Dead Awake: Devil Six Feet Under (The Dead Walking Book 2)

by Hades

  I’m sorry ma’am. I mean these.” I dug out my old airline tickets and handed them to her. “I canceled these a while back, but now I’d like to get on the plane as soon as possible.”

  The ticket agent took the tickets from me, as I slid the rest of the stuff from off the counter into my pocket. Her clicking fingers were busily engaged at hitting the keys on the computer as she was trying to find something. Finally she found it.

  “Here it is. Mr. Finch – is that right?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “Well, it looks like you canceled these tickets a little over a month ago?”

  “Aha...”

  “So when would you like to make those reservations?”

  “Well, I’d like to leave as soon as possible.”

  There was a pause before she said anything back to me, as though I’d just requested something ludicrous. Then her upper lip curved up, in a smile and she tried hard to contain composure. “I’m sorry sir, you weren’t informed about our cancellation policy. You have to have at least three weeks of notice in this busy time of the year.”

  “Oh yes, I know, but I’m sure that that’s no problem. You see, I came in about two weeks ago and talked to one of the supervisors, so I’m sure that it can be possible.”

  “Okay, I’ll check that for you.” (click, click).

  (I had to result to try and trick her by telling her that I’d been given the “ok” by a higher power so she wouldn’t give me a hassle. Whatever she was looking for now, on her monitor, was certainly not a manager’s approval for what I’d just said. She had no way of knowing if I was making it up or not, so she had to put me in the right.) A moment later and she spoke again.

  “Did you say you made this reservation on the fourth or the fifth?” (Click, click) “Well... I came in on the fifth, I think it was a Friday.” (My hands were sweaty now.) “Let me see.” (Click, click.) “I don’t show anything on this screen. Maybe if I do this . . .” (Click, click, click.) Are you sure you made a reservation under that same name?” My face was damp and dripping. I was hoping I didn’t mess up, because I was so nervous.

  “Well that’s it, you see I didn’t really make a reservation with him. In fact I was quite upset that day, because they were unable to help me then, but your boss told me that if I wanted to get on the plane it would take about three weeks. So that should be next week. And since I came in about then, I don’t see why I can’t just . . .”

  But she didn’t let me finish my sentence.

  “Well, if you didn’t make any reservation, I don’t think anything can be done for you, because the planes are all full. Maybe you can talk to the supervisor again, but I don’t think it will help.”

  The smirk came on her face again and I began to get mad. “Yes let me talk to him. I need to get out of here,” I said, as if by doing so she was going to be in trouble.

  She walked behind an opening and returned with her supervisor. It was he! The same man I had yelled at last time; and unfortunately, by his expression, I could tell that he had recognized me too.

  “Is there a problem again, Mr. Finch?”

  “No, no problem, but I’m sure you remember me...”

  “Yes, I remember you very well. It seems you don’t like our island, is that right?”

  “No, that’s not it. You remember I came in about two weeks ago and wanted to get on a plane to the States. Well I figured, since we had a disagreement, and since you already knew my problem, and said that it would take about three weeks to get me on a plane. Well, I thought we could take it into account (the two weeks I’ve already been here since then), and you could issue me a ticket for any plane next week.”

  The large man looked at me with his big black eyes, which were about to bulge out at any moment, and laughed mockingly (which I didn’t appreciate at all).

  “Mr. Finch, as much as I’d like to, we cannot do that for you. It is the same this time as the last. It does not work that way. You have to wait three weeks.”

  “But I can’t wait that long!”

  “It is the same as last time. You could not wait that long, and look, you are already here. I’m sorry Mr. Finch, but if this is going to create a scene, as it did last time, then we can let the authorities escort you out; and you won’t be able to come in again. Then the embassy will have to ship you home! (Then he chuckled to himself ). So let me print you a ticket for the next three weeks and you can be on your way.”

  “Yes, but . . .”

  I tried to interrupt, but he was faster.

  “There’s nothing else you can do.”

  His face was firm, yet his resolve was that of one handing out a portion to an ungrateful beggar.

  “Alright, damn it! I don’t know what I’m going to do in this island full of boludos .”

  “Mr. Finch... There are ladies present. Is that kind of language what they teach you in America?” He laughed at me some more and then printed the ticket. He was still laughing as I walked out. (What an idiot) He enjoyed what he was doing to me. I couldn’t stand it! Another three weeks!

  What would I do? How would I live? There was no job, no way to get a house now, the house that she would want. The final check from the paper would hold us through for a little while, but not long, and then what? “My head, my head. Somebody fix my head,” I told myself. It was pounding as if a vice were biting into it. The airport here was a joke. Where was the order? Where was the right side up? Where was the sense of it? My head, it spun . “Someone fix my head,” I cried again.

  The aimless walk through each terminal palpitated my anxiety. Where was an out for me? And my plane, where was my plane? For the next hour I spiraled downwards, into the hole I’d dug out with my heel. Then, drenched with mud, I went back . . .

  Don’t know how I got covered in dirt. Perhaps, I rolled in it during my state of delusion. Surely I’d gone mad: literally left my senses completely, for at least a while. I knew not the course I’d taken, nor the things I’d done for the past hour, only I was walking down the road, but could not remember anything after the airport. Perhaps I’d fallen, or sat down in the bog on purpose. I couldn’t say either way, but there I was covered in mud, with no way to be sure of what had happened. It was like waking from a dream (recent and clear), but the more I strained to remember, the more it whisked away.

  Thus I walked, wondering what had happened, until I finally realized that I had walked myself into the middle of some huge commotion that had been going all the while I’d been distracted. There I was, as the villagers surrounded me and walked aside me in the frenzy of some celebration. I heard them yelling, but not angry screams. It was more of an uproar, like a crowd preparing for a parade. The people flocked by me, all in their preparation for some unknown mania. In the meantime I had decided to quell my own madness by heading to the nearest pub. Thence I could clear or kill some of my demons inside.

  I made my way past the crowds, as a salmon fighting the downstream currents and, reaching the door of a small village bar, stumbled on a man who was also caught up in currents of the crowd-rush pandemonium. He was coming out from the pub as I was going in, in a headlong effort to catch up to what he’d missed. He only took a second, as we bumped into each other, to explain that I was going the wrong way and that I should hurry up and catch the crowd before it left without me. He said there was some sort of ritual up in the hills and that everyone needed to be a part of it.

  As he tried to hurry off, I don’t know why I mentioned it, but I told him that I needed something strong for my dementia: “That’s why I need a drink,” I said. He was already on his way, but stopped and returned to tell me what the upheaval was all about and advised that what I really needed “to get those demons out” was to go with him to the mountain ritual. Everybody was going, he said. I told him that it was impossible because I had to go inside, and then back to my girl; but he convinced me with his explanation.

  He said that my problem, he could tell, was caused by a sort of curse from Balem,
“El dios de los aborigenes malditos,” and that it had worked its way inside my head. That’s what caused the dementia. He said he knew all this by my eyes; that in my pupils he could see the symptoms. He also said that my iris was cracked and went on to explain what had been the cause of it. I had upset or defiled one of the gods in some way and now it was after me and even my head (or to get into my head; I couldn’t understand the exact phrase in Guarani). That was what was making me insane; not just its influence, but the literal injection of the evil god’s entity into my brain.

  I wasn’t one who often believed in that sort of thing, but this time, with all my lunacy, it made a better argument. There was something to be said about the way this man explained things. Maybe it wasn’t real sensible, but to a frenzied and paranoid mind, with a touch of schizophrenia, it was enough to get me to believe.

  The more he explained, the more I went along with it. And how could I not; the man was good enough to stay longer and explain it well, even if that meant putting a larger distance between him and the crowd.

  “Up there, in the mountains,” he said, “there is a place they call “Sacralego.” A ritual is to be held, and if you go they will find you a cure for you. They will let you drink from their tonic called “the blood of the mouth”. It is a very unusual drink that comes from the center of the mountain. They will also say the words, then you will become well. You will leave your body, and watch it from a higher point; watch it dance and then go to the mud. It is special mud. They will pour it on you and you will be cleansed with earth.

  All is good that is natural. If it is flesh, then you will be on the right way to healing. You must believe in Mother Earth, and let her indulgence heal you. For what is bad, that comes from mother? Only she can find a better cure.” The man smiled when he stopped talking. It was an ugly smile, but I had to follow. There was belief in my blood so I had to go and see.

  The whole world was in commotion as we ran to catch the masses. Islanders were dancing and screaming; all headed to the same party somewhere in the mountains. There were black men painted in red dies. Their hair was sticking out in knots, like hair dragged in the mud, and some of them were covered with it. I was well mingled with the group, fitting the part quite well, for my face and clothes were all covered with mud.

  Like Israel led by Moses, they were all led by some common belief to the mountain. Some brought birds in cages, others held wild game in their arms: bores, sheep, cats, dogs and rodents; but also strange things like snakes, frogs, lizards, ants and large black beetles. Except for the birds, most of these were carried without a cage. While they carried them they made wild gestures imitating them: sticking out their tongues at everything and at each other. It was like being thrown into the middle of a strange dream and now I was becoming part of it without assail.

  All the people were wild like me! And I embraced the island, becoming it, or maybe I was just imagining everything. They all fit well with me, those people dancing, and I wanted greatly to fit with them. They were my brothers and sisters, not doing savage things but embracing energy. This was a way of life for them.

  Their dance up the hill was a calming charm. What better purpose could I find, than to go with them? I could feel it! There was something special, waiting for me, at the top of that mountain, and I would find it even if I had to drag my blood-soaked knees through gravel to do so. It was a maddened course, up that path, but I loved it! So I went with them, up the mountain, joining in their wildness. Then I remembered Noelia and stopped.

  “I must go to her and bring her with me,” I said to myself aloud. “I told her we would talk tonight and settle our affairs. If I don’t see her, it will make things bad again... Maybe it would be settled better up in the mountain. I could bring her also and there we can find the path to our plans. Yes, I have to get her...”

  The man overheard my spoken thoughts, and told me to forget about her. But I couldn’t leave without her. I told him that, and he looked at me with disappointment, unhappy with my decision. He shrieked and showed his rotting teeth. “You go with us. Come back, go with us.”

  That was all he said, but it made sense to me. He was a frenzy, but I could understand. No other word could describe him, but “a frenzy”. I was a frenzy too. And I didn’t have to promise... I’d be back. I’d go down to the village to get Noelia, then we’d go up there. Yes, I’d come back, because he had gotten in my blood.

  Their music was a poison, gladly admitted in my curdled blood. The lunacy had let it in and now I was poisoned and had to return. The dance was with the Devil and I was his partner while the euphony went on. It was the Devil’s twist: he was leading and I had to keep up to the rhythm. So hurriedly I went to find Noelia, but like a restrained boy, wanting badly to return to the party, as if mother were holding me back.

  I ran to find her. Panting, puffing and squinting at the distance. I had an ardor to find her, every second making me more anxious to get back to the mountain ritual. My legs were tired: running, running, but I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t delay my return.

  Where was she? I panicked to think I wouldn’t find her soon enough and then the people would be too far out of reach. What if she wasn’t home, then what? I’d have to go look for her elsewhere! That would take more time. I even got mad with the thought. But it was all imagination. Still, my thoughts ran hotter with each possibility.

  Why did she always have to be going places? Why couldn’t she just be home when she was needed? I thought these things right before I turned the final corner to her house, my lungs almost collapsing, imagining that if I didn’t run faster I would just barely miss her... “Even if... I make it... before she leaves. There will be... little time. And we will have... a long way to catch up to reach... the procession!”

  My lungs were exasperated. I was desperate. I reached the small fence and my legs came to a halt, tumbling halfway over it. Beads were pouring down my face and the state of my frustration was unbearable! Noelia came out and saw me at her fence. Already my mouth was stammering over the words, the lack of breath choking out my explanation. She came and wanted to invite me in; her face involved over my drenched shirt. But I resisted and tried to talk; the words were heavy and difficult. It was hell having to wait for my breath, but the pounding heavy drums in my heart and the beads of sweat prevented any kind of explanation.

  “We have to go!” I spit sweat on her face. She wiped it off, disgusted. Then I paused a little, seeing my lack of success, while she tried to go inside. “Wait! We have... to, go... up there!”

  My finger pointed to the mountain as I tried, but she didn’t understand. I gave up, frustrated and let my heart slow its pace. She wanted to go in, but held back because of my intense behavior. Then finally, my breath came back; so I tried to explain. “Noelia, this is great. I can talk.”

  “Why were you running?”

  “No, wait. I’ll explain. But first, get your things. We are going to the mountain. I’ll tell you on the way.”

  “To the mountain?”

  “Up the mountain! There is a ritual there and all the people are going. I will be myself again! There was this man and he told me about it.” My sentences were still halfway cut, due to all the excitement.

  “Ritual? What ritual? Do you mean the “Mud ritual” at “El Sacralego?” Things didn’t look too good by her tone. She shook her head. “Did you know that today most of the island has a ritual of mud up in that mountain? Mud! Like the stuff on your shirt. How did you get it all over you like that? Did you fall?”

  Despite what I heard, I tried to go on, like a fool, convinced that there was no time to listen. All that mattered was that we had to leave right then and there. “There’s no time to explain all that right now. And I don’t know about the mud, I don’t remember. But we have to go up there now.”

  “Up there! Where? To that ritual? You want to go to the Sacralego ritual? Do you even know what that means? Have you lost your mind? Is that where you want to take me so fast?”

&nbs
p; “That’s exactly it! There is something in my head and we have to go up there to fix it.”

  “Something in your head? And you want to go to Sacralego to fix it? Who told you that?”

  “It was a man... a wise man... But come on, we have no time!”

  “Wise! Any fool who goes up there is going to tell you the same thing.”

  “Any fool? The whole island is going up there!”

  “Yes, I know. But not me! I don’t go up to those evil practices, especially to that one! My mother tells me to stay away from that type of thing. And anyway, what did they tell you? Did they say you are possessed by some sort of demon? That’s the same story for everyone. Everything’s a demon to those people. Illness, it’s a demon, drinking, it’s a demon, bad behavior, it’s a demon; come on now, I thought you were the one with the skepticism. Everyone going up there thinks they have a spirit to get rid of; but it is spirits, and not good ones, that they are attracting.”

  “Noelia, you don’t know what is wrong with me! I think the man is right. I am not from their religion, but I think, at least, we should give it a shot. What can it hurt? And anyway, it would be rude of me, a guest here at the island, to show such a lack of support on my part. I mean, what kind of gratitude would I be showing if I were some kind of anti-religious person to the religion that is on the island? Don’t you think your mother would be discontent if I shunned your rituals?”

  “My mother will be aggravated with you, if you go!” Her words sounded ironic to me, because I thought everyone believed in the island’s voodoo, but I think she meant herself more than she meant her mother. Now she continued again, trying everything to stop me. “What about planning for our marriage? We were supposed to do that tonight. Are you going to forget about that too?”

  For a second I was confused. “Marriage plans?” I said, with a tone of bewilderment. The words stuck to the roof of my mouth and struck deep arrows of disappointment into her. I realized what I’d said almost instantly, as the grief built up inside her, and tried to real in my words before it was too late. She only got in a half-argument before I was able to redeem myself.