After Dark - 4. Chapter 4

3:04 AM

Bennet and the spider were talking again. I overheard them while writing from the bench. Just a couple of streetlight hood-rats jabbing away. I knew I could outrun the armed asshole, but something about what was happening compelled me to stay. My night was thus far pretty surreal and terrifying, but it was far more interesting than anything my boring day-to-day life ever mustered up. Plus my veins were still coursing with liquid courage.

Listen:

“What did you want to know, Ape?” asked the Empress.

“Tell me the location of the nearest wild silk moth nest.”

“Oh bother, has your Fat Princess killed herself again?”

“It was for the greater good. It wasn't on purpose.”

“It is when you explode yourself with the Phoenixbomb. Honestly, Bennet, I have no sympathy for anyone who purposefully blows themselves up. Martyrdom is so faux pas in our Post-Postmodern Age.”

“Are you going to continue moralizing or are you gonna tell me where to find another Vessel?”

“Tcha! Earlier this evening, some silk moth slut laid her eggs in the catkins and scampered off for another bump with the boys. Oh the indecency. Dropping off her bastards on every other bud and flitting off for another day of whoring. Oh the indecency.”

Bennet looked over at a nearby hazelnut tree on the hill's east side. “You shouldn't judge the silk moths, Empress.” He walked under the leaf-bare tree, into the curtain of yellow catkins hanging like ropes in the wind. He broke off one of their ends and bits crumbled off like cauliflower. He started searching for more bugs.

“I have every right as a mother,” called Charlotte. “Unlike those hussies, I'll watch over my eggs and have a nice home ready for my spiderlings when they come into this world.”

“And then you eat them.”

“Only the naughty ones.”

Bennet looked my way. “See Shinozaki, despite a spider's prudishness, they have a loose sense of morality when it comes to baby-killing.”

“I am not a prude!” The spider huffed. “The eggs are right above you on that branch.”

“This one? Oh, now I see them. Right-ho.”

“I'm assuming I can go back to sleep, now that you have your Vessels?”

“Yes, yes, goodnight Empress.” He called out. “So Dave, how's the story going?”

Bennet skipped over from the hazelnut tree and retrieved a humidor from his backpack. I saw him slip the branch with its dangling catkin inside. He lit us each a Cuban cigar.

Finally, break time. My fingers weren't used to this kind of torture. They were stiff and frozen after an hour slog. Even under duress, I only produced a skeleton draft of 500 additional words. Mostly about that pond down there: three dark pools, flitting with insomniac fish.

My writing output was never any good unless I tried to glean some inspiration from the sights. Like a literary parasite. I couldn't come up with my own internal inspiration. I stole bits and fragments from people and places. Even if describing things in the nighttime was kinda drab, and there are only so many words to describe the moon and stars, I clearly saw the pond down at the bottom where turtles rested on logs and stones, and the koi swam through moonbeams and the soft sound of water. Dragonflies hunted for mosquitoes. You heard them on the wing, but they were too fast to actually see.

I spotted Bennet lying down in the grass, moving his arms and legs in a snow-angel motion, going, “Allonsy, allonsy,” between cigar puffs. Fucking psycho soldier.

“We making progress?” he asked. “Or are we wasting time navel gazing and describing the scenery?”

God it's like he can hear my inner narration.

Gotta throw him off the scent. “Well, I wrote a poem.”

“Let's hear it.”

Here's what I read aloud:

“There was an old king,

Overthrown by the cool queen.

It was a high coup.”

Bennet slapped his knees.“Attaboy. Sure you can fit that into your story somehow. I always like it when writers insert poems randomly. It gives the reader a chance to pause and reflect if what he's reading is still worth wasting their time over. What else you got?” He didn't wait for me to hand my notebook to him, he simply yanked it from my lap. Why bother asking? Scowling, I watched him plop down on the bench next to me.

“We'll take five for snacks and smokes, then we'll get back to work.”

Bennet unloaded his rucksack and handed me a Wildberry Pop-Tart, still frozen and chewy. Then he cut up slices from an avocado and offered a wedge.

All his food was fresh and hearty.

When Bennet's glasses started fogging up, he took them off and wiped them clean. He really did remind me of a burlier Buddy Holly. Bags had formed under his eyes, so he must be tired. I looked at the gun he'd secured in a slit in his suit. Since when did Spidey need a gun? Maybe the safety was off and he'd have an accident. Poor little fellow. Happened all the time, so why not tonight?

“Sorry about all this, Mr. Samurai Shinozaki,” Bennet said. He’d taken out his catkin branch again and twirled the little baton in his hand that was covered in white orbs. Insect eggs of some sort. Bennet noticed me looking at them. “I recommend you don't try any funny business, especially with what's at stake. Wanna know why?”

“About time.”

“Look at the moon.” He pointed with his stick.

Gazing at the sky, I was stunned to see that La Luna had turned completely full. Hey now, that didn't just happen overnight. How'd I miss that kinda detail? I wondered if it'd grow a toothy scowl and start to open its eyes too.

“It's falling,” Bennet said.

“Onto the clock tower?”

“Uh-huh. They've infiltrated the moon. Damn they work fast.”

“Who?”

“The Trespassers,” he said. “Princess Y bought us some time, but the reinforcements arrived sooner than I thought. Dammit.”

Must be something bad. Just play along, Dave. You already talked with a spider-empress-thingama-bitch. Anything can happen.

“How many are up there?” I asked.

“Nine I think. Hey, look. She's growing. She's so close. Oh god she's coming.”

Earlier, the moon was only a little smile. Then a frown after I got out of the bar. Now she covered the whole sky. A mega-moon. A blood moon. And no one around to appreciate or fear her. Everyone's asleep. It's too late for anyone to wake up and notice. Right now Bennet and I were the only two people alive on the whole planet.

I wrote that down: 'We were the only one's awake to witness the moon defying gravity.'

That's how I honestly felt after dark. Alone, facing-off against some giant falling rock from which there was no escape.

“We have until six o' clock to stop the Moonfall. Get writing.”

“What the hell am I supposed to write by sunrise? That's not enough time. Not under this kind of pressure.”

“I'm not asking you to be fucking Tolstoy, just fucking finish this thing you're working on.”

“It's no good. None of the scenes flow together. It'll take an enormous overhaul to get the pieces in line.”

“Fuck man. All you gotta do is finish, let the words come to you. Turn off your inner-Flaubert, and unleash the simple Sandersonian prose we all know and love these days. Here, calm down. You're getting the shakes.” He grabbed me by the shoulders, planting his feet between mine, and then he grabbed my face and made me look into his eyes. “Imagine yourself as something cool.”

“OK.”

Deep breath.

His hands were rough, like he dipped them in battery acid.

There was something flying nearby. “I'm a dragonfly, jetting through the wind.”

“Great. What else?”

“I'm...a girl.”

“Sweet, you got a sex change without all the real-life hoopla. Anything else?”

“Yeah, I'm pregnant. And I have to save my babies from a toad...who's a bit of a literary snob.”

He threw my notebook back into my lap. “Excellent. Let's hop to it.”