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Shake, Rattle & Stomp

About the Author
Shake, Rattle & Stomp:

A Tiffany Waters Paranormal Mystery

Rebecca M. Senese
Copyright Information

Shake, Rattle & Stomp: A Tiffany Waters Paranormal Mystery

Copyright © (2012) by Rebecca M. Senese

Published by RFAR Publishing

Cover Design copyright © (2012) by

RFAR Publishing

Cover art copyright © Philcold/Dreamstime.com

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

SHAKE, RATTLE & STOMP

Unconvinced that a crushed car is an accident, patrol office Tiffany Waters find herself rescuing a known gambler from a hulking shadow bent on destruction. When her visit to persuade him to cooperate ends in the man's death by a monster, Tiffany races to find answers while the beast turns its attentions to its new target: Tiffany!

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SHAKE, RATTLE & STOMP

The car at the end of the alley was one of those custom jobs, expensive with special rims, leather upholstered seats, and a flashy silver paint job. Or at least it had been until something had smashed down the front end of it.

My partner Doug Clark still stood off to the side, shaking his head as if in dismay over a death but there was no body in the car, just the crushed car itself. I peered over the crumbled trunk into the front windshield. Not even a drop of blood in the front seat.

"Damn shame," Doug muttered behind me. "Damn shame."

I ignored him although I wanted to slap him to get him to help me look around. How had this car ended up in an alley with a crumpled front end like this? I couldn't see any marks from the car on either of the red brick walls lining the alley. Sure they had their share of marks and scratches, left by a multitude of collisions or whatever but nothing matched the silver car here at the back. Had someone crushed it somewhere else and dumped it here? If so, why?

"Damn shame," Doug said.

I snapped my notebook shut and turned back to him. His belly encroached just a little over his belt, giving him the look of a man ten months pregnant and ready to give birth. Even the black of the police uniform didn't do much to slim his line. He'd pushed his hat back on his head, letting a shock of hair spill onto his forehead. A forlorn look etched on his meaty face.

"Are you going to take a look at this, Doug?" I said.

He blinked at me as if just realizing I was there. "What's to look at, Tiff? It's a damaged beauty?"

I sighed. "Aren't you the least bit curious as to how it got here?"

"What do you mean? Someone drove it here?"

"How?" I said. "Look at it. No one could drive it in this condition."

He shook his head at me, or maybe he was shaking his head at the car. I turned back to look at it again. With no body I imagined this investigation would be kept to a minimum.

After all, we had to stay within the budget.

But this one was weird and my mind couldn't let it go even when I heard the sound of Doug's boots scraping on the concrete as he walked back up the alley. He was going to call a tow truck from the squad car. They'd collect the car and drag it to the pound where it would sit for the prescribed time before being dragged to the dump.

The license plates had been removed, I noticed, and I bet we wouldn't find any papers in the glove box either. I circled around to the trunk, my boots kicking away gravel as I walked. I pulled out a handkerchief from my pocket, a white thing with lace at the corners, a gift from my mother who was in denial that her daughter was a police officer. I used the kerchief to test the handle of the trunk. It popped open. Empty. Not even any blood stains. Just half a folded newspaper. I leaned over the trunk to get a better look at the paper. The sports section from last week.

I finished circling the car. I couldn't see any drag marks on the road, nothing to show how the car had been brought here. Without a victim, the police department wouldn't care. I would just be left with my own curiosity and a nagging sense of something wrong.

No one ever paid attention to that. Not even my mother.

Nothing more to see here, Tiffany, move it along, I thought, as if that would stop the questions from crowding my mind. You're too noisy, my mother had always said, you ask too many questions. Girls shouldn't do that. My mother had been a firm believer in the seen but not heard adage. I, on the other hand, wanted to know about everything so was angling for detective eventually much to the dismay of my mother.

I always figured she called me Tiffany as a type of punishment.

Becoming a police officer was my revenge.

But I wouldn't get any closer to that detective shield with this kind of case. Just let it go, Tiff, maybe there'll be a nice drug shooting or something else juicy in the next while.

I could dream.

Okay, chalk this one up in the weird column, a crushed car at the end of an alley. No injuries, no complainant. Maybe they'd find the owner from the VIN number stamped at the bottom of the car, maybe they wouldn't. I headed back up the alley to join Doug at the cruiser. Not my problem anymore.

But it still bugged me.

* * * *

Home was a tiny bachelor apartment in the lower east end above a dry cleaner. Dinner was leftover pizza from the night before. Purgatory was the flashing light on my answering machine blinking steadily at me when I walked in the door. I'd been ignoring it all evening but knew if I didn't pick up the message by nine and return that call, I'd be woken by sirens and pounding on my door before two.

My mother didn't believe in the delicate approach.

I wolfed down my leftover pizza and chased it with a glass of wine. A second glass clutched in my hand fortified me for the answering machine. I raised it to my lips as I pressed the button.

The machine beeped and the angel of doom spoke from the speaker.

"Tiffany dear, it's your mother. I wanted to remind you about cousin Gail's wedding in three weeks. You have a dress, don't you? Please tell me you'll be wearing a dress. Try to find something less boxy this time. Has your hair grown out any? Anyway, I've added your name to our gift so you can just give me a cheque for your portion. You can meet us at the house around one. Call me back to let me know that this is okay. Talk to you soon, dear!"

The machine beeped as I drained my glass.

The temptation to shave my head was almost overwhelming but would just give my mother more ammunition. I ran a hand over my cropped blond hair. Maybe a mohawk? Too bad that wouldn't go over well at work.

Call her back. A shudder ran up my arms. I knew if I put it off for too long she'd just continue to call. And call. And call. There was no escaping from my mother. I figured I must have done something really horrible in a past life to be saddled with her.

I set my glass down and picked up the phone. Steady, Tiff, I thought. I could do this.

I hit the speed dial for my mother's house. The phone ran four times and then the answering machine picked up. My heart pounded. Reprieve! If I left a message fast enough, even if she was there, she wouldn't be able to pick up. On your mark, get set...

"Hey mom, I got your message. Yes, I'm getting a dress for Gail's wedding and put my name down for the gift. I'll bring money. Meet you at your house by one. See you then. Love ya! Bye!"

I hung up. Had I heard a click just before I finished my message? Had my mother been there and just picked up? She couldn't accuse me of not calling her back. I took a deep breath to steady my heart. Another glass of wine tempted me but I didn't want to head down that road. I knew of too many cops who dealt with their stress that way. I didn't want to be one of them. Instead I headed for the door, grabbing my gym bag on the way.

A cool evening breeze ruffled my hair as I headed down the cracked sidewalk. I had the bag slung over my left shoulder and walked with my hands held just away from my body, easier to punch or grab any assailant. Not that anyone ever bothered me. That was the benefit of being five eleven and almost one hundred and eighty-five pounds, most of it muscle. I was the body builder son my father never had and an embarrassment to my mother who seemed to believe that the fifties ideal should live on, not realizing that it hadn't existed even then.

Ah well, if I hadn't had my mother to rebel against, who knew were I would have ended up? Certainly not pulling the door open to Fergus's Gym.

The door creaked as I pulled. The old neon sign above the door flickered. The smell of grease, sweat and ammonia assaulted me. I inhaled. Smelled like home. This was a real gym, not one of those places where women dressed in little colour coordinated outfits and dabbed at their foreheads to prevent their makeup from running. This was a gym where working out was serious business. I'd come for over two years before the regulars started to give me the occasional nod. It took almost another year before I got a 'howdy.'

A few other women attended the gym but it was mostly men. I changed fast in the change room and hit the weights. Within an hour, I'd managed to get through most of my workout. I hated the squats the worst, so naturally left them to the end when I was tired and cursed extra while pushing through them. Beside me, sitting on one of the benches, old man Dryer chuckled at my whispered curses.

"If you're gonna swear, Tiff, at least do it proper," he said.

"Screw you, Dryer." I puffed through another squat.

He chuckled as he bent over to pick up a fifty pound weight. He started doing bicep curls. Sweat glistened on his arm.

"You're getting there," he said. "I thought a cop would be able to swear better than that."

I finished my final squat and shook out my legs. I turned back to him at the weight bench. His arm bulged as he curled the weight. Deep wrinkles covered his face. He wore a head band around his bald head to keep the sweat from his eyes. From the neck down, he looked like a thirty year old. Only his bald, wrinkled head gave any indication of his true age which was closer to seventy.

"I must have missed that fucking class at the academy," I said. "Shit."

He guffawed, his eyes twinkling merrily at me. I smiled and gave him a salute, leaving him to his workout. He waved with his free hand, not missing a beat with the other.

A few of the other old timers like Dryer nodded at me as I headed for the change room. I nodded back. Every time I came, there was a core group of them always around, as if they lived at the gym. Maybe they did. I could think of worse places to hang out.

A fast shower and change left my skin tingling as I left the gym. I could feel energy pulse through me, the natural high after the workout. Better than any drug, I always thought. Now I could even face my mother with a smile, I thought. Hmm, maybe I should hit the gym in the morning before Gail's wedding, gain an endorphin rush before facing my mother.

A crash of metal interrupted my musing.

I jumped at the sound. I looked up and down the street. No sign of any cars. Nothing that would have made that smashing sound. Had I imagined it?

Another crashed sounded, coming from an alley just ahead to my right. Clutching the handle of my gym bag on my left shoulder, I ran forward, skidding into the alley. Dark shadows flashed past me as I ran. The thought - what the hell am I doing? \- darted through my head but was gone before my body could react. I still ran forward.

The alley widened out at the back into a lot behind a cluster of buildings. Other alleys fed into the lot. Several cars sat parked. A couple of lights on the back of the buildings cast faint yellow glows down on the cars. At the far end, I spotted a blue car, the back end just visible in the pale light. Something loomed over it in the shadows then came smashing down.

Crash!

The car jerked back, rolling a little more into the light. The front end looked smashed as if something heavy and huge had fallen on the front. The front tires had blown, sagging into the ground. The back end trembled on the rear tires. The dark shadow ahead of it moved, rising up against the backdrop of the brick building behind it. As it lifted, it cleared the edge of the shadow, rising up to the third story of the building. I squinted, trying to get a better idea of what I was seeing. Was it a boulder?

It swung down, landing with a crash on the roof of the car. The windshield exploded, crumpling under the weight of the blow. The front end of the car bowed into the ground but did not rebound back. The shock absorbers had failed.

The boulder swung back up but I could see it wasn't quite a boulder but the end of some kind of... club? I couldn't think of calling it anything else. As my eyes adjusted to the dim lighting I could make out a vague shape in the shadow, impossibly huge, standing almost as tall as the building, hunching to hide in the shadows. The club thing lifted again, clearing the edge of the shadows to give me a better look.

Definitely a club and I could see a huge four fingered hand gripping the end. Thick yellow crusted, chipped nails decorated the ends of the thick fingers as they clutched the club. The skin had a leathery, oil brown look to it. The club swung down again and smashed through the wind shield.

Someone screamed.

I cried out in response. The club lifted again. This time a great rumbling sounded from the shadow. The figure backed away, sinking deeper into the darkness then turned to escape down the opposite alley. As it stepped into a dim pool of light, I caught a fleeting glimpse before it fled.

A huge, hunched figure, two legged and two armed like a man but impossibly huge. The head glancing back over its shoulder at me had a thick brow with stubby horns on either side of its forehead. Tusk-like teeth protruded from the bottom of its open mouth. The ground trembled as it walked, disappearing down the alley.

I ran for the car. Reaching the passenger's side, I peered through the shattered glass. Inside, I saw the crumpled figure of a man, trapped under the steering wheel that looked almost imbedded into his lap. He moaned. Blood covered his face from the shattered windshield. His hand jerked on the seat beside him.

My hands shook as I dug in my gym bag for my cell phone. I dialed nine one one for an ambulance and waited, staying beside the destroyed car.

"I've called for help," I said to the man in the car, not even knowing if he was conscious enough to understand me. My voice sounded small and vulnerable in the darkened lot. I clutched my bag to me and waited for the wail of the ambulance and police cruiser. I only looked back at the dark shadows where the creature had disappeared once. Okay, maybe twice.

It didn't return.

* * * *

"Sounds like you had an eventful night," Doug said the next morning as I tucked my hair under my cap.

"Just another crushed car," I said.

"With a victim this time," he said. "Guy still alive, I heard. You're a hero."

His lips pursed as he said it as if he'd swallowed something sour. Doug didn't like being shown up by a younger partner. But I'd had enough of coddling his ever expanding butt.

I turned back to him. "I'm a police officer," I said. "Maybe you should try it some time."

Around us, several of the other men smirked then wiped it from their faces as Doug looked around. He glared at me and hooked a finger.

"Come on, hero, let's go be police officers."

"Yes, sir," I said.

"Too bad you didn't see what happened," he said as we headed for our cruiser.

"It was all over by the time I got there," I said. I slid into the passenger's seat, relinquishing the driving to him. Doug always insisted as the senior partner that he drove unless he wanted to read a magazine or book, then he handed the keys to me. I didn't think he'd be handing me the keys again any time soon.

He grunted as he got in and we headed out on our beat. I stared out the passenger window. I'd lied to the investigating officers, claiming to hear a crash which attracted me into the alley where I found the car already smashed up. I didn't describe the creature I'd seen. Who would believe me? A being over three stories tall, carrying a club, horns on its head and tusks in its mouth? It was like some monster out of a fairytale, not the back alley of a grubby downtown neighbourhood.

I didn't want to be a laughing stock so I kept my mouth shut. But it gnawed at me. What the hell was that thing?

Our shift passed. Nothing unusual happened, just the regular domestic disturbances, scaring the crap out of shoplifting kids, a purse snatching and a woman who lost her dog. Doug found the dog three blocks away, huddled under a car and triumphantly returned it to its joyful owner. The rest of the afternoon he strutted around as if he was the big hero.

I kept my opinion to myself.

At the end of the shift, I snuck onto the computer to run a quick search on the incident from the night before. The John Doe in the car had been identified: Raymond Neville, known gambler. I reviewed his scant file. He'd been caught up in a sting at the race track several years ago but nothing since then. He'd been known to play and lose, paying off his losses with money borrowed from his wife or family. So what was he doing in a back alley with his car being thumped on by some monster?

Not your case, Tiff, I thought. Just let it go. I logged out of the system and grabbed my purse. Time to head home. I had a life to deal with and no time for nonsense.

Somehow my car ended up in the hospital parking lot.

I sat in the driver's seat, staring at the ticket tucked on the dash under the windshield. It reflected in the glass at me like an accusing finger.

What the hell was I doing here? I had stuff to do, groceries to buy, workouts, friends to call, a mother to avoid. My life was full. Why was I sitting in a parking lot thinking about questioning Raymond Neville?

It wasn't even my case.

But I hadn't told them everything so the investigating officers would never figure it out. Who would think to look for a giant with a club? Would Raymond mention it? I had to know. I had to find out what the hell it meant.

I climbed out of the car.

Neville was out of ICU and in a four bed ward with only one other occupant. The other two beds lay empty, sheets tucked in and waiting. So much for a lack of bed space in hospitals, I thought as I entered the room. The smell of disinfectant was stronger here than in the hallways. My shoes made a shushing sound on the linoleum. I found Neville by the window, the curtain half drawn to shield him from the door.

I recognized his face from when the paramedics pulled him from the car, except now his expression wasn't contorted in pain. His blue watery eyes had the heavy lidded look of prescription pain killers. A tube ran into his nose, taped to his right cheek. His thinning brown hair lay limp on his forehead.

"Mr. Neville?" I bent over his bed, keeping my voice low to not disturb the other patient. This close, I could smell the sour stench of antiseptic and stale cigarettes.

He made a soft moaning sound. His pupils seemed to fix on me and focus.

"Mr. Neville, I need to ask you a few questions. Can you answer me?"

His lips trembled, worked at forming words. "You? Who you?"

"I'm a police officer," I said. I pulled my badge out of my pocket and flashed it at him, angling it to avoid the curious look of the other patient across the room. I could see her craning her neck to get a look. I crossed to the foot of Neville's bed, grabbed the curtain and dragged it closed. A loud hrumph sounded from across the room.

"Cop?" Neville's eyes widened in alarm. "Wanna lawyer."

"Take it easy, Mr. Neville, I'm not looking to jam you up. I just need to ask a few questions about your accident."

His lips pressed closed but he didn't ask me to leave. Technically with the request for a lawyer I was supposed to stop talking to him but technically I shouldn't even have been there in the first place so what the hell.

"I won't be using anything you say against you," I said.

His expression loosened, looking less like he was sucking on a lemon. He gave me a brief nod.

"What were you doing in that lot last night?" I said.

"Getting my car. Cheap rates," he said.

"Is there a gambling establishment inside one of those building?" I said. He got the constipated look again on his face. "Okay, never mind," I said. "You were getting your car and then what?"

His gaze shifted away from me toward the window over my shoulder. I could almost feel him trying to find the proper words.

"Don't 'member," he said. "Must had an accident."

"Accident? That accident was thumping a huge club down on your car. It almost killed you."

His gaze snapped back to me. His face grew paler against the white pillow. "No. Whadya talking... no."

"I was there, Mr. Neville." I leaned closer to him, blocking his view of the window so he had no where else to look. "I saw something in the shadows smashing a club down on your car. What was it?"

His head jerked from side to side. The tube tugged at his nose, the tape stretching on his skin.

"No..."

"Did you get somebody mad?" I said. "Did they want to make an example of you?"

Sweat beaded on his forehead. He sucked in a ragged breath, making the tube in his nose hiss.

"No!"

"What was it, Mr. Neville? You had to have seen it? I can help you."

His head sagged against the pillow. He bit his bottom lip turning the skin white with pressure. Then he released it. Blood rushed back to his lip, turning it from white to pink. He gave a little nod.

"'kay," he said then mumbled something.

"Pardon," I said.

His head whipped from side to side. "No, you think I'm crazy."

"I won't, Mr. Neville, I promise. I saw that club."

Something in my expression must have convinced him. I could feel the tension run out of his body as he sagged into the mattress.

"What was it?" I said.

"Monster." He whispered so softly I had to lean closer to hear. Now I could smell the sourness of his breath.

"A monster?" I said.

"Huge thing, skin like leather, horns on its head. It roared at me, had these big teeth." He lifted his hands to show me. "Almost the size of the building."

"But what was it?" I said.

He shook his head, unable to give a more precise name to the thing that had attacked him, the thing I'd caught only a glimpse of but couldn't forget.

I tried to find out the reason for the attack but he clammed up, refusing to say more. When I caught his hand inching toward the call button for the nurse, I left, promising to come back. He shook his head at me and turned away to look out the window.

Well, that had turned out to be a whole pile of nothing. By the time I left the hospital, the sun was setting over the parking lot. I climbed into my car and headed toward home. I still had to get groceries and pick up my extra uniform from the dry cleaners.

So naturally I drove back to the lot.

I parked outside on the street, grabbed my flashlight and headed down the alley. My feet kicked crumpled cigarette packs and crushed beer cans. I avoided the nastier items. Tonight the smell of refuse was stronger, hanging in the air. I noticed the dumpsters on the left side of the lot. In the darkness of last night, I hadn't seen them.

Yellow police caution tape still blocked off the scene but no one stood guard. I ducked under the tape and moved into the centre of the lot. The sun had passed below the height of the buildings, plunging the area into steadily darkening shadows. I flicked on my flashlight, a superbright, LED special, and swung the beam in a slow arc around me.

The dumpster had a dent in the side, too high to have been made by any car. I headed over to it. Tiny flakes of something that might be paint clung to the outer edges of the dent. I fished in my pocket and pulled out a plastic sandwich bag. The inside was contaminated but maybe if I inverted it. I did so, wrapping it around my fingers and grabbing at the flakes. A few fell into the plastic. I then folded the plastic several times and stuffed it in my pocket. I had no idea what it could be but for some reason that dent, the shape of it and location made me think of a mark left by a kick. I remembered my brother kicking in a metal garbage can when we were kids. The resulting dent looked very much the same.

I moved back toward where the car had settled, using my flashlight to survey the ground. Nothing of much use there. I then lifted the beam to scan the walls of the buildings.

Naturally the officers at the crime scene would not have examined the brick walls above the height of the car. I shone my beam higher, letting it play over the rough surface of the brick. A perfect surface for snagging paint, fabric, any kind of trace evidence. Maybe that creature had left a spare finger nail behind. Anything to prove to myself that I hadn't lost my mind.

As I examined the wall I noticed the daylight fading. Did I really want to stay hanging out in this lot after full dark? The meager lights on the buildings had not switched on yet. All I had was my flashlight and although strong, it wasn't the same as daylight.

One final pass, I thought, moving the beam over the brick again. The same rough texture, the same irregular paint job. The same... wait, what was that?

I hurried forward. Just out of reach, even at my height, something had snagged on the brick. It looked almost like a piece of fabric. The light breeze caught it and it waved at me as if calling for attention.

I checked my pockets for another sandwich bag and only found a crumpled but clean tissue. Good enough. Switching my flashlight to my left hand, I reached up with my right. Even on tiptoes, it was still a few inches out of my reach.

Okay, what was around to stand on?

You could come back tomorrow, leave a mark on the ground to remember the spot, ran through my mind but already I'd turned to look around. Over by the building on the right I spotted several concrete blocks. One or two of those would give me just the right amount of height.

Grabbing the block and holding on to the flashlight at the same time proved a challenge. I half dragged, half carried it back to the spot on the wall where I'd spotted the piece of whatever. A flick up of the light showed me I was almost right at it. I nudged the block an inch to the left. There.

The block rocked a little when I stepped onto it. My feet hung over the sides and I could feel my toes trying to curl around it inside my shoes as if I was on a skate board. Steady. I lifted the flashlight, then reached with the tissue.

Still an inch or so out of reach. Dammit. I'd need a second block.

This time, not only was it a challenge to drag the block over but lifting it onto the first block almost damaged my toes as the block slipped a few times and fell to the ground. I ended up squatting with my legs apart, toes safe, the flashlight on the ground, pointing at the blocks, as I heaved the second one onto the first. They both rocked for a moment and then settled. My quad muscles burned nicely as I stood up, reminding me of my workout from the night before.

I took a breath and stepped up onto the blocks. The two felt even less steady than the one, as if trying to rock in opposite directions. I stood breathing in steady breaths, letting my balance acclimatize to the shifting of weight. Finally I lifted the light beam onto the wall and reached with the tissue.

Ah, lots of room to spare now. My fingers closed onto the wayward fleck of something and snagged it in the tissue. It felt almost like leather or fabric. Had the monster been wearing anything? In the darkness last night, I couldn't tell.

I jumped back off the blocks just as the second one toppled to the ground. I landed light, my hand clenched around my prize. Success! Now I felt like I could leave the lot.

I turned to head back up the alley toward my car. Darkness had fallen with a vengeance, plunging everything into black. Still the weak building lights didn't come on. Must be on a timer, I thought. At least I had my flashlight.

Something hit the ground behind me, making it shake under my feet. I heard a deep grumble, like a noise someone would make at the back of their throat. It grew in volume to a deep snarl.

In the darkness, my flashlight made me the perfect target.

I ran for the alley. The ground thumped behind me, getting closer by the second thump, the second step. One more and I could almost see a gigantic foot coming down to crush me.

I snapped off the flashlight and leaped to my right.

I landed on my side and rolled until I banged against the brick wall. I almost felt the whoosh of displaced air as something smashed down into the ground less than two feet from my head. Dust tickled my nose, making me want to sneeze. I clamped my hand over my face, trying to hold it in. In the dark, making any noise would be a dead giveaway.

The sound of heavy breathing filled my ears. Something shifted just above me. Over the scent of dust, I smelled a heavy fish smell, like someone had been bathing in sardines. The cloying stench choked me while the dust continued to tickle my nose. I was either going to sneeze or cough and either one would end with me being a smear on the bottom of this alley.

"Hey, who's down there?"

A voice yelled out from the front of the alley. I felt rather than saw the presence hovering above me pull away. I heard footsteps kicking at the debris at the front of the alley as someone took several steps forward.

"Is somebody there?" the voice called.

More shuffling sounded, moving back into the lot. I took a chance and sat up. Nothing came swinging down to crush me. I scrambled up, got my feet under me and took off for the front of the alley.

Dryer's bald head glinted in the light of the nearby streetlamp as I came racing out. At the sight of his wrinkled face, I leapt at him, wrapping my arms around his thick corded neck. He stumbled back in surprise.

"Boy, am I glad to see you, Dryer," I said.

"Tiffany, what were you doing in that alley?" His voice sounded muffled against my shoulder.

I released him and stepped back. "Just investigating. Nothing. Thanks."

He frowned, eye brows drawing down. "Investigating? What, have you made detective?"

"Not yet," I said. "Still on the patrol squad."

Dryer shook his head. "Nice girl like you shouldn't push so hard. Get yourself a nice... ah partner."

"What does that mean?"

He had the good grace to look embarrassed. "Well, at the gym we figured you for a dyke." He looked at my expression. "Hey, no offense."

"I don't suppose it would ever occur to you Neanderthals that I happen to enjoy working out," I said. "And for the record, I'm not gay." I stabbed a finger into his chest. "Why do you do it?"

"Well, I like the muscles and it's good for my health."

"Ever think maybe I do it for the same reason?"

"But you can't get big muscles."

"Maybe not but I like what I get." I spun away from him and headed for my car. I couldn't believe the attitude. After all this time I'd been going to that gym it had never occurred to me they'd be gossiping behind my back. That gym had been a safe place for me to let off steam without worrying about having to fit in. Now I find out it was just as bad as any other place.

"Tiff, hey Tiff." Dryer grabbed my arm. Without thinking, I spun, breaking his grip, lifting the flashlight for a defensive strike. He flinched. I caught myself.

"Sorry, you shouldn't grab a police officer like that."

"Guess not," he said. "Was that some of karate move?"

"Some aikdo," I said. "I know a mix of stuff."

"Wow, maybe you could show me at the gym?"

He sounded more like an eager teenager than a man pushing seventy. I fought to suppress a grin. "Only if you let me polish your head!"

He stuck his tongue out at me, such a stupid gesture I had to laugh. He smiled.

"Friends again?"

"Okay," I said.

"Want me to tell the guys you're a super cop with the judo and stuff and that you run around screwing all the good looking men like Bond?"

I shook my head. "You know, Bond was a British spy and he slept with women."

Dryer waved a hand in dismissal. "Whatever. Same difference. He kicked ass, so do you."

The words spread a warmth through me. Maybe they gossiped because they cared. "Thanks, Dryer."

He hooked a thumb back at the alley opening. "So what were you investigating in there? Anything interesting?"

I glanced back at the opening, now showing a darkness that I wasn't keen to enter again any time soon.

"I'm not sure, Dryer. I'll keep you posted."

* * * *

"So when can you look at it, Danny?" I pushed the tissue back in front of the forensic technician Daniel Chou who wrinkled his nose at me.

"I don't know, Tiff, I'm backed up here." He spread his hands to encompass the desk, the office, the building, his life but I wasn't having any of it. I nudged the tissue closer to his hand.

"It won't take long," I said.

He sighed. "You have no idea how long it will take."

"Don't give me that," I said. "I've seen you surfing the Internet for electronics deals."

"On my lunch hour." He folded his arms over his chest, a sure sign that I'd been pushing too hard. But I knew his Achilles heel, something that always worked.

"High whipped low fat vanilla latte with cinnamon," I said.

His lips thinned. "That's not fighting fair, Tiff. I'm trying to lose some weight."

"You look fine to me," I said. "Besides, it's low fat. I can have them hold off on the whipped cream."

"No, then it's not right." He grabbed the edge of the desk. I wagged my finger at the tissue.

"Damn you, Tiffany Waters. Let me see that." He picked up the tissue with tweezers and unfolded it.

In the hard fluorescents in the office, the fragment didn't look much like fabric. It had a dark brown colour and a texture almost like leather. Daniel poked at it.

"What is this?"

"You tell me," I said. "That's what I want to know."

He shaved off a small piece, prepared a slide and slid it under his microscope. Removing his wireless glasses, he peered in the dual eye pieces, then pulled away and waved me forward.

"Take a look," he said.

I peered into the lenses and refocused. It looked like a honey comb, multiple pockets all fit together.

"What is it?" I said.

"I'll have to run more tests but it looks like skin cells to me," he said.

"Skin cells!"

"Yeah, whoever this is has a hide thicker than I've ever seen. I'm not a hundred percent on this though."

"That's okay," I said. "That's good." I backed away from the microscope, nodding.

"Remember my latte," Daniel said. He wagged a gloved finger at me.

"I'll remember," I said. "You'll get it later this afternoon or tomorrow."

"This afternoon!" His voice followed me into the hall as I left.

Skin! That piece I'd grabbed while standing on the concrete blocks was skin. But it had been over my head and while I wasn't the tallest person, I couldn't imagine anyone managing to get a piece of skin off their body that high up on a brick wall.

That meant that monster, that thing, whatever it was, was real and I wasn't hallucinating.

As I burst out of the front door of the forensics building, Doug lurched up from his seat on the bench beside the fence.

"You done?" he said. "Can we go on patrol now?"

"I've just got one more errand," I said. "I want to hit Mercy General."

Doug ambled over to the driver's door while I practically vibrated beside the passenger's side.

"Why do you want to go there?"

"I want to check on somebody. Can we go?"

He shook his head at me. "Tiffany, what are you doing? Why can't you just do your job?"

"I am doing my job," I said. "Come on, Doug, let's go."

I jumped into the seat and drummed my fingers on the dashboard as I waited for him to climb in. He shook his head at me again as he started the car.

"Too god damned eager," he mumbled.

I didn't reply. Doug was a good enough police officer but he'd never get higher than patrol and he was happy with that, but I wanted more. I wanted detective and to get that, I had to hustle.

I left him waiting in the cruiser in front of Mercy as I headed in to talk to Raymond Neville but when I reached his room, I found only the old woman from the day before. She frowned at my police uniform.

"He's not here," she said.

"Thanks," I said, noticing the clean sheets on Neville's old bed. I turned and headed back to the nurses' station.

"Excuse me," I said to the nurse standing behind the counter. Her eyes were fixed on the computer screen in front of her.

"Uh huh," she said, not looking up.

"Can you tell me where Raymond Neville is?" I said. "He was in room 422D."

"I can't give out personal information," she said.

"It's police business," I said. That finally got her to look up. She looked startled to see me.

"Oh sorry." Her attention returned to the computer but this time her fingers tapped along the keyboard.

"Looks like he checked himself out late yesterday," she said. "Against doctor's orders. We're not responsible if he does that."

"Right," I said. "Do you have a home address for him?"

"If anything's happened to him, we advised him to stay," the nurse said. "It's really all on him."

"Of course," I said. "His address?"

"We really try to get people to stay but we can't be held responsible if they decide they want to leave."

"I've got it," I said. "Please, his address."

She opened her mouth again and I held up my hand.

"Address. That's all."

"Oh sure." She focused back on the computer. "29 Provenance Avenue."

I jotted it down. "Thanks." As I turned away and began walking toward the elevators, she called: "We're not responsible."

I waved back to her as the doors closed to return me to the ground floor. Geez, talk about covering your butt, I thought.

Doug didn't seem too happy about the new destination. "We're supposed to be on patrol in the east end."

"Provenance Avenue is in the east end," I said.

"It's south."

"Okay, south east. That's still east."

He glared at me. "We patrol where we're suppose to."

"Come on, Doug, I'll buy you a latte. I have to pick one up for Danny in forensics this afternoon anyway."

"You want to check it out, you do it on your own time. I mean it, Tiffany."

He did mean it. I could tell from the way his knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. He wasn't going to be talked into it today.

"Okay, Doug," I said. "Let's get to work."

I followed his lead for the rest of the shift. Halfway through he was back to his old self, mumbling and complaining about the calls we received, yet ever patient with the public. Doug had certainly found his niche in the patrol squad.

After shift, I bed him goodbye and turned to head for my car.

"You aren't going to do anything stupid, are you, Tiffany?" he said.

I paused in the doorway of the squad room. "I'm just going home, Doug. See you tomorrow."

His lips twisted as he studied me. Finally he seemed to come to a decision. "Yeah, okay. See you tomorrow."

I hurried out before he decided to follow me home.

* * * *

Provenance Avenue was a small narrow street running north and south off Morgan Street, one of the main throughways of the city. Old rail yards and industrial lands occupied most of the south side of Morgan except for a few dingy streets like Provenance, designed to house old migrant workers in the late ninetieth century. The houses lining this street, all pre-war models, were narrow and tiny, sagging into their foundations. A cracked sidewalk ran along the west side. The east side lawns ran right down to the grey, worn asphalt. Neville's house was the third from the end on the east side, a squat, off white colour with a dark green awning that sagged over top the crumbling stone stoop.

I pulled a u-turn and parked in front of the house. As I turned off the car engine, I watched the curtain in the front of the house. No movement. I wondered if Neville was home. Only one way to find out.

As I stepped out of the car, the last rays of the sun were spreading across the lake just south of us. How long before this neighbourhood was bought by developers, I wondered. All along the lake developers were buying up the old neighbourhoods and building huge condo buildings, blocking the view of the lake from the rest of the city. But mostly that was in the richer west end of the city although once they finished developing there, they could very well head east.

Then maybe this dilapidated little house on Provenance might be worth something. If Neville managed to keep his gambling to a minimum long enough to keep holding on to his house, he might end up with a tidy sum.

I headed up the narrow driveway and stood on the crumbling stoop. An old doorbell chimed as I pushed it. Shuffling sounded from inside and then the brown wooden door creaked open. Neville peered out at me through the screen door.

"What do you want?"

"I want to talk to you, Mr. Neville," I said. "Can I come in?"

"No. I don't have anything to say to you."

"I see," I said. "I can come back tomorrow in my police officer's uniform and stand on your stoop all day. I wonder how your neighbours would feel about that."

His expression soured. "Dammit. Fine, come in." He pushed on the screen door latch. The door scraped against the bottom of the frame and screeched open. I noticed rust on the hinges as I stepped inside.

Neville waved me into the living room and shut the door. The living room was neat and clean although the furniture had seen better days. The couch had definite seating marks were people had sat for years, but matching pillows adorned the corners and decorated the single armchair. A coffee table, small but made of solid oak, held only a coaster and a copy of TV guide. In the far corner, a small twenty inch TV sat covered with a single white doilie.

Neville crossed to the armchair, grunting as he sat down. I sat in the couch, feeling it sink under me until I almost felt the hard wood of the frame.

"How are you feeling?" I said. "Should you have left the hospital already."

"I'm fine," Neville said. "Damn doctors can't do anything for me. Just want me lying there, spending money."

"They're concerned for your welfare," I said. "So am I."

"If you're so concerned, just leave me alone," he said.

"I went back to the alley lot," I said. "I found something that looks like skin."

He shook his head.

"Then something big chased me out of there. It almost stepped on me."

"What are you doing?" he said. "Stay out of this. There ain't nothing here for you." He pushed himself up out of his armchair. Once he stood, he clutched the armchair, gasping for breath.

"You get out," he managed.

"Mr. Neville," I said. "You have to tell me what's going on. I can help you."

His head shook from side to side, his thin hair whipping across his forehead. "Out. I want you out."

I pulled myself up from the depths of the couch. "Where's your wife?"

"What?"

"Your wife. Where is she?"

"Not here." He'd recovered his breath and started shuffling toward the door.

"She's not here to look after you?" I said. "That seems pretty odd. You're just out of the hospital and she's not here to help you."

"I sent her off," he said. "You go now."

I angled around the coffee table and stopped by the armchair. "You sent her away to avoid whatever is after you," I said. "You're trying to protect her."

He clenched his fists but the pasty complexion on his face told me he was more afraid than angry. "Get out!"

I took a step toward him. "Mr. Neville, it isn't going to stop just because I leave. If you're that afraid that you sent your wife away, you know that. Please let me help you."

"I don't want your help. You just make it worse being here. Now get out!"

I didn't know how to get through to him. I ran a hand through my short blond hair in exasperation. Why wouldn't he let me help him, was he that afraid?

He yanked the door open and held it, waiting. Maybe if I could talk to his wife, she might help me persuade him but he'd never tell me where she was now. I should have asked before pressuring him. With a sigh, I stepped toward the door.

A great shadow fell across the doorway, blocking the light shining from the streetlight outside. I heard a distance rumbling like thunder. Neville yelped and slammed the door shut, knocking me to the side.

"Look what you've done," he yelled.

"I didn't do anything," I said.

"You brought it to my house."

"What?"

The thunder rumbled again outside, louder and closer than before. Through the small window in the door, I realized it wasn't a shadow I was looking at but something large and dark. A dark brown, like leather.

I grabbed Neville's arm and jumped back just as the door collapsed in front of us. Wood splintered. The window shattered, sending tiny shards raining down around us. I closed my eyes, averting my face. I felt cool air on my skin. I opened my eyes. The front door and foyer of Neville's house had been crushed, creating a huge hole that opened to the outside. Through the hole, I saw the monster rising up above us in the darkness of the evening. It growled its thunder growl, the tusks in its mouth catching the light. It lifted a huge club again.

"Back!" I hung onto Neville's arm and dragged him into the living room. The club swung down again, hitting the remaining roof of the foyer. The house groaned as if protesting this beating. Wood and plaster rained down, sending up clouds of dust that obscured my vision. I choked on the dust, coughing to clear my lungs. Neville hacked away in front of me.

A monstrous foot swung at the living room window. Neville and I scrambled toward the back of the house as it hit. Glass exploded inward. The foot ended up in the centre of the room, landing on the coffee table, snapping it as if it was made of twigs.

Neville was crying as we huddled in the kitchen. The monster was going to demolish the entire house to get at him! I had to stop it somehow. Unfortunately, I'd left my firearm locked in the glovebox of my car.

The house shuddered as I disentangled myself from Neville's grasping hands. He huddled in the corner of the kitchen, weeping, as I scrambled around the kitchen looking for a weapon of any kind. A long thin paring knife was the best thing I could come up with. Worth a shot, I thought. Better than just waiting to be pulverized.

My heart pounded as I crept toward the kitchen door leading back to the hallway back to the ruined living room. The leather-clad foot still stood in the centre of the living room, toe end pushed against the couch. I heard the monster's thunder growl as if it was considering where to strike next. The knife shook in my hand. I only had one shot. I took a deep breath to steel myself.

I crouched and darted forward. I raised the knife and jammed it down into the monster's foot. A howl shook the house. I jumped back as the foot jerked away. The knife still stuck upright, quivering in the leather. The foot shook from side to side as the monster tried to dislodge it. Howling filled the house.

I crawled back down the hallway toward the kitchen. As I reached the doorway, the ground shook as the monster stomped its foot down. Neville screamed.

"Shut up!" I motioned to Neville but he was clawing for the back door. Before I could call to him, the door exploded inward. I saw the edge of the huge club as it swung into the kitchen, catching Neville in the stomach and tossing him like a stuffed doll against the wall. His body smacked hard and then slid down to the floor beside the door way where I crouched. His head hung at an odd angle. I could see his eyes were open. A trickle of blood dribbled from his mouth.

Dead. Definitely dead. I backed away down the hall. Through the ruined living room, I could see my car parked just outside. My hands shook as I fumbled for the keys in my pocket. I pulled them out and clenched them in my fist. What were the odds that I could make it my car and drive off before that monster crushed me?

Probably next to impossible but it was better than waiting for it to smash me inside this house.

I crept through the living room debris, trying to stay as quiet as I could. Shards of glass crunched beneath my shoes with every step. I moved in slow motion, listening for any telltale growl or displacement of air from the swinging club. I only heard the creature grumbling to itself. Wood and plaster crumbled and fell behind me in the remains of the kitchen. Was it poking around to see if it had gotten Neville? Maybe it wasn't paying any attention to me.

I reached the window and climbed through the hole. In the darkness, all I could see was a massive dark shape looming over the house. I jumped onto the grass and raced toward my car.

The thunderous growl started again as I slammed my car door closed. My hands fumbled with the key, shaking so badly I missed the starter.

"Come on, come on," I whispered like a mantra. Sweat poured down my torso. My hair stuck to my head. I blinked sweat or tears out of my eyes. Under the car, the ground shook as the monster took a step toward me. I saw something huge swinging toward the passenger's side door.

The key hit home. I turned it and gunned the car forward. The engine roared. Tires squealed as I shoved my foot hard on the accelerator. The car leapt ahead. Through the rearview mirror, I saw the club swing through the space the car had vacated. A thunderous bellow of rage followed me all the way to Morgan Street and echoed in my ears all the way home.

* * * *

I was going to be next.

I knew it. I sat up on my couch with my gun in my lap for the entire night, staring out my balcony door, waiting to see if the monster stood tall enough to reach me on the fifth floor. It had found Neville and it would find me. I was certain of it.

While my heart pounded and my stomach churned acid, I tried to figure out how it had found Neville. What would a monster do when it was tracking someone down? Tracking, that was the key. It probably caught Neville's scent and traced it to his house. But why not to the hospital first? Easy, hospitals had a whole lot of smells, it probably wasn't too easy to distinguish one from another. But at Neville's house, his would be the overriding smell.

Just like mine would be here.

I had to get out, but where could I go? I couldn't risk the lives of any of my friends or family. Where I could go that the monster wouldn't be able to smell me?

I headed for the gym.

One of the benefits of Fergus's Gym was the twenty-four hour open door policy. After eleven to seven am, members used the gym at their own risk, having to sign waivers when they joined but only the real die hards or those on swing shift ever worked out in the middle of the night.

Sure enough, when I arrived at four, the gym was practically deserted. Only three men worked out on the weights, two using free weights and one pedaling on the stationary bike. I hurried to the change room. Was this such a good idea, I wondered. If I sweat too much, my smell here might just be easy to pick out from the others. A light workout. It would help relieve the stress. Goodness knows it was better to be loose when one was about to be crushed.

I headed for the empty treadmill farthest from anyone and set out on an easy walk. Moving my muscles always helped me think although I didn't want to do any more of that now. Except my thoughts wouldn't stop though, no matter how much I wanted it. The image of Neville's broken body sliding down the wall, landing to stare at me with dead eyes kept replaying in my mind. I increased the speed of the treadmill, switching from an easy walk to a run.

My feet smacked against the rubber surface. My heart began to pound with the exertion. A thin sheen of sweat popped out all over my body as my muscles warmed up to the exercise. My lungs drew in deep breaths of air, expelling them in great bursts through my lips. I swung my arms to keep up the pace and dialed the treadmill a little higher.

Soon I was running full out, the pounding of my feet and my heart drowning out anything from the gym around me. But it still wasn't enough to force the images out of my head. I was still running in place, both on the treadmill and in this so-called investigation that I'd started. What the hell had I been thinking? Using my curiosity and my ambition to push for answers that resulted in a man's death? And not even a death I could report. Who would believe me if I told them a giant monster smashed Neville with a club? Who would believe me I told them it was probably coming after me next?

Sweat dripped down my forehead. I shook my head to clear it from my eyes. My breathing felt ragged. My feet fumbled on the track. I grabbed the side rails, holding myself up. A man's hand shot out in front of me, stabbing at the treadmill controls. The speed began to lower, taking me down to a gentle jog.

"Gee, Tiffany, you could hurt yourself running at that speed." Dryer's voice croaked from beside me. I hadn't even noticed him walking along on the treadmill beside me.

"You on a night shift or something?" he said.

"No," I said. To my surprise my voice didn't even quiver. "Couldn't sleep."

"Me either," Dryer said. "I figure it's either watch some panty-waste infomercial or come for a workout." He cocked his head at me. "You should find some better use of your time when you've got insomnia, pretty girl like you."

Something in my face made him hit the stop button on both his treadmill and mine. My feet stumbled as the machine halted. Dryer grabbed my arm to steady me.

"You okay, Tiffany? You look like you've seen a ghost."

I shook my head. "Not a ghost. A monster."

The hysterical laughter trickled out in a brief giggle before I stuffed it back down. Dryer frowned, deepening the wrinkles on his face.

"I think you need something other than a workout," he said. "Come on." He led me off the treadmill.

"Change and meet me at the front door in ten minutes. You don't come, I'm coming to look for you."

I nodded. I knew he'd do it. Dryer was nothing if not a persistent old bugger.

I changed, slung my bag over my shoulder and met him at the door. Ever the gentleman, he lifted the bag off my shoulder and opened the door for me, ushering me out. As we stepped onto the street, I couldn't help but cast a furtive glanced up and down, seeing if any monster stood waiting to appear out of the shadows above, a heavy club swinging to crush me into the ground or smash me into a wall.

Nothing.

Dryer nudged me to the left and we walked a block before he led me down a flight of stairs into a basement. He paused outside the door.

"You aren't a cop in here, got that?" he said.

I nodded.

He pushed open the door and pulled me inside.

It was an after hours club. From the look of the patrons, I was the youngest person there by at least twenty years. A makeshift bar had been set up along the right wall with stools aligned in front. Throw rugs covered the concrete floor. A mix of tables and different colours of folding chairs clustered in groups or two or four or six around the room. In the far corner, an old jukebox churned out rock and roll from the fifties at a low volume. Half the tables held ashtrays and old men and women hunched over them, sucking on cigarettes in between sips of their drinks. So not only an after hours club but a smoking club as well. Illegal in two ways.

"Remember what I said," Dryer warned.

"Did you have to bring me here?" I said.

"You look like you could use a drink."

He was right.

I followed him to a table in the corner, set just back from the jukebox. In a weird trick of acoustics, it was actually quieter in this corner than the rest of the bar.

"No one'll hear us back here," Dryer said as he tucked me into my seat then settled into his own.

A waitress that looked to be only a few years younger than Dryer came over.

"Two beers," Dryer said. "Shots of tequila on the side."

"Dryer," I said.

He held up a hand. "Trust me. It'll help."

When the waitress returned, he insisted on paying, then instructed me to take a sip of the tequila, a large gulp of the beer and then drop the shot of tequila, glass and all, into the beer.

"It's a variation of a depth charge," he said. "Come on, Tiff."

I followed his direction, managing not to cough more than twice. My eyes watered from the strength of the tequila and beer combo but soon a warmth spread through me that loosened my muscles.

"That's better," Dryer said. "You don't look like you're going to run away anymore. Can you tell me about it?"

Would he believe me any easier than anyone else? It seemed so ludicrous, even though I'd been there when Neville died.

"Come on, Tiffany, you can tell me. We're friends."

"We are," I said. "But this isn't in any way normal."

Dryer snorted. "What is normal? Ain't no such thing, little girl." Bemusement smoothed some of the wrinkles on his face. Even in the dim lighting from the juke box, his bald head gleamed.

I took a deep breath and another pull on the beer/tequila combo. It burned all the way down. This time I didn't cough, although I did clear my throat.

"Okay, I said. It's started with a crushed car."

I told him about the first crushed car, about the alley and hearing the screams, finding Neville about to be pummeled, catching a glimpse of something then returning in the daylight to gather evidence, finally about tracing Neville from the hospital to his home and the subsequent attack by the monster. Dryer stayed silent for the entire story, his hands wrapped around his beer glass, not even lifting it to drink.

When I finished, I sagged back in my folding chair. Now he could tell me I was losing my mind, it was a ridiculous story, and that I'd probably blown my career by fleeing a crime scene. Tears prickled in my eyes. I took a large gulp of my drink, hissing as it scalded my throat.

Dryer stayed quiet and sipped his own drink. One finger tapped against the side of his glass then finally it stopped. He leaned back in his seat.

"Tiffany, I believe you," he said.

I almost choked on my drink. I managed to swallow the mouthful although my nose stung from the fumes.

"What?" I managed.

"I believe you. Not many would."

"Are you kidding, Dryer? No one would." I tilted my head at him. "Why do you?"

His hands began to fidget on his glass. He shrugged. "I know you, Tiffany, you're a level headed girl, not one to make up stories."

"Don't give me that," I said. "This isn't just some story, this is crazy talk. Don't tell me you can just buy that I've seen a monster kill a man in front of me just because you think I'm level headed. Why do you believe me?"

"Does it matter?" he said. "Don't you want me to believe you?"

"Sure I do," I said. "But I'm not even having to convince you. This isn't how it should be, Dryer. Spill."

He took a sip of his beer. I recognized a stall tactic when I saw it. I put my hand on his, pulling the glass away from his face.

"Dryer, come on."

"Okay, okay." He patted his head with a napkin then crushed the napkin in his hand.

"I know a professor," he said. "She works in the antiquities and mythology department. She's shown me stuff, stuff that makes me think sometimes those stories we heard as kids aren't just fairy tales."

"Like what?" I said.

"Like this monster you're talking about." He leaned closer to me. "She might be able to help you figure out what it is, maybe even a way to stop it."

I hesitated. It was one thing to tell Dryer, someone I knew who was maybe indulging me, it was quite another to tell this story to someone I'd never met.

"I don't know," I said.

"Come on, Tiffany, I'm sure she could help you," he said.

I'd like it say it was the lateness of the hour, or the strength of the beer and tequila that weakened my resolve but the truth was I needed help and had no idea where to get it. Dryer's suggestion was a lifeline and I'd be a fool not to grab it.

"Okay," I said. "Give me her number."

* * * *

Naturally, it wasn't to be as easy as that. Dryer insisted on escorting me. After chasing the beer and tequila with several cups of strong coffee, I wasn't in much shape to argue. Starting an afternoon shift, I had the morning free. After extracting a promise not to tattle on the after hours club, Dryer took me to visit his professor friend.

As we stood on her door step at seven in the morning, I said, "Isn't this a little early to be bothering her?"

"Don't worry, she's always up at this time," he said. "Any later and she'd already be gone to class."

Sure enough the door opened and a short, thin woman with cropped greying hair stood in the doorway. She wore a stylish charcoal grey suit that off set her hair perfectly. She gave me a quizzical look until she spotted Dryer then a smile broke across her face, deepening the merry wrinkles around her mouth and eyes.

"Xavier, how lovely to see you!"

"Good morning, Amelia," Dryer said. He stepped forward to embrace her and she rewarded him with kisses on both cheeks. Very European, I thought.

"Amelia Hamilton, may I present my friend Tiffany Waters," Dryer said. "We're sorry to disturb you at this hour but Tiffany has a very serious problem that only you can help her with."

Her finely plucked eye brows raised. "How intriguing." She gave me a serious once over look. I felt suddenly very underdressed in my jeans and black t-shirt. I resisted the urge to run my hand through my hair, patting down any stray flyaways. She seemed to consider me somewhat dubious but acceptable on the strength of Dryer's reference. With a nod, she ushered us inside.

The plain brick and worn stoop hid the exquisite beauty inside. A pale cream marble foyer led into a living room decorated with antiques. Amelia gestured us to sit in King Louis chairs around a turquoise topped coffee table. Paintings and prints shared the pale blue walls with heavy wood bookcases filled with leather bound books. Dark blue drapes framed the bay window overlooking the street. At the far wall to the left of the window, a marble fireplace sat with a dark wood carved mantle. Statues that looked like ivory decorated the top.

After offering us tea which we refused (another ounce of liquid and I would be swimming to the bathroom), Amelia sat herself down on the ornate sofa opposite the chairs. Her hands folded in her lap, she sat with perfect posture.

"How can I help you, dear?" she said to me.

Now I really felt ridiculous. I glanced over at Dryer who gave me an encouraging nod. There didn't seem any way to extract myself from this woman's house without at least telling her something. After several cups of coffee and the cold light of early morning, my story seemed even more outlandish.

But it didn't make Neville any more alive.

I took a deep breath and began.

As I spoke, Amelia Hamilton's perfectly composed face brightened with interest. She leaned forward as she listened. I caught a brief glimpse of Dryer's slight smile. When I finished my story, Amelia nodded, almost to herself.

"Fascinating, most fascinating," she said. "It was a club? You're very sure of that?"

"Yes," I said. "It certainly looked like it."

"Not swinging its hand, definitely using a tool of some sort?"

"Yes."

"Fascinating." She stood up from the couch and hurried over to the bookcase beside the fireplace. She pulled out a thick leather bound book and flipped through its pages. She hmmed at one of the pages, left the book open and set it on the couch, then turned to pull out another book. She did this with at least five volumes, leaving the books open and then retrieving another. As she searched, Dryer leaned over to me.

"I told you she'd listen," he whispered.

I didn't say anything. I had no idea if she actually believed me or if this was some sort of game to her.

Finally she returned to the couch, hugging one of the books to her chest. The others sat piled up beside her, open faced. She set the book on the coffee table and spun it toward me.

"Did it look like this?" she said.

The thick book had a somewhat musty smell that tickled my nose. The left side of the page held a lithograph of an old engraving. A hulking beast, hunched and dragging its hands on the ground glared out of the page.

I shook my head. "That's not it."

She snapped the book shut and set it on the floor by her feet. "Not to worry. There's more. We'll find him."

She set book after book in front of me. I studied all manner of fanciful creatures and monsters but not one of them was quite right. Some had tusks but not horns or horns but not claws. The pictures ranged from simple sketches with barely any details, to elaborate engravings with stylized flourishes around the figures. But so far, none matched the creature.

We exhausted the set of books she'd pulled out from the shelves.

"Don't frett," Amelia said. "We're just getting started."

She hurried from the room. Dryer leaned over again.

"I toldja."

"She doesn't really believe me," I said. "This is an exercise for her. She gets to play with her books."

Dryer frowned. "Tiffany, if we weren't such good friends and you weren't a lady, I would punch you for that remark."

He folded his arms across his massive chest and turned away from me. From the firm clench of his jaw, I knew he was angry. I shouldn't have insulted his judgment or the interest of his friend but I didn't know what to think any more. With the daylight streaming in from the window behind me, I was starting to wonder if any of it was real. Was I really sitting here consulting ancient books, looking to identify some mythical creature like a criminal in a mugshot? I rubbed my hands over my face. Even with three coffees, fatigue was setting into my bones and I had a full shift starting at noon. I was going to need plenty more coffee before the day was through with me.

Amelia returned, lugging an armful of books that bent her forward almost to her knees. As she crossed the doorway, I jumped up, hurrying to help her. I grabbed the top four volumes and carried them for her to the couch.

"Thank you, my dear," she said as she set the other three down on the coffee table. "These are the last set I have on this floor. If it's not in here, we can head down to my main library in the basement."

"Are you sure, Amelia?" Dryer almost sputtered out the words.

"Oh yes, I don't have class until eleven. We'll find this beast." She patted my arm and gave me a warm smile.

I wasn't sure if I felt comforted by her resolve or not. She opened the top book and flipped through its pages, stopping to show me several pictures. Again none was right. She put that book down and opened the next one. We flipped past two pictures, photos of engravings. I shook my head after each. She turned to another photo near the back of the book. I started to shake my head but stopped. This photo was of a sketch of a monster in the dark. Shadows made it difficult to discern the details but I saw a bit of tusk in the mouth. Horns decorated the head. One of the hands clenched a club that it raised above its head. At its feet, several small people cowered. They barely came up to the beast's knees.

"That's it," I said.

Amelia had started to pull open the next book. She stopped, snapping the book closed.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." I pointed a finger at the sketch. "That's it."

She took the book from me and laid it out on the coffee table. Dryer leaned forward to look at the sketch.

"The image is a troll," Amelia said. "While most trolls are considered to be slow and dim, this is a Stor Lubb troll, which are strong and hostile. Their name comes from their big tusks. According to legend, they live in caverns in the mountains." She frowned as her fingers traced the sketch. "I have no idea what one would be doing in the city."

Dryer looked from her to me, as if I held the answer. I spread my hands and shook my head.

"Very strange," Amelia said. "I'll have to do some research on this and get back to you. I've never heard of trolls in a city. You say most of the encounters happened in this alley?"

"Except at Neville's house," I said.

Amelia nodded. "The alley could be like a narrow cavern to it and its defending its territory but how did it get here in the first place? And following someone back to his home is unheard of. I definitely need to do more research. Can I get back to you later today?"

I blinked at her. Was this conversation actually happening to me? Dryer poked me in the arm.

"I'm on duty from noon to midnight," I said. "You can leave me a message at home." I patted my pockets for a pen.

"That's no good," Amelia said. "You shouldn't be out after dark."

Dryer handed me a pen and a slip of paper. I scrawled out my phone number.

"Why not?" I said as I handed her the paper.

She took it and stuck it into the fold of the book and closed it, hugging it against her chest.

"Nighttime is when the troll is active and unstoppable. You'll never be able to escape it or defeat it at night."

"So how can I defeat it?" I said.

"The only sure way is sunlight," Amelia said. "It turns them to stone. There may be other ways for each individual troll type. I'll research it and get back to you. Is there any way you can stay home from work tonight?"

I shook my head. Only on pain of death, was how my partner described the absentee policy.

"Try to stay in populated areas with dense smells. It will probably be hunting you tonight." She held out her hand. "Good luck."

Dryer led me back blinking into the early morning light. As the door closed behind me and we set off to find a cab, I wondered when the hell did my life turn into a fantasy novel and if it was, where was the treasure?

* * * *

By our "lunch break" at five o'clock, I was so wired on caffeine that I practically vibrated in the cruiser.

Doug glanced across at me and shook his head. "How many coffees have you had?"

"Enough," I said. "I need the help staying awake."

Doug smirked. "Having too much fun last night, eh?"

He chuckled. I stayed silent. He didn't need to know anything about last night. I'd searched the reports before we'd headed off on patrol. Accidental gas leak and explosion sited as cause of house collapse in the lower east end. One fatality.

Gas leak my foot. Unless that troll let one rip while smashing down the house.

It didn't have to be a cover up on purpose. Who would imagine a troll running around smashing houses?

"Tony's Pizza," Doug announced. "How's that for lunch?"

"Fine," I managed. "Whatever."

"Oh you're a ball today." He slammed the car door as he headed for the restaurant.

I had the waiter seat us near the window so I could watch the sky. It still held a lovely shade of blue. According to the weatherman, sunset was scheduled to occur after seven this evening. I still had a few hours of daylight, still a few hours to try to come up with a plan to fight a troll.

We ordered a deluxe to split. While Doug sipped his coffee, I excused myself to use the pay phone in the back. I checked my home answering machine. The machine picked up on the first ring. Amelia Hamilton's voice sounded tinny over the line.

"Hello Tiffany, it's Amelia. I've managed to do some more research on the Stor Lubb Troll. Sure enough, sunlight is the only way to stop it cold but you can slow it down some with one of those daylight bulbs. It's not as effective as sunlight but it does sting them, according to what I've read. Also, it doesn't really make sense that this troll would be rampaging through the city without creating massive destruction. They normally attack only when their homes are invaded and then they destroy everything in their path. This kind of hunting down victims is unprecedented for them. If it's at all possible, stay indoors tonight or around large groups of people to mask your scent. I'll keep searching for answers. My best wishes to you, my dear."

Daylight bulbs, well that was something. I hurried back to the table, telling Doug I needed something at the hardware store across the street. Before he could say anything, I left, hurrying toward the store before they closed.

"Do you carry those daylight bulbs?" I asked the man behind the counter with "Ray" stitched on his breast pocket. "Maybe for a flashlight?" I laid my police-issue flashlight on the counter.

He picked up the flashlight and peered into the clear plastic. "Hmm, that might be..." He set the flashlight down and sorted through a bin behind him. He pulled out three different bulbs.

"I'll have to test them to make sure they fit," he said.

"Go ahead."

He unscrewed the top and tried the first one. It was too loose in the connector in the base. He tried the second and it wouldn't go in far enough. Too big. The third one fit although it was also a touch loose.

"The connector's just a tad short," Ray said. "Just give the flashlight a good swat or shake to steady the light."

"That's a daylight bulb?" I said.

"Yep, got the blue cast and the UV."

I bought two extra bulbs and stuffed them into my pocket. Back at the pizza joint, Doug stared across at me as I sat down. I helped myself to the pizza in front of us.

"What was that about?" he said.

"I had to get some bulbs for my flashlight," I said. "I wanted to make sure I got them before the shop closed." I jerked my head. Sure enough, through the window Ray from the hardware store was locking up for the night.

Doug hrumphed and ate his pizza.

I watched the blue in the sky and wished the sunshine would last until midnight.

* * * *

By the time the sun finished setting, I was twitching in the patrol car. With every turn, I expected a troll foot to come slamming down on the hood of the car or a massive club to swing out of each alley, smashing into the passenger's side door where I sat. Doug hummed something tuneless under his breath. His attempts to engage me in conversation had ended half an hour ago as my answers became more and more distracted. Now I just stared out the windows, clutching my flashlight on my lap, awaiting disaster.

But even with the caffeine induced vigilance, I couldn't stay at full alert for the entire night. I had to start thinking and stop waiting. Why had the troll gone after Neville in the first place? And what about that first car? Why had it been demolished?

"Hey Doug, remember that first smashed car we found? Whatever happened with that?"

"Huh?" His humming stopped, Doug jumped a little in the driver's seat. He waited, glancing both ways before making a right turn. "What car?"

"That smashed up one, remember? Just a few days ago."

"Oh yeah, what about it?"

"Who's car was it? How did it end up in that alley?"

"I don't know," he said.

"Can you radio in? I want to know what it was doing there."

"I'm driving, you radio in."

I sighed and picked up the radio. I had dispatch connect me with the squad room and ended up talking to Delaney, an older police officer who was a little less enthused with women on the force. After a couple of nonresponsive responses, Doug snatched the radio from my hand.

"Just give her the damned name, Brian," he said. "You're pissing me off."

"Sorry, Doug, sorry." I almost heard the rustle of papers as Delaney searched for the name. "Okay here it is, Steven Douglas, 52 Provenance Avenue."

Doug signed off and handed the radio back to me. "Better?"

"Yes," I said.

Provenance Avenue.

Raymond Neville's street.

I wondered if Mr. Douglas had a gambling problem as well but I had a feeling he didn't. Something else was going on.

"Doug, can we..."

"Already heading in that direction, Tiff," he said. "Care to enlighten me as to where we're going and why?"

"I wish I had a good answer, Doug."

* * * *

The street was still blocked because of the destruction of Neville's house. Doug parked the cruiser at the opening on Morgan Street. I clenched my flashlight in my hands and patted my pockets. Bulbs still there. I hoped I had time to pull them out if I needed them.

Doug radioed in our location as we stepped out of the cruiser. Dust in the air tickled my nose; debris from Neville's house still hanging in the air. I lifted the yellow police caution tape and slipped underneath with Doug following.

Only a few houses on the street had lights. The rest sat in darkness. Not the usual darkness of sleeping but the stale darkness of abandonment. Strange. I hadn't really noticed it last night but I hadn't been paying attention. I'd been focused on finding Neville, not looking around.

Time to rectify that error.

As we headed for number 52, I studied the neighbourhood. Even the houses with lights had the curtains drawn. An air of hiding permeated the entire area. Was it from the troll attack last night or something else? No way to know for sure now.

We reached 52, a small one story bungalow painted a cheery shade of butter yellow with white awnings over the windows. Thick curtains were also drawn in these windows, matching the neighbourhood. We headed up the walk. Neat trimmed grass shared a small front yard with two rows of flowers, all nicely weeded. A nice house, well cared for, but odd for someone who also owned a custom car.

I checked my watch. Just before nine, still early enough for regular people. I pushed the doorbell beside the door and listened to the chimes echo inside.

Doug tapped his fingers on his belt. I pressed the doorbell again. The muffled chimes repeated but still no response.

"Knock on the door," Doug said.

"They would have heard the door bell."

"Knock anyway."

I shrugged and opened the screen door. Stepping inside it, I knocked on the door and felt it shift under my hand. On impulse, I grabbed the door knob and twisted.

The door opened.

"Tiff, what are you doing?"

"The door's unlocked," I said. "They might be in distress."

"Tiff!"

I pushed the door open and crouched, aware that trolls weren't the only bad things in the world.

"Mr. Douglas, it's the police," I called. My voice echoed into the dark house and stilled to nothing just like the doorbell.

"Mr. Steven Douglas, it's the police. We are entering your premises."

I felt Doug tugging on my arm but shrugged him off. I unsnapped my holster and held my hand on the grip as I stepped over the threshold.

Doug hissed a curse under his breath and followed, backing me up.

At the living room doorway, I switched on the lights. They flared into life, exposing regular furniture with a touch of chaos. Someone had gone through the room, removing items from the mantle but pushing aside others. A few pillows from the couch had been knocked to the floor. Doug slipped past me and headed for the back, turning on lights as he went. In the kitchen, a few of the drawers were open, as if rifled through. Magnets from the fridge lay on the floor as if someone had yanked stuff off the fridge, not bothering to move the magnets aside.

The bedrooms showed the greatest disturbance. Drawers pulled open and half empty, closet doors wide showing a row of empty hangers.

"Someone packed in a hurry," Doug said.

Maybe someone who got the message faster than Neville, I thought.

We retraced our steps. In the kitchen, my foot kicked a flyer lying on the floor with the magnet still on top. Must have been on the fridge. I bent to pick it up.

Carnie's Charity Casino, read the flyer, in support of Mercy Hospital, tons of prizes, barrels of fun.

"Have you heard of this?" I said to Doug.

"What's that?" He took the flyer from my hand and shook his head.

"Maybe this is where our Mr. Douglas got his fancy car," I said. "It certainly doesn't suit this house."

"Shame he went and smashed it up," Doug said.

Right, a shame. I had a feeling that the bribery the car intended to procure was completed upon the car's destruction. Obviously, Douglas left in a hurry.

"Let's see if we can find an address book or something," Doug said. "Maybe see if we can figure out where this guy went to."

A search of various drawers, including a small desk in the bedroom, yielded nothing. Finally on the fridge I found a birthday card with the envelope still attached. Love from Wendy Douglas-Johnson. A sister? Cousin? Somewhere to start anyway.

I copied down the name and address, leaving the envelope on the fridge.

Nothing more here.

We left, turning off the lights. As I closed the front door behind me, Doug hitched up his pants.

"Let's check out that house." He pointed to the dark one across the street.

"I thought you just wanted to patrol," I said.

"Shut up."

We crossed and knocked on the door. Same lack of response. This time with Doug in front, he tested the door. When it opened, he gave me a questioning look. I shrugged. We had no reason to enter this house. We didn't even know who lived here. Doug sighed, reached in to flick on the light and stepped inside.

A matching set of leather recliners, still with protective plastic on them, crowded the living room. But here there were even more signs of frantic packing, more items lay on the floor, drawers left pulled out, doors open. A quick look in the bedrooms gave even more evidence of packing.

And on the fridge another flyer for Carnie's Charity Casino.

"Want to bet there's a flyer for this casino in every house on this street?" I said.

"No bet," Doug said.

We tried two more empty houses with the same results. Signs of hurried packing, casino flyers on the fridge or stuffed into the trash.

"That's enough," Doug said after the last one. "This is freaking me out. I hate this weird stuff. Let's get back on patrol."

"Just one more," I said. "I want to check out one of the houses with lights."

"What are you looking for, Tiff? We have to get back to work."

"Just one more," I said. "Come on. Aren't you curious?"

"No, it's freaky."

But he followed me anyway.

I knocked on the door of a narrow, two-story, yellow brick house. Shuffling sounded just inside the door but it remained stubbornly closed.

"Who is it?" The harsh, snappy words of an old woman blasted through the wood.

"Police, ma'm, we have some questions about your neighbours."

"Police, my foot," she said. "Push your badges through the mail slot. I want proof."

"Tiff, let's just go," Doug said.

"We're already here, Doug." I pushed my badge through the mail slot.

"The other one too," the old woman said.

I gestured to Doug. With a sigh, he handed it over and I pushed it through. After a moment, the lock clicked and the door swung open. A short old woman barely topping four feet stood hunched in the doorway. Wisps of white hair floated around her narrow, lined face, accentuating her frown. Her thin fingers clutched the badges as she handed them back.

"Okay, so you're the police. What about my neighbours?"

I retrieved our badges. "Can you tell me where they are?"

"Damned if I know. After that house got demolished last night, they all up and left today. Squealing tires all day long. Such a racket."

"Why weren't you evacuated?" Doug said.

"Evacuated? Why would we be evacuated?"

"The gas..."

"Ain't no gas," she said and snorted a laugh. "That's a good story."

"Why didn't you leave?" I said.

"I won't be run out of my house. If they want to send a thing to smash me up, let 'em."

"Who's they?"

She shrugged. "Don't know. Some young fella wanting to buy my house. I told him to get lost. Then I get an invite to some silly casino. Whole neighbourhood gets it. I didn't go but Mary Burton next door went. Won herself a trip to Jamaica for two weeks. Ain't no such thing as a free lunch, I told her but she didn't listen to me. Never did, stupid girl. I heard her car squealing out of here this afternoon."

"Did it happen to be the Carnie's Charity Casino?" I said.

"That's the one. Scam, it sounded like to me."

It sounded like it to me too.

"Ma'm, it might be safer if you left the neighbourhood for a little while," I said.

She shook her head. "I'm not going. Don't even try to arrest me. I got a lawyer." She crossed her arms over her narrow chest and thrust out her chin, looking defiant at me down her narrow, hawk nose.

"Okay," I said. "I'll check in on you tomorrow."

"I won't change my mind."

"Of course. Good night."

I backed away from her steely glare. She slammed the door shut.

"Can we get back to patrol now?" Doug said.

"Sure," I said. I waved the flyer at him. "I know exactly where we can patrol next."

Doug swore all the way back to the cruiser.

* * * *

The mystery of the empty houses had distracted me from my own danger until we started driving across the city. Back in the passenger's seat with only my thoughts, I again clutched the flashlight in my lap, waiting for the smash of a foot to crush the cruiser. Doug sat in the driver's seat, his lips pressed firm together, hands gripping the steering wheel as he drove. He'd whined once more about wanting to get back on patrol before snatching the flyer from my hand to read off the address. He took the lakeshore drive across the city, heading for the casino's temporary location.

How did this all fit together, I wondered. At first I'd thought it was a loan shark thing. Neville's reputation matched that, but the whole neighbourhood? Maybe it wasn't about the people. Maybe it was about the location.

Perfect for condos, if not for the public lands around it. But if someone managed to cut a deal, or had a troll to threaten someone with...

Was it possible? How many hands would have to be greased or twisted to set this in motion and how far down the line had it gone to get to this point? How was a pair of lowly patrol officers going to stop this steamroller?

I shot a glance over at Doug. He might be unambitious, somewhat unimaginative and willing to let a few things slide but he was a decent partner, willing to back up my plays. He never made any comment about me being a woman other than to mention that his daughter had blond hair as well. If a hard shove came after a push, I knew Doug would be there to take it with me.

But did I have a right to put him in harm's way, knowing what I did?

Did I want his wife to identify a pancake of a body?

"Doug, we can just head to our normal patrol route," I said.

He didn't respond. He stayed hunched over the wheel, the belt pressing into his shoulder.

"Doug..."

"Shut up."

"But..."

"I said shut up, Tiffany!"

His shout filled the car. I clamped my mouth shut. Five minutes later, he pulled off the drive into a concrete parking lot. Massive black buildings rose above the lot, blocking the feeble street lights' attempts to light the place. The lot had only the allotted regulation number of lights and no more, leaving large pools of shadow darkening into black between the lamp posts. Doug pulled up to a post nearest to the building matching the number on the flyer.

He turned the engine off, put the cruiser in park and turned to me.

"Okay, now what the hell is going on?"

I opened my mouth to answer but he held up a finger.

"You say nothing and so help me, I'll punch you in the face. I don't care if you're a woman."

I swallowed. "I don't want you to drag you into this, Doug."

"Too late," he said. He spread his hands to encompass himself and the cruiser. "Here I am. Dragged."

"Not yet you aren't," I said. "I don't even know what this really is but you aren't enough in it yet. You can still get out of it."

"And what about you?"

I glanced down at the flashlight in my lap. My fingers were white around it. "I don't think I'm so lucky."

"Dammit, Tiff." He sighed. "Then neither am I. I don't abandon my partner. I know you just see me as a stepping stone but I'm still a police officer."

"I know you are," I said. "I don't think of you as a stepping stone, Doug. Really I don't. You've done nothing but treat me decently since the beginning. That's why I don't want you in this."

"We've settled that," he said. "Now at least do me the courtesy of telling me what shit we're in."

"You aren't going to believe me."

"Yeah, yeah, talk already."

I took a breath and told him everything; returning to the alley for evidence and almost getting squished, talking to Neville and being there when the troll attacked. I mentioned finding out the name of the monster but kept Dryer and Amelia out of it. When I finished, Doug was looking at me as if he wished the car was a little wider so he could edge farther away.

"I told you you wouldn't believe me," I said.

"Tiffany, trolls don't exist," he said.

"Explain Neville's house."

"Gas..."

"Come on, Doug, you heard that old woman. Why didn't they evacuate her? You asked that yourself. They knew there was no gas."

"Okay, never mind, leaving the troll out of it, you think this is a land grab thing?"

"I don't know what else it could be," I said. "It's the only thing that makes sense."

"Okay, well, let's take a look at this casino and tomorrow we can start tracing owners and so on."

We got out of the cruiser. I came around the front end and we headed toward the darkened building. We managed five steps before I felt displaced air tickle the back of my neck. A moment later, a familiar thud sounded behind us with a screech of metal and shatter of glass as backup.

I spun.

The troll rose above us, one foot crushing the roof of our cruiser into the seats like a child squishing a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Doug yelped beside me. The troll growled. It lifted its arm, raising the club above its head...

I snapped on the flashlight and aimed the beam at its face. The light caught the troll right in the eyes. It roared, shaking its head and rearing back. It stumbled off our cruiser which rocked on its shocks. That car would not be taking us anywhere.

"Building!" Doug shouted. I heard his footsteps race away behind me. I glanced over my shoulder, keeping the beam on the troll's face. No obstructions. I started back pedaling fast.

Doug reached the building and grabbed the door handle. It didn't move. I got distracted by the thud of the troll taking a step forward. I turned back to watch it. My beam had slid to its shoulder. I yanked it back to the troll's face. It roared in anger again, throwing up its arm to shield its eyes. The club waved in my direction, barely a foot from my face.

"Doug, open it!" I said.

I heard a pop behind me. "Come on!" Doug's voice floated over the troll's growls.

I glanced back. The door hung open with Doug in the doorway, waving me on. I increased my speed, my feet shuffling faster and faster. Finally I had to turn around to run. The troll howled in triumph. The thuds pounded closer. Displaced air propelled me forward. I dove for the door as I saw a shadow pass over and in front of me.

I stumbled through the doorway. The foot came down, smashing the door behind me. The troll roared in disappointment.

Doug caught my arm and dragged me farther into the darkened building. I felt a feeling of emptiness around me. I shown the light beam around, exposing a vast cavern of nothing. An empty warehouse. How long would it be before the troll battered its way inside to get to us? Already I could hear it hammering at the concrete walls.

"What are we going to do?" Doug said.

"Do you have your flashlight?" I said.

He patted his belt and pulled the flashlight off with shaking hands. I retrieved one of the extra bulbs from my pocket. Still intact. One small miracle.

"Here, change the bulb in your flashlight. This is a daylight bulb. It'll slow the troll down a little. Daylight turns the troll to stone."

Doug unscrewed the top of his flashlight. "Great. So we wait until daylight, right? That's in what, how many hours?"

I glanced at my watch, the figures not even at eleven yet. "Too long."

"So what do we do? That wall isn't going to hold that thing off all night."

As if in response to Doug's comment, the wall shuddered under another of the troll's thunderous blows. Dust started trickling down from the ceiling high above our heads.

"Maybe there's another way out," I said. "And some evidence."

"Tiff, that thing is going to crush us and you're worried about evidence?"

The urge to giggle rose up inside me. I recognized it as hysteria wanting to burst forth. I couldn't let it. Going down that road would be disaster for sure. I had to stay in control. My hand ached from gripping the flashlight. I switched it to my left and focused on taking three deep breaths.

"We need something," I said. "We've got to make people believe this, that's the only way it can be stopped. And I've got to do something. I can't just huddle in here waiting for that thing to break in."

Doug nodded and kept nodding, his head bobbing up and down. "Okay, okay. Where?"

I shown the beam around and pointed. "That way."

Our footsteps echoed in the emptiness, drowned out by the thuds from the troll hammering away at the wall. More and more dust trickled down from the ceiling. How much longer would the walls last, I wondered. The warehouse had better construction than Neville's house but it wouldn't withstand the troll forever.

Doug and I passed rows of empty shelving. Where was the casino equipment? Was this the actual building for it or had everything been moved? The thudding seemed to grow more distant as we hurried along and soon I could make out the shuffling sounds of our feet on the bare concrete floor. This place must be massive but in the darkness, I couldn't see the dimensions. It felt endless. Then my flashlight beam caught on a wall in front of me. We'd reached the end of the warehouse.

"I didn't see anything for a casino," Doug said.

"Me neither," I said. "Let's look for a door out. Maybe we can sneak away before the troll notices."

Doug cocked his head at me. "Will that work?"

I shrugged. "Damned if I know."

We started wandering to the left, searching the wall. Fifteen feet along, we found a single door. Locked again.

Doug pulled out his gun and I heard the pop of the shot. The vast emptiness seemed to absorb all sound, even the thudding behind us sounded more distant. Was the troll getting tired? Did trolls get tired?

I could hope.

Doug yanked the door open. Light blazed out, blinding. Doug shielded his face and pointed his gun up.

"Freeze!"

I had my gun out, flashlight over top, pointing down, ready to back up Doug but no one appeared in the doorway. Just the light. My eyes began to adjust. Still no one. I edged forward. Doug gave me a nod. I darted into through the door, slipping to the left. Doug followed, darting to the right.

Still no one. I saw a large spot light pointed at the door. As I walked past it, I saw a whole bank of them, lining the inside of a huge room, all pointed outward toward the walls or door, surrounding the largest cage I've ever seen. And inside this cage...

Sat a tiny troll.

It was only tiny in comparison to the one trying to batter its way in to us. Even sitting, this troll was well over twenty feet high. Two bumps decorated its forehead. It opened its mouth, exposing tiny tusks. A high pitched moan came from it. Massive chains looped around its arms and legs, pinning it down to the concrete floor. It whimpered at us. The skin was a soft tawny colour, like the early shading of leather.

A baby, I thought. It's a baby troll.

This was how you controlled an adult troll.

With the banks of lights, the adult would never be able to reach the baby at night and during the day, the sunlight would act as a natural barrier.

"Doug, we just found a hostage," I said.

"Huh?"

He hadn't quite caught up to me yet. Gee, couldn't he get his mind around this whole troll business?

"Look at it, it's a baby," I said. "This is how they're controlling the big one."

His eyes widened in understanding. "That's... not right." He shook his head. "I can't believe I'm saying that."

"Don't worry, I think the same thing. I bet that troll wouldn't have attacked anyone if this baby wasn't a hostage."

"What do we do? Look at it, it's almost cute."

Our talking attracted the baby's attention. It squealed and tried to shuffle away. The chains rattled and drew taunt, halting the baby's progress. It whined, trying to retreat to the other end of the cage but unable to move farther.

"It recognizes people," I said. "And not as a good thing. I bet they hurt it."

"Bastards," Doug said. "It's just a baby. We have to break it out."

"I agree," I said. "Just let's not get crushed while doing it."

"Right."

We walked around the cage, studying the construction and the chains holding the baby down. The baby meanwhile, kept trying to lean away from us, whimpering. I found myself talking in soft soothing tones to the baby. Doug stared at me as I'd sprouted a second head.

Each of the chains was pad locked to a metal ring embedded in the concrete floor. Fortunately the wires of the cage were far enough apart that I thought I could squeeze through. Doug with his larger frame, wouldn't make it. If I could get to those locks I could practice some of those rusty skills from my misspent youth. I patted my pockets and found one bobby pin. Optimally, I needed two.

"Doug, do you have a paper clip?"

"What?"

"Paper clip, for those locks." I gestured at the chains.

"Hang on." He pulled out his notebook and handed me one from the pages. I slipped it into my pocket.

"Okay, keep speaking softly to the baby," I said.

"Where are you going?"

"Inside." I moved toward the bars before he could say anything.

"Hey," he yelled.

The baby, who had been getting used to our soft voices, whimpered at Doug's yell and tried to move again. The chains whipped back and forth.

"Soft," I said to Doug. "Talk soft."

"You can't go in there." His urge whisper carried just as well as his shout.

"I'm open to any other suggestion to free the baby. No? Then I go in."

The bulk of my bulletproof vest and tool-laden belt hampered my efforts to squeeze through the bars but with wiggling, I managed to pop through onto the other side. I stumbled forward a few steps then retreated back to the cage bars. The baby was staring at me with wide, nervous eyes, whimpering in its throat.

"It's okay, baby, it's okay," I said, keeping my voice soft and easy. "Don't squish me and I'll let you go. Take it easy."

I started edging toward the nearest pad lock. The chain above it quivered as the baby pulled it taunt. I wiped my sweating hands on my pants as I reached the pad lock. The baby's foot was less than four feet away. If the baby decided to swing and squish me with its massive hands, I wouldn't be able to dodge fast enough.

It's just a baby and it's afraid, I told myself. It needs help, like any baby. My hands steadied enough to grab hold of the pad lock. Using the bobby pin and paper clip, I fiddled with the lock, feeling the internal mechanism. Memories of breaking into the lockers in high school flittered through my mind. If I hadn't become a police officer, I might have had a future as a lock pick and spent my days on the other side of the bars. Um, like now.

I felt the telltale give in the lock and it clicked open. I slid the chain free of it and let go. The chain swung away, hanging from the baby's right wrist. The baby's whimpering stopped at this new development. It moved its arm. The chain dangled and rattled. The baby made a choking sound. No, not choking.

Laughing.

A smile burst across it's wrinkled face, highlighting the tiny tusks. It was almost cute, in an ugly sort of way.

I took a sliding step toward the next pad lock. The choking laugh stopped as the baby watched me, wariness still narrowing its eyes. I reached the next pad lock and worked away. It clicked open in half the time. One should always practice ones' skills.

When this chain swung free, releasing its left arm, the baby clapped its hands together, laughing. The chains whipped toward my head. I threw myself to the floor as the chains smacked together and wrapped around each other just above me.

Only two more. If the baby didn't kill me first.

I started crawling toward the next pad lock. My uniform stuck to my torso and limbs. My knees scraped on the concrete. Above me, the baby chortled and waved its arms in glee. The chain swung and clattered.

I heard Doug's voice talking to the baby, trying to calm it down but I couldn't make out the words. I reached the pad lock and this one took longer as my hands shook as I hunched over it. Try not to think of the chains swinging above your head. Right.

Finally the pad lock clicked open. One left. I crawled as fast as I could before the baby realized its leg was free. My heart hammered in my chest, feeling like it wanted to escape but only the bullet proof vest held it in. I reached the last lock.

As I worked on it, I noticed a loose chain pooling to the floor in front of me. Then I smelled something earthy. I looked up.

Five inches above my head was a huge hand, about five feet in width. I heard Doug yelling.

The hand lowered, and brushed the top of my head. A light, soft touch.

The baby smiled at me.

"Good baby," I said. "Let Auntie Tiffany finish unlocking the pad lock and then you can go home to your mommy or ah, daddy. Whatever it is, okay?"

The baby gurgled.

I bent over the pad lock. The final one seemed to be taking longer. Dammit. My hands were sweating. I wiped them on my pants and tried again. I felt another soft touch on my head. The baby was patting me. Great. I'd been adopted as a pet.

Finally the lock clicked open and I slipped the final chain free. I kicked it toward the baby's foot, showing the baby that it was free like the other chains. As the baby focused on the chains, I began to back away to the cage bars.

"Here, over here." Doug's voice directed me as I kept my gaze fixed on the baby.

I managed a fast back pedal until my back bumped up against the bars. Sliding back out seemed to take a little more effort, but finally I felt my body pop back through. Doug grabbed me before I fell over.

"Great job," he said. "Now what?"

I pointed at the far wall. "That looks to me like a garage door. I think we should get that open."

Doug started grinning.

Opening the garage from the inside was easy. Doug found the controls on the left side while I searched the right. He was still grinning as the door slid upward.

The baby started babbling in excitement. Placing its hands on the floor, it pushed itself upright. Its head hit the top of the cage, but as it continued to stand, the top began to bend. We probably only had a few minutes before baby realized it could pull apart the cage like taffy. I had to get the lights off by then.

Doug and I searched around the garage door but found nothing to control the lights. I ran to the closest one, inspecting it. No sign of a switch, it must have been hardwired in a sequence. If we didn't find the master switch, we wouldn't be able to turn them off.

I heard the snap of Doug's gun holster. "Officer, we need to get these lights off any way possible."

Now it was my turn to grin. I unsnapped my holster and pulled out my piece. "Yes, sir," I said.

We aimed at the farthest lights in this row.

We only had to blow out the first few before the others began to flicker and fail. A moment later and we were plunged into darkness. I fumbled my gun back into its holster and pulled out my flashlight. I kept it trained on the ground so the light didn't affect the baby.

"Now what?" Doug's voice sounded from my side.

"Now we wait for baby to stage its own breakout."

Sure enough I heard the groan of bending metal and the gurgling laugh of the baby. Doug and I hurried over to huddle in the corner beside the garage door. With a final squeal of triumph, the baby snapped the bars of its cage and pushed through. I snapped off my flashlight. As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I saw the huge shadow of the baby crawling toward the garage door. It let out a high pitched shriek that pierced through my head. I heard Doug gasp beside me as I winced.

A moment later we heard a bellowing response. Mommy or daddy had heard baby. Thuds sounded growing nearer and faster, shaking the building. I grabbed onto the wall and felt Doug's hand on my arm.

Through the pale light from the garage door, I saw the baby lifting its arms up. A dark shadow blocked the light and bent down, lifting the baby. The baby soared upward, into the troll's arms. Rumbling growls turned to soft, deep humming. I peered around the corner.

The troll held the baby against its chest, nuzzling the baby's head. The baby laughed, arms around the troll's neck. The troll's humming stopped and it turned its face toward me. It took a great sniff. I could almost feel its eyes fasten on me like lasers. Nowhere to run now. I might make it halfway through the baby's room before the troll brought the roof down on me. My heart thudded. Sweat made my shirt stick even more to me. I wondered if it was melting into my skin.

I waited without moving.

The troll took another sniff, this turn tilting its head at the baby. Then the head moved back toward me. It bowed once. A low grumble reverberated through the air around me but it didn't sound like a full growl. Tightening its arms around the baby, the troll turned and walked away into the night. Its thudding steps faded into the distance.

"Now what?" Doug said.

"Now I think we hitch a ride back to the precinct," I said. "I'm sure there's a form or two to fill out."

* * * *

Turned out, there were quite a lot of forms. Doug and I agreed to claim to not know how the cruiser came to be crushed as we investigated a break in at the warehouse. Our lieutenant wasn't happy, especially since we didn't have any suspects but as we had both survived, he could only assign us to the night shift for an extra week as punishment.

Somehow the night shift wasn't quite so bothersome as before.

I paid a rather unofficial visit to the operators of the Carnie's Charity Casino. Without actual proof of coercion, I couldn't arrest them and they knew it, but I did remind them that there was a troll wandering around out there and it had their scents. If they didn't make things right for the people on Provenance Avenue, I would call the troll down.

Folks began returning to their homes on the street. The debris of Neville's home was cleared away, leaving an area for a parkette. It was quite lovely in the springtime.

Amelia was fascinated to hear about the troll baby and insisted on hearing the tale multiple times as she searched through her books for references and corroboration. Not finding any, she started wondering aloud if she should maybe write her own chapter.

Just leave me out of it, I told her.

After extracting a promise from Dryer that the after hours club supply taxis home for all patrons, I didn't report it. Dryer insisted on taking me back for a celebration. I managed two of his depth chargers before my vision began to swim. When he called for the third round I took a pass. I wasn't sure if even a troll could keep up with Xavier Dryer.

As for me, I ended up finding a dark blue dress for Gail's wedding and went solo, much to the disappointment of my mother.

"There was this guy," I told my mother as we sat at the dining table, sipping wine during the reception. "But he had to look after his kid. You would have liked him, mom. He was really tall."

"Maybe you'll see him again, dear." My mother patted my knee in comfort.

My father then took my mother's arm to guide her onto the dance floor, rescuing me from further interrogation. He winked at me over her shoulder.

I raised my glass to my dad. "God, I hope I don't," I said to myself and sipped my wine.

I was so over super tall men.

END
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About the Author

Based in Toronto, Canada, I write horror, science fiction and mystery/crime, often all at once in the same story. Garnering an Honorable Mention in "The Year's Best Science Fiction" and nominated for numerous Aurora Awards, my work has appeared in Fiction River: Sparks, Fiction River: Recycled Pulp, Tesseracts 16: Parnassus Unbound, Ride the Moon, Tesseracts 15: A Case of Quite Curious Tales, TransVersions, Deadbolt Magazine, On Spec, The Vampire's Crypt, Storyteller, Reflection's Edge, Future Syndicate and Into the Darkness, amongst others.

Check out some of my other titles:

Devil's Food: A Tiffany Waters Paranormal Mystery

Your Cheatin' Heart: A Tiffany Waters Paranormal Mystery

A Trace of Blood

Or my compilations:

Wreck the Halls: 5 Christmas Horror Stories

Fear Itself Volume 1: 10 Horror Stories (& 1 Poem)

Visit me at:

Website: http://www.RebeccaSenese.com  
Twitter: <http://twitter.com/RebeccaSenese>

