Dennis Yates - Minus Tide

“I wanted to kill him. But your mother told me not to. She decided to run instead.”

“But you killed that man on the beach. I saw him.”

“There was no one to ask me to spare his life. You see, I’m not always the cold killer you’d like to believe. Besides, he was halfway to where he was going. Not much good to me if he was found alive by anyone. I only helped him along. I try to run a clean business.”

“Why didn’t you kill me?”

“I thought I would. But your strength surprised me. I wanted to talk to you but you were shivering too badly. You reminded me so much of your mother. For awhile I thought I was saving her from those incoming waves.”

“So you’re the one who built the fire…touched me when I couldn’t move.”

“You would have died if I’d left your clothes on. That cut on your leg…”

“You bastard.”

Cyclops nodded meekly. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have done it. But I couldn’t stop myself. You remind me of your mother.”

He offered her a water bottle and she tore it from his hand. While she drank he stood and walked up the drive to the highway. There was no one coming. Hadn’t been anyone since the blue Skylark had blown past, the driver’s face too deep in shadow. If the bridge was closed, where had he gone?

The town’s asleep again. There won’t be anyone else coming. You can do whatever you want…

He heard the first dogs yipping from a nearby hallow. There were never many at first. Until the others heard them and answered their call. They were on their way. Wanting to be in on the chase. Wanting to be in on the kill.

There were stars visible above the serrated ridge to the north and Cyclops watched them as they were snuffed out by black invisible clouds. It reminded him of a spreading plague, of how quickly the glimmer of our lives can be taken away forever.

After a few minutes he walked back to Ann and leaned against the concrete building where the old man once sold fish bait and steamed crabs. He looked down at his knife. Couldn’t recall how long he’d been holding it in his hand.

“There’s another storm coming,” he told her.

“I’m not going to talk to you about the weather. If you’re going to do it, then get it over with.”

Cyclops folded the knife and put it away. He reached up with both hands and pulled back his filthy hair. A train of high clouds began to haul overhead, passing across the moon. He kept his head tilted upwards, as if he were drawing heat from an invisible sun. His single eye catching the fading moonlight.

“Can we talk about the elk first?”

Chad opened his eyes and watched what was happening. The pounding in his head felt as if the blood inside had formed a fist. He thought he was going to throw up.

He didn’t recognize the fishing ramp at first. It was mainly a Traitor high school hangout back when he was still in school and he rarely came down to visit. After he graduated and started selling a little pot on the side he’d sometimes cruise through the ramp looking for customers. For several months he got away with it before Sheriff Dawkins caught him one night and searched his car. He’d warned Chad that if he’d ever caught him again he’d personally guarantee that Chad would get to know the walls of county jail better than his own sorry excuse for a dick and Chad had believed him.

A man Chad had never seen before stood staring down at Ann. He’d just taken his hand out of his trench coat when Chad opened his eyes. His hair hung long and greasy and even from where Chad laid the smell reminded him of a roadkill.

Where did thehighway derelict come from? Is he going to horribly murder us both?

Chad hadn’t even seen the man coming. He’d stepped out of his car thinking he’d heard Ann and then there’d been a flash inside his head. He didn’t even have a chance to turn around before he’d felt another blow and this one shot down all the way through to his jaw and made him bite his tongue before he’d passed out.

Wasn’t it things like this that made ghosts of people? You’re on your way to doing something important in your life and then a random freak comes along and ends it for you? Not for any other reason than the fact that he’s bat shit crazy? Just reaches forward and sweeps all your chips off the table because you’re the one who’s unlucky today?

He’d suffered no broken bones that he could tell. But he hadn’t tried to sit up either. Whenever he tried to raise his head the hammering in his skull would grow louder and he’d have to stop and rest. He noticed something on the ground not far from where the man stood. It reminded him of a rope coming apart.

Is that someone’s hair?

“You’re holding back on me. My mother was like you. She knew things that most people didn’t. About other worlds.”

“I’ve told you everything I know.”

“You’re lying.”

“What else do you want from me?”

“What did you learn, Ann? I must know their secrets.”

“It isn’t like that.”

“Then tell me.”

“You’re looking for some kind of magic, some connection beyond this world. And that’s your problem. You’re just like a lot of people. You want to believe there’s something greater hidden inside everything. And all I can tell you is it’s not there. Not at all.”

“You don’t believe in ghosts?”

“Not in the way you do.”

“Then what are they?”

“They’re in the living. The ghosts are in us. You can’t get rid of them. They’re in everything. It’s our past dragging behind us.”

“So why do we fear them?”

“Because when we see them they remind us of ourselves. Most of us pretend they don’t exist because it’s too much to bear. But the truth is that we’re trying to get ourselves used to the idea of looking like that some day, that we’re not permanent. And I’m okay with that. When I see the ghost in the elk, I know there’s nothing to worry about.”

“I see ghosts too. And they should make you worry.”

The dogs were back. He could sense them closing in. And after tonight three more were going to be added to the pack… the man on the beach. Ann and the boy.

The dogs would not be denied.

He wished he could tell her what he saw when he looked at her. That he saw her mother staring back at him. Sarah’s ghost. Like it was when they drove down 101. Staying in motels tucked beneath looming redwoods. Sitting up late drinking while the radio played. Waiting for the sun to go down before sneaking out to the motel pool, being careful not to make much noise.

He’d hoped the girl would have been able to tell him more. About how to make the ghosts go away. His mother had warned him the night before he left for America, the night she’d secretly packed his father’s hunting knife in his pack. She’d had a dream of him as an older man, surrounded by dogs the color of blood. As soon as the killing started, she warned, the dogs would never let him rest.

And his mother had been right. They hadn’t let him rest. Their hunger kept growing. It didn’t matter if he wanted to kill or not, that he’d lost the taste for it long ago. No matter how much he tried to keep away from people-riding trains and camping on the outskirts of dying towns-they would eventually find him. He could be sharing a few words with another hobo and suddenly he’d hear them howling in the distance and he knew he’d soon be reaching for his knife.

He could see that Ann had no idea the dogs had arrived. Probably just thought a wind had picked up and tugged at his clothes. He could feel them gathering around his legs. Looked down and saw the faces of those he killed. Surprised at how many he no longer recognized.