There’s a place for mourning, but I’ve never known it long enough for comforting myself—the girl wanted to cry and I could scarcely move and when I did work the courage to exercise my muscles, I found the task possibly too great but eventually leveled myself into a sitting position; I was burned badly—the skin of my body up the left side of my body stung like hell and my jacket remained on me only by fate because it was so burned through that it hung off me like a dry heavy rag. The left side of my face didn’t feel right, and I didn’t dare to ask the mourning girl what damage there was.

When I did speak, I croaked out for help in getting to my feet and Gemma, seemingly remembering me, cut her eyes in my direction; there was something nasty in her and it took no prodding from me to get from her the nastiness.

“How many people need to die so you live?” she asked it bluntly and petted the dog that remained by her side. It was the question I’d asked myself so many times already. I didn’t have the answer for her. She added, “Maybe if you’d done something.” Her head shook and twinkles remained in her eyes; the dog went from her, trotted across the dry earth, and sniffed the corpse of the Alukah—or what remained of the beast anyhow.

Somehow, in the last moments of the boy’s life, he’d gotten a shot off on the thing, but whatever the struggle, it seemed too late to save his own life. “Help me up?” I asked the girl again.

Gemma opened her mouth like she wanted to say something then stopped, clapped her mouth shut then she angled herself onto her own feet from where she’d been sitting and moved to me, and I climbed her arm to stand. My left leg was hobbled near useless beneath me and so I held around the girl’s neck on that side, and she walked me near the terrible scene where the boy lay beside his kill.

Trouble, being a dog, did what a hungry dog does and sniffed the boy’s body and pushed its snout where the open throat was, the place where the head should’ve been; in a moment I was let go and fell to the ground, landing hard on my knees; the pain which jolted through me as I slammed onto the ground sent my vision white entirely and only once I’d blinked I realized the girl had gone after the dog. She lifted her leg, and the end of her boot met the animal’s ribs, “Get away from it!” she shrieked at the animal. It squealed perhaps more from surprise than hurt and scampered towards the road, but remained yards out, watching us with its head lowered.

“It’s only a dog,” I tried.

She ignored me and was to the ground too, beside the fallen boy. I sat and watched, and she punched the dirt till finally she did cry, and it was heavy; the girl’s shoulders rolled and her whole-body shook, and she clapped her hands across her mouth like she didn’t dare scream. “We should bury him,” she said through a terrible muffle, “Burn him?” she posed the question to the air over her head. “We can’t leave him out here for anything to get. We can’t carry him. Something should be done about it.”

“Help me up.”

“And?” she twisted around where she knelt, a long expression, elderly, deep with grief, “We won’t make it.”

I shifted under my knees to relieve pressure from my left leg and nodded.

“No food. No water. Andrew’s dead,” she pushed her fingers into the dry earth by her hand and brought up a clump of it, letting it fall through her fist.

“I told you to stay home.”

She chucked the dirt at me and spat, “Shut up! You would’ve probably given him up long ago if you’d travelled this way with him alone. Coward!” She sobbed more.

I finally put myself into a seat on the dirt, tried to lift my arms to support my chin, but through the coughing, through the pain in my ribs, I could not—my vision listed lazily across to the dog and it still looked on at us, sniffing the ground, moving in semicircles, but slowly closing the gap between where it had run from us.

“You’re not a coward,” she said, “You’re not, but I hate you so badly.” Her voice was a dry growl.

I looked again at the boy’s corpse then at her. “I’m sorry. It looks like I’ve put you in a real bad spot.” I laid back tentatively, nursing my sides. A dirt nap would’ve done me well. “Take Trouble. Get on without me then. Just go west. If you’re quiet, you could travel at night.” I sighed and stared at the blue sky, the wisps of clouds. “Go quick. Follow the big road. I-40. Maybe there’s signs that say it—there once was. Follow it west until you see Babylon. It’d be hard to miss. Three or four days if you push it.” I sighed again. “If you’re quiet, you can travel at night. Quiet and low. Watch for fiends. Keep Trouble close. Quick now.”

I’d closed my eyes, and I heard her shift and then I felt a shadow over me; upon opening my eyes, Gemma stared down at me—a long frown was traced across the lower half of her face.

She blinked for a long second. “Get up,” she said, “Get up. I’m not going to drag you all the way there, so get up.”

I put out my hand for a lift and was surprised by both her finesse and her strength; she slipped beneath my arm, and we moved to the body—she said bye and stopped only for a moment to lift the shotgun beside him—she slid the strap over her own shoulder while I awkwardly held to her lightly by the shoulder. She called Trouble and the mutt came after at a distance.

We took down the road worse than tired, but the stink of the dead beast remained in my nose; the Alukah was dead—what other foul creatures remained ahead?

Delirious hours went by until it was night, and I could scarcely gather myself to know what direction I was headed; Gemma found someplace, some hole somewhere for us to sleep. Then it was day again and all I knew was that one leg fell after the other in a gross tandem limp. Consciousness was blinks like weird time travel, and it was only when it was night again and we’d found a dead old tree sticking from the ground—that image remains—and we sat by its massive trunk and looked out on the road (the road I thought was the I-40) and I’d only just closed my eyes when I felt something pressed to my mouth.

“Drink,” said Gemma.

I latched to the opening of whatever gourd or canteen she had, clamping my eyes tighter because if it was a dream, I didn’t want to know. I drank and drank until she yanked it from my grasp.

There beneath the tree, black like it was at night, a moment of cool clarity came to me; the water starvation had taken its toll. “Where’d you get that?” was all I could hope to ask.

The girl whispered, “I wanted it, and it was. It just was.”

I slept with the dog across my lap; I could feel no more pain from my left leg, but the smell of the wound tipped that it was likely festering. What should I do if I were to lose a leg?

The night we slept beneath the tree, I had a terrible nightmare about a boy in flames and I couldn’t tell if the boy was me or someone else; recollecting tends to obscure whatever original message there is in dreams and the further they’re recalled, the runnier they become. Maybe the boy was me or it was Maron, or it was Andrew. It doesn’t matter. What I know is that none of it’s good.

In waking, I remember only small pieces: the sound of others, the smell of horse manure, the smoke from an oil carriage. Someone took my pants and threw blankets over me. I rocked prone in the back of an oil carriage and Gemma sat alongside me and the driver spoke with her, but I don’t remember what was said. A dog barked—Trouble?

I tasted medicine and water—there was the stink of salve.

The hum of the oil carriage was broken by a moment of Gemma pushing me with her hand hard and she whispered, “The arch!” and I knew what she meant.

I had not another moment of clear thought until I awoke in a near sterile room. Whatever pain was in my body radiated rather than stung and I could see from the high bed the window which looked out on a wide city street from stories high. I blinked and for a moment wished a great catastrophe would take me from the delusion—it was no delusion and within moments, I accepted this and tried to raise myself to a sit.

My left leg was wrapped and looked strangely pale where it was left without a blanket and my sides ached and I felt dizzy. Blistered scarring ran like bumpy rivers up the left side of my body. I wanted to vomit, pushed myself against the head of the bed and steadied my breathing then called out a sickly question of hello.

From the far corner of the room, a woman in a wizard hat pushed her head through the doorway to look on me then rushed in to ask me how I was, and I told her, and she said to relax.

A light vegetable platter was brought with a pitcher of water, and I couldn’t eat enough for it to matter, but I drank plenty so that I refilled my cup several times.

Suzanne spilled through the doorway, a concerned expression locked on their face and they put those eyes right on me and I couldn’t squirm away and then the eyes softened and Suzanne approached the bed, waved the other wizard away and they sat on the bed by my leg and for a moment I thought I’d aged them by my presence because the shadow that cut across their brow when they glanced away twisted that stunning glow into a far caricature. Then Suzanne smiled a bit and touched my hand and they whispered, “They’ve not given you a mirror?” They nodded, “Sedatives.”

They reached into their flowy robes to withdraw a hand mirror and pushed it into my outstretched hand.

I’d set myself on fire, so it wasn’t so much a surprise when I saw the scarred skin where the flames had eaten their way up my body; the left side of my face was unrecognizable, purple, and still blistered. I touched the place there and traced my fingers along the scars till I came to the place where my ear normally sat—it was a shriveled scabby thing. The corners of my mouth glanced upward even though I felt different about it. I sat the mirror to my lap and looked at Suzanne.

They squeezed my hand. “You were late—very late—but I didn’t know why. I thought you were dead.” They stared at the floor again. “You’ve had a terrible fever for more than a week. It didn’t seem as though you’d wake.”

“Am I ugly now?”

Those hazel eyes met my own and I couldn’t hide my smile even though my eyes began to water—I blinked the wet away. Suzanne visibly bit their tongue and shook their head. “You were always ugly.”

I choked on laughter and held onto my ribs; the mirror clattered from my lap to the floor and Suzanne reached for it to deposit the thing back into their robes. They chuckled too and their shoulders relaxed even though the dark circles on their eyes remained, the tired look of a person—had they lost sleep for me?

I reached out and grabbed their hand as hard as I could manage—maybe I hoped for an electric jolt to go along with what I tried to convey, “I love you,” I said it so suddenly; I tried latching.

Just as suddenly, they snaked their own hand from mine and held their fingers together, locked across their knees. “Don’t,” they said, “You said you wouldn’t.”

My head shook, “I mean it. I love you.”

“You’ll stay?”

“I’ve got one more thing to do. One more trip.”

They stood from the bed, visibly shaking.

“One more,” I pleaded, “Then I’ll come, and I’ll stay.”

“Where are you going to go?” Their outrage exploded full force—their hands became fists by their sides, and they took a step from the bed, and I felt myself flinch. “Where could you go in that state?” They motioned at me wildly, “Tell me!”

“I ain’t gonna’ leave right away.”

“You’re delusional. Have they doped you into stupidity?” They screamed.

“This is the first time in a long time that I know what I gotta’ do.”

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“No, I don’t think you’ve ever understood what you need to do,” they shook their head then held it in their palm, “No.”

“Please listen to me.”

“I won’t.” And they didn’t; they left the room, slamming the door behind them.

The pain came and went and sometimes it was really so miserable that I couldn’t sleep a wink and I’d spend eternities staring at the dark ceiling in the night and I’d smell the fresh air of Babylon—Alexandria carried in through the window. I’d decided that even if they took my leg because of an infection, I’d strap a peg on and continue on my way; it became a paramount goal in my mind to heal up, get back to Golgotha, and undo what had bothered me for so long. The wizards, with their tonics, their salves, and capsule medicines, took good care of me during my recovery and I was even able to plead a bit of liquor from the attendants to help me sleep through some of those long nights.

The days of bed rest stretched to the point of oblivion and boredom—not even the television on the wall could take my mind from the humdrum (books helped, but it was difficult to focus through the medication for long). Suzanne ceased their visiting, but Gemma came and brought Trouble with her, and the dog became fatter every time I saw it; the girl said the mutt remained anxious and often urinated unprovoked in inappropriate places, but the animal slept okay.

Upon Gemma’s first visit to me she was still a patient in recovery, and she came alone and sat in a chair alongside the bed and told me how I was a low-down liar, and I was.

“I asked about good places in the world, and you knew about this,” said the girl, “You knew about it the whole time.”

“Your dad wanted you home. I was gonna’ take you home. The way it was.” I frowned at myself.

A pang of sadness crept into the corner of her eyes, and she nodded it away, “We made it though.”

I sighed. “There was a time when we were travelling, and I was out of it. You found water. Where’d you find water?”

She cupped her hands, angled forward in the chair so that her elbows rested on her knees. “It just happened. At first, I thought it was something I’d forgotten about—like I’d be so dumb as to forget that I had a whole waterskin—but it just appeared. It just was.” Gemma seemed to think about it for a while—upon watching her there sitting, I noticed that the scars which decorated her skin had healed to the point of faint discolorations and I briefly wondered how long ago that was. “The people here. The pointy hats. They do things like that all the time here. I saw a little girl in the street earlier and she could pull candies from thin air. Things aren’t and then they are. Ish—the old doctor, I guess, that’s been watching over your recovery—he tended to me too—I asked him about it, and he said that lots of people can manifest—that’s what he called it—and that it happens when people are put under extreme pressure. He said quart-of-Saul causes it and once you’ve done it, you can learn how to control it willingly. With time. Like a skill.”

“So, you’re a wizard?”

“I don’t know,” she shook her head, seemingly in disbelief, “Ish said it can be fatal if pushed to its limits. He said that if it’s left unsupervised, it can lead to renal failure—that’s what he said. Lots of the people in this building are here because of it,” she whispered, “The patients here, they have a gray look to them—their skin.” Gemma paused and swiped her hands through her close-cut hair, “How much can a person manifest?”

I clenched my jaw. “The boy?”

She nodded.

“Don’t do it. Don’t you even think about it.”

Gemma swallowed long and audible. “You’re right.” She relaxed into the chair and crossed her arms across her chest, “You said the libraries were big, but I didn’t know there were pictures like what they’ve got.”

“Movies?”

She nodded. “It’s a ridiculous place. I like it. He would’ve liked it. It’s nothing like home. You know, I always thought they cast spells or had some secret pact with demons.” The young girl, looking more like one than ever before, pushed her face into her hands and rubbed her eyes and peered through the cracks of her fingers to look at the television on the wall; her expression remained with the still object briefly before she removed her hands, and she frowned and looked at me again. Gemma’s face hinted at sickliness.

“I can relax,” said the girl, “I can breathe more easily than I have in all my life and that’s because of you,” her frown deepened, “I won’t ever know Andrew’s touch or his smile again and that’s because of you too,” she put up her hand as I opened my mouth in protest, “I do not hate you. I don’t. I can see things better now. Andrew may have been destined to die,” she shook her head, “He had joy and that’s too much for this world.”

Finally, she smiled, “I would’ve died at home. He would have. I know you didn’t let him die. His death is on us both. Dave too. How have you lived with yourself all these years with such a burden, Harlan?”

Under her direct, cool stare I felt more uncomfortable than ever and shifted in the bed. “I don’t think I have.” The answer wasn’t enough but felt honest.

“You shouldn’t act so pitiable all the time.”

Time passed and I did not ache deeply so often.

Isher, the wizened wizard, wore a long beard and kept a tight leathery cap over his crown and moved slowly but spoke in abrupt chirps whenever he came to aid me. He helped me from the bed—as he had begun to do often—and I hobbled slowly with his meager support, and he moved me to the window where I took the wall for support to look on Alexandria from a high point—I’d never seen it from that direction—and the place looked magnificent. Perhaps it was not the magnificence of the place, but the sheer gratitude I felt in seeing it at all. Narrow streets cut through tightly packed stone structures and buildings matched the attire of their citizens with conical pitched roofs. Aqueducts rushed downhill freely and there was music and shows and laughter—I’d never noticed the laughter before. Though the wizard bureaucracy and parliamentary arrangement felt distasteful to me, I could not help but appreciate that I did not smell lingering death; there would be no public executions. When executions happened, it would happen somewhere dark and silent, and no one could look on the dead or defile the corpses (at least not openly).

“You’re quite resilient,” quipped Ish.

I smiled, “I reckon.”

“Suzanne asks about you still.”

“Where have they been?”

“They say it’s painful because you’re leaving. I told them you won’t be leaving until I’ve said so.” The old wizard wiggled his upper lip to dance the mustache there then swiped a hand down his waist-length beard.

“Will my leg heal right, doc?”

He nodded, “You shouldn’t travel for some time. You should stay. There is room.”

I cast my gaze through the window again and saw that he spoke honestly; there was more than enough room there in Alexandria. Their walls were tall, strong, well kept—even clean. Along the skyline, I saw the massive arch which stood higher than all else (the gateway to the west). “You’re very old,” I told Ish.

He snickered and nodded, “Thanks.”

“I mean, you’ve seen enough to know that some things must be done. Don’t you have any regrets?”

“Everyone does,” he said.

“I’ve got one. A big one.”

“You intend on making it right then?”

I nodded.

“If you leave—I’ve not left the city for ages, but I know its dangers well. If you leave, you will likely perish. Is it worth it? You will have ruined the time I’ve spent on your recovery. Worse, you will make at least one person greatly sad. Weigh it. How great is this regret?” He sighed, squeezed my sore shoulder only to release it upon seeing me wince, “You’ve said I’m old and I am. You’ve asked of my regrets. All of us that reach an age have many beyond number and each of us knows that to regret so greatly and live in the past would be a waste of the time we’ve left. Those of us with sense, anyway.”

“So?”

“Don’t be stupid. You’ve the wrinkles and the grays, so there’s no reason for you to play the role of a child.” He sighed once more. “The choices of your life are your own, of course. I will do what a doctor does, but I beg you to not cause unnecessary grief.”

We sat quietly, looking out on the skyline, listening to the cityscape, merely enjoying the glow of the sun.

“You intend on grief?” asked Ish.

“As always,” I said.

Once I was able enough to move on my own, I did so no better than the invalid I’d become and although the people of Babylon were cheery, I did my absolute best to keep from them, maintaining a level of distance. Among the walks I took through the streets, cane in hand, arduous steps, Gemma accompanied me with the dog Trouble, and I felt the girl followed me not because of her care for me but because of familiarity—pity too. I took to the streets at night, customarily to smoke and to take in the cool air; the city lights, predominantly electric, awed the girl still even though she’d spent better than a month there and I saw those lights perhaps for the first time in the way they illuminated her wide eyes. She’d catch me catching her glued to the electric lights and shrug and then she’d piddle about this or that and she talked of Andrew all the time and asked how I felt about things, and I didn’t feel much besides pain which ached through my bones. But I was kind as much as I could be and lied about how I felt.

We’d taken to the foot of the arch, nearest the place where there were cross marks to keep people from tampering with the monument, and I watched the great thing overhead and she did too and I took to a nearby bench; the streets were different from Golgotha both in concept and execution—they were mostly paved and kept clean, relatively. Where Golgotha stood as a testament to human survival, Alexandria was a place of innovation, creativity; it was as though it was a place constructed for living. The walls of buildings had cornices, graffities, there was craftsmanship and flourishes where there was woodwork and where there wasn’t a place for enlightenment through creation, there was at least the growth of trees or hedges lining the avenues; the sound of rushing water was pleasant—aqueducts, free piping.

I finished the cigarette I had and tapped the cane against the ground between my feet and she sat alongside me, ushering Trouble to herself where she withdrew some snack from her pocket, and she fed the dog.

“The first thing you thought of after waking was immediately leaving. I didn’t know someone could be so dumb,” she said.

I smiled and nodded. “Sure.”

“I wish you wouldn’t be so dumb.”

“It’s not stupidity that takes me home. It’s—none of your business.”

“I could go with you?”

I shook my head.

“Why not?”

“I’ll be damned if I need to watch you across the wasteland again. I’m done with that. You’re a sorry travelling companion.”

Gemma looked solemn before a smile that might’ve been imagined and then there was silence; moonglow caught in her lengthening hair—it no longer sat so closely to her skull and her face seemed fuller than I’d ever seen it before. Her complexion was clear enough that I could see she owned freckles across her nose. Or maybe I was only then noticing them; her scars—the marks from Baphomet—were nearly gone entirely. “It’s easy to deflect it, isn’t it?”

“Mm.”

“Ish said you’re a fool. Suzanne’s angry with you. Should I be angry at you?” she asked, but before I could say anything, she continued, “Maybe I should. I’m not mad and I don’t think you’re dumb, not really.” She lifted her leg up so that she could sit atop her left foot while lounging there on the bench alongside me. “You’re stuck in the past. Like me. I wake up scared almost every night and reach out in the darkness and—” Trouble nuzzled the girl’s hand, and Gemma petted the dog’s nose delicately with her thumb, “Yes, Trouble’s there to comfort me. But I wake up and I can’t breathe. Sometimes I think I’m going to strangle the poor girl from a bear hug before I can get myself under control. The worst is that I wake up—once I’ve figured out where I am, I know there isn’t anything to be afraid of, but I am. Even knowing I’m here doesn’t help. You’re family?” She left the last bit as a question, and it remained in the air for the quiet.

I took in a gulp of the night and nodded.

“If you are going to go,” she paused to casually examine my left leg along with my cane as though to emphasize her point, “If you can go, then please come back.”

I didn’t look at her. “Thank you.”

Many months passed until I could stand without becoming unbearably dizzy and the cane became almost vestigial, almost—I still required the thing over long periods of time or whenever I felt particularly weak.

I did not speak to Suzanne as much as I would have liked; I did not speak to them at all for a long time.

I caught them in the library, among cartridges of digitized media, in the back rooms of the place, caught in dust and darkness. “I’ll be leaving in a week,” I told them.

They didn’t even raise their head from the table where they catalogued what new treasures had been plundered. My presence had no effect whatsoever.

My chest filled up and I tried, “People talk about love all the time and I know that there’s better people to say it than me.” I slumped in the doorway to the back rooms, holding the frame of the threshold for support. “I wish I had better, prettier words for it. Poets talk about meeting the one they love over and over because two lovers are destined to meet infinitely through many lives. That’s nice.” I nodded to myself while Suzanne lifted a box from a table, shifted it to floor, then turned their attention to the next box. “I don’t know how I feel about life after this. Or God. Maybe. I know we’ve got this life and maybe that’s all we’ve got—if that’s the case then I’m glad I know you. I’m glad I love you.”

Finally, Suzanne spoke, “You should go lie down and gather your strength for when you leave.” They didn’t even look at me.

“Look at me?”

They did not.

“Please.”

Suzanne offered a mere glance in my direction.

“I will come back to you.”

It would have been good to get a goodbye and better to have them tell me they wanted me back or that they loved me too, but there was nothing.

There’s no blame for Suzanne.

Before I went off, the wizards said bye to me and showed in greater force than I would’ve imagined. There was a throng of them gathered at the entrance to Poplar Bridge; one gathered themselves away from the others and played a ditty off a harmonica and others seemed to want to wish me well with small trinkets or salutations. Gemma came with Trouble and Ish admonished me on my way out; they brought me a carriage, one which ran off oil, and Gemma gave me my shotgun.

“We cleaned it—they cleaned it,” said the girl, “Replaced the strap. You shouldn’t run out of anything.” Her eyes fell on the wagon which hummed to life under the guide of a short wizard woman that fiddled with its controls from the perched seat.

“Thanks,” I said.

Gemma pulled me into a tight hug, and I hugged her back. “I’ll see you,” she said confidently.

I scratched Trouble on her cheeks and then pulled the dog into a hug too, lifting the dumb mutt from the ground a bit in doing so; I lost my footing and found it and the dog dropped and pushed in close to my legs to swing its ass widely in excitement.

Ish slapped a hand on my shoulder and the strength in his grip was weirdly great. “You can still change your mind.”

I shook my head. “Will Suzanne be here?”

It was the old wizard’s turn to shake his head, but he stopped then looked at the wagon. “How do you think it is we can afford to offer you that for travel? Oh!” Ish motioned to a nearby wizard and the young person came forward to offer something to his hands, “Suzanne wanted you to have these. At least.” The old man held out one of the signature dramedy masks in one hand and a wizard hat in the other. They looked familiar. “Incognito.” The old man tapped his nose with his forefinger. He looked at me seriously. “Be careful. I wish my Suzanne could’ve found a better someone, but if it’s to be you—come back.” Ish pulled me into a hug, patted me on the back hard.

I drove into the morning, across Poplar Bridge, over the dead Mississippi. Towards revenge? To my brother.

Loneliness had once been an ally—we’d become foreigners. With nothing more than the hum of the carriage and my own company, I became deranged beyond anything before.