Reaper II: Neophyte (6 page)

As I crouched to survey the basement, my eyes could hardly bear and believe the sight before me.

It took a minute to register exactly what I was seeing – though the Dark Thing gave no indication of surprise. 

It had somehow known what to expect all along, yet had not conveyed to me anything but a sense of urgent need to get to this location.

Immediately I noticed that in the large room was the queen-sized bed in the middle with the shackles and chains at both its head and its foot.  The bed was in a state of disarray, the white sheets messy and spattered with what appeared to be blood and other stains. 

A single brown teddy bear sat alone at the center of the bed, a prop of some kind, its cute button eyes bearing witness to the horrors that had unfolded here.

I felt my eyes widen as I took it all in. 

There were three small cages, one empty, two with a small child housed inside their locked panels. The cages were a foot apart and no larger than dog kennels, which had likely been their original purpose.

The captive children were so tiny.

It was so wrong for them to be here.

The one on the left was a blond boy, the one on the right, a cocoa skinned girl. 

Their faces were turned away from me and I shuddered to think of what their little eyes had seen here, in this basement that was their prison. 

The kids couldn’t have been more than three years old…

I surveyed the rest of the room quickly, seeing the video recording equipment, the various implements of torture hanging on a rack on the wall, nearest the bed. 

The open door to the walk-in closet had a rack of child-sized costumes in a multitude of styles and materials. 

The sole adult in the room was a balding heavy-set man seated in front of the computer his back to me.  From my position on the stairs, I could see that he was manipulating a photo of the blond haired boy with some kind of computer graphics software. 

I didn’t want to believe what the image on the screen was showing me.

An image of an act so terrible, I had to look away.

How many photos had there been in this room, of children forced into these sick acts? 

How much innocent blood and tears had been spilled on that bed, for the sake of this man’s perversion? 

The perversion of others who made use of the photos for their own sick purposes.

The Dark Thing didn’t want to wait for a confrontation with the man. 

It wanted justice. 

More than justice, it wanted this man’s blood. 

It had made its decision before we had even reached this house of terrors.

Now, I made mine. 

I understood the Dark Thing’s wishes.

There would be no day in court for this monster. 

No sentencing hearing, no insanity plea and no treatment or rehabilitation program.

No time off of a jail sentence for
good behavior
.

Only the dark hand of true justice.

I descended the rest of the stairs, feeling stronger and more determined with each new step.  The Dark Thing’s raw hunger for his blood drove me on, adding intensity to my sense of purpose.

I walked past the unmade bed, past the camcorder on its tripod, past the closet of costumes, willing my hands to grow claws as long as knife blades.  With my newly lengthened fingers, my hands would fit perfectly around his throat and so, they did.

The balding man was so engrossed in his sick labors that he didn’t even notice – didn’t even sense – me standing there behind him, reaching my hands around each side of his throat. 

In a frenzy, I dug my claws into his fat flesh, burying them into each side of his larynx.

I burrowed deep and true.

The Dark Thing fed off the man’s surprise, as surely as it fed on his blood, its satisfaction growing with every weakening beat of his heart.  His only sound of protest was a wet gurgle as his throat filled with blood.

The fat man flailed, grabbing at my hands, trying to pry my talons from his corrupt flesh. 

In this unnatural form, I was far stronger than him and getting stronger by the second.  Every drop of blood that fell on the leather-like surface of my dark second skin was soaked up by the Dark Thing, devoured completely, adding to our power.

Just as had happened with my other victims, images of the pervert’s crimes washed through my mind while his blood quenched the savage hunger of the Dark Thing. 

Little boys and little girls…

I closed my eyes against the imagery, but the man’s memories wouldn’t budge, wouldn’t leave me alone.

Little boys and girls…

There had been many of them, over the years, tortured in this room and photographed, their images traded and sold so that afterward, their little bodies could be disposed of in the City’s garbage dumps when he and his circle of pornographers tired of their tiny broken spirits.

Looking down at the pedophile from above, I saw his brown eyes bulge in their sockets. 

He couldn’t believe what he was seeing in the reflection of his computer screen – but then, who would? 

I certainly didn’t look human. 

Not anymore.

In the reflection of the monitor was a monster of one kind facing a monster of an entirely different variety.

I reminded myself, then and there, that his evil by far surpassed that of anything I might do to him. 

I could barely suffer the idea of letting him live any longer. 

I wanted the images of his deeds out of my head since they were sickening to me. 

They were a poisonous lot that filled me with hatred for this awful bastard.

He made more horrified gurgling sounds as I decided the feeding was over and tore out his throat, severing his carotid arteries. Twin arcs of blood splashed across the air, landing on the computer screen and soaking the orange shag carpet of the floor with heavy crimson droplets. 

The fat man grabbed at his throat with his hands, trying to stop the blood flow. 

It was too late!

I had cut too deep, had shredded his neck.

His injuries were fatal. 

I felt eyes upon me and turned to see the blond haired boy and dark skinned girl watching me intently, their eyes wide with horror, their breathing distressed around the gags in their tiny mouths. 

Considering the children, who had already been through enough, I tore the top sheet from the bed and covered the dying man with it.

I had a few decisions left to make. 

What to do about the children?

About the fat man’s body? 

I saw the large key ring hanging on a nail in the wall near the cages – holding what were likely the keys to the children’s cages
. 

I could let them go, here and now,
I thought. 

But no.  The police were the best suited to care for the children, to return them to their parents and free them from this Hell that had been their prison for so long. 

Now, as for his body…well, I supposed the police were the best suited to handle that, too.

Either them or the city coroner…

Seeing the phone line next to the computer, I decided to use the dying man’s own telephone to call the police. 

I willed my fingers to return to their natural proportions, though not uncovering so much as to leave the fingerprints of my bare skin.

I had never dialed nine-one-one before and, after punching the three digits into the cordless phone, I was surprised to hear a list of options.

“If this is a fire emergency, press one.  If this is a police emergency, press two.  If you need medical assistance, press three.  If you do not have a touch tone phone, please stay on the line and –“

I interrupted the recording by pressing two, for a police emergency.

The line began to ring.

“Hello, nine-one-one, what is your emergency?” Came the nasal voice of the female telephone operator.

“Hello.  I’m calling to report a very dead man and two children who’ve been to Hell and back in the basement of the white and blue house at sixty-five Carter Street.”

There. 

Quick and to the point.

“Your name?”

“It doesn’t matter.” I told her, wondering if she was tracing the phone call, as they did on the police shows on television. “Just send the police as soon as you can, please.  I can’t bear the thought of these children being in those cages much longer.  They’ve been through enough.”

“Is this some kind of prank?” The woman demanded, suddenly, as though she didn’t believe me.

She had to believe me! 

I couldn’t take care of the kids myself and I couldn’t exactly stick around to talk to the police…

“No – I’ve just killed the man who was keeping them hostage.  Forgive me for putting the phone down, but I have to leave before the police get here.”

“What makes you think that the man is dead?”

The Dark Thing seemed to sense that she was stalling for time, which probably meant that the police
were
on their way.

“Because I tore his throat out and bled him like the pig he is – that’s how I know.” I was losing patience. Not to mention losing valuable time to get away before the police arrived.  The Dark Thing was encouraging me to hurry. “Goodbye.”

“Wait—“ I hung up on her before she could get another word out.

I turned to the children.

“I’m sorry for leaving you like this, kids, but the police will be here soon to take you back to your parents.  It’s over now.  That bad man can’t hurt you anymore.”

It bothered me, how they looked as terrified of me as they had no doubt been of him.

I willed the Dark Thing to fade from my face, knowing that my black eyes and reptilian skin weren’t helping things much, where their fears were concerned.

I tried to give them the most reassuring smile I could manage.

“I promise you – you’ll be safe at home, in no time.”  

They didn’t look reassured. 

They looked frightened.

Oh well. 

I had tried my best.

Without further ado, I left the way that I had come, willing the Dark Thing back into its dwelling place beneath my skin.  I paused at the door briefly and took the key from the lock, where I had left it, deciding to keep it as a trophy, a souvenir of what had happened this night. 

My work done, the door left open, my heart pounding – but the Dark Thing sated, if only for now – I walked back to the bus stop as quickly as I dared, though not too quickly to avoid drawing attention to myself.

An elderly lady with soft brown skin and even softer brown eyes was sitting on the bench at my stop, waiting for bus fifty-eight, the only bus that came down Sergeant Avenue.

“Do you know what time the next bus comes?” I asked her, politely.

“Oh, any time now.” She extended her hand to me, a package of mints in it. “Would you like a mint, dear?”

“Sure.” I accepted the Mentos from the package she offered.  I was delighted to find that the mint took the copper taste out of my mouth – the taste that seemed to accompany my transformations into the Dark Thing.  The copper taste was probably from the slightest trace of my victim’s blood, I suspected. After all, the Dark Thing did seem to devour every drop of blood that touched it. “Thank you.”

“So where are you coming from? I haven’t seen you around here before.”

“I was babysitting,” I lied.
It was more like baby-saving,
I thought to myself, with a bit of amusement. “This is a nice neighborhood.  I noticed that almost everyone grows flowers or trees in their yards.”

“Yes, people around here take great pride in their homes. I’m Luisa Mendez.”