Glancing about the ceiling, Stanwick spoke firmly, “Music please, album Achtung Baby, volume full.”
She listened to the three seconds of chiming that signaled the start of Zoo Station, then she counted off thirteen bars of sliding guitars and drums. Bar fourteen, she raised a handgun in front of her. Bar fifteen, as the song entered full swing, she fired a shot into David Beach’s leg, the sound masked by the first thud of the kick drum. David Beach’s scream was joined by the self-proclaimed beautiful voice, not that Stanwick was inclined to disagree with Bono.
“Fix him.” She yelled at West.
“This was your choice!”
David’s hand lashed out as he groaned in agony, trying to grab West’s arm.
“He has a daughter! Fix him, or he’ll bleed out before the chorus.”
West looked genuinely panicked, which was not something Stanwick was used to. “I’ve got nothing Stanwick.” West yelled over the music.
“You promised his daughter you’d save him!”
Dumbfounded, West shook his head, “At my apartment Stanwick! I have nothing here!”
Stanwick reached into the inner pocket of her jacket and pulled out a metal flask, but scared of what new hell she was about to unleash on him, David clambered up from the couch, blood gushing out from between his fingers. He fell backwards over the couch’s low back, vomiting as he went. Stanwick threw herself after him, her pant knees slipping in David’s bile as she hit the hardwood floor. She gagged, dry heaving as she spilled the contents of the metal flask onto his fresh wound, then she watched his writhing form spiral out of control, an eerie death spasm break dance, and Bono sang on, ‘ready to duck, I’m ready to dive, I’m ready to say I’m glad to be alive.”
David felt numbness at first, as if the lower half of his body was being thrown about the floor without his will. For brief moments when he managed to open his eyes, the room span wildly, then the pain came crashing through the wall of numbness, like a fire spreading through his body. He closed his eyes against the pain, his mind closing down quickly.
Stanwick grinned self-satisfaction as the multi tracked heavenly choir heralded the birth of another Progeny of the Void. She picked herself up off the floor, and walked over to Charlene, who had danced with Stephanie towards the kitchen in an attempt to shield her from the madness. Taking Stephanie from her arms, Stanwick swung her on her hip with one arm, and pointed at the speakers, “Listen child.”
And Stephanie heard the voices, ‘Hey baby, hey baby, it’s alright, it’s alright.”
When consciousness returned, David lay still on the floor, breathing heavily, aware of the weight of his limbs as his body pulsed with pains and shocks. He could hear Stephanie’s voice, soothing, telling him again and again that he was going to be okay, that the nice lady had fixed him. In the darkness, he could see her standing there still, looming over him, gun raised. Nice lady. He tried to respond to Stephanie, but his jaw felt tight, his lips unyielding. His skin crawled as if there were insects moving all over his body, then the feeling would change, and he was sure that someone was scrubbing him all over with wire wool. He wanted to ask them to stop, but he could only manage a repetitive “Mmm, mmm, mmm.” Freezing fingertips stroked his brow, then Stephanie’s voice, “Dad, I can see it! I can see you fixing up. Open your eyes.” Slits of harsh light, broken by vague shadows.
Stanwick nudged Beach’s leg with her foot, “Come on lazy legs, up and at ‘em.”
Charlene folded her arms across her chest sternly, “You just shot the man!”
Stanwick didn’t take her eyes off the leg wound, which was now barely visible, “He was going to die Charlene.”
“You didn’t have to shoot him.”
Stanwick laughed, “You rarely have to shoot anyone, but when the opportunity presents itself …”
West stepped away from the group, heading towards the kitchen, “Charlene, pay no attention. Stanwick’s not as callous as she makes out.” Feigning shock, Stanwick looked at Charlene, “Oh, no, I’m not being callous. Great big open wound like that gives the little shits something clear to work with, focuses the mind.”
“The leeches?” Charlene asked, and Stanwick nodded and shrugged a noncommittal response.
West returned from the kitchen with a small stack of glass tumblers and a bottle of Drambuie. Handing each of the women a glass while keeping one for himself, he reaffirmed Stanwick’s claim, “She’s not wrong Charlene. David was fading fast.”
Stephanie suddenly bounced into motion, rocking back and forward on her haunches, “He smiled.” She patted her father’s head, “Wake up lazy legs. Up and at ‘em.”
Charlene rolled her eyes in dismay at how quickly Stanwick’s influence had rubbed off on the girl. She watched West filling the woman’s tumbler, and she suddenly found herself wondering where she stood. There was clearly a connection between West and Stanwick, and Charlene was surprised at her own jealousy. Yes, that was the feeling, painful anger, bubbling to the surface, a tightness in her chest. Stanwick stepped towards her and leaned her glass in to chink against Charlene’s. Their knuckles touched for a moment, Stanwick’s eyes locking onto Charlene’s. She smiled slyly, “Down girl.”
“I’m Sorry?” Charlene asked, stepping back involuntarily, her calves pushing up against the couch.
Stanwick took a sip from her drink, allowing the sweet liquor to warm her throat, “I can hear you gritting your teeth Charlene. I can see the veins standing proud of your temples. I can hear the unspoken word as your tongue clicks about inside your little mouth. Such a harsh word, but a personal favorite.”
Charlene made to speak up in her own defense, but Stanwick raised her glass to silence her, “Down. Girl.” She spoke the command softly now, then lowered her head conspiratorially, closing the distance between Charlene and her, “I love West. I’ve always loved West, but spend a thousand lifetimes in someone’s company, and love takes on a different meaning. West would not wait seventy years for anyone, certainly not at any time in my recollection. I can’t tell you he loves you, but I can tell you that he’s fascinated with you, and in that fascination, he has found joy.”
West tilted his glass towards Charlene’s and smiled warmly, “She’s not wrong.”
From smiling to sitting upright took David another ten minutes, and by that time he had managed to speak a few strenuous sentences, while the others busied themselves with drinks, and cleaning up his blood and vomit. Stephanie sat by him, holding his hand, or stroking his brow, only moving when it was necessitated by busy dishcloths and towels. Once the pain had subsided, he had felt the steady and gradual progression of his strength returning, and as he sat up, fully alert, Stephanie’s arms wrapped tightly about his neck, which to his relief, caused no pain.
“There he is, the man of the hour.” West announced, pouring a glass of Drambuie, and passing it off to David, “Let me fix you some food. I don’t know if you’ve been here long enough to see, but the fridge is stocked fresh with meats and cheeses.
David stared at the glass for a moment, sniffed it, then sipped apprehensively, “We had really just got here, when … What happened to me?”
Stephanie stood up and twirled on one foot, “Stanwick fixed you up.”
David looked up at the two women, unsure now which one had shot him, “Stanwick?”
A woman stepped forward, finishing her second glass and setting it on the end table by the couch. Seeing her properly for the first time, David figured that there could have been worse ways to go than to be shot by her. She was tall, with long dark hair falling either side of her face, and David, (who had never seen a contract killer, except in movies,) thought that she looked like she could be an assassin, in her well fitted leather jacket and tight jeans.
Stanwick could see what West meant about Beach. She had been following him since March, reading so much into his every move, listening to the transcripts of his interviews with a steely cynicism, but now that she was in the same room as him, she could sense somet
hing about him. She’d brought him into their world, and she would have to take ownership of that act now, but she could feel it, exuding from every mannerism; an overwhelming goofiness.
“You don’t know anything about your father do you?”
“Huh?”
She watched West as he walked from the kitchen carrying a plate of food for David. Dismayed, she stopped him in his tracks, “Tell me, please … Tell me that you’ve brought David here because of Julien?”
That same dumb look on West’s face. Stanwick sighed heavily.
“The assassination? Dr.Julien Beach, the Prometheus of the new world, stealing the gift of life from the waters of Dannum?”
West looked at Beach, hoping that he would be able to elaborate, but Beach shrugged, “Dad was a …"
“Cock?” Stanwick cut him off, “Yeah, I got that.” She picked up the Drambuie and poured herself another glass.
“Did you even read his book?”
David stuffed a couple of slices of pastrami into his mouth, then answered while chewing, “No, I never really got a chance.” He sucked his fingers before continuing, “Someone bought up pretty much every copy, and there was never a second print run.”
Stanwick nodded, “The Kings Mosaic. It’s a fascinating read. Dr.Julien Beach’s attempt to lay bare a global conspiracy of shadowy figures who he believed appeared time and again throughout the pages of historical texts. If he’d been slightly less astute in his observations, it would still have made some people very uncomfortable. Unfortunately, he spent the final five chapters discussing the rise of a political family, who at the time, had not yet garnered much national attention, but he remained convinced that this was all about to change.”
West watched David’s face, wondering if there would be any sign of recognition, or recollection, but none came. He turned his eyes to Stanwick, lifting his glass towards her, “You’ve read it?”
“Of course. I bought four thousand copies in some vague hope that he hadn’t already drawn too much attention.”
David pulled his daughter closer, hugging her more for his own comfort than hers, “What are you saying? Do you mean my Dad’s book was the real deal? He wasn’t just a conspiracy nut?”
Stanwick laughed, “Julien Beach was a genius. Or an idiot, I’m still not really clear on that yet, but either way, yes, his book was, as you say, the real deal.”
West slumped into the cushions of a single seated sofa, facing Stanwick. It occurred to him that he should have spent a lot more time trying to locate a copy of Julien Beach’s work. He sipped his drink thoughtfully, staring into Stanwick’s deep turquoise eyes, “Julien Beach was onto Tiernan?”
“Yes.” Her lips barely parted, her head tipped forward slightly.
“Prometheus … I take it you mean that he found someone’s cache of leeches?”
Stanwick shook her head almost imperceptibly, and her eyes widened, igniting with excitement, “Our numbers have now been joined by a true third generations West. Beach found the source.”
Still holding onto Stephanie, David Beach stood up easily, giving no thought whatsoever to the fact that this was an achievement in itself. He walked around the couches and stood in the middle of the living room, lowering Stephanie to her feet. He spread his arms, sloshing some of his drink on the hardwood floor in the process, “What the hell are the two of you even talking about? I mean, what did he uncover?”
Stephanie slumped against her dad, a little bleary eyed, but desperate to pay attention to the adults. She had insisted that David lay his leg up on the couch so that she could see the bullet hole in his pants, and now she tugged idly at the frayed cloth, silently marveling at the fact that her father was alive. If she could have placed her hand on a pin, she would have jabbed her father’s leg to see if he could feel it, but she figured that asking for a pin would look suspicious.
Stanwick sat cross legged on the floor, gazing idly at Charlene, who sat pressed up against the cushions at the end of the couch, trying her best to ignore David’s foot, “How much has West told you?”
Charlene shrugged, “He rambled off some names while I ate pizza.”
West held up a hand defensively, “Oh hang on a minute, I went into that situation fully prepared … I just didn’t get a chance to bust out this bad boy.” He leaned forward, and pulled his sweater off, allowing it to drop on the floor beside the couch. There, emblazoned across his t-shirt, the other’s struggled to read the small white text as West pulled the material tight:
‘I survived the collapse of Allim, the Leechborn Wars, the terrors of the Mythologue, the discovery of the new world, the building of stone henges, the birthing pains of every major religion, the rise of the Egyptian empire, the building of the Pyramids, the desertion of Jericho, the deluge, the burning of Alexandria, the rise and fall of the Roman empire, the battle of Hastings, the crusades, the bubonic plague, the Spanish Inquisition, the great fire of London, the Crimean war, the first and second world wars AND Jojo’s 54oz steak night challenge, and all I’ve got to show for it is this stupid t-shirt’
Stanwick blinked, trying to cleanse her eyes of the experience, but she saw out of the corner of her eye that Stephanie had sat forwards attentively, pushing her dad’s leg off the couch. The child raised an enthusiastic hand, and West nodded towards her, “Questions?”
Stephanie inhaled, “What are leechboraws?”
West looked down at his tee-shirt and pulled the material so he could trace the words with the finger of his free hand, “That’s Leechborn Wars.” He spoke the words slowly and somewhat condescendingly.
Stephanie sighed, a little exasperated, “Sorry mister …?”
Stephanie’s question hung in the air, waiting for West to introduce himself properly, “Oh, I’m sorry, I’m West Yestler,” he nodded his head towards Charlene, “and this is my friend Charlene Osterman. You can call me West.”
Stephanie patted her knees triumphantly, “West … that’s a funny name. West, what are Leech born?”
“We are.” West replied. He watched her face work its way through varying levels of confusion while he waited patiently for her to ask her next question.
“You are?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“She is?” Stephanie asked, pointing to Stanwick, who nodded, smiling kindly.
“You are?” She asked Charlene, who shrugged, glancing at West, “I guess so.”
“And now, your father is also.” West added, raising his eyebrows slightly.
Stephanie spun quickly, looking at David, who looked concerned, “I … I’m what now?” David stuttered into alertness, leaning forwards on the couch so that he could see past Stephanie.
“Leechborn, Leechkith, Blood Thief, Ever-Hunger,” West started, but he stopped when he noticed that Charlene was pointing at him repeatedly, vying for Stanwick’s attention, “See? Like that,” she called out, “list of names.”
Stanwick laughed. She leaned back on her arms, tossing her hair back over her shoulders, “Stephanie, does that help you at all?”
“Nope.” Stephanie replied, sitting up straight at the edge of the couch, folding her arms as an indication of her dissatisfaction, “What’s Allim?”
West sat back and poured himself another drink,
“A long time ago, there was a country called Allim …"
“Is that near France?” Stephanie asked, hoping that she would be able to forge some mental connection with the familiar. Stanwick responded quickly, “It wasn’t too far from the South Pole, but it was pretty warm back then.” West exchanged glances with Stanwick, nodding a slow and uncertain affirmation, which convinced no one except David, who was still trying to digest the word Leechborn.
West continued, “As far back as our histories record it, Allim was defined by the walls which surrounded the capital city. Beyond the walls, was the world which we knew as the Void Garden, and within the walls, the people of Allim lived peacefully, protected by the watchful gaze of the ancestors of King Dannum, the coun
try’s founder.”
Stephanie raised her hand, and waited for West’s patient nod of approval, “Why did they build walls?”
“The followers of Dannum built the walls to protect the people of Allim from the void garden.”
“Near the South Pole?” Stephanie asked.
West smiled, narrowing his eyes, “Near it, relatively speaking.” Stephanie pursed her lips, convinced that West was being evasive, but choosing to remain silent on the matter. Pick your battles she told herself, a phrase she had often heard her aunt use when she spoke to her father.
“So,” West continued, “Dannum sat, as the self-proclaimed God amongst men, King of the walled city, the tale of his long life and the future of Allim laid out in the pages of The Book of Antrusca.” He watched Stephanie shift uncomfortably before explaining, “Antrusca, daughter of the God King, the founder of the Matriarchal Divinity, she was for a long time the only person trusted enough by King Dannum to set forth the histories.”
Stanwick took off her leather jacket and motioned for Stephanie to come and sit in front of her. Stephanie grimaced, but when Stanwick smiled and waved her over a second time, the child pushed herself off the edge of the couch and shoved with her hands, sliding across the hardwood floor until she came to a rest, sitting on her haunches, staring timidly at Stanwick’s smooth skin,
Stanwick took Stephanie’s hands in her own, stroking the backs with her thumbs, feeling the child’s tendons budge gently beneath the skin, “When I was a little girl, I was raised in the houses of the Matriarchal Divinity, as were all of the daughters of Allim.”
“You were?”
Stanwick nodded, her turquoise eyes pouring over the details of the child’s face.
“Every girl was taken to the houses of the Divinity on the day they were born.”
“No boys there?” Stephanie asked, thinking that this sounded like a pretty great idea.
“No, there were boys too. Boys orphaned by disease, starvation, or dark thoughts were brought up by the wet nurses and sisters of the Matriarchal Divinity, and all boys of the agricultural, or tech sectors would come to the houses of the Divinity for schooling, but they would return to their parents in the evening.”
Histories of the Void Garden, Book 1: Pyre of Dreams Page 14