Tommy Nightmare (Jenny Pox #2)

by JL Bryan

  “We have studied her,” the old priest said. “I have seen with my own eyes. She has a gift from Aphrodite Areia. The power lies in her touch.”

  “Is this true?” the king asked Jenny.

  “Great king, the war goddess has blessed me,” Jenny heard herself say.

  “Give us a demonstration,” said the man in white and green. He offered his chair to the priest, who sat.

  Jenny held up her hand and splayed her fingers. Her hand turned a feverish red, and then pustules and ulcers broke out across her palm and along the insides of her fingers.

  The man in the green-edged tunic, who was the king’s advisor, turned pale and gaped. The old priest, having seen far more than this, was interested only in the king’s reaction.

  The king leaned forward to the edge of his stool. “Come closer.”

  Jenny took two steps toward him. The advisor stepped back, as far away from her as he could manage.

  “Great Archidamus,” the old priest said to the king. “The touch of the goddess slays all. No man can touch her and long survive.”

  “That is a great shame.” The king favored Jenny with a smile. “Come closer,” he said, and Jenny stepped toward him.

  “Careful,” the advisor said. “She is a helot.”

  “You would not wish to slay your rightful sovereign?” the king asked Jenny.

  “I would not,” Jenny said. “But I am a slave to the goddess, as I am a slave to Sparta. She chooses whom to slay. I do not. I am merely her vessel.”

  “I have sacrificed many fine rams and ewes at the temple of Aphrodite Areia,” the king said. “The goddess loves me. She bears me no wrath.” The king reached for her hand.

  “Do not touch her!” the priest shouted.

  The king scowled at the old priest. “Do not command your king!”

  “Neither beast nor man are spared,” the old priest said. “The goddess destroys all that the girl touches.”

  “If the goddess harms me,” the king said, “then the rites of your priesthood are false.”

  The old priest said nothing.

  The king took Jenny by the wrist and brought her hand closer to inspect the signs of disease.

  Jenny shivered in fright. She waited for the touch of Aphrodite Areia to flow into him, for sores and ulcers to break out on his hand and spread up his arm, across his body. Then the king would scream, the old priest would shout, and perhaps the advisor would draw the short sword at his waist and attack Jenny.

  But this did not happen. The king studied her fevered, ulcerated hand. The plague did not spread into him, and she marveled. And she trembled, for now she knew the king was no ordinary man. The gods must have favored him.

  “It looks strong,” the king said. He looked up at her. The irises of his eyes were a deep, rich amber color. “And you may inflict a deadly suffering upon men, if you wish?”

  “If the goddess wishes,” Jenny whispered. In all of her fifteen years, she had never touched another without causing disease.

  The king released her.

  “You spoke falsely,” the king said to the priest. “The goddess loves me, yet you said she would do me harm.”

  “I have never seen otherwise,” the old priest said. He was pale now, frightened at having displeased the king. “I only sought to protect the king.”

  The king eased back on his stool, which was cushioned by woolen fleeces. He studied Jenny.

  “You must know of the recent evils of Athens,” the king said to Jenny. “The Athenians formed the Delian League under pretense of constructing a shield between Persia and Greece. Yet Athens has reduced her allies to mere subjects, and thinks only of expanding her influence, not of protecting Greece. She will not cease until the world lies prostrate under the sword of the Athenian tyrant. Do you know of these things, helot?”

  “I have heard such talk,” Jenny said. “But it is not my place.”

  The king smiled at her, and she trembled at the powerful energy in his gaze.

  “The Athenians hide now behind their walls,” the king said. “The walls reach all the way to the sea. We have ravaged the Attica countryside, yet Athens remains free to command the seas. No army may enter the city.”

  He paused, looking at her. Jenny did not know what she might say to this, so she remained silent.

  “We cannot assault her from without,” the king said. “But my priests advise me that you may assault her from within.”

  “We should not put any trust in a helot,” the advisor said, but the king ignored him.

  “The priests tell me they have prepared you for this,” the king said.

  “Yes, my king,” the old priest said. “Years of exercises at the temple have uncovered the reach of her divine touch—”

  “I wish the girl to speak,” the king said.

  “I can do as you wish.” Jenny’s voice was soft and low.

  “A woman cannot win a war,” the advisor said. “Curses will rain down on us if we follow this course.”

  “If I wanted to hear of curses, I would ask a priest or a magician!” the king bellowed.

  “Magic and sorcery will lead us to suffering,” the advisor said. “Wars must be fought by men, with bronze and iron, on a properly blessed field—”

  “What do you think of this?” the king asked the priest. “My advisor’s prattling?”

  “It is clear the goddess favors my king,” the priest said. “Her blessings will be upon you.”

  The advisor sneered.

  “Before we proceed,” the king said. “I must satisfy myself with a demonstration of your abilities.”

  “I will do as the king wishes,” Jenny said.

  “Let us find a beast,” the priest said. “Great or small, as the king wishes.”

  “I do not wish to send a plague among the beasts of Athens,” the king said. “But among the men.” He looked to his advisor, and a cruel smile appeared on his face. “Perhaps she might demonstrate upon a worthless general, who can himself offer no means of breaching the Athenian walls.”

  “My king!” The advisor shuddered, looking sick. “You cannot mean this.”

  “Lay your hands upon him, lovely girl,” the king said. “And see what the judgment of the goddess shall be.”

  Jenny approached the advisor. He tried to back away from her, but he had already reached the wall of the tent.

  “Surely you have made your offerings to Aphrodite Areia, and do not fear her judgment,” the king said.

  Jenny reached for the advisor’s hands.

  The man screamed and ran along the wall of the tent.

  “Coward!” the king bellowed.

  Jenny, wishing to make the king happy, ran after the advisor and leaped onto his back. She wrapped one hand around his throat, and slapped the other across his face.

  The advisor squealed and fell to the ground. He writhed on the dirt while Jenny clamped her hands tighter on his head and neck. His skin turned feverish, the fever spreading to his fingers and down his legs, and then dark, bloody sores burst open all over him.

  When he lay still, Jenny stood.

  “Is he dead?” the king asked.

  “Yes, my king, as you instructed,” Jenny said.

  “Can my men touch him?” the king said. “Or will they grow diseased?”

  “There is no contagion in the dead,” the priest said. “Unless she wills it.”

  The king called a guard from outside the tent and instructed the young man to turn the plague-ridden corpse of the advisor face up, so that the king might look upon him. The guard looked at the body, and showed great hesitation at the order to touch it.

  “You need not fear the goddess,” the priest said. “You will not grow sick.”

  The young hoplite soldier hesitated a moment more, then laid his hands on the dead man’s green-edged tunic, taking care not to touch his skin. He turned the body, and the king smiled at the bleeding tumors that had arisen on his advisor’s face.

  The jarring sound of a telephone woke
Jenny from her sleep. She lay on her bed alone. It was daylight, and for a moment she wasn’t sure what century it was, or who she was.

  The phone rang again. It hadn’t worked in two weeks.

  Jenny pushed herself to her feet and stumbled groggily to the living room. She picked up the phone and mumbled a hello.

  “Jenny?” asked the voice on the other end.

  “Oh! Daddy! Hey!” Jenny said.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” Jenny said. “It’s just the phone’s been out. All the phones.”

  “I’ve been worried sick,” he said. “Couldn’t even get the answering machine after that first day.”

  “Guess it’s working now,” Jenny said. “Where are you?”

  “I’m driving home now,” he said. “The National Guard cleared out, left all the roads wide open.”

  “Oh, good, they’re leaving!” Jenny said.

  “I’d say they’re about gone. Haven’t seen one.”

  “So it’s over,” Jenny said.

  “I guess,” her dad said. “But nobody’s too sure what it was all about. What happened, Jenny? Did you see anything?”

  “Um,” Jenny said. The last thing she wanted to do was tell him what she’d done. “It’s just been crazy.”

  “Well, you can tell me about it when I get home.”

  “I’ll be here,” Jenny said.

  After the phone call, Jenny chewed her fingernails. She didn’t know how to explain to her dad what had happened. She hurried to throw on jeans, a long-sleeved blouse, and a pair of light gloves. She added a stocking hat, though it was very warm outside, bordering on hot.

  She found Seth outside, pacing in the back yard, between rows of her dad’s partially finished projects—motors, furniture, and appliances in need of repair, or else waiting to have the useful pieces stripped out of them. The stuff used to be all over the yard, but Seth had helped Jenny and her dad build a fence, from the house to the shed, to hide her dad’s mini-junkyard. The front yard actually looked half-decent now.

  Seth turned and walked along the fence toward her. He was talking on his cell phone, looking annoyed.

  “What is it?” Jenny asked when he was done.

  “They’re saying it was a chemical leak at the old Lawson dye factory,” Seth told him. “Which our bank owns. But that’s crazy, because the factory was just a little concrete shell. It’s been totally empty forever. My dad’s worried about the liability now, with the insurance company or something, and he wants me to go out to the factory with Mr. Burris. Talk with the Homeland Security guys. Or listen while Mr. Burris talks, anyway.”

  “When do you have to go?”

  “Right now,” Seth said. “Before they leave town.”

  “Wait—who came up with that story?” Jenny asked.

  Seth shrugged. “Let’s just be glad there’s a story, and it doesn’t involve you. Want to come with me? Should be long and dull.”

  “Not really,” Jenny said. “And I can’t, anyway. My dad will be home any minute.”

  “Wish I could stay, but I have to do this. My dad’s so worried, he’s flying up from Florida to try and get control of the situation.”

  “What happens when he figures out there wasn’t a chemical leak?”

  “I don’t know,” Seth said. “I just hope he doesn’t start prying too deep.”

  Jenny slouched. “I wish your parents didn’t hate me.”

  “They don’t hate you.”

  “Right.”

  “I don’t hate you.” Seth took her hands and looked into her eyes. “Not at all.”

  He kissed her, and Jenny felt herself relax. She always felt as if she were feeding on him somehow, as if his touch made her stronger. Sometimes it made her too strong, maybe. Strong enough to wipe out a town square full of people.

  Her dad’s Dodge Ram rumbled into the driveway.

  “I have to go,” Seth said.

  “Great,” Jenny said. She’d been dreading telling her dad what had happened, but she’d imagined Seth would be there with her. Now she would have to face it alone. “Seth, how much do you remember from when you were dead? On Easter?”

  “Not much now,” he said. “Right after I came back, I could have told you all kinds of things. But it’s like my brain couldn’t hold all that stuff. Past lives. Crazy stuff.”

  “I don’t remember very well, either.” She heard her dad get out of the truck and walk up the front porch steps. “Do you ever have dreams about your past lives, since then?”

  “Maybe,” Seth said. “I don’t remember my dreams for long. Except this one where I was a giant rubber duck, being chased by soap bubbles. That was weird. You think it means anything?”

  “Jenny?” her dad said. He walked out the back door to join them in yard.

  “Daddy!” Jenny ran to him and hugged him tight, careful to keep her exposed face against his shirt. He arranged his hands cautiously on her back, avoiding the skin of her head and neck, and hugged her back.

  “It’s so good to see you, Jenny,” he whispered. He sounded like he was about to cry.

  “I missed you, Daddy.”

  “I missed you, too.”

  Seth watched them for a minute, then he said, “It’s good to see you, Mr. Morton. I actually have to run into town.”

  “Take care, Seth,” Jenny’s dad said, not deeply interested. To Jenny, he said, “I got some groceries in the kitchen. Figured you might have been running low on things, with the town cut off.”

  “That’s great!” Jenny said. “I’m tired of baked beans.”

  “How could you get tired of those?” Seth asked.

  They went inside, and Seth hugged Jenny and continued on out the front door.

  Jenny helped unload the groceries. Her dad had picked up a sizable brick of hamburger meat.

  “Thought Seth would be eating with us,” he said. “That boy can put it away.”

  “I bet I could eat two hamburgers right now,” Jenny told him. She opened the Piggy Wiggly bag on the counter. “Oh, and fresh lettuce, fresh tomatoes…this is great!”

  Her dad made patties and took them out to grill. Jenny took cabbage and carrots and put together a slaw, and then she grabbed a pitcher and squeezed juice from the plump lemons he’d brought.

  She carried two glasses of lemonade outside, gave one to her dad at the grill, then relaxed on a lawn chair, soaking up the sun.

  “You feeling okay, Jenny?” he asked.

  “I guess.”

  “Sure you don’t have any idea what happened?”

  “Well…” Jenny said. “I didn’t want to say on the phone.”

  “I figured.”

  “Did I ever tell you Ashleigh Goodling had a power like ours?” Jenny asked. “Like me and Seth?”

  “The preacher’s daughter? No, I think I’d remember if you said that.”

  “Well…she was like us. Only a lot worse.”

  “What kinda sickness did she spread? Or could she heal people?”

  “Neither one,” Jenny said. “Her touch made people feel love. That’s why everyone in town loved her and did whatever she said.”

  “Hell, I can believe that,” he said. “I always thought there was something off about them Goodlings. Dr. Goodling puts me in mind of them people that travel with the carnival.”

  “So, here’s the thing,” Jenny said. “Ashleigh turned the whole town against me and Seth. Or maybe not the whole town, but a lot of people. And she had them all together at the courthouse, ready to hang us for being witches. Honestly.”

  “Like Gabriel Joe?” her dad asked. That was the name of the slave that had supposedly been hung from the giant gnarled oak in front of the courthouse in the 1700s, on the charge of practicing sorcery. There hadn’t been a courthouse then, just the giant oak.

  It was a story usually told at night, by a campfire, somewhere around Halloween.

  “I’m not kidding,” Jenny said. “I think that old story helped get everybody together. Kind
of made it easy for Ashleigh to tell everybody what to do. And then she killed Seth with a shotgun.” Jenny pointed to her chest, to show where Seth had been shot.

  “What?”

  “He got better,” Jenny said, thinking of Monty Python. “And then everybody tried to hang me from the tree. And then…don’t you need to flip them?”

  Her dad was staring at her, the metal spatula in his hand forgotten halfway to the grill.

  “What happened, Jenny?”

  “Then I lashed out.”

  “Did people get hurt?” he asked.

  Jenny didn’t say anything.

  “Did people die, Jenny? They said on the news…” His mouth dropped open. He understood now. “How many people, Jenny?”

  “A lot.”

  “What’s a lot?”

  “I don’t really know. A hundred? Maybe more?”

  “A hundred people?”

  “Yeah, I’d say…at least a hundred people. The Goodlings, and Mayor Winder, the police department, a bunch of kids from school, Coach Humbee and some other teachers, some deacons from the church, that realtor guy with his face on the benches all over town—”

  “You killed Dick Baker?” her dad asked. “He still owes me a check.” His voice was detached, as if he were mentally drifting away. “That’s a lot of people, Jenny.”

  “I know!” Jenny said, and then she broke down and began to sob. She rested her elbows on her knees and buried her face in her gloves.

  A fatty lump of the neglected beef fell through the grill and ignited in a gout of greasy flame. Her dad set the metal spatula down on the little platform attached to the grill, and he turned to walk inside.

  “I got to think this over,” he muttered, walking toward the house.

  “What about the hamburgers?” Jenny asked.

  “You can finish them if you want them,” he said. “I tried to teach you better than this, Jenny.”

  “I know, Daddy! I should never touch people. I know.”

  He walked into the house, looking tired and old.

  Chapter Seventeen

  A few days after the quarantine ended, Jenny took some new clay pots down to the Five and Dime, to see if Ms. Sutland wanted to put them out for sale.

  She arrived to find the door propped open and half the store’s inventory packed into boxes. A couple of men were moving furniture out on hand trucks.