“Actually I have quite a lot to do today if I’m not going to be coming in next week because of the holiday. If you could just tell me what you need…”
“Um… well, I just wanted to apologize for the other day—”
Feeling cruel but determined, she said, “No need to apologize. It’s already forgotten. Do you need anything else, Sean?” She picked up papers into what she hoped looked like a large stack, a stack giving the impression of much work still to be done.
“No, I just…” and then he began to cry, and Jen lost her nerve.
“Come in,” she said, setting the useless stack of papers to one side.
He stepped in and the tears stopped.
A huge grin filled his face, unnaturally large. His head seemed almost to expand. She could imagine it floating to the ceiling like a loose balloon. He said, “Jen, I’m just so happy about the friend I told you about.”
Had the world gone mad?
She tried to keep the shaky fear out of her voice, and said, “Please leave, Sean. I have so much to do. Please leave.”
He crossed the short space between her and the door in two wide steps.
She was not a particularly full-breasted woman, but certain outfit/bra combos gave her a bit of cleavage; a guilty, harmless indulgence of hers. She was dressed so now, along with a knee-length skirt over warm tights. But being approached this way, alone, in the dark, she suddenly felt exposed, and hitched her top up with her thumb and pointer finger. She wondered if she should scream out for help—and if anyone would hear her if she did. He gripped the desk, face beaming like a lighthouse. “It’s just, for so many years, nothing, nothing, but now… and now he can’t even control me because of my elation, can’t you feel that?”
“No, please leave. I don’t want to talk right now.” She was on the verge of frightened tears. She stood, throwing her bag over one shoulder. It now seemed insane to her that she did not keep a can of mace with her, though she’d never really thought about having one before. You never think of these things until you need them, she thought.
She tried to pass him, “I’m sorry, I just realized I have to be getting home.”
They were the only two souls on the entire floor; hers was the only light on, far too dim. Had he turned the hall security lights off before coming in? He must have. Jen wouldn’t even have known how. She didn’t think they could just be turned off. He stepped in front of her, blocking her, but not with clear menace, so she held off on the scream. Maybe she could still get out of here without causing a scene. She felt absurdly embarrassed.
“I just want you to realize that I’m happy right now,” Sean said.
The nighttime threw only a handful of light particles in through the closed blinds of her office window, mostly from lamps scattered around the building.
He said, “I have grown to like you and your blindness. I want you to get me!” Impossibly, his grin grew wider. If it grew any more it would start tearing open the centers of his lips.
“Get out!” she said firmly.
“I can’t.” He directed his head to the floor, but still looked up to her. The grin went nowhere, though he spoke softly. “His power is growing and withdrawing in ways I can’t follow, and I need something. Don’t you like me? Your man does not need you now. He has his new book.”
The implication of some kind of intimacy seemed unimportant against the weight of this last word. Instead of running, she turned to Sean. She remembered the disparate thoughts she’d had only a few nights before. Down a Dark Hall, the book about children coerced to use their skills by evil beings… Barnubus Young, from Paul’s own work, who didn’t want to be… what was it, exactly? As impotent as a chess pawn. She had to know what Sean meant; something very big and very dark hovered at the edge of her thoughts. She also remembered her dream, the one where Paul had become the earth itself.
She said, “What do you mean, his book?”
Sean’s face opened like a treasure chest. Laughter poured from the dark hole of his mouth like cursed gold coins. The slightest breeze blew past her toward him as if he were sucking in great quantities of air. He said, “No. Not Scott’s Anaconda. Deeny’s Adventure. The real book. He just printed it off two days ago.”
At first the name “Deeny” meant nothing to her. But then the whispers of her dreams, forgotten but still present, began to remind her of the images. Blood and tears in equal portion.
She forced her way past Sean, who was still laughing. She left her work on the desk and ran for the stairs. He called after her, “He might not like me now. I have disobeyed. But I couldn’t help it. I loved you so dearly. I mean as a good friend!” But the last words were cut off by the door closing in the stairwell. The echoes of each footstep reverberated a million times off the metal and concrete of four floors of stairs. She choked back a scream.
What was going on at her house?
What was this book? Who, or what, was coercing her husband?
†
She went home and the weird encounter she’d had with Sean didn’t seem as important or strange as it had, for something much more unnerving was waiting there for her.
The manuscript.
Deeny’s Adventure.
5
Paul entered with a smile on his face and blood smeared across his tan coat.
His grin shown and faltered in turns, as if he couldn’t tune in to the right frequency of the smile. Right away she recognized this parallel with Sean. She saw the gun in his hand, which he carried with the absentmindedness of a businessman with a newspaper. He really did not even seem to notice it was there.
He said, “Hi, how was work?”
She stared at him, mouth open.
“Oh, um, you are probably wondering about this blood and this gun… well, I was just—” Helping Deeny murder Donald Harmon, he wanted to say. “I was just… at a building.” Had he tried, he would not have been able to think of anything lamer to say than a building.
She backed up against their beautiful leather couch, feeling as if she was still back in her office, being pinned down by Sean. Only now… now it was, unthinkably, Paul whom she feared and did not fully recognize. He was another species to her, the hints of what was happening that had been shown to her only in forgotten dreams and vague nighttime thoughts now began to become clear, one horrible detail at a time, like nightmare clown billboards lighting up on a dark highway. Something had brought them here, to Peoa, to these woods—to Deeny, whoever or whatever that was.
The same Tiffany-style lamp that had given off its strange colors when Paul had talked to the unborn inhabiting his wife lit the room now. It seemed in this context to be an undeniably macabre object, and she wondered how she had ever thought otherwise.
She forced herself to say, “Paul. What is happening here?”
Paul’s face ran through a cycle of emotions that did not fit the scene, finally landing somewhere between embarrassed amusement and horrible resignation. He said, “I know this sounds strange—heck, it is strange—but I’ve been thinking about becoming a serial killer. I know it’s wrong, I know that, but I’m not sure I can resist him.”
“Deeny?” she said, trying to understand.
“Yes. He lives in the woods. He is a friend of mine.”
“Do you know Sean?”
“If you mean the distraction, then yes. I know Deeny did something to keep you from talking to anyone who was real.”
“Is Deeny here now?”
“He is always with me if I don’t travel too far from the woods.”
“Why can’t I see him?” She knew she should be asking questions like, Will you come with me to a psychiatric ward? but she believed something else was happening. Like Paul, she thought there was more than insanity at play here.
“I don’t know.”
“So who is Sean? How did you convince him to help you if you never even talked to him?”
“Sean is probably not real,” he answered.
Since coming in, Paul had b
een standing in the entryway with the door half open. Now he closed it fully, and darkness swallowed him. The light from the feeble, deathly lamp was at the wrong angle to penetrate the little space in which he stood. She could not see his features or much of anything else.
She said, “Have you killed someone?”
“Um…” he said, as if searching for the right words. It was not an encouraging response. “Not really. Deeny pulled the trigger. I wanted to though, I really did.”
“Paul, this is madness.” Tears drizzled down her cheeks as if from a leaky faucet handle.
He coughed out what might have been a laugh. “No arguments here.”
They both wished it was true, that it was just madness and not… whatever they thought it was proving to be.
“May I leave?” she said, hoping that whatever insanity had encompassed him would at least allow that.
“No. Never.” He choked back a sob. “I mean, not yet. Not until I’ve made my choice.”
With no warning, she turned to her left and bolted for the sliding glass door in the kitchen, the door that led outside. Her keys were in her hand, and the driveway was too wide for her to be blocked in. All she had to do was get out of the house. She’d get help. They’d be okay once they got help.
“Wait!” Paul screamed as he chased her. “Don’t leave! Honey, please!”
She got to the black rectangle of doors, wondering if any night had ever been so dark, only to realize that something was even blocking out the light of stars—a huge, foggy obstruction. Then, before she could get a good look at that, Sean appeared on the other side of the glass, coming from the direction of the driveway. He was grinning, but not like Paul had been. There was no doubt or uncertainty in Sean’s smile. He slid the door open in one smooth movement and effortlessly flung her to the tile floor.
“Sorry,” he whispered through his grin, “I was acting a little weird earlier, and I just want you to know I’m more composed now.”
“Hey!” Paul yelled, coming up behind her. Crouching to where her head had smacked the floor. “Be careful with her!”
But Paul didn’t stop Sean from grabbing one of her arms as Paul pinned down her other arm himself. Cards padded over to where Jen had fallen and began licking her face in a friendly way.
“Don’t worry, puppy,” Paul said quietly, “you can come with us, too.”
The room began to fill with dark fog, shutting out what little light there was. She struggled fruitlessly under their strong arms, and before the darkness completely engulfed her, she could almost see a third being, something massive and childlike. Something horrible.
Then, somehow, she stopped fighting and drifted off to sleep.
PART TWO † BABY
I love you more than ever, more than time and more than love.
I love you more than money and more than the stars above.
I love you more than madness, more than waves upon the sea.
I love you more than life itself, you mean that much to me.
Ever since you walked right in the circle’s been complete.
I’ve said goodbye to haunted rooms and faces in the street.
In the courtyard of the jester which is hidden from the sun,
I love you more than ever, and I haven’t yet begun.
You gave me babies, one, two, three—what is more, you saved my life.
Eye for eye and tooth for tooth, your love cuts like a knife.
My thoughts of you don’t ever rest; they’d kill me if I lie.
But I’d sacrifice the world for you and watch my senses die.
The tune that is yours and mine to play upon this earth,
We’ll play it out the best we know, whatever it is worth.
What’s lost is lost, we can’t regain what went down in the flood,
But happiness to me is you, and I love you more than blood.
It’s never been my duty to remake the world at large,
Nor is it my intention to sound a battle charge.
Cause I love you more than all of that with a love that doesn’t bend.
And if there is eternity I’ll love you there again.
Oh, can’t you see that you were born to stand by my side?
And I was born to be with you. You were born to be my bride.
You’re the other half of what I am, you’re the missing piece.
And I love you more than ever with that love that doesn’t cease.
You turn the tide on me each day and teach my eyes to see.
Just being next to you is a natural thing for me.
And I could never let you go, no matter what goes on.
Cause I love you more than ever, now that the past is gone.
—From Bob Dylan’s “Wedding Song”
CHAPTER ONE
“THE ONLY WAY THIS WORKS is if I get more power.”
Paul: “What exactly does that entail?”
Deeny: “You know.”
Sean: “You do know, and I can’t do it for you.”
Deeny: “Neither can I. You have to do it alone this time. No help.”
Silence.
Paul: “I don’t know if I can.”
Deeny: “You must, if you want your wife to live.”
Paul: “Are you threatening her?”
Deeny: “You know I would never do that to you.”
Sean: “Deeny’s your friend. He would never treat you like that.”
Paul: “And who are you, really?”
Sean: “I’m not sure. As you said, I am probably not real. But, I’m your friend now, too. And Jen’s. I’ve been Jen’s Friend for a while now.”
Paul waited for a twinge of jealousy that didn’t come. He was drained.
Paul: “What will this power do for us? How will it save Jen?”
Sean: “Not just Jen. Us too. All of us.”
Paul: “Okay. Deeny, tell me. How will it save us?”
Deeny: “It is hard to explain.”
Paul: “Try.”
Deeny: “Each life you take feeds me. If I get full—”
Deeny transferred to him, to his mind, some idea. The thrill of it, murder fat like a ripe fruit dropping in the palm of a starving man. Could it really be the way Deeny hopes it will be someday? Paul had noticed post-apocalyptic movies and TV shows were becoming more popular every year, usually some kind of pathogen, war, or zombie infestation took out most of the world’s population leaving just a few stragglers to pick up whatever wasn’t rotten at the local Wal-Mart, but he had never seen one of these stories where the apocalypse was caused by one or two unstoppable men, killing, growing from glory to glory, becoming gods who never died and needed nothing but death.
Could they truly change the world?
It would start with just one. Just one more person and Deeny assured him that his power would grow two-fold. Then the next one would be easier. Then the next would be a pleasure. The next… would be the start of a dream.
Deeny: “If I get full we will never die.”
Sean: “You could start with the girl. It is so easy. She’s tied-up.”
Deeny: “He will not. Do not ask him to do that.”
Sean: “Alright.”
Paul: “What about your idea, Deeny? Let’s find a bad person; a killer.”
Deeny: “Yes.”
Paul: “I mean a normal killer, not like us.”
Deeny: “No one is like us Paul, and few aspire.”
Paul: “A beater or a drunk, but one who has killed in cold blood. I can handle that, maybe.”
Deeny: “Alright.”
Deeny and Sean left him alone.
Paul wept.
2
The earth had been spared of snow in Peoa, but fifty miles to the east at Kidney Lake in the Wasatch Mountains, it was the dead of winter. Snow piled everywhere and continued in an endless downfall of white. In the spring and summer months, the lake was known for its beauty, which had an untouched quality. In the winter the beauty was different—harder, more desolate.
They had seen no one upon arrival and had only come near enough in the car to walk the rest of the way. Sean carried the unconscious women, one over each shoulder, showing no sign of fatigue or sensitivity to the cold.
The three men—or, more accurately, one man and two other things—set up camp on the most remote edge of the lake they could get to. Paul had bought the tents, food, and supplies, and now only Sean would be going back to the civilization, at least for a while. He would keep working in the office, denying any knowledge of where his boss Jen was or what may have happened to her, all the while keeping his eyes and ears tuned to any and all public news of her disappearance. But he would not receive paychecks, since he did not—in the legal sense, at least—exist. Only Deeny’s power would keep people from noticing, like before.
Jen and Clare were gagged and bound as politely as possible in one of the two large, warm tents. A little gas-powered heater intimidated the cold enough to keep it at the doorway. They were dressed warmly (Sean having dressed Clare in deference to Paul’s modesty), and Paul thought they would be okay for now. He was concerned about the withdrawal symptoms the girl would soon show, but he knew that acquiring any narcotics at this point would be too much of an added complication. When Cards wasn’t running gleefully through snow piles tall enough to engulf her, she was in the tent, largely content to cuddle in Jen’s sleeping bag with her.
Paul had taken out ten thousand dollars in cash from two large accounts and knew that he would not be able to get to the rest of the money once the search for Jen and him began, which would be soon, with him as the prime suspect.
Deeny had transplanted the green necklace that the man—whom he would not speak of as Father—had once worn, and had once made him eat, to their new home. The new forest. Paul had begun to feel the necklace was important to their goals, though he was not sure why. Deeny said it would assist them in not being discovered, at least.
They had food, they had shelter, and now they had a little time.
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