Beyond the Veil

by Erin Lee

  Carefully, I move the dress to the tub where I only half look as I submerge the satin into the water. I watch as inky black tendrils seep into the fabric and tell myself there’s no turning back. The dress will be perfect for our renewal of vows. It’ll be perfect for Hudson’s funeral too. Whether I become a widow or we manage to patch things up somehow will be up to him. After all, even Mistress Death changes her mind.

  It didn’t have to be like this. What began as a fairy tale turned so dark so fast it’s still hard for me to make sense of. How my husband went from a man who only had eyes for me to one who has another girl pregnant is a mystery akin to Ingrid in her early days of chasing jack or before she knew about her family’s tribe. It doesn’t matter. Once you get to a certain place you can’t go back. And here we are. By the end of this, my wedding gown will be perfectly suitable for Mistress Death or just an ordinary widow. Ingrid will be proud.

  Chapter Twelve

  Hudson

  Monday afternoon

  I do a double take. There’s no way Mary’s following me. She hates driving. Even she’s not that psychotic. Still, removing my hand from the gas pump, I duck behind my car to get a better look at one I swear is hers. One in the afternoon? She’d never be out and about. She’d be tucked in reading her stupid Ripper books or fantasizing about once being Ingrid. I tell myself these things as I stay low until I catch a glimpse of the woman driving what I’d have sworn was my wife’s cherry red Audi. When I see the long, platinum blonde hair, I exhale and look away. Mary’s hair is dark. It’s not her. It’s not Kat either – hers, while blonde, is much darker and streaked.

  I’m too paranoid. I tell myself I only need to get through the day. As soon as I’ve filed my last three financial recommendation reports, I can leave. I’m going home to Kate – not Mary. There’s nothing to be afraid of. The problem is, I’m lying to myself. I’ve been a disaster since today’s delivery from the mailroom.

  The package was marked overnight. Mary didn’t bother to put a return address on it. It wasn’t like I didn’t know who it came from. I didn’t want to think about it. Hell, I wasn’t even sure how it was possible. We’d only screwed once in months. I’d promised Kate. But there was no denying what now sat on my passenger’s seat. In a large magnolia envelope was exactly three things. Two pregnancy tests and a note – “This isn’t over yet. Congrats. Come home.” Her handwriting was distinct. This wasn’t a joke or gag. The message and its contents had come from Mary – but how? She can’t be pregnant.

  I told myself it could be worse. She could have sent it to Kate’s. But it wasn’t like she knew anything about her. Soon? Well, that would be different. For now, I’d be safe. Tonight, I’d have to have a long talk with Kate about changing locations. It wasn’t safe to be in the same town with Mary; not now. Next, she’d claim she was a Wendigo with cravings for newborn blood. If Kate found out I’d even considered sleeping with my wife, let alone knocking her up, well, I’d be over.

  Two women. One me. What a mess I’d managed to create. Everything was moving too fast and there was a part of me that just wanted to go back. If I could start over, stay single, and skip all the nonsense, this wouldn’t be happening. Brown would be badgering me about corporate image and shit. But I wouldn’t be hiding at a gas station from a crazy-assed bitch.

  It was possible, I suppose, that she was really pregnant. I couldn’t think about what I’d do if that was the case. I’d hate her for it. I’d begged her for kids for so long and she’d always told me “no.” She’d been clear about not wanting to ruin her perfect figure and, until recently, said I gave Brown too much control. For the life of me, I could not figure out what had changed.

  Hitting ‘supreme,’ I tell myself all I have to do is get through the rest of the day. With the gas pump arched in place to fill my tank, I slide around the driver’s side, in front of the car, and yank my passenger door open. Grabbing the envelope, I slam the passenger’s door shut and toss it in the hungry, black garbage bin. Out of sight, out of mind, I tell myself, knowing full well I am lying the same way I have for years to both Mary and Kate. I am a monster.

  That night, Kate’s place

  “We need to leave.”

  “Why?” Kate asks, picking at her nail.

  “For starters, this place is too small. I’ll talk to Brown. See if I can get a transfer to the Westside office. They have better schools out that way anyway. It’ll be good for Daisy.”

  “Rushing things much? She isn’t even born,” Kate says, smiling and tapping her stomach. “Five more months.”

  “Right. And time flies. We need to get a nursery set up. All that. This place is way too small. You don’t even have a third bedroom. Where are we supposed to put her?”

  “She’ll sleep with us for the first few months anyway. Don’t you want to wait until the divorce goes through? I don’t want to move all the way to the Westside. That’s a half hour further from the hospital and OB.”

  “You’re willing to drive there for Chinese.”

  Kate laughs, “Best chicken fingers around.”

  Her lack of seriousness in what I consider to be a pretty life changing and necessary thing is pissing me off. Ten years younger than me, there are times I want to shake her and demand she be more pragmatic like Mary. At least my wife is serious. She understands what it meant to be a corporate wife – probably even too much. Hell, it’s what she’ll use against me now with the divorce, and worse, Daisy.

  I brush Kate’s hand off my arm. “I’m serious. We need to leave and this isn’t funny to me. You have no idea how crazy Mary is. None. God knows what she’ll try to pull with the partners. I can’t even think about it. Totally stresses me out and now she’s still on me about renewing the vows. You just don’t get it.”

  “There’s nothing to get. Who cares what she wants? She’s not a factor anymore. Or, she won’t be. She knows you left. I mean, shit, you are here. How can she want to renew anything?”

  “She takes vows serious.”

  Kate frowns. “And you don’t?”

  “I don’t mean it like that. But like it or not I am a legally married man. And I am here. So, I mean, I’m not exactly innocent.”

  “Separated. That counts too. It isn’t like you didn’t try. How many times did you beg her for kids or ask her to see a therapist? What are you supposed to do about a chick obsessed with a dead serial killer and some half-wolf soulmate chasing him? She’s weird. Anyone would leave. Criminally insane if you ask me,” Kate says, grabbing my arm again. This time, it sends a cold shiver up my spine. While I don’t shake her off, I want to. It’s the way I feel when Mary gets too close. Not good. Not good at all.

  I did beg Mary for kids. Great. What is she really is pregnant? Those tests spelt it out. How would she get them? I want out of Kate’s house. I want access to the internet to see if people sold shit like that. I can imagine a market for it. It’d be a hell of a money maker for a single pregnant mom doing what she needed to for co-pays. Hell, I wouldn’t even blame her. It’s a brilliant idea...

  “Yep. I tried. Doesn’t mean she sees it that way.”

  Kate frowns.

  Keep pouting. You’ll be the next one with Mary mail. That will go well.

  “Well, we aren’t moving until after she’s born. I can’t leave the OB and they want me near the hospital. Preeclampsia is a real thing and it runs in my family.”

  Never have I seen this side of Kate. I don’t like it. Whether she sees it or not, I’ve given up everything for her. My home, possibly my career. Why she can’t help make it easier is a thing I don’t understand. I’m the one paying for everything; always have.

  Ring!

  Ring!

  My phone rings. I’m not sure who jumps faster. We spring toward it at the same time, me nearly knocking Kate over.

  “Mom,” we say in unison. At least Mary has the manners to stay out of my business. Not Kate. Clearly, she’s as paranoid as me but for different reasons. I wonder what she’d think if sh
e knew about Mary’s ‘pregnancy.’

  “I should take this. She never calls. Something could be wrong.”

  “Yeah, of course. You should definitely talk to her. Answer it.”

  I’m sure Kate would like me to hang around so she can overhear my conversation. But I won’t give her that satisfaction.

  “Hey, Ma,” I say, walking toward Kate’s front door and stepping outside into the moist air. “What’s up?”

  “Didn’t you plan to tell me first? Why do I always have to hear the news from someone else? She doesn’t even like me. When were you going to tell me?”

  My heart sinks. Mary’s already gotten to her? “Tell you what?” I ask, only to stall.

  “About renewing the vows. Are your father and I invited?”

  “Oh. Yeah. Well, Mary’s out of control. Of course you can come if you want. But I didn’t expect for this to be a big deal. She’s just taking over,” I whisper.

  “Well, she’s always been that way. You picked her. Made your bed – time to lay in it, Hudson. You know that. Now ...what’s wrong?”

  My mother always knows. “Nothing. She’s being herself. It’ll be fine.”

  “Nope. What’s going on? She said she had other news. She sounded excited. She said you’d be making a huge announcement at the renewal of vows. Is she pregnant?”

  “What? No. Why do you ask?” I lean over the steps to make sure Kate isn’t listening.

  “Sounds like it. Are you keeping secrets again?”

  My mother is always suspicious. She’s been that way since my stepdad got sick – always questioning the doctors like they have some ulterior motive or something.

  “No. Christ, Ma!”

  “Watch your language. I’ll tell you this. That girl is excited. Whatever is going on, fix it. I want my grandbaby to be raised in a nice marriage. Do what needs to be done.”

  With that, she hangs up.

  Good talk. Grandbaby? Did she tell her that too? Wishful thinking? What the fuck?

  I don’t know what to do first: drive home and kill Mary or tell Kate she’s on her own. I’m happy to move to Westside alone. I’ve had enough.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Mary

  I wonder if he’s shown her pictures of me. Or, if she’s seen them in the company newsletter. For certain, she’s googled me. Any woman would. But she won’t be expecting a platinum blonde. And with Hudson entirely unaware of my new look, well, it’s not like she’s been warned.

  I sit in the booth of the dingy restaurant wanting to puke. Everything’s sticky. I miss the diner. But for four days in a row, Kate’s come here and eaten alone. It’s now or never. How Hudson could swallow his food in a place like this is a mystery to me. Normally, he’s picky. But love and lust are funny things. I pick up my book, figuring the best thing to do while I wait for her is read. It never fails to amuse me how Ingrid and Jack’s relationship mirrors mine and Hudson’s. What would Ingrid do now – confronted with the truth? I know, of course. I’d read it all. But reminders never hurt. I look down at my watch. Christ, what’s taking her so long?

  How I’d gotten there was a mystery. I raced through my memory to figure out what had happened. The last thing I remembered was watching snow fall outside the hospital and doing my best not to slip on sleek sidewalks. I’d heard footsteps behind me but that wasn’t so strange. The rest, I couldn’t remember. The next thing I knew, I was here, with him – a hatchet and blade in my sock; something I’d hidden from staff for the better part of a year after honing my craft and making peace with the idea I didn’t need a time machine. But then, I wasn’t even sure what life this was. How did I get here? When will he turn me? How bad will it be? Why would they let me out? 1888? 2018? Which one?

  My mind raced and I felt warm hot pee pouring down my legs, and he—a Wendigo, I was now sure, it has to be 2018—laughed at this. He reached for me and pulled me close as I waited for him to strike. He didn’t. I shivered in his grip. What was happening? Was that just now or many years before?

  It was like a series of lights flashing all at once until, suddenly I felt cold wind. It felt like a thousand ice cubes were being thrown at me as we cut through the night. Flying. Hours. Minutes. An eternity. Finally, we landed. A porch. A living room? Where were we? When I found my feet, he let me free and stepped back, allowing me to get my bearings.

  The house we landed in, one I could only assume was his, was huge and it seemed like a normal suburban home of the twenty-first century. When he first opened the door I was surprised at how clean and classic the home looked. I’d expected a dungeon or castle, something spooky and lined with coffins for sleeping. Skulls in jars. Tins containing human and Wendigo hearts. Something. I didn’t expect the world’s most elusive killer to live in a place that reminded me of my grandmother’s house.

  He walked around me as I collected my thoughts. It was almost as if he was reading them. But he couldn’t. I knew that much. I was like him. Finally, and in silence, he stood by the couch while I shook. He had a smirk on his face. I looked behind me and all around the room searching for a way out. It was silly, really. Deep down, I knew there was no way he’d let me out. I didn’t know a lot of things, but for certain he didn’t seem to care that I wanted out. He seemed to know that would not be possible. I knew it too. I backed up slowly toward the door and he still didn’t seem bothered.

  “Took you long enough,” he said, smiling at me. “We meet again.”

  I took three steps back. Sure. I now knew what I was. But he was one too. He had to be. I hated that we were on North American turf. While I knew the rumors and even Mikmag tribe legend said Wendigoes only lived in the woods on North American soil, I also knew you couldn’t believe everything you read. Besides, I’d experienced it myself. It was how I became infected – at least, I thought it was.

  With blurred lines between present and past, I watched his bony cheek bones protrude from his otherwise still expression. Had I not known him from another time, I’d say he was gritting his teeth. Only, Jack didn’t do that. For a moment, I wondered if this was the expression he kept as he leered over Elizabeth in death. And what about the others? This wasn’t how I’d expected us to meet. I’d anticipated a rustling in the trees, the wind howling, and Jack mimicking human voices. My stay at the loony bin had me armed with more than I wanted to know about how to finally do away with him. It wasn’t going to be easy. To kill a Wendigo you either need a medicine man to clear and cleanse the spirit or a whole lot of luck. I did, however have my silver bladed hatchet and a sterling knife tucked into my sock. Those would do it too if I could plunge them through his heart. Even then, there was no way to change the course of history without locking his heart in a silver box and burying it on blessed ground. I’d have to dismember him and bury the parts of him throughout the past, present, and future if I wanted Ripper to finally and forever be done.

  The minutes passed between us. It was like a grand showdown where he was almost daring me to strike first. I reminded myself of the Cree tribe and their reputation for getting the job done. I was one of them in a sense. No, I was not of their blood. But I hated what I was and who I’d become as much as they did. With supernatural speed and heightened senses, I could hear Ripper’s heartbeat but knew he, too, could hear my own. It was probably why he hadn’t bothered to try to trick me with one of his fake voices on. He knew I wasn’t dumb.

  Like it or not, the only way to end it all and change history’s curse was to fight Jack head on. He wasn’t the fifteen-foot man-beast he should have been. Instead, his perfectly tanned skin reminded me of a hardworking man who might have worked long days in fields rather than behind a desk. His skin wasn’t gray, his tongue didn’t seem particularly long, and he smelled of nothing other than aftershave. For a man who should have reeked of decay, Jack didn’t appear to me to be Wendigo at all.

  I jumped as he took a step forward, grinning.

  “I said, it took you long enough.”

  “I heard you,” I respond
ed, wondering why I hadn’t just left it alone. Hell, I deserved to be locked up. Olivia, the man in the motel, the unmentionable act with my own spawn? By any count, I was now a serial killer too. I reminded myself he didn’t have on me what he did on my twin. I was like him. It would take the very same things to kill me too. Of course, I knew he wasn’t ignorant enough not to be aware of it and kept my eyes on his hands for fear of a silver blade or gun. Just one bullet would be enough.

  “Tell me. Why is it that you’ve come?” He brought his right hand to his chin, rubbing his fingers over his thin lips as if honestly contemplating this.

  I knew better about that too. It was hard to trick someone of your own bloodlust. “You know why.”

  At any moment, either or both of us could have pounced. I knew this. He knew this too. But between the decades and caught between the present and future, it was as if time had been worn down. In a tired form of suspension, I listened to the quickening of his heart knowing mine was right behind. He was about to strike.

  I inhaled too deeply. Never great at faking anything, it was the fatal blow that gave my thoughts away. And with that, Jack lunged toward me. With both hands, he wrapped his long fingers around my neck. His nails, sharper than they should have been, dug into the back of my neck and tangled in my hair. I fell back, tumbling us both to the ground.

  With Jack on top of me, the befores and afters of four lifetimes flashed before my eyes. Pushing forward and letting out a sound I didn’t recognize—the guttural growl of a monster—I pulled my leg back to get to my sock. I had no choice in the matter of hatchet or knife. With the hatchet side all I had, I made quick use of gravity to tear through my sock, nicking my calf in the process. It was the smell of my blood that stopped him. Off guard, he alleviated the pressure on my neck, allowing me a chance to suck in the heavy night air. With a burst, and while Jack looked back to determine the source of the blood, I used everything I had to push him off of me. Standing as quickly as I could, I lurched forward, thrusting the hatchet toward his heart.