Ghosts of Eden (20 page)

The observer groaned. “Fool,” those purple-tinted lips said.

A roaring rush of air filled the room and Garty was forced to close his eyes against the swirling grit.

When the roaring finally stopped, he opened his eyes; the observer was gone; the morning sun shone through the window.

Kayla stood over him, grinning. She reached out and plucked the closed jar from his trembling hands. “I’ll take that.” She giggled, and ran from the room.

* * *

“Kayla?” Garty lifted himself and staggered into the hallway.

The door to Kayla’s room was closed. He knocked and Kayla answered immediately.

“Yes?”

Garty looked at her, suddenly unsure of himself, glanced into the room behind her. “Uh, are you ready to go?”

She looked confused. “Go?”

“Yeah. Don’t you want to get out of here?”

Kayla’s face cleared instantly. “Oh. Yes, of course.”

“What did you do with—”

“Nothing.”

“Alright, then get your stuff.”

Kayla gave him a strange smile, made no sign of moving.

“Fine.” He didn’t have time for this shit. “Let’s get out of here.” He took Kayla’s hand and pulled her down the hall. They flew down the stairs. They crossed the living room to the door and Garty slammed it behind them once they were outside in the comforting sun. He couldn’t get certain images out of his head—endless stairways going up to room after identical room; liquid flesh bubbling with cries of anguish; a giant reaching purple hand; Kayla’s slanted grin—as they hurried from the house and into the forest.

They followed the road. Garty felt that if they could just get off the property, they’d be safe.

They were being watched. He could feel eyes crawling over them. “Come on,” he said, and began to run. Next to him, her hand still securely folded in his own, Kayla didn’t say a word. Her face was expressionless, but her legs moved to match his pace.

His foot struck a rock and Garty nearly tripped, but managed to keep his feet. The dirt road was lumpy and seldom used, but he dared not slow their pace.

They made a turn in the road and the gate came into view. “Almost there,” Garty mumbled. Kayla continued to match his furious speed.

The gate was firmly closed. The fence stood at least ten feet high, topped with circling tangles of razor wire. There was no door for pedestrians, only the remotely controlled gate that rolled open to allow cars to pass through.

“We can climb?” Garty said.

“No.”

“Maybe there’s an opening somewhere, or a way under the fence?”

“I don’t think so.”

He wheeled on Kayla, dropping to his knees in the dirt, grasping both her shoulders, shaking her. “What the fuck’s wrong with you? Don’t you want to get out of here?”

Kayla only smiled.

He looked into her eyes: blank, almost lifeless. “Kayla?” He shook her again; he didn’t know what else to do. “Come on. Snap out of it. What’s wrong with you?”

“You know.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

Something rustled nearby. Garty’s head snapped up. Just on the other side of the road, the bushes beneath some trees were shaking. He stood, clutching Kayla protectively.

Two figures emerged from behind the foliage, walking slowly up the slope to the road. They moved simultaneously, their steps matching perfectly. One was a man, the other a woman. They both wore identical blank expressions, small knowing smiles tugging at their lips.

“Don’t come any closer,” Garty said. He looked around, snatched a rock from the road, held it up pathetically.

“You’re not going to bash our daughter’s head in, are you?” the man said.

“As much as she deserves it, I’d prefer if you wouldn’t,” the woman said.

Garty raised the rock above his head.

“Please put the rock down,” Kayla said next to him.

Garty turned to look at her. She wore the same facial expression as the others. It was in their eyes—their eyes were the same: bland, certain, maliciously inscrutable.

Garty pulled at Kayla’s hand, but she clung to him painfully.

“You’ll have to come with us now,” the woman said.

“You don’t belong here,” said the man.

The way the three of them looked at him, he could almost see pity in their eyes. Then they came at him, while Kayla held him in place and kept him from running.

THREE

…he won’t eat us…not yet…not yet…

Someone was speaking very near her in the dark. She flung her arms out, but there was nothing there.

“Hello?” but her voice was tiny, sucked away into the void all around her.

…impossible…five times five is twenty-five…six times six is twenty-six…eight times eight…stop…he moves…

“Who are you?”

…denotic…i was…i am…you are…

“De-what?” She tried to look at her hands. She knew they were in front of her, but the darkness was absolute: black. How long had she been here? She’d been unconscious, and she’d woken up, only moments ago, to this nothingness.

“Hello? Please…”

…seven times seven is forty-seven…mustn’t let him get too close…Lemm?…don’t you think?…my daughter?

Kayla tried to stand. Was she standing? It was difficult to tell. It felt as if she were floating at the center of a viscous sludge. But there was nowhere to go. It was impossible to orient herself.

…won’t eat us…eight times eight is forty-eight…

Kayla took a step forward. Immediately, she felt a tug.

…not that way…he’ll see you…my daughter?…my daughter?

Kayla took a step the other way.

…yes…two times two is two…

Somewhere, something sloshed, and chuckled.

FOUR

He struggled at first, thrashing, hurling threats, trying to kick or smack one of them, but it was no use. They gripped him firmly, and didn’t seem to mind when he refused to walk. They simply dragged him through the dirt.

“Fuck,” Garty said when they came within sight of the house, but then they pulled him down the embankment and into the trees. They followed a path that seemed to twist and turn, coming out into a small grove.

“No. Wait,” he said, when he saw what the grove contained. “What are you doing? Stop.”

They hauled him to a nearby stump, where a chain had been driven into the wood attached to a pair of dangling shackles. He tried to fight them, to lash out, spitting and screaming, but they were too strong; they secured him firmly to the stump, the heavy metal shackles biting into his wrists the more he struggled.

Three person-sized crosses, hewn from pine, stood, driven firmly into the ground, at the edge of the grove.

Terror gripped Garty when he saw the figures still hanging from the crosses.

The face of a man stared blankly at him, features contorted in the agonies of his final breath, hanging from the cross on the right. On the left—little more than a sagging skeleton of yellow tendons—hung another body, nails protruding from both wrists.

The center cross was empty.

His heart hammered in his temples. “Oh, please… Please… Stop… What do you want? Fuck! Come on! Please!”

“Are they going to crucify you, Garty? Is that their plan?”

Garty’s head snapped around. A man was emerging from the foliage on the other side of the grove, walking as if he were out for a morning stroll. He wore a huge wide-brimmed hat and he was palming a peach.

“I just came from the garden. Xander is quite the horticulturist, isn’t he?” The man looked at his peach and grinned.

His captors froze for a moment, watching the man with the wide-brimmed hat closely, then continued their preparations, lining up the tools they would need: a hammer, rope, metal driving spikes.

“Help me.” Garty pulled at his chains.

The man with the wide-brimmed hat walked right up to him. “Do you know how many writers and artists I have inspired over the decades? Over all this time I’ve been forced to play charades in this miserable world?” he said, as if he were striking up a casual conversation with an old friend. “Forty-seven, by my count. And those are only the ones I know about, that draw on aspects of my personality for tragic or comedic effect.” He took a huge bite of the peach, juices running down his chin. “I think that really says something, don’t you?” The man laughed.

Garty stared. His captors seemed ready, but remained motionless.

“I’m Wrigley, by the way.” the man said, bowing absurdly. “And you’re Garty.”

Garty nodded.

“Excellent. Then perhaps you can point me in the right direction. Where is the jar I gave you? You finally opened it, I see. About time. I’ve been waiting for weeks.” Wrigley pushed his face in close to Garty, completely oblivious to Garty’s captors, who seemed to be waiting patiently, and looked at him expectantly.

Garty opened his mouth, numb and unsure how to respond.

“The girl has it? Xander? Oh, please don’t say Xander found you with it. Wrigley shook his head, dropped the remaining chunk of peach into his mouth, pit and all, chewed, swallowed, then said, “You better help me find it. Come along then.” He turned and began back the way he had come towards the house.

Garty gaped after this strange man.

Wrigley turned back. “Aren’t you coming? Oh, them. Don’t worry about them. They’re nothing.” He smiled widely—a huge tongue flicked over his lips.

The Kayla’s-father-lookalike grunted, took a couple of wobbling steps. His face looked strange, saggy, as if the skin were coming loose from his skull.

Then the Kayla’s-mother-lookalike shrieked and dropped the hammer. She held out her hands, staring at them, but she seemed unable to support them, fingers melding together. “No,” she said, but already the word was garbled and barely recognizable. She screamed—a liquid, gargling cry—and ran into the forest.

Garty turned his attention to the Kayla-lookalike. She was just standing there, looking at him with such terrible fear in her eyes, he almost felt sorry for her. She fell to her knees, as if begging for her life, but it was only because they had collapsed. Her arms drooped at her sides, elongated, melted. Her eyes watered, then began to run down her cheeks. She opened her mouth to scream for help, but her jaw sank down her chin, and disappeared into the hunk of pink flesh that used to be her body.

Garty watched, not sure how to feel—scared; disgusted; relieved. When he looked back, there was only a pink puddle where the Kayla’s-father-lookalike had been standing. Soon, that was all that was left of the Kayla-lookalike as well.

“Now, are you ready?” Wrigley said, proffering his arm as if they were partners preparing to make their entrance at a ball, the chains opening and falling away on their own.

Garty took a deep and shaky breath. “Uh, I guess.”

* * *

Once inside the house, Wrigley said, “After Xander killed your uncle, he put a shield over this house and its grounds to prevent my kind from meddling in his grand ambitions, such that they are.”

“What do you mean killed my uncle?”

Wrigley looked at Garty closely. “Do you not know? Oh, I see. He’s convinced you
he
is your uncle.” Wrigley threw his head back and laughed. “What drama! He is no more your uncle than I am.”

“Who was then?”

“Dr. Gary Thayer, of course. A fine man. A bit contentious, if you ask me. Too serious all the time. But a fine sabbantiac.”

“Sabbanti-what?”

“A Sabbantiac. A gatekeeper. One who opens doors. Now, shall we climb these stairs? Perhaps we’ll find your sister, wouldn’t that be grand? Either way, I believe Xander is waiting for us at the top.”

They’d reached the second floor and Wrigley was indicating the stairs that led up to the laboratory. “Uh, okay,” Garty said.

They began to climb. Wrigley didn’t say anything—that grin never leaving his face—as they took the stairs, side by side, slowly and steadily, going up. There were a lot more stairs this time than there were the last time Garty had made the climb. When he looked up, the stairs spiraled upward, there being no sight of the doorway that led into Xander’s lab. “Learned a few tricks,” Wrigley mumbled, as they came to a small landing and turned upon more stairs. “Come, Garty. We mustn’t stop now.” They continued.

When they came to the next landing, Wrigley put his hand out for them to stop. Garty fought to catch his breath. Looking up, he could see there was one more flight of stairs, and then the door. “We should be careful here. He knows we’re coming.” Wrigley’s grin widened, showing no signs of fatigue. “After you,” he said, bowing, his hand indicating Garty to take the lead. Garty took a tentative step. “I’m right behind you.”