by Amy Cross
“If you keep me here,” I reply, “you'll all die.”
“Is that a threat?”
“It's a fact.”
“You'll get one phone call,” he tells me with a sniff, “and a lawyer will be provided for you if you don't have one already, which I'm guessing you don't. Don't worry, little miss, you'll get fair treatment, but you need to accept that you're not going anywhere right now. With the charge sheet against you, you'll be lucky if you're out of here this side of the weekend!”
“No!” I shout as he turns and strolls away. “You don't understand! You don't know what you're doing!”
As he slams the door shut, I rattle the bars again before turning and looking across the cell. For a moment, my mind fills with all sorts of ideas about how to get out of here, but finally I realize that there's no hope. Rushing to the far side, I grab a stool and use it to climb up until I can just about see out the window, but the bars are firm and too strong for me. Still, there has to be a way to get away from this place. I don't believe in no-win situations, so if I'm just calm and smart enough, I'll figure something out.
I have to.
“No use complaining about it,” says a voice nearby. “Might as well just sit back.”
Turning, I see that there's a woman in the next cell. She's older than me, maybe in her thirties, and her face is beaten and bruised, as if she's been in a hell of a fight.
“You never been arrested before?” she asks.
“There has to be a way out of here,” I tell her. “This can't be how it ends!”
She smiles.
“Please,” I continue, hurrying over to the bars that separate her cell from mine. “I know this might be hard to understand, but I can't stay here! If I do -”
“I heard,” she replies, “you can't stay here because someone's coming to get you. The thing is, kid, no-one can get to you in here. No-one apart from the cops, anyway.”
“You don't know what you're talking about.”
“No-one short of Satan himself can get to you while you're in custody,” she continues.
“That's what I'm worried about,” I mutter, looking over at the door to the cell. “I need to be out of here in twenty-four hours' time.”
“No chance!”
“I don't have a choice,” I reply, turning to her. “Trust me, it's in your best interest too. If he comes here...” I pause for a moment, thinking back to the last time I came close to being caught. “Please,” I continue, “if you know anything at all that might help me get out of here, you have to let me know. I know everyone probably says the same thing, but this time it's true! The man who's coming for me, he's...” I pause for a moment, trying to work out how to make her understand. “Have you ever heard of Attaroth?”
“Atta what?”
“He's coming to get me,” I tell her. “He's been after me for ten years now and he's not going to stop until I'm his. He won't stop at anything, and he'll willingly destroy this entire police station if that's what he has to do to get his hands on me. Please, you just -”
“Are you high?”
“Help me!”
“You're on drugs,” she continues. “I can see it in your eyes, and all this crap you're spewing -”
“Oh God,” I mutter, taking a step back and looking around the cell. “There has to be a way out of here. There has to be. I'm not trapped, I can't be trapped, I'm never trapped...”
“Just wait until Monday,” the woman replies. “Everything'll seem better by Monday.”
“You have no idea,” I continue, turning to her. “You're just like all the others. You don't know what Attaroth is, you don't know what he wants.”
“And what does he want?” she asks with a smile.
“Me,” I reply, feeling a slow sense of dread creeping through the pit of my stomach. “He wants me.”
Ten years ago
“It's six now,” whispers one of the women as we all stand in the hall, waiting for Mr. Kenseth to address us. Above, the sound of a helicopter can be heard circling the hospital. “What do you think's going to happen now?” she asks, turning to my mother. “Is it time?”
“We could hold out for at least five more days,” Hope says urgently, with panic in her eyes. “We have food, water -”
“It's not about holding out,” says another woman, “it's about joining Attaroth when the time is right. If Mr. Kenseth says today's the day, he got that information straight from Attaroth himself, which means -”
“Quiet!” Mom hisses.
Turning, I see that Mr. Kenseth is limping back onto the stage, supported once again by his nurse. It's hard to believe, but he looks even more frail than just a few hours ago, as if his body is almost wasting away in front of us. As he's helped to his seat, he lets out a gasp of pain that causes several women in the crowd to glance nervously at one another. For a high priest and a demi-god, Mr. Kenseth definitely looks kind of sick right now.
“The time has come,” he mutters, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, as if he's in pain. “There's nothing else to do except to...”
His voice trails off. I'm not even sure that he's talking to us, so much as talking in front of us.
“I hear you,” he continues, suddenly looking up toward the ceiling. “I hear you, Attaroth. Your words come to me with such clarity, such purity... I hear you singing your song, imploring us to join you.”
Mom takes hold of my hand and squeezes it tight; when I look up at her, I'm shocked to see tears running down her cheeks.
“He approaches,” Mr. Kenseth continues. “Do you all sense him now?”
“Do you sense him?” Mom whispers to me.
I look up at the ceiling, but all I hear is the sound of the helicopter passing overhead again.
“I sense him,” says Hope suddenly. “I do! He's all around us!”
“Me too!” shouts another woman, with tears gusting down her face. “Mighty Attaroth, I feel you!”
“Do you feel him?” I ask, looking up at Mom.
“I...” She pauses, but I can see from the fear in her eyes that she doesn't feel anything at all. “He's there, Clay. If Mr. Kenseth says he's there, then there's no reason to doubt it.”
“But do you feel him?” I ask, tugging at her hand. “Mom, I don't think I -”
“Quiet,” she whispers, pulling me closer as several of the other women start sitting cross-legged on the floor. “Come on,” she continues, sitting and easing me down next to her. “Clay, we've talked about this moment. There's no -”
Before she can finish, there's a boom in the distance and the entire hall shudders.
“What was that?” I ask.
“The infidels are trying to break in!” Mr. Kenseth shouts, suddenly much more animated than before as he lurches from his seat and stumbles to the front of the stage. “They're finding the defenses we installed! Let's see how they fare against the ring of purity I established around the hospital! By the time they've reached us, we'll have joined Attaroth!” At that moment, there's another boom and the hall shakes again. “Unbelievers,” he continues. “Spare no tears for them. Attaroth decrees that their lives must be laid down!”
“Mom,” I whisper, “are people trying to come inside?”
“Ignore them,” she replies.
“But Mom -”
“Clay, please!” She grabs both my hands and holds them tighter than she's ever held them before. “You're my little princess, you know,” she continues. “When I brought you here, it was because I sensed that you were special. Mr. Kenseth is right about you, sweetheart, you're more attuned than the rest of us to Attaroth's plane of consciousness. You're going to be his queen in the next realm.”
I shake my head as tears gather behind my eyes.
“Don't cry,” she says, grabbing me and pulling me close for a hug. “Oh my sweet, precious girl, you have no idea how wonderful the next life is going to be.”
“I don't want to die,” I whimper, as I start to realize that Mom might not be
right about everything after all.
“Trust Mr. Kenseth,” she whispers into my ear. “Trust Attaroth!”
“It's time!” Mr. Kenseth shouts. “My wives, we are to ascend to the realm of Attaroth! He's waiting for us, calling us!”
“I hear him!” Hope calls out.
Turning, I watch as she takes the locket from around her neck and unscrews it before tipping the contents into her mouth.
“That's right!” Mr. Kenseth shouts. “Everyone follow her example! We need to free ourselves from our mortal bodies so that we might ascend to the new world!” He rips his locket from around his neck and holds it up for us all to see. “I want everyone in this room to loosen the shackles that tie them to this mortal realm and allow their souls to rise and join Attaroth! He's above us right now! His arms are open to welcome us!”
In the distance, there's another – much louder – explosion, and the room shakes so much that a fine sprinkling of white plaster rains down on us all.
“Take me!” shouts a woman nearby, drinking from her locket.
Turning to look over at Hope, I see that she's blinking a lot and her eyes seem to be glazing over. She leans back on her elbows and starts taking a series of deep gulps, but she's clearly struggling to breathe.
“Drink!” Mr. Kenseth screams from the stage. “Drink before the infidels break through and try to stop us! Let Attaroth embrace everyone in this room! We will be together again in the next life!”
Looking up at Mom, I see that she's taken her locket and is staring at it, as if she's hesitating about whether or not to drink.
“Mom,” I say after a moment, trying not to let her see that I'm scared, “are you sure this is what we're supposed to do?” I glance at Hope and see that she's already passed out, as have a few other women nearby. Another explosion sounds in the distance, and the helicopter swoops over the building. “Mom,” I continue, “I'm scared.”
“Don't be,” she replies, still staring at the locket. “We just have to...”
“Mom, please...”
“Clay,” she continues, unscrewing her locket, “you know better than anyone that Attaroth is really waiting for us. I know you can sense him, you're -”
“I can't!”
“Yes, you can! You just have to open your mind!”
“I don't want to die!” I tell her.
“Open your locket.”
I shake my head.
“Clay, I'm your mother. I wouldn't have brought you here if it wasn't the right thing.”
As more and more of the women start gasping all around us, and as voices shout in the distance, I look over at Mr. Kenseth and see that he's watching me from the stage with a curious half-smile on his face.
“Clay,” my mother says again, “open your locket.”
With trembling hands, I take the locket from around my neck and twist it open. Looking inside, I can see a reddish liquid waiting for me.
“There'll be no pain,” Mom says, lifting my locket to my lips. She smiles at me through her tears, and I can tell that she really believes every word that Mr. Kenseth has told us. “No fear. No misery. No more struggles. Just paradise.”
“But Mom -”
Before I can finish, she pours the contents of her own locket into her mouth and then drops the silver capsule before turning to me and swallowing.
“Let's go, sweetheart,” she says, wiping her tears away. “Attaroth is ready for us.”
In the distance, men are shouting, and the whole building seems to be shaking more and more. Above, I hear a loud thump followed by running steps, as if the helicopter has landed on the roof.
“Drink,” Mom says, grabbing my locket and raising it to my mouth.
PART FOUR
Today
“They're not going to let you out today,” he says, looking up from the paperwork. “There's just no way that's going to happen, so -”
“You don't understand,” I reply firmly, interrupting him. “It's dangerous for me to be here two nights in a row.”
“You were alright last night.”
“That's because it was the first night,” I continue with a sigh, leaning back in my seat and looking around the small interview room, hoping against hope that I'll spot some fresh way out of here. Turning back to the lawyer, I realize that there's no way he's ever going to understand. “The first night is always okay, it takes him a while to get a fix on me but then...”
He stares at me for a moment.
“Do you want to know what I'm thinking?” he asks finally. “I'm thinking a psychiatric evaluation might actually be a good shot here.”
“You think I'm mad.”
“I think a psychiatric evaluation might -”
“So what would happen?”
“You'd be moved to a hospital facility for -”
“Today?”
“If it could be arranged, but more likely -”
“It has to be today.”
“But you'd agree to go?”
“I'll go anywhere,” I tell him, “as long as I don't have to stay here.”
“You'd be at the facility for at least two nights.”
“No, I'd have to keep moving.”
“The state is not going to keep shipping you from one place to another just because you've got some kind of fantasy that you're being pursued by a...” He looks down at his notes. “What is this thing supposed to be, anyway? A man? A demon?”
“Why can't you just trust me?” I ask. “Why can't you just accept that I know what I'm talking about and that it's too much for me to explain? Just let me run.”
“It's not up to me,” he mutters.
“I'm not the only one who's at risk here,” I continue, glancing over at the guard by the door and making eye contact with him. “It's not like he's going to slip quietly into the building so he can get to me. He'll rip this place apart, and he'll kill anyone who gets in his way.” I watch the guard for a moment, and it's tempting to believe that I can actually see a hint of fear in his eyes, almost as if he's starting to believe me. “You need to open every single door in the entire place.”
“In a police station?” the lawyer asks.
I turn to him.
“Attaroth can't pass through open doors,” I continue, “but he can go straight through closed doors.”
“Isn't that kinda the wrong way around?”
“It's just how things work with him.”
“I've looked this Attaroth thing up online,” he replies. “There was a cult that worshiped someone by that name. I guess you're too young to remember, but about ten years ago there was this big siege at a cult compound in -”
“I know.”
“A lot of people died.”
“I know.”
“So this Attaroth thing is setting off a few alarm bells for me,” he continues. “From what I gather, the Attaroth people were pretty much wiped out by their own leader, a man named Jacob Kenseth. He poisoned a whole lot of women, let them die on the floor while the cops were breaking down the compound's front door.”
“It was a hospital,” I tell him.
“I believe that's what he called it,” he replies. “The thing is, I'm a man of God. I go to church every Sunday, and not a lot of people do that anymore, at least not in this part of the world. But I do, and I don't go because I feel pressured, I go because I believe in the Lord. And as much as I believe, I also know that things like Attaroth and all the garbage that was spouted by men like Jacob Kenseth... It's just ludicrous. There's no Attaroth -”
“I've seen him.”
“And he's chasing after you?”
I nod.
“So what does he want? Seems like this so-called god is pretty keen on you. No offense, but I'm struggling to understand quite why you're so special.”
“Unfinished business,” I mutter darkly.
“Come again?”
“It's not my fault,” I continue, “I was just born... different.”
“How so?”
I ope
n my mouth to explain, but I know there's no point. These people are too scared to admit the possibility that I'm right. Hell, if I was in their position and I'd never experienced the things I've experienced, I wouldn't believe any of this stuff either. It all sounds far too crazy, and I'm many things, but I'm sure not a great persuader. Jacob Kenseth used to be able to persuade a crowd that black was white or up was down, but I can't persuade anyone to accept the truth.
“So here's what's going to happen,” the lawyer continues. “You're going to cut the pretense, and you're going to start by telling me your real name.”
I shake my head, and at that moment I feel a tear running down my cheek.
“Why not? What's so scary about your name, girl?”
“It'd just complicate things further,” I tell him. “If you don't believe the stuff I've already told you, you definitely wouldn't believe the rest of it.”
“Try me. Humor me.”
“All you need to know,” I continue, “is that Attaroth is coming for me, and it won't be long before he gets here. I give it another twelve hours, maximum, and then...”
I wait, watching the hint of concern in his eyes.
“And then what?” the guard asks suddenly.
I turn to him, and it's clear that he's a little more willing to believe.
“And then he'll do whatever it takes to claim me,” I tell him. “Trust me, Attaroth has been coming after me for ten years now. Ever since the first time I set eyes on him.”
Ten years ago
“Mom,” I whisper, “please... Mom, are you okay?”
In the distance, another explosion shakes the hospital. Voices are getting nearer and I can smell something acrid in the air, as if part of the building is on fire. All around us, Mr. Kenseth's wives are unconscious on the floor, but all I care about is Mom: she seems to be having trouble keeping her eyes open, and no matter how hard I shake her she seems barely awake.
“Mom, please,” I continue, sniffing back tears, “I want to go. I don't want to be here. Please...”
