From the Dead, to the Dead

Chapter 9

I

On exiting the station building, Dorleac had immediately headed for the busiest part of town. The best place for a leaf to hide was in the forest. There he intended to await word from Duke Sinistre. Even without him contacting his master, the Nobleman would know the young man’s situation. The only thing that worried him was the gorgeous Hunter, but he had no doubt the final retrieval unit would get rid of D for him.

He’d gone into the bar called Illusions because the name had tickled his fancy. Once Dorleac had taken a seat at the counter, a cry of surprise quickly rang out. Just three stools away sat Claire, her glass raised.

“Well, what do you know . . .”

This isn’t good, he thought, but drunks got noisy when they were ignored. Particularly drunk women.

Claire quickly came over and said, “You mind?”

While he didn’t say, “Be my guest,” Dorleac let her know it was okay.

“Drinks are on me, my handsome friend—so, what’ll it be?”

“A beer.”

“Come on. You’re being strangely reserved, considering I said I’m buying. Barkeep, your most expensive brandy!” Then she nudged Dorleac’s elbow and whispered to him, “So, how’d you escape?”

“I didn’t do anything. The door was unlocked, you see.”

“Not on your life. She’s just—well, as a sheriff, she’s top notch. You had outside help, didn’t you? Oh, so this is a dream. You, me, the bar. In which case, you can come and go as you please, right?”

“Come now, miss—let’s have none of that crazy talk,” the barkeep said with a wry face, setting a glass down in front of Dorleac.

“Oh, I’m sorry. But everyone dreams, don’t they? Maybe that’s real, and the world when we think we’re awake is the dream. Can you say it isn’t so, barkeep?”

The man was at a loss for words.

“See? But then, it doesn’t really matter which it is. Just as long as you can live there.”

Turning to Dorleac, Claire said, “Wanna run away together?”

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t sound so surprised. Why don’t you and me go someplace far away to live? No problem, right, since this is all a dream anyway? It’d be a nice dream for me, but probably one you wouldn’t care to have—but then, it’d only be until you woke up. What do you say?”

“Unfortunately, I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I have to go back.”

“To Sinistre?”

Since she’d said that in a loud voice, first the barkeep and then patrons at the tables turned looks of shock in their direction.

“Please, stop it. I have to leave now.”

“Oh, aren’t we the cold one,” Claire said, pursing her lips. “I listened to your life story, but you don’t feel like hearing mine? I’ll be done in the time it takes you to finish your drink.”

“Very well—but I’ll thank you to keep your voice down.”

“Okay,” Claire said, draining her glass and then staring off into space. After a little while, she said, “Nope. Changed my mind.”

“Why’s that?” the barkeep asked.

“It’s not really my style,” Claire replied, shrugging her shoulders. “Come to think of it, I’ve never told anybody my life story. I’ll tell it to my future husband, whenever I should happen to meet him.”

“What’s your poison?” the barkeep inquired, a smile rising on his lips.

“Another of the same.”

Pouring whiskey into a fresh glass, the barkeep set it down in front of Claire. “There you go—on the house.”

“Huh?”

“I hate hearing people’s life stories, but in this line of work I hear more of ’em than I’d like. Sad, sad stories, day in and day out. That’s why your drink’s on me.”

“I’m not sure I follow you,” Claire said, raising the glass in her right hand. “But since you were nice enough to offer me a drink, I’ll take it. Bottoms up!”

Draining the glass in one go and putting it down again, she stared at Dorleac. Keeping her voice low, as promised, she said, “You really are human after all, aren’t you?”

“What makes you think so?”

“Because of that.” Claire tossed her chin in the direction of the barkeep.

On the other side of the counter was a shelf full of liquor bottles, but in just about the center of it there hung an elliptical mirror. Dorleac’s handsome visage was reflected in it without a hint of cloudiness.

“Well, of course so. I’m a normal human being.”

“Good. I may have strange tastes, but I couldn’t go on the road with a pseudo-Noble. Okay, let’s get going.”

At that moment, Dorleac was gazing intently into the contents of his glass, but he pushed away from the counter with surprising ease.

On exiting the bar, he suddenly suggested, “Why don’t we set out together?”

“What?”

“After further consideration, I think living like a human may suit me after all.”

“Just a second—are you serious?”

“Yes,” Dorleac replied with a nod, looking Claire straight in the eye.

“Well, how will we do it? There isn’t a stagecoach leaving soon, and neither of us has enough money to buy a cyborg horse.”

“Let’s go to the airfield.”

“What?!”

“Everyone is well aware there’s nothing I’d hate more than to take that flight to the Capital. I think the security there will be thinnest, too.”

“But what if we’re found out?”

“We’ll have to see to it we’re not.”

“Huh?”

“Let’s go.”

Dorleac walked over to a family wagon that was parked by the sidewalk.

“Just a minute, there,” Claire said, blinking her eyes.

Taking her by the hand and helping her into the wagon, Dorleac then lashed the two-horse team. The wagon started off.

“Pulling something like this will have people after us before you know it! What in the world are you doing?!”

“Please, have no fear.”

The wagon rolled down the street and out to the edge of town.

The airport facility loomed up ahead.

Claire looked back in astonishment. Behind them was endless wilderness. The horses’ hoof prints and the ruts from the wagon wheels stretched back as far as the eye could see. The two of them had apparently been driving for more than an hour.

“Oh, that’s right. This is a dream.”

“That’s right. It was my reflection in the brandy who told me to go to the airfield. At that point, we were already in the dream.”

“But if that’s the case, you should be able to do anything in this world. You don’t need little ol’ me around.”

“Probe our situation, and the dream becomes reality, or reality becomes the dream. Which is how I was able to leave my cage without anyone interfering. But it’s difficult to make a complete shift. Reality pushes into the dream, and the dream mixes with reality. That’s why I needed the key in reality to unlock the cage door in the dream.”

“I really don’t follow at all,” Claire confessed.

“To wit, we may yet run into someone we’d rather not. If we do, I shall need your help.”

“Someone—you mean D?”

“That one . . .”

The expression was wiped off Dorleac’s face. It was miraculous, taking only a heartbeat. You could almost hear the color draining from him, and his expression changed so quickly—both telltale signs. What fear, however, could rob the young man of his composure in an instant?

“He’s the only one . . . who didn’t fall under the dream’s power. Even when he’s in the dream, he remains tethered to reality. If he were here, the dream world would turn back to reality. Or into his world. That’s what sort of man he is . . .”

Though frightened to a shocking degree, Claire didn’t feel it. The horror from the first time she’d seen the Hunter still prickled on the back of her neck. Most likely it would be with her for the rest of her life. Yet, strangely enough, she didn’t find it unpleasant. Were there fears in the world that helped you sleep soundly at night?

“Well, that—that I can understand,” the woman replied.

“In that case, kindly come with me. And if we should encounter him, don’t be upset.”

“Will I be any use?”

“Of course.”

Dorleac grabbed Claire by the shoulders and turned her so she was looking straight at him. Before the woman could even react, their lips met. For a long time, the two of them were fused together. Once they were apart again, Dorleac gave Claire a powerful hug. His warm body was quaking violently.

“I’m frightened. He’s the only thing that scares me. I am alone again. My parents abandoned me. Duke Sinistre won’t come. Everyone intends to make me their guinea pig. I beg you, please stay with me.”

Not a word of that was a lie—that was the impression Claire got. Putting all her strength into her arms, she hugged the young man as if he were a child seeking solace.

“Just leave it to me. I’ll stay with you forever. I won’t let anybody lay a finger on you.”

II

After getting out of the wagon, the two of them went into the airport waiting room.

The airport facility was more sprawling than those usually found in rustic locations, and its security checks were extremely strict. At regular local airports, no one had a problem with unticketed individuals boarding aircraft so long as there were empty seats, but here guard robots and human security personnel performed rigorous checks, allowing only those who’d been properly processed to pass. Not only didn’t these two have tickets, but also they were wanted by the authorities, so there was no way they’d be able to get through.

However—

As the two of them headed for the lobby, a man who’d been hiding behind one of the pillars leveled his weapon and told them to halt. He was armed with a long gun.

When the pair turned around, their eyes went wide.

“Al?!”

“I figured this is where you’d go. Soon as I heard you’d busted out of your cage, I raced right out here. But what’ve you been doing for the last hour and a half?”

A small lump of surprise congealed in Claire’s heart. An hour and a half? Louise had said there was two hours until the flight left. After parting company with the sheriff at the station, she’d gone to the bar and met Dorleac, and it had taken less than thirty minutes to get out here. Was this a dream, too?

“I keep my promises,” the young man stated.

“I know. I ain’t happy about this, either. But I’ll be damned if I let you out of that cage. When I left the station, I noticed I was still wearing a badge. The second I saw it I got the feeling I’d turned into a real bad guy. I almost sold my soul to the devil out of love for my kids. Okay, now you’re gonna wait here with me until everybody gets out here.”

“They’re still in town. Dreaming,” said Dorleac. “Also, I never had any intention of calling on your children. We’re headed off on a journey.”

The instant Dorleac’s arm wrapped around her waist, Claire’s will vanished.

“Forget my kids,” the brave farmer shouted, readying his rifle again. “I’ve got another reason why I ain’t about to let you get away. The sheriff told me. Yeah, she said the townsfolk back in Happy Gringo were wiped out.”

Claire bugged her eyes.

“That’s right. Luckily, my farm’s so far away it was okay there, but it seems everybody else got their heads taken off their shoulders. Nobody but Sinistre could’ve done that. Your master. See what I’m getting at? Anybody who’s lived with somebody like that can’t rightly be called human. Okay, we’re heading back to town.”

Al cocked his gun.

“Miss Claire, step away from him.”

As if driven by the deputy’s words, the two of them started walking toward the lobby.

“Hold it. I’ll shoot!”

“It’s okay,” Dorleac whispered into Claire’s ear.

Claire’s reply was a frightened one. “But from the sound of him, he really will shoot! I—I’m scared.”

“It’s okay.”

“Freeze!” Al shouted, his tone now a hysteric cry.

Regret, self-pity, and despair moved the trigger a hair. The farmer’s gun was loaded with double-aught buckshot, nine balls to a shell, and it concentrated fire in a ring eight inches in diameter. Al aimed for Dorleac’s legs. The young man’s slacks and the flesh within them were torn apart, spattering fresh blood.

Claire stiffened. Al bugged his eyes.

Giving the paralyzed Claire a pat on the back, Dorleac started walking again. His gait, unhurried but sure, was the work of legs without a mark on them.

The shotgun had an automatic feed. A second shell was already in the chamber. The muzzle of the weapon was pointed at Dorleac’s back.

When the pair pushed through a glass door and into the lobby, Al finally lowered his gun. He realized no matter what he did, it wouldn’t have any effect.

“What am I gonna do? If he gets away, I ain’t gonna get paid. My kids will have to stay like they are. So—what the hell am I supposed to do now?”

A black form passed Al on one side. Right in front of him, there was a shrill sound and scattering flashes of gold. Ten gold coins, each worth a thousand dalas. The farmer wondered if he was dreaming. Things like that just didn’t happen in reality. However, even after he’d gathered them up, he could feel the weight of the coins. And they didn’t disappear.

Al went after the figure in black. The door was just closing. His ears caught the same hoarse voice that’d spoken to him before the coins scattered.

We’ll be expecting big things from you next, it croaked. And you’ll be paying back that money. With interest.

When they passed through the boarding gate without having to show any tickets, Claire realized, This really is a dream!

They came to the runway. Boarding was already underway for the aircraft.

The stocky, cylindrical body of the craft had three decks and was capable of transporting two hundred passengers and two tons of cargo. Its rocket engines were said to allow it to fly at more than sixty thousand feet at three times the speed of sound. The three wings didn’t look much like a bird’s, as they resembled keen triangular blades.

Though flying to regional airports where passengers were few was generally inefficient, it was said that recently the Capital was letting private airlines take over only those routes which were running in the red.

Up close, the peeling paint on its surface and burn marks on scattered places around the aircraft became noticeable. There were also a lot of dents, perhaps from hitting birds.

While this wasn’t her first time flying, Claire was nervous.

A gangway lowered from the boarding door of the craft. On entering the aircraft, Dorleac just picked out a seat and sat down in it. Claire had the window seat, and Dorleac was on the aisle. Since this was all just a dream, they could do whatever they liked.

Across the aisle from them was a row of four more seats, the first of which was empty, but the following two were occupied by a middle-aged man and woman. The man had a blanket pulled all the way up to his shoulders and was sleeping with his back to them.

What kind of dreams do you have inside a dream? Claire suddenly thought to herself.

The woman was reading a shabbily bound book, presumably a novel. It was unclear whether or not they were a married couple.

There were less than ten passengers total on that deck, leaving the vast cabin feeling terribly chilly. They didn’t know about the second or third decks, but there couldn’t have been many more passengers on them.

Less than a minute after the pair boarded, the aircraft began to shudder. A woman’s voice announced that they’d be taking off in a minute, and instructed everyone to buckle their seat belts.

The aircraft took off right on schedule. Once they’d leveled off at thirty thousand feet, passengers hitherto rigid with anxiety finally began chatting.

“Dear me, the stress has been murder on my complexion,” the middle-aged woman across the aisle proclaimed loudly, pulling a compact from the coat draped across her knees and beginning to pat noisily at her face. In less than two seconds, the sound stopped.

Claire, who’d been lying back in her seat, sat up and looked over. Oddly enough, Dorleac was sitting bolt upright and utterly motionless. Across from him, the woman was staring into her compact—and anyone who saw her face at that moment would’ve remembered the look on it as long as they lived. Eyes bulging with fear were reflected in her compact.

The way the woman sat, she was leaning to the left, and on account of that, something other than her face had been reflected. The aisle—and Dorleac. No. There was no Dorleac. The tiny mirror reflected only an empty seat.

“But you . . .” Claire began, the words escaping from her mouth of their own accord. “. . . Nothing was done to you . . . You said so . . .”

Dorleac’s profile twisted slowly. What Claire’s eyes focused on were the stark fangs peeking from the corners of his mouth. They were keenly tapered.

“Y-you’re . . .” she stammered, but when she tried to rise, she was caught by the wrist. A chill to freeze her very blood flooded through her body.

“Not yet,” Dorleac said. “You yet have a role to play. See? He’s here.”

Remaining in his seat, the handsome young man indicated the area ahead with a toss of his chin.

Claire followed the gesture.

A young man in black was standing beside the door. Though she should’ve been accustomed to him after three days of traveling together, the bar girl once again melted in rapture. She felt as if she were dreaming again. A cold, hard, beautiful dream.

“How did you get here, D?” Dorleac inquired as he got to his feet.

“A tether,” D replied. “With it, I can come and go freely between the dream world and reality. And remain myself.”

“Well, sever it.”

When Dorleac stepped into the aisle, he had one arm around Claire’s waist and his right index finger pressed against her carotid artery. His nail had grown into a four-inch-long claw.

“It was a mistake luring you into the dream,” Dorleac said, chewing the words over. “You, a man who can come and go as he pleases in someone else’s dream. A man who was revived by drinking the blood of the Sacred Ancestor. Was that the work of the blood coursing through your own veins?”

“Let the woman go,” D said.

Claire felt slightly surprised as she gazed at the Hunter. Though she got the impression she’d just heard something incredible, her half-inebriated brain had lost the functionality to process it.

“Let the woman go,” repeated D.

“I respectfully decline,” Dorleac replied, his lips twisting into a grin. “I specifically brought her along to deal with you. It’s a shopworn trick, but if you want to save her life, lay down your weapons—not that I expect you will.”

Dorleac’s face turned the color of paraffin. That was due to the eerie aura billowing from D. He’d realized that the Hunter’s only concern was taking his life. Even if he had Claire for a shield, the tip of the Hunter’s blade would undoubtedly thrust through his heart without the slightest hesitation.

“Allow me to ask you one question, if I may,” the handsome young man said in a parched tone. “Who hired you to get rid of me?”

D moved forward. He was within striking distance with his sword.

Claire let out a low groan. Dorleac had his lips pressed to the nape of her neck.

“I won’t kill her, but I will drink her blood. Using a feeding technique Duke Sinistre imparted to me. In less than a second’s time, she will be made a servant of the Nobility. Now, are you still intent on turning your blade against me?”

“No . . . Dorleac . . . Don’t do it,” Claire pleaded. Her teeth were chattering. It wasn’t out of fear for her life. She was afraid of her very soul being despoiled. “Help . . . D . . . Save me.”

What tableau was going to unfold? Would D lower his sword? No, his blade would probably go through Claire once she’d been bitten and pierce Dorleac straight through the heart.

However, no one got to see that.

The woman in the seat behind Dorleac had jumped on his back. After D’s arrival, the man sitting one seat away from her had woken up and said something to the frightened woman, but no one could’ve imagined he’d persuaded her to take such a life-endangering action.

Claire dashed forward. On account of that, D’s sword was delayed a moment. As the pouncing Hunter swung his blade, Dorleac shoved the woman away and retreated, galloping up the spiral staircase not far behind him to the second deck.

Just as D was about to charge down the aisle after him, he looked down at the man cradling the head of the middle-aged woman who’d collapsed back into her original seat and telling her she’d done great. The man smirked. It was Harman. For a man who’d managed to convince the very woman who’d come to see him get arrested that she should help him escape from the authorities, getting her to then distract Dorleac would’ve been a piece of cake.

D walked by without saying a word.

“Why didn’t you do it, tough guy?” the hoarse voice said to Harman. It didn’t approve of his using the woman that way.

And with that, D whipped up the staircase like a black whirlwind.

There was no one on the second deck.

On the third deck, D spotted a lone figure standing in the otherwise vacant chamber. The third deck was a lounge where travelers on long flights could go to relax.

“Why kill me?” the young man murmured. “I don’t have anything to do with you . . . Someone hired you to do this, didn’t they?”

Perhaps the aircraft had left the stratosphere, because stars twinkled in the purple sky that stretched outside the windows. Between light and darkness, day and night—it was a twilight zone.

D advanced without a word.

“Who in the world . . . was it?”

The dazed look on Dorleac’s face suddenly reworked itself into one of understanding.

“It couldn’t be . . . Duke Sinistre? Did His Grace think I would tell them his secrets? Oh, so that’s it, isn’t it?”

In his despair, his face turned dark red and was carved with a horrible grin.

“Very well, then. I shall tell them everything. I won’t hold back a single detail on that shitty Nobleman’s account. How selfish he is! Kindly hear me out, D. He never tried to lay a finger on me. I was treated as if I were some treasured possession. However, he made no attempt to drink my blood. And these fangs, you ask? I asked him for these. Being around him, I knew all too well I would be better served being a Noble. So I whispered softly into his ear. I want to be like you, I told him. Oh, how happy he was. As was I. I thought that now, all that was his would be mine. What’s more, he had succeeded in some strange experiments. Thanks to that, I’m able to walk in the light of day.

“The days that followed were like a honeymoon. And because of that, I think he could never understand why it was that I left the castle. I don’t suppose you’ve ever heard of a bride whose honeymoon was so horrible she ran away, have you? What kind of brain damage would a thousand-year-old codger of a Noble need to think a gorgeous human like me would want to spend the rest of his life with him?”

Dorleac tilted his head back and laughed. And he kept laughing right until D’s sword pierced his heart.

Thirty seconds later, LUI determined that Dorleac’s retrieval was now impossible and sent atomic flames spreading through the stratosphere.

It was an hour later that evening dyed the plains on the outskirts of Canaluda crimson.

“You have my thanks,” D said, gazing at the distant gyrodyne and the copy of Dorleac who stood before him.

“It is Duke Sinistre you should thank,” the android duplicate of Dorleac replied, his eyes never leaving the ground by his feet. The wind was blowing away the dust that spilled from the pile of luxurious clothes.

After returning the aircraft passengers—who’d been transferred to the gyrodyne—to the airport, Duke Sinistre had let D off out here, expressed his thanks, and taken the Hunter’s sword through the heart. D’s price for accepting employment from a Noble was the life of his employer.

“As you requested, we flew alongside the aircraft, and as we did so, we heard every word I said.” Gazing at D, Dorleac continued, “At that moment, the duke truly died. Was that what you expected when you gave us that flight plan?”

There was no reply.

“Such an unfortunate individual.”

That was the only eulogy for this Nobleman driven mad by his love for a human.

D spun around and walked off toward his cyborg horse. Up in the saddle, he was stained red by the setting sun. The color of blood.

“Take care,” said the android Dorleac.

The cyborg horse began to gallop off. The distant plains were endlessly red, and darkness would be falling shortly. Into that chaotic world, the pitch-black horse and rider raced at a manly pace, without the slightest hesitation.

the end