by Dean Drinkel
Khoury coughed into his hand. “Listen, I can’t stop you and maybe I don’t want too, perhaps it would be cathartic for you to exorcise some of those old demons, to reach some kind of closure. You have my number. Call me anytime, day or night...I’m here for you, understand?”
“Thank you,” Lucien pulled the door open slightly. “I have a feeling we won’t be seeing or speaking to one another again.”
“Now hang on a moment…”
“...it’s okay...I know you still speak to her...I can’t stop that, but tell her not to worry about me. I’ll be careful. I don’t believe I can promise you anything else, but I will promise that. I have to tidy up my affairs, speak with some people I haven’t seen or spoken too in a long long time. Thank you for all the advice. I might not have listened, but I still thank you for it.”
With that, he stepped through the gap then pulled the door tightly shut behind him.
At the desk Khoury waited a couple of moments just to be sure, he opened his drawer, took out a cell-phone. He punched some numbers and waited until it was answered.
“Yes, it’s me, I know, I know, I promised not to ring unless it was very important but I think this is...yes, Lucien was here.” He picked up the letter. “And you know what? We have a problem, a real serious fucking problem.”
Interlude
It could only have been a dream.
He prayed that it was – the pain was real enough...this was obviously a place where dreams became nightmares and nightmares became life...
...his body was broken, bruised, so much fucking agony.
His eyes flickered open, shut, open, and shut. He was lying down, on an ocean of rocks. He was surrounded by corpses, some recent, some not so. That was all he could see for the moment, as a dark mist hung heavily around him. It was cold.
He picked himself up; he was naked, covered in wounds, covered in scars. He wiped the gore from his skin.
“I live,” he whispered, sounding surprised somewhat.
As he stepped forward, the mist dissipated, revealing a wooded forest.
There was one tree that had been felled, an old woman stood before it, she held her hands clasped before her.
A dog (perhaps it was a fox, he couldn’t be entirely sure as it was difficult to see properly...everything was hazy) frolicked nearby.
“You have returned,” she stated as he approached. “To Abraham’s bosom.” A very strange accent too...he couldn’t quite place it.
With a clawed finger he motioned to the forest. “Where am I?”
The woman didn’t answer right away, she coughed up some phlegm then spat it to the ground, she then took a swipe at the mangy beast as it came closer, seeking out whatever her body had expelled.
“This place is everything you wish it to be. Limbus patrum,” she stated.
He frowned, unsure the meaning behind her words, hoping that she would say something else, but there was nothing. He turned to the trees then back to her. His eyes narrowed. She was staring so intensely at him, no! Not at him, but past him. He moved his hands in front of her face, no recognition.
She was blind.
Yes, that made sense.
For a brief moment he wondered how he had arrived here, had someone brought him, had he brought himself, was it planned or just an accident? Those bodies...
...he knew the answers were somewhere inside him but the more he thought the further away they seemed to be...the animal came sniffing by his feet, he kicked it away, it yelped as it ran off – much to the chagrin (it seemed anyway) of the old crone.
He took the first step towards the forest.
“Wait!” she ordered.
“Now what?” he did do though as he was told.
She held out a withered, bony hand. “You cannot pass until you have paid your dues.”
“What?”
“You cannot pass until you have paid your dues.”
“Fine...fine...”
He looked down, he was naked. He didn’t have any money, fuck, he didn’t have any pockets for him to have any money in.
The old woman pointed, it took him a couple of moments to understand – he undid the necklace he was wearing, dropped it in her hand. The silver chain with the butterfly pendant. She didn’t say anything, just hid it amongst the folds of her skirts.
“I bid you farewell,” she said. “But we will meet again.”
She turned; he noticed the wound to her neck. He was certain then that he was in the right place.
He curled his lips, went to say something but then thought better of it. He just nodded and headed towards the forest.
Limbus partum indeed.
Two
Lucien had been riding the Metro for hours, from one end of the line to the other then all over again.
Thoughts, memories, decisions bounced around his brain, no matter how much he tried to clear his mind, no matter how many times he thought he had worked everything out, new doubts appeared and the process repeated over, his head fucking hurt.
He was aware that someone had been staring at him for the past ten or so minutes. He hadn’t paid them much attention; even so he could feel their eyes drilling into him.
Into the depths of his soul.
It made him seriously uneasy, but with the other passengers nearby he didn’t dare reveal his true self. He wasn’t sure if this was the entity that had been stalking him, it felt different somehow but perhaps they had been sent to test the water, to see how Lucien had developed over the years. To see the extent of his powers.
Lucien really hoped that whoever it was would get off at the next stop or even the one after and put his mind at rest that he had been wrong...but they didn’t. In fact, when the seat next to him became free, they actually had the audacity to sit down!
“I’m sorry,” a voice half-whispered.
Lucien ignored whoever it was for a moment or two until they coughed loudly and he felt a tap on his shoulder.
“Lucien?”
He turned his head quickly, stared at the young man staring at him. It took him a while to actually take it all in: the orange hair (Mohawk style); the tattoos, the piercings, the skinny jeans, the bovver boots.
“Do I know you?” Lucien asked, trying to keep his emotions under control. He was feeling claustrophobic, knew that people were looking at him, as if this was somehow his fault, that he was responsible...
...the punk put a hand on Lucien’s thigh, gave it a gentle squeeze.
“It’s me Lucien, it’s Henri.”
Lucien frowned. “Henri?”
“Yeah, Henri.” He nodded. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten me? I’ve changed haven’t I? I’m not surprised you don’t recognise me.” Such a well mannered voice for someone who looked...well, who looked so fucking rough.
Lucien turned back to the window. “No, I haven’t forgotten.” A tinge of melancholy to his voice. He stood up; the train was coming into Stalingrad station. He walked to the door, grabbed hold of the handle.
“Hey? Where do you think you’re going? Lucien? I wanted to talk to you!” the punk called.
Even if Lucien heard, he wasn’t listening, he flicked the handle and as the train slowed, the door opened and he jumped out. He pushed past the people on the platform, then down the stairs, he needed some fresh air and quickly. He felt stifled, felt hot, and felt for a moment that he was going to pass out. He wanted to scream and scream loud, he wanted to feast to cheer himself up but other than the large water rats which headed at breakneck speed towards the nearby canal (they knew he was there, that was why they moved so fast) there wasn’t anyone that caught his fancy and it wasn’t as if he could just grab someone and...
...he murmured an apology as he pushed past an old woman, spilling her shopping. He rushed through the turnstile, onto the street than ran parallel with the canal...
Everything was bright, loud. Alive.
Henri.
He wasn’t ready for this, he wasn’t ready for Henri. Not on his terms anyway.
That had thrown him.
Lucien raced along the road, under the bridge. There was a café. He fell into an empty chair. He took out a cigarette, lit it with shaking hands. He smiled at the waitress, ordered a Pastis then called her back, added a large whiskey. The thought crossed his mind again, was Henri the one who had been stalking him...no, that was a more powerful creature than poor pathetic Henri.
He put the cigarette to his lips, drew back hard.
“Lucien?”
He looked up.
“Why did you run from me Lucien? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost, what’s the matter with you? We used to be friends didn’t we?”
Henri pulled up a chair, sat down. He picked up the menu, opened it, his eyes scanned it, he dropped it back on the table.
A waiter appeared, gave Lucien his drinks, he glared at the punk. “We don’t want any trouble; I hope there’s not going to be any trouble? You want anything to eat or drink?”
“Goats blood and a baby’s liver for starters please.” Henri replied, but then realising that the waiter didn’t have a sense of humour he added. “An espresso will be fine.”
The waiter flicked his head, headed back inside, mumbling under his breath.
“What do you want from me?”
“That’s not a nice way to greet an old friend, especially after all these years...how long has it been?”
“We were never friends,” Lucien said as he took a sip from his whiskey.
Henri scowled. “I always thought we were...I know we had our disagreements but we’ve been through a lot you and I, especially when we were younger, when we were kids.”
“We haven’t been kids for a long time.”
“Yes, that’s true, damn true actually.” Henri watched as a young girl walked by, she smiled at him, he returned it. “Those days though, you know...wow. Intense hey?!” The waiter reappeared, slammed the espresso down with a bang, spilling most of it.
“You got a fucking problem?” Henri spat. The waiter stared at him for a moment before turning on his heels and went to serve another table. “What a cunt,” Henri added.
Nothing was said for a couple of minutes before Henri picked up the conversation again. “I’ve been thinking about you for a while now Lucien, it’s a real co-incidence that I’ve seen you today.”
“Really?” Lucien moved quickly from the whiskey to the Pastis.
“Indeed. I have a friend, she reads leaves. She read mine recently. Isabella. She is as hot as fuck. The things she can do with her body...wow!”
“Leaves?” Lucien scowled. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Sorry,” Henri laughed. “Tea leaves. She’s done my Tarot as well a couple of times, but I don’t really care for cards, I don’t think they’re random enough...it’s amazing how accurate she’s been with my leaves though...so much chaos, but so much truth, you know what I mean?”
Lucien shook his head. “Not particularly, no.”
“I knew it was you as soon as she started talking about butterflies. Are you still fixated with butterflies?”
Henri was still droning on about nonsense but Lucien blocked him out. His heart was racing; his hands were shaking, he put down the glass, petrified that he was going to drop it. He rested them, palms down, on his thighs, under the table, he didn’t want to show this prick that he was frightened, scared out of his wits.
“Yeah I guessed that would spook you. It did me as well at the beginning. It didn’t make much sense at the start but I guessed it was all in here somewhere. Locked away, it just needed a key. And boy, she is one helluva key.” He tapped his head to accentuate his point. “You know, the more I thought about it, well all roads lead to you my friend.”
“Stop calling me that, I’m not your friend,” Lucien muttered.
Henri ignored him. “I’ve seen you around a few times, on the Metro. I know you ride it quite a bit. Of course, I didn’t know exactly it was you, not at first, but then after the leaves...I put two and two together. I wasn’t one hundred percent sure but then when I sat next to you, I definitely knew...you have a very unique way of breathing.”
“Do I?”
It looked as if Henri was going to reach out and touch Lucien but he then stopped midway, thought better of it. “I’ve pissed you off, I’m sorry, that really wasn’t my intention...I’m getting this all fucked up. This is not really the conversation I wanted to have with you.”
Lucien tried to stay level-headed. “It’s a shock seeing you that’s all.”
Henri reached into his pocket, took out a few Euros, and threw them down on the table. “No, I’ve pissed you off. My apologies. I just thought it could be fun catching up after all this time. This was a mistake.” He stood up went to leave but then handed Lucien a small business card.
“There’s my address and number, if you want to talk, you know where I am.” He paused. “I think we do need to have a proper talk. There are some ghosts that you and I need to bury, that’s what Isabella says anyway.” He frowned, tapped his chin. “And do you know something else – odd though that this hasn’t shown up in the leaves - I’m sure someone is following me...I don’t know why anyone would want to do that, but I’m convinced they are. Oh well, until next time.”
With that he did walk away, he didn’t come back.
Lucien screwed the card up, dropped it in the ash-tray and set fire to it.
He already knew the address...
Interlude
Laughter.
There was laughter, but he wasn’t sure where it was coming from – was it real...his imagination? Was it one person or many...children? He thought it was children...voices he seemed to recognise...but no, that couldn’t be right...
...because of the denseness of the foliage, it appeared to be coming from all around him, no focal point.
He had no choice but to press on, whether that was the right thing to do or not, what was the alternative?
Something moved through the trees, some way in the distance, a dark shadow, an animal?
“Is that you old woman? Trying to creep up on me?”
There it was again, to his right, then in front, behind him, to his left. It moved at an amazing speed. Branches and leaves rustled. It couldn’t be the old woman.
He looked skywards – the canopy of this forest appeared alive, it seemed to breathe, such little light filtered through (because it forbade it?).
“He knows you are here,” a voice stated. “He is preparing himself for you.”
He spun around, no-one there but he was positive he could sense...he hit out at the nearest branch (more in frustration than anything else), but it sprung back and hit him in the face, scratching his cheek, tears welled – all this, it was bringing back too many memories, painful dark memories. He didn’t want to think about them, not at that moment, he needed to remain focused.
“Show yourself bitch,” he called.
He looked around for a weapon, fearing an attack but other than the branches...
...too late. The trees parted.
A girl was standing there in the clearing. She was incredibly attractive and incredibly naked too...her skin appeared to be as white as marble; her long hair was strawberry blonde with such deep deep green eyes. He could feel his penis rising however, much he fought against it.
She smiled as she held out her hand – if she noticed his erection she didn’t react to it.
“He has missed you...it has been far too long,” she stated. “He talks about you often, He is overjoyed that you have returned to him.”
He didn’t move, he was (yes, there was irony in this) rooted to the spot, his heart wanted to join her but his legs wouldn’t move. There was a voice inside his head which said it wouldn’t end well if he went with her.
Sensing his doubt, the girl turned her head to her right; she clapped her hands together but then put a finger to her lips, motioning for him to remain quiet. There was movement in the bushes, a child stepped forward. A boy, probably no more than seven,
eight, ten at a complete push.
He wore a blindfold; he hesitated as he came into the clearing, his hands out before him checking that all was safe. His footsteps careful, measured. His features sculptured in pure concentration.
“I’m over here,” she called. “Come, we can play a game.”
The boy stopped, looked about him.
“Over here,” she repeated. “I’ve been waiting for you, what took you so long?”
“I got lost in the woods,” the boy replied. “I was with the others...but I can’t find them anywhere.”
“I know where they are, I can take you to them.”
The boy smiled. “Yes, please.” He took several larger steps now, he stumbled and fell, gazed his knee but he didn’t cry out, he got up, dusted himself down and continued.
“That’s it, not far now, you’re almost there,” the girl said.
“Are we going to play a good game?” he asked.
“You’ll find out soon enough,” she replied. “That’s it…hold out your hand.”
The boy did as he was asked, only a few feet away now.
The girl licked her lips.
“Where are you?”
“Reach for me, yes, that’s it. Here I am...” The girl’s mouth opened slowly, two rows of razor sharp teeth exposed. Her eyes transformed from green to crimson. She stretched her arms, her hands, her fingers...more like talons, claws.
“...that’s it...touch me...” she purred as the boy reached for her, and when they made contact all hell broke loose.
She grabbed him, pulled him into her, he tried to fight, but he was too small, too weak compared to her. She jerked his arm, instantly ripping it from its socket. He tried to scream but she tore out his throat, his voice-box, she lifted him above her head and then in one very quick motion she brought him down across her thigh as she feel to her knees, breaking his back instantly.
“Would you like to try?” she asked as she bit into the boy’s neck, the blood was pouring, covered her body, and covered the ground.
He shook his head.
“Pity...so young, the flesh so tender...”