Sirens in the Night Page 14

  The mist was beginning to turn to rain as he charged after the woman. Jack could feel the water seeping into his shoes as he splashed through puddles along the sidewalk. He heard someone shout, “Stop!” and then realized it was him. But she ignored his calls and continued to flee. A quick right onto Panama Street, where Jack briefly lost sight of her as she rounded the corner, had followed a left turn onto S. Sixth Street. His head felt as if it was about to burst, and, despite the increasing rain, the sweat from his forehead was burning his eyes.

  Turning onto Panama Street, Jack found himself in what was not much more than a narrow alley. To his right was a tall brick building surrounded by wrought iron fencing, and on his left was a long line of residential garages for the townhomes on the opposite road. There were few streetlights burning along the alleyway, and Jack hesitated for a moment. He struggled to see through the darkness, hoping to catch sight of the woman. There was no sign of her and, to Jack’s dismay, no sound of running footsteps either. He fought to slow his breathing down as he walked down Panama Street. Standing in the middle of the darkened street, he leaned forward and placed his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

  His clothing was soaked with the rain, which had begun to pour down from the sky. The searing pain in his lungs began to subside with each breath, while the rhythmic pounding of his heart was beginning to slow. He cursed aloud, and then he cursed again. He had let her get away, the only link to what had happened to Jason. She had been within inches of Jack, and he had let her get away. He straightened up, and gazed down Panama Street.

  When the blow came, he was caught defenseless and buckled at the waist in pain. It was a hard blow that drove all the air from his lungs. He only had time to look up for a moment before the fist slammed into his jaw, sending Jack crashing to the wet pavement. Footsteps moved around him and then, suddenly, two powerful hands grabbed his throat. With his body being lifted in the air, Jack struggled to breathe through his constricted windpipe. His eyes burned from his sweat, hindering his ability to keep them open for more than a second at a time. His body swung through the air—his feet unable to feel the ground below him. The rapid motion suddenly stopped as his back came in contact with the hard brick wall surrounding one of the garages along the street. A spine-jolting pain shot through his body on impact, and Jack feared he would lose consciousness.

  With his vision still blurry, he could only feel the hot breath on his face as his assailant came close. One of the hands around his throat slipped off, but the other still had a firm enough grip to hold him suspended in the air against the cold brick.

  “Did you want to play, Jack?” said a deep, husky female voice. “Like your friend Jason?”

  Jack’s lips formed a question, but all that came out was a raspy sound, a pale resemblance of his voice.

  “How do I know who you are? Oh, your friend’s mind was so open to me when I was feeding,” his assailant said. “It’s amazing the things I can learn while slowly sapping the life from someone. It’s the only time that I can truly see someone’s deepest thoughts and memories. It can be so invigorating. But you didn’t answer my question, Jack. Do you want to play?”

  Jack could feel his assailant’s free hand creeping down his body toward his crotch. Despite all of the pain and fear, Jack couldn’t help but feel aroused as the roaming hand began to softly cup his groin.

  She said softly, “Do you like that?”

  Jack couldn’t reply. He could barely move as he teetered on the edge of consciousness. His lungs were searing in pain as he struggled for a gasp full of air.

  “What about this?” she asked, and then, with a quick motion, squeezed his groin in the tight viselike grip of her hand.

  Pain shot through Jack’s abdomen, and he felt as if he would vomit. He wanted to scream, but no sound could make it out of his mouth. The iron grip on his groin was released, and the pain subsided only slightly.

  Despite the stinging in his eyes, Jack forced his eyelids open to gaze at his attacker. Between his blurred vision and the darkness of the night, it was difficult for Jack to be sure of what he saw.

  The face, although beautiful, had left a terrifying impression of evil on Jack. It had perfect skin, and immaculate skin tone, not a freckle or a blemish of any kind. It was a flawlessness that not even the most brilliant artist could ever capture. Her forehead was impeccably smooth, and untarnished by wrinkles. But poised between the perfection that was her nose and forehead were two bright points of light, red as fire, staring back at him. Below the nose were red lips that were so pure in color that they could have been made of true rubies. Between her lips, where Jack expected to see a set of perfect teeth, were two rows of brilliantly white and shockingly sharp, dagger-like teeth.

  Between gasps of air, Jack managed to ask, “What are you?”

  She leaned closer to Jack, with her face now inches from his. He felt her hot breath on his face, and saw the saliva glisten on her teeth. The foulness of her breath caused Jack to shudder, and he was certain he would have gagged if it hadn’t been for the vise-like grip constricting his throat. She smiled a smile that would have given even the strongest of hearts nightmares.

  In her deep husky voice, she replied to his inquiry, “My name’s Adonia. It means ‘beautiful lady’, can’t you tell?” She pressed her face even closer to his and taunted, “I’m your deepest desire and your worst nightmare all rolled into one. Did you think you could catch me? Did you think you could stop me? You’re such a stupid, puny little man. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice you following me? If I was not already satiated on the nectar of man, I might be tempted to devour you.”

  The hand around his throat suddenly released its grip, and Jack fell to the ground. His feet impacted first, but his legs were too weak to take the sudden load. Giving way beneath him, Jack’s legs buckled and he collapsed upon the wet pavement in a huddled mass. He gasped for air, which now flowed freely down his windpipe and into his lungs. He couldn’t remember how long he laid there, but when he opened his eyes, he found that he was alone.

  The rain was falling steadily down upon him, and his clothing was completely soaked as he struggled to his feet. As he stood up a wave of nausea rushed through him, and he fell to his knees to vomit. His abdomen ached, his throat was raw and sore, and his head was throbbing. He rose again to his feet to find that the nausea had subsided.

  _______________

  Thirty minutes later, Jack stood in the entrance to the narrow alleyway from where his attacker had first exited. The alley had only been a few blocks from where Jack had been attacked, but, still feeling disorientated, it took Jack a while to get his bearings. The dead end alley was dark, but Jack could just make out the figure lying at the opposite end. He slowly stepped forward into the darkness, taking each step with caution. Midway down the alley, he stopped and gazed at the unmoving mass. The pouring rain seemed to bead up and roll off the leathery face. Even with the rain, the face and exposed hands appeared as dry as barren desert.

  Jack stepped backward out of the alley, and walked a few paces over to a nearby streetlight. He leaned against it as a car passed by, splashing water up onto the sidewalk near him. Slipping his hand into his pocket, he pulled out his cell phone. He quickly found the number for Philadelphia Police Headquarters and dialed. When someone answered, he said, “I need to get a message to Detective Samantha Ballard. It’s an emergency.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  The hot cup of coffee brought mild relief to Jack’s otherwise aching body. He sat on the back step of the ambulance and took a long sip from the steaming Styrofoam cup. Flashing red and blue lights from several police cars illuminated the entrance to the alley where Jack had made his gruesome discovery. The paramedic, who had been attempting to treat Jack’s injuries, had stormed off in frustration at Jack’s repeated refusals. The street, which had been quiet and vacant thirty minutes ago, was now a bustle of activity. Unif
ormed police officers were busy cordoning off the area with yellow police tape, while Detective Ballard, who had just arrived, was standing at the entrance of the alley surveying the scene. Within moments, the FBI agent Jack remembered only as Wilkinson joined her. He was still dressed in a dark suit, and carried no umbrella, leaving Jack to wonder if the agent’s suit was dry clean only. He smirked momentarily at the thought as he watched the duo standing at the alleyway entrance. They spoke for a brief moment, then took a few steps forward, and Jack watched them disappear from view into the alleyway.

  He took another long sip from his coffee cup and felt the warmth radiate throughout his body, taking the edge off the chill he had from the continuing rain. He touched his throat with his hand, and felt a mild twinge of pain. The paramedic had stated that Jack had some bad bruising over most of his neck. His abdomen and cheek were still tender from the attack, and he decided to not tell the paramedic about the aching in his testicles, figuring it would be less embarrassing for all. Running through the details of the attack in his head, Jack wasn’t sure if he could honestly tell what actually happened and what may have been a hallucination as a result of the attack. He couldn’t deny the fact that most of his body had been bruised and battered, but Jack questioned his memories of his attacker. The strength of the grip that held him against the brick wall had been far greater than he could possibly attribute to the redheaded woman he had been chasing. It wasn’t that he didn’t think a woman could muster up such strength; she, judging by her size, simply didn’t seem to have the body type that could lift a full-grown man several inches off the ground. A fact that he could not dispute was that his attacker must have had enough strength to hold him up with one hand. The ache in his testicles could testify to that.

  What was truly up for debate, in Jack’s mind, were his memories of the attacker’s face. The blazing red eyes and dagger-like teeth seemed to be outside the realm of possibility, making Jack question whether he had even seen them at all. But, when he thought about it, seeing his friend’s corpse in a state of utter mummification had also been out of the realm of possibility until earlier that week. He wondered if the lack of oxygen could have caused him to hallucinate. Jack was certain that he had been very close to passing out. Maybe he had passed the threshold of reasonable thought at the time and simply imagined things, he thought.

  A familiar voice jogged his mind back to the present. “Mr. Allyn. We meet again.” Samantha Ballard was standing before him with her hands in the pockets of a long, grey raincoat. The rain had matted down her auburn hair, and a pair of blue denim jeans and white tennis shoes peeked out from underneath the raincoat. “I hear you’re refusing treatment,” she added.

  Jack nodded.

  “Why don’t you let me drive you home? You can tell me what happened,” Samantha suggested.

  As Jack slowly stood up, he looked around and said, “Don’t you usually have a sidekick? I thought detectives always traveled in pairs.”

  “Funny. So you’re a comedian as well as a club DJ? Do you have any other hidden talents that I need to know about or should I just put you down as being a jackass?” Samantha responded.

  Jack laughed. “Wow. I didn’t think cops could talk to people like that.”

  She returned his smile. “When a person has as many connections to dead bodies as you do, I can talk to you any way I like.”

  Jack gestured back toward the alley. “What about your FBI buddy?”

  Samantha glanced over her shoulder for a moment. “Him? He’s a prick.”

  Taking a sip from his coffee cup, Jack followed the detective down the street to a white Mini Cooper parked half a block away. A small teardrop emergency light rested on the roof of the small car, and flashed red in rapid succession. As Samantha opened the driver’s side door, she grabbed the light from the car roof, and tossed it into the back seat. It landed awkwardly on the leather seat, and the rotating light illuminated the interior of the car in pale red hues every few seconds. Sliding into the driver’s seat, Samantha yanked the plug, which was attached to a small wire leading into the back seat, extinguishing the rotating red light. She dropped the plug into the cup holder between the two front seats. Jack, who had slid into the passenger seat, pulled his door closed and stared forward at the mouth of the alleyway up the street. For a moment, his mind flashed back to earlier that evening when he gazed down upon his attacker. The blazing red eyes flared up in his mind, causing him to shudder at the memory.

  _______________

  Samantha found a parking spot two blocks from Jack’s apartment building, and the pair walked to the entrance of the building. The ride to Jack’s South Street residence had been a short one, and they had not had time to talk much about that evening’s events. They rode the elevator up to the fourth floor in silence, and Jack ushered the detective into his apartment with a brief gesture of his hand.

  “Can I get you something to drink? I’ve got coffee, or if you want something stronger, I’ve got beer, whiskey, and wine,” said Jack, as he took Samantha’s soaked raincoat from her to hang on the wrought iron coatrack by the front door.

  Samantha toyed with the idea of a glass of wine in her mind. She was wet and cold, and felt that a nice glass of wine would be comforting. But she opted for coffee. Jack’s living room was sparsely furnished with a microfiber sofa, which sat across the room from a fifty-inch flat screen television hanging from the wall. Between the sofa and a leather Lazy Boy recliner was a black enamel end table, on which sat several copies of Rolling Stone magazine. As Jack disappeared into the kitchen to fix the coffee, Samantha glanced around the room at the framed artwork that adorned the walls. Among the cheap prints that could have been bought at the local Wal-Mart, Samantha found a framed page from a magazine hanging from the wall. A small silver plaque attached to the bottom end of the frame read: “Friday Morning Quarterback, July 2011”. The headline of the article caught her eye, “Jack Allyn Tops Dallas Airwaves”. Accompanying the headline was a small photograph of the man who at that moment was making her coffee.

  As he returned from the kitchen carrying two steaming mugs of coffee, Samantha turned and gestured to the framed article. “You lived in Dallas?”

  Handing her one of the mugs, Jack replied, “Yeah. I did afternoon drive there for a few years.”

  Puzzled, she asked, “You left Dallas to come work at Pulsar?”

  Jack shook his head. “No. I work the overnight shift at WPLX.”

  Samantha took a long sip of coffee from her mug, and then sat down on the sofa. Jack remained standing across the room from her.

  “Hmm. Mr. Allyn, you didn’t mention that the other day when we were questioning you.”

  Jack replied, “I didn’t say anything because it didn’t seem relevant. And, please, call me Jack.”

  “Everything’s relevant in a murder investigation . . . Jack.” She put the emphasis on his name.

  He nodded in response, and sipped from his coffee mug. “I’ll remember that for next time.”

  Samantha leaned back in the sofa, holding her coffee mug in her lap with both hands. “Tell me what happened tonight.”

  “I was out for a walk. Not really going anywhere in particular,” Jack explained. “I saw this woman step out of that alley. It was the redhead that Jason picked up at the club. I’d swear to it.” He shrugged his shoulders. “What could I do? I couldn’t just grab her and drag her to the police station. I decided to follow her. Figured if I found out where she lived, I could tell you, and then you and your partner can do what you do best.”

  Samantha inquired, “Did she spot you?”

  Jack nodded. “Yeah. She ran, and I chased. I could barely keep up with her. I got as far as Panama Street. Thought I’d lost her.”

  “Is that where you were attacked?”

  “I was trying to catch my breath when someone belted me in stomach. Before I knew what happened, someone had me by the
throat against a brick wall.” Jack’s hand instinctively touched his still tender neck. “She called herself Adonia and asked me if I wanted to play like Jason.” He paused, reflecting on his memories of the attack. “Then she said something really odd.”

  Samantha asked, “What?”

  Jack was silent for a moment and then replied, “She said she would devour me if she hadn’t already had the nectar of a man.”

  “Nectar?”

  Jack nodded, and then paused, unsure whether to say anything more. Then he added hesitantly, “This may sound crazy, and I’m not sure I even believe it myself. But I should probably mention it. I have a friend . . . he seems to think these killings are all the work of—it’s so ridiculous, I can barely bring myself to tell you—he’s convinced this is all the work of a creature from Greek Mythology called a Seirene.”

  “A what?” asked Samantha, incredulous.

  Jack proceeded to detail for Samantha the theory that had been laid out to him by Bryan Salisbury the week before. As the words flowed from his lips, the theory sounded even more ludicrous now than when he had first heard it. The idea that mythological creatures were running amok in the streets of Philadelphia sounded more like the plot of a bad Hollywood horror film. When he had finished, he stood silently as Samantha took it all in. At one time, she had considered Jack Allyn to be a credible witness, but that belief was beginning to crumble after hearing what he had just said.

  “That’s just not possible, not in any sense of the word,” she replied after a long delay. “Just a word of advice, when the FBI talk to you—and they WILL talk to you—I’d leave the whole monster thing out. It’d be better for all involved.”