Blood Red

Brian sat in the congregation, the space next to him left empty, held for Angie. There had even been a prayer said at the very beginning for her safe return to him. He watched the girl with the dark lustrous curls and just possibly the finest ass he’d ever seen, and thought about how much he would love to give her a ticket. It was a brief thought, a respite from the fear that was growing inside of him and mingling with the rage that was already dominating his thoughts. I bet she’d be a screamer. I bet she’d fight and scream and bite and beg. I’d love to hear her begging me to stop. I’d love to make her crawl and—

He cut the thoughts off; he was in a church after all, it wasn’t appropriate.

Angie should have been next to him. He’d never even bothered with the church before they’d met. She’d changed him in a lot of ways and even he had to admit that most of the changes were for the better. Only now that she wasn’t here, he actually came to the church seeking solace. It wasn’t working very well though. All he could think about was how much he missed his wife and how badly he wanted to nail the piece of ass a few seats over and in front of him. She’s a college girl, I bet. Probably goes speeding around corners more than she should. Maybe I’d be doing her a favor if I tailed her for a few days. Gotta remember to check what kind of car she drives. He shook his head, trying to get his mind off the girl a few seats away. He had to focus on Angie and their baby. That was what was important. But remembering the little bitch he’d raped in the woods was becoming a little bit of an obsession, and he wanted to get relief from the hard-on that was making his balls ache.

Still, not here and not with a member of the congregation. Too close to home. Even if she didn’t protest enough to warrant getting her pretty little head bashed in, she might decide to confess it to one of the priests, and then if Angie did come home—no, not if, when—he’d have one hell of a lot of explaining to do.

After what seemed like hours of genuflecting, the Mass was finally said and done. He rose and headed for the doors, accepting best wishes from several people he knew and a lot he didn’t. There was one girl back in the corner that he’d been with a few months back. She barely looked at him. She was still afraid of him and what he could do to her. That was a lovely thing.

The brunette with the pin-up body got outside before he did. That was all right. He wanted to see where she went, not follow her right now. All he had to do was get a tag number and the odds were beyond good that he could follow her anywhere: it was one of the advantages of being a cop.

There was a traffic jam at the threshold. Several people were standing in the doorway and looking out at the lawn of the church, not scared by whatever they saw, but certainly taken aback. Brian moved through them as carefully as he could until he saw what had them all so overwhelmed.

The girl was out there, and a few others were as well. And so were the crows. The birds were on every car, every open space around the entire church, on the telephone poles and trees, and even, he guessed, on the cross that adorned the top of the building.

They were just there, barely moving, not at all perturbed by the world around them. It had to be close to a thousand of the black carrion eaters. No, maybe closer to two thousand. But that wasn’t possible, was it? Could there be that many crows in the entire state?

The sexpot walked toward her car and Brian’s eyes were drawn to the movement; so, too, the eyes of the birds. Without any warning, they were airborne, black wings were flapping and generating an unsettling amount of wind. Autumn leaves blasted through the air in their wake and for a moment the air was as thick and fierce as a hurricane.

Brian backed up hastily as several of the crows suddenly veered and banked and came for the front entrance to the church. One of them came within inches of plucking his eye from his face, screaming indignantly as it came closer. His hand tried to settle on the holster he carried at work and clutched only air. It was probably for the best that he was off-duty, because he wanted the damned thing dead. That screeching noise reminded him too much of Angie when she was having a bitch fit about damned near anything.

The birds rose in a spiral, a storm of feathers and beaks and cackling cries of derision, circling the church and its parking lot several times before they dispersed.

By the time the crows had finished their aerial dance, the girl he’d been looking at was gone. If she walked or took a car, he had no way of knowing.