Psycho Save Us

by Huskins, Chad

  You, a thought said. I need you.

  Those words had been hopping around inside Spencer’s head for about five minutes. The first had occurred with Tidov still unconscious. At first, he thought he was hearing things, but they weren’t exactly words. It was like a song looping through his mind again and again. He couldn’t get the lyrics out of his head. What was so strange was that it was just those four words: You. I need you. They were light but emphatic, and they had no familiarity to them whatsoever. He wrote it off as merely a line from a movie he’d seen, perhaps from a Scorsese flick that had a scene just like this one—some Mafioso about to get offed in a sewer. Yeah, those were the good ones.

  I’m talking to you. Do you hear me?

  Different lyrics this time. Different words.

  Spencer shook off the feeling and aimed the gun at Tidov. “I’ve been goin’ through your phone. Got a lotta names here. A lotta numbers, too. You also go to Tripple-X-Bitches-and-Hoes-dot-com a lot. Looks filthy. Also looks like some suspiciously underage girls floatin’ around in these vids. This one o’ those YouPorn type o’ sites, yeah? Where you do all your recruiting?”

  “Fuck…off…” Tidov’s head lolled. He almost went back to sleep before Spencer put the smelling salts back underneath his nose. Tidov gagged and jerked his head back, hitting it on a ladder rung.

  “Shit’s strong, ain’t it?”

  “Fuck you.”

  Spencer felt his temper flare, the same flare that had gotten him in trouble with the AB back in Leavenworth, the same flare that brought down their wraith in Baton Rouge. “Fuck me?” he laughed. “Oh, homeboy. No, no, no, no, no. Fuck you. See, right about now cops are swarming all over your humble abode, an’ it won’t take long for them to find all your secrets. Probably got shit there I didn’t even have time to find, am I right? Yeah, I’m right.”

  “Fuck you,” the Russian repeated stubbornly. He jerked once to try and free himself, and lunged his face at Spencer. Once he was done with this minor rebellion, he met eyes with Spencer.

  “Man, you know what they do to child molesters in prison?” he went on, chuckling. “You know what they do to assholes like you, Vladimir Putin? I was in the pen with one. His name was Martin Horowitz. Bet he could tell ya what happens to your kind there. Heh! Rape and child molesting is bad enough. But the body? Sheeeeeyyyyyiiiit, son. That dead body in that black bag? That’s life without parole right there, probably lethal injection. The long sleep, ya feel me?”

  “Fuck you,” Tidov persisted.

  On his haunches like this, his legs started to hurt. Spencer shifted his weight to alleviate the pressure on one side. He also had shifted his weight to fidget, because the Russian’s resistance was exciting him—

  You! I need you!

  Spencer looked away from the Russian, glanced up and down the long, dark tunnel. What the fuck’s wrong with me? he thought.

  Then, quite inexplicably, he received an answer. Where do you want me to start, monster?

  Spencer paused. That time, it hadn’t just been like a song looping inside his mind, it was like…like…like hearing the rest of the lyrics to a song that he’d been fighting to find. Or, rather, having someone give him the rest of the lyrics.

  The previous loop returned. I need you.

  He turned his attention back to Tidov. “Let’s talk about the vory v zakone.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Hm. You’re far more resilient than you were back in your home. Don’t let the fact that you’re still alive embolden you. I’m a dog with a chew toy, an’ I’m only entertained as long as my toy keeps makin’ that funny squeaking sound. You know the sound I mean?” Tidov was apparently smart enough to know a rhetorical, and insane, question when he heard it. “I used to have a Pekingese—you know, the little pug-nosed shits—an’ he’d bite the shit outta his chew toy. And the more it didn’t make the noise, the harder he’d chew.”

  “Fuck you,” he threw back.

  Spencer raised the gun and fired into Tidov’s shoulder. The bang of the gun was deafening in the confines of the sewer. Flesh exploded and blood splattered against Spencer’s face as much as Tidov’s. Fragments of bone and muscle were exposed in that hole, opened right about where the rotator cuff was. Tidov screamed and kicked out. He tried to stand but couldn’t.

  “That’s—not—the—squeaky—sound.”

  The Russian tried to stand again, then cried out in fury and pain. The language that came out was total gibberish. “Drivet v horavatt gosha pitmurun alba albabarro!”

  “What is that?” Spencer said. “Is that Russian or is that your secret language? It’s called Fenya, right? I looked it up on Wikipedia on your phone here while you were out. You guys have like a secret language, right? Was that it? Or was that pure Russian?”

  “FUCK YOU!” His body went through spasms, and he growled like a wild animal through grinding teeth.

  Spencer raised the gun to point directly at his head. Tidov squirmed and kicked pitifully, but could go nowhere. “Is that the sound squeaky toys make in the Motherland?”

  Tidov glared at him. He did not answer Spencer’s question, but he also knew better now than to say fuck you. Spencer sat there for a minute watching the Russian writhe. He did this with the same detached curiosity that he had once done to a moth whose wings he’d removed, and a cat whose paws he’d chopped off. The literature said that many serial killers mutilated animals in their youth. That was how they started. As they grew up, their needs grew, just like how a man enjoyed a good blowjob only for so long, then he wanted two girls, one for his cock and one for his balls. Then he wanted three. Then he wanted to be dominated, or to dominate, while roleplaying. The needs grew and grew.

  You sick fuck, said the Voice. Again, familiar, yet not familiar. I still need you.

  For the first time, Spencer entertained this rogue thought. If you need me, why call me a sick fuck?

  Because you are one! came the swift response.

  “We ready to talk yet? Hm, big guy?”

  Tidov said nothing. He looked straight up at the manhole cover above his head, no doubt hoping that someone would have heard the gunshot.

  Spencer smiled. “Sorry, but it’s just you an’ me, pal.”

  Tidov looked at him, and Spencer saw the look in his eyes. He’s about to—

  —shift tactics, came the Voice from the other thinker. Yes, I feel that, too.

  “Feel what?” he asked aloud. This marked the beginning of his belief that he was actually talking to someone else. It wasn’t such a strange thing. Spencer was agnostic, but not because he believed it was truly impossible to know the truth of spirits or demons or gods or angels, but because he honestly didn’t give shit.

  So, what if this was God? Or some agent of His? What if it was Lucifer? That cocksucker couldn’t even keep his mouth shut long enough to stage a decent coup d'état before his stupid ass was flung down to earth. So, either an impotent God or an inept Devil was speaking to him. Or not, he thought. Could be I’m insane.

  To him, this was far more likely. Though he thoroughly enjoyed being Spencer Adam Pelletier, and the human experience that had come with it, fundamentally he knew that he was fucked in the head. There was no escaping that, really. He’d never run from it before. Why start now?

  When he received no answer from the Voice, he turned his attention back to Tidov, who was now hyperventilating. He had also gone still, probably so as not to provoke Spencer anymore, and was staring up at him, no doubt wondering who he had spoken to. “You were just about to shift tactics on me,” Spencer said. “So go on. Shift tactics. What’s it gonna be? Begging? Bargaining? I have to warn ya, bargaining with me when I’ve got my mind set on something…well, it just pisses me off.”

  Tidov swallowed, he opened his mouth to say something.

  Ask him about Dmitry, said the Voice.

  “Tell me about Dmitry,” Spencer said without questioning it.

  Tidov stopped, looked up at him, and then shut his mouth.r />
  Spencer smiled. “You think I don’t know about Dmitry already, friend? You think I just showed up at yer house with a pistol an’ nothin’ else?” He snorted and shook his head in amusement. “Yevgeny, you’ve got a great operation going with the other vory, but you don’t know shit about how this game is played in its entirety.”

  Tidov lowered his gaze, and then remembered his shoulder. Or perhaps it remembered him. Whatever the case, he spasmed in pain, and looked at it forlornly before casting his desperate eyes up at the manhole cover again.

  He still doesn’t quite believe, said the Voice. He still has hope.

  “He still doesn’t quite believe,” said Kaley. She stared unblinkingly at Bonetta’s face, hovering over her. “He still has hope.”

  “What?” said the Harper girl.

  Outside, the screams had risen to a crescendo and then fell away. The pain was excruciating, the fear more than she could bear. And yet, bear it she did. The same way she had bore the burden of the dying men in the house where Oni had killed so many. The same way she had bore the death of Nan at her last moment, feeling her slipping away into an abyss. The same way she had bore her mother’s own Ocean of Sorrow for so many years.

  My whole life, Kaley thought. I’ve carried this burden my whole life.

  Her legs had gone numb. A tingling sensation was running up her spine. Her skull felt like it was split in half. The numbness retreated from her legs, leaving behind a million billion needles stabbing at her every pore, joint, muscle, bone, tendon, and ligament.

  “Ask him about something else,” Kaley said. “Ask him about Dmitry’s brother, Mikhael. And their sister, Olga. Ask him why they should protect him after he’s discovered?”

  Ask him about something else, said the Voice. Ask him about Dmitry’s brother, Mikhael. And their sister, Olga. Ask him why they should protect him after he’s discovered.

  “What do you think Dmitry’s brother will think about your exposure to the police at this stage?” Spencer said. Tidov looked back at him, and Spencer was pleased to see his panic. “Mikhael won’t be too happy. Olga, either.” He sighed. “They’re all pretty tight, huh? Yeah, they’re tight. But how tight are they with you? You’re here, an’ they’re someplace else. My guess is, you handle one end o’ the business, they handle the other. You cage up extras, dispose of the used ones, and get paid later. Pretty soon your face will be all over TV, an’ they say to one another, ‘Comrades, let’s bounce.’ And bounce they will, right on out of Atlanta. You stay here, they go free. Unless, that is, you’re willing to bargain.”

  Tidov looked him up and down. His shoulder spasmed, and he ground his teeth. “Y-you want to c-cut a deal?”

  “I’m a reasonable man,” he said, and could hear Dr. McCulloch laughing from the grave, saying, “Is that so?”

  “Th-their lives for m-mine?”

  “I’m just talkin’ here,” Spencer said, relishing the position he was in. He recalled reading Euripides: There is nothing like the sight of an old enemy down on his luck. Spencer figured that went for any enemy, old or new. “Words are coming out of my mouth and you’re hearing them. What do they mean? What can they mean? Who’s speaking to you now, a man or a devil? What does that even mean? What do I mean when I say mean? What’s the meaning of mean?”

  “What…what’re you—”

  “Your life for theirs, yes.”

  Tidov cast his gaze one last time upwards, and then looked back at Spencer. “Okay.”

  “Okay, what?”

  “Y-y-you can have them.”

  “Where are they?”

  The Russian’s upper body went stiff. “P-Pennington Street,” he said.

  He’s lying, said the Voice.

  I know he’s lying, Spencer responded. You don’t have to tell me that.

  “Pennington Street?”

  “Y-yes. They’re all on—”

  Spencer made the strident sound of a buzzer indicating a wrong answer on a game show. “Nope. Sorry. You’re lying.”

  “I’m not—”

  “A person’s upper body always goes stiff when they’re about to tell a lie. You freeze while trying to gather your story. Now, tell me again.” He pointed the Glock at Tidov’s head again. “You get one more try.”

  Kaley was lost inside herself. Part of her was in a dream. Another part was dipping into the cold fury of the creature she’d met earlier tonight at Dodson’s, and her connection had granted her access to his thoughts. And yet, there was a third part of her that was utterly outside of herself, just walking about the room, smelling, tasting, touching the residue left by those murdered here. The walls breathed.

  Despair. Loneliness. Rejection. These all came to her, as did a feeling that she somehow deserved this. That belonged to the others, not to her. Tell the truth now, she told herself. You do blame yourself for this. You didn’t listen. You didn’t listen to Nan, or to the charm. It was murky in here. There was no guide. No helpful ranger in this forest to lead the way. There were only phantoms.

  Umway Street. The thought was in search of a purpose.

  The phantoms needed someone to hold onto. They grabbed at her. Little beseeching hands that feared to be left alone, just as Shan had been afraid when Kaley had pulled away from her. Don’t go, they said. Don’t leave us here alone. She did not see their ghosts. Kaley wasn’t even sure they were ghosts. Fingerprints, she thought. They’ve left their fingerprints on this room, on this basement, on this world. They left their pleading hearts. They left their aspirations and dreams.

  Kaley smelled them. In this hyperaware state, their scent filled her. She knew which smells were boys, which smells were girls, and though she knew they all were usually very beautiful smells in here they…they…cloyed?

  Umway Street, she thought. Remember Umway Street. Don’t forget it.

  She eventually came back to the staring, dumb eyes of Bonetta Harper. “Umway Street,” she said. “The last street sign I saw was Umway Street, but we turned down more roads that I didn’t see the names of…”

  “I’m thinking somewhere maybe around the vicinity of Umway Street?” Spencer said, his voice echoing in the tunnel.

  Tidov looked at him with supreme dread. He had seen this look before. He had seen it on the face of Martin Horowitz just seconds before he entered the showers expecting to rendezvous with Spencer; oh, how the man had almost picked up on the ruse, but far too late. It was also the look that one AB assassin had a moment before everything went wrong for him. It was the look of a man who got it, who understood, who fully comprehended the immense machinations that had been at work outside of him.

  You’re not in control here, Spencer thought, relishing, and grinning ear to ear. I am.

  It was clear to Spencer then that this deal was sealed. Tidov’s lower lip sucked in, and it was now obvious that the man, tough as he’d built himself up to be, had been fighting against his own fears, fighting against turning into a blubbering fool. His ego still had control of him. Spencer identified with this, and was repulsed by it.

  “Oh, I see,” Spencer said. “You’re one o’ those. You’re a monster, but not like me. I was born one, but you were made one. You actually have feelings, they just got all twisted around. You feel guilt in the wee hours of the night, but not enough once the sun comes up. You’re the reverse of a vampire. In the sun, you can bask and forget what you really are.” He tsked. “And now you feel guilt. Guilt for turnin’ on your partners, your family, your friends.”

  “P-please…”

  Shine a little light on these fuckers, hold up a mirror, an’ they fold like a lawn chair. That was the true essence of their weakness, and why they were not worthy of holding power. Like children who grabbed hold of their daddy’s gun while he was away, and then fell to the ground screaming when the sound of the gunshot was more than they could take. “So, you were saying? Somewhere around Umway Street, yeah?”

  “Y-yes.”

  Shine a little light on these fuckers, hold up a mirror,
an’ they fold like a lawn chair. Kaley had a better sense of the white man’s thoughts. They moved like glaciers—seemingly slow, yet ponderous, and just beneath there was more going on than what a sailor might view from the ship’s crow’s nest. Kaley was adrift in the Ocean of Sorrow, and could spot these glaciers standing tall amidst the rest of the endless, cold, flat seas. It was what was underneath that she feared most. There were things there that were unconscionable.

  Above her, Bonetta had stopped talking. She was beginning to cry. She did not understand any of this and was beginning to understand what a coward she was, what a coward she had always been.

  Lightning behind her eyes. Shannon’s physical injuries coming through. Tearing, bleeding, too much pressure.

  Kaley pushed these burdensome thoughts away and tried to manage the white monster’s thoughts the way one might manage computer files. She separated them according to category—anger, frustration, curiosity, humor—and pushed them into their relegated zones. They were not ordinary, these emotional files, and they did not jibe well with Kaley’s own computer, but she was able to grant them approximations.

  Somewhere at the back of her mind, Shan was trying to control her pain. She was now aware of the feedback, and had learned to empathize with Big Sister. Dmitry and Olga were finished with her, but they were not going to bring her back into the room with Kaley and Bonetta just yet.

  The conversation between the two monsters was going on. So, you were saying? Somewhere around Umway Street, yeah?

  She heard/felt the other monster’s reply through the first monster. Y-yes.

  “If he starts getting tricky,” Kaley said, still staring up at Bonetta who was beginning to back away from her, “tell him you know how they stalk the children, how they select—

  —the children based on how neglected they are, said the Voice.

  Spencer tapped the muzzle of the Glock against Tidov’s ankle. “Where around Umway Street?”