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Searches
of slain professor's home, The Mesquite Ridge Tribune Investigators examining the home and office of a murdered professor Wednesday turned up few clues, but what they did find only added to the strangeness of the case, Mesquite Ridge police said. Dr. Harold Francis, a biology professor at Parker State University, was found brutally slain in the attic of the campus library Monday. Police have named no suspects or motive in the case. The one telling clue, investigators said, was that the attic showed no signs of forced entry and was left locked after the killing took place. Francis left behind no known relatives, and along with a lack of clues, investigations have failed to uncover a will. A source close to the police who asked not to be named said, "In the office, they found hundreds of handwritten pages that appeared to be notes, but they seemed to written in some kind of code. At the home were found a number of small exotic animals that were hungry but otherwise looked to be in good shape." According to the same source, officers from nearby Fort Bauser Army Base arrived as police were concluding their investigation and collected all the animals at the house. Fort Bauser officials declined to comment on the animals, nor would they confirm that anyone from the base had visited the residence. Dr. Gerald Burk, dean of sciences at Parker State and Francis' supervisor, was unable to shed any light on the coded information, nor was he aware of any personal experiments Francis was conducting.
Acelyn couldn't stop shaking as she read the paper, which someone had left on a table. Father was dead, she had no way to provide for herself or the others, and it seemed they were dangerously close to being discovered. She sat slumped in a chair in a lounge in the science building, wrapped in her wings as she sobbed, a beam of the moon filtering through a skylight her only illumination. She knew she was not allowed to leave the lab without Father, and in sixteen years she never had, but she had not seen him in four days. She was afraid and hungry. Some of the others, the smaller ones, could not go long without food, and there was nothing left for Acelyn to feed them. So she had slid aside the panel that stood between the old lab, long ago bricked away and forgotten during the building's many renovations, and the closet in Father's office, and slipped out. She'd stopped when the newspaper headlines caught her eye. She wipe her eyes. Difficult though it may be, there were practical matters that required her attention. Now that she knew Father wasn't coming back, she had to do something. She had to find food somewhere. There were probably a dozen vending machines in the building, but Acelyn had no money. Breaking into the machines was not an option, as it would only hasten her discovery. It didn't matter much, after all, she realized. The pygmy dragons needed meat and the hannivers needed fresh vegetables. Corn chips and candy would not sustain them. She would have to leave the building. Every outer door was locked, and the windows weren't designed to be opened. She dared not force her way out and set off an alarm. After making certain the lab was concealed, Acelyn hid in a restroom and waited. After several crawling hours, she heard the jingle of keys. Slowly she peered out. She could not risk being spotted, even once. A maintenance worker walked right past and down the hall. Acelyn dashed around the corner and barely stifled a cry of alarm. She had never seen morning before. Even the gray light of dawn hurt her feline eyes, so accustomed to dim florescent light. But it was too late to turn back. Bracing herself, she shoved the door open and dashed outside, for the first time feeling chilly, dewy outdoor air in her lungs. Hundreds of new scents disoriented her for a moment, but she knew she must find cover. She scrambled up a nearby tree, her claws leaving marks more obvious than she would have liked. Now that she had a moment to breathe, she wondered how wise she had been. Where was she going to find food? And how would she get her hands on it without being seen? And how would she get back into the building undetected? This was insane. She'd never been outside the science building in her life. She was a stranger to the outside world, save for what she knew from reading and television. But the others were starving. They would die if she didn't bring them food soon, and outside the building was the only place to find it. The university was fairly deserted at this hour. As long as she stayed close to cover, she could explore without being spotted. She hoped. There were windows everywhere. She folded her wings tight against her back, draped her long hair over them, and did her best to look inconspicuous. From a distance, she might not arouse suspicion. It was not long before she caught a delicious scent. Sausage. They must be preparing breakfast in the cafeteria. Fortunate, Acelyn thought, that she had seen the school map dozens of times on the backs of class schedules. She knew in which direction the student union stood. Squeezing between walls and shrubbery, creeping around trees and cars, she made her way to the building. Following the scent, she came to the back door of the cafeteria. Acelyn did not know this was the employee entrance, only that there were no people around. Peeking into the small window in the door, she saw no one. She could hardly believe her luck when the door proved to be unlocked. She entered a cacophony of industrial kitchen machinery. This made her nervous, not only because she was unused to loud noise, but because it would be harder to know if someone approached. Speed was essential. Scanning the kitchen, she spotted a nearby counter spread with raw meat. A woman stood with her back to Acelyn, cutting more slices of the sausage. Desperate, Acelyn took a skillet hanging from a rack and flung it against the back wall, then stepped back into the shadowed recess that led to the outer door. Just as she had hoped, the woman walked away from her counter to investigate. She moved to steal a sausage or two from the counter when she heard the door creak open. Diving under a table, lurking behind a disposal basket, Acelyn watched as eight more people entered the kitchen. Her heart sank. Going after the food would be too risky now. She'd be lucky if she could get out of the building without being spotted. She crouched, huddled as small as she could make herself, until her limbs grew stiff. After a couple hours, the younger kitchen workers all left. Students, Acelyn guessed. She waited a few minutes more before slipping out the door herself. Disaster. The campus was flooded with students hurrying to and from class. The nearest hiding place was the open back of a delivery truck. Acelyn clambered in and ducked behind boxes full of baked goods. While she waited for a clear exit, she hungrily devoured a few banana muffins and stuffed a couple more in her jeans pockets, just in case any of the other creatures would eat them. She shivered on the cold metal, wishing she had a warmer shirt. But Father had been no tailor, so backless blouses were the only ones he could give her that would accommodate her wings. She pulled her long black hair over her large ears, trying to warm them. There was little she could do for her freezing bare feet. Slam! All was dark. The truck had been closed, Acelyn trapped inside. She scratched at the door, but could find no way out. Her heart pounded as the truck growled and began to move. There was nothing to do but hide among the bread and hope she could slip away once the door opened again.
Driver
reports 'monster' The Mesquite Ridge Tribune A bakery truck driver said he discovered a "monster" upon unloading his vehicle at a scheduled stop downtown Friday morning. Fernando Martinez, 34, told police he at first believed he had a human stowaway, as the figure he saw hiding behind crates of bread appeared to be wearing women's clothing. "But then I saw the wings," he said. Martinez described the creature as being approximately the size and shape of a woman, but with large wings resembling those of a bat, glowing eyes, grayish skin and sharp fangs and claws. "She jumped at me, pushed me aside, and took off running down the alley," Martinez said. He added that he was not injured during the encounter. Mesquite Ridge police searched the area but found nothing. "My guess is that someone just hasn't got Halloween out of their system yet," Deputy Collin Edwards said. Martinez disagrees. "I saw her up close. That was no costume. I think she was a sign that I should go back to church."
Donnette was angry enough to cuss. But she didn't. Even now, at 42, she never cussed. Thirty years ago, she'd made the mistake of saying "holy crap" in front of her mother. That was one mouth-washing she'd never forget. "You think God wants to hear the leader of the youth choir talk like that?" her mother had asked. Rhetorically, of course. God probably wasn't impressed by Donnette's current line of work, either. But writing about Elvis and alien sightings for The Scoop paid better than even The Dallas Morning News -- not that they'd offered her a job -- and it was money she sorely needed now that Mother was doing so poorly. Too bad it wasn't enough to keep her car from dying on the highway. She picked up her cell phone and quickly realized the battery was dead. She would have to speak with Mother again about running down other people's phones and not charging them back up. With a huff, she popped the hood and stepped out into the chilly November drizzle, noticing unhappily the mud splattering on her high heels. It just better not get on her good skirt. Donnette poked around under the hood for a few minutes. It smelled awful. She had no idea what was wrong or how to fix it, but she thought if people saw her under the hood, they might be more inclined to help. She hated being out there, though, not just because it was wet, cold and dirty, but because it was getting dark. It wasn't more than a few minutes before a vehicle pulled over in front of her. It was a beat up old gray pickup with all sorts of junk in the bed; rope, tools, unrecognizable metal things. A skinny white man about her age (though older looking) in ratty sneakers, faded jeans, a black t-shirt with a beer logo and a cammo cap and jacket stepped out. Donnette didn't like the way he grinned. "Randy Jackson," he said by way of introduction. He shook her hand too vigorously. "What's the trouble here?" "It ... just stopped." "Uh-huh. How about you set back in there where it's dry and I'll have a look at it." It wasn't really a question, but Donnette wasn't going to argue about getting out of the rain. Back in the driver's seat, Donnette reviewed the newspaper clipping she'd left in her purse. This better not be like that chupacabra chase outside of San Antonio. She hadn't ever actually believed there was a goat's blood-sucking monster running around the suburbs, of course, but the eyewitnesses did, and they'd tried all her patience with their hysterics. Not to mention the harassment she'd gotten from those idiot spoiled fratboys that were behind the whole thing. Donnette had not worked for her first new car just to get the windows smashed and tires cut. "Uh-oh, this don't look good." She dreaded to even ask. "What?" Donnette listened as Randy Jackson launched into a long, complicated explanation of what was wrong and pretended to understand what he was talking about. What it seemed to boil down to was that he could patch it up enough get it moving with what he had on hand, but he couldn't guarantee it wouldn't blow up before she got it to a garage. "I'd call you a tow, but I can't seem to get a signal out here. Where you headed, anyway?" "Mesquite Ridge." He nodded. "Me too. Tell you what, little miss, how about you lock 'er up and I'll give you a lift into town. Ain't but half an hour from here. Then you can call a wrecker and get it towed. Too bad I didn't bring the gear, or I could do it myself." Little miss? "You could send a cop my way once you get to a phone," she suggested. "Well, sure I could, but it's getting dark." He was right. And it didn't seem likely anyone else was going to come along for a while -- the highway was strangely empty. She did have her stun gun at hand, giving her some comfort. After loading her suitcase into the bed of the pickup, she climbed into the cab. She winced as the scent of some strange kind of cigarette hit her. It wasn't pot -- she'd smelled that often enough in high school. She shoved aside a pile of fast-food trash on the floorboard to make room for her feet. The truck complained smokily as it started up, and heavy metal came screaming out of the radio. Donnette winced again. "You can change that if you want," Randy said, "but it don't turn off or down." She was immediately grateful she hadn't let him work on her car. Reaching for the cracked radio knob, she noticed there were a number of newspaper articles taped to the dash. And on the ceiling, now that she looked. Most of them had yellowed to varying degrees, but one was fresh. It was the very story that had prompted her visit to this neck of the woods. She read a few of the other headlines. Lake creature. Bigfoot. Crop circle. Mermaid. Vampire. "I see you found my clippings," Randy shouted over the racket. "I hunt monsters for a hobby." He grinned that horrible grin again. "Do you think I'm crazy?" Of course she did, but all she said was, "Well, a lot of people say they see things. Some of them must have seen something." More than anything, she just wanted him to keep his eyes on the road. "My dad was a cryptozoologist. You know, there's lots of things science still don't know about the world. Just last year a bunch of folks down San Antone way saw a chupacabra. Got an article about it somewhere ..." He started to scan the ceiling of the cab. "Watch it!" Donnette yelled, grabbing his arm. Randy looked back to the road just in time to swerve back into his own lane, avoiding the semi by what seemed like inches. He glanced at Donnette's fingers on his arm. And grinned. Quickly she drew away and attempted to become one with the passenger door. "So, you never said what your name was." "Donn--" she started. But she realized he very likely read her articles, and was possibly a fan. Deluded monster-spotters were enough to deal with without having a stalker to boot. "Dawn? And what are you into, Dawn?" She frowned. "What do you do for a living, I mean?" "I'm a travel writer." She was a writer, and she traveled to do it. Technically, she wasn't lying. She offered nothing more about herself, acknowledging the man's chatter only as much as was necessary to be polite -- he was doing her a favor, after all. Luckily, he seemed content to talk about his latest bigfoot hunt outside Marshall. The drizzle increased as they reached the city limits. Randy dropped Donnette off at the Motel 6, handing her a card after setting down her luggage in the lobby. "If you need anything else, you can always reach me at that number." As he left, she looked at the card. "Jackson Salvage & Repair -- Cash it, don't trash it!" Nothing about monster hunting. Donnette went straight to bed, hoping tobe fresh in the morning when she looked up Mr. Martinez.
* * *
"Did you see that crap they put in The Trib yesterday morning?" Mac whispered to Nick. "Mac, please, we're practically in church." She rolled her eyes. "It's a funeral home chapel. Anyway, some loon called the cops to say he saw a monster jump out of the back of his truck, and they wrote a brief about it." "Here comes Dr. Burk," Nick said, hoping to quiet Mac. Mac was there to gather details for her next article about the inquest into Dr. Francis' murder. To Nick, it seemed like a morbid task. He had attended the funeral for the sake of his Biology Club friends. His camera was locked away in the trunk of his car. He was grateful Mac had opted to put a mini tape recorder in her pocket rather than scribble away on her steno pad. Dr. Burk, a stately older gentleman with much black still left in his thick wavy hair, positioned himself at the lectern to the side of the coffin -- closed, naturally -- and scanned the forty-odd people who sat before him, all of whom were connected with the university in some way. "I want you all to know how much I appreciate all of you coming here today," he began. "Especially those of you who may not have known Dr. Francis. Your peers in the science department are surely grateful for your support." Near the back of the chapel, Morgan glanced over at her biology tutor, Rebecca, who was a graduate student assistant. The older girl stared forward, rigid, but a steady stream of tears ran quietly down her cheek. Morgan, having too much empathy for her own good, felt her own eyes well up. "Few people ever had the opportunity to really know Harold Francis. If they had, they would have known a man who loved his students and who was passionate about the science of life. He was a brilliant man, but humble. "I think many of his students and even some of his colleagues would be surprised to know what a remarkable life lay within this quiet professor. I first met Dr. Francis in 1972, when he had already been teaching at Parker State for four years. He was only in his early thirties, but already he had put forth theories in genetics that led the way for much of the ground-breaking work being done in that field today. He never saw the recognition he surely merited, but I expect that was the way Dr. Francis wanted it. "Since Tuesday, I've had a number of current and former students tell me how much his teaching and encouragement meant to them. Today, some of them are doing important work in medicine, ecology and world nutrition. He nurtured the hesitant students as well: One student who came into biology from music said Dr. Francis told her he once intended to be a playwright. "This is Dr. Harold Francis's legacy. He may have been and may remain relatively anonymous, but his work and enthusiasm live on in those who he once taught, those whose turn it is to do great things with ideas that came from a great mind." Dr. Burk left the lectern and beckoned to the professors acting as pall bearers to come forward. Instrumental music filtered in from the funeral home's old speakers, and those in attendance filed out of the chapel. People spoke in hushed clusters in the foyer. Nick had just joined his friends when Mac slipped up behind him. "Are you going to the burial?" "Nobody's going to the burial," Stephanie from the Biology Club said. Mac frowned. "Been a while since I've gone to a funeral, but I thought usually they say something more at the gravesite." "They usually do," Nick said, shuffling his feet nervously, "if there's a minister. I don't think Dr. Francis had a church." He noticed Mac fidgeting. "Did you need to go somewhere?" "Yes, please." She didn't tell him what place she needed to go to, only gave him directions. He balked when he realized where it was they were headed. "Why are we going to the cemetery?" "I want to see if anyone shows up. Sometimes killers attend their victims' funerals. If he knows there's no services at the gravesite, even a skittish murderer might decide to come to the burial." "Have you looked into getting a car of your own?" "Get the university to pay me more than a pittance and I'll do it first thing," she snapped. "I'm sorry, Nick. You're very good to put up with me. I know I'm an awful bit-- grouch," she said, catching herself just in time. She'd made a New Year's resolution to stop swearing so much. But it was November now, and probably time to declare it a lost cause. Nick nodded to acknowledge the apology, but said nothing more until he climbed out of the car at the cemetery. He really was too tall for such a tiny little Escort. "Sheesh, it's cold." He shivered as chilly rain drops reached his scalp through his red hair. Mac tightened her jacket hood and led the way into the graveyard. Inside the gate, the narrow private road was lined with gravel, making it easy to follow the tire track path of the hearse. The place smelled of cut grass and wet earth. On spotting a couple of nondescript cemetery workers lowering Dr. Francis' white pine coffin slowly into the new grave, Mac and Nick hung back several yards. The scene was otherwise deserted. Mac read the nearby headstones, pretending to be interested in other graves. Nick wandered over to a plot under the shelter of a few trees, tired of rain on his head. There was a rustle in the browned leaves -- odd, since there was absolutely no wind. Looking up, Nick saw that something was definitely moving around a couple dozen feet up in the sycamore. Something big, like a mountain lion. Nick frowned. It had to have been a hundred years or more since the last time there was a mountain lion in the area. A person, maybe? Mac had noticed Nick staring up into the tree and joined him, curious. "What is it?" she whispered. The rustling stopped. "I don't know, but it's big." There was a small glint -- two small glints. Eyes. Whatever it was, it saw them, too. "Nick," Mac breathed, "where is your camera?" "In the trunk of my car." "Damn." "Hey!" Both jumped, startled. It was one of the cemetery workers calling to them. "We're not open to the public right now," he said. "It's two o'clock!" Mac protested. "It's Sunday. New policy. We've had a vandalism problem lately." Nick glanced up once more before following Mac out of the graveyard. Whatever had been there, it was gone now.
* * *
Donnette, her car now in Mesquite Ridge but waiting for parts, stepped out of a taxi and looked around the trailer park. On either side, the homes were dingy and dangerously dilapidated. In the overgrown yard on the right, a big, nasty looking dog growled as he guarded a rusty El Camino. On the makeshift porch tacked onto the trailer on the left, a trio of thug teenagers stared silently at Donnette. On the whole, she thought, she'd rather take her chances with the dog. Directly in front of her stood an old but kept-up trailer painted a sunny shade of yellow. Little bushy plants with red flowers lined the front wall, and the grass was cut. A tall, round glass candleholder standing in a windowsill displayed Jesus, hands outstretched. White ceramic angel-shaped wind chimes hung near the door. Sighing, Donnette relaxed and approached the door. Just as she was about to knock, she noticed a light green sheet of paper lying on the porch. Picking it up, she turned it over and saw that it was a flyer.
Brothers
and Sisters The
Earth is in its last Days, and Evil walks in daylight
--
As Donnette looked the paper over, she was startled as a short, plump older woman with frizzy gray hair and a blue housecoat appeared at the door. "¿Hola?" she asked. "Did you know someone left a flyer here?" The old woman frowned. "¿Está Fernando Martinez aquí?" "Ah, sí." She turned and called into the house. "Fernando!" "¿Sí, Mama?" a man answered, pulling a plaid flannel button-up over a white t-shirt as he appeared in the doorway. Seeing Donnette, he asked, "Can I help you?" "I'm Donnette Daniels from The Scoop. I had a message that you might want to talk to me about the incident you reported Friday." Giving his mother an accusatory look, Fernando asked Donnette in. She sat in an old brown recliner near Mrs. Martinez, who claimed an afghan-draped rocking chair and resumed watching her taped telenovela. Across from her, Fernando plopped down on a well-broken-in sofa. Donnette looked around the cozy trailer, the walls decked with pretty handmade crafts and a very large wooden crucifix. "You'd never think I had a master's in economics, would you?" Fernando said. "My wife's got some punk living in my house in Houston now, selling crack right in front of my son, I bet. God help him if he even looks at my daughter in a bad way. I had nowhere else to go but here. Lot of good my degree does me driving a bakery truck." "I'm sorry to hear that, Mr. Martinez." "I just want you to know that because I'm pretty pissed off at the way they made me look in The Tribune. I guess they see a Mexican making minimum wage, they assume I'm a superstitious idiot, or on drugs. I saw something. I'm not saying I can explain it; I don't know what it was. But I saw it." "I can promise you, I will report all the information you can give me about what you saw." And then some, most likely, she thought. After all, her job was to give his story more credibility, regardless of truth. He nodded. "Okay, just so we're on the same page. Well, here's what happened ..." The story he told was little different than what had been reported in city paper, though there was a touch more detail: He had loaded the truck that morning at the bakery without incident. His first stop had been at the university, where he unloaded about half of his crates. Next he drove downtown to a small grocery. It was as he was moving around the last stacks of crates that he had seen the creature. "I wonder if you could draw a picture of her for me?" Fernando rolled his eyes. "My mother already has." He produced a sheet of notebook paper with a pencil sketch drawn in a shaky hand. "This is more or less how she looked, only my mother has exaggerated the teeth. This -- thing? -- didn't attack me. I actually think she was more afraid of me than I was of her." Donnette examined the menacing picture. "I'm confused. Did your mother see her, too?" "No. But she is the one who called your paper, and she thought you would want a picture and decided to draw it herself because I wouldn't. My mother has decided she knows all about this creature. She was the one who said it was a sign I should go back to church, not me." "That reminds me." Donnette handed the flyer to Fernando. "Did you know this was lying on your porch?" He looked the paper over and snorted in disgust. "Oh, man. I didn't see it, but I've heard of these people. They're always writing weird letters to the editor in The Tribune. Their church is so crazy, they make Jerry Falwell seem like a reasonable guy. You see where it says support the C.R.O.S.S.? That's like a little club they've got that actually goes around looking for demons. I guess they want to talk to me 'cause I saw something strange. Great. If you talk to them, tell them I don't want their harassment, okay?" "Of course." "Well, that's really all I have to tell you, unless you want to listen to my mother babble about the time she saw the shape of the Virgin Mary in a tree shadow." Donnette stood. "Thank you very much for your time, Mr. Martinez." |
