Blood Roots

by Richie Tankersley Cusick

  He was staring at her intently, green eyes narrowed.

  Wet … sucking … moans … they were real … they were real—

  Her breath caught in her throat. Her hair had come loose, and her hands trembled as she brushed it back from her forehead. For a moment she thought he was going to say something, but he stepped over her and moved away. She saw him head off several feet between a row of tombs, and she picked herself up, brushing the mud off as best she could. She was covered with insect stings and mosquito bites, sweating and prickly and hot.

  Skyler pulled off his shirt. He wiped it across his face … down his arms. He tossed it into the grass.

  “Why are you staying here?” he asked.

  Olivia straightened her clothes.

  “Why not?” she shrugged. “It’s as good a place as any to work. Why do you stay here?”

  His eyes narrowed again, yet his face was carefully composed.

  “I have to,” he said simply.

  He took a step toward her. He stopped.

  “It’s where I belong, you see.” His voice sank, a deep, hoarse whisper in his throat. “Have you ever felt that way, Olivia? That you belong to something? That you can never get away from it—no matter how hard you run—or where you run—because it’s meant to be just … that … way?”

  She couldn’t tear free of his eyes. The cemetery was closing in on her in great pulsing waves of unbearable heat.

  “Take care of her”—moans … wet …

  “You know why you really stay. Don’t you, Olivia?”

  And he was closer now, walking so slowly that he didn’t seem to be moving at all, pinning her with his calm, knowing stare. She felt her heart begin to race—furiously, violently—and she couldn’t move, couldn’t back away from him—

  “Because one of these times … you’re mine.”

  Skyler stopped in front of her. His eyes went slowly, deliberately from her head to her feet, and a muscle clenched tightly in his jaw. Sweat trickled down his bare chest.

  “Haven’t you ever wondered”—his voice was low and dangerous—“just why there aren’t any rats in this cemetery?”

  His green eyes glittered. He leaned in close to her throat.

  “Because I eat them,” he whispered.

  And in his cold calculating eyes, Olivia saw what he was going to do.

  “No!” she screamed.

  He shoved her to the ground, pinning her body with his own, and though she fought and kicked, he held her as easily as a trapped bird. She could feel her skirt around her waist, his lean body on her bare legs, and as she tried to cover herself, his lips traced a path of fire down her neck and over her breasts, and his mouth began to open …

  Writhing beneath him, Olivia tried desperately to reach the shears she had hidden, but Skyler caught her hands again and twisted them behind her. Her back arched helplessly, her breath coming in quick, short gasps. His strength was terrifying and effortless, and as she tried to scream again, his mouth drank in her cries, her very breath, his hands exploring her, sliding between her thighs, beneath her hips, lifting her up, hard, hard into himself—

  “No … no …” Olivia moaned, screams turned to whispers, ground wet beneath her back, grass wet between her legs, his lips, his tongue, the dripping wet heat. “No … Skyler …”

  “Skyler, let her go!” The voice shouted, and through a pounding haze Olivia saw the figure standing at the edge of the cemetery, saw Jesse standing there, his gaze sad and furious all at once.

  Skyler swore violently and rolled off, and as he stood there trembling, Olivia’s hands fumbled weakly at her skirt.

  “Get out of here!” Skyler warned. “This doesn’t have anything to do with you!”

  “Leave her alone,” Jesse said calmly. “I mean it.”

  And her fingers closed around the garden shears, even as Skyler’s hands closed around her arms, jerking her to her feet, dragging her toward the mausoleum. Her eyes swept the enclosure but Jesse wasn’t there anymore, not anywhere, just the graves and the trees and the moss fanning restlessly, the warm sultry breeze blowing all the dreams far, far away …

  And she seemed to have no strength, no will at all, stumbling along between the rotting slabs and falling up the marble steps, no no, not the mausoleum, what are you doing, what are you doing to me—

  “I’m not finished with you,” Skyler growled, and the gate was open, the sound of a key in a lock, and Olivia’s hand gripping, lifting, thrusting—

  She heard him cry out.

  She saw him stagger backward, his hand groping absently for the handle protruding from his stomach.

  She saw the gush of blood down his front, pouring down, down between his legs …

  And he looked so surprised, Olivia thought, so surprised and rather amused that she’d actually done it, that she’d actually done what she’d said she would.

  And then Skyler began to laugh.

  To Olivia’s horror he threw back his head and laughed and laughed, the deep hoarse sound rattling in his throat, echoing on and on through the rotting graves where no one else could hear.

  His breath caught abruptly.

  It sounded like a sob.

  Without warning the door of the tomb crashed open.

  Olivia felt the rush of dank air as Skyler flung her inside.

  “Skyler!” she shrieked.

  But there was only the door groaning shut as the last sliver of daylight disappeared.

  25

  OLIVIA HAD NEVER BEEN so terrified.

  As she heard the lock fasten on the outside of the door, she stood paralyzed, unable to see or move. It was worse than any darkness she had ever known before—worse than the attic—worse than midnight and storms—worse than fear and pain and nightmares and places she’d known and fled to so many times in her mind—much worse, much much worse oh God help me—

  There is no God …

  She was dizzy, suspended in vast, empty nothingness. She was falling, and she knew she would fall and fall forever …

  And this is death, Olivia thought, this is being in death, this is what death feels like. Consumed by silence … darkness … aloneness …

  She eased down timidly, keeping her back against the door. Damp cool stone beneath her … nothing more. The air was stagnant with decay, and she wondered how long it had been since something living had disturbed it. She was afraid to put out her hands, afraid of what might be next to her in the dark. She crouched there and drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them and rocked back and forth … back and forth …

  I killed him. I said I would, and I did.

  Again she saw Skyler’s eyes … their quick flash of agony, their stunned disbelief.

  She heard Skyler’s laugh, hanging faintly in the still, still air … staying behind to keep her company.

  She could hear it as if he were holding her again, as if he were pinning her there in the blackness … the husky sound of it, shivering through her veins and down her spine and into the cold, damp floor.

  And it was beneath her now, and around her, vibrating the air, slithering into her mind …

  Only it wasn’t Skyler’s laugh anymore, it wasn’t Skyler’s laugh getting louder and louder, quivering in the dark, restlessly stirring the long-sleeping dead.

  It was the rumble of thunder.

  It was the murmur of voices.

  “Who’s there!” Olivia cried, and as her frightened eyes peered off into the blackness, she could actually see it beginning to swirl and dissolve, fading to a soft, sheer gray. The mausoleum seemed to rouse itself, shift itself, coming into hazy focus … walls of sealed openings with the faded names of the dead … huge stone vaults crumbling upon the floor …

  Someone was in here with her.

  She knew it as certainly as her heart bursting in her chest, as the scream exploding in her brain—let me out let me out let me out—

  The grayness began to lighten even more. She could see long, wavy shadows along the f
ar walls, rippling in time to the thunder, exploding in pale bursts of lightning, and then she realized they were human shadows—reaching from the narrow space of floor between the vaults, weaving and swaying and pulsing, whispering in urgent tones …

  Olivia stared, entranced, scarcely even noticing as a vague shape pulled out of the darkness beside her. Sensing a movement at her shoulder, she turned her head to see someone materializing from the swirling grayness of the locked doorway, and as her lips parted in a soundless cry, she saw the figure hesitate and draw the immediate shadows around itself like a cloak.

  “Mathilde,” she breathed. “Mathilde … what are you doing …”

  But Mathilde didn’t seem to hear.

  She moved swiftly past Olivia into the room, and then she stopped, lifting her arms and sweeping more of the darkness away.

  Olivia could see her, could see her clearly, Mathilde’s long, flowing skirt, Mathilde’s low-hanging blouse, she could see Mathilde’s light brown skin and her exotic eyes gleaming and her black, black hair rippling in waves down her back. And yet, as Olivia continued to watch, Mathilde seemed strangely diaphanous, her lithe body blending with the softly flowing air, and Olivia could see the wall behind her and also through her, the mist swirling within her, everything separate, yet touching and whole.

  Olivia felt powerless to look away, and she wondered why Mathilde wasn’t answering, why she didn’t even seem to be aware of Olivia’s presence there by the door. But the door’s still closed … the door’s still locked … how did she get in … Olivia opened her mouth to call out again, and then she heard the moans.

  They were long and deep and shuddering.

  They were different voices mingled together, breathless and harsh and strained.

  “Who’s there?” Olivia called, but she couldn’t hear her own voice, and she had the eerie feeling that she hadn’t spoken at all.

  Mathilde hadn’t moved. She stood, strangely shimmering, beside the rectangular vaults, her eyes fixed on the floor beyond them where Olivia couldn’t see. The whispers were growing sharper now, quicker, hoarse cries gasping, demanding, cutting through Olivia like knives. The thunder pounded harder, shaking the floor beneath her feet, arrows of lightning ripping across the walls.

  Fearfully Olivia started forward, pausing again a short distance from Mathilde. She could see Mathilde’s face more clearly now, its sharp lines and angles, skin stretched tight across cheekbones, eyes smoldering with rage. Olivia opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She tried to reach out for Mathilde’s arm, but her hand seemed to flow right down through Mathilde’s skin, and Olivia jumped back with a cry that echoed itself again and again from the other side of the vaults … but it’s not me crying out—it’s not me—it’s someone else—

  And the sounds were pulling her now, forcing her closer and closer to the huge stone vaults, and she was stopping at one end of them, gazing down into the narrow aisle between, into the deep shadowy space on the floor. And as she stared helplessly, the shadows shifted and took human form, writhing and flowing one into the other, bodies twisted and tangled together, faces hidden in the dark …

  As Olivia watched in slow disbelief, one of them turned into the half light and looked straight at her, yet seemed not to see her at all. It was a woman, and in the clutching embraces of two companions, she groaned softly, her eyes half closed, lips parted, white skin gleaming like fine porcelain. Long pale hair fanned out beneath her upon the floor, and her bare breasts rose and fell in time to her passionate breathing. Olivia could see strong hands caressing her, taut naked bodies covering her, surrounding her, demanding and aroused, lean muscles, hardened, throbbing, yet she couldn’t see their faces, and as the woman arched her back and cried out, Olivia saw her eyes suddenly widen and fix on something near the other end of the vaults.

  “Who’s there—don’t you see—someone’s there.”

  Olivia stepped back in alarm, horrified at being caught, wanting to run, only she couldn’t move, she couldn’t even speak, and the woman’s voice rose up into a terrified scream—

  “Stop—oh, God—don’t touch me—”

  The rush came without warning.

  Olivia felt it like a striking wind, something flying past her, invisible and fatal, and the woman shrieking now—shrieking and trying to get away—trying to cover herself—and the other voices calling out, ghostly and bewildered, muffled sounds of surprise and shock as their bodies recoiled and slid away from her, leaving the woman vulnerable and alone upon the floor. Olivia stood there, unable to move, unable to believe, hearing the terror, feeling the terror, but seeing nothing—nothing—except the beautiful woman and the scuffling tangle of shadows beside her as an explosion of lightning shattered the darkness and danced across her naked body.

  “Oh, God, what’s happening?” Olivia murmured, and she clamped her hands over her ears, but she could still hear them, the woman’s frantic sobs, the confused shouts of the other two, stabbing and tearing straight into Olivia’s heart.

  And she was gasping now, gasping for breath, because she knew something horrible was happening—something horrible and inescapable—she knew it—she felt it—as if she were the woman on the floor—as if she were the woman sprawled there—terrified and helpless—the storm and the screams and the wild, rushing wind—all of them the same—all of them pulling her in—deeper and deeper—stop—please make them stop—save me—somebody save me—

  Looking around in dismay, Olivia saw that Mathilde wasn’t behind her anymore. The floor of the mausoleum began to quiver violently beneath her feet. The walls ran with black oily fog, and as another burst of lightning cast a sickly yellow glow around the room, illuminating the struggling shadows at last, Mathilde sprawled across them, shrieking louder than the woman shrieked, cursing, raging, flailing out with her arms and her fists—

  Olivia caught her breath in horror and stumbled back away from the vaults. She could see their faces now, just a glimpse as the light faded again, plunging them into half darkness—the faces of the woman’s two companions—somehow familiar yet grotesquely inhuman, smeared with something, covered with something dark and slimy like hideous masks—

  A terrible stench rose up, making Olivia gag. As another jagged spear of lightning ripped through the gloom, Olivia clutched at her throat and tried desperately to turn away, but her eyes were glued helplessly to the macabre scene being revealed right in front of her—

  The two faces were gleaming wet, red and runny with blood, and thick globs of gore dripped from their cheeks and the corners of their mouths. To Olivia it looked disgustingly like entrails, and she felt her stomach heave sharply as she fought once more to look away. She could hear the sound of vomiting and their choking struggles to breathe—

  Oh, God, help me—I can’t breathe either—I can’t breathe—

  Olivia fought frantically for air. Foul mist swirled into her lungs, clouding her mind with cold, gray panic. She could see everything all at once—the woman—the bloody faces—Mathilde—and herself—trapped together—and as she opened her mouth to scream, she realized that someone else had joined the struggling bodies on the floor, that someone else was shouting now—it was Yoly, but not Yoly, just a shadow of Yoly—a look of shock and horror twisting her broad black face, even as it jerked back again smeared and clotted with gore like the others—

  “Don’t you know what’s happening!” Yoly shrieked. “Don’t you realize what you’ve done!”

  And they were fading, all of them fading, shape-shifting into formless things, melting and blurring and oozing far, far up the slimy walls …

  And as Olivia screamed and screamed she saw the people turn into shadows and the shadows turn into blood, thick warm blood flowing toward her across the floor … seeping beneath the cold stone vaults … forming a dark red pool around her feet.

  26

  COOL AIR …

  Sweet cool wonderful air …

  “Olivia,” the voice said. “Olivia!”

  She
was staring into light.

  The door of the mausoleum was open, and she could see the cemetery beyond, trees dripping sorrowful tears of moss.

  “Olivia,” Yoly said sharply. “Come out here, child. Don’t you realize what you’ve done?”

  I saw something terrible … I saw something terrifying … and you were there … and Mathilde was there …

  Olivia’s eyes were open. She could feel them, wide, wide open, and they ached, as if they had been open and staring for a long while, yet she couldn’t recall seeing the door coming unlocked or Yoly coming inside.

  “This here’s a sacred place,” Yoly muttered, and her arm was around Olivia’s shoulders, hauling her out onto the steps. “What ever possessed you to wander in here, child? Someone come along and lock the door, why, we’d never find you again.”

  “I didn’t wander in,” Olivia mumbled. “Someone did lock the door.”

  Skyler.

  She looked up into Yoly’s face, her heart going cold.

  I killed him.

  “Some ghost, I guess,” Yoly said sarcastically, “’cause when I come through just now, that door was standin’ wide open. Skyler must be gettin’ careless.”

  “Where is Skyler?” Olivia asked, glancing around at the graves, the trees, the shadows.

  “How should I know?” Yoly grumbled. “I was goin’ to ask you the same question. As if I got nothin’ better to do around here than play nursemaid. Get on back to the house, child. You look like somethin’ the cat drug in.”

  “But have you seen him?” Olivia persisted. Again her eyes swept among the slabs and crumbling headstones, searching for a body facedown in the weeds. “Have you seen him since we came out here?”

  “No, I ain’t seen him, and what you so anxious to see him for?” Yoly asked impatiently. “All you young girls gettin’ so hot and bothered about Skyler—I ain’t never seen the like. You’d stay away from him if you knew what’s good for you.”