by Sean Platt
“It means that nothing is certain. Intuition, yes. Inspiration, yes. But certainty, no. You can feel that something is true, but you can never know it for sure, even if it’s right in front of you. Proof can lie. If you begin with certainties, you’ll end up with doubts, that’s why it’s better to start with doubting and leave with belief.”
Paola seemed uncertain.
“Are you sure about this?” Mary asked her daughter.
“Even if it might help me, then yes. I don’t think I really have a choice. I mean, what do I have to lose?”
Mary didn’t want to answer with any one of the hundred things she thought could go wrong. Best not to add to her daughter’s apprehension. If Boricio was right, and this thing was a fancy placebo machine, she didn’t want to load her daughter with negative energy.
Marina said, “You have nothing to lose. If The Capacitor does nothing, then it does nothing, and I’m sorry it couldn’t help you. But you don’t have to worry about whether you believe in it, or joining our Church or anything like that. I’m offering it as a courtesy because of Rose. However, I will add that this experience is available to so few, almost no one, it would be an absolute shame to have such opportunity at your fingertips, only to turn your back on it.”
Paola was quiet, still thinking.
Marina added a final thought, “Sometimes, when opportunity knocks, you can’t hear it because your heart is beating too loud. It’s okay, I’ve been there before.” She leaned forward and took Paola’s hands. “Trust me.”
Mary bristled not wanting Marina to coerce her daughter into the machine, but before she could speak, Paola said, “I want to do it, I’m ready right now,” all in a single exhalation.
Paola stood, stepped toward The Capacitor, and eased herself inside; Mary thought the plush fabric behind her daughter’s back made it look like a coffin.
Paola might not have had questions, but Mary did. “What happens now?”
Rose still stood vacant beside them, likely maybe she was finally thinking about last night’s events.
“Nothing really,” Marina said. “We close it with you inside, then open it back in five minutes.”
“There’s nothing to set? No dials, no readouts, nothing like that?”
“No,” Marina said. “Nothing like that: It isn’t that type of machine.”
“I’m ready,” Paola said, again, in case it wasn’t painfully obvious to everyone.
Marina set her hand on the door but before she could close it, a man entered the room.
Marina looked up. “Steven!” she said, as if both surprised and happy to see him. The man smiled, turning to each of the girls and running his eyes across them, smiling as if in study. Mary recognized him as the man who’d been in the upper floor window staring at them. She wondered if he was one of the higher-ups in the cult, or Marina’s boyfriend, or both.
Marina asked, “What do you need?”
Something flitted across his face, undeniably odd, a sort of shocked recognition. “Nothing,” his smile widened, as if to bury discomfort. “I can see you’re busy, of course I can wait.”
He turned, then left the study without another word.
Marina turned back to Paola. “Sorry about that.”
“It’s okay,” she said, then repeated that she was ready.
As Marina closed the door Mary felt another chill, feeling like she’d seen the man somewhere before.
* * * *
CHAPTER 5 — Steven Warner
IT was anguished, sorting too many thoughts inside ITS mind.
Ugly, haunting, horrible, real.
Inescapable.
Confusing.
Last night had gone horribly.
IT had sent ITS minions to erase the disturbing presence of Boricio Wolfe, but plans unraveled, after barely starting. The man was stronger than IT had remembered on the other world when they’d faced one another before.
IT had failed.
IT had underestimated what was required.
IT had allowed others to do the work IT knew IT must now do ITSELF.
The biggest surprise wasn’t Boricio, it was that the hunter wasn’t alone: the woman Mary was with him — the woman whose daughter had hosted IT through the breath of an evening, back in the other world, before IT found the shell, John.
In the midst of ITS meditation, an ugly scent had invaded ITS nostrils. What was first sensed the night before had come nearer; so close that IT knew the smell was somewhere other than in ITS mind.
Then IT realized the scent was coming from outside: the woman, Mary.
And she wasn’t alone.
The last time IT had seen Mary, she was pregnant. IT could sense that she’d lost the baby after returning to Earth. Her sadness cloaked her in a dark aura.
With her, Mary brought the girl, her daughter, Paola. Such a tender mind; too tender to host one such as IT.
The girl’s scent was somehow different, not just older — though she was certainly that — but altered, transformed by The Light.
IT considered the memory — a file inside ITS mind — then soured at the recall of the man child, Luca, hosting The Light, raising his own army against him on the other world. Though the attempt failed, it had wounded ITS strength.
IT opened ITS eyes, uncrossed ITS legs, then stood, slipped on a robe, and went to the window, peering through the glass and out onto the midnight-blue Volvo as it pulled up to the drive and idled in front of the valet.
The woman, Mary, looked up, and for a second IT wasn’t sure if she recognized ITS presence. IT continued to study her, feel — nearly bask — in her discomfort. No, IT decided, she had no clue who he was, only that there was something she should be feeling.
Humans were vapid, so unaware of their world. Such a diminished ability to be mindful, too often occupied by what they lacked, rather than seeing what was there before them.
Moments later, IT heard Marina on the other side of the door, preparing for the visitors; the visitors who had been to the other world.
IT thought how unfortunate it was that the man, Boricio Wolfe, wasn’t with them. It would be … convenient … to eliminate all threats at once.
These humans weren’t just survivors from the other world, they’d all been touched by The Light. It made them stronger, and more resistant to ITS influence. IT had to dispose of them before they could gain influence, before they, and The Light wherever it was hiding, raised an army against IT.
Why are they here?
Have they come to destroy me?
IT left the mediation room, went downstairs to Marina’s study, crossed to the far side, then pressed ITS ear to the door.
“Are you sure about this?” The woman, Mary, asked her daughter.
“Even if it might help me, then yes. I don’t think I really have a choice. I mean, what do I have to lose?”
Marina was selling the girl on the machine.
The girl was quiet.
Into her silence Marina said, “Sometimes when opportunity knocks, you can’t hear it because your heart is beating too loud. It’s okay, I’ve been there before.” A pause, then, “Trust me.”
The girl said, “I want to do it, I’m ready right now.”
IT opened the door and stepped inside Marina’s study. She turned from her guests to the doorway and called out, “Steven!”
IT smiled, a sour expression on ITS pained face, then turned to look at each of the women, surprised to see the difference in the girl, now that IT could see her up close, rather than through the blur of a car window: she wasn’t just different inside as he had felt, she was different outside too: unnaturally aged, ripened past her season, like the boy, Luca.
Marina asked what IT needed.
Then, IT saw what IT never expected.
ITS heart pounded, nearly burst through ITS chest, at least that’s how it felt while thudding through echoes of Boricio Bishop still living inside IT.
It was impossible.
It couldn’t be.
Unthinkable.
The woman beside Mary once belonged to him. The love of his life, Rose.
Suddenly, Boricio Bishop’s shadow started to swell within, fighting back for the first time in forever, trying to reclaim its body.
IT could hear Boricio’s tormented cries, the anguish of wanting to go to Rose, to talk to her, to tell her he was still there, that he loves her.
IT pushed back, fighting Boricio’s will as best it could.
Boricio’s internal screams shook like a quake through their shared, intertwined psyche. If IT were not careful, the host could expel IT.
IT would be exposed, right there in the room, before them all, forced to either find a new host from them, fight them, or flee.
IT had come too far to allow something as shallow as love derail IT.
IT pushed several horrible thoughts into the host’s mind, an annihilation of the worst images IT had collected from ITS collective memories — death, decay, murder, mass graves — clubbing Boricio’s soul into submission.
It took everything IT had to locate a voice, and shove it through the shell’s maw with something more than a grunt.
“Nothing.” ITS smile spread in painful artifice. “I can see you’re busy, of course I can wait.”
IT left, the shell’s heart threatening to burst through skin as IT fled the room, quick to put distance between ITSELF and the ghosts of Boricio’s past.
IT remembered Boricio first seeing her, wiping cheese from her cheek before filling her mouth with eggs, as she ate alone, two tables away. Something spoke to the shell in a whisper — soothing, worming its way into head, heart, and soul, unlike any woman before her: true love, brighter than fire. Playful banter, before she laughed and said, Boricio? Is that your name?
He said it was, then held out his hand.
I’m Rose.
Memories of Bishop and Rose that didn’t belong to IT collided in torment.
Too much.
The shell was brittle, knees weak.
IT fell to the floor.
It was so peculiar, love:
Selfish, impatient, insecure, filled with mistakes, too hard to handle.
Beautiful and ugly: a prison.
* * * *
CHAPTER 6 — Luca Harding
“That’s your fist?” Trevor said, his face edging laughter.
Luca stared at his closed hand, which looked like every fist he’d ever seen on TV, comic books, or movies, then back at Trevor. “Yeah, what’s wrong with it?”
Trevor held up his hand and showed Luca his fist. Even though they were the same age, or close, Trevor’s hand seemed so much larger and stronger, at least twice as manly. Other than that, Luca didn’t see much of a difference.
“Notice anything?” Trevor asked.
Luca was too embarrassed to say what he was thinking — I have a girl’s hand? Instead, he shook his head no and tried to keep from looking down.
“Look at my thumb. Notice, it’s outside of my other fingers.”
Luca looked at his own fist, his thumb curled beneath his index and middle fingers. “What’s wrong with this?”
“Well, nothing, if you want to break your thumb the first time you hit something hard!”
Luca looked down, ashamed, then back at Trevor’s fist, and made his best imitation. He held it up for Trevor’s approval.
“Now there you go!” he said, clapping loudly.
Though Trevor was only teasing him, good natured like his dad probably would have, Luca was glad they were far from the skate park or basketball courts, where other kids wouldn’t look over and see that he was pathetic enough to need lessons in not just fighting, but also in making a fist!
They were standing under one of the park’s several pavilions, littered with picnic tables and hidden among the trees, far enough from where people would see them, and likely laugh at Luca, to keep him from worrying too much about what he looked like to anyone other than Trevor. Though it wasn’t yet 4 p.m., the sun had gone missing. Gray clouds hovered above, and a cool breeze blew through the thick clusters of surrounding pines.
“OK,” Trevor said, moving out from under the pavilion and into an open area of grass. “Now I want you to hit me.”
“Hit you?”
“Yeah, don’t worry, you’re not gonna hurt me.”
“Gee, thanks,” Luca joked.
“Hey, just being honest! Hell, you probably won’t even land a punch. But that’s OK. That’s why we’re here. I’m gonna make you better.”
Luca stepped into the clearing and raised his fists, trying to mimic Trevor’s stance. While Trevor looked like a boxer, or as close to a boxer as Luca had ever seen in person, Luca felt like a fraud, like a child pretending to be a boxer.
Trevor began to move back and forth, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, circling Luca.
Luca tried to keep pace, feeling stupid, and bursting into giggling fits.
“Don’t laugh,” Trevor said, his eyes serious. “Pretend I’m Johnny Thomas.”
Luca lost his giggles and tried returning Trevor’s serious stare.
“OK,” Trevor said. “Now I’m going to move toward you. When I get close enough, I want you to take a swing, OK?”
“OK,” Luca said as Trevor moved toward him, fists raised.
Seeing the intensity in Trevor’s eyes only made Luca more nervous that one day soon he would be in a real fight with Johnny Thomas, without Trevor around to help him.
Stop thinking about Johnny, and just take a swing.
Luca moved toward Trevor and swung, a halfhearted attempt because he didn’t want to accidentally hurt his new friend.
Trevor moved quickly out of the way, and Luca sailed right by, missing him completely. Luca stumbled forward, then felt a sharp jab in his back.
“Ow!” he turned around to see Trevor backing away, his fists still raised.
“Why’d you hit me?” Luca asked, trying not to let Trevor see how much he’d hurt him, especially since he was probably going easy on him with a light punch.
“Because you missed me. Miss Johnny, and he’s gonna hit you way worse than that. You need to connect, Luca. You connect, I won’t hit you. Deal?”
“I don’t want to hurt you, though,” Luca said, hearing his dad’s voice in his ear, telling him not to sound whiney.
“You’re not going to hurt me,” Trevor said. “But I guarantee: Miss me again and I will hurt you.”
Their eyes met, and Luca wasn’t sure if Trevor was trying to encourage or scare him. It seemed like he was trying to toughen him up so he could be better prepared to face off against Johnny Thomas, but the intensity in his eyes made Luca nervous.
Trevor began bouncing on his feet and jabbing at the air, “OK, Luca, take another shot.”
Luca tried bouncing on his feet like his coach, but felt stupid, so instead, he moved in, slowly, trying to find the best angle to approach Trevor.
Luca took a swing, and missed again. Rather than sailing past Trevor, he turned, anticipating Trevor’s attack. But he was too slow to defend himself, and Trevor’s fist landed in Luca’s gut.
Pain erupted through his stomach. Luca doubled over, hoping he didn’t look like the world’s biggest wimp as he sucked air through his teeth and tried not to cry.
“Did I hurt you?” Trevor asked, his voice suddenly high-pitched and excited.
Luca wasn’t sure what to say. He didn’t want to seem ungrateful to Trevor for all of his help; no other kid had ever looked out for him like this before. But if he said yes, and asked Trevor to stop, Trevor might not help him become a better fighter. If he said nothing, Trevor might beat the crap out of him during their first lesson.
“Maybe just punch a little less hard,” Luca said. “That one kind of hurt.”
“Oh, so you want me to fight you like a little baby girl, is that it?” Trevor said, his tone almost mocking. “You think Johnny’s gonna take it easy on you?”
“No,” Luca said, rising to meet Trevor’s ey
es again.
“Damn right, he’s not. Now let’s go,” Trevor said, pounding his fists together, then returning to his fighting stance.
Luca began moving, again trying to figure out the best way to hit the kid. He tried to remember some of the moves his father had taught him the other night, but his mind went blank in the moment’s heat. If he missed again, Luca would feel like the world’s biggest loser, unable to learn the most basic moves. And he’d get hit again!
He balled his fists tight and moved closer, eyes bolted to Trevor’s.
Come on: Don’t miss, don’t miss, don’t miss.
Luca took another swing, at Trevor’s face this time, giving it his all …
… and missed. Again.
This time, Trevor dodged and closed quickly on Luca before he could turn back around. His fist slammed into Luca, right in his ribcage, so hard he felt like something must have shattered inside him.
Luca fell to the ground, eyes burning as they got wet, wincing through the sharp pain blooming through his right side, while trying his hardest not to cry. Tears painted his face anyway. So Luca stayed hunched on the ground, face buried in his arms, hoping Trevor didn’t realize he was crying like a big giant baby.
From nowhere, Luca heard the sound of clapping, from many hands.
Huh?
He wiped his eyes, looking up to see Johnny Thomas, Gus, and Kiyor as all three stepped into the clearing. Johnny and Trevor bumped fists like the best of friends, showing Luca his mistake: Trevor was one of Johnny’s gang, and the entire afternoon was nothing but a set-up.
Oh no!
Now Luca was alone, in an isolated part of the park where no one could see them, surrounded by nothing but enemies and trees.
He stood, raising his fists, trying to ready himself for whatever was going to come, from whoever was going to deliver it.
Johnny laughed, “Oh, look, Boys, Luca’s a boxer now! And it only took one ‘lesson.’”
“Leave me alone,” Luca said, trying to sound brave despite his streaming tears and knocking knees.
“Or what?” Johnny said. “You gonna kick our asses? You gonna kick all our asses?”
