We will rise, p.25
We Will Rise, page 25
Eventually, Mari was able to see Lewis and Noelle standing on the edge of a blurry landscape that indicated the demarcation between Something and Nothing. The cord was shrinking or retracting or whatever the hell it did to grow smaller, and Lewis still held Noelle, both of them looking down at her and monitoring her ascent. She wasn’t sure how Lewis was managing to stand there without her weight pulling him over the edge, but he was a ghost now, so the laws of physics were probably more like suggestions to him than hard and fast rules.
As Mari drew near the top, Lewis moved back to make room for her. The cord lifted her up and then, with unexpected gentleness, put her feet down on the grass-covered ground and released her. It slithered the rest of the way back to Noelle and disappeared into her navel with a wet schlurp.
Lewis gazed at her sadly, but Noelle’s face was dark with anger.
You’re a bad mommy! A very bad mommy!
“No, I’m not,” Mari said. “I’m just a woman who had a miscarriage and wishes to god she hadn’t. And you’re not a bad girl. You’re just a sad, angry spirit who never got the chance to be born into flesh.”
Smiling, Mari walked over to Lewis and their daughter. She held out her arms and, after a moment’s hesitation, Lewis handed Noelle to her.
No! Bad mommy! Bad, bad, bad!
Each bad was accompanied by a burst of psychic force that exploded in Mari’s head like a miniature bomb, but she endured the pain. She drew Noelle to her chest and held her close.
“I love you, little one,” Mari said. “I loved you when you were just a hope, and I loved you when you became a reality and started growing inside me. I loved you and grieved for you when you were gone, and despite what you did to your daddy and tried to do to me, I love you still.” She bent her head down and kissed her daughter’s forehead. She found the skin warm and velvet soft. Noelle looked like a normal newborn now, and she gazed up at her mother with wide, wondering eyes. Mari held out her pinky finger, and Noelle wrapped her own tiny fingers around it.
Mari smiled. “It’s time for the three of us to be a family now.” She held out her hand to Lewis. Smiling, he stepped forward and took it.
The trees and the playground beyond them slowly faded away, leaving the three of them surrounded by white nothingness. The ground – or whatever it was – felt solid enough beneath Mari’s feet, so she wasn’t worried that they’d fall, but she didn’t know what they should do next.
We don’t have to do anything, Lewis said. The Monad is coming for us.
She remembered Lewis using that word before, back on the playground when she hadn’t realized Noelle had trapped them in an illusion.
“What is a Monad?” she asked.
But then it was there, surrounding them, filling them, and Mari understood.
Yes, she said in her new thought-voice. I see.
As Mari, Lewis, and Noelle began to merge with the Monad, Mari had only one regret – that she wasn’t going to get a chance to say goodbye to her new friends. She wished there was something she could do to help them get to safety.
She became aware of other presences around her then. Other people.
You don’t have to wish, one of them said.
And you don’t have to do it alone, another said.
Mari saw them clearly now, all of them, and when she realized who they were, she laughed.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Faizan had played dodgeball throughout his public school career. He’d read somewhere that a lot of school systems were phasing out the game because it institutionalized bullying, and because most of the kids, especially those who were eliminated early, really didn’t get much exercise. Unfortunately, Echo Springs wasn’t one of those school systems, and Faizan – with his skinny arms and legs – had been forced to suffer through barrages of large red rubber balls during many a gym class. He’d never been much good at hitting other kids with the ball, but he’d quickly become an expert at avoiding getting hit himself. This was partly due to the fact that he’d been born with good reflexes, but it was primarily due to his father paying Faizan’s gym teachers to deliver weekly unofficial reports on his son’s performance. If Asad learned anything in these reports that disappointed him – such as Faizan getting eliminated early in a game of dodgeball – he’d teach Faizan a lesson that night. A very painful and memorable one. So Faizan learned how to dodge extremely well, so well that he was often one of the last two kids standing during a game. He couldn’t throw a ball fast enough to hit the other kid, so the games would end in a draw. Asad wasn’t thrilled with that result, but it was good enough for Faizan to avoid getting a ‘lesson’ at home, and that was all he cared about.
So when the bowling ball his father had thrown came flying directly toward his face, Faizan didn’t have to think about avoiding it. His body simply reacted, swiftly turning to the side, head leaned back, and the ball flew through empty space. It crashed into one of the seats behind Faizan, hitting so hard it tore the chair back completely off. The ball kept going until it struck the front of the snack counter, where it smashed into the wood siding with a loud crack and became stuck.
Faizan heard his father’s shoes thump-thump-thumping on the smooth wooden surface of the lane, and he turned in time to see Asad’s open hand streak toward his face. Bright light flashed behind Faizan’s eyes, and he staggered, almost falling to the floor. He had no idea how he managed to remain on his feet, but he did. The left side of his face was numb, but he knew from experience that the pain would hit him any second.
Asad hovered over him like a wrathful deity.
You are the most useless thing that God ever created! A maggot feasting on roadkill has more backbone than you! A dog licking its own balls in public has more dignity. A dung beetle rolling shit across the ground has more purpose! I wish I’d had the sense to pull my cock out of your mother and spurt you out onto the sheets so you would never have been born!
Asad grew taller with every word he shouted, until he loomed over his son like a giant. Then Faizan realized his father hadn’t changed at all. Rather, Faizan had grown smaller. He was in a child’s body, helpless before Asad’s superior strength. Asad leaned down until his face was only inches from Faizan’s, and he bared his teeth as he spoke, nearly snarling.
If I could prevent you from joining the Monad, I would. The same with your bitch of a mother. The two of you will be like pimples on our ass, painful and ugly, and of no value whatsoever. Just as you were in life.
Faizan looked into his father’s eyes and remembered how the man had stood off to the side in the dentist’s examining room as Faizan had struggled to save his mother. He remembered something Asad had said to him before the Tooth Fairy had crushed her in its mouth. She always did love playing the martyr.
Cold, steely anger took hold of him. He turned away from Asad and calmly walked toward a storage rack where a half-dozen balls that anyone could use were stored. With each step, he grew taller, and by the time he reached the rack, he had returned to his normal adult self. He selected a pair of balls, and inserted his fingers into their holes. He curled his fingers in order to grip the balls, then he lifted them from the rack and started to walk back toward his father. Asad watched him warily, as if unsure what he was doing.
Faizan stopped when he reached his father.
“Shut up, Dad,” he said softly, then he brought the bowling balls up and swung them toward the sides of Asad’s head with all his strength. When the balls struck, the man’s head collapsed inward with a sickening wet hollow sound, like a watermelon might make if thrown off the roof of a building to splatter on the concrete below. Blood, brains, and fragments of bone decorated the air, and Faizan smiled as pieces of his father flew toward him.
Then his vision blurred and he could no longer feel the weight of the bowling balls on his hands. When the world came back into focus, he was once more standing outside Qwik-Mart, no bowling balls in sight, no blood or bits of brain on his face or clothes, and best of all, no Asad. He didn’t know if he’d killed his father – could a ghost even die? – but he was relieved to be free of that bowling alley and, for the moment at least, Asad’s presence. That was enough.
He looked around for Mari, Julie, Oliver, and Karen, but he didn’t see them. Had they also been sucked into ghostly psychodramas like he had? If so, there was nothing he could do to help them. As he had, they would have to find their own way back.
He sat down on the walkway in front of the store, crossed his legs, leaned forward to put his elbows on his knees, and rested his head on his hands.
Come on, he thought. If I can do it, so can you guys.
* * *
Okay, so you’re stuck inside the mind of some sort of…of…super ghost. Now what?
Oliver – alone and bodiless – floated within the gray mist that comprised the Monad’s mind. The pulsating arcs of energy that continually passed through the mist, which he assumed were the thoughts of the Monad, were the only signs of life and movement around him. He wondered what had happened to his body. Had it been destroyed during his transition from the world of the living to this place? Was it stored somewhere, in some sort of pocket dimension, waiting for him to reclaim it? And if he couldn’t retrieve it, or if it was gone for good, would he continue to drift within the Monad’s mind until he finally broke down and gave Delia what she wanted? He remembered what she’d said before she’d left.
It might take a century or two, but you’ll come around eventually.
The thought of being trapped here like this for centuries, or longer, was terrifying. How long would it take him to go mad? A year? Two? He had to find a way out of here and reclaim his body, not only for the sake of his own sanity, but because his new friends might need him. They’d all suffered losses this day. Well, maybe not Karen. She hadn’t shared much about herself, and she hadn’t seemed particularly upset about the Homecoming. Oliver had the suspicion that the woman was secretly enjoying the death and destruction, although he had no idea how anyone in their right mind could possibly feel that way. But Mari, Julie, and Faizan had told him of the friends and family they’d lost today, just as he’d shared the loss of his parents with them. They were all they had now, and while they’d only known each another for a few hours, they’d become a kind of family, and Oliver didn’t want to abandon them.
If he was a being of pure thought in this place, maybe he could think his way out. He concentrated on Qwik-Mart, tried to recreate every detail in his mind, and then he imagined himself standing in front of the store, just as he had been before Delia had brought him here. He imagined the cold air on his skin, the solidity of concrete beneath his bare feet, his naked body shivering inside the jacket Julie had loaned him. Nothing happened, though, and he continued drifting in the gray mist, feeling more helpless than ever. Maybe Delia was his only way out. If he called to her, gave her what she wanted, submitted to her, this would end. He wasn’t sure what would happen after that. Would the two of them merge as they’d done before, only this time stay that way? Would they then join with the Monad and lose all sense of their individual identities? That sounded like a kind of death in itself, but was it any worse than spending eternity trapped inside the Monad without ever being part of it?
An idea occurred to him then. If he could summon Delia, could he contact other spirits, maybe ones that hadn’t been fully absorbed into the Monad yet? Spirits like his mother and father. Feeling hope for the first time since finding himself in this place, Oliver concentrated. There was a framed photo of his parents sitting on the mantel of their fireplace at home, a picture taken on their wedding day. They were in the process of cutting the cake and feeding each other pieces. Oliver’s mother – scarcely much older than Oliver himself was now – had jammed her piece into her new husband’s mouth, and both of them were laughing. It was a moment of absolute joy, captured forever, and it was Oliver’s favorite image of them. He focused on that image now, and called out to his parents.
Mom…Dad…. Are you here?
He listened, hoping, praying for a response. But there was none.
Maybe they’d already been absorbed by the Monad – but Delia had died long before either of them, and she was still separate, still herself. It didn’t make sense. But then nothing had since the moment his mother had torn out her own eyes, so why should it now? Whatever the reason, he couldn’t reach his parents, so he’d just have to think of something else. It had to be Delia, he decided. She was the only one who he’d been in contact with in this place, and even though she had left him, he doubted she’d gone far. She was most likely nearby, watching and listening, waiting for him to surrender himself to her. So that’s what he would do.
You’re right, Delia. We’re meant to be together. When we were joined it was like I was truly home for the first time in my life, like I’d finally become whole. Without you, I’m incomplete. Worse than that – I’m nothing. I love you. Please come back to me.
He drew on the love he and Delia had shared when she’d been alive, infused his thoughts with it, broadcast it out into the ether with his words. And then he waited.
He didn’t know how long it took, minutes, hours, or days – time meant nothing in this place – but eventually he sensed Delia’s presence. She had returned.
I’m so glad you came to your senses, love. Joining with the Monad, becoming part of something so much greater than yourself, is beyond anything you can imagine. It’s like becoming God.
I can’t wait, Oliver said. Come to me now.
Delia did. She flowed over, into, and through him, their essences intertwining, blending, merging, until it was impossible to say where one began and the other ended. They were One, even more so than before when Delia had demonstrated what joining their souls could be like, because now Oliver had given himself over completely to her. And now that she was part of him, was him, he let her experience everything that had happened to him today from his perspective, giving her access to all the thoughts and emotions he’d had from her first appearance on his laptop screen until this very moment. She knew his pain and fear, felt them as if they were her own, and she knew that she had been the cause of the worst of it, that she had done this to the man she claimed to love. She saw what she had become – a selfish, greedy, grasping thing – and the knowledge sickened her.
No, she said. I’d never do those things! I’d never hurt you like that! No, no, no, NO!
Oliver a felt a sudden lurching sensation, and bright light flooded his vision. He felt heavy, weighed down, and it was all he could do to remain upright.
“Hey, are you all right?”
He felt a touch on his arm, and he realized he had a body again. He blinked to clear his vision, and after a moment, he could make out Faizan’s worried face.
He smiled. “I am now.”
* * *
Julie still gripped the corkscrew, but she knew it would be useless against a creature like Randall. Her gaze darted to the red-covered book on the sink counter. She didn’t know if it controlled Randall and the faceless girls – the Sisters of the Blade – but she’d seen how Jerome had wielded the book at New Life, and the damn thing definitely had some kind of freaky power. If she could get hold of it, maybe she could use that power to protect herself against these ghosts.
But before she could make a move toward the book, Randall reached over and snatched it off the counter.
Sorry, he said. But this isn’t for you. This, however, is.
He held his free hand up to his mouth and bit hard into the soft flesh of his palm. Blood flowed from the wound, and when he lowered his hand, the blood coalesced and hardened into the shape of a knife. When the blade was finished, he curled his fingers around the handle and gripped it tight while blood continued to drip from his wound and patter onto the restroom’s tiled floor.
Jerome was supposed to be the one to kill you, but considering he was too goddamn stupid to look for you in the men’s room, I’d say he’s forfeited that privilege. Any last words before I gut you like a fucking fish and cut off your face?
“Yeah,” Julie said, pointing at the Sisters of the Blade. “What’s wrong with them?”
Randall frowned and turned to look at the faceless girls. Their bodies had become hazy, like pictures gone out of focus, and they overlapped one another, as if they were merging. Their forms lost all definition and flowed together, becoming gray mist, threads of bright energy flashing through it like miniature lightning.
No! Not yet! Randall cried. I’m not finished!
Tendrils emerged from the mist and streaked toward Randall, wrapping around his neck, wrists, ankles, and pulling him inward. He disappeared into the mist, and it grew larger, taking on a roughly spherical form. The book had entered the mist with Randall, and it was gone as well. The mist ball floated above the restroom floor for several seconds as if it were regarding her. A small tendril emerged from it, stretched toward the blood that Randall had dripped onto the tile, and absorbed it. The tendril then lifted from the floor and slowly extended toward her.
Time to go, Julie thought.
She turned to the restroom door, unlocked it, threw it open, and hauled ass out of there.
* * *
Jerome sat on the floor in a corner of Qwik-Mart, legs drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped around them. For the first time in hours, he didn’t have The Book in his hands, and he felt lost. Worse, he felt as if one of his limbs had been cut off, as if a vital part of him had been torn away, lessening him, rendering him empty, hollow, barren. Julie was to have been his first pure kill, the first he would do with his own hands, the way it was supposed to be done. She had been his chance to learn at last what it was like to be someone like Randall Beck, someone who held the power of life and death in his hands and who wasn’t afraid to wield that power to satisfy his desires. Someone who wasn’t weak and worthless like Jerome.
