The Brink of Darkness

by Jeff Giles

  She had seen what deer looked like when they died. She’d heard the deceptively soft thump they made when the bumper hit them. She’d seen how they went rigid in a split second, how they flew through the air, stiff as stuffed animals.

  She knew she should hit the doe and the fawn, but—maybe it was because she’d been thinking about X—all she saw when she looked at them was innocent creatures.

  The fawn struggled to keep up with its mother. Its rickety legs were a blur, its frail back speckled white, as if with snowflakes. She could see its big, wet eyes.

  Dammit.

  Zoe stomped on the brake.

  The car stopped so suddenly it seemed to jump. They shot forward in their seats.

  The deer darted safely across the road.

  Val screamed involuntarily when the SUV struck them from behind.

  Zoe tried to pull off the road, but the vehicles’ bumpers had twisted together. The driver jabbed his horn three times—long, longer, longest—then burst out of the SUV.

  He stalked up to Zoe’s window, and banged on it hard.

  “Roll this down!” he said. “Right this goddamn second!”

  He looked about 50—doughy and pale, with blue eyes set too close together. He wore a baseball cap with a sexist silhouette of a woman and the words “Booty Hunter.”

  Zoe made sure Val and Dallas weren’t hurt, then looked at the clock on the dash. They had ten minutes to get to the church.

  She fished for her insurance card in the glove compartment. When she found it, she breathed out, and rolled down the window.

  “My name is Zoe Bissell,” she said. “I’m sorry about your car.”

  “It’s not a car,” he said. “It’s a friggin’ truck.”

  He was seething. His pupils were so dilated that Zoe suspected he was high on something.

  “I’m sorry about your truck,” she said carefully.

  “I don’t give a shit about your I’m sorry,” he said.

  From the passenger seat, Val spoke under her breath.

  “I don’t like this guy—and his hat is pissing me off,” she said. “I’m getting out.”

  “Stay,” said Dallas.

  “Did you just tell me to stay?” said Val.

  “You’re gonna make it worse,” said Dallas. “I’ll handle this.”

  “No, I will handle it,” said Zoe. “Both of you stay.”

  She went to open her door, but the man stood too close. He was trapping her in. He seemed to be deciding if he was going to let her out. Finally, he backed up.

  Not much damage had been done to Zoe’s Taurus—it was hard to make the Struggle Buggy look any worse—but the SUV’s sporty front end was decimated. The headlights were smashed, the grille was sagging. The hood had popped open and been folded in half.

  “You see what you damn did?” the man said. “That is a brand-new, thirty-eight-thousand-dollar vehicle right there, fresh off the motherfrickin’ lot—and that color green costs extra!”

  “I didn’t want to kill the deer,” said Zoe.

  “Oh, the deer!” said the man. “The precious friggin’ deer! Who gives a rat’s ass if they live or die. There’s about a billion of them, you dumb bitch!”

  At the word “bitch,” Zoe’s friends got out of the car.

  Dallas, whose first instinct was always to calm people down, offered the man his hand.

  “What’s your name?” he said.

  The man looked at him like he was nuts.

  “My name is go to hell, you little prick,” he said.

  “Okay, stop,” said Zoe. “You’re going to have to turn down your crazy. It’s just a car.”

  “IT’S A FRIGGIN’ TRUCK!”

  He screamed it so loud that a bolt of pain seemed to go through his head. He doubled over, and covered his face with his hands. When he straightened up again, Zoe blanched: the guy had burst a blood vessel in his left eye. A red cloud crept across the white of the eye toward the iris.

  “Come on, what’s your name?” said Dallas. “I’m Dallas.”

  “It’s Ronny, for god’s sake,” said the man.

  “Hey, Ronny,” said Dallas. “This doesn’t need to be a thing.”

  “It’s already a damn thing!” said Ronny. “It became a damn thing when she made me crash the thirty-eight-thousand-dollar vehicle my mother just gave me for my birthday!”

  He was getting more angry, not less. Zoe didn’t like how close he was. He had morning breath.

  “Could you take a step back, please?” she said.

  He ignored her.

  “She asked you to step back,” said Val.

  Ronny looked Val up and down. He made a show, as men often did, of being appalled by her half-shaved head and the sci-fi color of her hair.

  “What are you, her girlfriend?” he said.

  “No,” said Val, “I’m into fat, middle-aged guys.”

  “Val!” said Zoe.

  Ronny snorted.

  “You couldn’t even handle what I got,” he told Val.

  “I’m calling the police,” said Val.

  “Yeah?” said Ronny. “They’re gonna be too late.”

  He charged to the back of his SUV, and returned with a rifle.

  “Whoa, Ronny,” said Dallas. “Whoa.”

  Ronny hit Dallas in the stomach with the butt of the gun.

  “STOP! CALLING ME! RONNY!”

  Dallas fell to all fours, gasping. The tie with the baseballs dangled down toward the road. Zoe went to him.

  “I’m okay,” said Dallas, when he could speak again. “I’m okay.”

  Ronny beat Zoe’s hood with the rifle.

  “How do you like it?” he screamed. Zoe couldn’t tell if he was talking to her or the car. “This feel good? Does it?”

  Dallas tried to stand—he wanted to stop Ronny.

  “No,” Zoe said. “Let him do it. I don’t care.”

  She looked around for help, but they were in the middle of nowhere: fields, trees, sky. No cars for miles.

  Then something caught her eye across the farmland: a bluish glow in the woods.

  The rifle went off. Ronny was shooting out her headlights. The cracks echoed across the valley.

  “How’s that feel?” he said. “How about this?”

  Val filmed Ronny on her phone as he bashed the car: evidence.

  Zoe turned back to the trees. The light was morphing. It had been diffuse, like a mist on the ground, but now it gathered itself into a ball.

  She went to the side of the road. A blurry figure hurtled toward them.

  It had to be X.

  How had he gotten out of the Lowlands? How had he known to come? Zoe squinted into the distance. He was still out of focus, still a smudge.

  “There’s stuff I didn’t tell you guys about X,” she told Val and Dallas.

  “This is a good topic for later,” said Val.

  “Yeah, why are you bringing this up now?” said Dallas.

  He leaned against the SUV. His shirt was untucked, and he was gripping his stomach.

  “Because things are gonna get weird,” said Zoe.

  Everyone followed her gaze across the field.

  The figure was nearly on them. Ronny lowered his rifle, dumbfounded.

  “You are so screwed,” Zoe told him.

  The figure slowed as it approached the road.

  Zoe felt her heart shrink and nearly vanish when she saw that it wasn’t X.

  TWO

  Ripper gave Zoe a slight nod, then advanced on Ronny. She looked furious. Her ragged ball gown rustled as she walked.

  Ronny shrank backward.

  “Who are you?” he said.

  Ripper didn’t answer. She just kept coming.

  Ronny lifted the rifle, fumbled with the bolt, and finally managed to pull it back. He pointed the gun at Ripper’s face.

  Ripper didn’t even break stride.

  “I dislike weapons,” she said. “Things were about to go badly for you—and now they will go very much worse.”


  She made a come here gesture with her fingers. The rifle flew from Ronny’s hands and into her own.

  Zoe could hear Dallas and Val whispering variations on WTF. She turned to see their expressions. Val had stopped filming. She and Dallas were frozen in surprise, like figures in a museum diorama: Americans, early 21st century, freaking out.

  “Hey, that’s my gun!” said Ronny. “I’m a hunter!”

  Ripper regarded him coldly.

  “A hunter? Are you indeed?” she said. “So am I.”

  She reared back and kicked him across the mouth. Ronny collapsed to the ground, blood spilling down his chin.

  Ripper pushed the rifle into the pavement muzzle-first. The asphalt tightened around it, seized it like it was the Sword in the Stone.

  Ripper went to stand over Ronny.

  “Listen to me, you idiotic mushroom,” she said. “I was two thousand miles from here and weeping over my son Alfie’s grave when a trilling in my brain informed me that Zoe was in peril. In all your world, she is the only one I care for—and I care for her deeply.”

  “Zoe, you know this person?” said Dallas.

  Ripper made a lifting motion with her hand. Ronny’s body rose off the ground. Then Ripper pushed her palm forward through the air, and he sailed headlong into the ditch.

  Zoe went to Ripper and hugged her.

  “I thought you were X,” she said. “When I saw the light—I thought it was X.”

  “I’m sorry, dear girl,” said Ripper. “But I hate to waste an entrance.”

  “We could have handled this guy,” said Zoe.

  “No doubt,” said Ripper. “I had a second purpose in coming here—I am in need of your counsel. But first, introduce me to your friends?”

  What followed was a surreal, slow-motion moment—two worlds bleeding into each other.

  “This is Ripper,” said Zoe. “And this is Val and Dallas. They’re my people.”

  “Hello, Zoe’s people,” said Ripper.

  She looked Dallas over approvingly, and shook his hand longer than necessary.

  “How old are you, if I may inquire?” she asked him.

  Dallas coughed nervously.

  “Seventeen?” he said.

  “Pity,” said Ripper. She touched the Band-Aid on his chin with her forefinger. “I myself am nearly two hundred.”

  Dallas nodded.

  “You look good,” he said.

  Ripper laughed, and proceeded to Val.

  “This hair of yours,” she said. “I suspect you don’t care to hear anyone’s opinion—but may I tell you my opinion?”

  “Um, sure?” said Val.

  “It is sublime,” said Ripper. “You must not alter it until you’ve infuriated as many imbeciles as you can.”

  “Yeah, that’s my plan,” said Val.

  Zoe felt a flood of fondness for both of them. Val was devoted to her girlfriend, Gloria, but not above being flattered by someone as gorgeous as Ripper.

  “Okay, now can I ask you a question?” said Val. “Actually, two questions?”

  “You may,” said Ripper.

  “What the hell is going on?” said Val. “Who even are you?”

  “I am an associate of X’s,” she said. “Zoe will tell you the tale later. I promise it will not bore you.”

  She turned to Zoe.

  “What shall we do with Mr. Mushroom?” she said.

  “I don’t know,” said Zoe. “I hit the brake to avoid a deer, and he crashed into me—and then he just went nuts.”

  “Yes, well, lunatics are full of surprises,” said Ripper. “I don’t mean to disparage lunatics, by the way. I am a lunatic myself.”

  She shoved Zoe’s and Ronny’s vehicles apart, without any show of effort. Then she walked to the ditch.

  “Mr. Mushroom,” she said.

  Ronny looked petrified.

  “Yes, ma’am?” he said.

  His shirt was twisted halfway up his torso. His gut hung over his belt.

  “Are you quite finished making difficulties?” said Ripper.

  “Uh-huh,” said Ronny, nodding frantically. “Yes, ma’am, I am.”

  “Then get on your feet,” said Ripper.

  Ronny climbed awkwardly out of the ditch. His right eyeball was now thoroughly soaked with blood.

  “If ever you mention me—or any of the inexplicable things you witnessed here—to a single person,” Ripper told him, “I will find you, relieve you of your internal organs one by one, and wave them in front of your face as you die. I believe I could draw the process out for hours. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Ronny.

  “Very good,” said Ripper. She pointed at the Booty Hunter cap. “Give me your hat.”

  Ronny handed it to her reluctantly, and she put it on.

  “Now go away,” she said. “And have that eye of yours inspected by a surgeon. It is repulsive.”

  Ronny fled to his truck, and drove off with the ruined hood bouncing.

  They all stood silently until he was out of sight.

  Zoe looked at her phone—she had to be at the memorial service in five minutes. But she wasn’t ready to say good-bye to Ripper.

  “Come with me,” Ripper said suddenly.

  “To where?” said Zoe. “What do you mean?”

  She heard a siren in the distance. The police.

  “You recall the reason I ran from the Lowlands?” said Ripper.

  “You want to see where your children are buried,” said Zoe.

  “Just so,” said Ripper. “I have found Alfie’s grave, and at last said a proper farewell, yet I cannot find Belinda. And you see the state of my dress and boots—I can hardly make inquiries. But you could.”

  “I could,” Zoe said tentatively. “I’m good at inquiries.”

  “Zoe,” said Val, “whatever this is—no.”

  “I’m with Val,” said Dallas. He glanced at Ripper. “Please don’t levitate me.”

  Ripper held Zoe’s eyes, waiting.

  “I have to give Bert and Betty’s eulogy,” said Zoe. “In five minutes.”

  “Afterward?” said Ripper. “I will come to you wherever you are.” She paused. “I know I must seem very fierce to you, Zoe. Yet if you had seen me at the stone marker bearing Alfie’s name—truly, the grass will grow taller where I sat weeping. And Belinda died in such a piteous way. Abandoned. Unloved. I myself was already in the Lowlands. Even if I could discover where they laid her body down, I could not face the place alone. So I ask you for one night.” She was all but begging. “Will you come?”

  Zoe gazed at Ripper. It’d be dangerous to be with her when she was on the run from the lords, and Zoe had had enough danger. She had to say no. Even though Ripper had once risked herself for Zoe’s family—even though Ripper loved X as if she were his own mother—she had to say no.

  The siren was louder. Zoe saw a squad car shoot out of the woods.

  “Ripper, I—” she began.

  “Before you answer,” said Ripper, “let me add an inducement. Every night, the lords send bounty hunters after me. It goes without saying that I defeat them all. Last night, thinking of you, I told one of them: ‘You may inform the lords that if they want me, there is only one hunter I will ever surrender to.’ ”

  Ripper waited to see if Zoe understood, before continuing.

  “I beg you to come—not just to help me find my Belinda, but so that you might be there when the lords finally send X for my head.”

  THREE

  Zoe and her friends crept into First Presbyterian looking disheveled and dazed. The congregation was already singing “Abide with Me.” Val and Dallas ducked into a pew near the back, but Zoe had to walk to the front. The hymn ended when she was halfway there, and suddenly the only sound in the church was her black flats going squinch-squinch on the floor. Everyone turned. Zoe gave an embarrassed wave. No one seemed to think it was funny.

  Her mother had saved her a seat by the aisle, where she was sitting with Jonah and her h
ippy-dippy, chain saw–artist friend, Rufus. Zoe expected her mother to whisper Where were you? or at least give her a disappointed look. Instead, she gripped Zoe’s hand warmly. She must have known she was scared to death. Zoe’s heart, which had only just stopped racing from the confrontation with Ronny, now raced at the thought of giving Bert and Betty’s eulogy in front of 200 people.

  After Stan Manggold had killed the Wallaces, he’d dumped them in the lake by their house. Divers had recovered their bodies a few days ago. Zoe had wanted to be there when Bert and Betty were found. Someone who loved them should have been there. She’d actually snuck out to her car the morning of the dive, knowing her mother wouldn’t approve. Unfortunately, Jonah figured out what she was up to, and hid in the backseat so he could go, too. A mile from the house, he scared the crap out of Zoe by springing up in the rearview mirror and shouting, “It’s me!”

  She couldn’t let the little bug watch bodies get pulled out of a lake—he’d be so freaked out that he would be sleeping in her bed for a month. When he wouldn’t stop saying “I loved Bert and Betty also! I loved them also!” Zoe made an illegal U-turn, and drove to Krispy Kreme, where they ate donuts and cried without talking.

  Zoe’s mother nudged her. The minister was leading a prayer now, and they were supposed to be standing. Zoe looked up at the altar. Her mom had chosen the flowers, which were perfect: lilies, roses, gladiolus. And Rufus had made a wooden box to hold the Wallaces’ ashes. It was walnut and carved with a pair of doves in flight, like souls. Zoe liked to tease Rufus (for saying “epic” and “rad” all the time, for having the world’s least secret crush on her mom), but he was an extremely good guy and more talented than Zoe had thought: the box was lovely, and there was no way he’d made it with a chain saw. Still, it was hard for Zoe to look at. She couldn’t believe that everything that was left of Bert and Betty could fit inside it. Two whole lives, one little box.

  The prayer ended. Zoe checked the bulletin to see when the eulogy was supposed to be. It was right now.

  The minister was nodding at her.

  Zoe realized something.

  She’d left her index cards in the car.

  She felt her face get hot, her throat close. The minister raised his eyebrows.

  Her mother signaled for him to wait, then leaned toward Zoe and whispered the kindest thing anybody had ever said: “Do you want me to do it instead?”