“She’ll see it on your face, yes.” There was no way to know for certain, but the bluff was worth his peace of mind.
“That’s good, that’s good,” he said, nodding softly. “It’s been hard on her. She tries to hide it, but I, um, I see.”
“Aisling,” her father said quietly, behind her.
She nodded without turning. She felt it, that sense of urgency, of anticipation. “It’s time”, she said.
She got up. The man looked at her, wary all at once, frightened, wringing his hands again. She looked around. There was only one door in the house, which as choices go, made it an easy one. Her father met her there.
“You need to concentrate,” he whispered. “Close your eyes. Do you see the door in front of you?”
At first she saw nothing, and she had a sudden bolt of fear that she’d already failed, but, like an optical illusion that suddenly becomes clear, a door appeared in front of her mind’s eye. It felt like it’d always been there, she just hadn’t been able to see it. “I got it.”
“Good. Now I want to you grab the handle on both sides.”
She reached out with her hand and her mind, and gripped the handle in the room they were in, as well as the one in the in-between. “Okay,” she whispered.
“Now you need to open them both at the same time. It’s going to be hard, because you’re breaching worlds. Whatever you do, don’t let go of the handle.”
She braced herself, then pulled on the door. It felt unbelievably heavy, as if it was made of granite rather than wood. She pulled harder, feeling the strain both mentally and physically. Slowly, the door pulled back. In her mind it was like the wind from the other side was silently howling, trying to suck it back closed again. Her grip grew slick. She pulled harder. It felt like the handle was going to rip out of her hand. She doubled down. Gradually, the pull from the other side grew less, and in the end the door stood open.
She opened her eyes. Through the doorway, grey sands stretched off into inky blackness. She shivered. She stepped back to let the man approach. He looked through the door and smiled.
“What do you see?” she said, a little hoarsely after her exertion.
It took him a moment to respond. “Trees. Grass. Clean air. Not a car to be seen.” He hesitated. “Do you, em, do you think I could say goodbye to my Mama? I hate to leave her like that. It’s going to break her heart.”
That hit a nerve inside her, but she kept her face straight with an effort. “I’m afraid not.”
His shoulders sagged, but he didn’t seem surprised. “I suppose you’re right. I guess I can maybe see her afterwards. Do you think that’s possible?”
“I think anything’s possible.”
“Yeah, I, eh, think so too. That should be possible. Um, thank you.” He gave her a nod. “I’m Gerry, by the way.”
“Aisling.”
“Happy to have met you.” He waved a hand at the door. “Do I…do I just, you know, walk through? I’m a bit new to this.”
She smiled. “All you have to do is walk through.”
He nodded a few times to himself, building up the courage, then stepped over the threshold. As he passed through, she lost his thread, as if it’d been snipped from the world. But she gained something else; a feeling of closure. She watched him, walking along the lonely grey sands until he passed out of the light.
She closed the door, and barely had time to turn before her father picked her up in a bear hug.
“That was excellent, kiddo, I knew you could do it!”
She was elated. Tired, but elated. This, this, was a purpose. This was a reason to wake up in the morning. “Is this what is feels like every time?”
“It gets better.” He slung an arm around her shoulders. “So what do you say? Again?”
“Yes!”
13
She picked up another thread as soon as she left the house. It was quicker now that she knew what she was looking for. This one had more of a sense of tension to it. She jumped through the world, homing in on the origin of the thread. There was something else to it as well, something slightly off, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it; each time she thought she sensed it, it was gone.
Eventually, she came to another bungalow, slightly larger than the previous one. This one looked pristine. She hesitated in front of it. A sense of wrongness emanated from the house before her. Now that she concentrated on it, the neatness seemed fake, as if it had been created by someone that had read all about houses, seen everything there was to see, but still didn’t understand them. Plastic bouquets of flowers hung from the side of the door.
“Aisling,” her father said. He was frowning. “Whatever happens, remember that you are safe. Whoever lives here can’t touch you unless you let them.”
Well, that was reassuring.
The door opened silently. In front of them stood a slim man with a deadpan face and a slicked back hairstyle. He immediately gave her the creeps. “I trust you won’t stay outside all day. Please, come in.”
She couldn’t think of anything she wanted to do less right then, but she thought of what her father had said and what her ultimate duty was. She went in, sliding through the door to keep as much space as possible between her and the tenant. Her father followed quietly.
Inside was sparsely decorated, but just like the outside, it was immaculate.
And fake.
Two stools sat facing each other in the middle of the floor, so she took the one closest to the door. The deadpan man took the other, sitting with his legs together and his hands on his knees. Looking into his eyes made her shiver, so she became suddenly interested in her surroundings. However, when she focused on anything, such as the small table in the corner, it seemed fine, but when she turned her head so it was in her peripheral vision, she couldn’t help getting the notion that it was rotting and mouldy. It was as if what she was looking at was a thin veneer over decay. The effect started to make her nauseous, so in the end, she was forced to focus on the man sitting opposite her. He was studying her in a way she didn’t particularly care for.
“Am I dreaming?” he asked. He spoke with a soft, southern accent.
“Sorry?”
“They’ve put me to sleep. Is this a dream?”
They? “No, this is actually happening.” She felt like she should add more, but talking to him made her skin crawl.
He shrugged like it was of no importance. “Shame. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen this house. I’d thought perhaps I’d finally started dreaming again.” He fixed her in the eye. “Though somewhat too little, too late.”
The seriousness in his face was unsettling. She had nothing to respond, so she looked away again, squirming on her stool. The damn thing was so uncomfortable! She changed it into something better; a cushioned, high-backed armchair.
He tilted his head at that, as if realising new possibilities. “Interesting,” he murmured. He looked at her arms, resting on the arms of the char. Leather-strapped manacles appeared, pinning her down.
She jumped. “Wha…!?” More manacles wrapped her legs. Her father stirred sharply in the corner behind her, but stopped himself.
The deadpan man hadn’t moved. “You haven’t introduced yourself. That’s very rude.”
“What the hell are you doing? Remove these!” She jerked at the restraints, shifting her chair in the process, filaments of panic wrapping themselves around her brain.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“I’m here to open the door for you. Get these things off of me!” She tried to pull her wrists through the hoops, but they were stuck fast.
“That doesn’t tell me who you are. The door to what?”
“I don’t know! Hell, I hope.” She gritted her teeth, pulling wildly at the fetters. She was breathing quickly now, her vision narrowing.
Again, the slight tilt of his head. “Perhaps you’re right.” He studied her, picking his words carefully, watching the effect they had on her. “I kill people. I’ve kill
ed a lot of people. It’s very easy.”
She froze, her mouth open, suddenly very cold. He leaned forward slightly, and she unconsciously leaned back.
“Would you like to know how many?”
“No,” she said, almost a whisper.
He ignored her. “The first one was when I was sixteen. She was old, and I killed her simply because she was in my way. I don’t particularly like to get my hands dirty, but some people don’t deserve to live. The second one was my neighbour, because his wife was sleeping with someone else. He was pathetic.” He was dispassionate when speaking, enunciating clearly, aiming for impact. Waiting to see her flinch.
He talked on, and on, and on. Seemingly enjoying her discomfort. Each victim was described in a clarity that made the growing horror she was feeling all the more real. It was like being face to face with a tiger, and suddenly realising that she was wholly unprepared. The danger was palpable. Her heart was racing. Over and over, she repeated in her head what her father had said before entering. This man cannot hurt me. But it was hard to believe when he was sitting close enough that she could reach out and touch him. If she could reach out, that was.
“In the end, it became boring. I gave myself up. After all the clues I’d left behind me, I can only put their ineffectiveness to find me down to incompetence. Now, I believe they’ll inject the potassium chloride that will stop my heart. Perhaps I will get some peace.”
“Why?” she said after a moment’s silence.
He understood. “Why not? Because I can.” A slight shrug, his victims worth nothing more.
She thought she was going to throw up. He can’t hurt me, he can’t hurt me. The urgency that she had felt around the man’s thread rose to a crescendo. On his hands and neck, dark blotches began to appear. That made it somehow worse.
She closed her eyes, trying to gather the parts of her that were unravelling, trying to get her mind to think logically, but it was like swimming against a tide. Think! I’m meant to be the Shepherd here. I’m meant to be the one in control.
She opened her eyes. He was staring at her, blotches spidering across his face and neck. I’m in control here. She focused on the manacles, trying to change them. They resisted her - he must have been concentrating on them - but she was the Shepherd. She trampled over his will, and the restraints dissolved into mist. The only indication he gave was to rock back slightly. She wanted to seal his slimy mouth shut. Or just walk out and leave him for the Shades.
“It’s time,” she said, rising on unsteady legs, and backing over to the door. She realised that she’d have to turn around in order to open it, and that that would mean this monster would be behind her. She threw a glance at her father, but he made no sign.
With a deep breath and a supreme effort of will, she turned, though her primal instincts told her she was insane to turn her back on a predator.
Just get it over with, and get the hell out of here.
She found it hard to get her head right in order to see the door in her mind. Each time, when she could sense she nearly had it, fear skittered through her thoughts.
“I do so hope you’re not having trouble,” came his sly voice, still sitting down behind her.
“Shut up,” she grunted through gritted teeth. She focused on the door in her mind, forced it into clarity. She snapped at the handle before it could fade again. Once she had a hold on both sides, she pulled, trying to yank it open as quickly as possible. The strain kicked in as the breach was made.
“Can I help you with something?” The voice was beside her ear, and despite herself, she jumped. The door tried to snatch itself out of her hand, and she dug in with mental fingertips. She hadn’t heard him move.
He’s right there. He’s behind me! She was starting to panic again. She didn’t have a good grip on either end, and she didn’t dare look behind her. To see his face up close would surely send her over the edge.
A needle of pain shot through her head. She’d stopped the door from closing, but it wasn’t moving anymore. She was coming to the end of her strength; she knew it. Cold beads of sweat ran down her back. She pulled, muscles quivering. The pain in her head deepened. She couldn’t let go to get a better grip.
She pulled in an explosive burst. The door inched open. Again. Again. Again!
Blessedly, it finally passed the tipping point, where it no longer fought against her. She opened it all the way, and sagged, panting as if she’d run a race.
Tentatively, she looked up at the psychopath beside her. He was fixated on what was through the door. His face blanched, the first honest reaction she’d seen on him since arriving. It made the blotches stand out. There were more of them now, outlining his veins, and his left eye was bloodshot.
“What do you see?” she asked weakly.
It took a while for him to respond. “Nothing I care for.” He stepped back. “You can close it now.”
Aisling glanced at her father, standing in the corner with his fists clenched. He said nothing. “Do you know what will happen to you if you stay here? You won’t know it’s happening, but you’ll be eaten alive, your very essence will be unravelled by Shades the moment you step outside.”
“I know. I’ve seen them.”
That stopped her short. It shouldn’t be possible that he could see them.
“Better to be undone, than to cross through there,” he continued, indicating the door.
She didn’t know what to say; she was still taken aback by his previous remark. How could he have seen the Shades? “But…”
“Close the door,” he said, firmly. He was back in control of himself again, emotion non-existent.
She didn’t need to be told twice; she wanted to be out of there. Already, cracks were appearing in the walls, plaster crumbling to the floor. As the bridge between the worlds was shut, his thread changed. It lost its urgency, and now seemed tinged with decay. She reopened the door, this time to the outside, and hurried out.
“Do come and visit sometime,” came the voice from behind her. She shivered violently, her whole spine shuddering. The clean air had never felt so welcome. She felt dirty, and desired nothing more than a hot shower. She could still feel his eyes on her, but refused to turn around, concentrating instead on not running.
“You did very well back there,” said her father, coming up alongside her.
“No thanks to you! Why didn’t you step in?” she asked, hotly.
“I won’t be around forever, kiddo. Not everyone’s a bowl of peaches.”
“I feel disgusting.” She stopped. “How is he able to see the Shades?” The thought that she shared something with that freak terrified her.
Her father took his time before answering slowly, “I think he was lying. He was looking for a reaction, right to the very end. Looking to get inside your head.”
She searched her father’s eyes, trying to judge his sincerity. Was that what he believed, or was he just saying that to make her feel better? If he believed it, how sure was he?
She turned and stalked off.
14
“Do you want to stop?” her father called from behind her.
“I’m not finishing with that…thing!” She was walking rapidly, on the hunt now, looking for a thread that signalled it needed her. Anything would do.
There.
She seized the thread like it was a lifeline, jumping quicker that she ever had before. It meandered, randomly, but she pursued it, trying to escape what was behind her.
She stopped suddenly, her heart seizing. The thread ended in front of her, but not at a house.
A little girl, no more than two or three, wandered, lost. She was looking in the faces of everyone passing, turning this way and that, bawling, tears streaming down her face. Nobody stopped to comfort the child; at best giving a passing glance.
Three Shades circled the girl like vultures. Waiting.
Rage took over. Striding forward, she obliterated the Shades without knowing how she did it. They burst apart so quickly, so violen
tly, that they didn’t even have a chance to register her presence.
The child turned, and perhaps instinct told her that there was something different about Aisling in relation to the other inhabitants of the world, for she rushed forward, still crying, arms in the air.
Aisling dropped to her knees and rocked back under the weight of the toddler barrelling into her. The child climbed up her, frantic, pushing with tiny legs, and gripped her around the neck with a strength belying her size. Aisling enveloped her in a hug, soothing her with one hand and shushing into her ear. The poor thing was terrified. She thought back to her first time, when she’d awoken to all the people here, and could only imagine what the little girl was experiencing, having been ripped out of familiar surroundings to a crowded place full of faces she didn’t recognise.
Aisling didn’t know if she was still fragile, but she found herself close to tears. She stood, the child sobbing into her neck, and turned to her father. Again, she saw compassionate pain on his face.
“Where do we go now? There’s no house.”
“I don’t know. Only she knows,” he said, softly rubbing the little girl’s trembling back.
It took them a long time to calm the little one. Eventually, she was sitting up in Aisling’s arms, sniffing instead of sobbing, and not trying to choke-hold her.
“Now, wee girl, can you tell me your name? What’s your name?” Aisling asked gently.
The girl looked down, shy, but eventually whispered, “Mia.”
“Mia? That’s a very lovely name. My name is Aisling.”
“ ‘Ling,” repeated Mia, nodding.
“Can you tell me where you live Mia? Where’s home?”
Mia seemed to think for a while, before pointing off to the left. “Hom’!”
“Shall we go there? Do you want to go home?” She felt a bit guilty saying that. There was only one reason anyone came here - well, two, counting herself - and it wasn’t to go home. Still, Mia’s face lit up and she nodded; a large exaggerated gesture.
Shepherds: Awakening Page 7
