Gateway

by David C. Cassidy

  Judd got to his feet and went for Jared again. He slashed the knife wildly, and Jared turned just in time. The blade missed his throat, but the tip of the blade sliced into his right cheek. The cut stung. It wasn’t deep, but deep enough. Blood slid down his cheek and his throat.

  Gusts slammed the bridge. “Kit!” Marisa screamed. “Kiiiit!”

  Jared rose quickly. He bolted for the bridge, enduring the crippling pain in his body. Judd followed him with the knife. Jared leapt onto the bridge and grabbed the railing with both hands. High winds and hard rain battered him. The bridge rocked with every step, and when Judd jumped onto it, Jared feared the whole thing would come crashing down to the rocks below.

  Jared turned when Marisa shouted. She was pointing to Judd. “Stop him! Stop him!”

  Judd stood ten feet from the cliff, trying to cut through the railing. He wasn’t making quick progress, but Jared knew that by the time he got to Kit, it would be too late.

  “Hang on, Kit!” he shouted. He headed back toward Judd. Everything was growing fuzzier. The pounding in his head was nearly unbearable.

  Judd stopped. He stared at his brother. His eyes were crazed, still filled with one goal.

  He’s ready to die, Jared thought. He’s ready to kill us all.

  Judd lunged, slashing at the air. Jared stepped back. Judd landed hard, and two planks broke under his weight. His eyes lit up in shock and surprise, and he dropped the knife as he slipped into the gap. He cried out as he scrambled to grab hold of the bridge. “Jared!”

  “Judd!”

  Jared got down on his knees and grabbed Judd by the wrists. He tried to pull him up, but could not find the strength.

  Judd looked up in despair. His dark eyes seemed to fade in capitulation. Jared feared this was it, that nothing more could be done; nothing more could be said. But when his gaze fell and found Judd’s rings, something clicked in his brain.

  His eyes met Judd’s.

  It’s not all silver and gold, Rose had said.

  But it was.

  ~ 205

  “Corner pocket,” Judd called, slurring those two simple words. All he had to do was bury the eight and he’d pick up another ten-spot. Thing was, he had to double-bank the cue ball to hit the eight. And that was assuming he could slip it through that pair of stripes without hitting them first.

  “Double or nothin’,” Artie shouted. He stood to the left, cue in one hand, brew in the other. Classic country blared from the bar’s overhead speakers.

  Judd looked up from the pool table. Artie was a good shit—a fat shit, but a good shit—but at times he could be a real sucker. Pay day, mostly. Like today.

  “Trix’ll kill ya, buddy,” Judd said. “You’re already down thirty.”

  “Twenty,” Artie insisted, pointing with his bottle. “You let me worry about Trix. No way you’re makin’ that shot.”

  “How much you had to drink?”

  “Not so much as you,” Artie laughed. “I just got off work like an hour ago. You think those floors and shitters clean themselves? I like those kids, but Jesus. Some of ’em are just plain shit-heads. That Parker Brooks, for one. Kid’s like seven years old. Last week I caught him stuffin’ paper towels down all the toilets.”

  “Little shit,” Judd said, shaking his head. “School board’s not payin’ you nearly enough. You should do somethin’ else, Red.”

  “Yeah, sure. Maybe I’ll trade in my mop for a computer. Or maybe I could be one of those rocket scientists at NASA. An astronaut, maybe.”

  Judd laughed. “You’re too fat for the space shuttle, dude.”

  “Ya think?”

  “Hey—what about the landfill job? They still lookin’?”

  “Ernie Dobbs got it.” Artie pushed his glasses up his stubby nose.

  “Fuck me. Are you kiddin’? Guy’s a moron.”

  “Maybe so,” Artie said. “But Ern’s my best friend.”

  “Hey.”

  Artie laughed. “Just seein’ if you were listenin’. Second best friend.”

  “Me, or that twit?”

  “Just sewer already, wouldja?”

  “I’ll cut ya a break. Double or nothin’. What the fuck.”

  Judd set his cue and took the shot. He double-banked the cue ball and watched it split the two stripes. It struck the eight and buried it in the corner pocket. He pumped a fist in the air. “Suck the big one, Arthur!”

  Artie choked on his beer, spitting up. He pointed to the table, half-laughing.

  “Aw, fuck,” Judd said. “No … no … come on, baby, stop.”

  The cue ball inched toward the side pocket. It stopped at the rim … and slowly rolled over the edge.

  “Lucky shit,” Judd said. “Did you see that shot? Come on.”

  They played for another hour—and drank for another two. Artie was getting his shit-face on. Judd was just getting his party started. He signaled the waitress with two fingers.

  “I’ve had enough,” Artie said. “Besides, the heat’s gettin’ to me.” Sweat slid down his chubby cheeks.

  “Come on, Red. One more, ya big pussy.” Judd eyed the waitress as she leaned up against the bar, waiting for their drinks. “God, I gotta get a piece a that.”

  The black-haired beauty strolled over with that oh-so-perfect wiggle. She was almost as hot as Julie Jacobs down at Shelby’s. “Here ya go, boys,” she said, plunking the bottles down in front of them.

  “Thanks, babe,” Judd said. He paid for the round with a twenty. “Keep it,” he said, grinning.

  Her eyes lit up. “Thanks, handsome.” She smiled and leaned in close to his ear. “Just so you know, you don’t have to tip me to slip me. I get off at eleven.”

  Judd raised a brow, nodding his approval. “Eleven it is.” She ran her fingers along his rounded bicep, and he watched her as she turned and wiggled away.

  Artie swatted him in the arm. “Aren’t you forgettin’ somethin’?”

  “Like what?”

  “Jesus,” Artie said. “And I thought your brother was the guy who forgot shit.”

  Judd sat forward, checking his watch. “Oh, fuck. Well … no sense in wasting a perfectly good brewski.”

  “Nice,” Artie said. “You know, I ain’t your conscience. But it’s your parent’s anniversary, for Christ’s sake. You shouldn’t even be here.”

  “I still got time. So I’m a little late. My brother can keep ’em entertained till I get there.”

  “How is he, anyway? I haven’t seen him in a coon’s age.”

  Judd swigged. He was still staring at the waitress’s ass as she served another patron.

  Artie swatted him again.

  “What?” Judd said, annoyed.

  “Your brother. How is he?”

  Judd’s face soured. “You wouldn’t fuckin’ believe it.”

  “Believe what?”

  Judd drank again. He plunked his bottle down hard on the table. A few people looked over. “Nothin,” he said.

  “Come on. What is it?”

  Judd shook his head. “He got published. Huge fuckin’ deal. Big bucks.”

  “No shit,” Artie said. “That’s great. That’s great.”

  “Yeah, great,” Judd said. “Little Brother makes good.”

  Artie took a drink. “He got the brains, all right. I always knew he’d beat this town.”

  “He’s movin’,” Judd said. “New York fuckin’ City.”

  “Holy shit! Really?”

  Judd turned away. He winked at the waitress.

  “Sometimes I think you care more about them dogs a yours,” Artie said.

  “What?”

  Artie glanced at Judd’s rings. “Never mind.”

  Judd downed his beer. “You ready to go?”

  Artie still had three-quarters of his bottle. “Yeah. I’m done.”

  Judd grabbed it. He chugged it down and belched. “Now you’re done.”

  He got up. He staggered a little, but he was good to go. Artie followed him outside, and they loo
ked up when lightning forked across the sky. It was raining like a bastard.

  Judd’s pickup sat at the curb. Artie’s beat-up Jeep was on the other side of the street. He went to get in his truck, but Artie stopped him.

  “Christ, man,” Artie said. “Really?”

  Judd turned to him, agitated. “What?”

  Artie held up the keys to the Cherokee. “I need your truck, remember? I gotta pick up that drywall in the mornin’.”

  Judd snatched the keys and handed his over.

  “You, uh … you good to drive?” Artie said.

  Judd narrowed his eyes.

  “You okay, Judd?”

  “Fine as fuck.”

  Artie paused. “Oh … oh, sure. Sure. I’ll have your pickup back day after tomorrow. Noon okay?”

  “No problem. Say hi to Trix.”

  Judd watched Artie drive off. He got in Artie’s Jeep and headed the other way, the wipers on full. He came up on Shelby’s Pub and saw his brother’s rusted hatchback sitting out front.

  “Asshole. Late again.”

  He passed the pub and continued on. Fuck it. If that brain-fucked brother of his didn’t give a shit, why should he? He’d make a quick stop at the In-and-Out for a two-four, and then he’d head out to Mom and Dad’s. So he was a little late. Big fuckin’ deal. It wasn’t like this was their last anniversary.

  ~ 206

  Jared was in a fog. It was as if he were living a nightmare, emerging from the gateway not with a start, but slowly, like a man crawling out of a deep, black pit. A crippling cold weighed on his chest, on his heart. Guilt swept over him. Guilt so thick it could choke a man to death.

  It was choking Judd from the inside. It had been for years.

  There was more. Jared felt his own guilt lifting. A profound sense of serenity coursed through him, and for a moment—so fleeting it was—he felt the weight of the world vanish.

  And then came the hurt. The anger.

  “Jared,” Judd groaned. Tears rolled down his cheeks.

  Jared stared at those rings, at the silver and the gold. It all came back to him, rushing so hard and so fast that it overwhelmed his senses.

  He remembered.

  ~ 207

  “Jared,” his father said. “Jared, my boy. Come closer.”

  “Dad. Ohhh, Dad. I’m here.”

  “Your … your mother—”

  “She’s all right. She’s gonna be all right. She’s—”

  His father coughed up blood. His eyelids flittered. He raised a trembling hand, drawing his son close.

  Jared turned an ear to his father’s lips. Victor Collado’s eyes were fading. He whispered, his frail voice barely audible in the storm—and yet his son heard every word.

  ~ 208

  “Plata y Oro,” Jared whispered, in perfect Spanish. Blood dribbled from his nostrils.

  “Jared,” Judd pleaded.

  Jared looked away from his brother’s eyes, to the rings. “He knew it was you,” he said, trembling. “He tried to tell me. He tried to tell me—”

  “Jared,” Judd whimpered. “I’m so sorry … I am.”

  Jared looked up. Not the wind nor the rain could wash away his tears. “I’m sorry, too,” he sobbed.

  And let Judd go.

  ~ 209

  Gusts battered the bridge. Jared lost his balance, and he nearly followed his brother to the rocks below. He looked down into the mist and the rain and saw just a hint of Judd’s broken body. White water rushed over it, and it slid off the rocks into the black water.

  Somewhere in the storm, he heard a scream.

  Marisa.

  “Jared! Jared! Get him off the bridge!”

  He steadied himself. The nosebleed had stopped, but the pounding in his head kept on. His mind raced. He was still reeling from the gateway. Still reeling from the truth.

  The bridge rocked. He crawled over a small gap, and then he pulled himself up using the railing for support. The mound of planks was in his way, but he made it over and found his way to Kit.

  Kit was petrified. He had an arm slung round a stringer rope so tightly that Jared couldn’t move him. His head was down, his eyes shut tight, and his right arm was pressed to his chest, his hand a fist. He was shaking. Counting. He muttered “two … one,” and began again.

  “Kit! Kit! It’s all right! I’ve got you!”

  Kit didn’t react … then he did. His arm slipped away from his chest. He dropped the stone, and it bounced off the bridge and into the mist. His eyes opened, and he threw his arms around Jared.

  “I’ve got you,” Jared said. “I’ve got you.”

  Thunder boomed. The sound was deafening.

  “Keep your eyes shut,” Jared ordered. Kit closed them and hugged him tighter.

  Jared’s knife wound screamed. He paused for a breath, doubting he had the strength to carry Kit. He could barely carry himself.

  Lightning struck a tree on the far side of the gorge. The flash was blinding. Yet what he saw in those fleeting seconds of light sent a shiver coursing through his body.

  The shape.

  The lightning passed right through it. As if it was there in the flesh, but not. As if a god could not strike it down.

  A hulking black monster, it stepped to the foot of the bridge. Even at that distance, even in the storm, Jared could see its ruby eyes. Could feel their darkness bearing down on him.

  In the dreary gray light, it seemed an illusion. Yet, he knew it was real. It had grown so powerful, had sucked so much life from him, it had finally taken form. And when it stepped onto the bridge, rocking it with its bulk, he feared all was lost.

  The shape took a step, the bridge sagging under its weight. It stood still, looming like a giant. Its thick black skin had a vibrant sheen in the lightning. Aside from its piercing eyes, it had no distinct facial features, but in that raw simplicity, that was perhaps its most frightening aspect. It was, at its rotting core, pure evil.

  “Hurry!” Marisa screamed. “Please, Jared! Hurry!”

  Jared knew the bridge could not hold much longer. Even if it did, he himself could not. He sucked in a breath, and steeled against the agony in his legs as he stood. The bridge swayed in the winds, and he snared the railing with one hand before he and Kit toppled.

  “Jared!” Kit screamed. “I can feel it! It’s right behind me!”

  “Eyes shut!” Jared shouted. “Keep your eyes shut!”

  The shape raised a dark hand to the railing. But what Jared saw was not a hand at all. It was a claw.

  He backed off a step, bracing against the railing. “Kit,” he said, as calmly as he could. “I’m going to turn around now. No matter what happens, keep your eyes shut.”

  The shape began to cut the railing with its claw. It could have killed them, Jared knew, could have marched up to them and tossed them from the bridge. But he also knew that it flourished in their terror. It was savoring their fear, feeding off of it. Like its rage, he could sense its twisted pleasure.

  “Think about the voice, Kit. Think about the voice.”

  Kit nodded. “Weather the storm.”

  “We can do this, okay? Now hang on tight.”

  The claw was already a quarter way through the rope. Jared turned around slowly and started along the bridge, the pain in his body nearly too raw to bear.

  He hesitated when he reached that infernal heap of planks. A gust slammed into him, and he almost lost his footing. He drew a breath, then pushed off with as much strength as he could muster. He cleared the mound, but coming down carrying Kit’s weight drilled spikes of pain into his legs. He swallowed a scream.

  He came to the gap where Judd had fallen through and made the short leap. The bridge rocked as he landed. The boards were slick, but he stayed on his feet. Even so, Kit grew heavier with every step. He didn’t think he would make it.

  “Come on!” Marisa screamed. “Come on!”

  Jared and Kit were still twenty feet from the foot of the bridge. Wind battered them. Jared took another step,
and the plank gave beneath him. His left foot went through the gap as he and Kit fell to the deck.

  Jared winced at the pain in his right knee. It had struck the next plank, breaking their fall. His left leg dangled beneath the bridge.

  Kit clung to him, screaming. It was all Jared could do to calm him down.

  “Jared!” Marisa shouted. She was dragging herself along a big rock. Blood trailed behind her.

  Jared shot a look over his shoulder. He could hardly see through the rain and the wind, but he could make out that monstrous shape in the storm. Could still see its hideous form as it worked that claw. Could feel its ecstasy.

  He gripped a stringer rope and managed to pull his leg up. Kit clutched him tighter, and pain ripped through Jared’s shoulder. He groaned as he got to his feet.

  “Eyes shut,” he said firmly. “No matter what.”

  He took a half-dozen steps, doubling his agonizing stride. Ten feet to go. Seven. Four.

  Two.

  The bridge collapsed.

  ~ 210

  In one quick motion, Jared threw an arm up to break Kit’s grip. He thrust the boy forward, and the last thing he saw above him were Kit’s small shoes; the last thing he heard were Marisa’s screams.

  He descended quickly. He shot his arms out and got a hand on a rope. It slipped through his hands, but a second effort saved him. The bridge slammed against the hard rock of the cliff, and it took everything he had to hold on. Pain burned through his hands and his arms. The bruise on his side had taken the brunt of the shock, torturing him. The knife wound stung.

  He looked down. He had no illusions; he wasn’t going to make it. And when he looked up in disbelief and saw that grim shape hovering above the falls like a phantom, saw the evil in those eyes, he knew something more: No one was.

  ~ 211

  Kit did as he was told; he kept his eyes shut tight. He flew through the air backwards, not knowing if he was even close to the foot of the bridge. All he had was his trust in Jared.