by Brian Rella
“Come and sit,” Pierson said, motioning to the seat in front of him. “And close the knife. It’s not needed here.”
Roy stood, frozen, unsure of what to do. He wanted to leave, but part of him wanted to stay, too. He heard the whisper in his ear. Sit down. Roy obeyed.
“You must be confused,” Pierson said. “You had other plans coming here.” His mouth curled up on one side.
Pierson continued. “I can understand you wanting to kill me after what I put you through. After the life you’ve had. But that was all necessary to get you to where you are now.”
Roy sat calmly in the chair, watching Pierson’s lips move and hearing the words come from his mouth. He was relaxed and his breath was easy as blood flowed from the crown molding down the walls behind Pierson, first in dribbles, then in streams. “And where am I now?”
“You are in Legion,” Pierson said.
The candles flickered and dimmed. Roy heard moans coming from all around him. Behind the individuals across the table, black clouds of smoke appeared and swirled. The smoke glowed with red and orange flame. The room smelled acrid. Roy’s eyes were unblinking as the swirling clouds took shape. Almost-human forms began to come together. They were black as night, like looking into a deep hole. The figures had but one feature on their faces: a mouth. The mouths were fishlike, with crimson lips and a circle of long sharp teeth. No eyes, no nose, no hair, no ears. They were identical.
From behind Roy, he felt another presence, accompanied by the same stench of death and decay he had smelled many times before: an unearthly smell that had haunted him from time to time over the recent months. Then he heard the familiar whisper in his ear and felt warm breath on his neck. “You are ready,” the voice said.
Roy turned. The figure behind him looked the same as the figures floating above the other people, making five in all. Roy stared into the blackness of the creature and felt comfortable and unafraid of the demon that was inches from him.
“We are Legion,” the demons all said at once, the sound of their voices filling the room.
The chorus of voices resonated through Roy. It was a peaceful sound.
“Roy,” Pierson said. “You are ready to join us.”
“Join,” Roy said.
Hisses came from the demons in the room. Roy looked into the twisted faces of the people in the circle and their eyes changed. They bulged and clouded, like they were flooded with black ink. Wails of agony came from all around the room and the demon forms raised their mouths to the ceiling. Their arms and legs and torsos were stretched and pulled and separated. The demons shrieked and howled as they grew new limbs and their disembodied limbs reformed into exact replicas of themselves, multiplying around the room. The room became crowded with them.
Pierson raised his hands and gestured to the other people at the table. They all smiled and voiced a litany. “You are ready.”
Roy looked coldly at Pierson. “Not to join you, Pierson. To lead you.”
The people around the table converged on Pierson. A look of shock briefly crossed Pierson’s face, and then terror and a high-pitched scream came from his mouth as the human members of Legion lifted him onto the table and held him there as the demon horde descended on him. Roy reveled in the sounds and sights of the assault as they tore at his skin with their mouths and teeth, ripping and tearing chunks of tissue and muscle from his body. The smell of blood and fear and death filled him as Roy breathed deeply, and delighted in the pleasure of it all.
An inhuman sound escaped Pierson’s mouth as the black-eyed humans held him down and the onslaught of demon savagery continued. They tore him and carved him by the mouthful, until he was an unrecognizable, ragged piece of meat, barely breathing and alive. The human servants of Legion placed him back in his chair, and went back to their places on either side of him.
Roy pulled the gun from his waistband and pointed it at what was left of Pierson’s head. He squeezed the trigger and Pierson’s head—what remained of it—jerked back and smacked the back of the chair. His body convulsed one final time and went limp, and he slumped over, oozing in the chair.
Roy looked calmly at the individuals on either side of Pierson, stood and walked to the other side of the table. The horde of demons gathered behind him. He pulled back Pierson’s chair and kicked his dead, bloody body away. Roy sat down and looked at his companions: all were smiling broadly at him, like Cheshire cats.
“Who’s next?” Roy asked.
LIVE ART
“DOES THAT LOOK like the original?” Sandstein was asking rhetorical questions again. “You painted the original, didn’t you? Well? That doesn’t look like the original, does it?” Now he was shouting rhetorical questions again. “I’m not paying for that piece of shit, girlie!” It was his first visit today. It was like every other visit.
Elsy couldn’t understand why this man was so angry all the time. How could someone so wealthy go through life so incredibly mad at everything and everyone all the time? He always looked like he was ready to explode. There was a constant mushroom cloud around every corner with him, as if a single wrong syllable would cause a nuclear explosion. Everything in life caused him to blow his top. Maybe that was why he was bald; that combover was all that was left after so many explosions. She did her best to keep her cool. She hadn’t lost it yet, but it was getting harder and harder to remain calm every day. She drank a lot of wine at night. It helped some, but honestly, she couldn’t wait for this job to be over.
Elsy had only taken the job to help pay for her degree. College wasn’t cheap these days, especially for a yet-undiscovered artist trying to earn an MFA. She had one semester left. She had to finish. She wouldn’t end up like her mother, cleaning homes for the rest of her life, regretting the decisions she’d made. She wouldn’t be telling her children about what she could have been. No. She was going to make it. She was going to stop dreaming and start living. And Mr. Sandstein was just one step toward her goal. She could take whatever he threw at her for the small fortune he was paying for this job.
She had jumped at the opportunity knowing it would pay for her school and then some. Sometimes, like now, she wondered if it hadn’t been a mistake. But she knew it wasn’t a mistake. She needed the money. She needed to finish her degree. She was tough and determined. There would always be Sandsteins out there and she wouldn’t let assholes like him stop her. She was better than he was. She had to be.
“Mr. Sandstein,” she said calmly. “It isn’t finished yet. This is just the sketch. It’s an outline. Once I fill in the colors and the background, and add the rest of the scene, I promise it’ll look exactly like my original painting.” She hoped that would pacify him, but she wasn’t holding her breath. It was usually useless to respond; but then again, if she didn’t respond, he would lecture her. So she just tried to stay calm and speak softly—like she was talking to a two-year-old who was throwing a temper tantrum.
“It had better or you’ll not see a dime,” he said. “We clear on that, young lady? Exactly like the original or you’re not going to see one penny!” He was pointing at her. Why does this dude hate me so much? “I expect you to finish on time. That means end of this week. Not Sunday. Not Monday. Saturday. This Saturday, the twenty-fourth. In fact, every hour you’re late, I’m deducting one percent of the fee.”
This was complete bullshit. They had never discussed that in the original agreement. End of the week, yes. But there was no penalty for finishing late. Elsy thought about protesting. Do I really want to argue with this guy? No. I can finish by Saturday. In fact, I can finish sooner. She held her tongue, determined to be finished before Saturday. In that moment, his berating and unreasonableness began to motivate her. The more this guy screamed at her, the faster she would work. She didn’t need the abuse. She just needed the money. At the rate she was painting she’d be done by Friday at the latest, well ahead of schedule. And she could paint faster if she wanted.
“Yes, Mr. Sandstein,” she said and went back to work on her
mural. She heard him turn and stomp out of the room.
Back at her painting, her passion, Elsy lost herself in her work. She was copying from memory every detail of her original painting. It was an underwater scene Mr. Sandstein had commissioned her for; the seascape she had painted and won first prize with at the Irvington Artist Exposition. She’d won the five-hundred-dollar prize and had the painting featured in the local gallery. Mr. Sandstein had purchased it from the gallery for seven hundred dollars. Elsy got a small commission from the sale as well. She was riding a wave of momentum she’d not had with her art before. Her spirits were soaring. Sandstein had approached her after the sale. The gallery had given him her number. He said he was going to hang the original in the main quarters of his yacht. And he liked the painting so much, he offered Elsy twenty thousand dollars to replicate it as a mural for his study at his home in Irvington.
Twenty. Thousand. Dollars. The only time Elsy had ever gotten that much money was from financial aid. But that money went to directly to the school. This was her money. She was earning it. This was enough money to pay for the last semester of school and put some money in her pocket. Enough money to rent studio space for a month, so she could keep painting. Elsy jumped at the chance. She felt blessed. She’d never been so lucky. She felt like she was making all the right moves and things were going her way…until she started working at Sandstein’s house.
He’d seemed so nice when they spoke, but it was all a façade. She had accepted his offer over the phone. They had never met nor signed anything. It was all a verbal agreement. She had started this past Monday. It was now Wednesday, and he’d been torturing her for three days straight. He was Jekyll and Hyde, except Dr. Jekyll was never around. She only saw Hyde. And Hyde was the biggest asshole she’d ever met.
Several hours later, she had the background nearly complete and she was ready to call it quits for the day. Tomorrow she’d add the fish, the octopus, the shark, and the treasure chest. Elsy had finished putting away her brushes and was massaging her hand before putting on her jacket to leave when she heard the familiar stomp coming down the hall.
“What’s this? Half day?” Mr. Sandstein said.
She ignored the sarcasm and asked, “Is it looking better, Mr. Sandstein? I’ve got the background nearly done now.”
He gaped at the wall for a long minute and wrinkled his nose. “Hmph. How can I tell? It’s not finished. I’m not overly impressed with your work ethic, you know.” He moved toward her and loomed. “You work slow. It’s a wonder you don’t starve. At the pace you’re going you’ll never make any money. I guess that’s why they call you people ‘starving artists’, huh? ‘Cause you’re slow and have no work ethic.”
Ignore him. You’re almost done, then you’re out of here. And then you’ll be rich and you’ll never have to see him again.
“I’ll be back tomorrow at eight AM,” she said. She picked up her paints and brushes and made to leave. Sandstein was standing in the doorway blocking her path.
He stared down his nose at her and wouldn’t move. It was very uncomfortable. He had this mean look on his face. Elsy was actually kind of scared. Why was he doing this? Did he get some kind of rise out of verbally abusing women? Or was it artists? Or did he just hate all people? She was starting to feel threatened, just standing there with this ogre in her way, but then he finally stepped aside. “See yourself out,” he said gruffly, and she had to push past him, brushing against his chest. Asshole!
Elsy got into her old, beat-up Honda Civic and puttered her way back home. She was exhausted and hungry and didn’t know if she wanted to eat and have a glass of wine or just go to bed. By the time she made it up to her fifth-floor walk-up, she’d decided it was better to just go to bed. She took off her shirt and pants and fell into bed. She was asleep before her eyes were closed.
She had nightmares that night. She was in the seascape she was painting. She was underwater, but still breathing. It was hard to move around in the water, which felt more like gelatin. The shark in her picture—it was chasing her. She swam frantically through the gelatinous water trying to escape its massive jaws. She managed to avoid it several times, but then it finally caught her. It had her in its mouth from her hips down. She could feel its huge teeth shredding her flesh and bone. She was screaming. She could see blood and bubbles coming out of her mouth as she tried to swim away from its grasp. When she looked back at the shark, it had the head of Mr. Sandstein. His huge mouth of pearl-white dentures were chomping on her waist. He had that mean glare in his eyes as he bit down on her. She jolted awake, her bed wet with her sweat. She looked at the clock. It was four fifty-four. She sighed and tried to go back to sleep. After about a half hour of lying there looking at her ceiling, she got up and made a pot of coffee. She had a few cups and then decided she’d get an early start. She showered, got dressed, and was at Mr. Sandstein’s by seven thirty. It was drizzling when she arrived. How’s that for work ethic? I’m thirty minutes early.
She hurried to the front door with her jacket collar pulled up, shivering in the cold rain. She rang the bell. “You’re early,” he said when he came to the door. “We agreed to eight AM. Not seven thirty. Not eight o’five. EIGHT AM. We did agree to eight AM, did we not? I’m still having my breakfast, girlie, and I’m not ready for you. You can come in at eight and not a moment earlier.” He scowled at her and slammed the door in her face.
Elsy stood there in shock for a minute. This guy was unbelievable. She could not win. She went back to her car and sat with the engine puttering in his driveway. Great! God help me! I just want to get this project over and done with! She took some deep breaths and turned on the radio to listen to some music and to try and calm herself. That didn’t work, so she surfed the internet on her phone while she waited. At promptly eight o’clock, the front door opened.
“Well,” she saw Mr. Sandstein mouth, as he motioned for her to come in. She huffed, shut the car off, and ran inside.
Sandstein led her to the study without a word. She didn’t care. She had no interest in speaking with him. She didn’t even look at him. She immediately got to work. She was going to finish today. She worked non-stop. She added the fish, the shark, and then the octopus that morning. Then she worked through lunch, finishing the background and the reef. She only took a break twice for some water and the bathroom. She just wanted to be done. She lost herself in the painting. All the emotions she was feeling—the hatred for him, the injustice of the abuse she was taking—she channeled it all into her work. It was a fire inside her that drove her to work tirelessly, in a trancelike state.
The minutes and hours flew by. She ignored the aches and pains and pressed on. She ignored fatigue and hunger. By eight o’clock, she had finished the treasure chest at the base of the mural and it was all done. Her fingers, arms, and back ached terribly. It had been a marathon day. She had paint all over her and she couldn’t stand up straight. Exhausted, she called for Sandstein to come and take a look at her work.
He entered the room and stood before the mural, his hands on his hips. He stared at different sections with a critical eye. She kept expecting him to tell her it was all wrong, that she had made a mistake, that she needed to do this part or that part over again. Those words never came. He finally turned to Elsy.
“Well that didn’t turn out as bad as I thought it would,” he said snidely. “I guess my comment about your work ethic really got through to you, huh? Didn’t want to be a lazy bird anymore, huh? I gave you exactly what you needed, didn’t I? A good kick in the ass! You showed up early and worked through lunch to impress me, didn’t you? Let me tell you, girlie, that’s the kind of work ethic it takes to be successful! That’s how I made myself who I am today. All this…” He waved his arms around, motioning to the items in the room. “All this is from my hard work. Maybe now you’ll get somewhere in life. Now that you learned how to work hard. Remember, I did that for you.” His face was contorted in a twisted smile.
She stared at him, incredulous. S
he was numb, disgusted; so many things. She just wanted to get out of there and never see him again. “Can you pay me now, please? I’m tired. I’d like to go home now,” she said.
He ignored her and pulled a brown leather chair from the corner of the room and set it in front of the mural. Then he pulled a table over and set a lamp on top of it. He looked over the setup and shook his head up and down, seemingly deciding that he liked it. “Mr. Sandstein?” she asked. “What are you doing?”
He sat down and crossed his legs, facing her. He rubbed his cheeks and chin with his hand a moment, and smiled that twisted smile at her again. “Ya know, girlie, I been thinking. I don’t think it’s worth twenty thousand. I think it’s worth about five thousand.” He relaxed back in his chair. The smile grew bigger and more twisted. His eyes were pure evil. This man was the devil. He was going to fuck her over!
Elsy gasped, “No! We agreed. Twenty thousand if I finished on time. I finished way ahead of time! You owe me twenty thousand dollars!” Her voice went a little more high pitched then she intended, but that’s how she got when she was upset and right now her blood was hot. She could feel her face go red.
Sandstein looked calm as his smile flattened and his face darkened. He narrowed his eyes. “We have no contract. I never signed an agreement with you. In fact, I don’t remember agreeing to twenty thousand. I remember agreeing to five.” Then he leaned forward. “And what are you going to do about it, hmm?”
Elsy exploded. She threw her brushes and paint at him. He slapped them out of the air and they fell to the floor, making a mess at his feet. “You fucking asshole!” she screamed. “You promised! We had an agreement! And I took all your shit for all these days! All your abuse! You pay me! You pay me what we agreed!”