The Things We Bury - Part 1: In Anticipation of the End of the World [Completed]

Chapter 10: Rough Waters (Parts 8 & 9 of 9)

The engine came to life and Coltrane leaped from the speakers. The cacophonous beauty of his trumpet on My favorite Things spun out like a feverish dream—rising and falling—anxiety and wonder twisting together into something that came within a breath of an epiphany.  In the stillness of the parking lot, it rang out like a screaming madness.  Horus dropped the volume a notch and pulled out of his spot.

He slipped on his sunglasses and adjusted the visor to protect himself from the blinding rays of a dying sun. 

It would be December tomorrow.  When precisely did this tune start to be counted as a Christmas carol? Horus wondered.  When the kids were young, not even Julie Andrews' popular rendition came on the radio this time of year.  It was all Jingle Bells, Frosty, and the Little Drummer Boy.  Somewhere along the way, My Favorite Things slipped in and became a staple.

There was even a Rod Stewart version of it playing, when he was in the gun store the other day.  The shop had been oddly festive with plastic holly and multicolor LED lights festooned over the wall display of rifles.

His eyes flickered to the glove box.  The Springfield 9mm seemed to have its own gravitational pull.  He had bought the pistol to feel safer.  But it only seemed to foreshadow impending violence.  Its few pounds of steel reached out and drew the forces of fate together for an inescapable confrontation.

There was a quote from the playwright Chekhov, Horus had read once that suggested if a gun appeared in the first act of a play, it needed to go off by the third.  What act was he in now?  How long did he have until the inevitable?

Kyle Silver loomed over every moment of his life.  Horus wasn't sure what he was—how he was still alive—how he could be in more than one place at once.  But he no longer doubted he was back from the dead.  Perhaps the incantation on the pergola that stormy day had worked some magic and granted him immortality.  Perhaps the Devil himself sent Kyle back to torment Horus.  Whatever caused him to be here, he was no mere ghost.  That night at the mall, Horus had pulled off the bastard's wig.

Why Kyle needed a wig was another question.  But Horus had clutched in his hand a skullcap with long, filthy strands of black hair.  It smelled of sweat and grease.  The mane was matted and had food-stained into it.  Kyle must have never taken it off.  Had death made him lose his hair?  Had he turned into some sort of nosferatu?  If Horus got a better look at his hands, would he find claws there?

Kyle had always been vain.  Had he gone bald, it wouldn't have been a surprise that he'd hide it behind a toupee.

The hairpiece had gone missing somewhere between the plaza and the hospital.  One of the paramedics must have taken it.  Thrown it away as garbage, or perhaps he took it for himself?  Or maybe he worked for Kyle and was ordered to retrieve it.  That paramedic who sat in the passenger seat and talked to his partner about the Cowboys' game had seemed a little shifty.

The 101 slowed past an accident.  A BMW with a crushed bumper was being hoisted onto the back of a tow truck.  Horus took off his sunglasses and switched the headlights on.  The light of day had slipped away without him noticing.

His mind wandered and he began thinking about the report he had to write over the weekend.  R.J. wanted to get some psychological diagnosis on why Amy had stopped transforming.  Horus could see no rational explanation for her being a werewolf in the first place.  How the hell could he ascribe a reason for her no longer being one?  The only thing the latest session made clear was that she was now happier and more confident than Horus had ever seen her.  Amy was almost chatty compared to their previous interactions.

On the night of the eclipse, the girl had surprised everyone by snapping back into her human form early.  She not only reverted to being Amy three hours before they were expecting it, but she was conscious, which was a first.  Taken alone, the incident was interesting.  But she hadn't changed the next night or the one after that.  It was like nature finally righted itself and the world—or at least that part of the world—was back to normal.