by Ryan Hill
The problem for Bailey was Mr. Lovell didn’t look like someone his parents would associate with. And that bit about hiring him? Please. As if Wanda and Earl would go out and hire the adult equivalent of a clown for a kid’s birthday party. Besides, it wasn’t a sin to ask who Mr. Lovell was. And why did Bailey’s parents act like everything was his fault? He wanted to tell them so, using every curse word imaginable, but that would only make things worse. It was time to play the teleporting card. “What about Mr. Lovell appearing behind me out of thin air?”
“What?” Wanda asked.
Bailey knew he’d caught her off guard. She stammered, trying to come up with a good explanation for someone having the ability to teleport themselves somewhere without walking, driving, or flying.
“Mr. Lovell played a joke on you,” Earl said. “He ran around the other part of the house and snuck up behind you, then used some noisemaker.”
“Really.” Bailey didn’t buy that for a second.
“Yes!” His mom sounded all too eager to get behind her husband’s lie. “We even talked to him about that. He said he was sorry if he scared you, but it was all in good fun.”
“Okay.” Bailey wanted to believe the two of them. That innate genetic code that made someone unconditionally love their parents tried to convince Bailey to accept their word as truth and move on. Those genetics would’ve won out, if his instincts didn’t cry out bullshit.
Wanda got up from her chair and rushed over to Bailey, giving him a tight hug. “It’s okay. You’ve had a rough night. We’re just happy you’re home and in one piece.”
Bailey patted his mom’s arm. The hug was meant to be comforting, but it was anything but. “Thanks.”
“Do you want some tea?” Wanda asked. “I picked up this new kind at the store today. It’s guaranteed to make you feel better.”
“I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?” His mom ignored him. “You might be surprised how much better you’ll feel. I’ll make some anyway, in case you change your mind.”
Bailey wanted to yell at Wanda, but she quickly disappeared into the kitchen. He’d said no to tea, so there was no point in making the stuff. He turned his attention to Earl. “Tell me more about Mr. Lovell.”
“We told you, he’s an entertainer,” Earl said. “Hell of a trickster. He had us in stitches. I’m honestly surprised you didn’t get a kick out of him. I’d have figured that magic stuff would be right up your alley.”
Bailey scanned his father’s face for any sign of a lie, be it glancing at the floor, rubbing his forehead, anything. With the exception of a little redness in his face, Earl didn’t tip his hand.
Why the charade? We both know he’s not some wannabe David Copperfield.
Wanda returned with the tea. She set it in front of Bailey, a huge smile on her face. Steam rose from the cup. It smelled like foot fungus.
“Go on,” she said eagerly. “Have a sip.”
“Fine. I’ll have some tea. Will that make you happy?” Bailey hoped it would at least shut her up about it. He held up the tea to take a sip, but the smell made him cringe. If it smelled like toxic waste, how awful would it taste? “What kind of tea is this?”
“You know, I don’t remember what it’s called. It has some Indian name. Drink up. It’s good for you.”
Bailey tried again to drink it, but the stench made him gag. He pushed the cup away. “Whatever it is, I can’t drink it. Thanks, but I think I’m just going to cash out for the night.”
“Not before you have some tea,” Earl said. “Your mother and I insist.”
“Do it for us, sweetie.” Wanda’s smile seemed exaggerated, like it was work to do it.
Odd.
“Why do you two care if I drink the tea? I’m fine, really.” What was the big deal about the tea? They’d already lied to Bailey, and the last thing he needed was to drink tea that probably smelled like Marshall’s dirty underwear. Bailey’s nerves were shot, and their pestering pushed him close to the breaking point. “Please. I’m asking nicely. Stop.”
“Be a good boy,” his mother cooed, laying her hands on his shoulders. “Do as we say.”
Wanda’s touch sent a jolt of terror through Bailey. His body wanted to break, give in to the anxiety, and lash out.
Not now. Please, not now.
“Guys, stand down. I’m seriously about to lose it.” He spoke through a clenched jaw.
Earl rose from his chair and walked over to Bailey. His father wrapped his arms around him and squeezed, wrestling Bailey to the floor.
Bailey wiggled as hard as he could under Earl’s grip.
“Get him, Wanda!” Earl cried.
Bailey grunted, his muscles burning as they tried to break free. He only succeeded in rolling over, his dad now underneath him. “Let me go. What’s wrong with you two?”
“This is for your own good.” Wanda picked up the tea.
“Hurry up. I can only hold him for so long,” Earl struggled to say. His grip crushed Bailey’s chest, making it difficult to breathe. “Stop wiggling.”
“Pinch his nose.” Wanda brought the cup of tea down toward Bailey’s mouth.
Earl did as his wife suggested, forcing Bailey to open his mouth to breathe.
Bailey swung his head side to side to avoid the tea. “Don’t! I’m your son, for God’s sake!”
Wanda giggled. “This isn’t going to hurt you. We weren’t lying when we said this would make you feel better. Us too, for that matter.”
First honest thing they’ve said all night, Bailey thought.
Wanda poured some of the tea, but she missed his mouth. Bailey cried out in pain as the hot tea scalded his cheek. His dad let out a little yelp too as some of it got on his hands.
“Damn it, woman!” Earl shouted.
“Sorry,” she said.
“Wanda,” Earl said. “Get your hind end on top of him.”
Wanda straddled them with her legs and then sat on Bailey’s stomach. The pressure of her weight made it almost impossible for him to move.
“Mom, don’t.”
“We’re doing this because we love you,” Earl said.
“It’s okay, sweetie. Take your medicine.” Wanda used a soothing, hypnotic voice. “Momma’s going to make it all better.”
Wanda poured the tea in Bailey’s mouth, burning his throat. The pain and the tea’s awful taste almost made him retch. His mom poured the last drop out of the cup and then gently set it on the table. Bailey felt tingly all over. His vision blurred. The sensation morphed into a serene, euphoric feeling. Bailey enjoyed the buzz but still knew something was wrong. He tried to move, but his body refused to respond. A cloud formed in his mind. Every thought became hazy. He felt himself drifting away. The panic disappeared. He had to admit it. The feeling was pretty awesome, even if it was his death.
Why hadn’t anyone tell him it would be so peaceful?
CHAPTER SIX
The Kindness of Strangers
Mr. Lovell paced back and forth in his beachfront condo, listening to the ocean through the open patio door. The sound comforted both him and Trenton. Marshall’s parents, Ron and Christine Higgins, sat stiff and upright on the couch, their eyes following Mr. Lovell’s strides.
“I apologize for cutting the Southwicks’ party short.”
“Don’t be,” Ron said. His graying mustache did a terrible job of hiding a cleft palate. “We understand. The Southwick boy has always been a little bit of a handful.”
“Easily frightened, too,” Christine said.
“His parents have him under control.” Mr. Lovell’s pacing stopped. “But what about you, Mr. Higgins? Everything under control?”
“Yes, sir,” Ron said. “My company handles all the cell phone towers in town. Starting the morning of the Awakening, nobody will be able to get a message in or out of here. Mooresville will be completely dark.”
“You’re sure you can do this?” Mr. Lovell asked.
You do relish intimidating the mortals, don’t yo
u?
Mr. Lovell scratched at his chest.
It’s okay. I enjoy it too. Especially when they wet themselves.
“You sure you can keep my family safe?” Ron asked. “Give us everything we want?”
There were a million different ways to kill Ron, and over ten thousand of those took longer than six hours. Mr. Lovell gave strong consideration to each of them. People didn’t mouth off to him, not without paying a severe price for it. Trenton’s laughter only served to egg him on.
Leave him be. With bravado like that, we both know his fall from grace will be longer, and more unexpected, than the others. He’ll watch his family die piece by piece. When begging for mercy doesn’t work, he’ll beg for a quick death. He’ll cower and snivel like a cockroach as he realizes the extent of his impotence.
Mr. Lovell agreed with Trenton. Ron could live for now. But after the Awakening, Mr. Lovell would take no small amount of pleasure in seeing Ron and his family die. Mr. Lovell’s cell rang. He thanked Ron and Christine for their time and then stepped onto the balcony to answer the call. “Running late as usual, I see.”
“It wasn’t my fault. I swear.” Percy sounded scared. Out of breath. “There was a wreck on the highway. I was late getting to the bar. I figured I could take care of Franklin myself.”
“What happened?” Mr. Lovell focused on the waves, trying to keep his anger in check. It was always something with Percy.
“I’m sorry. Can you come get me?”
Mr. Lovell held the phone away from his ear. “Damn these mongrels. Why can’t it just be you and me again?”
Calm down. You don’t know what’s happened. He’s still useful to us. You’ll get the chance to kill him soon enough.
Mr. Lovell squeezed the phone and held it back up to his ear. “Where are you?”
Teleporting wasn’t all it was made out to be. At least, it wasn’t for Mr. Lovell. The spinning always left him dizzy, and it took his brain a few seconds to adjust to the new surroundings.
Percy got out of his ridiculous van, one hand covering his eye. He waved to Mr. Lovell.
“You were supposed to call me. All you were supposed to do was stall Franklin.”
“I, I know.” Percy seemed taken aback at Mr. Lovell’s lack of remorse. “I thought he’d gotten caught in the same wreck as me. He was on me within a minute of stepping in that place. What was I supposed to do?”
“Excuse yourself and call me from the bathroom.”
“I’m sorry man, but I had to do something!”
And look what it got him.
Percy’s sleeve was soaked in blood. “My eye, man.”
What did my brother do?
“Show me,” Mr. Lovell said.
Percy nuh-uhed. “It’ll fall out.”
This is rich.
“I can’t help if I can’t see,” Mr. Lovell said.
“Oh, man!” Vomit spilled out of Percy’s mouth and onto his shirt. He bent over to get the rest of it out.
Mr. Lovell moved to the side, away from the splatter. “Not on the shoes.”
“That sucked.” Percy spit and then used the clean sleeve to wipe his mouth. “Can you use your magic mojo to put my eye back?”
“My experience lies in the darker, more sinister arts,” Mr. Lovell said. “I don’t do healings.”
We could give him immortality. How does that sound? Percy rounding out our little group?
Mr. Lovell cleared his throat.
No, you’re right. He’s too much of a buffoon.
“Come on,” Percy whined. “I need it.”
“Go to the hospital,” Mr. Lovell said. “Look at my face. I can do nothing for you.”
Percy glared at Mr. Lovell’s face. For once, it seemed like the stoner was actually putting some thought into something.
“Shit!” Percy faced the van and then buried his face in his arms. The shoulder heaves came next.
The boy’s crying. What a sad, pathetic excuse for a person.
Mr. Lovell scratched at his stomach.
That said, we need to fix this. It’s too late to find a replacement.
“Stop whining. It’s disgusting. Let’s go inside. They should be able to help.”
Mr. Lovell led Percy into the pharmacy. The cashier, an overweight black woman with wild, curly hair, greeted them from behind the register.
“Oh!” She pointed at Mr. Lovell’s face. “You need some Aloe?”
He swallowed back his anger. “I’m fine, but if you could point my friend toward the First Aid section.”
The cashier yelped at Percy’s face. “What’s up with you two?”
“First Aid,” Mr. Lovell growled.
“Aisle three,” the cashier said. “Though I think you’re way past the point of Band-Aids. I’m going to call 9-1-1.”
Percy ran down aisle three, and then tried to pick out a box of bandages. Mr. Lovell strolled over, the fluorescent lighting and brown carpet giving everything a deathly ill look. He laughed to himself. He scanned the aisle, picking out some heavy-duty gauze and medical tape.
“This will do.”
The two of them went to the counter to pay. Percy scanned the candy rack in front of the register. Watching such a wreck of a person ogle at the sweets made Mr. Lovell feel the slightest bit of sympathy.
Why not? We still need him.
“And whatever my associate picks out,” Mr. Lovell said.
Percy smiled and stashed a couple packs of Peanut M&Ms in his pocket. Mr. Lovell gave the cashier a fifty-dollar bill.
“You want change?”
“Keep it.” Mr. Lovell was ready to move on with his night. Percy’s mishap with Franklin had held things up long enough.
“Can I get some painkillers, on the house?” Percy asked.
The cashier shook her head. “Pharmacy’s closed, honey.”
Outside, Percy leaned against his van, while Mr. Lovell tucked Percy’s eye back into the socket. Once it was packed in nice and tight, Mr. Lovell rolled the gauze around Percy’s head. Blood seeped through the first few layers, but the makeshift bandage did the trick. He looked like a mummy when Mr. Lovell finished.
He hasn’t mentioned the cargo. We need to know if Franklin got to them.
“I swear,” Percy dumped the last of the M&Ms in his mouth. “Nothing is going my way tonight. Not one damn thing.”
“Do you still have Trenton’s body parts?”
Percy looked down at the ground. “Course. They’re in the back.”
He’s lying.
Mr. Lovell grabbed Percy by the neck. He tried to claw free, but it was no use.
“I really hate being lied to,” Mr. Lovell said.
“Franklin. He got them.”
Mr. Lovell squeezed harder. Not because he needed more information. He wanted to. Percy’s mistake led to most of Trenton’s body being destroyed. Mr. Lovell enjoyed the feeling of Percy’s throat collapsing under his grip.
“Boss,” Percy said, his flailing weakening by the second. “Please.”
Let him go. I’m as disappointed as you, if not more so. That was my body he failed to protect.
Mr. Lovell let Percy go. He massaged his neck, trying to ease the pain. He coughed as his lungs tried to take in large gasps of air.
“He was just one guy. I had a gun. I didn’t think he’d smash my eye in with a cue ball.”
Something we may want to thank him for.
“You have to think. Always think.” Mr. Lovell patted down Percy’s wrinkled shirt. “You’ve never met Franklin in person. I should’ve been more diligent in explaining how dangerous he was.”
Percy’s cigarettes had fallen on the ground. Mr. Lovell picked up the pack. He took one out and stuck it in Percy’s mouth. The boy tried to suck on it.
“Need to light it first.” Mr. Lovell took the lighter out of Percy’s pocket and gave it to him.
Hands shaking, Percy lit the cigarette and took a long drag, the cherry burning through the paper and tobacco. The ambulance’s sire
n could be heard in the distance. They’d be there any minute.
“You’re more trouble than you’re worth,” Mr. Lovell said. “You know that.”
“I’m so, so sorry. I fucked up. Why can’t I ever do anything right?”
This is pathetic. Does he realize what someone his age was like five hundred years ago? A king? A killer? Master of his destiny?
Flashing red lights bounced off the van. The ambulance was about to turn into the parking lot.
“I’ve got to go,” Mr. Lovell said.
“Wait!”
Mr. Lovell teleported away before Percy could finish what he was saying. In less than a second, Mr. Lovell was back in his condo. He threw his hat across the room and screamed. It felt like everything was falling apart.
“Everything we’ve worked toward. Preparing this place for the Awakening. All that effort. For nothing.”
It doesn’t matter if the Awakening fails. My brother must die. No more of this back and forth.
“Can you even be awakened without your entire body?”
Yes. We may need to… borrow some parts, but if my head survives, I survive. The rest of my body will only make the assimilation easier.
Mr. Lovell couldn’t believe what Trenton was saying. “I didn’t know you had this power.”
My father wanted Franklin and me to be fishermen, like him. They loved the sea. I did, too. Even after it took my first life. That’s when the Conch Shell of Doom came to me. Gave me this power.
“I’ve never heard this story,” Mr. Lovell said. He was amazed.
You may be a master of the dark arts, but I created them. I used the shell to curse myself with immortality.
Mr. Lovell took his gloves off and looked at his deformed hands. If Trenton had the power to use other people’s bodies, surely that ability could be passed on. “You mean to say all this time…”
No. Only I have that power. You knew the price of immortality when I offered it.
“I did. Do. Perhaps one day, I’ll be strong enough to have a new body.”
Perhaps, but living in a body that isn’t yours can be troublesome. They wear out over time and sometimes reject their new master.
CHAPTER SEVEN