by J. L. Murray
"It wasn't Solomon," she whispered. "It wasn't. It was Ronson. Andy. He had a gun and he pressed it right up against my head when I was looking at Rena. And he was laughing. I never want to hear a laugh like that ever again. He pulled the trigger, but he was out of bullets. It clicked. Oh, my God, I can't do this. I'm sorry, I can't go out there again. My partner is not my partner anymore. I can't, I can't, I can't." She was sobbing again, this time into her own hands.
"Okay, Morley," I said. "Try to get out of the building, okay? I'll deal with this."
"Don't hurt him," she said, grabbing my arm. "Don't kill him. He's not himself, this isn't what he does. He's a good man, he has a wife and kids. Don't kill him, promise me."
"I can't make that promise."
"Here," she said, picking something up from the floor beside her and thrusting it into my hands. It was the stun gun. I blinked at it, barely able to register what I was supposed to do with it. Then she was pulling something from her belt, softly clinking as she pushed the handcuffs into my pocket. "Please, Mourning. I'm begging you. Don't kill him."
"I'll do what I can," I said, nodding. Then I stood, taking one last look at the police detective before I slipped through the door and stepped into the smoke, only sure of one thing: I had to find Dekker.
Everything's perfect. Try to be gentle, Frankie.
"No promises, babe."
TWENTY-SEVEN
I stepped through the smoke, gnashing my teeth as the power leapt inside me, cutting through my skin and spreading itself out on either side of the hallway, leaving long gouges along both walls. The world went dim as the darkness filled my eyes, and my feet weren't touching the floor. It carried me, and I knew to trust where it was leading me. And then the smoke was gone and I was standing in front of two swinging doors beneath the sign, Operating Room.
I pushed inside and before the doors even closed behind me, an orderly was running at me, screaming, a scalpel in his hand. I wound back to hit him and the dark power lashed out and threw him against the wall, where he crumpled.
"Now that's a right hook!" said Detective Andy Ronson, standing behind a gurney, gun in one hand, a wicked-looking saw in the other. A man stood beside him, with slicked back hair, an old-fashioned suit. His face flickered, and then my father was smiling back at me.
"Frankieeee," he said, his voice like static come to life. "I've been waaaaiting." He stepped away from Ronson, who was smiling madly, his rumpled suit dark with blood.
"I dreamt my father had a face," Ronson was singing, doing a little tap-dance as he said the words, "and all my tears had not run dry..." He raised the saw in his hand and it gleamed in the bright lights. He winked at me and aimed the gun at me, laughing harder at each empty click. I looked at the gurney then, pausing when I saw. Esme was strapped down, her eyes closed, the syringe still hanging out of her arm. She had a hospital gown on, but someone had ripped it open in the front, a crude cartoon heart drawn over her actual beating heart.
The poor copy of my father took another step, easing around the gurney toward me.
"Don't lay a finger on her, Andy," I said. "I promised Morley I would try not to hurt you, but I will kill you if you harm one hair on that woman's head."
"It's not her head I want," said Ronson, grinning like a skull. "I promised her the heart. I promised. She had to leave when you came, Frankie Mourning. She had to leave, and it's your fault. You owe her this heart." He looked down at Esme and caressed the side of her face with the empty gun. "She's so pretty. No wonder the Mother wants her." He looked up at me, still grinning. "But she wants you more. She has your puppy."
"My puppy?" I said.
"Solomonnnn," he said, drawing out the name. He touched the saw to Esme's chest, and I saw drops of blood spring up under the razor sharp serrated blade. He smiled down at her, almost adoringly.
"Move away from her now," I said.
He lifted his elbow, as if to brace himself to saw through Esme's bones, and I raised my hand, still holding Morley's taser. As the cartridges went sailing across the room, the barbs snagging on his shirt, Detective Ronson began to shake, the grin staying on his face, his eyes not leaving my own. The saw clattered to the floor but Ronson did not fall. And I slipped past the shapeshifter, his tiny hand grabbing at me and missing, and had Ronson against the shining metal wall before he could collect himself. The electrodes were still on his chest, spent, but still, he was laughing. I put my hand around his soft, pudgy throat, and the darkness wrapped around his neck like a scarf. The smile slipped from his face then, his eyes rolling back in his head.
"Kill himmmm," said a staticky voice in my ear, and I turned, but there was no one there. The shapeshifter was gone.
Ronson's legs went out from under him and he sagged to the ground. I released his throat and pulled the handcuffs from my pocket, clicking them into place behind Ronson's back. Then I picked up the saw.
"Wakey wakey," I said, and grabbing an IV bag from a nearby shelf marked “saline,” I squeezed the bag until it popped, splashing liquid onto Ronson's face. His eyes burst open, finding mine, and he struggled to get free. I had him on his back, his hands cuffed behind him, and I stepped over him, dropping onto his swollen belly. He groaned. Bending low, I touched the saw to his cheek, caressing his face just as he'd done to Esme with the gun. He screamed as the skin opened up and it was me who laughed this time.
"Where is she?" I said, blood running down his face. I brought the blade, teeth like knives to sit right on his Adam's apple.
"I dreamt my father had a face, and all my tears had not run dry, they formed a lake of salt and pain, a sanctum on the other side." He was speaking in monotone, his voice staccato as he said the words fast. I pressed harder with the saw and he coughed, gasping, laughter in his eyes.
"Where is the Mother of Hearts?" I said. "Where's Dekker?"
"The holy awaits the awakening, the dawn of salvation will arise, when she walks on through the morning, and wets her face in darkness' cries." He screamed as I put pressure on the blade, blood starting to spurt from his neck. I let up even though I didn't want to.
"WHERE IS SHE?" I screamed, and Esme stirred on the gurney.
"Just give her your heart," said Ronson weakly, still smiling. "It's all she wants. Just give it to her. Don't you want to please the Mother? Don't you want to make her happy?"
"My track record for making mothers happy is not great," I said. "Tell me where she is." Blood was pouring from his neck and his face went gray. He blinked heavily at me.
"To give her your heart?"
"Sure, whatever. I’m going to give her my heart.“
He beamed, blood dripping down his cheek where I'd cut him, blood bubbling from his neck. It began to pool beneath him.
"She is where she started. Everything lovely comes from the water, Frankie. Even you. The Mother told me you are the loveliest of all. It's why she wants you. It's why her master wants you, too, but he won't ever have you. She will be you by that time, and he will accept her as an equal. Imagine how splendid! You and the Mother, together forever.”
“Stop speaking in riddles and tell me.”
"You'll find her on the beach," he said. "She let you rest so your power would be fresh when she took it. She gave you time so you could say your last words to your lover. Now it's time, Frankie Mourning." He closed his eyes. "The becoming of the beast who watches, will ignite a war of souls, but she will feast upon the sickness, and cleave the veil by winter's toll." He looked at me, his eyes dim, his lips pale. "Is it winter yet?"
"September," I said, grabbing a wad of gauze that had fallen to the floor. I pressed it to his neck, but I was sure it was too late.
"Almost winter. And then she can go home, beyond the veil. All she has to do is eat your heart, and she can return a hero."
He stopped talking, a gurgle in his throat.
“Shut up,” I said, but it was unnecessary. He was dead.
I unstrapped Esme and she moaned as I eased her over my shoulders. I heade
d for the doors, the smoke dissipating. I could see the occasional firefighter running down the halls, checking the rooms. Apparently the fire was out. It was full night when I walked through the crowd outside, and no one stopped me as I strapped Esme into the passenger seat of the police car. I took the keys from my pocket and headed the cruiser for the water.
I didn't know if I was saving Esme or trading her for Dekker. But either the Mother of Hearts was going to be dead by morning, or I was.
The drumbeat inside my chest was shaking my whole body by the time I got to the beach. I stood on the road and looked out to the sea, and could see the full moon rising. Esme and I were on the same beach where the first six bodies had washed onto shore, where we had met. I laid Esme, moaning, on the soft sand and walked toward Savage Bay.
Black tendrils were already wrapping around me as the cold light of the moon tinted the sky pale, making the tips of the waves almost silver.
"Frankie," someone said behind me, and my chest ached when I recognized Dekker's voice. I heard the edge, the madness, and I knew. I knew without looking that he had been touched. I remembered him on his knees in front of me, begging for my forgiveness. Dekker lying on his stomach. "Everything’s perfect."
I was already crying when I turned around, and even then, I couldn't look at him right away. I made a small noise as I felt the pain, as if I were actually breaking in two. I met his eyes and it was just like what happened at the bottom of the lake all those months ago. I could still feel the knife inside of me as Dekker's antlered doppelgänger slid it lovingly between my ribs. The pain of seeing him, his eyes so cold, reveling in causing me pain. I remembered not fighting back.
I met Dekker's eyes, and it was the real Dekker this time. It wasn't a copy or a mirror image, but really him. My Dekker, but broken. "No," I moaned. "This isn't what happens."
"You want a fairy tale," he grinned, stepping toward me. His gun was in his hand, hanging loose at his side. "You want to have babies with me and ride off into the sunset. But I have something better, Frankie. So much better. Come closer, baby, let me show you."
"Dekker," I whispered, and the shapeshifter appeared behind him, smiling with my father's face. At my back, on top of the sea, I knew the Mother of Hearts was watching. I could feel her there, waiting.
"Frankie, all you have to do is give me your heart."
"I already did," I said, tears blurring my vision. The thumping dimmed, felt lighter as I watched him, taking small, easy steps toward me. "You have to fight it, Dekker. Please. I can't do it like this." Dekker in the backseat of a car, an antler through his chest.
"Give me your heart, Frankie," he said, laughing. "It's so easy. Renee told me all about it. The Mother, she's just misunderstood." He turned and the shapeshifter flickered, stretching, becoming a beautiful black woman with a bullet hole in her forehead. She beamed at Dekker, her face glitching.
"Take it," she said to Dekker. "Cut her open and take her sweet little heart."
Dekker looked at me, the smile fading. "Cut...Frankie?" he said, frowning. "But she'll die." He smiled again, suddenly. "She'll come back, though! You always come back, Frankie. Just give me your heart, and you can sleep. And when you wake up, we'll be together. Right, Renee?"
"Sheee won't wake," said the shapeshifter and touched Dekker's hand, grasping it and raising the gun, pointing it at me. "You take a god's heart, that's how they diiiiie. You take a god's heart and their power goes too. Take it, take it now, Jacob."
"I have to take your heart," Dekker said, smiling like it was the most delightful thing he'd ever heard. "You won't wake up." He blinked, the smile staying, but his eyes looking troubled. "You won't wake up," he repeated.
"Stop it, Dekker. Don't listen to her, she's not real. You killed her, remember? She's not real!"
He stopped, arm raised, the gun pointed at my face. He turned his head to look at the shapeshifter, who smiled prettily at him, the wound in her head oozing. "I came back," the shapeshifter said. "I forgive you."
"Forgive," he repeated. He blinked, looking at me.
"I forgive you, Dekker," I said. "I always would have, I just needed time. Please fight this, I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to..." I swallowed, remembering Becky. "I love you, Dekker. I love you too much. It hurts."
But the shapeshifter eased a hand up, touching his face and his eyes seemed to clear. The grin spread again, and he laughed when he said, "I only want your heart."
He started to squeeze the trigger. Someone began to scream, and I smelled smoke just before I saw a shape, streaking across the beach toward us. Esme, completely covered in flames, and she was chasing someone, someone small and round who was running toward us. Someone that looked like Abel. And then I saw what he was holding.
A horn. A long, forked antler that he held in front of him like a knife. Headed straight for Dekker.
TWENTY-EIGHT
"Dekker!" I screamed. "Abel, no!"
It was as if no one could hear me. Dekker turned and, as if hypnotized, smiled dully as Abel came running toward him, raising the antler ludicrously above his head. I felt the darkness inside me burst to life then, erupting like a rocket, making my body shake with the power. But it wasn't my body that was shaking, it was the ground beneath my feet. Dekker stumbled back and fell onto the sand, the gun still in his hand. The shapeshifter watched Esme, screaming fire and fury, and he backed away, flickering.
"Get away from her!" Abel shouted, still running toward Dekker. "She is not for the Mother. She is not for you!"
Then Esme caught Abel's foot, diving, grabbing on, her hands made of flame, and then Abel was screaming, too. Ravens began to fill the sky as the darkness spilled out of me. I could feel the Mother behind me, approaching. I looked at Dekker, still on the ground.
"You have to remember," I said, and the ground was shifting, the waves growing agitated, rising up and splashing us. Dekker's hair was wet and he pushed it out of his eyes as he watched Abel writhing on the ground, shrieking. Esme was screaming Will’s name as she grasped the antler in her hand and threw it, and it landed next to Dekker. He looked at it, amused, then set down the gun and picked it up.
"Dekker, please," I said, my mouth full of darkness. The shapeshifter was so close, watching Esme in fear. I could just reach out and touch him, just like I'd planned. I could touch him and everything would work just as I wanted it to. But if I touched him, Dekker might get hurt. If I went mad, I might kill him. And if I killed Dekker, what was the point? If I killed him like I killed Becky, the world might as well end, for all I cared.
But Dekker was already gone. Touched by the shapeshifter and laughing like a child as Esme burned Abel. I felt the Mother growing closer, ever closer behind me. The shapeshifter seemed to sense me then and I moved to stand in front of him. Esme stopped screaming, and the glow of fire disappeared. The face of the shapeshifter changed once again, the features sloping, becoming more rigid, the skin weathered and starting to wrinkle, creases in the corners of his eyes just like my dad. That one crooked tooth in front, like my dad. Receding hairline, belly filling out, a smug, expectant expression that only touched the eyes, the look that always made me feel I wasn't enough, would never be enough. But then his face changed again. Blood poured from his mouth, spattered his face, and still the shapeshifter smiled with my father's face, the light going from it, and it started shifting again. Now he was Becky, now he was Roo, now Beatrice, now Jason Halloran.
"What the fuck is this?" I said, stepping toward the shapeshifter, feeling the power inside me. I could kill him anytime I wanted. I could kill all of them. I was going to wipe every fucking monster from the face of the earth, no matter how many times I had to die. The moon lit up the beach like a searchlight, and I remembered what Bea said. It was almost exactly what the Morrigan said. What Moira said on the bus The scratching at the inside of my skull was so loud I couldn't think. Dekker was laughing. Abel was whimpering. The thumping in my chest too loud to be a heart, the bubbling just under my skin praying t
o be released. The Mother was whispering. The Mother was afraid. I was in control, I could always control it, I just had to remember that I could. But I couldn't beat the Mother, not like this.
I looked at Dekker.
"I'm sorry," I said.
"You have to find your light," Bea's face was saying, as the shapeshifter moved into her once again. Only I knew it wasn't the shapeshifter saying it. The shapeshifter got into your head, and you made him look however you needed him to. Morley saw her first girlfriend. Dekker saw his dead partner. I was seeing a slideshow of my sad, lonely life. So many dead, so many that I'd killed myself. As the face shifted from killer to killer, I tried to make sense of it. Back to Beatrice again, and she was speaking. I strained to hear her over the cacophony of ravens.
"Frankie, you don't have to die!" Dekker was saying. But I wasn't listening.
"What are you trying to tell me?" I said to Bea who wasn't really there. "I can't hear you."
The Mother of Hearts was close now. I heard a sound like static interrupted with silence as she disappeared and reappeared, each time closer.
"You have to find your light," Bea said again. And then the face shifted to a white cowl over a long-dead face. The Mother of Hearts.
"Do not touch her!" the Mother hissed, just as she had in the parking lot, when Esme's husband died. The shapeshifter had been about to touch me when she said it then. The real Mother of Hearts appeared behind the shapeshifter, seeming smaller in the moonlight than in the dark. She appeared thin and weak in the light, where in the dark she had terrified me. The shapeshifter was right in front of me then and I was holding my knife, long and sharp and ready.
"Frankie?" Dekker said again, joy in his voice. "I know what to do now, Frankie. You don't have to die. You get to live."
I looked over at him, feeling as if we were all moving underwater. The sand was shaking, great crevices opening up. Dekker was on his feet, trying to keep his balance, and was beaming at me. The antler was in his hand now. For the first time I noticed that the horn was stained bright red. It looked as though it was still wet. I could see Esme, her clothes burned off, unconscious on the beach. Abel was trying to crawl toward me, his right leg burned to a stump.