Chapter 25


    The police cruiser slowly wheeled up to and eventually parked right in front of 909 West 7th. Both the


    young officer who was operating the vehicle and Mike O''Dea sat inside the car and red on and on at


    the bleak, broken down old house with simr looks of dismay written on their faces.


    Mike, who by then had grown a full, greying beard that would have suggested that he hadn''t shaved in


    quite a while, rubbed his hard hands together as though he were anxious over something.


    In his brown leather long coat, matching brown polyester pants and a tweed fedora, Mike took a


    strained gander at the rest of the drab neighborhood on that slowly approaching evening. On the other


    side of the sidewalk were two ck men wearing ck leather jackets and just standing in front of a


    parked car smoking and talking to each other. Mike just cut his eyes from the men as to say they


    weren''t worth his time.


    "Well, Mr. O''Dea, here it is." The young officer switched off the car''s ignition and sighed.


    Mike nced back over at the house and heaved, "Yeah, a real piece of shit, huh?"


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    "If you ask me, they should''ve torn this ce down a long time ago."


    "Hell, they should destroy this entire neighborhood, for the love of God." O''Dea snickered while


    unbuckling his seatbelt and preparing to climb out of the car.


    "You know, when I was herest, this house looked terrible. But now...it actually looks worse." Officer


    Sullivan mentioned with a sudden pale face.


    O''Dea just smirked at the young man as to imply that hisment was humorous. "Hang in there, kid.


    Believe me when I say, you''ll encounter a helluva lot worse by the time you''re done in the force."


    "That makes me feel secure." Sullivan sarcastically remarked.


    "Look, you''re a good Irish kid." O''Dea said. "We need more good cops like you out here." O''Dea then


    pointed out at the two men across the street. "Look at ''em, the dregs of society." He sneered. "They,


    and any other that suck on society''s tit. I hated it when they took me off the beat. I got a chance to be


    out here with my nose to street. What you saw the other day inside that house was just a glimpse of


    real life. Your father knew that, too. He was a good cop, and he expects his son to follow in suit."


    Swallowing, Sullivan remarked, "Yeah, but I bet he never saw anything like what happened the other


    day."


    Shrugging his shoulders, Mike callously replied, "Perhaps not, but then again, the little bastards had no


    business being in there to begin with. You jump into Jaws'' mouth, don''t be surprised when you''re


    eaten." O''Dea then reached inside his coat pocket and pulled out a fifty dor bill which he promptly


    handed to the young man. "C''mon, let''s go."


    Both O''Dea and Sullivan got out of the cruiser and proceeded to march towards the house. With his


    hands inside his coat pockets, O''Dea''s stride was zealous while Sullivan''s was cautious if not sluggish.


    O''Dea paused for a moment to stare up at the radiant autumn sky and back again at the men who by


    then were giggling in their direction. O''Dea just snubbed his nose at the men before stepping up the


    stairs of the porch.


    "You should''ve seen this porch." Sullivan said. "I think Officer Wayne said he found one of the boys''


    heart''s outside here. He said that it was still beating."


    O''Dea scanned the grimy porch where several of the wooden boards wereing loose before he


    stood in front of the front door. Sullivan pushed against the door''s handle and stepped aside to let


    O''Dea in first.


    Closing the door behind him, Sullivan''s tongue fumbled, "I sure hope the Captain doesn''t find out about


    this."


    "Don''t worry about Brickman; he already owes me a few favors. Besides, you''re beingpensated for


    this. You''ve got nothing to be concerned about."


    The floor boards creaked and cracked with every movement the men made as they walked across


    causing an echo effect to rattle the silence within. There was still enough sunlight for them both to see


    where they were stepping. O''Dea took a minute to scan the reddish walls and floor. The smell within


    the house was stiff and putrid, like being inside a cold butcher shop.


    "The guys did their best to clean the walls, but there was so much blood that they eventually just gave


    up."


    O''Dea took a Proid camera from out of his coat and snapped a couple of shots. He shook the prints


    and waited for the film to develop before studying both pictures carefully and stuffing them into his


    pockets.


    "Tell me again why you think this is so important?"


    O''Dea took a picture of the floor before saying, "My boy, they say truth is stranger than fiction. This


    entire case has baffled everyone since it first began back in February. No leads, no clues, just


    spection and people still turning up dead."


    "So do you believe that these animals are still on the loose?" Sullivan stood nervously behind O''Dea.


    Scanning the entire living room from side to side, O''Dea answered, "It''s hard to say. If it is an animal,


    it''s an animal that no one can seem to spot. These murders have been far too gruesome for a human


    to havemitted. No, no, I happen to believe that something a lot deeper is going on here."


    "Well, if it''s not an animal, or a person, then who or what?"


    Right then, Sullivan''s radio crackled to life. "I gotta take this." Sullivan hurried to say as he whipped out


    his radio from his holster and took off out the front door.


    O''Dea went and shut the door behind the young man before turning back around and taking out a mini


    tape recorder from within his coat. From there he began a methodical march around the living room


    that would end up leading down the hallway.


    Speaking into the recorder''s voice receiver, O''Dea stated, "I''m currently inside the Glover residence.


    With the exception of the living room, the hallway appears to be untouched."


    O''Dea opened the one bedroom door and poked his head inside. He then walked over to the closet to


    find nothing but an empty space within.


    "I attempted to contact Lyte Glover, but came up with no results. I''m considering paying a visit to


    her parents'' home where I am told she resides." He spoke as he headed back out to the hallway and


    down towards the bathroom.


    With extreme carefulness, he opened the door and used what little light was still shining from the


    hallway to see what he was able to.


    Kneeling, the man said, "The floor still has remnants of bloodcerated all over. Nothing too deep, but


    one can surmise that due to theck of proper upkeep this house is not too far from demolition. Sullivan


    was right; it does need to be destroyed."


    O''Dea kept on and on gawking about until he spotted something hiding behind the toilet. The man


    reached over and picked it up.


    "I''m currently inside the bathroom where Isaac Mercer was shot dead by Detective Bruin. I''m holding in


    my hand right now what appears to be a piece of...fur." O''Dea studied the fment from side to side


    before taking out his eyesses and inspecting closer.


    "Brice may be a nut, but he''s still holding tight to his animal theory. And to be perfectly honest, I can''t


    really me him. The neighbors all said that Glover did not own a pet, and yet, they also said that they


    heard an animal inside this house that night. And that same animal was tearing the joint apart like a


    bulldozer. There was an animal inside this fucking house that night." He spoke more sternly as he


    stuffed the fur inside his coat pocket.


    "I don''t care what anyone says; Linus shot and killed both Mercer and something else. And I happen to


    believe that was what eventually drove him to take his own life."


    O''Dea then stood back up. "They were harboring an animal inside this house that night. Possibly the


    same animal that tore those Jamaicans apartst November. That''s exactly what Linus killed. Isaac


    Mercer was involved with the Jamaicans prior to his death and he brought it over here, possibly to fend


    off Linus. But Linus shot both Mercer and the beast, and the beast got away to the Hollis Towers." He


    anxiously exined to his recorder.


    "I''ll be dammed, it''s been right in front of everyone''s eyes this entire time." O''Dea then began to


    gradually turn around and around inside the bathroom. "That''s why that ck bitch Glover is nowhere


    to be found. She''s probably running some kind of underground voodoo cult in town." Mike then stopped


    twirling and gripped his recorder even tighter inside his sweating right hand.


    "This is exactly what could get me back on the force. Now, from what another informant told me,


    Charles Mercer was just released from the hospital not too long ago. That means I need to catch up


    with him and—


    Just then, O''Dea''s keen ramblings were interrupted by a racket from another part of the house. The


    man nearly dropped his recorder to the floor before he stuffed the thing back inside his coat and


    reached into another pocket to take out a revolver.


    "Who''s in here?" He called out. "Sullivan?"


    But instead of an answer all that he could still hear was the thumping of something stalking about like it


    owned the ce.


    With his gun pointed straight ahead of him O''Dea boldly struck out of the bathroom, down the hallway


    and into the living room. He stood in the middle of the floor and gazed all over before catching a


    darkened figure seated Indian-style on the kitchen floor.


    "Hold it right there!" He pointed his revolver at the person.


    The individual''s face was hidden by the shadows within the increasingly dimming kitchen which only


    frustrated O''Dea even further as he cautiously approached the person.


    "Slowly get to your feet with your hands up!" O''Dea said aloud.


    Gradually, the person lifted their head. The sun was going down for the evening, so seeing the person


    clearly was near impossible. O''Dea could tell just by the bulky build that it was a man; a man with


    dreadlocks. Ever so carefully he raised his hands in the air.


    "Stop right there!" O''Dea snapped. "Okay, who are you, and why are you here?"


    The man dropped his hands back down to the floor before ncing to his left and to his right. Still,


    O''Dea could barely see the man''s face. He could tell that he wasn''t wearing a shirt of any kind, and that


    whatever sort of pants he was wearing looked to be shredded to pieces.


    "Where dey at, mon?" The man spoke in a hoarse Jamaican ent.


    Turning up his face, O''Dea asked, "Come again?"


    "Me sister, and me brotha," the man continued on, soundingpletely confused.


    "Okay, pal, I don''t know why you''re here, but you need to get—


    Just then, O''Dea ceased his speech to take a moment to reflect. Immediately he thought of Lyte


    and Isaac and began backing away.


    "Alright, pal, just hold it right there. I got back up outside. Make one move and I''ll blow you away."


    "Dey not here, mon." The man woefully groaned.


    "Who''s not here?"


    "Dey gone," he continued on.


    "Who, Mercer, Glover," O''Dea zealously questioned. "Do you know where Lyte Glover is?"


    Soon, the man in the kitchen began an ominous chuckle thatsted nearly an entire minute before he


    settled back down.


    "No, no, mon, we here for de girl."


    "Who''s we? What girl?"


    "Little Lyte, no Isaac."


    "I fucking knew it." O''Dea gritted his teeth in a whisper. "Okay, juste out of there and we can go


    down to the police station and try and figure out together where Ms. Glover is."


    But just then, the man inside the kitchen sat absolutely still, so still in fact that it appeared to O''Dea that


    he was lifeless.


    "Wee here to dis country for de girl. I try to get her, but she get away from me."


    O''Dea could hardly even understand the man''s dialect let alone what he was trying to get at. And the


    more the man remained in the shadows the more anxious O''Dea seemed to be.


    "What...what the hell are you talking about? Are you talking about Lyte? Do you know anything


    about the animal attacks this past summer?" O''Dea kept panting. "Listen...juste forward real slowly


    and—


    "I still smell tha fire, mon."


    "What fire are you talking about?"


    "I feel it all over me. I tried to kill ''er, but she get away."


    "Who did you try to kill, for Christ''s sake?"


    "De girl...Lyte," the man''s voice began to deepen. "But me brotha have no mercy upon me."


    By then, O''Dea''s knees were beginning to wobble beneath him. The situation was bing more and


    more agonizing by the second, and the seconds were dragging by like hours in his mind.


    "So let me get this straight, you tried to kill Lyte Glover, and you say that your brother tried to kill


    you?"


    "Me brotha is a very powerful mon."


    "What''s his name? Where is he? Come down to the station with me and we can work this out."


    All of the sudden, O''Dea''s nose began to catch the aroma of something burning. The man kept his gun


    trained on the shadowy man inside the kitchen while trying to figure out where the smell wasing


    from.


    "Sullivan!" O''Dea hollered out. "Sullivan, get in here, I got a suspect!"


    "Your mon note here. No one save ya now, Yankee boy."


    At that instant, the man on the floor jumped right to his feet. O''Dea tightened his slippery finger around


    his gun''s trigger.


    "Stop right there, dammit!" He nervously yelled.


    The man in the kitchen stood perfectly immobile before his two eyes began to shine right through the


    kitchen''s shadows.


    "What in God''s name?" O''Dea began to shiver.


    "When ya get to hell, tell my brotha dat I cannot wait to see him."


    "Don''t you make one more move!" O''Dea himself started to back away.


    Drawing further and further out of the shadows, the man''s harsh voice uttered, "I be there real soon,


    mon. I be there real soon."


    Without notice the man in the kitchen lunged out at O''Dea. O''Dea, out of sheer fright, fired his gun four


    times at the man before falling backwards onto the floor. Disoriented, O''Dea writhed about on the floor


    before finding himself covered in a pair of torn pants and what appeared to be pieces of burned flesh


    which the man quickly wiped off his self.


    O''Dea promptly got to his feet breathing in and out as though he had been running for miles. He looked


    down at the floor where the pants and charred skin was lying. With shaking hands he meticulously


    picked and prodded at the mess on the floor.


    He could still smell the scorched remains as if it were fresh. Words were beyond him at that point. All


    O''Dea seemed to be able to do was just stand and stare down at the floor before he turned to the


    kitchen to find itpletely empty. It was as though someone or something had sucked the very life out


    of him at that moment in time.


    "What the hell is going on in here?" Sullivan breathlessly crept up behind O''Dea.


    Still caught up in the thralls of terror, without thinking, O''Dea wildly spun around and began firing his


    revolver straight at Sullivan''s neck, which ended up sending the man crashing down onto the floor.


    O''Dea himself stumbled backwards,nding squarely back on his rear. The moment O''Dea atst


    came to his senses he saw a bloody Billy Sullivan lying on the floor holding his bleeding neck while


    writhing about in agony. Sweating and out of breath O''Dea sat absolutely still and watched in paralyzed


    shock as the young man fought for everyst breath be sumbing to the grip of death. His body


    jerked for at least ten or eleven seconds until atst it wentpletely still.


    O''Dea remained on the floor for the longest time before finally gathering the energy to get up and circle


    the dead man''s body while still holding onto his gun. He turned his head around to look back at the


    empty kitchen once more. He then looked back down at Sullivan whose eyes were wide open in a dull


    gaze. O''Dea didn''t even pull out a simple gasp let alone a word; he only stood in the middle of the floor


    and shook incessantly. Soon enough, however, a chorus of whispers began to arise within the small


    house. O''Dea spun around and around like a dog chasing after its own tail in search of where the


    uproar wasing from.


    "Who...who''s in here," he tried to catch his breath.


    But the whispers only grew louder the more O''Dea kept going back and forth across the floor like a


    lunatic, waving his gun in the air.


    "Holy mother of Christ," he slobbered all over himself. "I''m sorry!"


    In his delirious state the man couldn''t decide whether to race for the front door or faint to the floor. No


    matter what he found himselfpletely engulfed inside the ravages of insanity to the point where he


    was pointing his still warm gun at the walls around him.


    "Come..e out and show yourself!" He began to weep.


    Just as O''Dea was about to head for the front door, on the wall directly in front of him he noticed it


    actually moving, or breathing in and out. The man stood and watched in horror as the wall kept


    pulsating before what looked to be a snout with fangs made an imprint within the wall, appearing as if it


    wanted to tear right through.


    O''Dea attempted to fire his gun only to have it click repeatedly due to ack of bullets. Without haste


    he rushed for the front door, opened it and mmed it as hard as he could right behind him. Sweating


    profusely and huffing and puffing was all Mike O''Dea could seem to do while stumbling backwards off


    the porch and tripping over his own feet in the process. He got up to see not only the two men that


    were on the other side of the street still standing and gawking at him, but also other neighbors curiously


    observing just what on earth was happening.


    O''Dea suddenly remembered that he had a gun in his hand; he also realized just where he was as he


    caught sight of the police car that was still parked at the curb. Ever so cautiously he slipped his revolver


    back into his coat pocket before gathering his copsed senses and walking down the street only to be


    seized by the striking sight of the blood orange and red sky before him. It was such a remarkable


    sunset that cool evening that even O''Dea had to pause at its stunning disy. Not that he was


    enthralled by the image, but just the very sight caused his still racing heart to take brief pauses in


    between beatings. He was motionless before the sight of Sullivan and the creature behind the wall


    came rushing back into his brain.


    O''Dea took one final glimpse backwards at the neighborhood onlookers before resuming his mournful


    march down the block.