Babayaga

I. We were heading to the police station where we both work. Then we were attacked and separated. I thought he had died, but he hadn’t, he made it there to the station, and waited for me, I suppose, or for some kind of help, slowly going mad in his solitude. That is where they found him, transformed into … this.” Vidot leaned over and brushed the trembling patient’s hair away from his eyes. “He is healthy, physically, his body is fine. But his mind, well, it seems he encountered realities greater than he could bear. Many people need the certainty of solid walls and clear windows, but then they meet mysteries they cannot solve.”
    The priest knew this all too well. “Yes, there are many.”
    “And when they envelop and overwhelm you, well, if you are not prepared…” He gestured toward Bemm.
    The priest looked down at the man. “What can I do for him?”
    “Sit with him, talk to him, reassure him,” said the detective. “He needs a friend by his side, one who believes in him and, though I do not know you very well, I sense you are one of the few people alive who can help him.”
    “I can try.”
    “Good, good. I knew you would. Or at least I hoped so. I will come and visit as often as I can.” The detective leaned over and spoke gently to the patient. “Listen to me, Bemm, we are safe now. It is over. You can tell this man, this priest, the truth, he will understand. We are safe now, Bemm.” Again, he took the patient’s limp hand in his own. “We are safe.”
    The detective rose and put on his hat. With a warm and grateful smile, he shook hands with Andrei and left the priest alone with Bemm, who had not changed his position or expression and still lay shivering on the cot.
    Andrei sat down on the corner of the bed and stared into Bemm’s wild eyes. He stroked the man’s forehead. He thought about what Vidot had said about the mysteries. He realized that he himself had stopped trying to comprehend them many years ago, merely attempting instead to stay afloat as the spinning, swirling tempestuous world carried him along through the darkness on its grand elliptical journey.
    He had been a victim of strange fortune, but not like this man, and not like his own brother. He imagined he was looking down at Max, who had suffered immeasurable horrors for years as a prisoner in another body, another life. He recalled what he had often imagined he would say to his brother if Max ever returned to him whole again, if they were ever fortunate enough to stand in a room, looking eye-to-eye. He remembered that these imaginary conversations always began the same way, with the same phrase, the words he believed lay at the core of what any human being ever wants to hear from another, what affection is in its primary essence, what the bonds of friendship and family mean above all else. So he placed his hand gently on Bemm’s shoulder and, softly, slowly, spoke the phrase, over and over again, as if it were a prayer, “I am so glad you are here.”
    VII

    Will lay in his apartment, listening as the front door creaked open. He was too exhausted to move from his bed. Fine, come in, monster, he thought, whoever you are, spy, soldier, policeman, priest, specter, come on in. He had a fairly good idea who it was.
    He had arrived home late after wandering the streets, uncertain where he was supposed to be. He had called Oliver’s apartment from a pay phone and when there was no answer searched through the telephone booth’s beat-up directory until he found The Gargoyle Press ’s number. No one picked up there, either. When he finally walked the long distance to his apartment, there was a note in his mailbox from his office asking him to call. It seemed they were worried, or perhaps they merely wanted to go through the final formality of firing him. But he didn’t want to call the agency now. He picked up the rest of the mail and newspapers and went inside, where he lit a cigarette, poured himself a whiskey, and collapsed on the couch.
    The sun was setting and dusk washed the windowpanes with the pink hues of late autumn. In the last light of the day, he sipped his drink and glanced through the paper. There was no news of any gunfight at any barn. There was nothing that interested him. As the last of the sun slipped away, he kept the lights off and went to lie down. The darkness engulfed the room, drowning him in blackness as a deep sleep overwhelmed him.
    He wasn’t sure what time it was when he heard the door