by K. Massari
“I would take care of you,” Valeria said suddenly, “good care of you!”
“If …” she continued.
“If what?” asked Wallace.
“I had a choice.”
Wallace pulled a chair back for her. She sat, beaming. Wallace eyed the menu. He had not questioned Valeria’s ability to pay for the restaurant. He looked at her timidly.
“Yes, I have money, Wallace.”
“At our … establishment … the money was always flowing.”
“Was it run by Goode?”
“No. He was a guest. At first, anyway. He owns the property now, though.”
“A … guest.”
Wine and pasta were then served with a smile. Valeria raised her glass.
“And you are more than … a guest. You are … my love.”
“Here’s to love,” adds Wallace, visibly moved.
As he glanced quickly over to other guests, he saw hyena features in their faces. He rubbed his eyes and shook his head. Valeria reached across the table for his hands.
“They are forever looking for new hosts to invade. Yes, some of them are probably here right now.”
Wallace swallowed hard.
“Evil is always around us,” Valeria continued. “Enjoy the moment …”
Candles were lit, and Wallace ordered another bottle of wine as Valeria nodded. For a moment, invisible hands reached out and tugged at Wallace T-shirt, grabbed his hair at the back of his head, pulling hard. But it was over in a flash. Like a whiff of bad breath. Wallace closed his eyes. When he opened them, he saw only Valeria, her beautiful lips, her shiny black curls. He took both her hands in his and squeezed.
“I love you.”
“I love you, too, Wallace,” she echoed. And smiled a radiant smile.
She was so alive, how could he possibly accept that her life had been over decades - if not a century - ago.
“I will live on,” she said. “At least for another 24 hours.”
“I will fight for your life. I will fight for our love.”
“Yes, Wallace, you must fight. But it will not be easy.”
With that, he glanced back at the hyena faces seated at the tables all around them staring back at him. They did not like … a breaker. Or so it seemed to him.
It was not going to be easy …
Chapter 14
The drive back was quiet and uneventful. Wallace, riding shotgun, looked up at the stars in the moonlit sky, and sometimes out over the moving masses of dark blue ocean water, with peaks of white foam gently breasting and abruptly vanishing.
Valeria seemed to be concentrating on her driving. She was thin, frail even, and her face looked drawn, chiseled in stone. Beautiful nonetheless. Wallace worried what would happen after the 24 hour deadline. If she vanished, too … and he would never, ever see her again? How could he face life without her?
She did not seem to respond to his thoughts this time. She was worried out of her mind same as he was, he thought. He knew, she cared for the others who had been abused, the younger ones, if not for herself. Or was she fairly certain the third and final breaker would fail, as the others had?
Wallace clenched his fists. He would succeed. He would.
~
As Valeria hesitantly unlocked the front door of the white mansion on Chestnut Avenue, Wallace could hear the gentle scraping of claws on the wooden floorboards; it was like coming home as a couple to greet “the children”. He placed his hand on the small of Valeria’s back, she turned and looked up at him lovingly; a wife and a family, what he had always wanted, but thought of as unattainable.
It was then that Larry Goode jumped them from behind, hurling himself at Wallace, pushing Valeria inside the moment she nudged the door open. They crashed forward together to the sound of shrieking ghosts, cats scooting all over the place, and dogs barking furiously.
“I’m IN,” yelled Larry over his shoulder, to his thugs waiting for orders outside.
Wallace panicked; they intended to raid the house. But why? He had to think fast. He struggled to get to his feet, wondering if Valeria would intervene with her powers … This was a portal to the past. Larry wanted only one thing - to destroy, to strip away all purity and innocence from this world, and, of course, evidence.
Larry held him down, while his men (armed with baseballs bats and broken bottles) stood outside the front door, ready to come crashing in. They did not advance, though - something was holding them back.
Valeria slowly got up and dusted herself off.
“DEMON!” Goode screamed, sweating and spitting.
“What are you? Where did you come from?”
Wallace finally managed to push him off.
“She’s using you, Wallace, don’t you see? She’s pulling you down with her!”
Wallace felt like punching him. He sensed the cats and dogs gathering behind Valeria, sitting in a half circle, listening. They were too real, and they were children.
“Get out of here,” he said to Goode.
“You’ll be sorry!” Goode shouted back at him.
“You forgot your gun, cowboy,” Valeria said softly.
“Guns are useless in this place,” Larry hissed.
“And you … forgot your cross,” she added.
“How long is this haunting shit going to go on?” Larry demanded.
“Until you admit to the wrongdoing, and the children are buried - so that they can move on.”
“That’s utter bullshit!” Larry waved a fist at her.
“I don’t know what you are, but we are putting an end to this.”
“You have the journal,” Valeria said, matter-of-factly. “And the painting.”
“I burned the journal.”
“You’re lying. You thought of burning it, but you weren’t sure. You worry my powers will only increase if you do.”
“What in the name of God do you want, woman?” Larry argued, waving his hands.
“Well, isn’t that obvious?” snapped Wallace.
“She wants justice.”
Wallace watched the walls disintegrate. Where the mansion should have been, there was the cemetery, in darkness, shrouded in fog. Behind the men outside, there were burning buildings, and the beach with waves crashing high.
“Don’t you see?” Goode spat at Wallace. “She is here to destroy!”
“This is crazy.”
Wallace was tempted to pray. He closed his eyes briefly, and recalled the veil, concentrating on its image, its beauty.
The mansion reappeared, cats and dogs sat silently. The men outside relaxed visibly, no more fires, no more storms. Peace descended on all of them.
Wallace realized what it was like to be a breaker. But from the look of vile hatred bubbling up on Larry’s face, he knew the fight was not over, it was far from over.
“You demon! You are using your powers for evil purposes!”
“Stop playing games.” Wallace shot back.
“Something really bad happened here,” he continued, “and if you want to put a stop to it, you have to be honest.”
“Spoken like a true breaker, a special friend of the angels …” Valeria said, only to him.
“I own this land now. And obviously, I am wasting my time here. You’ll be sorry, you fat piece of garbage, you’ll be very very sorry!”
With that, Larry Goode marched out of the mansion with all the self-righteousness he could muster, and his men followed him to the parked cars and pickup trucks.
Wallace watched him go, and waited until the red pickup was long gone. He turned, only to be met with the sounds of joy, the beautiful laughter of happy children. They rushed to him, to “Daddy”, holding onto his trousers, smiling up at him. Valeria was by his side in an instant, squeezing his hand. It all felt very real.
‘They were so young,’ he thought to himself.
Valeria leaned on his arm, she needed his strength, as he needed hers.
“I’m losing my energy, the
time has come …” she whispered.
Wallace lifted one ghost child and sat her in the crook of his arm, and took another by the hand, and, as he kissed Valeria on the top of her head. She looked up at him with deep black circles under her eyes, her lids heavy, her lips purple.
“What can I do …” he implored her.
“You must fight for the light, for our light, … and we need to be buried. The veil is waiting now.”
Wallace was puzzled, but smiled at the child on his arm, a roughly three year old girl with large blue eyes and blond curls. She bore a faint resemblance to Larry Goode, and a thought crossed Wallace’ mind - ‘they made children for the express purpose of … tormenting and torturing them?’
“Oh, you don’t want to know, Wallace, it was so … insane!” Valeria said, her voice cracking, as she was overcome with grief and pain.
The little ones gathered around her. “I have to be strong for you, sweet darlings,” she mumbled, and showed Wallace all the agony in her beautiful face. He reached down and touched her cheek, running a hand over her hair.
“We’ll work it out, we will,” he insisted. But he was not so sure, as doubt crept into his soul.
“We have to go,” one of the ghost children said.
“It’s midnight.”
“Rest, little ones,” said Wallace.
“I love you.”
~
Wallace was alone in the house, which was no longer a house as daybreak was nearing, rather a thought, a memory, or a structure from the past. It was not real. He walked to the window, longing for the reality he knew, the reality of the living, even if that reality provided few prospects for a happy future, and little satisfaction on a day to day basis … except maybe - food. He was hungry, but he needed some time to think. He loved Valeria, but she wasn’t made of flesh and blood the way he was.
He peered through the curtains. The red pickup truck was back, but so were other cars, parked as if they belonged to peaceful neighbors. Wallace could not make out the shape of a driver in the pickup; Larry and his men had probably gone to sleep hours ago after drinking the night away. Wallace let the curtains fall back into place.
The delicate fabric reminded him of the veil. He was on the right side of the veil, and he was its keeper. He made a mental note not to forget, when he was being mobbed, humiliated or tormented again, or being attacked by a gang of hyena-like beings from hell or from another world. He could be strong. Love would give him the strength he needed. Of course, doubt gnawed at his every thought; why would he succeed, if The Man had not only failed, but gone insane? And who had been the second breaker, Harold? Ray? Would he ever know?
“Ray,” Wallace said out loud.
Was it a coincidence that the evil creatures let loose a man’s soul by breaking open his neck? And it was a ‘ray’ of light?
Wallace went into the kitchen and turned the lights on. He opened the refrigerator. He needed to calm himself. He would not be able to sleep on an empty stomach. He took out chicken and coleslaw salad, pound cake and tuna wraps. Morning was a long way off, and he needed strength. He ate slowly, not quite as keen to gobble up the food as he usually was. It seemed to him he had grown more mature, he was no longer the child craving candy and pizza and quick fixes. He had tasted the bitterness in so many lives, experienced what most people never experience. He held a special position now, was a game changer, the one who had to stand up for the good side, for liberty. He had to be prepared for the fight - or lose everything that mattered most once and for all.
Part III
Chapter 15
Esmeralda was frying two green peppers because that was all they had left. She knew this time, Danny would not complain again. Where did all the money go, she wondered. It wasn’t as if Danny did not work, he was never even home with all the work he had.
She could hear her baby girl giggling. An uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach made her bow forward. Not again. Please God, make him leave her alone.
She placed the frying pan aside, and turned off the stove. She wiped her hands on a dishtowel and moved quickly to the doorframe of the nursery. Just in time.
Danny’s head shot around, his eyes were beady black. “You cookin’ or what?” he asked her.
“Yes, I am cooking for you,” Esmeralda replied calmly.
The baby continued playing, seemingly oblivious to the undertone of anger and resentment in their voices.
“Good. Great. ‘Cause I am hungry.”
Danny smiled at the baby girl. He rubbed her back with his hand. “Like your new toy?” he purred. She smiled and nodded slow, little-girl nods.
‘Danny, please don’t do this, don’t do this to us,’ thought Esmeralda. She thought of the constant horror stories she heard in the neighborhood, about a crazed prostitute who was coming back from the dead at all times of day and night, with her pack of hyena demons, terrorizing people because some perverts had sexually abused little girls while she was around, many years ago.
Esmeralda wiped a tear away with the dishtowel. If Danny harmed her baby, ever, she swore, she was coming back from the dead, too. It was as if there were some kind of curse on the neighborhood, a cycle of evil which could not be broken.
~
“Well, hurry up with that food, woman,” Danny yelled.
“I have to help out at Harold’s. Larry is tearing down a wall.”
“Larry is … what?” Esmeralda yelled back.
“He bought the house from Harold, and he is buying the house from Lighthill.”
Danny waited for Esmeralda to respond; when she didn’t, he continued.
“He wants to tear the old houses in the neighborhood down, and build new ones. Lots of work for us.”
“Oh,” muttered Esmeralda to herself.
“A fresh start,” Danny said softly.
“Lay the demons to rest …”
“What? What did you say?” called Esmeralda, straining to hear over the frying in the kitchen.
“Nothing,” said Danny. He tickled the baby and laughed with her.
“Nothing at all.”
~
Wallace was still asleep as the first brilliant, harsh rays of sunlight illuminated his bedroom in Valeria’s love mansion. He was dreaming of his brother, Harold, and their final scene together, as Harold let Wallace know, he could not live with him. A man who looked like Danny, though the moustache was thicker, (there was something about him that made Wallace assume this was another century, the Daguerreotype heaviness of the face, just something …) was pushing a wheelbarrow full of (Wallace sighed and moaned in his sleep) dead young girls in pretty summer dresses. ‘Oh God!’ Wallace said out loud.
This was Harold’s house, but a much earlier version of it. With a conscious part of his mind, Wallace realized this was a possible flashback, or a memory sent to him by Valeria and her small group of tormented souls. He saw with his mind’s eye how the corpses were heartlessly stacked one on top of the other next to bricks and tools for building a wall. They were being disposed of.
At a table further back in the garden, men were drinking at a wooden table, raising their glasses, laughing even, as Valeria (Valeria!) served them more lemonade laced with vodka. Something summery, something strong. She was wearing a white lace tie-up dress (or was it a form of underwear), perfect to accentuate her tan skin and her white teeth. This was another Valeria, a cold, unfeeling woman, working for evil men. She paused briefly, glancing at the dead girls, then hurried into the house trying to avoid trouble.
Wallace did not doubt this time, though, that she was playing along, that she was not a part of it. He saw her reaching for a large knife in the kitchen and he saw her staring at its blade … how many times had she thought of putting an end to the evil goings-on? She put the knife back, as Ray came inside (a much younger Ray, the real Ray’s grandfather, perhaps), who grabbed her playfully but roughly from behind - as she let out a shriek, faking merriment and joy - and pushed her head down, t
hrowing up her skirts. So … not even Ray was completely innocent. No one was.
Valeria in the dream did not cry, she clenched her fists, feigning pleasure, her face, though, was contorted with rage. ‘We will get even someday,’ she might have been thinking. And as Wallace slowly woke up to the fulfilment of sunshine, he realized this day, Friday, was the final day for Valeria. She needed to get justice for all the evil things that had taken place in her life.
Unless she was lying - or perhaps not telling the whole truth. But Wallace was certain, she was the angel, and Goode – he was the adversary.
He jumped out of bed, to greet the morning of the fateful day.
Chapter 16
Wallace brewed himself a strong cup of coffee, all the while worrying the mansion would come apart as he drank it. Is my mind playing a trick on me, he wondered, thoughtfully sipping bitter black joe. He was in the past, in the land of the dead, he was not always in reality. Was the purpose of his being the breaker, to bring all the threads together? He thought of the abused children, their bodies cemented into the walls of Harold’s house, the house, he (Wallace) had lived in until his mom got a divorce. He tried to remember … had the house been haunted then?
As a child, had he been sleeping next to a wall full of the skeletons of murdered children? He shuddered. He needed more coffee. As Wallace added a generous spoonful of white sugar and cream, he sipped more and closed his eyes. The old Wallace began to come back, the one from the modern-day century and reality, the one who had no love except for the love of food, the one who was only learning to love again. He thought of eating, of bacon, of buttery pancakes; then he gulped down the rest of his coffee and turned to leave.
He paused, not quite ready to let go of the front door, willing the brothel to stay in the here and now with him. Perhaps it would whisper its final secrets, tell him what to do. Why was Larry Goode building another house on this land, why had he bought the property? He wanted to erase all of the evidence. He wanted it out of his mind, out of the world.
As if Valeria and the past were bothersome and odious to him.
