Brome relayed his luck.
“So you’re waiting for an update?”
“Yeah. I’ll swing by to check out the car meanwhile.”
“OK. I was going to, but I may as well stay here and keep looking for Ms. Smith.”
“Good idea.”
This time Brighton didn’t say it was a waste of time, but Brome figured as much. The dogs would be useless in this weather, and Whales and Co. could be pretty much anywhere in relation to the abandoned car’s location. They were probably still within the city limits, but Chicago being Chicago that wasn’t narrowing it down too much.
He drove without turning the radio on, which lately had become his habit. Some fifteen minutes later he saw red and blue flashes reflecting off windows and walls. Two police cars silently picketing the street. Between the tree branches above, sky was turning brown. Brome parked by the “Civic” and spoke to an officer, a young fellow, straight out of the academy by the looks of him. A rookie, working the graveyard shift. Not a hint of sleepiness, all business he was, although there was little to report. Brome nodded, following politely the cop’s gestures and trying not to yawn. Another pair of flashing lights appeared from around the corner — a tow truck.
“Thank you, officer. Tow it,” Brome said, shivered and got back in the car. Moving the “Chrysler” out of the way, he parked it on the side of the street a little farther down. He turned up the heat. In the side mirror covered with dew he saw the tow truck driver’s silhouette crossing the yellow beams of the headlights. Big guy. Six foot five or so. Fat. All tow truck drivers look the same, he thought. All are big, fat, and likely armed. They have to be, because everybody hates them. Just like cops. Or feds.
Waste of time, Brome thought after the “Civic” had been dragged away, and the rookie cop drove by with a friendly wave. He leaned far back in his seat and stretched his hands above his head. Just go home, to Grace and Annie, to hot shower and cold dinner and short sleep. He considered calling, but decided not to. Instead, he tried to think about the case, but following his tired thoughts was like reading a sloppily handwritten story on a sheet of paper folded into origami peacock…
Brome opened his eyes. It was hot and it was late. The windshield was a blur. It had rained again. The clock in the dashboard showed 11:58.
“Shit,” he said, half-confused from the dream, raising the seat up and rubbing his face. His tablet was flashing. He reached for it jerkily, as though he was about to blame it for something. Two red blips flashed on the map. He popped the message. It was the name.
Dr. Benjamin Young.
The red dots were the addresses of his home and office. Brome stared at them, uncomprehending. A solid blue dot — his current position — was four blocks away from the latter and six from the former.
Suddenly awake and overcome with strange urgency, Brome pulled out into the street and punched the accelerator, dialing the Bureau as he did. Poodles, a memory came. He had dreamt of poodles.
Chapter Thirteen
I dreamt of Iris. She was dressed in an orange summer dress and we were walking down the Oak Street beach. Two black poodles pulled at the straps converging in her hand, straining towards something unseen to the human eye. The tide began to rise and the poodles snarled and tore themselves free, galloping forward. When I thought they were going to just run away, they turned, and I saw that their maws were huge, distorted and dripping something black onto the sand. They began to advance towards us. Iris screamed and tugged at my coat.
Gasping, I opened my eyes. Iris was gone. In her place was Lloyd’s face, grim, scared. I started to speak but he clapped a hand over my mouth. In his other hand was the gun. My face stung.
“Quiet,” he hissed. “Up. Now.”
He pulled me off the bed. I registered that it was still dark outside.
“What the hell?” I whispered as soon as he removed the hand to put his arm around my shoulders.
“Shut up.”
I did.
Leaning on me, as though he’d had one too many at a dockside tavern and I was the designated driver, he led me out of the room into the hallway, where we met Dr. Young and Iris. I caught Iris’s stare.
“Stick together,” the doctor whispered. “Make your way down the stairs.”
He had a shotgun. A ridiculously big single-barreled shotgun. It looked like a hand-held mortar I remembered seeing on the History Channel.
Removing the arm from my shoulders, Lloyd wrapped it around my waste and got really close to me. About and inch behind doc did the same with Iris. We literally stuck together. Just like the doctor ordered. Had I not been so terrified, I would find our procession amusing.
We began to descend. We moved so slow that the creaking sounds the hardwood floor under us made seemed like natural sounds an old house makes in the night. I tried to listen for noises outside, because I’d figured that’s where the danger must be, but there was nothing out there aside from the eerie, wavy humming of a distant highway. Under my left arm, which I had tucked in tightly to my body, my heart fluttered like a caught bird.
At the end of our mute journey was the center of the living room. Once we reached it, Dr. Young and Lloyd turned and sandwiched us between their backs. Iris grabbed my elbow.
“Dogs,” Dr. Young said suddenly and not in a whisper. I started so violently, my head almost fell off my shoulders. Twisting my neck, I tried to see where these horrible canines were coming from. I saw nothing. No sound outside, still. However, I believed him.
“Bad?” I whispered.
“Very bad,” said Lloyd calmly. He was pointing the gun towards nothing. To be exact, its barrel was trained on the middle of the wall.
“Is there a rear exit?” I asked.
“Yes, but we can’t run,” Dr. Young replied.
“Why not?”
“I didn’t want to get caught in that narrow hallway upstairs, that’s why we had to be quiet and move as one. But this here, I’m afraid, is as good a defensive position as we’re going to get. We cannot run.”
“We should have left town,” Lloyd remarked. “Should have given it a try, at least.”
“I didn’t believe they could be here tonight. Nor did you employer. And if they gave us at least another day, time spent here would slow their chase considerably.”
“The house?” Lloyd asked.
“Yes. That’s why they’re still outside.”
All this conversation began to relax me. The adrenalin overload subsided and I even smiled and made a little “crazy-talk” face at Iris, who didn’t turn her head to witness it.
“The house what?” I asked, shifting my limbs a little, but got no answer.
It wasn’t an explosion. The corner of the wall to the right of me and Lloyd simply disappeared with a crunching noise, like it was ripped out from the outside. Two glowing red orbs appeared in the darkness, and then the darkness itself burst inside through the gaping, jagged hole. At the same time Iris’s shrill scream tore the air and I felt Dr. Young moving against my back.
What I saw inside that house was not a dog. Far from it.
I could not tell how tall the creature was, but the burning red eyes hovered far above the level of my head. It had a maw set with multitude of long black teeth, and it had a torso, but it was impossible to count the limbs or even judge with certainty if the structure of its body in any way resembled human. Darkness swirled around it like ethereal black cloak. Thankfully, I mostly saw it out of the corner of my vision. Had my brain not sent the protective signal to avert my gaze, I truly believe I would not have kept my wits. Even now, much later, I shudder uncontrollably as I recall seeing them for the first time.
At the same time Iris screamed, the creature emitted a wail of such frequency and terror that I felt my hair rising, and not just on the back of my neck. Behind me I heard an echo, which somehow I knew wasn’t an echo. Dr. Young was facing another one just like it.