by Merry Brown
Everyone was shouting orders in some strange language I’d never heard before as the snapping and cries continued.
I now saw Lizzy’s siblings clearly. As the wraiths rushed the fighters, I saw Andrew lift one like a twig and snap its neck, then the next one, and the next. One after another after another.
The wraiths came at them like a cloud of army ants. Andrew and the rest of the fighters were holding their own, for now.
I saw Eva and all of her siblings employing the same technique: pulling wraiths up by the shirt or jacket with one hand, grabbing their throat and snapping their neck with the other. As their necks cracked, something like a puff of smoke rolled out of the dead wraiths’ mouths. As soon as the smoke rose, one of the Fighters would send out a shaft of light from their hand, and the smoke was gone.
There were so many wraiths and less than a handful of fighters. They started losing ground.
I couldn’t see the fighters anymore.
I was at the top of the stairs now. I stared in disbelief, my duffle bag at my feet and a loose hold on my Fender. My father saw me. He and his mass of bodyguards started walking towards me.
“Will, you just won’t learn. I won. I always win. These insignificant do-gooders are no match for my wit and wisdom, my ambition and knowledge. There is no escape for you, Will. You are mine until I let you go – look at me boy–,” he boomed, “which will be the day you die, a day I choose for you to die. You are mine, always and forever.”
He began to climb the stairs, a victor’s sneer on his face.
I decided then and there I would not believe a word he said; he was a liar. He would not keep me prisoner any longer. It was going to be him or me emerging from this fight. Given that he had an evil army of hundreds and I had my duffle bag and guitar, well, I knew the outcome.
But that didn’t change what I was going to do.
I gripped my guitar, ready to smash it down on his head as soon as he was in striking range. I planted my feet firmly at the top of the stairs and waited.
In those last moments of my life I saw Lizzy as she looked in the noonday sun, as she looked under the stars, as she looked in the forest and valley. No matter the setting, she was the pearl. No other creation could rival her.
I’d finally made peace with this world. Because of her, because of the truth, I could leave it now.
There it stood. My hand tightened around the neck of the guitar. What a waste of a perfectly good friend and instrument I thought of my beloved guitar. A few more steps and he’d be in smashing range.
I was filling my lungs with air for a battle cry, ala Braveheart, when another sonic boom hit the room and knocked me off my feet.
On the stairs, between my father and me, stood eight glorious fighters clad in full badass black leather battle gear, including Lizzy.
She smiled at me and rushed the wraiths. Smashing, cracking, popping all around.
Screams of terror, hissing, shrieking, hundreds of dead bodies. The battle was turning, was already won.
The fighters now chased the remaining fleeing wraiths.
I was on my feet again and saw my father, surrounded by twenty or more wraiths, heading for the front door. Pop, pop, pop. They were dropping like flies.
Andrew got to my father’s body first. As it was lifted into the air, it cried out for me, lifting its hand toward me for help, its face terrified. “Will, please help me. I’m still here, in this body. Don’t let them kill me. Don’t let them kill your own….”
Pop. Pop. Hiss.
The fighters were all over the house now, searching everywhere for the remaining wraiths. In the commotion, some escaped, but not many.
Dead bodies, hundreds of bodies, littered the floor of my house. All the wraiths were gone.
My guitar dropped from my hand when I saw my father’s broken body.
The battle was over.
I expected quiet as I surveyed the carnage from the fight, but instead the chaos grew.
Running through the house, searching through everything, under every picture, every couch, the fighters were shouting to each other.
Andrew called to one of his brothers who was moving some of the dead, “Leave them brother. We must find it, look now. The dead will wait but this cannot.”
As Andrew ran past me he stopped, took me by the shoulders and said, “We need your help Will, focus. Where did your father keep important documents, rare books?” The rest were still running around frantically.
“Try the gallery. Third door on the right,” I said, now running with him down the hall.
In unison, as if they all heard me, everyone ran for the gallery.
Lizzy was already there, pulling books from the self, opening them, and throwing them to the ground.
“Everyone,” she cried out. All started doing the same.
“Lizzy, what are you looking for?”
“We are looking for two books, The Book of Rules and the wraith lord’s ledger.”
I jumped in to help, but she caught my hand. “No Will, you can’t touch it. It’s wicked. It could kill you.”
I stood back and watched as they destroyed this room that used to be my favorite. As a kid I would sneak in here through what my dad called his “secret stairway” and watch him work. He always knew I was here, but he let me pretend it was a secret. After the accident, when it moved in, I never bothered with it anymore.
Then I knew where the books were.
I ran to the painting of my mother and pushed the button under the left-hand corner of the frame. The wall slid open and smoke poured out.
Charlotte ran into the stairway, now converted to a bookcase where old artifacts and books were housed. She grabbed a large old book that just caught fire.
“It’s here, it’s here,” Charlotte yelled. They gathered around the book, flipping through it as fast as possible.
I watched, keeping my distance. I watched as they tried to put the black leather-bound book out. It wasn’t working. The cinders would whirl in the air and head back for the book.
Then, slowly at first, the ink began running off the pages. In less than a minute the fighters were covered in it.
“Run!” someone shouted.
Reluctantly they all turned from the book and made a beeline out of the room, Lizzy pulling me along with her.
Before we made it out a bomb went off, the force of which threw us against the wall in the hallway.
She was back on her feet before I caught my breath, running back into the smoke and flame-filled room – they all were.
Some were stamping out the flames, using their feet, their hands, the pillows off the sofa, the curtains from the windows, while others were combing the room, taking each remaining thing off the shelves, tearing through every single thing at a break-neck speed.
Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Dead
They continued to look, for what, exactly, I wasn’t sure. It seemed the danger had passed, but every once in a while some artifact or book would spontaneously implode.
I watched them for a while, frantically searching, reaching, studying. I knew I was of no use to them, probably just in the way. I left the gallery and began to survey the rest of the house.
Bodies covered almost every square inch of the downstairs. It was horrible, not to mention creepy, to see the dead, necks broken, lying still and stiff. I’d watched too many horror movies, so I expected the dead to rise any minute now or one to be faking and reach out and grab my leg.
That was the movies and this was real. They were dead, all of them. Including him.
I couldn’t hold it together. I tried to make it to the bathroom, but threw up on some dead guy’s body in the hallway. I was too weak and stunned to be disgusted, but I couldn’t stop throwing up.
I kicked his body aside and bent over, dry-heaving, sweat pouring down my face.
“Here you go,” Eva said, handing me a wet towel with a sympathetic look before she returned to her work.
I finally stumbled back to the entr
yway, his broken body was still lying there. I sank to the floor and closed my eyes. It was all over, the nightmare was gone. I sat there, mind blank, just being there with him, my real dad.
My eyes were closed when she approached, but I knew it was her. She moved a corpse aside and sat down beside me.
“How are you doing?” she asked, sitting cross-legged, hands rubbing her temples as she worked to calm herself.
So much had happened in such a short amount of time, I forgot she was probably mad at me.
“I really don’t know. My mind is trying to catch up.”
“I know what you mean,” she said as she tucked the hair that had fallen out of her ponytail behind her ear.
“I’m sorry, Lizzy, I should have told you he – I mean it - was back.”
“Yes, you should’ve. What happened, why did you come here? Don’t you know he could’ve had you killed?” She was too exhausted to sound really angry, though I could tell she was upset.
“Tonight, when you came by work,” which seemed like a life-time ago, “I was angry and worked up because he stopped by. It said if I didn’t come home tonight he, it, whatever, would go visit the Richardsons tomorrow to ‘thank them’ properly for housing me for the holidays.”
“That’s horrible,” she said disgusted.
“So I didn’t want to tell you because you didn’t have all your back-up, and I couldn’t leave the Richardsons out to dry. My plan was to sneak in, gather my things, make a brief appearance, and sneak back out. I saw that wasn’t going to work the minute I pulled in the driveway. I might have driven right past if it wasn’t for all the fog.”
All this seemed to make sense to her, but I could still tell she was hurt. “I’m sorry Lizzy . . . but I didn’t lie to you,” I said, trying to defend myself.
It was no good. Of course I lied to her – I intentionally kept from her what she needed to know and constructed careful half-truths to do what I wanted. “Well, yeah, I guess I did. I’m sorry, please forgive me.”
My heart sunk to the ground. Maybe she and I could never work. This is how it would always be. Me apologizing for some asinine thing I’d done and she, what, living with it? Taking it in stride? She deserved more.
“Don’t do that. I know what you’re thinking, and stop it. You know, I’m not perfect either. It may be the case that I don’t lie, but I’m not always right, and I do make mistakes.”
Her eyes fell on my dad’s corpse. She reached down to him and closed his eyes, whispering as she did in that foreign tongue.
Her eyes were back on me. “I said rest in peace precious one.”
“So what now?” My mind went to the practical. What was going to happen now? Call the police? How were we going to explain hundreds of dead bodies, all with broken necks?
“We’re just about to start the cleanup process. Once we get rid of the bodies, you’ll need to call the police.”
“What are you going to do?” What could they do with all these corpses? Bury them? Burn them?
“We’ll take them to a place we’ve established for just such a purpose, to try and identify who they are, where they’re from. We let the families know, when we can, and see to it a proper burial takes place. It’s a bit tricky because we can’t get the police involved.”
What a chore. All these men and women. I wondered if their families even knew they were missing or if their family members had witnessed what I thought I had – my father turning from my hero to what I despised most of all.
So much misery and awfulness. So much death. Before tonight I’d never seen a dead body. The burial of my mother, brother, and sister were closed casket. Now I sat with the bodies of hundreds, dead already from various ailments and accidents. And I sat in my entryway with the body of my father, my dad.
Lizzy’s brothers began the ‘clean up’ job. In no time at all the bodies had been taken via transportation while her sisters took the cars. Lizzy sat on the stairs with me, watching it all. It was time to call the cops.
“What am I going to say?” I asked as she pulled my phone from my jacket pocket.
“Just call 911 and tell them to send an ambulance and the police. Tell them your father is dead,” she said, rubbing circles into my back.
“Won’t they want to know more? What’s my story?” I grew up watching CSI and other crime shows. If I didn’t have the right kind of story to fit the crime scene, maybe they’d think I did it.
“Trust me William. Given what your ‘father’s’ been up to these past years, no explanation will be necessary. Just tell the truth, leaving out the supernatural elements. Give it a try.”
“Okay. Uh, I came home. It looked like my dad was having a party. I went to my room and a little while later I heard smashing sounds. I came out of my room to see a huge fight in process. When it was over my father was dead. They all left.”
“Perfect! Don’t worry about the rest; we’ll take care of it. Here,” she handed me the phone, “go ahead and call.”
In shock I dialed and did as she told me. The police would be here soon, and she looked all wrong – like a warrior princess, not a high school senior. I eyed her up and down and said, “I don’t think they’re going to buy my story when they show up and see you looking like you jumped out of Clash of the Titans.”
She looked down at her ripped and bloodied battle gear. “Guess I’d better change. Be right back,” she said as she headed to the bathroom. What would she find in there to make her look normal?
She reappeared moments later looking the part – jeans, my favorite green turtle neck, hair in that forever ponytail. Somehow I knew she didn’t find those clothes hiding under the sink.
Within minutes five police cruisers arrived, lights flashing and sirens blaring. I met the first officer at the door and went back to the staircase by Lizzy.
We sat there together as police officers, EMTs, firefighters, and detectives went in and out of the house. I watched as my dad’s pulse was checked again and again. He was finally body bagged and taken out on a stretcher.
The Richardsons were called, bearing witness to the end of an era, the end of his reign of terror.
Mrs. Richardson ran to me and gave me a tight hug.
“Dear, I’m so sorry. Are you okay? What happened?” Though no love was lost at his passing, Mrs. Richardson was crying, no doubt out of concern and relief for me.
“Leave him alone, Sally,” Mr. Richardson said to his wife as he patted me on the back.
“Of course, whatever you need, just ask,” she said as she blew her nose loudly. “I just can’t believe this, can’t believe it! Are you sure you’re okay? You look a little sick and pale. And you’re covered in sweat. Is there anyone we can call for you? Anything at all we can do?”
Sometimes it was hard to get a word in with Mrs. Richardson, but she finally stopped and waited for my reply.
“Thanks for coming. I can’t think of anything right now. Oh, can I stay with you tonight?”
“Of course,” Mr. Richardson said as he ushered his distressed wife off to find an officer.
Since I was still a minor for a few more months, a social worker worked out an arrangement with the Richardsons for me to stay with them for a while.
One by one the emergency workers left, back to the stations that housed them. I sent the Richardsons home, promising to follow soon.
“And so that’s that. It’s over. I can’t believe it. I’m sure I’m still in shock, but I can’t help smiling.” I turned to her with joy breaking out all over my face. “He’s really gone, isn’t he?” I asked rhetorically.
I expected a reassuring nod or hallelujah, something along those lines. Instead she looked down, her eyes filling with tears. She was relieved it was all over, I assumed.
“This can wait. Not tonight. I don’t think you can take much more, and I know I can’t.” She removed herself from the stair she’d been sitting on for over an hour and walked toward the front door, stretching.
What? It was all over. I witness
ed the last battle. All that was left was to bury the dead. I would bury mine.
I followed her, out the door and to my car.
I knew I should put up a fight, demand to know whatever the hell I was still in the dark about, but she was right. I was gone. I was a million times lighter, but still completely wiped out.
I pulled out of the driveway, heading for her house to drop her off.
“Turn around. I’ve arranged to stay with the Richardsons tonight too,” she smiled at me, warming me to the core. Her eyes, so bright and full of life.
They were waiting for us at Michael’s house, all the lights blazing, welcoming. The look on my haggard face saved me from questions for the night. I was passed around and hugged by all, then led to the made-up couch in the living room where I crashed almost as soon as my head hit the pillow.
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Gone
Late the next morning I awoke to the smell of coffee, cinnamon rolls and the sound of hushed whispers. I stretched and thought about getting up, but decided to stare at the ceiling for a while.
The doorbell rang, followed by the clanking of mugs and muffled feet. As soon as I heard the visitor’s voice, I knew everyone I loved was in this house.
I wasn’t ready to face them just yet, so I snuck off to take a shower. When I got out I found a fresh towel and some of Michael’s clothes waiting for me.
I emerged from the bathroom feeling clean, inside and out. I wasn’t sure how to handle the questions. I didn’t know if I should pretend to grieve or exactly how a person in my situation was supposed to feel and behave.
I walked through the kitchen and into the dining room where they sat, Mr. and Mrs. Richardson, Michael and John. No Lizzy. I took a seat next to John and reached for a giant roll.
I guess it was up to me to break the silence. “Good morning all.” In return I got a variety of smiles, grimaces and waves.
“How are you dear?” Mrs. Richardson asked as she got up and came around to hug me. I let her. I decided I’d let them help me, to love me. I wanted this to be the first day of the rest of my life.