by Quil Carter
I spun around as I heard something outside, voices. I could hear voices… no… no they weren’t speaking. I ran outside, lopsided with only one shoe on and stood in the gravelly backyard. What was that? I craned my ears and tried to follow the noise. That person must have been ringing the bell. Who was it? Reno? Maybe it was…
It was sucking… it was the sound of… licking, moaning…
My moaning.
I heard a snap, and then another recording.
“I want you.” It was my voice… it was Asher’s voice recorder. The one he had taken from Reaver’s cargo pants.
“NO!” I screamed. I ran through Reaver’s backyard, stepping over a fallen down chain-link fence and a strip of clumped yellow bushes. It was coming from the ruins of the house next door. I wasn’t imagining it, I wasn’t… oh god, what’s going on with my head?
The recording continued. I could hear kissing, making out. His lips sucking on my mouth as his hands traced my stomach. I remembered every moment of it.
I ran into the house, the recording getting louder as I got closer.
The black voice recorder was sitting on a water-damaged coffee table. I grabbed it and threw it up against the wall with a sob.
As the voice recorder fell, a button was pressed. I could hear raspy breathing, ragged, dying breaths.
“A body reveals its most shocking of secrets, after the last breath is drawn.” His voice was a gasping wheeze.
“You’re dead!” I sobbed. I grabbed a loose brick from the fireplace and started to smash the recorder. With all my strength I made sure no one would ever listen to his voice again. He was dead! HE WAS DEAD!
Then who put the voice recorder there? Who rang the fucking bell!?
Oh god, I was crazy… I was crazy. I needed more heroin, I needed more drugs. I was going to go crazy if I didn’t get help.
He’s fucking with you, Killian. He’s fucking with you, Killian.
“Very clever… cicaro. How did you do it?” I could still hear that voice, gasping for air as his lungs compressed on themselves. Those thin breaking strands, no longer smooth, no longer crystal clear and flawless. He was dying. I had watched him die. When I buried him he was cold.
Would he still be there?
I grabbed the voice recorder and ran out of the abandoned house, my one shoe slapping against the pavement, then crunching on gravel as I cut across the streets. I knew the way, I knew the way there.
I’d have to climb in the middle of the night, but the moon was still out. The silver stain of the moonlight would show me where to step. I was agile, I could do it.
I wrapped my arms around my chest and lowered my head. My wrist ached, cutting through the hysteria. But I wasn’t cold. I didn’t feel the pain of my feet continuing to roll over the uneven gravel and debris. My mind wanted me to get to the cemetery. My mind wanted me to know for sure that Asher was rotting in his grave. I needed the reality that everything was a hallucination. My mind fucking with me, Asher fucking with me.
I climbed over the remains of houses and their refuse. Over the electric poles, the endless bones of rusted rebar, the open fridges, and the wood and nails, lots of those. I avoided them as much as I could, but I could feel the wetness between my bare toes. I was leaving crescent rings of red wherever my feet stepped, bread crumbs for Reaver to eventually find me.
It was easier to climb. It hadn’t rained today, everything was dry. I could grip the pavement, the twists of metal bar, I could climb like Reaver said I could. My agility… he said to use it to my advantage and I was. I was strong… deep down, I was.
Asher and Perish were both waiting for me in front of the blown-out house.
Perish was in the shadows, his lab coat crisp against the shadowed gravel and pavement. He was wringing his hands nervously, kneading one against the other in an anxious circle.
Asher was holding a rusty shovel in his hand, his black lips raised in a smirk. I could see dead veins in his neck, large and black under his translucent grey skin.
He was dressed in the clothes I had buried him in, dark patches of dirt on the corners of the fabric and his blotched black skin visible through the thin mesh of his shirt. The black veins were so thick in his neck and arms, they crept up to his face like split rivers on a map. Dead blood that hadn’t pooled, stagnant in the veins it had rotted in.
“Ill met by moonlight, cicaro?” He smiled at me, the shreds of bag still tied around his neck like a kerchief, bits of blue plastic stuck in his teeth.
I reached my hand out and he handed me the shovel. Without a word exchanged I smiled back before walking into the house, past the living room and into the cemetery.
I slammed the shovel into the ground and swept my eyes over the darkened oasis, mentally picking out every grave. All of my friends, all of my friends were here. In their graves, waiting for me to visit. Waiting so they could watch me dig up Perish. Never to rest in peace, only to be desecrated again and again.
I took in a cold breath; it soothed my aching throat. A throat sore and raw from weeks and weeks of screaming. The wintery air seemed to weaken the smouldering flames behind my tongue.
The cemetery was beautiful tonight. The moon always lit it up in a way that made me think it was enchanted, or some sort of magical place. I loved how the silky light made the yellow grass seem like strands of silver, how the dead trees rose up defiantly into the air. They were corpses too; corpses that had burst out of the ground gasping for breath, nestled inside thick bark and heavy roots. Ready to snag anyone who came too close in their long, claw-like branches. They fed off bodies, they brought themselves back to life by luring people here to eat alive.
I wondered if my friends would do that as well.
I felt a drop of rain on my neck. I took that as my sign and picked the shovel back up and walked over to Perish’s grave. The dirt was now the same faded colour as the rest of the wasteland.
Four feet… or was it more? I pressed my sneaker against the end of the shovel and started digging. The rain fell heavily around me. The sound was beautiful, mixed in with the stillness of the night. A tranquil, peaceful milieu, undisturbed by the churning madness in the pit of my mind.
As I got deeper I could smell the rot, though my nose was so fatigued from the overabundance of decay I had been inhaling, I could easily ignore it. I drove the shovel in again and flung the dirt behind me.
Each mound of black soil brought me closer, closer to Perish, my Perry… closer to Asher, the psychopathic raticater. Each shovel… each shovel…
I remember when I buried my mom and dad.
I had been crying then, but I wasn’t crying now. I wouldn’t cry, I would be happy. The confirmation he was dead. He was… he wasn’t behind me, he wasn’t ringing the bell, he was dead. I had killed him.
I drove the shovel in, and stamped on it with my sneaker. I pushed all my weight into it and threw it over me again. Sweat was beading down my forehead. The hole was getting bigger, wider… deeper. The sweat became icy drops as soon as the cold air hit. I started to shiver.
The pearly beads dripped into the hole. I had to dig faster, I had to dig more. I leaned against the shovel and stared off into the darkness as I allowed myself a brief moment to catch my breath.
Now I could smell them… the aroma was choking my nostrils. I was getting close.
I wiped my mouth with a dirty hand and kept on digging, grunting with every shovelful.
The next slam of the shovel brought a sickening wet sound. I had pierced something. I threw the shovel over my head and dropped to my knees. When I was on my knees the edges of the grave fell past my head. I was surrounded by blackness. Just me and my Perry, on a date.
I looked down, and realized I was sinking into a rib cage.
Stained rib bones encased my left knee, my right was crushing the other set. I could feel his bones snapping with every shift.
I stared.
The mouth on his skull was open in a grin; he was laughing at me.
Peris
h was having a great laugh, because there was only one explanation for why I would be seeing his grinning face. Only one reason why I would be on top of him, sinking into him.
Asher wasn’t there. Asher wasn’t in the grave I had put him in.
“Killian!” Reaver’s voice was an echo, far away.
I picked up the skull, and held it in my hands.
“Asher isn’t here…”
ASHER ISN’T HERE.
Only my Perish. My Perish. My Perry… he was alone in this desecrated grave, he had always been alone.
I held the skull to me with my left hand, and with the other I dug through his body, pushing back mounds of rotting flesh and writhing maggots. I felt through the muck searching for any parts that might’ve been Asher, but no, only one body.
Asher isn’t here, Killian. Asher isn’t here!
“Killian? Oh… my fucking god… Killian?”
“He isn’t here!” I screamed. I got up, holding Perish’s skull, my feet sinking into the body’s cavity. “He isn’t here!” I shrieked. I watched as my reality crumbled around me, nothing but a mass of rubble under the thunderous earthquake that was shaking my very existence.
“Who isn’t?!” Reaver’s voice was strangled. He pulled me out of the grave. I fell onto the ground and got to my feet, swaying off to my side before I could right myself.
I looked back at the grave. I rubbed my hands together, wrung them, and started pacing around the open pit.
“Who isn’t… Killian?”
My head snapped up as he said my name. He had said it through a sob.
I looked at him, knocking the knuckles on my clenched fists together. I didn’t understand what I was seeing. His face was a depiction of torment, a canvas holding an image not even my nightmares dared show me. I didn’t understand what I was looking at, at first, my brain told me it wasn’t him, because it wasn’t possible.
Reaver was crying.
I saw glistening in his black eyes, and down his cheeks. Those black gems all the more beautiful with the glimmer and sheen rimming the corners. They bore into me with such intense sorrow I found myself, even in my madness, staring back unblinking.
Reaver was scared? My raven-eyed chimera was never scared. He was the epitome of strength, he was the rock on which I stood. He didn’t know how to be scared; not even when the ravers were after him did he show fear.
I looked away from him and paced in front of the grave. “He isn’t here… he isn’t here, Reaver.”
“Who!” Reaver demanded. His hands were clenched in front of him as if pleading at me to do something to explain my bizarre actions.
Suddenly I felt his hands grasp my shoulders, and he shook me so hard my teeth rattled in my head. “Who, Killian! Perish?” He walked to the grave and pointed. “He’s right there, he’s just bones now.”
“NO! NOT HIM!” I couldn’t control my own voice; everything came out shrill and flooded in panic. Every cell inside of me felt like it was being touched with a live wire.
I felt a hard impact and realized I had dropped to me knees. I started to sob. “I killed him… I killed him!”
I saw Reaver’s legs as he stood in front of me, then he lowered so we were facing each other. I looked at him, my teeth chattering, no, my whole body was shaking back and forth. I couldn’t look away, I had to be a man. I had to be a man like Asher, or Reaver would leave me.
I tried to inhale, but my throat was a vice. I choked on my own words “I killed Asher, I killed Asher that night. He didn’t get away. I killed him, Reaver.”
“What?” Reaver’s voice dropped. He gripped my shoulders. “You killed him? No, no Killi. That’s just your mind playing tricks. I promise–”
“No!” I screamed and wrenched away from him. I clenched a clump of my hair into my fists. “I killed him. He drugged me with ressin and blackmailed me with the recorder. When I was fucking him with the dildo I slipped pills inside him, lots. He brought me here. I put a bag over his head. I suffocated him!” I paused as I choked on the stench of my own body and gagged. I clenched my teeth as I resisted the urge to scream. “He was cold when I buried him. I buried him on top of Perish. He’s dead. I killed him, Reaver.”
When I saw the look of doubt on his face, I lost it. I broke down as hysterical sobs spilled from my mouth, one by one. “You have to believe me, he’s alive, Reaver. Asher’s alive. He’s in Aras, he’s been following me. He was just here. He’s real, he came back from the dead.”
“Please, Reaver… believe me,” I begged. He kept looking at me like I was a dying puppy squealing before I was put out of my misery. I grabbed his arm with my trembling, rot-covered hand. “Please.”
Reaver looked at my arm. I saw his lips tighten and his jaw clench. I looked down too and realized he could see my bruised, white flesh, covered in track marks.
Then his eyes fell to the skull right beside us. Perish’s skull. Still laughing at the joke only he and Asher would have found funny.
Smiling Perish… my Perry.
Wordlessly Reaver rose, before leaning down and picking me up. Still without a word spoken between us, he carried me out of the cemetery.
When he got to the bottom of the largest refuse pile he set me gently down on a fridge and got out his radio. I didn’t dare speak.
“Greyson!” he said through clenched teeth. He was angry, he was angry at me. I was more trouble than I was worth. “Greyson!”
He leaned forward on a cement wall, a casted shadow making it look almost like a doorway, and lowered his head.
“Reaver, what’s wrong?”
“Get your fucking ass out of bed, get some hot water in the bathtub, get peroxide, baking soda, something…” Reaver took a breath, and slammed a hand against the concrete in stifled rage. He let out a frustrated noise through clenched lips. “Get Leo home. Quickly.”
I could see his shoulders rising and falling with each heavy breath.
“Reaver, what happened?”
He gave a frustrated yell and screamed into the radio. “Just fucking do it!”
He jammed the radio back into his pocket and picked me back up. I was too scared to talk. I kept looking around for Asher. He was here, he was just here… I tried to sit up higher in Reaver’s arms, but he tightened his grip.
I couldn’t understand the expression on his face. He was clenching his teeth like he was in physical pain and his breathing was so hoarse. Was Reaver sad because he thought I was crazy? I wasn’t crazy, I had killed him. I’d strangled him… I overdosed him…
“I’m not crazy,” I whispered, “I’m not crazy.”
Chapter 50
Reaver
Greyson looked at Killian like he was carrying a plague. He gave me a wide berth as I walked past him and into the house.
“What the fuck is he… what the fuck, Reaver?” Greyson gagged, keeping the door open to let the air escape. “What the fuck? Are those… is that rotten blood?”
I stalked past him to the bathroom. He had obeyed my orders; there was warm vinegary water in the tub.
Gently and slowly I lowered Killian into it and started taking off what little clothes he had on, peeling off the bloodstained pants, revealing the sickly, pale skin underneath.
Killian stared forward, his lips slowly moving. Telling me he wasn’t crazy.
I threw his clothes into the garbage and started squeezing every container full of soap I could find. I washed my own hands in the hot water and got up.
I walked up the stairs and into my bedroom. I took out a Discman I had stashed in my cabinet and returned to the bathroom.
I put the earphones over his ears and turned the music on. “This isn’t the shit you usually like, I don’t have any Matthew Good Band, but listen to it really loudly and scrub up.” I kissed his forehead and gave him a smile. I waited until I could hear the music blasting in his ears before I left again.
I walked into the living room and saw Greyson standing by the couch with his arms crossed.
I calmly wa
lked up to him and punched him right in his fucking face.
The punch threw Greyson right off of his feet. He flipped over the couch and crashed into the coffee table.
“Next time you want to pass off a corpse as Perish Dekker, don’t forget to match the skull’s fucking teeth!” I spat. “You stupid fucking old man. Do you have any fucking idea what you’ve done!?” I tried to lower my voice but I was too angry to have any control over myself.
They brought him home, they fucking brought home Perish Dekker to keep him as their prisoner. Perish was immortal like King Silas, and they had known it the whole time. It all made sense, every fucking thing made sense. It wasn’t until I saw the bruise shaped handprints on Killian’s arms, then moments later the confirmation with Perish’s skull.
Killian hadn’t been hallucinating.
Greyson gawked at me from the floor. He looked absolutely shell-shocked. “You… Reaver you don’t understand. Inside his head… are things that could help everyone. Secrets that could fix everything…”
The mayor scrambled to his feet, but kept a good distance from me. “Reaver, listen. Perish is seventy years old. Silas doesn’t care where he is, what he does… he can offer us vital information. We’ve already gotten so much.” Greyson carried on rambling but I was done.
“We have a chance to bring down King Silas. We have a chance to finally do some good.”
I laughed. “You have a chance to bring down King Silas.” I walked over to him, my chest heaving. I couldn’t contain it, I couldn’t whisper it. The anger was seeping from my lips. I shouted it, with every ounce of anger I had in me.
“ASHER IS KING SILAS YOU FUCKING IDIOT!” I screamed. “King Silas is in Aras! He has been in fucking Aras for over two fucking months. You brought him here! You didn’t even recognize your own fucking king?”
I think in every human there is an off switch. Where the emotions get to be too much, where the information overloads your circuits and you just… burn out. The wheels stop turning, the lights go out, you just sit and stare into darkness as your brain jumpstarts itself like a shitty PC.
