The Ruined Man

by Jason DeGray

  “It’s ready,” grunted Ragnar and sat lotus style at the north end of the circle.

  “Watch and be amazed,” said Jonas theatrically before taking his place opposite Ragnar at the south side of the circle.

  “You have a magnet?”

  “She gave it to me just before we left. Crafty bitch to the very end.” Jonas produced Faye’s bracelet. Since it was charged with her specific energy, it would attract her like a beacon.

  Ragnar took the trinket and placed it gingerly in the center of the circle. Then he began chanting rhythmic verses that sounded to Wolf to be more vowel than consonant. Jonas waited for a moment before joining in, the two men’s voices blending together into a sound that inexplicably altered reality. They spoke in a language that couldn’t be written down, only taught, carefully dictated by beings far more advanced than humankind ever remembers being (although, that’s part of the great lie) and mumbled half-consciously by shamans oblivious to the waking world while their spirits wandered in shadowy astral realms.

  The circle was itself a thing of esoteric wonder. It looked similar to drawings of magic circles Wolf had seen in the books he’d been studying, but with a few alien symbols and some of the familiar symbols inverted or moved. Ragnar explained later that the true construction of a working circle had been all but forgotten over the centuries. Not that it was a bad thing. Getting the trick had been abolished for good reason. In earlier epochs of history, humanity flirted freely with the spiritual realm. The results were disastrous. Now, magic was hidden behind dark and filthy veils. It was obscured and hidden away to ensure that only the initiated and dedicated would ever kneel at the threshold of its glory. So, chants and incantations were corrupted, drawings and glyphs purposely obscured, the truth being kept to a select few individuals known as tricksters. Magical knowledge was taken from the world, but not the knowledge of magic. People needed to understand that magic was a real force, a potent force, capable of shaping worlds and bending reality to one’s will. But the price for such power is often greater than the reward.

  Wolf didn’t wholly understand the visions and thoughts shooting like arrows into his mind. The chanting seemed to distort and slow so that each syllable of each word lasted a single eternity. The air started to vibrate and pulsations quickly became visual before Wolf’s eyes like he was watching a broken TV. The distortions grew and swam until it looked to Wolf like the entire room was on a flimsy sheet flapping in the wind. Every time the “sheet” billowed up, he glimpsed the void behind it. Suddenly, everything snapped back into place, clarified, and became very still. The silence was so profound that Wolf’s heart started beating in his ears. Then, a shriek, unholy and anguished, ripped through the air at the same time a wispy, gelatinous mass appeared in the circle. It writhed and contorted on itself, moaning and wailing like a banshee.

  “Faye! Faye! I command you, spirit! Hold!” spoke Jonas forcefully.

  The spirit ceased its sinuous motion and elongated into a humanoid form. It was a form without definition, as if Faye’s spirit had already forgotten what it was to be flesh.

  “What is this? Who’s there?” Faye took a step toward Jonas and reached her hand outside the circle. She howled and recoiled as if burned. “What’s going on?”

  “You’re dead, Faye,” said Jonas bluntly. “Albert Caine killed you.”

  “I don’t remember…”

  “Try to think. You have to remember! It’s me. It’s Jonas. Your name is Faye Robinson. Think, Faye! We don’t have much time!”

  “Jonas? I remember now…Albert Caine…he killed me. And he killed Francis and my puppies, too!” she began wailing again, the sound shaking dust from the walls.

  “Faye! Hold!” The spirit glared at Jonas, definition slowly returning to her features with her memory. “We need your help to stop him.”

  “I’m dead, Jonas. I can’t help you.”

  “Yes, you can. Tell us what you see on the other side.”

  “What will you do for me in return? What do you have to offer a ghost, Jonas? I think not much.”

  “I’ll protect you from the Lord of Murder.”

  “How?”

  “I’ll bind you to the bracelet you gave me.”

  “Deal.” She looked at Wolf, seeming to notice his presence for the first time, and pointed a cold finger. “I see his head shrinking, shrinking, shrinking until he loses it in a bottle. I see a claim on his blood that stretches unseen generations. He is a ruined man.” Then she turned to Jonas. “I see a single eyeball floating always beside you, staring and following, watching everything you do. In the darkness, I see a pure white mask with fire in its eyes. It falls away and behind it is…” The spirit started sobbing. “He’s coming for me, Jonas. He knows I’m gone.”

  Ragnar bolted upright and roared, his eyes staring vacantly ahead as a rushing wind filled the room, tearing down shelves and whipping papers and books into a whirlwind. The airborne objects turned suddenly hostile and flew with harmful intent into the room’s three human occupants. Ragnar, his audible roar dwindling to a silent scream, remained immobile as he was struck. Wolf ducked into a corner just as a wall of books and paper slammed into him.

  “He’s here! Jonas! Help me!”

  Jonas yelled something above the din and an explosion of light came from the circle and filled the room. Then it was pulled back into the bracelet dragging Faye’s shrieking spirit with it. With her absence, the wind stopped and everything settled.

  “What the fuck just happened?” Wolf yelled as he crawled from beneath the pile of books.

  “Close call,” said Ragnar, who had snapped back to reality and stood up to stretch. A thin trail of blood leaked from his left nostril. He wiped it away irritably. “I really hate demons.”

  Jonas gathered up the bracelet and tucked it into his pocket. “Come on. We have a lot to discuss.”

  They sat on Ragnar’s porch nursing their minor wounds with whiskey and tobacco. No one spoke for the better part of an hour before Jonas broke the silence.

  “Faye mentioned your head shrinking,” he said to Wolf. “Until you lost it in a bottle.”

  “It ain’t no secret I spent some time in an alcoholic fugue state,” Wolf admitted. “But the only time I ever had my head shrunk was by that harpy Carrie Spangler.”

  “The psychiatrist?” Ragnar spoke up.

  “Yeah. You know her?”

  “Not intimately. When she was in graduate school, she did her dissertation on modern belief in magic. She interviewed me and Tracy.”

  A light bulb went off in Wolf’s head. “Come to think of it, she interviewed Barber, too—after the accident. Stapleton said that he concocted the bear story and sent it along. Maybe Spangler was the devil on Barber’s shoulder.”

  “That would make sense,” said Ragnar. “Tracy said that she had a darkness in her aura, a taint that could only come from dabbling with the trick. We figured she was just trying to read tarot cards or play with a Ouija board as part of her research. It wouldn’t be the first time someone has unwittingly invited something into their lives.”

  “Now I’m wondering just how ‘unwitting’ Dr. Spangler really was,” Wolf said. “What about that bit about the floating eye following you around?”

  “My guess is she was referring to my eye—the one the Lord of Murder claimed.” Jonas gently touched the spot where his eye used to be.

  “Makes sense. It would serve as a connection,” said Tracy, appearing in the doorway with a fresh bottle of whiskey. She took the cap off and took a huge swig before passing it to Ragnar. “If he, or more likely one of his agents, possesses it, they could scry you with it whenever they wished.”

  “Which is why Caine is always right behind us,” growled Wolf. “You’re like a walking surveillance system.”

  “You should be less concerned about that and more worried about who is behind the white mask Faye mentioned,” Jonas said trying to deflect the negative attention off him. “He’s the mastermind behind all of this
. I feel it in my bones.”

  “There’s nothing that can be done about it tonight. How long has it been since you slept?” Tracy asked.

  “I don’t know,” Wolf admitted. But his body knew and it told him he was exhausted. Weariness suddenly washed over him and he fought to keep his eyes open.

  “You are safe from scrying eyes here. Tracy’ll make up the cots,” said Ragnar. “Rest now and tomorrow we solve mysteries.

  CHAPTER 18

  Wolf rose early, as he tended to do when he wasn’t too deep in the throes of depression, and found Ragnar patiently waiting by his cot.

  “Good. You’re awake,” whispered the shaman. “Follow me,” he said and put his finger to his lips and then pointed to Jonas, who was still asleep. Tracy handed Wolf a cup of coffee on his way through the kitchen and the men went to the ritual shed out back.

  Once secured in the shed, Ragnar relaxed a little. “Did you study the runes in the grimoire I gave you?”

  “Yeah.” Wolf pulled the old book from the inner pocket of his coat and handed it to Ragnar. “Thanks for the loan.”

  “Show me what you learned.” He handed Wolf a pad and pencil. “Trace the basic runes for me.”

  He traced the runes from memory and presented them to Ragnar.

  The shaman critically examined them. “Looks good. Not perfect, but good. Say their names.”

  Wolf recited each in turn and Ragnar nodded approvingly. “It’ll do.” His tone turned ominous. “You are an apt student, Victor Wolf. But that comes with being a ruined man. The trick flows within your veins now. I wish we had more time, but that luxury is not ours. There’s a shit storm coming and I won’t always be around to weather it for you.”

  “I’m a big boy,” growled Wolf. “I’ve handled it so far.”

  “Yes, you have. But you’ll need something extra to see this through. Which is why I’m giving you this.” He produced a golden amulet made of three runes forged into one.

  “What is it?” said Wolf.

  “Sometimes it kicks serious ass.” Ragnar shrugged. “The rest of the time, it’s a golden necklace.”

  “Why are you giving it to me?”

  “Honestly? I believe in what you’re doing. You’ve got a hard destiny ahead. And you won’t be successful without extra help. Through it, my order survives. You’re supposed to twirl it and recite the runes. Different runes do different things. If you know their meanings, you can decipher it. Oh, and by the way, twirling it forwards releases energy and twirling it backwards draws energy in.”

  “Thanks,” said Wolf and slung it around his neck. “I think it really brings out my eyes.”

  “You’ll thank me for real later. Now let’s wake that lazy bum Jonas and get on the road.”

  ***

  Barber slept a few hours then high-tailed it back to Albuquerque and took up his post by NMIPR. Caine returned shortly after. He ran inside his office and was gone again in a few minutes. This time, Barber followed him to a large house in Placitas. Caine pulled into the drive and Barber parked up the street. Barber reached into his back seat and got his listening device. It was originally a gag gift Wolf had picked up at a spy shop a few Christmases ago, but Barber had found several occasions to use it. With the device in hand, he crept closer to the house. Hiding out in the neighbor’s bushes, he switched it on.

  “The ruined man is no longer a viable option,” said Caine. “The cost seriously outweighs the benefit at this point.”

  “What then?” said another male voice with a European accent. “The Lord grows restless. He must have his vessel.”

  “Yes,” a third voice broke in, a raspy whisper that Barber strained to hear. “A vessel touched by the Lord himself. It will maximize his strength. We’ve been over this, Caine.”

  But Caine wouldn’t be dissuaded. “Power has the answers we need,” he insisted. “A ritual to reach a child. To mark it in the womb.”

  “But who?” said the raspy voice. “We don’t have time to find a suitable child.”

  “I know someone,” said the European accent. “To make it even better, she is connected to the ruined man himself.”

  “Perfect,” said Caine. “Now if you let me see Power I can show you—”

  “No. The Lord doesn’t trust you,” said the raspy whisper. “He will reveal the trick to us. Now go and make sure the offerings are collected.”

  Caine argued his position a bit longer, but the raspy voice wouldn’t hear any more. Caine finally left, slamming the door behind him. Barber waited until he left and followed him back to his office where Hugo and Creepy awaited him. As Barber cruised by the L-shaped complex back up the road to his spot, he noticed that the wax dummy, Petey, was gone. It seemed quite a bit had happened and Barber had missed most of it.

  “You’re slipping, old man,” he grumbled to himself.

  ***

  While Wolf and Jonas gassed up the car and readied for the trip, Tracy pulled Ragnar aside. She looked into his eyes with the knowledge of encroaching heartache. He smiled sadly at her and cupped her cheek in his hand. He kissed her deeply and she slapped him after.

  “You asshole. Why are you doing this to me?”

  “You know why. My work has to be completed, my order avenged. I hear the anguished cries of my defiled brothers and sisters. It keeps me awake nights.”

  “What about me? What about my anguish? My heartache?”

  “It would be all the greater if I continued to ignore my purpose.”

  “My father was right about you,” she lashed out at him, wanting him to feel her pain.

  But he just smiled that sad smile. “About some things, true. I’ve never denied that. I’ve also never denied that you saved me from myself.”

  “Then this is it? You are running off to finish your work and leave me here alone.”

  “I’ll never leave you alone. I’ll always be here with you. Thank you for sharing your light. I am greater for it. And if Jonas ever comes crawling back, do not give him any of my tricks.”

  He turned from her then, getting into the car without a backward glance. Tracy watched them pull away, furious at Ragnar but also oddly at peace as if some great cosmic imbalance was about to be righted.

  CHAPTER 19

  Miriam was inconsolable after her encounter with Wolf. She was hysterical and erratic for days and her condition worsened into a full-blown emotional breakdown. Her mother rushed her to the hospital, sobbing and screeching along with her troubled daughter.

  “Miriam, what are you trying to do?” the doctor asked while flipping through her chart. “You have to relax. This has been a very stressful pregnancy. And to be honest, I’m worried about you and your baby. Studies have shown that continued stress can seriously damage the fetus.”

  “My life isn’t exactly a cakewalk right now,” Miriam snapped.

  “Be that as it may, you have to start paying attention to your baby. You’re thirty-four weeks along. Have you even taken Lamaze classes yet?”

  Miriam glared at her doctor, hatred burning in her eyes from his undisguised condescension.

  “That’s what I thought. I’m placing you on bed rest for the remainder of your term. Nothing but rest and relaxation. No stress. No anger. Just rest. Got it?”

  Miriam nodded and swallowed the string of curses she had lined up.

  “Good.”

  At home, Miriam was tended to by her mother. She barely left the bed for several days until she had an unexpected, yet welcome, visitor. Sven knocked on the door and entered carrying flowers. His smile immediately lit up the room.

  “Hey there, pretty lady! How are you?”

  Miriam unconsciously straightened her hair and clothes. “Fine, fine. It’s good to see you.”

  “And you.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I saw your name on the prayer list. Thought I’d stop by and see how you were doing.”

  “I’m better.”

  “Well enough for a bite to eat?”

&
nbsp; “Sure. Give me a few minutes to get ready. I’ll meet you there.”

  They ate at Zen, a sushi bar in Albuquerque’s North Valley. Miriam, her stomach curdling at the thought of raw fish, picked at a bowl of sticky rice. Sven expertly shoveled sushi into his mouth with chopsticks.

  “How’s the baby?” he asked between bites.

  “Fine. Getting ready to meet the world.”

  “Have you thought of a name yet?”

  “No. I was…waiting for Victor to come back.”

  “Heard from him?”

  “Not since we saw him.”

  “I’ll keep praying then.”

  Whether he was praying for Wolf’s return or continued absence, Miriam couldn’t be sure. She cocked her head quizzically. It occurred to her that for all his openness, Sven was still a mystery to her. And nothing intrigues a woman like a good mystery. “Let’s not talk about me. Tell me about yourself.”

  “Like what?”

  “You said you came here from Sweden with your parents?”

  “I did. When I was five.”

  “Are they still here?”

  “No. They both died in an accident when I was nine.” His voice was pained as he recalled it.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Thanks. I was raised by a friend of the family. My father moved here to work for him.”

  “Doing what?”

  “He was,” Sven paused as he considered how to answer, “in construction. Building a better future.”

  “Like Habitat for Humanity or something?”

  “Sure. Like that.”

  “Is that what you do?”

  “Yeah. I guess you could say I sort of picked up the family business.”

  “You married?”

  Sven laughed. “Not yet. But try not to hold that against me.”

  Miriam couldn’t help but feel a little excited by this confession. Regardless of her deep love for her husband, something about the handsome and charming man in front of her made her pulse quicken. She had been in a dark place for so long that it was refreshing to be in the presence of light. She would always love Wolf, but part of her knew that they would never again be the happily married couple they once were. Sven sensed this and turned up the inbred European charm that captivates so many gullible Americans.