What is coming
ten million people
in the street cannot stop
What is coming
the American Armed Forces
cannot control
the President
of the United States and his counselors
cannot conceive
initiate
command or direct
everything
you do
or refrain from doing
will bring us
to the same place
the place we don’t know
your anger against the war
your horror of death
your calm strategies
your bold plans
to rearrange the middle east
to overthrow the dollar
to establish the 4th Reich
to live forever
to silence the Jews
to order the cosmos
to tidy up your life
to improve religion
they count for nothing
you have no understanding
of the consequences
of what you do
oh and one more thing
you aren’t going to like
what comes after America
"I love mankind," he said, "but I find to my amazement that the more I love mankind as a whole, the less I love man in particular." - Fyodor Dostoevsky. (The Brothers Karamazov, 1880)
January 3rd 1995. Tuesday.
Tending bar at T Cupps on a Tuesday night was simple, a second nature task she could've done with her eyes closed, and it was full of her regulars along with truckers stopping off between a long haul down to the ports. To her left where Lucy and Annette sat a man's voice called over to her.
"Ma'am." She walked over wondering what they were up to as the man had his wallet out and clearly didn't belong in a place like this. He was tall, with dark brown hair that was longer at the top and partly curly, clean shaven with a suit and tie. He wasn't interested in the girls or even a drink, not in the capacity they sat at the bar for anyway. Lucy spoke for him.
"Can we have two large Long Island iced teas please? Make em stiff for me babe."
Looking between Lucy and the man who was obviously reluctantly paying she narrowed her eyes with a smirk at Lucy. "You ain't pulling any shit, are you? Playing nice?"
Lucy smiled. "I swear."
"Because you know better while I'm here, right?"
Lucy giggled. "I promise."
She arched an eyebrow in question. "Evie, I swear!"
Making their drinks she put them down and took his bill. "Thank you. Keep the change." Watching as the three of them walked to a booth she kept an eye on them as they spoke. After a while Annette came back over and she saw the man had moved over to Lucy's side.
"What's all that about?"
"Don't know. Some guy named Rust asking about some girl that he's looking for. Says he's murder police."
She glanced over. "What's he want with her?"
Annette shrugged. "She won't do nothing with a cop but he doesn't seem like the type anyway. He sent me over to get another round."
Nodding she made them more and kept the change knowing it was his money. Once he left Lucy came back over to her seat. "What's up with that?"
Lucy lit a cigarette. "Looking for a girl that got killed."
"One in Erath?"
A shrug was her answer at first while Lucy pulled lightly on her cigarette. "I guess. He thinks she was gamin' so he's askin' around I guess."
"You say anything?"
Lucy shook her head. "Nothin' to say really, I don't know her. Asked me for pills though.. for him."
She arched her eyebrow. "You give him any?"
Lucy shook her head exhaling her smoke before she pointed her chin towards her. "Blues.. like you. Says he doesn't sleep either."
That didn't surprise her having imagined the things he saw as a cop. "Everyone's got their own problems."
Lucy hummed with a nod. "Wish mine looked as good as him. He was weird though.. like too serious, too honest. I dunno."
"How's that weird?"
"Maybe he's gay."
Turning her head towards the door she put her cigarette out getting up. "Just because he doesn't wanna fuck you doesn't mean he's gay. Be careful please."
Lucy smiled with a wink. "Always am."
Pulling her bronco up to a house off the main road away from everything she unlocked the door and went inside. Her 100-pound cane Corso came running up to her wagging her butt excited to see her, a sight that never failed to make her smile.
"Hi baby. Hi beautiful Lily girl, I missed you too." Accepting the wet kisses as she knelt down with a laugh she pet her. "Thank you, thank you so much. You gotta go outside? Cmon, let's go potty."
Opening the back door to the fenced in yard she pulled on her cigarette watching. The house was a two bedroom, dated wood paneling with equally dated furniture, but she didn't have to pay a dime for it. It was quiet and safe slightly away from everyone. Once she came back in, she fed her and got in the shower. Braiding her waist length black hair, she got a drink snapping her fingers at the dog who immediately followed her down the hall to her bedroom where she climbed into bed. "Hier." Jumping up she laid next to her resting her giant head on her stomach on top of the blankets. She took a pill from the bottle in her nightstand swallowing it with her drink before turning the TV on at a low volume. There were two things she couldn't manage sleep without, barbiturates or sedatives and the TV. Having no intention of watching it, the purpose was for background noise only. She'd stare at it until her eyes got heavy and her body hopefully gave into sleep but she knew the nightmares would come. They always did whenever she managed to fall asleep. Thinking back to where she was when she arrived in Louisiana things now were vastly different. Maria was gone where Lilith took her place, the house seemed emptier because of her absence. She owed a woman she barely knew when they met the life she had now, it was Maria's things that surrounded her. Maria's house, truck, furniture, linens, everything down to the television that she stared blankly at and decor on the walls was someone else's that had been graciously left to her. The only reason she still breathed oxygen was because of someone else's graciousness and that was about the only reason aside from the giant head on her stomach. Petting her soft ears she grinned.
"Beautiful girl. I don't know what I'd do without you, you know that?" She slowly moved up her stomach to her chest making her smile when a wet tongue touched her cheek.
"Thank you, baby. You're so sweet." The velvet behind her ears became a security blanket as she tried to lull herself to sleep like a child.
January 12th 1995. Thursday.
Cleaning glasses behind the bar a familiar face appeared in the same spot she first saw him and just as out of place. He was looking at her so she came over.
"They're not here."
Leaning on the bar he spoke low but enough for her to hear. "I know. She told me come see you if she wasn't around." She arched her eyebrow, his accent didn't fit what she usually heard, but she knew why he was here.
"I get done in ten. Drink?"
He shook his head pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. In a suit and tie he looked as exhausted as she felt but determined to appear the opposite. Rigid, stoic, but an undercurrent of longing lingered in him along with the constant state of feeling out of place. When her back was turned, she felt him analyzing her the same way she had done to him which both annoyed and intrigued her. After grabbing her things, she nodded towards him and he followed her outside.
She turned to him when she was far enough away from the front door. "What is it you need?"
"Quaaludes if you have em."
"I do but they're at the house."
He looked at her and she noticed he still wore his badge with his gun still on his hip. Realizing he was hesitant to let her know he wanted them now, she sighed.
"Look. I'm not driving back here so you can follow me if you need em now. Black bronco." He nodded.
A red Ford f250 followed her to her place and parked behind her in the driveway but he didn't get out.
"You can come in; it's just me here."
That got him out despite him looking around like a bird of prey searching for larger predators or small game. Waiting for him at the door after she unlocked it, she opened it where her dog was excited until she realized she wasn't alone. Growling lowly, she spoke sternly.
"Platz." Lily laid on the floor flat looking up at her with only her eyes.
"Voraus." Getting up she went right to the backdoor where she let her out into the backyard before tossing her stuff down.
"Have a seat if you want. Beer?" She grabbed herself one and waited for his response looking at him.
"Please."
Grabbing another she handed it to him seeing he wore no wedding ring. She lit a cigarette and let the dog in pouring her food. "Nimm futter." Lilith wasted no time putting all her attention on her bowl.
"Lucy get busted?"
She nodded. "Mhm. I assume you went to the motel she's been staying at?"
"Was dark so I assumed that's what happened. You sellin too?"
She shook her head. "No. She helps me out, I help her. Lucky for you there's one other person who also wants what you asked for."
He lit his own cigarette. "I gave her 200 for a bottle after she told me they go for three a pill." His accent was Texan; she knew it from the truckers that came through the bar.
"Can't give you a bottle but I can spare some."
"Whatever you can if ya don't mind."
She nodded and got up going to get her pills. Putting ten in a spare bottle she came out where Lily was standing at the end of the hall facing him. Seeing it made her grin as she walked by.
"Sitz." She sat. "Good girl."
He observed quietly looking around every aspect of the room he was in. "Good dog. Cane Corso?"
She nodded and sat down.
"Got a name?"
"Lilith. Lily for short." Putting the bottle on the table she nodded to it. "There's ten in there. I get some every Saturday so do with that what you will." Pulling out his wallet he put money on the table and took the pills putting them in his pocket after popping one.
"Evie your real name?"
She nodded. "Is Rust yours?"
He nodded. "It ain't a nickname?" She looked at him and saw he was staring right at her. "Your name. It's not a nickname?"
"Why do you care?"
He pulled on his cigarette. "Not particularly sure that I do."
Nodding to his badge on his belt she spoke. "Well, if you really wanna know you'll figure it out."
"How come it's just you here?"
"How come you need those?" He looked at her, no expression readable on his face, but the clouds in his eyes churned, so she spoke again. "You found anymore on that case?"
"You know her?"
She shook her head. "The girls that run game at the bar and the club don't know anything. I try to look out for them but I never seen her."
"Club?"
"I dance at The Garden on weekends sometimes."
"Why?"
She paused staring at him. "Sorry?"
"Why do you look out for em'?"
"Because I always wanted someone to do that for me."
"You runnin' game?"
She smirked shaking her head. "No. No, the clubs not like that. It runs clean. I've learned you have to work twice as hard when it's honest."
"Any of the girls talk about rough trade, scary guys, anythin' like that?"
Pulling on her cigarette she thought about it. "No one scary enough to share. Got girls come in with bruises but that's relatively normal around here." He nodded slowly watching her which made her chuckle despite being put on edge by his observations "You can try and analyze me all you want but it's not gonna work."
"Who said anything bout analyzin'?"
Refusing to cower under anyone's gaze no matter how strong it may be she exhaled smoke. "You need more pills you know where to find me. She'll be away for a while. As riveting as trading questions is I also have a sleepless night ahead of me."
"You runnin' or hidin' from something?"
She paused nodding to his badge. "Like I said you really wanna know you'll figure it out."
He stood and Lily stood at the same time. "Platz." Making his way to the door she watched as he left. After his truck drove off, she realized he was the first person she ever let into this house since she lived here alone. "Good girl Lily." Her butt wagged as she came over like she realized she could be a normal dog again. Patting the couch, she jumped up licking her face. "Thank you. You're a good girl huh?" Big yellow eyes looked back at her. "You're all I got, you know that?" Kissing her giant head, she rested her cheek against her face. "My Lily girl. I gotta get a shower, you want a treat?" Giving her one watching as she took it to the living room, she went to the bathroom starting the shower. Under the water she wondered if she was too abrasive despite him not being the type to wear his emotions anywhere remotely close to his sleeve but she knew why she was that way. It wasn't her intention to explain that to anyone and she wouldn't apologize. Her entire life she spent being manipulated and she swore it would never happen again. He might've been a sad, lonely, desperate detective but something told her there was more to him. The look in his eyes was all too familiar, she saw it in the mirror every day, but it was none of her business.
January 15th 1995. Sunday.
Taking the time after doing things around her house on her day off she decided to actually cook real food. The sun had long gone down and she'd just taken food out of the oven. Lily had been snoozing on the couch when she sat up and looked towards the door. By default, following her gaze looking over at the front door she saw headlights pull up. A low rumbling growl came from the dog as she leaned closer over the counter towards the door seeing a red truck and Rust getting out of it. "Bleib. It's okay. Sitz." He knocked and she went over opening the door. He was still in his suit but his tie was loosened along with one button undone and he held a black leather-bound notebook. She arched an eyebrow silently asking why he was here.
"Can I come in?"
"Why?"
"I got some questions."
She sighed. "On or off the record?"
"Off."
Debating silently in her head she nodded stepping aside. "Lily, legen." She got up on the couch and laid down with a grumble. "Have a seat. If you're asking me questions you can do it over food."
"I uh.."
"I cooked; you'll eat if you want me to talk so I don't have leftovers. Chile rellenos." He took off his suit jacket and draped it across the back of the chair before rolling up his sleeves. He wore a watch on his left wrist and on his right outer forearm was a tattoo peered out. It was a bird skeleton with feathers and seemed to go up towards his elbow. "Beer?"
He nodded. "Please." Bringing two back to the table she sat down and served him before serving herself unable to break years of habits engrained in her mind.
"Ask away."
He took a bite first and nodded slowly as he chewed, stopped when he swallowed. "Pretty good Mexican food for a girl from Missouri." She paused looking at him casually keeping his eyes in his plate. "Maria teach you to cook this before she passed?"
All she could do was nod turning to her food with a slight grin. "So, you figured it out."
He looked at her. "No missing person's report, no one claiming a runaway or kidnapping."
"There won't be."
"Why's that?"
"Because if they come looking for me, they'd be doing themselves in if they don't kill me first."
He paused sipping his beer. "They?" She nodded. "This the same people that killed your parents?"
Looking up at him she froze for a second.
"You didn't know."
She looked back down and shook her head hearing him exhale through his nose quietly.
"I'm sorry."
She shrugged. "I would assume it was them. My parents gave me up a long time ago."
He looked confused and he should be because he didn't know the half of it. "There was no record of you being in the system."
"They didn't give me up to the system. Children of the Holy Redeemer is who they gave me too. I was 16 when I fled and headed south however I could. Maria found me in the bathroom of a truck stop hanging from one of the stalls."
He stopped chewing altogether and paused, his eyes went to her neck so she pulled her hair away showing him the scar.
"Cheap nylon rope I found wasn't really forgiving on the skin."
He swallowed.
"She was heading back down here from a doctor's office, oncologist. She took me in, I took care of her, and when she died, she left everything to me."
"Didn't have no family or nothin'?"
She shook her head. "I got Lilith as a puppy not long after. That was nearly two and a half years ago."
Taking another drink, she set her beer down. "How'd you figure it out?"
"Tax records. She left the house in your name." He turned his gaze to his plate taking another bite nearly having finished it all. "This is great." She couldn't help but chuckle making him pause. "What's so funny?"
She shook her head. "Coming from someone from Texas I appreciate it. Help yourself if you're still hungry." He froze now and she arched an eyebrow. "Your accent. I hear it at the bar. You aren't the only one who analyzes people. But I'm assuming that isn't the kinda questions you wanna ask, is it?"
She waited. "Why the cross?" His eyes were on the gold cross that hardly ever came off from around her neck.
"It wasn't mine."
He went silent when she expected him to start firing off questions. Giving him a moment he finished his beer and yet he stilled said nothing. She tilted her head to the side looking at him. "How'd you know I was here?" That snapped him out of drifting.
"I checked the bar and the club. Came here when you weren't there."
"So, what'd you wanna ask me? And don't give me any bullshit about wanting to know where my necklace was from."
He looked at the dog. "If I move, she gonna bite?"
She smiled. "Only if I tell her to."
He grabbed his leather bound and opened it handing it to her. "Any of this mean anything or look familiar to you?" Looking at the sketches on the paper there was a spiral and what looked like bundles of sticks tied together deliberately. She closed her eyes briefly and sighed through her nose seeing thorns flash briefly in her memory for a second. "What is it?" Handing it back to him she responded.
"Looks like brujeria."
"Witchcraft."
She nodded. "Maria would tell me stories when she was a girl in Mexico. There was a curandero there and would make amulets and have rituals for protection against brujeria. It looks like something along those lines but around here it would be voodoo I assume. They have their own traditions."
He looked at her like he was trying to read her mind. "Holy Redeemer ever do anything like that?"
Looking back, she got up and took her plate to the sink pouring food in the dog's bowl. "Lily nimm futter." Jumping down off the couch she started to eat while she cleaned her plate.
"Ya know off the record, I don't even know your last name yet you now know more than anyone in this town about me. You'll have to forgive me if it makes me a little uneasy even though you're a cop. I don't mind that you looked up my public records but whatever it is you're investigating it has nothing to do with where I came from so if you're trying to connect.."
"It's Cohle." Looking up from the sink he continued. "Rustin Cohle. You wanna know all you hadta do was ask."
He got up and brought his plate to the sink setting it down where she noticed how much taller than her he was. "I'm not tryin' to connect anything alright? I'm just lookin' for some insight. These same things keep popping up in a case I'm working and I need to know what they mean."
"The girl from Erath you mean?"
He nodded. "They were there at the scene too. Hanging from the tree she was posed on her knees in prayer under."
She sighed. "Anything pointing to any kids being involved?"
His body went rigid but he nodded.
She took his plate and spoke as she cleaned it. "The church has dark secrets, almost every church does, especially when it comes to kids. And there are horrible people in powerful positions with lots of money that do horrible things and they'll do anything to cover it up. That shit spiderwebs out to places you wouldn't even imagine, grows like blight right under people's noses. If you have anything that involves the church or people affiliated with the church, look into it but be careful. Those people when backed into a corner are like rabid dogs and they always have more than one backup plan. They're smart, Rust. Maybe not as smart as you but smart where it counts. It's what makes them so dangerous." She walked around him gathering the food off the table and started putting it away. He didn't say anything, just watched her, as she navigated the kitchen.
"I grew up in Alaska."
She paused. "So, you're not from Texas?"
"Nah I am. Was born in south Texas, left when I was two with my pop after my mom split. Came back to Texas when I was 17."
When she was finished, she looked at him leaning against the counter. "How'd you end up here?"
"Got transferred from narcotics last year." She went back over to the table grabbed her cigarettes before letting the dog out and sitting down on the outside step. He followed sitting down next to her lighting his own cigarette.
"Why'd you do it? After gettin' out why'd you try to end it?"
She exhaled her smoke. "I was convinced someone from there was following me. I would've rather been a Jane doe in some random town at the hands of some random trucker than let any of them touch me again. I was always told the only way to leave was to die so I guess I started to believe it."
"Who?"
"Who what?"
"The truck driver."
She shrugged. "Some nobody passing through offering me a ride I was desperate enough to take that wasn't very nice."
She looked at him as he looked back with a prominent cheekbones, strong jawline, and long lashes. "I know you don't know me but please don't tell anyone what I told you about where I'm from. Not unless you wanna sign my death certificate."
He shifted scanning her face. "I won't."
"Thank you."
He nodded. "You're welcome."
Lily came up to them and sniffed his hand looking at him. Gently lowering his hand, she smelled it cautiously before nudging his fingers wanting him to pet her. It made her grin to see him pet her because it wasn't typical for her to want to interact with strangers, especially men.
"Why Lilith?"
"Adam's first wife that refused to be subservient to him because she was his equal. She left the garden by choice despite everyone believing she was banished. They called me Eve in Missouri so consider it a desperate attempt to take back control."
He stopped petting her and pulled on his cigarette. "You still a Christian?"
She shook her head. "Don't know if I ever was to be honest." He sighed looking up at the sky where stars could be seen on account of it was a new moon. "I was fed and raised in a fairytale my whole life. The truth was hidden deliberately to create the perfect prisoner. Best way to keep a prisoner from escaping is to convince them they aren't in a prison at all. It worked for a long time until it didn't."
"Dostoyevsky."
She grinned with a nod. "That's right."
For a while they sat there in a comfortable silence but he broke it. "Thank you for dinner, it was good."
"You're welcome.
Lily sat in front of him whining as she looked at him. She could've sworn the corner of his lips curled upward ever so slightly as he reached out scratching behind her ears. "That fence over there needs fixin."
Following where she knew he was talking about she nodded. "Yeah, I was gonna get to it this week." As she watched Lily get her ears scratched by much larger hands than hers, she grinned. "If it was only animals and no humans on this planet it might have a chance. Our kind was the worst thing that ever happened to it I think." He looked at her while still petting the dog and let his eyes linger before standing.
"I oughta git." She stood and went inside as he held the door for her and the dog. Picking his leather bound off the table after putting his suit jacket on he turned to her.
"How come you don't go by Genevieve? Why Evie?"
She shrugged. "Figured it's easier I guess."
"Genevieve suits you, it's nice." He turned towards the door and left, the rumble of his truck pulling out of the driveway.
January 17th 1995. Tuesday.
Lying in bed obviously not sleeping the phone rang. Looking at the clock on the nightstand it was quarter to three in the morning. She rolled over and picked the phone off the receiver.
"Hello?"
"It's Rust."
That was the last thing she expected. "How'd you get my number?"
"I'm a detective. Don't worry it isn't in the white pages."
She smirked to herself. "You alright?"
He cleared his throat. "Yeah.. you sleepin'?"
"I answered, didn't I?"
"You good on blues?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I am."
"Mind if I swing by?"
"That's fine. How far away are you?"
"Bout 20 minutes give or take."
"I'll be here."
"Alright I'll see ya in a bit."
Hanging up she swung her legs over the bed and turned on the light, put what she could spare in a bottle. Since she was naked, she slid on a t-shirt and underwear pouring a drink before he showed up. When he did, she unlocked the door and opened it for him so the dog didn't bark. He wore dark brown trousers, a light blue button up that was opened with the sleeves rolled up and a white wife beater underneath. It wasn't tucked in but he clearly had worn it to work that day. When he came in and looked around, he spoke.
"Where's the dog?"
"In bed. You want a drink or you have to go?"
"I'll take a drink if you don't mind."
Pouring him one he sat on the couch and lit a cigarette taking out money putting it on the table. After giving him his drink she sat down folding her legs underneath her lighting a cigarette of her own. Tilting her head looking at him he kept his eyes on his glass. "Did you fix my fence?"
"Mhm."
"When?"
"Today, while you were at work."
The idea of him coming into her backyard while she wasn't there didn't make her feel uneasy like it should've and that alone made her uneasy. He was dangerous but not a danger to her, she didn't think so at least. From what she told him about her past he hadn't said anything to anyone about it that she knew of. "You didn't have to do that."
"I know."
"So why did you?"
He exhaled smoke. "Was easy enough, figured I save you the trouble."
"Thank you."
Pausing he sat back from resting his elbows on his knees. "A man named Connor Thorne was arrested two months ago. Goes by Father Thorne." She froze at the mention. "You know him?"
She nodded. "Unfortunately. What'd he do?"
"Got hauled in on fraud charges, made bail, charges were dismissed. Last anyone's heard he was outside a place called Mound City in Arkansas."
She chuckled. "So, he finally left Missouri." She scoffed shaking her head. "You read up on them?"
He nodded. "What little there is. Those the people your parents gave you over to?"
She nodded back for some reason feeling ashamed. "They were involved before I was born. For some reason my birth was considered sanctified to them.. that I was born within the veil. Made me special to them I guess."
"What's that mean?"
"The amniotic sack was completely intact when I was born, they call it born of the veil."
He nodded. "The woman that wrote the letter.. Madalyn. Was what she said true?" When she didn't answer right away, he looked at her and she nodded. "That hers?" His eyes went to the cross she absentmindedly held onto her at the mention of her name.
She nodded again. "She was supposed to come back for me. I helped her write it. They got to her and hauled her back before she could but at least she got out a little bit of information."
"They killed her?"
"Yeah. They made me watch."
He exhaled quietly. "That how you got those?" He glanced at her ankles seeing the marks there, the sheer amount of scar tissue would prevent them from ever going away.
"No. They were there long before." Sighing heavily clenching his jaw as he ashed in the ashtray on the table she continued. "She had em too. All the girls did."
"Rope?"
"Rope, cable ties, thorns, barbed wire, electric cables.."
"Thorns?"
"Like the ones outside when the time of year was right.
Setting her drink down she held out her wrists towards him and he looked moving closer. "Can I?" He was asking to touch her and she nodded watching as he held her hand slightly turning her wrist slowly.
"They'd wrap them in alcohol-soaked gauze so they'd scar or just stay open so it always hurt."
Instead of studying her own hands she looked at his. Strong, long fingers, pronounced veins that ran up his forearms and he could easily grasp both her wrists with one hand. She wondered what his hands had done so far in his life. After gently running his thumb over the inside of her left wrist he let her go he spoke. "Why?"
"So we could be cleansed of sin, it was Gods will so they told us. Punishments were penance." He went quiet. "Why do you need the pills I gave you?"
He sighed. "I don't sleep."
"Nightmares?"
He nodded. "Sometimes, most times my mind just won't turn off."
"You got a family?"
"I did. I had a daughter. She passed.. marriage didn't survive it."
Looking at him, she took a drag off her cigarette. "Sorry doesn't come close to touching loss like that so I won't even say it." He nodded slowly. "Girlfriend?"
He looked at her shaking his head. "You?"
"No. I keep to myself. Work, go home, go to work again. Most times I feel like I'm living as a fuckin alien if I'm being honest. Like out of body almost. I mean.. am I supposed to feel grateful for having survived? If there is a God why the fuck would he allow anyone to do something like that? Or see things like the things I'm sure you've seen. If there is a God he'll have to beg for my fucking forgiveness." The left corner of his mouth tilted upwards in a half grin and she had a feeling it was a rare sight so she committed it to memory. "Maybe after everything I'm insane and I lost my mind. I don't know."
He shook his head. "I don't think so. The fact you aren't in a hospital says more if ya ask me." Getting up he took his glass finishing what was inside and put it in the sink. He used the pen and paper beside the phone speaking as he wrote something down before bringing it to her. "This is my pager. You need anythin' just call this number and I'll come find you. Alright?"
Looking at him as she took the notepad pausing. "Try and get some sleep Genevieve." The way he said her name reminded her no one had dare use the whole thing nearly her entire life.
He headed towards the door and she stopped him with her words. "Rust." Looking over his shoulder at her she spoke. "Thank you." He nodded once before leaving closing the door behind him.
A brief note: For the moment, the format of these is not set, and they are more likely to be rambles and re-caps, and have less of an argument than I’d like. This is definitely subject to change as the story and universe of Alice Isn’t Dead expand, and as I figure out what it is, exactly, I want to do with these. In the meantime: a meditation on form, Alice and “I”, and the first encounter with the Thistle Man.
“Strange is the night where black stars rise,
And strange moons circle through the skies,
But stranger still is
Lost Carcosa.”
-Robert W. Chambers, The King in Yellow
So we begin. We begin with “Alice, I…” Alice and I- without whom, there would be no story. And we are told immediately what this story is — it is not a story, it is a road trip. Language and narrative traced onto a map, mapped onto the road.
We are in the space of movement. A movement which will become moving, become momentum, a catapulting forward into a world that exists only in-between, when one is closer to the night sky than to other people, as our narrator remarks.
Here is where we first encounter the Thistle Man. Our narrator is very precisely imprecise about where she meets him: she is at a gas station, which has a diner, but, precisely, she is on the diner side. Imprecisely, she is somewhere around Spokane. She is nowhere, and yet it is all happening now and here.
The Pacific northwest is a particularly significant spot in which to meet a humanoid monster who has already left a trail of bodies. While this is a fictional story, a quick Google search will tell you two things: a) the northwest seems to have a disproportionate number of serial murderers, and b) many of these serial murders (in the northwest and elsewhere) can be tracked along the highway. We are not as far from reality as we may seem. This is the violence that may inhabit these spaces.
The Thistle Man is an uncanny creature of visceral, pathological consumption (both of the omelet and of Earl). He is an upsetting riot of yellowness — nails, filthy shirt, face, and teeth. He calls to mind two other figures in yellow: the low men in yellow coats Ted Brautigan warns Bobby Garfield to be wary of in Stephen King’s novella Low Men in Yellow Coats, and the figure/play of the King in Yellow from Robert W. Chambers’ collection of short stories titled The King in Yellow. (This figure of the King in Yellow was later taken up by H. P. Lovecraft in the figure of Hastur. But that’s slightly getting away from the point.) I trace this image of men in yellow briefly to show, purposefully or not, our Thistle Man has good company in and calls to mind other strange, uncanny, malevolent men in yellow.
As the narrator moves to disclose the nightmare reality she witnessed, she interrupts herself. “Alice, I…” and we are back on the road. The narrator is speaking, still, though, of unnatural things. the uncanny height of the truck, a tower rising from the landscape. “Creepy. Gut creepy,” she says.
It is the road at night, where anything is possible, but upon her decision to chase Alice, she has given up the luxury of imagining strange things are only figments of the nighttime wanderings of the mind on a backroad: “Hm, I guess that’s where myths come from, when the real world looks like something out of a myth.” When the real world has an excess, we ascribe it to myth and the supernatural. The real world, though, such as it is, has its own banal excesses, too. She speaks about her cargo — travel size deodorant. No need for it to exist, except that people will pay for it.
She segues into telling us, well, telling Alice, “I don’t have to explain myself to you. But I will.” Another excess. Why speak — why Alice, why “I”? Because we will listen. And in this space of the backroad at night, what is memory and what is present becomes increasingly indistinct, discontiguous, and the interruptions grow increasingly frenetic. What is real and what is myth becomes blurred, if not the same.
The Thistle Man has come to explain death. He is an embodiment of violence and decomposition — his breath is rotten, “like fruit turning to soil.” He is indifferent to life, and in that antithetical indifference and violence, he is malevolent, and, yes, evil. But to think him as purely, chaotically evil would miss the fact that his murder of Earl is not done for the pleasure of the kill, but to send a message. The Thistle Man’s motivations remain obscured, other than his aim to menace. Without a doubt his story is tied up with Alice’s disappearance, but he is only a part of it. He is a fragment. Like the trees blotting out the indifferent, emptiness of the night sky on the road in the present, in this memory, his and Earl’s bodies blot out the light of the diner. He is a force of indifferent, violent nature. Human, and yet so much more beyond it. An emptiness, like the night sky, becoming a mirror of… something.
And so we are introduced to him, and these forces, perhaps indifferent, perhaps malevolent in their indifference, perhaps, indeed, evil. These forces in the borderlands, in the in-between, “behind the bathrooms at rest stops, in the snack aisle at gas stations, sitting alone at the biggest booths of the smallest roadside bars…”
Why go chasing after any of this? Because, the joke tells us, the dead return. The dead return. The dead return. And through the looking glass, darkly (and chasing after an entirely different Alice), we can begin to see the terrifyingness of the edges and the emptiness, and perhaps find our way through it and account for the return of the dead.
Anyway, I want to start by saying that this is not a story. It’s a road trip. Which…same difference. In a good one the start is exciting, and the finish is satisfying, and we end up somewhere else...somewhere a long way away from where we started.
I don’t know where this trip started, what counts as the first moment. But for a lack of a better answer, I’ll start with this:
I'll start with the omelet.
[ed. note: for transcripts of ads and announcements made during the show that aren't part of the story, like the ad/announcement which is made here, check alice-announcements.]
I was sitting at a gas station. Or, not a gas station, a diner that was in a gas station. The diner part of the gas station. I was in that.
It was somewhere near Spokane, I think.
I saw a man eating an omelet. But it wasn't the omelet, but it was just the way he was eating the omelet. He was devouring it. Big chunks of yellow scooped up with long, grease-stained fingers, just shoving them into his mouth.
And he was staring at me.
He was wearing a yellow hat, like, um, like a baseball hat. His fingernails were yellow, too. Not cigarette yellow or nail polish yellow; translucent yellow, just below the surface. Polo shirt. Dirty. Filthy. Dirtier than you think a restaurant would allow someone to wear, would serve. Just the word “Thistle” on the right breast. No logo.
And he was moving that omelet from plate to mouth like it had nothing to do with eating, like he was just a machine that's function was to do that.
And he was staring at me.
No, he was eyeing me.
No. Staring.
People say that bad experiences are like nightmares. This wasn't a nightmare. What I remember most about it was how real it was. Even as it happened, I noticed that the most, how real it was, how I couldn't escape that reality. How I would never be able to convince myself I remembered any part of it incorrectly.
Alice.
Alice, I–
It's the engine, Alice. The sound of it. The noise of a truck this size, the height. Ugh, it's the height. None of us are used to being this height anymore.
Once upon a time, we rode horses. I mean...you know what I mean. I've never even seen a horse up close.
It's the height. I'll get used to it.
There's this tower in the distance, coming out of the hillside. Looks like it's part of a factory, but just...coming right out of the earth.
Creepy. Gut creepy, like something gone wrong. Like a terrible crime.
Looks like something out of a myth. Hmm, I guess that's where myths come from, when the real world looks like something out of a myth.
Who am I at this point in my life to talk about unreality?
That's so weird. It doesn't look real.
Ugh. I can't stop thinking about what's behind me. Not the stuff in the back. Not what they've got me carrying. I think this time it's travel-sized deodorant. Most deodorant can go on a plane, you don't need travel-sized versions. Not that many ounces even in full-sized ones. But anything that can hold a price a single human being will lay down for cash has to exist and so here we are. Me and my cargo. Hauling what needn't have ever been from the place it needn't have been made to the place it needn't be used.
I'm not getting distracted. I know what you're thinking, Alice. This is intentional avoidance. I don't have to explain myself to you.
But I will.
I just...I just passed an exit sign that said “Anaconda Opportunity.” That's a fine invitation, but I think, uh, [laughs] I mean, no thanks. I will pass that opportunity up.
An explanation. [Laughs] Right.
Big chunks of eggs. Chewing them. Devouring them. He saw me staring back. Now we were staring at each other, something electric and monstrous there in the diner between us. The face of death in styrofoam ceiling tiles and sagging pleather booths.
He got up and approached my table. His clothes were filthy. He walked like his legs weren't muscle and bone, but just, uh, sacks of meat attached to his torso. He sat across from me and he licked his lips. When he spoke, his voice sounded like the accidental hollowing of the wind.
“It's a fine evening,” he said. “Doesn't look much like rain.”
Egg crusted his lips and his chin, his teeth were an impossibility of spacing and angle. Nothing about his tone matched the words he was saying.
At first I didn't say anything. I thought if I was quiet, he would go away, but...that only works with people who aren't already in it to bother you, who haven't already made up their minds to be awful.
“Hope you don't mind if I join you,” he said. Not a question or a request, but...a joke.
“I actually was hoping to eat alone,” I said.
“Good people deserve good things,” he said.
I didn't know what to say to that.
He scratched his cheek, scratched it really hard, and I swear that some of it peeled away under his fingers.
“It's dangerous out here,” he said.
“Out where?” I said. “This state? This country? Life? Life is dangerous? Did you come over here to explain death to me?”
He laughed.
“Yes,” he said. “I came over to explain death to you.”
He leaned in close. His breath was rotten. Not bad, but like fruit turning to soil.
“Want to see something funny?” he asked.
He got up. 'Thistle,' his shirt said. His face was slack and not quite arranged right. Like human, but not. He walked over to a table where there was this man, uh, a truck driver probably. He looked like a truck driver.
What does a truck driver look like?
“Hey, Earl,” the Thistle man said.
“Huh?” said Earl, looking up. He seemed just as unhappy as me to be disturbed. But then the Thistle man grabbed him by the back of his neck, and Earl's face went vacant. The Thistle man picked Earl up by the neck, and Earl walked with him. He looked asleep, almost, or like some part of him wasn't there anymore.
Neither Earl or the Thistle man paid their checks. No one did anything. No one looked.
But it was–
There are times I hate you more than any of them, Alice.
...out to the parking lot. He was waiting for me.
It was what he did next.
First, the mountains, then these canyons winding around themselves. Haven't seen a house in an hour.
It's getting dark now. The clock says the same things as it did when I started this morning, but it's the other hemisphere of the day.
We talk a lot, as a species, about the night sky. It's one of those subjects that come up more often than, say, the social structure of bees. That's just an example. Which is interesting, because the social structure of bees is something. It is an active object that can be looked at. And so much of the night sky is nothing at all. It is an empty box. And, like all emptiness, it is a mirror.
Or don't listen to me. I'm just a lady driving deodorant from one place that doesn't need it to another. I only say because...well...if you could see what I'm seeing you'd understand. The night sky is something striking right now against the dark silhouettes of the trees. It's beautiful.
So much that I've seen is beautiful. More than you would think. Even the worse things.
And isn't it funny that the trees blot out the sky? Physical objects as shadows against the void.
We are nothing if not absurd.
We are nothing.
He was waiting for me in the parking lot. He was holding Earl now. Earl seemed to be awake again, but the Thistle man was holding him too tightly for him to move.
The outside lights in the gas station weren't working anymore. The two men were shadows against the harsh light of the diner windows. People eating waffles and sausages and shit.
The embrace was almost tender, but there was nothing tender about the man with the yellow fingernails. His grip was strong, and the truck driver couldn't move, couldn't shout. They both stared at me.
Earl's eyes were wide, struggling with a vision of the future without him in it.
The man with the yellow nails, his eyes were flat. Like a bad painting of a face.
They both stared at me. And then the man with the yellow nails...he took a bite out of Earl. Tore out a chunk of flesh, right at the artery in his left armpit, and Earl began to bleed. He didn't move, but only whimpered a little. Tears started falling from his staring eyes, but he didn't move.
The other thing, whatever it was (it was not a man), dug his fingers into the wound and pulled out bits of Earl the way he had picked up the egg, with the same flat movement, the nothing demeanor.
This was not a meal. This was not something that he had to do in order to survive. It was a demonstration. The Thistle man, he wanted me to know...and Jesus, right then, I knew.
I ran back to the truck, of course. I locked the doors, of course. Of course, I pulled out of the parking lot as fast as a truck that size will go...which is not fast enough in a situation like that, of course.
Of course I cried, Alice. Of course I did.
Behind me in the mirror, I could still see the two figures. Could see the distant shadow of Earl dying without a friendly face in sight. The only person who could help him driving herself away to safety, and just the company of a monster to accompany him in his dissipation.
I couldn't see details anymore. Those were in my memory.
Flat and grassy, I think. It's dark now, and the darkness is vast here. It really has a depth to it; keeps going.
I didn't think that dark could have a bottom until I saw a dark that didn't.
I've seen the Thistle man again. I've seen him again and again behind the bathrooms at rest stops, in the snack aisle at gas stations, sitting alone at the biggest booths of the smallest roadside bars, places with one kind of beer on the menu and video poker in the bathroom by the toilet.
Something brutal and clumsy in his movements, like he doesn't understand how any of him works.
And sharp teeth. Not sharp enough to be fangs, but not human either.
And yellow fingernails. Not cigarette yellow, but translucent yellow, just below the surface.
He hasn't talked to me again, but I've been seeing him, and he knows it. He wants me to know he's following me.
I don't know who this...I won't say “man.” He isn't a man. I don't know what he is. Do you know, Alice? Is this why you left? Or was it something else?
Was it me?
And now, here, the road between two places I've never heard of. Travel-sized deodorant, an unusual height, closer to the night sky than I am to any other human. A night sky that seems gorgeous and heartbreaking, even though it's not. It's not anything. It just isn't.
Where are you, Alice? Why can't I find you?
I'll keep driving this truck. I'll keep wandering this country. I'm going to find you. I will.
Hopefully I'll do it before the Thistle man finds me.
Every time I look behind, I worry that the headlights I see are him, and his strange dirty hands are on the wheel, pointing them at me, going faster and faster.
This better be worth it, Alice.
Nothing ever could be.
Why did the chicken cross the road? Because the dead return. Because light reverses. Because the sky is a gap. Because it’s a shout. Because light reverses. Because the dead return. Because footsteps on the ceiling. Because footsteps in the basement. Because the sky is a shout. Because it’s a gap. Because the grass doesn’t grow, or grows too much, or grows wrong. Because the dead return. Because the dead return. That – that – is why the chicken crosses the road.
