by Lee Thompson
“You worry about what people think too much. It’s what’s inside that matters, hasn’t anyone ever told you that?”
“Yeah. You’re a Book of Wisdom.”
“Not me. I’m a Book of Regret.” She headed toward the entrance, purpose to her step. I still didn’t know what drove her, and it bothered the hell out of me. She knew more about everything than I did though, and I clung to that fact. Whoever, whatever she was, she had answers I hoped I’d be privy to when the time came.
I waited a moment, trying to gather my thoughts, put everything in its proper place, but all the drawers inside me were buckling, the light bulbs in my head felt blown. I shouldn’t be here. I should be trying to find out where Cat ran off to and dragging her and Ethan back home.
But then Mark’s voice slipped through my head, whispering that he’d sent something horrible my way, and I swallowed a thick lump that felt like my tongue, and nodded. She’s better off wherever she is until this all blows over. She’s safe with someone. I can patch it up later.
And I knew that if I did hunt Cat down, and tried to make her come home, it would only make things worse. She didn’t like me telling her what she needed to do to begin with. Usually, it was the other way around. I bowed my head, thinking maybe she was right, maybe I needed to talk to a psychologist, get my head cleared of all this bullshit.
I ran my hand over my pant leg and mud flaked off, the skeleton key searing that spot over my heart again. I put one foot in front of the other, until I was inside, bright artificial light hurting my eyes, Angela nowhere in sight. An older woman behind the front desk raised her head from some paperwork and pushed her glasses up her thin nose. “Can I help you?”
“I’m the deputy.”
“Is everything okay?” Her face took on that pinched quality I’d hated seeing on my father’s face when I was younger, when the old man stood on his pedestal, behind the pulpit, and pointed out other people’s weaknesses. Then her face softened, and she leaned forward, and said, “Ah, the deputy. You’re Catherine’s boyfriend, aren’t you? You look like you’ve been through hell.”
I licked my lips, not sure how to answer. “What room is Wylie Wright in?”
“Hold on a sec.” She looked it up. When she met my eyes, she said, “He’s in twelve. It’s down the hall to the right, just follow the sign toward the cafeteria. Is there anything else I can help you with, Mr. McDonnell?”
“No, thank you.” I gave her a little wave as I moved passed her, boots squeaking on the tile, drops of water and mud left in my wake.
The woman smiled as I looked back. She said, “Don’t worry, I’ll call maintenance to clean it up. Go visit your friend. I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you.”
I thanked her and walked deeper into Our Lady, lights flickering over doors, the halls ahead crowded with black mold that clung to the walls, the ceiling. The membrane surged and quivered and holes opened at random intervals, blue eyes marking my steps. I thought about Angela spitting on my boots, when she’d waited for me in the cruiser, not to offend me, but to mark me.
Mark me for what?
I looked back toward the entrance, but a wall had formed between me and the front desk, the exit. The wall blocking the entrance followed, pushing me forward, deeper toward the heart of things I still failed to understand.
Chapter 28
Mike yawned as Duncan beat on Rusty’s front door. The house stayed quiet, other than the pounding of the big cop’s fist. A breeze herded fallen leaves inside the gutters and across the roof. Fall was coming fast. A few days ago everything had still been green. Mike pushed Duncan aside, making eye contact, and tried the door. It swung open. Mike called, “Hello?”
Duncan hitched his pants up with his left hand; thinner than Mike’s father had been. But he didn’t complain, and Mike liked that about him, too. He just prayed the waiting beasts didn’t spill out into the hall and sink their claws into the big cop’s throat. He pushed past Duncan, led the way. Situations like this brought back his days in Special Forces, only he didn’t have a well trained team of men to fall back on, to share the burden now. Mike pulled his K-Bar from his boot. He smelled blood.
He let his senses lead him, it had been strange before, in the thick of missions no one had ever heard of, and it wasn’t any different now, like a third hand, the third eye, projected in front of his body, an aura unseen that felt everything. He’d always been afraid to tell his team about it, close as they were, although each of them had their own crazy stories, feelings, superstitions.
They came to a door on their left and Mike raised his right hand. Peeking around the corner of the jamb, he caught sight of Rusty.
“He’s not going to answer any of our questions,” he whispered. Grabbing Duncan by the shoulder, he pushed him into the room. “I’ll be back.” Duncan nodded and sat down at the kitchen table, a dead man at his feet, a silver flask a half foot from his fingertips, a hole bleeding red in the back of Rusty’s head.
Mike moved through the hall quietly, listening, unsure if the force he felt was of men or something greater. After checking the living room and laundry room and one down stairs bedroom, he stopped at the staircase leading up into near pitch blackness.
You waiting up there for me?
He took a few shallow breaths, touching something he had thought lost, a bravery in the face of uncertain outcome. It was that, in the face of your fear, that left you flayed, not the fear itself. You could use the fear, but once your spirit fed on it too long, it ate at you even after the blood had stopped flowing. Pain extended down the steps, wrapped in shadows. Mike didn’t want to go up, but he pulled the blade from its sheath, thinking, I hope this still holds the curse.
The raven sang in Mike’s mother’s voice,
Natalie, I love you. Tell me the story of your demise.
How my love cut you deepest, envy and darkest weakness, all you despise.
Natalie come back to me. Tell me what you need to drink this cup.
Jesus and the saints, and all the forest, all grieve for your electric touch.
Then it cackled, raised gooseflesh along his arms. He knew it goaded him, and he didn’t care. Mike shook off the chill and ran up the steps.
The raven took the shape of a man, waiting at the top landing, hands like spade shovels, voice like the wind, “Momentum. Juggernaut. Death. I am One of Three of Seven.”
Three steps from the beast, Mike leapt forward, felt as if he was flying, slashing with the K-Bar. He saw Jacob at the ladder, wrestling the angel all night, and his rage blossomed, knowing he might not walk away from this fight like he had all the others, but not caring. It was the fight itself, and overcoming the darkness, that mattered.
They collided and the house shook. A girl screamed his name and the man’s head became a three-pronged raven that jabbed its beak into his shoulder. Blood spurted across both their faces. Mike drove the K-Bar up in a sharp arc, hoping to gut the beast. It screamed, mouth inches from his eyes, stinking of swamp and decay and older ways that men had forgotten.
The K-Bar bit to the hilt and the monster howled as blood flowed over Mike’s hand, loosened his grip. It slapped its huge hands over his ears and the scream echoed on and on, until a snake-like tail whipped out, struck his ankle and he hit the ground in a heap, air forced from his lungs, dark landing spinning.
* * *
I pushed the door open, expecting to see Wylie sitting up in the hospital bed, maybe a magazine or novel in hand, or eyes glued to a television high on the wall. But machines beeped and the person in the bed wasn’t one of my oldest friends, the person in the bed had long dark hair, a pale face nearing womanhood, eyes closed, chest a slow rise and fall, over and over, a slight twitch at the corner of her lips.
“Brandy.”
Fog crept through the open window and I rushed to shut it, wondering who the hell in their right mind would have opened it in the first place. I remembered Angela saying, It’s all beginning to fall into place.
The fog
curled, wrapped around my wrists, and stung my flesh. I forced the window down, squatting, put my body weight into it. Brandy moaned behind me. The fog moaned, a different, stranger tone, as I slammed the window shut and something tapped against the glass. I turned my back on it, fighting the sensation of flesh crawling off bone. Bedside, I grabbed Brandy’s hand. “You’re in this for a reason too, aren’t you? What do you know? What has she shown you?”
The heart monitor beeped, boiled a life down to a simple green squiggle. I stroked the back of her hand with my thumb. “I wish you could hear me, kid. I miss the times we used to have. Life was innocent then, our town wasn’t infected by this… God, I don’t even know what it is. But it’s here. And I don’t think it’s planning on leaving.” I looked around, expected to see Angela by the window, ushering death or disease in, but the room was empty. I brushed Brandy’s hair back. “Wake up. I’m not sure you’re safe here. Wake up, Brandy.”
Her fingers tightened over my hand. I sat on the edge of the bed. “Can you hear me?” The girl’s mouth opened so wide it looked painful. The overhead and bedside lamp flickered. Wind slammed against the window. “I’ve got to get you out of here.”
“No.” Her eyes brimmed with tears. “I’m scared to leave.”
I stroked her arm. “You’re awake.”
“You saved me.”
“No,” I said. “Not me.”
“No, not you, her.” She lifted her hand, pulled it from mine and pointed over my shoulder. I turned my head and frowned at Angela. Brandy’s voice sounded like a child’s, trapped between innocence and adulthood, drowning in mysteries, “Thank you.”
Angela stepped forward. “My pleasure. Johnathan needed to hear that.”
Because you want me to believe that you’re something good, right?
Angela set her hand on my shoulder and pinned me to the bed. I saw an image of an ivory fountain in the middle of a forest. I shook my head to clear it. The image refused to leave, maidens shedding their clothing and climbing into the sun-warmed water. Angela said, “Life is more than pain, more than letting go, more than holding on to what we think the world should be. We don’t know who we are until we dig through all the layers we’ve accumulated to protect us over the years.”
I dug my nails into the back of her hand, confused by her actions toward Morgan, toward Brandy, and how they contrasted with how she treated me.
Angela pulled her hand away and kissed it, and ran it over the back of my neck. Brandy said, weak, eyelids fluttering, “Are you dating? I thought you were engaged, John.”
She shook her head. “He’s too good for me, don’t you think?”
Brandy sighed. “I don’t know. I’m tired.”
I said, “Who attacked you, Brandy?”
“I don’t know.” She wiped a tear from her eyes. “I don’t want to think about that. My head hurts.”
“You need to remember.”
“I want to go back to sleep.” Her eyes closed and the crease between them smoothed. “It’s so dark outside. I don’t think it’s ever been this dark.”
Angela brushed my ear. “It’s getting darker, children. They’re among us.”
I knocked her hand away. “Who?”
“The veil is so thin, the line so faded, Johnathan. Thank you.”
I pulled the pistol and put it to her forehead. “You’re using me. No more bullshit. What does this get you?”
Someone knocked on the door. Angela frowned, looked hurt.
“Talk. I need to know. Mike said you’re here for redemption. Whose?”
“My own. And more than that even.” Her hand flashed between us and smacked the gun to the floor. “Your father was a hypocrite and you carry his sins.”
“We’re all hypocrites.”
“Not me. But it looks like fun.”
“You’re something else.”
“I’m a messenger, Johnathan. I bring tidings of good news. But not for you. You’re journey is just beginning. Whether or not you live will depend on if you and Michael follow your hearts or not. Do you think you’re pure? Few men have resisted my charm through the ages. I’ve seen stronger warriors than you fall and I’ve lapped their blood from Lucifer’s cupped hands.”
“What if I call New Wave and ask about you?”
“You still think I’m just some crazy from the hospital? No, you know there is more to this. Revelation. Allegory. Metaphor. Action. If you want truth you can’t be afraid to seize it.”
If I try to squeeze it out of you it’ll be like wrapping my hands around dynamite.
She nodded and leaned forward and kissed my cheek. “I ride the crest of waves drenched dark with eclipsed moonlight. You owe me for all my help, Johnathan. Do you agree? For all I’ve shown you, for the burdens relieved.”
Part of me felt like I did owe her, for helping me forgive Mark, for showing me some truth, for taking Duncan to his daughter.
“I’ve saved the innocent,” she said. “But I had to. God’s kingdom needs rebuilt. The gold has rusted. Give me the key. It’ll settle your debt.”
I pulled it from my shirt. “You can’t take it, can you? Or you would have by now. Why do you need this? What does it really open?”
“You have to give it to me, like you’ve given of yourself to others, like I have for your sake. I—”
“No. You’re not getting it. Whatever you are, it’s not of God.”
“I could kill her. Sleeping children die peacefully. It’ll be like the man, who’s killed to ease the burden left behind. You still haven’t found him. He’s a foxy one. His secrets are many.”
“You won’t kill her. You saved her.”
She smirked and stared at Brandy, who slept again, lost in that dream where the fog covered the pain, replaced it with its own. “I saved her because I want to show that I can do things, noble things. But they don’t bring as much satisfaction as I thought they would. Good deeds are overrated. Like you, I’m afraid I’ll never change. And like you, it leaves me cold.”
Grief passed over her face like a dark cloud, settled deep into her features. She stepped back. “I’ve tried being nice. You’re going to make me regret that.”
“You’re the Book of Regret.”
“I was only joking, but I guess, maybe I am. Eons of trying to find this balance, freedom from the things that control me. Give me the key, please. If you do, you’ll never see me again.”
“That’s tempting. But something else is coming, or here, whatever. What is it?”
“Your worst nightmare. Things of earth and sky.”
“This is the part where I’m supposed to laugh at that phrase, right? But I don’t think laughing is appropriate.”
“It’s not. What they do to men like you and your friend is far more horrible than can be put into words.”
“I don’t want to know.” I sat back on the bed, and took Brandy’s hand, remembered all the times I’d helped her color, helped her learn to ride her bike and climb a tree, when I was younger and Herb and his wife were too busy with their own lives and ambitions to teach their daughter, enjoy her company, share their wisdom. I shook my head. I sensed the light, the dark, and its many shades, in myself, in all those I’d loved and at times hated, in Angela. “These things that are coming. Can you help us fight them if you get what you want?”
Angela looked out the dark window, at a world lost in shadow and shadows consuming shadows. “If you give me the key.” Someone beat on the door again. Angela held her hand out. She peeled her clothes off and licked her lips, confident in her skin, her perfect proportions, the savage garden where the fountain sat beneath skies both dark and light. “The key, Johnathan. Quickly. One of Three of Seven has trampled the threshold.”
* * *
Cat woke to water dripping on her forehead. It was the sound she used to hear when she’d drive down to pick John up after work, his clothes sopping wet from the river, a carefree smile plastered across his face, so different than his brother’s. She pinched her eyes shut
as drops hit her repeatedly, pulling her from a dream where the sky blazed crimson and the people blurred as they passed in a large city packed with men and rats, everyone gnawing on stones that broke their teeth and slicked the rocks with determination and commitment.
“Wake up.” A man’s voice she didn’t recognize, a hushed whisper, the scuffle of feet on concrete, the creak of a chair as he repositioned his weight. Something plopped in a bucket and she found that her arms and legs were numb and hot, her face cold and wet. “I had to tie you up. I’m sorry about that. I see you were smart enough to move the table over and try to get out the window. Good thing you didn’t make it. Not that I figured you would. You are the weaker sex for a reason. You need men to protect you.”
She tried to speak and he shushed her. She realized that he needn’t have done it anyway because a gag filled her mouth and it tasted like bacon fat. Cat tried to get her wits about her, but she trembled and couldn’t stop.
“Do you know why you’re here? Probably not, huh?” He shifted his weight again and she smelled that cologne she’d first noticed when awaking in this basement. Hugo Boss, she thought. And then her mind turned to where she didn’t want it to go, but couldn’t help it.
She said around her muzzle, “Where’s my son?”
A sound of metal striking metal by her ears and she felt his presence looming over her suddenly. He clipped the shears again and she tried to move away but there was nowhere to go.
“Listen to me, okay? I don’t want to hurt you. Your son is fine. He’s sleeping.”
She cried, wanting to believe him.
“They say war can drive men insane.”
What do you want from me?
“I always doubted that, even when I was waist-deep in blood and intestines. But it does change your perspective when you’re swimming through your friends and the night sky is lit up like Jesus’ second coming. It’s hell on earth. It’s chaos’ face. And then you watch everyone around you changing, doing horrible things, and you think that you’re the only sane one, but then you think: Maybe I’m not. Maybe I’m just as fucked up.”
