Blind Rage - Chapter 2

Friday, July 18, 1997, 8:37 am

San Antonio, Texas

Gavin settled himself into the passenger seat of Wagner’s car and set the aluminum cane down to rest in the floorboard between his legs.

Wagner shut the door and moved around to the driver’s side.

Neither of them spoke during the drive away from the hospital, but once the car was on the highway, Wagner turned down the talk radio station he was listening to.

Clearing his throat, he said, “We’ve got to consider a new treatment plan for Jobe.”

Wagner described the conversation with Jobe from the previous night, but when he finished, Gavin could think of nothing to say.

The silence got to Wagner, who sighed in frustration. “Crap, it’s rubbing off on you too.”

“What is?” Gavin asked.

“Jobe’s silent treatment.”

Gavin shook his head. “If you just want to talk, I can do that. But I don’t have any clues how to help Jobe. This condition he’s got...”

Gavin’s memory cast up a fragment of Jobe standing over him in the field. He saw with crystal clarity how much bigger Jobe was, and he heard the growling voice, I told you to stay in the car.

Gavin said, “This isn’t a mental illness, and he isn’t schizophrenic. The arrival of the other personality is accompanied by a physical change. Jobe swells up when he becomes the berserker, and his voice is deeper.”

Wagner nodded, his face tense in a troubled scowl. “Then medication won’t work to keep this other personality from emerging.”

“No, but maybe it’s a mistake to keep him contained,” Gavin said. “I know it sounds bad, but if Jobe hadn’t given in to the berserker, I’m sure that fight with the bear would have gone differently.”

“You aren’t seriously suggesting we let him go off of his medications, are you?”

Not wanting to argue, Gavin tried to seek a compromise. “What if we go with lighter doses? It’s not like the full dose is helping him.”

Wagner was quiet for several minutes, debating with himself. “I’ll talk to Dr. Lopez and see what she thinks.”

“Maybe we should let Jobe meet with her, and let him tell her everything.”

Wagner shook his head. “No, that’s a bad idea.”

“But asking a doctor to prescribe medication without having all the facts is a good idea?” Gavin asked. He didn’t wait for an answer. “Okay, she’ll say he’s crazy, but we can back up what he says, and Jobe could convince her that he’s psychic by echoing her thoughts.”

“Oh, sure, Gavin. We’ll just let Jobe tell the good doctor all about daemons, halflings, magi,  and now a fucking werebear.”

Gavin sighed. “Would you stop calling it a werebear?”

“Why?”

“Because there’s no such thing as...” Gavin sighed again, shaking his head. “No, it’s no good. I can’t say it.” He forced away the tangent, unwilling to explore where it led.

Jobe was the one with real problems, and Gavin wasn’t in the mood to indulge distracting thoughts. “Even if he edits the truth, maybe Jobe should talk to Dr. Lopez. She can make a better appraisal of his condition and maybe find a medication that doesn’t turn him into a zombie.”

“I’ll have to think about it,” Wagner said.

Gavin nodded and looked back out the window. He was still a desk jockey by nature, and arguing with the boss did not come naturally to him.

When the car pulled into the driveway, he waited for Wagner to open the door, and he let his supervisor help him out of the car. His side stitched, but the painkillers were still doing their job, and the pain was slow to reach his brain.

The berserker opened the door, his red face drawn into a glare while he watched Wagner and Gavin cross the yard. “I hope you don’t think I’m playing nursemaid for your dumb ass.”

Gavin and Wagner both froze for the same reason. There was no slur in the berserker’s deep voice, only an animal growl that stunned both men.

Gavin recognized the subtle changes in Jobe’s shirt as his chest and arms began to swell. Taking a step back toward the car, Gavin thought, He’s reacting to me.

The thought froze him again, and he stared at the berserker, wondering when it would dawn on Wagner to be wary of the threat in front of them.

Wagner was aware of the changes, but when his body attempted to engage for a similar involuntary step to match Gavin’s, he thought, No, it doesn’t work this way. I’m the one who’s in charge, not him.

The reminder steeled him even as it caused the berserker’s face to harden into a deeper scowl.

Wagner returned it with an irritated glower. “Who pissed in your corn flakes?”

Gavin grabbed his arm, starting to shake his head.

Jobe stepped out of the house and strode up to Wagner, his eyes glimmering with insane glassiness. He stopped with inches between himself and Wagner, but Wagner didn’t flinch or look away.

Narrowing his eyes, Jobe said, “Give me one reason not to rip your throat out.”

“I’m the guy who makes sure you still live outside of a cage for the rest of your life,” Wagner said.

Pulling his arm away from Gavin, he raised his head to taunt the berserker. “You rip my throat out, and they’ll put your ass in “old sparky” and fry you to a crispy cinder.”

The berserker stepped back, and Wagner nodded. “Should I address you as berserker, or will Jobe still work?”

“You’re the boss.” The berserker waved his hand. “Use whatever tickles your dick.”

“All right, then Jobe, please get out of our way.”

He did, and Wagner started talking as he walked with Gavin the rest of the way into the house. “I have to go to work and have the lab look at that collar you gave me last night.”

“I gave something to you?” The berserker shook his head. “Nope, it’s not ringing a bell.”

“Well then, the other Jobe gave it to me. My point is, it had blood samples on it, and with the hair samples we collected from Gavin’s wounds, we might be able to sort out what kind of animal it was.”

“It was a werebear,” the berserker said, his face pulling into a look of angered confusion when Wagner laughed.

But he always looked angry, and every emotion was sharing space with his perpetual scowl. “What? You don’t believe me?”

“I do, but Gavin insists on calling it a bear instead. Adding the were seems to upset him.” Wagner helped Gavin ease down onto the couch.

He straightened up and said, “I can’t imagine why.”

The berserker said, “Maybe because he’d have to admit he’s cursed?”

Wagner’s smile vanished, and his head snapped toward Jobe, and then back to Gavin. Then he felt an urge to be a skeptic as well.

Maybe it was just a bear. It could be a bear that vanished as suddenly as it had appeared. A larger mutant species of bear with a collar around its neck.

Yes, a strange giant mutant bear from a nearby lab, which just happened to use crude antique jewelry for animal collars.

But the more explanations he added to the pile, the more ludicrous they became.

Wagner coughed and backed away from the couch. “I’ll get the lab to work on the collar. We should have something soon.”

Gavin nodded but said nothing.

***

Friday, 1:43 pm

Gavin fell asleep on the couch, ignoring Jobe’s angry glare as best he could. It wasn’t so hard with the painkillers making him drowsy.

He settled back on the couch and dropped into a vivid dream of running through a forest. His breath rushed out of him in shuddering gasps. There was no pain, only a feeling of warmth in his limbs, a euphoric runner’s high that lifted him above the hitches in his side.

When he woke up, he checked the clock on the DVD player and saw he’d slept five hours. He still felt exhausted, but he was thirsty and his sides throbbed.

Gavin got up, glancing toward the window. Jobe sat in the chair, his face still set in an angry scowl.

Gavin ignored him and hobbled to the bathroom, ignoring his cane too.

He took the drinking glass from the side of the bathroom sink, draining it three times before he felt satisfied.

With his hand on the counter for support, Gavin leaned over and opened the cabinet under the sink to get the first aid kit. Setting aside a bundle of gauze pads, Gavin peeled out of his shirt slowly.

He was less slow about removing the medical tape around the pads, and he closed his eyes as he ripped the bandage away, drawing in a hissing breath.

When he opened his eyes, confusion filled them immediately.

The scabs over his wounds looked days old, and the skin around the cuts was bright pink. Gavin reached down to probe the shallow furrows, with each poke drawing another short hiss from him.

Maybe it’s infected, he thought. Or, maybe it’s cursed.

Gavin shook his head and shoved the thought aside. He dressed his wounds and pulled his shirt back on, and then he went to his room to lay down.

He didn’t want to look at Jobe again, and he didn’t want to give the berserker a chance to say something else.

Even if it might be the truth.

***

Friday, 2:10 pm

Seated behind his desk, Wagner leaned over with his head propped on his palm while he read a field report from a file folder.

A pair of agents were working in New Braunfels on yet another serial killing, this time with six gruesome deaths.

Over the last three years, the number of serial killings all over the country had risen to alarming levels. Every state had seen multiple cases within months of each other, and the massive increase of copycat killings defied explanation.

It wasn’t just the rise in the number of crimes that was disturbing. Many of the cases displayed patterns of brutality so perverse that the profilers were going nuts trying to understand what kind of monsters they were dealing with.

The field report concluded in a familiar way. There weren’t any clues that could help the agents track down the killer, and several false leads pointed to one of the victims. Unless there was a break in the case, it would be closed cold, and six more victims would go unavenged.

Wagner was pulled from the thought by a knock on his door, and a tall lab technician stepped into the office with a report tucked under his arm.

Norman Roth’s white lab coat made his skin seem darker, but the effect was further enhanced because his cheeks bore a flustered plum color. He looked as though he’d run all the way from the lab. His brown eyes glinted with a light of fascination, but the expression on his broad face was closer to confusion.

Not bothering with a greeting, Norman asked, “Wagner, are you absolutely certain that Agent Lebowitz was attacked by a bear?”

Wagner nodded and waved to the seat across from his desk. “Based on his account of the attack, yes. What have you found?”

“The blood isn’t human, but it isn’t matching up to any species of bear either. We’re running the sample through the computers, but so far, there’s no match.”

“What about the hair?”

“Those are even more confusing. The color and shape would seem to indicate a bear.” Norman shook his head. “But the hair has the same genetic signature as the blood sample.”

“Could it be some kind of hybrid species?”

“No, the DNA isn’t from anything in the same genus. It may have looked like a bear to Agent Lebowitz, but I can assure you, it wasn’t.”

Wagner nodded, trying to sound casual as he asked, “How close is it to human DNA?”

“It’s radically different,” Norman said. His thick lips split in a grin, revealing immaculate white teeth. “Perhaps he was attacked by a sasquatch? I don’t believe we have their DNA on file yet.”

Wagner tried to return the smile poorly. “No, probably not.”

Norman dropped his smile, his face falling into a look of concern. “Is Agent Lebowitz all right?”

Wagner shook his head. “I don’t know yet. I need you to get a match on this animal before I’ll know.”

***

Friday, 2:19 pm

The berserker stared out the window, his hands tense on his thighs and curled into fists. He wanted to hunt down the werebear. He couldn’t because there was no trail to follow. Without a car, there was nothing to do but sit and wait for Wagner to call back with an update.

He glanced toward the door, listening to Gavin’s dream as it flashed through his mind.

For Gavin, a whole night of running took place. But the burst of brain activity was over in seconds, and he dropped back into a thoughtless slumber, leaving the berserker alone again.

Someone will have to kill him, the berserker thought. The curse isn’t strong in him yet, but it’s growing, and it makes more sense to kill him now.

The thought made sense, and he nodded to himself at the simple logic. But killing Gavin would be the same as killing Wagner, and he was not a man with a death wish. Frying in an electric chair was not something he wanted to try, so until Wagner could be convinced of the facts, the berserker had to sit and wait.

Sitting was not a task he was suited to, and he wanted to pace. But that would only build his fury, not vent it.

So he sat and stewed.

The phone rang, and he sprang from his seat, walking to the end table to pick it up after the first ring. “Hello?”

“Jobe, it’s Wagner. Is Gavin around?”

“Gavin has been unconscious for most of the day,” the berserker said. “He woke up long enough to drink some water, and then he dropped in his room.”

“Is there any chance you can let me talk to the other Jobe?”

“No can do, boss. This drug you’ve got me on prevents us from talking to each other. Gavin’s ‘infection’ is keeping me out to protect the other Jobe.” Not giving Wagner a chance to argue, the berserker asked, “Did you find out anything or not?”

“Nothing on the DNA, but I guess that doesn’t surprise you.”

“It does. I expected the DNA to be human.”

“No, they said it’s not even close. I did find something on the inscriptions. They’re druidic runes, something ancient from what the language expert is telling me. He can’t figure out where to start with translations, since it’s just a collection of random words.”

The berserker raised his head, aware of someone standing in the yard, looking at him. He could see the house in the back of his mind as a moving image, and he saw himself through the open picture window.

The arrival of the person outside was sudden. They had either teleported, or they had somehow guarded their thoughts from the berserker up to that point.

The berserker’s gaze locked on the milk white eyes of the man standing outside.

His skin and hair were both jet black. His body was hidden by a long black cloak, and for a moment the berserker almost thought he was looking at a shadow instead of a real person. But the man blinked, drawing the berserker’s attention back up to stare into twin pools of white.

The wind shifted, and the man’s hair swayed in the breeze, making the strands shimmer in the sunlight.

Wagner asked, “Are you still there?”

“Yes,” the berserker said. “I think that collar is important, and I need to get it back to do an experiment.”

“I’m sorry, but the lab isn’t done with it yet. I can get it back to you tomorrow at the earliest. Can you tell me what kind of experiment you have in mind?”

“I want to hand the collar to Gavin and see what happens.” There was a long delay, and the berserker smirked, asking, “Are you still there?”

“Why do you want to give it to Gavin?”

“I think you already know why. You just want me to say it because I’m crazy, and it’s easier to reject if I say it.”

“Yes, I guess so.” Wagner sighed. “I’ll get it back to you tomorrow morning.”

“That’s fine, boss. Do I hang up on you, or do—?” The line clicked, and the berserker tried to set down the phone without taking his eyes off of the man in the front yard. He suspected that if he looked away, the man would be gone when he checked the window again.

But he couldn’t find the cradle, and after tapping the table a few times, he finally had to look down to set the phone properly in the base.

The man was still in the yard when he looked up. The berserker moved to the door and opened it. Now the man was walking across the yard, his face set in an unreadable calm expression.

The berserker felt confused by the man, because he did not invoke any feelings of anger. For the berserker, there was only a sense of curiosity.

He stepped onto the porch just as the man did, and then being closer, he realized how young the man looked, as if he were only in his mid teens.

“Your—friend...wounded?” the man asked. He spoke slow, and it was clear that English was a foreign language for him.

“He’s not my friend, but yeah, your furball cut him.”

“Furball?” The man’s head leaned over, but his expression didn’t change. “Need collar.”

Sighing, the berserker spoke slowly. “Look, Inky, I don’t have the collar. I passed it to one of my handlers last night, and they took it away.”

“You no understand. No collar, more people wounded.”

“No, I understood that fine. But possession is nine tenths of the law, and I’m gonna need the collar for my ‘friend’ soon.” The berserker folded his arms over his chest. “So what the heck is under the fur? The lab says it isn’t human.”

“What is lab?”

“It’s a place where smartasses figure out hard shit,” the berserker said. Not one word reached the man, and he forced himself to speak slow. “My point is, the humans say your furball isn’t human.”

“My furball...you mean werekin, yes?” The berserker nodded and the man said, “You right. He no human. He orc.”

The berserker blinked, gaping with an open mouth as his angry expression vanished. “Did you say orc?”

“Yes.”

The berserker tensed, but it wasn’t an angry reaction. Suddenly the thought of fighting an orc sounded damn good. He could burn off a lot of rage fighting with the furry battle tank and leave Gavin alone.

But even if the man had said that an orc was on Earth, the berserker couldn’t let himself believe it. “How is that possible? There are no orcs on Earth, are there?”

“There is one,” the man said. “I bring with me. We from Lissand.”

“So that’s in...” The berserker waited, then leaned his head forward as he made an expectant expression.

No answer was forthcoming, so he asked, “That’s in France?”

“No, Lissand home of elfs. I Erick. I...daoine sidhe.”

“Uh-huh, and do you know how to say that in English, Erick?”

Erick frowned, looking down while his brow furrowed. With him standing closer, the berserker noticed how smooth the man’s skin was. It looked like ebony stone.

His mouth was too small, and the bridge of his nose was inhumanly long. His eyes were huge, and they slanted down at an odd angle. The eyelids drew wide at the middle of their arches, giving him a bug-eyed appearance.

The man looked up, and then swept back his hair to reveal his pointed ears. He said, “I black elf. You understand this?”

The berserker nodded, and then asked, “Why did you come to Earth?”

“I bring orc to...protect him. I put collar on orc, but...but others want him dead. Others say werekin orc...abomination?” The man waited until the berserker nodded that he’d understood. “I open portal. I see bright light, I jump. Orc, no jump.”

The berserker nodded again, heaving a long sigh. “Right, orc, no jump. So you made the orc go away before it could eat my friend?” 

“Yes, I summon shadow, pull him down. Orc fight with shadow, and orc free.”

“And you’re tracking it psychically, right?”

Erick blinked at him, shaking his head after many long seconds. “I no has psychic...things.”

“Then how are you tracking him?”

Erick shook his head again. “I no track him. No point with no collar. I hunt orc with no collar, orc...eat me?”

The berserker snorted and nodded his head. “Yeah, that I understand. So, you brought a nine foot werebear-orc to Earth, and you didn’t want it killed?

“Yes.”

“Did you not think about how humans might react to something like that?”

“They scream.” Erick shrugged. “Some try kill orc. They die.”

The berserker leaned his head over, his expression becoming amused. “You’re just going to let him eat humans, and you don’t think they’ll figure out to load up on silver?”

“Silver no work.”

The smile dropped from the berserker’s mouth. “Come again?”

“Silver no work on werekin. Vampires allergic to silver, but werekin, no.”

The berserker scowled, glancing back through the open door into the living room. “So, how would I kill one?”

“You must not kill,” Erick said.

The berserker snapped his head around. “Why not?”

Erick stared at him, obviously trying to find words to convey a more complex thought. Finally, he said. “All...sentient life important. My orc important, like your friend. You do not kill friends, do you?”

The berserker said, “I might, if I have to.”

“Ah,” Erick said, taking a step back. “I waste time then.”

The berserker held up his hand “Wait. Do you know how to make more collars?”

“No.”

Agitated, the berserker raised his hand to rub the back of his neck. “What would you suggest I do? I need the collar for Gavin, and you need it for your orc. And if he claws anyone else, we’re going to have to kill someone.”

The berserker had a thought. “Can I break the curse by killing the main carrier?”

“No, curse no work that way. If curse worked, main carrier dead long time back.”

The berserker nodded. “All right, well if you can figure out how to stop your orc without killing him, you come back here and tell me how it’s done.”

***

Friday, 8:02 pm

Boerne, Texas

Albert Fitzgerald almost dropped a load in his boxers when the dog in the backyard went batshit insane for no apparent reason.

Albert shot out of bed, his elderly body tense and upright before he was fully awake.

Instinct drove him, pushing him across the room to the window to find out what was causing the black labrador’s terrified high-pitched barks.

Albert had only heard his dog bark like that once before, when she’d seen an alligator in Florida. The old memory made him wonder if the dog had seen a coyote, or perhaps a wildcat.

It didn’t seem right to him. Wild animals prowled around the back fence many times throughout the year, but not once had anything ever provoked a panicked response.

Albert was reaching for the blinds when the dog yelped in pain, and then fell silent. His hand froze, his guts squirming while his skin became hot and clammy.

Behind him, his wife snored. Mildred was deaf as a post and drugged by a combination of sleep and pain pills. Albert wondered if he would be able to make it back to the bed to wake her before whoever was outside tried to come in.

A shadow filled the blinds in front of him, and through the slats, he locked gazes with a pair of dark red eyes surrounded by thick black fur.

The  massive animal rose up on hind legs, and then the wall exploded.

Mildred woke up and screamed, but Albert couldn’t hear her.

***

Friday, 9:08 pm

San Antonio, Texas

The room was almost pitch black when Gavin woke up. He was again thirsty, but the thirst was also joined by a deep clawing hunger. It was no surprise, since he’d not eaten at all during the day.

He shuffled into the kitchen and leaned over the sink, guzzling water from the tap for a full minute. Moving to the refrigerator, he opened a container of potato salad and sniffed at it. It still smelled edible, and he left the door open and went to the counter to pull out a drawer and find a fork.

Then Gavin returned to the refrigerator, and he began eating. He finished the potato salad and opened a package of beef bologna, rolling the slices and snacking on them while he eyed Jobe’s package of ham.

He thought, I was never exactly orthodox to begin with, right? But the suggestion didn’t sit well with him, and he decided to ignore the ham in favor of the skinless beef franks.

He stood up, pulling a loaf of bread from the top of the refrigerator. He opened it before he settled the bag on the top shelf.

Eight hot dogs wrapped in whole wheat vanished, but he was still hungry.

Tuna, he thought, and he got up to walk to the pantry.

He made tuna salad sandwiches using two cans, and six thick sandwiches finally filled him. He sat down in front of the open refrigerator, looking at the empty packages he’d left behind.

Gavin got onto his haunches and grabbed the milk, draining the half full container. He belched, closed the door, and started to clean up the empty wrappers off the floor.

Sometime around the point that he was returning to his room, he had two thoughts. The first was, Shouldn’t I need to pee by now?

He was thinking that because he was passing the bathroom. He had the second thought for the same reason. Shouldn’t I be due for a painkiller?

But he didn’t feel like he needed one. He was in pain, but it wasn’t so severe that he just had to have a pill to deal with it.

He passed the bathroom and continued down the hallway to his room. Imitating the berserker, he growled, “Suck it up, pansy. It’s only a flesh wound.”

He laughed, then glanced back around at the living room. The chair was empty.

Gavin thought, Where is he?

But he was becoming drowsy again, and his thoughts were hard to follow through the fog enveloping his mind.

He could worry about finding the pills and springing a leak whenever he next woke up. Then he would look for Jobe.