Even more importantly, why was it still following them?
Ruin skid to a stop into Isadore’s driveway and obeyed the increasing need to hide her. The evil was like a tidal wave in the close distance. It was coming, no stopping it. He scooped her up in his arms as she reached for Mr. Thibodeux.
“What are you doing?”
Ruin held her in an uncompromising hold and hurried her inside the house, immediately feeling a difference once inside. Safe. That was the main message. Main concern met.
“Put me down! Ruin, we can’t leave Mr. Thibodeaux.”
“I’ll get him, something’s wrong. Stay in here! Don’t go out!”
He opened the door and raced to the truck, scooping the skin and bones into his arms. As he raced back, the water in the swamp roiled with the sound of a thousand demon piranha. Ruin kept his eye on the entrance to the house, running for it. “Shut the door!” he yelled as he entered with the frail human. “Lock it!”
Isadore slammed it shut and the lock thonked, even as Ruin dropped the old man into the recliner. “Lock everything!” Ruin ordered, halfway up the stairs as the house trembled around them with a deep growling.
“Is that a storm?” Isadore said from below. “Ruin? I’m scared.”
Ruin ran to the open bedroom window and grabbed the wooden shutters, yanking them shut and slamming the barrel lock home. The wood shutters shook with a loud growling as he closed the glass window next then retreated to the center of the room, looking above at the ceiling. The entire house shook, clutched in the jaws of something powerful and evil.
“What is that?!”
Ruin turned to find Isadore behind him, wide eyes scanning the ceiling. She jerked hands over her ears when the roof exploded with hammering sounds, the roaring stampede shaking furniture and throwing pictures off the walls. Ruin pulled Isadore to his body. “I don’t know,” he whispered, looking for signs of anything gaining entrance.
“Mr. Thibodeaux.” Fear made Isadore’s whisper tremble as she glanced toward the stairs.
Ruin guided her back down, keeping careful watch. He paused halfway on the stairs at finding Mr. Thibodeaux sitting on the floor, moaning and rocking, his mouth slack, only the whites of his eyes showing.
“He’s having a stroke!” Isadore cried, hurrying down.
Ruin leapt off the stairs and blocked her path, a hand firmly out. “That’s not a stroke.”
Isadore clutched her ears again, the shudders on the windows slamming open and shut, breaking the glass. Where was his fucking power? He felt empty. No heat or ice inside.
Mr. Thibodeaux shook violently now.
“Ruin!” Isadore screamed, turning in circles as every board in the house groaned under the force from outside.
Any second now and everything would explode around them. Ruin raced to Isadore, covering her with his body and everything stopped. Just stopped. The noise, the shaking, everything. Only a dense silence with Mr. Thibodeaux flat on his back, arms stretched out, and terrified panting could be heard.
A knock sounded at the door, three raps, exactly measured in weight and time—slow—light—questioning. Ruin stared at the door, trying to feel what was beyond it. But again, he couldn’t feel anything. Everything was dead calm, in and out.
Ruin stood frozen with unknowing. What was beyond the door? Had it stopped the storm? Or had it rode the angry mob to the door, master of the madness?
“I think we should answer it,” Isadore whispered like she too debated.
“Why do you think that?” Ruin barely whispered in return, hoping she had a legitimate reason.
“Because it says to.” She pointed at odd black symbols on the door. The lines seemed wet and…alive.
“Are you sure?”
“You can’t understand it?” she wondered, her voice barely audible. “It’s English.”
Ruin shook his head slowly even as they both moved toward the door together. “Not to me.”
“Strange,” she whispered.
“Yes. Extremely.” He carefully placed his hand on the door and found it oddly cold.
“It’s hot.”
Ruin realized she had her hand on the lock. “It’s freezing to me.”
“I need to open it now,” she whispered, pointing to the symbols that moved on the door. “It says, ‘Isadore open the door’ that’s what it says,” she added with wide eyes at him.
Ruin tried to move the lock but he had no strength to do even that, it wouldn’t budge. He planted himself right next to her. “Do it. Slowly.” He held her shoulders, ready to yank her out danger.
She slid the lock open and Ruin shot a glance to Mr. Thibodeaux still looking dead, then snapped his attention to the door. Isadore opened it barely and jumped back into Ruin with a yelp. Ruin pulled her quickly in reverse at seeing the man, or being on the other side.
“Ohhh, gee, oh gee,” Isadore barely whispered as Ruin moved her behind him.
The being pushed the door slowly open and moved into the doorway, a solid black silhouette against a peaceful day. He then took a step into the room, his densely shadowed face locked on Isadore behind him, it seemed. Ruin held her tight as the door slowly closed behind him. A few more steps toward them, and Ruin realized just how black the being was. Entirely. Explicitly. Raven-colored hair followed his tall lean body in three rivers, the left, the right, and down his back, ending at bare feet. Even the whites and irises of his eyes were like tar.
The being became interested in Mr. Thibodeaux on the floor now. While he slowly circled the old man, Ruin caught sight of shiny swirly designs that rode the sharp muscles on his naked torso, distinct over his matte black skin. The being paused and Ruin saw his own reflection in the liquid looking ink that shimmered and moved over his legs, like a long skirt.
Just what the hell was he?
The being angled his head slightly at the man, raising his right arm, the slender limb stranded with dense muscle. Ruin remained silent as a hair-like strand of ink flowed out of the tip of his index finger.
“He’s sick,” Isadore whispered, pointing to the symbols forming over Mr. Thibodeaux. The man swirled his fingers again and the symbols changed. “His spirit has been pillaged and his soul is gravid with offspring?” Isadore gasped the words. “W-wh… say what?”
The black limb lowered and the ink hovered momentarily in the air before slowly flowing back into his quill-pen nail. Ruin’s muscles finally relaxed a little at realizing that whatever he was, he wasn’t a danger to Isadore.
“Why are you hiding the words from me?” Ruin finally asked.
He looked at Ruin, or toward him, it was hard to tell. “Because you’re unclean,” Isadore said.
Ruin looked at her, perplexed. “You can hear his thoughts?” And why did that bother him? Isadore looked at the being again and Ruin suddenly wanted to break the intimate connection with force.
“You can’t hear him,” she added.
The obvious information added to his growing anger. “Is that a fact?” Ruin glared at the being. “How about he tells me something I don’t know?”
“You think so?” Isadore looked at the man, surprise and pleasantries lightening her voice.
“He thinks what,” Ruin demanded.
“He says you don’t like him.”
“That’s because I’m needing to know what’s going on. Why is he here? What is he? Does he have a purpose with me? Or just you? And if so, what is that purpose?”
“He’s Scriber…or a Scriber?” She seemed worried to repeat that info. “Don’t be pissed with me, I’m just the messenger,” she muttered.
“Well can you find out why he’s here?”
“To scribe. A story,” she shot back.
“Are you guessing or do you have a live feed into his mind now?” Ruin looked from the being to her. “Is she correct?”
“Oh,” she said amazed, looking at the black statue. “Are you sure?” The being tilted his head and she held up both hands, “Okay, you’re not to be questioned,
got it.”
“By your ever silent God,” Ruin muttered, frustrated.
“He said he’s here to scribe our story. Said…it’s important.”
Isadore sounded astonished but Ruin wasn’t astonished, he was pissed. Raking a hand through his hair, he growled and paced. Another mystery. Another being with another fucking mystery. “Why can’t he talk to me?”
“Well I don’t know,” Isadore said defensive.
“I’m not asking you, I’m asking him through you seeing as you’re his mouthpiece!” Ruin pointed at the man.
“He heard you,” Isadore shot back. “And you can’t hear because you’re thick headed.”
“That’s not what he said.”
“Pretty much, yes.”
“Tell me exactly what he said, Isadore, this isn’t a game.”
“He said you have a mental block that is keeping you from hearing, duh, you knew this. It’s why you got that…” she zigzagged her fingers at his torso, “…homework you gotta do.”
“He said those words,” Ruin hardly believed her but still he had no powers and couldn’t be sure what he knew.
“Nearly.”
“Why can’t you just tell the truth once in your life!”
“It is the truth! He’s not using words.” Ruin stared at her, perplexed. “It’s like he just shows me somehow what it is, and I just use my own words to tell you.”
“Oh well that’s fantastic. I have no clue what he’s saying since everything must pass through your lie filter. And when he uses plain English, must you interpret that too?”
Isadore appeared livid as she put her hands on her hips. “It’s English, dumbass!” She glanced to the being then threw her hand out. “Well he says he can use English words when he wants to.”
“This is great, so I have to have you translate everything for him?”
She shook her head in silent rage, lips barely a visible line. “Well if I do,” she leveled a finger at him and cocked a brow, “I do not have to cooperate.”
“But you will,” Ruin promised her.
“Oh, you’re begging for it.” She spun and hurried to the kitchen, opened the little closet next to the back door, pulled out her mop and Pine-Sol, proceeded to fill up the sink with water, while drumming her fingers on the counter.
Ruin stared at her in astonishment. Un. Believable. She was going to mop. She had serious psychotic issues.
Ruin turned his attention back to the being who again circled Mr. Thibodeaux. “Is he going to be okay?” Isadore called from the sink like she were in mid-casual-visit. Private visit judging by the way she turned a few moments later with a frightened, “Why?” Then a gasped, “Are you kidding?”
Ruin realized just how much he needed his powers. He should be able to know what Isadore meant, felt, thought, and not being able to connect to her made him want to scream. “Where is my power!”
Isadore’s eyes widened, moving from Ruin to the being. “Wow, really?”
“Isadore,” Ruin placed his pointer fingers on both temples, closing his eyes. “If you don’t start talking… in complete, logical sentences…”
“Your powers are locked,” she snapped.
“Locked how!”
She looked all around and up, gasping at something Ruin couldn’t see of course. “Wow.” She looked at the man. “That’s you doing that?” Maybe Isadore felt Ruin’s wrath at being left out of the conversation and quickly added, “There’s a shield over the house.” She pointed at the ceiling, mapping out what she saw. “A giant web of dark lines.” She walked forward, a slight smile of awe on her face. “Beautiful,” she whispered then looked at the being. “You protected us?”
It stared at her for a moment then gave the slightest nod before turning to casually walk along the room, browsing. It all made Ruin want to kill.
“It’s your job?” Isadore asked him. “It’s his job,” she reiterated to Ruin.
“My ears work fine.”
She wiped the slight smile off her face then licked her lips, nearly making him forget his anger. “He said your powers are defiled and he had to lock them too.”
Ruin fought back the feeling of awe that threatened to steal his anger. He locked his power? “Where did—“
“It left when he arrived.”
Ruin looked at Isadore. “So he can read my mind too?”
“No, but I guessed you were asking about what attacked our house?”
At hearing the words our house, Ruin’s anger dissolved. Did she really consider him that much a part of her life?
She swiveled around and headed back to the sink then. “He said when you fix the problem with Mr. Thibodeaux, he’ll be able to lift the barrier.” Isadore splat the mop on the floor and began mopping.
“Fix the problem? What problem?”
Chapter Four
“He didn’t say what problem.”
“What problem?” Ruin asked the being.
Isadore stopped mopping suddenly and looked at the dark form now halfway up the stairs. “What?”
Ruin glanced between them. “Speak, Isadore.”
“W-what does that mean, judgement, are you saying he has to judge?” Isadore looked at Ruin, panic in her eyes. “He’s saying you have to judge Mr. Thibodeaux, tell him you can’t do that. Tell him he’s just an old man.”
Ruin raised both hands. “I don’t make those calls Isadore.”
“What?” Extreme remorse—the psychotic break kind—welled in her wide blue eyes brimming with tears.
“Ask him if there is any other way,” Ruin whispered, ready to just hold her and forget everything else.
She looked from the being to Ruin, her eyes frantic. “H-he said he’s a K-Katharó Krísi̱?” she stuttered softly in hopeful confusion.
Ruin turned the term over on his tongue. It meant…undisputed judgement. Ready for reaping. Non-negotiable. Which meant Ruin had stopped a judgement that shouldn’t have been… and the darkness was ready to devour him. And her. That was the logic of the darkness, it loved killing things, even and especially their own. There was no loyalty to anything but darkness and evil. So all was fair in that respect.
Ruin took soft hold of Isadore’s shoulders. “There is no other way.” Or if there was, Ruin didn’t know it.
“He’s right, of course.” Isadore screamed at the sudden appearance of Caliber, striding forward like he’d just hopped off some universal conveyor belt, raking his hand through that stringy gray hair and slightly winded. “One more dark judgement like that,” he pointed at Mr. Thibodeaux, “and shit is going to get more real than I have tissue for.”
Ruin didn’t have time to appreciate the fact he actually understood the man, not with the news of having to judge a man Isadore clearly adored. “Is there another way?”
“Ha!” Caliber slapped a leg. “What do you think you’re dealing with here, padre? Did you think you could dawdle with the powers that be and not reap those remunerations?” he cried, waggling his hand in the air then pointing to the onyx statue on the stairs. “Scriber? Thank you for coming on such short notice. Thank Ruin, actually.” He clapped Ruin’s shoulder, loading his name with disdain before peering down at Mr. Thibodeaux. “A coma. Nice, Scriber. Very merciful of you.” Caliber gave a sigh and final clap. “I’m here to help make this right.” He shrugged a little, going for a generous look maybe. “I feel kind of responsible. I’ll guard while you use your powers to do the job. Right.”
His final emphatic word brought Isadore’s gasp. “Why? Why does he need to be judged, I don’t get it.”
Caliber turned to Isadore as though seeing her for the first time. “No, I don’t imagine that you do, miss.” He cocked his head then. “It’s really not for you to get, it’s for you to trust.”
The words silenced her but Ruin was not at all impressed with them. Trust? How can you trust what you can’t know? And how can you know what you can’t prove? The mystery might be getting old, but the answer that it lacked was still brand new.
“I can’t believe this is happening.” Isadore’s light words preceded her brisk pace to the sink where she sloshed her mop up and down, mumbling words all the way until she plopped the mop back on the floor, not far from Mr. Thibodeaux. “….just a gentle soul, never hurt anybody.”
“Trust,” Caliber repeated, none too gently.
“Trust,” she repeated, sliding the mop in wide arcs. “I do, I trust. Just saying he isn’t hurting anybody, that’s all, but I trust—whatever. Do what you think is right, I gotta get these floors mopped.”
“Good,” Caliber clapped again, like that was all taken care of.
“Wait!” Isadore shot, hand out. “I mean what is he going to do?” She looked at Ruin and he suddenly felt like a fucking monster. “Nope,” she shook her head and went back to mopping. “Trusting. I can do that. Go on and do it. Judge him. I mean if that’s what you gotta do, that’s what you gotta do, I understand. I’ve judged my fair share of mice in my day, I get it, for the good of mankind, I’m sure that’s what this is. Trust. Got it.”
“Sooo…” Caliber moved next to Ruin, casting one more glance at Isadore before saying quietly, “Scriber will lift the barrier,” he pointed at the ceiling, “you’ll get your powers and do your thing.”
Isadore stopped mopping again. “What thing? What’s he going to do, is it painful?”
“No Miss Isadore, it actually is not. Scriber already put him in a coma, he’s not feeling anything.”
Isadore looked at the dark being. “You did that?” she asked with an eternal gratefulness. “Thank you,” she whispered, nodding. “Thank you, that was very sweet of you.” She looked at Ruin, gratitude vanishing. “Do your thing, JD,” she muttered, getting back to mopping. “Just… do your job. Do it quick, please.”
When it seemed another mental crisis was evaded, Caliber continued quietly, “Once you do that, you will have plugged that gaping hole in the bowels of hell you created when you decided to—”