\chapter{Yellow Eyes} \by{A Child's Letter} ``I'm not lying, Daddy!'' whimpered Kaitilin Axelplax, a six-year old girl with an admittedly active imagination. ``I promise you---{\em promise} you---that I saw it again! Saw {\em them} again!'' Hubert Axelplax smiled his sick and twisted smile while nonchalantly wiping the rust-colored tobacco drippings oozing down his chin. Delicately, he set his Coors on ane Igloo cooler doubling as an end table. ``Kai, what've I told you 'bout {\em lyin',} you little {\em bitch!''} Without warning---though she knew it was coming---Hubert, with speed belying his significantly overweight frame, backhanded Kaitilin, sending her flying into the wall. She collapsed in a heap, knocking over a floor lamp in the process. She stood, fought to find her balance, then, reeling from the blow, vomited profusely all over the threadbare couch. Rust-colored blood seeped wistfully from her gashed eyebrow. ``I {\em swear,} Daddy! I saw the thing with yellow eyes! It was in the mirror!'' Again, she threw up. Hubert took three long strides towards his daughter's trembling form and unbuckled his belt in one fluid motion. ``You're {\em just} like her, you know that? Just like that {\em whore} of a mother of yours!'' He raised the heavy leather strap above his wickedly grinning head and--- * * * Luke Bavarious' radio cackled to life: {\em All units, we've got a 10-34 near Forty-second and somewhere near Dyer. Possible 10-45; 10-52.} Distractedly, Bavarious holstered his Beretta, taking a moment to admire its clean lines, its intoxicating heaviness. Suicide would have to wait. He took one last, long drag on his cigarette, then tossed the remainder out the window of his car. Baravious picked up his radio and responded, ``Dispatch, this is Bavarious. I'm in the vinicity; 10-76. I'll check it out. Over.'' {\em 10-4, Bavarious. Out.} For the first time in a long time, Bavarious smiled. Nothing like an old fashioned assault with possibly fatalities to enliven the night. He had to admit it: he liked this work. Within minutes, Bavarious arrived at his destination. He parked in an alley and realized he must be the first officer on the scene. Everything seemed eerily quiet---especially for New York. Like liquid, with practiced movement, he unholstered his sidearm and kicked in the door. The apartment building's lobby was empty. Bavarious involuntarily shivered, then made his way up the first flight of stairs. As he walked gingerly through the halls, when he was just outside of apartment 209, he thought he heard muffled giggling. He realized it was the only sound he'd heard since entering the structure. Adopting a professional demeanor, he knocked. No one answered. He knocked again and followed with: ``Police! Open up!'' He thought he could faintly make out the sounds of a children's program, probably coming from a television. The giggling subsided, replaced with whispered commands. Something ponderous within the apartment dragged---or was dragged---across the floor. Then, silence. Bavarious was about to knock again when, suddenly, the door opened, and a little girl---no more than six or seven, answered. ``Hello, Officer!'' she giggled. Bavarious surveyed her quizzically, noted the poorly bandaged laceration above her eye, then looked past her into the depths of the apartment's foyer. He thought he glimpsed something twist subtly in the shadows. He blinked. ``Uh, good evening, Miss. Are your parents home?'' ``I don't h---I mean, no, officer, they're not. My mama died when I was little, and my daddy, he's{\ldots}um{\ldots}he's---'' She seemed to cock her head, as though hearing an inaudible voice. ``---he's out buying more beer.'' She suppressed a laugh. ``Is he?'' mused Bavarious. ``Miss, what happened to your forehead?'' Suddenly, the girl's demeanor changed, plunging from sunny to downright icy. ``Officer, it's past my bedtime. I need to---you need to leave.'' ``Mi---'' ``{\em Right} now.'' Though he couldn't explain it, Bavarious sensed an impossible authority in her voice. An authority that hadn't been there moments ago. He glanced at her again and thought for a moment her eyes were glowing, yellow, bending his will to hers. He shook his head and looked back into the apartment---anything to get away from that jaundiced gaze! That's when he noticed what appeared to be a rust-colored trail leading from an overturned Igloo cooler toward another room in the apartment. ``I'm afraid I can't do that, Miss,'' he intoned as he brushed past her, intently avoiding her piercing eyes. Curiously, she said nothing. His Beretta held out before him, a talisman against the darkness, he followed the trail into a bathroom. There, in the tub and amid the stink of beer and feces, lay the body of what Bavarious assumed was the little girl's father. The man's belt was still clutched in his hand. The man's hand was resting on the countertop, a good seven or eight feet away from the rest of him. Unable to control his emotions, Bavarious puked all over the fetid corpse, displacing several flies. As the chunks rolled slowly down the disemboweled form, giggling erupted from behind him. He jumped. ``I told you you needed to leave,'' breathed the little girl, whose eyes had ceased glowing and now positively {\em surged} with wicked yellow light. He noticed for the first time that her hands were the color of rust. Bewitched, Bavarious could do nothing as her arms shimmered and became a writhing mass of tentacles. He told his brain to send an impulse to his trigger finger, but it wouldn't obey him. It had a new master now. {\em Good night, Officer Bavarious.} projected the little gi--- {\em Her name is Kaitilin. How do I know that? How d---} {\em I---yes, good night, Kaitilin. I'll{\ldots}be{\ldots}going{\ldots}now. If{\ldots}if that's all right{\ldots}} * * * Luke Bavarious awoke outside of an apartment building somewhere near Forty-second Street and Dyer Avenue, sprawled across the hood of his car. The sun had just begun to rise above the tangled mass of skyscrapers all around him. His mouth tasted like vinegar, and he smelled like a slaughterhouse. ``What am I doing here,'' he wondered aloud. The sun thrust a glinting beam of radiance through a break in the buildings; it fell with purpose on a second-story window of the apartments in front him. Following its path, he thought for a moment he saw two points of yellow light blink, then vanish. ``Weird,'' he muttered.