A Boat Made of Bone (The Chthonic Saga)

by Grotepas, Nicole

  “It’s nothing serious, Kate. I promise.”

  “I wasn’t even worried about it,” she told him, lying. More lies. She was a big liar. She’d never thought about it much before. Her entire time with Ty was a lie, since she really wanted to be with a man kept from her during the day.

  “Good. Because you have nothing to worry about, I promise. Check out that guy.” He motioned with his head.

  She followed his eyes and saw a man dressed in all black with thick metal spikes sticking out of his clothes everywhere. The gleaming, wicked metal spikes lined his shoulders, his arms, thighs, boots, and there were a few even jutting out of his eyebrows and beneath his bottom lip. The crowd cut a wide berth for him, about four feet of space, as he moved straight from the back to the very front.

  “I wouldn’t have pegged him a jazz fan,” Kate said thoughtfully.

  Ty shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked on his heels. “He probably loves tennis matches too.”

  “And golf.”

  “He’s got sophisticated taste. Doesn’t like to be pigeon-holed.”

  “Self-expression is vital,” Kate explained, ready to carry the joke all the way to Antarctica and back. “Besides, he’s figured out the best way to get close to the stage. I’ve just seen my next indie-show outfit. Pure genius.” Without warning, a wave of cold swept over her and took her breath in an involuntary gasp. Just as she was falling forward into Greta and Mike, she realized she’d been knocked over. Also, she was soaked in beer.

  “Sorry, sorry,” she muttered to Greta and Mike. They turned simultaneously to catch Kate and help her right herself.

  “No problem,” Greta said.

  “What happened?” Mike asked.

  Angry voices tangled in the space behind her. She turned to find Ty in some frat-looking guy’s face. A vein throbbed in Ty’s neck. His face was red in fury. He pointed back at Kate with one arm that burst with a lacework of arteries.

  “Someone spilled their beer all over me. Him, I guess,” she muttered, but she didn’t think Mike and Greta heard her. They were staring at Ty and presumably the guy whose beer Kate was now wearing.

  “Mike, you better stop them,” Greta said.

  “He’s got it,” Mike said.

  “She knocked into me,” the guy said, defending himself. “It wasn’t my fault, man.” His blond hair stuck straight up in spikes, his arms and legs were unnaturally smooth and tan. There were two other dudes standing at his side in a defensive posture.

  “I didn’t,” Kate said to Greta who had turned to Kate. “I was just standing there, stock-still.”

  “He’s drunk,” Greta whispered back.

  “—standing right next to her. There’s no way this is her fault. Hold your drink, dude, or don’t drink in public.”

  “Tell your slut to watch where she’s going,” the drunken frat-boy said, his lip curled in a sneer.

  Oh shit.

  “Mike, stop him,” Kate pled.

  “No way,” Mike shook his shaved head firmly. “This is Ty’s deal. That guy just called you a slut. He’s going down.”

  Kate moved to Ty’s side. A little circle had opened up around them. The music kept going, but Kate glanced over the heads of the audience and saw the ticket-lady pointing at Ty, motioning to a man in a security uniform. Oh, no. Not security. Police.

  “Drop it, Ty,” Kate said, raising her voice so he could hear her. “Let it go. It doesn’t matter.”

  The frat-boy sneered and egged Ty on. “Yeah, listen to your slut. It was her fault. She knocked into my beer and it spilled.”

  “That’s not what happened,” Kate growled. She hated conflict, but she wouldn’t be falsely accused. “Let’s get out of here, Ty. He’s not worth it.”

  “Come on, Ty-poo, let me lead you by the balls,” the frat-boy taunted. Kate raised an eyebrow, and smiled sarcastically at him.

  “You’re quite the man,” she said. She saw the policeman and his partner pushing down through the crowd on the steps that lead to the square of lawn where the majority of the audience stood. Kate didn’t want this to escalate, but she was having a hard time thinking straight with adrenalin pumping through her body.

  “At least I’m a man and not a dirty whore,” he said.

  Before she had time to slap him, Ty shoved him in the chest and began to bear down on him. Then out of nowhere Malcolm was there, pulling Ty off the other guy.

  “Let it go, Ty, let it go, man. He’s not worth it,” Malcolm was saying in a soothing tone.

  Frat-boy’s friends were holding him by the arms, cursing at Ty, yelling threats at him, inviting him back to their frat-house for a real man’s fight.

  Malcolm had Ty by the arm and one hand on his upper back, and was guiding him to the far edge of the square, heading in the opposite direction of the police. Kate followed them, with Greta and Mike close behind. Evidently the others missed the action, which took less than two minutes to transpire.

  They headed between an opening in the row of tables that delineated the concert area and made their way to a quiet spot beneath a trellis laced with honeysuckle vine. They could still hear the music, but it was muffled. The stage faced away from the trellis.

  Ty shook Malcolm’s hands off him and strutted away, rolling his head right and left like a prize-fighter, running his fingers through his hair. “I’m fine. I’m fine,” he muttered.

  “Yeah, well, you weren’t. You were about to lose your shit on him, man,” Malcolm said. “And the cops were heading straight for you. Two, just the one was short. I saw them on my way back from the beer table.”

  “It was fine,” Ty said. “I was just going to give him a bloody lip.”

  “And then you would have been arrested.”

  “He was asking for it,” Ty said. Greta and Kate exchanged a glance. He was asking for it. But cops didn’t care for that excuse.

  Malcolm just laughed, not even willing to dispute that.

  Mike decided to pipe in, running his fingers over his shaved head. “You have to keep your cool, Ty. Guys like that live to start fights and watch as the one who threw the first punch gets arrested.”

  Ty paced back and forth, taking deep breaths. “Thanks guys. I appreciate it, I do. I’ll most likely thank you more tomorrow. But look, I’m in no mood to stay here.” He lifted his gaze to Kate’s. “So, do you still want to hang out with me?”

  “Of course,” Kate reassured him. She was freezing—the night had cooled slightly—and she was still soaked with beer, which made her smell like a frat-party, surprisingly enough. All she needed was a spritzer of vomit and the image would be complete. Mike and Greta began whispering between themselves, and Malcolm glanced in his still-empty Dixie cup, looking disgusted. He searched around for a garbage can.

  Ty’s lips twitched in a slight grin. “Then let’s get out of here. Is that cool?”

  “Sounds good.”

  18: Cracking the Past Open

  Kate ran through a house like a maze. Red, worn carpet absorbed her footfalls. Faded, gaudy wallpaper peeled in thin, fragile strips through long hallways with doors bearing names like “Twilight Misty,” “Barbara Boudoir, “Strawberry Ride,” and other nonsensical titles. The whole place was eerie and creepy. She didn’t dare open any of the doors. She searched through a large kitchen, and an enormous living room type area with a strange platform at one end that must have been a stage.

  She found nothing. Will should have been there somewhere. Panic crept through her fragile composure. She slowed down. She controlled her breathing. She focused. For a moment, she closed her eyes and tried to feel which direction he pulled on her. Slowly, she climbed the stairs to the landing where the never-ending hallway of rooms was, and came to a door labeled “Bareback Betty.” Her fingers hovered over the burnished metal of the knob. Why here? What is this place?

  He must have been beyond the door, but she was afraid of what she might find. The place felt haunted. It was empty, but it felt full.

  She took a
sharp breath, twisted the knob, and shoved the door open in one motion. The room was full of mirrors and a four-poster bed. There was even a mirror on the ceiling.

  She heard the sound of labored breathing. Her eyes scanned the room. In a far, shadowed corner, she saw him—knees pulled up to his chest and staring vacantly into the middle distance.

  “Will,” she rushed to his side.

  “Kate. It’s good to see you, Kate,” he said, but he kept staring straight ahead. He wouldn’t look at her.

  “Will,” she whispered, feeling awkward about interrupting whatever kind of moment he was having. “I—I was worried you weren’t here.” Something was bothering him, but she didn’t want to embarrass him by prying. “Did you—did you have to wait for me long?”

  He shook his head slowly. “No.”

  Her knees began to hurt from crouching, so she sat down beside him with her back against the wall. He was almost catatonic and she began to worry. “Are you—I’m—um, do you want me to go? Do you want to be alone?” she asked, hoping he’d say no, afraid he’d say yes.

  He looked at her suddenly, and she saw the desperation in his eyes. “No, Kate, please stay.” He took her hand and didn’t let go.

  Thank goodness. “Where are we?” she whispered.

  “I didn’t mean to bring us here,” he said, shaking his head.

  “Where is here? You don’t control it, do you?” That was a first. Kate hadn’t thought about who controlled their entry points, until now.

  He hesitated and coughed a little. “This is where my mother worked.”

  She laughed, then realized she shouldn’t. He was serious. Duh. “What is it, a hotel? Was she a housekeeper, because there’s no shame in that.”

  “She wasn’t a housekeeper, Kate.”

  “Did she work in the kitchen?”

  “This was her room. She worked in this room.”

  Kate looked around, wondering what sort of profession would work in a bedroom. A bedroom with so many mirrors. On the ceiling. Oh. Wait. “Oh,” she said, not wanting to name it, not wanting to shame him more.

  “Yeah.”

  That explained a lot. “But . . . Wait. Did you live here too?”

  He shook his head and sniffed. “My dad died when I was five and my mom had no job, no skills, no income. We were destitute. When she began working here, the Madame let me stay in a little house that was next to it and the women took turns watching me.”

  “Was it—was it horrible?” Her gut sank thinking about a little, innocent boy being taken care of by a bunch of prostitutes. Living in a place where less than fifty feet away women were being raped, basically. She knew they chose to do it, just like cattle chose to become Big Macs. Not that women were the same as cattle, but there were distinctions between how people made choices.

  “Not so bad until I began to understand what was happening in the big house,” he answered. “I would see men coming and going as I played outside. They’d smile and wave at me, some of them, and some of them even began to bring me little knickknacks. A bouncy ball, a yo-yo. When I got older, I hated them. I swore I’d never be that kind of man.”

  “You’re not—you weren’t,” she said.

  “No,” he whispered. “I was worse.”

  “That’s a bit melodramatic, Will. You were not. You were a decent man,” she told him, not knowing for sure if it was true. “Besides, it’s over now.”

  “I’m not just being dramatic, Kate. I was. I was awful. I never let anyone get close to me. I kept everyone at a distance. And I used people for my own ends.” He was staring at a dresser vanity pushed up against the wall about eight feet away. There was a silver hair brush laying on its back upon it and a jewelry box. And the dragonfly ring. Kate let go of his hand, stood, and retrieved the ring.

  “Am I close to you?” she asked, inspecting the ring and putting it on.

  He sniffed and rubbed his temple. “Yes. You know almost everything there is to know about me.”

  This made her warm inside. “Then it doesn’t matter that at one time, you didn’t let anyone close to you. Because you’ve changed.”

  His gaze shifted to her. There was a penetrating intensity to it. “What about you, Kate. Am I close to you? Do I know everything about you?”

  She shifted, staring at the dragonfly ring, feeling caught. Should she lie? That conversation with Ty was forcing her to confront the lies she’d been weaving. “Um, no. Not everything.”

  “What don’t I know?”

  “Don’t forget, Will, that I’m actually alive. And things change constantly.”

  “How does that have anything to do with what we’re talking about now?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “So are you saying that you’re hiding something from me?”

  She considered Ty and her mouth went dry. She didn’t want to bring real-life into this, it didn’t fit there, in the logic of the dream world. It would only upset the balance, she thought, and it might scare Will away. She suddenly felt like she was two-timing him. His eyes were narrow and staring hard at Kate, so she looked away, aware at once of the aura of the room.

  “Let’s get out of here, Will. Unless there’s something you want to show me.”

  “You’re changing the subject.”

  She shrugged and waited for him to decide they could leave. With a sigh he stood up and took her hand. He scanned the room, his eyes focusing on the bed, then the mirrors, the dresser, and then, without warning, he let go of her hand and charged the bed. In one motion, he tore the bedspread and sheets off and tried to claw through the mattress, which was an old, striped design. Kate averted her eyes when she began to notice all the stains on it. She didn’t want to know and she backed up until she bumped into the wall. Will upended the mattress and it fell against the wall on the opposite side, and then he rushed the dresser and yanked the drawers out, scattering the contents—lingerie, fishnet tights, lace nightgowns and bottles of cheap perfume—and then knocked the dresser over. All the while he yelled and grunted, and screamed as though exorcising the demons of his past.

  Kate waited for the storm to pass, a bit frightened, actually. She never knew he held such fury at bay. She asked herself who she would be if her past was Will’s past. She thought of him as a little boy, drawing on her experience with her two little brothers—twins, four years younger than her—growing up fatherless, forced too early into a premature knowledge of the violent, corrupt world, and she wanted to cry for him. She didn’t think about kids too much because she wasn’t married yet and she didn’t really know if she’d ever have them. But as she watched Will destroying the room that destroyed his innocence, it dawned on her how hard she would fight to protect a child of her own from such sorrows of human existence.

  Finally, as the blizzard of emotions waned, she rushed to him and wrapped her arms around him from behind.

  “It’s gone now, it’s done, Will. It’ll be alright,” she said in a soothing voice.

  The wind of fury left him in a low, soft whimper, a howl that sounded almost like a newborn puppy calling for its mother. His shoulders curved in and his knees gave out until they were both kneeling amidst the wreckage. Pillows covered the carpet, feathers drifted slowly in unpredictable paths in the slight breeze of the ceiling fan that had been stirred by flying debris, pink and red lingerie hung from the bed posters and old-fashioned sconce lighting on the walls. A musty odor of an old life disturbed filled the air. The only sound was of Will’s ragged breathing and Kate’s calming whispers.

  ***

  Time passed. How much, Kate didn’t know. Maybe twenty minutes. Maybe twenty years. Dream years. They left the brothel behind. She transported them to a beach in Barbados that she saw in the window of the travel agency by Amir’s restaurant.

  “So tell me, Kate. Are you married? Do you have kids? I mean, what, what’s your life like? Please, just tell me,” he said. He was sitting on the edge of the dock that surrounded the little huts. The resort was something Kate woul
d never be able to afford in real life. The water there was clear green and the huts had glass floors so Kate could see the fish swimming beneath her feet.

  She thought he’d successfully moved past the anguish of revisiting his past. “Come on, Will, if I had kids, don’t you think I would have gotten around to mentioning them?” she laughed and pushed away from the dock. She floated on her back and stared up at the unblemished sky. She could hear her pulse thundering. What if he found out something about her that he didn’t like? Would the dreams stop? Would she never see him again? She just couldn’t tell him anything that might upset him. Not after the brothel. It would be too much.

  She heard a muted splash and just as she was lifting her head from the water, she felt his arms encircle her and his head popped out of the water next to her. Sunlight danced in his blue eyes. He smiled. A loud ache began in her gut and spread through her. I don’t want to live without him, was the refrain of the ache.

  “So come on then, tell me. About you,” he whispered. She could feel his fingertips slipping across her belly.

  “Everything I am here is who I am there,” she said, blankly.

  “But the details, Kate. What do you do?”

  “Why do you need to know?”

  “So I can know you.”

  She pushed away and began swimming toward the shore. He followed her, doing a lazy, but impressive, breaststroke. She hurried away with her crappy front-crawl, hoping the chase would distract him

  It didn’t. Once on the beach, she plopped down in the sand and watched him striding up the wet sand with the waves crashing behind him. Sun-filled drops of water cover his tall, lean-muscled body. He wore blue, 1960s swim trunks, which turned out to be really flattering on him. She stared, more certain than ever that she didn’t want to do anything to lose him.

  She wanted Will. Damn him for only being in my dreams.