by S. B. Niccum
Now I understand. She’s been establishing a network of her own, but to what end? “Always the schemer, aren’t you? What are you planning? Why do you need me?” I say, coming to the point.
“I am who I am. I can’t help it, I suppose. But don’t you worry too much about me, or my plans yet. All you need to know is that I require your special abilities.”
“I won’t do anything until I see them.”
“Fine,” she turns to leave, then casts one last pitiful look at Eugenia. “Come,” she commands as she would a dog, while lowering her hood over her face.
Eugenia obeys, but as she turns, she takes one last look at her pretend world. Her eyes sweep past the mirror that—for once—shows her as she really looks. Wordlessly, she gives me a hateful look as her bubble, quite literally, bursts.
We follow Agatha through a series of realities, where she’s apparently known and respected. This is her network. Those whom she has coerced or befriended and have agreed to help her. In exchange for what, I wonder?
“There’s your father.”
I start to move toward his bubble, but she stops me with a tsk of her tongue and a waving finger. “No, no, no. You can’t talk to either one of them until you help me.”
Behind my father’s bubble, I see several rough looking characters who are perched on top of my father’s reality, waiting for Agatha’s signal, and ready to submerge themselves inside my father’s already self-tormented existence.
My dad’s bubble is erratic. It seems to display whatever his mind is thinking at the moment. One minute he’s reliving a pleasant memory of himself and my mother, and another they are hastily packing, bundling a small child, and leaving town in a hurry. The next moment he’s yelling at a young Eros, telling him exactly what he thinks of him. Then he’s in prison talking to the guards, then again with my mom. It’s dizzying to see how quickly he jumps from scene to scene, each one only lasting a few seconds.
“I’ve been able to piece together quite the timeline, just by watching him,” Agatha comments, and this angers me to no end. How dare she intrude on my father’s privacy! Seeing my anger, Agatha brightens. “If my Hellhounds get their wish and pounce on him, they’ll torture him for centuries. I’m afraid that no spirit could recover from that.”
“Show me Alex,” I growl. I want to take her away and let my poor tormented father be. Agatha lets out a short cynical laugh, then turns and leads us through another long string of realities. I feel like a mole, burrowing through some infernal underground tunnel. The scenes we pass vary from bizarre to extremely grotesque, and to plain disgusting. A couple of them in particular look slightly familiar. As I pass them, I let my eyes linger on them, trying to place them. Who are they, and why do I feel like I’ve seen them before? Their infernal faces seem to come from the pages of history maybe.
As we float by, the inhabitants of the various realities stop in the middle of what they are doing and watch us glide by as if we were an underworld royal procession. They simply freeze their actions, with all their imaginary people, while we pass. Some of them nod to Agatha or simply stare with ghoulish interest, and once we’ve passed, they go back to whatever they were doing. The two I seem to recognize leave their bubbles and silently join our procession.
“There he is,” she points to a bubble far away. I can barely see him. I tell her this, but with a sneer she tells me that she will not risk bringing me any closer. The two that had followed us fly toward him and take their places on either side of his bubble with their gaze trained on me, like a warning. Three more appear out of nowhere, completely surrounding Alex’s bubble.
“It was you who were meant to die that night, not him,” Eugenia leans over, and whispers hoarsely in my ear. I’m not sure if she’s gloating, or apologizing—either way I don’t care—so I ignore her and focus all my energy on Alex. I might not be able to get closer, but I might be able to reach him. “Alex I’m here! I’ve come to get you out!”
Alex is in the middle of reliving the night that he had to say goodbye to me. After his untimely death, he had refused to leave my side. And even though I wanted him with me, the result of his ghostly company haunted me, and drove me to the brink of insanity. Because of my special abilities as a discerner, I was still able to talk with him, but pretty soon I started getting suspicious glances from everyone. Life in general became inconvenient as I began to spend more of my time with my dead husband than with the living. I started to neglect Robyn, my niece who I was raising, and I almost lost custody of her.
It had been one of the darkest times in my life, but I never blamed Alex for it. I was just as guilty as he was, even more so because I begged him to stay. But here…in this hellish limbo, he blames himself, over and over again. He replays those days, making some changes here and there, hoping that those minor changes of his would also alter the outcome. But in his nightmares, the end result seems to be always the same; I lose custody of Robyn, go mad, and end up killing myself.
“That’s not how it happened,” I say in my head, hoping that he can hear me. “I was fine! I lived a long life…I’m here now, to bring you back.” I reach to him with all my mental capacity.
“Tess?” He responds in my head, then he looks up, and his bubble goes blank.
“That’s enough!” Agatha orders. “Keep your end of the bargain, and I’ll bring you back here.”
“Alex I’m here, I can see you!” I add desperately. Alex is looking all around him, like he’s trying to get his bearings. He doesn’t see the Hellhounds that surround him; he seems to be in the dark. Eugenia grabs onto me brusquely, and starts pushing me away. Indignation clearly shows on her face at the fact that Alex seems to feel my presence.
“Follow us, Alex! I’m right here! Straight ahead, move straight ahead!”
“No! It’s a trick! I won’t fall for that again! I can’t go out there! I—I—” his mind pleads, but I can tell that deep inside, he knows something’s different. He doesn’t dare believe it, but part of him knows that I’m near.
I turn my head and look back at Alex, and all I can see is the tunnel that has been carved out of the many realities we have passed through. The Hellhounds that had been following us are nowhere to be seen, which can only mean that they are still surrounding Alex. I can’t blame Alex for not wanting to come out here, even if some part of him believes I’m near. My dismal surroundings have already changed me—to what extent—I don’t know, but my soul feels empty, like I will never have any more enjoyment out of anything again. Love seems like an unreal and distant memory, and hope feels like something unattainable.
“Okay, here we are.” Agatha steps right outside the last reality and into the vast emptiness that I had first experienced. She pulls her hood down, and her face morphs right before our eyes into something completely different. It’s magnificent to behold, and even Eugenia suppresses a gasp of surprise. We were prepared to see Agatha in her full beastly state, but this…this is different.
She looks stunning, radiant, and more beautiful than she ever was in mortality. Her large eyes have no dark shadows under them; her complexion is silky, lustrous, and slightly iridescent. Her features—though the same as they were in mortality—seem to be smoother and more harmonious than they ever were before. It’s as if someone has air brushed Agatha all over, and given her the healthy glow of youth she never naturally possessed. She now looks attractive, and more dangerous than ever.
“Vying for the queen of the underworld title?” I ask sarcastically. Even though she looks beautiful and alluring, she can’t hide her aura from me—that at least hasn’t changed. It’s still as dark and vile as ever, and now that she looks different, I can tell that this is a ploy of sorts. Her newfound beauty has something to do with her plans.
“Ha!” she laughs demurely, and I peer suspiciously back at her. “You know me so well, Tess. Fact is. I’m but a small fish in a really big pond here. Believe it or not, I’m not nearly the scariest or most dangerous spirit here. And as you so well have
pointed out, I don’t like it. I miss having all the attention.”
It’s my turn to laugh now. When did she ever have all the attention? She merely made a single ripple in the grand scheme of things. I guess she could have made a bigger impact, but unfortunately for her, I thwarted her. With the aid of a Heavenly creature, Dayspring the Seraph, I set her plans on fire and burned everything to the ground.
Her countenance darkens at my lack of concern for her plight, and for a moment, I see the old disfigured face show through the mask. But she quickly regains her composure and puts the pieces of her face back together. Her new looks are somewhat hypnotizing to behold. It’s as if you can’t get enough of seeing her flawless and perfect features. I can see how much more dangerous Agatha can be with this face than she could ever be with her true, disfigured, and corrupted face.
“How do you do it?” I ask, knowing full well that Eugenia is dying to know as well. “How are you able to change your appearance so…drastically?”
“Mind over matter, Tess, mind over matter,” she says pointing to her temple. “It takes a lot of concentration and a lot of self control, I haven’t seen too many spirits do it successfully for too long. You have to be able to multitask and not let any of the things you’re juggling fall.” She smiles broadly, stretching full glossy lips across her face. “Let’s get back to business though, I didn’t bring you here to exchange eternal beauty tips, I want to tell you my plan, Tess. As you know, I always have a plan. In that sense, you and I are the same. We both work best when we have a clear plot in motion. We are both driven achievers, unlike some others who are content to let things fall into their lap.” She casts a guarded, gentle look toward Eugenia, who understands every word, but seems to not mind them coming from such a divine looking creature. At this, Agatha titters playfully, like a child delighted with a furry gerbil. I cringe at her giggle, and shake my head.
“In fact,” Agatha continues coquettishly, flipping a shimmery strand of rich, buttery, blond hair out of her neckline and letting it bounce playfully behind her. “I’ve always felt like we’ve had a special connection, much more than just being raised in the same home. It’s weird, I can’t explain it, but I’ve always felt that you could understand me better than anyone else. We’ve even shared the same ability of hearing voices from other realms of existence. You can’t tell me that that is not a coincidence. If we didn’t look so physically different, I would have ventured to say that we were related.”
Enthralled by her friendly manner and her spellbinding beauty, I watch her in silence. I also want to see where she’s going with all this. I’m aware of the fact that she’s acting a part and that she wants something from me. There’s a scheme of sorts at play here, and I want to see what it is. No doubt it’s something that in her mind would elevate her status among the ones who run this place, maybe even something that would put her at the very top of the bad guys—but what could that be? What can possibly be done in a place such as this? Everyone’s dead, and there is no place to go, nothing to do. She had mentioned earlier that she needed my special abilities. I’m not aware of anything special that I can do here.
“I know you’ve thought about this before. I know you’ve made this connection,” she continues. “There have been times when we have understood each other so well.”
“It’s true that I know you well, but I can’t relate with you at all.”
She smiles a disarmingly beautiful smile, yet there is no comforting warmth in it. “It’s true. It’s like we are different sides of the same coin. We understand each other, but we can’t relate. However, I think I might be able to change that now. Our life is over, we are dead, and…here!” she says, sticking her arms out displaying the darkness that saturates everything in this void. “We are here and we’re stuck. Even if you could approach your beloved Alex, or your father, how would you get them out? Do you know how? Or did you come straight here like I did?” A knowing, malicious smile spreads across her face, marring her beauty for a split second. Swishing one of her arms in front of her, erasing that last nasty look, she continues. “I have had some time to dwell on this matter, unlike you, who just showed up, and are still in shock from all of this.”
“I can’t imagine any plan of yours ever amounting to anything good. Besides, as you so well put it, we are dead! What can we possibly do? Where could we go? It’s over. And if I ever figure out how to get out of here and back to Heaven, I would never take you, or you, with me,” I say, pointing to each of them in turn.
“That’s just it!” She gets close to me and her flawless milky skin sparkles with a soft shimmery glow. “I’m not looking to get into Heaven.” She beams a radiant smile.
“Then where?”
“Earth.”
“Earth?” Both Eugenia and I inquire in shocked unison.
“Earth.” Agatha asserts genially. “Back to the mortal realm.”
“Whatever for?” I ask.
“Whatever we want,” she states. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful to be back among the living?”
I shake my head, remembering what Celeste had told me once about being a spirit among mortals. She said it was torturous, almost too hard for even a trained angel to endure. Memories of having a body, and the constant reminder that your own life was over, was a lot harder than one would imagine. My own memories of having Alex perpetually by my side were not the fondest memories I have of him. I didn’t see it at the time. I wasn’t ready to let him go, but having him always with me day and night was too much. It almost cost me my sanity and Robyn’s guardianship.
I open my mouth to start giving her all the reasons why I think this would be a bad idea, when the thought that perhaps Agatha would deserve a stint at such a hellish existence stops me. Maybe being among mortals and feeling miserable would not be such a bad thing for her. Roguish thoughts of her being wracked and tormented by the constant reminder of her current state start to fill my mind, and give me slight pleasure.
“I know you can do it. I know you have the unique ability of opening a rift into the mortal realm. I’ve tried, but sadly, I don’t seem to possess such a helpful gift.” She pouts with her pretend full, rosy, lips.
“What makes you think I have this ability?”
“Your father did it,” she says matter-of-factly. “I’ve seen it in his bubble. I saw him re-enact in his mind—the whole thing. How Alex found himself dead, and angry at his early demise—”
“That you two caused!” I accuse the two of them.
“Yes,” she says kindly and thankfully, as if I had just reminded her to water her plants. “He was going to die sooner or later, dear. But you see, your father suggested they go back to the mortal realm and was able to create a rift.”
“That doesn’t mean I can.”
“I think it does. You have been able to connect with the realm of the dead at will. I think you can open a rift.”
“Why me? Why don’t you ask my father to open the rift if you’re so sure he can do it.”
“Because, my dear, your father is teetering on the verge of a very dangerous cliff, and I’m thinking of his well being, really. You see, opening rifts is frowned upon, even here. If he opens another rift for me, he will be adding further condemnation on his head. He hasn’t just opened this rift one time,” she whispers, as if telling a secret. “He has opened it several times, and on the last trip into the mortal realm, he haunted Eros, his own step-brother, and caused his death. I wouldn’t want him to have any more marks against him.”
With awe I watch as she skillfully puts forward a good point. How cleverly she speaks, and how dexterous she is at punching you right where it would cause the most damage. She knows too well that I would never let my dad suffer unnecessarily, and she also knows that I’m feeling disgruntled and tired. She knows that I’m at my wit’s end, and that I want to get out of here at all costs. But does she know what crossing over would do to her?
“Why?” I bark abruptly.
“Why what?”
&nbs
p; “Why do you want to open this rift?”
“Because, like you, I’m sick of this place.”
“No. That’s a lie, you’re not sick of this place. You want to be here! Or rather, you want to be noticed here. You feel right at home, and you want to be revered by all the slime that have a say in this realm. Am I right?”
Hatred flares up in her eyes. She’s been unmasked and she knows it. Her façade falls right before my eyes and she shows me her true self—the horrid, half-melted face—with exposed sinew and one eye barely hanging inside its socket. Eugenia starts in disgust. The spell that she has been under is broken and she recoils from Agatha, as you would from any disgusting creature.
“I can torture them, and I will! Not just me, dearie, but all those Hellhounds I have at my beck and call! Until you decide to be cooperative, I can assign a few of those to torture your father and Alex indefinitely!” she snarls, dropping all pretense of being beautiful and gentle. “Like you said, we are not going anywhere! We’ve got nothing but time! So either you start working on a rift, or they get it!”
“I hate you!” I yell.
A crooked smile spreads across her disfigured face. “The feeling is mutual.”
Chapter 3
I see no point in prolonging it. I either do it, or watch them suffer. As a precaution, she leaves those nasty looking Hellhounds, as she called them, around my father’s and Alex’s bubbles. If I let them suffer, she would eventually go to my father and ask him to open the rift, and if he does it would be as she said—eternally detrimental to him. If I do it, it will be eternally detrimental to me, but at least I have a pretty good record, and maybe, just maybe, I might be able to get forgiven for it. But I try not to think too much about the consequences. Right now, it would seem, I have no other choice—let the consequences of my actions follow as they may. “I’m sorry Alex,” I groan inwardly. “I’m so sorry for what I’m about to do.” And without further ado, I close my eyes and think of the mortal realm—but nothing happens.
