by Clive Barker
‘Babette?’
‘Will you get in? We’ve got work to do.’
She approached the door. As she did so, the man said, ‘Don’t scream.’
She didn’t have the breath to make a sound, but she certainly had the inclination, when her eyes fell on the face in the gloom of the car. This was one of Midian’s creatures, no doubt, but not a brother to the fabulous things she’d seen in the tunnels. The man’s appearance was horrendous, his face raw and red, like uncooked liver. Had it been any other way she might have distrusted it, knowing what she knew about pretenders. But this creature could pretend nothing: his wound was a vicious honesty.
‘My name’s Narcisse,’ he said. ‘Will you shut the door please? It keeps the light out. And the flies.’
2
His story, or at least its essentials, took two and a half blocks to tell. How he’d first met with Boone in the hospital; how he’d later gone to Midian, and once more encountered Boone; how together they’d broken Midian’s laws, trespassing overground. He had a souvenir of that adventure, he told her; a wound in his belly the like of which a lady should never have to set eyes upon.
‘So they exiled you, like Boone?’ she said.
‘They tried to,’ he told her. ‘But I hung on there, hoping I could maybe get myself a pardon. Then when the troopers came I thought: well, we brought this on the place. I should try and find Boone. Try and stop what we started.’
‘The sun doesn’t kill you?’
‘Maybe I’ve not been dead long enough, but no – I can bear it.’
‘You know Boone’s in prison?’
‘Yeah, I know. That’s why I got the child to help me find you. I’m thinking together we can get him out.’
‘How in God’s name do we do that?’
‘I don’t know,’ Narcisse confessed. ‘But we’d damn well better try. And be quick about it. They’ll have people out at Midian by now, digging it up.’
‘Even if we can free Boone, I don’t see what he can do.’
‘He went into the Baptiser’s chamber,’ Narcisse replied, his finger going to lip and heart. ‘He spoke with Baphomet. From what I hear nobody other than Lylesburg ever did that before, and survived. I’m figuring the Baptiser had some tricks to pass on. Something that’ll help us stop the destruction.’
Lori pictured Boone’s terrified face as he stumbled from the chamber.
‘I don’t think Baphomet told him anything,’ Lori said. ‘He barely escaped alive.’
Narcisse laughed.
‘He escaped, didn’t he? You think the Baptiser would have allowed that if there hadn’t been a reason for it?’
‘All right … so how do we get access to him? They’ll have him guarded within an inch of his life.’
Narcisse smiled.
‘What’s so funny?’
‘You forget what he is now,’ Narcisse said. ‘He’s got powers.’
‘I don’t forget,’ Lori replied. ‘I simply don’t know.’
‘He didn’t tell you?’
‘No.’
‘He went to Midian because he thought he’d shed blood –’
‘I guessed that much.’
‘He hadn’t, of course. He was guiltless. Which made him meat.’
‘You mean he was attacked?’
‘Almost killed. But he escaped, at least as far as the town.’
‘Where Decker was waiting for him,’ Lori said, finishing the story; or beginning it. ‘He was damn lucky that none of the shots killed him.’
Narcisse’s smile, which had more or less lingered on his face since Lori’s remark about Boone being guarded within an inch of his life, disappeared.
‘What do you mean …’ he said, ‘… none of the shots killed him? What do you think took him back to Midian? Why do you think they opened the tombs to him the second time?’
She stared at him blankly.
‘I don’t follow,’ she said, hoping she didn’t. ‘What are you telling me?’
‘He was bitten by Peloquin,’ Narcisse said. ‘Bitten and infected. The balm got into his blood …’ He stopped speaking ‘… You want me to go on?’
‘Yes.’
‘The balm got into his blood. Gave him the powers. Gave him the hunger. And allowed him to get up off the slab and go walking …’
His words had grown soft by the end of his statement, in response to the shock on Lori’s face.
‘He’s dead?’ she murmured.
Narcisse nodded.
‘I thought you understood that,’ he said. ‘I thought you were making a joke before … about his being …’ The remark trailed into silence.
‘This is too much,’ Lori said. Her fist had closed on the door-handle, but she lacked the strength to pull on it. ‘… too much.’
‘Dead isn’t bad,’ Narcisse said. ‘It isn’t even that different. It’s just … unexpected.’
‘Are you speaking from experience?’
‘Yes.’
Her hand dropped from the door. Every last ounce of strength had gone from her.
‘Don’t give up on me now,’ Narcisse said.
Dead; all dead. In her arms, in her mind.
‘Lori. Speak to me. Say something, if it’s only goodbye.’
‘How … can … you joke about it?’ she asked him.
‘If it’s not funny, what is it? Sad. Don’t want to be sad. Smile, will you? We’re going to save lover-boy, you and me.’
She didn’t reply.
‘Do I take silence as consent?’
Still she made no answer.
‘Then I do.’
XX
Driven
1
Eigerman had only been to Midian once before, when providing back up for the Calgary force in their pursuit of Boone. It had been then that he’d met Decker – who’d been the hero of that day, risking his life to try and coax his patient out of hiding. He’d failed, of course. The whole thing had ended in Boone’s summary execution as he stepped out into plain sight. If ever a man should have laid down and died, it was that man. Eigerman had never seen so many bullets in one lump of meat. But Boone hadn’t laid down. At least not stayed down. He’d gone walkabout, with no heartbeat and flesh the colour of raw fish.
Sickening stuff. It made Eigerman’s hide crawl to think of it. Not that he was about to admit that fact to anyone. Not even to his passengers on the back seat, the priest and the doctor, both of whom had secrets of their own. Ashbery’s he knew. The man liked to dress in women’s dainties, which fact Eigerman had chanced upon and used as leverage when he’d needed sanctification of a sin or two of his own. But Decker’s secrets remained a mystery. His face betrayed nothing, even to an eye as practised in the recognition of guilt as Eigerman’s.
Re-angling the mirror, the Chief looked at Ashbery, who shot him a sullen glance.
‘Ever exorcize anyone?’ he asked the priest.
‘No.’
‘Ever watch it done?’
Again, ‘No.’
‘You do believe though,’ Eigerman said.
‘In what?’
‘In Heaven and Hell, for Christ’s sake.’
‘Define your terms.’
‘Huh?’
‘What do you mean by Heaven and Hell?’
‘Jesus, I don’t want a fucking debate. You’re a priest, Ashbery. You’re supposed to believe in the Devil. Isn’t that right, Decker?’
The doctor grunted. Eigerman pushed a little harder.
‘Everyone’s seen stuff they can’t explain, haven’t they? Especially doctors, right? You’ve had patients speaking in tongues –’
‘I can’t say that I have,’ Decker replied.
‘Is that right? It’s all perfectly scientific, is it?’
‘I’d say so.’
‘You’d say so. And what would you say about Boone?’ Eigerman pressed. ‘Is being a fucking zombie scientific too?’
‘I don’t know,’ Decker murmured.
‘Well, will you look at
this? I’ve got a priest who doesn’t believe in the Devil, and a doctor who doesn’t know science from his asshole. That makes me feel real comfortable.’
Decker didn’t respond. Ashbery did.
‘You really think there’s something up ahead, don’t you?’ he said. ‘You’re sweating a flood.’
‘Don’t push, sweetheart,’ Eigerman said. ‘Just dig out your little book of Exorcisms. I want those freaks sent back wherever the fuck they came from. You’re supposed to know how.’
‘There are other explanations these days, Eigerman,’ Ashbery replied. ‘This isn’t Salem. We’re not going to a burning.’
Eigerman turned his attention back to Decker, floating his next question lightly.
‘What do you think, Doc? Think maybe we should try putting the zombie on the couch? Ask him if he ever wanted to fuck his sister?’ Eigerman threw a look at Ashbery. ‘Or dress in her underwear?’
‘I think we are going to Salem,’ Decker replied. There was an undercurrent in his voice Eigerman hadn’t heard before. ‘And I also think you don’t give a fuck what I believe or don’t believe. You’re going to burn them out anyway.’
‘Right on,’ Eigerman said, with a throaty laugh.
‘And I think Ashbery’s right. You’re terrified.’
That silenced the laugh.
‘Asshole,’ Eigerman said quietly.
They drove the rest of the way in silence, Eigerman setting a new pace for the convoy, Decker watching the light getting frailer with every moment, and Ashbery, after a few minutes of introspection, leafing through his Book of Prayers, turning the onion-skin pages at speed, looking for the Rites of Expulsion.
2
Pettine was waiting for them fifty yards from the necropolis gate, his face dirtied by smoke from the cars, which were still burning.
‘What’s the situation?’ Eigerman wanted to know.
Pettine glanced back towards the cemetery.
‘There’s been no sign of movement in there since the escape. But we’ve heard stuff.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like we’re sitting on a termite hill,’ Pettine said. ‘There’s things moving around underground. No doubt about that. You can feel it as much as hear it.’
Decker, who’d travelled in one of the later cars, came across and joined the debate, cutting Pettine off in mid-flow to address Eigerman.
‘We’ve got an hour and twenty minutes before the sun sets.’
‘I can count,’ Eigerman replied.
‘So are we going to get digging?’
‘When I say so, Decker.’
‘Decker’s right, Chief,’ Pettine said. ‘It’s sun these bastards are afraid of. I tell you, I don’t think we want to be here at nightfall. There’s a lot of them down there.’
‘We’ll be here as long as it takes to clear this shit up,’ said Eigerman. ‘How many gates are there?’
‘Two. The big one, and another on the north-east side.’
‘All right. So it shouldn’t be difficult to contain them. Get one of the trucks in front of the main gate, and then we’ll post men at intervals around the wall just to make sure nobody gets out. Once they’re sealed in we make our approach.’
‘See you brought some insurance,’ Pettine commented, looking at Ashbery.
‘Damn right.’
Eigerman turned to the priest.
‘You can bless water, right? Make it holy?’
‘Yes.’
‘So do it. Any water we can find. Bless it. Spread it amongst the men. It may do some good if bullets don’t. And you, Decker, stay out of the fucking way. This is police business now.’
Orders given, Eigerman walked down towards the cemetery gates. Crossing the dusty ground he rapidly understood what Pettine had meant by the termite hill. There was something going on below ground. He even seemed to hear voices bringing thoughts of premature burial to mind. He’d seen that once; or its consequences. Done the spadework disinterring a woman who’d been heard screaming underground. She’d had reason: she’d given birth and died in her coffin. The child, a freak, had survived. Ended up in an asylum, probably. Or here perhaps, in the earth with the rest of the motherfuckers.
If so, he could count the minutes left of his sick life on his six-fingered hand. Soon as they showed their heads Eigerman would kick them right back where they came from, bullets in their brain. So let them come. He wasn’t afraid. Let them come. Let them try and dig their way out.
His heel was waiting.
3
Decker watched the organization of the troops until it began to make him uneasy. Then he withdrew up the hill a little. He loathed being an observer of other men’s labour. It made him feel impotent. It made him long to show them his power. And that was always a dangerous urge. The only eyes that could stare safely at his murder-hard were eyes about to glaze, and even then he had to erase them when they’d looked, for fear they told what they’d seen.
He turned his back on the cemetery and entertained himself with plans for the future. With Boone’s trial over, he’d be free to begin the Mask’s work afresh. He looked forward to that with a passion. He’d go further afield from now on. Find slaughtering places in Manitoba and Saskatchewan; or maybe over in Vancouver. He became hot with pleasure just thinking about it. From the briefcase he was carrying he could almost hear Button-Face sigh through his silver teeth.
‘Hush,’ he found himself telling the Mask.
‘What’s that?’
Decker turned. Pettine was standing a yard from him.
‘Did you say something?’ the cop wanted to know.
He’ll go to the wall, the Mask said.
‘Yes,’ Decker replied.
‘I didn’t hear.’
‘Just talking to myself.’
Pettine shrugged.
‘Word from the Chief. He says we’re about to move in. Do you want to give a hand?’
‘I’m ready,’ the Mask said.
‘No,’ said Decker.
‘Don’t blame you. Are you just a head-doctor?’
‘Yes. Why?’
‘Think we might need some medics before too long. They’re not going to give up without a fight.’
‘I can’t help. Don’t even like the sight of blood.’
There was laughter from the briefcase, so loud Decker was certain Pettine would hear. But no.
‘You’d better keep your distance, then,’ he said, and turned away to head back to the field of action.
Decker drew the bag up towards his chest, and held it tight in his arms. From inside he could hear the zipper opening and closing, opening and closing.
‘Shut the fuck up,’ he whispered.
‘Don’t lock me away,’ the Mask whined. ‘Not tonight of all nights. If you don’t like the sight of blood let me look for you.’
‘I can’t.’
‘You owe me,’ it said. ‘You denied me in Midian, remember?’
‘I had no choice.’
‘You have now. You can give me some air. You know you’d like it.’
‘I’d be seen.’
‘Soon then.’
Decker didn’t reply.
‘Soon!’ the Mask yelled.
‘Hush.’
‘Just say it.’
‘… please …’
‘Say it.’
‘Yes. Soon.’
XXI
That Desire
1
Two men had been left on duty at the station to guard the prisoner in Cell Five. Eigerman had given them explicit instructions. They were not on any account to unlock the cell door, whatever noises they heard from within. Nor was any outside agency – Judge, doctor or the Good Lord Himself – to be given access to the prisoner. And to enforce these edicts, should enforcement be necessary, troopers Cormack and Koestenbaum had been given the keys to the arsenal, and carte blanche to use extreme prejudice should the security of the station be in jeopardy. They weren’t surprised. Shere Neck would most likely never see anoth
er prisoner so certain to find his way into the annals of atrocity as Boone. If he were to be sprung from custody Eigerman’s good name would be cursed from coast to coast.
But there was more to the story than that, and both of them knew it. Though the Chief had not been explicit about the condition of the prisoner, rumours had been rife. The man was in some way freakish; possessed of powers that made him dangerous, even behind a locked and bolted door.
Cormack was grateful, then, to have been left to guard the front of the station, while Koestenbaum watched the cell itself. The whole place was a fortress. Every window and door sealed. Now it was simply a question of sitting it out, rifle at the ready, until the cavalry returned from Midian.
It wouldn’t be long. The kind of human garbage they’d be likely to find at Midian – addicts, perverts, radicals – would be rounded up in a few hours, and the convoy on its way back to relieve the sentinels. Then tomorrow there’d be a force up from Calgary to take possession of the prisoner, and things would settle back into their regular pattern. Cormack wasn’t in the policing business to sit and sweat the way he was now – he was in it for the easy feeling that came on a summer night when he could drive down to the corner of South and Emmett, and coerce one of the professionals to put her face in his lap for half an hour. That was what he liked the law for. Not this fortress under siege shit.
‘Help me,’ somebody said.
He heard the words quite clearly. The speaker – a woman – was just outside the front door.
‘Help me, please.’
The appeal was so pitiful he couldn’t ignore it. Rifle cocked he went to the door. There was no glass in it, not even a spy-hole, so he couldn’t see the speaker on the step. But he heard her again. First a sob; then a soft rapping, which was failing even as it came.
‘You’ll have to go someplace else,’ he said. ‘I can’t help you right now.’
‘I’m hurt,’ she seemed to say, but he wasn’t sure. He put his ear to the door.
‘Did ya hear me?’ he asked. ‘I can’t help you. Go on down to the drug store.’
There was not even a sob by way of reply. Only the faintest of breaths.