Evan Burl and the Falling, Vol. 1-2

by Justin Blaney

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Evan

  Thursday

  9:29 am

  37 hours, 20 minutes until the falling

  Someone rubbed my arm. I tried to focus and saw Yesler and Ballard standing over me. My head ached; someone might have been pushing needles through my skull.

  "You're doing it wrong," Ballard said.

  "What would a worthless lump like you know about it?"

  "You're supposed to gauze the wound then use a pad that won't stick to it before putting on the wrapping."

  I tried to lift my head. Some kind of haze swallowed me; I felt smothered, chained to the bottom of a lake. Images and sounds broke inside my head; nightmares from the restless spell I had been under. Pushing the images away, I tried to focus my strength, to find the power to fight Ballard and Yesler off. I had to find Pearl. But my body wouldn't cooperate.

  The floor appeared in blurry detail. A scorpion seemed to stare at me, about six inches from my face. It took a few steps, paused, then scurried off.

  A shadow appeared. Blurry, then sharp. The head of an asp leaned over me. It swooped down, fangs dripping with venom. I covered my face, but it didn't strike. When I looked again, the asp was gone. In its place stood Ballard. He rubbed gauze on my arm.

  "Pity we have to clean it at all," Yesler said. "We could save time and take off the whole arm." Yesler lifted my head then poured something that tasted like vomit mixed with oil into my mouth. I sputtered. He held my mouth shut until I swallowed. The world tilted sideways. Their voices grew faint.

  Flexing my stomach, I tried to sit, but gravity wouldn't release me. Nightmares floated up through the cracks in the marble landing—corpses' hands pulling me down into the earth. Creatures appeared. Faces. Little Saye. Anabelle. Lucy. They said, "time to sleep."

  "You should be more careful," Ballard said.

  "Why's that?"

  "He could get angry."

  "I'm not afraid of Mazol."

  "Not Mazol." He pointed at me, only the tip of his finger in focus. "Him."

  "The gimp's an eggplant." Yesler kicked me in the gut. "See."

  "He won't sleep forever."

  "He's always sleeping. Even when his eyes are open."

  Footsteps moved down the hall, their voices grew faint.

  "Evan didn't do anything to deserve this," Ballard said.

  "He was born. That was enough."

  "Maybe he'd turn out different if he had a proper family."

  "You want to be the gimp's daddy?"

  "No—"

  "None of us have fathers; we turned out fine."

  "I had a father."

  "Yeah, and he beat you stupid..." Yesler's voice faded.

  I tried to keep breathing, pushing my hands against the floor. Had to fight the dreams, had to find Pearl, but the hands were vices. They pulled me through the marble floor, into the nightmares, into a gravebox buried beneath the tiles.

  Pearl lay next to me. She stared, eyes white. Her lips never moved, but she spoke. "You said you'd take care of me."

  "The skull—" I started to say.

  "I don't want it anymore. Take it back."

  Then, right before I blacked out, I thought I heard the sounds of a party.