“You were tricked. The Lindsay you’re looking for isn’t real.”
“She’s coming,” he said. “It’s only a matter of time.”
Daniel remembered Dora’s voice, and her drawing of Lindsay. She comin’.
He cocked his head as if he’d heard something unusual in the distance. The moonlight reflected off the goggles to reveal Daniel’s likeness in them, black and distorted. “The fat man’s little girl? Annoying at best, they serve no purpose in any world.”
“They love. They dream. And they’re aware of things like you.”
“You’re all aware of things like me. Spread out over eternity like a buffet. And different as each piece of a human soul is, they’re all equally moronic. Mice thinking they can toy with cats. We were around before you, and we’ll be around long after God abandons you and remembers we were the ones that helped Him build his precious paradise. You’re an afterthought, an experiment gone wrong.”
“Lindsay has no part in this.”
“She belongs with me.”
“No part of my wife’s soul belongs in Hell.”
“Not yet.” His skin, pasty and pale, was scarred with pockmarks along one side of his jaw. “These doors you, Gorton and your little friend opened were never meant to be anything but closed.”
“That I opened? How the hell did I open them? They did this, not me.”
“Do you think that makes any difference to me? I only want what I want. For my kind, all this technology simply provides another road from perdition to you, the weak and the useless.”
“If we’re useless then why do you want her?”
“She’s a whore, an obedient little bitch willing to do anything. And she’s mine.”
“She was a figment of Bryce’s imagination, his twisted sexual fantasy version of the real person. That Lindsay doesn’t exist.”
“But she does,” he replied. “Just as the Lindsay you loved exists, the dark side of her soul exists as well. It was tapped into, let through. But they let me through too.”
“They were two sad and lonely people, miles apart, connected by computers and the internet,” he said through gritted teeth. “That’s all. None of this is real.”
“In eternity everything is real. The past, present and future are one. It’s here where you live in darkness.” He seemed to remember the knife just then. Holding it up adoringly, he watched the moonlight twinkle along the blade. “But you’ve had the dreams, seen the visions. You know the truth. You’re just refusing to see it.”
“This isn’t happening.”
“You’re the second person that’s told me that tonight.”
Fire…flames reaching up over the city to a dark, wet sky…
“Bartkowski,” Daniel said faintly.
With a nod, Russell again reached into his jacket pocket, this time pulling from it a long chain with a silver crucifix hanging from it. He held it up and slowly swung it back and forth like a pendulum.
“Why are you doing this? Why did you kill him? Why did you have to kill Bryce and Gorton and his wife? All this mindless violence—for what?”
He slid the chain between his teeth, pulled it tight then snapped the crucifix free. Spitting out the chain, he took the crucifix, turned it upside down then dropped it back into his pocket. “It’s the nature of things, Daniel. Just like it was Bartkowski’s nature to cry and scream and beg and piss his pants once the fire hit him. It’s how he was made.”
Visions of Bartkowski flashed in his head, the man terrified and strapped to his desk chair, choking and pleading while Russell gleefully poured gasoline over him. And then he approached with matches, lighting and playfully tossing them at him one after another, until one ignited and Bartkowski went up, a bonfire.
“Have you ever seen human flesh burn?” The dark goggles over his eyes glared at him lifelessly. “It’s quite beautiful, really.”
Daniel glanced at Bryce’s body. The arm that had reached unsuccessfully for the railing when he’d fallen down the stairs was still stretched out behind him. The other was pinned beneath his torso, and that hand clutched the 9mm. He tried to gauge the distance, and if he could get to it before Russell headed him off. Whatever this thing was, it was in human form, and therefore could be injured, perhaps even killed.
“But we’ll get to all that.” Moving from the windows to the coffee table, he leaned over and opened the laptop with his free hand then depressed the power button with the tip of the knife. The computer whirred to life, blue lights blinking along the top of a black keyboard. As the screen kicked on he stroked it with a bloody finger, touching it lovingly and leaving a small smear of crimson in its wake.
Daniel watched the blue Windows screen emerge just before the screen went black and returned with a desktop background image of autumn, trees along a country road bursting with orange foliage set against a chilly October sky. But rather than a meaningless machine preparing itself for use, it had become a portal, a conduit to other realities, and an open window to eternity.
“One of the myths is that there are many roads that lead to Hell but none that lead out,” Russell said, breaking Daniel’s concentration. “You watched a building burn tonight, what did you see? Even as fire destroyed it from the inside, its flames searched for ways out, better positions from which to dominate. Like water, fire is alive, and there are entities that exist within it…the living, the dead, and those in between. All of us—all of our worlds—begin and end with fire.”
“My world ended the night Lindsay died.”
“But then, that’s the whole point, isn’t it.”
“You can’t do anything to me. There’s nothing left for you to take, nothing left for me to feel.”
The darkness in the room churned around him the way slow-moving winds gathered before a storm. “Nothing left for you to feel?” he asked. “But can’t you feel the pain even now? Can’t you feel it ripping you apart? Pain is all you have left to take, Daniel, and until Lindsay comes I’m going to take every last drop of it…slowly.”
On its own, the laptop screen turned black. Things moved within it, slithered about like snakes writhing just beneath the surface of murky water.
The darkness eventually parted, falling away, water cascading along slanted rock, trickling to the ends of the monitor until an open area came into focus. It looked like a live feed or perhaps a video of an old and gutted building, a warehouse or hangar of some kind, long abandoned, its structure rotted and crumbling. The floor was mostly dirt and debris, the walls blown out in places and those sections still intact weathered, decayed and covered in spray painted graffiti. An odd grayish daylight could be seen leaking through various fissures in the building, and the far back wall, much of which was gone or crumbled away, revealed untended grass and what appeared to be an open field beyond, indicating this building was somewhere desolate and forgotten.
In the shadows along one corner of the building things hung from thick lengths of chain that had been secured to rafters overhead. They might’ve been bodies dangling upside down, the hands just inches from the ground, but Daniel couldn’t be sure as that part of the screen remained slightly blurred.
He looked to Russell, who stood grinning like a hyena. “You’ll want to look away,” he said. “But you won’t.”
Lindsay stepped out of darkness, dressed in a short and flimsy white nightgown Daniel remembered her sometimes wearing. Barefoot, she walked carefully into frame across the debris littered floor, her head tilted slightly back, eyes fiery, lips moist and slightly parted, hair hanging free to her shoulders. In her arms she carried a thick multicolored patchwork comforter.
I know that blanket, Daniel thought.
His memories guided him to a weekend getaway he and Lindsay had gone on a few years before. They’d rented a small furnished cottage along a private stretch of beach on Cape Cod. The comforter had been in the bedroom, folded and displayed neatly across the foot of the bed. He remembered how he’d made a fire in the main room, and how they’
d snuggled together in front of the fireplace their first night there. Lindsay had spread the comforter out on the floor for them to lie on.
Onscreen, Lindsay slipped one nightgown strap free and then the other. As her nightgown fell across her body to the ground, she shook the comforter out to its full size, wrapped it around herself and sank down onto her knees.
He remembered her throwing the comforter up in the air at the cottage that night, letting it billow above them long enough for them to scurry under it like children. As it descended and fell around them, covering their nude bodies and blocking out the light from the fire, they held each other and laughed, rolled on the floor as the blanket wrapped about them, cradled them. He remembered the smell of her hair against his face, the feel of her skin, her touch, the warmth pulsing from her body, and the affection in her eyes, the look on her face just before they’d made love.
“Turn it off,” Daniel said softly.
“She knows we’re watching.”
Kneeling on the filthy ground, Lindsay stared straight ahead, as if directly at them.
He trembled, wanting to turn away but unable to, just as he’d been told.
Lindsay began to sway to a frantic, primal beat only she could hear, rhythmically swinging her head back and forth, her hair flying about even as she sank to her knees, bouncing on her haunches as the fervor grew stronger and stronger, her hands running along the sides of her neck, down across her breasts and between her legs. It reminded him of a voodoo ritual he’d once seen in a documentary, the way she seemed to move as if possessed by something beyond her control.
“Isn’t she beautiful?”
Though he’d tried desperately to prevent it, tears filled Daniel’s eyes. “Yes.”
Things began to move and emerge from the dark corners behind her.
Things not entirely human.
“Stop it.” He angrily wiped the tears from his eyes. “Turn it off.”
“Watch,” he said again, shivering with pleasure. “Watch what they do to her. Watch what she’s willing to do for them. Anything. Anything. Accept it. Let it take you. Look what it’s shown you already. You’ll go to places you’ve never dreamed of, never thought possible.”
Daniel lunged for the stairs, forced a hand beneath Bryce’s body and frantically searched for the 9mm. Once located, he yanked it free and fell back, the gun leveled out in front of him as he regained his feet.
“You’ve never killed anything in your life.” Russell turned slowly from the laptop. “Maybe a bug here and there, but then, that’s not the same, is it…unless, of course, you’re the bug.” He stepped closer, the knife by his side but clutched firmly.
The comforter had been pulled free of Lindsay as the dark things closed on her. Throwing her head back seductively, she opened her arms in welcome.
Daniel pivoted, aimed at the laptop, and fired.
The screen exploded and the computer flipped, falling over backward as it crackled and smoked.
With an inhuman screech Russell dove at him. It happened so quickly, and he was on him so fast Daniel wasn’t exactly sure what had taken place. But he knew they’d collided. He also knew he was experiencing an odd sensation of tightness in his gut. Mere inches from each other, they remained locked together somehow. Neither man spoke, but Russell’s face settled with satisfaction. Perplexed, Daniel looked down at the meager space between them. The knife was buried deep in his stomach.
His head spinning, Daniel felt his legs give out. As he fell, Russell ripped the blade free. A thin ribbon of blood spouted from the wound, spiraling in the air above him as his body dropped to the floor, all of it unfolding in a slow and surreal manner, as if to better allow his mind to understand what was happening.
Lying on his back, arms out at his sides, he tasted blood at the back of his throat and the grip of pain in his stomach. He couldn’t draw enough breath.
His body convulsed, bucked and released something through the wound.
Russell hovered above him; the knife held blade down and poised to strike again. “We’re all scurrying around in each other’s minds, rummaging through each other’s souls and realities,” he whispered. “Like flies.”
Daniel tried to speak, but his words were lost, drowned in the blood filling his mouth. He felt it run out and down along his chin.
There was a quick flash of movement, and it felt like he’d been punched in the chest. A burning sensation spread across his pectoral muscle and up into his shoulder as the knife was pulled free and plunged down into him again, blood flailing about like rain.
He groaned and raised his hands defensively, but it was too late, the attack had been too quick and efficient.
God help me.
Daniel raised his legs, bending them at the knee and drawing his feet in closer to his buttocks, perhaps involuntarily. Shock filtered through him, pushing some of the pain aside in favor of a cold and distant sensation, like he’d left his body for some safer place.
God can’t help you here.
His eyes fell to his chest. The knife was still in him, left there after the final strike. It rose and fell in quick little bursts, in time with his erratic breathing. To his side, he noticed the gun still in his hand.
“It’s all a fucking wasteland,” Russell said. “All of it.”
Daniel kicked his leg out hard as he could. The heel of his shoe caught the side of Russell’s knee, and it buckled with a crack.
Staggered with pain, Russell bent over, clutched his knee and stumbled back a few paces until he’d reached the tall windows along the wall.
With all his might Daniel raised the gun, but his arm shook violently. He reached up with his free hand and wrapped it around his wrist, holding it steady. The movement compressed his abdomen, forcing more blood to pump free. Another burst exploded up into his throat. Gagging, his eyes found the hideous black goggles, and his own blurred reflection within them.
Hell grinned.
Daniel fired.
Several rounds hit their target. Those that missed blew out the glass in the windows. Snow and shattered glass mixed in the air, rained down across them and onto the floor as bursts of winter night exploded into the apartment.
Badly wounded but still upright, Russell frantically clutched at the window casing, those pieces of glass that had remained intact tearing at his palms.
Struggling to maintain his focus, despite the pain, the blood and the cold, Daniel continued to hold the gun level.
The last round pierced Russell’s forehead.
His head snapped back as the rear of his skull exploded in a mist of blood, brain and bone, the force of the shot pushing him further into the open window. As he caught the shards they broke free against his weight and he tumbled out into the night, his dark clothing fluttering in the winter wind as he disappeared limply into free fall.
The gun dropped from Daniel’s hand and his head fell back against the floor. A gush of air left his lungs, bringing up more blood along with it.
You’re in the middle of a city in an apartment building, he told himself. People heard this. Someone’s called the police. Help is coming, it has to be.
But time passed, and there were no sirens, no voices.
There was no help, only night, snow, pain, and the labored sound of his breathing.
THIRTY-FIVE
He had no recollection of getting to his feet and leaving the apartment, of staggering along the hallway and somehow negotiating the front stairs, but he’d somehow managed to do so, as he found himself out in the storm, leaned against the side of the building. He was bleeding badly, a trail of gore down the front of him and dripping into the snow at his feet. The city was quiet, the roads empty. Snow fell delicately but steadily from an opaque sky. The apartment building was on a corner, and beneath a streetlight a few feet away, in a growing pool of blood, lay Russell’s body, his limbs and head twisted at unnatural angles. He’d hit the street, sunk into the accumulated snow and was gradually being blanketed by fresh flakes. The lig
ht from the streetlamp created a pool of light that only served to make the shadows surrounding it thicker and more difficult to see beyond.
Daniel’s heart beat rapidly, thudding so loudly that at first he had not heard the movement behind him. From the corner of his eye came an apparition. Moving slowly, it lingered in the darkness over his right shoulder, but he didn’t turn back for a better look. Instead he kept his eyes fixed straight ahead. Whatever was coming, he could not outrun it. In his present condition he’d be fortunate to stay on his feet another minute or two. Just the same, he knew life was all he had left. It might still be worth fighting for.
The subtle sound of feet shuffling through the snow echoed up the block behind him.
Throttled by a sudden series of shivers, this time he forced himself to look. His breath left him in cloudy bursts, mixing with the snow flurries to distort the figure in the center of the street: a nude woman, her skull crushed, features mangled and covered in blood, sockets raw and dripping with gelatinous fluid that had once been her eyes. Cracked lips parted, revealing a flash of torn gums. Scars and slashes from the serrated teeth of the saw used to dismember her covered her body, but it was intact, as if hastily reconstructed by unseen hands. Somewhere in all the carnage, Daniel saw glimpses of who she had once been: the woman in the newspaper article, Gorton’s murdered wife Natalie.
She stopped, cocked her head and in a dull moan asked, “Steven?”
Daniel looked back at the pool of light.
Like some Gothic vampire awakening in his coffin, Russell sat up, the snow falling from him. He reached for his face with a bloody hand, tore the goggles free and stared at her with eyes long dead.
The woman moved closer, crouched down next to him, oblivious to the snow and cold. She reached for his face almost tenderly, her fingers groping his flesh until she’d placed a hand on each side of his head.
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