by Weston Ochse
“I’m fine,” Lucy croaked. He gestured behind where Bobby stood with what looked like the leg of a giant insect. “What’s happening outside?”
“MS 13.”
All eyes shot wide.
“What the hell? Can’t they leave us alone?”
“Vincent is taking care of it.”
“The hell he is, this is Angel turf.” Lucy pointed to ten of his men and told them to get out front.
They edged past Bobby, nodding with respect as they passed.
Bobby saw in their eyes the full realization that they’d much rather face gangbangers than houses that ate people, no matter how outgunned they were.
“What about the mourners? Anyone seen Kanga?”
Lucy shook his head. “We didn’t have time to take inventory.” He turned to the others. “Anyone see the old surf bum?”
Tired, blank stares.
“I can’t tell you, Bobby. Maybe one of them wrapped him up in a nice little bow. I don’t even know if they’re worth saving.” He held up an arm with a bite-sized chunk of meat missing. “They were zombified. For all we know, it’s contagious.”
Bobby bit his lip, then thought of something. He stepped close to Lucy, eyeing the tentacle. “Could you get two of your men to get them out, maybe drag them out the back? When we find the Bruja we’re going to set her on fire and there won’t be too much time to collect them.”
Lucy’s hard gaze held for a moment, then softened as he nodded. “Yeah. It’s the right thing to do.” He got on the cell phone and called the three who’d been guarding the back door, then ordered them to sweep through the house and remove everyone tied up in a sheet or blanket. When he was done, he put the phone away. “Good enough?”
Bobby nodded.
“Now help us with this next problem.”
“Sure. What?”
“How can we get downstairs without that door snapping another one of my Angels in half?”
Bobby examined the doorway. It looked deceptively normal, if one ignored the gore and blood coating the inside of the jam. He strode close to it.
“Careful, Bobby.”
“What have you tried so far?”
“Other than trying to jump through it? Nothing.”
Bobby nodded as he saw two dismembered bodies spilling their insides down the steps to the basement. Bile rose in his throat. He swallowed to keep from vomiting.
“Any ideas?” Lucy asked.
“Have you tried to wedge it open?”
Bobby watched as Lucy slowly formed the words wedge it open. Then the gang leader shook his head. To no one in particular he said, “Get a door and bring it here. Even better. Get me two.”
They looked at Lucy uncomprehendingly.
“How we gonna get a door?” one of the asked.
“Rip it off. Use your teeth. I don’t fucking care, just get me two fucking doors.”
Three Angels turned and ran. Soon the sound of wrenching wood could be heard.
Bobby touched the tentacle around Lucy’s throat. It felt hard and slimy. He drew his hand away and wiped it on his pants. “Does it hurt?”
“Not anymore. But I feel sick. Whatever it’s doing to me can’t be good. They tell me my face is green and red.”
“And orange.”
“True?”
Bobby nodded.
Lucy gulped painfully. “My only hope is to kill the witch and trust that her death will stop all of this insanity.”
The Angels returned with two doors they’d wrenched free. The wood around the hinges had splintered and snapped. Lucy took one and eyeballed the opening. By the looks of it, the door would slide right through. Lucy laid it on the floor, counted to three, then slid it through the opening.
Nothing happened.
Which was a good thing.
Had they wedged the door open?
One way to find out.
Bobby shoved the pistol in his pocket and stepped through. He heard a groan as if the doorway wanted to close, but the door held. He turned and grinned. He was about to say no problem when he felt a hand push him backwards. He lost his balance and fell down the stairs, careening off the rail and landing on one of the bodies. He vomited as his elbows plowed through what was left of a stomach.
Above him the doorway snapped shut from top to bottom, like a normal mouth. When it opened again, Lucy shoved the other door perpendicular to the floor. The doorway snapped shut, but stopped on the door and stayed there, leaving a three-foot by three-foot space to crawl through. They’d finally figured it out.
Bobby struggled free from the bodies. He dry-heaved as he found solid ground. He panted on hands and knees before gathering himself into a sitting position.
In front of him was a large area with metal chairs arrayed in rows before an altar that stood four feet tall and covered by a frayed and yellowed lace tablecloth. Decomposing flowers covered most of the surface with a white fifty gallon barrel as the centerpiece. A cross had been painted in red on the front of the barrel. The paint had bled in places.
In the chairs in front of the altar sat two of the mourners, Kanga and the black boy with the bling. They stood and cleared the surface of the altar of flowers with awkward sweeps of their arms. They reached for the barrel.
Bobby understood what they were about to do and tried to get to his feet. He fell again on the slick blood, but got to his feet just as the two zombified men twisted the top free from the barrel.
“No!” Bobby cried. “Don’t do that!”
They ignored him. With a gut-wrenching squeal the top came free. They tossed it aside and stepped back. Right out of a nightmare, a body appeared rising like a snake from a basket. Dressed in a white dress with a brilliant ruby necklace around her neck, there was no mistaking who she was.
And as her head turned and her arm rose to point at Bobby, he felt real fear. He managed to pull the pistol out and fire it once before the woman screeched—the sound of a million fingers spider-dancing across a chalkboard the size of the Milky Way.
His vision dimmed. He tasted copper. Warmth rushed through him. “No!” he cried again, realizing what was coming. And then he fell into the bottomless pit of a grand mal seizure, only dimly aware that his body tap-danced on the floor of a nightmare.
Chapter 36
Lucy heard the screech and almost passed out as the tentacle came to life and began to squeeze, as if responding to the sound. He urged his men to hurry, while warning them to be wary of the door. Somehow they all managed to get inside and down the stairs.
The first one to the bottom panicked. He turned to run, but was jerked from behind and disappeared from view. Another figure, this one a black kid he recognized as Theopolis, rushed in and bit into the chest of one of his Angels, dragging him away.
The screech sounded again and half of his men tried to turn and run, except there was nowhere to go except back up the entrail-covered stairs and through Lucy. He growled and yelled for them to help their friends. He made it to the bottom of the stairs and took in the scene.
Bobby rat-a-tap-tapped his limbs on the floor in the midst of a seizure. Chairs that had been arranged before a fifty gallon drum were scattered as Angels pulled the two zombified mourners from their victims. They knew not to kill them if they could get away with it, but if necessary, kill they would.
The centerpiece to the chaos locked eyes with Lucy. The dead witch stood from within the drum, pointed toward him and screeched again. The tentacle squeezed tighter, but not as tightly as before. He stared back at the woman and felt his fear diminish.
* * *
Bobby stood transfixed. The single note was so perfect it could shatter the world. A voluptuous black-haired woman in a white dress stood atop the stage, her finger pointed at him, a microphone to her red, luscious lips, singing that beguilingly curious note until he thought she’d expire from the effort. But just as she seemed to carry it too far, she dropped three octaves, and in the husky drawl of a southern blues singer, slid into the well-known word
s about a hotel named Heartbreak.
Arms suddenly appeared on the stage, disembodied and thrust from the wood. Each hand held a lighter that was lit in a mockery of a rock concert. The arms began to sway in unison as the Bruja—for Bobby realized now that’s who was singing—gyrated on the stage.
Where was he? He should have been in the basement of the halfway house, but that couldn’t be right. He was in some Nashville club, run down, pictures of long forgotten singers hanging tattered along the wall.
But as he looked, it changed.
He was in a zoo.
At a circus.
On a cruise ship.
He was everywhere he’d ever seen and everywhere he’d wanted to go.
As fast as he’d realize where he was it would change. But what remained consistent was the stage and the Bruja standing atop it singing his daddy’s song in a sultry voice.
Something brushed against his feet.
He glanced down, then stepped away. He saw himself rat-a-tap-tapping in full grand mal. His hands went to his chest. If he was there, then who was here?
His hands went to his throat.
He realized he wasn’t breathing.
He pried at his chest. He couldn’t feel his heart.
He glared at the Bruja who never faltered as she grinned around the words of the song.
* * *
Lucy sneered at the Bruja. Her power was waning. She was an undead shell of her own vitriolic self. She had little power over him. He chose to chance her magic to help Bobby. With diminishing fear, Lucy turned his back on her and attended Bobby.
Just in time, too, the kid was beginning to choke. Lucy grabbed the pistol from where it had fallen from Bobby’s grasp and wedged the wooden grip in his mouth to keep it from snapping shut. Then, using his forefinger, he shoved his hand down Bobby’s throat, rooted around a second for the tongue, and pulled it free. Bobby gasped and coughed and breathed. Next Lucy removed the boy’s belt and put it in place of the gun.
Still caught in the throes of the seizure, at least Bobby wouldn’t choke to death. For now.
* * *
As Bobby’s breath returned to him, so did his ability to think. He remembered where he was. He was in the basement of the halfway house and before him, stood the Bruja. She might look like something out of a rock and roll legend’s porn calendar but he knew her to be as evil as they came. Just a snap remembrance of the memory of the Japanese soldiers cursed to live upside down in the dirt for half a century was enough to shatter any doubts that the mirage before him could be anything but evil.
He stepped forward as the world around him dissolved in a whirlwind, the detritus of his illusions caught and swirled until everything was unrecognizable in a multicolored vortex. Moans of the tortured wound up like a record player gaining power and became a background orchestra for the Bruja, who continued singing.
But a single thought crystallized that gave Bobby power. Laurie’s soul was here somewhere and the Bruja was eating it.
He stepped forward once more, held out his hand, and pointed to the gyrating bitch.
But as he did, she disappeared and in her place was Sister Agnes. Gone was the stage. Gone were the hands with the lighters. Gone was the song. They were now in the hallway of the orphanage. The golden-paneled wood smelling of oil and the linoleum floors smelling of disinfectant, all taking him back to the place that had been his only true home.
Sister Agnes knelt, her habit surrounded her head like a halo. She held out her arms. A look of sadness grew in her eyes.
“I’m so sorry they didn’t want you, Bobby. I’m so sorry you’re defective.”
Bobby felt his heart break as a parade of all the parents who’d tried him out and returned him when they discovered he was broken strode by, arm in arm, like they were on a catwalk of his nightmares. None of them waved at him. Instead, they averted their eyes, as if even the sight of him was too disgusting.
Bobby struggled to remember where he was. He fought to retain his grip on the moment, but his emotions took over. He felt his face crack and his skull open wide. He reached up and peeled back his skin until it puddled around his knees. When he stepped from it he was ten and nobody wanted him.
“Look, Bobby.” Sister Agnes stood now in her sparsely decorated room near the back of the orphanage. On the wall were dozens of pictures of animals. She pointed to one with a huge, white Great Dane. “This one is yours. It’s Elvis Paper Dog, remember?”
Bobby did remember. It was his best pet ever. It never peed, it never made doody, and most of all, it never ran away. It was the most loyal creature in the universe and it was all his. It was his best friend.
Bobby felt his feet propelling him forward. He heard some rattling behind him, but ignored it. All his attention was on Sister Agnes and Elvis Paper Dog. His heart suddenly filled to bursting with love and longing.
* * *
When Lucy finally stood, his Angels had subdued Kanga and Theopolis with lengths of sheets they’d grabbed from the two bedrooms nearby. They were tied at the shoulders, waist and ankles. Lucy nodded. It would do for now.
He grabbed a chair and pulled it forward. When he was about five feet away from the woman, he turned the chair around and sat cowboy style, one hand dangling over the other, the 9-mm on top.
The Bruja pointed at him. She didn’t screech any longer. Cracks had begun to appear in her perfect face as if she were made of porcelain. She seemed ready to break apart. Lucy took this as a good sign.
“Listen, bitch. You’ve fucked us for too long. It’s time for you to go. I know you can hear me. So either leave peacefully, or I’ll burn this whole fucking place down.” He really didn’t expect her to respond.
She continued to stare as the cracks spread and thickened along her skin.
He stood and aimed the pistol at her head determined to help the process along. He prayed, then fired. The bullet pierced the center of her forehead, but did nothing more.
He fired again.
Then again.
Yet again.
Four smoking holes did little to remove the life from her dead face.
And as he watched, the holes closed upon themselves and the cracks began to repair themselves.
* * *
But then Sister Agnes disappeared as she melted into a puddle, falling flat with a splash.
Bobby’s heart caught and a cry wrenched free as even the picture of Elvis Paper Dog disappeared.
But in her place, rising from the puddle, was the grinning face of Jimmy Hixon. He wore cut-off jeans shorts, a white tank top and no shoes. His skin was tanned from playing outside, just as Bobby’s was, he noticed, looking at his own ten-year-old arm.
“My daddy can kick your daddy’s ass!” said the boy.
“Wait a minute. You can’t talk. You’re...”
“Don’t say it, Bobby. Don’t you dare call me dumb!”
“I wasn’t gonna. I was gonna call you dead.”
The boy broke into a grin as infectious as the plague. “Do I look dead to you?”
“No. But where’d Sister Agnes go?”
“She left me to talk to you. Do you remember what I told you back in the home? Do you remember what I did with my power to talk?”
Bobby did remember, as if it was yesterday.
“I was born not being able to speak or hear because of my father. I have the power of the cosmos, too. One day, when I’m ready, I’ll be able to read minds. I’ll be able to tell when people are thinking bad thoughts and when they do, my father will come. All I have to do is wait and my father will come.”
“Your daddy is the Silver Surfer.”
“That’s right. And he’s come for me. I told him to hold off until I could find you. But it was hard. You’ve been hiding from everyone, Bobby.”
“I wasn’t hiding, I was looking.”
“For your father, right?”
Bobby nodded, remembering all the notes they’d written back and forth between each other as they talked about com
ic books and their lives.
“My daddy knows where your daddy is. He says we can take you to him if you want to go.”
“What? Are you serious?”
“Cross my heart and hope to die.”
“But you’re already dead.”
“We faked my death so I could go undercover and become a superhero like my father.”
Bobby remembered how everyone had gathered around the trash dumpster. He’d never actually seen Jimmy’s body. Even when it was loaded in the back of the ambulance, it had been covered from head to toe with a sheet.
“What do I have to do?”
“Nothing. You’ve already done it by dying. Just grab my hand and we’ll get out of here.”
“I’m dead? Wait.”
“We can’t wait, Bobby. We have to go.”
“But how did I die.”
“In the fire. The house burned down. But that’s okay. It means I can take you to your daddy.”
“How?”
Jimmy looked at him for the first time as if he was losing his patience. “By the power of the cosmos, stupid. Remember?”
“You mean after all this time... just like that?”
Jimmy Hixon nodded. “Just like that.”
Bobby smiled and stepped forward.
* * *
Lucy turned to his men. “Anyone seen Blockbuster?”
Blank stares and shaking heads.
He turned on his phone and made a call. Blockbuster answered.
“Where the fuck are you?”
“In the house.”
“Where in the house?”
“In the hallway.”
“Come downstairs.”
“I can’t. There’s this big fucking green tentacle monster climbing down the stairs and I’m not getting anywhere near it.”
The stairs gave out with a groan and disintegrated. Two ten-foot tentacles wavered out of the dust and wood, all that was left of the halfway house’s great man-o-war except its head.
