Out of the Stones Pt. 1

Jim had a tab already set up with the owner. He had been bringing the owner, Mad Jack (though why he had ever been named this was a local mystery since he was always quiet and never mad) part of his catch for the last several years. Every once in a while Mad Jack would actually give Jim a bill for his account, but Jim never paid it, and Jack never pushed it.

“What’s it gonna be tonight ladies?” The bartender cocked his head to the side and smirked at his well-rehearsed jab at the two.

“How about a Shirley Temple and my foot up your arse.” Bob retorted and then snorted at his quick response.

The bartender wiped up the spot that he knew Bob and Jim would sit and chuckled in that good-natured way that all bartenders do. “So it’s two darks and a bucket of pretzels then?”

“Not near as dumb as old Jim here looks, are you?” Bob slapped his pal on the back again, and feinted away from the playful jab Jim had thrown at him.

Jim and Bob toasted the sea and clinked their glasses, the salute was finished quickly and the first gulps of ale went down smoothly. Almost in unison the two set down their glasses and let a gleeful and satiated sigh escape.

“Better than sex.” Jim snorted.

“That’s what the women been sayin’ about you.” Bob teased his friend.

“Well you don’t get as good head from them anyway.”

The two prodded and coaxed each other as they drank, and generally continued to make snide remarks that would have had an outsider sure that the two were complete idiots.

Very little else happened until it started to draw closer to closing. It seemed like the bar door just about blew off of its hinges as a gust of wind slammed it open. The rain blew in sideways before a feminine figure turned the corner and managed to close the door behind her.

“Last call’s in about 15, the bartender barked out to the lady.”

The woman wore a dark raincoat, with a hood pulled up over her head. She peeled back the hood and let long locks of stark red hair fall around her shoulders. The ends of her hair wiped away at the many beads of rain that were suspended on her coat. Her face had an ivory glow to it, as if she hadn’t seen the sun in years. Her face was petite, but not unnatural even for her large stature and it glowed like the moon. She didn’t remove the coat as she sat in a dark corner of the bar. The bartender went over and took her order and returned with a glass of hard cider.

“Wow, getting a new class of client in here aren’t you Jack?” Bob motioned to the bar owner who had slipped behind the bar to begin closing out the tills for the night.

“Never seen her here before, but I sure wouldn’t mind seeing a lot more of her.”

“I’d give her a bit of hard cider.” Jim hinted, although his words had begun to slur and his emphasis on “hard” was loud enough to echo off the walls.

The woman turned her head and pondered the two at the bar. In typical male bravado, the two quickly turned and pretended to not have seen the lovely woman.

“Oh shit you dumbass bastard, I think she heard you.” Bob elbowed Jim in the ribs and snorted.

“Naw, she looks to uppity to even care what the hell we was saying.” While Jim was never a great orator, it was apparent that the alcohol was having its effect on his ability to communicate.

“I assure you gentlemen that I am far from uppity, although I am a bit lonely.” The woman’s voice was like the song of the siren. Both men were instantly turned on their barstools. Without her asking, they both rose and followed her to the corner table. Both Bob and Jim had the feeling that they had walked down a long corridor to get to the table. Jim shook his head, sure that it was the booze playing with his equilibrium.

“Sorry mam, no ‘fence meant.” Bob tried to cover for his inhibriated friend.

“Oh no offense taken, and thank you so much for joining me,” the woman spoke softly causing them to lean in to make sure they heard her every word, “My name is Syra.” She offered her hand like a lady of aristocracy to Jim and Bob, who found themselves foolishly trying to kiss the slender gloved hand.

Jim continued to giggle occasionally, to which Bob swiftly and firmly kicked him underneath the table.

“My but you two seem playful.” Syra cooed at the two.

“I’d sure like to play with you darling.” Jim gave an overzealous wink.

Syra acted coy and slightly embarrassed, but never took her gaze from the two.

Bob leaned in even closer and breathed in deeply. There was a strange smell that had to be her perfume. It brought back childhood memories of the church his family had attended. He could actually see the image of the altar boys swinging the incense urns back and forth, filling the air with that same aroma.

Jim and Bob found themselves staring and listening to the woman’s voice, but not really hearing anything she said. They were lost in a spell her eyes and voice were creating. They soon found themselves following her out of the bar, neither could remember even getting up out of their chairs.

“The boat’s not far,” Bob found himself answering to a question he couldn’t quite remember having heard. “Yes, there’s a bed there and clean water.” Jim had the same strange feeling. There seemed to be a buzzing in their heads that they couldn’t quite shake, still it could just be the booze.

Bob started feeling nervous and looked away; he tried to concentrate on what it was he needed to do. Something wasn’t right with all of this. He started to turn to ask the woman a question, but he found himself staring into her eyes again, and then all was all right. Had they walked all the way back to the boat already? Syra poured them each a glass of whiskey from Bob’s hidden bottle. How the hell did she know where he had kept that, had he told her. Syra drew Bob closer and pulled her body snuggly against his. She ran her hands through his hair and along his chest. She sent Jim to get warm water, which he did. Bob looked at his friend and noticed that he had a strange look on his face, and his eyes didn’t seem normal. Again, Bob started to ask a question, but found that he was unable to formulate any words.

The normally damp and cool temperature within the cabin seemed to be abnormally warm now, and Bob felt compelled to remove his clothing. Without a word or the slightest embarrassment Bob disrobed, feeling no shame as he removed even his underwear in front of this strange woman. Jim entered the room, and he too had removed his clothing.

Bob turned to apologize for his rash behavior, but found that Syra was on her knees washing Jim’s feet with her hair. Syra removed a wash cloth from the basin, and began cleaning Bob. He never felt her move away from him, but he could open his eyes and see that she was also cleaning Jim. As Syra began washing Bob’s chest, he felt a strange twinge as he found her licking at his nipples. This caused another reaction that stirred in his loins. Syra purred as she continued to clean the two sailors. Bob was lost in the feelings and sensations as Syra continued to wipe the cloth across his body. Soon she was scrubbing at his scrotum, and then he gasped as he felt her mouth engulf his erection. Bob looked over at Jim, and found that Syra was likewise pleasuring his friend. He noticed that Jim’s face had gone strangely pale, but a knowing grin was locked onto his face.

Bob reached down to Syra to remove her blouse, to feel the breasts of this woman who had such a wonderful talent. Syra looked up into his eyes and cooed, causing vibrations to ripple along his penis and forcing his abdomen to constrict rapidly. There was a touch of blood around her lips, but Bob didn’t linger on it. Instead he looked down at her now fully exposed breasts, and rolled his eyes back up into his head.

Syra led the two men over to the bed as she continued to stroke and massage their penises. She continued to suck on Jim, as she guided Bob into her vagina. Bob ran his hands along Syra’s back and noticed that the soft supple skin he had felt on her breasts was far different here on her back. This felt more like smooth leather, and the skin was darker. Jim let out a loud scream, and his body shuddered. Bob was certain that Jim had spent himself out too soon, which left Syra all the more able to focus on him. Bob continued to pump into Syra, and she grunted with each of his inward thrusts. Bob reached down and inserted his finger into Syra’s perfectly shaped ass. She roared with passion and it encouraged Bob to thrust faster. Her aroma became stronger, and now mixed with the smell of sweat and sex in the small-enclosed cabin. Bob looked at her again, and thought that the alcohol must still be affecting his senses. It appeared that her back was moving in erratic contortions. Syra looked back over her shoulder and growled a deep guttural groan. Her vagina began to seize at Bob’s member, actually making it difficult for Bob to continue to thrust. But each time he pushed forward she grunted and began to shudder. Bob was now sure that something was wrong, and then Syra’s leathery wings began to flap. Bob wanted to stop now and run away, but each time he tried to pull out, her vagina pulled him back in, and her grunts continued. Her body began to shake, and her pussy was milking him, tighter than he had ever known. He found that his finger was still in her puckered anus, and that too was convulsing and would not release him. Bob threw his head back and felt his own climax building in his loins. His toes began to curl as the pressure built up around his shaft, and his own anus began to convulse. Syra was screaming loudly, and her wings began to flap hard. Bob came hard and her vagina continued to milk him, stealing every last drop of him. Bob then felt himself being dragged by his penis, out onto the deck of his boat. He looked back to see that Jim had been bled out, a sight of gore and horror focused around his mid-drift.

Bob was being raised up into the air, but now he was pulled close to Syra. “What are you!” He was finally able to scream as the wind sucked the air from his lungs. Syra continued to flap hard and lifted higher into the air.

“The one your people have warned about since the dawn of man, how soon you have forgotten the succubus. But my lord and I will make you all remember, and we will feed.”

Bob pushed away from her, wanting to get away. She turned in the air and let him see the fate that would befall him, should she release him. They were now high into the air and far out to sea. Syra gripped him tightly, “was it good for you?” Syra laughed and crushed Bob against her breasts. Bob screamed and clawed at her. Syra held her wings rigid and dived towards an outcropping of rocks that were thrust up from the ocean floors. Bob continued to scream and panic, but soon it was over. At the last moment before they crashed into the rocks, Syra let him go and crushed his body onto the boulders. His body immediately stopped its functioning, as all the internal organs were imploded and his stomach filled with blood. Syra landed gently and reached her nose down to smell at her victim. She then took long fingernails and sliced into his belly. His bloody intestines were pulled loose as a flock of crows began to circle overhead.

The medical examiner’s car was not much, a station wagon bearing Washington State Carpool plates and a spotlight beside the driver’s side, side mirror. The man who stepped out from it was even less impressive. A short man at five foot something, and a large paunch of a gut that had seen too many late night hamburger meals. Cuts in state budgets had brought more cadavers and fewer M.E.’s to work through them. Even the usual flow of medical students seemed to have ebbed in the last year. He didn’t have time for a decent meal, and with his wife leaving him six months past, he had little appetite or time for anything other than burgers and fries as he continued to cut into his uncomplaining patients. Mitchell Weatherman had once been a great surgeon, but found that these patients sued less and were easier to deal with. They also rarely came through his examination room more than once. Mitchell grabbed his bags and walked towards the pier. The police had kept him back for a little longer than usual, but they were short handed too. Mitchell found the Detective assigned to the case and introduced himself. Identifications were reviewed. Mitchell was sure that he had worked with this Detective before, but the faces seemed to blur as the years went by.

“Clear to begin?” Mitchell asked.

“Yeah, good to go.”

Mitchell pulled on surgical gloves and donned an operating room mask, booties, and a hairnet. With forensic advances it had become necessary to make sure that the crime scene remained as intact as possible. Rigamortise had long since set in and gone. This body had been decomposing for at least a week, strangely though, the usual pooled blood had not been pulled into the back of the body. “We have a small amount of pupae level maggots within the ocular cavities.” Mitchell pulled a small Dictaphone recorder from his lab coat and pushed the record button.

“Subject’s fluids do not show typical coagulation at gravitational center, body is beyond phase one rigamortise. No apparent entrance/exit wounds on upper torso or cranium. Blood specks are apparent on pelvic region.” Mitchell turned off the recorder and removed a surgical probe from his chest pocket. Mitchell examined the cadaver’s genitals with no more emphasis than a nurse would take a pulse. Mitchell removed himself and called for an officer.

“Yes sir.” It was the detective who had been looking around the deck of the ship.

“In the back of the wagon is a brighter headlamp, can you grab it for me and then come take a look at this?”

The Detective was back in quick order, and had put on the same surgical dressings as the doctor.

“What you got?” The Detective looked over the Doctor’s shoulder as he placed the headlamp onto his forehead.

“Looks like bite marks.”

“Where, I don’t see any?”

Mitchell pulled a magnifying glass from his headlamp down and used the probe to push away the man’s penis.

“What the fu….”

“Definitely bite marks, I’ll want to take a better look at this in my laboratory.”

“Yeah, anything else?”

Mitchell was somewhat surprised that the Detective hadn’t had more of a reaction. Proved that the guy was either experienced or just didn’t get it. Most guys don’t die with bite marks on their unit.

“Let me take a couple of samples, and then we’ll get him out of here.”

Mitchell took separate petri dishes from inside his medical bag, and a clean scraper. He took samples of the dried blood as well as what appeared to be dried semen.

“Well, hopefully that’s just his own.” Mitchell stated to himself.

“The blood?” The Detective asked.

“Nope.” Mitchell chuckled to himself as he left to get the rest of his team to remove the body.

He turned and let the Investigators continue to take their pictures from every possible angle. The flashes looked like strikes of lightning in the darkness.

CDC Headquarters (Atlanta)

Molly Waters pulled the report from the printer and looked at it with little interest. This was pretty common stuff to her anymore.

“Ok, bites at the sexual organs and nipples. Irregular blood coagulation.” Molly typed the information into the database and hit the enter key on her computer. In the small cubicle space the hard drive whirred and the lights buzzed overhead. “Well, it beats gonorrhea.”

Chapter Three

San Francis

2nd Precinct- Downtown

“Name?”

“Elijah.”

“Full Name, please.”

“Elijah.”

“Mister, look. It’s late, now give me your goddamn name.”

“DO NOT take the lord’s name in vain. You too will burn in the everlasting flames of hell.”

“Address?”

“In the wilderness of the world.”

“O.K. buddy, that’s good enough for me. You been in any hospitals lately?”

“I am in the care of the Lord and he is my Savior. He will redeem me.”

“Right. Jake! We got Tooty Fruity over here, wanna call the doc.?”

“The beast is coming, and his minions travel before him. Watch for the marks you sinners and fornicators, his seed will destroy you all and consume you for eternity.” The man was old and clothed in a rough robe. His beard brought images of father time, and his stare seemed to burn straight through the clerk.

“Take him down to prints will you Charlie, let him preach downstairs.”

“I’m on it, OK gramps, let’s go.”

“Unless you become as children, your sins cannot be washed away.” The man pulled away from the officer, and actually surprised him with how quickly he was able to move. “Whoa gramps, let’s just slow you down a bit.” Charlie moved in close and forced the old man’s arms behind his back. With a swift motion the old man found himself handcuffed. “Your yoke will not chain me, for the Lord will set me free.”

“Sorry gramps, it’s just to keep us both safe.” The young officer grabbed the man carefully and yet forcefully by the biceps and escorted him out of the room. “I don’t want to hurt you old man, I’m just trying to do my job.” The officer felt a twinge of guilt for having cuffed the old man. Surely there was little this man could do to injure anyone. Still, it was policy to cuff anyone that appeared to resist. Better safe than sorry.

“Will the bridegroom recognize you when your lamp has run out of oil?” The old man seemed to be talking to the air.

“I sure hope so, otherwise those beatings by the nuns will have been for nothing.”

The old man smiled, and just as quickly was gone. The handcuffs left on the precinct floor.

Charlie walked back upstairs to the booking area; no one took any notice of how pale his complexion had become. They also didn’t notice that Elijah was no longer with him. They processed a lot of old drunks around here, usually sending them over to the detoxification ceneter or to a halfway house where they could get blankets and a meal. But Charlie felt different about this strange small man. Charlie had actually been one of the officers that had picked up the old man. The man had been seen walking around the wharf, and had been talking to himself. When he was stopped for questioning, he indicated that he was a prophet sent from God. Sent to warn the world that the beast was coming, and his minions had come before him. Charlie hadn’t smelled any alcohol, and a quick check of his arms indicated that he probably wasn’t shooting anything up. Still, the man had a pleasant demeanor, and Charlie was afraid that he might be one of the crazies that the mental hospitals had been cutting loose. Cut backs in State funding had resulted in a multitude of schizoids getting let loose on the city, when they should be taken care of. Charlie held no malice towards these people. His own father had suffered for years from Bi-polar disorder and had eventually taken his own life during a bout of depression. No one noticed that gramps was gone, and Charlie decided that for now he would just leave it that way.

Elijah sat down on the park bench and watched as the children played on the swings and slides. A few anxious parents looked over at him, but then turned away. They had made their approval of the old man, obviously too old to do any harm. He had more the persona of an old priest than any of San Francisco’s many pedophiles, though sometimes they were two sides of the same coin.

“Hey mister, are you Santa?” A young girl, barely more than six tugged at the old man’s robes.

“No, little saint. But there are gifts to be had in this world that can only be shown through a child’s smile.”

The little girl smiled, she didn’t have a clue as to what the old man was saying, but he was funny looking and it did make her smile.

“You’ve got a big nose.” The little girl danced away back towards the swings.

Elijah looked up into the sky, “Thank you Father for them.” He smiled and then bowed his head in prayer.