Kenny ashed his cigarette on the gravestone and I took another swig of Olde English. We stood in the purgatory between sunset and dark, the streetlights yet to start their silent flickering applause, and endless clouds of no-see-ums between where we stood and my '06 Mustang. The air was heavy, only partly due to the humidity.
I poured a third of the 40 onto Ryloh's grave and handed it to Kenny. "You think we're gonna see the end of this soon?" I asked.
"We'll know when it's over," he said. "Ryloh knew what he was getting in to. It is what it is."
"Yeah. Maybe."
Kenny took a swig, flicked the butt of his cigarette deep into the woods. "It's getting dark. Let's get it," he said before pouring out the rest of the bumper.
Then we were going 120, swerving through light traffic and potholes with the light glow of Familiar behind us. Familiar was near the coast, but not on it, bordered by two sections of the Naldloshi river which split into a delta a few miles due west of town. Kenny and I were on the only paved road in and out of Familiar, a poorly maintained stretch of highway all but forgotten by the State. I remember thinking it was always easier to leave than it was to come back.
"You said it's an old woman this time, yeah?" I asked.
"Should be," Kenny said "But you know how that goes. You do the talking, I'll handle the rest."
"EP give you anything else to go by?"
"Just that we need to play it careful. It was a short call, he was off the dust."
"Nothing new. He really said to play it careful?"
"Yeah. Left here," said Kenny, unzipping the duffel bag by his feet. He pulled a modified Glock and handed me a Ruger. I slowed as we cut into a dense section of wood, cut on the high beams. Branches reached into the road like broken arms, covered in needles and darker than sin. Soon the canopy blocked the moon and the stars. "You need anything stronger?" Kenny asked.
"Nah I'm good," I said. A light source broke through the trees. Warm orange glow a couple hundred yards ahead of us from the window of a large cabin. Woman's silhouette in the window, staring out at us. Kenny shed a bullet from the chamber and double-checked his mag. I cut the car off. Left the headlights on. We exited the vehicle.
The air was humid. Cicadas and frogs chirped and bellowed inharmoniously. Something felt off. We tucked our guns and started toward the front door. The woman left the window. Shut the blinds. Softened the orange glow.
I trudged toward the front door. Felt the crunch of leaves and twigs beneath my footsteps. Kenny followed close behind. The glow of the headlights died quickly as we walked through the trees, and I pulled a pocket flashlight from my keychain. Caught the glimmer of a trip wire and pointed it out to Kenny. Then a trail of white powder, circling the perimeter of the cabin.
I bent down and pinched a couple grains between my thumb, index and middle fingers. It felt like sand, or salt, or something in between. I let the material fall and stepped into the boundary, careful not to disrupt it.
"You recognize it?" Kenny asked.
"Nah," I responded. "But I wouldn't fuck with it."
I continued toward the front door with Kenny close behind. The three stairs ahead of the door creaked loudly as they guided me toward a worn welcome mat and an aged red oak door. I knocked.
"Come in," said a gravelly voice from the other side. "Your friend too."
I turned the brass handle and gently pushed through. Kenny followed. The interior was lit up by a fireplace and candlelight and smelled of incense with a touch of burnt sage. There was a kitchen to our left, with a dining room directly in front of us. Bedroom behind the dining room, and a bathroom to the right of it. Minimal decoration throughout with a clear focus on utility. The woman sat at the head of a dark brown table in the dining room. She was somewhere above sixty, with a mess of greyish white hair atop her head, and beady eyes which reminded me of a raven or a crow. A tea kettle adorned the table, along with what appeared to be her finest plates.
"You were expecting us?" I asked.
"I expect most things. Sit," she replied, and gestured toward three seats across the table from her. The chair on my left was painted white with gold flecks. The chair in the middle was a light blue, and had clouds painted throughout. And the chair on the right was ash colored with flames painted on the legs.
"You, uh, have a preference as to where we sit?" I asked.
"Of course, but then we wouldn't learn anything would we?"
I glanced at Kenny. His eyebrows furrowed and he surveyed the room. He must not have seen anything too far beyond his expectations, because once he exhaled he shrugged and sat in the ash colored chair. I pushed the white chair to the side and sat in the blue chair.
"You must know why we're here," I told the woman.
"I know why you think you're here, yes," she replied evenly.
"And why do you think that is?" I retorted.
"You think I can help you find a Key."
"Can you?"
"Maybe, maybe not. First, we drink tea. Then we do business. My name is Katherine Rosewood. What do you two go by?"
"DB" I said. "And this is AK," I gestured toward Kenny. "EP sent us."
"Oh, I'm very aware. Dangerous business you two are in. Shame what happened to your friend." She didn't look up as she lifted the tea kettle and poured a greenish liquid into one of the three teacups in front of her. "I wanted your real names, boy. What are they?"
And I felt a calm wash over me. A feeling of relaxation that had eluded me for what felt like years. I was falling into the lucid dream of an altruist with no parachute. My heartbeat slowed and the words left me like water from a broken faucet. An undeniable urge.
"Darien Brist and Adonis Kendall," I said. As the words hung in the air I felt the calm leave me, replaced by panic. I turned to Kenny. His nails dug into the arms of the ash colored chair, and he glared at Katherine.
"Keep staring like that and your face will get stuck," she met his gaze with equal fire. "Who do you really work for?"
"The King of Strays" he spat. Wasn't a name I'd heard before. He reached for his glock, aimed it at her head. "Don't move."
"Sleep, child" said Katherine. Kenny's eyes rolled back into his head and he fell limp as he collapsed on the table. The gun fell out of his hand and the sound of it hitting the floor reverberated throughout the room. Not good. I raised my hands.
"Relax, boy," she said, "he's fine." And she pushed the tea in front of me. Through greenish liquid I could see lines of gold, painted in streaks within the glass. It smelled of cherries and dandelions, with a touch of jasmine green. I grabbed Kenny's wrist to confirm a pulse, then let it drop beside him. "Drink."
Again, I felt comfort overwhelm me. Then the cup touched my lips. The liquid raced down my esophagus toward my stomach. It tasted of roses and huckleberries, with the viscosity of pu'er.
"You don't know who you are yet, do you?" she said.
"What do you mean?" I managed.
"Your friend knows more than he lets on. Smart one, that kid."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Give me your palms."
And I did. Her hands felt warm, softer than I expected. She traced a line on my right hand, found a point where two intersect. Moved on. Traced it to the end of one hand and into the next. Then she found the same point on my left hand, and gently placed my hands on the table. She let out a heavy, burdened sigh.
"Finish the tea and we can have a real talk."
Still under her suggestion, I did. Then I felt the world return to me. All ease left me like birds ahead of a thunderstorm. My hands started shaking, bad. I felt the Ruger on my waistband, but ignored its call. I met her gaze, which pierced my soul and peered well beyond.
"What did you do to me?" my voice was shaky. I couldn't help it. Kenny and I have seen and been through a lot of weird shit. But this was something else. We never had control of the situation, never should have come here. I broke eye contact and stared into the empty teacup.
"People are compelled in innumerable ways," she started, "they want to be told how to behave. Need a guiding hand. I simply offer that hand to the lost. Guide sheep to pastures and slaughterhouses. Don't worry, boy. You're free now. I won't make you do anything you aren't meant to do."
"What about Kenny?"
"Wolves have no need for my guidance," she chortled, waving her hand in the air, "now, what is it you're here for?"
"We're looking for a Key. EP said you knew the last person who found one, or knew someone who knew them."
"And what are you going to do with a Key when you find one?"
"That doesn't matter."
"If you're risking your life for something that doesn't matter I can't help you."
I sighed. "I want to fix this place. It runs on pain, but it doesn't need to stay that way."
"And the Key? What is that for? You don't use a nuke to cultivate a garden. Don't be stupid."
"Things should be better. People shouldn't live such troubled lives."
"Then do good things," she said "Be a good person and live clean. Give what time and resources you can to those in need, and when your time comes, know you did what you could."
"It's not that easy. If you don't have everything, you have nothing. You don't make ripples in an ocean with a broken fork. You can't make waves without motion. This place is a ghost town overpopulated. An echo in an empty cave. And you expect me to fix a broken skull with ibuprofen."
She took a steady sip and eyed me curiously. "Relax, boy. You'll get what you need, but first I'm going to talk and you're going to listen."
"And if I decide I don't want to do that?"
"Then you'll die before the next moon, and I'll have waited here for nothing."
I surveyed the room. Looked at Kenny, still conked. Glanced at the points where my palm lines intersect. Then toward the window, closed to the world by beige linen blinds. Really thought about leaving. Wanted to leave. Shook my head. "Fine," I acquiesced.
"World become harvesting machine" she began, "until there is none left to harvest. Walk the warzones between chaos and order, freedom and control. Echoes of past ripple through all our lives. The town built to be an allegory, the captive of a vile thing with bottomless hunger. With head the size of archangels and arms of cold machinery as great as the horizon. You come to me, wrought with shoddy workmanship. Yet with a burden greater than greatness. Because to be good is better than to be great, and twice as difficult."
A sharp pain entered my cranium. Inched toward my spine.
"Forged by suffering, clouds will hang on you like a frayed hoodie. You haven't yet become yourself. But you are as inevitable as the tides. Expect betrayal, but do not fear it. Expect pain, but do not run from it. Let your consciousness become capable of performing miracles, then burn it all until ash falls as rain. You, boy. Become yourself."
The pain walked down my spine. Reverberated until I could feel it in my fingers. "Stop" I croaked, but my words were slurred. I dug my fingernails into the wood of the chair. Broke through the paint.
"And let the broken become whole again through your sacrifice. The empty overflow. Regret become hope unburdened by memory. The cycle begin anew free of bloodshed and misery. Filtered by purple light and charcoal. You are the death of a status quo not yet realized. A waking nightmare."
I heard a snap. Felt Kenny move. Heard the chair next to me hit the ground.
"Too late, boy. It is done" she said. The pain dissipated. I raised my head.
A gunshot rang out and I saw a bullet enter the woman's chest. She collapsed, became a shapeless mass of black oil before hitting the ground. Kenny held a smoking gun. "You good?" he asked.
Nah not at all. "I'm fine," I replied. His pinky hung misshapen off the grip of his Glock, either broken or dislocated. "What about you?"
"Yeah, I'm good. Let's get out of here."
The ride back to Crescent Lane was uneventful. We pulled into the house and crushed a blunt before heading into our rooms. I stayed up. Stared at the uneven ceiling fan above my bed for about 2 hours before sleep took me in. I dreamt of an ocean of ash. A pool of oil become lake of fire. Falling through the sky like a comet. A field of butterflies with tattered wings.