Light was a fervent and all-present thing. It enveloped them like a liquid blanket, warm and welcoming, but also stuttered occasionally, as if there was an electrical short of some kind between where they’d left and where they were going. With the light there was a calming rhythmic, melodic beat, but with the shorts came a subtle feedback, like a needle scratching a record, that would coldly reveal the star-speckled black of the universe, a soundless void, before the light would return again and engulf them. As they traveled further along to wherever they were going, the light vacillated from a soft white to bright white and back again.
Kyle sensed they were traveling parallel to the existence they’d left behind, neither up nor down, left nor right, simply on an even plane. It was hard to really focus with Victoria clawing at him the way she was, her fangs bared as she tried to bite his face, her eyes burning with hatred. Once through the portal she’d reverted back to the beast she was becoming. Kyle pushed back at her, struggling with all his might, and was briefly able to free a hand and jam it hard against her chin, pushing those gnashing teeth away from his cheek. His chivalry was dead now. Falling into the portal seemed like an ancient decision and, in hindsight, not a very wise one. She was still trying to kill him. For some stupid reason he had hoped that wouldn’t be the case.
He sensed that he was dead, but he had no way of knowing for sure. The thing was, well, he still was. He hadn’t blinked out of existence; he hadn’t turned into a traveling ghost or a floating spirit; he was not before the gates of any afterlife reality. In fact, if he could sense one thing that was missing, it was reality. The reality he had taken for granted for so many years was now space dust amid passing meteorites and asteroids. His reality as a human was being stripped away, but in the name of a higher one and, Kyle realized, the only one that mattered when you left earth and relinquished the existence you had there.
All that was left now, in between shallow breaths in a place strangely filled with oxygen, was awe. Pure and deep. It permeated every pore of his body, every cell of his barely functioning mind. The great mystery revealed, at long last: there was a life after death. Then, inevitably, a tinge of sadness and regret came with the realization that he couldn’t go back and share this news with his friends and family, Lord above, not even with strangers and enemies. Glorious tears filled his eyes and when he looked back at Victoria her old face, her true face, was back again, and she was crying too. Maybe this could still all—
There was a loud, echoing sound, like a heavy plop of water, then the light was gone completely and they began to fall with a nauseating and terrifying dip that pitched his stomach into his throat and sent them spiraling downward. Their bodies violently separated with the momentum and Victoria’s face turned to a mask of human fear. So this was it then. The look at the end when you’d made the wrong choices in life and there was no turning back. She clutched at Kyle’s forearms and he grabbed her wrists. It was the oddest thing. A second ago they had been locked in mortal combat and yet now, in the midst of what was happening, they were trying to cling to each other like children.
The awe from before was now gone. In its place a horrid, gaping, endless and suffocating hopelessness welled up within him. The space around them convulsed and Victoria was wrenched from his grip, her mouth agape in a grotesquely silent scream. Sorrow filled him and something in Kyle squirmed in revulsion and panic.
It was his soul. His soul was scratching at his body, from the inside, trying desperately to get out. To flee. To get away.
Then all he heard was a horrible chorus of screams, before everything went black.
The Bread Man stood in the alley just outside the delivery door of Robert’s Liquor & Deli and took a deep breath. She was inside. Thursday morning. Over the past few months of deliveries and small talk she’d divulged a few nuggets of information, seemingly harmless stuff, like how Thursday was her hardest day because she opened and was forced to stock the shelves alone until eight in the morning. Poor thing. He smirked at the memory of what she’d told him one day: “No one comes in but you before seven.”
It was 6:00 a.m. sharp. He had an hour to do this, tops. But, truth be told, he’d mapped it out so many times and with such precision that he doubted it would take more than five minutes. The morning sun was still buried deep beneath the horizon, the only light in the alley coming from a small flashlight he’d brought with him. Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the small door next to the delivery bay. His usual knock: two, one, two. Their little thing, so she’d know it was him.
So she’d know it was safe to open up.
He smiled.
He loved his idea because it was so simple. He’d gotten it, like all his good ideas, by accident. He’d noticed one day that the door had no deadbolt and self-locked when you exited to the alley. On a different day, weeks earlier, he’d surmised that there was only one thing her uncle, who owned the deli, really cared about: money. Which was why the only security cameras the deli had were perched over the register and front door.
The observations sat like curdling milk for a while, stagnating in his mind, until they coagulated together and The Other in his head took over and spoke to him, like he always did. Keep it simple, buddy boy. Easy peasy.
The morning air was sharp with a chill, a gentle breeze rustling some torn garbage bags next to a nearby dumpster. He heard her footfalls as she came down the hall to the door. This was the key part of the plan. She had to not question why he was running so early on his route.
When he heard the lock turning, he was amazed. How dumb of her. How trusting. She hadn’t even asked for him by name through the door. But that was Beaury. Small towns were the best for harvesting. Everyone trusted so easily.
She opened the door and stood with one arm on the handle and the other folded across her chest, her blue sweatshirt not providing enough warmth against the cold. She looked confused but smiled at him. It was always the same smile. The “I know you think I’m hot, and it’s nice to have a fan, but you don’t stand a chance in hell” smile.
They were going to see about that, very soon.
“Troy? You’re early,” she said, blinking, the light in the hallway behind her casting her perfect body in silhouette. A body he wanted and was here to pick up.
“Hey there,” he said like prince charming, and then he waited.
The look of perplexity that came across her face was like sweet nectar. “Hey? Where’s your truck?”
“Oh,” he said, and then he punched her in the face as hard as he could. The way you’d hit a man or an animal. And that’s all she was, really: a pretty little animal.
Her head rocked back and she stumbled sideways, her left foot crossing her right foot as she stepped on her Vans and fell into a wall to the left of the door.
In a flash he was in the door, letting it close behind him as he covered her mouth when she tried to scream. It would’ve been a feeble scream anyway; she was stunned almost senseless.
He bounced her head against the wall with a boney thud. Terror filled her eyes just before they rolled back into her skull. She was out cold.
For good measure he smacked her three times across the face with an open hand. Not hard enough to break skin. He wanted her to stay pretty, yes, but he also didn’t want any blood left behind. He just needed her to stay out until he got her to the house. When she didn’t flinch or move at all, he propped her up and looked down on her with pure contempt. Fucking whore. Where’s that bitchy smile now?
His erection was immediate but this was not the time. Oh, but he wanted to. So badly. He debated for a second, but The Other in his head was rustling about, pushing at his eyeballs from behind and urging him not to be stupid, to stick with the plan, and so he did.
He picked her up, swung her over his shoulder, went out the door and heard it click behind him. With a rag over one hand, he tested the handle to make sure it had locked. It had. He smiled. He hadn’t touched the handle of the door on either side, so fingerprints weren’t a concern. The fact that there’d been no struggle even minimized the risk of any skin samples being found. Pleased with himself, he calmly walked a block down the dark alley, to where he’d parked his Camaro, and slid her into the back seat.
A cat skittered down the street, casting a dancing shadow from a distant streetlight.
He closed the car door gently, walked around to the driver’s side, got in and started the car. As he pulled away from the curb he glanced at his watch.
He’d guessed right: under five minutes of work.
For weeks of fun to come.