Hellraisers (24 page)

“Good, good,” said Seth. Marlow felt like he was on a train that was out of control, moving way too fast. He tried to force on the brakes again.

“Look, I'm really grateful for this but I'm not feeling so good, please can we just do this tomorrow?”

“Repeat what you are going to wish for,” Seth said, like Marlow's voice wasn't working.

“I don't know what you mean,” he said, clawing in a breath. It did little to stem the panic, and this time he did reach for his inhaler, firing off a shot that was full of nothing. He shook it and tried again, breathing hard, swearing.

“Just say it,” said Pan. “So it's clear.”

“Breathing,” Marlow said. “I want to be able to breathe normally.”

He thought he heard his words echoing across the cavern but then understood he was hearing something else, the soft, knitting-needle whir of some part of the machine. There were other noises inside his head, too soft to identify, fleshy and wet. They made his skin crawl. There was an explosion of light in the core of his brain, like a firework going off.

“I want to be as strong as ten men,” said Pan. “I want to run faster than sound.”

“Seriously, I can't,” Marlow said. The clicks from the Engine were growing louder, the sound of something huge coming slowly to life

“Say it,” she said.

“I want to be able to breathe normally. I want to be as strong as ten men. I want to run faster than sound.”

“Again,” she said. “Louder.”

He repeated the words, then again, then again, until Pan turned to Seth and shrugged. The old man beamed at Marlow.

“You're ready,” he said. “You can enter the pool.”

“I can
what
?” said Marlow, shaking his head. “No way, man, I'm not going in there.”

The liquid rippled and danced, its mottled surface impenetrable, the color of disease. He had no idea how deep the pool was, what else might be in there. It had been so long since he'd last been swimming that he wasn't even sure if he could remember how to stay afloat.

“No way,” he said again. “I can't do this, Pan. I won't. I need time to … I just need time, okay?”

“Just what I thought,” said Hanson. “They all try to be hard, they all fall to pieces. Pathetic.”

“This has got nothing to do with you,” said Marlow, jabbing a finger at the English guy. “You don't know me.”

“I know everything about you.” He sneered. “I've seen your kind before, full of bravado, bollocks the size of beach balls, right up until the point it hits the fan. Then you go crying back to Mummy with your tail between your legs.”

It was just like being back at school, Caputo telling him he was out of control, waiting to self-destruct.
Screw them.
They had no right to tell him what to do.

“Why don't you—”

He only managed to get three words out before Hanson flicked a finger and Hope broke into a run. She was fast, grabbing one of Marlow's arms with impossible strength. Marlow reached for her with his free hand but it wouldn't move, as if it was bound with invisible ropes—just like back in the elevator. Bullwinkle was stepping forward, and every time his fingers twitched the bones in Marlow's arm seemed to creak. The pain burned through him and he gritted his teeth against it.

“Hanson!” yelled Pan. “Don't!”

He ignored her, walking up to Marlow and clamping a gloved hand around his jaw. Marlow kicked out but Hanson just smacked his leg away with an iron blow. He tried to breathe but his lungs had all but given up, refusing to let the air in. His whole body was a fury of panic, sparks of light bristling across his vision.

“Hanson!” Pan said. “Seth, for god's sake
stop them
.”

“You're all the same, Herc's dogs,” Hanson said. “I've seen it so many times.”

He pushed forward, the three of them just about lifting Marlow off the floor. He tried to look over his shoulder, knowing how close they were to the pool, but Hanson held him tight.

“How many like you have we seen come and go?” Hanson whispered, pulling Marlow close. Once again he could see his reflection in those glasses, the face of a hanged man gasping his last breath. “It will eat you alive, spit you out. But so what. Let it have you.”

“No!” Marlow said. But it was too late. Hope and Bullwinkle let him go and Hanson's fist connected with his stomach, a punch that seemed to turn him inside out. He staggered back, spluttering, putting his foot down on thin air.

Then he was falling, only the dancing pool of dead water there to catch him.

 

DROWNING

It was like falling into death.

The pool stank of open graves, of maggot-infested flesh, worming down his gullet, choking him, pulling him in. He burst out again, grappling for something solid, his legs thrashing into nothing. He found the lip of the pool, clutched at it.

“Not today,” said Hanson, grinding a foot down onto his knuckles. He let go, barely able to keep his head above water.

“Pan, help,” he said, coughing, wheezing, kicking.

“It's too late,” Pan said. “Whatever you do, don't forget what to deal for.”

Marlow tried to reach for her but the pool held him like it had fingers. He felt something glide past his foot, an icy grip around his ankle, and he screamed. The darkness took advantage, sliding into his mouth. Something latched onto his arm, like there was an army of corpses beneath the surface, and he fought against it, floundering.

“Do not struggle,” said Seth. “It cannot hurt you.”

“Oh, it hurts you,” Hanson said, one foot on the edge. “It's a nightmare in there. Did they tell you that some people never even make it out of the pool?”

What?

“You're such an
asshole
, Hanson!” Pan yelled. “Marlow, ignore everything the Engine shows you, they're lies, it will try to trick you.”

Whatever was holding him began to pull, tugging hard on his skin as he thrashed on the surface of the pool. He was hyperventilating, his lungs exploding as he tried to take a breath. But nothing was happening. He felt his body begin to slide into unconsciousness, his eyes rolling back in their sockets. The fluid was leaking into them, blades of black light carving up his vision. Through them he saw Hanson grinning. This couldn't be the last sight he would ever see, it
couldn't
be.

“Shut it out,” Pan said. “Keep your wishes in your head, don't forget, never forget.”

“And whatever you do,” Hanson said, leaning toward him, his words muted by the liquid that burrowed into his ears, “don't think about Pan with no clothes on.”

The invisible fingers reeled him under, the whole world turning black. He struggled, feeling himself dragged deeper and deeper, faster and faster, the fluid boiling past his head, his stomach in knots. He felt like he was being sucked into a vortex, something that would pull him to the very center of the Earth.

Or even deeper than that, something that will drag you to the very depths of hell.

He opened his mouth and water flooded into his lungs, cold and choking but somehow letting him breathe. A face appeared in the darkness, Danny, a smile blazing out beneath his combat helmet. It was the Danny he knew from the photograph, exactly the same—sunglasses, the armored car, the tents in the background. He'd died eight days after the photograph was taken.

But I don't have to,
he said.
Marlow, please, save me. Let me come home.

Couldn't he do it? Couldn't he do this one good thing? Bring him back?

It's so easy, just a wish, just think it. I want to see Mom again, Marly. Take me to her.

Marlow nodded, then shook his head. There was something wrong with his brother's smile, it was too wide, his teeth like broken glass.

“You're not him,” Marlow said. “You're not Danny.”

His brother's smile twisted into an expression of horror, his mouth opening too wide. His face began to peel away like old wallpaper, maggots and mealworms squirming out from beneath his flapping skin. Then he was gone, and Charlie was there—or at least a flyblown mass of jellied meat that might once have been him.

You left me to die,
he said, one of his lips peeling loose, rolling wetly down the front of his shirt.
You left me to fall in the river and drown. Wish me okay, Marlow. That's what friends do for each other. All it takes is a wish.

“I'm sorry,” he said, and he almost gave in, almost wished for him to be safe back on Staten Island. Then Pan's words blazed back into his mind:
Ignore everything it shows you, they're lies, it will try to trick you.
He reached into his memory, everything so far away, nothing real. But there were words there.

“I want to be able to breathe normally. I want to be as strong as ten men. I want to run faster than sound.”

It was stupid, ludicrous, like a kid before Christmas. But he kept saying them, over and over, a mantra that held the Engine at bay. There was another thought in his head, planted there by Hanson—Pan, looking at him and smiling, reaching out and touching his face. She wasn't wearing a scrap of clothing and the sight of her was almost enough for him to forget where he was.

“No,” he said, repeating his wishes again, and again, forcing the words from his lips.

Somewhere—it seemed like miles away, but how could it be, the pool was only small—the darkness seemed to be parting, great black clouds billowing to the side. A crack of thunder pulsed through the water, felt rather than heard, like the skull-crushing blast of a depth charge. There was something there, beyond the shadows. It was a figure, one that was surely far too big to fit here, one that might have been as vast as a mountain. Marlow turned away. He didn't want to look, but the invisible hands gripped his head, forcing him to see. There was something wrong with the figure, like it was radiating darkness, waves of invisible black light that broke against Marlow's skull. It was a monstrous bag of bones and skin, peering down at him with a clutch of eyes as watery as egg whites. It seemed to radiate cruelty.

This is what you desire?

There were no words in his head but he understood what was being asked of him. He didn't want this anymore, didn't want anything to do with this thing, but he knew it was too late.
Some people never even make it out of the pool.
Those who changed their minds? Those who didn't wish for anything? He didn't know. He didn't
want
to know. He just wanted out, away from this nightmare and the corpse hands that held him.

“I want to be able to breathe normally,” he was almost screeching. “I want to be as strong as ten men. I want to run faster than sound.”

And Pan, I want her to love me.
His brain added without his permission.

It is done,
said the wordless voice in his head.
It is yours, and the price is your soul.

And with that thought came an unbearable sadness, a huge, gaping, lonely absence that made him feel as if everybody he had ever loved had died. He howled in despair, clutching at his stomach, trying to hold himself in. He realized that his arms were free and he began to paddle upward, desperately pushing himself toward the surface. His lungs were two shriveled sacks inside his chest, empty of everything but pain. He kicked and struggled his way through the liquid, suddenly bursting through the top of the pool into a riot of color and noise.

Hands reached for him, dragging him out, and he clung on to them with everything he had. There was a cry of pain, then he was dropped onto the stone floor.

“Let go, Marlow, let go, easy now.”

Marlow released his grip, the world swimming into focus. Seth was there, his face contorted with pain. Pan was next to him, one hand on the old man. Marlow coughed, spitting the last dregs of black water from his mouth. They landed on the floor, wriggling like worms, squirming their way back toward the pool as if they were living things. The sight of them—hundreds of droplets swarming over each other—made Marlow gag. He retched until his stomach was empty. He tried to push himself up but the whole world was swimming.

“Wait there,” said Pan. “Marlow, don't move, give us a second.”

She looked flushed, the color on her cheeks making her even more beautiful than before. Marlow lay there on the stone, tasting the acid in his mouth. Hanson and his two douches stood exactly where they had before, those crap-eating grins still plastered over their faces.

Marlow turned back to Seth and Pan. The old man was shaking his wrist, still grimacing.

“That's some grip you have there, Marlow,” he said.

“What?” Marlow asked, looking at his hand. Nothing had changed, he didn't feel any different.

Wait …

He sucked in a breath and he could have been standing at the top of a mountain, his lungs full of crisp, clean, oxygenated air. He breathed out slowly, not wanting to jinx it, then tried again. It was like it was the first time he had ever truly taken a breath and he almost laughed with the joy of it. “I can breathe,” he said, grinning. “Holy crap, I can breathe.”

“You can probably wrestle a bear too,” said Seth, and Marlow understood what must have happened—Seth offering him a hand out of the pool, Marlow grabbing his arm, squeezing hard. He flexed his fingers. It was impossible, right? How could he have the strength of ten men?

“No way,” he said, looking at Pan. She was redder than ever, like she was flustered. She stared back at him, biting her bottom lip. She looked different, softer somehow, like her icy exterior had started to melt. Marlow had to turn away, his own cheeks flaring. If he wasn't careful, then he was going to have to throw himself back into the pool.

“How long was I in there?” he asked, pushing himself to his feet.