All Who Wander Are Lost (An Icarus Fell Novel)

by Bruce Blake

  “Are you alright?”

  The words made their way into his ears where he heard them but didn’t comprehend. He stared back at her, his eyes open so long by then he no longer felt able to blink for fear his eyelids would be sandpaper scraping across his corneas.

  The woman said something else he didn’t understand and stood. His eyes didn’t move, only stared at the same level, stared at her midsection now. Dirt streaked her shirt, and blood. A missing button left a gap in her blouse and he saw the pale flesh of her belly.

  “Trevor.”

  The word again. It echoed in his head, bounced around his brain looking for a place to take hold long enough for him to recognize it. It circled like a marble dropped into a sink and quickly met the same fate: it disappeared. He swiveled his heavy head and caught another glimpse of the tapestry before the woman pulled him to his feet, jerking his gaze away. The falling man had landed, but not in a pile of broken bones and twisted limbs. Instead of a shattered body lying on the ground, he saw the man standing, a cage at his back.

  And then the woman put her arm around him again, the sensation of her touch pulsing his teeth like he’d bitten down on a chunk of aluminum foil, and pulled him away.

  †‡†

  Poe guided Trevor away from the chair and toward the door on the far side of the room, each step a struggle to keep him headed in the right direction as he sought to look over his shoulder at the wall hanging.

  “Come on,” she coaxed. “We have to get out of here.”

  She fought to keep her tone even, confident, though she in no way felt either. The shack where she died, the man on the tracks, Icarus’ birth, and now this.

  “Where are you?” she whispered to the teen. He acted like he didn’t hear her. “Where did you go?”

  She pushed him toward the door, wishing he’d snap out of it, silently making deals with God in her head for him to be alright.

  But He can’t hear me down here.

  Fighting to keep her throat from closing with emotion, she reached her hand out and twisted the ornate door knob. As her fingers grasped it, she realized it was cast in the shape of a human head, mouth open, teeth bared in an expression of agony. She forced herself to work the knob instead of recoiling.

  The door swung open and she pushed Trevor through in front of her, looking back at the tapestry which held him so enthralled as she kept herself between him and it.

  It remained blank, a sheet of black velvet shimmering against the wall, wavering, rippling like waves upon a lake.

  She closed the door.

  Trevor pulled himself away and moved a step sending a trill of panic through the guardian angel. She pivoted to collect him before he got away again and quickly saw there was no danger of that happening; they’d emerged from the room into a cage.

  The air smelled sweetly of the fresh-cut hay lining the floor at their feet. The red paint on the ceiling above their heads flaked, weathered wood showing through. She peered through the bars at a forest of huge trees, their bows shivering in an unfelt wind.

  No birds sang. No crickets chirruped.

  She pivoted to peer through the bars on the other side of the cage and saw a line of canvas tents which looked as though they’d been in use since long before the inside of the cage received its most recent paint job. But her gaze held on them only briefly as the man standing near the bars grabbed her attention.

  Icarus Fell stared at them through the rusted bars.

  †‡†

  I took a couple of steps toward the elephant-thing’s cage, carefully staying out of range of the trunk-or-whatever-it-was growing out of its forehead. Since things aren’t always as they seem in Hell, it might have been the thing’s dick, for all I knew.

  It looked at me again, the three beady eyes winking independently of one another. Eyes fixed on the beast, I grapevined by the cage like in an aerobics class so I didn’t have to turn away, and nearly tripped over a rope running from tent-edge to wooden stake. When I glanced away to see what booby trap almost got me, the creature made its move.

  It reared up and stuck two of its stumpy legs between the bars, the long, ape-like fingers flexing and unflexing, grasping for me. The black tusks banged against the bars as it sent its trunk-thing lashing at me. I was out of its range, but fell back a couple of steps in surprise, heart pounding. With the elephant-thing upright, I gained confirmation that the thing on its head was indeed a trunk and not its trouser snake.

  “Wow. You are a big boy, aren’t you?”

  I smiled a little and tried to return my breathing to normal as its long fingers groped empty air six feet from me. Its waving hands and trunk wafted air against my face and with it came the smell of its fresh load of dung. The odor reminded me again of the giant pile at the end of my fall.

  The pile outside the cage.

  If it got out before, it could get out again.

  I tittered nervously and side-stepped away.

  “It’s okay, boy. I won’t hurt you.”

  If the thing could understand my words, I’m sure it would have laughed. What could a measly little thing like me do to hurt the likes of him? Nothing. If it got free I’d be crushed, pulled to pieces and, if Hell is as bad as it seems, raped by the ridiculous appendage between its legs.

  Time to go.

  I stepped over a rope and the creature stopped flailing its arms, the fingers clenching into fists. I held up a hand and wiggled my own fingers at it, waving bye-bye, and the thing took the opportunity to flick its trunk at me. A glob of the shiny mucous-like shit covering its skin in a sheen flew off and struck me in the cheek.

  I recoiled, wiped the substance off with the sleeve of my shirt, and gagged at the back of my throat.

  Great, hit with elephant snot.

  When I looked up at it again after settling my epiglottis, I swear elephant-thing smiled at me. I shot it the bird, showed it my back and walked away.

  The next two cages were smaller and empty of strange animals or straw on the floor. The fourth cage was the smallest yet, perhaps big enough for a medium-sized dog, but too small for the human skeleton jammed into it, though I’d have put money it wasn’t a pile of bones when the jamming began.

  The next cage—a little bigger than the last—housed a golden-furred monkey with big, lovable eyes like they’d feature in an issue of National Geographic. The sharp-looking teeth protruding from its mouth and the way it twitched like a fish tossed on the wharf might have disqualified it from cover model status and prompted me to make a wide berth around it. The next cage stood empty, the one after occupied by a large parrot with a vaguely human face. It regarded me with a perfunctory look for about fifteen seconds, then began plunging its scimitar beak into its side and pulling out green and red feathers by the mouthful.

  I walked past the next few cages without looking closely at their contents, but some I couldn’t help noticing: a horse walking on two legs; the top half of a man using his fingernails to drag himself across the floor of the cage toward his bottom half standing in the far corner, foot tapping; a giraffe with the markings of a zebra and the body of a dog; a man with no arms and no legs sat upon by a grotesquely obese woman with stout horns atop her head, the woman rocking back and forth, moaning with pleasure as the man shrieked.

  I looked away from that one.

  I walked for a couple more minutes, gaze diverted toward the row of tents as I used the memory of the obese woman’s sagging, hairy breasts to keep my curiosity at bay. My curiosity squashing approached its limit when I banged into the bars of a cage set directly in my path.

  “Dammit.”

  I looked up at the rusted bars, rubbed my forehead where contact with said bars occurred, and found a goose egg already forming.

  “Shit.”

  I took a step back to look at the cage in front of me. It was as big as the first one which penned the elephant-thing, but sat on a three foot high platform. It was empty except for the straw covering the floor—freshly cut, by the smell of it�
�and a galvanized steel pail of water. Another cage stood to my left. In fact, as I circled doing my surveillance of the milieu I’d neglected in my desire not to see more unattractive people engaged in sexual activities, I found cages encircled me, the corner of one touching the corner of the next, effectively penning me in the largest cage yet.

  I stepped into the middle of the ring and turned two more circles to ensure my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me, then went to the cage directly behind me and tested the solidity of its bars. I knew it hadn’t existed a moment before because I walked through that spot, but the bars rattled proving themselves real. I was giving them a second shake, just to be sure, when I heard a sound from behind me like kids make by putting their finger in their cheek and pulling it out. Only this was loud enough the finger and cheek would have needed to be enormous. I spun toward the sound.

  Two people stood with their backs to me in the previously empty platform cage: a woman whose blond hair cascaded down her back and a fellow beside her who looked about eight inches taller, his unkempt brown hair brushing the tops of his shoulders. I took a couple of steps toward the bars for a closer look.

  The woman turned her head, sweeping her gaze over the line of tents, long hair falling across her forehead, beside her cheek, but I saw her profile and recognized her instantly.

  My chest tightened and I took another step closer to the bars.

  My movement must have caught her attention because her eyes flickered in my direction. When they fell on me, she turned and I looked into Poe’s face. She raised her hand to her mouth, covering her lips, caught so completely off guard by my presence that she didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t react.

  Not until Trevor looked at me.

  His eyes met mine without recognition or comprehension. His blank expression didn’t alter as his gaze swept over me, over the cages behind me. He looked lost.

  “Trevor?”

  I grabbed the bars, my heart suddenly beating so hard against my ribs I heard it in my ears. My hands squeezed the cold, rusty metal, the blood forced out of my fingers until my knuckles went white.

  Trevor didn’t respond, didn’t so much as look at me. I switched my gaze back to Poe who still held her hand over her mouth.

  “What have you done?” I demanded between clenched teeth. “What have you done?”

  Bruce Blake-All Who Wander Are Lost

  Chapter Thirty

  I shook the bars and Poe’s eyes widened while Trevor continued acting like a man trying to figure out where he was and how he got there. The thought of Trevor as a man rather than a boy loosened my chest, as well as my grip on the bars. I breathed deep through my nose, inhaling the sweet smell of the straw scattered across the cage floor as the thought of my son growing up made me both proud and sad, distracted me until I recognized the look he wore. I’d seen it before when I met Alfred Topping, and when I’d accidentally killed Detective Williams.

  It was the expression I’d seen on the faces of souls surprised to be free of their earthly bodies.

  All hint of reminiscence and pride disappeared as fury overwhelmed me at the thought my supposed guardian angel had harvested my son’s soul.

  Like she’d harvested my mother’s.

  “What. Have. You. Done?”

  I emphasized each word with a shake of the bars and had a momentary flash that, from Poe’s perspective, I must have looked like a child having a temper tantrum inside my play pen. The idea she may have considered the thought angered me further.

  “Icarus, I--”

  “Ric, for Christ’s sake. Why the fuck can’t you call me Ric?”

  Her hand dropped from her face. Her mouth quivered a little at the corners; her obvious upset fortified me. She stared at me for a full minute and I simply glowered back at her.

  “Ric,” she said finally, her voice a whisper.

  Hearing her say my name the way I preferred gave me a sense of accomplishment, as though I’d won. With my slack-faced son staring vacantly beside her, the feeling disappeared quickly.

  “What did you do to him? Who sent you for him?”

  “I didn’t do anything. I --”

  “Did Azrael send you?”

  “No. I--”

  “Piper said you were working for them.”

  Her expression changed, hardened.

  “Piper’s a liar.”

  “Then how do you explain this?”

  I gestured toward Trevor whose back was to us as he looked in the direction of the forest. His face was hidden from me, but I imagined him staring, awe struck by the size of the trees. I gritted my teeth and attempted to set Poe alight with my glare. It didn’t work.

  The look on her face sagged when she answered.

  “It was a mistake.”

  “A mistake? A mistake? How do you bring a teenage boy to Hell by mistake?”

  “I came to save you. He followed.”

  Her statement gave me a fraction of a second’s pause before my response seethed between my lips.

  “Like you saved my mother?”

  She couldn’t keep her eyes on me. She looked at her feet, shoulders sagging to match her expression. Trevor scuffled his feet as he turned to peer at the canvas tents. A breeze blew through the circle of cages, stirring the straw at their feet, flapping a corner of one of the tents. That seemed to grab his attention.

  “Trevor. Trevor!”

  No dice.

  “I had no choice, Icar...Ric. I had to.”

  “Had to condemn my mother to Hell?”

  She nodded, then shook her head like someone who couldn’t decide how to answer.

  “Yes, I mean no. I didn’t condemn her. I only...I only took her.”

  “Took her to live for eternity here.”

  This time she nodded but still wouldn’t meet my eyes.

  “And now you’ve done the same with my son.”

  She responded immediately, shaking her head vehemently and finally meeting my eyes. Her gaze held mine for a second before straying past me, peering over my shoulder as if someone stood behind me. I fought the urge to turn.

  It’s a trick. If I look, she’ll disappear and take Trevor with her.

  That’s what happens in movies—I wouldn’t be so stupid. When Poe’s eyes widened and her expression changed, I thought it might be a possibility I was either wrong or Poe was a really good actress.

  I watched fear creep across the guardian angel’s face.

  †‡†

  “And now you’ve done the same to my son.”

  His words slammed against Poe like he’d thrown a glass of cold water in her face.

  I didn’t mean to bring him. I’m sorry. I don’t want to hurt him. I’ll do anything to make it better. Please forgive me, Icarus. We came to save you. I want the best for you and Trevor. I love you.

  All the possible responses ricocheted through her mind, the last words surprising her. She didn’t expect it, not here, not now, not like that. She shook her head and looked up, lips parted to counter his accusation, but nothing came out. She peered into his eyes for a moment and longed to tell him all—everything that had happened to her in life and after, to tell him she understood better than anyone what he’d gone through in the past few months, about her years being a Carrion against her will, of Michael saving her.

  Michael.

  All those things danced on the tip of her tongue but a movement behind Icarus caught her attention. Her eyes flickered to a spot over his shoulder.

  Two figures stood in the center of the rough ring of cages: a tall man dressed in black and a boy younger than Trevor. The man towered over his companion like a huge pepper grinder sitting on the table beside a mismatched salt shaker.

  A shiver gripped Poe. She knew both of them and wished neither of them were here. The man was Azrael, the angel of death, banished from Heaven for an act Poe now knew he didn’t do. The responsibility for bringing souls to Hell belonged to him—the man who truly condemned the damned.

  The boy was
something far worse.

  Behind them, figures populated the previously empty cages. To the left, two men squatted peering through the bars of one: Marty and Todd. She’d met them once before, and then in a fight, but knew Icarus’ old drinking buddies because she’d hovered close by, watching out for him during his drinking binges before he knew he had a guardian angel. In the next cage slouched a man she didn’t know, though she thought she’d seen his face before. The next held the man who used to sell Icarus drugs. Beside him, in a cage not quite big enough for him to stand, Father Dominic glared out between the rusty bars. From her vantage point, she found it difficult to tell if he directed the ire in his expression at Icarus or the back of Azrael’s head.

  In the fifth cage, Sister Agnes—Icarus’ mother—sat placidly on the straw-covered floor. When she glanced in Poe’s direction, the guardian angel looked away. The last enclosure held Piper. She paced the length of the cage like a beast at the zoo, eyes darting between Azrael and the boy, Father Dominic, Icarus and Poe, like she was searching for who to blame.

  Poe saw all this in the moment before Icarus turned to see what captured her attention. As he turned his face away from her, she noticed his shoulders sag. It seemed he didn’t want to bump into the angel of death any more than she did.

  “Hello, Icarus, my son,” the fallen angel said, his voice the perfect arrangement of an all-male choir. “We meet again.”

  Beside Poe, Trevor’s body stiffened.

  †‡†

  A breeze played across Trevor’s face, stirred his hair against his cheek. He blinked stray stands out of his eyes. Behind him, he heard words he thought he should know. He listened closer, concentrating. More than one voice spoke, but he couldn’t pinpoint where the sound came from, who spoke them, because the trees forced themselves into his mind, pulling him back to them every time he attempted to turn his thoughts away.