Deadly Port
Chapter 1
Port Angeles, Washington
Friday, July 7th, 0320 hrs. . .
Frank Doyle followed the detective through the double doors and into a short hallway. The pungent smell of formaldehyde grabbed the inside of his nostrils and hung on. It was eerily quiet and all he could hear was the stainless steel doors rocking shut and the sound of their footsteps echoing down the dank passageway. Up ahead and to his left, he could see a small wooden framed window; a small Naugahyde couch sat directly across from the window.
He and his dad supported his mom's arms as the detective led them toward the window. He could feel her spazmodic shaking as though she would explode any second. His parents had forbid him to go, and actually, he did not want to be here. . .but how could he stay away? This could be his brother. They had finally acquiesced to his wishes. There was just no way he was going to stay away. He took a deep breath and tried to shake that thought from his mind. Someone had made a mistake; it was somebody else that just looked like him, that's all that there was to it. Gary was at home right now, wondering where in the world his family was.
They gathered in front of the window; a curtain on the other side of the glass obstructed the view of the room. His mom became rigid. The detective looked at his mom and dad; his dad reluctantly nodded. This is it, Frank thought. I feel sorry for whoever that is, but we can sigh in relief and go home to find Gary waiting for us. The detective tapped on the window and someone pulled the curtain halfway open.
His mother gasped and squeezed his arm so tight that he could feel his fingers start to numb. She began to cry and whimper. Tears ran down all of their faces.
A white sheet covered the remains of the person that lay on the metal table on the other side of the window. A woman, dressed in a snow white lab coat stood next to the gurney. The detective nodded and the woman-with both hands-reached down and lifted the sheet exposing the face of Gary Doyle, Frank's twin brother of sixteen years.
His mother let out a scream and collapsed like jello in their arms. His dad took her to the couch, put her on it, and sat down beside her. They melted into each other's arms crying uncontrollably.
The detective nodded at the woman and she began to recover Gary's face but Frank motioned for her to leave him uncovered. He couldn't believe that this was happening. They had football games to go to, double dates to go on, and graduation to attend. They had a lot more things to do yet. Maybe he would wake up any moment from this nightmare.
With tears in his eyes and weak-kneed, he once again looked down at his brother when Gary's face seemed to be going out of focus. Was the distortion in Gary's face due to his own tears giving that illusion? He stepped back not knowing what was going on. He wiped his eyes with his sleeve. This would hopefully take care of his double-vision. He looked at Gary again. It was not an illusion; something was coming out of Gary. . .a visible but yet transparent figure.
Whatever he was looking at superimposed itself over Gary's body. He hoped to awake any minute from this terrible dream. Was he hallucinating? That was it. He was in shock and he was seeing things that weren't there. The only other thing that he could surmise was that it was something demonic in nature. He had heard about this in school. But why Gary? He was dead. It slowly began to emerge from Gary's lifeless body until it was hovering in a prone position just millimeters above him. It was a hideous looking thing with large eyes and large protruding brows that slanted toward the temples. The skin appeared to be Reptilian. The mouth was also huge and dripped with saliva. It slanted toward the side of its head.
The demon looked over at Doyle and snarled, exposing its filthy and decayed teeth. Two slightly curved one inch and widely spaced horns extended from the top of its forehead. Doyle's heart nearly thumped out of his chest. He'd never seen anything like this before and didn't know quite what to do. But this was his brother, even if he was dead.
Without any other thought, he crashed through the glass cutting himself and spraying shards all over his brother. He straddled the demon and grabbed for its throat but his hand only passed through it and he grabbed Gary's throat instead. The demon laughed as puffs of steam emanated from its mouth followed by a putrid smell of decaying flesh.
Frank raised his hand to strike but the figure melted back into Gary's body. The demon opened Gary's eyes and made him smile back at Frank. He made Gary outstretch his arms toward Frank and Frank screamed. Doyle released his grip on Gary's throat and lowered his hand.
Where was his dad at? Where was the detective? Why weren't either of them here helping him? Couldn't his dad see that his sons needed help? He couldn't seem to strike Gary even knowing that his brother was dead. Frank grimaced and again held his hand high preparing to strike. . .but he couldn't. "Whatever you are, get out of my brother. . .right now."
Once more, the demon barely became visible outside of Gary's face and Frank grabbed Gary's shirt and pulled him up a little and raised his hand again to strike. His muscles tightened and he made a fist. He remained in striking posture as if in suspended animation. He finally relaxed his muscles and lowered his hand; ". . .I can't hit you bro, I just can't."
Gary's face contorted and assumed the features of the demon and grabbed Frank's wrist and tried to release his grip on Gary's shirt. "Why did you let me die? You should have protected me bro." The voice did not sound like his brother but it looked as though Gary was the one speaking. But it didn't look like Gary. . .it looked like. . .Frank didn't know what to think.
He screamed for his dad's help, "Dad!" But he didn't come. He jerked his head to look out the shattered window to see where his dad was. He was still holding his mother in his arms and they both were still crying about Gary, completely oblivious to what was going on.
His dad was never there for him; he was either at work or with his mom doing something. He never had any time for him or Gary, for that matter. As usual, I'm going to have to take care of this myself. Frank tightened his grip on his brother's shirt and once again raised his hand to strike him. This time, he was going to follow through. Sorry bro.
A dozen or better demons sat around the room watching and laughing and egging on Guilt, their comrade in arms who had control over Gary Doyle's body. Some were sitting on other bodies; some were sitting on carts and cabinets; one was even hanging from the overhead light. The rest were vying for position around Gary's gurney jumping up and down enjoying every minute of the spectacle.
The room buzzed with loud voices and activity and Frank couldn't hear a thing or see any of them accept for Guilt. Murder yelled, "Beat him to death, kill him, c'mon, do em;" Anger shouted, "Hit him, hit him, and don't stop;" Profanity screamed expletives and obscenities at the two Doyle brothers, while Confusion egged them on. Guilt drew on the power of his cohorts and his chest expanded with pride and enmity as if it would burst. Guilt hurled expletives at him and yelled, "C'mon, do it. What are you waiting for?"
The heavenly host of God Almighty hovered above the room and looked down at Doyle in sadness because they could not help Him. The archangel Archos turned to his warriors, "If he was only a child of God and had commanded the demon to 'come out, in Jesus name,' we could help; if he or someone for him would only call out to Jesus, we could make short order of this. I'm sorry comrades, but our hands are tied." Where were the prayers that activated them?
With no time to spare, Archos shouted, "There it is. There's our prayer of permission. Let's go."
The heavenly host burst into action flying down into the hordes of demons, scattering them from one end of the room to the other. The ones who they did not destroy flew away through the walls and ceiling looking for any avenue of escape that they could. Like a gust of wind, Archos charged at Guilt and swung his sword of light at him but he missed. Guilt dropped Gary's arm, and his body became lifeless once again and he escaped through the window and out into the world.
Gary began to fade away and disappear. Frank looked toward his mom and dad but they also began to disappear. What in the world, Frank thought between the screams. Everything in his immediate surroundings, his whole world, continued to disappear. The screams, however, continued to assault his ears.
Doyle looked down at Gary just seconds away from striking him but. . .he couldn't believe it. . .Gary began to morph into Angela, his wife. He had her by her nightgown lifting her up off of the bed. She was screaming.
"Oh Lord Jesus, help me! Jesus!" Angela then screamed at Doyle, "Frank, please stop, wake up, please!"
Doyle was on his knees straddling her on the bed. He still had his right hand raised, preparing to strike Gary, but who now was Angela. His glassy eyes stared down at her. She had a hold of his wrists trying futilely to pull Doyle's hand off of her nightgown.
He immediately released his grip and threw that arm into the air and bellowed, "He's dead and it's my fault! I couldn't save him!"
Angela dropped to the bed. The earlier chokehold made her gasp for air but she was still able to yell out, "Frank, you're. . .cough, cough. . .hurting me, get off me. The baby; you'll hurt your son."
Doyle looked into his wife's frightened face. He froze. His helpless and pregnant wife lay under him; her face scrunched waiting for the worst. He shook his head as if that would make everything go away, as if he was trying to shake some sense into himself.
What in the heck am I doing? The realism of his nightmare left him completely drained and exhausted. He slid off of her and rolled away to his side of the bed. He was now wide awake.
Doyle's hair was wringing wet and his eyes burned with sweat. He wiped at them with his forearm but that only deposited more sweat into his eyes. He squeezed his eyes trying to wring out the burning salt.
Angela continued to cry. Her eyes were soaked with tears and her sobs cut deep into him. She struggled to get out of bed and away from him. This was not an easy task, given her present condition. He felt the bed release her weight.
She waddled toward the bathroom door, turned, and was able to clear her throat good enough to yell, "What in the world is the matter with you? Are you ca-razy?"
"I'm sorry"
"You were not only choking me but you were going to hit me."
"I would never hit you or hurt you."
"Too late Frank, you've all ready hurt me. What about the baby? What were you thinking?"
"That's just it, I wasn't. I was asleep." He slipped off and around the bed and walked toward the bathroom. Angela quickly waddled the short distance back to her side of the bed. Doyle winced at her movement away from him. His wife had never been afraid of him before. He tried rubbing the sweat from his forehead again only this time with the palm of his hand. He drew in a deep breath, exhaled, and turned to look at the most important person in his life who he'd almost assaulted. . .just about killed.
"Please go back to bed," Doyle said. "You need your rest. I'll go to work early, okay? I'm sorry. I promise I'll do something about these nightmares."
"That's what you said last week when you had the same nightmare, only then, you didn't try'to beat me up. It's getting worse Frank. Sorry isn't going to cut it. You could have killed me or worse yet, the baby-and you're sorry? I'm going to hold you to that promise Frank. You need to do something about those nightmares and you know it. Something is definitely wrong with you."
"I know sorry isn't enough, but I can't. . ."
Angela cocked her head and held up her hand like she was stopping traffic. In four waddles she was in the bathroom with the door soundly slammed behind her.
Doyle yelled through the door, "You okay?"
No answer.
"Angela, are you okay? Don't make me knock down the door."
"Fine!"
The sharp and cutting one word answer sliced right through the bathroom door and smack dab into his heart. Doyle grabbed his clothes off the chair next to the bathroom and slinked out of the bedroom and into the hall. Then as if in a slow motion, he went down the stairs, taking each step purposefully one at a time going over in his head what had just happened. He couldn't get the picture of her cowering away from him out of his mind.
He showered in the downstairs bathroom, put on his cloths, and headed for the foyer by-passing the kitchen. He opened the front door, looked outside into the warm morning and shook his head in disgust, disgust at himself. He had to do something about these nightmares before he killed somebody and God forbid, his wife. . .or worse yet, his son.
This was not a good time to be upset. Doyle had a dangerous job to do that morning and needed his wits. Frank Doyle was a cop, a detective of twenty-four years with the Port Angeles police department. He had a meth lab raid this morning and had men for which he would be responsible, but all he could see in his mind's eye was Angela cowering away from him. That would be a hard visual to shake.
He ran the knot up on his tie and left his home without breakfast. Somehow, he just didn't have an appetite. If he and his men were to survive, he needed to shake these thoughts and mentally prepare himself for this raid. He hoped he had enough time to do so.
Copyright © James C. Lindquist 2005