by Amy Cross
“Should I go and wake them up?” Tammy asks.
“No.”
“I can't sleep.”
“Me neither.”
I hear her edging closer. “You were talking just now,” she tells me.
“I was talking to you,” I point out. Damn it, children can be tiring.
“I mean before that,” she continues. “You were talking in your sleep, just before you woke up. I was listening.”
“You were?” I pause, suddenly feeling a little worried. “What was I talking about?”
“I don't know.” She sounds cautious, maybe scared.
“I thought you said you were listening.”
“I was.”
“Then what was I talking about?”
I wait for an answer, but at first it seems as none will come.
“A battle,” she says finally.
“Figures,” I mutter.
“You were talking as if you were in the middle of it,” she continues. “You were whispering, but it's like you were shouting in your head.”
“I think I was.” Pausing, I realize that I have vague memories of a dream in which, yes, I was back on the battlefield. I doubt I'll have many more dreams before I die, so I hope the rest are calmer.
“You were talking about killing someone,” Tammy tells me. “You were saying that you had no choice.”
“Sounds about right,” I whisper.
“You were talking about an army. You said there was...” She pauses, as if she's struggling to remember. “It didn't make much sense, but you said there was fire in the sky and you said dead people were coming back to life.” She pauses again. “That can't happen, can it? There can't be fire in the sky and... and dead people can't come back to life...”
I take a deep breath, trying to keep from thinking about the battle all over again.
“They can't,” Tammy continues, her voice tense with childish fear, “can they?”
Outside the storm is still battering the church, and as I think of all the rain that has fallen today, it's hard to believe that I ever stood beneath a sky that rippled with flames.
“Don't worry,” I say finally. “I'm sure you'll never -”
I wince as a burst of pain ripples through my chest, and as I feel immense pressure on my heart I start to wonder if maybe this is it, if I'm about to die. I grip the bedsheets and squeeze them tight in my fists, but after a moment the sensation of pain passes and I snatch another breath. My left fist is locked shut, and it takes a moment before I can straighten the fingers.
“Are you okay?” Tammy asks.
I try to nod, before turning and looking at her. I expected her to have fear in her eyes, but as soon as I see her I realize that it's worse than that: she's absolutely terrified, even if she's trying to look calm.
“Oh God,” I whisper. “Why did they bring you here?”
“When you die,” she replies, “will you come back to life?”
Smiling at the thought, I shake my head.
“Are you going to die soon?” she asks, and then she takes a step back. “I don't want to be here when you die.”
“I'll try to warn you.”
She pauses, and the offer seems to console her, at least for now.
“Come look at me,” I continue, suddenly feeling as if I'd like to get her opinion. I've never been around children and I always assumed I'd hate them, but I actually like Tammy a little. Maybe in another life I would have had kids of my own, although I honestly can't imagine what that kind of life would be like. Maybe it's best not to think of such things. “Tell me what you see.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just come closer. Please.”
Another creak. She doesn't come closer, though; she's just shifting her weight.
“Please,” I whisper. “Marnie and Donald won't let me have a mirror again, so I don't know how bad the damage is. I know I'm probably being selfish, but before I die, I'd like to know how I look.”
I wait.
Silence.
“You look pretty bad,” she says finally.
I start to smile, but the pain is too extreme and I let out a gasp. This, in turn, causes me to arch my back slightly, which brings more pain, and this makes me move my left shoulder, which hurts even more. Every time I move, it feels as if a little chain reaction of different pains is being set off one after another all across my body. I have to focus to keep still, to end the latest cycle, and it takes longer than it should. Ten seconds, maybe fifteen.
Another creak. Closer this time. Tammy's getting braver.
“What's wrong with your bones?” she asks finally.
“They're...” I pause, feeling a sudden sense of calm in my chest. That's new, and a little worrying. Does calm come right before death? “They're trying to get out,” I continue, which doesn't make much sense but, still, it's as close as I can get to the truth right now. After all, Tammy's just a child, she doesn't need to know about all of this. There are things I faced on the battlefield that she shouldn't even hear about. I don't even know why Donald and Marnie brought her here. Necessity, I guess, but there should have been another way. There must have been.
“Why are your bones trying to get out?” she asks, as if it's the craziest thing she's ever heard. “Aren't they supposed to stay inside you?”
“They are,” I whisper, and again I make the mistake of smiling, which sets off more pain elsewhere. I reach down, gripping the bedsheets and holding them tight until the pain crackles away. “My bones are a little different right now,” I continue. “They don't like me anymore.”
“Why not?”
“I upset someone.”
“Who did you upset?”
“It doesn't matter. Just -” Suddenly I feel a sharp jolt in my left shoulder; as if to prove my point, my upper arm bone seems to be twisting, trying to find a new way out through my flesh. I clench my teeth hard, trying not to cry out in front of Tammy, but finally I let out a gnarled, gurgled groan of frustration until the pain starts to fade again. I felt the bone tearing free from muscle and sinews this time. It's not an exaggeration, my body really is tearing itself apart ever since that bone snatcher got hold of me. I think he must have secreted some kind of poison to loosen me up.
“I don't want my bones to try to get out,” Tammy says, and from the sound of her voice I can tell she's frowning. “How can I make sure this doesn't happen to me?”
“Don't go sticking your nose in where it isn't wanted,” I reply.
“Like where?”
“That's the problem. You have to be smart enough to know.”
“Oh. So how do I know? I mean, my parents always tells me it's good to be curious and inquisitive.”
“It is,” I reply, “until...” I feel another wave of pain in my chest, as if my ribs are trying to become unpinned, but this time I'm able to keep from crying out. Was the pain easier this time, or am I getting more resilient? “Curiosity is really good, Tammy,” I continue, “until... until one day you make a terrible mistake and get too close. There are just some veils that should never be drawn back.”
“What kind of veils?”
“Never mind.”
“I want to know.”
“Tough,” I reply. “Forget I said anything. I sure as hell don't have any pearls of wisdom for you.”
She frowns. “Is it true that you built this church?”
I sigh. “No. Where did you hear that?”
“I thought Mama said -”
“I didn't build the church,” I tell her, “I just restored it.”
“Then who built it?”
“I have no idea. I tried to find out once, I did some research, but... As far as I can tell, it's just always been here.”
“It can't always have been here,” she points out, not unreasonably.
“I know,” I reply, “but whoever built it, they're long gone. It's at least a few hundred years old.”
“That's pretty old. But who -”
“Enough questi
ons!” I hiss, momentarily losing my temper. Even before the words have left my mouth, I know I've made a mistake, and I can see from the look on the little girl's face that she's close to tears. “I'm sorry,” I mumble, even though I know it won't be enough, “I just... I'm tired, that's all.”
She stares at me, as if she's close to tears.
“Don't pull that face,” I add, although once again I quickly realize that I'm not being very tactful. “Sorry, I didn't mean that either.”
“I was just going to ask...” She pauses. “Never mind.”
“Ask.”
She shakes her head.
“Ask your question,” I continue. “I won't get mad again.”
She pauses. “I just wondered what the church is called. That's all.”
“What it's called?” I think about it for a moment. “I never found out. If it had a name before I came here, no-one remembered.”
“Oh.” She looks around. “So you could call it Rachel's church, then.”
“Rachel's...” I frown at the idea. “No. No, that wouldn't be a good name.”
“Why not?”
“It's not my church,” I explain. “I was just privileged to look after it for a while.” Pausing, I realize that the name Rachel's Church actually makes me feel happy, although I know I should banish such pride from my thoughts. “Maybe it doesn't need a name,” I continue, feeling another twitch of pain in my chest.
“Everything needs a name.”
I shake my head.
“What about this little bit of land?” she asks. “Does that have a name?” She pauses. “What's your surname?”
Realizing that she's never going to stop asking questions, but keen not to snap at her again, I figure I have to find some other way to distract her. I feel a hint of renewed energy in my body, or at least I can trick myself into believing that something is stirring deep inside, so I wait a few seconds longer, just in case it fades away, and then finally I decide to try lifting myself up from the bed. Sure, I'd be better off resting, but since I'm going to die anyway I really don't see that there's any reason to be careful. Letting out a series of gasps, I sit up.
“You're not supposed to do that,” Tammy says, taking a step back.
“I don't care,” I reply, getting to my feet. I almost fall over straight away, but I manage to steady myself on my weak, trembling legs. “It's too late for me to start following advice now. Besides, I want to show you something.”
“What?”
The truth is, I'm not sure, but I need to distract her. “It's in the main part of the church.”
“I don't know if I'm allowed to -”
“Sure you are,” I reply, limping past her. When I reach the doorway, I'm glad of the chance to lean against the frame and rest for a moment. Looking through into the church's main hall, I see the altar at the other end, beyond the rows of benches, and the thought of walking all that way fills me with dread. I still remember the time, many years ago, when I'd casually run back and forth all day as I got on with my tasks. Now, as I stumble forward and then have to lean against the back of a bench, I'm struck by how truly wretched I've become.
“Are you okay?” Tammy asks from behind me.
“Where are your parents?” I whisper.
“Over there.” She points toward the main door, and I realize I can just about make out two dark shapes resting on the farthest benches. “Should I wake them up?”
“No,” I reply.
“But if -”
“Let them sleep,” I mutter, as I start to shuffle past the benches, determined to reach the altar as quickly as possible. I can hear Tammy following, and finally I reach the front bench and take another pause. I'm already breathless, and there's a kind of rising, tightening pain moving slowly up through my chest and into my throat. I feel certain that I could easily sit down now and just let my life fade away, but there are still so many things that I need to do. Sure, I already fixed the roof but there are plenty of other small gaps in the walls that I want to put right, and I also need to get that goddamn bone snatcher down and dispose of him. I can't afford to die quite yet; tomorrow would be fine, I could get everything done and die tomorrow, but tonight I need to keep working.
“Do you want to rest?” Tammy asks, stepping past and looking up at me. “We can sit down for a few minutes.”
Shaking my head, I stumble away from the bench and then start making my way up the steps. When I get to the top, I reach out to steady myself against the altar but at the last moment I decide to use the wall instead. Somehow, I feel as if the altar should be reserved for other things. Such as distracting a child who won't stop asking questions.
Above, there's another creaking sound. Is the bone snatcher just waiting, or is he planning something?
“Did you build this?” Tammy asks from behind me.
“No, I...” Staring at the altar, I think back to how it was just a pair of rotten wooden boards when I first came here; just two old boards, most likely salvaged from a shipwreck, suspended between two piles of bricks. I guess I did build the altar, with just a few scraps of the original wood left. At the same time, I don't want to take any credit. “No,” I continue. “I told you already, the church was already here when I came, it just needed some repair work.” Reaching out, I run my hand across the top of the altar, feeling the gentle dents and grooves that have settled into the wood. I remember them all.
“Are you a priest?”
I turn to her.
“If this is your church,” she continues, frowning, “then -”
“It's not my church.”
“But -”
“Your parents didn't mean it that way,” I add.
“Oh.” She pauses. “But... if you're not a priest, then why do you work here? I thought only priests worked at churches.”
Hearing a bumping sound above, I look up at the ceiling. The bone snatcher is still there, still scrabbling about, probably listening to us.
“I just had a dream one night,” I mutter, making my way around the altar until I can see out across the church's dark hall. All those empty benches, staring back at me... Maybe Tammy's right, maybe a priest should come and take charge of this place, although I don't know where he'd get his parishioners from. No-one lives remotely close to this area, and even the most devoted worshipers probably couldn't be persuaded to make the trek. The church is orphaned, cut off from anyone who might need it; well, anyone apart from...
I pause.
Me.
I needed it. Realizing that I'm starting to get lost in my thoughts, I turn and look at the shelves behind the altar, and suddenly I realize what I can give to Tammy. There are various baskets on the shelves and it takes a moment before I find the right one, but finally I slip my hand in and take out a small wooden disc, not much bigger than a button.
“What's that?” Tammy asks.
“It's a coin,” I reply, turning and handing it to her.
“But it's made of wood.”
“So?”
“Aren't coins supposed to be made of metal?” she asks. “Like gold and silver?”
“Yeah, well...” I can't help but smile. “I didn't have any gold or silver, so I had to use wood. You saw the trees outside, didn't you? There are just a couple, but I was able to get more than enough wood.”
“Could you buy things with coins you made yourself?”
“No, I used them more to... I don't know, to thank people. It's dumb, I know, but that's what I did. It's not like I met anyone very often, though. Most people just laughed.”
“Huh.” She turns the wooden coin over for a moment, before holding it out for me. “It's cool, I guess.”
“Keep it.”
“Are you sure?”
I nod.
“Why?” she asks.
“I told you. As thanks”
“For what?”
“I don't know,” I continue. Damn it, more questions. Are children always like this? “For keeping me company. For not asking any more ques
tions.”
“What's it like to die?” she asks.
Sighing, I realize there's no way the questions are going to stop. “I have no idea.”
“Are you scared?”
I pause. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Because there's nothing to be scared of,” I reply, before looking up again as I hear that goddamn creature still scuttling about on the roof. I swear, I want to go out there and finish the bone snatcher off, and with Donald and Marnie fast asleep by the door, I'm sure I'd be able to get outside and then... Well, that's when it would start to get tricky, because even though the bone snatcher is undoubtedly injured, I'm hurt far worse. “As long as I'm with this altar, I don't mind.”
“Why?”
“I have no idea,” I reply, running my hand across the top of the altar again. I can't explain it to her, but somehow I've felt for the longest time that I want to die right here at the altar, at the heart of the church.
“What's on the roof?” Tammy asks, her voice suddenly filled with fear.
“Nothing,” I reply, turning to her.
“That's what my parents said,” she continues, “and they were lying too.”
“There's...” Realizing that it's pointless trying to trick her, I sigh. “There's something on the roof, but you don't need to worry about it. It's not going to come in here.”
“How do you know?”
“It can't. Not into a church.”
“Why not?”
“It's not that kind of creature,” I tell her. “It's just going to wait out there for me.”
“Why you?”
“Because it's mad at me,” I explain. “I killed its...” Pausing, I realize there's no way I can explain the whole thing to her. “There was a very, very bad man,” I say finally, “and he was hurting a lot of people, and a lot of other people tried to stop him but they couldn't. For some reason, and I still don't fully understand it, but for some reason I was able to stop him. I knew I'd be able, I just felt deep down that I was the one, although I also thought there was a chance I was deluded. But I went out there anyway and I tried, and I stopped him.”
“Is that why you're dying?”
I nod.
