Chapter 16

The Cypress Guardian

Wednesday, July 20th 1977

Once more, a vicious animal attack has struck Cypress, this time at Jimmy's, a roller rink on the corner
of Harrison Ave and 18th, on the city's Northeast end.

Authorities are not giving many details as of now, but they are saying that it is definitely an animal
attack.58 year old Clavell Diggs, 57 year old Anita Lunsford, 31 year old Marvin Reeve and 28 year old
Lucius Turner were all found mutilated inside the basement of the rink last night.

Those questioned at the site said they heard nothing in the basement of the rink, while some say
gunshots could be heard, but that it was so loud inside the building that it was hard to tell.Police,
however, did happen to discover multiple grams of cocaine, marijuana and other drug paraphernalia
down inside the basement where the murders took place.

When sought for questioning, the rink's owner, James Tolliver, was nowhere to be found. But needless
to say that the rink will be shutdown indefinitely, or until at least Mr. Tolliver can be located.

While authorities have not been able to pinpoint just what kind of animal could be responsible, it leads
them to believe that perhaps this all could harken back to similar animal attacks in the past. Mainly
those that took place in Cuyahoga Falls this past February.

***

"You gotta be kidding me." Ortega sighed in dismay before folding his newspaper and looking around
at the busy floor of the police station.

"C'mon, pal, and get in here!" A white, plain clothes officer shouted as he and another plain clothes
officer who happened to be black dragged a raggedy looking black man into the area before planting



him down into a chair.

Ortega, forgetting that he had his newspaper tucked underneath his armpit, nonchalantly carried
himself over to the scene where he managed to keep himself somewhat in a partial distance, just close
enough to hear but not appear as being nosey.

The man seated in the chair wore nappy dreadlocks and a scruffy beard. His shorts had a huge hole in
the side while his tank top shirt had grease stains plastered all over. Judging by his appearance, he
looked to be in his early to mid-thirties.

"Okay, buddy, we're gonna keep going over this until we get it right." The black officer stood above the
young, overconfident looking man. "Is there a rival gang here in town?"

Growing a grin, the man sat and said, "Hey, mon, I know nuting about any gangs."

Rolling his eyes, the white officer stood on the other end and said, "C'mon, George, how many times
are you gonna tell us that? You know about the murders from last night, as well as the guy in the alley
just the other night. There has to be a connection."

Pointing at himself, George asked, "Why ya ask me?"

"Because some of the folks at Jimmy's said that there were two Jamaicans that entered that club last
night, and no one ever saw them again." The black officer stated. "Let's face it, my friend, there aren't
too many of you guys in this city to begin with. You folks have to be networking."

Still wearing his grin, George replied, "Look, mon, I was at home all last night. I don't even know how to
skate."

"Wipe that stupid look off of your face." The white officer grudgingly ordered. "You want us to bring up
that little charge you had so mysteriously wiped away a month ago?"



Promptly, George frowned before wiping the sweat from off his face. "Look, mon, I know nuting about
no murders."

"We never asked anything about any murders." The white officer gritted his teeth. "We want to know if
there are any Jamaican gangs in this city. Any drug rivals."

With his hands outstretched, George pleaded, "It's hot, mon. Too hot for murder."

"You people should be used to the heat." The black officer said. "Now, tell us what we need to know
and you can go back home to your nice, cozy fan."

George sat back in the chair and exhaled before saying, "Okay, mon, in de streets, I be hearing about a
woman and a mon."

"Keep going." The white officer said.

George then shrugged his shoulders and continued, "I hear dat dey live down in Hollis Estates."

"That does it!" The white officer irately exclaimed before lifting George to his feet. "Get this comedian
outta here before I crack him in half!"

Ortega just stood and watched as George was carted away, all the while pleading his so called case to
anyone who would listen.

Once the man was out of sight, Ortega approached the white officer."Tell me, uh...why did you just
have that man taken away when he was giving you the information that you needed?"

The officer just stared back at Ortega as though the man were growing a new set of ears right before
his eyes.

"And you are?" the officer grimaced.



"Inspector David Ortega," Ortega snapped back.

"Oh, so you're the new Inspector." The man cracked a grin.

"Yeah, I am. Now, what was all that about?"

"Just a Q and A, that's all."

"But he sounded as if he were giving you a tip on a lead."

The officer stood and smiled at Ortega like he was looking at a simple child. "Inspector, Hollis Estates is
a rundown slum. Not even the rats go down there. The place is a ghost town. Completely empty."

Ortega watched as the man walked away, leaving him all to himself in the middle of the floor. Just
before he was about to go back to his own office, he caught a glimpse of Brice who just happened to
be rushing down the stairs.

Ortega dropped his newspaper and took off after the man until he was able to catch up to him on the
bottom floor.

"Hey, fella," Ortega called out. "You're one hard guy to find!"

Brice only kept walking until he reached a door and went through with Ortega right on his heels.

"Good morning, Mr. Ortega." Brice greeted in a dismal tone.

It was a tiny office littered with shiny, silver utensils, cameras and boxes of papers from one corner to
the other. Just trying to find a place to step was nearly impossible.

Appearing out of sorts, Ortega shut the door behind him and said, "I, uh, I'm glad I was able to catch up
with you."



Dropping his satchel to the floor, Brice turned around and took off his glasses. "Look, Inspector, I
apologize for being so...unorthodox, yesterday. I just had a lot of things on my mind." Brice explained,
looking as if he hadn't slept in days. "Just wipe everything I mentioned the other day out of your head.
I'm sorry I opened that can of worms."

"You didn't open a can of worms, you threw a bag of snakes at me." Ortega said. "You just can't toss all
that at me and expect me to just go away with my tail tucked in between my legs, Mr. Brice. You want
an audience...here it is."

Brice looked hard at the man with the most depressed glaze on his face, as to say that he was at a loss
for words or anything else rational.

"Have a seat." Brice said as he sat himself down in his old, wooden chair that was placed just a couple
of feet away from where Ortega took his own seat. Taking off his glasses and wiping the lenses, Brice
murmured, "You gotta forgive me, I've been up all night."

Thoughtfully staring right back at the man, Ortega asked, "You were at that rink last night, weren't
you?"

Placing his glasses back on his face, Brice pressed his lips and said, "Yep, all night long."

"A cop's job is never done." Ortega humbly stated.

"Yeah, you can say that again." Brice said while fiddling with a ballpoint pen.

"So, tell me, what happened there last night? From your perspective," Ortega inquired.

Brice exhaled before saying, "Just imagine your worst horror movie, and magnify that by five."

"That bad, huh," Ortega shrugged.



"Oh yeah," Brice shook his head up and down. "Tell me something, Inspector, how much of the news
do you keep up with, by any chance?"

"Enough, I guess." Ortega blushed.

Brice would every so often glance at Ortega before returning his attention back to his pen. "There's
something wrong here in this city, Inspector. And it all seemed to start last year."

"Keep going."

"Last year, a wild animal, presumably, broke into a home and murdered three grown men. There was
hardly anything left of them. Then came this past February," Brice sat up. "Do you recall The Broad
Open Daylight Kidnapper case?"

Ortega pondered for a moment. "I believe so. Wasn't he eventually caught?"

"Not caught, but tore in half...literally."

"Now I remember reading about that in the paper. He was killed by some animal, and then the animal
killed some other people, right?"

"Yes, a family that lived right down the road from the guy." Brice replied. "Now, tell me, Inspector, do
you recall hearing a story about a young man by the name of Isaac Mercer?"

Once more, Ortega had to stretch far back in his mind to grab at something. "The name sounds kind of
vague."

"All of this is in the case files on the third floor; I'm just giving you the abridged version. Isaac
apparently tried to kill not only his fiancée, but also their own son before he himself was shot and killed
by one of our detectives."



Ortega kept reaching until he finally snatched out the first thing that came to mind. "Now I remember."
He inhaled. "Wasn't he supposedly high on some new drug when he did that?"

Brice just sat and eyed the Inspector with scrupulous precision. "Is that all you heard, Inspector?" His
tone methodically dropped.

Chuckling, Ortega asked, "Is there more to it?"

Brice cut his eyes away for a second. "Last year, they said that a pack of wild dogs attacked those
men. Back in February, they said that a bear killed Cummins and the family that lived down the road.
There was an elderly couple that lived right next door to where the Mercer incident took place. If you've
ever seen this neighborhood, the houses are so small and close knit they might as well be apartments.
This same elderly couple swore up and down that they heard an animal inside that house. But neither
the cops nor coroners carried out an animal, only a dead man's body."

"Well, they were old; maybe their imaginations got the best of them. I mean, this Mercer guy was high.
I've seen people on drugs do some pretty crazy stuff. Sounding like an animal wouldn't be too out of
the ordinary. Crazy people don't know restraint, Mr. Brice. They tend to be a lot stronger than us normal
people."

Still, Brice's eyes would not stop staring endlessly at Ortega in the most uncharacteristic fashion.

"Inspector, in each and every incident, I discovered two things. Number one, these people were by no
way murdered by a pack of dogs or a bear. Neither beast is as destructive or strong. Number two, I
have something else."

Ortega sat and looked on as Brice turned around and reached into his desk to pull out a shoebox. The
man then turned back and opened the box before taking out its contents.

"These are strands of fur."



Ortega took the fur and examined it from end to end. "What kind of fur?"

Brice held back for a second or two before replying, "Wolf fur, Inspector."

Ortega's eyes quickly went for Brice's face. "There are wolves in Ohio?"

"Not the kind you're thinking of, but something else."

Ortega handed the fur back to Brice and asked, "What kind then?"

Brice stuffed the fur back into his shoebox and said, "Inspector, I just happened to gather more fur from
not only the alley incident, but also from last night. You saw the guy inside that car. No normal wolf
could have or would have ever caused that much destruction. Last night, inside that roller rink, I saw
bodies torn apart. I saw a type of madness the likes I have never witnessed before."

Waving his hands, Ortega pleaded, "Okay, okay, I need for you to stop beating around the bush, Mr.
Brice. You've been up all night long looking at death. I get it. But I need for you to come clean with me
right now. What are you getting at?"

Brice turned around and sat his shoebox on top of his desk before reaching inside another drawer and
taking out a collection of Polaroid's.

"Just this past February, a woman was seen walking along the Logan bridge walkway completely
naked. Mind you, it was about ten degrees that morning, and yet, there she was, as naked as a jaybird.
One guy, who wanted to get his jolly's, just happened to take out his camera, but when he took the
pictures, he discovered something very unusual about this woman before she jumped into the water."

Brice handed Ortega the pictures, but David was entirely too wound up with anticipation to even try and
figure out what he was looking at.

"I...I can't make any of this out. What am I supposed to be seeing here?"



"Look at the woman's face, Inspector." Brice insisted. "The Fotomat never lies."

Ortega studied the black woman's face as closely as his vision would allow. All he could see were the
woman's eyes that appeared all white.

"These Polaroid's all have discolored resolution." Ortega griped.

"Look at her teeth."

"Just what am I supposed to be looking at?" Ortega asked in a short-tempered manner.

"Something was growing out of her mouth, Inspector."

Ortega slowly pulled the pictures away from his face and looked Brice straight in the eye. For the
longest of moments both men just sat and stared at one another in complete and utter silence. Only the
hallway chatter outside the door interrupted their unsettling quiet.

"You're still not going to tell me just what you're getting at, are you?"

"I know, I sound like Leonard Nimoy, but you're an educated man. I'll let you figure it out. But this is no
coincidence."

Ortega continued to study the man before asking, "What about Mercer's fiancée? She was there. What
did she have to say in the matter?"

"Nothing much," Brice nonchalantly shrugged. "No one has heard from her since the incident."

"I've seen strange cases before, but I have to admit that this one takes the cake." Ortega sighed.

"We're not dealing with gangsters here, Inspector. I happen to believe that there may be more than one
of these things prowling this city of ours."



Ortega's eyes grew two sizes at that point. "What makes you say that?"

"Much like Cummins' house, the basement wall at that roller rink was demolished. Wild dogs or a bear
could not tear down a solid brick wall. I refuse to believe that one vicious animal could take out several
well-armed people. I...I could spend all day on this." Brice tossed up his hands in frustration.

Ortega sat and examined the young man in a pitiable manner. "You actually enjoy all this, don't you?"
He grunted at Brice. "For God's sake, you even still have evidence from the last crime scene sitting
here in your office."

"I remember Detective Bruin came to me two days after Cummins was killed. He asked me about
something concerning burning fur."

"Who's Detective Bruin?"

"He was the guy that covered the case. He was also the guy that put down Mercer."

Looking completely taken by surprise, Ortega asked, "Well, what on earth does he have to say about
all this?"

Brice sat back in his chair before spinning around to his desk and taking out a paper from within one of
the drawers. He then turned back around, and with a dreary grimace on his face handed the paper to
Ortega.

David took the newspaper and read where the paragraph was outlined in red marker. He sat and
studied before looking back up at Brice with his own miserable frown.

"I knew Linus, he was a good cop." Brice stated. "Everyone else in this station may look at me like a
fool, but I know for a fact that whatever he saw inside that house that night drove him crazy enough to
put that gun to his head and pull the trigger."



At that very instant, the office door flew open. Behind it was Fitzpatrick, who just stepped inside and
handed Brice a piece of paper.

"And next time don't leave the crime scene before it's wrapped up!" Alan grumbled before turning and
beginning to walk away.

"Fitzpatrick, have you met our new Inspector?" Brice called out.

Fitzpatrick, who was adorned in an all-black officer's uniform, rolled his eyes before extending a right
hand and shaking Ortega's.

"Officer Alan Fitzpatrick."

"Good to meet you, Officer." Ortega greeted. "Tell me, were you just at the roller rink scene?" He stood
up.

Rolling his eyes once again, Fitzpatrick replied, "Yeah, I had to work a double, and I'm about two
shakes away from passing out."

"I was just wondering, were you able to discover anything unusual about the murders?"

Fitzpatrick stood and eyeballed the Inspector for a second before turning to Brice who just happened to
be staring right back at Fitzpatrick.

"You gotta be kidding me." Fitzpatrick angrily gritted his teeth. "What the hell has this loon been telling
you?"

Appearing stunned, Ortega said, "I was just listening to Mr. Brice's take on the situation from last
evening."



Stepping closer to Brice, Fitzpatrick pointed, "You keep Linus' name out of your damn mouth! You hear
me?"

"Whoa, hold on, cowboy." Ortega stood in front of the man. "There's no need to get upset."

"This guy is a nut!" Fitzpatrick protested. "He stays down here in this janitor's closet thinking up new
crap to lose his mind over!"

"Ok, ok, just calm down." Ortega subtly urged. "We're gonna get to the bottom of this."

"I'm already at the bottom." Fitzpatrick cantankerously huffed before yanking himself away from both
men and bolting back out into the hallway.

Slowly turning back to Brice, Ortega, who looked more exhausted than anything, asked, "Do you mind
telling me just what that was all about?"

Twisting his lips, Brice simply commented, "He's still pissed because he got knocked back down to
officer."

"Knocked down?" Ortega chuckled haplessly.

"Look, he's not important." Brice began fiddling with his pen all over again. "What is important is that
the coroners building across the street went up in flames while I was visiting my father. They say that
they carried that animal that was incinerated in the alley there. I would've given anything to see the
bastard." He growled.

Ortega stood and looked down at Brice in the most peculiar manner before catching a glimpse of his
watch on his wrist.

"Look...I'm late for a meeting with the D.A. But there is one thing I would like to know. What does
Captain Brickman think of all this? I mean, the guy has to have something to say pertaining to you



keeping evidence inside your office."

"I was told by our beloved captain months ago that this isn't the National Enquirer. Who am I to say
otherwise?" Brice's tone dropped.

Ortega remained still for just a few more moments before gradually turning and heading for the door.
His mind couldn't take another shake.

"Just remember, Inspector...they never carried an animal's body out of that house." Brice uttered at the
most inopportune moment right then.

Ortega simply gave the man a salty glance as he headed out.

***

The medium sized room was filled with the vigorous odors of both cigarette smoke and fresh brewed
coffee. From one end of the room to the other was a sea of police officers, from white, black and
Hispanic, to male and female, to uniformed and plain clothed. Each man and woman was chattering
amongst themselves while either sipping on their Styrofoam cups of steaming java or trading lighters
back and forth between each other.

It was hot inside the room, in spite of the crippled air-conditioner that was whispering a gentle breeze
throughout. Only hot breath that reeked of nicotine seemed to replace the oxygen that was so needed.

"Okay, everyone, let's quiet it down!" Captain Brickman and his gruff sounding voice came into the
room and stood behind the podium with his own cup of coffee in hand and a cigarette lodged in
between his lips.

He laid down a collection of papers on the podium's flat surface while the gathering of officers all
immediately hushed their clamor until it became quiet, minus a couple of coughs and sneezes here and



there amongst the group.

Brickman took a sip of his still simmering coffee before looking up at the crowd and sighing, "Alright, I'm
gonna make this as neat and tidy as I can. Last night, all hell broke loose. All I can say is, thank God no
one innocent was taken out. And as far as the mayor's sons are concerned, if Mr. Findlay is too
ashamed to have his own sons' names printed in the newspaper along with other drug dealers, then
there's no need for us to rush to find justice for them either."

A collection of murmurs and chuckles circumvented throughout the gathering for a few moments before
everyone settled down once more.

"Now, I know a lot of you are thinking the same thing I am...Cuyahoga Falls. The last thing we need is
for anyone to jump to any startled conclusions. We already have a city in panic mode; we don't need
anyone running around half-cocked."

Brickman's demeanor, while stalwart, was somewhat unsettled. The man's thoughts kept going
backwards to both people and events. He lowered his head momentarily and paused before looking
back out at the humanity before him.

"There is something in this city that shouldn't be here. So far, it's taken out nothing but drug dealers,
but we've seen what this something was capable of doing once before. Something is obviously not
adding up. If we are dealing with that same something, then it's up to each and every one of us to take
it out now before it vanishes again for a few months and then resurfaces. Just remember, this thing
broke into a house and murdered an entire family. We're all aware of what it's capable of. It leaves only
tracks and fur behind. I don't want any vigilantes running around out there on these streets thinking
they can take the thing out."

"But, Captain, we're hearing that there may be two of these things running around." A black officer
stood to his feet.



"Then that means we need to ramp up shifts. I wanna see more of you down in the shooting range.
This thing is not to be reasoned with; it's an animal, a very large and dangerous animal. It needs to be
taken out at first sight. Now, we do know that it attacks at night. That means that we need to keep an
extra eye on alleys. If there are two of these things...then you have the authority to use every resource
available. That means use extreme vigilance. I want people questioned; I don't care what their race,
gender or religion, if they could somehow have a possible connection then consider them a suspect.
We're at red alert, people. Now, get out there and do your jobs...and try not to get eaten."


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