Jericho: A Novel

by Alex Gordon

  “They’re coming!” Jenny stood out on the trail and waved to the approaching vehicle.

  Lauren recorded another set of vitals. She pressed her fingers to Sam’s wrist to check her pulse and felt her fingers slide. She bent close, then scraped a patch of skin with her fingernail. Examined what turned out to be tiny globules of white and gray, which looked like fat gone rancid. She sniffed it and winced. “Did you put something on her wrist?”

  Peter shook his head. “I didn’t put anything on her.”

  “Does that fungus have a smell?”

  “Yeah, it smells like crap. Why?”

  “So do the flies after you smash them.” Lauren showed him the gunk. “This is on her skin. It wasn’t there a few minutes ago. I think it’s exuding from her pores.”

  “It’s on her face, too.” Peter touched a shiny patch on Sam’s forehead, sniffed it, and shuddered. “Damn.”

  “Damn? Why are you saying ‘damn’?” Heath knelt on the ground beside Sam just as the paramedics barreled through with a stretcher and their gear. “It’s all right, baby. It’s going to be all right. I’ve got everything”—he patted her shoulder bag—“all under control. It’ll be all right.”

  As the paramedics set to work, Peter gave them what information he and Lauren had compiled, and turned over the piece of fungus he had removed from Sam’s mouth. Meanwhile, Sam grew more and more restless, pushing away their hands and trying to sit up. “I have to go. He needs me. The babies need me. I have to go. I have to go with him.”

  “I’m right here, baby. We’re going to the doctor together.” Heath tried to push close, but Peter took hold of his shoulders and steered him away. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying right here with you, and we’ll go together.”

  “I have to go.” Sam pushed one paramedic away and hit the other in the face when he tried to grab her. “He needs me. The children need me.” She continued to struggle as they moved her onto the stretcher and strapped her in. They conferred for a few moments, then one of them gave Sam an injection. As the drug kicked in, her flailing slowed, and she quieted.

  Carmody beckoned to Heath. “Come on. You’ll go with the paramedics. The chopper’s waiting at the house. It will take you to Portland.” He repeated himself twice, then finally grabbed the shaky Heath by the elbow and pulled him along.

  Lauren traced an Eye of the Lady on the foot of the stretcher as the paramedics hoisted it, then stood aside so they could pass. She checked the clearing for anything that had been left behind or looked unusual, then went to the wood pile and examined the shelf fungus.

  Peter had been right about the smell. The air near the wood was thick with septic tank stink. Just like the flies. She stared at the weird silvery masses and tried to recall whether she had ever seen anything like them before. She reached out to touch one shining earlike protuberance, then changed her mind. Gave them one last look, then trudged back up to the trail to find Peter waiting for her.

  “Thanks.” He put his arm around her and gave her a quick hug. In the short time since they had arrived, his skin had grayed, and his eyes held that slightly wild look that spoke of the need for a quiet corner and a chance to breathe.

  “I don’t feel like I did anything.” Lauren watched the paramedics pull away. “I read about mushrooms and fungi when I took backwoods first aid—they don’t usually work this fast. When they do, it’s GI upset. Vomiting. This looked like alkaloid poisoning.”

  “I don’t know what else she ate.” Peter worked his shoulders, rubbed the back of his neck. “Heath said that she would try things just to see what they’d do. Well, this might just have done her one too many.” He jerked his chin in the direction of Jericho. “What happened back at the shack?”

  “The ward is blown. I set something in place that I hope tides us over until we figure out what’s going on.” Lauren showed Peter the slash on her arm, then described a little of what she had seen. What she had felt. “That place has some strong memories. I don’t know what happened there, but it was profound and for some reason, it’s resurfacing.”

  Peter’s jaw worked before he spoke. “We’ll figure it out.”

  “I saw Fernanda again.”

  Peter said nothing. He just patted her shoulder, then walked slowly back up the trail.

  Lauren leaned against a tree. Watched Peter slump against the Rover while Jenny paced and wiped her eyes. Off to the side, Carmody and Kaster sat in the Jeep, deep in conversation.

  She yawned, the first sign that her adrenaline surge was wearing off, then listened to the sounds of the woods, the breeze through the leaves, and chirps of birds. Then she straightened and looked down the trail, in the direction she had not previously walked.

  Except that she had, just a few short days before. She remembered it all, the trees and clusters of ferns and the steep grade of the path and the smells. The hint of rot, barely detectable amid the moss and the green scents and the distant touch of the ocean.

  She looked up and spotted a Steller’s jay watching her from the branch of a Sitka spruce, as if it expected something from her. Could it possibly be the same bird that she had fed a few days before?

  “I left all my peanuts back in Gideon. Sorry.” She took a deep breath, exhaled, and finally moved. Walked slowly, on the lookout for the gap in the shrubbery. When she spotted it, part of her wanted to turn and run, join Peter and Jenny and drive back to the house. But the rest of her knew that she couldn’t do that, because running away wasn’t what she did.

  Follow the trail to the end . . . that’s what we do.

  She stepped through the gap and onto the outcropping, and looked out over the mountains. She could see Mount Hood in the distance, glittery white with its ever-present cape of snow.

  Lauren looked down and saw the stones, still in the pile where she had left them. A few had tumbled out of place, picked at by a bird or squirrel. But there was no doubt in her mind that they were the same stones. This was the place she had seen while in Gideon. But not just a vision. She had somehow actually, physically passed through some doorway and wound up here. For a short time, she had sat on this ledge, fed a bird, piled stones.

  Then she remembered the sounds she had heard behind her. The stink. Someone, or something, had seen her. Did it know that she had returned?

  Lauren stilled when she heard footsteps, and turned to find Kaster standing in the opening. But the charm, the glee, the quiet satisfaction with himself and everything around him—all that had been set aside.

  “Is there something you’re not telling me?” Even his voice sounded different. Too precise. Monotonal. Like the English in a recorded language lesson.

  At any other time, Lauren would have denied. But watching what happened to Sam had stretched something inside her to the breaking point. “There’s a lot I’m not telling you.”

  “And just think—if you had told me some of it, this might not have happened.”

  “Point the first, I did, at breakfast. I asked about the flies, and you shrugged. Point the second, I phoned you about the busted ward immediately. Point the third, don’t give me that shit. You haven’t played it straight with me since we met.” Lauren took one step toward Kaster, then another, and as with Nyssa, something about the look on her face compelled him to back up. “Something is going on here. It’s been going on for a while. It involves Jericho, and Fernanda, and you’re scared.”

  “Just talk to Nyssa, and stay at the house. Keep out of everything else.” Kaster made as if to say more, but before he could, the pounding of running feet stopped him.

  Then Jenny appeared, panting from exertion, eyes wide. “Carmody just peeled out of here. Someone called him—from the house.” She sagged against a tree, gasped for breath. “Nyssa’s locked herself in her bathroom. They’re afraid she’ll try to kill herself.”

  CHAPTER 16

  They piled into Kaster’s Jeep for the ride back to the house, Peter in the passenger seat, Jenny and Lauren crammed into the rear jump seats. Lauren s
at behind Kaster, close enough to catch the occasional whiff of his cologne, one of those indefinable blends that smelled like half the spice cabinet. Peter warned her and Jenny not to walk alone in the woods for the foreseeable future, dammit. Then he dug a couple of aspirin out of the first aid kit, swallowed them dry, and closed his eyes.

  When they reached the house, Kaster drove straight into the lower-level garage. Tires squealed as he swung into a parking space near the elevator. Then he got out, pulled his seat forward, and held out his hand to Lauren. “You’re coming with me.”

  Peter had been halfway out of his seat. Now he slid back in and reached out to Kaster. “Gene, no.”

  “Not now, Peter.”

  “Stef thinks—”

  “I know what Stef thinks, and what you think. You’ve both been quite generous with your thoughts.” Kaster took hold of Lauren’s arm and pulled her out of the vehicle. “We need to hurry.”

  Lauren let Kaster drag her into the elevator, then extracted herself from his grasp. “Has she done this before?”

  “Not in this house.”

  “But Carmody keeps paramedics here, on staff.”

  “As a safety precaution.” Kaster punched the floor buttons three times before hitting the one for the right floor. “He’s had them at all the houses this past year.” He stamped his foot once, then again, as though kicking the car to make it go faster. “You have no idea what it’s been like.”

  The door opened and Lauren broke into a run to keep up with Kaster, who sprinted down the carpeted corridor. This was the third floor of the family wing, the rugs worn in places, the furniture old and battered. She passed tables stacked with books, chairs hung with jackets and sweaters, and smelled the faint buttery aroma of popcorn.

  She followed Kaster around another corner and found a crowd had gathered near a door at the end of the hall, including Stef, a pair of security guards, and a trio of paramedics complete with equipment bags and a gurney.

  Stef closed her eyes and shook her head when she saw Lauren. “Gene, please.”

  Kaster ignored her, taking Lauren’s elbow again and steering her through the doorway of what proved to be Nyssa’s bedroom. The gentle color scheme of grays and lilacs appeared fresh, the walls newly painted, and Lauren wondered if Nyssa had picked it herself or if Carmody had in an effort to provide a calming environment.

  Carmody stood at the far end of the room, near the bathroom door. “Don’t touch it. She said that if anyone tries to break it down, she’ll cut herself so she bleeds out before we get it open.”

  “Did she say anything to you?” Kaster tried to put his ear to the wall near the door, but Carmody pulled him back. “Did she say why?”

  Carmody shook his head, then started to pace. “Something happened while we were gone. She was fine at breakfast. We even discussed the possibility of her going back to school—” His voice broke. “I shouldn’t have left her.” He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, then turned to Lauren. “Please. Whatever you can do.” He walked toward the bathroom door, then stopped when he came within arm’s reach. “Nyssa? Lauren Mullin is here. I really wish you would talk to her.” He started to say more, then shook his head and walked out to the hall, where Stef waited for him. She took hold of his arm and started talking, her voice a low, level rise-and-fall like the murmur of a distant crowd.

  “We’ll be right here.” Kaster touched Lauren’s arm, then moved away to a place just outside the doorway.

  Lauren remained still for a few moments. Then she sidestepped toward the bathroom door, as if she approached the edge of a cliff. “Nyssa?” She closed her eyes, focused her attention, strained for any sound, any sense of the girl. She could be dead already. Her eyes stung. Please, no.

  Then she heard a noise, like a shaky sigh.

  “My father paid you to talk to me. You’ve now officially talked to me.” Nyssa’s voice, flat, drained of life. “Pick up your paycheck on the way out.”

  “He hasn’t paid me a dime.”

  “He will. Gene told him you’re broke.”

  “‘Broke’ is a relative term. Compared to Gene and your father, most of the world is broke.” Lauren shot a glare at Kaster, who shrugged sheepishly and turned away. Then she lowered to the floor as close to the door as she dared and rested her head against the wall. She drew her knees to her chest and tried to make herself so small. Wished she could be anyplace else in the world but this bedroom. “I don’t know if I can help you. Sometimes I can’t help myself.” She spread her hands and felt the air. “Do you even want help?” Yes, it was quiet here, but she also felt tension, spent emotion. This was the silence that followed the rage, and if there was strength left for anger, there was still hope. “The thing I miss most about my life then, as opposed to my life now, is the not knowing. That there was this world out there that knew about me, and that there were parts of it that didn’t want me to exist. It’s like, I never did anything to you. I don’t care about you. Why can’t you just let me be?”

  From the other side of the door came the clink of glass, the opening and closing of a drawer. The soft rush of water from a faucet, and the faintest of footsteps. “Gene said that you died.” A grudging voice, curious in spite of itself.

  “Yes, I did. Technically, I guess. For a few minutes.”

  “How did you do it?”

  “Smoke inhalation.”

  A soft gasp. “You burned yourself?”

  “I drew the memory of fire from some wood, and torched a demon.”

  “You did that?”

  Lauren thought back. Seven months had passed since then, but it seemed so much longer. And I’m still just as lost now as I was then. “Yeah.” She felt the pressure of stares, and looked toward the bedroom entry to find Peter and Jenny had joined the others. As she watched, Jenny clasped her hands together, raised them to her mouth, gave them a little shake. A gesture of prayer, of good luck. No one else moved.

  “The place you went, was it quiet?”

  Lauren edged around so that her back faced the audience. “I honestly don’t remember. It wasn’t loud. The people there—the spirits, I guess—they talked. I don’t know if there was music or anything like that. I didn’t get that far.” She waited, every beat of silence stretching longer and longer.

  Then she heard the soft creak of wood, as Nyssa leaned against the bathroom door.

  “Why did you come back?”

  Sometimes I wonder. “They told me I had a job to do.”

  “Like what, more demon torching?”

  Lauren smiled. “Yeah.”

  “I’ve never had a job.”

  “You want mine?” Lauren rubbed her hands together and examined the fly bites, checking for any sign of a black blister like Sam’s. “It’s a different world. Sometimes I feel like I can see the universe in a wisp of cloud. Other times I walk somewhere, and the next thing I know, I’ve passed through to another place.”

  Nyssa’s tone sharpened. “You can do that?”

  “If conditions are right.” Lauren thought back to her trip across the Abernathy campus, from the library to the office corridor where she saw Fernanda. “Thing is, I’m not sure what those conditions are.”

  “Can you do it now?”

  “I can try.” Lauren almost added if I do, will you come out, but stopped herself. This was no time to put pressure on Nyssa. It’s all on me. She unwound and slowly stood, heard the questioning noises from Carmody and the others, and ignored them. “Tap on the wall where you want me to come through.” She listened, and after a few moments heard the light rapping a foot or so to her left. Moved into position. Listened to the silence, then reached out and felt it.

  It was easier, this time, to find the spaces between, work her fingers into them, and make them larger. The wall faded—she saw the shadowy outlines of the studs, the wiring. Then came the inside of the bathroom wall, the outline of the tile.

  Soon the inside of the bathroom appeared. Fuzzy at first, then sharp and clear. The rubber g
oldfish on the rim of the bathtub. The objects scattered atop the vanity, the jars and tubes and the broken water glass, shards glinting in the sunbeam that shone through the skylight. The red lipstick smeared across the mirror.

  No, not lipstick. Lauren took a step forward. Another. Reached though the wall that was no longer there, felt the warmth of the sunlight touch her hand. Saw Nyssa standing with her back pressed against the wall opposite, mouth hanging open, blood dripping down her forearms.

  Lauren heard the sound that the drops made when they struck the floor. Pat—pat—pat. The soft squeak of Nyssa’a bare feet as she pushed along the wall, her whimper as she trod upon a piece of glass.

  Her scream.

  Lauren staggered back as the sound sliced through her and the air, once so calm, buffeted her like a gale. The wall shimmered back into view, overlaying the bathroom like a double exposure, then growing more and more solid. She felt the cold scrape of the tile down her left arm as she tried to pull away, the silkiness of wood and the gravelly crumble of wallboard as they formed around her hand. In place of it.

  Through it.

  Lauren struggled to focus as the pain engulfed her hand and spread up her arm, like hammers pounding again and again, as she shifted back into the world where the bathroom wall existed and wood and stone and metal pushed into flesh that had no business being there. She fought to ignore the blood that threaded down the clean, smooth, lilac paint and the way the wall shook when Nyssa flung open the bathroom door.

  “I saw your hand come through the wall. I saw your hand.”

  Focus. Lauren forced herself to concentrate, to shift into the space between for one vital instant. Heard footsteps behind her. Voices that changed to cries. Commanded herself calm.

  The air stilled. The wall faded. She yanked out her hand, then sagged against the wall and slid down to the floor. Cradled her arm close and choked back vomit as the pain washed over her.

  “Ohmigod ohmigod.” Nyssa knelt on the floor beside her, eyes wide and shadowed by circles dark as smeared mascara. “You’re hurt. Dad, she’s hurt.” She placed her bloody hand over Lauren’s.