Father of the Deceased

by Egon Grimes

Vadrossa took the final two steps of his earthly existence toward his brother, open-armed and happy. The brothers embraced.

  In Vadrossa’s ear, Dhaksa whispered, “Your worth can be measured by the ounce, divvied by tooth and tongue, swallowed.”

  Vadrossa screamed. Sharp cold teeth tore into his throat. Blood gushed. Dhaksa drank and dined, consuming what little power his brother held. Mostly reclaiming what he’d lent.

  With every swallow, his power increased.

  —

  Rather than simply following his partner’s path, Maurice chose another tunnel, only the glint from the slime lighting his way, announcing the existence of possible passage. Two bright headlights shot directly into him as he rounded the turn. “Die swine!” a man shouted from the impossible SUV barrelling toward him. The noise bounced and ached within his head and he almost toppled. An assault rifle poisoned the air with gunplay. Maurice stiffened, silently reminding his thoughts of the reality; the reminder that the oncoming vehicle was not real. It raced forward nevertheless, coming closer and closer. The rubber crumbled over the stone floor, the entire width of the tunnel full of angry steel and gangbangers.

  Eyes closed, he stepped into the approaching vehicle. “Not real,” he breathed. Upon contact, or what should have been contact, the SUV disappeared and the tunnel returned to darkness. Ahead of him, he heard screaming, the wails of a familiar voice. “Rhoda!” He ran blindly.

  “Stop, officer please help us,” a small voice said. Maurice couldn’t help but to stop. “My wife, my daughter, my son, they’ve been in an accident.”

  “Not real… Not real!”

  No matter how far he jogged the sad man appeared crouched next to the bodies. “This is your fault. It couldn’t have been my daughter. You will pay for this!”

  Maurice immediately recognized the man. “It was your kid, my partner died too. She did it. She killed him, she kille—Not real!”

  The blood drenched man ran at Maurice, swinging his arms, both hands brandishing shining blades.

  A blade nicked Maurice’s hand and he screamed, “Not real!” Repetition took hold. “Not real! Not real! Not real!” The knives shot into his gut, but disappeared on contact.

  Blood dripped from his hand and Maurice appreciated in awe, perception of reality was the only reality that mattered.

  Rhoda groaned and moaned, he continued to follow the sound. The slime down the wall turned and his hands rode over stone when he could no longer see. The moans gone, the screams began again.

  Then, there she was, the glowing liquid silhouetting her naked body, blood glistening from the cuts covering her head to toe.

  “Rhoda.” He knelt to the side and cradled her head. “It’s not real, Rhoda.”

  She writhed in his hands. “Maurice, they’re here, they’re after me, please!” She saw an ancient ice box rocking toward her, snapping its lid open and closed like a hungry mouth. “Maurice, look out. Look out!”

  “Look at me, Rhoda,” he held her eyes locked to his, “this is in your head, whatever you see is fake.”

  It didn’t work, not for her. She had gone well beyond that and she rolled out of his grasp, lying back on the floor to cover her eyes. It came to him then, the answer, and he pulled out his pill bottle. Dropping three from the bottle to his hand, he rammed them one at a time into her mouth. She fought against him, biting down on the pills and spitting out at least a half, if not a whole pill. Maurice covered her mouth and waited.

  Carefully, carefully, don’t kill her. His grasp remained tight. She kicked and fought, bit on his palm, but she eventually slipped from consciousness. Maurice did and hoisted her over his shoulder and jogged back the way he came.

  —

  Lou watched from the shadows. Chuck Nagel was there, that bastard, and he was trying to steal Denise! He levelled his gun where the torso should have been, following the silhouette up the shadows cast by the strange green liquid. Up, up, up and there it should be.

  The tick of cocking sent Maurice turning a second before the shot screamed through the tunnel. Lou rushed to the body. “Wake up, Chuck. You’re not getting away that easy.” He poked at the body with his pistol.

  Maurice did not move.

  “You dead?” Lou asked again, but stepped out of Maurice’s squinted sightline.

  He grunted and Maurice heard steps leaving him. He felt at his arm, it burned, but wasn’t unbearable. The ground was cold and he felt for his pill bottle. “It had to be in the right arm,” he muttered and continued to pat at his pocket with his left hand. After a few wiggles and a painful flip onto his back, he retrieved the bottle, shook out one pill, chewed it three bites, and then swallowed it.

  He looked to the area where he put Rhoda down and crawled hand and knees, feeling around for her presence. She was gone. “Rhoda?” he whispered.

  Lou had her.

  Maurice followed the sound of footfalls while ignoring anything else conjured up from his psyche. He followed until reaching an open cavern, a much brighter space.

  In a peculiar embrace, Lou held a strange shimmering man tight to his chest while the man spoke soft little commands to him.

  Maurice couldn’t take it. “Lou! This isn’t real!”

  Instantly, Lou held up the gun and frantically squeezed the trigger, clickclickclickclick. Ammo spent, he dropped to his knees, as if the world crumbled about him. “You’ve got to die, Chuck. Denise will never take me back unless I kill you.” He sobbed. “I gotta get’er back, Chuck, you get everything. I just want Denise!”

  Behind Lou, Dhaksa took his first steps in many months, teetering, but gaining strength with every second. A smile rode the monster’s perfectly symmetrical face. The end had begun.

  “It isn’t real! It’s me, Maurice! Moe!” Movement stole Maurice’s attention, the room glowed more and more by the second, as if they slime reacted to something. “You.” He pointed.

  Dhaksa towered with a brooding gaze. Lou turned and their visions locked, dropped his cloak of intimacy. “Me.” His voice soared, bouncing from wall to ear and back again. “Welcome to the beginning of the end, to the second coming of the La’aklar.”

  “Where’s Denise?” Lou dropped to his knees in front of the altar.

  Dhaksa looked at Lou and sneered.

  The slime ignited in little pops and bursts of electricity. Reality hit. Shooting upwards, Lou jammed his fist into the figure’s chest. The effect was nil. Strong hands wrapped into two hammer-like fists and Dhaksa threw them in a fury. Every strike hit before the previous strike left Lou’s skin. Blood spurted and spouted from his nose, mouth, and eyes. The monster stopped punching and Lou dropped further, spinning onto his crumbled hip.

  Dhaksa dug sharp fingers into Lou’s stomach. The digits stretched, longer and longer. “I will be more, I will be everything,” Dhaksa said, his eyes glued onto Maurice’s, and snapped his hand back with a handful of Lou’s guts.

  He swallowed.

  Maurice cringed and hope sank.

  Showing his absolute confidence about the situation, Dhaksa let the body fall, licking his bloodied finger clean while his back leaned against the altar. He smiled a wide, red smile and climbed back up to the platform. “It is time we end this little game.” He then got to his feet and started toward a fleshy lump. Rhoda was naked.

  Although he’d witnessed, and with undeniable certainty, the sheer hopelessness of physical attack, Maurice broke into a sprint and lunged. He drove his foot into Dhaksa’s spine. Solid. Dhaksa spun and jerked a foot into Maurice’s testicles. The man fell in a heap of pain, eye watering, gut twisting pain. The bloodied hands of the grotesque, yet beautiful man placed Rhoda’s limp body on the altar, her nakedness allowing for an easy investigation.

  With a gentle hold, really just a cradling of his battered ball bag and its contents, Maurice fell onto his side and watched.

  61

  Lou blinked.

  Blink. Somewhere else.

  His eyes opened onto the cave, alarmed. He gagged on a mou
thful of metallic blood, his life ready to leave.

  Blink.

  Hot, the air was thick, the sky was purple and falling. Rocks and rain showered down, he wanted to cover, to hide, but his legs refused to move him. His hands ran over his body, eyes fastened to the falling skies, felt insignificant.

  A crackling call stole his attention from the sky to the crowd. Hundreds of people stood around him, crammed into place. People dressed in a wide variety of attire, animals and more of the La’aklar monsters. The crackle approached and Lou looked through the heads, a fire roared around the crowded figures, he shifted his gaze, his eyes running past Ivan Radmanovic, Neil Crane, Rosalind Genner, and so many others. The flames licked the air in every direction in a beautiful and deep red, deeper than blood, richer than Valentine’s Day silk, it invited, it begged. Lou attempted to step closer to the flame, but couldn’t.

  “It’s over, too much. Ill creatures, impure blood, too much for one space.” A gravelly old woman’s voice called. “This is a mistake, this can’t be!” another said. Lou couldn’t turn away from the fire. Many others took slow steps toward the flames. It was unreachable, for them. He forced his footing, but still, his legs refused. His voice sounding small and empty as he cried, incensed by his inability. The lids over his eyes closed.

  Blink.

  The cave surrounded him.

  —

  Maurice rolled onto his side, catching Lou’s vacant glare as blood bubbled from his lips. It was over and Maurice needed to die on his feet. If not on his feet, then on a broken back.

  Dhaksa stood over Rhoda, her body naked and bloodied. The figure actually laughed so hard he shook. The laughter became a cough, it unnerved him a little and he looked over his shoulder, and began his laughter again. The look didn’t escape Maurice, he sensed an opening. Lou blinked with uncanny celerity, faster and faster, until the lids looked fluid. Maurice watched it all with an astonished gape.

  The blinking stopped. Maurice snapped his mouth closed and stood.

  “You’re a weak nothing, you know that?”

  Dhaksa laughed a little harder, he would have it all, he would be all that mattered. Nothing was to stop him. He turned to Maurice, looking young and beautiful. “It’s over, my brother soiled your wife, I can’t use her. Not today, not tomorrow, she looks delicious though.” He coughed and his smile dropped into a grimace.

  Soiled my wife?

  Maurice staggered toward the altar, not at all attempting to conceal the piece of timber in his hand. He slammed it down hard on the stone floor and kicked his foot against it to break away a hunk, leaving a short, pointed stake.

  “You know what I think? I think you just got in a lucky shot last time,” Maurice said, stepping on up, ready to toe a line.

  Dhaksa punched, and although nearly seven feet away, the limb stretched and snapped out like a rubber band, sending Maurice reeling onto the floor.

  It was Maurice’s turn to laugh, but it sounded forced and unconvincing. “Wanna try that again? I wasn’t ready, but this time I will be.”

  Lou’s eyes blinked open again only to snap closed. Maurice watched as the life fleeted from the skin and bones of his friend. Maurice breathed with slow methodical snatches and stood. His chest ached, his arm ached, and his head throbbed.

  “That it?” Maurice put his head down and ready for another blow, the blow to end it all.

  Dhaksa took three long strides towards Maurice. “Enough,” he said and wrapped his fingers around Maurice’s throat, lifting him to the ceiling.

  Red, purple, and finally blue, the blood drained and Maurice sensed the end was near. He attempted to kick, but hadn’t the strength needed to do any damage.

  The monstrous fingers loosened some bit and its eyes fluttered. Maurice wrenched free and Dhaksa staggered backward, but shook it off and started forward again.

  —

  Lou felt the inviting heat. Old voices spoke in sullen tones, one stating the end, another, the beginning, none of the voices happy. Most watched in quiet awe, not quite silent, their breathing strained.

  Lou inhaled, it tasted awful, like disease, like decay, he didn’t fit. He took a step toward the flames, the crowd moved with him. He took two more steps, the crowd took three. The sky darkened the flames roared into a full dome over the unbelievable landscape and its unbelievable crowd.

  “This is not it!” said one of the raspy old voices, another countered the statement. The sound of fists landing rumbled from the center of the crowd. Some didn’t welcome the flames, it didn’t matter to Lou, the flames demanded him and he needed them. He jogged, pushing against men and women and children. They moved as he did. He was the strongest—next to the La’aklar. They pulled against his lead, but it was going to be too late.

  The first body, a man in a trapper’s furs, met the flames in brilliant blue light of flame.

  Lou envied him.

  —

  Maurice surged toward Dhaksa, throwing all of his weight behind his shoulder. He met a figure, solid as brick, and fell to the floor. Dhaksa coughed and gagged, but smiled down.

  Maurice crab-crawled backward, away from a stomp. The floor shook and a rock fell from the ceiling at the far end of the cavern. A new problem: they had to get out of the cave, and fast.

  Rhoda’s limp body, scratched and cut, was bleeding on the altar. Dhaksa turned back toward her.

  The temperature in the cave increased with every passing second. Dhaksa coughed more and more, one hand pressing his chest, another gripping his throat.

  “Try me now, you pussy!” Maurice said.

  It didn’t work, Dhaksa refused to turn.

  “You! You’re going to die, can you feel it?”

  Dhaksa turned then and ran, his eyes blackened and smoking. Maurice sidestepped easily. Dhaksa stopped, facing a wall, listening. Smoke poured from his mouth while a fit of coughing stole over his body. He convulsed and shook.

  —

  Sizzling skin, like bacon fat in a pan, accompanied every beautiful flash as more and more met the flames.

  Lou ached to join. The air so hot he felt fire from within. It was perfect.

  Soon!

  —

  Maybe just maybe, Maurice thought again and turned to the altar. Rhoda’s body flopped uneasily over his shoulder. Dhaksa heard and ran to the sound.

  Flames rolled over his tongue. Maurice took five quiet steps to the tunnel that promised an opening back to the world. The free feeling came too quickly, a fist struck the back of his head and he rolled forward, dropping Rhoda into a heap. His eyes hadn’t yet settled when another blow landed, grazing from his ear in a miscalculated strike. The eyes smoked and glowed, not with flame, but with eerie blue light. Dhaksa took three quick steps. They clapped and echoed in the cave. More stone dropped and another quiver stole through the floor.

  Dhaksa stopped mid-sprint, smoky flames blasted from his throat. Maurice saw his chance, rose. He kicked the monster in the stomach. Dhaksa lifted his hands and grasped at Maurice’s throat again.

  —

  The flames started to approach the runners, hungry for fuel. Lou’s body lit in a welcoming caress.

  The flaming domed ceiling that rained burning rock, searing drips, fell and ate those who remained…the La’aklar.

  —

  Dhaksa’s eyes bulged and quickly filled with a thick white liquid. His grip gave. It was too much, he sought too much, too much sub-blood...purity aborted.

  Maurice took a short sip of breath and waited as he viewed the wild show. The monster’s eyes burst, sending the white liquid all over Maurice’s face. It was hot and sticky and carried a scent something like sour milk and ignited matchbooks. Smoke trailed from the holes.

  Time to go.

  The monster, shook and wailed strange indecipherable words. He gave a final effort, a fleet of angry phantom automobiles sounded loudly in the distance, inching closer. Fear crept on Maurice. “It’s not real!” Just as the old fortune-teller’s had, Dhaksa’s head pitched bac
kward and shot out a glow, it was red, almost black rather than blue. Maurice watched, faces, hundreds of them, poured away, blasting through the stone ceiling, letting a dim light slide in. The cave began to crumble and Maurice stood, forgetting his pain and tossed Rhoda’s limp body back over his shoulder.

  The wailing coming from behind him echoed heavily throughout the halls. He could see the light and that fuelled him to move faster. Bad things were coming to an end whether or not he got out. Maurice stopped close to the mouth and considered things. Behind him the world collapsed, in front of him the world threatened to close. Rocks dropped at the mouth of the cave and the risk was too great to chance escape, tempt their thinning fates.

  He leaned against a wall, covering his wife’s head with his left arm. Rocks rolled and tumbled, crashing as they mounded. The light faded. Maurice continued to cover Rhoda.

  The roaring rocks ceased their cry and the light was gone. The tunnel into the cave had closed, the mouth blocked.

  Maurice cradled his wife.

  62

  Time passed, but how much, Maurice didn’t know. Rhoda woke him. She shivered, cold in the dark cave. He took off his shirt and gave it to her. They spoke very little, instead held one another and sobbed.

  After taking another pill, just for the sake of easing reality, Rhoda slept. Maurice tried the rocks, but they wouldn’t move. Whatever lived and died in the cave had the Genners.

  It was almost laughable. He’d gone so far, worked and dealt through scores of unimaginable obstacles, only to find his life come to an end in a cave.

  He took two pills.

  —

  Officer Norman Thompson had an uneasy night. He’d dreamed. He didn’t remember it all, but he remembered enough. He felt sick. A little girl, a strange little girl, sat next to him in his cruiser, demanding that he help her Mommy and Daddy.

  She drew a map on his arm with a pink marker. He told her he was only one man, but trying wasn’t beyond his ability. He pinched her cheek and awoke.

  He rolled out of bed, just after four in the morning. He didn’t want to wake his wife and crept downstairs. He flicked the kitchen’s switch and noticed his arm. A series of raw lines wore into his skin.