DWOM - ending
It weighed more already, and seemed to be growing moment by moment, but too slow to catch by looking. He wouldn’t make it if he tried walking, would most likely topple somewhere along the way as he tried to keep his balance with the toddler and his cane. Driving, then.
He hadn’t driven the car in almost four years - Rebecca was in charge of groceries, and took him to all of his appointments. Gray had a scare one night, when he’d mistaken a green light for a yellow, and slowed down enough so that a truck behind him had to jam its brakes and ended up swerving into the oncoming lane of traffic. There was a crash, a lot of yelling and thank the Lord everyone was all right, but Gray knew it had been his fault. His eyesight was no longer what it was. He didn’t trust himself behind the wheel.
The demon child fed off his anxiety, redoubling its growth as Gray looked for the keys. He tried to calm himself down. They were there, on the rack. His wife was steady with her patterns, and this time he was grateful.
Behind the wheel he drowsed, nauseous. He put the sedan in gear and pulled out of the driveway, trying not to kick the pedals too hard. He successfully avoided a cyclist, who flipped him off anyway, and then dropped his foot to the floor. He was at the train station in less than four minutes, and already the toddler had grown to the size of a six-year-old. Its skin was changing color as well, from the porcelain white it had been when he’d pulled it from the package to a Mediterranean olive-like color. Gray didn’t have the energy to think about it. He staggered out of the door and into the train station, where several people didn’t bother glancing at him. He was jogging, or trying to, afraid that if he kept to walking he would simply collapse. He got to the bench where he liked to sit and fought the urge to take a break. If he rested now he would die.
At the wall he saw something he’d never seen before . An inner part of him had been hoping for it, that he’d be able to see the slot, or the door to the other side. It was small and square, probably only three and a half feet tall. At the top was a rectangular slot, and below that was a round hole. He lurched to the wall and plunged his hand into the hole. There was a bar inside, and he grappled with it, pulling. The door began to open, but it was held in place by an immense amount of friction. Sweat poured from Gray like a wrung-out rag, and the child clung to him ever-tighter. Finally it came open. Gray crouched, wondering if he’d ever be able to stand again.
“That guy’s got a naked kid!”
He looked back, weary. A man in a white button-down shirt and tie was pointing at him.
“That old black guy’s stealing someone’s kid!”
Security guards charged him, keys jangling at their waists. “We’ve got an abduction at Mercy Station,” one of them shouted into his walkie. Another one pulled something from his belt. Not a gun. A taser.
Gray raised his hands. “It’s not me! You know me!”
“Get the sick fuck!”
Were he alone, Gray might have forgotten all about the door, and given in to the panic he felt. But the child had already been reaching back into the doorway and with an immense show of strength, tossed the old black man into the darkness.
They fell. Gray screamed, and the child grew larger. There was no light, and Gray knew that he shouldn’t be able to see anything, but he could. He twisted around, rotating his shoulders first and then his hips, so he was no longer falling backwards. If the landing came now he would break both of his legs. The walls rushing past him made up some kind of chute - a package chute. His brain sent signals to his arms, and he flailed them wildly, grabbing at any hold they might find. But the chute was opening outward, and there was nothing to touch. Gray tugged at the boy clinging to him, but the demon thing only gripped tighter. All of the strength went out of the old man, and he passed out.
Next he was being stabbed. In the back, just beneath his shoulder blade. He felt the air go out of his chest, and came awake all at once, howling in pain. The hook came out, and Gray opened his eyes. He was no longer falling - he and the child were resting in the midst of a writhing pile of packages, just like the one he’d opened. Gray didn’t question that he could see any of this - his eyes were obviously tuned to the energies of the under layer. The child was still nuzzled to him, now the approximation of a twelve-year-old boy entering puberty. Its skin was even darker. Beyond them was a platform, on which one of the bright-colored little men stood, holding a long stick with a curved pointed end. The end was dripping blood.
It hurt to breathe, and Gray realized one of his lungs was probably punctured. He raised a hand to the little man, and tried to speak.
“I need help. I opened a package and there was a baby inside. And it was killing my wife. It’s killing me.”
The little man stared impassively. Then he turned around and walked away, leaving Gray and the child in the writhing pile. The platform was empty, and Gray knew he was about to die. If not from the child, then from the blood he was losing. A moment later the bright little man was back, this time with a taller, skinnier man. This one was all dressed in green, and its hair was a deep aqua. Its skin pulsated with an aura of purply blue light.
“Who are you?” It said.
Gray groaned. This was all taking too long. “Ken. Grayson. It doesn’t matter - I need your help.”
“It’s clear to me that you need help,” the tall cool-pallette said. “But it’s not mine you need. It’s not anyone’s you can get. And there’s nothing so wrong with death, not at your age. Not with the kind of foolish life you’ve lived.”
The packages around him were exited, rocking him as though he rode a wave as they jittered in their trans-dimensional way. The child was fourteen, fifteen.
“What was it, your life? Valor? Hard work? Curiosity? It doesn’t much matter now. You’re here, and you’ve doomed even us. No use talking about it.”
“What do you mean? What is it - what did I do?”
The green man waved a hand dismissively. “You birthed one of the souls not meant for yours or any world. They’re harvested at conception and sent here. For holding. It’s my job to see they stay, and to patch any of them that might be deteriorating. To keep them from hatching. Worlds have found their end many ways, and it is my task to keep any from ending in this particular one. However, it seems you’ve rendered my responsibility meaningless. There’s nothing any of us can do.”
Gray felt himself dimming. The green man was far away. The child was growing facial hair.
“I just want to go home. To my wife.”
“You and me both, Mister Grayson. I will, you see. There is no better way to spend the end of things than with a loved one. And you might, after a fashion. Let me know just one thing before you go, would you? Why did you open it?”
“Had to know what was inside.”
“And now you know. Tell me, how does it feel?”
“Like Hell.”
—-
Rebecca awoke feeling feeling sweaty and disoriented. It was dark somehow - had she slept so little? Her bones ached. She sat up, and even that was a struggle. Gray’s spot was cold and empty. She was confused, and a slight tremor made its way into her normally steady heartbeat.
“Kenny?”
She got up and started toward the bathroom. Used to travelling the short distance in the dark, she held her arm out only as a force of habit. When it found that space occupied also by what felt like warm skin, she started.
“Oh!” She felt out for it again, and felt the strong biceps of her husband. “You scared me, Kenny. Oh dear, you’re shivering. Come to bed, would you? It’s all right about earlier. I’m not mad, I just want you to hold me.” She led her him to bed and got in. She kissed him. He didn’t say anything, and as much as she wanted to believe everything was all right, she worried. She touched a switch on the bedside lamp, and turned over. Her husband had his eyes closed already, and his breathing was deep. He held something out to her, which she took. It was a package, rectangular in shape and about the size of two shoeboxes. It was covered in brown paper and kept tied with twine.
“A present?” Her husband nodded into her arm. “Oh, you didn’t have to. It was just a little disagreement. I shouldn’t have been so hard on you - I know how much you love sitting at that station. I just feel like you forget who your wife is every once in a while.”
She looked at the package again, and wondered what might be inside.
“Oh, what’s the use in waiting? I’ll open it now.” She got up for the scissors, which she kept in the kitchen drawer under the phone. On her way out of the bedroom, she took one last look at Gray, bathed in the yellow light of the bedside lamp. He looks like he did ten years ago. So young. Later, as she cut the strings off, she couldn’t imagine why he hadn’t opened his eyes to see her unwrap his present.
Still, didn’t it feel like he was watching?
