Generation Loss (34 page)

I'd
read about this stuff, but I'd never known anyone who actually did it. I
searched until I found the last part of Denny's fantasy factory—an unwieldy
contraption of black canvas and long wooden poles.

A
dark tent. Beside it stood a homemade box camera.

He
was making daguerreotypes. The dark tent's legs—that's what caused the
indentations I'd seen in the ground by the corpse tree. He'd slide the glass
negative into the box camera, go outside and set up the tent with its black
curtains to keep the light out. He'd shoot.

It
would take a long exposure time, a quarter-hour if overcast. That's why the
people in old daguerreotype portraits always have such fixed expressions—they
couldn't move, or the negative would register a blur.

This
wasn't a problem with Denny's subjects.

And
after the neg was exposed ...

I
looked quickly among the shelves until I found a very old glass prescription
bottle.

BOLTON-LIBBY
DRUG CO. BURNT HARBOR, MAINE

I
tilted the bottle toward the safelight to read the last word.
MERCURY

Daguerreotypists
developed their negs inside the dark tent, holding the glass plate above a bowl
of mercury and a spirit lamp. As heated mercury vapor whirled around the plate,
the image appeared.

Denny
must have done this hundreds of times, for years and years. It's why his hands
shook, and why his gums had turned blue; it explained why everyone said he was
such a sweetheart.

He
had been, once upon a time. Then Hannah Meadows died, gruesomely, and to
memorialize her he revived a lost art, without bothering to learn about its
dangers. Otherwise he'd have known that what drove 19 century hatters mad, with
brain damage and psychosis, had driven daguerreotypists mad too.

Denny
had mercury poisoning.

I
put the mercury down and looked until I discovered another century-old bottle,
the reason why Denny's darkroom smelled of bitter almond.

CYANIDE
OF POTASSIUM

Daguerreotypists
used it to clean glass negs, so they could be reused. I remembered one of my
NYU instructors reading a 1856 text on the subject.

I
feel a little unwilling to recommend this mode, as it involves the use of the
deadly poison cyanide of potassium; hut as every man who photographs must
necessarily use what we call dangerous chemicals, I can only caution the
beginner.

I
replaced the bottle, turned off the safelight, and stepped back into the
bathroom.

And
froze.

The
black canvas shower curtain was moving—the slightest ripple, as though from a
faint breeze.

But
there was no wind, only the wail of music in the next room. I drew the
flashlight from my pocket and stepped toward the shower stall; grabbed the
curtain and yanked it back.

She
lay on her side in five inches of black water, her head above the scummed
surface, hair plastered against white skin, her hooded sweatshirt and jeans
soaked with filth. Dried blood webbed her cheeks. Her wrists were bound with
duct tape, her knees drawn to her chest. There was duct tape across her mouth;
duct tape across her eyes, where he had drawn circles in magic marker. A
scrawled star was in one of them.

She
didn't move. The water did.

A
black shape emerged from the muck and began to crawl across her face, claws
scratching her cheeks, its shell black with slime.

The
girl moaned. She was alive.

I
grabbed her shoulder and pulled her up. The baby snapper fell as dark forms
suddenly bobbed everywhere, scrabbling at her head and arms.

"Kenzie—it's
me. Cass, " I whispered. "From the motel. Hold still, for Christ's
sake—"

She
struggled to kick me with her bound legs. Turtles slopped over the stall's lip
and scrambled across the floor. I dragged Kenzie from the stall, pulled a
corner of the tape covering eyes.

"You
have to shut up!" I breathed. "Kenzie,
please
—"

The
wet tape slid off easily. Beneath, her eyes were blood-red slits in oozing
skin. I thought she'd been blinded, but then her eyes widened. She began to
shake her head frantically.

"Listen!"
I hissed.
"Don't scream.
I'll take it off your mouth, but you can't
fucking scream—"

She
nodded, and I peeled the tape from her mouth. She leaned over and vomited, bile
and bitter almond. On the other side of the door, Denny's voice rose with the
music, singing wordlessly.

A
baby turtle cracked beneath my boot as I grabbed Kenzie and dragged her into
the darkroom. I shut the door and turned on the safelight. Kenzie leaned
against the sink, gasping. I jammed the dark tent's legs beneath the doorknob,
grabbed the bag of sugar, and poured some into my palm.

"Eat
this!'
Kenzie gagged as I shoved my
hand into her face.
"Eat it?

She
retched but kept it down. Glucose is an antidote to cyanide— Rasputin survived
poisoning because of sweet pastries and Madeira. I had no idea if it would
help, but Denny obviously hadn't given her enough cyanide to kill her; not yet,
anyway.

She
wiped sugar onto her filthy shirt, and I reached for her hand. Her fingers were
scraped raw, her knuckles black with bruises.

"You
fought," I said. "Good girl."

"There's
a gun." She began to sob. "He—"

I
clamped my hand over her mouth.
"Shhh!'

The
music had stopped.

"Get
under there," I whispered. "Cover your eyes."

She
scrambled beneath the table. I grabbed the largest bottle on the shelf and
turned off the safelight.

There
was a soft knock on the bathroom door. "Cassandra?"

In
the next room the door opened.

"Oh
no, oh no . .."

His
cries were like a bird crooning. I heard something skitter across the bathroom
floor. Denny swore under his breath and gave a guttural shout. The darkroom
door shook as an object was flung against it. I heard stomping as he crushed
one shell after another beneath his feet.

Then
silence.

I
could see nothing. From beneath the table came Kenzie's ragged breathing. I
braced myself against the sink and pried the cork from the bottle.

There
was a rustle of cloth, the scrape of wood as Denny pushed against the darkroom
door. The dark tent's legs snapped. The reek of dead fish and musk filled the
room. Kenzie whimpered.

He
was inside.

I
grasped the bottle in one hand, with the other found the flashlight in my
pocket. Phantom shapes swam in front of me in the darkness. I began to shake,
imagining each of these was Denny. The floor creaked a few feet from where I
stood.

"Cass"
he whispered.
"Cass, Cass
..."

Nausea
overwhelmed me, a darkened street.

"Cass,
Cass."

I
couldn't move. The sound of my own name bound me, formless horror and
Aphrodite's voice in my head.

Both
of you
—
nothing.

Something
brushed my foot.

No,
I thought.
Not this time.

I
turned on the flashlight. Denny's dazzled face hung before me, his mouth a
gaping hole as I shouted,
"Kenzie! Run?'

I
flung the mercury at his eyes.

With
a scream he fell. Kenzie bolted for the door with me behind her.

"Run!"
I yelled as we stumbled into the living room. "Run and
don't stop!
Here—"

I
thrust the flashlight at her. She took it and stared at me blankly until I
pushed her roughly toward the front door.

"Get
the fuck out of here!"

She
fled outside. Behind me Denny's screams rose to a howl as he staggered from the
bathroom.

"Come—BACK!"

Kenzie
was right. He had a gun.

Mirrors
exploded as a shot went wild, then another. Denny clutched his eyes with one
hand then aimed the gun at me. I turned and ran out onto the front steps, icy
rain slashing at my cheeks.

Kenzie
was gone. I grabbed the boat hook, whirled to see Denny's face, gray splotched
with mercury. The gun's barrel thrust against my temple.

"You
can't go." His breath was cold and stank of rotting fish. "I see you,
Cass. I know."

He
twisted his hand. I cried out as metal bored through the skin beside my eye.

"Tell
me what you saw," he whispered. "You saw them. I know you saw
them."

I
didn't move.

"I
know what you saw." He licked his lips. "Tell me. Tell me.

I
swallowed. My hand tightened imperceptibly around the boat hook.

"All
of them." My voice came in a hoarse whisper. "I saw all of
them."

"Where?"

"In
the quarry."

"Where
else?" He dragged the gun's barrel across my cheekbone and I moaned,
feeling my skin tear.

"The
photos," I gasped. "All your photos—I saw them too."

"And
the mirrors?" His voice was so soft I could barely hear him. "What
did you see there?"

"I—I
don't know."

"Yes,
you do. You saw me." I heard him breathing faster. "You saw me,
Cassandra. And you saw—"

I
struck his shoulder glancingly with the boat hook then staggered backward.
Blood streamed into my eye as I caught my balance, grasped the boat hook with
both hands, and swung it like a club.

The
bronze end struck his hand. There was a deafening retort. Fire lanced my upper
arm, and I screamed.

Denny
stood at the edge of the granite step, his long white braids spattered with
blood.

"I
see you," he whispered and laughed.

I screamed
again, beyond rage and pain, beyond everything.

"You
fuck!'
I hefted the boat hook and
with all my strength smashed it into his face.

I
heard a sound like a jack o' lantern hitting pavement and swung again. Denny
roared and dropped to his knees. The gun spun into darkness. I kicked him, felt
my boot's steel tip dig into his chest as though it were loam. He tried to roll
away, and I kicked him again and again then raised the boat hook and rammed it
against his skull. He tried to raise his hands as I struck him repeatedly, half
blinded with weeping and my own blood.

Finally
I stopped. I leaned on the boat hook, panting, and looked down.

He
lay on his side, staring at me. A black stain crept across his forehead like a
spider. One eye bulged like a crimson egg, a white petal of skin folded beneath
it. As I stared, his other eye opened. His mouth parted in a wash of red and
indigo as he gazed up at me. He smiled.

“I
see you.”

I
backed away as he began to get to his feet. Another voice echoed faintly
through the rush of rain and wind.

"
Cass!"

I
clutched the boat hook and fled down the steps and into the darkness, past the
granite sentinels with their green-flecked eyes, until I reached the road.

26

Kenzie
waited near the quarry, her white face glowing in the flashlight.

"I
told you to keep going!" I grabbed her roughly, spat a mouthful of blood,
then snatched the flashlight from her hand. "Come on."

She
stared at me wide-eyed. "Oh my God, your face. Are you okay?"

"I'm
fucking great."

"Did
you kill him?"

"No."

She
began to sob. I whacked her with the butt-end of the boat hook.

"You
want to go back and finish for me? Come on, there's someone at Ryel's house; we
have a boat, if—"

"If
what?" she wailed.

"If
you keep your goddam mouth shut."

I
dragged her after me, still sobbing. For several minutes we stumbled along the
road in almost total darkness, following the flashlight's wan beam. Then I
stopped. Kenzie stared at me.

"What
is it?"

I
killed the light and clapped my hand over her mouth. Beneath the rattle of wind
in the trees and the crash of waves I heard another, fainter sound on the road
behind us.

"It's
him," I breathed.

Kenzie
moaned. I found her hand, icy cold, and pulled her to the side of the road. I
turned on the flashlight, just long enough to pick out a break in the trees,
then moved as quickly as I could, feeling my way with the boat hook with Kenzie
right behind me.

We
struggled through a tangled hell of brush and whiplike trees, icy stones and
frozen earth. My face burned where sleet slashed it; my right eye was swollen
shut. Not that I could have seen much of anything. I listened for more sounds
behind us but heard nothing above the rising wind.