like rats teeth.

In desperation Sinclair drove his left elbow through the driver side window. It was a fatal mistake. The darkness outside poured into the car like an ocean of icy black water, suffocating him. Surprisingly the last thought to cross his mind before he died wasn't some regret or un-confessed sin but rather how unfortunate it was that he would never have a chance to know Bill Metts better. It would have been nice to have a friend that was just a normal guy.

Across the street, Minka peeked out from behind a set of drapes in her dark bedroom, a cruel smile curling her lips as Sinclair died, thrashing about helplessly in the grip of the demonic spirits she controlled. "Enough," she commanded. "Now get rid of the body."

The malevolent entities were more than happy to obey their mistress. The car roared to life, the ice disappearing from the windshield and windows as quickly as it had appeared. Sinclair's body was lifted up in the driver's seat and his already stiff fingers wrapped around the steering wheel, creating the illusion he was still alive as the car rumbled off into the night.

"You people have no right to hold me!" Cassie Yates exclaimed, tugging at the handcuff securing her to a seat in the back of the van. She had been informing them of that particular fact at least once every other minute since regaining consciousness.

"Actually, I do," Martin Kemp finally replied from the seat across the way. Reaching into his jacket he produced a National Security Agency identification card, handing it to her.

Cassie took the card, reading it. "You work with Mitch Sinclair?" Martin nodded as he took the card back. "Well what the hell do you want with me? I'm just a deputy sheriff in a hick town. Aren't you supposed to be out chasing criminals and terrorists?"

"Believe me, I'd much rather be. I want you to tell me about the creature you saw."

"How do you know about that?"

Martin tapped the small two-way radio on his collar. "Now about the creature."

Cassie shook her head as she began. "I think it was human, or at least was at one time. It only had one arm and it was dripping this stinking black slime all over the place. At first I thought it was a kid in a Halloween costume out looking for trouble, but then I shot it three times and the slugs didn't even slow it down. But that wasn't the strangest part of it."

"What do you mean?" Martin asked.

Cassie hesitated to respond, drawing in a deep breath. "This is going to sound even crazier than what I've already told you but the slime the creature bled, it seemed to be alive, conscious. You can walk toward it and it'll roll out of your way. I took some of it to my cousin, he's the Professor of Chemistry at the college, or rather was, and he couldn't analyze it, said it was unlike any thing he had ever seen."

"I'd like to speak with your cousin, Ms. Yates."

"So would I but he's dead, and I'm fairly certain the creature killed him. He went down in the sewer looking for it and the next day a corpse stripped of any flesh was found. My cousin's wallet was lying nearby."

"I'm sorry," Martin offered. "When was the last time you saw the creature?"

"Two nights ago. I went down into the sewer looking for it. It set itself on fire with a road flare I dropped."

"And that killed it?"

"I don't know. I lost my nerve and took off running. And now that I've answered all your questions will you please unlock these handcuffs and let me go? NSA or not I'm still an American citizen and I have my rights."

"Yes you do," Martin said, swiveling his chair about so he was facing a computer monitor mounted to the wall. "But there's someone that wants to speak with you first." Kemp turned the monitor on and Tyler Whitfield's gaunt face appeared. Cassie recognized it at once. It had been plastered on all the cable news networks and supermarket tabloids.

"Tyler Whitfield?" she asked.

"That's correct, Ms. Yates. I'm truly sorry for all the trouble you've been put through but I need your help. And I can make it very worth your while."

CHAPTER 24

Elsa thought the helgum had killed her. She had never been knocked unconscious and was extremely confused and disoriented when she awoke in the back seat of a speeding car. She tried to sit up far enough to see who was driving but her injured stomach muscles wouldn't allow it.

"It's OK, just try and lie still." It was Bill. Elsa thanked God he was still alive, but from the look of the poor thing just barely. He looked as if he had been ran over by another of his 76 Buick Electra's. Both sides of his face were bruised and swollen, his left eye black and almost completely closed up.

"I thought that brute had killed you," she said, reaching up to stroke his cheek.

Bill attempted to smile but frowned instead as an intense wave of pain tore through his cranium. "So did I," he said through tightly clenched teeth. "I got my skull cracked and lost a couple of crowns but it'll take more than a pint sized King Kong to get rid of me. We Metts are renowned for our hard heads, but what about you? Mack said you took a pretty good hit yourself."

"I have been better," she admitted, once more attempting to sit up but only making it half way. "Where are we?"

"The back seat of Mack's car," Bill replied, helping her to sit up in the seat, "about twenty minutes from Montevallo. You had me worried. You've been unconscious for nearly four hours."

"What about the helgum? You killed it I hope."

Bill shook his head softly, afraid to aggravate the painful crick in his neck anymore than absolutely necessary. "I'm afraid not."

"Then how did we get away?"

"You can thank Mack for that," Bill said, leaning forward just enough to pat Mack on his nearly non-existent right shoulder. "Not only did he pull us right out from under the smelly goon's nose he's also come up with a rather clever way of getting rid of it."

Mack glimpsed into the rearview window, grinning. "Now, Bill down go making a big thing out of a little creative deception. You forget that I sit around for hours at a time thinking up weird stuff like this."

"What exactly did you do?" Elsa asked.

Mack shrugged, clearly pleased with himself. "Just an old schoolboy trick I never thought I'd get a chance to use. After that helgum thing flattened you guys I talked it into letting me drive it back to your sister."

"And then he took off before it could climb into the car," Bill added. "Lord, Elsa, I wish you could have seen the look on its face when it fell flat on its butt. It was hilarious."

But Elsa wasn't in the mood to laugh. Her tortured abdominal muscles knotted up in excruciating pain every time she tried to draw in a deep breath. "Where is Eve?" she asked, gasping as the car hit a pothole.

"We sent her ahead in Bill's car. I only hope she doesn't burn the clutch out. Stick-shifts are not her friends."

Noticing the way Elsa kept rubbing her belly Bill carefully eased her loose fitting tee-shirt up to her navel. A dark, yellowish orange bruise covered her entire abdominal region. "Ick." It was hardly a proper medical diagnosis but it was all he could come up with at the moment.

"It looks a lot worse than it really is," she assured him.

"What did it do to you?"

"Mistook me for a football," Elsa said as she laid back down, resting her head on Bill's lap and trying not to move anymore than absolutely necessary. Despite the pain she could feel him gently stroking her hair. "We must look like a couple of frogs after a quick spin in the blender," she managed to whisper before another spasm of pain silenced her.

"Just take it easy," he said, but she didn't hear him as unconsciousness once more overtook her.

The remaining helgum, Robbie, could have killed himself a second time for letting Elsa get away. He had no doubt that Minka was going to lay some serious hurt on him for screwing up. He was still sitting in front of the cabin, trying to decide what he should do next, but at least he had company, of a sort.

Lenny had made his way back inside the cabin and was stumbling about, breaking everything in search of what was left of his head. He wished him luck. Of course, it really hadn't been much of a head even before kissing the business end of a shotgun.

"He's done for," Robbie thought as something else inside the cabin met its end with a deafening crash. Lenny was a good guy and a great bodybuilder but now he was just another headless jerk. Lenny deserved a lot better end, something more dignified. Still, it would be a shame to let all that protein packed muscle go to waste. A real shame.

Rising to his feet, his joints creaking with rigor mortis, Robbie looked about for a means of ending his friend's suffering. Spying a rusty axe lying out by the woodpile he picked it up and made his way inside.

"What in the hell were you thinking?" Tyler Whitfield said staring at the closed drapes of his office. "Do you realize the danger you've placed your sister in?"

Minka's soft sigh floated out of the speaker phone on Whitfield's desk. It seemed to hang in the air like an invisible black cloud. "Daddy, please try to stay calm, remember your blood pressure."

"Never mind that! Why did you do it? And what's this about a ten million dollar reward?"

"Daddy, it's getting more and more obvious that Martin and his guards are never going to catch Elsa? Especially not if she's using her powers."

"So your solution was to sic every redneck in the state on her? You know as well as me what's at stake here. If anyone does manage to capture Elsa some doctor is going to examine her and when he does he's going to immediate realize how different she is, and then it's going to get out and they'll take her away."

"Daddy, you know that isn't going to happen. You have friends that--"

"That are only friends as long as it's convenient for them," Whitfield said cutting Minka off in mid-sentence.

"Is it Elsa you're really worried about or the money?" she countered. "I thought you'd do anything to get her back."

"Yes, back alive!"

"Don't you think that's what I want too? After all, she is my sister."

Whitfield threw his head back, letting out an loud huff. "Don't lie to me, Minka! I'm not as blind to things as you think I am. You've never shown the slightest affection toward Elsa. I don't imagine you'd be too upset if something were to happen to her so you and Daryl could inherit everything."

"That is a cruel thing to say!" Minka exclaimed.

"The truth often is. Now you listen to me. If anything happens to Elsa I will see to it that you won't get a damned penny from my estate. You and that no good husband of yours can try really working for a living."

"Daddy, that is the---"

Whitfield shut the phone off. He then picked it up and flung it across the room.

Minka hung her own phone up only slightly gentler, looking at Daryl sitting in his easy chair, filing his manicured nails.  Her solution to this new problem was simple and to the point. "Darling, I believe we're going to have to kill daddy."

When they reached Mack's house Elsa asked for and was granted permission to raid the refrigerator. Unaware of her unusual dietary requirements he wasn't quite ready when she found the small plastic cup of raw chicken livers hidden behind a jar of mayonnaise and started swallowing them whole like oysters. Licking her long fingers clean she then poured the remaining blood into a cup of strawberry yogurt, mixing it into a frothy pink concoction. Finally Mack had to leave the room.

Bill was somewhat more accustomed to watching Elsa eat but this time even he had to turn away as she drank the dark red mixture. Excusing himself he made his way down the hall to check on Eve. She had been so upset after the incident at the cabin that he had given her a heavy sedative to make her sleep through the night.

Reaching the bedroom Bill opened the door and tip toed across the carpet, switching on the small reading lamp on the bedside table. Eve was curled up in the fetal position, FurFace the cat draped across her waist. The cat let out a soft, protective hiss as he bent over to check her pulse. Thankfully it was back to normal. Kissing her on the forehead he left the room, the suspicious feline watching his every move. Mack was waiting for him in the hall.

"How is she, Bill?" He was so upset Bill considered offering him something from the Challenger's drug store also.

"She'll be fine. She just needs to take it easy for a few days."

"Thank God. I don't know what I'd do if something were to happen to her. I think I'd kill myself."

"Relax, she'll be up and busting our balls in no time at all. That sedative I gave her should make her sleep until noon, but you are going to have to talk her into getting that pacemaker. Bribe her with a trip to Hawaii or a new car, whatever it takes."

Mack nodded. "She's been talking about us adopting a child but so far I've been against the idea."

"That would be wonderful, Mack. And maybe it'll make her forget about having me put away."

A guilty expression formed on Mack's long face. "Bill, about that, I--"

"Forget about it."

Elsa, fortunately, had finished eating when they returned to the kitchen. "How is Eve?" she asked wiping her lips clean with a paper towel.

"She'll be fine," Bill answered, grabbing a bottle of cold Pepsi cola from the refrigerator. "She has to take things easy with that heart of hers."​  
"Thank Heaven. Now will you please tell me about this brilliant plan you and Mack cooked up to get rid of the helgum?"

"Be glad to." Bill took a seat at the table next to Elsa, twisting the plastic cap off the bottle and taking a deep drink. "We're going to drive out to the old bottling plant I was telling you about the other day, where my dad used to work."

Elsa offered him an exasperated expression. "And that's your fantastic idea? What do we do then, play spin the bottle while waiting for that muscle-bound brute to find us again?"

Bill grinned. Elsa was cute when she got upset. He took another sip of Pepsi just to make her wait a little while longer before explaining. "We could. But I was thinking more along the lines of killing it, or maybe destroy is a more accurate term when dealing with reanimated corpses."

"That makes more sense. But why drive all the way out there to do it?"

"Because it's completely deserted. It could get pretty hairy trying to convince any witnesses that we weren't killing an ordinary, living person."

"Unless they got close enough to get a good whiff of it."

"And that's not all," Bill added, suddenly sounding like the spokesman for some late night TV infomercial. "Not only are we going to destroy the big goon, we're going to get it to confess that Minka is the one that created it and sent it after you. Our trustworthy companion Mack is going to video tape the whole thing. And then your father will have to believe us."

"That is if I can find the blasted camera," Mack called out from deep within the depths of the living room closet. "I know it's in here....somewhere. "There were several small thuds as he tossed things about and then a tremendous WHOOMP as the majority of the closet's contents came crashing down on his head. "Oh hell."

Elsa smiled as more profanity emerged from the closet. "I suppose it might work. But how are you going to get the helgum to talk?"

"Well that's where I need your cooperation. We're going to offer it, that is if it's all right with you, a small amount of your blood in exchange for its testimony against Daryl and Minka. And then we're going to kill it. What do you think?"

Mack joined them at the table before Elsa had a chance to reply. Easing down in the nearest chair with all the grace of an awkward giraffe he placed the small camera-recorder in front of Bill. "Zombies on the news, live at five," he proclaimed. "And if your dad doesn't want his good name dragged through the muck he'll call your sister and her smelly goons off. Otherwise we send the video to every major news outfit in the country, not to mention the tabloids."

"But he's my father," Elsa said, clearly not thrilled with Mack's idea. "I don't want to see him hurt or embarrassed, even if it would expose Daryl and Minka."

"Relax," Bill said, patting her hand. "It shouldn't come to that. Your father is a smart business man, he knows a good deal when he hears one. I know it's a little extreme but we want him to realize once and for all that you're not the one that needs to be locked away."

"He still might not believe us," Elsa said, touching the camera's lens cap with her right forefinger. "You can fake just about anything with one of these digital jobs and a good computer."

"You're right. And I seriously doubt anyone else in the world would believe it was real, but your father will know better."

"You still haven't told me how you're going to kill the helgum once it's made its confession."

"We're going to burn it up with sulfuric acid. But listen, in case something goes wrong with this half-baked plan of ours and we get separated I want you to promise me you'll make a run for it."

"What about you and Mack?"

"Don't worry about us, we're not the heroic types. If at all possible we'll be right behind you. I'm just saying if anything goes wrong. Get to a phone and call Eve, she'll help you get away."

"But she hates me," Elsa insisted. "I won't endanger her anymore than I already have."

"Just do it!" Bill snapped.

Startled by Bill's unexpected display of temper Elsa leaned back in her chair, arching her right eyebrow as if extremely displeased. And then she started giggling. It was a sweet, girlish sound. "Why, Bill Metts, that sounded for all the world like an ultimatum."

Bill felt his cheeks grow warm. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to raise my voice."

"Oh, don't be sorry, it was so....manly."

Mack broke out in laughter, nearly sliding out of his chair as his knees went weak. Bill was finally getting a taste of what it was like to have a woman in his life. The first thing the dear boy had to learn was that it was futile trying to reason with one once she makes up her mind.

"Will you please do as I ask?" Bill asked in a far less demanding tone. Still smiling, Elsa leaned forward, kissing him.

"All right, I'll do it. But if Eve says leave I will."

"Thank you."

"You're very welcome."

Looking out the window over the sink Bill could see the faint glow of the rising sun on the eastern horizon. "It's almost dawn. Since we can't do anything until this evening I would suggest we all get some rest. We've got a busy night ahead of us."

CHAPTER 25

Robbie feasted on Lenny's carcass until well after dawn. The only parts of his friend left, other than the well gnawed bones were the dick and balls. After all, he wasn't a fag.

His belly temporarily full, Robbie rose to his feet and started making his way down the dirt road leading to the highway some two miles away. It was a straight shot so naturally he got lost in the surrounding woods. It was almost three hours before he stumbled across asphalt and once more picked up Elsa's scent. He would have been sick and tired of all this running back and forth it he'd had any will of his own, but something deep inside his rapidly deteriorating brain forced him to obey Minka's orders.

In fact, Robbie's mind hadn't been faring too well even before his untimely demise. The long years of steroid abuse had taken their toll. As well as frequent bouts of violent rage and extreme depression it had been increasingly difficult remembering something as simple as his phone number and address and now just putting one foot in front of the other while maintaining his balance was becoming a real problem.

But good fortune was about to smile upon Robbie's once handsome face. He had been shambling along the side of the road for a little over an hour when a small red convertible overloaded with giggling, half-drunk teenage girls came roaring up behind him. The girls were students at Thompson high school in Alabaster and were on their way to Montevallo to watch their home team take on their arch-rivals the Bulldogs.

The blue eyed blonde behind the wheel had only seen Robbie from behind but definitely liked what she saw. He had the butt of a Greek God. Slowing the car down she pulled up alongside the shambling helgum, about to offer him a ride but her opinion of him immediately changed once she got a good whiff of him. It was almost as big a turn off as the large chunk of flesh he suddenly tore out of her forearm with his gleaming black teeth.

Screaming, the terrified girls jumped out of the car, running off into the nearby woods. Confused by their reaction Robbie wiped the blood off his chin. It was a real shame they had decided to leave. He could have used a little feminine companionship at the moment. Being dead was hard on a guy's self-esteem, and that little Asian chick with the long ponytails had a gorgeous ass he would have loved to have sunk his teeth into.

Oh well, at least he wouldn't have to walk anymore. The girls had been kind enough to leave their car behind. Apparently they didn't want it anymore. Climbing behind the wheel Robbie checked what remained of his once flowing blonde mane in the rearview mirror and then drove slowly off. Now if he could only remember where he was supposed to be going.

3:30pm.

Arriving at the station, Minka stopped by the receptionist's desk to collect her messages. More of the same old same old, she thought flipping through the handful of small yellow Post-it sheets. There were commercial offers from local businesses hoping a pretty, familiar face would increase their profits, invitations to cover charity fundraisers and even a few pieces of fan mail but nothing that caught her interest. And then she came to a message Bill Metts had left not an hour before.

The receptionist, a newly hired girl by the name of Cassie Yates, watched as Minka got into the elevator and the doors closed. She then removed a cell-phone from her purse, punching a single digit. "Martin, Minka just picked up her messages."

"Good," Martin replied. "Keep an eye on her."

Cassie nodded. "Martin it might not be my place to say this but now that we know where Whitfield's daughter is shouldn't we just pick her up and forget about Daryl and Minka?"

"No. A lot of strange things have been going on and I'm going to prove to Mr. Whitfield once and for all that Elsa isn't the daughter he should be worried about."

"You're the boss. Uh, what about Mitch?"

The line was silent for a moment. Finally Martin said. "We still haven't heard anything yet. I've sent Curly and Sam to look for him."

Cassie blinked away the tears welling up in her eyes. "I see. Please let me know as soon as you hear anything."

"Will do," Martin said, breaking the connection. Sitting in the van's front passenger seat he stared at the phone in his right hand for a moment and then silently closed his fingers around it, applying more than enough pressure to crush it.

The man in the driver's seat, a large, bearded fellow wearing his long black hair in a ponytail silently made a mental note to never make the Boss angry and then reached into the glove-box between the two seats, removing another phone. He offered it to Martin.

Nodding, Martin took the phone and called Curly and Sam. Curly answered on the first ring, his deep voice booming. "Martin."

"Have you guys come up with anything?"

"I'm afraid not," Curly said, his concern evident. He and Sinclair went way back. Each man had saved the others life several times over and they were as close as brothers. He was certain Daryl and Minka were responsible for his friend's disappearance and at the moment it was all he could do to keep from kicking their front door in and making them talk. "How is Cassie?"

"Just keep looking and let me know the minute you find anything out."

"Yea, sure."

Martin switched the phone off.

They left the house as soon as it was dark. Bill had kept Eve well sedated all day and she was dead to the world so Mack left her a note in case she awoke before they got back. He made certain to tell her how much he loved her just in case something went wrong.

Unaware they had been under continual surveillance all day, they climbed into Mack's vintage Buick Electra225, Elsa taking the back seat where she could lie down. Usually, Mack drove like a teenage boy that had just gotten his license, speeding up for every yellow light or over anyone foolish enough to get in his way but tonight he kept the big land yacht at a sane, reasonable speed. Actually, he was puttering along like a ninety year old man with cataracts on both eyes.

Bill sat in the passenger seat. Picking up Mack's much vaunted Desert Eagle pistol he examined it more closely in the glow from the instrument panel. It was a formidable looking weapon, supposedly able to put a slug through a brick wall and still have enough impact to take someone's head off. Mack hadn't bothered to mention he had never actually gotten around to firing the pistol. To be perfectly honest he was scared to death of it.

Setting the pistol down, Bill looked at Elsa in the rearview mirror. She was sound asleep. He suspected she was hurt far worse than she admitted and was tempted to give her something for the pain but didn't know what effect it might have on her. Drugs safe for an ordinary person might prove fatal to her. At the moment there was nothing to do but just lie back and enjoy the ride. Closing his eyes he listened to the soft rumble of the engine until drifting off.

"We're almost there," Mack said after more than an hour of self-imposed silence.

Opening his eyes and blinking them into focus Bill turned about and reached over the seat, touching Elsa on the shoulder. "Hey, sleepyhead, wake up."

A single eyelid opened, revealing a large brown eye. "Huh?"

"We're here, sweetheart."

Elsa sat up as they turned off the highway and onto the driveway leading up to the plant gates. Reaching them Mack brought the car to a stop and Bill climbed out to push them open only to find they were locked, secured by a shiny new padlock and chain.

"Any idea how we're getting in there now?" Bill asked climbing back in the car.

"Buick power," Mack replied. Shifting the automatic transmission into low he eased the big car forward until the well polished chrome bumper touched the locked gates. He then eased down on the accelerator until the big 455 V8 under the long hood roared, causing the back wheels to spin about madly, brewing up a storm of white smoke.

The gates held firm against the Buick's onslaught, the stench of burning rubber filling the air. The squealing quickly became unbearable, like an animal howling in pain. Finally, Elsa had to cover her ears in a useless attempt to block out the racket.

"Come on, baby, you can do it," Mack said in a soft, almost loving tone. "Show young, William here how misplaced his faith in those nasty old Chryslers is."

"Hey, Buddy, Mopar or no car," Bill replied.

"Well, technically the Challenger is a Fiat since the merger."

"Oh shut up."

Mack wore a grim smile as the chain holding the gates together grew increasingly taut, as if determined to keep them out. It seemed like it was going to be a stalemate when one of the links in the chain finally gave way with a loud pop and the Buick charged forward, leaving matching black tread marks on the faded asphalt. "Let's see one of those flimsy new cars do that," he said, coming to a stop.

"Yea, but how's the mileage?"

"Oh shut up."

The plant loomed ahead, just beyond the reach of the car's headlights. It was pitch black but to Elsa it might as well been noon. Not that there was much to see. There were several extremely neglected buildings, all battered by time and the elements. Their once brightly painted red, white and blue exteriors were now dark brown with a heavy layer of rust and obscene spray can graffiti. In essence it was an industrial graveyard and the perfect place to get rid of a helgum without any witnesses.

"Fantastic Fizz, The King of Colas," Mack muttered in an almost reverent tone. He suddenly had a hankering for a bottle of ice cold Wildfire Cherry, could almost taste it on his tongue. The ghosts of soft drinks past.

They parked the car in front of the Bottling plant so that anyone coming up the driveway would see it. At the moment they appeared to be alone.

Bill was the first out of the car, opening the back door for Elsa. Holding Mack's pistol in one hand he offered her the other. An odd sensation came over him causing him to smile, he felt absolutely macho, like the hero in an old Sergio Leone western.

Elsa carried the cane she had borrowed from the Saunders' mausoleum, gently tapping the gold tip against the concrete as they made their way around the back of the enormous building. If necessary it could be a formidable weapon. It was also quite stylish. If they got out of this crazy situation alive she might just keep it on as a fashion statement.

What was going through Mack's mind at the moment was anyone's guess. He was one of those rare individuals whose face never betrayed their feelings. That was the only reason he had been able to live with Evie for fifteen years. He was fumbling with the camera-recorder, hoping they weren't about to film their own murders.

Reaching the loading docks they found all the bay doors secured with more new padlocks. Apparently whoever owned the property didn't want anymore trespassers. "I'll go get the tire iron out of the car," Mack said.

"Don't bother," Elsa replied. Making her way over to the nearest door she grabbed the padlock securing it and ripped the lock and hasp clean out of the concrete wall.

"Gee whiz," Mack gasped. "Why didn't you do that back at the gate?"

"You never gave me a chance. You boys stay here, I'll go inside and try to find a light switch." Elsa stepped inside the dark building in search of a switch. Finding an electrical panel on one of the steel support columns holding up the building's roof she flipped the first of three levers, not really expecting anything to happen. Much to her surprise hundreds of dusty fluorescent tubes high above hummed to life. Blinded by their harsh glare she put on her sunglasses.

Mack and Bill joined Elsa. Every step they took on the cold concrete floor echoed throughout the cavernous building like dull thunder.

"Where should I set up the camera?" Mack asked.

"The garage," Bill replied, turning his head toward the narrow corridor at the far end of the room. "Watch your step, the floor is covered in broken glass. While you're setting up Elsa and I will get the acid from the shed out back."

"OK, but if you hear me screaming you'd better drop whatever you're doing and race to my rescue."

They made their way out back of the building, to the small sheds covering the badly rusted barrels of acid. Bill drummed his knuckles against one of the barrels, making certain it wasn't empty and then proceeded to turn it over on its side so he could roll it, but Elsa gently nudged him aside, grabbed both ends of the barrel and lifted it with ease. "Wow."

Turning another barrel over Bill followed her inside. He had no idea they were being watched by a lone figure looking out from behind a tree in the nearby woods. By the time he caught up with her she had already removed the heavy metal grate covering one of the grease pits. Finding a short length of iron pipe he broke the valves open on the barrels, letting the acid gush out. A blistering vapor filled the air as the highly corrosive substance devoured the ancient grease in the bottom of the pit, forcing them to step away.

Once the fumes cleared Elsa found the mummified carcass of a dead rat and dropped it into the pit, watching as it rapidly dissolved. She then turned to Bill. "Why would they need acid in a soda pop factory?"

"Damned if I know."

Robbie was feeling pretty slick as he raced down the highway in his borrowed convertible. Even with his hair coming out in the breeze he still looked pretty good thanks to a pair of wrap around sunglasses one of the girls had left behind. Elsa's scent was also growing stronger by the minute and his favorite song was on the radio. He even had enough presence of mind to wave when a vaguely familiar blue car roared by in the other lane.

The sight of the helgum driving a car was nearly enough to cause Daryl to wreck his beloved Cadillac. Quickly regaining his composure he cut the car's front wheels hard to the left, making a desperate 180 degree turn in pursuit of the speeding zombie. He didn't want to think about where the smelly goon had gotten a car but it had to be stopped before someone that wasn't supposed to got killed.

And as if he didn't have enough to worry about Daryl's right eye suddenly caught the flashing blue lights of a County Police car in the rearview mirror. Sighing, he eased up on the accelerator, letting the cruiser catch up. He could have easily outran the cracker box Queen Victoria but didn't feel like playing hide and seek with the cops for the rest of the night.

Taking one hand off the steering wheel, Daryl opened the glove-box, removing the .45 Colt. He could see the driver of the cop car angrily motioning for him to pull over and waved. He then rolled down the passenger side window, calmly raised the pistol and fired. The hollow point slug shattered the cruiser's window and the driver's skull, causing a substance resembling raspberry jam to fly out of his ears and nose.

"And here we go again," Daryl muttered as the cruiser spun out of control before slamming into a pickup truck pulling a trailer filled with giant bales of hay. The truck jack knifed, losing several of the bails which created an instant and impassable roadblock. All traffic came to an immediate, tire screeching, metal crunching stop. All that was missing was the chickens.

And then the cell-phone resting on the passenger seat started buzzing.

Daryl answered the phone with one hand while steering the car with the other, no small feat at better than 130mph. "Hello dearest one."

"Bill Metts just left a message at the station saying he's willing to hand Elsa over for the reward. He said for us to meet him at the old bottling plant in Bibb County. Do you know where that is?"

"I haven't the slightest idea in the world," Daryl replied as he passed two biker types on Harleys.

"Well you don't sound overly concerned!" Minka hissed.

Daryl laughed. "That's because I'm following one of the helgums right now and he just happens to be headed in that direction. That is if this damned GPS is working. Oh and, Minka, you're not going to believe this but it's actually driving a car."

"You can't be serious!"

"Oh but I am. And he's pretty damned good. I'm having trouble keeping up. Listen, sweetheart, I'm going to have to go. I'll call you as soon as I reach the plant. Love you, bye."

Minka switched off her phone, dropping it on her dressing table mirror. A helgum driving a car. How could such a thing be possible? She wondered if she had made some mistake during the ritual to imprison the creature's soul inside its body. Or maybe all those steroids had had some strange effect on her blood. Well whatever it was it could wait. Right now she had to call her father and give him the good news.

Smiling, Minka retrieved the phone and punched in her father's personal number. Unfortunately the conversation that followed was brief and far from pleasant.

A few moments later Daryl's cell-phone went off again. Taking his eyes off the road long enough to answer it he almost missed the narrow driveway the helgum suddenly turned into, nearly flipping the small convertible over in the process. And in the excitement he completely missed the large blue van parked in the shadows of an old convenience store across from the driveway.

"Hello, sweetheart, what's up?"

"Daryl, I just talked to Daddy. He--"

"Hold on just a second." Daryl turned the Cadillac's steering wheel hard to the right, swerving about at the very last instant. The powerful headlight illuminated the rusty sign proudly proclaiming: FANTASTIC FIZZ, THE KING OF COLAS. "Good news, Honey, I found the bottling plant. That pasty faced goon led me right to it."

"Daryl, will you please shut up and listen to me? Daddy knows where Elsa is. Bill Metts called him to! He told him everything, about us and the helgums!"

Daryl brought the car to a stop. "And the Old Man believes him?"

"I don't know, but he's definitely suspicious. Martin Kemp is on his way to the plant to pick up Elsa. You have to get rid of the helgum before he gets there!"

OK, take it easy, I'll handle it."

"You'd better or we'll be locked up tighter than Elsa ever was!"

"Relax, everything is under control."

Switching the phone off Daryl stomped the Cadillac's accelerator. The brute power of the twin turbo charged V8 pushed him back in the seat as it roared up the plant driveway like a guided missile. There was still time to straighten out this tangled and possibly catastrophic situation but only by employing drastic means.

While Robbie had miraculously managed to drive his borrowed car more than a hundred miles without killing anyone, or attracting the attention of the police, he had, however, forgotten how to stop it now that he had reached his destination. It hadn't been much of a problem before but now as the giant building he raced toward grew closer he was becoming a tiny bit concerned.

Robbie seemed to recall that stopping a car had something to do with the pedals on the floorboard. The only problem was which one. Since there was only one way to find out he decided to press down harder on the pedal his foot was already on. Unfortunately it was not a wise decision, and it nearly proved fatal.

On the other side of the corrugated steel wall Mack had just finished setting up the camera-recorder on its tripod and was dragging an old chair in from the cafeteria when he heard the sound of the approaching car. He looked up just in time to see the small red convertible suddenly come crashing through the wall.

The car seemed to fly through the air in slow-motion, almost hanging there for several seconds before landing on the concrete floor with a noisy screech from the tires. Mack barely had time to jump out of the way as it continued on toward him.

Reasoning the other pedal must be the brake, Robbie stomped it next, almost pushing it through the floorboard. This time his hunch was right. The brakes squealed as the car skidded to a stop less than ten feet from the open loading dock door, and as rotten luck would have it directly over the grease pit filled with acid. It also managed to crush the camera in the process.

Removing his sunglasses, Robbie climbed out of the car, offering a still stunned Mack a casual wave as he lumbered toward him. Fortunately he didn't seem to recognize him from their earlier encounter at the cabin. "Hi, I'm looking for a girl," he gurgled.

"Aren't we all," Mack replied wearing a nervous grin as he rose to his feet.

"Suppose so, but this one is very special. Her name is Elsa. She's blonde and about this tall." Robbie brought a hand up to just below his broad chest. "Pretty face, cute little tits and ass."

Mack shook his head slowly. "Sorry, I haven't seen anyone like that. She sounds nice though."

Robbie offered Mack a suspicious look and then sniffed. Even in the musty air of the old plant he could smell Elsa's unmistakable scent. "You sure you ain't seen her?"

Mack nodded, forcing himself to smile. "Oh yea, I've been here all day and you're the only other, er....person I've seen."

"Well what are you doing here?"

"I'm an, uh exterminator, yea. Someone wants to open this place up again but it's infested with rats. I mean big ones. We're talking the size of small dogs. One of them stole my lunch box....even figured out how to get in the thermos. Kind of scary when you think about it."

Robbie appeared satisfied with Mack's crazy answer and started back toward the waiting car only to suddenly stop, slowly glancing back over his shoulder. "You wouldn't be lying to me, would you? Cause I can smell her. I know she's around here somewhere."

"Nope," Mack insisted, struggling not to scream. "I've searched every building in this plant from top to bottom and there's no one here but you and me and the rats....big ones. Well, I was just about to leave, the wife doesn't like it when I'm late for supper. Would you mind shutting off the lights and locking up when you're finished looking about? And make sure to watch out for those rats."

Robbie continued to stare at Mack and then he smiled as his rapidly decaying brain cells came up with the only conclusion they could. No wonder this guy smelled like Elsa, it was her, in disguise. She even sounded like a guy and those fake whiskers on her cheeks looked just like the real thing. Pretty clever for a chick. Chuckling he started toward her. "All right, Elsa, let's go."

"Huh?"

"It was a good trick dressing up like a guy, but I'm just a little too smart to fall for it." Robbie grabbed Mack by the wrist, dragging him toward the car. "Come on, Minka's waiting."

"Hey!" Mack exclaimed, attempting to break free from Robbie's vice-like grip. "Now just a damn minute! What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Taking you home so Minka can make me normal again."

"I seriously doubt you were ever normal!"

"Bitch."

Bill and Elsa were still in the cafeteria when Robbie came crashing through the front wall and came running into the main room in time to see the undead brute dragging Mack away. Bill attempted to hold her back, his mind desperately racing to come up with a way to save his oldest and dearest friend while protecting her at the same time but she was too strong and broke free of his grip.

"Hey, helgum!" Elsa hollered, running toward the shambling creature. "You've got the wrong Elsa! Are you so dumb you can't tell the difference between a male and female? Not that I imagine you ever saw many women up close even when you were alive!"

Startled, Robbie relented his hold on Mack, letting him fall to the floor. He looked down at the first Elsa and then at the second one not ten feet away and was suddenly very confused. "How can you be in two places at once? Isn't this you?" he asked, placing one of his huge feet on Mack's belly.

"That's a man, you muscle-brained idiot!"

Robbie stood there for a moment and then shrugged. "Oh well, my mistake. No one is perfect." He then started toward her, his arms opening wide to engulf her.

Elsa stood her ground, gripping the cane in her hands tightly as the lumbering zombie approached. She intended to swing its heavy gold handle at the brute's head in hopes of inflicting enough brain damage to stop it once and for all but the odor of decomposing flesh was overwhelming and she was forced to take several steps backward.

Regaining his senses, Mack saw the helgum reaching for Elsa. Believing she had panicked and frozen he scampered to his feet and rushed the brute from behind, clipping him in the back of his knees.

The low blow caught Robbie by surprise. He teetered on his feet for a moment but somehow managed to remain standing. Turning about he looked down at Mack still on his hands and knees and kicked him in the face.

"Oh....boy," Mack muttered as his eyes rolled over in his skull and everything went dark.

Robbie huffed as he looked down at the unconscious man, a steady stream of foul smelling black spittle dripping off his chin. "That wasn't very nice, Elsa. So not nice I think I'm gonna kill you."

The helgum once more raised his enormous right foot to crush Mack's head like a bug but before he could Elsa ran forward and struck him in his other knee with the cane. The age-hardened oak snapped in half with a loud crack but the creature remained standing, slowly turning toward her.

"Come on," she said, slowly backing up in hopes of luring Robbie away from a helpless Mack. He followed, a deep growl emerging from between his clenched black teeth. "That's a boy, gruesome. You can take me to my sister now. That is if you can catch me."

Standing in the shadows, Bill raised the pistol, closed one eye, took careful aim at an unsuspecting Robbie with the other and slowly squeezed the trigger. The gun kicked so hard it nearly flew out of his hand but Robbie definitely got the worst of it. Even from over a hundred feet away the .50 caliber slug knocked him off his feet.

The gunshot echoed throughout the plant for almost a minute before finally dying away. And then Robbie got back up, a grapefruit size hole in his sternum.

Bill fired the pistol again, this time making certain to grip it more securely. The second slug sheared away a good portion of the flesh on the left side of the wounded zombie's neck yet he somehow remained standing.

Bill couldn't believe it. And as the now quite enraged helgum shambled toward him he saw that its spinal cord had been completely severed in half. It shouldn't have been able to move much less raise its enormous arms and make two fists.

"That cannon ain't gonna stop me," Robbie snarled as sticky black goo oozed from his new injuries. I'm really sorry but now I've got to kill you, Minka's orders." In all honestly he wasn't sorry at all. He had always enjoyed beating up smaller guys. It made him feel superior, especially when they were smarter than him.

Instead of doing the sane thing and running away Bill shoved the pistol into the front of his jeans, motioning the approaching behemoth onward. He then stole a quick glance over at Elsa. "Go help Mack while I kick our smelly friend's ass."

"Have you gone insane?" she exclaimed.

"Don't worry about me. I've got this jerk's number. He's going down."

Robbie chuckled as Bill continued to back up. "Is that a fact?"

Bill grinned, despite being terrified. All the bravado in the world wasn't going to change the sad fact he had never won a fight in his life. Still, he had to do everything he could to protect Elsa. "That it is, muscle-boy. I still owe you for that elbow to the throat you laid on me, not to mention the cheap shot you took at Elsa. Tell me something, were you always tough enough to hit a woman, or does being dead make you such a creep? Or maybe you're afraid of women. Maybe all that extra beef you're packing is a pathetic attempt to make up for an incredibly small pecker."

Unfortunately for him Bill's taunting didn't faze Robbie in the least. He would enjoy breaking this little man with the big mouth in half. And then he would take both Elsa's back to Minka just to make sure he got the right one.

Bill was only too aware that even a glancing blow from one of the helgum's ham sized fists would probably take his head off, but he had no intention of waging a war he couldn't possibly win by conventional means. Once Elsa had helped Mack to his feet and both were safely out of the creature's reach he pulled the pistol out of his pants. This time he would put the bullet right between its eyes, end of story, but the brute rushed him before he could take aim, knocking the gun out of his hand.. He hit the concrete floor hard.

"That's better," Robbie gurgled as he stood triumphantly over his much smaller enemy. He then kicked Bill in his left side, cracking several ribs. "But we ain't finished yet. Not only am I gonna kill you, I'm gonna eat you too. And then I'm gonna take Elsa back to Minka and leave what's left of you for the maggots."

Bill's head was still reeling as Robbie slowly raised his right size-18 shoe. Hesitating for a moment he almost lost his balance before bringing it down, affording Bill just enough time to roll out of the way. The sound of the wide rubber sole striking concrete was deafening.

Robbie laughed as Bill crawled away, struggling to get back to his feet. "Come on, Fella! I thought you had my number! When does the ass-kicking begin?"

Rather than wasting the precious energy needed to answer, Bill finally regained his footing and started limping toward the open loading dock door. There was an agonized expression on his face as he gripped his injured ribs. Robbie followed him across the building. He was feeling more like his old self now that he had someone smaller and weaker to hurt. But his cruel laughter was short lived.

Pausing half way to the door, Bill pulled the pistol from his belt, turned about and dropped to one knee. This time the bullet struck Robbie in the groin, completely destroying its target. Stunned, he looked down at the gaping hole that had once been his bulging genitals. His pride and joy completely destroyed. Now he was really pissed.

Another gunshot rang out, and another and another but Robbie kept coming, his rage growing hotter with each bullet exploding in his cold flesh.

Bill continued to fire at what would have been the vital areas of a living target, but only managed to slow the brute down. And then the firing pin hit an empty chamber with a sickening: CLICK. "Oh shit," he muttered.

"Ran out of bullets, huh? That's too bad. Well, I guess it's suppertime."

Robbie grabbed Bill by the left arm then lifted him up over his head like a professional wrestler, throwing him halfway across the room. The tremendous impact of landing on the un-giving concrete floor rendered him unconscious.

By the time Elsa had carried Mack to safety she returned to find Robbie walking around Bill, kicking him over and over. Looking about she spied a jagged shard of glass on the floor, picked it up and called out, "Hey, helgum, you looking for me?"

Robbie ceased kicking Bill into oblivion long enough to glance over his shoulder, a smile replacing his fearsome expression. "Oh, Elsa, there you are." He raised his hands in a non-aggressive fashion as he turned and started toward her. "Listen, can we go now? No one wants to hurt you. Your sister just wants you to come home."

"Stop!" she exclaimed. "Don't you come any closer!"

Robbie groaned in frustration. "Come on, Elsa, I don't have time for all this. I'm falling apart here. If I don't take you home and get more of Minka's blood soon I'm a goner."

"What if I were to give you some of my blood?" she offered, holding the piece of glass up to her open left palm. "Will you leave the others alone? Like you said, you are falling apart. I'd say you only have a few more hours at most."

Robbie considered Elsa's offer as best as his rapidly failing faculties allowed. Minka didn't say anything about the others, just to bring Elsa back. And he did need the blood. "All right, but let me have it now, please."

Nodding, Elsa ran the shard across her palm then turned her hand over, letting the dark red drops fall to the floor. Robbie immediately dropped to his hands and knees and began lapping the spilt blood up like a starving dog, refusing to let a single precious drop of the magical substance go to waste. "More!" he pleaded. "Please!"

Taking several steps back Elsa glanced over at where Bill lay on the floor. He was still unconscious but beginning to come around. "All right boy, come on, follow the leader." She then cut another gash across her palm, making a tight fist to make the blood flow faster. The starving creature obediently followed her.

They were almost to the loading dock door when Bill sat up, rubbing the back of his aching head. Seeing the helgum following Elsa he began looking about for the fallen pistol. Spying it some twenty feet away he crawled over to it and reached in his jacket pocket for the spare clip of bullets. Thankfully it hadn't fallen out. "Come on," she said, motioning for him to join her.

Getting to his feet, Bill hobbled across the building, keeping the pistol trained on the helgum. "What are you doing? You're leading him away from the grease pit."

"Don't worry, I've got an idea. Stay here, you'll know what to do when I give the word."

Bill reluctantly remained behind, never taking his aim off the helgum as Elsa continued to lead it down the loading dock steps toward the old shed covering the rusting barrels of acid. By now the creature's multitude of injuries were almost completely healed, even its hair began to grow long and shiny like it had been in life.

Reaching the barrels, Elsa cut herself a final time across the forearm, letting the dark warm blood splatter between her feet. As soon as the creature reached it and began lapping it up she started walking away, but unfortunately she was somewhat dizzy from loss of blood and her legs suddenly gave out. Bill immediately came to her rescue. Taking the loading dock steps two at a time he ran over to where she lay and hefted her up over his shoulder.

"Shoot the barrels," Elsa exclaimed but Bill hesitated until they were a safe distance away before turning back and firing the pistol. The slug found its target and penetrated one of the barrels, creating just enough of a spark to ignite its highly volatile contents. The ensuing explosion instantly vaporized the helgum.

The heat from the flames was so intense the acid in the other barrels started to boil, building up an unimaginable amount of pressure and then they exploded too, one by one shooting up into the air like rockets. Flying more than a hundred feet into the air several of them crashed through the bottling plant's roof as they fell back to earth.

"Oh boy," Elsa muttered, still hanging over Bill's shoulder as yet another barrel streaked skyward, exploding like fireworks on the Fourth of July. "Guess I goofed, huh."

"Yea, but you're still wonderful," Bill said, setting her down on her feet. "Come on, let's go get Mack and take our leave before Minka or your father's men show up."

Making their way out front of the now burning building they found Mack exactly where Elsa had left him, sitting up against the wall. He was still dazed and muttering incoherently as they helped him to his feet. "Bill....look out," he said in a heavily slurred voice.

"Take it easy, Mack, we've got you."

"No, wait....you don't....don't understand....there's someone--"

"It's all right, Mack. Your brains are still just a little scrambled from where that goon kicked you in the noggin."

Mack continued to shake his aching head, forcing his words to come out in a semi-coherent sentence. "Damn it....listen! There's...someone....someone--"

"Don't worry, Mack, you'll be fine. Your skull is the hardest part of your body."

"He's really out of it," Elsa said, clearly concerned.

They dragged Mack across the parking lot to where the Buick waited only to find it sitting on four slashed tires. Parked behind it out of sight until they were right up on it was another, smaller car, a blue Cadillac.

Bill was the first to see the strange car's driver, a small man with a pale, almost milky complexion, dressed in an expensive suit. The .45 Colt Automatic in his almost petite hand gleamed in the light from the burning building.

"Daryl!" Elsa hissed. In all the confusion she had failed to sense his presence. Without acknowledging her he fired the pistol. The slug struck Bill in the left thigh, sending him crashing to the ground.

Elsa screamed.

"Tried....to warn you," Mack said before once more losing consciousness.

Elsa suddenly found the pistol aimed in her direction.

"I want to thank whichever one of you gentlemen is Bill Metts for taking such good care of Elsa," Daryl said. "But playtime is over and it's time for her to go home." He removed a pair of handcuffs from his jacket pocket, throwing them on the ground at Elsa's feet. "Pick them up and cuff our two heroes together. They don't appear to be all that dangerous at the moment but I'd rather not take any chances. By the way, which one of them is Metts? I'm truly curious as to what kind of man could possibly be attracted to you."

Elsa spat at Daryl but missed, hitting the Cadillac instead. Rather than getting angry Daryl merely removed a monogrammed silk handkerchief from his shirt pocket, wiping the car's lustrous finish dry. "Oh well, I don't suppose it really matters since you'll never see either of them again. Now cuff them."

"Do it yourself," Elsa snarled.

Daryl's ever constant smile disappeared as he suddenly turned the pistol back on the helpless men. "We don't have time for all this nonsense. Either you cuffed them, like I asked nicely, or I shoot them both in the head. It's up to you. You have exactly ten seconds. Ten--"

Elsa reluctantly knelt down and picked up the handcuffs. Offering Bill a final kiss she slipped one end of the bracelet around his left wrist, locking it in place. "Thank you for trying to help," she whispered in his ear. "I love you." The instant she locked the other cuff around Mack's wrist she felt the cold barrel of the .45 pressed up against the back of her head.

"Get in the car, Elsa."

She laughed softly. "You won't shoot me. My father would have you killed."

"Maybe I wouldn't. But that doesn't mean one of these two wouldn't. Of course, then I would be forced to kill them in return. Now move that cute little ass."

Daryl opened the Cadillac's passenger side door. Once Elsa climbed inside he removed a second pair of handcuffs from the glove-box, locking one cuff around her right wrist and the other around the armrest. She instinctively pulled at her restraints but the tempered steel chain refused to give.

"Hey, easy there," he said, climbing behind the wheel. "This is a very fine automobile for you to treat it so roughly. And it's also very fast." The sadistic smile returned as he turned the key and pressed the starter button, causing the massive engine underneath the hood to roar to life. "This baby can do better than two hundred and twenty mph. Wait until we get on the interstate and I'll open it up for you."

Daryl threw the car in gear and stomped the accelerator. The fat back tires instantly spun about, kicking up a blinding cloud of loose gravel and rubber smoke in Bill and Mack's faces before catching traction and leaving twin black marks across the parking lot. Behind them the roof of the plant came crashing down as the fire spread uncontrolled.

Looking at the two helpless men in the rearview mirror Daryl let out a mocking sigh. "Those poor guys, lying back there all helpless. In a moment or two a wall or something is going to come down and squash them like a couple of bugs. And then I'm afraid there won't be any pesky witnesses to verify those crazy stories you told your father."

Daryl smiled as the Cadillac roared down the plant driveway, the tires squealing as he swerved from one side to the other to avoid the obstacle course of potholes and broken glass but when they reached the gates he suddenly slammed on the brakes, causing Elsa to fly forward, striking her forehead against the dashboard. She fell back in her seat stunned, blood trickling from her nostrils.

"You know, Elsa, it might be a good idea if you were properly restrained. Your daddy would really be pissed if something were to happen to you now. And besides, it's the Law." Daryl pulled the harness belt down over her shoulders, making certain it was far too tight for her to move about freely. "There, that's much better, all safe and snug. And now away we go, next stop New York City."

Daryl directed his gaze forward. The way was clear as he began to step on the accelerator. And then a set of powerful headlights appeared out of the darkness in front of them. Before his eyes could adjust to the painful glare a large blue van crossed the road, blocking the much smaller Cadillac's way.

He weighed his options as half a dozen armed men emerged from the van, surrounding the car, their guns pointed directly at him. He quickly decided the wisest course of action was to immediately surrender and try to lie his way out of this very awkward looking situation. "Well, Elsa, it looks like you and your boyfriend might have succeeded in cooking everyone's goose. No doubt your daddy will have my hide nailed to the wall."

She smiled despite the pain as the glare from the van's headlights burned her skin. "Good. Maybe he'll let me have what's left."

Martin Kemp approached the car with a patient, determined stride. He carried no weapon. He didn't need one. Grabbing hold of the driver side door's latch and side view mirror he ripped it out of its frame, tossing it aside. Looking inside and seeing the blood on Elsa's face he grabbed Daryl by the collar, pulling him out of the car. Cold rage burned in his steel blue eyes. "Daryl, let's you and I have a little chat."

CHAPTER 26

Back in the old days, when the world still made a little sense, men usually weren't present when their children were born. It simply wasn't done. Tyler Whitfield always thought he preferred it that way but as the years continued to pass he was grateful Mischka had insisted he be present, that had been her people's way.

Minka was the first to come into the world. She looked so tiny and helpless as he picked her up in his arms, so cold and trembling. He thanked God because she appeared to be perfectly normal. And then she bit him, leaving a scar that he carried to this very day. She had been born with a full set of pointed teeth, tiny daggers, and a temperament to match.

Elsa had come as something of a surprise. Mischka hadn't looked like she was carrying twins but all of a sudden there she was. The first thing Whitfield noticed about his youngest daughter was her hands, the fingers were horribly elongated like her mother's. Other than that she appeared normal as well but he had already been bitten once and wasn't about to take any more chances.

And then Elsa looked up at him and held out her tiny arms, almost as if begging to be hugged. He looked into her big brown eyes so bright and alert and something magical occurred. It was true love, the first and only time he had ever experienced it.

Of course, Whitfield loved both his daughters dearly but Elsa had always been his favorite. Looking at the pictures of his children he let out a soft sigh. There were the only objects he kept on his desk.

Nature had played a cruel trick on both his children. Each was beautiful, and that wasn't just a father's pride. But he was more aware than most just how deceptive appearances could be.

Minka, the more human looking of his children had been born with the remorseless soul of a killer. She was cagey, deceptive and cruel, perfectly suited to survive in the outside world.

Elsa had grown more like her mother as she matured, but only in the physical sense. Her soul was undeniably human, but no, it was better than human. Elsa was gentle, loving, far too civilized to survive among her human cousins despite her superior intelligence and strength.

Whitfield picked up Elsa's picture, admiring it. The frame was pure gold but even that wasn't good enough to hold her image. The soul of an angel in the body of a killer.

One of the phones on the small table beside his desk rang several times before Whitfield heard it. It was the blue phone, the one used solely by Martin Kemp. It was bad news, somehow he knew it. Biting his bottom lip he grabbed the receiver, slowly bringing it up to his ear. "Yes, Martin."

"Mr. Whitfield, I have some wonderful news for you. And I'm afraid some that isn't so wonderful."

"Elsa?" he asked on the verge of tears.

"She's fine, Mr. Whitfield. We found her and we're bringing her home. We should be there by tomorrow afternoon."

"Thank Almighty God," Whitfield said, overwhelmed with relief. It felt as if the entire weight of the world had just been lifted from his shoulders. "What's the bad news?" he then asked.

Martin grew silent, drawing in a deep breath before replying. "Mitch Sinclair hasn't reported in since I sent him to keep an eye on Minka. That was forty eight hours ago. His car turned up at the rental agency but no one saw who brought it back."

"Oh no," Whitfield muttered, his joy cut short. Mitch Sinclair was a young man of exceptional character. If Daryl and Minka had anything to do with his disappearance he wanted to know. "Find out what happened to him, Martin. Don't let anyone stop you, not even Minka."

"I intend to. And, Mr. Whitfield I think there are a few more things you should know about. I might be overstepping my bounds and you can fire me if you want, but I'm going to tell you anyway."

Tyler Whitfield listened to what his Chief of Security had to say. Martin had been right, he didn't like it, but the information, unfortunately, didn't really surprise him either. Hanging up the phone he dropped to his knees and thanked God that his little girl was safe. At the moment nothing else really mattered.

Darkness, silence.

And then pain, the nagging, aching kind that gnaws on the bones like a dog with dull teeth.

Bill opened his eyes to find himself staring down the long black barrel of an automatic rifle. A very large and serious looking young man wielded the weapon in rock steady hands. Offering the man a forced smile he slowly reached down, touching his injured leg. The pain intensified tenfold, forcing him to immediately pull the hand back. He could also tell he was running a high fever. It would be his rotten kind of luck to die of something as mundane as an infection after surviving everything that had happened in the last few weeks.

"I was beginning to worry about you," said a very welcome voice. "You've been unconscious for a long time." It was Elsa.

Bill turned his gaze away from the young man with the gun to where she sat between two of Martin's men on a bench seat, her arms and wrists in heavy shackles. He was relieved to see that at least her injuries had been seen to. They were in a moving vehicle but other than that he had absolutely no idea where they were. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"I've been better."

"Where is Mack?"

"I don't know. They took him away in another van. He was all right though, in fact it took two of these guys to handle him. He's a lot stronger than he looks."

Bill nodded as they both grew silent. He desperately wanted to put his arms around Elsa, tell her everything would be all right, but it wasn't. This had been her first and probably only taste of freedom. No doubt her father would tighten up the security around her until not even a fly could slip through undetected. So why was he here instead of in the other van with Mack?

Elsa had been wondering the same thing. She had kept quiet as much as possible in hopes on eavesdropping on Martin Kemp and the men sitting up in front of the van but was unable to make out what they were saying over the noisy rumble of the diesel engine.

Bill tried to sit up on one elbow but the man covering him with the rifle pushed him back down with a heavy boot to the chest. "Mr. Metts, I've got orders to put you to sleep if you even think about giving me any trouble."

"He means it," Elsa warned. "Just lie still and try to relax."

Bill had no doubt she was telling the truth, From the looks the others were giving him it was pretty obvious they considered him highly expendable. His only option at the moment was to live to hopefully fight another day. Closing his eyes he quickly drifted back into a deep, dreamless state of unconsciousness.

The van rumbled onward, stopping only once to refuel. Elsa didn't move a muscle and Bill didn't stir from his fever induced sleep.

Martin sat in the front of the van, thinking about Mitch Sinclair. After what happened back at the bottling plant he was more certain than ever that Daryl and Minka were behind Mitch Sinclair's disappearance. When he could prove it he was going to kill them.

Curly sat behind the steering wheel, his bottom lip occasionally quivering as he held back the tears. He never did like leaving a man behind, especially not one he loved like a brother. He to, like Martin, was dreaming of the revenge he would take.

The van rumbled onward. It was nearly noon by the time they reached their destination. Conscious again and a little more coherent, Bill attempted to figure out where they were. What little could be seen through van's tinted rear windows and the amount of traffic noise led him to deduce they were somewhere in New York City. There was no mistaking the almost infamous outline of the towering buildings against the cloudless blue sky.

"Get the Medics down here ASAP," Martin barked as soon as the van rolled to a stop. Without hesitating, the two men seated near the back doors jumped out. From the brief glimpse the open doors afforded Bill surmised they were in a parking garage.

The two men returned a moment later, escorting an extremely attractive woman in a long white lab coat. In her hand she held a hypodermic syringe. Bill couldn't help staring as she climbed inside the van and made her way over to Elsa. She had exquisite, classical Greek features and a head of glistening blonde hair that rested on her shoulders. Her figure, at least what the long coat revealed, was just as pleasing to the eye.

The harsh look on the woman's face immediately softened as she offered Elsa an almost motherly kiss on the cheek. "Hi, sweetie. You really gave them a run for their money, didn't you?" She then turned toward Martin as he emerged from the front of the van, her rage returning in spades. "This isn't necessary."

"It's Mr. Whitfield's orders, Jenna, not mine," he replied in a soft, almost submissive tone. It didn't take a genius in quantum physics to realize he had it bad for her.

Sighing she turned back to Elsa, gently rolling up her left sleeve. "Sorry, sweetie, this won't hurt." Elsa didn't blink as the needle pierced her skin and the syringe's contents was pushed into her veins. For several moments she appeared completely immune to the effects of the powerful sedative and then her eyelids flickered shut and she went limp, nearly falling out of her seat.

Checking Elsa's vitals, the blonde tossed the spent syringe at Martin's feet. "There you go, Mr. Kemp, one heavily sedated little girl. Better tell your storm troopers to keep their weapons trained on her."

"Come on, Jenn, I'm just doing my job."

"That's Ms. Taylor to you, Mr. Kemp."

"Uh, excuse me," Bill said, sitting up, "would you please tell me what was in that syringe?" Jenna looked down at him, offering him an icy expression that would have given a penguin cold chills.

"Mr. Metts, the smartest thing you can do at the moment is keep quiet." She then turned her wrath toward the two guards as they unchained and carried Elsa out of the van. "And you two be gentle with her or I'll see to it that both your asses are fired!"

Bill watched as the men carried Elsa toward an elevator marked: PRIVATE. One man held her in his arms while half a dozen more formed a tight circle around them. Jenna followed, giving them hell every inch of the way. A special pass-key opened the door and she and the man carrying Elsa stepped inside.

The next thing Bill knew someone was dragging him out of the van and shoving a pair of crutches at him. He was then escorted to the same elevator where Martin waited for the car to return.

Bill gritted his teeth in grim anticipation. He despised elevators, they always made his stomach feel like it was slipping underneath his feet. "What building is this?" he asked, looking about.

"The doctor will have a look at your leg once we get you all nice and safely tucked away," Martin said softly. "Give her any trouble and you really will need medical attention."

"Well, where are we going?" Bill demanded. "You can at least tell me that much."

"We are not going anywhere," Martin replied as the elevator returned and the doors rolled open, "you are." Grabbing hold of the collar of Bill's jacket he shoved him into the elevator, almost knocking him off the crutches. The doors then closed and the car began its rapid ascent.

Leaning against the back wall of the car Bill noticed there weren't any control buttons, no doubt another security feature designed with Elsa in mind, and not at all comforting for someone deathly afraid of heights. He took a deep breath as the elevator continued to pick up speed, trying not to think about how many hundreds of feet it was taking him up. Suddenly he felt the urgent need to empty his bladder.

Finally, after almost a minute, the car came to an abrupt stop. The doors rolled open onto a dimly lit but lavishly furnished penthouse apartment. A voice came out of a loudspeaker located in the elevator's ceiling. "Please step out of the lift, Mr. Metts. We hope you had a pleasant flight and will enjoy your stay."

"Very funny." Bill hobbled out of the elevator, the doors closing behind him.

"So tell me, Mr. Bill Metts, like the ball team, do pleasant surroundings and comfortable furnishing still not a prison make?" It was Elsa. Bill looked about in the gloom, squinting until he found her. She was sprawled out of a large blue velvet sofa, already recovering from the sedative.

"It's....really nice," he replied at loss for a more articulate response. He was also deathly afraid to touch anything. The marble bust of the Greek goddess Athena resting on a pillar by the elevator doors looked authentic and it was only one of at least a dozen more beautiful and probably priceless objects scattered about the large, circular room.

"Elsa laughed softly. "That it is. Half this junk should be in a museum but even luxury can become deathly boring after awhile. You'll be ready to pull your hair out within a week, believe me, I know." She then let out a loud yawn, lazily stretching out across the sofa. "I'm afraid I'm still a little out of it. Why don't you have a better look around, just take it easy on that leg. Jenna should be up in a little bit to patch us up."

"So, that was the world famous Doctor Taylor," Bill said, admiring an enormous mahogany bookcase holding hundreds of leather bound volumes and first editions.

"Not to mention my personal physician, psychiatrist, dietician and keeper, yours also now, I suppose. You'll like her once you get to know her, or course she can be a little bossy at times." Letting out another, somewhat quieter yawn Elsa rolled over and went back to sleep. Making his way over to the sofa Bill checked her vitals. The slight smile curling her lips informed him she was still semi-conscious. He had no idea they were being watched.

A closer look about the penthouse proved Elsa correct. They were locked away in what had to be the most luxurious prison on earth. It was obvious no expense had been spared to make her as comfortable as possible. There were three bedrooms with private baths, all with antique claw foot bathtubs large enough to float a fully loaded aircraft carrier, walk in showers with at least a dozen showerheads situated about where they could get any part of you squeaky clean and all surrounded by Italian marble.

There was also a billiards room, dining room, a gymnasium and a gourmet kitchen with almost as much open floor space as his entire house back in Montevallo. From the stainless steel refrigerator filled with fresh food it was obvious someone had taken his dietary needs into account also. Grabbing a large red apple from the crisper drawer he made his way back into the living room. And then he noticed the home entertainment center. It boasted at least an eighty inch screen and a state of the art sound system.

Walking over to the terrace doors to have a look outside he saw that the entire space had been enclosed in a cage or very thick iron bars. Apparently Elsa's father wasn't taking any chances on a repeat performance of her great escape. Still, there had to be something he had overlooked, that one fatal chink in the armor they could take advantage of. The unsuspecting fool had no idea he was dealing with a man who had seen "Escape from Alcatraz" at least a dozen times."

Hobbling back over to the sofa Bill set his crutches aside and sat down beside Elsa, quietly eating his apple. A loudspeaker hidden away somewhere in the room suddenly click on with a slight burst of static. Startled, Bill looked about the room for the source of the noise. It also roused Elsa from her drug-induced slumber.

"It's daddy," she said rubbing her eyes.

"Hello, sweetheart," Tyler Whitfield said. From the sound of his voice it was obvious he was extremely tired. Elsa didn't respond. "I'm so relieved to see you're safe. You can't imagine how worried I've been." When she still didn't respond Whitfield changed the subject of the one sided conversation. A video camera mounted on the ceiling turned slowly toward Bill, its lens focusing in on him. "So, this is your young man. Bill, isn't it?"

Elsa sighed then finally said, "Yes, Daddy. Now please go away."

Whitfield ignored his daughter's request. "Well, I'm very happy to meet you son. Martin has told me lots of good things about you, especially how you took care of Elsa. I'm very grateful." Bill remained silent, causing the reclusive billionaire to laugh softly. "That's all right, Bill. I understand how upset you must be right now, but I am looking forward to getting to know you. I know we'll be the best of friends."

"We're not hanging around long enough for you and I to get better acquainted," Bill replied. "You have no right to keep us here. We will find a way out."

Whitfield zoomed the camera's lens in still closer for a better look at Bill on his monitor. An rather unremarkable looking young man, but he was honest and had character, traits sorely lacking in Minka's choice of a mate. The boy could be the answer to all his prayers, someone he could trust to take care of Elsa and run the company when the time came. "That's the spirit, Bill, keep your minds occupied. Elsa is an incredibly bright girl but she's so easily bored. Any way, I'm very happy she found someone to care for, and a doctor at that. What more could a father ask for?"

"Never mind the flattery," Bill said, tightening his fingers around the half-eaten apple. "What happened to Mack?"

"Who?"

"Mack Kincaid, my brother-in-law. He was at the warehouse when Daryl and Minka's pet helgum tried to kill us."

"Daryl is also the one that shot Bill," Elsa added," rubbing her eyes into focus. "Of course you won't believe me, you never do."

Whitfield sighed deeply. Kicking his shoes off he turned his chair toward the now uncovered office windows, taking in the panoramic view of Manhattan. It was already regaining some of its former beauty. "I've already talked to Daryl, Kitten. He claims there was no helgum at the warehouse and that he shot Bill in self-defense after being shot at first."

"Then why are we covered in bruises?" Elsa demanded. "Do you think we did this to ourselves?"

Whitfield sighed again. Sinking lower in his chair he propped his stocking feet up on the desk. "Please try to relax, sweetheart. I'm starting to think you've been right about Daryl and Minka all along. As a matter of fact I've had Martin keeping them under surveillance for quite some time."

"And?"

"And they're clean, almost too much so."

"You still haven't told us about Mack!" Bill exclaimed.

"Well, I suppose Mr. Kincaid is back home with his wife," Whitfield offered. "They're lovely people. In fact we had a nice long chat over the phone last evening. They've been taken care of."

"Daddy, what did you do?" Elsa demanded.

"Don't worry, Kitten. I just explained the situation to them, told them I'd ruin them if they ever breathe a word of what's happened. As luck would have it we own the publishing house that prints Mr. Kincaid's novels."

"You wouldn't."

From how weakly Whitfield laughed it was painfully obvious he was on the verge of total exhaustion. "Of course not. But they don't know that. Sometimes it comes in handy having such a sinister reputation."

"It's well deserved, Daddy."

The weary smile vanished from Whitfield's face. That particular comment had been completely unexpected, not that it wasn't true. "Well, I should have been in bed a long time ago," he said, regaining his composure. "Maybe I can get some rest now that I know you're safe. Jenna is on her way up to see to Bill's leg, and maybe tonight we can have supper."

The loudspeaker clicked off with another burst of static."

"Well, what do we do now?" Elsa asked, resting her head on Bill's lap.

"Make love," he replied without hesitation.

"What?"

"You heard me. That is as soon as I get this leg of mine taken care of. Of course you'll have to do most of the work."

Elsa giggled. It was a beautiful, girlish sound. "I think I can manage that. But what then? We can't just lie around making love the rest of our lives."

"Not to worry. I'm already planning our great escape. It'll be bold and daring. They'll talk about it for years."

Elsa snuggled up to Bill. purring softly. "This I've got to hear. Are you going to blow the building up with chemicals found in the average household kitchen like the hero in Mack's novels?

"Maybe."

Elsa smiled. In time Bill would come realize their situation was hopeless, but at least they would be together.

CHAPTER 27

Although they didn't know it yet, Bill and Elsa's words hadn't fallen on completely deaf ears. Already suspicious of Daryl and Minka's activities and deeply disturbed by the amount of evidence Martin Kemp's men had collected, including a somewhat blurry but recognizable photo of Daryl's car running a red light in Montevallo the night Bill's morgue was broken into, Tyler Whitfield decided to keep a much closer eye on his eldest daughter and son-in-law.

Whitfield had already gone up one side of Daryl and down the other for answers that simply didn't gel. And Minka wasn't saying anything except how badly she was hurt that Elsa would accuse her of committing such horrible acts.

But Elsa's story rang of the truth. It was too precise to be fabricated. She could offer names and places to be checked out, and so far everything had been exactly the way she claimed it would be. The black substance spattered on the walls of Bill's cabin had so far defied Jenna Taylor's attempts at analysis but the reaction it had on a dead lab rat was disturbing to say the least

According to Bill, who struck Whitfield as a painfully honest young man, there had been not one but three helgums, all created by Minka to hunt down Elsa and kill anyone that got in the way. He also claimed to have no knowledge about Mitch Sinclair's disappearance and was even willing to submit to a polygraph to prove it.

Whitfield hired a private investigator. He and his two associates followed Daryl and Minka's every move day and night for two months. In the end they reported nothing out of the ordinary, even after breaking into the house one evening while the unsuspecting couple were out to dinner. The only thing even remotely disturbing was some rather bizarre looking furniture they found in the basement equipped with leather restraining belts. It sounded like some type of bondage equipment to Whitfield who had absolutely no desire to know the tawdry details of his oldest daughter's sex-life.

The detective that followed Daryl and Minka to the restaurant also reported nothing out of the ordinary with the exception of how rare Minka's roast beef had been. Of course, thanks to the dark spirits that she commanded Minka knew all about her father's snooping into her personal life and had been extremely careful not to do anything even slightly incriminating.

To make the deception even sweeter, Minka had taken an active interest in raising money for charities benefiting the mentally ill. Soon her reputation as a tireless worker for such a worthwhile cause earned her a commendation from the Governor of the State of Alabama to be awarded at a banquet in her honor.

Minka was busy putting on the final touches of her makeup when Daryl leaned over her, kissing the nape of her neck. Looking up at his reflection in the dressing table mirror she smiled. He looked adorable in his new tuxedo, like an anemic penguin.

All was right with the world again and nothing was going to be allowed to spoil things. Poor little Elisabeth was safely locked away in her penthouse, and with a fairly handsome man for companionship. Minka wondered if she knew how fortunate she really was. Most people would sell their souls for that apartment of hers.

Rising to her feet Minka admired her new designer gown. It was a lovely, light shade of green that really set off the simple strand of pearls she wore. She looked beautiful as always, good enough to eat. Daryl had even had the Cadillac fully detailed where they could arrive at the Governor's Mansion in style.

"Are you ready?" Daryl asked, bending over to check his tie in the mirror.

"Of course."

Taking Minka's hand Daryl led her out to the car, even opening the door for her.

A few moments later they were cruising along the interstate at better than 80mph. Modern jazz blasted over the stereo speakers while Daryl tapped his foot in time to the music.

In the mood to try something risky, Minka unfastened her seatbelt and leaned forward. Daryl grinned as her fingers found his zipper. "Easy, Love, we don't have time to run back to the house to change."

"Who says we'll need to? I'm a very neat eater."

Daryl laughed as her head disappeared under the steering wheel. He could feel the blood rushing into his penis as she engulfed him. His breathing grew heavier as her tongue worked its magic. Things were just getting interesting when a black shape suddenly appeared in the headlights, followed by the nerve wracking sound of crunching metal.

The car's airbags inflated a fraction of a second later, keeping Daryl's sternum from being crushed against the steering wheel. Minka' however, wasn't quite as fortunate, her forehead hitting the floorboard hard.

The damaged car swerved into the center guardrail, grazing the paint down to the bare sheet metal and creating a blinding shower of orange sparks. The tires squealed like a soul in torment as Daryl, still blinded by the airbags, stomped the brake pedal. The car slid sideways another sixty feet before finally coming to stop.

Silence.

"Oh....damn it," Daryl groaned, pushing the now deflated airbag out of his face. He automatically turned his head both ways and felt his arms and legs, making certain nothing was broken. And then he saw Minka curled up underneath the dash. "Baby! Are you OK?"

She opened her eyes and looked up at him. "I'm a little shaken up but I'll live. What about you?"

"Not a scratch," Daryl said, carefully helping her back up into her seat. "Those damned airbags really work."

"Well what happened?"

"I hit some crazy son of a bitch trying to run across the highway. I think I smashed him up pretty good too."

"Really?" Minka suddenly forgot about their near brush with death, her big brown eyes lighting up at the thought of all that wonderful bloody flesh. It would be so easy to steal a quick bite or two, no one would ever know. "Daryl honey, you don't suppose I could--"

"No!" he said, zipping his trousers up. "Your old man has already chewed my head off once. Just stay put while I go have a look. Why don't you see if you can find a cell-phone and call the cops?"

Minka folded her arms, pouting up like a little girl. "Spoil-sport.

Daryl climbed out of the wrecked car. His legs were so weak he could barely stand up. They grew even weaker when he saw the extent of the damage. The hood was gone, the front bumper and fenders crushed inward. Scalding hot steam escaped from the radiator and all manner of fluids gushed out of the engine and transmission. His beautiful car was a complete write off. Better than a hundred thousand dollars of customized work shot to hell.

And if all that wasn't bad enough it appeared the crazy fucker he had hit was dead. The idiot's belly had split open and his intestines were spilled out across the asphalt. The smell was horrible beyond description.

Enraged, Daryl hobbled over to the mangled pedestrian and turned him over to see the face of the man that had destroyed his beloved car. There wasn't much of the face left but he still recognized it at once. "Oh my God. It can't be you."

The figure opened its one remaining eye, struggling to sit up despite the severity of its injuries. There was a nauseating popping sound as its spine broke loose from the pelvis. The now disembodied legs kept moving with an unnatural life of their own.

Daryl watched in utter disbelief as the rotting corpse that had once been Kerry Hemmings used its remaining arm to pull itself toward the car where Minka sat.

Hi, Minka," the dead boy gurgled as he climbed in through the open driver side door. "It's a good thing I ran into you guys. I was just on my way over to your place to see if I could have a little more blood. You know, just enough to tide me over until I can get myself back together."

Minka screamed as Kerrie's gleaming black teeth tore into her exposed ​  
shoulder....

# Table Of Contents

  1. PREFACE
  2. CHAPTER 1
  3. CHAPTER 2
  4. CHAPTER 3
  5. CHAPTER 4
  6. CHAPTER 5
  7. CHAPTER 6
  8. CHAPTER 7
  9. CHAPTER 8
  10. CHAPTER 9
  11. CHAPTER 10
  12. CHAPTER 11
  13. CHAPTER 12
  14. CHAPTER 13
  15. CHAPTER 14
  16. CHAPTER 15
  17. CHAPTER 16
  18. CHAPTER 17
  19. CHAPTER 18
  20. CHAPTER 19
  21. CHAPTER 20
  22. CHAPTER 21
  23. CHAPTER 22
  24. CHAPTER 23
  25. CHAPTER 24
  26. CHAPTER 25
  27. CHAPTER 26
  28. CHAPTER 27

  1. Start

