Goblins (10 page)

Chapter Twelve

Hale sat at his desk and stared at the telephone. Twenty-four hours had passed since the creature's body had been transferred to the coroner's office. Everything had been put on hold so he could get answers as to what the hell he was dealing with. The worst part was not being able to acknowledge Newton's and Dalton's deaths. It wasn't right not to inform their loved ones and to keep their corpses on ice down at the morgue. The whole situation was fucked.

Hale knew word would leak despite only a handful of people knowing about the deaths and the creature. People talked. It was only natural. Couples shared intimate secrets. He'd ordered his officers not to talk to anyone. That it was crucial in keeping their town safe. But people were only human, as the saying went. And that's why he needed answers as soon as possible. He wanted the monster's body out of his hands. He felt silly referring to it as such, but for all he knew, it had been a true monster, something from hell or some dark corner of the earth. Maybe even an alien from outer space.

The vibe in the department was a somber one. When he walked in today, everyone was quiet. He knew they were mourning, but they were also worried about what was going on. Concerned looks were exchanged along with questioning ones. They wanted answers as much as he did. A couple of his officers avoided eye contact and he knew they had talked. Probably shared the news with their partners. Those people in turn would tell others, then so on and so on. If it hadn't already, word would soon spread around town. As of yet, the station received no calls pertaining to the matter.

The officers that hadn't been there were the toughest to convince about what was found. All they really knew was a fairytale story and that their fellow officers had been killed. But the fact that he, Levy and Keller had seen it helped to get most of the other officers to accept it. As far as the public was concerned, he thought the more far-fetched the story became, the less likely it would be believed.

As far as the slain officers' families, Hale had come up with a temporary cover story. A number of Manteo police were involved in an undercover sting and would be unreachable for at least a couple of days. The lie would only last so long. Things had to be sorted out quickly. Hale felt terrible for keeping the families in the dark, but he hoped they'd understand why he'd done it. If not immediately, then one day.

Of course, he knew the truth would most likely never be made official to the public or the slain officers' families. A green monster that looked like something out of a Dungeon and Dragons novel? No one would believe it, and he was sure the government—once they got the body—wouldn't want people knowing. Sure, magazines like the
National Enquirer
and such would jump on the story, and maybe even get it right, but it would only cause the majority of people to disregard it. The truth would be too hard to fathom.

What Hale did care about was assuring the public that the kidnapper was dead and that the residents were safe. He had no idea if there were more little green monsters roaming the island or in the sea, but he had to assume there weren't. The one that was discovered was an anomaly. A freak of nature. Surely if there were others, they'd have been found out. And if it was from outer space—he couldn't believe he was thinking such a thing—then there was nothing they could do about it anyway, and they'd have to wait for the invasion to begin.

Ten minutes before the noon hour, Hale on his fourth cup of coffee, the telephone on his desk rang. He jumped and glanced through the window of his office and saw Danielle, his secretary. When she nodded, he knew it was the coroner's office.

Hale picked up the receiver and brought it to the side of his face. “What have you got for me, Moe?”

“Hale, this is the strangest shit I've ever seen.”

“Let me have it, Doc.”

“This thing was made up of amphibian, animal and human DNA, along with a substance I simply can't identify,” Moe said, the man sounding more excited than Hale had ever heard. “Its physical properties are baffling. They follow no laws of nature as I know them. It's…It's… Look, all I can tell you is that it was some kind of mutant.”

“Like from nature or some human experiment?”

“Hell if I know,” Moe said, “but the substance keeping all the DNA together isn't from earth. It doesn't react right. The properties are all wrong. It's completely alien.”

Hale imagined alien ships hiding in plain sight using some kind of invisibility shield. They were abducting people and changing them as part of their invasion, using the planet's inhabitants to wipe themselves out with a little help.

Hale shook his head, realizing he'd read too much science fiction.

“Can you tell me anything else, like where it might've come from?” Hale inquired, not knowing what else to ask.

“I'm not sure, exactly.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it gets stranger, I'm afraid.”

Hale exhaled and leaned back in his chair. He needed answers, not more mysteries. “Let me hear it.”

“The creature started to break down.”

“Decompose?”

“No, like dissolve into nothing. It's gone. Not a trace of it left.”

“We've got nothing?”

“Not exactly,” Moe said. “Not knowing what else to do when it was basically disappearing, I tested another sample of its DNA against both missing kids.”

“And?”

“And while I didn't get a match to the Brown boy, I did get one to the Whitmore girl. An exact match.”

“What are you saying, it's a mutant sibling?”

“I'm saying that the creature had the exact same DNA as the girl. That thing wasn't a sibling, it was her, or at least part of it was.”

Hale heard the clink of a bottle and then a gulp. The man was clearly unraveling by what he'd discovered.

“Hale, what the hell is going on over on that island?”

Hale had no answer. He was now more stumped than ever. He told Moe to sit on his findings until he got back to him. There was nothing left of the creature, not even samples, so there was no danger of anyone seeing it, save for the pictures he had taken on his cell phone and any the doc might've taken.

After hanging up with the coroner, he called Special Agent Howard and told him everything. He simply spilled it all, half expecting the man to hang up on him. But Howard hadn't. According to the Special Agent, there were hundreds of unexplained and unbelievable things in the world, things he'd seen and heard about. Hale's story wasn't the craziest, and the fact that Hale had witnesses who'd seen the creature, along with a medical examiner's documented findings, the special agent was more than willing to accept it. Together, they came up with a plan on how to deal with the situation. It wasn't the truth, but it wasn't a lie either.

The cover story was something people would buy. Both men were sure of it. Howard had spun many such stories. There were always skeptics, but no one ever paid them any mind. “They were always the crackpots anyway,” he said. Hale was assured by Moe that no one had taken pictures of the creature, whether he believed that or not didn't matter. Hale had a few, but kept that to himself. He hadn't seen any of his officers take any.

No pictures were released when the story of what had happened came out a day later. Only somewhat of an accurate description of the little green goblin was given during the press conference, minus the green skin, claws and black eyes.

“We've caught and killed the Kidnap Killer,” Hale said during the media briefing. He had gone on to say that the suspect had been a deranged wildman who'd been living in the wilderness for years and apparently suffered from multiple mental health issues as well as physical ailments. The individual was thought to be a mutant at the time of birth, the parents probably having discarded him in the woods, thinking he would die.

For the most part, people bought the story. Funerals were held for the slain officers. The families were upset at Hale, but understood the reason for the delay. The concocted story had worked.

Sitting behind his desk a few days later, he wondered what really happened to Jacob and Kaley. Had she really been transformed into a monster? Maybe the beast was a distraction by the kidnappers and both kids were alive somewhere. The mystery ate away at him. Special Agent Howard said he'd keep the case open and investigate further, but didn't hold out much hope. In cases where missing people were involved, if they weren't found within the first few days, chances were they were dead.

The island's people were unnerved by the unsolved cases involving the missing kids, but they were somewhat at peace because the killer had been taken care of. The fear of other children going missing was gone, but the pain left by what transpired was ripe. It would take an unknown amount of time for things to feel normal again. But Hale knew the island's people were strong, the community like one giant family.

He went to bed that night, deciding to put it all behind him and move on. To dwell on the case would drive him mad and he had a community to lead and protect.

Chapter Thirteen

Jed Brewster sat on his worn and lopsided couch. The color had long ago faded from dark brown to coffee with extra cream, and the cushions had almost no give to them anymore. Layers of cardboard sat on the springs below to keep him from sinking into the thing. He sighed as he stared at what remained of the journal in his bony hands, the charred relic given to him by his father. Before that, the journal had been his grandfather's. Now, it was only the front and back cover and a few unreadable pages smeared with ash. The pages had burned away years ago after he had fallen asleep while smoking a cigarette in bed. Though he had been drunk off his ass at the time, he remembered that night vividly.

He'd gone out to celebrate his promotion. The foreman job was his. He'd worked for the company for ten years. It had been a dream come true. It meant more pay and better hours.

His wife, Jill, was visiting her sister in Raleigh for the night. His two boys were home with a sitter, his next-door neighbor's sixteen-year-old daughter.

Jed left the bar shortly after eleven and drove home, swiping a parked car on Main Street and almost hitting the large oak tree alongside his driveway. He stumbled into the house and went directly upstairs and flopped onto his bed. A minute later, Amanda came in to get paid so she could leave, but he'd asked her if she could stay the night and watch the boys. He was too drunk and wouldn't be any good if they needed something. She agreed.

As soon as she shut the door, he got undressed and crawled beneath the covers. A moment later, he was craving a cigarette. He didn't smoke often and never in the house. His wife forbade it. But since she wasn't home and he was not about to get dressed and go outside, he lit one up right there. Pure heaven, he thought, and leaned back, blowing smoke rings into the air. But lying back had been his mistake, and in no time at all, he had fallen asleep.

He awoke in a blaze. The bed, carpet around the bed, and the drapes were on fire. He flew from the bed, his legs and right arm aflame. He screamed and stumbled backward in a panic, tripped on his shoes and crashed through the bedroom window. He landed on the roof of the front porch, then rolled off and thudded to the ground below where he hit his head on one of the walkway stones and knocked himself out.

He awoke in an ambulance, and from that point on, his life was never the same.

No one else had made it out of the house. His kids' bodies were found in their bedroom, both under the bunk bed. They had gone there to hide. Amanda's body was discovered halfway up the stairs. Her neck was broken. It was theorized that she'd slipped while trying to get the kids. She'd stayed in the house looking for them. Gone toward the inferno when he'd escaped from it by accident.

Jed's wife divorced him three months later. A week after that she swallowed an entire bottle's worth of vodka, along with a bottle's worth of sleeping pills and then fell asleep forever. The pain of losing her boys was too much to bear.

Jed became a drunk. He used what little savings he had and bought a trailer. He didn't take the promotion or return to work after the fire. He went on welfare and waited to die. He'd thought about suicide, but couldn't bring himself to do it. He had a rifle and had put it in his mouth numerous times. Aimed it at his heart too. But nothing ever came of it.

Jed tossed the charred journal on the coffee table and picked up his beer, the memories of the past seeming like yesterday. He noticed how much dirt was beneath his fingernails and laughed, then chugged the can's contents. His fingers ached as he crushed the container. Some liquid dribbled down his chin. He wiped at it and tossed the can away where it clanked against a pile of others—his savings. He'd return them later in the week.

He was only fifty-two years old, but felt and looked closer to seventy. His joints ached all the time and his skin looked leathery. His face was cracked with wrinkles and hung loose below his eyes and mouth. The daily binge drinking and smoking was definitely making life harder and would send him to an earlier grave, but at the same time, living life as a drunk dulled the pain he never dealt with. Being a useless, lonely loser was what he deserved to be, and to suffer and die in the most horrible way. He only went to his doctor when he felt deathly ill and he hated his own cowardice. The man always gave him good news. Jed was an anomaly it seemed. His lungs were in decent shape—especially for a heavy smoker—and his bloodwork, which included a liver enzyme test, always came back aces. Besides an achy heart and a fractured mind, physically his body was holding together well.

Jed figured as much, knowing fate had plans for him to suffer for as long as possible. Smoking three packs a day and drinking alcohol didn't seem to be helping him reach the grave. Trying to die the legal way wasn't working.

Life had become one great big ball of misery since the night of the fire, and although he wouldn't outright kill himself, he was wearing a sign around his neck for death to take him.

Jed had no purpose but to wallow alone in pain, regret and despair. People from around town, friends, had all tried to help him after the tragedy. They brought him food, sat with him and made sure he knew it wasn't his fault. It was an accident and could've happened to anyone. He wasn't to blame himself—though his wife and her parents had—and needed to move on. There were support groups for people in his situation. His sister, who lived in Arizona, offered to take him in.

Jed would have none of it. He'd even gotten to the point of putting a sign on his trailer that told everyone to fuck off and leave him alone. He was tired of saying such things to people's faces. He'd even told the local pastor to fuck himself. When his sister came to visit a second time, he chased her out of the house with a kitchen knife. He'd been wasted at the time, but was glad he did it. He didn't deserve anyone's love or sympathy and wanted to be left alone. And if he couldn't bring himself to kill himself, then he could at least be dead to the world.

He'd lived this way for a while, roaming the streets for cans, for leftovers and whatnot, but then one day something happened. Something that shook him awake and made him remember his childhood.

He'd been rooting through the dumpster behind the Sip N' Go convenience store when a Manteo patrol car pulled up. Apparently one of the employees had called the police on him. He'd picked at that dumpster plenty of times. The owner didn't care as long as he didn't leave a mess—which he never did. But the owner was away and a new manager was on duty. With the recent homeless-wilderness-kidnap-killer situation, even though the suspect had been killed, the manager thought it best to call the police. The man in charge wasn't taking a chance that the homeless man in his dumpster wasn't a killer, too. Jed laughed at that. Almost everyone in town knew who Jed Brewster was and knew he wasn't homeless. The other employees tried telling that to the new manager, but he didn't listen.

The officers told Jed to move on and not to come back, at least for a while. The property was private and the manager, despite what the cops told him, said he wanted Jed off the premises.

“Garbage doesn't belong to anyone,” Jed said when the officers who went inside came back out and told him he had to move along. “I've got every right to be here.”

“No, you don't,” said the younger of the two officers. He had intense blue eyes and acne scars on his cheeks, but he was handsome. Jed wasn't sure if he'd met him before.

“Yes, I do,” Jed said, then let out a loud burp. He was still drunk from the twelve-pack of beer he'd had for breakfast. “I've been coming here for years. This is where I get yesterday's news and usually a bite to eat. Do you, either of you, know what great things this place throws out?”

“Look,” Handsome said. “You can get the hell out of here or spend the night in jail.”

Jed laughed. “You think you're threatening me with four solid walls, a meal and a non-leaky roof?”

Handsome turned to his partner and said, “Do you believe this guy?”

Handsome's partner was a mountain of a man named Keller. A house of muscle whose uniform always looked like it was in pain, the material stretching to its maximum, especially around the arms. Jed couldn't remember his first name, but the man was all right. Though he looked intimidating and could probably tear a person apart with his bare hands, the cop had never given him a hard time.

“This here's Jed Brewster,” Keller said nonchalantly. “The island's only semi-homeless man.”

“Hey, I got a home,” Jed said.

“Oh, the guy who burned his house down?” Handsome asked.

Keller gave his partner a could-you-be-more-blunt-about-it look.

Anger flared in Jed. Not at Handsome's words, but at how the man had said it, as if it was no big deal.

“I killed people, asshole,” Jed said. Unable to control himself, he coughed up a wad of phlegm and launched it at Handsome. The young officer jumped back, but not far enough and the spit landed on the tip of his shoe. The man's face reddened as his eyes narrowed and his lips formed into a thin line. He stepped toward Jed, who put his hands up. Officer Keller got between them.

“Hey, hey,” he said. “Enough.” He looked at Jed. “My partner didn't mean anything by what he said. Okay? I know you're not a troublemaker and you've been a staple in this town forever, but could you please just move to someplace else? This town just went through some terrible stuff and we don't need to fight among each other.”

“I want an apology,” Jed said and crossed his arms.

“No, fuck this,” Handsome said. “He's spending the night in jail. It smells like he could use the time to sober up and realize it isn't wise to be disrespectful to the police. He assaulted an officer of the law.”

Keller rolled his eyes. “Come on, it wasn't like he punched you.”

Handsome stared at Keller with an incredulous expression on his face, as if the man had said the most insulting thing he'd ever heard.

“I think we're done here,” Jed said, turned and headed back to the dumpster. Cops never bothered him. Keller was in charge and would leave him be. Show Handsome how things worked. Besides, he was hungry and needed a meal. He'd seen a still-in-its-plastic-container tuna fish sandwich.

“Hey,” Handsome shouted. Jed then felt a tug on his shoulder and was stopped in his tracks. He was spun around and lost his balance. In an attempt to keep himself from falling, he blindly reached out and grabbed on to Officer Handsome's sidearm.

“He's going for my gun,” Handsome yelled. The cop wrestled Jed to the ground and slapped a pair of handcuffs on him in one fluid motion.

As Jed was being shoved into the backseat of the police car, he tried explaining how the whole thing was a mistake and that he'd never try to take a cop's gun. He respected officers too much and hated guns.

“You should've moved on when you had the chance,” Handsome said.

Keller looked at him through the window and mouthed sorry.

Though Jed had said a night in the slammer would be welcomed, he hadn't meant it. Being inside meant he'd sober up.

When the two men were in the front seat, Keller behind the wheel, Jed continued letting them know how sorry he was. “This is not necessary, gentlemen. I'm telling you I'd never do what you're accusing me of. If you just let me out, I'll gladly be on my way home. Won't bother a soul.”

“Shut up,” Handsome said.

“Damn, someone's got an attitude problem,” Jed said and hiccupped.

Handsome shook his head.

“C'mon, Officer Keller,” Jed went on. “You know me”—hiccup—”I don't cause no trouble around here.”

“Sorry, Jed,” Keller said. “This one isn't my call. Looks like you're going to spend the night in the slammer.” He glanced at Handsome, then back at the road. “I'm sure by morning, clearer heads will prevail.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Handsome asked, obviously offended.

“Just saying,” Keller said.

Jed got the message. Keller was teaching the asshole a lesson. Unfortunately it was at Jed's expense. The paperwork involved with arresting someone would be a hassle. And the amount of ridicule over arresting someone as dangerous as the local drunk would drive someone like Handsome crazy. Maybe he wouldn't have to spend the whole day and night behind bars, but if he had to spend any time, it would most likely only be one full day. Being sober would suck. All the pain would flood back in. Then there would be the physical stuff—the hangover, aches and pains blossoming.

He sat back, the handcuffs already bothering him, and pretended to fall asleep, even adding the occasional snore. If the cops thought he wasn't listening, they might talk about something juicy, something he could use as blackmail.

The officers started talking about a family that had been slaughtered quite violently and the man who'd done it had been a homeless guy living in the wilderness. Jed thought they were talking about a movie until he remembered reading about it in a paper he'd found in the trash bin outside Ray's Pizzeria.

“That's a crazy story,” Handsome said. “And you were there to take the bastard down.”

“Can you keep a secret?” Keller asked.

“About what?”

“Doesn't matter what. I'm asking if you can keep your mouth shut about something.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“We're partners,” Keller said, his voice serious. “I have to be able to trust you. Not just with my back, but with shit we share in this vehicle.”

“I won't tell anyone,” Handsome said, his voice rising. “Swear, man.”

“I've got to tell someone. This shit's been gnawing away at me. The lies being told.”

“Spill it, man. I'm all ears.”

“It wasn't a homeless wildman that killed that family and kidnapped those kids.”

“Then who was it?”