Once Jack had gone still, the forest’s knight dead, I lowered what was left of my friend to the ground. By the glow of countless dead, smiling faces, I looked upon the thing that once walked with me in dream. Even dead, Jack Lantern was only barely discernible as a man.
I defied gravity for only an instant longer, my body collapsing under its own weight. With my ear to the ground, I could detect the faint tread of something approaching. And I could hear the Dream of Wolves, now complete and fully joined. It came from everywhere. It was coming from me. A door was opening, a crack in the woods at first, then the night, then death itself. The lights of the other side merged with the burning trees of the Woods, the bright dead smiles of an eternal Halloween, and my blood where it mixed with Jack’s.
The woods went Red with Dream. I saw them gathered before me, the Wolves—Molly, Janus, The Prince, Mister Hide, the legendary Jack Lantern, and all the rest. Their hunger filled me, became me. We were all together again, for the first time. I could feel them overflowing the banks of my body, shadows moving in my blood, secrets searching out my mind.
I went to my family where they lay, taking them up. My sisters’ sweet laughter filled my soul. Their smiles, half-moons made whole, inside me. Father’s fire became my bones, unbreakable. His thunder, my voice. I stood victorious beneath the whispering fires of an endless September, in a Dream of Wolves.
The next moment was filled with the perfume of burning flowers, and a voice that couldn’t be. “My wonderful boy. My Red Son.”
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Chapter 1 - Infamous
1
7 May 2000
Syracuse, NY
The time was 1:00 a.m., Wednesday night, and the bar was dead. Wendy Birrell had been tending bar at Murphy’s for three years. Her wage was eight bucks an hour, plus tips. That was on weekends; on weeknights, the place was a tomb except for the odd barfly, so tips were scarce. Tonight, like most, she wore tight, low rider jeans that hugged her slim figure, and a plaid button-down shirt that draped neatly across her ample breasts. Her hair flowed in straight, dirty blonde cascades over her shoulders and onto the swell of her breasts. This was done purposely to arouse the male patrons. Aside from her figure, it was Wendy’s eyes that turned a man’s head. They were deep glacial blue, a color found in arctic waters lapping against icebergs.
Wendy Birrell was twenty-eight, she had a high school education and only one motivation in life. His name was Patrick. He was four, had his mother’s eyes, and curly, corn silk hair. Patrick’s father, also blond, had been a marine. Had, because he’d been killed in Iraq when Patrick was only four months old. He and Wendy were never a couple. He had been a fling, nothing more, but had he lived, she would have included him in her son’s life; had he known. He hadn’t and Wendy didn’t have a lot of options, so she tended bar, lived paycheck to paycheck and, for now, that was enough.
Most of the regulars were gone at this hour. Shuffling out after a few too many, slurring their words as they put on a coat or slung a purse like awkward preschoolers dressing to go outside and play. All gone. Except for one young man sitting at the corner of the bar sipping a Rolling Rock and stealing glances at her. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-one. He’d been in a couple of times this week, sitting unremarkably on the corner stool. She would have carded him, but then that would have chewed up any chance at a tip, and he’d left her a ten spot every time he was in. No one at Murphy’s left a ten spot. She figured him for a college kid, or maybe he’d been working at one of the vineyards during the spring plant. Tonight, just like every night he’d been in, he sat alone, glancing her way and checking her out. When she looked over, he would avert his contemplation to the beer bottle he held. No doubt perusing the alcohol content or maybe the origin of the brewery. Men were such predictable animals. She was checking him out as well, but it wasn’t as obvious. Eventually, she worked her way to that corner of the bar, and he began to chat her up.
“You from around here?” He was looking directly at her.
“I live in Westvale.” She polished the bar with the rag as she spoke.
“You go to SU when you’re not working?” he asked.
She laughed, shook her head. “No, I’m not exactly what you would call university material.”
Silence then, hanging between them uncomfortably.
“I just thought...”
“What? That I was working my way through college.” She smiled scathingly. “Isn’t that what half the strippers say over at The Chub?” The Chub, aka Chubby’s, was what some might call a gentleman’s club. “Why aren’t you there?”
“Sorry, I guess I was mistaken.”
She stopped then, furrowed her brow and the cynical smile fell away. Why had she spoken to this guy like that? He wasn’t anything but nice, and he had slipped her a ten every night he’s been in. “Aw, shit. That didn’t come out right. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.”
“It’s okay. I shouldn’t have been nosy.”
“No, I shouldn’t have been a bitch. Let’s start over.”
“Okay.”
“My name’s Wendy. What’s yours?”
He looked up from the beer and grinned. “Devon.”
She dropped the cloth on the bar, stuck out her hand and said, “It’s nice to meet you, Devon. Are you from around here?”
He took her hand, his skin warm, smooth, and without callous. “I’m going to the university.”
She pulled her hand back, placed it over her mouth, giggled and then broke into laughter. He shook his head and smiled. When the laughter subsided, she grabbed him another beer. He reached for his wallet, and she said, “This is on the house.”
It was an hour before closing, and at that moment, she really didn’t think that she would end up sleeping with him. She hadn’t been with anyone for some months. But when she got home that evening and squared Patrick away, well... The idea of a warm body next to hers seemed appealing. This idea hadn’t begun to brew in the beginning, but as he sipped his beer, talked a bit about what he was taking at Syracuse University, the word “maybe” began to echo in the back of her subconscious.
Fifteen minutes later, she set another Rolling Rock on the bar at his request, and she said, “You’re not driving are you, Devon?”
“No, I walked. I’ll probably grab a cab back to the university.”
And then she decided. “I’m off in half hour. I can drive you to the university if you like.”
“Aw, that’s okay. I don’t wanna be any trouble.”
“No trouble. Besides, you’ll never get a cab at this hour. I can drive you back to the university if you like, or maybe we can go somewhere for coffee.” His eyes brightened at this, became charmingly boyish. She imagined a lean, young man beneath those clothes. Virile young man too. He would probably only last thirty seconds after getting into bed, but he’d be quick on the rebound.
“I don’t have any classes until tomorrow afternoon.”
“That settles it then,” Wendy said, and as he finished his beer, she went about the business of closing down. She moved around the bar collecting glasses, wiping things down, and eventually squaring up the cash. He sipped the last of his beer, watching her every move.
This was going to be easy.
She had him step out and wait on the front walk while she put away the evening deposit and set the alarm. Devon was the consummate young gentleman. He’d only had three beers, and if she made an offer to bring h
im back to her place, she guessed it wouldn’t affect his performance in the least. When she slid the deadbolt over and removed her key, she made her final decision. He was cute.
“Let’s go.” She led him to her car, a beat-up Chrysler Cirrus sitting curbside. She unlocked the car. They climbed in. She turned the key in the ignition, and the engine came alive. She reached over, placed a hand on his, and said, “You want me to take you back to the university, or would you rather come home with me?”
He smiled. “What do you think?”
She slid her hand up his leg and held it there, a finger teasing his manhood. “I think you want to come home with me.” Then she kissed him. Wendy was not promiscuous—this was definitely out of the norm for her—but she was a single mom, and that was a lonely business. She pulled back from the kiss, put the gearshift into drive, and pulled away from the curb.
The ride to her house consisted of touching and feeling, but very few words. There was no need for discussion. It had been established: they were going to have sex. As she steered the car with her left hand, the right reached down between his legs, rubbing and massaging. He answered by caressing her breasts, causing her nipples to harden and stirring something inside her. This anticipation was almost too much and Wendy considered pulling the Cirrus over and jumping into the back seat with him.
No, she couldn’t do that. Patrick was at home, and... oh shit, she’d almost forgotten about her mother. She pushed him off gently. “Devon, I need you to do something when we get to my house.”
“Okay. What?”
“My mom, she’s watching my son. You’ll have to stay outside until she leaves.”
Devon laughed, “You want me to hide in the bushes or something?”
She turned left up another street and said, “How about you just duck down in the car until I give you a signal.”
“I could do that, but what if she catches me and...”
He was going to say calls the cops. But Wendy cut him off.
“I park my car in the front of the house, on the street. There’s only one parking spot out front, so my mom parks in the back alley. She won’t be coming out the front. She won’t catch you if you duck down low. I’m sorry about all the cloak and dagger stuff, but I just don’t feel like explaining to my mother that I’m bringing a stranger home for the night.
“How long will I have to wait?”
“Probably not too long, my mom sometimes falls asleep in front of the TV. So I may have to wake her up. I don’t know, five maybe ten minutes.”
“Alright. I don’t generally do this on first dates, so I hope you’ll appreciate all the effort.”
She grinned. “I do, and it’ll be worth your while.”
2
They rolled up to the curb five minutes later. About a hundred feet before coming to a stop, she told him to get down and lay his head on her lap. And with that, she parked and cut the engine. He could feel the heat coming off of her. It was a subterranean heat. Brought on by the petting and groping.
She shut off the ignition and whispered, “Ten minutes and I’ll come get you.”
“Okay, ten minutes,” he agreed.
She slid out from underneath him, leaving his head to rest on the cloth seat. She closed the car door, and he heard her footsteps as she made her way up the walk. He heard the clicking of steps as she climbed the porch, then the screen door creaked, a door handle clicked over, or maybe it was a deadbolt. He couldn’t be sure. He couldn’t see anything above the orange bleaching of the dashboard from the arc sodium street lamps.
Ten minutes, he thought.
He wondered if the mother would come out and catch him hiding in the car. Or maybe a local patrol notified by a nosy neighbor. What if she were to deny his presence? “Oh no, officer, I don’t know him. I have no idea why he was hiding in my car.” The game would have ended right there. He’d be carted off to jail. He was sure shit like that happened from time to time. What would his father say to that? The old man would be royally pissed.
This made him grin.
3
None of those things happened. As promised, in less than ten minutes, she came down the steps to the car and whispered, “Come on, the coast is clear.” He sat upright, and she opened the car door.
“You’re sure it’s safe?”
She smiled, took his hand, and led him up the path.
When she closed the front door behind them and turned the bolt, she reached over, pulled him in and gave him a long kiss, running her tongue over his. Then she drew back and said, “I have some beer in the fridge.”
She kissed him again.
He said, “Maybe later” and began touching her all over. She ran her hands down to his nether regions, feeling his hardness. He did the same, feeling her heat. They kissed, an intertwining mess of fumbled gropes that were desperate and blurry with sexual need. All the while, they worked their way toward the bedroom, once almost tripping and falling down. She laughed and pulled off his shirt. He tugged off hers. She stroked his chest, barren of even a single hair. He unsnapped her bra. By the time they were at the bedroom door, she was in her panties, he in his briefs. Behind them a debris trail of clothing. She dropped her undies and tugged at his briefs. When they dropped, she cupped him, and suddenly stopped and looked down. Then she looked up at him.
“My last girl didn’t like hair.”
She looked down again. She held onto him. Not even a single hair. “Why?” she asked. “What was her problem with hair?” She brought her eyes up to his, still holding his manhood tightly.
“She said, ‘It ruined the mood if you had to lick the pillow.’” He started to grin.
Wendy giggled and worked her hand.
They fell onto the bed side by side. No more talk, just touching.
But then...
“I gotta get something out of my jeans,” he said.
“I have condoms in the nightstand,” she whispered, and she reached over with one hand and pulled the drawer clumsily open. She brought a strip of condoms up and held it before him. He bit down on the corner with his teeth, and she removed it and went to work. It rolled on with ease, she supposed the smoothness of his clean-shaven skin helped in that regard.
Then they got busy.
He lasted longer than she initially thought. Over two minutes. Then she went to work on him and got him back into the game in under four. Young men bounced back so quickly. With the old condom tied off and discarded, she rolled a second one on and they found their rhythm. This time, he lasted almost twenty-five minutes. When it was over, she was spent.
“Thank you,” she said.
He didn’t say anything, he just lay there watching her, a thin smile on his face.
“I gotta check on my son. Do you want that beer now?”
“I’d love one,” he said.
He sat up against the headboard, watching her naked form disappear through the doorway, fading in the dim light of the hall. She was wraith-like, melting in and out of reality. A little while later, she returned with a can of Budweiser and handed it to him. It was ice cold.
“Thank you,” he said and sipped. Then added, “That was fun.”
“More fun than a college girl?”
He turned his head and said, “Way more fun than a college girl.”
“And no pillow licking.” She giggled.
“Yeah.”
She wrapped herself around him. Using his bare chest as a headrest and he listened to her breathing. In no time, she was falling asleep. He counted down the space between each inhalation and exhalation, the gap was widening. He’d been afraid he wouldn’t be able to perform, but he’d come through. She was, and he meant it, way better than any college girl. Most of the girls at SU were fucking airheads, but moreover, they were dead fucks. Not her. She wrapped her legs around him, then literally squeezed from inside as he thrust. That was ta
lent. Definitely a sign of experience. He hadn’t expected this to happen: he was planning on a couple beers and fully intended on heading back to the dorm.
He grinned. Fate was a strange thing.
Half an hour later, cossetted in sleep, she rolled off him, turning her back and pressing her buttocks against his leg. He lay still, fully alert, considering the situation as he ran a hand over her shoulder and into the hourglass of her waist. She had a nice body for a woman who had a child. He guessed you made it your business to look good, especially when you were raising a kid alone. He wondered where the father might be. Guessed that he wouldn’t be too happy if he were to walk in now.
Somehow, he doubted this scenario was likely. Daddy was long gone. He looked at the two spent condoms sitting on the nightstand.
Then slid quietly from the bed.
There was much to do.
4
She hadn’t known what woke her. Dream or premonition, but she had come up out of the sleep into a sitting position even before her senses were roused. Her mind pricked, pins and needles, her eyesight still unfocused. She had heard her name. Not urgent, but calling in a whisper.
“Wendy, wake up. Wendy, wake up.”
Slowly, she pulled focus adjusting to the dark of the room. She saw a naked silhouette standing in the bedroom doorway. It was him. Devon.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Are you awake now?”
“Come back to bed.”
He said nothing, stepping through the doorway, moving closer. He was holding something in his right hand. She couldn’t quite see.
He took another step.
It didn’t register at first. Or wouldn’t register.
Something in his hand, something in his right hand. What was it?
He took yet another step.
“Wendy?”
The Red Son Page 38
