Nocturnal: A Novel

Sly answered on the second ring.

“Chameleon,” he said. “How goes your mission?”

Chameleon. That’s what Tard wanted to be called, but no one called him that. Not without laughing, anyway. No one except Sly. Sly never laughed.

“Sly, he left the house.”

“Good man,” Sly said. “Just stay there, call me when he comes back in.”

“But can’t I join you guys this time?”

“You need to stay,” Sly said. “Something glorious is happening, Chameleon. It’s happening tonight. We must know when the monster returns. We can’t do this without your bravery.”

Tard wanted to go with Sly and the others. He was sad he could not. But Sly said this job, the watching, was very important.

“Okay, Sly, I’ll stay. I’ll be brave. Has Marco come back yet?”

“No,” Sly said. “We think the monster got him.”

Sadness. Tard wanted to cry. First Chomper, now Marco. The monster murdered people. And Tard was up here all alone.

“Sly, I’m scared.”

“Just stay there,” Sly said. “If you stay still, the monster won’t find you. And if you move around, what happens if Firstborn finds out where you’ve been all these nights?”

Firstborn. Firstborn could make you go away. Forever. And Firstborn had said no one was to go near the monster’s house.

“Do you really think he’ll find out?”

“Not if you stay there,” Sly said. “When the monster comes back, call me.”

Sly hung up.

Tard slowly set the phone back down on the roof. So slowly — if you didn’t want the monster to take you into his basement, it was best to not move at all.

Fear of the monster. Fear of Firstborn. The need to go out, to find a won’t-be. Wanting to be brave so Sly would like him, so Tard could make some friends. Too many things to think of.

Sly had said only the bravest of Marie’s Children could watch the monster. The monster had killed everyone who went near the house. Many brothers and sisters had tried to kill the monster, sometimes with guns and everything. None of them ever came back. So watching the house, well, even that was just dang dangerous. But if you could do it, if you could watch, Sly said, then everyone would know you were brave and everyone would like you.

Except Tard couldn’t tell anyone about his job, because Firstborn said no one was ever to go near the monster’s house. Sly said it was okay, though, to ignore Firstborn’s orders, as long as no one found out.

Movement. Down by the monster’s house. By the back door. It was the man dressed in black, the man who had been circling the block earlier. How exciting! Tard stayed very still, because he was good at that.

Tard watched.

Cowardice

John Smith checked the caller ID: POOKIE CHANG.

What now? Pookie had just called thirty minutes earlier with that murder-rate research project. John loved Pookie and would always have his back, but truth be told the guy was more than a little too quick to delegate detective work.

John answered. “Pooks, you gotta give a guy a chance. I haven’t even started to search the database yet, let alone start tabulating stuff. This isn’t—”

“John, I need you, right now.”

Pookie never called him John. “What’s happening?”

“Bryan’s having a meltdown. I need you at Erickson’s house, ASAP.”

John looked to his apartment window even though he knew what he’d see — the blackness of night, lit up only by streetlights and the glowing windows across the road.

“It’s dark out,” John said.

“I know it’s dark out, John. Bryan is going in there without a warrant, and if he does, Zou is going to screw him right to the wall. I don’t know if I can stop him on my own — I need your help.”

John stared at the window. Stared and shook his head. He wanted to help Bryan, he did, but it was dark outside and Pookie wanted him to go to the house of a killer?

“Pooks, I … I just can’t.”

“The fuck you can’t! Your black ass would be dead if it wasn’t for Bryan. I’m so sorry for what happened to you, I am, but you get your gun, get on that Harley and move.”

John nodded. Hard to breathe. Bryan needed him. Erickson’s. It wasn’t all that far, not at this hour, using the bike to slide between traffic, if there was any traffic …

“Yeah, okay, I can be there in fifteen minutes.”

“Make it ten,” Pookie said. “And don’t forget your gun. This isn’t about you anymore. Man up, or just stay in your goddamn apartment for the rest of your life.”

Pookie hung up. John closed his eyes tight. Breathe. You have to go, you HAVE to.

He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out his Sig Sauer.

His hand was already trembling.

The Kill

The sound of a shutting door made Rex snap awake.

Had someone found him?

He was still in the brown garbage can. The lid was still closed. What had happened? He had just closed his eyes, tried to think of his people finding him. Had he fallen asleep? It was totally dark out. Was it past midnight? He didn’t have a watch, didn’t have a phone.

He heard a click-click-click sound. He rose slowly, the top of his head lifting the hinged lid so he could peek out under it. There was April, walking away from the house, a big smile on her face. Her high heels clicked on the concrete. Maybe she had just fucked Alex. Maybe she had given him a blowjob. She looked dirty. Unclean.

There was no one else on the street. There were no cars. She was walking away, fast, like she was fleeing him. It spun him up to think that she was trying to escape.

No one else on the street — his attempt to make his so-called family come had failed. Maybe it didn’t work that way, he didn’t know. What if April didn’t return? What if she was going to get help? What if she was going to get her parents? What if Rex wouldn’t have another chance?

She would have a key. Alex would be alone in the house.

Rex quietly crawled out of the garbage can. Blanket wrapped around him, he walked after April. Could he get her? He’d killed Roberta … Roberta was bigger and stronger than April the meth-head.

His feet carried him after her. He had to get her.

Click-click-click.

Rex’s feet made no noise. He reached out for her, locked his hands around her neck and squeezed. She grabbed at his fingers. She tried to turn, but he wouldn’t let her. She made little grunting noises — not enough air for a real scream. Her nails raked the backs of his hands, so he squeezed as hard as he possibly could.

April twitched, she kicked out weakly … she stopped moving.

Rex was so turned on, so damn turned on. He pulled her into an apartment building