The Forgiving

by Wesley McCraw

  As Isabel ran, she feared that Howard or Ophelia might pursue her, but she didn't look back. She clamored out of the cellar and tripped on the top step, tumbling to the ground. The fall knocked the knife from her hand. She searched for it in the moonlight and found it at someone's feet.

  A small hand picked it up before she could get to it. It was Daniel, standing by the cellar entrance.

  “Did you kill Daddy?”

  Isabel's voice caught in her throat. All she could do was shake her head.

  “He said your love would set me free.” Daniel held out the knife. “If you didn’t kill him, then I'll have to pay for Adam's sins myself.”

  Isabel took the knife back. “No, no one's going to hurt you!”

  Daniel walked past her and descended a few steps. He stopped. “Aren’t you coming?”

  “I can't go back down there.”

  “He said you'd take care of me, that you'd love me.” The child shrugged as if it was of little consequence. He descended into the darkness.

  Isabel watched him disappear. The knife was tacky in her hand. She brushed off the dry grass that had stuck to the hilt. She put her hands together and looked at the sky.

  “God. Please let me wake. Please. Howard loves me. He loves Grip. He'd never do anything to hurt us. Never.”

  Clouds encroached on the moon again. The skittering sound buzzed near her ear like a mosquito. She poked her index finger into her ear canal, but then the sound moved to her other ear. Pain jolted her as though something had scraped her eardrum.

  She closed her eyes. “I just need to wake. Please.” Something knocked into her shoulder, and she opened her eyes again. “Who’s there!?”

  The skittering continued around her. The clouds blocked the moon, and it was hard to see anything, but whatever created the sound seemed to be invisible.

  “Show yourself!”

  In front of her, the bush that had held up Zelda's doll burst into flames. The fire opened like a mesmerizing flower, each layer of flame opening to more flame opening to more flame opening to more flame. She stepped out of her shoes. She reached out, and the hungry fire licked her fingers but didn't burn her.

  “How can things be made right?”

  The flames flared and turned a faded blue.

  She stared with her mouth slack, astonishment overwhelming her. She brimmed with a love that she only felt when she was with Howard and Grip. Suddenly, overcome with shame for staring with such arrogance, she averted her eyes, and her legs crumpled beneath her. She was unworthy of such intense acceptance.

  The light grew and felt like the sun on her skin. If she hadn’t turned away, she was sure it would have blinded her.

  A voice that was neither male nor female, neither outside nor inside, spoke through her, making her trembled with joy and terror.

  In the cellar, Howard was still on the ground in the pool of blood at Grip's feet when Ophelia knelt by his side and took his hand.

  “You know there’s another way. But we have to hurry. I translated much of the book. I know what it says too.”

  He shook his head.

  “We can end this,” she said.

  “I did this to save him!”

  “Daniel is of my blood. He's my grandson. I can play the part of Mary and make the sacrifice to end the ouroboros. I can end the line for you, if you want this so much.”

  The Book of Three was clear on the ritual involving the trinity. To finish it, Isabel just needed to slice Howard’s throat. The second way, though it needed the same moon alignment, was more up to interpretation. “The youngest son of Mary’s line must be sacrificed by the matriarch. She must take away his holy breath.” The youngest son was Daniel, but both Isabel and Ophelia were mothers of the savior, so both could be considered the matriarch. Either woman could sacrifice Daniel and end the cycle, presumably by strangulation.

  The first way was called The Trinity Ritual of the Father, and the father paid for the sin. Howard had made peace with this. He was ready to die. The second way was called The Sacrifice of the Matriarch, and the last son paid for the sin, ending the family line. The second way was everything Howard didn’t want. He had to save Taylor for Isabel. He couldn’t bear another child sacrifice, especially if it was Isabel’s child.

  Daniel came from the darkness into the candlelight, his movement timid at seeing Grip's hollowed-out stomach. “You’re still alive,” Daniel said to Howard. “I wasn’t saved, was I?”

  “My boy!” Howard threw his arms around Daniel’s legs. “I tried. I tried to show her how horrible it all is, but your mother doesn't believe.”

  “My mother?”

  “I brought you here when you were tiny. Isabel thought you had died in your sleep. I tricked her.”

  “Then she'll help me. When the time comes. The way Grandma Ophelia helped you. She will teach me to be like you, so I can save the world from sin.”

  Howard shook his head. “Your mother doesn’t understand. She thinks all this is crazy.” He started to cry about everything and nothing. Maybe Isabel was right. What if he and his ancestors had imagined the signs from God? Faith had always come so easily, but that was because the alternative was too horrible to consider. “I am atrocity.” The physical pain grew along with his weeping and despair. He wanted to cut off his leg so it would stop hurting. He wanted to rip out his heart so it would stop aching.

  Isabel listened to his wails as she crept through the darkness of the anteroom. She had never heard him cry before, not even when Taylor died, let alone with such tormented agony. It made her chest hurt for him.

  “My boy. The salvation of the world depends on you.” Howard tried to regain his composure. “You're the new Christ. I thought I could save you from all this, but I couldn't.”

  The occult knife in Isabel's hand glinted from the candlelight. She was close now, but the darkness still concealed her behind the arch.

  “We can end this!” Ophelia said.

  “I said no! I won’t let you hurt him.”

  “Don't be angry, Daddy.”

  “I'm not angry at you. Just remember, six children sacrificed and one son to live on. Salvation will be on you.”

  “Come with me, child.” Ophelia took the boy's wrist. “You want to help Daddy, don’t you?”

  Daniel nodded.

  “What are you doing?” Howard said.

  “Come here.” Ophelia covered the boy's nose and mouth with her hand and hugged him to her bony body.

  “Stop!” Howard tried to get up, but she stabbed him in his good leg with the scissors. He cried out in pain. She left the scissors in his leg and backed away, still smothering the struggling boy.

  Isabel cried out, and Howard saw her for the first time. She still held the knife.

  “Isabel, stop her!”

  Isabel backed away. “God wants this. The boy will be at peace. And then all this will be over.”

  “He’s our child!” Howard pulled the scissors from his leg and then put pressure on the wound. “He's Taylor! Isabel, do you understand? He’s our child. Ophelia, stop! Isabel will sacrifice me instead.”

  Daniel gasped as Ophelia let him breathe.

  Isabel said from the darkness, “No, I won’t. I can’t. I love you too much. When we lost Taylor, you said he belonged to God. Let him go with God now.”

  Ophelia covered the boy’s mouth and nose. He kicked and struggled.

  Daniel's eyes grew ever wider, and his skin turned blue. Isabel looked at the ground, not able to watch. What if she was wrong? And then she hated herself for doubting. God had spoken to her only minutes ago. A miracle. A flaming bush. Why did she have such little faith?

  Howard struggled to get up off the ground.

  Isabel raised her voice. “God wants this! He told me Taylor completes the trinity. Be strong.”

  Howard lunged forward and toppled Ophelia to the ground.

  From on top, Howard felt that Daniel had already gone limp. He was dead. Ophelia took her hand away from his little mout
h and nose, but the boy didn't take in a breath.

  “He’s at rest,” Ophelia said up at Howard, who looked down at her with grief and anger.

  Howard rolled off. Ophelia sat up with the boy in her arms. “Our family's bloodline ends with Daniel.” She kissed the boy's forehead.

  “With Taylor,” Isabel corrected.

  Ophelia laid the boy out on the ground. “I made the sacrifice of Eve. You made the sacrifice of Adam. The ouroboros has ended.”

  “I made my choice,” Isabel said.

  Howard shook his head, not wanting to believe that she could ever want the death of her only son.

  “I did what Mary couldn’t. I let Ophelia sacrifice my child. Isn't that what you said invalidated Christ's death on the cross, Mary's resistance? God gave His only Son and Mary screwed it up. We've now paid the price. God will forgive us. We’ve given Him everything.”

  Howard reached over to their little boy. “Get away from him!” Ophelia withdrew as Howard took the boy into his arms. “My sweet boy. What have we done?”

  Isabel couldn't look any longer; Grip and Howard could have been fathers together. For a time, that was all she wanted. She stepped past Howard to Grip on the altar. She cut off the bandage covering his mouth and kissed him on the lips, lips that were dried together with blood.

  “You're holy,” she said. “You helped us save the world.” She didn't feel pride, only sick.

  Howard leaned forward and blew into Daniel's mouth, trying to give him CPR.

  Isabel went back to Howard. He needed to accept this. This was what God had asked of them.

  “Let him go.”

  Howard pounded the boy’s chest. Isabel put her arms around Howard to stop him. He struggled and wept and cried out in grief. She held him tight. He stopped fighting.

  “He’s with God now,” Ophelia said.

  Howard looked up at his mother. “Go! I can’t fucking look at you!”

  Ophelia stood her ground.

  Howard sobbed into Isabel’s shoulder. “I took him from you, and you could've had him back. Why didn't you let me die instead?”

  “I lost Grip. I couldn’t lose you too. I couldn’t. I’m sorry.”

  The boy coughed.

  “Daniel!” Howard scooped him up.

  “It’s impossible,” Isabel said and stood up.

  “He spared him! God spared our child!”

  Isabel stepped back, still holding the knife. She didn’t know what to think. “Taylor?” she said with tentative hope. God had said Taylor needed to die for the sins of the world. How was this possible? “He was sacrificed—”

  “And now—now our child has risen.”

  “Glory to God!” Ophelia shouted and jumped in an ecstatic dance.

  “Praise the Lord!” Howard cried and laughed. “Oh, my sweet boy, you’re so beautiful! I love you! I love you!”

  “Daddy.”

  “I’m here. Your mother is here too. Come here, Izzi. Come see our beautiful baby boy.” They had lost Grip, but that sacrifice was necessary to have their family restored. Howard wept with joy, and his grin stretched across his face, hurting his cheeks.

  Isabel stepped forward. Her son looked up at her with big, frightened eyes.

  Jesus rose from the grave. God spared Isaac. Was it so crazy to think her boy would be spared too? She had done as God commanded, and she was now being rewarded. “God spared him. God spared our child!” She turned to the altar. “Maybe God will spare Grip too.”

  She rushed back over to Grip. His stomach was still empty and gaping.

  “Be thankful Taylor was saved,” Ophelia said, though no one heard her over Isabel's pleading.

  “Please, God! Please raise Grip. I beg of you! He doesn’t deserve to die.” Isabel hugged his body and sobbed. Viscera soaked the front of her blouse.

  “Daddy!”

  “It’s okay,” Howard said. “We’re going to take care of you, Mommy and me. We’re going to be a normal family, the three of us. You’re going to have a new name. Your name is Taylor now. Do you like that? God spared you. God loves you.”

  “Daddy, my stomach!”

  Howard pulled up his son’s shirt. Something writhed just underneath the skin. Howard pulled the shirt back down and hugged him.

  “Daddy! It hurts!”

  Isabel looked back to their son, confused by the terror in his voice.

  “It’ll be okay,” Howard said, his jubilation killed. “I’m here. It’s okay.”

  Their son started to cry the kind of sobs only children can make, panicked and hysterical.

  “What’s wrong?” Isabel said.

  Howard rocked their son back and forth and put his hand over the child's mouth.

  The now familiar skittering circled the room. Isabel looked around for the sound, though there was never anything there to see. “Oh God, what's happening?” She rushed over to see what was wrong with her son.

  “That sound,” Ophelia said. “It's laughing. It’s laughing at us.”

  Isabel pulled up her son’s shirt. Something continued to writhe just under the skin.

  Snakes.

  “No,” she said in disbelief. God wouldn’t do this.

  “This is disgrace,” Ophelia cried. “This is Azazel!”

  Daniel screamed in pain into Howard's palm.

  “Sh-sh-sh. It’s okay,” Howard said. “Don’t be scared, baby. Don’t be scared. It’ll be over soon. I promise.”

  Tendrils of darkness curled, twisted, and snaked up the mural behind them, like black smoke come alive in the picture. It felt alien. Nothing like the love and acceptance that they had felt from the burning bush.

  Isabel shook her head in denial. “But I saw the burning bush. You saw it too, in the desert. God guided us.”

  Vibrations coursed through the tendrils and made the skittering sound again.

  “The false prophet was to perform great and miraculous signs,” Ophelia said.

  Blood streamed from Daniel’s ears.

  “He was to fool even the righteous.” Ophelia grabbed the scissors and backed into a corner.

  Howard held out his free hand to Isabel. “Give me the knife.”

  “God, forgive us,” Ophelia said, terrified. “We know not what we’ve done.”

  “He’s in pain!” Howard pleaded.

  Isabel shook her head. “I was so sure.”

  Daniel continued to scream into Howard’s palm. The shadow tendrils vibrated, and the skittering increased until it sounded like a hundred rattlesnake tails. She looked around at the moving shadows for any reprieve, for any sign of a caring God. In the corner, Ophelia had stabbed the scissors into her own chest. Blood had pooled on the ground around her. She was already dead.

  “Isabel, please!” Howard still held out his hand for the knife. “He's suffering!”

  Isabel looked back to him. The look in his eyes was pure desperation as he fought to hold their son still. She turned the knife around so that she held out the handle. “This was never God. God was never here.”

  Howard took the knife. The rattling intensified all around them until it was deafening, like the roar of a jet engine. Isabel shut her eyes.

  Then everything went quiet, as if the sound had been sucked out of the room. She could hear dripping blood and the tick of Howard's wristwatch.

  Their son was dead, a knife in his heart.

  18

  Haunted

  Jacobi House loomed in the light of day. Birds tweeted. Outside the gate was a “FOR SALE” real estate sign. After a few months of limbo, Bell Real Estate had taken over all of Jacobi Real Estate's properties. Ophelia had been found dead, her head smashed in on a stranger’s porch. Some properties were haunted, but most were just houses with a secret or two. Bell Real Estate did a much better job of hiding the histories, and most sold within a few months. The one exception was Jacobi House.

  No one found the skulls and bodies buried in Jacobi House's cellar. Howard, Isabel, and Mrs. Stonecipher had spent the whole weekend
together, cleaning up the evidence. Isabel had been thankful there had been only two bodies upstairs. She had imagined every room occupied. Disposing of two was enough work. A week after The Forgiving, Mrs. Stonecipher was still scrubbing at bloodstains, with Zelda’s help.

  Taylor and the real Ophelia were buried in the family graveyard out back.

  ◆◆◆

  A woman wore a puffy white dress and a veil. A generically handsome man in a tuxedo stood with her at the altar between two white columns. A priest with a Bible stood at a podium. This was all a photo spread in a bridal magazine.

  A hand turned the page. The next page depicted a little boy in a tuxedo holding out a pillow with a ring. The boy resembled Taylor, but it wasn't him.

  “More cult stuff?” Allen joked.

  He and Howard staffed the information desk in Powell’s on the third floor next to the rare book room. Howard hadn’t missed a day of work since the weekend of The Forgiving. He’d even upped his hours.

  “We’re getting married.” All of his muscles felt sore from his morning weightlifting session.

  Allen gave a smug chuckle. “I thought you were better than all that: marriage, kids . . .”

  “We aren’t. You were right.”

  “But what about—”

  “We just want a normal life.” Howard went back to the magazine. A flower girl threw rose petals to the wind.

  Allen pushed a cart into the rare book room. The large glass windows faced into the rest of the store, but Howard kept his head down and didn't look inside. He heard a ladder wheel across the carpet. Allen was using the ladder to put away the books.

  “Howard! I feel one of those drafts. You have to feel this!”

  Customers walked by. Howard kept his nose in the magazine.

  Allen gave up. “Okay, Howard, suit yourself.”

  Despite his better judgment, Howard looked up.

  Grip stood naked behind the glass of the rare book room with his intestines hollowed out. His stare was unblinking. His tattoos were blurry as if not quite remembered. None of the customers noticed him, of course. He only haunted Howard. Part of Howard trembled in terror and cried in grief and recoiled in disgust, but these emotions remained on the inside, no matter how extreme they felt. His facade remained placid.