Ultimate Supernatural Horror Box Set

FOUR WEEKS LATER

Hollywood, California

Tom

The sun beat down on Tom as he sprawled out on the chaise lounge, baking him almost as brown as Roy, who occupied the chaise to his right.

The Hotel Roosevelt was one of Joan’s hang outs, and she’d pulled some strings and gotten them suites for practically free. Tom’s Sam Adams was almost empty, and he was going to do rock, paper, scissors with Roy for who got the next round when a very pretty little blonde in a teeny little bikini came up to them.

“Ooh, how did you get all those scars?” she asked Roy.

“I’m a cop. I was tortured for a week by some maniacs dressed as ghosts. Shot me, too. You heard of Butler House?”

The swimsuit model’s eyes got wide. “Oh my gosh! You were at Butler House?”

Roy nodded. “Lemme buy you a cocktail, I’ll tell you all about it.”

Roy took her hand and led her to the poolside tiki bar.

“He’s adjusting well,” Joan said. She was in the chaise on Tom’s other side. Also in a bikini, also very pretty.

“Roy doesn’t remember most of it. I think he’s going to be okay.”

“Are you?”

He reached out and held her hand. “I’m getting better every day.”

Joan took a sip of lemonade. She had to visit a shoot later, so she wasn’t drinking. “That hooker. Moni. She’s a real trip. Killed three of those psychos by herself. Amazing woman.”

“No kidding. And she’s not a hooker. She’s a dominatrix. No sex. Just figging.”

“What’s figging?”

“You don’t want to know.”

Joan whipped out her iPhone and Googled it. A moment later she made a face.

“Figging is sticking a ginger root up someone’s butt. It is supposed to cause an intense burning sensation. Why would anyone willingly do that?”

“I said you didn’t want to know. And thanks for finding a press agent for her.”

“Are you kidding? I’m going to produce the movie. There’s a bidding war now for her story. Up to seven figures.”

Tom shook his head, amused as hell. So she finally got her million bucks. Go, Moni.

“Am I going to be a character in the flick?” Tom asked.

“Maybe.”

“Who is going to play me?”

“We’re talking to Nick Cage’s people.”

“Nicholas Cage? Really?

“No. But Jason Alexander is interested.”

“George from Seinfeld?”

“He’s got some serious drama chops.”

Tom shrugged and drained his beer. The sun felt glorious, except for on the scar on his chest, which still hurt like hell a month later. Burns sucked.

“Mind if I ask you something?” Joan said. “Something personal?”

“Shoot.”

“When you were being branded, did you ever want to give up?”

Tom turned to her. “Who? Me? Of course not.”

“What kept you going?”

“Thoughts of you, of course. I realized I couldn’t let him break me, because then I’d never see your face again.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Joan leaned over and gave him a peck on the lips. “I call bullshit.”

“As soon as Torble left, I kicked out the IV to try and bleed to death.”

“That I believe.”

“But I did think of you.”

“I’m sure.”

“I did. I swear.”

Tom gave her a quick, but tender, peck on the cheek.

“So you really want to quit the force?” she asked.

“Yeah. Roy and I are thinking about opening up a fishing charter business.”

“In California?”

“I heard they have an ocean somewhere close.”

Joan ran a finger across his belly and grinned. “I think I could get used to having you around all the time.”

“I could, too.”

“And I remembered something. Something you asked me about. Last time I was at your place, I was watching you take a shower.”

“Pervert.”

“That was the night we drank all that wine. So I think it was me who wrote I’m watching you on your mirror.”

Tom laughed. That was the last thing that had nagged him about the whole Butler House experience, and now it had been resolved. Case closed. Time to get on with life.

“You know what?” he said.

“What?”

“I think I’d like to watch you take a shower.”

“Peeping Tom, huh?” She smiled and sat up. “Race you to our room. Loser washes the winner’s back.”

Joan won.

But Tom was the one who really did.

Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

Frank

Dr. Frank Belgium was sitting in his easy chair, Jack on his lap. The boy was an absolute marvel. Cute. Smart. More fun than Frank ever could have imagined.

Even if he hadn’t married his mother, he would have still wanted Jack around.

“Ma ma ma,” Jack said.

“I think he wants you,” Frank said to Sara. “He said mama.”

Sara got up off the sofa and took Jack in her arms. “He didn’t say mama. He said ma ma ma. He repeated his word three times.”

“Hmm. Now where do you think he picked that up?”

“Where do you think?”

“Do I do do do that?”

“Yes you do do do.”

They exchanged a smile. The moment was interrupted by the doorbell.

Frank moved to get up, but Sara told him to stay put.

“I’m not an invalid, dear. The doctor said I need the exercise.”

He pulled himself out of the chair, wincing at the slight pain from his still-healing wound, and used his cane to make it to the front door.

Frank didn’t like what he saw in the peephole. Two men in black suits. One holding a Secret Service badge.

“Who is it?” Sara asked.

“It’s for me. I’ve got got got it.” Frank opened the door a crack. “Can I help you?”

“Dr. Frank Belgium? The President sent us. Your country needs you.”

“Tell the President I’m not interested.”

“Please, sir. Can we have just one moment of your time?”

Frank was thrown by how polite they were. Asking, not demanding. Reserved, not threatening.

“I’m done with all this,” he said. “I have a family now.”

“Believe me, Dr. Belgium, your country recognizes the sacrifices you’ve made, and they are appreciated. But we truly need your help. Even if it is only on an advisory basis.”

Frank sighed, then let them in. “Okay, but but but let’s keep it in the hallway. I don’t want you upsetting my wife or son.”

He let them in, and one of them handed Frank a manila folder. Frank didn’t want to take it. As if sensing his reluctance, the agent opened it and held a picture for Belgium to see.

It was of a cow. A very dead cow, almost stripped to the bone.

“I’m a very good scientist, gentlemen, but even I don’t think I can help help help you save that cow.”

“Here is a close-up of the lower right hand section of the picture, Dr. Belgium.”

He held up a second photo, grainier, zooming in to the cow’s ribcage.

Perched there, staring into the camera, was a tiny, red creature with bat wings and large horns.

“Do you recognize that, Dr. Belgium? We believe it is one of the demons that escaped from the facility you worked at. Project Samhain.”

The biologist made a face, and the first thought that popped into his mind escaped his lips before he could stop it.

“Uh oh.”

THE END