EPILOGUE
Famine was exhausted from the events in Angelique’s lair. His entire body ached and his mind was a whirlwind of regret, confusion, fear, and sadness. So many things had happened in just a few days and he really hadn’t had time to process any of it. As soon as he walked into the mausoleum, Llorona ran to him and hugged him with such force that he thought his eyes would pop out.
“I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have gone out! Can you ever forgive me? Are you sure you’re okay?” she shouted.
Pushing the woman off as gingerly and non-offensively as he could, he answered her in a firm but assuring tone. “It’s okay. No, you should’ve. Yes I can and yes I’m sure. I just need to get some rest is all. It’s really fine.”
The woman gave him an unsure look. “You’re not just saying that?”
“No, I’m telling you the truth.” He paused. The subject matter had to be changed. “Say, how are equality rallies going?”
Llorona seemed taken aback. She led Famine over to the fireplace and looked into the blue light glowing there. If she were trying to dry him off with just light, it wasn’t going to work. He didn’t say anything, though, and let her answer his question. “Really well. Deadlings are just like anyone else. They deserve the same treatment as everyone else. We all need to be more open minded.”
“Do you really think everyone would be like that? The Deadlings don’t have the best reputation, you know. I think it would cause a lot of trouble.”
Llorona said nothing for a few seconds. She twisted her lips and shook her head. “I know you might be right but I’m not going to stop. I have finally found something to fight for.”
He had never seen Llorona display that sort of determination or willingness, and it seemed to make her happy, too. If it meant that much to her, he wasn’t going to say anything else. Let her have her cause. “I’m glad to hear that, Mom. Just don’t let Uncle Ankou hear any of that. He’ll throw a fit.”
“Oh let that old cowson be mad. Change is always hard for people. I’ll stay quiet for now, we’ve all been through too much right at the moment,” she said talking in the boy’s ear, “you go upstairs and get some dry clothes on. You’ll catch your life in those wet things you have on.”
Famine smiled, kissed her cheek, and ran up to his room. Llorona began singing to herself as she went about tidying up the room.
After he had dried himself, Famine decided he needed to talk to The Reaper. The Old Man showed great stoicism as Famine told him of the battle with Angelique and her subsequent demise. He said something about being proud that the boy had faced and defeated his fears.
The Reaper didn’t mention the Memory Box or anything within it. Questions about all that would have to wait. There was talk about The Hunter, though. Sitting in the dining room wrapped in a fluffy towel gave Famine a great deal of comfort that allowed him to open up about everything. He told The Reaper of The Hunter’s trickery to put The Horsemen out and of his plans for The Deadlands.
After the entire story had been told, the bony-faced Death Omen just sat back and nodded. Famine had expected him to be angry about him keeping such an important event secret. Instead, he just reaffirmed his pride in the boy for his smart thinking and bravery in the face of peril. He gave also assurance about The Hunter’s death. “There have to be official inquiries and statements made,” he had said, ”but I think, that under the circumstances, you’ll be fine. Just let me take care of it all.” Being back in The Reaper’s good graces gave the boy what he needed to rest, but nagging feelings of guilt still remained.
Nothing bothered the teenager worse than Devon’s deception and subsequent death. As he lay in bed for the next two days, Famine kept replaying the night of the dead dance over and over in his head. Why couldn’t he just let Devon go? Why did he have to follow his heart and chase a dream that was never destined to be?
Finding Morrigan had been a true blessing; she listened and gave her unwavering support in all aspects of his life after death. But she could never give him what another boy could. She could never make his dead heart flutter with a touch, his cold skin tingle with a look, or his head swirl with a word. In the end, poor Morrigan had never made him feel the way Devon did.
When he was with him, nothing else mattered. He wasn’t continually questioning who he was or where he belonged. Devon made him feel as if he was the only other being in any realm; it didn’t matter where he had come from or who he was now. That’s why he hadn’t seen the lies: they were obscured by a blind devotion and unaffirmed emotion. He had given himself completely to another person without any questions, without any thought, and without any worries.
In the end, Devon had taken advantage of it all and made him feel like a fool. How could he ever trust anyone like that again? His heart grieved for the boy’s death, too. Yes, he had been deceitful and hurtful but he didn’t deserve to be killed like that. Famine thought about the night they met. Had he left the dance then and there Devon would still be alive…or at least still a functioning ghost. Love with another boy was something that was now as distant as his former life. He would never see or feel it again. Thinking back on both Phillip and Devon filled him with crushing grief. Then he thought about Andre, Mama, and Daddy. It was too much. Famine buried his head in his pillow and cried himself to sleep. There, nothing could be taken away from him.
When he awoke, he knew he had things to discuss with Ankou and The Reaper.
“Uncle Ankou, do you have time to talk?” he asked, walking into the dining room.
Ankou was seated at the table over a small paperback book with a bright green cover and a legal pad. He looked up from his work and smiled at his nephew. “Sure, child. Come sit down.”
Famine was still in his nightclothes, a pair of loose fitting black cotton pajamas with red piping around the collar and sleeves. His ordinarily neat hair was tousled and his face was puffy. He wearily plopped on the seat opposite Ankou, trying to get a peek at what he was reading.
Shutting his book and quickly putting it under the pad of paper, Ankou turned his attention to the boy with concern in his eyes. “How are you feeling? You look tired.”
“I’m doing okay. I guess I’m still just trying to take everything in…it’s just so hard getting back into things again.”
“You went through a lot in the last few days. You have to give yourself time to adjust.”
Famine got up and walked to the buffet sitting behind Ankou. On it was a coffee urn and two empty ceramic mugs. He picked up one of them and poured some glowing blue liquid into it. After taking a long drink, he sighed and went back to the table. “You’re right. I’m sleeping too much. I guess it’s my way of trying to work through it.”
“Doesn’t seem to be working.”
“No, it’s not. The bad feelings are still there when I wake up. I think that they’re going to go away when I’m sleeping. I know I have to face them eventually. It’s just easier to get away from them when I’m in bed.”
Ankou leaned back and folded his hands under his chin. “What’s on your mind, child? We’ve been through a lot. I like to think you can talk to your old uncle. I’m not going to judge you.”
Famine put the mug down and stared down into it. His voice was rueful and tinged with sorrow. “I feel bad about the things I did…I mean really bad. It’s one thing to treat you guys the way I did but it’s another knowing that I killed someone. The guilt’s just too much. Every time I close my eyes, I can see The Hunter’s face as he died. He was so scared…so helpless…and I killed him without a second thought. I can still hear him screaming. I’m trying to make myself believe it wasn’t my fault but I just can’t. Deep down, I know that I had a choice about it and I just ignored it.”
Ankou sat up and started to speak but Famine put his hand up. The old cart driver nodded and leaned back again. “How do I go on knowing that I did it purposely? I hated him so much, Uncle, and I wanted him to pay for all the things he did. I knew that if I got rid of him, he wouldn’t be around to
bother us anymore. But it wasn’t a fair fight. He was caged and I wasn’t. I had the advantage and I used it. I used it with every bit of malice and contempt I had in my body.”
His head snapped up. His eyes were burning with emotion and his face almost had color. If Ankou hadn’t known any better, he’d have sworn the kid was alive. “I sleep to try and escape my past actions. I’m just filled with so much pain and regret I can’t bear it! Is this what it’s like to be alive, is it? Because if it is, I’d rather go back to being dead!”
The boy fell back into his chair with his hand clasped over his mouth. Ankou leaned forward with his arms on the table and spoke firmly. “It’s what you have to get used to now that you’ve gotten back some of your humanity. You have to deal with feelings you’ve forgotten…the ones that made you human. But hear this, young man, what you did was not your fault. You were being manipulated by two very evil and ruthless beings who cared nothing about you. They only wanted power for themselves and cared less about who got hurt in the process. They exploited a weakness and a fear you had. They knew you hated The Hunter and they knew what your Dead Light could do. Your choice was taken away the moment you walked into that bitch’s house. She knew she had you where she wanted you. You did what you did in a moment of confusion. Do you understand?”
The room was silent for what seemed like eternity. The burning in Famine’s eyes waned as the words sank in. His face returned to its normal deathly pale color. He picked up the mug and took a drink. “I guess. It’s just going to take me a little time to accept it.”
“I know. But you’re a strong kid. I believe in you and so does everyone else. I need you to be back to your old self again soon. We have a lot of work to catch up on.”
“You mean it?” asked Famine with a new smile. “We’re going back out again?”
“Hell yes, child! We’re a team. Now that you can catch souls, we’re going to be the best damned collectors out there! We might even give your old man a run for his money...if he had any.”
The both of them had a good laugh for several more seconds. Ankou rubbed his chin. His eyes suddenly widened “Oh yeah! Speaking of The Reaper, he wants to see you in the Small Mausoleum. He’s doing some rendering, I think he wants your help.”
Famine finished his drink and put the mug down. He stood up, ran a hand through his hair, and looked down at his clothes. “I wanted to talk with him anyway, but I need to change before I go out there. I’d hate to get corpse filth on my pajamas”
“That’d be a good idea,” agreed Ankou.
“Thanks a lot, Uncle. I appreciate your words.”
“You don’t have to thank me. Now you go and help. You’re officially in the business…need to find out all about it.”
Famine smiled broadly at the man before leaving. As soon as Ankou was sure he had gone, he took the book from its hiding place. The title read The Deadling Problem and What You Can Do About It. Scribbled on the pad were a date, an address and the words “anti-Deadlings Rights seminar”.
After Famine had changed into his customary leather body suit and had combed his hair back into his signature ponytail, he went to the Small Mausoleum.
The Reaper had a faceless body laid on a marble slab. There was a long needle-like blade inserted into the corpse’s abdomen that was in turn attached to a silver box with a recess that contained a large glass cylinder. A steady stream of blue light flowed from the body through a tube and into the receptacle. The Reaper was dressed in a black rubber apron, yellow neoprene gloves, and plastic goggles. He was bent over the body examining the extraction process. Classical music was playing loudly from the speakers that were in each corner of the room. It could’ve been either Vivaldi or Bach, Famine couldn’t tell.
“Hey, Pop!”
The Reaper whirled around. “Glad to see you up. Please come in.”
Since he was already in, Famine failed to see the point in the Death Omen’s remark. He took a seat on a tall metal stool that sat beside the slab. “So, you’re rendering. Looks interesting.”
“It’s rather boring, actually. You just watch a bunch of light go from one place to another but it has to be done. Do you know anything about it?”
“Just what you’ve told me in the past.”
There was a loud binging sound and The Reaper turned off the machine. He removed the blade, wiped it on his apron, and put it neatly alongside the cylinder. He then grabbed a dirty canvas from the corner and covered up the body. “I’ll tell you later,” he said indicating it, “but right now I want to talk.”
“What about?”
“I imagine you have questions. I would if I were you.”
He did have questions. The Reaper hadn’t talked a lot since the events at the lake. He just figured the old man was giving him time to relax and regroup. He was glad that he had, though. The Reaper pulled up another stool and sat beside him.
“You’re probably wondering why I took your memories.”
That had been a question he had asked himself for the last two fifty hundred years. It was the question that had fueled his quest for self-discovery and realization. Devon had promised him he’d find it if he’d break the rules, push boundaries, and break away from his family. But from Devon, it had all been just talk to alienate him from his family and lure him to Angelique. It was a tease, then never delivered. The Reaper was about to reveal all. Had the man simply done this earlier, perhaps none of the prior events would have happened. Famine said nothing. The Reaper took that as a cue to continue.
“I did it to protect you. I know that sounds weird but I did. I knew the horrible sense of pain and loss you were feeling during your final mortal moments. I knew that you couldn’t bear them. I just wanted to take that misery away. When I took you, I wanted to start you with a blank slate. All those feelings…all those memories of the things you loved and lost…would’ve made starting here harder. It would’ve caused you to experience what I wanted you to avoid. I just didn’t want you to suffer any more than you already had. I know now that was selfish. I had feeling the time would come when I would have to give it back. I just didn’t want to lose what I had worked so hard to build with you.”
Famine was speechless. The old man really did care. He had cared enough to risk the very relationship that he had carefully built. Any residual anger Famine had towards the Reaper instantly vanished. All of the years of uncertainty and doubt disappeared and was replaced with feelings of renewed faith and respect. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything. I’ll understand if you’re still mad. I don’t blame you. I hid from you what you had the right to know. I just hope that you can take what you’ve learned to help yourself here in The Deadlands. By knowing where you came from, you’ll have a better idea of who and what you are. Only then can you work on building yourself up to something more.”
“What am I?”
“That’s a good question. I never took your soul or your body. I let your energies stay on. Until now, I would have called you an unknown. You didn’t have a place here. Now that you have your memories, I think you have some humanity. You’re Death with a conscious if that makes any sense. Aside from Llorona, you’re the only one in The Deadlands that can do that. I’d say that was pretty special. Your Dead Light is lit and will remain so until there is no more Death. That’ll never happen, though. Death is a part of the endless cycle of Eternity. So, my boy, I think you’ll always be around in some fashion.”
This still didn’t answer any questions Famine had. He still couldn’t call himself anything. But somehow this didn’t matter. Now that he knew a little more, he could call himself whatever he wanted. That was the beauty about his being now. One question still burned in his mind, though. “I can live with that, Pop. Tell me, why did you take me?”
“Because you fought so valiantly against Evangeline. You fought to hold onto everything you loved and treasured. I had never seen anything like it before. It was amazing. I needed something like that in
my death. I just had to have you. I couldn’t let you go…I just couldn’t.”
Again, speech was taken away. What could he say? Nothing would have sounded as eloquent or as touching. Instead, Famine focused on the woman who had caused it all. “I guess I have to thank Evangeline for something. I have a family again. Otherwise, I'd just be a dead in the earth.”
The Reaper got up and walked around the room. He put his arms behind his back as he talked. “Poor Evangeline shouldn’t be blamed. She was the only one to survive the fever that killed her family. She lost everything she loved. After her last child died, she went mad, burned the place down, and drowned herself in the pond. But her spirit was angry. It wouldn’t rest. It stayed in that pond and took others. In a way, I guess she was trying to get back the family she had lost. But I couldn’t let her do that. I had no choice. I had to take everything from her and banish her to the Borderlands.”
“So she changed her name and became a driving instructor??” asked Famine in a disbelieving tone.
The Reaper stopped in the middle of the room, thought for a moment, and laughed. “I guess she did. I thought she’d live in that lake forever. Just goes to show that even my actions have severe consequences. I had no idea that her thirst for vengeance and belonging were so strong.”
“I’m not sure it was revenge she was after, Pop.”
“What do you mean? She wanted to get back at me for what I did.”
Famine stared deeply and thoughtfully into the receptacle that contained the drained soul. He waited a second before continuing. “You just said that she was trying to get back something she lost. Look at what she did to have it again. People don’t think when they want something that badly. Perhaps I should’ve spared her. She was lot more like me than I realized.”
“Don’t say that. She would’ve stopped at nothing until she had your Dead Light. You gave her what she wanted, child. It’s not your fault if she didn’t comprehend the truth.”
The boy was about to say something when there was a knock at the door. “Come in,” said The Reaper cheerfully.
Morrigan popped her head in. “Hello, everyone!”
Famine’s heart swelled with excitement. It had been a long time since he had seen his friend. There was a lot to talk about and a lot more apologizing to do. He jumped up, ran to her, and hugged her tightly.
She giggled and returned his embrace. “Hey, sweetie! How are you?”
Famine pulled away and kissed her neck. “I’m doing better now that you’re here!”
“That’s so sweet. Hey I just brought over some Pus and Blood flavored iced scream and oatmeal soul cakes. I’d thought we’d have a little party.”
The Reaper took off his work gear and threw it in the corner. “Sounds great to me. I’m starved.”
He turned off the torches by flipping a switch on the wall. Famine and Morrigan were waiting for him on the steps as he shut and locked the door. As they left, they saw a flurry of activity near one of the other mausoleums in the graveyard. A tall figure in a flowing white hooded shroud moved noiselessly from a parked cart to the building. They couldn’t see a face from this distance. Morrigan gave the being a quizzical look and turned to The Reaper.
“Who’s that?”
The Reaper peered in the direction of her stare. “Ah, yes, I’ve decided to start renting out the extra mausoleums. That’s our first tenant. He seems a nice chap…quiet and dapper looking”
“I hope’s he not any trouble,” Famine remarked, “that’s the last thing we need.”
“I wouldn’t worry. I’m sure he’s fine. Miss Morrigan why don’t you go on ahead. We’ll be there in a few moments.”
As the girl hurried into the family home, The Reaper turned and faced Famine with his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “I want to be there more for you in the future, child. I just get too caught up in work sometime.”
“Please, Pop,” answered the teenager, “you were doing what Death does. Don’t apologize for that. We’ll just set aside a little more time later.”
“You got it…now tell me more about Devon. I’m sure underneath it all, he was a good boy…” The two images of Death walked up the steps to the mausoleum.
The new neighbor regarded the scene with curiosity for a few seconds before unloading his last bag and going into his own home. The population in the Deadlands had just gone up by one.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
J.R. Rodriguez originally comes from the Deep South but now lives in New England with his husband and chihuahuas. He enjoys horror, drag queens, science,photography, and art when not working as a nurse. Current print publications include "Pandora's Nightmare: Horror Unleashed" from Pill Hill Press, "Zombilaity" from Library of the Living Dead Press, and "Letters from the Dead" also from LotLD Press.
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