Kyle called on the blue. Nothing. He tried again. Same result.
Seeing a large branch at the edge of the water he could use as a weapon, he stepped to his left to avoid the little girl’s charge and dove for it. His fingers were just closing around the wood, which felt slippery with ash, when The Lantern Man stepped in front of him.
From Kyle’s vantage point on the ground, The Lantern Man looked even taller now. He held the lantern out as if it were a talisman of sorts and the girl, who had already spun for another charge at Kyle, shrunk back with a hiss, the skin on her nose wrinkled back in multiple folds, giving her a piggish look as her eyes burned with focus.
“Howwww dare you!” she growled.
“Stay back,” The Lantern Man replied.
“Thissss is my domain,” the girl insisted angrily as she rocked her weight from one foot to the next, her arms hanging limply at her sides, her hair falling in strands over her face.
“We will pass. You have a price. So name it.”
“You will not pass.”
“We will. One way or another. So take the offer. Name your price.”
The lantern began to hum. It was a low pitch at first, but then it built to a higher tone and then held. Kyle sensed that it was weapon of some sort, now cocked like a gun.
The girl took note of it but showed no fear. Instead, like a wolf assessing the reward versus the risk of an attack, she stopped, smiled again and nodded softly before asking, “Where you going?”
“That is not your concern. You only have a right to your price, and you’ve yet to name it. I will not ask again.”
Kyle shifted his weight and rolled over to his side, which was a mistake; it seemed to excite the girl again. She glared at Kyle like a bully on the playground angry that the recess teacher had intervened. For a second, it looked like she would attack, but with apparent effort she forced her focus back to The Lantern Man.
“Fine. My mother and sister. Tabitha and Melody. Blanchard, Virginia. Tell them to get me out of here.”
The Lantern Man scoffed. “To what end?”
In reply, the girl wore a look of hurt. “They’ll help me. They have ways.”
“Witches in the backwoods, both of them, this you know. As you also know that if they try and fail, it will only get worse for you here.”
“Worse?” The girl seemed stunned at first, and then she became incredulous. “How? How could it possibly be worse? In the water the leeches feast on my insides. Out of the water my skin burns like acid. And… in my mind…”
She faded out of the moment, her expression tortured, and when she came back she looked again at Kyle, but this time with a pitiful desperation.
“In my mind it happens over and over again. I just want it to stop. It hurts so much. Even the leeches, feeding on my heart, feel better.”
Kyle was about to speak to her, to ask her what had happened, amazed at his sudden instinct to actually try and help the girl somehow, here, in this place, when The Lantern Man spoke first. “Your price in named and granted. I will tell them the next time I’m out their way. You face the consequences.”
“But—”
“Leave us now. The deal is struck.”
The girl lowered her head and began to weep before slowly walking back into the water. She stopped and moaned every few steps and Kyle could actually see them this time, the leeches, by the thousands, floating on the surface of the water and sticking to her like gum. Pretty soon she was up to her shoulders in them, then her neck. She let out a brief scream before her head went under, leaving behind a slight eddy as a single water ring expanded and then dissipated.
“Come,” The Lantern Man said, walking to the water’s edge.
“I’m not going in there,” Kyle said firmly.
The Lantern Man turned his head, as if he were looking at Kyle. Closer now, Kyle could tell that his face was firmly wrapped in the swaths of cloth. He could see the outlines of a nose and mouth, but barely, and they didn’t move when he spoke.
“You won’t have to,” The Lantern Man said.
In front of them, a black-tar-covered bridge rose slowly from the water, pieces of marsh grass clustered in places along its rope railings, the water dripping off them. The bridge stretched across to a distant shore that, until now, had been obscured behind the fog. The bridge looked rickety, and it was only a foot above the water’s surface.
“Where are we going?” Kyle asked.
“The White City,” The Lantern Man said as he started out across the bridge.
Kyle hesitated.
“Look,” The Lantern Man said, glancing back curtly, “we don’t have much time. You’ve got to snap out of it. Have you accepted where you are?”
“Yes.”
“Then you have to know the danger. This creature accepted an offer,” The Lantern Man said, pointing down into the water. “The next one might not.”
Kyle nodded and started off across the bridge, noticing that the wood planks shifted and creaked under his weight but not under that of The Lantern Man.
As if on cue, when they were about a third of the way offshore, the fog rolled back in. For a second it was so thick that Kyle almost lost sight of his companion, barely able to see his outline. Kyle raced forwards until he could see The Lantern Man’s shoulders and top hat.
It was the silence that Kyle noticed next; it was so absolute, so penetrating, that it brought the feeling of deep and instant loneliness. With it came a wave of depression and sadness that, within a few seconds, brought Kyle nearly to tears.
God. Help me. Please.
The Lantern Man stopped abruptly and spun around, his face only a foot away from Kyle’s. “Don’t say His name here. Ever! They will hear again, like she did!”
Speechless against the firmness of the command, Kyle simply nodded. The Lantern Man could read his mind too, like The Gray Man. Kyle wished he had the blue to shield his thoughts, but he still couldn’t sense it anywhere within himself.
They resumed their walk along the bridge in silence.
After a little while, the silence was broken.
“Who who. When. Help. Life. Can you who when can help you. Hello. Help. Help. Help.”
The words were whispers from competing voices, so vague and overlapping that it was uncertain who was saying what or if anyone was repeating themselves. As Kyle and The Lantern Man progressed down the bridge, the chorus of whispers grew.
“Die. Pain. Home. Hey. Hey. You. You. Meat. Love. Murder hope cause dog hours time wall lost. Hours lost. Lost cause.”
The last four words cut through Kyle. He knew that voice. He’d grown up with it.
His Uncle Rob. It was his un—
The Lantern Man waved his free hand out over the waters, on either side of the bridge, silencing the whispers completely. “Kyle. Don’t listen to them. We’re almost to the other side.”
“But I think that was my uncle.”
Shaking his head as he continued walking, The Lantern Man replied, “No. They’re digging into your head. They look for a voice that will stand out, that will catch your attention.”
Kyle was perplexed, but he kept pace with The Lantern Man, one step at a time, careful to avoid the holes in the planks of the bridge, which grew more frequent as they made more progress.
“Would it bother you if your uncle were here?”
“Yes.”
“Because he was, for the most part, a good man, right?”
“He was. He taught me how to—”
“Fish, correct?”
Kyle nodded.
“He also told you about girls and helped you a lot after…”
Kyle held his breath. Don’t say it.
“Your father died.”
Kyle flinched. This place was, all of it—water, sky and land—a place of gut-wrenching sorrow. The last thing Kyle needed to be talking about here, of all things, was his father. So he changed the subject immediately. “How much further?”
“Not long at all,” The Lantern Man replied, his gait widening suddenly as he stepped onto the opposite shore. “We’re here, actually.”
The ground on this side was firmer, less charred and led to an area that was less marshy and more like open desert. As they pushed on the fog fell back, away and behind them, the sky going from red to an orange-red hue, and far off in the distance he could see it: a massive city of white.
“What is that place?” Kyle asked.
Stopping, The Lantern Man turned to Kyle and held his head still, as if studying him. Finally, he motioned over his shoulder towards the city.
“That, my dear fellow,” he said with a deep sigh, “is your only hope of ever getting out of here.”
The Bread Man was perplexed.
Up until now everything had gone exactly according to the plan. The Other had told him the time was right and that this silly girl was his next toy to play with. Together, in the midst of their dark talks—which usually happened late at night, when he couldn’t fall asleep—they’d devised the way he would kidnap Pretty Ashley, the liquor store girl.
He liked to call her that, “Pretty Ashley,” because that’s what she was: very, very pretty. Ugly girls were no fun. He’d killed one once, his second one out of the gate, actually, and the first girl he’d ever felt an orgasm with. She hadn’t resisted as much as the others had. The Bread Man suspected it was because she liked it, at least right up until the last part, when he’d slashed her throat with a box cutter. Ugly girls didn’t get much action. Neither did fat girls. They either liked what he did to them or, in some sick way, he suspected, they welcomed it, probably because it was so hard for them to find love, as if such a thing really ever existed anyway.
The garage was set a good twenty yards behind the main house. From the outside it was just an ordinary garage. But everything about its ordinariness was false. It had taken six months to get just right, but The Other helped him with one idea here, another there. They were a good team, and the garage had been a construct of their mutual desire for death and blood.
The garage door was now locked and bolted into place; it would never open again. The only way in or out was through the side door, which had four deadbolts and a standard lock, with only an exterior doorknob.
He’d hooked up a silent alarm system that would send a text to his cell phone if anyone ever tried to break in or, more likely, break out, and to further guard against the latter, the doorframe was metal and he’d attached copper wiring around its perimeter. The wiring was hooked to a breaker box with a switch hanging outside, just over the door. When flipped, the door was electrified and the shock was brutal.
He’d done it to himself one day just to see what it felt like, and upon touching the deadbolts he’d been zapped so hard he’d bit off a piece of his tongue, his teeth snapping down involuntarily as the electricity coursed up his arm and through his neck. It was a miracle he hadn’t killed himself. He no sooner thought the word “miracle” than he regretted it. “Miracle” was a word that The Other didn’t like. The Bread Man could tell by the way it squirmed in his brain like a painful tumor whenever he thought it.
Inside, he’d soundproofed the garage by bricking up each wall. Over the brick, he’d installed four layers of drywall, each one separated with sheets of mass-loaded vinyl and sealed with acoustical caulk. He’d added extra braces to the ceiling and repeated the drywall routine overhead. It was mostly just for insurance; he rarely left a girl inside without a ball gag in her mouth. On weekends, when he was home and could keep track of them with the baby monitor he’d installed, he would occasionally leave them ungagged. They always tried to scream and yell at first, before they got the cattle prod, but he’d noticed with great satisfaction that, while standing outside, you could hear nothing. Absolutely nothing.
The soundproofing made his entire backyard as quiet as a library.
He smiled as he remembered her: the librarian.
She’d been the best. By far. The best out of all of them. But he couldn’t think about her now. Her memory always ruined it, sometimes even made it difficult to get hard, and then he would get frustrated and kill before he was supposed to, before The Other told him to, and making The Other mad was never a good idea. He’d show up in the windows or mirrors with his face covered in rags and his top hat, and, well, after that, The Bread Man would curl up in a ball and stay that way for hours.
Pretty Ashley murmured something against her gag, bringing him back to the unpleasantness of the moment.
She murmured it again, her eyes sad and pleading.
“What?” he asked firmly. “What did you just say?”
She tried again, but this time it was distinct enough to make out.
“You’re sorry? Really? Your fucking sorry?” he screamed.
She closed her eyes and started crying as he advanced across the cement floor of the garage. He grabbed her chin.
“You’re not sorry, bitch! Don’t you lie to me.” He slid his hand down her chin to her throat, squeezing it until she opened her eyes and looked at him with that sweet stare of terror. “Let’s get that straight. Lying is a bad thing, okay?” he said as he glared into those eyes.
She nodded, swallowing hard against his grip. He loved their fear like a valentine.
He loosened his grip, but only slightly.
She was completely naked and tied against the back wall of the garage, her feet resting on two small wooded blocks and her wrists shackled with four-foot lengths of chain that were bolted into the wall. She would remain that way until he did her.
Except there would be no “doing” anything tonight. Not now. Not after the bitch had gone and ruined everything.
His mind was racing, so he forced himself to focus on the lightbulb that was hanging, exposed, from a cord overhead, casting shadows in all directions but leaving most of the garage in pitch-dark save for their little space together. Thank goodness there were no mirrors or windows in here. The Bread Man had deliberately not put any in during the construction, and The Other hadn’t been happy about that, but it didn’t really matter now because The Bread Man could feel him, pushing at his brain from the inside, trying to get out, stabbing at him through all that gray matter, calling him stupid, telling him again what a screw-up, what a loser, he was.
The Bread Man tried to argue a little bit, tried to ask how it was his fault. After all, wasn’t it The Other who was supposed to be the all-knowing one? But these thoughts caused a wave of such pain to course through his head and chest that he released Pretty Ashley altogether and clutched at his forehead, squeezing his fingers against the pain, as if he were trying to claw inside his skull to clutch it and pull it out.
He felt the world go black and then he was falling.
When he awoke, the first thing he noticed was the cold cement of the garage floor pressing against his ear and temple.
The room was still. He blinked and opened his eyes and there she was, her wrists raw from struggling against the shackles, her eyes fixed on him with that damn “please don’t hurt me” look on her face. She didn’t realize that everything had changed now.
He’d never had this happen before, which, when he thought about how many girls he’d dumped in that ravine now to join his parents, was pretty amazing. This moment was probably due.
Still. What now?
He struggled to his feet and looked her up and down.
She’d done this to herself. Dumb bitch.
The blood had flowed down her left thigh to her knee, down the entire length of her calf and ankle before it fell to the floor in small crimson droplets, which were forming a tiny pool.
Tonight was supposed to be his first night with her.
There was a timetable to this process. Exact. Precise.
But now it was all off.
She’d went and gotten her period.
Who did she think she was? It made him so furious that he thought for a second of grabbing the machete in the corner and using it to hack her to pieces.
Pretty Ashley, with her high cheekbones and her long blond hair, seemed to sense his intent. She shook her head vigorously, the whites of her eyes showing as she said it again, that stupid, stifled word.
“Sorry.”
He slapped her across the face. “That’s not good enough! You’re ruined for a week now! You’re unclean!”
He crossed the garage and grabbed the machete and she flailed against the chains, screaming, babbling against the ball. Talking, talking. Trying to say something to him, and as he stood before her to assess where to hack first, he decided she deserved to speak. Everyone deserved their last words, even this dumb whore who had started bleeding on him.
So he removed the gag and stared at her.
Maybe it was because she didn’t let loose with the usual string of pleas. Maybe it was the way she said what she said, like a good girl, or maybe just because it was short and sweet. Whatever it was, he liked what he heard.
“I can use my mouth,” she said. Beginning to cry, she added, “Until my period’s gone.”
And the fact that she was crying while she said it only made it hotter.
The Bread Man smiled. Yes. This was a good idea. He needed to relieve some pressure. Some stress. He couldn’t wait any longer, and he didn’t have the energy to kill her and then go through the effort of stalking the next one yet. He felt himself becoming aroused.
Licking his lips he brought the machete to her neck. “No cute stuff. No biting. I know where you live. This is just between me and you right now, and that’s all it ever has to be, but if you hurt me?”
She whimpered while he paused for effect.
“If you hurt me? I’ll go get your mama next, girlie. You understand?”
Pretty Ashley nodded.