Don't Fear the Reaper, page 4
“Listen, I don’t know where you get off talking to me like that, but…”
I stepped deftly around her to the right and continued walking along the grass, not slowing my pace to listen to her babbling. An undignified shriek told me she was getting more pissed off by the second. Good, maybe she would leave me alone then.
“Victor, you’re such a fucking selfish bastard!”
The heels of her black ankle boots clacked loudly on the pavement, gaining momentum as they got closer to my even gait. I wasn’t exactly hitting record heights at five foot nine, but I still had the advantage over her petite frame and shorter legs. It sounded like she had hit a patch of ice on the sidewalk, judging from the hissed curses and clambering steps as she tried to recover.
Screeeeeech! BANG! Krssh!
Both of us turned just in time to see the aftermath of a huge pileup on the narrow road, one car ramming into the passenger’s side of a much larger truck as it plowed into the back of Liz’s car. It appeared the car was trying to turn into the lot she was blocking the entrance of, and the oncoming traffic wasn’t paying attention.
The driver of the little Corolla that t-boned the truck didn’t appear to be moving, slumped over her steering wheel at an odd angle with her curly black hair tangled wildly over her face. It seemed like the airbag failed to deploy, judging from the cracked driver’s side window.
Ping ping.
There it was! The sound from the hospital!
Liz was staring blankly at the carnage her impromptu parking had caused, her jaw hanging loosely and eyes widened to the point of bulging. Joggers from the park across the street were already rushing to the Corolla with phones pressed to their ears.
My eyes darted around frantically, trying to find the source of the tinkling bell.
Movement from the reflection of an apartment complex’s mirrored windows caught my eye and instantly sucked me in, like I couldn’t turn my head away. It perfectly duplicated the accident on its gleaming surface, but it also seemed a little off. Darkness seemed to encroach on the edges of the gruesome scene, like someone had dimmed the lights on a stage set. The park’s treeline from across the street was pitch black, and there was something writhing from between the thick trunks. And faintly, I could see an outline of a petite figure hidden among the shadows. Dazedly, I turned around to get a better look and maybe investigate the park itself.
Nothing was there. Sunlight filtered through the branches and sparkled off the newly-fallen snow.
Everything snapped back into focus, blaring alarms and shouts suddenly snapping me out of my stupor. Liz was crying hysterically and clutching my arm so tightly her fake nails dug into my skin through the thick coat. People were scattered all over the road, stopping traffic from both ways as the ambulance whipped around the corner. The driver of the truck stumbled out of his vehicle and rubbed his scalp furiously. Liz’s car sat crumpled like a crushed soda can, pieces strewn all across the parking lot from the truck’s impact.
The driver in the Corolla sat deathly still as the world around her was thrown into a chaotic mess.
Liz didn’t show up to our Business Communications class the next day. Josh plopped down in our Law Defense class later in the afternoon and grumbled something about “hysterical women” and “no ass tonight,” like the barbarian he was. I may be a cold, heartless, selfish bastard by medical diagnosis, but Josh easily fell into the category of sociopath when I merely teetered on the edge.
He was still prattling on as we filed out of the classroom. “Seriously man, kudos to you for dealing with her as long as you did. She’s clingy AF and already wants to move in together and shit. I’m just about ready to kick her ass to the curb.”
I made a noncommittal sound I hoped would make Josh become disinterested in this conversation faster. He had the attention span of a cracked-out squirrel.
“So, what the fuck happened to you that night at the party? I was so fucked up, I didn’t even realize I had passed out on the back porch until the cleaning crew came the next morning. Then, I get a call from Liz bawling her eyes out that you landed in the hospital.”
“It was a simple miscalculation.”
If only I were lucky enough for an unrecoverable overdose, just to avoid this conversation.
“Shit, man! That’s a noob mistake!” He slapped me jokingly on the shoulder, like I had simply drunk too much beer and had a slight hangover. “You obviously need to get out more, if that’s the case.”
We ambled toward the central plaza and merged into the lunch crowd. I had my next psych appointment at one-thirty and had almost no time to grab lunch.
“I need to go, Josh. See you around.” I tried to maneuver myself out from under his heavy hand. His attention was diverted, looking somewhere across the courtyard where a small group of students seemed to gather around a display table.
“Wait up! Let’s see what’s going on over here.”
Partially to assuage my curiosity and partially because I couldn’t release his grip without wrenching off his hand, I let Josh lead me over to join the crowd. There was a display board taped to the top of a small table, but no one was around to monitor it.
Plastered on the board were many newspaper clippings with slanderous headlines.
“Stock market crashing!”
“Unemployment on the rise!”
“Violent crimes are loose on the streets!”
“Return of the Black Plague!”
There wasn’t an inch left uncovered, like a collage highlighting all the depravities humanity offered. None of this was news to me; every time Dad called he was ranting about one of these issues or another. He was a knight in shining armor type, ridding the world of evil one trial at a time in the sin-infested New York City.
Centered in the middle of the display board was a brief paragraph printed in bold black font.
“We are living in hell on Earth. Bring forth the angels of death to cleanse the world. Infernum in Terra.”
Fluttering off the bottom of the page were generic tear tabs seen on all sorts of campus fliers, with a website printed vertically on each strip. None of them had been ripped off thus far.
“I’m surprised the campus admin even allows this shit to be posted,” Josh muttered after reading the proclamation aloud, albeit rather slowly.
As if on cue, two campus police meandered out from one of the nearby buildings and spotted the group of onlookers at the board. Students dispersed upon seeing the rent-a-cops, not wanting to be caught up in whatever was fixing to go down with this display board.
Josh was one who didn’t want a brush with them, either. “Let’s go, man. Bunch of fucking crazies.”
He had already turned and walked off like I was going to follow behind. Deftly, I reached out and snatched one tab between finger and thumb and gave it a quick yank, ripping it uncleanly from the flier before they could throw it in the dumpster. Not that I was interested in joining a cult or anything, but how many opportunities would I get to piss off my dad by learning more about the bane of his current existence?
I carefully pocketed the sliver of paper and hurried off to the least anticipated part of my day: my therapy visit.
“So, how’s it going, sport?”
I sighed heavily and slouched even further into the overstuffed leather chair. The brass studs lining the edges tied well into the old-school scholar vibe Lydia had going in her office-slash-study. She sat on the matching sofa across the mahogany coffee table from me, leaning back casually with her hands clasped in her lap. There was no notebook to speak of.
“The same as it was going last Saturday, Lydia. Studying, going to class, and sleeping.”
That wasn’t entirely true, but I would not dive into my continued recreational drug use with the likes of Lydia Townsend. She was an old psychology professor of my dad’s, and he still played golf with her son every other Sunday. But over the years, she became more of a cool aunt who let me roam around her massive library. I came here on my own at least once a week, before these forced sessions my dad hung things over my head with. Mainly, my allowance.
Lydia gave off a “devil may care” vibe, which was probably why she made a badass therapist. She wore jeans and a button-down in the most prestigious campus in America, and if anyone had a problem with that, she made sure they knew where the door was. She didn’t take notes during sessions either, claiming that she preferred a more “organic conversation” to that of a clinician. In a lot of ways, she was more of a mom than my own mother. Which is why I didn’t really like to talk about my shortcomings with her; although that was exactly why I was here. I hated the idea of disappointing her with my lack of concern for my personal well-being.
“If you were just studying, going to class and sleeping, you wouldn’t be sitting in my office now, would ya punk?” She leaned back a little further, crossing her arms with a knowing smirk on her face. “So, let’s talk about the juicy bits. How’s your gut doing these days?”
“Still a little sore, but I guess not bad, considering I got skewered by a branch.”
“A shame, that. Is Daddy getting you a new car?” Her posh British accent gave everything a sarcastic edge, but this time I knew she was just trying to shake me up. This was a typical cat-and-mouse game for us.
“Nope. Said I wasn’t responsible enough for one.”
“And how does that make you feel?”
Now it was my turn to smirk. “Really? Could you be any more generic?”
“When clients are charged by the hour, they don’t really like to beat around the bush. Simple question.”
“But not really a simple answer.”
“Exactly.”
We stared each other down for a long minute.
“So?”
“So what?”
“You feel nothing from being treated like a child who broke his toy?”
“Not really.”
“Why is that?”
“Aren’t you supposed to tell me that?”
“Could you try answering with a sentence instead of a question?”
“Now, where would be the fun in that?”
Lydia scoffed. “You have always been a stubborn boy. While I’m tempted to slap a disorder on you and carry on, that is still not the sum of all your parts. Rather, your ability to express emotions is sadly lacking. We agreed you would try to focus on one emotion a session.”
“And do what with it, exactly?”
“What we do with any emotion. Let it out.”
“What good is that going to do for me?”
“Well, for starters, you’d probably have more friends. Or at least people who genuinely enjoy talking to you for more than just your money or good looks.”
“Again, what good is that going to do me?”
Bored with the conversation, I hefted myself from the cozy chair and wandered the office, brushing my fingertips along the weathered spines of Lydia’s book collection. For someone who diagnosed personality disorders for a living, books of all varieties rested on these shelves, from fantasy to mystery to books on law and history. They were all organized by a system only Lydia knew.
Her eyes followed me like a hawk about to swoop on its prey.
“I’ve been thinking about Vincent a lot lately.”
There, maybe that will appease her for now.
Lydia’s mouth turned down in a sympathetic moue, having been there every step of my family’s misery and subsequent self-destruction. Lydia had several sessions with Mom until she finally got what she wanted—a bottle of pills to keep her depression at bay.
“Anything in particular, sport?”
My shoulder lifted half-heartedly. “Just wondering what he would be doing right now. Would we be in the same school together? Maybe the same classes?”
“Vic, you know it’s not your fault, what happened to him. Right?”
“Not according to the doctors.”
“Cerebral palsy is just a risk that comes with twins. You had no control over what happened in the uterus. And you were both so young when he passed…”
Would the world have been better with Vincent in it? Why was I the one who stuck?
Of course I didn’t share these particular thoughts. Lydia would have a field day with them. A subject change was needed before she decided to dig deeper into that festering wound.
I stopped on a copy of ‘Lord of the Flies.’
“Borrowing another book?” A thoughtful glint sparked in her dark eyes as she peered at me over her thin rectangular glasses. She wasn’t a day over fifty, but she liked to rock the old, wizened scholar look often.
Her eyes moved to the book in question. “Should I be adding cannibalism to your list of interests now? Or is it just the idea of being stranded on an island that’s appealing to you?”
“Maybe both.”
“OK, Hannibal Lector.” She chortled, pulling herself up from the couch with a little ‘oof.’ It seemed she dropped the topic of Vincent fairly easily this time. I wasn’t expecting that. “You can take it, and next session bring me back some notes on your opinion of human nature as it pertains to the life of a twenty-year-old boy with a drug issue.”
“That’s easy. Humans are depraved creatures by nature. We seek to destroy the things we have.”
“That we do.”
“So, is my homework done already?”
Lydia laughed again. “For a boy who struggles with expressing himself, you have quite a sense of humor.” She eyed me, that thoughtful look in her eye again. “Do me a favor? As a psuedo-aunt and not your head doctor. Take it easy on yourself? You have a long, promising life ahead of you.”
“Looking forward to it.”
Lydia snagged me into a playful hug around my neck, while I plucked the book from her shelf. “You may be a cocky little twat, but I do love you.”
“I love you too, for as much as it’s worth.”
I didn’t tell Lydia about my slightly piqued interest in Infernum in Terra. Honestly, she’d probably just be thrilled that any human-formed group intrigued me to care much about their ideals. But she reported to my dad on a weekly basis regarding my progress in becoming a normal person, and I didn’t want to risk it getting back to him. The last thing I needed was another reason for him to strike me from his will.
My phone was in my hand as soon as I stepped out the door of Lydia’s study. The little scrap of paper was in my other hand with the website printed in a tiny, but plain, font. The website itself was just as plain—white text against black text boxes with their propaganda sprawled all over the place.
There was no real rhyme or reason to the organization of the paragraphs. Each one was subtitled with the group’s many complaints against humanity and followed with their rants and ideologies. There were even quotes of some famous philosophers used in and out of context. Classy.
Nothing made ramblings more legit than including some other dead guy’s ramblings.
Skimming through the website finally brought me to the meeting places and schedules. While their main headquarters appeared to be in New York City—ironically right down the street from my parents’ firm—there were branches in just about every major city in America, sans Alaska and Hawaii. I was a little surprised by how widespread the organization was.
The chapter in Boston met on Thursday nights at five, and the address listed somewhere on the industrial side of town. Probably a cliché abandoned warehouse for them to do their chants in and draw satanic circles on their foreheads in rat’s blood or something.
While I was raised a good Baptist boy, the thought of dropping in on one of their open meetings seemed… interesting. Maybe the most interesting thing I’ve come across in a long time. There had to be some substance to their philosophy to attract so many people to the cause. How often does one get to bear witness to a political cult making history?
Was I really considering going to this meeting?
I plugged the date, time, and location into my phone calendar and pocketed it again. Yes. Yes, I was.
Chapter 4
Victor
The cabbie threw me a skeptical look over his shoulder as we pulled up to the address listed on the website. It wasn’t exactly a neighborhood the college-age population hung out in, that was for sure.
“You sure this is the right place, kid?” he asked in his native Bostonian accent. “Not a great place to be alone, ya know? Pretty sure someone got mugged in these parts last week.”
I leaned forward to take in the warehouse from its concrete foundation to the sheet metal roofing. There were several square-paned windows lining the front wall, all of which were tinted opaque black to deter onlookers. Not that anyone would snoop around here on curiosity alone. Well, anyone besides me.
“I have a meeting here,” I said absently, handing a bill over to the cabbie and sliding out of his taxi. The car idled for a couple of minutes, like he was waiting for something exciting to happen as I pulled open one of the sliding bay doors and slipped through.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Like the beginning of all good horror stories, I kept walking through the darkened warehouse with light steps and a wary ear to any noise that would give away another life form. It was only five-twenty, so I figured people would still loiter outside and chit chat if there were truly a cult meeting happening here tonight. The floor seemed well-cleaned and cared for, with nothing piled in the corners to show it was abandoned. It was polished and sealed with a clear coat my loafers squeaked on as I strolled through the massively open building. Rounding a corner of the vast L-shaped area, I finally came across some sign of life as a light leaked through the edges of the closed door to a makeshift conference room.
“Hello?” I called again, hoping I didn’t come across a homeless camp instead.
