Devil Take Me

by Jordan L. Hawk

  I love you a latte.

  World’s Best Grandpa.

  He sets the mugs aside, walks to the bed, and sits down.

  Merrick turns as the mattress dips. “Nice place.”

  Asuka gives him a disbelieving look. “Fifteen hundred dollars.”

  “But you can’t touch both walls with your arms stretched out.”

  Asuka’s mouth twitches, not quite a smile.

  “You’d be overpaying otherwise.”

  Now Asuka smiles.

  Merrick scoots back and draws his legs up, crossing them under himself. “Why’d you ask me about Phobetor?”

  “I was told you would know.”

  “But by who?”

  Asuka looks at his hands. There’s black grime under his nails. He picks at them. “The details aren’t important.” He glances to his right after a prolonged pause.

  Merrick is staring at him.

  “Please.” Asuka stands when the coffeepot stops spitting and gurgling.

  Merrick picks up one of the books sitting beside him. “He is a little-known being—an Oneiroi.”

  Asuka pours coffee into the clean mugs and carries them to the bed. He offers Merrick one. “Oneiroi,” he states without inflection.

  “Thanks,” Merrick says, accepting I love you a latte. He catches the cheap design, and maybe a bit of color flushes his cheeks. “The Oneiroi are the personification of our dreams.”

  Asuka burns his tongue. “He’s literally Dream?”

  “No, not exactly.” Merrick looks down at his book and starts flipping through the pages. “After my troupe—” He pauses and skips the rest of the sentence. “I’m not a warrior like you. I can’t even hit a target at a shooting range, let alone wield a sword like you did this morning.”

  Asuka is embarrassed by the compliment and wants to refuse it.

  Merrick finds the page he seems to be hunting for. He sips his coffee and doesn’t look up from the block of text. “I was always a good student, though. I thought I could help—research or something. Anything to stop the monsters and nightmares.”

  “I sense a ‘but,’” Asuka says.

  “But no one took me seriously,” Merrick replies in agreement. He finally raises his head to meet Asuka’s intense gaze. “I tried to tell anyone who would listen. Phobetor is the personification of Nightmares. His name literally means ‘to be feared.’”

  Asuka set his mug on the crowded table.

  “But the stories are ancient,” Merrick says. “No one wants to put serious stock into them, you know? Today, the world revolves around science and technology. The concept that the nightmares may stem from something… mythological… is too much. But ask yourself,” he continues. “After the monsters began to appear five years ago—have you ever dreamed of anything pleasant? Profound? Mundane, even?”

  Asuka doesn’t respond, but thankfully Merrick doesn’t seem to be looking for an actual answer.

  “No. We have been devoid of regular dreams. All we have are nightmares. Frightening, awful beings now capable of chasing people into consciousness and casting their sickness on them.”

  Asuka crosses his arms. “Why do we not have any other dreams, then?”

  “Phobetor has brothers—Morpheus and Phantasos.”

  Asuka nods.

  “I think… Phobetor may have done something terrible to them.”

  IT’S LATE afternoon. The sun is streaming through the single window of Asuka’s apartment. The room is uncomfortably warm and humid. The AC unit died last month, and replacing it never seemed to be a priority.

  Sweat dampens the back of Asuka’s shirt and under his arms. He can feel Merrick’s body heat—the younger man sitting closer than necessary. But Asuka can’t find it within himself to ask Merrick to move. Instead, he rolls back the sleeves of his shirt for minor relief. His arms are a network of toned muscle, protruding veins, and scars from battle. Asuka sighs and turns the page of the book in his lap.

  “Instructions to the Underworld are wonderfully vague,” he murmurs.

  Merrick nods. “Told you.”

  Asuka snaps the book shut and hands it to Merrick.

  “It varies for so many heroes,” Merrick says. He stares at Asuka’s profile. “Maybe… the journey is what you make of it.”

  “You go to the Underworld when you die.”

  “I think we need to use our imagination a bit more than that.” Merrick climbs off the bed and stands before Asuka. “I have an idea. A more invasive approach, but it will save time if it’s possible. I can assure you I’ve been through every book available in the English language—there are no cut-and-dry steps to reaching the Underworld.”

  “What do you recommend?”

  “I met a guy not too long ago,” Merrick replies as he pulls a cell phone from the pocket of his tight black pants. “He specializes in putting people… under.”

  Asuka narrows his eyes a little. “Chemically induced dreams?” He wonders how someone as sweet and innocent as Merrick Grace got involved with such a person.

  “Whatever you make of under,” Merrick answers vaguely as he dials.

  “That’s illegal.”

  “Yeah.” Merrick puts the phone to his ear. “Hey,” he says. “I need to come by tonight. Not—not exactly, no. I’ll explain in person. Thanks.” Merrick ends the call and looks at Asuka.

  Asuka raises an eyebrow.

  “Midnight.”

  “Where?”

  “West Thirty-Eighth Street.”

  “It’s dangerous at that time of night,” Asuka points out.

  Merrick nods.

  The silence between them is palpable, broken only by the whir of a nearby window unit.

  “You never went there to dream.” Asuka’s voice is very gentle.

  “No.”

  “To be loved?” Asuka guesses.

  Merrick considers his words before saying, “To feel.”

  “Did it help?”

  “Not really, no.” Merrick steps forward.

  Asuka opens his legs and allows Merrick to stand between his knees. He slides his hands over Merrick’s lower back, the loose shirt clinging to his damp skin.

  “But I feel this,” Merrick clarifies.

  Asuka slips his hands underneath the fabric, and Merrick’s muscles contract and flutter against his touch.

  “It’s….”

  “A force,” Asuka provides.

  “You feel it too?” Merrick asks in a whisper.

  Asuka nods. “I can’t explain it.”

  Merrick touches Asuka’s temple. He slides his hand down underneath Asuka’s chin, lifts it, and kisses him. “I can see a reality without nightmares when I’m beside you. As clear as day.”

  Asuka does not.

  “Do you?” Merrick holds Asuka’s face and presses their foreheads together.

  Asuka shut his eyes. “It’s… difficult for me to dream.”

  Merrick kisses him so tenderly that Asuka nearly breaks into a hundred thousand little pieces. “Don’t be discouraged.”

  If only it were that.

  “I believe in you. We’ll confront Phobetor together.”

  “If we die?” Asuka asks.

  “The voyage for our souls will be pretty damn brief,” Merrick says with a wry smile.

  Except mine will never be reunited with yours.

  “If we live?” Asuka continues.

  “You said you’d dance with me.”

  And dream like you.

  Dream of you.

  ASUKA SITS naked on the bed, knees raised and elbows resting on top. The sheet is pooled around his waist. He’s staring out the window at the streetlamps protecting the city from an otherwise suffocating darkness. One bulb across the street shudders and strobes, as if experiencing death throes.

  The television is still on.

  The small clock beside the lightbulbs on the shelf flashes 11:08 p.m. Asuka considers waking Merrick, asleep at his side in the too-small bed.

  He rakes a hand through h
is loose hair before tying it back into a bun.

  “Do you ever change the channel?”

  Asuka glances down.

  Merrick is hugging the one pillow to his chest and looking up with sleepy, blinking eyes. “The news is depressing.”

  “I need to stay informed.”

  Merrick holds his hand out.

  Asuka glances to either side of himself before finding the remote control. He gives it to Merrick.

  Merrick sits up on an elbow and flips the channel to a rerun of an old cooking show that’d been canceled after the host was turned into a monster two years ago. “Look at that. The cone is actually made from a donut with cinnamon and sugar. And inside is ice cream with sprinkles, chocolate sauce….”

  Asuka thinks Merrick is much more decadent than any combination of donuts and ice cream.

  “I think the slice of cake on top is a bit overkill, but when in Rome….”

  “Are they sold in Rome?” Asuka asks. He hasn’t bothered to look away from Merrick.

  Merrick laughs quietly. “Toronto.” He turns to Asuka, reaches out, drapes his arm around his neck, and pulls Asuka down into an unhurried, easy kiss.

  The shoebox apartment is still too warm for comfort. The air is motionless. The spike in pleasure from the shared kiss makes even the thin cotton sheet too much to bear.

  Merrick drags his hands down Asuka’s back, digging his fingertips into each muscle he comes across.

  Appreciating.

  Memorizing.

  Asuka puts his arm against Merrick’s head, holding him still as he deepens the kiss. Merrick’s lips are so soft, so enthusiastic. He tastes like sleep, youth, and joy. And Merrick doesn’t seem to mind the scratch of Asuka’s facial hair against his skin.

  “What happens if I become a monster?” Merrick asks, his breath ghosting Asuka’s mouth.

  Asuka’s muscles clench. It’s not an answer he can sugarcoat. He doesn’t dream, after all, of a reality where Merrick will be spared until he rids the Underworld of the origin. The fact is, if Merrick were to suddenly succumb after years of survival, Asuka would kill him like he did any monster.

  And with a sort of sad realization, Asuka thinks for the first time that he may kill himself too.

  He’s no hero. And all men have a breaking point.

  “We need to leave,” Asuka says in response.

  Merrick sighs. He sits up, slides off the bed, and gathers his clothes. Turning around, Merrick pulls his shirt over his head, glances at the clock, and smirks. He crouches down to tug his shoes on after buttoning his pants.

  “That fuck damn near put me into a coma.”

  Asuka tries not to reflect on the recent memory. It’ll only distract him, slow him down. He dresses with silent proficiency, gathers his weapons, and waits at the door.

  Merrick is staring at his books, now stacked on the floor.

  “Come,” Asuka says briskly.

  “We may need to reference something.”

  “You can’t carry them all. It’s going to be—”

  “Dangerous,” Merrick says before Asuka is able. He reaches down to pluck the third book in the stack. “This one.”

  Asuka nods and opens the apartment door. They walk carefully across the hall and down the stairs. The nightmares are fearful of the tungsten bulbs, as all monsters are prone to being, but they are also strongest at night. And at this hour, most humans lie in bed behind locked doors, lights ablaze, praying they make it through another night without a nightmare hunting them in their unconsciousness or a monster finding its way into their home.

  Asuka opens the front door at ground level and steps out first. He looks left, then right, scrutinizing the near desolate East Tenth Street. A plastic bag rustles in the branches of a scraggly tree. Somewhere above them, a window slams shut.

  Otherwise?

  Silence.

  Asuka steps onto the sidewalk and considers the safest approach to their travel.

  They need to cross thirty-five blocks.

  The L train runs every ten minutes at this time of night. They can catch it at Fourteenth Street, travel crosstown, and hop off at Eighth Avenue. It’s the quickest method of travel outside of driving, and Asuka is without a car after a recent wreck at the East River involving nearly a dozen monsters. He certainly doesn’t trust the few and far between taxi drivers to stay calm behind the wheel if they run into trouble either.

  They walk uptown, making no noise except for the occasional scrape of a shoe tread on the sidewalk.

  At the corner of First Avenue and Fourteenth Street, they take the entrance underground. There is no subway attendant in the booth. There’s no blood or black bile surrounding the turnstiles, which leads Asuka to believe the station is unmanned simply due to staff shortage.

  At least this is what he hopes.

  Asuka jumps the turnstile. He looks over his shoulder at Merrick, who is digging through his pockets for his MetroCard. He inclines his head for Merrick to follow suit. Merrick awkwardly tucks his book under one arm, puts his hands on either side, and jumps, effortlessly leaping over the locked turns and landing beside Asuka.

  They move away from the entrance and stand against the wall. The tunnels are silent. There’s a foul stench coming from the water pooled on the uneven surface between train tracks. Garbage floats on top—candy wrappers, tissues, empty bottles. The platform is peppered with ancient gum, mysterious stains, and fine layers of tacky filth that New Yorkers have learned to simply accept as city aesthetic. Movie posters and advertisements are peeling, scrawled over, and out-of-date.

  The overhead LED screen indicates there is an Eighth Avenue–bound L train approaching the station.

  Merrick pats Asuka’s arm and points across the tracks to the opposite platform. A homeless man is turned with his back to them, twitching and convulsing erratically while he screams at the wall. He turns and grabs on to the huge black trash can and violently shakes it. The flesh of his hands cracks and peels away, revealing an oozing, gelatinous black mass underneath. He turns his head and looks at Asuka and Merrick, then vomits pitch-black sludge.

  Merrick gasps.

  Asuka removes his flare-firing pistol and takes a readied stance.

  The train is pulling into the station.

  With saliva and oil drooling from his mouth, the infected homeless man screams again. He jumps from the platform, onto the tracks, and races toward them.

  “Asuka!” Merrick cries.

  The man reaches the Manhattan-bound side.

  The horn of the train blares. The brakes screech.

  Merrick covers his ears.

  Asuka squeezes the trigger.

  The man is shot straight through the heart with light, his body careens backward, and he’s out of sight as the train passes between them.

  The doors to the empty car open. Asuka and Merrick quickly board and move to the opposite side. They see the man who’d been morphing into a monster lying between the tracks, gunk pumping from his wound.

  The doors close behind them, and the train leaves the station.

  Asuka grabs on to the nearby rail, and Merrick holds his arm. They warily watch as the train approaches each stop and opens its doors. No one boards at Third Avenue, and a lone teenager enters their car at Union Square. She gives them an appraising look before lying down across the empty blue seats.

  At 11:43 p.m. the train enters Eighth Avenue station and pulls to a stop. An automated voice reminds passengers this is the end of the line and they must exit. Asuka and Merrick step onto the island platform. They appear to be alone, four levels below the street. It takes time to carefully move upward from the L—cautious of every long hall, empty corridor, and corner to be turned.

  The West Side is blown bright with streetlamps. The gentle buzz and hum of electricity fills the air.

  But nothing else.

  Asuka stops walking abruptly. He watches a shadow slink behind a building. He glances to the right and sees a second mimic the motion. They avoid the tungst
en lights for the moment. Asuka reaches to his chest and flicks on the flashlight strapped to his harness.

  At the next block is an old, beat-to-hell truck. Asuka points discreetly. “We’re running for that vehicle.”

  “Why?” Merrick whispers.

  “Because we’re surrounded.”

  Asuka grabs Merrick’s hand, and they take off down the sidewalk, feet pounding the cement and echoing through a city that feels abandoned. There’s a howl to their right, and a bloated dark shape climbs the side of a building to follow them above the glow of the lamps. Asuka pulls his pistol, takes quick aim over his shoulder, and fires. He’s not certain if he hit the monster or if it screeches like a dying animal because of the light from the flare.

  They reach the truck, and Asuka slams the butt of his pistol against the driver’s window. He smashes it again, and the glass shatters. He reaches inside, unlocks the door, opens it, and yanks out the wires under the steering column.

  “Asuka,” Merrick warns from behind him.

  Asuka doesn’t respond to the worry in Merrick’s tone and focuses on hot-wiring the truck.

  A series of growls come from nearby, reverberating in Asuka’s chest. He stops and turns just as Merrick screams. He shoots a massive swollen creature, which promptly explodes into a putrid black mess. Asuka, ignoring the stench and refuse on their bodies and pooling across the sidewalk, returns to the wires.

  “More are coming!” Merrick says.

  Nearly there.

  Almost.

  The truck begins to slide away from Asuka. Slowly at first. He nearly doesn’t notice.

  “A-Asuka?” Merrick sounds frightened.

  Asuka straightens and turns. A monster taking methodical steps on its tentacle-like feet starts to slip and fall. Asuka checks his watch.

  11:59 p.m.

  Shit.

  The city makes a sudden lurch. Asuka is thrown off his feet and collides with a lamppost. He slides upward, scrambling for purchase at the crosswalk lights before hooking his arms around the bend of the post. The starless night is suddenly below Asuka, and Merrick screams as he falls into the sky.

  Asuka lunges and catches Merrick’s arm. He’s hanging precariously from the lamp as debris and monsters sink into the darkness. “Don’t let go!”