“Easy now,” the sheriff said, still without moving his lips. “Your friend will be okay. He had quite a shock and has to put it together somehow. He will, though, you wait and see.”
A few times, Jared stumbled, but the sheriff had a secure hold. His presence continued to protect them from the storm. At times, Laz smelled spring flowers and heard birds chirping, but he knew that wasn’t real. Laz marveled in the impossibility of it all. The sheer science of it all. He found himself grinning.
“Your house is up ahead, Laz.”
Laz could see it, the lights casting warmth through the windows and onto the snow.
“Why don’t you run ahead. Your father doesn’t know you’re outside, I bet. Help will be coming. You watch for us. I can’t get too close, so I’ll send Jared to you when you see us.”
The sheriff didn’t even look at Laz. He stared straight ahead at the house, not making any sounds. Not even with his feet. Laz didn’t question the instructions. He ran as best he could to his house and snuck inside through the back door.
“Lazarus. Were you outside?” His father walked into the kitchen from the living room.
“Uh-huh,” he said, pushing the hood off his head and taking off the hat underneath. Snow flew to the floor with a splat. “I wanted to see what it was like.”
His father just stared at him. Laz wondered if he suspected anything. After what felt like an eternity, his father said, “I called for you, and you didn’t answer. I was getting worried.”
Laz felt terrible. “I’m sorry.” Then he surprised them both by hugging his father.
“Okay,” his father whispered. “Take off your coat. You’re getting snow on me.”
Minutes passed without them talking much. Laz trekked from the front door to multiple windows looking for the sheriff and Jared. Why weren’t they there yet?
When the other sheriff drove up, the real sheriff, he understood about the help coming. He smiled inside and went back to looking out the windows. Behind him, his father and Mrs. Nelson were talking about the boys driving up here and whose car it was. They didn’t yet have the whole story.
“It was Mitchell. Jared was with him. And another kid,” Laz replied as he stepped away from the window. He didn’t know what more he should say.
“Yeah, Laz said it was that Mitchell kid who was driving,” his father added.
Laz took the opportunity to shift to another window, this one with a greater northern exposure than his previous lookout. Snowflakes pelted the glass unceasingly, and Laz imagined they were disappointed not to be able to force their way inside. Behind him, his father and Sheriff Lacey were going on and on about Jared’s and Mitchell’s fight. Laz didn’t pay too much attention. He was concentrating on the outside.
Finally he saw a glow—an unearthly light—and two figures approaching. They were close, and the old sheriff raised his hand to acknowledge Laz. Laz nodded back but wasn’t sure if they could see him. The sheriff squeezed Jared’s shoulders and pointed in Laz’s direction. Jared nodded this time.
They saw him.
The sheriff disappeared then, and Jared continued on alone toward the house.
Laz could no longer contain his excitement. He turned swiftly from the window and nearly tumbled over an end table.
“Someone’s coming. I can see him in your flashing lights. It’s Jared.”
Lacey was inside the cabin, with Laz looking at her awkwardly. He had let go of her hand—that was clear—which had something to do with her returning to the present and seeing the world from her own perspective.
“Sorry. I thought it was better to show you.”
The young man was embarrassed about her seeing the rapes, she suspected. Lacey raised her arm and noticed her hand shaking more than she’d expected. Still, she patted his arm. “Don’t worry, dear, it was important that I see what happened.”
The room swayed for an instant as her mind lurched from what she had witnessed. Laz reached out as if to catch her, but she recovered quickly.
“Sheriff?”
She nodded, wanting to say something like “It’s okay,” but the words weren’t retrievable. Seeing the creatures was one thing. Reuniting with Martin, no matter how briefly, had affected her far more deeply.
Lacey noticed that the door to the cabin had remained open. From her vantage point within the main room (exactly when had they walked into the cabin?), she could see Martin outside facing in. His sword, no, his flaming sword, remained at his side with the point tucked into the wooden porch. His expression was blank, as if he were in a trance. That was strange. If this were a real reunion, Martin would be talking nonstop and moving all over the cabin.
Was he a ghost or a spirit? Was she seeing Martin’s soul? There had been a hint of a smile on his face before, so she knew he recognized her. But there was a whimsical look, too. As if he knew this wasn’t really real. An incongruity that wouldn’t have occurred under normal circumstances. Given the situation, though, what was normal? The internal definition she’d lived with over the past sixty years no longer applied.
Lacey remembered their long walks in the springtime. Dogwoods blooming, tulips colored like children’s Easter eggs, and the two walking hand in hand nodding to neighbors. Sometimes the girls were running alongside or ahead, pigtails flopping with each jaunty skip. When the kids were older and too embarrassed to be with them, they resumed walking alone, commenting about this or that.
Oh God, how she missed that sense of security, the shared experiences of life that they loved over or argued over. How she longed for another shot at enjoying those moments. To do one more time the very things they thought would last forever.
Now she was able to see her husband again, but it wasn’t the same. He looked beautiful, of course. So strong and so alive. The cancer that had eaten him alive was gone, leaving no sign of the devastation it had unleashed. Still, he wasn’t her Martin—at least to her senses. A cruel trick resulting from the uncanny meeting of universes that should never had happened.
Lacey took solace that Martin was alive somewhere. She saw him interact with Laz during that terrifying night years ago after Jared encountered something brutal.
Laz saved his friend.
So did Martin. Somehow. He talked to Laz and helped Jared, and they responded.
“Me and him, the sheriff, Mr. Nelson I mean, we work together.”
There was that knack Laz had for knowing something beyond his realm of existence. Then again, even someone with Laz’s condition might be able to read the social cues to guess what she was thinking. Still…
Lacey turned to Laz, wanting to ask, but at the same time afraid of what it all might mean. She bit her lip.
“You get like a job when you die. When you get to heaven, I mean. He has an important one.”
The tiny moan escaping her lips brought Lacey’s hands to her face. She didn’t want to assume… she didn’t want to ask. She didn’t even know if she believed in God or an afterlife.
“You work together?” Somehow this was comforting, this mysterious young man who understood so much working with Martin.
“Uh-huh. There’s always two, I guess. Someone alive and someone who isn’t. You have to guard the gate here.” Laz brought both arms up to demonstrate the expanse of the cabin.
“Is that what you showed me when you were remembering how Jared was hurt?”
Lacey walked to the back wall—the section that had vanished to show the apocalyptic world where Mitchell and Hunter were taken. She pressed the cabin wall and touched wooden planks. She shifted her hands lower and pressed again with the same result.
“Yes, we had to hurry and guard the gate. Close it, actually. Some of them had gotten out; they weren’t supposed to. The girl tricked those boys. She’s sneaky and a dirty cheater.”
Lacey’s mind shifted into overdrive, trying to integrate this information into what she’d already learned tonight.
“Who was that girl? What does she have to do with Collete and Robbie?”
Laz pursed his lips.
“Here, I can show you.”
Laz joined her at the back wall. He pressed his hands in nearly the same place she had moments before. The wall shimmered at his touch, like lake water being disturbed by an autumn leaf.
“Laz, what—”
“Shh.” Laz shut his eyes tightly.
The wall faded and disappeared without fanfare. He turned back to her and held out his hand.
“You’ll have to hold my hand the whole time.”
“Wait. What is this?”
Laz paused, then replied with a shrug. “The entrance to the Kingdom.”
The sky was a deep red, but not the beautiful red of ripe fruit. It looked like an infection or an ulcer. A bleeding sore than never stopped stinging.
The air tasted gritty with jagged grains of sand that sliced your windpipe with every breath.
A haze with an unnatural red tint from the sky covered everything with an unsettling film.
Lacey remembered the terrified screams of the two teenagers as they were dragged into this world. In the seconds she spent looking at the landscape, she couldn’t imagine spending all of her remaining time—eternity—in this place. What went through the minds of those boys…?
Laz walked to the open space and stepped through, still holding her hand. Lacey faltered.
“Laz?” She held him back. “You can’t go in there.” She wasn’t sure if she was asking or telling him.
“I can and sometimes I have to—but only for a short period. You should see this too, Mrs. Nelson, so you can understand what is going on.”
Lacey’s mind had proved surprisingly adept at accepting the violation of certain natural, physical laws. Her heart, though, leapt in revolt, and she knew she had to turn around and run away like there was no tomorrow. But she squeezed Laz’s hand and stepped from one threshold to another.
The transition to this alternative world wasn’t painful. In fact, despite an elevated temperature, the air felt similar. The grit didn’t register in any kinesthetic sense. They were like warm snowflakes or weightless cotton, but since they were so tiny, it didn’t feel like anything was landing on her. When she brushed her arm, though, she felt the grittiness. The particles weren’t as hard or as large as sand, but smudgy like ash.
“I think that’s dead skin.” Laz looked at her efforts to wipe the flakes away. “You’ll probably want to shower later.”
That didn’t help her feel more settled. “Good to know.” Lacey looked around. “What should we do?”
If they were going anywhere, there was only one path available to them. It veered to their left. Steep rock formations stood on their right and directly in front of them. As she looked closer, the rocks wavered in place as if the surface was a membranous skin containing something fluid or gelatinous. Lacey didn’t want to touch it.
To the left, a path trampled by an eternity’s worth of residents led to a rocky shelf or lookout. Nothing here resembled the area behind the cabin on Somers Mountain. Atmosphere aside, the terrain’s mountains and cliffs didn’t match. It was like she’d transported to another planet.
“This way.” Laz pointed in the direction of the path.
She could only nod in reply. Laz gently tugged her along, clasping her hand more firmly.
The ground rippled under their feet. Lacey thought of the pulsating rocks she’d just seen and wondered if the surface possessed the same qualities. She didn’t want to look, and told herself the ground was just like the rubberized surface of a school playground, comprised of pulverized tires or the soles of sneakers, providing a little more give to protect falling children. But that wasn’t the intention here, and she shuddered to consider alternative explanations.
The path led them to the edge of a cliff. If she were driving on the Blue Ridge Parkway, a view like this would be considered a scenic overlook. Distance was difficult to measure in this setting, but Lacey saw a valley that stretched out about three hundred feet below her. Mountains shaped much like the Appalachians rolled one after the other on either side. There was nothing green or golden about these mountains, however. They were covered in the same painful and oppressive reds and oranges she’d seen when she first laid her eyes on the landscape.
The path angled to her right and descended in a dizzying series of switchbacks to the valley floor.
“We’re not going any farther.”
Lacey struggled for words. “What—what is this place?”
“Like I said…” Laz pointed to the valley.
Lacey followed his gesture, and it was like a blindfold had been lifted. Mere seconds ago she’d only seen a barren panorama. Now the place was teeming with people, the number beyond count. They were crammed in piles in the valley, where they scratched and clawed for the top position. No sooner did a person arrive at the uppermost spot when he or she was pulled screaming into the human sea. Everyone was naked, and their skin glowed with burns and blisters. The cries and wails were horrifying.
Lacey saw why everyone below was desperate to be on top of the others and off the ground. Something was squirming below the mass of humanity. The people scrambling for a dominant position were attempting to escape the clutches of an unseen invader, and the crowd rose and fell as the thing swept beneath them. Every minute she watched one or two or even three individuals scream in utter terror before being yanked abruptly below. Seconds later, they would reappear—still screaming, skin scalded worse than before, while muscles and organs burst from the exposure to the heat. Others never returned.
Some people had managed to pull themselves to the inclining slopes of the mountains and were attempting to pull themselves from the ongoing acts of carnage. They made progress until one step or the planting of one arm punctured the membrane of the surface. The tearing of the ground sounded like cardboard boxes being ripped, and the unfortunate soul was splashed by some kind of caustic substance. Skin smoldered or ignited in flames that consumed the entire body. Shrieks pierced the sounds of the ruckus in the valley. They screamed up the mountain for mercy while their body parts sizzled, hissed, and then burst.
Riotous laughter showered down on the damned. Lacey had not noticed the laughing or the source until she followed the gaze of the pleading individuals. Now she saw the mountain’s occupants. What had been smoky, shadowlike human shapes were more distinguishable in their own habitat. The figures were small, the size of a ten-year-old child, but their bodies were well developed and bronze. Muscles shimmered like glitter with every movement. The faces were remarkably human in appearance, and startlingly distinctive.
The heads, while human-shaped, sprouted horns. Could anything be more cliché? They didn’t stick up in comic-book fashion. They were ram’s horns, starting above the eyes and curving back in a circular pattern. The ends jutted forward aggressively.
Even farther up the mountain, above Lacey and Laz’s line of sight, were dwellings. Caves carved out of the mountain were stacked, one upon the other. Together they looked like a stone-age apartment complex. Some even had small platforms like decks, which jutted from the cave openings.
The creatures hooted and hollered at the crowd below while perched at the mouths of their living quarters, relishing the expressions of pain and degradation.
“My God, Laz.”
“This is an awful place,” he agreed.
“What have they done to deserve this?”
“Many things, I guess.” Laz looked at her briefly, then turned away. “I don’t know for sure. There. This you might understand.”
Lacey looked below and could see nothing beyond the mass of tortured individuals. Laz nudged her to indicate the end of the path.
Robbie Collete was leading his father toward the writhing group. Darrin had lost all of his clothes, and his body burst into sores and boils. Caustic liquid showered on him from some hidden source, and he screamed with a volume Lacey would have thought impossible. Still, he had no recourse but to be led by his son to the writhing throng. His wailin
g communicated so much regret that Lacey felt pity for him—something she never would have thought possible.
More disturbing than Collete’s transformation was that of his son, Robbie. The boy was now one of those creatures. His lithe body glistened with movement. His expression snarled with satisfaction. More horrifying, however, were the horns. They were growing from his head, curving malevolently to assume their nightmarish position.
“In the olden days, when the men from town raided the Kingdom and killed everyone, they missed some of the townsfolk. They hid from the raiding party and later escaped. They settled in the area—after all, they couldn’t go very far, they were ladies and kids. One of them was Rhona McEwan.”
Lacey tore her eyes from the mayhem and looked squarely at the young man. She knew that name.
“She was this rich lady who moved to Somers Mountain because of the Kingdom,” Laz said.
“That’s right, I remember now. She used to ride into town frequently for supplies and such.”
“That’s her. She moved into town, as did some of the others. But Rhona, she scared the town something fierce. Somebody shot her, but she didn’t die. They said she was a demon. People would see things at night, things that weren’t human.”
“Is she… here?”
“Yep, but not like you’d think,” Laz said. “She started the Torment.”
“How?”
“Dunno. She just did. She had the power. When the people from the Kingdom were killed, they earned a special place here.”
“Is that what those things are? Those beasts with the horns? They’re the—oh heavens—the remnants of the Kingdom?” Lacey practically staggered with the implications.
“One and the same. They’re like saints, I guess.”
“Tell me, did I also see them outside? Those shadowy forms?”
“Yeah, that’s them. They don’t appear the same way up above.”
Lacey looked over the edge of the lookout and saw Collete kneeling and sobbing at the end of the path. Robbie, now completely changed into whatever the heck he was, stood over him smirking.
The Torment Page 8
