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Boardwalk

Sat, 22 Oct 2005 17:28:09 -0500

It was cold tonight, and I could see my breath in the air as I walked down the beach boardwalk. The ocean was far to my right, beyond a wide stretch of sandy shore. There were no streetlights on the beach, which made the half-moon that much brighter. I could smell the ocean from here and hear the rushing of the tides.

My destination was ahead of me, a speck of light in the distance. Joachim probably left the light on so I could find the damn place in the dark. I was in a bad mood. I hoped, for Joachim's sake, that he wasn't bullshitting me.

I had met Joachim at a party just last week. I was too drunk to remember how I ended up talking to him. Hell, I didn't even remember what I wore or half the things I said that night. One thing I did remember, besides the hangover, is what Joachim showed me. It was the most incredible experience of my life.

He had called me and some boys into the back room. There he passed some joints around. I've tried a lot of weed in my day, but this was the best shit I've ever had. Each puff was like pure ecstasy all over my body. It was even better than sex. Maybe it was the alcohol, but at that time I felt like I was flying.

Joachim told me that it was his special blend. A family secret, he called it. He said he worked for a traveling carnival and his parents knew all there was to know about good weed.

I didn't give a damn about hearing the story of his life, so I told him flat out that I wanted more. He said he'd sell me bags of the shit if I met him at the carnival in a week. Tonight.

The Ferris Wheel was the first thing I saw. Lying motionless, it looked like a gigantic shadow against the half-moon. The only light in the whole place was a couple of headlights attached to the fence.

There he was, standing at the gates, waiting for me. Joachim wore baggy jeans, a black t-shirt, and a denim jacket. He eyed me as I approached. When I stepped into the light he cocked his head, then reached into his jacket pocket. He was probably reaching for his gun.

"What's your name, son?" Joachim asked. "I forget shit sometimes."

"Ben."

"Ben?" Joachim scoffed.

"As in Benjamins, hundred dollar bills," I said, not in the mood for small talk. "You got the shit?"

"Yeah I got it. You got the money?"

"How much you got?" I said.

Joachim pulled out three bags of weed. I looked at them deliberately slow to keep him on edge. Always keep your dealers guessing, a friend once told me.

"That all?" I said. "You playing with me?"

"Hell no!" Joachim said. "I'm not bustin out all my good shit for some kid who might not be able to afford it. Now how much you got, son?"

Apparently Joachim wasn't a fool. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a roll of bills, one thousand total.

"I got a G on it. I don't play, kid, now do you got the shit or not?"

Joachim smiled. "Yeah I got it." He turned around. "Right this way."

"Hold up!" I said. "I'm not going in there!"

"What, you scared, son?" Joachim said, turning to face me. "Look, this is a family business, and for an order that big you gotta see the family. Don't worry, son. They'll hook you up real good."

Joachim turned and stepped into the carnival, ending the conversation and leaving me to either follow or back down. Irritated, I followed, keeping a few steps behind him. Joachim moved with the certainty of someone who lived here. He held a flashlight, but its feeble light wasn't nearly enough to make me feel any better.

"How long is this gonna take?" I said. "I got stuff to do tonight."

"Not long," Joachim said. "Just talk to my mom, take your shit, and get the fuck out of here."

I could feel my heartbeat, quickened by anxiety. What the fuck was I thinking, following Joachim into a place like this? I realized my mistake as I looked around. We were in a wide-open space, surrounded by game stands, food carts, and rides that had long since been deactivated for the night. In how many of these places could people be hiding? If Joachim chose to have his boys jump me in the dark, take my money, beat the shit out of me or worse, I doubt I'd be able to do much about it. I had a gun in my jacket, but they probably had more guns.

I saw a shadow of a man standing in the distance ahead, and my heart almost stopped. This is it, I thought. I was now deep in Joachim's territory. Now was the time to make his intentions clear. Was this his mother, waiting to give me what I came for, or was it one of his boys, waiting to take my money--or my life--by force?

"Who's that?" Joachim said, sounding startled.

"You don't know him?" I asked.

"Wait a sec."

Joachim raised his flashlight at the dark figure standing ahead of us. The light struck a face as gray as ashes, shrouded behind a veil of long black hair. The man was staring down at an inflatable pool, filled with water and inhabited by plastic lily pads and toy ducks and frogs. He held a little plastic fishing pole. Dropping a rainbow-colored hook into the water, he waited with the patience of seasoned fisherman.

"Jeremiah!" Joachim said firmly. "What are you doing outside? You should be sleeping."

Jeremiah slowly looked up. "If I catch a red one I get a big prize. I want a big prize." His eyes were bloodshot. He looked malnourished, his body lanky, his skin pale and shriveled, his hair filthy. In some twisted way, he looked like a rag doll come to life.

"What's with this guy?" I said.

"Shut up," Joachim snapped at me. He walked beside Jeremiah and gently wrapped his arm around him like he would a child. "What happened to the last big prize?"

"I dunno," Jeremiah said, bewildered. "It was here, then it was there; now it's gone. I want it back."

"Tell you what. You get some sleep and I'll win the big prize for you. It'll be right next to you when you wake up, ok?"

Jeremiah beamed at him. "You promise?"

"Promise."

Apparently satisfied, Jeremiah dropped his plastic fishing pole and started walking away, sagging with every step. When our paths crossed, he stopped and stared me in the eyes.

"Don't remember you," he said.

His gaze sent a chill through my body. Not knowing what to say, I took a step back. Jeremiah matched my step and grabbed me by the shoulders. He put his face to my neck and started sniffing loudly.

"You smell ... good."

"That's enough!" Joachim barked. I never thought I'd be so glad to hear his voice. "Get to bed, Jeremiah. Now! He's not for you."

Jeremiah looked disappointed. He pouted at me, then let me go and walked away, into the darkness.

I felt so chilled I could barely breathe. "What the fuck was that about?"

"Don't mind him," Joachim said and walked off without another word, offering no explanation.

I followed closely, not wanting to be here one second more than I had to.

Finally Joachim came to a trailer and knocked on the door. I could see the silhouette of a person in the window. The door opened, and there stood a woman wearing a puffy red dress. A gaudy necklace hung from her neck and she wore diamond rings that screamed Cubic Zirconia.

"Is this the man?" she asked.

"Yes mamma," Joachim said.

"Come in, little one," she said to me. "Come in."

Joachim whispered something into the woman's ear and she smiled. Not knowing what to make of that, I chose to ignore it. I hesitantly stepped inside, then turned around and noticed Joachim walking away.

"You not staying?" I said. Why did I want that kid to stick around? I guess I just didn't want to be left alone with this crazy-looking woman. Joachim seemed to be the only normal person here.

"Nah, son," Joachim said. "Gotta wait for the other boys to show up."

The place was a dump. The floor was littered with various junk I didn't look at long enough to name. The trailer's small living room had a couch and a small TV. There was a table too, with three seats around it. The room smelled of incense and marijuana. I was definitely in the right place.

"I am Jerusha," the woman said. "Please, be seated." She gestured at the table. "It's chilly out there, you must be so cold."

It seemed I was dealing with a fretting housewife; not a street-savvy woman who knew how to get to the point. I was annoyed, to say the least. Not wanting to be rude, I sat down.

"Would you like some tea?" she asked.

"No thanks," I said.

"So what brings you here?" Jerusha asked.

Was this a joke? "You mean your son didn't tell you?"

"Oh yes, Joachim told me you want your ‘shit,' as you children call it these days, but I like to be sociable."

"With all due respect, miss, I'd like to just get what I came here for and be on my way."

Jerusha sighed slowly. "So much for small talk. It's a vanishing art nowadays. People forget to stop and smell the roses once in a while."

She moved to sit in a chair across from me. "But first ... Ben, is it? How about we have a look into your soul?"

"You a fortune teller?"

"Not exactly. Fortune telling is a scam, you see. What I do is so much more involved than flipping tarot cards or casting runes or reading palms."

"Look, lady, I'm not superstitious. I just want to get my shit and go."

"In due time," Jerusha said. "Now, would you humor an old woman and place your hands on the table, palms down?"

"My shit--"

"Will be given to you when this is done. I promise."

Obviously she wasn't going to take no for an answer. Sighing my irritation, I did as she asked. "What now?"

"Just relax," Jerusha said. "Clear your head of all thoughts. Let your mind drift."

"I'm not closing my eyes," I said pointedly. "And I'm not going to chant or hum, so forget it."

Jerusha smiled at that. "You don't have to." She placed her hands on top of mine. "All we need is this. You'd be surprised what a mystic can learn from a mere touch. Just one connection."

There was something different about her attitude, a shift so vague I almost missed it. She no longer played the worrisome housewife. That doting, motherly look in her eyes was replaced by something I could barely described. She seemed more ... aware.

I felt a tingle surge through my arm. The sensation got stronger and spread over my entire body until it felt like every nerve was on fire.

"What the fuck?" I shouted. "What are you doing?"

"Calm down," Jerusha said.

Calm down? How could I calm down when it felt like my heart was about to explode? I tried to pull my hand out from under hers, but I couldn't move my arms.

"Now I will see," Jerusha said.

"See what?"

"August 12th, four years ago. You were there weren't you, Ben?"

"How the fuck am I supposed to remember some random day four years ago?"

"By what happened on that day," she said. "I see you now. You were rash back then. Got yourself into the wrong crowd, eh?"

"I was in a gang, so what?"

"You got involved in that gang's petty quarrel with another, and one got caught in the middle. Too bad you didn't tell your friend to watch where he was shooting."

"What are you talking about?"

"You disposed of the body yourself," Jerusha said. "He remembers the feel of the arms that bore him into the ocean. This very same ocean."

"Shut the fuck up!"

Angry beyond words, I pulled my hands from beneath Jerusha's. I stood and reached for my gun. I put it right to the bitch's head. She stood up, unafraid. The look in her eyes practically dared me to pull the trigger.

"I don't know how you know about that and I don't care," I said. "But call the fucking cops and you're dead!"

"Perish the thought," Jerusha said. "I don't need the police. I can handle trash like you all by myself."

"Oh really?" I said, amused. "From where I'm standing it looks like you're gonna be dead in the next few seconds."

"What then? My family's outside and they're all armed. You wouldn't last a minute if you shot me."

"I'll take my chances."

Jerusha's eyes narrowed. "You think that's a gun you hold in your hand? Look again!"

I glanced at my hand, and gasped in shock. I was holding a snake, its sinuous body coiled around my arm. It hissed as it slithered its way towards my neck. It bared its fangs, ready to strike.

Screaming, I frantically shook the snake off my arm, flinging it to the floor. Instantly Jerusha ducked and made a grab for the snake. Snatching it up, she pointed it towards my head.

The snake transformed into a gun, my gun, in the blink of an eye, the barrel aimed at my forehead. Jerusha smiled slyly at me.

"You see?" she said. "I have everything under control. You're at my mercy now."

"How did you--"

Jerusha winked. "A good magician never reveals her secrets, Ben. Now don't move or I'll blow your murdering head off!"

"I didn't shoot him."

"No, but you disposed of him," Jerusha said. "How is that any better, to throw a human being away like garbage?"

Jerusha glanced towards the door. "Joachim!"

The door opened and in stepped Joachim. He took one look at the scene before him and smiled. "You haven't lost your touch, mamma."

"This one is weak-minded," Jerusha said. "I could manipulate him while in a coma."

"What are you gonna do?" I said defiantly.

"You'll see," said Jerusha. "You may do the honors, my son. You've earned it."

"Thank you, mamma," Joachim said.

His face lit up with glee, like a kid who'd just been given the one toy he wanted in all the world. He moved to stand in front of me.

"This is for my brother!" he said just as he punched me in the gut. I bent forward, and he clocked me in the jaw. Before I could react he kicked me in the side so hard that I lost my balance and fell to the floor.

"Don't damage him too much!" Jerusha said. "He must be whole for your brother."

"I know, mamma," Joachim said.

He quickly grabbed a chair and swung, hitting me in the side of the head. The whole world flashed on impact, then I fell sideways and everything went black. There was no more pain, no more sights or sounds, only darkness.

My head hurt like hell as I slowly opened my eyes. I was laying on a bare floor. My hands were tied behind my back, so tightly that they felt numb. I tried to move, but the rope was attached to the wall. I couldn't walk more than a few feet before reaching the limit of my bonds.

I was in a room lit by candles. Toys were scattered on the ground. I recognized most of them as prizes from the carnival's games. A paddle with a little rubber ball attached, an inflatable punching bag, and a community of stuffed animals. Coloring books and crayons were in the mix too, and papers covered with unreadable scrawls. Drawings were hung on the walls, sloppily made in crayon as by a careless child.

One of those drawings caught my attention. A rainbow of people were gathered in a crowd, as if posing for a camera. The carnival was drawn behind them. Three people stood ahead of the crowd. It was obvious that two of those three were supposed to be Joachim and Jerusha. I could tell by how the artist had managed to capture some of Jerusha's wizened features and Joachim's braided hair style.

Atop the drawing the words "My Family" were scrawled in rainbow colors. I recognized Jerusha and Joachim, but who was that third person standing next to them? Was he the drawer of this picture?

"I like that one."

I turned, startled. Standing at the other end of the room, near a doorway, was that strange man I'd seen on my way to Jerusha's trailer. The one Joachim had called Jeremiah.

"Mamma liked it so much she gave me ice cream," Jeremiah said cheerfully. "I like ice cream. ‘Specially with chocolate chips. Chocolate's good."

"What do you want with me?" I said.

"And this one," Jeremiah said, gesturing at another picture. "I was sad when I made this one. Mamma said I shouldn't think things like that."

Curious, I glanced at the picture Jeremiah pointed to.

It showed a fishing boat in the middle of the ocean. A man, dressed in black, held a body in his arms. Unlike the other childish drawings, this one was painted in exquisite detail as by the hand of a true artist. He'd even captured the play of moonlight on the dark ocean waters.

There was no doubt as to what this painting depicted. This was the day I'd thrown that poor kid into the ocean, the nameless person who'd simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time and got caught in the crossfire.

"Brother said ‘artists paint what they know,'" Jeremiah said, trying to sound sagely and failing miserably. "So I started painting my dreams. Brother was sad. Mama cried. She said I mustn't paint things like that anymore. I should paint happy things. But I'm not good at painting happy things." He gestured at the sloppy crayon drawings as if displaying evidence of his point. "Oh well."

All at once it dawned on me. "You ... you're that kid, aren't you?"

"You smell good," Jeremiah said. "I remember that smell. I dream that smell. It was the last thing I knew before there was only water."

I could feel myself going pale. I stared at Jeremiah in disbelief. "How did you ... how are you here?"

"What a silly question," Jeremiah said. "I'm here because I'm here."

"You died!" I shouted. "You were shot! I threw you into the middle of the fucking ocean! You can not be standing here, talking to me. You're a corpse!"

Jeremiah stared at me, his expression blank. I could almost see what little color he had drain from his face. Then, suddenly, he started crying. He moaned like an infant and fell to his knees. I watched, both disgusted and stunned at seeing a grown man cry like that.

The door at the other end of the room burst open and in rushed Joachim and Jerusha. Joachim knelt beside Jeremiah and put an arm around his shoulder.

"What happened?" he said urgently. "What did he say to you? Tell me!"

"He's so mean," Jeremiah said, sniffing.

"We shouldn't have left them alone with each other," Jerusha said.

"It's ok, bro," Joachim cooed. "Everything will be alright."

Jeremiah looked into his brother's eyes. "Am I really ... dead? He said I'm dead."

"Of course you're not dead. You're right here!"

"What have you done to that kid?" I murmured.

Jerusha gestured at Joachim, who nodded and gently raised Jeremiah to his feet. Whispering support and sympathy into his brother's ear, Joachim led him out of the room, closing the door behind them.

Jerusha glared at me. "I hope you enjoyed that," she said. "That's the only satisfaction you're going to get from us."

"What did you do to him?" I demanded.

"What did I do?" she said, incredulous. "You have some nerve, don't you?"

"Answer me!"

"For someone who's tied up you talk boldly," Jerusha said. "You have no idea how much shit you're in."

"Tell me, you psychotic fucking bitch!"

"I'll say only this," she said. "You just dug your own grave. Jeremiah was too innocent to go through with this. His heart needed to be hardened against you, and you've done just that."

She stood and headed for the door.

"Wait!" I shouted. "If you want me dead why don't you just shoot me already? What the hell do you want?"

"You'll find out," said Jerusha as she walked out the door, leaving me alone in the candle-lit room.

I tried to free my hands but the rope was too strong to break and tied too tightly to slip out of. Still I kept trying. I didn't know exactly how long I'd kept at it before I finally gave up, caved in to exhaustion and fell asleep.

When I opened my eyes I saw darkness, the candles extinguished. The only light I could see was the soft glow of a TV on the other end of the room. I saw a figure sitting in front of the TV, to the side as if to avoid blocking my view.

"You getting this?" spoke a voice from the TV.

"Yeah," replied another voice. My voice.

The camera panned to take in its surroundings, and instantly I recognized the place. It was a parking lot on 33rd street. Me and my friend, Deshaun, had went there the night of that recording to ...

Deshaun jumped in front of a camera, waving with his left hand. His right clenching a semiautomatic pistol.

"Hi mom!" Deshaun said.

"Cut that shit out!" I heard myself snap.

The recording paused, then fast forwarded.

"I know that fool," Deshaun said. "He gets his shit at 1 AM, Thursdays. I've been watching him. He hasn't missed a hit in months. He'll come."

"Speak of the Devil," I heard myself say.

The camera zoomed on a lone figure walking towards the parking lot from the distance, too far for the naked eye to see very clearly.

"What does he look like?" Deshaun asked.

The camera scrutinized the man. "Jeans, T-shirt, denim jacket, dew rag. He's smoking a cigarette or something. That him?"

"Sounds like him," Deshaun said.

The camera followed the stranger as he made his way into the parking lot. It pan away to observe Deshaun as he crept along the side walls, covered in shadow. He looked at the camera, made a frantic gesture with his arms and cursed under his breath.

The cameraman--me--got the message. The next few seconds the camera recorded the pavement as the cameraman fled behind some nearby bushes. Through the foliage the camera once again looked across the parking lot, searching for the man.

Watching the video, I realized just how sloppy we were. Had the man I'd filmed been a little more observant he may have seen us.

The man stood near the entrance, waiting for his dealer to show up. The camera caught a glimpse of Deshaun, and at that moment so did the man. He turned, too late to save himself. Deshaun fired, hitting him in the chest. The man fell backwards. Wasting no time, Deshaun stood over his victim and shot him twice more in the head. The man lay lifeless on the pavement.

Deshaun laughed over the corpse. As if shooting him weren't enough, he kicked the man in the side.

"Hey!" he called. "You can come out now."

The cameraman left his cover and slowly crossed the length of the parking lot.

"Mother fucker," Deshaun said to the corpse when the cameraman was close, spitting on it.

"Now what?" came my voice.

"What do you think fool?" Deshaun said. "Dump the fucker in the ocean. You got your dad's boat ready, right?"

"Yeah."

Deshaun knelt over the body, going through the dead man's pockets, relieving him of the possessions he no longer had use for.

"What's this?" Deshaun said, taking a paper bag from the man's denim jacket. He looked inside, and his eyes widened. "Holy shit! Jesus fucking Christ!"

"What is it?"

"It's not him!" Deshaun shouted. "It's the fucking dealer! This bag's full of pot! He was probably gonna sell the shit."

"So it's not him?"

"Are you fucking retarded?" Deshaun snapped. "No, it ain't him!"

A shot fired, then I heard my voice from the television screaming in pain. The camera fell to the ground, and from that point it filmed nothing but the pavement and a nearby parked car.

"Mother fucker!" came Deshaun's enraged cry. More shots were fired.

The video stopped, and the TV burst into snow and loud static. The man sitting before the TV rewound the tape and it began to play again, from the beginning.

"That was you," he said. I recognized his voice as belonging to Jeremiah, but there was something different about it. Something I couldn't quite put my finger on.

"I remember now." He stood up and approached me, limping every step of the way. "You did what the bastard told you to, like an obedient lackey. You drowned me."

"I didn't ... didn't have a choice," I said, my voice quivering. "He would have killed me if I didn't."

"How sad," Jeremiah scoffed. He rushed forward and grabbed me by the neck, choking off any further protest.

This was not the pale, malnourished man I had met earlier. I didn't know what to call this ... this ... thing. Its skin was shriveled and decayed, with gaping holes like moth-eaten linen. Its face was now close to mine, yet I couldn't feel its breath. Its touch was cold, and wet. His whole body was drenched as if he'd just crawled from the depths of the sea.

"You took from me," it rasped. "Now I take back."

I could barely breath, let alone speak.

"I like that look on your face," came a voice.

Two figures walked into the room. As they drew nearer I recognized them as Jerusha and Joachim. They wore robes that fluttered gently as they walked. Thick gold chains draped their necks, on which hung silver ornaments. One vaguely resembled a cross, imbedded with diamonds.

"There's an old legend," Jerusha began. "That when one dies unjustly, he can be reborn."

"All it takes," Joachim continued, "is the soul of everyone involved."

The corpse of Jeremiah let go of my neck and pushed me back against the wall. He put his face to my neck, sniffing me like he did when we'd first met.

"It's his soul that I smell," Jeremiah said. "I know that now."

"We found your friend," Jerusha said. "This is the result. Jeremiah's only half complete. A walking corpse with just a fraction of his old intellect. But now that we have you, he'll be himself again."

"Funny what can happen during a party," Joachim said.

"That whole thing was a set up?" I said.

"Now you're catching on. It was Momma's idea. That was some good shit you lit up, wasn't it? You know why?"

I was afraid to ask, so I didn't. My silence did nothing to deter Joachim, however.

"Momma blessed the joints with some of my brother's flesh. Pretty average weed for most people, but it feels fucking good to anyone who had something to do with his death."

"No more talking," Jeremiah said. "I want him now."

I tried to push Jeremiah off, but he held me still with a strength that belied his frail-looking body.

"What the fuck are you gonna do?" I demanded, trying not to panic.

"Free the soul from the flesh," Jerusha said. "And feed it into Jeremiah. Too bad you won't be able to see the ceremony. Maybe you will, if you have an out-of-body experience, but I've never tried this sort of thing on myself, so who knows?"

"No more words," Jeremiah growled. He brought his face to my neck; I felt his rotted teeth bite into my skin. I screamed in pain. He lifted his head to look me in the eyes, and his mouth was covered in blood.

"Free your soul," he whispered.

Suddenly my whole body felt cold as ice. My limbs went numb. I couldn't feel my arms or legs. I would have fell if Jeremiah didn't have me pinned against the wall. My vision blurred; everything began to sound distant and faint. It was as if all the energy had been torn from my body by that one bite.

Soon there was nothing. No sight or sound, no darkness or light. Just ... nothing.

I am finally whole again. I am free. I am ... alive.

The Vivisectionist

Sat, 22 Oct 2005 17:58:43 -0400

I knelt at my brother's shrine, praying. I could barely believe that it had already been a year since he died. It was night, and moonlight spilled into the living room of my apartment. It was bright enough so that I didn't need to light the candles to see. I lit them anyway, of course.

My brother was a witch--Wiccan, to be exact--and he always held a peculiar, if funny, reverence for the moon. It was a fixation of his. We used to sit together in this very room, and he'd tell me stories and legends. We last saw each other little more than a year ago. It seemed like such a long time.

"How're you doing up there?" I asked, staring at a picture of Daniel's face above the shrine. "Are they treating you good? You get to meet Edgar Allen Poe at last?" I knew it must be silly to talk to my brother's ashes, but ... sometimes it felt like he could hear me. Sometimes I could almost hear him answer me.

I waited patiently to hear him reply. He didn't, of course. How could he?

"They didn't catch the bastard yet," I said. "A year, can you believe it? A year, and the fucker is still free."

Still no reply, but I knew what Daniel would say. "Don't give me that pacifistic bullshit," I retorted, as if he were arguing with me. "They'll catch the sick fuck who did this to you. I know they will. Then I'll see him dead!"

Memories came back to me. I tried not to cry, but my eyes wouldn't obey me.

The day Daniel was found dead, a year ago, the police couldn't recognize the body. It was cut open, his organs exposed to the world. A DNA test identified him later, but at the time the only evidence to his identity was the crescent moon necklace. It was his favorite and he always wore it.

And still, a year later, it had never left him. He still wore it, even in death.

The police never caught the killer.

My knees hurt, and I was fresh out of tears. God must have some sick sense of irony, for the moonlight struck the aquamarine gem on my brother's necklace so that it gleamed in my face. Daniel had always loved the moon.

It was a full moon the night he was murdered.

Someone knocked on the door. I jumped at the unexpected noise. Reluctantly, I blew out the candles and wiped the tears from my eyes. I tried to compose myself as I went to see who was there.

Cassy stood in the doorway, dressed in black. She wore a long black dress and too much makeup and eyeliner on her face. She painted her long fingernails black, and her lips a deep purple. Long, unruly curls of black hair came down well past her shoulders.

This was nothing new to me. Cassy always looked like she was going to a funeral, even when she was just going to the supermarket.

"I ... uh, wanted to see if you're ok, Bishop," she said, looking at me nervously. Her expression reminded me of a lost and confused puppy.

Who wore too much makeup.

"I'm fine," I told her. "Really."

"May I ... come in?" She asked hesitantly.

I wasn't exactly thrilled by the idea. I had learned to tolerate Daniel's heathen ways because he was my brother. I hadn't extended that same tolerance to his friend.

But she was still his friend.

"Sure," I said, standing aside to let her pass.

Cassy walked into my apartment and headed straight for Daniel's shrine. She stood there, looking at it quietly. She looked like Death herself, clad in black and pale as a corpse. I stared at her for a full minute before it occurred to me to close the door.

I slowly walked over to her. She looked at me and smiled.

"I'm glad you still remember him," she said.

I fought down a pang of irritation. I wanted to yell "of course I remember him," or something else not so nice. She meant well, but sometimes Cassy wasn't the best with words. I returned her smile instead.

"It's been a year," she said. "I thought you shouldn't be alone tonight."

There was something in her eyes, a guardedness that made me uncomfortable.

"Tonight's the same as any other night," I said, though I knew damn well it wasn't.

"I know," said Cassy. "But I miss him too, you know. I just wanted to be around him for a while."

I sighed. How could I have been that inconsiderate? Cassy could really creep me out, but Daniel had loved her.

We stood there for God knows how long. It felt like an hour. I checked my watch, though, and saw that it had only been ten minutes. What was it about these uncomfortable silences that made minutes feel like forever?

Cassy looked uncertain, as if about to say something but trying to find the right words. "Has Daniel ever told you stories?" she asked.

I shrugged. "Yeah. Lots."

"What kinds?"

I took a moment to remember all the crazy things he used to tell me. "Legends and folklore, mostly. Heathen myths and fairy tales."

I didn't know if Cassy found my use to the word "heathen" offensive. Frankly, I didn't care if she did.

If she had, she didn't show it. She looked so nervous, though. "Has he ever told you about spirits and demons?"

"Not really," I said. "Dan loved that stuff, but he knew it offended me so he didn't tell me much."

Cassy sighed. "If you read demon stories, you'll notice a common theme. A lot of them will give you things--money, power, fame--in exchange for something precious."

I didn't need to read pagan stories to know that, just turn on the TV. I shrugged.

Cassy kept staring at me. I didn't like this woman much to begin with, and I was starting to like her even less. Something about her gaze made me nervous.

"There is this one story about a demon called the Vivisectionist. He can make wishes come true, but he ... dissects his victims, takes an organ, and leaves the body there."

Just like Daniel.

"Cassy," I said cautiously. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because ..." She hesitated. "There's something I have to tell you, Bishop. Your brother ... he ..."

"Out with it!" I demanded. She was really starting to get on my nerves.

"You remember when your boyfriend, Riley, died of AIDS?"

How could I forget? "Yeah."

"You were infected, Bishop. You had AIDS."

I didn't know whether to laugh or yell. "What are you talking about? I was tested just last month and I turned out negative. I never had AIDS."

"You did," Cassy insisted, "and it was killing you!"

"Then why am I negative?" I asked, trying not to smile at the thought of what crazy story Cassy was going to spout this time.

"Because your brother ... he." Cassy suddenly looked determined, and even a little angry. "Because Daniel gave his life for you!"

"What?" I tried to control my temper. It's one thing to tell a crazy story, but how dare she invoke my brother's name like that? Has she no shame?

"You took a turn for the worst. Daniel couldn't stand the thought of loosing you, like you lost Riley. So he invoked a demon--the Vivisectionist. The demon cured you, Bishop, but his price was--"

"Shut the fuck up!" I shouted. "I know you were his girlfriend and you two were into that godless shit, but I will not put up with you and your garbage! Daniel was murdered! How dare you? How fucking dare you turn him into one of your heathen stories?"

"It's not a story!" Cassy shouted. "He invoked a demon to save you! It's the anniversary of his death, Bishop. If you're not careful--"

"Get out!" I screamed. "Get out of my apartment. Now!"

That very moment, the aquamarine stone of my brother's necklace flashed with reflected moonlight.

"The necklace!" she exclaimed. She suddenly dove to snatch it up.

I didn't know why I did it, but before she could touch my brother's necklace I had my hand on her wrist, squeezing so hard that she moaned in pain. I had never been so angry before. She had some nerve--barging in here, defiling my brother's name with her stupid stories, and now trying to steal his necklace.

"Get the fuck out!" I snarled, dragging her away from the shrine. "If you come back here, if you ever insult Dan again, I will fucking kill you! You hear?'

She didn't answer, and that made me even madder. I shook her hard. "DO YOU HEAR ME!" I screamed in her ear.

"The necklace," she said, her voice small and quivering. "You mustn't wear it. Never put it on."

I had heard enough. I pulled her roughly across the living room, opened the door, shoved her out, and slammed the door in her face, locking and bolting it shut.

I took a moment to catch my breath. What had just come over me? Looking back on it, Cassy didn't really do anything that serious. But ...

The necklace. I couldn't stand the thought of it being held in her filthy, unworthy hands. When she reached for it ...

I sighed and looked down at the floor, feeling more ashamed than ever. I'd have to apologize to Cassy, assuming she would accept any apology from me after what I just did. Still, I had to let her know I'm sorry. Not tonight, though--I had sworn not to leave my apartment today so I could honor Daniel. I had called in sick at work and canceled a dinner-date with Nathan, my current crush. I don't know why, but when I woke up this morning it seemed like the thing to do.

Tomorrow, then. As for right now, I felt tired and drained. May as well go to bed.

On my way to the bedroom I stopped at Daniel's shrine. I bowed my head and made a cross gesture over my chest. "Goodnight, Dan," I said.

It may have been a trick of the light, but when I looked up at Dan's picture, I could have sworn he was crying.

Sleep didn't come easily. It never did since Riley died. It got even worse when Daniel died. I'd always think about them both. Sometimes I could almost feel Riley in bed next to me, his warm breath on my shoulder. Sometimes I even rolled over, expecting to see him laying beside me.

When Riley died of AIDS, Daniel never left my side. We'd stay up all night and I'd talk about him. Dan would talk about how witches viewed death. He believed in reincarnation. I admit, the thought of Riley being reborn into this world was a lot more comforting than the thought of him facing the Christian afterlife. I devoted my life to my faith, and even I was unsure of what awaited him. The preachers said he'd be sent to Hell for being gay. I think differently, of course.

Daniel told me it didn't matter. He said that all sexuality was a gift from the Goddess; holy in its own way.

But now they're both gone.

Loneliness crept up on me. I could no longer stand being in this big bed, which felt so empty now. I got up and dressed myself, trying not to think of dead boyfriends and brothers. Maybe a drink of whiskey would help, and some light reading. I checked the alarm clock on my nightstand. It was 1 AM.

I left the bedroom and headed for the liquor cabinet in the living room.

Then I saw something, a flash of light in the corner of my eye. I turned and looked at Daniel's shrine. It was the same as I had left it. But ...

The necklace. Daniel's favorite crescent moon necklace with its round aquamarine gem. I couldn't help but stare at it. There was no light save for dim glow of faraway streetlights through the window, yet the aquamarine flash light into my eyes.

God it was so beautiful, so precious. It was the only thing of Daniel's I had left, save his ashes. I wanted it. I suddenly yearned to touch it, to pick it up and wear it just once. Maybe if I wore Daniel's favorite necklace it would be as if he were still alive.

You mustn't wear it. Never put it on.

I remembered Cassy's words, and suddenly I was afraid. I couldn't explain it, but I felt a sense of dread, as if something terrible were about to happen.

"Bitch," I muttered, shaking my head to clear it of Cassy's heathen gibberish. The necklace was mine now, bequeathed to me by Daniel--he had told me one night that if he died he wanted me to have it. She had no right to tell me what to do with it.

I walked slowly, hesitantly, towards Daniel's shrine. I felt tingly all over. I knelt down and looked at the golden crescent moon. Daniel had once told me that the aquamarine represented the Earth, and the moon represented the lunar cycle. All I knew was that it was beautiful.

It felt so wrong, though. In a year, I had never removed the necklace. Not once.

But it was mine.

With trembling hands, I reach out to pick it up. The metal felt cool to the touch. I took a deep breath, then put the necklace around my neck.

I could feel the weight of the crescent moon on my chest. It felt so good. My body felt alive. My pulse was racing and my heart was pounding. I was wide awake, filled with so much energy with no clue of what to do with it.

It was like that day when I had the fever. Daniel had taken me to his house and put me in his bed. I felt so weak then; so nauseous. I could barely stand, and I was so afraid. Daniel was at my side, telling me that everything would be alright. He told me not to worry; he had a plan that was going to make everything all better.

That night he gave me his necklace and told me to wear it. Then ...

I woke up in my own apartment a few days later, and the police told me he was dead.

I saw my door open. A shadow slip into the living room. A wraith-like being in flowing black robes. It was coming for me. Its breath, its putrid, stinking breath, flowed over me, cold as a winter chill. Its face was pale and gaunt like a demon from Hell.

It was Death.

"Bishop," Death said. "Give me the necklace."

It wanted my brother's necklace. My precious keepsake.

I backed away from the creature, huddling into the corner with my knees up to my chin, trembling. It was so cold.

"Bishop, please!"

"No!" I shouted. "Get away from me! Leave me alone!"

It kept getting closer ... I could hear its wretched breath, hear the floor groaning with each step it took. I started to cry.

Death came for Riley. Death had taken Daniel away.

And now it wanted me.

With a pale, bony hand, Death reached for the crescent moon on my chest.

I screamed, and everything went black.

I opened my eyes. The sunlight made me shut them, then slowly open them again. I was in my living room, lying on the floor, naked. My head hurt, and my bladder was about to explode. Without thinking, I got up and rushed to the bathroom. When I was done I dressed myself in blue jeans, a white shirt, a denim jacket, and sneakers.

The memory of last night came back to me. Death had stood in the living room with me, and yet I still lived. My hands shook; I was sweating, and my chest heaved.

"No," I said to myself. "Couldn't be."

I must have gotten drunk and had a bad dream. It's not the first time I sat naked in the living room and drank myself into oblivion. It was the only thing that kept me sane when Daniel passed away. Fresh air, breakfast, and a good jog would clear my head. Then I'll forget bad dreams.

I checked my alarm clock. It was 7 AM. I didn't have to work today, which gave me time to patch things up with Nathan for canceling yesterday.

I left my apartment and walked down the hallway. When I passed Cassy's apartment, I suddenly remembered the things I'd said to her last night. Now was as good a time as any to apologize. Cassy's an early bird, so she was probably awake now.

When I knocked on the door, it slowly moved inward. It hadn't been closed all the way. This was unlike Cassy; she always kept it locked.

"Cassy?" I called. "You in there?"

No answer. Something didn't feel right.

I stepped into her apartment, flinching when I saw the pentagram, strategically placed on the wall to be seen when one entered. Aside from that, her place was surprisingly normal, like any other apartment I've been in.

She was nowhere to be found.

Finally I came to her bedroom. I didn't like the idea of going in there, but it was the only room I hadn't checked yet. My heart pounded when I touched the doorknob. Anxiety overwhelmed me. I didn't want to open that door or go into that room.

Slowly, I opened the door and peered inside.

My mouth went dry.

There was so much blood. It was like something out of a horror movie. Even as I stood there, I couldn't believe that this was real.

A body lay on the bed, cut open like a frog in a middle-school science class. I knew it was Cassy. Her skin had been peeled away, and her organs lay exposed to the world. There was blood everywhere.

Just like Daniel.

I couldn't take it. I bent forward and threw up on the floor.

And then I noticed a sparkle of light in Cassy's limp hand, dangling from a silver chain. Careful not to touch her hand, I pulled the chain from her grip.

It was my brother's necklace.

I stared at the golden crescent moon in disbelief. How had Cassy gotten it? How ...

I remembered last night, when Death reached out for the necklace with a pale hand.

"No!" I shouted, running from the room. I grabbed the nearest phone and dialed 911. The operator could barely understand me. I practically shouted into the phone, talking faster than I thought a human tongue was capable of.

"Just hold on. The police will be there shortly," the operator said.

With that, I hung up the phone. I only made it a step before my knees buckled and I was on the floor, crying loud enough for everyone in the building to hear.

It was like Daniel all over again.

Dan had died the same way. I had found my brother in his bed too, surrounded by police, when I went to his place to thank him for doing whatever he did that got rid of my fever.

It wasn't long before the neighbors came. Then the police. I stayed on my knees the whole time, refusing to let anyone comfort me.

It was the same sick fuck who had killed my brother. I knew it. The bastard had taken away someone else on the anniversary of my brother's death. Who was this person? Why did he take such delight in torturing me?

As I knelt there, crying, I swore I'd get the prick who did this, and kill him myself.