by Davis, Bryan
Weep as my soul tears apart.
I have lost my beloved, my shelter, my rock.
I have lost the fruit of my womb.
I have lost the light that shines in the night.
I have lost my heart in this tomb.
Kelly let out a long breath. “It's repeating the first part.”
A surge of heat pulsed into Nathan's cheeks. The music seemed familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. He leaned around the seat and eyed Francesca. The flashlight's glow revealed two pensive faces in the back. “Recognize the music?” he whispered.
She nodded, speaking with a faint tremor in her voice. “I wrote it as something to play when I'm thinking about my parents. It helps me grieve, sort of like a musical way to cry.”
His voice spiked louder, and it seemed amplified in the darkness. “Did you ever record it?”
“Never. It's not even finished, and the part that's playing now is new to me.”
“Someone else finished your work?” Kelly asked. “Who could do that?”
Nathan flung open the door. “My mother could!” He pushed his foot out and felt for a place to set it. With everything so black, he couldn't tell if the van was suspended in the middle of space or trapped in a coal mine. The toe of his shoe pressed against something firm, giving him enough confidence to get out and scan the area, but neither streetlamp, nor headlight, nor star shone through the murky blackness.
From somewhere close by, the music played on. Nathan drank in its beauty. Only one person could play with such perfection, such passion. Only one. She had to be around somewhere.
He spun back to the van. “Daryl, hand me the flashlight.”
She reached the long tube through the open door. The glow spilled over her trembling hands. “What … what's out there?”
“Don't know yet.” When he took the flashlight, he laid a hand over hers. “What's wrong?”
“I'm terrified of the dark.” She gulped and took a deep breath. “But it's okay. Just leave that on, and I'll be fine.”
He aimed the light toward the apparent source of the music, but the beam disappeared only a foot or so away from the bulb, as if swallowed by the darkness. “Mom?” he shouted. “Are you out there?”
His voice sounded like he had yelled into a saturated towel, stopped cold and absorbed.
The music continued unabated. If anything, it seemed louder, even sadder than before. He took a step toward it, but the floor under his leading foot crumbled away. He jumped back to solid ground just in time.
Breathing heavily, Nathan leaned into the van. “Francesca, can you come out and play an echo?”
“Sure. Most of it, anyway.” She joined him near the driver's door. Kelly, too, got out of the van and leaned against the panel on the same side, while Daryl stayed put in the backseat.
“Okay,” Nathan said. “It sounds like she's starting over. Play right behind her and echo each measure. Play it fortissimo.”
Francesca echoed the first measure. Her own notes carried into the black air, pure and true.
The other violin halted in mid-measure. Francesca played the notes and stopped at the same place.
After a few seconds, the music began again, this time playing another piece, fast and furious.
Kelly jerked on Nathan's elbow. “She's yelling. She's calling your name. She says, ‘Where are you?’”
Nathan tossed the flashlight to the seat, took the violin from Francesca, and played a reply, pouring his thoughts into the music, just as he did in the misty world. He hoped to shout, “I'm here. How can I find you?” But he wasn't sure the message was getting across.
He lowered the violin and waited, trying not to breathe. His legs trembled, aching to dash ahead as he strained to hear the slightest noise.
The music hummed again, this time calmer, long strokes that caressed his mind with loving hands.
“Nathan!” Kelly interpreted. “My son! My love! I am enraptured to hear your song. God has granted you passage to my prison, but the path to where I sit is fraught with danger.”
He played a quick response. “What is this place?”
Her music deepened to the lower registers of the violin. “Your father believes that this is a cosmic storage warehouse for dark energy,” Kelly said. “It has a fabric network that erodes as energy is added, paralleling the erosion of the dimensional barriers. Falling through the fabric could take you to one of many dimensions, perhaps one that has not yet even been discovered. The danger is great, for the fabric of space crumbles even as we speak. After nearly falling into the void several times, we found a sturdy place. Yet, I sense that the foundational cracks are closing in.”
Nathan pressed his toes down. Still solid, solid enough to support a van, yet a plunge into the void lay only two steps in front of him. He played again. “So we're not in outer space? Is that why we can breathe here?”
“That is our guess. It seems that we are in a web structure that has trapped an oxygen-rich gaseous pocket within. Perhaps it was created artificially for the purpose of holding prisoners, but who can solve such mysteries when trapped within a realm of darkness? Your father ventured out to seek answers, or at least food and water, but he never returned. I fear that he has fallen into the depths below.”
Nathan poised the bow above the strings but hesitated. Dad would definitely try to figure out what was going on, but he would never leave Mom for very long, not intentionally. Now stroking the strings more slowly, he tried to explain the recent events. “Mom, Patar told us to find what I'm looking for here, so I guess that was supposed to be you and Dad. Then he said if we wanted to go on, we would have to take the most dangerous step of all.”
His mother's violin replied again, Kelly still giving the strings a voice. “Perhaps that is the step your father has taken, a step into one of the fabric's wounds. Where that will lead you, I do not know.”
Nathan played a burst of notes — “I was afraid you'd say that.”— then lowered his bow. He looked at Kelly and Francesca in turn. “What do you think?”
“What are our options?” Kelly asked. “Will the mirror take us anywhere?”
From the backseat, Daryl leaned over the front and extended the mirror toward the open driver's door. The glass showed only darkness, not even a reflection. “Give it a whirl,” she said.
Nathan played “Foundation's Key” through, but the mirror stayed dark. After trying three more times, he shook his head. “Quattro must not work here.”
His mother's violin replied. “Son, I heard you play the song that calls for Quattro's aid. Although it opens a window to a sacrificial supplicant, the mirror is little more than a polished piece of glass. It was given as a tool for times of trouble when you are unable to escape on your own or when you need to find your way on a journey. It will not serve you well when it is time to turn and face the danger head-on or when you have already found your destination.”
Nathan stared at the blank mirror. She was right. Whenever he used the Quattro to get out of danger, he turned his back and let someone else do the work. That was great when he was getting shot at in the river and about to crash in a doomed airplane, but what about now? Maybe it was time he stepped up and took charge.
He played one more question. “Mom, are you hungry and thirsty?”
“Yes, Son,” Kelly said. “It has been quite some time since I have had food or water.”
“Keep playing, Mom. I'm coming.”
After a few seconds, his mother's initial lament began again, though with a noticeable change in tone, just a shade more lively. Nathan set the violin on the front seat and handed Daryl the flashlight. “Put the mirror away, and fill my backpack with a few bottles of water and some of those nutrition bars.” He paused for a second, leaned farther into the van, and smiled. “Please?”
She flashed the light at his face and then at her own wide smile. “Sure thing, boss.” Within seconds, she had filled the pack and passed it forward.
Kelly tapped him on the back. “
What are you going to do?”
As he withdrew from the van, he slid his arms through the straps. “I'm going to rescue my mother.”
She hooked her fingers around his elbow. “I'm coming with you, and don't try to talk me out of it.”
“And me,” Francesca chimed in.
Daryl groaned. “I guess I'm supposed to make it a brave and cheery foursome, aren't I?” She let out a huff, opened the back door, and slammed it again. She circled around the van, holding the flashlight and propping Tony's bow against her shoulder. “You were going to forget this, weren't you?” she said, tipping the bow toward Nathan.
He caught it with one hand and balanced it in his grip. “You sure you're okay?”
“As long as I have this,” she said, aiming the flashlight downward, “I'm fine.”
After passing the bow to Francesca, Nathan studied the spot where the beam spread across the ground. Weak and failing, the glow seemed to spill from the bulb as if it were shimmering water, and it disappeared into tiny cracks in the black floor. He stooped and traced one of the cracks with his fingernail, but, as he tried to scratch through it, he couldn't make a dent. The light had somehow liquefied, so it had to go somewhere … but where?
And their voices had also changed. The vocal sound waves traveled a few feet, enough to talk to each other, but they either dispersed or became absorbed. Yet, somehow, music pierced every obstacle.
He stared into the darkness. His father could be wandering in this black mosaic of impossibly dangerous ground, unable to call for help or for guidance. No wonder his mother played the dirge on her violin, hoping her lament would draw him back to her arms.
He straightened and pointed toward the sound. “The music's coming from that way, but the ground's too brittle. We'll have to make a wide circle and go single file.”
Daryl extended the flashlight toward him “Want to lead the way?”
“Sure.” Stooping low again, he swept the beam slowly from side to side and crept forward. As before, the light splashed and then spread out and filtered into the fabric, leaving a residual glow that painted a shimmering path. When he reached the point where the floor fell out from under him, he halted. The light poured straight down and disappeared as if swallowed by a greedy dark monster below. He searched for a safer route to the right and followed a meandering path toward the sounds of the sad violin.
When it seemed that he had to be within a few yards of his goal, the floor in front of him dropped away into nothingness with no obvious path to the left or the right. He stopped and pointed the beam forward. The light spread out and then fell downward, like water shooting from a hose, but the faint glow carried far enough to paint a portrait of a dark female form standing with a violin raised to her chin. Her eyes reflected the failing light, two brownish-orange circles only fifteen feet away.
He took in a deep breath and shouted as loud as he could. “Mom!”
The music stopped. A voice, as quiet as gentle rain, replied. “Nathan?”
He shouted again. “I can't see how to get to you!”
The shadow's arm pointed. “There is one brittle path to your right, perhaps eight to ten feet away. Your father took it when he left on his journey, but I fear it could be far weaker than before.”
“I'm probably the lightest,” Kelly said. “I'll take the backpack to her.”
“She's my older double,” Francesca countered. “And I probably weigh only a couple of pounds more than you do.”
Daryl raised a finger. “I volunteer to stay. Someone has to survive to tell your parents about your untimely deaths.”
“If anyone goes, it'll be me.” Nathan slid the backpack off. “Mom! Put down the violin!”
The shadow crouched for a moment, then rose again.
“Catch!” Nathan slung the pack her way. His mother braced her feet and extended her arms. The pack hit her in the chest, but she managed to hang on to it and stay upright.
“It's food and water, Mom! I hope it's enough.”
Her shadowed arms lowered the pack and then drooped at her side. Her cry seemed barely able to stretch across the gap between them. “You are a blessed young man, Nathan, a true son of your father.”
The words draped across his mind— a true son of your father. Was he really? Would his father have made the same choices he had made? With all of Patar's stinging accusations, he felt more like a bumbling fool than a chip off the faultless block. Yet, if it were within his power, there was one thing his father would never do — leave his mother to sit alone in a prison of darkness.
He inched his way to the right. “I'm coming over there!”
As he searched for the path, a slight tug on the back of his shirt told him Kelly was close behind, as usual. Nothing seemed to scare that girl anymore. And her presence probably meant that the other two girls were tagging along as well.
When he found a spot where the beam stopped pouring unhindered into the void, he held his torch steady. No doubt about it. With the liquid light scrambling into much wider cracks, that part of the floor had to be fragile, but it was the only way to his mother's island. He had to risk it.
He set a foot lightly on the path. It seemed firm enough.
“How are you going to get her back?” Kelly asked.
“I was thinking if I found a safe route, we could just use it again.”
He pressed his weight down. So far so good. Only about eight more steps. He pushed his other foot forward. Again, no problem.
She let go of his shirt. “I'll stay two steps behind you.”
“Crawl on your hands and knees,” Daryl said. “You'll distribute your weight.”
“Good thinking.” Nathan pointed the flashlight ahead. His mother's shadowy form reached out, now only about ten feet away. The glow washed over her face, revealing her anguished expression — a deeply furrowed brow above eyes filled with alarm. He tossed the light to Daryl and eased his body down to his hands and knees.
Now blind, he inched forward, sliding over the tactile blackness. He felt like a trapped miner trying to escape from a deep tunnel—no light, no map, and no idea if he was about to tumble into an air shaft.
“You can do it, Nathan,” Kelly said. “You're almost there!”
“Maybe. If I could see.”
“I'll try to blaze the trail.” Daryl aimed the light at the floor where Nathan's hand would slide next. “Is that better?”
The beam poured through the widest cracks yet. “Only if seeing impending doom is better.” He glared at the fragile floor. Should he chance it? Maybe he could just jump and latch onto his mother's arm. But would she be able to hold on? He chided himself with a nervous laugh. Of course she would. That's what mothers do.
Nathan gritted his teeth. He rose to a crouch and lunged, but the floor crumbled beneath him. He flailed for his mother's hand, but he swiped through empty air. Yet, for some reason, he wasn't falling. Something held him suspended over the blackness, while another force pressed against his throat, choking him.
“I've got you,” Kelly grunted. “I won't let you go.”
He looked up. Kelly's fists clutched his shirt, and his collar was strangling him, but if he lifted his chin to let it slide up, he'd probably slip right out of the very thing that kept him from a one-way ticket to nowhere.
Her knees bending, she pulled, but her arms quaked violently. “Swing your leg up!” she yelled. “Francesca will catch it.”
The younger Francesca dropped to her knees and reached down. “Aim for my hand!”
He couldn't answer. He couldn't even breathe. When he tried to swing, a faint ripping sound jolted his senses. His shirt was tearing! He had only seconds before he would plummet.
Grunting, Kelly swung his body from side to side to add to his momentum, each movement causing a new tearing sound. She cried out with a guttural scream.
Nathan grimaced. The pain in Kelly's wounded shoulder had to be ripping through her body. How long could she hold on? Finally, he thrust his leg up as high as he
could.
Francesca grabbed his ankle. “I've got him!” she yelled. “Pull!”
With the pressure on his throat loosening, Nathan sucked in precious air. As they slowly eased him upward, a new sound grated in his ears, a faint cracking from beneath his rescuers' shoes. “It's collapsing!” he shouted. “Let me go, and run for it!”
“Never!” Pushing with her legs, Kelly lunged backwards. Nathan shot up over the edge and sprawled on top of her with a heavy thump. More cracking sounded from beneath their bodies. They scrambled to their feet, but the floor gave way.
14
MENDING NIGHTMARES
As they fell, Nathan grabbed Kelly's arm, then Francesca's. He looked up. Daryl stood at the rim, gazing down, the flashlight still in her hand. The glow illuminated her terrified face as she shrank in Nathan's view, and a stream of liquid light followed them into the depths like dripping, phosphorescent wax. Seconds later, she disappeared in the upper reaches, and blackness swallowed her puny torch.
Now with complete darkness surrounding them, there seemed to be no sensation of falling, not even a rush of air. Yet, since they could breathe, they would have to feel air breezing upward, wouldn't they? Unless, of course, the air pocket was falling with them, or the ceiling had actually zoomed upward, or …
Nathan shook his head hard. Every option seemed impossible. This place didn't follow any rules — physics, gravity, or logic.
Francesca compressed his arm. “Is everyone okay?”
“I'm fine, except I can't see anything.” Nathan blinked at the darkness. “Did we stop falling?”
“We stopped,” Kelly said. “My vision is working again, so I guess we moved to another dimension. I can see that we're standing on solid ground, but I don't feel pressure under my feet.”
Nathan turned toward her. White beams once again shot from her eyes, sweeping the area like car headlights. The beams passed over vertical stone slabs near his feet, but the light didn't linger long enough for him to figure out what the slabs were. He reached for one of the stones and ran his finger along the top — smooth marble, about three feet wide and four feet tall. “We need the violin to turn on the lights.”
