Haunting Blue

by R. J. Sullivan

  Chug...Chug...Chug…

  The wind blew, rustling the trees below me. Dear God.

  I couldn’t see the tracks.

  Then, I realized—nothing held me in!

  Chug...Chug...Chug…

  Terror overtook me, and I froze, unable to act.

  The car would drop, and I would die. I called out in the blackness. “Mom! I don’t want to die.”

  Chug...Chug...Chug…

  The straps! I lunged to the front and the left. A strap has to be here, somewhere. My nails brushed a small, metal hook. Fuck!

  Chug...Chug...Chug…

  I clawed at the opposite side, and my knuckles brushed the loose fabric.

  Chug...chu-…

  The car slowed...leveling...preparing to plunge.

  I gripped and pulled. Any second now, the car would speed off and fling me to oblivion. Not enough time, in total blackness, to hook myself in.

  I twisted my forearm...once, twice, three times, I wrapped the strap around my arm. I pulled it taught with my other hand, folding my fingers into a fist.

  Best I can do.

  My legs locked, preparing to somehow absorb the shock of what came next.

  Chug...

  I could see an unobstructed view of the entire Perionne landscape surrounding me—a few yellow dots in all directions, surrounded in the distance by oppressive blackness. The half moon showed wicked orange teeth, laughing down on me.

  The wind blew in my face. “Okay!” I snarled through my clenched teeth. “Take your best shot!”

  The train toppled into the abyss, and the world screamed at me. My arms jerked back. Wind tore at my face. My legs gave way, and my body bashed against the back of the seat.

  The car pulled up from the drop, and then cut into an immediate right turn.

  My body slammed against the side of the car, slapping my ribs into the wood. The car jerked, and I hurled across the side, pummeling my shoulder. New pain shot through my body as brutal winds ripped at my face and hair.

  The train tore into another ascent. All I could do was hold on, without control, as the strap whip-lashed my body, slamming me against the support.

  My hands locked like steel around the strap. I could no longer feel my fingers, only burning agony through my arms. Still, I held on as the car twisted and spun madly.

  My legs locked against the seat, and the blackness became palatable, a living thing. I secured myself, somewhat.

  The car vibrated into a mad, tumbling descent—the large corkscrew, I recalled from a distant memory. The ride would end any second.

  I have to let go, or he’ll find me before I’m ready.

  Even as the thought penetrated, my arm moved on its own, untwisting itself from the strap.

  The wind blasted me up, yanking me from the security of the floorboards. My ears rang with the screeching wail of slamming brakes cutting through roaring wind.

  The car shook. The wind lessened.

  I released the strap, flying off into space, over the side and into the trees below.

  For a moment, the wind embraced me. The car slipped away, and pain overcame my senses.

  I fell into a waiting blackness.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  I couldn’t move. I wanted to stay in my daze, drifting above a haze of pain.

  A familiar, comforting voice called to me.

  “Fiona! Fiona, get up!”

  “Mom?” No mistake. I could hear her voice, calling to me. She hadn’t died, after all.

  “Fiona, I love you. Listen to me, baby. You need to get up and finish this.”

  “Mom.” I tried to lift my hand, but it seemed too much of an effort, and the darkness claimed me, again.

  * * * *

  I awoke to pain throbbing throughout my body.

  Blurriness gave way to clear vision. I blinked, realizing my face was pressed into the grass. A leaf came into sharp focus, and a loamy scent filled my nostrils. Slowly, I reached up and curled my fingers around it; the brown-veined papery texture crumpled in my fingers. I rolled over onto my swollen shoulder, winced, and shifted. Faint moonlight threaded through the tree branches overhead.

  “Mom?”

  No response. Had I just imagined her speaking to me? I remembered the urgency in her message, so I made an effort to sit up.

  Movement was agony. With careful, gingerly motions, I straightened to my feet and peered up through the wooden supports.

  I’d fallen some distance from the tracks, but only a few yards from the boarding platform. I’d probably rolled through the woods. I saw the broken bush that had apparently halted my momentum.

  Standing in the dark, I assessed my options. Gunther might think I’m dead. He might not think to look for me this far out.

  I had to kill him, if that was still possible. No more banter, no more bargaining. He’d killed Mom, thought he’d killed me, and would kill Chip as soon as Chip had done his bidding.

  Creeping through the woods, staying out of the light, I approached the platform from below. How long was I out?

  I approached the rear stairway and heard arguing above me. I stepped quietly onto the first wooden stair, trying to control my shaking body. Part of me wanted to bolt forward and another part of me almost collapsed where I stood.

  Gunther’s command reached my ears. “Come on, boy! Take the bag. The old man should be along soon enough, and you can bury it together. Come on, boy! Pick it up. What’s the matter?”

  “Go fuck yourself.”

  “Oooohhh! All of a sudden, you’re growing a pair, eh, boy? It’s too late to help your sweetie. She’s dead. You failed her. Take it like a man.”

  With determined stealth, I tiptoed up the planked stairway. I could see right through Gunther—whose back was to me—to view Chip on his knees in front of the moneybag.

  “Now you want to torture my father, like you tortured Blue. Because of what you think he did.”

  “Oh, what happened to Blue is nothing. Your father betrayed me, boy, and he’ll watch his son die before I deal with him. If you cooperate, you might at least earn a quick death. Think about it, boy. It’s the only reward you’ll get for trying to be the big hero and sticking your nose where it don’t belong.”

  Chip knelt by the moneybag, eyes closed, as if contemplating the options he didn’t appear to have. All he had to do was look up, and he would have seen me through the apparition. Try as I might to will it, he never did.

  I reached for my pocket, and then stopped, cursing at the memory. My switchblade had fallen from my grasp earlier, and I had no idea where. My hand traveled on its own to my jacket pocket. I had stashed the ancient pocketknife there.

  I withdrew the rusted tool, staring at the crusty handle. Would this dilapidated relic still work after being buried in soil for over thirty years? It didn’t seem likely.

  My thumbnail found the notch, and I wiggled the blade free. In spite of its appearance, the blade still felt firm between my fingers. As I wrapped my hand over the ornamental handle, my fingers tingled with anticipation, as if the knife wanted to jump from my hands.

  “Pick up the bag, boy.”

  “Kiss my ass, Gunther.”

  I could see the resolution on Chip’s face, the acceptance of his fate—better to be dead than live with this torture any longer.

  No, Chip! Hang in there.

  He wouldn’t look up.

  Gunther raised his hook. “Oh, the hell with you. Let that be your epitaph.”

  Chip vanished from my sight, blocked by a more substantial Gunther.

  I let out a war cry and leapt, knowing I’d be too late.

  The hook swung in a clean arc down into Chip’s unmoving shoulder.

  I slammed into Gunther’s muscled back and thrust the blade between us, sinking it into solid flesh.

  He jerked, the momentum carrying us sideways. As we tumbled over, I could see his eyes bulge with surprise.

  “Fucker!” I screamed. “Die for the last time!” I clawed my fingers into
his jacket, holding onto him with a death grip. The force of my charge drove us across the platform, spinning off the edge and into the darkness.

  I kicked away from him in mid-fall, landing on soft, wet ground, and rolling with the impact. My whole body screamed in pain; I could no longer distinguish one injury from another.

  Ignoring that, I came up on my knees, stealing a quick glance at the rusted blade, which now dribbled fresh blood.

  Across the field I could see Gunther, who now looked quite solid and hurt, struggling to his feet. I bolted into the woods and the darkness, toward the wooden coaster support beams. I crunched leaves beneath my feet with no regard for stealth, making sure he knew his prey was escaping.

  Under cover of darkness, I doubled back, squatting behind a beam. Gunther swiped his hand across his belly where I had made the fresh wound. Even from this distance, I could see he wobbled on his feet.

  “Come on, Gunther!” I yelled. “I’m not done playing with you, yet!”

  I darted beneath the coaster, hearing an enraged howl closing the distance behind me. I slowed, rebounding off several of the wooden supports, grabbing others and taking quarter turns. Blindly, I darted beneath the supports, making as much noise as I could, intentionally smacking the beams with my hands.

  As I hoped, Gunther gave chase. Expecting me to flee the area in a direct and sensible path, Gunther darted after me as fast as he could run. At the same time, he tried to hone in on the audio cues I’d deliberately made. I heard him stumble around, screaming and tripping. When he’d get close, I’d call out and run away, again.

  Gunther howled, finally choosing to stand in place. “Where are you, bitch?”

  I darted away, certain I could goad him further while I thought out my next move.

  I doubled back, circling his noisy traipsing. “You’re sounding pretty solid, there, Gunther,” I taunted. I turned again and retreated, trying to avoid the supports. I wasn’t always successful, but the adrenaline spiked me through the pain of impact. If I survive this, I won’t be able to walk for a week.

  I crouched behind another beam. I couldn’t see him, but I could hear him stumbling toward me.

  I gasped for air, but I knew I had to keep enraging him, taunting him, so he couldn’t think straight. “How do you like all your power, Gunther? Getting all your flesh back? Stubbing your toe? Banging your head? I’ll bet you just love it.”

  I crawled low in the grass, angling closer to him. I rose to my feet, then ran toward the noise of his stumbling. I dodged the first beam and slid around the second just as he came into view.

  He turned at the sound. “You mockin’ me now, girl?”

  “I’m about to kill you!” I turned and ran back the way I’d come, weaving by the supports I’d just passed, waiting by another.

  Gunther screamed, charging after me. His foot caught on a support, and he pitched forward with an indignant cry.

  I advanced on him, pocket knife in my hand. “This knife killed you once already, Gunther. I suspect you’re now meaty enough that it can kill you again.”

  He leapt at me, swiping the air with his arm. Prepared, I jumped backward. The hook swept uselessly through empty space. I stumbled back, stopping when I felt the solid brace of the support beam against my back.

  Gunther recovered from his first swing and drew back again.

  I dropped sideways.

  The hook swept across where I had stood a moment ago, and caught with a thunk into the wooden beam.

  As he grabbed for me, I backpedaled away from his arm. He pulled back short, turning and looking perplexed at the prosthetic limb, which would not come unstuck.

  Again, I summoned my war cry, charging with the blade held high. I slammed into him, burying the knife deep into the flesh of his exposed belly.

  Gunther staggered backward. His mouth hung open in befuddlement. He gurgled and attempted to yank out his hooked arm, but it remained wedged in the wood.

  “This knife has already killed you, Gunther.”

  He made a grab for my throat.

  I caught his hand, twisting it.

  Gunther leaned over me, trying to gain leverage. The stench of sweat and vomit assaulted my nose.

  I yanked my knife loose from his chest and slashed across the back of his wrist. His howl of pain cut through the air.

  “This knife is...part of your grave...part of...the spell.”

  He could only return a blank stare, moaning. “No.” His body slackened against me, and I shoved him away.

  He dropped to his knees, one arm slack at his side, the other pulled up over his head, still caught in the wooden beam.

  At the sight of him, hanging and vulnerable, I saw red and attacked like a wild animal.

  I raised the blade and slammed it down into his face.

  The hook tore free, and Gunther toppled backward into the grass.

  I thrust the knife down, poking a divot into his face, no longer concerned about targeting, just driven by a desire to cut and slice. “Die!”

  He groaned a last time and lay unmoving beneath me.

  Gripping the knife with both hands, I pounded the weapon over and over into the limp body.

  “You killed...my mother...you fucker!” I accented each pause with a thrust. “Killed her...for...useless money.”

  Blood erupted from various puncture wounds, smearing my shirt and jeans. I straddled the puckered carcass and raised the knife again. “Kill you! Kill you! Kill you!” The knife punctuated each word.

  Gasping for breath, I soaked in the blood of my enemy. “Kill you,” I whispered. An insane giggle escaped my lips.

  I pulled the knife free, gripping it in my hand. Literally dizzy with victory, the world spun away, and I collapsed, closing my eyes and basking in the justified murder.

  When I opened them a moment later, I saw no body. I lay on the cold, wet ground—no sign of blood.

  My clothes, while torn and soaked, were soaked with dew and rain—no blood, except a few fresh spots from my own various cuts. The knife, while slick from the sweat of my hands, showed no sign of blood, either.

  I pulled at my own hair and screamed. I stared at the support beam, which showed a freshly sliced chunk of wood—the only evidence a struggle had taken place.

  I stumbled toward the bright-white luminescence of the coaster entrance, tottering from support to support, always focused on the light. I could barely feel the mechanical motion of my own limbs. I moved by sheer will to where I knew Chip lay, bleeding and dying.

  My body kept moving on its own. I knew Gunther might again appear, and he could go for Chip at any moment. I gripped the iron rail and pulled myself up the planked stairs, dragging myself up to the platform.

  I could see him lying where he had fallen, his eyes closed and blood seeping from his shoulder.

  Fear squeezed my heart. Is he dead? I approached him with heavy steps.

  He turned his head slightly and saw me. “Blue,” he mumbled.

  The knife fell from my fingers, and I crumpled forward onto the platform.

  The knife bounced loudly across the planks and came to a stop.

  I dragged myself over to where he lay. “Chip!”

  I reached out, taking his wrist in my hands. I could feel a pulse. “Chip, don’t you die on me.”

  Blood pooled beneath him. He groaned. He stared upward, past me. “Blue.”

  I grabbed his jacket, shaking him. “Chip, I made it better. I told you I would.”

  “You got him?”

  “Think so. Don’t know. He’s gone, for now.”

  “Blue, if I die—”

  “Shut up! Don’t die. You can’t. If you die, I have nothing left.” Tears spilled from my eyes, splattering his cheek. I swallowed back the horrible, aching sorrow fighting to erupt from me—the pain of what I’d lost and what I could still lose.

  His voice penetrated my turmoil. “I’m tired, Blue.”

  Through my tears I felt his wrist. His pulse beat weakly beneath my fingers.
/>
  I folded myself over him, pulling him into an embrace. “Go to sleep, honey. You can sleep.”

  I heard the thumping of footsteps—someone approached from the stairwell behind me. A figure rose onto the platform. A large figure. I braced.

  “Fi-Fi. It’s me.” Chip’s father rushed into the light. “Oh, my God!” Shock registered on his features as he recognized his son laid out, prone on the platform.

  Mr. Farren ran forward and dropped before Chip, checking for vital signs. “He’s alive. An ambulance is coming.”

  As I cradled Chip in my arms, I felt Mr. Farren’s gaze on me. He finally broke the awkward silence. “Gunther?”

  I nodded. His hands reached up, covering his eyes, and his intimidating stature seemed to crumple. “He appeared to me a few minutes ago. Told me to come here. That was after your mother—”

  I cut him off. I didn’t want to hear the words spoken. “We dug it up.”

  I saw his gaze fall upon the moneybag. “Oh, my God.” He stood and retrieved the bag. He pondered the rusted knife and grabbed that, too.

  I bent to listen to Chip’s breathing, making sure he was still alive. “We need to take it back.” My mind reeled at the thought of going back into the ride. Blackness already threatened to close in. I would not hold out.

  “Yes. Yes.” Mr. Farren nodded.

  “They go in the Pir—”

  “I know where they go,” Mr. Farren snapped. “Fi-Fi, listen to me. I can return this later. I need to remove everything and get it into my car before the police arrive. This bag...and this knife...is that all you found?”

  “Uh...” The darkness at the edge of the lamps had closed in around me. “I...don’t know. Too hard to think.”

  “I can’t return it while the cops are combing the area for the killer, but maybe once they’re gone...”

  The distant shriek of sirens cut through the silence.

  Mr. Farren crouched in front of me. “Fi-Fi.”

  Try as I might, I found it difficult to focus on his voice.

  “Fi-Fi! Lie back, honey. You’re going into shock. I have everything, and I’ll hide it later tonight. Don’t worry. Don’t worry, Fi-Fi. Everything will be okay.”

  Where had I heard that before? My body slumped into blackness.

  I came to and found myself strapped onto a bed. I could feel the vibration of a moving ambulance. “Chip!”