Sons of Dust

by P. Dalton Updyke

  “How did she die?” the question came through lips that felt suddenly stiff.

  For the first time, Hilary hesitated. “It was an accident.” The words were purposefully vague.

  “Car accident?” Kate asked.

  The woman hesitated again, her eyes searching Kate’s face. “Are you all right?” she asked. “You look so pale all of a sudden.”

  “I’m fine,” Kate answered. “I get terrible migraines sometimes.”

  The girl was nodding in sympathy. “I know all about those,” she said. “Are you sure you’re up to this now? I noticed when you came in you had a bloody nose.”

  “I’m only in town for a day or two. I’d just as soon do this while I’m here.”

  The girl opened a door, but before she went in, Kate put a hand on the young woman’s shoulder. “I know it sounds odd and probably ghoulish-- I’m not looking for gossip – but Mrs. Maki was very kind to me years ago and I’d like to know what happened to her.”

  “It wasn’t a car accident,” the girl’s voice was not unkind. “She died of accidental poisoning.”

  “Poisoning?” Kate’s voice was a whisper.

  “Mrs. Maki used to keep a glass of water on her bedside table so that if she woke during the night, she wouldn’t have to get out of bed to get a drink. For some reason, next to the glass of water, there was a tumbler of nail polish remover.”

  “Nail polish remover?”

  The woman nodded. “Her family testified at the grand jury inquiry that Mrs. Maki used to remove her finger nail polish by dipping her fingers into a tumbler of remover, rather using a cotton ball or tissues. Her daughter said she didn’t like to use cotton because it left fibers on her nails. Mrs. Maki had beautiful hands.”

  Kate listened, her face growing increasingly numb with every word. She felt so odd, her stomach crawling with dismay, a buzzing sound in her ears.

  “Mrs. Maki must have been removing her nail polish using the tumbler and she just left it on the table next to the water glass. During the night, she woke up and half asleep, drank the remover instead of the water. She burned her throat and intestines.” Horror raised goose bumps on Kate’s flesh. “She lived for several days, but the damage to her internal organs was so severe…”

  “My God! How horrible.”

  Hilary nodded gravely. “It is horrible. A horrible, horrible accident.”

  Except Kate didn’t believe that for a moment. Even half asleep, a woman wouldn’t gulp down a glass of nail polish remover. The smell would stop her. The young woman opened the door and Kate followed her into a small room, her mind a whirl. Lucien, she thought.

  “Yes.” The voice was exactly as she remembered it from her past. His soft, gentle voice, kind, sad. “Vinny was right about many things.”

  “The books are locked in the—are you all right?” Hilary asked. “Miss?”

  The young woman was staring at her, a question stamped on the pretty face. “I’m fine,” Kate said as normally as she could. “Could you show me the reference books now?”

  The girl hesitated and Kate wondered if maybe the young woman was changing her mind. She wondered if, when the girl left, her first stop would be to call security to escort the odd woman out. Hilary walked to a glass-front cabinet against a wall and reached into the pocket of her skirt for a ring of keys. The keychain looked like a long, closed test tube, filled with purple glitter suspended in an oily liquid. The girl unlocked the cabinet and pulled out a thick reference book. Even from a distance, Kate could see that the cabinet was filled with fragile ledgers. The bindings on most were cracked, the covers torn.

  The girl locked the cupboard back up, a newer book cradled under her arm. It looked like a text book. She put the book on a desk and Kate walked over, wondering as she did if the girl intended to stay with her until Kate was through. As if in answer to the unspoken question, Hilary said, “I’ll be right downstairs if you need anything else. Are you sure..?”

  “I’ll be quite all right, thank you.” Kate tried to smile, but her lips still felt frozen. “I shouldn’t be more than an hour or so.” Kate sat at the desk and waited until the woman had closed the door behind her before opening the cover.

  She flipped to the index, her eyes skimming the chapter headings and then she opened the book to the middle, searching for a section titled simply “Punishment.” She flipped the pages rapidly, searching for 226, and then her hand froze. Slowly, she turned the pages back and stopped at a pencil sketch of a burned out barn.

  There was something about the barn that made her feel tight and tingly. The roof was gone in the drawing, caved in on itself. Wisps of smoke had been drawn from the black timbers, lending the impression that the fire had just been put out. The caption under the drawing read, “Six children died in the blaze.”

  As she turned the page with a shaking hand, Lucien spoke in her head.

  “There is no need to read,” he said. “You know the tale. You saw it.”

  Again, Kate saw men in purple robes, the square full of people dressed in black, the woman standing on the stage with her gown torn and bloody, her hair streaming—

  But that was all a lie.

  Kate took a deep, shuddering breath and looked down at the page again.

  “It wasn’t a lie.”

  His voice is just in my head, Kate thought, He isn’t here. He can’t be here. It’s my imagination.

  “Getting the best of you once again.” His voice was mocking now. The gentleness was gone, replaced with biting sarcasm. “Biting,” he said. “That’s a very good word. I do so love to bite.”

  “You have no power over me,” she said aloud. “You never did.”

  “You know that isn’t true, Katrenjia,” he said, and this time, she could hear laughter under his words. “I do have power over you.”

  He laughed again, and she broke out in a sweat. She kept her eyes on the book, on the worn cover, the embossed words. She was here to read the book and to find out—

  “—how the silly old cow died. Poor Mrs. Maki. She had a frightful nightmare one night – truly horrible, full of rats and dead people walking toward her, arms outstretched as if to embrace her, their faces nothing more than skulls and hanging flesh. She woke up in absolute terror. Do you know what absolute terror is, Katrenjia? I don’t think you do. Absolute terror is so overwhelming that a normal, rational person will do something completely irrational. Like drink down a glass of something without thinking, without smelling, without tasting. Poor Mrs. Maki. She was trying to wake herself up, calm down with a cool glass of water.” He stopped talking, but Kate didn’t lift her head. She stared at the page, the ink blurring into a smear of black. “Poor, poor thing. I’ll tell you a secret, though, Katrenjia, a little something not even her family knew because she wasn’t able to tell them. She’d lost her voice. Literally. But if she’d been able to speak, she would have told them this: when she woke up from her nightmare, she wasn’t alone.”

  Kate could hear a clock ticking, the sound a steady click click click that she tried to listen to. If she concentrated on the ticking hard enough, maybe she could block out his voice, block out his words…

  “She wasn’t alone at all. She had many, many friends with her in the bedroom. Many small, furry friends. Kind of like rabbits, really, only fatter, grayer, shorter ears, longer tails. It’s a pity rats have such a negative reputation. They aren’t so bad, you know. She might have been able to befriend them, had she tried.” He laughed and the sound rose and rose in Kate’s head until she thought it would drive her insane. “Bo might have been able to befriend them as well. She had plenty of time to try. Almost a week in that cold tunnel, the sound of rushing water all around her, the air thick with the smell of waste. She must have been lonely. Lonely and afraid. She might have been able to reach out to the little friends I sent to her. She could have been like Cinderella, with the little creatures dancing and singing for her. A beautiful fairy tale.”

  Something else was building in Kate, repla
cing the fear that gripped like a fist. It took a moment for her to place what she was feeling. Rage.

  “But she didn’t do that. Bo chose not to make friends. She chose--”

  “—to fight you,” Kate said. “And we choose to fight you.” She heard the voice of the old nun at St. Stand’s and the old nun’s words came out of Kate’s mouth, “ ‘The Lord God says with one blow after another I will finish you. I will turn my eyes away and show no pity; I will repay you in full. Soon, I will pour out my fury and let it finish its work of punishing you’.”

  Lucien roared and Kate looked up, shivering now, filled with a strange mixture of terror and exaltation. Even though the room was brightly lit, there was a shadow on the wall, a shadow of something humped and distorted.

  “I will hold you responsible for his death and punish you,” she shouted. The shadow hunched lower, the humped back more visible, the long snout opened, jagged teeth appeared. Without knowing what she was about to do, acting on instinct, Kate lifted the book in her hands, aware that she was grinning. She lifted it high in the air, her eyes watching the shadow on the wall, her voice rose higher and higher as she said, “Woe to you, Woe to--”

  “Miss?” the young girl stood in the doorway, a perfect picture of alarm. Her posture was rigid, her face a mask of bewilderment. “Are you alright?”

  Kate looked at the wall, but the shadow was gone. She lowered the book with trembling hands. She was shivering now, her body racked with spasms. “Fine,” she managed to say. “I’m fine.” She stood up, her legs still trembling. I feel like I’ve run a marathon, she thought, and somehow, that struck her as funny because as Dana would have said, Kate doesn’t run – heck, she doesn’t walk if she can help it, and she began to giggle. The girl was staring at her again, and that made Kate giggle harder and when she was able to get herself under control, she said, “I’m sorry. I’m not feeling well. The headache.”

  “Perhaps you should leave,” the girl said. “I think you should go to the doctor.”

  Or a priest, Kate thought. A man of God who takes away the sins of the world, happy are we who are called to his supper. I am losing my mind. She rose to her feet, talking to the girl as she followed Hilary down the stairs, murmuring apologies and when they reached the first level, Kate stopped and said, “I wonder—do you have any copies of that reference book for sale? Or any other books detailing Chelsea’s early history?”

  The girl looked relieved. “We have a few in the Society gift shop.”

  “Would you mind showing me where?”

  “Not at all,” Hilary said.

  A few minutes later, Kate was saying goodbye and then she was on the street again, the door closed firmly behind her. As she walked down the path toward the sidewalk, it began to pour. Lightning slashed the sky and Kate pulled her coat around her, shivering again, but this time with cold rather than fear. The book was in her purse and somehow, it made her feel better. Like she was actually doing something. And that was good.

  Chapter 34

  Marcus

  She loved you, Mr. Kivale.

  The words repeated over and over in Marcus’ mind until they became simple syllables, rolling together in a rhythm that was almost like music. She loved you, Mis-ter Kiv-al-e.

  Marcus turned left on Broadway, heading back to Kate’s house, driving on automatic. It felt like one of the stones that had settled on his chest had been lifted, a burden he’d been carrying around, eased.

  She loved you, Mr. Kivale.

  It was foolish to believe that a woman who made her living telling people what they wanted to hear could tell him something capable of holding meaning. Ridiculous to think Suzanne was more than a fraud, making money off of other people’s unhappiness. She was a fake, someone with a little bit of intuition and a whole lot of imagination. She knew he was hurting and fed off that by telling him a tissue of lies. Women like her were well paid for offering such insights as, “Oh yes! I see a husband in your future, a man with a gentle spirit. A self-made man who takes care of himself.”

  Except Suzanne wasn’t like that. Even as Marcus tried to tell himself not to read too much into her words, his heart had already accepted what she told him.

  She loved you, Mr. Kivale.

  The blinker was loud in the quiet of the car and as Marcus turned right onto Essex Street, the storm that had been hanging overhead all day finally broke. The rain came down in sheets, obscuring his vision so that the road in front of him was nothing but a gray blur. He couldn’t make out the houses on either side of the street; he could barely make out the street itself. Marcus hunched over the wheel, peering out the window at an alien landscape.

  The street was empty. No red taillights in front of him, no pedestrians scurrying home in the downpour. The streetlights illuminated orbs of pavement darkened by rain, puddles boiling with water pouring from the sky.

  Marcus wanted to be home. He knew he had to meet the others, there was still much to be done, so much to talk about, but now, right now, he wanted to be in his own apartment, sitting on his own couch. He wanted to think about what Suzanne had told him. He wanted to make a drink and picture Bo. He wanted to remember her, them, the best that they were. He didn’t want to think about Kate or Alex or Vinny or Gina. He didn’t want to think about it, talk about it, or God help him, do anything about it. It is the wrong word, that voice scolded again, you don’t want to do anything about him. Lucien.

  What would happen if he did go home? What if he took himself out of the whole thing, subtracted himself from the equation? Nothing. Nothing would happen. He could grieve for Bo, let time heal the raw wounds. He could go back to work, keep his mind busy. After a few weeks, he’d be able to put Lucien out of his mind. He’d been able to forget about Lucien once before, hadn’t he? He’d be able to do it again.

  And now that he was on that topic, why should he do anything about Lucien anyway? What could he do? Vinny was wrong – they didn’t have any kind of power, they didn’t have any strength. It was too late to save Bo.

  Lightning flashed and Marcus looked into the rear view mirror, wanting to see if there was another car on the road behind him. He froze, his eyes locked to the glass. For a second he thought he saw—

  Zig zag of white light, followed by a tremendous crack, and this time, Marcus knew he was right.

  He wasn’t alone in the car.

  Teddy August was in the backseat. Marcus couldn’t see the boy’s face in the dark, but he didn’t need to. He knew Teddy well enough to recognize the New England Patriots baseball hat, the one Marcus had bought at the first game they went to.

  “Teddy? What are you doing, buddy?”

  “It’s your fault.” Teddy’s voice wasn’t like his voice at all. It was thick and guttural, like he was talking around a mouthful of mud. “It’s all your fault.”

  “What are you--”

  “It’s your fault,” Teddy repeated. Marcus tore his gaze away from the rearview mirror and looked out the windshield. Kate’s house couldn’t be more than two blocks up, but first he’d have to take Teddy home. Elaine would be worried, panicked because her son wasn’t there. I don’t need this now, he thought, truly I don’t.

  Much as he loved Teddy, he was in no mood to talk about football or Frankie Caveleska or Ted’s best friend, James. And even if he was in the mood, he didn’t have time. The others were probably already waiting for him; he’d been gone four hours.

  And when I get there, he thought, I’m going to tell them I’m out of it. I can’t do anything about Kate’s visions or Bo’s death or Lucien’s evil. I’m going to tell them I can’t do anything at all—

  “You don’t have to take me home,” Teddy said behind him, his voice so odd, so…cold.

  “Sorry, buddy, but I do. I don’t have a lot of time. My friends have been waiting for me.” Four hours, he thought again. And those four hours were likely to stretch out a little further, because when he took Teddy home, Elaine would want to talk. Elaine always wanted to talk. Bo had kidded
him from the beginning. “She has a crush on you, big boy.”

  “It’s your fault, Marcus. You know that, right?”

  “Listen Teddy, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I don’t have time to get into it right now. I’ll take you home, but I can’t walk you all the way up. Tell your mother I’ll come by tomorrow and you and I can talk then.”

  Teddy laughed and the sound made Marcus’s flesh crawl. It wasn’t a laugh, it was a cackle, harsh and jagged like the child had been gargling with gravel. Lightning pierced the sky, tore the darkness and Marcus lifted his eyes from the road to the mirror. He choked back a scream.

  The boy’s face was half gone. Most of the skin had been ripped from his skill and as Marcus stared in sick horror, he realized that ripped was the wrong word. The skin on Teddy’s face looked like it had been chewed away. The Patriots hat was stained black. Teddy’s tee shirt looked purple in the dark, but Marcus knew the shirt wasn’t purple, it was blue, it was Teddy’s favorite tee shirt with the monkey on the front only the shirt wasn’t blue anymore and the monkey wasn’t visible because the blood—

  --the blood

  His stomach flipped and he gagged. His foot slammed on the brake and the car screeched to a halt. He jerked the gearshift into park and the thing behind him laughed.

  “What are you stopping for, Marc? You can’t get out.”

  Marcus fumbled with the doorknob. His hand was thick with sweat and the knob wouldn’t turn, slipping in his hands. Come on, he thought, come on, come on…

  The door wouldn’t open.

  “You wouldn’t let him out. Why should I let you out?” Teddy’s breath was cold, a freezing touch on the back of Marcus’s neck. “If you had let him out, none of this would have happened. I wouldn’t be dead.”

  Marcus tried to find his voice. Couldn’t.

  “You should have listened.” Something slid across Marcus’s cheek and he jerked his head away from the cold, cold touch.