Body Counting Page 2

  Gordon chuckled bitterly, trying to ignore the painful itching in his back. “And what am I going to tell them? That I fucked an angel cast down by God himself? That should go over real well.”

  Henry shook his head. “Well, you don’t have to tell them that. Just tell them some animal or something attacked you. This shit is way out my league, man. I don’t have any idea how I can help you.”

  “Well, I’m not going to a hospital. They take one look at my eyes and they’ll never let me leave.”

  “What are you going to do then? Hide here? You already missed one day of work.”

  “I think my going back to work has become a priority of decidedly low proportions.” Gordon noticed something moving at the window, but couldn’t see outside. “Someone is watching us.” He leaned over and quickly turned off the light.

  The profile of the Dark Angel stood in front of the window, her wings outstretched in the shadows. She began to chant, her voice filling the air with an insidious melody, her nails scratching softly across the glass.

  “Oh fuck,” Henry whispered. “Don’t fucking move one inch. If she breaks through that window, we don’t stand a chance.”

  “If she was going to kill me, she would have done it already,” Gordon said, staring at the window.

  “Uh … what about me?”

  Gordon stood up and approached the window, his body still as she put her palm up against the glass. He reached up and matched his hand with hers, feeling a slight tingle as they met on the surface. Their eyes locked, and he felt his longing for her again. As if understanding what she was going to do, he backed away from the window.

  “Gordon, what the fuck are you doing?” Henry asked, his voice trembling.

  The window exploded, shattering into the living room as the angel launched herself through. She flapped her wings like an insect as she shook off the glass.

  Henry screamed and tried to flee. He hit a table leg and fell clumsily to the floor, shrieking in terror.

  The Dark Angel leapt over the couch with astonishing speed, throwing herself upon him, opening her mouth with a piercing shriek before biting down into the soft flesh of his neck, her claws ripping into him, shredding his skin ravenously.

  Gordon watched from the darkness, wishing desperately that he could feel something for his friend and wondered in horror why he was not. Howling in agony, he felt the skin on his back tearing.

  Wings erupted from his back in a detonation of torn flesh and blood, flapping sluggishly as they dropped pieces of ripped tissue to the floor.

  The angel looked up at him in the darkness, holding Henry’s corpse up to him invitingly. Gordon, feeling outside of himself, moved forward and began to feed on the blood of his friend hungrily. Although some deep parts of his brain screamed at him in revulsion, newer parts seemed to override any shred of his older self.

  She leaned forward and kissed him deeply, their tongues sharing the blood of the dead man. He ran his hands over her blood-covered body, pushing her backward brutally. They made love on the corpse of his former friend, rolling around in the wetness, their wings fluttering like flies.

  By the end of the week, Gordon had transformed into something only vaguely resembling his former self. His flesh had transmuted into a dark, ebony sheen. His teeth had grown lengthy and sharp along with his nails.

  As the months rolled by, he found himself falling deeper in love with his Dark Angel. They often flew around in the darkness in search of prey. He learned how to leave his world and slip into hers—a world full of creatures just like them. After they were done feeding, they would take the corpses into that world, leaving no trace that they had ever existed.

  Gordon found that he quite enjoyed living betwixt worlds. He had evolved to a different level. It wasn’t long before he had totally forgotten about the life his former self had led.

  Body Counting

  “It is totally fucking amazing I survived my childhood, man,” Tony said, pulling the car into the snow-covered parking spot of the fast-food restaurant. They had just bought a bag of cheeseburgers in the drive-thru. It was almost midnight.

  Vern was already pulling a burger from the bag, his acne-scarred cheeks widening into a tooth-revealing smile. His shoulder-length red hair was pulled back into a ponytail. “Oh my God. I’m freaking starving here.”

  Tony grabbed a burger and pulled it from the wrapper. He placed the wrapper over the front of his blue Hawaiian shirt like a bib. Salt-and-pepper chest hair protruded through the buttons and grew toward his neck. “Remember the stupid shit you used to do when you were a kid? Holy shit, I could have died like twenty times and I was blissfully unaware. I used to swim in canals with fucking gators. Ride my bike downhill and over a five-foot ramp—no helmet. Throw bullets into campfires. Amazing.”

  Vern swallowed his food hungrily, wiping his greasy lips with the back of his hand. He looked over at Tony. “Why the hell you talking about this?”

  Tony froze, his cheeseburger held before his open mouth. He turned and shot his friend a withering look, his eyes glittering angrily underneath his shaven scalp. “Can’t a man make simple conversation?”

  “Chill out, Tony,” Vern said, offering his friend a grin. “I’m only asking a simple question. You’ve been talking about death and dying all damn night. I just thought it was weird, is all. You’re bringing me down, man.”

  Tony took a bite from his cheeseburger and started talking with his mouth full. “I guess I’m a little tense. This a fucked-up job, man.”

  “You gotta tell me what the hell we’re supposed to do. I don’t know shit. All I know is we’re going to get paid twenty-five thou if we do it. Do we have to kill anybody? I’m not ready for that shit.”

  “No, we don’t have to kill no one. But it does involve a dead body. I got all the tools we need in the back.”

  “Dude, you gotta stop being all mysterious. That shit is getting seriously annoying. Tell me what we gotta do.”

  Tony tossed his burger wrapper over his head and into the growing pile in the back seat. “Okay. Do you remember that dude Mikey Boli?”

  “Didn’t he get whacked a coupla months back?”

  “Yep. I’m not even sure why Pope had the guy whacked. I heard—”

  “I heard he stole a half a million dollars,” Vern interrupted.

  “That’s what I was just gonna say. That’s a lot of fucking money, man.”

  “And how.”

  “And how?” Tony frowned, a pained expression stretching his face. “Oh God. Don’t fucking say ‘and how’. My grandfather used to always say that, the miserable prick. Irks the living fuck outta me.”

  Vern smirked. “Sorry. Would you finish the story, please?”

  “Anyway, Pope had this Mikey Boli whacked by Tim Machen a couple of months back.”

  “Tim’s that British dude, right? Man, he’s one weirdo fuck.”

  “Tim is beyond weird,” Tony agreed, nodding emphatically. “Some people say that he caused it to snow this month. Snow in fucking July, it’s impossible. Anyway, they had the body buried in the basement of this house that at that time was not being lived in. In the back of the basement is a brick wall. Mikey’s corpse is in there.”

  “So what the hell do we have to do?” Vern asked, taking a sip from his Coke. “Bring his ass back alive? And how the hell could Tim make it snow? The dude is weird—he’s not a fucking magician. That’s ridiculous, man.”

  “Ha ha. Well, it turns out the poor bastard had a key on him. We need to retrieve that key. And how fuck should I know how he makes it snow? I never even said that I thought it was true, you dope.”

  “Where does the key go?”

  “No fucking clue. It’s none of our business where it goes, only Pope’s. We do this, we get a nice fat chunk of change.”

  “Seems easy enough. What’s the catch?”

  “Someone is living there. A couple. We’re going to have to tie them up. This couple don’t know about the body in the basement.”

/>   “Jesus,” Vern said, throwing the rest of his uneaten cheeseburger in the bag. “How the hell did a couple of potheads like us get involved in this shit?”

  “You know how, man. We always said we wanted to get involved, remember? Remember that night after we watched The Godfather? The shit we talked about? There is serious money to be made in this if we keep wise.”

  “I remember. It doesn’t seem so romantic now. It seems fucking scary. When we supposed to do this?”

  Tony snickered and tossed another bag into the back seat. “Right now. The house is like twenty minutes away. What the hell you think I told you this was going to be an all-night thing for?”

  “I thought we were going to party.”

  Thirty minutes later, they found themselves parked outside of the house. It was a white two-story Victorian, immaculately well kept. A full moon hovered within the stars above, giving the house, and the snow, a bluish cast. One of the windows on the second floor was brightly lit and a beefy shadow passed by. A massive weeping willow had taken over the front yard, its large branches swaying gently in the cool evening breeze.

  “Fuck,” Tony said, tossing another one of his unending cigarettes out of the window. “They’re awake. Someone is in the window. I was told they went to bed every night like eleven o’clock. This sucks.”

  “Nice house,” Vern said, leaning down a bit so he could see the window. “What we gonna do now?” He paused for a second and nodded to himself. “The light just went out.”

  “Okay, we’ll wait for a bit, then go in.” Tony reached into his pocket. “I got the key to the house right here, courtesy of Pope. I got other shit in the back. All the materials to put the bricks back and whatnot. Their bedroom is apparently the last room on the left at the top of the stairs.”

  “We gotta put the fucking bricks back? You know how to do that shit?”

  “Bricklaying? Yeah. I used to work for this old fuck in high school. That’s some tough work.” Tony patted his jacket. “I got us ski masks and a gun too—it has a silencer and everything. We shouldn’t have to use it, though.”

  A half-hour later, they crept up the dark walk that led to the front door, walking naturally as if they belonged there at one o’clock in the morning. Tony put the key in the door and it opened effortlessly.

  A dimly lit lamp illuminated the room in a soft glow. Expensive paintings decorated the walls, most of them in ornate, handcrafted frames. Victorian furniture filled out space nicely, giving the room the sort of appearance one only saw in magazines like Better Homes. An enormous grandfather clock loomed to the right of the hand-carved staircase. An obese orange cat stared from where it sat perched upon an end table, its furry tail swishing back and forth lazily, golden eyes half closed.

  Tony shot Vern a “follow me” look, pointing toward the staircase with his chin. They put their ski masks on and moved silently up the stairs. A lit lamp rested on an end table near the top landing. The hallway had four doors, two closed, two open.

  Tony motioned with his hand and they crept forward, their shoes sinking quietly into the thick carpeting.

  Tony and Vern were in the center of the hallway when a toilet flushed. They froze, staring at each other with comically wide eyes. The door at the farthest end of the hallway opened and a chubby, red-bearded man strolled out wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, a magazine tucked underneath his arm.

  The three men stared at each other for a few seconds.

  “Ethel, run!” the man shrieked before turning around and fleeing back into the bathroom, hairy arms waving frantically.

  “Fuck!” Tony hissed, pulling his gun from his inside pocket.

  An enormously heavy woman, clad only in a pink bathrobe and a head full of purple rollers, ran into the hallway from the second doorway, saw the two men in ski masks standing before her, and promptly fell face first into the carpet with a dense thud.

  “Keep an eye on her,” Tony whispered, stepping over the portly woman. He banged the barrel of his handgun against the bathroom door. “You better come outside, or I’m gonna shoot my way in.”

  “Not a chance in hell!” A voice shrieked from behind the door.

  “Tony,” Vern said.

  Tony whipped his head around. “Don’t say my name, numbfuck!”

  “Sorry. It’s just that—”

  “Vern, can’t you see I’m trying to get this man to come out of the bathroom?”

  “Now you just said my name too,” Vern said, frowning.

  Tony made a pained expression and glared at his friend. “Oh my God—you’re making me fuck this up!” He turned back to the door and hit it again with the gun, lowering his voice. “Listen, you better come out or you’re gonna get hurt something fierce. I’m losing patience.”

  “No way in hell I’m opening this door!” the man yelled again. “Just take what you want and get the hell out!”

  “I think this lady is dead,” Vern said, kicking at the heavyset woman with his shoe. One plump leg protruded from the folds of the pink bathrobe, her flesh covered in purple varicose veins.

  “Ethel!” the man shrieked from behind the door. “You killed my Ethel!”

  Tony walked over to the woman, leaned over, and put his finger on her neck. There was no pulse.

  “You know how to do CPR?” Tony asked Vern.

  “Not a clue,” Vern said, staring at the woman sadly. “I think you just push on the stomach.”

  Tony looked sideways at Vern. “Please tell me you aren’t really this stupid. How the fuck would pushing on her stomach start her heart again?”

  “Well, I ain’t no doctor, Tony,” Vern said.

  Tony nodded somberly. “It’s pretty damn doubtful that even a fucking retarded child would mistake you for a doctor. And you just said my name again.”

  “Sorry.”

  Tony walked back to the closed bathroom door and banged it with his hairy fist. “Hey, you know any CPR? I think your wife had a heart attack.”

  The man whimpered. “Oh my God! You killed Ethel! She has a bad heart!”

  “Well, it may not be too late if you come out here and try and help her,” Tony said. “We don’t know CPR.”

  “If I come out, you’ll kill me.”

  “We’re not gonna kill you.”

  “You killed Ethel,” the man reminded Tony in a whiny voice.

  Tony hit his forehead against the door. “For the love of fucking God—we didn’t kill Ethel, man. She just fell over and died. We didn’t do anything to her.”

  “Nothing at all,” Vern added. “Except for stand in the middle of her hallway with ski masks at one o’clock in the morning.”

  Tony turned back around. “Vern, I am going to come over there and stick this gun up your fucking ass!”

  Vern smirked. “Well, it’s pretty damn obvious—even to a retarded child—that she didn’t just fall over and die, man. If I saw us standing here—especially you in that sky-blue Hawaiian shirt—I’d have a heart attack too.”

  The man started to cry, his whimpers muffled from behind the door. “I can’t believe Ethel is dead!”

  “Listen, if you don’t come out of there, you’re gonna be dead too. We aren’t gonna hurt you.”

  “Oh really?” the man asked. “Then why do you have a gun?”

  Tony looked down at his gun. “I don’t have a gun. We aren’t here to kill anybody.”

  “You just threatened to stick your gun up your buddy’s ass,” the man said.

  “You did do that,” Vern said, looking away like a guilty dog when Tony stabbed him with a heated stare.

  “And you also threatened to shoot this door in,” the man added dryly.

  “Mister, I am going to give you five seconds to open this fucking door!” Tony shouted, backing up. “Five!”

  “No way I’m coming out!” the man shrieked.

  “Four!”

  “You killed Ethel!”

  “Three!”

  “Just take what you want and leave!”

&
nbsp; “Two!”

  “Leave me alone!”

  “One,” Tony hissed, and promptly kicked the bathroom door, sending it into the wall with a thunderous slam.

  The portly man stood about five feet from the door, eyes bugged out like a squished frog. He clutched his hand into his chest and fell backward onto the tiled floor.

  Tony pulled the ski mask from his head. “This isn’t happening.”

  Vern erupted into laughter.

  Tony turned around, face red. “Vern, what the fuck you laughing at?”

  “Tony,” Vern said, trying to stop his giggling. “It can’t really get any worse than this, can it?”

  “Vern, this shit ain’t funny,” Tony said, walking into the bathroom. He put his finger against the fat man’s fleshy neck. “He’s dead, too.”

  “We just caused two fatties to each have a heart attack and you don’t think it’s funny?”

  Tony smirked a little. “It’s kinda funny. We’re scary dudes, I guess. I don’t think they can get us on murder if we get caught, can they?”

  “I don’t think so. But what the hell we gonna tell Pope? He’s gonna be pretty damn pissed off.”

  “Well, they did die of natural causes, did they not? We can just put them in the bed. If they do an autopsy, the coroner will see that they died of heart attacks. They’ll just think it’s some kind of fucked-up coincidence.”

  Vern looked down at the large woman and grinned. “Man, we’re gonna need a goddamn wheelbarrow to do this.”

  They managed to get the two corpses positioned in the bed as if they had died in their sleep. Tony did his best to make the bathroom door presentable, wiping off some of the dirt marks. The doorknob was broken, but it was hardly noticeable.

  The basement was well kept and mostly empty. A stack of cardboard boxes rested against one of the walls. An old-fashioned light hung from the low ceiling, swinging back and forth as it sent their broad shadows dancing on the moldy brick wall.

  Tony held a massive sledgehammer in his right hand as he stared at the red bricks. “I hope it’s not going to smell.”

  “How long has he been in there?” Vern asked, staring at the bricks with repulsed fascination. “I’ve never seen a human body outside of a coffin.”