by Kim Faulks
Just like I…
Tears carved warmth down my face.
Just like I did with Mom.
My boots were heavy, arms weighed down with the memory as the cold evening wind licked the moisture from my cheeks.
I was alone…again. But this loneliness…this isolation was something more.
I wasn’t just forgotten. I was cast aside, not wanted, not needed—even death refused me…
No peace. My lips trembled as I turned the corner. No peace for someone like me. The darkening sky lit up with a savage bolt. Yellow clouds turned sullen and broody.
The storm lingered, flanking me on all sides, like it was hungry…waiting to pounce. I didn’t care. I couldn’t care. Their faces consumed me, laughing, joyful as lame jokes while liquid and gas filled my mind.
And as the thunder cracked overhead, Kenya’s face rushed to fill me, desperate and pleading, her words muffled by the deafening boom.
But I knew them. I felt them. Familiar buildings rose in the distance as the hard splatter of rain fell. My feet were tired and numb, moving on their own.
I stared at the smashed metal sign as heavy drops smacked my forehead…they were all I saw now…those three letters—Vet…
A savage bolt severed the dusk and was swallowed by the hungry, billowing clouds. I flinched with the crack of thunder and my knee buckled. Heavy rain splattered the asphalt as I hit the ground.
Tiny puddles formed around my fingers with the torrent. I thought of my home then, thought of all the things I missed. My bed, my room, the smell of my dad’s Marine uniform. The soft pillows where my mom had lain.
The toe of my boot dragged against the road as I planted my sole on the ground. My body wasn’t working…not like it should. Heat slipped through my fingers as I reached for my side.
Pain was more than a savage bite now, it was a hunger, a ravenous hunger that stole my mind…that made me shiver with fury. I needed…wanted.
The faint sound of hooves echoed deep within my mind, making me lift my head and stare through the sodden strands of my hair. Shadows moved as the night closed in, advancing like the beasts they were.
A soft nicker of a horse grew louder, and the glint of an emerald ring shone.
He was out here…the first rider, and he was waiting for me.
My body trembled as the physical met the deep-rooted rage. Only one would give in…one would win. My knees shook as I drove my heel against the pitted surface and rose to my feet.
Spirit was calling, urging me forward.
That green glint shone brighter, like a flashlight for my soul.
Hate burned all the way down as I drove my foot forward, and followed with the other. The thunder raged, but I couldn’t hear it, all I could hear was the heavy thud of my heart as I drew closer.
The green glint flickered once and then died away. But it didn’t matter as I dropped my gaze to the ruptured sign. I was here, right where Kenya needed me to be.
I gripped the thick metal poles as I rounded the side of the building and speared into the dark, and, all of a sudden, I was back there, watching her from around the corner as she knelt at the hole in the side of the wall.
I dropped to my knees. My fingers thick, numb, throbbing with a beat of their own…shock. Dad’s voice whispered. You’re going into shock, kiddo.
Cool slick trails mixed with warm tears as I shoved the sheeting to the side. The hollow was right in front of me. Kenya knew what she’d hidden. She knew the truth.
I speared fumbling fingers into the hole and skimmed the slick surface. Something moved, small, round, skidding across the cover of a notebook. I opened my hand, grasped them both, and yanked them free.
The light was fading fast, leaving me to stare into the gloom. But I didn’t need the sunlight to feel the cardboard cover buckling under my fingers, or feel the weight of gold in my palm. I opened the notebook and stared at the sheer white.
Dark scribble cut across the pages, some in lines. I skimmed my fingers across the page, finding the indents where the pen had been gouged into the paper.
There was something here, something she’d kept hidden. Loose sheets of paper fluttered against my fingers. Was this what she stole last night in the lab, was this the real reason she brought us to the Lost Boys?
Questions filled me as I closed the notebook and hugged it against my chest. The metal in my palm warmed. I unfurled my fingers to stare at the dull shine.
My heart leaped…thundering as the last of the sunlight slipped from reach, leaving me stranded in the dark and the cold.
Warmth slipped from my body, warmth and hope. The metal warmed…I knew it’s color now—knew the shine.
A shudder raced up my back as I closed my eyes. That last moment returned, right before the sun slipped away, as I saw what I held in my hand…
This wasn’t just an object. It was a ring…
One I’d seen before…in my nightmares.
My fingers skimmed the thick gold band and then glanced off perfect gold claws before stilling at the biggest emerald I’d ever seen.
13
A ring…he gave me a ring.
Revulsion burned like acid as I opened my hand. The ring slipped, the ting of the gold rang as it clattered to the ground.
I wrenched my hand away, fingers fisted against my chest.
His ring…Jesus. It was his ring.
My stomach tightened, squeezing fear into my throat. I scrambled forward, dropping the notebook to the ground, and retched.
Acid spilled, burning as I gasped and choked. I dug my fingers into the concrete and dirt and held on. But my mind was frozen on that dull green glow.
He was taunting me, laughing at me…using me. Making me weak, making me vulnerable…leading me into temptation.
I closed my eyes as thunder was unleashed. Rain followed, the downpour rattling the steel sheeting above. Rivulets cut through the debris under my feet. I grabbed the notebook from the ground and stared into the darkness.
What if it was a beacon? What if it was dangerous…left for someone like me.
I swallowed hard and skimmed my fingers across the muddy ground, finding the cold metal and then smooth stone. Just do it. Grab the damn thing. I snatched the ring from the ground and shoved it into my pocket. I didn’t want to think about it.
Didn’t want to touch it more than I had to. But I couldn’t leave it behind. The rivulet of water carved a path around my feet as I gripped the wall and slowly climbed to my feet.
A dull cold ache filled me…it was a dangerous ache. More than shock, more than pain. Darkness waited through the cracked-open door beside me. But there was no choice. I’d never survive, not out here. My feet barely moved, scraping more than lifting as I stumbled through the door.
Lightning cracked along the sky, filling the room long enough for me to see where I was. The place was filled with overturned chairs…a reception area. I focused on the desk. Paper. If I found matches I could burn it long enough to find something better. I forced my feet forward, rounding the end of the desk as the neon white bolt died away.
“Please,” the word tore free as I skimmed my fingers along the desk. Those who broke in wouldn’t be looking for matches, or lighters. They’d be focused on one thing—drugs. I skimmed a phone, the handset still in the cradle, and dropped lower.
The handle was still intact, drawers still closed. Hope filled me with purpose as I gripped the handle and yanked. Please be here, please find something.
The darkness tilted, and then rushed as my elbow buckled. I shoved out my hand, hitting the drawer. Pens and things chattered around inside. But I was searching for that one sound, that rattle of matchsticks in a box.
I shoved my hand inside, skimming the edges before I worked my way to the center. There was no tiny box, no rattle. No nothing.
My heart sank as I dropped to my knees. I gripped the second drawer and pulled, searching, hoping…needing. But there was nothing but a stack of paper.
The last drawer w
as big, made for files. I could already hear the clatter as I pulled, already feel hope slipping through my fingers as I skimmed the metal rims. There was nothing in here…I reached further, working all the way into the back and brushed something.
A box, not small, nothing that would rattle, but a little bigger—cigarettes.
Paper crinkled under my fingers as I dragged it free. Something heavy rattled around inside. I flipped open the lid and speared my fingers inside.
“Please let this work. Please.”
I snatched a piece of paper from the second drawer and gripped the lighter with the other hand. The small grind gave the flicker of a spark before it died. I tried once more, dragging my thumb across the flint.
A feeble flame spluttered to life, catching the end of the paper. The flame ebbed, and then surged, savaging white to leave embers behind.
My heart lunging, I gripped the paper and reached for another. I needed something better, something that would take longer to burn.
I scanned the desk, finding nothing more than paper. I snatched the corners, taking a handful, and shoved up from the floor. Flames danced as I headed through the doorway. I needed swabs and alcohol, something I could use to build a fire.
The page shuddered as my hand shook. I was getting weak, too weak. Orange flames danced and blurred as I made for the long head-high cupboards.
Most of the amber glass bottles were gone from the open cupboards…except for one, on its side, rolled to the back. Amber was good, right? Dad told me once, something to do with the light. The more I thought of it, the more I was sure. Amber was exactly what I needed.
A pathetic mewl slipped from my lips as I stared at that bottle. I can do this. I can do this. My fingers slipped as I clutched the edge of the counter and heaved. I lifted a foot, scraping my boots to roll closer and reached out with one hand.
I could hardly touch it. Cool glass slid under my fingers.
I reached further, shoving my chest into the cupboard and whimpered with the pain. My fingers skimmed the thin neck and plastic lid. Come on… nails caught, nails clawed, rolling the bottle toward me.
Relief washed through me as I snagged the bottle and pulled. The white label blurred as I dragged it free. I lifted the glass closer to the flame and searched the words…alcohol 93%, it was good enough…good enough.
I eased one leg over the counter, and followed with the other. I needed something to burn, something that would last, and something to burn it in.
The orange flames shone against steel in the corner. I took a step and stared at a massive stainless steel bowl turned upside down. I stumbled closer, bending low to grasp the bottom and lift. A rat scurried, frightened, tearing off into the darkness.
My heart leaped at the sight. I stilled, waited for a second, and then set the bowl upright. It was perfect, not too big to draw attention, but big enough to warm my bones.
Survival raged as I dropped the paper into the bottom of the bowl and touched the burning page to the middle. The flames caught, eating away the paper one inch at a time. I needed to hurry. The drawers were open. Shining surgical items scattered across the floor. I bent low and yanked open the cupboards underneath. There had to be something. Small brown packets of swabs towered on the shelves.
They’d work, with a little alcohol. I yanked the packet high and opened my mouth, canines pierced the paper as I bit into the soft cotton.
White fragments spilled, tumbling to the floor. I snatched more, and more, yanking, biting, and spilling until they piled. The flames were dying, smothered by the swabs. I reached for the bottle and twisted the lid, one small splash and the fire was alive, burning with a vengeance.
Keep going…I needed more, something that would burn slower and last the night. I made my way through the clinic, finding old towels and clothes, and a set of shelves out the back made from wood. The sides splintered. There was no varnish, no mark of treatment I could find. I gripped my side with one hand and dragged each piece into the room.
The ends stuck out of the bowl, but it was enough…enough to last, enough to warm…enough to get me through the night. I grasped the towels and dried my hair, then lifted my shirt.
I couldn’t see the wounds, but I could feel. The puncture high up on my ribs was shallow. I brushed the wound low down. My stomach tightened until stars danced behind my eyes.
It was bad…real bad.
Get yourself warm, Harlow. You need to drink, honey, replace the blood you’re losing.
I could almost hear him, almost see his beautiful face staring down at me. “I’m scared, Dad. I’m really scared.”
My words echoed as I stumbled from the surgery into the small room at the back. The place was almost empty, a can dispenser broken, the door swung wide. Only the money was left behind.
But that wasn’t what I was after. I skimmed the room, finding a small plastic pail on the counter. Water was all I needed, and the downpour. I snatched the handle of the pail and made for the front of the surgery.
Water coursed from the roof, spilling over the gutters. I opened my mouth and took a step outside. There was no bitter tang of acid, no sickening scent of fetid ozone. It was sweet and pure.
I shoved out the bucket and retreated. Heavy drops hit the bottom. It wouldn’t take long to get what I needed. My eyelids closed. I felt the world sway.
The clip…clop of hooves dragged my lids open as the ground rushed to meet me. I hit the ground hard, with a sickening crunch. Agony was zipping down my side. I lay there and whimpered, my breath a panicked heave.
Get up…get up, Harlow. Get up now.
The deep, husky voice filled me, sending a shudder along my spine. It wasn’t the voice of my father…or my own.
It was the voice of my dream, the tormentor…the first horsemen…Pestilence.
“Fuck you,” I shoved against the ground and felt my body tremble.
Water splashed inside the pail, smacking the sides to dribble down the outside.
Go inside…where it’s safe.
The words were swallowed by a peal of thunder. I wrenched my gaze right and left. He was out there…watching me. I could feel his gaze over my skin, feel his fingers circling the nape of my neck.
I could feel his lips on mine, taking what I wouldn’t give.
I dragged my foot higher and crawled, shoving myself forward. Rain splattered my hair, plastering the strands to my face.
Keep going…you can do it.
Tears stung my eyes as those words filled me.
I didn’t want his comfort. I didn’t want his kindness. I was here to conquer. I was here to kill. I grasped the pail and dragged it closer. My hand slipped against the railing as I shoved myself to stand.
My steps were a blur, carrying the half-filled pail back inside and into the surgery. Fire raged in the stainless bowl, burning the wood slowly. I grasped the towels, the clothes, and my jacket before I dropped to the floor.
Water dripped down my cheek. I could call it rain, but I’d be a liar.
I stared into the flames and shuddered. Heat radiated, warming my fingers. I shifted closer and watched the wood burn. Time slipped away, one lick of flame after another. My hair dried, skin dried. I yanked the wet shirt over my head and tossed it to the side.
Blood stained the cotton, darkening patches were hidden by fresh crimson. I pressed a fistful of swabs against my side and dragged a green surgical shirt over my arms. My jeans and boots were drenched, but this was enough…a shudder raced through me as I lowered my head to the floor. My cheek brushed the leather of my jacket balled under my head and felt the hard mound.
My eyelids drooped as I crawled my hand higher. He left it…my fingers found the opening of my pocket and delved in. Left it for me.
Smooth, hard surface replaced the cold gold. I gripped the ring tight and drew it out. The flames bounced, catching the perfect cut. It was the biggest stone I’d ever seen—and the most beautiful.
Orange flames danced inside the belly as my eyes finally drifte
d closed, I thought I felt him…I thought he called my name…like a sigh, like a whisper.
Harlow…
14
The howling wind woke me. I cracked open my eyes to stare at murky shadows. The faint smell of smoke lingered, thick and heady, as faint white tendrils floated to the ceiling.
Boots skidded across the ground as I dragged my knees against the hard flooring and then stilled. Pain ripped along my side, twisting and turning like pincers. I gripped the floor as dark spots floated in my eyes. Breathe…breathe.
Darkness came for me, leaving me empty and afraid. I clawed for the light, for the flashes that pinned me here as a whimper slipped free.
Use it…my father snarled. Use the pain, Harlow.
Down…down…down to where the emptiness waited—down to death.
My insides clenched tight, pain spiked, ramming through my bladder with a merciless blow. Get up…get up now. If you don’t, you never will…
They need you, Kenya’s voice swallowed the urgency, and the chubby face of Chuck filled my mind. Hurry, Harlow…they need you.
My hands wouldn’t work. My thoughts were slow, pushing, dragging, getting nowhere. I was nothing now, nothing more than pain, nothing more than desperation as I gripped the notebook and my jacket, and then tried to stand.
I focused on the movement, walking my hands up the wall before I drove my heels into the ground and shoved. My knees trembled, legs were weak.
But I could make it.
I could make it out of here.
Are you Pestilence?
The words stilled me…memories crowded in, leaving me to suck in the smoke. I coughed, and a fresh wave of pain flooded me. Gotta get out, gotta get outside, to the toilet…and then to the lab.
Pain drove me, but the Calling led the way. Pain drove me, but the Calling led the way.
The bitter wind hit me like a blow, whipping the strands of my hair into my eyes. I dropped my head, and took a step, and then another, and skirted the side of the building to where the hole in the wall waited. My fingers were slow, fumbling with my belt. I eased my jeans low, gripped the corner of the building, and squatted.