by Drew Avera
I did not belong here, but I belonged to another who resided here. This was the token to my survival in this dastardly place. Most like me would be welcomed with a slice of a knife across their throat, a sign that the magic used here were unworthy for a simple human such as me.
How blessed was I to be able to walk these mean streets unscathed?
The verdict was still out on that.
I could see my breath exit in puffs of steam as I turned to enter the hostel. This was where the only vantage point for my previous deed would have been seen. Usually a criminal never returned to the scene of the crime unless they were either crazy, or just wanted to tempt fate. Neither was true in my case, I just needed to silence a squeaky wheel.
The receptionist made eye contact with me long enough for me to notice that she had brown eyes and too much makeup behind the pale glow of an old lamp. She soon turned to scurry off about some other business in order to leave me to my own. Most humans like her were not practitioners, she was either born here or she was a slave like me. Either way I pitied her, this was no place for those not initiated in wickedness.
The stairs that led to the upper levels were narrow and steep. It was a way to save space in the confines of these walls, but it made my old knees hurt like hell. Even with the curse of my sentence I could feel every bit of my sixty years just the same. My image in the mirror might deny it, but the bones don't lie.
Neither do memories.
My heavy feet beat against the stairs as I made my way up to the second story and paused in front of the door to room thirteen. This was where the deed had been done. I could still smell the black powder in the air if I sniffed just right. I jiggled the handle of the door and could see that it was locked. It didn't matter, I still remembered the blood splattered against the window and pooled on the hardwood floor.
I turned around and saw the cracked door of room twelve, the television casting hued shadows along the floor of the room. I could see the foot of the bed nearest the television and I could hear the mumbling sounds of a woman who must have witnessed what she should not have. I didn't hate the killing part of my job; it hardened my heart and made it easier to live this way. I just hated back tracking.
I shoved the door open and the creak of the hinges heralded my arrival.
"I've been expecting you," the old woman said without looking up from the program she was watching. It was a show from the modern world outside of the Realms. I could tell because of the static on the screen. I was surprised it was even viewable this time of year. The only thing worse than watching television and listening to a radio in the Realms was trying to get a damned cell phone signal around here.
"Are you Genevieve Le Fortier?" I asked as she shifted her legs under the covers of the bed.
She looked up with the whites of her eyes wide, her pupils were dilated, and a bead of sweet had formed on her forehead. "I was, but not anymore."
"What do you mean?"
"I've come here to die, Alexander. That's all you need to know," she replied as she pulled a knife from under the sheets. It was a useless weapon against what I was packing, but I was still caught off guard by the spry old woman. I lifted my revolver and leveled it at her, pulling the hammer back as I did. "It's all right, Alexander. You do what you need to do."
"How do you know my name?" I asked. Everyone in the Realms called me Grimm. Very few knew my first name.
In the blink of an eye she was up out of the bed and standing before me, her hand draped around my gun and her eyes peering into mine. "You're dead wife told me."
"What?"
The gun went off without any help from my own fingers. She had pressed the trigger herself and blanketed the bed with her own crimson blood. The silver bullet fragments boiled the drops of blood that it had made contact with and her body fell in front of me. The smoking wound gaped from the folds of flesh where her face once was.
I couldn't help but look away, not from the mess. I had seen my share of those in my life. It was her response. How could she know my wife, she had been dead for over twenty years? Even more puzzling was the fact that she came here with the intention to die. This shit was weird even for the Realms.
In a daze I holstered my weapon and stepped back from the door before the ash cloud of her body's decay took effect, the game show still played on the television as runs of blood covered the celebrating winner of the broadcast. I turned the corner and stepped down the stairs, having my fill of the Realms for the day. I left the hostel behind and hid myself in the shadows of the alley near where I entered.
"Are you all right?" Remy asked, sneaking behind me. I drew down on him, the daze that I was in clouded my judgment. "Whoa," he said as he ripped the gun from my fingers as easily as plucking a flower from the ground. "If you do that again I'm going to have to kill you. You know that, right?"
"Piss off, Remy. I was leaving." I said as I jerked the gun out of his hand and stepped back through the portal, back underneath the weeping willow. The sting of the cold air did little to pull me from my thoughts. All I could think about was my wife, and Genevieve Le Fortier going there with the intention to die. How were they connected? What in the hell was going on?
The Realms had a pulling effect on my body, even as I stepped closer to the Buick and climbed in. The windshield was already frozen over again, not that it mattered. I was in no shape to drive. I cranked the old beast, turned the heater on full blast and lay across the bench seat.
I needed sleep, actually I needed a shrink, but I was certain that my health insurance didn't cover crazy. Instead I laid there and contemplated what I was being led into. This assignment was not a coincidence. Just what did the Raven have up his sleeve? I was afraid that I would find out before I had the chance to digest it all. He had a sick way of toying with people, especially me.
As I laid there I drifted into slumber, my body finally relaxed enough to give into the need. There was a reason I always fought it though; the only thing worse than being awake were the nightmares. The ones that revealed the truth about my past, and each time I was powerless to stop it.
Chapter 3
The smell of apple pie seeped under the front door of our apartment, my wife was anything but a domestic goddess, so I knew it was just another one of those scented candles that she loved to buy so much. Still it would have been nice to have the baked goods that my tongue now salivated for.
It was not to be.
I pushed open the door and realized the mess right away. This was beyond my wife neglecting a broom from time to time. I genuinely thought that we were robbed, even though the most expensive thing in the room still sat on the book shelf, Natalie's silver collection, passed down from her great grandmother.
I dropped my briefcase and headed straight for the nursery, realizing with terror that I could not hear the baby, and Natalie was nowhere to be seen.
I found them both, Angelica slept in her crib while my wife rocked herself back and forth while a puddle of blood rippled in front of her.
"My, God," I said as she sat there. I grabbed a towel normally reserved for those occasions when a diaper was beyond expectations and ran towards Natalie to stop the bleeding. That was when I saw where the blood was coming from. Two puncture wounds in her neck, like something from a horror movie. Her eyes were closed and pinkish tears flowed from them. Her brown hair was disheveled and her clothes were stretched and torn. I could see her chest rise and fall with each breath, but I did not see the bulging of the veins in her neck that usually occurred when her heart beat.
"Natalie," I said as I touched the wound with the towel and she moaned lightly. She had lost a lot of blood, but I could see that some of it had dried on her lips. I moved to wipe it away when her eyes opened.
Gone were the green irises of my wife, instead they were pale, silvery moons that pierced my soul. I forgot to breathe for what seemed an eternity. I was reminded when I heard Angelica whimper as she stirred in her sleep. Natalie and I simultaneously looked towards the cr
ib and back to one another.
"Save me," she whispered to me. I didn't understand at first, but then she showed her fangs. They belonged to a hungry beast that thirsted for a taste of blood, regardless of how innocent it was.
I knew at that moment that the tears were not from pain, but from refusing the darkness inside of her. I had never seen a mythical entity before. I had always thought that it was all bullshit, just another story to control the behavior of the animals commonly referred to as people. These monstrous myths served the same purpose as religion did in my opinion. I had never heard God speak before, I had never seen a miracle either; at least not one that I could touch.
Not until this day.
The woman who I loved lunged towards me and gnashed her teeth, craving to latch onto my jugular. She was too strong for me. I fought with everything that I had as fear quickened my pulse. It was useless, I was useless.
Angelica cried, distracting her mother, loosening her grip on me ever so slightly.
I took advantage of it as I labored to breathe once again, moving away on unsure legs. I felt like a bastard as I left my daughter in the room with that monster, that thing. I looked for the handgun that had been my home defense weapon since we moved to the shit neighborhood when we were first married. We had moved to a better one since, but we kept the gun to remind us of where we had come from.
It was still stashed in the coat closet, loaded, ready.
I turned to see Natalie standing in front of me, caught between our daughter and the way out. I knew what she wanted, but I doubted that I could give it to her.
"Kill me, save me from this," pinkish tears poured from her eyes like small rivers of trembling pain. "If not for me, then do it for Angelica. I don't know how much longer I can keep away from her. Our Angel."
I swallowed hard. I never would have thought in a million years that I would have to face this situation in my life. I was a damned accountant for crying out loud. Not a killer, not someone who could take a life. My heart pounded harder in my chest and it aroused Natalie. I could see how she was looking at me, but it was not with the romantic intent of our loving marriage. It was with the blood lust of something darker, something evil.
She flinched, and I reacted autonomously. I barely registered the fact that I pulled the trigger, but the anthem of the gunshot blast rocked my body, and pounded my ears.
I opened my eyes and could see the blood seep from Natalie's stomach, if she was still human then she would have died from the wound, but she was no longer human was she?
"Again," she choked.
Without any reaction on my part the gun went off for a second time, followed immediately by a third. Fear catapulted the bullets more than any decision I was making myself. Another blast erupted from the barrel, a heralding shout of proclamation. "I will not let you kill our daughter," each shot cried.
There was an empty click as the now empty gun struck a hollow chamber. Still Natalie stood before me, her wickedness shown in the glint of her depraved smile. I had failed, and she knew it. Just like she had known I had failed when I had gambled all of our savings away the year before Angelica was born. Her knowing was a curse for which I had never outlived.
"It wasn't enough," she said as she fought the beast inside of her. "It hurts, but that is all."
"What can I do?" I asked needing to react before it was more than she could bear.
She answered with a turn to her left and looked at the bookshelf, at her silver collection.
I ran towards it, but it was as if I had startled a wild beast in the wilderness. Fight or flight took affect and she leapt for me. My fingers barely grasped the handle to the box before we fell to the floor with a heavy thud. She had knocked the wind out of me, but I was running on pure adrenaline now. She lashed out at me with her fingernails, tearing at my shirt and jacket, cutting my arms with furious pulls of my flesh.
Still I reached along the floor to find an object to stab her with. The frantic movement did nothing to deter her. I brought a silver knife up swiftly only to have it knocked out of my hand with a slap of her arm. I cried out and winced as I felt the bones in my arm break from the impact.
I couldn't give up. Angelica was all that I had left and I could not fail her. I would not fail her.
I reached out again and found another knife, this one was a butter knife, but it was my only chance. "Natalie!" I cried out and she stopped at the sound of my voice. It was clear that she was fighting herself with as much strength as she was fighting me. I could see my reflection in her eyes, blood covered my face and torso, but I was still alive for now.
"Do it," she whispered with pained breath.
I did.
"I love you," I said as I drove the silver knife deeper into her back, twisting it to keep the wound from closing.
She whimpered as the agony of the silver burning her drove away her demon, or whatever in the hell caused this change in her. Smoke bellowed from her wounds and she leaned closer. "Thank you, my love," she said and kissed my lips one last time. They tasted like blood.
She rose up from kissing me and I watched as she disappeared like ash floating from a disrupted fire. I was alone and bleeding on the floor, with Angelica cooing in the next room, undisturbed by the chaos that had ensued in the living room. She no longer had a mother, but I knew that things would only get worse after this moment.
Don't ask me how, but I knew.
Chapter 4
I woke with a start, smothered with beads of sweat despite the frigid temperature outside. The heat was still on full blast as the engine to the old beast of a Buick was winding at a slightly higher RPM trying to keep up. I sat up from the seat and wiped the sleep from my eyes and cracked my neck as I bent it from side to side. The accompanying pops shot both relief and a sharp little pain down my spine, the yin and yang of an old body.
After a few moments I climbed to the front seat and put the car in gear to back out of the winding, gravel access road. The snow had stopped, for now, and the powder only drifted when the wind was blowing, looking like tiny feathers wafting in the breeze.
Unable to content myself with the silence that haunted my thoughts, my fingers drifted to the radio dial and scanned through the local, static filled stations. Country, rock, hip hop, all of it sounded horrible through the speakers. Auto-tune didn't help either. I finally settled on a station that came in just good enough not to be irritating, though the stock beats droning through each song would eventually take their toll.
It was midmorning when I had awakened and the drive was only about half an hour before I reached my apartment. I should have taken a cue from the dream that this day was not going to get any better. Reality had a funny way of being a real bitch about it.
I pulled into my designated parking spot and cut the engine before it fully came to a stop. I was distracted by two uniforms standing outside of my apartment building. True enough, I lived in a shit-hole ghetto, but usually the cops didn't parade around in the daytime.
I climbed out of the driver's seat and stalked over to the entrance, trying with every bit of effort that I could muster to be invisible.
"Excuse me, Mr. Grimm," said one of the men.
Damn.
I stopped and looked at the clean cut kids decked out in their ironed uniforms and shiny badges. Their holsters contained standard issue .9mm handguns and each sported twin sets of cuffs. I got the last bit of detail from their reflection in the front window of my apartment building.
"Yeah," I finally said after sizing the men up.
"We have a few questions for you, about last night," the darker one said. He looked Hispanic or mixed. I really couldn't tell.
"I was out of town last night," I said and tried to stepped passed them.
"Whoa, there, we're not done, sir," he said with a certain sing-song sweetness to his voice.
"You're not? I could have sworn you were," I said with a gruff as I tried yet again to step out of the cold and into the warmth of my building.
> The white officer grabbed my arm and tried to man handle me. I grabbed his upper arm and pulled him close to me. "You might want to take your hands off of me, son. Touch me again and I'll shove your little badge up your tight little ass."
He eyed me, less shock than anger etched in his face.
There's a reason cops hang out in groups of two.
My other arm was pulled behind me and my feet were swept out from under me. My body crashed hard into the slush of snow and ice on the sidewalk. "I don't know what your problem is old man, but we aim to fix it. We're gonna take you in. You have the right to remain silent," he read me my rights, they fell on deaf ears. I knew them already, but they didn't mean much to me. A life like mine was not filled with everyday freedoms.
The two men hauled me up as my wrists were cuffed behind me. Leaning against the cold bricks of my apartment they patted me down.
Shocker, they found my piece.
"What have we here, Officer Ramirez? I think the old man is packing," the white cop said as he patted my shoulder holster. They spun me around and opened up my jacket to reveal the cold metal of my revolver.
"Seems you're right, Officer Baker. Now tell me, Mr. Grimm, do you have a license to carry?" Ramirez asked. Now I knew both of their names, there's power in a name.
"Yeah, I'm licensed," I answered as Ramirez unloaded the bullets into his gloved palm. What's this, silver bullets? What are you doing, shooting werewolves or something?" Ramirez asked with a puzzled look on his face as he moved one of the casings his thumb and index finger.
"Something," I said as my breathing finally returned to normal.
"Must come in handy in the Realms, huh?" Baker said with a glint in his eye.
"What the..."
I felt his knee in my gut first, followed by two clenched fists striking me between my shoulder blades. The next hit came from the approaching ground.