“Yes. I do.”
The bartender brought two bottles over to their table. He kept his face downturned, but not far enough to hide the fear in his eyes. Taking a step back, he ran his hands over his protruding belly. His round face gleamed with sweat, his nose reddened with broken veins. The edge of a tattoo—a cartoon cat—peeked out from underneath his sleeve, and Jason bit his lip to keep in a laugh.
Did it kill all the mice in his neighborhood? Or did it hunt down the dogs first?
“Anything else, sir?”
“Just make sure everyone gets a drink,” Sailor growled.
The bartender scurried away, wringing his hands. Sailor lifted the bottle to his lips, drained half the bottle with one swallow, and set it down with a loud clink. He belched and a cloud of air, stinking of beer and ash, rolled across the table. “Enlighten me. What do you know?”
Jason lifted his hand. “I know this place isn’t real. This room is whatever you want it to be.”
And I know if I don’t hold it together, I’ll end up screaming in the corner, ready for an extended stay at Club Sedation. I need to hold on tight to that Alpha knot like I’m a five year old and it’s my mother’s hand.
Sailor laughed, and the other patrons cringed in their seats. Jason put his hand back down on the table and fought the urge to grab the edge.
“You came through the door, did you not? Several times, if I am not mistaken. I would say that is real,” Sailor said. “But you did not ask me here to talk about my place of business, did you?”
The cultured professor voice in the worn face was wrong. Horribly wrong.
“I know what you want.”
You are remarkably calm, all things considered. I mean, look around. Does anyone look happy to be here?
Sailor leaned over the table. “Do you really?”
“Yes. I want you to take it back.”
Sailor threw back his head and roared. He slapped his hand down on the table, and the bottles skittered across the surface; when he stopped laughing, he pulled a handkerchief from his shirt pocket.
Lift. Dab.
“That is a good one. Take it back,” he mocked.
“Why not? You have plenty of others. You don’t need mine.”
I am not going to grovel. I am not going to beg. But I am not giving up my skin.
“Perhaps not, but you signed your name. It was all there in the fine print. You are mine. Your skin is mine.”
“The fine print was a trick.”
“They all say that. Sometimes life is not fair.”
“You never play fair.”
Sailor chuckled. “True. Never have, never will, but I have your signature.” He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and shook it open. “See?” He pointed to the bottom of the page, where Jason’s signature was scrawled below a long column of spidery handwriting. Jason reached out his hand. Sailor shook his head and pulled the paper away.
One of the patrons, a man with thinning hair and an overbite, scrambled out of his seat and ran for the door. Sailor turned his head. “Sit back down.”
The man turned and raised his hands. “You lied to me,” he said. His voice quavered but he held his chin high.
“Sit down.”
“No, I won’t. You lied.”
Sailor flicked his hand, and a thin trail of gray smoke snaked out from his fingertips. The man backed up.
“Please, no.”
“I said, sit down,” Sailor roared.
As the smoke wrapped around the man’s shoulders, he shouted and tried to pull away, but it pulled him closer and closer. He screamed and struggled, but the smoke held him in a vise.
“Are you ready to beg?”
I won’t beg. Not ever.
“No, I, no, no,” the man stammered.
“Then sit,” Sailor said. His words were calm, made all the more terrible by the rasp in his voice. He flicked his hand again. The smoke unwound and sent the man spinning into one of the tables. He landed with his legs splayed and his head against one of the legs. He did not get back up, just sat with a slack jaw and heavy-lidded eyes. Sailor turned back to Jason and pulled out his handkerchief again.
Lift. Dab.
“Now, where were we? Ah yes, we were discussing my methods.”
“Take it back.”
“No.” He leaned over the table and patted Jason’s left arm “Cheer up, boy. You will have plenty of company.”
“You can’t have it.”
“Yes, I can and I will. Eventually.”
“No,” Jason said. The knot slipped, just a little.
Sailor took another swallow of beer. “We could sit here all night. The end result will be the same. Now, you look like you have discovered a few painful truths. You are going to have a hell of a scar on your arm. Just try not to damage it too much. Please.”
Jason gripped the edge of the table.
Sailor tipped the bottle in Jason’s direction and grinned. “I take it your griffin has not been quite what you expected. A shame. It really was my best piece.”
“It’s a monster,” Jason said.
“You chose it. I just gave it something extra. With your permission, of course.”
Jason laughed. “My permission?”
“Perhaps the griffin will take your mother next. Or your brothers. Or those cute little nieces. They will make a nice snack. It does have a healthy appetite.” He leaned forward and gave a lecherous, wet laugh. “Or perhaps, just perhaps, it will take that pretty little blonde. That would be tragic. Tell me, is she as good in the sack as she looks?”
You son of a bitch.
“Leave her alone.”
Sailor waved his hand. “I do what I want. I think you have figured that out. The griffin will consume everyone you care about until you beg me to take it away.”
“I didn’t care about Shelley. Your griffin got that wrong.”
“It is your griffin, boy, not mine. Consider your ex-wife a warning. I could tell it who to take next, but I will let it make that choice. I wonder how long it will take. I wonder how many will die a terrible, painful death. Imagine their fear, their absolute terror.” He smiled. “You will beg. On your knees, preferably.”
“I won’t,” Jason said.
“You will. I promise you. You will beg me to take the griffin away, and I will. Along with your skin, of course, but you know that already, yes?”
I won’t.
Jason laced his fingers together to hide the shake in his hands. “Why skin?”
“Why? Why not?” Sailor grinned. “Humans like to wear fur. I like to wear human. Perhaps they are not Gucci, but some are quite nice. Yours, for instance, will come in quite handy. You have a face anyone would trust.” He spread his arms wide. “‘And thus I clothe my naked villainy with odd old ends stol'n out of holy writ, and seem a saint, when most I play the devil.’ Shakespeare. Such a brilliant fellow. I do wish I had possession of his soul.
“Are you perhaps wondering about the whole soul thing? I have plenty of them, boy. More than enough for even my lifetime.” He laughed and slapped his hands against his thighs. “They all sit around, moaning about my tricks and lies. Tiresome, boy, they are tiresome. And so easy. Everyone wants a million dollars or to be famous. Many people would give just about anything to make that happen. This is more fun. The same old, same old gets stale. When you have lived as long as I have, you have to come up with something new and exciting every few hundred years. I do think this is my favorite game so far. Much more inventive than convincing people I do not exist, and that in itself was sheer brilliance, if I do say so myself.
“And the best part of this game is that I get to walk around. It is far more pleasant topside, even for me. The weather in my own neck of the woods is so predictable. Hot one day, scorching the next. It is bad for the skin, no pun intended. I rather enjoy the chaos my artwork provides.” Sailor smiled, then spoke with a British accent. “It is a good bit of sport, after all. Jolly good. Tell me, would you want to wear the same
thing every day?”
He stood up and the bar shifted, walls melting into puddles of molten brick. The patrons screamed and shrieked as the center of the floor fell away, revealing a deep chasm. Heat, reeking of rotted flesh and burned hair, poured from the gaping hole. Jason scrambled out of the booth and stood as far away from the chasm as possible. The heat burned his lungs with every breath.
Sailor opened his arms. His laughter vibrated through the room, alive and cruel. Strands of smoke flew out from his fingertips, curling around the patrons and lifting them up. He dropped them into the chasm, one by one, and laughed as they fell. Flames roared up from the pit, but the sound could not muffle the screams.
When only he and Jason remained, he turned his back to the chasm and rubbed his hands together. “I believe it is time for your griffin to go hunting.”
Jason clamped his fingers over his arm.
“Fool,” Sailor said. He snapped his fingers together, and Jason staggered as the griffin exploded from Jason’s arm in a golden-bronze blur. It flew in lazy circles, its wings making long, graceful arcs. The room filled with its musky smell.
“Leave us,” Sailor said. “Enjoy your freedom. Enjoy your hunt.”
The griffin flew over Jason’s head, gave a lethal hiss, then disappeared through the space between the window and the frame.
“It is a beautiful creature. You chose well. Now, let me see your arm.”
“What?”
Sailor sighed. “Your. Arm.”
Jason shook his head and stepped back. Sailor cocked one eyebrow and reached forward. He grabbed Jason’s right arm, just above the wrist; his fingers dug in, and heat burned all the way up Jason’s arm. Fire ants, chewing at his flesh. Flames, charring his skin. Sailor laughed again and let go.
“Much better. No more of this nonsense, please. I prefer my skin unscarred.”
“You will never have my skin. Never,” Jason said.
“You are boring me with all of this. You have already discovered you cannot kill the griffin. What will you do? Kill yourself? Go ahead. Your skin will still be mine. Face it, boy, you have lost this game.”
“I will find a way.”
“Good luck with that. Are you really that naïve? That stupid? I think perhaps I should show you who you are dealing with.”
His skin rippled. No, something rippled underneath. His real skin, not the sailor suit. Through the skin, scabrous flesh and an inhuman face shifted into view—a nightmare of scales and fissures. He shook his arms, and the human coat slipped off his shoulders.
No. Oh, no.
Jason couldn’t help it. He screamed.
The face. Oh God, his face.
Sailor held out his hideous hand. “Give me some skin, boy.” He roared with laughter.
No more.
Jason ran for the door. Sharp rocks dug into the soles of his bare feet. He slipped and staggered but didn’t look back. The door wavered.
Just an illusion.
Sailor’s laughter echoed, louder and louder.
The door swung open.
“You will be back. I promise you. Everyone comes back.”
Jason ran through the door. Hot air turned cool and rocks turned to wood. The hallway. The door slammed shut behind him, but Sailor’s laughter followed him down the stairs and out through the main door. When he got in his car and locked the doors, he covered his face with his hands and tried to forget Sailor’s face. His real face.
His right arm burned. He took his hands away from his face and pushed up his sleeve. The bandages hung like strips of flesh, the open wounds gone, replaced with flat, pink scars. Fresh scars, the skin slick and shiny. The cuts on his hand were healed as well, with only thin, pale scars in their places.
He didn’t do it for my benefit, though.
“I won’t beg. No matter what. I will find a way.” The knot in his chest tightened.
Please let me find a way.
5
Jason’s bedroom filled with the gloom of an approaching storm, all shadows and gray. Appropriate weather, yet he wished for sun. Sunlight would make it a little more bearable. Jason flexed first his right arm, then his left. Of course Frank had returned while he slept, slinking back into his skin like a thief in the night.
“I’m going to find a way to kill you, you son of a bitch,” he said.
I am not going to end up in that pit, screaming along with the rest of them. I’m not.
Jason checked his phone as he walked downstairs. His mother had called again, back to angry this time.
“Dad, I’m really not doing so well. If you wanted to give me a hand or something, I would appreciate it.”
“Sorry, no more hands. You’re on your own kid.”
“Yeah, sure. I’m strong on the inside. Sure I am. Dad, I have to tell you, I’m not feeling so—”
He stopped just inside the kitchen. “Oh my God.” The phone dropped from his hand and slid across the floor in a crack of metal and plastic. In the center of the kitchen table, atop the last index card the kid
Alex, his name was Alex
left on his window, sat an eye. A human eye, complete with the optic nerve intact. Even in the clouded light, the sclera appeared very white. It stared at him with silent accusation.
You knew and didn’t do anything. Now look at me. All that’s left is this. I’m dead and it’s your fault, all your fault.
Jason held out his hands, fingers splayed. “Stop shaking,” he said. “Stop, stop, stop.” He couldn’t panic. Not now. The eye could belong to anyone, anyone at all. He grabbed a trash bag, wincing at the loud slap of plastic as he shook it open. “Had a girl,” he sang, his voice wavering. His heart beat a mad rhythm as he walked over to the table, dragging the bag behind him. “And she sure was fine. She was fine, fine, fine.”
He reached out, then pulled his hand back. “I can’t. She wasn’t fine, she wasn’t fine at all.” He took a deep breath. A smell, high and rottensweet, filled his mouth and he gagged. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you, you son of a bitch.”
The bag at his side made a series of small, slithery sounds in his trembling hand. “Had a girl, had a girl, had a girl,” he whispered as he walked back to the table and pushed the card to the edge of the table. The eye wobbled but stayed on the card.
Just a marble, that’s all it is. Not an eye at all. Right, Dad?
“Okay, I can do this. I am fine, fine, fine.” The foul stink in his mouth stuck to his tongue. After he shook the bag open wider, he slid the card over the edge, and it dropped into the bag with a wet plop. “I don’t see you anymore. You don’t see me.”
6
The clerk at the home improvement store had a tic. Every few seconds, the corner of his mouth would lift up, revealing yellow-stained teeth, and the movement lifted his cheek in a one-sided grimace. He glanced at Jason, then lowered his eyes and rang up Jason’s purchases.
A small thump, a nudge in his left arm gave Jason pause. A small I am still here message from the griffin, not painful, but a very clear reminder that something lived and moved inside him. Something not him at all, but a dark and terrible child using his arm for its womb, waiting to make its way through his skin in an obscene pantomime of birth.
The gardening spikes jingled when the clerk dropped them into a bag, but he was careful with the propane torch. The axe gave him pause. He looked up, his mouth lifted, and he shrugged. “You know how much it is? No price tag.”
Jason swallowed hard, shaking his head. “No, I didn’t look, sorry.”
It doesn’t matter. If one of these things doesn’t work, I won’t be around to worry about the bill anyway.
Another thump in his arm, but only a slight push. He rubbed his arm, and under his palm, the skin stretched up. The edge of a wing, or a leg, or the top of its head? Unless Jason took off his shirt, no one would notice. His fingers shook as he pressed his hand down. The small lump of skin pushed back. He pushed harder, and the griffin slipped back down even more.
The clerk�
��s face twitched again as he called for a price check. While they waited, he picked at a scab on his arm.
Thump. A little harder. Insistent, but not painful.
Stop it.
“That’s a big axe. You chopping down a tree or something?” the clerk asked. His face twitched.
Jason flexed his fingers as several quick thumps in his arm sent pins and needles all the way down. “Something like that.”
Please call him back with the damn price. Frank isn’t supposed to come out during the day, but I don’t think he cares anymore.
“It’s sharp, you better be careful. My uncle cut off part of his foot with one of them things.”
Twitch.
“I will be.”
“Something wrong with your arm, mister?”
Jason pressed down on his arm again. The griffin pushed back, the warmth from its body seeping through the thin veil of flesh joining them together. Keeping it in. “Just a muscle cramp, that’s all.”
“I hate those. I get cramps in my back. The pills my doc gave me make me tired, so I can only take them at night.”
The griffin pushed hard, and Jason took a deep breath. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said between clenched teeth. He dug the heel of his hand in. His skin rippled as the griffin rolled out from under the touch. What if Frank decided to come out and have a snack?
“Looks like it’s a pretty bad one.”
Sailor’s words echoed in his mind. Your skin is mine.
Jason shuddered. Pain raced down his arm as the griffin scraped talons on the inside of his skin in a gruesome caress. “It’ll be fine,” he said, forcing out the words.
The phone rang, the clerk listened, muttered, ”Thank you,” then hung up.
Twitch.
A steady rhythm of thumps this time, like a drummer pounding out the grand finale. His skin rippled again, faster, and beads of sweat ran down the back of his neck. He pulled his hand away, fighting not to shriek. After he paid, he lifted the axe over his shoulder, picked up the other bags, and headed for the exit. The griffin gave a huge push.
Patience, Frank. It’s not time yet.
As he raced across the parking lot to his car, rain began to fall in a soft mist, but the sky, a dull gray filled with churning charcoal clouds, promised more.
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