House of Skin

EDDY IN THE SHADOWS

During the next few weeks after Cassandra’s death, Eddy was busy. He searched and inquired and always the Shadows were nearby, hiding in alley and corner, throwing out bits of the puzzle to him.

But they were vague clues, always terribly so, but he took them like a starving man gladly takes a few meager crusts of bread.

The police had found Cassandra’s body, led there by unknown means. The papers spoke endlessly of it, approaching the crime from every conceivable angle. They theorized that some new and vicious maniac was on the loose. After a week, then two, and no more murders, the subject became tired and any further discussion was relegated to the back pages. A two-week old murder, regardless of how brutal, was soon forgotten by the public as fresh crimes reared their grim heads.

Yet, the murder and its mysterious qualities—the unknown victim, the unknown assailant—had captured the imagination of a certain sector of the populace. They waited for the faceless killer to strike again, for surely he would. Eddy picked up bits of gossip in coffee houses and taverns. Tales concerning the killer’s identity, previous crimes, and fresher atrocities the police were covering up. Some even suggested that Dr. Blood-and-Bones had returned from hiding to vent his hunger. If nothing else, Eddy realized, the public at large had a wonderful sense of drama where dreadful crimes were concerned. Horror stories never go out of fashion and the bloodier, the better.

And while these tales were told and quietly grew tiresome, he prowled the midnight streets of the city with the Shadows in tow, looking for signs of his father. It was an aimless search, but Eddy let his senses guide him. That and the Shadows that constantly led him into darker and more depraved sectors of the city.

He haunted the very worst neighborhoods by night—Bayview, the Tenderloin, Market Street, the Western Addition, Chinatown, all the places the wary avoided after dark, probing ever deeper into the diseased, gangrenous carcass of San Francisco. At ground level in the urban graveyard, the city looked like a defoliated forest, a jungle poisoned black to its hoary roots, nothing left but dead trees and stumps which were the crowded, crumbling buildings and rotting hovels around him. And everywhere he asked the same question: Did anyone know William Zero or even hear of him? Most said they didn’t; a few said the name was familiar. But as to whether that was because of personal knowledge or a memory of the crimes twenty years past, it was hard to tell.

Eddy continued his search and became more frustrated than ever.

At a bondage house on Geary Boulevard, he met a man named Gulliver. He was a former Evangelical minister who had gone the way of sin. But he seemed happy. After a few drinks, Eddy asked the inevitable question.

“Zero,” Gulliver said, mulling it over.

“Yes.”

“William Zero?”

“That’s right.”

Gulliver looked thoughtful. “Now why is that name so damn familiar? I think I knew someone by that name. Parishioner? Could that be it? Or was it since then?”

Eddy waited.

“Can’t place him.”

“Maybe you read about him?”

“Zero… could be… I’m not sure.”

“He was in the newspapers some time ago.”

“Oh, I think I remember now. Politician wasn’t he? Yes, you’d be surprised how many of our leading citizens come down here for fun and games. Councilman, was he?”

“No, you’re thinking of someone else. This Zero was no one like that.”

“You’re sure? I seem to remember one of the mayor’s aides. Had a fetish for lacey underthings and hot water bottles, I believe.”

“No, that’s not him.”

Gulliver shrugged. “Sorry, love. Wish I could help.”

Eddy fell into a somber mood. Maybe this was all just some insane quest and he was every bit as crazy as the doctors claimed. He’d done some things in his time. Brutal, vicious things. But until Cassandra, he’d never killed anyone.

“What did you think of that murder, Eddy? Nasty stuff, eh?”

Nasty? Yes, he supposed it was. To someone who didn’t understand. “I guess.”

“Cut the poor girl up like meat, I hear. No blood left in the body. Fucking vampire on the loose.” Gulliver took a good belt from his Beefeater and tonic. “Not that it surprises me. The types we get down here… though blood’s not usually what they want to suck.”

Eddy smiled.

“But we were talking about this Zero character. Why are you after him?”

“He was my dad. He disappeared in this town a long time ago.”

“Too bad. A boy needs his dad. Not that mine has any use for me anymore.” Gulliver was laughing. “Did I tell you my old man’s a minister, too? Very straight-laced. That was my problem. I didn’t like it straight. Not that I mind lace…”

“I don’t suppose I’ll find him.”

“Don’t give up hope,” Gulliver said, putting an arm around him. “There’s always hope.”

“Sure.”

“If you want to find him, you have to do what the cops do, love. You have to become him. You have to think like he does and act like him and then you’ll know where he went and why. Simple.”

Eddy leered at him, his eyes terribly dark and vacant.

Gulliver removed his arm. “Sorry. Didn’t mean anything by that. Just a friendly gesture.”

Eddy grinned and slipped on a pair of mirrored sunglasses. “And would I be here if such things bothered me?”

Gulliver shrugged, sipping his drink. It was amateur night and a couple of transsexuals were up on stage doing a B & D version of Romeo and Juliet, switching genders and roles at the drop of a hat. It was all quite amusing, if not somewhat confusing.

“About your father. What did he do to get in the newspapers?”

“Killed a few people.”

“Terrible. Just killed them?”

“The citizens in general found the way he did it quite shocking.”

Gulliver smiled. He wasn’t sure if he liked this Eddy or not. “I know a guy who’s into shit like that. An acquaintance, really. Strange boy. Maybe he could help you out.”

“When could I meet him? It would be worth a try.”

Gulliver checked his watch. “Sun should be set by now. He’ll be up. We could go over there now, if you like.”

“Let’s, then.”

Gulliver finished his drink and off they went.

They walked for some blocks, hand in hand. Eddy insisted upon it. Normally, Gulliver would’ve been intoxicated at the idea of escorting around a handsome young thing like Eddy. But that wasn’t the case now. Despite his mysterious, dark boyish looks and lithe body, Eddy was somehow menacing. There was an aura of dread about him, a quiet and lethal desperation.

They traveled down deserted avenues, avoiding crazed homeless people who threw bottles at them and shrieked. They could hear sobs and moans and curses from the darkness around them. A pregnant whore offered them a good time. Faces leered from doorways. People injected drugs on stoops and stairways. They stepped around a man who was pissing on the sidewalk.

“When we get there, you’re on your own,” Gulliver said. “I like you and all, but this guy—Spider, they call him—is one weird freak. He’s spooky.”

“Just show me the way.” Eddy seemed anxious.

Gulliver wanted to tell him to be careful around Spider, but he was beginning to think they were two of kind. He didn’t like the idea.

They went into an alley and Gulliver stopped before a peeling door festooned with graffiti. “This is it,” he said, knocking lightly on the door. He tried the latch and it was open.

“The lair of the spider, eh?” Eddy cackled.

Gulliver tried to smile. Too bad. Eddy was so attractive. His long dark hair and fine, almost feminine features. Lovely. His skin was flawless, his lips full. With the mirrored sunglasses, motorcycle jacket, and baggy black jeans he was indeed an object of mystery and desire in Gulliver’s eyes.

“Eddy,” Gulliver said. “This Spider… he’s crazy. I think he might be dangerous.”

“Don’t worry.”

“I can’t help it.”

“Ssshhh,” Eddy told him. “It’s all right.”

“But…”

“You’re trembling.”

Gulliver knew he was. He felt a terrible, uncanny cabalism taking shape around him, a diabolic chemistry as if bringing together Spider and Eddy in this city was like bringing together the ingredients of a high explosive near flame. Eddy held his hands. Gulliver felt himself calming by the inch, practically swooning, as he felt Eddy’s long, almost feminine fingers in his own. So perfect, so tapering, the skin so smooth.

Eddy went in and Gulliver closed the door behind him, shaking again. Then he got the hell out of there before some explosion ripped open the guts of the neighborhood.

Eddy found himself in a dark corridor studded with doorways. He could hear movement somewhere, but he couldn’t pinpoint it. Then he heard a voice.

“The pain,” it said. “Oh, God, the pain…”

Eddy followed the sound of the voice down the corridor and into a room. A single naked bulb was suspended from the ceiling. There were candles everywhere, but only a few were lit. There was a sagging bed shoved in the corner and debris everywhere. Books were stacked on the floor. A thin man wearing a dark, dingy overcoat with no shirt beneath was crouched on his knees. His hair was long, separated into a variety of braids. He wore rings, bracelets, and all manner of beads around his throat.

Eddy stood before him. “Gulliver sent me,” he said, hoping that would explain all.

The man looked up at him. Blood ran from the corners of his mouth. His torso was crowded with tattoos. He held a razor in one hand and as Eddy watched he cut a slit in his gums and spat blood onto the floor.

“Are you Spider?” Eddy inquired. “Gulliver said you’d be here.”

“Who the fuck’s Gulliver?” the man insisted. He was apparently trying to work loose one of his teeth. “I don’t know any Gulliver.”

Eddy said, “Gulliver. I met him at Maxie’s.”

“Oh, that one. And what are you, one of his fags?”

“No, I’m just someone looking for information.”

“There’s none to be had.” He began to cackle and finally cough more blood. “People like you are always looking for something. What are you? A cop? Are you undercover or are you just another faggot?”

“Are you Spider or not?”

“Yes. Do you have any drugs, fag? Something for the pain?”

“No, nothing.” He’d given the last of his coke to Cassandra. He supposed it was sort of a going away present.

“Shit. What good are you?”

“I came for answers.”

“So? What do I look like? A fucking librarian?”

“Gulliver said you knew things. That you could help me.”

Spider shook his head. “I don’t know anything. Who are you?”

“Eddy.”

“Eddy? I thought you faggots preferred more colorful names?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“No, I don’t suppose you would. So you came here and you want information and you’ve brought no drugs.” Spider laughed. “Dick-sucker.”

Eddy studied him. What he saw before him was probably nothing more than some pathetic masochist. Yet, there was something about him, something that alluded to bigger things.

“I have money, if that interests you,” Eddy told him.

“Money,” Spider spat. “Tell me what you want.”

“I’m looking for my father. Gulliver thought you might know of him.”

“Does he have a name?”

“William Zero.”

Spider’s eyes went wide. He crawled to Eddy’s feet, grasping his legs.

“The Doctor? You’re the Doctor’s son?”

“That’s right. Do you know something of him?”

“I know what he did, what he claimed he’d do,” Spider told him. “He’s a legend of sorts in this city. But I’m sure you know that. Oh, the media made him into some sort of monster, just another serial killer taking life without any true reason but dementia. But that wasn’t true.”

Eddy helped him to his feet. “Wasn’t it?”

“You’re his son and you can ask that?” Spider shook his head and wiped blood from his lips with the sleeve of his coat.

“He left when I was a boy,” Eddy explained. “All that I know of him comes from books, newspapers, and my mother. None of them very accurate sources, I would think.”

“That’s too bad. Have you something to smoke? A cigarette even?”

Eddy handed him his pack. He watched Spider tease one out with trembling fingers. He was truly excited at the prospect of meeting the Doctor’s son and that in itself was something. It gave Eddy hope. Maybe this search of his wasn’t as crazy as he was beginning to think. Maybe Spider knew. Maybe he knew where his father was and how to get there. Then again, maybe Spider was just another harmless lunatic.

“Tell me what you know.”

Spider nodded. “First thing you must understand, is that your father was not just some maniac with a craving for blood. There was a rhyme and reason for what he did. It took me some time to figure it out, but now I understand what he was doing.”

“Which was?”

“He wanted to escape the stifling boredom of this reality. He wanted to be transported somewhere where there were no limits to anything.”

“There is no such place.”

“Isn’t there? I thought so, too, at one time. But I was wrong. You see these books around us? None of it is light reading, my boy, it is study. All of these books and a hundred others gave me clues to the answer. They all mentioned a place beyond this reality, a plane of existence that was like nothing you could find here.”

Eddy sat on the bed. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m telling you where your father went. Isn’t that what you want to know?”

“Yes.”

“Then listen.” Spider lit another cigarette and dug a bottle of whiskey from a desk drawer and pulled off it. “Your father probably studied these same books and others as well. He heard mention of this place, maybe in the writings of de Sade or Crowley, it doesn’t matter. He heard of this place and it was called by many names, but usually simply the Territories. A place where only few could ever go. A plane of beauty and horror. A special place.”

Eddy had decided Spider was mad. But he listened. What did he have to lose? “Go on,” he said.

“There was never any mention in any book of how to reach this place, only that you had to make your own way. Many have tried and most of their names would be familiar to you—Kiss, de Sade, Gilles de Rais… a hundred others. They said the Ripper went there…”

“Killers and Sadists,” Eddy said.

“Yes, perhaps. That’s how history looks upon them. But maybe they were something more. Maybe they were men who wanted to escape and saw that the only ticket to their heart’s desire was through their own perverse creativity.”

“You’re saying that you have to murder, maim, and torture in just the proper way to get into this place?”

Spider clasped his hands together. “Yes! Yes, in a way. You have to impress certain individuals with your talents. They’re lovers of art, you know, and the only canvas they respect is the human body. I’ve read bits and pieces about them. The Sisters. They’ll let you in if you impress them with your skills, your imagination, your creativity.”

It was madness, a perfect throbbing vein of madness and Eddy happily sipped from it, losing himself in it, intoxicated as Spider droned on and on and on. Murder was much like art, he said. Any fool could grab a brush and dip it in paint, splash a few meaningless strokes on a canvas just as any fool could grab a knife or a gun and commit murder. Both were forms of animal expression. But only a true craftsman, a skilled artisan, a creative genius could produce a canvas or a corpse that would take your breath away.

“It’s more than mere hackwork with a knife, Eddy. It’s artwork and only the most promising can even attempt it. Van Gogh used a brush, the Ripper used a knife.”

Eddy listened, drawing slowly off a cigarette. “So this art… it is the key?”

“Yes!”

“And through it you can be invited into… what? Another dimension? An alternate universe?”

“Yes, something like that.”

“And this is where my father is? This Territory?”

“Yes!”

Eddy chewed his lip. “And how do you know that?”

“It’s a guess, really. But I’ve read a great deal about him. All there is, in fact. I know what he and his associates were doing. It points in only one direction to me.”

“These Territories?”

“Exactly.”

Eddy didn’t know what to think. If nothing else, it was something. But could such a place possibly exist? It was the stuff of fringe science, very hard to wrap his brain around. “Do you know what has to be done to get there?” he asked. “Can you tell me?”

“I’ll do better,” Spider said. He took out a leather case and opened it. Inside were the tools of a surgeon, a butcher… or perhaps a somewhat eccentric artist. Everything from post mortem knives to bone snips and surgical saws. All gleaming. All meticulously polished and sharpened. “I’ll show you.”

It began.