by O'Brian Gunn
“Damn.”
“We’re running out of rooms.” She presses her lips together. “Happiness and satisfaction have always been a human desire. Now that we have what we desire we—”
A ragged scream of ecstatic joy rips through their ears.
They hurry to the door.
The old man has his fingers dug in his eye sockets, digging fitfully for his eyes as twin trails of blood run down his stretched cheeks and into his open mouth. “I want to see it! See it! Let me see it!”
The man bleeds and laughs and is obscenely happy.
Night has taken over Mercurmont. Cars clog the streets as moving bodies blanket the cracked sidewalks.
Noir walks alone.
He passes through an abandoned lot on the way home, hands shoved in his pockets as the unseasonably warm, fetid air brushes across shoulders bared in the tank top. The zipped bag of money rubs against his thigh.
He walks into a cone of flickering piss-yellow light and kicks the large rock at his feet, sending it bouncing and clattering off the metal beams discarded and decayed in a pile.
“You gon’ follow me all the way home, amigo?” He doesn’t turn, doesn’t stop, doesn’t seem concerned in the slightest.
“What did you gain by killing them?” The voice slithers from the strip of shadows behind him.
“What did I have to lose?”
The sparse tufts of grass around his feet yellow, crinkle, and curl before withering and wilting to brown. Now Noir stops. “The fuck?” He whirls and sees the man behind him. Loose brown curls, bright yellow-green eyes, delicate razors for cheekbones, well-dressed.
“You doin’ this?”
The other man only stares, hair buoyed beautifully by the corrupted breeze.
Noir drops the bag, lunges forward, and shoots his fist out in a cross. The man dances back in a lazy sway. Noir uses the wasted momentum to fling his other fist out in a hook. The man absently catches it and Noir suddenly feels his captured wrist go numb, the sensation sinking into muscle, bone, and nerve.
“Amazing how smoothly you can move when you don’t have rushing blood and adrenaline to distract you.” He pushes Noir away. “But you haven’t answered my question: why did you kill those men and that woman?”
Noir glances down at his wrist just as the sickly purple and yellow bruising around his aching arm fades back to brown. “I killed ‘em because they were bad boys and girls. What were you doin’, hidin’ somewhere, pretty boy? Sure you saw the whole show, the guns, the scales, the lil’ baggies...the drugs.” They regard each other, Noir’s fingers curling and uncurling in slow anticipation.
“You don’t believe that the quality of your life is lessened by taking the lives of others?”
“Not if they deserve it.”
“And if they don’t?”
“Then I don’t kill ‘em.” His lip curls. “I only kill people that need killin’, so why you all in my face?”
The man smiles. “I’m doing you a favor.”
Noir’s lips part and his eyebrows draw together. “Got your lines mixed up.”
The well-dressed man’s hands go behind his back. “Have you ever thought about doing something else with your life, Mr...” He rolls a hand through the air with a flourish.
“Call me Noir.”
He lifts his chin a touch. “Poignant.”
“Thanks. Now who the hell are you?”
“Giorgio Quintero.” He wears an expression of consideration as he brings a hand up and rubs the tips of his fingers and thumb together. “At least that’s who I was.”
Noir breathes through his nose.
“Have you ever thought about doing something else, Noir? Have you ever felt that you were wasting your life, throwing it away?” He leans forward, eyes shining in the streetlight. “It’s not like you get a second chance at this.”
“Only what I allow her.”
Adam studies her for a moment. “If you’re sure.”
“I am.” Bisset nods and leans her head back. Her eyes go distant and her body goes rigid. Her eyes flash golden with smoky verdant swirls before flicking back to their natural brown hue. She tilts her head forward with a smile that doesn’t touch the rest of her face. “Adam.” Bisset’s voice is now sultry, low, and cooing.
“The Dragoness?”
“In the honey-brown flesh.”
“I heard that you wanted to speak to me.”
“I do.”
“Concerning what exactly?”
“Why do you wish to change my hostess, to change Bisset?”
“Bisset came to me in tears—”
“That’s a falsehood.”
“Not all tears are physical. You have ripped her mind to shreds, made it so that she can’t live a normal life. You have tarnished Bisset’s light with your unholy sickness.”
“And you’re just the man to take that blight and cast it back into the chasm of Hell from whence it came, correct?”
“Yes.” He grits his teeth around the word.
“Mmm. That’s not it, not really. Why do you really want to change Bisset, Adam? For her...or for yourself?”
“You don’t see what you’re doing to her.”
“And you won’t let yourself see what you will do to her. You only want to feel that warm rush, that ecstatic spurt of pleasure you get from helping people. You simply want to feel good about helping someone who isn’t even aware of how truly blessed they are because of misguided and jealous people like yourself.”
“You are quite the temptress.”
“I only tempt with the unpolished truth.”
“You twist the truth. I’m looking into the eyes of a serpent; hypnotic and full of deceit.” He leans forward and stares into The Dragoness’s eyes. They blink once, snapping to captivating green and gold. They blink again, snapping back to empty brown cavities. “I’ll extend this offer only once: Get out of Bisset Torres’s body, serpent. Right now.”
The Dragoness’s tongue slips out to slick across her lips. “You don’t seem to understand this relationship. I can’t extricate myself from this body anymore than you can. You are your body, your intestines, your cells, your thoughts, your desires. For some reason, humans can’t wrap their big little heads around the idea that everything is connected, that separation doesn’t exist. It’s simply something else that they manifest to make sense of the world. Time, reason, philosophy. Nothing but walls. All of the lines are connected, Adam.”
Adam stares at her, saying nothing. “You’re refusing to give this woman her freedom?” The words are whispered.
“For someone who’s more than human, you’re not very incisive.” She blinks and leans forward as she twists her head a bit to the side. “Is God yelling too loudly in your ears for you to hear me?”
Adam goes to the pulpit and comes back with a dusty bottle of anointing oil. His gaze never leaves hers as he unscrews the cap and puts his thumb over the opening and tilts the bottle. “I cast you out in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.” He smears oil in a horizontal line on The Dragoness’s forehead. “I command you out of this body, out of this mind, and out of this soul by the power of God and His son, our only savior, Jesus Christ.” He smears a vertical line on The Dragoness’s forehead. “I exorcise this wicked demon by all of the Holy Power in me.” He presses his thumb in the center of The Dragoness’s forehead, gripping the side of her head with his fingers. “Back to the Inferno, I command thee!” His eyes ignite silver. “Back to Hell, I command thee!” His body explodes in a swath of silver incandescence. “BACK TO THE INFERNO, I COMMAND THEE!” His clothes press against his skin as a sudden hot gale flashes into creation between them. The Dragoness’s curls are whipped and stretched back behind her.
“I CAST YOU OUT, SATAN! I DENOUNCE YOU AND ALL THE EVIL THAT YOU HAVE BROUGHT ONTO BISSET TORRES.”
The Dragoness’s eyes drift closed, her breath hitches...
And she sneezes.
The wind falters, dying away along with t
he silver glow around Adam’s body.
The Dragoness’s eyes open. Unimpressed.
“Finished?”
Adam glares at her. “Only for tonight.”
Addie leans forward in her chair. “Are you sure, Leo?”
A nod. “I’m sure.”
She flattens her palm on the desk. “I know this isn’t exactly in your chosen field, but I can see that there’s a lot going on with you. It’s all over your face, the tightness in your shoulders, your voice.”
He cants his head sideways. “You can see all of that?”
A soft smile. “Not everything has to be studied under a microscope.”
He sighs. “It’s just that I don’t feel this job is right for me...not right now.”
“Or maybe it’s just the job you need right now. Something new, not too demanding, something that throws you out of your comfort zone.”
“I’m sorry things didn’t work out how Marlon thought they would.”
Addie braces her chin on her palm. “I’ve known Marlon for a while; his instincts are almost as good as mine. If he thinks working here can do you good, then he’s probably right.” She sips tea from the steaming mug on her desk. “So why do you think you shouldn’t be here?”
He scrunches his face together. “I can’t tell what’s going on in half of these pieces. How am I supposed to describe it to other people? I don’t know what I’m talking about.”
She waggles a finger at him. “Many people have come to realize that most of the time it’s the experts who don’t know what they’re talking about. They have too much know-how to look at something subjectively in a new light. Take you for instance. You think that art and science couldn’t be further apart from each other. In reality, they’re very much the same.”
Leo frowns.
“All of the cells and atoms, the nucleus and all of the protons and neutrons, all of them are essential to the body. Without one, it just wouldn’t work properly. All of the small things create the whole.” She arches her eyebrows. “See where I’m going with this?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Now, Mr. Morente has just arrived and he’s interested in looking at the new Karthesier piece up front before we conclude our business. I’d like for you to show it to him.”
Leo’s face drops. “What? No, I—I can’t.”
She stands. “Yes, you can. He’s not a pretentious bastard. He enjoys hearing different perceptions. In fact, he relishes them.” She opens the door. “Come on.” Her banana curls bounce as she nods her head at the door. “Don’t make me yank you out of that chair and wrinkle up that nice shirt.”
Leo stands with a groan. He walks with Addie out of the office and into the gallery. A man with silver hair beneath a dark green fedora stands with his back to them. His lightly wrinkled hands are clasped behind him, head tilted up at the wood and iron sculpture Leo had been studying earlier. Addie gives his arm a pat.
“Mr. Morente, such a pleasure to see you.” He turns, removes his hat and beams as they embrace. He looks older than he moves.
“Ah, Addie, my beauty. Looking wonderful as always.” He holds her by the elbows with tender care.
“Why, thank you. Mr. Morente, I’d like you to meet our newest employee, Leo Kennington.”
Leo holds out a hesitant hand, glancing at it for a second and willing his tic not to manifest. “A pleasure to meet you, sir.” His power obeys. For now.
The older man shakes his hand. “No need to be so formal. You think just because I own over twenty art galleries in America and teach at an Ivy League college you have to bow down to me. I bow down to you.” He gives a slight bow and a guffaw.
Addie laughs. Leo gives a hesitant nod.
“The Karthesier is just this way.” Addie leads them deeper into the gallery toward the Native American exhibit. “How was your flight?”
“Adventurous.” The old man beams. “We ran into turbulence halfway through, twisted my stomach into knots. Oh, it was wonderful. As we were passing over Colorado, we stumbled into a storm. Skeins of lightning decimating the sky with the wind whipping the clouds into all sorts of frothy shapes. And just on the other side of the sky the sun was peeking out for a look. I didn’t know whether to be frightened or awed.” He holds his hands up as his eyes take him back. “So I was both.”
“You should be a writer, Mr. Morente.” She smiles at Clint as they pass.
The janitor tips his hat at her and slides a smirk at Leo.
“I’ve given it some thought. I think I’m too old to start something new. If you can’t fully commit to something, then don’t even bother starting, I always say.”
“You’ve got, what, twenty, thirty more years left in you?”
“Give or take ten or fifteen.”
“Actually, with the advances they’re making in pharmaceuticals and medical science, it isn’t entirely unlikely that you can squeeze at least thirty more years out of your life.” Leo nods behind them.
“I hope Brandon Harriott doesn’t get wind of that little fact.” Morente’s shoulder shake with hi chuckle. “He’s one toe in the grave and, sometimes I’m tempted to give him a good push and grab a shovel.”
“Here we are.” Addie stops at the painting to the left. “Well, I’ll go and draw up the papers. Leo here will answer any questions you may have. If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen.” She gives Leo a smile, Mr. Morente a nod, and clicks out of the room on her high heels.
Mr. Morente steps closer to the canvas. “Exquisite detail, don’t you think?”
“Um, yes, very nice.”
He puts outstretched fingers close to the piece, but doesn’t touch it. “And the shading and points of color here, very subtle, but quite effective.” He shakes his head. “I’ve heard that Karthesier once spent seven months perfecting a single brushstroke. Seven months. Can you imagine, Leo.”
“I once spent seven months growing a plant cell.”
Mr. Morente looks over his shoulder. “I’m sorry?”
“Nothing, didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“Quite alright, my friend.” He holds his chin between his thumb and index finger. “What do you think of the expression on the woman’s face?”
“Well, I really don’t know too much about—”
“No, no, you do. Art imitates life. You have experienced life, right, young man?”
“Yes.” The word is hesitant, unsure.
“Then you’ve experienced art. Now, tell me what you think of this representation of life.”
Leo looks over his shoulder to see Clint leaning silently against the wall with a hand smoothing down the broom handle. He shakes his head. Leo turns back to the Karthesier.
“She...she has this look on her face almost as if she’s...as if she’s waiting for something. The expression on her face says one thing, but it’s—it’s the eyes that I’m noticing.” His voice drops. “There’s a certain...dullness to them.” He takes an involuntary step forward as Mr. Morente takes one back. “There’s a line just here.” Leo points. “Almost like an endoplasmic reticulum. Maybe she’s trying to cover up her true feelings.”
“You have quite an observant eye.”
Leo blinks rapidly. “Thank you.”
“Who are you, Leo Kennington?”
Leo looks over his shoulder. Clint is gone.
Adam shuts the door behind him and turns to find Maggie sitting on the couch with a book in her lap. He goes to her and kisses her on the lips before going into the kitchen.
“How was your day?” Adam peels open the refrigerator.
“Wonderful. I went to the park with a few of the other sisters and we flew kites.” A grin splits her face. “Haven’t done that since I was a child.” The word freezes her expression and gradually crumbles it.
Adam comes back into the living room with two bottles of water. He passes one to her and twists the cap off the other.
“So, where were you?”
“I was with a friend.” He sits down across from her and put
s her bare feet in his lap, massaging them.
Maggie glances up. “What...” She smooths her hair. “What kind of a friend?”
“A woman named Bisset, she came to me for help.”
Her eyes don’t waver. “Came to you, or came to Sovereign?”
“Mmm, both I suppose.” He reaches for the bottle of water on the table.
A slow nod before going back to her book. “What did she need help with?” Her eyes roll across the page.
“...I really don’t think that she would be comfortable with me telling you.”
She cocks her head, no longer focused on the page. “I’m your wife, Adam.” She looks up at him.
“I know that, honey.”
She flicks the book shut. “Don’t do that, Adam.”
“Do what?”
“Don’t sit there and be a—a man about this.”
His fingers stop kneading her soles and he lifts his shoulders. “I don’t understand where this is coming from.”
“You’re out all day with another woman, a woman I don’t even know, and you come home and don’t tell me anything about her?”
“Maggie, you know that I would never do anything to tarnish this marriage.”
“I know that.” She tosses the book on the table and snatches her feet from his lap.
“Then where is this com—”
“I want to see, to hear some kind of reaction, Adam! We haven’t even looked each other in the eye since we came back from Dr. Hannigan.” She claws a stray strand of hair from her face. “Does it even bother you that we can’t have a child?”
Adam goes still. “How could you ask me that?” The words fall like hollow notes. “I’ve yearned and prayed for a child almost as long as you have, you know that. How can you sit there and ask me that question?”
Her tone eases. “Because you act as if you don’t care that you—that we can’t conceive a child.”
“Dr. Hannigan said there’s still a chance.”
“A very small chance, an extremely small chance.”
“Maggie, where is your faith?”
She shakes her head. “Where’s your sense? We just weren’t meant to have a child. It doesn’t matter how hard you want something, if it just wasn’t meant to be, then it wasn’t meant to be.”