Unthinkable (Night Fall ™)

by Shirley Duke

  “Is there a well out there?” Omar asked.

  “Yes,” Sophie said, “the same well from when I was a kid.” She looked around. “This is the site of my childhood home, Omar. . . . Of course, I’ve made a few updates.”

  “Where did you get all this stuff?” Omar asked.

  “Some of it from Dumpsters.” Sophie was pulling out a tray of some kind of biscuits from the stove. “It’s amazing the waste, what people throw away in this society.” Sophie put the tray down on top of the stove. “Some of it I—how shall I put this?—I took for my own benefit from undeserving others.

  “I make do, Omar,” Sophie continued. “You see I don’t need much.” Sophie pointed her chin toward the room. “I sew all my own clothes, and these pillows too. Sometimes I sell my drawings at craft fairs or do commissions for rich people.”

  Sophie handed Omar his tea and one of the biscuits on a plate. “This seems like hardship to you, Omar, but it isn’t. I’ve suffered much worse; we all did.”

  “Who’s we?” Omar asked, balancing his cup and plate on his lap.

  “Me, my brother, my parents,” Sophie said, “They all three died young, all in 1801. A smallpox epidemic. Everybody was dying from it back then, but not me, of course.

  “It all seems so long ago now, Omar,” she continued. “I’ve been on my own a long time. . . . I’ve been so lonely. Then I met you.” Sophie sat down on the pillows next to Omar. She put her head against his shoulder. “You know you’re a genius, don’t you?” she said, looking up at him.

  Suddenly Omar felt as if he didn’t know what do with his own body. He kept his hands by his sides and sat stiffly upright. “How did you find me?” he said, eager to fill the awkward pause.

  “It wasn’t easy, Omar,” Sophie said. “I’ve been looking for someone like me for a long time. That’s why I was at Bridgewater High. I noticed you from your stories on Facebook. Then, when your stories started coming true, I saw you were like me.”

  “So your visions come true too?”

  “They used to, when I drew them. I drew pictures of my visions, and they came true. That’s how it works—through whatever your art is.”

  “But you said used to, Sophie. That means they stopped?”

  “They stopped,” Sophie said, “as they will for you, when you are ready.”

  Sophie wouldn’t explain “ready.” She had a way of dodging Omar’s questions, laughing them off or distracting him with another topic. Talking to Sophie was like how Omar imagined it would be to swim in the open sea. Her words carried him off to faraway and deep waters. He struggled to keep up, but at the same time, she carried him along, and the views were amazing.

  Little by little, Omar relaxed. As darkness fell, he slumped against the pillows, legs stretched out in front of him. Sophie’s purple hair spilled across his chest. Through the skylight in her tiny, homemade shack, they watched the stars come out, one by one. They talked and talked until they felt they didn’t have to. They lay together in the silence and the starry darkness.

  It was seven o’clock when Omar’s phone buzzed, and he jolted upright. “Gabriel!” he shouted. “Sophie! I’m sorry, I have to go home and watch my brother.”

  Sophie folded herself back up on the pillows. “It’s okay, Omar.” She was just a shape in the darkness.

  “See you tomorrow?” Omar asked.

  Suddenly Omar was blinking in bright light. Sophie was standing across from him. She leaned against a wall with her arms crossed. In her left hand she held a small knife with a round, wooden handle.

  “I won’t be coming to school anymore,” she said, “now that you can come see me. . . . You remember the way here?”

  Omar nodded. She looked at him intently, as if she were studying his face. Then she turned abruptly. With her feet, she pushed away the pillows to reveal a smooth, untouched patch of wall behind it. She knelt down in the corner and started etching.

  “Okay, bye then,” Omar said. “I’ll come back tomorrow after school.” But Sophie didn’t turn her head as Omar pulled open the small metal door and walked out into the dark woods.

  Omar raced home. His legs carried him easily back over the dirt paths, the lit streets of town, and to his own front porch. He ran through the front door.

  “Mom, I’m here!” he began, but he stopped suddenly at what he saw. His mom was sitting in the kitchen in her bathrobe. Gabriel was perched on her lap, red-eyed but at least not crying. They sat perfectly still, as if in contrast to the chaos around them.

  “It was Bill,” his mom said slowly and evenly. Omar knew this voice. It was the same slow, even tone she’d taken when his dad had left. “He came with a warrant,” she continued. She pointed with her chin to the open cupboard doors, the upturned drawers, the papers spilling everywhere across the floor.

  For the first time in months, Omar stopped and really looked at his mother. When had she gotten so thin? She’d stopped dyeing her hair too, he noticed, and white, coarse fringes shot out in spirals around her face. Suddenly, she looked so frail to him, sitting there amidst the mess of their lives. Omar felt like something was squeezing his chest.

  “Mom!” he yelped.

  “Listen, Omar,” his mom began. It was barely a whisper. The quieter her voice got, the tighter the squeezing in Omar’s chest got. “They didn’t find anything.” She gently lifted Gabriel and handed him to Omar. She wrapped her arms around both of them. “It will be okay. Everything will be okay.”

  Omar hugged her hard. “I don’t know why those stories came true, Mom,” he whispered. “It’s like I’m cursed or something—”

  “Don’t say that, Omar!” his mom interrupted. “There’s no evidence. You didn’t do anything wrong!”

  Omar smiled down at her. “You know, you’re right, Mom,” he said slowly. It was true. Whatever had happened—was happening—to Omar, it was all some kind of accident. But at least, because of Sophie, for the first time Omar agreed with his mom. Everything would be okay. The visions would stop. Jon would be okay.

  Omar’s mom made it to work, just in time, and Gabriel fell asleep eventually. It was after 11:00, but Omar wasn’t tired. He worked late into the night, slowly putting things away. For the first time in weeks, the visions stayed away.

  The next morning, Omar walked to school. As he approached, talk stopped. Kids parted to make a path for him as if he were toxic. Eyes down, Omar just focused on putting one foot in front of the next. He just had to make it through the day until he could get back to Sophie’s.

  After school, he raced through the woods. The days were getting shorter now, and cold—Omar could see the white puffs of his breath in the slanting sunlight. It was almost dark by the time he arrived. Sophie was waiting outside, wearing a dress that looked like scarves wrapped around her body. In the dusk, her shape looked like a sheath of shredded paper.

  “Sophie!” Omar ran toward her black shape. She took a step back and gave him a tight little smile.

  “You’re late.” Sophie’s voice was vicious.

  Omar just looked at her for a second. “Late . . . what do you mean?”

  “I’ve been waiting for you!” Sophie shrieked.

  “I’m sorry, Sophie, I just don’t know what—”

  “I worked all night for you—etching your portrait. I’ve welcomed you into my house—into my life! I’ve trusted you with my secrets, shared my gifts—and you disappoint me!” She took a long, shuddering breath. When she spoke again, Omar noticed that the edges of her lips were white. “The visions have been better today haven’t they?”

  “Yes—it’s like I’m finally—”

  “It’s temporary.” Sophie’s voice was a slamming door. “It’s just because you’re happy now. But you’ll get tired of me. Then the visions will come back, and they’ll be worse. You’ll disappoint me then.”

  “Sophie, what are you talking about?” He couldn’t believe this was the same Sophie who had seemed so together yesterday.

  “Omar!” Sophie reached
up and grabbed Omar’s face with both hands. “Are you ready to save Jon, to end all visions forever? Are you ready to do what I say?”

  “Yes,” Omar said quietly. He wasn’t sure what he was getting himself into. But even with the leper treatment at school that day, he’d felt better than he had in a long time. “I’m ready.”

  “Omar, promise me. You must obey me. You must do as I say.”

  “I will. I mean, I’m trying to.”

  “Come with me.” Suddenly normal again, Sophie led the way into her little house. The pillows had been moved, and a small lamp shone like a spotlight on the wall. It lit the area where Sophie had been working.

  Omar walked up to the wall and crouched down to stare into his own face. The likeness was remarkable. There were his features exactly, his straight nose, the dent above his mouth, his dark eyebrows. Omar stared at the image for several seconds, tilting his head slightly to one side. . . . Something was off. His portrait was smiling, but he didn’t look happy. His eyes had a knowing look. Omar knew that look—a look of satisfaction and despair all at once.

  “Well, Omar?” He felt Sophie’s presence behind him.

  Omar turned around, and recognition hit him instantly. The familiar expression—it was Sophie’s.

  “You and I are one and the same, Omar,” Sophie said. “That’s why I drew you like that. To show you how you will be once you reach your true potential, the way I have.”

  Omar looked away; his stomach felt off suddenly, churning from impatience and a new feeling—dread. “What do I have to do, Sophie?” His voice was tired. “What is this awful thing you won’t tell me?”

  “You’re going to be scared, Omar.” Sophie pulled him down next to her on the cold floor.

  “It’s okay,” Omar reassured her. “I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever I have to.”

  Sophie turned toward Omar. Half her face was lit up from the light that shone on Omar’s portrait, but the opposite side was barely discernable under a dark shadow. She moved her face just inches from Omar’s. “There’s just one way to end the visions,” she said, barely breathing her words. “By sacrifice. You must perform one sacrifice.”

  “What does that mean?” Omar said, leaning away slightly.

  “You have to make one of the visions come true.”

  “But some have come true—the ones I wrote.”

  Sophie sighed. “Not like that Omar. You have to carry one out yourself.”

  I’d have to kill people?” Omar whispered.

  “Only one,” Sophie said. “Before the visions get worse.”

  Omar sat quietly for a minute. “Is that what you did?” he finally asked, though he knew the answer already. Of course. So that’s what Sophie had meant by “ready”—ready enough to handle this little detail about her past.

  Sophie nodded.

  “Are you going to tell me about it?”

  “No,” Sophie said. Omar couldn’t read her voice— no longer vicious but not normal either. He saw a blankness in her eyes he didn’t recognize. And her face—Omar hadn’t noticed before how her skin sagged around her ears and the corners of her eyes.

  “That’s okay. I don’t think I really want to know anyway,” Omar said, turning away from her. “Listen, Sophie, I think you got me wrong. I’m not ready. I don’t think I’ll ever be ready.”

  Sophie grabbed his arm and yanked him toward her. “You think you’re better than me?” She practically spat out each word. That anger again. “You don’t know how it was—you—you simpering, sniveling coward!”

  “What’s with you, Sophie?”

  “You think you know me?” Sophie was shouting now. “You don’t know anything.”

  Without a word, Omar stood up and turned to leave. Shoulders back and head high, he pulled open the metal door and entered the moonlit forest. He wasn’t going to fight with her. He concentrated on the woods ahead of him and let Sophie’s taunts hit the back of his stiff body.

  “Disappoint me!”

  “You make me sick!”

  “Weak—weak like the others!”

  The others. Omar had forgotten about them.

  Sophie had said they couldn’t take the visions. What did that mean, anyway?

  Omar had barely made it out of the clearing when he felt something rubber knock gently against his face. He looked up into the sole of a shoe. It belonged to a corpse hanging from a noose above. No, it wasn’t a corpse. It was still living—a woman gasping for air and clawing at her neck. “You, you, you!” the woman raised a limp arm and pointed it at Omar. “You did this.”

  “Sophie!” Omar screamed. He turned to run back, but now the clearing was ringed by dangling figures, squirming and jerking on their nooses.

  “Sophie, make it stop!” Omar wrapped his arms around his body and closed his eyes, but the vision continued. He felt hands pulling at his clothes and hair.

  “Write it.” That familiar voice again, urging him on. Omar let the vision hit him, focusing now on staying in place. But his arms reached out and picked up a long, pointed stick. His feet started scraping the ground. Omar watched as they cleared a smooth patch of ground around him. Then Omar’s arms lunged forward. With the stick, they began tracing letters into the smooth ground.

  “No!” Omar threw the stick as far away as he could. He raced back into the clearing and pulled a low, thin branch off the side of a birch tree. Omar sat on the ground. With his left hand, he started winding the branch around his right arm and thigh, tying them together.

  Omar’s right side was tied into a ball, but his left arm and leg were clawing at the ground. Pain ran up and down Omar’s left side as he was dragged toward the stick. “Please,” Omar begged his body. “Please stop.” But his left hand had grasped the stick, and the stick was digging deep grooves in the earth.

  “Come on, Omar.” Sophie’s voice now, gentle. Sophie’s hands on his shoulders. She must have led him to her cabin, because when Omar came to, he was lying on Sophie’s pillows. His right arm hurt. Omar lifted up his sleeve and saw a row of purple bruises.

  “What happened, Sophie?” he asked.

  “You burst out of the strips you tied,” Sophie answered. “Then your left arm started pounding on your right arm.”

  “I didn’t want to write it,” Omar said.

  “I know,” Sophie said. “You didn’t want to hurt all those people.”

  “I didn’t write it, did I?”

  “No, Omar, I wouldn’t let you.”

  “Sophie!” Omar reached for her small frame. “My God, thank you.”

  “Omar—” Sophie began, stroking his hair. “Are you beginning to understand now? Don’t you see how one sacrifice saves many?”

  “Yes,” Omar said. He did sort of understand, but still, he couldn’t imagine killing someone innocent. “I’ll have to think about it, Sophie.”

  Sophie thought she hid it, but Omar noticed: irritation showed for a second on her pinched lips before she forced them open into a smile.

  “Of course,” she said, “of course.” Then she added, “You know you get to choose, don’t you? Choose which sacrifice to make?”

  “Okay,” Omar said.

  “I’m just saying, Omar.” That irritation again. “It’s not like you’d have to kill someone you liked. Didn’t you have a vision about that creep Monroe? What about him? I’m just saying, Omar, maybe you’d be doing the world a favor.”

  Would Melissa appreciate the favor? His friends? Omar kept his mouth shut. He didn’t want Sophie to feel him backing away, so he leaned in closer.

  “I know what you’re saying, Sophie,” he lied, hoping he was better at hiding his true emotions than she was. Because the person inside him wanted to run from her and get the hell out of there forever. And it wasn’t just that her remark sounded like something from some serial killer on the five o’clock news.

  He hadn’t told Sophie about his vision about Monroe. He hadn’t told anyone.

  Omar didn’t know exactly what dark game Sophie was play
ing, but he knew he had to play along—at least until he could figure out the rules. Omar stayed at Sophie’s cabin until seven, when she’d believe that he had to go home to watch his little brother. He even managed to say a normal good-bye and walk slowly away from her cabin until he was sure that she was no longer watching him.

  Once it was safe, Omar leaned against a tree and grabbed for his phone. Omar punched in Jon’s number. “Come on, Jon, pick up, pick up—”

  “Omar?” Jon’s voice was surprised.

  “Jon!” Omar practically shouted.

  Jon laughed a little. “Yeah, it’s me, Omar. How’s it going, man? I heard at school today that you hooked up with Goth girl—is that true?”

  “Jon, listen to me,” Omar interrupted. “I have to see you right away. Can you meet me at the Chowder Hut in a half an hour?”

  “What’s going on, Omar?”

  “Jon,” Omar said. “It’s bad between me and Sophie.”

  “What are you doing hanging out with her anyway? You gotta end that. I mean . . . everyone already thinks you—”

  Jon’s voice broke off. But Omar knew what his friend almost said. “I know, Jon. I will. I mean, it’s not that easy. . . . Listen, whatever you do, don’t go to Bluff Island, okay?”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Jon said.

  “I know. It sounds crazy. I’ll explain everything.”

  “Dude!” Jon said. “I’m at the island now! Kellner’s meeting me at Dead Man’s Cave with the brewskies.”

  “Jon, listen to me.” Omar spoke slowly. “You have to get out of there. Now.”

  “Omar, you’re freaking me out.”

  “Good. Just meet me at the Chowder Hut, okay?”

  “Alright, alright,” Jon said, “Just give me forty-five. . . . Oh, and Omar?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m sorry about your stories and the way I reacted.”