by Scott Hale
I can save him, he thought, his best friend just a few feet away. Warren and the others continued to chop and mutilate the beast, but the Skeleton knew it wouldn’t be enough.
Has to be me, he thought. Us dead things have to stick together.
He plodded forward. If not for the blood, he’d already be there, helping him up, laughing off the close encounter.
I just need more time. His best friend turned to look at him, the teeth of his undoing right above his head. I just need—
But time was not that kind, and would never be. In the next second that followed, the vestige bit down on Gary’s head and tore it off, spine and all, from the ghoul’s quivering body.
“No!” The Skeleton took two lunges, closed in on the corpse pile, and drove the scythe into the haunch of the vestige in the lake. The beast bucked and flung him backward. The scythe, lodged in its back, stayed there.
“Nmw’gla fhtha xu… ufv’la ufv’la axtu.”
He’s okay, he’s okay. The Skeleton struggled to his feet. More smoke rolled in over the now bubbling lake of blood. Gary will come back.
He ran forward, the vestige distracted by Warren and the remaining recruits, grabbed the scythe again. Gritting his teeth, he drove it in deeper. The vestige wheeled, trying to grab the Skeleton as he corralled him away from the others.
Meanwhile, with blood-colored tears in his eyes, Warren ran his sword into Gary’s killer’s mouth, hilt-deep, until he was up to his shoulder in the vestige’s maw. He pulled out, went again, pulled out, went again, until the thing reared back, a torrent of red spewing from its throat. As it toppled over, the vestige’s arms shot out and ripped off Kristin’s face. She screamed, and died about the same time it did.
He’s coming back, the Skeleton told himself, feeling the recruit’s gaze pierce him as Kristin lay there, the folds of her facial muscles glistening in the lake’s new light.
“I’m not like you,” the Skeleton said to himself, speaking on Gary’s behalf. The vestige in the lake galloped across the blood in circles.
A crimson wave washed over the Skeleton. Warren dropped into the lake. He walked over to him, looking deader than the Skeleton himself. Two hands on the hilt of his sword, he raised it up. With all the hate and hurt wreaking havoc inside him, he rammed the sword through the vestige’s head, killing it instantly.
The Skeleton worked the scythe out of the Red Worm’s vestige, to take back what was his. He said to himself in Gary’s ghoulish droll, “How many times do I have to tell you?”
“Atticus,” Warren said, breathless, nearly lifeless.
“I’m not dead.” The Skeleton made eye contact with the big man, but he wasn’t really seeing him. “I’m just a ghoul. It’s different.”
Warren sighed. He threw his arms around the Skeleton. His bloody bones stuck to his sweating flesh. “I’m so sorry.”
“I can’t come back like you,” the Skeleton rambled on. “I’m with my wife and daughters now. I’m doing just fine.”
Warren, bawling into the Skeleton’s cloak, said, “He was a great guy. I don’t know… what to say. I’ve lost too many… people doing this.”
The Skeleton snapped out of it. Holding the back of Warren’s head, he said, “I could get them back.”
“No. Let’s leave them be. I failed them once. Don’t want to fail them again.”
Waves of smoke rolled over them. Atticus and Warren pulled away from one another and found most of Gallows gone, hidden behind charcoal-colored clouds. Above them, blood-swollen mosquitoes buzzed in the sky, muddying the rays of the midday sun.
“Go get Clementine and Will.” Warren looked at Sean and Allister. “Go get them, or we’ll annihilate you for putting us through all of this.”
The Skeleton glanced at Gary’s headless body. He started to shake, to feel sick. He remembered the first time they’d met, so many years back, in the graveyard, at midnight. They’d both been drunk as hell, which was why they probably hadn’t torn each other’s throats out at first blush. After a lot snarling and shit-talking, they roamed the graves side-by-side and made fun of the names written on them, like the sophisticated country boys they were.
“We’ll get him out of here. Go, Atticus.”
The Skeleton nodded at Allister and Sean. “Where’s Bruna?”
Warren shrugged. “She ran. Who gives a fuck? Get out of here.”
The Skeleton left the scythe with Warren, made sure he still had the Black Hour’s heart, and headed through the roiling lake. The lights beneath the blood were bright, beaming, and the smoke dirty, sulfurous.
“Nmw’gla fhtha xu… ufv’la ufv’la axtu.”
Mr. Haemo’s voice boomed through the clouds. Looking down at the surface of the lake, the Skeleton noticed the blood was headed in one direction, as though it were draining into something. He picked up the pace, letting the current tugging at his legs do most of the work.
“Nmw’gla fhtha xu… ufv’la ufv’la axtu.”
The Skeleton pushed through a thick layer of smoke and found himself at the foot of the general store, where Mr. Haemo, James, Hex, Elizabeth, and Miranda waited. At the bottom of the building, the last two vestiges were lodged into crimson whirlpools, slowly being taken apart by the pressure inside each.
“It’s ready!” Mr. Haemo pointed to the place in front of the Skeleton. “Are you?”
Gary should be here, he thought. He started this. He should be here with me, god damn it.
“Atticus, what is it?” James hollered.
The Skeleton shook his head and said to the mosquito, “I’m ready.”
Giddy from all the gore about him, Mr. Haemo spread his wings and floated down to the lake. He flew forward, until he was face-to-face with the Skeleton.
“Do it.”
Mr. Haemo raised his claw. “This place is mine.”
“What?”
“This place is a blood well, and it is mine.”
The Skeleton lowered his voice. “People live here.”
“No one’s moving back after this. I want the blood. You promised me.”
“Gary’s dead.”
Mr. Haemo gave a slight sigh and shrug. “Sorry to hear that.”
“Fuck you.” Reluctantly, the Skeleton nodded. “Gallows is yours. But you have to share it with the Marrow Cabal if they want it, too.”
“Fat chance they do.” Mr. Haemo laughed, put his hands together. “Nmw’gla fhtha xu… iha’iha’ mjuv iha’xuvul!” He nodded at something behind the Skeleton. “There you are. Go get them, tiger.”
When the mosquito said that, he didn’t move. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he didn’t believe this moment was finally happening. He could feel it alright, the blood well opening behind him, just as he had felt it the first time they brought him out of the Membrane. But he couldn’t believe it. Saving them had guided his every decision, had been the purpose of his every waking moment. Could he just stop? There was no going back to the way things were before, not with how he looked, what he’d done and become. Did he want to stop?
Death had given him guidance, purpose. He missed it already.
“Is this really the end?” he blurted out, sounding naïve.
The mosquito shook his massive head. “Doubt it.”
“Will they be okay leaving the Membrane?”
“Should be exactly the same as when they went in.”
“Shepherds going to come for them?”
Mr. Haemo started to rise into the air. “Why wouldn’t they?” He paused and then: “Get rid of the heart, Atticus. Toss it into the Abyss.”
The Skeleton’s hand touched the heart through his cloak. “Thank you, Mr. Haemo.”
“I should be thanking you, but I won’t. Don’t want to give you the wrong impression.” He took off, back to his perch on top of the building. “Hurry,” he shouted. “It won’t stay open forever.”
Finally, the Skeleton turned around. A few inches from where he stood, the blood well swirled, a sanguine portal to the
secret places of the universe.
“I’m sorry I made you wait so long.” The Skeleton exhaled the air he hadn’t breathed in over a year and a half.
He walked forward, one foot over the blood well. “I’m sorry this is all that’s left of me.”
And then, as he went forward and stepped into the churning gateway, thought: I hope I’m still enough.
CHAPTER XXXII
There was no tunnel to fall through in the Membrane this time. With all the fresh blood Mr. Haemo had amassed, he’d been able to create a portal that opened directly outside the deranged Pulsa diNura. Maybe it was because he was only bones now, but as the Skeleton stood there, in the dry lakebed, looking out over the village, he realized he no longer felt the Abyss’ pull. It was a good thing, until he started thinking about why it wasn’t.
He started forward, going slower than one would’ve expected of a man who was about to be reunited with his family. The citizens of Pulsa diNura crowded around the platform the village was built upon, watching his approach. They whispered to one another. Some took off to tell others. If Clementine and Will were still here, it wouldn’t be long ‘til they got the message.
The Membrane hadn’t changed much since his last visit. It never did. The Skeleton couldn’t really consider himself a tourist or guest in these parts, anymore. How many times had he died? How many times had he seen these same scabby walls, the same endless Abyss? In the fleshy tapestry of the Membrane’s sky, sinewy streaks of light continued to dart across them. How many of those had he ridden now, out of here and back there? As many times as they had penetrated him, he would’ve thought the damn things could’ve at least given him their name.
Several people were coming down the ramps that ran from the village to the lakebed. In their dirty, death-marred nudity, everyone looked about the same. It was like a uniform for those trapped here. The only hint of personality, however, wasn’t in the persons themselves. That was impossible. Emotions were too suppressed, and memories ever-fleeting. No, the hint of personality was in the way that they had died. A slit neck, gouged eyes. A nasty stab wound, or an overdose. That was the future Clementine and Will, or even himself, had coming to them; an eternity of sitting around on the edge of death, staring at the walls, and talking about how they died. Maybe the Skeleton wasn’t himself anymore. And maybe they weren’t either. And maybe the world had gone to shit while they were gone, but anything was better than this. It had to be.
Several had started down the ramp, but only two actually stepped off it and onto the lakebed. Clementine. Will. The both of them, dirty, naked, and death-marred, but still them, his wife, his son. Ten-feet between them, and what could he say? Should he shout? Run to them? No, that didn’t seem right. So instead he stopped, studied their every detail, to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything, to make sure nothing had been lost.
Every perfection and imperfection was present. Clementine’s hair, and the small curl near her ear that would never straighten, even if she threatened to cut it off. Will’s face, and the small gap between his front teeth where a bit of his dinner always ended up. Mr. Haemo was right. They were as they had been. Their skin looked good, their bodies healthy. And this was them he was looking at, he realized. Not their souls or some sad imitation by the Membrane. It was them, their flesh and bone. The shepherds had taken them away from him, but in doing so, they had preserved them, kept them just the way he remembered them, wanted them. It was a shame someone hadn’t been able to do the same for him.
The Skeleton started forward. When he was only a few feet away, Clementine held up her hand. Immediately, he stopped in his tracks. Murmurs like clouds passed overhead, from the rope-bound rape victim that was Pulsa diNura.
She said it first, because nothing ever got past her. “Atticus?”
Will covered his crotch. “What?” His son’s stomach was split, like it had been when Blythe first attacked him. There were several holes in his back, too, as though he’d been stabbed to death trying to protect his mother. “No, no. No, you’re wrong. How can you…?”
Ignoring him, she said dreamily, “It was… so long ago. But I think it could be him.” She reached out to touch him. Her face flashed red and she shouted, “Speak, damn you!”
Leave it to Clementine to get angry in a place where anger and indifference mimicked one another. The Skeleton fumbled for his words. What he said and how he said it would determine if they’d go willingly through the portal behind him, or kicking and screaming.
Will’s throat tightened, as though looking at the Skeleton made him sick. “Prove you’re him,” he said, wanting and not wanting to hear what he was about to say.
The Skeleton racked his mind for memories only he and his wife and son would know. But there wasn’t much left in that skull of his to probe and prop-up as proof. He could remember back as far as he needed to, but his uncertainty made him mute; because here he stood before the only two gods he’d ever worshiped. He had to get this right.
Clementine made fists. “Look in his eyes, Will. It’s him, can’t you see?”
Will, shaking his head, backed up towards the ramp. “No, I can’t.” And he didn’t. “You’re just seeing what you want to see.” He tripped on a soda can filled with quarters. “I know you said you spoke to him, but that’s not Dad!”
“It is me,” the Skeleton said, at last. The Black Hour’s heart beat against his chest, and he mistook it for his own. “Clem. Will. It’s me. I swear it.”
Will, eyes large and wet as saucers, quivered out a pathetic, “What?”
“It’s me.”
The Skeleton wanted so badly to embrace them, but if they ran or rejected him, or showed the slightest discomfort, he was certain he would die for good.
“I’m here now. Like I said I would be.” He nodded towards the portal behind him and added, “We’re going home.”
A non-existent wind swept through Pulsa diNura. The ropes that held it together hummed like guitar strings. Bored already, most of the people on the platform started to disperse. Except for one. An old man, eagerly watching the scene from the top of the ramp.
“Prove it,” Clementine demanded. “Prove you’re you.”
“I saw you here once. I told you I couldn’t die, that I’d be back.” The Skeleton didn’t want to remind them of their deaths, but he had to. “That night when Blythe and Bon killed us, we were lying in the barn. Will was trying to prove how much of a catch Hazel was.”
“Hazel,” Will whispered. The name meant something to him, but he clearly couldn’t place it anymore.
“More,” Clementine commanded, her words heavy, desperate.
The Skeleton had to stop himself from throwing the hood over his head. He wanted to hide, but these weren’t the people to hide from.
“We had a daughter—Vale,” he said. “She didn’t live long, but we loved her like she had been with us from the beginning.”
Clementine went stiff. She pawed for Will’s hand. He came to her side and took it.
“You wrote letters to Vale, one every day. Like she was still with us. You didn’t stop until you found out you were pregnant with Will.” The Skeleton dared a step forward. “She’s buried behind the abandoned church.” He swallowed hard. “Gary keeps watch over her. That’s why he stays there.”
Clementine’s face twitched. Spasms throbbed through her neck. The Membrane had hardened her, but its grip on her wouldn’t hold much longer.
Will caved in first. “What happened to you?”
The Skeleton reached out. His fingers brushed against Clementine’s.
Will left his mother’s side. He went to his father, kicking off the pull of the Abyss as he went. “Will you always be like this?”
The Skeleton put his hand on Will’s shoulder. “I don’t know.” Seeing his boney fingers on his son’s pink flesh, it didn’t look right. “I’ll explain everything, I promise. But not here.”
Clementine threw her arms around the Skeleton. She dug her face into his bones. “I
love you,” she said, her fingers inside his ribcage. “I know it’s you.” She nodded at her son. “It’s him, Will.”
“Get us out of here.” Will nudged his cheek against the Skeleton’s fingers. “I don’t care if you’re not him. Not no more. Just get us out of here.”
The Skeleton took both Clementine’s and Will’s hands. With them, he turned around and started toward the blood well’s portal. Through its bubbling, foaming surface, faint traces of Gallows could be seen.
“Home is going to look different,” the Skeleton warned. “It’s safe for now, but it’s never going to be the same.”
“Don’t matter,” Clementine said.
“Wait!” Will broke free of his father’s grasp. Facing Pulsa diNura, he shouted, “Herbert! Herbert!”
Herbert? The Skeleton grabbed Will’s arm. But he shrugged him off and said, “He watched over me and Mom. Shepherds took him, same as us. We have to bring him back, too.”
Clementine nodded, said, “It’s the right thing to do, Atticus. Didn’t he help you once?”
“There he is!” Will pointed to the old man who had stopped on the ramp. “Herbert, come on! You’re coming with us.”
“They’re good friends,” Clementine whispered. “Will about walked straight into the Abyss after I saw you here. Herbert saved him.”
Herbert North raised his arms high and waved. “Good man,” he shouted. He hobbled down the ramp, across the lakebed, his sun-spotted legs going this way and that.
Will met him halfway. He threw his arm around Herbert’s shoulder and led him back to his mother and father.
Sinewy streaks of light shot across the area. Thunder rumbled behind the cancerous nimbuses that congested the flesh sky. The Membrane had always looked and felt the same, every time he came, but now, something was different. The air, or rather the idea of air, started to make the Skeleton’s black tongue prickle, and he could see that the Abyss’ pull on his wife, son, and Herbert had grown stronger. The Membrane was reacting. The Membrane was coming for them.
“Thank you, Herbert,” the Skeleton said, “for taking care of them.” He ushered them towards the portal. “We have to hurry.”
