Fungus of the Heart (4 page)

“Yeah.”

“But ghosts are just pretend, remember? Your mom said they’re hallucinations caused by carbon monoxide poisoning.”

“Well, she was wrong.”

“You don’t look like a ghost.”

“That’s because….” And I stop myself, because there’s no point arguing with a defense mechanism. This octopus only has one thing on his mind, and that’s what I need to exploit. “If you don’t dispose of these creatures, I’m going to throw this body down the stairs and break my neck.”

The octopus rubs the top of his head. “I don’t understand this game, Rhianna.”

“This isn’t a game.”

And after the snakes and spiders turn to glass, I turn the doorknob and reach my destination.

In the bedroom, the old man paces back and forth between two beds. And on each bed is a little girl.

The old man’s smiling, tossing a snowball from hand to hand.

After a while, Rhianna hops off the bed.

And the old man throws the snowball at her face. “I told you not to move!”

Rhianna cries.

I want to hold her, comfort her. But I can’t.

The old man picks up Rhianna and drops her on the bed. Then he takes a glass unicorn off the dresser. He acts he’s going to throw this at Rhianna as well, but he smashes the figurine on the wood floor instead. He laughs.

“Are you ready for some fun, Meghan?” the old man says.

Meghan doesn’t move or say a word, and the old man climbs onto her bed, and the dog in the room growls.

Rhianna hugs her octopus, tight.

I’ve seen enough.

And so, I leave Rhianna’s body, and she collapses to the floor, weeping and heaving.

I put my hand on her shoulder, though I know she can’t feel me. “I’m sorry.”

A few minutes later, she looks me in the eyes. “I should’ve helped her.”

“You were a child.”

“I should’ve saved her.”

“It’s not your fault.”

She curls up, tight.

And maybe she feels broken, but I know better.

Now that she remembers the truth, she can stop blaming herself for what happened to her sister.

She can heal.

Hours later, Rhianna sits up. “Everything we saw tonight makes a strange sort of sense to me, except for that guy in the box. Why did his voice sound like you?”

“He has nothing to do with you,” I say. “I’m sorry he showed up like that.”

“Who is he?”

“I don’t discuss him with clients.”

“But he showed up during my investigation. Don’t I have a right to know?”

“No.”

Rhianna sighs. “Are we going to spend the rest of our time together fighting?”

I run my hands down my face. “Alright. I’ll tell you.”

“Thank you.”

I stare at the crowbar beside my foot. “First you need to know that years ago, back when I was alive, I realized I was a woman in a man’s body.”

“Oh.”

“But I never told anybody. And I didn’t even let myself think about it very much. All my life, I acted like the man everyone expected me to be. And when I died, the façade I created became the Man in the Crate. I don’t let him dictate my behavior anymore, but I can’t seem to get rid of him either.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thanks. It’s not so bad though. I’m happy enough with my existence.”

“If that’s true, then why do you sound so sad?”

“Well, I guess I’m not completely content. I know my appearance is only an ethereal shadow of physical reality, but I hate looking like this.”

“Like a man?”

“Yeah.”

“There’s no way to change how you look after you die?”

“Well, some spirits change. But I don’t think I can.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not strong enough.”

And as hopelessness wreaks havoc on my soul, the Man in the Crate manifests beside me.

He slams his body against the wood. “Let me out, you fucking wacko!”

I know he’s keeping me from changing my form. And I know I should confront him once and for all. But I’m afraid if I open the crate, he’ll overpower me, and crush everything inside me I hold dear.

“Ash,” Rhianna says. “Just because you feel powerless doesn’t mean you are.”

Maybe she’s right.

And maybe one day I’ll face my fears.

But for now, I decide to ignore the Man in the Crate, and watch Rhianna cry.

Fungus of the Heart

The smart thing would be to ignore the jester as he taunts me with a slap of his ass and a lick of the bloody saw attached to his marotte. But I stopped making wise decisions ever since they locked you up in the Fortress. Anyway, the clown butchered Billy, and you know how much I love that warthog.

So I run after the maniac.

And he leads me through a forest that reminds me of your fuzzy green boots, because of all the moss.

If I exerted myself, I could catch up to the fleet-footed fool in a matter of moments. But of course I’m not willing to sacrifice even a smidgen of my true power. Not for anyone but you.

Eventually, the harlequin leaps on a heap of trash, and rolls around, giggling.

“Why did you murder my companion?” I say.

The jester ignores me.

So I race over, and kick him in the stomach. “I said, why did you murder my companion?”

“I heard you.” He speaks, barely moving his lips, using his marotte like a ventriloquist dummy. The scepter’s topped with a small, wooden version of the jester’s head, with matching donkey ears, scars. Even the same frown line.

He still doesn’t answer my question, so I kick him again.

“You looked so peaceful,” the fool says. “Lying there on the grass, all cuddly-wuddly with the piggy. I knew you loved him.”

“So you drugged me in my sleep?” I say. “And you sawed off his head?”

“I had to do something. The bond between you and the beast reeked in my mind’s nostril. Just thinking about it makes me throw up in my mouth. Blerg! Blerg!”

“Stop that.”

“No. Blerg!”

I stomp on his hand. “The more you annoy me, the less merciful I feel. I suggest you beg Billy for forgiveness, or I’ll have no problem ridding the world of a speciesist like you.”

The jester raises an eyebrow. “Speciesist? You misunderstand my sentiment. I don’t have a particular prejudice against the camaraderie between man and beast. I abhor all emotional connections, equally.”

“Ah. So you’re one of the Void.”

The marotte head nods.

And I grab the real clown’s throat. “One of your kind tortured and killed my five-year-old niece.”

He grins. “Good.”

The grief smoldering in my muscles suddenly blazes, causing me to punch the jester in his face, over and over.

He rolls away, stands. Attacks me with his saw.

But I kick the scepter out of his hands, and continue the onslaught.

Finally, he says, “Stop it! Stop!”

And I comply. “I don’t understand you. If you truly believe the so-called material world is meaningless, then why would you want to protect yourself? Isn’t your body as meaningless as everything else?”

“Of course! Jeez. But you’re inflicting pain for the wrong reasons. Abuse and murder should be about breaking free from the chains of morality. In other words, you should only kill when you feel unjustified and devoid of bloodlust. Anything else is a sin.”

“So you’re trying to protect me from sinning?”

He nods. “Have mercy on yourself. Please. Let me go.”

I know you taught me not to utilize my abilities for the sake of vengeance, but this clown needs dire consequences for his actions.

He needs to die.

Then again, this man is one of the Void, and that means he’s already suffered a fate worth than death.

So with a compassionate heart, I break both his legs, and leave it at that.

On my way out of the clearing, the man grunts. Louder and louder.

At first I think he’s imitating Billy in an attempt to harass me.

But then I turn around and see Billy soaring over the pile of trash. He touches down in front of me.

“What are you doing here?” I say, smiling. “I thought you’d be halfway to the Heavens by now.”

The clown takes a break from his weeping to say, “There are no Heavens. When your piggy ascends, he’ll wander around in empty space for the rest of eternity.”

I ignore him.

And Billy releases a long blissful grunt as I stroke him behind the ear. The massage doesn’t last nearly as long as usual, because he’s only a winged head now, and I can’t touch his shoulders and back.

“I’m sorry you died,” I say. “I failed you.”

The warthog doesn’t move, showing me there are no hard feelings.

Then he hops over to the trash, and begins rooting.

I wait, cross-legged.

Finally, Billy calls me over with a lengthy grumble, and I pick up the hairbrush by his snout.

He barks at me.

“Sorry,” I say, and pick up the other object by his nose.

A broken key.

Billy doesn’t bark this time, so this must be what he wants to show me.

And I know better than to search for the lock this key opens, because I worked for a fallen angel six months ago, and I learned more than a little about his kind.

The first lesson being, angels almost always communicate in metaphors. Symbols.

So I say, “Does the fact that the key is broken hold any special significance? Or was this just the only key you could find?”

Billy grunts, then barks. The condition of the key is important.

“Are you referring to something that can’t be opened or penetrated?”

Yes.

“Is this concerning an object of some sort?”

No.

“An entryway?”

Yes. Then he presses his snout against my foot. A kiss.

This message is about you.

“Does the key represent my present inability to reach Cailin?”

Yes.

“Don’t worry, Billy. I won’t start the war before I’m ready. I know I need another mushroom before I stand a chance of saving her.”

He repositions his ears, upset. Maybe he doesn’t want me to fight at all.

“I appreciate your concern and I realize your new form gives you a greater awareness of the dangers I’m about to face. But this is something I have to do. I’m sure you understand.”

But apparently, he doesn’t. Because he takes off again, barks. Feints at me with his snout.

“Calm down,” I say.

Then Billy lands beside the clown and continues rooting. Probably for another symbolic piece of trash.

“You’re a good friend, and I know you mean well. But I can’t stay here playing Twenty Questions all day. Cailin needs me.”

So I turn around.

And Billy screams, as if he’s in pain. But I know that’s impossible in his state. He’s just trying to garner my sympathies.

“Maybe your piggy’s an angel of death,” the jester says. “Piss him off too much, and he’ll kill your Cailin. Gobble her all up.”

I want to silence the clown, comfort my friend.

But I ignore them both, and walk away.

Of course I do.

For you, I’d do anything.

*

Like always, I quickly assess the village’s prosperity by discerning the quality of laughter in the air. And these villagers definitely scream of wealth, with their carefree cackles and hearty chuckles.

They don’t have raiders on the communal mind.

And that means there’s a Protector here. Somewhere.

So I blow some truth pollen at a toothless old man, and join him on the stump.

“You’re quite handsome,” he says. “I’d like to kiss you, but I’m afraid you wouldn’t let me.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. “My lips belong to another.”

He frowns. “You’re only saying that to spare my feelings. You think I’m ugly.”

“That’s not true. My Cailin is an elder, like you, and she’s the most beautiful thing in all the worlds.”

The old man grins. “I can’t remember the last time I spoke to a romantic. Four years? Five? It’s good to know your breed isn’t extinct.”

His eyes appear fully dilated at this point, so I say, “Do you have a Protector in your village?”

“Yes. It’s funny. Milena was such a troublemaker in her youth. One summer, about twenty years ago, our soulstones started disappearing. Everyone was sure someone had awoken a demon. But then Fortunata, Milena’s mother, found the stones in a dead toad in Milena’s hut. Everyone despised the girl. Myself included. At that time, we didn’t know about her power, and so we didn’t understand her confusion and her suffering. We barely spoke to her. Even her parents avoided her. Then, years later, she revealed her true nature to us, and now she’s our beloved Protector. I’m still surprised she’s willing to sacrifice so much for those who treated her with such cruelty. But I suppose she has a heart for forgiveness. I can’t say the same for myself.”

“Where does Milena live?”

He points. “On the outskirts.”

“Thank you.”

Tears roll down the old man’s face, dirty with pollen. “Poor little girl. I know I wasn’t her relative, but I could’ve reached out to her. I could’ve shown her some kindness. Maybe I should apologize to her now.”

“Yes. You should.”

With that, I squeeze the old man’s shoulder, gently, and head for the outskirts.

And as the woodland becomes denser, so does my mind.

Memories stalk my conscience. Broken bodies. Shrieks and pleas and the taste of toadstools and blood.

I try not to look these phantoms in the eyes. Instead, I keep my gaze focused on their elbows. Their fingernails. And somehow, by limiting my perception, I can almost convince myself they’re not human beings. They’re just bundles of flesh, no greater than the sum of their parts.

But the illusion won’t keep me moving.

Not for long.

I need to hear your voice. I need to know you’ll still want me, even after I accomplish my mission.

And then, finally, you say, “I’ll always love you.”

And my conviction prevails, overshadowing the phantoms once more.

“I love you too.”

A heartbeat later, Billy swoops down, grunts. Lands beside a glittery web that stretches between two trees.

The warthog points his snout at the pastel spider and her quivering prey.

“Is this what you think is going to happen to me when I break into the Fortress?”