Kingdom of Shadows by Greg F. Gifune Page A

 Across the sea of headstones, crypts and monuments to the dead, two men watched them, their breath converted to spiraling clouds rising from their bodies like fleeing souls.
    Gaby saw them, too.  “Do what you have to do.”  She lifted the veil, rose up on her toes so she could reach, and kissed his cheek.  “I love you.”
    As she moved away toward the gates of the cemetery, the men started toward him.  Rooster lit a cigarette and smoked it until they reached him.
    They looked the same.  
    Landon stared at him, said nothing.
    “Hey, Rooster,” Nauls offered, scratching at his beard and smiling nervously, eyes concealed behind the usual sunglasses.  “Good to see you, bro.”
    “Good to see you too, Nauls.”
    “That is so  precious—seriously—I think I just tinkled a little.  How about we save the group hug for later and you two can finish jerking each other’s gherkins then, OK?”  Landon stepped closer.  “Paper said the hit-and-run was probably an accident, driver just panicked.  I say kiss my celluloid-dimpled ass, whoever hit Snow did it on purpose.  Can’t blame them—I would’ve run the prick over if he stepped in front of my car too—but sounds like somebody took him out to me.”
    Rooster took a final drag on his cigarette then dropped it and crushed it out with his boot.  “They did.”
    “Do you know who they  are?”
    “I’m not sure yet, but—”
    “You heard about Starker?”
    “Snow said he killed his old lady and ran to Mexico.”
    “He never got that far.  Big bastard was hiding out in a fleabag motel right here in the city.  They found him a few weeks back, in the bathtub, wrists slashed clear to the bone.  Sorry, I’m not buying that one either.  Same fuckers probably did him too.”
    “I keep having these dreams,” Nauls blurted out.  “Nightmares, I—”
    Landon held a hand up like a crossing guard.  “Let the grownups talk.”
    “Fuck you, man!  You’re having them too.  Tell him.   Tell him .”
    Landon defiantly bit his lip and looked away.
    “Rooster,” Nauls said, barely able to contain his tears, “I’ve been having these dreams.  There’s all this screaming and yelling and blood and horrible shit.  Then it gets dark and I can’t see.  I can’t move, I can’t even breathe and it feels like I’m being smothered.  I try to open my mouth to scream only I can’t.  My mouth, it’s—somebody’s sewn  it shut.  Who would—the bad dreams won’t stop, they—I’m even starting to have them when I’m awake, I—”
    “We all are,” Rooster said evenly.
    Nauls ran a hand through his tangle of hair.  “Every time I leave the house I see this chick and this older dude, they’re dressed like they work in an office or a bank or something and they follow me and want to talk to me, but there’s something not right about them.  They look so familiar only I don’t know who they are.  And Landon, he—he don’t drive no more.   Landon  don’t drive.  He can’t.  Every time he gets behind the wheel of a car he sees this lady holding a baby.”
    “She’s on every fucking corner just staring at me.”  Landon became visibly shaken as his resistance fell away.  “I know her from somewhere but…I’m pretty sure the baby’s dead.”
    “What’s happening?”  Nauls asked.  “What happened to us that night at the farmhouse?  We can’t remember nothing but bits and pieces.”
    “I’ve got something to show you,” Rooster said softly, as if the dead might otherwise hear.  He held up the briefcase.
    “What’s that?”
    “The truth.”
     
    *  *  *  *
     
    “This isn’t possible,” Landon mumbles.
    As if in a trance, Snow approaches the last table, the only one covered with a white sheet which has apparently been thrown there to conceal Carbone’s body.  “Carbone’s dead,” he says.  “He’s dead, and he’s back in that van.”
    Mesmerized, the others gawk at their likenesses on the tables before