The Poe Consequence Page 12

  “One of his eyes resembled that of a vulture,” the faceless voice whispered. “A pale blue eye, with a film over it.”

  “I’ll cut…cut you up!” he growled. When I find…you, I’ll make you blee…bleed, motherfucker!“

  “Whenever it fell upon me, my blood ran cold.”

  “Wha- what the f-fuck are you s-s-sayin?” he whispered between chattering teeth.

  “Until at length, a single dim ray, like the thread of a spider, shot out from the crevice and full upon the vulture eye.”

  Something in the mirror above the sink caught his attention. His legs grew heavy as a quick, frightened sob escaped from his mouth.

  “Presently I heard a slight groan, and I knew it was the groan of mortal terror.”

  He had caught a glimpse of his right eye, seemingly swollen and filled with a shocking, jelly-like fluid oozing from the socket. He knew he had to look again, needing to validate that his imagination had gotten the best of him. Slice kept his head down and stared at the floor as he dragged his feet to the sink. He gripped the edge to steady himself. He waited…and waited…and raised his head to see. The voice spoke again as Slice dropped to his knees in fright.

  “All a dull blue, with a hideous veil over it that chilled the very marrow in my bones.”

  Slice knew he needed immediate help and forced himself from the sink to seize his cell phone. He pushed the three numbers that could save his life. When the emergency operator answered, he uttered a muted whimper, falling to the floor in crippling pain as the phone dropped from his hand.

  “This seemed the signal for a general rush. Forth from the well they hurried in fresh troops. They clung to the wood—they overran it and leaped in hundreds upon my person.”

  Slice slammed his one good eye shut as frenzied, scratching rodents entombed him, tugging at his hair, clinging to his neck and face, and burrowing inside his shirt and underwear. Through the intense pain and cold of his suffering, he called out for help but the blanket of rats muted the sound from his mouth. At a point where his mind reached the breaking point, he sensed another strange sensation. The rats had disappeared. He felt himself take a breath…and then another. He was still alive!

  He reached for the phone just a few, tantalizing feet from his hand. A paralyzing jolt of pain exploded inside his chest. When he heard the operator asking if anyone was there, he wanted to scream, yet his constricted, swollen throat couldn’t form any words. The same couldn’t be said of the unknown voice.

  “The valiant soldier’s blood will spill…”

  Through submission and recognition of his fate, Slice listened.

  “On red stained lands of sacrifice…”

  Perhaps one’s appreciation for life is understood most in the final moment.

  “Beware the heart as cold as ice.”

  The operator later reported receiving a call at three fifty-five a.m., followed soon afterward by what appeared to be the dropping of the phone. While trying in vain to reestablish contact, a four minute period of strange, high-pitched squealing continued until ending in abrupt silence at three fifty-nine.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Kevin sat alongside Seth in the waiting room of the day care center, reading an L.A. Parent magazine. Flipping through the pages helped him turn his attention away from Seth’s silence and overall cold demeanor. As the time arrived for their scheduled five p.m. appointment, Kevin heard the clicking of heels from the other side of the closed door. Looking up from his chair, he found himself staring at a strikingly attractive Latina woman who appeared to be in her mid to late twenties. When she smiled, she radiated warmth as comfortable as cashmere. Any uneasiness he previously felt soon disappeared.

  “Hello,” she said, first looking at Seth. “My name’s Veronica.”

  Seth remained in his chair. “Hi.”

  Kevin stood and extended his hand. “I’m Kevin Palmer. This is my nephew, Seth.”

  Kevin scanned her curvaceous body, enhanced by her lightweight skirt and buttoned-down silk blouse. Veronica walked over to Seth and sat in the chair next to him.

  “What grade are you in, Seth?”

  “Sixth.”

  “That’s good,” she told him. “I’ve tutored other sixth grade kids before, so maybe I can help you, too.” Veronica looked at the backpack next to his chair. “Are your books in there?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What subjects do you need help in the most?”

  “Judging by the talk I had with his teacher,” Kevin said, “Math and Science are giving him the most trouble. But History isn’t far behind.”

  “I’ve found that every subject has its own little secrets for success,” she said, continuing her eye contact on Seth. “But if we’re going to make this work, you’ll need to study at home, too, okay?”

  Seth glanced at her for a moment before redirecting his attention to the floor.

  “Well, what do you say, Seth?” Kevin asked, feeling a bit irritated by his nephew’s silence.

  Seth continued to look down, saying nothing.

  “I know school works not much fun sometimes,” Veronica said, “but I never would have been able to make a better life for myself if I didn’t work hard. Believe me, not many things come easy in this life. The smarter you are the better your chances of something good happening.”

  Seth remained silent a few moments more before turning his eyes upward toward hers.

  “I’ll try, okay?”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  Veronica looked at Kevin. He felt a momentary sense of embarrassment in his inability to tear his gaze away from her soft brown eyes.

  “Dr. Hobart allows me to use an empty office down the hall,” she explained. “You’re welcome to stay in here if you like.”

  “No, that’s all right,” he told her. “I have an errand I need to run. Just show me where you’ll be.”

  Veronica motioned for them to follow her through the door. “What’s nice about the office I tutor in is the large desk that lets us spread the books and papers out. It’s real quiet, too. All you can hear is the sound of the aquarium.”

  “You got an aquarium in there?” Seth asked, showing a rare flash of enthusiasm. “Cool.”

  When they entered the office, Veronica turned the lights on and Seth headed straight for the fish. Kevin offered Veronica his hand again and took advantage of the chance to look into those beautiful eyes once more before leaving.

  “Nice to meet you, Veronica,” he said, smiling.

  “Same here, Mr. Palmer,” she replied. “We’ll be finished at six thirty.”

  “Please call me Kevin,” he told her.

  He had noticed a bar on his way to the appointment and made a mental note of its location. He arrived there happy in the knowledge that he had an hour to kill. That gives me plenty of time to savor some scotch, he thought to himself. The first sip was long and deliberate, rolling around the inside of his mouth like a kid with a milkshake. He took another swallow and cherished the deep rich texture of the golden nectar as it swan dived from the back of his tongue into his belly. “Finally feeling better,” he whispered to himself, staring into the liquid magic of his glass. “That kid’s like nails to a chalkboard.” Looking up, he observed a man who appeared to be staring at him. The man’s eyes drooped a bit, giving him the appearance of someone a drink or two ahead of him.

  “Do I know you?” Kevin asked.

  “I think so,” he said. “Do you work for The Daily News?”

  Kevin smiled as he clutched his glass. “It’s been about two and a half years since I left, but yes I did. Do you work there?”

  “No, nothing like that,” the man replied. “I was a volunteer for Kamala Harris’ 2016 Senatorial campaign. You used to hang around headquarters a lot. I remember your face. You were always asking questions.”

  “Public’s right to know is what drives us on, my friend.” He finished his drink in one large gulp before leaning over a couple of stools in order to shake the man’s
hand. “My name’s Kevin Palmer,” he said.

  “Don Cassidy,” the man replied.

  Despite his relatively recent departure from the paper, Kevin enjoyed taking that memory lane stroll back to his Daily News days. His outlook on life hadn’t yet been poisoned by events such as the apparent worsening tribal divisiveness of American politics, or back to school sales on bulletproof backpacks.

  Or, most prominent of all, Warren’s murder.

  “How ‘bout another round, Don?” Kevin asked. “It’s on me.”

  Kevin removed the cell phone from his pocket and turned on the silent mode. “I know where Seth is,” he said to himself. “Now I’m going to make sure I enjoy some uninterrupted Kevin time.”

  The two men talked and drank, discussing politics, the economy, their jobs, and what the Lakers and Dodgers need to do to win a championship. Don offered Kevin a temporary respite from the manic whirlwind his life had become, and for that glorious period of time he became a person devoid of any connection to his problems. Right then and there, that’s all Kevin cared about. He just wanted a chance to drink and be himself and forget about everything. He even forgot about the time.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “I’m sure he’ll be here soon, Seth,” Veronica said. “Why don’t you try calling him again.”

  Seth dialed his uncle’s cell phone number and heard the recording for the third time. Unlike the previous two calls, he hung up without leaving a message. His stomach hurt from hunger, he felt tired, and he wanted to leave. He figured Veronica wanted to go home, too, but she told him she’d wait until his uncle arrived. He appreciated that. He had found her to be different from a normal Mexican. She wasn’t bossy and didn’t talk loud. She smiled a lot and made him feel comfortable as they worked together. He couldn’t believe how smart she was, and how she made studying and remembering things seem easier.

  “Sorry, Veronica,” he said, hanging up the phone. “I wish he’d get here, already. I’m hungry.“

  “There’s a snack machine in the lobby, Seth. How about some cookies or potato chips?”

  “I don’t have any money,” he told her.

  “But I do,” she said, rising from her chair. “Chips or cookies?”

  “I don’t care,” he said. “Whatever.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  The clock on the wall showed seven thirty and Seth’s concern intensified. Maybe his uncle got in an accident. Seth just knew something bad must have occurred. Look what happened to his mom and dad. Why not his uncle, too? He loved his grandma but could he really live with her every day? He didn’t care much for his uncle but he liked having a house and his own room. His thoughts ended with the ringing of the desk phone. Seth hesitated a moment, unsure whether to answer. It was Uncle Kevin.

  “Why aren’t you here yet?” he shouted, anger now overtaking relief, “I called you three times!“

  “I’m really sorry, Seth, but I accidentally locked my keys in the car and my cell phone’s in the glove compartment. I’ve got a locksmith taking care of it now, so I’ll be there soon. I had to borrow a man’s phone to call you. And then I had to track you down through the front desk. Where’s Veronica? Is she still there? Let me talk to her.”

  “She went to get me some food from the machine.”

  “Please tell her I’m very sorry and I’ll pay for the extra time.”

  Veronica returned with cookies and potato chips. “Is that your uncle?” she asked.

  Seth nodded. “Just hurry, okay?”

  Seth hung up and explained what happened as they shared the food.

  “He’s not the first person to lock their keys in the car,” she told him. “I’m just glad that’s all it was.”

  Seth swallowed the last of his cookie, put a finger to his mouth and began chewing on a nail. “Me, too,” he replied, his voice a notch above a whisper. His eyes started to tear. He didn’t want Veronica to notice so he got up and walked to the aquarium. But the urge to cry overtook him. Within a few moments she appeared by his side.

  “What’s the matter, Seth?”

  “Nothing,” he murmured.

  Veronica stood in front of him. “Come on,” she said. “We’ve been friends for a whole one and a half hours. You sure you don’t want to talk about it? Were you worried about your Uncle Kevin?”

  Seth remained silent for a few moments, trying to regain his composure. “I thought…maybe I’d lose him, too.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Seth glanced into her eyes before returning his gaze to the aquarium.

  “I don’t mean to be nosy,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

  Seth stared into the tank. “My mom and dad are dead.”

  Veronica put her hand on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Seth. I didn’t know.”

  The gurgling sound of the aquarium filtered through the silence in the room. In a way he couldn’t quite understand, Seth felt better, as if sharing this information with Veronica released a heavy weight from his shoulders. He decided to tell her everything.

  “My mom died of cancer last year. My dad…” Seth’s shoulders drooped as he took a deep breath in order to continue. “My dad was killed by Mexican gangbangers in April. He was trying to save me and they…” He swallowed hard. “They shot him.”

  Seth heard Veronica’s reaction. Something seemed unusual in her tone of voice.

  “Oh, no! No! Oh, my God.”

  She asked Seth a question that startled him. “In the parking lot of a market? Alfredo’s Market?”

  He turned and looked at her. “Yeah.”

  Veronica stared at him a while longer before walking back to sit. Seth followed her and did the same. “I had no idea it was you,” she said. “It’s hard to believe you’re here with me like this.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I know that market,” she said. “When your father was killed I saw the news on TV. I remember wondering how in the world…I’m so sorry.”

  “I feel bad for you, Veronica.”

  “Me?” she asked, looking surprised. “Why?”

  “Cause you’re a Mexican and you have to be around Mexican men.”

  Veronica looked like that didn’t bother her. “You shouldn’t think that way, Seth. There’s plenty of nice Mexican men who aren’t like those gangs at all. As for me, I’m a Mexican-American, but I’m proud of my Mexican heritage.”

  “But you’re different,” he said. “You’re not like those other ones. They’re nothing but bullies and creeps.” Closing his eyes, he flashed back to the moment his father died in his arms. “And they kill people.”

  Veronica leaned forward in her chair. “I read something interesting the other day about nine-eleven. Do you know what that is?”

  “Yeah, sure,” he said. “That’s when planes flew into those buildings.”

  “Do you know who did it?”

  “Some Arab people.”

  “That’s right. And do you know what a hate crime is?”

  “No.”

  “It’s when people are attacked for no other reason than someone not liking their religion, or the color of their skin. Things like that. The article said that the year before nine-eleven there were twelve reported hate crimes against people of the Arab culture in the United States. But by the end of 2001, after the nine-eleven attacks, there were ninety-three.”

  “Did they have something to do with the planes?”

  “No, not at all,” she said. They were attacked simply because people thought they looked and talked like the people who did have something to do with the planes. That’s unfair, right?”

  Seth nodded his head in agreement.

  “The same thing applies to your feelings about Mexican men. Just because they may look and sound like those gangbangers doesn’t mean you should think of them the same way.”

  Veronica rose from her chair and walked toward the aquarium. “Come here, Seth.”

  Seth walked over and stood next to her, staring into the
tank.

  “There’s several kinds of fish living together in there,” she said. “Different sizes, shapes, and colors. We’re the same way, aren’t we? You, me, and everyone else. We’re different but living together. As long as we’re here, we may as well make the best of it.” Veronica pointed toward the fish. “Just like them.”

  “Here I am!” a voice called out. “Sorry, Veronica.”

  They looked toward the door at his smiling Uncle Kevin. Seth resented that he appeared so happy after forcing them to wait around like he did, but at least they’d have dinner soon. He wished Veronica could join them but that would mean having his uncle around at the same time. He looked forward to seeing her alone next week.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Face continued pushing the buttons of the remote, trying to find a distraction to take his mind off the depressing real-life drama playing in his head. Under normal circumstances, surviving to see another birthday called for a reason to party all night. These were dangerous times, however, and the circumstances far from normal. As an increasing number of his gang brothers died, Face’s mood grew darker. The respect he used to reap from neighborhood families had turned into bitterness and obvious disgust. There had been too many funerals, too many tears, and too many unforgiving parents. They knew who he was, that he was a central player in the Diablos, and they held him responsible for their sons’ deaths. Some of the parents were real assholes, destined to rot beside his old man in hell, but others loved their kids and tried everything in their power to keep them from jumping into a gang. They just couldn’t compete with the street.

  Five more dead in just the last few weeks, including two of his closest camaradas, Cherry and Player. Stoner and Tick were both shot down the week before, and for that, the Diablos aimed to spill more Lobos blood. But nobody questioned gunshots. What happened to Cherry and Player, however, added to the same confusing craziness. Heart attacks? That’s what the police continued claiming, but they say lots of unbelievable shit.