The Very Last Days of Mr Grey (11 page)

“Don’t I even get a break?” Mason sighed. “This is stupid.”

Sera looked at him with a disappointed look.

“Fine.” He adjusted his pillow so his back wasn’t pressed against the hard wall, where a headboard would be on a more sophisticated man’s bed. “What kind of door?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Mason did as he was asked.

“And don’t think of anything.”

“Great. I
wasn’t
. Why don’t you just tell me not to think of a pink elephant.”

“If you must think of one, think of it as coming from a door.”

Mason closed his eyes again and muttered, “Big door.”

Someone was shaking his arm. It didn’t take him long to remember. He whined. “I’m up.”

“Anything?”

“No.”

She slapped his face.

“Hey!”

“Repeat ‘Shri shri sevah namah namah’.”

“What?” he asked, rubbing his face.

“Shri shri—”

“No, I mean, what is it?”

“It doesn’t matter, that’s not the point.”

“I want to know what I’m saying.”

She sighed. “It means ‘Oh beautiful, beautiful machine, I bow down’.”

“Are you joking?”

“Just think those words. The point is to get your mind into a certain state, one which you can then connect with the other side when you begin to dream.”

“This is—”

“Stupid. I know.”

“What were the words?”

“Shri shri sevah namah namah,” she repeated slowly

Mason took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and thought the words over, and over, and thought:
Jamais vu
.

Then he was asleep.

The world is dark for Mason Grey. His death is near and he knows it. And in his mind is another passenger, someone from elsewhere, crosswise from here, in a direction that has no meaning on a compass.

And so he walks in the darkness, and though things creep through the Fog, he fears no daemon. The Pit is in his pocket. The Crown is on his head.

He wonders will his blunder turn?

Dreaming Blunderbuss.

Mason’s eyes open. He doesn’t know where he is. All that surrounds him is mist, and incorporeal form. The mountains above are made of nothing, and the sky burns a bluish-red.

Deep in his chest he feels the thrumming, of a song that left him dead.

Down in the mountains of old Doer, there lives a man in a castle. He once was a king in a great arena, and once was a popper too.

The song swells into the motion, where the ocean’s shore should be, and something dark and deep beckons, the way down is a blackened sea.

In the darkness, crashing daemons, shri time where they should be. Lightening burns with namah fury, and in the darkest deeps there be.

A door to another village, where monsters villains and people sleep, the children run one to another, but the door it leads to sea. Where a ship is waiting timely, where a man will dying see, the greatest castle in the ocean, floating above the ravaged scene.

The gems hide in the trees, and the game they play drawing threes, though Mason isn’t sure what for. Some are better than the others, and Mason wants his gem to be a door.

A large door appears. It is large enough to fit an elephant.

Mason is pulled, backward through time. He arrived in his bed, which was right now.

Mason opened his eyes. Sera was staring at him.

“So?”

Mason shook his head. “No. Nothing.”

“Why did you wake up like that then?”

Mason sat up, shrugged. “I’m tired of sleeping.”

She was silent for a long moment. “I’m going to drug you again.”

“No!” He rubbed his face. “What’d you give me the first time anyway?”

“A mixture of sodium penathar, flunitrazepam—”

“Wait, wait! Aren’t those roofies?”

She nodded. “Some people call them that.”

“You gave me roofies!”

“I had to.”

Mason’s face worked.

“Are you mad?”

“Yes. I don’t know. No. I just— It’s weird for a girl to give them to a guy.” He frowned deeply. “Don’t do it again though.”

“I’ll tell you next time.”

Mason shook his head.

She presented him with a pill. “Mason, here. This is flunitrazepam.”

Mason glared at her.

She exhaled wearily. “Let’s take a break.”

“This is stupid. Who takes a break from sleeping?” Then he realized everyone did.

Sera just walked back out into the kitchen.

Mason followed.

She sat behind the counter and asked, “What do you have to drink here?”

“Water. Some flat diet soda. Some cans of this weird cherry cream soda.”

“I mean, really drink.”

Mason looked at the fridge. “Nothing.” This might be his way out of here. He wondered why he felt so trapped by her.

“Grocery store’s still open. Let’s pick something up.”

Mason checked the time. “It’s after midnight. They don’t sell any now.”

“That’s right.”

“I know a bar. Don’t close till three.”

“Isn’t that past last call?”

Mason shrugged. “It’s walking distance.” He reconsidered. “Actually, no it’s not. Not at this time.”

“How about you buy me a drink?”

“I’m not hitting on you!”

“Calm down Genghis Khan. It’s just a friendly drink. Where else do you have to be?”

“Nowhere.” He eyed the stack of scripts. “But I do have work to do. And now that I know the police aren’t after me, I should get to it.” He wasn’t sure why he was being difficult. He wanted to leave too. A drink would be so nice right now. A Hendrick’s G&T with lime would be just the thing. Just right. Hell, even Bombay would be great.

“Someone is.”

“I’ve been trying to figure that out. Why would only this one agency be interested, but yet the cops, they aren’t even helping at all. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Who were they with?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t exactly have time to ask. Why?”

“The drug you were given, it wasn’t easy to get into trials. We had to take… Shortcuts. I wonder—”

“Shortcuts! You’re risking people’s lives—”

“Calm down, Mason. We’re not risking anything. It’s very well tested. Everyone uses it where Martin is from.”

“Right, beyond the fog. A bunch of dead people using it is really comforting.”

“They aren’t dead.”

“You said Martin died.”

She nodded. “And he did. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t alive.”

Mason grunted and grabbed his keys. “Here.” He tossed them at her.

“You want me to drive?”

Mason grunted again. “I’m getting drunk.” He shook his head as he walked to the door. “I need it.”

“How many drinks do you plan on having?” Sera asked as she parked outside of The Wood Lounge.

“Why, planning on stopping me?”

She shook her head. “I want to know if I have time for you to buy me that drink you promised.”

Mason looked at the clock. “They close at three.”

“And that’s when you’ll stop.”

Mason opened his door. “Unless they refuse to serve me before then.”

Mason was carded at the door, and—to his surprise—so was Sera. He examined her more closely as they entered the dimly lit bar.

It occurred to him that he didn’t actually know how old she was, and now, up close, he wasn’t so certain anymore that she was all that much older. She looked, acted, and dressed older, but her skin looked young.

Then again, she was pale.

Mason contemplated this, staring at her as they proceeded deeper into the bar. It was for this reason that he at first did not notice the other occupants of this fine establishment.

It was Sera who pointed them out: “Looks like they’re having fun.” She looked at him sideways, catching him staring at her, and gave him a funny look.

Mason quickly looked where she was pointing.

At the pool table and gathered nearby were a group of guys who were obviously drunk, or obviously trying to appear drunk. There were two girls with them, and two of the guys alternated grabbing drinks with grabbing the girls.

One of the girls seemed standoffish, perhaps even annoyed, though it appeared to be a familiar annoyance, one she was used to dealing with when he was drunk, because he was such a doofus.

The other seemed amenable to her guy-pal, and possibly the drunkest of all.

“Oh shit.”

Mason had stopped walking, and now Sera did the same, looking at him. “What is it?”

Mason subtly lifted his head, then turned to leave. “I know them. Let’s find somewhere else.”

“Why? Are you afraid of meeting—”

“Mason?”

Mason didn’t turn, just kept walking. Sera quickly followed him out.

The guy who had called out followed the two outside, and was shortly accompanied by his friends, now interested.

“Mason!”

Sera echoed this, right next to Mason’s ear. “Mason! What’s going on?”

“I know him.”

“Clearly, but—”

Mason was spun around by a hand on his shoulder. They’d made it across the street, and were now separated from the bar, and the bouncer eying them, by it.

“Hey,” the guy said. “Where you goin’ so fast?” His words slurred together.

“Hey Dalton.”

Dalton eyed Sera. “Who’s this?”

Sera held out her hand. “Sera.”

Dalton frowned at it, then took it and shook several times. “You his lady?”

Sera looked at one of the girls. “This your man?”

Several of the other group laughed.

Dalton frowned. “Are you rolling?”

“What?”

“Come on,” Mason said, taking Sera’s hand.

“Hey, where you going?” Dalton turned to his group. “This is the bitch’s brother.”

One of the girls whispered something harshly.

Mason stopped. Now Sera was the one trying to pull him away.

Mason turned, eyed Dalton. “What?”

“You’re Emily’s brother, right?”

“Emily doesn’t concern you anymore. She doesn’t want to see you.”

Dalton put up his hands. “Naw, man. It’s cool. She doesn’t like me. I respect that.”

“But not her.”

Dalton smiled. “Hey, I’m just a little drunk. I didn’t mean nothing by it.”

“More than a little.”

Dalton snapped his fingers. “I know who you are now! I knew you looked familiar!” He shook his head. “Brother. Her brother’s a kid. So what are you to her?”

“You’re drunk. Go home before I tell them you aren’t twenty-one.”

Dalton looked at the bouncer across the street, who was too far away to hear. “Hey, at least I didn’t kill anyone.”

“Dalton, dude,” one of the friends said, a rather tall lanky guy with messy dirty blonde hair.

Dalton didn’t look back, just waved behind him. “It’s chill. Isn’t that right, Mason?”

“You should be careful what you say,” Mason said.

“I’m just saying the truth. It’s none of my business if you sleep with your sister.”

“I’m not—” Mason began, but then bit the word off and gritted his teeth.

“I just think it’s a bit messed up that you got the older one killed so you could go—”

Dalton didn’t get any further, because before Mason knew what he was doing, his fist collided with first Dalton’s stomach, then his face, so quickly that everyone was stunned for a moment.

Except the bouncer, who may not have been able to hear, but was perfectly capable of seeing, and went inside. Whether to get help, or to get away from the fight, or to get a camera to take a video for YouTube wasn’t yet clear.

Then Dalton responded by kicking out, taking Mason’s legs out from under him and sending him to the ground.

One of Dalton’s friends was trying to pull Dalton away, and Mason accidentally punched the guy in the face.

He fell back, stunned.

Mason kicked, felt it connect with Dalton’s shin. Mason scrambled to get up.

The friend he had accidentally punched was looking at his hand, which now had blood from his nose on it. He looked up at Mason. “Fuck.”

Everyone has a plan, till they get punched in the face.

Then he kicked Mason in the chest, and all Mason could think was, Wow, that was a high kick. Then he hit the ground, and his head rang.

Dalton’s fist landed in his stomach.

Maybe it was someone else’s; Mason was having a hard time telling.

The other guys got involved, soon the view around him was kicking legs and flying arms. He wondered if they would accidentally hit each other.

He hoped so.

Vaguely, as punches rained on him and screaming of possibly Sera or maybe even one of the guys—the tall lanky one—provided background music to the slaps and thuds, Mason thought if only he had been more careful with his punches, none of this would be happening.

There was a brief reprieve of kicks—though punches still flew—and Mason managed to get up, block a punch, then land one of his own. But he was sober, and thus felt pain more acutely than they did. And there were more of them, and so soon he was on the ground again. He was content to stay there this time, but then something strange happened. Dalton stopped, and said, “She’s fucked up because you got her sister killed. And now I have to deal with it.” Then he kicked Mason again.

But this time, Mason didn’t feel the kick. All he felt was the tension in his fists, in his jaw. All he heard was the sound of his own teeth grating against each other. And he felt the stitches in his chest tear, and this reminded him of something. No, not a thing, a feeling, like falling. Of a bone pipe. Of impossible things.

And then he stood, despite the blows. They briefly backed up, then Dalton pushed him, hard.

But Mason didn’t move. He just looked Dalton in the eye.

Dalton’s expression filled with rage, and he threw a punch.

Mason watched as the expression changed subtly as the punch was thrown, listened to the Doppler-shifted sound of Dalton’s drunk cry. Took in the scene around him, the several men, though none particularly large or muscular, exiting the bar, coming their way. One of them was the bouncer from earlier. One of them worked in the bar, and had a ponytail.

He took in the two girls and one tall guy, watching. Only the sober girl seemed scared.

He didn’t see Sera.

Then he returned his attention to the fist, still coming his way.

Mason tilted his head, like a curious dog, or an indifferent cat, and followed the fist as it grew closer, until it blurred as it past his eyes’ near point. Then it connected, and this connection lasted for seconds.