by David Beers
“I’m sorry,” Christian said.
Luke stood to the side. Mrs. Windsor stared at her son with eyes that didn’t understand, but Luke thought he saw resignation in them.
“Go on, Christian. Finish this.”
Christian raised the pistol to his mother’s head.
It’s over, Christian thought, more calmly than he should. The dead weren’t simply grabbing at him, they were upon him and bringing him deeper and deeper. A steady stream of bubbles left Christian’s mouth, the air in his lungs exiting as he went further into the dark abyss.
Just let it happen.
“Christian, why not try to come up one more time?”
He didn’t know how the replica’s voice reached him down there, but it did, moving through the water as if it was sunlight.
“One more try.”
Christian saw pale wraiths swimming all around him. He saw their arms and legs and even teeth grabbing hold of his body.
It’s easier to let go. So just let go.
“No. Not yet. You can let go in a minute. Come on up,” the replica said as if he was telling Christian to simply try a math problem again. “Not for anyone else. Do it for yourself.”
Christian closed his eyes and blocked out the dead drowning him.
One more try.
How many have you already given? What’s one goddamn more?
Christian kicked. He kicked again and again and again. His arms flailed outward, sending some of the dead draped on him scattering into the sea. He swam, his lungs on fire and his muscles ready to give out, but still he went up.
Blackness swam around the outer edges of his vision; his mind was shutting down.
Finally he burst through the top layer of water, ripping a hand up into the air. He sucked in air with all the might in him, his entire body rejoicing.
“There you are,” the replica said.
The sea raged and Christian felt himself already starting to falter again, his muscles not able to hold him up any longer.
“All of this, Christian. All of the water and the lightning and the thunder. It’s all you. It’s always been you. The dead down there. They don’t exist. I know you don’t believe me, but it’s true. All of it is … it’s all bullshit. It’s almost too late for you to see any of it, but that’s okay. This isn’t your fault. Your mind was too much. I just want to know why seeing what’s behind the sky matters?”
Christian had somehow forgotten about that. In his struggle to simply live, he’d forgotten about the lines across sky—the ones growing wider. His eyes flashed to them, even as his face dipped further into the water. He saw fire, brilliant and beautiful. Ready to engulf everything beneath.
“Yes, and very soon you will see what it is. Maybe in the next few seconds. Now tell me, why do you care?”
Christian swallowed water and then started coughing as it went into his lungs. He was going to die, and he was going to listen to himself talk while he did.
“Hear me, please. Just once, hear me, which is to say yourself. The part of you that was born perfect, before everything else in this fucked up world got to you. Hear me. You can stop all of this. You can make the waves end, the sky close back up, and your mansion stand a million feet tall. This is your mind, Christian. There’s no reason you need to die in it.”
Christian breathed in water, instinctive panic coming over him. He felt himself starting to drop under.
“Give it a try. Close your eyes and just say—”
“Stop,” Christian said.
Luke didn’t move. “Stop what?”
Christian closed his eyes and Luke knew that he was back inside himself. He still held the gun facing his mother, but he wasn’t here anymore.
“Christian,” Luke said, not taking his eyes from him.
“Luke,” Veronica said.
He looked over to the woman in the chair. Tears stained her face, but there was happiness across it too.
“I think you’re in trouble,” she said.
The rain stopped and the lightning froze in the sky. Large bolts stood unmoving, unable to reach their destination and simply die off.
Christian looked down into the water. The dead were there, but they didn’t move. They floated, not even staring at him, but looking straight ahead into the dark waters as if they were nothing more than mannequins.
Christian found himself floating, too—no longer struggling to keep himself above water. The waves, which moments before had been trying to drown him, no longer existed. He looked up into the sky and saw the fire still sitting just beyond the remaining sky, but it looked like a painting now. The black tarp that blanketed this place was no longer cracking apart.
Everything had frozen.
“See how easy that was?”
Christian turned to the replica, to himself. “How did you do that?”
“You know the answer to that question. You don’t need to ask anyone anything inside here. You are in control, Christian, and you always have been.”
“No,” he whispered. “Not anymore.”
“Then tell me, how are you still floating instead of dying below?”
Christian had no answer. He looked back down and saw those that had wanted to eat him moments before; none moved a muscle, their hair floating involuntarily with the water’s slow movement.
“You have to lay them down. You have to take that weight off your shoulders and lay it all down. It’s not for you to carry. Not Tommy. Not those kids that died in that FBI building. It’s not your weight to carry, and it never has been.”
Christian shut his eyes hard. “NO!” he shouted like a child, refusing to hear news that he wouldn’t accept.
“Why are you fighting that simple fact?” the replica asked. “Your mother told it to you years ago, back when the killers you were chasing weren’t Luke. And that’s all Luke is. Another killer. Smart, sure. Strong, yes. Diabolical? Yeah, I’ll give you that. But Christian, he’s simply a murderer.”
Hot tears squeezed from the corner of his closed eyes. “He’s more than that. He’s the only one that can save me. He’s the only one that stops all this fucking madness.”
“Yeah? Then what’s happening right now? If that’s true, then why isn’t that fire still descending down on you?” The replica stood up, the water jostling around his feet as he did. “Look,” he said. “Open your eyes and look up at the sky.”
Christian did. His legs slowly moved to the surface of the water so that he was floating on his back.
“Why does it matter what’s behind there? Why do you care at all?”
Christian said nothing but only stared up at the flames that had once billowed out, threatening to burn everything and boil the water he now floated in. They were still, looking like some great artist had created them with a brush.
“Tell me. Why?”
“I just … I thought there might be … salvation.”
The last word was a whisper.
“Salvation in the sky, even as your mind brought you down to depths you didn’t understand. And now, outside this place, you hold a gun to your mom’s head. And what are you hoping for there?”
“Salvation,” he whispered again.
“Exactly. Salvation in Luke. Salvation in a madman. Has he convinced you, Christian? Has he actually made you a believer in his quest to bring down God? Do you really think that’s possible?”
“I don’t know. I only know what I feel when I’m around him.”
The replica turned his head down so that he stared at Christian. “Go back outside. See what you feel, then come back and tell me.”
“Where do you keep going, Christian?” Luke asked.
“I … I need a minute,” he said. He was staring at his mother again. Luke’s eyes flashed back to Veronica; she wasn’t looking at Christian, but at him, and he saw glee on her face.
What was he missing here?
An icy chill rolled down Luke’s back, something that he didn’t know if he’d ever felt before. Something was happe
ning and she saw it. Did Christian’s mother, too? Luke glanced to her, but she stared only at Christian. Tears filled her eyes, creating small watery lakes over the blue that rested behind. Only pain resided in her.
“There is no more time, Christian,” Luke said, turning his attention back to the only man with a weapon. Even that thought—Christian holding the weapon—shouldn’t exist right now. Luke should feel comfortable with Christian holding the gun; indeed, it was the whole purpose of him being here.
Yet, the ice on his spine said something different.
Luke breathed out slowly, steadying himself, and growing very, very still. His predatory nature was taking hold, the snake that saw its prey but wasn’t yet ready to be seen itself.
“Christian,” he said again.
Christian’s hands were shaking on the gun.
“It’s time.”
And as if Luke had said nothing at all, Christian closed his eyes again.
“There. How do you feel?”
Christian still floated on his back, the water warm against his skin, no longer the terror that it had been moments before.
The replica lay down next to Christian. He put his hands behind his head, lying like the gently rocking water was a hammock.
The two were silent for long minutes, Christian not knowing how much time passed in reality. Perhaps it was a one-to-one ratio. Perhaps no time at all had passed over there. Before he closed his eyes, he’d been trying to take everything in. To do as the replica asked and try understanding how he felt, and in doing so, he sensed Luke’s nervousness.
Something new. Something he hadn’t felt from Luke before, but it most certainly was there—nearly an aroma filling the room.
“He’s nervous because of what’s happening in here,” the replica said. “He’s nervous, because you might be seeing the truth, and not the version he’s fed you.”
“What’s the truth?” Christian asked.
“Tell me how you felt when you went back over? Did it feel like you imagined salvation might? Were trumpets blaring and long rows of angels lining up? Or were you sitting in a desert basement holding a gun to your mother’s head?”
“I felt love.”
“For who?”
“Them. My mom. Veronica,” Christian answered.
“They aren’t your salvation, either, though. Whatever salvation you may find, it’s here. In this ocean. In this place. It’ll never be out there; it never has been. Your salvation is you, Christian. You never needed the mansion. You never needed the field that sat outside. You most certainly never needed Luke. You only needed yourself, and the ability to recognize that.”
Christian cried as the replica spoke.
“You’re probably going to die,” the replica said. “I don’t see any way around that. Everyone dies, but don’t follow some false prophet to your death. Don’t kill those you love for a fake savior. Die, but die knowing that you saw the truth in the end.”
“No more closing your eyes,” Luke said.
Christian remained on his knees before his mother, his eyes having only been closed a few seconds, but Luke had no way of knowing how much time had passed inside his mind.
“Why not?” Christian asked. He kept his eyes on his mom.
“Because there’s nothing in there for you anymore.”
Luke’s hands were at his sides, but his mind had already calculated the distance and time he would need to take the weapon from Christian.
Something was very, very wrong here and Luke didn’t know when it had happened—nor what.
“Christian, it’s time that you do what we came here for, or it’s time that we decide our next course of action.”
The tears were drying on Christian’s face, no new ones springing out.
“What would that be, Luke?” Christian asked.
“It isn’t something we need to consider. Go on. Finish this.”
Christian moved the gun forward, placing the barrel against his mother’s forehead. The woman let out a sob, closing her eyes. Accepting her fate. Luke saw Veronica still staring at him; the bitch was smiling now. Whatever Christian’s mom thought, Veronica was thinking something very, very different.
“Kill her. That’s the plan, right, Luke?” he asked.
Luke said nothing. His instinct was to move, to attack Christian and take the weapon from him, but he was too close. Christian had crossed so much distance, come so far. He would finish. He had to.
Christian turned his head and looked at Luke. “What’s your plan when we finish?”
There was a distance to him, but yet, this seemed to be the first time he was here in this room, as well. His eyes didn’t hold tears, but they looked through Luke in a way they never had before. The usual need—almost pleading—for Christian to understand whoever was in front of him had disappeared.
“Tell me now what is happening in your head, Christian. I won’t give you the chance again.”
Christian smiled. “Remember the second question you wanted me to answer? The second night we were in the desert, you asked me what was behind the sky. I saw it, Luke. Just now.”
Luke said nothing, every muscle in his body tense, ready to pounce.
“You want to know?”
The gun was still on his mother’s forehead. Luke remained quiet.
“Nothing. That’s what was beyond the sky. Just a salvation that never existed.”
With a hawk’s precision, Luke saw Christian move. His arms swung to the left, trying to point the gun at Luke.
Luke’s right hand jabbed out like a viper, hitting Christian’s right arm and banging the gun back the way it had come.
He pounced, his mind silenced and the predator inside moving. Christian threw himself back, slamming into Veronica’s chair and toppling both. Luke moved over the floor agilely and threw Christian’s mother across the room as he did. Christian was fumbling for the gun and at the same time trying to push himself away.
Luke kicked forward, snapping Christian’s right wrist and sending the gun flying across the room.
“What happened?” Luke asked calmly as the younger man continued scooting backwards on his ass. There wasn’t anywhere for him to go, though. The icy chill that had grabbed Luke’s back was no longer there, dissipating under the controlled fire now inside him. He only wanted to know why.
He understood Christian would now never do what had been planned. That had somehow been dashed in a matter of moments—years of detailed strategy, of constant vigil gone in literally the blink of an eye.
Luke had not thought on what came after this. For the first time in long years, thinking past the next five minutes was beyond Luke. All that mattered was why.
That, and Christian’s death.
“I’m glad you see now,” the replica said.
Christian stared up at the painting, understanding that was all any of this was. Simply colors on a canvas. He swung his legs into the water so that he could look beneath him.
It was clear, blue—no longer the dark abyss. He saw no dead people floating, none reaching for him, not at all.
“You should attend to the present, Christian,” the replica said. “You don’t have long left on this Earth, but if there’s any more advice I have for you—stay out of this place as much as possible. Live out there.”
One moment, Christian had been swimming legs down in the water, and the next he was lying in the replica’s position. His hands were behind his head and he rocked gently on top of the ocean.
He glanced around to his right and left, but the replica was gone. Christian looked into the water, but instead of the dead, he looked down to his mansion. The tiny house at the bottom.
It hadn’t been destroyed after all.
Christian gazed back on the painting above. He felt peace in those seconds. A serenity that was dependent on no one and nothing else.
I can’t stay, he thought. Even if I want to.
He closed his eyes and left his mind.
There’s no way out of th
is, Christian thought, as he scrambled madly backwards. His mind rushed forward—so powerfully that it nearly stunned him into stopping. He’d been living as a half person for a long time, and had forgotten the true force of his mind.
It was calculating everything at once. Luke’s speed as he marched across the room. The pain in his wrist. The distance to the pistol. His mother’s and Veronica’s injuries. All of it data points as his brain desperately tried to find some path forward.
“Tell me what happened, Christian,” Luke said.
Christian felt his back hit the wall.
He spun to his left but Luke’s foot caught him fully in the face. Bright, brilliant stars exploded in front of his face and even brighter pain across his nose. He felt hot blood spill down his mouth and chin.
Christian didn’t stop, though. He spun the other way, his right hand practically screaming out as he placed it down on the floor. Another kick—Christian had no idea if it was the same foot or not—this one catching him on his forehead.
He slumped back against the wall, dazed.
Christian blinked a few times; he could almost feel his mind coming back to life, the kick unable to keep it at bay for more than few seconds.
And then Luke was in front of him. He held a long knife in his hand. The blade was caked with blood.
“Why?” Luke whispered. “Tell me why.”
Christian launched his left fist at the man’s face, but Luke’s was quicker. The knife pierced deep into Christian’s left shoulder.
He screamed into the small room, his hand dropping to the floor beside him.
“Now. People are going to hurt. A lot of them, Christian, but you determine who hurts first. It can be you, or it can be the other two. There’s no saving anyone in here; that time is gone but surely you already know that given your recent decisions. You can decide who dies first. You or them. If you don’t tell me, I decide, Christian.”
He twisted the knife in Christian’s shoulder and the pain dwarfed anything he had felt in his wrist. Nerve endings cried out for it to end as blood drained down his arm.
