Hold the Light

by Ryan Sherwood

  "Are you alright, George?" He asked as the gray rain pierced the smoke hovering around his head.

  "I've been better. Can't look me in the eyes, eh?"

  "I just felt I should ..." he attempted, "I just don't know how to act ...I cannot do this."

  "Don't worry, old bud, I don't know either. Just no acting, okay."

  "I am sorry," Randy said after a moment's deliberation, "No acting."

  "Was it painless?" I asked Randy, clearing the air. "Do think my mother suffered?"

  Randy looked at me carefully, eyes glistening, staring past my eyes and right into my head. Everything on his face was rough. His heavy stubble and deep lines around every one of his features told me he was drained.

  "George, I do not want ..."

  "Tell me what she said to you when I was in the kitchen when we were here a couple days ago."

  "I do not think I ..."

  "Tell me!" I demanded.

  "She was scared for you." A long, clear vein of tears streaked down his cheek, "Worrying about you and Amber. She did not say it, but I saw it."

  "What did she say?" I almost yelled, pressing hard on him.

  "Alright!" he almost screamed as well, "This is against my better judgment."

  Randy grimaced and choked out a cough.

  "'Do not let George run away anymore, Randy,' she said."

  "Run - RUN! Dammit ..." I exploded, "She was the one that married that asshole."

  Randy stood sulking in front of me, hating himself for having to tell me as I barked at him for my mother's words. It took me a few minutes to calm down. My eyes burned again. I walked in circles in the rain trying to cool off.

  "George I am sorry, I ..."

  "She's right, you know," I spoke up into the rain, "I ran from them. I ran from my problems. I run from it all."

  "Do not worry about it George ..."

  "I have to worry," I interrupted, "I'm the only one left to care."

  "Come in George," he elbowed me, still keeping from eye contact like he knew something I didn't.

  We slowly lumbered back inside and I stood before my mother. She looked cradled in her coffin all wrong. Her hair was done wrong. There was too much make-up on her cheeks. She was free, though. Finally she would able to be whom she wanted. Strangely enough, she looked more comfortable and relaxed I had ever seen her. I wondered if she really was that peaceful she must not be anywhere near my father. No, he shouldn't be anywhere near her where she is now.

  The small seating area of relatives erupted into a hymn and it startled me. The room spun into a jumble of monotone lyrics. The flowers burned my eyes again but this time I stared at them without blinking. The fiery yellows and bright greens eddied together as my eyes blinked out of focus. The stems and blossoms melded into an inferno as I broke down and cried.

  Chapter 34

  After the funeral my family fell apart. Amber ran off to Boston, hoping to get lost in the crowd at age eighteen. I got the family affairs in order in her absence. She didn't disappear for long, though. She reappeared when I moved to the city after college. We crossed paths mere days after I arrived. I ran into her at a restaurant and we nervously exchanged numbers after awkwardly attempting to catch up on each other's lives.

  "With the money willed to me," she said, "I'm set for college and an apartment. It's pretty damn cool."

  "That's good," I took a swig from my beer. I wasn't about to tell her I was executor and gave her that money, but I think she knew and that was why she spoke to me. "Well, for me, well ...I haven't really found any work yet."

  "Oh, I'm sure you'll find something," she uttered, trying to be civil.

  "Yeah," I replied unenthusiastically, "Um, Randy's doin' good."

  "That's good," she said.

  Amber took a swig of the mixed drink I bought her. Though she was underage, I figured alcohol would be a good gesture for us to build a concord from. Her pinky finger was in the air. The drink drooled down her chin. The drops beaded atop her chin and shot down to the bottom of her jaw. She moved the glass away and wiped away the liquid. That's when I saw something new.

  "Hey Amber, what's with that scar below your lip? When did you get that?"

  "Oh, um well," she stumbled, taking her time to answer, "In school ... I uh, was kinda drunk and met the corner of a counter. Bled like a stuck pig."

  It was a labored and strange response. She chuckled a bit.

  "It looks like a divot, more round than straight. Not like a counter's edge."

  "Hey, I was drunk, alright," she snapped.

  "Okay whatever," I said, writing it off.

  The rest of the night went just as well, but we managed to maintain civility, even with so much animosity lingering.

  After that night at the bar, we only talked when one of us needed a favor.

  Chapter 35

  Several weeks passed and she asked one of those favors of me. She asked me to watch her place while she was going on a trip. After ignoring her long list of rules for apartment etiquette, I waved goodbye as she slammed the apartment door, scampering to the car waiting in the street.

  "I need a drink," I said.

  I called Randy and we decided to go out to a bar. We hadn't been out drinking much since college ended.

  Randy rarely drank heavily these days. I did. He always stayed sober. But this night turned out to be very different. He decided not to only drink, but to get drunk.

  Even stranger was the fact that he never shivered. He had been doing that for as long as I knew him. He was always cold to the touch, especially during his strange convulsions, shivering from being cold I guessed. But he was flushed this night, drinking fast and playing with his cell phone. It worried me some, but I never asked about it.

  "I'm sick of living like this," Randy stated after slamming down his sixth beer. A static hung in the air immediately followed his words. A heavy and foreboding sensation that I tried to shake off my shoulders.

  "Like what?" I responded.

  "Like prey."

  "What? Oh, it's not another one of those beautiful poor, poor girls, chasing you down to judge more wet T-shirt contests."

  "No, that was a once in a life-time event," he said half seriously and half joking, recalling that exact event from college.

  "Hey, what's wrong?" I asked, realizing he was actually worried.

  "You are one of the best friends I have had in all these years. You know that," he stated coldly, staring at me with trembling eyes.

  I was scared. He was different; he seemed scared. I had never seen him like that. Something was definitely wrong.

  He snapped his head up from his beer, raised his eyebrow, touched his finger to his nose, and then shook his head. Sniffing the air like a dog, it looked like he caught an aroma. He looked about the bar and stopped abruptly. Dire emergency spelled out across his face as if he had been spotted on a hunt. He turned to me.

  "Let's go," he whispered.

  Before I could think, he grabbed my hand and whisked me out of my seat. Money fluttered down onto the table. With a clank of the door we were outside, standing in the dispelled dusk with the moon at our backs.

  Before I could take a breath, he cut left down the street, jerking us into a full sprint. The city lights blurred by. He ran with such speed that I quickly fell behind. I dragged my feet along the cement trying to keep pace. A hidden hole in the sidewalk caught my shoe and I tripped. Randy's hold was steady and my knuckles popped in his hand as my face plummeted towards the cement. I tried to brace for impact with my free hand, but I was trapped in Randy's grasp. He heaved with a massive jolt and ripped me away from hitting the ground and swung me into an alley.

  Randy pressed his back up against the brick wall. He was still for a moment then slowly slid back towards the corner to watch the street. His leather jacket quietly hissed along the red brick as he inched along. The moonlight beat down through the gritty city air and perched on his head and shoulders gently. Randy peered around the corner and scanned for som
ething or someone. I, on the other hand, was bent over in a heap, tired and panting.

  "What ...what the hell...was that for?" I wheezed.

  "Listen, I have to tell you something ..." he looked at my trembling body and continued, "I spent some time in prison years ago, before I met you. Times were rough then and I was actually somewhat glad to be away from the world."

  Randy slowed his speech and caught his breath. I tried to catch mine.

  He settled for the time being, apparently feeling safe enough to burst into a story.

  "You were in jail?" I asked. "What for? What does this have to do..."

  "I had a cellmate," Randy continued, ignoring my question. "He gave me something and wants it back. I never thought I would have to deal with him again. He was put to death for Christ's sake."

  "He's dead?" I rattled off, trying to absorb the tale.

  "Yes and after me. Oh God. I lulled myself into false confidence after all this time. I have been foolish."

  "How? Foolish? If he's dead, he can't just run around after you, idiot," I snapped feeling like he was pulling a prank.

  "He is. He must have made a deal with that damn demon to come after me. Raised from the dead to kill me to get the gift back," he said.

  "Oh yeah, that's good and all," I said, walking away from him, "But what about the fact that, um ...you're fucking nuts."

  "I do not expect you to understand. I just ask you to believe me right now."

  "You're right, I don't understand and I think you've lost it, man. You drank too much. It's been awhile since you've been drunk ...if this is some damn prank like when you ..."

  "It is not."

  "Alright, fine then, I'll play along. But if this ends up being another prank I'll kill you. So, let's just say you're in danger. What the hell is the gift? Why does he want it back? And if you do have it, just give it back."

  "He wants it back because he loved doing what the gift does," Randy said looking around again.

  "Well, that's helpful."

  Randy's voice relaxed and his body loosened up. His face unwrinkled and his shoulders sank. And as quickly as he dragged me away, Randy walked into the street as if nothing happened like he was taking a stroll. I stood in the alley perplexed and angry.

  "We are safe, I think he left. I cannot smell him now. But we will have to keep a look-out," he stated.

  "Oh no, you don't. You have to explain this," I demanded.

  "Just wait and ..."

  I knew one moment could change a life. I think of my father to answer that. But this moment was far different and it came from nowhere. A black smudge of a figure, shrouded by a flapping long coat that spread out like bat wings, pounced on Randy. I stumbled backwards into the brick wall. I was stunned.

  The dark person was so large that he eclipsed Randy with darkness as he pounded on him both fists. The attack happened so quickly that I barely had time to gasp. They struggled on the sidewalk. Randy writhed, trying to break free. The dark figure landed more jabs until Randy collapsed to the ground and the figure fell off him. Randy stood and grabbed the figure by the shoulders. With a grunt, Randy heaved him out into the street. The figure's black coat fluttered around his head and curled him into a ball as he rolled.

  I ran over to Randy to see if he was all right. His left had landed heavily on my chest, holding me back. His shoulders heaved as he caught his breath.

  "Hey, Randy what the hell is going on?"

  A rumble sounded. A delivery truck screeched down the street. The dark figure slowly rose into a hunch, his dark coat dripping down to the oily street. There was no difference between his darkness and the streets. He stared at us from the middle of the road, anger and grit smeared across with what could be seen of his face. With outstretched and contorted fingers, the massive figure stepped forward to charge, snarling in the bright streetlights. The city lights blinded me, but the headlights were brighter. The horn had less than a second to sound before the truck barreled into the dark figure.

  The hulking shape tumbled on top of the hood. He rolled up the windshield and onto the top of the truck. He slid, face first along the entire length of the top as the driver slammed on the brakes. The giant figure dropped from the top and down the side. He quickly found a grip on the edge of the truck but couldn't hold it for long and plummeted down the side. A bloody stain streaked a swift brushstroke of maroon along the stark white frame. His body hit the ground and the truck rolled over him, coughing the body out further down the block.

  "We are leaving," Randy ordered and grabbed my hand. "Now!"

  Running swifter than before, Randy never looked back. But I did. A crowd began to gather around the run-over figure. Several huddled around him as some shouted out for aid. From what I could see from the corner of my eye, the onlookers around him backed away from him as he picked up his own hulking body off the cement.

  Chapter 36

  We retreated to my sister's place at Randy's request. I mulled about the place while Randy slept. I was pacing over every inch of the apartment. I walked a few steps, ran into a picture of Amber, took a few more steps away, and ran into more pictures. Her face and the faces of her friends littered every open space. I grew tired of seeing her and wandered into the bathroom. I washed my face and looked up into the large mirror. I turned and caught my reflection in three other places. How vain do you have to be to have four mirrors in your bathroom? I shook my head in disgust and walked into the living room, beginning to worry about the problem at hand.

  Randy awoke from his nap on the couch. I sat on the recliner adjacent to him, impatiently playing its arm like a piano, wanting to ask him thousands of questions. My mind was swirling and I couldn't figure out what to ask first.

  "What was with that guy? Why did he attack you? You said he's dead? How? What? And you said something about a demon," I said, finally spewing all my curiosity.

  "Can I wake a little more?"

  I gave him a wide-eyed stare. I couldn't wait. Already waited long enough.

  "Well ...um, I ...well. To explain the demon part ...well I am not totally sure what it is," Randy said, rubbing his eyes. "All I know is that it is watching me. I only see it once in a great while. I assume it is a demon because it is always dressed in dark robes and has red glowing embers for eyes and charred skin. It torments me, like it did the convict. It loves to watch me work. Sick one it is."

  "To do what? To watch what!"

  "Kill." Randy locked with my eyes, cutting up the air between us. "To take the lives of people when it is their time."

  "Kill?" I asked, fearing he had lost his mind.

  "Yes," he said. "The gift was forced unto me by the convict and was given to him by the demon. The convict enjoyed it, like I said, but had to give it up before he went to the electric chair." Randy looked away from me and towards the crack between the drapes. "It has been sixty years since I last saw him."

  "Sixty years! Impossible. You don't look a day over twenty-five," I yelled, "How do you expect me to believe all this."

  "The gift slows the aging of its symbiotic host. Listen, I went into prison in the thirties, during the depression, for something I did not do. On a terribly rainy night, that still crashes in my head, I met the convict."

  "Good God," I uttered.

  "Not to me."

  I didn't get it. A bit of an overload, if you ask me. He was crazy. He had to be. But as I thought on his words, strangely enough, I believed him and then knew I could go crazy.

  Between the attack and Randy's certainty, I had enough trust in him that I

  wanted to believe him. But that was as far as I could leap at that moment.

  "You think I am mad."

  "It's a lot to ...I just think ...oh shit." I leaned back further in the recliner, gripping the arms tightly, not knowing how to react. The soft velvet bristled against my hands as I tore small finger holes into them, feeling the soft fluffy cotton inside. "This is all too sudden."

  A rancor wiped over Randy's face. He looked pain
ed. The muscles in his face quickly loosened as he leaned back in his chair and began to convulse slightly. He rubbed his palms along the cushions of the couch, lightly at first, like he was caressing a woman. Then his chest erupted skyward into a violent heave and his hands slinked into his black long coat. His back arched and his convulsions grew intense. His eyes rolled back in his head to where only the whites showed and his blue button-up shirt strained and stretched against his chest. I watched him go into a fit. A horror built inside me that made my hair stand on end.

  "Watch this," he whispered, "You will believe me."