Plantation of Chrome

by R. J. Coulson

  “You can't stay here,” repeated the man. “Hurry up.”

  De Gracy picked up his clothes, one item at a time, and got dressed.

  The smoke from De Gracy's cigarette rose high into the cold night sky. He was looking at the moon and how perfect it looked. There was a woman next to him, leaning up against the bannister of the pier. She was wearing a shawl around her head; it moved in the wind, showing parts of her nose, mouth, and chin, but never her entire face.

  “I know what goes on in there,” she said.

  De Gracy hadn't looked at her as she had said it, and he didn't look now, but he had heard her. The waves beat on against the wooden pillars beneath them.

  “Yeah...” said De Gracy with a heavy breath.

  “Don't worry,” the woman added. “I don't mind. I had a brother and he used to come here. He would wait out here just like you, right here, and I would come for him. I'm sorry. I was just thinking about him now, that's all.”

  De Gracy looked at the woman. The shawl played against her face, its material reflecting the moon. She was staring out towards the sea, leaning against the bannister with her entire chest, her legs slightly apart.

  “Where's he now?” asked De Gracy, surprised by hearing his own question.

  “He's not with us anymore,” said the woman. “The last time I saw him, he wasn't here where we're standing now, but down there.” She signaled down towards the beach. De Gracy looked down and remembered himself coming up that particular beach, fully clothed and wet, with Vodeni and his goons waiting for him.

  “I'm sorry,” he said.

  “It happened a long time ago,” she said. “He was 24. He was older than me, but I always acted like the eldest among us.”

  “Did... Did your father hate him... for being what he was?”

  “No,” said the woman. “Our father loved him very much. He knew that... My brother knew that he liked men from a very young age, and none of us have ever known it to be any different. When did you find out?”

  “I don't remember,” said De Gracy. “But then again, I don't remember learning how to walk... or talk. I don't remember anything like that.”

  “But those are all things you learn,” said the woman. “This is about what you are, isn't it?”

  Something gripped De Gracy's throat and didn't let go. A warm feeling went down the top of his spine. He looked at the woman, but he couldn't see her face, and he feared for a moment that she wasn't truly there at all, that he was talking to himself. “I don't see myself as being anything but lost,” he said.

  “There's no reason to feel like that. I think people feel lost because they feel alone, and, in the end, I don't think anyone is truly alone.”

  De Gracy laughed. “Lady, I don't think you know what it means to be truly alone... or alone at all, for that matter. You come here and tell me about your brother, your gay brother, who committed suicide on this very beach, and then you go on to talk about how no one is alone, and how no one should be lost because of it.”

  “My brother wasn't alone,” said the woman.

  “Yeah? Then why'd he off himself?”

  “My brother killed himself because he lost his partner in the great war.”

  De Gracy tried to speak, but his lips could only form inaudible gasps, like the ascending bubbles through the surface of a murky swamp. He tried to look at the woman again, but he could only see very little of her because of the moving shawl; the corner of her eye, the tip of her nose, a strand of hair, moving to the same breeze that he had felt so many times before.

  “He was broken after that,” said the woman. “Broken, but not alone. He would come out here sometimes after it happened. He would stand out here, listening to the waves, and I would come and get him, and he would tell me how he felt, and I would take him home. Grab him by his arm and take him home.”

  De Gracy saw the woman's brother in a glimpse in his head, standing by this same railing, holding on to a past he could have changed. He felt the cold water rush over him again, but he felt the woman standing there, too, and he imagined her holding out her hand. She whispered him away from his loneliness and he wanted to follow her every breath, but then he saw her brother and he saw Jacques, too, standing on the other side of the sea, his face beaming from far away.

  “Why didn't he go after him?” asked De Gracy, his voice fast and insisting. “Why didn't he go to Europe after him?!”

  “He wanted to,” said the woman, “but my brother couldn't always do what he wanted to. My brother was blind. Born blind.”

  “Maybe that's why he went into the water,” mumbled De Gracy. “Maybe he wanted to cross the ocean and get him.” De Gracy still couldn't see her face, but it was as if he heard her smile.

  “So, you see,” continued the woman. “No matter who you are, or what the world has against you,” she said, turning her head towards De Gracy, “you'll never be truly alone.”

  She smiled and De Gracy looked at her face and he kept looking and he couldn't believe what he was seeing. The woman took off her shawl and the constrains of her hair disappeared and every strand of it was freed to the wind. She put out her hand towards him.

  “I'm Julia,” she said. “Julia Sedgewick.”

  De Gracy froze.

  He looked down at the woman's lingering hand. His fists clenched and he looked up to see her face again – her name, even her name - and he was reminded once more; reminded of the night by the carnival, reminded of his father, his stepmother, the things they'd said, the things they'd all said.

  De Gracy grabbed the woman and she staggered backwards, trying to wrestle free. He grabbed her again and turned her back towards him, keeping her arms immobile and her mouth muffled. The sea splashed into the wooden pillars beneath them.

  The dark, tortured shadow was moving through the streets. Everything was blackened and darkened, and the beams from the streetlights flooded through him, leaving him a black stain in the night; invisible, but blind.

  “Julia!”

  The wind picked up his directionless footsteps, sweeping them off the cold pavement and up into the sky and above the buildings and into the confines of another world.

  “Julia! Are you here? Julia!”

  Not a single other soul surrounded him, and as the lights went on and off around him, the flickering beacon from outside him slowly dying, he was betrayed by the one stream of direction that he had followed his entire life.

  “Julia, please!”

  He had been cut loose, but tied, and even though he was still walking, breathing and calling, the red spray of life still bustling through his tired veins, there was still some ethereal impossibility to his existence.

  He had always felt it, but now it enveloped and consumed him.

  “Julia!”

  Julia feared she had lost her sight when she opened her eyes and saw nothing but darkness. Her hands were tied to the back of the chair she was sitting on. She looked around, and as her eyes acclimated to the dark, she started seeing shadows and contours, and a room was slowly created around her. There was a chair next to her, some shelves along the walls with objects she couldn't see what were, and in the far corner, sitting down, was a man. She looked at him and wondered if he could see her.

  “I can hear you moving,” he said.

  Julia's voice felt heavy in her throat. Her one eye was throbbing with pain and she tasted blood on her lips.

  “Why are you doing this?” she whispered.

  “You did this,” said the voice. “You did this to me!”

  Julia heard something ricochet through the room, hitting the shelves behind her, and the sound of pots and pans avalanched down behind her.

  “I'm not afraid of you,” she whispered through her tears.

  “And why not? Because you think Stone will bring you back?”

  Julia's mind flinched at the mention of Stone. “Stone?” she said. “You know Stone... Why? Why are you doing this?!”

  “Because Stone has done bad things to many peo
ple here, and we need him to stand up for himself and face his issues.”

  Julia heard the man stand up and walk around the room. He was walking right in front of her.

  “You still believe,” he said. “You still believe that no one's alone? That no one's truly alone? How alone do you feel right now?”

  “I'm not alone,” said Julia. “How can I be alone when you're in the room with me.”

  “Alone isn't about being with people,” said the man. “I've been surrounded by people my entire life and the only thing I've felt was rejection and ridicule. You told me that your brother wasn't alone, well it isn't about that. It isn't about being alone... it's about not being with the one you love. Your brother was alone... despite you, despite your family. He was alone, and that's why he killed himself.”

  Julia tried not to listen. She thought back at everything that Stone had ever told her about the people he knew, and then it dawned on her. “I know who you are,” she said. “You're Frank. Frank De Gracy.”

  The man rushed through the room, grabbed Julia by the throat, and leaned her backwards, the chair beneath her now only barely resting on its rear two legs. De Gracy breathed into her face through his nostrils.

  “Maybe he told you about me, but Stone doesn't have anything to do with my life anymore. Maybe he told you about all of us and what we did, but this isn't about him or that.”

  De Gracy let go of her throat and stepped back. Julia tried commanding herself to calm down. She was breathing heavily. “Then why do you want him here?” she asked. “Why do you want him dead?”

  “Because he betrayed me! He betrayed our friendship and I lost someone because of it!”

  Julia heard De Gracy collapse in the dark.

  “Who did you lose? Frank? Who did you lose?”

  Julia suddenly felt pity for the creature she was sharing a room with. She heard him sobbing and he wasn't answering. She remembered her brother and imagined the darkness he had lived through since he was born. Then she realized the truth behind all of it.

  “You're in love with him, aren't you?” she asked. “You're in love with Stone.”

  She heard the man in the dark stop crying, but he still wasn't speaking.

  “You lost someone,” said Julia. “You lost someone just like my brother did.”

  “Every time I thought about him...” De Gracy's voice was slow and monotonous. “When I was a boy, a young man... my father cut me. I have these cuts, all the way up my leg, but my father stopped cutting me a long time ago. Stone, he... he saved me from my father, but not from the cuts.”

  “Listen to yourself, Frank. You just said that Stone saved you, that he helped--”

  “Stone did not help me! He lied to me, manipulated me! Promised that we'd make something out of ourselves, and look at us now. We've got nothing, we are nothing. I gave him everything and he gave nothing back. I saved his soul and got nothing back.”

  “How did you save his soul?”

  “And he just kept taking, and--”

  “How did you save him, Frank?”

  The darkness went silent for a while. Julia looked into it, desperate to see something.

  “If he really loves you, he'll tell you himself,” said De Gracy.

  “Who was he?” asked Julia. “Who did you lose?”

  “Je nes sais pas,” said De Gracy.

  “What?”

  “Je nes sais pas qui il était.”

  “I... I'm sorry, but I don't understand.”

  “I know you don't.”

  CHAPTER 37

  Vodeni was looking down at the hatch, taking his foot on and off the lock that now protected nothing more than a hole in the ground. He felt anxious, but with a sense of cold relief rushing through his body.

  “And where are the rest of you?” he asked the two men that sauntered behind him.

  “We've positioned ourselves at the corners of the Pit,” said one, “overlooking the front, back, and the entire alley. He shouldn't be able to get near without one of us spotting him.”

  “And you'll stay in here?”

  “We'll stay in here.”

  “Good. This is our final chance to get things back on rails.”

  Vodeni started walking towards the east wing of the Pit.

  “But what if he doesn't come?” asked one of the guards.

  Vodeni turned around and looked at him. He had pondered the same thing in his mind since De Gracy had brought the woman to the Pit the day before, but always reached a scenario in his head that seemed inevitable; that Noah Stone would come to the Pit. “He'll come. I'm sure of it.”

  Vodeni continued on towards the east wing when the main entrance suddenly opened. A guard came inside.

  “It's the boxers, boss,” he said. “They say it's time for their training now.”

  “What? No, no, that can't be right. Just send them home.”

  “Boss, they're pretty insisting.”

  Vodeni sighed, turned around and walked to the entrance of the Pit. He looked out the door and saw around fifteen men. The boxer in front was big and wide with a scar across his right eye.

  “Mr. Vodeni,” said the boxer in front. “We've got a workout scheduled.” The boxer was so tall that Vodeni could barely see the other boxers behind him.

  “I'm sorry,” he said, “but the Pit's closed tonight.”

  “The Pit can't be closed,” said the boxer. “We are the Pit. It's always open for us. Go on inside, boys.”

  The swarm of boxers started rushing in on both sides of Vodeni.

  “What's your name, boy?” asked Vodeni.

  “Clay,” said the boxer. “Clay Holden. It's my first day back since my last boxing match a while back.”

  “I don't care why you're back. You've just made yourself eligible for a world of pain. The Pit is closed today, and I'll make sure it stays that way.”

  Vodeni walked back inside the main hall where the boxers had already taken their places in and around the ring. One of them, still wearing his cap and suspenders, his back turned towards Vodeni, was beating a punching bag in the middle of the ring. Others were already walking towards the locker room.

  “I want all of you out of here... now!” commanded Vodeni. He took out a gun and fired into the air. The boxers turned their heads, grabbed their gear and started migrating outside. Holden was still by the entrance, seeing each and every one of them out.

  “I am a very serious man,” said Vodeni. “And what I say should always be taken seriously. Remember that next time.”

  De Gracy closed the door behind him and Julia's voice died out. The hallway before him was empty, the door to the main hall closed. He took a right into the office. He could see one of the patrols go past the window, wading casually down the alley. He walked up to the window and looked out on the darkness. There was a row of five lit candles next to him.

  “They're a bit too close to the curtains, aren't they?” said a voice.

  De Gracy turned his head, looking for whoever was speaking to him, but there was no one there.

  “The candles, I mean,” said the voice.

  De Gracy turned again, but this time he saw Eckleburg sitting at his desk just like he had seen it countless times before.

  “Eckleburg?” he said.

  “Yes? You surprised I'm here? Well, I'm not. Not really, so don't worry.”

  “You died,” said De Gracy.

  “I did, yes. Do you remember that? Do you remember the day I died?”

  De Gracy nodded.

  “How about them? Do you remember when they died?” asked Eckleburg, fanning out his hand across the office. De Gracy turned around and gasped when he saw Grundy on the floor, leaning his back against the bookshelves. Five little children were sitting around him; They looked up at him and smiled, each and every one, gazing up at him like they wanted to go for a walk or show him one of their toys.

  De Gracy shook his head in disbelief and started walking backwards, away from the kids, away from Grundy.

 
“We all died, Frankie,” said another voice, and when De Gracy looked towards the door, he saw Messenger walk into the office. “You think you'll die, too, hm? Think Stone will die?”

  “I don't understand,” said De Gracy, still shaking his head, rubbing his hands up and down his pants to dry off the sweat. “I don't understand.” He looked back at Eckleburg, who was now holding a gun against his temple, gazing out through his glasses with hollowed eyes.

  “No, no, no, no, Thomas, no! That's how it started! That's how it--”

  A gunshot howled in the middle of the office, and Eckleburg's head fell onto the table with a soft thud.

  “That's not how it started,” said the children in unison. De Gracy turned to them and saw them smile, and Grundy was smiling, too; there was a noose around his neck, slowly tightening. “We're how it started,” said the children, and, one by one, it was as if the lights inside of their heads went out. Grundy looked at them and smiled, the noose around his neck tightening still. He started to wheeze, but smiled.

  “It didn't just start there,” said Messenger. “It started a lot of places. Think about it, Frankie. A million starts... a million beginnings, but only one ending to each of us. You can at least work to make yours count.”

  Something seemed to be moving in the shadows behind Messenger, but as De Gracy moved forward to save him, Messenger was drawn into the darkness, screaming.

  De Gracy was breathing in little gasps through his slit mouth. He looked down at Grundy who was still surrounded by the dead children.

  “I knew... you... died... a long time ago... Mr. De Gracy,” said Grundy as the noose kept tightening. “I told you. I knew we... both did. I knew... that...” Grundy's eyes closed and his head bowed down.

  De Gracy swallowed and looked around the office. He kept turning and turning, seeing all of them one at a time, seeing all of them at once, having all of them call out for him.