Evil Origins: A Horror & Dark Fantasy Collection (41 page)

Drew
shook. A moan slipped from the corner of his mouth.

“I
know you felt him. Those nights, listening to the wind rattle the windows or
the temperature tweaking the floorboards. That was Gaki. I know it. You know
it. He’s coming for you, and you know what he wants. My greed ate me alive, but
I think your vice is deeper, a red gash deep in the flesh that won’t stop
bleeding no matter what you do.

“Now
that I’m gone, I have a feeling that whatever being rules this plane will put
me somewhere, with an emaciated body, tiny mouth, and the inability to satiate
my lusts. I’m the new Gaki, but not your Gaki. You get your own, son. You get
yer own.

“You’re
about out of time with me. I did what I could, what I had to. You should know
that I did like ya. Those times I took you golfing, we enjoyed ourselves. Getting
a burger at the clubhouse and sneaking you a sip of my beer, that was good
times. But it’s all about business now. Shit, you’ve known you’ve been infected
for a while. All I’m doing is making it all official. A receding widow’s peak
ain’t all you’re inheriting from me, Drew.

“Gaki
got his eye on you. You’re the new ‘eater of shit.’ Do what you can to save
your family ‘cause there sure as hell ain’t no hope for your soul.”

***

Drew hit the
sleep button on his alarm clock three times before Molly shook him by the
shoulder. Her fingers felt like roach clips connected to a car battery. He
cursed under his breath and pulled the comforter over his head.

“Hon, you’re
going to be late.”

“Not going in
today.”

Molly sat up
and rubbed her eyes. “You never miss work.”

“Leave me the
fuck alone.”

Molly stood and
wrapped her robe around her waist. She paused, and then thought better of
speaking. She shut the bedroom door behind her and went downstairs to halt the
marshmallow-and-peanut-butter breakfast the kids had made.

Drew rolled
onto his back. Every muscle in his body hurt. His eyelids closed over balls of
fire and his throat closed, struggling to swallow what little saliva remained. He
looked at the alarm clock and then at the phone. With trembling fingers, Drew
snagged the phone from the cradle. He lifted it to his ear until the buzz of
the dial tone threatened to split his skull in two.

“Fuck it,” he
said, sliding his legs out of bed. The pain in his head came a half-second
later and almost knocked him to the floor. “Just be stuck with the cold bitch
all day if I lay here.”

The realization
motivated Drew. He dressed and drove on autopilot to the office, determined to
suffer through the day. Cars honked and pedestrians stuffed in winter coats
like emperor penguins sauntered through crosswalks. Drew considered plowing
through a throng of them a block from the office, but decided not to after
considering the amount of paperwork it would cause.

“Drivers got no
rights,” he said aloud. “Idiots think they can walk out in front of a four-ton
beast and not get hit. If I can find one texting, I might be able to argue it
was his fault for not paying attention.”

Drew saw a
vision of a hipster in tight jeans and Italian loafers floating over the hood. He
saw the man’s phone smashing off the windshield before the impact knocked the
beret from his head. He smiled. The light turned green, keeping the throngs out
of the grid and on the curb until the symbol changed again to a white hand
flashing.

Drew made it to
the front door of the office. He gave the receptionist the usual smile and
imagined what it would be like to fuck her from behind, his fist balled with a
handful of her blonde hair, yanking her back into position at the end of each
thrust.

The coffee
machine light blinked “brewing.” Drew slammed his mug on the counter and
cursed. “Which of these motherfuckers had the balls to empty the pot? Rude
pricks.”

The women in
the cubicles closest to the break room looked up, more from the tone of his
words as they could not quite make out what he was saying.

He abandoned
the idea of another cup of coffee and walked toward his desk. Drew looked to
the right and noticed that Brian’s monitor was dark, like the entrance to a
deep cave. Drew sat down and hit the icon to bring up his e-mail client. He
scanned through ten or fifteen subject lines, skipping them all until his eyes
fixed on one toward the bottom that read “Out.” He clicked on the subject line
and brought up the message in a full window.

Dude,

Feeling
like total shit today. Gonna stay home and watch porn. Tried calling Johnson
but got his vm. Please tell me that fucker ain’t out again today. Hoping to be
in tomorrow. Need a solid from ya. Can you please fax Bill at Diversicorp? Yeah,
I know he’s my client but I need your help. I left a contract on my desk that I
had planned on sending this morning. It expires at 5:00 p.m. All you have to do
is send it to the number on the cover page.

Rock,

Brian

Drew
leaned back in his chair and looked at Brian’s desk. He saw the document Brian
mentioned in the e-mail. He looked back at his screen to the time column.

8:37
p.m.

He
scratched his head.

He
wrote the sick e-mail last night?

Drew
picked up the documents and walked to the fax machine next to the receptionist’s
desk. He managed to slide in another sexual fantasy about her while waiting for
the fax-machine-confirmation page to print.

He
waded through a handful of other e-mails and looked at the clock. It wasn’t
even past ten and he felt as though he had been in the office for the past
seven years. The clacking of keyboards rattled his skull, and the phony, syrupy
greetings of cold calls made him want to vomit. Drew put a set of ear buds into
his ears. He pulled up the media-player app on his computer and scrolled
through the selections until he found
Kill ’Em All
, the loudest,
meanest, most intense Metallica album recorded. Even the rapid-fire guitar work
and caterwauling of James Hetfield could not keep the office noise from
penetrating his ears. Drew threw the ear buds down on the desk and snarled. Someone
had left the coffee-machine burner running and the bitter, harsh aroma of burnt
coffee flooded his nostrils. He broke out in a cold sweat and his hands shook
as if being flooded with electricity.

“Are
you okay?”

Drew
turned, leveling the full fury of his thoughts on the college intern that stood
behind the mail cart, retracting a hand that seconds before had been extended
toward him with three envelopes.

“I’m
fine,” he replied, taking a deep breath in an attempt to stave off the sensory
overload of the office.

“You’re
all pasty and sweating.”

Drew
straightened his sleeves and tucked a lock of hair behind each ear. He smiled
and shook his head like a master amused by the foolish questions of his
apprentice. “Deadlines. You’ll have ’em too if they hire you on. Careful what
you wish for.”

The
woman frowned and Drew did everything he could to keep from punching her in the
face. He balled his fists and used his right foot to fasten his left to the
floor.

“I’m
not afraid of deadlines. My professor for the night class said—”

Drew
sat down and began opening his interoffice mail while the intern rambled on. He
swiveled his chair and imagined crushing her beneath his heels, grinding her
face into a pulpy mess that would need to be shampooed out of the industrially
gray carpet.

She
pushed the cart down the aisle, shaking her head. Drew watched her go and
dreamt of stabbing her in the back.
Nobody would miss that sorry bitch and
her fucking man-calves
, he thought.

Drew
looked up and swore the entire office was staring at him. The men and women in
the cubicles dropped papers. One man put his arm around the intern, trying to
comfort her sobs. Drew realized he had spoken the words out loud. He looked at
Johnson’s office and noticed the door was dark again.

“Looks
like I need to call it a day,” he said, his voice wavering on an upward swing
of thin optimism. No one in the office moved and nobody came to his desk.
I
can smell their fear. They think I’m a loose cannon.

He
folded his coat over one arm and hit the power button on the computer. Drew
scribbled a few lines on a Post-it note and stuck the yellow sheet to his
monitor.

“Gone
home. Sick. Will check e-mail tonight.”

That’s
more information than they deserve
,
he thought.

He
tossed the cold coffee from his mug into the sink of the break room and left it
sitting on the counter. It would no doubt earn Drew a written chastisement from
the night crew about leaving messes for them to clean. He did not care.

Let
’em earn their keep like everyone else in this fucking prison.

He
passed through the office and gave an obligatory wave to the few that he did
not despise. Drew winked at the receptionist on the way out. Although she wore
a hands-free headset on the opposite ear, he knew she was involved in a
conversation.

“Got
yer back, sweetheart,” he said.

Trapped
by the conversation, she could do nothing but wrinkle her nose and shake her
head at the obtuse, and yet slightly cryptic, comment.

Drew
drove his car as fast as he could. He ignored most traffic lights and stopped
once long enough to fish through the backseat for a CD wallet embedded
underneath the passenger seat. It came up with an audible pop, covered in the
remains of sticky lollipops and dried soda. He unzipped the wallet and flipped
through the variety of heavy-metal recordings, smirking at them and reminiscing
like they were long-lost friends. He found another Metallica CD and pushed it
toward the slit in the dash. The motor came to life, grabbed the CD, and pulled
it inside. Drew cranked the volume knob as high as it would go while putting
the car in drive and punching the gas pedal to the floor. He crested the hill
overlooking his housing plan and turned right toward his street. The road was
empty except for a random garbage can lolling along the curb where the garbage
man left it to the mercy of the wind. Children were at school and parents were
at work. The neighborhood felt ancient, old, and as though it was hiding
something from the universe. Drew slowed the car and looked at each living-room
window as he drove past. He saw no signs of life, no movement.

He
pulled into his driveway behind Molly’s car. He put the car in park and waited
until the verse of “Harvester of Sorrow” ended before turning the ignition off.
Drew listened to the pings of the engine underneath the hood, the only sound
made in the dead of the midmorning neighborhood.

***

Drew
walked to the back door and slid his key into the lock. It clicked open after
shedding a thin layer of ice deposited on the tumbler. He looked at the keypad
to the right of the garage door. It sat there, dark smudges where hands had lifted
the lid countless times to punch in the security code.

Nope.
Not going to give her a heads-up on this. Gonna find out what the fuck she does
all day long when I’m serving time in my cubicle and the kids are at school.

He
pushed the door far enough to crack the seal, feeling the dry warmth of the
kitchen wash over his face. Drew slid through the door sideways and slipped his
shoes off. They tumbled to the tile floor, the sound muffled by an entrance rug
near the kitchen table. Drew paused, listening to the cranky motor of the
refrigerator. The rest of the house remained silent.

Drew
shed his coat and left it on the floor next to his shoes. He heard a squeak. The
muffled sound was a familiar one. He heard it every night when Molly went
upstairs to bed as he remained on the couch reading or watching television. They
bought the mattress with wedding money, its springs holding out through two
conceptions and thirteen years. The metal frame of the king-sized bed sat on
oak hardwood floors. Any movement on the bed resulted in noises like a gerbil
caught in its exercise wheel. Drew looked at the time on the microwave. He
looked outside and back to the LED numbers. 12:37.

What
the hell is she doing in bed?

He
walked into the living room and sat on the love seat. The bed squealed in
random bursts, like Molly was having a nightmare, wrestling with the comforter.

Drew’s
heart thundered in his chest until he could feel it in his ears. The bed
upstairs squeaked again. The heater kicked on and the blower now competed with
the refrigerator motor for the noisiest device in the house. Drew sat back and
rubbed his forehead with one hand. He stood with his feet glued to the hardwood.

“Nothing
good will come of it. Leave. Go back to the office and then talk about it once
you’ve calmed down or doused yourself with Jack Daniels. Don’t do it, man.”

He
wiped a tear from one eye and shook his head. Drew wanted to scream, to rip a
hole in reality and crawl through, to be embraced by an eternal, suffocating
darkness. Disobeying a direct order from his brain, and not heeding his own
mental warning, Drew placed his right foot on the steps, beginning the ascent
to the master bedroom and everything that might come after.

Chapter 9

Ravna knocked
the glass back until the last ice cube slammed into his teeth. The Johnny
Walker Red dulled the pain but left a vague stinging that seemed to penetrate
to the root of his front tooth. He winced and wiped at his watering eyes. The
remote sat on the end table, beckoning for his touch. Ravna looked at his
laptop open on the coffee table, the article deadline on his calendar app
staring back in menacing, bold, red, Times New Roman font. He reached over with
his foot and pulled the clamshell screen down with one toe poking through a
hole in his sock. He picked up the remote and waited for the electronic
impulses to dash through the air and bring the beast alive.