by Amy Cross
"Stop," Sam says, her voice filled with simmering anger. "You're getting into stuff you really don't understand."
"I know what happened," he continues. "I know what you left behind in your wake when you ran away. The damage. The fear. The loneliness. Tell me, Ms. Marker. Do you consider yourself to be a good person?"
Sam opens her mouth to reply, but no words come out.
"Or do you consider yourself to be a sinner? Beyond redemption, even?" Faraday pauses. "Wouldn't you like a chance to redeem yourself? You've already made one awful mistake in your life, Ms. Marker, and you've spent every subsequent day thinking that you're a monster. However, you still have a chance to make things right. You can prove to yourself, and to the world, and to the person you hurt, that you're a good person."
"This isn't fair," Sam says, with tears rolling down her cheeks. "You've got no right -"
"I know you love him," Faraday says, interrupting her. "The person you hurt. The person you almost killed. I know you still hope that maybe one day you'll see him again. Wouldn't you like to show him that you're a good person? Wouldn't you like to be able to tell him that you've turned your life around and done something good? Wouldn't you like him to love you again?"
"This isn't fair," Sam says firmly.
"I know a lot about you," Faraday replies. "I know you struggle to keep away from alcohol, and I know why. You tell yourself that you're trying to improve. You tell yourself that you can be a better person, despite everything you've done wrong in your life. And you tell yourself, I suspect, that one day you might actually be worthy to go back and face the one you left behind. Isn't that right, Sam?"
Unable to reply, Sam simply stares at him.
"But you know you'll never reach the point where you feel that you're ready. Your sins are too great, and there's no way you can ever forgive yourself for what you did. Then again, perhaps if you do something truly heroic, something truly important, you might start to see things differently." He pauses. "I hate to be manipulative, Ms. Marker, but on this occasion I believe I'm absolutely correct. If you turn and walk away from this place, from the cemetery and from Rippon, you're effectively admitting that you'll never be a better person. But if you stay and help, there's a chance, just a chance, that one day you might be able to hold your head up high and go back to face the one person you still care about."
There's an awkward silence.
"I know I'm right," Faraday continues. "The question, Ms. Marker, is whether or not you know I'm right. Are you going to run away again, or are you going to face up to your responsibilities and maybe even redeem your miserable, wretched soul?"
Chapter Six
When he gets to the cemetery, Fenroc can immediately tell that something's wrong. Over the years, he's developed a kind of sixth sense when it comes to danger, and right now that sixth sense is tingling from the moment he rounds the corner and starts walking toward the cemetery gates. At first, he can't quite work out what's causing the problem, but finally he realizes that it's an old stink, something he never thought he'd smell again.
"Faraday," he mutters.
At first, he's not sure how to react. There's a part of him that's immediately filled with anger at the thought that Faraday could even dare to remain alive. Then again, there's another part of him that's rather impressed. After all, Faraday's death seemed so convincing and so certain, it beggars belief that he could possibly still be alive. Nevertheless, the stench is unmistakable, and it's clear that Faraday has somehow managed to cling to life. While he's surprised by this development, however, Fenroc isn't particularly troubled. He knows full well that Faraday doesn't pose much of a threat.
Then again...
Keeping away from the cemetery gate, Fenroc listens to a faint sound of sobbing. At first, he assumes that it must be Sam, crying alone on the other side of the wall. Eventually, however, he realizes that the sobs belong to someone else. Cursing his luck, Fenroc is forced to accept that things are starting to get out of hand. He'd long assumed that Sam would remain alone in the cemetery, but now he realizes that not only is Faraday on the scene, but some other random girl seems to have turned up.
Walking around the corner, Fenroc makes his way to another part of the wall. Reaching up, he hauls himself up to the lowest branch of a nearby tree, which allows him to just about see into the cemetery. The place looks dark and deserted, which is a good sign, but Fenroc can't shake the feeling that something's wrong. If Faraday faked his death, there must be a reason, and his apparent attempt to enlist Sam's help can only be a bad omen. As a man who likes to remain in control at all times, Fenroc is somewhat disturbed to realize that his plans are starting to unravel rather fast.
Finally, Fenroc jumps down from the tree and decides that he needs to face the problem head-on. Reaching down, he once again feels the distant rumble of the sleeping beast. He knows that while the demons are getting impatient, there's no real hurry. The beast will wake at the appointed time, and no sooner. What matters right now, as far as Fenroc is concerned, is the job of getting Faraday out of the way. After all, while Faraday's nothing more than an old fool, Sam could be more dangerous.
Chapter Seven
"Hey."
Standing in the shadows over by the gate, Sam waits for Anna to reply. So far, however, Anna seems to be lost in her own little world, sitting on the grass with her knees drawn up under her chin while she stares at the ground. With her skin torn and with pieces of bone sticking out, she looks diseased and rotten, and when she turns and looks over at Sam, there's a clear look of anguish in her eyes.
"So what's it like being dead?" Sam asks. "Are there any upsides?"
Anna stares at her for a moment, before looking back down at the ground.
"I mean, if you -" Sam starts to say, before realizing that there's a very faint noise coming from Anna. After a moment, Sam sits next to the dead girl and listens for a moment to the sound of her sobbing. "I kind of want to tell you that everything's gonna be okay," she says eventually, "but I guess that'd sound kind of hollow seeing as you're dead and all. Still, I guess the worst is over, so things have to get better, right?"
"You think it's a joke?" Anna asks, sniffing back some more tears.
"I think my head is spinning," Sam replies with a shrug. "I think I'm in shock, and I guess eventually I'll react properly, but for now... Well, for now it's hard to take any of this stuff seriously. I can't help wondering if I'm actually locked up in the ward of some mental hospital, and all of this is happening in my mind."
They sit in silence for a moment.
"My thumb fell off," Anna says eventually, her voice sounding weak and fragile as she continues to sob. "I knocked my hand against a gravestone and my fucking thumb fell off."
"Did it hurt?" Sam asks.
"No."
"Did it bleed?"
"No."
"Did you save it?"
"So someone can sew it back on?" Anna pauses. "No, I didn't save it. What's the point? A bit of skin fell off my arm earlier. Do you have any idea what it feels like to have holes in your body?" She waits for an answer. "It's my birthday. Did I tell you that?"
"Worst birthday ever?" Sam replies.
"I should have just stayed dead," Anna continues. "At least then, I wouldn't know anything about all of this, and..." She turns and looks across the dark cemetery. "Why am I the only one who woke up? What about Dean? He's dead too, so why didn't he come back? I mean, sure, it was kind of difficult to get out of the coffin and dig my way up, but I managed it."
"Faraday says there'll be more later," Sam replies. "I guess you were just lucky."
"I love him so much," Anna says. "I mean, I totally... Have you ever been in love?"
"In love?"
"Have you ever loved someone?"
Sam nods. "Once. Very recently, actually."
"What happened?"
"It didn't work out," Sam replies. "It was my fault. I fucked up."
"But he's still alive, right?"
"I guess so."
"So you could go back to him?"
"No," Sam says, shaking her head. "He's better off without me. I was in a very bad place when I met him. It was right before I left Leeds. Just a couple of hours before I got the bus, actually."
"What's his name?" Anna asks.
"I..." Sam replies, pausing as she tries to decide whether she can even bear to say the name out loud. "Henry," she says eventually. "His name's Henry."
"Henry? That's kind of an old-fashioned name, isn't it?"
"I guess so," Sam replies with a smile. "But it doesn't matter. I was bad for him."
"Not if he loves you too." Anna waits for a reply. "Does he?"
"I think so."
"Did he ever say it?"
"No," Sam says finally. "No, he never actually said it. But I said it to him."
"That sucks," Anna replies.
"You have no idea," Sam says quietly. Glancing up at a nearby plinth, she sees the cracked old faceless angel that appears to be guarding the entrance. For a moment, she allows herself to entertain the idea that perhaps the angel actually is an old gardener who turned to stone. As crazy as the idea sounds, it's no more crazy than the fact that Anna appears to have returned from the dead. While she still thinks there's a chance that she's lost her mind, Sam is also aware that maybe - just maybe - everything that Faraday said is true. It's all kind of hard to take in, but Faraday seems to be a fairly earnest guy, and Sam can't deny the things that have been happening right in front of her eyes since she arrived in Rippon.
"Why couldn't I have just gone to Heaven?" Anna asks suddenly. "I'd have been happy in Heaven. I deserved to go to Heaven. I mean, I was a cheerleader. I could have sat around with wings and a harp, and I wouldn't really have been too bothered. But this..." She holds up one of her hands, showing Sam the gap in the center of the palm. "This is pretty gross. I'm worried I can feel maggots in my neck. I'm like some kind of fucking zombie. I used to be so beautiful. Didn't you notice? I was hot. I took good care of my skin. And now..."
"There's definitely a certain level of irony," Sam replies. "I mean, don't take this the wrong way, but whatever moisturizer you're using, you should really reconsider. It's drying you out terribly."
Anna turns to her.
"Sorry," Sam adds. "Bad attempt at humor."
"What if my eyes fall out?" Anna asks. "I'm still rotting. I can tell. So how much further is it gonna go? Am I just gonna fall apart?"
Spotting something nearby, Sam reaches over and finds Anna's thumb. "Here," she says, passing it over to her. "Pull yourself together."
"You've got a visitor," Anna replies, peering over at the gate as she takes the thumb.
Turning, Sam sees that she's right. A dark figure is loitering in the street just outside the cemetery, and it's clear that this isn't some random passer-by. Whoever's out there, he or she appears to be waiting to be noticed.
"I think I know who this is," Sam says, getting to her feet and wandering over to the gate. In some strange way, she's actually relieved at the thought of a visitor who might not bring more insanity to the situation.
"You're up late," says a familiar Irish voice from the darkness. After a moment, Fenroc steps closer. "Guilty conscience perhaps?"
"About what?" Sam asks.
"About standing me up, of course. Don't tell me you forgot we had a date tonight? I waited two hours in that restaurant, but you didn't show. The waiters must have thought I was a right old fool. They kept bringing me more wine, and by the time I got to dessert it was clear you weren't coming. I hope you're happy that you made me look like a right tosser."
"Sorry," Sam replies. "I guess I lost track of time."
"Got friends in there, have you?" Fenroc asks, glancing between the bars and seeing Anna still sitting nearby. "What's up with your pal? She looks a little peaky."
"She's having a bad night," Sam says. "Actually, it's her birthday, so I should really go and hang out with her."
"Aye," Fenroc replies, "go and be a good friend. Birthdays are always important. But don't you want to reschedule our dinner? I'd hate to think that you're blowing me off completely. Maybe I haven't made a very good impression so far, but I scrub up pretty well."
"I might be a little busy for a while."
"Surely you can fit me in." Fenroc pauses for a moment as he fixes Sam with a curious, determined stare. "It's not just a social thing, you know. I've got a feeling we could help one another. After all, I'm pretty sure you've worked out by now that Rippon isn't exactly the most normal of towns. It's dangerous. Maybe you don't see the full extent of the threats, not while you've safely ensconced within the cemetery walls, but why don't you come out and see for yourself?"
"It's getting late," Sam points out.
"Aye, but just step out for a moment. Come on, what are you scared of? Just open the gate and come out here. I've got something to show you."
"No thanks," Sam says.
"Wise girl," Fenroc replies. "Maybe you're learning after all. This town's not safe."
"It's got it's got a few quirks," Sam replies darkly.
"More than quirks," Fenroc continues. "Your pal over there. She's dead, is she not? She's the girl from that awful bike crash the other night. I have to say, it's something of a surprise to see her wandering around. Shouldn't she be six feet under by now, rotting away?"
"I can hear you!" Anna calls over to them.
"Didn't mean to offend," Fenroc replies with a smile.
"Go fuck yourself!"
"You've got another visitor, I believe," Fenroc continues. "There's something in the air. Something... musty, and a little old. Would I be right in thinking that perhaps there's a gentleman caller over in the cottage?"
"Maybe," Sam replies cautiously.
"And what might his name be?" Fenroc asks. "No, wait... Let me guess. Faraway? No. Foraway? No... Faraday? Aye, that's it. Faraday. Is that who you've got in there?"
"You know him?" Sam asks.
Fenroc smiles. "Well, 'know' is a very strong word, but I certainly have experience with him." He pauses for a moment. "The man's only interested in one thing, and that's looking after himself. The needs of other people are very much on the back-burner as far as he's concerned. He'll tell you anything he thinks will get you on his side, and then as soon as he's got what he wants, he'll flick you away like ash."
"Thanks for the warning," Sam replies.
Fenroc stares at her. "Aye," he says eventually, "well, I've told you about him. I've done all I can. If you decide to trust the bastard, that's your mistake, and yours alone. Far be it for me to tell you want you should be doing. Just don't come running to me when you realize you've fucked up."
"I'll be in touch," Sam tells Fenroc. "I really don't think I can get away any time soon, but maybe when this is all over we can go to that restaurant and talk."
"Maybe when this is all over," Fenroc replies, "there won't be a restaurant. For that matter, maybe there won't even be a me or a you."
"You're an optimistic kind of guy, aren't you?" Sam asks.
"I do my best." He pauses for a moment. "Well now, do you feel that?" he continues with a broad smile. "If I didn't know better, I'd swear there was a very slight tremor underfoot. Almost like something turning deep underground. Something big. Now what do you reckon that might be, Ms. Marker?"
"What do you think it is," Sam replies, hoping to tease a little more information from Fenroc. Unsure as to how much he knows about the situation in the cemetery, she's determined to work out whether or not he understands the full story.
"I wouldn't like to hazard a guess," he says, still smiling.
"Maybe you'd like to come in some time and take a look?"
"That wouldn't be possible," he replies, reaching a hand between the bars. Seconds later, there's a faint sizzling sound, and to Sam's horror she sees that the skin on Fenroc's fingers seems to be burning, sending thin plumes of curling white smoke into the night air. "You see," he continues, "I'm not entirely welc
ome around these parts. There was some bad business a while ago, and I'm still persona non grata, if you know what I mean. Unfortunately, certain people have very long memories, and a man like me isn't really welcome on hallowed ground."
Staring at Fenroc's hand, which by now is almost completely blackened, Sam opens her mouth to say something but instead finds that she's almost transfixed by the sight of Fenroc's skin as it spits and burns like a sausage on a griddle.
"As you can see," Fenroc continues, "although I'd love to join you in that comfy little cottage, I'm afraid other forces have their own ideas." As the words leave his mouth, flames suddenly erupt from his hand, and he pulls himself clear of the gate. "That's gonna hurt in the morning," he says, using the edge of his coat to beat the flames away until all that's left is a blackened hand. "Sometimes," he continues, admiring the damage, "I think I go a little too far in my attempts to make an impact with the ladies."
"What are you?" Sam asks.
"If you want to find out," he replies, "you'll just have to come to dinner with me, won't you? But I'll tell you what I'm not. I'm not some fucking stone angel, that's for sure. And I'm not some idiot ex-gardener who faked his death and then came back so he could tell his successor that he doesn't have a clue how to deal with the real problem that's buried deep beneath Rippon. I'm not a tease and I'm not a demon. I'm not dead, but whether that means I'm alive, who can tell? I'm not a man of infinite patience, either, and I don't give my information out without getting something in return."
"But -"
"No more questions," Fenroc says firmly, all the humor having suddenly disappeared from his eyes. "If you want to talk to me again, meet me for dinner. I'll be at my favorite table every evening from seven. It's not like I've got anywhere else to be anyway. If you show up one night, you show up. I'd like to think you'll have some common fucking courtesy, but maybe you'll just disappoint me again. If you don't show, I guess I'll just have to dine alone. It's not ideal, but there are worse fates." He pauses. "Is it really your friend's birthday?"
