Текст книги "Devil Said Bang"

Автор книги: Richard Kadrey

Соавторы: Richard Kadrey,Richard Kadrey
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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

A room off this one is a small but comfortable-looking rest area with a fridge, a massage table, and big overstuffed chairs.

The floor around the wooden enclosure is inlaid with the images of silver arches. The twelve vaults of Heaven. Patty touches each door as she walks around the big toy box. And stops by one. She pulls it open.

“Someone isn’t here today. Johnny Zed is supposed to be in here. I hope he’s all right.”

Inside the chamber is a fleshy pitcher-shaped pod of clear fluid. Nerve filaments drift inside like pale seaweed.

“This is it,” says Patty. “Dreamer central.”

“You get in there?”

“Strip down for a two-day skinny-dip. It’s not bad. It’s warm and you don’t feel a thing. You just float there. A womb with a view.”

“What do you dream about?”

“It’s hard to describe. It’s not things so much as the places between them. I wouldn’t dream of a table or you. I dream about big empty spaces. The hollow parts inside things. The atoms and molecules. I don’t dream about how fucked up things are out here but how perfect things are when you go deep down inside them.”

“Sounds nice.”

“Want to strip down and try it? You’re a little tightly wound, you know. It would probably do you some good.”

“What’s the dreamer safeword?”

She does a mock sigh.

“You’ve been to Hell but won’t even give Heaven a try. Silly boy.”

She closes the door and crosses her arms, looking serious for the first time since I got her away from the ghost.

“What happens now?”

“What happens is you stay here. Go inside the Silly Putty and try to calm down the sky a little or just hang around the lounge. I’ll see what I can do about the little girl. Don’t leave until you hear from me.”

I start back down the stairs, stepping carefully around the dreamers’ nerves.

“Hey, Sandman,” says Patty from the top of the stairs. “Thanks for today. You didn’t have to do all that.”

“No problem. I’d have done it for a dog.”

She smiles and goes into the lounge.

I take a cab to Max Overdrive. Thank God for cabbies. People joke that when the world ends, all that’ll be left are the roaches. They forget about the cabbies. As long as the roaches have money to pay or something to trade, the cabbies will be there to drive them from their roach motels to their roach offices and out to the roach suburbs, slamming on the brakes, cursing out the window, and overcharging them all the way.

The freeway into the city is almost empty, so we make good time. I go into the store through the front door, careful to step around the hexes.

Kasabian must have heard me come in because he isn’t surprised to see me.

“Come to check if the Glory Stompers came back and finished me off?”

“Remember when you said I should have been unreasonable and ignored you the other night?”

“Yeah?” he says, looking more nervous than I’ve seen him since I cut off his head.

“You got your wish. Get your gear together. You’re coming with me.”

“Where?”

“Somewhere safe. Those guys who broke in here are trying to change the entire fabric of reality and they’re using hit squads and a crazy little ghost with a great big fucking knife. You want out of harm’s way, you come with me right now.”

“I didn’t know you cared.”

“Of course I care. You know where my money is.”

“It’s my money. Does this hovel have cable, because if I have to stay with you I’ll need a lot of distraction.”

“It’s nice as hovels go. There’s indoor toilets and everything.”

Kasabian doesn’t want to go with me but he doesn’t want to stay in the store on his own anymore. He slowly closes his laptop. He’s trying to figure out a way to get me to stay so he doesn’t have to leave, especially on a gimp leg. He drums his fingers on the desk and gives up.

“There’s a tracksuit on the floor next to the bed.”

He has to struggle into the suit because of his leg. I don’t offer to help because I’m not in the mood to get barked at. It takes him a few minutes and he’s sweating but he finally gets the clothes on.

“You look like you’re in the Russian Mob.”

“Yeah? Then carry my crap, Comrade. I’m a cripple.”

We take the same cab back to the Chateau. When I take Kasabian through the clock, he just stands there looking the place over. The celebrity-magazine furniture. The trays of food and booze. The thick robe Candy tossed over the arm of a chair. The epic bedroom with a closet full of clothes.

He limps back into the main room. Holds out his arms and drops them in exasperation.

Finally he says, “Fuck you.”

“Mi casa es su casa blah blah blah.”

“Fuck you.”

“There’s food over there.”

He goes to the spread, balancing himself on furniture on the way over. He looks at it and turns.

I say, “I know. Fuck me. Quit whining. It’s your lucky night. You’re going to help me commit suicide.”

“Goody.”

My new chest scar itches at the thought of me hurting myself again but I don’t have a lot of choices.

Before I off myself, I dial the clinic to check on Candy. No answer. Are they busy or screening my calls? I let it ring and then call back. Still nothing. Not a problem.

I leave Kasabian sucking down a plate of filet mignon and onion rings the size of horseshoes while Django the Bastard plays on the big screen. I forgot how movies look better when they’re not on a laptop screen. It’s a nice change. I don’t bother saying good-bye. Between the movie and the food, Kasabian wouldn’t hear me anyway. I go to the garage, steal a Volvo (every crook’s go-to car when they don’t want to be noticed) and drive to the clinic.

Traffic isn’t bad. Everyone who isn’t running for the hills must be bugging in. I only have to run a couple of red lights to get across town. When I get there, I beach the Volvo across three spaces in the parking lot, get out, and give the clinic door a copper knock. That authoritative knuckle rap cops have to master before they get to make the donut run solo.

The door opens and Allegra comes out, pulling it closed behind her.

“You thought if you didn’t answer the phone, I’d just go away?”

“Sorry. I thought the answering machine was on.”

“ ’Course you did. I want to see Candy.”

I start for the door but Allegra puts her hand on my chest. Then pulls it away when she touches the armor.

“She’s all right. It was just a slash and didn’t go too deep. I closed her up and gave her something to sleep. She’ll be out for a few hours. Rinko’s taking care of her.”

“Speak of the Devil.”

Rinko hits Allegra’s shoulder when she pushes open the clinic door. She comes right up to me. I’m ready for the slap I know is coming. I got her girlfriend hurt. I won’t even try to stop her.

Rinko’s hand flashes up. The shirt rips. Sparks kick off the armor. She slashes down again with the scalpel, this time at my throat. I step back and catch her hand, shoving her hard enough into the clinic door to rattle the glass.

“Don’t hurt her!” yells Allegra.

I won’t. I can see it in her eyes. She’s possessed. Someone is having fun Downtown. Rinko already hates my guts, so it probably wasn’t hard getting in her head and tweaking her to come at me. I was hoping that with Aelita up here, the possession games would stop for a while. Maybe I should have burned Hell on my way out of town. Maybe I should have hung more skins on the fences. Was I too awful a Lucifer or too nice? Neither. I was just lousy. Am just lousy. I should have seen this coming.

The clinic door opens again and Vidocq comes out. He has another scalpel and the same dead-fish possessed look in his eyes. When he raises his hand to slash me, I pop him once in the jaw. Not hard enough to hurt him. Just hard enough to lay him out.

Allegra gets between us, dragging poor dazed Rinko with her.

“Eugène. Stark. What’s wrong with you? Stop it.”

“He can’t hear you. He’s possessed. So was Rinko.”

Rinko is starting to come around. Allegra kneels by Vidocq and checks his eyes. Looks back at me.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she says.

“These days, when one possessed person goes down, another pops up. I thought you were going to go off with the scalpel next but maybe you’re immune because of the angel hoodoo you work with all day. Lucky for both of us.”

Rinko comes over and helps Allegra get Vidocq back on his feet. She looks at me funny. She has no idea how she got outside or why my shirt is ripped or why I’m dressed like an extra in a Hercules movie.

“Vidocq will be fine. When his head clears, he won’t remember a thing.”

I get around them and open the door. Allegra looks like she might slash me without being possessed.

“We don’t need your help.”

She waits until I step away from the door before taking Vidocq inside.

“I’m not the villain here. I’m the one who got knifed.”

“This time,” says Allegra, pulling the door behind her. I grab it before it closes.

“Take care of Candy. And don’t let either of these two near her.”

“I know how to run my own clinic.”

“Really? Does your staff settle all its arguments with a knife fight?”

Allegra doesn’t say anything. She tries to pull the door closed. I don’t let her.

“When I’ve done what I have to do, I’m coming back and I’m going to see Candy whether any of you like it or not.”

I let go of the door. She pulls it closed and locks it.

“It’s nice to see you’ve still got the magic touch with people.”

The voice is behind me. I recognize it because it’s mine. I turn around and look at me.

Saint James is dressed in tan khakis and a blue pullover with an off-brand logo over the pocket. He looks like me if I was eleven years younger and a Mormon kid on my missionary work. I’d never admit it but I feel strange and it even hurts a little seeing myself without all the scars. The guy I was before I went Downtown has been gone so long I don’t even remember him but I’m looking at him and that’s bad enough. What’s worse is that Saint James, patron saint of traitors, cowards, and general pricks, knows it.

“How’s Heaven, pal? I mean Blue Heaven. What the hell is that? Some kind of time-share hideout with D. B. Cooper and Ambrose Bierce?”

“I was about to pull you out of Vidocq’s way but as usual you solved the problem with your fist. You’re punching friends these days. It’s good to see a man broaden his interests.”

“The only reason you’d save me is because half my skin is yours.”

“True enough, but you didn’t have a shred of common sense up here, and Hell hasn’t helped you gain any perspective.”

I take out a Malediction. Sit on the hood of the Volvo and light it. I don’t offer Saint James one. No way this milquetoast smokes.

“You’re wrong. I have plenty of common sense. I’ve hardly killed anyone since I’ve been back. Okay, maybe those ten guys at Blackburn’s. But I’m the injured party here. Everyone’s gunning for me because of something you did.”

He shakes his head. Clamps his jaw angrily before speaking.

“I didn’t kill the mayor’s son and you know it. It was the ghost. I was trying to stop her just like I tried to stop her before. I was there when the boy was killed, so it was easy to pin it on me. I think someone is protecting the girl.”

“If I’m supposed to be impressed with your detective skill, you’re going to have to try harder. I know all that and I know who’s doing it.” It’s a lie but I’m not about to let this asshole in on how in the dark I am. “All I need to figure out is why. You know, even if you showed up with all the pieces of the puzzle and a carton of Carlos’s tamales, it doesn’t change the fact that you left me to clean up Mason’s shit. Now I have to clean up yours and I’m supposed to swoon over a happy reunion because you finally stepped up?”

“Right. Like you never left me holding the bag. Running wild up here and down below. Getting us backed into corners so that I had to figure a way out.”

I puff the Malediction and blow smoke in his direction but the wind carries it away.

“All that’s what’s changed. Being on my own Downtown, I learned to think more before I break things. I did some bad things as Lucifer but not nearly as many as I could have. I saved the place from imploding and taking a whole lot of souls down with it.”

Saint James smirks. He isn’t buying it.

“I saw you playing cowboy with Great-Granddad. How is Wild Bill?”

“You were there spying on me?”

“Checking up on you. Believe it or not, I was concerned.”

“I bet you were. You found out it’s lonely out here on your own and you want back in my head. That’s why you’re here. Forget it. I’m done with the Three Faces of Eve routine. I don’t need you.”

He looks me over. Another shirt ruined. I need a tailor or at least a clothes fairy. I wonder if Manimal Mike can make one for me.

“Are you going to wear that armor forever?” says Saint James. “You’ll never be more than half a person without me.”

“I read books when I was Downtown. I learned about the Greeks. ‘Loss is nothing but change and change is Nature’s delight.’ Marcus Aurelius said that.”

“Marcus Aurelius was Roman.”

“I know. Ain’t that a bitch?”

This time, when I blow smoke, I get him. He steps away, waving his hand at the cloud.

“This armor is why I don’t need you. I have all the power I had when we were together and even a few new tricks.”

“The armor hasn’t improved your thinking.”

“The only thing you have on me is the Thirteen Doors Key and I can live without that.”

“Really? How much longer can you ride that beast of a motorcycle before the police catch up to you? How many more cars can you steal? The police aren’t fools. Julie Sola told me they have a whole task force looking for the car-theft ring. You’re a whole criminal conspiracy.”

“A task force just for me? I’m flattered as hell. I’ve never been a gang before.”

“You realize that if you’re captured, they’ll take the armor. And since you don’t have the key, you’ll be stuck in jail. Just another mortal fool in a sea of monsters.”

I flick the cigarette butt at him and burn a small hole in his pullover before he flinches out of the way.

“You left me to the monsters when you blew Hell. Let me change what I said before. It’s not that I don’t need you. I don’t want you. Have fun in Blue Heaven.”

I get off the Volvo hood and start around to the driver’s side.

“You mean it, don’t you? This isn’t just the anger talking. You really intend to give up half of yourself forever.”

I pull up my shirtsleeve and show him the Kissi arm.

“Remember this? I lost part of me already and I learned to get along without it. I can do it again.”

“Can you honestly say you don’t miss the Room of Thirteen Doors? The quiet. The perfection. Knowing you’re at the still silent heart of the universe and that no one can touch you.”

“I miss it like a junkie misses the needle. But it’s like Herodotus said—and that guy I know is Greek: ‘Very few things happen at the right time and the rest do not happen at all.’ ”

“How does that even apply?”

“ ’Cause you’re a day late and a dollar short, so fuck off.”

He leans on the top of the Volvo.

“Without the Key you can’t get to Blue Heaven and you’ll never see me again.”

“You can travel with the Key but I have people who watch my back. What do you have besides frequent flier miles?”

“Everyone who watches your back gets shot, stabbed, or punched. How long will they put up with that?”

I get in the car. Talk to him through the open window.

“Good-bye. Say hi to Amelia Earhart for me.”

Saint James steps into a shadow and is gone.

“You know, I had to kill myself a little in Hell a few days back.”

“Maybe you’ll get it right this time,” says Kasabian.

When someone asked Willie Sutton, the safecracker, why he broke into so many banks, he said, “Because that’s where the money is.” When you want to find a ghost who tried to kill your girl (okay, not technically mine but I like her a lot), you go to the Tenebrae because that’s where the ghosts are.

I stick the tip of black blade into my arm until the blood flows.

“This is the funniest thing you’re going to see all day.”

Kasabian looks at me and turns abruptly away.

“Jesus. Give a guy some warning. Why are you doing that? You don’t have enough pain in your life?”

“It’s not the cutting that’s funny. It’s that I’m cutting the nice clean stitches the hotel doctor just put in. I need some blood.”

“What for?”

Don’t think for a second that just because I’m hard to kill, getting hit or burned or cut doesn’t hurt. It feels the same to me as it does to anybody else. It’s just that I get over it faster. When it’s happening, though, I feel every little twitch and twinge of pain. Cutting into a recent wound is an especially interesting experience. There’s a lot of internal “What the hell are you doing?” screaming.

“Remember when you tried to shoot me with that booby-trapped weapon? The Devil’s Daisy that Mason gave you?”

“Yeah,” says Kasabian. “Damn thing ruined a perfectly good surrogate body.”

“Remember that I talked to you in the deadlands when you were gone but not in Heaven or Hell yet?”

“Yeah? Is that what that’s about?”

I nod. Grimace when I dig down too deep and hit bone.

“Shit. I’m going back to the same neighborhood to talk to another ghost. She gave me this little paper cut, so I figure blood from the wound will get me close to her.”

“You cut yourself up when you came to see me?”

“Worse than this. Usually you have to slit your wrists and be at death’s door for this trick. I’m hoping I can get away with a little less blood this time.”

He takes a chance and sneaks a look in my direction. The blood is flowing and I’m dripping it around a Magic Circle I’ve carved in the tile floor. Thirteen interlocking circles and lines meeting at seventy-two points. Metatron’s Cube. The Flower of Life.

“The really funny part is that I shouldn’t even have to do this. Lucifer can hop from Hell to Earth. I bet he can get to ghost central too but I still haven’t figured out ninety-nine percent of his power.”

The circle is nearly closed with blood.

“When you see me come back, it would be swell if you helped me out by breaking the circle. Just wipe up a little blood.”

“I was just sitting here thinking that what I’d love to do after a nice lunch is wipe up your body fluids.”

I toss off my sliced shirt and strip naked except for the armor.

“The Tin Man comes out of the closet at last.”

I toss him the ripped shirt.

“Shut up, and when you see me twitch, you can use that to break the circle.”

“You’re not going anywhere, are you? This is just some kind of frat hazing where I have to stare at your sack while standing on one leg and reciting the alphabet backward.”

He picks up a chair, limps over, and sets it down a few feet from me.

“Don’t get lost over there. Candy will find me and break my other leg.”

“That’s the trick. Anyone can go over. It’s the smart ones who come back.”

“I never thought of you as one of the smart ones.”

“Me neither. That’s why there’s Plan B.”

“What’s that?”

“I’ll let you know when I think of it. Hand me that bottle of Aqua Regia.”

He does and I take a big swig.

“One for the road.”

I put the bloody blade between my teeth. Normally I’d use a crow or raven feather for something like this but the wet knife will have to do.

Bleeding myself has left me light-headed. I lie down and wait for a little touch of death. I drift and sink and it swallows me up.

I open my eyes underground in a subway tunnel. L.A.’s subway system isn’t a system so much as a miniature golf course spread over a few miles and connected with trains. New Yorkers laugh when they see our puny line but it’s ours and we love it and mostly ignore it. This is L.A. Sitting in traffic in your own car is much more chic than actually getting anywhere. Only squares want to be places.

The tunnel looks clean but unused. There’s a layer of dust on walls and platform. I climb down to the tracks and walk toward a light maybe a quarter of a mile ahead. I bounce off the walls a couple of times and trip on the damned rails. I’m still woozy from the trip down, but when I reach the platform, it’s worth it. The sign above the tracks reads TENEBRAE STATION.

The escalator has come completely off its track, so I take the worn stone stairs up to the street.

Travelers only ever go to the open deadlands. No one except necromancers and fetishists ever goes to the populated areas. Now I see why.

I’m still in L.A. The Tenebrae might be another Convergence. Whatever it is, it looks like all the landfills west of the Mississippi have been dumping their trash here since the beginning of time. I stumble through debris like an arctic explorer in a snowstorm. Garbage drifts down the long boulevards of abandoned buildings and forms loose drifts of newspapers, parking tickets, menus, and shopping lists. Swarms of flies move through the streets like flights of migrating birds. I’m on Broadway near the old Chinatown gate. Burned-out cars lie everywhere in heaps like a giant kid got bored and dropped them here. If I can’t save a few of the dreamers, L.A. is going to look like this place soon. If we don’t fall into the Twilight Zone like Catalina.

Ghosts are funny. They have a lot of self-esteem issues. The Tenebrae place looks like some of the shittier neighborhoods in Hell, which is ironic since most ghosts are here because they’re afraid of crossing over.

It doesn’t take long before I’m noticed. Ghosts lying curled up on benches or sitting in windowless coffee shops stare at me. Some take a few tentative steps in my direction before losing strength or interest or both. Most look as windblown and worn out as the empty buildings. Most but not all.

I recognize Cherry Moon from all the way across Chinatown Plaza. Her spirit is still strong enough to look better than the other ragged ghosts. Closer to her ideal form, which for her is a walking, talking anime schoolgirl complete with loose socks and pigtails. That kind of thing was creepy enough when she was alive, but it looks worse now that she’s dead. Her skin is a pale gray and her eyes are bloodshot. She looks like Sailor Moon’s evil twin. Cherry comes over and looks up at me coquettishly like she’s practiced the move a thousand times in front of a mirror. At least she doesn’t smell as bad as she looks.

“You came. I can hardly believe it. My slightly smudged white knight.”

“Hi, Cherry. It’s nice to see you with a face.”

“Are my eyes still the mirrors of my soul?”

“Sadly, yes. Having skin must be nice. I love what you’ve done with the place.”

“God’s little acre.”

“Of shit.”

She touches my nose with the tip of her index finger.

“Don’t be mean, James.”

She loops her arm in mine and we walk through the endless garbage dump.

“This isn’t the afterlife. This isn’t anywhere. You can leave anytime you like.”

“Is that how it works? How kind of you to explain.”

“If I’m inconveniencing you, I can go.”

She tightens her arm around mine.

“Please, James. Play nice. You don’t know what it’s like here. We all died once and now we have to do it again because of that little bitch. It looks like it hurts even more the second time around.”

“I’m not killing the Imp until I talk to her, so don’t get your pigtails knotted up if I don’t go in like Bruce Lee.”

We turn out of the plaza and head downtown.

“She’s a monster. She kills us. Hurt her for me, James.”

“You know that back in the world I’m lying in a pool of my own blood. I’d really like to get things rolling before I muss my hair.”

“Cool your jets, jet boy. We’re almost there.”

A mob is following us. I must be the most interesting thing that’s happened here since the girl. How sad for these dopes. How terrified do you have to be to put up with this dismal trailer-park universe? If I had time, I’d make every one of these assholes a deal. Let go. Come to Hell. You can camp out in Eleusis, the town God built for righteous pre-Jesus pagans. It’s still the nicest place down south. Crap parking but no torture and other reasonable souls to pal around with. I’d do it just to clear out this shit sink. But none of them would do it. They’re too chewed up by the demons in their own brains. I want to blame God for these losers. For not making Himself known and available to humans, but I wonder if it would make a difference to this crowd. There’s something willful about this kind of self-punishment. Without realizing it, they’ve made their own second-rate sitcom Hell.

Cherry says, “I hear you killed Mason.”

“Nope. He killed himself.”

“But you helped.”

“Russian roulette is a hell of a game. Second place sucks as much as, well, there isn’t anything worse than second.”

“You cheated, didn’t you?”

“I’m not stupid enough to play Russian roulette with Mason for real.”

Up ahead, it looks like a small nuke went off. A deep crater is spread over four square blocks. Buildings and the remains of cars and street signs lie in heaps on the edge of the blast zone.

“What’s Hell like?”

“It’s not as bad as this. Normal people would rather be inconvenienced by Hellions than be this bored for the next billion years.”

“They don’t have any imagination. We make our own fun. Did you ever lie on your back, look up at the sky, and make garbage angels? It’s very cathartic.”

“You tunnel in the dirt and play in garbage. You’ve come a long way since the Lollipop Dolls.”

“I miss the old gang. I wonder how they are.”

“I’m dating someone with an anime and manga fetish. I’ll ask her.”

The crowd behind us keeps growing. It’s officially a throng on its way to becoming a mob. Off to the side are groups of kids in dirty rags—eight, nine, and ten years old—standing off by themselves.

“Who are they?”

Cherry doesn’t even look at them.

“They’re lost kids. Ones that all died badly.”

I think she’s telling the truth. The kids look worse than I do. They’re crisscrossed with knife slashes. Long straight cuts along their throats. More slashed and crescent-moon marks on their arms and faces.

“Does anyone do anything for them?”

“They’re not exactly chatty. Little savages. They keep to themselves and we leave them alone.”

Cherry stops and points down into the crater.

“There she is.”

Our ghost escort backs away from the hole and keeps going to the end of the block.

The only things in the bottom of the crater are the Imp and the burned and rusted chassis of a school bus. She sits on the bumper in her blue party dress, idly stabbing the ground with the knife.

I start down the steep crater wall, walking sideways to keep from sliding. Pieces of broken pavement and loose dirt tumble down around me. The Imp looks up and screams. A full-on animal scream, nothing held back. She raises the knife and rushes me. I get down to level ground as fast as I can and pull the 8 Ball from my coat.

She freezes in her tracks. Takes a couple of steps back. I stay frozen. In a few minutes, she decides I’m not going to charge her, so she goes back to the bus bumper and stabs the ground harder than before, digging up fist-size clods of packed dirt.

When I get close enough to hear her, she says, “Are you here to kill me?”

“You think that because of the 8 Ball. The 8 Ball kills you?”

She looks at me.

“Qomrama Om Ya.”

“What is it?”

“It’s not yours.”

“I know. It’s Aelita’s.”

“No. She had it but it’s not hers either.”

“Is it yours?”

She shakes her head.

“You’re not one of his. Who are you?”

“One of who’s?”

“The cruel one.”

“King Cairo?”

She jams the knife angrily into the ground. It goes in up to the hilt. I forgot how strong she is.

“I’m not allowed to say.”

“You can tell me. I’ll make sure the cruel one doesn’t hurt you.”

“I can’t.”

“Tell me which who and I’ll stop it.”

“The old one. He watches through the dark.”

“Lucifer? Is it the old Lucifer’s?”

She gets up and walks away. I follow her.

“If it’s not Lucifer who watches you through the dark . . . Another ghost? God?”

The crowd of spirits spreads out around the rim of the crater. They back away from whichever direction the girl faces like she’s a four-foot-tall icebreaker.

“It’s God, isn’t it? I’m Lucifer, so I’m not one of His. That’s what you meant. That’s why you didn’t hurt me.”

“Why would I?”

“Is that who you kill? Anyone who isn’t damned? Kid, even in L.A. that’s a lot of people.”

She shrugs.

“Them first. Then the others.”

A rotten telephone pole lies lengthwise, half buried in dirt. She swings the knife, knocking out a chunk of wood the size of a basketball.

“Mostly I do what I’m told. Mostly that’s all I do.”

“Someone sends you to kill the dreamers.”

She nods, digging into the pole and prying the metal rungs out of the side.

“And sometimes other bad people.”

“Who tells you to kill them?”

“He does.”

Talking to ghosts is like pulling eels out of a tank of motor oil. Pointless. And anything firm you grab onto is hard to hold. Most aren’t as direct as Cherry. Most have brains dustier and more barren than the shittiest parts of Death Valley.

“He? Okay. What man tells you to kill?”

She stares at the ground for a minute.

“The one with the flowers.”

I’m looking for a homicidal florist. Sure. Why not? Getting stuck with rose thorns all day. And the height of your day is sticking a Mylar balloon on a basketful of daisies. That will make you moody. Then it hits me. Not a florist. A gardener. Cherry said it. She’s just one of the “pretty flowers in his garden.” Teddy Osterberg. My favorite freak. Color me shocked. But there’s a problem.

“You’re not his ghost. I know that for a fact. How can he tell you what to do?”

She stands up. Hair has fallen across her face. She brushes it off with the back of her hand, leaving a dirty smear across her cheek.

“He just does.”

“Did he tell you why?”

“Should he? I don’t know.”

“You’re killing the whole world, you know.”

She nods. Giggles.

“It’s fun. I like the funny skies.”

Talking about destroying the world has changed her mood completely. She comes over, takes my hand, and leads me to another school bus buried on its side. Hands claw at the windows. Faces scream silently. Ghosts that weren’t able to get out when she did whatever she did to blow open this crater. If I was a betting man, I’d say she fell from the sky and landed here like a meteor.

“My name is Stark. What’s yours?”

She leads me past the bus and lets go of my hand. She kicks up clods of dirt with the heel of her Mary Janes. Picks up a stone and throws it. It looks like she’s thinking.

“Lamia.”

“Hi, Lamia. What kind of name is that?”

“Mine.”

“I mean where is it from? Where are you from?”

“I’m not really me. I used to be but I’m not. I lived here.”