by Amy Cross
“You're...”
My voice trails off for a moment, as I feel the blade of the knife pressing harder against my throat.
“You're not my father!” I stammer finally, as I start to realize that I've been fooled all along. “You're just a random old hobo!”
He starts to say something, but in a rush of anger I push him away. As he drops the knife from his hand, I grab him by the shoulders and throw my weight against him, knocking him back until we both land on the conveyor belt that's running straight into the wood chipper's blades.
“You're just a mad old man!” I scream, grabbing him by the throat and holding him down as he struggles. “I should never have listened to you!”
“Get me off this thing!” he yells, as his face once again twists until it resembles my father. “You're not -”
The blades start grinding through the top of his skull, spraying blood and bone against my face. His whole body starts shuddering beneath me, but I keep my hands on his throat as his head is slowly fed into the guts of the machine. I can still see his eyes, and they're open now as the blades cut through his brain. He's still watching up at me, staring at me with my father's face until finally I have to pull my hands away from his throat and clamber off the belt. I watch, shocked, as his body is slowly fed into the machine, and at the last moment I see that the left leg of his pants has been lifted up, revealing what appears to be an old metal leg.
As soon as the metal goes into the machine, the blades start letting out an agonized grinding sound. I take a few more steps back, as the machine splutters to a halt.
He's dead.
Whoever he was, he wasn't the ghost of my father. He was just some random hobo who took advantage of my weakness. When I started calling him Dad, he must have just gone along with it so long as I still delivered the occasional girl to him. He was no god. He was just a mad cannibal living in a cemetery.
A moment later, hearing a shuffling sound nearby, I turn just in time to see that Milly – still wearing the gag – is rushing at me with a chair in her arms. Before I can react, she slams the wood against the side of my head, knocking me back. I slam against the floor, and by the time I get up I can already see her racing up the staircase.
“Wait!” I gasp. “You don't understand!”
I hurry after her, but I slip near the top of the stairs and fall all the way back down. I haul myself up again, and finally I emerge in the clearing. This time, however, I'm too late and Milly is gone. I look around, but there's no sign of her in any direction, and I finally let out a sigh as I realize that there's no way I can catch up to her now.
I look up at the stars, and then I close my eyes and I swear I can feel stardust in the air all around me, drifting against my face.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Richard
Five years ago...
“Oh dear,” the old lady says as she stands in front of me in the queue, searching through her coin purse, “I think maybe I've come out without enough money.”
Not her.
Dad wouldn't want to eat an old lady.
Too chewy.
“What a shock, Mrs. Connor,” the guy behind the counter mutters, as he taps at his phone. “This has never happened before.”
“I might have some more coins here somewhere,” she continues. “Just let me take a look.”
“Victoria, this is Vince,” the guy says firmly, with the phone pressed against his ear. “You might remember me, I'm your boss. Or at least, I am at the moment, but I won't be for long if you don't start showing up for work. This is the second night in a row you haven't appeared. I swear, if I don't hear from you by morning, I'm gonna...”
His voice trails off for a moment.
“You'll be fired, that's what!” he adds finally. “So maybe you want to think about showing signs of basic politeness if you wanna hang on to your job. Believe me, word travels real fast in Sobolton. If I have to fire you, you'll have a hard time getting work anywhere else in town. Call me!”
He sets the phone down, as the old lady continues to search through her purse.
“You're fifteen cents short, Mrs. Connor,” the guy says firmly. “Do we really have to go through this whole performance night after night?”
“Here,” I say, stepping around the lady and setting some coins on the counter. “Let me.”
“You don't have to do that,” the guy replies.
“It's fine,” I tell him, before turning to the lady. “I know what it's like to sometimes be a little short. Please, just let me help out.”
“I have the money at home, you know,” she says, before turning and starting to shuffle away. “It's sitting on the chair next to the window. Yes, that must be where I left it. I feel so foolish, coming out without the money I need to buy some candy. You're very kind, young man. Thank you so much.”
Probably quite gristly, too.
Once she's outside, I turn to the guy behind the counter and see that he looks distinctly unimpressed.
“She does that every night,” he says, rolling his eyes.
“I know,” I reply. “Victoria told me.”
“You know Victoria? You haven't seen her around, have you? She's missed two shifts now and I'm starting to get annoyed. I was supposed to be somewhere tonight.”
“I don't know where she is,” I say, before realizing that maybe I should be a little smarter. “I mean, the other day she was talking about heading out of town for a while. I don't quite remember where, though.”
“Typical,” he sighs. “That girl is always threatening to just take off one day and move to a big city. I guess she got tired of life in that flea pit she shared with a bunch of drug users, huh?”
“I guess,” I reply, although I'm not really sure what he means.
“So she's not coming back,” he mutters, as he starts scanning my two sandwiches. “You'd think she could have at least let me know, huh? I don't suppose you happen to be looking for a job, do you? One you can start right now?”
As he scans my bottle of water, I realize that technically I do need to work.
“Well,” I say cautiously, “I think maybe -”
“Cash in hand,” he adds. “Nothing too official. I like to keep things under the radar.”
“That would work for me,” I tell him, “but I don't have any experience, and I don't have any references, and -”
“Oh, you'll be fine,” he says, coming around the counter to join me. “As soon as you gave old Mrs. Connor that money, I knew you had an honest face. And when it comes to hiring people, I always trust my instincts.” He checks his phone. “Plus, I kinda have a date tonight and I'd hate to miss out. My number's on a piece of paper next to the cash register. I'll show you quickly how everything works, but you're a smart guy so I'm pretty sure you'll be just fine. Think of it as a trial shift, lasting until Scotty shows up at four in the morning. What do you say?”
“I...”
“You'd be helping a guy out,” he adds. “Big time.”
For a moment, I consider turning him down, but at the same time I quickly realize that this is an incredibly fortuitous development. I was expecting that police would be hunting me down, but for whatever reason I don't seem to be the subject of a major cross-country manhunt. I could check the news and see what's going on, but I'm too scared, and I figure that maybe there are just too many murders these days for any of them to stay in the public eye for long. And if this guy is willing to pay me by cash, I don't need to worry about drawing a whole lot of attention to myself.
“I'd love to give it a try,” I say finally, surprising myself a little. “I mean, thank you. I won't let you down.”
“Let's get this demonstration up and running,” he says eagerly, dragging me behind the counter. “You're saving my life here, my friend. By the way, what's your name?”
“Richard, and -”
“You're saving my life, Richard. As a fellow man of the world, I'm sure you understand the importance of not keeping a woman waiting.”
“I guess, but -”
“This is going to be the beginning of a beautiful arrangement,” he continues, still not letting me finish a single sentence. “Now, there's really nothing to this job, the only unusual part comes when you're verifying what the pumps are telling you, 'cause the numbers are kinda mixed up. Okay, so pay attention and I'll show you how to do it.”
I pay attention, and he shows me how to do it.
***
This is nuts.
Sitting at the counter, still waiting for my first customer after two hours, I can't help but feel that this Vince guy must be a lunatic. What person, in their right mind, would hire a guy like me on the spot, with no references and no checks? It's as if he just decided to trust me for no reason whatsoever. Either the universe is giving me a big helping hand here, or Vince is absolutely crazy. I mean, for all he knows, I might be some kind of psycho killer.
Oh, wait, I guess I am some kind of psycho killer.
Looking out the window, I see the cemetery wall on the other side of the road. I still can't quite get over the fact that there's a railroad running through a cemetery, but I guess there's a lot in this world that I don't understand. I briefly wonder whether the bodies get all rattled in their graves whenever a train goes past, but after a moment I realize I can see a figure standing at the cemetery gate.
Watching me.
Waiting for me.
Waiting to be fed.
I don't know how or why my father's ghost has ended up in that cemetery. I guess that can just be added to the pile of mysteries. What I do know, however, is that fate seemed to have delivered me to this point, and I guess it's now my job to feed my father and to keep him satisfied. I saw a few of Victoria's bones when I went back tonight, and it looked like he'd stripped them of all their meat. There were even tooth marks on one section. So my father's ghost is a cannibal, and I can't even begin to understand why that might be the case.
A moment later he slips from sight, but I know he could see me and I know he's still out there.
So this is my fate. Sitting here, night after night, serving customers at the gas station. Maybe someone will recognize me and report me to the police, or maybe not. I still haven't dared check the news. For now, I'll just wait for opportunities to take people into the cemetery, to feed my father's ghost. This is my fate, and it's also my curse. And as I look out the window, I realize that the bright stars of the other night have now faded, as if the world has turned and something fundamental has changed.
I guess you can't escape your destiny after all.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Richard
Today...
So this is the end, then. The final end, I mean. This is where everything stops, and there's nowhere else to go. I guess I just have to hope that I can decide how I go out.
As I make my way toward the steps at the front of the diner, I see a couple kissing near the door. They're really going at it, with their tongues wedged way down each other's throats, and I guess I kinda envy them as I head past. I never had that kind of passion with anyone, but I guess it's too late now. And as I push the door open and enter the diner, I realize that there's no point worrying about the past now.
I quickly grab some paper towels and press them against my left ear. Or, rather, against the spot where my left ear once was. The pain has been surprisingly low-key, although I think that might be partly due to the fact that I just don't give a damn anymore. I got a few weird looks on my way here, but no-one actually asked me whether I'm okay, and that's alright. I mean, I wouldn't want to lie to them, but at the same time I wouldn't have a clue where to start telling them about tonight.
I order a soda. The woman behind the counter seems unimpressed, but she doesn't ask me any questions. She probably just thinks that I cut my ear, I'm sure it hasn't occurred to her that the whole damn thing is gone. She eyes me with a hint of suspicion as she hands me the soda, but I guess she's too busy to start fussing about weird customers. As I head over to one of the booths, I'm already starting to think about what I'll do when the sun comes up and I have to face a new day.
First, though, there's one thing that I really need to do.
I slide Milly's phone from my pocket. She dropped it when she ran from the bunker, and by some miracle the screen was unlocked. I've managed to keep it that way, which is useful since I lost my phone somewhere in all the madness tonight. With a sense of dread in my chest, I bring up a web browser and start typing in Dad's name and address. After five years, it's time to finally see what happened after I killed them. It's a miracle that I haven't been caught yet, but I can only assume that I had a little luck.
A moment later, I find the first of many news stories.
And then I freeze.
The first couple of paragraphs are just about the murders of Mom and Dad, but the third is where the real news is hidden. Apparently the police originally assumed that I was the killer, but then they found traces of my blood on one of Dad's belts and somehow they got it into their head that we were all victims of some sadistic bastard who broke into the house. I read on, incredulously, as I find that apparently I'm considered missing presumed dead, although one cop is quoted as saying that I might have been kidnapped and kept alive as some kind of slave.
I can't even begin to imagine where they got all of these ideas from. I mean, even if the cops overlooked my fingerprints on the gun, didn't they talk to John? I met him at the bus stop after I killed my parents, and I'm sure he wouldn't have forgotten that fact. Then again, he was always high on something, and he probably got pretty drunk after he saw me. I guess it's possible that he simply forgot all about our little encounter, in which case the cops would maybe not have thought to check with local bus drivers. Again, the whole preposterous idea is reliant upon a whole lot of coincidences and little miracles, but I guess it's all sort of possible.
Huh.
The world is a strange place indeed.
I set the phone down and start drinking my soda, while contemplating the inevitable fact that my luck is going to run out in the near future. At least I'm no longer hallucinating, I'm not seeing some mad old hobo and imagining that he's my father. I can't quite believe that the illusion kept going for five years, but I guess that's madness for you. I'm pretty sure my days in Sobolton are over, although it's not as if I can really think of anywhere else to go. I figure I'm too much of a coward to turn myself in, so I'll just set off along the road and see where I wind up.
I glance across the diner, then I look back down at the phone.
And then I freeze.
I tell myself that I have to be wrong, that there's no way in a million years that she could possibly be here. Nevertheless, after a moment I raise my gaze again, and I feel a sudden, dull thud in my chest as I find myself staring straight at Milly, who's sitting in one of the other booths. She's removed the gag from her mouth, finally, and she looks utterly disheveled as she stares back at me. For a few seconds, as if neither of us can actually believe what we're seeing, the pair of us simply look at each other. I know I need to do something, but right now my mind is almost completely blank.
“Oh crap,” I stammer finally. “Oh no.”
EITHER WAY
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Milly
Today...
Keeping my gaze fixed on Richard, I slowly get to my feet. My heart is pounding, but somehow I know that running would be the wrong decision. The sky has been crazy all night, and I think I finally understand why.
I hesitate for a few seconds, and then I make my way over toward his booth.
As I get there, he looks absolutely terrified. He's still holding some towels against his ruined ear, and when I look down I see my phone on the table. I pause, before sliding it closer and locking the screen, and then slipping it into my pocket. And then, figuring that I don't really have any other options, I sit down.
Why am I doing this?
My heart is racing so hard, I swear I'm going to faint at
any moment.
“I, uh...” he stammers, clearly no better at knowing what we should do next. “I...”
“Forget tonight,” I say, surprising myself.
“What?”
“Didn't you see the stars?” I continue. “They were awesome, they were everywhere, I could almost feel the stardust in the air, and I know what that means.” I wait for him to reply, but he's still simply staring at me. I guess that means I have to take charge a little. “I have this theory,” I say finally. “Do you wanna hear it?”
He doesn't say anything, but I guess that's not a 'no'.
“About every five years,” I explain, “the sky goes crazy. Like it is tonight. And on those nights, crazy stuff happens. Really crazy stuff. I don't know if it's just in Sobolton, or if it's in the whole world, but I swear I'm right. It's like the universe chooses those particular nights to make... corrections.”
“Corrections?” he asks cautiously.
“To put people where they're supposed to be,” I continue. “Five years ago, my father died in an accident in the forest. That changed my whole life, it meant -”
“My parents died five years ago,” he blurts out, as if he couldn't stop himself. “I mean, they got shot. It's complicated, I'm not sure whether -”
“Did you kill them?” I ask.
As soon as those words have left my lips, I can see from his expression that I'm right.
“It's okay,” I tell him. “I'm not shocked or appalled or anything like that. You seem like an alright kind of guy. A little intense, maybe, but I think I trust you. Despite everything. And I think that what you just told me is proof that my theory is correct. Five years ago, the universe made some corrections in our lives, to put us on track for wherever we're supposed to end up. And maybe tonight the same thing happened again.” I lean forward. “Whatever we did tonight, whatever we chose, I think we were destined to end up sitting right here like this.”
