Bailey turned the last screw until the head bit clean into the wood, then set the screwdriver down and pressed his palm against the new deadbolt as if testing for traitors. After Clark told him the key was gone, sleep had been a thin rumor. He’d been in front of the hardware store at six, waiting for the doors to open and speak relief.
He put the tools away and made himself breakfast like someone performing a ritual: a white bowl, muesli, the precise pour of milk. The smear on the counter wasn’t dirt at all but light from the rising sun; he wiped at it anyway. His roommate's bedroom announced his awakening with the usual curses and groans.
"Morning," groaned Clark on his way to the bathroom.
"Good morning." Bailey replied. He munched his muesli.
After several moments of tedious chewing, Clark finally sat down and poured some sugary cereal into his bowl. The milk was soon a pale pink. Bailey gave his customary throat clearing. Clark paid no attention; he just sat and ate while looking over news headlines on his phone.
"I was up early this morning and went to the hardware store."
"You did? Man, I wish I knew you were going. I would’ve asked you to bring me some more duct tape."
"Why do you need more…?" The word entered his mind like a cold drop of rain falling from a sunny sky. Bailey shook his head free of it. "I went there to get a new lock for the door."
"You put a new lock on the door?" Clark asked. Bailey nodded. "Why’d you go and do that?"
"Because you lost your key, remember?"
"I didn’t lose my key."
"I had to let you in last night."
"Right, because I gave my key to Ash. I met him…"
Ash. Bailey’s face lost all color at the mention of their old, troubled friend. He suddenly smelled the fecund aroma of wet earth and grass. A smell forever linked to that cemetery. For a second, Bailey feared he was there again.
"Earth to Bailey! Did you even hear a word I just said?"
"No."
Clark gave Bailey a suspicious look. "Yeah, well, like I was saying I met Ash at the…"
Bailey thought back to that time, back when all three were tight as three fingers on one hand, before the troubles began. Not so many years ago in the pages of the calendar, but when you try to forget an event like that…He still hates the feel of latex on his hands.
"Quit doing that and listen! I didn’t lose my key. I gave it to Ash so he could crash here. He was supposed to come over last night, but I guess he stayed with his girl. You know how those two can be. Anyhow, he’s staying tonight for sure. He goes back tomorrow."
"Why here? Why with us?" Bailey asked.
"Because we owe him." Bailey couldn't help but look at the large scar that transected Clark's face. "It's not like anything bad can happen."
"I believe you said something to that effect the last time."
"Yeah, well, we all learned something about ourselves that day, didn’t we?"
Bailey had planned on spending his Saturday morning with some tranquilizing reading and a good run, but now he spent the time compulsively. He cleaned the bathroom, scrubbing the toilet until his knuckles were raw. He vacuumed the carpets and mopped the kitchen and dining room floors. While he was cleaning, Clark came in and tossed an old army blanket and pillow on the sofa. Bailey stared at the dark-green wool as if Clark had placed a growling pit-bull there. He did his best to distract himself. He dusted every painting on the walls, every little object he came across, even Clark's signet ring that was always kept in a display case. When he came to the crucifix above the door his hand would not touch it. His eyes fixed upon the tortured figure and he nearly lost his balance on the ladder. He felt the room spin around him. He went down on all fours and scurried to his room, latching the door behind him.
His room, his bastion against the world. It was the safest place on earth, and his only refuge if Ash was coming over. It had nothing to do with Clark. Clark was the best: the brother he never had growing up. He'd known Clark since they were both small, which is why he had to talk to him, had to trust him. It wasn't his fault Ash became what he is. In fact, wasn't Clark's loyalty admirable in spite of everything? But right now he wanted to feel safe behind his heavy oak door with the thick iron latch. No, the irony was not lost on him: what was security for him was the other's terrifying doom.
After lying on his bed for a while, he began to feel a little more at ease. He decided to venture out to read. His nook was another of his favorite places to relax, surrounded by books and verdant house plants. Ensconced in his arm chair, he could forget everything around him. He had to pass by Clark’s room to get there, though, and he regretted having thrown a glance inside. Laid out on the bed were various firearms, a baseball bat, Motocross helmet, and a roll of duct tape. Bailey felt his breakfast attempt to slither back up his throat.
"I thought you said nothing was going to happen," he told Clark, who was sharpening his Bowie knife.
"Nothing is going to happen."
"Then what's all this for?"
"Ash might need me to help him take care of some business, and you know the Scout's motto."
Bailey massaged his temples. "Clark, I can’t do this."
"You don't have to do anything?"
"Ash can’t stay here. He'll have to stay at the hotel."
"Don’t start in on that, alright? Ash is staying here. Basta. It’s only for one night."
"Come on, don’t make me beg."
"Look, him being back in town means he was asked to come back, right? So, it's good for us to help him out again." Knowing what that would cause Bailey to feel, Clark added. "At least passively."
They hadn't mentioned the event in a long time, not since Ash was forced to leave the city. That he was back was not a good omen. It was supposed to have been a simple task, a simple meeting. It had begun regularly enough. Clark and Ash were there in an advisory role, and he was the diplomat and adjudicator. Then the anger began, the curses over blackened lips, the threats, then the unleashing of a bloodlust demonic soul no one knew had been lying dormant.
And now, he was back, was coming to stay in his home. Any semblance of serenity was gone from the apartment. Where once – after many years of excruciating, piecemeal construction – he had found peace, he now saw only threats. With the mention of just one name, everywhere he looked revealed the facade he'd created to hide the inherent entropy of his world, to hide what he refused to face.
For a while, Bailey sat crouched in the corner of his closet, his hands holding back the growing dread inside. He rocked back and forth on his heels. Hummed mantras like a monk in meditation. He listened deeply to the roaring sound of rushing waters in his ears until his attempts at finding composure were shattered by Clark's booming voice.
"Bailey! YO, BAILEY, WHERE ARE YOU!?"
Still in his closet, with his hands over his ears, Bailey whispered to himself: "Go away, go away, go away."
"HAVE YOU SEEN MY LASER POINTER?!"
"Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…"
Slowly, Bailey began losing feeling in his toes and knew he would have to come out, that he couldn’t hide forever. But the memories flooded his senses, intruded upon reason, morphed his psychology into a labyrinth of truth and half-truths. Ash could not be allowed into his home, that was clear. No matter what was in the past, regardless of deals made in shadow long ago, an agent of destruction could not breach his perimeter.
"Where have you been?" Clark asked calmly.
"I can’t do this. He can’t come here."
"Don’t start with that again."
"I’m not starting anything. I’m ending it."
"Stop being unreasonable."
"There is no reasoning with Ash."
"Whatever, dude. He is what he is, and we are bound together, all three of us."
"Not for much longer."
Clark gave Bailey a look of disbelief and frustration.
"Just stay in your room. Lock yourself in. No one will bother you."
"I have a gun, too, you know."
Clark clenched his jaw tightly before responding: "Think long and hard about what you're implying, bro."
"He’s not coming through that door."
"And if he does? What? You’ll threaten him, tell him to get the hell out or you'll put one in his head?"
"He’s not coming in."
"He’s practically on the doorstep."
"Over my dead body."
"Do you even remember the dead?"
It's not what Clark meant, but Bailey couldn't help but relive it. It should have been an easy deal, but the others didn't want to listen, so Ash stepped in. It should have just been words fired back and forth, whereas now, instead, whenever fog rolls in, Bailey can't get the acrid scent of potassium nitrate and sulfur out of his nostrils. He can't get the taste of copper and bone out of his mouth. He can't hear anything but the penetrating shrillness of the screams. He can't even hold a stainless steel spoon in his hand without recalling the way the coldness of steel sucks heat from the body.
"I can’t let him in. Not again."
"He's not going to bother you."
"No, he's not."
"Let’s not make a big deal out of this, okay," Clark said in a tired voice.
"Please don’t make me do something we’ll both regret."
Clark and Bailey stood looking tensely at the other. Between the rapid thumping in their chests, they barely heard the turning of the lock and the dull sound of wood brushing against carpet.
"Hello, boyos," Ash said, his hulking silhouette squeezed in the doorframe. "It's been a long time, eh?" There was the distinct metallic sound of a pistol's slide moving back, sending a round into the chamber. "Aye, I see the two of you have some wild plans for tonight. Something for old time's sake, eh, Bailey?"
"You can't stay here, Ash."
"I can't? And why is that? Clark gave me his key. Seems to me like I was invited."
"I hear they call you the Spoon now."
"Is that a fact? A what is it to you what they call me?"
"Association. I should have stopped you from…doing what you did. I don't want any more blood on my hands."
"I did what was necessary. I do what has to be done because others can't. Others like you who are too squeamish."
"What you did was not necessary. It was barbaric."
"Which part? Come on, say it! What did I do? What has your panties in a bunch?"
"The spoon. The eyes. The torture. Locking them in that wooden box and making Clark and I here help you bury it while it spoke muffled words."
Laughing. "Effective, wasn't it? You know what it did for the organization, too, so don't start playing holier-than-thou with me."
"Get out of my house, Ash."
"Or what? Who died and made you boss, hmm? Clark invited me. The organization brought me back. The way I see it, your opinion matters very little here."
Bailey brought the gun up from behind his back and poijnted it at Ash.
Ash laughed demonically. "You ain't got the stones, Bailey. Put that away before I take it from you and hurt you with it."
"Bailey, don't be stupid," Clark said.
Bailey smelled that wet dirt again, felt the warmth of his blood pulsate through his fingers. He closed his eyes for a moment. Lowered the weapon. He opened his eyes and shot Ash between his.