Beckon

by Tom Pawlik

  He wondered how long Henderson had kept this secret bottled up inside him. His voice softened. “Then what happened? How did you end up here?”

  Henderson sighed and sank onto the couch. “It got to be too dangerous for me to stay in San Francisco. I was getting old by then and in danger of getting caught. Vale said it was time and I could come to Beckon to stay. He said he would give me the perilium and he had additional work for me to do.”

  George frowned. “You wanted the perilium too? Even after everything you knew about it?”

  “For a chance to regain my youth? To live with my Julia forever? Yes, more than anything. I drank it too.”

  “Despite all the people that had been killed.”

  “These were vagrants, criminals. After a time I came to accept what had once been unacceptable.” His gaze turned cold. “Don’t judge me too harshly. It’s not as hard as you might think.”

  “And what happened to Julia?”

  Henderson turned away. He went to the window and hung his head. “She never knew the truth about her cure or the things I had done on her behalf. She only knew that perilium was a fountain of youth, and she was perfectly happy in her ignorance. Then one day she found my journals. She confronted me and I had to tell her everything. She hanged herself not long afterward.”

  George didn’t know whether to hate the man or pity him. Despite his complicit role in all this evil, George couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. Because now he found himself in the same predicament.

  Henderson left, and George woke Miriam to give her some breakfast. She ate quietly, not speaking much. George knew she must be preoccupied with thoughts of her own mortality. He tried to engage her in conversation but with little luck.

  Vale kept them consigned to their room, and as the hours passed, George could see Miriam was growing more and more withdrawn. By noon she complained of a slight fever and a headache that grew worse as the day wore on.

  George sat at the bedside, wiping the sweat from her forehead with a cool, damp washcloth. He still couldn’t get the vision of Amanda’s death out of his head. And now as he watched Miriam’s condition worsen by the hour, he found his own resolve weakening.

  He stood over her bed as she opened her eyes, shadowed by dark circles, and offered him a weak smile.

  “I can’t do this,” he said at last, his voice shaky. “I can’t just stand around and watch you suffer.”

  “George . . .” Her voice was soft and her breathing grew labored. “This place—this man—is evil. You need to be strong. You can’t . . . give him what he wants.”

  “I’m not going to let you die.”

  “I’m . . . not afraid. You need to let me go. You’ll never be free of him if you don’t.”

  George shook his head. He’d just gotten her back after four years, and he wasn’t about to let her go again. He went to the door, where Mulch was standing guard.

  “I need to see Vale—now.”

  Mulch led him to the dining hall, where everyone was gathered eating. The Brownes, the Huxleys, the Dunhams, along with Carson and Henderson. George noticed that this evening there was little conversation and the general mood seemed more subdued. And no wonder, George thought. Vale had just killed off one of their own with about as much detachment as if he had traded in a used car for a newer model. He sat in his normal place at the head of the table and raised an eyebrow as George entered.

  “Hello, George,” he said, glancing at his watch. “I’ve been expecting you. I assume you’ve had a change of heart?”

  “Yes.” George tried to mask his contempt. “You win. I’ll do whatever you want me to do. Just give her the perilium.”

  “A wise choice,” Vale said. “I’m looking forward to integrating you into our group. And now that Amanda has left us, I think Miriam would fit this role perfectly.”

  “I wouldn’t be too sure of that.” Miriam’s voice came from the doorway.

  George turned. “What are you doing?”

  Miriam’s face was deathly pale and glistening with sweat. “I’m coming here to s-stop you from making . . . a mistake.”

  “It’s okay,” George said. “The money doesn’t matter to me.”

  “It’s not about the money,” Miriam said, stepping gingerly into the room. “It’s about your soul. I can’t let you . . . get involved in what they’re doing here. I won’t do this.”

  “Come now, Mrs. Wilcox, get off your high horse.” Vale gestured to the others at the table. “In Beckon, we have found an end to disease and suffering. And even time has no power to ravage your body. I’ve made you young and beautiful again.”

  “On the lives of those people down there?” Miriam looked at the others. “Do they have to . . . die so you can live?”

  “All species live at the expense of others,” Vale said. “That’s the way it is in nature.”

  “Perhaps that’s the way of animals. Not us.”

  “Criminals, indigents, and the dregs of modern society. Those are the types of people down there. We have made the world a better place by eliminating them.”

  “Those are human beings. Created in God’s image. You have no right—”

  “God’s image?” Vale laughed. “In a great house, there are vessels designed for noble purposes and others for ignoble, remember? God Himself creates the distinction. God Himself destined them for this purpose. To be given for us. We’re simply ridding His house of the ignoble vessels. In our own way, we’re doing His divine will.”

  “You are not God . . . and this is not His will.” She looked at the others gathered around the table and sucked in a long breath. “He’s played on your fears . . . and used them against you. You were all so d-desperate to save yourselves or your loved ones that you were willing to do anything. Anything. And now look at you. You’re like slaves. You do whatever he tells you to, no matter how terrible. You think . . . you’re immortal . . . but you’ve lost your souls long ago.”

  “I don’t care.” George grabbed her shoulders. “I can’t lose you again.”

  “Lose me?” Miriam touched his cheek and smiled. “After all these years you still don’t . . . understand? Death isn’t the end, George—not for me. I’m . . . just going home.”

  “Are you so sure of that?” Vale pointed to the windows. “Death and disease rule out there. But I saved you from it. Here in this town, I’ve given you immortality.”

  “You’ve made them prisoners,” Miriam countered. “They live in fear of you. Afraid that one day you’ll take it all away from them.”

  Vale’s eyebrows went up. “And you would have them believe you’re not afraid of dying?”

  Miriam shook her head. “I may be . . . afraid of dying . . . but I don’t fear death.”

  Vale grunted. “And why is that?”

  Miriam grimaced and doubled over, leaning on George for support. And then with all her strength, she straightened again, leveling her gaze at Vale and the others. But George saw in her eyes neither hate nor anger nor even defiance, but rather . . .

  Compassion.

  “Because . . . I know the Author of life.”

  Vale scowled and looked away from her. “It’s not too late, George.” His voice was even and confident. He got up from the table and slipped a glass vial from his pocket. “I can stop her suffering. I have it in my power.”

  “Yes!” George reached out his hand. “Give it to me.”

  But Miriam clutched his arms, refusing to let go. “No! I won’t live like that.”

  “George?” Vale held out the vial and moved closer. “Do we have an agreement?”

  “Yes, yes. Give it to me.”

  Miriam lunged forward, snatching the perilium from Vale’s grasp. She fell in a heap, smashing the vial onto the floor. Glass shattered and the yellow liquid splashed across the tiles. The others gasped and scrambled to their feet.

  “No!” George slumped to his knees and wrapped his arms around Miriam, lifting her to his chest. “What are you doing?”

&nbs
p; Miriam’s breaths came in choppy bursts. “Setting . . . you . . . free. . . .”

  Tears poured from George’s eyes as she began to shake, her arms and legs quivering with increasing violence. He wept with bitter moans, desperately trying to hold her body still. But she arched back in his arms. Her head twisted and she groaned through her clenched teeth.

  “No, no . . . dear God.” George sobbed like a child. “Please don’t leave me.”

  Miriam’s body shook in violent surges, and he tried to hold her tightly but couldn’t prevent the ravaging onslaught of her spasms. He couldn’t ease her suffering or fend off death. He couldn’t . . .

  He couldn’t save her.

  George felt the whole world shift as his brain shut down to the trauma. This wasn’t happening. Miriam wasn’t dying. They never came to Wyoming. He never heard of perilium.

  Seconds crawled past like hours. Eventually her tremors weakened, her body relaxed, and her eyes rolled back down. They seemed to fix on him for a brief moment as a sigh escaped her lips.

  “No . . . sting . . .”

  Then her eyes lost focus and she fell limp in his arms.

  Chapter 36

  Elina still had more questions than answers. This newcomer, Jack, fascinated her, but his story was chilling. And while there were still some missing pieces, he had certainly shed light on the N’watu and why the people of Beckon were doing what they did.

  But she didn’t know how many others there were. Was the whole town infected by this substance? This perilium?

  And she wondered further about the couple she had encountered the day before. They seemed genuinely unaware of what was going on in this place and completely appalled by their discovery of the dungeons below Vale’s palatial lodge.

  But it had been too long since their encounter. Clearly, if these people had been able to call for help, they would have heard something by now. Either they had been caught or killed—or worse, perhaps they were both part of the town’s conspiracy and had just been toying with them by pretending to help.

  Elina felt like screaming. She hated not knowing what was going on. Hours had passed since they had brought Jack, but she couldn’t tell what time it was or even what day it was. She was filthy and hungry and now more angered than scared. But at least with Jack she had someone who knew more about what was going on.

  They discussed various theories about the N’watu and the creatures that were apparently lurking farther down in the cave. They talked for hours, but Elina was getting more and more frustrated. All this talk was just fine, but it wasn’t getting them any closer to escaping—even to formulating a plan for escape. And in the back of her head, Elina knew it was only a matter of time before Vale came for another sacrificial offering. Before it was time for the Soul Eater’s next meal.

  She peeked out the window in her door. “Jack, I can’t just sit here and wait around for them to come and get one of us. We have to try to escape.”

  She heard Jack’s voice reply, “What exactly did you have in mind?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m tired of waiting.”

  “How many others are down here?”

  “The best I can tell is maybe five or six,” Elina said.

  Elina could hear Jack testing his cell door, inspecting the lock, the hinges, and the window bars. After a few minutes he issued an exasperated sigh. He sounded like he was giving up hope. And she couldn’t let that happen. Down here, hope might be all they had.

  “Jack . . . do you believe in God?”

  There was silence for a few seconds. “I guess so. I mean, my father would take me to church when I was a kid, but it always seemed so . . . I don’t know. Lifeless. And when I see places like this, I wonder if He’s even real at all. And how He could allow stuff like this to happen.”

  “I don’t have a very good answer for you there,” Elina said. “I’ve only been going to church for a couple months.”

  “A recent convert?”

  “Well, more like a revert.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Elina sighed. She’d never shared this part of herself with anyone before. She had never seen the need to. She had always been too arrogant and independent. But her current circumstances seemed to provide an opportunity.

  “My father was such a good Christian man. I was only thirteen when he was murdered . . . and something happened to me. I guess I just stopped caring about God. I couldn’t forgive Him for letting my father die.”

  She heard Jack grunt softly. “I think I can relate to that.”

  “So I was angry most of my teenage years and even through college. And when I joined the LAPD, I was an angry cop. A good cop, but an angry one.”

  “You said you used to be on the police force. What happened?”

  Elina’s chest began to ache. “I was on a call, a robbery. And I ended up pursuing a suspect. I followed him down an alley and lost sight of him for a moment. When I found him again, he had turned and was walking toward me.”

  “Was he armed?”

  “I thought he was, so I fired my weapon. But I didn’t warn him. I didn’t identify myself. I just fired. Three or four shots. One to the head. And I didn’t care. I didn’t know who he was, but I hated him and I wanted him to die because he was just a thug like the one who killed my dad.”

  “But it wasn’t the right guy, was it?”

  “No. . . .” Elina could feel the tears in her eyes. They dripped down, cutting a salty path through the grime and dirt on her cheeks. “He was just some kid. Some innocent kid the guy had passed in the alley. Some kid just walking home from a party.”

  “Let me guess—an internal investigation, a reprimand. Mandatory leave?”

  “The suspect was black. The kid was black, and the guy who killed my father was black. . . .”

  “So . . . they tried to make it a racial incident?”

  “Somebody had heard me make derogatory comments in my rookie year, and all that came back to haunt me too.”

  “So was it about race?”

  “That’s the thing,” Elina said. “I’ve been hating black men since my father was killed. And I didn’t care what people thought.”

  “I guess there wasn’t much tolerance on the LAPD for that mentality.”

  Elina wiped her eyes. “I kind of hit rock bottom. I had lost my job and stirred up all kinds of racial tension in my neighborhood. Then a few months ago I started to rethink some of my values. Started going back to church. Praying more. You know, trying to humble myself before God.”

  “Do you still hate black men?”

  “Not since I’ve come back to God.” Elina chuckled softly. “Now I only hate some of them.”

  Jack laughed. “So why are you telling me all this?”

  Elina sighed. “I don’t know. I guess it’s a little cathartic to talk about it. But mostly to pass some time.”

  She could hear Jack moving around in his cell again. His voice held a tone of frustration. “There’s got to be a way to break out of here.”

  “I haven’t seen any way out,” Elina said. “They feed us twice a day, I think. A bowl of oatmeal slop and a cup of water in the morning and evening. No utensils.”

  “Have they taken anyone away during that time?”

  Elina paused. “Mmmm, no. Not that I heard, anyway.”

  “So as far as we know, it’s been at least a few days since this thing was fed. I wonder how long it goes between meals.”

  Then Elina heard voices echoing up the tunnel, getting closer. Her heart began pounding. “I’m guessing a few days.”

  The chorus of wails and curses from the other prisoners started up again, and Elina pressed her face against the bars, straining to see into the main passage. She glimpsed the erratic beam from a flashlight glancing off the sides and floor of the tunnel.

  In moments a group of figures appeared around the corner. In the painful glare of the flashlight, Elina thought she saw four men. One in the lead with two others behind him, carrying a fourth man b
etween them.

  One of the men chuckled and Elina recognized his voice: Carson.

  “It’s like Grand Central Station down here.”

  The man in the lead stopped at the head of the passage and pointed to the door next to Elina’s. “Put him in that one.” She could tell it was Vale.

  The other two dragged the man past Elina’s cell. She caught a glimpse of his face and gasped.

  It was the man who had discovered them yesterday. The man she had hoped was going to call for help.

  They deposited him in the cell with a sick-sounding thump and closed the door. Vale shone his flashlight in the window. “I’m sorry your wife lacked the vision to join us, George,” he said. “But I’m a forgiving man. You know that you’re more than welcome to come back, should you have a change of heart. You could still have a long and happy life here with us.”

  Elina heard muffled curses from behind the door, but Vale only laughed and then turned his attention to the other cells, peering in through the bars.

  “Good evening, Jack,” he said. “You must be feeling a bit of déjà vu, I bet.”

  Then he crossed over to Elina’s door, and she backed away from the window.

  “Ahh, Former Officer Gutierrez.” Vale peered in at her. She could see his yellow-green eyes inspecting her for what felt like an endless moment. “Yes . . . it’s been quite some time since she has enjoyed the taste of a woman.”

  Elina retreated farther into the cell. “What are you talking about?”

  Vale chuckled. “You mean you haven’t told them what’s waiting for them, Jack? Down in the caverns? You haven’t told them about Sh’ar Kouhm?”

  “Of course I told them,” Jack shot back.

  “She’s hungry tonight.” Vale’s eyes again appeared in Elina’s window. “She feeds on fear, you know. She can smell it in your blood. It’s like a drug to her. And women are capable of generating such . . . pure, unbridled fear.”

  Elina’s pulse raced and she pressed against the wall as Carson unlocked her cell door. She could hear Jack and the others yelling and pounding their doors. Her senses heightened as adrenaline surged through her veins. Elina coiled down, ready to attack. She was outnumbered by bigger, stronger men, but she refused to go with them quietly. The door opened and Carson entered, carrying the black stun baton. Elina gritted her teeth against the pain she knew was coming. She would make them kill her rather than take her to this creature. She sprang forward, aiming her foot at Carson’s groin.