by Amy Cross
“Is Clay your real name?”
I nod.
“And your surname?”
“Does that matter?”
“We need you to cooperate, M'am,” the male cop replies. “Please tell us your full legal name and your date of birth.”
“All units be on the lookout for a young white female,” a voice says, crackling from the female cop's radio. “Last seen running west from the scene of the Hurley Arms parking lot.”
“Clay... Smith,” I reply, taking a step back.
“Clay Smith?”
“Can you please stop shining that light in my eyes?” I ask, turning away from them.
“M'am,” he continues, “I need you to face this way. We have some very important questions to ask you.”
“Turn the torch off first. You'll attract attention.”
“M'am.”
He puts a hand on my shoulder, and that's when I completely lose it.
Turning, I grab him by the collar and push him into the wall. The female cop shouts something and swings her torch at me, but I do what I've always done best: I run. Slipping past her, I feel her hands reaching out for me but I manage to get away and run toward the forest. They're both shouting at me now and racing after me, but I know I'm faster. It's hard to see the trees ahead and I almost run straight into a few of them, but I manage to speed up and soon the only sound I can hear is my own feet as I race through the undergrowth. I run and run, long after I've lost the cops, until finally I stop and lean against a tree for a moment, trying to get my breath back. My heart is pounding and I know I have to keep running forever, but right now I feel as if I'm about to collapse.
Seconds later, I realize I can hear a second set of footsteps nearby in the darkness.
“Clay?” a familiar voice calls out. “Clay, help!”
Turning, I spot a figure staggering through the dark forest, and I realize that it's all happening again.
“Clay?” Carl shouts. “Clay, what's happening to me?”
Ten years ago
“Clay? Is that you?”
Standing by the door, I stare straight ahead into the darkened room. As usual, the curtains are drawn, but I can just about make out a figure slumped on a chair by the far wall. There's a fusty smell in here, which I guess means that the windows haven't been opened for a while,and I can't help but feel that Mr. Kenseth seems a little more down than usual. He gets like this sometimes. Mom says that when he's sad, it's everyone's job to make him happy again.
“Clay?” he continues. “It's the girl Clay, isn't it? Say something if it's you. Let me hear your beautiful little voice.”
“It's me,” I reply, my voice sounding so small and timid.
“Oh, thank goodness,” he replies, sounding a little happier. “Your mother said she'd bring you to see me, but so many people have let me down recently... I just heard the horrible news about poor Beatrice Zimmer. I suppose I should have seen it coming, but one just has to maintain hope, even in the face of crushing reality. That's what this hospital is all about, Clay. Hope. The hope that we can help our fellow man, the hope that we can better ourselves in some way. After all, a life spent solely in the service of one's own needs is really no life at all. You understand, don't you?”
I pause for a moment.
“Yes,” I say eventually, even though it's not really true. I mean, I understand some of the stuff that Mr. Kenseth comes out with, but a lot of it goes right over my head. I guess that's because, like Mom always reminds me, I'm still just a kid.
“And now she's gone,” he continues. “Poor, dear Beatrice has breathed her last breath and shuffled off this mortal coil, leaving behind a cold, stiff body that even now waits on a slab in the basement, like a discarded cocoon. We can only hope and pray that her soul is in a better place, that the gods of the eighth dimension have guided her to Malamon's pasture.”
I can't help but smile faintly. Sometimes I feel as if I'm the only person who knows about what really happens at the bottom of the garden.
“Come closer,” Mr. Kenseth says after a moment. “Let me get a better view of you.”
Reluctantly, I walk across the room until I reach a narrow patch of light that has managed to slip through at one side of the curtains. Even though I still can't see Mr. Kenseth properly, I know that he can see me now.
“So young,” he says quietly, as if he's thinking out loud and he doesn't care whether I hear him or not, “and so pretty. Tell me, Clay, what's it like to be young? I've forgotten.”
“It's okay.”
“Is he still there?”
I pause for a moment.
“Who?” I ask eventually.
“You told me last time that there was a man watching the hospital,” he continues. “Have you seen him again?”
“Yes.”
“Describe him to me.”
“I haven't seen him properly,” I tell him. “He's usually in the bushes down at the bottom of the garden. I think he knows I can see him, sometimes he talks but it seems like he's talking to someone else and then other times he tries to get me to answer questions.”
“What kind of questions?”
“About you.” I pause for a moment. “He usually asks what you're doing, and if you've been talking to the rest of us. Sometimes he wants to know specific things, like where you sleep, but don't worry, I never answer.”
“Good girl. Very good. Don't worry, Clay, the man won't come out and try to hurt you, but you must never engage him in conversation, do you understand? He's a vile, dangerous individual who hopes to undo all of my good work. He looks at this hospital and sees that we give hope to people, and that angers him. Can you imagine the mind of someone who is angered by a place like this? The outside world is a sick place, it's filled with deviants and they hate that we have this oasis of peace and calm.”
“He doesn't sound very nice,” I reply.
“He's a terrible man,” he continues, “and the worst part is, there are many more like him. Hundreds. They've sent him to spy on us, but he's not even the worst. In fact, the only reason they chose him is that he's the most personable. Do you understand? They're hoping that he can start to win our trust and weasel his way into the place, but they're wrong. I've been onto them from the start. Every time they try to get in touch, I ignore their messages, but they're persistent. The time will come when they decide to show their hand, but in the meantime we just have to get on with things as best we can.”
I wait for him to continue, but he seems to be lost in thought, and eventually I realize that I can hear him muttering to himself. As the minutes pass, I start wondering if maybe I'm supposed to leave, although I know that Mr. Kenseth always wants a lot more from me. He hasn't even touched me yet today.
“Come closer,” he says eventually, sounding a little short of breath.
I take a couple of steps forward.
“Closer.”
Another step.
“Are you scared of me, Clay?” he asks.
I shake my head.
“Then come closer. You've been close to me before and nothing bad happened.”
Reluctantly, I walk to the far end of the room, until I'm just a few steps from Mr. Kenseth's chair. Now that I can see him better, I realize that he's in a worse state than ever, slumped down as if the strings that kept him up have been cut. I know I'm probably imagining it, but I feel as if I can almost hear his thoughts reaching out to me, filled with dark intent. More than anything in the world, I want to turn and run, but I know that I'd be punished if I broke the rules. I was punished once before, and there's no way I can ever let it happen again.
“Do you believe in teleportation?” he asks suddenly.
“In what?”
“Teleportation. The ability to transport an object from one place to another, to literally break down its form, propel the individual elements to some other location, and to then reconstruct them in a manner is utterly indistinguishable from the original and that is, to all intents and purposes, th
e same object. Do you believe that such a feat might be within the grasp of man?”
I pause for a moment, trying to work out if this is a trick question.
“Do you know what I'm thinking of right now?” he asks. “Try really hard to work out what image I have in my mind. I want you to see if you can reach into my head, Clay, and note the precise image upon which I am presently focusing. Can you do it?”
I shake my head.
“Of course you can't. You're just an ordinary girl. Well, I'll tell you, I'm thinking of a yellow ball hanging in a red room. Nothing more complicated than that.”
I swallow hard.
“And now you're thinking of the same thing, aren't you?” he continues. “Admit it, in your mind you're seeing the same thing!”
“I guess.”
“So in a way, I teleported that idea from my mind to yours. That's really something, isn't it? I've been working for several days now on a theory. I truly believe that I can expand that primitive form of teleportation and eventually apply it to solid objects in the material world. I've got pages and pages of calculations, but it all comes down to expanded consciousness, Clay. I'm working on the idea that maybe the human mind is able to reach out beyond its natural boundaries and implant not only images in other minds, but solid objects into the world around us. I know it sounds ambitious, but the world is built on the achievements of men who saw the future and pushed ahead despite being ridiculed. If the gods want me to be their vessel for improving humanity, I can hardly deny them. Do you believe that we can expand our consciousness and achieve new things, Clay?”
I nod again.
“And that's why you're my favorite,” he continues. “Because you have an open mind, and because even though you're so young, you embrace change. I've always preferred children to adults, and you in particular seem to be on my wavelength. It's a very rare and special gift, Clay, and you must nurture it. Of course, being so young, you can't be expected to handle yourself properly, but that's just another reason why you're so lucky to be here. I can handle your gift with you, and help to mold it into something more useful. Doesn't that sound exciting?”
I smile faintly, even though I'm itching to get out of here. I never really understand what Mr. Kenseth is going on about, but I've learned to pretend. Sometimes I think he might be crazy, but Mom insists that he's a genius, so she must be right. She says that one day the world is going to realize that he's ahead of his time, and he'll be hailed as a visionary.
“I need to feel better,” he continues, staring straight at me with his large, sad eyes. “That's all that anyone's down here on this beautiful planet for, really. To make each other feel better while we're scrabbling about in the dirt of this particular level of existence. So that's the first thing, but after that, I need something else too. It's something very important, and you're the only one who can do it. I'm relying upon you so very much. Are you up to the challenge, Clay?”
Hesitantly, I nod.
“I need you and your mother to go on a short journey for me,” he explains. “I need you to fetch something. It won't take long, Clay, but it's going to be quite scary for you, because I need you to go somewhere that can be absolutely terrifying. Are you a brave girl? Do you think you can do this for me?”
I wait for him to answer, but with a rising sense of fear in my chest, I think I already know what he's going to say.
“I need you to go outside the hospital grounds,” he adds finally. “I need you to go to the nearest town and do something very important for me.”
Today
“Clay, where are you? Stop fucking around!”
I stay completely still, trying to work out exactly where he is. For the past few minutes, I've been listening to the sound of his voice getting closer and closer while his feet trample through the undergrowth, but I still can't get a fix on his direction. It's almost as if he's all around, which is crazy, because I know he's just one guy. I guess the only possible explanation is that I'm losing my mind, which might actually be a blessing in disguise. I'd rather it was me that was insane, instead of the whole goddamn world.
“Clay! I know you can hear me!”
He sounds even closer now. Holding my breath, I actually start to wonder if I should try a prayer; after all, it's pretty much the only thing I haven't tried so far. Unfortunately, I've had enough prayers ignored in the past to know that it's a waste of time, and besides, even if God does exist, I doubt there's anything he could do for me, even if he wanted to. Hell, I'm the last person he'd give a crap about. If God existed, I wouldn't.
“It's me!” Carl shouts. “Please, Clay, something's wrong, I'm out here and I feel really weird, like I'm...”
His voice trails off for a moment.
“I don't know where I am,” he continues, sounding as if he's on the verge of tears. “Everything's so dark. I think someone's coming after me. Clay, please, no-one else seems to be able to hear me! I know I pulled some shit on you over the years, but seriously, I'm begging you. I'll give you whatever you want if you just help me! No holding back, no nothing, just please come out here and help me!”
Hearing a twig snap nearby, I finally realize that he's approaching from the direction of the old dirt road. Turning, I start heading the other way, determined to get as far from him as possible. I know he'll be able to follow me, like all the others can always follow me, but I still have to try.
“Help me!” he shouts, suddenly lunging at me from the darkness, knocking me back against a tree as he presses his hands down on my shoulders. “Clay, help! Get me out of here!”
“Get the hell off me!” I shout, trying to push him away.
“Please!”
“No!” I reach down to his chest in an attempt to gain some extra purchase, but I quickly feel my hands pressing against the cold wet mess that the gunshot made of his chest. More blood runs over my hands, and for a moment I'm frozen in place.
“Where am I?” he moans, leaning closer as blood runs from his mouth.
“I can't help you,” I tell him, trying not to panic. “I'm sorry, Carl, there's nothing I can do. You're just going to have to wait it out and...”
He waits for me to finish.
“There's nothing anyone can do,” I continue, figuring I should try to get him to lower his guard long enough for me to get away. “Don't worry, though. It won't last long. Soon you're going to be in a safer place. You just have to keep calm first.”
“He's coming for me,” he hisses.
“Who?”
“I don't know his name, but he keeps calling to me.” He turns for a moment, as if he's heard something a little further off. “Can't you hear that?”
I shake my head. In truth, the only sound I can hear is my own heart pounding in my chest. I know what's happening to Carl, though, and I know exactly who's coming for him. It's the same person that comes for all of them.
“What does he want from me?” he asks, turning back to me. “How does he know who I am?”
“It's because of me,” I tell him, with tears in my eyes. “It's because you died near me.”
“Clay -”
“Leave me alone,” I shout, finally managing to slip from his grasp. I stumble a few paces away before stopping and looking back, at which point I see that Carl is just standing and staring at me helplessly. He's terrified, and I don't blame him. It's almost as if he knows what's going to happen next.
“What does he want?” he whimpers. “He just keeps calling my name. Please, Clay, tell me what he wants.”
“I don't know,” I tell him. It's a lie, but there's no point letting him know the truth. He'll find out soon enough.
“Am I...” He looks down at his chest and runs his fingers through the glistening blood. “Holy fuck, I got shot. I should be...” Another pause, and then he turns to me with a wild, terrified look in his eyes. “I'm not dead,” he continues. “No fucking way am I dead. Please, Clay, tell me I'm not -”
Suddenly he turns to look back the way we came.
“What is it?” I ask after a moment, unable to hear anything above the occasional crackle of my feet against the forest floor. I know what's coming next, but if I admit that to Carl, he'll think I can help him. It's better to play dumb and get out of here. “What's wrong?”
“Can't you hear him?” he continues, taking a step back. “He's so fucking close now, Clay. He keeps calling my name over and over, like he wants something from me. I keep running, but I can't shake him. It doesn't matter how far I go, he's always right behind me.”
“I don't know what you're talking about,” I tell him. It's another lie, but the last thing I want is to get dragged into this mess again.
“Tell me what to say to him,” he adds. “Please, Clay, you're the only one who can -”
Before he can finish, he spins around, almost as if he felt someone touch his shoulder.
And that's when I take off, racing away through the dark forest. Dodging the trees, I head for the lights in the distance, hoping that eventually I'll reach a town. It's only after half a minute or so that I realize I can hear a sound over my shoulder, and when I stop to look back I spot flames in the distance, between the trees, accompanied by the sound of Carl screaming.
I wait, frozen in place until the flames and the scream die down.
Silence.
And then, after a moment, I hear the sound of footsteps coming closer, crunching across the forest floor. It's him. He's taken Carl, and now he knows that I'm close. For a few seconds, all I can do is stand here helplessly, until finally I realize that I've got no choice.
“Clay,” a voice whispers in my ear. “Stop running, Clay. Let me in.”
Turning, I run toward the electric lights in the distance. I know it's weak of me, I know I should be stronger, but I don't want to be alone tonight. There's only one place I can hide right now.
Ten years ago
Pushing the door open, I look into Beatrice's room and see to my relief that no-one has come to clean it out. All her things are still in place, and her bed hasn't even been stripped down yet.
