Crucifax

by Ray Garton

  "What… what're you… Jesus, Mallory, he's your brother."

  She giggled, then looked down at Jeff again, lowering the needle to his arm.

  "No!" Kevin shouted, running along the edge of the pool to the stepladder. He stumbled into the pool and dodged the stirring figures on the floor as he hurried to Mallory. He grabbed her wrist and squeezed hard. "Drop it."

  "Nooo," she whined, trying to pull away, but he held on, using his other hand to pry her fingers off the syringe.

  When he had it away from her, she turned from him, pouting, stroking her brother's hair again. Kevin hunkered down and lifted Jeff's arms, looking carefully at the elbows for needle marks. None.

  "Mallory." He lifted her face. "What's he on?"

  "Just some of Mace's grass."

  "How much of this shit have you had?"

  "Just… a little. I told you I don't like it much."

  "Then why the fuck—"

  "Hey, what's the problem?" a groggy male voice asked from another corner of the pool.

  "Get up," Kevin said, ignoring the voice.

  "No. And gimme that."

  Mallory reached for the syringe, but Kevin dropped it to the floor and crunched it beneath his foot. "Get up and put your clothes on."

  "You don't own me, Kevin!"

  Jeff opened his eyes and wearily lifted his head, confused.

  "Mace is gonna be here any minute," Kevin said.

  "So?"

  "We've made a mistake, Mallory. Getting involved with him was a mistake. He's lied to us, he used the band. And there was a girl in the club tonight—she slashed her throat with her Crucifax. She killed herself, Mallory, and I think that's what Mace wanted. I think… I think maybe that's what he wants all of us to do."

  "I don't want to go. You leave if you want."

  A month ago, Kevin would not have hesitated to leave without her. But seeing her there with Jeff, hearing the chill in her voice as she so casually dismissed him, made Kevin's chest feel hollow, empty, as if it had been scraped clean.

  "Mallory, I thought… I thought you cared about me."

  "I thought you cared about me. If you did, you wouldn't want me to leave here, go home to my mother"—she spat the word with disgust—"instead of staying here where I'm happy."

  "You're not happy, you're stoned."

  She turned away from him again, as if he weren't there. Frustrated, Kevin gripped Jeff's arm and pulled him into a sitting position.

  "Leave him alone!" Mallory cried, trying to push Kevin away.

  Kevin roughly pulled the belt off Jeff's arm, tossed it aside, then shook him by the shoulders, trying to rouse him.

  Jeff blinked, looked around, and muttered, "What? What's-matter?"

  "We've gotta go, Jeff," Kevin said. "C'mon, get dressed, we've gotta get outta here."

  "Stop it!"Mallory hissed, standing. "Leave him alone! He wants to stay with me!" She slapped at Kevin's hands until he let go of Jeff, who modestly pulled the blanket around himself and stood, bracing himself against the wall.

  There was a loud clamor from upstairs; voices echoed down the spiral staircase—laughter and rowdy catcalls and howls—and footsteps sounded on the stairs.

  Kevin said, "C'mon, hurry, get dressed!"

  "Why?" Jeff asked as Mallory pressed close to him, slipping an arm beneath the blanket and around his waist. "What's wrong?"

  Kevin looked at Mallory and was shocked at the look of defiance in her eyes, as if she knew Jeff would never go against her wishes. She was not the Mallory he'd known a week ago.

  "Mace is coming!" he whispered.

  "Well… Mallory says she wants to stay, so…" Jeff shrugged a shoulder.

  "So you come. Jesus, if you can't save her, at least save your—"

  "Hello, Kevin."

  Kevin turned and looked up. Mace stood between two of the creatures; they each stared at Kevin, neither moving so much as a whisker. Kevin looked up, followed Mace's body from his black boots at the edge of the pool to his head, which seemed to be a hundred feet above him. His arms were folded over his chest, and the lantern in the pool cast deep shadows over his face.

  Kevin's mouth became dry, and he could feel his heart beating in his throat.

  "Something wrong, Kevin?"

  "N-no, I was—I was just—"

  "Kevin!" Trevor came to Mace's side and grinned down at Kevin. "Was that rad or what? Did you see that crowd? They went crazy! Jesus, they loved us—loved us!"

  Mark was standing behind Trevor; both of them were nearly dancing with excitement.

  The room was suddenly booming with movement and voices, webbed with slinking shadows.

  "I thought it went pretty well, didn't you, Kevin?" Mace asked. Even through the shadows that crept over his face, Mace's sparkling golden eyes remained clearly visible, daring Kevin to disagree.

  Kevin said nothing but tried to stare Mace down, tried to keep his eyes locked with Mace's, unblinking and un— averted, hoping to show him that he was no longer willing to bend to Mace's every wish.

  He couldn't do it; his eyes closed for a moment, and he turned away.

  Someone called Mace, and he moved away from the pool, out of sight.

  "Get out of here, Jeff," Kevin whispered harshly, "before he notices you. Take Mallory with you! I'm not fuckin' kiddin' you, man, this is trouble. Now get your clothes on and go!" He turned to get out of the pool; the two creatures at the pool's edge had not moved. They stared at him with narrowed eyes, and one of them flicked its tongue over its black lips.

  Kevin tried to act as if he hadn't noticed them and climbed up the stepladder at the other end.

  It was standing room only in the pool room. Kevin had to push people out of the way to get through, and he was suddenly overcome with a panicky, trapped feeling.

  Mace's head stood above the others; his back was to Kevin.

  The spiral staircase was blocked by teenagers going up and down the steps, sitting, standing against the rail. If he was going to get out, Kevin would have to go down to the sub-basement and through the sewer.

  Mace was watching him now, moving toward him.

  Kevin tried to push through faster, but the crowd was too thick to hurry through, and a moment later Mace's hand rested on his shoulder.

  "What's on your mind, buddy?"

  Kevin turned slowly to face him.

  "Something's wrong. What is it? The concert? You were disappointed."

  "Well, we… we didn't play any of my songs," Kevin said haltingly.

  "Didn't have time."

  "Why didn't we have time?"

  "Because of this." He smiled, gestured at the roomful of teenagers.

  "What do you mean?"

  "I stopped so we could bring them here. They were ready. Besides, the power went out anyway."

  "Ready for what?"

  "To come here. To leave with us."

  "Leave?"

  "I told you we were going away. And we made a deal, remember? You promised you'd go ahead of me to be with the ones who've already gone."

  Kevin was bumped and jostled as he stood before Mace, anger and fear stirring together inside him, confidence building slowly but surely.

  "Who?" he asked with a slight tremble. "Who's already gone? That girl in the club, maybe? The one who cut her throat?"

  Mace silently stared at him with a shadow of a smile playing at his lips; he looked as if he was about to wink.

  "Where is this place?"

  "I told you," Mace said. "A place where there are no—"

  "But where? I mean, is it in California? Back east? Out of the country?" He was suddenly out of breath as he took a step back and bumped into someone. "Or does it exist at all? Huh? Does it?"

  Again, Mace didn't reply. Instead, he bent down, held out an arm, and let one of his pets scurry up to his shoulder, then stood again. The creature's eyes were level with Kevin's, and an almost inaudible growl came from deep in its throat.

  "You're not taking us anywhere, are you?" Kevin
said, but his voice was a whisper, as weak and thin as he felt, lost in all the noise. Still, he was certain Mace had heard him clearly. Kevin spun away from him and fought his way toward the back of the room and the sub-basement door. With a backward glance, he saw that Mace was following him, moving with ease through the open path Kevin was leaving behind.

  "We have a deal, Kevin!" he called.

  "Fuck your deal!" He made it to the doorway and started down the stairs, trying not to slip on the wet metal steps.

  "We're leaving tonight!"

  "I'm not going." Mace's boots clanged on the stairs behind him.

  "You don't have a choice, Kevin. You don't have anyplace else to go."

  Kevin reached the bottom of the stairs, crunching over rubble, hunched down, and put a leg through the hole, his foot crinkling the Doritos bag on the other side. When he was out of the sub-basement, he looked back through the hole.

  Mace was off the stairs and striding toward him.

  "It's too late now," Mace said. "You have nowhere to go. You need me now more than ever."

  Kevin made a soft humming sound, hoping to drown Mace's voice from his ears as he felt his way along the wall of the sewer.

  "Don't you take their food!" Mace shouted, his voice resounding through the dark. "They deserve to eat too, you know!" Then he laughed.

  Take their food? Kevin thought, stopping a moment, puzzled. It made no sense.

  Over the rushing sewage and the sounds of dripping water, Kevin heard distant sirens and bleating car horns through the grates above him.

  He moved on again, groping for the metal rungs on which he would climb out of the sewer. His hand slid along the coarse, slimy wall—

  —until the wall disappeared, and his arm passed through dark, cool emptiness, and his hand fell on a clammy face that moved as it said in a phlegmy voice, "You gonna take our foooood?"

  A greasy hand slapped onto his wrist, and bony fingers closed in an iron grip, pulling as Kevin cried out. He held the edge of the opening and tried to pull himself back.

  Shuffling footsteps came toward him in the dark, and another hand clutched the sleeve of his jacket.

  "Our food?" a voice rasped. "Take our food?"

  "No, no!" Kevin shouted.

  Once again, Mace's laughter echoed musically through the sewer.

  Kevin's sleeve tore as he wrenched his arm away, nearly falling backward and into the waste. His hand slapped over the wall as he hurried on.

  He was followed by unsteady footsteps and heavy breathing, and he expected at any moment to feel that hand grab his shoulder….

  "Just who you think you are, comin' to take our food?" the voice growled behind him.

  Kevin skidded to a clumsy halt when he felt one of the rungs and he pulled himself up off the floor. The rungs were wet, and his palms were sweaty. Each time he closed his hand around one of the bars, he felt his grip rapidly slipping, so he quickly reached for the next and the next, concentrating on the manhole above him and not the raspy breathing just below.

  "Nowhere to go, Kevin!" Mace called. "Nowhere except with us!"

  As he reached the top and pushed hard on the underside of the manhole cover a hand closed on his right foot.

  The cover clattered on the pavement above, and rain fell on Kevin's face, blinding him for a moment as he began kicking his foot, chanting under his breath, "No, no, no, no, no…" He put his left foot on the next rung, reached a hand through the hole, gripped the edge, and bounded upward. His foot tore away from the clutching hand, and he lifted himself out of the hole and into the fresh, rainy air above.

  Kevin rolled away from the hole and onto his knees, then stood over the open hole and began to kick the cover back in place.

  Lightning illuminated the long white face, the yawning mouth, and the deep-set shadow-black eyes framed by the manhole. The thunder that followed was loud enough to bury the heavy clang of the cover being kicked back into place.

  Gasping for air, he took a moment to look around and get his bearings. He was in the alley behind the health club.

  Mace was right; he had nowhere to go, no one to turn to….

  Except his family.

  He headed west down the alley toward Woodman, walking at first, then jogging, then running as if pursued. He had no idea where he would go yet; it was movement he wanted, free and fast movement to shake away the feeling of being trapped and the thought that ate at him relentlessly:

  He's right, he's right, Mace is right, nowhere, I've got nowhere to go, nowhere, nowhere….

  Except home.

  "C'mon," Mallory whispered, tugging on Jeff's arm, "down here." She pulled him back down on the cushion with her and cuddled up to him, kissing his neck. "Want some more grass?"

  Jeff relaxed against the side of the pool. He had never been so stoned.

  "Don't think so," he muttered.

  "Sure?"

  The effect of the drugs enhanced his senses, making the warmth of Mallory's body next to him so overwhelming, he feared that if he had any more, their skin would melt together.

  "Yeah, I'm sure."

  The crowd gathered in the room sounded like a machine clattering and rattling away above them. Faces floated overhead like ghosts, and more people came into the pool. Jeff had to pull his legs in so they weren't stepped on, and as he moved them his foot brushed something sharp. He leaned over and squinted to bring the small object into focus.

  A smashed syringe.

  "Jeff," said a voice from above. Mace stood at the edge of the pool and smiled down at them. "I'm glad you decided to come. I knew you would. Are you going to leave with us?"

  Before he could reply, Mallory said, "Yes, he's coming."

  "Good," Mace nodded, holding out a hand. Something dangled from his fingers. "Put this on. You'll need it later. Catch." He tossed it into the pool, and the Crucifax fell into Jeff's cupped hands. He stared at it uncertainly for a moment, and Mace said, "Go ahead. Put it on."

  Jeff put the cord around his neck and let the Crucifax rest just below his throat.

  Mace gave him a broad, friendly grin, then turned and walked away.

  Behind him, Mallory brushed her hands over Jeff's back, moved them down to his lap and licked his shoulder.

  "C'mere," she breathed.

  Glancing at the syringe again, Jeff said, "Mallory, what—" But her hands were lightly stroking his genitals, and as he turned to her his eyes fell on her outstretched arm and he saw the bruises….

  "Hey, Mal, what… what did you…"

  "Never mind that. Come here, babe."

  An alarm sounded somewhere in Jeff's murky brain. He looked at the needle again, then at Mallory's bruised arm, and he knew what he'd been seeing in his sister's eyes that did not belong, knew what was wrong. He wanted to take her out of that building immediately, but her hands were on him, and his head was full of cotton candy, and she felt so good in his arms, her skin was so smooth beneath his hands….

  "How about a little attention?" Mace bellowed. "Come on, quiet down."

  The buzz of voices softened, died.

  Jeff looked up and saw Mace standing on the diving board holding a lantern. The light shone on his face, giving it an ethereal glow.

  "Can you all hear me?" he asked.

  The response came as a roar, not only in the pool room but from upstairs as well.

  "The storm outside," Mace said, "will be dead by tomorrow night. The sun will come out, and a lot of people will start telling you that you can't spend any more time with me. There are already some who've decided you're not going to leave with me. They'll be here soon. They'll try to take you home. Away from me. I want to take you away from them, away from all that. And if you want to come, we have to leave tonight. Now."

  The parking lot behind the abandoned health club was flooded with an inch of water, deeper in places, and J.R.'s feet sloshed through it as he walked away from his car, flashlight in hand. With him were Reverend Bainbridge, Erin, Lily, and twenty-six others. Three of the p
arents had gone home from Fantazm.

  "My daughter is not a stupid girl!" a woman had said indignantly. "She's here with her friends. I just came to pick her up, that's all, and if she doesn't leave with me, you can bet her father's going to lay down some law tonight!"

  The girl had not gone home with her mother, but the woman had refused to go after her with a bunch of "paranoid nuts!"

  An Asian man, accompanied by his silent wife, had insisted that their two sons would be home by their curfew, eleven o'clock. The only reason he and his wife had come to the club, he claimed, was that they'd received an alarming and apparently misleading phone call from one of their sons' friends warning them of the danger their sons would be in if they went to the concert.

  Before leaving, J.R. had abandoned caution and, with the reverend's support, told them everything he knew about Mace. They had stared silently at him, and J.R. couldn't tell if they were frightened by what he'd said or convinced that he and the reverend were insane.

  "I've got a .357 in my truck," Brubaker had said, sounding a bit more interested once he knew Mace and his pets might be dangerous. "A knife and a tire iron, too. If he gives us any trouble…"

  They avoided the traffic problems on Ventura and the other boulevards by taking side streets and alleys to the health club, traveling as a small caravan of five cars and Will Brubaker's black Dodge Ram.

  When they arrived, Brubaker ignored J.R.'s warning that any shooting might hurt some of the kids and got the gun from his truck. He handed his tire iron to the reverend and a large bone-handled hunting knife to J.R.

  When J.R. tried the door, it wouldn't open.

  "Locked on the inside," he said, giving the handle another strong pull.

  "We could use the sewer," Lily suggested.

  Brubaker turned to her and barked, "What?"

  "The sewer. That's how he usually comes and goes. There's a hole in the wall of the sub-basement."

  Brubaker stepped forward, laughing coldly. "I'm not going down no goddamned sewer." Stuffing the gun beneath his belt, he gripped the door handle with both of his large, meaty hands and pulled with a powerful heave; the door made a resounding crack and wobbled open with a rusty squall.

  The corridor beyond the door glowed with a smoky yellowish light that danced over the walls playfully, almost invitingly. At the end of the corridor, shadows spilled over the floor and walls, human-shaped shadows that shifted and melted together into a shapeless mass.