Procession of the dead tct-2

by Darren Shan

  "This reminds me of the walks we used to take," Dee said.

  "We strolled out here? "

  "No, silly. But we'd often walk around this time, when the weather was good. We liked the solitude, the feeling of being the only humans alive."

  "Where we're going," I said, "we will be."

  "Yes." It was a joke but she didn't laugh.

  The gates were closed, cold metal barriers between the worlds of the living and the dead. Ornamental gargoyles adorned either post and I felt them glaring at us as we scaled the low wall to the side. We jumped into soggy earth which squelched under our shoes, and long wet grass which dampened the hems of our trousers and tickled our ankles unpleasantly, like the caressing fingers of the dead. Slugs were sliding slickly through the grass and every time I accidentally squelched one I shivered. My foot snagged on a stone and I half fell. My hands hit the ground and I snatched them back quickly from the chill earth. I wiped my palms on my trousers, over and over, but they didn't seem to warm or dry.

  Dee's hand fell softly onto my shoulder and I jumped nervously. I turned and chastised her with a frown. She smiled weakly. "Sorry," she whispered. "Are you OK?"

  I wiped my hands one last time. "I'm fine. Come on. Show me where it is."

  We found one of the many crisscrossing gravel paths and slipped past monuments, headstones, statues. I had the sense that stone heads were swiveling slowly, following us. I heard rustling, though there were no bushes nearby. The clouds parted briefly and all manner of shadows leaped to life. I glanced at Dee. She was trembling but her face was grim and she barely paused before moving on.

  "This is it." Dee stopped at an ordinary headstone. I could have made out the name and dates if I'd bent, but I didn't. Instead I rolled up my sleeves, spat on my hands and took hold of the shovel. I looked to Dee for approval. She was staring at the headstone. One of her hands reached toward it, but then she yanked it back. She saw I was waiting, let out a shallow breath and nodded.

  I drove the shovel into the earth, wincing at the sound it made, the way the earth seemed to suck on the blade. There was resistance all the way. The top layer of soil had been hardened by the long, cold nights. Further down it was stony, the soil full of pebbles and shale. Dee dug with me. It was a joint venture. We said nothing, digging like silent drones. We uprooted worms, slugs and insects of darkness on our way down. They squirmed blindly in the sods we tossed into the air, their world uprooted. Some dropped back into the pit, falling on our hands, in our hair, slithering down our necks. As I shook them off I vowed I'd get cremated when my time arrived.

  Dee hit the lid first. The sound of her shovel striking the hard wood will stay with me to the end of my days. Nobody should have to hear that, especially when the coffin in question is (allegedly) their own. We shoveled frantically, wanting the torture to be over. We cleared the earth away, using our hands on the smaller clumps. Again I cursed myself, as I had in Theo's house, for not bringing a pair of gloves. But I was luckier than Dee-my fingernails were short, whereas hers were long and quickly collected semimoons of the dark, damp soil.

  The screws were hard to turn. I spent ages twisting and kicking at them. I cut my hands in several places, licked the blood away and studied the nicks in the thin night light. If my year in the city was a dream, I should carry these marks for the coming week. If, on the other hand, they'd cleared by morning…

  In the end the screws yielded to my blows, kicks and curses. I sat back, panting. Dee looked at me. "Scared?"

  "Shitless," I confirmed.

  "Me too." She was shivering. I pulled her close and gave her a hug. "If there's something there…," she began.

  "There won't be. You convinced me of that in the cottage, remember?"

  "I know. And I believed it then. But out here, with the dead all around and the screws taken off… Martin, what if-"

  "Don't say it. The time for talking and worrying is over." I took a deep breath but it didn't help. "Ready?" When she nodded wordlessly, I swung back the upper half of the coffin.

  The skeleton inside grinned up at us.

  Dee screamed and scrabbled backward. She hit the wall of the freshly dug hole, turned and yanked herself out. I heard her being sick, sobbing, retching, tearing at the grass with her hands.

  Having half expected it, I was calmer. I studied the rotting corpse, almost all bone now. The skull wasn't set as straight as it should have been-there was a crack in the neck. Its hands were crossed serenely across its chest. Scraps of hair clung to its scalp, refusing to accept the finality of the situation. Long, jagged nails. No eyes. Maggots feasting on the leftovers.

  I abandoned the grave and stood over the gasping Dee. My face was blank, my hands were steady, my mind was set. Her theory had offered hope of a sane, happy conclusion, but I'd known all along it was pie in the sky.

  She looked up, mouth slick with vomit and spit, eyes wild and dark. There was fear in those eyes, confusion and doubt. But mostly hatred for me, the thing with her husband's face but not her husband. "What are you?" she hissed. "What the fuck are you?"

  "I don't know. Come back to the grave."

  "What?" she screeched.

  "I want you to verify it."

  "You're crazy."

  "I need to know for sure. That could be anybody. You've got to identify him."

  "It's Martin's grave! Martin's coffin! Who the fuck do you think itis?"

  "Please, Dee." I offered her a friendly hand.

  She slapped the hand away. "Don't touch me," she snarled. "Don't come near me. You're not Martin. You're not even human. You can't be. You-"

  I slapped her hard. I didn't like it but I couldn't have her cracking up. I'd been acting the part of Martin Robinson, but whoever I might once have been, I was now Capac Raimi, a gangster, henchman to The Cardinal. And I wanted answers.

  She stared at me, horrified. "You never hit me before," she whispered.

  "Things change. I asked nicely. Now I'm telling you. Check the body."

  Wordlessly, holding a hand to her cheek, she crawled across and stared into the grave again. She wept as she did and a couple of drops fell into the empty pits of the corpse's eyes. "It's Martin," she moaned.

  "How do you know?"

  "On his chest. His hands. He's wearing his wedding ring."

  "They could have put that on anybody. It doesn't prove anything."

  "That's Martin," she said, hard this time. "And if you ever say that it isn't"-she stood and glared at me-"I'll kill you."

  I nodded wearily and sat by the grave, swinging my legs into the space below. I wasn't fearful or nervous anymore. I was once again the cold, detached, clinical operator who'd killed a pair of men two nights before. Something changed when I exposed the body. The possibility that I was Martin Robinson evaporated and, as if I were an actor quitting a role, I dropped the persona instantly.

  "It could be a fake," I murmured. "If The Cardinal took my body, he'd fill the gap with an impostor. He likes to cover his tracks."

  "The Cardinal? "

  "You know him?" I stared at her.

  "I know of him."

  "You've never met?"

  "Of course not."

  "Did I… did Martin ever meet him?"

  She shook her head. "Martin was a teacher. That's all." She moved back from the grave and circled me. "You really worked for The Cardinal?"

  "Yes."

  "Then it was true what you said earlier? About being a gangster?" I nodded sharply. I wanted her to be quiet so I could think. "Did you ever kill anybody?"

  "Does it matter?" I asked.

  "I want to know," she snapped. "You've stolen my dead husband's face. I want to know what you've been doing with it."

  "It's none of your business." I rose and picked up the shovel. "I'll leave in the morning. There's nothing for me here. I thought there'd be answers but all I've found are more riddles and questions." I kicked a clod of earth into the grave and glanced at her. "Are you going to help me fill this in?"

&n
bsp; Her eyes were wide with disbelief. "What sort of creature are you? You come to me looking like Martin. You drag me out here and make me desecrate his… my husband's grave!" Her voice was rising dangerously. "And you think you can just walk away without… like nothing had…"

  "What else can I do? I'm sorry I put you through this but I had no choice. I was in the dark and I needed to-"

  "You think this is the end of it?" she interrupted. "Think again, mister. I don't know who or what you are, but I'll be damned if I let you walk away like it's some game."

  "What do you want from me?" I sighed. "What can I do to please you?"

  "Stop talking like that for a start," she growled. "We've just dug up a grave, damn it! You could at least show some respect for the… the dead." Her head fell and she sobbed into her chest. I did feel sorry for her. Truly. But inside I was burning. The fire had been building during my year in the city, slowly, gradually. When I killed Vincent and the other man, it flared. It dwindled when I wrestled with the mystery of my former identity but now it was burning fiercely again. Only the truth could quench this fire. Dee couldn't help me unlock the secrets of my past, so I had no time for her anymore.

  "Dee," I said as patiently as I could, "let's just fill in the grave and leave. We'll finish what we started, go home, put on the kettle, get a few hours' sleep. In the morning I'll be gone and you can get back to your-"

  "You're going nowhere," she insisted.

  "You want me to stay?" I asked uncertainly.

  "Oh, you're staying," she chuckled grimly. "And in the morning-no, as soon as we leave here-we're going to the police."

  "That won't happen, Dee," I told her flatly.

  "You don't have a say in this. It's my husband you're masquerading as. I'm the one who decides. And I say we let the police handle this."

  "You don't mean that."

  "You can bet your eyes I do." She was sure of herself now. She had a cause to keep her going. By focusing on that, she wouldn't have to deal with the wounds I'd reopened. In her head it was straightforward-go to the police, tell them all about me, and they'd sort things out, somehow, some way. Then she'd be happy.

  "Dee," I said, knowing what I must do but trying to find another way, not wanting to commit myself to a path of damnation from which I could never come back. "If I leave right now and never return, will you let this drop?"

  "Never," she hissed. "I'll follow you. I know where you'll be and who you'll be with. I'll send the police after you, drag you back and make you pay." She was telling me too much. The Cardinal could have warned her of the need to play her cards close to her chest. But I had her husband's face. She hated me but she didn't think I posed a threat.

  I nodded resignedly and looked down into the grave at the grinning skull. "Dee," I said dully in answer to an earlier question, "Ihave."

  Her face crinkled. "Have what?" she asked suspiciously.

  "Killed," I said.

  Then I swung the blade of the shovel against the side of her head.

  She reeled away from me, stunned, blood coursing from the cut to her scalp. I followed quickly and struck her again, full in the face, feeling bones crush. This time she collapsed. She tried to crawl away but I pinned her down and rolled her over onto her back.

  She stared at me through disjointed eyes as I straddled her body and raised the shovel high. "Martin…," she croaked, shaking her head, begging me not to strike. "Martin… please…"

  "No," I said. "Not Martin. Capac."

  And I drove the point of the shovel through her eyes and deep into her brain.

  When she stopped spasming, I bundled her body into the grave, on top of her dead partner. They wouldn't both fit inside the coffin so I left it open. Working as fast as I could, I shoveled the earth back in, pausing only once to scoop up a sliver of brain and chuck it down for the maggots.

  When all was done and I'd patted the earth flat, I stood back and studied the freshly dug grave. It would be obvious in daylight that it had been interfered with. But it wasn't conspicuous and it should be a few days before the police discovered evidence of the dark deed. By that stage I'd be long gone.

  I hopped the wall easily this time and strode away briskly, tossing the shovels into a dark ditch. I felt no remorse, no sense of panic, anxiety or doubt. I'd done what I had to. That was all.

  A few weeks earlier-even a few days-I would have been plagued by guilt. I'd have been thinking of my code of honor, my assertion that I'd never murder an innocent. I used to think I was a clean man in a dirty business. Now I knew better.

  A man who might once have been Martin Robinson entered that dank home of the dead, but the one who left was definitely Capac Raimi. I no longer had any doubts about my identity. I was a killer, a monster, a man who could do anything and would. I was an Ayuamarcan, a cursed soul in league with The Cardinal. I'd thought that, beneath it all, in spite of what I did, I was good. But in truth I was as evil as they came, as coldhearted as The Cardinal, Paucar Wami or any other you might care to name. All that was left was to find out how I came to be such a damned, twisted mockery of a man.

  There was only one place that question could be answered. So, after I'd visited the cottage one last time and cleaned up, I returned to the train station, never once pausing to worry about the men who might be waiting for me. The way I saw it, it would be their bad luck if our paths crossed. I was going home to the city, to The Cardinal. It would be the death of me, I was sure, but before he killed me, he'd talk. I'd make him. And pity anyone who got in my way or tried to stop me. No ordinary mortal could stand against a soulless monster like Capac Raimi.

  ayuamarca

  I had to wait almost forty minutes for a train. I passed some of that by calling Ama. "Capac!" she squealed. "It's really you? God, when I didn't hear from you… Where are you? What happened with-"

  "Ama," I interrupted, "listen carefully. Get out of the city and never return. Understand?"

  "OK," she agreed instantly. "Where will we meet?"

  "We won't," I told her. "We're through. We can never see each other again."

  She laughed uneasily. "Quit fooling, Capac."

  "You remember what I told you? That I'd never harm an innocent?"

  "I remember," she said quietly.

  "I lied. I lied to you and to myself. I'm a killer, Ama, as ruthless and bloody-minded as the worst of them."

  "That's not true," she said. "I know you, Capac. You have principles. You-"

  "I killed a woman this morning." I stopped her mid-flow. "She was a widow, harmless, innocent. She got in my way and I murdered her, brutally and clinically. Caved her head in with a spade and dumped her in an open grave. Get out, Ama. It's not just The Cardinal you have to worry about anymore. Now there's me."

  "Capac," she sobbed, "you don't know what you're-"

  I hung up. Leaned my head against the wall of the booth and sighed. That had been hard. All the time we were talking, I wanted to tell her I loved her and arrange a final rendezvous, one last passionate coupling. But I couldn't allow myself that luxury. Because when the lovemaking was over, maybe Ama wouldn't want to let me go. Maybe she'd cling to me and beg me to stay. Perhaps she'd try forcing me. If she did…

  Could I raise a hand in anger against Ama? I doubted it. But I wasn't sure. That's why I had to sever all connections with her. I didn't know myself anymore, or what I was capable of.

  The train was almost empty when I boarded but it filled as we chugged closer to the city, commuters from nearby towns dragging themselves in for another day's hard toil. It was a long ride. Plenty of time for silent deliberation.

  What was I? A replica, a zombie, a ghost, the real Martin Robinson? Did I come from a pod, a lab or beyond the grave? Was I on my way back to reality or was this all a dream? Had killing Dee merely been my warped mind's way of separating me from reality forever?

  I shut my eyes and let the crazy thoughts slip from my mind. It didn't matter. I'd be in the city soon, where all answers-or death-would come. Thinking wa
s redundant. I let myself relax and nabbed a few hours' sleep.

  Nobody was waiting for me at the station. I stood on the platform and breathed the fumes of this orifice of the city, much as I had a year ago. But when I'd come before, it had been to start a new life. Now I was here to finish one.

  A hand fell on my shoulder. With a sense of destiny I turned to face my captor, only to find-surprising me once again-the ever-grinning Paucar Wami. "I wasn't expecting you for some time yet," he said.

  "What are you doing here?" I frowned. "You told me you were getting out."

  He shrugged. "I changed my mind."

  "Why?"

  "We will discuss it on the way," he said, sliding in front of me and heading for the nearest exit. "The Cardinal has revoked the call for your head, but that might only be a way of snaring you. I don't think anyone is watching but who can say for sure. There could be a dozen guns trained on us right now."

  It was a convincing argument. I followed him quickly, reserving my questions. His scooter was parked outside. He didn't ask where I wanted to go, just hopped on and kicked it into life as I climbed on behind.

  "I take it The Cardinal didn't send you to fetch me," I said as we cut through the traffic around the station.

  "Hardly," Wami snorted. "I killed one of his men. He doesn't take lightly to his pawns turning on one another without permission."

  "Then how did you know I was coming?"

  "Our blind friends of course. They told me you'd return. They didn't know the exact day but they knew the place. They said it would be worth my while staying to ensure your safe passage through the city." He turned down an alley. "Damned if I know how they found me."

  "Why didn't you ask them?"

  "I didn't speak with them directly. They sent a couple of messengers who knew nothing. I tortured both of them, to be positive, but neither could tell me anything."

  "Where are you taking me?" I asked as we turned down another narrow alley.