Halcyon

by Rio Youers

  “That’s you,” Valerie said. “You were different. You kept your clothes on.”

  “Oh, I hurt you plenty—”

  “Yes.”

  “But it was never a sexual thing for me. It was always about what the pain might bring.” Pace had made his way into the kitchen area and stood behind his girls. He played with their hair as if they could feel it. “Glam Moon. It’s called Tukoko in Malaysia. Ukabu in Eastern Africa. In China, some people offer themselves as victims in the hope of catching a glimpse. That sounds hard to believe, until you draw comparisons to heaven, which requires its own sacrifice—ultimately your life. Did you know that seven out of ten Americans believe in heaven?”

  Valerie shook her head. She wasn’t sure why he was telling her all this. Perhaps he felt she was due an explanation. Or he was buying time, waiting for her to lower her guard. She kept her eye on him. She had a very sharp knife tucked into the back of her jeans.

  “The other animals,” Pace continued, “didn’t buy into the spiritual side as much. They just wanted to see you bleed.”

  “Who were they?”

  “Is it important?”

  “No. But I always wondered why their deaths were covered up. I guess certain reputations had to be protected.”

  “You guess right,” Pace said. “A former Republican governor. A property mogul. A federal judge. No, that story couldn’t get out. Some wily reporter would have picked at it and eventually uncovered a trail of corruption that led all the way to the top.”

  Valerie thought of the pyramid on the reverse of the Great Seal of the United States, crowned with that shimmering, all-seeing eye. She looked at the ring still in her hand, at the very similar eye set within the inscription. Pace followed her trail of thought.

  “Not the Eye of Providence, perhaps,” he said. “But certainly the eye of governance.”

  “If they were all such powerful men,” Valerie said. “How come you—a young investment banker—were in charge?”

  “I wasn’t supposed to be, but yes, that leadership role fell to me.” Pace stroked the back of Amy’s hair, then stepped around her chair. His boots made wet sounds in the blood. “I think because I was more interested in the process—in the Glam—so did most of the talking. Also, the others held positions of authority in their normal lives. They were happy to be led for a change. All part of the kink.”

  “And the masks,” Valerie said, holding up the one in her hand. “Were they part of the kink, too?”

  Pace looked at his old mask with a certain fondness. “We found them in a box at the restaurant. A Chinese New Year thing. Aside from concealing our identities in the event you escaped, we also thought they’d intensify the experience.”

  Valerie had spent the last few days mentally preparing for this confrontation, wanting to show no weakness, or even emotion. But something about this caught her off guard. The blunt truth of it, perhaps.

  “Did it work?” Pace asked.

  “Yes.” She pushed the ring into her pocket and placed her hand on her hip, close to where the hilt of the knife jutted from the waistband of her jeans. “I still see you every time I close my eyes.”

  “We’ll always be with you,” Pace said.

  “No.”

  “The other animals wanted to kill you. They grew bored of you. Of your lethargy—your lack of response.” Pace stepped into the living room with Valerie. There was blood on the cuffs of his jeans. “But I saw something in your eyes. A rare depth. A boldness. I knew you could reach the Glam. Not only reach it, but uncover the Skyway. So I kept you alive.”

  “Uncover.” Valerie spat the word. “Through torture, pain, and misery?”

  “Any thug can cause pain.” Pace spread his hands—hands that had beaten and babied her. “I consider it a more scientific process.”

  “People aren’t science experiments.”

  “That’s exactly what we are. All of us.” He looked at her with hooded eyes, and it was hard for Valerie to imagine she’d ever seen love in them, or anything beyond malice. “People have incredible amounts of energy. More than in any inanimate object or geographic location. It stands to reason that the way to Glam Moon exists in someone who has been torn apart, like you … or someone with an exceptional gift.”

  Valerie shook her head. She’d endured a thousand hells and opened a tiny—and temporary—rift into Glam Moon. How much pain would be needed to uncover the White Skyway? Or how exceptional would a gift need to be?

  “That’s why I didn’t kill you when I had the chance,” Pace continued. “And why I pulled you from the streets, skinny-ass wretch that you were. I saved you, because I knew you were my way in.”

  “So what was the plan? To fill me with love and security, then tear me apart again?”

  “A new experiment,” Pace said. “Being systematically abused by eight strangers in animal masks is one thing, but to endure that same hell by way of someone you loved, and who you thought loved you … well, that’s a different level of pain.”

  “And you’ve been planning this for what … eight years?”

  “Eight and a half. But it’s taken you a long time to develop trust, and to let yourself be loved. You’re still not fully healed.” Pace tapped his forehead again. “And of course I wanted to wait until we had Halcyon. It’s harder to escape when you’re on an island.”

  “Such an investment of time and effort,” Valerie said. “And all for nothing.”

  “We had some fun along the way.”

  “You said I was set apart.” She couldn’t keep her voice from breaking. She felt herself weakening inside—she’d have to do this soon. “A gem, you said. An outrageous wonder.”

  “Not a lie,” Pace replied. “You had something the other girls didn’t. And I wanted it. I still do.”

  “Sorry to upset your plans.” She threw the mask at him. “Put it on.”

  He didn’t catch the mask. It bounced off his chest and fell to the floor, into a rill of blood that had trickled from the kitchen. When he picked it up, Valerie saw a red splash around the tiger’s mouth, as if it had been eating.

  “I’m a different man when I put this on,” Pace warned. “Dangerous.”

  “You’re more of an animal without it.”

  He smiled weakly and pulled the mask over his head. The composure that Valerie had been fighting for left her body in a whirl. The walls of the cabin closed in. The tiger appeared to grow a full foot and expand at the shoulders. Valerie pulled the knife from the waistband of her jeans. It had looked unreasonably large against the girls’ throats, but seemed now too small, incapable of harming the tiger, who filled the space in front of her as he had filled her mind these past years.

  He made claws out of his hands and roared, then jumped toward her. It was only the sight of that red splash around the tiger’s mouth that snapped Valerie back into focus. That would be her blood soon, she realized. He would savage and devour her. She slashed the knife across the tiger’s chest. It opened his jacket and T-shirt and the skin beneath but didn’t slow him. He pushed her against the wall—laced his hands around her throat and squeezed. The room dimmed at the edges but not enough. She struck again. The knife plunged into the tiger’s lower stomach. He said “Blurrgh,” and buckled. His hold on her throat weakened. She pulled out the knife and stabbed him again. “Bluuuuurgh.” One hand dropped from her throat. His eyes blinked desperately through the little holes in the mask.

  “Sugar … girl.”

  She stabbed him a third time, angling the blade so that it went up under his sternum and into his heart. He dropped to his knees with his head back and throat offered. She took it, whipping the blade across his Adam’s apple. He died like that, on his knees. All told, it happened quickly.

  She took a day to let her emotions out. Some of them had been tightly buttoned and they emerged in doglike howls and yelps. Some never fully emerged. She eventually calmed and slept that night on the sofa close to the tiger’s kneeling corpse. In the morning she built a py
re and doused it with gasoline and dragged her old lovers on. They made bright flames. They warmed her again.

  * * *

  “But you kept the mask,” Pace said. “The ring, too. You kept me alive.”

  “I kept all of you alive,” Valerie replied, looking at the animals gathered around her. “No, alive isn’t quite the right word. Vital. I kept you vital, and by extension, Glam Moon.”

  “The scars aren’t enough?”

  “I love my scars. Each one of them is an emblem of fortitude. They lead into my heart. Everything else—the mask, the memories—leads out to Glam Moon.” Valerie considered this statement, then shook her head. “Or they used to. They’re redundant now, of course.”

  “So we’re redundant?” the goat said.

  “Absolutely.”

  “Explain.” This was the pig.

  Valerie shrugged, as if the answer was self-explanatory. The ox and dog grunted impatiently, so she spelled it out for them. “It’s simple: I kept you close until I found what I was looking for.”

  “That elusive Skyway,” Pace said. He smiled, but there was an uncertain edge to his voice. “She’s talking about the girl.”

  “Both girls. And myself, too.”

  “Explain.” The pig again.

  “It’s a scientific process.” Valerie looked at Pace as she said this, and couldn’t keep the smirk from her face. “In layman’s terms: you have the battery, you have the bulb, but you still need someone to flip the switch.”

  Stars peppered the darkness now. Valerie imagined the islanders gathering in the meadow, lying on the cold grass, joining hands and singing. Black hand, white hand. Togetherness. The America they deserved. She imagined them walking across the Skyway—her Skyway—with that same peaceable approach. Her soul crackled like the fire and threw a similar light.

  “Such anger,” Pace noted. “Still.”

  “Soon,” she replied, “there’ll only be peace.”

  “But you can’t get rid of us. We’re everywhere. In your brainwaves and bloodstream.”

  “In the sound of the lake,” the snake said.

  “In the trees,” the rabbit offered. “In the grass.”

  “We’re the faces in the clouds,” the dog said.

  “And the shadows,” the rooster added.

  “Everywhere.” Pace threw his arms wide. “You can open the Skyway, but we’ll always be with you.”

  “You’re dead to me,” Valerie said. She got to her feet and walked to the edge of the lake. The ring had never felt heavier. She wasn’t even sure she could raise her arm to throw it. But she managed, and the ring went far. It winked once, catching a bead of firelight, then was lost to the darkness. She heard the sound of it hitting the water. Plink. Such a diminutive sound for something so bound to misery.

  Valerie closed her eyes for a moment. A wave broke and soaked her feet. She nodded and returned to the fire. The animals stood around it, but had lost substance. Only the mask in her hand was solid. She looked at it one final time, then threw it on the flames. It landed face-up and stared at her through its black eyeholes, then it shriveled and burned. The smoke it made was blacker.

  “Done,” she said.

  She walked toward the edge of the cove. The first time she turned back, she saw that all of the animals had disappeared. Only Pace remained. He sat cross-legged beside the fire, staring forlornly into the flames. Valerie walked on, cutting through the shrubs and grasses, and turned back once again. The fire flickered and threw a blanket of bare light. There was no sign of Pace.

  “Dead to me,” she said again.

  She walked through the trees using distant lights to guide her. Sound, too; the islanders had indeed gathered in the meadow, and were indeed singing.

  34

  Martin had checked out of his hotel in Sternbridge and was on the road by 6 a.m. It was a four-hour drive to Syracuse and he planned on doing it in one hit. Traffic wouldn’t be an issue, not this early on Black Friday, but he wasn’t taking any chances.

  He kept to the speed limit even though everything inside him screamed rush. The sun was hinting at the eastern horizon by the time he made the Pennsylvania state line. The forecast promised clear skies across the region, but in upstate New York a storm was blowing in.

  * * *

  The girl had been silent on the boat to the mainland. She’d muttered, “Thank you,” when Nolan helped her into his truck and shook her head when he asked if she wanted the radio on. Other than that, there’d been no interaction. This suited Nolan just fine, and besides, he was used to it. Driving south to their destination, he reflected how Mother Moon’s subjects were often quiet at this time. Garrett Riley had stared out the passenger-side window the entire way—didn’t utter a word until they’d reached the storage unit where the IED was parked. Barbara Chiltern had chewed her fingernails and sucked on the tips of her hair. The one time Nolan tried engaging in conversation, Barbara had burst into tears and started beating on the door, screaming, “Let me out, let me out,” and it took an hour to calm her down. Since then, Nolan had learned to mind his own affairs, and to give his passengers their moment of pensive silence.

  They diverted from the Interstate east of Syracuse and followed dusty roads away from the city. “Scenic route,” Nolan remarked a little later, steering around a dead deer spread across five yards of red pavement. They headed east then veered gradually southwest, through the rugged grays and greens of Madison and Onondaga Counties, until Nolan rolled in behind an abandoned gas station seven miles from the target location.

  Shirley looked at him blankly.

  “Instruction,” he said.

  They got out of the truck. Nolan opened the back door and took a cardboard box off the backseat. He set it on the ground but didn’t open it yet. Shirley leaned against the truck’s tailgate with her head down.

  “You know what you have to do?” Nolan asked her.

  She nodded.

  “Okay.” Nolan pulled a wristwatch from his pocket and handed it to her. “Put this on.”

  Shirley took the watch and looped it around her wrist.

  “What time you got?”

  “Nine twenty.”

  “You can tell the time. We’re off to a good start.”

  “I’m sixteen, not six.”

  “Just making sure.” Nolan tried a warm smile but warm smiles were not his thing. “Now, you got your doorbusters first thing—those crazy sons of bitches who camp out all night—but recent data suggests the busiest time for Black Friday shopping is the afternoon, peaking somewhere around three o’clock. Mother Moon says she won’t wait that long, so you’ll engage at one thirty. Repeat that back to me.”

  “One thirty.”

  “Electronics and department stores see the heaviest traffic, with checkout lanes being the most densely populated areas. This should be your focus, but use your judgment for maximum impact. Being one thirty, you might want to poke your head in the food court, too.”

  Nolan opened the box and took out a black puffer jacket, using both hands because it was heavy. He held it up for Shirley to see.

  “This is your IED.”

  Shirley frowned.

  “IED. Improvised explosive device.” Nolan hoisted the jacket over the bed rail of his truck, like someone drying clothing in the sun. “Weighs about thirty pounds. Most of that is shrapnel—ball bearings and screws. The rest is an RDX-based plastic explosive called Kerna-H4. We wanted to use TATP because it’s cheaper and easier to procure. It’s also as volatile as hell. They don’t call it ‘Mother of Satan’ for nothing.”

  Nolan paused to let this information sink in. The girl looked at the jacket with dead eyes. A vein in her throat jumped.

  “With TATP, there’s a real risk of accidental detonation, especially in crowded places.” Nolan gave the jacket a couple of solid thumps. “Kerna-H4 can take the knocks. Heck, you can fire a bullet through it and it won’t go off. It needs a charge. A spark.”

  “Why are you telling me all this
?” Shirley asked.

  “Because you need to know how the IED works. Knowledge enables you to adapt, and increases the chances of success. Moreover, I want you to understand how much effort has gone into making sure this is a success.”

  “It will be.”

  Nolan ran a hand across the back of his neck, damp with sweat despite the coolness of the morning. He looked from the girl to the jacket. “So. The charge I was talking about. The spark. You’ll notice the jacket is zipped up. That’s because it’s wired to a battery, which in turn is wired to a detonator. Unzipping the jacket—I’m talking all the way, so that the little pin pops out of the slider—will trigger the detonator. Allow me to stress the importance of this: do not unzip the jacket until you are in position. Repeat that back to me.”

  “Leave the zipper alone.”

  “Until…”

  “I’m in position.”

  “At what time?”

  “One thirty.”

  “Atta girl.” Nolan showed his teeth. It wasn’t a smile, but it was close.

  “Thirty pounds,” Shirley said. “Might be too heavy for me.”

  “The weight’s distributed evenly. It won’t feel like thirty pounds when you’ve got it on.”

  “Okay.”

  “All these puffy parts, across the shoulders, down the arms, they’re packed with shrapnel. You can’t even tell, huh?”

  “Looks just like a regular jacket.”

  Nolan’s chest swelled with pride. Mother Moon had told him to design a suicide belt—something that could be worn beneath regular clothes, but Nolan knew they often looked bulky and suspicious. It was his idea to modify a jacket. A puffer jacket, specifically, with all those little cavities for packing detritus. A snip here, a stitch there. Voila! It was also his idea to use plastic explosive instead of TATP. A couple of critical adjustments that could make all the difference. He’d waited a long time for the Glam, almost as long as Mother Moon. Everything had to be perfect.