Cruel Devices

by George Wright Padgett

  Though the rain was brutally cold, the metal of the machine was growing warm to the touch.

  “It won’t work,” a calm female voice said behind him.

  Gavin sped up without looking back. He needed to go further up the bridge. A gust of cold wind at his back made him stumble forward, but he didn’t drop the device, and he didn’t stop.

  Gotta get higher.

  “I said, what you’re doing won’t work. Throwing it over won’t matter now. Turn around and look at me.” Torri’s voice sounded satisfied and proud. “I’m past needing it. I’m no longer fused to it—no longer bound to it. And just a few minutes from now, the transformation will be complete. You’ll have a front-row seat.”

  When he didn’t answer, Torri shouted with a voice loud enough to block the noise of the storm for a few seconds, “I said look at me!”

  Holding the typewriter against his chest, he hurried up the incline. At the rate it was heating up, he wasn’t certain he’d be able to carry it with his bare hands for much longer.

  He ran beneath a lamppost with a surveillance camera mounted to the top of it. The sound of the light exploding behind him filled his ears, but he kept going without looking back.

  Can’t stop… reach the top.

  “Stop running!” Torri ordered. “You’re going to give yourself a heart attack.”

  Another gust of cool wind pressed against Gavin’s back as a flash of lightning draped across the sky for a few seconds before disappearing.

  The device in his hands had a faint, fiery, red-orange glow. As it heated up, the glow intensified.

  Keep going.

  “I said stop!”

  He felt a hand shove him, forcing his knees to buckle. The scent of lavender filled the air. He fell forward, stopping his fall with the palms of his hands as they scraped against the pavement. The typewriter tumbled ahead of him, bouncing once and then skidding to a stop a few yards from him.

  Gavin pushed himself up on his knees and brushed the gravel from his cut hands. The top of the curved bridge was in view, but farther away than he’d hoped. He’d only made it halfway to his destination.

  A red-hot glow emanated from the device, illuminating the area like an overexposed photograph. After a few seconds, the light began to fade as raindrops sizzled and turned to steam on the surface of the device.

  The shimmering image of Torri walked into his view with a casual and confident strut. Her ghostly form was unaffected by the storm—a perfect image of her in the yellow dress with her hair softly blowing in a breeze from another time and place. Her appearance was more defined than before, sharper and more detailed than she’d been in the hotel room. She was hardly transparent at all. The emerald necklace around her neck gleamed bright green.

  Gavin wiped the rain from his eyes as Torri’s form grew brighter and the glow from the typewriter on the pavement behind her began to dim.

  Then, like a high-priced CGI effect in one of the Damien Marksman movies, the ghostly image of Torri Barta started to fill in with thousands of tiny, swirling, multi-colored lights that zipped through the area she occupied—a spinning kaleidoscope of colors in a frenzy of energy.

  The sight stunned him.

  After a few seconds, the dazzle of the lights faded, replaced with flesh tones. The moving specks made it appear as if her skin were boiling, bubbling at varying degrees of temperature.

  This was it. She was coming through.

  None of the areas were entirely formed yet, allowing Gavin to see rain through the larger openings. It was like looking through an incomplete jigsaw puzzle.

  He regained his composure and made a break for the machine while she was distracted. It was now or never. Once she was completely formed, there’d be no stopping her.

  As he ran past Torri, he felt a cold blast of air and the concentrated smell of lavender. He reached the typewriter—it was still warm to the touch, but he could handle it. He made his way back to the side of the bridge, ignoring her spiteful laughter.

  The woman waved a bubbling finger at him like a grade-school teacher and made a “tsk tsk tsk” sound. “You haven’t been paying attention, Gavin.”

  She moved closer, her visage still shifting to take on solid form. “That was my favorite thing to play with as a little girl, even more than dolls or tea sets, but I told you, I don’t need it anymore.”

  A tremendous gust of wind responded to her uplifted arms. She lowered them and laughed again. “Now we’re partners, you and I.”

  With the machine tightly cradled in his arm, he wiped away more rain from his face with the other hand.

  She offered a mocking curtsy. “As much as I appreciate you looking after my toy, you’re all I need now. You became the pathway once I had claimed enough energy from the deaths of the boy and your little tramp, Monica, and that bastard child, Misa Kawaguchi—who was a little whore just like her mother.”

  Gavin closed his eyes and lifted his face to the rain. He let it strike his cheeks for a few seconds.

  He was ready.

  Continuing to face her, he took small steps backward to the side of the bridge. “Torri, I think I figured something out, but I want to hear it from you. Back at the hotel, why didn’t you kill me on the balcony? Just a little push, a little gust of that wind you like so much?”

  It was obvious that the question irritated her. Her unfinished form glared brighter for a moment, and her steps toward him took on a defiant stride. “Do you think I’m bluffing? Already, I am becoming more powerful, and after I take a few more of your people, I’ll be unstoppable.”

  “I don’t doubt it in the least.” He stopped moving backward when he heard the rain ricocheting off the metal railing behind him. He’d made it to where he wanted to be, against the side of the bridge. “Just answer me. Why didn’t you do it there, or why didn’t you just kill me in my sleep? You could’ve had some aneurysm pop in my head or something.” Shifting the typewriter to the other arm as she approached, he said, “If you can lodge a piece of chicken in someone’s throat thousands of miles away, surely you’re capable of something simple like that, right?”

  Her eyes blazed. Gavin recognized the hateful stare from the way she had looked at him as a child in the vision in Béla’s warehouse.

  “Don’t you believe that I am becoming more powerful?”

  “Oh, I think you are. I think that’s obvious. But you made a mistake.”

  The statement noticeably caught her by surprise. “I don’t make mistakes.”

  “Of course you do. You made a mistake by marrying Barta, by having his kid… by killing your baby.”

  A frustrated scream accompanied a chilling blast of air that slammed him against the safety rail of the bridge.

  It took a few seconds for him to regain his balance. Straightening himself, he continued, “I think you do make mistakes, even now, even as you are in this form, Mrs. Barta.”

  “Stop calling me that! My name is Kovács, Victoria Kovács! I despise and reject everything about that man, especially his name.”

  “Fine then, Victoria. What I mean to say is that you need me, at least for a few more minutes, and while I don’t understand all of the mechanics of this doure-sint-metaphysical-conduit-passageway thing, for this to work—whatever this is—for it to work you need to be connected through me, and that’s why you won’t kill me. You can’t—not yet, at least. Not until the transformation’s complete. So that’s what I mean, you made a mistake in connecting through me. It’s a dead end, and now that I’m on to you, I won’t let you take any more lives, not a one.”

  The ground trembled, electricity filling the sky above their heads. “A dead end? I don’t think so. Shall I show you another death? Who shall it be? The old man? Or would you prefer his wife has a heart attack at his birthday party? How’s that for a present? But no, I’d prefer not to wait that long. How about I just go to the top of your list to the lovely Josephine?” Her tone reeked of sarcasm. “Crossing a busy intersection can be oh so tricky.”
>
  “Listen to me, you crazy bitch! You’re not going to touch any of them! I’m not going to let you.”

  “Hmph, and how can you begin to stop me?”

  “Control. I take the control from you.” Gavin leaned in as he said this.

  “What do you mean?”

  He turned and placed the typewriter on the edge of the guardrail. Positioning himself directly in front of it, he turned to face her.

  Her countenance changed. She looked confused. “I said, what do you mean?”

  He laughed and took the time to run his fingers through the wet mop of his hair. “So you can’t read every thought, can you?” It was his turn for sarcasm. Judging by her unfinished form, he had another few minutes. Speaking in the kind of saccharine-sweet voice that one reserves for talking to a four-year-old, he said, “Now, listen up here, sweetie. I’m gonna think about it really, really hard.” Gavin touched his temples with both index fingers and squinted comically as if straining to make a thought bubble appear. “Let’s see if you can guess.”

  After a few seconds, he opened his eyes. The change in the spirit’s body language was unmistakable. Her anger had turned to fear.

  “Wait, you can’t. I haven’t finished. There’s not enough energy yet. I’m not ready. You can’t—”

  “Wrong!” His shout seemed to reverberate off the heavens.

  She was pleading now. “No, please, I can’t—”

  He nodded with a sly smirk and returned his hands to his side. “Till death do us part, baby. You see, Mrs. Barta, I’m Gavin Curtis, and anyone who reads my books knows that Gavin Curtis is the king of the plot-twist ending. I’m the master of surprise. So, me and your little toy behind me, the two of us are going for a little swim to the bottom of the river. When I’m gone, you’ll be cut off, the path—the doure sint—will be sealed shut, and you will go back to wherever nasty little things like you come from and stay there until the ninetieth year of your birth. At that point, according to my favorite harelipped soothsayer, you’ll slip away from existence for good.”

  The appearance of her dress flickered a brilliant yellow, then turned into a jaundiced hue and then back. “No, wait. Wait. I don’t have to take your friends. We can work together and only take bad people—or people you barely know, fans that you’ve only met once, a long time ago, even.”

  Gavin turned and hiked his leg onto the slick railing next to the machine. “Only kill my fans? That’s your best offer?”

  He placed his other foot on it and carefully balanced as he turned to face her. “You gotta do better than that. You’ll only kill my fans?” He laughed. “Wrong, my dear. I love my fans.”

  “What’s wrong with you?” she screamed.

  “What’s wrong with me?” With a determined nudge of his foot, he sent the typewriter over the edge of the guardrail. He listened patiently.

  It seemed to take forever, but he guessed that it was three full seconds.

  Then, finally, even through the clamor of the storm, he heard the plop and splash of the device in the water below. It’d sink like a stone to the bottom of the river.

  “What’s wrong with me? I’ll tell you what’s wrong with me.” He made a royal bow and then spread his arms wide as he leaned backward. “What’s wrong with me is—I’m Gavin Curtis!”

  Torri ran to him, but he was already falling and out of reach.

  Three seconds until impact…

  There was no fear. The sound of the wind rushed past his ears. Raindrops appeared to fall in slow motion, reflecting the lightning like a million stars. Those tiny globes of light above and beside him glided downward at the same pace he did, everything following the same route to the same destination—to become one with the mighty river below.

  Two seconds…

  The peculiar sensation that he’d encountered when he’d first touched the machine in Béla’s shop enveloped him. He had a keen awareness that Torri’s connection was fading, being unraveled like so many strands of string twisted together to make a rope. Her image peering over the bridge began to disintegrate.

  He’d won.

  She’d never come through now. Her form had fallen apart like a house of cards collapsing in on itself. It was over. She’d revert back to being confined within the typewriter, and buried in the silty bottom of the river, there was no chance it’d be discovered before the incantation expired. Soon, she would return to simply being a memory, a faded article posted above a coat rack in a bar.

  The people he loved were safe again. Jo was safe.

  For the first time in his life, Gavin felt satisfied and at peace.

  One second…

  A hint of sunlight peeked behind the swirl of clouds.

  He closed his eyes and smiled.

  He could smell the salt in the water now. It’d probably be cold, not that it mattered.

  He breathed in.

  Goodbye, Jo. I love you.

  Then he was gone.

  Epilogue

  ONLY THE OLDER COUPLE REMAINED in the intensive care waiting area. Except for the small section of wall with a flatscreen TV mounted on it, the entire area was a glass enclosure.

  “Seriously, another Judge Judy episode?” the woman scoffed, wearing a droopy pink sweatshirt that read ‘Grandma is Awesome!’ “This is torture. Why don’t they have a remote in here?”

  Without lowering his large book, her companion answered in a barely audible mumble. “Beats People’s Court. Judy’s got spunk.”

  The woman nudged him. “Here she comes. William, put your book away. Here she is.”

  The old man complied, folding his reading glasses into his breast pocket as he stood.

  A smartly dressed, middle-aged woman immediately raced to hug the elderly one in the Grandma sweatshirt. They embraced without reservation.

  After a few sniffles, the younger woman kissed her cheek and then hugged her even more tightly. “Oh, Beverly, thank you so much for being here.” She buried her face in Beverly’s plump shoulder. “I didn’t know what else to do when they told me. When I heard the news, I just… I just thought—”

  Beverly gave her a comforting pat on the back. “Being here is the right thing, Josephine. This is important… for all of us.”

  Josephine took a tissue offered by the older man. “Thank you, William.” She blew her nose softly.

  He nodded. “You should’ve seen this place an hour ago. Security had to do crowd control. It was absolutely crazy.”

  She sniffed and forced a smile. “Yeah, I had to pass through a group of supporters outside and show my ID to a guard to get in here.”

  He tugged at his grey, speckled beard, a nervous habit that Josephine had come to adore over time. He cleared his throat and said, “I’ve always said Gavin Curtis fans are bright. Guess it didn’t take too much to figure out he’d be in one of three hospitals in the area once the media released the story.”

  Tears welled up in Josephine’s eyes again. “Did he say anything to you yesterday when you saw him? Anything about doing this?”

  “No, not exactly. I mean, he was acting a little off, though, but nothing that he said hinted at anything like—” He bit his bottom lip and shook his head.

  “I know, I know. We talked on the phone two days ago. He said he was going through something but wouldn’t tell me what. I should’ve come then instead of sending you, but I promised him I wouldn’t.” Tears ran from Josephine’s eyes. “They say he completely trashed his room. I think it’s ‘cause we kinda got into a fight on the phone… about Ray.”

  Beverly quickly shifted her eyes from Josephine’s gaze.

  After a few more sobs, Josephine continued, “I should’ve come. I should’ve known that he… I coulda… coulda—”

  “Now, both of you stop it,” Beverly ordered. “There’s no way to know what’s going on in somebody’s head. If somebody is contemplating something like this, there’s no way to know unless they come out and tell you—no way at all. Whatever he did, for whatever reason he did it, is nob
ody’s fault but his. Josephine, my dear, none of this is your fault, not one bit. Am I clear?”

  She answered with a nod and a sniff. Wiping tears from her cheeks and eyes, she regained her composure. “What are the doctors saying about the chances of recovery?”

  Beverly looked to her husband, who’d found something remarkably interesting to stare at on the ground. A few awkward seconds passed before Beverly answered. “Well, they say it’s too soon to tell. They did two surgeries before we arrived here this afternoon. That helped get the blood off the brain. According to the second surgeon, he seemed to come through that pretty well, but the trauma Gavin took to the head was pretty severe. So they’re in a ‘wait-and-see’ mode for the next few days.”

  “You’ve seen him, right? How… how does he look?”

  “Yeah, I’ve seen him,” Beverly said. “I just came out about fifteen minutes ago. They had to do some routine checks, and policy is that no one can hang around while they’re doing that kinda stuff. He looks… well, you know… considering everything…” She put her arm around her husband. “William isn’t ready to see him just yet.”

  He looked up. “I’ve got better things to do than watch Gavin Curtis take a nap.” The wink he offered Josephine made her smile.

  Always one to get the final word, Beverly added, “I think he’s afraid he’ll lose it if he sees all the tubes and things, but it’s not that bad. It’s really not.”

  “I told you, I’ll see him before we go.” His response was curt, but his eyes never left Josephine.

  She jumped in before Beverly could retaliate. “Thank you both so much for being here. I can’t believe you came all this way.”

  Beverly left her man’s side to rub Josephine’s shoulders. “Nonsense, sweetie. The drive only took a couple of hours, and we didn’t want you to face this by yourself.”

  A black woman in dark blue scrubs approached the trio, addressing Beverly with a trace of a Haitian accent. “We’re done for a bit if any of you want to go in there.”