by Gilmore, RM
The soft scent of aftershave wafted passed my nose, igniting memories only the sense of smell could muster. It couldn’t be. There’s just no way in hell, I thought. But, really, this very well could be hell. So why not? After so many years of wishing I could see his face just one more time, it seemed it was finally happening.
“Daddy?” I whimpered toward the shadow that hovered in the room.
If the darkness hidden in the shadows was not my long dead father, then we were all in deep shit. I looked to Mike, and made eye contact with Cyrus before my eyes darted back to the shadowy resemblance of my dad.
“Dylan…” Mikes voice whispered nervously in the dark. “What’s happening?”
“Somehow, I can see my dad,” I replied matter-of-factly. “I think.”
Being witness to not one, but dozens of ghostly images as of late, seeing the ghost of my dad was at the bottom of the terrifying list. In fact, it was a welcome final wish. If I was going down, I wanted my damn dad.
“Dad, can you come closer? I want to see your face.” I leaned forward, ignoring Cyrus sitting in front of me.
The shadow never moved. The broad shoulders and long legs of the apparition stayed put in the dark.
“How’s that?” Mike asked.
“I have no idea. Maybe it’s some kind of voodoo loophole. Azelie caused hallucinations of dead things to dance in my head, maybe Dad snuck in.” I prayed secretly.
Or maybe I’m just a fucking loon. It is always a possibility.
“I don’t see anything but a dark corner of a shitty shed in the middle of God knows where. Dylan, I need your head in the game on this one.”
“No shit. Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I mumbled, still staring at the darkness I assumed was my father.
“Dad,” the word came out in a breath and seemed to float in the air toward the darkness, like a feather in a breeze.
The shadow stirred. I froze. I didn’t want to take my eyes away for a second. Any ghost story I’d ever heard ended with someone looking away, for just a moment, and it was gone. I couldn’t let that happen.
“Dylan, I need you to try and help me up,” Mike said from his spot in the dirt to my left.
I didn’t respond. I couldn’t risk the chance of missing something.
“Dylan,” he persisted.
“Shut up.” I refused to take my eyes off the figure behind Cyrus.
If I was looking at my dad, which my sense of smell told me was true, I didn’t want to miss a second of it. If I was cheated into thinking I was looking at my dad, it was better if I kept my eye on that shifty bastard.
“Dad, please,” I begged so quietly, I didn’t even know if I said it, or just thought it really hard.
A blast of air puffed through the space, blowing my hair back, and rattling the tools hanging above us.
“What in the fuck?” Mike yelled in the dark.
The shadow was gone. “Dad!” I jumped up from the ground. My legs hated me for it. “Dad,” I cried.
“Dylan.” Cyrus grabbed my arms and brought me to him. “Stop.”
“No, my dad, he was-“
“Don’t trust anyone or anything.” His point was so valid he could have poked me with it.
“Can someone please get me the fuck out of here?” Mike pleaded.
Cyrus held onto me for a few breaths longer. He was naked and it was dark. So many thoughts passed through my head, ranging from wonder what I’m missing? To, Jesus, I hope we don’t get into a knife fight. Or fire. Yikes.
Cyrus went to aid Mike, leaving me standing alone, shaking and trying to find myself buried down under my fear.
Mike was on his feet in no time, but his hands were still stuck behind his back. My shoulder throbbed for the first time since I’d knocked it back in to place. Funny what adrenaline does to the body.
A crackling sound alerted us all that we were not alone. The three of us moved nearer the wall behind Mike and listened closely. We were a few inches from the slats before a bright flash of orange light bled through the cracks of wood. We all jumped back. Cyrus covered his manness with his hands. Shit, I would’ve too. Like the fucking scarecrow.
Fire crackled and roared feet from the outside of our shack.
“Oh, this isn’t good.” The light from the fire flashed on Mike and his cuffed hands and Cyrus’s bare chest.
Oh, so many thoughts.
The door of the shed flew open with a bang, and my captor appeared. He smiled a lovely white smile.
“Shiiiiit.” I tucked my butt and booked it in the opposite direction. I had nowhere to go, but it seemed stupid to stand there and let him take me.
I ran like an idiot around the small space, weaving through a naked guy and a jackass with handcuffs. The man didn’t really chase me as much as reach out to grab me. Cyrus barreled into his side and knocked him off balance, but he didn’t let me go. He laughed. Were we that fucking funny? Naked guy, handcuffs…me. All right.
His huge hand held out and spread wide, touched the air in the center of the room. His laughter stopped. So did the men around him. He curled his fingers into a fist. Cyrus and Mike crumpled and fell to the dirt.
One last smile slid across his face. His strong arms lifted my big ass like I was a flour sack, and slung me over his shoulder.
I didn’t kick. I didn’t scream. I just watched as he slammed the door behind him and left my men behind. I knew it was a bad situation. I just didn’t care. Too bad this wasn’t offered as a spa package. Hot guys carrying you around and making you feel happy? Sign me up!
Oh, there’ll be dead things? Always a fucking catch.
Chapter Fourteen
The big guy dumped me to the dirt by the roaring fire. I fell ungracefully, and loose dirt puffed up around me. I longed for him the second his skin left mine. I watched as he turned from me. I had to force myself not to reach out to him. Beg him not to leave me.
Whatever form of being that man was, I wanted it and had no fucking clue as to why. Two men up my ass and I want to add a third? This was turning into a fucking Harlequin romance. Not in my story.
Yeah, that was easier said than done when it came to these people, bringing magic to a fistfight.
Muscle man, straight out of a wet dream, made his way around the fire. His large bare back shifted and flexed beautifully in the light of the flames. Loose, flopping muslin pants moved around his legs, like a ship’s sail in the wind. Strips of leather dangled around his waist. Trinkets of charms, beads, tiny skulls and bones hung from each strip. Metal and bone clanked together, making music as he walked. Bare feet padded the dirt with little disruption to the earth under them.
He lifted a circular drum to his chest and began thrumming away at it. In his hand, a white stick, or human bone, who fucking knew, beat the skin stretched over the wooden circle.
I lay in the dirt, mesmerized by the guy with the drum. Flames separated the two of us, allowing sporadic glimpses that only added to my unwanted longing. Whatever magic he held over me, should be bottled and sold at Target.
Minutes passed that seemed like hours. The more time that passed, the less my body yearned for the dreadlock man and the more my head told me to run like hell. But where? Moss-covered trees that hung branches low to the ground surrounded me. The shed I’d been locked in was the only sign of civilization. The brightness of the fire washed out the darkness beyond, making it impossible to see anything other than what the flames illuminated.
If I was able to get up and get moving before the hunk caught me, where the fuck would I go? Could I really leave Cuffs and Flash in the shed to rot alone? Maybe they were in there planning my rescue. It was a long shot, but a girl could hope, couldn’t she?
Just beyond the flames, coming closer with each breath, a figure approached. I watched with anxious eyes as Azelie appeared as if from the smoke and fire in the pit at my feet. Without reluctance, she lifted her leg and stepped over and through the raging fire to stand before me. The flames licked at her skin but it did
n’t blister; they danced over her skirt but it didn’t scorch.
Though I wanted to move, no matter how I willed my hands to twitch, they did nothing. I begged God, or anything that was listening, for just one twitch to ram my bare fist through her gut. I was stuck in my spot like a mystical mannequin. Atop her full, black dreads, her head was adorned with a headdress made of a large animal skull, something with horns. Feathers and charms swung from strips of leather tied to the horns. Shit, it could have been dried skin of some human sacrifice knowing her. Azelie’s buttery skin bore stripes and symbols of dark paint – or blood. Her chest lay bare of cloth, but covered in rust-colored paint – or blood. Perfect boobs sat high on her chest, each covered in paint and symbols. Around her waist, bits of fabric, fur and feathers hung and draped, creating a skirt that left her slight thighs exposed.
“What do you want from me?” I asked, my voice not sounding like my own, but weak and pathetic.
“Your penance.” Her thick accent was much harsher than Marienne’s, but nonetheless French. Mostly.
“Just kill me if that’s what you want,” I begged from hands and knees still stuck in the dirt.
“What’chu have here?” her miniature hands lifted the metal charm around my neck. Her rosary dangled from her wrist. The rosary I’d left on the black carpeted floor of the luxury vehicle.
My eyes widened. However she’d acquired her crucifix, was not my concern. In reality, it likely put me and mine in a more fucked situation than originally presumed. It was either obtained by human means, a traitor in the mix, or by spiritual ones. Neither allowed room for rescue.
I turned my head from her and pulled away. It was the first movement my body was allowed since she’d come through the flames. For whatever reason, my will beat out whatever mumbo jumbo she had filled my head with. I wasn’t about to ask her why or how; it didn’t matter anyway. I’d have to figure this shit out on my own. Sneakily, I’d get myself backed away from her. I planned it like that in my head anyway. I shuffled backward on my knees as quickly and quietly as I could. “It worked didn’t it?” I had forced those dead bitches away more than once. My jabbering was only a distraction from my excellently planned escape. Twenty seconds to scrape up a plan that was what I got.
“Did it?” her smooth voice chuckled.
I scooted again. “You bet your ass it did.” I didn’t know that, not for certain. But who cared, right? Between voodoo bitches, vampires, and whatever the fuck I’d stepped in in Fresno, I was dead anyway. Barring any miracles from Heaven, that was. I couldn’t in my right mind let that bitch take me down without a fight, even if that fight simply consisted of my sarcastic remarks and a set of filthy knees. I sat back on my heels. “This and more.” I lifted the trinket from my throat and aimed it at her like I was Harry fucking Potter. “You’re not the only witch bitch in town.” I rocked back, and in a movement I could never replicate, I was on my feet.
I wanted get the fuck out of Dodge, but it was nearly impossible when you didn’t know where in the hell Dodge is.
Tiny feet stepped softly like a feline toward me, forcing my clodhoppers to stumble backward. “You have power.” She made it a statement more than a question.
“More than you know, bitch.” Okay, bitch was probably not a good idea. Not to mention how lame it sounded in my current pathetic, shaking voice. I backed further. Long willow branches slid over my head. The hypnotizing drumbeat reverberated in my ears from the other side of the fire.
My back hit a tree. Branches hung between Azelie and me. “Bitch,” she clucked her tongue. “Didn’t your mother teach you never to bite the hand that feeds you?”
“No.” My mother taught me to never let them see you cry, never back down, and never pull hair unless you’re using it to slam a bitch’s face to your knee.
That is not a bad idea.
She moved closer to me, nearly close enough to smell her breath. It wasn’t often someone was shorter than I was. Azelie hardly stood tall enough to look me square in the nose. After all the shitty things she’d done to me in the last few days, it was stupid to let her get that close to me. But what other choice did I have? Become one with the tree?
Before my head could tell my gut it was stupid, I reached out with both hands and grabbed the bitch by the horns. Took one step into her and pulled her perfect little face downward. My knee met her nose with gumption and a lovely meeting it was. The crack of a broken bone echoed through the night.
I didn’t waste any time gloating over her bleeding face. She held her nose as I shoved past her and booked it for the shed.
“Mike! Cyrus!” I screamed. “Run!” No sound came from the structure as I neared it. They could’ve been dead in there. Or, maybe they got out somehow and were lurking in the dark waiting for the right time to pounce.
My fat little legs pumped, carrying all this weight along with them. At some point, I considered looking into a gym membership. Maybe, even a little sleep. Bright-eyed and bushytailed was not in my immediate past. The future didn’t look good either.
The drumbeat continued, letting me know the man playing it hadn’t moved. I was free.
Of course, I wasn’t free. Life, or whatever this was, didn’t work like that.
“Dylan,” my father’s voice whispered through the night.
“Daddy?” I stopped in my tracks. I knew I had seen him in the dark in that shed.
“Dylan, come, don’t leave me,” Gordon Hart, my father, and the catalyst for my entire existence, called to me.
“Where are you?” I whispered back.
“He’s here.” Azelie spoke.
“Why is my father here?” My nostrils flared with the need to catch his scent one more time. I wanted to kill her, run my fist through her chest and rip out her beating heart, but the deep internal need to see my dad stopped me before I could let the rage boil over and escape through murder.
“He’s with me.”
I turned, expecting to see the decaying, shambling body of my long dead father. A zombie she’d resurrected just for me. My hands trembled with the idea. Instead, I turned to come face-to-face with my best friend in the whole world – not. Azelie’s face, inches from mine, boasted a pair of honey brown eyes instead of her startling blue set.
“Frizzle,” my dad’s voice came through her lips using a nickname only he and I knew.
“Daddy-” my voice cracked and I fought back tears. I was focused on the scene unfolding before me, all the while praying in my heart the door of the shed would fly open and one naked guy and one handcuffed guy would come barreling out to my rescue.
“Frizzle,” his deep voice spoke in a tone I recalled as serious. “I’m here. I need you to help me. Only you can. Can you be a big girl and help Dad?” he asked, like he did in the garage working on his old car.
“Yeah, Dad,” I nodded. I felt as if I was five-years-old again. So small. So innocent.
“’That ’a girl,” she patted me on the head.
“I love you, Daddy.” I wrapped my arms around the tiny body of Azelie, fully anticipating the broad shoulders of my dad. He didn’t answer. “Dad?” I looked into her eyes. Blue. He was gone.
“Do you want your father?” Her face was soft, almost endearing, even with gore from her surely broken nose drying over the top of her war paint.
I nodded, tears forming at my lash line.
“Come.” She held her hand out to me.
Willingly, and most stupidly, I took it. Allowing her all the control. All in the name of love. Not the lame, fleeting love that lay stuck, cuffed and naked, in that damn shed. Real love. Love not faltered by death.
She led me back to the fire and away from my men and potential freedom. Dreadlocks had never stopped his drumming. We stopped close, flame licking close, to the fire. She took me by the arms and pulled me close to her. Nose-to-nose, she seemed inches taller than before. Her eyes locked onto mine. My leg twitched with the urge to run. Fingers clenched into tight balls eager to knock her lights out. My heart
, that stupid immature thing, fluttered and skipped with anticipation. I wanted my dad back, even if it meant making a deal with the devil. How quickly our human perceptions of danger and loathing could flip when the impossible was offered up on a fancy platter with a turd garnish. Who ate the garnish anyway?
Lifting our arms to the sky, she led the dance. Her tiny fingers tickled along the tender skin under my arms, leaving my hands lifted high. Her eyes never left mine. Our chests rose and fell in unison. Her naked boobs grazed mine with each breath. Hands wrapped around my waist and found their way under my shirt, kneading along my back. My hands still in the air, she lifted my shirt from my body and over my head, exposing my thick pale torso. I stood in bra and pants, nearly the opposite of her bare top and covered bottom.
The tears that had welled moments before, dripped from my lashes and streamed down my cheeks. I swallowed hard. Devil, deal, this is it. Naked in the woods Go-Go dancing with my arch nemesis. Apparently, resurrection was costly. Wonder how Jesus did it? Oh, yeah, God. Well, I wasn’t so lucky.
From her waist, she produced a wreath of decay and herbs. I prayed it was only animal parts she was placing on my head. I closed my eyes and envisioned my father standing in the present. With me. Me and Mom and Dad. A wet goop smeared across my belly. It smelled foul, similar to the shit-smear I had on my face with Lupe. Something similar to an old pad at the bottom of a public bathroom trash can.
Words I didn’t recognize came flowing smoothly from her lips. I held the image of my dad in my thoughts. His long legs and big hands, he seemed like a giant when I was small. The two brown eyes Azelie had stolen from him, brown with flecks of gold and green. Curly, black hair, just like mine. His bright smile, so contagious no one would be sad in his presence. My eyes felt heavy. I breathed a little slower. Covered in filth and death, and I felt like I’d killed a fifth of tequila sitting on a bathroom floor.
Her hips swayed with mine. I felt like I was at a 60s concert. Free and vulnerable. My arms floated around me. Her hands and arms touched along my ribs and back. Azelie was my puppeteer, seemingly moving my limbs at her will. Her mouth breathed along mine, dancing over my skin. With each inhale, she breathed me in, sucking in air more and more intensely over every inch of me. Pulling the life from my body. No, not the life. The soul. Every exhale pushed against each cell, fighting its way in. She wasn’t so much as taking my soul away, as she was blending our two together. As easily as I breathed, my essence was becoming hers. Whether or not hers was also becoming mine was yet to be seen.