Emerging (Subdue Book 2)

by Thomas S. Flowers

  “Ricky?” said Maggie, touching his arm timidly.

  “I don’t know,” he returned.

  “I think it’s time we leave. What do you think, pal?” Bobby requested, his bravado fully eclipsed by the thunderous terrifying echo.

  Johnathan moaned his agreement.

  “Let’s go,” Jake agreed, turning to head back down the path. He pulled a zippo from his khaki slacks. He sparked the flint. The small flame ignited and drove away a fraction of the dank gloom.

  “Wait,” came Ricky.

  “What?” they each mouthed.

  “Listen.”

  “We’re done listening, Ricky, we just want to go!” hissed Johnathan.

  “Seriously. Listen. Do you hear that?”

  “What is it?”

  “Sounds like…clicking.”

  Creeping among the droll hush clicking and chirping, gradually became more defined. With each passing second the sound rattled louder and louder. The utterance of a thousand things eerily reminded Ricky of the cicadas, or locust swarms that screeched from his backyard during the spring months back in Clear Lake.

  “What is that?” Maggie cried, yelling above the dreadful ticking song.

  “Are those…bugs?” Jake asked, frantically swaying the flame to and fro to illuminate the clicking monstrosities.

  “I think we should go. Now.” Johnathan pulled on Maggie, who in turn tugged Ricky’s collar.

  “Come on, Ricky!” Maggie screamed in his ear. Fear had set its root.

  Suicide Squad turned and then started jogging, faster and faster with each step, panic and dread tickling their heels following the waning dancing flame from Jake’s zippo. The clicking grew louder with what seemed like anger. The yellow glow returned in a dazzling brightness casting away the shadows, all but for the ones belonging to the five teenagers as they ran away. Five slender shadows in full sprint now, aiming toward the stone staircase.

  “God—we’re not going to make it!” screamed Johnathan.

  “Shut up. Keep running,” Bobby huffed.

  The clicking swarmed around them. Each felt the sting of a million tiny mandibles shredding flesh.

  Ricky howled from the rear, taking the worst of it. “Keep going,” he beckoned.

  The stone staircase appeared. Jake bounded upward, slapping at his arms and face. The others followed, taking the steps two at a time. Whispers in the dark spoke to them from behind, otherworldly voices. Terrible voices speaking in a horrid language the teenagers somehow could understand. The corrupt, ethereal murmurs called to each in a different tune, conversing iniquitous shameful prophecies. But one word was shared between them all, the name Nashirimah echoed over and over from the depths. They shut their ears, tried to block the monstrous call. But the clicking would not be silenced.

  Light from the cellar above shone down on them. Jake held his breath, clamping shut his mouth to keep the bugs from crawling inside. He bounded upward. The others followed suit. Clamping their own mouths and swatting their own flesh. The air felt chilled compared to the sweltering dungeon below. They spotted the wooden staircase and bolted for it, paying no heed to the vanishing swarm that crept back into the hole. They ran up the wood planks, busted through the broken door, bounded into the kitchen and then through the vast living room. They erupted out the door, past the ruined porch, running full tilt toward the dirt road, huffing and puffing and looking white as ghosts.

  The prophecies the whispers shared began to fade in the glow of the midday sun above them.

  “Hey, what’s going on?” yelled Karen, running to meet them.

  The warm orange sun beat down. The five teenagers coughed, painfully drawing breath. They stopped, bent at the midsection. Johnathan vomited next to the field of wheat stalks. Karen cried in disgust. Ricky clucked at his side, as did Maggie and Bobby. Jake turned back toward the house, staring.

  “What is it?” Maggie wheezed.

  “I don’t know.” Jake turned back to the group. “Why were we running again?” he asked.

  “That’s what I asked,” said Karen. The younger girl kicked the dirt by her feet. “I wish you would have let me go with you. What did you see? What was in there?”

  The five friends looked at one another and then at the ground and at the sky, searching the heavens for some memory. Confusion set in with the nausea bubbling in their stomachs. Eyes burned with exhaustion; flesh tingled from some unremembered unseen wound. Whatever had happened, the entire event, the very thing they were running from—the memory was no more.

  They looked at each other, again, and shrugged. Laughing. Whatever it was it was of no importance.

  “What time is it?” asked Maggie.

  Karen looked at her watch, “Almost four,” she said. “Are you going to tell me or what?”

  “We need to start heading back. Dinner will be ready soon.”

  “Fine. Don’t tell me then,” Karen huffed, stomping toward her bike and peddling off down Route 77, back toward downtown Jotham. The others followed her. Jake pulled out a soft pack of Camels. Lit one and passed it to Bobby. Ricky and Maggie biked side by side. Johnathan behind them, eyes on the house as it disappeared behind rows of unharvested wheat.

  “Your sister looks pissed,” Ricky smiled at Maggie.

  “Whatever. I just hope she doesn’t narc on us.” Maggie shot daggers at Karen’s back.

  “She won’t. Karen looks up to you, you know.” Ricky nodded toward the younger, smaller girl wearing black stretchy overalls dusted brown by the country road.

  “I know,” Maggie agreed. “She’s still a pain in the ass, though.”

  “Aren’t all siblings?”

  They both laughed quietly between them. Johnathan cleared his throat, slowing down, taking a drag from Jake’s smoke. Bobby smirked at him, knowingly. Johnathan rolled his eyes, ignoring him. Jake looked at the sun as it drifted toward the horizon, the bright glow warming his face. “God’s country,” he hummed indifferently.

  “You guys want to hit up Dairy Queen after dinner?” called Ricky from the front.

  “Hells yes!” came the group’s jubilant response.

  Suicide Squad, including Karen, the only nonmember to ever really hang with the group—only because she was Maggie’s sister and their parents wouldn’t allow Maggie to get away with half of the things she did unless she took along her younger sister—journeyed back into Jotham, sleepy as ever, and then even farther south toward Giddings, away from the house on Oak Lee Road and the memory of the things that dwelled inside.

  CHAPTER 7

  BE OUR GUEST

  Johnathan

  The Steele family Chrysler minivan crunched up the gravel drive toward the white, two-story farm house on Oak Lee Road. The adjacent fields of what looked to be wheat gleamed golden-brown in the winter sunlight. The breeze was mild, a bit warm for March, both comfortable and pleasant. Some early spring flowers, yellow perennials, blue bonnets, and bright reddish-purple million bells bloomed in the garden surrounding the front porch of the house. White winter honeysuckles were still in bloom, the humble scent of lemon caught in the wind. Johnathan closed his eyes and breathed deep the aroma. Exhaling, he felt perfectly at ease, despite the nagging uncertainty of his sanity. This was a place one came to heal.

  “I can’t believe she bought this place,” Karen said indignantly, gazing upon the house from the passenger seat. Her nose sneered as if caught by some unpleasant scent or memory.

  Johnathan blinked. He looked at Karen, surprised to hear her voice, surprised to be spoken too. Has her silence finally come to an end?

  “Did you hear me?” Karen prodded.

  “Huh?”

  “This house…I can’t believe she bought it. I understand her moving to maybe Giddings, but Jotham, this place? Doesn’t she want to be around us, family? So okay, whatever, but of all the houses she could have bought she chooses this one? Why? I don’t get it.” Karen studied the windows, the red door, the seemingly recently painted front porch, the flower bed.
Everything looked…fresh.

  “I don’t know…why wouldn’t she?” Johnathan said, confused, gazing at his wife and the house curiously. Is there something I don’t know?

  “Don’t you remember this place,” Karen asked without looking at Johnathan, “when we were kids? You guys went inside and came out running. Stupid little dare or prank or whatever you all were playing. And then you acted like it was nothing. You, Bobby, and Ricky, and Jake, and Mags, you all refused to say anything about it. I thought maybe you were just being mean, cause I was never part of y’all’s little club or whatever.”

  “Karen…”

  “I don’t care. Really. It was just…strange…” Karen trailed off, perhaps thinking, remembering.

  “I barely even remember this place, babe.”

  “What happened, Johnathan?” came Tabitha’s little voice from the back.

  “Nothing baby, it’s just an old house is all.” Johnathan peered in the rearview mirror, stung by the forgotten use of the word daddy. “But it looks nice, huh?”

  “It’s pretty. I like the flowers,” Tabitha smiled, closing her book, Doctor Howard’s Wonderful World of Insects.

  “Still…” Karen said, “it’s weird she bought it. That’s all I’m saying.” She stuffed away her iPhone inside her purse, the black purse, the one made of recycled seatbelts, the one Johnathan had bought her when they were still dating…way back when, before the Army.

  “So…” Johnathan started. “I take it we’re on speaking terms now?”

  Karen breathed deeply, her brow furrowed in concentration. She looked at Johnathan. She looked into his irises. Maybe she was desperately trying to not see the reflection of the man who downed an entire bottle of Johnny Walker Blue before heading to her parents on Christmas Eve. Maybe she didn’t want to see the drunk, but instead, the man before her, the three months sober man, the apologetic man.

  “Look,” Karen said, “I love you, you know that. I hate fighting, but whatever is going on with you—”

  Johnathan waved his hand in submission. “Karen, I want you know I’m going to—”

  “No. Just listen. I don’t want to do this now, okay? I love you, but we’re here for Maggie. I don’t want to do this in front of her if we can help it. We’re not here for us. We’re here for her. Okay?” Karen spoke direct, but an air of supplication was just visible beneath the surface.

  “Karen—”

  “No. Not now, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  “Thank you.”

  Johnathan nodded. He looked in the rearview. Tabitha was gazing out the window, watching…what was it? A red-eyed bug perched on the tree next to the drive sucking the sap from its bark, clicking in unison with its unseen swarm.

  “It’s a cicada,” he said.

  “I know,” said Tabitha. “It’s funny looking…”

  “How’s that?”

  “It’s big, bigger than the Cicadoideas I’ve read about from Doctor Howard.”

  “Maybe they grow that way out here?” he offered.

  “Maybe…”

  Johnathan exhaled a giggle. That damn book. So weird for a kid her age to be into a book about bugs.

  “Well…shall we?” he prodded, opening the driver side door.

  “Are you ready to see Aunt Maggie?” suggested Karen turning in her seat to face her daughter.

  “Yes!” the little girl shouted.

  ***

  Karen

  Karen watched Tabitha bound from the minivan, bolting for the porch steps. It would have been hard for her to suppress her smile at the sight of such a jubilant little girl who somehow still favored her Aunt Maggie over most of their relatives despite the prolonged absence. How long has it been since Maggie has seen her? Not since Ricky’s funeral at least.

  “Careful, hun” Karen called out.

  Tabitha happily ignored her, rapping on the front door.

  “Not so hard, sweetie,” Karen reproached, reaching the steps. She turned back and glanced at Johnathan struggling with his cane. The pang of dreadful pity welled up inside again. She hid it masterfully, for his sake. On the porch, Karen stood next to her daughter unsure if she should knock again. Johnathan carefully tested the wood steps with his prosthetic. He winched once and bit his lip. His leg is bothering him, still. Still…

  “Hey, do you think she’s here? Should we knock again?” Karen asked, still glancing at Johnathan, watching him work his way up the porch steps.

  The large red door swung open.

  “Welcome,” said the pale, near skeletal face eerily reminiscent of someone Karen used to know, used to love, used to call sister.

  “Hey—sis,” Karen said, mocking excitement. Internally her heart dropped. Her gut grew cold. Tears came dangerously close to spilling out down her face. I’ve been so selfish…look at her! God…just look…

  “Sorry it took so long to answer, I was down in the cellar when you knocked,” said Maggie. “Oh—,” she gasped, bending down toward Tabitha, “—just who is this pretty little thing?”

  Tabitha giggled, taking a step behind her mom, pretending to be shy.

  “Well, come on in Steele family. Make yourselves at home,” Maggie said, taking a step inside the door, gesturing with her hand for them to enter. “Please,” she uttered, “be our guest.”

  ***

  Johnathan

  Be our guest…strange way of saying it. Johnathan waited on the porch, watching Karen and Maggie talk briefly as they went inside. He found Maggie’s appearance somewhat disconcerting, wondering maybe if she’d been sick recently or just getting over the flu or something. Whatever it was, it felt good seeing her again, despite it all. Thoughts of Ricky, his hallucination, seemed fleeting yet pragmatic. She looks…horrible though. Is there something wrong with Mags? Was he right? How could he be…? Ricky is dead. The house seemed fine, better even than from the vague memory he’d had of the place. This was God’s Country. He gazed over the garden with mixed anxiety and hope. He promised himself then he’d make the best of this weekend. On Monday, he’d tell Karen about the VA hospital inpatient Rehabilitation Treatment Program. He was going to get help. Come Monday.

  He peered at the tree next to the Chrysler. It was covered now with many large, red-eyed cicadas, clicking in unison. Creepy, he thought and went inside.

  CHAPTER 8

  STRANGE DAYS

  Johnathan and Karen sat together on the couch in Maggie’s vast living room without much of a word spoken between them. All but for Tabitha, who stood in front of an empty dog bed, eyeing curiously an abandoned leash and collar which sat in place where a dog had perhaps once slept.

  “Here you go,” said Maggie, coming in from the kitchen carrying a tray filled with steaming mugs. “Some hot cocoa, just like how your grandma used to make your mom and me when we were your age. I know it doesn’t feel much like winter anymore with this heat wave, but still…” She handed a mug to Tabitha. “Oh, do be careful, it’s hot.”

  Tabitha took the mug without smile or thanks. “Where’s Moxie?” she asked, too young to mask the concern in her voice.

  “Moxie?” Maggie’s face looked oddly stretched.

  “Yes, Moxie. Your dog. Where is she? Did something happen?” Tabitha implored.

  “Tabitha…” chided Karen.

  “It’s okay. The dog…yes. The dog is gone, I’m afraid. Ran away.”

  “Ran away?” whined the girl.

  “Sweetie, sometimes dogs do that. They wander too far and get lost,” Karen offered.

  Tabitha nodded, taking her eyes off the empty dog bed. She took a reluctant sip from her mug and then returned to the armchair where The Wonderful World of Insects lay open. She sat down and started reading again, her interest in the whereabouts of Moxie lost in the pages of Doctor Howard.

  “Kids,” Karen shrugged with a smile, taking the mug Maggie offered.

  “Thanks,” said Johnathan, taking his, sniffing the cont
ents. No Irish…he thought darkly and quickly pushed the thought away.

  “You like it with marshmallows, right?” said Maggie, setting down the empty tray on the coffee table.

  Did she hear me?

  “Yes, thanks,” Johnathan smiled.

  Karen nodded in agreement.

  The group sat together in silence, which was not entirely comfortable, listening to the crackle of the fireplace, feeling the heavy haze of heat drifting over the expansive living room. Johnathan was unsure of what to say or how to begin, his gaze darting between Maggie and the fire. He hadn’t seen her since…he didn’t know when. Before Ricky…for sure. She needed time, he was aware of that. But when the phone calls ceased, what were they to do? Call the police? And say what exactly? No. She needed time, and time is what she got.

  And now things looked to be on the mend. She wanted to pull the gang back together. She wanted the reunion of Suicide Squad. And in the face of such a joyous occasion he was at an absolute loss for words. How exactly does one start up a conversation with not only an old childhood friend, a best friend, but also the wife of the husband who was killed because of his negligence, or his self-appointed negligence? What could he say to the woman whose dead husband was his very hallucination? His dementia. His Marley…He sipped his cocoa and said nothing.

  “How was the drive?” asked Maggie, breaking the silence. Her grin looked dark, mocking interest.

  “Not bad,” said Karen. “Nice to get out of Houston.” She didn’t seem to notice.