I Hear A Sweet Voice Calling

CHLOE ORDERS A DRY VEGGIE BURGER she doesn’t want to eat and makes eye contact with every stranger that walks into the bar, her bar, Bar One of One. Something melts inside Chloe and she pretends a curse is ending, like one following her around her whole life. She turns her head around with her necklace in her mouth, tasting the chain. Bubbles float to the top of her drink, her face is a little red glow in each bubble. Unclenching her soft hands, she wants to drink her body weight in iceless gin and tonics. She wants to take up a hopeless task. Her thirst tickles her from the inside like a tiny feather and she is no longer anxious. What a miracle. She ignores her phone. Most of the strangers look away. The room feels dark, chairs scoot up and down around her. She is one with the universe and the universe takes hold. Through the diamond-shaped windows, the night sky opens up. Being lost in the hot night and a few strong drinks, time barely moves.

A man in a Carhartt jacket comes and sits two seats away from Chloe. He doesn’t speak and he doesn’t look at a menu, but the bartender knows him: he pours a glass of bourbon in front of him like clockwork without saying anything. People develop a rhythm with each other. Feet shift around in the bar, the pinball machines ding and chime. Elbows on the counter, Chloe takes a second and immediately eyes his tattoos: vicious looking dragons, each green claw stabs a strawberry, all the way up his arms to his hands and fingers. She knows each color.

He downs his bourbon and knocks the counter for another. He looks straight ahead at the liquor bottles on the high back shelves and the mirror reflecting the whole bar behind him. She likes his veiny hands.

He looks almost exactly like Elliott.

Maybe a younger brother, she thinks.

Very drunk, she downs her last drink too, although her throat feels very tight and dry. Chloe could see the resemblance on his face, in his bone structure, in the way he slumps when he sits. He looks almost exactly like Elliott, the dead fuck boy. His face is longer and more pronounced, but she tries not to stare.

He looks almost exactly like Elliott.

Chloe’s eyes sharpen the way a pin drops. I’m going to fucking follow this dude, she thinks. She feels as though all the movement in the room moves through her as though she could feel every little movement in the room.

She listens to Mary’s voicemail at the bar with one finger plugged into her other ear. Sounds funnel in and out of the planet and Mary’s voice sounds annoyed and angry. Chloe deletes the message and doesn’t call back. She hasn’t been calling back. She has been avoiding Mary and her phone calls and text messages and everything else almost unconsciously for weeks now. It’s like a tick.

One last taker, nearly two a.m. Last call at the bar, one last song.

THE MAN CALLS HIMSELF THE DEVIL and everyone in the family knows him as The Devil. When you say the word devil, he will turn his head around to you. Each member of the Wicker and Wall Family are scattered and undercover throughout the city and The Devil knows where exactly they all are. Spencer is walking through the woods on the outskirts of town, Brian is cleaning his gun, Jack is dead, Strawberry is dead, Elliott is dead and dismembered. The morning pours through the skylight and the curtains ripple in the breeze from the penthouse windows. A young, sweet Calico cat named Molly purrs at The Devil’s feet and weaves around his naked legs. He wears a big, realistic mask of his face on his face and he is a white man. Genius is so often mistaken for insanity, he thinks, as he looks at his reflection in the window, the city on the other side. Green eyes blink through the eye holes, long eyelashes. He looks at his wall of televisions, each screen showing door entrances, street corners, and inside people’s rooms, and he pulls up his mask a little so he can drink his coffee. He watches the screens with no sound and he likes to watch. He picks up Molly in his arms and starts scratching her from behind her ear.

Every day brings a messenger, something hidden and lush in the plain details that needs to be summoned or spoken alive. Anticipation is a special kind of hell and he lives to create anticipation every day. Molly purrs in his arms and looks up at his face.

The Devil taps his phone. The dial echoes in the room and the call is on speaker. The voice that answers from the speakers is Spencer. The Devil presses a button on the remote control and Spencer’s face blinks on all the screens. The Devil presses another button and all the screens display a mosaic, showing one huge face. Spencer’s face is a whole wall.

Spencer says, I’m walking in the woods.

The Devil says, I know that.

Jack is dead, says Spencer.

I know that too.

What do you want me to do? Spencer asks.

Keep walking, The Devil says. Find yourself. I’ll call you again.

The screens go back to default, a thousand different locations. Buildings, street alleys, trees, and people fucking.

Molly wants down and starts to go limp in The Devil’s arms but he doesn’t let her go. She bites his hand, breaks skin, and draws blood, but The Devil does not grimace. Molly squirms and keeps squirming. He presses another button on the remote control and all the screens are strangers fucking. The sound is still off and the light changes on his face from the glow from the wall. One more button and the screens are all back to Spencer again. Spencer is walking through the woods and he stops at the shipping container house. Spencer looks up at the house, eyes closed in the sunlight. Although it’s hard to see on screen, Spencer is crying. Almost weeping. The Devil walks over to his large windows, pushes them open to feel the strong wind against his body, and he drops Molly from his arms through the open window. Her beautiful fur stands on end as she descends to the street, limbs outstretched.

I need to say goodbye to you, Molly, The Devil says. He walks away from the window before watching her hit the ground, and he turns to watch Spencer cry on the wall. The camera zooms closer. On screen, Spencer washes his face with his hands.

Spencer mouths a few words and The Devil says, Sarah Kush. Sarah Kush. Sarah Kush.

CHLOE WAITS FOR THE MAN WITH THE TATTOOED HANDS to finish his last drink. Chloe waits for the man with the tattooed hands to leave the bar. She shadows him, a few paces behind, a few streetlamps behind. He seems very much in his own head and he doesn’t seem to sense her, and he doesn’t look back. No Orpheus. The night air is muggy and electric. They walk to the neon industrial district. Power Lines crackle in the black and the crows are awake. Her heartbeat feels like a pound of flesh and she doesn’t know how to calm down. Something old inside her thrives, and she feels like a kid again.

She follows him into a bright 7/11, one of her favorite places in the world, where she feels swallowed in holy light, soft A/C in her hair. Air pushes and slides the glass doors open. The doorbell chimes and echoes. They wait in line to purchase their goods, and the man with the tattooed hands still does not sense she’s right behind him. She looks at their reflection in that circle mirror thing. She's holding Cool Ranch Doritos and he has an energy drink in his hand. She hates waiting, her heart pounds in her throat like an alien. Her heart pounds because she’s so in the moment, she has no idea what she’s doing. Chloe imagines robbing the place to calm herself down and then buys her Doritos.

Chloe follows the doppleganger to a parking lot and she watches him enter a warehouse. The cold steel door slams and shakes the barbed wire fence perimeter. Being careful and nimble, Chloe crouches and hides behind a pickup truck, a safe distance away from any street lamps. Although she loves the adrenaline rushing through her body, there is always a world, another world, where things can go badly. She knows this.

A black surveillance camera hums and the gears inside turn. The camera turns and watches Chloe watch the boy and the image flickers on screen. The Devil watches Chloe in the glow of the screen and he pops open some bubbly, her face is blurry, her eyes glow white on screen while his glass overfills with champagne. He says, I knew you were coming. A new cat purrs at his feet weaves in between his naked legs and she still does not have a name. The room is much darker now, and only one television is playing. The sound is turned on but it’s just snow static from the speakers. The Devil bends down to pet the kitty and says, I think I am going to name you Molly. Molly, Molly. Chloe starts walking away from view, away from the warehouse, and her walk is a little clumsy, her shadows stumble too. She slips and falls on the wet pavement, scraping her hands and elbow. She picks herself up and looks at the blood. She disappears completely from the screen. The Devil picks up Molly and starts scratching her from behind her ear and he presses another button on the remote control. The Devil takes off his mask, no light on his face. Molly purrs then bites his hand. The night wind blows broken leaves into the closed window, dirt pressed against the glass.