"How are you?"
"Terrible."
"I am sorry, I really am. What can I do?" she asked, showing unprovoked kindness for the first time.
She caught me off balance. I was waiting for her to insult me in some way, even if it was accidental. Or just act like a bitch. But it seemed something inside her had changed. I saw it right away. She was different, in her eyes, she was more grown. Maybe she stopped idolizing our father or she just pitied me after losing my wife.
"You know Amber, I don't know what I'm going to do," I let the floodgates open to her.
"When Dad died I ran away, when Mom and Randy died I just did the same. The only thing I know is when someone close to me dies, I have to keep on going no matter what the direction. To stay resilient and stubborn so I don't suffer. Survival instincts, I guess."
"I guess I did the same, in a way, when Mom died. I don't know ...I ...just don't want to lose you, too, George," Amber said. The scar on her lip caught my attention.
"You won't," I said, starting to actually believe that I could manage to keep that promise.
"Stay with me awhile. I don't want you going back to your apartment alone. Probably not at all. You need your family and I need to make up for lost time." God she sounded like an adult. God I hoped she changed. Could it be?
She put her arm around me and we walked down the hill. Men in black coats and grave demeanors slithered about the grounds, aggravating my paranoia again. The convict had to be out there somewhere, but my eyes, any of my senses couldn't focus enough to find him. Everyone was merely a black blob of misery. Every person in that dreary rain, that was visiting a grave, was there because of me. And I pitied all but one. All but that solitary man out there I couldn't see. Out there somewhere, pretending to mourn but watching me instead, watching for the right time to strike.
"Stay with me as long as you want," Amber said. I tried to pay attention to her, but I was feeling worse and my eyes grew intolerably heavy.
"Alright," I muttered.
"We're almost to the car now, George," Amber said, leading me by the arm.
My neck lost all strength and my head swiveled, all my weight rested on Amber. Everything below my chin was heavy. Then came a poke, a snagging at my shoulder. It was gentle at first, like someone getting my attention, but it hooked onto my coat and pulled. The tug was so hard that I leaned with it, falling to the side, arms flailing in the air as dead weight.
I slipped right out of Amber's hold. I instantly thought that the convict was attacking. My fist whizzed through the rain. I was in no condition to take on a hulk like the convict, but I had to try. Had to stun him to find time to run. My sister was there and he would destroy the only members of my family. She was all that was left.
My blind swing through the air hit nothing but raindrops. Amber's hand reached behind me and she unhooked me from a tree branch that had snagged my coat. The jagged limb bounced in its freedom and I turned to face the threat I thought was the convict. I spun too fast and splashed into a wet mess of grass and mud. I still squirmed, ready to fight off the tree that slowly stopped appearing like the convict.
"George, George! Are you alright?"
"Yeah," I grumbled, slowly rising to my feet with her help. "I just wanna leave."
We hurried to her car and she drove off to her apartment. Reaching in my inside coat pocket, I pulled out the piece of crumpled yellow paper and rubbed it between my thumb and forefinger. It was safe. I wrapped up tightly in Randy's old coat and slept the entire drive.
Chapter 62
Amber woke me and brought me into her place where I fell asleep again, mildly shivering and convulsing. Eventually I fully woke, yearning for food that she already had waiting wrapped in the fridge. Night had fallen and fragments of dreams haunted my mood in blue hues. Images of anguished souls lingered as I woke.
Her apartment was bright and blinded my sleepy eyes. Fresh and immaculate, everything was neatly placed in its spot around her home. The walls were a brilliant white and the carpet a clean cream. The pictures of her were still on the wall but were fewer. My eyes were still adjusting as Amber sat with me and I ate.
"Could you turn up the heat, sis?" I asked, looking for where she put my coat.
"I guess," she walked to the thermostat near the kitchen.
The rain persisted. It came down hard, straight and bleak from outside the window behind her.
"Thanks, Amber."
"Sure, I just wish I could do more."
"Well, we could talk," I offered.
She sat at the table with me for an hour and we chatted as lightning and thunder rattled the window. A couple of convulsions kicked in but I had them under control, it looked like I was just shivering. I flirted with the idea of telling her about the gift, but never found a good enough reason or spot in the conversation.
She had done well for herself. And had become kinder than I'd ever thought she was capable of. Amber had saved money, though that was never a surprise to me because Dad was such a tightwad. All aspects of her life seemed to be set and proper, everything but her family life.
The night passed and the death trips slowed. I grew colder, so she got my trench coat for me. I dug around for more information about her.
"Dating hasn't been too good," she confessed, "Work's too important."
"Whatever works," I replied.
"I also wanted to apologize for neglecting your wedding," she added.
"It was small to begin with," I stated as I wrapped the coat around me, closing any area that could let in a breeze.
"She was great, I imagine," Amber asked.
"Yeah, Jessica was," I lamented with shivers running underneath my skin. My trench coat must have been letting in some cold air in because I had never been this cold. I hoped the branch that caught me in the cemetery hadn't torn a hole in my coat.
"You're still cold? Lemme turn up the heat," she said, walking towards the thermostat, "You must have gotten sick standing in the rain."
The storm continued to wail outside. A bright flash lit up the rain and I watched the city. Bright windows, billboards and streetlights several blocks away caught my attention with thin piercing light that pushed between the downpour. Amber turned the dial up and wiped her forehead. Shivers still shot through me, raising my hair on end. Never once has Randy's jacket failed to warm me. Something was wrong.
"Some like it hot," she giggled.
Her smile made me comfortable. I didn't thaw but something deep within me did melt a bit.
Lightning flashed again. The few lights left awake in the city below blinked out, blocked by something. Thunder followed. My heart skipped a beat. She turned around to look out the window, turned back to me, and then peered out the window again, trying to figure out what I was intently focusing on. I stood up, curious as to why all the lights below went out. Did the power go out? The lights are still on in here... My feet began to itch. I needed to run. But why?
Was I a child scared when a few lights go out? No, but there was still light from coming through the windowpane, it just seemed labored and tired as if it had to sprint around some massive obstruction.
Lightning blazed once more and a face appeared. Leering eyes shot out a vengeful stare. They gleamed with lust. Amber jumped back in fright and let loose a shrill yelp. I ran to her, crashing over the table and chairs.
The decrepit face at the pane smiled wide.
The window erupted. Glass showered over he the carpet and Amber as the convict reached out for her through the shadowy rain. A flood powdered in with his arm and soaked her. His hand landed on her head, matting her hair down over her face. As dark as it was, I could see him clearly. Even more rotten than before, his skin hung off his skull and his sulfurous reek immediately permeated the room. His right hand held her fast as she struggled. He stepped through the window into the apartment, turning sideways to fit. Setting both massive feet onto her clean carpet, mud seeped out from beneath his boots. He stood with Amber's head in one hand and cro
oked a finger at me with the other. The convict towered over my struggling sister, a black shadowed hulk, dripping mud and blood over the pristine white carpet and walls. He was a sick void surrounded by pure brightness.
He quickly shifted his grip to the back of her neck, expelling little effort holding her still as she kicked and screamed. Calm and malevolent, the convict squared up and his head nearly touched the ceiling. Both his hands tightly wrapped around Amber's neck. Solid as a tank and just as broad, he held her up below the ceiling, at eye level and laughed, ready to exact his revenge.
"Trade," he uttered in a strained yet commanding voice. It was deep and boomed around the apartment. The grainy sound of death pounded my ears. He stared from behind his finger aimed in my direction.
I was strewn across the chairs, struggling to get to my feet. I groggily reached for my bewildered sister with one hand and helped myself up with the other. He towered miles above me and I was sprawled in his creeping shadow, cast as square and tall as a building. He seemed even bigger than the last time.
"George, help," Amber begged and spat through her long hair, covering her face.
"Put her down," I ordered sternly with more authority than ever I knew I had.
"Trade," the convict forcefully repeated.
Randy's battered and broken face flashed in my mind and I saw his blood spilling onto the street again. The wound in my side, the one this bulky bastard gave me, pulsed in raging pain. I had to come up with something. Now.
"He's playing you, convict," I spat, allowing my gut to lead.
"What?"
"The demon. He is playing you."
"TRADE!" he snarled. "Or she dies."
"Why, dammit?" I wondered if I was going to get anywhere with this. "You want the demon to give you your wife back? You think it will once you get the gift back? What will you do then?"
"See her again," he said as rage filled his eyes and voice. "Do not stand between us. Give it to me!"
"George, just give it to him, what ever he's asking for...give it," Amber pleaded, managing to push her lips through her tangled mess of hair.
"I know what you went through, you know that?" I continued. "We can work together. Just let her go and we can fight the demon together."
"No - need it back. Veronica's waiting."
"How do you know?"
The convict's face detonated with fury. I had to get my sister out of his hands. He squished across the carpet, mud imprinting behind him as he dangled her out before me. His tattered coat swished about his knees.
"The demon is using us," I continued. "We're just its pawns, forced to play this sick game."
"Does not matter, I need her back." His grip tightened around Amber's neck, turning his putrid fingers white. She gurgled out incompressible sputters, kicking wildly while prying at his grip around her neck.
"It'll deceive you yet again. You've spent centuries working for it and what do you have to show for it? Nothing! It's probably laughing at you right now."
"No. We made a deal. Now give it to me!"
"Ha! You've spent so long looking for this blue ball of light that's inside of me now, that you've lost all sight. Did you ever wonder why the demon just didn't take it from one of us and give it back to you?"
"I had to earn it," the convict sulked, "and I have."
His left hand swung at me. I never saw it leave Amber's neck. I tumbled to the floor in enough time to see it miss by millimeters.
Tumbling forwards in my awkward parry, with his arm fully extended after his miss, I bashed into his gut with a jab filled with all my puny force.
He laughed so loud the neighbors pounded on the walls. Their complaints rapidly halted when he answered them with a ferocious roar that rattled the windows.
Amber was shaking, her face turning blue from his stranglehold. If I didn't save her soon, she'd suffocate.
"I need a goddamn wrecking ball to knock him off his feet," I thought.
The convict's left arm recoiled and dove into the back of his pants.
Dammit, he's reaching for the butcher knife.
With his hand on the knife behind him I barreled into his torso. I caught him off-balance and we rammed into the wall near the broken window. The whole apartment shook and his massive fingers loosened from Amber's neck. She crashed to the ground. Bouncing off the rock that was his chest, I landed next to her. The convict shrieked out again, but this time in agony. He clawed behind him, reaching for the knife that had carved into his lower back. His eyes, peaking ominously just past his sunken brow, bore down solely on me as he wildly searched for a grip on the handle, struggling to tug it out of himself. I was stunned, his eyes never left mine.
Rolling away from the wall, he revealed a bloody mark that smeared along the drywall.
"Aaagh, you...bastard! You are dead," the convict gurgled.
Coughing and hacking, the convict leaned against the white wall, printing more red splotches. I dragged Amber to the furthest side of the room. We had to regroup.
"Do you have anything in the house I could use against him?" I asked Amber.
"Um, no, I don't think," she answered.
"Think Amber!"
The convict writhed, blindly swiping behind him, still maintaining eye contact, and almost pulled the knife out. More blood smeared along the wall along with small chunks of rotted flaps of flesh that slowly slid down the drywall. The abrasions and gashes from when he hit the truck stained his face like a brutal birthmark. As he hobbled he still favored his crotch from the glass shard I rammed into it. I know I can hurt him, but how do I stop him?
Sulfur pervaded my nose and Amber choked on the fetor. We both sat and watched his black mass struggle against the white wall.
"The sword," Amber cried and ran off.
"Come back," I yelled as the convict wrestled most of the blade out, ready to come at me.
"Fool, you should have died the first time," he threatened, freeing the blade from his back.
"Now I will have to get really nasty."
"I did die, you sonovabitch!"
Amber came from her bedroom carrying the sword I had attacked my father with years ago. The very same etched sheath came flying at me. The convict held his butcher knife out in his hand, stained a gleaming red. His blood dripped off as he motioned at me. Then he lunged.
But I was distracted. My head persuaded me that I was in my living room and a teenager again, ready to attack my father. The scene popped up clearly and I was submerged in the reverie. I unsheathed the sword with my left hand as the convict crashed on top of me. His black long coat draped around us as a shroud. He drove the butcher knife down as I raised my hand up to block. It sunk right through my right hand, slicing between my fingers, tearing through the flesh and bone. I screamed. Blood drained down my forearm and splattered onto my face. I toppled over as my other hand held my blood soaked wrist. I stared at the butcher knife wedged into my hand.
Amber bellowed in protest as the convict stepped away triumphantly. A hint of some devious plan boiled in his eyes as he watched me.
The sword clanked to the floor and Amber scooped it up immediately. I knew she was ready to strike, but I flashed my left hand behind me and signaled her to halt.
"Wait," I ordered to her.
"Now you're mine," the convict uttered. He wrapped his fingers around my neck and wrenched me up to his decayed face. "Back to the beginning."
The convict sighed and pinched my nose shut. His chest caved in with a huge exhale, his breath was like decades old garbage, and he slammed his lips over mine. I quickly waved Amber on to attack, pointing at my back as a target with my thumb. The convict inhaled massively, pilfering the gift by hastily sucking all the air from my lungs and out my mouth. The grips around my throat and chest began to loose their hold. His gnarly lips moved greedily over mine with an ancient hunger. God, Amber, stab him now!
I waved her on with a hand behind my back. She had to run him through.
"No! I might hit you," Amber pl
eaded.
I raised my middle finger and then waved with a violent flick for her to strike.
"Now!" I screamed into the carrion hovel of the convict's sucking mouth. It sounded out as a negative grunt. I was amazed it didn't puke but with my nose pinched shut I smelled nothing. I could, however, hear Amber's terrible reluctance as she ran at us, feeble and jittery with the sword at her side as if she were jousting. Her shaky reflection appeared in the jagged upper part of the window. I watched her thrust, trying to only hit the convict, but she had her eyes closed. The sword nibbled into my side, between two of my ribs, and continued on into him with all her awkward momentum.
All three of us screamed. From the corner of my eye I could see the edge of the sword biting into my left side while the rest of the blade rested in the convict's gut.
Hold the Light Page 26
