Hell's Vengeance

by Max Jager

  Darr stuck his arm out of the window, he looked for the nearest road that drained into the wild lands along the edges of the city. The mist was growing inside and Darr looked up, he was surprised to remember that it used to be sunny. It seemed like the whole earth was steaming, bleeding smoke from the many cracks and crevices of the broken town.

  La Croix Theater 4025 Mulbarry Drive, Horston CO

  The address was written in bold. It lay crooked on the side of the fence now half-swallowed by high-grass. Ajax fixed his fingers into the small gaps and looked at the two police cars parked at random around the premise. He found his mask from under his coat and wore it.

  "You text me if you see something that looks like trouble, alright?" Ajax said.

  "What does that mean? What's trouble?"

  "A small army, that would be pretty bad. If it feels wrong, you just tell me, alright?"

  "I have the right mind to just leave you here," Darr said. "That would be a fair sentence for your actions."

  "Well, you're not exactly of right mind, choir boy."

  Darr honked the horn. Ajax turned, eyes wide like a cat, to the police across from them.

  "Are you fucking stupid, shut the fuck up." Ajax said. He shouted as loud as he could, under his breath. A very silent scream. Darr smiled and found a phone in his hands to fiddle with as Ajax climbed up the fence. He stretched his neck out and scanned the horizon. His body hung low. His body was a flash, white, that danced across the grass. He found a gutter pipe and climbed it, heard it snap out of its bolted place and dug his hands into the brick walls. Every step was a new hazard, the walls were falling apart. The long Roman pillars next to him showed this best of all. They were half broken, one even laid lopsided on the dirt.

  "Beauty doesn't last. Nothing does, huh." Ajax said. He carried himself to a window and propped it open. He slid in, he was above the set and standing upon the metal lattices hung by rusted metal wire. He heard the policemen and they heard the snap of metal. They looked up.

  There was nothing.

  They flashed their light, dragged it across but no one was there. Ajax had hidden behind the large cardboard set piece, a giant cherub, red blushed with his bow and arrow pointing down to the four policemen in the room.

  "I don't think this place passes infrastructure safety protocol." One of them said. He was fidgeting and making sure to stand below nothing, but even that seemed pointless. The ceiling was dripping small chips of wood like brown hail.

  "Don't think too hard about it, things are only bad when you think about them." Their voices were confusing from high above. Ajax couldn't tell them apart.

  "That makes no fucking sense. Of course, everything feels better when you're willfully stupid."

  "If you're that lazy and afraid to look around the place, why don't you go fuck off outside."

  "Well, alright then."

  "You all should go outside." One of them hunched over the floor, above Pip's chalk outline. His face was tense and he pointed to the two wide doors.

  "This job is fucked." The clenched man said. All three gulped, the searchlights went across and Ajax found himself behind the curtains. "There's nothing left for us to find. I'll go call in the detective, he can deal with this rock-bottom shit hole."

  The three looked at each other. Some of them were relieved, others more curious. But the leader did not allow them a line of questioning, he walked back to the scene dock. The muted blue of cardboard clouds littered the floor, beyond them was the wardrobe room. He stopped there, Ajax saw. The other three had walked down, their steps filled the auditorium with the loud bangs. Ajax kept himself close to the single individual in the room. He followed him, climbed down the sky room and the metal jungle, he was hanging by rope and he fell a bit. The bags of sand tied to the end came up halfway to him and he held his breath. The policeman looked around.

  "This place is falling apart." He mumbled. Ajax breathed. He waited and kept still and saw the man feeling out the brick wall with his palms. He was a human seismograph, one ear to the wall and both hands to slap and feel the clay bricks. He stopped at one. It did not look particular, it was at the end of a long wall that had profanity and graffiti stretched across. 'DIE YOUNG' was in bold red, there was an Anarchy symbol right above.

  The only thing particular about this brick was how unremarkable it was, except for the single purple flower that grew from its cracks. The man took out a pocket knife, he chiseled around the brick. The worn stone fell, he inched his fingers in the gap and put the brick on a counter near him. His arm navigated the whole and Ajax watched to see how deep it was, it swallowed the whole arm before it came out. The object of interest: a knife. He was too far to tell its design, he could only see the crescent sneer like a cat's smile and the reflection of light that came off it.

  The man looked for a pocket to put it in, he was about to tuck it in when he heard a sound. His body snapped and looked up. He was licking his lips, the nerves were growing on him. His shoulders looked like bad drum symbols, rattling and shaking mindlessly.

  He looked up again and didn't realize his chest slammed the floor. His hair was held by its length, Ajax stood on top of him with his knee carefully placed on his back. It was lodged against one of his shoulder blades. One hand on the scalp, the other on his carrying hand. Ajax squeezed, the knife fell out.

  "Rock bottom is a myth. There's always a way for things to get worse." Ajax said.

  The man did not respond. He tried turning his head but it was locked. He turned his eyes, he could see the black leather of gloves, nothing more. But he knew who Ajax was.

  "What is that knife for? Who's is it?" Ajax asked. He could hear a chuckle and slammed the face down on the wood. The floor was beginning to give way like the stage trap doors. He raised the face again.

  "Aren't you tired, Veron?" The man said. "Aren't you tired of this circular life?"

  "What the fuck does that mean?"

  "There is no secret to it. I asked, are you tired? Living life moment to pre-destined moment? Living the same existence over an infinite stretch of time. You'd call that prison, wouldn't you? Every particle, every action, every decision already made. The path of all matter, all humanity, coming to dark oblivion. Isn't that horrible? Don't you want more?"

  Ajax could feel himself sweat.

  "Shut the fuck up." He tried breaking his fear. "Who does that knife belong to. What's it for? I can't imagine you'd stop at child killing, you fucking losers."

  "We've known about you two. We've known for a while now. He told us, He knows."

  Ajax slammed down again. He could feel the officer's mouth wobble and yield, his lips flinched.

  "Who the fuck knows?" Ajax asked. He out-stretched the officer's arm. All either of them was grunt as if it never hurt at all. Ajax felt the flesh of this man, his body was limp, he was like the sandbags from before, hotter but just as reaction-less.

  "You'll meet him soon. You don't have to worry about it, it's already been destined. Astrix has willed it so." The officer curled his broken face into a smile. His free hand inched for his gun. Ajax let his face fall to seize the arm. Both were behind his back and both made him still, almost gentle, in the harsh caress.

  "Put your hands up."

  Ajax heard the voice behind him. A gun was pointed towards him.

  "That won't help either of you." Ajax said. The broken man below him gargled blood, he was clearing his throat to laugh. He sounded like pond or lake vomiting a geyser, the blood splattered everywhere, the teeth like pearls rested between the gaps of floor.

  "It's time, Michael." The broken man said. "You're too arrogant, Veron."

  Ajax switched glances between them, he could feel something in his stomach.

  The officer standing at the edge looked to his rear, the two officers were barely approaching. Their footsteps were far, an echo only.

  "Nam amor sui." The broken man said.

  "Hold the fuck on." Ajax let go of his hands and reached for the one pointing. He was
too far.

  "Nam amor sui." The armed officer said. There was one bullet, it splattered red across the graffiti and the floor. Ajax put his hand forward, he lunged. Bang.

  Two corpses laid, their brains scattered, mush and pink across the walls. The body fell, the contents of his skull spilled out from the bullet hole, an open dam now flooding the wardrobe with the raging red waters.

  Ajax could not hold his surprised face for long. He was still longer than he wanted to, the two officers were fast approaching and he looked around. His eyes narrowed at the floor and he moved, his body, a giant blur of black across the room he dashed.

  When the two officers arrived. They called in more support. The fidgeting man fidgeted worse. The stern man kept his gun close to him as he went across the room. But there was no one, Ajax was low, below them. He went through the trap door, went through the floorboards that rained the blood of two lambs. The suicides, the promised.

  He was out before Darr could make his pocket rumble with warnings. He was out before he could think too hard about what just happened. All he knew was in his hand, the ornate knife, dried with old blood.

  11:13 PM

  Sophie

  July 20th, 2017

  11:13 PM

  "Do you know anything about this boy? His name was Pip." Sophie held the photo to the twenty-fourth bitter face she had seen today. He nodded his head, Sophie bit her lips and made the scorn clear with a groan. Useless.

  They walked away and she wandered, next to a metal unicorn barely recognizable. It looked like someone had sanded down all feature and paint, she sat upon it and put her feet up against the coin machine to her rear. The heavy bustle of laundry machines churned behind her.

  All day she had to tolerate their faces.

  'I don't care. That's not pleasant.' She remembered an old man saying such. He was throwing unlucky lottery tickets out to the birds like breadcrumbs. She wished to say that he was the only one, but that was wrong. There were also the shaking, falling weaves of old women who ran from her at the sight of the picture. She did not understand. Are they even human?

  The unicorn below shook, she fell on her butt. She heard a man laugh to her rear, he was beside a soda machine chained behind a metal gate, she was sure, was there to keep the thieves away from wobbling and breaking the mechanisms. He was taking out money and collecting it into a small black bag held at his waist, she began to laugh.

  "Fanny pack. You're wearing a fanny pack, loser." She said. The man looked quiet. He was glaring, behind the shades and the folded mustache.

  "Why don't you go home, kid." He said. "Actually? Stay there. I'll go call my boss."

  She didn't stay there. She ran off into the light posts that flickered. They felt like vintage cameras, light bulbs bursting at the image. She ran through traffic, dashed through the honking cars.

  "I'm the only one with balls in this town." She said, her middle finger up in the air to the two guards across the street from her. She didn't hold it for long, it was obvious they stopped looking for her after a while, and she walked down the street. Her map was out, her feet were kicking around a stray bottle that rattled with the pebbles lodged inside. Artisan Lager, it read. It smelled of urine. And it rolled down the corners, it led her through the streets and the growing noise and the bustling groups of people.

  There was a buzz in the air from the red fluorescent lights, she felt it on her face. It was the hair on her body sticking out, pointing, attracted to the magnet of red light. The people around her felt it. It was on the streets, in the liquor stores. The people acted on it. She could hear the voices of smacking lips all around her, in the alleys, in the gutters she swore she heard it. There was nicotine and the nostril flaring smell of alcohol and the cooling agent, the herbal note of marijuana that made her calm though she did not know why.

  Then there was vomit. It was distinct. Bile. She had made it to The Devil's Tail. This is where the scum is. One of the windows was broken, a plastic grey sheet had been put over it and the fabric breathed with the music inside. She didn't feel so courageous anymore. She looked at the people going in and the weird ways they had made their hair. Could gel do that? She looked to the men. Where do their tattoos end? She shuddered.

  All she wanted was an answer, she'd settle for a hint of Pip. Sophie took a breath, fixed her over-alls and dragged her blond hair into a ponytail. She took a step and felt the breeze of a man. He looked studded, a robot with too many buttons, glistening brighter than the stars.

  He showed her her teeth and unhinged his jaw for a laugh. The thought appeared only once, could what happened to Pip happen to her? No. She was stronger, she thought, better, smarter.

  She stepped on the laughing man's shoes and dug her heel deep in his toe.

  "What are you laughing at?" She said. He held his foot and the people around her, hanging by the walls of the alleys, began to stare.

  She clutched her pocket and the outline of her knife. Some of them went to stand and she walked quick, deeper in. Her hands were to her pockets, her eyes dashed along the shadows of the walls and the irking sound of people dragging themselves through alley water. When she caught her hands trembling, she punched herself. When she heard the loud creak of a straggling cart, she ran. She turned back to catch the fleeting feeling, the stalking sound of people. A mod, perhaps. There was no one. She did not feel courageous, she did not feel much of anything but a want to go home. Regret, bursting her heart with a constant beating.

  She hit something. Her body fell, a crash of metal resounded out.

  "The fuck is your problem." A man yelled.

  "I'm." She stood wide-eyed as if struck in the face. "I'm looking for someone."

  "Fuck off." He said and lifted his cart away. Sophie looked at the man and how he picked from the garbage and how the other villains in the alley knocked him aside. The homeless man spat, it looked like sludge hitting and filling the cavities on the floor. Sophie knew not to talk to him or the people who had shoved him. She walked away to the back end of the club and where she could see a bouncer throwing someone into the floor. He did not stand, rather laid on the parking lot, head sitting on the stone obstacle on one end of a lot. She groaned and almost felt his pain and imagined her own face scraped against the floor like that. It made her shiver and retreat, she stepped back.

  "Where are you going?" She felt a hand on her shoulder.

  She wanted to amputate it off her. It felt like a parasite on her that leeched from her all strength. An infection of the touch, a bite from Medusa's head, petrifying her. Sophie turned her face, slow and careful. He wore no tattoos and no studs and was not particularly strange and that frightened her the most. The black shirt, the shaved face, and teeth that showed through darkness. His hat was thin and crooked like a birds beak. She felt like a worm.

  "You're looking for someone I hear? Maybe I can help you. I keep trying to tell the police but they don't believe me. But maybe they'll believe us together." His eyes were beady and small and his breath smelled like something putrid. She could see the toxic stench as fumes, watched them go up like a spirit leaving his body. She moved her hand and the photo of Pip escaped her arm. It fell. The man picked it up and Sophie stared at him. She hoped the bouncer would help now, perhaps throw this man out like the other. But he was not there, only the door and the swishing sound it made as it went in and out.

  The man put a finger to one of his nostrils, he blew out the other. Sophie wanted to leave, but could not. She couldn't shake the idea that perhaps he knew something. That he was involved. She drew her hand from him and put it over her heart, the other hand was to her knife and her eyes fell on the face of the man. A rat.

  "I'm trying to find out what happened to him. Would you have any ideas?" She could feel her heart through her chest. Louder than the music, louder than the far-off laughs of fools and drunks.

  "I might," He said. "I might've seen him somewhere, sometime. Maybe you can help jog my memory."

  "You've either saw him o
r you didn't. He's dead already." She felt his breath.

  "Well, that's unfortunate. Maybe I know something about that too."

  She felt her blood freeze. The man threw the photo away. Sophie clutched her knife, she varnished the small blade. She swung. Horizontal, across from her. It cut him and he took a step back to hold the palm of his hand. The wounded dog.

  "You fucking bitch." He sucked on his wound. He was very much a stray dog with his famished frame. The small wrists and necks. He was a sick man, she figured, of mind and body. She held the knife to her side as she faced him. They looked like two crabs locked in dance, wide hands outward. She cut him again. This time made him howl. She looked around for help but there was no one conscious, not the frenzied men and women inside, not the drunks outside sleeping on bags of trash. Alone. Alone she fought. Stabbing, slicing, the small feral cat against the hound. She cut him and tattooed his arm with the tribal marks. But he pressed. Angrier each time he bled a new way. He backed her to a wall and she screamed when she felt it against her back. He grabbed her at last and she could feel his hand bleeding onto her own.