Severed

by Corey Brown

  Now, the night air is alive with howls and screams of pain. The sound of the Yaw washes out among them like surf over sand. David stares into the church, stares at the Yaw. Then his body expands, bulges, his coat rips. Narrowing his eyes, David’s face takes on a uniquely forbidding look. He shoves his sleeves up to the elbow, grits his teeth and says, “Get ready. Here I come.”

  Chapter 38

  T'biah catches his breath, and expels it as he says, “David, stop, you can’t go in there.”

  A strange sense of isolation settles in. They are not alone, far from it, but both T'biah and David feel alone, a kind of separation from the others. T'biah knows this feeling. It was exactly what he felt the day he made love to Celine, the day he separated himself from God.

  Ignoring this sense of solitude, David takes a step toward the church. He has one foot near the doorway, he is about to step into the Yaw but T'biah is faster. Lunging forward he grabs the door and shoves it closed. It swings shut, bangs against the stop then swings back open.

  Edging closer, moving a few feet past the form of God, Derek sees the door hit the jamb, sees it swing back open. He wonders how it could do that. Didn’t the door go the other way? Wasn’t it hinged to swing inward, how could it go the other way?

  Without making a sound, Todd is at Derek’s side. “The physical world has no meaning here,” Todd whispers. “Don’t let your eyes deceive you.”

  “But when we came out, we pulled that door, it didn’t push open.”

  “That’s not just any door,” Todd says. “It leads to Hell. You think it swings only one way?”

  Derek glances at Todd, scowls. “Thanks, I needed that reminder.”

  T'biah puts a hand on David’s shoulder. “Don’t you remember what I told you?”

  David nods. “Yeah, I remember, never face the Yaw alone. But that was before this, before I became a Regulator.”

  “You were already a Regulator when I warned you. Just because it took you a while to figure that out doesn’t change anything. You still can’t take on the Yaw.” T'biah flashes a glance at the form of God. “Not by yourself.”

  “But I won’t be on my own,” David says. “I can feel the Master’s spirit in my blood, I can feel it at work in me.”

  “No, you don’t. What you feel is the thrill of power. You feel a strength that seems boundless, that feels unstoppable. But it isn’t. What you have is granted only by the grace of God. It isn’t a right, you don’t own that power.”

  Cody clears his throat. “Listen to him, David,” he says. “I don’t know anything about God’s spirit, I guess if I did my head wouldn’t be all screwed up. And that’s really the point. I’m a wreck because I tried to do things myself, without God. Just like you’re trying to do.”

  Half turning to face Cody, David narrows his eyes. “But you’re not a Regulator, I am.”

  A tremor ripples through Cody’s body and his face twists, contorts in pain. He coughs, swallows then spits on the ground. Another spasm and he leans over, dry heaving.

  Straightening up, Cody wipes non-existent vomit from his mouth, licks his lips. Squinting, visibly resisting another tremor as the muscles in his cheek twitch, he says, “You’re right, I’m not a Regulator. I’m a Rider. One who has lost his horse. And right now a freight train of broken glass is running through my head, in my ears there is a squealing, wailing sound that makes me want to tear my brain out through my eye sockets.”

  Cody looks around, his head jerking in little fits. “Everything I see is melting,” he says. Cody reaches for David’s arm, squeezes it hard then nods at the church. Sucking in his breath, he says, “You go in there, you go after the Yaw and you’ll end up like me. If you get out at all, your head will be totally fucked up. If you’re lucky, you’ll die in there.”

  David inhales sharply, looks at T'biah then looks away, stares into the face of the Yaw. T'biah can sense David’s thoughts. He knows David is going in.

  A sudden rush of frustration floods T'biah’s emotions. Part of him knows to stop, is he really about to confront God? Who cares? He thinks, I’m dead anyway. When this ends, so do I. What have I got to lose?

  Grabbing a handful of David’s long coat, T'biah drags him backwards. David stumbles, trying to maintain his footing. Stepping toward the form of God, T'biah stops, releases David, then points at his son and says, “You’re going to let him do this? You’re going to let him go in there and die? He has no idea what he’s getting into and you’re just going to watch?”

  Now there is a change on the face of God’s form. A shift, a new shape, something between amusement and one’s patience wearing thin.

  “Perhaps,” God says, “instead of naming you after the angel of free will I should have called you Job. He questioned me in much the same way.”

  “Call me whatever you want, I don’t care. Just stop David, don’t let him go in there.”

  “And now you resort to being a smartass.”

  “This isn’t about me, it’s----”

  “Isn’t it?” God’s voice rumbles through the forest like thunder, bounces off everything, off everyone. “Who was it about when you strayed, when you stepped off the path of righteousness and pulled Celine into your life? Who were you thinking about then, Celine or your own selfish desires?”

  Fierce, bitter tears burst from T'biah’s eyes. Every muscle in his body flexes with anger and pain and humiliation.

  “How dare you?” T'biah shouts. “I loved her. I loved her more than the word can even describe.” He jabs a finger at God. “In my heart, and you know this better than anyone, in my heart I loved her more than anyone.”

  More than anyone.

  The words, the idea seems to hang, it stretches out then it hits T'biah with the full force of meaning. He loved Celine more than anyone. He loved Celine more than he loved God. T'biah sways, plants one foot back to steady himself, covers his face with his hands and weeps.

  Some feeling, something like the sense of time passes. God’s grace moves in and around them like sunrise after a night of storms. Only the sound of T'biah’s sorrowful tears can be heard. No one speaks. No one dares to even draw a breath.

  “David,” God says, his tone subtle, commanding, but like that of a friend. “Do not let your newfound strength lead you to foolishness.” The statement stings, penetrates. “I will take care of this, I will handle the Yaw. You are needed elsewhere.”

  David swallows, tries to relax. The shining, misty presence of God swirls around the church, the forest, around everyone. It swirls around T'biah, concealing him, giving him privacy. David sighs and turns to face God, his posture sagging.

  “I’m sorry,” David says. “I don’t know what came over me.”

  “We’ll talk about that in a moment. First things first, I want----”

  “Thank you.” T'biah cuts God short, his voice just above a whisper. His hand reaches out, touches God’s presence. “Thank you for bringing him back, for keeping him.”

  “Did you…?” God starts to say, but the form seems to stiffen and everyone hears a sound that never existed before this very moment. Everyone hears something surprising. God’s voice seems to catch as if some raw emotion has worked its way to the surface.

  “Did you really think I would let him go?” God says, softly.

  T'biah sways, he feels weak, as if a wisp of wind could knock him flat. “No,” he says, his face is wet with tears. “Maybe, I don’t know.”

  “T'biah, my chosen one, how far you’ve fallen, how far you’ve wandered. You speak the words but do not believe. You remind young Todd that I have it in hand, but you have forgotten the truth of what you say. You have forgotten that I really do have it all. Every world, every life, everything. Every last thing is in my hand. The fates of both sides, light and dark, are subject to me. And the faithful, the weak of heart, even the ignorant have nothing to fear. Only the sons of evil will suffer my wrath. Did you hear me? My wrath. Not yours, not anyone’s. I alone will deliver the final blow. I will bend
these universes to my will. I will make the final judgment.”

  The church makes a popping sound, sharp and defined like a whip snapping. The walls bulge, bow outward, cracking the wood siding. Then something between a growl and a mournful bay escapes into the woodlands. The sound breaks out, cuts into the darkness.

  God focuses on the little building and the sense of his presence grows large, intent. The Yaw detects this change and becomes quiet. Now, instead of a canine bawl, a grousing, churlish sound tumbles about the blighted structure.

  A stream of divine mist seems to wave out, as if pointing the way, pointing toward the stars. David looks out at the heavens, knows God is directing him.

  “The twin?” David says.

  “Bring him to me,” God says.

  David nods and starts to free jump, but someone speaks. It is a new voice, a woman’s voice.

  “Wait. Can he stay just a moment longer?”

  And then she is there, among them as if it were the most natural place to be. She is beautiful, in her late teens or early twenties but there is an aura of history about her. Fair skinned with full, inviting lips, her body framed by gentle, alluring curves.

  Suzanne steps forward, looks hard at the young woman. “It’s you,” she says. “You were the one I heard praying.” Suzanne turns to David. “Remember when we were all stuck out there and the twin was going to shoot us?”

  “I remember.”

  “And I said I heard someone singing.”

  “Uh-huh,” David says, nodding.

  Suzanne points at the woman. “This is her, she was the one singing. But she wasn’t singing, she was praying.”

  The woman smiles and says, “I was certain you’d heard me.” She looks at the form of God, bows slightly. “Thank you for listening.”

  Still dazed, still unsteady on his feet, T'biah starts to back away. “No Celine,” he says, his voice a weak mixture of sorrow and humiliation. “I can’t be here, I’m so sorry…”

  Celine moves toward T'biah, her hands outstretched.

  “I...I can’t----” T'biah whispers, his words catching in his throat.

  She takes T'biah in her arms, holds him tightly. “Yes you can,” she says.

  T'biah tries to push Celine away, but she keeps him at arm’s length. She smiles, her eyes are animated, captivating. “Oh honey, I’ve missed you all these years.”

  T'biah looks down, shakes his head, whispers, “I can’t be here.”

  Celine puts her fingers under his chin and lifts his face. Her touch is cool and soft and comforting. T'biah looks into Celine’s eyes and sees the same deep intensity that had drawn him to her over thirty years ago. She takes T'biah’s face in her hands, pulls him close, her lips grazing his. This mere touch makes him gasp. Then she kisses him.

  Eyes closed, Celine breaks the kiss and whispers in his ear, “T'biah, I’ve missed you so much. I love you.”

  “But look at what I’ve become,” T'biah says, flashing a glance at David, at Cody and the others, then at God. “I tried to run, to hide from what I’d done. I’m an embarrassment.”

  “As a Regulator, you were consumed with doing the Master’s work. You were tireless, a faithful servant, driven by your sense of justice. You understand the laws of God but have you forgotten his nature?”

  “I….” T'biah starts to protest but Celine puts a finger to his lips, silencing him.

  “You know about judgment and punishment,” Celine says. “You know about choosing between right and wrong. These things are cemented in your mind. But what is in your heart? Have you forgotten about kindness and mercy? Don’t you remember how easily God forgives?”

  T'biah swallows, looks once more at the form of God. The glittering mist moves, seems to shrug, as if to say, you wouldn’t listen to me.

  “You are the only one who needs to forgive you,” Celine says. “Everyone else did a long time ago.”

  “But I let your father rape and murder you.”

  Celine takes T'biah’s hand and slides it under her clothing. T'biah starts to recoil, expecting to feel the raised welt of a scar or, worse, the open gash of her father’s mortal incision. But all he feels is the cool skin of her smooth belly.

  “My wounds healed thirty-two years ago.” Celine says. “It’s time for yours to heal, too.”

  “Celine,” God says, quietly. “David has work to do.”

  She puts her palm on T'biah’s cheek and smiles. “Give the Master your guilt,” Celine says. “He has been waiting so long to take it away.” Then she turns to David, her smile growing even wider. “Come over here,” she says, her arms outstretched, fingers waggling. “Let your momma look at you.”

  Chapter 39

  What a mess.

  Sitting at his desk, Derek leans back. He rubs his eyes, grinding his palms in hard. He stays that way for a few minutes, tipped back, the heels of his hands pushed against his face. He is expected to outline his recent activities in a report. Just how in the hell will he do that?

  Derek accepts that he was indirectly connected to Lucas Kelly’s death, but it wasn’t really his thing. Derek had simply brought Lucas in for questioning. NOPD District One was just supposed to hold him; Derek had been a hundred miles away when Lucas was gunned down. Despite the fact that Lucas was connected to a large, interstate maybe even international criminal enterprise, the shooting was an NOPD problem, not an FBI deal. Not Derek’s deal.

  And no one in the Bureau knew about the crazy shit that happened out in the woods southwest of Krotz Springs. At least not in any way Derek had been able to determine.

  On the other hand, Derek is completely hooked into the massive sting that stretched from Texas to D.C. In fact, Derek is not only connected to the project, it is his baby. Derek had been the one to figure out which DEA manager was running the operation, and ever since it had been Derek’s show. No question, this was the big one, his brass ring; a career maker. Or breaker, depending.

  But now what? The main target in the take-down is not only dead, his body is gone, unrecoverable. Even though cause of death could, theoretically, be determined, the fire will not explain his complete disappearance. And even though the Bureau did not know the whereabouts of Murdock, or Malveaux, or whoever the hell he is---- despite not knowing where Murdock was the night he vanished, someday someone might ask if he had been in that church.

  There have been moments in the last week when Derek wished he had not torched that little church out in the woods. At the very least, he’d still have Murdock’s body, or part of it. And even though he is certain no one cares, lighting up the building had been a risk. No one at the scene would ask questions, mainly because there had been nobody else at the scene, just him and Greg. But arson complicated things. The possibility that someone might file an insurance claim weighed heavy. If that happened, an investigator might wonder why it had burned down. That guy would have questions, ones that could lead to trouble.

  For the hundredth time Derek works through the possibilities, always starting at the same place, always wondering what other laws he had broken. He would step through each move he’d made that night, every conversation, every meeting.

  The problem of threatening to shoot Lucas Kelly to pieces, one body part at a time, is moot. Lucas won’t be complaining any time soon. And that little discussion with detective Slater won’t find any traction; Derek has enough dirt on Slater to keep him quiet forever. While everyone at the church could be considered a witness, Suzanne Carlson has returned to California along with T'biah----just let an insurance investigator ask him a few questions. Once they find out he is a forty thousand year-old Aborigine who came back to life when his dead lover asked God to change how the universe works, T'biah will be off the witness list in a heartbeat. Likewise with David Carlson. Hell, just tracking him down, in whatever metaphysical-spiritual landscape he might or might not be traversing, would be a trick. Interviewing him could prove downright difficult.

  Derek’s retired state trooper buddy, Greg, was not even of
ficially there, so that left the parish deputies and the EMT’s. For the hundredth time Derek thinks about this. If they said the wrong thing it could be a problem, a disaster. Cody is, of course, a consideration, but he is a different problem altogether.

  On the other hand, what could anyone really say? There hadn’t been much left of the building after God squared off against the Yaw, hardly more than a foundation. At the time, burning the church’s remains just seemed like the thing to do. And what would Deputy Haines say? That God crushed some demon-thing called the Yaw and that’s how the church was demolished, but an FBI agent named Derek Simmons must’ve torched what was left? Fat chance.

  Still, technically, it was an act of arson, a crime. Worse, just how the hell would he put any of this in a report?

  Derek tips forward, leans his forearms on the desk top. He sighs. This is a mess, all right. And just how had he gotten dragged into this thing? Well, the ‘how’ part is obvious, he was trying to help his friend, but what about now? Derek remembers telling Cody that he would not be left to twist in the wind if it all went bad. And in spite of those good intentions, in spite of putting everything on the line, Cody was twisting in the wind. He was medicated and strapped down to a bed in Vermillion Hospital up in Lafayette; he was out of his mind.

  Maybe Derek hadn’t brought the rope, but Cody was swinging from the end of some invisible hangman’s noose just the same. And whose fault had that been?

  Shaking his head, Derek decides Cody’s predicament is his fault. Then again, no, not his fault, not really. God is to blame. Derek had watched as Todd climbed into the ambulance along with his dad, watched as Todd’s giant frame crushed the vehicle’s suspension. Hurrying over, Derek had struggled with several feelings, he wanted to fix things, wanted to reassure Todd, saying Cody would be all right. Todd had smiled and said that he knew it was true, God had promised.