Ourselves

by S. G. Redling

  “Listen to me, Stell. Don’t let Rom’s words into your mind. Don’t believe the poison he’s poured over you. You are not evil. You are Nahan and you are fierce. This feeling you have right now, this giddiness, it will pass. Maybe badly. And when the blood high fades, you may feel a flood of emotion—guilt, shame, pain. You may see his face over and over but don’t dwell on it. That will pass too. It will. Don’t let it in, Stell. We all kill at least once in our lives and we survive. You will survive it.

  Malbette smoothed her daughter’s hair, her tears glistening in the starlight. “Never come back. You are so fierce. You are Nahan.” She kissed Stell, pressed the bag of clothes into her hands, and ran off back toward the campsite. Stell watched until she couldn’t see her mother anymore then slipped the dress over her head. Picking up the small bag, she ran away from her mother as fast as she could.

  She didn’t have enough money to get all the way to Iowa City. The woman behind the ticket window told her she had enough to get just to the edge of the Illinois border about thirty-five miles east of her target. The route was a rural one and the trip would take a whole day to complete. Stell handed over her money, getting a few small bills in change and paced the depot to wait.

  She was surrounded by common. She had remembered to put on shoes and in the motley crowd that made up the bus goers, she didn’t seem to stand out. She was thankful for the sunglasses. When the sun had come up, Stell winced at the brightness of the dawn off the windows around her. The fluorescent lights of the depot flickered and made her flinch. The smell of frying meat from a café across the street made her stomach lurch.

  Near the restrooms, Stell spied a row of pay phones. She had seen those at the rest stops on the pilgrimage. Malbette had shown her how they worked. She put her bag at her feet and read the print on the front of the phone. Taking a deep breath, Stell picked up the receiver and punched in a number.

  “Directory Assistance. City and state, please.”

  “Calstow Bend, New York.”

  “What listing?”

  “Desara, Charles and Tatiana.”

  “Hold for the number.”

  Tomas fell out of a dream, his heart pounding. He had dreamed of doors, of whispering doors. It meant something. He knew it. He felt it. He opened his eyes and knew—

  “Shit, Louis!” Aricelli grumbled as Louis flopped into the bed, elbowing Tomas in the stomach. Sheets billowed and flopped, pinning him to the bed between them.

  “You kids sleep okay?”

  Tomas felt his face get hot when Louis grinned down at him. Aricelli fluffed the pillow behind her, sitting up in the bed. Even rumpled with last night’s makeup smeared under her eyes, she looked spectacular.

  “We slept fine. Give me a cigarette.” She reached over Tomas to take the pack from Louis, who also propped himself up against the headboard. With both of them pulling at the sheet, Tomas nearly disappeared. They talked over him as if he were a pillow. “I must say, Louis, I had no idea your daffy little cousin would turn into such a delightful playmate.”

  “Why are you surprised? I’ve been grooming him for years.”

  Tomas felt his face get even hotter. He really wanted to change the subject. Plus his dream wouldn’t leave him. “Hey, you guys—”

  “Did Kitty make it back last night?” Aricelli asked.

  “Nah,” Louis grabbed the lighter. “She left with that guy in the ugly shirt. You know the one. He said he was a record producer. He kept telling her she could be huge. Then he made the mistake of telling her she looked good enough to eat. I suspect she is answering in kind.”

  Aricelli flicked an ash off the covers, ignoring that it fell into Tomas’s hair. “Let’s hope she doesn’t wind up on YouTube doing it.”

  Tomas tried and failed again to get their attention as they launched into a gripe session over the perils of digital surveillance.

  “It was so much easier for the other generations,” Louis said. “Grandma Tat used to tell me stories about being at court in Paris. If things got dicey, you just had to slip out and get into the country. No photographs, no IDs. She said all you needed was gold and guts.”

  Aricelli laughed. “And hope nobody screamed ‘Vampire!’ and tried to cut your head off.”

  “Well there was that.”

  “You guys,” Tomas tried again. The meaning of the dream pressed on him.

  “Daddy told me to really watch it here in Las Vegas,” Aricelli said. “There are cameras everywhere. You’re photographed a million times a day.”

  “It’s getting like that everywhere.” Louis dropped his cigarette into an empty beer bottle. “They say London is one of the worst. Every move you make is recorded. The good part about that is maybe it’ll be easier to see my parents. They’re flipping.”

  “Really?” She laughed. “You get to move to England? Are you going to fake an accent or play the ugly American?”

  “I’m not going to need an accent because I’m not going.” His voice took on a tone of false brightness. “It looks like I’m the first kid on my block to be osviat. How cool is that?”

  That got Tomas’s attention. Osviat was the Nahan term that meant both to disappear and liberated. It signified the inevitable split between generations of Nahan when, due to the slower aging process, parents had to change their common identity separately from their children.

  Aricelli reached over Tomas and grabbed Louis’s hand. “But you’re still so young!”

  “I know, but it’s my dad’s job. He’s going to London to be part of their immigration security crackdown. It’s a major flip. Working for the government, he’s going to be thoroughly vetted. I guess it’s been in the works for a long time, creating this identity for him and Mom. And because there’s so much technology involved, the Council decided he had to be kind of young, like thirty-two or something, and even the Council can’t justify a thirty-two-year-old man with a twenty-five-year-old son. So . . .”—he smoothed the sheets—“I will very soon be completely independent.”

  Tomas didn’t know what to say, even if they had been listening to him. This would happen to each of them but like most major changes in life, each thought they would have more time to be ready.

  “When are they going?”

  “As we speak.” Tomas heard the tamped-down emotion in his voice. “Dad thought it would be easier to do while I’m out, you know, in case there’s any surveillance at home.”

  “My god, what are they joining? Al-Qaeda?”

  “Hey, look at the bright side.” He lit another cigarette. “At least I don’t have to hurry home. And speaking of hurrying home, you guys aren’t in any hurry to get back, are you? I mean you haven’t been taken by any great flashes of inspiration to work in a coal mine or anything?”

  Tomas started to speak, glad he’d brought up the topic, but Aricelli cut him off. “No, but speaking of great flashes, do you guys remember Tabby Adair?” Tomas remembered the short, intense Nahan girl who had hung briefly at the edge of their social circle. “Mother told me she’s been on the road just over a year. She was in Nashville. Had to leave. Let’s just say she took a real liking to r ‘acul. Big time.”

  Louis’s eyes widened. “She’s already killing? How many?”

  “Like five, I think, before her grandfather came down and made her leave. Made her go see the Storytellers.”

  “Oh god, poor girl. Like it’s not enough to go blood crazy, then you have to go see those weirdos. Tabby Adair, who would have thought?” Louis eyed Aricelli. “So I take it you and Kitty haven’t done it yet either?”

  Aricelli shook her head. “No. We came really close in New York. We were at this club and these girls were all over us. But then we both got spooked.”

  Tomas burrowed down into the pillow. “I can’t imagine what it’s going to be like.”

  “I know,” Aricelli said, her voice hushed. “They say it’s really intense. I know we’re all going to do it but how do you know if you’re going to love it? Like Tabby?”


  “Or even worse,” Louis said, “what if I hate it? What if I’m a total puss and can’t stop crying about it? What if I freak out and join the True Family?” He cringed and looked down at Tomas as he realized what had just come out of his mouth.

  “Awkward.” Aricelli whispered.

  Tomas laughed. “No, it’s okay. But there was something—”

  “See?” Aricelli smiled. “One night in my bed and the True Family is no longer an issue.”

  Louis grinned. “I never doubted you.”

  “You guys know I can hear you, right? You know I’m lying right here.”

  Louis patted Tomas’s head. “Right where you belong, buddy.”

  “In bed with your cousin?” Aricelli coughed on her smoke. “That’s a little weird.”

  “You guys—”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “You guys!”

  “What?” Louis laughed.

  “You’re not even listening to me.”

  Aricelli brushed his hair out of his eyes. “You’re not saying anything, darling.”

  “I’m trying.”

  “We’re all ears, Cousin.”

  With their undivided attention, Tomas felt the words freeze in his throat but the pressure from the dream wouldn’t leave him.

  “I think I need to call the Storytellers.”

  Aricelli’s eyes widened and then Louis barked out a laugh.

  “Thanks a lot, Tomas!” She folded her arms in mock hurt. “Was I that bad in bed?”

  “It’s not you.” Louis shouted over Tomas’s protest. “It’s because we’re starting to wrap it up out here. We’ve got to head back home and you know how Tomas’s parents are.”

  “No, it’s not—”

  “Oh god, Tomas, you don’t need the Storytellers.” Aricelli winked at him. “Nobody expects you to have a plan yet. Do you really think Louis and I are ready to start a career?” When Tomas tried to interrupt, she reached over him and smacked Louis. “You shouldn’t have brought up being osviat. Tomas has got years before that.”

  “No, you guys, I think—”

  Louis smiled. “Dude, seriously, relax. We’re family. We’ve got nothing to worry about. My parents head up Security. Aricelli’s dad is the number-one money man for the Central Council. Your mom is the queen of real estate for everyone from Chicago to Denver. We’re going to be fine. You don’t need to go running to the Storytellers for guidance.”

  “But I think—”

  He coughed when Aricelli blew smoke down into his face. She fanned it away, shaking her head. “Don’t call in the Storytellers and don’t let Daddy hear you talking about them. I mean, with all due respect to the Storytellers”—she and Louis shared an eye roll—“they’re not exactly reality based.”

  “Feel better, Cuz? Tomas?” Louis ruffled his hair again. “Are you okay?”

  Tomas opened his eyes and sighed. “I want to call the Storytellers because I think . . . I just . . . I think I might be one.”

  The bus stop at North Fork, Illinois, was part depot, part convenience store, part farmers’ market. Clutching her satchel, Stell centered herself mentally, silencing her pounding heart and racing mind. The high of killing Gary Hunter had long worn off. She wasn’t feeling any of the terrible emotions her mother had warned her of. She just felt tired and hungry. She had never been so far from home and, except for the solitude of Calstow Mountain, had never been truly alone.

  She had called Tatiana to tell Tomas where she would be but Tatiana seemed to think Tomas wouldn’t come. The older woman had told her it would be better for everyone involved if Stell found shelter with local Nahan and maybe tried to contact Tomas at a later time. In her addled state, Stell couldn’t seem to explain to her that she wasn’t looking for Nahan. Her dreams of the outside world didn’t include socializing with Nahan farmers that she didn’t know.

  Tomas was the only person who knew her, who cared about her. All she had managed to do was elicit a promise that Tatiana would tell Tomas where she would be. That was all it would take, Stell was certain. Until he arrived, she would simply make the best of it.

  That had been almost two days ago. The bus had broken down just over the Illinois border and they had waited hours by the side of the road for a replacement bus. She only had a handful of dollar bills left and used them sparingly to buy the sugary sodas that kept her head from pounding. By North Fork, she had exactly two dollars and seventy-eight cents to her name and, after a quick glance into the convenience mart, knew she couldn’t afford to stay there long. Instead, she settled on one of the orange molded chairs bolted to the floor of the bus-depot end of the building and tried to relax.

  Around her, commons came and went, yelling and laughing, eating foods that tantalized her like popcorn and candy bars, as well as foods that nauseated her, like hamburgers and corn dogs.

  She distracted herself watching a group of people setting up long tables and a grill. Some people hung signs, others laid out paper plates and napkins. Two young men were in charge of loading the grill and getting the charcoals lit, which involved a great deal of lighter fluid, eyebrow scorching, and laughter. So engrossed was she in the varying levels of flame that she didn’t notice the two Nahan women until they were within twenty feet of her. Stell quickly closed her eyes, leveled off her breathing, and focused on being still.

  Tomas was coming for her. In the chaos that had become her life since she had taken the life of one simple common, she had one certainty to hold on to and that was Tomas. He was different. He had looked at her, really seen her. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t told his friends about her. He said he loved her. He had to mean it. Once he knew where she was, he would come for her. He had to.

  Stell had watched the Nahan women ask at the ticket window, probably about arrival times and departures. It didn’t matter; they hadn’t seen her. When they had left, Stell let her head fall backward, breathing deeply and relaxing her neck. She felt a quick jolt of fear as she noticed a woman staring at her. Had she missed one? But no, the woman was common. She smiled at Stell and went back to her business.

  Erma Reynolds had been the youth group leader of Crossroads Methodist Church of North Fork for more than fifteen years. In that time she had worked with bad kids from good families, good kids from bad families, and every combination in between. Just this year she had counseled kids through two unwanted pregnancies, a quickly developing drinking problem, and several episodes of declining faith. Sometimes she succeeded; sometimes she failed but she never gave up. Erma believed the Holy Spirit had given her a gift for helping troubled kids and it was not a gift she was going to waste.

  When she saw the young woman in the homemade dress sitting by herself at the end of the bus depot, Erma knew this was a girl with a story. There was no one there to meet her. She had no luggage and for nearly two hours she had not moved from her chair. That she had arrived in North Fork the same day the youth group was there to sell hot dogs for their mission trip to Belize could have been seen as a coincidence, but Erma Reynolds did not believe in coincidences. If nobody came for the girl in the next hour, Erma planned on stepping in.

  People started lining up for hotdogs around eleven thirty and by twelve thirty the serving crew had their act together sufficiently for her to leave them to it. Casually, and with years of experience with runaways, Erma strolled toward the young woman sitting so still. There was a book open on her lap, but Erma could tell she was sleeping. As soon as Erma got within five feet, however, the girl bolted upright, staring up with eyes that were a shocking shade of pale blue.

  “Sorry!” Erma laughed, raising her hands in mock surrender. She knew how important it was to keep the encounter casual. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you!” The girl clutched the book to her chest and she could make out the title on the yellowed dust jacket. “Wuthering Heights, huh? Isn’t that the one with Heathcliff and Cathy on the moors? Very romantic.” The girl didn’t move or speak, only held her gaze with those chilling eyes. It was not the
first time Erma had been stonewalled by a teenager and she was not intimidated. Instead she smiled and gestured toward the busy group outside.

  “I noticed you’ve been sitting here a while. My name is Erma Reynolds. That’s my youth group out there. We’re having a fundraiser today, selling hotdogs and the like. I know how hungry you get traveling and I just wanted to make sure you knew that if you get hungry or would just like a little company, you’re welcome to join us. We’ll be washing cars soon. I know that doesn’t sound like much fun but when you watch some of these kids try to handle a garden hose, believe me, you’ll laugh.” The girl glanced out to the parking lot where, indeed, hoses were beginning to create quite a mess. Erma took this small interest as a good sign. “So, that said, I’ll leave you to your book. Again, I’m Erma and I’d love to have you over there.”

  With a jaunty wave, Erma turned and headed back outside. It never worked to press too hard. Either the girl would follow or she wouldn’t. If she hadn’t moved in another hour, however, she would try again.

  Stell watched the woman walk away and heard the crowd laughing and calling to her as she stepped outside. This woman seemed different than the types she had encountered in tents the past weeks. For one thing, she didn’t call herself Sister anything. There were no awkward hugs or blurted out praises to her Lord. It wasn’t enough to make Stell trust her, but it did make her curious about the common around her. It was strange out here. She wished Tomas would hurry.

  Forty-five minutes later Stell’s stomach demanded action. Knowing a cold drink in the convenience mart would finish off her funds, she screwed up her courage and headed toward the smoky, soaked, and laughing crowd that was the Crossroads Methodist Youth Group Fundraiser. She studied the price list on the table.

  “Not a big menu, but it’ll get you full!”

  Stell looked up into Erma’s smiling face. “May I buy a Coke and a bag of potato chips?” This would leave her with just over a dollar.