The Defense of Reality

by cory. barnett

  “You’s turn to speak has not come. You will be asked to speak in a moment. Right now you is to remain still. You should be perfectly-werfectly stilly for Gilly. Still and silent for Gilly the Glorious. This is me,” the small man said bowing. “Gilly Gilifix the Glorious, sent by Azo the Coming Conquer to prepare the larger than normal portal. Sent and will succeed. Regardless of you’s tricks,” he said, jamming a finger in Mencken’s face. Mencken tried to pull away, but again found himself unable to move more than a few centimeters.

  “Now,” the small man-thing continued, stepping back again. “Nows yous will tell us why. Why is it that tricky-tricksters has removed the Gracanjo from the field of battle? Why is the bishop out of play? One does not gain the checks and the mates without the use of the bishops. Why then, would the silliest trickster pawn, an unknown pawn, unseen because of you’s insignificance to the game – why would such a trickier trickiest remove the bishop?”

  The man stood, waiting for Mencken to answer.

  Another tear ran down Mencken’s cheek.

  In a whirlwind of rage, the small man raced toward Mencken. Pointing his finger in Mencken’s face, he screamed, “You will answer when Gilly speaks. You will answer me!”

  The small man-thing’s breath stunk of death and sorrow. Mencken wept and tried to speak, to explain that he didn’t understand, but again the sound was lost.

  The blow to Mencken’s midsection was quick and painful. The sharp, but powerful jab from the tiny man made Mencken’s breath flee his lungs. Vomit rose in his throat. He choked on the stomach acid. “The trickster will answer!” the man-thing screamed again with its high, shrill voice.

  Mencken closed his eyes and wept. Moaning for this nightmare to end.

  There was a deep rumble of a voice from behind Mencken. The small man looked past Mencken, nodding his head in agreement. Then he looked back at Mencken with an apologetic smile. “Gilly apologizes,” he said. “I did not realize the trickster could not speak with the gag still in its mouth.”

  The small man reached behind Mencken’s head. Mencken felt a tugging and then a release. A heavy cloth ball fell from his mouth. It dangled at the end of a string Gilly held up for Mencken to see. Mencken drew air through his mouth. His tongue and soft palate were on fire. He could still taste the cloth in his mouth. Remnants of fuzz covered his tongue and the insides of his cheeks.

  “It should speak now,” Gilly said.

  “I. I um.” Mencken didn’t recognize his own voice. It was dry and hoarse.

  “I um. I um. I um. I um,” Gilly raged in rapid fire. “No. No. No. You speaks wordy words now. You explains you’s trickster ways.”

  “I um,” Mencken said before the sharp blow to his chest cleared the air from his lungs, leaving behind nothing but pain.

  “Say ‘I um’ again and Gilly will cut you’s heart out,” Gilly said.

  “I don’t. I don’t know anything,” Mencken cried.

  “Lies,” Gilly declared calmly. “Lying lies from a lying mouth of lyingness. You will tell Gilly the Glorious why you had the Gracanjo taken off the field.”

  “You mean Chris?” Mencken cough. “Chris?”

  “I care not of the Gracanjos names.”

  “I thought. I thought Chris was. I thought.”

  “I thought. I thought. I thought,” Gilly chanted in anger. “You does not think. You explains. You tells. You speaks truth. No more ‘I thoughts’.”

  “I had him arrested. For. For killing those men.”

  A roar of deep and low laughter tore through the crowd behind Mencken.

  Gilly smiled. “So you is an accidental surprise for Gilly – how do you say – coincidence?”

  “I. I guess so.”

  The blow to Mencken’s jaw was powerful. It forced his already pounding head to pull against his restraints. He felt his jaw muscles fight to stay in socket. His teeth rattled. Blood flowed freely from his nose and lip, clogging his breath.

  “You does not guess,” Gilly said. “You knows. You must knows. You must not guess. Now, will the Gracanjo return for the fight? Gilly the Gracious gives you a hint. You should prepare you’s answer before yous speaks. Gilly does not want to break you’s jaw yet. We have more to discuss.”

  “He’s locked up,” Mencken said. “He’s not getting out any time soon. Agnew too. The, um, the girl? She’s locked up too.”

  Gilly did a victory dance, pumping his legs up and down while thrusting his fists into the air. Then turning back to Mencken he explained, “The wounded Gracanjo from the north is of no concern. We’ve already taken the life of its partner. And Canthos has disabled her leg.”

  There was a pride filled grunt behind Mencken.

  “The Rothman is still a concern. But even he and the small one cannot take our force as it stands now,” Gilly continued, now looking at the ceiling as if he were thinking out loud. Then, turning back to Mencken, Gilly said, “Thank you. Thank thanks for removing the two from the field. Gilly the Glorious will remember you’s helpfulness.”

  “Can I. Can I go?” Mencken said, feeling a shard hope for the first time.

  Gilly laughed. “No Nos. We must bring you more pain so my force can feed. They will eat the essence of you’s suffering and prepare for the final battle. But, you has my word that no unnecessary suffering will occur. We will only extract what we need, then we will end you’s life. This is fair. Fair for all you’s have done for the army of Azo the Coming Conqueror.”

  Mencken felt tears in his eyes again.

  Gilly looked past him and commanded, “Open its head.”

  Mencken felt the restraints around his forehead fall loose. Frantically, he looked left and right, desperate to see more of where he was and what was behind him. In his peripheral vision, he caught glimpses of pale, tall, muscular things wearing loose-fitting shirts and sweat pants. Mencken could count three, maybe four. They were difficult to distinguish from one another without turning around completely.

  Strong, cold hands gripped his head, forcing his eyes forward. The fingernails felt like steel daggers against his skin. The small man was in front of him again, smiling. The hands on his temples forced Mencken’s head back. Standing above him, smiling down at him, was one of the musclebound, monsters. Mencken had forgotten the eyes – the swirling, black pools of terror. Fear raced through Mencken’s blood. He fought to get away, thrashing with all his might. The monster above him laughed in reply.

  “Hurry, hurry,” Gilly said. “We must go. If you want to feed, you need to do it quickly.”

  The beast shifted its grip on Mencken’s head, forcing two fingers into the top of Menken’s mouth and two into the bottom. Then, with gentle force, the pale creature pried Mencken’s mouth open.

  Mencken tried to scream, but what came out was more of a moan. He clinched his eyes shut, hoping the entire experience would vanish, hoping he would pass out or fall asleep, hoping something would allow him to escape whatever was about to come.

  He felt pressure on his knees. Something, someone was standing on him. Shadows shifted. There were two small fingers in his mouth, feeling each one of his teeth. They were dirty and dry. The fingers stopped on a lower left molar.

  Mencken moaned, pleading, begging, wanting it to stop. Droll slipped from both sides of his mouth.

  “Everyone gather round,” Gilly said. “Its pain will be sharp, but quick.”

  More shadows arrived. Mencken sensed the crowd gather around him. He moaned again, trying to verbalize a “No! Please!” without the use of his mouth or tongue. Tears poured freely from his eyes.

  The small fingers found a molar. Sharp nails pierced his gum. Mencken screamed. The fingers yanked up. Blood filled Mencken’s mouth. The warm, thick liquid pooled in his throat. He began to choke on it. He hoped it would drown him.

  The hands holding his mouth open forced his head to the left. Blood drained from his throat, down the inside of his cheek, and escaped the corner of his lip, dripping to floor.

  “One more befor
e we kills it?” Gilly asked with enthusiasm.

  There was a deep, satisfied mummer from the crowd.

  Mencken’s head was forced back into position. His muscles were numb and powerless. He responded like a stuff animal being tossed around by a child. Everything was blurry. Blood began to fill his throat again. The room spun. He prayed for death.

  The fingers returned, but this time to the other side. Again, the small, sharp nails pierced his gums. Again a tooth was yanked from his head. Again, blood flowed. And again, his head was forced to the side, so the blood could drain.

  The hands released his head. There was talking, but Mencken could no longer decipher what was being said. He knew the words, but his mind was too fuzzy to comprehending what they meant. His heart pounded in his head. Blood continued to run from his mouth. He sat, limp, his head hanging where the hands had left it. He closed his eyes, and passed out.

  He was awoken to small hands at his feet. “No more,” he moaned. “Please. Please, no more.” His eyes struggled to gain focus again. He could make out a single shape in front of him. His mouth was caked full of dried blood. His neck was sore, and his head still pounded with the beat of his heart.

  “It’s alright,” a kind, young voice said Mencken recognized it, but couldn’t yet place it. “It’s over. They’re gone. We drew them away.”

  Mencken felt his feet freed from their restraints. Then his wrists. He lay limp, still unable to gather the energy to move. He closed his eyes, incapable of caring who was in front of him.

  There was a warm hand on his forehead. Then two hands gently lifted his chin. Mencken opened his eyes again. A face. A kind face. A young face. Jose. It was Jose. A new river of tears filled Mencken’s eyes.

  “Rothman,” Jose called to the stairs. “He’s up here. I need you. He’s too big for me to carry.”

  “Jose,” Mencken said through tears of relief. The words were like daggers in his mouth.

  The boy’s voice was filled with sorrow. He stroked Mencken’s cheek. “We’re going to get you out of here. Go back to sleep. You’re safe. You’re safe now.”

  Mencken sighed, and the world went dark again.

  Chapter 23

  Mencken was aware of his breathing. The air was tart and cold. He shivered. His mouth felt like it was stuffed with bitter, dry cake. The sun was bright, he could feel its warmth on his eyelids. The metal beneath his head was cold. He took a deep breath, holding the cold air in his lungs, then exhaling slowly. With his senses coming back to him, he opened his eyes. Above him was a blue sky with tuffs of white clouds.

  “How are you feeling?” a voice in front of him asked.

  Mencken struggled to sit up. His limbs and ribs hurt. Blood rushed into his head as he rose, harkening the return of his headache. Mencken looked around. He was sitting on the hood of an old beige car. He was on the top floor of a parking garage. The car he sat on was pulled up to the four-foot tall, concrete wall that went around the top floor. Sitting on the wall in front of him, with his back to Mencken and his legs hanging over the edge of the wall, was Chris.

  “How’s your head?” Chris asked.

  Mencken wasn’t sure how to answer. He wondered what was going to happen next. Was this man going to throw him off the ledge? Did he carry a grudge? Was he a man at all, or one of those things, one of those horrible monsters? Was this even real? Mencken wasn’t sure of anything. He laid back down on the hood of the car, in surrender.

  Chris laughed. “I bet you have a lot of questions. We’ve got a few minutes before the others show. I’ll tell you what I can, but I can’t promise it will make a whole lot of sense.” He swung his feet back over the wall to face Mencken. “Seriously. You’ve got about ten minutes. Ask away.”

  “How’d you escape?”

  “I didn’t. I’ve got some high-up friends who understand my life. They came and let me out shortly after you left.”

  “Are you going to kill me?”

  Chris laughed. “No. We don’t hurt people. It’s one of our rules.”

  “Where’s Jose?”

  “He and Agnew went to pick up Rothman’s weapons. Rothman’s particular about his weapons.”

  “Who do you work for?”

  “It’s complicated. To be honest, I’m not sure. Whoever it is, I don’t think it’s human.”

  Mencken sat in silence for a minute. “You promise to be honest?”

  “I said I would.”

  “Did you kill Anita Dickson?”

  “No.”

  “Did you kill the Clevelands?”

  “No. But I was there.”

  “Why?”

  “On this side of the Veil, the um – we’ll just call them monsters for now to keep it simple. The monsters are like drug addicts. They have to get a fix at least once a day or they start going through withdrawal. The Mardocks get those especially bad. We’d been tracking a trio of them all day. They kept giving us the slip. We caught up with them outside the Clevelands’ house.”

  “Get a fix?”

  “Mardocks, the strong, pale ones, get high on human pain and suffering. It’s an upper for them.”

  “Is that why the small dude pulled my teeth out?”

  “Yep. They’re getting pumped up for battle.”

  “Was that little one a Mardock?”

  “No. That’s a Sinciput. It can be confusing at first, but you’ll get it.”

  “Did he get high off my pain too?”

  “No. Those little bastards get off on seeing plans succeed. And it’s hard to tell if it’s a high like the Mardocks, or if they’re just fucking nuts.”

  Mencken sighed. He watched a cloud in the sky. It was thin and moving slowly. He felt like it might disappear in a strong wind. Would the world notice? He reached into his mouth and pulled out two blood-soaked cotton swabs. A fresh trickle of blood began to pool in his mouth. He spit it out toward the side of the car.

  “So you’re not a hitman for the Cabal?” Mencken said.

  Chris turned back, his legs hanging over the side of the wall. “Not sure what the Cabal is, but I’m not a hitman,” he said.

  “You’re some kind of superhero.”

  “No.”

  Mencken sat up and spat blood again. It was warm in his mouth. He liked it. It reminded him he was alive. “What do you mean ‘no’? You walk around fighting monsters every day.”

  “Superheroes are in comic books. I’m part of something ancient. An order if you will.”

  “The Grand-cano.”

  Chris laughed softly to himself. “It’s pronounced Gra-con-joe.”

  “What’s your real last name?”

  “It used to be Parker. When you accept the job, the old life goes away. Your name goes with it.”

  “Why?”

  Chris smiled. “Gracanjo don’t live long. We usually get the call in our twenties. Few of us see our thirties. I’m considered an old man.”

  “If you’re not fighting crime and protecting people, what’s the job, exactly?” Mencken said, leaning back on his elbows. He spat more blood to the right. The trickle was slowing. He didn’t know whether to believe the man or not. All he was sure of was that a maniacal elf with a bunch of pale, muscle-bound, freaky-eyed monsters had just torn two teeth out of his head.

  “We’re like guard dogs. There are two of us in every major city. The monsters cross the Veil, and we make them regret it.”

  “The Veil?”

  “They’re from another place. Another world, I guess. It lies on top of ours. The thing that separates us from them is called ‘the Veil.’ They cross it. We make them pay for it. That’s the job. When you’re in their world, you can see ours. It’s like.” Chris paused to think. “On their side we look like ghosts. But not just the people. Everything. They can see everything. But we look like a mist.”

  Mencken snorted a small laugh.

  “I know. It’s a lot. But you’re smart. You can handle it.”

  “So if they can see us there, why can’t we see them
here?”

  “I don’t know.” Chris let his head fall and he sighed. “Some can. I can,” he said softly.

  “You can what?”

  Chris’ voice was hollow and lost. “I can see them. They’re smaller than in person. I think it is because their world is bigger than ours, so when you lay them on top of each other their world has to shrink to match. But I see them. I see them everywhere I go.”

  Mencken felt tinge of sorrow for the strange man on the ledge. He wondered how long Chris had been living in this surreal hell of monsters and other worlds. “Does Jose see them too?”

  “Not until they cross the Veil,” Chris said. “I’m the only one who sees both sides. Sometimes we get special gifts. If we take on the job during moments of extreme violence.”

  Mencken sat forward and stared down at his feet. The shroud of sorrow around Chris was making the man increasingly difficult to watch. “You said twenties. Jose is young then.”

  “He was called early,” Chris sighed. “Too early. My first partner was the guy that trained me – Carl. Such an asshole. Then I went through a string of partners. None of them lasted long. Then came Jose. He was called up younger than usual.”

  “Does he have a super power?”

  “They’re more like curses.”

  “Does he have curse then?”

  “Yeah. He accepted the call in the middle of violence too, so he sees people for who they really are.”

  “Undecided.”

  “What?”

  “That’s what he called me the first time he met me. Undecided. What does that mean?”

  “You’d have to ask him.”

  “Is he really your nephew?”

  “Sort of. I knew his dad. We served together.”

  “As Gray-banjos?”

  “Gra-con-joe. Gracanjo. Get it right. And no. As Marines.”

  Mencken stood. His legs were shaky. They felt like they might buckle beneath him. Resting his forearms on the wall, he leaned on the wall next to Chris. Looking out, he knew exactly where they were. This was the Johns Hopkins’ parking garage off Broadway. They were facing west, toward Interstate 83 and its path through the middle of the city. “You’ve got a thing for parking garages,” Mencken said.