Bottled Abyss (5 page)

The Ferryman smiled. “You better, because if I do, you will be as you are now, my servant.”

The atmosphere lightened. The smell retreated. The Fury was gone.

The Ferryman went on, past the overhead lights at the gas pumps, treading into darkness. He talked well enough but he didn’t plan on using the bottle again. It was indeed dangerous to invite Nyx back, but he enjoyed seeing the Fury squirm inside all of that wasted power.

Then again, he expected that overgrown fool with the dog to come back to steal the bottle. Unlike the Fury, mortals could scarcely see such power and leave it for waste. Let him try. Charon was not fully restored but he wasn’t feeble either. That big oaf would no doubt need healing after their clash. Of course he would oblige the man. All it would cost was one coin. That would be a pleasant way for the Ferryman to extend his stay another three days.

Life was cheap, after all.

He dreamed about what the Fury must be doing to that college student. He dreamed about the bottle. He dreamed about the coins it would give him. He dreamed about the salty embrace of his dead mother. A thrill went through him and the night air outside was delightful on his parchment skin.

FURY

Glad to be away from that smell outside the store, must have been a backed up sewer—backed up with what though? Rotting cherries, apples and cinnamon?

Say goodbye to Phil down the road from the AM PM and wonder if I’ll see him in Spanish class again since he’s missed the last five times—weird dude, probably won’t get all his undergraduate stuff completed, but probably wouldn’t get a job anyway with that goth shit of his—can’t believe some people keep that dress-up crap going past high school—

Walking back to the university apartments with my new lucky coin—flip it on my thumb like a gangster—
pling, pling, pling
— now I just have to pull off a decent
nyah nyah Coppah
—this damn obnoxious cold sore in my mouth will probably help with that—tongue it, do circles around it—Have I had one for three days before—? Can’t remember—Gotta get some of that gel stuff, forget if it’s only for cold sores on the outside of your lips, not inside like this one—Is there a difference between cold sores and canker sores—? Can never remember that, should go to the store and read the back of the box—Dumbass—You were just at the store, this sucks, what if it’s cancer from all the weed I smoke—I’m too young, right—? Wonder if it’ll get worse and I’ll lose my jaw and lymph nodes—

The campus trees along this stretch always freak me out—they huddle around you, look down your shoulders—can feel their leafy breath on my back— kind of poetic when I’m nervous, should use that if I ever decide to write anything besides my signature, yeah sure—

Something’s wrong—feels darker tonight, feels unbalanced, wickedly so—the world is wide open, am free, am liberated, am finally where I belong—these are not my thoughts—they don’t even feel human—these feelings are wild love for the open air and open world before me—sniff the air, smell everything, everything is wonderful—but miss my keeper, where is my keeper—? I don’t have a keeper—what, like a master—? Like I’m someone’s pet or something—?

Shake my head dizzily—stagger along the sidewalk—my keeper—?

Would that be my parents—?

Need to call about my mother’s 50th birthday—

Don’t know what dad has planned—

Don’t call either of the houses nearly enough—Love them so much—Wish they were here in the dark with me—

Drunken thoughts of freedom consume me again—the world grows cold, no longer wonderful and mysterious, want to go home, am going home, what the hell is the matter with me—?