Damned Either Way

Note on sensitive material: domestic violence, gore/violence, suicide

“Another one?” Louis heard her grumble to herself as he poured another mug of spiked coffee. He and Paul had been saving the brandy for the end of the night as they steadily worked their way through several bottles of beer and even some of Grace’s wine that had been collecting dust since she’d become pregnant a few months ago.

The day finally started to cool about an hour ago, even though the horizon had long ago smothered the dusted oranges and pinks of dusk. Louis had made sure that his head stayed swimming since noon (he hadn’t even waited for Paul, killing several swigs of cheap swill in the private of the kitchen). The world swayed with him, his cheeks were flushed, and he was happy.

Grace’s hand rubbed at her eyes before smacking the counter; her head whipped up to the ceiling. Louis knew that stance, could hear the sigh that accompanied it even if Paul was laughing boisterously beside him. Louis ground his teeth. She couldn’t let him enjoy himself. He’d been fighting ike mad to keep ahead of all the needs of the farm. She hadn’t been able to do as much, which he knew wasn’t her fault. But didn’t she see everything he was doing or that the crops weren’t coming in as plentifully as they have in years past. Hell, she used to join him, drinking him under the table most nights. He missed those nights. He missed seeing her own pale cheeks flushed and splotchy. Her laugh had a special tinkle to it then. But now…

Paul shook his shoulder with the grip of a drunk man not realizing his own strength.

“Ow! Lighten up ya bastard,” Louis chuckled and knocked Paul’s hand aside.

“Well, did ya hear me?” Paul shoved his face close to Louis’s; foreheads a hair away from each other and Paul’s bloodshot eyes opened wide.

“I don’t know how he couldn’t,” Grace said louder this time, “The Connors are probably on their way to shut yer up.”

Louis felt something percolating in his chest, and his jaw tightened. “The Connor’s farm is nearly a mile away,” he forced his voice to a lighter tone.

“Still, maybe John could knock you both out and give me some peace.” This was meant just for her, but Louis could hear it, which means Paul could hear it, too. Why was she embarrassing him tonight?

“Paul and I are just trying to enjoy ourselves, Grace,” he couldn’t avoid the growl that snuck into his voice.

She spun from her place scrubbing at the basin, “And making fools of yourselves in the process.” Her eyes betrayed something sharp, something spiteful.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Louis’s fist slammed into the table, rattling their mugs.

“Oh, sit down,” she said, throwing her rag at him.

The rag plopped into his face. His nostrils filled with the soft smell of wet food and mold. That bubbling in his chest boiled over. A hot rush flooded into his limbs. Jerking rage and drunken fingers fumbled with the rag before he hurled it back at her. She swatted the rag to the floor. He shoved the table aside, the mugs clattering. He rushed toward her. She crumpled to the floor with the grace of practice; her arms crossing over her face.

An arm looped around his chest from behind and pulled him back; two lumbering bodies tangled and stumbled to the floor.

Paul’s hot breath huffed in his ear, “It’s okay, mate. I think she’s right. Time for us to call it a night.”

Louis twitched and felt Paul’s arms tighten around him, locking in place. Louis took in a deep breath and forced his body to go limp. Paul loosened and released him, patting Louis on the shoulder as they stood up. Louis could still feel the boil, but he knew he needed to pretend the spell had passed.

Paul went over to Grace. He held a hand to Louis’s wife. She took it and hoisted herself awkwardly from the floor; her other hand cradling her belly. Her hand lingered in his, and Paul said something under his breath to her. Louis bit down on the inside of his cheek, attempting to stay in control of that rage sloshing over the sides of the cauldron.

Paul walked over. Louis focused on lifting his chin and keeping his breath level. He stood still and tall, a magnifying glass on himself to tamp down the swaying or the shaking. Paul’s hands settled on Louis’s shoulders. Their eyes met and held. Paul’s were open, steady pools of blue. Louis tried to reflect that back while his inner voice cursed ever knowing the man in front of him.

“Time for us to get to bed, mate.” Wrinkles tugged at Paul’s eyes as he smiled a jovial grin, full of teeth and charm. “We need to sleep this off.”

Louis could only manage a grunt. Those hands at his shoulders guided him to the stairs. A curse wriggled out from between his lips when Louis tripped up the stairs. His knee crashed into the wood, and that rage within his chest roared from pain and embarrassment.

“Heeeere we go,” Paul ladled Louis onto the bed. How was Paul so sober? “Enjoy the rest of the brandy. I’ll see you soon.” Paul thumped his fight Lightly on Louis’s chest, and left Louis in the dark with his clothes and boots still on like a child sent to his room.

Louis listened with a hunter’s focus. Paul’s feet were light on the stairs before hitting their normal stride in the kitchen. Soft words drifted up to Louis, Paul and Grace’s voices mingling. A moment later, the front door closed.

Louis could feel his heart pounding in his ears. His hands bundled into fists on his chest. A series of sobs leaked up between the floor boards. Louis’s fists snapped to his head and started pounding on his temples. He bolted from the bed. His feet carried him to the corner where his loaded, double barrel hunting rifle sat waiting, prepared for any wolf trying to raid his farm.

He stumbled out of the bedroom and down the stairs. Grace sat at the table, head in her hands. He held to the railing to steady himself down the last few steps.

She struggled to stand to meet him, “Louis, what—”

Louis saw a flash of the woman he married a year ago, soft smiles and bright laughter, and he couldn’t help but hate this banshee that had stolen her place.

He slammed his finger into the trigger. A blast of noise and light. The slosh of drunken rage immediately drained from his head the moment he saw her face bloom into a red flower of blood, gore, and bone.

His rifle clattered to the floor. His entire body had gone numb. He shuffled to the table and sat so that the table blocked his view. He knew everything was done. There was no coming back. No story or alibi to explain what happened to his beautiful Grace.

A story that his mother had told him once itched at the corners of his mind. It had slipped from her lips one night. A piece of forbidden knowledge that a parent tells a child for no discernible reason. It had seemed like an old wives tale from a long dead generation. He spied the small bowl on the table and removed its lid. He dumped the salt onto the table and spread it with his hand. His index finger traced a circle, then a pentagram—point down—within the circle. He took his left hand and pinched a bit from the center before tossing it over his shoulder. His breath trembled at the idea of what he was doing. He hoped he remembered the right words…

“I wish to make a deal with the Morningstar.”

It felt as if the world held its breath, and the hair on the back of Louis’s neck stood on end. Boots clicked on the wood floor behind Louis. A man walked into view beside the table. He was smartly dressed, a maroon coat over a tan vest that hugged his lithe frame. A dark, neat beard framed his jaw. Black curls tumbled from his head. The man walked to sit opposite Louis, making a point to step over what lay on the floor.   

The man sat, lounging with the ease of a predator surrounded by prey. Louis was motionless, a cold sweat causing his shirt to stick to his back. It felt as if the weight of all God’s creation waited for one of them to speak.

Louis forced himself to look at the man. Their eyes met, and Louis bore into two pits that contained eons and hinted at secrets a man’s mind couldn’t hold without cracking. Louis’s eyes shot to the table, his breath shaking.

“I-I-I’m s-sorry to—”

“You called me here to make a deal, my friend,” the man’s voice was a chorus of deep, chiming bells, “So, name your desire, and I will name my price.”

“My wife…” Louis’s voice died in his throat.

“Yes, I saw your handiwork.”

“I want her back.”

The man leaned over to look at the body on the floor, “That will be a hefty price.”

“I thought so.”

The man made a bridge with his fingers and set his chin on top. The intensity of the man’s gaze was a burning itch on Louis’s skin.

“You understand what you are sacrificing for me to do this?”

“I figure I’m damned either way.” Louis clenched his jaw to stop it from trembling.

The man gave a sick chortle that shook the air. He stood and walked to stand next to Louis before placing a piece of parchment and a pen in front of Louis.

The man leaned down, mouth next to Louis’s ear, “Sign you name anywhere to seal or arrangement.” The man’s breath tickled Louis’s ear and sent shivers down his spine.

“There’s no ink, Sir,” Louis said picking up the pen.

“I thought you would know how this works.” The man held up the index finger of one hand and poked it with the other.

Understanding, Louis took the point of the pen and pricked finger, drawing a dribble of blood. Louis was surprised at the lack of pain. He did his best to copy the scribbles his mother taught him were his name.

The moment he lifted the pen from the paper, the man’s hand snatched the contract from the table and made it disappear with a flourish. His spindly fingers reached for the pen, and Louis offered it up. The man’s fingers brushed Louis’s palm. They felt hot, like irons pulled from the forge. Louis jerked his hand back but found no burns or blisters.

“Thank you,” the man said with a smile, “When I depart, she will return to you.”

Louis’s eyes darted to Grace.

“I will take my leave unless, of course, there is another bargain you care to make.”

“I have nothing else to give.” It felt like the truest thing Louis had ever said.

           A smile lifted the man’s face. “You may find that changes in time,” he sighed, a deal struck, “With that, I bid you farewell, my friend.”

           He slipped behind Louis, and the world exhaled. Louis counted his breaths waiting for…something.

Beyond the table, Grace shuffled. She bumped the chair. Louis’s heart jumped into his throat. She stood. He felt a smile crack across his face.

Her matted hair spilled into the bloody cavern of her face. Her jaw hung slack on one side. One bulging eye twitched to meet his gaze. Words gurgled in her throat as she pulled the chair to sit.

He screamed, falling to the floor. He skittered away from the table. She stood, almost in concern. He saw his rifle beside the stairs. He ran to it, grabbed it, and aimed the second barrel. His heart faltered. He collapsed on the stairs; his heart dancing in his chest. Shame, panic, and horror swam in a swirling miasma in his head. She walked to him and used her hand to lift his chin. He saw her up close and felt tears stream down his face. She leaned down, removed his boots, and looked up to him.

“Thank you, Grace.”

He held the barrel in his mouth and hooked his toe to the trigger. Just before he pulled, he heard a deep timbre whisper in his ear.

“Welcome, my friend. I hadn’t expected you so soon.”