Sons of Dust

by P. Dalton Updyke

  Marcus stood just outside the circle of admirers Richard Bergen, Jr. had drawn. Men in hand-tailored suits, women in couture. Not one of them dressed in less than five thousand dollars. Two or three month’s salary for some people. And these lawyers, these pompous arrogant assholes, stood around a gaunt man with a weather-beaten face (all those years sailing on the Charles), hor d-oeuvres in one hand, drinks in another, listening with rapt attention to bullshit.

  Gold-leaf bullshit, maybe, but bullshit none the less.

  “I disagree,” The Talk said calmly. Heads turned. Across the circle, Jennifer stared hard at Marcus, her expression such a look of utter dismay that Marcus began to laugh. Imagine people so bought they were horrified by the word ‘disagree’ to their boss. Somehow, the look on Jennifer’s face didn’t stop Marcus at all – in fact, it spurred him on. “I think what’s bullshit is corporate America’s systemic abuse of not only minorities, but the middle class. What gets my goat, Richie, is pompous assholes like you who insist commercial entities in America have no responsibility to the poor of this country.”

  Richard Bergen Jr.’s face had gotten redder. Marcus didn’t think such a thing was physically possible. Bergen sputtered as he said, “I take issue with your statement. I find it greatly offensive and I demand an apology.”

  Take issue? Marcus laughed again. “Jesus, that’s what I love about you people. You’re so damn arrogant you can’t even ask for an I’m-sorry without sounding like a shithead.”

  There were gasps around him, and one woman hissed. Marcus had time to marvel a little at that and then Richard Bergen Jr. was speaking again, the words coming from between lips that were frozen into a smile. “I think our young friend has had too much to drink. He’s clearly not himself.”

  “Don’t you dare patronize me!” Marcus shouted. The room was suddenly still. Everyone was looking at him. Everyone. Contempt in their stares, abhorrence in their faces and it infuriated him. How dare they look at him like that? How dare they talk about him like he was a naughty child? What did any of them know? “There’s a revolution coming,” he started to say, and that’s when two waiters dressed in tuxedos grabbed him by the arms and hauled him backwards. He struggled in their grasp, turned enough to see that the men pulling him toward the door were black and he began to laugh. “Don’t you see?” he shouted as the crowd parted to let him and his escorts by. “Right here, right here is what I’m talking about!” He pointed at the men in tuxedos, their faces impassive as they dragged him away. “Look at these men! Look at them! They want what you have and they resent you’ve kept them down. You’ve beaten them so long you think they’re submitting to your will, but they’re not! They’re going to rise up against you and they’ll be stronger than you because they’re angry, because they hate and because assholes like Richie Junior keep insisting corporate America has no responsibility. You’re all responsible! And they’ll kill you WITH A FUCKING SMILE!”

  Rough hands shoved him out a door and just before it slammed, one of the black men leaned forward, eyes blazing. He looked into Marcus’s face and whispered, “You’re right and you’re wrong, brother. I don’t want what you got, but I sure as hell would like to kill you all. Motherfucker.”

  The door slammed and Marcus stood on the front step, shivering.

  He didn’t remember what happened next. It was lost in the snow-induced haze. He was notified by phone that his position at BB&W had been terminated. A cool voice informed him that his personal belongings would be sent to him via messenger. The message was loud and clear: he was never to darken the hallowed hallways of the sacred firm again.

  But that was okay. Fine, really, because he had some money put aside and he could afford to take his time, pick and choose what firm he’d go to. He could afford to cool his heels. The coke, however, couldn’t. The next few months were lost in the haze. He had bleary memories of waking up, snorting before he got out of bed, only to fall across it later, every muscle in his body strung out and quivering.

  The money ran out quicker than he ever would have imagined and the offers he’d expected didn’t come. BB&W blackballed him. No one returned his calls, no offers came, the money flushed away. In the words of the wise, he was in deep shit, only in his case, the shit looked like snow.

  And then he opened his eyes one day and Bo was there. She was sitting on the edge of his bed, dressed in a navy blue sweater and a pair of jeans. Her long blonde hair was pulled back in a pony tail. Tiny gold hoops glittered in her ears. She looked incredibly beautiful and pure. Marcus thought he was imagining her.

  She turned her head and her eyes locked on his face. “So,” she said, “Sleeping beauty finally decided to open his eyes.”

  Marcus was suddenly aware he hadn’t shaved in days, his body smelled sour and sick. The bed was rumpled, the sheets soiled. He looked around the room, took in the dirty clothes strewn everywhere, the bureau drawers pulled out because the coke had run out and he knew, just knew there was another glass tube somewhere. There had to be. It couldn’t be gone.

  Not yet.

  “I didn’t believe it, you know,” Bo said. Her beauty hurt him. “When Vinny told me you’d gone off the deep end, I didn’t believe him. I thought for once he’d gotten bad information. You know what they’re saying, Marcus?” He didn’t answer. Bo had tears in her eyes. “They’re saying you’re a junkie.”

  The word seared through him, made his blood freezing cold. What was she talking about? He wasn’t a junkie. A junkie was somebody who lived on the street, who shot shit into his veins.

  “That’s bullshit.” His voice was hoarse and cracked. He cleared his throat. “You know how rumors start, Bo.”

  She touched his face. Even though she was being gentle, it hurt. Everything hurt. “That’s what I thought, too. I thought it was all just talk, but now that I see you Marcus, I know better.”

  He pushed back the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve just been sick with a flu.”

  He tried to stand up but his knees buckled and he ended up back on the edge of the bed. Bo didn’t reach out a hand to him. She didn’t speak and he had time to wonder why she was there.

  “Remember me?” she said. “I’m the one who dug glass out your knee when we were eleven. I’m the girl you played baseball with in the Forest Field. I’m the one who went to the first Children’s Ball with you. Remember me, Marcus? I’m your friend, one of the best friends you’ve ever had, and your friends won’t let you do this to yourself.”

  Her words washed over him like melted snow. “What’s going on, Marcus?” her voice was so soft he almost didn’t hear her. “How did you let things get so out of hand?”

  How could he explain it? How could he tell her what was happening to him was because money led to politeness and that was the root of all evil? How could he explain that he’d breathed deep, billowing gloom? He lowered his head, closed his eyes. “Go away,” he said. “I didn’t ask you to come, Bo. I don’t need you.”

  A hand touched the side of his face and he opened his eyes. Tears were streaming down her cheeks; she was weeping. “But Marcus,” she said. “I need you.”

  She understood about The Talk. She understood about the revolution. She sat with him when he began to rant and when she asked questions, Marcus knew she was listening, really listening, to what he had to say. She cleaned him up, inside as well as out. She fed him, took care of him, and gradually, he found a way back to himself.

  When he’d been clean for eleven months, she told him she loved him. Not as a friend, but as hers. By then, he knew he loved her, too. The bonds they’d forged as children held them as adults, but now they added something different, something stronger.

  He loved her, not just with heart and soul, but every fiber of his being. They talked marriage and children and the fear of revolution faded, finally became just a speck on the horizon.

  It wasn’t revolution he needed to fear anymore. It wasn’t a class war t
hat had taken Bo away. Rage filled him, a pure, white-hot feeling that reminded him of his time in the snow, only this time it was different. This time, he could do something about it.

  Kate squeezed his hand and he jerked, so lost in memories of Bo that for a moment, he forgot where he was and who he was with. Kate tried to smile at him, concern etched in her eyes. “Are you okay?”

  “No. But right now, I don’t have to be.”

  Kate nodded. “I know. We just have to be strong, like the old days.” Marcus wasn’t sure what she meant. She caught his confusion. “Remember when we were kids, we always said we’d be there for one another?” Marcus nodded. “Back then, if one of us got into trouble, the others would always help. If you or Gina or Vinny got into an argument with someone, we were all right behind you, whether we agreed with you or not.”

  “Gang mentality,” Marcus said, and Kate smiled, a true smile this time.

  “Yes. We had gang mentality.” She leaned forward, her eyes searching Marcus’ face. “That’s what we need now if we’re going to have any chance of beating Lucien. We have to be a gang again. We have to have that commitment to each other.”

  Marcus slowly nodded. If Bo could do that for him years ago, if she could pull him back from the brink of self-destruction, then he could do it, too. He could do it for any of them.

  Vinny appeared in the parlor doorway, a bottle under his arm, glasses in his hands. “Success,” he said, grinning, and Marcus found himself smiling back.

  Chapter 27

  Vinny

  Vinny was exhausted. And not just regular exhausted, but prison exhausted, where tiredness is companion to fear. Men in prison are at their most vulnerable when they’re tired, and that’s how Vinny felt now. His years in Walpole had hardened him, made him tougher. They’d also made exhaustion the first edge to nervousness. His stomach was tight, clenched like a fist in his gut. He knew this feeling, he knew that even though his eyes were burning and raw, they could see any movement, no matter how slight. The last few hours had taken a lot out of him, but they’d added a lot, too.

  Devils and hell and Lucien. Christ, he thought it was like Katie said – all a dream. Or at least, he’d hoped it was. But as time passed and Kate told the story, and the television in the background offered up bits and pieces of the horror happening around them, he knew it wasn’t imagination. It wasn’t going to go away.

  He didn’t know what to do about any of it. It was one thing to sound brave and strong in front of the others. It was easy to stand tall and proclaim, “We have to stop it before it hurts anyone else.” But how? And who would lead the way?

  Vinny took his hand down from his face and looked at the others. His friends. Alex should be the one to lead them, but he couldn’t do it. Alex didn’t have the strength and Vinny knew without Alex saying a word that Alex was on the brink of a breakdown. A crisis of faith, maybe some folks would call it, but Vinny knew better. When push came to shove, Alex was weak.

  Katie had led them before, but she’d led them on the strength of Lucien’s lie. Watching Kate as she stared at the television, Vinny knew that Kate wouldn’t be one to demand action. She was terrified. Maybe even more than the rest of them, and if that was the case, who could blame her? She’d seen what Lucien could do.

  Gina rose to her feet and went out of the room without a word. Gina, maybe, could be the one to take charge. She had it in her but even as Vinny recognized her strength, he knew she’d never take control of the group. When they were kids, Gina was often the odd man out. Bo and Katie had been such good friends, best friends, that they often forgot about Gina. Not out of childhood meanness, but simply because their closeness sometimes didn’t let a third man in. They hung out with Gina, played with her, went to the movies with her, but sometimes, they left her out.

  Marcus. A natural leader. A lawyer. A guy who knew how to convict. Sure. It was up to Marcus to come up with a plan. Only Marcus didn’t have it in him, either. He sat in the chair, leaning forward, hands clasped between his knees, looking lost. Like a kid who’d just found out that the tooth fairy is really that six foot guy in blue work shirts you called Dad.

  “Jesus.”Vinny didn’t realize he’d spoken aloud until Marcus looked at him, a question written on his face. He took a deep breath. I don’t want it to be me, he thought, I’m not the right one.

  But there was no one else.

  “We have to get moving,” he said. “The more time we waste, the more people are going to be hurt.”

  “So what do you suggest we do?” Alex asked.

  “There are a couple of things we have to do. First, we have to look backwards, at what happened before. A couple of us should go to the historical society, try to get a look at the log book Bo talked about, talk to the people there, see what happened to the old lady who worked there.”

  Kate was nodding and Vinny could see the relief in her eyes. It strengthened him and he went on, bolder and more sure of himself than before. “We also have to know what Bo was doing now. What happened to start this up again? We have to go through her things.” Vinny watched Marcus as he spoke and wasn’t surprised to see Marcus flinch. “She might have left a diary or something. We know she was having nightmares again--”

  “—and the nightmares have to be connected to something,” Marcus cut in. “Before, the nightmares started after Bo and Kate played Ouija.”

  Vinny nodded. “Lucien connected with Bo again in some way and we need to find out how. If there’s nothing in the apartment, we’ll need to talk to the people close to her. Her sister, maybe, or the people she worked with. She might have said something, even something small, that will help us. And the next step would be to look around here – and the Forest Field.”

  “Look for what?” Gina asked.

  “I’m not really sure. But Bo had the power turned back on here for a reason.”

  Kate gasped. “The book!” Four pairs of eyes locked on her, but she focused on Vinny. “In that last vision of Lucien, I saw a book, an old book with leather straps and bindings. My father found a book like that--”

  “Here?” Marcus interrupted.

  Kate nodded. “This house has been in my family for over two hundred years. My great grandfather won it in a bet--”

  “What does that have to do with--”Alex started, Vinny held up a hand and he stopped.

  “My father told me this house had been abandoned when his grandfather won it. No one had lived here for decades. My great grandfather moved in, but he didn’t live here long. His wife was from Revere--”

  “Kate—“

  “—and she wanted to stay close to her family, but she wouldn’t live here because she said the house was haunted. The house stayed empty until my mother and father got married. My Dad decided to fix the place up, renovate it, turn it into a funeral home.” A smile hovered around her lips but tears glistened in her eyes. “My father had a strange sense of humor. He said the place had been left for dead so long it may as well become a home to them. During one of the renovations, I think I was around 10, workmen found a book with leather bindings and straps in the walls.”

  Silence stretched out, “Okay then,” Vinny said. “Mr. K. spent most of his time downstairs.” Next to him, Gina shuddered. Vinny wondered, but didn’t ask. “We have to search the lab and his office. And then there’s the Forest Field.”

  “The Forest Field?”

  “Think about the murders we know about,” Vinny said. “Congress Ave, Essex Street, Shurtliff, Blood Hill. What’s in the middle of them all?”

  Kate gasped. “The Forest Field!”

  Vinny nodded. “So how come the Forest Field is the center of it all?”

  They were all looking at him now. Action was better than inaction, their faces said, anything is better than sitting around, waiting.

  Except…

  Vinny wasn’t sure he could believe that. The horror of what was out there, the terror of what the Forest Field stood at the center of was too much to face at once. Vinny clappe
d his hands together hard and Gina jumped. “Okay. Let’s get to work before the police come back. Shit, I’m surprised they haven’t been back already.”

  Gina said, “It does seem… surprising.”

  “So who wants to do what?”

  Kate opened her mouth and shut it again.

  Vinny raised his eyebrows. “What about you, Kate? Past, or present?”

  Kate blushed, her cheeks growing pink with color. “Past, if no one else minds. I feel…more connected to the past.”

  “That makes perfect sense,” Gina said, and Vinny thought, ever the maternal friend, trying to make everything all right. “You should take the Historical Society. Do you want me to come with you?”

  Kate slowly shook her head. “Thank you, but no. I think I’d rather go alone.”

  “We should all split up,” Marcus said. “It would be quicker.”

  “I don’t think…”Alex started, then stopped. He ran a hand over his face.

  “You don’t think what?” Vinny asked.

  “I don’t think it matters whether we work alone or in groups. An hour or two isn’t going to make that much difference.”

  “You don’t think so?” Marcus asked, his voice tight. “Try telling that to the guy who was killed right outside, or Lydia Dobens or Paul--”

  “Hey, hey,” Vinny cut in mildly. He put his hands up. “Let’s get this straight right now. Our only chance of stopping Lucien is if we stick together. We start fighting each other, it’s all over.”

  Marcus didn’t look at Alex but he said, “I’m sorry, Al. I guess I’m letting my temper get out of line.”

  “It’s okay,” Alex answered “I understand.”

  Vinny took a deep breath. “Okay then. Kate’s going to the Historical Society. What about you, Marcus?”

  “Bo’s apartment. I still have a key.”