Adermoor Cove Part 1: The Rainbow Beret - 5. Chapter 5

This is the final chapter of the first episode. I already have the second episode done and am currently working on the third. To give myself time to get ahead I will begin posting the 2nd episode sometime next week. Hope you enjoyed this story.

Lane was ready to pack up and start driving towards Maine, but first he had to get his last paycheck from Phillip. He was reluctant to see the nasty old bastard and would have rather just forgotten about it but he needed all the money he could get.

The moment he walked through the door, he sensed something was wrong. There was no one in sight: no one stood behind the bar serving drinks or played pool or sat in the booths. The jukebox was on, playing a Johnette Napolitano song: “Who’s holding you now…? Who's holding youuuu…?”

How could it be this empty at nine o’clock in the evening?

A cold chill went up Lane’s spine. It could only mean one thing.

Danger.

Run.

He went back out to his Mustang and got in the trunk of the car. He rooted around until he found what he was looking for: a paper bag. Inside the bag was a Wesson 36 and a box of ammo. He made sure the gun was loaded, stowed the box of ammo in his pocket, and went back into the bar. It began to rain.

“Phil?” he called.

No answer. Only eerie silence answered back.

He walked back to Phillip’s office behind the counter. The door was open, which was strange. Phillip always closed his door when he wasn’t inside his office. Holding the muzzle of the gun towards the floor, Lane peeked around the door.

“Fuck,” he said.

There, on the wall beside Phil’s desk, was a black stain just like the one that had shown up the day Charlie died.

What are you doing just standing around? Just run, damn it. Get in the car and drive away.

Lane turned just in time to see someone coming towards him with a crowbar. He lifted the gun and pulled back the hammer -

“Whoa, whoa, it’s me!”

Lane let out a breath of relief. It was just Brendan. “What the hell are you doing here? You need to leave - right now!”

“I can’t. There’s this thing at my house, I don't know what it is, but there were things coming out of the wall...like bugs…”

“Like what's back in there?” Lane hooked a thumb over his shoulder.

Brendan tiptoed back towards the door. When he looked back at Lane his face was pale. He nodded shakily.

“Best thing we can do is get out of here. Now. Keep that crowbar handy.”

They walked out from behind the counter. Everything was still quiet, too quiet. Lane peeked out through the glass front door.

“What is this thing?” Brendan whispered. He kept glancing hurriedly over his shoulder. “Why did it show up at my house?”

“I told you I don’t know what it is. It came after you because it wants to use you to get me. I'm sorry this happened.”

“I’m sorry I called you crazy.”

“If I were you I would have said the same thing. When we head out there watch your back.”

The plan for now was this: Lane would head for his Mustang and Brendan his truck. They would drive somewhere safe and discuss what to do from there.

“Shouldn’t we just call the cops?” Brendan said.

Lane shook his head. “Not until I’m long gone. This is outside their expertise.”

Brendan gave him an odd look and opened his mouth to say something but before he could a howl split the air from behind, making them both jump.

Phil stood behind the counter. His shock of white hair stuck up in wild tufts and his eyes were black and pupiless. In his hand he held a wrench.

The darkness has infected him…

“Where did he come from? What’s wrong with him?” Brendan asked.

“It doesn’t matter. Just fucking run.”

Phil let out another blood curdling howl and charged at them, wrench raised above his head. Lane and Brendan bolted into the night, heading for their vehicles. Lane had the gun and knew he should just shoot the man - it would take care of the problem - but couldn't bring himself to resolve to the last resort just yet. His heart was a rocketing thump in his chest. The mixture and the adrenaline rush was all too familiar, like a recurring nightmare

It found me again. I knew it would, it’s only a matter of time.

He was just about to reach the Mustang when he saw a flash of movement in the window. Instinctively he ducked just in time to avoid Phil’s wild swing.

Glass shattered, falling in Lane’s hair and cutting the back of his neck. He fell back and lifted the gun up. Before he could fire Phil, moving with the ferocity and speed of a rabid animal, swung the wrench again.

The wrench hit Lane's hand, knocking the gun from his hand. He both felt and heard the snap of bone. The pain was unbearable, all-consuming. He couldn’t even scream.

Hands clenched around his throat, tightening. He tried to push the thing that had taken over Phil’s body off him but the man was too strong. The thing inside of him gave him an unnatural strength. Lane stared into its black eyes. Only hate and anger and a murderous intent he couldn't understand stared back.

Why? he wondered fleetingly, his vision already starting to blacken out. Why does this thing want to kill me so bad? What did I do to deserve this?

There came a loud thud from behind Phil and the old man released him. Lane rolled over in a fetal position, fighting to catch his breath; he held his broken hand to his chest. After a moment he managed to sit up, trying to make sense of what had happened, and what was happening now.

He knew Brendan had come behind Phil and hit him with the crowbar, saving Lane’s life. Now Phillip was somehow on top of Brendan, vomiting black fluid into his face. Brendan made a startled strangled that would haunt Lane in his dreams. No! Lane thought despairingly, knowing it was already too late. Not again, not like this!

The despair turned into fury, a bright, helpless fury. Lane grabbed the gun with his good hand and emptied the gun into Phillip’s back. Each jump of the gun felt like retribution in Lane's hands, like power, even if it was only a little. Phil bucked and danced atop Brendan, black fluid spurting from his mouth like blood. He finally fell over lifeless.

“Brendan?” Lane said, dazed and in pain. Blood flowed from the wounds in his neck. His hand, shattered and useless, throbbed profusely. He teetered on the edge of unconsciousness. Only the need for survival kept him standing upright.

Brendan got to his feet and when he looked at Lane, face covered in black fluid, his eyes were as black and full of rage as Phil’s, as Charlie’s. When the darkness took over someone there was never a trace of who they’d once been. Wet from the rain and bleeding, Lane didn't have the energy to fight. On the verge of insanity, he threw the gun blindly at Brendan, and ran across the parking lot. He heard Brendan howl and knew the creature was right on his heels.

Lane tried to shut the motel door just as Brendan threw himself into it. Two hundred and seventy five pounds hit the door, making Lane almost fall on his ass. Somehow he managed to keep his balance and lunged into the bathroom. He kicked the door shut and locked it. The door shuddered as Brendan began throwing his weight into it.

The bathroom felt incredibly small. There was no window to crawl out of, nowhere to run. In his own fear Lane had trapped himself. He crouched in the bathtub, waiting for Brendan to come in and finish him.

“You’re not just going to give in that easily, are you?” Charlie asked, sitting on the toilet. Just like the last time, his eyes glowed white, the anathema of the darkness that had taken over Brendan and so many of the people Lane had loved.

Charlie or Not-Charlie grinned at Lane’s surprised face. “Did you miss me?”

“Actually I did,” Lane said. He could feel the tide of emotion - fear, confusion, and rage - start to roll. The lights began to flicker. “I was afraid you wouldn't show.”

From the other side of the door Brendan screamed in rage and frustration. The door shuddered in its frame.

“That door’s made of wood, it won’t hold for much longer,” said Charlie. “Are you ready to do what needs to be done?”

“I am,” said Lane, allowing the light to get stronger. The light fixture exploded, leaving him in darkness, but he wasn’t afraid. Instead he was relieved. A crack appeared in the mirror above the sink. The handles of the sink began to turn themselves on and water poured from the faucet. “I am.”

Charlie nodded. “Then do what needs to be done. Roll with the tide.”

The tide burst forth like an overwhelmed dam. There was nothing but the tide. Lane had the sudden sensation he was out of himself, stuck to the ceiling like a fly, watching his own body stand up. But there was something different: his eyes were ghostly white, as if a cloud had passed over them. And they were glowing with power.

The door exploded in a shower of splinters. Brendan squeezed his way through the tiny doorway. Wood and glass crunched beneath his boots. His teeth were bared in a feral grin. A low growl emitted from his throat. His eyes glittered like beetle husks. His hand was clenched tightly around the handle of the crowbar.

An air current seemed to pass through the room. Wood splinters and shards of glass and droplets of water floated into the air. Like a cyclone it all gravitated and spun around Lane.

Like a bull, Brendan reared up and charged towards Lane. At that exact moment Lane let go of the tide. Splinters of wood and shards of glass flew at Brendan, passing through his body and exiting in a spray of blood. He stumbled back against the wall and fell to the floor, leaving a smear of blood on the tiling.

Almost as quickly as it had begun, the tide receded...and was gone. The mist faded from Lane’s eyes andexhaustion and pain flowed in. While it had all occurred there had been a wonderful moment of numbness: no pain or anger. Now it hit him all at once, crippling in its intensity. He fell to his knees, breathless. He managed to claw his way clumsily out of the tub and cross the filthy bathroom, to Brendan’s corpse.

Brendan's eyes stared up at Lane, glassy and lifeless. There was no darkness in them, but there was something almost accusing about the set of his face. Look at what you did to me, those eyes seemed to say. Look at how I ended up, just like Charlie. And everyone else who’s around you will just turn up the same. Dead.

“I’m sorry,” Lane sobbed, unable to hold back the tears. “I’m sorry this happened to you.” He didn't know what else to say. He kissed Brendan’s cheek and gently laid him on his side, facing the wall so he looked like he was sleeping.

It was still raining when he walked out of the motel. He found a hose around the side of the building and siphoned the gas out of Brendan's truck and Phillip’s Buick into a bucket. He poured the gas over Brendan’s body and lit a match. Tears stung his eyes as he watched flames engulf the corpse.

Tonight's work wasn't done yet. With his bad arm it was hell dragging Phil back into the bar; several times, while trying to pull one handed, he had to stop and catch his breath.

The stain in the office had spread to the corners of the ceiling. “Fuck you,” Lane said to the stain as if it could hear him, understand him - for all he knew maybe it could. He kicked the bucket over angrily with his foot. Gasoline spread across the floor. Lane wrinkled his nose up at the smell.

He lit the match, threw it to the floor. Within seconds flames spread across the floor.

When he got in his car smoke was rolling out of both buildings. It wouldn't be long before someone driving by saw the smoke and alerted the emergency department.

But where can I go? Nowhere is safe.

Then he remembered the strange phone call from Vanessa. She’d said she had answers. He didn't want to believe there was hope; it was much easier to believe there wasn’t hope in sight. But he was running out of places to hide and he could only avoid the law for so long before it caught up to him.

He had no choice but to go to Adermoor Cove.

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