Body of Immorality (10 page)

You’re a better person, for what it’s worth. It’s not gonna be the same now. Everything is special.
You
are special. The trip you’ve taken is not temporary. You’re here for good, you know?

Influenced by the sway of the sea, Carl Tallard made restitution while sleeping. For him, he’d never felt
more
resolute, more in control of his destiny and thoughts. He was a man made by principal. All he had to do was stick to the plan.

The sadness of betrayal gripped his heart. It was mutiny—and as any Captain will testify—it was simply unacceptable.

Quietly, with the gun in hand, Tallard walked down the hall where Art lay sleeping in his room.

It was rightfully his, this mysterious ship. After seeing it only twice, he wondered how close it was today.

Tallard seized the moment, how to react in order to obtain his goal. Life
was
the ocean. Friends were only an obstacle, preventing him from obtaining the prize. How could he even
call
them friends?

He should be thankful.

Lucky?

Ah, yes, the thing following him through life, granting him miracles along the way. Luck had given him the information he needed. Luck brought to light this terrible treason, the way he’d played his cards all his life. Tallard was gifted, uncovering talents he never knew existed. He had a calling. He could not abandon his mission!

My love for you will have its rewards. It depends on the choices you make, Skipper. Save your emotion ’til later. I am here with you now. I will rock you to sleep, cradle you in my arms. Because you never had one, I’m your mother now.

Funny, Carl thought. He couldn’t remember his mother, his father ever mentioning what had happened to her. Did she die during his birth, abandon him to his father, or leave him in a garbage can?

True love is the understanding sympathy of a caring mother.

For the sake of his life and sanity, Carl grabbed the knob to Art’s room and turned it. He pushed open the door and stepped into the dark where mutiny lay sleeping.

To his surprise, Tallard felt a terrible surge of emotion. How could they
do
this to him? He didn’t
want
to understand it, he realized. The thought of their betrayal brought tears to his eyes.

Art was snoring. Tallard, standing over his ‘so-called’ friend watched him for a few seconds before lifting the gun.

This person sleeping was a stranger.

Tallard grabbed one of the unused pillows and placed it over Langly’s face.

“There is only one cure for mutiny,” Tallard whispered.

Art struggled under the pillow. The man sucked for breath. Carl placed the muzzle of the gun into the pillow and pulled the trigger three times. The shots were loud, making Carl wince. Feathers rose into the air and descended.

Art’s feeble struggles ceased. Blood oozed from under the pillow.

The gunfire was loud enough to wake Tommy from across the hall. Not long after, Molly stood in the doorway wearing his boxers.

“Carl?”

The voice was eerily familiar. Tallard couldn’t quite place it.

You have come onto my ship. You have taken complete advantage of me. You have allowed me to suffer. You would’ve fed me to the sharks.

Things moved too fast. Who were these people, and how had they come here? The answer was just out of his reach…

Something about friends…

“Carl, good
Christ!”
Tommy said, his eyes wide in shock, very much awake. “What did you
do?”

As if you didn’t know,
Carl thought.
As if it’s all a big mystery!

Tallard pointed the gun at the stranger’s face. Tommy’s hands went up, shaking his head, pleading:

“
Jesus,
Carl! No!
Don’t!—”

Tommy took several steps backwards.

He was a good actor, the man in the boxers. Carl gave him credit.

“No! Jesus, Carl! Please! What’s happened to you—”

Tallard was tired of games. He pulled the trigger seven times, the gun kicking violently. Tommy flew backwards through the air and hit the opposite wall. He slumped motionless to the floor. The holes in his chest oozed blood.

Carl walked over to Tommy, pointed the Berretta at the man’s head, and fired again just to make sure. The body jerked, slumped, and was still.

Who else was on the boat? If there were others, he’d find them!

They had to know, didn’t they? Nothing would stand in the way of his dreams coming true!

With the smell of gunpowder thick in the air, Carl looked at the bodies of his enemies, and stormed on deck.

Destiny called. It was time to come home.

*

True love waited for him beside
Preservation.
It scraped the side of the houseboat now.

Crazy like a fox, love.

The sun had risen, turning the sea into a magnificent array of gold.

Not that it was important. Destiny had brought him to love’s doorstep. The ship was more beautiful than he remembered. With the sun and the golden waters, Carl Tallard could not imagine a better introduction to a life of mystery.

The gun fell from his hand and
clonked!
on deck.

Mist gathered, moving in around
Preservation
and the ancient vessel. A longing tugged at his heart. Perhaps now was the time for tears. Did she realize how much he missed her, how long he’d been waiting?

It didn’t matter. He’d let her have him. He hadn’t killed his enemies for nothing.

It was an easy jump, he saw, a matter of climbing over the rails of
Preservation
and then leaping onto the deck of the ship.

Carl Tallard swung his legs over the rail, bracing himself with one hand. He looked down into the dark waters between the two boats. Was that a face leering at him, wide eyes in the water below?

He steadied and launched himself over the water. He came down hard on the deck of the ancient vessel.

Through the thick and heavy mist, he looked behind him.
Preservation
disappeared just as quickly in the surrounding fog. In some strange way, he already felt different. He was alive in ways he’d never felt before.

That’s because it’s love, you crazy little fox, you.

No doubt, his father was smiling down on him. It made the whole trip worth it.

Years of tribute, of dedication to his father, had finally paid off. He was living in luxury, in the crux of a God’s elbow. Stars pampered him.

He didn’t ride off into the sunset just yet, however…

Within seconds, something unnaturally loud pierced the air, a chaotic din of a million screams. He didn’t understand it because the sound didn’t seem to have a source. Nothing was visible, only the empty deck of the vessel.

Carl put his hands over his ears and winced at the shrill, another kind of mutiny. His ears were bleeding. Tears came to his eyes.

He
did
see, though. From everywhere! Behind crates and barrels—the mizzenmast, and bulkheads—a maniacal black wave of ghouls spewed from every corner of the vessel, rushing toward him at lightening speed!

What they were, Carl couldn’t tell. He wondered only if they rushed toward him by the hundreds or thousands.

Dripping strands of mucus fell from hungry mouths. Arcs of freakishly lone teeth dipped below black chins. Tallard had enough time to witness their black and gray eyes, bodies stunted as if they’d been mashed, no taller than his knees. Gangly sticks for arms waved in the air, tapering to hands resembling a jumble of cooking knives. Art would’ve been proud.

But who is that?
he thought. Why did he think about Art?

They came at such speed, he hadn’t time to think. In fact, Carl had only seconds to comprehend his fate…

Again, he looked to the side. Thick fog had swallowed
Preservation
. The houseboat and his friends were gone.

He thought about how his shipmates, how his true love had betrayed him. What a cruel, agonizing twist of fate!

What was that about Destiny?
he thought.

He didn’t want to drown in the deep waters of the Pacific, not while these abhorrent things diced and gnawed into his flesh.

How he’d managed to be deceived was beyond him. In the seconds that followed, he still failed to comprehend it.

It seemed only yesterday he’d been at peace with his life. Everything had been perfect. All he wanted was time away from land, with friends to enjoy the ocean’s paradise…

Yet, he experienced a terrible want to understand
what
these creatures were…

Was he dreaming again?

Something laughed in his face, telling him he had no such…
luck?

Tallard braced himself for the onslaught, nothing left for him to do, nowhere to go.

Charred sticks, thin, black, breakable branches pummeled his feet, hands, and chest. Curved teeth pierced his throat, sending blood into the air. Knives punctured his eyes. They sliced off his lips. They impaled his abdomen and groin. He was a human pincushion.

Tallard tried to hold his stomach in place. His innards spilled onto the deck in a colorful splash of shimmering gore. Blades ripped through his feet, tore into his hands. They sliced his face open, dug his eyeballs out.

This is your love. This is your treasure. Buried not with
Preservation,
but here in the dark where all your dreams turn bad.

“Dad,” Carl whispered. “Help. I’m so sorry.”

His knees buckled, and he fell forward…

They descended furiously, crazed and lunatic, burying their knife-like claws into his flesh.

The only thing he had to live for was the cold, dark water…

He noticed one other thing, though. Through being torn apart—his blood sailing like red ribbons through the air—the ship was turning in circles. It was caught in a whirlpool, he realized.

Crazy love,
he thought,
like a fox, love.

Maybe it wasn’t paradise, life here on the Pacific…

Cold water came together above his head. The ocean dark disposed of what remained of Carl Tallard, and this horror…

Steps

The white Victorian was elegant through every cornice, eave, and window, looming over the manicured lawn like a celestial guardian.

Peace and comfort,
Annie thought.
Warmth and happiness for the rest of our lives.

She believed it, too. No going back now. Annie and Eric Durgess had found a place to call home.

The house (she knew this was a sappy thought) smiled, something on the door perhaps—a bright yellow circle with a smiling face—the one you saw on bumpers, a yellow button on a jean jacket. The yellow sticker (or button), instead of ‘smile’ said, “I’m here for you. And you for me. Together, we’ll bring another member to the family. Make it three. Not counting me.”

Did it wink? Annie held her belly and chuckled. She was getting sappy, but she didn’t care.

Beasley, the family beagle, barked a single time from where he lay on the grass. He yawned, stretched—paws extended, belly toward the sun—looking around as though he didn’t understand why he’d barked in the first place. Maybe he’d had a bad dream, Annie thought.

She stood and looked at the house. They’d been in Longmont, Colorado for several months now. She was excited, too, because it was spring, and now she could start bringing the yard to life with color.

The house
did
seem to look at her. The white guardian spoke, letting her know:
I’m protecting you.

The sun was a bright yellow ball making its presence felt. For some reason, the sun seemed jealous of her thoughts, or maybe it was starved for attention.

Talk about sappy,
she thought.

She’d been working in the yard for the last two hours. Light blue gardening gloves grimed with dirt fit snugly over her hands. Her black hair spilled out in thick locks under a red bandana. She was wearing one of Eric’s long, denim shirts. She liked Eric’s clothes, and he enjoyed the fact that Annie liked to wear them. Something sexy about his ‘significant other’ partaking of his wardrobe, he’d once said. It brought them closer.

“Oh, that’s sweet,” Annie had told him.

Eric had rolled his eyes, looking as if he needed to get in touch with his masculinity, and blushed.

Still looking at the house, Annie Durgess thought of what it was telling her now.

Yes, soon, we’ll make it three.

The nights would grow long and sleepless with the new baby, dirty diapers, but she was optimistic. Annie didn’t think of the hardships of parenting, only the rewards.

The future proved optimistic. The white Victorian told her this now in its elegant facade.

Under a cloudless, pristine sky, yellow rays of warmth embraced her arms. “You,”—as if competing with the Victorian—the sun said, “are the big red bow on top off this package. We know it’s early for Christmas, but what the hell!”

Warmth surged through Annie’s chest. Was that contentment? A multitude of emotions—all of them glorious—moved alongside the contentment. She hadn’t felt this good in a long time. She wondered if it was a combination of the sun, the house, the flowers, the perfectly, manicured lawn, Beasley, and the expectation of motherhood.

Annie looked at Beasley and smiled. Turning back to her task, she knelt and planted another petunia—purple this time—along the walkway. The front yard was warm and welcoming already. Annie wanted their house to be the most inviting on the block. By the looks of it, she was doing a fine job. A war of color was taking place between Annie’s and Mrs. Duncan’s yard across the street. They’d been laughing about it for over a week now.

The Victorian spoke again, or maybe it was God. Through everything she and Eric sought, they were where they belonged, where they’d always wanted to be.

Another feeling of contentment? Is it possible to feel
too
good?

The sun moved in, pushing aside the Victorian’s optimism, letting the house know it was
his
turn to shine and put a smile on Annie’s face.

Annie took a deep breath over how good it all felt. Today, she felt reborn, made with newness. She and Eric
had
made the right decision coming to Colorado. The proof of that was all around: the colors, the sun, and the celestial guardian. As if in answer, Beasley barked again, whined, and rolled onto his side.