Fire Of Heaven 02 - Threshold

by Bill Myers

  She pulled on the door. It opened with a low squeak. “Hello, Mrs. Morrison? Anybody home?”

  She took a tentative step inside and let the door close against her back.

  The table was stacked with papers, but the rest of the kitchen was as neat as a pin — except for a recent spill on the floor between the refrigerator and the table. It still glistened with moisture and was a little smeared, as if someone had hastily tried to wipe it up. She knelt for a better look. The best she could figure in the poor light, it was some sort of juice, probably grape. She felt no inclination to touch it.

  She rose to her feet and looked around. Now that she was nearer to the table, the clutter appeared more organized. She stepped closer. In the very center lay an open Bible. On either side, carefully arranged, were stacks of papers. On the left side were handwritten letters; on the other were sketches like the ones Brandon had given her. She moved closer. The sketches were not of Brandon as a child. They were of the older Brandon — the one in the burlap robe who stood inside some ancient walled city.

  Sarah picked up the pile and examined the top one. In many ways it was identical to what she had seen at the Institute. But instead of fire coming from his mouth, this sketch showed Brandon looking toward the heavens with an expression of fear and apprehension.

  She pulled it aside to look at the next. It was at the same location, but now Brandon had a companion, dressed in a similar coarse robe. Although the companion’s back was to her, Sarah guessed him to be a boy because of his slighter build and shortly cropped hair. He had one arm outstretched as if confronting some unseen force. In the other hand he held a lamp, exactly like the one in the sketch at the Institute — exactly like the one Brandon had described from his dreams and visions.

  She turned to the next drawing. Same city, but this time the horizon was filled with a vaporous, monstrous head covered in horns and peering down upon Brandon and his companion. Now Brandon was the one holding the lamp, and now —

  Suddenly Sarah went cold.

  In this sketch Brandon’s companion had turned to look directly at the viewer. The face was drawn in careful detail. Sarah bit her lip and closed her eyes. But when she reopened them, nothing had changed. She felt her head growing light and leaned against the table for support. It wasn’t a boy standing beside Brandon. It was a woman. A woman with a jagged scar across her forehead that ran down her cheek. Other than the short cropped hair and the jagged scar, the woman looked exactly like her. Exactly like Sarah Weintraub.

  Sarah took a deep breath to steady herself, but it did no good. What type of hoax was this? She looked back at the table, at the pile of letters, then at the Bible. It was opened, and a large portion of one page was underlined. Like the sketches and letters, it seemed to be carefully laid out, on display, as if waiting for someone to find it.

  She picked up the book and noticed her hands were trembling. She began to read. Her lips moved inaudibly. Color slowly drained from her face as her mind began to whirl. These words, what they were saying…but it was impossible…And yet, there they were, clearly written and making perfect sense.

  She read them a second time. Her trembling grew worse as unfathomable thoughts rose and surfaced. When she had finished, she slowly lowered the book. That’s when she saw him.

  He’d been standing in the shadows of the living room. For how long, she didn’t know. Realizing that he’d been spotted, he moved into the light. She recognized him immediately. He was the attacker from the lab — same short hair, same ragged goatee, same wild look in his eyes.

  She recalled that it was always best to talk to an assailant, to make human contact. They were less likely to attack if they made a personal connection. “Where —” Her voice was shaky. She stopped, took a breath, and tried again. “Where is she?”

  He gave no answer.

  “Gerty Morrison? Is she here?”

  He leaned forward, squinting, as if trying to hear what she was saying.

  She spoke louder. “Where is the woman who lives here?”

  He looked at her, still not comprehending. His mouth had begun to quiver, then twitch. Finally it exploded with the words she had heard before:

  “You’re the one, you’re not the one!”

  She took a half-step back, bumping into the table.

  “You’re the one, you’re not the one!”

  His eyes darted to the pile of drawings. She followed his gaze. He was staring at the one of Brandon and her as they stood inside the walled city.

  “You’re the one, you’re not the one!”

  Her head reeled. “I don’t under — do you know what any of this means?”

  He frowned, but not at her question; it was at something else, something in his head. His face twisted, contorted. Suddenly he leaned over and gasped in pain.

  “Are you all right?”

  He groaned, almost mournfully. “You are the one.”

  He ran a shaky hand over his face to wipe off the sweat, and then righted himself. That’s when she saw the reflected light in the other hand. It was a large hunting knife.

  He saw her eye it and raised the knife into view, grinning, relishing the look of fear it brought to her face.

  Still feeling the table against her back, Sarah began to inch her way along its edge. He was going to attack, she was certain. And if she got just a little closer to the back door she might be able to run for it.

  He wiped his face again. His eyes darting in all directions, growing wilder.

  She had to stall him, to keep him occupied, at least until she got closer to the door. “How did you know?” she asked.

  He scowled.

  “That I’m the one.”

  He cocked his head again, as if preoccupied, as if listening to something else.

  Then Sarah made a mistake — she glanced at the door. He saw it. Swearing, he lunged for her. She tried to get away, but she didn’t have a chance. He was too fast. She saw the knife coming at her, toward her chest. Instinctively, she brought up her hand to defend herself, expecting to feel the burning pain of the blade. But instead to her surprise the knife hit the Bible she’d been holding.

  She dropped the book and tried to run, but he grabbed her arm. She swung it hard and tore free, stumbling toward the door, but he threw himself at her, catching her at the waist and bringing them both down to the floor. She was all fists and knees and feet, flailing and kicking, but blindly, barely landing a blow. She finally brought her knee into him, hard enough to make him gasp, allowing her to break free. She scrambled for the door on her hands and knees, but he caught her leg. She screamed and tried to kick free, but he hung on.

  “You are the one,” he gasped, “you are not the one.”

  She squirmed and kicked, but he hung on, moving up her legs, fighting to grab her swinging arms.

  “You are the one.”

  She landed a powerful blow to his face, and for a second it looked as if some sanity had returned to him. But only for a second. Instantly it was replaced by the sneering grin. She fought and kicked, but he climbed to her chest now, pinning her shoulders to the ground. That’s when the knife reappeared.

  Sarah fought and squirmed for all she was worth, but there was no way to move. He was breathing so hard he could barely speak. Sweat fell from his face and splattered onto her neck.

  With one hand he grabbed the back of her hair, pulling her head to the ground, exposing more of her throat. With the other, he shoved the blade against her jugular. Sarah looked at him, wide-eyed.

  His mouth was open, gasping for air, preparing for another explosion of violence, when suddenly —

  “Hello, Lewis.”

  His head jerked up.

  Unable to move, Sarah strained to see Reichner standing at the screen door.

  “She’s the one,” Lewis panted. Sarah felt the blade press harder against her neck. “She’s the one, but she’s not the one!”

  Reichner’s voice remained calm and controlled. “I don’t think so, Lewis.” It wa
s the same voice he used with his subjects during the lab sessions.

  “The pictures,” Lewis gasped, motioning toward the table.

  Reichner opened the door and strolled toward them, slow and deliberate. “She is not the one, Lewis. You know that.”

  Lewis looked down at her. More sweat fell from his nose and chin. He adjusted his weight but kept the knife firmly against her throat.

  “But…she’s the one, she’s — ”

  “Lewis, Lewis, Lewis.” Reichner shook his head. “You are the one, you know that. You have always been the one.”

  She felt the kid catch his breath. Again he adjusted his weight, then looked down at her and frowned in confusion. “But the pictures, the —”

  Reichner stood four feet from them now. “It is you, Lewis. Listen to the voices.”

  Sarah felt the pressure of the knife lessen slightly.

  “You are the one, you have always been the one.”

  Pain crossed the boy’s face. “Yes…no. Me, I’m the —”

  “Where is the old woman, Lewis?”

  A scowl crossed the boy’s face as if he was trying to remember.

  “The one who lives here. Where is she, Lewis?”

  “The back. Hall closet. I put her in the —”

  “Did you kill her, Lewis?”

  The blade left Sarah’s throat and he sat up, his weight still heavy on her chest. She wanted to roll him off, to slide away, but Reichner was playing the kid now and it was important that she didn’t interfere.

  “Did you kill her, Lewis?”

  “I…I don’t — ”

  “Do not lie to me, Lewis. You know that I know. I always know, don’t I?”

  Lewis stared at him, transfixed. Reichner’s voice was smooth and calm. “You killed someone, didn’t you? You killed someone and not the one.”

  Sarah felt Lewis’s body shudder.

  “And the one — that is whom you are supposed to kill. That is the one the voices want, isn’t it?”

  Lewis slowly nodded.

  “Not some old woman, not some beautiful girl.”

  The kid fidgeted — confused, distracted. Part of him seemed to be listening to Reichner, another part hearing something deep in his own head.

  “That is what you want, Lewis. To kill the one. That is what your voices really want.”

  Lewis winced, trying to hear, trying to clear his mind. Reichner took a half-step closer, then quietly knelt down to his level.

  “Listen to your voices, Lewis. Listen very carefully.”

  The anguish on the boy’s face increased.

  “They want to kill the one.”

  “But …” Lewis’s voice was weaker.

  “And that is you, Lewis.”

  Sarah’s eyes darted to Reichner. What was he saying?

  “You are the one. They want to kill the one, Lewis, and you are the one. Listen to your voices, Lewis. Let them have their way.”

  The kid continued to stare, mesmerized, almost nodding in agreement, until suddenly he shook his head. “No!”

  Reichner’s voice continued, softly. “Yes, Lewis, listen to your voices. You are the one. You have known it all along. You are the one. And the one is whom you must kill.”

  “Doctor,” Sarah whispered, but he paid no attention.

  “Close your eyes, Lewis.”

  The kid hesitated. “It’s okay, just close your eyes for a moment. They are so heavy, just close your eyes and listen, listen to your voices. Just for a moment …”

  The boy’s lids fluttered, then lowered.

  “That is good, Lewis. Very good.”

  Sarah watched in fear and awe.

  Reichner dropped his voice to an intimate whisper. “You are the one, Lewis. You have always been the one. You are the one who must be killed. You are the one the voices must kill.”

  “Doctor,” Sarah protested. But Reichner stared so intently at the boy that she doubted he heard her. “Just have him drop the knife,” she whispered.

  “You must obey the voices,” Reichner continued.

  Eyes still shut, Lewis began to nod.

  “Dr. Reichner, you can’t —”

  “Do it, Lewis. Obey the voices.”

  “Doc —”

  “Now, Lewis.” His voice became more insistent. “Obey the voices, now.”

  “Dr. Reichner!” But neither Reichner nor Lewis heard.

  “You are the one who must be destroyed. Do it. Do it now, Lewis!”

  The boy rose to his knees. Taking advantage of the movement, Sarah immediately slid out from under him and scrambled to her hands and knees. The boy remained transfixed, continuing to nod his head, his entire body beginning to rock under the movement. Silently, he turned the knife around, until the blade was facing himself.

  “Dr. Reichner!” Sarah shouted.

  “Do it, Lewis, do it now. Obey your voices.”

  The boy placed it against his chest, directly over his heart.

  “Stop it,” Sarah protested. “He’s going to —”

  “That is right, Lewis. Now.”

  “Stop it! Stop —”

  “Now, Lewis!”

  Sarah reached out and grabbed Reichner’s arm. “Stop it!”

  “Now!”

  The boy drove the knife hard between his ribs.

  Sarah screamed.

  Lewis’s eyes exploded with pain and realization.

  “You’re crazy!” Sarah yelled. “Look what you’ve done, look what you’ve done!”

  But Reichner was too immersed in the victory to hear. “That is good, Lewis. You did well. Very well.”

  The boy slowly looked at him.

  “The voices are proud of you, Lewis. They will be leaving you now, and you will never have to hear them again. Never again.”

  Sarah moved to try and help the boy, but Reichner’s arm shot out and pushed her away. She turned to him, stunned, then to the boy who was looking down at the wound in his chest, the spreading blood on his shirt, his hands. Reichner reached out his hand and set it on top of the boy’s head — a blessing, a benediction. “Good, Lewis. You have always been good.”

  Lewis looked up at him.

  “And you will always be the one. Always.”

  A smile spread across the boy’s face. The expression slowly froze, and then he toppled to the floor.

  CHAPTER 15

  “YOU …” SARAH’S VOICE WAS hoarse, just above a whisper. “You killed him.”

  Without looking at her, Reichner rose calmly to his feet. “It was necessary to save your life.”

  She could only stare at him. “Not like that. He didn’t have to kill himself. Not like that.”

  Reichner said nothing. He turned his back to her and moved toward the kitchen table.

  Sarah looked down at the boy. “You killed him. You didn’t have to, but you …”

  Reichner picked up the sketches on the table and casually flipped through them. “He killed once. How did we know he would not do it again?”

  Sarah slowly turned to him.

  Reichner shrugged. “It was a murder/suicide. That’s what it was, and that’s what we will tell the police.”

  Sarah rose unsteadily to her feet. “But it’s — it’s not true.”

  “It is true enough for our purposes.”

  Revulsion stirred deep inside her. “Our purposes?”

  He ignored her, pointing to the first sketch. “Interesting likeness.”

  “It’s true enough for our purposes?” she repeated

  “The boy was trying to kill you, Dr. Weintraub. And when he was through with you, he would have gone after your boyfriend here.”

  Sarah glanced at the sketch in his hand, angry, confused. “What?”

  “ ‘You’re the one, you’re not the one.’ ”

  “Does that makes sense to you?”

  He brought the sketch closer to his face for examination. “Not entirely. But if this artist’s precognitive skills are anywhere near Brandon’s, it appears that you may v
ery well be assisting him in the years to come.” He glanced up at her with half a grin. “That is to say, we will be assisting him.”

  Sarah stared at him.

  “He is ‘the one,’ whatever that means — no doubt somebody of great psychic ability. And you and I, we will be by his side, we will be there observing his every experience, recording his every encounter.” He looked back at the sketch, the slightest trace of wonder filling his voice. “Imagine the possibilities, the discoveries waiting to be made.”

  Sarah’s revulsion grew. How could he be so callous? She looked back down at Lewis’s body. The corpse of the boy he had killed wasn’t even cold, and he was already making plans for the future. What type of creature was this?

  “Don’t look so shocked, Doctor.”

  Her eyes shot back to him.

  “I was merely protecting our interests. If I did not stop Lewis now, he would have been an obstruction, perhaps even trying to destroy our work.”

  Sarah stared, trying to grasp all he was saying, sickened at what she understood. She spotted the Bible on the floor and moved to pick it up. There was a deep gash on the front cover where it had saved her from the knife.

  Reichner continued examining the sketches. “We are on our way, my friend. What is the saying about the goose who laid the golden egg? We have found that goose, Dr. Weintraub, and now we must be very careful to protect him. At any cost.”

  She looked back at Reichner, her anger growing.

  Reichner smiled at her and tapped the picture. “He is ‘the one.’ ”

  “How dare you.” Her voice was low and trembling.

  Reichner chuckled. “Dr. Weintraub —”

  “You killed this poor boy just so —”

  “He killed himself.”

  “— just so you can continue your experiments?”

  “Our experiments, doctor. And, as I have pointed out, he would have no doubt tried to destroy your young man.”

  “How can you be so cold-blooded, so —”