The Dampness Of Mourning

by Lee Thompson

  Mike stared at the necklace and I hoped he’d say, No, it’s me. I’ll bear the burden, but he didn’t. He just stared until Wylie said, “What will the necklace do?”

  The sisters grinned. “It’ll help us win.”

  Wylie said, “Winning’s good.”

  Mike said, “John, take the necklace. We’ll move at first light.”

  PART 3: DEATH

  TWENTY-ONE

  I dreamt of Proserpine goading a young Boom Stick…

  We spend a lot of time driving nowhere, she says that’s the point, but I don’t get it at all. Up ahead, near the shoulder of the road, dim headlights cut through the night and a shadowy form flickers as it passes close to the driver’s door. Proserpine says, “Show me what you can do with that knife.”

  I shake my head. I don’t hurt people who don’t deserve it.

  She says, “Everyone deserves it, though, don’t they?”

  I shake my head again, say, “Not really. I’ve met plenty of good people.”

  She laughs and makes me feel small and stupid. I still don’t know where she’s from or where she’s going, but I do know that I love her, and part of me fights against that because I know, fucking know, it can’t be real—just chemicals going funky in my brain, her deft fingers playing melodies on my heart strings.

  She says, “Pull over.”

  We’re so near and my foot comes off the accelerator, taps the brake, but barely applies any pressure. I say, “I can’t,” looking past her and seeing an old man. His face is pale and dabbed with grease, probably changing a tire, or attempting to but angry with himself for letting the strength he once had slip away. I think, I’ve let my focus slip away.

  I want to hear Sonnelion’s voice. But as of late she’s silent.

  The passenger seat is empty. I glance in the mirror and see Proserpine there, next to the bent old man, and at first I think she’s hurt him. But he straightens and points and gestures toward the vehicle. I pull to the shoulder, take a deep breath, wait for her to return.

  I sit there five minutes, watching the rearview, and she never even looks over her shoulder to acknowledge me. The knife is heavy in my hand. This isn’t the way to go about it, I think. This will make me someone else.

  Faces flash through my head. Dead. Decaying. Their supremacy drained.

  She’s trouble. She’s drawn me away from Sonnelion. At some point I’m going to pay for that, whether I feel she’s worth it or not.

  It’s not, I think, glancing at the knife.

  She taps on the window and I jump and prick my finger. Blood blossoms, black in the instrument panel’s light. She says, “Are you going to help them?”

  “Them?”

  “Hank Garrett and his wife. Flat tire. Old man, old woman. Helpless.” She winks. “Help them and I’ll make it worth your while.”

  “How?”

  “I’ll give you some truth, some sweet and bitter truth.”

  I like truth. I glance at her breasts, her lips, want to tear into her with my teeth and taste her, and she holds my eyes and she knows how I feel. She flashes her tits, pinches the right nipple, says, “Fuck me when you’re done. But be brutal. I want you to show me your best.”

  I don’t know if she’s saying she wants my brutal best when I’m fucking her or if she wants me to display it with the older couple who have no idea what might happen in the next few minutes. A hard-on is straining my pants. I want to glance in the rearview and see where the old man is but I can’t take my eyes from Proserpine. I never thought I’d feel like this. I never thought I’d do something like this for anyone other than myself or Sonnelion.

  I open the door.

  She giggles, then goes quiet and moves toward the passenger door as I make my way up the road with the knife held underhanded, the back of the blade tight against my forearm.

  The man doesn’t notice me until I’m almost on him. He has a four-way on the lug nuts, arms straining to break them free. He’s panting, and that gets my heart jumping, brings back a lot of memories both good and bad because it’s one of those sounds. I whisper, “I won’t get any pleasure out of this…” and he looks up. I slash the blade across his forehead and his skin splits, blood raining down over his eyes and open mouth. He’s about to scream and though there’s no one out here to hear him, I don’t want him to say a word.

  I jam the knife up beneath his chin, feel the thud as the tip pierces the roof of his mouth and locks his jaw shut. I backhand him. I hurt for him, so close to saying I’m sorry, you don’t deserve none of this. You’ve lived a lifetime full of pain, but Jesus Christ, she’s got me turned all inside out and upside down.

  And Proserpine is near me. I can smell her. She shoves me forward. I slam my fist into the side of the old man’s head and my hand comes away bloody. He blinks and attempts to pull the knife free but a muffled cry escapes between his teeth and he slaps a wet hand against the car.

  Shit, I think. He’s trying to warn his wife.

  I forgot about her. I open the driver’s door and climb inside with her. She looks confused and then sees the blood on me. I backhand her. Her teeth cut my hand. Her head bounces off the seat rest.

  I whisper, Don’t fight back.

  Then hit her again.

  Her eyes roll up in her head.

  I drag her from the car and out into the road. I lay on top of her and at first she lays there quietly, then she squirms so I head-butt her. Her husband crawls toward us, bleeding like all hell, but determined to stop me from hurting his woman. God, I think, I like you, old man. Then I rip her lips free with my teeth, my mouth filled with heat, and she is an ugly mess as I sit on her stomach and chew.

  Proserpine smirks.

  Mrs. Garrett is growing grayer by the second.

  I stand. I kick until ribs are broken and she’s wheezing, trying to take short breaths but not getting enough air because panic has a hold of her and she’s in so much pain.

  Hank is nearly to my ankles, like some wounded little dog, and I stomp on his hands, hear the bones give beneath my boot and pop like snapped branches. He rolls on his back instinctively and holds his fingers to his chest.

  Proserpine says nothing. She only watches, motionless, and I can’t tell if what I’m doing is enough for her.

  I don’t want them to suffer anymore.

  I walk back to my truck and turn it around and pull it over to them. Finally she says, “What are you doing?” as if she thinks I’m going to load them in the box and lay rubber to the nearest hospital.

  I shake my head. I drag the man first. Then I move his wife. I put the truck in gear and feel the resistance of their heads against the front tires as if I’m about to climb a curb. I’m frowning and can’t stop. I give it a little gas, thinking the sooner this is over the better.

  The front of the truck inclines for a second, as if I’m starting to climb a hill and then it drops and the shocks bounce and I’m gripping the wheel way too tight. I can’t move. I don’t want to see their bodies, their faces smeared along the road and my tires. I think, Forgive me. And I’m about to pray and plead with Sonnelion to intervene, to help me redeem myself, to appear and show me the path I was once on, because it’s scary here, doing what someone else has asked of me, but Proserpine jerks me from the truck.

  She digs her thumbs into my eyes and kisses me so hard I bite my tongue, trying to force hers from my mouth. I try to push her back but she’s too strong and I slip in blood and land on my back and she gives me what I wanted just minutes ago, only I don’t want it anymore and I’m telling her to stop, stop, STOP! as she jerks my pants down and tries to get me hard and it’s not working, thank God, but she straddles me anyway, and she hurts and feels so good.

  Stop, I beg, but she keeps going, punching me in the face, rubbing a finger against her clit, the nail scraping the head of my dick, and she wants something but I can’t tell what, until she grabs my ears and bounces my head off the pavement.

  Pain. Stars and more stars. Cold bodies.


  TWENTY-TWO

  I woke to Mike and Uncle Red talking at the kitchen table in hushed tones, Pig near the sink reading a comic book nearly as old as he was. Wylie was still out, drooling on one of Red’s spare pillows on the floor next to the couch. I asked where the sisters were. Red said, “No idea, but I’m sure we’ll be seeing them soon enough.”

  “Great.”

  Mike said, “Bad dreams?”

  “Nutley’s in my head.”

  Red and Mike exchanged a look, then Mike said, “Anything you can use to defeat him?”

  I told them what I’d seen so far and rubbed my eyes as I stood and stretched.

  Pig frowned. He said, “He’s really fucked up.”

  Red threw him a dirty look and then wiped his mouth and said, “He’s been nice to you so far because he thinks you’re going to give him something unique. But that’s going to end today.”

  I nodded. “I’ll find a way to destroy him—”

  “Without destroying yourself,” Pig said, grinning. “Did you sleep with that on?” He pointed and it took me a moment to realize he was talking about the necklace the sisters had made. Being aware of it, I grew aware of the coldness trapped in the rotten teeth. I wanted to take them off but everyone shook their heads. Red pointed at Wylie and said, “Wake him and we can get this over with,” as if it’d be easy, but he knew it wouldn’t be, he just wanted to face his demons like the rest of us.

  Fifteen minutes later we all headed out—Red and Pig with me in the Jeep, Mike and Wylie in the Jaguar. Branches loomed from either side of Cold Run Road, leaves changing colors, and it felt like we were riding beneath an inferno as morning sunlight caught them. We parked half-on, half-off the road near the clearing where only a few short days ago I’d first met Tripper and Lucas. We removed weapons from Mike’s trunk. Pig looked strange holding a gun, even though it was only a small semi-auto .22 pistol. Somehow it highlighted the grimness carved into his little fat face.

  Me and Mike led the way. Ravens weighed down branches on both sides of the path. I glanced back at Red and he and Mike said simultaneously, “Ignore them.”

  I did my best. Then shivered, thinking of Nutley doing his best for Proserpine, and understanding how he felt, because had I not loved April so much, I’d have wanted the creature too. She drew the darkest part of the heart, the lust and violence, and taught that they were intertwined, not separate.

  I put a hand on Red’s elbow and helped him along. Pig stood on the other side of him, and part of me suspected that Pig didn’t see my uncle’s age at all, only saw him as a child still, both of them on an adventure. Red breathed noisily through his mouth. He said, “You better not even consider asking me to stop and take a break.”

  I laughed but it caught in my throat. We all stopped as the sound of the falls echoed through the trees. Pig said, “Now’s not the time for a huddle.”

  Red said, “Here comes the end.” He glanced among the dark branches and up at the steely sky, and at the time I didn’t know how much he was risking by being there, how his own story had plagued him his entire life, the loss of Amy—the only girl he ever loved, ever let close to him, the only one who had ever seen something unique about my uncle while other girls would barely cast more than a glance because maybe they could see that part of him was so different it came across broken.

  Mike said, “The kid is right. The longer we stand here the worse it’s going to be.” He checked to make sure he had a round in the chamber of his AR15 and worked his way down the hill, moving from tree to tree, constantly scanning. We fell in a single-file line behind him and did our best to mimic.

  We stepped from the slope and onto slick and thick stone. I said, “Do you think—”

  Mike raised a hand to silence me.

  The sisters stood just beyond the lip of the falls, their shapes barely discernable behind the rushing water as they shifted and moved inside the cavern.

  Mike followed them and we followed him.

  Part of me understood why Proserpine had chosen him, just as she had Nutley. They were men who knew what they were doing, men who didn’t hesitate once they knew which direction they wanted to move. I respected Mike for that, though sometimes the envy nearly took hold. I reminded myself that we lived different lives. I caught up to him and tapped him on the shoulder. He glanced back as we slid behind the falls and into the dark. He whispered, “What?”

  “Last time you stabbed me. This time you better not shoot me.”

  Mike’s teeth flashed. He said, “It’s not me you have to worry about.”

  Then he disappeared into the darkness.

  I flipped my flashlight on. The others did the same. Mike moved ahead of us like a ghost without light, leaving behind only the soft whisper of clothes. We swept our beams left and right, the heady smell of heavy earth above and all around us.

  God, don’t let us get caved in here, I thought.

  I whispered, “Is it smart to fire weapons in tunnels?”

  No one answered but they slowed their pace. It became harder to breathe. The chasm shifted in different directions. It felt like we were going below ground, but I couldn’t be certain. It’s the narrow space, I thought, and I hoped that the tunnel didn’t get smaller, not sure I could take it if we had to crawl, worried that if we did we’d come to a dead end with no room to turn around.

  My skin crawled.

  I imagined Kim in her hospital bed, all bandaged and damaged. I thought, If she hadn’t hired me they’d have never come after her…

  Pig whispered, “Some things are out of your hands.”

  Red said, “Shut up, both of you. Listen.”

  At first I heard only the sound of our labored breathing, the click of metal, and bones creaking. But then, slowly, a soft roar, nearly inaudible, echoed from the walls and my heart pounded. I clutched the shotgun, nearly dropped the flashlight, figured the part of me that wanted to survive was going to turn me around and carry me out of there before whatever made that soft roar found us.

  Mike whispered, “It’s the wind.” His voice came from darkness but I couldn’t tell where he was. It sounded like he was on the ceiling right above us, as if we’d stumbled into some M.C. Escher illustration.

  I said, “Wind?”

  Red trembled and stumbled into me. He said, “I hate the goddamn wind,” but he wasn’t speaking of the wind that offers relief on a hot day, or the hateful wind that drives rain and snow, obscuring our vision, freezing us as we move slow motion toward our destination—but the wind of other worlds…

  “The wind of different places,” Pig whispered. He shined his flashlight around, looking for something.

  Mike said, “Keep moving.” Then he went silent but for the sound of joints popping as he stood and disappeared ahead of us, our point man and guardian, using the training and experience only he possessed. I wished I could be as brave, and in moments like that, with the wind of some foreign Hell breathing against our faces and leaving an oily residue on our lips and eyelids, I wished I had his common sense and instincts.

  Pig said, “There’s nothing wrong with being afraid.”

  Red said, “That’s good.”

  I looked around, shone the flashlight beam along the walls, between Red and the kid. Something clicked in my throat as I said, “Where’s Wylie?”

  Lights around me dimmed and went out. I turned the flashlight left and right. “Red? Mike?”

  Someone clicked their tongue. The blackness shifted. A woman whispered, “Around the edges of illumination, darkness crowds.”

  I set the shotgun down and pulled the pistol, the hairs on the back of my neck standing, gooseflesh riddling my arms. I listened, thought, I’m alone.

  I cocked the hammer of the pistol, still worried that a shot or two might bring the whole tunnel down, but I would risk it if shapes emerged from the darkness.

  I jumped at movement to my right and I nearly squeezed the trigger. My bladder felt too full and my hands too empty, because I wasn’t ready, I
would never be ready for what hides in the darkness, or to face the unknowable.

  April glided forward, her face drawn and white and eyes glistening with tears. She begged, “Help me find Ethan.”

  I pointed the light the way I thought Mike had headed the last time he’d spoke. I said, “You need to get out of here,” though I believed that she was immune to any sickness Nutley could give her since she was so infected with her own.

  “Help me.”

  I still love you, I thought. I always will.

  She drifted forward, stroked my face with a cold hand. I shivered beneath her touch. I heard a door click open somewhere and instinctively pushed her behind me, raising the pistol before I even knew what I was doing. The sisters crawled across the walls, their hair hanging in their eyes; they whispered among themselves and passed us. Sweat slicked my body. My clothes felt too heavy.

  April said, “You don’t have to follow. You can help me instead.”

  I do have to follow, I thought. For Kim, and David, and to know that Red and Mike are okay, to find Wylie, to see if Doug is alive or dead and, either way, come to terms with it.

  * * *

  Mike inched along the wall, one hand always in contact with cool rock. He’d been seeing a dim light ahead for a while, and at first believed he’d somehow gotten turned around and was headed back toward John and the others. But he hadn’t. He’d kept his hand on the wall.

  Sulfur burned his nostrils, made his eyes water and head spin. He pulled the collar of his shirt over his nose and wiped his stinging eyes with his sleeves. Ravens, slapping wings of ethereal gray, flew past in a blur, streamers of mist left in their wake that glowed softly and dimly lit the tunnel. He wasn’t certain if they’d intended to help or hinder him, but he knew he couldn’t stay in one place too long.

  Mike placed the rifle to his shoulder and inched forward, keeping slight pressure against the wall with his right elbow. This place reminded him of childhood uncertainties, but he pushed them away, his main concern to find Doug, thinking of it more as a Search & Rescue than anything else. He figured John could handle Nutley, Red could use whatever rage and latent powers he had trapped inside him to restrain the others, and Mike would quickly kill Lucas, again, with a bullet in the chest, then he could find the old cop and have Wylie lead him out while they finished it.