It was like Child all over again. Eunomia could see, spreading on the pavement, the same gaping mouth; inky black in the dark and yawning wider each second. The air still shrunk from the path of the bullet, but the one who had pulled the trigger had long since departed the space. Air and dust filled in that same space, the outline of the shooter while Eunomia went down on her knees on the side of the pavement and pleaded, with forces she did not understand, for it all not to be true.
The letter was sitting on the doormat when Amelia came downstairs. She picked it up and found it was addressed to her husband in a tiny, precise hand. Something about it, about everything Bailer had told her, made her carry it upstairs and hand it to him. He tore it open the moment he saw the writing on the front. She could see his eyes prying the words off the page as quickly as he was able.
“I need to go out tonight…” He said.
“You’re not going to tell me what it’s about?” Amelia was suspicious. Until now he had been honest.
“Stern wants to talk to me about something…says he has to do it in person. He told me to bring Eunomia.” He answered, sighing at rubbing his forehead. He looked tired and haggard.
“Ooh, he’s got a kid. I hate kids.” The woman murmured, peering out of the car at the windows of the house and spotting Harry sitting by the windowsill.
The man said nothing, making a quiet grunting noise which somehow conveyed a sense of understanding and agreement.
“It’s not any sense of conscience, I just hate the sounds they make.”
The man simply frowned.
“We need to find out what he told his wife.” The woman said, tapping freshly bitten nails against the dashboard. “Are we waiting for the cover of darkness?”
Her colleague nodded.
The record went around, never stopping. The song it played was unending, as if the machine was caught inside some sort of timeless zone allowing the music to play without ceasing. Eunomia sat in her chair, overlooking the garden. The walls were grimy, paper peeling and brown. The hole in the wall had expanded slightly. A sticky, reddish substance was oozing from it; not blood, it was too thick to be blood. The music helped, but it did not cure it. It was eating away at the woodwork, at the stone and the curtains and the carpets. Eunomia’s fingers clawed at the armrests. She stood up and the needle skipped over the grooves on the record. The music stopped and a demonical howling took its place. Eunomia could not determine its source. No matter how many times she scoured the place she could not find it. It came up from underneath the floor, but when she put her ear to the ground to try and listen it seemed to come from the walls instead. The screams lulled slightly, dipping into a strange sobbing which seemed to hum all around. Eunomia wished it would stop, but knew by now it wouldn’t.
Bailer tapped lightly on the door of the guest room.
“You can come in.” Eunomia called.
She was on the bed, reading as usual. She was already looking up when Bailer walked in and he felt a small shiver when he met her eyes. He was struck sometimes by her sheer normalcy and at others by how alien she looked.
“What is it?” She looked at him, gravely serious.
“You need to come with me this evening. We’re going to go meet Stern.”
“You said he was missing.”
“Well, he sent me a letter. He said it was important. Is something wrong?”
Eunomia shook her head, looking off into the space by Bailer’s head. “What time?” She murmured.
“Late evening. Half-eight the letter said.” Bailer replied. His voice sounded nervous even to his own ears.
Eunomia nodded and turned back to her book. “Do not worry. Everything will be fine.” She said.
Bailer smiled. She had read his emotions and was responding accordingly. Normally he would be thrilled at such an advance in her, but today other things weighed on his mind.
The woman looked out at the dimming sky and swiftly poked her colleague in the shoulder. “Almost time. What is it? Seven, eight?”
“Coming up to eight.” Her colleague answered.
The front door of Bailer’s house opened and the man himself emerged. Behind him was a small girl, whose appearance made the pair stare intently.
“That must be it. The thing Stern was talking about.” The woman murmured. “She looks like a zombie…no wonder you don’t see her out here much. Someone might mistake her for an omen of a Second Rising.” She sniggered.
Bailer was hurrying towards his car. The odd, grim-skinned child was put in the front seat and then Bailer got in the other side.
“I’ll go deal with the wife. You tail him.” The woman knew her colleague would not challenge her. She got out of the car and watched as it pulled away. Then she crossed the road and knocked two times on the door. In her pocket she ran her finger over her favourite blade.
He followed Bailer’s car for a short distance, into a small residential area. The buildings were grey and imposing, and the streets were narrow. He felt rather at home in this environment. He knew what he had to do. His employers didn’t particularly care what had happened, they wanted it sorted and finished, that was all. There was a gun in the glove box. As Bailer’s car slowed and pulled in on one side of the road, he removed it and put it on the seat next to him. There was a silencer attached. He waited while Bailer got out, opening the door for the girl. She looked easy enough to handle. He could simply grab her and throw her in the boot.
Then Bailer looked towards the car. The scientist knew he had followed him. The gun was grabbed and he exited the car. Bailer saw the weapon and he moved to run. The girl was looking at them both, no expression. The gun was raised, and he fired. He got only one shot and then he was gone…
…He landed oddly and something crunched loudly and obnoxiously as he crumpled to the floor. The ground was cold, and slightly damp. It had not been raining, he was sure. His ankle throbbed and he tried to turn to inspect it. It was gloomy and dim wherever he was and he could only just see the outline of his leg. As he extended his hand to pull up his trouser leg to inspect the damage a bloodcurdling scream split the air. Someone else was there. The scream seemed close; just behind him near his ear.
“Who’s there?” He snapped; as yet unflustered despite the change in scenery and his injured state and the prospect of something hostile mere metres from him.
What felt like tree branches grasped his shoulder. He looked down, and saw white, bony fingers gripping his jacket.
“Are you…? Can it really be…after so long?” The voice was raspy and drawn out like a whistle of wind through a tomb. There was a terrifying joy in it.
“Sheckle?” He stammered in amazement.
It was just like Child again. Except Child had not twisted and groaned. Eunomia put her hands on Bailer’s back, not sure what she should do.
“It’s just my shoulder…he hit my shoulder.” He gasped, teeth clenched with pain. “That’s lucky.” He laughed humourlessly. He peered up at Eunomia. “You did it again…where-where…?”
“To the castle.” Eunomia answered. She was watching the blood pool lazily. Bailer tried to sit up, grunted and gave up. His cheek lay on the pavement, inches from a compacted piece of gum which had been fused to the ground by the sheer force of time and human feet.
“Eunomia, I need you to reach into my pocket and get my phone out. I need you to call for help.”
Eunomia nodded, still staring at the bloodied hole in the back of Bailer’s jacket. She did as she was told, feeling the throbbing beat of his heart near her hands. She took out the phone and listened, dialled, and said what he told her to say.
----> Continued in Part 13
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Moth's Tales
Since I tend to turn my avatars into characters, I thought I might expand on the whole idea a bit. Comments and feedback are greatly appreciated.
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