The Fall: The Rift Book I

by Robert J. Duperre

  “But…you just got here.”

  “I know, but things are what they are.”

  “Can I come with you?”

  He gulped in an attempt to swallow his empathy, and then stepped away. “Sorry, Kye, but no,” he said. “I don’t need you there. And I have more important things than you to look after right now.”

  He turned around and briskly walked away, listening to Kyra’s dejected groans as he strode past the gathered crowd of townsfolk. He tried to ignore it.

  Just like the rest of them, scolded his conscience. Just like Mrs. Flannigan and the seventh graders. Leave ’em behind and let ’em fend for themselves. I wonder what happened to them? They’re not here. They’re probably dead, just like everyone else. It’s all your fault. You’re a coward.

  Josh shook his head and walked out the front door. The cold of the afternoon bit at his skin.

  “It’s not my fault,” he muttered. “My family needs me. I can’t let them down again.”

  CHAPTER 15

  COMING ’ROUND THE MOUNTAIN

  “DADDY, WHERE WE GOING?” asked Shelly in her chipmunk’s voice from the back seat.

  “On vacation,” Tom answered. Allison squeezed his hand, but he didn’t look at her.

  “We there yet?”

  “Soon, baby girl. Soon.”

  The Beamer sped down abandoned side roads, rumbling whenever the pavement disintegrated into hard-packed dirt. They’d been traveling for three hours now, with a specific destination in mind. Tom pressed the pedal down as far as it would go. In many ways, he felt Shelly’s pain. He wanted more than anything just to reach their objective, to leave the devastation behind them forever.

  There were no roadblocks to be seen (not that he really expected them, for he had done his job well and there would be no personnel available to man one), but considering the condition of the highway they had recently turned off of—whose lanes were packed with traffic and the remnants of far too many recent accidents—he considered it a possibility that there could be an obstruction around any corner. He wondered what would happen if that were the case. The Beamer handled like a dream, but it was still a huge automobile, which made sudden stops nearly impossible. Should that happen, the hulk of steel and fiberglass would fold like an accordion. Their journey would end right then and there.

  Some risks are necessary, he thought, and kept the pedal pressed down.

  He glanced to his right. Allison was in the passenger seat, her gaze fixed straight ahead. She looked like a young woman in the throes of childbirth, with her lips pressed together and her neck pulled taut. She didn’t look at him, just as she hadn’t asked any questions, not when he said they were leaving, not when ignored the soldiers’ shouts for him to stop as he plowed his prized car through Fort Myer’s front gate, and not when he hopped onto the westbound highway. This wasn’t an unusual occurrence. Like so many daughters of old Connecticut money, Allison possessed the quizzical compliance of a trained monkey when it came to her husband. Daddy knows best, taken to the extreme. Ever since the day they had their first clandestine encounter at a hotel in Philadelphia when Allison was nineteen, she hadn’t once doubted his decisions. She trusted him completely, as much out of conditioning as pure conviction. It was this absolute belief of hers in his ability and his resolve that drove a portion of his guilt.

  If she only knew.

  There were other factors dragging him down, as well, but the fact that he was alone inside his head held precedence over all else. After dispatching Carl Pendergrass, the voice of his director had abandoned him. He now operated on the strength of his judgment alone, which worried him. He felt forsaken, disillusioned, and ill equipped, like a two-year-old trying to learn trigonometry. He wondered if those wonderful feelings would return to help guide him once more. Like a junkie clawing at his fix as it lay imprisoned behind a wall of glass, he needed it.

  Come on, Thomas, his old confidence declared. You did it on your own your whole life. What is so different now?

  “Everything,” he said with a sigh.

  “Huh?”

  He looked at Allison again. She was staring at him now, her eyes filled with unease.

  “Nothing,” he replied. “Don’t pay any attention to me. I’m just talking to myself.”

  She nodded and turned to face the road again. Shelly continued to bounce along in the back, talking to the doll in her lap as if it were an actual person. That doll might as well have been Tom, for he felt removed from them and artificial, as if he existed in a separate reality. With his self-confidence waning, the notion didn’t strike him as erroneous.

  The Beamer crossed the state line into Virginia. Thomas recognized this by the signature old shack (a decrepit gas station that had been out of service since the fifties) that appeared to his left. The Steinberg family had taken this route at least once a summer for the past six years. It was common. It was comfortable. He noticed Allison’s cheeks flush red with excitement. She knew where they were going, as well, and he could almost read her thoughts. Finally, comfort! A fireplace, a nice big bed, and exquisite food. Thank God! He smiled at the image; as long as his doting wife could lay her head down in seclusion and luxury, he knew she wouldn’t think of all the horrible events going on around them. This meant that Tom could wait patiently for the return of his master without the discomfort of her disappointment, without the possibility that she might pry and unearth his secrets.

  Shelly noticed the shift in her mother’s mood and sang, “I-love-my-daddy-I-love-my-daddy-I-love-him-really-BIG!” Her brown curls flailed as she bounced in her booster seat. “And-I-love-my-mommy-too!”

  The innocence in her voice was nauseating.

  CHAPTER 16

  DOING WHAT HAS TO BE DONE

  THE OLD VOLVO BOUNCED as Josh weaved around the skeletons of burned-out cars on a road peppered with steaming divots. His nerves wreaked havoc on his psyche, which played a sadistic game of what you could have done differently. It told him that he had waited too long to return, that his efforts were all for naught.

  “That’s not true,” he whispered. “Everything’s gonna be fine.”

  He turned the corner, a mile from his parents’ home. A lone figure wandered aimlessly down the center of the road. Whoever it was ambled in a drunken wobble, facing away from him. He tried to swerve around the moving obstacle, but at the last moment the figure turned. A thing that looked like a man stared back at him, its face a tangled mess of scars and rot.

  “Holy shit!” Josh screeched, and cut the wheel. The Volvo clipped the man-thing and its body became like a rag doll, twisting along the side of the vehicle in a jumble of whipping arms and legs. Its head smashed into the window on the driver’s side and the glass disintegrated. Blood sprayed into the cab, splattering his face and chest. Josh winced and the body vaulted away with a thud, rolling down the median behind him.

  He wiped the blood from his cheek with the back of his hand. “Oh my God, oh my God,” he panted. The whole of him shook while he tried to steady the wheel. His heart thumped much too quickly. The image of the man’s spoiled features wouldn’t leave him, erasing any notion he may have had of stopping to see if he’d killed the guy. He remembered the heap of bodies General Stack had shown him in the supermarket freezer. The unfortunate ones, he’d called them. Josh began to tremble. If one of them had entered the house after he left, if his father had decided it seemed safe enough to venture outside, then…

  “Stop it!” he screamed, and struck the steering wheel with his fist. It was best not to think of such things, just keep on driving.

  He passed the home he shared with Colin, which was as dark as the other houses on the street and hopefully just as empty. He pushed the Volvo as fast as it could go. It would only be a few more seconds.

  Around the next corner he sped. He was going too fast and his chest clenched when the tires on the left side came up off the ground. He straightened the steering wheel with a jerk and the vehicle regained stability. The damaged su
spension struggled to stay intact.

  He pulled up on the lawn in front of his childhood home, stepped out of the car, and listened. The wind blowing through the virtually leafless trees was all he could hear. The place seemed desolate and the light of day only added to its barrenness. He remembered the nightmares of his youth, dreams where he’d been cast off in a strange and frightful world, all alone, with no parents to protect him while unseen horrors awaited, hidden in every darkened corner. He would wake up screaming and run into his mother’s arms for comfort afterward. He felt the same way now.

  The front door was open and he approached it, hoping he had forgotten to close it on his way out but not believing that was the case. Again he shuddered. He walked inside.

  “Mom? Dad?”

  The late afternoon sun flickered in through the shattered windows, illuminating the interior enough to cast eerie silhouettes, haunting the murky boundaries between light and dark. The curtains were heaped in piles below the windows. They flapped when a cold breeze gusted through.

  Josh crept down the hall and into the kitchen. The place was just as big a mess as when he left, with dishes smashed on the tile floor and the refrigerator toppled over, but there was no one there. He shook from the combined forces of the cold and his fear. From beneath the sink he removed a candle, just as his mother had not so long ago.

  The living room was the next stop on his journey. He tiptoed in and hastily scanned in all directions, but it, too, was deserted. He closed his eyes and listened. Other than the howling wind, he couldn’t hear anything. In his mind this meant there was only one possible solution; everyone was still safely stowed away in the cellar.

  Josh turned the knob on the basement door. The release clicked, echoing through the house. The door swung open and he peered down the steps into the blackness. The oddly sweet scent of body odor drifted into his nostrils. He took his lighter from the pocket of his jeans, lit the candle, and descended into the abyss.

  He reached the bottom of the stairs and cupped his hand over the dancing yellow flame. The candle proved to be an unstable light source. Its direct brightness almost blinded him, yet a small sphere of radiance was all it provided. He found himself wishing he’d taken the time to find a flashlight.

  He moved each foot cautiously and stepped into the room. Once more he listened for signs of life; once more he heard nothing.

  The couch he’d sat upon with Sophia only a couple hours before came into view, brightened by the candle’s ghostly light. A lump appeared, as if someone was sleeping on it. The closer he and the feeble glow drew, the clearer the image became. It was a body, lying on its side, facing away from him. He recognized the slacks and the blue camisole, both gifts he’d purchased the previous Christmas.

  “Mom?” he whispered, kneeling beside the couch and placing his hand on his mother’s head of curly black hair. The candle flickered, and for a second he thought he saw her shrug. A sigh of relief exhaled from his lungs.

  “Thank God, Mom,” he said. “Wake up, Mom. Mom?”

  His mother didn’t answer, so he nudged her with his elbow. There was still no response. He grabbed her shoulder and pulled her in his direction. Her body rolled unexpectedly. He didn’t anticipate it and couldn’t support her weight. She fell off the couch and knocked him over as she dropped to the thinly carpeted concrete floor. Josh lost control of the candle and hot wax spilled from its basin, scalding his hand. He yelped in pain. Gail Benoit did nothing.

  He shook his burnt hand and sat forward, his body trembling. “M…Mom?” he said. He lifted the candle once more and held it over her. His stomach reeled, and for the second time that day he threw up.

  His mother’s eyes stared into space, unblinking, her lips sagging to one side in a sickening grimace. The camisole covering her torso had been ripped open and a canyon of red, gnawed flesh stretched from her neck to her bellybutton. The wetness of her exposed innards glistened in the candlelight. Josh cowered. He felt sick all over again, but by some feat of will he didn’t give in.

  A sound rose from nothingness: an alien, childlike laugh. Josh wheeled around. The rest of the room appeared empty, the loveseat opposite him holding no ghastly surprise. He rose up on a pair of shaky knees.

  “Sophia?” he whispered between sobs. “Rascal?” No one replied to him. His insides were consumed with anguish. It threatened to squeeze in on him, to make him useless.

  He stumbled across the basement. His foot caught on the edge of the rug and he almost fell. The snicker came once more, louder this time. He moved toward it, heading for the door that had been cut into the crude wall of sheetrock his father had erected years before, the wall that separated the play area from the noisy rattle of the furnace and hot water heater on the other side.

  He pushed open the door and leaned against the frame. The wall arched a bit with his weight against it, but the sturdy two-by-fours held. He poked his head in. As the candle slowly lit the space, a large blob emerged, a warped figure that changed shape with each flicker.

  Despite his fear and sorrow, he inched forward. The image grew clearer. It was not one form but two. One was that of a man, lying flat on his back. The other was a smaller, impish female with long, straight hair. This second figure squatted on the prone man’s chest, dark strands of a substance that looked like wet strips of paper hanging from her lips and dangling below her chin. Her head jerked up and she stared at him. He recognized her features, for they were as familiar to him as his own. Josh felt light-headed. The girl before him appeared primitive and unnatural, but there was something astonishingly gentle, even inquisitive, about the tilt of her head, the slump of her shoulders, and the shape of those glowering eyes.

  Josh stepped back, his mind racing. He looked again at the unmoving man, whose face was obstructed by the girl on his mangled chest. He didn’t need to see its face to know whose it was.

  “Fuck,” was all he could say.

  The girl jumped from her roost on his father’s torso the way a monkey would, with legs bowed and back arched. She waddled toward Josh, her arms flopping between her legs, again monkey-like. He froze. She stopped only a few inches in front of him and rolled her neck. Dried blood, black as oil in the faint light, covered her face. Her hair was also saturated, making the top of her head look like it was covered with wet spaghetti. Her lower jaw was slightly elongated and her brow distended, but he could still see the beauty there. His throat clenched and tears rolled down his face. He reached out and caressed her cheek. She pulled away but didn’t flee. Instead she rubbed into his hand the way a cat would. His tears flowed harder. When he spoke, he could barely hear his own words.

  “Oh shit, Rascal.”

  Josh’s wits left him. It was as if he’d regressed into infancy the moment he touched her. He lingered, helpless, with his mind an empty shell, until a voice sang to him in a saccharine lullaby. Calm down, sweet boy, it said, you know we all love you. The weight of his fear and despair became too much to take. He gave in to the voice and its sweetness, becoming a baby who walked across the basement’s cold floor, guided by his guardian’s steadying hand, grateful for the temporary relief it gave him.

  He watched his body perform its function without debate. He took Sophia by the arm and led her up the stairs. She didn’t resist his urging. That singsong voice continued to play in his head, but the lyrics had changed.

  Do not be afraid; she cannot hurt you; she will not hurt you, it said.

  Despite the late hour, the vividness of the bright autumn day still clung to the sky. Josh blew out the candle and placed it on the kitchen table. He steered Sophia to the sink, positioned her against the counter, and turned on the faucet. The spigot belched and shook, and then a steady stream of water cascaded out. At least the plumbing still works, his spellbound brain thought.

  Sophia stared at him while he took the dishrag from its drawer beside the sink, twisted it like a cruller, and wet one end. Her head dipped from one side to the other. When Josh squeezed the excess moisture fr
om the towel and faced her, the motion stopped.

  He brought the washcloth to her cheek and rubbed the dirt and blood from her skin. The pure, rose-colored flesh of a teenage girl emerged. He smiled and continued working, washing the viscera from her forehead. She squinted. He thought she looked confused.

  “There you are,” he said. Even with her slightly misshapen features and the small lumps that speckled her exposed flesh, she was still his sister. He still loved her.

  He leaned in to kiss her brow, but she moved her head before his lips touched her. A low, rasping groan rose up in her throat. Her hand swept up, as if she were about to strike him, but instead of slamming against the side of his face she slid a distorted palm from his cheek, to his neck, and then to his shoulder. Next, she withdrew and held her hand out in front of him. Blood dripped off her fingers, the blood of the dead man he’d run over only a half-hour earlier. Turning her attention away from him, she stuck her dripping digits into her mouth and sucked on them.

  An emotion his waning consciousness could only classify as displeasure surfaced. He frowned and watched the monstrosity Sophia had become lick the blood from her fingers with an appalling, discolored tongue. All of her youthful innocence washed away, and left in its wake was an unrecognizable and primal beast, a creature that lapped up every last drop as a starving coyote would. His inner child screamed. He wanted to run away, to scamper off into the sunset of some other world and leave the death and unfairness of this one behind.

  You cannot leave things like this.

  Josh blinked. “Huh?”

  You know what must be done.

  He stepped away from Sophia and whirled around. The kitchen was empty.

  Darling, the voice in his head stated, do not be difficult.

  Josh squinted in the direction of the passage between the kitchen and the front entrance. The slowly fading sunlight ceased to shine a few feet in front of the opening, creating a dark chasm. He swore he saw a figure there.

  “Who’s that?” he asked, and took a step forward.