by K. Massari
But Wallace was not entirely sure. He had won a fierce battle or two, but the war was still up ahead. People brushed against him, stumbled into him. They halfheartedly apologized with a sneer. He was surrounded. They could make good on their promise to kill him, but why had they not done so already? Something was holding them back.
He walked briskly to the doors of a major department store. He hurried in and rushed past clothes and other merchandise, eager to make it out the back while trying to shake off any memory of the encounter with Danny. When he scanned the mall parking lot, he saw five of the hyena creatures standing next to their cars, sniffing the air. Some were fooling around the way young animals do, one grabbing the hair in the back of the other’s head and yanking it, mock-killing for practice. It could happen at any moment, Wallace thought, and he had to be brave.
Why was the first breaker, The Man, still sitting on the beach next to the small fire circle? Indeed, why? Why had they not eaten him or torn him to pieces?
Wallace tried to walk fast, his stomach wobbling up and down. He was sweating, and he felt the urge to walk faster, even jog or run. There were women in the cars around him, and he knew they would ridicule him if he got any faster, and that would really hurt. He tried to keep going, tried to find strength.
Coming around the corner of the nearest store was Danny with a group of men carrying baseball bats, broken bottles, hammers and screwdrivers, anything to inflict harm. The group was getting larger and larger. Many of them had transformed into furry hyena creatures, exposing themselves shamelessly in broad daylight as the monsters from another reality. The five already in the parking lot came from the other side. Wallace had a sliver of an escape route left.
He also worried there would be no bus for a spell. Could he run to the major thoroughfare and hope to stop a car? He just kept hurrying forward, there was not much else to do. If he turned to fight, it would get ugly, ugly fast.
To his dismay, pickup trucks arrived with new loads of hyena fiends. It seemed to him, there were suddenly more women in cars around, pretty, hot women, staring him over, noticing every flaw of his body. Calm down, he said to himself, it’s natural for women to be shopping at the mall. But he knew deep down, that many super sexy women at one time in one place was not natural. They were after him on purpose, called on by Danny and Danny’s rage.
He had found a weakness, and they were hell bent on punishing him for it.
Danny and his group were gaining ground. They were practically right behind him, and one or the other of the broken bottles grazed the backs of his exposed arms. They were marching in step with him. He did not dare look back or fight. To his left and right sides, gorgeous, scantily-clad women were getting out of their cars, licking their lips and frowning at him, twisting their faces into grimaces of derision and condescension.
Judging by the sound of their feet, there were hundreds, if not thousands behind him, and coming from, well, everywhere. Wallace was sweating, and silently praying. When Danny jumped forward and cut him with a knife, slashing the back of his neck from side to side, he thought, now it is over for me.
He was bleeding, although not very much; however, at the moment, he thought he could take no more. He saw the bus, it was on its way; it was rounding a curve down the road. And suddenly, in a ray of light, Valeria appeared, with her chocolate Labrador by her side. She watched, her face sad and gray, as if in agony. Her powers were waning as midnight approached. But she was there. And she was there for him.
Wallace started to run, he had to reach the bus stop.
At Valeria’s appearance, the angry mob slowed. They were cowed, but it wasn’t over yet.
The bus was advancing at a steady pace. Wallace ran towards it, then jogged beside it. The driver would not open the doors. Finally, it reached the bus stop and the doors opened.
For a brief moment - for as long as it takes to bat an eye, the bus driver looked exactly like Ray Lighthill. He was real, and smiled and nodded approvingly - and then the image was gone. Wallace felt a warm comforting sensation in his heart, as if he were on the right track, the only track. He paused, and tried to recall the image of Ray’s kind face. The bus driver coughed and waved him in. Wallace swiped his card, the doors closed and they were off.
As he took his seat, he saw the hordes pull back, like swarms of insects, retreating slowly, and then getting faster. Danny waved his knife one last time in the distance.
“You’re bleeding,” a woman who sat in the seat behind Wallace said, matter-of-factly. She handed him a fistful of Kleenex and admonished him to ‘have it checked out.’
Wallace thanked her, and pressed the Kleenex to the wound. Soon he stopped, and just watched the scenery move past. It took a while for the bus to get back into the neighborhood. Wallace was grateful for the time it gave him to relax. He wasn’t so sure he could eat anything on this fateful day. He wasn’t hungry at all. He was usually always hungry, around the clock, and always in need of coffee. Then Valeria had given his life purpose.
He got off at the beach. He considered going down to watch the peaceful waves, to just look out over the water, but not yet, time was precious, and there was so much to figure out before he could summon the veil. If he could put all the pieces of the puzzle together, if he could find something that did not quite make sense, maybe he could save Valeria, and the children who had been abused as well. They needed to find their peace, and the neighborhood needed to heal. The hyena murderers could not continue.
He hailed an approaching cab, and upon inspection, the driver looked like a regular guy, no spotted-hyena features, not even for a fraction of a second. Wallace was satisfied, they had backed down a little. He eased into the back seat, daydreaming of losing weight, and some day, having a car again - with Valeria at his side.
The driver was waiting … where did Wallace want to go?
Chapter 20
“Ever hear of Chestnut Avenue?” Wallace asked.
The driver smiled and winked at him, communication through the inside rearview.
“What you are looking for may not be there anymore …”
“Beg your pardon?” asked Wallace, honestly intrigued.
“What is it that you need, son?”
When Wallace did not respond:
“The infamous cathouse?”
“Does everyone know?” asked Wallace, baffled.
“Is that where you want to go?”
“Yes.”
“I am going to need an address.”
“It’s Hayes …”
“Okay.”
“You don’t tell it as a bedtime story, although I guess some really weird people do.”
“I grew up for a few years in this neighborhood, before my mom left. I swear I never heard of it.”
Wallace leaned back, glancing at the Subway restaurant as they passed it. Their sandwiches had always been his favorite food, but on this day, he could not have eaten one.
“Back in the day,” said the driver, “no one talked about it. Nowadays with all the kids and the cameras and the paranormal activity, these things take on a life all their own. One of the … women … a whore … you know …”
Wallace winced at the word.
“… was a real beauty, her name was Valerie or something. She was murdered, and since then she can’t find her peace.” The driver maneuvered a curve.
“Here it is now, Hayes Avenue, Chestnut Avenue before 1900.”
At the exact same spot where Wallace had seen the white mansion - had gone in with Valeria - Larry Goode was now starting to dig. He was building a house not only further back, but also where the whorehouse had stood.
“Larry Goode the entrepreneur bought it, he’s buying up a lot of places. There’s this rumor - only a rumor, mind you - his grandfather killed the girl. Since then she comes back to torment his family, and Goode is crazy about destroying and cementing down everything that has to do with her.”
“I’ve heard that part, too,” Wallace a
dmitted, collecting coins from his wallet.
“There are other voices,” the cab driver continued. “Some folks worship her, they say she’s a saint. That she died to protect other girls from being abused. That she tried to kill Goode’s grandfather, if only to make it all stop. That there was worse going on. Little boy and girl slave trade, that sort of thing.”
After a pause, he added:
“Some people even go so far as to say that it was not Goode’s grandfather, that the original Goode never died …”
“A vampire?” Wallace asked jokingly.
He then paid the driver, but stayed in the backseat. He looked into the driver’s eyes through the inside mirror.
“Have you seen her?” he asked. “Have you?”
The driver hesitated.
“Did she have a message for you? And important message?”
“Yeah. That she did. She has an important message for everyone.”
“What?” Wallace put a hand on the driver’s shoulder.
“There is a God.”
Wallace covered his eyes for an instant, to think. Then, he got out of the car, and leaned in through the open window on the passenger side.
“Thanks, buddy. I appreciate it.”
The driver nodded, and drove off.
Part IV
Chapter 21
Wallace tried to make eye contact with Larry, but the contractor was working furiously. Their lives had changed so much in a mere 48 hours. Wallace just stood on the sidewalk and stared. Was there any chance that Valeria was really haunting Goode, and he was the victim? Wallace’ instincts told him NO.
Larry ignored him, which perhaps was a breath of fresh air, some time to think and gather strength. Wallace found Harbor Road and turned to walk down it for ten blocks. He knew at one point he had to face the situation at Ray’s house, if only to retrieve his few belongings. It was a crime scene now, the police were on the lookout for him … but how many of them were deceived and manipulated by the hyena creatures or had turned into hyena creatures themselves?
As he was approaching Larry’s house, the one he had helped to declutter, he started to hear the screaming. It was coming from the surrounding houses. The neighborhood was being raided, witnesses were being executed. The final ten hours had begun. Even though he had to fight conflicting feelings, feelings of panic (but then again he also felt bile rising), Wallace kept walking, knowing he had to find the one final missing puzzle piece until midnight, to help Valeria, the other abused children, and the neighborhood plagued by apparitions and senseless violence.
Out of a window, a murdered, bloody woman toppled, her head severed, barely hanging on to the neck and shoulders by a few limp tendons and skin. Blood spilled everywhere, Wallace nearly slipped. The neighborhood was now drenched in blood. The evil was trying to escape, and to drag as many people as possible with it down to the pits of hell.
Fires broke out, and the screaming increased. The anguished people tried to flee in cars and those crashed. Wallace closed his eyes, wishing he were somewhere else, back in time a day or two. Larry’s house was up ahead, and the door stood ajar. Wallace moved towards it, magically pulled and lured forward. Finally, police sirens exploded with a fury of sound that cut into the afternoon air. Wallace quickly entered Goode’s house, and pulled the door shut behind him.
He headed up the stairs towards the attic, skeptical about finding the journal, because it was a piece of the past, linking Valeria to the present. He was most likely too late, and Larry had hidden it somewhere, or destroyed it. He had a hunch about it, however, and was setting out to prove that hunch right or wrong. Wallace had to start somewhere.
Judging by how quiet it was, Wallace thought he must be alone in the house. It seemed like an eternity since he had worked here and talked with Larry, not a mere 24 hours. He slowly went up the stairs, breathing heavily. When he got to the attic, the bay window out front provided him with a unique view of what was going on. It looked like a war scene on a movie set. Smoke was billowing up from many houses, left and right. Necks were being snapped, the souls set free, sent upward, sent nowhere.
Wallace tried to make sense of it all. He wished he had met Valeria and held her close without being caught up in a neighborhood nightmare that went back over decades, if not a century. If she had been just the classy lady that she was, yes, with a car and a house, and money to spare, and they had hit it off the way they did right from the start at the beach, and life had just moved on, that would have been the thing, not the sad, horrific story they were now forced to live out until the bitter end.
Wallace had a view of the entire neighborhood and he saw that at Ray’s house, a man was taking the painting of Valeria out the back door and throwing it into the bed of a pickup. The journal, no doubt, had been destroyed, whatever connection Valeria’s spirit still had to the reality of present times was being plucked to pieces, burnt, swept under, constructed over. Wallace wondered where she was buried, if she had been hidden behind the bricks of his parents’ house as well. If that was why he felt such a close, loving connection to her.
If she indeed had a grave, it was not a grave of decency. She was not a person, she was supposed to spend eternity forsaken and forgotten. Evil people had done evil things, and they just wanted to sweep their crimes under the carpet of time. When he had worked here, Wallace should have stolen the journal, but he was not that type of person.
His eyes began to hurt. He sat down on the dusty, splintered wooden floorboards, leaning against the window frame and watching the enfolding scene in horror. The lids of his eyes grew heavy. Soon, he was asleep.
~
In a dream, he saw himself naked on a bed with red velvet covers. He was not as heavy, somewhat younger, a version of himself in another time. He knew, it was the essence of who he was, but the other person had seen other things, and had been to other places.
He had painted Valeria, the canvas was still wet and full of vibrancy. She was behind a curtain getting dressed, after they had heatedly made love. She was content; she had complimented him on his art, and he had been surprised at how easily the colors flowed and came to life.
Valeria was a natural, her skin perfect. There was warmth in her eyes, kindness, even behind the horrid memories and the bitterness of her daily humiliation. He had been worried at first. By nature he needed to be clean - very clean. His art was pure, he doubted he would find purety in a whorehouse.
Then he had found Valeria.
She came out dressed in next to nothing, dangling the heavy red dress she had worn for her portrait on a finger. One of her suitors had vowed to marry her, to buy her out of this misery, finally.
The ‘Wallace’ of fifteen decades ago was tossed to and fro in a quagmire of conflicting emotions. She brought out in him a feeling that he would have described as love, if he had ever felt such a feeling towards anyone at any time. He usually felt empty. Now, he couldn’t stand to be in a room with her without jealousy, lust and happiness overwhelming him.
He had hardly found her, - now he had to let her go, - to the very man paying for the painting. He looked at the new work of art, and wanted to destroy it. He wanted to grab Valeria and run off with her, lock her in a castle, or take a ship with her to an island. To have her for himself, until the end of his life.
His hands tingled and he yearned to touch her, her waist, her silky thighs.
“You had better go,” she said.
“Lawrence will be back any minute now.”
The painter imagined a fight, with swords, fists, words, smacking his opponent. Glancing at Valeria he wondered, would she be willing to sacrifice financial safety, wealth, luxury, for a starving artist? They both could not afford to love and marry.
He got up and dressed, a stained white shirt, grabbed his boots, stepped into jeans. He longed to kiss her one last time.
“You can’t tell anyone,” she whispered.
“Please.”
“Can I see you again?”
“No,” she answered.
“But you will.”
They kissed passionately and parted ways.
Valeria married soon after, and all the good citizens ‘forgot’ about her past. Lawrence, her husband, built many beautiful mansions, gave back to the community, and was popular with all - there was even talk of his running for office, but he was not the man he pretended to be, he preferred liquor and young women. The younger, the better.
Valeria did not get pregnant. She had much time to herself, and soon, out of force of habit perhaps, drifted back to the house of many pleasures, talking to the girls, inquiring about the men she had known. What she heard was unsettling, especially the parts about her husband. Atrocities were being committed, corpses disposed of.
~
Wallace woke up with a start. He realized how cold it was, shivering in the near dark, in a completely empty attic. He rubbed his arms and tried to get warm. He had been seated in an uncomfortable position for a long time. A white cat was pawing at his arm. When he jerked forward, she galloped away - she vanished. Valeria’s little sidekick had been sent to remind him that time was running out.
Yes, he knew. It would be midnight all too soon, and he wanted to meet his love on the beach. Wallace thought of the veil, wondered if it would help him keep her safe and resolve the conflicts. He wanted her so badly to be a part of his life.
He wiped his eyes, and said a quick prayer out loud. Then he got up and moved on shaky legs towards the wooden steps leading down from the attic; he heard voices below, and hesitated.
The voices belonged to men, and they were arguing; they were discussing something, of an urgent nature, and not quite agreeing. Wallace wanted to imagine Danny and Larry, but somehow the voices were different. One of the voices belonged to Harold. Wallace’ heart sank.
A door slammed. There was silence. Then the conversation picked up again. Wallace rubbed his forehead; in a dream he had remembered a past life with Valeria.
