Venator

  Venator

  James Bubela

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by an electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Author’s Website

  www.jamesbubela.com

  Edited by JD Book Services

  www.jdbookservices.com

  Cover art by J Caleb Design

  www.jcalebdesign.com

  This paperback edition first published in 2019

  Copyright © 2019 James Bubela

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 978-1-9990493-0-0 (paperback)

  ISBN: 978-1-9990493-1-7 (ebook)

  For the ones who inspired me to want to become better than I was.

  CHAPTER ONE

  A sane man would have stayed in bed. Tonight, he didn't carry a torch or lantern to battle the shadows, and only a ragged satchel was at his side. Lorin knew many things remained hidden away in the trees around him and were ready to pounce, but that didn't scare him. The worst they could do was kill him. A sane man would have stayed in bed, sleeping the dark away.

  Lorin walked on. Tortured, not allowed to forget. For now, he was focused on something his mind usually kept hidden away and because of that, he could only trust his feet as they led him forward. He did know he had made it out of their house unseen—that, he was sure of. Getting away from them and their lives was for the best. They were kind, loving, and Lorin had been made a part of their family. It wasn't his family, though, and could never be. They had kept him from dying after he’d lost everything but his memories—it was the neighborly thing to do out near the Wilds. They couldn't be faulted for that; how could they know that death was better than his shell of life? Besides, he was dead along with his family, his body just refused to acknowledge it. They didn't know and couldn't understand the pain they nurtured. He couldn’t repay that selflessness by forcing them to cut his rope and dig his grave.

  He walked on and his heart stabbed itself when a memory came. Tears began to fall and turned to labored sobs within a few steps. He cried every day. For as long as he let himself remember, he would awake with his eyes wet and his chin quivering. The tears would dry up in time, but his cries remained hidden inside. Details replayed in front of him constantly from a life now relegated to memories. He wished he could forget, every waking moment he wished.

  A blink, and his haze cleared.

  Lorin now stood overlooking rolling foothills in a grassy meadow. He had been walking long enough for the moon to rise high and light up the large fields, bordered with plank fences, that made up the clearing. The farmland surrounded a small town which had a name he couldn't remember. Behind him, the tree line was now a forgotten moment in his mind.

  The town stood out from the hilltop, defined by four roads built in line with the cardinal points, etched in hard-packed earth and cobble. Buildings—some new, most old—filled the space between the crossing roads near the center of town. At this distance the buildings stood almost indistinguishable from each other, and only spots of lights along the buildings and streets showed life.

  Lorin shifted his sight to what his mind was focused on ahead of him—an old leafless tree that stood out against the moonlight. Thick, sturdy branches started midway up the trunk, spreading out dry and crooked. The tree was rooted firm a hundred paces from him inside a gated yard. The fence surrounding the yard connected to a stone building that was decorated with intricate carvings all along the outside. A tower jutted from the building’s roof and the opened walls at its top showed a bell’s silhouette.

  The gated yard was littered with square blocks, each its neighbor’s twin. Large boulders and statues carved in profiles were mixed in among the rows with little room left between. Lorin had been to a place similar to this in a time he had forgotten, a time he was alive. Now all he could see was the tree pronounced against the starless night. It looked to be the perfect gallows.

  He started to walk again, his pace increasing. This was his destination, the perfect place where his death would only cause a slight inconvenience. Whoever found him wouldn’t have to carry his body far, a hole could even be dug below him, allowing him to fall straight into his own grave. No other place would do.

  He stepped over the waist-high fence, still transfixed by the tree ahead. His rucksack snagged on a fence-spike and tugged at him as he walked away, but he didn’t feel or hear the fabric rip. The tree and that one branch higher than two others was his goal. He scanned for an easy angle to attach one end of the rope while he mindlessly weaved between the headstones. As he walked up to the tree he reached back into the rucksack, feeling inside the now empty pocket. His eyes widened and he snapped to attention, searching around for his key to peace. The pile of dropped items caught his eye just inside the fence and he sprinted toward it. Fevered and manic, he fell to his knees and pushed past the tattered cloth to get to the coil of rope. He hugged it to his chest before he turned back toward the tree.

  Under the tree again, he walked up to a square headstone. The branch thinned out above that stone, but it looked strong and would easily hold his weight. Lorin set the rope atop the stone and with one end, he made a loop and tied it off. He threw the rope, but instead of arcing over the branch like he wanted it fell short and landed limply beside him. It took three attempts before the loop cleared the branch, and once it did he fed one end through the other, then pulled.

  Now he stood on the headstone using the rope for balance as he decided between a few different knots. None of them tied well in his shaking hands, but finally, after much effort, the tangled mess of rope resembled a loop set at the right height. His knotting was not adjustable and barely slid past his jaw.

  Now ready, he remained standing a moment with the rope around his neck. He stared straight ahead, clear and calm.

  "Jessica. Beth. Sam. I'll see you soon."

  His eyes closed, and he leaned forward to get tension against the rope. Then, he slipped his toes off the edge.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Lorin's legs kicked on their own, and it all felt unique, as if each second lasted an hour. With the extra time to think, a thought pushed through, a final regret of not jumping off the block. A quick snap of his neck would have ended it, but instead his own strangulation lasted long enough for terror to come and go. Calmness crept through near the end, and black enclosed his vision. Soon, darkness came all around and his senses returned nothing. Just emptiness, an infinite darkness.

  Then, her face emerged. Thunder came before lighting as an ear-splitting crack cut through, and the darkness flashed white. Lorin's eyes adjusted, and he saw her smiling in front of him, standing atop nothing in the black abyss. He wasn’t hanging anymore. The tree, the rope, and the world were gone, only the couple hanging in empty space remained. She bit her lip and lowered her eyes from Lorin’s with a blush. Lorin reached out unsure if she was really there, and for a moment his fingertips hovered above her skin. Finally, he let himself caress her cheek and could feel the warmth and life in her. Their eyes met and he wrapped her up in his arms, holding her head close. He let himself inhale and remember how things used to be. They embraced for a long time, though it wasn't near enough.

  "I've missed you so much." Her voice was sweet. "But now isn't the time, not yet." She pushed him back gently.

  Lorin just stared. He heard, but all he could focus on was the very tip of her nose. It would dance with each word, and he remembered how much he missed
that little dance.

  "Our children." Her arms lowered to hold Beth and Samuel's shoulders now at her sides. "They're waiting for us to be a family again."

  Lorin knelt and moved his arms to hold all three. His hug tightened with a pulse of emotion, and he kissed both the children's foreheads as his tears wet their hair.

  "But it's not time."

  "What do you mean?" Lorin said, brushing a strand of hair from his daughter's face.

  "You’re not with us now."

  "But I gave everything."

  "I'm so sorry. We miss you."

  Lorin looked up from his children to his wife's expression, concerned and loving. No words were said; they just stayed together, embracing as a family.

  Then, gone.

  The shock forced him up. He was now sitting in a bed with his back straight and his arms reached out to their limit. Only the foot of the bed and a plain room was in front of him.

  "Oh good, you're awake," a man's voice came from his left. "I thought you would rest longer, but I'm glad to see you up with so much energy."

  Lorin was still grasping at the last fading memories. The smell of her hair, the warmth of his children—he committed everything to memory.

  "Hello? Who are you? You deaf?"

  Lorin twitched his head, but kept looking past the man in thought.

  "So you’re ignoring me? You aren't the first." The man's voice was bright, young, and friendly. "You are my unexpected guest! Sandra found you all crumpled up on her late husband's grave, like a puppet with its strings cut. It gave her quite a fright." He leaned in and lowered his voice to a whisper. "She thought her husband was back to see her, the poor woman. She misses him so much." He slapped his knee, then raised his voice up to a yell. "But your hair is different! And her screams brought me out to see you." He paused.

  Lorin said nothing.

  After a moment, the man continued, "Does this ring any bells in there? Maybe? You know, if you spoke or did something other than reach… this wouldn't feel so forced?"

  Lorin was about to speak, but the man cut him off.

  "I spilled my oatmeal because of you, ya know? Don't worry, once I saw you still breathing I forgave you for that. Your rope was tangled so bad I had to cut it, then I brought you here to rest while I did some reading." He dangled the red book in front of Lorin, then pulled it back before he could focus on it. "As raspy as it was, I'm glad you didn't stop breathing. The next plot to be dug is all clay, and I have been dreading having to dig it up."

  "Do you always talk this much?" Lorin's voice sounded so hoarse it surprised him.

  "You speak! Wait, do I? I don't get responses often. Could you answer some questions for me? Please? What's your name? It's free to give—my name is Arthur Graham, the grave tender. I even added what I do, that's so you can get to know me better. It's why conversation is so fun, you get to know people."

  Again a pause that Lorin let linger.

  "So… I'm waiting for you to… you know, be a part of the conversation. It's a give and take type thing."

  Lorin looked at Arthur. His vision had finally returned from his fleeting memories, and he now saw a middle-aged man, bald and wearing dark robes. A silver chain and medallion hung from his neck, and the man's smile brightened the room with genuine excitement.

  "My name is Lorin."

  "No last name?"

  Silence.

  "I would like to know, Lorin, because… well, friends should know each other's names. What if I meet another Lorin, how could I distinguish each of you?" Arthur laughed. "And, you seem like one chasing after a grave. It wouldn't be right to not have a full name on the headstone. So, what should I write?"

  "Just leave it unmarked. So long as I'm not dug up what do I care?"

  "How dare you." Arthur's face puckered and began to turn red. "What do you care? Well you should care greatly. A grave is sacred—it's the last place we lie down in this world, and it should be treated with respect. Unmarked, he says, pffft. There isn't one unmarked grave in my yard. Until a stone lays above my head, there never will be. People need to know where a loved one is so they can make peace and be comforted. It's not for the worm food under it."

  "Sorry," Lorin said, his palms out to Arthur. "Sit back down. I didn't mean that. What if no one would care to visit?"

  "I visit every single grave each morning—I would care." Arthur's face blinked back to the cheery juvenile expression. "Every stone, hole, casket, and urn in that yard was someone who had a mother and father who would care, so why shouldn't we all? Each life is special, and the end… well, it should be remembered."

  "You're very passionate about the dead."

  "Yes! Once you see enough bodies, and mourners, you learn to respect whoever is forced to be my guest. I haven't met one person yet who wanted to visit a graveyard until, well, this morning."

  Lorin didn't speak right away. His vision moved past the grave tender to the plain wall behind him and beyond. "I hung myself from the tree in your yard."

  "Well I know that, now tell me something I don't know." His tone gave a sense of impatience or excitement, though it was impossible to be sure which.

  "Rhodes."

  "Huh?"

  "It's something you don't know. My last name."

  "R-O-A-D-S?"

  "R-H-O-D-E-S."

  "Ah, thank you. Nothing worse than spelling the name wrong. Happened once for a man named Stephen. I put S-T-E-V-E-N and his widow nearly drove the chisel through my head. Why would S-T-E-P-H-E-N sound the same as S-T-E-V-E-N? It doesn't make much sense to me."

  Silence filled the small room while Lorin focused on Arthur, trying to understand what exactly went on behind the man's eyes. Arthur, on the other hand, had a bright smile, and his body was twitching with excitement. "Well, anyway," Arthur interrupted the silence. "You were going to explain why you're here."

  "I'm here because you didn't leave me to die outside."

  "If you had picked a different branch I wouldn't have had to bring you here."

  "I'll remember for next time."

  "No! No next time!" Arthur stood, his expression turning grave. "If you had, you wouldn't be here, and my day would've been lonely. Why would you want to ruin my day?"

  "Calm down, I didn't mean to say that. I'm glad to have made your day a little better."

  "You did mean to say it, just, maybe not out loud. I'm not wrong, am I?"

  Lorin said nothing.

  "Well, Lorin, you made my day. As my friend I would like to make your day as well, so tell me what I can do?"

  Lorin's first thought was less-than polite. But he looked at Arthur, who sat at the edge of his seat waiting for a response. Lorin felt something break in himself from the eager compassion that Arthur radiated. Lorin smiled. "Well, start off by telling me about yourself, Arthur. Do you have any family?"

  "Nope, I never knew my father, and my mother dropped me off at a temple not long after I could walk." His smile never dimmed. "After that, the people there were my family. They are all gone now. Annabelle hid me under the floor one day and told me to be quiet, so I did. I got real hungry after a while, but I didn't want to disappoint Annabelle. She always looked so sad if I didn't listen to her. After the second night I couldn't help it, though, I was so hungry I needed to leave. That's when I saw they were all dead."

  Lorin shifted in the bed. Arthur didn't notice, and continued, a bright smile across his face.

  "I met Harrison that day. He was digging a big hole for everyone." He showed off more of his missing teeth. "Harrison was the one who gave me this place. My own yard and house, he even let me carve his own stone. I visit him twice a day if I'm not busy—he’s probably my best friend." Arthur's face, after he said those words, turned horrified. "Not that you're not a good friend either. You are, but I have known Harrison for so much longer. It wouldn't be right to just throw that away."

  Lorin was taken aback by the brief story and the grave tender’s chipper tone throughout it. "I uh… don't worry about it,
Arthur. I understand he's an old friend, and we haven't known each other long."

  Arthur lit up again. "I'm glad to hear it. How about you? Where's your family?"

  Lorin felt his heart sink to the deepest pit in his stomach, while at the same time it forced its way up his throat. He lowered his head and remained sitting for a long time. Arthur's leg bounced with excitement, but—patiently and without a word—he waited.

  "They're gone," Lorin finally said.

  "Recently? I'm sorry to hear you lost them." Arthur reached his hand to Lorin's shoulder and changed from an excited puppy of a man to a solemn and compassionate friend. "Death seems so easy for the dead, they just lay there doing nothing till they rot away. It's us living that hurt from it, vomit from the pain and cry to sleep."

  Lorin's thoughts faded from his family, distracted by Arthur. There was a hint of rehearsal in the man’s voice, but it didn't lessen the emotion behind the words.

  "I never thought to join the dead. Never saw the point in giving up without at least trying to continue. See what else there is in life."

  "I don't think there is much left to look forward to in my life."

  "Sure there is. You’re alive today because of a rotten branch, and I have had the pleasure of your company. How is meeting new people not something to look forward to? Maybe tomorrow I'll meet someone else and they'll have a new story to tell me. Life always changes. It's exciting. So why would you want to not see what's next?"

  "You're a very positive person, Arthur. I respect that." Lorin looked up to meet the smile lighting the room.

  "That is so kind of you to say." Arthur blushed a vibrant red and stood. "I… I have to pull the weeds in the yard before it gets too hot outside. If you need something just holler and I'll come running." He walked to the door on the opposite side from the bed.

  "There is one thing, Arthur. When can I head into town?"

  "You want to leave already? But you just got here."