Bottled Abyss

by Benjamin Kane Ethridge

  A rough, reptile-dry finger works under the invisible noose around my neck—air rushes into my lungs—

  “What were three are now one, and I am Fury—”

  Groan and fight, nothing doing, still not getting a lot of air— the gruesome face of a shark looms over me—the head reaches a body either dinosaur or dragon in formation, yet the combination seems anatomically correct, as though this beast belongs to the real world and not some fairy tale—a person’s mouth moves in the obscurity just beyond the razor sharp, triangle teeth—must be hallucinating, so close to the end, almost there—

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

  Spit sliding out my mouth—notice my tongue hangs out like a panting dog—no words form in my throat—don’t know what they would be if they were able to form—look out to the trees, all the great swelling green dark angels with millions of sweet orange eyes—they weren’t sad, they were calm, welcoming—and so they would embrace me—

  Something tugs at my hand—the flesh of my palm rips away—

  Falling—striking the ground, my left arm takes the impact, shoulder almost popping from the socket, teeth gnashing together, blood in mouth from biting my tongue—

  Janet is a few feet from me, on her knees—clenching her teeth, sweating, face contorting as though she’s dying or giving birth or both—she gasps— something in her hands—see that it’s the coin—suddenly she shoves it into her mouth and tries to swallow—the coin immediately comes back up in pieces, like congealed gravy melting to steam—it sizzles on the leaf strewn ground, disappears—

  “Thought that would work—” Janet said, voice thick with nausea—

  Just noticed Evan crouches beside me, saying things I haven’t heard or can even understand because I’m breathing so hard—body quivers, racing heart beats slower, not to a normal rhythm, but an acceptable one—glance around for the shark thing that called itself Fury—no trace of it, just trees and trees—

  What happened—? Why did I try to hang myself—? And with what—? See no rope lying on the ground, but the wide band of bruising around my neck is several degrees more real than anything else at the moment—

  Janet crawls up to me—register her and Evan more than before, see the Jeep parked out by the truck, which still had its door open—can’t find my breath to speak yet, words from Janet and Evan are making more sense—

  “Can you stand—?” asks Janet—

  Evan says something I can’t hear—

  Feel his arms sliding under me, picking me up, he hasn’t picked me up in a long time, like it, have so missed it—

  Look lazily out through the groves—across several rows, standing near a chain link fence, the Fury watches us—black, unblinking eyes see through me—scream—Evan and Janet turn—they see it too—Evan almost drops me—look back over to the spot it had been standing and the Fury has left—only swaying orange trees prove it had ever been there at all.

  In all the years Janet had known Faye, she had never seen her so demanding. She refused to go to the hospital and insisted on returning to Janet’s house to collect some of her cleaning supplies and her good mop. After that, she planned to drive to her mother’s house in Oakland. Evan argued over this choice, she a pregnant woman freshly plucked from a death by hanging. He’d adjusted the rearview mirror to show her the red-blue-black strangulation marks on her throat. Though she would not suffer either of them a moment longer, she quietly agreed to go the ER after she got her things. There was a condition however. Janet had to explain what happened; she had to give up everything about the bottle.

  It wasn’t an easy to story to retell in a believable way, especially since Janet didn’t have all the answers herself. The bottle’s power all boiled down to, in her theory anyway, a transference of death. There, in her living room, perched over a cup of jasmine tea, Janet told them about Lester, about the coin and Sam, about the fly and Mrs. Horrace, and about the strange phone call she received from someone called the Fury.

  “That was it,” said Faye, her voice, sandpapered. She looked down at her still steaming cup of tea. “That was the monster we saw. It told me it was called the Fury.”

  Janet let out a quivering breath. “It didn’t tell me about the coins…I didn’t know, Faye. I only figured it out when I heard about Mrs. Horrace. I would have told you if I thought it was dangerous.”

  “You didn’t know either way.” Faye curled a finger around the handle of her cup, but didn’t lift it.

  Janet glanced at Evan. He hadn’t said much during the story. He just kept his face pointed down, his spectacled eyes on the nervous playing of his fingers. He was usually the first to be judgmental, but this time he was at a loss to pick up any stones.

  “I should have told you both about the bottle,” Janet went on, “I was going to write it down in a note—things just kept happening.”

  Faye wanted to speak, but either from the rope burn or the thousand questions likely colliding through her mind, she remained stoic. Evan, on the other hand, at last burst to life. He stood and knuckled the small of his back, then went over to the fireplace to re-gather.

  They really needed to get Faye to the hospital and have the baby checked out. Janet wanted to say as much but that was a losing battle still. She picked up her cup and went into the kitchen to pour another. Using the same tea bag, she took her grandmother’s old tea pot and observed the light brown fluid draining out. Her hand trembled as she did. After seeing that thing in the grove, and after what happened to Faye, they had to believe me, right?

  Other perplexing thoughts fluxed in Janet’s mind. She still feared strangulation, but oddly her desire to slip a rope around her neck had resurfaced. It was as though she now possessed both the fear and the desire simultaneously. They canceled each other out and at the same time reaffirmed one another. She hadn’t known what to do with the coin when she first came upon her best friend hanging in the air like that. All Janet knew was that the awful coin was hers—that this particular death did not belong to Faye. Janet had tried to take it back, but only gained this befuddling psychosis in exchange.

  “Janet,” Faye croaked from the other room, “can you come here?”

  Janet took her cup and hurried back into the living room. “All ready for the hospital?”

  Faye’s resonance had a chain-smoking soul singer’s quality to it. “How could you not tell me? You had me on the phone. You could have at least told me not to touch the coin—”

  Janet set down her tea cup quickly. “Jesus, Faye, I told you I didn’t know.”

  “That,” she paused to wet her voice, “in itself should have been enough.”

  “I just didn’t know, okay?”

  “After Sam, you should have.” Faye got surprisingly loud. “You aren’t a good friend.”

  “Wait Faye, you’re worked up.” Evan placed a photo of Herman back up on the fireplace.

  “Oh, it lives,” said Faye.

  “Don’t pick on Janet. Come on, let’s go to the hospital. Want me to help you stand?”

  “How did you know I was in the groves?” Faye asked.

  Evan absorbed the question with all the grace of a punch in the nose. “I—huh—it was just a hunch. I think you mentioned it once. We were trying to get back here quickly in case you showed.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “What’s she talking about?” asked Janet. When Evan didn’t answer, she said to Faye, “He told me you might have gone through the groves. That’s all he said.”

  “Just drop it,” said Evan. “Faye, we have to get—”

  “No, no, you tell me.”

  Evan sighed. “We’ve used that short cut together before.”

  “Bull. I never said a word about it and you’ve never taken it when you’re driving. So how did you know? Have you been following me? Stalking?”

  “This i
s so dumb. There are more important matters right now.”

  “Evan?”

  “A few times.”

  “A few?”

  “Good god…”

  Faye’s face glowed red. “And?”

  Evan’s foundations were cracking and just about to break asunder. Faye and Janet watched him intently and he made several false starts before speaking.

  “I know the baby’s probably from one of those illegal pieces of trash that live in the grove. Why do you insist on reminding me? It doesn’t matter. I want the baby. I want you. We need to make sure you’re okay. Can we please, just please, go to the ER.”

  At the word baby, Faye had begun to weep. “How could you judge me like that?”

  Evan smacked the wall behind him. “You went into their trailers, Faye. More than one time.”

  Faye shook her head. “To talk. Nothing happened. You have the moral compass of a rat, Evan.”

  “How has this become about me? Janet nearly got you killed!”

  “This is about both of you.”

  “I’m not the one screwing around,” Evan pointed out. “Looks like you got a fair punishment for poisoning our marriage.”

  “You’re hideous!” Faye whirled around to Janet. “Both of you!”

  “Holy shit, are you kidding me?” Evan said. “After the shit we’ve seen today, you’re still gonna deny what you did? You’ve ruined my life.”

  Janet went to Faye and lightly touched her arm. “Hey, let’s just go. This is—”

  Faye ripped her arm away from Janet and in the process fell sideways on the couch. She awkwardly fought to her feet. “Just stay away. I don’t ever want to see, or talk to you… again.”

  Janet took a step back. “Okay. Whatever you want.”

  Faye waddled to the front door with Evan following close behind. He pulled the door closed but it didn’t shut all the way.

  Janet shoved the door closed with a resounding, “Fuck!”

  She dropped her head against the door for a moment and closed her eyes. “Fuck,” she said again, in a whisper.

  When she turned around, the Fury stood at the fireplace.

  Janet’s entire body became ice. The creature took up most of the living room with its scaly dragon body. Its muscled arms flexed as it held its clawed hands clasped together, like in prayer. A sweet sewage odor permeated everything in the room.

  “Are you going to kill me?”

  The bleeding shark eyes studied her with intense hunger. “I am not death. I am justice.”

  “How did you find me?”

  “The bottle. It was close enough to speak to me, so I was able to follow. Though things have changed, I can still recognize the God Nyx.”

  The creature looked more injured than it had in the grove. Some of its flesh had torn off in clumps and its left pair of gills festered with a pale gray fluid.

  “What do you want from me?”

  “I told you to stop using the bottle. You see what occurs. Regardless of these new waters flowing inside, you are not made of the River. You cannot dole out transactions.”

  “You can have the bottle.”

  “I am unable to touch the River in such a concentrated form; therefore I cannot accept the bottle. That would shatter this reality.”

  “I don’t understand a damn thing you’re saying.”

  “You don’t have to understand,” the monster replied. “Just stop this. The passing of souls feels exhilarating now, but it will eat you up. Look to me as an example. I am made of the Styx. This new reincarnation of the God has no use for my justice. It will happen the same way if you continue… Bury that bottle. I will fade, you will go on living. Find a new husband, make a new daughter. Life pours out faster toward the end and then drips until nothing. Take life while it remains full.”

  Janet believed everything it said and understood it would not harm her… In a way, she had all the power now. This thing only took those unfortunates who accepted the death coins.

  Sensing her reluctance, it said, “Things cannot go on in this way.”

  “I know,” Janet replied. She calmly met its atrocious eyes. “This bottle hasn’t seen its full potential yet.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I have unfinished business.”

  “Wait!”

  Janet pulled open the front door and ran for the side of the house. Lester barked merrily at her approach. She took the leash off the wall and hooked it to his collar.

  She hustled out to the truck and loaded Lester into the back.

  Beyond the pulled blinds, the Fury watched from the living room window. It made no move to follow.

  Lester howled from the back seat.

  Janet checked the center console for the bottle.

  The bottle was still there.

  She put the truck in reverse and backed out. In the rearview mirror her house went quickly out of sight.

  Janet would never see her home again.

  CHAPTER II

  The Murderer

  SoCal News Online

  The body of a man that was found mutilated in the San Timoteo badlands Sunday has been identified.

  34-year-old Moreno Valley resident Herman Jacob Erikson's body was found Sunday around 11 a.m., in a wash-out near the surrounding foothills, his body having been largely savaged by desert predators, according to Sheriff's Sgt. Ensio Lopez. Among the victim’s numerous wounds, an unexplained trauma to the right eye was discovered as atypical to animal wounds.

  "Based on the preliminary investigation, Desert Station investigators as well as investigators from the Riverside County Sheriff's Department Central Homicide Unit were called to the scene and assumed the investigation," added Lopez.

  Erikson’s spouse, who has chosen anonymity from the media, arrived late Sunday evening at the city coroner to identify the body. At present, Mrs. Erikson is not a person of interest in the investigation.

  Janet read the article about ten times. The hotel room was quiet, the lights were out, she was in pajamas, and nothing else existed in the universe but the bottle, its shape illuminated by the screen of her old laptop. She would read the article and then turn her eyes to the bottle, feel guilty, repeat the cycle.

  People had been blowing up her cell phone throughout the morning. Faye, Evan, Officer Davis and the one cousin who hadn’t disowned Janet growing up. She only spoke to Officer Davis though, because she wanted some sort of umbilicus to the police department. It was a curt conversation; as much as Davis wished to become a shoulder to lean on, Janet focused only on the Josue Ramirez case.

  It was good to have something to take her attention off Herman, but that old sick desire still tugged at Janet, as well as the paralyzing fear that squashed it. She was getting better at not introducing those thoughts, yet the idea that one could win over the other at any minute, or not ever, made her want to claw all the moon and stars wallpaper off the walls.

  The Fury had appeared a few times since she’d checked in. She would find it staring at her from down the maroon carpeted halls or stalking around the parking lot when she sneaked Lester out for a walk. The monster never approached her—it looked to be hurting more and more. She hoped it would just die and leave her and the bottle alone.

  There were too many things left to worry about while she made plans. Financing this crusade had to be considered. The money Herman had banked from his various jobs kept their bank account nice and padded, but it would run out eventually. Janet had credit cards for when that time came and she would run them to their limits if she had to, but how long would it take to get to Melody’s murderer?

  Her stomach growled. She ignored it.

  Lester jumped up on one of the queen sized beds, circled restlessly and then dropped down with a huff. He put his head on his paws but kept his eyes on the bottle. He also watched it often, she noticed.

  Janet sighed and changed from the local news website. Herman’s pale green face flashed through her mind with other graphic images from the coroner’s o
ffice. Her husband’s face had been bloated with days of death, yet still wore an expression of shock. His hair had looked thick and vibrant, as though it had just been washed and conditioned. That alone may have made her doubt him being gone, but other features helped to diminish any hope of that. One eyelid had been gnawed off and the other eye socket was nothing more than a scabby gray tunnel. The muscles and tendons of his right shoulder had been torn from the bone. Dirt and animal fur caked his mouth and ears. Herman had been picky about cleaning his ears. Two q-tips every morning…

  The police had their own ideas about what had happened to him, but Janet didn’t need an explanation.

  All the answers were in the bottle sitting next to her mouse pad.

  It’ll never give me those answers though, will it?

  She lost control abruptly and realized she was gasping, hyperventilating. Panic closed in. Lester glanced over, black and white head cocked with concern. This was what happened, she thought, when you run out of strength to grieve. Your body tries to kill itself. Maybe this is what it means to die of a broken heart?

  When her attack settled, she put it behind her and went straight back into her hunt.

  Loma Linda Hospital. Josue Ramirez. That had to be her focus.

  When Janet had worked at the school, one of the teacher’s aides in the neighboring classroom left for an internship as a medical assistant on the children’s ward at Loma Linda. Her name was Stacy…Roberts. Yes, and they’d always gotten along well. Janet had met her for lunch once when she was thinking of changing careers. Stacy had shown her almost the entire hospital and introduced her to a few nurses and doctors, none of which Janet remembered.

  But another refresher tour might help.

  She looked up the number for Stacy’s ward.