by Wood, Rick
Bandile stood and placed a warm hand on Derek’s shoulder.
“Do you trust me?”
“What?”
“Do you trust me?”
Derek nodded.
“Then you will come with me, yes? I will give you what guidance I have, but I have to show you, yes?”
“Okay. Okay, Bandile. Where do we need to go?”
“The Killing Fields.”
Derek winced. What killing fields?
“We will visit the skulls of Cambodia.”
8
18 July 2002
“So as you can see,” Eddie continued, pointing toward his PowerPoint presentation, “his eyes are fully dilated.”
He clicked along to the next slide where a close-up picture of a boy filled the screen. The boy’s pupils were entirely black, his skin pale, and veins were sticking out prominently on his forehead.
“This was him as we began the exorcism. Tomorrow, we will look at the case study in detail.” Eddie checked his watch. “And that is me running over. Thank you, folks. Have a good day.”
As he exited the presentation and began logging off, the lecture theatre full of students filled with conversation as they all made their way down the aisles. Eddie looked up at a few of them, but avoided eye contact. This course had grown in popularity due to Derek, and he was feeling like he wasn’t doing as good a job as the man they’d signed up to listen to.
As this thought crossed his mind, as if on cue, a young lady approached Eddie.
“Edward? I mean, Doctor King?”
“Yes,” he peered at her, trying to recall her name, “Erm… Janet?”
“Close. Laney.”
Eddie laughed politely.
“Laney. How can I help you?”
“I was just wondering when Doctor Lansdale was going to be back.”
Eddie hesitated. He’d love to know the answer to that question himself.
“I’d love to tell you, but I can’t. As soon as I hear anything, I’ll let you know.”
Laney smiled and walked away. She opened the door as Kelly entered, and turned to look back at Eddie for a moment.
“Oh, and Doctor King?”
“Yeah?”
“I think you’re doing a great job in his absence.”
Eddie couldn’t help but smile. He needed to hear that.
“Thank you, Laney.”
The door closed and Kelly approached Eddie with her eyebrows playfully risen.
“Got yourself a fan?”
“It’s good to hear. These kids didn’t come to hear me, they came to hear Derek.”
Kelly tucked her arms around Eddie’s waist and jokingly stuck out her bottom lip. She kissed him, softly and tenderly. He couldn’t understand how she did that; with just a touch of her lips, she made the whole world seem trivial, like it was just her and him. Like she hadn’t been possessed by the devil who, in turn, had tried to make Eddie fulfil his fate by becoming his successor. But the memory hit him smack in the middle of his head as soon as the kiss ended, and he was despondent again.
Giving Kelly a loving stroke of the hair, he removed himself from her embrace and removed his memory stick from the computer. He paused, gazing at the memory stick, playing with it in his hands.
“What is it?” Kelly asked, perching down on the side of a desk, watching him intently.
“I need him back Kel’, I – I don’t know.”
“Why? You can do this without him. It’s you who has this gift remember?”
Eddie scoffed. “Gift?”
“Well… you know what I mean.”
“I may be the one who has it, but Derek is the one who knew what it meant way before I did. I mean, I understand why he had to go, why he’s on his – ‘voyage’ – or whatever.”
“Well there you go, then.”
“But no, it’s not right. I need to know what’s next for me. I need to know if I’m going to end up ruling hell.”
Kelly stood up and stepped toward him slowly. She placed her hands on the side of his face, stroking him gently, staring avidly into his eyes. She smiled sweetly, calming his nerves in an instant.
“You saved me,” she reminded him, her voice soft and her tone comforting. “And you saved me from the devil himself. The one you’re so scared of. I’m here, because of you.”
“It’s not all that simple though, is it?”
“Yes. It is.”
“It’s naïve to think we won. That this isn’t part of some bigger scheme. It doesn’t feel like it’s over.”
She leant her head against his, pulling him closer. He could smell her; not just her perfume, but her. It comforted him and excited him at the same time. It calmed his breathing yet quickened his heart. It was a manic tranquillity, like lucid adrenaline that filled his body with love he couldn’t fight.
“Maybe it’s not. But he’s not here now. And Derek is trying his best to find out what to do. So you may as well just come with me, get a coffee, and have some lunch.”
She was right.
Damn, she was always right.
She was young, but wise, sensible. He couldn’t do anything about it at that moment. As much as he would like to, the best thing he could do was to just live day to day. Wait for Derek to do whatever he needed to do.
When the fight comes, it would come.
And Eddie could almost convince himself of that, until he remembered what exactly was at stake.
This world, everything on it, everything good.
Everything he was.
Or hoped he was.
9
The smell of urine hit Martin like a brick in the face.
He dumped his bag by the side of the door and solemnly pushed it closed behind him. Below his feet were a collection of envelopes, collecting into messy stacks. He kicked them to the side and plodded toward the stairs.
“Ma?” he called.
No answer.
In the kitchen, he saw a movement of light. He walked toward it. This is where he found his mother, Anna, hunched over in her wheelchair, vigorously shivering.
Martin pulled the blanket off the floor and positioned it around his mother. She snarled up at him with a face full of delicate fury.
“Where were you?” she haggardly barked.
“I was out, Ma.”
“Where? I’s eight o’clock. I’ve been waiting.”
Martin had no answer. He should have been home, he should have sorted her dinner, he should have helped her into her bed; noticing the smell and a dried stain on her trousers, he guessed he should have helped her to the toilet as well.
But it wasn’t fair.
Why should this be his responsibility? None of his other mates had to deal with this crap. None of his mates had to pull their mum around the house, assisting her with every bloody thing because she’s too bloody unable to move.
Why should he have to?
Just as soon as that thought took hold of him, guilt replaced it. It wasn’t her fault she was this way. It wasn’t her fault she’d had an accident. It wasn’t her fault his dad left. It wasn’t her fault that this stupid responsibility fell at his feet.
Still don’t make it no fairer.
“Okay, Ma,” he sighed despondently. “What do you want first? Toilet?”
“Well as you can see, I got too desperate for that!” Her nose scrunched up. He couldn’t help thinking about how she looked like an angry rat; so small, helpless, and rodent-like. Yet, at the same time, scary enough to send most people running.
“I’ll get some clean trousers and sort yuh soup,” he concluded.
Only his mother ever spoke to him like that. A boy at school once tried it, told him he was a prick. Martin had planted his fist so hard into that lad’s face he was suspended for a week; which had made no sense to him, as it meant a week off school, and he jumped at the opportunity for a week off. He’d just be skiving anyway.
Martin grabbed a pair of tracksuit bottoms from the washing basket and took them to her. He put his arm around h
er as she put hers around him, holding tight. With his spare hand, he pulled down her stained trousers, threw them in the basket, and helped her struggle into the other joggers.
It wasn’t easy. She was gripping onto him, shaking both out of illness and out of fear that she would fall.
As she sat back down in her wheelchair, he made his way to the kitchen cupboard, taking out an expired tin of soup. He looked over what else there was, but found no alternative. Checking that it was only a month gone, he poured it into a pan and waited for it to boil.
He turned back and looked at his mum, whose head was now facing away from him. He remembered the mum he was so close to as a child. A mum who would take him to the park, run around with him, lay on the beach with his dad as he played in the sea. A woman so full of life, so strong. She was his hero. Everything about her was full of love and he adored her.
Now look at her, he shook his head to himself. He knew he shouldn’t think it, and he would always love her and take care of her regardless; but he envied other people’s lives.
The lives of others whose disabled mother wasn’t so close to death.
10
Jason’s eyes groggily opened. He didn’t know why he bothered opening them, there was never anything there. Just blackness. Repetitive absence torturing his mind.
He had no idea how long he had been stuck there, wherever it was. But time had dragged and his mind was going crazy. There was nowhere for him to go, nothing for him to do, no way he could entertain his wandering thoughts. It was so long since he’d seen light and he was beginning to forget what it was like.
“Grandpa?”
His head jerked up at the sound of a young, delicate voice, so distantly familiar his blood started racing. Except that it didn’t. His blood didn’t do anything.
Jason had no blood.
Finally, he saw a spark of light, a glimpse of whiteness before him, silhouetting a figure. He could make out the small size of the figure approaching, and a dress – it was definitely a dress. It blew in the wind, which confused Jason, as he felt no breeze.
“Grandpa?” repeated the child’s voice.
Jason hazily lifted out his hands in hope, clasping for the child who steadily came into view. His absent heart melted at the sight of his five-year-old granddaughter, Ava.
“Ava!” he cried out, his voice croaky yet jubilant, unused. He clambered to his knees and stumbled forward, embracing her tightly in his arms.
She did not move. She did not react, she did not speak, nor even change her gaze.
He didn’t care. He held onto her like he would never let go.
Then it hit him. He was dead, wasn’t he?
He kept his hands gripped on her arms, afraid to let go.
“But if you’re here…?”
“This is hell, Granddad,” she replied, smiling. “We’re all dead, here.”
“But how? When?”
She wriggled free of his grasp and skipped away. She playfully flumped onto the floor.
The surroundings had changed. They were Jason’s study.
He looked around, frantically searching for answers in the room that was identical to where he once lived.
Ava giggled and climbed underneath the desk.
“The devil can influence many people on Earth,” she told him. “He sent a man for me. You should never be lonely here.”
“What man?”
She said nothing.
“Ava, what man?”
“A bad man.”
“What did he do to you?”
“He told me not to tell you. He says that if you do a…” she stumbled over the words, as if trying to recall something unfamiliar. “A sacred duty, then he will let us go to heaven together. Wouldn’t that be nice?”
Jason edged toward her.
She wore the face of Ava. She spoke the voice of Ava. She even played like Ava.
But she didn’t feel like Ava.
“And what if I don’t?” offered Jason.
Ava stood and withdrew a lollipop, spiritedly putting it into her mouth.
Ava hated lollipops.
“He says that if you don’t…” she turned serious, “Then bad things will happen to me, Harper, Mommy, and Nanny. He says that we will burn in hell for all eternity.”
Jason fell to his knees. His face broke, his eyes welled up. He couldn’t take this anymore. To have had what felt like an eternity of blank space surrounding him, then to be faced with this; it was beyond torture.
“You don’t want to let us burn in hell, do you?”
He buried his head in his hands and wept. All the love he felt for this girl, the unaltered, complete, unshakeable adoration; they were using it.
And it was working.
“He says you need to answer,” she commanded, bearing down upon him.
“Who is ‘he’?” Jason uttered through stranded sobs.
“The same ‘he’ who put you here, silly. The same ‘he’ that has given you this sacred duty.”
He choked upon hearing her call him ‘silly.’ It was a word Ava used all the time, any time he played with her, any time he pretended to pinch her nose or that he couldn’t see her.
“Come on, Granddad. You don’t want us to burn, do you?”
“Don’t call me that!”
He clambered to his feet, falling forward at first, eventually finding his balance. He stood up tall, straightening his posture, dusting himself off, looking around him at the everlasting blackness that circled him.
The office had gone. In its place was the continual absence he had found himself stranded in before. Just him and Ava, facing each other in this never-ending pit of desolation. His gut wrenched, his heart burst, his fists clenched tightly.
“Why don’t you come face me yourself!” he screamed out. “Why don’t you show me your face?”
“He can’t hear you.”
Jason bowed his head. He moaned. He missed Ava so much, just as he missed his other granddaughter, Mia, his daughter, Harper, his wife, Linda. He had spent so long picturing their faces, and to see one of them once more, and for it not to really be her – it hurt. This was agony.
“Fine, I’ll do it,” he whimpered. “Just so long as you never show me this face again.”
“So be it.”
Breathing in deeply, he looked her in the eyes.
“What do you want me to do?”
11
19 July 2002
Derek was in awe.
He had been vaguely aware of what terrible actions had led to the Skulls of Cambodia, but to be stood in front of the wall made from human skulls was indescribable. His jaw dropped and, neither he nor Bandile spoke for a while.
Some were white, some were grey; some were even brown. They were in poorly attempted rows, randomly positioned, in a complete dissonance to one another. Not that Derek would imagine someone creating a wall of human heads would consider positioning or symmetry.
“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” Bandile observed.
“Why would they choose to keep such a vile thing?”
“It is important not only to remember the good times, but the bad times. You should not deny your history.” He turned to Derek. “If you were to deny your past rather than confront it, would you not be in danger of repeating the exact same thing?”
Derek’s eyes didn’t stray from the destitute remains. Large, vacant eye sockets stared back at him, the top layer of teeth snarling from various angles. Death piled upon death. A reminder upon reminder of dark days past.
“I’ve heard about the killing fields,” Derek acknowledged. “But I never… Why are we here?”
Bandile smiled.
“A quarter of these people’s population were slaughtered in this genocide.” Bandile spoke slowly and calmly. “From 1975 to 1979, people were executed not only for connections with a former government, but for being an ‘intellectual.’ For having an education. Wearing glasses even. Not only did a person give the orders for this act, masses of people ca
rried them out.”
“People sometimes do horrible stuff.”
“Calling someone an insulting word is horrible, Derek. Punching someone for offending you is horrible. Arguing with your wife is horrible. This is not what humans are capable of through human acts alone.”
“What are you saying?”
Bandile gestured toward a stone bench that was propped against a wall a few steps away. Slowly, they made their way over, Derek staring intently at Bandile, who gathered his thoughts. They sat next to each other, Bandile allowing a calm moment of contemplation to rest between them before meeting Derek’s gaze.
“Acts like this are committed by humans, but people alone cannot commit such atrocities. Each and every one of these acts of terror have a hand from the devil.”
“So, what, every genocide that’s ever been done is the devil’s work? The Holocaust? The Crusades? The Killing Fields?”
“It’s not the devil’s work, it is people’s work. But people cannot commit these acts of suffering alone. The devil just acts as a catalyst.”
Derek turned from Bandile to the skulls and back again. The idea that the devil gave people the nudge they needed to commit such horrific acts was an unrealistic truth. It felt like an excuse, allowing mankind to remove the burden of guilt.
But it also made sense, in a way Derek found hard to admit to himself.
“So why are we here?” Derek concluded his thoughts, wanting to bring them back to the prophecy.
“When the devil lends his hand in such acts, he leaves an echo. His presence was here only decades ago, and that trace still lingers. We can use it.”
Bandile put his hand on Derek’s shoulder and looked him intently in the eyes.
“Derek, do you trust me?”
“Of course.”
“Then the best chance you have is to take my hand and look into what remains. Trace his path with me, and you will be able to hypothesise his intentions.”
Derek forced a vacant nod, his eyes remaining wide open and his expression unaltered. The idea of seeing through Bandile’s eyes terrified him. He was so afraid of the future, having denied it for so long, he worried that even a glimpse might scar him.
