Homecoming; a Monster Squad Novel by Heath Stallcup

Author:Heath Stallcup
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: science fiction, military action, supernatural adventure, apocalyptic series, fantasy and magic, ghosts and zombies, urban myths and legends, fairies and trolls, witches and monsters, paranormal and horror
Publisher: Heath Stallcup

*****

Little John stood at the tall metal table at the back of the armory cleaning his weapons when Spalding entered. “Don’t trust the armorers to do that for you?”

Little John didn’t even look up, and he continued to scrub each individual component with a toothbrush and Teflon infused gun oil. “It’s therapy.”

Spalding took a seat and watched the man as he expertly worked each piece from the weapon and scrubbed it within an inch of its life then wiped it down with a clean cloth and cotton swabs. “Therapy, huh?” He braced his elbows on the table and continued to watch the man work. “You realize you’re putting two very well trained people out of work, don’t you?” He gave John his best smile, but it was completely lost as the man continued to clean his weapons.

Spalding sighed and sat upright. “So, what gives? What’s eating you?”

John paused a moment then shook his head. “Nothing.”

“It doesn’t look like nothing. We came back, everybody was upset over the losses. You’re obviously upset, but you don’t—”

“I’m not upset.” Little John slipped the piece back into the receiver and picked up another.

“Really? Not upset? You sure don’t seem very happy for somebody who isn’t upset.” Spalding decided to push a little harder. “You know, I really want you to become a permanent part of the team and…”

John suddenly snapped upright and looked him in the eye. “If you decide you don’t want me on your team, that’s your choice. If you want me to keep cycling through teams, I’m okay with that too.”

“No, John, that isn’t what I want.” Spalding lowered his voice. “I’d just like you to vent a little. In a non-violent, productive, way.”

“Keeping my weapon clean isn’t a non-violent and productive way of venting?”

Spalding gave him a deadpan stare. “You know what I mean. Just talk to me a little.”

“I’ve nothing to say.”

“Whose picture is it that you carry with you?”

Little John froze and Spalding feared he may have said the wrong thing or pushed the wrong button. The large man slowly lowered the piece he was working back on to the table and set the blackened toothbrush beside it. He slowly raised his face to meet Darren’s. “What picture?” His voice was barely a whisper.

“The one in your blouse pocket.”

John sat silently for far longer than Darren’s comfort level allowed. Slowly his hand reached for the pocket and he pulled a crumpled photograph from it. “She was my sister.”

“Was?”

John handed the photo to Darren who studied the face. He could see similarities between John and the woman in the picture around the eyes, the shape of the mouth, but she was a far more beautiful and feminine portrayal of the family gene pool. “She’s pretty.”

“She was.” John reached for the photo and gently placed it back into his pocket.

“What happened to her, John?”

Sullivan sat quietly for a moment longer. Darren noticed that his hands were shaking just slightly as his mind raced back in time. The images he continued to replay were just as fresh today as they were the night it happened.

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