| The vast room seemed darker. Only the pale light of the fading stars crept in through dirty windows set high in the walls. Lewis could barely see the tables. He started toward them.
“I’m back,” he called to the empty chamber. “I’ve come to feed you. I want to be with you. Beth! Brandon!” There was no answer. Lewis felt his pointed tail swishing behind him as he walked. He was now close enough to see that something large was laying on the top of one table. It was the body of a man. A derelict, Lewis guessed by the shabby dress and stench of stale, cheap alcohol that came from the corpse. In the pale light, Lewis could see the long gash in the man’s throat. Not a drop of blood remained on the wound. Beneath the man’s head, which hung over the edge of the table, just as his own should have done, Lewis saw the large punch bowl, now overturned. Only the faintest smear of crimson gave evidence of what had been contained therein. Lewis began to weep again. “It should have been me,” he moaned. “It should have been me.” He began hitting the corpse, pounding the lifeless body as if the tramp were the one to blame for his failure. Beth and Brandon, his own wife and son, had been forced to take sustenance from this nameless bum, he thought. Forced to feed from society’s waste all because their husband and father was too weak to give them what they needed. He threw his head back as a sob tore from his body and tears streaked his face. A powerful beam of light hit Lewis full in the face and he staggered back, his arm raised to ward off the illumination. “Hold it right there, buddy!” A man’s voice echoed throughout the warehouse. Lewis saw the gun in the man’s hand and a glint on the badge pinned to his chest. Had there been an alarm system activated by the breaking of the lock? “What is it, Bill?” Another man entered the building. “Somebody dressed as the devil,” the first cop answered. “And it looks like a body on the table there.” “You! On the floor.” The second policeman approached Lewis, motioning with his gun for him to lie down. “You don’t understand,” Lewis began. Why bother to explain? “On the floor, now!” The cop was moving closer. “I’m coming, Beth,” Lewis whispered. He could feel the chill spot in the palm of his hand where Brandon had held him. Was the hand there again, pulling him forward, begging him to play, to run, to go fishing? Lewis broke into a run, a smile on his face, the image of a small, green catfish splashing in a river as it was pulled to shore urging him on as he heard his wife’s laughter and squeals of delight ringing in his ears. He didn’t hear the exclamation of surprise from the policeman barring his exit. He didn’t feel the impact of the bullets as they slammed his body to the floor. He heard Brandon’s voice and felt the soft, loving touch of his wife as she helped him up and into a new world of shadows. |
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