Read Bone Orchard for Free Online Page A
Authors: Doug Johnson, Lizz-Ayn Shaarawi
don’t.”
She sprung from the chair, face clouded with confusion. Her feet shuffled restlessly, spinning an inkless spirograph on the stone floor with her Doc Martens. He could see it so clearly now, the gears and rotors of her mind turning endless roulettes around the same singularity of focus. He imagined her thoughts as the parabolas of some planetary orbit, incapable of breaking free from the gravitational pull of her conviction, merely able to swing fleetingly and return to center, like the pendulum of some psychotic clock.
Then, she surprised him. The clouds dissipated and a brightness of clarity returned to her eyes. She looked at him, and for an instant there was a purity that shined through. It wasn’t Kitty looking at him, it was Kathleen Van Winkle, the innocent girl from the passport photo.
“Oh,” she said. It was humble and soft-spoken. “Okay.”
She tried to smile, but it was heavy with apologetic shame. Tucking her hair behind her ear, she gathered her things. She saw the knife on the table and picked it up.
Lazarus felt the gallop of his heart and braced himself as she approached. She thrust the knife forward and the blade began to saw at the ropes around his wrists. He stared at her, completely dumbfounded.
“I must have made a mistake. Just give me a couple minutes head start, okay?”
She did not cut all the way through the ropes, but left a thin tether on each. It would take some effort to break them, but for all intents and purposes, he was free.
Kitty set the knife back down on the table, and without turning back, picked up her book and walked out the door.
Lazarus waited. He listened until her footsteps faded into silence and the air was left with nothing but the muted rushing of the wind against the house above. He clenched his fists and pulled against the weakened ropes. His stronger, right arm snapped free first, then the left.
The pins and needles in his legs took a moment to shake out, but once they had, he walked to the table, picked up the knife and followed her path out the door.
Emerging from a winding, servants’ stairwell into the entrance hall on the main floor, Lazarus stood and listened. A soft hiss bled from the open parlor door, underscoring the stalwart ticking of the grandfather clock. His first instinct told him it was running water, but then he realized it was the stereo speakers. It must have been cranked to ear-splitting levels, but for now at least, the party was over.
He walked to the front door and opened it. The cool, damp air was a welcome sensation on his face. He framed himself in the doorway, scanning the courtyard and driveway as far as his eyes would allow in the dark. The knife handle was warm in his hand and he gave it a squeeze to reassure himself.
He sensed nothing as Kitty slipped silently from the parlor behind him and melted into the shadows. The familiar hiss of overdriven speakers was driving his pulse faster. It filled him with the inexplicable, almost carnal longing for the electric crackle and hum of a guitar cable jacking into the raw power of a wall of amplifiers.
“Where are you, you little bitch?”
She drove the stun gun between his shoulder blades and sent five million volts through him for the second time that day. He crumpled to the threshold and spilled onto his back. Kitty snickered. Not because the stun gun had rendered him unconscious again, but because Lazarus Walker had an erection.
“I’m right here, baby.”
CHAPTER 7
Screaming Black Ryder fans surge against security guards.
Lazarus strides past the girl in black.
Her presence draws his eyes like the pull of gravity.
She raises her head. The dark hair falls away from her face.
She is everyone to him. She is no one.
He struggles to remember the face, but the other girls are laughing.
He knows her, but the laughing…
She is…
The laughing…
CHAPTER 8
He was not dead and he was not asleep. He was
She sprung from the chair, face clouded with confusion. Her feet shuffled restlessly, spinning an inkless spirograph on the stone floor with her Doc Martens. He could see it so clearly now, the gears and rotors of her mind turning endless roulettes around the same singularity of focus. He imagined her thoughts as the parabolas of some planetary orbit, incapable of breaking free from the gravitational pull of her conviction, merely able to swing fleetingly and return to center, like the pendulum of some psychotic clock.
Then, she surprised him. The clouds dissipated and a brightness of clarity returned to her eyes. She looked at him, and for an instant there was a purity that shined through. It wasn’t Kitty looking at him, it was Kathleen Van Winkle, the innocent girl from the passport photo.
“Oh,” she said. It was humble and soft-spoken. “Okay.”
She tried to smile, but it was heavy with apologetic shame. Tucking her hair behind her ear, she gathered her things. She saw the knife on the table and picked it up.
Lazarus felt the gallop of his heart and braced himself as she approached. She thrust the knife forward and the blade began to saw at the ropes around his wrists. He stared at her, completely dumbfounded.
“I must have made a mistake. Just give me a couple minutes head start, okay?”
She did not cut all the way through the ropes, but left a thin tether on each. It would take some effort to break them, but for all intents and purposes, he was free.
Kitty set the knife back down on the table, and without turning back, picked up her book and walked out the door.
Lazarus waited. He listened until her footsteps faded into silence and the air was left with nothing but the muted rushing of the wind against the house above. He clenched his fists and pulled against the weakened ropes. His stronger, right arm snapped free first, then the left.
The pins and needles in his legs took a moment to shake out, but once they had, he walked to the table, picked up the knife and followed her path out the door.
Emerging from a winding, servants’ stairwell into the entrance hall on the main floor, Lazarus stood and listened. A soft hiss bled from the open parlor door, underscoring the stalwart ticking of the grandfather clock. His first instinct told him it was running water, but then he realized it was the stereo speakers. It must have been cranked to ear-splitting levels, but for now at least, the party was over.
He walked to the front door and opened it. The cool, damp air was a welcome sensation on his face. He framed himself in the doorway, scanning the courtyard and driveway as far as his eyes would allow in the dark. The knife handle was warm in his hand and he gave it a squeeze to reassure himself.
He sensed nothing as Kitty slipped silently from the parlor behind him and melted into the shadows. The familiar hiss of overdriven speakers was driving his pulse faster. It filled him with the inexplicable, almost carnal longing for the electric crackle and hum of a guitar cable jacking into the raw power of a wall of amplifiers.
“Where are you, you little bitch?”
She drove the stun gun between his shoulder blades and sent five million volts through him for the second time that day. He crumpled to the threshold and spilled onto his back. Kitty snickered. Not because the stun gun had rendered him unconscious again, but because Lazarus Walker had an erection.
“I’m right here, baby.”
CHAPTER 7
Screaming Black Ryder fans surge against security guards.
Lazarus strides past the girl in black.
Her presence draws his eyes like the pull of gravity.
She raises her head. The dark hair falls away from her face.
She is everyone to him. She is no one.
He struggles to remember the face, but the other girls are laughing.
He knows her, but the laughing…
She is…
The laughing…
CHAPTER 8
He was not dead and he was not asleep. He was
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