FREEFALL (A Megalith Thriller Book 1)

by D R Sanford

  It must have run the length of the house. Skylights added natural lighting through the cathedral ceiling, a long bank of windows faced him on the far wall, and a monstrous hearth occupied the far right end. Passing a long dining table, at least twenty feet in length, he proceeded toward the flickering fireplace and the shockingly familiar person seated before it.

  ***

  Erin Houltersund rose from her chair by the fire and met Cullen with a smile. Her dark, auburn hair hung loose upon a white shawl that clung to her shoulders. The deep pools of Erin's eyes regarded him with kindness, the freckles on the bridge of her nose so familiar in this alien place.

  She moved in closely as he stood rooted in place, stunned and trying desperately to make sense of the situation. Her chin rested on his right shoulder, and she took his dangling hands in her own.

  “Good morning, buddy. I'm so glad to see that you're awake. Laeg told me you had a rough day when he caught up to you.”

  Erin's voice cracked on the last. Her chin dug into his shoulder, the grip of her hands tightening. No longer frozen in place, Cullen wrapped his good arm around her and held her close. The warmth of her body made him keenly aware that he was standing in a large room, clothed in nothing but pajama pants and bandages.

  Cullen disengaged to hold his mother at arm's length. She wiped tears from her eyes and met his gaze.

  He said, “I feel a little out of my element here, Mom. First there's Laeg, the paramilitary teacher's assistant, then he said something about talking to my father on the phone? Now you're here, wherever this is. Can I count on you to fill me in?”

  A nod led to a smile, the dimples springing to her cheeks.

  “You most certainly can. Why don't you sit down? Would you like some coffee?”

  “I'd love some, please.”

  She saw the goose bumps lining his arms and spread her shawl across his cold shoulders.

  “How are your injuries, son? Laeg did his best to set your collarbone when he brought you in but didn't know if there was any other damage.”

  His brow furrowed as Cullen considered the injuries to his left side. He recalled the numbness shortly after the crash and the discomfort that grew to ceaseless agony. Thank goodness for Laeg and the fully equipped medical kit he'd found in the travel van.

  Perhaps it was the immobilization of his left arm or the lingering effects of painkillers that had expelled any pain that once surrounded his shoulder or ribs. A little stiffness maybe, but that was to be expected.

  Cullen shrugged off the knit wrap and handed it to Erin while searching for the bandage's tail. He found it under the left pectoral, removed the clamp holding it in place, and let it fall.

  “Mom, could you...?”

  “Are you sure? He just brought you in a few days ago.”

  But she moved in, taking the bandage in hand and walking it around Cullen until it fell away on its own.

  Tentatively flexing the muscles of his shoulder, Cullen rolled it backward. Tendons returned to their original position, issuing a soft pop from the joint. Other than some weakness built up from days of no use, everything felt fine.

  “I thought you said Laeg brought me here all broken up. I sure remember feeling that way.”

  Erin's eyes darted from his shoulder to his bewildered gaze, quickly settling on the kitchen behind him.

  “You sit down, and I'll be right back with that coffee.”

  He watched her retreat toward the kitchen, noting her stride lacked the perpetual spring she'd always put in her step. She looked old today, and he'd never caught himself thinking that in the past.

  Seating himself in a high backed plush chair that faced the fire and the long bank of windows, Cullen temporarily lost track of his worries by taking in the view. Water fowl floated in pairs on a small lake not one hundred yards from the house's outer walls. Green foothills rose steadily beyond it, rising to the jagged peaks of a mountain range in the distance. Peace and tranquility washed over him again, the same comfort he'd felt in his dream.

  He failed to notice his mother's return until she placed a hot mug of coffee in his open hand. She leaned over, feathering the hair along the back of his head and planting a kiss on top. Between the coffee, her presence, and the fire crackling nearby, all the caution he'd woken with was swiftly evaporating.

  “I guess the time has come for explanations," she said. "What would you like to know first?”

  She settled in again, facing him with her educator persona, one he'd been subjected to many times before. The mother who wore her concern for him on her sleeve had been neatly tucked away, replaced by the professor who regarded truth above all else.

  “I don't have the slightest idea where to start asking questions, Mother. Granted, that's all I've been doing for the last eight months, but you've caught me at a loss.”

  Briefly, she looked into the fire, seemingly collecting her thoughts.

  “There is a very long story to tell, Cullen. I don't mind telling it, but you have to promise me one thing. Try to believe all that I tell you.”

  “Everything up until now has been pretty unbelievable, but I'm all ears.”

  She turned her attention back to him, fixing Cullen with her gaze. Her eyes were suddenly hypnotic in a way he'd never noticed before. He was drawn into them, circling her dark pools as she began explaining.

  “You were born for a purpose, Cullen. Before your birth, I agreed to your father's wishes and helped bring you back into this world. In the end, however, I defied his intentions for you. You must believe me when I tell you that I have never wanted anything but your happiness.

  “So, you may recall from my Irish Mythology course the story of Cúchulainn's defense of Ulster from the advancing armies of Connaught?”

  “It's a bit fuzzy. Maeve led her men into Ulster on a raid to steal the province's prize bull. All to solve some argument with her husband over who possessed the greatest treasures.”

  “You have a blessed memory, Son. That is a key tale of Cúchulainn's legend, one that earned him the enmity of Maeve for a very long time.

  “And it is Maeve that concerns us now. You see, Maeve formed a pact with Morrigan, a deity overcome with a lust for conflict and conquest, and before her death Maeve was given secret knowledge concerning the cord of life. Morrigan instructed her in the sacred art of moving a soul from life to life, whether it be woman, stream, stag, tree, or man.

  “Morrigan was always led astray too easily. A simple promise to start a feud could gain her allegiance while spurning her advances could call on her vengeance. That is what occurred between her and Cúchulainn, the Hound of Ulster.

  She offered him untold glories, but he defied her, relying on the strength of his own arm, the fire in his own spirit. Their relationship was a troubled one, and even though he gained immortality through the legend of his battle exploits, he lived a very short life.”

  Cullen challenged, his voice and temper rising together.

  “What does an old Irish legend have to do with me, with Nora, with any of this?”

  “I'm getting to that, but please stay with me as I paint the background for you. Now, Maeve, with her newfound knowledge, held on tightly to her umbilical of life. She did not return to the void and accept fate's hand in her eternal passage. Rather, she devised a ceremony in which she transferred her soul and awareness to the body of a newborn babe. She has carried on that practice to this day, for nearly two thousand years.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down that runaway horse for a second. You're telling me that some old Irish lady has reincarnated herself throughout time and is essentially immortal? And I'm going to have something to do with that? Did you cook up this story so I could convince some jury in the near future that I am out of my freakin' gourd?”

  Cullen stood to leave, suddenly convinced he was the ward of some new age asylum, and looked around for security cameras. Erin grabbed hold of his hand before he reached the dining table, forcing him to turn around.

  “I kno
w this all sounds crazy, Cullen. But please, sit back down and hear me out.”

  He was tired of being kept in the dark, and his mother's tall tale seemed like another attempt to keep him out in limbo. Nevertheless, it was early in the morning, he was God-knows-where, and they appeared to be safe for the moment.

  “Okay, I'll listen for a while longer, but you have five minutes to get to the point.”

  “Fine, five minutes will do. I can leave the lecture behind and give you the highlights.”

  They resumed their seats. Cullen felt a flush from the fire's heat and the anxiety building within.”

  “In time Maeve molded the ceremony to fit her needs and applied it to her subjects. She gave them the same gift of immortality, twisting it after her own design. You see, for every newborn she chose a soul to inhabit, the original was cast out, it’s cord of life broken.”

  “So, you mean to tell me that the legendary Maeve of Connaught still lives and rules over an army of ancient Irishmen?”

  “Originally, yes, but the pagan gods challenged her long ago and demanded that she disperse the bloodlines in her domain, otherwise the indigenous Irish souls would soon dissolve. She conceded, planting rebirths across the civilized world. For centuries, she and the Irish people reaped the benefits of her Diaspora. Loyal subjects returned to the isle for trade, and other well placed puppets used their influence to bring nations under her secret command.”

  “But these subjects, they’re mortal men and women, aren’t they? I mean, what’s to keep them loyal to Maeve on the other side of the world?” Cullen was trying to wrap his brain around the concept of one human being with such godly powers. “What is there to keep them from overthrowing her?”

  “It has been attempted, Cullen. For centuries, though, her new order benefited everyone. Maeve’s chosen few amassed great fortunes and power, their families grew exponentially, and the pagan gods gained new worshipers throughout the world.

  “In time, however, there were those who believed they could challenge Maeve. Not knowing the extent of her powers, there have been a few unfortunate enough to carry out her assassination. They assumed Maeve would be restricted to inhabiting the form of a newborn child, and perhaps, without the careful preparation of her ceremony, her own ties to rebirth would be broken.”

  Cullen leaned forward in his chair, rapt with anticipation. “I’m guessing their plans didn’t work out very well.”

  Erin shook her head gravely and replied, “Not in the least. She maintains such a grip to her cord and can manipulate others’ to an extent that she may easily inhabit any living creature in her proximity.”

  “Possession?”

  “In its simplest form, yes. And those foolish enough to defy her have been captured and dealt with in the most horrible fashion. Do you recall the myth of Prometheus?"

  “Sure I do, the Greek Titan who gave fire to mortals. Didn’t Zeus punish him by tying Prometheus to a rock so an eagle could eat his liver every day? It grew back, only to be torn out again and again for eternity.”

  Cullen shook at the thought. What could possibly be worse than that?

  “Correct, and Maeve had grown into a ruthless demigod in her own right. Once captured, she facilitated the torture of those who betrayed her. Entire bloodlines were wiped out to make an example. There may still be a few unfortunate souls that she reincarnated only to torture them, life after miserable life.”

  Sinking back into his chair, Cullen lost himself in the mesmerizing glow of the fire’s red embers. As conspiracy theories went, his mother’s was a doozy. Because nothing in his prior experiences with her suggested she was crazy, he drifted to the conclusion that she was preparing him for an insanity plea.

  He rested an elbow on the chair’s wide arm and cradled his forehead in widespread fingers. Rubbing his temples and wishing away the build-up of stress tension, Cullen failed to notice when Erin stepped to the fire and poked around in the ashes with a cast iron rod.

  “You’re finding this a little difficult to believe, aren’t you, Son?”

  Cullen adjusted his senses to her new location and hummed a reply, “Mmm-hmm.”

  “Truthfully, I didn't expect you to believe me, but I would have preferred to avoid this next part for both our sakes.”

  Something in her voice alerted Cullen, and glancing up, he caught Erin advancing on him with the red hot poker extended in his direction. Reflexively, he backed into the other side of the chair and raised his right hand in defense. The rod’s point seared the flesh of his palm, igniting his nerve endings.

  As quickly as his mother sprang forward, she threw the poker onto the hearth and took cover behind her chair. Cullen coiled around his hand in shock for a moment, holding a throbbing fist against his stomach, his feet drawn up on the chair cushions.

  “You just stabbed me! Why the hell would you do that?”

  Erin's hands covered her mouth, visibly worried about what she had done.

  Her face was distraught, and he barely heard her whisper, “I'm so sorry, buddy. There was no other way. Now please, open your hand and tell me what you see there.”

  Cullen carefully opened the hand and examined the blistering wound in the center of his palm. A shallow hole, about the size of a quarter, oozed a trail of blood toward his wrist. The hot iron had cauterized the outer edges. A prickling sensation grew at the wound's core, and Cullen noticed that the throbbing had ceased.

  The blistering receded before his eyes. A clot formed over the hole. The scab solidified, itched like hell for a few seconds, and crumbled away when he squeezed his fingers inward. Only fresh, pink scar tissue remained, otherwise there were no signs that he'd received a serious injury a few minutes ago.

  “I'm really losing my mind, aren't I?" Signs of a panic attack struck Cullen, and he bent over, breathing deeply. “Either that or you've drugged me. What the hell is going on?”

  A new voice bellowed from the hall, “Erin, what are you doing torturing our guest? I thought Cullen was here for rehabilitation, not interrogation.”

  Nerves on edge and growing exceedingly defensive, Cullen lunged to the hearth and rose with the poker in his hands. A great bear of a man halted on the other side of the chairs.

  The sight of Cullen wielding a potentially dangerous weapon apparently wasn't very threatening.

  The man simply stuffed his hands in his pockets and said, “I'm hungry. Anybody else hungry? Because I could eat the asshole out of a skunk right now, and I'd bet we'll all get along a little better on a full stomach.”

  —Chapter 13—

  THE MEGALITH FAMILY

  Cullen sat in the middle of the long table, his attention snapping between the lake in the distance and the imposing figure sitting across from him. Even sitting down nearly six feet away, the man exuded an aura of intensity that intruded on Cullen’s personal space.

  Introduced to him as Ferdiad, the gruff fellow was at least ten years his senior and sporting a few days of whiskers. Arms the width of Cullen’s thighs crossed in front of him, elbows resting on the table’s edge, Ferdiad leveled a quizzical gaze.

  Ferdiad raised his voice to carry into the kitchen, “Erin, did you teach him to fight at all? He doesn’t have the look.”

  Bacon sizzled in the background, the wonderful aroma filling the air. The rasp of a knife spreading butter on toast paused while his mother replied, “My plans changed, Ferdiad. You of all people can empathize with my desire to spare Cullen the warrior’s life.”

  “The life is not so bad, Erin. It’s the dying that hurts.” A smile cracked Ferdiad’s stony façade, as though he considered the comment a joke.

  Erin shuffled into the dining area, two plates brimming with scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. She placed one in front of Cullen and slid the other to Ferdiad.

  “Tell me Ferdiad, what is the average lifespan of a Megalith soldier?” she asked.

  Talking around a mouthful of eggs, Ferdiad mumbled, “Umm, probably around twenty-eight. Maeve likes to keep them you
ng and dumb.”

  “Megalith? What's that, Maeve's army?” Cullen asked.

  “In a manner of speaking," replied Erin. "The Megalith Corporation is Maeve's umbrella company. Security, pharmaceutical, software, weapons manufacture, oil, tobacco... They all branch out from Megalith, and the list goes on.” Erin stirred cream into a fresh mug of coffee, watching the swirl follow her spoon.

  “So the lab that red flagged Nora's tests?”

  Ferdiad crunched a piece of bacon and used the rest to point across the table. “A subsidiary of Megalith, invisibly tied to but solely operated under her directives.”

  The pieces were starting to come together, but Cullen was still having trouble coming to grips with a few key points. One of which was, “How is it possible that my broken bones can heal in days and fourth degree burns disappear in minutes?”

  “Have you told him anything at all?”

  “I told you Ferdiad, Cullen was never supposed to know. He deserved a normal life, not pushed and pulled by the whims of gods and men.”

  “Well, he's here now, and I'd say he's better off being pushed than pulled into Maeve's web.” Grumbling, he continued, “Do you think he's even on her radar yet? If he is, you know very well that we will be soon.”

  “Hello, I'm sitting right here,” Cullen snapped. “Could the two of you please reel it in and tell me what the hell is going on with me?”

  Ferdiad appeared taken aback, as though the toast crumbling from his lips was truly the hind end of a skunk.

  “Your son isn't exactly respectful of his elders, Erin.”

  Cullen decided he'd had enough. Pushing his chair back, he left the dining area, headed toward his room, and called over his shoulder, “I don't think you have me on the right drugs, because this is absolutely ridiculous.”

  His anger grew, building on itself until he nearly drove an elbow in the hallway plaster. As he approached his room, Cullen noticed a sound coming from across the hall, next to the bathroom. He pressed his ear to the door and heard a low whimpering within.