by Corey Brown
“Todd is in there,” T’biah says, pointing at the building.
“It’s the church,” Cody says, “The Crossing, right?”
T’biah nods. “You have to get Todd, I’ll help Derek.”
“Why? What’s happening with Derek? Where is he?”
“Not far away but he’s in a jam.”
“What kind of jam?”
A cell phone is ringing. Cody checks for his phone then remembers it’s being held in inventory back at the Fifth District PD. T’biah reaches into his coat pocket and hands over Cody’s phone, the neon blue display glowing in the darkness.
“It’s for you,” T’biah says.
“How…where did you get that?”
“Take the call.”
Cody flips the phone open, recognizes the number and says, “Derek, where are you?”
“Jesus, Cody, you won’t believe it.”
“What’s going on?”
Cody hears another voice, not Derek’s but someone close by. “Holy shit,” the man says. “Did you see how big that thing is?”
Now Derek: “Goddamnit, that thing’s gotta be thirty feet long.”
Cody hears metallic popping sounds, like something puncturing a tin can.
The other man: “Go! Go! We gotta get out of here.”
The connection breaks.
Cody stares at the phone, snaps it shut then looks at T'biah and says, “Snakes?”
T'biah nods. “Big snakes. Come on, I’ll get you to the door.”
Cody makes a face. “I can make it. Go help----” But Cody cuts himself short. There is movement along the ground. Something is coming closer, coming toward them. “Is that….?”
“Uh-huh.”
“What the hell is it with all these snakes?”
“Come on, T’biah says, “I’ll clear a path to the door.”
T’biah takes a first step. There is fit of hissing as his boot plunges into a six-inch deep writhing mass of snake flesh. Cody stares then recoils as a bolt of fright punches through his bowls. Within a few feet, there are not just hundreds but thousands of snakes. And not just indigenous ones, there is every kind of snake alive on earth squirming, writhing around him, encircling him. All of them seem to be fighting for the chance to strike.
Sensing Cody’s fear, T’biah puts a hand on his shoulder and says, “Don’t worry, just follow me.”
As T’biah takes a second step, as both feet sink ankle deep in serpents, there is a new sound. It is a mix of snake hiss and what sounds like steam, like meat landing on a hot grill. Cody watches the mass of bodies shrink away, like floodwater in rewind. The sibilant noise grows even more intense, even angrier, but they continue to retreat, the dirt and gravel path becoming visible ahead of T’biah.
“Come on,” T’biah says. “We need to hurry.”
“You sure?”
“As long as you stay close, you’ll be fine.”
Cody glances at the church, still unsure. “What about in there? You’ll be gone, what then?”
“They’re only here to keep people out, they won’t go in. You’ll have different problems inside but I know you can handle them.”
“Fabulous.”
The reptile throngs continue to melt away as the pair walks toward the church, the beasts are in retreat but they are not running. A searing, collective hiss seems to hang in the air. T’biah and Cody reach the church entrance. It’s a simple pine door with a discolored brass handle.
T’biah turns to face Cody, inclines his head and says, “Todd is in there. So is Malveaux. It may seem like Malveaux is alone, but he isn’t.”
Without looking away, Cody waves a hand at the carpet of snakes. “How do I get back through this shit once I have Todd?”
“You don’t, you won’t have to. But you can’t leave until you take out Malveaux.”
“What do you mean? I’m going for Todd and getting the hell out of here. Derek can deal with Malveaux or Murdock or whatever the hell his name is.”
T’biah shakes his head. “It won’t be that simple. Look I have to go, Derek needs me. Remember what Marion told you about weapons?”
“I remember,” Cody says. “But it doesn’t make any sense. I don’t understand.”
T’biah thumbs the latch and the door swings open. Soft yellow light splashes onto the patchy lawn, thousands of eyes gleam in the darkness. As if entranced, the array of snakes surrounding them falls silent, become almost stationary.
T’biah puts a hand on Cody’s shoulder and says, “When it’s time, you’ll understand.” Then T’biah pushes Cody through the door and slams it shut.
Having been shoved hard, Cody stumbles, almost falls flat on his face, catches himself then spins to see the door close. Almost as soon as the door latches, there is an explosion of activity outside and Cody cannot distinguish between hiss and slither. The sound of a thousand snakes on the move blends with a thousand angry rasps.
The reptilian sounds on the other side of the door reaches a crescendo and there are dozens of cracking, popping sounds, like marbles being thrown at the old pine door. Cody looks at the door and knows what is happening. He squints, stares at several small splinters marks. Six pairs of fangs have punctured the wooden door.
Without thinking, Cody pulls the black forty-caliber, semi-automatic from his waistband. For several moments he stiff-arms the gun, debating the value of yanking the door open and cutting loose. Debate leads to calculation and calculation requires in math: Ten bullets against ten thousand fucking snakes. Those are really bad odds.
Slowly, Cody looks around. What had seemed like incandescent light from the outside are really hundreds of burning candles. Some in clusters, most a single stick, they are scattered randomly throughout the small chapel, casting eerie, moving shadows on the walls and ceiling. A few are scented but Cody doesn’t try to figure out what they smell like.
The church is simple enough. So simple, in fact, it appears to be incomplete, maybe still under construction. It is, more or less, a one-room structure without plaster or drywall to finish the inside. There is no trim around the six windows or around either of the two doors and the backside of the unpainted cedar siding is visible between the wall studs. Rough sawn rafters form a low cathedral ceiling.
The building is small, forty by twenty feet at best, and most of that is sanctuary. At the front of the sanctum is a simple altar, a faded purple cloth banner bearing a flannel white cross hangs over a baptismal tub. A plain oak lectern stands to one side, an old pump organ on the opposing wall.
Cody looks again. Now he can see the reason for the candles: no electricity. There are no overhead lights, no wall outlets, no switches, there is no wiring strung through the walls.
Although no longer aiming, Cody is still holding his gun. Elbows bent, muscles tense but no longer straight-armed, Cody keeps both hands on the rubber grip of the forty-caliber. He rests his index finger lightly on the trigger safety.
Cody takes a step, the uneven wood floor creaks beneath his weight. The sound draws his attention to the silence. There is a tomb-like quiet inside and out. Cody frowns. What happened to the snakes?
Now something else gets Cody’s attention. It is really hot in here. A thick, oppressive heat floats like a fog throughout the room. A rivulet of sweat escapes Cody’s right armpit and trickles down between his shirt and ribcage. He looks sideways, looks again at the front of the sanctuary, at the cloth cross, at the lectern. Cody looks hard at the baptismal tub.
In the semi-darkness, he sees something. Is that a head? Is someone in the tub? Cody starts to call out then waits, his cop instinct kicking in. He reconsiders, evaluates what he sees.
“Todd?” Cody says, surprised at how he ignored, or maybe followed, his own instincts.
A moment. No reply. Silence.
Somehow, Cody knows, he is sure. He tries again.
“Todd, it’s me, Cody. I’m here for you.”
A heartbeat, seconds stretch into what seems like hours.
“Dad?” Todd’s voi
ce is thin, airless.
Cody catches his breath, hesitates a moment longer then quickly starts toward the front of the sanctuary. He is five yards, just fifteen feet short of the baptismal tub when someone else speaks.
“Y’all might not be doin’ that, no.”
The voice was thick and rusty and deeply Cajun, the words stretching out.
Cody pulls up short, stops. Without looking he knows it is Malveaux.
“Good for you, Briggs.” Now the voice is younger, cleaner and definitely not Cajun. “Let’s talk.”
Cody turns. At the back of the church, near the door to what Cody assumes to be the rectory, is a tall, bulky figure. It is Robert Murdock. The gray suit, the square physique, everything is the same as when Cody met Murdock at Russell Laroche’s office door. But Cody has no doubt that this man is really Remy Malveaux.
In his mind’s eye, Cody sees Robert Murdock, wanting to shake hands, asking if Cody was Captain Laroche. He remembers jabbing his thumb over his shoulder, remembers saying, ‘That’s Laroche.’ A death sentence, Cody thinks. I sentenced Russell to death.
“Very good,” Murdock says, an oily smile on his face. “Now you know what you did. I would have removed him thirty years ago if I could have, if I’d known what was coming.”
There are several intersecting thoughts in Cody’s head, starting with, ‘how can he read my mind?’ Followed by, ‘ignore him, ignore the fact he can hear your thoughts.’ Culminating with ‘fuck you, asshole.’
“Oh, now that’s original,” Murdock says, making a face. “Fuck you? What is that? How juvenile, like a teenager.”
Again, Cody wants to speak but he waits, holds back. In the moment of pause, Cody extracts a memory.
“Like a teenager?” Cody says. “A teenager, like Celine? Oh wait, no she wouldn’t say fuck you, asshole. I forgot, Celine was a good, Christian girl. She never would have said anything like that. But more importantly, Celine couldn’t have come up with that because you raped and murdered her then tried to steal her baby. So, from me and Celine to you, fuck you asshole.”
Malveaux’s smile washes away, replaced with a look that is both icy and surprised. Before he can speak Cody says, “That’s right, I know all about your little gang. I know about Henri Savoy and the other captains. I know about your deal with Calí, I know how you did the nasty with her so you could pass on the poisoned seed to your own daughter. You really are a worthless piece of shit.”
“You think you’re pretty clever, don’t you?” Murdock says.
For reasons he cannot quite identify, Cody raises the black Smith and Wesson, squeezes the trigger and breaks off a round. The hollow point bullet splits the wall next to Malveaux’s head, leaving a softball-sized hole in the cedar siding.
Cody starts to say something like, that’s what is going to happen to your head, but he does not. Cody realizes that Malveaux never flinched. A forty-caliber bullet blew a hole in the wall not twelve inches from his face and Malveaux never moved a muscle. At the same time Cody is thinking about that, he hears a soft hiss from somewhere near Todd. Cody whirls around to see a second head slowly rising up from the baptismal tub. The head is held at a right angle to its long, thick neck.
It is a cottonmouth.
The snake lifts itself over Todd, hovers there. Its yellow eyes bore into Cody then they widen as if in recognition. Cody knows, he can hear what the cottonmouth is thinking, he knows what it is about to do. But as he brings up his Smith and Wesson to fire, the snake’s jaws distend, fangs unfolding, the brilliant white of its mouth seems to glow in the candlelight and it swallows Todd to the shoulders. The razor sharp fangs are poised at the base of Todd’s throat, ready to sever his head.
“No!” Cody screams. But he is helpless. Only a shot to the serpent’s head will kill it. But that will end Todd’s life, too.
“Do not hurt the boy,” Murdock says, his voice calm, controlled.
Murdock’s words cause a moment when everything seems to stop. And not just living things, everything stops: wind, waves, gas pumps, dishwashers, sunlight, orthopedic surgeries, tennis games, all of it. Cody has experienced one such moment already. He lived this same moment the second after he made the decision to execute the Skulls and the second before he squeezed the trigger. This is a span of time that seems both interminable and like a hypersonic rollercoaster ride.
The everlasting split second of time stretches, draws out longer still then is stopped by Cody’s own thoughts.
“Insurance,” Murdock says.
Cody looks away from the cottonmouth, looks away from his half swallowed son and stares at Murdock.
“What?” Cody says.
“You were wondering why I took your son.” Murdock shrugs. “Can I help it if Lucas is an idiot? Who uses their own kid as a drug mule? But he did, Lucas decided his own thirteen-year old son was the best choice for moving his shit and now the kid is my insurance policy.” Murdock put his hand to his chest then says, “Not my fault, I didn’t bring Todd into it. But here’s the deal, if you want Todd alive, keep your mouth shut.” Murdock shakes his head. “No, there’s more to it, you derail the FBI’s case, tank the whole thing. But if Simmons moves against me, poor little Todd finds his head in the serpent’s belly.”
Murdock looks at the cottonmouth and says, “Give the boy some air.”
The snake flexes its jaw muscles, but does not otherwise move.
“It’s all right,” Murdock says. “You still need to keep him.”
The cottonmouth seems to nod. Then, slowly, the snake removes Todd’s head from its mouth. With a hacking cough, Todd expels what little breath he had then sucks in fresh air, gasps for it. His face is slimy, dripping with snake spit. The cottonmouth’s head is inches from Todd’s face and its tongue comes out to lick at a single, red mark running up his throat where a fang abraded the skin.
“Dad?” Todd says, wheezing, crying.
Cody holds out his hand, his own eyes are starting to tear up. “It’s----” Cody’s voice catches, he swallows, tries again. “It’s okay, Todd. I’ll get you out of this, I promise.” Cody looks at Murdock and says, “I can’t stop Derek’s investigation, it’s too big, there are too many people involved.”
“If you want to keep Todd alive, you’ll figure something out.”
“Even if I could stop him, someone else will pick up the investigation and I won’t even know about it. What then? Am I supposed to protect you from every federal op?”
Murdock walks toward Cody, shaking his head, his left hand waves dismissively. “Please, Detective Briggs,” he says, “I’m a reasonable man, I understand you can’t know or control everything.” Murdock abruptly stops walking. He hesitates and there is a look of revelation in his eyes as if he’d just thought of something. “But,” he says, slowly still working out his thought. “If you worked for me, your connection with the FBI might be good for both of us.”
Cody shakes his head. “No way,” he says, sweeping his hand. “But then he stops short, working out his own thought. “If I agree to work for you, then you release Todd? Right now?”
“Oh, sure,” Murdock says, “I cut the boy loose then you change your mind, then you fuck me. I’m not a fool, detective. When you’ve paid your debt, then I’ll set your son free.”
“That could take years. You can’t keep him like this.”
“Dad,” Todd says, his voice has an edge of panic. “Don’t leave me with her, I want to go home. I want mom.”
Cody cringes at the fear in Todd’s voice. Cody’s forty-caliber hangs uselessly at his side, he is not sure if Murdock is armed but either way the snake’s head is too close to Todd, he cannot risk taking a shot. Or, more likely, he would have to empty the whole goddamned clip to kill the thing.
“I won’t leave without you,” Cody says, “I promise.”
“I can’t breathe when she puts her mouth on mine, it scares me.”
Cody stares at Todd, the cottonmouth is gently caressing his face. The beast seems to sneer at
Cody.
“What do mean?” Cody says. “When who puts their mouth on yours?”
“The woman holding me down. Don’t you see her? She…she kissed me and I couldn’t breathe.”
“Enough,” Murdock says. “So, how about it, Briggs, do we have a deal?”
Cody ignores Murdock. He is still trying to understand what Todd means. She kissed him? Who kissed him, the goddamned snake? Then a thought occurs to him and Cody braces himself, leans forward into a slide, but as the distant sound of rushing wind grows louder Cody holds back, letting only his head and shoulders complete the slide.
In his half slide Cody sees what Todd is talking about. The serpent is not a cottonmouth at all, but is the ugliest woman Cody has ever seen in his life. Her pallid flesh hangs from her bones like Spanish Moss. Her crooked, twig-like fingers hold and caress Todd. Strands of matted, thinning, gray hair hang down to her boney shoulders. She is naked, at least on top, and Cody cannot believe how utterly repulsive her breasts are.
Calí’s mucus yellow eyes are fixed on Cody as she brushes her sunken cheek against Todd and a subtle smile forms on her wormy lips.
“What is this?” Murdock says, sounding worried. “How can he do that?”
Cody turns his head to look at Murdock, who is also looking at Calí. In fact, she is the one Murdock is addressing. Now, Cody sees the real Murdock once known as Remy-The Bull- Malveaux. In the physical world Murdock is a healthy middle-aged man but here, in this world, Malveaux is old, perhaps ninety or even a hundred years old. He, too, is not much more than a bag of bones.
“Calí?” Malveaux says. “Is this a problem?”
Cody realizes he cannot get to Todd in the normal world. He has to complete the slide. As he moves further into it, as the whining jet-engine sound grows louder, Calí answers Malveaux. What Remy hears is a soothing, almost melodic response.