Debris of Shadows_Book II_The Forgotten Cathedral

by Tony LaRocca

  She swallowed. “I — I’m not getting candy, I just don’t feel good.”

  Her dad winked, and took another bite of turkey. “You should see your face right now,” he said. “You’re like a little deer caught in the headlights.”

  “I haven’t been sneaking candy,” she said, wrapping her arms around her chest. “I promise.”

  Her dad leaned in until his eyes were inches from hers. “You don’t want things to be like they were, do you?” he asked.

  Her face grew hot, and her eyes stung. “I don’t want you to be sick again,” she said. “I’m sorry. I don’t want that. It’s not my fault.”

  A light, dreamy smile crossed her mother’s face. “Roger, leave her alone,” she said. Tish stared at her. Her eyes showed little of their usual fire. Instead, she looked as if she were half–asleep. “She didn’t make you smoke a pack a day, don’t put that on her.”

  Roger looked at his wife, his eyebrows raised. “I didn’t say that,” he said, his voice soft. “Nothing I did was ever anyone’s fault but mine.” He turned back to Tish. “I’m sorry if it came out that way.” He pointed his fork at her. “But I’m telling you, kiddo, you only have one job. Stay away from sweets. That’s the only thing you have to worry about.”

  “I will,” she said, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. Her nose felt like it was overflowing with snot. “I will, I’m sorry, I promise.”

  “Use your napkin.”

  She obeyed, and blew her nose in a long, wet honk.

  Her father looked her up and down. “From now on, I want you to come straight home every day after school,” he said.

  Tish bit down on her lip. “But I’m safe, and I’m not stealing candy or drinking soda, I promise.”

  He chuckled. “Who said anything about soda?”

  She looked down at the table. “Please,” she said, “I’m sorry. I won’t ever, ever eat anything except what you give me. I promise. I need time alone. I need to be by myself. Please?”

  Her mother blinked for a few seconds before giving her a bemused smile. “Oh, sweetie,” she said, “you’ll never make friends that way. Don’t you want the other kids to like you? That’s very important now.”

  Tish pushed the blobby, tasteless, orange root around her plate with her fork. Something was definitely wrong. Why couldn’t her dad see it? “Mom,” she said, “do you remember what happened at the library?”

  Her mother beamed for a few moments. Then she frowned. A faint spark appeared in her eyes. Her hands went to her arms, and scratched at them. “It’s a sin,” she said. “It’s a sin to fuck with books like that.”

  Tish’s eyes grew wide. Her mother had cursed before, sure, but that was before the Shadows. Since her resurrection, she had tied herself in knots trying to be the textbook, virt–like, role–model mom.

  “Helen,” her dad said, “your arms.” He stood, took her hands, and placed them at her side. He turned to Tish, and held his hand out. “Trust me,” he said, “everything is going to be okay.”

  “Daddy, she’s sick.”

  “Shh,” he said. He knelt beside her, and wiped an errant lock of blond hair from her forehead. “I know things seem wrong right now. But you have to understand the reality of the situation, and trust me.”

  Tish shot her vapid mother a look. “Daddy, do you think that if we don’t do what he says, that he’ll put us back the way we were?”

  He pursed his lips together. “What do you think?” he asked. The question held no sarcasm or rancor. Tish blinked in wonder as she realized that her father really cared about her opinion. She considered the question carefully, as if she were giving advice to a king.

  “I think,” she said, “that he needs us to be happy and perfect.”

  He kissed her on the forehead. “You’re a smart cookie, but there’s more to it than that. He needs us to feel scared of letting him down, but without him saying so. He needs us to pretend that being happy is what we want, not him. He needs to hold something over our heads, but he also needs to never, ever acknowledge it. Because he’s walking around with a loaded gun, and his mental stability depends on him always seeing himself as the good guy.”

  She looked at her mother again, and felt a sadness that made her chest hurt. “Mom says that you’re always sticking up for him because you’re afraid.”

  “There’s nothing shameful about gratitude, missy. I’m grateful to him for making all of us better.” He sighed. “The truth is, we need him. If he died or left tomorrow, what would we do when the food and water ran out? There are so many different sides to this, sweetheart. I know that you don’t understand, but I’m just trying to help all of us get through this alive. And we will.” He looked at her mom. “She might still be adjusting. I’ve seen it happen to a few other people. Let her rest for now, and we’ll see what happens in the morning.”

  She took her father’s hand and squeezed it as tight as she could. “Dad, can I ask you a question?”

  “Of course.”

  “What does ‘nigger’ mean?”

  His eyes clouded. “I don’t —” His voice broke off. “Where… where did you hear that word?”

  “Kathy calls me that, sometimes. She called me it before, and Mom got super angry. She still says it anyway, but I don’t know what it means. I tried to look it up, but it wasn’t in the dictionary.”

  Her father rubbed his jaw as his green eyes stared off into space. He shrugged. “It… I don’t know. It rhymes with ‘bigger.’ Maybe it was just a mean joke about your weight?”

  Her mom jumped to her feet. “What?” she asked, her complexion a livid scarlet. “Who called my girl that?” She gripped the edge of the table, the olive skin of her knuckles turning white. “Who —”

  Her entire body shook. Her teeth clacked together as her eyes rolled back in her head. A rattling sound came from the back of her throat, as if she were gargling ball bearings. Roger leapt to her side, and wrapped his arms around her.

  Her head lolled forward. As if turned off by a switch, her jittering stopped. She was silent, but Tish could hear a faint buzz coming from her skull, like a chorus of rapid, clockwork ticks. Her mother’s cheeks broke into a smile, and Tish wanted to throw up. It was the sweetest, most blissful maternal smile she had ever seen.

  “Don’t worry, sweetie — for the Ophanim’s sake, Roger, let me go. I’m fine.” She brushed his hands away. “Honestly, you two, you act so silly.” She turned her angelic smile on Tish. “It’s only a word, honey, that’s all. It’s nonsense sounds. It doesn’t mean anything. It means that your little friend is just lonely, and jealous of how beautiful you are, so she makes up words to pick on you.” A bead of blood trickled from her nose, and ran from the corner of her mouth to her chin. Then the right side of her face went slack. “Honeshtly,” she slurred, “change ish jusht the natural —”

  She fell forward onto the table, her face smacking into her steamed carrots and turkey with a wet slap.

  Roger pulled her head up. “Get Asher,” he said, “get him now.”

  “No, Dad,” said Tish, “we need to take her to a hospital.”

  “Do as I say,” her father said, cradling his wife in his arms. “Go!”

  Tish jumped up, her chair screeching as it scraped the kitchen tile. Although the city had electricity, there were no phones, or any other immediate forms of communication. What was worse, the monk was a wanderer and never slept, so she had no way of knowing where he was going to be.

  She ran down the street to the Wakefields’ house, and pounded on their door. After a few moments, Julia pulled it open. “Little Tish,” she said, “what’s the matter?”

  “It’s Mom,” said Tish. “She’s very, very sick, and Dad needs help.”

  “Holy Ophanim,” said the woman. “What happened?”

  “Please,” said Tish. “I have to find Brother Asher. Just help them until I find him.”

  “I’ll be right over,” Julia said. “But it’s dark out. Vincent can go look for Asher, you shou
ld stay with me.” She turned her head towards her living room. “Vincent!” she shouted. She turned back in time to see Tish running off into the night, her sneakers pounding on the fresh, soft asphalt.

  Her feet made all the choices that her brain could not. They carried her left down one street, right up another, left again down an alleyway, right again through a courtyard, and so on. After the tenth turn, her lungs would not let her feet carry her any further. Not without rest.

  She heard the sprinkling of water, and let her feet carry her around just one more corner to the plaza near the library. She ran to its fountain — the one shaped like a marble bowl — and collapsed against it. Her lungs felt as if they were sucking in fire, while her heart pounded against her ribs. She had never been a runner. She leaned in, cupped some water in her hands, and took a drink.

  A whispering rustle cut through the night air.

  She whirled, banging her knee against the stone rim. She winced, and squeezed it with her hands.

  She knew that sound.

  A row of trees lined the side of the plaza. She looked left and right. She was alone. She put weight on her leg. It did not hurt too badly. She limped to the nearest one, and looked down.

  Its roots jerked into life, ripping up from the soil. They moved slowly at first, unaccustomed to freedom. With tiny, echoing thunderclaps, they broke through the plaza’s pristine pavement. One by one, the oaks and maples stretched their subterranean limbs, shooting sprays of granite and cement into the air.

  Theresa knelt on the broken tiles. “Please,” she said, “I need to find Brother Asher.” Her cheeks were wet with tears. “My mommy is dying. I have to help. Please.”

  She watched the roots for another cryptic animation. Instead, they all swiveled towards the south.

  She stood, whispered a prayer of thanks, and half–ran, half–trotted in the direction they had pointed.

  A tree had been planted along the sidewalk every thirty feet. One by one, as she approached, they each ripped their roots from their prisons. In unison, along with the grass surrounding them, they led her from one block to the next. She ran, following the living beacons, ignoring the pain in her knee and the stitch in her side.

  They led her to the largest park that Asher had reconstructed so far. The grass, thick and lush, had begun to climb the sides of the soccer goals and softball backstops. At its center was a large pond. She could see the monk in the moonlight, a lone figure standing at the top of a paved hill. He leaned on a stone wall as he gazed into the water, his back to her.

  Tish tried to shout his name, but her lungs and side felt as if they were being roasted on coals. Just a little further, she thought, it’s just like a few more blocks. I can do it.

  Every blade of the overgrown field pointed in the monk’s direction. Instead of following along the road, she stepped onto the lawn, his name on her lips —

  The long stems of grass whipped around her legs, twisting her to the ground. The fall knocked the wind out of her. She lay on her belly for a second, dazed. She opened her mouth to cry out, and the meadow instantly filled it. She choked, desperate to breathe. The ground beneath the grass felt wet and mossy, like a sponge. She dug her fingers around the stalks that burrowed into her throat.

  Her body shook as thousands of spines, hidden deep within the soil, impaled her. She felt no pain, only the sensation of worming beneath her skin as an uncountable number of wire–thin vines tunneled their way through her nervous system.

  Then the offending shoots sucked away from her mouth, and back down into the earth. The spiny moss broke off at her skin, and seeped back into the grass.

  Theresa rolled onto her back, and gasped for air. She lifted her bare arm, and examined it. Thorn upon thorn riddled her skin. She put her hand to her childlike cheeks and neck, and felt the same spiny texture. She was a walking cactus.

  Tish? she thought. Tish, are you there?

  There was no reply. She sighed. The poor kid had been through more than even she could know, and Theresa had no desire to add to her pain. But she had needed to escape her ever–spiraling prison, if there was any hope of her stopping this madness. Tish’s mind was still in the Sage, somewhere. It had to be.

  There was no freedom for any of them. Not yet.

  She examined the cornucopia of her flesh. She did not know how long she would be able to hold a body like this together, it might be only for a few minutes at a time. Perhaps she had not completely escaped her vegetative hell, but she had at least broken the never–ending loop. She felt a twist of guilt for leaving Matthew behind, but she had tried everything she could to make him understand. She would have to go back for him. She lay on her stomach, and peeked up at the top of the hill.

  Asher still stood beside the pond, oblivious to her presence.

  She slithered towards him in a low–crawl. It was hard, animating the girl’s body. With each movement, she could feel the resistance of the floral circuitry that wound through her musculature. Her own, real body, for what little it was worth, was still safe in its immersion tank. But Asher had ruined her capacity to leave this Sage, and perverted her existence within it. The key to restoring her former avatar lay somewhere within the maze of his disturbed mind.

  She crept as silently as she could to the base of the wall. All she had to do was reach him. If she could just grab him, then all of this insanity might end. She crouched along the stones, and prepared to lunge.

  “Brother Asher!”

  The call came from the other side of the pavement. She heard footsteps, and saw the white beams of flashlights cut through the night air. She cursed silently as he ran from the edge.

  “What is it?” he asked. The sound of his voice made her want to scream.

  “It’s Helen Cole,” said one of them. “She’s had some kind of seizure.”

  Inch by inch, Theresa raised her head until she could peek over the wall. Two men and a woman were talking with the emaciated monk. The young and healthy trio were carbon copies of one another, save, she assumed, for their genders. She peered at the same olive skin that peeked from between her spines, and frowned.

  The four of them ran off together, the boy’s filthy, peeling cloak trailing him in the moonlight. She waited for them to leave, and looked down at her new body. Maybe it was possible for her to leave the soil behind, even if just for a little while. She leaned on the wall, and pulled up her legs.

  The instant her toes left the earth, her body turned to ice. Every muscle cramped, seizing into knots. She fell backwards to the ground, and let the moss and grass penetrate her flesh once more. She lay back, stared at the sky, and gasped. Her body stung with pins and needles as her chlorophyllic blood began to circulate again.

  She pounded the earth with her fists. She had commandeered the girl’s body, but she was still trapped within the Sage’s vegetation subroutines.

  She let out a long sigh as her essence seeped back into the earth, her newly acquired flesh and bone decomposing to reside amongst the worms and flowers. It would be at least a few hours before she could manifest like that again. She stretched her mind throughout the soil. At least she could still feel the chill of every root, and the warmth of every leaf. The flora of San Domenico was still hers to control, as long as the earth between them remained unbroken. She could still save Matthew. She needed him, and he needed her.

  She only had to make him understand.

  Chapter 15

  Roger sat on a green leather chair while the doctor — he was pretty sure that her name was Shavoy — examined his wife. Asher had not yet rebuilt a full hospital, but their district’s municipal building had an infirmary that would have put any metropolitan medical center to shame. She flashed a blue light into one of Helen’s emotionless eyes, and then the other. She made a small tsking noise in the back of her throat.

  “She’s not responding,” she said. “I need to do a full neural to tell you what’s going on in her brain.”

  Roger nodded as he stared off into space. “Asher
can fix her,” he said. “He can fix anything.”

  Shavoy made a tiny snort without looking up. “I’m sure. I know they’ve gone to look for him. Where’s your daughter?”

  “Tish?” Roger rolled the word across his tongue. It sounded strange. “I’m sure that she’s fine. Everything will be fine.” He began to hum. The song gave him comfort. “God save the West,” he sang under his breath. “God save the West.”

  The doctor raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. She checked Helen’s vitals again. Everything about her was normal, save for the fact that she was catatonic. Shavoy’s eyes narrowed, and she laid her hand on her patient’s arm. “Was her skin always like that?”

  “Hmm?” asked Roger, as if waking from a nap. “Like what?”

  “I don’t know.” She squeezed Helen’s biceps. “It feels very strange and smooth, almost like plastic.”

  “Don’t worry, Doctor. Everything will be fine.”

  Shavoy stared at him. It dawned on her that something might be wrong with her patient’s husband as well. “Roger,” she said, “what did you have for dinner tonight?”

  He smiled. His expression was simple and childlike.

  “Okay,” said Shavoy. “Maybe you need to lie down too. I think I’ll need some help here.” She looked up at the clock. It was ten. Where the hell was that monk–boy? Something about him gave her the heebie–jeebies, though she did not like to admit it. She leaned in, and took Roger’s hands in hers. “I need you to listen to me.”

  “Hmm?”

  “I think you and your wife are sick,” she said. “We need to find Tish. She may have it too.”

  “Have what?”

  Asher strode into the room, his filthy cloak flapping behind him. Shavoy grimaced inwardly. Did he not realize or not care that he was naked underneath for all to see? She sighed, and waited for him to cover himself.

  “Brother,” she said, “these two are displaying an acute loss of motor skills and cognitive function. I need a neurological scanner, preferably with synaptic reflection. Is there one in the city?”