Chicken Fight, Part Five

Cars were already lighting up in the parking lot as we reached the Honda. I felt like I was watching a Roman coliseum empty after the last match between the gladiators and the lions, not knowing who’d triumphed. We passed a kid in his twenties, cursing. “Two hundred dollars! How did that bitch . . .” He pounded a fist in the air.

“Calm down.” The girl next to him held his arm, her face flushed with excitement. “Let’s go get a drink.”

Two guys pushed and punched each other, laughing. An old man in a wheelchair smiled as a young woman drove him through the crowd.

The woman who’d kicked the chair over in front of me danced in a circle, waving a wad of money around. “I won! I won!” Her boyfriend smiled, his hand on her shoulder. She leaned over to kiss him, and they started making out between a pickup truck and an Audi. “Get a room!” someone yelled.

            Suddenly Hector was in front of me. “You won!” He stuck my slip in my face. “Go back in and get your money!”

            Kristianne? “Uh, you take it.” I glanced inside the car. Rachel was pulling her seatbelt. “Rachel isn’t feeling well. Thanks for bringing us.” I opened my door.

“Hang on.” It was Milo the MC, right behind me—with Harvey Duff.

“That’s him.” Duff pointed. “And her.”

Milo looked me up and down. “We need to talk.”

            “Not really.” I pulled on my door. “We’re leaving.”

            “We can’t have people talking about this.” Milo hadn’t looked that big standing down in the pit, but he had broad shoulders and thick arms, and a prod dangled from a loop around his belt. He wore a black windbreaker over his gray T-shirt. “Especially not any reporters.”

            I groaned. “First, I’m not a reporter. I’m a private detective. But second, Jared Burroughs died here, and his widow and children want to know why.”

            Milo shook his head. “He signed a release form. They all do—”

            A release? Great. “Do you have it handy? I’d like to show it to his wife.”

Milo clenched a fist. “They all know what they’re—”

            The Honda’s horn blared. Loud and long.

            I jumped. Two men and a woman darted away from the car.

“Shut that noise off!” someone shouted.

            Rachel was drawing attention from what was left of the crowd. Smart.

            I dove into the car. Rachel shot the locks as I straightened my feet out and turned the key.

My heart pounded as I pressed the gas. Rachel kept tapping the horn as I backed up, trying not to hit anyone as I twisted the wheel in a tight turn.

The crowd was scattering around us. Milo grabbed at my sideview mirror as I wheeled around and shifted into drive, turning on my brights.

“Watch out!” Rachel punched my arm. “Stop laughing!”

“I’m not . . .” Actually I was. Laughing like a maniac as weaved through the few remaining people trying to get to their cars. “Okay, sorry.” I forced a deep breath and leaned down, heading around the front house. “Let’s just get out of here.”

            A pickup truck swerved ahead of me and darted forward toward the gate. I honked my horn.  

Then fists pounded on the back door. Hector? The Honda’s body shook. I hammered at the horn and looked over my shoulder.

            Kristianne. She grabbed at my rear door handle, her eyes lit up and desperate. Get me out of here!

“Don’t slow down!” Rachel grabbed at my hand. “Keep going!”

“Just two seconds—” I unlocked the doors.

Kristianne slid into the back seat. I locked up again.

“Who the hell?” Rachel twisted around in her seat. Her eyebrow rose as she checked out Kristianne’s fighting outfit.

Blood stained her arms and dripped from one of her legs. She unzipped her vest, breathing hard in a slim blue sports bra, and kicked off one of her boots. “I’m Krissy.” She gasped. “Those guys are crazy.”

“Yeah.” I could see the gate ahead. “I bet twenty dollars on you.”

“Oh, I bet you did.” Rachel punched my arm, still peering back. “What are you doing here?”

“Hector . . . said there was some reporter here trying to make trouble.” Krissy rubbed her foot. “I saw Milo back there. Just get me out of here. Who are you anyway?”

“Tom Jurgen. This is Rachel. Long story.” I gripped the wheel, looking for a gap between cars. “So what’s the problem? You were fine fighting the chicken a few minutes ago. Didn’t you get your money?”

“Five hundred dollars! But I almost got killed!” She pulled a boot off. “Jesus Christ, when they said giant chickens, I thought . . . I don’t know.” She laid back, her leg bleeding all over the seat. “I did Ultimate Fighting one time on TV.  But all those assholes betting on the chicken? That’s messed up.”

“Just let—” A red sports car ahead of me zoomed ahead of me through the gate. “We’re almost—”

Then Hector’s minivan came up behind me. The gate slammed shut. I crushed the brake. Damn it! I shifted into reverse, but Hector blocked me.

We were stuck.

“Call the cops.” I clutched the wheel, trying to think.

Rachel patted her pocket. “I already did.”

A fist pounded on my window. “Stay in the car.” I unlocked and pushed the door open.

“We just want to talk.” It was Milo, holding one of the prods, two chicken wranglers behind him, plus Dulcie, he blonde in the cutoffs.

“Okay, fine.” I lurched out, hands up, and pushed the door closed with my butt. I heard Rachel slam the locks shut.

Hector jumped out of his minivan. “Sorry, man. But you were asking questions.”

I leaned against the Honda, my blood cold. “People know we’re here.”

That was a lie, actually. I usually tell Rachel when I’m going out somewhere, but she was here with me. Still, I had to say something. “Sharon Marmont is Jared’s wife’s lawyer. I’m not very scary, but you don’t want to meet her in a courtroom.”

Milo stood in front of me. “Jared signed a release. He knew what he was getting into.” He peered through the back window of the Honda. “Just like her.”

Kristianne lifted her middle finger at him.

I laughed. I couldn’t help myself. “You don’t really think a piece of paper is going to protect you, do you? You’ve got people fighting giant chickens and getting killed! Do you really think you can keep this thing going forever?”

“We can work this out.” Milo pointed his prod at me. “Just don’t do anything stupid.”

I leaned against the Honda’s hood, adrenalin fighting with exhaustion. “I think we’re way past stupidity on both sides here. Why don’t we just—”

Dulcie pulled Milo’s arm. “Hey? What’s that?”

“What’s . . . ” Hector turned around.

Shadows moved across the grass. A squawk filled my ears. What the—

Oh hell. The giant chickens were loose.

A big red chicken like Achilles rushed toward us, faster than I thought any chicken could ever run. Three or four more followed, wings flapping, feathers flying, clawing the grass as they spun and squawked in the night air.

The red chicken was in the lead. One of the wranglers jumped out of its way. The other wrangler tried to jab his prod at the chicken’s chest, but it swerved and pecked its sharp beak at the wrangler’s shoulder.

The wrangler dropped his prod and ran, clutching his arm as blood dripped over his jacket.

Dulcie cowered behind the minivan, screaming.

Milo swung around as a big orange chicken—Kull—loped across the grass, one wing raised like a bird of prey poised to kill.

“Get them!” Milo ordered “Round them up! Come on, we’ve got to—”

Kull leaned back and scraped a claw across Milo’s T-shirt. Milo staggered, and then jabbed his prod like a sword at Kull’s throat, but Kull swung a wing and then leaned down and jabbed its beak into Milo’s chest.

“Ahh!” Milo shrieked. “Goddamn it—goddamn . . . it . . .”

He sprawled on the dirt, gasping on his side. Kull lifted a foot and pounded its claws down into his body, cackling like a banshee. I thought I heard a rib crack.

I ducked down and pressed myself against the Honda’s rear tires. Milo’s electric prod was just within reach. I crawled forward.

Kull roared, head high, throat shaking. It stepped back, blood covering its claw, and then lifted its other leg as I grabbed for the prod.

The orange chicken slammed its claws down at Milo’s face.

I lifted the prod. How did this work? I found a button, pressed my thumb down, and then jabbed it at Kull’s leg.

The chicken screamed. It lurched back and whirled around, then fled, leaving bloody footprints in the grass.

I pulled myself up next to Milo. “You—are you …”

His eyes flickered. “Go to hell.”

Then his head dropped. Oh god.

Dulcie sobbed behind the minivan.

A siren blared and blue lights flashed through the air.

“Open the gate!” The order came through the squad car’s loudspeaker. “Right now!”

I sat next to the Honda, trying to breathe. I heard the snick-snick of a shotgun.

Then the gate slid back.

“Okay, what’s the deal?” That came from an African-American cop built like a linebacker, shining a flashlight across the ground.

“We called!” I stood up and held my hands high. “There’s chicken fighting going on in here! And gambling. And giant chickens.”

“Giant what?” The female officer stalked forward, holding a shotgun.

A huge black chicken charged around the minivan, knocking a wrangler to the ground. It lunged forward, screeching in rage—or terror.

The shotgun blasted. The other officer fired his handgun. Blood spurted from the chicken’s chest. It reared back, one leg high, and then it flopped down on the ground, clawing at the dirt.

The female officer stared in wonder. “What the hell?”

“You didn’t have to kill it!” Jay jumped out from Hector’s minivan. “I let you in! I let them out! You didn’t have to kill any of them!”

I looked down at Milo’s body. “He didn’t have to die.”

“He didn’t have to do any of this!” He waved an arm back toward the barn. “I knew when people showed up and started asking questions I was about to get blown. Ever heard of an environmental group called Red Watch?”

Oh hell. “Yeah.” I swallowed. “They may not be your best defense right now.”

“Everyone shut up!” The female cop raised her shotgun to the night sky again. “Hands on the cars. Now!”

I leaned against the Honda, arms and legs wide. Rachel got out and helped Kristianne clamber from the back seat.

She cocked her face at me as the female cop patted her down. I shrugged.

Not my best night ever.

“I ran across Red Watch on another case a couple of years ago,” I told Dr. Neral at my next weekly appointment. “They’re a fringe group, but they’ve got members and money. They knew about Duff’s work, and somehow Jay managed to infiltrate the chicken ranch.”
            “What happened to the chickens?” Dr. Neral had listened attentively to the whole story. I wondered if he’d start prescribing medication for hallucinations.

            “Animal Control rounded them up. I don’t know what happened to them after that.” I shrugged. “Makes me wonder about eating Chicken McNuggets lately. And I love McNuggets.”

            The police had managed to keep the giant chickens out of the papers, and the media just reported on the illegal cockfights and gambling. The wranglers and Dulcie weren’t in any hurry to talk about any of it.

            But Milo was dead. And Harvey Duff had disappeared. I didn’t know how hard the cops were looking for him.

            Vandella Burroughs had listened to my report. At first she didn’t believe it, but Kristianne was willing to talk to her. She called and thanked me the next day. She wouldn’t get any money out of the results, but at least she knew how her husband had died. I hoped that gave her some closure. For whatever that was worth.

            “How do you feel?” Our time was winding down.

            I shrugged again. “It felt good to be working. I’m glad Rachel was there.”

            “Well, we can talk about it more next week.” Neral made a note on his laptop. “Do you have anything coming up?”

            I stood up. “Tailing a cheating spouse. Pretty routine.”

I hoped.

###

Not Today

Tom Jurgen's past catches up with him—in more ways than one.

Not Today, Part One

I poured some Cheerios into a bowl. Then I remembered I was out of milk. I hadn’t been to the store in a week. Or outside my apartment, for that matter.

So I sprinkled some tap water over the cereal and ate breakfast over the kitchen sink.

I managed to make coffee, although I wasn’t sure why I should.

I staggered to the dining room table without spilling the coffee very much, then sagged into my chair and opened my laptop.

User name, two tries. Password, two tries. Email password, one, two, three tries . . .

Eleven emails. Seven spam, two bills, two potential clients.

I deleted them all.

So that was done. I sipped my coffee. Now what? The day stretched out ahead.

A shower? I was in my bathrobe and shorts, but a shower felt like too much effort to invest in another day spent on my couch watching TV.

I set my cup down next to a half-filled prescription bottle and found the remote. What to watch? Rachel would be mad if I got ahead of Game of Thrones without her. I checked all the Twilight Zone episodes I’d been watching. But the opening sequence was starting to make me dizzy.

So I just clicked through the channels until I found The Beverly Hillbillies. That was quality TV.

I muted the sound and picked up the prescription bottle. It had my name: Tom Jurgen. And the name of the drug, which might as well have been in ancient Etruscan. I knew it was a strong painkiller. A doctor had given it to me after I’d been fighting a vampire.            

I’d been looking at the pills for the last three or four days. Today I opened the bottle. Poured the little white pills into a pyramid on the table. And stared at them for a long time.

Then I swept my hand across the table. Most of the pills went onto the floor. I sipped my coffee.

Not today.

Despite the coffee, my eyelids were drooping. So I laid back and pulled an afghan around me, adjusted a pillow around my head. The room grew dark.

Not today.

I woke up in a hospital bed, an IV in my wrist and guardrails on either edge that looked like prison bars. Not the first time I’ve woken up in a hospital. At least I wasn’t trapped in a hotel room with no exit.

I sat up, confused. “Hello?”

“You jerk.” Rachel lifted a fist to slug my arm. Her hazelnut eyes blazed as red as her hair. “I come downstairs after you don’t answer five calls, and you’re passed out on the couch with pills scattered all over the place and Green Acres on the TV. Green Acres? What the hell is that, anyway?”

Rachel’s my girlfriend. She lives upstairs from me, and she helps me out on my cases. I’m not entirely sure why she likes me, but we’ve been together for a long time.

She must see something in me, but right at the moment I couldn’t imagine what.

“The nurses said I can’t actually hit you.” She lowered her fist. “But I should.”

“Yeah.” I sat back.

Vampires . . . monsters . . . last week we’d watched a murder . . . and before that . . . Dudovich . . . I’d killed a dragon . . . a demon possessed Rachel, but I’d managed to set it free . . . the Rain Killer . . .

I might have fallen asleep again. When I blinked my eyes, Rachel was still standing over me, holding my hand.

Why was she still here? She’s young, gorgeous and smart. She deserved better than a washed-up ex-reporter turned private eye who could barely cover the bills, and who constantly dragged her into situations where she was like to get killed.

 “I’ll be fine.” I dropped her hand. “You can go home.”

“Oh no.” Rachel laughed. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Tom Jurgen.”

I was too tired to argue.

A doctor strode into the room. Tall, African-American, with the usual stethoscope around his shoulders. “Hello, Mr.—” He glanced at a tablet computer. “Is it Yurgen or Jurgen?”

I get that a lot. “Just call me Tom. This is Rachel. She’s my, uh . . .”

“I’m his girlfriend.” Rachel crossed her arms. “Anything you say to him you can say to me. Right, Tom?”

            I nodded. “Listen to her.”

“Well, I’m Dr. McGee.” He started, of course, by taking my blood pressure and listening to my heart. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired. Just . . . tired. What happened?”

He nodded. “You weren’t responsive when Rachel called 911. There were significant amounts of a prescription painkiller found in your apartment.”

“I didn’t . . . I didn’t take any.” My throat was dry. “Could I have a drink of water?”

Rachel shoved a plastic glass into my hand. “Here.” 

Dr. McGee went back to my chart on his tablet. “There doesn’t seem to be anything physically wrong with you. High blood pressure, exhaustion, a little dehydration, some of these enzymes are a little high . . .” He looked up. “Do you have a high-stress job, Tom?”

I laughed. Maybe too long. After ten seconds Rachel grabbed my shoulder. “Shut up, you idiot!”

“Sorry.” I caught my breath. “Yeah, you could say that. I’m the guy they call when monsters are around. Vampires and zombies and creatures that walk in the night.”

I lurched up in the bed. “I’m not crazy. Ask Rachel. Call Detective Anita Sharpe at the CPD, she’ll tell you—except she won’t. Nobody believes me. Nobody believed me around the Rain Killer! Nobody believes me now! Nobody cares!”

“Tom . . .” Rachel slugged my shoulder. Gently, for once. “You’re right. I believe you. Lots of people believe you.”

The room was spinning. “I know. I know. Sorry.” I rubbed her hand.

“He’s not really crazy.” She patted my head. “A jerk sometimes, but . . . I saw it all too.”

Dr. McGee nodded. “I’m going to prescribe some medications. And I’d like you stay here at least tonight.”

I sank back. “Fine. Whatever.” I was going into the psych ward. The loony bin. Maybe I should have been there all along.

He nodded again, and  glanced at Rachel. “For what it’s worth, I’ve seen strange things too. Vampire bites, claw marks I can’t explain So I don’t think you’re crazy. But you need to rest and relax.”

“I’m sleeping a lot lately.” I shrugged. “But it doesn’t help.”

“Do you dream?”

I tried to think. “No. It’s all black.”

Maybe that meant something. I didn’t know what. I didn’t know what was going on anymore. I wasn’t sure I cared. Sleep was the only way I could stop thinking about things.

“The nurse will be back with some medications. They’re for blood pressure and stress. Try to get some rest.” Dr. McGee glanced at Rachel. “See you soon.”

What the hell? Was he hitting on her? A young handsome doctor hitting on . . . a young hot woman? I couldn’t blame him. But I was probably overreacting. I slumped down in the bed.

“You idiot!” Rachel leaned down over the bed. I felt her breath on my eyes. “Tell me you didn’t just try to kill yourself.”

Not today.

“No.” I shook my head. “I’m just. . . . tired.”

She didn’t believe me. I didn’t blame her.

She lurched up. “Well, that’s too bad. Because I’ve got bad news. I probably shouldn’t tell you, but—”

“You’re breaking up with me.” I closed my eyes and waited for her to leave.

“No, you dummy.” She stroked my arm, and then kissed my forehead. “But . . . remember my friend Carrie?”

That was a few years ago. “She hates me, doesn’t she?”

“No. Well, she did, but . . .” Rachel sighed. “Carrie needs your help.”

I woke up the next morning, hungry. For the first time in four days. My brain felt fuzzy, and at first I thought it was just from sleeping through the night. Then a nurse came in with a cup of pills.

            I took them. Maybe they’d work. Anything was better than sitting on my couch watching The Beverly Hillbillies and trying to get up the nerve to take the pills.

            I realized that was an improvement on my mental state from yesterday.

            So I ordered breakfast. It was like room service. I ate eggs, bacon, hash browns, sausage, and watery coffee while watching the news. The drugs they’d given me seemed to be working already. I didn’t even shout at the footage from the latest White House press conference.

            Then Carrie Burke walked into the room.

            Carrie was Rachel’s friend. She hated me.

            “Hi.” I perched the bed up and turned the TV down. “Nice to see you.”

            “Yeah.” She sat down in the chair next to my bed. Carrie had long dreadlocks and dark skin. “I need your help.”

            “Did Rachel mention I’m possibly having a nervous breakdown?” I could feel my blood pressure rising again. “Why are you here? You hate me.”

            “I don’t hate you.” She sighed. “Okay, there was a time when I just thought Rachel could do better. I didn’t know—”

            “Yeah.” I wanted to throw my lukewarm coffee at the window. “She deserves someone better. I get that. Go home.”

            Carrie stood up. “I don’t know what Rachel sees in you, but that’s not my problem. The voarkla’s back.”

            Oh god.

            The voarkla was a monster from another dimension. The first time I’d met it, years ago, it had come through a portal created by a computer engineer trying to use quantum computing to speed online connections.

            The voarkla had killed at least three people before being banished to its own world again. If it was back—

            I threw the sheets off. “What about Ponto? Pontoval?” Oops. I flung the sheets back. “Sorry. Can you help me find my pants?”

            “Nothing I haven’t seen before.” Carrie smirked.  “But don’t worry, Pontoavallian’s not here.”

            I lay back on the bed and pulled the sheet back. “So what do you want?”

“I don’t know how much you remember.”

I remembered it all. The voarkla, like a wolverine with more teeth and a worse temper. And Ponto, a little wheesling. Pontoavallian . . .

I forced my muggy mind to think. “The goddess who came through . . . her name was Lionna. She said she was going to close our world off.”

            “Well, it didn’t work.” Carrie stood up. “I’ll see what I can do. Thanks for your help.”

            My heart pounded. “I didn’t help you at all.”

            “Yeah, you did.” She reached down to shake my hand. “You just need to take care of yourself now. For Rachel.”

            “Okay.” I was suddenly tired again. “I guess.”

Not Today, Part Two

When I woke up, Rachel was there again. She was reading a book.

            I rubbed my eyes. “You been here long?”

            She stretched her arms. “I have to go soon. Work to do, as long as you’re not going to try to kill yourself again.”

            “I wasn’t going to kill myself. I just wanted . . .” I sipped some water. “Carrie was here.”

            “Yeah.” Rachel shook her head. “I told her not to, but—”

            “The voarkla’s back.”

            “Not your problem.” She stuffed her book in a bag. “Let someone else handle it.”

            I sat up. “Who else knows about the voarkla? The cops? Carrie’s great, but she’s not exactly a ninja—”

            “Goddamn it, Tom!” Rachel looked like she wanted to pound her fist on my chest. “You don’t have to solve every problem in this city! Let somebody else be the hero for a change!”

            She lurched around, leaning over the windowsill. Maybe she was crying.

            “I’m sorry.” My voice was a whisper. “I’ll just stay here.”

            “I just want . . .” Rachel stared out the window. “I want you to be better.”

            “Yeah.” I nodded. “Me too.”

Once Rachel was gone I turned on the news. By the time lunch came—a decent cheeseburger and onion rings, and more watery coffee—I’d found reports of two killings by the voarkla.

            The first time it came to this reality, it had somehow roamed through computer networks, bursting out of screens to slash its prey. Now it seemed to be moving directly through wifi. A man playing Pokemon Go had been attacked by some kind of animal near the Lincoln Park lagoon.  A woman just walking down the beach, talking on her smartphone, was killed by a beast that came out of nowhere and then ran back into the trees. Police were looking for a rabid coyote.

            I didn’t have my laptop. But I still had my phone.

            I spent half an hour looking up every news report of the killings, and every other report of attacks by strange creatures in the last 24 hours.

            Two more people had been mauled by the voarkla, but survived. A man walking a dog early in the morning—the dog was dead, but the man was in the hospital. Maybe in a room near me. The other victim, an elderly woman, had fought off the voarkla with a cane. She was braver and tougher than me.

            I sipped the last of my coffee. I was feeling better now, but I didn’t know if I was feeling the effects of the drugs or just adrenalin. Was this PTSD? Was I going to crash when it was all over?

            I didn’t care. Right now I felt alive again. I had something to do.

            Of course, I was still stuck in the hospital. And I knew I wasn’t in any shape to find my pants and leave.

            So I did the only thing I could think of.

            “Jurgen?” Detective Anita Sharpe of Chicago Police Department never sounded happy to hear from me. “I’m not supposed to talk to you.”

            “Wait, what? Did Hughes—”

            “No, your girlfriend. She called me last night. She’s a spitfire, that one.”

            I groaned. “Yeah.” I couldn’t blame Sharpe for not wanting to piss Rachel off.

            “Here’s the thing.” I was suddenly sleepy. Maybe the adrenalin was wearing off. Or the drugs were kicking in? “Those murders—the lagoon? And the beach? They’re from a creature from another dimension called the . . . the voarkla.”

            “The what? I’m only in charge of vampires. Are we going to have to set up another squad or—Jurgen? Are you there?”

            The hospital room swam around me. “Be careful. It’s dangerous. I sent it back once . . . well, I didn’t do it by myself, but it got sent back, and now it’s here again, I don’t know why . . . ohh . . . ohh . . .”

            “Jurgen?” Sharpe shouted into the phone. “What the hell is going on?”

            I gasped. Heart attack? Panic attack? “Tell Rachel . . . tell her . . .”

            I looked up at the window. The sun streamed through the blinds.       

And the voarkla was outside. Laughing.

I dropped the phone. Okay, I was going to die. But I grabbed the control wrapped around the arm of my bed and pressed the call button. “Help!” I shouted. “Help . . .”

Dr. McGee took my blood pressure again. “That’s better. How do you feel?”

            “Fine.” I glanced at the window. The voarkla was gone. “Just peachy.”

Rachel stormed into the room in a gray T-shirt and black shorts. “What the hell? You can’t just sit and watch bad TV like everyone else? What’s wrong with you?”

“He’s okay.” Dr. McGee checked my heart with his stethoscope, although I had the feeling he was only doing it to keep Rachel from asking more questions. “It looks like just a panic attack. You just need some rest, Tom. No more watching the news.”

He gazed at Rachel. Was he checking out her legs? “Try not to let him get upset.”

“Have you talked to him at all?” Rachel glared at me. “It’s your fault if I miss this deadline.”

“I’ll let you talk alone.” Dr. McGee left. I didn’t blame him.

Rachel sat down. “I get a call from that cop, Sharpe? She said you were dying.”

“You called her yesterday.” I sipped some water. “She’s a little scared of you.” I managed a grin.

“I hope so.” Rachel stood up and started circling the room. “Look, we’ve been together, what—three years? Four? That’s longer than my last two boyfriends combined. How long were you married?”

I tried to figure out where this was going. “Three years. I think. What does this have to do with—”

“Just tell me what’s going on with you! I can take it. I just want to know . . .” She stopped, facing away from me. “I just need to know.”

I watched her breathing slowly, and tried to think of the right answer. “The voarkla’s back. I think it came back for me. I saw it right here—”

“That’s not what I mean. And you know it.”

Yeah. We could deal with the voarkla. But Rachel meant . . .

I closed my eyes. “I just want to die.”

Rachel didn’t move.

“I’m tired of all this.” I rubbed my forehead. “Dudovich is dead. I almost got you killed last week. Jesus Christ, you got possessed by a demon! I got abducted by aliens. We watched a woman stake her husband. A little girl sent an assassin to kill everyone in her family. I just can’t deal with it anymore.”

I lowered the bed all the way down. “It’s okay. I’m sorry.”

She swung around. “You can’t do this to me! You offered to marry me once! Okay, I don’t want to get married, but if I did—”

I held up my hands. “Okay, okay! Just leave me alone. All right?”

Rachel stalked to the door. “Is that what you want? Really?”

No. I couldn’t imagine never seeing Rachel again. “No. Please don’t go.”

I was crying. Damn it. What the hell was wrong with me?

“You asshole.” Rachel walked back and leaned down over my bed. “Shut up. Stop weeping. I’m here. I’m here . . .”

“Yeah . . .” I drifted off.

Not Today, Part Three

I woke up in darkness. Someone had turned all the lights off. I heard Rachel snoring softly in a chair, the book in her lap. I wondered if I’d missed ordering dinner.

            Late sunlight flickered through the blinds.

            I picked up the TV remote, turned the sound down, and started clicking through the news broadcasts.

            Weather. Shootings and robberies. The president’s latest tweets. Then—

            “Another strange animal attack on the city’s north side near the lakefront.”

            I sat up. The story was sparse on details. The reporter stood with Lake Michigan behind her. All she did was regurgitate the official story, although she did quote a few witnesses, who described the attack as “gruesome” and “bloody.” The victim was in a nearby hospital, expected to recover.

            Oh hell. I picked up my phone. Somewhere I had Carrie’s number from years ago. I scrolled down. Rachel stayed asleep.

            Carrie picked up. “What? Why are you calling me?”

            “It’s still out there. Attacking people. What are you doing about it?”

            “I’m trying to find Lionna! She’s the one who sent it back the first time. Look,” her voice trembled. “I have to get off. The voarkla is coming through wifi now. It knows I’m looking for it—”

            She hung up.

Fine. I dropped the phone on my bed. Let Carrie handle it. Not my problem. All I had to do was take some medicine, order another cheeseburger and a salad for Rachel, and maybe tomorrow I’d get to go home.

But if the voarkla was looking for Carrie—

“Rachel?” I picked up my phone. “Where does Carrie live?”

“What?” She lurched forward, dropping her book. “I just dozed off! What are you talking about?”

“The voarkla. If it’s coming after her, she’s in danger. We have to do something.” I punched numbers on my phone.

“She’s at—give me a minute . . .” She dug into her bag. “What’s going on?”

“The voarkla!” I slumped, weak again. A moment ago I’d been ready to pull my IVs out, jump out of the bed, grab my pants, and go into the battle. Now I could barely move.

I was useless.

            Damn it, damn it, damn it . . .

            My phone buzzed. “Yeah?” Anita Sharpe.

            I didn’t remember actually finding her number. But I managed to talk. “You’ve got to send someone to . . . uh . . .”

            I held my phone up. “Tell her the address. Please.”

            Rachel took my phone. “Anita? This is Rachel. I don’t know what’s going on, but . . . okay. Here’s the address. Thanks.”

            She shoved the phone back at me. “She’s sending someone. Now you just sit back and calm down, damn it.”

            I nodded. “Yeah. Right. I was going to order dinner. And a salad for you. And . . .”

            My eyes flickered at the window.

            The voarkla perched outside, its sharp teeth grinning.

            My body went stiff. Then I realized—it wasn’t trying to kill Carrie. It was hunting me. 

            I took a deep breath. Maybe one of my last. But as depressed as I’d been a few days ago—a few minutes—suddenly I wanted to live at least five more minutes.

            I grabbed for the call button.

            Then the glass broke. It shattered across the room.

            “Rachel!” I rolled over, punching at the bed control. “Get out, get out!”

            The voarkla jumped through the window and roared, its jaws wide. I grabbed a pillow—the only weapon I had—and thrust it at its face. I kicked as hard as I could, trying to scramble away.

            Rachel jumped up. “What the—”

            She threw her book at the voarkla, and then she was at the door, yelling for help. She’s no damsel in distress, but she knows when to call for the cavalry.

            I somehow managed to shift the guard rails on my bed down. I hit the floor with a hard bump and swore. I couldn’t exactly roll under the bed’s wheels. All I could do was try to keep the voarkla busy while it tried to kill me. Maybe Rachel could get away.

            The voarkla leaned over the side of the bed, drooling. The claws in its hands looked sharp.

            I was ready. Not really, but what else could I do? I lifted my arms, shielding my face. “Come and get me, you asshole. Just try it.”

            The voarkla jumped down—

            And then everything froze.

            The voarkla hung in the air above me. But I could move. I rolled away, gasping as my heart pounded.

            Rachel stood at the door, her mouth open, her hand high. But paralyzed.

            One shard of glass floated inches above the tile. I flicked a finger at it. It didn’t move.

            Was I dead?

I sat up. My heart slowed down. Maybe this was my near-death hallucination. I waited for the white light.

Instead a woman appeared before me. I’d seen her before.

She was tall, with dark skin, and she wore a long gray robe. Her feet were big and bare on the tile.

Lionna. The goddess from the other universe.

She looked around, then zeroed her eyes on me. “You.”

“Yeah.” I slumped on the floor. “You’ve got me.”

She walked—no, she glided—across the floor. “I’ve seen you before.”

“Yeah.” I managed to sit up on my elbows. “Ponto—Pontoavallian? Is he okay?”

Lionna smiled. “Yes. I know you.”

Great. I looked over at Rachel, still motionless at the door. “Look, you can do what you want with me. I don’t care. Just let her get away. That’s all I’m asking you. And if you can . . .”

I wiped an arm over my eyes. “Just say hi to Ponto for me, will you? He might remember me.”

The room went dark. Okay, this was it. I took a deep breath.

“Pontoavallian says hello.” The words floated in the air. “He wishes you well.”

I blinked. What?

The fluorescent lights overhead flickered. Then harsh light flooded the room.

Rachel was shouting at the door. The voarkla was gone.

But I was still alive.

Not today.

I slumped down and fell asleep.

They sent me home the next day, with a prescription for anti-depressant meds and the names of a few psychiatrists.

            Rachel walked me down to her Prius. “You are taking a few weeks off. I can’t do this again.”

            “Is Carrie okay?” I managed to buckle myself up.

            “The voarkla’s gone. Hopefully it’ll stay away this time.” She started the car.

            I put a hand on her arm. “Why are we here?” I had to ask. “I mean . . . not the car, not the hospital. Just . . . you and me.”

            “Right now you ask me this?” Rachel pounded the wheel. “Christ, I sound like Yoda.” She twisted around in her seat. “All right, I’m just going to say this once, so listen, all right?”

            I nodded. I was feeling a little better. But I had to hear something positive.

            Rachel stared through the windshield. “I had . . . okay, a lot of boyfriends when I was younger. I’m not going to say how many, but don’t get the idea I was some kind of a slut.”

            “No.” I shook my head. “Of course not.”

            “Most of them were liars.” Rachel sighed. “They played games, and I never knew where they were coming from. When I met you . . .” Her lips curled in a smile. “Well, after a while, you seemed reliable. It’s what I was looking for.”

Then Rachel shrugged. “It took a while.” She patted my hand. “But not that long.”

            “Okay.” She straightened up in her seat. “All right? Are we done?”

            “Yeah.” Actually, I’d always thought Rachel was the dependable one. “Thanks.”

            “Just shut up and let me drive.” She peered in her rearview mirror. “Let’s go home.”

***

Witches' Notebook

A notebook that can raise the dead might get Tom Jurgen killed.