Taking a breath he takes a few jerky steps towards the house, his stride smoothing out as he goes. He goes up the cracked steps carefully and steps over the sleeping dog—which barely even opens its eyes to acknowledge him—to open the battered front door. The hot air that comes out of the house smells strongly of animal hair and dog food, a smell so familiar that for an instant he’s a child, just coming home from school and overwhelmed all over again by the stench that he forgot while he was in the classroom.
He realizes he's just standing there holding the door open with one hand, and after a quick guilty glance at the quiet street, he steps inside. A few dogs come to investigate him, sniffing at his boots and the bottoms of his camo pants, then dismiss him and go back to their beds. He glances down at himself and is only slightly surprised to see he’s wearing his combat uniform, though it’s dusty and stained. His arm hurts but just as he goes to roll up his sleeve to look at it, he hears his mother’s voice call his name.
As though commanded by that single word, he finds himself walking down the hall and into the kitchen. Dirty dishes still sit in the sink and cats sleep on every available surface. In the corner a quartet of rabbits hop in a desultory fashion about the floor of their cage. His mother sits at the kitchen table with her ever-present cigarette and game of Solitaire spread out in front of her. She glances at him, then flicks ashes into the ashtray and moves another card.
“Been a long time since you darkened my doorway.”
“I’ve been busy,” he mumbles, feeling guilty and angry all at the same time.
“Joined the military and never came back. That’s a little ungrateful.”
“Hey, it left you alone with your pets, since that’s what you cared about in the first place,” Jones says sharply. “Why am I here?”
“Don’t look at me.” She blows out smoke. “Go get me a drink.”
Once again he finds himself walking against his will, this time to the fridge, which he opens and reaches inside of to take out a bottle of rye whiskey. His hands shake as he pours it out into a glass, slopping some of the amber liquid over his wrist. It burns so badly that he hisses through his teeth and for a moment his hand drips with blood. Then he blinks and it’s just a splash of whiskey dripping onto the dirty counter. He adds ice and sets the glass in front of his mother, then washes his hands above the dirty dishes in the sink. The smell of the whiskey overwhelms even the constant stench of animals that cling to the house, and he craves it so much he feels sick.
“You touch that and your dad’ll whip your ass,” his mother says mildly. “Sit down and tell me what you’ve been doing.”
He brushes a cat off the chair opposite her and sits down in it, folding his hands on the table in front of him like he did as a child. “I joined the military and volunteered for a project,” he says, feeling his voice come from far away. “They gave me a bunch of crap and I thought it didn’t do anything but apparently some sort of... ability gets passed down to any children. I passed something to my daughter Emily.”
“The grandchild you never let me see.” She moves another card.
“And you never will,” he snaps. “She’s never coming to this shithole.”
“Go on,” she says, as though he’d never spoken.
“They killed my wife,” he says, knowing it’s true, “and they stole my daughter. So I got drunk and I kept getting drunk.” He finds himself staring at the condensation beading on the side of his mother’s glass and forces his eyes away. “I liked getting drunk. But then I got hired to do a job and I met Drae.”
“I think you should stay away from him.” She doesn’t look up from her cards. “He’s bad news.”
“I know,” he says softly. “But he’s my bad news.”
She looks up and her eyes are no longer the same blue-grey as his own; they’re a bright and brilliant green. Streaks of red appear in her greying brown hair, which itself begins to pull up into curls. A pair of horns appears on top of her head and then it’s Elle sitting there in his mother’s seat, in the old dirty kitchen where he grew up. She studies him for long moments, her face unreadable, then she looks around and he sees faint shades of pity in the set of her mouth.
“Don’t,” he tells her. “It was a long time ago and I got out.”
“Then why the hell are you back here, Jonesy? I haven’t been busting my ass trying to keep you safe so you can die here in this shithole.”
“Am I dying?” he asks, surprised.
“Of course you’re dying, you idiot.”
His arm feels suddenly heavy and wet, and when he looks down he sees his entire sleeve soaked with blood. More wet warmth slides down across his mouth and he reaches up to touch it, his fingers coming away red. He coughs and blood sprays across the table, speckling the cards with crimson droplets. Elle grimaces and pushes her chair back with a squeak, getting to her feet and stepping daintily around to his side of the table. She picks up the glass of whiskey and holds it out to him.
“Drink,” she commands.
He shakes his head, still coughing. “I can’t,” he manages.
“Drink, you stupid asshole.” She catches his chin with one hand and forces his head back, pressing the glass to his lips. He tries to resist but she makes him open his mouth and tips the contents of the glass down his throat. It burns and he chokes on it, then the burn starts spreading throughout his entire body. Trying to get away from Elle’s grip on him, he tips his chair over backwards and cracks his head off the floor so hard he sees stars. Darkness sweeps over him and drags him down into nothing.
He woke with a start, gasping for breath and jerking upright so hard his back cracked. Pain shot up his arm and through his head, and someone grabbed him by the shoulders to shove him back down. His vision cleared and he saw it was Shiki holding him down and saying something that sounded to Jones like it was coming to him through six feet of water. He gave Shiki an uncomprehending look, too busy trying to catch his breath to attempt speech. His chest ached like he’d been beaten with a two by four.
“Can you hear me?” Shiki asked; his voice was still fuzzy to Jones’s ears but audible. “Just nod.”
Jones obeyed, nodding his head. Looking around he saw he was lying on the floor of the cabin’s bedroom with Shiki kneeling at his side. A big ugly dog-like creature lay in the corner in a pool of its own congealing blood and he dimly remembered shooting at something he could barely see. It hadn’t been the only one and he remembered suddenly why his arm hurt so much. He tried to look down at it to see how bad the damage was, but Shiki caught his chin and made him look up.
“Don’t look. I’ll fix it but I need a little time. Do you understand me?” He looked relieved when Jones nodded again. “Good. Your heart stopped and I had to jolt you to make it start again, so that’s why your chest probably hurts. But you’re awake and that’s a good sign.”
Jones thought he sounded nervous and despite everything, it made him smile a little. He took Shiki’s hand and squeezed it, mouthing a thank you. Shiki smiled back and squeezed his hand, then gently disentangled himself and moved to his other side to inspect his injured arm. Jones forced himself not to watch, staring up at the ceiling instead. He dimly remembered dreaming about going back to his mother’s house and seeing Elle there, but it was beginning to tatter and fade away.
He drifted without realizing it and woke again to Shiki saying his name with barely controlled panic. Opening his eyes again, he managed a smile, feeling lightheaded and dopey.
“Come on, up on your feet.” Shiki got an arm under him and helped him sit up, waiting until he’d adjusted to that to get him on his feet. Jones felt as though his knees were made of spun glass and would break apart with his weight, but he managed to support himself on Shiki’s shoulder. “I don’t dare just take you directly to my cabin,” Shiki added, “so you’re going to have to walk. Think you’re up to it? We’ll go slow, lots of rest.”
“Don’t have much of a choice.” Jones swallowed against sudden nausea. “Where’s Drae?”
“He’s fine. Elsa’s taking care of him. Lean on me, Jones, and tell me if you need to stop.” Shiki helped him towards the door and out into the hall. They made their way down it in fitful jerks and starts, and went outside. Jones noticed with mild surprise that it was already dusk, though the cooler air was welcome on his sweaty skin.
The walk over to Shiki’s cabin seemed to take hours, though he knew it was only about ten minutes. By the time they climbed up onto the front porch he was trembling with fatigue and leaning almost all of his weight on Shiki. Shiki took it without complaining, fumbling the front door open and helping Jones into the front hall. He yelled for Elsa, who came running from the kitchen and helped take Jones’s weight so they could get him into the bedroom and onto the bed.
“Where’s Drae?” Jones asked again.
“Sleeping on the couch,” Elsa said. “You can see him in the morning.” She stroked his hair back from his forehead. “Sleep now.”
His eyes became too heavy to keep open and he had just enough time to think that Elsa was putting some sort of spell on him, then all his thoughts spiralled away as he slipped into sleep.
When he woke again sunlight was spilling in through the window and Andraeon was curled up in his usual spot at Jones’s side, still fast asleep. Jones gingerly shifted over enough to stroke Andraeon’s hair with his good hand, noting the deep shadows under Andraeon’s eyes and the bandages over his ribs. Jones himself felt tired but much more clear-headed, enough to steel himself and look at the arm the creatures had torn up. Peeling the bandages off hurt no matter how careful he was, but the injury looked a lot better than he had expected, and vaguely remembered from the attack. It was already beginning to scab over and he had an idea he would carry the scars for the rest of his life, but he could flex his fingers and bend his elbow, though it made his arm ache.
He eased himself out from under Andraeon’s arm and got up, waiting for the wobble to go out of his legs so he could go to the bathroom and empty his painfully full bladder. When he was done he examined himself in the mirror, thinking that every time he started to recover, something else came along to beat him up. He scratched at the stubble darkening the lower half of his face, then limped back to the bedroom and sat down on the edge of the bed, wincing as his aching muscles complained.
“You’re awake,” Andraeon mumbled behind him, shifting over to sit beside him on the edge. He gently took Jones’s injured arm and kissed the skin over his knuckles. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“Being stupid and not being more careful. I didn’t mean to hurt you more.” Andraeon ducked his head, taking a deep shuddery breath, and Jones felt hot tears splash against his hand, still cradled in Andraeon’s lap.
Jones said nothing, just put his arm carefully around Andraeon’s shoulders—feeling how narrow they were suddenly—and pulled him into a hug. Andraeon buried his hot face against Jones’s neck and clung to him, shaking with the force of his sobs. Jones just held him, stroking his back, until Andraeon’s crying tapered off and his breathing evened out. He took a deep breath and sat up, wiping at his red eyes, and mustered a weak smile.
“Feel better?” Jones asked, brushing Andraeon’s hair back from his forehead.
“A little. Need to blow my nose.” Andraeon reached over and snagged the box of tissues from the bedside table, using them to wipe at his face. “Pretty gross, huh?”
“You forget, I’ve changed diapers.” Jones cupped his face and kissed his forehead.
Andraeon smiled a little. “We need a day off.”
“A whole week.” Jones glanced up at a knock on the door, then looked at Andraeon. “Feel up to company?”
“Yeah.” Andraeon scrubbed at his face again and took a deep breath, then got up to go answer the door. He let Shiki in and returned to his seat on the bed.
“Glad to see you both awake.” Shiki pulled a chair up so he could sit down facing them. “Feel up to talking?”
“Go for it,” Jones said. “Do you know what those things were?”
“We call them kimla. They’re used by some dreamwalkers to hunt things down. Or people. They’ve been banned in most places because they’re so unpredictable but I know they’re still legal in a few groups. Plus,” he gave a humourless smile, “not everyone follows the rules.”
“Are they going to keep coming back?”
Shiki sighed. “Yes, probably. Someone obviously wants you dead.”
“Nevin,” Andraeon said. “He’s a dreamwalker.”
“He is,” Shiki said. His voice was perfectly calm but Jones, watching him closely, saw the pained expression in his eyes. “And he’s strong enough to call up kimla. I just...” He ran a hand through his short black hair, making it stand up in tufts and spikes. “We were pretty close for a while and I just don’t want to believe that he’s behind this.”
“What can we do to stop these kimla?” Jones asked.
“I’ve put protections around here so they can’t get in again, so you’re safe while you’re here. When you leave, I’d like to go with you, and bring Shasta too.” Shiki frowned slightly. “If he’d hurry up and come back. He’s not usually gone for so long with no contact.”
“Would... would the kimla go after him?” Andraeon asked hesitantly.
“It’s possible,” Shiki admitted. “But Shasta’s better able to protect himself than you were.”
“I shot and killed one,” Jones said. “They’re not immortal, and they can be hurt by physical weapons. I’ll be ready next time.”
“You don’t need to get defensive,” Shiki said, smiling to take the sting out of his words. “You’re right, they can be hurt by your guns, or by knives, or even baseball bats. But they’re very fast and they shield themselves from sight. You saw it yesterday, or rather, you didn’t see. You got lucky yesterday and you can’t trust in that to happen again.”
Jones held up his free hand. “I take your point. So until we find out who’s sending them, I agree to you babysitting me.”
“I appreciate that,” Shiki said dryly. “And I’m glad you’re willing, because I have some good news that’ll make you want to leave the protection here. I’ve found your daughter.”
Nicely done. I'm up to date at last and still really enjoying this. Keep up the good work!
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