Marker of Faith

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 5

From his vantage point under a pile of old cardboard boxes, Rattle saw the cop's head explode in a crimson burst. The old man shoved his fist into his mouth to keep from screaming. No one knew he was there yet, and so far this day was going from bad to very bad, and accelerating to worse quickly.

He should do something, but what? The image of Lem's rosary-pierced hand popped into his mind, and Rattle shuddered.

Crazy is just floatin' in the air, all right.

He watched the scene descend into chaos with all of the cops racing around like ants from a hot water-soaked hill. Rattle nestled deeper into his cardboard cocoon, seeking some comfort, but fear made his skin crawl.

Mr. Suicide's partner, the cop he'd arrived with earlier, was on the ground with his dead friend in his arms, rocking and sobbing. They had obviously been close, and Rattle didn't begrudge that poor man his pain. Rattle lost so many buddies in 'Nam and understood there was no shame in the tears. It's all you ever have left sometimes.

Rattle sensed a pattern in the day's events so far. He knew that the gun eater, that's what he'd turned out to be at least, saw the shadows. It showed in is face as his friend led him back to the car, tried to calm him down. Rattle watched, fascinated and repulsed, as the man quickly lost control. Whatever had taken over Lem had tried to get that dead cop too, but he'd been strong -- or weak, depending on how you looked at it. Rattle felt a hum in the air. He'd noticed it when he first found the dead priest earlier in the day, and it surged again before that cop had pulled the trigger. It was a bad hum, a constant undertone that the old man felt low in his bones. What was going to happen next? Shadows lurked at the periphery of the priest's corpse, sentient and waiting; predatory.

He watched as more cops barreled onto the scene, their sirens mixing with the mourning cop's wails and shouts from others who had witnessed the suicide. He also saw that little guy, the coroner probably, still sitting on the ground. He was ghostly pale except for the splash of color from the blood and gore covering him.

Rattle closed his eyes and took a deep, shaky breath. His left arm still throbbed, and his chest burned with the reminder of his battered heart and its weakness. The hum resonated with his heartbeat, a dull throb like an echo of all the bad things that were happening and a summons for all the bad things yet to come.

"I've got to tell them about it," he murmured to the air.

He opened his eyes and stared at the pandemonium. Better wait until it's a little calmer, and safer.

Whispers hovered just beyond comprehension, blending with the din of the murder scene and the dark hum. He saw other shadows flitting around the two bodies now; no one else seemed to notice, and that scared Rattle even more.