

### VEIL OF THE DAMNED.

### a horror novella by

### K. Massari

Veil of the Damned.

By Karen Massari

Copyright ©2015 Karen Massari

Smashwords Edition

This ebook is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or actual events or organizations, is purely coincidental.

Cover Design by

www.SelfPubBookCovers.com/TaniaART

Formatting by

www.tugboatdesign.net

Part One

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Part Two

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Part Three

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Part IV

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Dedicated to all those who are and ever were bullied.

# Prologue

That meant NO. Wallace tried to hide his feelings. Okay. He had done some things wrong in the past. Was that really reason enough to ... make him go? And where was he supposed to ... go now?

He tipped an imaginary hat. Nodded his head, and managed a tight smile. His brother just stared at him. Wallace turned and walked out. The last three steps.

He was now officially homeless.

Harold had been the last person he could ask for help. And Harold obviously hated him.

The slice of pizza was growing cold quickly. Wallace had his hand wrapped around a bottle of Sprite. He would go down to the beach, find his pals, hang out with them, and take it from there. The weather wasn't all too bad, it wouldn't rain for another day or so. Forcing himself to eat, Wallace looked at the other people in the diner and imagined their homes and apartments. How they would be opening the door, kicking off their shoes, walking barefoot over carpets – with smiling children and frantic dogs.

He saw splashes of gasoline in Harold's living room, he saw himself setting his brother's house on fire. Orange bursts licking up the walls, beams crashing down, neighbors in a panicked frenzy. Wallace would watch from afar, sipping his Sprite slowly, down to the very last lukewarm drop.

# Part I

## Chapter 1

Wallace tried to smile. He was getting tired. He didn't want drugs or beer, just sleep. And a hot bath, maybe. It was late, an hour before midnight, and how it would end, he did not want to know.

Mr. Lighthill had been up watching a movie, when he had escaped down Harbor Road. Wallace hadn't had the nerve to ask. Okay, so no bath. He would try the pool, tomorrow. Which he never did, anyway, not with all his bulges. He would figure something out.

He sensed he was being watched. Many tanned legs moved about, creating a blur; he tried to focus. It was quiet now, he could hear the sea, first sucked back, then tumbling forward. Someone passed a wine bottle. Wallace was seriously beginning to feel sorry for himself.

After another cigarette, he saw her. Her coal-black eyes were not piercing. They were huge; they looked as if they belonged to a doe. She looked at him. Nothing more. He looked back. 'Don't get your hopes up,' he thought. 'Bitches want money. They can't help. They just want you to take care of them.'

It had been a while, though, since he had had sex, and he was just dirty enough now to come across as masculine, and not hopeless.

He locked into her gaze; she went to his head like the wine. He could see flowery tattoos all over her arms, and small nipples under a small black sleeveless top. Some jewelry, and lots of black, shiny curls. She smiled. It came as a surprise. What? Him? Here? On dead end beach?

Perhaps she was a runaway, looking for that shoulder to cry on, the way he was looking for someone to help him make it through the night. The only home he had right now was Mr. Lighthill's basement, and God only knew, Lighthill could drop dead at any moment, and his picture-perfect children would kick Wallace out pronto.

Someone he knew, Danny, nodded in his direction. "Are you coming?" he mouthed, meaning a ride back into the neighborhood. Tears welled up in Wallace' eyes. Good old pal from South America, always looking out for him.

"Oh, thank you. Thank you very much," he said and waved. "Not tonight. Got other plans."

Which was a lie. He would just fall asleep, further back, in the bushes, deep in the bushes, here on the beach.

"Okay," Danny said, much louder, "take care. See you tomorrow?"

They waved and grinned.

Danny left with Esmeralda, his girlfriend, and her baby girl.

The beach party was calming down, the next day, Wednesday, being a work day, and most of them had jobs and schools to return to.

Except for The Man, an African American who had lost his mind long ago. Wallace was suddenly alone on the beach with him, the tattooed girl and a fire that had died. He was still nursing the bottle of wine. He did not dare offer her any. She sat quietly, her hands folded over her knees, as if she were waiting for him to finish and then go. With her.

"Hi," Wallace said and smiled.

"Hello," the girl answered.

Wallace tried to guess her age. Hard to determine. Was she eighteen? Or twenty-two? Or even thirty ...

"New here?" Wallace asked.

"No. I come here all the time."

"Really."

"Yes," she said and giggled. "Really."

They did not talk. They sat staring at the embers, and listening to the waves. The Man moaned, but when Wallace handed him the bottle of wine, he stopped. Darkness was closing in all around them. It wasn't threatening, it was soothing; Wallace knew, even if he slept outside, the night would be warm, and the sleep, for hours at a stretch, refreshing.

The young lady was the first to speak:

"By the way, I'm Valeria."

"I'm Wallace."

"Nice to meet you," she said shyly.

"Nice to meet you, too," said Wallace and smiled a broad smile.

"So ... you intend to sleep in those bushes tonight?" she asked, pointing her chin in the direction of a field of wild shrubbery.

At first, Wallace was taken aback. How did she know? Well, she hung out with the crowd here, didn't she? She knew the score.

"I guess so."

She nodded.

"Want to come to my house first, have some coffee?"

How did she know he loved to drink coffee, around the clock? Mere coincidences.

"Lady, I don't know you that well yet."

"It's on Chestnut."

"Do you live there alone?"

"Yes, with my cats and dogs."

At this, Wallace relaxed a little.

As if she sensed it, the young woman got up and walked towards him.

Wallace twitched nervously. Was she coming on to him?

Valeria was at his side. She looked him in the eye, and ran a hand along his shoulder.

"I am here to help you."

Wallace jumped to his feet. Valeria was small and fragile; with his hulky frame and extra pounds, he towered over her like a fortress. He felt weak, though.

"Lady, I think we'd better call it a night, and go our separate ways."

"I have a message for you."

"What about?"

"Come with me ..."

"Please," Wallace pleaded. "I am too tired for games like this."

"No games. Honest concern."

With her large brown eyes, and beautiful tan complexion, Wallace could not help feeling at once comfortable, and aroused, in her presence. 'Let her tell you more,' a voice in his head whispered.

"Okay. One cup of coffee, then I go."

Valeria smiled, a pleasant, charming smile. It was nearly impossible not to like her. She took his hand.

"Come."

## Chapter 2

Wallace looked over to The Man, slumped forward with the wine bottle dangling from his dirty, bruised hands. Wallace felt uncomfortable about leaving him, alone, on the beach.

The Man's head suddenly jerked up, and his eyes changed. All at once, he was sober, intelligent, and somewhat younger. It lasted only for a few seconds, then his eyes dulled, their light turned to gray, and it was all gone. Wallace shuddered. He was imaging things.

The Man was a shell, a homeless person. And no one missed him.

Wallace tried to push the thoughts away, the despair creeping up on him. Would he end like that? Was he working his way towards a life of lonesome misery?

Valeria led him over the sand to a small wooden bridge that connected with a lawn. The stars were out, and the waves were murmuring softly. Her cool hand was smooth as ivory. Wallace rejoiced in touching this woman. It had been so long since he considered himself a candidate for love. He had nothing to offer right now.

His mind flashed 'girlfriend', but he quickly pushed the word aside. Impossible.

Valeria stopped, made a half-turn, and smiled up at him. 'She must be reading my mind,' he thought. ('Or by now, I am fragile, made of glass. My options few, my reactions predictable.')

That was probably it. He bowed his head and let her lead him out into the street.

Her black Honda was parked in front of the path snailing down to the beach. Wallace' body slid comfortably into the cool, leathery car seat. In the discreet, shaded darkness, the Honda's hood glistened like the flanks of a sleek, strong panther.

"What the hell,' Wallace thought and smiled inwardly. He could easily get used to this.

Valeria drove two blocks down the street. Passing a Subway, she turned to Wallace and raised her eyebrows as if asking a question. 'Do you want any?'

"I know we agreed on coffee ..." she said playfully.

Wallace licked his lips and touched her cheek. It was very cold.

It hit Wallace. For the second time that night, tears welled up in his eyes. With a clumsy hand, he tried to wipe them away. Valeria was buying dinner for him, and it was Subway. His favorite food.

There were good people all around, people who were willing to help out, and who were willing to take care of him. Even if his brother Harold cast him out, Harold, who had a heart as cold as stone.

Valeria drove into the parking lot, and went inside for food.

She brought back many bags with a smile.

"There," she said. "We're all set to go."

He took some of the bags, the rest went to the back seat. Valeria started to drive, and after another two blocks, they were on Chestnut Avenue, where she parked in front of a very impressive white mansion in the moonlight. The house was obscured by huge shade trees, giving it an aura of mystery, as if it had something to hide. Well, after all, it was home to Valeria, mysterious lady from the beach.

Wallace did consider how much danger he might be in. She was trying a little too hard to put him at ease, to gain his trust. He decided it was best not to let his guard down completely.

"Look," Valeria said somberly. "You don't know me. You can leave at any time. The front door won't be locked. Hell, I can let you have the spare key until tomorrow."

She sighed. "Please believe me. I have an important message for you."

She was crying. "It's very, very important."

Wallace was at the end of his rope, though. All he wanted to do was sink his teeth into his Subway sandwich. He eagerly started to unwrap it. Could Valeria cut out the drama, and let him eat?

Valeria sighed again, looking straight ahead.

"Go on," she said. "Enjoy."

Wallace sipped his soft drink thoughtfully. "You have a message for me? Who sent it?"

"We have to go inside."

"That does not make sense."

"Wallace. Just come with me."

"Okay, look," he said. "I will eat my sandwich in this car in peace. Then I will come in the house with you. But I am really tired. And not in the mood for silly games."

"No games."

"Okay."

With that, he tore into his Philly Cheesesteak Sandwich. Valeria drank a Coke and leaned her head against his arm. It had all been okay until she started to display her wealth. A woman of her standing picking up guys on the beach who were down on their luck ...

"I'm tired, too."

"Are you a vampire, or something?"

"I know things, Wallace. I see things."

Wallace did not know what to think. He had met a millionaire beauty on day one of his homelessness.

"Will you try having sex with me?"

"They both laughed a weak little laugh.

"Not the first time," Valeria answered, opening a small bag of potato chips.

"That sounds like you mean it."

"Well, good for you."

They laughed again, louder this time, and continued eating.

"This is kinda ridiculous, eating in my car, in front of my house."

"You sure want me in there, don't you?"

Valeria nodded. "I do."

"You said you have a dog, or dogs. Shouldn't they be barking?"

"At least one of them is behind the front door, wagging his tail in anticipation."

Wallace tried a macadamia cookie. He picked up the crumbs and looked out the windshield at the street. Valeria bit her lip. They finished eating.

Getting out of the car slowly, Valeria stretched and waited. Wallace had to hold onto the roof to maneuver out of his seat. They built cars so small these days. Brushing off his clothes, he showed Valeria the Subway bags, but she waved a hand. It didn't matter. He put the litter back in the car. Now he was really curious.

## Chapter 3

Valeria walked towards the house, locking the car. She then unlocked the front door. A large dog, a chocolate Labrador, came to her slowly, gently. Cats, more lively, poured out of all the corners of the house. Most of them looked like abused warriors of the street.

Wallace shied away from the cats missing ears, tails or eyes. And he was very tired now. But weird animals or not ... would she let him spend the night? In such a spacious house, was there a corner for him?

Again, as if she could read his mind, she said:

"I know. You're tired. You can crash on the couch. Soon. I promise."

"That's a cool trick you have. You always seem to know what I'm thinking."

"WE ... We know what you're thinking," Valeria said softly.

Wallace patted one cat, a white one, with tiger fur on her sides in splashes. He walked into the house. It was like walking into another century, in another country. Spain, he mused. Gold-ornamented mirrors reflected rich red embroidered carpets. The furniture was dark walnut. Valeria lit candles and shooed the animals away.

"Come," she said with a smile.

She took his hand and led him to a large oak door. Turning the golden handle, she motioned for him to follow her ...

He walked into a graveyard. Behind the tombstones, ravaged faces appeared, in torn clothes. They hid quickly, seemingly frightened.

Wallace opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out. His heartbeat drummed in his ears; he was close to a heart attack.

"We've been watching you," Valeria said, a part of her cheek now missing.

"You're the one."

Wallace didn't hear. He had fainted.

## Chapter 4

Wallace was asleep, restlessly mumbling. With a part of his mind, he heard noises, beings moving around quickly behind the heavy oldfashioned walnut furniture. Another part of his mind did not want to wake up. He did not want to face disappointment and shock yet again. But he could no longer deny it, slowly drifting into consciousness, that he was in Valeria's creepy house, and he was not alone in the room.

One of the cats slept curled up on his chest. Two were wedged in between his large body and the upright end of the couch. One cat sat perched on the armrest down by his feet and watched him, purring. The dog stood by the door, watching the shadows moving, his ears laid back in fear.

Wallace woke up with a whopper of a headache. The cheap wine down by the beach had done its fair share to help that along. He rose to a sitting position slowly, careful not to upset too many of the cats. There wasn't much light in the room; a few dim rays drifted in from the outside, moonlight perhaps and the street lamps. The curtains were half drawn and made of a thick cloth, velvety and full of dust. There was no air in the place, it smelled of death and the weight of many, many years past.

The more Wallace came to, the more the house returned from its otherworldly glory to a tragic, abandoned state in the here and now. The restless shadow beings had faded away.

Once on his feet, Wallace tried to focus and he looked around slowly. Considering his options, he thought it would be best to move to the door and go through it. He wasn't on the ground floor, he was much higher up, so climbing out a window would have been impossible, if not very dangerous.

Remembering his shock from the night before at finding himself in a graveyard after simply walking into a room, Wallace paused and tried to find the courage to open the door. As two cats rubbed themselves against him, swirling around his feet, Wallace stood holding the knob in his trembling hand.

Taking deep breaths, Wallace threw the door open and briskly walked out into the hallway. He found himself at the top of three steep flights of stairs, peering down. What should he do? Try and find Valeria? Call out to her?

He needed to pee, he wanted to find a kitchen and something to eat. Wallace was hungry again. Stress made him hungry, but then again, he was hungry most of the time, all through the day, but this dark and uninviting house made him craving comfort food in a donut box.

He found a bathroom, with shelves full of towels, soaps and toiletries. Perhaps the shower worked? He would check that out later. He turned the lights back off, and closed the door behind him.

Down a flight of steps, he found a dining room and a kitchen, just as a coffee machine sputtered to a finish. Wallace loved the taste of coffee. An ancient refrigerator was stuffed to the brim with food, hot dogs, watermelon slices, cakes, cookies, milk, orange juice. Wallace sat down at the kitchen table, holding his head in his hands, and tried to make sense of what had happened.

He poured himself a cup of coffee and drank it thoughtfully. In the morning, Valeria would fill him in and he would try to thank her and offer to work for her. But was she ... even alive?

Out in the hallway, all was quiet. The animals were sleeping under the armchairs or wandering about in all the many rooms of the house. Wallace sighed. It did not feel like that. Deep in his heart he knew that Valeria, the mysterious shadow beings and the dog and the cats ... they had now all gone back to their graves.

Wallace drank the last few bitter drops of coffee and decided to sleep some more, until morning.

## Chapter 5

The next morning, Wallace slept in, and when he came to, he sauntered into the kitchen in his underwear. He was astonished to find a pan full of bacon and a pan full of scrambled eggs both waiting for him on the stove, and toast ready to be popped into the toaster. He helped himself, and ate alone. He could easily get used to a life like this, he thought, with Valeria playing I Dream Of Jeannie for him.

The white cat from the night before, the only one Wallace had been able to touch, sat in the hallway purring, watching him. Wallace tore off a piece of bacon, and offered it to her. Here kitty. Here kitty.

The cat did not move. She did not give in to the beckoning. There was a sadness about her.

Wallace finished and treated himself to a full warm bath, what a luxury!

Someone had put a new pair of blue jeans, just his size, on a bed in a room next to the bathroom, along with a fresh, very large T-shirt and new socks and new Nike shoes, also a perfect fit.

He got dressed and left the house, looking and feeling brand new. He did not bother searching for Valeria or for answers.

Wallace jumped on a bus to the mall, ready for more coffee, and he figured he would visit old Ray Lighthill, even if it was just to see if he was still alive. (He had often entered the house, entered the living room, sure this time it was over, the frail man as stock still as a statue.)

He had grown attached to him. He felt the intense need to have a relationship with someone, and most relationships were for immediate concerns and resources. Wallace didn't want to think of a word like 'love'.

~

Later, at the mall, he walked around, browsing through stores, killing time, trying to make sense of what had happened the night before. He eventually ran into Danny – his friend from the beach -, and bummed a ride back into the neighborhood.

~

Wallace walked hesitantly into Ray Lighthill's backyard. He unlocked the outside doors leading down into the cellar. It was dark and musty in there, but Wallace had taken to calling it home. He sat on the old squeaky bed with the flimsy blanket, with racks and shelves of tools surrounding him, tools that were covered in dust and grime and hadn't been used in years.

'Please, Mr. Lighthill,' he thought, 'please be home and alive and well. I need someone to talk to.'

He could not get himself to go upstairs and check on the old man for fear of finding him dead and losing yet another relationship. It would revert him back to having only his brother Harold.

After waiting for twenty minutes, he heaved himself off of his cot, and went up the stairs towards the hallway. He hoped Mr. Lighthill's adult kids hadn't come visiting, they were often so unkind as to lock the door leading down into the cellar. He jiggled the doorknob. Today, it was not locked.

Entering the hallway, Wallace smelled buttered pancakes with syrup: a good sign. Lighthill was up and eating, cooking and taking care of himself.

Wallace found him in the small kitchen towards the back of the house, with coffee, Fanta, a stack of golden pancakes, eating breakfast with a smile.

"Oh good morning, Mr. Lighthill, so glad to see you!"

"Well hello," the old man said. "Where've you been? I was worried sick last night."

"I crashed with a lady."

"Woo!"

"Yes, a wonderful lady ... on Chestnut Avenue."

Lighthill looked concerned for a moment, but then smiled another broad, denture-toothed smile.

"Have some pancakes, son."

"Don't mind if I do."

They ate in silence, with Lighthill introspective, as if trying to remember something.

After the pancakes, they cleared the table together, and did the dishes.

"What are your plans for the day, Wallace?"

Wallace was hesitant.

"I thought I might help you with your computer ... and then, as a reward, you might let me use it."

"Excellent idea."

"Thank you, sir."

"Don't mention it. We are friends."

Wallace thought of giving Mr. L. a hug. He had done so once before, a fierce bear hug, and he had been shaken at how thin and fragile the old man was. He had worried he might really hurt him. Wallace wanted a hug now anyway. From someone. From anyone.

Mr. Lighthill put a soapsudsy hand on his shoulder.

"Next time you stay the night at a friend's house, or a lady's house ... let me know first, okay?"

The kind words were a hug. Wallace blinked back the tears.

"Yes, sir!"

He knew full well he would forget. And so did Ray Lighthill.

When Wallace looked up to the kitchen window, there sat the lovely white cat (with a little tiger fur) from Valeria's house. She was staring into the kitchen at him. Wallace let go of a glass he was drying. It shattered on the floor. When Lighthill looked up, curious what had spooked him, the cat jumped backwards, just in time.

Wallace cleaned up the glass, and vacuumed for good measure. Then he booted up the computer, and while the old man typed up an email to his sister in Wisconsin, Wallace decided to walk the four blocks to his brother Harold's house. There was not much else to do.

Ray Lighthill hardly noticed as Wallace let himself out the door. The air was humid and sticky, even though it was barely noon. This day was going to be a scorcher. There was no one on the quiet streets. Wallace hated not having a job, not even a permanent place to stay. He walked in the middle of the street, as if for a showdown.

With Harold, his moody brother, every encounter invariably was ... a showdown.

## Chapter 6

The front gate had never been locked. Not in all the years since their parents had passed away. It didn't mean anyone could just walk in; Wallace had his doubts about entering Harold's property after being made to feel unwelcome and unwanted, not once, but often.

He waited for ten minutes, with his back to the fence, looking nervously up and down the street. Then he walked into the garden, admiring the shade trees, the cherry trees, the blue spruce and poplar trees.

Harold had this paradise all to himself, he had been the heir. Trying to find cover, Wallace looked around. He felt he needed to hide. Near a rear window without curtains, he listened for sounds. He hoped Harold wasn't home. Cupping both hands, he looked into the house, trying to make out furniture, trying to find a clue why Harold was such a strange person, ultimately, what was wrong with him, what had changed him.

What he saw was shocking. He had expected the dining room to be in the same shape Mom left it behind when she got divorced from Dad and moved out. All the furniture was still there, the same furniture they owned during their marriage, but it seemed more furniture had been added, rather stuffed into the room. The place was full of clutter, but - as if someone had been looking for something -, everything had been thrown around, covered and then uncovered, shoved and upturned. No one had bothered putting everything back in order. No one had bothered dusting and cleaning, either.

In the middle of the mess, there was blood; bones had been scattered, of seemingly half-eaten animals, and a severed human hand, draped over the side of a white-blanket-covered armchair, was enough to make Wallace gag, then choke and want to run.

Wallace jerked back, horrified. Something was seriously wrong. This was a crime scene.

~

He wanted to get away, he didn't want to deal with this. He wanted and needed Ray, Valeria, Danny, the gang down on the beach, anyone - just not this.

'Harold is the only family you've got,' a voice in his head informed him.

"Harold is not just sick," he answered out loud.

"Harold is the devil."

~

He hurried around the house to the front gate, eager to escape and surprised he could jog so well with all his extra pounds. He hoped no neighbors were watching, no female neighbors, but then again, why was their approval so important? He didn't want anyone to see the the big ring around his midriff bobbing up and down.

I should be calling the police, he thought, not worrying about women in the neighborhood. He knew he couldn't see it through. He could not call the police on his brother. For so many years, they had been apart.

When he reached the gate, he saw a small dog, a pit bull, he thought (although he wasn't so sure about dogs), standing outside, looking in. He thought of the kitty looking into Ray Lighthill's kitchen.

"Shoo!" he yelled and waved, not slowing in pace.

As he grabbed the gate and opened it, the dog growled fiercely. Frightened, Wallace stayed inside, holding the gate between himself and the dog protectively.

"Go away," he said in a loud voice, all the while worried Harold would somehow come home, twist the situation into place with his perverted and charming lies, and call the police ON HIM.

The dog was quiet. Wallace opened the gate a few inches, and the dog moved forward and growled at him again.

That was when the house growled.

Wallace looked up at the ruined old place, paralyzed, in utter disbelief.

The growls were loud, menacing, and seemed to be coming from the outer walls of it.

Thoroughly creeped out, Wallace panicked, but knew there was no way he could lift himself over the fence that surrounded the backyard.

To make matters worse, something pushed him. During his fall, for a fraction of a second, he thought of being hacked to pieces, his hands, his feet, other body parts, severed, all placed neatly in a circle on white sheets in what used to be his parents' living room. He toppled over, and banged his shoulder on a rock. He realized the growling dog would take advantage of this, so he tried hard to get back on his feet. Sure enough, the pit bull had nuzzled open the gate and was squeezing in.

Even though Wallace hated doing it, he slammed the gate on the pit bull's stomach. It let out a high yelp, and Wallace opened the gate so that the dog could escape. Which it did. It ran down the street at top speed.

Wallace swallowed hard and glanced back over his shoulder into the garden. All was quiet.

Shivers ran down his spine. He was cold, despite the humidity. His pride did not allow him to run down the street the way the dog did. It was the only thing, however, he really wanted to do. Screw pride, screw courage, he thought.

A growling house. An invisible something pushing him. A severed hand. Bones, blood ... squalor.

Wallace resented having to find a logical explanation for any of this. It was his own fault, though. He just had to go back to Harold's house. He could have just ... stayed away.

## Chapter 7

Wallace stumbled back to Ray's house, hurt and confused. The sun was up in full glory, and after a few steps, he began to sweat, the sweat running down his cheeks and forehead in little rivers of drops.

To his surprise, Lighthill was out on the street, rejuvenated, talking to a neighbor, who stood in front of a newly-built house and an obscenely large pickup truck. Wallace had heard of him, a man named Larry Goode. He was a wealthy, successful man, with an aura that drew people in, but his eyes, they were full of a light green color, full of something cold and not very kind. Wallace was tempted to think of conspiracy theories involving shapeshifting reptilians, who were already ruling the world, as Goode looked in his direction and stared.

Wallace shook his head. It would be better to avoid the situation entirely. Ray had already seen him and had not smiled. He decided to go down to the beach and to ask Danny if there was work for the day, and ... maybe there was. Ray and Good continued to talk, Wallace nodded, but neither nodded back, so he continued hurrying and minding his own business.

Before he turned a corner on Harbor Road to leave the neighborhood, he turned and took one last look. Goode was scowling at him, his face scrunching up.

'Okay,' he thought. 'I have no job, no car, no home. I'm overweight. I don't even know what I'm doing here.'

"Fuck you, sir," he muttered.

He had been born as Harold's brother, after all.

And it had gone downhill from there.

~

He found the beach deserted. Wallace watched the seagulls. He felt empty and alone, hollow. When had it happened? When had he stopped being a person? Without a voice, without rights. Without a future. Why was even Ray suddenly turning on him?

He was hungry, very hungry. If something or someone didn't turn up soon, he would go for pizza, couple of dollar slices would do the trick. Afterwards, he would still be hungry, and he would buy a loaf of bread, eat it, and the hunger would go away for a bit. But not for long.

Because it wasn't just a hunger for food. It was a hunger for _everything_. Kicking a rock into the ocean, Wallace walked along the beach, knowing there was probably no one around who had time for him. He enjoyed the beach anyway. Staring out into the horizon, it helped ease the pain, it cleared his mind.

Since Valeria's house was on his way to the nearest pizzeria, he decided to retrace the route they had taken the night before. He was curious to see what her house looked like in broad daylight, and if, by chance, he would see her, or if he might even have the nerve to ring her doorbell.

Smiling for the first time on an otherwise hot and humid, depressing, if not downright bizarre day, Wallace kicked one last stone into the water and turned to leave. First, he walked to the place where the regulars usually started a small fire, which never burned and was more of a dare. It was covered with sand and driftwood. But he knew it was there. He envisioned Valeria taking his hand and walking him to the car. It was as if her smell still lingered in the air.

As he made his way down the street Valeria had referred to as "Chestnut" - and she had probably meant Chestnut Avenue -, but which was now called Hayes Avenue on street signs, he thought of the friendly bantering that had gone on between the two of them. Wallace now felt sweaty, sticky and uncomfortable.

He had passed the Subway restaurant, so he had to be in the right neighborhood. He recognized some of the houses; although, by day, they looked rundown and abandoned. The night before, it had seemed to him, this was an upscale neighborhood.

He needed a bath, his new clothes were drenched. He saw the huge shade trees a block down, and started to jog towards them. A woman in a car honked and smiled. 'How rude,' Wallace thought. She was making fun of him, women in cars invariably did, although he had been told 'they were just trying to be friendly'.

"Bitch," he muttered, and walked slowly away.

The shade trees were sugar maples and it was a joy to look up into their leaves. However, Valeria's beautiful house from the night before – it was gone. Construction had started further back, an entirely different house was being built. No sign of the previous architectural structure, it wasn't even on the same spot. Wallace dried his face with a part of his T-shirt.

'A dream,' he thought.

'I drank too much wine, fell asleep, and had a dream.'

But how to explain his new clothes? How real Valeria's soft hand had felt in his! How he had helped himself to a monster breakfast. This was turning into a Rubik's Cube of a day. He was also tired of running from place to place and the day getting weirder and weirder.

He decided to return to Ray's basement, and to ask him to be allowed to take a shower. But first, he needed pizza, lots of pizza.

# Part II

## Chapter 8

Ray Lighthill looked sad and tired, sleeping in his favorite armchair. The front door and all the windows were open. Wallace closed up the house, as winds were growing in intensity, heralding a storm. He locked up and started a Campbell's soup with crackers.

Turning on the computer, he hoped to forget the day with Youtube clips, and news updates. Opening his email inbox, his heart thudded twice and stopped, Valeria had sent him an e-mail titled: "Forgive Me."

There were others, one from Danny, announcing a day's work freeing a garage and a house of clutter. Wallace quickly agreed to be there the next day.

He let the cursor linger over the e-mail Valeria had sent. He sat at the computer desk just staring at the screen, until the soup hissed quietly, nearly boiling over. He rushed to stir it, and added cream. For a homeless person, discarded by his last and next of kin, he was doing well. At least for the moment. He would probably have to help Ray get undressed, and take him to the bathroom.

Wallace went back to the computer. He worried he might find Valeria's e-mail gone, because this day had been so very strange. It was still there, and with his eyes closed, he double clicked it open. It read:

" _Dear Wally, I hope you understand. There is still so very much I have to tell you, so much you don't know yet. But you are special! You are my very special friend. Pls meet me tonight at the beach, same place, same time. I will be there. I have a message for you. It's so important. Pls be there. With love, Valeria (YOUR FRIEND)."_

Wallace had to get up to breathe. Oh boy, this woman was something. But after everything that had happened, how could he possibly trust her?

~

Ray never woke up again that quiet evening. Wallace covered his legs with a blanket, and tucked it under his thighs, enveloping his knees and his feet. He squeezed an extra small pillow under his head. He dimmed the lights. He did all the dishes, took care of himself, and – although he felt fairly guilty about it \- went to bed in Mr. Lighthill's room, instead of retiring down into the basement.

He tried to sleep; the more he tried, the more agitated he became. Valeria was at the beach, in a beautiful dress, waiting, the most beautiful creature ever to care about him, and he was in an old man's bed counting the losses of his life.

He threw the covers back and jumped out of bed. Ray was still snoring quietly. Feeling uncomfortable about leaving the old man in the living room (what if he woke up at night, tried to get up, stumbled, fell?). But then, Wallace wasn't supposed to be there to begin with (it didn't make things better), the family needed to find a caregiver. He promised himself he wouldn't stay away for too long, just to check to see if Valeria was really at the beach, and even if she did win him over to come with her to her spooky house again, he would refuse to enter, and say he was sorry, that he was obliged to look after Mr. Lighthill, because Ray was now his landlord of sorts, a father figure, they needed each other (at least Wallace liked to think so). Even though he had nothing in writing.

He called a cab, and was down by the water in no time.

At first, he couldn't find her. So he sat on a marooned log, defeated. As he looked out to sea, sipping a cold beer a partying bystander had handed him, he saw her walking towards him along the water's edge.

She seemed to vanish, then reappear. Wallace rubbed his eyes, and squinted at the sight of her.

She greeted him with a "hey!" and touched his shoulder. That was real enough.

"Hey," he said and smiled, in the bear grip of joy. As if he had known her forever.

Valeria sat down next to him, snuggling into him.

He put a heavy arm around her, and so they sat, looking out over the beautiful dark blue ocean on a summer's night, content for the moment.

"Did you get my email?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Will tonight be the night?"

He decided to risk it.

"You know what I'm thinking anyway."

"I do ... WE do."

She kissed his cheek. Her lips were cool, not cold, and soft.

"Me? I'm your ... new ... friend?" Wallace asked.

"Yes, you."

"Why?"

"You're special. You're kind."

Wallace swallowed.

"Okay."

"Okay, then?"

"I'm ready."

They walked to her Honda silently, and when they were on the road, Valeria told him about her past. How it had started out as harmless fun, two or three couples, getting together, drinking ... how it had become a weekend activity, how others joined in. How evil became ever more present. How boundaries were transgressed. Until one day, something gained entry and began to erode the community from its weakest members on outward.

"Wallace, I was a whore."

She stared at him at the red light.

"I know. I don't mind."

"You're lying."

"I want you to be mine. I want you to love me."

Valeria was about to laugh a practiced, bitter laugh. She threw her head back, but the light turned green and she bit her lip. When she turned quickly while driving, he could see the single tear rolling down her cheek.

"I guess that makes you the one."

When the car came to a halt on Chestnut Avenue, in front of the stately mansion that had seen so many desires, so many pleasures, but also so much pain and depravity, Valeria grabbed his arm.

"We don't know what is was that came into our lives. It was pure evil."

Wallace couldn't help thinking of Harold ... and Goode.

"And they are still here, after all this time. Wallace, you're a breaker. I just know you are."

"What exactly is ... a breaker?"

"Someone who can stop all of it from happening again. You have the light. You control ..."

"You're sure it's that simple?"

She nodded, then shook her head.

Wallace slowly got out of the car. Steeling himself against the zombie creatures he would see shortly, he looked up into the darkened skies, and mumbled a short prayer. Valeria stood like a statue next to her car. Prayer seemed to bother her. Wallace felt a little sick to his stomach. What had he gotten himself into, he thought.

He held out a hand. She came to him and took it. Together, they walked towards the house.

Once inside, Valeria led Wallace to the intimidating oak door with a shy smile; she again turned the golden handle, slowly. Instead of walking into a room, they walked into a cemetery; in the black of the night, and from behind the tombstones, tormented souls appeared, in their decayed bodies. Wallace tried to feel compassion for the dead, for Valeria's sake. He was willing to take this chance, maybe he could be helpful in some way.

A wind picked up, and the ghostly figures screeched in agony. Wallace did not back away. He looked at Valeria, now ugly, losing large pieces of flesh, her skull revealed.

"I don't understand," Wallace said.

"We can't move on, no one can," Valeria wailed.

He looked at her with love and concern. 'I feel close to them', he thought, knowing it was wrong, he should fight, return to the real world, not feel compelled to stay ... with this.

"Come," she motioned. And lead him to moss-covered stone steps leading further into the ground. Revulsion threatened to take over, as he tried to breathe the moldy air. He walked into darkness, a part of him wanting to be with her, wanting to believe her, and another part of his soul screaming for him to back away, to run, to fight off the living dead.

But he followed her. And he did not leave her.

## Chapter 9

Wallace woke up foggy-headed in Ray's dark, musty basement. He tried to make sense of what had happened the night before. It was early Thursday morning, and this was a temporary arrangement. He was homeless, as his only brother Harold had turned him down when he had asked for help. That much he remembered. That much made sense.

The cot was very uncomfortable for a man his size. A thin blanket covered his legs, but wasn't very warm. It got very cold at night sometimes. If only he could turn to lie on his side! He risked the cot breaking under his weight as it was, he did not dare move too much.

He laughed inwardly. He was 36 now, and he had daydreamed away much of his life, living on family money. He wasn't sorry, it was what he had been told to do.

A few scant rays of light bled into his basement room full of shelves and clutter. He felt abandoned. Lost. Torn. How could he be the angel of anyone? With a throbbing headache, he remembered Valeria. He should go visit Harold, choke him and rob him, beat him and spit at him.

But he was not the kind of person to do that.

"I'm a sucker," he muttered, and closed his eyes, refusing reality.

~

The day's work cleaning out an attic and a garage turned out to be at Larry Goode's - of all places! Danny teamed up with him to rid the attic of boxes, mirrors, clothes, dolls, junk. The day was hot and humid, yet again, and sweat poured down Wallace' face and arms. Large stains formed on his shirt.

The others in the clean-up group commented often on how he looked, and on how the work would help him "lose weight". Goode himself stood at the front door inspecting the work, and he glared at Wallace with a fierce intensity every time he passed.

'Why does he loathe me so?' thought Wallace. And: 'I wish someone would offer me a glass of water.'

He had filled a bottle with tap water, but it was not enough. Not nearly enough.

As he was throwing old books into a container, he came upon a beautiful journal with an expensive cover. He opened it and saw a drawing of a man who was not unlike Larry, only dressed in old-fashioned clothing, 19th century, a dandy. He stood bent over a woman whose head had been snapped back. Blood and golden light sprayed from the open wound, and the Larry-lookalike seemed to be sucking in all of the life that was escaping her.

Wallace closed it, disturbed. His heart skipped a beat, and then wound up into a gallop. A flashback plagued him, of the night before, of stories he had heard. His mind was too weary and sleep-deprived for him to dwell on it, he didn't want to deal with any of this.

Danny offered him an ice cold Coca Cola. Very tempting. With all the 'lose weight' talk, Wallace was, at first, shy about taking it. When Danny grinned his cute Danny grin, Wallace accepted. The sugary drink went down really easy. Wallace thought wistfully, he would need at least ten more.

Goode handed him a towel.

"There ya go," he said, throwing it in his general direction.

"At first, he seemed like a very nice man," a childlike voice in his head explained.

"He was especially nice to the little ones, bringing them gifts, telling them sweet things, offering them candy ..."

"One night, he slapped me, and took me with violence. I was bleeding. His face twisted into something mad and unusual. They all told the same story ... We don't know what happened."

She was barely fifteen. Her chin rested on her hands, folded over the tomb stone. Her face was grayish pale, but her spirit was still in this world so she could share her story with Wallace, who had stood holding Valeria's hand.

That had been the previous night. The moment came flooding back, a rift, and Wallace felt nauseous.

"What'sa matter, big buddy. Working too hard?"

Goode was being superficially nice. Not to scratch the surface, Wallace thought. The two-headed serpent is showing me the other side.

"I'm fine, sir. Thank you."

Goode mocked him. Much to the amusement of all the workers. Wallace tried to shrug it off. He had been through this a thousand times. He needed the money; Harold was not like Mom or Dad.

Not like Valeria.

Goode was not finished. He pumped air into his cheeks, and let it out slowly, a balloon deflating. The workers stopped hauling boxes and laughed, even howled.

Wallace stood in the middle, defeated. He knew, once they started, they would not stop. He had to do something about it, work out at a gym, eat less fast food, try to lose weight. But the disappointment and the depression just made it impossible. Food was the only thing that ever cheered him up or gave him a little satisfaction. All of a sudden someone said:

"Leave him alone. Just stop it."

The crowd let out a surprised collective 'Whoa!' and looked in the direction of the male voice telling Larry to shut up. Ray Lighthill stood on the sidewalk, trembling, waving an umbrella on a hot, sunny day.

Wallace shook his head.

Larry walked briskly into his house, the expression on his face one of suppressed amusement. But there were other feelings smoldering on his otherwise tan, handsome face: loathing, repulsion, indifference. A coldhearted prick. Wallace thought of the drawing depicting a man sucking the life out of his victim, and Valeria's descriptions of beings that were utterly evil, who held souls captive, even after they found no more use in the bodies.

"Do you have to work here?" Ray asked Wallace.

"It's fine. I'm nearly finished." Wallace answered. The crowd slowly dispersed.

"Come home with me. I'll pay you a day's work."

"It's okay. Really."

Wallace felt the world slipping away.

Danny piped in: "Wally, finish your work. Not much left. You deserve the money."

He rubbed Wallace' shoulder, and nodded towards Lighthill.

"Doesn't look much like rain, old man," he said, pointing towards Ray's umbrella.

Ray just glared back at him.

"I remember you, too. You were a part of it."

Danny shrugged and smiled. Wallace trotted back into the house. Before he entered, he said to Ray:

"Please go back home. I'll be there soon."

He mouthed the words:

"Thank you so much."

Ray nodded and turned to go. At that very moment, Larry tried to leave the house with a framed painting. He pushed rudely past Wallace.

"Mr. L. Take a look at this!"

## Chapter 10

Wallace caught a glimpse of the painting, and knew immediately it was a portrait of Valeria, sitting in the main room of the mansion on Chestnut Avenue, in a red velvet gown.

His heart pounded in a way that - for the first time ever - he thought he might be falling deeply in love with someone.

"What's this?" asked Ray, visibly annoyed.

"Remember her?" asked Larry, smiling like a clown.

Ray bowed his head, and said nothing at first. It seemed he had to fight his inner demons before he could look up and face Goode. It was not for lack of courage, though.

"She's in heaven now," Lighthill muttered softly.

Wallace turned to watch him closely. How well had he known her?

"Oh, is she?" scoffed Larry, amused. Some of the workers came back to watch.

"You can't hurt her anymore. The veil, remember?"

Goode suddenly lost his wicked glee; it was as if he suddenly remembered something, something important. He glanced at the portrait solemnly for a minute, and handed it to Wallace.

"Throw it away!" he ordered and marched back into the house.

Wallace did not dare look at the portrait. He stood frozen, ready to scream. Danny tried tearing the painting away from him, but again, Lighthill intervened.

"Have you young people all gone crazy? Give it to me - right now!"

Wallace had never seen Ray so full of energy. He was impressed. But he knew he would find the old man exhausted and asleep when he went back to his house later on.

Ray turned and marched off defiantly, umbrella in one hand, painting in the other. Some members of the clean-up team laughed and started to talk, but Danny shouted for them to get working again.

"What's the story?" asked Wallace.

"I'll tell you sometime," Danny answered.

"You know her, too ... Valeria?"

"Yeah man, Wally, she's a legend around here."

More Wallace did not dare to ask, Danny was a workaholic, and so he got going, rushing back into the house and up the stairs to the attic.

There were more paintings, of pretty women in long, flowing gowns. Some with gentleman, others in the nude, with flowers and flute glasses. All in seemingly subdued good taste. But Wallace was no fool. Valeria's mansion had been a bordello; he was not bothered by the idea. One small painting showed a very young girl, bent backwards, her neck cut open, blood and light escaping through the gash; a man who looked like Larry was bent over her, relishing the moment. Wallace shuddered.

He tried to hide the painting, but Danny took it from him. Wallace wanted to leave. Danny mouthed the word "Soon." Others had already left.

As he was coming down the stairs with various objects, Goode blocked his path with water bottles. They looked like they were cold. Wallace hesitated. What kind of man was Larry anyway?

"I know you don't like me, son," he said. "You don't know me. Let's talk."

Wallace turned but didn't see Danny anywhere. He put down the things to be thrown away slowly and followed Larry into a dining room. It led out onto a patio, where they sat down with the water.

"Funny things have been happening, am I right?"

Wallace nodded glumly.

"You are certainly not the first guy to have to go through with it."

This caught Wallace' attention.

They each took a sip of water, eying each other.

"The l a d y. You know. Latina. Whore."

Wallace jumped. His face flushed with anger, his hands were fists, he was ready to charge at Larry.

Larry grimaced. "Stop it."

He added: "You work for me, remember?"

"She haunts this neighborhood. Small wonder. Too sick for heaven, too pretty for hell."

Wallace slowly sat back down.

"I don't understand."

"I could use some whiskey. You?" asked Goode.

"I'm fine, thanks."

Lumbering back into the house, Larry came back with a bottle.

'He's not going to drink from the bottle, is he?' thought Wallace.

Larry put the bottle to his lips and drank. He swallowed three times. Then he bowed his head.

"If you see her in a dream ... don't do what she says."

Wallace stared at him, weighing his words.

"Have you?"

"That's what I thought. She's been working on you."

He handed Wallace the bottle. This time, Wallace did not decline.

"I know your brother Harold. We do business together sometimes. ... And I heard about your ... altercation."

This did not surprise Wallace. He was about to ask for a glass, when Goode continued.

"Heard he let you go. Now you live in Lighthill's basement, for free, for helping the old guy out."

Wallace nodded.

"Well, it's emotional, I guess. And that is what this particular female demon waits for. She waits for you to get a divorce, or to have your mother die, or for you to lose your job ... get what I'm sayin'?"

"Yes," said Wallace.

"Then she floats through your mind, and tickles your skin at the beach, and acts all alone and wronged and she is so absolutely beautiful. She plays to what every man wants. But she's just a trick. None of it is real."

Wallace nodded again, not knowing why, and took a swig of whiskey. It burned down his throat.

"Don't know how she does it."

Larry laughed softly. "Maybe those South Americans put something in our food when we're not looking."

He added: "Anyway she asks for help. And she wants you to love her."

"It's all bull. She just messes with your mind. She's evil."

He warned Wallace: "Stay away from her. She will just suck the life out of you. She has this entourage, they are like vampires. Hell, no one knows what they really are or where they came from. You know that guy down at the beach, they call him The Man? He is one of her victims."

Wallace helped himself to more whiskey. What Larry said seemed to add up and make sense. But still ... Valeria had given him the few most precious moments with a woman he had ever experienced - in his entire life. That, however, was his secret.

"I appreciate your telling me, sir."

Larry waved a hand - 'Don't mention it.'

"Stay away from her is all I'm saying. Tell her to go to hell and leave us here alone."

~

Wallace was sore and tired. He got out of Danny's car in front of Ray's and shuffled towards the gate with his eyes staring at the sidewalk. He did not notice the vicious dog standing on the stone steps leading to the front door. He noticed it when it started to growl.

Danny had already driven off. The dog started to bark. Wallace was at a loss as to what to do. He felt like just wrestling it. It came at him. It leapt, it was in mid-air when it was thrown aside with a blow.

There stood Valeria.

"Go back to where you came from," she muttered, and the dog ran off.

With her back turned to him, and her garments flowing around her (though the branches of nearby trees were still), she reminded Wallace of an angel. And knowing her, he thought they might be real.

"Goodbye, Wallace," she said, and was gone.

## Chapter 11

What had he done wrong? Why "Goodbye"?

He nudged the front door open. It was better than sneaking around the back, and coming in from the basement, always worrying Ray's kids were going to show up and lock the door to the kitchen and main level.

Ray was awake, but looking sickly and pale. Wallace knelt before the old man in his armchair. He wanted to scream, please! Do not leave me. Stay strong. Stay with me.

He took the old man's hand.

"Do you need anything, sir?" he asked.

"I'm hungry. And thirsty."

"Should I call your sister? Or the kids?"

"No. Not yet."

Ray always said 'not yet', but they both knew the day would come when they had to call for help, because they could not handle the situation any longer. But both of them pushed that day out as far as possible.

Wallace went about cooking a light dinner. For the first time in a long time, he was not hungry. He thought of the painting, wondering where Ray had put it, and he thought of the computer, of finding or not finding an email from Valeria. He chopped carrots and tried to cook them soft. He peeled and diced potatoes, and squished them with a fork, adding just a little salt and cream. He spoon-fed Lighthill and let him nap a while.

No email from Valeria. On Danny's Facebook page, however, he saw the painting of her Larry Goode had wanted to throw away. He resented Danny for it, but maybe he had a story to tell. Maybe. The comment read: "Don't let her break your neck."

He did a Google search on Harold, but came up with next to nothing ... He would have liked to watch a movie, or play some games, or even risk a chat, but he thought better of it, and shook Ray, until the old man woke up.

"What's the matter?" the old guy said roughly.

"You should wash up a little, and then go to bed?"

"None of your business!"

"Now, now," scolded Wallace.

He put one hand under Ray's shoulder, and the other on his elbow, and gently but firmly pushed him up to stand. He pulled and Lighthill followed. Then Wallace took care of him, washed him, took out his dentures and put him in bed.

Checking on the house - windows closed, doors secured, he changed his clothes and rushed out the door after making sure Ray was sound asleep, with two nightlights burning. No cab tonight, he thought, and headed down to the beach, but not before checking on Goode and on Harold.

Jogging along Harbor Road, Wallace had his misgivings. Would the growling dog be lurking somewhere? Would he ever see Valeria again?

Harold was home and there was a party going on at his house. There was laughter and music. Wallace felt bitter ... Harold was partying while he was homeless. He was cool with other people and cold and strange around him, his only brother.

Wallace saw himself charging into the party, yelling and wielding a knife. His misery was an almost physical feeling, it sank into his bones, into his soul.

Defeated, he turned, as just another party guest came driving along in a new Porsche.

"Hey, Bubba, going home so soon?" the woman in the passenger seat mocked. The couple in the Porsche laughed.

The man put the car in reverse, and drove back slowly, so they could take a good look at Wallace. The woman wore red lipstick, and was tan with hardly a shred of clothing on. The man in the driver's seat had sweat all over his face.

"Beat it," said Wallace flatly.

"Why, we were gonna offer you a ride," cooed the woman, and the couple again burst out laughing. Wallace decided they were drunk or stoned or both, and not worth the bother.

"Have fun," he said.

Again, the man drove the car backwards, harassing Wallace.

"What do you mean by that?" he demanded.

'Anything having to do with Harold is seriously fucked,' thought Wallace.

He was at a loss as to how to react or respond. He just kept walking.

"Answer me, you son of a bitch!"

Wallace shrugged. When he turned, he saw Harold standing on the sidewalk with a group of party guests, his arms folded over his chest, staring at him. Wallace kept walking, reprimanding himself for coming to Harold's house in the first place. But he just had to know, had to know more.

Then, the man in the car grabbed his female companion by the hair, jerked her head back, back, all the way back, flashed a knife along her neck, opening her like a bottle. Wallace blinked, not believing what he was seeing. Blood squirted, innards popped, and for a flicker of a second, ever so quickly, a ray of light flashed upward, and was gone. The man with the sweaty face laughed.

"You the breaker?" he asked.

"Are you the new breaker, fat boy?" a woman from Harold's group asked and hooted.

Wallace thought of Valeria's words, of how he was special, how he was the one.

He had asked Valeria:

"What's a breaker?"

And she had answered:

"Someone who can stop all of the evil. You have the light. You are in control ..."

Wallace thought of the ray of light he had just seen escaping the body of the murdered woman. Did he, Wallace, have more light that others? Was that why he had been mobbed relentlessly all his life?

Was that why he needed layers of fat to shield him against all the humiliation, the coldheartedness?

He turned to look at Harold again. Harold had fallen together like a puppet; two of his friends were holding him upright. As Wallace tried to approach, the peopled hissed at him like snakes, and the house again growled. Wallace looked up at the walls in disbelief. Creatures hung there, clawing and snarling.

What were they?

Valeria had said:

"We don't know what they are. And we don't know where they came from."

Someone grabbed his hair from behind, and Wallace had a panic attack. He was going to die! They would jerk his head back, all the way back, and someone would slash his throat, even half-behead him.

"Let's break the breaker," the Porsche driver said, and tugged fiercely at Wallace's hair.

Wallace was strong; although he nearly flipped backwards, losing his balance, he stayed rooted, and swung around, managing to land a punch on the guy's jawbone.

The group of people and the hyena-like monsters approached, then screamed at Wallace' punch. The two holding up Harold threw him away like a ragdoll.

The house reverberated with waves of negative energy coming off it. Dozens of creatures jumped down off its walls, some of them first invisible, then materializing. There were hundreds of them.

'And they intend to kill me,' thought Wallace, still not ready to turn and run. Then he saw the Porsche. Could he drive it?

'Oh man,' thought Harold. 'What if I don't even fit behind the wheel?'

The hyena creatures were advancing, their eyes wide and alive with hatred, glowing in the night. Some were close enough to cut into Wallace' flesh with their rough yellow claws.

In all the danger, Wallace could not help but wonder if Harold had, at one point, been the breaker. It would explain many things that had happened, it would explain his behavior.

The punched Porsche driver had recovered from the blow, he swung at Wallace, and Wallace backed away just in time.

Valeria appeared, shiny black curls floating, garments burning in bright orange and red flames. The hyena creatures laughed, then cringed, scowled and shrieked.

"You are not strong enough. Go to hell already!" she screamed.

## Chapter 12

This caused a great commotion amongst the creatures, they leapt and hissed, snarled and scratched, flying through the air, showing their bleeding wounds, wounds they inflicted randomly upon one another. More and more of them poured out of Harold's house, from the roof, the outer walls, the earth around the house.

Valeria stood in a circle of fire, her hair and garments streaming around her. Wallace could not help but stare at her, in awe, and full of love. He was her special friend; and yes, she was his special friend. She was amazing. Perhaps the person she had once been had long ago died, but her spirit stayed alive. As if she sensed it, she briefly looked in his direction and smiled a very soft, sweet smile.

Then all the evil around her once again commanded her attention. Larry Goode had arrived on the scene, too, in a red pickup truck. He had a large cross in his right hand.

"Go back to where you came from, you whore!" he screamed.

Harold, suddenly rejuvenated, woke from his stupor like a puppet whose strings had been pulled tight. His eyes came alive with vile hatred. He pointed a finger at Valeria.

With the Porsche driver in tow, they advanced on Valeria, as did the hyena creatures. Some of the creatures could stand on their hind quarters, with their spotted, short fur and their round ears, they resembled animals. However, they could jump and run and also simply vanish.

Wallace shook his head. What were they?

From Goode's pickup, three men appeared with baseball bats.

Valeria came to Wallace in one fluid motion, they embraced ... and were on the beach.

~

"Oh, thank God," whimpered Wallace. "Just in time."

He knelt down in the sand.

Valeria knelt beside him. She was wearing a short black dress all of a sudden, and her hair was tied together in a neat pony tail. She put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry you have to go through this."

Wallace was fighting tears.

"There's a lot to deal with."

Valeria nodded. "I know."

"Did the other breakers fail?"

Valeria could not contain her tears any longer, she nodded, crying.

"Yes."

"Maybe I can't do it, either."

They were both crying, they embraced, kneeling in the sand, as the water lapped against the shore. It was dark now, Thursday evening, and the only light came from the moon.

"You have one more day."

After suppressing a few sobs, she added:

"Tomorrow night is the final night."

"And then?" asked Wallace.

"Our light will be gone - forever."

'Is she deceiving me?' Wallace wondered.

Valeria shook her head, able to read his thoughts.

"There," she said, and pointed in the direction of the water. At first, Wallace did not see it. Something sparkled. He thought it must be some sort of reflection. Then, after a short period of concentration, after his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he realized it was a sort of a boundary, like a wall, or a blanket, from - where? - From above.

"What is it?" he asked, cradling Valeria in his arms.

"The veil."

Wallace rose to his feet slowly, pulling a small and fragile Valeria up with him.

"It's beautiful," he muttered.

"Are those sea shells and pearls?"

"It's made of all sorts of things, rain drops, stars, wishes, promises ..."

"Can I touch it?"

"No. Don't go near it."

"Why?"

Valeria did not answer.

"Why?"

"No one has ever gone near it." Suddenly, Valeria was insecure. She stared at the veil in amazement and fear.

"Well, aren't I ... a breaker?"

"Wallace, NO!"

Wallace stepped down the beach incline without hesitation, his shoes sinking into the soft sand. He splashed into the sea water, and waded out to the veil. There was a light and a hum to it. When he was close enough to touch it, he was filled with love and warmth, and suddenly did not want to finger the texture of it, or find an opening. He just wanted to look at it, and admire the colors and the very existence of it. How could anything so beautiful be evil?

"What does it do?"

" _It helps to stop all the bad things_."

Wallace could believe that. He imagined his brother going through this veil, and finally finding love to thaw his stone-cold heart. Wallace pondered, the veil was at least three feet thick, more of a wall. He did not dare look up to where it originated. He did not need to. He knew in his heart from where it came. He felt an unusual sensation in his chest. At first he resisted, bitterness flowing through him, and resentment. Then he thought of Valeria, of Ray, of Danny too, and the love, and then he gave himself to the veil, to what it stood for.

"Okay. I accept. I will be the breaker," he whispered.

For a brief moment, there was a tug at the veil, a soft wave forming, carrying light very close to him. Then it was gone. Maybe he only imagined it. He did not. It had been very real.

When he turned to lay his eyes on Valeria, hopefully smiling, there was another girl with her. And in the distance, the little group of lost souls, abused children from the house of sin stood in the sand, staring at the veil, transfixed, crying, some praying. Wallace enjoyed this special moment. A ray of light at last, in such a dismally dark world.

## Chapter 13

An hour later, when the veil had disappeared, and the younger ones had gone back to their graves (or were transformed into cats and dogs ...), Wallace took Valeria's hand and walked with her to the small wooden bridge that led to the parking lot.

The white cat followed them for a little while, until Valeria turned, and said: "Go home, honey, it will be all right."

The cat began a wild gallop, speeding through sand and driftwood. The Man sat in the bushes and did not seem to notice her racing past. Wallace watched him, curious; this was the first breaker, after all. Would he, Wallace, end like that, a shell of a man, having lost his mind? Meddling with powers beyond his control? He shuddered, leaned down to Valeria and kissed her ever so softly, allowing her to kiss him back. He put his arm on her shoulders, as they strolled towards the black Honda.

"Subway?" she said, with a low chuckle.

"Okay," answered Wallace, smiling.

"Can I have a side order of time with you? Just once?" he added.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean we are never alone."

"You'd like that?"

"More than anything."

She sighed, but squeezed his hand. They got in the car, and Wallace suggested a restaurant further along the coast, away from the neighborhood where so many battles were being fought. Valeria agreed, and stepped on the gas.

Wallace watched the scenery whizz by and thought of all the simple pleasures he had missed out on. His mom had always cared for him, shielded him, but when she died, Harold had taken over the estate as executor. What had prompted his mother to choose Harold over him? Wallace had not understood until recently, when all the strange things had started to happen.

He glanced at Valeria, and admired her beauty. He wanted her desperately, but alive and happy. Not strapped with a past and souls to save. Was that selfish? Or simply normal? Why did he have to save the world from all evil, just to be with a girl, for once ...

The restaurant was cozy and Italian. It was elegant, and Wallace braced himself in anticipation of nosy looks and snide remarks, but nothing of the sort was going on. The patrons minded their own business, which was a relief. Wallace was not exactly dressed for the occasion, but he relaxed, and put an arm around Valeria's waist.

'This is the kind of life I could get used to,' he thought.

"I would take care of you," Valeria said suddenly, "good care of you!"

"If ..." she continued.

"If what?" asked Wallace.

"I had a choice."

Wallace pulled a chair back for her. She sat, beaming. Wallace eyed the menu. He had not questioned Valeria's ability to pay for the restaurant. He looked at her timidly.

"Yes, I have money, Wallace."

"At our ... establishment ... the money was always flowing."

"Was it run by Goode?"

"No. He was a guest. At first, anyway. He owns the property now, though."

"A ... _guest._ "

Wine and pasta were then served with a smile. Valeria raised her glass.

"And you are more than ... _a guest_. You are ... _my love_."

"Here's to love," adds Wallace, visibly moved.

As he glanced quickly over to other guests, he saw hyena features in their faces. He rubbed his eyes and shook his head. Valeria reached across the table for his hands.

"They are forever looking for new hosts to invade. Yes, some of them are probably here right now."

Wallace swallowed hard.

"Evil is always around us," Valeria continued. "Enjoy the moment ..."

Candles were lit, and Wallace ordered another bottle of wine as Valeria nodded. For a moment, invisible hands reached out and tugged at Wallace T-shirt, grabbed his hair at the back of his head, pulling hard. But it was over in a flash. Like a whiff of bad breath. Wallace closed his eyes. When he opened them, he saw only Valeria, her beautiful lips, her shiny black curls. He took both her hands in his and squeezed.

"I love you."

"I love you, too, Wallace," she echoed. And smiled a radiant smile.

She was so alive, how could he possibly accept that her life had been over decades - if not a century - ago.

"I will live on," she said. "At least for another 24 hours."

"I will fight for your life. I will fight for our love."

"Yes, Wallace, you must fight. But it will not be easy."

With that, he glanced back at the hyena faces seated at the tables all around them staring back at him. They did not like ... a breaker. Or so it seemed to him.

It was not going to be easy ...

## Chapter 14

The drive back was quiet and uneventful. Wallace, riding shotgun, looked up at the stars in the moonlit sky, and sometimes out over the moving masses of dark blue ocean water, with peaks of white foam gently breasting and abruptly vanishing.

Valeria seemed to be concentrating on her driving. She was thin, frail even, and her face looked drawn, chiseled in stone. Beautiful nonetheless. Wallace worried what would happen after the 24 hour deadline. If she vanished, too ... and he would never, ever see her again? How could he face life without her?

She did not seem to respond to his thoughts this time. She was worried out of her mind same as he was, he thought. He knew, she cared for the others who had been abused, the younger ones, if not for herself. Or was she fairly certain the third and final breaker would fail, as the others had?

Wallace clenched his fists. He would succeed. He would.

~

As Valeria hesitantly unlocked the front door of the white mansion on Chestnut Avenue, Wallace could hear the gentle scraping of claws on the wooden floorboards; it was like coming home as a couple to greet "the children". He placed his hand on the small of Valeria's back, she turned and looked up at him lovingly; a wife and a family, what he had always wanted, but thought of as unattainable.

It was then that Larry Goode jumped them from behind, hurling himself at Wallace, pushing Valeria inside the moment she nudged the door open. They crashed forward together to the sound of shrieking ghosts, cats scooting all over the place, and dogs barking furiously.

"I'm IN," yelled Larry over his shoulder, to his thugs waiting for orders outside.

Wallace panicked; they intended to raid the house. But why? He had to think fast. He struggled to get to his feet, wondering if Valeria would intervene with her powers ... This was a portal to the past. Larry wanted only one thing - to destroy, to strip away all purity and innocence from this world, and, of course, evidence.

Larry held him down, while his men (armed with baseballs bats and broken bottles) stood outside the front door, ready to come crashing in. They did not advance, though - something was holding them back.

Valeria slowly got up and dusted herself off.

"DEMON!" Goode screamed, sweating and spitting.

"What are you? Where did you come from?"

Wallace finally managed to push him off.

"She's using you, Wallace, don't you see? She's pulling you down with her!"

Wallace felt like punching him. He sensed the cats and dogs gathering behind Valeria, sitting in a half circle, listening. They were too real, and they were children.

"Get out of here," he said to Goode.

"You'll be sorry!" Goode shouted back at him.

"You forgot your gun, cowboy," Valeria said softly.

"Guns are useless in this place," Larry hissed.

"And you ... forgot your cross," she added.

"How long is this haunting shit going to go on?" Larry demanded.

"Until you admit to the wrongdoing, and the children are buried - so that they can move on."

"That's utter bullshit!" Larry waved a fist at her.

"I don't know what you are, but we are putting an end to this."

"You have the journal," Valeria said, matter-of-factly. "And the painting."

"I burned the journal."

"You're lying. You thought of burning it, but you weren't sure. You worry my powers will only increase if you do."

"What in the name of God do you want, woman?" Larry argued, waving his hands.

"Well, isn't that obvious?" snapped Wallace.

"She wants justice."

Wallace watched the walls disintegrate. Where the mansion should have been, there was the cemetery, in darkness, shrouded in fog. Behind the men outside, there were burning buildings, and the beach with waves crashing high.

"Don't you see?" Goode spat at Wallace. "She is here to destroy!"

"This is crazy."

Wallace was tempted to pray. He closed his eyes briefly, and recalled the veil, concentrating on its image, its beauty.

The mansion reappeared, cats and dogs sat silently. The men outside relaxed visibly, no more fires, no more storms. Peace descended on all of them.

Wallace realized what it was like to be a breaker. But from the look of vile hatred bubbling up on Larry's face, he knew the fight was not over, it was far from over.

"You demon! You are using your powers for evil purposes!"

"Stop playing games." Wallace shot back.

"Something really bad happened here," he continued, "and if you want to put a stop to it, you have to be honest."

"Spoken like a true breaker, a special friend of the angels ..." Valeria said, only to him.

"I own this land now. And obviously, I am wasting my time here. You'll be sorry, you fat piece of garbage, you'll be very very sorry!"

With that, Larry Goode marched out of the mansion with all the self-righteousness he could muster, and his men followed him to the parked cars and pickup trucks.

Wallace watched him go, and waited until the red pickup was long gone. He turned, only to be met with the sounds of joy, the beautiful laughter of happy children. They rushed to him, to "Daddy", holding onto his trousers, smiling up at him. Valeria was by his side in an instant, squeezing his hand. It all felt very real.

'They were so young,' he thought to himself.

Valeria leaned on his arm, she needed his strength, as he needed hers.

"I'm losing my energy, the time has come ..." she whispered.

Wallace lifted one ghost child and sat her in the crook of his arm, and took another by the hand, and, as he kissed Valeria on the top of her head. She looked up at him with deep black circles under her eyes, her lids heavy, her lips purple.

"What can I do ..." he implored her.

"You must fight for the light, for our light, ... and we need to be buried. The veil is waiting now."

Wallace was puzzled, but smiled at the child on his arm, a roughly three year old girl with large blue eyes and blond curls. She bore a faint resemblance to Larry Goode, and a thought crossed Wallace' mind - 'they made children for the express purpose of ... tormenting and torturing them?'

"Oh, you don't want to know, Wallace, it was so ... insane!" Valeria said, her voice cracking, as she was overcome with grief and pain.

The little ones gathered around her. "I have to be strong for you, sweet darlings," she mumbled, and showed Wallace all the agony in her beautiful face. He reached down and touched her cheek, running a hand over her hair.

"We'll work it out, we will," he insisted. But he was not so sure, as doubt crept into his soul.

"We have to go," one of the ghost children said.

"It's midnight."

"Rest, little ones," said Wallace.

"I love you."

~

Wallace was alone in the house, which was no longer a house as daybreak was nearing, rather a thought, a memory, or a structure from the past. It was not real. He walked to the window, longing for the reality he knew, the reality of the living, even if that reality provided few prospects for a happy future, and little satisfaction on a day to day basis ... except maybe - food. He was hungry, but he needed some time to think. He loved Valeria, but she wasn't made of flesh and blood the way he was.

He peered through the curtains. The red pickup truck was back, but so were other cars, parked as if they belonged to peaceful neighbors. Wallace could not make out the shape of a driver in the pickup; Larry and his men had probably gone to sleep hours ago after drinking the night away. Wallace let the curtains fall back into place.

The delicate fabric reminded him of the veil. He was on the right side of the veil, and he was its keeper. He made a mental note not to forget, when he was being mobbed, humiliated or tormented again, or being attacked by a gang of hyena-like beings from hell or from another world. He could be strong. Love would give him the strength he needed. Of course, doubt gnawed at his every thought; why would he succeed, if The Man had not only failed, but gone insane? And who had been the second breaker, Harold? Ray? Would he ever know?

"Ray," Wallace said out loud.

Was it a coincidence that the evil creatures let loose a man's soul by breaking open his neck? And it was a 'ray' of light?

Wallace went into the kitchen and turned the lights on. He opened the refrigerator. He needed to calm himself. He would not be able to sleep on an empty stomach. He took out chicken and coleslaw salad, pound cake and tuna wraps. Morning was a long way off, and he needed strength. He ate slowly, not quite as keen to gobble up the food as he usually was. It seemed to him he had grown more mature, he was no longer the child craving candy and pizza and quick fixes. He had tasted the bitterness in so many lives, experienced what most people never experience. He held a special position now, was a game changer, the one who had to stand up for the good side, for liberty. He had to be prepared for the fight - or lose everything that mattered most once and for all.

# Part III

## Chapter 15

Esmeralda was frying two green peppers because that was all they had left. She knew this time, Danny would not complain again. Where did all the money go, she wondered. It wasn't as if Danny did not work, he was never even home with all the work he had.

She could hear her baby girl giggling. An uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach made her bow forward. Not again. Please God, make him leave her alone.

She placed the frying pan aside, and turned off the stove. She wiped her hands on a dishtowel and moved quickly to the doorframe of the nursery. Just in time.

Danny's head shot around, his eyes were beady black. "You cookin' or what?" he asked her.

"Yes, I am cooking for you," Esmeralda replied calmly.

The baby continued playing, seemingly oblivious to the undertone of anger and resentment in their voices.

"Good. Great. 'Cause I am hungry."

Danny smiled at the baby girl. He rubbed her back with his hand. "Like your new toy?" he purred. She smiled and nodded slow, little-girl nods.

'Danny, please don't do this, don't do this to us,' thought Esmeralda. She thought of the constant horror stories she heard in the neighborhood, about a crazed prostitute who was coming back from the dead at all times of day and night, with her pack of hyena demons, terrorizing people because some perverts had sexually abused little girls while she was around, many years ago.

Esmeralda wiped a tear away with the dishtowel. If Danny harmed her baby, ever, she swore, she was coming back from the dead, too. It was as if there were some kind of curse on the neighborhood, a cycle of evil which could not be broken.

~

"Well, hurry up with that food, woman," Danny yelled.

"I have to help out at Harold's. Larry is tearing down a wall."

"Larry is ... what?" Esmeralda yelled back.

"He bought the house from Harold, and he is buying the house from Lighthill."

Danny waited for Esmeralda to respond; when she didn't, he continued.

"He wants to tear the old houses in the neighborhood down, and build new ones. Lots of work for us."

"Oh," muttered Esmeralda to herself.

"A fresh start," Danny said softly.

"Lay the demons to rest ..."

"What? What did you say?" called Esmeralda, straining to hear over the frying in the kitchen.

"Nothing," said Danny. He tickled the baby and laughed with her.

"Nothing at all."

~

Wallace was still asleep as the first brilliant, harsh rays of sunlight illuminated his bedroom in Valeria's love mansion. He was dreaming of his brother, Harold, and their final scene together, as Harold let Wallace know, he could not live with him. A man who looked like Danny, though the moustache was thicker, (there was something about him that made Wallace assume this was another century, the Daguerreotype heaviness of the face, just something ...) was pushing a wheelbarrow full of (Wallace sighed and moaned in his sleep) dead young girls in pretty summer dresses. 'Oh God!' Wallace said out loud.

This was Harold's house, but a much earlier version of it. With a conscious part of his mind, Wallace realized this was a possible flashback, or a memory sent to him by Valeria and her small group of tormented souls. He saw with his mind's eye how the corpses were heartlessly stacked one on top of the other next to bricks and tools for building a wall. They were being disposed of.

At a table further back in the garden, men were drinking at a wooden table, raising their glasses, laughing even, as Valeria (Valeria!) served them more lemonade laced with vodka. Something summery, something strong. She was wearing a white lace tie-up dress (or was it a form of underwear), perfect to accentuate her tan skin and her white teeth. This was another Valeria, a cold, unfeeling woman, working for evil men. She paused briefly, glancing at the dead girls, then hurried into the house trying to avoid trouble.

Wallace did not doubt this time, though, that she was playing along, that she was not a part of it. He saw her reaching for a large knife in the kitchen and he saw her staring at its blade ... how many times had she thought of putting an end to the evil goings-on? She put the knife back, as Ray came inside (a much younger Ray, the real Ray's grandfather, perhaps), who grabbed her playfully but roughly from behind - as she let out a shriek, faking merriment and joy - and pushed her head down, throwing up her skirts. So ... not even Ray was completely innocent. No one was.

Valeria in the dream did not cry, she clenched her fists, feigning pleasure, her face, though, was contorted with rage. 'We will get even someday,' she might have been thinking. And as Wallace slowly woke up to the fulfilment of sunshine, he realized this day, Friday, was the final day for Valeria. She needed to get justice for all the evil things that had taken place in her life.

Unless she was lying - or perhaps not telling the whole truth. But Wallace was certain, she was the angel, and Goode – he was the adversary.

He jumped out of bed, to greet the morning of the fateful day.

## Chapter 16

Wallace brewed himself a strong cup of coffee, all the while worrying the mansion would come apart as he drank it. Is my mind playing a trick on me, he wondered, thoughtfully sipping bitter black joe. He was in the past, in the land of the dead, he was not always in reality. Was the purpose of his being the breaker, to bring all the threads together? He thought of the abused children, their bodies cemented into the walls of Harold's house, the house, he (Wallace) had lived in until his mom got a divorce. He tried to remember ... had the house been haunted then?

As a child, had he been sleeping next to a wall full of the skeletons of murdered children? He shuddered. He needed more coffee. As Wallace added a generous spoonful of white sugar and cream, he sipped more and closed his eyes. The old Wallace began to come back, the one from the modern-day century and reality, the one who had no love except for the love of food, the one who was only learning to love again. He thought of eating, of bacon, of buttery pancakes; then he gulped down the rest of his coffee and turned to leave.

He paused, not quite ready to let go of the front door, willing the brothel to stay in the here and now with him. Perhaps it would whisper its final secrets, tell him what to do. Why was Larry Goode building another house on this land, why had he bought the property? He wanted to erase all of the evidence. He wanted it out of his mind, out of the world.

As if Valeria and the past were bothersome and odious to him.

She could not let it go. She could not stop fighting for her salvation and for that of the murdered children ...

What he was supposed to do with love, Larry was fighting with venom and hatred. Poor Valeria, Wallace thought sadly, closing the door behind him. He walked slowly towards the sidewalk, and the building sat on the prim and proper lawn still. He walked down the street in a daze, turning left, and left again, circling the block, and when he entered Chestnut Avenue from the other side, indeed, the sign read Hayes, and Larry Goode had his construction hard hat on, ready for action.

He grinned broadly when he saw Wallace and tipped his hat. Wallace folded his hands as if in prayer. Then Larry returned to his workers and his machinery, giving them a GO sign. Wallace could only watch.

Is Valeria buried on this land, he wondered as he stumbled along. He ran to catch a bus, but the bus did not wait for him. So he was left standing in the street, and sat down morosely on the bench beneath the bus stop sign. As the cars drove past, he felt lost, and worried this day would pass like so many others. There was nothing he could do to stop all the viciousness in the neighborhood.

When he heard a child's giggling and laughter, he thought immediately of the girls in their pretty summer dresses, piled in the wheelbarrow like ragdolls. He saw a face and did not realize this was reality.

"Hey, Wally, are you okay? You look tired ..." Esmeralda said. She knew Wallace didn't know her too well. He might not recognize her voice, but he had seen her on occasion.

"I'm Danny's girl, remember?" she asked, staring at him.

He nodded. Then he smiled at the baby daughter in her stroller as she stretched her arms out at him. He took her tiny hand and held it up with one finger.

How precious, he thought. He looked up at Esmeralda, who was watching him carefully. It was the look of people who doubt your sanity.

"Have you seen her?" he asked.

"Who, the ghost?" quipped Esmeralda, with just a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

"Once," she answered, seemingly annoyed.

"She was beautiful," she added, in a voice barely audible.

"Yeah," said Wallace, agreeing.

"Was it in a dream?" he asked.

"Hmmh ... you know, I can't say for sure."

Esmeralda's face lit up. She liked to think she had seen something special, an apparition.

"It was on the beach. Danny likes to hang out there ... but so do you, right?"

Wallace nodded. He wished he had a cigarette. He did not smoke often. He smoked for emphasis, sometimes. This was a special conversation. He could tell.

"I had gone into the bushes to pee ..." Esmeralda waved a guilty hand and laughed.

"When I come out, Danny is arguing with this beautiful woman, she looks like an actress, like a movie star! I can't believe how Danny knows a woman like that. Then she sees me and smiles, this dazzling smile. It just lights up the entire place, there's such a warmth to it."

Esmeralda was fighting back the tears. A bus was approaching, visible under the trees many blocks away.

"You know what, Wally?"

"What?"

"I think she's an angel."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. 'Cause that's how she makes me feel. Deep inside. In my heart."

They both watched the bus as the little girl started to fidget in her stroller.

"They say she is a demon, leader of other demons, tearing this neighborhood down to hell with her ... but that isn't the case."

"I love her."

"A lot of people do, Wallace. A lot of people love her."

The bus came, opened its doors. Neither she nor Wallace got on. The driver mumbled something, then closed the doors and drove off.

They both stared into space. It was the baby that brought them back. She was giggling, and stretching her arms out. As Esmeralda and Wallace looked up and across the street, at what might be fascinating the baby so, they both saw Valeria, dressed in red, her shiny black curls waving in the wind.

"It is so hard to tell, so hard to understand," Esmeralda said, shaking her head slowly.

Wallace stood up. "I believe her ..." But in his voice, there was doubt, and weakness.

Then Valeria was gone. The baby fell asleep.

"What do we do?" asks Esmeralda, suddenly confused, no longer certain.

"Pray?" whispered Wallace.

They were both silent. It began to rain, as a church tower bell chimed noon.

"You used to have a car, didn't you, Wally?" asks Esmeralda, chewing her lip.

"Yeah. I used to have a lot of things."

"What happened?"

Before he could answer, Danny drove past, then stopped and put his car in reverse.

"So get in," he said, "it's raining. The kid will catch her death ..."

Wallace and Esmeralda stood frozen in place. The child was still asleep.

"What? ... what's the matter with you?" Danny scolded, banging on the steering wheel.

"Do you have a phone?" Wallace asked Esmeralda.

"Yes," she answered.

"Get us a cab. I still have some money. We can share."

Danny sped off, cussing: "You'll be sorry. Both of you!"

## Chapter 17

Esmeralda fumbled with her phone, as the baby woke up and started to cry. She called a car service, while Wallace took the baby out of the stroller to comfort her.

"Thanks, Wally ..." Esmeralda said as she opened her umbrella, lifting it to encompass her new friend and her baby daughter. Wallace smiled and so did Esmeralda.

Within minutes, the driver pulled up, and Wallace heaved himself down into the passenger seat. Esmeralda was on the back seat, with the baby, and the folded stroller went into the trunk. When Esmeralda looked up from buckling her seat belt, she caught a glimpse of the driver's eyes in the rearview mirror, and to her utter dismay, she recognized hyena features in the face, mottled fur, rounded ears; in her mind's eye, she saw him grabbing her hair at the back of her head and yanking hard. She cringed, but vowed not to let on what she just saw. Wallace looked straight ahead; for the most part, he was tired and oblivious to the danger next to him. They were headed to the shopping mall, the three of them quiet. Only the baby cooed and babbled softly.

The driver made a wrong turn, and Esmeralda and Wallace initially did not notice. Esmeralda could not shake an uneasy feeling the drive was taking longer than it should have. Only when the car turned into the street where Harold lived, passing Larry Goode's house, did Wallace' head jerk to the left, to glare at the laughing hyena face staring back at him.

He composed himself and asked:

"What's wrong? Why can't you just drive to the mall?"

"I wanted to show you something ..."

He drove down Harold's street. He slowed, letting them take in the details. A crew was busy walking things out of the house into vans.

"Danny was going to hire you to help, but ... You've been such a pain in the ass lately."

Danny waved to the driver, the driver waved back.

"They're tearing down parts of your brother's house."

Neither Wallace nor Esmeralda said anything. The driver made a complete turn in the driveway and headed back, past Goode's house.

"Can you take me to Ray Lighthill's?" Wallace asked.

"You don't want to go there."

"Why?"

"Man's dead."

" _What_?"

The driver ignored him. When they were two blocks away, he looked arrogantly at Wallace.

"Some vagrant who was camping out in the basement killed him with a knife after beating him up."

Wallace felt as if the same kind of knife had just been thrust into his chest.

"It's a crime scene now."

"How do you know?"

"I know, that's all."

"You people know everything, don't you ..." Esmeralda said from the back seat.

The driver's face started to twitch. Small patches of fur sprouted. Wallace was tempted to think of Lon Chaney, Jr. And he remembered the murder the night he went to Harold's house.

As the hyena drove faster and faster, it managed to say:

"The last day has come. There is nothing you can do." ... in a voice no longer human.

"Everyone wonders just exactly what you are. And ... where you came from."

Esmeralda stared into the inside rearview, watching for the creature's reaction.

Wallace shifted in the car seat, ready to lose his composure.

"I think I know who and what most of them are."

For an instant, the car swerved. The hyena-creature turned back into a regular-looking cab driver.

"Oh, really?" asked Esmeralda.

"What are you talking about?"

Wallace sighed, fighting tears. Pointing a finger in the direction of the nose of the car, he said:

"Let's just go to the mall, shall we?"

The driver was quiet. They drove in a hostile and awkward silence.

When he let them out, he drove off, without asking for the fare.

"What was that all about?" asked Esmeralda.

Wallace waved a hand. He brushed off his clothing, took a deep breath, and pinched the baby lovingly in the cheek.

"I will tell you. Eventually. Hey, Esmeralda, I have a request."

"Anything, Wally."

"Please meet me at the beach tonight?"

"Okay."

"I need you to be there. And I need anyone who is willing to pray with me."

"You need more people?"

"As much support as I can get."

"Okay."

## Chapter 18

After they had exchanged their goodbyes, it took all of Wallace' strength not to double over in pain and anguish over Ray Lighthill's death. It hurt so very much. And deep inside, he knew Lighthill had been the second breaker, not Harold, and in knowing that, he hurt again, because he had wished Harold had done something ... to stop being Harold, the strange, coldhearted man that he was.

Wandering aimlessly around the shopping mall, a place he usually enjoyed being if not for the food alone, he tried to put the loose pieces together and make sense of what was happening.

Danny would not come to his rescue this time, providing him with work, a kind word, a ride. Danny was somehow involved over a bloodline; his grandfather had been a part of it. And a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach told Wallace that he and his brother were involved, too. He could not quite comprehend whether they were similar to their ancestors, or reliving a story again and again without actually dying. Wallace could imagine Larry had never really died.

He decided to treat himself to a frozen yoghurt and a diet Snapple. He drummed his fingers on the plastic table of the shopping mall dining area. He wanted to see Valeria again. He missed her, and if he concentrated on that feeling, the other feelings went away. If only she were just a woman, not a spirit with a mission.

As he was lost in his thoughts, someone knocked on the table to knock him out from his reverie. It was Danny, grinning, not quite as friendly as usual.

"Hey, man, you are like drinking a diet Snapple, as in diet _anything_?" he quipped.

"Go ahead, make fun of me and my weight," replied Wallace, trying hard not to like Danny the way he always had.

"I'm not making fun of you."

"Aren't you working the hyena crew? Wasn't there something about a hyena laugh?" Wallace asked, drinking the last drop of his diet Green Tea Snapple as if it were champagne. It was his turn to be rude and venomous.

"You don't get laid a lot, so you fell for her real fast." Danny said, without a hint of his usual compassion.

"Well, doesn't that explain everything!"

"Why don't you come and apologize to Larry, and you can work with us again."

"What?" shouted Wallace and stood up so quickly, he knocked the Snapple over, and some of it splashed onto Danny's shirt and into his lap.

"You made a mistake, Wallace. A fucking mistake."

Wallace glared at him.

"She was a whore, and she practiced black magic. Satanism. She haunts our streets and makes our lives miserable."

Wallace considered making a dive for Danny's throat. He watched as Danny got more napkins and cleaned the table. He was shaking.

"You are being misled. You're too gullible to realize it."

"No," Wallace insisted. "No!"

"Larry is taking care of everything. She won't be able to come back into this world ... anymore."

"Larry? Larry is taking care of it, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Larry is GOODE," Danny insisted. "Just like the name implies. He is the good guy. You got it all wrong, Wallace. Seriously. Your hormones ran away with you."

Wallace looked at the large Burger King sign. A lot of coffee and something greasy would probably do the trick for his nerves. Were they right? Was Valeria some sort of manipulating demon? What would happen if he let the next 24 hours slide, if he just let it all go?

There would be more deaths, more cruelty, and a never-ending cycle of barbarism.

"You don't know that ..." said Danny, as if he could read his mind.

"You don't know a thing."

Wallace braced himself for a confrontation. He sat back down, avoiding the eyes of the other people having breakfast, who had started to watch the two of them.

"Danny, whatever it is, my family was torn apart. Harold has become a monster. He kicked me out. And ... what happened to my dear friend Ray ..."

Wallace let out a sob.

"He was the only one who helped me ... who was willing to give me a try." And then:

"Is he dead?"

"Yes, he is," answered Danny. "He won't be causing any more trouble, either. And that's why it's so important for you to apologize to Larry Goode. So you will at least have an alibi. You can't tell the police you were at an Italian restaurant having pasta with a prostitute who is 150 years dead."

Wallace said nothing.

"Yeah, pasta," he muttered, momentarily defeated.

Then the tears started to roll, he couldn't help it. Through the blur of salty water, he saw Danny's features twist and contort, the hyena was evolving, brought forth even in this environment (a busy shopping mall) by the pain in Wallace' face. He imagined the hyena creature killing the real Danny in the car or on the beach, without emotion, without scruple, and the Danny he saw now was only an outward costume. The demon within was in control.

Again, the nagging doubt, was Valeria the lead demon? Or their victim?

Wallace was tired. He needed out. He would get on a train and leave the neighborhood. He wouldn't bother with it all. By nightfall he would be in another state. He was tired of solving other people's problems.

It was then that he saw Ray standing over by the health food stand. Wallace could see him clearly. And he knew from the warm feeling in his heart Ray had been the second breaker. The warm feeling turned to a hot feeling, to passion, to truth. Danny snarled.

"You don't like that, do you?" muttered Wallace.

Danny changed back instantly to the suave, charismatic South American immigrant with a sexy, devil-may-care smile. Wallace knew he would miss him. They were enemies now, as Danny was host to a vicious hyena creature which was taking over more and more of the original Danny's personality as the clock neared midnight of the third day.

"You have to turn the girls over to the police," Wallace said, his voice cracking with emotion.

"What?" exploded Danny.

"They need to be buried."

Danny stared straight ahead. "It's too late."

"I don't think so."

"Larry is taking care of it."

"No, not before midnight tonight. He can't. He has to wait."

And, with all the courage he could muster:

"He has to wait for ME."

"Why would you be different?"

"Because ... it's time to come clean."

"There is no such thing. That will never happen."

Wallace again noticed the other patrons looking in their direction. He also noticed many of them had changed, they looked less like human beings, and more like spotted hyenas with bloody teeth.

"Yes, there is such a thing."

"What if we just kill you here and now? Or wait until you turn your back when you walk out the fucking door. Huh?"

"Because you and your evil ways are not the end of it. If it were that simple, Goode would have destroyed all the evidence years ago, and the whole show would have been over and done - after the battle with the first breaker. There is something that binds you to this three day agreement, the way it binds me."

Danny said nothing. His lips were thin and purple. They sat there, neither talking, while the other people around them changed back into retired men and women, and housewives and employees of the various mall stores. Another day in America, with demons, hyenas and angels.

"And martyrs and saints," added Wallace for good measure, if only to see the sour expression on Danny's face.

"Since when are you so holy, fat guy?"

"Since someone taught me what love is."

"So it's no longer pizza and junk food, and waiting for your family to feed you."

"No. It's so much more now.

"Fuck you."

"I will miss Danny. He was ..."

Wallace never got to finish the sentence, because Danny - or what was left of him - knocked over his coffee intentionally, and stormed off.

"... a real good friend, a cool cat."

Wallace again felt tears forming in the corners of his eyes, he shielded them with his hands.

Today was the start of something new ... or it would be ... the last day of his life.

## Chapter 19

Wallace knew he had gone a little too far. He could feel the tension build in the air around him. The evil that had controlled the neighborhood for so long had finally hit upon a boundary. Wallace had been looking for love all of his life; Valeria was now the source of this, his greatest love. Together, they could beat all the bad things.

But Wallace was not entirely sure. He had won a fierce battle or two, but the war was still up ahead. People brushed against him, stumbled into him. They halfheartedly apologized with a sneer. He was surrounded. They could make good on their promise to kill him, but why had they not done so already? Something was holding them back.

He walked briskly to the doors of a major department store. He hurried in and rushed past clothes and other merchandise, eager to make it out the back while trying to shake off any memory of the encounter with Danny. When he scanned the mall parking lot, he saw five of the hyena creatures standing next to their cars, sniffing the air. Some were fooling around the way young animals do, one grabbing the hair in the back of the other's head and yanking it, mock-killing for practice. It could happen at any moment, Wallace thought, and he had to be brave.

Why was the first breaker, The Man, still sitting on the beach next to the small fire circle? Indeed, why? Why had they not eaten him or torn him to pieces?

Wallace tried to walk fast, his stomach wobbling up and down. He was sweating, and he felt the urge to walk faster, even jog or run. There were women in the cars around him, and he knew they would ridicule him if he got any faster, and that would really hurt. He tried to keep going, tried to find strength.

Coming around the corner of the nearest store was Danny with a group of men carrying baseball bats, broken bottles, hammers and screwdrivers, anything to inflict harm. The group was getting larger and larger. Many of them had transformed into furry hyena creatures, exposing themselves shamelessly in broad daylight as the monsters from another reality. The five already in the parking lot came from the other side. Wallace had a sliver of an escape route left.

He also worried there would be no bus for a spell. Could he run to the major thoroughfare and hope to stop a car? He just kept hurrying forward, there was not much else to do. If he turned to fight, it would get ugly, ugly fast.

To his dismay, pickup trucks arrived with new loads of hyena fiends. It seemed to him, there were suddenly more women in cars around, pretty, hot women, staring him over, noticing every flaw of his body. Calm down, he said to himself, it's natural for women to be shopping at the mall. But he knew deep down, that many super sexy women at one time in one place was not natural. They were after him on purpose, called on by Danny and Danny's rage.

He had found a weakness, and they were hell bent on punishing him for it.

Danny and his group were gaining ground. They were practically right behind him, and one or the other of the broken bottles grazed the backs of his exposed arms. They were marching in step with him. He did not dare look back or fight. To his left and right sides, gorgeous, scantily-clad women were getting out of their cars, licking their lips and frowning at him, twisting their faces into grimaces of derision and condescension.

Judging by the sound of their feet, there were hundreds, if not thousands behind him, and coming from, well, everywhere. Wallace was sweating, and silently praying. When Danny jumped forward and cut him with a knife, slashing the back of his neck from side to side, he thought, now it is over for me.

He was bleeding, although not very much; however, at the moment, he thought he could take no more. He saw the bus, it was on its way; it was rounding a curve down the road. And suddenly, in a ray of light, Valeria appeared, with her chocolate Labrador by her side. She watched, her face sad and gray, as if in agony. Her powers were waning as midnight approached. But she was there. And she was there for him.

Wallace started to run, he had to reach the bus stop.

At Valeria's appearance, the angry mob slowed. They were cowed, but it wasn't over yet.

The bus was advancing at a steady pace. Wallace ran towards it, then jogged beside it. The driver would not open the doors. Finally, it reached the bus stop and the doors opened.

For a brief moment - for as long as it takes to bat an eye, the bus driver looked exactly like Ray Lighthill. He was real, and smiled and nodded approvingly - and then the image was gone. Wallace felt a warm comforting sensation in his heart, as if he were on the right track, the only track. He paused, and tried to recall the image of Ray's kind face. The bus driver coughed and waved him in. Wallace swiped his card, the doors closed and they were off.

As he took his seat, he saw the hordes pull back, like swarms of insects, retreating slowly, and then getting faster. Danny waved his knife one last time in the distance.

"You're bleeding," a woman who sat in the seat behind Wallace said, matter-of-factly. She handed him a fistful of Kleenex and admonished him to 'have it checked out.'

Wallace thanked her, and pressed the Kleenex to the wound. Soon he stopped, and just watched the scenery move past. It took a while for the bus to get back into the neighborhood. Wallace was grateful for the time it gave him to relax. He wasn't so sure he could eat anything on this fateful day. He wasn't hungry at all. He was usually always hungry, around the clock, and always in need of coffee. Then Valeria had given his life purpose.

He got off at the beach. He considered going down to watch the peaceful waves, to just look out over the water, but not yet, time was precious, and there was so much to figure out before he could summon the veil. If he could put all the pieces of the puzzle together, if he could find something that did not quite make sense, maybe he could save Valeria, and the children who had been abused as well. They needed to find their peace, and the neighborhood needed to heal. The hyena murderers could not continue.

He hailed an approaching cab, and upon inspection, the driver looked like a regular guy, no spotted-hyena features, not even for a fraction of a second. Wallace was satisfied, they had backed down a little. He eased into the back seat, daydreaming of losing weight, and some day, having a car again - with Valeria at his side.

The driver was waiting ... where did Wallace want to go?

## Chapter 20

"Ever hear of Chestnut Avenue?" Wallace asked.

The driver smiled and winked at him, communication through the inside rearview.

"What you are looking for may not be there anymore ..."

"Beg your pardon?" asked Wallace, honestly intrigued.

"What is it that you need, son?"

When Wallace did not respond:

"The infamous cathouse?"

"Does everyone know?" asked Wallace, baffled.

"Is that where you want to go?"

"Yes."

"I am going to need an address."

"It's Hayes ..."

"Okay."

"You don't tell it as a bedtime story, although I guess some really weird people do."

"I grew up for a few years in this neighborhood, before my mom left. I swear I never heard of it."

Wallace leaned back, glancing at the Subway restaurant as they passed it. Their sandwiches had always been his favorite food, but on this day, he could not have eaten one.

"Back in the day," said the driver, "no one talked about it. Nowadays with all the kids and the cameras and the paranormal activity, these things take on a life all their own. One of the ... women ... a whore ... you know ..."

Wallace winced at the word.

"... was a real beauty, her name was Valerie or something. She was murdered, and since then she can't find her peace." The driver maneuvered a curve.

"Here it is now, Hayes Avenue, Chestnut Avenue before 1900."

At the exact same spot where Wallace had seen the white mansion - had gone in with Valeria - Larry Goode was now starting to dig. He was building a house not only further back, but also where the whorehouse had stood.

"Larry Goode the entrepreneur bought it, he's buying up a lot of places. There's this rumor - only a rumor, mind you - his grandfather killed the girl. Since then she comes back to torment his family, and Goode is crazy about destroying and cementing down everything that has to do with her."

"I've heard that part, too," Wallace admitted, collecting coins from his wallet.

"There are other voices," the cab driver continued. "Some folks worship her, they say she's a saint. That she died to protect other girls from being abused. That she tried to kill Goode's grandfather, if only to make it all stop. That there was worse going on. Little boy and girl slave trade, that sort of thing."

After a pause, he added:

"Some people even go so far as to say that it was not Goode's grandfather, that the original Goode never died ..."

"A vampire?" Wallace asked jokingly.

He then paid the driver, but stayed in the backseat. He looked into the driver's eyes through the inside mirror.

"Have you seen her?" he asked. "Have you?"

The driver hesitated.

"Did she have a message for you? And important message?"

"Yeah. That she did. She has an important message for everyone."

"What?" Wallace put a hand on the driver's shoulder.

"There is a God."

Wallace covered his eyes for an instant, to think. Then, he got out of the car, and leaned in through the open window on the passenger side.

"Thanks, buddy. I appreciate it."

The driver nodded, and drove off.

# Part IV

## Chapter 21

Wallace tried to make eye contact with Larry, but the contractor was working furiously. Their lives had changed so much in a mere 48 hours. Wallace just stood on the sidewalk and stared. Was there any chance that Valeria was really haunting Goode, and he was the victim? Wallace' instincts told him NO.

Larry ignored him, which perhaps was a breath of fresh air, some time to think and gather strength. Wallace found Harbor Road and turned to walk down it for ten blocks. He knew at one point he had to face the situation at Ray's house, if only to retrieve his few belongings. It was a crime scene now, the police were on the lookout for him ... but how many of them were deceived and manipulated by the hyena creatures or had turned into hyena creatures themselves?

As he was approaching Larry's house, the one he had helped to declutter, he started to hear the screaming. It was coming from the surrounding houses. The neighborhood was being raided, witnesses were being executed. The final ten hours had begun. Even though he had to fight conflicting feelings, feelings of panic (but then again he also felt bile rising), Wallace kept walking, knowing he had to find the one final missing puzzle piece until midnight, to help Valeria, the other abused children, and the neighborhood plagued by apparitions and senseless violence.

Out of a window, a murdered, bloody woman toppled, her head severed, barely hanging on to the neck and shoulders by a few limp tendons and skin. Blood spilled everywhere, Wallace nearly slipped. The neighborhood was now drenched in blood. The evil was trying to escape, and to drag as many people as possible with it down to the pits of hell.

Fires broke out, and the screaming increased. The anguished people tried to flee in cars and those crashed. Wallace closed his eyes, wishing he were somewhere else, back in time a day or two. Larry's house was up ahead, and the door stood ajar. Wallace moved towards it, magically pulled and lured forward. Finally, police sirens exploded with a fury of sound that cut into the afternoon air. Wallace quickly entered Goode's house, and pulled the door shut behind him.

He headed up the stairs towards the attic, skeptical about finding the journal, because it was a piece of the past, linking Valeria to the present. He was most likely too late, and Larry had hidden it somewhere, or destroyed it. He had a hunch about it, however, and was setting out to prove that hunch right or wrong. Wallace had to start somewhere.

Judging by how quiet it was, Wallace thought he must be alone in the house. It seemed like an eternity since he had worked here and talked with Larry, not a mere 24 hours. He slowly went up the stairs, breathing heavily. When he got to the attic, the bay window out front provided him with a unique view of what was going on. It looked like a war scene on a movie set. Smoke was billowing up from many houses, left and right. Necks were being snapped, the souls set free, sent upward, sent nowhere.

Wallace tried to make sense of it all. He wished he had met Valeria and held her close without being caught up in a neighborhood nightmare that went back over decades, if not a century. If she had been just the classy lady that she was, yes, with a car and a house, and money to spare, and they had hit it off the way they did right from the start at the beach, and life had just moved on, that would have been the thing, not the sad, horrific story they were now forced to live out until the bitter end.

Wallace had a view of the entire neighborhood and he saw that at Ray's house, a man was taking the painting of Valeria out the back door and throwing it into the bed of a pickup. The journal, no doubt, had been destroyed, whatever connection Valeria's spirit still had to the reality of present times was being plucked to pieces, burnt, swept under, constructed over. Wallace wondered where she was buried, if she had been hidden behind the bricks of his parents' house as well. If that was why he felt such a close, loving connection to her.

If she indeed had a grave, it was not a grave of decency. She was not a person, she was supposed to spend eternity forsaken and forgotten. Evil people had done evil things, and they just wanted to sweep their crimes under the carpet of time. When he had worked here, Wallace should have stolen the journal, but he was not that type of person.

His eyes began to hurt. He sat down on the dusty, splintered wooden floorboards, leaning against the window frame and watching the enfolding scene in horror. The lids of his eyes grew heavy. Soon, he was asleep.

~

In a dream, he saw himself naked on a bed with red velvet covers. He was not as heavy, somewhat younger, a version of himself in another time. He knew, it was the essence of who he was, but the other person had seen other things, and had been to other places.

He had painted Valeria, the canvas was still wet and full of vibrancy. She was behind a curtain getting dressed, after they had heatedly made love. She was content; she had complimented him on his art, and he had been surprised at how easily the colors flowed and came to life.

Valeria was a natural, her skin perfect. There was warmth in her eyes, kindness, even behind the horrid memories and the bitterness of her daily humiliation. He had been worried at first. By nature he needed to be clean - very clean. His art was pure, he doubted he would find purety in a whorehouse.

Then he had found Valeria.

She came out dressed in next to nothing, dangling the heavy red dress she had worn for her portrait on a finger. One of her suitors had vowed to marry her, to buy her out of this misery, finally.

The 'Wallace' of fifteen decades ago was tossed to and fro in a quagmire of conflicting emotions. She brought out in him a feeling that he would have described as love, if he had ever felt such a feeling towards anyone at any time. He usually felt empty. Now, he couldn't stand to be in a room with her without jealousy, lust and happiness overwhelming him.

He had hardly found her, - now he had to let her go, - to the very man paying for the painting. He looked at the new work of art, and wanted to destroy it. He wanted to grab Valeria and run off with her, lock her in a castle, or take a ship with her to an island. To have her for himself, until the end of his life.

His hands tingled and he yearned to touch her, her waist, her silky thighs.

"You had better go," she said.

"Lawrence will be back any minute now."

The painter imagined a fight, with swords, fists, words, smacking his opponent. Glancing at Valeria he wondered, would she be willing to sacrifice financial safety, wealth, luxury, for a starving artist? They both could not afford to love and marry.

He got up and dressed, a stained white shirt, grabbed his boots, stepped into jeans. He longed to kiss her one last time.

"You can't tell anyone," she whispered.

"Please."

"Can I see you again?"

"No," she answered.

"But you will."

They kissed passionately and parted ways.

Valeria married soon after, and all the good citizens 'forgot' about her past. Lawrence, her husband, built many beautiful mansions, gave back to the community, and was popular with all - there was even talk of his running for office, but he was not the man he pretended to be, he preferred liquor and young women. The younger, the better.

Valeria did not get pregnant. She had much time to herself, and soon, out of force of habit perhaps, drifted back to the house of many pleasures, talking to the girls, inquiring about the men she had known. What she heard was unsettling, especially the parts about her husband. Atrocities were being committed, corpses disposed of.

~

Wallace woke up with a start. He realized how cold it was, shivering in the near dark, in a completely empty attic. He rubbed his arms and tried to get warm. He had been seated in an uncomfortable position for a long time. A white cat was pawing at his arm. When he jerked forward, she galloped away - she vanished. Valeria's little sidekick had been sent to remind him that time was running out.

Yes, he knew. It would be midnight all too soon, and he wanted to meet his love on the beach. Wallace thought of the veil, wondered if it would help him keep her safe and resolve the conflicts. He wanted her so badly to be a part of his life.

He wiped his eyes, and said a quick prayer out loud. Then he got up and moved on shaky legs towards the wooden steps leading down from the attic; he heard voices below, and hesitated.

The voices belonged to men, and they were arguing; they were discussing something, of an urgent nature, and not quite agreeing. Wallace wanted to imagine Danny and Larry, but somehow the voices were different. One of the voices belonged to Harold. Wallace' heart sank.

A door slammed. There was silence. Then the conversation picked up again. Wallace rubbed his forehead; in a dream he had remembered a past life with Valeria.

He crouched behind the door and observed the staircase leading down. He saw lights in the lower levels, but he could not see the men talking.

## Chapter 22

"We have her painting, the journal, we know where the little ones were hidden. Now we need ... just one more thing."

"I dug around all over the property, nothing."

That voice belonged to Larry Goode. There was restless shuffling, perhaps they were pouring themselves drinks; the agitation was evident in their walking around, and in their voices.

"It's her corpse we need."

"Yes, I agree. We have to find her grave."

"Before midnight."

"Or the hyena monsters will kill the whole city!"

"Bullshit. They have stopped."

"How did she die?" - This was a sober Harold's voice.

"She ran down to the beach with the youngest girls and boys. They went after her."

Wallace' knees were beginning to shake and go soft. He worried about making an involuntary sound, and the men finding him.

"She's under the veil!"

This was a voice Wallace did not recognize. Not a friendly voice.

"You mean out in the ocean somewhere?" Goode asked, his disappointment obvious.

"How're we gonna dig around in the ocean?"

"We don't need to know where she is buried ..."

"Her grave would be the most important thing. It links her to this world."

"Can't the hyenas sniff it out?"

"We can never be sure if they are on her side or not."

"Some of us are turning into hyenas now."

"The other side is demanding the souls to pass over. They must make a choice, so many cannot remain in the world of the living indefinitely."

"Crazy."

"We'll take what we have, and douse it with gasoline down at the beach at midnight."

"Bring along a Bible," Goode suggested. "Say a couple of words for the locals."

"W-wh-wh -at about the breaker!"

At that, all the men downstairs, probably four or five, burst out in nervous laughter. They slapped each other on the back.

Harold said somberly: "Doesn't he control the veil?"

"Yes, he does," yelled Larry Goode.

"But the dumbass has no clue how to use it."

Goode was quiet for a moment, choosing his words carefully.

"Harold, it would be best if ..."

Wallace heard someone cough. It sounded like Harold to him.

"If Wallace did not make it to midnight. If you know what I mean."

Harold nodded. "I know."

"I'm not asking you to do it yourself. I just want you to say it's okay."

There was silence. Wallace was on the floor above them, and was secretly proud of his brother for hesitating. Not that he thought Harold would seriously stand up for him.

"Do it."

Wallace heart sank. He bowed his head. It was then that he looked more closely at a shadow that had been by his side all along. He saw the spotted hind leg of a hyena. It scurried towards the stairs. Next to him all this time, and it had not tried to kill him?

Wallace said a prayer.

He was being protected. In all kinds of ways.

"Where are we gonna find Wallace?"

"At the pizza parlor?" suggested Larry then, a comment again met with boisterous laughter.

'He'll be heading down to the beach before long."

"I agree." Goode grunted.

"He doesn't know about ...

"The on and off switches for the veil technology."

Wallace imagined Larry was laughing so hard, his face was flushed and he was doubling over. Wallace felt the urge to go roaring down the stairs, making a grand surprise appearance, just to see the looks on their faces. But he knew better. He was outnumbered.

He leaned back, closing his eyes. A memory came back to him - he had been playing on the beach with Harold, when they were children. His mother had been walking along the beach, carrying her shoes in one hand.

Wallace relived the scene. The boys were running all over the place and she had stopped scolding. They came to an abandoned camp site, with charred branches and empty bottles. His mother's expression soured. There were clouds in the sky, and Wallace started to throw pebbles into the ocean.

"What's the matter, mother?" he had asked.

She pointed in the direction of the fire.

"They say it's where it happened. It's where the girl died."

She walked briskly to the path that lead to the parking lot. The boys followed.

Wallace nudged Harold in the back seat, when they were settled in the car.

"What girl?" he whispered.

"She went to heaven, she's an angel."

Wallace never forgot his mother's eyes in the rearview. The alertness, the sadness, the urgency.

"There are no angels," she had said.

Wallace rubbed his eyes and snapped out of the memory. He waited until the men were even more drunk. Then he made his way down the stairs slowly in the darkness.

## Chapter 23

For an instant, as he rushed past, Wallace could see the men sitting in the kitchen, whiskey on the table. In the middle, there was Larry, with blood-shot eyes, large sweat stains under his armpits, his hair a mess. He was a sad sight to see, even in passing. Will he ever learn, thought Wallace, as he quietly shut the front door behind him. He no longer wished to confront them - that would be later. At midnight.

~

Esmeralda opened the apartment door for Wallace. There was a look of relief in her eyes. However, she did not let him in right away.

"Are you sure about this?" she asked, as her daughter babbled happily in the background.

"Yes."

"He's not here. But he should be, any minute now."

"Can I wait?"

"My baby would love to see you, I'm sure."

He followed her through the narrow hallway into the quaint living room. The baby chirped when she saw him. Wallace lifted her out of her playpen. She was cooing on his arm when they heard the door slam. It was Danny.

When he saw Wallace, he glared. Esmeralda took the baby and left the room.

"At least you weren't with the other guys, plotting to kill me," Wallace said.

When Danny did not respond, he added: "I used to think you liked me."

"No, I never liked you," Danny said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Danny had moist eyes, a clenched jaw and he was staring down at the carpet. When he looked up, Wallace motioned a cigarette, and Danny nodded. They excused themselves (Esmeralda was starting dinner), and went outside; behind the apartment complex there was a parking lot, and Danny leaned against his car.

They smoked for a little while, and Wallace figured it was best to get right to the point.

"I have to know where she is buried. It's very important."

"You don't know?"

"No," Wallace lied.

"And you don't know who the other breakers were?"

"The Man."

"Right ..."

"Maybe Harold. Maybe Ray."

"Maybe."

"So go down to the beach and think about it."

"You're not going to tell me?"

Danny let the smoke out slowly. He looked exhausted, not like the man who had led a small army to kill Wallace in the shopping mall parking lot.

"Stop doing what you are doing."

"That isn't possible, Danny."

Danny suddenly appeared to have aged. Wallace notice his hair had gone white at his temples.

"She is buried under the fire."

He added: "My grandfather never touched her. He had nothing to do with it."

"But he hid all those bodies in the walls of my family's house."

"And they come back to haunt us every day."

After a pause, he added:

"The ones that have chosen to never let go of their evil options, vengeance, hatred, murder."

Danny smiled a depressed smile. "What does that make them?"

"Desperate, I guess," said Wallace, remembering the stories of the dead about the hyena creatures.

"Look, Wally," Danny said, "we all make mistakes. Look at you. In this life, you are abusing your body, in the next, you might kill someone. It just has to happen. And there is nothing we can do ... It was sad, the little ones were abused, but it goes on everywhere. Evil rules this world."

Wallace said nothing.

"Harold is a weak drug addict. He kicked you out because he doesn't want you to know."

"He kicked me out," Wallace said slowly. "Because he felt the power of the breaker."

He added: "And the evil stops with me. It stops tonight."

~

Wallace walked down to the beach in the moonlight, grateful for Danny's confession as to where Valeria's body lay buried. He had wanted his memory confirmed. Ray had helped him, and so had Danny. There was hope for their souls still. Wallace was now armed with the truth.

The beach was not deserted; dog owners and mothers with children walked along the paths and the parts of the beach that were not wet, where the sand was not deep, playing and enjoying the warmth of the early evening setting sun.

Further back, though, a scorched black circle revealed the fire spot where the beach party people usually gathered, and now it held a special meaning for Wallace. It was where the rest of his life was going to begin - if he indeed had a life ahead of him.

He walked to the fire site and stared at it. With a stick he poked around in it. He would need a shovel when it got dark, really dark, and he worried someone would try to stop him. Perhaps Valeria would appear and help, perhaps not. He hadn't seen that much of her on this last, fateful day.

Wallace felt tired, he needed some coffee and someone to cheer him up. He had his back turned to the plants growing wild behind the beach, and never saw The Man lunging at him with a knife. Wallace was faster, though, and caught The Man's wrist in mid-air. Screaming, The Man tried to twist free. Wallace let him loose and he fell into the sand.

"You can't dig her up, you creep!"

"How do you know?"

The Man just stared. Had Danny told him? It didn't matter.

"It ends tonight," Wallace said dryly, turning towards the ocean.

"This veil thing is just a trick," The Man remarked, but Wallace hardly heard him.

He scanned the ocean. It was a beautiful balmy evening. He still held the knife in his hand, the knife he was almost murdered with.

"You're on the wrong side," The Man said and laughed.

"Tell me where to find a shovel."

"Go back to Ray's ..."

"It's a crime scene, and his kids are all over it, I'm sure."

"Then get one from Larry."

"You do it."

"Why me?

"You're breaker Nr. One."

"I failed," The Man said and sighed. "I couldn't help them."

He shook his head and continued:

"All that shit in the cemetery. All those dead kids with their horror stories. I could not deal with it."

"I know," said Wallace. "I nearly got a heart attack the first time."

"Yeah, right? I messed up the part with the veil, too. It's some kind of machine."

"You tried, didn't you?"

The Man said nothing. Wallace didn't believe him.

"Get me a shovel," he said and gave him a few Dollar bills from his wallet.

"You're buying this?" The Man asked.

"Naw, I'm just helping you along ... you wouldn't do it for free, would ya?"

"Probably not."

They both smiled a weak smile. The Man left on shaky legs, and Wallace looked after him. He would disappear with the money, but not bring back a shovel. Wallace sighed.

Would The Man end up drinking all day, having lost his mind? Wallace had a hunch he would. The booze would help him cope. And eventually destroy him.

Wallace decided to think about what would happen if he failed and would be in the same spot The Man was after the next 24 hours. He considered the notion it _could_ happen.

But all in all he felt fairly confident, for the most part that he would see it through somehow. He was very much in love. But he needed to see Valeria. To know she was real, or that there was something left of her. A piece of her he could call his own. She was somewhere waiting. This day decided all eternity for her.

## Chapter 24

Wallace walked the distance past the Subway restaurant to the place where the infamous white mansion had once stood, and where he remembered construction tools off to a side. He grabbed a shovel, looked around for Larry. He did not see him, so he left.

On his way back to the beach, he thought of having a sandwich, but realized that time was precious. At midnight, his task had to be completed. Around all the sparse buildings nearby, there were flickers of movement, as hyena creatures dashed out quickly to assess the situation, and then hid again, lurking and thinking.

"Soon, my friends," muttered Wallace.

"Soon you will find peace, soon justice will be restored. You will no longer be caught in this world, on a crusade to find others to kill and drag down. But ... _your decision to embrace evil will be final._ "

He thought of Harold's house, of the walls, and how he yearned to break them down. He supposed Larry and his crew of vengeance had done just that. Valeria's remains would have to serve as a proxy for them all.

Then he thought wistfully of Harbor Road and going back to Ray Lighthill's house. He would have to face that, in time, if he lived long enough. Oh, he would live, but would he live ... on this side of the veil? Wallace had tears in his eyes as he walked the path over the wooden bridge that lead to the beach. Perhaps death was waiting for him, after all. There was no law it _had_ to work out.

Even with all the misgivings he had had and the negative possibilities he had pondered, he was not prepared for what he saw next. Goode had assembled a small troop surrounding the fire site, and they stood around it, as if in prayer, baseball bats dangling from their right hands. Strangely, Wallace had not seen pickups in the parking lot. He shook his head. And where was Valeria?

Harold was there, too. In his hands he held the journal. Another man had the painting. And most heart wrenching of all, Danny was there, with a wheelbarrow full of bones. They had been chipped out of the walls, and most of them had pieces of cement attached to them. The thugs had gone to a lot of trouble. They hoped in destroying what linked Valeria to this world, they would destroy her soul, as well, and rid themselves of the ghost that constantly reminded them of the evil they themselves or their forebears had committed.

Wallace stared into Danny's eyes. Danny stared back, seemingly unmoved. Larry stood with his head held high, and jumped into the center of the circle where fires were lit, and driftwood lay charred. He jumped around in a stupid, childish way, stomping on the sand, while his cohorts yelped and chuckled, as if it were some sort of grand achievement.

There were women, too, with cups of booze, smoking, it was going to be a show? For a moment, Wallace felt defeated, when, in the corner of his eye, he saw The Man coming out of the bushes further back, where Wallace had considered sleeping the first night of his homelessness. Of course, she was not even buried here, The Man just fooled everyone into thinking she was. Wallace had to distract the wicked gang and their leader long enough ...

"Please don't do this, Larry," he said, holding his hands out, palms upward, feigning terror, scrunching his face, "I can't stand you doing that. Please. It's her grave."

Larry stopped and his evil friends all stared at Wallace. No one noticed The Man coming out of the abundant weedy shrubbery with something wrapped in a sheet in his arms. Wallace did not dare glance in that direction, but he was fairly certain The Man held a small female corpse close to his chest.

"I ... can't explain it. I met her on this beach. I was down. Harold ... Harold ... you kicked me out that day. I did a lot of things wrong. I want to apologize. But I am so into this woman. She is like a drug. Please! Let me have her remains."

"What do you intend to do with them?" a woman asked.

"Yeah, Wally," - this was Danny. "Just what do you intend to do?"

"I have instructions to bring her earthly remains onto the veil."

" _Where IS you veil_?" Larry asked in a dramatic, overly patient way.

"There's a lever, in the church, installed into the wall, next to a Madonna statue that looks a lot like Valeria ..."

Most of Larry's violent party crowd were smiling broad, drunken smiles, or groaning and shaking their heads. Wallace saw that The Man was breaking out in a run.

"Who told you that, you idiot?" Danny asked.

"Ray."

"Ray?" yelled Larry. "No, he didn't."

The Man started to run, as Wallace moved towards the beach. One of the men turned, held out his baseball bat, and The Man crunched forward, losing the corpse, as he was out of wind. Wallace watched as the corpse flounced to the ground, a dark gray heap of bones and decayed matter, what was left of the woman he swore he loved from another time. A flicker of movement, a shadow, snatched the corpse up and carried it forward. Ray's voice in Wallace' mind said: "RUN!"

Wallace ran towards the ocean, as close to the water as he could get. He remembered where he had seen the veil, and with all his heart, he summoned it, and asked for help, asked for Him, or for some higher being to please be with him now and end the torment the souls of the abused had endured. Midnight was fast approaching.

Larry, enraged, saw that it was Ray's ghost who held Valeria's earthly remains, and stumbled forward to intercept. But Danny grabbed him by the shoulders from behind and said:

"Leave it be now. It is time."

Larry screamed "NO!" and tried to wrench free of Danny's grip. Wallace had reached the water, and Ray's ghost handed him the corpse of a girl who had died such a long, long time ago. The crowd gasped as the veil appeared, its beauty intoxicating, otherworldly.

The veil was further out in the water, undulating ever so softly and sparkling - Wallace had to strain to see - in the colors of a rainbow. The ocean water it rose from was velvety dark in the clear starry night. Behind it Valeria stood waiting, larger than life, surrounded by the layers of a red gown, her arms outstretched. She nodded.

Wallace stepped into the water, splashing forward, determined.

Larry cried out behind him: "Don't do it! It's a trap! You'll never come out alive!"

Foam gushed up in front of Wallace; he was nearly thrown sideways, but with big steps he marched on, ready for sacrifice, if necessary. The Man had clambered up, and Ray came, too, both of them following, the wicked crew defeated, throwing away their bats, their shovels, their venom, the men holding the women, holding bottles of liquor, too; it had finally happened, the breaker had fought the evil in this town, and - was winning.

Larry had plowed into the water behind them, looking about in a disoriented way, not sure what to do. His hands were on his hips, still feeling in command.

"Heavenly Father ..." Wallace muttered, and - carrying his precious cargo before him, pushed into the veil, blinded, but exhilarated, as Valeria's soul reunited with her body. The Man and the ghost of Ray Lighthill followed, their arms around each other's shoulders. The veil shimmered brilliantly one last time, and was gone.

## Chapter 25

Wallace nearly tripped as he worked his way out of the bushes ... sleepy, shaky, his vision blurred. He did not remember much, only that the ground had not been hard and hostile, as he thought it would be, but nearly soft and comforting; though, a blanket, or a woman, would have made the experience even more enjoyable. He looked out onto the ocean. He had spent the night outside.

It was a hazy day, would be hot. His stomach growled and his lips were parched. Coffee - his body and mind demanded coffee, and lots of it. He looked down on his once-white T shirt; embarrassing to walk to even a burger joint like this. His pants were still wet and stained. He did not dare let his mind wander to what had happened the night before. Wallace saw The Man sitting on an abandoned log, his hands by his sides. He did not want to talk to him just yet.

Wallace looked out over the ocean once more. Little tufts of white foam whipped up from the idle waves. He did not see the veil, did not believe in it. A faraway dream, he thought, as a headache started to throb behind his temples. He shuffled through the sand, kicked up some. What did it matter ... what did anything matter.

Wallace put his hand on The Man's shoulder.

"Can I get you some coffee?"

"Perfect knowledge. Cannot be kept from within the veil."

"What?" asked Wallace, rubbing his face.

"It was important. It was important to me once."

"Well, not much is important now. Huh?"

The Man scrunched his face in pain at the harsh words. Wallace regretted the bite and the sarcasm. He sat down next to his haphazard friend, groaning with fatigue, feeling defeated.

"I don't know your name? What's your name?"

When he did not get an answer, Wallace squeezed The Man's shoulder gently. A breeze was starting to turn into a wind. Wallace thought of getting up and seeking shelter, even more so as a few raindrops started to fall.

"Valeria ..."

Wallace rose to his feet and stared out at the ocean one last time.

Whatever it had been, a nightmare, or perhaps ... some of it had really happened - it was gone now, and Wallace was left with an empty stomach and a bummer of a headache. He left The Man on the beach and meandered through the morning sidewalks, drunk with longing, not finding an anchor, nothing to hold on to.

He scratched his head, he looked forward and back, could not find anything or anyone familiar. Cars passed. Pain began to bubble up, and if he stood on the sidewalk much longer, he felt he might break out in a sob. So he marched determinedly in the direction of the nearest shops; any place for coffee would do. He trotted, sure he would fall eventually, and just stay down wherever he fell.

~

Wallace did not notice the large Chevrolet slowly following him. At a corner, it turned and blocked his way. Larry leaned over and opened the passenger side door for him. "Get in," he said. Wallace was not thinking and did as he was told. The Chevrolet roared to life. Wallace numbly fastened his seatbelt, like a child picked up from a fight. He stared straight ahead, and Larry drove.

They stopped at a Starbucks, Wallace getting out, and Larry finding a place to park. When they were settled in with their lattes, Larry outlined a work project he needed help with, and Wallace nodded. Larry smiled a broad smile. Wallace wanted to ask: 'Why are you still alive, Larry?' But he decided against it.

"So are you ready for it?"

"Yes, of course, Mr. Goode."

"Get some sleep. I'll take you to your brother's house."

"Oh - and shave, will ya?"

Wallace was too exhausted to object. 'I don't live there, and I'm not welcome to visit, I'm not even tolerated.' He gulped down his coffee and tried to smile. It didn't work. He grimaced.

"I thought you wanted to tear it down ..."

"Things have changed. Harold was ... having difficulties all along. He's not there anymore."

Wallace ran a finger along the edge of his coffee cup. He would have liked to ask more questions about his elusive brother. This did not seem to be the right time, though.

"Okay. Take me there?"

"Sure."

Goode got up and stretched. He was a handsome man. How many Goode's had there been, over the years. Did they just keep coming back? Did the story repeat over and over again? Or was it one and the same devil - bound to live forever?

Larry smiled. Wallace smiled back. 'No!' his alter ego screamed. 'No!'

"You lost a little weight, fella!" he exclaimed.

Wallace felt uncomfortable. He laughed, and waved a hand. Walking to the car, he looked over his shoulder to see if Goode was following, but Larry was busy flirting with two young girls at a table next to the one they had occupied. The car was locked, so Wallace leaned against it.

"You don't seem to remember, huh?" Larry called out.

Wallace shrugged.

"This -" Larry pointed vaguely in the direction of the girls.

"I have no idea what you mean ..."

"Your dad was a player. Don't you think? Why would your family own that house?"

As they drove along, Wallace recalled sentences and fragments of sentences, scenes from such a long time ago. And yet it was all very vivid. There had been leaks, outraged parents - though most of the children were sired for the express purpose of spending a life of torture, and their mothers were the poorest of whores. The men had decided it was time to close the establishment for a while, and to get rid of any witnesses and all evidence.

That meant murdering their own young. They went about it with purpose and dedication. Many of the girls, the healthiest ones, were sold off. The less pretty and sickly ones were drowned and cemented into the outer walls of Wallace's father's house - one of the Larry's of the past. Their souls cried out in anguish for so long. They could not move on. Some did however, appear, and communicate and some could transform, taking on the shapes of hyenas, running wild in the neighborhood. The hyenas were the ones sworn to revenge.

But there were hyenas that came from hell, looking for people they could murder and whose bodies they could use, to salvage the poor souls of the abused children for the evil side, because their suffering was so exquisite, so unique.

As Wallace slammed the door to Larry's Chevrolet, he wondered how he could have lived with so many secrets for so long. Of course! It all came back to him now, clear as the light of day. He walked through the gates of the house he had known until his parents divorced, prepared for just about anything, but there was a tranquility about the gardens that was unmistakable. As he passed the outer facade, he saw Harold's face, still alive, melded with the bricks and the white paint, formed to become one. He would stay there, Wallace guessed, for all eternity, and even if Larry decided to tear the place down entirely, a ghost version of it would remain. Further up, he recognized Danny, and even further up buddies of Larry, the whole gang. The veil had meted out the punishment.

Harold mouthed the words: "Help me."

When Wallace turned away from him in disgust, there stood Valeria, in Spanish red and black, a veil shielding her eyes. Her luscious lips were painted a glossy red. Wallace cringed at the sight of the black veil of death, even though he longed to taste the cherry-red lips.

Had they not defeated death? Could they not live together now?

## Chapter 26

She stood on a vast expanse of burnt lawn, waiting. Wallace held out his arms. She did not react. What was wrong? Was it Larry? As long as he still walked in this community with his head held high, there would be no justice? No peace?

"I will summon the veil," Wallace said weakly.

Valeria nodded. "You can do that," she said.

"Or I can shoot the bastard," muttered Wallace bitterly.

Harold's bony hand shot out of the wall of the house, and clawed into Wallace' flesh; the shrieks coming from the captive demons were gut-wrenching.

"Make the veil come back, _forgive US this time_!" they wailed.

"You can summon the veil only one last time," said Valeria, her voice sounding muted, as if she were far away or unable to communicate.

"I want to know one thing!" yelled Wallace in torment, as blood began to drip and pool from the wound inflicted by Harold.

"What must I do to be with YOU?"

Valeria looked at him sadly, black rings around her lovely eyes, garments flowing in the wind. Slowly, her body dissolved, turning to dust, rushing downwards, into the earth.

Wallace tried to yank his arm away from an ever vindictive Harold. Just as the pain threatened to blind him, Ray appeared and held out a cross, laying it on what was left of Harold's forehead.

"Go to hell alone," he said, as Harold let loose Wallace' arm.

Ray smiled a ghastly smile - and disappeared. The perpetrators were sculpted into the wall of the house. They did not squirm any longer. They were one with the bricks. Silence followed, Wallace ripping off a piece of his shirt and making a bandage for his wounds. They were still bleeding.

Worse was the feeling of disappointment in his heart. He had not failed the test. He had not failed as a breaker. And yet, there was nothing he had gained.

Stunned, he sat on a stone in the garden, his back to the house, and wished to die. There was no sense in living a life devoid of success over evil. Malevolence triumphed, and only a battle here or there could be won. Clouds fled before the sun, it was getting dark and cold. Wallace had tears in his eyes as he looked to the heavens, wondering.

"Valeria was my reward!" he cried out.

His words rang hollow, a graveyard silence echoed them back. The house stood in the near-dark as a reminder of the crimes committed, and the loss of family Wallace would always be aware of.

Getting up, Wallace realized how hungry he was. He hadn't eaten all day. It didn't seem to matter, much worse was the lack of spiritual and emotional nourishment. Valeria had fulfilled him in so many ways. And so had Ray, even Danny. They were no more. Only Goode was still alive. And for all Wallace knew, he stood parked outside a school right now, sizing up the pretty little blonde girls, selling them with his phone to the highest bidder.

Wallace remembered Ray had a small handgun. Wallace considered summoning the veil - one last time. With a bitter taste in his mouth, he thought shooting Larry and having supernatural powers would probably not even be enough to stop the bastard. Valeria was weakened, perhaps even gone.

Wallace got in Harold's car, key still in the ignition, and drove the four blocks to Ray's house. Whatever time had elapsed, it was no longer the scene of Ray's murder. It had a serene air about it, new curtains, and Wallace wondered ... who lived there now? How much time had been fastforwarded? There was only one way to find out. He parked the car and rang the doorbell.

~

A woman opened the front door, with white hair, a tan complexion and a sweet smile. The similarity was unmistakable and Wallace realized this was Ray Lighthill's sister, his only sister from Wisconsin. He had helped set Ray up on the internet to write her e-mails. She welcomed him and shook his hand, squeezing it.

"Why, come in, Wallace," she said.

She led him into the kitchen, the old familiar kitchen he had eaten pancakes with Ray in. "Coffee?" she asked and smiled. "Always," he answered.

They sat down, and Wallace could only appreciate her beauty and kindness. It ran in the family.

"How long have I been ...?" he asked.

"It's been a few days."

"Has he been buried?"

She nodded. Wallace helped himself to some cream.

"You don't know my name, do you?"

"Mary Virginia."

"Yes!" she clapped her hands once and laughed.

"How did he die?"

Mary bowed her head; it took a few moments before she could speak.

"Goode had him bludgeoned to death, then blamed it on you."

"I am not surprised."

"What he didn't know was that Ray's kids had come back to check on their old man."

"Okay."

"And Larry had his men go after them, too, and the police detective."

"What happened?"

"You ARE the breaker. You summoned the veil, just in time."

"But Larry ..."

"He's still here. One or the other version of himself."

"Forgive me, Mary, but I am not in the mood for conversation," Wallace said.

"I understand."

"I am going to need Ray's gun."

Mary Virginia got up quietly and left the room. Wallace looked around somberly. He did not want to leave. But he had no choice.

When she came back, she put the gun on the table in front of him. She touched his shoulder.

"You can always come back. You can live here, for free. There will always be a place for a man like you."

"Thank you very much. You are very kind."

He finished his coffee and took the gun. She pulled him back. Embracing him, she kissed him quickly with passion and hope. They hugged each other in a fierce way. Then he turned to leave without looking back.

Larry was waiting outside in his car, the motor idling.

"Get in," he called out, noticeably intoxicated.

Wallace was about to decline, but it had to end. He pulled himself into the car and slammed the door.

"Drive down to the beach!" he ordered.

"Yeah! Let's get it done," Larry answered.

## Chapter 27

There was a black Honda, but no beautiful girl in a black top standing next to it. Wallace missed her shiny black curls and her slender, tan, tattooed arms. Her perfume. How he longed to be with her! Why did the world always have to get in the way?

Larry had exited the car also and was marching to the beach. He had a gun in the back of his jeans. A showdown - Wallace felt defeated, he was just not the right type of person for this. He went down on his knees, trying to pray, to hide, to conjure a memory or a dream to help him with this.

"Come out here and fight like a man, you pussy!" Larry roared, much to the amusement of some girls strolling along the beach.

Wallace remembered other girls, the ones in the graveyard, their stories, their pain. He prayed for the veil to appear, wished for it. He did not want to open his eyes and find it not there. When he did open them, the veil rained down, glistening, into the ocean. Behind it was Valeria. Her garments were not red and black this time, they were pink and white - there was hope. The Man came out on the beach, sober and smiling.

It was then that Larry shot him.

Wallace fell backwards, crying out in agony.

"There! That's how long you will last, you fool!" Larry yelled, a sweaty look of victory and self-righteousness on his face.

When Wallace opened his eyes again after the shot and blinked through the tears, the veil was still there, coming in closer, with Larry as its prey, it would envelope him, consume him, and Wallace would not have to kill.

But no, it stopped. There was hesitation.

Wallace needed to make a decision.

"Larry, are you aware of how many lives you have ruined?" Wallace asked.

"What?" drooled Larry in response.

"How could you just shoot him?" Wallace said, his voice cracking.

Larry pointed his gun at The Man again, and fired it, over and over.

"STOP!" screamed Wallace.

Larry then pointed the gun at him. They stood facing each other, in silence, breathing hard.

"You owe me. You are my son. I have more children than I can ever count. But anyway. You're mine. There is nothing you can do to change that. You aren't any different. You just think you are."

"You're lying," whispered Wallace.

"Valeria was MY wife."

"NO!"

While the bullet was travelling, the veil approached Larry from behind with all its eerie, starry-colored beauty. It enveloped him, dragging him into the ocean, sucking the life out of him, then losing all of its energy, dropping onto to him like a huge jellyfish washed ashore. Briefly, his skeleton remained, then turned to dust as Valeria walked over it. Only his scream of agony echoed quietly out beyond the waters, heard by no one with the exception of the two lovers.

"Is he gone?"

"I hope so." Valeria sighed and sank into Wallace' arms.

She was no longer a larger-than-life apparition with rich velvety gold-embroidered robes. She was just a thin young woman, shaking, with slender tattooed arms and a beautiful, if not perfect smile.

They were finally together.

~

Valeria calmed down quickly and looked thoughtfully at her hands, feeling the skin on her arms. She was once again a whole person, body and soul, and very much alive. She looked at Wallace for a long time.

Soon they were laughing playfully and shoving each other around. Valeria ran away, and Wallace chased her. When she let herself be caught, they embraced and they did not want to let go of each other. They were one. He listened to the sound of her breathing. She was with him.

"How long ... how much time do we have?" he asked.

"That depends."

"How long is that?"

"You have to accept, Wallace."

"I am so tired of that. I want a world with you and me in it and not much else."

"I know."

"Don't we have the right to love and be free?"

Valeria leaned herself into him. He stroked her long curled black hair, shiny and full. She nodded. The waves of the ocean crashed against the sands. Larry was gone, The Man, and what was left of the veil was a sheet of fine fabric, a see-through coat that lay immovable without vanishing. Wallace watched it. What was it, he wondered.

"Valeria?"

"Yes?"

"Why did the others fail?"

"Larry fooled them. He built this contraption ..."

"And they were too terrified to not believe him."

"They did not have as much love and insight as you do, Wallace. Not everyone does."

She looked up at him. "Larry had been a witness to the veil once, and when he recovered from the initial shock, he was furious. He built an artificial one to dupe all the people worried about what went on with the children."

"He wanted them to worship it," she continued.

"I'm sure he was jealous. He couldn't accept healthy boundaries of any kind." Wallace added thoughtfully.

"He wanted to control everything and everyone."

Wallace took her small hand, brought it to his mouth and kissed it.

"He was not able to control my love for you."

"For the time being, we are safe."

"What does that mean, Valeria?"

"We have one year, Wallace."

"Where?"

"In Harold's house."

" _Where_?"

"In Harold's house. You've inherited it."

"I ... understand."

"And I, I am your wife."

"Wow."

"Things have changed. Come and see."

He took her hand and they walked from the beach to the parking lot. There stood the black Honda.

THE END
