Suma shook her head sadly, her gaze lingering on the empty clothes that Marcus had worn. Risa snatched them up and began walking towards the trash cans on the side of the house; while Wally casually asked us all if we were ready for another bottle of wine. It was business as usual. For us, anyway, but I sensed that Suma was receiving an education in casual death that she could do without if it were her choice.
Being around us, it wasn’t. With a steadying hand, I helped her to her feet and led her inside, where she could shake off the adrenaline in a more civilized setting than the scraggly Bermuda grass of our backyard.
“Why don’t you stay over? No funny stuff, I promise” and I smiled winningly at her, conscious of her mental state, “but you can rest here, and in the morning, you can head over to the Butterfly for a normal, death-free lunch.”
“That sounds like just what I ordered.” she replied, gamely. Her good humor was returning and we had wine to drink, so we joined Wally and Risa inside and gave Marcus no further thought. It was as if he had never been born, which was just one of the sad details that immortals brought to bear on innocents, day in, and day out.
58
I stayed true to my word. Suma’s virtue remained unsullied, at least by my hand. After coffee and some lounging in which we were miraculously alone, Suma asked me a question that caught me off guard as I was rummaging breakfast for us.
“When you were in the army, did you think about what would happen afterwards? If you killed someone or did things that you thought you would have to answer for later? Like sins?” She was looking past me as she spoke.
It troubled me that she knew that detail of my life as I couldn’t remember telling her, but she had spoken to the girls at length and the topic may have come up. I certainly didn’t hide my time overseas.
“I didn’t think about it. I was hot and tired, hungry most of the time. Thirsty, miserable. I learned to despise the uncertainty of violence but relied on my team like they were family. The oldest in my squad was only twenty-six. Three of us were married, some had kids. We were all homesick. I would’ve strangled someone for a cheeseburger that didn’t taste like dust. I was the loner among us but that didn’t mean I was an outsider, on the contrary, I was accepted. I always volunteered for shit duties because I knew that I could do the job. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t an exemplary soldier, I just sort of glided through things. Even combat. It was always a little easier for me. But even though I was a bit different, my team always included me, accepted me. We were forged together. Some of us become men, a few of us died. I’m sure some went nuts. Or are going nuts, slowly. Every time I used my weapon I did so in the interest of my team, never from raw anger. I was, like I said, floating.” I paused to hand Suma a wedge of orange. She took it and inhaled the scent with appreciation.
“I’ll never get tired of that smell. Like the sun.” she said, nibbling. Around her bites she asked “But you didn’t think about sin? About whether or not there would be some cost for doing what you were doing?” It was a fair question.
“Are you really asking me if I believe in God?” I countered. “Because the answer has to be yes.”
I think that surprised her. She looked expectantly at me for details, finishing her orange.
“It just seems logical to me, that’s all” I explained. “I don’t know about heaven. I don’t think that there is a hell; at least not like some of us portray it. There are no lakes of fire, or beasts and ice and darkness. All of those things are here, now, with us every day so it doesn’t make sense to create a place to hold what is already a part of our daily lives. There is fire, endless fire from wars that we make. The cold of loneliness. Beasts, that we hunt and kill, or the worst among humanity. Those people are beasts, at least to me. I see what they are capable of, up close and personal, and it’s nauseating. And I believe in counterweights. After seeing what we have seen, here, in the dark and sometimes in the light, well, I just think that there has to be something, someone, holding onto the other side of the rope and stopping all of us here from sliding down some shithole to be lost forever. And I think that God doesn’t really care what I’m doing as long as I’m helping to hold the rope, instead of stepping on the heads of everyone who is circling the drain around a long, cold fall into the permanent darkness.”
I sliced another wedge of the orange, perfect and simple. So different from all of the rest of what was becoming a very complicated life.
“Are you going to the Butterfly today?” I asked her, handing her the next section of her orange.
Reaching out, she nodded. “I want to eat lunch with my sister and feel normal for ten seconds, not like merde!”- She cursed abruptly in accented French when the orange slipped from her fingers and hit the floor. “Sorry. Clumsy!” she said, abashed at her minor outcry.
“You cuss like a sailor, but not in English?” I asked her, bending down to wipe the floor with a towel. I didn’t want her to see my face at that moment. I had heard that same curse, once before. At the beach. With Senya.
“I do” she admitted, sheepish. “My grandfather taught me the best cursing was in French. It has more vibrancy when you’re being dirty, don’t you think?” She laughed as she described the potency of lurid cursing in her second tongue.
“That it does” I agreed, with a forced smile. “I hope you enjoy lunch with Boon. It’s important to have family. People you can rely on.” I told her all this with a pasty grin, knowing that her simple little outburst had revealed who the Baron’s informant was, and how little I knew about Cazimir, Elizabeth, and everything.
When Suma left I hurried to Risa’s room to find her reading on her laptop, quietly. Before I could say anything, she waved me over and pointedly turned the screen for me to see. On it hovered an email from Hayseed, with the simple message Let’s talk, all four of us, video, noon. Most important. This was highly unusual for him, or any other members of our thin community, but without any discussion I told her “I’ll go get Wally up and alert. I’ve got ninety minutes, which gives me one to spare.” With that, I went to wake the beast and Gyro, who was doubtless sharing her bed in all his furry glory.
We assembled in the kitchen, just as we did the first time we spoke to Cazimir. Wally understood the gravity of the call, so she was ready, reasonably dressed, and had made some overture at grooming. It was a start. I decided that now was as good as any to drop the bombshell that Suma was a turncoat who was feeding information to the Baron.
“Before Hayseed comes on, since we’re here, I found out who is working for the Baron.” I started, grabbing the girls’ undivided attention.
“Who?” they blurted in unison. “How do you know?” Risa continued, while Wally’s wheels began to turn, processing this information.
“Well, it’s Suma.” I said, expecting the worst. I was right.
“Bullshit. Seriously? How- what- but she’s family!” Wally spat, incensed. Risa glowered, already looking for angles.
“Explain.” Risa said, simply.
I gathered myself, looking quickly at the clock. We had three minutes. Not my best application of Army logistics, but what the hell.
“Senya. Remember her?” I asked, and when the girls motioned they did, continued, “The night I met her. At the beach, we were in the alcove of that turquoise hotel next to Vince’s, that’s where I offed her. Before we were in the clinches, I heard a woman’s footsteps following us, then dropping her keys and swearing in French, but it wasn’t some tourist who spoke the language naturally, it was accented. At the time, I didn’t know how, but as of this morning, I do. It’s a Thai accent, and the voice was Suma.”
Before there were questions, I pressed on. “I handed her an orange and she dropped it. She cursed in French, her grandfather was from Marseilles, and he taught her the language. It was her that night. I know it. Same tone, same accent, same everything.”
Risa asked, “Does she know you know?”
I shook my head. “No, I looked down, away, whatever I had to. I kno
w I was shocked as shit, but I hid it. She suspects nothing. The questions are…well, why? To what end? How the hell did the Baron find her?”
“Does she know Elizabeth? That’s what I want to know. Because if she leads that woman to her own family, then she is compromised beyond saving.” Risa assessed Suma’s level of depravity in sad tones.
Before we could continue, the laptop pinged and it was time for our chat with Hayseed. I had no idea what to expect, but I knew I was sick of lies.
“I hope he isn’t full of shit. I don’t know if I can take any more lying and still be anything close to reasonable.” I groused, voicing what we all felt.
The man who appeared on the screen looked like anything but a liar. He was in his late fifties, and had the bearing of a steady Midwesterner. He had cheerful green eyes over a long nose with salt and pepper hair cut short, but not quite military regulation. He smiled easily at us and dipped his head in acknowledgement of our image.
“I’ll never feel like I kept up with technology. Just when I think I’m current, something becomes commonplace from the science fiction I read as a kid. I’m Lyle Caldwell. Hayseed, by another name.” He introduced himself to us with a nod and waited politely for a reply.
I made our introductions. “I’m Ring Hardigan, this is Risa Wexler” and she smiled and said hello “and Waleska Schmidt, or Wally, which really fits her once you see how she eats.” Wally punched my arm and smiled brilliantly at the screen. Lyle was captivated even across the miles, which was not lost on Risa, who sighed under her breath. “I handle most of our actual up close and personal interaction with the immortals. Risa and Wally take care of anything that requires human persuasion, information, logistics, and things like that. And we live together, too, so feel free to say whatever you want, we have no secrets, although we will keep whatever information you discuss today completely private.”
That seemed to please Lyle, who folded and unfolded his big, capable looking hands on the table in front of him once before he spoke.
“I have my target cornered. Twelve years of work. I’ll finish it tonight.” Lyle said in a neutral tone. I recognized it as someone who faces the end of their life’s work and cannot see beyond that second. It’s a form of mourning, and it was all over his broad, honest face.
Wally asked for details about the creature, giving voice to our collective morbid curiosity.
“There were two humans working in congress with the female” he began, “but as of this morning, only one.” He grimaced in memory of the kill. It must have been an entirely different kind of shock to kill a human, or someone who was nearly so. “She’s holed up in the subcellar of an abandoned dairy barn and her remaining partner is injured. I’m letting him bleed out, he’s got some skill as a fighter and the location is just close enough to a populated area that a gun is out of the question for dealing with him. For her, a knife- just like you’ve learned, Ring, a knife, it’s what is needed to do the job right.” He stopped, drank from a bottle of water, and went on. “Tonight, I’ll take her. She’ll be very hungry, a bit weak. I’ve harried her for a week straight, no meals, no rest. She’s ripe. That doesn’t mean it’s a sure thing, so we need to talk first, to make certain that what I’m doing is right.” he concluded with a questing look at all of us in turn.
“Right about killing her? What is she, anyway? A ghoul? Right?” I asked.
“Oh, you’re right about what she is, Ring. She isn’t human, not even close. Her story is, well, I don’t know if it’s unusual among their kind. She’s living a long, slow burn towards complete depravity. In point of fact, she’s there now, only her human partners – Helpers, as you named them so aptly, well, they point her like a weapon and follow her, east to west, west to east. With each mile and season she descends a little further towards complete animalism to where even the Helpers cannot reach or communicate with her.”
“Is she from that area?” Wally asked, trying to establish a relationship between origin and habit.
“Yes and no” Lyle said, thoughtfully. “Yes, she is from here. But not from our time. Or rather, not from the time of European settlers.”
I whistled inward. Risa and Wally both looked shocked. Another old one. They were popping up in our lives more regularly know. I can’t say it was a trend I was comfortable with.
“How old, exactly?” I asked. The answer was worrisome.
“Pre-Columbus. Maybe Neolithic. I don’t know. I took a…sample. If you can call a finger a sample, of her DNA to the local college and had them test it, as a discreet favor to me. She’s something other than what we would call modern American, maybe Clovis. That isn’t the only evidence I’ve had examined as I tried to pin down her identity. I got close, very close about three years ago, caught a good look at her feeding and saw a tattoo on her shoulder. It was grey, a hint of blue, very old. I think it was supposed to be antlers over a moon. It looked primitive and very personal, like something from a cave wall. It was simple but beautiful, quite different from the rest of her. She’s a complete horror. Ropy, thin muscles and slate skin, streaked with someone’s blood and viscera. Not big on hygiene” he joked. “She has teeth, if you can call them that. A mouthful. Sharp. Long nails, not pointed, but more like a, like a mole. Or a badger. They’re formidable. She’s strong, can leap like a flea. Long, long black hair, a sodden, greasy mess; it hangs between her shoulder blades like a filthy rope. She’s nude, always, although her Helpers have covered her in rough cured furs at times. I think it reminds her of her human life, maybe they used it to pacify her when they were on the move.”
“Why did she move at all? Prey?” Risa asked.
“Prey, sure. But there are undercurrents to her behavior. They bait the traps, she kills, and then they would…well, I wondered how they were both staying so young. I found out, and I wish I hadn’t” he finished, his cheeks coloring with memory and shame.
“They were fucking her, right?” Wally blurted. Such language out of that mouth.
To his credit, Lyle didn’t flinch. “Exactly. At the side of deserted roads, that’s how they did it.” Before I could interrupt, he explained. “For the last decade, at least, their bait has been a small roadside cross, a memorial. Like where people die in car crashes? You’ve seen them?”
I had. They were often garishly sad, fading plastic flowers and a crude memorial marking the end of what was usually a young life. I said as much, and he went on.
“They put out a cross with a name that can be anyone. It doesn’t matter who, it’s just a detail. Small, wooden, hand painted. Just another melancholy reminder of some forgotten sorrow. The cross is always at the edge of a larger field, preferably away from lights, not too close to town. Then the Helpers go to work. They used to infiltrate circles of young people, teenagers. They’d take a job at the drive-in, or McDonald’s, wherever. And then, when they had access to these kids, they would tell a ghost story.”
“About the cross? Or the ghoul?” I asked Lyle, sickened by the elegance of the plan. I could infer where he was going with this narrative.
“Both. I’ve heard variations going back as far as the earliest days of the frontier, but it’s essentially unchanged. The gravesite is haunted, say the Helpers, but only on the night of the new moon. It’s an atmospheric detail, but it serves a purpose. The curious come to a darkened, secluded place unarmed, maybe drunk, giggling, the machismo of the boys in overdrive as they try to impress the girls who shriek at shadows, maybe the boys cop a quick squeeze of titty…sorry, I’m just tired of hearing the same story.” He gathered his wits and went on, angering with the recollection of this movie that was playing out with every new moon.
“But for every group of unbelievers who come and go, disappointed, there are the loners. The late arrivals. The genuinely curious. That’s who she hunts, kills. Rending, eating. That’s whose blood hits the thirsty soil and draws crows the next day, a cacophony to commemorate someone who will be largely forgotten by the next hard rain. Well, goddammit, I won’t, not for s
econd, and now I have this filthy bitch dead to rights in a hole and I’m going to gut her like a carp.” He was incensed by his own speech, breathing in quick, shallow gulps. I would have been leery of sitting in the same room with him, his rage was that palpable.
We were taken aback momentarily, in which time Lyle regained his composure and asked “I actually have a favor to ask of you. It’s about money. Or, rather, spending some money.”
“Okay. Umm, well, what about it?” I offered, cautiously.
“I’m not going to lie; I don’t leave these immortals their worldly goods when I send them to the skies. I know that their wealth is ill gotten, but I believe that it can be well spent. Do you understand?” Lyle inquired of all three of us.
We did, and we agreed. It was our policy and we stated it, clearly. I went one step further and revealed the nature of our relationships with Boon and Pan, and how they were extended family to us.
“In fact, I think we agree that if anything happened to us, Liz Brenneman would be appointed executor of our collective estate. We trust her implicitly, and know that our money would go to the right places- Boon, Pan, their kids, and anyone else who needed it.” I elaborated. Lyle seemed impressed, and his body language changed, relaxing visibly when I gave him the framework of how we spent the money we collected from immortals. He nodded to himself as if reaching a decision.
“I think it’s time for me to get ready for my visit. Thank you for taking the time to chat; it’s a rarity to have real interactions anymore, not after all these years alone.” Lyle placed his hands flat on the table from which he spoke. They looked like weather beaten wood.
Risa asked him in a rush, “Are you alone because of the ghoul, whatever she is called?” She was curious but respectful. Lyle had the aura of a gentleman, he deserved it.
Box Set: The Fearless 1-3 Page 17