Chapter 3 of Under A Killing Moon

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The Second Dream

Nighttime. The streets are cracked and grey and crumbling, snow and ash and black sand cling like tar to your bare feet. Each icy breath fills your nose with the tang of fresh blood and the sour-sweet stink of spoiled meat. Something his hiding behind the soot black sky, beyond the twisted tendrils that once were buildings. So large and so distant that the fire motes suggest only a presence. A shapeless immensity, nothing more. And above it all, the moom hangs huge, rivers of quicksilver blood spilling from raw wounds unsettling similar to the shape of Jacob’s body, falling onto the world like rain…

Waking

Jerome woke uneasily, still caught on what happened to Jacob, the body moving, the ruin of it. It gnawed at him, as did the effects of his kick being so crippling. That should not have been possible, he just wanted to sweep Jacob’s legs out from under him. He buried himself in work for a time, heading to Freddy’s shop to help out some more, but ti was hard to keep focus. His mind kept drifting and he took advantage of Freddy’s internet to do some research via web search. That wasn’t much help, with searches like “white fluid moon” and “bloody moon” producing results that were wither unpleasantly sexual or weird and feminazi-ish.

Out on the cold streets, Anabell rolled off a bench sometime in the morning. The dream and the pain from her arm made sleep elusive and not long after dawn she just gave up on it entirely. There was a free clinic on Harris St. that ran on Sundays. She headed that way, preparing for a long wait and a load of probing questions. She wasn’t disappointed, but after a few hours of work and a few minutes of care she was bandaged and pretty sure she wasn’t infected with anything serious. At a loss of what to do and wanting to figure out what the hell had happened to Jacob, she went looking for the only one of the people she had shared the experience last night that she had even a basic lead on – Ethan. Perhaps if she stalked the hospital, she could catch him there.

Dr Clarke was not at Felicity Memorial. He was at home in his apartment, enjoying a day off. He still woke in his apartment, refusing to break routine for little things like relaxation or sleep. He spent the day trying not to think on the dream or the events of the previous night, focussing on reading an article in the Hournal of Emergency Medicine as Frazier played in the background to fill the silence. It didn’t work. Something was wrong. He tapped at his pockets, checking each in turn. Something was missing. His torch. He tried to ignore the absence, it was likely at Felicity Memorial, accidentally left when he was getting treatment last night. He could get it tomorrow at work. He should wait until then. He couldn’t wait. The absence was bothersome. So he headed to the hospital to check and get everything back into its proper place.

Anabell had not been loitering at the hospital long enough for security to notice her when Ethan arrived. She intercepted him on the footpath between the staff carpark and the main building, just in time for someone to notice. Worse, it was Keith Arcand, one of the surgeons that Ethan had developed a rivalry with for reasons neither of them really remembered. After a few choice words about Ethan’s interesting choice of company, Dr Arkham headed into the building with a smile that would last most of the day while Ethan and Anabell headed to Ethan’s car to talk about in private about the previous night.

Despite Anabell’s insistence that something strange had happened, Ethan remained resolutely disbelieving. He blamed poor light, gas leaks and folie à deux … “technically folie à quatre as there were four of us”… and would not be shaken, dragging up chunks of medical knowledge to convince himself as much as Anabell. Exasperated, Anabell decided another look in daylight was needed and left for a walk to the abandoned goodwill shop. Ethan gave her is cell number, not quite catching the sarcasm she thanked him with.

Searching

Elsewhere in Merritt, Michael woke late, though not much later than usual. As the fog of sleep faded, he noticed that his hands were sparkling in the streams of cold winter sunlight creeping though tears in the old curtains. Blood. Dried blood and spray paint and shards of glass embedded in his skin. He stumbled to the bathroom to clean off, only then realising that he was still wearing clothes equally spattered in blood and paint and glass. He started to come back to himself as he washed, the chill of the water helping shake off the last of sleep. Something felt skewed inside him. A chain had slipped deep inside. He had done something horrible, the worst thing he had ever done in his life, and yet part of him was glad. He let himself get lost in the mindless act of cleaning himself up, put bandaids on the worst of the glass cuts and headed out. He needed to see the pace where they had been before…

The shop. It was more obviously derelict in the daylight. Other stores along the street were open and busy; as a backstreet could be. The goodwill was closed, rollerblinds down and covered, exposing a riot of grafitti and rust with the image of a huge woodpecker with a stylised DMZ along the side of its beak at the centre of it all. Michael didn’t even look at it, just walked casually by. A patrol car was parked opposite the entrance to the alleyway, one cop inside who was more interested in a magazine than watching the street. Michael slipped into the alleyway from the other end and sneaked round to the door to the goodwill. The door was still open, the dark maw of the door covered with bright bands of police tape. He ignored them, slipping carefully past them and inside.

Things inside looked emptier in the greasy daylight filtering through the dingy skylight. Without the concealement of darkness, the spaces where things should have been were much more noticable. Spaces where stock and fittings had been. A gap on a desk where a computer might have been. Ragged clothing, broken crockery and the ugliest ornaments were all that remained. Michael ignored the room and headed down to the basement. Everything seemed normal with the daylight filtering down the stairs, aside from the forensic marks scattered around the floor and the copper stains of blood on a series of pins protruding from the wall, supports for some kind of shelving now long gone. Crack. Michael froze. Someone was moving upstairs. He dove for cover among the sacks and shadows that had served so well the night before.

Upstairs, Anabell was creeping into the building, taking advantage of the cop in the patrol car being distracted talking to someone on the street. Lucky break. There was just enough time for her to get down into the basement and for she and Michael to notice each other when footsteps started above. Someone was coming who cared a lot less about about being as subtle or sneaky as either of them…

Ethan marched down the stairs. He had been the one talking to the cop, convincing him to let him take a quick look inside the shop for the torch he had lost. It was against protocol, letting someone into an active crime scene without escort, but it was cold out there and Officer Baker knew Dr. Clarke from crossing paths at the ER. He was a bit of a cold fish but always professional. Baker figured he could trust him just this once…

In the basement, the three finally exchanged names and Ethan earned a dirty look from Anabell. If he was coming here, why hadn’t he said or saved her from a long walk in the cold. No explanation, just a cold shrug. Each following their own interests, the turned their attentions to the wall, the pipes, the supporting pins, the floor. Keen eyes and Michael’s engineering knowhow revealed nothing to suggest the wall was false. No seams, no mechanisms, no hollowness. No gas in the pipes either, Anabell pointed out sharply. If there was a void behind the wall, it was on the other side of solid brickwork.

Seeing

Elsewhere, Jerome had grown completely unable to focus on his work. He apologised to Freddy, who was understanding and let him finish early. Jerome was such a good lad and a hard worker. Everyone had off days. Jerome headed to Chakrii’s to try and work out his aggression on a bag and see if he could figure out what had happened with that kick. He worked through multiple routines, growing increasingly aggressive with each until a volley of brutal strikes finally tore through the fabric of the bag, spilling sand from the wound. The few other gymgoers watched this with surprise at the sudden anger from mousy little Jerome; none of them caught the gold flash in his eyes.

Back in the basement, Anabell was rifling through the carpet edges for something that could be a hinge while Michael and Ethan studied the wall. Michael noticed something from the corner of his eye and turned his torch onto. Ethan was staring at the shining, mirror-sharp edge of the supports upon which Jacob had been impaled, lost in thought, his hand brushing the surface of the wall. Partly inside the wall. Michael’s sudden noise of surprise shook Ethan out of his daze. He wrenched his hand from sudden pain, a chunk roughly hand-shaped torn from the wall and jaggedly embedded in his flesh…

People Appearing (in order of appearance)

  • Jacob (mentioned)
  • Jerome Gévoudan – Distracted, obsessing, aggressive
  • Anabell McCullogh – Trying to understand what happened.
  • Ethan Clarke – Trying to forget, unsuccessfully.
  • Dr Keith Arcand (first appearance)
  • Michael O’Connell – Unsettled by his own actions.
  • Officer Baker (first appearance) – Workshy cop who should have been watching the crime scene.

Locations

  • Freddy’s Fixit Shop
  • Ethan’s Apartment – A residence, not a home.
  • Felicity Memorial Hospital
  • Abandoned Goodwill Shop – Still a crime scene.