Ephemeral creatures, p.9
Ephemeral Creatures, page 9
Kevin thought on that for a while. “Have you seen them?” When she nodded, he asked, “Can they see and talk to you too?”
“No, but I wish they could.”
“So just me? But why? It’s great seeing and talking to you again, but… I don’t know. I doubt anyone will believe me if I tell them about you.”
Lidia smiled. “They will. You were always pretty convincing.”
“Why am I the only one who can see you?”
Her tawny eyes were filled with an intensity he couldn’t quite decipher. “I’m not sure, but I think it’s because of the breath of life.”
“Breath of life?” The words were out before he realized her meaning.
“You gave me the breath of life when you brought me back.” She squeezed his hand. “It bound us together… forever.”
He didn’t know what to say to that, so he made no reply.
“Hey, check out my palantir.” Lidia waved her hands dramatically, and the posters and artwork disappeared from one wall, the gray stone turning into a background like frosted glass, with the flickering of a ghostly fire behind it.
Kevin squinted at the fairy lights, seemingly on the verge of coalescing into something that made sense, but not quite. He could sense Lidia pouring her willpower into what she called the palantir. The ghostly lights flared like a melting-film effect then coalesced into a clear image of himself lying asleep in bed.
The image changed after a moment, and he saw a man asleep in a recliner in front of the TV, a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels sitting on an end table beside him. His onetime friend Chad was barely recognizable, with long hair and a bushy beard. And he’d gained quite a bit of weight.
The palantir next revealed Tara, lying awake in bed and staring at the ceiling, her husband snoring softly beside her. Even without makeup and her hair tousled, Tara looked beautiful, though he couldn’t help but sense something haunting her.
“Can you find your killer with this?” Kevin asked after the image of Tara faded. “The one you called Nazgul?”
A look of fear crossed Lidia’s face. “I tried once. When I did, I saw the Eye of Sauron,” she said, referring to the flaming disembodied eye that was the manifestation of the villain in The Lord of the Rings movies. “I’m not joking—that’s what it looked like.”
“Like in the movies? What does that mean?”
“I don’t know, but it scared the hell out of me.” She shuddered at the memory.
Kevin rested a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, I’m here with you, remember? We should try it together. Maybe we can find out that psycho’s identity somehow.”
She shook her head. “Kev, I don’t like this—it’s too dangerous. I don’t want you coming to his attention so that he goes after you too.”
“We need to catch him somehow. Chad will help me. Tara, too, maybe.”
He doubted that was true, but she wanted him to get in touch with the others again. Years earlier, they might’ve agreed to such a wild request if they believed him, but now, he had no idea how they might react. But Lidia seemed to think it important that he contact the others.
She gazed into his eyes a long moment. “True, you are stronger all together.” She sighed. “Just a quick peek, okay?”
“Okay. You can do it, Lid.”
She gave him a tight smile but looked scared as she placed her hands on the wall and pressed against it. Again came the sensation of her willpower pushing outward. It took her a very long time, but the indistinct fairy fires eventually congealed into something that resembled Sauron’s flaming eye, exactly as Lidia had said. But it wasn’t the fiery orangish eye. Nor was it disembodied. Instead, the eye was blood red, not flaming, but disturbing as hell anyway. Kevin saw what looked like some type of fantasy runes around the eye that glowed a frosty blue.
The bloody eye’s pupil abruptly contracted and focused. Kevin’s breath caught, and he had no doubt they were being seen as well.
Lidia screamed, shattering the paralyzing fear gripping Kevin. He didn’t know if his terror was bleeding off of Lidia or was coming from the bloody eye itself, but it majorly freaked him out.
Lidia was glued to the palantir’s surface like she was holding a live wire. Tendons stood out in her hands and wrists as she sought to break the contact. Kevin grabbed her around the waist and pulled her away. The instant she broke contact, the terrifying eyeball vanished, and her hideaway collapsed altogether like a house of cards.
They were left standing on a featureless gray plain that appeared to be covered in ash. A swirling mist seemed to stir in the corner of his eye, but when he turned, nothing was there but the bleak expanse. Nebulous shapes dotted the blasted landscape at irregular intervals, but they melted away like oily mirages when he tried to focus on them.
“What happened? Where are we?” he asked nervously.
“The Between Space,” Lidia whispered. She sagged against him, trembling. The harrowing experience had obviously taken a lot out of her. “Well, this is how it looks, but we’re still in your dream, technically.”
Kevin put an arm around her shoulders, needing her strength as much as she did his. “What the hell was that thing?”
“The Nazgul. Told you—it’s like the Eye of Sauron. I have no idea what it means. But he can see me. Us, probably.”
A chill ran down his spine.
Lidia looked so small and forlorn, all alone in this lifeless purgatory, that his heart nearly broke all over again.
“I’m sorry—you were right. We shouldn’t have done that. That was freaky shit.”
“You should stay away from him. That’s all I know.”
“Yeah.” But as disturbing as the experience had been, he was still determined to do everything in his power to find justice for his friend. “Can you change this back to your room? This place gives me the creeps.” He supposed he should be the one able to change the scene since it was in his head, but he had never been a lucid dreamer to the extent that he could manipulate his own dreamscapes.
Lidia seemed to have no such trouble doing as she pleased within his dream. She focused a moment, and walls sprang from the ground, folding over and enclosing them like some uncanny stop-motion animation. Just like that, they were back in her room again. She flopped down on her bed with a sigh.
Kevin paced back and forth, troubled but unsure of what to say.
“It’s almost time for you to wake. Before you go, I have a favor to ask.” Lidia sounded hesitant.
“Anything,” he answered immediately.
She smiled sadly. “Will you please go visit my mom? Tell her I’m so sorry about those shitty things I said.” She sniffled and rubbed at one eye. “I called her a bitch and a horrible mother… Those are the last words I ever said to her.” Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Tell her I love her and don’t want her to feel bad about herself or be filled with such regret.”
“I’m sure she knows you didn’t mean any of that. But yes, of course I’ll tell her.” The thought of seeking out Mrs. Flores made him uneasy, but he’d meant it when he said he would do anything.
Maybe that will put her heart at ease so she can pass on.
She smiled through her tears. “Thanks, Kev. Be well…”
Then she was gone, and Kevin was back in his bed, lying there in a cold sweat and blinking at the bright sunlight streaming in around the blinds.
-12-
The woman turned out to be a disappointment. Hrym had requested a young, light-eyed, small-boned Latina. Instead, he ended up with a thick one with hazel eyes. The eyes were fine, but not the build. And she was old, pushing forty with some hard mileage. His source had been full of shit, promising any type of girl Hrym wanted. He hadn’t expected much from a con man, but one could always hope to be pleasantly surprised on occasion.
He had to give the wench credit, though. She’d been working tirelessly for maybe fifteen minutes, her long brown hair tickling his stomach and thighs as she tried her best to get him hard by using her hands and mouth. He could respect someone who performed their job with enthusiasm even if she didn’t arouse his passion.
Hrym’s mind wandered back to that night when he’d encountered his ljosalfar, the light elf, the innocent girl who’d awakened the old hunger for blood he’d buried for years—the way those wide, innocent eyes stared up at him, so bright with the spark of life. He felt privileged to have paid witness to that precious moment when the knowledge of her death filled those beautiful eyes just before Hrym extinguished her life. An almost orgasmic satisfaction had come over him at watching the light depart those lovely orbs as her soul journeyed to the underworld. The moment had been incredibly poignant, and he’d not felt anything similar since.
He berated himself again, as he had for years, for ending it too soon—better to have taken possession of her instead. He could’ve spent days, perhaps weeks or even months with his light elf. Even though Hrym was a Herald and an instrument of chaos, he was still a man, one who’d succumbed to the weakness of his desire in that pivotal moment. However, the fact that she’d both awakened and reminded him of his purpose in this world once more was cause for giving thanks to the gods.
In fact, he’d dreamed of his fair ljosalfar the past night. She sought him out from the underworld, her presence not only reigniting his obsession with her, but stoking his bloodlust. Hence the reason he’d sought out this woman to sate his desires.
Thoughts of his light elf woke his nethers in a way the hooker had been unable to do thus far.
She made a satisfied noise. “He woke up,” she mumbled.
Yes, I am awake now. Hrym grinned. And I shan’t forget my sacrosanct duty.
This woman would do after all. He had a potent imagination. And his needs wouldn’t end here with his sexual gratification. As always, the thought of her necessitated much more than a simple release of seed. Only rendering another soul unto the underworld would suffice.
Hrym pulled roughly on the hooker’s hair, tilting her head back to gaze into her eyes. Dull cow eyes they were, disappointing. The woman lacked that cherished lifespark. She had no magic within.
Though the hooker smiled tentatively, he could see the glimmer of fear there, too, which was good as it only heightened his arousal. She was probably wondering if he would get rough with her, if she should scream and summon her pimp, who was undoubtedly lurking nearby.
“On the bed,” Hrym growled, pushing her in that direction.
She complied, rising and turning to face the bed. Before she could climb atop the ugly floral coverlet, he gave her a hard shove. She fell forward, bending over the edge of the bed, and he was on her in a couple long strides. A hand clamped over her mouth, muffling her cry at the harsh treatment. His other hand encircled her throat and squeezed. Such a delicate neck even for a thick, healthy woman. He liked that unexpected fragility.
As he mounted the struggling hooker from behind, he admired the fancifully painted nails that clawed at his hands and wrists as she fought desperately to break his throttling grip.
Nice natural ungues, not the tacky fake-insert shit. The imitation ones were unsuitable for his needs. Hrym was rather particular in that regard.
He took his pleasure, and by the time he’d finished with a groan, the woman’s struggles had ceased. Hrym waited a moment longer before he released his grip on her neck. From experience, he knew she was balanced on the cusp of death but hadn’t yet passed over. If anyone had so desired, they could have revived her.
He briefly wondered if his time was up. The hooker’s pimp would undoubtedly barge in soon, posturing and trying to act threatening with his gun or knife. Hrym feared no man and always welcomed the opportunity for violence. Yet in this instance, he didn’t want the attention a raucous confrontation would surely draw. Even at such a shithole motel, where rooms could be reserved by the hour, someone might take note of violence, especially if a firearm was discharged.
Hrym regarded the red welts on his wrists and hands, some of which bled shallowly. Even with his DNA aggregated beneath those attractive nails, he was unconcerned with potential forensic evidence. Without a body, there would be no crime, as defense attorneys on TV loved to point out.
And where we’re going, there are no roads that others can follow. He thought that might have been a line from a movie. If so, it was a good quote. No pimps or detectives or vengeful family members would be able to follow—at least, not without achieving the ultimate release. As far as they were concerned, Hrym would be a specter.
He again thanked mighty Fenrir for the power the great wolf had bestowed upon his Herald. Hrym raised his eyepatch, and with the Eye of Fenrir revealed, the pathways opened before him.
***
“Bet that motherfucker’s gonna be trouble,” Jamma J grumbled.
He hadn’t liked the look of the john—big blond dude with a cold expression, like gangsta cold, sort of like those Aryan Brotherhood assholes he and his homies had tangled with in the pen. Those people were bad news. But Forrest had set the deal up and contacted him, so he had no choice but to roll with it. Forrest was one dude Jamma J knew never to cross, or his chosen career could come to a quick end.
Jamma J had a deal with Nicholson, the owner of this dump, to whom he provided a few Benjamins for the man to turn a blind eye and let him use this room as much as needed, no questions asked. He checked his phone app and saw Lucia was still giving the dude head. Jamma J’s hidden webcam in the room allowed him to keep an eye on his girls while they worked.
“Dude’s time’s almost up,” he said. “The fuck’s his deal? Can’t get it up, prolly.”
Lucia gave a damn good blowjob. Jamma J was something of a connoisseur—after all, he had to make sure his girls had good enough skills for him to keep getting paid. But he’d seen plenty of guys that couldn’t get it up no matter how good the girls were. They were usually old guys who paid for the companionship more than anything. That was cool with Jamma J—whatever fattened his bankroll.
His phone rang—his homie, T-Bone, calling.
“Sup,” he answered.
“Where you at?” T-Bone asked.
“L’s got a trick right now. Whatchu doin’?”
“Get your ass over here. The UFC fights are starting up in a few. Got me a few ounces of green, some dime bags, gin and juice—you name it, son. Got pizzas and wings on order too.”
“Daaamn… that’s sounding good right about now. Give me a few, yo. When she’s done in there, I’m on my way.”
“Word.” T-Bone hung up.
Jamma J smiled. As an entrepreneur, he could set his own schedule. If he felt like a night off, then he’d take it off. Lucia should be grateful she wouldn’t have to hang out with the other skanks on the street corner. And his other girl, Makisha, was still out with bronchitis. This would be a slow night anyway, so he might as well go party instead.
He yawned and leaned back in the Caddy’s comfortable seat, keeping an eye on the door of Room Twelve, about ten feet away. He lit a smoke and turned up the stereo so that he could better listen to Lil Wayne rapping about having no worries.
Once the song finished, he checked his phone and saw Aryan Brotherhood’s time was up.
C’mon, bitch, move your ass. Don’t make me come in there.
He wondered if Aryan Brotherhood was going to give him shit. He put a hand on the grip of the 9mm pistol in his waistband to reassure himself. Ordinarily, he was down with pistol-whipping belligerent dumbass johns—in fact, he got a kick out of it. But this dude was giving off the vibes of someone he didn’t want to fuck with. Creepy-ass son of a bitch with his eyepatch, like some pirate or something.
Jamma J entered the unlock pattern on his phone so that he could check the video again and see what the hell the holdup was.
The room was empty.
“Da fuck?” He shot straight up in his seat and looked in both directions down the motel’s covered walkway. “No way they came outta there.” He hadn’t looked away for more than a few seconds at a time. Lucia would have come back to the car… unless the dude had messed her up or something. “Wait… they’re prolly in the bathroom. Camera doesn’t show that. Maybe the dude wants a rubdown in the tub or some shit.” People were weird. Jamma J wouldn’t put it past him. Still, the time was up, and he had places to be.
He climbed out of the Caddy and shut the door. He would only be ten feet away, so he left the keys in the ignition, a Drake song playing.
Jamma J used his key card and threw the door open so hard that it slammed against the wall. “Time’s up, yo! L, get your ass out here!”
He entered the motel room, his piece drawn. Pivoting to his right, he faced the bathroom. The light was off. He flipped it on to reveal a grungy but empty bathroom. He stepped back out and moved into the main room. The bedcover was rumpled, and one of Lucia’s heels lay on the floor—no sign of either her or Aryan Brotherhood.
“Bullshit. I was sittin’ right there the whole damn time. Where the fuck did they go?”
He threw open the curtains on the back wall. The closed window provided a view of a side street and a Burger King parking lot beyond that. Nobody was in sight except at the BK across the way. And none of them looked like Lucia or Aryan Brotherhood. Just to be sure, Jamma J checked under the bed, in the tiny nook that served as a closet, then inside the shower. Nothing—no sign of either of them. Even the pair of Benjamins that the john had coughed up and tossed on the nightstand had disappeared.
Fear crept in. They straight up vanished into thin air. The gun trembled in his hand.
In the parking lot, an engine started up and revved. After a second, Jamma J recognized the sound of his own ride. Tires squealed as the engine roared.
He was back outside in a couple of heartbeats, 9mm up and tracking.
Too late—with Chamillionaire’s “Ridin’” bumping loud and proud, Jamma J’s Caddy shot out of the parking lot, undercarriage scraping and shooting sparks as it bottomed out exiting the raised driveway. In a few seconds, it was out of sight.
