Bleed Away the Sky

by Brian Fatah Steele

  BLEED AWAY

  THE SKY

  BRIAN FATAH STEELE

  Copyright © 2019 by Brian Fatah Steele

  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means without the author’s written consent, except for the purposes of review

  Cover Design © 2019 by Don Noble

  https://roosterrepublicpress.com

  ISBN-13: 978-1-947522-17-6

  ISBN-10: 1-947522-17-5

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s fertile imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  READ UNTIL YOU BLEED!

  DEDICATION

  For my brother Adam.

  Miss you, man…

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  I’ll probably forget some names here, but know you’re appreciated. Douglas A. Brookes was my beta-reader and proofed this book, likely allowing it to even get published. Daniel Weymouth, Brittany Amicone Weymouth, April McKinley, Eric and Courtney Cornell, Kendell Gibson, Sierra Jones, Joe Shaffer, Brianna Barker, Phoenix Huff, Jonathan and Annie Joyce, Ricky Harris, Jose Martinez, Staci Donnalley, and Dawne Lemery Bednarek. Thanks for all the support.

  Pete Kahle made it possible for this story to be told, and I can’t thank him enough. A number of other people in the industry have been incredibly kind. John Claude Smith, Taylor Grant, Erin Sweet-Al Mehairi, Robert S. Wilson, Anthony Rivera, Sharon Lawson, Salome Jones, Tristan Thorne, Matthew J. Leverton, Nate Southard, S.P. Miskowski, Michelle Garza, Laurel Stark, Ken Gordhamer, John McCallum Swain, Sara Lunsford, CL Stegall, and Court Ellen.

  I have to thank the music of Lana Del Rey. This particular novel was written exclusively to her discography.

  Mom and Dad, thanks for putting up with me. Nathan, Jordan, and Quintin, thanks for being awesome “little” brothers. The plushy Cthulhus I got the nephews is just the start.

  Laken Anderson, thank you for being you. Always.

  ALSO BY

  BRIAN FATAH STEELE

  NOVELS

  Petty Like a God

  In Bleed Country

  There is Darkness in Every Room

  COLLECTIONS

  Further than Fate

  Brutal Starlight

  Your Arms Around Entropy

  PROLOGUE

  Mommy didn’t bleed her own blood. Audrey couldn’t recall when she realized that. She wasn’t even really sure what it meant, only that it was true. She lay in her bed, clutching her stuffed giraffe, and listened to the sounds coming from her Mommy’s bedroom. They were scary sounds, as scary as Mommy could be sometimes.

  They had ravioli for dinner that night and Audrey had been delighted. She’d had a good day at school, getting an A+ on her spelling test and winning the game of kickball during recess. She had been so excited by the ravioli, she didn’t notice her Mommy’s mood. Manic, anxious, fidgety. After eating, Audrey wanted to go out back and play in her sandbox but had gotten snapped at. It was too late to get all dirty.

  Audrey, even at six years old, knew better. It was almost time for one of Mommy’s alone times. The rest of dinner was finished in silence.

  Audrey took a short bath that night without bubbles. She played with her duckies out of routine, but her heart wasn’t in it. Mommy didn’t stay in the bathroom, instead she was already getting things ready in her bedroom. A big girl now, Audrey got cleaned up all by herself, including washing her hair, and drying off. She loved her big fluffy unicorn towel and wished she could use it as a blanket.

  That had been forever ago. Hours. Mommy had kissed her goodnight, barely paying attention, and tucked her into bed with a book. But as it always happened on nights like this, she said strange things to Audrey. Warned her not to leave her room unless she absolutely had to use the bathroom, not to knock on Mommy’s door. Then she had said the stranger things, the stuff that Audrey never understood.

  “Inside us blooms a feast for gods, dearest. As I flow, so shall you some day. It’s a great honor! You’ll understand when you’re older.”

  Audrey wanted to understand now, but she knew better than to ask any more questions. Mommy got upset and her words didn’t come out right. So instead, Audrey just nodded and let her Mommy leave. She ignored her book, clutched onto her giraffe, and waited for the sounds to begin.

  Audrey was too young to understand that this happened two or three times a month, and that those sounds emanated from her mother’s room for an average of twenty minutes. She only understood that her mother was tired the next day, often forgetful. Although Audrey never did quite piece together what her mother was doing, it was a day after one of those infamous alone times, exhausted and spacy, that her mother had crashed her car into the rear end of a tractor trailer. Audrey was only seven when it happened.

  Her mother never got a chance to explain…

  CHAPTER 1

  Audrey Darrow scowled at the remains of her eggs and pushed the plate away. While the pancakes had been excellent, light and buttery, the yellow goop beside them tasted like something made from chemicals. She stretched her tan legs out beneath the booth—not a hard feat when you’re only slightly above five foot tall—and sighed. Only two days into the road trip and she was already regretting it.

  The Arizona heat was scorching in June, the sun baking the desert across the street from the diner. Miles upon miles of nothingness. Audrey understood the feeling. She had enjoyed the drive down, flying through the desolation. She found the open sky and barren landscape soothing.

  Elliot had picked out this spot ahead of time. Some formerly famous motel attached to a down home eatery. Its renown must have been decades ago because it was in a sorry state now. She suspected Elliot knew that and had picked it because it was cheap. She could appreciate that.

  Formica tables and pale green cushioned booths that had long ago lost any comfort, everything was chipped and worn down. The large windows had years’ worth of finger prints and smears on them, an accumulation of grime. Their waitress had been pleasant enough, but looked like a caricature in her pink dress, white apron, and greying hair falling from its bun. The motel stretching out along the road had a fair number of vacancies, the two twin beds they had slept on likely not updated since sometime in the 70’s. The orange and brown wallpaper alone was worthy of an acid trip. Audrey tried not to think about what she had shared the sheets with and had taken another shower when she woke.

  There were going to be a lot more places like this, questionable spots in which to bed down and restaurants that barely deserved the title. A cross-country trip, from northern California to New York and back, in three weeks or so. It’s what Elliot had wanted to do, and she reluctantly agreed. Mostly because he was paying for the bulk of it.

  It wasn’t like Audrey was abandoning a whole lot back home. She had a one-bedroom apartment, in a three-story walkup with perpetually leaky pipes, which sat in front of a rail line. A freelance web designer, she took work wherever she could find it. It was rarely artistic or engaging, her last gig for the pet shop down the street. She made just enough money to pay her bills, feed herself, and drown her sorrows all too often at the corner bar. One of the bartenders there had the hots for her, and while he was sweet enough, Audrey couldn’t summon enough conviction to care. And despite what Elliot tried to say, no company was going to hire a web designer, regardless of her talent, with only a high school diploma.

  She was depressed and knew it. She always had been. Initially, she thought the trip would be a sort of escape, a way to perhaps examine her life from the outside and gain a new perspective. Audrey knew she was
good at what she did, all of it self-taught, but it didn’t fill her with any sense of purpose. She had no sense of actually living life, just existing. All the research she had done on the subjects of depression and anxiety said that this feeling was common, but the few solutions given weren’t options for her. Most cost money.

  For some reason, Elliot wanted to spend his money and time on her.

  He came back from the restroom, weaving between the booths. Elliot was two years younger than her at twenty-two, and he had just graduated from college with a degree in industrial engineering. Audrey understood precisely zero about his degree, but he seemed passionate about it. He was due to start a job at a major firm in July, once they had returned from the trip. He had received a ridiculous settlement from his father’s death that he was using to bankroll their little adventure.

  Their father’s death. The father that she had never known.

  “You’re not going to eat those eggs?” he asked, eyeing her plate.

  “All yours.”

  She couldn’t help but smile as she watched him shovel the horrible tasting eggs into his mouth. Nothing seemed to faze him. She wished she had some of his easy-going nature. While they had some of the same facial features, and olive skin, that was where their similarities ended. Audrey was petite and blonde, easily labeled an introvert, while Elliot was tall with dark hair, and gregarious. His T-shirt had a picture of a dancing alligator on it.

  Audrey was still getting used to the idea that she had a brother. He had appeared a little over a year ago, ready for hugs. She had spent three months just verifying he wasn’t some psycho.

  “You ready?” he asked, pulling out his wallet.

  Audrey nodded, getting her purse. It was little more than a black canvas bag, but she carried her life in it. One of her little neuroses. Walking out of the diner, she shielded her eyes from the Arizona glare. The heat beat down on them as they walked over to their motel room. Audrey paused and stared out into the desert as Elliot fiddled with the lock. The emptiness looked inviting.

  “Whatcha looking at?”

  Audrey shrugged and followed him inside. The vomit-inducing colors danced on the walls. Audrey considered switching into flip flops but decided against it. They’d still be in the desert for a few more days, and there was no point in getting her feet dirty. As it was, she could already feel a thin layer of desert on her legs and arms. Tying her shoulder length hair back in a short ponytail, she packed up the last few things left around the room.

  “So there’s an alpaca farm nearby,” said Elliot. “Wanna see some alpacas?”

  “Are you serious?”

  “I can’t tell by your face if you’re happy with the idea of seeing alpacas or not.”

  Audrey shook her head and laughed. “Sure, alpacas. Why the hell not?”

  “Awesome! Let’s get packed up.”

  Audrey carried her bag outside and put it in the trunk of Elliot’s car. He stuck his in as well and then walked the room keys back to the manager’s office while she waited. A truck drove past and honked at her, eliciting another smile. She was going to have to keep in good spirits for the trip, try not to let herself agonize over the life waiting for her back home. For Elliot, at least.

  The desert, vast and bleak, offered up no answers.

  CHAPTER 2

  “Hurry up,” said Kristie.

  Megan jiggled the door handle, scowling. “I’m going."

  “Let’s go,” said Royce.

  Royce grabbed Kristie’s hand and pushed past, his sister Megan trailing behind him, as they entered the old building. It had been an opulent hotel once, back in the heyday of Eldridge, Ohio. They didn’t care, it was just somewhere to squat for a while. Eldridge wasn’t the booming little steel town it used to be, and up until now, Royce had been doing alright for himself in the meth trade. Unfortunately, the local Drug Task Force had shut down business, but he and Kristie had escaped right before the bust came.

  They had been staying in the building for a few days. Royce only had a few hundred dollars and a bag of prescription pills to sell, something he did on the side. A cocktail of OxyContin and Adderall had inspired his sister Megan to come up with the idea to rob a house. Although they had broken into a residence, they had been too high to steal much more than candy and a Blu-Ray player.

  Everything was where they had left it on the second floor. They had taken over a room by the hallway with access to both the stairs and the fire escape. After spending a day searching the building, other items had been found and carried up, including a small couch, two chairs, some old clothing used as pillows, flashlights, a pack of cards, and a few markers. Sleep had been rough the first night, but now they were burning through the Xanax supply. Royce had demanded that the girls stay off their cell phones, just in case they were being tracked, so instead they played a lot of card games. Megan was slowly filling the walls with marker doodles.

  “Oh, I so need this chocolate right now,” said Kristie, peering into the bag.

  Megan snorted. “I know what you’ll need in about two hours.”

  Kristie shot her a dirty look and went back to fiddling with the candy wrapper. The rail-thin blonde was a notorious bulimic, not to mention kind of a bitch. Megan didn’t understand what her brother saw in her. She tried to play nice for Royce’s sake, but sometimes it was just too easy not too.

  “Why didn’t we grab more stuff?” asked Royce in clear disgust.

  “Timing?” offered Megan.

  “This was all bullshit” roared Royce, hurling a candy bar across the room.

  Neither of the girls said anything. Royce’s temper had always been kept back by a hair-trigger, but it had randomly veered off into spontaneous rage the last few months. The slightest things set him off, for no apparent reason. It was best to just stay out of his way until he cooled down. Which in this case, was relatively quickly when he found a large bag of Skittles among his score.

  “I wonder why they had so much candy,” mused Megan.

  “Kids?” said Kristie.

  “Who cares?” said Royce, glancing over at Megan. “Can you go fill up the water jug again?”

  Megan sighed. The water was still on in the building for some reason, but only in the basement bathroom. They had been filling up an old plastic gallon jug they had found and carrying it back to their room. This was fine, except it was now dark and the building could be officially creepy. Still, as Megan popped the second peanut butter cup in her mouth, she knew she was dying for a drink.

  “Don’t start crying,” Kristie called out in a snarky voice.

  “Don’t start vomiting,” she replied in the same.

  Megan smiled as she heard Kristie swearing back in the room, but her smile quickly vanished as she descended the stairs. The flashlight didn’t really help matters. In many ways, the minimal illumination only made things worse. It was like you knew that things were lurking right outside that small circle of light, things just waiting for you to shine your light elsewhere. So much could be in that surrounding blackness, such unknowns, behind you or to your sides. Megan rushed down the basement steps and turned the corner into the bathroom.

  Checking the stall first, she turned and angled the gallon container as best she could under the sink’s faucet. It filled halfway, the rest had to be filled with a few pours from an old coffee mug. Mission accomplished, Megan turned and made to race back up the stairs. She was taking a step up to ascend to the second floor when she stopped cold.

  It was maybe twenty feet from the staircase to the large double doors that opened into what had once been some kind of lounge or gathering hall. A massive open space on the first floor that would accommodate a hundred people. There, in the scant moonlight coming in from the high arched windows, Megan saw someone walking across the floor. Without even having to think about it, she knew it wasn’t Royce or Kristie. She watched silently for another moment as the figure strolled in the dark, then bolted upstairs as quietly as she could.

  “Damn, that
took you long enough,” said Royce as soon as she burst into the room.

  “And listen, I don’t appreciate…” began Kristie.

  “Shhh! Shut up,” said Megan. “There’s somebody downstairs!”

  Kristie made a face. “No, there’s not.”

  “Royce, I swear to you! There’s some dude by himself, walking around in that lounge down there.”

  “Megan, don’t fuck around.”

  Megan grabbed her brother by the face. “Someone. Is. Here.”

  Royce’s eyes went wider. He stood up and walked to the couch. Reaching behind it, he pulled out a piece of slightly bent, three-foot long rebar.

  “Stay here,” he said.

  * * *

  Every step Royce took down the stairs made his anger grow. He had been driven out of his house, from his business and money, and forced to live like the shitstains he sold to. If he couldn’t make those cops pay, he’d be fine with taking it out on someone else.

  Royce looked around the first-floor landing and saw nothing, heard no one. He had left his flashlight upstairs, but there was enough moonlight coming in through the windows for him to see well enough. The whole place smelled moldy, like wet leaves. A few more steps and he was in the lounge, peering around.

  It was maybe the size of a gymnasium, but squarer, lacquered wooden floors and four, high, cathedral-style windows on each side. At the far end, there looked to be a small stage built into the wall, complete with curtains. Now, the raised platform was just filled with scrap wood. Everything was silent, everything was still. There was no sign that anyone had been in here and Royce gripped the rebar tighter. He had never actually hit his sister, but this might be the first time.

  “So it begins,” came a voice from behind him.

  Royce spun to see a man standing in the doorway. He was not what Royce had expected. Tall, with broad shoulders, he stood there completely concealed in a hooded cloak. Like one of those geeks playing dress up.