by Greg Dragon
“Atta girl,” Q called out.
“Alone.”
The words choked her. Family didn’t kill family. Q would wish he were dead as they fed on him, and his humanity, if any remained, would be lost when he changed. Wasn’t that equal to killing him? “We cut the line together or we leave him there.”
Scot looked from Q to her. “Still trying to fix things, emo?”
Misery made her feel sad. “I’m not fixing things. I’m helping you.”
Scot ran fingers through his hair. “I came to rescue you because you reached out to forgive me after—” Scot looked back at Q. “I’ve never felt anything like the healing heat from your hands. You need to be protected.”
Q laughed. “Yeah, you’re the man, Scot.”
She sniffed. “I prayed for help and you came.”
Scot put his arm around her. “It’s justice.”
She buried her head against his chest and fought tears. If she helped him, she could lose her ability to heal. She heard his heart thump against his chest.
“Ready?” Scot asked.
“I want to live!” Q sobbed. “I want to live. I want to live! Damn you both.”
She said, “My hands are shaking.”
“You’re afraid you’re going to lose the healing touch?”
Eddie Jean nodded. “And my connection to God, but so be it. I’m thinking of Kimmy.”
Scot put her hands on his face. “You’ve been through hell today. Let me do this alone. He has to pay for my dad, and your mom and little sister. They deserve justice.” He took a deep breath. “Go on.”
“Thought we were a team,” she said.
“Take the penalty.”
“Together, or come with me,” she answered.
Scot nodded. “Ready?”
“Lass, we’re blood.”
Eddie Jean kissed her crucifix. She put her hand over Scot’s on the knife handle. They sawed the rope.
“You’re cursed! I curse you both. I curse you, and I’ll despise you until the world stops spinning!” The rope gave and he dropped a few inches.
A Swarmer jumped and swiped his head with its claws.
Q shrieked. His screams echoed in the pit. Swarmers went wild at the scent of fresh blood and a new kill. Growling, snorting, and smacking sounds came from below.
“Eddie Jean!”
They sliced through the cord.
Granddad’s final screams were cut short.
Wilbur
Wilbur braked. “Gate’s open. Mansion is lit up like Christmas.”
“Haunted house fits better,” Lee said. “Cookie wasting juice? No way.”
He had to admit the lights gave the place a stately appearance, like one would expect from the Governor’s Mansion. He eased the Saturn up the brick driveway.
Someone sat on the front steps with their head bowed.
“Cookie?” Wilbur asked Lee and flashed his bright lights.
She peered forward. “Think so.”
Cookie lifted her head and ran out to greet them. Wilbur had never seen her so disheveled. Her bun looked messy, her apron fell to the ground as she ran, and she yelled, “Wilbur’s back.”
She pushed her upper torso through the open window and hugged him. “Miss Evaney screamed your name. It scared the bejesus out of me.”
Wilbur patted Cookie’s arm. “Start at the beginning.”
“A replay of Tuesday night,” she said, easing out the car window and wringing her hands. “Night nurse ran down the stairs and screamed, ‘Her eyes are bleeding!’”
“Rose did?” Wilbur asked.
“No, we had a temporary nurse from the staffing agency. Rose took a night off to cover the day shift on the weekend.”
“Where is she?”
Cookie shrugged. “Asleep in her room, I guess. I’m too scared to go check. Even the assistant followed the nurse out and both drove away.”
“So, it’s just the live-in help left?” Wilbur asked.
She nodded. “Veena’s on the back porch.”
“You call Doc?” Lee asked, and slid across his lap instead of getting out on the passenger side. Cookie opened the door for her.
“What’s wrong?” Cookie asked him when he didn’t get out.
“I’m thinking.”
“The bitch is wilding and you’re thinking?” Lee asked, sarcastically.
Cookie burst into tears. “Stop it, Lee! I’m scared.”
Wilbur tuned off the engine.
“Did you call Doc?” Lee repeated with hands on her hips.
“You know I did. Went to message.”
“He gets paid to handle the problems, not us.”
“She’s our patient, Lee,” Wilbur said.
Fire flared out of Lee’s eyes as she whirled around to glare. “She’s a bloodsucker, Burr. Everything else you think about her is a memory she planted.”
Cookie gasped.
Lee jerked Cookie’s hand away from her mouth. “Evaney knows all.”
Cookie slapped Lee’s hand. “How? She’s brain dead.”
“Not anymore, sista.”
Evaney knows what? The two women snarled like dogs. Wilbur climbed out. “Lee, chill. Miss Cookie, you stay in the kitchen with Veena. We’ll go upstairs and check Miss Harwood and wake Rose.”
“Me?” Lee interrupted. “Not without holy water and crosses.”
Wilbur glanced at her, expecting to laugh, but Lee was dead serious. He and Cookie walked to the discarded apron, and Wilbur picked it up.
Cookie put her arm around his waist, and they walked back to the front porch. Lee went straight to the dining room table and called out, “I’ll monitor your situation from here.”
“Yeah, thanks.” Maybe it was for the best. He didn’t want her to see him terrified.
“She’s a big talker,” Cookie said. “Seeing your face sure calmed me.”
“Miss Evaney’s more active at night,” he said. His feet felt heavy, and he walked at half normal pace to the stairs.
“Son,” Cookie called out. He turned back, grateful for the interruption.
She wrapped a green sweater around her. “Save yourself if she goes bad. Her light has passed on.”
“I’m with Cookie,” Lee chimed in.
He nodded. Wilbur jogged up the stairs like he’d seen President Obama take the steps up to Air Force One. The president’s hands never grasped the railing, and neither would his. Stepping into the hallway, the first thing he heard was a buzzsaw and feet running across the roof.
Jogging on, he decided to check Rose’s room first, but he turned to the connecting hallway and the sick wing. Overhead, rustling sounds rattled from the attic. He knew Evaney Harwood made the sounds, but not how. This time he wouldn’t let her play with his thoughts. He would put up a mental shield. In his mind, he remembered Grandmother Pearl singing Onward Christian Soldiers. He marched down the hall to the beat.
He flung open the door to her room. Evaney Harwood lay in her bed, the same as always. A quick glance and he saw no blood splatters. The room smelled like a funeral home.
A beautiful arrangement of carnations and hot-house lilies in a Waterford vase sat on the bedside table. Rose Carson’s touch, he guessed. Lee and the other women had long stopped doing bedside niceties. The room light wasn’t on, but a night light gleamed next to the rocking chair. He heard the clock ticking before the Hum cranked up in his ears.
Wilbur felt numb as he pressed close to her bed. Her eyes were shut, and she breathed a bit too shallow for his taste. In fact, he couldn’t hear her breaths. “Miss Evaney?”
No response. House rules said he couldn’t be alone with her in the room. But those concerns no longer mattered. He leaned over and said into her ear, “I’m a disease carrier, thanks to you. Guess it makes me a modern-day leper. It doesn’t mean I can’t leave Hell House—your house. Stay out of my head.”
No response, but he saw movement behind her eyelids, like during REM sleep. It creeped him out. Then he saw Grandmother Pearl in h
er white coffin wearing her favorite pink dress. He had allowed the open casket because her church expected it, but he didn’t like it. Next, he leaned over to kiss her stiff, rotten lips even though it never happened. Her mouth tasted delicious, like strawberries and chocolate, and he couldn’t stop kissing her.
He pinched his wrist and the memory faded. Panting and fighting the urge to puke, he could still taste chocolate. Wilbur stared down at her eyeballs swimming in her sockets. He refused to turn tail. In his mind, he heard the people at Grandmother Pearl’s wake singing When the Saints Go Marching In as pallbearers carried her casket from the church.
“No more blood donations. No more reading to you. I’m going to clue the whole town into your little secrets. I think you expel wigglers in your poop because you’re dead on the inside. I know when people die worms crawl out, not in. I enjoyed reading about you and Winn Harmon. First time I considered you human since Mary died.”
Evaney’s fingers strummed the air. The first time she did it he thought she was playing a piano, but now, he realized she typed words on an imaginary keyboard. Her fingers slowed down like he could translate the letters in his head. “Maybe you should lip-sync.”
No response.
“I talked to Dave Collins’ mother. She told me about the cure for all diseases in a cave in Cloudland. Did you believe it, or did you travel to Cloudland because Winn grieved over his sister’s disease? Help me to understand what happened, Evaney.”
Her eyes opened.
Wilbur swallowed and took a step backward. He was inside her head for a change. “I’m hearing a buzzing sound in my ears. I have aches and pains in places I’ve never felt before, including my eyes. You’ve turned me into a host for something I want no part in. I’m done.”
Her head swiveled to the left and her neck snapped and popped. The congregation singing in his head stopped, the buzz ended, and his mind went blank. He couldn’t see or think. Her mouth opened and she made sounds—loud attic noises.
Run, Burr! Grandmother Pearl shouted in his head. Shine a mirror on evil and it explodes.
His feet inched forward until he leaned over Evaney’s chest, panting. She’s controlling me like a puppet. The realization scared him. Evaney was in charge.
“Waking up,” Evaney sang out in a thick, guttural tone. Her eyes leaked dark red fluid, yes, it looked bloody. Her short fingernails stabbed at him, pressing into his cheek and then his neck. He knew she wanted his blood. Her nose wrinkled, and she tried to lock on blood scent like she did with Mary. His legs shook so hard, he thought he would fall.
Her fingernails elongated before his eyes, and she slashed into his neck and down his arm. Evaney was weak and didn’t draw deep blood. She bobbed her head, unable to get close enough to lick the wounds. Her body couldn’t bend as she wanted. The bed rattled as she tried over and over to make him extend his neck to her mouth. He fought her. Cold sweat shrouded his vision.
Grandmother Pearl shouted from his memory, Resist evil with all your might.
Evaney let out a mind-numbing screech.
Then, feeling as crazy as Mary probably did, Wilbur grabbed a sterile needle from the bedside drawer and ripped the plastic with his teeth. Frightening images danced in his head: people burned on crosses, organs were removed from screaming people, deformed, neglected babies were left to starve, and he felt their agony. She had even cut off his ability to close his eyes and scream. The horrific images rolled because she held the key to his thoughts.
Summoning Grandmother Pearl’s sweet face, he fought back by quoting Maya Angelou poems instead of scripture. He resisted the urge to stick the needle into his neck, knowing instinctively he’d lost his way—the moment he issued the vampire an invitation.
What did he care about her story? Or what happened to the Dukies? Screw them all.
His head filled with pictures of scenery he had never seen before. He smelled wild onions, but he suspected the odor came from her memory. How could this be happening? The Duke student’s story ran next and paused. If I tune in for answers, she’s got me.
Truth matters.
Hands shaking, Wilbur punctured his left wrist over and over with the sharp needle. He felt no pain as he jabbed it back and forth over the radial artery in a weak attempt to slit his wrist. He jabbed and scraped until blood trickled out. Wilbur offered his wrist to her and noticed her lip movements puffing like a fish.
As her mouth licked his cuts, his fear and anger subsided. Her mouth felt squishy. The sensation went from pleasurable to stinging in seconds. She bit as she drank his blood.
He threw back his head to scream and her story snared him. Wilbur thought he was watching a movie and couldn’t look away. Autumn leaves floated down as the six Duke students hiked across a sun-lit valley, telling bad jokes. One of the men looked up from a map and pointed in excitement. Evaney’s voice sounded sweet and innocent, like he’d imagined when reading her student essays. “Winn, we’re close.”
“I love you, Evaney,” Winn shouted back. “I love you all for coming with me.”
“Burr!”
Whatever held him trapped let go. He staggered backward and fell on his ass. The tile floor chilled him as his upper body slumped. Wilbur stared at the ceiling. He couldn’t see at first, and then his vision cleared.
“Bloodsucking bitch!” Lee slammed a broom over Evaney’s head. Swarming insect noises filled the room. “You stay away from him!” She swung the broom over and over and grunted with each blow like a tennis player.
Rose rushed in wearing Mickey Mouse pajamas to pull Lee away from Evaney. She skidded to a stop at the sight of him on his back with blood clotting on his wrist. “I’ve got him, Lee.” Rose grabbed Wilbur by the collar and pulled him out.
He grabbed the doorway and shouted, “Lee, come with us.”
Lee grunted and heaved her last swing. She screamed, “I’ll be back to stake you!” She ran out and slammed the door.
Rose pulled him down near a bathroom and ducked inside to grab towels to apply pressure. Lee dropped the broom and sprinted to him so fast that she slipped and skidded on her knees up to him. He could smell her jasmine perfume, pizza breath, and spicy pheromones. Wilbur looked into her worried eyes as she propped his head on her lap.
Her lips moved, but he couldn’t make out the words. The buzzing sound in his ears vacillated before he fainted. A cool rush, and then his body surrendered to a dark tunnel. A few more seconds and he would have known what happened to the Duke students.
Eddie Jean
Scot led Eddie Jean through a hidden hallway to a back pod room. “Quitman gave it to the XOs, so we didn’t mingle with employees.” His voice sounded low and dull. “If Swarmers escape, they’ll come here. They’re drawn to our scent.”
“I’ve noticed,” she said.
When he opened the door, a sweet whiff of cherry vanilla with a hint of buttered popcorn wafted out. Beige walls supported sports-themed posters and a large plaid couch dominated the area in front of a plasma TV and gaming area. Beanbag cushions were scattered around. A small kitchenette was to the right and the microwave clock read 11 p.m. Seven hours before burning.
He noticed her checking the time. “Don’t think about it.”
She saw a sink and a round table in the kitchenette. A mason jar of red and white aroma beads sat on a side table near the door—the sweet source of the cherry vanilla scent.
“Lockers have clean clothes,” he said, pointing to a changing and shower area.
Eddie Jean walked to the locker room. She tried to hold it together by encasing her feelings in concrete. Maybe Granddad did the same. He separated his heart from his feelings and went insane. Her family was either sick or scattered. Being alone hurt, like realizing you’ve been left behind on the family vacation. She willed her mind off family topics and Q’s last human breath. Eddie Jean searched for clothing other than scrubs and bare feet.
Through the door crack, she noticed Scot turned on a video game and grabbed snacks. He didn’t eat
, and he didn’t pick up the joystick. He sat on the couch and stared at a poster of the Alabama Crimson Tide after winning their third national championship. She wondered if that was how Scot mourned his father.
Eddie Jean stopped snooping and opened the lockers. Mixing and matching pieces, she assembled khaki pants, a white long-sleeved pullover shirt, and a cardigan sweater. A pair of brown Uggs sat in one locker beside a pair of running shoes. The Uggs looked brand new, but the running shoes were missing the laces. Inside several overnight bags and shaving cases she found clean panties, deodorant, a wide-toothed comb, and toothpaste. The pants would be short, but the Uggs would hide it.
The white bathroom was small, but it held a shower and a cabinet stocked with towels. She ducked inside and shed the scrubs. Until then she hadn’t noticed her cold feet or stiff and sore muscles. The hot water came fast. She soaped up and washed her hair. Task completed, she burst into sobs and sunk to her knees. Her body ached from an agony she didn’t recognize. Eddie Jean let the tears flow in order to release the pain.
What have I done?
Quitman Delaney had hurt so many—but her life was about helping others and living in the light of Christianity. She couldn’t flick her beliefs on or off like lights. The last thing he yelled had been her name. Shaking and slobbering on the shower floor, she prayed for forgiveness and strength. The simple act of confessing her sins and asking for help calmed her.
Wiping water from her face, she kissed her crucifix before standing under the warm water. For a few brief moments, she could forget the burn procedure was hours away, or the possibility Swarmers might locate them first. She toweled off fast, combed out her hair, and put on the clothes. It was a tight squeeze into the boots, but her toes sunk into the soft, cushioned warmth with pleasure. Maybe they would stretch with wear. Last, she washed out her mouth with a washcloth and toothpaste and towel-dried her hair before rejoining Scot. The room smelled weird. She sneezed three times.
She walked out to the sofa. “All yours.”
Scot hadn’t moved, but his eyes looked red and swollen. He rubbed them, making them redder.
