Page 16 of Shadowed With Fear

Slow movements through the cracked window, steps light as a feather on the floorboards. I pass a mountain of dirty dishes and trash piled in the corner of the kitchen. A hall with photographs framed of a family that looked at one point to be happy, thriving. Two kids, two parents. Happy smiles on all of their faces.

Yet, as the pictures progress, the joy diminishes. One with a woman in a blue sundress, sitting under a tree, a book in her hand, a PIC line on her chest, and a wrap on her head, but her smile just the same.

The next was the two kids and Jerry. He looked so much younger. Head full of thick brown hair, his kids under his arms, but the stress was evident.

They just kept getting worse. Kids distancing from him, his appearance deteriorating until the last one, one that looks more recent maybe a year or two old, he stands there, sweating, red-faced, thin hair, and a look in his eyes that tells you he’s lost his humanity, his hope.

Whatever, or whoever, Jerry once was, he’s gone.

In the living room, the TV casts the room in flickers of colorful lights, but the couch is empty. That’s fine, I can wait here. I inch across the room, my back against the wall opposite the hall, next to a small alcove. Jerry’s in his room. The sound of drawers slamming and mumbled cursing flows through the cracked door. The other two rooms I guess are his kids. Maybe a bathroom. I’m not sure.

Next time see if Brahm can get floor plans.

Jerry stumbles, catching himself on the door frame, his hand gripping it through the gap.

In the next instant, he jerks the door wide and takes a step out. He doesn’t get much of a chance to even understand what he’s seeing before my arm shoots out, knuckles catching the corner of his chin, and he goes down.

The heavier the fall. I chuckled to myself, looping the rope around his arms, careful to tie each knot precisely, tight to keep him immobile, before moving on to his feet. I’m just finishing the last knot as Stitch comes in, with the flashes on the TV I can make out the gleam in his eyes and his chest heavy with heavy breaths.

“Have fun?” I ask him, sarcasm dripping from each word.

“More than you know.” His voice is rough, like he’s strained.

I shake my head, motioning to the lump of asshole at my feet. “Stick him fast. Then help me lug him out. He’s a lot bigger than I expected.”

Together, we got him out the back door. The fire along the back fence crackled happily. Stitch’s eyes follow each flame as it licks the night sky, but surprisingly he keeps up with me and we get him in the back of Jerry’s car unseen.

“Alex’s making the call right?” I ask as I settle into the driver’s seat. Adam’s taken his Stitch mask off, looking off into the distance behind me, still watching his handy work.

“Yeah. Just gotta send him the text and he’ll wait ten minutes before driving by. Given the weather, the garage should be caught. I have already checked and all I seen were old bikes and boxes of his supplies. When the trucks come it would be just about to catch the right side of the house.” He’s so distracted his voice has gained monotony.

“Okay, Human Torch. Let’s get out of here before you cum in your pants.”

He just glares at me, but with the mask on, it’s so easy to hide my grin.

* * *

“We just want to know who you’re working with, Jerry. That’s all. If you tell us that, we can stop this,” Brahm’s—Sire’s—tone is nonchalant. Like he’s trying to coax a toddler out of their hiding place.

Next to him, wearing his distorted mask, Henry takes on his Split persona. The fucker is scary. He spins his knife like he did yesterday at our meeting. Only this time the tip is dripping with blood and each twirl has it splashing across his mask. His shoulders shake with a snicker as Sire’s heel connects with Jerry’s shin. There’s a distinct crack and the sound of his pain-filled groans.

I got to hand it to the man. He’s taking this like a champ. Either we were wrong, and his loyalty is much stronger than we expected, or he is scared of who he works for. Just not as scared as he should be of us.

“Split,” Sire nods to the man lying on the graveled ground behind the Founder’s Fest game booths. The twinkling music and sounds of children’s laughter and screams echo all around us. Back here though, with only a slight glow of the carnival lights illuminating the scene, we’re all alone. The timer on Stitch’s watch says we still have ten minutes before we have to head in the direction of the South Exit.

Split drops down into a crouch, knife pointed directly above the man’s left eye. Jerry begins to splutter bullshit about being a father and a hardworking man, and how if we let him go, we’ll forget all of this happened. Just before the point touches his eyelid, the fireworks erupt in the sky, and a blood curdling scream flows through the back alley.

Sire, Stitch, Split, and I all stop and look at each other. The fireworks continue to burst high in the dark of the night sky.

Jerry’s voice is hoarse as he bargains with us.

“Shut the fuck up,” Split hisses through his mask.

We heard a scream again.

“Shadow, go. We’re moving the timeline up. Warehouse in twenty if it’s nothing. Text if it isn’t,” Sire’s command has my back straightening, grip tightening on the knuckles.

The guys haul Jerry’s body up and begin dragging him out of the alley toward the south parking lot. My feet move on autopilot around the darkened alley, dodging dumpsters, cords, and debris.