by Corey Brown
“Shut up,” Cody says. He leans in close, his face inches away from the twin’s face. “I don’t know who or what you are, but if I can’t kill you I’m perfectly happy to beat the shit out of you.”
The twin touches his mouth, looks at his red fingertips and a wicked smile comes over his face. “Have at it,” he says. “You will be repaid tenfold.”
Cody studies at the twin, looks at his battered nose and mouth, smells his fetid breath, tries to decide if it was true. Would there be payback?
Turning to David, Cody says, “I emptied the clip, I don’t have a backup. I’m out of ammunition.”
“Look again,” David says.
Cody resists the urge to check. He does not want to see what he already knows, he does not want a fresh clip in his gun.
“No, please,” Suzanne protests. “There has to be another way.”
David shakes his head. “There isn’t. And if we don’t stop him now, before he becomes fully realized, who knows what he’ll be capable of doing?”
Something flashes into Cody’s mind. His gun is laying in the gutter on Chartres Street and the memory of how it was such a familiar object. He remembers how that gun made sense to him, how it connected him to his own life.
It occurs to Cody that much of his career has involved violence. Not just the obligatory duties of a law enforcement officer to manage aggression by carrying the tools of violence, but the actual perpetration of it. Most cops start and end their careers without ever having to use their guns---- without even drawing their weapons. But his career, his life, was littered with the bodies of those he had shot. Seven hit, six killed. Five of the dead were Skulls, none of whom were over twenty-four, the youngest being just fifteen.
Executing the Skulls had been a snap decision. Afterward, the ease of making such a choice had made Cody thirsty, his taste for Jack Daniels becoming almost insatiable. Finding out about the fifteen year-old had been tough---- who the hell shoots a teenager, who shoots a kid?
But he had gotten over it. Month after month, Cody kept telling himself all five of them deserved it, considering what they had done to Sally Tate and Jason Booker. He told himself even the fifteen year-old had it coming, tried to convince himself of it as he drank, as one liquored-up night gave way to another, as one morning hangover chained into the next. And Cody just kept telling himself those Skulls deserved it, kept repeating the mental mantra until he found some balance between self-destruction and the next step.
In the end, survival had arrived in the form of ambivalence, by not caring one way or the other; moving on meant deciding life was nothing more than random events that had to be faced as each one presented itself. There was no God, no evil force at work in the universe, no opposing bulwark of good. Life was just a series of interlaced actions and reactions by human beings attempting to prod their little piece of the world into something that suited them. In the end, the Skulls were simply doing what suited them. In the end, killing the five of them suited Cody.
But now everything is different. Cody knows things, he knows there is much more to the universe than random events. His dead mother-in-law had visited him when he’d slipped into---- what?---- the afterlife, the next life? And what about David Carlson being dead and then not dead? Cody knows there is something at work here but what is it? God? Karma? Fate?
Cody needs time to sort it out but there just isn’t any. Here is David Carlson telling Cody to pull the trigger for some greater good that only the two of them barely understand, a greater good that no one else will ever know about. But Cody knows if he shoots and kills David, his own life will be over too. He will be charged with murder, Suzanne Carlson being the prosecution’s star witness. What little there is left of his family will be destroyed. And prison will be nothing compared to losing Jamie.
Glancing at the twin, Cody sees an odd darkness ringing the twin’s bloody face. New things, new understandings form a confluence in Cody’s mind. He knows it has to be done, this other creature has to be killed even if it means destroying David’s life, even if Cody has to destroy his own life.
Cody looks at the forty-caliber in his grip, looks down at the empty clip lying on the floor. Then he ejects a clip that should not be in his gun. As David had predicted, it is full, fifteen bullets. Like the idea of seeing waves and undertow at the same time, Cody wonders where the bullets came from and simultaneously knows they aren’t really bullets at all. Cody sees both currents, sees two different worlds in competition and knows something big is in play. He jams the clip in and racks the first round.
“No, you can’t do this,” Suzanne sobs. “Detective Briggs, this is crazy. You can’t just shoot him, you can’t kill him.”
“Suzanne,” David says, quietly. “He has to, it’s the only way.”
She holds David tightly, pulling his face into her chest, shielding him from Cody’s view.
“No,” she screams. “I won’t let him. I won’t, I won’t.”
“Don’t do it, Briggs,” the twin says. “Please, don’t.”
Cody stiffens. This thing has balls, pleading for its life, as if he might change his mind. Then Cody looks at Suzanne, sees her body wrapped around David like a cocoon, her face contorted with pain. Is he really going to do this? Is he actually going to shoot David Carlson, someone famous, someone not guilty of any crime?
He looks at the gun in his hand, looks again at the twin, then back at Suzanne. Cody takes a step backwards, the pistol dropping to his side.
A hush falls over the sanctuary. In the distance, or at least it seems far away, Cody hears a sound. The others hear it, too. It is high-pitched and metallic, like a million insects flying on rusty wings. As the squealing draws closer it seems to surround the church.
“I was wrong,” the twin says, looking at Cody, smiling. “You won’t be repaid tenfold. Your payment will be much higher.”
As if on cue, a mass of gray-black matter swarms the front door, the sound of rusty metal hinges is replaced by a shrill and painful wailing. The mass moves like liquid air, like a thick metallic vapor, like a serpent writhing and twisting. Once inside, the iron cloud of shrieking stops and the dark mass pauses, hovering near the ceiling. It hangs there like smog, hovering, poisoning the structure. Then it splits in two, then four, eight; each separation taking on human-like shapes, burning red eyes staring out of formless faces.
One figure points at Cody, opens something that must have been a mouth and looses a hideous scream. Cody’s vision rips into a blur, his body convulses, and he feels his legs give out. Cody hears the sharp crack of his Smith and Wesson, feels the bullet strike the floor inches from his foot.
The eight figures rush toward Cody. He feels the first one strike him, expects to be knocked over and trampled beneath them. But there is no impact, no sense of push or collision. All eight pass through him as light passes through glass, there is no sensation of collision.
Being physically crushed would have been preferable.
As each shape enters him, Cody sees and feels and tastes and experiences some new facet of utter hopelessness, some inexplicable vision of pain and desperation and despair. As the last form exits, as Cody falls backward, believing he is dead, it occurs to him that Hell has just walked through his body.
The eight figures pass into and out of Cody, they shred his soul, then rush to the twin and surround him, conceal him. To Suzanne it looks as though the darkest of nights has curled around the twin, a curtain of blackness shielding him from sight. She looks at the dark shroud around the twin and holds her brother tighter.
At first, Suzanne assumes the eight figures are, in some way, devouring the other David. It is obvious that Detective Briggs is dead, and Suzanne decides this twin must be suffering the same fate. She closes her eyes, trying to shut out the horror.
How did she get here? And where is God now? Suzanne shudders, expects to be next, knows she should pray, doesn’t know how, she does not know what to pray for.
In her arms, David is flexing, sh
aking, his body convulsing erratically. Suzanne opens her eyes and is stunned by what she sees. Her brother is healing. The holes in his chest are closing, the blood drying, evaporating. Suzanne glances at the twin, the shroud of blackness still surrounding him. She frowns then is surprised as comprehension reaches her mind. Suzanne knows these dark figures are not consuming the twin. They are attending him, healing his body and, in turn, healing her brother.
Chapter 33
David opens his eyes and blinks. Suzanne still cradles him, her arms holding David close. He looks up at his sister, grimaces, and says, “It is finished.”
The cloud of darkness surrounding his twin explodes, shattering once more into a million tiny pieces. A million shrieking sounds fill the sanctuary and the seething mass of gray-black vapor rushes toward the ceiling. It hovers there for a split second then stretches out into a writhing column of inky dots, twisting and turning. A moment later the snake-like queue disappears through the door, the millions of chilling screeches become the sound of two million rusty wings then they become a distant squeal. Then there is silence.
The twin leaps to his feet. “Holy shit, I feel great!”
Suzanne looks down at David. “Your eyes,” she says. “You can see?”
David nods. “It is complete. We are separated, we are severed.”
“Oh, yeah,” the twin says, moving closer. “I am free of you at last.” He takes Suzanne by the arm, yanks her to her feet and says, “C’mon, let’s party.”
David tries to get up, frantically reaches for Suzanne, catches air.
The twin, with his fingers wrapped tightly around her elbow, drags Suzanne toward the door, pulls her beyond David’s grasp. The two of them half turn toward David and he sees the look of abject fear on Suzanne’s face. Their bodies turn grainy, sliver-gray and the air around them seems to deform. Suzanne looks back at David and, just as she vanishes, opens her mouth. But if she said something, David never heard it.
Feeling more alone than he ever could imagine, David glances around. He stares at the empty space where his sister had been, stares at his empty hands. Hands that should be holding Suzanne, hands that should have reached her in time. He chokes back his emotions and wonders what will happen now?
David looks at Cody’s motionless body. No movement, nothing. Briggs remains stock still. Is he dead? Probably. Who knows? David doesn’t even bother to look at Reverend Burgh. There is no doubt about how dead he is.
Panic, anger, confusion, all of it wells up in David’s mind like some kind of radioactive fog. Closing his eyes, David wonders what to do. The events of one minute ago collide with the events of fifteen minutes ago which are tangled up with what happened an hour ago, with last year. What the hell has happened to him, when did things get so far off track? The voice in his head reminds David of his parent’s deaths. He nods to himself, agrees with some general assessment: things started going down the shitter when Mom and Dad died. David blinks, catches himself, forget Mom and Dad, what about Suzanne? How do I find her?
Rubbing his face, David desperately wants to recapture his previously enhanced senses. He listens, smells the air, tries to see with his mind but nothing happens, nothing comes to him. There is no invisible trail, no clues, no sixth sense leading him to his sister. It seems the arrival of physical sight has tuned out that weird, extra-sensory talent that he had just minutes ago. A moment slips in, slips away, and David sighs. He sniffs, presses a thumb against his eye to stop the tears.
Helplessness settles in and he accepts his lack of other-world acuity, contemplates what that means, knows it will cost him Suzanne.
Not that he is really surprised. Thinking about it, David realizes he’s known all along this would happen when the split was complete. He knew when the twin was finally able to break away everything would end badly. David covers his face with his hands, unable to stop the tears.
What now? His parents are dead, there are two dead men at his feet---- two bodies strewn across the floor like so much garbage, Suzanne is in the hands of his devil twin and there is not one thing he can do about it. David sighs, his body quakes with the intake of breath. It is hopeless.
David feels the crushing weight of despair. Wild, burdensome thoughts scatter through his mind: a vague memory, a stinging self-recrimination for losing Suzanne, a regret over time wasted, anger for a life that was never truly his own.
Pray.
What a fucked up deal, David thinks. Briggs should have pulled the trigger, if only. One fast bullet to the head and none of this would matter. Suzanne would be alive and safe, and----
What about prayer?
David opens his eyes, opens his mouth to speak and for an instant sound cannot exit his mouth. Then, as loud as he can, David shouts, “Pray? Pray for what? Tell me how to pray.”
“David.” The voice is calm, specific. T’biah kneels down beside Cody. “Are you all right?” He says. T'biah is next to Cody but the question is directed at David.
“Where...?” David says, looking bewildered. “Where did you come from?”
“It doesn’t matter. Are you all right?”
“Uh, yeah, I guess.”
“What happened to the detective?” T'biah says.
“I told the reverend to leave,” David says, waving his hand in the general direction of Reverend Burgh’s lower half. The blood on the floor turning dark, drying. “But he wouldn’t go. I didn’t know what to do.”
“Forget about it,” T’biah says. “Reverend Burgh’s faith was enough. Not by much, given that little problem he had back in nineteen sixty-eight, but he made it through, he’s with the Master now. Just tell me what happened to Briggs.”
David shakes his head slowly, shrugs. “He’s dead, I guess.”
“Wrong,” T'biah says. “Cody is still alive but he will be worse than dead if it’s what I think. This is important, tell me exactly what happened.”
“Suzanne,” David says, his voice distant. “She’s….” He stops and looks at T’biah. “You’re really my father?”
T’biah hesitates. The question feels strange. With the love of a father he had spent the last thirty-two years watching over David, keeping him. As unusual as their relationship was, T’biah had never considered it anything other than one of a father and son. But to hear it, to be called father, especially by David, catches T'biah by surprise.
“Yes,” T’biah says, softly. “I’m your father. But we don’t have time for this right now. If we can, we’ll talk about it later. I know about Suzanne and we will get her back, but one thing at a time. What happened to Detective Briggs?”
David stares at T’biah, seeing his biological father for the first time sets off a deluge of incongruent feelings. Hundreds of questions and thoughts are popping into his head, but one feeling in particular seems to swim to the surface: David is sure he’s known about T’biah for most of his adult life. Looking at T’biah, seeing him, seems to confirm something David has known since making his first million dollars, since his first screenplay.
“You’ve been with me my whole life,” David says. “You’ve been looking out for me, keeping me safe.” David narrows his eyes. “You put me in that bathtub of ice water back in the hotel. Why?”
T’biah grunts impatiently. “To keep your twin from taking control, to keep him inside you a little longer. I thought things were in hand, but I didn’t anticipate Sawyer Clark. Now, what happened to Cody?”
Getting to his feet, David says, “What do you mean, you didn’t anticipate Sawyer?”
T'biah inhales so hard it sounds like a growl, his face is set, skin lines becoming hard. “It means,” T'biah says. “Sawyer Clark surprised me, I did not expect you to meet her, much less fall in love.”
David cannot process T'biah’s statement. In love? With Sawyer Clark? How did T'biah know?
Seeming to read David’s thoughts or, more likely, the look on his face, T'biah says, “Yes, you are in love.” He shrugs.
“I know how it works.”
&
nbsp; It is true, David realizes, just now understanding that he’s known all along. He is in love with Sawyer.
“But it has to wait,” T'biah says. “Bigger things are in play.”
Looking closely at T'biah, David wants to tell him how wrong he is. What could be bigger than real love? But at the same time David knows T'biah is right, something unnatural is at work.
T'biah sees a change in David’s expression, the skin around his eyes draws tight; on his face there is a subtle darkening followed by a surprised, quiet enlightenment, the facial choreograph of emotion and decision tells T'biah that David is almost ready for what is coming.
“What happened to Briggs,” T'biah says. “This is important, I have to know.”
David starts to answer but he stops, collects his thoughts, ignores the impulse to keep on talking about Sawyer Clark. “It was like a cloud,” David says. “No, not that. I don’t know what it was. But it howled like nothing I’ve ever heard before.” David swallows and points at Cody. “And it went right through him.”
“The Yaw,” T’biah says, blankly. “It had to be the Yaw. This is not good.”
“What’s that, what is the Yaw?”
Ignoring the question, T’biah pulls a knife then touches Cody’s throat, his fingers gently searching the skin.
“What are you doing?” David says.
“Looking for the left Carotid artery. Come here, I want to try something.”
Tenuously, David approaches then crouches down next to T’biah. “Are you sure he’s alive?” he says. “I don’t see him breathing.”
