Redemption

By Charles Day

Jessica won’t stay dead. And when she comes for you, it’s already too late.... When old friends Al and Benny hit the town for their usual alcohol-fueled binge, things go wrong when Al insists on driving home. All the while, young Jessica is cycling along their dangerous route home. When the three collide, Jessica is left for dead and the men hide the evidence. But what happens when the dead don’t stay dead? Risen from beyond, driven by a vengeful rage and wielding an unnatural command over nature, Jessica leaves behind a relentless trail of suffering and destruction as she seeks out the two men responsible for the evil she became.... Redemption is supernatural horror at its finest and, just like Al and Benny, you won’t see the terror coming for you until it’s too late. From Bram Stoker Award-nominated author of Deep Within, Charles Day, and the acclaimed author of Shutter Speed, Mark Taylor!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Black Bed Sheet Books
• Release date: Feb 29, 2016

Book preview

Redemption

Charles Day

&

Mark Taylor

Redemption

A Black Bed Sheet/Diverse Media Book

May 2014

Copyright © 2014 by Charles Day & Mark Taylor

All rights reserved.

Cover art by Charles Day,

with Nicholas Grabowsky and an idea by Mark Taylor

copyright © 2014 Charles Day & Black Bed Sheet Books

The selections in this book are works of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the author.

ISBN-10: 0692240446

ISBN-13: 978-0-69224044-1

Also by Charles Day:

The Adventures of Kyle McGerrt: Hunt for the Ghoulish Bartender

The Legend of the Pumpkin Thief

Also by Mark Taylor:

Shutter Speed

The Devil's Hand Book 1: Crossing Guard

Redemption

Charles Day &

Mark Taylor

Prologue

Al Fudrucker sipped the bar’s finest cognac – at the expense of Benny Fairwether, of course – as he waited for the next round of beers to be waitressed to the table. He managed to catch the rounds just right and so he paid for the cheap beer, and Benny got the chasers. He smiled to himself. He really was that ‘good with money’.

Benny leaned forward on his chair much like a school boy would. I just don’t understand it, he said. How can something that fabulous come from… he paused, …that?

He was talking about Lucy again – his little Princess – and Darla. It seemed to Al that it was all he ever wanted to talk about once he had a few in him. Al, of course, wasn’t interested, but would tolerate nonsense for free drinks. Yeah, he said dismissively, what about that one? He pointed across the bar.

Benny very nearly fell from his chair as he looked around. Which one? he mumbled, drunk.

The blonde. Looks about twenty-one, doesn’t she?

"Which one?" Benny asked again, too loudly. He was truly swimming in the pool of much liquor.

Al looked away before the charming young thing cast her gaze in their direction. Oh, Benny, ever the discretionary little rascal, he teased. Glancing over to her, the girl had turned back to her friends and Al could continue to admire her form. He liked younger women. So much more eager and easier to please, without the experience of age…and aged men. Benny looked around again, and Al drew his attention back to the table as a woman – possibly younger than the one Al had his eye on – delivered their drinks.

Will there be anything else? she asked with a drawling accent.

No, thank you, Al replied, I think it was time to leave anyway. He checked himself. Did that make sense? When Al started to wonder if the words coming out of his mouth made sense, it was time to leave. Shame. It was Benny’s round next.

Al struggled out toward the car, Benny behind him. He knew he should have left when he thought about it earlier. But it was Benny’s round. So they had one more cognac. And then one more beer. And possibly another cognac…Al was starting to have trouble remembering.

His hand found his pants pocket and rummaged around for his car keys. Christ. It was only a pocket, not the damned Tardis.

He walked over to the driver’s door, keys finally in hand, and then shot a look to Benny. Well? he asked.

What? Benny managed to get out. He was far drunker than Al.

You usually tell me I’m too drunk to driver about now.

Driver? Benny laughed, Pfft. Let me in.

Al pressed the button and the doors unlocked. They both got in.

Al focused on his reflection in the window of the car. He looked into his own eyes. Okay, he thought, it’s time to be in control. He started the engine, and glanced over to Benny who was trying to put his seatbelt on. It looked like a small child trying to dress for the first time. You all right there? he asked with just a hint of mean in his voice.

Will do! Benny replied smugly – if not insensibly – as he secured the belt.

Good… Al looked at the time. It was just turning ten. Fine. He’d be home in time to watch some TV before he went to bed, that is, if he didn’t fall asleep on the couch. He'd taken to that recently. Age, the most probable culprit.

The car pulled away, across the gravel of the parking lot, and then bumped onto the road. Al straightened her up, and concentrated.

Al planned on dropping Benny off first before heading home. He wound his window down and let the cool night breeze flow into the car. Benny shivered, but Al found it to be… invigorating. He took some side streets along the way in hopes of avoiding any police. He knew that legally he was in the wrong, but really he was fine. Sure, some people couldn’t hold their liquor – might be a danger to themselves and even others – but not him. When Al Fudrucker put his mind to something, it got done right.

He kept a keen eye on the road and left all the windows down for fresh air despite the cussing under Benny’s breathe about how cold it was. He raised the volume on the radio which had some cowboy song on that he’d always liked. His fingers started tapping at the steering wheel to the soothing rhythm, his eyes returning their stare into the rearview mirror every few minutes, hoping he wouldn’t see flashing red and blue lights as they sped up behind him. So far, he sighed out in a whisper, so good.

A few minutes had gone by and Al started to yawn, to nod, and that’s when he began feeling that he needed a boost: a quick shot of nicotine. He reached in his pocket for his pack of smokes, fumbling to free them, and managed to take out a cigarette. He slipped it between his lips, savoring the sweet taste as soon as he did. He then patted himself down for his lighter, found it, took it out, and after glancing down at the end of the cigarette to make sure he was going to light the right end, lit it.

He inhaled the first shot of nicotine.

And it felt good.

The blast of drug mixing with the effects of the alcohol dilated Al’s pupils. Not that he would have known. He was enjoying it too much.

Drink.

Fresh air.

Smoke.

The most intoxicating and refreshing sensation in the world. Al adored that moment when all three were at their peak.

It felt like he was in an opium den in the twenties…

Al wasn’t sure if it was the noise that he heard first, or the sparks of yellow that flared over the hood of the car and flashed in his eyes, but next there came the sudden roller-coaster sensation of having just run over something.

"Shit!" Al pushed his foot as hard as he could on the brake, and the car slid to a halt. He looked at Benny. What the fuck was that?

Benny’s blood had clearly evacuated his face in the instant of the break press. He was pale and staring forward blindly.

Well? Al demanded.

I, he stumbled over his words, I don’t know, a shopping cart?

Al yelled back, the red ash that just fell from the tip of his lit cigarette was now burning a small hole through his pant leg, searing his flesh. I don’t know. I don’t…shit, that hurts. Al brushed the ash from the burn hole and then rubbed on it with his sweaty palm. Didn’t you see it?

"No, damn it!" Benny shouted, releasing his seatbelt and getting out.

Al unlocked his belt strap and got out of the car, walking to the rear. That’s when he saw it. A large ten speed bicycle tire sticking out from under the car, its spokes broken off and pointing in all different directions. His heart froze. Time stopped. Neither Al nor Benny breathed for a moment.

A wide streak of blood, like a dark red chalk line followed a few feet behind from the thin rubber wheel, and a person dragged beneath the car quickly came to mind. Al swallowed some bile, ready to throw up.

Benny was staring in disbelief at the front grill when Al told him to get back in the car. Now Benny, let’s go. Whatever we hit, it must have run back into the woods, probably a deer or something.

Al got back in the car, and watched Benny through the windshield. He still stared at the grill, now holding his chin, his palm covering his mouth. Al pressed hard on the horn, the elongated tone resonating through the cold night air, bouncing off the trees and then drifting into the night. Benny’s eyes snapped from the grill, back through the glass to Al. He shook his head, and returned silently to his seat in the car.

Al turned the radio on loud, I need to listen to some music, he said, to get my mind off that animal. He was lying.

He backed the car up a few feet and then pushed on the gas. The car lifted up as it bumped over the ‘animal’ and there was a loud scraping noise, the twisted metal dragging on the road.

It had to be the bike. They both knew it already.

Benny heard it too, and opened the door to jump out, the car still speeding up as Al had no intention of stopping again.

Where the fuck are you going? Al yelled as he slammed on the breaks.

Benny had seen it. As he leaned out of the car, as it came back to a stop, as Al shouted, the body that it left behind… and the torn up metal… a young girl, all tangled up in a cage of aluminum bars from what once was a ten speed bike. My God, Al, he shuddered, you hit some girl, she looks dead. Al… Benny’s heart thumped, She looks real dead.

I know… Al tried to sound calm, but his voice waivered, close the door. We can’t let anyone know about this, we’ll go to jail for this, for sure. We’re drunk. They’ll lock us up.

Benny started shaking. It was uncontrollable. Al turned and leaned over him, his hand resting on his shoulder to calm him. It’s going to be okay, he said, I’ll make sure they don’t get you for this. His smile said that ‘Iron Man’ Fudrucker was going to look after you.

Al drove all the way to Benny’s house without looking in the rear view mirror. It had happened in an area that was surrounded by forest, so no one would have heard or witnessed anything, he hoped. And it was late at night, and there weren’t going to be hikers at that time. He also had to convince his friend to keep silent. Benny, he said as they sat in the road, the car idling, outside Benny’s house, Look, I’m sorry, but there was nothing I could do. She couldn’t have had any lights or we’d have both seen her, wouldn’t we? Someone will find her. They’ll stop and call the police. That’s what people do. Al began to pick at his nose.

He looked over at his friend once more before Benny opened the car door, stepped out and closed it behind him. He walked towards his house. Al leaned over to the passenger window and told him again to just go ahead and forget about it. It will get better, he said, accidents happen, Benny, they just fucking happen.

Benny never turned around to acknowledge his last plea; he just remained slouched as he entered his home.

Al sped off into the dark night. He needed to get home and get off the street. His car needed checking. He had to make sure there was nothing that could link him to the accident.

Just an accident.

***

Al pulled up his driveway and into the garage. He hit the remote to the garage door and turned the key to the engine, killing it, as he retrieved one sticky, medium-sized snot from his nose. A soothing entailed, calmness surrounded him as he began to roll the sticky substance between his fingers, trying to relax, to think, to reorganize his thoughts. His decision to run and hide was wrong, immoral, a serious crime and he knew it. The guilt started to grow, linger inside him. This fed upon his mind once again.

A felony, that’s what it was.

It would land him in jail much longer than if he’d just called the police and explained what happened. He only had a few drinks. The girl on the bike came out of nowhere. She didn’t have lights – he thought. He shouldn’t have left the scene of an accident.

But now it was too late, he had already crossed that threshold and now there was no going back. No, it was an accident, a regretful, damn accident.

Al continued to sit in his car talking to the thoughts in his head, a rebuttal of whispers.

He wondered what to do next, as the lights on the garage ceiling above his car went dim; I just changed that bulb not too long ago, he thought.

He quickly looked in the rearview mirror again. Something had caught his attention. A slight movement, something whisked past, a shadow, an animal? He shook his head and looked away from the mirror.

He started to sweat as his heartbeat thumped heavy inside his chest, beating faster, faster. Shit, he thought, I’m seeing things. He reached down into the cubby and took out his pills. He shouldn’t take them when he was drinking – he knew that – but tonight was extenuating. And it wasn’t like he was going to tell anyone.

A loud bang suddenly broke his concentration. He dropped the pill jar on the floor, and it rolled between his feet. He quickly looked out of the side window. The lights became brighter, came back full on.

Al jumped out of the car and did a slow scan of the garage, but didn’t see anything. Aftershock, that’s what it is, fucking mind tricks from post-traumatic-shock-syndrome, or whatever they call it; a normal after effect from just witnessing an accident. He tried his best to shake his thoughts and move forward. It was just an accident, he thought, it wasn’t my fault.

Al knew what he needed to do right away as he walked into his house from the small garage door, locking it behind him. He went to the front door without switching the lights of the hallway on. He peered out his square little window about a foot above the door knob and switched off the porch light.

He closed his eyes.

In the ensuing darkness the sparks jumped back over the hood of the car. The squealing noise. He took a breath, a deep breath. He was starting to sober up, straighten out. He didn’t want to. Not now.

Al opened his eyes and looked at his own dim reflection in the small pain of glass. He blinked away the hate. He had to be strong. For Benny.

Going into the living room, Al grabbed the bottle of cheap whiskey from the top of the book case and slumped down into his favorite chair. He unscrewed the cap and took a swig. For tonight, he would dispense with the pleasantry of a glass. He rested his head back on the chair, tipping the bottle against his lips frequently.

He kept seeing the sparks and hearing the grinding of metal. The look on Benny’s face. Poor Benny. He looked terrified, and sick.

Al breathed through his nose for a few minutes, afraid that if he took long, deep breaths in, he might throw up. He rolled the bottle in his hand and then slid it onto the small coffee table to the side of the chair. He fumbled his packet of smokes out of his pocket and slipped one between his thin lips.

He lit it.

Al inhaled the nicotine and lifted the bottle with his other hand. He sank deeper into a stupor, and for now, the memory of the accident, the evening, Benny… they all drifted into a pool of blackness.

They were things for him to worry about… tomorrow.

***

Al stretched his feet out under the table in the kitchen. He’d awoken maybe two hours ago, but the incessant thumping in his head had stopped him from moving for at least an hour. He’d awoken in his chair in the living room – hadn’t bothered to go to bed. He remembered drinking last night as he sat there, drinking until everything became a blur.

Now he nestled a mug of coffee and a wretched hangover.

And worst of all, he could hear some damned scratching sound. He first heard it when he woke up. It drilled into his head like a buzz-saw. But most things did – with this sort of hangover. He was sure it was nothing.

After Al had readied himself, showered, and finally felt brave enough to put some food down his gullet, he went into the garage. He looked at the car. It didn’t look that bad, not at first, but when he went around the side of the car, flipped the garage lights on and returned to the front, the ugliness, the horror of what had happened was evident.

The first thing that Al noticed was the blood. He hadn’t seen it last night. Not really. It was as if his drunken mind had blocked it