Emerson Page and Where the Light Enters

by Christa Avampato

  The alarm shrieked. One of the doctors grabbed two paddles and positioned them on Emerson’s chest.

  “Clear!”

  A violent shock arched Emerson’s chest toward the ceiling. She grunted, and then the heart monitor went from a shrill scream to a steady beep. Another nurse pulled one of Emerson’s eyelids up to shine a bright light into her eye. Emerson’s hands twitched. The group breathed a collective sigh of relief as her breathing slowly returned to normal.

  Truman’s red-rimmed eyes seemed to stare through the doctors and nurses as they filed out of the room. One of them put a hand on Truman’s arm.

  “It happens more often than you’d think,” she said. “We’re keeping a close eye on her.”

  Truman nodded, and Silas said, “She’ll pull through. She has to.”

  Truman couldn’t stop himself from thinking about what could happen if Emerson didn’t pull through, if she never got to develop her gifts. Without her, what would be left for any of them? It all hinged on her, and she didn’t even know yet about the awesome responsibility that was waiting for her.

  CHAPTER 18

  A WAY FORWARD

  Emerson’s throat was dry like the cracked ground in a drought. Her cheek throbbed as if it had its own painful heartbeat. Her body felt swollen and heavy.

  “Please make it stop,” she whimpered under her breath.

  A violent shiver ran along her spine and rendered her weightless. She opened her eyes and floated to her feet in a white, empty room. She looked all around her. Light radiated from every direction, but she couldn’t find the source. A lilting voice seemed to read her thoughts.

  “We are always searching for the light,” the voice said. “And the brightest of lights comes from within. It starts in the heart. Go there.”

  “Where am I?” she asked.

  “You’ve been heading toward home for a long time, Emerson,” said the soothing voice.

  “How did I get here?”

  “You were carried.”

  “How long have I been here?” Emerson asked.

  “Not long enough. You have a long journey ahead. For now, sleep. Just sleep.”

  Emerson heard footsteps walking away from her.

  “Wait!” she shouted. “Where are you going?”

  The footsteps stopped.

  “To prepare the way,” said the voice. “I’ll see you on the other side. You’ll see. You’ll see everything.”

  The footsteps started again and then faded away as Emerson fell back to sleep.

  CHAPTER 19

  A REQUEST DENIED

  Irene Dorchester scanned the street from the front door of her apartment building before stepping onto the sidewalk. Her eyes narrowed in an attempt to see through the darkness. In these times, she knew she had to be more careful than usual. The street lamps dimmed, and the wind zipped past her face with a sharp bite that caused her to squint. She lowered her wide-brimmed hat over her eyes. Her lightweight lavender coat billowed around her like a ball gown as the wind pushed her to the gates of Pomander Walk.

  Built in 1922, Pomander Walk was a series of connected row houses between 94th and 95th Streets, just west of Broadway on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. It was often missed or ignored by passersby. For those who took a slightly longer look, there was a staircase just inside the gate that led to a little slice of days gone by. The elevated set of two-story row homes, eight on each side of a walkway, looked like tiny gingerbread houses with intricate and fragrant gardens at the bottom of small stone steps leading to each brightly colored front door. The window boxes overflowed with lush greenery, and the trim that adorned the stucco exteriors matched the colors of the doors. Owned and operated by the Council, this tiny haven served as both a safe space for Council members who fell into trouble and an archive of their shared history.

  As Irene rounded the corner onto 94th Street, Samuel and Raymond strode toward her from the opposite direction.

  “Evening, Samuel. Raymond,” she said.

  “I wish we were here under better circumstances,” Raymond said.

  Samuel put his enormous hand on Irene’s slight shoulder. “That medical book you’ve been looking for is more important than ever now,” he said. “I’ve heard the injuries are extensive. I brought you this.”

  He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small sealed bag with a green willow sprig in it.

  “Thank you,” said Irene. “I’m going to the hospital to see them tonight. And I may need to send for you.”

  “Is it that bad?” Samuel asked.

  “I’m afraid so,” said Irene. “And we don’t have time to wait for the natural healing process. We’ll have to speed things up.”

  “It’s been a long time since we’ve had to take those measures,” said Raymond.

  “Yes, but it’s necessary,” said Irene. “They’re going to need all of us now. Until the end.”

  Jasper and Oliver rushed toward them. “These streets aren’t safe, my friends,” said Jasper. “Samuel, please do the honors.”

  Samuel placed his mammoth hand on the two intertwined swans that were etched into a crest on the gate of Pomander Walk. A sweet, familiar flute melody spiraled its way into the night sky as the swans separated from one another and the gate opened.

  The group hurried inside. Jasper closed the gates with a wave of his hand. The group, except Oliver and Jasper, rushed toward one of the central row houses on the right side.

  “What if someone on the Council is helping Cassandra?” Oliver said to Jasper. “Can we risk everyone knowing what’s happening with Emerson?”

  “We can’t start turning on one another,” said Jasper. “I’ve known these people and their families my whole life. None of them are traitors.”

  “I don’t trust them,” said Oliver.

  “I know you’re worried,” said Jasper. “We all are. But if we begin to doubt one another, what do we have left?”

  Oliver’s jaw tightened. He wanted to believe in the Council as much as Jasper did, but he couldn’t shake his suspicions.

  “Go on in,” said Jasper. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

  Oliver followed Irene and Samuel inside.

  “Raymond, a moment please?” Jasper called.

  Raymond paused and turned toward him at the top of the steps.

  “Tonight, I’ll need you to offer the idea of the library,” said Jasper. “Oliver has to know that we are united in this decision. He’s hesitant.”

  “Of course he’s hesitant,” hissed Raymond. “And frankly so am I. Emerson’s too young. There’s no telling how she’ll react once she has a full picture of what’s going on. It’s too much for a young girl to take in, even a girl with such exceptional talents and lineage. There’s no telling how she’ll react when bombarded with the truth, the lies she’s been told all these years. Once we take her to the library, there’s no going back. We cannot undo this.”

  “I don’t see another way,” said Jasper. “We’re going to have to put our faith in her and support her. Time is no longer on our side. If anything, it’s working against us.”

  “What you are asking for is unprecedented,” said Raymond. “Never in our history has a person so young been asked to take on this level of responsibility.”

  “You know as well as I do that these are unprecedented times,” said Jasper. “All of human imagination hangs in the balance, and it’s a tentative balance at that. We are out of options.”

  Raymond stood toe to toe with Jasper, and though Raymond was much shorter, he was just as resolute in his stance.

  “The past does not easily relinquish its secrets,” he said. “If you want this, it will have to be you who fights for it. And let the consequences be on your head, not mine.”

  Raymond turned and went inside. Jasper’s stare remained hard and cold, his concern
etched into his face with deep and unrelenting lines.

  “Then so be it,” he whispered.

  CHAPTER 20

  VISITING HOURS

  Draped in black from the base of her neck to the tips of her toes, Cassandra looked regal. Her white hair was uncharacteristically swept up onto the crown of her head as she strode toward the reception desk of the ICU.

  “I’m here to see Emerson Page,” she said to the nurse.

  “Only family, ma’am,” said the nurse. “I’m sorry.”

  “And what makes you think I’m not family?” Cassandra asked.

  “Mr. Page didn’t mention he was expecting anyone else to see his daughter tonight.”

  “That’s because he’s a fool,” said Cassandra coolly as her gaze bore into the nurse’s face. “You will let me see her.”

  The nurse’s eyes dilated, and she tilted her head toward Cassandra, softening her tone of voice. “Let me call security to escort you,” said the nurse.

  “Thank you,” said Cassandra.

  She kept her gaze fixed squarely on the nurse. A moment later, a giant of a security guard approached her.

  “Can I help you?” he asked.

  “I don’t need any help, sir,” said Cassandra. “I just need to see Emerson Page.”

  The security guard’s eyes dilated just as the nurse’s eyes had.

  “Room number?” he asked the nurse.

  “347,” said the nurse.

  “Thank you,” said Cassandra as she walked down the hallway. Once through the double doors of the ICU, she saw Silas, Owen, and Truman standing in a circle.

  “It’s always fascinating to see who remains by your side in your darkest hour, isn’t it, gentlemen?” she said. They formed a human wall to block the door to the room, and she laughed.

  “I expected a bit warmer welcome than this,” said Cassandra. “It’s foolish to expect anything from people, though, isn’t it? They are a constant disappointment.”

  She leveled her gaze at Truman, and he felt that familiar tractor beam of attention. It was like looking at an oncoming train; he wanted to look away but couldn’t.

  “You’re not getting anywhere near them,” he croaked.

  Silas and Owen remained expressionless, motionless, and silent.

  “My, look who’s all grown up now,” said Cassandra. “Or at least you think you are. But I know better. You should have stuck with me, Tru. We could have done great things together.” She ruffled the top of his hair as if she were petting a puppy.

  “I said you’re not going in there,” said Truman, “and I meant it.”

  “All right,” said Cassandra as she crossed her arms. “I won’t fight you now. There’ll be plenty of time for that. But the least you could do is stand aside and let me look at her through the window.”

  Silas and Owen didn’t move. So Cassandra peered through the sliver of window between them. It framed Emerson perfectly. Friday stood and placed himself between Emerson and the door, his attention locked on Cassandra. Her eyes teared up, and she held her hand out as if she could touch Emerson.

  “Oh, my darling,” she whispered. “Forgive me. They kept you from me, but they won’t anymore. I won’t let them. I’ll make this right.”

  After a long, silent moment, she turned and walked away, parading down the hallway like a queen leaving her court. The double doors swung wide open without her touch, leaving a wake of icy air. Truman shivered and hated himself for it.

  CHAPTER 21

  A UNITED FRONT

  Oliver made his way down the dark, narrow hallway of the row house. Despite its appearance from the outside, it opened up into a great room with ceilings that soared and arched into a rotunda. The torches on the walls burned brightly, as did the fireplaces in each of the corners. Oliver’s mind was cluttered and troubled. He hadn’t been here since they’d last assembled five years ago, right after Nora’s death.

  Usually there was a fair bit of chatting when the representatives from the nine houses came together. Today, Oliver could have heard a pin drop as they assembled into a wide circle of raked chairs at the center of the room. The heads of each house were seated in the circle closest to the center. The other two concentric circles were filled with high-ranking members of the houses. It felt like a gladiator’s arena.

  Feeling highly inadequate, a feeling he wasn’t accustomed to having, Oliver made his way to Nora’s seat. It was high-backed and intricately carved, and its gloss caught the light of the torches. The empty seat was another void for Oliver. Since her death, he’d done his best to represent her interests, though they often conflicted with his own opinions. He was there not by heritage, as the others were, but by loss.

  The seat itself was surprisingly comfortable. Too comfortable. He received polite nods from the other Council members. The weight of their pity cloaked him like a lead blanket. He considered standing up, stating his decision, and bolting back down the hallway and to the hospital. Leaving Emerson was a mistake. He shouldn’t be here now. He should have found a way to take her as far away as possible when they had the chance. Before any of this happened.

  Why had he stayed here? Why hadn’t he torn out of New York the moment Nora made her choice?

  That thought made him feel ill, disgusted by the politics of it all. His daughter’s life hung in the balance; that’s all that mattered to him now. To protect Emerson, he had to play a sickening game of barter. His anger threatened to overcome him.

  Jasper was greeting each of the Council members individually and kept looking at Oliver as though encouraging him to talk to the others. Oliver ignored him. The Council members didn’t approach Oliver; they didn’t know what to say to him. He reveled in their discomfort, silence, and confusion because it kept them at bay. He busied himself admiring the beauty of the place, which seemed like the most frivolous thing to do at the moment.

  He remembered the first time Nora brought him here. She was pregnant with Emerson, and they daydreamed about what their new baby would be like.

  “I hope she grows up to be exactly like you,” Oliver had said.

  Nora smiled. “I just want her to grow up to be herself,” she said.

  He was again astounded by how cavernous and ornate the place was. Adorned from floor to ceiling with intricate mosaics of scenes of the nine muses, it reminded him of the heritage he had married into. While some men might think of their wives as goddesses in a figurative sense, his wife was one by birth. The legacy of the nine muses on Earth was alive and well, for now. Each of the houses had their gifts bestowed on them by ancient and powerful ancestors.

  Clio’s house focused on history and the convention of the written word. Behind her, a mosaic of the history of the world unfolded, tracing the evolution of man from his humble and ignorant beginnings. Raymond proudly carried on this tradition. Though today’s world has more collective wisdom, we are no wiser, Oliver thought.

  Euterpe’s house took to song and music. It was known for producing the finest flutists in the world. Oliver read once that the only activity that engages the entire human mind is listening to music. He’d give anything now to have music to distract him, to distract them all.

  Thalia’s house brought a lightness to the Council, supporting comedy and the healing powers of laughter. Samuel belonged to this house.

  “Laugh,” Oliver thought. “That’s something I haven’t done in a long time. Have I laughed at all since Nora?”

  Melpomene’s house believed in the balance of tragedy and comedy to build strength and resilience through stories. “The light and the dark together. That’s where it gets interesting,” Nora would say. Jasper and Skylar represented this house. Would Skylar recover enough to be able to fulfill her duties?

  Terpsichore’s house inspired movement of many kinds, especially through dance. This was his favorite mural. Nora loved to dance, and Oliver indulged her, tho
ugh he knew she knew how terrible he was at it. Left brained, left footed. His right side was thoroughly underdeveloped. “It’s impossible to be unhappy when you’re dancing,” Nora used to say. “Your body won’t allow the mind to feel sorry for itself when it’s moving.”

  The house of Erato focused its attention on love. Its mural showed pairs of lovers showering one another with attention and affection without regard for modesty. Oliver hadn’t even been on a date since Nora. Every time he thought he might be ready, something would show him he wasn’t. “If you keep love alive,” Nora would say, “it will keep you alive when everything else has fallen away.” Had love kept him alive all this time without her? Would it keep him alive if he lost Emerson, too? Oliver winced at that thought and pushed it out of his mind.

  Polyhymnia represented sacred music, music that wasn’t meant to entertain but to make us think, to give us a way to convey our emotions and our mistakes. It told stories, some wonderful and some terrible. All alive.

  The house of Ourania veered off course from the others, recognizing astronomy, astrology, prophecy, and all the sciences as artistic expression. This was Irene and Mrs. Morgan’s ancestry. Mrs. Morgan was his favorite. She was complicated and embedded evenly in this world and the next. In many ways, he felt like Mrs. Morgan was a bridge to Nora. Emerson felt a special bond to her for the same reason. Oliver was astounded and terrified by Emerson’s bravery and strength. She’d risked her life to save Mrs. Morgan. Without her help, Mrs. Morgan would have died in the fire.

  What if Emerson didn’t recover from her injuries? What if…no. Oliver had to stop thinking of what-if scenarios. Emerson would be fine. She had to be fine.

  He looked over at Irene now. She would see his point of view tonight, wouldn’t she? She would stand with him against the others. She had to.

  Though the nine muses are often referred to as an equal set, Nora’s branch, born directly from Calliope and now with the fewest living direct descendants, sat slightly higher than the others. Oliver learned long ago that Calliope was the head muse and the inspiration for the greatest and oldest of ancient authors because of her mastery of philosophy, epic poetry, and rhetoric, the disciplines held in highest regard.