Outside, as I approach my vehicle, a man walks toward me, flicking his lighter to light his cigarette. He tries again after the first flick fails to ignite. Without warning, the fire from the lighter shoots straight up, higher than his head, lighting his face up orange.
He quickly tosses the lighter away and yells, “What the fuck?”
I stand there, dumbfounded, staring at the lighter on the ground and the flame still burning high above it. The man shakes his head at me, walks past, and heads for the emergency entrance. My chest heaves, my breathing growing rapid. The lighter’s flames grow higher, as if someone is forcing all the flammable fluid into its wick, fueling the flame’s height and sending a message.
Sending me a message.
My thoughts turn to Mastyx, and I wonder if he somehow heard my thoughts about Dr. Z and is now sending me a quick reminder of what awaits me if I cross or betray him. Perhaps it’s just a coincidence, and I’m overreacting. I exhale loudly, clench the hospital bag tighter in my grasp and move cautiously toward the flame that stands between myself and my car.
As I close in on the flame, it slowly grows smaller and smaller until, finally, it puffs out its last spark and dies.
I stop in front of it and whisper, “Mastyx?” not wanting anyone to hear me talking to a lighter on the pavement.
Nothing. No high flame rekindling, no sparks, just a dead lighter, resting on the blacktop of the hospital parking lot. I return to my car, unlock the doors, and sit softly in my seat, closing the door behind me.
It’s hot for the first day of November. Sweat rapidly beads on my skin as I sit in my car, seemingly stuck in the moment. I blink several times, exhaustion overwhelming me, and dismiss any thoughts of Mastyx’s presence playing a part in the lighter fiasco. My key ring rattles against the steering column as I insert the car key into the ignition and turn it. The radio blasts Evenspeak’s Little Sinner at full capacity, and the heat in the car suddenly rages at top speed into my face. I quickly cover my ears, muffling the blaring music, before frantically reaching for the volume and heat dials and twisting them off.
My heart pounds hard in my chest and blood races through me, sending violent tremors to every part of my being.
He’s here. I tuck a wayward lock of hair behind my ear with a trembling hand, before gripping the steering wheel tightly, my eyes wide with shock.
The window beside me rattles with an insistent knock, making me jump and grab my chest. I twist my neck to face the window and gaze up at Dr. Z, who’s no longer wearing his lab coat, carrying a leather bag over his shoulder.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice muffled by the partition dividing us.
I don’t answer. I put the car in reverse, speed backward, crank the wheel, put the car in drive, and slam my foot on the gas, sending the vehicle flying out of the parking lot and into the street, just missing a man walking to the cancer clinic across the street. He’s waving his cane at me when I peer into the rearview mirror.
The car in front of me stops abruptly at the red light, and my foot slams the brake to the floor so I don’t rear-end them. Another vehicle pulls up to my right in the turning lane, their window rolled down, their head bobbing as they play drums on their steering wheel to Highway to Hell by AC/DC.
Message received.
Mastyx has made it clear to me that the next time he sees me, our encounter won’t be a pleasant one. Perhaps I’ll stay awake for the next several full moons and not call him to me with any sacrifices. Full Moons are the only time he can visit me freely. Although incubus demons can only have sex with sleeping women, our relationship is a little different compared to most. We have a contract, one that, if I break, I will receive the punishment I deserved years ago.
A one-way ticket straight to hell.
Chapter Thirty-One
Arts and Crafts
I can’t move.
Not because Mastyx is punishing me for my lust toward another man, but because I collapsed in bed when I came home from the hospital on my stomach, and my neck was propped awkwardly on my pillow, rendering everything from the neck down useless until I can un-contort my head from this painful, distorted position. I take my hand and move it to my face, where I push my head back in alignment with my spine and press my hands into the mattress, forcing myself onto my hands and knees, my body groaning with every muscle I flex. I sit on all fours, like I’m waiting to get railed from behind and rock my body to and fro, loosening my tight and uncooperative muscles.
Jesus. I’m a mess, I think as I slide a foot off the mattress and onto the floor. Surprisingly, my legs cooperate and let me stand without failing. I stagger to the kitchen, take a couple more Percocet and two Tylenol, wash them down with a half-drunk bottle of water I left on my butcher block counters, and wander to the pantry. The beetles make occasional noises, but for the most part, they eat their feast in the quiet solace of their dark totes. I yank the chain dangling above me, kneel slowly to the floor, and peek inside my beetle colonies’ habitat, one, and then the other. The bones are nearly picked clean. It won’t belong now. I close the lids to the beetles’ house and meander to the kitchen. I yank the fridge door open, gazing inside—orange cream wine coolers and milk.
Well, milk doesn’t sound as good as a wine cooler at the moment, so I grab a cold cooler and head to my office, where the six-foot table that sits across from my office desk waits for me to plant my ass on the stool and start building my creations. The stool creaks as I sit carefully and twist toward my four-drawer plastic tower, pulling out a few cedar planks from one drawer, glue from the next, and dirt from the bottom. I spread out an array of moss and small plants that have been propagating in water onto the tabletop and select a small black nursery pot.
In my mind, I envision how I want this piece of wall art to look. The centerpiece will be the Reaper’s jaw, with the plastic pot resting on its side, a variegated string-of-hearts plant pouring from its center. Around the jaw, an array of dried flowers and bright green moss that have been treated with glycerin for preservation. I’ll leave the edges clean, so the cedar acts as a frame around it. Originally, I planned to do a candle, but decided against it. Plants look more pleasing to the eye.
I pick up my ruler and pencil and draw straight lines one inch inside the perimeter on all four sides. These lines will be the edge of the moss once it’s time to place it carefully. I still have to clean the bones I’m using with hydrogen peroxide and water to make them nice and white, which takes about twenty-four hours, but I have time.
I always take extra time off for the annual Oddities Market in Downtown. It always falls on the first Sunday after Halloween, which is convenient for disposing of body parts. No one bats an eye at the bones in my art. Other people use animals, and I create a few pieces with those as well, but now I prefer to work with human bones.
After measuring the bottom of the plastic nursery pot, I pick up my hole saw and install the bit that’s slightly larger than the hole I need. This will allow the pot to sit partially inside the hole. Because a string of hearts doesn’t need to be watered too often, the buyer must take the art piece down every one to two weeks in the summer or every three to four weeks in the winter and thoroughly water the little pot over the sink. Once it stops dripping, they hang it back on the wall in their house, which receives direct sunlight for part of the day. The variegated string of hearts features dashes of pink and purple, along with white and green, making it an excellent centerpiece for the dried baby’s breath and the scattered pink and purple pansies.
Now that the square cedar plank is adequately prepared, I move on to the round piece of cedar. This one is a foot in diameter and will make the perfect centerpiece for a table. I take a nine-inch-high, four-inch-round vase and gently place it in the middle. The sizing is ideal, leaving a four-inch work space around the perimeter of the glass. I grab my clear epoxy Gorilla Glue, lift the vase from the center of the plank, squeeze the goop in a spiral pattern from the center, radiating outward, and quickly press the vase into the plank. Now I’ll let that sit for twenty-four hours to ensure the vase is thoroughly attached before I start adding dried flowers to the perimeter. The Reaper’s hand bones will be wrapped neatly around the glass vase, and once it’s ready, I can fill it with spring water and plop in the peace lily plant that has been sitting in water.
Two days and several energy drinks later, I have several large and small pieces pre-made, ready when the bones are ready to be mounted. I grab my brown price tags by their jute strings and lay them out before me. The cost of purchasing real human bones is exponential, so my prices are high, too high for some people’s wallets, but I have a few loyal clients who are always looking for unique items they find worth the cost. The humanhand vase will be priced the highest, and the jawbone piece will be mid-range. Everything I carry under $100 is made of animal bones only. Occasionally, I’ll create a special piece using small pieces of human vertebrae, but it’s rare.
