Unleashed: A Rouen Chronicles Origin Story Page 9

  Gage inhaled deeply and smiled. He stretched out on the sand as if he’d been stuck in a cramped corner for way too long. Rolling onto his bare stomach, he pushed himself onto all fours, feeling slightly nauseated, but not from the earlier fit, more from an indescribable power.

  Beneath his skin, his muscles pulsed with energy. Gage flexed them tight and admired the way they had become more defined. He reached up and smoothed his longer, black hair.

  Nearby were Albert’s clothes. Gage finished dressing by pulling on a black Bandon High hoodie. He stared into the gray fog hovering just above the ocean; a rock wall was at his back. He remembered what Albert had been thinking only moments ago. The girl who drowned, Claire, and finally Gary. For once Albert had it right. Gary needed to be taught a lesson, but not the tongue lashing Albert had planned; Gary needed his eyes gauged out. No one could look at Claire like she was a Thanksgiving feast except for him.

  Instead of walking along the beach, and up to the boardwalk, he went to the rock wall and began to climb. His fingers dug into the jagged surface of the rocks like vulture claws. Recklessly, he scurried up the rock face, leaping impossible distances to get to the next hold. In his mind he pictured Claire, every curve of her body. Lying on his bed. Naked.

  With one final bound, he propelled himself upward to solid ground, and onto a trail that either led back to the beach or up toward the road where his bike was parked. He turned in the direction of the road when a faint odor, pleasant and sweet, mixed with the night’s soft breeze. His head snapped toward the beach, but he saw nothing. The fog made sure of that. With the agility of a panther, he silently made his way down the trail to find the source of the one smell that could deter him from Gary.

  Gage found her facing the ocean, staring into the heavy fog, a hood pulled over her head. Long dark hair escaped from the covering only to be caught up in the wind, twisting around her face like Medusa’s snakes. He'd never seen Claire so beautiful. She remained still, like a sea glass sculpture frozen in time by the power of a lightning bolt sent down by Zeus.

  He crept up behind her. She remained oblivious to his presence; any sounds he made were muffled by the crashing waves hidden within the fog. He inhaled deeply and reached his hand forward, tracing the back of her head with his fingers, but not touching. His tongue danced in his mouth, and his eyes rolled back. Gage moaned, the sound igniting millions of nerves just beneath his skin.

  Claire jumped and whirled around. She sucked in a breath at his close proximity, then quickly stepped back. The fear in her eyes was replaced with anger. She watched him for a moment, and he had the distinct impression that she was trying to figure out if she knew him.

  Finally she said, "Do you mind? I'm sort of having a moment here—alone."

  Gage motioned his head toward the fog. "Death rides the ocean tonight."

  She stepped back again. "Who are you?"

  "The fog seeks a human sacrifice,” he said, licking his lips. Man, she was hot.

  Claire looked away. "I don't believe in superstitions."

  "No? I assume you don't believe in monsters either?" He moved toward her, too slowly for her to notice—a snake slithering toward its prey.

  Claire met his gaze. "Now monsters I do believe in."

  "You're a smart girl, Claire.”

  She flinched. "How do you know my name?"

  "I know more than just your name." She appeared to act casual, but he could smell the sweat breaking on her skin.

  "Did you go to Bandon High?"

  "Not really."

  "What's your name?" she asked, her eyes searching the landscape behind him. Probably looking for help.

  "Gage," he said.

  "Gage what?"

  "Gage... Anderson."

  She nodded. "Uh-huh, sure."

  "You look like you’re expecting someone," he said, stepping directly in front of her, forcing her to look at him again.

  She raised her chin. "I am. My huge boyfriend.”

  Gage shook his head. "You don't have a boyfriend, Claire. You're available."

  "How would you know? We've never met.”

  "Haven't we?" He reached out to touch her arm.

  She jerked it away. "I would remember."

  "A memory is a funny thing.”

  She took a step to the right. "What are you talking about?"

  He blocked her. "Staring into the eyes of death. It's impossible to forget, isn't it?"

  She froze and looked at him.

  "The girl was beautiful, but stupid," he said.

  "I have to go.” She no longer tried to hide her fear. She took three steps past him before he took hold of her arm, stopping her.

  "I'll scream," she said.

  Gage grinned. "I hope so."

  Instead of trying to run, Claire took hold of his shoulder and brought a knee up hard between his legs. He gasped and fell to the ground. She easily shook off his hold and began to run. She went about ten feet before she turned back around and returned to kick him two more times in the stomach, which he loved. This time when she ran away, she didn't stop.

  Gage watched her as he lay on his side, face against the cool sand. She attempted to run up the sandy slope toward Bandon. She paused briefly, then changed directions, heading toward the dirt trail just above the cliff. Surely she thought she could out run him more quickly on solid ground. Too bad it didn't matter where she ran.

  He stood up, fully recovered. Only when her dark figure had fully disappeared into the darkness and its equally dark partner, the fog, did he chase after her, looking forward to the hunt.

  Gage sprinted fast, his strides more like great leaps like that of a lion’s. His heart raced with the thrill and his mind flashed perverse images of what he'd do to her the moment he caught her. He paused, for just a second, to listen to the sound of a terrible screaming within his head. He recognized the voice. Somewhere deep within his subconscious Albert was begging to be free, to try and save his precious Claire.

  He picked up his pace, ignoring the pleading voice. A beautiful woman needed his attention.

  He veered off the trail and raced up the side of the hill, then turned sharply to run parallel with Claire through thick underbrush while she ran not less than thirty feet away. It took him just a moment to drop back down and cut her off.

  She came to a screeching halt, eyes wide. "What the hell?"

  Gage drew in a deep breath and let it out.

  “You know Hell isn't the place people think it is," he said, circling her. "It's not fire and brimstone. It's not a place where some big-horned red dude works you to the bone. Hell is simply living your worst nightmare over and over again.” He studied her. “What frightens you, Claire?"

  Her eyes darted back and forth. Gage smiled. He had her trapped like a fox in a snare, and she knew it. She wouldn't go to her left, up the steep hill, covered in heavy pines and downfallen trees and she wouldn’t dare go down the cliff that he had climbed just moments ago. That left her with trying to pass him or going back the way she came.

  Her eyes met his and he could practically hear her thoughts say, "I'll never make it." Gage reached out and brushed a lock of hair from her shoulder.

  She flinched. "What do you want?"

  "To play with you."

  "You're messed up."

  "Aren't we all?"

  She took a step toward the edge of the cliff. Gage snatched her arm and jerked her body against his. He leaned forward to kiss her, but the sound of a terrible roaring exploded in his head, and he was forced to let her go.

  Clutching his head in pain, he growled at Albert, "She's not yours."

  His eyes snapped up at Claire who was staring at him with a bewildered expression. She'd moved again to the edge.

  Gage motioned with his hand. "Get back here."

  Her eyes burned cold. "I'd rather die than let you touch me."

  "That can be arranged." He lunged for her, but was too slow.

  Claire stepped backwards off the cliff. She slid fast
, hands outstretched, clawing at anything to break her fall. A rock snagged her hands, and she clung to it while her feet struggled to find ground. She looked upward, toward the heavens, as if begging God to save her.

  This gesture infuriated him, turned his insides hot, made him want to devour her flesh until he could crush her bones between his jaws. They ached just thinking about it.

  Gage dropped to his belly and reached down to where her hand was struggling to maintain its grip. He clamped down on her wrist and easily pulled her up to where his face met hers, her legs dangling in the air beneath her.

  "You're praying to the wrong master,” he said. "I’m the only one you should worship.”

  He rolled onto his back, pulling her into a tight embrace, much like a snake does after striking its prey. Claire ended up on top of him. His tongue flickered and tasted her warm cheek. She tried to fight back, screaming “No” and “Stop,” but this only made him constrict tighter, forcing the air from her lungs.

  Gage was about to enact all of his fantasies when Albert broke free from his subconscious prison. And he came out fighting. Pain seared Gage’s brain, and he released Claire to claw at his face. He rolled back and forth, screaming and writhing in the dirt like a worm cut in half.

  He was vaguely aware that Claire was getting to her feet. He tried to stop her, but a sudden and sharp pain traveled the length of his arm. It was as if Albert was jabbing a needle into his central nervous system. He cried out again. Not so much from the pain this time, but from frustration. Claire was getting away.

  Chapter 11

  Breathe.

  One foot in front of the other.

  Concentrate.

  Not much further.

  Run fast. And breathe.

  Claire glanced behind her. Nothing was there and yet everything was. Fear and terror left a blackened mark, staining the ground passing beneath her feet. An obvious trail for any predator to follow.

  She ran harder, focusing on the sounds of her footsteps against the pavement. The fog seemed to have grown thicker and it pressed against her, smothering her with its musty smell of sweat and tears.

  Just keep moving.

  Breathe.

  Make it to the stop sign, she told herself. It wasn’t that far, maybe a hundred yards. Claire stared at the big red sign, burning a hole into it with her eyes. The four white letters stared back, cold and oblivious. She didn't see the word, only the individual letters. The word meant nothing to her, held no power. She ran past it, ignoring its warning.

  She ran by closed souvenir shops, sprinted by the grocery store, ignored a honking car, until finally she saw the police station, shining brightly. She had never seen anything so beautiful, so safe.

  Please be there, Claire prayed for the second time that night.

  She burst through glass doors and kept running. Down a hall. Past surprised faces. Through startled voices. Smith’s office door was open. He saw her coming toward him and stood up behind his desk. The moment his steady grey eyes met hers, her body slowed and legs dragged. She stumbled to him until his arms came around her.

  She was safe.

  Smith waited for her tears to subside, waving away those who had followed her into his office, before he finally pulled away and said, "Tell me what happened."

  Claire looked up. His expression was stone, a sharp boulder with jagged lines, waiting to roll down a mountain to crush her enemies. But the fire in his eyes also burned warm and full of compassion.

  She opened her mouth to speak, but realized her voice had been left behind. She closed her eyes, waiting for it to catch up.

  "Sit down," Smith said. He took hold of her shoulders and guided her to an old cornmeal-colored couch against a gray wall. She sank into the mushy color; the only thing keeping her from sinking to the bottom was Smith's hand over hers.

  "Start from the beginning," he encouraged. "What happened?" The sharp lines of his face softened and he no longer looked like a jagged stone, but more of a river rock, smooth and steady.

  Claire took a deep breath. Held it. And slowly let it out. Her phone buzzed just then from within her pocket, but she ignored the caller and said, "I was at the beach. Waiting for—”

  "Claire!" Logan burst into the room, eyes frantic.

  Before Claire or Smith could react, Logan was kneeling at her feet. "What happened?"

  "How did you know she was here?" Smith asked.

  Logan looked at Smith as if he was a fly buzzing in his ear. "I saw her running away from the beach and could tell something was wrong. I followed her here. Or tried to anyway. She was running so fast." He looked back at Claire, searching her face. "Who did this to you?"

  Claire didn’t know what he was talking about. Was something wrong with her? Did a part of Gage’s evil somehow break off and attach itself to her?

  "Your lip. It's bleeding," Logan said.

  “Oh,” Claire said. She reached up and touched it, taking his word for it, even though she felt nothing.

  Smith stood up. "Listen, Logan. Claire was just about to tell me what happened. Why don't you go wait outside, and then you can see her when we're finished. I’ll also want to ask you some questions, too. See if you saw anything."

  Nodding, Logan stood up and, after noticing his shirt was unbuttoned, began to button it up, his face reddening.

  Claire frowned at his odd behavior, but then shook her head.

  "Can Logan stay?" Logan was familiar, like her comforter at home.

  Smith sat back down. "Fine, but don't interrupt and let me ask the questions."

  Logan pulled up a chair to sit across from Claire. He reached to take her hand, but stopped. "It's okay. Tell us what happened."

  Smith glared at him. "My job, remember?"

  Logan mouthed the word, "Sorry".

  Smith turned to her. "So you were at the beach. Who were you waiting for?"

  "Ethan." Her eyes flashed to Logan's, but he showed no other emotion than concern.

  "Did he show up?" Smith asked.

  "No. Or maybe he was just late. I'd only been waiting maybe ten minutes."

  "Then what happened?" Smith encouraged.

  Claire squished her lips together hard enough to feel the cut on her lip. The pain focused her.

  "A boy snuck up behind me," she said.

  "What boy?" Smith asked.

  Claire shook her head. "He said his name was Gage."

  "Any last name?"

  "He said 'Anderson', but I could tell he made it up."

  Smith squinted his eyes, like he was mentally taking notes in his head, before he asked, "What did he look like?"

  Claire saw him clearly in her mind, his darkness, his power, but when she tried to describe him, she couldn't. "There was something wrong with him."

  "Like a disfigurement?"

  "No. But he was deformed somewhere, but I can't say how exactly. He was disgusting."

  "Could you be a little more specific? The color of his hair maybe?" Smith asked.

  "Dark. I think. His whole face was dark. It was like the color was dripping from him."

  Smith rubbed his thick jaw line. "What did he say to you?"

  "He knew me," Claire said. The words brought back the memory of his touch. She closed her eyes. "He said my name. Said he knew I didn't have a boyfriend. And that I'd found that dead girl."

  This made Smith sit up. His boulder-face returned. "What happened next?"

  Claire breathed in. "He grabbed me." Logan tensed, but she continued. "He wanted me to scream. I kneed him in the groin and ran. I raced up the hill on the trail at the top of the cliffs, thinking I’d get away quicker, but then all of a sudden he appeared in front of me. Of all the things, this scared me the most. I couldn't figure out how he'd gotten to me so fast."

  She began to shake. Logan moved to the couch next to her. He didn’t put his arm around her, but his shoulder touched hers. It was enough. "Then he started talking again, and all I wanted to do was get away. So when he tried to grab me again, I stepped
off the cliff."

  "You did what?" Logan said, alarmed.

  "Quiet," Smith said. "Then what happened?"

  Claire looked at Logan with pleading eyes. "I thought he was going to kill me so I figured if I went off the cliff, I might have a chance at catching myself on the rocks. And that's exactly what happened. But I wasn’t low enough. He reached down, and with this insane strength, he took hold of my wrist and lifted me with one hand until I was on top of him. He wrapped his arms around me and squeezed until I thought my chest would collapse."

  She took a deep breath and wiped at the tears stinging her eyes.

  "Then what?" Smith asked.

  Claire thought back. "I don't know. All of a sudden he acted like he was in pain and he grabbed his head, letting me go."

  Smith paused. "Did he say anything?"

  "No, but he was clawing at his face like something was burning him." She frowned, remembering how strange he had acted. "Actually, when he grabbed me the first time, he had the same reaction, like something was hurting him. That time he yelled 'She's not yours'. It was as if someone else was there, but there wasn’t anyone that I could see."

  Smith didn't answer. He looked like he was mentally taking notes again, looking just above her head.

  "Sounds like the guy is crazy," Logan said.

  "Once I got away,” Claire continued, “I just ran straight here."

  Smith stood up and walked behind his desk. He opened a file on his desk and removed a DVD. "I want to show you something, Claire."

  "What is it?"

  "It's the security footage of the gas station robbery the other day." Smith went to a TV in the corner of the room and pushed the DVD into a built-in player. "There's a part that may be a bit graphic, and for that I apologize, but I really want you to see this."

  She stood up, rubbing her hands together. They were so cold. "Why?"

  Smith turned to her. "Because from your description, I think the man you met, Gage, is the same guy who robbed the gas station and who was with Mindy just before she died. I want to know if I’m right."