by Sawyer Black
“Go to sleep, Henry. The minute I leave, if not this second. No hyperbole. If you don’t, you will die.”
Henry blanched. He swallowed the acid flooding his mouth.
“You exhausted your body before the Tracker. And she has depleted you further. You’ve nothing left. No fight. Rebel against that reality, and it will be easy for Death to find you.”
“I thought I was already dead?”
“You are. Or were. You came back, but like this.” Boothe waved his hand across Henry’s body in a shaky Z. “Die again, go straight to Hell. Unless the Trackers get you, of course. Then you just stop being.”
Henry could feel the exhaustion, but he had enough in reserve to assuage his curiosity by asking, “So, what’s wrong with going to Hell? If that’s where I’m eventually going, why not get it over with?”
“No,” Boothe said, “you want to stay here, or in Nowhere, as long as you can. Trust me.”
“So why are you helping me? Surely it’s not from the goodness of your icy black heart.” Henry twisted his mouth in a sarcastic smile.
Boothe smirked before his face soured. “Go to sleep, Henry. I don’t care to discuss this. The universe hasn’t revolved around you for trillions of years, and it’s not about to start now.”
Henry wouldn’t let it go. “Why are you helping me?”
“As I said, Henry. We have shared interests. That’s all. It isn’t personal. No destiny. No fate. Just business.” Boothe put a hand on Henry’s shoulder. “Can you do as I’ve asked?”
“You mean take a nap?” He shrugged. “Sure, I’ll take a nap.”
“Don’t be flip, Henry. Rest, and rest well. When you wake, go to sleep again. Don’t leave, no matter what. Understand?”
“Yes.”
“When awake and finally fully rested, use your instincts. Your mind has already absorbed more than you realize. You have a plan, and your body will respond when needed. Be smart, always. That means not being stupid, like going to Samantha’s. That’s not the place for you right now. Ezra is there. Let the goll do his job.”
Henry looked away but something about Boothe’s presence demanded his eyes. “I mean it, Henry. Don’t go back. You should not be in that house. You can upset things.”
“What do you mean, upset things?”
Boothe sighed, not answering.
Henry shook his head. “How did you know I was back home?”
“Are you joking? I thought we had an agreement about not polluting the air with drivel you already know.”
Henry wasn’t sure if Boothe planned to leave at that moment, or if he had disgusted him into an early departure. Either way, the demon was gone.
Thankfully, Boothe never mentioned or questioned Henry’s proximity to the church. Henry didn’t want to explain why he had been there, or what he’d said to the pastor — assuming Boothe didn’t already know every detail of his visit.
Henry padded into the bedroom, crawled into the giant bed, and sank into the mattress as if it were a pool. He pulled the covers over his body, then immediately threw them back and climbed out. He pulled off his pants and hoodie, then crawled back under the cool sheets and let them kiss his skin.
The monster closed its eyes and dreamed a monster’s dream.
Again, he saw Amélie. They were only in his attic a moment, just long enough for Henry to draw a hopscotch court on the hardwood floor and for Amélie to take two times hopping across it.
“No,” Henry said when it was his turn. “I’m too fat.”
The office disappeared in a fog, and they were waiting in line for Pirates of the Caribbean at Disneyland with Mommy. Henry was sweating as much as Samantha was complaining. Staring between them, clenching seven years of fury in each of her fists, was Amélie, eyes wide with betrayal. They’d promised not to fight this time.
Disneyland dissolved, shoving Henry into a later memory, where he was parachuting a blanket onto their brand-new living room floor. As big as their old house and entirely empty except for the TV and smartly assembled picnic.
In real life, it had been the three of them. In the dream, it was Henry and Amélie. He saw the Tree behind the TV, but ignored it, knowing too much reality would shatter the dream. Instead, it went on for a wonderful forever. Henry and Amélie watched every movie they’d ever seen together, just to relive it, then every flick he would’ve wanted to share when she was older, but couldn’t because his daughter was dead.
They ended with Amélie, the movie he and Sam had named her after.
Henry ignored the Tree until they had watched so many movies there was nothing left to see. They started writing jokes, and did that until Amélie started to scream.
It sounded like someone was bashing her face in.
CHAPTER 16
The cries were deafening. And horrible.
The screams are real.
Henry leapt from his dream and onto the floor. He had no idea how much time was missing, but he was a new beast, still naked.
Now that he was up, Henry wasn’t sure if the scream had been in his dream. He squeezed his eyes tight, hoping that might help him drown the ringing in his ears, heavy enough to send the man back to his knees. He pulled on his pants, moving through the painful scream inside his head, not entirely sure why he was getting dressed, but following his instincts because it was better than standing still while listening to the bellows in his head. Maybe his instincts would help him discover why the screams were there.
Pain is only thought.
Bullshit, this is real!
The screaming stopped.
He threw on his hoodie and headed toward the door. His legs went to rubber halfway there when the screaming started again.
The sound faded, echoing in his ears like an infant crying. The screaming didn’t belong to his daughter, as it had in the dream. Instead, it was someone else. He could almost feel its owner. A woman in pain. Somewhere close.
Henry wasn’t exactly shocked to find himself feeling another’s pain. The surprise came when he smiled at the bittersweet taste filling his mouth. Rolling up into his nose.
The scream tore through the apartment again, burning into Henry’s guts and driving him to action. This was what a demon was supposed to do, what Boothe meant when he told Henry to follow his instincts. Werewolves craved moonlight, and vampires blood. Whatever Henry was, he feasted on sorrow. He hungered for pain.
He opened the window like before and leapt to the fire escape outside. Rather than racing down, he took a chance, hurling his body across the alley and landing on another fire escape on the opposite side.
Driven by the cry, Henry leaped from building to building, up six blocks toward the source of the anguish running through his mind. He scampered up the weathered fire escape of a five-story building, stopping at the fourth floor, where he hung from the rusty grate before flinging himself through the open window.
As Henry landed on the cheap carpet, he lowered the hoodie to reveal his hideous face.
“What the fuck?” An asshole stood in front of an unfortunate blonde flower, wilting beneath the heat of his still-raised hand. He lowered his open palm, made a fist, and took a step toward Henry. “The fuck you doing in my house, bitch?”
This should be good.
Henry ran toward the asshole.
The asshole was expecting him, and tried to dodge the attack. He just wasn’t fast enough. Henry tackled him and sent him crashing to the filthy carpet. Most of him wanted to tear the asshole to pieces and feast on his skin. That part craved the kill and wanted to savor it. Another part of him wanted to flee. Hide from his need to cause pain.
Henry could smell misery wafting from the asshole, mixed with the musk of his body spray. Torment spread like seeds in a meadow. Weeping women and casualties of cruelty, careless and as frequent as breath. Henry no longer wanted to hide.
The asshole deserved to die. Henry deserved to enjoy the slaughter.
The blonde screamed from behind, as if she thought Henry might be doing something bad o
r not in her best interests. He turned to her, snarling without meaning to. “It’s okay, I won’t hurt you.”
He turned back to the asshole and punched him in the face.
The asshole screamed in pain, blood running into his hair from a split in his eyebrow. He blinked his eyes into focus on Henry's looming face. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Right now, I’m the monster that’s going to figure out the most painful bones to break. Tomorrow, I’m a story she’ll tell that no one will believe.” Henry nodded toward the blonde with the red face and winked.
“Who are you?” the asshole spat. “Isn’t it sort of a waste if you don’t say? Someone sent you here to get to me, right? Don’t you got a message? Ain’t I supposed to know why I’m getting killed?”
Henry laughed, though it wasn’t quite like any sound he’d ever made. A low rumble, thick with cruelty. He was cynical, not unkind. At least he didn’t used to be. Now, looking at the vermin, Henry felt nothing. Indifferent. Wanting the asshole to choke on his final breath and in a hurry to make that happen.
“You’re going to die for making her cry.” Henry nodded toward the blonde again.
He grabbed the asshole’s left arm, dropping a knee on the guy’s heaving chest. Henry held him by the wrist and rolled his short sleeve up near the shoulder, ready to shatter it at the elbow. A tattoo emerged from the folded fabric, and Henry nearly dropped the limb in surprise.
The asshole’s tattoo was exactly like the one Tiny Eyes had sported. More ornate, an intricate twisted vine as a circle with a similar vine shaped as an F and C inside the circle. The design had jagged roots at the bottom, an explosion of chaos erupting from the top, and two neat bands with tiny Xs inside them on either side. Henry turned his eyes from the asshole’s arm, and all the brambles and branches drawn upon it. They were made from tiny words, and Henry was certain those tiny words would make him crazy if he forced his eyes to read them.
He snarled, squeezing the asshole by his forearm. His claws sprang out, driving into the skin and muscle, and rivulets of blood flowed as the asshole hissed in pain. Henry thrust his face toward the man’s wide eyes. “What is this tattoo? Where did you get it?”
The asshole smiled, happy that Henry finally wanted to play.
“Fuck you.”
“Really? That’s how you’re gonna talk to the man who holds your life in his hands? You’ve either got balls of steel or a brain of rust. You’ve got one chance to live. What does this fucking tattoo mean, and where did it come from?”
“I had it inked when I went to Fuck You Island. Remember? About two years back, after your mom held a fleet week special?”
“That was your chance,” Henry growled, jumping to his feet and slinging the asshole over his shoulder like a sleeping bag.
He ran toward the window, swinging the asshole from his shoulder like a batter trying for a home run.
The asshole crashed into the drywall, rattling the glass in the window when he slid down the wall and landed in a curled puddle. Henry grabbed him by the ankle and ducked out the window to the fire escape. He scampered up the building, dragging the asshole behind him. At the top, he threw him on the roof before jumping the final few feet and landing in a crouch in the shadows.
“One last chance!” Henry thundered.
The asshole skittered across the rooftop, backward on his palms. Henry took the retreat as rejection. He charged as the asshole turned to crawl on all fours.
Henry grabbed the man again by the shoulders, pulling him into his chest and snaking his arm under the asshole’s chin. He laced his fingers through the greasy mop on the asshole’s head, and carried him to the edge of the roof.
Henry didn’t know if the asshole’s hair would hold, but he sure as fuck was gonna try. “Last chance,” he repeated. “Where did you get the tattoo?”
Henry was shocked by the asshole’s laughter. “Go ahead and drop me, dicktip. I ain’t saying shit.”
Henry dug his chin into the guy’s neck, pressing his lips to the asshole’s ear. “Where’d you get the tattoo?”
The man laughed like he didn’t care that he was seconds from death. “The world is nothing without chaos,” he cackled. “Chaos is oxygen to progress. Go ahead and kill me. If you have the balls.”
The man’s cackling ate into his heart. The memory of him standing over the woman, raising his hand for another blow. Henry’s anger rose to fill his vision with red. He tried to resist, but couldn’t. The anger pitched into rage.
“Fuck it,” Henry said.
He loosened his fist and let the asshole go, down five stories and into a splat. Henry leapt down from the rooftop after the man’s broken body, and landed a few feet away. “It was a simple question,” he said, as the impact from the landing shot through his body, sending a jolt through his spine that he saw as a flare of red light in his skull. He kneeled, checking to make sure the asshole was dead.
From that high up, the asshole hadn’t stood a chance. Henry touched the fallen body from top to bottom, marveling at how it seemed softer inside. Like a bag of pudding. He stared until the fourth-floor scream turned his eyes to the asshole’s girlfriend. Maybe it was his wife. Henry shrugged as she leaned out the window, holding her cell phone. She took a picture of Henry standing over her ex’s corpse.
The blonde could live, but her phone was his.
He leapt to the side of the neighboring building, and hurled himself across the alley onto the fire escape across the way. He started to climb, then saw the light swirling in the sky.
So beautiful.
Henry stopped climbing and turned, staring into the light.
Don’t look! Turn away!
He couldn’t. It was too much. The angel spread its wings and descended from the blanket of stars.
The light filled him with the glee. Like a hit of acid. An opiate’s euphoria.
Oh, God. So much bliss.
Henry lifted his hands in acceptance and stepped toward the light. His foot hit air, and he tipped forward, falling from the fire escape.
Wind whistled in his ears as he fell. With the light behind him, he could focus on the alley’s shadows. The darkness that held his salvation. He plunged into the black and flew through the city, hiding from the light, running without thought, never realizing he was aiming for the most dangerous place in any world for him to go.
CHAPTER 17
Henry didn’t realize where he was running until he was there, staring at the front of his six-million-dollar mansion, wondering for the thousandth time if there was a reason everything in his life had gone to shit.
He stood for a minute before spotting Ezra in the shadows beneath one of the large trees in his front yard.
Henry was surprised to see his Lexus in the carport and wondered how it had come back. Boothe must’ve been responsible, covering Henry’s fuck-up before the Lexus wound up on a police report. Idiot. Should have thought about the problems the missing Lexus might have caused if he hadn’t returned before Sam. Next time, he’d have to find another way to keep up.
Ezra stepped toward Henry.
“How long have you been there?”
The goll said, “Since about three seconds before you.”
Henry looked at Ezra with a sort of reluctant gratitude. “Good job.”
“You’re not supposed to be here.”
“Yeah, about that. Tough shit. I’ll be back here a lot, and that’s non-negotiable as a cover charge. So, any way you can see to keeping that from your Master Boothe? Or is this destined to be a problem between us?”
“Sorry, Master Henry, but you aren’t supposed to be here.”
“That’s not really a yes or a no, hobbit. Whether Boothe likes it or not, I’m asking you if we can keep it between us.”
“You should not be so insulting when begging for favors, Master Henry.” Ezra lowered his head, then stopped like he’d reached the end of his thought. In a mumble he added, “Master Boothe knows what he must know without me.”
“Good then, we’re on the same page. At least it won’t be coming from you.”
The goll agreed to no such thing, but Henry still hoped he’d bought some silence. He wondered how Boothe knew as much as he did, and if the demon became aware of events only after they happened or as they were unfolding.
Was it possible to see ahead of time?
Does Boothe have any idea what I’m about to do?
Henry hoped to God not. Otherwise, he’d show up and stop him before he could do it. No way would Boothe be happy with what Henry was planning.
“Any clue about the alarm code?” Henry pulled the oversized key from his hoodie’s side pocket.
Ezra sighed, looking down at his clawed feet. “Seven-Two-Three-Three.”
Maybe he sensed what Henry was about to do. “Thanks. Would’ve been cool if you’d let me know the last time. Would have saved me a heap of trouble.”
“You’re not supposed to be here,” Ezra repeated like a child trying to enforce an absent parent’s rule on a sibling.
Henry ignored the goll, let himself inside the house, killed the alarm, then crept from shadow to shadow in search of Samantha. He finally found her sitting alone in the movie room, drowning in many shades of misery.
A stack of Blu-rays was piled beside her. Each disc a movie she and Henry had seen together. None of his favorites. Or hers. The tiny mountain was made from only movies they loved in tandem. Kill Bill (One and Two). The Matrix. The first one. The only one that mattered. The Sixth Sense, Fight Club, The Incredibles, and maybe twenty others. None was in the player. Sam was spinning heartache instead.
On the screen, as wide as the wall, was the haunting evidence of the life Henry’s family once lived. She was streaming from iTunes, so Henry was clueless to what scene would appear next, but Samantha had no shortage of torment. The clips came at random, since the one where Amélie was pirouetting across the stage during her second grade dance recital was finishing just as Henry entered the movie room, and now they were a minute into the Daddy Flying to Las Angeles video, which made Henry want to cry every time he saw it. The only thing worse than Sam’s face in that clip was Amélie’s.