Page 8 of Sick Bargain

Driving down the main street, aptly named Death Row, I watch the signs of shops flip toclosedas the locals lock up for the night. We don’t fear the dark, but we consider any business conducted after the sun sets as nefarious, and we’d rather not tie it to our actual businesses. Dealings in the dark are meant to be made person to person. That’s an unstated Moros social contract.

Remiel steps out of his music shop with his tattooed friend Cain, locking up for the night. The Ambient Raven sits in the middle of Death Row, and it’s one of the busiest shops in town because there are so many musicians here. It’s been in the Sauder family for generations, passing hands as often as their lives pass. I don’t know how, but I will put an end to the Sauder curse. Remiel will not die before I permit him to. I hold his life to no value, but it’s in my hands now, and I’m nothing if not prideful about my belongings.

I’ll see you at midnight, Remiel.

Driving out the far side of town and into the misty mountains, I pull down a narrow lane and come to a stop. Monster is waiting and he climbs in the front seat, shaking offthe dampness. We’re never allowed to leave the asylum together, but we meet out of sight to complete jobs.

He’s jittery, currently caught in a manic episode he’s struggling to shake. When the darkness takes over his mind, he’s hard to be around. Only Ransom can pull him back to reality so far, but none of us are allowed to know how. Today, he’s not too bad. As long as he gets to maim someone and let off a little crazy, he’ll be fine. At least he’s talking instead of mute at the moment.

“I’ve been waiting for this all week,” he says, pulling twin blades from holsters in his jacket. “Don’t rush me tonight, Krypt. I fucking need this.”

I try to grin as I start driving down the lane. Monster is tiny and batshit crazy, and when he gets lost in his mania, he really does become a little monster. Hence, how he got his name. He’s the shortest and smallest out of all of us, but he’s the most deadly with a set of blades. The guy has no gag reflex, no queasy stomach, and no off switch. But he has a few triggers, that’s for sure.

He flicks his dark choppy hair from his forehead. “And don’t even tell me you invited Ransom. He’ll only hold me back.”

“I didn’t invite him, but you know he’ll be here.” I look at him as he jitters. “Director always has him on you when you’re like this.”

“Like what?” he snarls at me, blades flashing. He has scars all around his mouth, dotted white lines like his lips have been sewn together, and he never talks about them, so I’ve never asked.

“I gotta be somewhere at midnight, so we aren’t dragging this out that long. You’ll get to shed blood, Monster. Don’t worry. I’ll even hold Ransom back.”

“You fucking better.”

Parking at the head of a hiking trail, we meet Ransom at the entrance to yet another tunnel. This one is an old mining tunnel,and if we walk another fifteen minutes through it, we’ll end up in a chamber that has the best acoustics. Kyd, one of us, loves bringing people here to scream. We call it the Mad House. It’s a vast network of chambers, caves, and tunnels under Trigger Mountain, and people tend to lose their minds in it. Maybe I’ll bring Remiel and his cello sometime.

“He’s not restrained,” Ransom tells Monster when we enter the tunnel, his light brown skin sweaty from dragging the prisoner. “Left him wide open for you, Monster.”

Monster’s eyes glimmer, and his smile is downright sickening. “Time to hunt.” He puts on his yellow-faced mask and hollers into the tunnel before he takes off running. Tonight, we’re going to scare, intimidate, and capture a man who needs to be taught a lesson before we send him on his way with a message for his rich friends.

“Good luck restraining him tonight.” I snort at Ransom. “He’s fucking nuts right now.” I pull on my purple mask.

Ransom tries to act serious, but I can see the delight in his dark eyes. “Isn’t he always?” His red mask comes down and then we run after Monster, and neither of us can deny the thrill thrumming in our blood.

High on a bloodrush isn’t how I should meet with Remiel for the first real time. I’m early, but I need the time in the night air to cool down the heat rushing through me. There’s nothing quite like a hunt through the tunnels, and when Monster leads the charge and really lets his dysfunction shine, it makes it even more thrilling. Not even Ransom could tame him tonight.

The cemetery in Moros is massive and gothic. Full of ancient tombs and crypts of families long since passed, I walk among their spirits with ease. I’m not alone here, so my mask stays on my face and I let the shadows of the trees and mausoleums conceal me. Moros is a town of the night, and graveyards are our playground. We’re deranged and criminal like Gotham, but historical and darkened like Salem. A reporter once described our town as a death trap and its occupants as its hellhounds. I thought that fit pretty well.

I quite like being a hellhound.

The Sauder plots are expansive. They take up a whole row of headstones, have their own crypt, and span back many generations. Sauder men far outnumber the women, but there are a few sprinkled in with the men. The women died of natural causes or tragedies. But the men? Every single one ended his own life. The prospect of a suicide curse intrigues me, and I’m blaming that for my rash decision to take Remiel’s bargain.

A group of teens trying to Necromance the dead look up from their huddle as I walk by, recognizing my mask and its meaning. They dip their heads in respect, fisting their hands over their hearts, and I don’t bother them. I hope they succeed someday. An elderly woman sits on a stone bench in front of her husband’s grave, whispering words at the ground like they’ll enter whatever plane of existence he lives in now. I press my hand to my heart and bow my head to her. She repeats the gesture.

When I get to the row of Sauders near the forest’s edge, I take a deep breath and remind myself why I’m here. My first bargain. Remiel Sauder and his list of three names.

“Excuse me?”

I turn, facing a woman I don’t recognize. A young and naïve tourist, dressed in a cocktail dress with Neon Demon stamps glowing all over her body. She must be a city chick who came to Moros for the week-long Demon Week celebrations. The NeonDemon is a club in town. It’s the main attraction of Demon Week, turning our small town into a rave after dark, luring club-goers into its games. They think they’re here to partake in an annual tradition to celebrate the upcoming initiation, but they rarely realize how dark it is.

“Have you seen this headstone?” she asks, holding up a calling card. It has the club’s logo on it, and they usually give the tasks out with the promise of a prize once they come back to the club with photo proof of completion. Coincidentally, the plot she’s looking for belongs to my grandfather. “I’ve been trudging through this disgusting cemetery for an hour and can’t find it.” She shivers. “So many creeps out here, my god.”

I glance around to see if any of her friends are with her, and when I see she’s alone, I shake my head. What sort of skinny, defenceless little lamb actually comes to a cemetery in Moros at night on her own and talks to a masked stranger? Could she be any dumber? She obviously knows the town’s reputation. It’s what drew her here in the first place, but like so many, she doesn’t take it seriously.

“Did you hear me?” she snaps. “And what’s with the creepy mask, man? This place givesStranger Thingsa run for its money. If I knew how weird this town was, I never would have come.” She rubs her bare arms and shivers.

“You should leave then.”

She narrows her eyes at me. “This gravestone. Do you know where it is?”

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