by Blake, Bruce
It was the young girl staring at him from the middle of the street who caused him concern.
Chapter Thirty
Ashton dragged himself across the ground with his elbows, legs trailing after him and gulping breaths like a goldfish dumped from its bowl. The red outline of my fingers stood out on his throat as the purple tint faded from his face and his lips went from blue to pink. I might have felt both relieved at not killing him and happy I’d left a mark except I was distracted by my ex-wife slapping me in the side of the head and screaming at me. Her well-wishes came through loud and clear despite the ringing in my ear caused by her open-handed attack. I threw my arms up and attempted to shrink into my shoulders.
“Asshole,” she yelled, punctuating the word with another slap to my ear. “Leave. Him. Alone.”
Through the buzz her assault caused in my brain, I wondered if she’d ever have defended me the same way. A long time ago, perhaps. With my wits back under my control, more important things than my failed marriage demanded my attention.
Through the ringing and her yelling, there was another word spoken by another voice I recognized, and hearing it swelled my heart with relief.
“Mom,” Trevor yelled.
I peeked out from under the arm held defensively over my face and saw him climb out the window and rush across the lawn without wasting time to check on Ashton. Beyond him, Scarecrow stood in the living room, staring past us. I wanted nothing more than to rush him and catch him off guard, but between the beating administered by my ex and the fresh flare-up of pain in my old wounds, I didn’t expect to reach him and maintain the element of surprise.
“Rae! Stop it.” Didn’t hurt to give it a shot.
To my astonishment, she did, though my request likely had less to do with it than our son skidding across the snowy lawn on his knees to insert himself between us. Rae threw her arms around him and I scrambled out of her reach.
“Go back inside and call the police,” she said to Trevor, her words squeezing between her teeth while her glare tried its best to burn holes in me.
“No, Mom. It’s--”
“Do it now, Trevor.”
I attempted to crawl farther away, but the pain in my shoulder and chest intensified, my arm threatening to give out under me.
“Mom!” Trevor yelled. He grabbed her face and jerked it toward him. “It’s Dad.”
That particular revelation probably wasn’t the most helpful just then. Then he added:
“He’s our only hope.”
No pressure.
Rae stared at me and I had no doubt she’d have scoffed if anyone else spoke those words. Instead, her gaze showed confusion...until it trailed past me and her expression turned fearful.
I should have guessed.
I wrestled myself to half-standing, the pain in my gut tearing through me like I’d been on the losing end of a joust. Filling my chest with a breath more uncomfortable than fortifying, I eased myself upright and turned to what I already knew caught her attention.
Ashton scrambled away across the snowy lawn, his hands and heels slipping and his face contorted into a mask of fear and pain as the teen in the black shirt, black jeans and black boots stalked toward him. For a second, I felt bad for my ex-wife’s soon-to-be husband. Correction: my ex-wife’s soon-to-be-dead fiancé, if I didn’t rectify the situation.
I panted and gasped, considering my options.
My first thought: ‘let the bastard die.’ He’d usurped my place in the family, so I didn’t hold any love for the guy. But with Trevor releasing the proverbial cat from the bag, if I did, Rae had only Icarus Fell to blame for her fiancé’s death. And if Cory killed Ashton, would Trevor and Rae be next?
“Not on my watch,” I said, cringing. Sometimes I wished they could prescribe a pill to keep clichés from passing my lips whenever danger threatened.
I straightened, my legs wobbling under me. The wound in my calf protested the inhumane use, and the aches in my shoulder, chest, and gut felt as though someone arc-welded pieces of scrap metal to me. Not a bad idea; armor might be handy against this guy.
“Hey,” I called. Ashton’s eyes flickered toward me but Cory ignored my shout.
I took a step, the pain in my calf exploding, making me stumble. If I had any shot at stopping the kid, I’d have to make him come to me. That’s when I remembered what Trevor and Gonzo told me.
“Hey, Scarecrow!”
He halted mid-stride; Ashton continued dragging his ass across the slippery snow, but I lost track of him when the kid faced me.
It was a stretch to still call him that.
Vertical black pupils split his once-brown-but-now-yellow eyes into halves. Rows of square, shimmering scales covered his cheeks and forehead. The arms of his shirt and the legs of his pants stretched and ripped to reveal more black flesh beneath. The long-haired, skinny teen friend of my son was transforming into the monster Dee and I had encountered at the side of the road when Manny died.
“Shit.”
He grew as he approached; taller, wider, thicker. I might have thought it a trick of perspective and the shots I’d taken to the head if not for the chunk of hair that tumbled out of his scalp. It cascaded down his shoulder and over his chest, fluttered to the ground where it landed on the snow churned into the grass by Ashton’s desperate attempt to escape. Black flesh gleamed from his exposed scalp.
I couldn’t do anything but stare at him until he came within range of my fist. I swung a looping punch at his face, the pain in my chest screaming. My aching leg threatened not to support me in this particular venture, but somehow my blow contacted the side of his head.
I’d have enjoyed hitting the side of a building more and, judging by his reaction, it had about as much effect.
He pivoted slightly, absorbing the blow, and I reacted by jumping around on my good leg and shaking the pain out of my hand. Another shock of hair tumbled off his head.
“What the hell are you?”
In response, he snatched the front of my shirt in his lengthening fingers and pulled me closer. The yellow of his eyes moved, flowing with the look of liquid trapped behind glass. The black squares on his face sucked in the light, stealing it from the world forever.
“I am the one sent to kill you, Icarus Fell.”
I liked it better when he didn’t answer.
His voice echoed with the belch of an ancient furnace, his breath singed my cheeks. I closed my eyes and turned away, wishing for one of those travel-size bottles of cool mint Scope to offer him. Even when you spend your time running around killing people, there’s no excuse for poor dental hygiene like that.
“Put him down, Cory.”
The words came from my right and hearing Trevor’s voice, realizing he was involving himself, didn’t ease my sense of concern. How many times did I have to put my son’s life in danger? I shifted my gaze toward him and saw his firm expression, his hair falling across his face. His expression reminded me of his mother.
Cory turned his head, exposing hard, black scales covering the entire side of his neck that started somewhere above his hairline and disappeared beneath his black shirt.
“Stay out of this, Trevor,” Cory growled—an actual growl.
“He’s my father,” he said, a note of desperation creeping into his resolve. “He didn’t do anything.”
I struggled and strained against the teen’s grip, but he’d grown enough to pull my feet off the ground, and he’d become too strong for me—stronger than any carrion I’d encountered.
“He’s hurt you more than anyone else,” Cory said. “He hurt you with neglect, he hurt you by dying, he hurts you now by not being a part of your life.”
His words were pins shoved into my voodoo doll heart, but Trevor shook his head, refuting the boy’s claims. I appreciated it, but what he said held a great deal of truth. Rae moved up beside Trevor, put her hand on his shoulder. He shrugged it off.
“No. You can’t do this.”
It turned to me, its pu
pils gone green and shining with hatred. When he parted his lips to speak, pointed teeth glimmered and I thought a forked tongue flickered behind them.
“You,” he said, bathing my face with foul breath again, “were there when my father died. It was your fault.”
He glared at me and the wounds I’d received in Hell all burst with heat at once, an orchestra of pain tuning up before the big concert. I grunted and reached for my shoulder, my chest or gut, an instinctive reaction to protect myself, but the Cory-creature shook me hard enough to rattle my teeth. My hands drooped to my sides. I dangled in his grip, limp as a pathetic but better dressed Raggedy Andy doll.
“I didn’t,” I wheezed. “Didn’t do anything.”
“You deny it?”
My head moved a few microns back and forth. I hoped it was enough for him to realize I was saying no.
“Then why do you say it’s not your fault?”
“He was alive when I left him.”
Over his shoulder, I saw Trevor closing the distance between himself and his friend. I wanted to call out, tell him to run away and leave me to figure this out, but my mouth wouldn’t work. Plus, I had no idea what to do.
Cory must have sensed Trevor’s approach because he turned toward him, the scales on his cheek and neck clicking against one another. I caught sight of the tip of a tail flicking behind him. Trevor did, too, because he stopped in his tracks, staring in disbelief. A second later, a small, ghostly figure stood at his side. I hurt too much to be relieved.
Dee.
“Put him down.”
Part of me was happy she’d shown up and part wondered how an eight-year-old could have any effect on a beast like this.
A smile crept across Cory’s misshapen face, or it might have been a leer, or gas. With his growing teeth stretching his lips, his cheeks covered by scales, and his nose beginning to push out like a pig’s snout, it became difficult to read his expressions. No matter which, I didn’t appreciate the sentiment it conveyed. I appreciated him even less when he lifted me higher, holding me at arm’s length above his head like a baby he was about to toss up in the air for shits and giggles.
The comparison wasn’t far from the mark.
He bent his arms and flung me through the air. For a second, the wind stirred my hair, blew against my cheek, then I hit the ground and skidded through the snow and dirt and broken glass. My back scraped across the walk and I came to a violent stop against the side of the house.
I groaned and rolled over, exquisitely aware of the new injuries competing with the old ones for my attention. Rae grabbed our son and rushed across the lawn toward Ashton where he was lying pressed against the fence. Trevor looked my way and I tipped him a shallow nod—the best I could manage—to let him know I still lived, then turned to see what was going on with big, black and baleful and my ghostly little friend.
They stood opposite each other, as different as imaginable. Cory no longer looked human, and towered over Dee. His clothes hung in shreds; the tail protruding through the seat of his pants lashed against the ground like a slave driver’s whip. Dido stared up at him, her fists clutched at her side, a determined look on her face, but I doubted a mean expression would be enough to stop him.
He’s going to kill her.
The irony of the thought eluded me. Trevor and the others might be safe for now, but I couldn’t let this be the end of Dee. She deserved better, and I’d promised to take care of her.
I struggled to my knees, my entire body one enormous, aching wound. Every flexing muscle and every bending joint sent a fresh jolt through me, slowing my progress until I felt as though I swam my way through dense oatmeal to reach them. It took all my energy to raise my head, and with every step nearer I came to Scarecrow, the more the wounds inflicted in Hell caused me grief.
Dee and Cory glared at each other as I fumbled and stumbled toward them.
“Stay out of this, girl,” the beast-who-was-Cory rumbled. “Let me have the harvester and you and the others can live.”
She continued scowling at him as though she didn’t understand. Behind me, Trevor called out, telling me to find cover or some such thing. No way. I’d been around enough...things...related to Hell to know not to take them at their words. Just because he said he wouldn’t hurt Trevor, Rae, and Dee didn’t make it true. In fact, it probably meant the opposite.
I was a couple of arm’s lengths away when he caught her by the throat and lifted her off the ground. If I’d been paying attention, I’d have noticed the dark aura gathering around her, but getting my hands on the beast was my driving concern. I might not be able to suck its vaporous soul into my lungs the way I did with Father Dominic, because I didn’t know if the creature even had a soul, but I presumed Cory, locked away deep inside the black-scaled thing, must have. All living things do.
Right?
With the last of my energy, I lunged for the beast, hooking my fingers around its throat the same way it gripped Dee. Reaching up threatened to tear my injured shoulder out of its socket, but I held on, concentrating, my teeth gritted so tight my jaw hurt.
The thing looked toward me with the mien of one annoyed by a fly. But a fly doesn’t have the ability to steal its soul.
The instant our gazes met, my lips parted and I sucked a hard breath between my teeth. It hissed through the tight space, flirting with a whistle, and snow flakes drawn by my inhalation brushed against my mouth. Cold and refreshing, they spoke of survival and promised real life for me again one day.
I didn’t believe them.
A thin line of vapor drifted from the beast’s nose, snaking between snow flakes and across the space between us, but it was different than when I did it to the evil priest. That time, a white cloud of mist reminiscent of breath on a winter day flowed out of him; a thick, red effluvium rolled and boiled from the creature’s mouth, moving and writhing like a living thing.
My eyes widened, panic jolting through me. I didn’t know what crept toward me, or what it might do to me, but I suddenly didn’t want it touching my lips, entering my lungs. Despite my wishes, it forced itself into my mouth.
***
Trevor didn’t recognize the girl, but her shadowy appearance meant she wasn’t alive, and her demeanor suggested she wanted to help. What good could a little girl be? Icarus seemed to have the same thought as he made his way across the snowy lawn toward the great black beast that had once been a teenage boy like himself.
“Dad! No!”
Trevor scrambled to gain his feet, but Rae grabbed his arm and dragged him back down between her and Ashton. The teen struggled to think what he could do to help—maybe no more than tackle his father to the ground, the way his mother did to him—but Icarus’ involvement almost always meant bad things. For him, especially, but perhaps for them all.
He pulled against Rae’s grip, but she held him tight.
“Ashton. Help him.”
Trevor looked from his father lurching toward the thing to his soon-to-be stepfather. Ashton’s eyes bulged and red welts burned on his neck where Icarus had choked him.
“Ashton!”
He tore his gaze from the struggle in the middle of the lawn and looked at Trevor with little more than fear in his expression and the teen saw that neither Rae nor Ashton would provide Icarus any help.
He looked back to the beast. It grabbed the girl by the throat, lifted her off the ground, and Trevor noticed a shadow around her, some trick played by the swirling snow and cloud-muted winter sun. The thing’s tail flicked over the ground, cutting a furrow in the snow. A rip in Cory’s shirt stretched wide across its broad back, revealing stubs forming on its shoulder blades and, without understanding why at first, Trevor knew those growths would sprout to become wings.
He’d seen a similar creature before.
The three missing days. I was in Hell.
Memories flooded back to him: Poe, the pit keeper, the souls, the boy. How did he forget? Something else, too, something the boy without a name told him. It niggled
at the back of his mind, edging toward remembrance, but he lost it when his father leaped for the creature and caught it by the neck. It turned, bringing its profile into Trevor’s view, and he recognized nothing of his friend left in the face, nothing of the kid the other kids had nicknamed Scarecrow.
A second later, a thick, red mist oozed out of the creature’s face, emanating from its mouth, its nose, around its eyes, crawling across the air toward Trevor’s father.
A red fog stinking of death.
Chapter Thirty-One
I tried to stop, to pull away, but my lungs refused to cease drawing the foul air toward me. My head balked at the possibility of turning and saving this shambles I considered a life and I wondered: once you’re dead, how can anything be called a life?
Probably it couldn’t, but it was all I had left. The little girl I wanted to save had shown me I still had my humanity; the teenage boy concerned for my well-being loved me, and reminded me I could love, too. The guilt for deserting Poe, the twinge of sadness in my gut every time I looked at Rae, even the splinter of dislike Ashton forced into me—weren’t these things indicative of a life?
Maybe. Maybe not.
My gaze remained locked on the creature’s yellow eyes, its black-slit pupils, the red vapor crossing the last sliver of space between us. Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed a thick, inky haze gathering around Dee, but I didn't have the time to worry for both of our souls just then.
The mist touched my lips, forced its way into my mouth. It tasted vile and bitter, a vulgar, viscous smoothie concocted of rotten meat, bile, and mud. I tried to gag it out, but the fog paralyzed the muscles in my throat. It entered my lungs, diffused into my blood, rushed to my brain, and took me places no man should ever have to go.
Hell flashed through my mind: damned souls tortured and screaming. Gore splashed on walls, limbs ripped out of sockets, wicked blades tinted with rust, torture devices of such horrendous use, human minds couldn’t conceive them.