Hoarfrost

by J. L. Murray

  "It was in the car," he said. "I thought you might want it back. I pasted a few things in there about Montana, Washington. Hope you don't mind."

  "Thank you," I said, taking it. "You probably think it's weird." I opened the book and flipped through, seeing the black and white faces flashing by. Killers, all of them. Bad people who weren't in the world now, because of me. "It is weird, I guess."

  "It's not weird," he said. "Every page is people saved. Every asshole in that book who you put down is a bomb diffused, God knows how many victims you saved killing these evil bastards. Because of you, Frankie, all because of you. That book is proof of all the good you do in the world."

  "Maybe," I said, frowning. I looked down at the scrapbook and suddenly felt naked. I set it on the night stand.

  "I brought your food, too." He held out the bag.

  "Good, I'm starving," I said. It was still warm through the bag, which I ripped open, pulling out a styrofoam container. I took a big bite of battered fish.

  "It's really good," I said.

  "Yeah, it's not bad."

  "Are you just going to stand there?" I said. He was looming in front of me, watching me eat. When he noticed me staring back, he looked away, toward the window. He walked over and pretended to look out, though I could see that it was completely fogged over.

  "I don't know how to do this."

  "You should have thought about that before you kidnapped me."

  "I didn't...it wasn't like that and you know it."

  I closed my eyes. I knew I was being irrational. I walked over and plopped the container of fish and chips on a tiny battered and stained Formica table and stood with my back to him. I glanced over my shoulder. "I know," I said, surprised at how soft my voice was. "I don't like being manipulated, though, Dekker. You shouldn't have asked me all those questions. You had no right. It was private."

  He turned, something gleaming in his eyes and I looked back down at my food, not eating, just looking at it.

  "Haven't I earned the right to know?" he said. I turned, and started at how close he was. He'd closed the gap between us quiet as a cat, and was standing directly in front of me. I looked up at his face, met his eyes, suddenly feeling heavy.

  "I didn't leave you," I said, "I saved you."

  "I think you've done damn well enough saving for one lifetime."

  "Good thing I have more than one lifetime."

  He nodded, taking a step back, looking down at his shoes. I hadn't noticed the deep circles under his eyes before, how pale he was under the stubble. I wondered if he slept or if he was haunted by my face. I never stopped seeing his when I closed my eyes. I crossed the room and sat gently on the bed.

  "I know your life hasn't been ideal," he said, following me and sitting beside me, only a foot between us. He wasn't looking at me, his voice sounding low and raw. "I can't change any of that. I can't make the wraiths go away. I can't make it so Cain and Abel never heard your name. I can't make it so you never had to kill your own mother."

  Even after everything, it still hurt to think of it, and I felt my insides go numb when he said it aloud. It was the sincerity in his voice, the earnestness. The emotion finally caught up to me. I felt my eyes fill with tears, brimming over as I watched him, silent as the grave. I just watched him and I remembered why I needed him. And why it was so important to keep him away.

  "But, Frankie, Jesus. Just let me make things easier. Let me take the burden sometimes. I can't help if you won't talk to me." He met my eyes finally and blinked when he saw that I was crying. I wiped at my face with the heel of my hand.

  Now I was the one to look at my shoes. I stared at the cheap, ugly loafers that were my only pair now, and realized that I liked them now. I liked them because now I had something from Dekker. Even if it was ugly shoes. "It's too dangerous," I said.

  "You don't have the right to decide that," he said.

  I thought by the tightness in his voice that he was about to get angry, but he ran a hand through his hair, making it stand on end. I watched him, unable to do anything, unable to say anything. I felt paralyzed, helpless. Dekker regarded me for a moment, then sighed, closing his eyes. We sat there for a long time without talking. Finally, he broke the silence.

  "Do you miss me?"

  I couldn't speak for a second. It was as if my words had frozen in my throat, blocking everything inside of me that threatened to spill out. I lifted the bottle and took a slow drink.

  "Yes," I croaked at last. I didn't look at him. I felt like I'd been hollowed out and filled with ice. I could just reach over and touch him and all of this would be over. I could end the way I felt, I could feel good again.

  I couldn’t, though. It would be selfish. I didn't think the wraiths could make me do things, but I didn't trust myself. Lately, I'd found myself doing things, dreadful, horrible things, and I didn't understand it. Dekker understood me, he held me in a way that made me feel almost human. Like we could have a life someday. And that fantasy was just as dangerous as killing people, in its own way. I knew that if he touched me, if he put a hand over mine, if he pulled me to him, I would be gone.

  "Good," he said after a long time. "I don't miss you at all."

  I laughed, and he glanced at me, the corner of his mouth turning up.

  "I never said it," he said, his voice heavy again. "You said you loved me, down at the bottom of the lake. And I never said it back."

  "Don't."

  "Is that why you left?"

  "What? No." I looked at him and felt something like an electric shock when I saw he was staring at me intently. "Look, I was trying to save your life, Dekker. I did save your life. I was about to die and I didn't know if I was going to come back."

  "So you lied?" His expression didn't change, but the question seemed offensive to me. I didn't answer. He took the bottle from my hand and put it to his lips, drawing deeply. "I do, though," he said, wiping Kentucky bourbon from his lips. "I think it's pretty obvious."

  "You already told me how you feel," I said. "Remember?"

  "And you kicked me out of your car."

  "I have issues."

  "But after, Frankie. After everything, after you woke up again, I felt like I had a second chance. I found you floating in that lake, stone cold and your lips blue. It was like dying myself seeing you like that. But then, you woke up. You fucking woke up after being dead for three days, and I guess I felt like maybe we could ride off into the sunset." He laughed a dry laugh. "But I never said it. I didn't even try to talk about it. And I just wonder–"

  "You didn't do anything wrong," I said. "Please, don't do this. I just...I can't control myself anymore. My actions are not my own, Dekker."

  "That's bullshit. I know you."

  "And you've seen what I can do."

  He was silent for a moment. When he spoke again, there was a tinge of anger in his voice. "It doesn't matter."

  "What doesn't? That I can open up the earth, that ravens follow me around, that I can get insects and bats and whatever the hell else to do whatever I want? Or maybe that I have supernatural assholes following me around, telling me to murder you? Do you want to talk about how I stabbed my mother to death?"

  "Let's talk about what happened at the bottom of the lake."

  He caught me by surprise. I stared at him, my mouth open just a little. He handed me the bottle. A memory sharp and deep, Dekker-that-wasn't-Dekker, long, pointed horns forking out from his head. The bavuah version of Dekker, risen from his own reflection in the ice. The way he took my knife and slid it into my abdomen, like a lover, like it was intimate. The way I let him do it. The way I reached into another world, my own knife buried in my gut, and pulled the real Dekker out. The way I lied and told him my mother was the one who stabbed me. I drew a breath, ignoring the pain, blinking away tears. I tried to smile. "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "I know what happened, Frankie. I saw it, like looking through a window. I know what I did."

  "It wasn't you," I whispered. />
  "Show me the scar," he said. "It must be barely healed by now. I know it wasn't your mother. It was me."

  "No, it wasn't."

  "Yes, it was. It was me, but not me. And you didn't kill him. A monster who looked like me slid a knife into you and you didn't kill him."

  "It's not so simple."

  "But it is!" He stood up suddenly, as if overcome by a burst of energy. He stood over me, staring intently into my face. I lifted the bottle to my lips and he reached down and grabbed it away from me, set it on the nightstand with a force that echoed in the spartan room. He took my chin in his hand and lifted my face gently so I had to look at him. I shivered at the touch. "You didn't kill me then," he said, his words quiet. "You're not going to kill me now."

  "I don't know," I said, reaching out to touch him, then stopping myself and pulling my hands back. He let go of my face and took both my hands in his. I inhaled sharply. I hadn't touched anyone since I left him. The only human contact I had was when I killed. It was my only intimacy, and if I had a therapist, I'm sure she'd have a few things to say about that.

  Dekker leaned down to my still-upturned face, his lips hot when they touched my own. I couldn't hold back any longer. I pulled him toward me with a small cry of surrender, and he fell to his knees and kissed me long and hard and hungry. Suddenly there was fire inside me.

  A tear slid down my face, but I was feeling no pain. Whether from the booze or the intense need, all I felt was the ache of wanting him, the clutching desire to touch every part of him and be touched in return. Dekker pulled off my jeans, tossing them onto the floor, and he rose up and kissed me again, dark and sharp in the way he grasped at me, as if he needed me too, maybe even more. He was my knife as I lost control of my own actions, he needed to drink me up like a dying man in the desert.

  "You're crying," he gasped.

  "No I'm not," I said, fiddling at the buttons on my shirt, even though I could taste my own tears on his lips.

  "Am I hurting you?"

  "No," I said, pulling him closer.

  "We can't not be together, Frankie," he said, moaning as I finally got my shirt off, touching me all over, his lips moving to my neck and biting at me hungrily, caressing my breasts, kissing his way down the long, y-shaped scar that trailed from sternum to pelvis, grasping my hips in his strong hands, lifting me up to his lips. I cried out as I felt his tongue inside of me, moving my body to get closer, holding his head to keep him there. He raised his face up, wiping his chin. He had his pants off, though I didn't remember him taking them off. He slid on top of me, his full weight against me, the heat of him both too much and not enough. In one motion he was inside of me and I screamed, arching as he thrust mercilessly, so deep I didn't know where or who I was anymore, there was only him and me and this. He kissed me hard and I tasted blood and my own taste as our tongues wrapped around each other.

  "Oh my God," he rasped.

  I grabbed onto the back of his shirt, grasping at the skin of his back through the fabric with my fingernails.

  "Don't stop," I whispered. "Don't ever stop."

  "I want you to stay," he rasped. "Don't leave me again, Frankie." He thrust into me, sliding the length of himself into me over and over. "We belong together, you and me. We're part of each other."

  I felt myself start to give way and I moaned, clutching at him. "Dekker," I mouthed.

  "Promise me, right now," he said, his lips close to mine, his breath hot against my mouth. "Tell me you're not going to leave. Promise me. Tell me you'll stay. Tell me this is what you want until the end of time, you and me and nothing else."

  I cried out as he pushed harder and harder into me. "I promise," I tried to say, but he must have heard me because he let out a groan and kissed me, then lifted his face to the ceiling. I buried my face in his neck and screamed through my teeth, biting down and tasting blood once again. He was screaming, too, and I felt him go, thrusting deeper than it was possible to go as he let go, pulling my hair back and sending me deeper, the waves crashing down as I came.

  And then we were still. The only sound was the ocean outside, crashing on the shore, and the sound of our ragged breath, gasping for air.

  "Did I hurt you?" he said again, when he could speak, still inside me, still throbbing.

  "You're bleeding," I said in response.

  He pulled me closer, my stomach pressed to his. "I don't care." He kissed me again, this time softer, sweeter.

  "We shouldn't have done that," I murmured, starting to feel my ribs again, the alcohol and the excitement wearing off.

  "I didn't hear you protesting before."

  "They're going to know. The wraiths."

  He sighed. "They won't know."

  "We always know, know, know."

  SIX

  "Jesus Christ!" Dekker rolled off me and pulled up the sheet to cover himself.

  "Told you," I said. The wraith in the middle of the room looked toward us blankly, its lack of a face somehow worse than if I could see it watching us. "How long have you been there?"

  "Not long, long, long."

  "Fuck off," I said, moving slowly and deliberately to roll over, grabbing my pants and painstakingly pulling them on. Dekker was still sitting in the bed, looking a little stunned, watching the wraith with revulsion.

  "Modesty is not your greatest asset," said the wraith, its voice echoing in my head. Dekker put his hands to his temples.

  "Did you come here to watch me have sex and then fling insults?" I said, pulling the shirt on and starting on the buttons.

  "We always have a purpose."

  "Then tell me what the fuck you want and get out."

  "He's still here, here, here." I looked at Dekker, whose nostrils flared as he stared at the wraith. I looked back at it to see that it had moved closer.

  "Of course he's here," I said. "I told you, I wasn't going to kill him." I stood, grabbing onto the headboard for support and moving like an old woman. I almost regretted sleeping with Dekker, the pain was catching up to me now. But when I looked back at him, tousled and naked, I knew I couldn't regret it much. Except now the wraiths knew. How long would it be before I killed him?

  "Abel will be full of ire, ire, ire."

  I rolled my eyes and grabbed the bottle of bourbon, swallowing some down. "So, you're here to tell me to kill my friend, to vaguely threaten me when I decline, and to watch us screw. Is that all?"

  "No."

  "Oh, there's more," I said. "I can't wait." I carried the bottle back to the bed, ever so slowly sitting down and passing the bottle to Dekker, who took it and raised it to his lips. I almost felt bad for him. If you weren't used to the wraiths, they were fucking terrifying at first. By now they were more like cockroaches to me. They ruined my day and pissed me off, but so far had been unable – or unwilling – to hurt me. But could they make me do things? I had no idea.

  "Send him away, away, away."

  "Dekker stays. You're the one who needs to leave."

  The wraith seemed to regard the two of us, somehow projecting an air of disapproval without moving. Finally, it gave a something between a sigh and a moan. "She's here, here, here."

  "Another threat? Fun."

  "Not a threat, threat, threat. A warning, Frankie Mourning. She is here and we cannot stop her."

  "Who?" I said, taking the bottle from Dekker and raising it to my lips. I needed something to kill the pain, least of all so I could breathe. I badly wanted a cigarette, but I was afraid it might lay me out.

  "She has many names, names, names. She is old, older than us. Older than Abel, older than Lilith." I looked at Dekker, who was finally hurriedly pulling clothes onto himself. He froze at the last name.

  "What the fuck are you talking about?" I said. "Lilith was at the goddamn Garden of Eden."

  "And she was a whore to the dark things of the world, world, world."

  "It's not a secret."

  "The dark things of the world were here first," it said, "before Eden, before Lilith, before God."
/>
  "Dark things," I said. "Like what I have inside of me?" In response, I felt something shift in my chest.

  "Yessss."

  "And now someone is here? In this town?"

  "She is one, but she has help. She is called the Heart Eater, Mother of Souls. She follows only one, and you should pray you never meet her master. Something crawled from the crack in the sea, and she has followed. The Mother of Hearts is here."

  "Mother of Hearts," I said, inhaling slowly, taking a drink. I set the bottle on the nightstand. "And she's, what, one of these dark things? Why are you so afraid of her, because she has a spooky title? Or because she's old?"

  "She has been gone for so long, long, long, we thought her dead, dead, dead. But we are not privy to the workings of the gods. We think, think, think that not even Abel knows."

  "All those dark things Lilith was talking about, creatures she talked about, that she screwed to get back at God or whatever. You're saying those things are still around?"

  "We did not think so."

  "And what do you think now?"

  "There is a child of Lilith here," said the wraith. "You were right to come, come, come. It came from the sea first, like a child being born, and the Mother of Hearts followed. You must find them both, Frankie Mourning."

  "I'm supposed to take you seriously after everything you've put me through?”

  "We gave you a task, task, task," said the wraith. "You failed."

  "I don't really see it that way," said Dekker, speaking to the wraith for the first time, swallowing when it turned to look at him.

  "We didn't ask you, sinner of Cain," the wraith hissed.

  "Don't talk to him like that," I said. "Or I'm not doing shit for you. Who is this Mother of Hearts? Why are you so afraid? You said I don't want to meet her boss, who's that?"

  "We do not know his name. We only know, know, know that she is here. The Mother has Lilith's half-breed demon, and together they are powerful. Alone, they are powerful. You may very well lose, lose, lose."

  "What aren't you telling me?" I frowned. "Why did you say you think Abel doesn't know what's going on?"