by K. Massari
“Leave it be now. It is time.”
Larry screamed “NO!” and tried to wrench free of Danny’s grip. Wallace had reached the water, and Ray’s ghost handed him the corpse of a girl who had died such a long, long time ago. The crowd gasped as the veil appeared, its beauty intoxicating, otherworldly.
The veil was further out in the water, undulating ever so softly and sparkling - Wallace had to strain to see - in the colors of a rainbow. The ocean water it rose from was velvety dark in the clear starry night. Behind it Valeria stood waiting, larger than life, surrounded by the layers of a red gown, her arms outstretched. She nodded.
Wallace stepped into the water, splashing forward, determined.
Larry cried out behind him: “Don’t do it! It’s a trap! You’ll never come out alive!”
Foam gushed up in front of Wallace; he was nearly thrown sideways, but with big steps he marched on, ready for sacrifice, if necessary. The Man had clambered up, and Ray came, too, both of them following, the wicked crew defeated, throwing away their bats, their shovels, their venom, the men holding the women, holding bottles of liquor, too; it had finally happened, the breaker had fought the evil in this town, and - was winning.
Larry had plowed into the water behind them, looking about in a disoriented way, not sure what to do. His hands were on his hips, still feeling in command.
“Heavenly Father …” Wallace muttered, and - carrying his precious cargo before him, pushed into the veil, blinded, but exhilarated, as Valeria’s soul reunited with her body. The Man and the ghost of Ray Lighthill followed, their arms around each other’s shoulders. The veil shimmered brilliantly one last time, and was gone.
Chapter 25
Wallace nearly tripped as he worked his way out of the bushes … sleepy, shaky, his vision blurred. He did not remember much, only that the ground had not been hard and hostile, as he thought it would be, but nearly soft and comforting; though, a blanket, or a woman, would have made the experience even more enjoyable. He looked out onto the ocean. He had spent the night outside.
It was a hazy day, would be hot. His stomach growled and his lips were parched. Coffee - his body and mind demanded coffee, and lots of it. He looked down on his once-white T shirt; embarrassing to walk to even a burger joint like this. His pants were still wet and stained. He did not dare let his mind wander to what had happened the night before. Wallace saw The Man sitting on an abandoned log, his hands by his sides. He did not want to talk to him just yet.
Wallace looked out over the ocean once more. Little tufts of white foam whipped up from the idle waves. He did not see the veil, did not believe in it. A faraway dream, he thought, as a headache started to throb behind his temples. He shuffled through the sand, kicked up some. What did it matter … what did anything matter.
Wallace put his hand on The Man’s shoulder.
“Can I get you some coffee?”
“Perfect knowledge. Cannot be kept from within the veil.”
“What?” asked Wallace, rubbing his face.
“It was important. It was important to me once.”
“Well, not much is important now. Huh?”
The Man scrunched his face in pain at the harsh words. Wallace regretted the bite and the sarcasm. He sat down next to his haphazard friend, groaning with fatigue, feeling defeated.
“I don’t know your name? What’s your name?”
When he did not get an answer, Wallace squeezed The Man’s shoulder gently. A breeze was starting to turn into a wind. Wallace thought of getting up and seeking shelter, even more so as a few raindrops started to fall.
“Valeria …”
Wallace rose to his feet and stared out at the ocean one last time.
Whatever it had been, a nightmare, or perhaps … some of it had really happened - it was gone now, and Wallace was left with an empty stomach and a bummer of a headache. He left The Man on the beach and meandered through the morning sidewalks, drunk with longing, not finding an anchor, nothing to hold on to.
He scratched his head, he looked forward and back, could not find anything or anyone familiar. Cars passed. Pain began to bubble up, and if he stood on the sidewalk much longer, he felt he might break out in a sob. So he marched determinedly in the direction of the nearest shops; any place for coffee would do. He trotted, sure he would fall eventually, and just stay down wherever he fell.
~
Wallace did not notice the large Chevrolet slowly following him. At a corner, it turned and blocked his way. Larry leaned over and opened the passenger side door for him. “Get in,” he said. Wallace was not thinking and did as he was told. The Chevrolet roared to life. Wallace numbly fastened his seatbelt, like a child picked up from a fight. He stared straight ahead, and Larry drove.
They stopped at a Starbucks, Wallace getting out, and Larry finding a place to park. When they were settled in with their lattes, Larry outlined a work project he needed help with, and Wallace nodded. Larry smiled a broad smile. Wallace wanted to ask: ‘Why are you still alive, Larry?’ But he decided against it.
“So are you ready for it?”
“Yes, of course, Mr. Goode.”
“Get some sleep. I’ll take you to your brother’s house.”
“Oh - and shave, will ya?”
Wallace was too exhausted to object. ‘I don’t live there, and I’m not welcome to visit, I’m not even tolerated.’ He gulped down his coffee and tried to smile. It didn’t work. He grimaced.
“I thought you wanted to tear it down …”
“Things have changed. Harold was … having difficulties all along. He’s not there anymore.”
Wallace ran a finger along the edge of his coffee cup. He would have liked to ask more questions about his elusive brother. This did not seem to be the right time, though.
“Okay. Take me there?”
“Sure.”
Goode got up and stretched. He was a handsome man. How many Goode’s had there been, over the years. Did they just keep coming back? Did the story repeat over and over again? Or was it one and the same devil - bound to live forever?
Larry smiled. Wallace smiled back. ‘No!’ his alter ego screamed. ‘No!’
“You lost a little weight, fella!” he exclaimed.
Wallace felt uncomfortable. He laughed, and waved a hand. Walking to the car, he looked over his shoulder to see if Goode was following, but Larry was busy flirting with two young girls at a table next to the one they had occupied. The car was locked, so Wallace leaned against it.
“You don’t seem to remember, huh?” Larry called out.
Wallace shrugged.
“This -” Larry pointed vaguely in the direction of the girls.
“I have no idea what you mean …”
“Your dad was a player. Don’t you think? Why would your family own that house?”
As they drove along, Wallace recalled sentences and fragments of sentences, scenes from such a long time ago. And yet it was all very vivid. There had been leaks, outraged parents - though most of the children were sired for the express purpose of spending a life of torture, and their mothers were the poorest of whores. The men had decided it was time to close the establishment for a while, and to get rid of any witnesses and all evidence.
That meant murdering their own young. They went about it with purpose and dedication. Many of the girls, the healthiest ones, were sold off. The less pretty and sickly ones were drowned and cemented into the outer walls of Wallace’s father’s house - one of the Larry’s of the past. Their souls cried out in anguish for so long. They could not move on. Some did however, appear, and communicate and some could transform, taking on the shapes of hyenas, running wild in the neighborhood. The hyenas were the ones sworn to revenge.
But there were hyenas that came from hell, looking for people they could murder and whose bodies they could use, to salvage the poor souls of the abused children for the evil side, because their suffering was so exquisite, so unique.
As Wallace slammed the door to Larr
y’s Chevrolet, he wondered how he could have lived with so many secrets for so long. Of course! It all came back to him now, clear as the light of day. He walked through the gates of the house he had known until his parents divorced, prepared for just about anything, but there was a tranquility about the gardens that was unmistakable. As he passed the outer facade, he saw Harold’s face, still alive, melded with the bricks and the white paint, formed to become one. He would stay there, Wallace guessed, for all eternity, and even if Larry decided to tear the place down entirely, a ghost version of it would remain. Further up, he recognized Danny, and even further up buddies of Larry, the whole gang. The veil had meted out the punishment.
Harold mouthed the words: “Help me.”
When Wallace turned away from him in disgust, there stood Valeria, in Spanish red and black, a veil shielding her eyes. Her luscious lips were painted a glossy red. Wallace cringed at the sight of the black veil of death, even though he longed to taste the cherry-red lips.
Had they not defeated death? Could they not live together now?
Chapter 26
She stood on a vast expanse of burnt lawn, waiting. Wallace held out his arms. She did not react. What was wrong? Was it Larry? As long as he still walked in this community with his head held high, there would be no justice? No peace?
“I will summon the veil,” Wallace said weakly.
Valeria nodded. “You can do that,” she said.
“Or I can shoot the bastard,” muttered Wallace bitterly.
Harold’s bony hand shot out of the wall of the house, and clawed into Wallace’ flesh; the shrieks coming from the captive demons were gut-wrenching.
“Make the veil come back, forgive US this time!” they wailed.
“You can summon the veil only one last time,” said Valeria, her voice sounding muted, as if she were far away or unable to communicate.
“I want to know one thing!” yelled Wallace in torment, as blood began to drip and pool from the wound inflicted by Harold.
“What must I do to be with YOU?”
Valeria looked at him sadly, black rings around her lovely eyes, garments flowing in the wind. Slowly, her body dissolved, turning to dust, rushing downwards, into the earth.
Wallace tried to yank his arm away from an ever vindictive Harold. Just as the pain threatened to blind him, Ray appeared and held out a cross, laying it on what was left of Harold’s forehead.
“Go to hell alone,” he said, as Harold let loose Wallace’ arm.
Ray smiled a ghastly smile - and disappeared. The perpetrators were sculpted into the wall of the house. They did not squirm any longer. They were one with the bricks. Silence followed, Wallace ripping off a piece of his shirt and making a bandage for his wounds. They were still bleeding.
Worse was the feeling of disappointment in his heart. He had not failed the test. He had not failed as a breaker. And yet, there was nothing he had gained.
Stunned, he sat on a stone in the garden, his back to the house, and wished to die. There was no sense in living a life devoid of success over evil. Malevolence triumphed, and only a battle here or there could be won. Clouds fled before the sun, it was getting dark and cold. Wallace had tears in his eyes as he looked to the heavens, wondering.
“Valeria was my reward!” he cried out.
His words rang hollow, a graveyard silence echoed them back. The house stood in the near-dark as a reminder of the crimes committed, and the loss of family Wallace would always be aware of.
Getting up, Wallace realized how hungry he was. He hadn’t eaten all day. It didn’t seem to matter, much worse was the lack of spiritual and emotional nourishment. Valeria had fulfilled him in so many ways. And so had Ray, even Danny. They were no more. Only Goode was still alive. And for all Wallace knew, he stood parked outside a school right now, sizing up the pretty little blonde girls, selling them with his phone to the highest bidder.
Wallace remembered Ray had a small handgun. Wallace considered summoning the veil - one last time. With a bitter taste in his mouth, he thought shooting Larry and having supernatural powers would probably not even be enough to stop the bastard. Valeria was weakened, perhaps even gone.
Wallace got in Harold’s car, key still in the ignition, and drove the four blocks to Ray’s house. Whatever time had elapsed, it was no longer the scene of Ray’s murder. It had a serene air about it, new curtains, and Wallace wondered … who lived there now? How much time had been fastforwarded? There was only one way to find out. He parked the car and rang the doorbell.
~
A woman opened the front door, with white hair, a tan complexion and a sweet smile. The similarity was unmistakable and Wallace realized this was Ray Lighthill’s sister, his only sister from Wisconsin. He had helped set Ray up on the internet to write her e-mails. She welcomed him and shook his hand, squeezing it.
“Why, come in, Wallace,” she said.
She led him into the kitchen, the old familiar kitchen he had eaten pancakes with Ray in. “Coffee?” she asked and smiled. “Always,” he answered.
They sat down, and Wallace could only appreciate her beauty and kindness. It ran in the family.
“How long have I been …?” he asked.
“It’s been a few days.”
“Has he been buried?”
She nodded. Wallace helped himself to some cream.
“You don’t know my name, do you?”
“Mary Virginia.”
“Yes!” she clapped her hands once and laughed.
“How did he die?”
Mary bowed her head; it took a few moments before she could speak.
“Goode had him bludgeoned to death, then blamed it on you.”
“I am not surprised.”
“What he didn’t know was that Ray’s kids had come back to check on their old man.”
“Okay.”
“And Larry had his men go after them, too, and the police detective.”
“What happened?”
“You ARE the breaker. You summoned the veil, just in time.”
“But Larry …”
“He’s still here. One or the other version of himself.”
“Forgive me, Mary, but I am not in the mood for conversation,” Wallace said.
“I understand.”
“I am going to need Ray’s gun.”
Mary Virginia got up quietly and left the room. Wallace looked around somberly. He did not want to leave. But he had no choice.
When she came back, she put the gun on the table in front of him. She touched his shoulder.
“You can always come back. You can live here, for free. There will always be a place for a man like you.”
“Thank you very much. You are very kind.”
He finished his coffee and took the gun. She pulled him back. Embracing him, she kissed him quickly with passion and hope. They hugged each other in a fierce way. Then he turned to leave without looking back.
Larry was waiting outside in his car, the motor idling.
“Get in,” he called out, noticeably intoxicated.
Wallace was about to decline, but it had to end. He pulled himself into the car and slammed the door.
“Drive down to the beach!” he ordered.
“Yeah! Let’s get it done,” Larry answered.
Chapter 27
There was a black Honda, but no beautiful girl in a black top standing next to it. Wallace missed her shiny black curls and her slender, tan, tattooed arms. Her perfume. How he longed to be with her! Why did the world always have to get in the way?
Larry had exited the car also and was marching to the beach. He had a gun in the back of his jeans. A showdown - Wallace felt defeated, he was just not the right type of person for this. He went down on his knees, trying to pray, to hide, to conjure a memory or a dream to help him with this.
“Come out here and fight like a man, you pussy!” Larry roared, much to the amusement of some girls strolling along the beach.
&nbs
p; Wallace remembered other girls, the ones in the graveyard, their stories, their pain. He prayed for the veil to appear, wished for it. He did not want to open his eyes and find it not there. When he did open them, the veil rained down, glistening, into the ocean. Behind it was Valeria. Her garments were not red and black this time, they were pink and white - there was hope. The Man came out on the beach, sober and smiling.
It was then that Larry shot him.
Wallace fell backwards, crying out in agony.
“There! That’s how long you will last, you fool!” Larry yelled, a sweaty look of victory and self-righteousness on his face.
When Wallace opened his eyes again after the shot and blinked through the tears, the veil was still there, coming in closer, with Larry as its prey, it would envelope him, consume him, and Wallace would not have to kill.
But no, it stopped. There was hesitation.
Wallace needed to make a decision.
“Larry, are you aware of how many lives you have ruined?” Wallace asked.
“What?” drooled Larry in response.
“How could you just shoot him?” Wallace said, his voice cracking.
Larry pointed his gun at The Man again, and fired it, over and over.
“STOP!” screamed Wallace.
Larry then pointed the gun at him. They stood facing each other, in silence, breathing hard.
“You owe me. You are my son. I have more children than I can ever count. But anyway. You’re mine. There is nothing you can do to change that. You aren’t any different. You just think you are.”
“You’re lying,” whispered Wallace.
“Valeria was MY wife.”
“NO!”
While the bullet was travelling, the veil approached Larry from behind with all its eerie, starry-colored beauty. It enveloped him, dragging him into the ocean, sucking the life out of him, then losing all of its energy, dropping onto to him like a huge jellyfish washed ashore. Briefly, his skeleton remained, then turned to dust as Valeria walked over it. Only his scream of agony echoed quietly out beyond the waters, heard by no one with the exception of the two lovers.
“Is he gone?”
