THE DEVOURER
Chapter VIII
THE GODS OF GHOST RIVER
“I felt myself being invaded through and through,
I crumpled, disintegrated, and only emptiness remained.”
- Stanislaw Lem, Solaris
••••
Lit ambient against the gibbous moon, shapes of the desert flow in a current of motion. Sickeningly sweet, the flavor of summer permeates through my nostrils into my sinus, passing to the tip of my tongue… Something’s wrong, sensations unfamiliar to me, electrical signals slightly out of place, the chemicals in my head potent and visceral. I catch a glimpse of my fingers rim lit in the glow against a steering wheel, muscular hands, hair thicker than my own peppering along their backs. Not my hands… this body, a wrong body… I’m a stranger in someplace… someone.
A quiet highway. Excitement… flooding through me. I could go on to Las Ricas, 50k of cash in my pocket and 100k in product hidden in the frame of my car, ya, I could go far in that town. Ya… Soon, but I want to drive some of these back roads a lil’ bit longer, in case there’s one or two loose ends. I look packed for camping. Nothing to tie me to nothing. Then, partying and bitches. And more bitches for me too… Nice!
Bitches? Las Ricas?... Nico? Am I in his head… his frame. Subjected to the disgusting terrain of his thoughts, ownership of my own mind ripped from me, spinning out of control… simply a passenger?
No word on my killings. Good. Dizzy’s car ditched, his body torched. Ghost Man, that fucking sad piece of shit, is very dead. If the gunshot didn’t kill him, the river sure did. I cackle to myself. Everything solved. Fuckers’re outta the way.
A wave of anger, his disdain for me hurts worse than the burning bullet he punched through my back.
I flick a cigarette out the window of my open top. The summer night is bomb. What a fucking thing to be alive. My car is so damn hot, this’ll get me bitches for sure. Can’t let this dick go to waste.
Rage grips me, “I’M DONE! FUCK YOU!”
I wait, but to no reaction, not even a muscle spasm pulls the fixed sneer on his smug face. Sighing, no air escapes my… his lips, I’m my own silenced voice in someone else’s brain. His fucking spider braids are irritating, itching the forehead that isn’t my own. None of it’s mine, a claustrophobic prison of flesh and bone. Aside from the pain of the last few days, this might be the most torturous experience of my sad little life. Nothing feels okay, the foreign heart in my chest beats with the wrong tempo, half a step faster than it should, endorphins coursing through me, overstimulation, but I’m not even given the dignity to shift away from it.
I fucking hate nature. Boring as shit. But, this night is killer, what a fucking view. Might be nice to come back. But I prolly won’t. I need to feed the thirst. Give it a lil’ time, this shit’ll get boring too.
Graphic sexual imagery flashes into my… his mind’s eye? I try with all of my might to claw my way out of… his skull, my fingers digging through the thin eggshell of bone, my snout piercing through to the crisp arid night, heaving a deep breath, greedily accepting the clean wild air into my wanting lungs… to no avail. His abhorrent ruminations, fixated on carnage and possession… humiliation, and worse. Fantasies... Or memories? It doesn’t even fucking matter, the cognition too outlandish to even hold a resemblance to my own desires. Nauseous, I pray for an end as anxiety encircles me in vicious coils, strangling the last of my free will… Dizzy… Dizzy dead, thrown away, just disposable trash, to Nico… how everyone is to Nico. He’s empty, all that’s there is a manic Id, a shell of a man, all yawning hunger, desperate for sensation, devoid of anything else. Will I forever be a prisoner, with Nico as my sadistic meat jailer? An eternity, relinquished to his chaos, I don’t even have the grace to kill myself, I’m helpless, less than a ghost.
A bunch of red eyes in the dark. Holy fuck! My headlights illuminate deer in the road. Three does, one buck. Scattering all over the place.
“YA BITCH, YOU BETTER RUN,” I hoot, throwing an empty energy drink at them. Bet it would be fun to run ‘em down. But, they’d prolly fucking reek, like Dizzy. Dizzy started to smell, and lighting him up, his smell didn’t get much better. Murder would be way more fun without the smell, such bullshit. It doesn’t smell good like sex, if murder smelled like sex, life would be complete.
If I could bang my head against a wall, I would, until the grey matter spilled from my cranium. With all of my will, I attempt to regain control… move his pinky finger, I visualize it twitching, imagining the zing of nerves firing, the electricity stimulating muscle and ligament… Nothing… This is so fucked.
The road winds. Sharp-eyed. Deer strike would fuck up my car for sure. Ain’t gunna have that shiz.
Through the lenses of Nico’s hazel eyes, the road looks familiar. An eerie gleam emanates from the desert rocks. I’ve been here before… I walked it. Oh… This is the night, the night he found me in the darkness. When I meet my dead end. Navan’yu... violent eyes. Nico dies tonight, and I’m Nico.
Blind panic. I want out. No more than an animal trying to chew off its own foot to escape the trap that binds it. But, I’m only a mind. I can’t bite or claw myself away from anything.
Ugh fuck, I’m hungry. Maybe, I’ll snack on something on my way to Las Ricas. Naw, better not go into town. Damn, that’d be fucking stupid.
“NICO, MOTHERFUCKER! TURN AROUND!” I yell into his head. My hatred for him masked by my own alarm, self-preservation kicking in. Silence. He can’t hear me. Not a tick or a flinch. Despair, there’s nothing I can do, can’t even close his eyes or turn away from the formless horror awaiting down this lonely road.
My beautiful machine turns a corner. There’s a shape up ahead. A white tank top, blood, black baggy shorts, greasy long black hair. Well, I’ll be damned. He’s alive? How da fuuuck? Annoying as fuck! Little bitch couldn’t just stay dead! He’s waving his stupid arms. Dumbass. BUT… I FUCKING SHOT HIM?! Anger turns to that urge. Feed the thirst… Some bullshit about lemonade... how did that shiz go? Throw his corpse off a cliff, that’ll be dope, no one’ll ever find him. Food for coyotes. I cruise, slowing, reaching for the holster against my seat.
At least I’m not the only one baffled by my missing wound, but in this moment though, it’s the least insane thing I’m facing.
“Hey! Hey!” I hear myself yell. Ew, my voice sounds more grating than it does in my head, snarly and rough, my discomfort seeing myself from the outside gripping me.
Watching in dread, the golem of my past pauses, freezes, eyes wide, jaw slack… as my fleshy cage with his loathsome grin exits the idiot machine, that all too familiar gun in hand.
“No no no nO NO NO NO NO,” my outside self bolts into the darkness, those stupid gangly legs going everywhere. Man, the least I could do is die with some grace, this is embarrassing.
Fucking dumbass… this is hilarious. I pull the flashlight from my pocket, clicking it on. Footprints in the sand. Just… too… easy.
“Hey fuknutz, I’m comin’ for you.”
My stomach churns, like the anticipation on the precipice of a rollercoaster, awaiting the drop on the other side. She’s somewhere. Is she close, was she here the whole time? I’m unable to move Nico’s eyes, but I can pull my attention to the periphery of them. My focus doesn’t have to be his, as a passenger. Maybe, I can spot her and try to shut my mind down. Then, I can have some semblance of peace, no confusion, just clarity. The mechanical light blocks out the encroaching darkness, only the path ahead visible.
“Fucker, you think you’re so smart. I see your footprints, dumbass,” I slide through the gap. I’m a hunter. Riley’s my… bitch.
“Shut up, Nico! I am trying to focus,” I get a glimpse of the twinkling sky as Nico is forced to direct the beam to the ground, no looming shapes, besides the mineral guardians of the stone layers. The vague shadow of myself up ahead, maybe a hundred feet, dead end coming, silhouetted in the growing gloom. My second self stops in his tracks. This is going to be rough.
Panting, I’m getting close. Fucker’s gunna die tonight. I’m going to shoot him in the face this round… Ya, no getting up from that. Seals the deal. Make a nice brain splat painting on the rocks, some real quality art.
“You fucking goblin Nico, who thinks shit like that?” it doesn’t matter, no words register. Catching up to my outside self, Nico barely breaks a sweat, the only giveaway to his physical strain, the frenzied thumping of his chest. The cold metal presses against his fingers. I’m freefalling, heart in my throat, but this isn’t mine, it’s his mania. I watch the mirror of me close my eyes, defeated, this was supposed to be my last moment, the barrel of the gun eclipsing my face.
Ugh! Wind knocked out of me. I can’t breathe. Something hits me, it feels like a truck. Confusion. Truck? I spin, tossed into the air, my cool steel leaves my fingers. I’m thrown. Raging, roaring in my ears. Something big leans on my back, crushing me. A bear? DA FUCK, BEARS DON’T LIVE HERE!
Navan’yu…
Something pierces, my back... numb. My body’s asleep. Oh fuck, it’s pushing through me. But no feeling as the thing leaves my front, and touches the ground. Adrenaline courses. No more thirst. Sharp pain! Icy numb pangs… my leg … I can’t move it. Where? Is it missing? Chaos. Fucking Ghost Man, just dumb as shit, da fuck’s he doin’? His face twisted. Motherfucker deserves worse than I was gunna serve him.
I sit in his head… silent. Overwhelmed by the experience of his body breaking.
Fucked up sounds comin’ out my mouth. A huge black head leans into me. Long muzzle, silver eyes, snarling jaws, sticky drool, it muffles my pain with an insane sound. Not bear… demon. I’m gettin’ mauled by a fucking demon? WHAT DA ACTUAL FUCK?!
No, not a demon, but might as well be. Beads of sweat, his, pour past my… his nose. The torment is real, but somehow, my mind doesn’t seem to fully register it. I’ve no skin in this game, it isn’t my death, it’s my escape, an exit from this shitty meat prison.
Up into the night. Cold numbness, in my stomach… my guts. Jaws wrapped around me. Gravity crazy, weightless. Hot breath. Acceleration. Pause, sharp feeling, stubbing a toe, but my whole body. I fall. I hit. No legs. They’re there, but not. No feeling. Disturbing. Metallic taste, bubbles in my mouth. I crawl. Just arms, it’s all I got. Shit… am I dying?
The last push, that last big tumble. Let me curl into a ball and vanish, it’s unjustifiable, cruel, after everything I’ve been through. A rabbit inspired to run, but with no footing to leap into a sprint. My once sentinel, now all wrath, violence incarnate. I once thought Nico was a monster, but this… this thing is far worse.
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Floppy. Vision blurry. The dark turns me. Fuzzy glowing orbs. Something big and wet presses into my face.
“No…” I murmur.
Nothing…
Loud, deep sound, vibrating, hurt. Vision clears. Involuntary screaming. Biting noise. My mind reawakens. I see a little boy, skinny with long black hair, I’m pelting him with small rocks in a creek. Each stone I throw, I feel it leave my hand. Dull pain hits me in the back, his pain... I don’t understand.
Some hot chick, tan, mocha hair. Green eyes, reflected in my phone screen. Her temper rising, her hands shaking. I know what she’s reading, my many texts to other bitches.
“What the fuck is all this?” she glares at me, “You liar!”
That Bitch should know her place. She’s mine. No one fucks with me. No choice, no turning back, I come towards her, calm. She doesn’t move or flinch. I wrap my hands around her throat. A tidal wave of panic hits me. It isn’t mine. I remember being amped... the thirst. But no, it’s her. Pain, struggling, gasping, clawing. My… her confusion, rises with her torment. It’s so awful, I wanna let go, make it stop. Now I’m hurting. Such bullshit, it’s the past! I feel a crunch as my grip crushes something. I slip into darkness.
Swallowing the tears, I’ve no ability to cry, I think I knew her… only in passing. Yeah, Sofia? Maybe? She ran away though… Maybe not… Another person consumed by Nico’s veracious appetites. Remorse spasms through me. I, of all people, should’ve recognized what he was. Paralyzed, I did nothing, maybe had I just done something, maybe... none of this would’ve happened. Grim thoughts… I… don’t deserve to live, letting this predator run unchained, unbound by consequence.
Dizzy turns to me, the tips of his short faux hawk lit by the lights of his car. Fucker and his perfect face and his perfect life. Gunna enjoy poppin’ a cap in his ass. I cock my gun, the thrill of it coursing through me… the thirst.
“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?”
“POP! POP! POP!”
I feel three impacts hit me, my neck. My chest. My stomach. I… he looks back at myself. Anger, shock… disappointment? Hot, zinging sensation. The cold creeping in. No time to think. I crumple. Broken. Blank…
… FUCK THIS! I rage at the sound. Memories end. Blinding light. The monster’s face. All teeth. The sound from its mouth gettin’ louder and louder. Pin-points of torture, like millions of needles, pulling at me. No, it… s… bullshirt! Gods kn…eelll beffffar me, ‘u fu…c...rs n’t t’ke m…e dowm! ‘m al thin…z… ‘mmortal!
Hysteria, I’m being ripped apart, straining against the mercury effulgence, my… his skin and muscle writhing, a shrouded force lifting the molecular structure of his frame somewhere unseen… Rendering it asunder… Attempting to gasp, alleviate the sensation, but I’m powerless, still trapped in his clusterfuck of a mind. Her roar growing more and more jagged, my sanity slipping into the night… this fiend, the savagery… a brutality no living thing should endure. Tiny drops, with the radiance of sunlight, billions of them leaving his frail body, demented fireflies, released to the pitch black of the cold desert. The remaining flesh, wrong, bubbling, oozing, something now far removed from the concept of meat.
Empty Mind
Loose Your Bind
Devourer
Of All Things
Wither
Into My Wings
Draw Your Last Breath
Navan’yu
Be Your Death
••••
CRASH!
My eyes open, bright light burns into my pupils. By impulse, I abruptly pull my hand over my face, shielding me from the day, my palm clammy with perspiration.
“Oh shit, dude! Didn’t mean to wake you up.”
That ring, the all too familiar lyricism of Bobbi’s voice, wait I’m… where am I? Bobbi’s apartment? Raising myself up against the tattered futon cover, little crusty stains and blemishes imbedded in the fabric scrape against my fingertips. I look to my old friend, the remains of a gaudy Talavera-style ceramic cup lay in a heap on the floor by the kitchen table. Mortified, he busily tidies up the shards, hoping I didn’t register the mess.
“Ugh… it’s fine. What happened?”
“Thought you were having a seizure, or something. You were making… these horrible sounds… terrifying really. I kind of freaked out, tried to get over to you, and well, I kind dropped the cup. I’m not losing you on my watch, I’d be a bad friend… ,” Bobbi pauses, collecting his thoughts, “Must’ve been a pretty graphic nightmare… One of those visions the old ones put on us… Cuz it isn’t like our fragile minds can deal with that shit, ya know.”
Ready for his day to start, Bobbi already dressed in his corporate red work uniform, and yet, as I stare blankly at him, I wonder… How? How does he do this? Possession of an empathy so deep, it delves into the fibers of my mind itself, accessing the imperceptible. I could excuse it to some kind of extreme perception, but somehow it doesn’t fit. Could similar things have happened to him?
“Just the normal ‘left to die in the desert’ stuff… I guess,” I smile.
Bobbi glares at me, he doesn’t buy it, hastily, he disposes of the bits of his broken mug. Not as broken as Nico… obliterated, not even a shard of himself left to be meaningful. I shudder, wrapping my arms around my knees, touching the black and white plaid of my donated pajama bottoms. I must’ve kicked off the elegantly weft wool blanket in the night, geometric patterns spilling onto the floor. The soft morning sun, slowly rising East over the Vermillion Hills.
“What time is it?”
“About six-fifteen,” Bobbi looks at his flip phone, “I’m going to get some breakfast going but, I’m out of here at eight. Won’t be back until tonight. There’s some food in the freezer. Have at it while I’m gone.”
“Do you want help? With the…”
“No no man! Your main job is to just sit and heal right now. Give it a week though, I will put you to work for sure,” he winks at me.
My back hurts as I pull through my tensed muscles, a byproduct of my terrible dream and couch surfing. Yeah, just a dream, that’s all it is, my consciousness a door off its hinges that I’m attempting to patch with a roll of duct tape. Eh, at least I haven’t tried to consume my own fingers yet… small achievements, a nugget of sanity remains. On my feet, the view beyond the glass looks inviting, I reach for the sliding door as I hear the distinctive tone of an egg cracking somewhere in the kitchen.
The concrete of the porch sits frigid through my new wool socks, the Vermillion Hills are grey and colorless, backlit against the new daylight. Squinting, I see subtle variations in the rich patterns of the ancient sediment, a crispness that informs me that all of this isn’t a hallucination. Magnificent, the landscape is drawing me in, pulling me somewhere mysterious. If this were a mousetrap, then the view would be the delicious aged cheddar that would lead me to my doom.
My stomach gurgles uncomfortably… I guess I’m hungry. Turning to see what Bobbi is cooking up, a dark shape far off in the corner of the patio catches my eye, a stack of something. No memory of it being here the previous evening, I peer at the unexpected… objects? The bottom is lined with black knit cloth, next, a familiar onyx imitation leather wallet… a silver flip phone… and an innocuous stone figurine. I lift the things to my face and nearly drop them, these… these are mine. My beanie, tattered and crusty with sand, a minute amount of crunch to it, consistent with something wet that baked in the hot sun for a day or two. Opening the wallet, it still holds my ID, my tribal card intact, and maybe fifty bucks inside. Looks worse for wear, but everything is readable. WHAT THE HELL? I look to the phone, the screen cracked, water sloshing inside the device. The hat and the cell are useless, but relief swells within me, at least I can start my life again with the wallet back, proof in a conventional way, that I exist.
Still doesn’t explain the appearance of it. Bobbi could’ve… or Marta... I… I stare off into the ominous shadows of the hills… she… she’s there, somewhere, an uninvited voyeur, out of sight, waiting. Navan’yu…
“I know you’re there,” I mutter to myself maliciously.
A chill runs though the air, a quick gust that settles, leaving the dawn in stillness. Picking up the little carving, it glistens, tawny striated jasper, tooled into the shape of a fuzzy moth. Its enticing wide eyes and folded wings expertly sculpted into the stone. I run my fingers along the grooves, the pleasant sensation of the lines and polished rock, gliding against the ridges of my hands. Turning the base of the figure, I observe that it’s imbued with a tiny petroglyph, a single spiral. The pressure, a dam threatening to break, my temper rises, overwhelm fracturing my smooth exterior.
“GO AWAY!” my voice cracks as I huck the tiny figurine off into the desert, “I JUST WANT PEACE. WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT WITH ME? PISS OFF, YOU HEAR ME? LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE! I NEVER WANTED THIS. I NEVER WANTED… YOU!”
Noiselessness, no response, just me, the wilderness, and my frenzied shouting.
Clomp clomp clomp!
Bobbi’s hurried footsteps coming to the door, sliding the glass ajar, he pokes his head into the fresh morning air, his round bright demeanor twisted with concern, “Ummm, is everything… alright? Having one of those cathartic moments or something?”
I quickly cover my distress, “No, I’m just mad at myself… I… I found my wallet and junk, I guess they were in those big bottom pockets of my shorts… I forgot to check there.”
“Uh huh. Welp, breakfast is pretty much ready, you might as well come inside,” his eyebrows raised… a little too high, he’s unconvinced, but he’ll let it slide… for now.
I tread after him, on the balls of my feet, giving O’chohca one last over-the-shoulder stink eye. Done with all of this, finished, I just want things to be normal again. I’m not sure if they even could be? One can hope. As I traverse the living room, a feeling of weightlessness hits me, my frame untethered by the heaviness that, since as long as I could remember, trailed my steps. It’s probably nothing, my mind is on other things, food awaits.
The savory aromas of lime juice, cilantro, and salsa greet my nostrils. Huevos Rancheros, my stomach growls violently, yet another memory longing to surface from the depths of my childhood. With normalcy, so returns my appetite, awakened from its several day slumber. I watch greedily as Bobbi plates his creation with care. He’s too fucking slow. I need to eat now! Bobbi carries over the hot plate, little tendrils of steam rising, brandishing clean silverware. I sink into to my regular seat at the old oak table, disguising my savage hunger.
“Eat up, you look like you need it.”
Slightly stung by his astute observation, I thought I was being so covert, “Yeah, I’m not going to lie, it smells great.”
With little grace or concern, I skewer a whole egg sunny-side-up dripping with tangy salsa, cramming it into my mouth. It takes all of my self-control to keep me from shoving my face into the ceramic, like an animal. Glancing up with a little bit of a side eye, Bobbi eats his breakfast daintily, cutting every piece into equally manageable parts. Scooping up frijoles negros with the precision of a well-oiled machine, he doesn’t spill, not a single drop. A small, satisfied smile crosses his face, the look of an artist appraising the quality of his creation, finding it meets his seal of approval. In his food, he makes something exceptional, his own peculiar love language for which, on most days, he enjoys in solitude. But, today is special, sharing this treat adds a new complexity to the reward. Self-conscious, I slow down. The clarity of what this offering really means makes me tailor the pace to truly savor the flavor. Bobbi doesn’t look up, but the broadening line at the edge of his pleased expression is a tell.
“So… please don’t be mad,” Bobby mutters, “My mom kind of… called your mom last night… told her where you are and that you’re safe.”
I stare, disappointment inexorably carved into my face, “She should’ve asked me first.”
“We kind of talked about it last night before dinner… we thought it would be best if we reached out… so you wouldn’t have to.”
“I guess… when you put it that way. It kind of makes it better… but no more… you talk to me first, okay…” we sit in silence, but the food is untarnished by the mood.
Finishing the meal, every scrap of tortilla housed in the void that is my stomach, I turn to my old friend, “Thanks for that, I got cleanup. It’s the least I can do.”
Lifting up from his plate, Bobbi looks at me with a sense of relief, “Thanks, and it seems like my time is nearly up, so I appreciate the help!”
Striding over to the TV stand, he picks up an object and throws it to me at the table. To my surprise, it lands softly in my hands, a remote.
“Have fun with it while you rest up,” he exclaims as he laces up his cheap sneakers.
“Yeah, I’ll try. Have a good day at work...”
“Doubt it,” he beams picking up his hamster keys, slipping out of the door.
Privacy at last! Time to do so some well overdue grooming. I switch on the TV, giving off a high-pitched whine, as I stride into the bathroom with my new bag of toiletries. The white noise of the people droning onscreen, a gift familiar and soothing.
“Weather today looks like….”
Staring into the shabby mirror, the bags under my eyes are greatly reduced, along with the deep colors of the contusions on my face. But the five o’clock shadow is taking hold, funny, it took days for my facial hair to get to this length, while many men can sprout theirs in just twelve hours. The byproduct of my native heritage, painfully slow growth. Honestly, I doubt Bobbi could cultivate anything more than a wispy mustache, I guess I can count my blessings that I’m not in that boat. Sighing, I pull out a cheap orange and white razor from Marta’s toiletry bag, no shaving cream to be found. I’ll have to make do with the tiny travel-sized lotion supplied to me.
“Throughout the week… scattered thunderstorms in the late afternoon”
As I carefully strip off bits of stubble, I hear the TV in the other room, garbled words here and there but, not much connecting the thoughts together. Just the rise and fall of sound, which I follow obediently with each stroke.
“Now for the news at nine!”
A blasting jingle announces the transition from the weather report, but my mind is elsewhere, the metre of my self-care all-consuming.
“In local news, Deerhorn County officials have found an abandoned vehicle on Split Canyon Road with tens of thousands of dollars worth of cocaine and cash hidden in the frame. The Bureau of Drug Control has been called in to investigate this strange scene in earnest...”
I stop dead in my tracks, my face stinging. Fuck, I cut myself. Quickly, I make my way into the living room, blood oozing from my cheek.
“No signs of foul play…”
I ogle at the screen as Nico’s green idiot machine flickers onto the TV, gloved men and women in deep blue uniforms peering into its metal interior, swabbing it, checking every inch. His hateful car, I’ll never escape it.
Growling. Crashing. Thunderous roaring.
“… The vehicle is registered to one Nicolás Ramón Hernández… of Douglas… Anyone with information is encouraged to call the tip line with the Deerhorn County Police Department…”
Oh no, my duffle... My DNA is all over the seats, my hair, the shattered pieces of my youth, they’ll find me for sure, my life is over… Crimson, my plasma spills to the dingy carpet.
U’nkah Ti’is Cho
We Pay
In Blood