Authors: Edward Lee
Shifters (42 page)
Locke knew he was dying, and didn’t care.
Will I really go to hell?
he wondered. Time would tell, he supposed, and not much time at that. His life poured out, and even in his fading resignation, he suddenly felt alarmed.
Will I really go to hell?
he wondered. Time would tell, he supposed, and not much time at that. His life poured out, and even in his fading resignation, he suddenly felt alarmed.
Just one more…
Numbing fingers reached for the pen in his top pocket, and the folded piece of paper he always carried should the muse strike untimely.
Locke scribbled, winded from deoxygenation. It didn’t take long, at least not as long as death.
“There,” he croaked, the sedate smile turning up his lips. “Hope it doesn’t suck.”
The slip of paper fell from his cooling fingers.
cllllick
Something snapped, and Locke’s eyes darted in his immobile head. A footstep? A Cooperian twig breaking?
Next thing Locke knew, a soft hand had taken his, and quickly helped him up. He couldn’t really see her, but that didn’t matter. He knew who she was and he knew that she was never really
meant
to be seen.
meant
to be seen.
The Princess Dressed in Darkness,
he thought.
The Angel of the Egress.
he thought.
The Angel of the Egress.
Was it a mirage, the last visions of the man who knew he was dying?
“One more choice,” the voice flowed like some exorbitant dark fluid.
The elegant finger pointed even as the house corroded above them. They stood in a jagged corridor, beneath a flurry of dust. Locke felt alive again.
She pointed to the left, where Locke saw daylight at the end of the hall. Then she pointed to the right.
Darkness.
Locke turned. She took his hand as a lover would, and they walked to the right.
EPILOGUE
Cordesman flicked a butt out the car window and hit a metal sign that read $500 FINE FOR THROWING CIGARETTE BUTTS FROM YOUR CAR. An opened mess of road maps flapped on the passenger seat. Cordesman lit another Camel and frowned at the next crumpled map.
“What a joke!” he exclaimed.
North Bend. Todesfall Road. This was Sticksville. Since he’d gotten onto the back roads, none of the mailboxes even had addresses. And when he’d finally found Todesfall Road, which wasn’t even on the map—
“Goddamn it!”
The road extended for close to ten miles. And he didn’t spot a single house.
This is ridiculous.
The sky blackened, it was going to rain. Cordesman wasn’t a very good driver to begin with, he didn’t want to be driving a city unmarked on back roads he didn’t know when the clouds opened up. When Todesfall ended, he craned his neck without coming to a full stop, and pulled a U.
And saw the driveway.
Well, not really a driveway but a rutted, dirt-clogged swath into trees.
What the hell, I’m going back to Maryland tomorrow and this ain’t even my car.
What the hell, I’m going back to Maryland tomorrow and this ain’t even my car.
Cordesman edged in, then followed every pothole and twist. Tree branches on either side pawed at the car. A bird shit hugely on the windshield, then a pine cone the size of a melon hit the hood. But what Cordesman pulled up to at the end of the drive was a strange sight indeed.
Two cars—a plush silver Rolls Royce and what looked like an early-1900s Daimler. Both shining in new wax and mint condition.
The fuck is this?
These cars cost big money at the least, they were probably museum pieces. But they weren’t parked in front of anything.
Sure, Jack,
Cordesman reasoned with himself.
Probably half a million bucks’ worth of cars parked at the end of some shit-scratch road in the middle of the woods. Right
?
Sure, Jack,
Cordesman reasoned with himself.
Probably half a million bucks’ worth of cars parked at the end of some shit-scratch road in the middle of the woods. Right
?
Cordesman couldn’t have smirked harder when he got out of the unmarked. The pre-rain wind was whipping up; it sent his long hair in a tumult, and that pissed him off too. But—
What’s that?
When he’d first pulled up, he’d thought it was merely a clearing that the Rolls and Daimler were parked in front of. But now, standing closer, Cordesman saw…
Foundations.
So a house
had
been here at one time, however long ago it must have been. Old fungus-covered bricks marked the dwelling’s original perimeter, and it was a large perimeter. Just as strange, nothing grew within the foundation’s boundary, where rye grass and weeds should be abounding.
had
been here at one time, however long ago it must have been. Old fungus-covered bricks marked the dwelling’s original perimeter, and it was a large perimeter. Just as strange, nothing grew within the foundation’s boundary, where rye grass and weeds should be abounding.
Just…dirt.
Beyond the rear line of mortared bricks, he thought he saw four more squares of foundations, much smaller ones, which might suggest a row of guest houses or cottages. Cordesman couldn’t be sure.
Thunder concussed overhead. He strode outward and entered the gap in the bricks which might denote the building’s original entrance. His heels scuffed on dirt and rocks as he glanced around in this checked dismay. There was nothing here—
nothing.
Not even a shingle, not even a scrap or splinter of wood. Nothing—
nothing.
Not even a shingle, not even a scrap or splinter of wood. Nothing—
Wait.
Something small and white fluttered in the wind. Then the wind began to carry it—toward the woods. Cordesman huffed forward, almost tripped, but he managed to lean over and grab it before it disappeared into the forest.
It was a piece of paper, just a white sheet of regular bond typing paper folded over a few times as if to fit into someone’s breast pocket.
Cordesman squinted in the gray light, and read the crabbed handwriting.
Fiery the angels fell.
What did Milton tell
So blind yet so alive
With Love?
“Great,” Cordesman thought. “Fan-fucking-tastic.”
Go back to Maryland and forget about this shit…
Just as the thought finished, the storm clouds broke, dumping sheets of rain. Cordesman spat out a soaked Camel, hoofed it back to the unmarked, and slammed the door shut as if fleeing a killer.
He started the engine, paused to light yet another cigarette.
Forget it. Go home.
Then he backed up and drove away.
The rain
poured.
poured.
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