Damage

by Shea, Stephen

  Enough, Rand thought. He wasn't going to think of it anymore. He closed his eyes hard, hoping to darken everything out. Gradually, it worked. His mind switched gears, the image of Boris disappeared, and he remembered that he had promised Kari he would come over. He had missed her on Thursday and she had been angry, though distracted. He really shouldn't disappoint her again, so soon.

  Rand pressed his head farther into the couch. He felt weary, the day had stamped a weight on him that pulled at his eyelids and urged him to sleep. He would go see Kari later. The music slowly faded and his ears filled with silence.

  But his mind, strange black box that it was, filled with something else. At first it was darkness, the darkness of onrushing sleep. But just as Rand seemed headed in that direction, his mind shifted from its course and took a strangely similar, though equally different, route.

  Rand was aware that he was not asleep but he knew also that he wasn't awake. He lay somewhere in the twilight of consciousness, shadows and lights shifted over him.

  His body dissolved around him, weight became weightlessness, and he felt himself lifted upwards, not bodily—though it was a similar motion—but spiritually. The movement itself was more comforting than disturbing. He floated higher, became aware that he was moving now, moving through air, through space. He closed his spiritual eyes and it became dark. His speed picked up. He could feel himself arcing like a comet through the heavens. He travelled this way for a measureless time.

  The movement stopped suddenly. Rand opened his eyes, which felt new, as if this moment were an echo of the first time he had ever opened his eyes on the world.

  He was standing on the edge of a clump of trees, their bark a twisted skein. The stars twinkled oddly above him. For a few moments he felt disoriented, as if he had stood quickly after sitting for a long period of time. His awareness of the world, of its contours and myriad pathways, was too large; he felt awkward within it, a kid in an oversized helmet.

  Movement. To the left. He felt it in his mind, then heard it in his ears. Something. Now ahead of him. Moving. Rand walked forward.

  He became heavier as he walked, slowly gaining solidity. Dry leaves crackled underneath his feet but their sounds had shifted to a different key than the normal world. He felt etherial though, walking on the moon, his body only a quarter of its normal weight, easily disturbed by the wind.

  He travelled across a ditch onto a gravel road. He walked down the road, heading northwards, the moon behind him, his feet barely turning up any dust. There were trees on either side of him and the landscape was familiar, but not familiar enough to be placed.

  Then the scene shifted as if someone had clumsily spliced a film. He was outside a farmyard now, looking down at glowing footprints. Fear niggled like a worm in his belly. Ahead of him was a red and white barn and a short way past it a house.

  Rand headed closer to the house, following the footsteps. He noticed suddenly, even though the sight had been before him for a few moments, the maker of the footprints. A wild-haired, naked figure was slipping across the yard.

  The whole scene was familiar, a re-enactment. Rand felt fear, the thick fear of dreams that made him heavier and slower. But he couldn't stop. He followed along the edge of the trees, hidden. He skirted through them, came out closer to the house, hid behind them.

  For a panicky moment Rand thought he had lost the naked man, but then he saw that the figure was still standing in the center of the yard, staring at the house. The naked man turned his head and in the silver moonlight Rand recognized Conn's face. He smiled, seemed to stare right at Rand, then he turned and walked towards the house. He opened the door, looked back again, winked, then closed the door behind him. The pale yellow light outlined his head in the window then he disappeared.

  Rand stayed behind the trees. He wanted to run up to the house and stare in the windows and yell a warning to the people inside, to tell them that something was coming in that they didn't want, but he couldn't move. His feet were frozen to the spot.

  He hugged the solid comfort of the tree and waited.

  There was utter silence for a long minute, then the door creaked open. Conn emerged. He walked through the yard and right past Rand. Rand, as if caught in his wake, followed him, drifting from hiding place to hiding place. He went past the spot where he, Tyler, and Conn had camped. The tent was still up, its door open and flapping.

  His surroundings changed suddenly, another splice in the film. Rand was standing in front of a clearing in the trees. Thirteen head-sized stones formed an X on the ground. At the center was a huge stone. An oak tree and a partially collapsed shack loomed in the background.

  Conn stood next to the grave, facing the other way, possessed by a silence that appeared to Rand to be a sort of supplication. An offering, as if Conn were in awe of something that had once dwelt there.

  Or dwelled, now, Rand thought and again he felt cold fear in his guts. As if the fear were a signal, Conn turned and stared at Rand. He was still smiling. "You don't have to hide anymore, Rand. I see you. You might as well step out."

  Rand stood still for a moment then stepped tentatively towards Conn. Into the open. Conn held up his hand. "I wouldn't step into this circle, Rand. Only a few can enter this circle. You wouldn't like it."

  Rand wavered for a moment, as if on the edge of a cliff. Just stepping out of the cover of the trees strengthened the impression of the clearing on Rand's senses. It didn't gain any more light, but definition. He could see how the ground swelled slightly where the stones crossed. He saw now that five stones had been overturned. Rand felt attracted to that swelling center, attracted and repulsed.

  "You wanted to look in the window didn't you, Rand?" Conn asked, his eyes bright with humor.

  With a sickening feeling, Rand realized Conn was right. He had wanted to look in the window of that farmhouse, perhaps even more than he wanted to warn the inhabitants. He wanted to look in, to see what was unfolding.

  Conn watched, the eternal smiled etched on his face.

  Rand stared at him, feeling his lower lip tremble. To halt it, he spoke. "Did you kill the Jacobs' kid?"

  Conn hunched down as if to avoid a blow. His legs buckled and he fell to his knees. He twisted his face half sideways and looked up at Rand. "I caught the lightning," he said, covering his face as if ashamed.

  A moment later he removed his hands and stared at Rand, his face empty of emotion. "I caught the lightning!" His smile returned. He jumped towards Rand, so high it seemed he would pass clear over him. He landed in front of Rand, laughing on the edge of the circle. "We all want to be there, Rand, we all want to feel what it's like. I just do it!"

  He jumped back, spinning in the air and now Rand could see lights glowing around him, crimson miniature stars that danced around his eyes, his heart, his mouth, as if someone had shot a jolt of electricity through him. "Look at me," he said, jumping to the side and back. The colors gained size, sparked from his underarms, his groin, his feet. He held his arms above his head and stalked across the grove. "Look at me!" he said again. "I'm evil! I'm evil!" He lashed suddenly towards a tree, striking it with his fist. It exploded and fell as if hit by a tank shell. He turned around, laughing.

  He crossed his arms. The floating colors dissolved. He sat down on the ground, across from Rand, guru style. "I feed him, Rand," he said and he pointed towards the grave. "At night I feed him and he grows. Swallower: he's so hungry." Conn shifted his weight from side to side. His hands were shaking. "You better leave, Rand; sometimes I forget who I am." He raised his hands, a vague gesture suggesting a shrug. "But I have to tell you, things are going to get messy around here. He's bringing me a brother. Stoneater. My brother. From outside everything. Stoneater. He's gonna be here soon. I don't think it'll be very nice." He got up again and turned away. "You better go, Rand. Now."

  Rand stepped backwards, staring at Conn's naked back, at the muscles that coiled and uncoiled there. He saw scars like gills sliced down his back. He continued walking backwar
ds, not navigating, missing trees by instinct. He couldn't stop staring at Conn. And just before Conn's figure was about to disappear, Rand thought he saw him beginning to turn around.

  Rand spun and ran so hard his feet pounded the forest floor and his heart vibrated with life. Trees went past. Air filled his lungs. He thought he heard the sound of pursuit: heavy feet behind him, things breaking as if a huge juggernaut was crashing through trees. Rand ran faster, then a wind came up and he rose from the ground, shedding his weight. Soon he was above the forest. He flew quickly into the night, into darkness. He thought he saw the dim outline of a wall ahead of him, then he closed his eyes.

  When he opened them again, a lifetime away, he was on the couch. He had a kink in his neck as if someone had been pinching him for hours. He sat up, feeling cold, confused. Sweat had pooled in the center of his back.

  The dream or vision, whatever it had been, danced for a brief moment in the center of his consciousness and then, as if a plug had been pulled, it swirled and drained down into his mind, to pool into the water below, coloring it darkly.

  Rand shook his head, breathed in. He rose and thought briefly of calling Tyler or Kari, because there was something he should tell them, something he had seen that they should know. Instead, forgetting any promise he had spoken to Kari or any warning he should give, he walked past the phone and into his bedroom. He undressed robot-like and fell into bed and, moments later, sleep.

  With sleep, a dream. A wonderful, beautiful dream. He was at the kitchen table with his mother and his father, talking. They talked about the weather, about a movie, about nothing specific at all. A kettle whistled and his mother got up from the table, went to the stove and slowly lifted the kettle into the air. The whistling stopped. She set it down on the burner again. Steam shot out of its one nostril, it whistled in response. The noise grated on Rand and a feeling of fear, of something being terribly wrong, grew in his heart. His mother lifted the kettle again.

  Rand glanced towards his father. But his father was no longer smiling. He stared back, his eyes dull with death. His face white, his skin torn and slashed as if he had been thrown through a windshield.

  Annette set the kettle down again. Whistling filled his ears. "Daddy's not happy," she said, "But I love you, Randy." Rand could see white bone sticking out from a rip in her shirt. She lifted the kettle again. Silence. "Sometimes."

  The dreamworld faded slowly, going from colors to grey to twilight and, finally, black. The aching places inside him expanded, growing until he was empty. His muscles relaxd, his eyes opened.

  Tick tock, he thought. We cry.

  He closed his eyes. Tick, tock. Time to die.

  And if there had been a blade close by he would have drawn it across his skin until everything was red, until his flesh was only gashes, open mouths spitting blood.

  Tick tock, he thought. Tick tock.

  5.

  Kari, standing next to the bed, watched Rand sleep. With his eyes closed he looked beautiful. His face was relaxd and handsome. It was 2 a.m. and she had just let herself in to Rand's house because she knew the death of Boris Jacobs would upset him. Because every death brought memories of previous deaths.

  Rand was a glutton for his own pain, Kari understood that. He consumed it voraciously, eating the poison because it tasted sweet. Because it was natural. His habit. And like an addict he kept returning to it again and again.

  Which meant she had to stop him. To limit the portions. To show him it was bad.

  Maybe, just maybe, she thought with a sardonic smile, Rand is your habit. You have to try and fix him, just as much as he tries to destroy himself. She shook her head. What a pair we make. What a pair.

  She thought too of the spirit she had seen here on Thursday night, and she promised she would tell Rand about it even if he laughed. It was just a matter of finding the right time.

  Kari sat on the edge of the bed. She reached out and gently brushed her fingers across Rand's partially opened lips, not wanting to wake Rand but unable to keep from touching him. She was always drawn to his lips, thin and slightly feminine, to her they were one of his most attractive features. She ran her finger down his cheek and rested her hand on his neck. She could feel his heartbeat, the swelling of the carotid artery. It gave her comfort.

  Rand stirred and his eyes opened. His face lost its calmness, it became pained and confused and a little wary. He blinked and looked right at her. "Kari," he said.

  "I'm here," she answered. The tone of his voice frightened her. "I let myself in. How are you?"

  "I had a dream," he answered, then he closed his eyes. "But I can't remember it. Why can't I remember it?" He opened his eyes again.

  "Don't worry about it, Rand," she said. He stared straight up at the roof. She leaned down and kissed him. He lay still, not returning the gesture. She kissed his neck, his shoulders, worked her way slowly back to his lips. He started to respond then, slowly, lifting his head slightly to meet her. His tongue entered her mouth cautiously, hesitantly brushing hers. His hands cupped her breasts, slowly squeezing and releasing them. Her nipples hardened, a familiar warmth grew between her legs.

  Rand's passion increased, snowballing. He gripped her shoulders, twisted her around and was on top of her so suddenly it frightened Kari. She lay still as he tore at the buttons on her shirt, at her pants, every action urgent. She responded in kind a moment later, catching the rhythm, urging him on. She was naked now and he was hard. She wrapped her legs around him, every atom wanting to be close.

  Rand raised his head, thrust twice wildly, moaned, thrust once more, then fell against her. His weight pressed her into the bed, gave her solidity, confirmed her existence as she came quickly down from the height of passion. He was still inside her, soft but inside her. She closed her eyes, feeling his warmth on top of her, the closeness. Happy, even though their sex had been so short. They stayed still for a few moments.

  Rand stirred and with the movement he slipped out of her and Kari felt a feeling of sadness, of losing something, that she always felt at that moment. The finality of an act finished. But still he was there, above her, heavy and warm. Together.

  He moved his head. She tried to move hers so she could see his face but it was beside her shoulder, buried in the pillow.

  "Did you come?" he whispered, his voice edged with desperateness.

  She had to bite back a laugh. In such a short time? Sometimes he was so unaware of what a woman needed. But she saw by his face that it was a serious question. She had never been able to orgasm with a partner. She imagined there were some deep reasons for this, but didn't want to examine them. "Rand..." she said, wanting with all her heart to lie, "I didn't."

  His head moved, a nod. "Do you know why you never do?" he hissed into her ear. "It's because you don't really love me. You don't care. You just want to save me." He pushed himself away, off the bed, and stood up. He pulled on his shorts, looking away from her.

  "Rand, you—"

  He waved his hand. "Go home. We're done. Done."

  For a moment Kari was stunned. She stood up, her hands clenched in fists. She struck him on the back, twice. "You selfish bastard!" she hissed, then she scrambled over the other side of the bed, grabbed at her clothes. She stormed out of his room, out of the house and onto the driveway, naked, not caring if the neighbors saw her. She dressed, hopping on one foot as she pulled her pants on. She did up her shirt but didn't bother to tuck it in. She walked over to the car, realizing she had left her shoes inside, but decided she couldn't stand to go back.

  When she got into the car and closed the door she began to cry. She cried all the way home. When she shut off the car she looked in the mirror, and tried desperately to fix her face and hair in case her mother was still awake. She stopped suddenly, sighed defeat, and got out and walked into the house.

  6.

  Sandra Waltby was sitting at a table in Jack's Cafe in Kyle. She was a pretty woman, in a wholesome way. Her hair was blonde and of medium length and her face
was pudgy enough to offset her natural beauty so that she wasn't so attractive that other women were jealous of her or so beautiful that men swarmed after her. She was somewhere in the middle ground of beauty. She had the ability to make friends easily because, to everyone who met her, she appeared familiar. A hometown girl. Nice, clean and fun. Everyone had met, or knew, her type.

  Today Sandra felt, in a word, shitty. It was Monday evening, she was on her way home to Saskatoon, and the only person she could think of was Rod, her boyfriend for the last five and a half years.

  Once again Rod had frozen at the merest mention of engagement. How many times has this happened? she thought staring at the table. How many times? She had brought it up casually again, jokingly saying something about how nice a ring would look on her finger and that was all it took. He breathed in sharply, pulled away from her and sat staring at the wall. He started talking ten minutes later, as if nothing had happened and, taking the hint, she didn't mention it again.

  But like a stone tossed in a dark pool, that one moment rippled over the rest of the weekend and still echoed over Sandra's thoughts. She picked up her fork. Why wasn't the waitress clearing up her plate and giving her the bill instead of chattering with the guys at the other table? The whole situation—waiting for the waitress while thinking of Rod—made her angry and that rebellious streak in her personality flared up. She felt like lashing out at something, like doing something wild. Crazy. Instead she gritted her teeth and rolled a cold french fry over and studied its other side.

  Why do I keep going through this crap?

  The door to Jack's Cafe opened with a squeaking sound. Sandra looked up as a man about her age, entered. Her first sight of him made her heart skip a beat, as if she had seen someone she knew whom she didn't expect to see. His hair was short and dark, his movements fluid and effortless. His face, even in that first glance, was the kind of face she wanted to touch. To soothe, to calm. He walked across the cafe and stood at the till. The waitress left her companions without hesitation, summoned by his presence. When she got to the till the man pointed and the waitress reached under the counter and handed the man a yellow pack of gum. He dropped some coins in her open hand and smiled at her, Sandra saw wrinkle lines form at the corner of his right eye. Wrinkles from smiling a lot, she guessed. The gum disappeared into his jacket and a moment later the man disappeared out of the cafe.