by Tina Mikals
Chapter 22
The Giant's Key
"My offer still holds," the creature said to Carlisle. "You stay and I let your little friends go free. How about it?"
May shouted, "It's a trick. Don't listen to him."
"Take it or leave it. It makes no difference to me. But if you don't, I'll just kill all of you. I can assure you, it will be quite slow, and I plan to start with them, just so you can watch."
Carlisle flicked his eyes to them, and it was as though May could hear his thoughts out loud.
"I won't go," said Sheila madly. "We'll have to get the key some other way. I won't go."
May yelled, "Forget about it Uncle Frank!"
"Quiet, you two," said Carlisle.
May said, "No dice, Uncle Frank. We're all leaving here together. So you'd better just think of something else."
The giant threw his head back and laughed. "You're being generous, right? That would assume he was thinking of anything to begin with, and by the looks of him, I doubt it."
"Don't listen to him. He gets his jollies by playing with people's heads," yelled May.
"Tell me, does she make all your decisions for you, or just some of them?"
"Oh, get off it," she said.
"Oh, I see. She does make your decisions for you then. I understand now." The giant fixed his gaze on May. "Maybe I should just keep her instead of you."
She shut up.
"What? We finally have some peace and quiet from the corner?" said the giant, smiling evilly at her before turning back to Carlisle. "Come on. It's very simple really. I'll make it plain enough so that even an idiot like you can understand it. You stay with me, and I'll give the key to your little friends."
Carlisle opened his mouth to speak.
"No!" shouted May and Sheila together. Then May said, "He'll just kill you, or maybe even worse—he won't. Then you'll be stuck in this disgusting room forever, too, just like he is. He probably just wants to drag somebody else into this stinking hellhole with him so he won't be so pathetically lonely."
She was unprepared for the intensity of the ogre's reaction. He spun on her suddenly. His eyes glowed like brilliant orange coals in absolute fury. "You still haven't learned to shut up, have you?" Forgetting Carlisle for the moment, the monster came towards her.
She pressed her back against the wall, more than ready now to shut her miserable trap.
Carlisle began following the giant from behind. Out of the corner of her eye, May saw him make a rolling motion with his hand.
He wanted her to keep the ogre talking.
Her mouth was dry. She swallowed imaginary spit and squeaked out the only words that came into her head. "That is what you want, isn't it? Someone here to suffer along with you? I mean, why kill someone when it's so much more fun to keep them alive?"
The giant glanced in the direction of the far corner where the flies buzzed around what was once a man.
"What happened? What did he do that was so bad that you got rid of the only thing in that bottomless black hole of a heart that made you happy?"
The giant growled low in his throat at her. May didn't feel like she was in her body anymore. She was listening to herself from somewhere else.
"What was it? Did he stop following your orders?" she shouted.
Something glimmered in the giant's angry eyes as though she had touched on some part of the truth. "So that was it, wasn't it? And you couldn't handle it, could you? 'Cause you really enjoy that, don't you, everybody doing just exactly what you say? It fills up that hollow space inside that you can't ever seem to get rid of."
The ogre was now much closer. She could see Carlisle creeping up from behind with his sword ready, so she kept on talking.
"And since you couldn't control him anymore, I bet you got scared that he'd finally find a way out of this place and you wouldn't have anyone left to play cat and mouse with and to squash and crush and make you feel powerful and important. Because deep down you feel like you're really nothing at all. Nothing."
The giant was practically on top of her.
"But killing him wasn't the same, was it? Because what you really wanted—what you were really hungry for—you couldn't get to that way. As far as I can see, you're the only coward in this room. You're a sad, scared, evil little man who won't be happy unless he makes everyone just as miserable as he is."
Drool dripped down in a thin line from the edge of the giant's mouth and puddled on her sneaker.
She closed her eyes tight and turned her head to the side.
At last, Carlisle lunged at the monster from behind, but he slipped on the smooth, wet surface of the floor and sprawled headlong. The sword flew out of his hand and skidded across the stones.
The monster snapped his head down at the prostrate form of Carlisle at his feet. "My, my, my. What a pity we're so clumsy."
Carlisle inched forward, creeping on his stomach towards his weapon.
Reaching down with one hand, the ogre swatted the sword away before Carlisle could make a grab for it. May cringed as the sword flew towards her. With her eyes closed, she heard it clatter against the wall by her ear.
The giant lifted Carlisle off the floor and flung him to the far side of the room where he slammed into the corner and crumpled to the floor. As he got to his knees, dazed, he felt and smelled the giant's breath on his neck. He closed his eyes, crossed himself and waited for the inevitable.
May didn't think. In one seamless motion, she scooped up the sword and ran with it. Holding it high over her head in both hands, she rushed at the giant and plunged it into his thigh.
Honed to a deadly sharp point by the dwarf, the blade went into the stringy flesh with unexpected ease; through skin, through muscle, through sinew. It grazed the bone, pierced clean through to the other side of the leg, and stuck there, buried to the hilt.
The ogre screeched, shot to full height and spun around. He swatted at May, missing her by only inches as she ran. He stalked after her, dragging the lame leg behind him grotesquely like a maimed cockroach, and caught the hood of her sweatshirt with several daggered claws.
She gagged and clutched the zipper at her throat as the ogre picked her up and dangled her in midair. She watched the floor twirl around below her, getting farther and farther away.
Having avoided the inevitable, Carlisle jumped up and ran at the giant. He grabbed the hilt of the sword still buried in the giant's thigh, turning and twisting it as he removed the blade.
The giant howled in renewed pain and grabbed at the wound in his thigh. May fell to the floor.
Vast amounts of blood spurted from the jagged hole in the ogre's thigh. Unable to staunch the flow, the monster's blood pulsed and gushed, rapidly forming a massive red pool under him on the moist stones of the clammy little room.
The giant stumbled and fell backward, then landed on his back with his chest heaving, eyes pinned sightlessly on the ceiling. His breath began to come in shudders. Carlisle went up and cut the greasy leather strap from around the thick neck. He ran to the door and handed the key to Sheila.
Sheila slid the key into the lock then rattled the knob. "It won't budge!" she yelled.
"Let me try," said Carlisle. His left hand and the entire arm of his jacket were glistening red. He held out the sword to May, and it too was covered in blood—not the cold sticky blood of the corner, but bright red and warm. She took the sword with a queasy look.
Sheila released the doorknob to him. "You have to fiddle with these kind," he said. He turned the key and jiggled the antique knob until he heard a click, then went through the door first and held it open for them. Sheila and May heard a low, miserable growl from behind them as they ran through the doorway.
Carlisle let go of the knob just as the giant rolled over and flung himself at the door, thrusting his arm through the opening with one final burst of energy. May watched the futile, frantic movements of the long arm, searching around blindly. It scraped the ground with its dirty nails for someone—anyone—it could draw back into
the claustrophobic little room where the rest of the giant dwelt now in isolation, dying.
The hand gave up at last and with one final groan, the arm withdrew. The door swung shut for the last time and closed.
Now, the only thought in May's head was to get the stench and blood off her body and her clothes. She looked around purposefully, hoping to find a water source.
They had arrived into a boring, bleak landscape, its dullness a welcome sight after everything else they had gone through. There simply had to be some water here. Boring, flat landscapes always had at least one stream or lake in a feeble attempt to add interest.
Her instincts were right. She spotted a pond not more than a hundred yards away and walked to it, not caring if anyone followed. She had only the single-minded, desperate need to wash herself and only wished now that she had a huge bar of soap. She dropped the sword on the grass as she walked into the water, clothes and all. The water was like ice, but she didn't care.
Sheila slipped the strap to the satchel off her shoulder and let the bag thump down on the grass next to her. She dived into the water head first.
Carlisle discovered the brass key still in his hand and threw it as far and as long as he could. He removed his scabbard next, set it on the ground and treaded into the water, stripping off his jacket and vest as he went. Scrubbing at his hands, he said huskily, "I just can't believe how much blood there was."
"I must have hit the femoral artery," May told him. Her voice sounded strange to her.
"Sit down, May," he said.
"Why?" she asked, as her knees gave out under her.
She stared at the water she had fallen into. A stain was spreading out from her jeans in a billowing red cloud. A jolt of something sinister and nameless passed through her. "God," she said breathlessly, "there really was a lot of blood, wasn't there?"
"You couldn't have found a better spot if you'd tried. I can't believe how quickly he went down," said Carlisle.
"I didn't know what I was doing. I didn't mean to kill him. I just wanted to stop him."
"Well, you certainly did that, but why did you have to go and say that to him? I just asked you to keep him talking, not totally infuriate him."
"You asked me to keep him talking and I did. It's the only thing I could think of!"
"Well, you could have got yourself killed!"
"Don't you think I know that? What's wrong with you? Just get off my back, alright?"
"I'm not angry at you!" he yelled, looking at her as if he was amazed she could be so thick. He snatched his jacket from where it floated on the surface of the water, and she watched his jaw pulse as he began to scrub the blood from it.
She understood finally why he was angry. "I tripped too, you know, and I don't even have those stupid slippery shoes you have on."
He didn't answer, only nodded sullenly before wringing out his jacket.
She noticed that there was a line of blood spreading on his collar. "You got hurt?" she asked.
"It's nothing—just a scratch."
"What was that painting?" asked Sheila. She was submerged to the shoulders and only her head shone above the surface of the water. "My mother's had it for ages, but I don't know the name of it. I don't think I'll ever be able to look at it again."
"I can't remember," said May. She asked Carlisle, "Do you know?"
He didn't look up from what he was doing. "I saw it once. It's by a gentleman named Goya."
"Do you remember what it's called?"
"The Monster, I believe," he said as he wrung out his vest.
"Funny," said May, "I thought it had a longer name for some reason." A shiver came over her, and she hugged her arms. "I'm glad to be clean, but maybe it wasn't the brightest move to get wet like this. It's pretty cold here." She surveyed the bland landscape of scrubby trees and blighted grass. "There's a brown farmhouse in the distance over there. Maybe we're in luck. There's some smoke coming from the chimney. It looks—it looks a little—"
May stood up suddenly, splashing back the water all around her in waves. She slammed the surface of the pond with her hands, sending out plumes of spray in every direction. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Easy," said Carlisle, who had just gotten a face full of water, rubbing his eye with the back of his thumb.
The bitter wind changed direction.
"You told me yourself you wouldn't want to know," said Sheila.
"Know what?" interrupted Carlisle. "What's this all about?"
"It's May's painting," said Sheila.
"What do you mean her painting?" he asked, still not understanding.
"She painted it," answered Sheila.
He surveyed the landscape with renewed interest. "You painted this, May?"
May felt the cold air blow against her hot cheeks.
Carlisle gave her a wide smile. "You didn't tell me you painted!"
