Harlow…you coming?
The faint sound of my sister’s voice surfaced. It was too soon…like the dead were waiting, hungry, desperate for their pound of flesh.
Christmas or your birthday? Take your pick…
“My birthday, silly.” The words slipped from my lips without a thought, and the echo rebounded.
I lifted my head, and stared at the reflection in the cracked glass mirror. “What are you doing? Don’t answer them. You know better than that.” Don’t answer the dreams, or the memories. They weren’t real—none of it was real.
You get double presents…
I held that stare, held it until the blue eyes blurred.
Who has a birthday on Christmas day?
“I do.” I whispered but it was Sarah’s voice I heard…You do.
Echoes. That’s all they were. I pulled the vial free and sat it against the rim. The thin, metal container was next, rattling with the tremble. I opened the kit, pulled out the syringe and the tie.
Harlow…are you coming?
Desperation bloomed, clenching my throat, forcing the words to the surface. “Yes, I’m coming, just give me a minute.”
You’re slow. You’re always slow. I’m going downstairs.
Always slow. I gripped the needle in one hand and the vial in the other. The tip pierced the rubber stopper, crusted blood floated in the barrel as I pulled the plunger. The black markers were faded now—not that I needed them.
I drew the black stopper all the way to the end. Outside in the darkness, the woman wept. I dragged the needle free and opened my mouth. Lips curled, teeth a vise around the plastic. I rolled and pushed, sliding my jacket, the sweater, and the sleeve of my shirt high. The raised gouges threw shadows against my skin. I stabbed the groove, finding the faint throb deep.
I forced my finger between the tendons to the vein, grabbed the tie and wound it tight.
Harlow…Sarah called.
She was a pain in the ass, taking my clothes, my makeup—rifling through my stuff. My lipstick was gone, used by thin little lips. Goddamn pain in the ass…goddamn…
I yanked the rubber tight, squeezing flesh against bone. The dull throb surfaced. I followed the beat and grabbed the syringe.
Harlow, are you coming?
Pain in the ass…her face surfaced, blue eyes shone, lips curled. I gripped the plastic and pressed steel to flesh. The sting was instant. I needed that sting, needed the pain…just for a second.
My fingers trembled, drawing back just a little until the blood bloomed, and then I pushed, driving the stopper all the way home.
Nirvana waited.
Nirvana with its silence and emptiness. Where I felt nothing. Where I remembered nothing.
Happy birthday, Harlow, Sarah whispered.
I dragged the needle free and reached for the tie. One yank and I was falling backwards until I hit the frigid tiles. My knees trembled, and then buckled. I took the slow slide all the way to the floor.
Happy birthday. Merry Christmas.
You get double presents today.
Her face blurred. Her smile faded. Darkness reached out with spindled fingers, snagging the image and dragged it away. Nothing, nothing but thunder in my veins and the roar in my head. I waited for sleep…longed for sleep.
But it kept me prisoner, lingering just out of reach. I stared at the red emergency lights above the door…blood…it looked like blood, splashing against the concrete.
A white light shone in my eyes to swallow the red. I winced at the glare, and lifted my hand high. But it wouldn’t move, it was still, lifeless, lying palm down against the cold concrete floor beside me. I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak.
Still the light pulsed, the glow white, soft around the edges…pure, the word slipped into my mind. Yeah, that’s what it looked like, white and pure.
Harlow. My child…my sweet, sweet child.
I swallowed hard, and fought the panic. The voice wasn’t mine. Panic filled me, the heavy boom of my heart filled my head. Not real. Not real. Not real. Not Dad, not anyone I knew… “Who is it?”
It’s me…
Me, me? I searched my memory, raking fragments of my past to the surface.
God.
I stilled with the word. God? Like the almighty…God, like the powerful? God like the one who gave miracles—I closed my eyes. I could still hear the cries, the screams, still feel his name burning through my throat—God, like the one who betrayed us all?
“Fuck you.” I whispered and tried to turn my head. “There’s no God.”
But the harsh light pulsed, booming with a voice of its own.
I never betrayed you, Harlow.
“There is no God…no God.”
A flash of blood cut the glare. The vision came again, long gouges, across pale flesh. Wounds bleeding. Pain flared, tearing through my chest. The light pulsed again but, instead of ravaged flesh, there was a man…standing tall and proud, his face hidden in shadows.
I’m here, God whispered, and lifted a hand. And I have a Calling for you.
In the darkness of that toilet block, I stared into nothing. But here, in the light, in the everything, I saw Him. His long pale robe brushed the floor, and draped from His arm as He lifted a hand toward me.
“A Calling?” I snarled. I tried to clench my fist, tried to swing toward that blur and give Him the wrath I kept inside. “Fuck your Calling.”
It can be only you, Harlow. The peace you’re searching for is on the other side.
“Peace? What peace? Look around you, look at what I am,” I whispered in the filthy stall. I could still feel the sting of the needle, and the drug racing through my veins. “And then tell me you still want me to have this Calling.”
Shadows faded against His face, perfect eyes shone with beauty. He was beautiful, so very beautiful. But His smile faltered, falling at the edges. It can only be you, He whispered. I wish there was another way. But only you can defeat them.
“Who?” I whispered, but the words were harsh and raw.
Blood flashed filling my mind, gouges, cuts…fading away with the sound of a scream. And from the blood they rose…four darkened blurs at the edge of the horizon.
The Horsemen…
Those darkened blurs sharpened. Four men on horses…only one moved forward, leaving three behind.
And as he did, that beautiful voice whispered…be careful, Harlow. He’s come for you…look upon his face and see the truth.
The light bounced off his pale horse. He seemed to carve through the middle, and the stench of death billowed around him.
I knew that smell…it was the plague—it was death.
A woman sobbed. My baby, something’s wrong with my baby.
My stomach clenched as the rider came closer. I lifted my head at the clop of hooves. The horse wasn’t just pale—it was leached of color, faded from life. Pink irises shone against white pupils. I was seized by its ugliness, and its beauty.
My throat trembled, muscles quivered. I fought the need to raise my head, battled the desire to know…to understand.
The beast came closer, the ground seemed to slip away from under its feet.
Look…that perfect voice whispered. Look upon his face and know your prey.