Book II – Chapter 10: Run

Posted On May 8, 2015

Gina stood waiting for them at the service entrance. She was leaning on the Alfa Romeo, ankles crossed as she tossed aside her second cigarette.

“You owe me an explanation,” she said as the two men hauled a third around the back of the car.

Demos scoffed as he released the trunk. “We don’t owe—“

“We’ll explain in the car,” Ferris said, keeping both hands on their captive. Sandro had been fitted in a hotel bathrobe, his feet bare on the coarse pavement. Don had come through with his promise to keep the freight elevator clear, making their exit fairly painless.

“Hell no,” Sandro said, jerking in Ferris’ grasp. “You’re not putting me in a goddamned trunk.”

“I guess we could just do it here.” Demos surveyed the area with mild interest, noting that they were alone.

“No messes, Ghost.”

Demos put together a convincing sulk. “But we’re outside.”

“No puppy dog eyes, either. This is casino property,” Ferris said, then took a handful of Sandro’s hair to force him forward. “Sorry it’s not first class. You’ll have to make do.”

The trunk slammed shut, obscuring Sandro’s burning scowl.

“He’d better not scuff up the interior,” Demos said, then gestured to Gina. “Keys.”

She paid him no mind, not even making eye contact as she slid into the driver’s seat. “I can smell the liquor on you from here. I’m driving.”

Ferris shot him a look before he could protest, sending the Italian grumbling into the passenger seat. Folding his arms in the back, Ferris wondered if this was what it was like to be a parent. If so, he’d had years of practice.

The highway was empty as they drove, distancing themselves from the lights of civilization, fleeing the inevitable sunrise as they moved further west. Ferris could hear Sandro thumping behind him, making a futile attempt to be heard. It was no use — there was nobody to listen. Street lights faded behind them as they followed the curves of a side road. It was unlit, leaving only the car headlights to cut through the dark.

Ferris slumped, his head nudging the glass window. White birches flashed past, their trunks shifting in and out of existence. They disappeared into black, forgotten. A familiar sickness was edging up in his gut. Sandro didn’t have a chance. He had toyed with Demos’ pride, and scorned ghosts were not known for their mercy. Ferris knew what was coming — he knew he would have nightmares before dawn.

Even so, he would still watch.

Just as he wondered if the forest would ever end, the car stopped. He stepped out automatically, rounding the car to open the trunk. Sandro was greeted with Demos’ gun, the tip bumping his temple as he was urged past the tree line and into the woods. Gina waited with the car, having little interest in traipsing through the woods.

“They’re going to find out what you did,” Sandro said. Burrs nicked his ankles as he stumbled through the underbrush. “You’re making a big fucking mistake.”

Demos was unfazed. “I’ve made worse.”

Ferris kept his eyes on Demos’ back, ready to step forward if Sandro got any bright ideas. With nothing but a bathrobe and cord-tied wrists, however, there was little the man could accomplish if he tried.

At the foot of a wide stump, Demos stopped.

“Here.”

Sandro turned, beads of sweat now visible on his brow. “You’re serious. You’re going to do this.”

Demos made no expression. “Super serious.”

“You wrecked the computer. The file is gone.”

“It’s still in one last place.” Demos gestured to his crown. “Your head.”

The car’s headlights beamed between the trees, casting long shadows from the three men.

“Fish — untie him.”

Ferris opened his mouth to protest, but knew he wouldn’t hear the end of it if he ruined Demos’ moment. After a quick breath of night air, he stepped forward to pull at the knotted cord on Sandro’s wrists. The man’s eyes darted between his captors, obviously weighing his chances of successfully taking on the two of them. With the gun still aimed between his eyes, he seemed to realize they were slim.

The moment the cord was loose, Demos nodded to his companion. “Back up.”

Ferris wasted no time returning to his friend’s side. Sandro’s breaths were now audible. He swallowed, his throat fluttering, feet scraping dirt as he inched backwards.

“You want to run?” Demos’ eyes tightened. “Go on. Run.”

Sandro didn’t look away, keeping his stare on the gun and the man behind it. One step after another, he moved back, only stopping when his spine bumped a thick tree.

He sucked in his next breath, then turned to run.

The white bathrobe flapped as the man rushed through the trees. Demos waited, counting the meters. Footsteps pounded over the forest floor, kicking up mud and rustling through yellowed shrubs. Even from a distance, Demos could hear him gasping for air. Twenty meters — that was far enough.

The gunshot cracked through the air. It echoed through rows of trunks, ringing under Ferris’ skull and down the back of his neck. Sandro’s scream fused with the tail-end of the shot, petering off into quavering groans. His body had crumpled forward in a heap over a rotted log. He clutched his knee, his hands stained with red as he bled from his shattered joint.

Demos cocked the hammer once more. “I said run.”

Sandro dragged himself upright, shoulders trembling. His pants for air were muddled, weak from the burst nerve bundles and cracked bone. With fingernails digging into the old wood, he managed to shift himself onto one leg. The moment he was up, another gunshot ran forth. The man collapsed back to the ground, crimson staining the dried leaves beneath him. Demos had shot his other knee.

With even steps, the Ghost approached his prey. There was no rage in his eyes as he gazed down at the man, nor was there a hint of pity. His features were vacant, a blank white in the dark haze of the woods.

Sandro writhed on his side, his bathrobe soaked in a layer of red. He forced a dry grunt, then leered up at his assailant.

“S-sorry if I—“ Sandro choked on his next breath. “If I broke your heart.”

The gun cocked.

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

The third and final shot reverberated through the clearing. The forest was silent, with only the distant humming of the car to remind them the world had gone on. Ferris swallowed.

“There’s a shovel in the trunk,” Demos said, breaking his friend from his daze. “Could you get it?”

“Yeah.” Ferris reminded himself to breathe. “Sure.”

The drive back to the casino was quiet. Ferris’ shoulders were sore from digging and he was certain his palms would have blisters in the morning. He lay his head back on the car seat, noting the sky was shifting to a softer shade of blue. His eyelids lowered, heavy, threatening to steal his consciousness with every blink. A tall sign came into view, its letters still lit in white fluorescence. Six Pines.

Demos spoke first. “I call shower.”

“Dibs on—“ Ferris said, then winced. “Damnit.”

By the time he was thoroughly washed, Ferris could barely reach the bed. He lost track of time in the shower, scrubbing dirt and spots of blood from his hands. The red had circled the drain before trickling down, disappearing as if the night had never happened. Sleep came quickly, taking him the moment his head sunk into the thick hotel pillow.

Ferris found himself on the casino floor. The space was empty, the slots mute and lifeless without a patron in sight. Only one machine had been left on, its screen flickering in gold and white.

“Demos?”

There was no answer. The machine trilled forth a mechanical song, beckoning, tempting. Ferris’ hands tightened and it was only then he noticed the coin in his palm.

It was a bronze token, its face bearing a ring of stars and a single, embossed word. Lucky. He turned it in his hands, his finger trailing over the striped rim. The slot machine jangled once more, casting a glow over the dark, wide floor. Slowly, he approached. His pupils constricted at the glaring light. Hesitantly, he balanced the edge of the coin on the slot. It dropped in with a clink, plunging through the maze of interior mechanisms. His hand drifted to the lever, closing around the cool, metal handle.

He took a breath, then pulled.

The screen rattled as each of the patterns rolled past his vision. Bells and diamonds flashed through — vague, blurred shapes behind the glass. One after another, the wheels stopped to depict five perfect symbols in a row. Five ghosts.

The machine fell silent. No tokens spilled forth, nor did a single light flicker in response. Ferris stared, wondering if it was broken, or if—

There was a gurgle. He glanced down just in time to see a trail of red oozing from the coin tray. It thickened, dripping down the facade and pooling on the thin carpet below. Ferris took a step backwards.

The blood swelled, gushing, choking from the machine. The pool spread. The warmth had been sucked from the air, from his body, leaving his skin cold as he took another step away. Red lapped the soles of his shoes. He could smell it, taste it, the sweet flavor of old copper and must. There was a rattle as crimson stained bits forced their way into the tray. Bones — finger bones, teeth, and chunks of fractured joints. Ferris’ next breath wouldn’t come, trapped in his throat, leaving him heaving for air.

Something woke up him. The breath he had longed for finally came, filling his chest with a long, cold gasp. The usual paralysis, however, was absent. He could move — feel. There was warmth on his hand, a voice somewhere above his ears.

“Wake up.”

He opened his eyes. Through the dim space between them, Ferris could see a familiar face just above his. Demos hovered over him, his palm tight over Ferris’ hand.

“It was a dream.” Demos’ voice was soft. “Just a dream.”

Ferris tried to slow his breathing, to calm the shiver in his arms. He failed, unable to do anything but stare at the man above him.

Demos eased himself closer, allowing Ferris’ head to rest on the edge of his leg. “It’s okay. You’re fine. Everything’s fine.”

The words reaching Ferris’ ears had little meaning, vague and muddled in his wavering state. The tone, however, was overpowering. The slow, warm, repetition, guiding him back to consciousness, reminding him that he was safe. After a moment, he managed a careful exhale. His vision cleared, yet there was only one thing he could focus on.

“Demos,” he said, his mouth dry.

Demos clenched Ferris’ fingers, coaxing his nerves into stillness. As the seconds ticked by, Ferris could feel his pulse slowing, calming.

“You said my name.”

Ferris swallowed. “I just—“

“In your dream.”

There was a silence as he scoured his memory, thinking past the blood, past the blinding light of the slot machine.

“You weren’t there.”

“I am now.”

It was true — he was there. Ferris had lost count of the nights, the hundreds of nights he had woken alone, unable to move, his joints locked beneath sweat and chilled skin. He had gotten so used to the process that this, this presence, felt like another dream altogether.

Demos’ eyes shifted to the window. “You shouldn’t have watched.”

“I needed to.”

Ferris turned his head, noticing how thin Demos’ leg felt beneath him. He was small, the type of body that could be broken in two with a single snap. Yet, somehow, he seemed immortal. Ferris’ fingers twitched before returning the grasp on Demos’ hand. They sat for a while, both quiet as they waited for the other to say something.

Ferris finally spoke, his voice weak. “Why did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Make out with that guy.”

Demos paused. It didn’t seem to be the answer he was expecting. “I was…”

The air conditioner crooned beneath the window, drawing a flutter from the curtains.

“I was lonely, okay?”

“Lonely? But—“

“I heard what you said.” Demos closed his eyes. “On the phone — that you were talking to nobody. A colleague.”

It took Ferris a moment to recall his conversation. It felt so old, as if it had happened years ago.

“I couldn’t just— Demos, how could you believe that? For even a second?”

Demos sighed, his lap shifting under Ferris’ head. “I know. I know. It was stupid.”

“I just wasted an entire night in the woods digging a corpse-hole because you couldn’t keep it in your pants. You have to— you must know what you are to me.”

“Something?”

“Everything.”

Demos opened his eyes. He searched his friend’s face, unable to read his expression. It was only when Ferris realized the extent of his answer that he felt himself redden. Luckily, the room was dark. Ferris broke eye contact, unable to take another second of it.

“I— I wish the bar was open.”

Demos gave a faint smile. “You could use a drink. I’ll buy you one tomorrow.”

“After this royal fuck-up, you owe me a lot more than a drink.”

“All right,” Demos said, squeezing the hand beneath his. “Two drinks.”