“The tapes,” he managed.
“There, as I promised.” Hope motioned to two unmarked video cassettes on the desk. Next to them was a large wastebasket, a bottle of lighter fluid and a box of matches. “I assumed you’d want to destroy them.”
“How do I know these are them?”
He rolled his eyes. “Come on, Jeff, the game’s over. You must know that by now. Those are the tapes. You have my word.”
“Your word? You can’t be serious.”
The old man’s face hardened. “I’m dead serious, boy.”
Jeff scooped up the cassettes, pulled the tape free from within them and threw them into the wastebasket. After dousing them with lighter fluid he struck a match and threw it in. The tapes went up quickly, the awful chemical stench of burning plastic cases wafting all about the room.
“And now to the matter of your compensation,” Hope said. “You’ve earned it, and will therefore soon find that I have paid you in full.”
Jeff stepped back, closer to the open doorway. “Who are you?”
“Who do you think I am?”
“What are you?”
“I have many names.” He traced his lips with a finger, the talons still in place, like razors. “Wizard…Necromancer…Djinn…Sorcerer.”
“This isn’t happening. None of this is real.”
“I’m as real as the human capacity for boundless greed and self-interest is. Do you really believe any of the wishes your kind ever have are anything but self-serving?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Then you’re a fool. And you’re weak. But you amuse me, much the way a mouse amuses a cat. I like to play, though I know my games are particularly disturbing to you. But then, that’s the whole point, isn’t it. Like the cat, I toy with my mice however I like. And when I grow bored I finish them off without remorse or thought or even a hint of compassion.” Hope moved closer, relishing the fact that each time he did Jeff took another step back. “Because I am eternal, and you are little more than a faded scar on the ass of your so-called God.”
“Why me?”
“Run along, little rabbit.” Hope shooed him away with his hands. “You’ve stumbled into a den of hungry wolves.”
The rain brought him back…wet and cold on his flushed face…away from those horrible green eyes, it was suddenly all around him, a tangle of lust, terror, regret, confusion and anger, clinging to him like flypaper. An explosion of faces—memories of people and events, time with no linear meaning but instead a sandstorm of disjointed seconds tumbling through space, a limitless number of possibilities flowing like water—a montage of two lives and the people, places and things that constituted them whirling together as one.
And then, Eden…looking on as one life—his life, her life, their history, love and laughter, tears, hope, disappointments, fears and triumphs—spiraled away into darkness, splintered to smoke and ash…taking her with it while the other life rose to prominence, one of sorrow and heartbreak, failure and neglect. Amidst screams—his and someone else’s—Eden was torn from him. And all that remained was the rain and faint traces of laughter. The horrible laughter of something no longer human, disguised as the cackling of a sick old man.
As if awakening from a dream, Jeff realized he was on the street. Fighting back tears of shock and confusion, he leaned against the side of a building, drenched and frightened. “What the hell’s happening to me?”
Something hit the wall, not far from his face.
Startled, Jeff pushed away from the building and turned in the direction from which it had come.
A surly-looking police officer tapped the wall next to him with his nightstick. “Come on, keep moving, no loitering. Let’s go, move it.”
“Officer, there’s no problem here, I—”
The cop nudged him with a beefy gloved hand. “Just move along.”
“I stopped to make a call.” He reached for his cell phone. It wasn’t there.
“Uh-huh. I’m not telling you again. Move along.”
Jeff staggered away, caught his balance then started off down the block. Doing his best not to appear too upset, he purposely moved in a slow, controlled stride, but noticed people were giving him an unusually wide berth. Most looked away as if repulsed. With his discomfort growing, he stopped in front of a large store window to examine his reflection.
Very slowly, he touched his hands to the face staring back at him.
Ernie Graham’s face.
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“My God,” he whispered. “What have you done to me?”
Through the constant surge of people moving along the street behind him, he saw Foster Hope emerge with a devilish grin. “You wanted freedom from the rent, credit card bills, car payments—all of it. Your wish was for independence from those things. Now you have it.”
“But—”
“Don’t worry,” Hope told him. “Eden’s going to be just fine.”
“Eden,” he cried, his fingertips scraping down across the stubble on filthy cheeks that were not his own. “She…”
“Ernie Graham once worked for me as well. His wish was for a new life.” The old man licked his lips excitedly. “Your life, Jeff.”
“No…I…”
“And now I’ve given it to him.”
He continued to stare, transfixed by his reflection and what he knew to be impossible. “Goddamn you.”
“Indeed He did,” Hope sighed, “a very long time ago.”
Jeff turned from their reflections expecting to see Hope standing next to him. But there was no one there. When he looked back at the store window, Hope’s reflection had vanished as well.
* * * *
“He’s still out there.”
As he sat up, Jeff’s perspiration-soaked back peeled away from the bed sheet. He squinted drowsily at the clock on the nightstand. The numbers were a jumbled blur. “Eden?”
“Hey,” she said softly.
“What are you doing up?”
“I couldn’t sleep.” Perhaps carelessly, she stood nude at the apartment window. “I needed something cold to drink.” She held up a bottle of water in evidence and then ran the cool plastic across her brow and down along her flushed cheek. “It’s after midnight and he’s still out there.”
“Of course he is.” Jeff swung his feet to the floor. “That’s where he lives.”
“It’s ridiculous. No one should be living on the streets in this day and age.”
Jeff searched the nightstand, located his eyeglasses and slipped them on. “Jesus, get out of the window.”
“It’s dark, he can’t see in.”
He sat on the edge of the bed and watched shadows slink along the smooth contours of his wife’s back. Glistening with perspiration, her flesh looked like it had been sprayed down with a fine mist. “I was having a dream,” he told her. “Just now, it woke me.”
“What was it about?”
“I was here, in the city, but I was lost and I couldn’t find you. It was like I had no memory of the city at all. I just kept aimlessly wandering the streets looking for you. I looked everywhere, but I couldn’t find you.”
“It’s OK,” she said. “I’m right here.”
“Yes.” He smiled. “You really are right here with me…aren’t you?”
“Of course, sweetie.” Eden pushed a wisp of short brown hair from her eyes. “Where else would I be?”
What he didn’t tell her was that in the dream he’d been running. In a panic of frenzied terror he’d been sprinting through the streets of Boston as if a pack of wild dogs had been right on his heels…or perhaps as if he’d been one of those dogs himself…or something similar…feral and alone and lost in a rage of night, harsh, dangerous and without end.
“And I’m here, too,” he said, as if just realizing it, “with you.”
She cocked her head, baffled. “Are you still asleep?”
“No. No, I…I’m awake now.” He gazed at her beauty. “Come here.”
As she started towar
d him the buzzer for the door downstairs suddenly sounded, startling them both. Eden quickly threw on a lightweight robe and hugged herself, eyeing her husband nervously throughout.
Without a word, they crossed the apartment to the intercom just inside the front door. Jeff stepped aside and nodded for Eden to answer it.
She pressed the button. “Yes?”
“Eden!” a man’s frantic voice answered. “Let me in! Please, let me in!”
Jeff recognized the voice immediately but said nothing.
“Please Eden! You can help me, please—please—help me, let me in!”
She glanced guiltily at Jeff, unsure of what to say.
“Please! Let me in! I don’t belong out here!”
“I’m sorry, Ernie,” she said softly. “I can’t do that.”
She switched off the intercom, and together, she and Jeff returned to the bedroom. He slid into bed as she ventured back to the window for the bottle of water she’d left on the sill.
Eden looked at the street two stories below. The homeless man had returned to the base of their steps and gazed up at her, a crippling sorrow filling his eyes. For reasons unknown even to her, Eden felt inexplicably drawn to him ever since he’d first appeared on their street a few days before. She held his stare with an impassive version of her own. She could see his lips moving but couldn’t hear what he was saying, just vague whispers in the night.
She closed her eyes.
Behind her, she could hear Jeff slip out of his pajama bottoms, his breath heavy and excited. “Come back to bed, baby.”
Eden opened her eyes. The homeless man was gone.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Called “One of the best writers of his generation” by both the Roswell Literary Review and author Brian Keene, Greg F. Gifune is the author of numerous short stories, several novels and two short story collections (Heretics and Down To Sleep). His work has been published all over the world, consistently praised by readers and critics alike, received starred reviews in Publishers Weekly, Library Journal and The Midwest Book Review (among others) and has recently garnered interest from Hollywood. His novels include Children Of Chaos, Dominion, The Bleeding Season, Deep Night, Blood In Electric Blue, Saying Uncle, A View From The Lake, Night Work, Drago Descending, Catching Hell, Judas Goat, and Long After Dark. In addition to working as a full-time author, he also serves as Associate Editor at Delirium Books. Greg resides in Massachusetts with his wife Carol and a bevy of cats. Greg can be reached online at: [email protected] or through his official web site at: www.gregfgifune.com.
INNOVATING DARK FICTION
www.darkside-digital.com
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