“What is it showing you?” she asked. “Money?”
“No,” he said, clattering down the steps and standing beside her while Seth shuffled laboriously after them. “No, I saw my brother, Danny. He … he died.”
Pan nodded knowingly, looking out into the Engine. From down here Marlow got a closer look, seeing that it was even more intricate than he’d imagined. It stretched to the left and right for as far as he could see, a shoreline of needles and prongs, each one perfectly still. Huge cables stretched into the Engine, and unlike the rest of it, these looked brand-new.
“Don’t,” Pan said. “The Engine tries to control your choices, tries to make you wish for something impossible. If you deal to bring back the dead…”
He thought he saw her shudder and she ran a hand over her stomach as if to settle it.
“I thought the machine could grant any wish,” Marlow said, his voice feeble, like the vast silence out there was pushing it back.
“Oh, it can,” Pan said. “You can wish your brother back and he’ll be back. But it won’t be him. He’ll look the part, maybe even speak the part, but he’ll be rotten inside. It’s a ghost of a memory wrapped in someone else’s dead flesh. We call them wormbags, and they’re nasty. Not to mention when you break somebody out of death like that, sooner or later all hell comes after you to get them back.”
“And it will cost you everything,” Seth shouted down. “Because that’s one contract we cannot break. The Engine knows it, too, the damned thing.”
Marlow shuddered, but the image of Danny was still etched in his head, as real as anything else in his life.
“Remember, the Engine isn’t your friend,” Pan said. “It lies, it deceives, that’s its purpose. That’s what it’s been doing for centuries, tricking people into making a deal, signing a contract.”
“In return for their soul,” Marlow said. “It can’t be real, though. How the hell does it take your soul?”
Pan shrugged.
“We don’t know,” she said. “Nobody does. Not even Gramps there.”
“Yes,” said Seth as he reached the ledge. “There are things even I do not know.” He stopped, panting for breath. “But Pan is right, you must be very careful what you deal for.”
“Listen,” said Marlow. “I don’t think I should do this, I don’t think—”
“It will be fine,” said Pan. “Everyone bricks it the first time. You just need to focus, keep your mind clear.”
“Yes, know exactly what it is that you want. It is the man who wants everything, and he who does not know what he wants, who lands himself in trouble.”
Marlow shook his head, about to give his excuses and leave, but there were suddenly voices from the top of the stairs. A face appeared through the door, the British guy Hanson, still wearing his sunglasses. Next to him were the two guys from the elevator, Hope and Bullwinkle.
“Looks like Herc’s Jerks have beaten us to it,” said Hanson, galloping down the stairs. “Past your bedtime isn’t it, Amelia?”
“Screw you,” Pan said. He just laughed.
“One day maybe I’ll let you,” he said, turning to Marlow. In the harsh light of the cavern he looked older than he had before, lines etched into his face. But without seeing his eyes it was impossible to know for sure. “Gonna throw the new dog in the pool? See if it drowns?”
“Call someone a dog too many times,” Marlow said, speaking slowly so he wouldn’t trip over his tongue, “and they might just start to bite.”
Hanson considered this for a moment, then leaned forward. The lenses of his shades were mirrored and Marlow could see his own face there, greasy and drawn, about as intimidating as a wet blanket. For a second he thought he could almost see Hanson’s eyes, too. But he must have been mistaken because they looked like two empty pits in his head.
“Then they get put to sleep,” he said softly.
“What do you want, Hanson?” Pan asked with obvious disgust. “If you’re not here to make a contract, then just piss off.”
“No,” he replied. “I think I’ll stay. It could be fun.”
“Nothing better than watching a new fish cock up his first contract,” said Bullwinkle.
“That look in their eyes when they realize they’ve made an unbreakable deal,” said Hope.
Marlow felt sick, felt the asthma start to fill his lungs with gunk the way it always did when he was angry. He coughed, trying not to make it too obvious.
“Just ignore them,” Pan said, walking to the edge of the pool. “They’re not worth it.”
Marlow glared at Hanson for a fraction of a second before turning away. He walked swiftly over to Pan, speaking low. “But maybe they’re right. I mean, I have no idea what I’m doing.”
He looked at the pool of water, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. It was filled with a liquid that didn’t look real. It was as black as tar, and yet ripples danced lightly across its surface—like there was something in there. Even though there were lights hanging right above it, there was no sign of their glow in the pool, and when Marlow leaned over he saw no reflection there. Small silver flecks floated in it, like stars. The movement of the liquid was mesmerizing, sickeningly so, reminding him of liquid mercury. Seth was busying himself with a control panel on the other side of the pool, something that looked like it belonged inside NASA.
“Seriously, Pan,” Marlow whispered, “can’t we do this another time? Tomorrow?”
His voice must have carried because somebody behind him made a clucking-chicken sound. He blew a wheezing breath out of his mouth, wanting to reach for his inhaler but refusing to look weak. He wasn’t even sure if there was anything left in it. Pan looked at him, raising an eyebrow.
“You gonna let these guys get to you?” she asked. “It’s your choice, Marlow. I’m not going to force you. Just remember that most people would give anything to be here right now, to have this chance.”
“What are you going to wish for?” Seth interrupted. “To be able to breathe without impediment? I would recommend it, we know how to deal with that contract. We had a young woman with terrible asthma many years ago.”
Had.
“And something else, perhaps? It seems a bit of a waste to limit yourself to that. Pan, any suggestions?”
“How about making him smell less disgusting,” said Hope.
“Give him strength and speed,” said Pan. “Start with the basics, have some fun.”
“Good, good,” said Seth. Marlow felt like he was on a train that was out of control, moving way too fast. He tried to force on the brakes again.
“Look, I’m really grateful for this but I’m not feeling so good, please can we just do this tomorrow?”
“Repeat what you are going to wish for,” Seth said, like Marlow’s voice wasn’t working.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he said, clawing in a breath. It did little to stem the panic, and this time he did reach for his inhaler, firing off a shot that was full of nothing. He shook it and tried again, breathing hard, swearing.
“Just say it,” said Pan. “So it’s clear.”
“Breathing,” Marlow said. “I want to be able to breathe normally.”
He thought he heard his words echoing across the cavern but then understood he was hearing something else, the soft, knitting-needle whir of some part of the machine. There were other noises inside his head, too soft to identify, fleshy and wet. They made his skin crawl. There was an explosion of light in the core of his brain, like a firework going off.
“I want to be as strong as ten men,” said Pan. “I want to run faster than sound.”
“Seriously, I can’t,” Marlow said. The clicks from the Engine were growing louder, the sound of something huge coming slowly to life
“Say it,” she said.
“I want to be able to breathe normally. I want to be as strong as ten men. I want to run faster than sound.”
“Again,” she said. “Louder.”
He repeated the words, then aga
in, then again, until Pan turned to Seth and shrugged. The old man beamed at Marlow.
“You’re ready,” he said. “You can enter the pool.”
“I can what?” said Marlow, shaking his head. “No way, man, I’m not going in there.”
The liquid rippled and danced, its mottled surface impenetrable, the color of disease. He had no idea how deep the pool was, what else might be in there. It had been so long since he’d last been swimming that he wasn’t even sure if he could remember how to stay afloat.
“No way,” he said again. “I can’t do this, Pan. I won’t. I need time to … I just need time, okay?”
“Just what I thought,” said Hanson. “They all try to be hard, they all fall to pieces. Pathetic.”
“This has got nothing to do with you,” said Marlow, jabbing a finger at the English guy. “You don’t know me.”
“I know everything about you.” He sneered. “I’ve seen your kind before, full of bravado, bollocks the size of beach balls, right up until the point it hits the fan. Then you go crying back to Mummy with your tail between your legs.”
It was just like being back at school, Caputo telling him he was out of control, waiting to self-destruct. Screw them. They had no right to tell him what to do.
“Why don’t you—”
He only managed to get three words out before Hanson flicked a finger and Hope broke into a run. She was fast, grabbing one of Marlow’s arms with impossible strength. Marlow reached for her with his free hand but it wouldn’t move, as if it was bound with invisible ropes—just like back in the elevator. Bullwinkle was stepping forward, and every time his fingers twitched the bones in Marlow’s arm seemed to creak. The pain burned through him and he gritted his teeth against it.
“Hanson!” yelled Pan. “Don’t!”
He ignored her, walking up to Marlow and clamping a gloved hand around his jaw. Marlow kicked out but Hanson just smacked his leg away with an iron blow. He tried to breathe but his lungs had all but given up, refusing to let the air in. His whole body was a fury of panic, sparks of light bristling across his vision.
“Hanson!” Pan said. “Seth, for god’s sake stop them.”
“You’re all the same, Herc’s dogs,” Hanson said. “I’ve seen it so many times.”
He pushed forward, the three of them just about lifting Marlow off the floor. He tried to look over his shoulder, knowing how close they were to the pool, but Hanson held him tight.
“How many like you have we seen come and go?” Hanson whispered, pulling Marlow close. Once again he could see his reflection in those glasses, the face of a hanged man gasping his last breath. “It will eat you alive, spit you out. But so what. Let it have you.”
“No!” Marlow said. But it was too late. Hope and Bullwinkle let him go and Hanson’s fist connected with his stomach, a punch that seemed to turn him inside out. He staggered back, spluttering, putting his foot down on thin air.
Then he was falling, only the dancing pool of dead water there to catch him.
DROWNING
It was like falling into death.
The pool stank of open graves, of maggot-infested flesh, worming down his gullet, choking him, pulling him in. He burst out again, grappling for something solid, his legs thrashing into nothing. He found the lip of the pool, clutched at it.
“Not today,” said Hanson, grinding a foot down onto his knuckles. He let go, barely able to keep his head above water.
“Pan, help,” he said, coughing, wheezing, kicking.
“It’s too late,” Pan said. “Whatever you do, don’t forget what to deal for.”
Marlow tried to reach for her but the pool held him like it had fingers. He felt something glide past his foot, an icy grip around his ankle, and he screamed. The darkness took advantage, sliding into his mouth. Something latched onto his arm, like there was an army of corpses beneath the surface, and he fought against it, floundering.
“Do not struggle,” said Seth. “It cannot hurt you.”
“Oh, it hurts you,” Hanson said, one foot on the edge. “It’s a nightmare in there. Did they tell you that some people never even make it out of the pool?”
What?
“You’re such an asshole, Hanson!” Pan yelled. “Marlow, ignore everything the Engine shows you, they’re lies, it will try to trick you.”
Whatever was holding him began to pull, tugging hard on his skin as he thrashed on the surface of the pool. He was hyperventilating, his lungs exploding as he tried to take a breath. But nothing was happening. He felt his body begin to slide into unconsciousness, his eyes rolling back in their sockets. The fluid was leaking into them, blades of black light carving up his vision. Through them he saw Hanson grinning. This couldn’t be the last sight he would ever see, it couldn’t be.
“Shut it out,” Pan said. “Keep your wishes in your head, don’t forget, never forget.”
“And whatever you do,” Hanson said, leaning toward him, his words muted by the liquid that burrowed into his ears, “don’t think about Pan with no clothes on.”
The invisible fingers reeled him under, the whole world turning black. He struggled, feeling himself dragged deeper and deeper, faster and faster, the fluid boiling past his head, his stomach in knots. He felt like he was being sucked into a vortex, something that would pull him to the very center of the Earth.
Or even deeper than that, something that will drag you to the very depths of hell.
He opened his mouth and water flooded into his lungs, cold and choking but somehow letting him breathe. A face appeared in the darkness, Danny, a smile blazing out beneath his combat helmet. It was the Danny he knew from the photograph, exactly the same—sunglasses, the armored car, the tents in the background. He’d died eight days after the photograph was taken.
But I don’t have to, he said. Marlow, please, save me. Let me come home.
Couldn’t he do it? Couldn’t he do this one good thing? Bring him back?
It’s so easy, just a wish, just think it. I want to see Mom again, Marly. Take me to her.
Marlow nodded, then shook his head. There was something wrong with his brother’s smile, it was too wide, his teeth like broken glass.
“You’re not him,” Marlow said. “You’re not Danny.”
His brother’s smile twisted into an expression of horror, his mouth opening too wide. His face began to peel away like old wallpaper, maggots and mealworms squirming out from beneath his flapping skin. Then he was gone, and Charlie was there—or at least a flyblown mass of jellied meat that might once have been him.
You left me to die, he said, one of his lips peeling loose, rolling wetly down the front of his shirt. You left me to fall in the river and drown. Wish me okay, Marlow. That’s what friends do for each other. All it takes is a wish.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and he almost gave in, almost wished for him to be safe back on Staten Island. Then Pan’s words blazed back into his mind: Ignore everything it shows you, they’re lies, it will try to trick you. He reached into his memory, everything so far away, nothing real. But there were words there.
“I want to be able to breathe normally. I want to be as strong as ten men. I want to run faster than sound.”
It was stupid, ludicrous, like a kid before Christmas. But he kept saying them, over and over, a mantra that held the Engine at bay. There was another thought in his head, planted there by Hanson—Pan, looking at him and smiling, reaching out and touching his face. She wasn’t wearing a scrap of clothing and the sight of her was almost enough for him to forget where he was.
“No,” he said, repeating his wishes again, and again, forcing the words from his lips.
Somewhere—it seemed like miles away, but how could it be, the pool was only small—the darkness seemed to be parting, great black clouds billowing to the side. A crack of thunder pulsed through the water, felt rather than heard, like the skull-crushing blast of a depth charge. There was something there, beyond the shadows. It was a figure, one that was surely far to
o big to fit here, one that might have been as vast as a mountain. Marlow turned away. He didn’t want to look, but the invisible hands gripped his head, forcing him to see. There was something wrong with the figure, like it was radiating darkness, waves of invisible black light that broke against Marlow’s skull. It was a monstrous bag of bones and skin, peering down at him with a clutch of eyes as watery as egg whites. It seemed to radiate cruelty.
This is what you desire?
There were no words in his head but he understood what was being asked of him. He didn’t want this anymore, didn’t want anything to do with this thing, but he knew it was too late. Some people never even make it out of the pool. Those who changed their minds? Those who didn’t wish for anything? He didn’t know. He didn’t want to know. He just wanted out, away from this nightmare and the corpse hands that held him.
“I want to be able to breathe normally,” he was almost screeching. “I want to be as strong as ten men. I want to run faster than sound.”
And Pan, I want her to love me. His brain added without his permission.
It is done, said the wordless voice in his head. It is yours, and the price is your soul.
And with that thought came an unbearable sadness, a huge, gaping, lonely absence that made him feel as if everybody he had ever loved had died. He howled in despair, clutching at his stomach, trying to hold himself in. He realized that his arms were free and he began to paddle upward, desperately pushing himself toward the surface. His lungs were two shriveled sacks inside his chest, empty of everything but pain. He kicked and struggled his way through the liquid, suddenly bursting through the top of the pool into a riot of color and noise.
Hands reached for him, dragging him out, and he clung on to them with everything he had. There was a cry of pain, then he was dropped onto the stone floor.
“Let go, Marlow, let go, easy now.”
Marlow released his grip, the world swimming into focus. Seth was there, his face contorted with pain. Pan was next to him, one hand on the old man. Marlow coughed, spitting the last dregs of black water from his mouth. They landed on the floor, wriggling like worms, squirming their way back toward the pool as if they were living things. The sight of them—hundreds of droplets swarming over each other—made Marlow gag. He retched until his stomach was empty. He tried to push himself up but the whole world was swimming.
Hellraisers Page 18