Chapter 15 #2
“What’s going on here then?” a posh voice said behind them. Mal turned but saw nothing, just murky water and the brick wall. He thought he might be going mad, but several others had turned with him.
Ribbit.
A frog emerged from the tiny pipe in the dead-end wall. It hopped forward through the group and positioned itself between Mal and the lamp-man. Mal looked down at the frog, who in return looked up at him.
“What’s going on then? Are there flies on your tongue or something?” the frog said. It took Mal several seconds to comprehend what was happening. Maybe he really was going mad; this certainly seemed like a symptom of madness. A poster flashed through his mind: “BE KIND TO TALKING FROGS.”
“Well, Mister … urrr … Frog, this man just murdered someone and we chased him down here to try and apprehend him, but now he’s cornered us.” Mal felt ridiculous. He looked back to the others, who were staring at him and the frog with incredulity.
“Mr. Frog, I like that,” Mr. Frog said. “Is that correct, you lot?” Mal looked back to the others and mouthed, “BE KIND.”
“Yes, that’s right,” Hala said.
“We didn’t mean to intrude,” Yu said.
Des didn’t speak. Mal shot her a face that said, Please just be nice to the frog. She took a long sigh, then said:
“Sorry for being in your sewer part.” She raised her arms afterward as if to say, Is that good enough?
“And what’s your story, knife-hand?” Mr. Frog croaked, turning to the lamp-man.
“You fuckin’ what?” the lamp-man said. “Am I going mad? Is this another one of your tricks?” He pointed to Mal, who had cut his powers off completely.
“Now, we’ll have none of that,” Mr. Frog said. “Just explain your side.”
“I’ve talked enough.” The lamp-man walked forward, stiletto-hand raised.
“Bad show, old chap,” Mr. Frog said, before he—
The following description has been redacted by all parties pertaining to the publication of this book.
To ensure the public’s continued sanity and safety this segment has been binned, set on fire, then binned again.
Please do not harass anyone associated with the publishing of this book for further details, as they have all been traumatized enough.
For your “benefit” we have not redacted Malowin’s reaction to what happened. Please try to enjoy.
Mal froze in utter horror as the pipe filled with a scream that could curdle stone.
The frog—though what he had transformed into was no longer akin to a frog—seemed to be enjoying himself far too much.
Mal shut his eyes, no longer wishing to have to use them ever again.
What do you do after you’ve seen the worst thing there is to see?
Will murder seem pleasant now by comparison?
Mal waited until the screams died down. He was surprised to still hear whimpering.
How had anyone survived that? Mal heard a grotesque gulping sound and then silence.
He opened his eyes and the lamp-man was gone.
He looked down and saw Mr. Frog staring up at him, seeming almost indifferent to what had just happened.
“Well that’s that then,” Mr. Frog said, nodding to the group. Mal heard someone throw up behind him.
“Mr. Frog,” Mal said, in a soft tone, “is there any chance we could have him back?”
“He won’t be much use to you, I’m afraid.” Mr. Frog gave a hearty chuckle.
“All the same,” Mal said, “it would be nice to take him to jail.”
“Well, if you insist.” Mr. Frog regurgitated the lamp-man. Mal shuddered at the sight and heard more puke from behind him.
“Thank you,” Mal said, forcing the words out.
The lamp-man was curled up in the fetal position, covered in burns and punctures, most of which had healed somehow.
The lamp-man shook violently, eyes wide, muttering to himself.
The frog hopped casually back down the pipe in the wall and called out, “Don’t be a stranger” as he left.
After a few moments of utter shock, Des spoke:
“Be kind to talking frogs.” She put a hand on Mal’s shoulder.
“Words to live by,” Mal said, staring at the lamp-man in his catatonic state. There was a moment of whimpering silence. Mal was going to need so much therapy after this.
Wet footsteps sloshed ahead of them in the sewer, cutting through the silence. Mal looked to the others, who seemed just as confused as him. Who else would be down here with them? And why were there so many of them? And why were they pointing blinding tactical lights at them?
“Hands up,” he heard one of them yell. Mal obliged, trying to block the light from his eyes. Des let out a yelp of pain as the light hit her.
“They’ve got a fuckin’ vamp,” Mal heard one of them say. He felt her push her back up against him as she hid from the light. Des was muttering expletives to herself.
“They’re gonna take me away,” Des whispered to Mal.
“I won’t let that happen,” Mal whispered back, going to embrace his powers.
“No, don’t. You’ll just get yourself shot,” Des said. “This was inevitable. Let’s just get it over with.” She stepped out from behind Mal. The blinding lights had a purple tint to them; they must have been some kind of UV light as Des began to struggle as if she were outside in the blistering sun.
“On your knees, the lot of you,” yelled a voice behind the lights. This is going to be unpleasant, Mal thought as he knelt down and felt the murky sewer water soak and splash up into his trousers—they would need to be thrown out too.
Rushed footsteps kicked up the water as the lights got closer.
Within seconds cuffs were on Mal, Yu, and Hala.
They brought out something bigger for Des, a device Mal could only describe as super-cuffs.
They were lined with a silver metal and went from the wrist up past the elbow.
The police pushed her to the ground. Mal grimaced at the splash and watched several officers hold her down with their feet as another strapped the super-cuffs on her.
Mal felt an anger he thought was reserved for fist fights and betrayals.
He felt his breath tremble. His face must have shown it, as when Des looked up, she shook her head, solemn and defeated.
Mal felt something surge within him, like an intrusive thought, but this thought was not his.
Embrace me, it seemed to call. Mal pushed it to one side and swallowed his rage and his pride.
Mal felt the weight of all that had happened these last few days, what he’d done to save Des’s life, how much he’d had to use his powers, how close they’d all come to death.
He wanted nothing more than to listen to those urges, give in to his anger and become the monster he so felt he was.
He wanted to hurt these men. For the first time, he wanted to use his powers—which is why he knew he couldn’t.
He nodded back to Des with the same solemn, defeated expression.
Everything went very quickly after that.
The next thing Mal knew he was crammed into the back of a squad car with Hala and Yu, all uncomfortably soaked in sewer water.
They were back outside the house they’d followed Erik into, all fidgeting, trying to get comfortable with their hands cuffed behind their back.
Police handled the scene while sirens and tape attracted crowds.
Mal saw Des get perp-walked past her colleagues.
None said anything to her. They’d brought out a special armored van to transport her in instead of cramming her into the backseat with them.
Mal leaned his head against the window and sighed with a heavy chest. Several officers wheeled a body bag out the front door; they seemed to be waiting for someone to come and take the body off their hands.
“Mal, Mal, I need you to make a distraction.”
Mal looked up and saw Walters leaning against the car, facing away as to pretend he was watching the crime scene unfold.
“What?” Mal replied, trying to unstick his face from the window.
“I need something to keep people busy while I help Des,” Walters said, nodding toward the waiting body bag. Mal nodded and Walters made for the armored van.