The House of Dust - 8th Chapter

The Dream

Mark

WHEN MARK HEARD MIRIDIANA’S DESPERATION CRY, he dropped Stephen on the floor and ran outside. Like a storm, there was dust everywhere, and Mark could barely see, only hear. Miridiana pointed to something that looked like a monster in the middle of the yard, but it was Mann’s truck that skidded outside the road. Its motor pumped black smoke and an unbearable braking pad and kerosene smell.

Mark feared for the worst, so he ran towards the dust cloud. Inside, Mark couldn’t see anything, and his lungs hurt every time he breathed, so he covered his eyes with his hand and shouted, “John, Cam?”, but no one answered.

Finally, Mark could see John kneeling on the road when reaching the road.

“John, are you...”

The older brother didn’t answer, so Mark came closer, trying to touch his shoulder. That was when he saw what had happened.

Cam lay on the dirt, covered in blood.

Mark’s heart stopped, and he barely felt the ground he landed on.

Someone cried nearby. It was Mann’s covered in dirt and tears, mumbling desperate, “I’m sor’, I’m sor’!”

Mark tried CPR but stopped when he felt Cam’s ribs moving. Everything was broken; blood ran out of her mouth, nose, ears, and eyes. Cam had no pulse or breath.

Her lifeless eyes were still open.

That very familiar scene hit Mark like a comet. Unconsciously, he mumbled and delicately touched the girl’s face, whispering and gulping “Samantha,” while too afraid of breaking anything further.

Miridiana came and knelt on the dirt by her daughter, desperately hugging the little girl, “My child! Oh, my dear child!”

Mann was a hurricane of praying and apologies, walking in circles, and shaking his arms.

The dust finally settled, so Mark could see the crowd slowly getting around them. Jack Feit and the miners came, followed by the black hound, who laid by Cam’s side and howled a cold sound to the moon.

The truck’s headlight casts its yellow beam in the dusty air, making everything look like a bad dream.

“I’ll get ‘em priest!” Mann finally jumped back in the truck and left, taking the only light with him. After that, everything got dark except for the spotlights on the porch. Mark looked at the hound and later could swear it had four yellow eyes.

Miridiana tried to carry her daughter inside, but she was too weak to lift her, so Mark did it. Most of the people followed them. Stephen still bled and complained inside the house but got quiet when seeing Mark’s bloody lifeless sack in his arms.

Upstairs, Mark carried Cam to Miridiana’s bedroom, laying her by her father. Jack Feit shouted something in the corridor, and the miners finally stopped following them. Still, one of them complained,

“What ‘bout Stephen, eh? He’s injured.”

“Get the fuck out of ‘ier!” Feit repeated.

After a few minutes, the priest arrived. According to him, Mann went back to the gas station not to cause more pain. At first, he looked at the girl, barely touching her, prayed, and went down to take care of Stephen. After long minutes, he was back, checking on the girl again one last time, just to be sure. The priest took Mark by the arm and dragged him outside, saying, “Now, my son, give this family privacy, and go wait somewhere else,” shutting the door on his face.

Mark went downstairs and faced the eyes in the living room. The Shadow stood behind the kitchen door frame in the dark. Lilian and Feit sat on the same sofa with their hands intertwined while the hound was in the fireplace corner with his head resting on his front paws, whining. Mark realized that it was the first time he had seen Lilian since breakfast, but even that memory seemed fogged by pain.

“How’s the poor girl?” Lilian’s asked anxiously.

“Cam is...” Mark’s voice cracked, and he thought he would burst into tears for a moment. Luckily, Mark raised his head and saw the miners watching them like a pack of vultures from the porch. Everything became red in anger, so Mark burst into a rage instead,

“Didn’t you hear Feit before? Get the fuck out of here!”

“But the priest said I need….” Stephen tried to say, but Mark cut him short,

“Fuck the priest. Now, get the fuck out of here!”

Mark shut the door on their faces and rested his back against the kitchen wall, slowly sliding to the floor, desolated.

The house was silent until the Shadow spoke, so close to Mark’s ear that he felt a chilling cold breeze, “At least it’s not your fault this time.”

“Shut up!” Mark replied without realizing he was speaking to his hallucination.

“What’d y’all say?” Lilian said.

“Nothing, I’m sorry. I’m tired and not making sense,” Mark said.

“You look like crazy; did you know?” The Shadow joked.

Silence took over again, and Mark tried to understand what had happened that day. That was when he noticed that someone was not there,

“Where’s John?” Mark said.

When Feit heard John’s name, he stood and left, hitting the floor with his heavy boots, entering the second door on the corridor, probably his room, and locking the door behind him with a bang.

At last, Lilian replied and stood, “John’s outside. I’ll check Miri up, and y’all go see yar brother.”

Mark was left alone with the Shadow.

“Oh my! I wish we had some drugs around here, right Mark?” The Shadow said.

Mark agreed but didn’t reply, counting the cigarettes he still had in his pocket, “This is odd...I had a new pack this morning. Did I smoke eighteen cigarettes today? I better save these.”

Mark cleaned up his tears and went outside to look for John, wondering if his brother had already left the farm. But no, Lilian was right; John was frozen in the same position since the accident: kneeling in a pool of blood and dirt. He was in Shock, his neck was stiff, and his arms hung numbly from his shoulders.

“John, are you okay?”

No answer.

“Hey, come on. We should get inside. It’s freaking cold here,” Mark said.

“I don’t want to,” John replied but didn’t move.

They remained silent for a long time until John finally moved his arms, resting his hands on his lap, saying, “I saw them dying. Aren’t you tired of keep seeing this?”

“There’s nothing we can do about it,” Mark said.

“After the first time, I promised not to care,” John said.

Mark didn’t know what to say, so he reached for his pocket and lightened a cigarette.

“Can I have one?” John asked, and Mark handed the last cigarette and the lighter. Mark smashed the empty cigarette pack and threw it in the parking lot, hitting the Jaguar’s front wheel.

The Shadow was inside the car, blinking its four yellow eyes.

The Rodriguez brothers smoked in silence for a while. John kept staring at his shaky hands and Mark at the blood pool. Finally, John said, “I failed again. I let her die.”

“You didn’t. It was an accident; it’s nobody’s fault,” Mark said.

“How was it?” John said.

“How was what?”

“How did Dad die? Do you remember? The cops said you blacked out, so I never knew if you remember that night.”

Mark sighed and cleaned his tears, “Yeah, but it was all very confusing. First, the pick-up overturned, so I was disoriented. Then, dad tried to reach me, but I was on the passenger window, and that side of the pick-up was on the floor. He kept saying that everything would be okay, ‘champ.’ Finally, I saw… Oh man, I fucked up” Mark paused, gasping for air, feeling like he was back on time and his father’s death was happening again before his eyes. “I was…I mean, he is. Oh my god.”

John was still, silent, waiting for the rest of the story. Mark tried to resume the story a few times hopelessly. He took a minute, maybe five, ten, or even an hour. Finally, he said,

“Dad said I would be all right, but I saw a headlight coming from the road, shining on dad’s face and….”

It was hard to keep going, for Mark felt like his heart was beating on his hand, so he stood and walked in circles, holding his breath, struggling with his ghosts. He only stopped moving and crying when John touched his shoulder and said, “It’s all right, Mark. I forgave you years ago.”

Mark counted to ten, took a long breath, and spilled out, “Dad’s face was getting brighter by the headlights, but he didn’t notice at first. But then, when he did, his eyes shifted, First, it was full of hope for helping me, then confused and finally desperate. He knew that a truck was coming, and he was stuck on the window. There was nothing dad could do at that point, so he... I mean, he said.”

Paul’s words before dying were the most painful part of the memory; Mark couldn’t say them out loud.

“Mark, don’t worry. You told enough.”

That was the first time Mark told that history in his life, for not even the shrinks or the police knew. Mark just said he was unconscious all the time, too afraid for them to know and blame him even more. No one could blame Mark more than himself.

The moment was interrupted by voices coming from the porch. Father Octaviano and Lilian spoke, but they were too far away for their words to be perceived. It was late, so Mark and John stood, cleaned up their tears, and walked toward the house.

When the priest saw them, he said and hurried his way out, “Son, this young Lady will tell what needs to tell. I need to wake up the digger. I bid you farewell.”

When the priest left, Lili said, in sadness,

“Miri wants solitude. Gerbert’s dead too. If y’all wish to go, y’all find my father in the gas station. Then, y’all can hit the road tonight, as you want all along, John.”

“We’ll stay and help,” John said, and for the first time, Mark felt that he meant it. Maybe John wasn’t such an asshole after all.

“Very well. Ther’s none to do now, y’all shall sleep.”

The brothers dragged their tired feet upstairs. Inside their room, Mark saw the mess John made before packing, but he had no energy to clean it, so he hit the bed, full of dust and mud himself. John did the same.

In the dark, everything got silent for a while until John spoke, in a grave and sorrowful moan,

“‘Are you awake?”

“Yes,” Mark said.

“I’m sorry for being an ass since we started this… maybe, since ever.”

“Right.”

“Mom told me she forgave you,” John said.

“When did you speak to her?” Mark said.

“Her letter.”

Again, silence filled the room like a delicate sheet but couldn’t cover the growing tension. There was guilt, anxiety, and sorrow too. Then, finally, John broke the silence again,

“I understand you now. I mean what you did your whole life to forget about Dad’s accident. I shouldn’t have told you to die when you overdosed. You’re my brother; of course, I didn’t want you to die.”

“Thank you.” Mark always imagined his brother apologizing, but maybe he was too hurt to feel good about it.

“Sorry for my behavior these last weeks. I’m freaking out about my trial, which I was unfairly accused of, by the way. I can’t take the idea to stand in court to defend myself like a mere criminal.”

“You want to talk about it?” Mark said.

“Maybe, but not now. I just... I’m also sorry for not being there for Mom. I truly am, and I promise there was a reason to it,” John said.

Those were too cruel words to hear, and Mark didn’t feel so full of forgiveness when the subject was their mother. Mark got used to taking shit from John, his skin became harder than stone, and those needles couldn’t penetrate him anymore. Still, what John did to Hera, their mother, wasn’t so easy to ignore; indeed, it was unforgivable. If John had a reason not to be with her, it was deliberate. What was so important for a son to ignore his dying mother? John indeed owed an apology, but not to Mark, and Hera was long dead to receive it.

Mark wanted to rage, but he chose not to. It was too late, and he felt too tired to say anything further.

Memories from his father’s death came back, and Mark became melancholic. But then, he felt the need to talk about it for the first time, and John seemed to be a good listener earlier that night. It took a while of thinking and getting ready to speak, but finally, Mark said,

“Do you want to know what dad said before he died? He said, ‘Hold in there, champ. Things will get bumpy.”

John didn’t answer.

Just snored, for he was long asleep.

“Motherfucker!” Mark whispered, but John only snored back.

Mark was unable to sleep. Hours passed, and soon the rosy dawn knocked on the window, a grim reminder that Mark would be dead tired the next day.

Memories after memories came and went in his active brain, like a cat chasing a laser pointer. At some point, Mark got pissed at John again. Fucking sociopath! How could he sleep like a stone, so unpreoccupied, in such circumstances?

What should I do now? I can’t leave Miridiana Alone, but the reason I wanted to stay is now dead.

What about that priest and Stephen? Father Octaviano seemed to protect Miridiana somehow, but he was involved in Gerbert’s death.

Stephen will probably take the Sylvester’s estate to himself, for his motives were clearer. But what’s the priest end game?

Esperanza seemed to be a feud controlled by the priest and the miners. What could Mark do alone anyway?

Either way, Mark the farm was not his problem, and Feit and Lilian should be the ones to worry about it.

What about Cam? She was dead, and there was nothing Mark could do about that either. His illusions of having a stepsister were gone. Gerbert was gone; there was no one left to defend.

It was time to move forward, as John used to say.

Finally, Mark slept, hearing Cam’s voice in his dreams.

Like all the nights before, Mark had nightmares following an abnormal pressure on his chest. The Shadow was in his dreams, as usual. It sat on a judge’s chair in an endless courtroom, wearing the priest’s garment, looking down at his peers with his four-yellowed eyes. This time, it also had a titanic mouth. The Shadow energetically hit his gravel on the stand, screaming while laughing, “Disorder! Disorder!”

Next to Mark, on the defense bench, sat his sister Samantha; she wore the farmer’s overalls and had pigtails.

The court was packed. The jury was a mix of old acquittances and the pious from Esperanza, emptied eyes Christians from the Mass the night before, including Ignacio and Virgil, the Rodriguez mother’s oncologist, Mark’s boos Susanne, John’s ex-wife Amanda, and Mark’s drug dealer.

Many people watched the trial, Hera, dressing in Miridiana’s garment, sitting beside the hound, Lilian, Jack Feit, several miners, Mann, and many more emptied eyes from Esperanza.

Stephen was the court reporter, and other Stephen-like figures guarded the entrances. Mark knew that another Stephen-like figure was the executioner below the hood and mask.

John, in his finest suit, stood in front of the prosecutor’s bench. Paul sat right behind him, dressed in Gerbert’s overalls, shirtless like the first time they met the farmer, with only one stripe holding the clothing in place.

“DISORDER! Bring the first witness!” The Shadow screamed and laughed with her gigantic mouth. The knock of its gravel hurt Mark in the brain.

The first witness was the priest, Father Octaviano, that seemed strangely like the Shadow himself,

“That little girl over there? She’s a witch, the worst kind. A sneaky little devil’s bitch. Because of the doings of her and her mother, my church was burnt to the ground. Because of her, my flock is dammed in the fires of hell!”

Samantha cried in silence, repeating, “It’s lies! I wasn’t born yet!”

“Objection, your Honor! The girl was not even born…,” Mark said.

“Overruled. Bring the boy’s mother!”

Standing on the bench, barely holding her cry, Dylan’s mother spoke,

“‘em little girl’s plotting our doom, I tell y’all. ‘Cause of ‘er, one church burn and another break. She’s killed my husband in the fire and my poor sons on the wrecks, she did! ‘Couse of her, Dylan the hunter, is dead by the supernatural, and he can’t go to heaven no more. He’s trapped, you see, in the House of Dust! She’s a Witch, she is!”

The crowd hissed and booed.

In between the sound of his typewriter, Stephen laughed loud and cruelly.

“Objection, your Honor. My client was not even there. The priest asked to…,” Mark said.

“Overruled. Bring the pregnant lady!”

The pregnant lady came, the same woman Mark saw in the Mass but covered in blood, and stood on the bench. She held her dead fetus in her arms, and her eyes were two abys, black holes, crying blood tears,

“Devil’s courtesan. Because of her, they ditched me in the pit, but she didn’t know that I was alive! I walked the hellish black tunnels for hours and hours and hours. I kept walking and screaming, but no one came until I finally found my dead son in a pile of dead bodies!” The pregnant lady displayed the dead infant in her arms, and everyone booed. “She took my eyes too, my soul. Finally, I couldn’t live no more, so I gave up. They say I left Esperanza, but they lie! They took our eyes, our soul, a tribute to her, the Devil. Burn the witch!”

A yellow light beamed inside her black hole eyes when she finished talking.

The crowd stood and screamed. Mark tried to shout about the injustices of that court, but the crowd was too loud.

The gravel went down again, “DISORDER, DISORDER! All stands.”

“Your honor, you did not hear my…,” Mark said.

“Silence! The jury has spoken, and the Devil’s bitch is guilty!”

The crowd screamed even louder.

Mark called for his brother, “John! I’m not a lawyer, so this trial is not valid, right? Why are you not helping me? Sam’s innocent!”

“Cam’s innocent? Please!” John laughed in disdain.

The whole court laughed.

“NO! Listen to me, judge... Mr. Shadow! You want me, don’t you? You want me to overdose; that’s why you keep asking me heroin. I will do it; kill me here and now, but please, don’t kill my sister again!”

“Smart ass! What you offered, is not yours to offer. Your soul is already mine since you’re born!”

At those words, Mark felt his eyes melting away. He put his hands on his face and saw the blood mixed with a white liquid.

“Burn the little witch!” The shadow shouted.

Cam was crying.

“No! You can’t!”

“You’re right! How stupid of me. We can’t burn the girl, for she’s the Devil. She will die by truck, like the ones before her. Bring the Truck!”

“NO!”

“And take this junky shit off my sight. I sentence Mark Rodriguez to die alone, by overdose! Bring the heroin!”

The miners and the Executioner Stephen immobilized Mark, poking him with thousand needles and shooting in the familiar sweet heroin juice. But the lovely feeling suddenly became a burning pain, like heavy lead entered Mark’s vein. Gravity pushed his body down, his face was stuck on the cold kitchen tiles, and he couldn’t move nor speak.

Cam cried, and everyone screamed and laughed, “Kill the witch!”

“I’m leader now! I’m executioner too!” Stephen praised himself.

The Shadow grew bigger and bigger until it covered the courtroom in darkness, a black void, leaving only its yellow eyes on the judge’s chair, staring at Mark. Then, finally, it spoke in a colossal voice,

“By the power invested in me by this court, I sentence Samantha Rodriguez to die! Kill her with the truck!”

The executioner dragged Samantha to a blood-stained white wall.

The Shadow opened her putrid mouth, and from it, a giant truck came. By that sight, Samantha screamed.

Mark could hear the bulls crying, despite no animals around.

In a split second, before the truck hit Mark’s younger sister, he saw Cam Sylvester standing in the crowd, dressing in his sister’s clothes, laughing.

Mark jumped on his bed, soaked wet, nauseated, gasping for air.

It took long minutes for him to understand where he was. The room was hot and bright by the sunlight, like an oven.

“Are you all right?” John asked, preoccupied, but Mark looked disgusted, remembering the prosecutor John from his dreams.

In the end, all the traumas came back to his mouth, and Mark vomited soundly the only thing he had inside: bile. John jumped like a cat, not to get caught by the yellowish-green splash.

“What-a-hell, Mark!” John rushed to the wardrobe and grabbed a couple of clean towels, throwing them over the vomit. Without permission, John took a water bottle and an energy bar from Mark’s backpack and handed them to his brother, saying. “What’s wrong with you? Here, eat this; it will make you feel better. “

Mark couldn’t respond, not that he didn’t want to, but the pain in his chest kept him from speaking.

Eventually, Mark got better. John sat opposite him and said, concerned,

“Are you all right?” John said.

“No. How long are you awake?” Mark asked, feeling the colors coming back to his cheeks.

“A while,” John said.

Mark looked around, expecting to see his brother’s mess from the night before, but the floor and furniture were clean, although the towels were full of vomit.

John seemed to read Mark’s mind, “I don’t know either. Someone must’ve cleaned when we slept. What do you think we should do now?”

That was the first time ever that John asked Mark’s opinion.

“I thought about it during the night. We should leave. Sorry, but I can’t speak right now. Yeah, we go today. Just don’t say anything about your trial anymore, okay?” Mark sighed, remembering Cam and his dreams.

“Are you still mad at me because I want to go to my trial?” John said.

“No. It’s stupid. I had this dream... forget about it.”

“A dream?”

“Yeah. I kill them all. It’s my fault.”

“Mark, it was an accident. You said yourself.”

“I meant dad and Sam.”

John paused; he changed his face entirely and said, in anger, standing impatiently, “This thing again? Get your shit together, man! We should dress and get out before more shit happens.”

The corridor was brightened by a blinding sun. The brothers carried their bags downstairs, ready to continue the journey. Mark felt weaker than ever, with muscle sore from hard labor and feeling the energy bar swimming in his stomach. The chest pain became regular, and Mark concluded that it was probably because of the poor bed he’s been sleeping in.

There were several voices downstairs; the house sounded strangely happy.

Calm after the storm, Mark thought.

Downstairs, Mark heard the familiar voices in the kitchen, and at the same time, the brothers looked at each other, saying, “What is going on?”.

Mark was the first to arrive in the kitchen.

“Good Morning, Champ!”

Gerbert was alive and well, standing in the kitchen, getting ready for breakfast.

Mark’s mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out of his hole.

“Good morning! Leaving, boys?” Miridiana smiled, happy and radiant.

“What the hell!” John said.

“Stay for breakfast, at least. Come and sit,” Gerbert smiled, without a single bruise on his face.

“Gerbert, how are you alive?” John came closer and started to poke the older farmer, who dodged and asked,

“What the hell are you doing? Are you a nut? We just spoke a few hours ago, so why I would not be alive?”

“Your hand…” Mark whispered when he saw Gerbert’s hand grabbing the coffee pot.

“What now?” Replied Gerbert, exhausted.

“I mean, your fingers. You… You don’t have a scratch! What is going on?”

“I don’t understand, champs?”

Mark looked at the farmer top to bottom, and to his surprise, there was absolutely no sign of the accident. Not a single scratch or bruise. He was the same Gerbert they had met three days before.

It was like they traveled back in time.

“How did you…? Your hand… Your finger… Your blessing fingers, they were in the cigarette pack, after the… The accident… The church.”

Miridiana rested her hands on Gerbert’s shoulders and stared at Mark like he was insane.

Mark kept mumbling, “I’m dreaming. I’m still dreaming. The Shadow, four yellow eyes… That’s my punishment. I’m high; this is the kitchen floor I’m looking at. Where is the shadow?”

John also looked exhausted but confused; his mouth was opening and closing, trying to find words.

The world was in a rapid spin. Mark walked backward, back to the living room, touching everything not to fall. It was like an imaginary hand turned his head everywhere.

“I can’t breathe.” Mark gasped, and the pressure on his chest became much stronger.

“Mark!” John screamed and ran to help his brother, but Mark exploded when he felt his brother’s fingers.

“Don’t touch me! No one touches me!”

The younger brother ran outside the house and got blinded by the sunlight.

“What’s going on?” Mark saw Lilian and Feit sitting on the porch chairs, but they stood when they saw the crazy visitor wobbling in the yard.

“Is he all right?” Lilian asked.

Mark walked numbly in the yard but could no longer bear the weight of his pain. He barely felt the floor, only the grass and the smell of moisture over his bleeding nose. The heavy lead was back on his vein, and Mark couldn’t move, bound to the ground by gravity.

Like in his dream, Mark was surrounded by shadowy faces, blocking the sun. He looked below the porch and saw the shadow looking back at him behind the basement window.

Suddenly the world stopped spinning. Mark heard a girl laughing somewhere on his right; Cam was playing with her Dog. She stopped laughing and looked straight at him, wondering what the adults were doing.

She’s alive! This must be another dream!

Mark was on the floor, and many heads summed up on top of him, casting a flourishing shadow. First John, then his father, mother, Amanda–John’s ex-wife, and Susanne–Mark’s boos. His family and friend looked down at him in pity.

A final shadow formed on top of them all, and it laughed with its glowing yellow eyes.

Mark blacked out.