Slayer: A Horror Novel (Carver Book 3), page 11
“In the Order, maybe, yeah. But it doesn’t have to be,” she said.
“You’re right,” I said.
Now she was looking like she was studying me, and I wasn’t sure if I liked that. “So you fought and killed a werewolf. Then a few years later, you got attacked by some witches, and you killed them too?”
“Not exactly. Zeke and Ziggy did most of the heavy lifting.”
“But you destroyed their god-idol thing?”
“Yeah,” I said. “That I did. I stomped it out. Didn’t know if it would work. I was just angry and wanted revenge for what they did to my friend.”
Annette chewed the stem of her glasses. She gave a slight shake of her head. “After all that, you still joined. Why?”
“Geez,” I said. “I didn’t expect to get grilled here.”
“Well, now I’m really curious,” Annette said. “Why, John?”
I sighed. “I think it’s because I was tired of life passing me by.”
“Life passing you by? You’re only, like, mid-twenties, aren’t you?”
“Never ask a lady her age,” I said with a wink. She didn’t find it funny—even though it very much was. “I’m not too old,” I continued. “That’s true. But life passes you by fast. Seems like just yesterday I was an awkward teenager. Now I’m an awkward adult.”
Annette laughed. That was good. “Yeah, you got that right.”
“Thanks.” I smiled. “I guess I was sick of sitting around doing nothing. And…weirdly, I’m pretty good at this monster-killing thing. I don’t know if that’s something to be proud of or not, but here I am.”
“Just don’t get cocky.”
“Yeah, yeah. But you want to know something else?”
“Sure,” Annette said.
“I’m not afraid of death anymore. I’ve stared it right in the face more than once. Now, don’t get me wrong, would I prefer to live? Yes, definitely. But now I think whatever happens, happens, you know?”
Annette didn’t say anything. The silence of the library and our conversation was pressing. I rubbed my face, realizing that I’d probably overshared. Annette and I barely knew each other. Heck, I didn’t even know her last name until she walked into class a few weeks ago.
I cleared my throat. “I think I wanted to get busy living, that’s all. That’s the gist of it.”
Annette was nodding, but I could tell she was looking at me differently now. Should’ve kept my mouth shut.
“I see,” she said. “That’s cool. I respect that.”
“So what about you?”
A chuckle. “I just really, really hated college. And the money’s good.”
“Wow,” I said.
“Sometimes, the answer is simple,” she said.
“Yeah. Remember that.”
“What do you mean?”
“When you’re doing your spells,” I said. “Sometimes it’s simpler than our minds make it out to be.”
“Hmm,” she said, gazing into the distance. “Maybe you’re right.”
CHAPTER 9
ASSIGNMENT
I got my assignment in the form of a letter at six in the morning on what would’ve been my last day of training.
I was deep in sleep, but I still heard the scuff of the paper skirting across the tile floor, and when I did, my eyes snapped open. That probably had to do with our training. You see enough fucked up images and hear enough stories of Order members letting their guards down, and you start to be a little more vigilant. You start sleeping with one eye and one ear open.
The knock came a few seconds after I had awakened, and by that time, I was already out of bed and flipping my light on. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and I remember being surprised. I had fallen asleep that night without a shirt. The Order’s barracks weren’t absolutely terrible, but they weren’t air-conditioned, and it got hot despite my lone window being open.
I was surprised because my reflection…I mean, it looked good. There was some definition in my abs and my chest. For the first time in my life, I would probably be comfortable taking my shirt off around other people, and that was a nice feeling.
I remembered what had gotten me up in the first place. The envelope on the floor.
I squinted at it, picked it up, and turned it over. CARVER was scribbled on one side of it in big red letters. I recognized the writing as Doc’s. He had graded enough of my assignments and essays (so much fun, I know) for me to recognize it pretty easily.
I opened the envelope. There was only a single sheet of paper full of information and lingo I failed to understand. Shaking my head, I read it over and over again.
Agent Name: John Carver
Assignment: Possession Investigation
Location: Ryland County, Channel Falls, West Virginia, USA
4 dead, 6 injured as of July 30.
Your primary goal is to investigate reports of possession in the rural town of Channel Falls, West Virginia. You are to compile information about victims and injured and document any unusual behaviors.
Blend in with the local community. Dress in appropriate attire and avoid conspicuous behavior.
You are tasked with finding key individuals involved in the incidents and establishing contact without arousing suspicion.
If necessary, use code names. Under zero circumstances are you to let the local populace know of the Order’s existence or of our organization’s involvement in the case.
The Index of your group must document any occurrences considered strange, especially those of supernatural phenomena related to the alleged possession. Gather such evidence discreetly and report back to your commanding officer.
Do not take matters into your own hands unless absolutely necessary.
The local sheriff has been briefed on your coming arrival. He has kept the town and those under his employ in the dark, however. Your mission is on a need-to-know basis.
Equipment Provided:
1. Surveillance Gear (Cameras, audio recording devices)
2. Concealed Communication Devices
3. Alternative Uniforms (To match fabricated personas)
4. Non-lethal Defensive Gear
5. Local Maps and Navigation Tools
6. Relevant Documentation
Rules of Engagement:
1. Avoid compromising confrontations.
2. Maintain secrecy and confidentiality.
3. Civilian safety is of utmost importance.
Expected Duration: 1-2 weeks
Report to Dr. Henderson for mission briefing at 0700 today.
Authorized Signature:
Squid
I nodded as I read it again. Possession?
Then my fingers started itching, and I flung the paper over my tiny desk and stumbled away, cringing. I waited, I don’t know, maybe a minute, and nothing happened. The letter didn’t explode or catch on fire.
I truly had seen too many movies.
Well, this was good. I had gotten my first assignment, and I wasn’t going alone.
This didn’t seem hard. It seemed easy. Too easy.
And I didn’t like that.
At seven in the morning, I went down to Doc’s office. I expected there to be a line as he briefed us on all of our missions, but there were only two other people there. Harry and Annette.
“Where’s everyone else?” I asked.
Harry shrugged.
“Already briefed is my guess,” Annette said.
The door opened. Doc was there with a steaming mug in hand. “Good. I’ve been expecting you three.”
Doc’s office wasn’t anything special. There wasn’t much of anything special at this branch of the Order’s headquarters except for maybe the library, and it seemed Doc had a library of his own on the walls on either side of his scuffed wooden desk.
I glanced at a cluster of framed photographs on these shelves. Lots of pictures of the same girl through the years. There was one of her as a baby, I assumed, with a much younger Doc sporting a full head of sandy hair. He was smiling, and the glint in his eyes spoke of happy tears. Another of him and her, but her as a little girl holding a big pink backpack and smiling nervously. Her as a teenager in a basketball uniform, braces on her teeth, Doc looking quite coach-like. Then her in a wedding dress in front of a flowery archway.
It must’ve been his daughter, and I found that strange. The agents here, the instructors—hell, even the people who made the food in the cafeteria—never spoke of their personal lives. It was strange to think about them like regular people because their jobs—our jobs—were nothing close to regular.
“Can I see your assignment, Harry?” Doc said.
Harry passed it over, and Doc went around his desk, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Okay, let’s see, let’s see. Ah! Yes, the West Virginia case. Yes, yes, yes, this is an interesting one.”
“We all got the same assignment?” Annette said.
“It looks like it,” Doc said. “Is that a problem?”
“No, sir. I just thought…” She trailed off and shook her head.
“You don’t look surprised, Carver,” Doc said.
“Uh…oh yeah, that’s crazy,” I said.
“Having a familiar friend pays off sometimes, doesn’t it?” Doc winked at me.
I stammered.
“You knew?” Annette said accusingly. “And you didn’t tell me? Even after that moment we shared in the library?”
“Moment?” Harry said and snickered.
“No, no,” I said, waving my hands. “It wasn’t like that—”
“Now, now,” Doc said, “let’s get back on track here.” He set a file on the desk next to Harry’s letter and clapped his hands together. “Let us get down to business.” He opened the folder, and the first photograph I saw was a picture of a man face down in a gritty part of a road. Or at least I thought it was a man. It was slightly hard to tell because the man had been mostly squashed.
“Fuck me,” Harry said, turning away.
I felt my gag reflex activate, but I made sure not to avert my eyes. We had seen plenty of harsh stuff in our classes as well as in our books, but the aftermath of a vampire attack or an exorcism held a degree of separation because it always felt somewhat fake. This didn’t. This felt grimy and very real.
“Lovely,” Annette said, but she didn’t turn away either. “What a way to start the day.”
“Well, there’s always a silver lining,” Doc said, tapping a knuckle on the photograph. “You could be this guy.”
“What happened to him?” Harry asked.
“Mr. Edward Stapleton here is who we believe was the first victim, but we could be wrong about that. That’ll be up to you to confirm.”
“First victim of who? Jack the Ripper?” I said. I couldn’t peel my eyes away from the macabre picture. The guy splayed out, his entire upper half flattened, his head like a crushed pumpkin, the pool of dark blood dotted by yellow-white bits of skull and teeth. I wasn’t particularly hungry that morning, but I knew I wouldn’t bother with a visit to the cafeteria after this for breakfast.
“You may not be far off,” Doc said. “As of now, we don’t know who the perpetrator is.”
“Shouldn’t this be a job for, like, the police or the FBI?” Annette said. She crossed her arms over her chest and frowned.
“Well, usually, yes. Local law has already conducted an investigation and found nothing. Same goes for the FBI, who took one look at the evidence and jettisoned the case to us.”
Harry hummed the beat to the Ghostbusters’ theme song and said, “Who you gonna call?”
“Exactly,” Doc said. He pulled out another photo of a mean-mugging fellow, PAIN tattooed under his left eye in cursive. “This is Silas Blackwood. A local criminal believed to be one of the largest drug dealers in the area. The FBI and the town’s sheriff both think he may have ties to the attacks.”
“Supernatural ties?” Annette asked.
“That is for you to find out,” Doc said. “He is, at the very least, worth looking into.”
“Us?” I said. “We’re rookies in the Order. Not grisly cops.”
“Yes, you are rookies. You’re right,” Doc replied. “However, you’ve been trained by the best.” He winked. “You’ll be fine.”
Then he flipped the picture over and showed us the one beneath. Another corpse. This one was partially burned as if the person—I couldn’t tell if it was a male or female—had gotten hit by a lightning bolt. The pictures that followed weren’t much better. All grim, all mutilated. There was even a picture of a guy with missing fingers. Quite bloody. The words scrawled on the back of the photo were Blender Incident.
“You’ll head out today, as soon as possible,” Doc said.
“Today?” Annette said.
“Yes, ma’am.” Doc shook all of our hands. “Good luck, and don’t disappoint me.”
CHAPTER 10
CHANNEL FALLS
We left around noon that day. An unknown driver took us to an airport, and we boarded a private plane—nothing glamorous, mind you; it was more like a crop duster—and flew east. We were in West Virginia by three. We had landed at another private airport that looked a lot like the one we had left.
“Where the hell are we?” Harry asked as we dragged our little bit of luggage down the steps of the plane.
“Beats me,” I said.
“Man, I still don’t know where HQ is.”
“Same,” I said.
Annette sighed. “Do Slayers ever read?”
“Read?” I said. “I’m a movie guy. Remember?”
She rolled her eyes and then quoted something straight out of our Order Handbook. “‘The location of HQ is to be kept secret until a recruit has proven his or her merit. Only when the Tentacle is etched upon their skin will they be granted knowledge of the various HQs across the North American continent.’ Chapter 2, Section 5.”
Harry and I exchanged a look, both slightly confused but more than a little impressed. Annette pushed past us, her pink suitcase in tow, plastic wheels grinding over the tarmac. Somewhere behind us, another plane took off with a roar.
“But it doesn’t take a dummy to realize HQ is probably somewhere in Michigan,” she said over her shoulder.
Harry and I glanced at each other again, and then we both said, “Indexes.”
A rental car was waiting for us in the airport’s parking lot. It was a gray Toyota Camry that had definitely seen better days.
“Nice to see the Order takes care of their own,” Harry said as he patted the roof. “Thought we were gonna nosedive in that plane, and now we gotta drive this?”
I had the keys, and I hit the trunk button on the fob. The hinges screeched as they opened. All three of us cringed at the sound. “It’s not that bad.”
Certainly better than my own rust bucket.
Our luggage stored, we set out for Channel Falls. Less than an hour later, we passed a welcome sign. The sign was weathered, the wood splintered, and the paint worn and faded.
“Good omen, eh, Mr. Movie Guy?” Harry asked. He was in the front passenger’s seat, I was driving, and Annette sat in the back with a book open in her lap.
Channel Falls was like every small town I’d been to. On the surface, it was nothing special, but the longer you stayed, the more you began to love it. I hoped, at least.
We headed into the heart of town, which was nothing more than a main strip bisected by the Ohio River.
“I’m hungry,” Harry said. “Y’all want to eat?”
We were going over a bridge that had seen better days.
“I could eat,” I said. “Annette? How about you?”
She didn’t answer. Her face was a mask of wrinkled anxiety as she turned a page in the paperback.
“Annette?” I called again and still received no answer. So I tapped on the brakes. She, unbuckled (tsk-tsk), was thrown into Harry’s seat.
“Hey! What the—?”
“Sorry,” I said. “A squirrel ran out in front of us. Are you hungry?”
She thought about it for a second. “Meh.”
“Oh!” Harry said, pointing out of my window. “There’s a little diner up there.”
I slowed and took it in. From the outside, I reckoned Brooks’ Diner wasn’t the kind of place that would be granted an A+ health inspection rating, but it was there, and it was like everything else in Channel Falls. Rusty, old, run-down. The lights on the sign were on. It was overcast enough for them to make a dull glow in the grayness, but only about half were in any working condition.
“That place?” Annette said. “Do you want food poisoning?”
“Maybe there’s a McDonald’s or something in town?” I said. I pressed on the gas, and the Camry coughed back up to the speed limit, which was a modest thirty-five miles per hour in spite of the narrow roads.
“Again,” she said. “Do you want food poisoning?”
“I mean, a Big Mac is worth the stomach ache,” I said.
Annette frowned.
“Hey, you remember what Doc said,” Harry interrupted. “We gotta work the locals. Find out what they’re thinking about all of the shit that’s been going down.”
“I guess.” Annette closed her book and set it next to her. She already looked fed up with the mission, and I couldn’t blame her. She was an Index. The Indexes spent about ninety-five percent of their time in the libraries and archives at HQ. But, as Doc was wont to say, traditions were traditions, and anyone who wanted their Tentacle had to pass this inaugural field assignment.
“Go on, John,” Harry said. “My stomach’s cramping, man.”
Swerving around more than a couple of potholes, I pulled into the lot and parked in a spot right in front of the wide windows. There were a few patrons inside. An old couple spooning soup into their mouths at a snail’s pace. A man with a mug of coffee and a newspaper splayed out on the counter. Two big guys sat nearby, laughing over something.
