Dead Souls

by Michael Laimo

  …and he dreamed of the golden pain, of lying prone to the elements as the hooded witnesses crowded around him, grabbing him…of how one of the shrouded figures let go of him and made a vain attempt to free him of the pain soon to be delivered: a sharp, burning agony seared upon his chest…he screamed, and then complete darkness followed, and while ensconced in this hot astringent gloom, he dreamed of another previously lost memory where he saw himself as a baby again, completely naked, and he was being carried by a young man, a teenaged boy perhaps, and he could clearly see the boy with his keen features and blond hair and intense gray eyes…this boy…someone he'd never encountered before, and Johnny shuddered with uncertainty because he looked terribly frightened…he was running, crying, clutching Johnny close to his chest…they were in a house, somewhere dark and musty with the smell of mud and rain and of things thick with mildew, and the young man in all his sheer panic wrapped Johnny up in a shred of burlap and slid him into a cool dark space, then turned and disappeared into the shadows, where he screamed and screamed and screamed…

  Johnny awoke with his own scream.

  He shivered in a cold sweat, curling himself into a fetal position, arms wrapped protectively around his knees. He opened his eyes, and when he looked down he saw that, as in his dream, he was naked. He shuddered uncontrollably, feeling immediately terrified, not because he'd undressed himself while sleeping, but because he was lying outside on the fire escape with the perforated steel grates of the platform carving indentations into his goose-fleshed skin. Nearby, a siren ripped through the night. He startled, wholly confused, looking toward the lighted window which was wide open, Mary's beige linen curtain billowing in the gentle breeze. He clambered up and groped for the sill. And that was when he saw the feather clutched tightly in his hand.

  The bird I saw earlier today...

  He felt his face contort as he made an immediate attempt to analyze the situation, eyes staring uncomprehendingly at the large black feather. He squeezed the feather's quill tightly between two fingers, guessing it to carry some vital significance, and that he needed to hold onto it. Jesus, what am I doing out here? He lifted his heavy eyes toward the partial moon, then crawled back into the apartment, heedful not to snag himself on the window frame.

  Once on his feet, Johnny gathered his balance, then looked up and nearly repeated Mary Petrie's conscious-dropping performance from earlier.

  His father was sitting at the kitchen table.

  A wave of unexplainable embarrassment hit Johnny like a gale-force wind, and it wasn't until he was halfway into the living room that he realized his father hadn't yet noticed him. Ed Petrie's eyes were closed, brow furrowed as though examining some sort of problem, one that he, despite his efforts, had no idea how to solve.

  From the corners of his eyes, Johnny could see his pajamas crumpled on the floor at the foot of the sofa. He immediately sneaked over and slid back into them, careful not to damage the feather as he did so. He made just enough noise for Ed to hear him, but his father, probably drunk, remained uncommunicative with his elbows on the table.

  Johnny placed the feather down on the end table next to the sofa, then paced into the kitchen, where he quietly waited for Ed to open his swollen eyes. It took a few moments, but eventually Ed acknowledged Johnny's presence, revealing to him a gaze that was wet and red and weary.

  Ed Petrie had been crying.

  "Dad?"

  "Hmmmm?" He looked at Johnny, and Johnny thought he recognized a kind of pale distraction in his features: a dismal facade that might have been the end result of a few too many. Ed shifted his hands, and Johnny noticed the note he'd left earlier crumpled up in his father's right fist. He took a deep, nervous breath, then turned his attention back to his father's face; although unchanged, it now seemed to suggest the possibility of fear settling in. Am I reading into this too much?

  "Are you all right, dad?"

  Ed grunted and pointed his gaze toward some non-descript point in the kitchen between the refrigerator and stove. A frown line dipped into the space between his eyebrows when he said, "Just spoke with your mother." Johnny could smell the sour stench of alcohol on his breath.

  "You did? Just now?"

  Ed unexpectedly stood up, hesitated, then paced unevenly across the living room, stopping halfway between the kitchen and his bedroom. After a long pause, he uttered methodically, "I called the hospital. They put me through to her room."

  Johnny swallowed something hard in his throat, thinking, Surely he saw the fire escape window open. Surely he saw me crawl in without my clothes on. So, why didn't he say anything? Why? Is it because he's piss-assed drunk and doesn't really give a damn? He wanted to ask his father what was wrong, but was quickly able to put some of the pieces into place: Mary had shared her secret fear with Ed, and Ed, like Mary, had spent his entire life being terrified of it as well...

  (Benjamin Conroy)

  …and now here he was attempting to cope with this sudden quandary, but was having a real tough go at it because he was completely smashed and his sanity was systematically disconnecting itself from his brain, one plug at a time.

  "What did she say, dad?"

  He didn't answer. He looked through Johnny with glassy eyes and said, "I'm going to bed, now," then turned and exited the living room, gently shutting the door behind him.

  Johnny remained standing in the kitchen, fully mystified, staring at the closed door until his vision blurred and his own fatigue begged to be dealt with. He stepped quietly into the living room and picked up the feather from the end table. He gazed at it curiously, thinking unexplainably, This is some kind of gift, then went back into his bedroom, clutching it close to his heart as if it were a security blanket.

  Chapter 15

  August 24th, 1988

  11:11 AM

  Pilate lay next to Daniel, tongue lolling, pleased with the attention he was getting from his thirteen year-old master. Daniel scratched behind the lab's ears, digging deeply with his fingers all the way down to the hide, covering every last spot the dog positioned his head for.

  What a perfect day this would have been had it not been for his father's utter foolishness this morning. The sky was a bright crisp blue, the sun beaming proudly from its climbing position. A temperate breeze kept all of the flies at bay, and the birds were out in a full-chorus swing. In the distance, the goats nagged loudly.

  The storm door behind him screeched, and Elizabeth appeared carrying a plate of buttermilk muffins and a pitcher of milk. She was wearing a pair of blue jeans and a plain white tee, her hair tied back into a ponytail. "Cooked them myself." She came down the wooden steps and sat in the grass alongside Daniel where they ate and drank in silence, shooing Pilate away as he made his bid for a muffin.

  "Lizzie?" Daniel asked, taking a small bite; his throat still stung from inhaling all the smoke in the barn, and he grimaced with every swallow.

  "Yeah?"

  "Can I ask you something?"

  "Of course."

  He hesitated speaking his mind, peering toward the door to make sure neither of his parents were listening. Finally he whispered, "What's wrong with dad? I mean, what's the real story behind this ritual thing?"

  What followed was a long moment of silence that could have been awkward, but eventually proved otherwise. Elizabeth seemed to have a few thoughts rolling around in her head as well, and as a big sister who appeared as sane as he, her opinions carried a lot of weight. "He is a man of conviction. He believes that our business here on earth is a stepping-stone into a much bigger and better place. He is just trying to make certain that we reach this better place together, as a family."

  "But…do you believe it?" Daniel asked mildly, hoping she'd say no.

  Elizabeth picked a buttercup from the grass and held it under his chin. "Do you?"

  "No…not really."

  "The reflection on your skin says you're lying."

  "I'm not!"

  She giggled and tossed the flower away. The wind picked u
p and Daniel caught the clean scent of strawberries rising from her damp hair. His own hair still carried the acrid stench of smoke, and he decided at that moment to trade it in for Elizabeth's fruity shampoo, first chance he got.

  "I believe in God, and I believe in heaven," she finally answered.

  Daniel felt a familiar weight of dismay settle around his heart, something he continually carried around with him, unfelt until a conversation like this drew it out. "And so do I. I really, really do…but this other stuff, Osiris, and the astral plane. I mean, I don't remember reading about any of this in the bible. Do you?"

  Elizabeth shook her head sympathetically, and picked at the corner of a muffin. "Dad seems to believe it's in there. It's a code of some sort."

  This simple, matter-of-fact statement from her triggered an intuitive, not-so-irrational fear in him, and he felt as though he were suddenly treading in deep water: A code? Something only dad can see? This is scary…I mean, why can't I see this code? I think we've all been pulled into something, me, Elizabeth, Bryan, and even mom, and I'll be damned, but none of us have any choice in the matter. I wonder…is there any escape? Will the wrath of God strike us dead should we defy our father's beliefs? For Christ's sake, we all nearly passed out from the smoke this morning! "Well I don't," he blurted, then added, "And I didn't see any of those things dad was talking about this morning. Did you?"

  "You mean—"

  "The spirit, the mist, the bird, the cowbell. And I also remember him saying that he had a gift in his hand…but his hand was empty, Lizzie."

  "Yeah…I didn't see any of those things either."

  He found himself thinking of his father, surrounded by the smoke, staring at his reflection in the 'magic mirror' saying, It is you. It'd really seemed so odd at the moment—all Daniel had been able to see was his father's image staring out from the mirror.

  Elizabeth added, "I think I saw dad put the feather on my windowsill last night."

  "You did?"

  She nodded. "It was late, probably around midnight. I'd heard something. I awoke, and it was dark, but I saw a figure outside my window." She paused, peered over Daniel's shoulder. "Look over there." She pointed and Daniel followed her finger to the corner of the house where an extension ladder leaned up against the singles. "I think he set them up ahead of time, just like he did with the bells, and all the props."

  "So, then it's not real. None of it."

  She paused, then asked, "You believe in God, right?"

  "Of course."

  "But…have you ever wondered if God really does exist? I mean, is he this omnipotent being with a beard and long flowing robe who looks over His creation and checks His naughty and nice list to see who deserves a pass into heaven? Or…is God just a concept? An image of goodness to fall back upon when we are feeling down—when we need a shoulder to lament on?"

  Daniel shrugged. Inside the house, baby Bryan began to wail. Pilate picked up his head, then quickly settled back down again.

  "Well," she continued, "It seems to me that God doesn't plan on coming down from Heaven anytime soon to shake hands with the people of Wellfield."

  Daniel shrugged again. Pilate shifted his body closer to him, displaying his rump. Daniel obliged with smooth, even pats across his furry doggie back.

  "Daniel, we as God-fearing Christians must assume that He is watching over us, and that we must follow our hearts toward a path of acceptance. And that, my little brother, is exactly what dad is doing. He feels no choice but to pursue his beliefs, to make certain that he protects himself—and us too—from his fears."

  "And what exactly does dad fear?"

  "Who knows," she answered quickly, shrugging, brows drawn tightly together. "I do think that dad is a bit off his rocker, but I also respect his beliefs, regardless of the fact that I don't have much faith in them."

  "Gosh Lizzie, why didn't you just say that at the beginning?"

  "Because I want you to realize that it is important to give dad the benefit of the doubt."

  Daniel nodded in silent understanding, watching her as the smile slowly faded from her face. This was her way of protecting him, by offering some big-sisterly advice. Like Daniel, Elizabeth had also disobeyed their father's demands in the past, and in turn had suffered the consequences. What these consequences were, Daniel could not assume—Benjamin had always meted out his punishments behind closed doors. Like last Tuesday when Daniel had arrived to the dinner table seven minutes late (he'd had a bad case of the squats from eating too many green apples from the tree out back), and was immediately forced into the walk-in pantry. Benjamin pulled a piece of flat cardboard down from between the shelves, put it on the floor, and spread an even layer of raw white rice on it. Grabbing the boy by the neck, he shoved Daniel down to his knees, and Daniel remembered looking up at his father at this moment, how crazed he looked with his skin flushed and his eyes dilated. The elder Conroy demanded of Daniel, "Hands down," and Daniel obliged, pressing his palms into grains of rice. Benjamin then stood on his hands, forcing his body weight down and shouting, "May the Lord cleanse your soul, sinner!" Daniel had screamed and cried, and although the entire punishment had lasted only a minute, the deep, purple impressions the rice made in his palms had lasted nearly three days.

  Elizabeth…she'd never had any battle wounds to show for her transgressions, except for the dark circles sometimes under her eyes, and this led Daniel to believe that her wounds bled below the skin, where they hurt the most.

  The baby's wails increased in volume; Faith had carried him into the kitchen, and the window was open directly above their heads. A tear sprung from Daniel's right eye.

  "I feel so bad for Bryan," he said.

  Elizabeth leaned forward and whispered, "You really shouldn't have interrupted dad this morning."

  Daniel nodded and wiped a tear from his face. "Lizzie…I-I don't remember doing it. It was like…like I blacked out or something. Like I didn't have any control of my body. Next thing I knew, Dad was yelling and then I saw him burn the baby. Somehow, I guess I knew what I did, but I don't remember doing it. All I know was that I didn't want him to hurt the baby."

  "Dad would have never let that happen. He's a meticulous planner."

  Daniel nodded soberly, realizing that Elizabeth, as the older and wiser sibling, knew much more about life, about their father, than he. Perhaps he had been wrong. After all, Baby Bryan still ended up getting his wound, and now Daniel was going to get handed down the mother of all punishments from Benjamin.

  The baby's wails reached a horrific crescendo, and Faith suddenly appeared at the door. She looked awful, her face a pale green shade with dark puffy half-moons beneath her bloodshot eyes. The baby writhed in her arms, and she seemed to be having trouble simply holding onto him. "Elizabeth, I need your help with the baby."

  "Thanks Lizzie," Daniel said, not really feeling any better about the situation. He stood up and gave her an enthusiastic hug.

  She released Daniel, then smiled, placing a surreptitious finger across her lips. She then turned and followed her mother into the kitchen.

  Seconds later, after Daniel decided that a shower was first in order, Faith appeared at the door without the baby. She came outside, stood on the top step of the porch, and took a deep nervous breath. She peered over her shoulder into the house, then looked at Daniel and said, "I need you to go into town, to the drug store, to pick up another tube of Bacitracin, for your brother. His injury is bad, so we're going to need it."

  "Mom…you told me we had enough…"

  "Quickly," she said, pinning his gaze seriously, "Before your father comes downstairs."

  And it was here that he felt truly scared for the first time. Scared for his uncontrolled actions this morning. Scared of his father's impending reaction. Benjamin had remained out of sight following the ritual, and what Daniel hadn't seen or heard didn't trouble him any. But now…he knew his mother had spoken to his father, and was more than concerned with what she'd heard and saw. Thus, she felt it w
ould be best to let the dust settle as much as possible, and send Daniel into town for a trip that really didn't have to be made. Let time soothe the wound, so to speak.

  "Okay." He peered up at his mother as she peeked back into the house. She looked exhausted, weary and forlorn.

  She handed him a five dollar bill. "Bacitracin. Got it?"

  He nodded, then added, "You okay, mom?"

  She shook her head, clearly unsettled. "The smoke…it made me sick." Just saying these words caused her to cough and gag suddenly. "You better go now, and come right back home."

  "Okay," he answered, folding the five-dollar bill and placing it in his pocket. He was about to say 'thank you', but his mother wasn't there to hear him.

  She was inside, throwing up in the sink.

  Chapter 16

  September 7th

  7:15 AM

  Again he dreamed of the golden pain, the searing heat strong against his chest, and the masked man who delivered it; he, pulling his hood down to reveal a featureless face, no eyes, no nose or mouth, just a knotted pink visage of flesh that beat at the same slow rhythm of his heart, thump…thump…thump. Johnny tried to move, but found no way of avoiding the inevitable: the never-ending pain against his chest that worked its way deep into his heart. The shrouded figure at his side, this time, did not attempt to interrupt the ritual. Instead he slowly stood back into the golden light, and from within the light emerged the young man with the blond hair and sharp features. Moving faster than everyone else in the room, he picked up Johnny and whisked him away, running from one dark place to another—from a very hot room, to a much colder one. He was gasping with terror, looking down at Johnny, eyes thick with tears. He placed a finger across Johnny's lips and said, "I'm sorry…I'm sorry…"