Preternatural: Carter Bailey Book 1

by Matt Hilton

  If Broom’s crazy notion held any truth whatsoever then let the demons know me for whom I was. Let them recognise me by the signs branded upon me by one of their brethren. It was cold comfort at best, but if indeed I was destined to confront evil, then let it be my face they came to despise, the last thing they saw before I sent them shrieking back to hell.

  “Jesus,” I muttered, an embarrassed smile on my mirror-self. “You are totally cracked, Carter.”

  In the mirror, the scarlet patina shifted.

  “Not now Cash.”

  “Now would be a good time.”

  “Not interested.”

  “Despite yourself, you know that is not quite the truth, brother.”

  “I need to sleep.”

  “Is that why you’re prancing around with a hard on for cute little Janet?”

  I slapped my palms down hard on the sink. Water residue round the plughole shimmered. “Leave Janet out of this, Cash. I don’t want you to even speak as much as her name.”

  “Quite difficult, Carter. Your thoughts are often my thoughts.” I held my breath. “And you just gotta know what I’m thinking about doing to her right at this moment.”

  “Cash, you sick fucking parasite, if you as much as mention her again I’ll…”

  A scraping at my brain was Cash’s laughter. “Hey, go easy on the vitriol, will you, bro.”

  “You are a pig, Cash.”

  “Oink! Oink!” Another scrape, an itch I couldn’t scratch. “But at least I now have your full attention. While you can’t sleep, why don’t you visit your little brother, huh? Have a nice little tête-à-tête like we used to have in the good ol’ days?”

  “I don’t want to see you, Cash. It’s bad enough that I have to listen to your constant complaining without seeing your ugly face as well.”

  “Aw, come on, Carter. You asked for my help, didn’t you? At least let me do what I promised I would.”

  I shook my head at my mirror companion. My reflection didn’t appear to conform to the rules of nature and remained static. A twitch at the corner of his lips. Eyes like iron nuggets in a furnace. Cash playing tricks. Or maybe it was just me playing tricks.

  “In those immortal words…CARTER BAILEY, COME ON DOWN!”

  “What the fuck do you want?” I leaned on the sink. Stared into the plughole making stupid word associations. Like the sink, I too was drained.

  “I want to talk.”

  “About what?”

  “Us.”

  “There is no ‘us’.” I slowly raised my gaze. My reflected eyes were back to their normal hue; Cash playing it cool. “There’s me and then there’s you. Do I need to remind you what you are?”

  He sniffed. Incredibly, I’d touched a nerve. Gave me a warm, fuzzy feeling.

  “I know what I am, brother.” Cash was the epitome of brash. To hear him calm and controlled, displaying just a hint of pathos, made me squint into the mirror-man’s face. “But do you truly understand what you are?”

  I had no reply for him.

  “Love him or hate him - personally I think he’s a pompous know-it-all dick head - but your good buddy, Paul Broom, is closer to understanding the truth than even he realises. I think that you suspect it, too. Even if you won’t accept it yet.”

  “I’m a fucking demon magnet?”

  “Hey! I agree. Shit metaphor. But good enough under the circumstances.”

  “Bollocks!”

  “I can explain it all.”

  “Cash, you are a liar. Say what you want, I won’t believe a word of it.”

  “Oh, but I think you will.” He shifted in my being, a lazy stirring. “I have no reason to lie to you about this. Whether you like it or not, we are inextricably linked. It is in my best interest to see that you survive this test. Ironic as it may seem, I want you to live. How do you expect me to gain my revenge on you if some other half-wit claims your soul first?”

  His words gave me pause. Not the bit about him wanting domination over my soul, that was a given. “What test?”

  “I’ll explain all, Carter, but not under these conditions. You have to come to me.”

  I gnawed at my cheek lining.

  “Oh…and Carter?”

  “What?”

  “Can you make our meeting place a little more comfortable this time? I gotta tell you, that ol’ Mojave Desert thing was a bitch. I’m still trying to get the sand out the crack of my arse.”

  TWELVE

  Within

  I descended steps so black that they threw back glistening reflections of my features. Drapes on narrow windows were deep purple or magenta, with sashes of roped gold. Candles flickered in wall sconces. There was no sound other than the clip-clop of my heels on the stairs that in my mind had to be formed of obsidian.

  At the bottom of the stairs was a huge wooden door with metal studs, hinges and braces, formidable enough to deter a battering ram. I reached out a hand; saw that my fantasy extended to white gloves and a ruff of lace at my wrist. I blinked, dispelling the illusion and saw only my bare fingers. I twisted the ornate knob and the door opened with a satisfactory squeal of un-oiled metal work. I stepped through the doorway into shadow. Firmly closed the door behind me. Illogically, the bolt on the far side was thrown as I guided it into place by force of mind alone. Only when I knew that it was fully secure did I turn and scan the centre of the room. As I looked, a faint glow bled from its centre, blossoming slowly to show a wing-backed chair, complete with seated figure. I stepped closer, interlacing my fingers behind me and stared down on my brother, Cassius. In keeping with the gothic scene he was garbed in a white cotton blouse with ruffs at the open collar, cream breeches pushed into calf-length black leather boots. Somehow his shaved head and goatee wasn’t anachronistic.

  Cash shook his head. As was usual he turned down the corners of his mouth. “Let me guess…The Prisoner of Zenda? The Count of Monte Cristo?”

  “The Pit and the Pendulum,” I said.

  Cash glanced upward. No swooping blade. No precariously balanced Sword Of Damocles neither. Perhaps these were details I should have included. He lowered his gaze to meet mine. “Vincent Price I presume? Or is it the crap remake with Lance Henrickson?”

  I twisted a lip; I actually enjoyed the updated version starring Lance Henrickson. “In fact, I was going more for the Edgar Allan Poe original.”

  My brother settled back in the chair. “That Poe dude…one seriously fucked up individual if you ask me.”

  “No one’s asking you.”

  “You have to admit, Carter. Poe was acutely disturbed.”

  “That’s a bit rich coming from a psychopathic serial killer, isn’t it?”

  Cash gave me the eyebrow. “You’re probably right. Thing that separates Poe and the likes of me, though, is I just didn’t pussy around scribbling down my thoughts on paper. I actually had the balls to carry out my darkest dreams. Poe was…what do they call it? Repressed. He was simply play acting.”

  “And the better man for it, in my opinion.”

  In my youth I’d read the entire writing of the master of gothic horror. Since Cash hijacked my psyche and invaded my dreams, I often paraphrased Poe. “Sleep. Those little slithers of death. How I loathe them.” But I had to admit, my brother had a point; Poe was a strange character and possibly as crazy as Carter Bailey in some people’s opinion.

  “You should be thankful,” I told my brother. “I did contemplate The Man in the Iron Mask.”

  Cash frowned at me, weighing the probability of me slamming a metal helmet over his face. He smiled, an eyetooth glistening. “No, no, Carter. I’ve just gained a new found respect for Poe, if you don’t mind.”

  I inclined my chin. One nil to me.

  With a rattle of chains, he lifted his wrists. “You think that Poe shared my sado-masochistic tendencies, Bro? Maybe we have more in common than I’ve given him credit for.”

  “Who knows, Cash? The manacles are my doing. And I’ve definitely got nothing in common with you.”
/>
  “I beg to differ.” Cash smiled again. Twice in such a short time was too disconcerting. “We share quite a number of traits. For instance, we were both spawned from the same gene pool. Both products of Momma and Poppa Bailey.”

  I spat in disgust. “That has to be debatable.”

  “Are you throwing aspersions on our dear old Momma, Carter? Shame on you!”

  “I’m saying that you were probably switched in hospital. Some reprobate gave birth whilst hooked on drugs and cheap sherry, then stole herself a beautiful child and bunged us your maggot infested carcass.”

  “Whoo-hoo! Maybe you’re right, Bro. That’d explain why I was stuck with a wimp like you instead of a real big brother.”

  In spite of myself, I found humour in his remark. It was about the nicest thing he’d ever said to me. Maybe my dream scenario of Cash’s origin had a grain of truth in it.

  “I can but wish,” I said.

  “Nah,” he said. “That kind of thing only happens in the soaps. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me, Carter. Brothers united, and all that jazz.”

  “More’s the pity.”

  “Yeah.”

  Jesus! Something we were in agreement on. I couldn’t allow that to continue. Broom’s words echoed in my ears, ‘Be Self-controlled and alert.’ I turned from Cash, nodded into the shadows and a second wing-backed chair materialised. I took my time seating myself. I crossed my legs, hands folded in my lap. Classic psychoanalyst pose I was well used to seeing from the opposite seat. I had to gain command of this meeting; the posture was patronising enough. Now for the attitude.

  “You asked me to visit. Now, what is it you wanted to tell me?”

  Cash mimicked my pose. The chains on his ankles made it difficult, but he persevered. He offered me a smirk. I gave him a level stare.

  “Come on, Cash. Just for once, eh? None of your bullshit.”

  As far as his manacles allowed, he flicked a submissive hand. “I meant what I said earlier. There is something I need to tell you. Something very important regarding why you came here.”

  “And all of a sudden you are concerned about my welfare? Sorry, Cash. I just don’t believe you.”

  He rotated his head on his shoulders, languid like a cat. “I told you. I don’t want you getting taken down by anyone else but me. I feel a certain responsibility for keeping you out of harm’s way - even if it is to ensure that, when the time comes, it’s me who sucks your eyeballs out of their sockets.”

  “That’s a reassuring image you’re painting,” I said.

  “Just letting you know I’m deadly earnest about saving your flabby arse, Bro.” He flashed a tooth. “Don’t think that you’d take me serious if I came over all lovey-dovey and the like.”

  My lips formed a tight gash. He had a point.

  “The big poofter Broom was almost right,” he said.

  “About my ability to detect evil, you mean?”

  He clicked his fingers.

  I chewed my inner cheek lining. Even in this astral-like state I retained bad habits. “That’s supposing that I believe that evil is tangible, that it can metamorphose itself into a living entity. Personally, I think that’s a big pile of crap. We’re not medieval peasants, Cash. This is the twenty-first century. Terrorist bombs and super-virulent plagues, I believe in. They are the modern equivalent of the hobgoblins and demons of the middle ages. I do believe in the notion of evil as a frame of mind; you only have to think about Hitler, or Saddam Hussein or Osama Bin Laden for proof of that point. But, as for the embodiment of evil, take Satan or Lucifer for instance, well, I just don’t accept it.”

  Cash sniffed. “It all depends on your outlook, doesn’t it? To the Nazi’s Hitler was practically a god. People are still dying fighting for what Saddam and Bin Laden stood for. Ask them and it’s Bush and Tony Blair who were the evil ones. So that does nothing for proving your argument. Those are political evils only. Different ideologies: playing with words to suit the individual speaker’s ethos. That’s not the essence of evil we’re talking about here.”

  “He didn’t say it as such,” I said. “But from what Broom was intimating, he is specifically talking about some sort of demon or something. He’s actually setting me up as a kind of modern day dragon slayer. And listening to you, it sounds like you’re doing the same.”

  His eyelids drooped as he sighed.

  “Carter, why don’t you take a look around you here? You are actually sitting in an imaginary castle conversing with your dead brother. If you can accept this as real, why can’t you just open your mind to other seemingly impossible notions?”

  “Ha!” I leaned forward, forcing him to look at me. “That’s easy to explain. Because that would be admitting that I am insane like so many of my doctors told me. This,” I held out a hand, encompassing the entire room in one gesture, “is all nothing but an effect of an over-wrought imagination; a coping mechanism against my grief; a way of reconciling myself with my failure to save Karen and my baby son. Who says I believe any of it is real?”

  Cash belched, proof of his disdain.

  “Psychobabble mumbo-jumbo bullshit,” he said. “You don’t think that this is real? That I’m not real? Tell you what, brother. If that’s what you think, loosen my manacles now and see what the fuck I do to you.”

  We held each other’s gaze, both sets of eyes as sulphurous as the other. The tableau held for an extended heartbeat before I sat back. “Good try, Cash. There’s no way I’m going to let you loose. Whether-or-not you are real is purely rhetorical; I can’t take a chance that this is all some schizophrenic delusion. If I was to let you loose, and your personality dominated my psyche, God knows what I would become in the outside world.”

  His lips formed a gloating smile. “What’s up, Carter? Afraid that you would turn evil?”

  Son of a bitch! Outflanked by the arsehole. So much for being self-controlled and alert. Bastard had only been goading me to prove a point. It was time for my eyelids to droop, show defeat. “I hear what you are saying, Cash.”

  “Uh-hu,” he acknowledged. “The incarnation of evil does exist in the genuine world, Carter. Take your paedophile grooming children on the Internet, or the rapist who sneaks into the bedroom of a frail old woman…”

  “Or the bastard who rapes and murders the pregnant fiancée of his own brother?” I finished for him.

  Again the snap of his fingers. “Exactly.”

  “You’ve got a point. There are evil men in this world. Ideology and politics aside, there can’t be a person on this earth who couldn’t see you as evil.”

  “You’ll get no argument from me.” He raised an eyebrow. “You see where our conversation is headed, Bro?”

  “You’re saying that there is someone here on the island just like you?”

  “Not half as ravishingly handsome or erudite as one’s self,” he smirked. “But, yeah. There’s one bad ass dude kicking off big style.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Yes you do.” I stood up, the advantage of height as a domineering factor not particularly useful when I was visibly trembling.

  “I’m not fucking psychic, Carter.”

  “You said you wanted to tell me…warn me…that there was a test…”

  “And I’ve done all of that. I’ve readied you, put you on full alert. That was what I needed to achieve. It’s all about protecting my own interests. I told you that already, too.” He folded his arms, pursed his lips, making farting noises with his mouth. When I didn’t demand further clarification, he said, “The test I mentioned is still to come. It’s whether-or-not you’re man enough to complete it that’s important.”

  “And what is this test?”

  “You’ll recognise it when the time comes. That’s all I’ll say on the matter.” He watched me with his hateful eyes twinkling. “You can go now.”

  He turned his head away, finished. I could have forced him into compliance, twisted his neck so that he had to look at me, to talk t
o me, but I knew that it was pointless. He’d said all he was going to say on the subject - for now. Any words pressed from his lips by force of my will would be hollow, my own words in his voice. Totally worthless as far as explaining anything I didn’t already understand.

  I turned from him. The chair I’d been sitting in had dissolved, the room itself shimmering into light grey nothingness as I paced away. The wooden door swung open at my gesture, slammed behind me with a hollow thud. I never made it all the way up the stairs.

  Instead, I snapped into full cognizance sitting cross-legged on the bed in Paul Broom’s guest room.

  No confusion or sense of displacement ruled, I knew exactly where I was, who I was. As was usually the case when returning from one of my visits to speak with Cash, I wasn’t angry or full of hatred. I actually sensed a lightening of my spirit; oddly I had an inclination towards self-worth and value I hadn’t experienced in a long time. My life had found purpose.

  It was one of those epiphany-type moments of clarity.

  Though I’d never have admitted it to Cash, his suggestion that there were others like him had given me a new awareness of purpose. As well as Cash’s argument, Broom had also gone some way towards planting the seed in my mind. He’d said I should see my being brought back from death as a gift. A second chance to put things right. Regardless as to whether I’d ever be able to change the atrocities perpetrated by my brother, I sure as hell could stop others like him. I still stood by my resolve. There were no cloven-hoofed demons out there, but there certainly were monsters. Monsters concealed behind the innocuous masks of men. So be it. If that was the way of the world, then it was only just that I be the embodiment of the monster slayer.