The man’s elegant posture, the way he dabbed the corners of his mouth with a napkin—these things contradicted his appearance. They weren’t the manners of a soured transient.
Donovan approached the booth. “George Guffin?”
The man in the green coat nodded.
“Sit down. Candle, right?”
“That’s right.” Donovan took a seat across from the filthy man.
George Guffin pushed the plate of fries toward him in offering, but Donovan’s attention was undistracted, staring hard into Guffin’s wild eyes. He realized he was squeezing his hands into fists, and tried to relax—but how could he? This man had invaded his home and taken his wife. He wanted to be angry and violent, to smash Guffin’s plate, to use its shards in torturing the truth out of him.
That’s how Joe Hopper did business. The barbaric nature of his thoughts troubled Donovan. He swept them to the back of his mind.
George Guffin wiped his hands and licked his lips.
“Do you smoke?”
Donovan shook his head.
“Too bad.” Guffin took a handful of fries and put them in his coat pocket. He dropped a wad of crumpled bills on the table. “Let’s move this party outside, shall we?”
“Look, mister, I—”
Guffin slammed his fist on the table. “No, you fucking listen—” He pulled a handgun from his coat. “—Yeah, that’s right. I’ve got your attention now, don’t I?”
Donovan’s blood went cold. “My undivided attention.”
“Good. Now, you do what I say you do, and we’ll get through this nice and quick-like. Do you understand that, Candle-man?”
Guffin tipped the barrel of the gun toward the door. Donovan left the booth with his hands held out to his sides, while Guffin followed behind. No one in the diner noticed their exit.
Donovan thought about turning on the man. He saw himself pinning Guffin to the wall and wrestling the gun from his grip.
Stay put, hoss. You’re no good to Donna with a hole in your head.
“Where’s your car?”
“Over there.” Donovan swallowed back all the nasty things he wanted to say. He calmed himself before speaking. “Mr. Guffin, I’ll take you where you want to go, but just—just meet me half way, all right? Where is my wife?”
George Guffin took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “I’ve missed this air. So alive.”
Donovan ignored him. “I asked you a question.”
“And I heard you, Candle-man.” Guffin opened his eyes and met Donovan’s gaze. “Your wife’s fine.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“I know, but I’ve got rules to follow, just like you do.” Guffin frowned. “Now I suggest you take me where I need to go.”
A young couple walked past them toward the diner. They ignored the weapon in Guffin’s hand. The world went gray for a moment, and Donovan saw the white creatures on their shoulders. When he looked back at Guffin, he could tell that he, too, saw the little abominations.
“You can see them?”
The world flickered back into color. Guffin nodded. “Of course I can see them. Dullington gave me a free pass tonight to do what I need to do, and—” His face flushed. He jammed the gun barrel into Donovan’s gut. “Quit stalling.”
Free pass? Donovan filed it away for later. He did as he was told, and led Guffin to his car. They got in, and Donovan asked their destination as he started engine.
“You know the parking garage at 8th and Dwyer?”
Donovan thought for a moment and nodded.
“Other side of town, across from the courthouse?”
“You got it, Candle-man. And no funny stuff—or I’ll blow your fucking head off.”
• • •
It took them a while to reach the garage. Friday night traffic was slow-moving as they crossed into the city, making Donovan even more tense. When they turned onto Dwyer Street, Guffin leaned forward in his seat and placed the handgun on the dash. Donovan caught a glimpse of it and wondered if it was real. He decided he did not want to find out.
“Three more blocks. It’s on your left.”
“Mr. Guffin,” Donovan said, “are you going to tell me what this is about? I mean, really?”
“You know what it’s about.”
Donovan stopped at a red light, taking the opportunity to look over at his captor. “I know what’s happening to me, but I don’t understand it.”
“Trust me, Candle-man, you don’t want to.”
“You understand it?”
“I understand you need to shut your fucking mouth.” Guffin took hold of the handgun. “This is about what he wants, and I should know. I’ve seen others play his games. This was my turn. We’re all his puppets. He makes the rules, and we move to his whim.”
“We?”
Guffin did not reply. The light turned green, and they sped through the intersection. The garage at the corner of 8th and Dwyer covered more than half a city block. From the street, it bore the appearance of a fortress. Donovan guided the sedan into the entrance and pulled a ticket from the gate. The crossbar rose, and he tapped the gas.
“Top floor, Candle-man.”
They ascended slowly. Guffin did not object to their speed. Donovan took the opportunity to scout the surrounding levels in hopes that someone—anyone—might be parked there for the evening. To his dismay, the garage was empty except for a few cars on the bottom two levels. He parked alongside the edge of the roof overlooking the entrance.
When he turned off the engine, Guffin raised the gun and shook his head.
“Leave the keys.”
Donovan slowly raised his hands. He tried to keep himself from shaking, but his body refused to obey. “Okay,” he whispered. “No keys.”
“Get out, Candle-man.”
Donovan did so. Clouds rolled overhead, and thunder clapped in the distance. From this height he could see the twinkling lights of the lower city, as well as some of the taller skyscrapers. Across the street, the courthouse shone bright with orange halogen lights, illuminating the statue in the courtyard. Donovan cracked a smile, remembering a time when he and some college friends toilet-papered the old statue while Donna and the rest of their girlfriends watched with feigned amusement.
That memory stirred the chunk of ice in Donovan’s stomach, and he turned to face Guffin. The car separated them, and it was for the best. Donovan wanted to tear him in half.
“Where is she?” he asked.
“Who? Your wife?”
“Where is she?” Donovan half-screamed, half-growled. He took a step around the car. Guffin raised the gun.
“You stay right there, Candle-man. Hands on your head.”
Donovan stopped in his tracks, doing as he was told. A cold breeze rose up around them. Lightning flashed, followed closely by a crash of thunder. He felt a few drops of rain on his head and hands.
“What are you getting out of this?”
Under the glare of the garage lights, he could see the man’s hands shaking. Guffin approached him. He wore a frown, and his eyes appeared so wide through his thick glasses that Donovan feared they might pop from his skull. Droplets of rain rolled off his coat.
Donovan glanced at his feet, measuring the space between himself and his captor. Two steps, he thought. Maybe three. His heart thudded a cacophonous rhythm in his ribcage. Was he really going to do this? Could he? He thought of Donna tied up somewhere at the mercy of a lunatic, and decided he would damn well try.
“Answer my question, Guffin.”
“A permanent free pass. He lets me out of his hell. I do this, and he’ll let me go. That’s the plan. That’s our agreement. I bring you here, he takes you, and I stay. Goddamnit, that’s how it’s supposed to go. Where are you, Dullington?”
Guffin trembled as he screeched into the wind. He lowered the gun, and Donovan made his move. His hands took on a life of their own, moving against his better judgment, and they connected with the muzzle. Startled, Guffin jerked
his hand away, but in his haste, he lost his grip. The gun hit the ground and went off, startling both of them.
Donovan met the eyes of his adversary. In that moment he saw only Donna, her hands bound, a bag over her head. He saw the terrified, lifeless eyes of Mr. Precious Paws.
Get ‘em, hoss.
He charged forward and tackled George Guffin. The collision sent both sprawling to the ground. Donovan’s hands found their way to Guffin’s throat.
“You bastard, yo—urch.”
Donovan squeezed as hard as he could, concentrating the pressure of his fingers into the tender flesh of Guffin’s neck. He was so intent on crushing the man’s trachea that he didn’t see Guffin’s free hand until it was too late. Guffin’s fist cracked against Donovan’s jaw. An assortment of colored lights exploded before his eyes, followed by a searing, white pain. The force flung him back onto the cold concrete. He tried to shake off the splotches of purple and black.
Guffin climbed to his feet. He hacked and coughed, rubbing at his throat.
“You motherfuckin’ asshole.” He stumbled, regained his footing, and planted a swift kick into Donovan’s ribs. The blow cleared all the misshapen forms from Donovan’s eyes, and he managed to catch Guffin’s foot before he could land a second kick. In an act of desperation, he sank his teeth into Guffin’s ankle. He clamped his jaw down as hard and as far as it would go, tearing through the man’s flesh and stopping only when he reached bone. The coppery taste of blood filled his mouth but he dared not stop—not now.
This is for Donna, he thought, and bit down even harder.
Guffin uttered a scream rivaled only by the thunderclap overhead. He fell backward, kicking his foot free of Donovan’s mouth. A chunk of flesh came away with it. When Donovan realized he still held a piece of Guffin between his teeth, he spat it out and retched. Guffin cried in agony as he scrambled to put pressure on the wound.
Lightning split the sky, followed by another heavy crash of thunder. Sheets of rain fell down upon them. It made seeing difficult, but Donovan found what he was looking for in the pale light. The gun lay just beside the car’s rear tire. He crawled across the pavement and claimed it; he turned, braced himself against the back of the car, and watched Guffin writhe in pain.
“You ... you bit me.”
Donovan blinked. “You kidnapped my wife.”
He climbed to his feet, wincing at the sharp pain stabbing into his ribs, and approached his wife’s assailant, aiming the gun at Guffin’s head.
“Start talking, Mr. Guffin.”
Blood gushed from the wound in his ankle, forming a dark pool around his leg. Supine and vulnerable, Guffin was far smaller than Donovan first realized. Buried within the bulk of the coat and draped in the remains of a suit was a small-framed man suffering from weeks, if not months of starvation. As the rain fell down upon them, Donovan Candle felt pity for him.
“Fuck you, Candle-man.” Guffin spat.
Donovan squeezed the trigger. The recoil sent the bullet off course, barely missing Guffin’s head. It startled Donovan so badly that he almost dropped the gun.
“He played me,” Guffin groaned. “He’ll play you, too. Dullington’s sadistic. He’s using us, feeding on us. ”
Feeding on us. Donovan shivered.
“There are others like you ‘n me. He lets us out sometimes, only lets people see us when he wants them to. Some forget about us and others don’t. We’re just his pupp—” Guffin’s eyes grew wide. He screamed. “Oh God, please no, not now—”
At first Donovan did not understand what was happening, or to whom Guffin was speaking. The hiss of rain became muffled, and when he blinked, he found himself in the midst of the gray sight. Sensations of rain and damp air were displaced by an unsettling emptiness; the sprawling cityscape was but a lifeless outline on the horizon.
Donovan blinked a second time, and the gray sight still remained. He looked down just in time to watch his body flicker and solidify.
George Guffin moaned. Donovan looked up and saw the man flickering as well. The pool of blood around his ankle now appeared as a black puddle.
“—no, please no, please, please! What did I do wrong?”
A low, mournful sob came from behind. Donovan turned, and watched in frightened awe as one of the albino figures approached. His whole body went cold. The world was soundless but for his heart, pounding with a fury all its own.
“Not the Yawning! ALEISTER! PLEASE!”
As the albino thing neared, Donovan realized just how large it actually was: seven, maybe even eight feet tall. Its hulking arms stretched down to the ground, dragging lazily behind as it took one determined step after another. It paused for a moment, regarding Donovan with its empty eyes, then uttered a low sound that could only be described as Guffin had in his shriek mere moments before.
Yawning.
Guffin beckoned to Donovan. “Help me! Candle-man, I-I’m sorry, just—fuck, just HELP ME! HELP M—”
The Yawning stood over Guffin and leered, swaying to and fro on its spindly legs. Its mouth shivered and twitched. Donovan could only watch, frozen in place by his terror. The Yawning’s mouth trembled a moment longer, then opened. Wide, wider still, it formed an elongated, gaping maw that appeared to be bottomless.
And still its mouth opened, stretching until its jaw hit the ground.
Guffin screamed. “NO! ALEISTER, I’M SORRY! I’M SO SORR—” The otherwise sluggish creature moved with sudden, ravenous speed, engulfing the screeching man into its blackened hole of a mouth. A sickening crunch of bone issued from the monster as its jaw closed, rejoining its head.
Donovan gasped, felt his stomach lurch. “Oh Christ.”
The albino thing turned and faced him. A dark, red ring circled its thin lips. George Guffin was no more.
Now it was only Donovan and the Yawning.
• 6 •
MONOCHROME
The Yawning towered over him, its giant, pale knuckles scraping the ground in slow arcs. It put Donovan in mind of the lummox often portrayed in the cartoons of his youth. Had it not been for the horror he’d just witnessed, he would have suspected the giant to be as playful as a dimwitted Labrador. The albino thing lurched forward, raised its elongated arm, and beckoned to him. Its quivering jaw relaxed as its mouth opened, and from it came that same low-pitched howl. It echoed in the empty air and carried across the gray, lifeless cityscape, inciting answers to its solitary call from other Yawning somewhere below.
The sound sent chills racing down his body, snapping him from his frozen state and urging his feet to move. On the far side of the rooftop, just beyond the creature, was an access door to the garage stairwell. The Yawning took a long stride toward him, and Donovan reacted without thought, bolting for the door. He charged forward, past the hulking beast, feeling its coarse flesh scrape his arm as he went by. The almost sticky sensation reminded him of rubber.
His mind raced. This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. He—it just gobbled him up.
Donovan kept running. He knew that if he stopped, he would scrutinize and postulate, and now wasn’t the time. The last thing he wanted was to be consumed like the unfortunate George Guffin.
His footsteps marked muffled thuds across the darkened pavement. His previous exposures to the gray sight had been limited to glimpses of what lay beyond the world’s veil. Now, as he raced across the garage rooftop, Donovan realized just how empty everything actually was. He could see the faint droplets of rain falling all around him, but he could not feel their touch on his body. There was no breeze as he ran, no violent storm gusts, and the crash of thunder that should be overhead was absent. Lightning in this realm flashed a more brilliant shade of white, blanketing the landscape for an instant.
Donovan did not dare to stop and ponder the gray world’s intricacies. Instead, he ran as fast and as hard as his body allowed. His chest heaved, lungs ablaze with a fire that urged him forward. Every breath was combustion.
He looked back only once, and th
at was all the motivation he needed: the Yawning lumbered after him. Despite its sluggish pace, its long, scrawny legs carried it a great distance with each stride. When Donovan reached the door, the albino monstrosity was perhaps 300 feet away, a gap which narrowed with each lumbering step.
Donovan stumbled down the stairs, shoes slapping loudly against concrete in the empty space. He cleared the last four steps with a single leap, pausing long enough to get his bearings. The door opened above, and that long, guttural sob followed soon after, filling the stairwell with a vicious melancholy that horrified him.
He looked up. The Yawning glared down at him and uttered another moan.
“Damn.” He willed his legs to move again. They carried him out the door and into the street, where he expected to see two lanes full of gray, dull cars. To his surprise, there were none.
For the first time since the transition, Donovan saw the Monochrome in full clarity. It was an image of the regular world. bled of color and wiped of all texture. In this guise, the city at ground level appeared as a series of jutting structures composed of complex, planar geometry.
Another moan echoed from down the street. The second Yawning rounded the corner of what once was the courthouse. More appeared from behind an object Donovan recognized as the courthouse statue. Further on down the street, he saw three more emerge from another structure’s entrance.
He realized then, with heart-sinking certainty, that he might outrun them now, but his legs would give out sooner or later.
A door slammed open from behind. He turned just as the first Yawning shouldered itself through the opening.
He sprinted away from the garage and the courthouse, diverging from the path he and Guffin had taken to get there. It wasn’t until he’d crossed over a bridge that he realized he had not a clue as to his whereabouts. Without definition, all the city’s buildings looked the same, and Donovan had no reliable landmarks. The Yawning, for all he knew, were still hot on his trail, but hopefully he’d bought himself enough time to pause and think.
A Life Transparent Page 8
