by Sawyer Black
Randall’s smile finally thickened. “Yes, leverage. You do need that. I can’t tell you what Boothe wants most, but you can ask him yourself.”
“No dice. I tried, but Boothe was vague as always.”
“He was vague because you were. Ask him about Maria.”
“Maria?” Henry echoed, fighting his smile. It felt like Randall had handed him a sword.
“Yes, Maria. Now, go to your daughter. Follow the sound of her voice.”
The wind whistled with Amélie’s cry. “Daddy?”
But Henry had already turned toward the sound of his daughter’s voice and the broken city surfacing through the lingering mist.
Henry ran, leaving Randall behind.
CHAPTER 19
Going anywhere in Nowhere seemed to take forever, but Henry managed to reach the broken city in less than an eternity.
On the outskirts of the crumbled ruins, crawling from a shattered window on the bottom floor, spilled an ancient man in a tattered blue uniform — old, faded, and with a few tarnished brass buttons.
From the little Henry knew of Civil War history, the soldier’s coat cast him as Union Infantry. A deep chill frosted his insides as he looked at the man’s ancient uniform. An icy reminder of Nowhere’s spongy time.
How can something look old in a place where time doesn’t move?
Henry approached the old man. Up close he wasn’t ancient, but only slightly older than Henry. He took a step toward the soldier. “Hello?”
The man started, and turned to Henry, eyes wide with surprise and laced in a different fear than anything Henry had ever seen on Earth.
“You coming or going?” Henry gestured at the miles of rubble.
The soldier followed Henry’s gaze. “Just leaving.”
Henry held out his hand. “Name’s Henry, Henry Black.”
The soldier stared at Henry’s empty palm for several seconds, then added his own. “Duffy. Jason Duffy.” His voice sounded old but unused.
“Good to meet you, Duffy. Even here.” Henry let silence settle between them, for longer than was smart with Amélie in earshot. “Can I ask for your help?”
“Of course,” Duffy said, almost eager. “Though I don’t know how much help I’ll be. Been ages since I was a help to anyone.”
“I’m looking for my daughter.”
Amélie’s cry cut through their conversation. “Daddy!” Henry called back, and Amélie screamed louder, “Daddy!”
“Where are you?” Henry shouted but heard nothing back. “Amélie!”
Still nothing.
Duffy brightened and started to speak, pulling Henry’s attention. “Sure, I saw a girl. She was running right into Nowhere, not even slowing to look at the lurkers.”
“The lurkers?”
“That’s what I call ’em. Lurkers.” Duffy pointed up toward the haunted eyes staring from the countless broken windows in the row of decrepit buildings facing them, reminding Henry of the horror waiting in the city.
“When?”
Duffy scratched his head.
“When did you see her?” Henry urged.
“Didn’t seem like too long ago, though I’m not sure how much my time can be trusted.”
“Did you see where she went?”
Duffy nodded, pointing toward what was likely once a neat row of five buildings but which now seemed to be growing crooked and sideways, sprouting from the rubble like stray teeth in need of dental care. “She went there.”
“Do you know which one?”
Duffy opened his mouth to answer, but then shook his head. He stared at the middle building, the shortest of the five with only two stories. Once his eyes locked on the ruins, he couldn’t free his gaze. He mumbled broken syllables, speaking in tongues of lunacy before collapsing into a manic sort of laugh. Drool glistened in the scraggle of hair on his chin.
Henry tried getting the man to say more, anything that might move him closer to finding Amélie, but Duffy offered him nothing. He threw his arms out in frustration and stood, covering his eyes with his hands. He turned to stumble toward the twisted city, and the soldier reached out and grabbed him by the shoulder.
Duffy’s laughter seized with a snarl. “Where’s my Annabel?”
Henry stared, unsure what to say, or what to think about the wild fire now lighting Duffy’s eyes.
“You did it! You took my Annabel!”
The soldier leapt on Henry, beating at his chest with hard-clenched fists as he screamed a string of nonsense and curses, showering his face with spit. The only intelligible word was Annabel. Over and over.
He tried to push Duffy away, working not to hurt him, but he finally accepted reality and drove a fist into Duffy’s stomach. The soldier doubled over with a surprised WHOOF. Henry followed it with left to the temple. Duffy dropped straight down onto a pile of broken rubble, wheezing in shock and pain, every breath sending a puff of dust into the air.
Henry stood from the fallen soldier and looked back toward the middle building. A flicker of white, fluffy like Amélie’s favorite jacket. She had called it her cloud. A swirling flash across a doorway.
“I’m coming, Amélie!” He screamed, running toward the building and making it a dozen steps before the city folded in on itself. Boothe’s vibrating current hummed through his body, and he was abruptly ripped from Nowhere again.
CHAPTER 20
“Boothe!” Henry cried as he flickered from one plane to the other, blinking to find himself back in the demon’s apartment. Still running, Henry slammed into the kitchen island and crashed to the floor. He leapt back to his feet, a growl rumbling from his chest. “Why in the Hell did you do that?”
“What?” Boothe raised his eyebrows. “Send you there or bring you back?”
“Both,” Henry snarled.
“I need you to drop the petulant child routine, Henry. Save it for your revenge. I’m certainly not in the mood.” A deep line formed between Boothe’s eyebrows. His shoulders rose with a deep breath. He looked at the ceiling then dropped his eyes back down to Henry. Blue had turned black. “You disobeyed me, Henry. I tolerate what I must, but never that. Between the two of us, I am in charge. That isn’t up for debate and never will be. Listen to me and enjoy your revenge, or I’ll return you to Nowhere.”
“No, you won’t,” Henry said, standing straighter.
Boothe rocked back, tilting his head and raising an eyebrow.
Henry stood his ground. “You need me to murder more than I need to kill.”
Boothe smiled, but for the first time the expression seemed uncomfortable on his face. Like he was testing the fit.
“I said our goals were aligned, not that you’re the only person who can help me score mine. Sorry if I’m souring the time you've poured into Project Self-Esteem, Henry, but you are not unique. The need for revenge is a base human emotion. I can spit and find a thousand souls more bitter than you who would not only love to kill, but would beg for the same opportunity I’m handing to you. I thought you’d appreciate the chance to avenge what happened to your wife and daughter.”
Henry stepped toward Boothe, emboldened by his conversation with Randall.
“Then why didn’t you spit and find someone else? You don’t hear me begging, do you?” He took another step, as if daring the demon. “No, it’s me you need. Something about me specifically helps you get what you want, either better or faster.”
Boothe stayed silent, smiling and saying nothing, his hooded eyes unfazed. Henry wondered if he should mention Maria, but bit his tongue.
No, not yet. Don’t play that card until needed. Piss him off and he could kill you, or throw you in Purgatory, Hell, or God knows where.
Just.
Shut.
Up.
“I like you, Henry. Despite everything, I truly do. And you’re absolutely right, there is something special about you, something unique. But as much as I love unique, I never confuse it with irreplaceable. Neither should you.” He smiled. “There is nothing in y
ou so rare that it couldn’t be replaced or improved. As much as you may refuse to believe it, I’m quite loyal. I chose you and am invested enough to help you finish the job. We can part ways then, and you’ll never have to look at me ever again. Do as you wish. Stay here and keep the apartment, or go home and wallow in invisible misery with a wife who will never love you again. I care not at all.”
Henry thought of Amélie and Nowhere, then Heaven and Samantha.
As if to make Henry wonder once more whether his thoughts could be read by a demon, Boothe added, “Or return to Nowhere and see if Randall can get you into Heaven with your daughter, so the two of you can wait for Mommy together. Again, I won’t care … after we finish what we started.”
He held out his hand, waiting for Henry.
If Randall was telling the truth, then Boothe was a liar.
I kill the three men, I don’t get into Heaven. And you know it!
Yet Henry said nothing, preferring Boothe remain clueless about what was nested in his heart and mind. He took the demon’s hand and they vigorously shook. Boothe’s smile thinned to a pressing line, and he held his grip, squeezing the moment into uncomfortable silence. Henry’s skin felt coated in slime, until he finally broke free of his grip.
Boothe said, “Good, we’re agreed. There will be no next time. Violate the rules and I take you to Nowhere. Next time, you’ll stay longer.”
“Longer than what?”
Boothe laughed. “Longer than the three weeks you spent this time.”
“Three weeks?” Henry shook his head, blinking in confusion
“Yes.” Boothe smiled. “Time flies when you’re going Nowhere.”
Though Boothe tried to bait him, Henry strangled his rage, pushing it down into the pit of his stomach where the bile roiled and the acid rose into his throat. He swallowed then drew a deep breath. “How’s Samantha?”
“She’s fine. As promised, Ezra is still looking after her. I won’t break my commitment to you, Henry. Not unless you give me a reason.”
Henry hated the fucking demon. The smooth voice that filled him with helplessness. The unrelenting drip of his will against Henry’s resolve. Eroding him away like sand.
“Get some rest, Henry. That’s one thing you’re clearly not doing enough of. When you wake, follow the sorrow like a wolf to your prey.”
Boothe disappeared from the apartment, and Henry went to the California king then collapsed on the mattress.
He hoped to God Randall was right and Amélie was safe. He could do nothing to help her unless he told Boothe what happened and begged to go back. But Randall and Pastor Owen had warned him against trusting Boothe.
Even if he could trust the demon, the last thing Henry wanted to give him was another weakness to exploit.
More sand to wash away.
More …
And then he was snoring.
CHAPTER 21
Henry rose in torment.
Pain is only a thought.
The same something was wrong with his body as when he woke to the asshole’s girlfriend screaming. Like then, Henry was starving for sorrow.
His throat was Gobi dry. He went to the kitchen, grabbed a glass, and set it under the ice-maker, wincing as the ice clinked into the bottom. Henry filled it to the top with water, gulping it empty in seconds.
He swallowed a refill, draining the glass a second time before slamming it on the counter with more force than he intended and accidentally shattering the glass into shards. He lifted his right hand, staring at the blood, black and sticky between his gnarled fingers. Knobs of bone for knuckles. Shining black nails, thickening into points.
Henry ran his hand under the water, then wiped himself dry on his pants. He growled and ran to the window, then lifted the sash, climbed through the opening, leapt to the fire escape and across to the pipe on the other side. He slid to the concrete, hitting it with a now-familiar jolt through his body.
He pricked his ears and heard the colors of a metropolitan sorrow. Felt the brushes of pain painting the night.
Henry ran into the darkness, racing four blocks before he found the loudest of all the cries — an old man with his hands raised, standing a few feet from a young mugger, both beside a reeking open dumpster.
In Henry’s eyes, the mugger was a thief and a monster, delighting in the old man’s fear. Worthy of Hell.
Henry burst out of the shadow, suddenly standing six inches in front of the mugger. “Whatcha doin’?” He grinned and spread his hands.
The thug cried out and bobbled the gun, barely managing to hang on to it. He lifted the shaking barrel to aim at Henry’s face.
Henry laughed. “And what are you gonna do with that?”
The mugger did exactly what Henry expected and pulled the trigger.
But he wasn’t fast enough.
The instant Henry saw the mugger twitch, his arm shot out and slapped the gun into the air. The mugger cried out, his whimper similar to the old man’s. He fell back a few steps before losing his balance and crashing into a filthy puddle.
“D-d-don’t hurt me,” the mugger stuttered.
Henry laughed again, enjoying every molecule of the moment. “Begging already?”
The old man retreated into the shadows behind Henry. He lowered his arms when his back hit the wall, then stared with narrowed eyes, as if curious to see what might happen to his attacker. Henry met the old man’s eyes.
He reminded Henry of his grandfather. A proud Irishman who fought in the war and took shit from no one. He stayed that way until his pride had been devastated by age, body and soul. Twisting him into a decrepit skeleton, with paper-thin skin stretched across his face, linked to machines that turned a slow death into lingering agony.
Henry remembered his grandfather’s anguish, his feeble fingers shaking as they lifted to touch what was only in his memory. It had made Henry see the world’s inequity, for punishing a hero with unending Hell and indignity.
No man should have to face such horrors.
And no man should be mugged by some punk fuck in a filthy alley.
Henry smiled at the old man, even though his mouth was masked by the shadow of his hood.
Don’t worry. I got this.
He reached down, grabbed the mugger by his collar, and slammed him against the dumpster.
“You like scaring people?”
The mugger added a shaking head to his whimper. “No!”
“That’s not gonna keep you alive, asshole!” Spittle flew from Henry’s mouth into the mugger’s eye. “Lie to me again, and I’ll ask the guy behind me what he thinks I should do with you. Do you like making people afraid?”
“Yes, yes, yes,” the mugger sobbed, hitching his breath and sniffing like a child. He was almost too pathetic to kill.
“Are you afraid of me right now?” Henry bellowed from the bottom of his gut.
The mugger froze, staring at Henry’s mouth in horror.
Henry threw back his hood and thrust his face toward the mugger’s eyes with a growl.
The mugger screamed in Henry’s face. His breath carried the sweet taste of his terror.
The old man’s answer must’ve been the same as the mugger’s. He found a sudden burst of energy, turned on his heel and launched himself back through the alley.
No witnesses!
Henry didn’t care. The man was old and didn’t have a camera phone. Who cared if he told some people about the guy in jeans and a hoodie. The old man had only seen the back of his head, and a demon’s voice was hard to identify.
Henry’s hand tightened around the mugger’s neck, his fingers pressing deeper into the man’s flesh as he lifted him up and slammed him into the brick. The man shrieked in pain, and a surge of energy coursed through Henry, a hundred times better than the best of his drugs. Flavors exploding across his palate. Aromas rising into his nostrils.
“Ah, that's grrreat!” Henry yelled. Like Tony the fucking Tiger. He roared, pulling the mugger back like his body was an empty sack.
He launched his cargo forward, smashing the mugger flat against the wall, driving a fist into his chest.
Something broke under his knuckles, squishing past his fingers as his hand made contact with the wall. Henry pulled his hand out of the mugger’s broken body, and the stinking heap slid to the ground. Henry bent and grabbed the mugger’s ankle. He took a breath filled with the power of his kill then hurled the body into the open dumpster.
Power coursed through him, begging for use. He spun and sped into the night, swimming through the shadows like a shark. He ran blind until instinct became an arrow directing him from one of The Burg’s points of pain to the next.
The night’s second mugger also attacked the elderly, this time a woman. That alone would’ve sent Henry into a rage. He warned her before turning his attention to the mugger. “Run as fast and as far as you can. Even if you hear him screaming”.
She nodded, thanking Henry while trying not to cry, taking several steps back before finally turning and racing away.
Unlike the first mugger, the second showed no fear. Probably too high to think straight or too stupid to recognize a demon and his inevitable death. Henry barreled into him, and the mugger sailed through the air to land on his back. Henry rushed across the alley to plant a foot on his chest, but the man only stared with a derisive smile.
He took the mugger’s indifference personally, as though someone were sitting in the front row of one of his shows refusing to laugh. The man’s silence seemed especially bold since he had no leverage, lying flat on his back with Henry’s heel pressing into his sternum.
The mugger growled and spit, even though the spittle only managed an inch from his lips before splatting back on his cheek. He finally yelled, “Who do you think you are, motherfucker?”
Henry wanted the second mugger to see what he was too stupid to fear, so he lowered his hood and showed him a nightmare with a face.
The mugger laughed.