by Kenny Soward
The sounds of rustling skirts and boots striking hardwood got his attention. Ingrid sauntered in, her footfalls careful and easy as she crossed in front of the TV and sat on a wrought iron chair at the other end of the couch. She set her Glock on the table and lifted one boot heel to the edge of her seat, wrapping her arms around her knee and pulling it to her chest. She fixed Lonnie with her pale stare, eyes a thousand times more vivid than anything the hi-def TV could offer. Those eyes unnerved the hell out of him.
She sighed. “Selix is okay. A little woozy. We put her to bed.”
Lonnie grunted.
Ingrid’s eyes slid to the TV and lingered there a moment. “This show is dull. It’s for dullards.”
Lonnie didn’t respond (always the best and most neutral choice outside of “yeah”) but his eyes lit up when a guy tried to dive off the roof of a house into an above ground pool. Instead of hitting the water, the guy jackknifed on the soft edge, bending it low enough with his fat belly that the water rushed out and flooded the yard. Lonnie knew it was dumb, but he laughed anyway. An endless supply of mischief, this show. He took another drag on his cigarette and let the smoke roll out real slow.
“Seriously, Lons. How can you stand this rubbish?”
“I don’t. I’m just in a bad mood, okay? This makes me laugh. Can I laugh?”
“Sure,” Ingrid said, carefully. “You can laugh.”
She allowed Lonnie to watch in peace for a few more minutes, and then, “Years ago, Elsa took me to the fighting pits in New Orleans. Roosters and dogs and slaves tearing one another apart in the basement of a flophouse on Bourbon Street. Such bloody fun. We went whenever life became too depressing. Whenever we needed our spirits lifted.”
Lonnie ignored her, wondering if he should just head back to his room.
“Hey, are you listening, Lons?”
He turned his head. “New Orleans. Fighting pits. I’m surprised they still let that happen. What’s your point?”
“It was a very long time ago. Does it ring a bell?”
“Why would it ring a bell?”
She shrugged.
Truth was, it did ring a bell, and the black ice cracked more.
“Look, I’m trying to chill out here. Don’t you have someone to victimize?”
The woman shifted in her seat, eyes narrowing.
“Seriously, you’re eating up my time.”
Ingrid raised her hands. “Okay, Lons. Sure. You are showing how tough you are. I get it. I am just trying to have a conversation.”
Lonnie noted the tear in her corset’s leather edge. Her hair, now in a tight bun behind her head, exposed her shoulders and delicate neck. Her skin perfection except for the scratches around her collarbone and windpipe. The wounds from the silvershard grenades weren’t bloody anymore. Pink lines across porcelain. Fragile-looking skin, but not weak. Not by a long shot. Because those marks were from the fight a couple of hours ago, and no normal person healed that fast.
Everything is fine. It’s all iced.
Lonnie kicked one leg up on the coffee table, scattering junk and rattling coins with the weight of his boot. “Well, conversations are optional in this house, and I’m not up for a conversation. If you don’t like it, talk to Selix about getting another TV.”
“I’m not on you about the TV anymore. I was off the TV five minutes ago.”
“Yeah, but I can see you over there fucking thinking about it.”
The woman blinked at him. “Okay, Lons.”
He squeezed his eyes shut against that name. Ingrid had to know he hated being called that. She was goading him on, trying to get on his nerves. Why? Lonnie breathed deep, realized he’d forgotten his cigarette. He flicked the bending ash into the ashtray and took another drag. The smoke calmed him.
Ingrid did a one-eighty. “I suppose my point is that maybe you need a break.”
“I’m trying to take a break.”
"No, a real break. A vacation."
Lonnie laughed.
“Is it Elsa? Is she becoming too much? I completely understand, you know. We all need a break from her sometimes.”
Lonnie made a face. “Why do you care?”
Ingrid’s gaze lingered on him. “I care because I don’t want you to think poorly of us.”
He barked a laugh. “Too late for that. Wait, what I meant to say was that I enjoy the shit jobs I get to do for you guys. I love that you keep me strung out on dope and my family hates me for it. And I love—” Lonnie almost said he loved having pitched gun fights with monsters, but he clamped that thought before it could turn into actual words. He folded his arms hard across his chest. “It doesn’t matter what I think.”
Ingrid’s lips pursed. Lonnie half expected her to be angry with him, to threaten to go to Selix about his mouth, but Ingrid wasn’t like that. “Well, it will matter soon. Remember my concern—”
“Fuck off.” Lonnie shook his head.
“Very well, Lons.” Ingrid’s words were softly clipped. “I will fuck off. At least on that topic.”
Ten minutes later, Crash’s wide body entered the parlor trailing his long dreadlocks and sporting a relatively fresh shirt—one without bullet holes and blood. He stepped over Lonnie’s extended legs and plopped down on the couch, causing the cushions to raise Lonnie a good 3 inches.
“Oh man, I love Stunt Dummies. Great show.”
“Right?”
“Yeah.” Crash gave Lonnie a friendly punch in the shoulder that left it stinging, but Lonnie didn’t let on that it hurt. Besides, it was too much fun making Ingrid watch with them. Just now, two guys were taking turns smacking each other in the nuts with weighted socks while chugging beers.
Hilarious.
Ingrid rolled her eyes at them. “Can we compromise?”
When the two didn’t respond, she sighed, shoulders slumping. In her exasperation, her Germanic accent became even more pronounced. “Oh, so tired of these shows with people banging their heads and falling. Punching their privates over and over. How about something with more class? A period thriller or a nice romance? A love story, yes?”
“No Arts & Hearts,” Crash grumbled, shifting in his seat.
“For just a bit?” Ingrid made a smallish gesture with her forefinger and thumb. “I’m always so wound up after we…after some big action happens around here.”
Crash tilted his head as if considering it, but shook the thought off. “No way, woman. Been cutting you too much slack lately. In the day, the TV is ours.”
“That's right,” Lonnie said.
“We gotta put our foot down.”
“Yes, sir. We should have put our feet down last week.”
“Oh, it’s two against one now, is it?”
“We had a tough day today. You see the bastard I took down? Fucking golem. Since when did they start bringing those through the Fade?”
“I know what it was you fought, you thick head. Quit being so direct in front of him. You’re worse than Elsa. You’ll set him off again.”
Crash glanced at Lonnie before giving Ingrid a frown.
Golems existed. Monsters and beasts and strange terms barely familiar, things lingering on the edges of his memory. Lonnie crossed his arms. “What’s the Fade?”
“See,” Ingrid gestured. “He has these questions. I think it’s happening, Crash. The ice is wearing off. We need to tell Selix as soon as she wakes up.”
Crash gave Ingrid a pained expression, shaking his shaggy head. “Now who’s being so direct in front of him.” Then, to Lonnie, “Look, man. The Fade is nothing. A haircut or something.”
On the TV, someone lit a pan full of firecrackers right next to a sleeping victim. Crash chuckled as the string went off in a spray of smoke and paper and the victim did a jerking, terrified dance to get away.
Elsa sighed again, and Lonnie was done.
“Here, man.” Lonnie tossed the remote into Crash’s lap and stood. “I’m tired of hearing her bitch.”
He gathered his stuff off the coffee t
able and retreated to his room.
Chapter 6
Lonnie clomped down the stairs to his room on the second floor. His boots echoed in the foyer, bare wood creaking beneath him. He threw open the door—had never had a doorknob—and entered. It had been fancy a long time ago, complete with a fireplace and columned mantle, white paint faded with age. Old wallpaper peeled from the ceiling. The floors were a re-modeler’s dream, gorgeous oak begging to be refinished.
Lonnie threw his jacket in a chair and collapsed on his mattress, rolling into the tangled sheets before coming forward again to unlace his boots. Once he had those heavy fuckers off, he fell back, enjoying the cool pillow against his face. It was hot up here. Sweltering, except in the latter parts of the day. A small window AC unit cranked. At least it wasn’t as bad as the third floor. Plus, he had two oxies in his pocket.
A personal stash was crucial to surviving in Lonnie's world.
He grinned, rolled over, and pulled out a small mirror from beneath a pile of jeans. Crushed the oxy up, divided it into two long lines, and snorted it using a straw. The two lines weren’t enough to get him high, but they’d calm his nerves. And damn the gang for holding out on him. He resented them for waving that sweet bag of dope in front of his face without offering him a single bit of it.
Half-dazed on the hot mattress, his thoughts flowed into a dream of being back in his home back in Newport. He smiled, imagining the awesome things they had. Homey things. A little flat screen TV on the bureau. Pictures of the family on the walls, their faces too far to read. His wife’s clothes tossed around the room in organized chaos. A search of the cool sheets next to him, she wasn't there.
What day was it, anyway?
Saturday. Yes, Saturday morning. The faint aroma of coffee seeped through the cracked door. The Shrimp cried out, probably playing in front of her cartoons.
Thank God he was home!
He kept having this awful dream about being a drug addict working for a gang of monsters. How fucking crazy was that? Relief flooded through him, and he imagined this must be what people felt like when they realized the lump on their leg was just a charley horse and not cancer.
The bedroom door eased open, and his wife crossed the room to stand before the window, coffee cup in hand. His T-shirt barely reached her thighs, revealing tight, attractive legs. She took the draw rod in her fingers and turned. Graced him with a glowing, dimpled smile in tanned cheeks.
Amazing how she looked so beautiful without even trying.
“Time to get up, lazy,” she said, taking a sip of her coffee. The mug had a dragon stenciled on the side, maw open and a gout of fire pouring out, smoke leaking from its nostrils.
In a sudden flourish, she drew back the curtain, blinding him with white light.
Not white light, no. Ruddy, red light. The light of a vast desert wasteland on another world. A world he was familiar with. The world of his dragon dreams.
Hell.
Lonnie spun in the sheets, throwing himself backward against the headboard where it knocked violently against the wall. The screech of the dragon tore through the room, and he threw his hands against his head to block out the sound. The window shattered and a blazing heat seared them, scorching everything. He watched his wife burn away, held up his hand to see his own skin flaying and flaking into hot ash.
The curtains slammed together again, and the light died, leaving his wife standing there smiling, still holding her cup of coffee. “Too soon for all that brightness, huh?”
The cool air conditioning wafted against his sweating face. His heart pumped hard in his chest. “What the fuck?”
“I know, right?” His wife set her cup on the dresser and came to the foot of the bed, going to her knees on the mattress. Her chocolate eyes found his. She had that look. The fuck-me look, but Lonnie wasn't in the mood. He was still shitting his pants from that skin-melting heat.
She feigned disappointment at his terrified expression, lobbing a cute pout at him. “Oh, it’s your off day. You probably want to sleep.” She rubbed her hand over the top of his foot. “But can I play with the little guy before I get more coffee? Huh, baby?” She was crawling up the bed now, kissing his shins and then the top of his naked thigh. Then her lips were probing at him between his legs, her hair falling to tickle his skin, sending chills through his body.
In typical man fashion, and despite the near heart attack, his manhood standing up like an alert little sailor.
“Yeah, baby,” he said with a moan in his voice. “Whatever this is, just to it.” He took her by the back of her head, running his fingers through her curly black hair, pushing her face harder into his crotch. His eyes rose to the ceiling, gazing with dumb lust at the pristine white paint while he appreciated another one of his wife’s many talents.
She worked on him, using her lips and tongue to do things no other woman could—God she was good.
But then he caught a whiff of blood. That unmistakable, coppery scent. Rot, too. Meat left out too long. And when he looked down again, he saw that his wife’s hair wasn’t the normal kinky curls but straight and black and stringy. He tried forcing her head up so he could see who was sucking his cock, but she resisted. She was strong.
“Hey,” he said, gripping the woman by the hair and jerking.
The eyes that peered up at him weren’t brown and warm, but a pale green so bright they glowed in the dankness of the room. A tongue parted rouged lips and licked at his shrinking manhood. “What’s wrong?” the mouth said. Elsa’s mouth. “Not interested, Lons? You used to always be interested.”
Lonnie grunted and squirmed, shoving her head away and kicking at her. She fended him off easily, backing off the bed and laughing as she stood and fixed her hair. The fun was over. “Seriously, Lons. That’s pathetic when you won’t take a blowjob from me. You must not love me anymore.”
Lonnie felt stupid, legs tangled up in the sheets, but he pointed to the door. “Get the fuck out.”
Elsa planted her fists on her hips. “Very well. But Selix wants to see you. Right now. So pull your pants on and come.” She chuckled. “Pull them on and come. That is an ironic statement, right? Because you probably are not cumming if you have pants on. Funny, right?”
“Yeah, hah. You’re a goddamn comedian.”
Elsa adjusted her bodice, humphed, and left the room.
Lonnie got himself together and had another smoke, sitting on the edge of the bed and shaking off the remnants of the dream. He stared at the dingy wallpaper, the mess of clothes strewn about. The black ice was still there, blocking him from important things, and he couldn’t find an anchor for any of it. The dreams of his family, which had been his reality at one point, combined with the strange and intrusive dragon visions. It had to mean something. Maybe his mind was subliminally working out the truth. If so, it had a fucked up way of doing it.
He’d been summoned, and wasting any more time worrying wouldn’t do him a lick of good. He needed to be patient. Lonnie snuffed the cigarette into an ashtray. Stood and left the remnants of the dream behind in his room.
Chapter 7
Lonnie hesitated at the door to Selix’s room. The toe of one boot teased at the threshold. His eyes roamed up the cracked paint of the doorframe and across the yellowed panels, unsure of what lay beyond except more scrutiny and another dicey job to do.
If he was lucky.
The gang’s illustrious leader waited for him on the other side along with Elsa. He half expected her clawed hand to snatch his arm and drag him through.
As the black ice continued to melt and fracture, leaving more memories to slide through the gaps, Lonnie tried to draw up a specific one about Selix. Maybe there was a clue as to why she was icing him. Images floated free, and he snagged a couple, holding pieces of the past in his hands until they melted into the foreground.
Lonnie smiled. Yes, it was coming to him. There was something.
Selix had a unique way of keeping tabs on the gang. It was akin to spying, how she crept ar
ound the drafty old building and watched them when they weren’t looking. Lonnie suspected she’d done it to everyone at some point, but remembered two times she’d caught him off guard. Once, entering his room unannounced while he was taking care of himself. Pants around his knees, doing his business to the images of naked women on his cell phone, Lonnie reached for a blanket. But then he stopped himself. It was his room. His territory. So he leaned back, continuing without shame. He glanced up once or twice to find Selix devouring him with hungry eyes, cheeks flushed with heat.
She liked it, and her liking it turned him on.
When he was done, he let out a satisfied sigh and settled into the pillows. Flashed her wicked smile, but she was already gone.
Another time, he’d been smoking a cigarette on the bottom step in the foyer. Heard the creaking of old steps above him and turned to find Selix frozen in place with nothing on but an old T-shirt and an awkward grin on her face. Heart fluttering in his chest, he said, “Jesus Christ, you scared the shit out of me,” before returning a shaky smile of his own. From his vantage point, he saw well up her shirt. Admired her long legs, ghost pale. Feet tucked into plain white socks, dirty from creeping. They exchanged silent waves before Selix slunk past him and disappeared into the shadowy hall.
Okay, so there might have been some sexual tension between them, but never any real chance of getting together. At least they weren’t complete strangers though. That helped. Lonnie’s anxiety eased. He tried to make himself presentable. Ran his hand through his hair. Straightened his jacket.
“Any day now, Lons!”
“Fuck it.” He entered the lair.
The room underwhelmed Lonnie’s expectations. A dirty mattress rested on the floor, shoved back against the wall with a couple dingy blankets and a pillow thrown on top. A set of speakers by the mattress hooked into Selix’s cell phone. Several packs of cigarettes stacked nearby. A filthy ashtray. Incense drifted through the air in a tenuous fog, pricking his nose with musky flavor.
