by Lewis Wolfe
“I’m not killing anyone! You accuse me of shit like that, you better be able to back it up!”
Agent Bradford rose just a little quicker than Caleb appreciated and he stepped closer to his client.
The two men locked eyes in what became an important silence. In that moment they sized each other up and came to estimations of how any physical conflict between them might end.
Caleb wished then that he wasn’t so goddamn fat and that his man boobs would stop scraping against his shirt.
The special agent had almost half a head on him and he was in decent shape, but his eyes lacked the instinct to do what was necessary. Caleb knew that if he really had to, he could take the special agent down.
The special agent that had his right hand in his pocket. Always his hand in that pocket. What the hell did he have in that pocket?
Agent Bradford pointed his left finger at Jane. “You don’t forget your place. And keep your watchdog on a shorter leash!”
The special agent brushed past Caleb and walked toward the door. Before he left he said, “And don’t fucking forget what you are. And what I have.”
Jane said nothing as she watched the special agent leave. When he had gone she turned her attention toward Dr. Stewart and gave him a careful smile.
“That was scary, huh?”
The doctor said, “I was halfway convinced I’d be stitching you all up in about five minutes.” He looked at Caleb. “You guys better control those tempers.”
Caleb said nothing. He did, however, step back from his client that was no longer in any direct danger.
Jane asked, “Dr. Stewart, I don’t suppose I could persuade you to send Ethan Walker off anyway? I’d— I’d take responsibility.”
The doctor shook his head in what was both a personal and professional defeat. “You know I can’t do that. If it were just me, probably I would. But I have the future of this hospital to think of and Arthur’s money only takes us so far.”
Jane nodded. “I understand, doctor. The government can be a great friend or a terrible enemy.”
Caleb listened to the young woman’s voice and knew that her words were genuine. She held no ill will toward the doctor as she knew all the government’s faces, including the very ugly ones.
Jane asked, “Can I see him, doctor?”
“Ethan Walker, you mean?”
Jane nodded.
“What do you want from him at this point? He’s a…. We…. We’ve turned him into a vegetable at this point. What could you learn from him?”
“He suffers. Greatly. You may not believe that, but I know it is true. I would like to offer him some relief for as long as I can,” she said.
Caleb watched the doctor’s face as it curled itself into a confused expression. He could tell that this experienced man of medicine typically had very little patience for the ignorant and the arrogant. Although Caleb didn’t pretend to understand her, he did know Jane was neither.
“Well, he’s not contagious so I guess it’s okay if you visit him.”
“Thank you, doctor, but make no mistake. Ethan Walker is extremely contagious. Just not in the way that you would traditionally think of.”
The doctor answered, “There is no virus or bacteria that we have found… and you haven’t even medically examined him.”
Jane gave the doctor a careful smile. “He does have a virus, but it doesn’t ravage his body. It functions where you and your considerable knowledge can’t reach.”
The doctor sank his tired head into his hands and shrugged. “I should never have listened to Arthur. I should have sent them all to Bryce when I had the chance.”
Jane turned around and gestured for Caleb to follow her. She paused briefly at the threshold.
“You have great instincts, doctor. You should listen to them next time.”
3
Caleb stood in the doorway of Ethan Walker’s hospital room. Quietly he watched his client as she stood next to the bed.
The room was dark, with the only source of light coming from the faint bulb in the center of the ceiling. The curtains were open, but somehow sunlight dreaded to touch the room and only big, gray clouds dared to linger in front of the windows.
Jane stood next to Ethan Walker’s bed and leaned over him. Caleb couldn’t hear what she was saying, but her hand on the patient’s suggested that she was trying to bring him comfort. Comfort to a vegetable.
Vegetable. That was what Dr. Stewart had said in his office no more than ten minutes ago. The doctor’s eyes had lost their glimmer as he said that word, as if he was ashamed of what was going on inside his hospital walls. They couldn’t care for him, couldn’t heal him, and they couldn’t ship him. So the only thing they knew to do was to make him as easy to handle as possible.
Comfort to a vegetable. Caleb wondered what his client thought she was doing to begin with. He tried his hardest to reserve judgment but when she had spoken to the doctor about what really ailed Ethan Walker, she sounded a little crazy.
Fifteen minutes passed. All of them filled with a solemn Jane Elring leaning over the hospital bed, shifting her glance from the patient to the corner of the room repeatedly. Her hand never abandoned Ethan Walker’s until she left. When she did so it was Jane that had difficulty letting go.
Caleb studied her face as Jane walked toward the doorway. Her dark eyes were sad and she had cried a little. She looked tired and her movements were strained, as if she had spent the last fifteen minutes running invisible laps around the hospital room.
Caleb stepped aside as Jane opened the door.
“Are you okay, Jane? You look exhausted,” he said.
His client threw him a quick smile. “Just fine. Let’s go. There are some things we need to get to.”
She walked past him, and after closing the door Caleb quickly followed her. Together they walked through the cramped hallways, ignoring the hideous green walls the best they could. Soon the exit came into sight.
Caleb was happy to be outside where the fresh air blew away the sour mix of antiseptics and disease that had assaulted him. The wind was rough, even for the time of the year, and it helped clear his mind as much as his nose.
“Where to then, Jane?”
“Slightly out of town, actually. Beyond the church.”
“The Toaves mansion?”
“In that direction, but we’ll take a left turn before the sandy road instead of going to the mansion.”
Caleb didn’t know what she wanted out there. He had memorized the map that came with Agent Bradford’s documents and knew there were only endless stretches of mostly unused fields in that area.
It wasn’t his place to question his client, however. It was his job to accompany her, protect her when necessary, and to keep his mouth shut and his thoughts to himself.
The town hospital stood at the eastern edge of town, and together they made their way farther west. Soon they passed the bus station where they had first arrived and the scent of Juan’s Mexican Grill teased their noses with its spicy allure. Beyond lay the main road that divided Brettville into east and west and where, to its left, the town center officially started.
Brettville’s center was a curious collection of relative conveniences. A few stores carried the daily necessities but their anonymous nature was easily drowned out by the unique characters that inhabited the town.
Sparky’s Diner stuck out like a sore thumb, with its flashy yellow walls and the slogan ‘Our Food Is A Real Zinger’ printed in bright blue on the front window. The ‘Z’ in ‘Zinger’ was, of course, a lightning bolt.
Ray’s Liquors was far more subtle in its appearance. Its boring brown exterior was nuanced only by the dark green signpost near the entrance announcing the alcohol waiting inside. On a small chalkboard was written, ‘Behave because Ray has a gun.’
Arts & Crafts & Antiques was a tiny store at the edge of the center. Anything you needed for your art, or your craft, you could get there. If Isabelle, the elderly woman running the store, didn�
��t have it, she could order it and it might or might not arrive in a month or so. The store’s real claim to fame was a stamp collection that nobody was ever allowed to see. Some skeptics said the collection probably didn’t even exist.
Caleb liked Brettville. It reminded him of an innocence that he had felt as a child, but that had vanished from his life throughout the years toward adulthood. People here understood how to live: within their means and without the pretense that you found in bigger cities. The town was small and simple, but pure and honest. When you entered it you felt yourself removed from the rest of the world and all its problems, shielded by the grand circle of large pines that guarded Brettville’s borders.
A sickness had settled upon the small town, however, and Caleb followed his client that seemed, at least, to have a clue about how to cure it. Together they passed Sparky’s Diner, where they had eaten breakfast not too long ago, and it was then that Caleb felt a sudden itch.
The itch started in his feet and quickly moved its way up to his knees where it jumped to his groin. It nestled there briefly before it crawled up to his core and touched the beginning of his chest.
Caleb tried to scratch it but found that he couldn’t reach the itch. As if, somehow, it had dug into his skin and now tormented the muscles underneath.
The itch intensified with every step he took until the sensation became almost unbearable. It worked its way up from his chest to his neck, where it threatened to choke him with its cruel embrace.
Caleb thought it might be allergies. It was the only explanation he could think of, even if he had never had any before. Maybe the pines didn’t agree with him, or there was something else in the air. Anything, whatever. What else could it be?
And then the itch climbed into his very skull and wrapped its ugly little voice all around his brain.
Caleb groaned as he kept walking. The sensation was almost unbearable but he had a job to do. A client to follow. To watch her. To watch Jane Elring. To watch Jane Elring. He kept repeating the same sentence in his head. He would focus on it. It would get him through the torment. It was temporary, Caleb knew.
The itch turned into a violent burn and still Caleb went on. Whatever this was, it would pass. Everything always passed. The good, even the bad. Everything always, eventually, became a bad dream that could only hurt you in the night. Could only get to you in your sleep.
Caleb wasn’t asleep.
“Hey, you glorious bastard!”
Caleb recognized the voice instantly, though it couldn’t possibly be him.
He turned his attention across the road where the sound had come from. He could see Ray’s Liquors’ dull exterior and the green signpost that promised a wealth of booze inside those depressing, dark brown walls.
“What?! We don’t say hi?!”
Caleb looked beyond the signpost and saw John C. Reilly standing in the bar’s doorway. The ginger bastard with his ugly smile waved at him with one hand, holding an M240 machine gun with the other. There was blood in his eyes, almost as red as the horrible buzz cut desecrating his freckled face.
Caleb knew then and there that Reilly was going to shoot them all. He was going to shoot the old woman just about to pass by. He was going to shoot the mother putting her little son in the back of the car. His bullets would pierce the buildings and kill everybody inside.
And he would shoot Jane. He was going to shoot Jane.
With the pain in his head almost killing him Caleb jumped for his client and pushed her against the sidewalk.
RATATATATATA RATATATATATA RATATATATATA
The machine gun’s terrible roar killed all that stood in its way. Bullets soared over Caleb’s head and the scent of blood rose into the air.
It was the screams. It had always been the screams that were so fucking terrible in his nightmares. They were real now and they echoed through the haunted streets of Brettville.
Caleb listened as the gunfire died down. He pushed up his chest, only then relieving the pressure of his body on top of the small Jane.
“You’ll be okay,” he whispered to his paralyzed client.
Caleb got on his feet and just as he did so a mighty blow cracked his skull. He fell back against Sparky’s Diner’s yellow wall and watched as Reilly pulled a knife from his army belt.
“No, you fucker! No! Not again, you motherfucker!”
But the ginger bastard didn’t listen to Caleb. Instead he knelt down next to Jane, grabbed her by her hair, and lifted her head. With a terrible grin he cut the young woman’s throat.
Caleb’s tortured head was dizzy and confused. He could barely breathe and he had no strength to stop Reilly. He had no strength to do anything. He never had any strength anymore to do fucking anything.
Reilly admired his handiwork as Jane’s blood flowed from her open neck and drenched the sidewalk. With a finger he scooped up some of the blood and painted his lips a bright red.
Caleb cried. Helpless tears ran down his hopeless cheeks.
Reilly got up and, with his knife still drawn, walked toward Caleb, who still stood leaning against the ugly yellow wall.
“Kill me! Just fucking kill me, motherfucker!” Caleb roared.
Reilly came closer and held his knife up in the air. His horrible bloodstained grin emphasized the horror of his intentions. The malice with which John C. Reilly moved through this world.
Then Jane’s powerful voice sounded through the streets.
“GET OOOUUUUTTTTTTT!!!”
Her voice reached from the western border all the way to the east of Brettville. It shook the pines and blew John C. Reilly off his feet. As the ginger bastard landed on the sidewalk he vanished.
It was then that the burning sensation in Caleb’s head died down. He closed his eyes in a desperate attempt to get rid of the dizziness that plagued him.
When Caleb opened his eyes again he found Jane standing next to him. She wasn’t on the sidewalk. Her throat hadn’t been cut. She was alright. She was safe.
There was no Reilly. There were no people gunned down in the streets by the M240. There were only the people staring at him, wondering why he had screamed so loudly. Wondering why he wanted to die so badly.
Caleb felt Jane’s hand on his. He looked at her and found the dark gaze of her eyes easing his mind. No, easing his very soul.
“Was it all in my head?” Caleb asked.
Jane nodded. “It’s okay now, Caleb. You’re back with us. I’m taking you to the hotel.”
No longer dizzy, Caleb stepped away from the yellow wall and, guided by Jane’s hand in his, he followed her back to the hotel. He would have followed her anywhere.
4
Caleb felt worthless as he fell back into the cozy mattress. He felt the bed’s warm embrace easing its way into his neck, relieving him from the headache that lingered.
He could hear Jane close the curtains for him, leaving him to rest in a shady darkness. Caleb wasn’t sure if he wanted to lie down in a dark room, but he felt that he couldn’t complain.
She was his client. It was his job to take care of her, not the other way around. Yet here he was, struck down by a mere illusion, with the young woman tending to him.
A sudden hot flash rushed through his body, causing sweat to drip from his forehead and well up underneath his armpits. It felt as if his blood was boiling and it became hard for him to breathe.
Without a second thought he yanked off his shirt and tossed it next to the bed. He wanted air to touch his skin. Fresh air, stale air. It didn’t matter as long as it was something, anything, that would cool him down.
“I’ll get you some water,” Jane’s gentle voice informed him.
Caleb heard the door open and close and knew he was now alone in his hotel room. Alone in the darkness of the drawn curtains. Alone with the shadows that were thrown upon the walls, looming over him as he lay on his bed.
Somebody was taking care of him, as if he was a little boy staying home from school with the flu. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. He
was supposed to be the strong one. He was supposed to take care of Jane, not the other way around. His contract demanded it.
The door to his room opened again and closed not much later. Caleb recognized the footsteps walking around as belonging to Jane.
“Got you some water. Can you sit?”
With a groan Caleb pushed himself up and leaned his back against his pillow. As he did so the fat on his belly piled up and his man boobs drew downward. He was immediately embarrassed and regretted taking his shirt off.
Jane said nothing about his body. She just handed him the water and watched as he drank like a thirsty dog after a day of hunting.
Then she sat down on the edge of his bed and pointed at his chest. “You have an interesting tattoo.”
Caleb knew she referred to the outline of the rose he had on his chest. It covered the skin on top of his heart and he had gotten it after his mother’s death. The tattoo artist wanted to color it but Caleb had told him not to. His body was the canvas; his skin color was meaning enough.
It was his black rose. Covering his heart, where all feelings had died.
“Thanks,” Caleb said. “Got it years ago.”
Jane gave him a careful smile. “Black rose.”
Caleb tried not to look at her smile. Tried to avoid her dark gaze that had earlier stared into his soul. He wondered what she had found there.
Jane said, “We have to start being honest with each other. I thought that maybe I could get through this without telling you more. Given what just happened, I can’t allow myself to believe that anymore. And I… I don’t want to put you in any danger.
“Because you are in danger. We’re all in danger. Everybody in this town. It’s very strong and it’s very angry and I think it is very old and experienced. Good at what it does.”
Caleb caught her stare and answered it. For a moment they were both silent as they looked for answers in each other’s eyes that might not exist there.
“It’s supposed to be my job to protect you. Not the other way around,” he said.
“And you will. When it’s time. I brought you here for something that I think will happen down the line.”