“Huh. So, why is that?”
He shrugged. “Words are supposed to be spoken in a certain way, and I have always held myself to saying them correctly.”
“That’s a bit anal, don’t you think?”
“There are worse traits to possess.”
She snorted. “Well, you’re right about that. So where are we, anyway?”
“The Pennsylvania State Fair…or I should say my own version of it. I had a vision of this place a while back. Someone met me here. She was the one who told me to find you.”
“Oh. So…what do we do now?”
He turned. The path was still behind him, as it had been before. “We go that way,” he said, and started walking. Marcy stuck close, brushing against him every so often as if to make sure he was still real. She was so close he could smell her.
The only stink that came off her now was the scent of jasmine.
* * *
Christopher awoke to the sound of moaning – only this sound didn’t come from outside the hotel walls. He shot up, his elbow thwacking the hardwood floor in the process. Pain spiked all the way to his shoulder. Whimpering, he leaned back and rubbed the sore spot.
The moan came again. Christopher darted his eyes around the room. He didn’t know what time it was and darkness surrounded him. He bent down and let his fingers dance across the floor in search of the tablet that’d held the candles. When he felt the coldness of the metal plate he picked up the pack of matches, tore one out, lit a candle, and turned to gaze at Mr. Mathis and the lady.
Upon seeing them he wanted to scream but couldn’t. All he could do was watch as the two bodies writhed on their blankets. Sweat poured off them and they inched toward each other like blind worms. Every so often they seemed to fade, to become lesser, right before his eyes. He tried to slap Mr. Mathis awake but the man didn’t respond. His eyes were sealed shut.
Finally the girl opened her mouth. A long groan escaped her throat, followed by smoke – actual smoke, as if fire raged in her lungs.
At the sight of it Christopher bolted out of the room in search of Dr. Terry, Forrest, anybody.
* * *
Marcy felt woozy. She leaned against one of the many trees that lined the path they walked. Her lungs burned. She tried to take a deep breath but when she inhaled a violent cough overtook her. She doubled over, hacking phlegm and blood all over the dirt.
“What happened?” asked Billy. His hand fell to her back.
“I don’t know. I was fine, and then…it felt like something pushed into my chest. It hurts…”
“Hold on,” her hero replied. “It is only a few steps more. I have a feeling I understand what is causing it.”
“What’s that?” she asked. It was still so hard to breathe.
“It is hard to explain. I feel it would work best if I simply showed you.”
She plodded on using him for support every time her knees buckled. She was so thankful for his help, and the care he obviously felt for her. In no way did she understand why he cared so much – truthfully there was very little she understood about any of this – but she put it in the category of gift horses and mouths and forced the thought from her mind.
Up ahead the path forked. Mercifully, Billy let her sit down on a stump. Her every muscle ached. It was like her body had given up.
Billy stood beside her and gazed down the path to right. It was very dark and covered by a canopy of dead trees, unlike the one on the left, which was alive and full of sunshine. A frightening-looking birch tree, its trunk split down the middle, stood in the center of the darkened path. It looked to her that the light simply died when it came within a few feet of the tree’s dead limbs. She shuddered all over at the sight of it.
Billy turned to face her. His expression developed a quizzical quality. His eyes narrowed, he seemed to lose focus, and then he meandered away, mumbling to himself. Marcy couldn’t hear what he said. She tried to rise and follow him but her limbs wouldn’t behave. She told her legs to stand and they flattened out. She told her arms to hold steady and they shook uncontrollably. She began to fear she’d be stuck there, leaning against that stump, forever.
Billy returned to her only a few moments later. His eyes had regained their attentiveness. He bent over, draped her arms around his neck, lifted her by the waist, and pointed down the darkening, haunted path.
“We go down there. You will be better once we do,” he said.
“Why?” she asked, more out of habit than anything. With the amount of pain she felt she would’ve trusted him if he’d said that murdering a basket full of puppies would make it all go away.
He began walking down the path with her propped against him. “There is an intruder here,” he said. His voice was far away, contemplative. “It wants to harm you. You are getting closer to the source. And it has soldiers…”
The air grew thick. Whereas Marcy had difficulty breathing before, it was nearly impossible now. Her face pressed against something wet though there was nothing in front of her. Her hair plastered to her forehead. Lights danced in her vision, flashes of purple, red, and yellow. The world started fading away.
It was Billy who brought her back. He pulled her in close and whispered, “Stay with me, the sensation will pass.” She focused on making her burning lungs expand and contract. Eventually her surroundings came back into focus.
She wished it would’ve gone away again.
The forest came to life. Every dead tree, every burnt vine, every thatch of spoiled vegetation swayed of its own accord. The ground shifted as roots snaked this way and that. The trees bent toward the road, their branches reaching for her with their sharpened, spear-like ends.
Billy yanked her forward. When she saw what waited ahead of them air suddenly rushed into her lungs and she shrieked.
The birch tree was no longer a tree. Its hide looked like wet leather covered with scales. It bulged, ready to burst. Halfway up, in the nook where the trunk separated into two looping appendages, sat the face of death – a huge skull, not quite human, with eyes of yellow flame that seemed to grow larger by the second. A high-pitched droning filled her ears. It sounded like the skull laughed at them.
The torso of the massive tree-beast split, becoming a voracious mouth lined with sharp, blackened teeth. Billy gripped her tighter. He was leading her right to the disgusting thing. Her adrenaline flowed and she tried to break away from her supposed protector.
“What are you DOING?” she screeched.
“Please, trust me,” he replied in little more than a whisper.
The living forest rushed at them. Branches clouted them on all sides. A vine wrapped around Marcy’s leg. She slipped from Billy’s grasp and was dragged across the trail. More of the living vegetation lashed out, enveloping her, squeezing her tight, all the while pulling her in the direction of the tree’s hungry mouth.
She glanced behind her. Billy just stood there, brow lowered, fists clenched, shaking all over. She tried to call out to him but another vine bound her windpipe, choking her. The pressure in her head intensified. It felt like she might pop.
Billy’s head snapped up. He hunched his back, bent at the knees, bared his teeth, and growled. Marcy gawked at him. So, it seemed, did the animated foliage holding her captive. Their grip loosened enough for her to tear off the vines around her neck. She never took her eyes off of Billy as she did so, however. The sight of him was simply too strange to turn away from.
The man’s black skin had lightened to an almost golden color and his muscles were unnaturally large. His cheekbones rose higher on his face and his forehead sloped away. The teeth in his mouth became pointed, his eyes were vertical slits. And when he roared he sounded like the largest and most savage of wild cats.
He charged. His arms and legs pumped. He leapt over Marcy and the vines that held her, soaring a good ten yards before landing on his feet. One of the tree-beast’s massive adjuncts swung towards him. He jumped over it, again soaring, and buried his shoulder into its scaly hide.
He planted his feet on the ground, gripped the thing with hands that now ended in claws, and shoved. The dirt shifted as the creature’s roots struggled to maintain their stronghold within the earth. The gaping mouth, only inches from Billy’s hand, swelled. He reached inside, grabbed hold of one immense, bark-like tooth, and yanked it from its socket. A large chunk of the thing’s innards tore loose. Black gunk flowed from the wound, pouring gallons of it on the forest floor. The tree seemed to howl in pain.
Marcy’s wardens let go of her, retreating back to the edge of the path. She got up on one knee, held her chest, and began coughing. It felt like the largest phlegm bubble ever burst in her lungs. She vomited, but what came out wasn’t liquid but smoke. The smoke trailed in the air like a serpent, heading away from her, until it dissipated in the suddenly brightening air.
Billy turned to her, smiled a feline smile, and then began to scale the beast. Its branches flailed in feeble attempts to stop him but he was either too strong, too fast, or both. His claws dug into its hide, ripping away lumps of brown matter as he climbed. Once he reached the top he stood up in the nook between its two arms, grabbed the skull in both hands, and started to rip it out. It came loose with a sickening tearing sound. Marcy watched as the muscles in Billy’s back tensed and the skull rose from its socket, trailed by the links of a blood-and-viscous-covered spinal column. Billy straightened out and with one final jerk it came free. He held the skull above his head, the spinal cord dangling like a tail, and then leapt. He smashed the skull on the ground with the force of a man trying to drive a stake into the earth with his bare hands. It splintered on impact, breaking into a thousand pieces. The air itself seemed to squeal. Marcy’s body vibrated along with it. She dropped her head between her knees and covered her ears.
Then, abruptly, it all stopped. For a moment she just sat there, confused. It felt like her life was a record and someone had slid a needle across the surface. Marcy uncovered her head and looked around.
The path was bright. The birch in the center was just a tree. Billy stood before it, staring at his hands. His color was back, but when he raised his gaze to her his eyes were still slits. The only sounds she heard were the wind and rustling leaves.
She stood up, feeling normal again, and approached him. She hastily embraced her protector, who must not have expected it because his body quivered for a moment before returning the gesture. When she pulled away his eyes were normal.
“Thank you,” she said.
He shook his head. “It is not over,” he replied.
“It’s not?”
“No.”
“But you just kicked that thing’s ass. You can at least be proud of that, right?”
Billy’s lips twisted into a depressed grimace.
“Why not?” asked Marcy.
He looked at her and she saw the sadness in his eyes. When she heard him speak that sadness expanded tenfold.
“The woman said anger is my gift to you, that it is all I have ever had.”
* * *
John Terry followed the kid into the banquet hall, cursing the day he agreed to the professor’s plan. It wasn’t enough that he had to deal with his wife’s constant praying. No, now he had the youngster who’d shown up into his room just hours before dawn, ranting and raving about strange happenings with the unconscious girl. This mayhem had to stop. He’d see to that.
The boy led him into the center of the room. Forrest was already there, staring down, his fist planted firmly against his thick chin. John didn’t like the look on his face. He appeared …alarmed.
When he arrived at the scene he discovered why.
The two bodies on the floor were intertwined with each other like lovers. Neither wore any clothes, though when he glanced about him he could see no sign of where they’d been discarded. He heard the boy gasp, echoing the way he felt. Abhorrence tickled the base of his spine. How dare the sick bastard, he thought. Taking advantage of the poor girl like that…
He tried to hold onto his anger but couldn’t. Something wasn’t right about the pair other than their pose. It was their skin. It seemed off somehow. He frowned, adjusted his glasses, and leaned in for a closer look.
The flesh on both parties had developed a smooth sheen. For a moment he thought he could see the blankets through them, as if they’d become translucent, but upon further inspection, that wasn’t completely the case. He couldn’t see the blankets themselves, but he could make out a hint of them, like silly putty that had been pressed onto a newspaper, rolled up, and then flattened again. He looked up at Forrest, who shrugged in reply.
“This can’t be good,” Forrest said.
“You don’t say,” snapped John. The couple on the floor both sighed at once and he jumped. His heart raced. He reached down and grabbed the professor’s arm. It felt like it was made of stone.
“How long have they been like this?” he asked.
The boy replied. “Well, they weren’t naked before…and I was asleep…so…I don’t know…” He backed up a step and then lowered himself to the floor as if in a trance.
“What should we do?” asked Forrest.
John sat his old bones beside the couple, took off his glasses, cleaned them, and then checked for a pulse he knew he wouldn’t find. He sighed, crossed his legs, and settled in.
“Go get Katy,” he said. “Tell her to bring her bag. Other than that, we wait.”
* * *
The path wove through the forest and emptied into a clearing. There was a house up ahead at the top of a slight rise – a quaint, one-story log cabin with a wraparound porch upon which a wicker patio set had been placed. A chimney rose from the center of the house and smoke swirled from it, trailing high into the clear, sun-drenched sky.
Billy glanced at Marcy. A smile painted her face, making her look youthful.
“What is this place?” he asked.
“Home,” she replied with a wink.
“It is charming.”
She shrugged and shivered. There was an innocent air about her. Seeing this caused a twinge of sadness to reverberate through his body.
They arrived at the front steps. Marcy began to climb them but Billy lingered behind, hesitant. She turned to him.
“What’s the matter?”
“I am…unsure.”
“About what?”
Bella’s words to him before he faced the guardian echoed in his head. His shoulders sagged.
“Something’s wrong,” Marcy said.
“Yes.”
“Talk to me, Billy.”
He leveled his gaze at her and spoke. “I am unsure of my place. Some time ago I had a vision…at least I assume it to be a vision. It was much like what we are experiencing now. In it there was a woman, and she was ethereal and beautiful. She was similar to you, as a matter of fact. It was she who told me to seek you out, who told me to help you.” He jabbed his thumb behind him. “Back there, at the tree, she came to me again. It was only her voice but it was clear as this day is now bright; not as though she was beside me, whispering in my ear, but as if she spoke from within me, as a part of me. She told me what I had to do. I accepted those instructions, but now I am not so sure.”
“Why not?”
He groaned. “She said I have a fire inside me. She said it has simmered for as long as I have been living, perhaps longer. Her command was to release this fire, to not hold it back. That it is the only way I can help you.”
He paused, and Marcy said, “So?”
“You do not understand. The woman was correct. I have lived my life in a rage. I have tried to harness my loathing, to turn it into something helpful, something good. But I have lost control in the past, let it overtake me.”
“In what way?”
“A long time ago, I killed a man. I did this coldly, but it was an act fueled by my rage, rage for what he was, rage for the horrors he rained down upon someone dear to me. Because of my actions the light I had to give, the knowledge I had to present the world, was locked away, in both
mind and body.” Tears welled and he stubbornly held them at bay. “I have lived so long thinking that my form of justice was not only valid, but righteous. But I have seen the effect my actions have had on those I aimed to enlighten. Because of what I did everything I had ever said or written, all of the wisdom I was sure would change the world, has turned to dust. And now I am told this anger is all I had, all I will ever have. I do not wish for it to continue. I do not wish to become a tool for violence.”
Marcy dipped her head and squinted. She walked back down the stairs and grabbed his hand.
“Billy,” she said, “I don’t really know you, but I know people. I always have. You don’t strike me as a bad man. Why don’t we head inside? I’m not sure what’s in there, but it feels strong and powerful and not necessarily bad. You’ve been on this journey for a while now. You don’t have to be a tool for violence if you don’t want to be. And besides, don’t you want to see how it’s supposed to end?”
He nodded sheepishly. “Yes. But what about her words? I do not wish to remain in darkness.”
“Eh, let it be,” she replied with a wink. “I think you’re overanalyzing things.” She pulled him up the stairs and opened the door. Before stepping inside she stated confidently, “The woman said you have a fire inside. Last time I checked, fire wasn’t darkness. Maybe you should re-think your definitions.”
The interior of the house was woodsy. Hand-stitched placards bestowing positive messages hung from the walls. Billy felt an incredible lightness overcome him. His muscles tingled, his mind hummed. He walked ahead of Marcy and ran his finger across the kitchen table. It was smooth and polished. A vase filled with wildflowers sat in the center of the table atop a Lazy Suzan. There were picture frames surrounding the vase. He spun it and watched the pictures as they rolled past him, telling the story of the house, telling the story of family.
He grinned and turned to Marcy, but she wasn’t there. He whirled around, looking in all directions, but she was nowhere to be seen in the kitchen. He strolled into the living room but she wasn’t there either. His wistfulness evaporated and his steps picked up their pace. The tingling in his core intensified. He called out her name. She didn’t answer.
Dead Of Winter (The Rift Book II) Page 30
