by Scott Hale
“That explains a lot,” Joy said, and then thought: How did he figure me out so quickly?
Boone slammed his palms on the table, causing the candle to fall over. “Why did you choose me? No woman has ever paid me much attention, and you’re the most beautiful woman Marrow has ever seen.”
Joy quickly picked up the candle before it set fire to anything. “Boone,” she pleaded.
“I thought I was full of myself. Crazy, even, to think someone like you would want me. But you did. You did want me, and you did all of this for me. When you came through those gates, you set your eyes on me and went to work on me. Why?” He dug his fingernails into the wood. “Answer me, Joy.”
“I just knew you were the one.” Joy tilted her head and considered another course of action. “What do you know, Boone?”
A humid breeze blew through the house, carrying with it the smells of all the things that had died in the swamp today. A warm glow crept across the windowsill as the gas lights outside were brought to life.
“I’ve seen you speaking to the dark. I’ve followed you at night, when you thought I was asleep, to the woods. You took my blood, and then with a wave of your hand, the wound was gone. And—” Boone searched for his words, “—there’s something wrong with you… down… down there.”
Joy smiled; for all his ruggedness, her husband was still shy when it came to sex. Perhaps that’s why he’d waited so long to finally bring up pregnancy.
“Why are you smiling?” Boone barked.
“I’m sorry,” she said, becoming serious. “I’m just so happy we’re talking. You’ve been so distant these last few weeks.”
Boone scooted the chair backward, scuffing the floor. He stood up, muscles tensed, and pointed at her. “You’re in league with Satan!”
Joy rolled her eyes. She was done feigning innocence, ignorance. “If we’re going to be honest with one another now, then why don’t you start by telling me who you’ve been fucking lately?”
Boon flinched. He fumbled with his belt as his eyes darted back and forth across the room. His silence confirmed his guilt, and just like the guilty, he changed the subject entirely. “What have you been doing to the babies? Every time your belly swells, you leave, and I find bloody cloths out back.”
“I just want to give you the right one, love,” Joy said. She smiled a sad smile, the kind that promised her husband she would try harder. “Come to me. It’ll be perfect this time, I know it.”
Boone didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say anything at all. He left the room, and Joy knew why: he was going to get his knife, because he was going to kill her. How did it always end this way? She sighed and sat back in her chair. Stopping him would be easy enough; with one chant, he’d have just as much consistency as the stew he’d hardly touched. But what would be the point?
After all these countless years, one simple truth remained: she was much better at being dead than she was at being alive. So when she saw him come back into the kitchen, filled with hate and holy delusions, she let him do what he had to do.
Herbert
Herbert North tore his eyes from the wilderness outside the carriage window and said, “Seth, I have a question for you.”
Seth Barker shook his head. “No.” He ran his sweaty handkerchief over his equally sweaty face. “No more questions. Silence, Herbert, please, until we reach Marrow.”
“What’s wrong?” Herbert slid across the seat—slid, because the cushions were soaked in sweat—and nudged his friend. “It’s a little chilly in here. Let me close one of these windows.”
“Don’t…” Seth’s voice took on an oddly aristocratic tone, as though he were still channeling the spirit of the Duchess of Blaire. “Ask your question, Herbert.”
“Do you find yourself getting a massive erection when you have to piss?”
As if the southern heat had finally melted his brain, Seth went cross-eyed and started to twitch. “Herbert, don’t be immature. We are adults, professionals, acting in a professional capacity in this…”
He wiped his brow with his sleeve.
“In this fucking…”
And then he lost his composure.
“In this fucking, hot ass, god damn, mother fucking backwoods hellhole.”
A spasm of rage took over Seth’s body as he tore off his shirt and sat there with his arms crossed, skin glinting in the weak light.
“Do I even need to say it?” Herbert asked, enjoying his friend’s temper tantrum. “So do you?”
Seth pursed his lips and sighed. Closing his eyes, he said, “Yes, of course.”
Herbert cocked an eyebrow and shook his head in judgment. “That’s disgusting.”
Seth took his drenched shirt and whipped it across Herbert’s eyes.
“I’m blind! I’m blind!” Herbert laughed as he ripped the shirt out of Seth’s hand and flung it across the coach. “But seriously, why do you think that is?”
“You’re exhausting.” Seth leaned forward, his back unsticking from the seat, and rummaged through the bag at his feet. “It’s because you keep grabbing yourself. You’re over there holding on for dear life. You look like a damn fiend.”
“That makes sense,” Herbert said, sounding enlightened, as he watched his friend put on another shirt. “I wouldn’t bother. You’re just going to ruin that one, too.”
“Marrow is hardly the definition of liberalism.”
Herbert nodded. “So you’re saying they may not take too kindly to a half-naked man and his aroused sidekick?”
Seth’s eyes began to water, and he let out a laugh even the horses could hear, which had been Herbert’s intention all along. “Yeah, I’m thinking they may have some qualms with that scenario.”
“We don’t usually investigate missing persons,” Herbert said. He went forward and knocked on the divider to let the driver know to halt. “We need some fresh air. It’s stifling in here.”
Before the carriage had fully stopped, Herbert and Seth were already climbing out of it. Like pilgrims who had finally reached their mecca, they fell to their knees and breathed in their surroundings. The woods where they’d halted were thick, dense; space was so scarce that the trees had taken to growing out of one another. Countless vines hung from the branches, swinging like nooses for distracted necks. Endless swathes of Spanish moss blanketed the canopy, like some ancient, underestimated creature slowly creeping across the continent. The wind that blew here was heavy and smelled old, as though the air itself had been recycled for hundreds of years. And if someone wanted to speak, they had to yell, because the insects were loud, and they were relentless—a court of monsters in constant debate on how to overthrow those they so clearly outnumbered.
“Lovely place,” Herbert said, falling back on his hands and outstretching his legs until they cracked. “I think I’ll retire here.”
Seth ignored him as he brushed off the wet leaves clinging to his fresh shirt. He stood up and scratched off the dirt on his backside.
“I warned you. Shouldn’t be so dramatic. It’s a good way to get dirty.”
Seth stretched out his hand for Herbert to take.
“Thanks,” Herbert said, coming to his feet.
“Sirs, we’re close,” the driver said from his seat, neck craned. He held the horses’ reins tightly, as though he worried that if he let go, they’d escape the first chance they could.
Herbert waved him off and said, “One more time. Let’s go over it.”
Seth, seemingly satisfied with his appearance, made his way back to the carriage. “Driver,” he called, and when the driver answered, he continued. “Do you know Sheriff Boone?”
He nodded with enthusiasm. “Uh, yep, I sure do. You’re here for his missing wife, aren’t you?”
“Joy, right?” Herbert asked, sounding surprised.
“Uh, yep, you’ve got it.” He swatted away a huge fly. “Beautiful woman. Terrible tragedy.”
“She’s only missing,” Seth said, hazarding a guess.
“R
ight, you’re right. We shouldn’t assume the worst. You think you’ll find her?”
“I heard some think she’s evil.” Herbert strolled over to the driver and stood there with his hands in his pockets.
Spill your secrets, he thought, sizing up the big man on his small seat.
“What do you know about that?” he added.
The driver furrowed his brows and looked to Seth for support, as though Hebert had become a dog that needed to be called off. “I only pass through the area. Everyone seemed to love her, that’s all I know. I met her once or twice. I never got any bad feelings about her.”
Herbert nodded, and turned away; with his friend, he climbed back into the coach. They sat in silence until the driver started the horses up again.
“The sheriff’s wife is missing?” Seth whispered, biting his thumbnail.
“Isn’t that who we’re supposed to be investigating?” Herbert tapped his finger on his lip. “Driver didn’t mention the little girl, Abernathy. He’d have to know about the little girl. Do you think they found her? We may as well just turn around. That’s why we’re here, after all. Come on, let’s not get involved.”
“The letter mentioned the sheriff’s wife being the culprit; said the sheriff had killed a man in the Black Hills a few years back, so maybe he was involved, too.” Seth crossed his arms, flexed his muscles as he disappeared in thought. “No, I don’t think they found Abernathy. If Joy’s missing, and if good old vigilante justice isn’t to blame, then whatever took the girl likely took her, too.”
Herbert sighed and let out a tired groan. He bunched himself up against the side of the coach; with his nose to the glass, he looked out the window to the world beyond.
“This isn’t a good place for people like us.”
The woods grew darker as the horses picked up speed; the sight became a glistening blur, like an open wound seen in the last moments of an accident.
“Too many doors have been left unlocked for far too long. You can feel it, can’t you? The heaviness of the Membrane forcing itself in. If they find out we’re here, Seth…”
Joy
Joy kept her eyes shut tight as Boone bound her in rope. She felt her throat tear wider as he flipped her over on the kitchen table and went to work on her wrists. He still had the same dumbfounded look on his face as when he’d split her with the knife and not a drop of blood came out. But she played her part all the same, and when he finally stopped shaking, he bought the act she’d spent so many years selling.
“I don’t know what you are, but you deserved this,” Boone murmured; like an act of contrition, he had been repeating the phrase for the last half hour.
When he pulled the sack over her head, she was glad she had long since lost the ability to feel. A normal woman may have felt an itch or a tickle, and the last thing Joy needed was to laugh and interrupt Boone’s ritual. And now that she was thinking about the way in which he was preparing her body, she began to consider the possibility that she was not his first.
“I don’t know what you are, but you deserved this.”
Through the sack, Joy stole a glance at her husband when his back was turned. He had sweated through his shirt, and seemed to be whispering a prayer. Boone had been right; she had chosen him, but her intentions hadn’t been nefarious. They were simple, shallow. He was sheriff, he had power, and if Joy could convince him she could be trusted, then he could convince everyone else to do the same.
“I don’t know what you are, but you deserved this.”
Boone turned around before Joy could close her eyes again. He stumbled back, grabbing the top of a chair for support. Taking out his knife, he stared at her body the same way one would a puzzle or a problem. But Boone was not a careful man, a considerate man—subtlety was something he could neither see nor spell.
So he plunged the knife into his wife’s chest and left it there awhile.
Herbert
Seth had fallen asleep, which meant Herbert could rest as well. Despite having known his friend since infancy, Herbert continued to spend most of his days trying to impress him. For Herbert, he saw Seth’s favor as some unstable compound that if left unattended would simply vanish.
Smile some more and make it easy on me, Herbert thought, watching Seth’s head bob up and down with the bumps in the road. You take things too seriously. I mean, you’re right to, but you don’t have to, not all the time. He kicked off his shoes and stretched out his legs. Even when Seth slept, he looked serious, as though he were plotting their next plan of action with tools only the unconscious could provide. I shouldn’t put so much pressure on you. I shouldn’t act like such an ass.
Herbert North let out a sigh; he ran his hands across his face, pushing the sweat there into his hair. “This heat is getting to me, Seth. It’s cooking my brain, making me think all logically, responsibly.”
Seth Barker rubbed his nose, grunted, said, “That’s good,” and went back to sleep.
It never failed to amaze Herbert how quickly their names and the services they provided circulated the country. As far as he knew, they had no friends or acquaintances in Marrow, and yet here they were, traveling down its squelching roadways because some sad stranger had asked them to. It was work he was meant to do—he’d been certain of that the very moment Seth pulled back the fold and saw what lay in the Membrane. But whereas he’d envisioned a city to police, he instead ended up with a continent.
“One day, they’ll stretch us too far,” Herbert mumbled as he looked out the window, “and we’ll break. You think that’s what they want, Seth?” He kicked the toe of his friend’s shoe. “To send us all over the globe, sacrificing a few of their own along the way until we can’t take it anymore?”
Much to Herbert’s surprise, Seth opened one eye and said, “If they wanted us dead, we’d be dead. No grand scheme, Herbert. Just monsters doing what monsters do, and people like us making sure they don’t do it as much as they’d like.”
When the screaming started, they knew they’d reached Marrow. Both equipped with a knife, revolver, and a pocketful of powders, Herbert and Seth burst through the carriage door.
“Stop here,” Herbert shouted to the driver. “Whatever it is, we don’t want it to know we’re coming.”
“Just jump,” Seth said, pushing on Herbert’s back.
With about as much grace as a one-legged ballerina, Herbert vaulted from the moving vehicle. His feet went out from under him as he stumbled and then crashed into the ground.
“We’ll be staying at the home of Marie Riley,” Seth continued. “Bring our belongings there in the next half hour.”
Son of a bitch, Herbert thought as he stood up, wiping the mud off his ass as he watched Seth step gracefully down from the stopped carriage. “You couldn’t have waited five more seconds before throwing me off?”
“I got caught up in the moment. Quiet!”
They turned their heads towards the road where, a few feet beyond the carriage, a small, pathetic wall stretched across the land. There, they heard a rustling—an animal perhaps, or some sadistic sentry—and then, beyond that, more screams, followed by shouting, followed by gunshots.
“I think they’ve got it under control,” Herbert said.
“I think something is watching us.” Seth’s voice was cold, distant; his eyes the same as they traveled the length of the wall until it disappeared into the dim morning light.
Herbert took out his revolver and checked its chambers. “Well then, we should go say hello.”
Herbert and Seth had been to many places throughout the course of their career, but Marrow was the only one that truly lived up to its name. As they pushed through the outskirts, they found the town sitting between two narrow streams, its faded yellow houses all soft and bloated upon the bone-white land. By the placement of the buildings, there seemed to have been a rigid order, but with the passing of time, much like the bending of a spine, things had become crooked and unsightly. If the town offered anything to the people of the world, it
was that even if it seemed impossible, there was always somewhere worse to live.
“Do you see that, Herbert?” Seth whispered, pointing to the center of Marrow where several citizens stood circled around something.
Herbert nodded and started forward. There were five, no, six people at the town’s center, and a seventh, a drunk man perhaps, swaying back and forth inside the barricade of bodies. He strained his eyes; the drunk was bleeding, and there was blood pouring out of his wrist where a hand should’ve been.
Moving closer, he started to make out the words the townspeople kept shouting. “Stay back,” they pleaded and “Please stop,” they begged, but the man at the center paid them no mind. He swung his ragged stump, lashing the crowd with ropes of blood as though he were a priest blessing his flock. More shouts, more screams; the people of Marrow pushed, punched, and kicked the man, but the pain they inflicted meant nothing to him.
“Seth, we have to get down there. We—”
A gunshot thundered through the town. The man at the center reeled as a stringy, pulpy mass of brains and arteries blew out the back of his skull. He fell, cracking his head like an egg against the earth, and sending the rest inside all over the townspeople’s feet. Gun smoke slithered around the crime scene, like a snake in search of fidgeting leftovers. The people of Marrow went silent, then began to part as their savior passed through the ranks to look upon what he had done.
“That’s the sheriff,” Herbert remarked, noticing the badge and the way the man walked, as though his overinflated ego was gumming up his gait.
“Suspect number one,” Seth said, picking at the bark of a tree. “Let’s go introduce ourselves.”
Herbert holstered his revolver. “You sure you don’t want to wait until we can catch him in a better mood?”
“He doesn’t strike me as a man with a better mood.”
Herbert and Seth ran into Marrow like two concerned neighbors who’d heard something awful from the house next door. The townspeople were beginning to disperse when they arrived at the center. Like the culprits they may have been, the people of Marrow stopped in their tracks and started looking guilty. The sheriff and another, a doctor by the looks of him, were hovering over the dead man’s body, arguing in heated whispers
