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Authors: Poppy Z. Brite
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graveyards would be empty."
The crow caws in response.
"It's not the injustice," he says to Lucrece, to himself and the bird. "It can't simply be the injustice, can it?"
"Then what?" Lucrece whispers, afraid Jared knows the answer, more afraid he doesn't. She knows, has heard it in the bird's grating voice; she could tell Jared but knows that he should be the one to see it for himself.
"Fuck you both," he mutters, and she holds his face gently between her hands. His skin is cold. The coldness hurts her like a bad memory, or a memory so good it hurts to recall.
"It's your pain, Jared," she tells him, not letting him look away from her eyes. "It's your pain that is creating the imbalance, your pain that has to be satisfied before order is restored."
"That's bullshit, Lucrece. . . do you even know how ridiculous you sound?"
She ignores him. "Not just the pain, though. Your love for Benny. That's part of it
too. That's the part you were supposed to carry with you to the other side. It's the pain and anger that you were supposed to leave behind. There's no room for them among the dead."
Jared pushes her away then, the sneer dissolving into hateful laughter, an ugly, predatory sound that Lucrece would hardly believe is human if she weren't seeing it come from his lips.
"There's no room for anything among the dead, Lucrece, except the hungry worms."
She cannot look him in the eye now, cannot face the ebony glimmer there. She knows that it's part of what he has become, part of what he will have to do if he is ever to find peace, but that knowledge makes it no easier for her to face.
"You can hear the crow, Jared. You know I'm telling you the truth."
He doesn't say anything. When she raises her eyes and looks back at him Jared is watching the bird perched on the footboard of the bed. His lips are pulled so far back that his teeth look like fangs, bared for fresh meat.
"An avenging angel," he snarls. "So the gods can rest easy and still keep their hands clean. Is
that what you're saying?" The bird ruffles its feathers and shifts from foot to foot.
"That's all there is to it, isn't it? Find the bad guys and make them pay, so my niggling soul doesn't disturb the spooks roasting down in hell."
The crow tucks its wings close to its body and huddles as if it expects Jared to strike it. "Yeah, well, you tell me what good that does Benny, you black-hearted son of a bitch.
You tell me that it's going to fix what some depraved motherfucker did to Benny and maybe
then I'll want to play along with your little game."
Lucrece can feel his fury in the close atmosphere of the bedroom, more immediate than the storm outside, can feel his anger crackling through the damp air around them.
"Nothing's going to help Benny, Jared. Unless you can find peace and return to him, nothing's ever going to help Benny." The last part catches in her throat like broken glass, but she knows it must be said.
"Right now Benny is alone, Jared, alone in the cold and the dark, waiting for you to come back to him."
And she braces herself, ready to feel his fist or ready to put herself between him and the bird again. But Jared sits very still and stares at the crow, the muscles in his face relaxing by almost imperceptible degrees.
"Ah, God" he says softly. She wants to hold him again, wishes there were words that she could say.
"But that's not all, Lucrece. If you can hear what he's saying, then you know that's not all."
"Yes," she says, because she can understand the bird voice, its shrill, uneasy mind, the way she understood the thoughts that Benny never spoke to her out loud, the way she knew when his dreams were troubled.
"You're supposed to know who killed him," Jared says to the crow, spitting out the words like a bad taste in his mouth. "That's the way it's supposed to work. You drag me back here and show me. But you can't show me the killer, can you? You can't show me shit!"
Lucrece risks one hand on Jared's right shoulder and he turns on
The crow caws in response.
"It's not the injustice," he says to Lucrece, to himself and the bird. "It can't simply be the injustice, can it?"
"Then what?" Lucrece whispers, afraid Jared knows the answer, more afraid he doesn't. She knows, has heard it in the bird's grating voice; she could tell Jared but knows that he should be the one to see it for himself.
"Fuck you both," he mutters, and she holds his face gently between her hands. His skin is cold. The coldness hurts her like a bad memory, or a memory so good it hurts to recall.
"It's your pain, Jared," she tells him, not letting him look away from her eyes. "It's your pain that is creating the imbalance, your pain that has to be satisfied before order is restored."
"That's bullshit, Lucrece. . . do you even know how ridiculous you sound?"
She ignores him. "Not just the pain, though. Your love for Benny. That's part of it
too. That's the part you were supposed to carry with you to the other side. It's the pain and anger that you were supposed to leave behind. There's no room for them among the dead."
Jared pushes her away then, the sneer dissolving into hateful laughter, an ugly, predatory sound that Lucrece would hardly believe is human if she weren't seeing it come from his lips.
"There's no room for anything among the dead, Lucrece, except the hungry worms."
She cannot look him in the eye now, cannot face the ebony glimmer there. She knows that it's part of what he has become, part of what he will have to do if he is ever to find peace, but that knowledge makes it no easier for her to face.
"You can hear the crow, Jared. You know I'm telling you the truth."
He doesn't say anything. When she raises her eyes and looks back at him Jared is watching the bird perched on the footboard of the bed. His lips are pulled so far back that his teeth look like fangs, bared for fresh meat.
"An avenging angel," he snarls. "So the gods can rest easy and still keep their hands clean. Is
that what you're saying?" The bird ruffles its feathers and shifts from foot to foot.
"That's all there is to it, isn't it? Find the bad guys and make them pay, so my niggling soul doesn't disturb the spooks roasting down in hell."
The crow tucks its wings close to its body and huddles as if it expects Jared to strike it. "Yeah, well, you tell me what good that does Benny, you black-hearted son of a bitch.
You tell me that it's going to fix what some depraved motherfucker did to Benny and maybe
then I'll want to play along with your little game."
Lucrece can feel his fury in the close atmosphere of the bedroom, more immediate than the storm outside, can feel his anger crackling through the damp air around them.
"Nothing's going to help Benny, Jared. Unless you can find peace and return to him, nothing's ever going to help Benny." The last part catches in her throat like broken glass, but she knows it must be said.
"Right now Benny is alone, Jared, alone in the cold and the dark, waiting for you to come back to him."
And she braces herself, ready to feel his fist or ready to put herself between him and the bird again. But Jared sits very still and stares at the crow, the muscles in his face relaxing by almost imperceptible degrees.
"Ah, God" he says softly. She wants to hold him again, wishes there were words that she could say.
"But that's not all, Lucrece. If you can hear what he's saying, then you know that's not all."
"Yes," she says, because she can understand the bird voice, its shrill, uneasy mind, the way she understood the thoughts that Benny never spoke to her out loud, the way she knew when his dreams were troubled.
"You're supposed to know who killed him," Jared says to the crow, spitting out the words like a bad taste in his mouth. "That's the way it's supposed to work. You drag me back here and show me. But you can't show me the killer, can you? You can't show me shit!"
Lucrece risks one hand on Jared's right shoulder and he turns on
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