Chapter 28
Noah
A Fool followed custom and cremated his dead father. He ran home and said to his ailing mother: "There are a few fire-logs still left. If you want to stop suffering, get yourself cremated on them."
–Philogelos (The Laughter Lover)
Once we woke back up, Mary Jane was in not in a mood for love making. My baby was determined to get me out of this street life and the both of us safely away from Butterfly. She rose to shower, not even giving me a kiss or letting me cuddle that fat ass for too long. Minutes later, she’d dressed in a t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers, while I still held my dick and wondered how I was going to get it inside of her.
Once she’d put those kinky curls into a ponytail and for whatever reason smeared Vaseline over her face, she stared at me with her hands on her hips. “Noah?”
Still, I sat in the bed, gripping my dick. “What?”
“Focus, Noah.” She walked out of the bedroom and yelled over her shoulder, “Let’s get this field trip to the haunted house over with.”
I groaned.
She’s fucking making me crazy. If this house doesn’t slaughter someone, I damn sure will.
Although we headed out to Aristotle’s house during the day, storm clouds hovered over during the journey and cast out the sun. So dark and cold around us, it looked like the middle of night. The scent of rain hung in the air. Lightening zig zagged across the black sky as thunder crackled with each mile.
Fear didn’t run in my men’s hearts, unless someone brought up two things—the Ebony Forest or Aristotle’s house. The guys understood bullets, guns, and all the different forms of man-made items designed to kill another human. But when it came to unexplained things, odd happenings, and spooky legends, my soldiers turned into scaredy cats really quick. On these streets, one knew they could die, but Aristotle’s house had the wrong odds. Each visit someone was guaranteed to never walk out again.
Stop thinking about that stupid shit. Focus.
I’d told Mary Jane that the house was haunted to scare her. It wasn’t that I didn’t think a curse hovered over the property, but. I didn’t spend my time pondering crazy things. Either it was or wasn’t an evil place. It never killed me, so I didn’t fuck with it.
But now, Mary Jane sat on my left, and slowly I wondered, if she and I would make it out with no problem.
Everything will be fine. 305 and them are just getting this crap in my head.
No one was happy about today’s mission. Crusher played no music. He drove with a deadly concentration that caused me to push the divider up between us. Mary Jane sat next to me and tightly held my hand. Rasheed, 305, and Mo sat across from us with stony expressions. Ten different cars followed my limo. Without seeing them, I knew men shook inside their vehicles. If Aristotle’s property had been on Rasheed’s death list, triple numbers would’ve hit the chart.
Twenty-one people will enter the house, if I count Mary Jane. How many will leave?
Far out in the south, among Din city’s farmland, Aristotle’s two floor house stood on unfertile ground. Nothing grew there. He’d tried a garden and it died before anything sprouted.
The roof pointed up like the end of a knife. No trees or bushes hung around. Just scattered, brown grass and rocky sand. On the house’s top level, no curtains hung in the cracked windows, just this dreary blackness that couldn’t be overpowered by the sun. In fact, the windows appeared more like the place’s eyes. I swore they stared at us all as we drove up the long, lonely road.
Mud-smudged panels planked the huge surface. They barely hung in place. A few had fallen the last time I’d come here, two years ago. A fanged mouth sat on the house’s bottom level or more like this ungodly door that was six feet wide and creaked whenever we opened it. Carved wood and peeling burgundy paint, the door’s creatures never looked the same when I came. Sometimes, I swore I spotted angels fighting with demons. Other times, it was men, women, and children stabbing sharp things and gnawing at the others’ flesh. Slanted windows flanked the door as if to symbolize the corners of the house’s evil smile.
“Noah, what do you think of this place?” Aristotle held his big hands out and widened his mouth into a huge smile.
His brown dreadlocks sat on top of his head and had been shaped into his signature bird’s nest hair style. His dad called him Vanilla when he was young because his skin was lighter than everyone else in the family. Like the house, he towered over most in sheer terror and delivered sheer terror. As usual, he had a crumpled paperback stuck in his back pocket.
“Come on, man?” Aristotle grabbed the blunt from me and pointed to the house. “I just bought it. What do you think? Doesn’t she have character?”
“She has something,” I said. “I’m probably going to put a condom on my dick, before I walk in there.”
“Man, don’t be taking your dick out on my new property.” His laughter filled the decrepit field. Aristotle blew out smoke and handed the blunt back to me. “You’re just jealous, man.”
Aristotle’s mom came from the East, his dad from the West. His parents were destined to fail from then on. Neither family excepted the other. Friends mocked the short lived relationship. And then a baby was born that went back and forth from the East to the West each week during visitations. Half Puerto Rican and Jamaican, Aristotle never fit on either side. However, he found peace with me, since I was the only blue-eyed white boy in a Jamaican neighborhood.
In some ways, Aristotle introduced this life to me. The streets ran in his blood. Both families had known gangsters. His father even expected him to take over the West Gang when he grew up. Aristotle complained about it to me all the time. The stories romanced my young mind. By middle school, we were both heavy in the streets, but didn’t talk much. I served for the North, and Aristotle reluctantly stayed loyal to the West. But when we saw each other, we always showed love.
Then I took out the West, and I shot the remaining guys. War came. Many lost and Din City shifted from four gangs to two—the North and South. Aristotle was the only street person in the West. People had wanted him to stand up and do something, but the street life had never been his thing. Instead, he bought this place and only consulted with those who needed advice.
“Be serious, Noah.” Aristotle turned to me. “I’m out of Din City, man.”
“You mean you’re out of the game?” I asked.
“Naw, man. You know I like to shoot a motherfucker. I just don’t want to be for any particular territory. Fuck all of that. Why can’t we just get along?”
I inhaled more of the blunt. “Man, why did you bring me out here?”
“Because I see what you’re doing. You’re going to be the top dog one day. I see that shit.” He pointed to his eyes as if I didn’t get it. “So, I’m telling you that I don’t want any problems. I want to be like a lone wolf and shit.”
“Lone wolf?”
“Yeah. You got to think of it like we’re all supernatural creatures and shit. Shapeshifters. You got a pack. They got a pack. I’m the motherfucker that’s only true to himself.” He grabbed a stick and drew a large circle. “This is Din City.” He drew a line in between the circle. “This is the North and that’s the South. You’re going to run all of this.”
I chuckled. “You didn’t need to draw an image to say that.”
He dropped the stick and put a rock near the South. “And this is me. I’m your rock when shit gets crazy, but don’t take my ass back there. This is where I stay, but I got you.”
“You’re not making any sense, man. I’m not going to give you this blunt. I’m going to keep this shit.” I chuckled.
“That’s why your ass needs to meditate more.” He tapped his head. That dreadlocked bird’s nest wiggled a little. “You have to keep your mind clear so you won’t get crazy. I know shit, man. And I know for a fact that when shit gets crazy for you, you’ll come out here and seek my help.”
“Because you’re my rock.”
“Yeah, mon.” He tried to get the blunt and I stepped away. “Noah, you’re fucking crazy.”
Aristotle had spoken the truth. When I had to plan the tough job of taking the top guys down, I drove out with several people and asked him for help. Of course, one of my guys died, but Aristotle had given me the best strategy to move forward. Time and time after that, he continued to be my council during distress and even convinced me to meditate.
Aristotle read so much, one could never discount the shit that he’d said. He devoured books. Ate those shits up like somebody was paying him. In this house, he sat there every day and read—large volumes on history, ancient spiritual texts, tons of world philosophies, and shelves of studies on any science one could imagine. There were more books in his house than anything else. At one point, he threw out his furniture and used his books for the same purpose. Everything was shaped by books—bed to couch, dining table to shelves.
He never left the house, just had food, supplies, and books delivered. And each time we came over to visit and sip from his knowledgeable mind, a person died.
Here we go.
Crusher parked in front of the house and the crumbling structure smiled at us.
I can’t believe I’m bring Mary Jane here.
Besides Aristotle’s time here, the place boasted a nasty history. It was originally built for a slave owner. By the time the paint dried, his slaves had revolted, killed his family, and fled. The Civil War came next. Many soldiers died during battles on the land. The next owner hung himself, after murdering his wife and three children. A group turned the place into a cute bed and breakfast. Some rare food disease hit the place. Authorities found all of the rotting bodies weeks later. Hurricanes hit Din City, but didn’t touch the house. No one fucked with the property anymore and it remained abandoned for years.
Then my stupid friend decided that this place symbolized a welcoming home.
“Maybe, you should consider somewhere in the city,” I offered to Aristotle.
Cracking sounded from the porch.
“You see that shit.” Aristotle gestured to the house. “You’re making my house mad.”
“Man, don’t say that shit.”
“For real. That’s why I love this place. It’s like the legends gave her breath.”
I took another pull from the blunt. “Man, I better not come here and find you fucking the house.”
Aristotle rubbed his hands and grinned. “Anything is possible with this place, my friend.”
Although we’d parked, no one had exited their car. Even Crusher had not left the limo to open my door.
Is everybody really waiting on me? Jesus, people. Get your shit together.
I turned to Mary Jane. “You stay with me the whole time. No, looking around the place. We get in and out. That’s it.”
“Okay.”
I opened the door and helped her out. The other guys followed, getting out of their cars and holding guns.
“Put the guns down!” I glared at them all. “What are you going to do, shoot the house?”
That shit wouldn’t work anyway. What am I talking about? This place isn’t haunted. The odds are just always fucked up here.
Holding Mary Jane’s hand, I waited for everyone to fall in behind me. Back in the day, Aristotle would come out to greet whoever came. In the past years, he stopped, always sitting in the same place in the center of his living room as if he never moved. Always stayed rooted at the core of the house.
“Come on.” I led us up the steps. Screeching came, but I was used to it. Others took out their guns and pointed to the ground. “Yo, calm the fuck down. You won’t need your guns here.”
On the porch, decaying wood squeaked under our feet. Today, the big door’s carving almost moved a little. People stabbed the other—mothers poking ice picks into their kid’s necks, men slicing the breasts off of women, and children gouging out each other’s eyes. I raised my hand to knock and the door creaked open. Mary Jane gasped at my side.
305 whispered, “Man. . .”
Thanks, house. You just had to show off, huh?
“Let’s go.” I fronted like it didn’t make me nervous. “Aristotle?”
A beautiful aroma wafted through the house—a lovely melting mixture of coconut and vanilla.
“It smells great in here,” Mary Jane whispered. “Is he a good cook?”
“Yeah, but don’t eat anything here.”
“Someone’s died from his food?”
“Of course, but not all of the time.” I led us down the long hallway that ended at the living room. “Aristotle?”
No lights were on. Towers of books littered the halls—all leather bound and wrinkled pages. When Aristotle read, he highlighted and bent the corners. Unlike a true bibliophile, he could care less for the book’s value. After he consumed what was inside, he tossed it to the side. The stacks rose to the ceiling and made the once wide hallway extremely narrow. Pages skittered past me as I walked. Dust clung to the ends.
When all the men entered, the door closed behind us. A few grunted. More took out their guns.
Thanks again, you fucking asshole house.
Mary Jane leaned into me. “Okay, so the creepy level has risen to high proportions.”
“It’s just a house.”
She frowned. “The front of this normal little house looked like a man smiling while he was killing someone.”
“According to Aristotle, that adds to the appeal.” I wanted to yell out his name again, but the shit was hopeless. If my friend sat anywhere, it would be in the damned living room. I hoped we wouldn’t find him there dead. “Do you know any good haunted house jokes?”
“Not any good ones,” Mary Jane said.
“Try me.”
“Yeah,” 305 muttered. “That’s what we should do. Laugh and shit versus focusing and getting the fuck out of here.”
“Shut up.” I gestured to Mary Jane. “Go ahead.”
“What did one haunted house owner say to another?” she asked.
“Houses can’t talk,” I said, “but go ahead.”
“The haunted house over said to the other.” She rolled her eyes. “My mummy can beat up your mummy!”
Fuji laughed. Mo grinned. 305 shook his head and continued to hold his gun. Crusher just gazed at the books like he was walking in the library and considering what he would borrow.
“How many witches does it take to change a light bulb?” she asked.
No one said anything.
“One,” Mary Jane answered. “But she usually changes it into a cat.”
“Wow.” 305 made a show of putting his gun to his head. “I think Mary Jane’s sense of humor died. It’s okay, everybody. We’re good now. Something has already died on this trip.”
She flashed her middle finger. “Hey, it’s not like I went to humor college or anything.”
“Well, that’s for damned sure.” 305 bumped into a stack of books and targeted the damn pile with his gun.
The living room’s entrance appeared in front of us.
“Chill.” I grabbed the brass knob sculpted like the devil and twisted the double horns. “Aristotle?”
A dark voice sounded out. “Noah?”
Good. He’s alive.
“Yeah.” I stepped into the room that had once been a living area. Instead it was darkness and books. In his down time, Aristotle had formed a couch, love seat, and coffee table from novels and anthologies.
I spotted my friend. A prickling sensation made me freeze in place. In the center, he sat on a throne of spiritual texts. He looked like a structure himself—stiff and unyielding. His eyes remained open like windows, his mouth shut like a door. A house within a house.
Volumes covered the floor and every inch of the walls. I couldn’t even remember what the space had looked like before. Hadn’t there been a rug or something in the center? Didn’t he have a green leather couch at one time and an odd grandfather’s clock that chimed at the top of the hour? I had no idea where the house began and where the books ended.
I hadn’t been here in two years. How did all of this change so fast?
“What the fuck is that, Aristotle?” I pointed to the throne. “You’re really losing it, man.”
“Eh. It’s my seat of consciousness.” Aristotle formed an imaginary arch around the thing.
“I sit on this motherfucker naked.”
“Thank you for putting on clothes today.”
“Shit. Next time you come, I may have nothing on. I’m turning these fucking cell phones off. No electricity up in here.”
“What?”
“No computer, telephone, televisions. I’m done. When you come, just come. Don’t even call.”
“You want a hit of this.” I tried to hand him a joint I’d rolled in the limo on the way there.
“Naw, I don’t smoke or drink anymore. Look, man. It took me forever to put this throne together.” He slipped his fingers along some of the books. “I’ve got every translation of the bible. Qurans are over here. Torahs make up the legs. Egyptian Book of Dead is my seat. It cost a fortune to get four of them.”
I held my joint in mid-air. “The Egyptian what?”
“Buddhist Sutras are right here.” Ignoring me, he continued to point at books. “Bhagavad Gita. Upanishads. Vedas.”
“Are you intentionally speaking in another language?”
“Naw, man. These are books on how to live.”
“We already know how to live.”
“You know how to live by the streets. Din City is a computer that you’re logged into. You’re a robot for it. Once you get that, you won’t need me anymore.”
“Until then,” I took another hit, “I need your help.”
“Fine.” He grinned. “Let me sit on my throne.”
Today, Aristotle sat naked on that same throne. However, this time, those spiritual books appeared worn and torn. Long ago, his hair hung down to his back. Now I had no idea how long it was. I couldn’t see any of the ends. Some of his locs merged with the books. Whether they fell through the cracks somehow and got trapped or the strands just grew with the paper. The rest of his dreadlocks rose above his head, branched out like a tree, and stuck to the ceiling. I peered closer.
No. The ends of his locs are actually inside of the ceiling. What the fuck?
I’d always thought Aristotle and the place had a weird relationship. But this had gone too far. My friend sat on that throne close to death. If the house lived, Aristotle served as the heart, and his locs were the veins that pumped blood through all areas. Long strands of kinky hair dangled from his underarms. His ribcage pushed out from his skin. His cheeks had sunken in. The nails on his fingers and toes had grown so long, they’d yellowed and curled over and over.
Jesus! I don’t think he’s gotten up from there? How does he eat? He must, if he’s still alive. What about when he goes to the bathroom? He couldn’t walk with those toe nails.
Now it was time to look at the impossible and consider the madness for a moment. Something evil lurked within the foundation. Maybe it had been here before the house was ever built, waited, and came around when humans stepped upon the land. Perhaps, all the death and blood triggered it to come here or possibly birthed the wickedness.
Bad things happened here, but what had come first? And could we get it to go back?
I whispered, “Aristotle?”
“Sit.” His eyes remained closed. He sat in the lotus position, shielding me from anymore nudity than I wanted. “All of you, sit.”
Mary Jane turned my way like I would have an answer to the craziness in front of me. I gestured for Fuji and Crusher to come to her side.
What the fuck am I going to do? I came here for help and I think he needs my help more.
I ordered the rest, “Everyone, go ahead and sit or at least stand back so everyone can get in here.”
With gaping mouths and widened eyes, my men gathered and slid themselves among the room of decaying books. Most didn’t even glance Aristotle’s way. Maybe, it was because of the nudity. Possibly, it dealt with the fact that his looking crazy and attached to this odd throne, scared the shit out of them.
It damned sure fucked me up.
“Aristotle?” That was all I could say. I’d actually forgotten why I came.
“Noah, do not fear what you see.” Aristotle opened his eyes. His voice sounded familiar, but the way he talked didn’t remind me of my old friend. He was someone else. “None of this is real, Noah. If you remember that, you will accomplish great things. Our thoughts are our reality.”
“You say none of this is real, but,” I sniffed at the funk radiating from him. “It smells real.”
“But none of this matters.”
“Aristotle, what’s going on with you?”
“Life is an illusion in our mind and yet, we always think we know what will happen next. We say to ourselves, ‘Blah Blah will happen on Friday or Monday, and when it doesn’t, we call it a bad day.’”
Why is he talking like this? Has he lost it that much?
Six feet apart from each other. I stepped forward. “When’s the last time you ate?”
My old friend continued, “Things don’t happen the way we hope and we get mad and depressed as if life is supposed to happen only one way. Our way.”
I couldn’t deal with this. Enough had already happened. Now the one person that I looked to for advice had lost his goddamned mind.
“Nothing is a straight line, Noah. Time is an ocean that is limitless. God is time. Love is time. People are only the mechanics of the clock, not the energy in the movement.”
“This is the guy you want to run Din City?” 305 muttered under his breath.
Aristotle turned to 305 and studied him for a long time. The moment went in slow motion and even I worried for my two friends. In his day, Aristotle killed fast and with no notice. I couldn’t beat him if he charged for 305. I’d still be fumbling with my gun.
But thankfully, Aristotle laughed. “Could I run the city from here? I think not.”
“Who else would run it?” I asked.
Aristotle directed all of his attention to me. Sadness lingered in his eyes, reminding me of my old friend. “I assume Domingo and Rasheed are dead now.”
“Yes, they are,” I admitted.
“And so, Butterfly killed them.” Aristotle scanned the room, finally taking in all of the people around him. His gaze touched every face. He blinked a few times, possibly remembering how he knew the person or jotting something down to put in a mental file later. When his attention reached Mary Jane, he stopped. “Yes, Butterfly killed them both. If not by her hand, by her plotting.”
I blocked his view of Mary Jane. “How did you know it was Butterfly?”
“She came here three months ago asking me for advice.”
“What did she want to know?”
“How to seduce a man. She didn’t say you, but it was obvious. Who else has she loved for all of this time?”
“And what did you say?” I asked.
Aristotle curled his cracked mouth into a wicked grin. “I told her that no powerful man can be seduced, unless he is isolated. Take away his family, friends, and support, and you’ll leave him lonely. That is when he will seek an escape and she must be that escape. I also told her that one could never isolate you. She denied the man was you again, but I warned her that if she really wants your love, she would have to change the very core of who she is. And so she left unhappy. If I’d had my phone, I would’ve given you a heads up, but you were always good with taming that tiger of a woman.” Finally, Aristotle was making sense. “She pitted Domingo and Rasheed against one another?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Tell me, Noah. Which one of them did you have to kill?”
“Guess,” I said, testing my friend’s mind.
Is that really you there? Can I leave you here like this and return to Din City?
Mary Jane chose that moment to leave Crusher and Fuji and stand by my side.
What is she thinking right now?
“Hmmm. It must’ve been Domingo. Rasheed always remained loyal.” Aristotle inhaled the air. “This woman smells good.”
I grabbed her hand and hoped she felt safe in this crazy situation. “She’s with me.”
“That I’m sure of.” Aristotle leaned to the side to peek at her some more. “And why have you come, Noah?”
“I can’t catch Butterfly. She started a war and I’m having a hard time finishing it without killing lots of people. Now she’s hiding and I can’t find her.”
“Noah doesn’t want to kill people?” Aristotle smiled. “You are different today.”
“You too.”
“We’ve both changed.”
I took another step closer to him. “But are you okay, my friend?”
Aristotle continued to study Mary Jane. “If Butterfly is hiding, it is within the past.”
“The past?”
“She lives in the past, while others look to the future or walk in the present. If you look to the past, you’ll find her hiding spots.”
I thought back to Vinese’s words.
“Your enemy sits in the shadows plotting your demise. You’ve allowed this for some time, ignoring the problem for too long. If only you can take off the blindfold from your own eyes, look in the past, and see the solution.”
That made sense. She’d already hid one brothel in Miller’s Plant. If I considered all of the places that we had memories, it wouldn’t be too many. In fact, I didn’t think I’d had anyone check Mercury Hotel, a place where we usually had sex. It was a broken down property in shambles that meth addicts wouldn’t even visit.
Would she go there?
“If I look to the past, I will probably find her?” I asked. “And then what?”
“Let her seduce you, but remember. She will not trust you, unless you give her the impression that you’re isolated.” He stared at Mary Jane. “You must play the part of an isolated man. Seek her with no weapons or any men around. You need to get close to Butterfly and she is no fool. You must really be alone, but do not fear. She will not kill you. Use her love against her. Let her tie your hands up, if she must. Make her think she’s safe to sit around you.”
Use her love for me against her and make me look like I’m in a weak position? That could work. She knows I could choke her, so she would never want to get to close to me, unless my hands were tied. She knows I have a team. I would have to gain her trust in a way that proves I wouldn’t hurt her.
I raised my eyebrows. “How would I kill her if my hands are tied, no weapons are around and nor my men?”
“Let her seduce you.” Aristotle grinned. “And then give her the kiss of death.”
Finally, Aristotle sounded like my old friend.
I laughed after he’d told me a sick story. “You’re a bad man, Aristotle.”
“Women are the hardest to kill. They never give up. They’ll fight to the end—clawing, scratching, screaming, kicking, and biting. They use every way possible to free themselves.” He opened a package, pulled out a new book, inhaled the fresh pages’ scent, and perused the cover. “That’s the only way you can truly kill a female. Give her the kiss of death. Seduce her. Get her nice and comfortable in the bedroom. And when she gets close, embrace her beautiful body, hold the blade in your mouth and slice her tongue. Some will choke on the blood. Others will try to claw out the pain and die from the loss.”
I waved him away. “I have no need to kill women.”
He looked up from the book and looked at me seriously. “One day you will. Trust me on that.”
I blinked and returned to Aristotle in the present moment—naked, starving, and sitting on his throne of books. “My old friend, I came here to ask you to run Din City.”
The walls vibrated. A baby cried on the second level. Five of my men pointed their guns in that direction. The wailing stopped. A cold wind blew through the space, disrupting some of the books and making the stacks tremble. A few of the volumes opened and pages swayed back and forth.
“Noah.” Aristotle commanded my attention. “You must never ask me to leave here. I am fulfilling something that you can never comprehend. I am carrying out my purpose.”
Your purpose?
I didn’t know how to respond to that. So, I admitted the truth of my situation, “I’m stepping down from controlling Din City. You’re the only one that could do it.”
A couple of my men stirred in the background. I hadn’t made a formal announcement to anyone. This was the first time they were hearing about my retirement.
“You want to give me control of the city?” Aristotle asked.
“You were fifth on the list.” I shrugged.
“Why not let the survival of the fittest gain control?”
“That sounds like more war and fighting. It doesn’t sit well with me. Innocent people will die if everyone rises up to take my position.”
“Your attachments slow you down. Let go of Din City. It’s such a small place in a little world. Let her thrive without you. Innocent people will die? Haven’t some always died? Do you think that you are the lifeline for the entire city? Do you truly believe that your control protects them all? Let go of your attachments, Noah.”
I gestured to his throne and the locs that stuck to the ceiling. “You say let go, as you attach yourself to a house.”
Aristotle’s eyes turned bright red in response. Scary. Blood-curdling red. Incomprehensible. Something of horror movies. Nothing that could ever be real. I’d seen a lot of shit in my life, but in this moment, I almost pissed my pants.
No, this is not Aristotle. This is something else.
My body froze. Someone shrieked behind us. Not sounding like Mary Jane, it had to be one of my men. Shuffling came. I think a few people stepped out of the room. Metal definitely clinked. I was sure the guns had come out. These past months had triggered the impossible all around me—my brothers warred against each other, I fell in love, and even Vinese’s tarot cards had changed the very idea of reality. But even with all of these unimaginable occurrences going on, I still could not wrap my head around the scene in front of me.
His eyes can’t be red like this. He’s figured out a way to make them look that way. This has to be a trick. This can’t be real.
Aristotle glared at me with those red eyes. “Maybe, you should start looking within yourself for answers and stop coming to me. I’m busy. Do not return.”
I slowly raised my hands. “I understand. We’re going to leave.”
“Good.” Aristotle’s eyes dimmed back to normal. “One more thing. Butterfly also wanted me to tell her the future, but I told her that I didn’t know such things. She wondered if she would ever have a child. This is something you can probably use.”
Those words fell on deaf ears for the moment. My friend’s eyes had raged like a monster. He sat there attached to this monstrous house with a history of blood. I had to do something. I couldn’t just leave.
Okay. If I allow myself to think that anything is possible in real life. Forests can live and form horses out of trees. Cannibals can tell true fortunes of the future. Love can live and survive in my heart. If I can believe these things, I must address this house and Aristotle. I cannot ignore this anymore.
Was he in his right mind? Did this house penetrate into him? Did he want to be free?
With my hands still in the air, I asked, “Did she come with anyone?”
Aristotle closed his eyes. “Of course.”
“And did the other person leave with her?” I asked.
He opened his eyes. “No.”
“Did the person die?” I asked.
His gaze delivered a shiver through me. “Of course. Butterfly has always understood the price. You have always pretended like it didn’t exist.”
“What price?” I asked.
Those red eyes returned. “Everyone must pay a price. These words are not free. Blood must be spilled.”
“You’ve never said that before,” I said.
“You never asked. Maybe you weren’t ready to believe it, but now you’re in love. Anything is possible now, right? You thought the world was black and white. Now you see the intricate shades of gray. The dark blues. The murderous red. The colors that don’t even have a name. Before, you thought you had all of the answers in life. Now you know that life is really only questions and that if you’re able to answer one or two things about our reality, you’ve won in some way.”
“I have another question for you,” I said. “Will we all leave today?”
“Do you all ever leave?” Aristotle closed his eyes. “Someone always dies.”
“Aristotle?” I asked. “What the fuck are you talking about, Man?”
Thunder rumbled behind us. Rain poured outside. The room darkened, although I could make out a few shapes here and there. Some of the towers of books trembled near us as if they were close to falling. Talking occurred behind me. The men had lost their sense of loyalty to the mission. Everybody was clearly scared out of their minds. I glanced behind me. Some had already tip toed out.
Mary Jane had remained quiet, but now she came close to me and whispered, “W-we have to...”
“Run?” I whispered back.
“No.” Her bottom lip quivered. “We have to save him.”
Although the room had darkened, Mary Jane glowed in a way. Like some light hung above her. I could see her better than anything else in the room.
Vinese’s words hit me again.
“Look for the light in the darkness and run fast toward that light, like you’re about to die. Never look over your shoulder at the darkness. Any light you see boy, you run for it.”
She trembled next to me. “W-we can’t leave him here.”
Men shuffled away. I doubted anyone heard, but the terror reached an all new high. Besides Crusher, Mo, 305, and Fuji, everyone else had sought a silent escape. Off in the distance a man screamed.
305’s voice came out shaky. “Uh, Noah?”
I raised my hand. “Give me a minute.”
Okay. If I accept everything else, then I will agree that this house is cursed or at least living in some way. And it has my friend. It’s doing something to him. When I first walked in, I thought he looked like the heart inside of somebody’s chest, hooked up and connected to the ceilings and floors.
I studied him some more.
Aristotle closed his eyes again. “Whatever you’re thinking, Noah. End it.”
“What am I thinking?” I put Mary Jane behind me.
Aristotle’s voice lowered into a dark tone I’d never heard from him. “I think now is a good time to leave. Let’s see. How many of you will pay the price today?”
“Fuck this!” 305 rushed out of there with no further warning.