Tomorrow I Will Kill Again

by Matthew Allred

  Despite the cold outside, the air in the tent was stiflingly hot, as no one had thought to turn the heater down to compensate for the inclusion of two new bodies. With her mouth covered, and one of her nostrils blocked by mucus, Jen was left with only one small hole through which to breathe. She noticed that she was digging her head slowly and incessantly into a sharp rock resting near her head under the thin fabric of the tent floor. It was the first time she really began to question her own state of mind; how far from normal was she? With no way to gauge that, she instead wondered distractedly if she could slam her head into the rock hard enough to end her life or cause her to lose consciousness. Though she had always felt sympathy for them, she had never understood those who contemplated suicide. She did now. It was as simple as running out of options.

  It was true that she no longer loved the Paul that lived, and she mourned the loss of her husband. To her he was as good as dead. No, she thought, it is worse than death. If she could see a way to do so, she would kill him without hesitation, but she had felt, however distantly, how powerful he was now. Only God—a god she did not know if she believed in—could stop him, and even if He was up there, He probably wasn’t interested. If He was intending on stepping in anytime, He would probably have done so by now.

  The rustling and mumbling of the men bound together failed to get her attention, but then, one of them spoke clearly. Somehow he had removed the gag, although he was not free.

  A gruff but kind voice said, “You’re Jennifer Kenner aren’t you? I can see your head, so you can nod or shake it.”

  She nodded, but not enthusiastically, she was not interested in his false hope. It felt good to nod anyway, scraping her head against the sharp rock beneath the tent.

  The man said, “Have you been here since your disappearance?”

  Again, she nodded. Scrape. Scrape.

  “I’m sorry we couldn’t find you sooner. I’m sorry I couldn’t do more.”

  She said nothing. She did nothing. She expected nothing from the man.

  “Someone else will be coming soon to look for us; I told everyone in my department I was planning on coming to Kidney Lake. Some old man who lives near your house told me where you were. He said…” The man laughed hollowly. “He said he dreamed you were here.”

  This tidbit did pique her interest slightly. A dream hinted at a possible benevolent hand behind the scenes. Before all this, she would of course have had no faith in an old man’s dream, but now, all previous bets were off. Her world had become a place where dreams might have more meaning than, say, gravity. She fought down this faint glimmer of hope as one might try to stop lunch from coming back up the way it came. She believed it did not matter who came or did not come or who dreamt what, Paul was becoming a new god, with whatever perks such a transformation entailed.

  The man said, “Is this girl okay?”

  That also made Jen feel something, but again she tried not to hope. But perhaps even if she were doomed… just maybe the girl was not. She shook her head, indicating that the girl was not, in any sense of the word, okay.

  “Is this Clare Clark?”

  She nodded.

  “According to the bartender who reported her disappearance she was taking heroin, is that the problem? Is she going through withdrawal?”

  She nodded vigorously. Without her noticing, and certainly without her permission, the will to fight began to grow inside her. She didn’t really think this policeman could stand against Paul now, but she was impressed by how much he knew already and how much he was able to infer. He sounded competent, at least.

  She wondered how close he had been to the female officer Paul had already… dealt with. If she weren’t gagged, she would try to express her sympathy.

  “Do you know if Clare has had any kind of fix since coming up here?”

  Jen hesitated, not sure which way to move her head to show that Clare had not. A shake no might indicate that she didn’t know, or that Clare had not. But, she didn’t really see what it mattered, what the officer could do about it one way or another. She shook no, hoping that would make sense. She wanted the girl to live, and the baby that Sean and Paul had talked about as they stalked away from the tent earlier. As if it were her own, she needed this baby to live.

  “How long is he usually gone? Nod once for less than an hour, and twice for more than an hour.”

  She nodded twice. He was usually gone much longer than that. What the officer didn’t yet understand was that Paul wasn’t exactly alone up here. How could he understand?

  “Well, let’s see if we can’t get ourselves out of this mess, eh?”

  She nodded slowly.

  “How about you, Chase?”

  She heard a stifled murmur of ascent that must belong to the pilot.

  “Alright, then,” The officer said, sounding much more optimistic than he had the right to.

  2

  When the unpleasant business of destroying his closest friend was done, Paul said, “I want to see it.”

  Sean said, “The necklace?”

  “Yes.”

  It was hard for Paul to tell how much of the light he was seeing was natural, and how much was an extension of his power, but if he had to guess, he would say the moon had come out. Before killing Deeny, things had seemed darker. He could make out the snowy branches of the trees and remembered that they had missed Christmas this year. They hadn’t even put up a tree, had they?

  Sean said, “Deeny is the one who buried it up here. I don’t know where it is.”

  Paul, breaking from his thoughts of Christmas’ past, said, “Can’t you feel it?”

  “Just like you can. Doesn’t mean I know where it is.”

  “Well, let’s try to find it. I just… I want to see it. Touch it, maybe, remind myself why we’re even out here, what we’re trying to do.”

  Sean said nothing for a moment. Then, “You’re not worried, are you? About what Deeny said? About the necklace not being important? He didn’t understand. That’s clear, right? Don’t concern yourself with that.”

  “What harm can it do to see it? Don’t you want to know where it is, too?”

  “Okay. We’ll give it a shot.”

  The pair tried to sniff out the necklace like bloodhounds; they knew it was near.

  After searching for some time, Sean said, “Paul. There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

  Paul stopped on the deer trail they’d been following. “What?”

  “I just think you should know a little more about me, now that Deeny’s gone. I feel like we got off on the wrong foot, what with me spending so much time with Jen and everything. But I was just doing my job.”

  Paul wasn’t tired physically, he wondered if he ever would be again, but he still wished there was a chair to sit down in. He had the feeling that whatever he was about to hear wasn’t going to be pleasant. Then a thought occurred to him, and he tried sitting midair. It worked. The emptiness beneath him supported his rear like a stool.

  Sean raised an eyebrow, but otherwise didn’t mention it. He said, “I think I used to be a guy named Robert… Robert something.”

  “I remember hearing about you. You came to see Deeny when he was still sleeping.”

  “Yeah,” Sean said, perhaps feeling a bit guilty about how they had treated Deeny. “Yeah, I did. A long time ago. Not sure how long, but probably before you were born. I was a writer, too, but I wasn’t as good as you. I wrote stories that were supposed to take place in the future.” He began pacing between two particularly large pines.

  “Like, science fiction?”

  “I think so. I don’t know the details, and I’m sure they don’t matter, but I heard Deeny’s call, too.”

  “You mean the necklace’s call,” Paul corrected. Sean made a gesture to indicate that the difference wasn’t important.

  “But I failed,” Sean said. “I tried it, and it didn’t work out, and that was it. I went in to the trees and I didn’t come out again until I was needed. Fo
r Jen. She became important to me. In some way, I wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for her. At least, I don’t think so.”

  A cold, sickening shiver got Paul’s neck. The idea that his wife had been working with, confiding in, eating with this… reject ghost that had popped out of their own property was disturbing to say the least.

  “I know all this. Enough of it, anyway,” Paul said. “What are you getting at?”

  “Watching Deeny go away like that… I realize that maybe I’m not really cut out for this, either. Not like you are.” Paul heard the desperation in his Sean’s voice. Desperation, and something that might have been shame. How could this be happening?

  Sean continued, “If Jen were my wife, I don’t think I’d be able to do what you’ve done. I’m not strong like you. That’s why I failed last time. I gave up after my first go.”

  Paul honestly did not know how to respond. He didn’t think he could move forward at this juncture totally alone. Perhaps he had the power for it, but he needed some support. He wished that the old Deeny could come back, help him, and support him. He wished he could trade Sean for the old Deeny.

  Paul said, “Are you asking me for something?”

  Sean took a step toward him, suddenly excited. “Look, you don’t want to kill Jen anyway, right? But she’s a liability to you. Worse than worthless, now. And so am I. Now that Deeny is gone… I don’t know. I feel… different. More like the guy I used to be, before all this. Let me go. Let me take Jen with me. You know I won’t try to oppose you. And if you end up becoming Mayhem and the whole world suffers or whatever is supposed to happen than that’s fine. Jen and I will go down with everybody else. At least we’d have a few days or whatever.”

  “You’re in love with my wife?” Paul said, standing, leaving his air-chair behind. The thought of it was disgusting, unthinkable. “What about murder? What about Mayhem?” He was red in the face.

  “I know. I—”

  “What do you think we’ve been doing up here? Killing time? Camping?” Paul didn’t realize greenish sparks were flicking out of him, along with some of the anti-light fog. “There’s so much still to be done!”

  “But I can’t do it!” Sean yelled back, clearly frightened.

  Paul got in his face like a coach who doesn’t know when to stop. Their noses touched, “I don’t even know where the necklace is! I’m not ready to do this alone!” Now it was Paul’s turn to sound desperate. “I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do next!”

  Sean’s eyes danced madly. He hadn’t expected this. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” he said, over and over.

  Paul crumpled to the earth, melting the snow around him. Sean crouched down and squeezed Paul in an awkward bear hug.

  “Maybe I’m just afraid,” Sean said. “I don’t really know what’s happening either.”

  Paul had never liked this man, and so it grieved him to say, “I still need you. The necklace still needs you.”

  Sean said, “Forgive me. Please. Let’s just look for it. I’m sure I’ll feel differently once we see it.”

  Paul set off in one direction, and Sean went in the other.

  †

  As Paul searched on his own his mind was confounded with thoughts of Sean and Jen. Did he actually still need Sean, or was he just humanly jealous? He kept imagining them together, embracing, kissing, walking away from him and from the lake, hand in hand. All around him the snow reflected the light of the distant moon.

  He tried to feel where the necklace was, but its presence was everywhere. Trying to follow its scent was like trying to smell a single loaf of bread in a bakery. But still, he tried. Following one trail that may have been the necklace’s specific influence, he thought about Deeny—his friend. Affectionate memories surfaced and would not go back down. He remembered the first time Deeny had tried to get his attention; the memory seemed at once close and as if it had been in another life. It was cute when Deeny had used the whir of a blender to contact Paul. How little he had understood back then, as if Paul could have decoded such a cryptic action. He thought of the first time they had met face-to-face, in Paul’s master bathroom (he ignored the painful thought that it had also been Jen’s), when he had first killed Deeny, according to Deeny’s clever plans. He remembered all the gentle pushing and coaxing Deeny had used to get Paul towards his first timid murders. Deeny had been so sensitive.

  It was clear to Paul that the necklace had never meant for Deeny to get far. It needed someone with more brainpower, more imagination and ambition. Paul wondered if Deeny had even been a writer, as he and Sean were, or if his involvement was mere coincidence. Even though the fat man had been off the mark, Paul knew he must never forget the sacrifice of the one who set him on the path of his destiny.

  What of Sean? Surely, he could not be trusted now that his will had faltered such. Would he defect as his fellow creature of the necklace had done? Perhaps Paul was, as Sean had suggested, the only one with the resolve needed to carry out the destruction of the universe.

  This thought stopped him dead in his tracks.

  His heart was pounding.

  Above him, some animal moved a branch, and an extra dusting of snow fluttered about him.

  Is that what this was? Is that what he, as Mayhem, would affect on the world, on the whole of reality? The destruction of the universe? The sheer immensity of the thought sickened him, more so still because of his recent visions of its clockwork. How could that be right? What would there be for him, for the necklace, if that were the case?

  It must be something grander. Destruction must simply be the first step to something incredible. Something that may not even be evil when the time came. Paul told himself he would just have to be patient to see what the truth really was.

  He put the thought out of his mind. For now, anyway, he thought Sean could be trusted. Once he had truly outlived his usefulness, the necklace would undoubtedly take care of him. He would either return to the necklace or be assimilated into Paul. Paul was very careful to make the distinction between his own role here and the power of the necklace—he refused to believe that the necklace was not what he thought it was: the emblem, the boss, the final force behind the change within him, regardless of whatever Deeny had said.

  Deeny was gone now.

  Paul had not eaten or slept in over seventy hours, but he had killed.

  3

  Clare was sure something had changed. For one thing, it was warmer. Her stomach still burned like a log on fire, but she must have eaten something at some point because she was still alive.

  She was still alive. It hadn’t killed her. Still, she felt weak, shaky, and pained—but something had definitely changed. She said, “Hello,” into the black achy void that was the tent floor, her face pressed up against it awkwardly. She was surprised to hear a reply.

  “Clare?” At first she thought it was Uncle Garry, and she instinctually started blocking out all stimuli from the world around her in preparation for the physical assault. Then she realized it could not be him. Beside the fact that she hadn’t seen Garry in over three years, he had never used her name. He had always called her “little girl,” even when he smacked and cut her with frayed plastic bottles, tears streaming down his face.

  Again, a man’s voice sounded out: “Clare?”

  Perhaps it was her father, or maybe it was Mitchel, back from the dead. Maybe she had died after all, and they were finally reunited here in Tent Hell. That would be nice.

  “Baby,” she said, hoping for Mitchel, “is that you?” She was dismayed to hear how slurred her voice was and by how quietly it escaped her. Not because she really cared about her physical state, but because it probably meant she wasn’t on the other side.

  “My name is Shad, honey. Shad Matthews. It’s gonna be okay. We’re going to get you out of here.”

  The voice was clear and strong and had a quality of sobriety Clare was not used to. Well, it wasn’t Mitchel. What was her father’s name again? It wasn’t Shad. W
as anyone named Shad? The owner of the voice might have said Chad.

  She said, “That man was killed.” Her own words more like drool than human speech. Then she realized she was drooling. It pooled uncomfortably between her mouth and the stiff woven plastic of the tent floor. This was definitely real life.

  “Who was killed?” the man said. “Donald Harman?”

  “I don’t know name… his name, I mean.” Her mouth still wasn’t cooperating. “He was fat, and he paid for about a hundred drinks, and he said if I remembered ask him… to ask him for it in the morning he would give me a hundred dollars, but I think he was drunk, too.” A giggle bubbled out of her mouth, surprising her. She said, “Am I still getting paid?” Then a terrible pain clawed at the back of her brain, apparently from nowhere. “AGH!” she screamed, jerked out of the coherent conversation and back into her cold world. “WHAT’S WRONG WITH ME?”

  “I think you’re going through a heroin withdrawal.”

  She swore viciously. Then, like a light going dark, the pain stopped. She felt giggly again, and distant from the man. She choked back a laugh and said, “That makes sense.”

  The assurance she’d had that she was unquestionably in the real world ebbed. She wondered if she truly were in hell, and if the man was actually a demon. Or maybe he was just a confused dead guy who didn’t know he had bit it yet. Just in case this was actually happening, she tried to ask the man where they were.

  “Never mind that right now. Just know that you, me, and two other people are being held here against our will.”

  “What about the woman? The woman helped me. She was putting her feet on me.”

  “That’s Jen Kenner. She’s here.” A pause. “Why don’t you make some sound for our girl here, Jen?”

  Jen hummed something that could have been “Hello”.

  Clare said, “Can’t she talk?”

  He shook his head. “She’s gagged, so is my pilot here, Chase.”

  A new murmur, presumably the pilot.