by David Beers
That’s when she finally saw the flames.
They burst from behind her, climbing up the walls and over the booths.
Screams erupted across the restaurant, people shrieking as fire fed first upon their clothes, and then their flesh. Nicki slowly turned, uncomprehending. People ran by her. Everyone was trying to make it to the exit, but the fire roared forward faster.
It was like an ocean wave—inescapable. It crashed into the rushing people, dropping them to the ground. They writhed and screamed, but no help came.
The smell of burning fabric and flesh filled Nicki’s nose.
The fire surrounded her now and she felt its heat bearing down, though not the actual touch of flames. The restaurant’s back exit stared at her, and a figure stood at it—the only other individual not being harmed. Nicki couldn’t see much about him; he was only a silhouette against the burning world.
No one else ran.
No one tried to escape.
Because they were all dead.
Nicki couldn’t scream. She couldn’t talk. She wanted to beg, though she didn’t know why. She wanted to beg the man in front of her, the dark outline, to make it all stop—but not a word left her mouth.
It’s him, she thought. He’s doing all of this.
And as if he heard her thoughts, his head tilted up.
His eyes opened, and Nicki saw gray static dancing across them.
The flames refused to wait any longer. They reached out and seized Nicki. If she had forgotten how to scream, she quickly remembered.
Daniel Sesam knew his daughter’s voice as well as he knew his own. He would have known it in his sleep. Would have known it even if she spoke a different language. Miles underneath the water, buried and long dead, if Nicki had whispered, Daniel would have known it.
So when the shrieks began, Daniel knew it was Nicki.
He’d been walking back to the kitchen to help a server bring food to their table.
The first scream cracked his concentration like an ice pick through his skull. He froze, the hair raising on his arms, his teeth grinding together.
It took a moment, but his mind finally shrieked a single word: Nicki!—and the freeze shattered. He turned from the kitchen, rushing back through the swinging doors and into the restaurant’s seating area.
He thought the screams would blister his ears, each one of his child’s screams surely bursting his eardrums afresh. Daniel wasn’t crying, but only because he was solely focused on eliminating his daughter’s pain.
He saw her immediately.
She lay on the floor in front of him, rolling and twisting on the ground. Her eyes rolled back into her head, while she batted at her skin as if bees were ripping into it. Customers stood around, staring at the young woman writhing on the floor.
Daniel took off, running across the restaurant. He pushed people out of his way without a thought, dropping to his knees, then pulled her into his arms.
“Nicki! Baby! What is it? What’s wrong?”
Foam oozed from her mouth, and as he pulled her to him, her nose started bleeding. Bright red blood ran over her lips and down her chin, a single line that grew heavier with each second. She twisted in his arms, as if subconsciously trying to fight him, to keep him away.
Her shrieks echoed off the ceiling above.
“SOMEBODY CALL THE MED TECHS!” Daniel yelled into the restaurant. “SOMEBODY GET HELP!”
Daniel was at The Twelve Disciples of Christ’s Infirmary, and he sat staring at a painting of Jesus.
It’d been three hours since he arrived, rushing in beside Nicki and the med techs. They’d let him ride in the Medicar, but that was it. Once here, the doctors shoved him to the side and took his daughter into the back.
Other people came and went through the lobby, but Daniel didn’t look at them.
He didn’t look at the nurses, nor did he consider asking what was happening with his daughter … which, if he thought about it, might not have been the best course of action. That might appear odd to anyone watching.
Why would a father, who brought in a screaming wreck of a daughter, sit gazing at a picture of Jesus for hours on end without so much as a question about her welfare?
Daniel thought on none of these things, however.
Instead, a single idea kept circling in his head.
She made it past 20 years old. Nicki made it past 20 and she had no symptoms. This has nothing to do with that, because it would have happened earlier. Much earlier. She’s 24. That’s four years too late.
Which was a fact. Daniel’s math couldn’t be argued against.
Yet, what he’d seen and heard … it didn’t fit with his math.
Another idea came to him.
You should have told her. You should have told her what to expect, because you might have avoided all this. But instead you kept it from her, and now what, Daniel? Now the Church is going to know, or at least suspect, and what do you think will happen then?
No matter how many times Daniel had tried explaining it, Nicki’s mother—Charlotte—never understood. She’d never needed to, though—not really. She’d loved Daniel anyway, fiercely so. And if possible, she’d loved Nicki even more.
But when it came to telling Nicki the truth? Charlotte had wanted nothing to do with that.
“No. We’re not burdening her with it,” she’d said.
“It’s not a burden. If it happens, and we don’t tell her … You don’t get it. You don’t know how traumatic it could be.”
“It might not happen,” Charlotte told him. “So why even bring it up? Why not wait until she’s closer at least? You say 20 is the age? Then wait until she’s 19.”
And Daniel had agreed.
And when Nicki turned 19?
Daniel let the year pass without a word. In fact, he never said anything about it. Why? Because it had happened to him when he was much younger. He’d been 14. No, 20 was the upper limit, and most people never stretched that far. So, he let it go and moved on with his life.
And now where are you? Sitting in The Twelve Disciples of Christ’s Infirmary and praying to a god you don’t believe in, hoping he lets all of this pass.
But Daniel did pray. He prayed to a god that was different from the doctrine handed down by the Church. He prayed to a god that, if real, thought the Church a cancerous thing, something to be hated. Daniel did what all people do when they feel forsaken, he looked for comfort.
He prayed that what afflicted him would not afflict his daughter. That what had afflicted many in his family going back longer than even he knew, would pass by her.
He prayed that the Church wouldn’t discover it.
He prayed that this was all a mistake, and that when they went home, they would never think about it again.
Daniel knew though, from experience, that God rarely answered prayers. He knew that for all the bullshit the Church preached, one thing was true: the Lord worked in mysterious ways.
Five
The Prophet
Rhett still felt Rebecca’s nervousness. It was almost palpable. He thought that if he reached over and placed his hand on her shoulder, he’d feel an oily shield of anxiety resting atop it.
Is yours any different?
Perhaps not. Perhaps he only hid it better.
He sat outside David’s study. Rebecca occupied a chair to his right and Christine stood at the window across the room. They’d been waiting about ten minutes. David was inside, but hadn’t started their meeting yet—which Rhett was okay with. He didn’t want to go inside and tell David what he’d discovered. He didn’t want to talk about this matter.
Because he didn’t see any way out of it.
Rhett stood and walked across the room, standing next to Christine.
Their compound was on the outskirts of the nearest city. No transports flew across the sky. The compound wasn’t on an official lockdown, but no one was coming or going. Christine was the last to return.
“Why didn’t he call me back when he calle
d you?” she asked.
“I don’t know. You can ask him.”
Their voices weren’t loud enough for Rebecca to hear.
“I don’t like it,” Christine said.
“Well be sure to let him know once we get inside.”
She shook her head but said nothing else.
Rhett was quiet for a moment, but then said, “It might be better to concentrate on what’s actually happening, rather than some perceived slight. Maybe what you were doing was too important to be brought back.”
“I was doing the same thing as you. I was converting.”
“Well,” Rhett said, “maybe the people you were converting were more important than mine. You don’t know what he thinks. No one does.”
Christine didn’t respond, and Rhett thought it was because she knew he was right. They might know when David was thinking, when he was working, but not what. Not until he told them.
The door to the study opened and both turned around at the same time. Rebecca stood.
“Come in,” he called from his chair.
Rebecca waited until the other two were near her, and the three entered together.
Abby’s picture wasn’t on the wall this time, and David rose as they grew closer. He turned to them and Rhett saw the results of such pressure. His eyes didn’t possess the near frantic look of his sister’s. No, David had grown darker. It was the difference in their wiring, Rhett supposed. Black patches rested beneath his eyes from not sleeping, and his skin appeared to have drawn tighter on his frame.
“I’m losing track of time,” David said. “When did we last talk?”
“Two days ago,” Rebecca answered.
David nodded.
“Are you eating?” Christine asked.
“That’s not important,” he said as he looked to her. “Thank you for coming back. I know how important your work is.”
Christine nodded and Rhett saw the corners of her lips start pulling into a smile, though she held it in.
Rhett often wondered how much David knew—how much he could hear outside of his direct company. Did he know what they spoke about in the lobby? Or was he simply being honest about his feelings, and it happened to be at exactly the right time?
Either way, we clearly love you for it, Rhett thought.
“I’m going to tell you the truth, and it’s imperative that what is said here, stays here.” David walked around the chair and moved across the room, passing behind them.
The three said nothing, not needing to agree or give consent.
He stood at his small bar for a second before leaning against it. He stared down at the white surface and shook his head.
“I’m sorry. I don’t even have the energy. Could one of you make it for me? The usual?”
Rebecca nodded. “Sure.”
Green nanoparticles lit up the whites of her eyes, and objects inside the room started moving—all of them lighting up as Rebecca did. A cabinet opened and a tall glass moved through the air. In another spot, beneath David, a bottle of liquor floated up.
The three remained silent as Rebecca made the drink.
“Ice?” she asked.
“No, thank you.”
The cupboards closed and the glass sat in front of David. Rebecca’s eyes died down, returning to their normal colors.
“You need to eat,” Christine said.
“She’s right,” Rebecca echoed.
“I will, but not yet.”
Rhett was quiet, though he felt the same as the two women next to him. There was nothing pleasant about David’s appearance right now. It frightened Rhett, and he wondered if he’d ever seen David so distressed. Perhaps in the beginning, when he first understood what was to come—what he had to do. Not since, though. While he could be dark, could be angry, he was never … rattled.
David took a sip from his drink and then placed the glass back on the counter.
“I know where she lives, the one like me … or at least the Ministry. She’s in the Old World.”
Rhett shut his eyes tight. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“I know. That’s where she is, though.”
“The Unformed doesn’t choose from the same Ministry twice in a row. You were from the Old World. It wouldn’t pick there again,” Christine said.
“I’m not sure It picked her … In fact, I don’t think It did.”
The three were quiet for a few seconds.
“Then how is she like you?”
He shook his head, raising his hand to the air, palm up. “I don’t know.” David’s words were a whisper, and Rhett’s skin grew cold. “I’ll worry about her. If I need to, I’ll go to the Old World myself. Right now, I want to talk about the traitor. Rhett, what were you able to find out?”
David had given him an assignment. Even with a traitor in their midst, David’s reach still stretched far, which was what the Ministries hopefully wouldn’t understand until it was too late. David had managed to spread his message deep, including inside the True Faith itself.
Rhett had tapped into a member that worked for the Prevention Division, and asked what they could find out.
“First, I don’t know the person’s name. It’s for everyone’s safety. They were converted years ago, but we don’t track people by profession. They are a member though, David. Your blood is in their veins. I made sure to check.”
“I believe you. Go on.”
Rhett nodded. “I just want everyone to feel comfortable, because I’m not going to be able to get the person’s name. Anyway, they confirmed what you said. The PD is in contact with someone, though they weren’t able to find out who. They aren’t sure the PD has a name yet.”
“Well, that’s helpful,” Christine said. “Did they tell you anything that might make a difference?”
“It’s not good. The PD is taking it seriously. They’re running it up the chain of command. It’s going to the Priesthood.”
David closed his eyes. “They’ll force my hand, then.”
David Hollowborne sat alone in his study. Everyone had left an hour ago, and the SkyLight outside had just dimmed a few minutes earlier.
“Turn the lights off,” David said to the room.
He remained in the dark. He was nearly done for the night, though he wasn’t quite ready to go to his apartment yet. He didn’t know if he could sleep despite the exhaustion weighing on him. Things were going wrong, yes—that couldn’t be denied, but the Earthly matters weren’t really what dragged him down.
It was his connection.
The Unformed wasn’t there anymore.
David had searched and searched the Beyond over the past week, but he saw no traces anywhere. It was as if the Unformed had simply left.
That’s not possible, and you know it. It wouldn’t leave, not forever.
This wasn’t the first time his connection had died and David tried reminding himself of that. He’d been with the Unformed for two decades, yet It was timeless. In that scope, not connecting for a week wasn’t even a fraction of a second.
David was trying to constrain the infinite into his own worldview, and doing that only caused turmoil.
But why now? Why did It leave now? he wondered in the darkness.
He stared at the SkyLight outside his window. The bottom of the Earth’s crust had been turned into a huge light that stretched all 19,000 Corineters. It replicated the sun and moon, the Ministry’s local arm timing it with their actual rise and fall. For whatever Corinth hadn’t been, he was certainly a genius. David wouldn’t deny him that. He was no messiah, no savior of the human race, but he’d managed to ensure some sort of survival for those that once lived in North and South America.
Corinth had taken his people underground, and now those descendants worshipped him as a god.
But he’d known he wasn’t a god, David thought. He knew the truth … and still he held to his convictions. He may have doubted but he kept going. Yet, you know the truth of God, so don’t you have as much faith as an impostor?
<
br /> An hour passed and David found himself reflecting on his past. It brought him both fear and comfort. He’d grown up in the Old World, the part once known as eastern Europe. David knew more about the past than most. The Ministries taught what they wished people to know, but not the truth. That’s how Abby was wiped from history, the young girl he sometimes stared at to remind himself of what must be done. It was how Rachel Veritros had been changed from a hero to a demon.
The Unformed had connected with two others before him, and each died in Its service.
David was to be the one that changed the outcome.
David was to be the last Prophet.
And yet, he felt alone and weak, his God having abandoned him.
No. That’s not true. Being absent is not the same as abandonment. Remember what It told you.
David closed his eyes, trying to remember the past. Pain resided there, but so did hope.
David had been 14 when the Change occurred; that’s how he thought of it—the Change. Of his entire life. Nothing had ever been the same, not since the very moment he was Touched.
His parents had been heretics. The true kind, not the pseudo radicals that whispered hushed tones in basements. They had, of course, met people like that in the beginning, but quickly realized they had nothing in common with them. His parents weren’t atheists; they rejected even that label. They said atheists worshipped at the altar of the non-god.
It had only been a matter of time until they were found. Until they were killed.
And the ridiculous thing about it all? They’d been wrong. God did exist, but David had found out too late to tell them.
He opened his eyes and stared out the window, forcing away the memories. He didn’t want the pain right now, not even if it reminded him of the hope. He had enough fear in the present without bringing up the darkness behind him.
Please, he prayed to his God. Please return.
Six
The True Faith Ministry
