by Jules Hedger
And that shit had just gotten very real.
Chapter 18
Cirrus was on a ship. The ship was painted blue, like the water rising and falling below the deck, and the wind snapped the white sails across the clear sky. He was in the middle of the ocean, with no land in sight, and yet he could detect the distinct scent of lilacs in the air. The air lifted the scent into his nose and blew through his hair, making his blond bangs flutter delightfully across his forehead.
He wasn't alone. Maggie stood a little ways off. She was leaning over one side of the ship trying to trail her fingers in the water as the wind caused the ship to skim across the sapphire ocean waves. She laughed as a spray of water leapt up and caught her in the face. She jumped back and brushed her arm across her cheek to wipe the sea salt spray from her eyes.
Maggie looked at Cirrus and smiled.
"What are you doing, Maggie?" Cirrus asked.
"I was trying to catch the sunlight," she replied. And smiled again.
"There is no sunlight in the sea," Cirrus said softly. The smell of lilacs was stronger as she moved towards him. "There is only darkness and depth and a crushing pressure."
"No there isn't; there is sunlight. I can see it in the waves."
"There is no sunlight. There is only darkness. And silence."
Maggie was suddenly in front of Cirrus. She held out a hand and through the cracks in her fingers Cirrus could see the small glimmers of light breaking through.
"There is sunlight. I caught some of it." She held it to her breast like a delicate baby bird. "It is my sunlight."
"Show me where," Cirrus whispered. Maggie led him to the side of the ship and pointed down. The water was far below, lapping gently at the blue painted wood. Cirrus could see the sunlight glinting off the edge of the waves. It looked like a light dusting of shimmer that stretched across the sea to the edge of the horizon. The entire surface of the ocean was bathed in a perfect golden glow.
"I want some," Cirrus said, putting his face in the warm curve of Maggie's neck. Her amber eyes glowed bright and his chest swelled like a wave. It was so delicious, he wished it would break and consume them both. "Will you catch some for me?" The wind snapped the sails suddenly and the smell of lilacs disappeared as her smile faded. All he could smell was salt and, somewhere on the edge of the wind's breath, the tension of an oncoming storm.
"I cannot catch you sunlight," she protested softly.
"How can you expect me to be happy without your sunlight?" Cirrus asked.
"You must catch your own sunlight." She lowered her head to meet his lips and brushed against them softly. The pressure in his chest intensified to a painful ache.
"How do you expect me to do that?" Cirrus could hardly breathe.
"Learn how to swim," she replied.
The boat suddenly crashed on a large wave and the deck pitched sideways. Cirrus stumbled and fell backwards off the boat with a cry. He crashed into a sea no longer bathed in gold but engulfed in the gray, dark shadows that come with a storm. Lightening cracked through the sky and the waves towered over Cirrus's head. Their force pushed Cirrus under the water again and again as he floundered to keep near the surface. He could see Maggie staring down at him through the rain, her hand still cupped around the ball of sunlight. Her skin glowed and pulsated the promise of warmth beyond his reach; he could still see it as he sank deeper into the ocean.
As the water closed down on him he tried to scream, but the crushing pressure in his lungs made his vision blur and fade and the light soon vanished as Cirrus sank to the bottom of the ocean.
***
The clock in Cirrus's manor struck 11 pm. Cirrus opened his eyes slowly. He was sitting in the chair in his drawing room. The heat of the fire tucked around his edges like a blanket. His whole body was surprisingly steady as he raised a hand to wipe the sheen of sweat from his brow. Despite all his efforts, he had fallen asleep. And he had dreamt, like he always did when he fell asleep, of something horrible and terrifying.
The doorbell rang.
Cirrus stood up and went to the window. He had been frightened to take to the air since Maggie fell and as a result, the nightmares around his grounds had multiplied. But for tonight, the darkness obscured the forest line where the nightmares paced around the trees. This was usually a blessing.
Cirrus hated them. He hated the dreams he created, the skewed faces and the long teeth, the slime that dripped from their limbs or the horrible scent of the dead that radiated from their wings. And whatever form they took he hated the sounds they made in the night. The sounds of the hunt terrified him. The purple cloud was his escape.
But the night was silent as Cirrus looked out onto the grounds. He could see and hear nothing of the monsters or his purple cloud. But he wished that the light would come back to banish the dark and illuminate the horrors he had created in his laboratory. The dark reminded him of his dream and the deep black abyss that had claimed and crushed him.
He had tasted the relief and rescue that the light had brought. And he was now surer than ever before that it was his salvation. But there was another feeling in his gut that he hadn't yet felt, a feeling that replaced the horrible spasms and nausea.
He was furious.
How dare anyone withhold the one thing that would save him from the dark and the nightmares? How could anyone even fathom not sharing the amazing gift that they were capable of giving to this world?
Does she, indeed, have any other purpose? he disdainfully reasoned. She is not noticed at home, not missed. She is a meaningless waste of beauty in the lives of people who have better things to do, he fumed to himself. I am giving her importance. I need her like no one else does. I need her more than I've needed anything else before in my life. And she is holding herself away from me, cupped tightly in the palm of her hand.
He turned away from the window and strode back to his desk where the papers lay signed and stamped on the desk. The Moth was already out searching. It would only be a matter of time before it flew back to Cirrus and he got a chance to show her just exactly how serious he was. Perhaps unleashing a small taste of the nightmares he lived with would be the perfect wake up call . . . once he had twisted that necklace away from her pretty neck.
The door creaked open and Marty stuck his head in. He shuffled into the room and stood by the door. He was no longer shaking, or sweating. His hands were steady by his sides and his clear eyes spoke a mixture of determination and recklessness.
"Who let you in?" Cirrus asked.
"I certainly don't want to be here, if you were wondering at all," Marty said. He walked to the chair and sat, slouching so low that he was practically lying down. His eyes did a speedy check around the room before settling intently on the fire.
"You look steadier," Cirrus said as he crossed to his desk.
"Well, thank you very much. You run a tight ship." He said that last bit begrudgingly. His eyes flicked over to Cirrus briefly. "Now that you mention it, you look well yourself."
"I took a nap," Cirrus replied softly. He regarded Marty expectantly but the man didn't move, just continued to stare into the flames with his fingers laced tightly in his lap. "Might I ask why you are in my chair? And not out helping the cause?"
"I've had enough Cirrus. I picked the wrong side. I know that now." He stood up and Cirrus realized that for the first time since they met, Marty wasn't high. He hadn't gone back to that. Marty was cold and sober and without the unpredictability the drugs gave him, he was surprisingly . . . weak.
"I quit," Marty finished. Cirrus had to struggle to keep from laughing.
The two men regarded each other, until Cirrus sighed and reached into his pocket. The gold watch was quite clearly heating up and gave a little throb against Cirrus's palm as he removed it from his waist coat.
"Marty, when the Painter died you were passed onto me." Cirrus opened the watch and imagined the sharp ticks that would otherwise sound in the stark silence. "It's not a choice, but it is an honor."
&n
bsp; Marty stood his ground, but Cirrus saw his fingers twitch nervously.
"I would be no use to you. You know the Painter was more than a boss, he was a friend "
"Only because you shot up when you clocked off," Cirrus interrupted. "Is that what you want from me? A buddy? Someone to hold the belt tighter as you punch the needle harder into your arm?"
The words dripped from Cirrus's mouth and he relished them, relished the cruelty and the disgust he felt for this slug of a man. He was a weakling, a pathetic sneeze of sickness and rot. He would only cause more trouble . . .
"Well, I can see we'll have to make an exception, Mr. Kleizenberg." He snapped the watch shut and pushed it back into his pocket, where it settled back in a comfortable place of warmth by his side. "I release you from your service."
Marty stood for a second, not sure what to make of it. But when it sunk in, he let out a breath of relief and allowed a small smile to flit across his face. In the meantime, Cirrus walked swiftly to the fireplace and the woven bell-pull.
"Thank you, Sir. I appreciate your understanding."
Cirrus turned around and smiled as widely as he could.
"Maggie is lucky indeed to have someone like you on her side."
Sensing the blanket of unease that had enveloped the room, Marty nodded and walked swiftly out of the room.
Cirrus let the smile drop and listened to the sounds in the hallway: Marty's footsteps, the voices in the hall, the yelling of protests and the unmistakable smack of a large fist finding impact on a jaw.
The phone pealed out from his desk, but Cirrus waited until he heard his men dragging Marty downstairs to the basement before answering on the fourth ring
"Hello?" he said.
"Cirrus?" said a voice.
"Yes, this is Cirrus. May I help you?"
"Cirrus, it's nice to hear you sounding so rested," Leof's voice slid out from the receiver.
"Leof." Cirrus sat down with phone. "What can I do for you?"
"You'll be interested to know that I have just met your little obsession," Leof replied. Cirrus stood straight up again and checked the hallway to make sure it was empty. He closed the door.
"Can I speak to her? Give her the phone!" Cirrus ordered breathlessly.
"No, no, Cirrus, she is no longer here," Leof said almost too quickly. Cirrus's heart plummeted sharply. "But we've certainly underestimated her intelligence." There was a pause on the other end of the line. "She killed my uncle. And Timothy."
Cirrus felt a swelling of pride and took a deep breath in to quell the excitement.
"And where did she go?" he asked. "You certainly didn't let her run back into the Wilds, again?" Cirrus could hear a small, fuzzy scuffle.
"I couldn't help it," Leof said finally. "She's looking for you and wouldn't be held here." Cirrus's stomach tightened.
She's moving forwards, Cirrus thought. "So she's not just . . . running?"
"Not anymore."
"Thank you very much. You've been a real help," Cirrus said softly.
"You're welcome. I better warn you that she's been receiving help. Your half-brother has made himself her protector. They're getting pretty close. Lucan –"
Cirrus heard the phone click and the line go dead. He held the phone receiver for a few long moments before placing it slowly back down. His fingers clenched themselves into fists with sharp angry cracks.
So it's come to this . . .
Just hearing his name brought acid to Cirrus's mouth. He hated Lucan even more than the nightmares that stalked his dreams. Lucan was his worst nightmare. I am Maggie's protector, as I used to be the Painter's, not that traitorous bastard!
He still remembered the day he was told the Painter had dreamt. The same day he found his brother on duty, twisted in his bed sheets with his large hands grasping and tugging, skin and sweat and the smell of sex . . . he still felt the rage that possessed him when he tied Lucan to the wooden pole and the fury that had helped him pull the knots tight around his ankles and kick his jug of water into the sand. Next time he would use nails. How he would love to use a hammer to break through his palms into the wood.
I can still taste that sunlight, Cirrus thought to himself. I can nearly taste it. He shivered. His fingers itched. He sat back down in his chair to wait for the dawn. I'll convince Maggie, he thought. And he would get Marty to help him, even if it killed him.
A scream resounded over the manor grounds. His dreams were on the hunt again.
And below Cirrus, Marty stared at the ceiling and spat out blood as he listened to the sounds of nightmares stalking above the basement walls.
Chapter 19
"I swear to all bloody murder, if you don't stop shoving me in the back I will turn around and maul you."
Lucan laughed and gave Leof another push across the sand. I watched him skeptically. As far as I was concerned he was enjoying this far too much. Leof had already tried to make a run for it twice and each time Lucan had taken him down harder than a Cowboys linebacker. I can't say I minded too much, but I'm sure I had some sympathy left somewhere.
"What are you going to do? Shimmy me to death?" Lucan tugged Leof's bound hands sharply and Leof snarled over his shoulder.
"I can still bite off your nose," he hissed. "I doubt little Painter girl will fancy you much then."
Lucan rolled his eyes at me and I smiled back uncomfortably. Truth be told, I was feeling a bit awkward since we started our march across the sand. When I had finally opened my eyes back at the circus, Lucan was still holding me. I must have fallen asleep or simply forgotten where I was for a minute, but when I saw whose arms were supporting me I thought for a few stupid moments I was dead. This wolfish man who looked like he had walked out of a western gazed down at me with such sadness in his shockingly blue eyes. And then he smiled and tenderly swept the back of his knuckles against my cheek.
"You back with us, Maggie?" he had whispered. It was almost too hard not to reach up and rub my thumb along his jaw line's rough stubble. My heart had given a quick beat under the dreamcatcher and I was girlishly tempted to bury my face in his lap to hide the blush.
But then I placed him, the man who had shot two people only two minutes before. And worse, the girl he was holding who had just blown away a man in cold blood. My stomach sank with an almighty clunk as I recognized where we were, who we were and what we were doing. His arms didn't feel so comforting anymore and the hands that stroked my hair tenderly still had gunshot beneath the fingernails.
And although he was still as beautiful as before, that beauty held a danger that I hadn't yet recognized before now; anger and a careless recklessness that I had only equated with my uncle. So willing to take a life . . .
And now we were walking along the sand with Leof – because no, he hadn't killed him in the end which I guess should have made me feel better but actually just made me dwell on the fact that Lucan must have shot Timothy twice. Lucan was looking at me now like we were confidantes and our hostage had just made the most endearing joke about our relationship.
One man who wants to couple with my mind, another who is hitting on me through the power of hostility. Did I deserve something so fucked up? I wanted to think that I didn't but looking back perhaps that was the best I could have hoped for.
"That's it, Lucan. Stop being so pathetic and pushing me around. I am not moving again until I get a sit down and a cigarette." Leof dropped to the sand and looked up at us defiantly. Lucan sighed and kneeled down to reach into Leof's pocket and pulled out his smokes. I sat slowly down, watching the sun grow lower in the sky.
Leof curled his lips around the thin cigarette and waited until Lucan lit it before turning his attention to me.
"You're not going to win, you know."
"Shut up, Leof," I sighed.
"No, really. I know this. I've seen enough escape attempts in my day to know you are doomed." He blew some smoke from the side of his mouth. "And this plan of yours is about the stupidest thing I ever heard of."
"
Watch your mouth," Lucan said, cuffing him sharply in the head. Leof smiled and shook his greasy hair from his face.
"Not saying it doesn't mean it's not true."
Tragically, he was bang-on. Our idea was just about the stupidest plan ever concocted. When Lucan forced Leof to called Cirrus, his motive was to lure him out into the open; get him on our turf and put a surprise attack in motion before we entered the Middle Canvas and played into his hands. But Leof, who proved to be just as addicted to havoc as warned, had quickly blown Lucan's cover and instead of playing it cool, like an ass Lucan hung up in probably the most obvious cover-up ever.
So now Cirrus could be on his way, angrier than ever, or he could leave us deliberately out here to die. No dream would stop for us now; they didn't trust us with the amount of dead bodies we seemed to leave behind.
"What are you thinking about, Maggie?" Lucan asked after a minute.
"My mother," I said, the lie coming to mind surprisingly quickly. I stared vacantly into the sky and of course now that I had mentioned it I was suddenly thinking of her: the gin-soaked elephant in the room. "She must be so worried." Chuckling a bit, I looked back up at Lucan. "Or not at all. I'm never quite sure how my mother feels about me."
"What do you mean? I thought all mothers were obligated to love their children," Lucan said brusquely as he settled himself a few feet away from me. Leof scoffed.
"Lucan, you of all people should know how it feels not to be the favorite," he sneered. Lucan looked at him sharply, but didn't argue.
"Well, I don't know about your mother, but obligation was never something mine took to heart. The world could crumble and zombies could be vying for brains and all my mother would contribute to a survival colony is a fool-proof method for dirty martinis."
"So your mother refuses all obligation?"