Mercy

by Rhiannon Paille

  “Five pounds,” the driver said, looking into the rear view mirror. He had a thick middle-eastern accent and sat on the right hand side of the car. Krishani inched to the front and put his hand on the Plexiglas between the front and back seats.

  “Drive south,” he instructed, his voice sounding warbled. The glass spider webbed with cracks and the cabbie’s eyes widened. He pulled the car into traffic. Krishani watched houses go by, rain streaking the window, streetlamps causing reflections in the glass. He was trying to remember exactly where it was, but his mind was a buzz of activity. He couldn’t get the image of the star out of his mind.

  If she was alive he had to find her.

  “Where?” the cabbie asked. After a half hour of weaving through narrow streets and passing dilapidated districts Krishani was tired. The body was quickly losing temperature and rigor mortis was settling into the bones. He couldn’t twist his left foot anymore, and his right hand was stuck to his side. He deeply regretted taking Pierre’s body but he wasn’t about to give up. He crunched his facial muscles together, fighting the stiffness and concentrated hard on the last time he had been to the apartment on Adelaide Avenue, Lewisham. He repeated the info to the cabbie who swung a violent left, leading them past a cemetery, hedge bushes aligned with the sidewalk, black wrought iron gates pulled across the entrance. They were locked. Krishani stifled the urge to vomit as they rolled past it, the cabbie slowing to make a left turn onto Adelaide.

  Krishani forgot that Elwen lived next to a cemetery. He flexed his hands even though they were settling and tapped the glass.

  “Stop,” Krishani choked, fighting with the door handle to get out of the car. The cabbie stopped on the left side of the road and Krishani shoved the door on the right side open, afraid of scooting across the seat.

  Krishani stepped onto a cobblestone road and limped around the back of the cab, the sensation of the exhaust against his shins like a flamethrower. He yelped as he reached the sidewalk and the cab took off, not waiting to see if he was okay. Hedge bushes blocked the cemetery but it wasn’t enough to stave off the incessant need. Cemeteries, churches, they were all on hallowed ground, a place he couldn’t be. The only irony being that Gemma and Kazazar couldn’t step foot in those places either. He clenched his forearm, his neck pulling to the left, wanting to stay there forever. He forced himself across the sidewalk at an uneven gait until he reached the first building. It was red brick and black railing and flimsy wooden steps leading to a wide porch. He looked at the array of doorbells, each of them with letters beside them and rang them all. There was a buzz and a click, and Krishani wedged the door open. He moved up the freshly painted wooden staircase, hauling his heavy body around the bend, his knees groaning with every step.

  He reached the door on the second floor, apartment B. Unable to stop the stiffness spreading through his limbs he shoved himself into the door in a full body check, rattling the thick oak. He slid onto his back, paralysis reaching his knees and elbows. His hands were clenched in claws, fingers attempting to make fists. His head hit the floor as the door opened. He stared at the baseboards, white walls, tanned floorboards.

  “Find me,” he croaked before exploding out of the body, fleeing through the open window at the bottom of the first flight of stairs.

  O O O

  Elwen hit the doorframe—fear, anger, and disbelief coiling his muscles into tight bunches. His stomach dropped, the black void escaping the body in a crescendo of silk, and disappearing into the night. He crouched beside the old man and lifted his arm, seeing the hospital bracelet on his wrist: Pierre LaForge. He stood, and closed the door to his tiny studio flat. He grabbed the phone off the end table next to the futon couch where he slept, a beige blanket tangled across it. He dialed 9-1-1 and waited, while it rang once, twice

  “911 what is your emergency?” a clear voice answered.

  “A man collapsed on my doorstep, can you send someone?”

  “Have you performed CPR?”

  “No, he’s not breathing,” Elwen responded, tapping his foot. He needed to do something to distract the cops while he went on a search for Krishani.

  “Have you checked for a pulse?”

  “Yes, there’s no pulse.”

  “Can I get your name, address, and phone number?”

  “Tom Norton, 1776 Adelaide Avenue, Lewisham.”

  “Thank you Mr. Norton we’ll send someone shortly.”

  Elwen hung up, throwing on his brown loafers and adjusting the belt on his trousers. He slicked his dark brown hair back. It felt odd not being as long as it used to be, his fingers feeling for hair that used to be there. He threw a brown and beige patterned sweater vest overtop his dress shirt, grabbed the keys to his Mini, and fled the flat, stepping over the dead body in the foyer. He clamored down the steps taking them two at a time until he was out in the fresh air. He rounded the gray Mini and hopped into the driver’s seat. He didn’t need to wonder what Krishani was up to. This wasn’t the first time he’d asked Elwen for help in the past nine thousand years.

  Elwen only hoped Darkesh of the Valtanyana wasn’t aware of Krishani’s impromptu excursion this time. Elwen refused to involve himself in their wars, but when High King Tor fell he swore allegiance to Darkesh to salvage his immortality. He’d changed his name once every hundred years or so, and was a master at manipulation, something that came with being so old. The Valtanyana came to him when they needed favors but Elwen hadn’t seen them since settling in Lewisham a couple hundred years ago, before the land became a breeding ground for cement and steel.

  He raced down the narrow alleyways and thick interstates, heading towards University Hospital. It was the biggest and closest to where he lived and if Krishani was going to possess another human body, Elwen wanted to be there to see it. He’d been there for seventeen of Krishani’s lasting possessions, monitoring him until he ultimately found his end.

  One thing Elwen was certain of: when Krishani possessed a body, the Vulture would destroy it.

  Elwen darted around a semi, and watched for the turn off to Lewisham High Street. Hitting the gas he floored it towards the exit, cutting off a Dodge Caravan in the process. He flipped around the corner and sped down Lewisham High, his eyes scanning the boulevards dotted with oak trees and short black fences. As he neared the turn off for the hospital, he slowed. A car behind him honked and passed. Elwen made a right, into the compound of University Hospital, brown buildings with triangle roofs and turrets surrounding him.

  The Mini rumbled over speed bumps as Elwen searched the grassy patches beside each of the buildings. He turned left with the road, and viewed the cul-de-sac at the end. If Krishani wasn’t here he’d have to double back and try another hospital. Nervousness crept into him. Darkesh couldn’t know about this. He couldn’t fathom what the Prince of Darkness would do if he found his champion Vulture shirking his eternal duties. At the same time he had to keep Krishani away from Gemma and Kazazar who no doubt would have a lot of things to say about Elwen’s willingness to help the former Ferryman.

  It wasn’t necessarily a choice, but Elwen felt as guilty about the past as Krishani did. What Kaliel had sentenced them to … Krishani had suffered the worst. Elwen failed Krishani as a mentor and disregarded him in his time of need. He should have been more forceful, locked Krishani in solitary confinement, and stopped him from finding the other Flames. If he had, Tor might be alive and the Lands of Men might still exist. Earth might have been a better place.

  He squinted, seeing someone near a patch of evergreens and big round bushes. He paused, pulling the Mini to the curb and rolling down the window. A young boy, maybe eight years old, emerged from the bushes, clutching a teddy bear. Jet-black hair, striking blue eyes and chapped white lips greeted Elwen with a silent hello as he approached the Mini, his feet bowing inwards like he was a penguin.

  “Terminal ward?” Elwen asked when Krishani was near enough to hear him.

  The boy bit his lip and nodded, gesturing to the back seat. “Get me
out of here,” Krishani said; his voice paper thin and scratchy. His eyes look desperate and frightened, like a tiny animal. This wasn’t like the boy Elwen knew so different that something in him snapped.

  Elwen’s pulse skyrocketed as he unlocked the doors and slid out, folding the seat forward to allow Krishani into the back. The boy shuffled across the sidewalk with bare feet, shivering at the cool August air. Elwen slammed the seat back and ducked into the car, pulling the door closed behind him.

  “I hope you don’t get caught,” Elwen muttered as he pulled up to the cul-de-sac and rounded it, the hospital grounds surprisingly empty at 2:00 am He rumbled down the street, doing forty instead of twenty and rounded the sharp turn at the end of the street. He glanced at the rearview, Krishani clenching and unclenching his fists, his jaw set in a tight line.

  “Darkesh won’t …”

  Elwen grimaced, the familiarity of what Krishani had become radiating through his decaying form. “I meant the bobbies.” Elwen didn’t relish the idea of kidnapping a young boy but Krishani devoured the soul and if he didn’t take care of him, another body would end up in the ground, another family would grieve, and Elwen would feel slightly responsible for what he’d never been able to do: control Krishani.

  “They’re only human, I can handle them,” Krishani seethed and for an eight-year-old boy he seemed vicious.

  Elwen glanced at the rearview again, meeting Krishani’s electric blue eyes and pale face. “They have guns, we need to be careful.” Elwen pulled onto Lewisham High, heading back to the apartment but stopped, smiling at his own stupidity. The place would be swarming with the very thing he wanted to avoid.

  Krishani looked defeated, twisting his small hands in his lap, the teddy bear against his polka dot clad thigh. “Then go somewhere safe.” He went back to gritting his teeth and picking at his cuticles.

  Elwen sighed. He turned and began driving north. “We’ll need to pick up a few things,” he said absently as he thought about northern England and the residence he abandoned in the eighteenth century. The mansion was still there, and hopefully the rumors about it being haunted remained. He could settle there until he figured out what to do. He glanced at Krishani through the rearview, curiosity in his bones. “Why are you doing this?”

  Krishani let out a long sigh, his head drooping forward. “I wanted to know what it’s like to be young again.” He sounded sarcastic. Elwen’s eyes tightened, not in the mood for games. “I need to find someone,” Krishani amended.

  Elwen smirked. “That’s going to be tough with the illness. How long do you have?”

  Krishani fidgeted, looking out the window. “It’s not about how long I have; it’s how long I need.”

  “How long do you need?”

  “Forever.”

  Elwen laughed. “You won’t get that.”

  “I’ll settle for as long as humanly possible.”

  Elwen smiled, catching the irony. He set his hands on the steering wheel and continued around the outskirts of London. He needed to stop by an old friend for clothing and food, and head to the mansion in Leeds. The Bobbies wouldn’t look far for the boy and nobody would notice him missing until it was already too late to find him. Elwen had no idea what else Krishani had planned but Elwen would try.

  ***

  Chapter 5

  Forest Fire

  Maeva woke to the sound of water crashing into a stream—again. She pushed pillows aside and groaned, the comforting dream fading away. It never changed: the path through the forest, rocks, and waterfalls. Her heart hammered as she moved to the dresser and pulled out a pair of black shorts and camisole. Her clock read 6:00 am Even though it was early she was wide-awake, remnants of the crashing water turning to a drizzle in the back of her mind. She shed the nightgown and dressed, grabbed her pre-packed survival kit her father Gord forced her to take on all her canoe trips. She took a quick look at herself in the mirror but really, she was going to be in the forest until sunset, she wasn’t going to encounter anything but bugs, squirrels, and maybe a rabbit.

  There was nothing new about her appearance. Hazel eyes, pale skin, button nose, oval shaped face framed by night black curls. She drew her hair into a ponytail, winding the length of it into a bun, securing it with a scrunchie. She glanced at the twin bed against the wall and smoothed out the fluffy white comforter. The rest of her room was pretty plain. A rickety wooden dresser sat across from the bed, the bottom left shelf forever falling out when she opened it. She used that drawer for stories and poetry, and anything else she didn’t want her mom to find, like the deck of tarot cards she’d bought from the bookstore downtown. Her clothes overflowed on a chair next to the dresser. Her room didn’t have a desk or computer, but her mom had one upstairs in the living room. She unfortunately had to share it with her brother, Scott.

  She slung the backpack over her shoulder and took the steps two at a time, emerging in the kitchen. She grabbed a water bottle from the freezer, and glanced at her mom, Grace, sitting at the table staring off into space, cigarette in hand, ashtray below. Ringlets of smoke fogged the air. She glanced at Maeva, a distant look on her face, which turned sharp the moment she recognized her.

  “You’re not going to find it you know,” she said, voice flat.

  Maeva tucked her head, trying to avoid her mother and moved around the big oak table to where her converse sneakers were. She pulled them on and tied the laces. “I’ll stop looking when school starts again.” She tried to sound cheerful.

  Grace tapped her cigarette on the side of the ashtray. Maeva eyed the floral patterned nightgown covering her mother from foot to neck, something she’d learned from her good Christian upbringing. “For god’s sake, Maeva, you’re seventeen. You think you’d given up already,” Grace rasped.

  Maeva grabbed her black and yellow lifejacket off the rack behind the door, cringing. Her mother wasn’t compassionate, supportive, or even friendly. The past three summers Maeva spent most of her time with her dad, combing Lake of the Woods, certain she’d find what she had been dreaming about for as long as she could remember. She tried not to look pained when she faced her mother, but there was a constricted feeling in her throat. She focused on her breathing, attempting to ease the anxiety. The last thing she needed was a repeat of the conversation about group therapy. She didn’t need therapy she needed … something else, but she wasn’t sure what. “I need to …” her voice cracked and tears threatened to erupt. If she didn’t leave now she was going to cry.

  “I expect you home for lunch.” Grace knew her too well, knew when she was about to fall apart but unlike most parents Grace didn’t give up, she let the venom fall from her lips no matter what state Maeva was in.

  Maeva bit her bottom lip and wrenched the back door open, unable to speak as she fled down the two steps into the backyard. She crossed the lot in a few long strides, avoiding the debris Scott hadn’t bothered to clean up. Evergreens bordered their part of Goat Island, leaving enough room for a pier to stretch from the grassy shore. The sky was alight with the yellowish glow of dawn. She hopped onto the planks carefully and walked to her canoe. It took a year of working at Red Boot Restaurant for her to make enough to pay for half of her own canoe: a brand new WindRiver, three seats, and red exterior. She loved it as much as she loved canoeing. It was in part a gift because her dad didn’t want to take her across the mainland everyday so she could get to school. It was fine when she was in elementary and they lived on Valley. Her mom walked her to school back then, but since they moved to the island when she was twelve, getting to and from anywhere in Kenora had become a hassle. It’s not like they built a bridge to every tiny island in the middle of Lake of the Woods. Sure, St. Mary’s Harbor was relatively close by comparison to some of the other islands, but spring and fall were the worst.

  She threw her backpack into the canoe and put on her lifejacket, zipping it up. She walked to the edge of the pier and untied the boat from its hook. She doubled back and stepped gingerly into the canoe. Sitting on t
he middle bench she grabbed the paddle from the bottom of the boat. The catalogue said it was one of the best, made from cherry and ash trees. It wasn’t heavy and all the rowing gave her arms a slightly muscular look. It was probably the only part of her that was athletic. The rest of her was scant, flimsy legs and a cinched torso. She pushed away from the pier, her mind circling the thing she had been trying to find for the past three years.

  Gord gave up this summer because of her mother. Grace didn’t want Gord encouraging her, and so Gord, being the pushover father he was, listened. The only good thing, Gord trusted her enough to go by herself, so the search wasn’t over, but the afternoons of sandwiches and scavenging and long conversations were. She missed spending time with him, especially since he spent most of his time at the factory.

  The canoe glided seamlessly through the glassy lake. Everything reflected off the water, trees, sky, even the last few stars. She moved the canoe south, searching the shores for a path she hadn’t trekked before. She loved Lake of the Woods for its quiet beauty. She stopped dipping the paddle in the water and secured it in the plastic holder. Unzipping her backpack, she pulled out her iPhone, taking it out of its waterproof case and flipping to the iPod app. She didn’t want loud music but something to cut through the sound of nothing was better than listening to the birds and wind. Music calmed her in ways nothing else could.

  She flipped to an Adele song, letting the sound fill the empty air. She quickly flipped to her compass app to make sure she was on the right path and put the iPhone back into the case, music streaming from it. The canoe drifted to the left, nearing the banks. She picked up the paddle and switched sides, carefully moving it away from the winding shoreline.

  Maeva sighed as she dunked the paddle in the water again, pushing as hard as she could, her limbs getting tired. She locked the paddle on the holder and stared at the sky. It felt more like home in the forest and on the lake than it did in her stuffy house; or in the brick-walled classrooms at school. She preferred sunshine and wide-open spaces. She yawned, and grabbed the water bottle, popping the top and taking a long sip of whatever had melted. The icy water trickled down her throat and she shivered. Her eyes went to the sky as a flock of geese formed an uneven V shape.