Warmed and Bound: A Velvet Anthology

by ed. Pela Via

  The next black shape I see is a gun. Kleyton jams the weapon in my face and in a quick swirl swipes it across my cheek. The pain is nothing compared to seeing a near-stranger with his arm around my wife’s neck.

  “Don’t fucking move,” he says, pulls Penny to the other side of the room.

  I wipe the blood from my face and taste the rust of rage against the tip of my mouth. “Let her go.”

  Kleyton laughs, pulls the side of Penny’s hair so hard that I can see the hurt in her rosy cheeks. “I don’t know how many of these the two of you have done, but along the way, something like this was bound to happen.”

  “We’ll give you our money, Kleyton. Just, please, let her go.”

  He shakes his head, holds my wife tighter against him. “It’s not about the money, cowboy. Believe me, if I was short on cash, I would have never been able to pay that god-awful deposit the two of you required for this here visit. What I’m here for isn’t something you can give.” He pauses for a second and I swear his shadow dances in the moonlight. “I promise this will be quick.”

  What happens next occurs in blocky, blurry shapes that radiate with a prismatic glow. A jumbling arrangement of sharp noises and metallic whirls spin in my head like a broken symphony. I ignore the tinges of pain beneath my skull and lunge at Kleyton but I’m greeted with a jagged whip of the pistol butt. Blood spills out of my mouth like a spider web and when the first of Penny’s screams pierces the air, I can’t tell if I’m alive or dead.

  Fade into white and back to grey. Ten seconds or ten days pass and she’s lying next to me, her right hand on my chest and clenching my shirt with cherry-stained fingers. The other hand sits ten feet from her body. Kleyton backs away from the scene until his boots scrape across the floor and hit the edge of the opposite wall.

  Penny’s fingers release the fabric of my T-shirt and she lies motionless and pale. She rolls over to her backside and pushes her body away from me and into the corner between the bar and the window. Her eyes are as black and dead as a newborn demon’s and a comet streak of albino white dresses her once auburn locks. She pays no attention to the blood escaping from her new wound.

  “Look at her hair . . .” Kleyton’s lips nearly swallow his entire face. “Jesus.”

  Kleyton grabs the doorknob and struggles to swing it open. My last sight of him is the serene wrinkle in his forehead, the two morose eyes locked onto my wife as if his actions changed all of our lives.

  I stare at the various stains on the hotel room ceiling and within seconds our shadows have collected our consciousness and dropped us into a frozen slumber.

  ———

  You were barely seventeen and perfect. Lips of an angel, dimples that could hold a man’s soul. You held my hand during the rainstorm and pointed at every shooting star, leaning in for kisses whenever there was a gap in time and space. You smelled of lavender and an autumn afternoon, skeletons of leaves as brown as dead pumpkins.

  “Look,” you said, and pointed to a fiery trail in the October night sky.

  I gazed above and when my eyes were ablaze with the reflections of glitter and hail you pressed your mouth against mine and sucked the memories from the back of my throat and swallowed them. Your eyes shifted from blue to grey and back again.

  Our fingers entwined, alpine purple nails trailing the edges of my palms, we let the rain beat down upon our hearts as if nothing could ever stop us.

  ———

  Penny’s eyes draft from side-to-side as if she’s following a tennis match. I hold her hand in mine but it’s been at least a week since she last squeezed back. Her breaths are consistent and slow. The white streak in her hair remains cold, a reminder of the events before us. Every few hours she smiles and points behind me.

  “They’re right behind you,” she says. “Red eyes like fire. They’re all around us, baby. I don’t think you should be scared.”

  I can’t turn around, can’t bear to think of her this way anymore. I kiss the back of her hand, remember the days when we’d watch the geese in the Charles River and drink coffee and follow the moon back home.

  Another kiss on her forehead but she doesn’t look directly at me. She keeps pointing to the empty hospital sky. I leave her behind me when the night beckons and I walk to the only place in Boston where the one person I need to see could possibly be.

  ———

  I spot him walking in through the front lobby. Eleven hotels on this strip of downtown and I was bound to be lucky. I keep a distance from his back, careful not to let my reflection catch the rugged look he still wears on his face. He sips a beer at the bar across from the lobby and it’s only a few minutes into his first drink that his client walks over and sits across from him. I study the client’s mannerisms, the nervous twitch at the tips of his sneakers, the wavy cowlick that shoots into the sky with an awkward sway. I wait another ten minutes for them to get the small talk out of the way before I move from the velvet couch in the lobby.

  Kleyton walks away first and the man follows suit within the next eighty seconds. I walk quickly until I reach the set of elevators near the bar. Kleyton is smart and gets on the first elevator but lets the man catch the next one. We’re the only two in the next ride and when he pushes the ‘four’ button a bright hurried pinch of light escapes from the metal panel.

  We reach the fourth floor and he exits first. A quick scan of the hallway shows there’s no one else breathing here except for us. It happens almost too quickly and when his windpipe slams against my knuckles it sounds like a popping soda can. I toss aside his cash and license and credit cards but instead grab the key ring from his inside jacket pocket and catch the momentary trance of golden light from the ‘423’ on the ring.

  The room’s only a minute walk away from the elevator. I knock once for each time my heart beats through my ribcage.

  “Thanks for waiting a few minutes to—”

  Kleyton can barely finish his sentence before I shove my weight through the door and onto his chest. For a man that’s only a decade or so older than me he’s not nearly as strong as I’d imagined. He gasps for air between my fist cracking the side of his head. When he stops moving I slam the door shut behind me and smile.

  ———

  Kleyton’s eyelids swing open. The fear in his pupils dances behind the sweat and blood that have caked into his sockets.

  “What . . . the fuck.” Only three words from a man who, with our situations reversed, wouldn’t be able to shut up.

  “The quieter you are, the less this will hurt.” I only had to fish through his duffel bag for a few seconds before finding the polished cleaver.

  Kleyton’s eyes follow the moonlight’s reflection off the knife and a single swift blow to his jaw is enough to rattle him one last time. He stops squirming when the cleaver hits the open air and slams into the flesh. It takes three swipes to cut through completely and Kleyton is silent as soon as the forearm is split from the wrist and hand on his right side. Lips part open so wide that they could swallow himself and the chair he’s sitting in.

  “So . . . beautiful . . .” Tiny strands of fresh saliva fall from his mouth and onto his lap. “In the air, behind the bed, all around us . . .”

  I launch the cleaver against the side of the desk on the opposite side of the room. Telephone off the hook and Kleyton bleeding out, I nod at the scene and leave the room and the hotel as fast as a ghost falling from the heavens.

  ———

  Another shot of tequila with no chaser. I stare at the butcher knife Penny used to use on our clients. The wooden handle is beaten and raw. I’m surprised the splinters never found their way into her palm. I finish the rest of the tequila and move onto the half-empty bottle of whiskey across the table in our kitchen. Penny’s asleep in the bedroom but nowadays slumber to her isn’t really rest at all. She says they talk to her when her eyes are closed. They tell her about what’s beyond the arc of this world and the next.

  I toss my black T-shirt onto the kitchen floor, feel
the cool breeze of an October evening across my bare chest. I stretch my fingers, crack the knuckles with a deep breath. Eyes closed, I grip the knife, let it sway over my wrist before swallowing the last mouthful of whiskey. I let it fall with a resounding screech and picture Penny’s face in the moonlight, her smile as soft as a seraph’s voice.

  The first one skitters from the corner of the kitchen and over my head. The next one sniffs the new wound, its horns and oval head shifting from side-to-side with a magnetic swing. One of them walks into the kitchen, a pure obsidian form nearly blanketed by dark light. Its eyes glisten with a scarlet glow.

  ——————————

  The Tree of Life

  by Edward J Rathke

  ‘Your eyes are like fire.’

  ‘Sounds like bad poetry.’

  He gives her his back. ‘Never mind.’

  ‘Aw,’ she wraps round him, ‘don’t be such a baby.’

  ‘Sometimes it feels like you don’t want me around.’

  She sighs and lets go, falling to her back and blowing black hair out of her silver eyes. ‘I’m going for a walk.’ She gets out of bed and dresses.

  ‘It’s the middle of the night.’

  She pulls up her pants and throws on a coat. ‘It always is.’

  ‘You can’t go for a walk.’ He rests on his elbow. ‘It’s not safe.’

  The streets glisten and a veil hangs over the sky, blotting the moon, the sun, and stars. She pulls her hood up and pushes her collar high and lights a cigarette. Smoke blooms from her mouth into the thick air where it fingers apart, snakes winding through a desert. She hurries with no direction, each step carrying her further from him and his heavy blue eyes, curly hair, and thin lips. Duned and waved, long cracks and deep chasms fill the roads.

  Drifting through the streets like a fog, she loses herself outside looming cemetery gates. She wanders past, her shadow clinging to the high fence, cast by the streetlights. She stumbles, a tug at her feet like hands wrapped round her ankles.

  Behind her, her shadow climbs the cemetery wall and hops over. The cigarette drops from her mouth. She inspects her feet, lifting one boot at a time and seeing no shadow left beneath. Her hood falls, hair dancing in the wind, she turns back and forth, but the streets are wide and empty and silent. Another cigarette in her mouth, a cough pushes from the back of her throat, long strides bring her over the pavement, away from rogue shades.

  Her phone vibrates.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Walking.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Around.’

  ‘Are you smoking?’

  She exhales loud for him to hear.

  ‘It’s not safe out there. Please, Jenny, come back. I can’t do this without you.’

  ‘I’ll be back soon.’

  She thumbs it closed and turns off her phone. The new sodium light pours onto her and she watches the smoke linger and surround, like fairies in flight. Spotlighted there, her thoughts reach after the phantoms, and she turns in all directions looking for her shadow. Closing her eyes, she gives her face to the overhanging light. The hum catches her ears, the sound of fireflies in heat. The roar of fire returns and the warmth is real.

  She finds herself an hour later sitting on the stoop of his apartment building chaining cigarettes.

  ———

  ‘We can’t do this.’

  ‘We don’t have to.’ He kissed her, long, and she wanted to swallow him.

  ‘I have a boyfriend.’

  ‘I don’t care.’ He kissed her again and tugged down her pants, tasting her skin. She writhed in his hands and bit her lip.

  ———

  ‘Should I tell my boyfriend?’

  ‘If you want.’

  ‘I feel like shit.’

  ‘Do you love him?’

  ‘I don’t think so. But, still.’

  He kissed her again. ‘You should tell him.’

  She buried her head in his chest, tasting sweat.

  ———

  ‘This is the last time.’

  ‘It doesn’t have to be.’

  ‘I can’t keep doing this to him.’

  ‘Then tell him.’

  She curled away, but he pulled her waist to his.

  She put her palm to his beard and kissed his cheek, the hair tickling her nose. ‘I don’t want to hurt him.’

  ‘Then stop.’

  ‘I don’t want it to stop.’

  ‘Stay with me.’ He brushed the hair from her face, his fingers glancing against her skin, and kissed her. ‘I want you.’

  She rolled, face to face, and bit his lip and pressed their foreheads together. Smiling, she pulled his ashen hair, and whispered into his mouth.

  He inhaled her words and slipped inside.

  ———

  ‘The sky looks weird.’

  Butterfly kisses on the back of her ear, his beard grazing her neck, he propped on an elbow and looked to the sky out his window. Far away, past the skyscrapers and highways, at the edge of the horizon, a bloodred line erupted, biting into the sky. It flashed in furious shades, filling the air like an accidental dawn. Buildings toppled near the edge and the street waved, displacing concrete and homes and businesses. She screamed and he covered her when the apartment vibrated, shaking loose the pictures and shattering the windows.

  Their ears rang and there was nothing but.

  ‘The fuck was that,’ his words gasped, quiet and unheard.

  He knew she screamed from the vibrating of her throat and the pounding of her heart. Out the window, carlights flashed, streets glittered with broken glass, water fountained from broken pipes, and blood spotted the sidewalks beside broken bodies.

  The ringing dissipated, but the world remained muffled, a cacophony of sirens and car alarms and screams. The night glowed in orange shades.

  ‘Jack.’

  ‘Hm.’

  ‘Is it over?’ She whispered to his chest.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  She raised her head and followed his eyes. ‘What time is it?’

  The clock was empty. ‘Power went out.’

  Her phone rang. ‘It’s Ricky.’

  ‘He survived.’

  ‘Should I answer it?’

  Jack got out of the bed and put on his pants.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Baby, you okay?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m fine. What was that?’

  ‘I’m on my way over right now.’

  ‘No, don’t. It might be dangerous.’ Her heart increased its pace and she felt it would rip through her chest.

  His breath was heavy like he was running. ‘I need to know you’re okay.’

  ‘Ricky, don’t. It might happen again.’

  ‘If I die, at least I’ll be with you.’

  ‘Jesus, stop. Stay home and be safe.’ Her hand clutched her phone.

  ‘I’m going crazy thinking about what might happen.’

  ‘We’re fine, but one of us won’t be if he keeps running here like a madman.’

  ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ Ricky’s gasped breath.

  ‘Knowing my white knight is safe would help.’

  His breath slowed, heavy. ‘Okay, call me when you’re ready. I need to see you.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘I love you.’

  She hung up. Her eyes welled and she cried.

  He put his hand on her shoulder and ashed into the carpet.

  She flung her arms around him, tears streaking down his chest.

  ———

  ‘Think it’ll always be like that?’

  ‘It’s beautiful.’

  ‘Ricky writes me poetry sometimes.’

  ‘He would.’

  ‘He talks about sunsets and sunrises and the horizon after a storm. About me and my eyes.’

  ‘There’re no words for something like this.’ He grazed her arm with fingertips, up and down, his feet resting on the windowsill.

  She
nestled her head into the crook of his shoulder. ‘That’s why I like you.’

  Out the window, the sky was on fire and had been since it erupted days before and sent the world into chaos. A lake of fire hung above the earth casting life in permanent daylight. It lapped down towards the earth, like staring inside a volcano, flamed demons reaching from hell with long claws and sharp fangs and curved horns. It made the air sticky, thin, and hot.

  ‘If you look at it long enough, it feels like you’re falling in there, like it’s gonna suck you right up, you know?’ He blew smoke out his nose and tossed the cigarette outside.

  ‘Icarus.’ Breathless and whispered.

  ‘It might burn till we’re out of oxygen.’

  She rubbed a finger through his beard. ‘Suffocate.’

  He kissed her forehead. ‘Someone’ll figure something out.’

  ‘What would you do?’ Her eyebrows curved in and up, but her pupils were discs, shining with the fire’s reflection.

  ‘Your eyes’re like fire.’

  She smiled and pushed him to the floor, straddling him.

  ‘I love you.’

  She removed her shirt.

  ———

  ‘What is this?’ She traced a finger over his back along branches painted in his skin.

  ‘Hm.’

  ‘On your back.’

  ‘Yggdrasil.’ His mouth muffled by the pillow.

  ‘What?’

  He turned his head, dark eyes drooping. ‘The Tree of Life. The Norse believed that every plane of existence,’ he yawned, ‘was a part of it.’

  ‘But why do you have it?’

  ‘Hm?’

  ‘Are you asleep?’