Dreams The Ragman

by Gifune, Greg F.

  I don’t want to see my father like this, but I can’t look away.

  “Run,” he says again, his mouth coated in crimson. “Run.”

  “I can’t abandon Caleb. I won’t.”

  He looks to the floor, to the mess, disillusioned and defeated. The fog slowly wraps around him like a cloak. Behind him, I see the silhouette of a man kneeling next to what was once a human body, his hand clutching a bloody cleaver, swinging down into flesh and hitting bone with a sickening hacking sound. “Then you’ll die screaming.”

  * * * *

  From darkness, I clawed my way up, out, and into dawn’s dim light. As I drifted toward consciousness, the night-ghosts let me go, but the echoes of my father and his nightmares continued to claw at me.

  I woke up feeling like someone was trying to kick their way out of my skull. What began as a dull ache in the back of my head became a sharp stabbing pain by the time it reached my eyes. My stomach was sour, my mouth dry as bone, and my muscles throbbed as if I’d spent the few hours I’d slept breaking rocks with a sledgehammer. I staggered from bed to the bathroom at the end of the hall, splashed some cold water on my face, brushed my teeth and did my business. By the time I’d returned to the room, the daylight had grown stronger, though it was still struggling to break through the cover of clouds and what had become a drizzling rain. Rather than focus on what might be coming, I changed my clothes, packed my bag and headed downstairs. It was still an hour or so from the agreed upon time I was supposed to retrieve Caleb, but I needed to get outside, back to my car and into town before my fears became too powerful.

  The bar was quiet, dark. Maggie was undoubtedly still passed out, and though I regretted leaving without saying goodbye, there was a good chance I’d be back, because as much as Barney Fife wanted us gone, we couldn’t simply leave town. Not right away anyway. There were dragons to slay.

  The strip was eerie in early morning, deserted, deathly silent and wrapped in a creeping fog reminiscent of my dreams. I couldn’t see the ocean any more than I could the demons slowly circling me, but I could smell it, alive and in motion. A pack of ravenous wolves surrounding their quarry but not yet ready to strike, to take it down, to bleed it and tear it limb-from-limb, the forces of darkness were so close I could feel them. Powerful beyond anything I could ever hope to understand, much less conquer, they left me drowning in primal, innate fear and I suddenly felt like I was standing frozen on those old tracks back home, unable to move and watching helplessly as a runaway train headed straight for me.

  Nothing was open, so I walked to the parking lot, got my car, and headed for town. Within a few short miles the woods gradually transformed into areas more populated, and I eventually reached a picturesque little downtown area that looked like something conjured in the mind of a greeting card artist. The town proper may have only been a couple miles from the beach, but it was a world away. It was difficult to imagine violence and darkness existing in such a quaint little burg, or that someone like Ben Gleck could flourish here. But then maybe that was the point. Evil loved to conceal itself behind façades of so-called ‘traditional’ values, false morality and alleged righteousness. The cloak of piety has always been evil’s favorite place to hide.

  I came across a little pastry shop, so I ducked in and ordered a coffee from a young woman behind the counter. But for us, the place was empty. When I asked for directions to the police station she became a bit guarded but gave them to me anyway. I was only a block away. I thanked her and headed back out into the gentle rain.

  I don’t know what I’d expected, but what turned out to be the Sheppard Beach police station wasn’t it. A fairly modern building that at first glance just as easily could’ve been a restaurant or a bank, it sat on a large corner lot at the very edge of the downtown district. Bookended by forest, with its manicured lawn, paved circular drive and professionally landscaped shrubs, it was literally the last stop in town before rural hamlet became state highway.

  Two cruisers and a police van occupied the spaces out front, so I pulled into a modest adjacent lot marked VISITORS and parked. Beyond a heavy duty chain-link fence which ran across the rear of the property, a steady procession of cars droned along the nearby thoroughfare, in odd contrast to what was otherwise a bucolic setting. It all felt staged somehow, as if the whole presentation was just for me, a snare designed to lure me closer. I sat in the car a moment and watched the station through the rain. Windshield wipers squealed on glass like the tortured cries of unseen animals, and I couldn’t help but wonder how many real screams had emanated from this place in the past few days. Deep within those walls, far from the protect-and-serve bullshit exterior, how many times had Caleb cried for mercy? I remembered Gleck’s smirk when he described ‘questioning’ Caleb, and although I knew I’d be relatively safe once inside (I wasn’t a homeless junkie few would miss and even fewer would care about), being behind closed doors on his turf still made me nervous.

  Inside the station I was met with a burst of forced hot air and the smell of disinfectant often found in institutions and places such as this. Everything was painted either white or royal blue, bulletproof glass and fluorescent lights everywhere, the floors high-gloss tiles and the furniture in the waiting area straight out of a dentist’s office. A rotund female officer with a brush cut sat in a box-like reception area encased in glass. The security monitor on her desk had alerted her to my arrival before I’d made my way through the doors, and she’d already slid the glass partition open so I could hear her.

  “Can I help you?” she asked blandly.

  I looked around, certain I couldn’t get out of this place fast enough. Gleck was nowhere to be seen, but the young cop who had accompanied him to my room was standing over by a door with an air of celebratory ignorance and clueless superiority that would’ve done his boss proud. “I’m here for Caleb LeClerc.”

  She arched a painted-on eyebrow. “And you are?”

  “Tired of this bullshit. Gleck said the deal was for this morning and here I am, so where’s Caleb?”

  “Just calm it down a few thousand pegs, princess.” She struggled off her stool, various keys and things jangling as she made her way out and around to where I was with an unintentionally hilarious swagger. She gave a quick sideways glance at the young cop. “Sonny, ever heard of Caleb LeClerc?”

  “Nope, sure haven’t.”

  She pointed at me. “And do you know this person?”

  “Never seen him before in my life.”

  “Apparently he’s under the impression Chief Gleck made some sort of arrangement with him regarding this Caleb LeClerc individual.”

  “Chief Gleck’s never met him either, so I got no idea what he’s talking about.”

  “Well if you two have never met this gentlemen then how could there be any kind of arrangement between you?”

  “You told me you were holding him.” I took a step toward Sonny.

  “Currently, I don’t believe we’re holding anyone. Are we, Pearl?”

  “Nope,” she said.

  Sonny opened the door and nonchalantly stepped aside. “But you’re free to check the cells if you want, mister.” He smiled. “Well go on, tough guy.”

  I brushed by him none-too-gently then made my way through the door and along a brief section of hallway which led to a set of stairs. I hesitated and looked down into the waiting darkness, then slowly began my descent.

  EIGHT

  Caleb’s flushed face, staring down at me from all those years ago…

  My head was still spinning but the air that had been knocked from my lungs was slowly coming back. The hot ocean wind blew past, shaking the grass along the dunes behind us. I imagined myself poised on those dunes gazing out at the moonlit waves. But I was flat on my back, crippled.

  “It’s all right,” Caleb said softly. “I know where the Ragman hides.”

  I gasped for air, found some and coughed it back out.

  “Breathe,” he said. He reached down and gave my shoulder a rea
ssuring squeeze, but looked around frantically as he did so, like he expected someone or something to close in on us at any second. Is that why he’d been running so fast? Was something chasing us? “I know you’re wasted, I am too, but you have to get up. The storm’s coming. We can’t stay out in the open.”

  Perspiration coated me like a second skin, clammy and cold against the warm night air. I did my best to roll over onto all-fours, but my body was useless and weak, my limbs flopping about as if boneless and my stomach clenching and shooting bile and alcohol up into the back of my throat. “I can’t make it,” I said, slurring the words.

  “Please, Derrick, get up. We have to hurry!”

  “Help me up. I can’t get up.”

  Caleb’s eyes shifted, revealing something deep within them I’d never before seen. It wasn’t fear—not exactly, not solely—but something more. He began pacing about like a restless zoo animal walking its cage, his hands on either side of his head as if to hold in whatever was trying to get out, or perhaps to quell a sudden explosion of pain. Above me and set against a backdrop of black sky, through my partially-blurred vision I saw him suddenly double-over and vomit onto the sand.

  As Caleb’s retching sounds cut the night, he gagged then spit and staggered from my line of sight. I said his name, I was sure of it, but all I heard was a mocking wind and the rush of nearby ocean.

  “You don’t understand,” he said breathlessly, standing over me again and looking sick and exhausted and frightened. “We can’t stay here. It’s happening.”

  In the distance, from another part of town that seemed so very far away just then, I heard the shriek of a whistle. A train was racing toward town. Visions of a ghoul in rags riding the rails and grinning demonically through the darkness flooded my mind, the bloody cleaver clutched in his skeletal hand waving about and cutting the night.

  I felt pressure against my ankles, and suddenly the moon and dark skies were sliding over me. Caleb was dragging me. But to where? I could feel the earth shifting and moving beneath me as my body cut a swath in the sand, my arms trailing behind and out beyond my head now. The smell of ocean grew stronger, and I felt the delicate spray of seawater on my skin. And then, just as he released me, the soft ground became unbearably rigid, and things bony, rough and sharp dug into me. My head lolled to the side. Using moonlight to guide me, I squinted and did my best to focus. I was lying on a bed of rocks set atop an expanse of wet sand just feet from the ocean. Up in the sky, opposite the ocean, I saw the cliffs at the farthest reaches of the beach looming overhead and jutting up into the charcoal sky.

  Although I had no memory of it, I know Caleb eventually managed to get me to my feet, and with me hanging onto him for dear life, we stumbled across the rocks until we’d reached the base of the bluffs.

  And there, waiting for us in the night, was the mouth of a small cave.

  * * * *

  In total darkness, I followed the stairs to the bowels of the Sheppard Beach Police Department. When I reached the last step, traces of dull yellow light revealed a hallway bathed in shadow. A series of overhead fixtures along the ceiling illuminated the area just enough for me to make out rows of cells on either side of the corridor.

  I could hear faint sounds of water running. With caution, I moved deeper into the corridor. The low ceiling conspired with the cement floor and near-dark to give the area a horribly claustrophobic, tomblike feel, but I continued on, following the water sounds. All the cells were empty but for the final one to my left. Seemed fitting they’d bury Caleb as deep as they could and as far from the light as possible, like a demon they’d been unable to exorcise and had bound and sealed away instead.

  He came to me first in silhouette, a dark blur in the back corner of the cell, huddled on a bunk void of blankets, his shoulders slumped and his head bowed. A bare toilet bowl protruded from the back wall like a remnant from some unfinished project, and next to it stood a squat metal sink. When I got a little closer the smell hit me and I realized it hadn’t been running water I’d heard after all. Fighting the urge to bring a hand to block my nose, I focused on the shadow’s lower half. The last bit of urine trickled down across bare ankles and feet, joining a stream already running into a nearby drain in the floor. Anger rose but I held it tight and close in the hopes of smothering it. I knew I couldn’t lose it, not here, not now. “Caleb,” I said softly. The shadow remained silent and still. “Caleb.”

  Its head turned slightly toward me, only just then cognizant of my presence. Its body rocked slowly then again went still, and I heard a slow intake of breath followed by a hopeless sigh of an exhale.

  I moved closer, gripped the bars and watched as the shadow became my old friend, his face breaching the darkness enough to reveal the saddest eyes I’d ever seen. Bloodshot, glassy and sunken, they squinted for a better look at me.

  “Caleb,” I said again. “It’s me.”

  He didn’t respond, but I knew he’d recognized me simply by the look in his eyes. They filled with tears and he began to tremble as his chapped and split lips slowly parted. I thought for sure he’d speak but no words came. His bottom lip quivered and his face—littered with scrapes and bruises and emaciated to the point of appearing skeletal—twisted into a grimace equal parts relief, sorrow and fear.

  “It’s all right,” I told him. “I’m going to take you out of here.”

  Caleb stared at me as if terrified I might vanish were he to look away for even a second. He began to weep. Quietly at first, and then in choking, rolling sobs.

  The cell door was not locked, and swung open with a creaking sound that echoed along the corridor. I looked back to make sure I hadn’t been followed. There was no one behind me, nothing but hallway and dim light, so I slipped into the cell and crouched down before him. He was wearing a pair of ratty jeans and a sweatshirt, but his feet were bare. Fighting back the stench of urine, I carefully wrapped my arms around him. “Easy now,” I said, pulling him against me. “Easy, man, it’s all right. We’re getting out of here.” As his head lulled forward and flopped onto my shoulder, I shuddered. There was virtually nothing left of him, all points and sharp edges, he’d been reduced to a rack of bones and felt impossibly fragile in my grasp, like the slightest provocation might crumble him to pieces. I took his hollow face in my hands and lifted his head up so he could look at me again. “Right now, OK? We’re getting out of here, right now.” I waited until I saw a glint of understanding and hope in his eyes then let him go and searched the bunk behind him for his shoes. I eventually found an old pair of worn and scuffed boots beneath the bed, filthy socks stuffed inside them.

  I tossed the socks aside and, gently as I could, pulled his boots on. He offered neither resistance nor help, and instead sat on the edge of the bunk and gazed at me listlessly. “The clothes on your back, is that all you had with you?” He teetered slightly. “Caleb, listen to me, did you have anything else with you when they brought you here?”

  He watched me a while, as if trying to comprehend, then shook his head no.

  I regained my feet. “Come on. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Caleb coughed and steadied himself. His mouth fell open again, like he planned to tell me something, but same as before, no words came. When he finally spoke it was with a raw, unfamiliar voice that sounded like he’d been up all night screaming, which perhaps he had. “They hurt me—they—hurt me really bad, I—my legs, I—they…” His voice cracked as more tears spilled from his eyes and streamed across sunken cheeks. “Derrick, I don’t think I can walk.”

  * * * *

  Considering the amount of drugs and alcohol I ingested, I could claim I didn’t remember anything more about that night on the beach; that I passed out and any memories that remained were still beyond my reach to this day. It would be an easy stance to take, and a wholly believable one. I could simply plead ignorance to all that transpired once Caleb and I reached the cave at the base of the cliffs and ventured inside. I could. But I won’t.

  W
e were still staring down the mouth of the cave when the storm finally hit. The wind, once hot, turned colder, and behind us, enormous forks of crackling lightning split the sky, slashing down from the heavens like perfectly-timed special effects. Deafening thunderclaps chased close behind, followed by a violent summer rain that fell in thick and heavy sheets.

  With Caleb’s assistance, we staggered into the cave, a small, musty and claustrophobic place that smelled of garbage and seawater, of rotting things that had once been alive and living things that would soon be dead. The floor was largely sand and pebbles, small sticks and debris. Caleb let me go and I dropped down onto my hands and knees, head spinning and stomach churning. But for the moonlight and intermittent flashes of lightning, the cave was hopelessly dark. I could hear Caleb near me, breathing and moving about, but couldn’t see him. The sounds of driving rain kept on, amplified along the stone walls and ceiling. None of it seemed real, more like a dream, or that moment when one awakens very early in the morning to the sounds and smells of a summer storm just beyond one’s window. That curious and ephemeral moment when dreams and wakefulness are one, but the rain is more closely tied to the former, a moment when one may or may not be real, when one is lost in that illusory moment of awareness, of epiphany even, when one senses something more to the rain and more to oneself, something out there connecting us to the beginning and end. And we realize then that the two are not as far apart as we once thought. In that moment we give up the night for those things we think will protect us and make us whole. We choose what we call reality over what we’re so sure, just then, could have only been dreams. We escape into light, where we’ve been led to believe we’re safe, and where those things that spoke to us when we first came awake cannot follow.