The Mark of Chaos

by Susan D. Kalior

“Maybe when I kick the shit out of him, you’ll be ready to get rid of that serpent.”

  I responded quietly, trying to salvage my sinking self-worth. I had to calm him. “Why are you so mad? You’re the one I want to be with.”

  He stepped back, freeing my arms. “Yeah, then prove it, tonight at my place. Give me what I’ve been wanting.”

  “All right.” I blushed and lowered my head, tears dripping.

  “Then why so fucking sad, Jenséa?”

  “You’re scaring me. I’ve never seen you like this. And you never used to curse around me, and you’ve never pushed me up against a wall before.”

  Although johnny had forced this altercation, I started to wonder if he was right about Ricky. And I was terribly disappointed.

  Ricky’s features were like stone. “You’re mine, and to prove it to you, I’m gonna take that guy down. You’ll give him back the serpent, and then we’ll make love.”

  “I don’t work that way, Ricky. I don’t want anyone to suffer. It hurts me. I couldn’t bear it if you fought johnny. Please. I’ll come with you now.”

  “There are only two reasons you don’t want me to fight him. Either you love him, or you think he’s tougher than me.”

  “It’s not either of those reasons!” I said, though I knew it was both. “The reason I don’t want you to fight is because I hate violence.”

  “She really does.” johnny’s voice.

  Ricky swung around. “How the fuck did you—”

  “—what?” johnny said, egging him on, “magically appear?”

  johnny stretched his bare fingers on one hand and curled them around his glove.

  Ricky strutted over to him with puffed chest and clenched fist. I rushed in front of him. “Please Ricky, no! I’ll go with you now, this instant. I’ll do whatever you want, I promise.”

  He glared at me. “Take off the fucking serpent and give it back to him.”

  “Okay.” I clasped the chain with both hands to slip it over my head. I would be the peacemaker. I was good at that.

  But . . . johnny wasn’t. “I am tougher than you,” johnny said. johnny wanted chaos. Loved it. Thrived on it.

  Ricky shoved me aside. I almost fell again.

  He was staring red-faced at johnny.

  I dashed up to johnny. “Please, johnny no. Don’t do it! Please!” He stared over my head to Ricky, and I was sure his orange eyes were red. johnny’s right hand cupped my left shoulder firmly. He pushed me gently sideways, until he and Ricky were face to face.

  “Oh, please don’t do this!” I shrank against the brick wall until I was sitting. “Please!” I started praying. I usually called for johnny in times like these, but he wasn’t listening. So I prayed hard to the Blessed Saints, finding comfort in so doing. johnny flung his head in my direction and drilled me with a stare of such importance, I felt like I’d committed the gravest sin.

  He stepped away from Ricky who eyed him hatefully. He squatted before me, our eyes locking. “All right.” He stroked his finger affectionately across my cheek. “It will be done your way.”

  I wiped away my tears. “Thank you.”

  Ricky vaulted at johnny, gripping his upper arms in an effort to pull him away from me. johnny never lost balance. He rose calmly and turned to Ricky. Ricky slugged him in the gut. johnny didn’t flinch. I think Ricky expected him to fall. Good thing he didn’t because he would have fallen on me. Ricky slugged him again. johnny stood there unaffected. He looked over his shoulder to me. “Okay?”

  I nodded.

  “Damn,” said Ricky, holding his hand, “what are you made of—steel?”

  “Let’s not fight today—” he jerked his head slightly toward me, “for her sake.”

  Ricky nodded. “Some other time then,” he said, clearly wanting to reevaluate his attack strategy.

  It’s funny how things work. I deemed johnny strong for standing down, and Ricky weak for his show of power. And johnny knew how I felt. I think Ricky did too.

  “You coming with me or what?” said Ricky.

  Knowing I’d have to sleep with Ricky if I went with him, and not really wanting to just now, I said, “Or what.”

  “Fuck you,” he said, storming off toward his big red truck.

  “Ricky, wait,” I jumped up to run after him.

  johnny caught my arm and held me back.

  I shouted to Ricky, “Let’s talk this out!”

  Ricky turned back toward me. “You’ve already fucking made your choice.” He got in his truck and slammed the door.

  Stunned, I murmured, “I was going to marry him.” I turned to johnny, stern faced. “You wrecked my relationship with him. You made him hate me.”

  “He hates you for the truth,” johnny said.

  “You had no right to interfere.”

  “For your safety—yes I did.”

  I glared at him, my pained eyes glossing with tears. I’d lost Ricky. And I loved johnny. I didn’t want to. Ricky was the only hope I had of breaking that spell. Now that hope was dead.

  Randa emerged from the house. “There you two are.”

  Dust flew up from Ricky’s truck as he drove away into the sunset.

  “Congratulations, johnny,” Randa said, “the best man won.”

  I wanted to say, Oh Randa, if only you knew johnny—really, even you would shrink with horror. But I was lucky I guess that Randa couldn’t read my mind, because she would have turned on johnny long ago, and perhaps have been killed, long, long ago.

  She thrust a drink in my hand, a clear tumbler of brown booze. “Drinker or not, I bet you could use this. It’s a double straight up, so go slow.”

  “I don’t understand your alcohol lingo,” I said, “but I don’t need to.” I took the drink, remembering how wine could knock me out. I wanted to be knocked out. I closed my eyes and put the glass to my mouth, drinking the elixir straight down, puckering at the acid flavor.

  The devilish liquid burned my throat and ears. Wine never had done that to me. I couldn’t breathe. I coughed and wheezed, leaning over.

  Randa patted me on the back. “Whoa girl, even I don’t drink that fast!”

  “So naive—,” johnny’s warm voice melted into me as he slipped his hand under my hair to the back of my neck, “—about so much.”

  A fluid warmth opened my throat. I could breathe again, but I felt like I was bobbing on an ocean.

  “Come inside, “Randa said, “it’s getting dark.”

  Dark. Night! I jerked my head up sloppily at johnny before I fell against him. I feared for the residents in my neighborhood. Ricky was gone. He probably never wanted to see me again, and I was stuck with a weredragon.

  Randa opened the door and johnny helped me inside over to the sofa. I slouched in an unlady-like fashion. My mind was revolving, or was I falling, or was I flying? Oh, why couldn’t I just pass out straight away. I probably would have, had I not panicked about johnny eating my neighbors.

  My deepest feelings slurred loudly out of my mouth, though I’d meant to keep them silent. “This isn’t happening. Oh Blessed Saints, I’m dreaming. This is all one long dream. I don’t want to be in Oz. I want to go home.” I struggled to sit up, nearly falling off the sofa. I tried to click my heels together. “There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home.”

  “She’s plastered,” Randa said, leaning back against the couch.

  I saw a flash of johnny’s face in front of me, then to the side of me, then it was in back of me? In back of me? The room was spinning. “Take me to my mother, Randa. She’ll love me.” I drawled. “Take me to my father, Randa. He’ll protect me.”

  “Come on,” said Randa, “you’re going to bed. johnny, can you carry her upstairs?”

  I thought I heard him say, I am a Dragon. I can carry her anywhere.

  But he wouldn’t say that out loud in front of Randa.

  I felt him lift me.

  I drawled, “I want my grandmother. I want to be little again. I
want to feel safe again.” I started thrashing in johnny’s arms. “Don’t leave me alone with him!”

  Randa said, “Your father’s carrying you.”

  I settled down. “Daddy?” I smelled the pipe smoke I’d remembered from ages ago. “Why have you been gone so long?” I smashed my palm against one eye. “I’ve needed you to protect me.” Then my arm weakened and fell to my side.

  I felt drained.

  I was carried into my white and blue bedroom. Through the slits in my eyes, I saw the low sun shining through the shimmering white drapes. The sun was going down, down, down. Who would die tonight? Mommy? Daddy? Me?

  I heard someone walk ahead of me. Mommy? Randa?

  I was lowered onto the white sheets of my bed. The covers were pulled over me. I glimpsed the sheer white canopy above me. I’d been sleeping in this bed since I was two years old. My grandma had it shipped from New York, so I’d feel more comfortable in her home. I could still remember mama tucking me in, her long blonde hair falling around my face, her endearing voice whispering in my ear with daddy’s French accent that she’d always adored.

  I was waiting for the words. Where were the words?

  “Say the words, Mommy, say the words.”

  “What words?” said a woman—Mommy?

  “You know the words, Mommy, Sweet dreams, ma chérie, sleeping beauty. You are safe in your magical fairy tale bed. One day your prince will come, and he will kiss you and you’ll live happily ever after.”

  “Your prince is here,” said the woman’s voice.

  johnny’s Dragon face burst into my mind. “No!” I writhed.

  All these years I’d been waiting, waiting for my prince to come. Corny . . . I know, but I believed in fairy tales—then. If only I had known that the prince I’d awaited was evil, I’d have shucked my line of thinking long ago. Reality hurts.

  johnny is a Tazmark. Mom, Dad, and Grandma are dead. And I’m a weak and frightened person. Grandma always taught me to believe in myself. But without her, I just couldn’t. Grandma could always make me feel better. “Oh Granny! Granny!” I curled on my side in a fetal position.

  “Go to sleep, Jenséa,” the woman’s voice said.

  “I can’t sleep until they all come back from heaven. I’ll wait forever. I don’t want the evil prince! I want my parents! I want my Grandma!”

  A warm hand touched my shoulder. Randa sniffled, her voice sad, “I’m here for you, Jenséa.”

  “I’ll stay with her awhile,” a male voice said.

  Daddy? johnny?

  “Take care of her,” said Randa.

  Footsteps. Sound of a door closing. A body crawled into bed next to me. A man’s body. An arm draped around me. Oh, I knew it was johnny, but I pretended it was my father.

  “Protect me.”

  “I will,” johnny said.

  And with those words, I fell asleep.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I awakened in the dark, head hurting, stomach flip flopping, the man . . . gone. johnny—gone. I gulped. I knew what he was doing. I shook my head to make the vision of his blood dripping dragon face disappear. It didn’t. Neither did my headache or my sick stomach. I leapt out of bed into the adjoining bathroom and threw up.

  When I was done, I looked at myself in the mirror and saw a wreck. I was trying so hard to be good. But the harder I tried, the worse I became. The mirror reflected my spacious blue and white bathroom. I felt too evil to enjoy its celestial aura. johnny’s black bathroom suited me more.

  johnny. I had to stop him from killing one of my neighbors. But how? No one could stop him, he’d once said. No one. But I had to try. Oh, not with my light. I wasn’t that stupid, nor did I want to hurt him. I had no solution, but maybe one would come.

  I decided to take a shower. Oh, you’d think that if I was truly on a ‘save the neighbor’ mission, I’d have skipped the shower and just dashed out the door after johnny, but what good would it do?

  So, I pinned up my hair to keep it dry, stripped out of my jogging suit, and hopped into the shower to wash away the frenzy and sweat of the ‘Ricky’ trauma. The water felt pleasant, but I washed quickly and forced myself to turn it off and dry my skin.

  Glimpsing myself in the mirror, I flashed on the memories of when I had shined Divine Light in New York. I had not done it since my return, but perhaps, if I went after johnny in an Angel state of mind, an Angel miracle would occur.

  I brushed my teeth, then slipped on my blue jeans, soft white sweater, white wool socks, and snow boots. Lastly, I put on my white hooded snow jacket. I pulled my soft white gloves out of the pockets and slipped them over my trembling hands.

  I crept downstairs, careful not to arouse Randa for I’d not be able to explain my actions. Randa would never believe the truth unless she witnessed johnny doing you know what with her own eyes, as I had. And I would by no means wish that on her because she’d never be the same. I’m not.

  I reached the bottom floor and grabbed a square, red flashlight from the mantel near the front door. Then I headed out into the cold winter night. My boots crunched snow. The yellow beam from my flashlight created a frosty ominous trail that bade me into an uncertain fate. Oh please, Blessed Saints, oh Angels that be—give me an idea.

  I journeyed into the woods, trudging up hills and down dales, looping in and out of residential lots, skirting around my neighbors, huffing, puffing, and shivering in the bitter cold. I hollered over and over, “johnny! johnny!” like I was calling my pet dog. He was supposed to come when I called. Where was he?

  Would he perform his heinous act indoors or out? The thought sickened me. Cold sweat beaded on my brow. I doubled over and dry heaved. I must think of rainbows, unicorns, and angels. Yes, I told myself with damp eyes. Divinity reigns. It must. Thinking of white horses, cotton candy, and merry go rounds, I pushed myself on, and on, and on.

  I had journeyed far from my home. The sky had thickened with gray cloud sheets, dimly lit by the full yellow moon trapped on the other side of humanity, failing miserably to illuminate the land.

  I was getting so cold. My hands and feet had numbed an hour ago. I took off my gloves and cupped my palms over my mouth, huffing briskly several times. The heat of my breath caused burning pain, but nothing like the sinister scorch that johnny hurled upon his victims. I replaced my gloves and moved on—stiffly, strained, and stricken with the sense that somebody’s life was in my hands. Or maybe it was too late. Maybe I was too late. Blessed Saints? Angels?

  That very thought took what little gusto I had, out of me. Hopelessness moved in and I could walk no more. I hunched to the ground, shivering violently. I cried. My wet cheeks made me colder. I couldn’t feel my face.

  I looked up to the heavens through a circle of pine trees. I could see no star to wish upon. The sky had hazed over with a low fog hiding the treetops. A thick damp mist rolled through the woods, befitting this real life horror movie. The vapor engulfed me in its mystical cage, blinding me, toying with my sense of direction. I rose and turned in place, shining my flashlight, trying to surmise the direction of my house. I couldn’t even see two feet in front of me. The opaque shroud ate my flashlight beam. Snow fell softly on my hooded head.

  I had intended to save someone’s life. Now it seemed, I might lose my own. If not my life, then at least my feet. Hypothermia was not a pleasant experience. If I could find a neighbor’s house, perhaps I’d be okay. But I didn’t know which way to go. If I made the wrong choice, I could wind up deeper in the woods.

  The moving mist created strange illusions, playing havoc with my mind. I was too disoriented to walk. I squatted, clicked off the flashlight, and set it by my feet. I hugged my knees, trying to get warm, and trying even harder to gather my wits. I didn’t have any. I didn’t have a drive to fight for life—only love. And I always lost, so what was the point?

  “Oh johnny,” I said half-hearted. “Why are you doing this to me?”

  Huge snowflakes amassed on my body. Snow mounds crept up around me. Time me
ant nothing, yet everything. I was getting colder, sleepier, quieter, thinking of johnny. He was supposed to appear in my time of need. Where was he?

  “I’m here, Jen.”

  I looked up. johnny’s dark face emerged through veils of pearly mist. He walked toward me, his long hair and black attire visible against the white powdery snow swirling about his omnipotent form.

  My heart sputtered. I strained myself to stand. My legs felt like cracking icicles.

  He stopped in front of me. I studied the dim features of his shadowy face, human and handsome, orange eyes almost glowing. I blurted, “What happened? Who did you kill? One of the Shotmans, Jensens, Thompsons?”

  He cupped my frozen face in his hot palms, melting the numbness, pleasantly overriding the pain that thawing required. My whole body warmed instantly, painlessly. How had he done that?

  Humor lined his smooth voice. “I don’t ask for names when I’m stalking.”

  “That sounds awful!” I stepped back abruptly. His hands broke from my face.

  “Relax Jen, I don’t answer the call of the self-abasing anymore. After you left me in New York, I couldn’t.”

  “Uhh!” I slammed my face into my hands, splaying my fingers over my eyes, thinking of the hundreds he’d killed. No. Thousands. Pushing my head down further, my gloved fingers rolled until they were bunched against my forehead. Soft whimpers masked my deep, silent sobbing. I couldn’t bear the truth. I couldn’t bear that I loved a serial killer, a super-mega-mass fire breathing, hedonistic, savage murderer!

  He took a step toward me, his voice gentle, “It’s not like that Jen. It’s not that bad.”

  Seized with a sudden rage, I flung my head up, hurling sharp words weighted with a mother’s punitive glare. “Who did you kill?”

  He rested his hands on my shoulders—a presumptuous thing to do considering how I felt. His deep calm voice echoed in my aching head, “A sinister being, I assure you. I’m doing you a favor, eliminating the kind you attract.”

  Thinking of Ricky, I swallowed a basketball size lump down my throat. My glare burned into him. “You didn’t . . . kill—”

  “No,” he cut me off and proceeded to speak casually, “my victim was far more malevolent. I was lucky I found him. In my neighborhood, the call for chaos is plentiful. Here, it is scarce. Anywhere else would have taken me from you, and we’ve been parted long enough.”