XV. Beast
There was time for Scott to hope, just as the weapon in Randy's hand went off, that the projectile would not pass through his chest and strike Ingrid. Then a flash of light blinded him, an explosion deafened him. It was time to die. The process turned out to be surprisingly painless. His spirit had already left its body, perhaps during that moment of hope, and was still standing at the top of the steps.
Scott looked down. In the light of a dropped torch, two figures struggled. Ingrid let out a scream as one of them reached for the kickshellac, which had also been dropped. Then Randy began to laugh.
So I'm not dead, Scott told himself. I should be, but I'm not.
There was evidence abound to support the idea. The feel of Ingrid's nails at his shoulder; the puff of her panicked breath. The smell of the stairwell, mossy and wet; the fatigue in his bones.
His bones...
Scott glanced at Ingrid's hand, gripping him. Touching him. He looked at her...and their eyes met. She could see him as well!
"Alive," he muttered, turning his gaze back to the laughing lunatic.
Ingrid heard him. "Scott?"
Touch, sight, hearing: Three senses was enough. Scott bolted, crouching to hit Randy low before he could fire the kickshellac. It all happened in a blur. Scott noticed Randy give the gun a frustrated look just before connecting with the side of his knee, then they were both tumbling downstairs like drunkards thrown from a bar.
A short struggle ensued, during which Scott, like his savior before him, could not maintain the upper hand. His adversary was too big and too strong. A heavy roundhouse blow struck the side of his head, rendering him senseless. His body slumped.
Not again, some disconnected thought managed to whisper.
Randy's round, ugly face broke into yet another triumphant grin…then the butt of the kickshellac hit the side of his head--CRACK!--knocking him out cold on the stairs.
Scott blinked at the body. The savior stood nearby, nodding.
"Fuck that guy," Darren said.
***
"What is this?" Nancy let out.
The hand which had moments earlier been at work draining the life from Lisa was now about more speculative business, stroking the place where a punch had landed hard enough to bring blood. But the flow had stopped; the wound was closed.
"What have you done?" she demanded to know. "Healed me? Whatever for?"
Lisa lay at her feet, waiting--hoping--for strength to return. So far no good; her limbs were still heavy, her breath reluctant. And to make matters worse, Nancy wouldn't stop asking questions.
"Shut up," she muttered. "God in heaven."
"Oh I love it, don't get me wrong," came the other woman's reply. "The pain and the swelling are both gone. You're good, Lisa. You're just not...you know, very smart."
"Maybe smarter than you think," Lisa moaned.
The rooftop footsteps Ingrid had noticed minutes ago started again, heavy and slow. Lisa looked up. Nancy's face was there, hideous as always, and behind her--just for a split second--something else. A flitting shadow across one of the chapel's ornate windows. A distant, choked-off cry.
"Maybe," Nancy was saying, though it was clear by her tone she didn't care either way. "Time to die now, Lisa."
"Okay."
The killing hand, reaching to resume its duty, hesitated. Nancy smiled and opened her fingers.
"So you concede? That is smart."
"Maybe smarter than you think," Lisa repeated.
Her fist came up, punching Nancy square in the eye. She went flailing against the door with a long, gobbling croak. Not wanting to give her time to regain the upper hand, Lisa forced herself to her feet. The world spun into a series of gray smears but stayed close. Under the latch, crumpled like a whipped animal, lay Nancy.
It was now or never. Lisa aimed a kick at the witch's abdomen. It connected in a most satisfying manner, bringing a deep, painful moan to the lips of its target. Thirst for a kill did not drive the assault--Lisa meant every word she’d said to Scott earlier--which meant Nancy would be up and about again soon. (It had been a gamble, healing the wound she'd inflicted, but Lisa felt some part of her must have realized it could be used as a conduit through Nancy's defenses). By that time Lisa intended to have all of her friends--Darren included, love be with him--tucked away in a safe haven.
But as she was reaching for the latch, one of the ornate windows overlooking the podium exploded inward, spewing shards of glass in a Damoclean rain across the chapel. Not having any interest whatsoever in witnessing the cause of this mayhem, Lisa shielded her eyes and reached for the latch a second time. That was when she was lifted and dangled over the black maw of the biggest ogre she had ever seen. Its hair, filthy with the rotting, tacky entrails of previous meals, was crawling with cockroaches. An eye glared at her; another oozed in a gelatinous tide down its cheek, put out by the lucky shot of some unknown soldier. The maw, filled with bloody teeth, opened wider to take Lisa in. She gasped. Cockroaches swarmed her body, some reaching her ears, their busy little legs clicking hysterically.
Then, out of nowhere, an arrow buried itself in the base of the ogre’s skull.
Lisa’s body was thrown over the pews. She landed on her back. The sound of agonized roaring came next. Furniture being smashed. A storm of splintered wood. Brushing cockroaches from her hair, Lisa kept low. She crawled to the aisle--which was strewn with debris--and risked a peek towards the door. The ogre's attention had been drawn to a broken window, where a soldier knelt with his bow drawn for a second shot. It never came. Still roaring, the ogre seized hold the podium and winged it at the soldier. It flew like a torpedo. Blood sprang from the soldier’s mouth as it struck him in the chest, eviscerating his ribs before he flew backward out of sight.
Slowly, the ogre’s head turned towards the pews. Sounds of gunshots, cries of terror, floated through the window.
Lisa's heart froze. God, now what? The towering goliath's one good eye would spot her before long. And it was way too big and way too powerful to overrun. She wouldn't make it to the door (where Nancy's inert body still lay), let alone have time to lift the latch.
Her eye went back to the aisle. A candlestick, its occupant lost, lay on its side. Without thinking, she grabbed it and pitched it hard as she could at the wall farthest from the door. It landed with a clang that instantly set the ogre storming in that direction.
It was now or never again. Crouched over, Lisa entered the aisle and began a brisk duck-walk down the slope. Glass crunched underfoot, but the monster was making too much noise to hear. Or perhaps its ears were clogged with cockroaches. Whichever, she made it all the way down unseen, and her shaking fingers were fumbling with the latch when she was arrested yet again, this time by her original antagonist: Nancy Semeska.
"Wait," the antagonist said, grinning from the floor with her hand clutched around Lisa's ankle. "I wasn't done with my desecration."
"Nancy, there's dambuhala in here, and believe me, it's done desecration enough."
She laughed and rose to her feet with far too much vigor. True, one of her eyes had turned purple, but the other carried lucidity for both. Given, her dress was powdered from hem to shoulders with dust, but that only lent weight to the hideousness of its dark weave. Nancy now resembled a black spider studying a meal from the opposite end of the web.
It was a meal she meant to have. With one jerk, Lisa's hand was wrenched from the latch, the wrist bending back far enough to bring a cry to her lips. From behind came a near instantaneous response from the ogre: a roar, the sound of giant, charging feet. Nancy gave a mad laugh and shoved Lisa in the chest as hard as she could. It sent her reeling straight into the monster's arms, which locked around her ribs like a couple of junkyard jaw crushers.
"NO!" she screamed, wriggling against wiry hairs and scuttling cockroaches. She could feel the creature's breath on top of her head. "NANCY! NANCY!"
"Lisa!" Nancy shrieked back in a parody almost green with poison. Over her shoulder, the latch began to shake desperately. But it showed no sign of surrender. "Go on, handsome. Give the lady a squeeze."
Under no circumstances could the ogre have understood these instructions. And yet its grip came down on Lisa's ribs, forcing an irreplaceable gasp through her throat.
"HIIIIEEEE!" Lisa hissed, hands beating on biceps bigger than her waist.
When she tried to get the air back, it wouldn't come. The ogre wasn't allowing her chest to expand. In fact, it squeezed harder. Harder and harder, bending the bones.
The last thought Lisa had was of Ingrid. Ingrid screaming--crying--from behind the door. Through some kindness from a different region she did not understand, that door had become transparent. She could see Ingrid as well, pounding the wood, ragged dress in tatters, begging to be let through. Behind her was Scott, the love of her life. And behind Scott, Darren, the love of her life. The man who had made it possible for her to come and see this region one final time.
“Love you all,” she tried to say, before everything in her chest broke. A geyser of blood burst from her mouth. And then the next place of sojourn, the next region of passion, took her away.
Nancy reached back. Her thumb found the latch-plate, pressed it. Ingrid burst through just in time to see Lisa's crushed body drop to the floor. She saw the ogre too, but in that moment its black, towering shape was little more than a premonitory shadow cast over a dream terrible enough without one. A manteau of dark storm clouds over an already obliterated city-scape. An emblem of death on the loggia of a funeral home. A spatter of blood on a red battle flag.
It couldn't be. It just couldn't be.
"Oh it's true," Nancy smiled, reading this thought on Ingrid's face. "Your mother's bones are ready for gnawing."
"MOM!"
"Usually these creatures prefer thighs or drumsticks. But this one started with the ribs. That's fine."
"MOM!"
"A good turkey tastes delicious no matter where one chooses to spear first."
By now Scott had made it through the door, with Darren close behind. Ingrid barely noticed. Even Nancy seemed incorporeal. All she could see, all she could feel, was Lisa. Lisa, lying dead beyond any speculation at their feet, her bones crushed out the sides of her chest, her jaw hanging open for the scream she'd not had breath to vent. Lisa Felton, her mother. Gone.
Ingrid fell to her knees. It was suicide, but then...so what? Hadn't she been suicidal since the beginning? A girl in an apathetic daze wandering from one pretend cup of coffee to the next, knowing a jolt would never come but drinking anyway, just for something to do. Well, the time for doing was done. The final mug was empty; the last nickel had been spent.
Her reaction did not go unchallenged. Scott in particular objected to it a good deal. He gave a yell from somewhere; she paid it never mind. Then his hands were grabbing her, hauling her backward.
No!
She wrenched her arms away, wailing some incomprehensible curse. It was time to quit, dammit! Why couldn't he see that? And as if his ignorance were not cause enough for outrage, the ogre at that moment--after a surprising space of inertness--contributed to the grotesquerie by plucking an arm off Lisa's corpse and beginning to nibble.
Too much. Not wanting to see or feel anything ever again, Ingrid went limp in Scott's arms. Her bare feet were scooped off the floor. She didn't care. She felt herself being spun around, Scott now carrying her like a bride, to face the door, the exit to life. No big deal, either.
"Where are you going?" a familiar voice sang.
Oh yes, it's Nancy, Ingrid thought. Still with us. Good try, Scott, but we're not going to make it. Oh well.
And maybe they wouldn't have made it. Maybe, Ingrid considered later, the ogre would have eaten them all, or Nancy would have tortured them to death, the way she liked it. Maybe this and maybe that. One forgotten number in the equation changed the whole tide--forgotten, that was, by Nancy, who had begun to shake her head as she walked to block the door.
"Don't send it home without dessert," she told Ingrid. "Smooth and soft and sweet. What would a meal be otherwise--"
Darren grabbed her from behind and lifted her high, his loss lending strength to his sinew. Nancy was too surprised to react. It was her undoing. With one Herculean thrust of his arms, Darren threw her at the ogre. She collided with the beast about mid-thigh. None too happy about being interrupted from its meal, it reached for her. Nancy began to scramble on all fours like one of the cockroaches in its hair. She screamed as the beast's claws caught her by the back of her dress, tearing it open. Her foot slipped on a puddle of entrails. The ogre picked her up and bit off her head.
"Jesus!" Darren shrieked, his voice splintering with the bones of Nancy's neck. "Jesus fucking Christ oh God!"
"Time to leave," Scott said.
I don't care, Ingrid thought.
Scott carried her to the bottom of the stairs, past Randy's still unconscious body, and out another door that let on a cobblestone path. The path twisted to a rocky, windy beach. Waves crashed under shimmering constellations that Ingrid had yet to recognize. Sprinkles of cold water showered her face and arms.
"Which way!" Scott yelled over the din. "Darren? Darren!"
"I'm thinking, goddammit," he snapped back. "Just...shut up a minute!"
His eyes, which were wet, searched the stars. It seemed he and they were on better terms. Ingrid waited with her head on Scott's shoulder, saying nothing. The hem of her ragged dress flapped in the wind.
"All right, follow me," Darren said, and without waiting, plodded off to the left.
Ingrid saw Scott look worriedly up the cobblestone path. She was sure the ogre would not be capable of pursuit--it was too big to fit down the stairs--but didn't bother to voice the consolation. Then he struck off after Darren. He did not ask Ingrid to walk, nor did she ask--or even consider the idea of asking--to be put down. Why were the men bothering with flight anyway?
Their intransigence seemed borderline insane. How many more friends and loved ones had to die before they realized the ridiculousness of this entire enterprise?
Her eye went to the door at the top of the path, which grew more distant by the second. It had been left unlatched. Violent gusts of wind slammed it open and closed.
How many more? she wondered again.
Open--Wham! Closed--Bang!
Scott carried her further and further down the beach. Soon the door disappeared behind a rock. Ingrid kept listening until it was too far away to hear as well, and the water and the wind were all existence had to offer, agents of erosion, wiping the world clean.
***
"Hold still," Scott said.
Ingrid lay on the table, blinking at a light fixture with a dead wasp in it. They were in a kitchen of some kind. She could see a stove, a row of cupboards. From behind, the sound of scissors.
"You're going to feel so much better," Scott told her as he snipped. "The region's wet. It's getting into your hair. But if you wear it short it won't be as cold."
"Okay," she accepted.
Someone else came in. While Scott spoke, a woman danced to the table, arms waving, black hair flying. She jumped and twirled around Scott, oblivious to his newfound (and more than a little strange) interest in becoming a beautician. Equally oblivious was the beautician himself. He snipped away at Ingrid's hair, chattering like a bird about where he'd been earlier that day.
"I found a lucky rabbit's foot in Norwalk. White. Put it in my pocket. A girl threw a jump-rope at me and told me to put it back. Oh man, how embarrassing."
The dancer spun to the other side of the table. Now that she was closer, Ingrid recognized her as Lisa. Lisa looked at her, winked, and stuck her tongue out toward Scott, never missing a step in her routine.
"What I wouldn't give," Scott was going on, wiping the scissors on his sleeve, "for like...twenty five cents to buy an ice cream. Then I'd have a place for that cherry in the basement."
Hearing this, Lisa stuck her finger in her mouth and made gagging gestures. At the same time, the middle finger of her other hand stabbed the air.
"Mom," Ingrid chided. "What are you doing?"
Lisa rushed at her. Her eyes were a wide, furious yellow; her teeth were snarling. Ingrid recoiled, but without very far to lean back, Lisa was able to bring her face in close enough to eclipse the entire kitchen.
"Why did you kill me?" she barked. "WHY DID YOU KILL ME?"
Cold locks of hair spilled over Ingrid's mouth and neck. Fingernails sharp as razors clawed her arms.
"WHY DID YOU KILL ME?" With every word Lisa's eyes got wider. Wider and wider, until they were all Ingrid could see. "WHY DID YOU KILL ME? WHY DID YOU KILL MEEEEE?"
***