Sons of Dust

by P. Dalton Updyke

  Bo looked at Katie again, probably to see if Katie was going to tell the story, but Katie didn’t move, so Bo said, “Have you ever heard of a commer?”

  “Like on Dr. Kildaire?”

  Bo nodded. “Sometimes, if you get hit in the head just right, you fall into a commer and you look like you’re dead, only you’re really not.”

  Gina had seen that on her favorite TV show. A beautiful woman had fallen down the stairs and her boy friend carried her into Dr. Kildaire’s emergency room. The nurses thought the pretty lady was dead, but Dr. Kildaire said no, she was in a commer and could stay asleep for years. Gina thought it sounded just like Rip Van Winkle.

  “So what do commers have to do with draining blood?”

  “In the olden days, if someone fell into a commer, everybody else just thought they were dead and so they buried them.”

  “Alive?” Gina whispered.

  Bo nodded, her eyes huge. “So then undertakers like Katie’s dad started draining out the blood, to be sure.”

  “Sure of what?”

  Bo rolled her eyes. “Sure they were dead. That way, they could be positive they weren’t burying someone alive.”

  It seemed rather drastic to Gina.

  Katie slapped Bo on the leg. “It’s not like that! Geez, Bo. You make it sound like if the person wasn’t dead, the undertaker killed him!” She wiggled on the floor so she was closer to Gina. Her cheeks were flushed pink again. “They just make a little itsy bitsy cut. If the person was alive the blood would gush, because, you know, their heart was still pumping. If they were dead, the blood wouldn’t gush, it sort of trickled. And that’s how they could tell.”

  That didn’t sound any better, as far as Gina was concerned. She tried to imagine Mr. Kowalski making a small slash with a slim knife, standing back with a critical eye to see if the blood gushed or tickled, and found she couldn’t picture it. Not Mr. Kowalski, with his polished shoes and crisp white shirts.

  “And then, after all the blood is drained out,” Bo went on, “Mr. Kowalski fills the bodies back up with some kind of green junk.”

  The two Twinkies she’d just eaten were shifting now, moving up instead of settling nicely alongside the Milky Ways. “Why does he do that?”

  Bo rolled her eyes as if it was the stupidest question she’d ever heard. “You know how you can go down to Spritzie’s and buy a giant pickle?”

  Of course she knew. She did it at least once a week.

  “You know how you like to suck all of the juice out of the pickle before you eat it?”

  “Well, yeah, but-“

  Bo leaned forward a little more. “How does that pickle look just before you take a bite?”

  Gina got it then and an image of a body, shrunken in on itself, wrinkled like a mummy, rose in her mind and her stomach flipped again. She slapped a hand over her mouth. “I’m gonna be sick,” she muttered.

  Bo laughed, a peal of perfect sound. “I told you it was creepy. And you ought to see the basement – oh! Maybe Katie will take us down, after, you know, when they all go to the cemetery. The lab is full of tubes and buckets and the table he uses is steel. It’s really shiny and there are all these trays around it-“

  Gina barely made it to the bathroom and as she sank in front of the toilet, she could hear Katie talking about how it –

  “—started by accident,” Kate was saying. Gina blinked. She lifted her glass and took a long swallow of the Chardonnay. “I was a surgical nurse for a few years, geriatrics after that, and eventually, I found my way into hospice nursing. I’ve been at the agency for six years now. I guess you could say it’s my calling.” She smiled, like it was a joke and Gina noticed Vinny and Marcus smiling dutifully.

  “I know what you’re saying,” Vinny said. He shifted in his seat, put his elbows on the table. “I knew what I wanted to do, soon as I started down at Duffy’s on the waterfront. Remember that place, Katie?” Kate nodded. “I got a feel for trucks, a real love of them. I do the work cause it means something to me. You do this hospice work because it means something to you. Am I right?”

  Kate nodded and her smile was genuine this time. “That’s as good an explanation as any. I guess I’m just obsessed with life.”

  Gina was struck by an odd thought. It wasn’t life Kate was obsessed with. It was death.

  Chapter 5

  Lucien

  Joe Bean crossed the street before the light changed. A horn blared. His middle finger shot into the air automatically and mumbled, “Shit head,” under his breath. Monkey had a nerve, taking his keys like that. How was a guy supposed to get home, this time of day? Busses were late and Tina expected him at the apartment now, for Christ sake.

  Joe Bean stumbled against the curb and he cursed again. Maybe he should have taken Monkey’s ride, but hey, the guy had just snuck Joe’s car keys right out of Joe’s pocket, so if Joe Bean wasn’t feeling so friendly anymore, who could blame him? Monkey was supposed to be his buddy, but what kind of buddy steals a guy’s keys right out of his pocket and then says, “Sorry, man, but it’s for your own good.”

  “My own good,” Joe muttered. He stopped on the sidewalk to get his bearings and realized he must have taken a wrong turn a few blocks back. Nothing looked familiar. There was a vacant lot at the end of the block and a boarded up building to Joe’s left. He took a couple of steps and stopped again, his eyes straining for any familiar landmark and then he saw it, behind the boarded up place and slightly to the right. The steeple to the church with the Polish name.

  If he could find his way there, he’d be halfway home.

  Only problem was, it looked about ten blocks to the church and the apartment was another ten or twelve blocks beyond that.

  Shit.

  And this was supposed to be a good day, a great day, one of the best. Tina was excited over the phone. “I’m so proud of you, Joey. Come straight home and we’ll celebrate.”

  Joe promised her, sure he had, “Right home, baby,” but then Monkey wanted to take him out for just one congratulatory drink and then Tommy Schmidt had come in and one thing led to another –

  “And fucking Monkey took my keys.”

  Joe ran a hand through his hair. A cab. That was it. A cab. Hell, he could afford it now. He turned back toward the street, raising his hand in the air, but there were no cars on the street anymore. A rusted-out Ford was parked across the road, but that was it. No sign of a T stop. Paper fluttered over the sidewalk, tumbled in the gutters. A flyer for a furniture company (Sale! it read in giant red letters) caught around his ankle, flapped, and Joe almost fell trying to get it off. His eyes scanned the buildings surrounding him, but they were dark. No lights in any of the windows. The wind howled and Joe shivered, huddling deep in his coat.

  Twenty blocks. Twenty goddamn blocks. Unless he found a shortcut.

  An alley stretched between the boarded up place and the brick building next to it. Just beyond that alley was another and just beyond that, Joe could make out what looked like a third. The alleys joined each other, a straight line through the blocks, maybe, and as everybody knew, the shortest distance between two points was a straight line. Yessiree, a straight line.

  Joe stepped into the alley.

  It was colder in the dark. If Joe put his arms out to the sides, he’d be able to touch both the deserted house and the brick tenement. He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and lowered his head, striding as best he could, only the alley was narrow and tilted downward, so Joe wasn’t striding so much as stumbling.

  The scent of rotting garbage was overpowering. Joe gagged, gin and tonic rising to his throat. There was trash here, too, but it wasn’t paper trash. In fact, now that Joe was halfway down the alley he could see that there wasn’t any paper fluttering down here at all, but the alleyway was filled with something else. Something hard and crunchy, like seashells, but that couldn’t be right because he was too far away from the beach for there to be seashells so the crunchy things had to be something else, had to be—


  The alley emptied into a concrete courtyard. Joe stopped again, eyes searching the sky for the steeple, but it was getting dark now and the steeple was lost against the charcoal hue of the clouds. He took another step and the crunchy things under his feet scattered, clicking over the concrete. What the fu—

  Something – someone – was in the alley.

  Joe’s head jerked up and he whirled around, heart pounding. Maybe an alley cat. Damn things were huge now, bigger than dogs, some of them, and meaner than hell. Now that winter was coming, they’d thin out, sure they would, thin right—

  Terror froze his stomach.

  A man sat in the left corner of the concrete square. He was squatting, his knees drawn up, his head lolling forward and Joe’s first thought was bum but that was wrong, too, because this man wasn’t a bum. Joe didn’t know how he knew that, he just did. There was something obscene in the way the man was hunched. His back was humped and his arms dangled… that was it, his arms dangled.. too long…

  Joe took a step forward, his eyes on the man. The light changed, grew clearer, as if he’d been walking in the wind and now it was calm. Joe squinted, trying to make out the man’s features, but that was hard because the guy’s hair was long and matted

  and he was naked

  The dry brittle sound under Joe’s feet stopped. Heart pounding, Joe licked his lips. His head was clear now, sober, one could say, and he rubbed his forehead.

  Naked.

  What was a naked man doing here, in the alley? And for that matter, why didn’t the guy move? Why didn’t he fucking move? Now that the light was brighter, Joe could see the bones in the man’s humped back, knobs under skin turned almost blue. He was covered with long black hair, curly, wiry hair like pubic hair or animal hair

  fur

  and then Joe’s eyes took in the man’s feet, long and wide, toes splayed so they looked like clubs like

  cloven hooves

  The noise came again and Joe realized it was coming from the man. It sounded like…grinding. Okay, that’s enough, Joe thought and he whirled around, back toward the mouth of the alley and came face to face with a stone wall. But that wasn’t right, how could that be right when he hadn’t passed any stone walls?

  The sound came again, the gritting, grinding noise and Joe wasn’t sure why the tone filled him with terror, but it did. The light was changing, growing redder and when Joe looked up at the sky again, he saw it wasn’t charcoal anymore, it was beyond that, beyond dark-

  “Joe Bean.”

  Joe froze at the sound of his name. The man’s voice was soft but it rose the hair on the back of Joe’s neck. Laughter echoed over the stone and Joe realized all the walls were stone now, the brick was gone, the white boarded up building was gone, the alley was gone, there was just this square courtyard surrounded by high rock walls and Jesus Mary Holy Mother of God there were no doors, no alleys no way ou-

  “What’s wrong, Joe Bean?”

  The voice was right behind him, teasing, and the smell of rotting garbage was stronger. Joe was afraid to turn around because he didn’t want to see –

  “See what, Joe Bean?”

  Laughter again, so loud it liked to have ruptured Joe Bean’s eardrums. He put his hands to his head and shook it. “Too many gin and tonics,” he mumbled. “Monkey was right, Monkey was--”

  “Right.” Hot breath touched his neck, the stench making Joe gag and he doubled over, vomiting over his shoes. He fell to his knees, retching, and the brittle earth crunched under him like seashells but no not shells

  bones

  they were bones

  Joe vomited again, bile splashing over white fingers and ribs and feet and when he put his hand down to steady himself his hand sunk to his wrist and his fingers closed over something brittle and hard and then his hand sunk further and sweet Lord how deep did it go? How deep?

  Laughter boomed again.

  “Shouldn’t you be asking another question, Joe Bean?”

  Joe moaned. “I’m dreaming,” he whispered. “A nightmare.”

  “A nightmare!” the voice was choked with good humor. “That’s it, Joe Bean! You are having a nightmare!”

  “A nightmare.”

  The man bent down, behind Joe and just to his left. If Joe wanted to, he could turn his head and see the man. If he wanted to.

  “Don’t you want to know who the bad guy is in this nightmare of yours?”

  Joe shook his head but the man laughed again.

  “Sure you do, Joe. Sure you do. I’ll give you a hint.” And then he was in front of Joe, squatting down so that his face was even with Joe’s.

  His eyes were glittering yellow. Red flames danced in the pupils. He was grinning and Joe saw that the man’s teeth were long and sharp. His chest was matted with black hair, his penis thick and veined.

  “So Joe, what do you know?” The man laughed again, throwing back his head and his tongue was thick and long and Joe thought animal-

  “That’s good, Joe Bean. Really, it is. I’ve always like being compared to an animal. So basic, you know? So human.”

  Joe moaned and closed his eyes but when the voice spoke again, his eyes snapped open.

  “Your hint, Joe. Pay attention now.”

  The glittering yellow eyes held Joe’s and he couldn’t look away.

  “I’m meaner than hell,” the man said. When he smiled, Joe Bean saw something caught in the man’s teeth and it only took a second. Meat and blood and

  bones

  He understood, finally, that this wasn’t a man at all and this wasn’t a nightmare, no sir, not a nightmare and he began to scream.

  Chapter 6

  Kate

  She sat in the backseat of Marcus’ car, staring out the window at a city deep in sleep. The tall brick buildings were dark, the sidewalks deserted black stripes glistening with moisture. Low ground fog swirled in the streetlights. It looked forsaken, doomed, Kate thought and she crossed her arms over her chest. Next to her, Vinny said, “You okay, kid?”

  Kate nodded without turning to look at him. She didn’t want to talk now. She just wanted to look out the window and see the city where she grew up fly past her window.

  I’ve come home, she thought, filled with a sickening dread. But it isn’t my heart that’s here. It’s my soul.

  They crossed into Chelsea over the Mystic River bridge. As the car moved down the ramp into the city proper, Kate realized something she’d never noticed before. Chelsea was almost like an island. The sea bordered the city on three sides, the link to land by bridge. One way in, she thought, No way out. Someone laughed and Kate looked away from the windows, but the others were quiet, their eyes straight ahead. She caught a quick glimpse of Marcus as they passed under a streetlight and she had to stop herself form gasping.

  He looked dead.

  Pale, haggard, his face a skull with skin stretched tight over the bones. She must have made some kind of sound, because Marcus looked up and fixed his eyes on her in the rearview mirror. She couldn’t see his mouth, just his eyes, dark, glazed discs and she looked away. The smell of the sea was heavy and cloying. Kate imagined that if she stepped from the car, salt would seep into skin and she’d be able to taste it on her lips.

  Vinny said again, “You okay?”

  “Just tired.”

  “You ought to be.” Vinny’s voice wasn’t as hearty now. He sounded as if the weariness had seeped into his bones as well. “I guess we all have a right to be feeling kind of lousy. It isn’t easy, burying a friend.”

  The sound of the blinker was loud in the quiet. “You’re staying at the house, right, Katie?”

  She jerked. “What?”

  Marcus’ eyes were on hers again, meeting in the mirror. “Your house. You’re staying there, right?”

  “No,” she answered at once. “I booked a room at the Sonesta. You can drop me there.”

  Marcus shut the blinker off. She could have stayed at the house, but the truth of the matter was it hadn’t occurred to her. O
h, she owned it, been paying taxes on the place for the last eight years, ever since her father died. She’d even hired a company to –what were the words they used? Secure the facility. Yes, that was it. The facility was secure all right. Securely empty.

  My inheritance, Kate thought and cold sweat trickled down her back.

  Vinny leaned forward. “So how come you had the electricity turned back on if you didn’t plan on staying there?”

  For a moment, Kate couldn’t answer him. Part of her brain had become disconnected.

  “And the gas,” Vinny went on, “How come you had the gas turned on? Mrs. Kiluck saw the truck parked outside a few weeks ago. The neighborhood isn’t like it was, but there are still some folks who watch out for their neighbors, like in the old days, you know? Mrs. K, she’s never moved. She keeps an eye on the place. Mata fact, I’ve even seen her sweeping your steps.”

  Kate saw Gina poke Vinny in the ribs, but Vinny ignored the jab. “I know sometimes people leave lights on when they go on a trip, but you haven’t been gone on no trip.” He laughed. “Well, I guess maybe you have, but it’s been one hell of a long one. So how come you’re paying for gas and lights all of a sudden?”

  When she answered him, she tried to measure out her words so they sounded off-hand, breezy. For some reason, she didn’t want them to know she was lost. Her stomach clenched, then rolled. She felt sick, but tried to hide that, too. Home one day, she thought, One day, and already I’m lying. Trying to pretend that everything is okay, normal, when it’s anything but that. Why can’t I just tell them I don’t know what Vinny is talking about? I haven’t had the electricity turned back on, I haven’t had the gas company reconnect and I haven’t even thought about that old place in years and I don’t know why I came back but the old habit of pretending was too strong and she couldn’t say any of those things.

  “My lawyer advised me to. I’m going to sell it,” she said on impulse. “He thought it would help if the place looked occupied. Plus, he said, it would keep the thieves away.”