Blood Magik- A Cold Day In Hell

by Corwyn Matthew

  “Oh, it wasn’t pity, princess. It was perversion. Yer mommy was a sadistic little whore with a taste for domestic drama.” And with a grin he added, “You’re a brave one, aren’t ya, sugar-plumb. Standin’ up to yer big, bad father. Comin’ down here all by yerself…” Then a thought occurred: “Where’s that pussy lil’ role-model, athlete-for-a-son I raised for the better part of a decade, huh? He too piss-scared to come look his evil father in the eyes? …Afraid he might see hisself sittin’ here behind this glass?”

  “Marty isn’t afraid of you. And he isn’t anything like you.” His comment on her brother irked her more than she was prepared for. “No matter how much you tried to raise him to be as bitter, and as pessimistic as you, he turned out to be someone who would make a mother proud,” then she added, “and a sorry excuse for a man envious.”

  That mouthful touched under the stone-cold surface of the old con and she saw it in the twitch of his eyes. The truth hurts, it would seem.

  “I’m not here to whine about not having a mother or father…”

  “Then why are you here, sugar-plumb? Not that I’m not really enjoying our special little talk.” He chuckled provocatively. There was no doubt his remark was a reference to his hand on his “package”.

  She hesitated a moment, waiting for the right amount of suspense to build before dropping the bomb. The one thing she really had wanted to say to her father when the time came. The thing that would set the tone for her for the rest of her life if she came by the reaction she suspected to get. His reception now could confirm her suspicions about her mother and herself, and the “gifts” she’s had to live with.

  He could almost see it coming in her strategic silence and tried to brace himself for the blow…

  “I’m here to look into the eyes of the monster who murdered my mother.”

  The Earth stood still.

  His facial expression went from “fuck you” to “oh, fuck…” and he leaned back as if he could escape his own surprise. It was as though he was confronted by the only possible thing left in his life that could actually get a rise out of him. She couldn’t have known what he’d done… His accomplice made uncovering any trace of it impossible…

  He was so noticeably affected by her accusation that his stupor told her exactly what she wanted to know. It’d almost completely confirmed that, one: her mother didn’t die from complications during child birth – unless the term “complications” encompassed premeditated murder due to a lethal cocktail in her saline solution followed by a hospital-pillow-sandwich. And, two: her dreams were real. She had seen her mother murdered by her father…and now she was sure she knew why…

  “You’re not really my father, are you.”

  3

  Sharp claws clicked against cement in the distance, and Alex clutched the pepper spray in her palm. She hurried down the concrete sidewalk, trying to keep ahead of the feeling that something was watching her, scrutinizing her very existence…

  No one was left on the streets at this point, which was odd since her neighborhood never slept. The block was barren, empty and grim. The street lights flickered and struggled against the dark, but were ultimately defeated, quivered, and then burnt out, leaving a black, lightless void ominously lingering in her path.

  She heard what sounded like whispers in the wind that crept through the block, but couldn’t be sure if they were real or just her hyped-up senses acting on overdrive. She didn’t know what exactly was happening, but was sure she wasn’t alone. Something had followed her, expertly concealing its presence like a predator stalking its meal, and the night itself conformed to its decree.

  A chill climbed over her spine that was so intense it rung in her ears just as a gust of wind blew passed her face and nefariously whispered her name…

  “Alex……”

  She jerked her head, looking over her shoulders. The whisper was so clear that if it was a real voice, the mouth that breathed it would’ve been inches from her ears. The wind even felt warm on her lobes when it spoke her name and she wanted to scream in the hopes she’d get some reaction from her surroundings. Maybe a Good Samaritan from an apartment nearby, running out to check on her… Or, hell…even a bum would do. Anything to break the stillness she was drowning in that enshrouded her like a dream she didn’t realize she was having.

  And like a knife in her gut, her cellphone blared out loud, startling her terribly, shortening her breath. But when that passed, it was a blessing to hear. She reached into her purse when it rang a second time, pulled it out and placed it to her ear, not bothering to look to see who was calling.

  “Hello?”

  Her voice shook when she spoke, struggling to maintain control.

  “Hi… Alex? It’s Terry. I’m a friend of your brother’s.”

  She didn’t know him well but knew of him. “Terry, hi.” Then it hit her. “What’s wrong? Where’s Marty?”

  “Nothing’s wrong, sweetheart, he’s okay. …Umm… He’s in the hospital, but he’s gonna be fine. It’s just a concussion. He didn’t have his phone on him and couldn’t remember yur number.” Something in his tone made her feel uneasy, her insides twisting at the conjecture. “There was an, uh, accident on the ice.” He paused and the silence between them filled her mind with dread. Then: “Just…just come down whenever you can. Don’t…don’t worry, though. Really. He’s okay.”

  Nothing else mattered now. Her bad dream was over, she thought…

  Or had it just begun?

  “Where is he?”

  Terry texted her the details after he let her go, and she conquered the stairs to the entryway of her apartment building through the fog of her worry. She got back on her phone when she found her apartment and called a friend for a ride, all the while unknowingly leaving a trail of freshly bloodied footprints behind her pointing right to the front of her door.

  Consanguineous Congregations

  Culver City Hospital; Los Angeles, CA:

  Submerged under an ocean of slumbering delusions, Marty dreamt of a young, long-legged blond in his hospital bed, his face hosting a frigid icepack on his lumped and scuffed up forehead. He hid a mischievous grin under a swollen upper lip and afternoon stubble like a secret, temporarily enjoying his tranquil moment of recovery.

  The blond in his dream was named Tara: an infrequent girlfriend of his that couldn’t manage to hold his attention long enough for him to slap an official title to. Their partnership seemed to have more of a convenience theme to it as opposed to an actual, real emotional attachment. Contrary to what one might think, considering Marty’s reluctance to “seal the deal”, she was noticeably appealing. A tall dirty-blond with an athletic figure, his favorite features were her soft lips and lightly freckled nose. She tended bar at a hole-in-the-wall he and the boys nick named “The G-Spot” where they’d rally after games to drink to their victories or sulk in defeat. In his dream, he and his teammates were getting rip-roaring shit-tanked at the leisure of the establishment, celebrating while toasting loosely to their claim of a second championship. It was a scene set a year in the past that felt vaguely familiar, but he dismissed it as turbulence due to his rambunctious swilling of stout and turbid ale.

  Tara poured him stiff double-shots at the bar, one after the other, and he’d knock them back as fast as she could fill them up. Jager, after Jack, after Jim. The taste was musty and bitter on his tongue and his gut felt as though his thirst couldn’t be quenched. His accustomed surroundings were garbled and hazy, and the majority of the bar’s occupants were of a fairer sex than on most drinking nights. There were girls in plaid skirts and tight tube-tops scampering about, wearing colorful plastic beads, smiling and pressing their breasts against his back when they’d pass. Raising glasses with his teammates, they’d cheer and laugh and spill beer down the fronts of their shirts while happily toasting to whatever would get them another round.

  Tara slowly
leaned over the bar, purposely flaunting her cleavage and puckering her pretty lips like she’d do when she’d want his attention, and she pushed her streaky, blond hair to one side. She seductively brushed the skin of her lips up against his ear and kissed his lobe softly to start, then gently nibbled at its edges. First it was an arousing tease, and Marty smiled and chuckled at the sensation. But soon a pinch intruded on his pleasure and pressure began to build as she bit harder into his flesh…

  Pain shot through his head from one side to the other, stabbing at the back of his eyes. She clamped down – grinding – tearing at his cartilage, and he found himself frozen from the shock and growing agony that rang through the meat of his skull.

  He grunted against the grip of her jaws and grabbed a fistful of her hair. His blood pouring from the open wound in his ear gushed between her teeth, morbidly painting the bar with splashes of his pain. It filled the empty shot glass under him until it spilled over its brim, the pure insanity burning in her stare enough to make any man fear for his genitals.

  The glass fell from the counter in the midst of their struggle when she finally ripped a chunk of ear from the side of his face and chewed on it in front of him, giggling hysterically with his maimed flesh squishing like bubblegum in between a blood-dripping smile…

  “Marty…”

  He groggily thrashed about in his cot, still caught in the intensity of his dream, resurfacing slowly to a familiar tone of a young woman’s voice.

  “Marty!” She snapped his name a second time when he didn’t respond. “Wake up!”

  He heard his sister’s distant call through a hypnagogic daze and fluttered his lids, wincing from the pain in his ear. Alex had her hand to the right of his face, pinching his lobe between two fingers until it turned a painful shade of plumb. He eventually recognized the culprit of his torment and swatted at the nuisance.

  “Oww… What…what the hell?! …Stop!”

  “You were smiling.” She wasn’t afraid to accent her irritation through inflections. She let his ear go and replaced her death-grip with a flustered scowl. “What the hell were you smiling about?”

  “Shit…” He looked around with a pained grimace. His head was throbbing, and he wasn’t real clear on where he was. “I was…having a good dream…until you showed up. …It…was about Tara… She…”

  “Don’t.” She didn’t want to hear about her brother’s erotic imaginings. “Don’t tell me. It didn’t look appropriate.” She sighed. “Are you alright?”

  “No, goddamn it, my fucking ear hurts.”

  “Oh, don’t be such a wuss. It’s just a little red.” She gave it another flick for good measure.

  He flinched at her sisterly hazing and responded with a sarcastic glare. “Yeah, nice, sis. Thanks.”

  He scooted upright to look around the room, spotting a paper cup with water in it on a tray next to his sister. He reached for it so she picked it up and gave it to him, her hands mildly shaking but Marty didn’t notice.

  “So, really, are you okay?” Her voice softened and a hint of concern slipped through. Under her sturdy disposition, she always had a soft spot for her older brother’s wellbeing and was more worried than she wanted to let on. Things just didn’t feel right right now, like a force beyond reckoning tugged intrusively at the strings of their lives.

  Marty practically inhaled the water from the stingy cup and a few leftover drops dribbled off his chin. He crumbled it up in his hands and threw it to the side. He wasn’t sure how to answer her question. He felt like shit but he knew he’d be fine – though he was pretty sure that that wasn’t the answer she was fishing for. He decided not to bother responding since he didn’t know what to say.

  Alex wasn’t sure if now was the right time to bring it up, but figured the situation was better addressed sooner rather than later. Albeit inconvenient and amply agonizing, sooner happened to be now, but later sounded better by the second… Her focus shifted away from him when contemplating her words, then back to his distraught, bloodshot gaze.

  “I know what happened out on the ice today.” She paused strategically, weighing his reaction and giving her comment a chance to sink in.

  He was staring forward at nothing at first, almost as if he wasn’t listening, then put a hand to his brow. The icepack on his head wasn’t cold anymore, so he slid it from his forehead to chuck it angrily across the room. It slapped the wall under the television mounted near the ceiling and made a thud when it hit and a smack as it met the floor. He looked like he wanted to say something, but couldn’t find any words that mattered.

  Alex buckled a little at the pain in his eyes, swallowing the concern in her throat. She was trying her best to be strong for her brother, like he’d always been for her, but she’d never seen him so shaken before.

  He put his hands back over his eyes and she put hers on his shoulder. His body quivered as a tear snuck out from under his palms. Alex let one escape her eye as well (as if their emotions were symbiotic and whatever he felt, she involuntarily reacted to), but she quickly wiped the evidence from her cheek, not wanting her sentiments to escalate his.

  After a few seconds of manfully restrained sobs, Marty took in a deep breath then let it out as a loud, aggravated sigh.

  “Ahhhhhhfffffuuuckkk!” His sigh very naturally morphed into a swear. “Fuck, fuck, FUCK!!” He slid his hands from his face and wiped away the wetness, groaning in frustration. “I really fucking hated that asshole.” He almost laughed at that but didn’t have the energy. “I can’t believe I…” His mouth wouldn’t let him form the words. “I didn’t, did I? I mean…it was an accident…wasn’t it?” He looked over at his sister, pleading for moral support, eyes puffed and red.

  Alex couldn’t help but let another tear fall at the sight his torment. “Yeah.” She said it because it was what he needed to hear. “I know you wouldn’t…” Then her sentence trailed off, hanging unfinished in the air, not entirely convincing.

  “Do you?”

  She avoided his stare, uncomfortable with her own doubt, but thought it through and looked back confident and sure.

  “Yes. I do know. You’re not a killer, Marty. You didn’t mean for this to happen.”

  He broke their gaze.

  Her reassurance made him feel better. Pressure released from his chest that made a world of difference, like a valve opening up so he could finally breathe. He didn’t care if the rest of the fucking planet thought he was a monster as long as his little sister knew he wasn’t. The last thing he ever wanted was for her to think for even a second he was anything like his sadistic father. He let out another deep breath as a release before going on.

  “Shit, Lex… What the hell am I gonna do?” That pressure that’d just left his chest started building all over again. “Fuck… They’re probably gonna send me to jail for this shit,” he shook his head. “It was a fair fight! It’s fucking hockey! It’s like someone dying from a dogpile in football or somethin’, right?”

  She wanted to say yes, but…

  “I don’t know, Marty… Yeah, I mean, I agree with you. I…I just don’t know…” She almost choked from the uncertainty in her heart. “Terry said the refs were trying to stop you, but you just kept hitting him. They said you went crazy.” She hated having to say it but it needed to be said. “You scared the shit out of people, Marty. There were kids in the audience, and families, and I don’t think that’s gonna go over well in court. The league already stated they’re not paying for your lawyer, so it’ll have to come out of our pockets…”

  “My pocket. I don’t want…”

  “No.” She shook her head, insistent. “Stop right there. We’re not doing this right now. I don’t wanna hear any of that macho, big brother bullshit. I’ll help in any way I can whether you like it or not.”

  Marty wasn’t about to argue with her. He couldn’t win this one even if he tried.

  “Yeah, I
know. Sorry. I just…I just don’t want this to ruin both our lives.” His chest deflated with a sigh. “Fuck, I’d rather rot in prison with dad than take you down with me.” That thought marinated in their silence for a moment. “Shit, I’d love to get my hands on that old bastard for what he did to mom…”

  “Stop, Marty. Okay? Just stop. That’s exactly the type of stupid shit that got you into this mess. You need to relax and start thinking with your head and not your fists.” She smacked her hands on top of his to emphasize his swollen knuckles.

  She was right. She usually was. Alex had always been the brains of the family. Marty wasn’t stupid by anyone’s standards, but Alex was easily above average when compared to any random gathering. She’d always helped him to see things more clearly through the fog of anger that would frequently cloud his judgment. He inherited that instability from his father. She obviously wouldn’t have that problem.

  “Alright,” he winced, eyes closed, “just…give me ’til tomorrow.” The pain in his head wasn’t helping him think. He needed rest.

  “The doctor said she wants you here for another forty-eight hours…”

  “Forty-eight?!!”

  “Forty. Eight. Hours. Just relax, okay? The minute you get out of here, your life’s gonna turn into a fucking zoo, so just sit tight for as long as you can. I’ll get in touch with a lawyer for you and we’ll get through this. Together.” She got up to walk out of the room, her mind racing but focused and in control.

  “Alex.” He stopped her from leaving before he could tell her how much he cared. “I love you, sis.” He tried digging up a smile, but it didn’t really come out right. “And, I’m sorry.” He didn’t need to say it; he just felt he should. “You take it easy too, okay? You always worry too much about me.”

  She turned back and found time in her distracted scamper to conjure up a genuine smile. She walked back toward him, leaned over and kissed her brother on the forehead.