Archie frowned. “I’m not sure how I feel about you being out in the wilds with no one to have your back, old boot.”
“Now you see, I’m of much the same mind about that, my bantling,” Nimble replied. “And then I recalled that we did make a good sort of team. So I thought I ought to drop by and ask you how quick you could get your bags packed.”
Delight surged through Archie. “Give me five minutes and I’ll be ready.”
“I’ll give you ten if you pack more than a cloak and those ugly old army boots.”
GINN HALE resides in the Pacific Northwest with her lovely wife and wayward cats. She is an award-winning author of science fiction and fantasy, as well as an avid coffee-drinker.
11:59
By C.S. Poe
Asuka Kawashima is a man without dreams.
Nightmares plague humanity and cross into the waking world—chasing after their dreamers and transforming them into hideous monsters that haunt New York City at night. When Asuka is faced with the choice between dying or selling his soul to the Devil, he offers it in exchange for the chance to continue protecting people. But the Devil is sly, and while he takes Asuka’s ability to dream, making him immune to nightmares, it also removed Asuka’s abstract sense of dreaming. Now life is gray, hopeless, and without wishes.
A chance meeting five years later leads Asuka to Merrick Grace, a man who, despite the dismal world around them, still believes there will be a day when monsters cease to exist. When the Devil reappears, asking for a favor in return for his soul, Asuka must make another difficult decision…
If the chance to dream again—to share a life with Merrick, full of hope and happiness—is worth the risk of almost certain death.
I
THE FIRST time Asuka Kawashima met the Devil, he had been falling headfirst from the thirty-third floor of One Penn Plaza.
“Want to make a deal?”
Suspended downward, Asuka stared at the face of a gentleman with the highly particular yet slightly indescribable features of a century long since past. New York City and Asuka’s inevitable death lay as a backdrop to the blond in a three-piece suit with a high collar, tapping an unlit cigarette against a silver case in one hand. Shards of broken glass hung in the air around Asuka, reflecting the tungsten orange glow of the city at night.
“Wh-what?”
The tip of the cigarette burned, smoke curling in lazy circles around the blond.
Asuka didn’t remember seeing him light it.
“If you could have anything,” the blond said, smiling a smile just this side of inhuman, “what would it be?”
“I want to save people.”
The blond angled his head and blew smoke devoid of the heady scent of tobacco from his lips. He reached his free hand up and tapped a fingertip against the badge pinned to Asuka’s uniform, as if amused by the irony of the request. “Are you certain?”
“What choice do I have?”
The blond glanced down at the city far below and then smiled once more at Asuka. His stare was endless. Bottomless. Piercing.
Asuka looked away.
“I can make you immune to dreaming. The nightmares will never find you. You will never be transformed into one of these monsters. But the cost will be great.”
Asuka swallowed hard. He looked at the Devil again. “A soul.”
“Your soul, my sweet little bird.”
The wind began to blow.
And one by one, the shattered pieces of glass began to fall.
“Deal,” Asuka whispered.
11:59 p.m.
II
ON THE third floor of a multiuse building on East Tenth Street is a ninety-eight square foot apartment. There’s a nail hammered into the unfinished brick wall with five years’ worth of calendars hanging from it, each date with a number written beside it. They appear random.
August 2nd does not yet have a notation.
The light in the shoebox apartment is always on. There’s a shelf above the radiator with a stockpile of incandescent bulbs. Energy inefficient they may be, but the monsters avoid the glow far more than the now-standard CFL lights.
Next to an unmade bed, there’s a small table stacked with empty microwavable bowls—instant ramen. Mostly chicken flavor.
This is where Asuka Kawashima lives.
He sits naked on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands, his long black hair covering his face.
A news channel murmurs quietly on the television mounted to the wall at the foot of the bed. There’s never a good day for humanity, despite Asuka’s best efforts. The monsters are like a hydra—the more infected bastards Asuka slays, the more who seem to succumb to the nightmares, replacing those cut down by his sword.
It’s a futile battle. One that someday Asuka will lose.
And for what?
He hasn’t dreamed in five years.
A series of thoughts, images, or emotions occurring during sleep.
A strongly desired goal or purpose.
Something that fully satisfies a wish.
Asuka is tired.
But night is settling over the city of New York, and the monsters will be out soon.
Asuka lets out a breath through his nose and fetches clean underwear from a basket. He grabs a pair of black jeans from the floor and pulls them on. There’s a dried crust on the lower leg that is sure to be monster refuse. Asuka grabs a white button-down from a modest collection hanging from a bar on the wall. He tucks it in, buckles his belt, and uses the band on his wrist to tie his hair into a bun.
Asuka picks up a custom-built double shoulder holster from the table and slides it on. He snaps a small light to the harness and lets it rest against his chest. After putting on well-worn black combat boots, Asuka grabs the massive sword propped against the brick wall and attaches the handle on the back of his reinforced holster.
Asuka glances at himself in a small mirror beside the door.
Once upon a time, he’d looked forward to suiting up for work.
But now?
“Same shit, different day,” he says to his reflection before walking out of the apartment.
The routine of Asuka’s new life is surely one he can do in his sleep. Every single day he leaves home at sundown, rids the city of as many monsters as possible, and returns exhausted and disgusting around sunrise. He showers, eats cheap food, and falls asleep to newscasters reciting how the city fared overnight to their early-morning viewers.
And if Asuka isn’t too sore or too tired from his undertakings, he masturbates.
It’s never to anyone in particular. Mostly a convenient pretty face. The weatherman on Channel 4. Memories of his old partner when Asuka walked the beat as a police officer. That bartender from Gin & Sin before he’d become infected by the nightmares and Asuka had to kill him.
Really, whatever face it took to get the job done.
Asuka is not stopped or questioned by the rush of commuters coming home as he walks down the street, despite looking armed for war. He is all that stands between the innocent and the flesh-eating monsters who were once human. Because Asuka no longer dreams, he cannot be chased into consciousness by one of the nightmares. His body is riddled with five years’ worth of scars, and still, he keeps fighting. And frankly, the dwindling force of the NYPD will take all the help they can get—even if it comes in the form of an ex-cop turned vigilante.
The oppressive heat of summer has not eased with the setting sun. Asuka can already feel sweat trickling down his back under his weapon. The air is heavy and humid, and the inside of Asuka’s mouth feels cooler in comparison.
He’s not yet at the end of his block when Asuka spies a black substance pooled outside of an apartment. The front door is slightly ajar—more of the oil drips from the doorknob. Asuka removes one of his pistols. He zeroes in on the dark, silent interior visible through the crack of the doorway. Then someone nearly body slams him from the side.
Asuka stumbles to the right but remains on his feet. He whips around
and points his flare pistol at what he assumes will be the monster who lives in this building.
It is not.
A handsome redhead offers a pained expression. He sucks in air through clenched teeth as he rubs his chest and shoulder. “S-sorry,” he manages.
Asuka lowers the weapon.
“Goddamn. You’re built like a brick shithouse.”
Asuka narrows his eyes. He’s pretty certain men haven’t been described as such in America since before the 1930s, but the dated lingo is surprisingly cute. In fact, a quick once-over of the stranger—thin and tall but deceptively built, with three freckles on his cheek that remind Asuka of the belt of Orion—has him realizing the stranger is 100 percent his type.
Five years ago, Asuka would have been smitten at first glance.
But now?
The redhead seems to realize Asuka has no intention of responding. “I was trying to get home before dark. I didn’t notice you standing there.”
Asuka stares hard. “It is dark,” he finally points out. “Keep your lights on and lock the doors.”
The redhead nods obediently. “Thanks,” he murmurs.
Asuka isn’t certain what for.
The stranger walks briskly down the sidewalk. He stops a few doors away, unlocks it, and spares Asuka a second glance before disappearing inside.
Maybe they were both each other’s type.
But Asuka doesn’t give the situation further consideration. He marches through the open door of the building before him, pistol at the ready.
III
THE SUN is rising as Asuka returns from his nightly killings. His clothes are splattered with black grime. His hair has fallen loose from his bun. He is tired and worn and feels every bit of his forty years as he walks his street block. Neighbors seem oddly comforted by his unkempt appearance—reassured that there is one less monster in the city because of him.
For however brief a time.
Asuka passes the redhead as he exits his building, looking fresh and full of life. He can feel the younger man’s eyes on him, watching what multiuse Asuka enters. Asuka doesn’t look back.
When he reaches the inside of his apartment, Asuka strips, showers, eats, and marks August 2nd on the calendar as five.
Five monsters dead.
He doesn’t masturbate, but the redhead is a passing thought before he falls asleep.
AUGUST 3RD: Three monsters dead.
August 4th: Six monsters dead, and Asuka sees the redhead again.
August 5th: Nine monsters dead, and there’s a note under Asuka’s door when he returns in the morning.
I’m twenty-three, sunburn easily, and definitely like coffee if you want to ask me out.
Merrick Grace
Asuka’s routine life is devoid of dreams.
Of hopes.
And of wishes.
He’s not surprised that without these, his emotions have withered and darkened. It feels as if the beating of Asuka’s heart has been cut out of him, and what remains of the organ is open sores left to rot.
Maybe five years ago, he’d have found humor and endearment in this note. Maybe Asuka would have walked himself down to Mr. Merrick Grace’s apartment and asked him on a date.
But now?
Asuka leaves the note on the table beside the empty ramen bowls. He doesn’t write a response, but he does masturbate before sleep.
August 6th: Three monsters dead, and Asuka sees Merrick again.
August 7th: No monsters.
August 8th: Five monsters dead, and another glimpse of Merrick. He flashes Asuka a cute, boyish smile. Another note waits under the door.
Roses are red,
Violets are blue.
Be safe at night,
I’m thinking of you.
Asuka’s mouth twitches. He sets his weapons aside and tears the label from a ramen bowl. He writes Asuka Kawashima, folds the paper, and sticks it to the outside of his door with a strip of Scotch tape. Asuka masturbates to thoughts of Merrick that morning.
August 9th: Five monsters dead.
May I buy you a cup of coffee, Asuka?
August 10th: Three monsters dead and no note.
Asuka isn’t surprised. He hadn’t responded to Merrick’s request from the morning before. But there was the smallest pang of… disappointment in his gut. Merrick is charming and persistent, but a man could only get let down so many times before he gives up and moves on.
Right?
The hallway floor outside of Asuka’s apartment creaks.
Asuka raises his head from where he sits naked on the bed after his shower. He holds another torn ramen label and a pen. He’s been undecided as to what to respond with, yes or no, for nearly twenty minutes. He’s losing precious sleep over the decision of whether to have coffee with the cute boy down the street.
Is Merrick returning with another note?
Tip-tap, tip-tap. High heels.
No. Not Merrick.
The shoes stop outside the door. A slip of paper slides underneath.
The tip-tap continues down the hall and fades away in an echo.
It’s sure to be a job request—another monster in need of destroying—and Asuka has only just returned home after a long night. He stands, walks to the door, retrieves the folded note, and opens it.
Billiards & Brew
As soon as you can
THE CITY is awash in that grayish blue color that exists moments before the sun rises. It’s offset by the dirty orange glow of protective streetlamps. The air is stale. Stifling summer heat is already causing the piled trash bags awaiting pickup to stink.
A scream just ahead shatters the quiet of an ever-vigilant and exhausted city.
“Help!”
A few doors down, Merrick Grace all but flies out of his building. He’s got several books tucked under one arm, and a trail of loose papers flutter to the ground in his wake. An amorphous shape, as black as night and at least eight feet tall, squeezes its bloated form out of the open doorway. Tentacle-like appendages that were once arms reach out toward Merrick in vain.
Asuka rushes into the road and whistles loudly. Merrick turns and runs toward him without question.
“It’s my neighbor!” he cries.
“Stay behind me,” Asuka orders.
He pulls one of the pistols from his holster, takes a firing stance, and shoots the creature with a flare cartridge. The towering monster lets out a shriek that sounds like knives sawing against glass. Painful goose bumps cover Asuka’s body, and he shudders as the cry reverberates in his chest. Asuka reloads and shoots again, pumping the monster full of light.
It howls louder, sets off car alarms, and then charges.
Asuka swears, holstering his pistol. He reaches back, unbuckles his sword, and holds the hilt in both hands. The cogs built into the guard twist and turn into place. The blade glows with a blinding force as Asuka runs head-on to meet the monster. He raises the sword, jumps, and slashes downward, cutting through the thick, jellylike resistance of the body that was once human. The top portion is sliced free, and black grease spews from the wound.
Asuka lands on the ground. He stands, turns his head away, and holds the blade up to protect himself from the warm, gushing oil. The discharge coats the city street as the undulating mass crumples inward and falls down dead. Asuka lowers his weapon and reaches to strap it back onto his holster. His boots squelch as he walks through the remnants.
Merrick is still standing where he’d been told. He looks ashen, and his mouth hangs open like a fish out of water. There are splotches of grease on his face and clothes. Merrick raises a finger, as if to speak, but Asuka never breaks his stride as he walks past him.
“H-hey! Wait!” Merrick runs after, slips in the goop, and falls to the ground.
Asuka stops. He looks over his shoulder.
Merrick is quickly retrieving his books from the grimy oil and wiping the covers as best as he can.
Asuka lets out a breath. He needs to leave. A woman is waiting
with a job at Billiards & Brew.
Merrick flicks the refuse from his hand and uses the hem of his low-cut T-shirt to clean the books. He cares more for the condition of his hardcovers than the fact that he’s on his knees in monster waste.
Asuka finds it… sweet.
Intriguing.
Endearing.
Innocent, in a world that is now anything but.
Asuka walks back to Merrick. He reaches a hand out.
ASUKA AND Merrick sit in a booth across from each other at a 24-7 diner a few blocks away. The dated establishment is well-lit, casting illumination on every broken tile, unswept corner, and grimy fingerprint.
Asuka wipes his face clean of the black oil with a napkin.
“You—ah—” Merrick taps his own smooth chin. “Have some in your beard.”
Asuka touches his modest facial hair, and his fingers come away dirty. He grabs another napkin from the dispenser.
“I didn’t plan this,” Merrick says. He smiles a little, like he’s not sure what other expression is suitable for the situation. “Being chased by a monster just so you’d have coffee with me, I mean.”
Asuka scrunches the napkin into a tight wad and places it in the pile off to the side. He’s not much of a talker these days. Conversation only reminds him that he is a man with nothing worth dying for. But Merrick stares at him with hopeful curiosity—with a soul burning so bright, the light reflects in his eyes. Merrick undoubtedly has aspirations and wishes. Asuka is certain Merrick could imagine a world like before, when dreams couldn’t hurt them.
“I figured,” Asuka murmurs after a pregnant pause.
They don’t speak again.
An older man approaches the booth. He’s rail-thin, with salt-and-pepper hair and a bit of a stoop to his posture. He has a pot of black coffee and leans over the tabletop to shakily pour into their mugs.
“Mr. Kawashima,” he says by way of greeting.
“Carlos.”
Devil Take Me Page 33
