Bottled Abyss (43 page)

“Voicemail,” said Rebecca. “Janet hasn’t been answering lately.”

Jeremy glanced expectantly at his leader. “Art? Your move.”

Arturo tried to look contemplative. “Tell her we got her man here.”

“I don’t—”

“Tell her, eh.” Arturo forced the gun forward.

Rebecca straightened. “Hi, Janet, this is…Becca Davis. I need your help. Evan’s here with me at 4467 Rasner Lane in Moreno Valley. Call me, please.” She hung up and glanced over to Evan. “Will she call back?”

“No,” Evan replied through a grunt. “She’ll just come over.”

Rebecca’s face sank. “She will?”

He nodded.

“Another chick. Sounds fucking like the bomb to me. So we wait.” Arturo rubbed his hands together and licked his lips, his eyes feasting on Rebecca. “Hey, where’s that premature chronic?”

“You gonna smoke, now?” Jeremy’s voice suggested impatience, as though dealing with a younger brother.

“Got me a new bong, son! This golden mind’s gotta eat too!”

Jeremy reached into his pocket and produced a micro-sized baggie with a green divot inside. Arturo put his gun in the crack of his ass again and accepted the baggie. He went merrily to the front door, unlocked the bolt and crept outside. He brought the bottle into the house and locked the door again.

“Where’s the bathroom, sweetie pie?” he asked Rebecca.

Jeremy giggled.

“Behind you, dickhead.”

Arturo made an
I’m-so-hurt
face and turned into the small bathroom. He put the bottle on the sink and spun it around a few times. “Hey, where’s the carb on this thing?”

“It’s not a bong,” Evan told him.

“Bullshit,” said Jeremy.

“Nah, he’s right,” Arturo confirmed in disappointment. “Some shitty vase or something. Ah well, fuck it. You got papers?”

“Nope.”

“Aye,
cabron
. Oh well, then. Never mind I guess. Have to find some foil or something. Hey, you got them two covered out there?”

“Why?”

“I’m gonna take a shit.”

“What a surprise.”

“Fuck you man.” The bathroom door shut. The light came on and the fan began whirring inside.

Evan’s forehead hammered into the arm of the couch. He was too disoriented to look up. Everything rushed inside him to an unknown origin. He couldn’t stop it. He just had to take the ride until the end.

Jeremy glanced at the ceiling. “See you in half an hour, Art,” he grumbled.

Something lit in his eyes then and he turned to Rebecca. He watched her longingly. “You look a lot like my sister, if she were Mexican.”

He got up and dropped next to her. She tried to inch away but he moved even closer. “Yeah, you’re a lot like her.”

3

Evan loomed over Jeremy; the pervert never saw him move through time and space. Jeremy had wrestled Rebecca on the couch, pulled her gym shorts down, and stuck the gun to the back of her head. The woman, bravely, did not say a word. Evan knew she already had a plan. She was going to let Jeremy get going. A few thrusts in, just when he was getting into a good rhythm, she was going pivot on her knee and take him down, her leg behind his head. It would have to be done quickly to get hold of his gun hand. It would have to be done just right.

But Rebecca didn’t know that her plan would never been seen through.

Jeremy rubbed savagely between her legs, huffing, “Get wet, get wet you bitch…”

Evan bowed over him and the man’s blue eyes boggled up at him.

“
I am Fury
,” whispered Evan.

“What the shit?”

Jeremy struggled to stand—Evan caught him under the arms and hurled him into the fireplace.

When Jeremy came to rest, hunched over and blood pouring from ears and mouth, he blinked in slow intervals; shock poured over him.

Arturo fumbled in the bathroom, alert to the commotion.

Evan approached Jeremy, who slumped lower against the brick fireplace, more bones broken inside of him than he could count at the moment.

“
Do you know the song?
” asked Evan. “
I long to hear it
. Sing it and I will spare you.”

A thin, syrupy stream of fresh blood ran from Jeremy’s mouth.

“Then I seek justice for your crimes.”

“Evan,” shouted Rebecca. “Watch out!”

Three bullets tore through Evan’s back and exited his chest. He saw them strike the fireplace, creating a stir of red dust. He turned and watched as Arturo shot him three more times, almost at point blank range. The force drove Evan back.

But he felt nothing.

Arturo moved away. Evan thought about being behind him at that moment.

And then—Evan was behind the man.

Arturo bumped into Evan’s chest of untamed fur. A hoarse scream escaped him. “Please no!”

“
Do you know the song?
”

“No!”

Evan sunk his claws into the back of the man’s head, penetrating the skull, and with a forward tug, pulled the skull cap off, exposing the fatty tissue of the brain.

“It’s not golden,” Evan remarked.

Arturo shrieked and bit into his tongue, cutting the sound short. Evan pushed him to the tile floor. The brain struck it and unfurled in a gleaming pink and white presentation.

Rebecca was screaming. She would have run outside if Evan hadn’t been blocking the pathway to the hall. Evan’s mind stirred again and weakness set in. He’d not fully come into his own yet and the forces he’d played with had stifled his progression.

He glanced at Jeremy. The man was dead. Being tossed against a fireplace wasn’t as dramatic a death as his friend had received, but it was just as well; the same end product.

“Don’t hurt me,” Rebecca sobbed.

Evan staggered toward her. “Listen closely. There is a bottle in that bathroom. I can’t touch it, but you can… something has happened to me…”

“No shit,” Rebecca uttered.

“Get the bottle now, please. Hurry.”

He hoped Rebecca wouldn’t run out the front door. If that happened, there was no telling what would occur when Janet arrived.

Rebecca, luckily for him, did as requested, but she did not come very far out of the bathroom. Her distrust of him was apparent.

“Find a place far away and bury that bottle,” he told her. “You can’t let Janet get it. She’ll try to get it from you. You can’t let her have it.”

“Why not?”

Evan was about to explain but a different voice cut him off.

“Yes, why not?”

Without a sound she’d come in through the door in the kitchen. Janet wore black robes and held her oar like a queen with a scepter. Her drawn face had gone deeply skeletal.

Rebecca looked about to scream. “What is this? What is all this? Somebody tell me! Janet is that you?”

Janet swung the oar. Rebecca rolled from the attack and ran for the stairs and Janet hurried after her, robes flowing like liquid night.

A sensation flowed through Evan at that moment. His energy was not restored—the human need for it had vanished. He was everything now, and the small man that he had once been before, gone completely except for his rage.

Janet took to the stairs, only ascending three before he snatched her by the neck.

FURY

He’s gotten control of himself—Nyx did not warn me of this—a newly born Fury wasn’t unanticipated, nor was the speed with which it could reinvent itself, but this was still alarming—believed him to be an instrument for our cause, not against it—only now, having been tossed down the stairs with little care, find myself fighting him with my oar—Evan’s a monster now, a clumsy, unknowing monster, surely a dangerous combination—can stop this with the simple song Nyx taught me in the River—what is it—? Recalling the song doesn’t come naturally for me, not as it would have for Vincent Baker—don’t wish Nyx to mourn the loss of her first choice—can serve her just as well as he might have—just can’t remember the song in this frenzied moment—

Holding the oar out, hoping it doesn’t shatter with his falling fists—

No time for this—that bottle must be in my hands—!

“Evan, stop—!” I cry—

He lets out a hideous squeal and gnashes his buck teeth together—his eyes are dead—the price of blood in exchange for justice is all he sees—just as I have my focus on filling Nyx’s coffers, she has changed us—
for the better
—but this cannot be—not right now—Evan will not be able to kill me, only slow me down—that might let the mortal get away with the bottle—

He has me pressed against the bottom of the stairs—

Cupboards and drawers are slamming above—that mortal is up to something—

“What crime have I committed—?” I yell through Evan’s attacks—

His scaled fist hangs in the air—clear globules bend in his eyes, swelling to break— it was obvious; he didn’t remember the mortal for whom he sought revenge—his wife—Janet Erikson’s friend (what was her name?)—didn’t matter—she was gone to Evan now—he’d just been holding on to his hate—but for no crime, there could be no punishment—

“What should I do now—?” His voice was hostile and desperate—

“You are Fury—Choose—You have the entire world to judge—It is for you to decide who should go to the River early—Let me go—”

“But who—? And what crimes—? How do I choose—?”