The Fourth Whore, page 3
Even in her dream, Kenzi saw the man as clearly as she had that day seventeen years ago. He slowly stepped onto the street, following his bird. He was white, whiter than any person she had ever seen before. The hood of his sleeveless black hoodie covered most of his head. His arms were lumpy-bumpy, covered in what looked like a bunch of scribbly lines to Kenzi. The hoodie hung open showing a bare chest beneath. The skin there was also scarred. A black strap crisscrossed his white skin and an hourglass hung from the belt it all connected to. His bird was weird too. It’d flown close enough that she could see its eyes. Milky-white—both of them—just like her one ugly eye.
Robbie was almost to the other side of the road, so intent on his Pogs that he hadn’t noticed the bird or the strange man. And Kenzi was so transfixed on the two newcomers that she didn’t see the car come flying around the corner. Adult, dreaming Kenzi heard the screeching tires that little Kenzi thought was the bird again. In the slow-motion dream replay, she had time to smell the acrid stink of burnt rubber on asphalt before hearing the thud of Robbie’s body rolling beneath the front tire and that sickening pop of his skull giving way to the pressure of the rear one. Dreaming Kenzi’s heart pounded as her child-self finally tore her attention away from the man advancing toward her brother.
Robbie’s crushed and bloodied face stared blindly at the scribble-covered man who bent over him. This close, Kenzi could see that the scribbly lines were actually that fancy writing that grown-ups used mixed in with the kind of writing Robbie did. The bird landed at her feet, as if it too were just a passer-by witnessing the tragedy unfold.
“Is Robbie gonna be OK? Can you help him?” Kenzi asked the man.
He looked up at her and opened his mouth like he was going to answer but then closed it again. The bird hopped over and peered down at Robbie’s smashed face as if trying to figure out what the boy once looked like.
“Did you come to take us away?” Kenzi asked. It was the sort of thing kids in her neighborhood were taught to expect.
He didn’t answer her. The bird pecked at Robbie’s face, near where his forehead should have been. She watched, fascinated, as it pulled a silvery web like a gypsy moth’s nest out of Robbie. It was a neat magic trick. The Scribble Man opened the top of the hourglass that hung from his belt and dropped the cotton candy swirl into it. It slipped through the top glass and lay coiled up in a shimmery pile on the bottom.
“What about me?” Kenzi asked.
“I don’t know,” he said. His voice was rough and scratchy.
“Are you gonna put me in that glass, too?”
“I don’t think so…guess you outsmarted your fate.” He smiled. It looked strange on his face, but it made Kenzi smile too. “No one has ever seen me coming before.”
“Well, you’re kind of dressed funny if you don’t want people to notice you,” Kenzi said. Then she remembered her brother. “Is Robbie dead?”
She had a fish once that died, so she knew it meant going away and never coming back. That made her sad. Maybe it wasn’t the same with people though.
“Yes, I’m afraid so,” the man said. “But you need to go home, quick. I don’t know what is going to happen now.”
“But what should I tell Daddy?” she asked.
Seven-year-old Kenzi was too mesmerized by the conversation to notice what dreaming Kenzi had all the time to see. The world around them had frozen. Time stood still. Where there should have been a crowd gathering around the dead child, no one moved.
A fuzzy grey rabbit’s foot dangled from around the Scribble Man’s neck. It looked so soft and comforting. Kenzi reached for it but jumped when the giant bird squawked and took off into the air. She followed its course as it swooped behind her and around so that she had to scramble backward to keep it from knocking her over. The bird grabbed the foot in its sharp claws and broke it free from The Scribble Man’s neck. Another loop brought the bird once more behind and then in front of Kenzi. It dropped the foot onto the pavement beside her before perching again on its master’s shoulder.
“Do you think it will protect her, Enoch?” the man asked his bird.
Kenzi surreptitiously stroked the fur with one finger.
“I suppose that’s yours now,” he said to the little girl. “It is your talisman. It once belonged to a very strong woman just like you.”
Kenzi hugged the foot tightly to her chest before looking down at what was once her brother.
The sight of it was so upsetting that it brought Kenzi out of the dream. She never saw exactly how her child-self made it home that day. Her conscious adult brain refused to remember it. Even the days that followed the funeral—when Dad left for good and Mom OD’d on her pills—were nothing more than a haze of pain. After that, eleven years of memories worth keeping filled only the small knapsack Kenzi carried between her mom’s and foster homes. Now, she was back with her mother out of necessity, and she feared it would be the death of her.
Chapter 3: Book of Sariel 1
The overcast skies of St. John’s Wood threatened early afternoon rain, which suited Sariel perfectly. He didn’t need to walk anywhere; as the angel of death, he had the ability to appear wherever he was needed. Angel of Death—as if that’s some sort of honor. But the grey atmosphere matched his mood. If he could pick anywhere in the world to live as a mortal, it would be London.
Enoch flew ahead as it was wont to do. Always on the alert for trouble. The bird was like some willful child. Another part of his punishment—having to drag that feathered nuisance around for eternity. To make matters worse, this particular avian could sense a demon from a mile or more away, while Sariel could not. If he ever wanted to regain his rightful place in the Hereafter, he needed Enoch.
The bird alighted on the front porch of a duplex and, to further exasperate the day, decided to allow himself to be seen.
“Oh my goodness, what a big boy you are.”
Enoch turned its head back to Sariel with a knowing look. Sariel did not quicken his pace.
“I wonder if you’ll stay there long enough for me to bring you out some crumbs, love?” A woman in a well-worn house dress got up and shuffled to the door. Enoch flew after her before the screen had a chance to swing back shut.
“Damn it, Enoch,” Sariel sighed.
The cacophony in the house forced him to make the switch into the living room rather than continue the mortal way. The bird had knocked over a dozen framed pictures. Glass littered the floor and every flat surface in the place. The woman’s fists clenched handfuls of salt and pepper curls, a silver tray at her feet, and scones—blueberry, I remember blueberries—were strewn about the floor like discarded hockey pucks. The screaming was enough to drive him right back to the sidewalk, but Enoch wouldn’t act out this badly without a reason.
All the photographs lying among the broken shards were of the same boy at various ages. In each, he’d gotten heavier until the most recent where he spread out on a day-bed as if permanently attached. As realization settled in, the familiar sulfur scent wafted on the whirlwind created by Enoch’s incessant flapping.
“Come on, leave this poor woman be. She’ll have enough to deal with when we’re through,” Sariel said and followed the stink downstairs.
The smell of sweat and spoiled food almost overwhelmed the demonic reek. Disguised as the son of the woman upstairs, the demon sat propped up by a myriad of pillows and folded comforters. He filled the space of the twin bed. On a large screen television, a medieval role-playing game currently held the creature’s attention. Large headphones pushed his already protuberant cheeks into a comical toddler-like pout. On the floor beside the bed, sat a half-empty two liter of Mountain Dew with its cap off and a half-full gallon milk jug of a similar colored yellow non-carbonated substance with the cap on. Sariel shuddered. There wasn’t much a mortal could do anymore to surprise him, but they never ceased to disgust him.
“Come on, ya stupid fucks,” the creature said into the microphone, spittle flying. “Mum! Where’s my—” His words stopped abruptly. “Sariel, I presume? Figured you’d find me sooner or later.”
Enoch lit on Sariel’s shoulder.
“And ya brought your bird, I see.” He sighed. “Well, can’t exactly run from ya, now can I? So, how’ll it be then?”
This one made it far too easy. Sloth or not, no demon had ever just given in. He would need to tread very carefully—it could be a trap. Enoch ruffled its feathers and stepped back and forth, settling itself better onto its master’s shoulder.
“You know how this goes, Belphegor.” Sariel stepped toward the mortal-suited demon.
“Gotta go, lads. Something’s just come up.” The demon pulled off the headset, and his jowls slid back into place. Like a walrus, he worked to adjust himself enough to see Sariel without straining his neck. Sariel waited motionless, making him work for every centimeter.
“Look, if you’re gonna do something, do it. Spare the old lady. She’s a good mum. Let’s not make this any more traumatic, shall we?” He grinned. His yellowed teeth seemed to glow in the dim light of the room. The interior gloom continued to brighten beyond the ability of unbrushed teeth, as if the sun had decided to take the stairs of this house down tonight.
“Oh, but have ya met my dad?”
Suddenly the sun was indeed in the basement with them, and all became a brilliant white light. Sariel, unnerved, waited for the visual fanfare to recede. When it did, a man—too beautiful to be mortal—stood between the slob on the mattress and Death himself.
“Tell me, brother, what do you think is really going to happen when you have us all in your jewelry box?” the radiant one said.
Sariel sighed. This whole thing had gone on for far too long. He could be out enjoying the shitty London weather, but instead he was in this pit, cavorting with demons.
“Lucifer, you know it is my duty. You know what I must do. I have, in my generous way, allowed you to have the same time on this Earth as me. Why must you constantly interfere with collections?”
“Well, seeing as the ‘collections’ you speak of all happen to answer to me, work for me—do all of my evil bidding as it were—I guess I’m not quite ready to hang up the ‘going out of business’ sign just yet.”
“Let me take Belphegor, and we’ll be on our way. I have a mission to complete. Nearing the end of my time with these,” he gestured to the ample-bodied mortal on the bed and sneered, “creatures brings me as much satisfaction as I can find in this hollow shell.”
“Yes. Your little ‘punishment’,” Lucifer used air quotes to punctuate his sarcasm. “You’re getting pretty close to finishing now, eh? What do I got left? Six, seven, if you leave me this one?”
Sariel said nothing.
“Gotta get back to the big ole Garden of Eden in the sky. I wonder though, is it going to be that easy? I mean, a millennium later, and the Big Guy’s just going to smile before throwing open those pearly gates to welcome the prodigal son back home? Or…” He held out a forearm to Enoch, offering a perch. The bird did not move. “And hear me out, what with no opposition left on Earth of any kind, will he simply forget about you and end the season on a cliff-hanger? You know this is his version of a reality show. He doesn’t want you to complete your punishment. Not really.”
Sariel snorted. He often wondered the same thing. Perhaps The Creator had meant for his to be an eternal sentence. After all, He had only ever spoken once to Sariel, and that was to put the mortal girl under his guardianship as another punishment for disobedience.
Lucifer sat on the bed beside the obese demon. His legs crossed in a relaxed and confident manner, as if he knew what Sariel was thinking.
“Life would be so empty without us, eh Belf?”
He pulled a snack size bag of cheddar and sour cream flavored chips from his white outback style trench coat and handed it to the slob. Oh wonderful--orange, greasy fingerprints all over everything. How long will I have to suffer this fool and his piggery?
Sariel stepped forward, deciding to end the whole thing. It no longer mattered if he re-entered the Hereafter or if the world ended, as long as mortal-coated demons like this were out of his sight.
“Whoa!” Lucifer put out a hand to stop him. “Watch out for that jug of piss, there. Anyway, what do you say, you give me a couple weeks, let this guy go? Look at him, he ain’t running anywhere. You think about it, brother, really think about it. If you decide to end it all, great! Come on back and take it. Hell, I’ll pull the token out for ya,” He grabbed Belphegor in a head lock and gave him a good hard noogie. “But if your creator gets bored and wipes everything out, what happens to you?”
“Enoch,” Sariel said, making a shooing motion toward the demons. “If you would be so kind.”
Enoch cawed and dug its feet into Sariel’s shoulder. Using its master’s sturdy body, it pushed off and flew up the stairs. All three creatures watched the bird go.
“I guess he’s with me on this one. I always said that was one smart bird of yours.” Lucifer laughed more than the statement warranted. Belphegor snorted in amusement. Sariel contemplated the situation he was in thanks to that damned bird.
“Shit,” he said and vanished.
Chapter 4: Book of Kenzi 2
Before the dream faded, Kenzi grabbed her journal off the nightstand and quickly jotted notes. Where did the rabbit’s foot come from? Who was the Scribble Man? Was he someone I saw that day? Was there a bird? Talk to Gloria about school pictures, letters to the Scribble Man.
The blood was dry and itchy on her chest. She wiped the sleep (not that restful after all) out of her eyes and got up to start the shower. The steam from the hot water gave the room a fantasy-like quality but the rust stains in the tub kept her anchored in the reality of her shitty life. She could still smell Duke’s stink between her legs. The reminder of the things she did to survive made her shudder. Saliva flooded her mouth and she had to spit. It mixed with the brick colored water before circling the drain and disappearing. She closed her eyes, refusing to see the discolored tub and slimy shower curtain. These things were the parts that made up the sum of her worth. She sold her soul every day for a four-room dump with fake wood paneling and avocado green appliances in both kitchen and bathroom. She fucked a disgusting pig of a man for the god-awful orange carpet that had been fun when she was seven and pretending it was lava to avoid. Now it was just worn and dirty quicksand from which she could not escape.
The water washed away the dried blood, semen, and tears. She imagined this wasn’t her bathroom at all, just some truck-stop quick clean up until she and her dad headed back out on the road. Someday she would find him and they’d get away from all of this together. She would write and he would drive. It was her mother’s fault he’d left, not hers. If she could find her dad, she knew he’d let her come with him.
She ran her hands down her too-thin body. Hip bones jutted out like those of an awkward thirteen-year-old, and her skin was covered in speed bumps. She touched the newest one beside her shoulder. It hurt but in a good way. If she didn’t get Silvio his money, that hurt would not be good.
She turned off the water and heard the knock.
“Shit.”
She grabbed a towel and dried off. “Shit, shit, shit.”
Glancing in the mirror, she pulled her wet matted hair back and twisted it into a loose bun. She’d pay for it later, when she had to try to brush out the knots in her natural curls, but there was no time to worry about that. She needed a story and fast. Where was the money? The knocking, light and staccato, continued. This was not the heavy-handed pounding of one of Silvio’s men but more like that of a man who wears a big clunky gold ring on his right middle finger. A ring with that stupid Superman symbol because S stands for Slivio, using it to tap, tap, tap on her door.
OK, calm down. If it is Silvio, he is just here to warn you, give you more time maybe. Silvio never does his own dirty work.
Tap, tap-tap, tap, tap. It was getting more impatient, more frenzied. She grabbed her sweats and a t-shirt but left her post-coital panties on the floor. No bra needed. She’d never been blessed with large breasts.
There was no one at the door. She looked out both ways. Tap, tap, tap. There it was again; this time followed by a soft thudding. She turned around. No one else in the house except the two junkies. One on the couch, the other on the crooked chair. Neither of them stirred. No one was choking on their own vomit or seizing.
The tapping was coming from the kitchen.
“Please don’t let it be a rat.” Kenzi muttered.
She padded barefoot into the kitchen which was really just an extension of the living room—a false border made up of the end of the nappy rug and the beginning of curled-up vinyl flooring. No less hideous than the orange carpet, the kitchen floor was white with glittery gold specs that reminded her of the church basement she used to go to when vacation bible school rolled around and her mother used it as free babysitting.
She began opening the cupboards beneath the sink when the thud came just above her head. She jumped. There was a huge black bird at the window. She leaned over the sink for a closer look. Could birds get rabies? This one had crazy white eyes, like maybe it was blind. It threw itself into the window with the full weight of its body. The glass cracked.
“Hey!” she yelled. “Great.”
The fissure spider-webbed outward. If it did it again, the bird would break through the window. It flew back and started to work on the center of the web, with its beak tap, tap, tapping. The damn thing seemed hell-bent to get inside her house.
“That’s it you psycho bird!” She slipped on her Chucks and shoved the door open. She could hear it still working on the glass as she rounded the corner. “Shoo! Get out of here!” She waved her hands and ran at it. The bird was huge. Some kind of vulture maybe? Hard to say. It sounded like a helicopter when it took off.
