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6A: The Haunted Chronicles of Doctor Louis D’Ville’s Better
OPENING CREDITS:
##Accused of a crime
The bright sun winked to the moon
“Inspired by you”##
- Part Six -
“A LONG, SLOW GOODBYE”
The Ex, Present, and Future wakes up.
A loud shout snapped me awake. I groaned, rolling to the edge of my bed, and looked across to the nightstand. The alarm clock blinked back at me with four zeroes. On the sight of it, I jerked my head up and looked around the room. Adjusting to the dark, I saw fraying curtains hanging over the solitary window, but they were too thick to get a gauge on how the day looked on the other side. I reached across the bedside table to where my phone hung half over the edge, attached to a stretched charging cable. I fumbled with the cord. With one hand I managed to unhook it and I managed to catch it before it slipped over the edge. I brought it in front of my face, and squinted through barely-awake eyes as I pushed the button on the side. The backlight lit up and showed me the real time. Five-oh-six in the morning. It was a little earlier than I had intended, but I suppose it could have been worse. It had been a restless night, so at least I got a little bit of sleep. That was a small victory.
I heard another shout coming from outside the door. My body creaked as I pulled myself over the edge of the bed. My feet hit the paper-thin carpet, feeling the cold rising up from the solid concrete underneath. I pushed myself to my feet and staggered my way across the room to the paint-chipped door. I tugged at its handle. It opened slightly, but a jolt shot up my arm as the security chain caught the door and my hand slipped. Grumbling to myself, I shut the door again and slid the chain off its latch, before trying again. I poked my head outside.
It was still dark out. The sun had yet to rise above the North Carolina treeline, though a faint light suggested it wasn’t far away. Silhouettes of birds rose up from the woods at the thought of it. As another shout ricocheted between the slats of a wooden fence and the long motel wall that I poked my head out of, I turned my head towards the sound. Four or five doors down, a man stood outside another room shouting obscenities. An indecipherable shrieking voice replied from the other side of the door. On the man’s end, stabbing fingers pointed accusingly at the window from his leather jacketed-arms. I was quickly joined by several other guests checking in on the commotion.
“What the fuck are you all looking at?!” the man shouted, turning his attention to the rest of us.
He flicked a cigarette from his mouth onto the ground, as the other heads withdrew. A little groggy still, it took me a moment to react. That’s when I noticed him staring directly at me. Against the pale of his bald head, his eyes seemed even blacker.
“You got a fucking problem, junkie?”
“Huh?” I replied, still needing some time to process things. “I was, uh… sleeping.”
“Well then pop another needle and get the fuck back to bed!”
“It’s hard. You’re a bit on the loud side.”
“What the fuck did you say?!”
That hit a nerve. The man stamped towards me with a silence in his walk that drew a few of the rabbits back out from their warrens. He stopped close, without a care in the world for my personal space. By now, the bitterness of the morning had found its way into my bones. Forcibly, it shook me back to myself. If it hadn’t, I’m sure the stale bourbon on the man’s breath would have. I tried to hold my head to the side, so that I could avoid the worst of it. With each move, however, his head followed. He tried to tower over me, but as I grew more alert, I rose with him. Matching his height, I saw a moment of concern pass through his eyes, before the liquor took over once more.
“I asked you a fucking question!” With an open hand, he shoved me in my shoulder. I took half a step back, before squaring to him once again.
“I said that you’re a bit on the loud side,” I say.
“Nobody asked for your opinion.”
“I mean… you kind of did actually.”
“You’ve got a fucking death wish, don’t you?”
He reached into his coat, and I saw the blade glimmer before it was in his hand. It never found its way to me. A short burst from a siren announced the arrival of a black and blue police car. The town’s name, ‘BOONE’ was written on the side above the back wheel. It’s engine chugged to a halt, and the officer was met by a portly man emerging from underneath a door marked ‘RECEPTION’. He pointed in our direction, and the man promptly put the knife away.
“Is there a problem here?” the policeman asked as he approached us.
“No, no problem!” the man said. The officer looked at me expectantly.
“He has a knife. And he woke everyone up.”
The bald man stared daggers at me. I didn’t care.
“Sir, I’m going to need you to leave.”
The officer gestured towards the opening to the driveway that he had just driven into. I stood firmly in my doorway, eyeing the officer’s other hand as it moved towards the handle of a holstered gun. Grunting, the bald man reluctantly obliged, spitting at the cop’s vehicle on his way out. I followed him with my eyes until he was completely out of view.
“Are you okay, sir?” The officer asked me.
“I need a damn smoke.”
On a small round table in the corner of the motel room, I had left a small pouch of tobacco and a pack of papers. Leaving the policeman at the doorstep, I made my way back over to it, and set to rolling myself a cigarette. Taking the final product back outside to the dull grey of the early morning, I struck a matchstick and lit the fuse. Satisfied with my first hit, I let the match fall to the pavement. There wasn’t much in the way of fuel to keep it going, but I crushed it under my heel anyway. I drew a long, comforting drag, and breathed smoke out into the air. Through its haze, I watched the officer again consulting with the portly man, whom I assumed to be the motel manager. If you asked me, he was far too animated for this time of the day. The officer took it all in stride. Somewhere along the way, as I puffed on my sweet release, the two men’s attention turned back towards me. The manager was ushered inside, and the officer came back towards me.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Better now,” I said from behind another deep inhale.
“The manager said you came in late last night. He thought you looked suspicious. I tend to agree. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”
“It’s a free country, ain’t it?”
He pulled out a small notepad and a black ballpoint pen.
“What’s your name?”
“Depends who’s asking.” My answer drew a leer from underneath the peak of his cap, and he scribbled on his pad.
“Where’d you come from?”
“Around.”
“Where are you going?”
“Seven Devils.”
He looked up at me from the pad again, a look of consternation on his face. I blew smoke up over his head.
“Seven Devils, you say?”
“Uh huh.”
“Ain’t nothing but bad news there.”
“By the looks of it, nothing but bad news here either.”
My eyes trailed off towards the driveway again. Pursing his lips, the police officer placed his pen on his notepad, tucking it under his thumb. I had seen that sort of look before. It asked ‘what am I going to do with you?’ without the need to open his mouth.
“When are you leaving?” he asks.
“Today.”
“Manager wants you out as soon as possible.”
“I’ll leave when I’ve sorted myself a ride.”
“To Seven Devils?”
“That’s right.”
“It’s about a half-hour drive. I can take you out there. But it’s a one way trip, you hear?”
“Works for me. Give me fifteen minutes.”
“You have five.”
Through the billowing smoke, I eyed him warily. He returned the gaze. Nodding, I dropped my cigarette next to the matchstick, snuffed the flame, and without any more fuss, I set about gathering my belongings.
It was time for me to get some answers.
KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.
Hello, in there! Are you feeling okay?
The nurse’s cheek presses against the small square window to the tiny, little room as she peers in, checking for safety. The kitchen sink had already been taken out of the room, but she wasn’t foolish enough to think there was only one risk. It was probably not even the most dangerous. Within, the Patient sits calmly, cross-legged in the center. All around him, fine padding covers surfaces from ceiling to floor, inclusive.
You can come in.
He doesn’t even look up. The door opens without a sound, pulling outward so as not to disturb the protective covers. The nurse shuts the door behind her, and unsteadily finds her feet on the mattresses, holding out an arm to gain her balance. In the hand attached to the end was a small tote bag.
Have you been drawing again?
Huh? Oh… yeah…
He pulls his attention away from reruns of XWF Saturday Night Impact on the television set that somehow makes sense to be in a padded room. That’s dangerous in its own right, especially as he himself comes on screen. The real him. The actual real him that sits in the room. Don’t read so much into it. A pencil - also a sensible thing for this setting, dull or not - rolls off the edge of a piece of paper as he hands it up to the nurse who examines it.
Where’d you get the red from? Are you okay?
Yeah, I’m fine. It just kind of appeared while I was drawing.
The nurse hands it back to the Patient, who haphazardly slides it to the side. She looks around the room.
What happened to the other drawings?
What do you mean?
Didn’t you have more? It was… messier.
It’s all in that one. It always was. Are you, uh… are you remembering things differently?
For a moment she doubts herself. She doubts what the Doctor had told her. Then she remembers the bag.
The doctor said to give you some more fruit.
The Patient takes a bite out of an offered apple, not even thinking before he Eats. The questions come after.
Do you know how far up on the tree this was growing?
Uh… I don’t know. The bottom?
Shit. I suppose that’ll have to do. Good fruit is good fruit, you’d be have to be crazy to turn it down!
He takes another bite, juices dripping down his chin.
Did the Doctor say anything else?
He was just checking in on your condition.
And?
More of the same.
Huh, I would have thought he’d have tried to stop the tide by now. Not a very good doctor is he? Does he have a diagnosis yet?
I’m afraid not.
No matter. I’m sure he’s doing his best. One day, maybe he will actually catch up. I just worry that it’ll all be too late.
The nurse stammers over her words. There’s a genuine concern in her voice when she continues.
For… for what?
For the end.
Do you… do you have a plan?
What?!
A look of shock crosses the Patient’s face.
No! Not THAT end!
The nurse lets out an audible sigh. As the Patient takes another bite of the apple, he chucks it, partially-eaten, back into the bag. I’m sure that’ll be relevant later.
Just let him know when you see him next that I’m still waiting. My door is always open. From the outside anyway.
With a nod from the nurse, the Patient knows she has understood him.
I’d like to be alone now.
Of course.
Smiling sweetly, she makes her way back across the cushioned floor. The door closes effortlessly behind her, and he hears her latch it up. One. Two. Three. Her footsteps clop their way down a long and beaten-to-death corridor, and as they fade out of earshot, he draws in a deep breath.
How long has it been? Seven years? Ten years? Who knows? Maybe the Doctor got his files mixed up. That’s okay, though. I’ll help him remember. I’ll help him understand better than he ever thought he could.
He leans back onto the mattress flooring. Little granules of dirt start dripping their way into the room from the walls and ceiling. The entire space tumbles and turns and soon he finds himself laying on the top of the grandest mountain in existence. He gets to his feet and takes a stretch, looking down upon his kingdom.
Louey, Louey, Louey…
He speaks into the air, THREE TIMES, as if he expected a response.
That rule, for starters. In context, that’s really the only way you could have understood it too. It makes a ton of sense when you…
’Lou’ Said:Stop reading so much into what I say. Or read better? I don’t know what happened there.
I think you got a little lost in the metaphors, man. It’s okay, it happens to the best of us. ‘You, a snake, …’ You can see how that could be misinterpreted, right? For example, if I said ‘you, a cunt, are getting a little hard of hearing these days’, it’d be perfectly understandable. I’d say something snide about fruit again, maybe even give an ‘OM NOM NOM’, but I don’t even mean that to be an old person’s joke. Rather, I just mean to say that your head is wedged so firmly up your ass that you're being a little selective with what you're picking up on. I guess I still got cute with it anyway. Oh well. Lucky I'm not the one prattling on about how my foe isn't focused in Relentless because he's mentioning other things, while simultaneously doing the same thing. What's that? You're just replying to me? Let me see what I can do about getting you a fucking mirror.
Look, I’ll put my hand up and say that I see now how you were just making a list. I misinterpreted you on that one. I understand how I wound up in that position - you are threatening me with harm, after all, it’s natural to assume the worst. Using names could’ve helped on your end too - since apparently that’s a thing between us now. Corey’s I have heard from your piss-sipper before, but never mine.
Power, amirite?
None of that is a good excuse though. I’ll even go as far as to say sorry, for whatever that’s worth. I don’t expect the same from you on the whole ‘rules’ front. You didn’t explicitly say that’s what it was, I just put two and two together because you kept telling me that you’re being perfectly straight with me. Was I wrong to do so? Are you being less than one-hundred? This is an ‘honest exchange’ after all. You know me going down that route was just a call back to last time, don’t you? Sorry if I’m Patient-splaining, but I’m a bit lost on whether I need to spell this shit out for you or not. I know how metaphors aren’t really your thing, but then they also are, but then they only are when you inspire me, but then they aren’t again. What? Maybe if you got off the fucking fence then I'd get off your fucking lawn.
OM NOM NOM.
Tee-hee!
Sorry not sorry for the trashy swearsies. Must've gotten a little something on my book when you threw it in the bin. Or did you not do that? You've fucking said both. Maybe I’m just reading too much into it. Maybe you're not saying anything at all. Walk it back, and yeah, white it out. Make a quip about how I can call you whatever I like, but then strongly suggest that there’s something wrong with me for doing so. Talk about something but then say that very thing doesn’t matter. Such focus that you’ve got going on there, pal. Swear that you’re not playing by the Chris Page playbook, while playing by Chris Page playbook, that you said you weren’t going to play by. Bold call. But hey, we’re not supposed to talk about him, are we? Or Corey, or Chaos. Because scolding me for that is totally not playing a damn near identical card as him, right? It’s almost like you talk about what others did against me, and expect me not to be able to respond. Repeat, repeat, repeat. Ockham’s razor - listen I wouldn’t have to keep saying it. Oh look, a few seconds have passed, now it must be fine to talk about other people! But then it’s not. Stop. Start. Turn around. Touch your toes. Simon says. Childish effin’ games. Doctor Atty.
Oops, I did it again!
Blah blah blah AtaraCoreyblah blah blah.
Dodge, dip, duck, dive, and dodge.
Repetition.
But yeah, I’m not focused on Relentless, right? Nah, I’m over here running comparisons of how you line up to what I’ve done before but, but that’s not being focused in the Doctor’s office! The mere mention of someone else is a big no-no! But then it isn’t, and I can talk about who I want. Rinse and fucking repeat.
Fuck, man, imagine how unfocused I’d be if I didn’t even appear in two-thirds of my own shit? The hypo-clit just peeked out from under its hood! Don’t worry, I’m a good Eater. I’ll just fry it up on the fucking stove. What’s that? It’s hot and I shouldn’t touch it? Bitch I tried to touch it with your face. Corey stopped me. Oh no! May Day! Oh no! Talking about my friend! Lou can say he learned something from his past, but it’s TOTALLY not relevant for me to bring it up. Funny how that works when you’re on a particular side of the equation, isn’t it? White it out. Don’t address it. Makes it easier to pretend things have changed without anyone looking into it a little deeper. But you’re definitely not making excuses. Except for the excuses that you had already made. Hiss hiss, push push. Read into that what you will.
But you’re different now! You know better! Ninety wins, ladies and gents! It was important enough to mention, but yet… nope! The past still doesn’t matter! Only when you mention it, eh? Or is this all just a ‘waste of words’? Better talk about how Corey would definitely cash in on you, but then say we still shouldn’t talk about him! Righty-o. Good thing you’re not dwelling on it while you’re absolutely dwelling on it. Pointing something out but still banging on about it seems like something we have in common, Lou. I left half an apple in a bag for you.
Are you getting the picture, yet? Can you hear me up there in your asshole, or are you just seeing this as the child throwing a tantrum? You drew a line in the sand, said you wouldn’t cross it, continue to try to degenerate me for doing so, but then you dance from one side to another and act like this is about me trying to control the narrative. Tell us again how you learned from your errors but don’t show us any fucking evidence. We just need to take that on faith! But I’ve got the problem, yeah? You’re trying to lead me forward, and I just can’t stand it. Firstly, if you were doing the leading, should I be happy about that? Should anyone? I mean, aside from your Bobbies and Thunders and Jess’s and Oswalds and Chrises and co.
Oh noez! Other people’s names!
Thank God nobody criticised someone for that at the same time that those names are appearing in your shit.
Touch the stove!!!
Secondly, this isn't even fucking uniqe. I don’t mean that in the sense of me saying that you’re pulling a Page, or you saying that I’m pulling a Chaos - remind me who brought him up to begin with, again?
White-out.
No, I just mean that literally every one of us tries to control our narrative, Lou. We’re all out here thrusting out our chests and banging our war drums saying that it’s our story that will triumph. I uh… I thought that you’d know that by now. I’d have thought that you would have learned that. Instead you’re busy setting a bar for me to clear when we’re not even doing the fucking high jump. I guess what I’m saying is, YOU’RE GODDAMN RIGHT I don’t like others trying to impose their will upon me. But that’s nothing new. It’s kind of been a defining trait of mine, and like the name thing, this isn’t unique to you. Sorry to break your heart on that. To be fair, you’d have already known that if you just read the fucking book already.
Oh, Lord…
It really would save us a lot of time. It’s pretty clear in it that I never said we couldn’t look back on the past, Lou. I just said the answers for you are not there. You’re trying to be what you were. You admitted as much yourself, even though your choice of actions ever since are more or less the same. Me? My past tells you what I am. Am I fucked up on time again, or are those two vastly different things?
You know what I am though, Lou. I’m the guy you had to shut the fucking doors for. I’m the guy who forced you to Eat-Pray-Love this shit and try to find the real you. As far as you’re concerned…
I’m the fucking mountain.
The Patient looks down over the edge at the many trying to climb below. He spits a thick loogie over the side, and waits to hear a splat. ‘Cause he’s a fucking child. It’s a long wait for the impact though. The mountain is HUGE!
And you’re climbing. My oh my, how that narrative has changed, hasn’t it? It’s okay. I forgive you. You’ve got to put words in my mouth to try and spin your tale. Chase? Race? Never said either. Climb? Fight? That’s much more my speed. But I do the same, don’t I? You didn’t say I wanted to ‘be’ you, just that you ‘inspired’ me. There goes the good Doctor again. X but not X. Y but not Y. Back pedal. U-turn. Deny! Deny! Deny! Easy to play it cool when you have that built-in back door of mere suggestion.
Back-door.
You forgot to take your fucking head out of it.
If the glove fits, you’re full of shit.
No excuses. Good one. You certainly implied you weren’t at your best though. Fuck outta here with that ‘reading too much into it’ bullshit. That game was fun for a hot minute, but the cat’s out of the fucking bag, Lou! And with how many times you’ve said something to only turn around and say it doesn’t matter, you’re just growing more and more exposed. On my end, I’mma read the tea leaves exactly as I see them, and right now they’re spelling L-O-U-I-S-M-Y-B-I-T-C-H. Weird tea, to be fair, but you flat out fucking said that you hadn’t been yourself. Yes you fell, and yes you admitted to it, but it doesn’t take a hop, skip, and a jump to get to the reason why you think that was. Especially since you think ‘O.G. Doc’ is going to right the ship. As in, not The King. Nor The Thing. LIKE YOU DAMN WELL SAID, YOU PERFORATED FUCKSTICK. Jesus face-fucking Christ, and I thought I was the one looking too much into things?
Save the denials. The implication was pretty fucking strong, boo, and yes that’s exactly how I’m going to interpret it. I know you’re fucking schtick ny now. I’ve pistol-whipped you twice already. You try to say things without saying them, and let people hang themselves with their own rope. That, Lou, is the only way to read into any of this from you, because otherwise you wouldn’t be giving yourself so many fucking outs. All you’d need is ‘I will win! Ha! Ha!’; end fucking rant. It’s not a ‘bad’ thing, though, buddy. It’s you, and I can appreciate that. But it’s the same fucking trick you pulled last time, and now it’s just that much more out in the open.
Oh shit, there I went talking about the past again. It’s not like it’s in context of pointing out the bullshit of present you or anything. Nah, ignore that. White it out and throw your fucking toys while saying you’re not throwing your toys.
Childish ‘effin games.
What’s a guy to do anyway, Lou, when I give you a whole damn novella and you keep insisting on tossing it out? Or are you reading it and trying to catch up? What? Man, if you flipped through pages like you’re flipping through responses to it, then we could probably save each other a lot of time. I’d love to leave it all behind, but you’re out here trying to tell me you’ve learned something when you haven’t even gotten to the end yet!
*POOF!*
Sorry I'm late.
That’s okay, I think he forgot you were even coming. I saw a shining girl on the mountaintop somewhere around here that I think you can go and join.
Thanks.
No problemo!
*POOF!*
You piqued my interest with one thing you said though, my man. You think that you’ve got something more to fight for than I do. Now that is an interesting thought! Something more than…
The Universe. Everything.
Crazier things have happened. I wonder though… what could it be?
…
…
…
Oh, nothing? Sounds pretty similar to what you’ve learned, then. Such a shame. You know when you put forward a proposition, you’re usually supposed to provide supporting evidence, right? Like, I don’t know, from objective observations such as, say… similar situations that occurred in the past. I thought you were supposed to be a doctor?! They really should have taught you that sort of critical thinking at school.
Unless… wait! No! It couldn’t be! Except… have you been implying what you’ve learned this whole time? Have you been implying what’s more than Everything?
Nah, you wouldn’t do that, would ya?
Guess I’ll just keep holding things over your head then!
I’m going to get another thing to hold, Lou. I’m going to fucking do it again. I’m the D’Ville’s bane. The Anti-Doc Equation. And yes, I’m confident. Yes, I’m arrogant. But I know exactly the kind of fight that I’m in for. You say you do too. That’s… respectful? In a way? But if you’re going to get all hung up on thinking I’m not ready because I, what... use the world around me as reference points? That’s a pretty weird thing to have an issue with. And if you’re stuck on that, then I don’t think you really do know what’s coming. It’s like this is Frankenstein vs. Count Dracula: the doctor forgot his fucking monster.
One way or another, we’re getting closer to the end. I’m not mocking that, Lou. I am deathly fucking serious about it. But if you don’t want to seize the fucking day, I’ll just have to do it myself.
There is an end coming. I’m just a cunt’s hair away from it.
It’s just not the end you’re thinking of. Surviving, indeed.
The drive out to the township was much the same as the conversation that had preceded it. He asked, and I answered. There wasn’t much need for an extended back-and-forth; neither of us had any intention of seeing the other again before we were done with this life. It gave me time to take a rare second and admire the scenery. More than once I’d been told that I had my head up in the clouds. That I was a dreamer. Given my sleeping patterns, I’d say they weren’t wrong. It was still a nice reprieve to be able to take in the mountain vistas as the road wove amongst the peaks and valleys.
The serenity weighed on me as we pulled up to my destination. Exiting the car without as much of a ‘thank you’ to the officer, the car pulled away just as abruptly. As eager as he was to get me out of Boone, I sensed the cop was just as eager to get away from here. I looked ahead through the dim early-morning light at a low, gentle hill that rose in front of me. It was dotted with wooden cabins, branching off of a snaking gravel path that wound its way up the hill towards the still-grey sky. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I knew while looking at it that the serenity was only surface deep. Something didn’t feel right about any of this.
I lit up a cigarette to help me fight against the cold, and I took my first step onto the beaten track. The township itself was remote enough, but this commune seemed to be tucked away even further from any prying eyes. A secret. My arrival hadn’t gone unnoticed either. Without checking my phone, I estimated it to be nearing six o’clock by now. Even at this time, there were signs of life stirring amongst the conifers and pines. A lean, beanstalk of a man caught my eye, as he took up a position leaning on a tree. He was promptly joined by a waif of a girl, with a thick black mess atop her head. Despite the gloom and the distance, I still caught a glint in their eye that chilled me to my core.
More residents made themselves known as I trekked my way up the path. The hairs on the back of my neck pricked at their spying eyes, and each body arranged themselves closer to the direction that I was moving in. This fast felt like it was becoming a confrontation. It didn’t take long until I was proven right. A hulking frame quite unlike the man from the motel, stepped in front of my path. With his chestnut-brown hair tied roughly behind his neck, he actually dwarfed me.
“I’m not here for a fight.”
I’m not even sure he heard me. He looked at me from behind eyes that flared to life with an otherworldly orange. Two others stepped beside him, a woman whose eyes glowed a brilliant green and a smaller, more athletic man glaring from behind a haunting yellow.
“Easy. We don’t have to do this.”
None of the three replied. The brute in front’s face began to contort, and his mouth began to snarl.
The curdling howl of a wolf drew all of our attention. The giant man turned so he could view behind him. Trotting down the path was a mass of black fur and ferocity. The brute’s back-up made a path, as the gigantic beast confidently strode up to greet me. If I had all the riches in the world, I would never have guessed that the wolf would have licked my hand next, but that’s exactly what it did. I gave it a scratch behind the ears, and out of the corners of my eyes I saw my adversaries relax. The wolf let out a muted yap, and it turned around and took several steps back up the path. Turning its neck back to where I stood, it begged me to follow. I obliged.
We made our way, beyond the trees and out of sight of the room, unmolested by the people who still continued to congregate on the fringes. In the centre of a small circle of cabin houses, a larger communal cottage stood as a focal point. It was there that the wolf was leading me. It bound its way onto the rickety porch, stopping short of the door while it waited for me. Discarding the cigarette onto the path, I stepped on it as I joined the wolf outside the door. The beast began pawing at it.
“That you, Fenrir?” croaked a voice from the other side.
The wolf, Fenrir, let out a responsive bark. From the other side of the door, I heard some plodding footsteps. The timber door swung open, and I was confronted by a face I had seen a thousand times before. He called himself Marf, and aside from the occasional snide remark, somehow the rest of us just took that name at face value. As would seem the norm today, he made sure to square his shoulders back and lift his head up high. Like the fellow down the path, he did stand taller than me, but even so, I wasn’t worried. I had danced this dance before. He looked down at the dog.
“You’ve got to stop bringing home roadkill, Fenrir. You know mama doesn’t like the smell.”
The dog whimpers an apology, and Marf forgives it with a rub along the back. This rugged, roughshod man looks up at me through dead eyes.
“You shouldn’t have come.”
“But I did anyway.”
“So what brings you here? A creepy vision or a mysterious destiny?”
“Something along the lines of both.”
“Figures. First Betsy, now you.”
He’s referring to Betsy Granger. Blonde hair, blue eyes, and a penchant for intergalactic travel. We didn’t always see eye-to-eye at first. Heck, we hadn’t even spoken much in a while, each caught up in our own little words, but I’d consider her a friend today nonetheless. I had heard that she had arrived on the doorstep of this same little village, seeking answers of her own. Seems to be something in the water in Seven Devils. I could tell by the tone of Marf’s voice that he wasn’t thrilled by these recent developments. Just like I had, Betsy had also experienced her fair share of troubles with Marf and his other half. Yet in less than two weeks, we had both turned up here on the doorstep.
“She here?”
“Betsy? No. Her and Lycana got back from fuck knows where last night.”
“That’s a shame.”
“Allegedly.”
It would have been nice to have her here. Even if Marf wasn’t fully on board, Betsy seemed to have at least earned a right to be welcome here. I could use a little of that rub right about now. At least Fenrir seemed happy to see me. Circling between Marf and I’s legs, he took the scratches and rubs wherever they were on offer. I gave him one behind the ears, and he thanked me with a pant.
“Are you gonna let me in?” I ask.
“Wasn’t planning on it.”
“Let him in, Marf.”
An urging voice called from further inside the cottage. Marf only turned a fraction, but there was enough of an opening for me to push my way through. I took it. Marf and I bumped shoulders, knocking both of us to the side a bit, but I still made it in. Fenrir followed after. Marf didn’t just shut the door behind us, he slammed it. In doing so, he made his point perfectly clear.
“Take a seat,” the blue woman said. “Just give me a minute to get changed.”
I sat at the barren, wooden dining table. Fenrir curled himself around my feet, while Marf took a seat on the opposite side. We sat in an uncomfortable silence. I could feel his unbreaking gaze on me, but I tried not to pay it any head. Instead, I focused all my attention on a small dent in the timber. If I was being honest with myself, I understood Marf’s scepticism, more than I even understood his partner’s openness to welcome me. Still, I was invited in. I thought about asking for a light to pass the time, as the creaking of stairs gave the blue woman’s return away.
Her hair was always an attention grabber. It made it easy to dismiss her, but that was just the way she wanted it. Make no mistake about it, like the gruff man across the table, this dame was a stone cold killer. It wasn’t just the hair, either. The paler than typical skin; the ruby lips; the hint at flesh from behind slits in the side of her flowing skirt; right down to the way her pitch black mascara accentuated her eyes… all of it was designed to draw an eye in one direction, while she stabbed you in the heart from the other. Some might call me foolish for even coming here. I was lucky to still be breathing after my last encounter with Lycana, and with Marf lingering nearby, it only made the risk greater. I knew what I was getting into though. To find the answers I was looking for, I’m not sure there was any other way.
“Marf, why don’t you go and play with Reika for a moment?”
He glared up at her from the table.
“It’s okay, he can stay,” I said.
“I didn’t need your permission.”
“Don’t consider it permission then. Consider it an olive branch. I’m not here to cause trouble.”
“That’s what someone who was here to cause trouble would say.”
“Relax,” Lycana said, placing a hand on Marf’s shoulder. She gave it a little squeeze. “If he wanted to cause trouble, he already would have.”
“Thanks for trusting me.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. I do trust Fenrir, though.”
The wolf heard its name, and raised its head. I reached down and ruffled the fur on the top of its head. Satisfied, it nuzzled its way into my ankle once more. The blue woman took a seat next to Marf, and ran her hand down his arm until she clasped her hand over his.
“So what do you want?” Marf asked.
“I want to know why I got sucked into your game. I want to know why The Left Hand was after me.”
There it was. I put it all on the table. The two crooks share a thoughtful glance, and I could see more willingness to share from the girl than her other half.
“We weren’t. At least, not specifically.”
“What do you mean?”
“Everything Marf and I have ever said to you has been completely transparent. We wanted to teach you a lesson for crossing us. That’s all it ever was.”
“And might I add, fuck The Left Hand,” Marf said.
“Noted. But my gut tells me that there’s something more.”
After everything that I’d been through, I had learned to trust my gut. I had to dig deeper.
“What about The Baphomet? What were his motivations?”
“Fuck The Baphomet,” Marf added again. Lycana thought about the question further.
“He didn’t tell me everything. As far as I know, though, all was exactly as it appeared on his front.”
“I find it hard to believe that anything he said or did was as it appeared.”
“He’s right,” Marf said. “He lied to us all the time. Did I mention ‘Fuck The Baphomet?’”
“You did.”
I smiled at him. If I didn’t know any better, I would have sworn he returned the gesture. Lycana took her time again.
“There was a… being, I guess, that he introduced me to at one point. He referred to it as a goddess, but it wasn’t one I had ever heard of.”
“Goat with wings? Lots of candles?”
“You know?”
“I saw it once. I think… I think she called…
“...to you.”
My gut had done it again. I knew that coming here would give me answers.
“Would you be able to take me to her?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“The Left Hand is dead. And with it, the goddess is too. But…”
“But what?”
“He isn’t dead,” Marf butted in.
“Who?”
The two of them glanced at each other through side-eyes. I waited with baited breath.
“The Baphomet.”
I grinded my teeth. I knew what The Baphomet was. He was spoken about in only the worst speakeasies and dive bars, and I had been to all of them. The message was the same, no matter where I drank. No sizzle and no steak. Over a Doc Light or six, I’d join in with the jabs and mockery. He was joked about in the same way as the possibility of there being any full-strength Doc Ale left in the world. That drink had been all used up long ago, and anybody who still found value in The Baphomet was even rarer. Even so, I still had to wear the mark that the joke had left on me. And when I sobered, I had to make some sort of sense of it all. The cloud of what I had seen and heard had led me here to this cottage. Here to two people who I had sought to put down not long ago. I had to find out more.
“I thought he got shot.”
“He did,” Lycana replied.
“But he survived?”
“In a sense.”
“What does that mean?”
“She has his body hidden,” Marf interjected. “Alive. But unconscious.”
She looked at him with frustration, as if he’d just spilled the beans. As dawn cracked through the window, and the first rays of the morning sun touched her face, it softened. It felt like I saw a weight shift from her shoulders. She bowed her head, looking at the same table I had spent time staring at while I waited. Marf’s eyes fell back on me. Fenrir rose from his spot across my feet, and padded around the table to where Lycana sat. At his size, I could easily see him drive his muzzle into her lap from above the surface of the table. Stroking his thick fur brought her back into the moment. I knew this was my chance.
“Can you take me to him?”
“Yes.”
With one word, I heard all I needed to. I had come a long way on this journey. It wouldn’t be long now until I reached the end.
TO BE DIS-CUNTINUED
4D: XX_Progress Notes_210923
Patient Progress Notes
Date: 09/23/21
Therapist:
Facility: Seven Devils
Patient:
Age:
◻ Female ☑ Male
Session length: ______
☑ No Session: Patient unconscious.
Treatment Issue: Sudden change results in adolescent behavior.
☑ noncompliance (medical care)
☑ restlessness
☑ sad/pained/ worried expression
☑ self deprecation
☑ sleep disturbance
☑ socially inappropriate
☑ social withdrawal
☑ suicidal ideation or plan
☑ thought disorder
☑ other: adolescent behavior
◻ other:
Diagnoses: Undetermined
Intervention strategies implemented and session focus or theme: No session. Extra fruit provisions. Monitoring progress from afar.
Patient Response:
☑ Marked improvement
◻ Some improvement
◻ Same functioning
◻ Symptoms worsening
Evidence of patient response: Patient demonstrated alarming clarity and capacity for interpersonal relationships. This is a considerable change and should be celebrated in the patient’s next session.
Future treatment/Follow-up: Follow-up session scheduled for tomorrow.
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