Harold and the Angel of Death

by Gary McPherson

  “Not really. All the years of hard living and guilt took their toll. Dad was dead by the time he was sixty. Liver failure. Still, he was happier in those final years than all the years I knew him combined.”

  Harold cocked his head. “So what are you saying? I need to get religion and start preaching? Maybe I could start with the crew.”

  “Don’t be obtuse,” said Garcia. “The point is you need to forgive yourself. I thought you grew up in church, not to mention Joshua. Didn’t you ever learn any of this stuff?”

  “Yea. I’ve had large doses of it, but it’s easier said than done. Hey, you won’t tell me your story, but you’ll tell me your dad’s. Why is that? I can’t imagine your stories are any worse, and so what if they are? Don’t get me wrong; I appreciate you telling me about your dad, but I feel like maybe you’re not practicing what you preach. Did your dad like to talk about what they did when you were growing up?”

  Garcia’s eyes appeared distant. “No. Dad never talked about it. Not until he was dying. He knew I was working to get into the CIA. He pulled me into his garage office and told me everything. He said I needed to be ready before my day came.”

  “What day?” asked Harold.

  Garcia’s eyes began to glisten. “The day I broke every rule I said I’d never break because in the moment I felt justified.”

  “Did it help?”

  Garcia slapped the sides of the hot tub with both hands for a moment. “Honestly, eventually, yes. Do I still regret it? Yea, I regret some of my decisions, but I came to realize that my world of right and wrong was dependent on what other people told me were right and wrong. I had lost who I was and what I believed.”

  “And now?” asked Harold.

  “I have a pretty good feel for what’s going on. Regardless, I know I can’t change the past. I can only impact today, right now, and hopefully do better tomorrow, if I have a tomorrow.”

  Harold dropped the last ice cube from the glass into his mouth and crunched down. “Did you get religion like your dad?”

  “I’m not sure anyone had faith like my dad. You would have had to know him before to appreciate the turnaround. I guess you could say I have faith because if there isn’t a God and a path for salvation then I think all of mankind is doomed to self-destruct. I’m not sure that’s what your average Sunday school white middle-class family would call Christianity.”

  Harold put the empty cup on the deck behind him. “At least you’re being honest. I guess I can be a little honest with you. I don’t know how anything can cleanse away what I did today. I would say that wasn’t me, but it was.”

  “Alice wants me to bring Joshua back to help you.”

  Harold leaned forward towards Garcia and sent a wave of water splashing against Garcia’s chin. “No, don’t you dare! I will not do that to Doc.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Garcia.

  “Doc has helped me all my life. He just got his confidence back after Dad’s suicide, and he and Maria are trying to adjust to married life together. On top of all of that, he’s trying to find Bill. Doc thinks he may need help. I won’t put any of those things at risk because of me.”

  Garcia’s face looked back at Harold, confused. “How can bringing him back do all of that? Surely he can look for your brother online from here. As for him and Maria, I’m sure they won’t mind returning to help you.”

  “Doc said he thinks I’m controlling this berserker thing. If he finds out I went full blown cannibal, it’ll devastate him. I don’t want him brooding around with that faraway look in his eyes again, and Maria doesn’t need that either. The two of them need time alone, away from this zoo. Just give me some time to think through this.”

  “Okay. Well, we should be back to Salvation Key in a couple more hours. You can have more privacy there.”

  “No,” pleaded Harold. “The sea, this ship, they calm me. Can we stay at sea and go back tomorrow evening? After all, we meandered all over the Gulf the first time we came out here.”

  “I don’t see why not. I’ll go inform the captain.”

  “Thanks.”

  Garcia climbed out of the tub.

  “One more thing,” said Harold. “Can you let Darla know I prefer to be left alone up here? I just need time to think.”

  “You got it.” Garcia carefully made his way down the steps, leaving a trail of water from his drenched clothes as he disappeared.

  Harold closed his eyes and listened to the ship’s motors hum. He felt the gentle sway of the yacht and the hot tub’s water against his body. He drew in the salt air, and slowly blew it out. After the second breath, he listened. The entire ship seemed at peace. It was almost like it knew Harold was in mourning, not just for his parents, but for his actions.

  He opened his eyes and looked around the empty deck then up into the sky. A few puffy white clouds floated like cotton balls. Harold said, “I know I don’t pray like I did as a kid, and I don’t know if Mom and Dad can hear me. I’m sorry. Everything made so much sense as a kid. If I did something wrong, I got punished, and I didn’t do it again. That isn’t how my life is working out now. Dad, you left me here, sink or swim, and lately, it feels like I’m sinking. I could use the help down here.” He stopped and listened, hearing nothing but the hum of the engines and the faint sound of water sloshing against the ship.

  The ship started to shift direction slightly. Garcia must have requested the course change. Harold waited a couple more minutes, but the only thing he felt was lightheaded from being inside the hot tub for so long. He forced himself out of the tub and collapsed on the deck, exhausted from the day’s events.

  ***

  Darla had shown up at some point after the sun went down and got him to go to bed. He had protested when she put a sleeping pill in his hand, but she’d insisted he took it to avoid having nightmares. The next thing he knew, the sun was up again, and the sea’s small waves slapped the sides of the ship. The yacht gently rocked as they made their way towards the tiny dot on the horizon outside his cabin’s window.

  Harold rolled out of bed and into the shower. He was not motivated to face the world. The day was new, but his memories of yesterday were still fresh. He forced himself to get dressed and then sat on the edge of his bed, unsure how he would face the day.

  Darla’s distinctive knock broke through his self-pity. “Are you decent, hon?” her muffled voice asked through the door.

  He wanted to send her away, but he knew a no would bring her in as quickly as a yes. His voice was sullen as he responded, “Come in.”

  The door opened. Normally, Harold would have been happy, even excited, to see Darla in her tight white shorts and clinging red cotton V-neck T-shirt. Her black hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and her makeup highlighted her dark eyes. Darla had even managed to make her black sling look sexy resting against the right side of her chest. Although he felt self-absorbed in his pity, he could tell Darla had hoped to take his mind off his troubles. Despite his foul mood, he was still drawn to Darla as she gracefully walked into his cabin on the slope of three-inch pumps that barely tapped the floor as the ship gently rolled.

  Before Harold could stop himself, he said, “I see you have your sea legs.”

  Darla walked over and sat down on the bed. “I’m glad you complimented something. You have no idea how uncomfortable it is to wear these tight clothes on a moving ship.”

  “A little beauty to make me forget my beast?”

  Darla kissed his cheek. “You’re not a beast, love.”

  Harold glanced in her direction. “Uh-huh.”

  Darla slid her left arm across his shoulders, leaned in, and kissed his neck. “We’ll get through this together.”

  “I know, but I can’t undo what I’ve done. Every time I start to relax, the scene begins to run through my mind again.”

  Darla played with his red curls around his ears. “Then why do you want to be alone?”

  Harold turned and faced Darla. Her hand dropped away.

  “
I don’t want to be alone. I need to be alone. I need to figure out how to even face this.”

  She took his hand into her own. “But that’s what I keep trying to tell you, love. You don’t have to do it alone. I’m here to help you through it.”

  Harold raised her hand to his lips and held it there for several seconds, feeling the strength of her fingers. Then he gently laid them back down. “I know you’re trying to help. Even Garcia gave me a pep talk last night.”

  Darla’s eyes widened slightly. “What did he say?”

  “He basically said what you have. I shouldn’t be alone, and he told me some story about his dad in Vietnam. Then he said he knew how I felt but couldn’t tell me why. He lost me at that point.”

  “Do you want me to tell you?”

  Harold’s head drooped slightly. “I’m not ready to talk about anything this morning. I just want some coffee and to take in the sea. I’m hoping that will cheer me up. Then we can talk later.”

  “May I join you?” asked Darla.

  “If you like, but I’m afraid I’m not much company at the moment.”

  Darla stood and took his hand, and he stood up next to her. She looked up into his eyes. “That’s okay, love. We don’t have to talk. You can just sit and admire me.”

  His lips curved upward slightly. The two headed to the top deck where Frank had coffee and donuts waiting. Harold sat down across from Darla. “I feel like I’m at the butt of a conspiracy. A very fattening and delicious conspiracy.”

  Darla put her finger to her donut-crumbed lips. “Shh, you said no talking.”

  Harold slid a donut into his mouth and bit down on half of it. Perhaps this sort of silence would help him feel a little better.

  The morning lifted Harold’s spirits. Frank’s fresh donuts had really hit the spot. He felt warm, relaxed, maybe even a little happy. He was sure somebody had spiked his coffee. Two hours after breakfast, he lay sacked out on a couch at the aft of the ship. A hard shove against his shoulder awakened him.

  “Go get your stuff together,” Garcia said. “The cabin cruiser will be here in under thirty to pick us up.”

  Harold felt a little groggy headed as he made his way to his cabin. He grabbed what few clothes he wore both on the island and the yacht, and that was when he noticed some clothes were missing, the clothes he told Frank to burn. How Frank burned them on the ship he had no idea, but he was glad to be rid of them. He packed his satellite phone and headed out towards the dive deck in anticipation of being picked up. By the time he caught up with everybody, Darla and Garcia were chatting and the boat was pulling up.

  Garcia and Darla stopped discussing whatever topic they had been engrossed in when he got within earshot. Garcia turned to him. “Glad you made it in time. I was afraid we’d have to send Frank to help you along. Let’s get off this ship and put the past few days behind us.”

  “I’m all for that.”

  As they rode away on the cabin cruiser, Harold looked back at Sweet Revenge. He spoke to himself, “We should change the name.”

  Darla overheard him. “What are you talking about?”

  Harold pointed towards the yacht. “The ship. There’s nothing sweet about revenge.”

  “I agree, but Garcia didn’t see any point in changing it.”

  “Did I hear my name?” asked Garcia.

  Darla turned to him. “Go back to what you were doing. We’re just talking about your poor choice in ship names.”

  “John did that.”

  “We know,” replied Harold.

  Darla slipped her hand into Harold’s. “We’ll be home soon, love.”

  “Is that what we’re calling Salvation Key now?” asked Harold.

  Darla pressed herself against Harold. “Anywhere we are is home.”

  Harold smiled and tightly wrapped his arm around Darla. No matter how much he hated himself, her love made him feel human, hopeful.

  Chapter 22

  “Wake up, brat!” John’s annoying voice echoed from the back of Harold’s mind.

  “Leave me alone,” Harold mumbled in reply.

  “I said, wake up!” A sharp pain hit Harold in his ribs. His arm jerked, and another pain shot up from his wrist to his shoulder. He rolled over onto his back and started breathing heavily. A black shadow slid over his view of the moonlit room. Harold felt paralyzed.

  “Now, don’t move,” John’s sarcastic voice said.

  Harold was pinned, unable to raise his shoulders.

  “This is just a dream,” said Harold. He blinked his eyes several times, but the darkness remained.

  “Come on, Harry, you have nothing to fear. It isn’t real,” Harold said to himself in a shaky voice.

  Harold heard John’s cackle crack the still air. “Oh, poor Harry. Do you miss Joshua so much that you have to mimic him? Are you going to start talking like your daddy next? You’re just a pathetic, weak gorilla.”

  The mention of his father and Joshua’s name did something inside Harold. Why was he afraid of John, even if he was a ghost? He had already defeated him. Why was he letting him manipulate his life? “You know, John, I really think it’s time for you to go.”

  John’s laughter shot an icy fear up Harold’s spine. “Oh, you silly brat. You’re a little late with that request. I mean, sure, I’ll go, but after I introduce you to our new friend. Of course, you may want me to hang around, just to keep things from getting out of hand. I believe he’s coming now.”

  Harold heard the French doors leading to the sundeck begin to rattle. He turned his head in that direction, and the black mist surrounding the bed lifted a little, and he could see his room. The blackness approaching the door seemed to consume every moonbeam around it. The French doors simply vanished into darkness. Suddenly yellow flames shot out where the eyes would be, if the blackness had eyes.

  Harold didn’t know why, but he knew immediately who it was. “Haidar,” he whispered.

  The blackness floated between the door and the bed. He hissed out, “Harold.”

  Harold wanted to run, but he was frozen, held down.

  John’s voice spoke from above the bed, “Do you see what you’ve done? You’ve unleashed the worst kind of evil.”

  Harold spoke, his voice barely above a whisper, “I let nothing loose. He was pure evil when he was alive.”

  “True, but that’s because he only knew evil. You saw the bruises. You know Chuck beat him. You saw his fear. He was abused by ISIS, and then when he thought Chuck was his salvation, he entered another nightmare. Now look at him. You used him as a snack.”

  Harold glared at the darkness above him. “You know it wasn’t like that. I couldn’t help myself.”

  “Wrong!” screamed a tenor voice from the pitch-black void floating in the room.

  Harold began to plead, “But I couldn’t.” He turned to face the darkness now floating closer to the bed. “You hurt Darla. You wanted to kill us. I couldn’t let that happen.”

  The mist drew closer to the bed, and Harold nearly gagged on the sulfur emanating from its very presence.

  “You could have killed me quickly, but you wanted to torture me. You wanted me to suffer.”

  Tears began to flow down Harold’s face, and he hollered, “Yes, yes, I wanted you to suffer. I wanted to make you suffer like you wanted us to suffer. You’re evil, pure evil.”

  The two voices floated through his mind, “Who’s the evil one?”

  Harold yelled, and the bed vibrated. With a mighty shove, the sheets and blankets flew over the foot of his bed. The empty room was lit with moonbeams shooting their light streaks through the French doors and window. Out the window, Harold could see the early gray light of dawn start to crack on the dark horizon to the east. He turned on the light next to his bed. It was almost six o’clock, but his body really wanted a few more hours of shuteye. Even so, he had no desire to walk back into another nightmare.

  After a quick shower, Harold dressed in a pair of blue shorts, a PCH T-shirt, and sandals. Coffee was beggin
g to be made. He left his bedroom, stood, stretched, and groaned on the sundeck. He turned to make his way down the stairs when a figure stunted his progress. A very annoyed looking Darla stood at the bottom. Her hair was tied up but had not been brushed out. Her shorts looked wrinkled, and she had obviously slept in the rumpled oversized shirt. She had a mug of steaming coffee in each hand.

  “Oh,” Harold said, “I’m surprised to see you. I thought you would sleep in.” He then proceeded to walk down to her.

  “I’m surprised to see me this morning, yet here we are,” responded Darla.

  “Did I wake you up?” asked Harold.

  “Gee, I don’t know. I heard someone holler, and the painting on my wall vibrated. Was that you?” Darla’s sarcastic look caused him to respond with a single nod. “Then you woke me up.”

  He had seen her annoyed before, but he was pretty sure he had broken some sort of personal record. Harold took the coffee from her hand restricted by the sling.

  “We’re going for a walk, and we’re going to talk through this problem of yours.” She turned and began to walk away.

  Harold quickened his pace to catch up.

  “Wait, I’ve told you I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Darla stopped and turned to face Harold, shocking him with the intensity of her glare. She forced her mouth into a twisted, sarcastic smile that he found terrifying. She spoke slowly and deliberately, “Darling, I love you, but protest this one more time, or say another word until you’re spoken to, and I’ll punch your beautiful throat.”

  Something inside him told Harold she wouldn’t do it, but the look on her face told him not to test her. He pointed forward with his coffee mug, and the two began walking. They left the house and headed towards the quiet seaside. The crunching of the seashells under their feet sounded like thunder to Harold’s tired brain. He carefully sipped his coffee and wished he had never awoken Darla. With the sky’s slow transference from black to gray to gold in the early morning, Harold’s fear from his nightmare had long since melted away, and now exhaustion began to push its way back into his body.