by Corey Brown
Derek waits a few seconds then says, “Jamie? You there?”
“Derek?”
“Yes. Listen, I----”
“Did you find Todd?”
“No, Cody did. Cody found him, and Todd is okay. The poor kid’s shaken up, a little dehydrated and scared shitless, but he’s fine, I promise.”
“Oh thank----” Jamie’s voice breaks. Then she sounds far away. Derek hears Jamie half crying, half whispering, saying, “Thank God, Oh, thank God, thank you, thank you.” He can hear the strain, hear the relief in her voice.
A man’s voice comes on the line. “Agent Simmons?”
“Yes, is this Mr. Dubois?”
“Todd’s okay, is that right?”
“Yes Sir, he’s fine, all things considered.”
A pause.
“What about Cody,” Gus says. “What about him? Is he all right?”
Across the dirt parking lot, the EMT’s are opening the back doors of the ambulance, reaching in, pulling out a gurney. Derek starts to signal Greg, but he is already walking toward them.
“Uh, look, Gus,” Derek starts to say.
“Is he dead?” Gus says. “Just tell me, is he dead?”
“No, he’s not dead. But….”
“Spit it out, son. What happened?”
“Look,” Derek says, “Cody is not dead but he’s not….Jesus, he’s not all right, either. Shit, I don’t know what he is. He’s still breathing, but that’s about all. I don’t know what else to say.”
There is a meter of silence then Gus says, “I got it. What now? Where is he? And Todd, what about him?”
Derek watches as Greg motions the EMTs to wait.
“Hold on,” Derek says to Gus. Then Gus hears Derek talking to someone else. “Greg,” Derek says. “Bring them here, but no farther.”
Gus hears muffled voices, someone is talking, asking questions, but he cannot understand what they are saying.
“I gotta go,” Derek says to Gus. “Todd is okay. Look, the ambulance guys are here. I don’t know where they’ll take Cody. Maybe Lafayette, probably Opelousas, I’m not sure. You and Jamie get in the car and start this way. I’ll call you as soon as I know where he’s going.”
“Fair enough,” Gus says.
There is sense of pause. Derek waits, knowing Gus has more to say.
“Um, I ain’t sure how to say this,” Gus says. “But my wife is dead----”
“Marion is dead?” Derek says. “Shit. Gus, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
Gus clears his throat, sniffs. “Yeah, a few hours ago, just after she came out of surgery. Anyway, Marion’s gone, you’re telling me my son-in-law is in some kind of bad shape, and my daughter is a wreck. Look, I have more money than I’ll ever need. If you know who did this to us, I’ll make it worth your while.”
“Wait, Gus, don’t----”
“Boy, I got two million in cash. And six more I can liquidate in short order.” Gus snorts. “Liquidate, you hear me talking? What bullshit. My stockbroker taught me that word. Liquidate? Jesus, I….” Gus’s voice catches. He sniffs again then swallows. His voice becomes more controlled, tighter. “Listen,” Gus says. “Cody was as good as they come and Marion was even better. That lottery ticket done well by me. You kill the ones who did this and it’s all yours. I don’t care how, but you do this thing and you get all eight million, every last goddamned cent. I want these bastards dead.”
Derek holds the phone away from his ear, coughs, brings it back and says, “Mr. Dubois, I’m sorry I couldn’t hear what you said, we’ve got a bad connection or something. But I want you to know…the bastards are dead, all of them. They’re all dead.”
Derek disconnects, stares at his cell phone and thinks, holy shit, that guy is worth eight million dollars?
Derek glances back at Greg, waits a beat before speaking. “I’m going back,” he says. “Make sure the EMT’s are ready.”
Greg doesn’t reply. He looks long and hard at the FBI agent, wants to tell Derek not to go back. Then he nods, knowing he’d do the same thing for his friend.
Derek looks at the church, knows it’s time, wishes he did not have to go in, once was enough. But he has no choice; Cody is still in there, still alive. The glowing tip of a cigarette catches Derek’s eye. The orange incandescence flares slightly, Deputy Haines is taking a drag, shotgun cradled in his arm. Derek squints into the darkness and sees a second deputy along the right side of the church, another burning orange dot in the blackness.
Derek walks past Deputy Haines. “Let the others know,” he says. “I’m going in. Under no circumstances does anyone enter. No one, got it?”
The deputy nods then speaks into his shoulder microphone.
Derek stops at the wooden front door, the faded white paint so thin the grain shows through. He draws a deep breath, taking a moment to fight the undercurrent of panic. Derek wonders if Deputy Haines can smell the vomit he and Greg had deposited a few feet away. He glances at the spot where he’d puked, tries to shake off the embarrassment.
The thought strikes Derek that Todd had not thrown up. In fact, after he and Greg had entered, calling Todd’s and Cody’s names, after they had turned and charged out the door and dropped to their knees, the boy had risen from his hiding place and calmly walked out. He never spoke, never showed any emotion. Never threw up.
Derek takes a quick look at Todd, wonders, what has happened to the kid?
Facing the door, Derek takes another deep breath, thumbs the latch and pushes it open. From here, he cannot see anything. From here, the sanctuary’s interior is too dark, which only fuels his terror. There should be some light entering the windows but the blackness inside is complete. Derek adjusts his shoulder holster, finding the pistol grip, knowing if he needs a weapon this one won’t do him any good. Derek closes his eyes, steps over the threshold and pushes the heavy wood door shut.
Derek waits, eyes closed, listening. He hears nothing, no sound. Slowly, warily, Derek opens his eyes. The sense of vertigo and spatial disorientation is immediate. He clamps his eyes shut again and blindly reaches for the back of a nearby church pew.
When the front door is open the room seems more like a black hole than a church sanctuary, but with that door closed the room becomes a world unto itself. Derek fights the urge to bolt, fights the urge to throw up again.
He waits, his fingers vise-gripping the back of the pew. Once more, Derek carefully opens his eyes. The snapshot glimpse from a few moments ago seems to have helped. The sense of dimensional confusion is still present but is somehow more manageable.
Beyond the center aisle, where some twenty rows of pews should be, is a blue-black abyss. The first few feet of each pew is visible, but the rest of those wooden seats turn blurry and disappear as they jut out into the chasm.
In ghost-like sepia, beyond where the sanctuary’s north wall should be, Derek can see the third parish deputy. Surrounding him is the same blue-blackness that reaches from far below and stretches upward, beyond any earthly horizon. But, as if floating in space, the deputy is standing on a tiny island of tall grass, several long blades rustling in the wind. His head is tipped forward slightly, left hand gripping his Stetson.
Looking up, Derek sees some of the church’s wooden rafters branching out into the dark other world. Like the pews, the rafters stab at the empty space only to evaporate away.
Far below, deep in the belly of the abyss, is the sound of machinery. Forge hammers pounding and gears turning and grinding, maybe pulling against huge chains. Although Derek does not dare approach the edge to look, there seems to be a fiery haze from below, he thinks there is a faint presence of heat. And from somewhere, whether from above or below Derek cannot be sure, but from somewhere out in the chasm is the distant sound of screaming and the slightest hint of burning flesh.
Lying in the center aisle, to Derek’s right, is a body, a man, and he is hanging over the edge of the chasm. He is facing away from Derek, his cheek pressed to the scabby wooden floor. One arm an
d most of the man’s lower half are gone, erased by the abyss. And, although Derek has never seen a picture of the man, he knows it is Remy-The Bull-Malveaux. And even though Remy would be close to one hundred years old, this man is wearing a modern, well-tailored suit. The kind of suit Derek has seen on Robert Murdock. If he had the balls to check the man’s inside coat pocket, Derek knows he would find a wallet containing a DEA badge, and he would see Robert Murdock’s picture on that ID.
All of this is what sent Derek and Greg back outside the first time, dizzy and disoriented, heaving their guts. But now, this mind bending incongruity is not what fills him with panic, the sight of the world edging away into nothing is not what makes Derek feel like his veins are full of caffeine and needles. Near the altar, down below the preaching platform and nearly suspended over the incredible chasm is the baptismal tub. And in it is Cody. He is making strange noises, a mix of language and gurgling sounds. His head is bobbing around as if he’s looking everywhere at once. And he seems to be pinned down in a sitting position, leaning forward.
All of it, the precarious balance of the tub, Cody’s incessant babbling, even the creepy jerking of his head is almost within Derek’s ability to manage. But the one thing Derek cannot reconcile between sight and mind is the fact that Cody’s right arm is shoved through the mouth and out the back of a woman’s head---- and she is the ugliest woman Derek has ever seen---- but the head has no body and where Cody’s arm should exit the skull there is nothing, his arm just disappears.
Eyes closed and teeth pressed into Cody’s flesh, the head seems to have been trying to gnaw his arm just above the elbow. His shirtsleeve is torn, the fabric caked with dried blood, muscle and sinew seem to bubble up from the wound. Even stranger, a little way across the abyss, through the north wall of the church and some ten or twenty yards away, is the rest of Cody’s arm. It is near where the third deputy is standing, hovering just below the tops of the tall grass. His forearm and wrist and hand lay suspended in the sepia-toned space, fingers clutching a pistol. Derek stares, wondering if the deputy knows Cody’s hand is only a few feet away.
Slowly, Derek works his way toward the baptismal tub. For some reason he thinks he should sneak up on Cody, as if this were some sort of arrest. When Derek is still a few yards away, a floorboard creaks beneath his foot. Even though Derek has been in and out of the sanctuary already, Cody never once looked in his direction. And even now he does not turn to see what has made the sound. But with the squeak Cody becomes still and silent.
Derek freezes, waits for Cody to do something. He considers what to do next. This is silly, Derek thinks, this is my friend. This is Cody.
“Cody?” Derek says, in a low voice. “Hey, man, it’s me, Derek. You okay?”
Cody cocks his head as if both listening and thinking. The physical nervousness starts in again but this time it’s only the fingers of his left hand in action, waggling around, drumming against the edge of the baptismal tub.
“I’m coming over there, okay?” Derek says, taking a tentative step forward.
Cody’s hand shoots upward, signaling Derek to halt.
Derek waits. At first, Cody does not speak nor does he lower his hand.
“She gotta me,” Cody says. Then his voice becomes crusty and his head starts twitching again. “Gotta-gotta got me. Ugly bitch gotta-gotta GOT me.”
“I know,” Derek says, trying to sound calm, feeling anything but. “I’m going to get you out of here.”
“Gotta-got me, she does.” Cody growls. “Bitch, itsa bitch. Odd-gamned bitch gotta me. Ucker. Tell it. T-T-Todd. Tell it, okay for him? Tell it, Todda?”
Despite Cody’s weird chatter, Derek knows what he’s asking.
“Yeah, Todd’s all right. He’s in my car, he’s safe.”
Cody seems to relax, his nervous movements and odd babbling seem to abate. His head is still twitching but just barely. He nods then lowers his hand.
Derek takes another step and the floor creaks again, he watches Cody for any sign of distress. He walks five more feet and is there, standing behind Cody. Derek catches his breath then carefully lays his hand on Cody’s shoulder. Even through his shirt, Derek can feel Cody’s frigid skin.
“It’s just me,” Derek says. “It’s going to be okay.”
He looks once more at the bizarre sight. A few inches from Cody’s shoulder, the same short distance from where Derek is now touching Cody, a fantastically ugly woman seems to have lost her body. But it appears, at some point, that Cody jammed his fist down her throat. Or did she vomit Cody out, not quite completing the job? That idea makes Derek want to vomit.
And where is her body? Somewhere down in the abyss, probably. And why had she attempted to masticate Cody’s arm? And how can the rest of his limb lay sixty feet away, outside in the grass, still holding his pistol?
Forget all that, Derek thinks, what’s going to happen when I lift him out of this tub?
Outside the small wooden church Derek’s friend, Greg, stands with his arms folded across his chest, eyes narrowed. A few steps behind him two paramedics wait with a gurney. In front, in back and on each side of the church are the parish deputies. Greg looks at them, two are smoking, two dots of orange-tipped cigarettes hover, glowing in the dark. He does not like the idea of waiting out here, doesn’t like Derek going in alone.
Greg glances back to check on Todd. He doesn’t expect to see much, the car is dark, hard to see inside. Still, he looks anyway. Greg frowns, squinting in the moonlight. Is someone with Todd?
A deep breath and Derek decides it’s now or never. Being careful not to bump the tub, oh man, he definitely does not want to knock it into the abyss, he leans forward and reaches under each arm, hooking his hands together at Cody’s chest. Shifting his feet and adjusting his weight, Derek brings his face closer to that ugly thing attached to Cody’s arm. He tries to find the right stance before pulling Cody out. The tub seems so perilously perched that even the slightest nudge might send it off into the nothingness.
Leaning backward now, Derek starts to lift, slowly at first then with greater effort. He can feel his stomach and back muscles tighten as he takes on more of Cody’s weight. Trying not to look at the woman’s face, Derek concentrates on the baptismal tub, watching for any sign that it is falling.
At first, he thinks it is his imagination….it cannot be. It is just not possible. But Derek knows otherwise and he glances at the woman’s head. Staring up at Derek, her eyes are wide open. There is a moment, a look of confusion spreading over the ugly face. Wide in surprise at first, then narrow in comprehension, the eyes take in what is happening. She snarls at Derek, the sound crashing into his mind like the call of a werewolf.
“Oh my God,” Derek croaks, as he lets go of Cody and stumbles backward, falling to the floor.
Her jaw starts to grind, sinking her teeth deeper into Cody’s muscle. Fresh blood seeps from the wound and Cody howls in agony. He slaps erratically at the woman’s head with his left hand.
“Itch!” Cody screams. “Ucking bitch!
“Oh shit, oh God,” Derek says, bile oozing up from his stomach.
The woman’s teeth have disappeared into Cody’s arm. Her thin lips are pressing against raw muscle, her face wet with blood and Derek knows she must have reached bone by now. Cody’s screams turn to wails and his attempts to slap the woman’s face become wild, useless gestures. Derek starts to retch.
“Ucking bitch,” Cody sobs. “Oh, she urt me, you gotta-got me. Sit, oh shit that hurts, you fucking itch!” Then Cody pauses, seems to take stock and his words become clear. “Jamie,” he says softly, “I miss you. I miss you so much.”
Derek stares at Cody, swallows the muck rising in his throat then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He takes in what is happening, struggles to act, but the sight is too bizarre, it is too much. Derek turns and starts for the door.
“I’ll always love you, Jamie.” Cody says.
Until now Derek had managed, at some level, to convince himself
that none of this was real. As if the thousands of dead snakes outside, the mind blowing sights inside, as if all of it were some kind of dream, something from his imagination. But the disembodied head gnawing into Cody’s arm had been the ultimate reality check. The universe was completely fucked and Derek was getting out.
Making his exit, Derek considers not only the words, but Cody’s voice. Hearing Cody call out to Jamie, hearing his old friend sound like his old self, Derek stops.
Derek looks back at Cody. There is no doubt this nightmare is real. And there is no doubt his friend is in real trouble.
What now? Derek thinks. Just what the hell do I do, now?
“I’m so sorry,” Cody says, still sounding clear and lucid. “I’m sorry I wasn’t better, didn’t listen. I should have listened to you, Marion.”
Frowning, his forehead wrinkled Derek stares at Cody. Marion? He wonders. Should have listened to Marion about what?
As if Cody can hear Derek’s thoughts he says, “She told me, everyone did, all of them. They all told me to find my faith, but I didn’t listen. I tried to do it on my own. I tried, but I couldn’t…I couldn’t do it.” Cody’s voice drops to a whisper. “The faith wasn’t there, I just couldn’t find it. Oh Jamie, I am so sorry.”
There is more to what Cody is saying than just words. Derek looks at the ugly woman’s head and somehow knows she is the reason for Cody’s sorrow. Forget the physical pain Cody must be suffering, his sorrow is clearly worse. Derek swallows the gall bubbling up from his gut and shoves his fear down with it.
“You want something to chew on?” Derek says, walking back to the baptismal tub.
For a moment the woman stops gnawing on Cody’s arm and looks at him. Derek reaches into his back pocket and produces a flat, brown object. Derek eyes her for a moment then snaps open the four-inch switchblade. She stares at the knife. There is a mixed look of surprise and determination on her face. She blinks and starts gnashing again. Derek reaches for her.
