Body of Immorality

by Brandon Berntson

  Tallard pointed the gun at the stranger’s face. Tommy’s hands went up, shaking his head, pleading:

  “Jesus, Carl! No! Don’t!—”

  Tommy took several steps backwards.

  He was a good actor, the man in the boxers. Carl gave him credit.

  “No! Jesus, Carl! Please! What’s happened to you—”

  Tallard was tired of games. He pulled the trigger seven times, the gun kicking violently. Tommy flew backwards through the air and hit the opposite wall. He slumped motionless to the floor. The holes in his chest oozed blood.

  Carl walked over to Tommy, pointed the Berretta at the man’s head, and fired again just to make sure. The body jerked, slumped, and was still.

  Who else was on the boat? If there were others, he’d find them!

  They had to know, didn’t they? Nothing would stand in the way of his dreams coming true!

  With the smell of gunpowder thick in the air, Carl looked at the bodies of his enemies, and stormed on deck.

  Destiny called. It was time to come home.

  *

  True love waited for him beside Preservation. It scraped the side of the houseboat now.

  Crazy like a fox, love.

  The sun had risen, turning the sea into a magnificent array of gold.

  Not that it was important. Destiny had brought him to love’s doorstep. The ship was more beautiful than he remembered. With the sun and the golden waters, Carl Tallard could not imagine a better introduction to a life of mystery.

  The gun fell from his hand and clonked! on deck.

  Mist gathered, moving in around Preservation and the ancient vessel. A longing tugged at his heart. Perhaps now was the time for tears. Did she realize how much he missed her, how long he’d been waiting?

  It didn’t matter. He’d let her have him. He hadn’t killed his enemies for nothing.

  It was an easy jump, he saw, a matter of climbing over the rails of Preservation and then leaping onto the deck of the ship.

  Carl Tallard swung his legs over the rail, bracing himself with one hand. He looked down into the dark waters between the two boats. Was that a face leering at him, wide eyes in the water below?

  He steadied and launched himself over the water. He came down hard on the deck of the ancient vessel.

  Through the thick and heavy mist, he looked behind him. Preservation disappeared just as quickly in the surrounding fog. In some strange way, he already felt different. He was alive in ways he’d never felt before.

  That’s because it’s love, you crazy little fox, you.

  No doubt, his father was smiling down on him. It made the whole trip worth it.

  Years of tribute, of dedication to his father, had finally paid off. He was living in luxury, in the crux of a God’s elbow. Stars pampered him.

  He didn’t ride off into the sunset just yet, however…

  Within seconds, something unnaturally loud pierced the air, a chaotic din of a million screams. He didn’t understand it because the sound didn’t seem to have a source. Nothing was visible, only the empty deck of the vessel.

  Carl put his hands over his ears and winced at the shrill, another kind of mutiny. His ears were bleeding. Tears came to his eyes.

  He did see, though. From everywhere! Behind crates and barrels—the mizzenmast, and bulkheads—a maniacal black wave of ghouls spewed from every corner of the vessel, rushing toward him at lightening speed!

  What they were, Carl couldn’t tell. He wondered only if they rushed toward him by the hundreds or thousands.

  Dripping strands of mucus fell from hungry mouths. Arcs of freakishly lone teeth dipped below black chins. Tallard had enough time to witness their black and gray eyes, bodies stunted as if they’d been mashed, no taller than his knees. Gangly sticks for arms waved in the air, tapering to hands resembling a jumble of cooking knives. Art would’ve been proud.

  But who is that? he thought. Why did he think about Art?

  They came at such speed, he hadn’t time to think. In fact, Carl had only seconds to comprehend his fate…

  Again, he looked to the side. Thick fog had swallowed Preservation. The houseboat and his friends were gone.

  He thought about how his shipmates, how his true love had betrayed him. What a cruel, agonizing twist of fate!

  What was that about Destiny? he thought.

  He didn’t want to drown in the deep waters of the Pacific, not while these abhorrent things diced and gnawed into his flesh.

  How he’d managed to be deceived was beyond him. In the seconds that followed, he still failed to comprehend it.

  It seemed only yesterday he’d been at peace with his life. Everything had been perfect. All he wanted was time away from land, with friends to enjoy the ocean’s paradise…

  Yet, he experienced a terrible want to understand what these creatures were…

  Was he dreaming again?

  Something laughed in his face, telling him he had no such…luck?

  Tallard braced himself for the onslaught, nothing left for him to do, nowhere to go.

  Charred sticks, thin, black, breakable branches pummeled his feet, hands, and chest. Curved teeth pierced his throat, sending blood into the air. Knives punctured his eyes. They sliced off his lips. They impaled his abdomen and groin. He was a human pincushion.

  Tallard tried to hold his stomach in place. His innards spilled onto the deck in a colorful splash of shimmering gore. Blades ripped through his feet, tore into his hands. They sliced his face open, dug his eyeballs out.

  This is your love. This is your treasure. Buried not with Preservation, but here in the dark where all your dreams turn bad.

  “Dad,” Carl whispered. “Help. I’m so sorry.”

  His knees buckled, and he fell forward…

  They descended furiously, crazed and lunatic, burying their knife-like claws into his flesh.

  The only thing he had to live for was the cold, dark water…

  He noticed one other thing, though. Through being torn apart—his blood sailing like red ribbons through the air—the ship was turning in circles. It was caught in a whirlpool, he realized.

  Crazy love, he thought, like a fox, love.

  Maybe it wasn’t paradise, life here on the Pacific…

  Cold water came together above his head. The ocean dark disposed of what remained of Carl Tallard, and this horror…

  Steps

  The white Victorian was elegant through every cornice, eave, and window, looming over the manicured lawn like a celestial guardian.

  Peace and comfort, Annie thought. Warmth and happiness for the rest of our lives.

  She believed it, too. No going back now. Annie and Eric Durgess had found a place to call home.

  The house (she knew this was a sappy thought) smiled, something on the door perhaps—a bright yellow circle with a smiling face—the one you saw on bumpers, a yellow button on a jean jacket. The yellow sticker (or button), instead of ‘smile’ said, “I’m here for you. And you for me. Together, we’ll bring another member to the family. Make it three. Not counting me.”

  Did it wink? Annie held her belly and chuckled. She was getting sappy, but she didn’t care.

  Beasley, the family beagle, barked a single time from where he lay on the grass. He yawned, stretched—paws extended, belly toward the sun—looking around as though he didn’t understand why he’d barked in the first place. Maybe he’d had a bad dream, Annie thought.

  She stood and looked at the house. They’d been in Longmont, Colorado for several months now. She was excited, too, because it was spring, and now she could start bringing the yard to life with color.

  The house did seem to look at her. The white guardian spoke, letting her know: I’m protecting you.

  The sun was a bright yellow ball making its presence felt. For some reason, the sun seemed jealous of her thoughts, or maybe it was starved for attention.

  Talk about sappy, she thought.

  She’d been working in the yard for the last two
hours. Light blue gardening gloves grimed with dirt fit snugly over her hands. Her black hair spilled out in thick locks under a red bandana. She was wearing one of Eric’s long, denim shirts. She liked Eric’s clothes, and he enjoyed the fact that Annie liked to wear them. Something sexy about his ‘significant other’ partaking of his wardrobe, he’d once said. It brought them closer.

  “Oh, that’s sweet,” Annie had told him.

  Eric had rolled his eyes, looking as if he needed to get in touch with his masculinity, and blushed.

  Still looking at the house, Annie Durgess thought of what it was telling her now.

  Yes, soon, we’ll make it three.

  The nights would grow long and sleepless with the new baby, dirty diapers, but she was optimistic. Annie didn’t think of the hardships of parenting, only the rewards.

  The future proved optimistic. The white Victorian told her this now in its elegant facade.

  Under a cloudless, pristine sky, yellow rays of warmth embraced her arms. “You,”—as if competing with the Victorian—the sun said, “are the big red bow on top off this package. We know it’s early for Christmas, but what the hell!”

  Warmth surged through Annie’s chest. Was that contentment? A multitude of emotions—all of them glorious—moved alongside the contentment. She hadn’t felt this good in a long time. She wondered if it was a combination of the sun, the house, the flowers, the perfectly, manicured lawn, Beasley, and the expectation of motherhood.

  Annie looked at Beasley and smiled. Turning back to her task, she knelt and planted another petunia—purple this time—along the walkway. The front yard was warm and welcoming already. Annie wanted their house to be the most inviting on the block. By the looks of it, she was doing a fine job. A war of color was taking place between Annie’s and Mrs. Duncan’s yard across the street. They’d been laughing about it for over a week now.

  The Victorian spoke again, or maybe it was God. Through everything she and Eric sought, they were where they belonged, where they’d always wanted to be.

  Another feeling of contentment? Is it possible to feel too good?

  The sun moved in, pushing aside the Victorian’s optimism, letting the house know it was his turn to shine and put a smile on Annie’s face.

  Annie took a deep breath over how good it all felt. Today, she felt reborn, made with newness. She and Eric had made the right decision coming to Colorado. The proof of that was all around: the colors, the sun, and the celestial guardian. As if in answer, Beasley barked again, whined, and rolled onto his side.

  It had been hard. They’d made sacrifices, but it had been worth it. They’d had their trials as couples will, arguments, frustrations. But the pain and sweat had granted rewards…

  They’d made the move, the perfect change, and purchased their first home. Colorado’s western landscape had the perfect, healing touch. Eric mentioned stringing a hammock up between the maples in the backyard. He had ideas for the kitchen. Annie liked seeing how optimistic he was about the house.

  It was going to be a good life, the Victorian told her.

  Make it three, Annie thought, and touched her belly.

  How could it not treat them well?

  The change came three months ago from Phoenix to Longmont. The Flatirons’ red rocks loomed to the west now instead of the southwestern deserts and cacti. The Rocky Mountains made an impressive, jagged stretch of white-capped peaks along the horizon. Since the move, Annie savored Colorado’s sunsets. It was true God must be a Bronco fan, otherwise John Elway wouldn’t have had the storied career he did. God’s artistry spread through every splashing, bursting orange/blue array, fingers of light across the sky. Arizona had procured its own southwestern beauty, too, unmatched anywhere she’d been, but there was something special about the Colorado air. It tugged her, pulled her in. Apparently, it had done the same with Eric. Maybe the air was the reason she felt as good as she did now, another personality—beside the house and the sun—sending out its optimism. Something about the number three, Annie thought, and smiled again for the millionth time.

  Eric’s business was on the rise. E&D Contractors (and the seed in Annie’s belly) were starting to grow. Things had a way of being completely, unalterably perfect, she thought. She almost felt bad for feeling so good.

  As she looked at the house—planting another petunia (pink this time) along the sidewalk—Annie stood, put her hands on her hips, and surveyed her work. She shook her head, unable to believe they could afford this: the house, the lawn, even the flowers. She couldn’t believe they lived here, that Eric’s business was doing as well as it was. It hadn’t sunk in yet, despite how long they’d been here. Not that the Victorian was a castle or that Colorado was Heaven…

  Or was it, she thought?

  “Yes it is,” Annie said. “To me, the house is a castle. To me, it sits on the clouds.”

  The possibilities were everywhere, things she could do with the yard, the basement, the empty room across the hall—what would soon be the nursery. Maybe they could turn the extra room into a study, an office for Eric. Wallpaper here, fresh paint in the dining room, bookshelves, more counter space in the kitchen. The possibilities were endless, and as Annie thought about the possibilities, she grew mentally tired thinking of all the hard work it would take. What was that about relaxation and leisure?

  But it’s ours, this time. We’re not asking permission to renovate a house we’re renting anymore, so it can look good for whoever moves in after us. We’re not working on someone else’s kitchen or storm drains. This is ours. Everything we decide from here on out is permanent. Well, at least until we change our minds.

  When Eric wasn’t inspecting various job sights in the surrounding towns of Louisville, Broomfield, and Boulder, he was mapping out ideas for their own kitchen, the nursery, and the patio. Having a man around with his skills was convenient. His passion—ever since they’d met at the racetrack in Phoenix—was tearing down, rebuilding, and renovating houses. After two hours (buying her a hot dog and a Coke), Eric confided his dream to her of running his own business. Contracting wasn’t the most elaborate thing in the world, he’d said, but it was his dream, and that was all that mattered. He wanted to be the best contractor, the most reliable, and the most efficient people could find. Annie respected Eric’s ideas. She believed he would be the best contractor, the most reliable, and the most efficient people could find.

  “See,” he’d told her that day. Cars raced by on the track. The sun was blistering, blinding. Eric rested his forearms on the fence. “If you buy coffee and doughnuts for the crew, take them out to lunch once and a while, you’ll not only save them money, they’ll see you as pretty dang nice, and they won’t want to let you down. Make it enjoyable for them; they make it easier for you. At least I hope. It’s all about getting the best performance out of your workers, snooks. There is a method to my madness. I’m basically trying to deceive them.”

  Annie laughed and shook her head. Going to the racetrack with their parents (a coincidence they both thought scary, considering they were in their late twenties at the time, and neither lived at home), they’d said goodbye (much to the chagrin of both sets of parents), and disappeared for the day. “No, don’t worry,” Annie told her parents. “I’ll take a cab home.” Her mother and father looked at one another, raising their eyebrows.

  “Ice cream would be a great way to wash down that hot dog,” Eric had told her on that blistering day. “Besides, you smell like onions. I don’t want onions to be the memory of our first kiss.”

  Annie raised her eyebrows, stunned by Eric’s approach. He’d captivated her as well, though. Playfully, she smacked his arm. They were married six months later.

  Yes, someone will need a room of their own, Annie thought, planting another petunia. She grabbed a white one this time from the cardboard tray on the sidewalk.

  Eric’s peers mentioned Colorado as a great place to make a new start. The surrounding towns around Boulder were growing. Heeding the advice, Eric ha
d a natural ability to lead. And yes, he was a reliable contractor. The residents and shop owners in Louisville, Broomfield, Lafayette, and Longmont helped turn E&D into a prodigious operation. He placed reasonable bids; his crew was self-motivated. At the time, the phone at the Durgess apartment rang on and on. Before Eric and Annie realized it, they were forced to expand outside of home. Eric had even provided Annie with a stipend for answering calls. “The prettiest and most patient secretary a guy could ask for,” he once told her. He’d leased an office in downtown Longmont, and E&D began its climb.

  Now, E&D was bigger than ever.

  New house, new baby, Annie thought. New life.

  They were lucky, and for a split-second, she closed her eyes, soaking it all in.

  It was good to get away from the scorching heat of Arizona. Now, they would have snow for Christmas, their own newly decorated home. Annie was anxious for the holidays. Strands of colorful lights in all that Colorado snow! How perfect!

  Something about healing, she thought.

  Colorado was perfect, distancing them from the nightmares which had plagued Eric in Arizona. His visits with Dr. Livesey had grown more frequent during those colder months. The move to Colorado had (thankfully) banished the horror. Eric had time to focus on better things now, more his old self; the hypnosis (something Eric had scoffed over for a week before relenting) had actually worked. He’d never believed in ancient or new age remedies, but Livesey had changed all that.

  Annie couldn’t look at Eric when the noises haunted him. The sounds, she learned, came with a torrent of pain. She’d thought his troubles were nothing more than migraines. She’d seen him moving his head to the sounds once.

  “What’s it like?” she’d asked.

  They were living in a small apartment in Phoenix, celebrating their first anniversary.

  Annie put her hand on his knee. Eric looked at her with tears in his brown eyes.

  “Huh?” he asked. “I can’t hear you, sweetheart. It’s like a marching band in here.”

  Annie heard about Dr. Livesey’s methods and called him the next day.