Southern Ouroboros

by Matt Kilby

  “I’m sorry,” he said for the last time.

  “You don’t get to be,” the warden spat and swung the flashing brick to connect with Vick’s temple. He went down fast and hard, landing on his back to gawk at the man as if he didn’t know what happened. Blood trickled from the side of his head, but something else skirted the wound—a vein of the same light traveling the face of the strange rock. The Godstone. The warden twisted it in his grip and swung again.

  “You don’t get to be anything more than you’ve always been,” he hit him in the center of his forehead. The light cascaded down Vick’s eye sockets, plunging into them to force his scream. Carly couldn’t tell if it was from the beating or the light and almost forgot about the fight when headlights passed on the street. She jerked her eyes up as a police cruiser coasted by without a hint of brake lights despite the vicious assault and flickers of blinding light a few feet from the road. Then another car passed and another cruiser a minute later. They were looking for Vick but somehow missed him being beaten in plain sight. It seemed impossible until she remembered what John said after he shot Vick’s friend.

  “This is the stone’s business,” she echoed while the warden hit Vick again, breaking his nose and splitting his lip. The snow near his head stained red, the rattling of his breath making her wrap her arms around herself. She squeezed her shoulders as she stepped outside, stammering for words that refused to come. The cold air forced her shiver, but she continued forward as the stone cracked Vick’s skull. He healed the same as the stranger when she shot him, though not as fast as the speed of the blows. He suffered longer than he should, held out of reach of death’s mercy. The urge to help him pulled her another step, but a hand took her elbow and urged her back. She looked to find Brandon, his eyes mirroring her shock as he stared at Vick, but he recovered long enough to shake his head.

  “The only thing you can do is make his pain meaningless,” Brandon said. “We have to go while we can.”

  “Then go,” she said and tried to jerk away, but he refused to let her. He put his other arm around her waist and tried to pull her into the building, but she leaned forward and screamed.

  “Stop,” she yelled to the man, and he did, dropping the blood-drenched brick next to Vick’s battered head. He sat back on his knees and took a deep breath before turning to her.

  “You should have gone,” he rose. “Out of respect for John, my offer stands. Give me the preacher and I’ll let you live.”

  “No,” she shook her head, Brandon’s arms tensing around her. She leaned her head back against the pastor’s and waited to die with him. She took what she thought was her last breath and felt his chest rise against her. A few steps away, the stranger raised his hands to lunge, but a thunderous gunshot ripped through the sky before he reached her. The force of the bullet caught his temple and took him off his feet, collapsing him to his side though Carly knew better than to think him dead. Still, she couldn’t hold back her relieved sigh when John Valance marched down the sidewalk with his revolver ready to fire again.

  The warden struggled onto his knees, the wound in his head stitching closed as the fight left his eyes. John walked to Vick’s still form and bent to take the black stone from the snow, brushing white powder off the smooth face.

  “Did you get it out of your system?” the cowboy asked with a trace of a smile.

  “Does it matter?”

  “Not a bit,” the cowboy shook his head and aimed at the warden’s forehead as he pulled the trigger. The stone flashed as he did—brighter still than when the warden bashed Vick’s skull to fragments. The image burned into Carly’s retina, forcing her eyes down with a series of blinks.

  “Are you okay?” John asked, but she didn’t realize he was talking to her until she glanced up. He wore the same concern as when he sat beside her bed.

  “I’ll live,” she started toward him before she realized the preacher still held her. She patted his hands where they met around her stomach, wondering if he went ahead and died without the stranger’s help. He unclasped his hands, pulling back fast as if in danger of breaking some vow of celibacy.

  “He will too,” she said. “What about Vick?”

  John turned and went to Vick, his face battered beyond recognition. The light around his wounds was gone, but the stone shone steady as the cowboy lowered to one knee. He took Vick’s right wrist, pressing his limp palm to the flashing rock. Vick’s eyes snapped wide, the bones of his skull shifting into place. From the look on his face, it didn’t feel much better than the beating, but when it was over, he stared at John.

  “Was that really Joe Richards?”

  The cowboy nodded. “He’ll have plenty of names by the time he dies here. Sage Gregory. Sagin. Lester Johnson.”

  Carly sucked a breath at the last name but wasn’t surprised. She made the same connection leading Brandon to his sanctuary.

  “George Carmichael,” Vick added, and John nodded.

  “Is it always this bad for me?”

  “I don’t think you ever enjoyed it,” John shrugged, “but you usually have a choice.”

  “The preacher okay?” Vick looked to where Brandon stood reeling in his shock. Whether or not he understood, he nodded.

  “Then as far as I’m concerned, I made my choice,” Vick told John. He got his feet under him and stood to walk to the warden’s body. The man showed no sign of healing, though Carly didn’t trust that as much as the way John ignored him. Vick still held the stone, though there was no more light inside.

  “What now?” he said, staring into the smooth black face.

  “The future,” John answered and walked to him, holding out his hand. “And all that comes with it.”

  “So I wait until time to come looking for this again?” Vick ignored the cowboy’s gesture. “Travel through time to make the same mess?”

  “There’s plenty to do between now and then,” John said.

  “Like finding Suzanne’s body,” Vick glanced at him.

  “Tomorrow morning, but I don’t suggest you be in a hurry.”

  “That’s why I risk the world, after all,” Vick studied the stone.

  “Even more, if Sagin was right.”

  “There is no Sagin anymore,” Vick looked at the body between them. “No Wolgiss either. Just Joe Richards and Vick Hafferty.”

  “For now,” John said.

  “Am I done here?” Carly interrupted, and they looked at her. “I mean, I appreciate all you both did for me, but I can’t handle any more. I want to go home. I don’t even know where that is now, but as soon as I do, I’m crawling into bed and staying there until I convince myself the past month has been some long, vivid nightmare.”

  “If you leave now—” John started, but she didn’t let him finish.

  “All my bad decisions will catch up to me as soon as I’m out of your sight,” she said and, to her surprise, with a smile. “I have news for you, John. The past will be there no matter how long I wait. My dead husband and the daughter I abandoned. If Ciasto’s dealers don’t find me, some other asshole will for reasons I was too stoned to remember. Are you going to follow me the rest of my life? Because you seem to have your hands full trying to keep the universe in line.”

  She stopped and waited for someone to fill the silence, but no one did for long enough she considered opening her mouth again to find out what else came out. Instead, John looked at his empty hand and reached to take the Godstone from Vick. A silent protest passed over Vick’s face, but he didn’t say anything, knowing he might as well argue with the falling snow. Once John dropped the brick into the messenger bag across his shoulder, he looked back to Carly.

  “You done?”

  She didn’t know why she bothered. Vick had known John one night and already understood. No one talked the cowboy into anything. The only way was to go ahead and do what she had in mind—to slip away as soon as he dropped his guard. As far as she could tell, he never slept, so that might take a while, but at some point he would look aw
ay. Until then, at least she said everything she thought she needed to. As proof, she answered with a short nod.

  “One more night,” he told her. “Tomorrow morning, I’ll tell you goodbye, and you can leave knowing there are no demons left to chase you.”

  “That’s a big promise,” she cocked her head.

  “One I’ve never broken.”

  As stubborn as she’d seen him, as hard and as cold, he wouldn’t bother telling her what she wanted to hear. If he said one night, it’d be the last one she would spend with him. If he was implying that tomorrow he would kill all the men the junkie had sold her to, she would be glad to be as far away as possible.

  “Okay,” she said and turned before the moment threatened to become sentimental. She looked at Brandon, who wore an expression she couldn’t read. It might have been curiosity, though she was too tired to make guesses about what piqued it. She just wanted to lie somewhere and close her eyes. If she couldn’t have home, she would have that.

  “Tomorrow sounds as bad as today,” Vick huffed.

  “You have no idea,” John said.

  “What do we do until then?”

  “We put the warden in your trunk next to Eric,” John looked down at the body. “Then we find somewhere to wait.”

  “You can stay at my house,” the preacher spoke up, three sets of eyes darting his way.

  “Are you sure?” Vick asked. “We put you through enough.”

  “You did, and I accept that what happened here is not something I’ll ever understand. But what I do know is a man, or something that looked like one, came to kill me and you stopped him. All of you. If I can repay that with a warm place to spend a few hours, I will.”

  He glanced at Carly with a short smile she returned, meeting his eyes until the shuffle of steps took her attention. She watched John and Vick lift the stranger’s body, Brandon stepping beside her to do the same. If anyone else noticed the occasional patrol car passing in front of the church over the fifteen minutes they carried the warden to Vick’s Charger, no one said a word.

  9

  When morning came, Joe woke to the fleeting hope yesterday was a dream, letting him stay Joe instead of Sagin and keeping his white cubby tucked away in God-knew-where a single occupancy. Leaving his bedroom, he found the unwelcome guest asleep on his couch—Jim Stucker in the flesh. He dragged his feet to the kitchen and aimed for the coffee pot, making sure to slam the cabinet above it.

  A rough snort came from the living room, followed by rustling upholstery. Joe didn’t find much satisfaction in that as he waited for the water to heat. He was too busy working on what to do with this gift from beyond the walls. The men who gave it were sure to want some show but simply to see how he used what Pharaoh taught him on a man who couldn’t recover? How brutal he could be when fueled by real hate? Or would this be a favor they expected him to return? Too early to decide what he wanted, it was even more to know what anyone else did. So he stared at the coffee maker as if all that mattered in life hinged on the blinking blue light. Then, he sipped in silence and waited for some other part of him to figure everything out.

  But he couldn’t hide there forever. When Jim coughed, sharp and dry as if wishing for a cigarette or five, Joe realized that’s what he was doing. Like the day before, he was afraid to let the reality of Jim Stucker sitting within reach settle. He could do anything he wanted and no one would care. Hell, if he took the trouble to ask, whoever listened would give an enthusiastic all clear to do whatever popped into his vengeful mind. In his apartment and the hallway beyond, no law would stop him or court judge him. The closest to them were the ones who put him in this position, but then he came back to the first question. Why? They couldn’t think it would make him happy. They didn’t care when they starved him. There had to be some other reason, but he couldn’t think of it. At least, he couldn’t sipping coffee in his kitchen, but he shuddered at his only other option. Without any choice, he walked to where Jim scratched his head and yawned.

  “Is it time?” Jim asked without bothering to look until seconds passed without an answer.

  “Time for what?”

  “For you to kill me,” Jim grunted and gave Joe his attention, tilting his head forward. “That’s the reason I’m here, right? If you need more time, that’s fine too, but if so, I would love a cup of that coffee.”

  “You want me to kill you,” Joe said.

  Jim squinted and nodded as if working it out in his mind. With a glint in his eye, he sat forward.

  “I wouldn’t say ‘want’,” he shook his head. “I don’t think that was ever part of it. I didn’t want to kill your wife any more than mine, but sometimes shit happens. Forces smarter than you show up and know what you’re gonna do and how to make you. After Pine Haven, I ran fast and hard and didn’t come up with a plan until I hit South Carolina hungry and alone with my picture in every government office across the country. But police didn’t keep my eyes at a constant dart. Hell, I didn’t even know the right name for that fear. All that time, I called him Wolgiss.”

  “But his name was Sagin,” Joe finished the thought.

  Jim shrugged. “The way I hear, his name has always been Joe Richards.”

  “If that’s so, maybe you don’t have a chance of surviving this,” Joe walked to the coffee table to sit across from Jim. He wanted to look into his eyes, figuring it the best way to remember he was a man. Maybe one who made terrible choices, some of which might even deserve death, but he was duped. If it was all true, Joe duped him so couldn’t blame him for what happened to Elaine. The person who deserved to die for it was the one in the room who couldn’t.

  “Like I said,” Jim smiled and met Joe’s eyes, “that’s why I’m here.”

  “You’re okay with that?”

  “Okay,” Jim echoed. “Now that’s a better word. I was so desperate out in those woods, I would have done unspeakable things for a cheeseburger. Then this blacked-out van pulls up with a gang of big toughs inside. One climbs out, and I can tell he’s calling the shots. He looks to where I’m hiding and shouts, ‘Come out, Jim. You have more work to do.’ If my bowels hadn’t been empty, I would have shit myself but couldn’t argue. Not anymore. I might have never been a good man, but I always stuck to my mind. After I killed Vicki, I decided Wolgiss could fuck off. You remember, don’t you? That was why I grabbed your wife in the first place. You were supposed to deliver a message.”

  Joe closed his eyes to shake off the mention of Elaine by the man who killed her. For the first time in weeks, he felt weak, as if the part of him Pharaoh built melted out through his feet. He opened his eyes to look at Jim and found something different. His eyes were still green and surrounded by bloodshot white, but the pupils of each weren’t black dots anymore. They yawned like caverns he could slip into if he stared deep enough, drawn into a tunnel among others that made the place behind Jim’s eyes as porous as a sponge. Each would lead to a different part of the man, and by traveling them all, Joe might know him as a whole. Before he went further, a mechanical whirr came from the wall and distracted him back to the coffee table.

  He panted and saw in Jim’s face that some part of him understood what happened. Joe himself couldn’t say for sure but thought he’d been inside the man’s mind. Whether or not Jim experienced the same thing, he now looked terrified to be with him.

  When the whirring stopped, Joe looked to the thick glass protecting Sergeant Ford and Dr. O’Neal, who were cramped inside the closet-sized observation room.

  “Get him out of here,” Joe said and sprang to his feet. He marched to the window, his eyes passing from one to the other. “Give him to Pharaoh or let him go, but I don’t want anything to do with it.”

  “Good morning to you too,” O’Neal smiled.

  “The man killed your wife,” Ford said. “You deserve revenge.”

  “I don’t want it,” Joe shook his head.

  “Maybe not now,” Ford shrugged, “but you will. Sagin said to bring Mr. Stucker here and put him
in your room.”

  “I don’t care,” Joe shouted and hammered the glass with his fist. “I won’t kill him.”

  “The other you disagreed,” O’Neal offered. “I can’t imagine the crisis of self that causes, but maybe it would be easier if you did it. Until then, you’ll sit there, torturing yourself over Elaine.”

  “Don’t say her name,” Joe growled at the scientist. His eyes held the same open passages in their centers, and Joe felt himself slipping again. O’Neal blinked, rubbing his fingers under his glasses. Joe backed away, unsure of what was happening or if he could control it.

  “Get him out. Open the door.”

  “We’re not doing that,” Ford shook his head.

  “It’s okay,” Jim whispered as if the feeble sound was all he had left. “If this is how I repent for abandoning you, I’ll die.”

  “I’m not Sagin,” Joe turned, “and you don’t get to be a sacrifice.”

  “I just want my family,” Jim said. “You said I could have them back if I killed for you.”

  “Then I lied,” Joe returned to the coffee table. He sat again and looked into Jim’s face, avoiding his eyes as long as possible. He wanted to savor the moment he realized his mistake. “Sagin never wanted to change the past. All your suffering, every life you took, made sure everything happened the way it always has.”