hell
— beast out of the fucking floor? What happens when we win, huh? What happens if she does escape? What then? Do you continue to get everything you ever wanted? Do you get rewarded in the fucking afterlife? What’s in it for you? What’s in it for me? I can’t fucking do this.”
His father gave a slight head tilt. A gesture Quinton wished he hadn’t seen. The thing that humanized the monster standing before him. The fractured reflection of what his father had once been.
“You can have it all. Just do it here.” There was a plea in his voice. Slight, but most definitely there, as if he already knew the consequence for the alternative. “Quinton, it doesn’t have to be like this. You’ve got an opportunity here. Everything you’ve ever wanted, is yours. Reach out and take it.”
Quinton’s own stare was dark. “Everything except freedom, you mean? Everything except to raise a child in a world far from this hellish
—hellish—
nightmare.”
“Quinton… please.”
Quinton wiped his nose with his forearm, grunting as pain spiked through the ink of the tattoo. A scalding poker dragged across his flesh. The pentagram began to glow softly, reconnecting with its parent on the floor after several weeks of neglect. The pain was unlike anything Quinton had experienced before, the red-hot burn underlaid with a triumphant mirth. A smug satisfaction as if the connection knew it couldn’t be broken. Knew Quinton would be back. Knew that there would be no other choice.
Like I ever had a choice...
Quinton felt his resistance crack. Felt his body betray his mind as his feet booted into motion and obediently moved him into position. His face now a mask of submissive fury. If I must do this, then fine. But I will not make this easy for you. Not a hope in hell—
hell
The floor began to melt. The center of the pentagram faded as the void grew larger. A black drop of die dissolving into a lake of crystal-clear water. Darkness spreading until the hole was complete, its edges as firm and material as the four walls around him.
Quinton looked down into the void, his heart in his throat. All those nights before, when he had stood in this very position, it had been a choice. A deliberate decision, and a want to connect with his father. To happily complete the work that he had begun – or attempt to – in exchange for all of the rewards the world could bestow.
Not all the rewards.
Now, though… Now the anger was a physical pain in his chest. His internal valves throbbed painfully, his rib cage far too tight to keep it all in. His rage became a rat that gnawed at his insides, spiked pain as its teeth sank into his heart, his lungs, his kidneys, his intestines.
Was this all that there would ever be? Was the price of all of this worth it? Every night he would now be reminded of the power of Her. The power of the beast below. Every time he closed his eyes, he would see the blood leaking from Sarah’s womb, trickling down her legs. Every time he blinked, he would see the flashing lights, would hear the sirens from the ambulance. Every time his mind would relax, he would see the before and afters of the woman that he had loved. One day a glowing radiant figure of a woman, her stomach pert and hardened as the bump began to show; the next her eyes vacant and hollow, her skin pale and translucent as if she wore the crusteanic exoskeleton of some creature who roamed the damp caves beneath the earth. Every painful beat of her heart visible. Each gentle sob a reminder of what they had done.
What he had done.
Two lamplights down below. Staring expectantly. Did Quinton imagine the grin which stretched in the darkness; the glimmer of dagger-like teeth?
He fell to his knees, streams of tears flooded down his cheeks. He could taste the salt on his lips. Could feel the shudders as he finally released it all, his body expelling the pain and horror which had taken over his existence. The painful ethereal hook took a hold of his sternum, fighting with the rat for dominance. Two prongs of pain racketing around inside in a fashion so sharp that he had to screw his eyes shut. He fell to his knees, fingers clutching the edge of the void, splinters of wood worming their way into the crevices of his tightening fingers.
A terrible thought came to him: is this how she felt? Is this the pain that Sarah endured as their unborn child – their daughter – was prematurely torn from the world. Did her insides burn with the flaming agony which he now felt? Did she look upon him with the blank eyes now contained within his father’s stare? Had the darkness really spread that far?
Laughter. Chuckling, bubbling laughter in the form of growls. Those claws scrambling up the wall, using Quinton as a belay. Metal scraping on slate. Each movement a jerk against his skeleton as the bones threatened to break and fracture.
The eyes grew larger, inch by inch. Through stinging tears Quinton watched her progress, the furious desperation of a lion who had been pacing its cage, now sprinting at the door as it opened just an inch. The frantic purge of an animal vying for its final breath of freedom, every ounce of history and instinct powering the fibres of the muscles to push and push until nothing more existed. Until not a single drop was left in the tank. When Quinton next looked, the creature was halfway up the chamber, about to reach the farthest he had ever seen it climb.
Quinton suddenly grew afraid.
“Dad…?” he pleaded, looking up at his father. Feeling as though he were a 5-year-old again, asking why grandma wasn’t going to be visiting anymore. “What’s going to happen?”
His father’s eyes lowered to the void. “What should have happened years ago.”
The truth struck Quinton like a lightning bolt, the pieces somehow suddenly all fitting into place.
“You…” A jolt of pain. Quinton spoke through gritted teeth. “You killed yourself, so that I could take your place, didn’t you? You killed yourself to fuel Her.”
Shame lit up behind his father’s beetle-black eyes. The slightest of nods. “I couldn’t do it, Quinton. I was never strong enough. I tried and tried and tried, but it was never enough. She needed more, demanded more, and I couldn’t take it…”
A hungry yowl from the pit. A pull on the chain. Quinton was dragged to his forearms, the weight of her pulling him down as she attempted to climb up almost too much to bear.
“So, you gave up?” he managed, the words coming between breaths. “You gave in? Gave it all to her and sacrificed me in the process? What kind of man are you?” How the hell—
hell
—can you call yourself a father!”
“I never meant to pull you into this!” For the first time his father allowed his emotion to overcome him, to move his static feet from the edge of the room. He moved across to the other side of the pit so fast that Quinton thought he would simply fall in, only to be devoured by Her. He lowered himself to Quinton’s level, his face inches from the pit’s edge. “You think I’d do this to you, son? You think this was a deliberate move? You don’t know the hell
—hell—
I’m in, do you? You don’t know what it’s like. I thought that by escaping this life I’d escape Her. I thought I’d leave it all behind and be free. But I’m not. I’m trapped. Hell
—hell—
is real, Quin. Hell
—hell—
is as material as you and I.”
He reached a hand across the void, as if that might make any difference in the world. As if in locking hands they could connect the bridge between life and death and break it all. Close the door and let Her fall.
“I’m… I’m sorry. Let me help you…”
Quinton stared into his father’s eyes. Closer than he had seen them since he had first reappeared in this room all those weeks ago. The whites were returning, fighting against the dilated pupils and all-encompassing darkness until he could see the truth beneath. The eyes that had locked onto his as fingers tickled his toddler stomach. Eyes that had studied his report cards and filled him with the confidence and motivation he needed to know that he wasn’t a failure and things would get better. Eyes which ha
d stared into his mother’s and told her, all those years ago, that he would love her until the very end.
Eyes which dripped ethereal tears into the pit below.
“Dad…” Quinton breathed, somehow managing the minutest of smiles. A tiny flicker of hope that his father hadn’t become the monster that he thought he was. That maybe there would be some other outcome here than destruction and pain. That perhaps he could find a way to rescue his father—
Blood sprayed out suddenly, gushing from the wounds which appeared across his father’s body.
The first rip was the largest of them all. Quinton’s father’s eyes widened; his mouth locked in a soundless scream. His skin unzipped from his scalp to his coccyx as some invisible scythe swept through the air. Ghostly blood sprayed in smatters, filling the room with a fine mist of gore. Quinton could taste the droplets on his tongue. The iron tang of his father’s life force, even beyond the grave. In the tiniest fraction of a moment something flickered from deep in his father’s terrified eyes. He saw Him. The Devil. The one who would make Quinton’s father pay for his betrayal.
Quinton might have shouted his father’s name. Was sure that he probably did. Not that it mattered in that world-shattering moment in which the only thing tethering Quinton to the possibility that there might be some end that didn’t involve losing even more family disappeared in a heartbeat. His head spun. He closed his eyes and re-played the moment a thousand times in a few seconds, unable to believe what he’d just seen. A kaleidoscope of blood and memories morphed into one solid lump of disbelief hitting him with physical force.
And then his father’s head flopped forward. All (after)life sapped. Where did those who died in death go to live? When your time is up in the afterlife, what comes next? Who takes the expired souls and keeps them moving to beyond the beyond?
Dragged by the weight of his heavy head, his father’s body tumbled down. Limbs falling, turning over and over themselves like a rag doll dropped from a cliff. Her mouth sprang open as if hinged, and Quinton could hear every moment of absorption. The wet, slurping, suckling, kissing sounds of saliva and digestive fluids already disposing of the ethereal corpse.
Quinton’s father was swallowed into the blackest depths. He was certain in that moment that he would never see his father again. Even after this was all over, the possibility was gone. Nothing could follow once the curtain had been drawn for good.
Quinton mouthed soundless words. She turned her eyes upwards, finding his once more. She had stilled, dangling upon Quinton’s chain like a spider on a thread. Twisting around in gentle revolutions which dizzied the mind.
Quinton stared into those primitive eyes. Those yellow globes which could swallow even the fiercest man’s courage and spit it back out. Eyes as old as the very foundations of the Earth. Older than the discovery of time. Eyes which had seen the first sunrise and would undoubtedly see the last. Eyes which exuded a power that was beyond description, was capable of blessing and corrupting and manipulating until Her evil agenda was complete.
Eyes which had looked upon Eve and created the first betrayal.
They were locked. The two of them the only people left in existence. Quinton had never felt so small and insignificant. Knew that death would be inevitable. That no matter what was to happen next, there would be only one way to end it all – at least, for now. At least for his lineage. Until the Devil himself found his next unwilling victims and the games began.
She thrashed against her chain, once more clambering up the pit. This time accelerating at a pace he had yet to see.
A sudden flicker of understanding came upon him: this was what She needed. All this time She had been feeding on hope, when what she really needed was misery. This had all been the long game for Her. To tear it all away and use the despair and anguish as the nitrous oxide to her tank. Nothing would stop her now. And, even as he watched Her climb with an insatiable fury, pounding up the void, he knew this to be true. Knew as the Devil’s face came upon them, working its way into the faint light of the void’s embers and revealed its hideousness in full, that it was over. It was done. Now was the time to act, and that’s all that there was.
Words could not express Her terror. Quinton would search for them for eternity, tumbling around in the dark places where hope and dreams go to die. All that he would be able to remember would be those eyes. Those ancient eyes on a face so amorphous that every horror, every fear, every painful memory and vision was encapsulated in one. A rolling broil of shadow and despair captured in one vision.
And those teeth.
By God… those teeth…
She was close, now. Another few leaps and she’d be there. He could smell her excitement, a pheromoneous delight. Glee flooded over Her.
The moment was now.
As his father had done involuntarily before him, Quinton did voluntarily now.
With a white-knuckled grip, he pulled himself over the edge, and tumbled down into the pit. He felt the weightlessness of it all, knew somehow, that he’d made the right decision for everyone he loved. For his mother, for his father, for Sarah, for the future that she might have away from the horrors that his life now held. She would be safe.
A realization enforced by the eardrum-bursting screech that emitted from Her mouth. He looked into Her eyes as he passed Her and saw in their depths a glimmer of fear. Something as unnatural in the Devil’s pet as feathers on a cat. And in that moment, he knew it would be okay.
He knew he had won.
He just didn’t know what the prize would be.
5
Seven months later
A warm breeze flitted through the open window, flapping the heavy curtains with the gentility of butterfly wings. The smell of summer was in the air; fresh-cut grass and blossoming flowers. Children’s laughter carried through the street as schools broke out for summer and the street came alive.
The doorbell rang.
She moved slowly. Each step a weary tread towards obligation. He had been visiting every week since the news reached her, and he knew now to ring once and wait. She would come. Eventually she would come.
With a gentle hug she invited him in, working their way through the house and out to the back porch. The view really was spectacular, the back garden elevated above the whole city. The sun hovered in the sky, an unblinking eye of warmth, staring down at them all. She could hear the morning traffic. Over in the distance she could make out the silhouetted figure of a man walking his five dogs, each one straining against their leads. Several planes flew overhead leaving white scratch-stains on the perfect blue landscape of the sky.
They chatted for a while, as they always did at this time of the week. A jug of fresh lemonade slowly emptying into their glasses as they reminisced and discussed their affairs. How her family had finally moved out, and how he was looking for a place in the city, wanting to break free of the small-town mentality and move his roots. How time had passed so quickly and how unreal it all now seemed.
He cracked a joke.
She smiled.
He was the only one who could do that for her, now. Ever since it had all happened, it was only through words spoken from his lips that she could find that genuine flicker of happiness – even if it was peppered with guilt.
She sipped her lemonade, sighed deeply. “You know, I have room here. If you ever need to get away and start afresh, I’ve got more rooms than I’ll ever need.”
He considered her, not with that pitying look reserved for members of her family, but with a true, honest look. “You know, I might just take you up on that. If we’re being frank here, it’s not even about the money, anymore. That’s all taken care of.”
“The royalties are finally rolling in?”
Gabe nodded. “Something like that.” He shifted awkwardly, remembering the encounter he’d had with the gentleman at the market. A once in a lifetime opportunity. The end of all his troubles. “A little unorthodox, maybe, but it should all work out in the end.”
“Sou
nds intriguing.” Sarah shifted her position and shaded her eyes.
They ate lunch, as they always did. A mixture of sandwiches and fruits. Often conversation would fall, but the silence wasn’t unwelcome. They had both learned to like the quiet, to appreciate the company of each other since Quinton’s mysterious disappearance. Even since that night several weeks ago when they had held each other in their arms and cried and cried, whiskey and gin creating the cocktail which fuelled a fuzzy, naked night lost to memory. They were friends. They were company. They both needed that, these days.
Several hours later and they were back at the door. Gabe leaned his head against the jamb.
“Did you mean it?”
“Hmm?”
“About staying here? With you?”
Sarah chewed her lip. She had aged a lot in a short amount of time, creases and greys appearing where none had been before, but there was still a beauty about her that no amount of years could take. “Yeah. I really do. It would certainly make things easier.”
“Easier?”
Sarah nodded down, her hand rubbing across the smooth skin of her stomach. The tiniest of bumps where the baby had begun to grow.
Epilogue
When the lights go out and all is lost, what else is left to see?
When the bonds that tie you to the universe are torn from your mortal coil, what else is there left to feel?
What else is there left to give?
What else is there left to take?
In life you must serve a purpose, must find meaning in the very atoms from which your body is formed. But in death, what is there to find? An endless tumble through an infinite void, or a never-ending elevator to an unreachable place.
Who else is there who is left to say?
For still he tumbles.
The Mark of the Damned Page 10