Bottled Abyss

by Benjamin Kane Ethridge

  The Ferryman went on, past the overhead lights at the gas pumps, treading into darkness. He talked well enough but he didn’t plan on using the bottle again. It was indeed dangerous to invite Nyx back, but he enjoyed seeing the Fury squirm inside all of that wasted power.

  Then again, he expected that overgrown fool with the dog to come back to steal the bottle. Unlike the Fury, mortals could scarcely see such power and leave it for waste. Let him try. Charon was not fully restored but he wasn’t feeble either. That big oaf would no doubt need healing after their clash. Of course he would oblige the man. All it would cost was one coin. That would be a pleasant way for the Ferryman to extend his stay another three days.

  Life was cheap, after all.

  He dreamed about what the Fury must be doing to that college student. He dreamed about the bottle. He dreamed about the coins it would give him. He dreamed about the salty embrace of his dead mother. A thrill went through him and the night air outside was delightful on his parchment skin.

  FURY

  Glad to be away from that smell outside the store, must have been a backed up sewer—backed up with what though? Rotting cherries, apples and cinnamon?

  Say goodbye to Phil down the road from the AM PM and wonder if I’ll see him in Spanish class again since he’s missed the last five times—weird dude, probably won’t get all his undergraduate stuff completed, but probably wouldn’t get a job anyway with that goth shit of his—can’t believe some people keep that dress-up crap going past high school—

  Walking back to the university apartments with my new lucky coin—flip it on my thumb like a gangster—pling, pling, pling— now I just have to pull off a decent nyah nyah Coppah—this damn obnoxious cold sore in my mouth will probably help with that—tongue it, do circles around it—Have I had one for three days before—? Can’t remember—Gotta get some of that gel stuff, forget if it’s only for cold sores on the outside of your lips, not inside like this one—Is there a difference between cold sores and canker sores—? Can never remember that, should go to the store and read the back of the box—Dumbass—You were just at the store, this sucks, what if it’s cancer from all the weed I smoke—I’m too young, right—? Wonder if it’ll get worse and I’ll lose my jaw and lymph nodes—

  The campus trees along this stretch always freak me out—they huddle around you, look down your shoulders—can feel their leafy breath on my back— kind of poetic when I’m nervous, should use that if I ever decide to write anything besides my signature, yeah sure—

  Something’s wrong—feels darker tonight, feels unbalanced, wickedly so—the world is wide open, am free, am liberated, am finally where I belong—these are not my thoughts—they don’t even feel human—these feelings are wild love for the open air and open world before me—sniff the air, smell everything, everything is wonderful—but miss my keeper, where is my keeper—? I don’t have a keeper—what, like a master—? Like I’m someone’s pet or something—?

  Shake my head dizzily—stagger along the sidewalk—my keeper—?

  Would that be my parents—?

  Need to call about my mother’s 50th birthday—

  Don’t know what dad has planned—

  Don’t call either of the houses nearly enough—Love them so much—Wish they were here in the dark with me—

  Drunken thoughts of freedom consume me again—the world grows cold, no longer wonderful and mysterious, want to go home, am going home, what the hell is the matter with me—?

  Hope that Brian is in the apartment with Jamie—good people—like them—they work well as a couple and so few really do—maybe I’ll find that for myself someday too—maybe this coin will change my luck and I won’t have to play videogames until five in the morning and smoke myself silly—who knows—? I might end up in Calculus 1B and shock the professor—

  Look at the coin, a dark puddle in my hand, somehow taste it in my mouth, like a swamp stew of leaves, rot, death and life, and beyond that my mouth is dry, tasteless, envious of that placenta and bone gruel that tightens there, drawing up the corners of the tongue, busting my cold sore into fragments—

  Still, don’t feel bad for taking the coin from that bizarre hobo in the store—should I feel bad—?

  Hear sounds—dogs yipping and yapping somewhere up ahead in the shadows of the dormitory I happily left last year— no lights are on—not normal—there’s always lights on, always people messing around with something or other—who do those dogs belong to—? Nobody was allowed to bring pets in the dorms—it could have been strays—I grip the coin harder in my sweat-gloved hand—gonna see if Brian has a magnifying glass so I can give it a better look when I get back—it’s a killer looking coin, like something out of a role playing game or something—

  Without any kind of announcement, four-legged fiends leave their hiding places in the bushes lining the dorms—the group slides out on paws that make no sound—ears are pinned back, monstrous aerodynamics in place, ready for flight, for a fast charge—

  Back away, turn, don’t make eye contact, keep hands close to body—this is how you deal with aggressive dogs, right—?

  These aren’t dogs though—big foxes—no they’re coyotes, except bigger—they aren’t running after me yet, but their strides are quickening—don’t want to look them in the eyes but imagine they are sizing me up, choosing which place on my body is the sweetest to tear away meat from the bone—

  Going faster—what the hell are those things—?

  Glance behind me—have to—the coyote monsters have their mouths open, saliva running down in awful tributaries through several rows of fangs—and their eyes, what in God’s name is wrong with their eyes—

  Like a precious metal harvested from Mars, they shine up at me, coins of red gold—

  Coins…

  Try to throw the coin at them, scare them away, give me a chance to run for the apartments, but the coin is a part of my hand—it isn’t going anywhere—then the coyotes fall on me—

  The first coyote to go for my throat is thrown aside by a quicker, meaner alpha, who then lunges and takes hold of my neck in an instant, a grasp barbed in razor thorns that strangles mercilessly—the three others clamp onto my side, bringing me down to the ground—the pain is there, it is real, all of this, is very, very real, but shock has me in its watery grip—everything is water, the dark sky is the surface of a great night ocean, a surface I will never be able to swim to, not having the breath or the strength to even begin such a journey—the water is ever moving, like the water of my veins, freeing itself quickly forever, faster, a rush, a blast—

  The coyotes scatter into the ebbing shadows—

  My heart beats softly now, a feeble finger flicking the inside of my icy cage of bones—

  A cruel form bends over me, head of a blood-crazed shark, body of a serpent and the arms of a powerful man—inside the hideous fish mouth, beyond the blood-stained triangle teeth, a pair of human lips move—“What were three are now one, and I am Fury—”

  No chance to talk, my vocal cords torn from my throat—lie there and bleed, listen in terrified curiosity—

  “You have a chance to stay my vengeance,” says the Fury—the smooth voice sounds hopeful—“Do you know the song—? The song my heart wants so badly to hear—?”

  Vocal cords somehow collect themselves to animate and project sound: “No, no I do not—”

  Scaly hands pry open my mouth, draw out my tongue— with ease, the Fury takes the coin, still gripped in my hand, and places it on my tongue—

  Then the world shatters into drops of pain that pour out into nothing, and a man, out there in the nether black, cries with aching delight.

  3

  Herman couldn’t eat, but he was doing his damnedest not to let Janet and their friends Evan and Faye know that. The problem with spaghetti in a bowl was that spreading it out did little for the illusion of eating. Actually, the sauce had just the right sweetness, a hint of Cabernet Sauvignon, that Herman enjoyed with his pasta. Faye had done
a great job on that and the garlic cheese bread. The food was great; it just wasn’t intended for Herman in this mode.

  Until late last night and as soon as he’d awakened today, he’d thought often about the bottle and the man from the cave. The whole thing could have been a miracle, although Herman wasn’t satisfied entertaining that possibility, not even at arm’s length. In his state of mind of this past year, though crazy to consider, mental illness seemed more likely than miracles. Just like the good Italian dinner with good friends, he unfortunately could not savor sitting here with Lester. The dog wagged his white tipped black tail, begging for table scraps like his life depended on it. His life had depended on something else though—that bottle.

  Herman diverted his thoughts across the table to his wife. She’d had too much wine tonight, had actually puked her guts out right before Evan and Faye showed up at the door. Now she was pretending everything was fine. This was how she’d always been with their friends. In group situations Janet always acted as though she were the strong one, but then when the group dissolved and they were left alone, she just went to pieces and it was Herman who had to sweep her up into the dustpan.

  She might be making me go crazy, he reflected solemnly. Can schizophrenia actually be acquired from emotional stress? The answer for all the magic he’d experienced in the desert could have been a colossal arrangement of hallucinations brought on by a crippled mind. Herman was trying to mend. He was trying to move on, but his wife would never let him.

  Perhaps he’d found Lester out there, unharmed, if not frightened, and his mind created this wild scenario, which was one part nightmare and one part wish fulfillment. It didn’t help that he’d wanted so badly to share what had happened and all Janet had wanted to do was make them feel dirty. That’s all that was. It wasn’t about wanting or needing him. The sex provided another way to make her feel worthless.

  Herman wanted no part of such self destruction. He’d just been so happy with the outcome with Lester that he buckled. It had been a mistake.

  Now, staring at the hobbled woman in the pink blouse, black hair in messy ponytail, chipped nail tapping her teeth, he could think of no one he despised more. She was refusing not only to heal herself, but to let him get better, taking him down with this burning ship, perhaps causing him affliction.

  “Food okay?” Evan’s voice was louder now as he repeated himself. Herman awkwardly shifted in his seat, wondering how many times his friend had asked.

  “I had a big lunch,” he offered.

  Evan half smiled and looked past his bifocals at the golden swirl of noodles on his fork. “Never thought I’d see you turn down food, He-Man.”

  Janet picked up the bottle of Chianti to pour another glass.

  “Can I have some more of that?” asked Faye.

  Herman noticed Faye had cut her hair shorter, like Janet’s used to be, except the style made the diminutive woman look more of a pixie than ever.

  Janet poured the rest of the wine into Faye’s glass. “I’ll get another bottle.”

  “You still have half a glass,” Faye pointed out.

  Janet’s eyes rested on the inch of red in her glass. She didn’t hide embarrassment well, so Herman often found himself always bailing her out.

  Not anymore.

  “It’s pretty good wine.” Janet took the daintiest sip of the evening.

  Herman closed his eyes together tightly a moment; whether out of exhaustion or disgust, he couldn’t tell.

  “Good everything,” said Evan, giving Faye a wink. “I can’t decide what I like best.”

  Faye smiled lightly and went back to piling spaghetti onto her garlic bread and quickly transferring it to her mouth. Herman had never seen her eat so voraciously.

  Evan chuckled. “You’ve all but given yourself away, honey.”

  Faye stopped, garlic bread poised before her mouth. She snorted musically and shrugged.

  “What?” Janet asked over her wine glass, looking faintly horrified.

  “Well, I kinda missed my period.”

  Herman’s throat went dry. “Kinda?”

  “And the test was positive too.”

  After a moment’s thought, Herman smiled and pushed himself out from the table. He went around to Faye and gave her a hug. Evan stood and they also embraced. “Congratulations man—you’re going to love it.”

  “Thank you, buddy. Thanks.”

  Janet bravely pulled herself up from her chair and gave Faye a limp hug, followed by a couple faint poundings of her wrist on Faye’s back. “I’m going to go get that bottle of wine now. To celebrate.”

  Janet shuffled into the kitchen with a swiftness that betrayed her inebriation. Faye stood there, tableside, playing absently with a sauce stained cloth napkin.

  “Do you want a cigar?” Evan asked Herman.

  “Would love one.”

  Evan took two plastic wrapped cigars from the leather jacket draped over the dining room chair they never used. Then he went to Faye and pecked her on the cheek. “We’ll be back in a bit, honey.”

  Faye stood there like a castaway. “Take your time,” she said.

  Many men, seasoned by marriage, would not take their time, but Herman knew that Evan could take all the time he wanted. Herman wasn’t envious or resentful about that. It was a different relationship. Janet actually didn’t grouse over Herman as much anymore because she had no drive for such things. Morbidly Herman missed their thunderous arguments of the past and considered again how insane he’d become in this last year without that passion, just as he stripped the plastic wrap off the Dominican cigar.

  On the porch, in a trapezoid of light through the dining room window, the two men bit off the ends of their cigars. Evan had matches. It took a while to get both of the cigars properly lit, and once Herman took several puffs he decided the smoke just didn’t feel as relaxing as it once had. All he could think of was the ashtray mouth he would have tomorrow morning.

  You’re a barrel of fun, aren’t you?

  Lester scratched at the screen, his claws making zipping sounds. Herman turned and popped open the door. The Border Collie shot outside like a black and white bullet. He didn’t want to pee, just wanted to be outside with the guys. He circled around, grabbed his favorite toy rope in his jaws and threw it up in the air, lunged to catch it, then took off running to all sides of the yard.

  The flavor of Herman’s cigar improved. His mouth hitched into a smile. It was a foreign feeling but not an unwelcome one.

  “I’m so glad you found him,” said Evan, watching the dog in quiet admiration.

  “Me too.”

  “And with all the coyotes about now…”

  Herman looked at his friend incredulously. How did he know?

  Evan took a large draw on his cigar and the end went volcanic for a moment. When he blew out the smoke, he noticed Herman watching him. “What?”

  “What about coyotes?”

  “Oh you didn’t see the news?”

  “We haven’t been watching it.” That was a lesson Herman imagined most grief-trapped parents had to learn the hard way. The local news was not something to fuck around with. It was in your best interest to stab at the channel-button as hard as you could if its grim reaper face ever filled your TV screen.

  “Coyotes must be getting desperate for food. There was a pack that attacked and killed a college student last night.”

  “No shit? Out in the foothills?”

  “On campus,” Evan said through more smoke.

  Herman paused. He so badly wanted to tell Evan his own coyote story. For a split second he contemplated laying it all out. Why not? If it was a hallucination, Evan would convince him and that would put his mind at ease.

  Hell no. Nothing was putting Herman’s mind at ease. It was a stupid thing to even ask for at this point. Instead, he chickened out and commented, “Yeah, there are a lot of them out there.”

  Evan nodded and they both stared out into the stretch of dark desert beyond the chain link fence, t
he body of a great unmoving and poisonous sea.

  “Janet doesn’t look well there, He-Man. You don’t either. Maybe we should hit the gym this weekend, start moving those muscles again?”

  “I’d like that,” Herman admitted, then examined the cigar in his hand. The head of it reminded him of an aerial photo of a vicious forest fire. “I don’t know… I’ve got both days on the grill and then work at the plant this weekend too.”

  “Volunteer work,” Evan pointed out. “You should put your energy elsewhere.”

  “I’ll get back to the gym.”

  “That’s not all that I meant.”

  Herman glared at him. He knew what his friend was getting at. Evan’s eyes were easily read behind his spectacles; the lenses did him a disservice, magnifying his intentions.

  “Let’s enjoy your moment and leave the past where it belongs. If the cops gave up, then what chance do we have?”

  “They didn’t give up,” Evan insisted. “It’s barely just a year now, hardly a cold case.”

  Herman dismissed this. “That part of this whole thing was tearing us apart more than anything. It was a good choice to move on.”

  “But you and Janet were focused then. You still need closure man. Really. Janet looks likes she’s dying in there and…”

  “And what?”

  Evan seemed caught between compassion and frustration. “And you’ve given up trying to save her.”

  “Oh please.”

  “Starting an independent investigation, hitting the streets to look for those guys, it might get Janet’s mind off the bottle.”