The Dampness Of Mourning

by Lee Thompson

  David tugged on my hand and pointed at me.

  I said, “I didn’t kill her.”

  He nodded and his brother garbled more, his eyes wet and bright in the gathering darkness. I heard my father’s voice, felt his hand on the back of my neck, like when I’d been a boy and he’d told me that he hoped I had a bright future but he doubted it because I destroyed everything I loved.

  I rubbed my head, suspecting that this is what they wanted, to break me and Mike, to drive us into the oblivion of our own shattered minds. I remembered bits and pieces of Proserpine’s promises, her mystery and the way the darkness battled the light inside her and it had almost made her human. I felt April’s breath on my neck, her breasts in my hands, and the warm summer sun before I’d learned she was acting, and no one had noticed, no one had said anything, they just smiled at us, maybe happy for me because I was one of their own, and for her son because he was quiet and cute and he smiled at everyone.

  Kim stepped from the pond, her feet squishing on the muddy bank, the willow’s tendrils catching her shoulders and then sliding free as she moved forward. Her eyes shone like onyx fixtures and her lips were ruby red and twisted in a grimace as if she knew they were stained with the blood of all the children she’d worked to protect throughout the years.

  She approached me, slowly opening her mouth as the wind rose, and the veins stuck out on her neck, in her forehead, as she screamed and laughed and cried, driven insane by death and this semblance of life. They were all mute and it made my heart ache. Two alive, two dead, but no one could say what the whole point was. I wrapped my arms around Kim and she trembled, her shirt wetting mine, and as if David thought it was the right thing to do, he wrapped his arms around his dead brother’s legs and we all listened to the wind.

  ELEVEN

  Wylie had called the state police and told them he and a deputy would be assisting in the search for Doug. McCoy and the others seemed relieved until they met up on Cold Run Road and he watched Mike get out of the Jaguar. Mike pulled his rifle from the trunk while Wylie approached McCoy and asked, “Have your boys been down by the falls?” Mike heard the state boy say they’d searched everywhere, and everyone was exhausted, and he’d just sent three men home because they were soaked to the core and barely able to keep their eyes open.

  Mike said, “You’ve been out here the whole time?”

  McCoy nodded.

  “We can fill in for you. Go get some rest.”

  McCoy frowned and said, “I’m not resting until we find Doug.”

  Wylie said, “Best friends?”

  “No,” McCoy said. “But he’s a good man.”

  Mike thought there was more to it, and there was; we just didn’t learn it until later.

  Wylie held his shotgun in the crook of his arm, looking like some redneck who lived to hunt. But even though he’d grown up logging and loved the woods, he was never a fan of killing things for sport, nor did he enjoy the gamey taste of venison or rabbit or coon. He glanced back at Mike with a reckless look in his eye, as if replaying in some deeper cavern of his mind the moment he’d blown Pat Andrews apart in front of his house.

  Mike said, “We better get moving while we have sunlight.”

  McCoy said, “Good luck,” and turned away, his steps slow and heavy as he made his way back to his cruiser.

  Wylie said, “He’s nice.”

  “One day you’re going to learn that making jokes only hides what you’re running from.”

  Wylie smiled and shrugged.

  Mike pointed to the trail that led southwest. If he were a lesser man, a more numb one, he’d have ignored the hitch in his chest, but he trusted his instincts. He said, “No talking.”

  He scanned the trees, feeling as if someone was watching them now, but saw nothing but woods and foliage, the darker patches heavy with mystery, and it reminded him of a time in the jungle when he’d faced a monster like Proserpine, when he’d offered help to a strange young girl in the graveyard, her fingers swift and precise while collecting grave nectar.

  Wylie moved easily, at home again, but he didn’t know how to keep his mouth shut sometimes. He said, “You ever wonder why none of us got married?”

  Mike said, “Shut up.”

  “Seriously. Me and Tiffany could have done it but Pat ruined that. John and Catherine could have but…and you…”

  Mike stopped and said, “Tiffany didn’t love you, man. Not like you loved her. And she was Pat’s wife, no matter what you tell yourself.”

  He watched him struggle with the truth, had seen him do it for months, Mike knowing how hard it was, how it ate away at you even as it set you free. But Wylie was still holding on, maybe because of all the heart and energy he’d invested into the sheriff’s wife, or maybe because he just didn’t know how to handle being used by someone he’d cared about.

  Wylie said, “Bullshit. She turned to me.”

  “Because she didn’t have anyone else. You made her feel special, but that’s not love. That’s desperation and need and insecurity.” He said, “And what about me?” as he scanned the forest, hoping he could see or smell Nutley and the others if they closed in.

  “Are you gay?”

  “What?”

  “Gay. As in homosexual. You have all the fucking money in the world, you’re a good-looking guy who has done all kinds of shit, but when have you had a serious relationship,” Wylie said. “You know, with a woman?”

  “I’ve had several,” Mike said. “But they were tedious.”

  Wylie cocked his head. “So, what, you never get lonely? Never even get horny enough to go chase tail? Sometimes I think you isolate yourself too much.”

  “Listen to me, seriously. Okay?”

  Wylie nodded.

  “I’m not gay, I like women. But I don’t trust them. And no, I don’t get lonely. The only times I ever felt it was after a breakup. Which there have been a few of, and you’d have known about them if you’d kept in contact when I moved away. Now shut the fuck up and stay alert.”

  “I’m sorry. We weren’t exactly best friends.”

  “No,” Mike said. “But we were friends.”

  He turned and something slammed into his chest and he stumbled back to lessen the pressure against his sternum while he used the barrel of the rifle to knock away what felt like a stick poking him over the heart. Wylie screamed something and his shotgun roared and drowned his voice with thunder. Ravens gathered in the trees and blood filled Mike’s vision. Everything grew red around the edges, and he hated that feeling, though there’d been times it’d saved his life. He hit the ground and rolled, holding the rifle to his chest until he came up on one knee and jammed the butt against his shoulder and traced something dark with long hair ripping through the forest. He held his fire, watching and listening, wanting to see how bad the wound to his chest was, even though he knew he could be bleeding to death and it was scary as hell sometimes to look, but he did and saw the burn. It spread like a flame across paper. Mike ripped his shirt off and threw it as black fire enveloped it until only a dark patch of nothing remained on the ground. The wound that One of Three of Seven had given him months ago, and that had never healed, wept a coldness that chilled the forest, and flowers closed upon themselves as if winter had suddenly broached their tranquility.

  Wylie moved to his side. He grimaced, said, “Jesus. I never saw that before,” pointing at Mike’s shoulder and the wound that ran so deep it had nicked his soul. It resembled a black hole in space, but darker when compared to the surrounding flesh. Wylie glanced back up and looked around. He said, “What the hell was that?”

  Mike stood and shivered. He watched the trees and darker patches crouching beneath shrubs and overgrown thickets. He said, “What did you see?”

  Wylie frowned, gaze scanning left and right. “I don’t have a clue. I just saw something out of the corner of my eye and saw you get knocked back. I shot at it but I don’t think I hit it.” Wylie’s jaw hardened. He said, “I think it was a woman.”
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  Mike pointed to what used to be his shirt. “Nutley’s women, I bet. They tried to pull shit like this when I dropped Lucas and John shot the preacher.”

  “I don’t think we should be out here.”

  Mike said to the forest, “What do you want from us?” Tempted to ask what side they were on, but that was pointless because real life beyond humans didn’t have sides, only patterns and passages that we’d lost in our ever-consuming hunt for power or peace.

  Wylie said, “I’m scared shitless.” He tried to smile and failed. “Just thought you should know that.”

  “You can turn back if you want but I’m going to the falls.”

  “Goddamnit. Look what happened to your shirt. That could have been your skin. More scars, maybe death.”

  Mike watched and listened for a moment, senses peaked, and he forced himself to relax so that he could act quickly if needed. His shoulder ached. His heart too. There was still so much he didn’t understand about the nature of our adversaries. His mind raced over situations where he should have become dust, but he hadn’t, for some reason. It intrigued and terrified him.

  Wylie said, “Well?”

  Mike said, “I don’t know that I can die, man.”

  He turned and walked deeper into the forest, hoping that Nutley and the others were waiting so he could test a theory that had first manifested when he’d met the girl who collected grave nectar.

  * * *

  It’s been so long, Red thought. Why now?

  Pig had been his best friend when they were twelve, an imaginary one who somehow became real. He had always carried a part of Red’s heart around until Pig had betrayed him the summer they both found the albino girl trapped in a cage.

  Red shuffled into the living room and Pig followed, still the boy he’d always been, sliding his hands in his pockets as he said, “Does seeing me surprise you?”

  Red shook his head. “Not much surprises me anymore. But I do wonder what you’re up to.”

  Pig smiled, said, “All these years…” then frowned. “I’ve been searching for you all these years.”

  “Why? To what end? So you could tell me that you’d do things differently if you could? That you would have chosen me over Leonora? You wouldn’t have. If you could go back and make the choice again, it’d be the same one, same as anyone else.”

  “I’m sorry, Red. For all the time we’ve lost, for how deeply I’ve hurt you.” Pig shrugged. “I…”

  “Forget it. It’s all old news.”

  “Not to me. It’s the ache that has never ended. My own personal hell. Now this…”

  “This what?”

  Pig looked up. He sighed, clasped his thick fingers together. “There’s no escaping this, Red. Boom Stick is here.”

  “I really want to say that I don’t believe that.”

  “But you know better.” Pig smiled again. “And it scares the hell out of you, doesn’t it? You haven’t seen him since you were a little older than I am now. You weren’t even a man yet, and then—”

  “Amy…” Red’s eyes misted. He’d been so young and so in love, and as much as hated to admit it, he’d never known that intensity or purity again. Time and bitterness and guilt had stripped away any chance of such a connection with a woman. And he didn’t want it anyway.

  Pig said, “You can help them defeat him. It won’t change what happened so many years ago, but what could it hurt?” Pig glanced at the window and beams of sunlight illuminating dust motes near the bookcase. He said, “Do you think Amy is still around, her ghost watching you? Or do you believe she’s long gone, just dust? Or in heaven?”

  “I don’t want to think about any of that.”

  “Because it hurts,” Pig said. “I know. I’ve had decades to think, to do nothing but think and search.”

  “And here you are and what you’re telling me is nothing new. I can’t say that I trust you or any of your kind.”

  “My kind?”

  “You know. Traitors.”

  “I was young and stupid, Red. And if you had to choose between me and Amy, who would you have chosen? Wasn’t her spell just as binding, just as magical as Leonora’s?”

  Red nodded slightly.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t want to see you tormenting yourself anymore. You’ve done enough of that, don’t you think? If anything destroys good people, it’s guilt.”

  “Maybe.”

  Pig tilted his head. He looked like a boy but his eyes were so goddamn old Red wanted to hold him, knit him a grave blanket, read to him. Pig said, “Do you know why your nephew and his friend are so special?”

  Red looked at his hands. “I have no idea. I’ve been trying to figure it all out but as you know, the lines are blurry. The world within this world is filled with gray.”

  Pig said, “From what I’ve seen, all worlds are filled with gray.”

  Red wanted to ask him, But isn’t there color too? Isn’t there still the magic we knew as children? Before the jealousy, before the darkness?

  Pig said, “I can help you now that I’m here.”

  Red’s mind grasped at fonder times, happier memories, but he didn’t trust them. He shook his head, said, “We’ll be fine without your help.”

  Pig frowned. He looked like he wanted to cry and Red couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen him that vulnerable.

  “Please, just go away.”

  Pig looked up. “You know I can’t do that. I’m yours. We’ll help John win. We can change fate if we fight hard enough.”

  Red’s back stiffened. “What do you know of John’s fate?”

  “More than enough. Some fates are so bleak and burn so dark they’re written in the heavens for all to see. Look at what the sisters left you on the end table, Red. Be brave.”

  TWELVE

  We parked in the CPS parking lot next to my Jeep. I was tempted to call Mike and check up on him, but figured it could wait, before I remembered the only phone he possessed was the one his parents had bought near the end of the World War II. I shook my head. I’d never been interested in technology, but Mike was one up on me when it came to being behind the times. Yet part of me admired how self-sufficient he was, how he didn’t need to fill his life with noise or flashy images to numb or hide or give his life more sensory input. He’d never starved for that. Since he was a kid he’d been a searcher, and we’d talked about so many things that I had never even come close to with anyone else.

  I hope you’re safe, I thought, realizing again how hard it’d been when he’d left Division and secretly joined the Army, and afterwards, when he didn’t come back, but had acted in those cheesy shows, sharpening some part of himself for reasons known only to him.

  Kim shifted in the driver’s seat, her gaze on the parking lot and the few people moving slowly along the sidewalk as if the air had grown so thick they had to struggle toward their destinations. I wanted to tell her, They’re all barely alive, do you ever feel that? Do you know how lucky you are that you’ve made good choices, that with every aching breath, there’s at least as many easy ones, because what you do matters?

  I wanted to tell her that death stood close by and to enjoy every moment she had.

  Kim said, “Do you ever think about what happened a few months ago? Is that where all of your angst comes from? Or is it just because your girlfriend killed herself and her kid?”

  “Are you always so blunt?”

  “No,” she said and laughed. “But it’s been bugging me. What motivates you, all of that.”

  I took a moment to gather my thoughts, but they were incomplete, or maybe I didn’t want to face them at the time, or maybe I just thought it was none of her goddamn business.

  I said, “I don’t remember much of what happened back then, and what I do remember is surreal, as if I was dreaming.”

  “Tell me what you think happened.”

  “You read the papers.”

  “Yes, but there was a lot more to it, wasn’t there? Not just some guy who killed Doug’s da
ughter and some other girls because he was trying to make the sheriff come clean, or at least get a handle on his sickness.”

  I wondered if she wanted to talk about Duncan, if that was where she was steering the conversation.

  I said, “Why do you want to know? Car wreck syndrome?”

  “More than that. If you understand something you can deal with it, you know? Maybe it will help you.”

  “Maybe not. Remembering isn’t always good. We have to know when to stop analyzing and let things go.”

  “How did your friend end up stabbing you in the chest?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, skin tingling, because I’d never been as close to death as that moment, and what made it worse, what really jarred me was that it was at the hand of someone I loved. But Mike hadn’t known what he was doing, both of us caught up in our visions, lessons taught by fallen angels or games they played. I still wasn’t certain. Mike had never said either way and part of me believed he was only waiting for me to bring it up because though he was straightforward, he gave people their time to gather themselves to face the darkness even if he was already waist deep in it.

  Kim said, “I’m so tempted to call Doug’s phone. I’ve had to stop myself several times this morning.”

  “Afraid someone else will answer or it’ll just go on ringing forever?”

  “Both,” she said. She fingered a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You’ve had a hard last year.”

  “Who hasn’t?”

  “Someone, I’m sure,” she said. “My life isn’t exciting, but at least I feel like what I do matters. I never understood how people can go through the motions.”

  “I hear you.” Though I’d done that for most of my life. Even when I was writing, tasting a small amount of success, dreaming big dreams and yet afraid of them, I’d spent way too much time going through the motions, lying to myself, disgusted with the way liars and cheats seemed to get ahead. And I was restless, the way a lot of small town kids are, imagining what else was out there in the world, what waited beyond what little I’d experienced.