VIII
THE NIGHT swallowed all light around it. The streetlights tried to supply light to any who would dare venture the streets so late at night, but they tried in vain, and the darkness reigned over all, with a rod of iron shadow. Underneath the glare of fading stars, speckled across innumerable galaxies, Jim walked slowly, the bolt cutters held tightly in his hands, partially hidden by his leg. The gun was in his side pocket, and the knife tucked in his waistband, a towel wrapped around it to keep him from cutting himself.
His breathing was hard, harder than it had ever been on one of his longest runs, and his mind was filled with fears that contested with the amount of the stars above. He hadn’t been quite so afraid before he had left his house, but the tiny fears, the ones that made up the little cold needles that danced on the skin of your arms, had grouped up when he had seen the dark streets, and the feeling that he was being watched.
The eyes were everywhere. They were always watching, those tiny little eyes, each one focused on him, peeking through the windows, glowing in the darkness, caught under a spell of their neighbors who were holding the best sale on earth.
We sell anything.
Anything.
Anything.
Even you. We’ll sell you. Just come on, rack up some debt—we’ll sell you. We sell anything.
Jim held the bolt cutters tighter. Not that they could really supply him with any assurance, they were only bolt cutters, the gun was in his pocket, and the knife his waistband.
The eyes watched.
He came up to the same old driveway for the last time, and glanced behind him at the streets, empty and dark. They were only occupied by the stretching shadows, waking from their rest, ready to fade again. The streetlights glared, tiny dots, little eyes down the street, growing in size, as they got closer.
The sign: simple, fresh, daring, smart and infuriating—the simple three-word slogan, that terrible phrase that haunted him in the dark corners of his mind. It burned into him, like a lit match pressed against his skin. He thought of Beverly, of what he was about to do. He thought of the little girl—Amy—who had been heartlessly sold to a man that had who knew what in mind for her. A dim fire, the blue blaze of righteous anger burned deep down within. He knew what he was going to do, and come what may, he would make sure it got done, or he would sure enough die trying.
The gravel, suddenly returned, skittered away from him. He hardly paid it any mind; he was going straight for his target, a little shed tucked just to the side of where the tent was. Just to the far right of all of the tables in the back yard.
—They keep us in the shed. There are some cots in there for us to sleep, and it’s locked up with a padlock at night. I want to make noise but I’m afraid they’ll hear. They hear everything.
The fence was wide open, as if they were expecting midnight customers, or—he wanted to cringe at the thought—expecting him.
The backyard was not illuminated in the least; the only light was what came from the street. He could see the faint reflection, barely discernable, on the plastic bins that were piled high on the tables, holding all of the goods, all except for a particular piece of merchandise.
He remembered sitting at his kitchen table, what, only a few hours ago? He was counting cash. He was going to buy her, but then it occurred to him—she couldn’t be bought. Beverly was a person, not a thing. You don’t buy a human being—that was just wrong. He had to break her out: that was the only option. That was the only thing he was going to do. He was going to break her out and then call the cops; he wouldn’t leave her in their possession any longer. They could hide the truth, fool the cops, but Beverly would be free, and that was the point. That was the mission.
He crept down the driveway, stealing a quick peek at the house. The windows were dark, the happy couple probably asleep, exhausted from a day’s labors, dreaming of the next big sales, of how many more people they intended to sell.
The padlock was on the shed, just as Beverly had said, it shone lightly in the dim illumination. He brought the bolt cutters up a little, and moved in for the lock, looked quickly at the window, saw that it was boarded up.
He slipped the cutters right on the lock and began to squeeze.
After a moment, the lock didn’t move—nothing.
Oh, dear God, please.
Jim could feel the cutters gaining purchase, digging just a little bit into the metal. He could picture a large dog, one with big teeth, locking down a bone, trying to bite it in half. The metal cutters sunk a little deeper, and the dog began to growl.
With a light grunt the lock broke. The cutters thudded against the wood of the shed door, and he inhaled sharply, hoping that it wasn’t too loud; not giving him away to the happy couple that was inside.
He fumbled with the lock, realizing that his hands felt like they had swollen a thousand times usual size and were near impossible to use on the lock. He quickly dropped it to the ground, and fumbled with the latch, managing to pull it open, just barely. A flashlight emerged from his side pocket, a Maglite Solitaire, and the beam cut through the darkness of the shed.
A cot, empty, something that looked like a nightgown laid across it delicately. He directed the beam across the room. Another cot, and this time there was a girl curled up in the corner, her knees defensively drawn to her chest, shoulders heaving in near-silent, hysterical gasps. A copper canopy was draped over her shoulders; twin blue stars, shining bright stared desperately out at him.
“Bev,” Jim said. “It’s me.” He shone the light on his face, nearly blinding him for a split second.
Her face poked out, slender and drawn with worry. She stood so quickly that he wasn’t sure that he’d actually seen her do it. She moved across the floor in a blur, running to him, grabbing him around the neck.
“I didn’t think you’d come. I thought you’d…”
“No.” He said. “We’re getting out of here.”
She let go and he clicked off the light, making it easier for stealth, and led her out the door, her steps were soft and careful with her feet clad only in flip-flops. She tried to keep that telltale flapping down, but it was near impossible, and Jim was convinced, inaudible to the two inside.
“They hear everything.” She insisted.
The night swallowed them whole. He suddenly felt the darkness, thankful for it, but still wary, feeling as if he were being watched by it. As if the night itself, while being the only way he could have ever accomplished such a feat, was plotting against him.
It was about that time when he heard the coarse whisper of a sliding door and the terrible metallic chuckle of a shotgun being chambered.
The blast of plastic and glass was almost immediate, and it brought him and Beverly both down to the ground immediately. The bin that had taken a majority of the hit had been completely destroyed, shards of it were in every direction, scattered with the cruel relentlessness of twelve-gauge buckshot.
“Stay down.” He whispered to Beverly.
The rasp and clatter of an empty shell hitting the ground, followed by another mechanical chuckled of a load being shot into the chamber of the gun. An explosion rocked the backyard again, and the splinters of plastic rained down again.
Jim reached into his pocket and grabbed the LC9, raising it high, and squeezing off three rounds in quick succession, hoping it would scare the shotgun wielding guard, knowing that it was near impossible for him to aim correctly from the distance and in the dark. He hadn’t fired the gun in a few years, so he was way out of practice.
Another shotgun blast and more plastic rain, eliciting a thin yelp from Beverly, who ducked low again.
Jim fired off a one more shot, the fear deep down within him that he was almost out of ammo.
No extra magazines. He hadn’t brought the extra he owned.
He reached around for his waistband, where the knife was, but was disappointed—the knife was gone, probably on the ground somewhere when he had dived for the ground.
“We’re closed!” Bram said, the shotgun chuckled again, “And I’m afraid we don’t make any late night exceptions.”
Jim squeezed off another round; he heard it hit the concrete, splintering it, sending bits and pieces in all directions.
“You’re getting warmer. I’m surprised, Jim, how long has it been since you fired a gun, anyway?”
“Not recently.” Jim replied, motioning for Beverly to make a dash for it, but she shook her head. “I haven’t had any freaks like you to shoot at. Takes all the fun out of it.”
A shotgun blast closed the line of discussion.
Jim took a few more shots, and was quickly disappointed by the terrible squishing click that met his ears, he was out—and there were no more bullets.
The firefight was over almost as quickly as it had begun, and there was an obvious advantage that Bram had over them. He didn’t fire back, however. What met Jim’s ears instead was laughing, cruel and full laughter. It was like someone had just told the world’s funniest joke, only the joke was on he and Beverly.
“Looks like you’re up a creek without a paddle there, Jimmy!” He chambered yet another round—the one that had to be his last—and began to walk down the steps in the near pitch-black night.
Jim turned to Beverly, sighed. “I’m sorry.”
She shook her head. “Not over yet.” She whispered.
Jim glanced down at the empty gun in his hand, and he dropped it to the ground, tossing it so that Bram could see he did not have it any longer, and hopefully keeping him from shooting them too quickly.
Bram walked towards them. “You two better stand up.” He said, the boots he wore crunching the sand underfoot. “I know there’s a couple of you.”
Beverly tapped him on the shoulder, and nodded, squeezing his shoulder with her small hand. Thanks for trying, it said.
Jim stood with Beverly at the same time, raising his hands for a moment to show that he was unarmed, and then dropped them by his sides. They were empty, depressingly so. He was out of things that he could do.
“Well, Jimmy. Nice to see you, albeit, at this late hour.” Bram’s tone was unmistakably mocking.
Condescending, and even hateful, he took a look at Beverly, in the dim light, chuckled. “Well, well. Am I interrupting something here? Seriously, Jim, if you just woulda said that you wanted her she could have been yours for the right price…”
“She’s not for sale, anymore.” Jim said.
“Everything’s for sale.” Bram countered. “Ask anyone, everything’s for sale. Morality, purity, even innocence—all you gotta do is name a price.” He held the gun at chest level, pointed directly at Jim. “Some come cheaper than others, but everyone has a price.”
“Not everyone.”
Bram laughed again, that sick, full laugh. He looked at Jim and burst into another fit of it. “You’re kidding. Have you looked around lately, Jimbo? How many kids do you suppose have tried drugs? How many do you suppose haven’t messed around and slept with each other, stolen something—all for a moment of pleasure, a little thrill? For some, that’s all of the price they need.” He looked at Beverly and then cut his eyes back to Jim, that cruel smile on his face. “Some girls will let their boyfriends take it to the next level all because they’ll ‘love them forever.’ Other kids, they’ll do some pot because everyone else does, the price for acceptance and they’re willing to pay. Seriously, Jim, have you even been paying attention?”
Jim was silent. The darkness was still surrounding them. The shotgun barrel was bright in the light, limited though it was, reflecting across the silvery surface. Jim could see the way it was held so steadily in Bram’s hands, like a toy.
“Come over to the carport. We’ll chat over here.” He gestured with the shotgun to signal that this wasn’t optional.
Jim looked at Beverly, and she nodded, moving slowly, with him, her hands on his forearm. She wasn’t squeezing, it was more like a light touch, the calm assurance of a loved one after a bad dream in the middle of the night.
They walked slowly and ever so carefully, trying not to make any quick movements that would give Bram a good excuse to shoot them on the spot.
He stopped and they did the same. Daring not to move any farther, the threat of hot lead enough to make them stop.
“So,” Bram asked, “to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”
Jim said nothing.
Bram smiled, and gestured—with the gun—to Beverly. “Lemme guess.”
“She’s not for sale. She’s not a sale item, Bram, you’ve lost your mind.”
“That requires having one in the first place, Jim. But I assure you that I am perfectly sane, in fact, I have the experience of years over you on my side, so not only am I sane, but full of wisdom as well.”
“Just how many years would that be, Bram? Decades? Hundreds?”
Bram remained silent.
“I know what you are. I know what you and Linda both are. I guess I knew since the first time I saw you, I just didn’t want to believe it. Sometimes we like to try the think the best of people, silly how people are, I guess.”
Bram smiled again, “Time to pay up, Jimbo. Got news for you, she’s stolen property. You gotta pay us back for her.”
Jim moved in front of Beverly. “She’s not for sale. She’s a person, not a piece of merchandise.”
Bram ignored him. “We have had a hard time selling her, because she is worth so much. In fact, she’s worth more than you could pay—ever. So, we’re going to have to charge you the same, Jimmy. And I’m afraid that if you can’t pay that up front, then we’ll have to put you on the payment plan option. Or, we’ll just save time and take you, right here.”
Jim nodded. “If she goes free.”
Bram shook his head. “You’re really dense, aren’t you?”
“Then no deal.”
“Really?” Bram laughed again. He dropped the barrel, pointing it at the ground. “I really hate to break it to you, Jim, but you’re not in a negotiating position here. You do what we say or you don’t live to reconsider.”
“I don’t come quite so cheap, Bram.”
The gun was raised, pointed at his head. “How’s your life?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Can’t threaten me with death. I know what’s waiting for me on the others side. I think you do, too, don’t you?”
Bram nodded, gave an approving expression. “Fine.” He shifted the barrel’s position. “How about hers?”
Jim stopped. He had no reply, and Bram knew that he had him; he had him pinned to the wall. There wasn’t any reply that he had for that, and he knew that Bram knew that.
Bram grinned. “You know, she’s damaged goods. I might have to lower the price on her. How about for her, we take just you? She gets to go wherever she wants. I just want you.”
“I can’t make a deal, Bram.”
An eyebrow rose.
“I’ve been bought out already.” Jim shrugged and pushed the barrel away from them. He glanced back at Beverly.
The door rasped open again and Linda stepped out, dressed for bed, but sauntering up in her usual fashion. She took a look at Jim and Bram, knowing exactly what was going on, but choosing to play dumb. “What’s going on?” She was asking Bram.
“Just haggling, dear,” he said, “nothing much.” Bram took a look at her and grinned, gestured to Jim. “How about it?”
“What?” This time Jim responded.
“I know you got a thing for my wife, Jim. It’s hard to miss, well, it was, I was told you gave her a funny look when she got after, um, her.” He pointed to Beverly. “How about that? Enough of a down payment for you?”
Jim looked at Linda, an arrow of shame at what he had thought before shooting through him, and realized that she had no hold over him any more. He was free from that sin of lust that had tempted him for that short period of time. “No. I was paid for by a lot more.”
“What?” Linda said, coming up by her husband.
“In fact, it was a price of infinite value. More than I could ever pay. It was paid long ago, about two thousand years to be honest.” Jim looked down at the gun and didn’t feel the slightest sliver of fear anymore.
Beverly gripped his arm behind him. Her hold was suddenly a light tighter, unsure of where he was going with it.
“Paid for by the highest Royalty ever. Perhaps you’ve heard of Him, name was Jesus.”
At that Bram’s eyes flamed, and he pointed the gun back at Jim. “Don’t…”
“Don’t what? Rebuke you? I wish I could, but I think that He already did, a long, long time ago.” Jim pushed the gun aside, and it fell down on the concrete below them both. Linda glanced down at it, and when she looked back up, her appearance had changed a lot. Two protuberances stood out on her forehead, and her entire face had grown tighter and wrinkled, all of the uncannily youthful beauty departed. The charade was over, no more put-on faces. He knew that he was seeing them for what they truly were.
“You’re kidding.” She said. “You know that He’s dead. There’s nothing for you that He can do.”
“On the contrary, in dying, He did everything for me.” Jim looked at Bram and saw that his appearance had changed a lot as well, into a wrinkled, heavy-looking old face, one that was slowly decaying at the edges, rimmed by a thin line of long, white hair; pus oozed out of an open sore. His true face. “And I don’t have to answer to you. I don’t even have to fight you.”
Bram grinned a toothless, rotten grin. “Then this will be easy.” He drew back and arm and threw Jim to the ground, backing him into Beverly who was dashed in the other direction.
Blood was oozing on Jim’s face. He realized Bram had long nails that had slashed him. The thick teardrops of blood slid slowly down his cheek.
Beverly stood, and Bram took one look at her, and slammed a folded fist into her skull. She took another hard landing on the concrete, this time she did not stir as before.
Jim only half-processed that before Bram was on him again, kicking him with old, curling boots, completely different than the ones he had on before. The ratty clothes that the man wore were a far cry from the usual attire that he had on, they looked years old and never cleaned.
Jim rolled into the next kick and tried to grab Bram’s foot, but the touch of it burned, scorching his palms and he had to quickly let go. The thick odor of sulfur was in the air, as if someone had just opened a sulfur spring right in front of him.
“Everyone has a price, Jimbo. I named mine a long time ago. I’m gonna live longer than you can even dream! Perpetually young!”
Jim looked up at him. “At what price? Your soul?”
“Everyone’s going somewhere. Mine is just guaranteed in advance, no interest. No payment down.”
“What happens when it’s time to pay up?” Jim asked, rising to a crouch.
Bram grinned, that same rotten, empty grin. “Guess we’ll find out when the time comes. It’ll be some time though; I don’t have to pay up for a lot longer. Well, a lot longer than you.”
It was then that Jim noticed the hammer in Bram’s bony hand. The handle was still firm, the head bright, even in the dim light.
“Cheesy as it is,” Bram said, “someone’s gotta say it: time for you to meet your Maker, Jimmy. Tell Him I said ‘hi’.” He raised the hammer up over his head, and readied it to come down on Jim’s head. The ugly, thin arm that raised it was surprisingly strong seeming, and from just a glance, Jim knew that he would not survive if that arm came down a few times.
Dear God, please, I’m ready to meet you, but I’d rather do it at the hands of something other than this monster.
Beverly was still laying on the concrete just a few steps over, huddled together, reflexively protective.
Linda came up behind Bram, bearing her own grin, with two shining canines and nothing more. Her horns were fully visible, even in the poor lighting. Her true face easily seen.
“Say goodbye.”
Jim smiled, grinning at his own dumb joke, “Goodbye.”
The hammer came down.
A bright light broke from nowhere. The center of it was undetermined, but beams shot out in every direction, the fibrous movement of the rays was smooth and organic, as if it were living sun.
Jim covered his eyes immediately. He heard an unholy wailing and knew that it was Bram and Linda; the light was too bright for them, which meant that it didn’t come from them.
Jim felt a warm embrace around him, as if something were protecting him, out of his fingers that covered his eyes, he saw a great sword, a robe swirled, moving, as if alive, then a wing moved past his field of vision before he could no longer stand it and had to look away.
Deep down he knew that Beverly was safe. Something told him that, he wasn’t sure what, but he knew it.
That was just before he lost consciousness, and the world faded away to white.
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