Easter City by iancrooks Page B

“Shut up!” Julia
turned to the crowd, panting. “Everyone, shut up !” She stepped forward and
raised her sword. “These Cochon filth killed my brother. I’ll kill them now. The time for talking
is over. It’s me. It’s me! It’s—!” She screamed and started
weeping. The sword trembled. She lowered it a little and screamed
again.
      I looked at Joq. He looked like that
Edvard Munch painting with his mouth chin practically at his chest
and his hands pressed to his head.
      It looked like Julia
was going to drop the sword, but I couldn’t see how that would
help—the crowd was on standby to brutalize us. I’d rather Julia get
it over with. Whatever lie beyond death might be worse than this life but the
chance it was better was enough to make me pray for the
blade.
      The dream wasn’t all right. I
smiled. Where the hell is the shooter?
Where’s Mr. Denmark?
      Julia slashed the air.
      ‘BANG!’ my ears rang. The crowd
flattened and there was shouting and screaming. ‘BANG!’ I rolled to
my feet and grabbed Joq.
      This is it. He’s here. I can bring Joq with me. Nothing’s
stopping us.
      ‘BANG!’  People
lost their minds when Julia sprayed red and splatted on the floor. Joq tore away
and went running with the crowd. “No! Joq!” I hesitated. Everyone
was hopping over seats and each other trying to escape but Cranston
flung himself on the floor in front of me, cradled Julia’s head and
looked around, pale-faced and positively ape-shit.  “Who did
this?” He snarled. “Who did this to my Julia?”
      Danny Denmark was
standing a few yards away, devil child at his side, smoking
Lorenzoni flintlock in his fist. He looked collected and unshaken.
“ Son .” He
whispered. “ I found you . Come . You’re safe now . All is well now .” He was
looking at me.
      I figured the best
thing to do was to play along with fate and hope to find Joq
running out of La Rouge. Lying to myself made the whole situation
easier. I can’t change the
dream.
      Cranston was taken up with Julia’s
postmortem rage. It was like her ghost had eaten what pitiful heart
he had had; two wicked spirts in a vessel, embracing wrath.
Cranston could barely speak. He ground his teeth and pointed at Mr.
Denmark.
      Danny Denmark waved to me and I
glided, propelled by the dream, toward him. His son avoided my gaze
and turned and began to run with the others to the auditorium
door.
      “Follow him.” Mr. Denmark’s flintlock
was locked on Cranston.
      I skipped backward
and turned and ran. There was a furious tapping behind me as Mr. Denmark
followed me. At the auditorium door I saw that people were flooding
through the lobby. The wine fountain got knocked over. Plaster flew
and a wine geyser soaked the crowd.
      As I skidded across the lobby I
hesitated, looked around for Joq, and wheeled in the direction of
the auditorium door. Mr. Denmark rushed past, giving me a firm
shove. “Hurry now. To the car. We’re almost there.” I turned and
followed him just as Cranston’s voice erupted from the
auditorium.
      “Denmark! We’ll
settle this in the Hills if you don’t face me now! The fraternity
will flay you and roast you! You hear me? Eh ? You hear me, you niggardly penis
polisher?”
    #
      The night was snowing—flakes made cold
love to my skin. Everyone ran to their cars and I chased Mr.
Denmark to the limousine. His chauffeur opened the door and we slid
in next to the devil kid. Then the door closed and Mr. Denmark
started yammering. “The other day when I saw you by the steakhouse
I was sure… But how you’ve grown!” he chuckled.
      The car shuddered and lurched forward
and I found myself for the first time I can remember, thrown into
complete darkness, approaching blind fate.
      Streetlights, stop lights, casino
signs, flashed by and the man called Danny Denmark talked excitedly
and I sat, not listening, until he said the name of someone who
had, in days, fallen from my future.
      “I’ve got