What was left of the water-damaged walls was scoured black. Smoke had choked everything out and found its escape to the sky. The ceiling was blackened hole. He stood alone, between the dark shadows of the rubble and the shine of the full moon, sucking in all the air he could. His lungs were satisfied and he slowly relaxed. The ordeal seemed over until the walls rumbled yet again.
A distant grumble raced closer. The uproar hummed until another flame shrieked over his head and rammed through the wall. The fire punched through the decaying brick like a colossal fist and dissipated after its duty of freeing Randy completely was done.
The fire passed right over Randy, melting some of the hair and skin on his head and arm. Randy ran right out of the hole in the wall. The grass was long and wet on his bare feet - the caress of freedom he hadn't felt in years. But it was a fleeting feeling. Imprisoned or liberated, he would always shoulder an incredible burden that would impede him wherever he went. But he didn't care. He was free to see Betsy.
The night air was cool and wet, gentle on his face and heart, while the moonlight slowly soothed and healed the charred flesh of Randy's face and arms. Randy stood for an hour that felt like another lifetime, in front of the burning asylum, watching from the lawn like a statue in the mist, feeling all the patients' pain from the distance, taking them to their final destination. He convulsed while the rest of the people inside perished.
The gift eventually released Randy as the embers and screams died out. He ran away wildeyed, a slave to his instincts.
Chapter 21
Wandering through backyards and the countryside, he stripped, and he stole clothes off clotheslines, shoes from stoops, and food from whatever garbage or soup kitchen he could find. Hunger sat heavily in his stomach with the gift. The familiar pains in his knee reminded him of old memories as new pains rotted in his chest. A thousand thoughts of surrender plagued his travels, causing him to collapse often into muddy puddles along the dirt roads, but Betsy kept him from staying down. Strangely, the gift always threatened to break Randy, while at the same time aiding him to get to her. It quickly became a helpful parasite, keeping his hopes up, feeding him thoughts of his sister, while it drained him of every ounce of energy.
But Randy never gave up.
He won every fistfight over a dry place to sleep. He had nothing to lose and, in turn, invented a debt to the gift for saving him in every hopeless situation. More often than not, as transients confronted him for whatever reason, his blood froze, and he slid into a convulsion, leaving all his senses and restrictions behind, quickly turning into a wild man ready to kill to win.
Even though Randy's threshold for pain was considerably higher when the blue light helped, he hated every decaying day they spent together. He had broken more men's bones than he could count, let alone shattered their lives with the gift, but hadn't realized that yet. His mind was a testament to ignorance and denial save for hope. Hope Betsy was still alive.
With hope aside, the gift never let Randy travel far in a day, but thankfully, he didn't have far go. He walked every day, east towards Boston, down dirty roads, trudging along in tattered clothes as rocks jabbed the toes protruding from his demolished shoes. For days he walked and all he heard was the gravel beneath his feet and the light inside him. It was maddening. He had felt more sanity inside the institution among the crazy than in the open world. It was so damned loud, always bustling with crunching and greed and hatred and people.
So, when he heard tires crunch the gravel in the distance behind him, Randy naturally thought it was the sound of his own feet. Other noises were the maddening world and bore no attention. But nevertheless the sound perked his ears and dragged him back into the pitiful real world outside his head.
Randy saw that daylight was waning around the shattered dull landscape. A truck punched through the dust behind him. Randy stopped and slowly turned, hopeful to meet someone willing to help, but fearing, as his irrational past broke the surface of the muck it was buried in and warned him the toad man with the shotgun was approaching again.
Randy cracked a smile, half crazed with the possibility of true revenge on that toad and half fearful of the same thing.
The truck barreled down the hill with the last orange light from the sun. With a sudden brake, the tires dug deep into the gravel, sliding to a halt. Dust billowed up from behind and enveloped the truck. Randy's thumb sat listlessly in the air, all his energy stolen by a convulsion that left him motionless. The gift loosened its hold some as the dust cloud dissipated after passing over the truck's hood.
"Need a lift, bub?" The driver asked.
The dust hadn't completely left a clear view, so the driver asked again.
"Hey man, get in," he said.
The air cleared, and Randy stood there convulsing with thumb in the breeze.
"What's da matter with yah?"
The wind rustled Randy's hair and the driver grew irritated.
"Fine then, you sonovabitch," he said and tore off down the road.
Seconds later, Randy awoke with a jolt and watched his ride leave him behind.
"Awh, dammit." Randy shook his head and walked to the tree line of the road, where he scavenged some berries and fruits.
He walked on again, gazing at the soft grass and the dirty families squatting in the fields. At least they had each other making their situation more bearable, even though the fetor of death covered them all. Randy couldn't get away from the sulfur smell, and it was so heavy that Randy thought he was carrying it around with him. Dirt and grime covered the souls of these people that were following rumors of work. And Randy fit right in. His stolen clothes were tattered and torn to rags, and his boots wore down to sandals, though he couldn't complain as the first wet and muggy blossoms of Spring arrived. The rain fell and dispelled the humidity but didn't water the people lying desiccated along the roadside. Never before had Randy seen desolation so vast, even compared to the asylum, and all he could think of was the town square and the decadent folk.
Then, as if he felt every transient's pain at once or relived the shotgun butt to the forehead, Randy's body gave out and fell face first to the soil. He didn't even feel it, but his body, out of sheer habit, forced a few feeble last steps towards the shining horizon. A mountain of weight sat in his head, and he lacked the strength to hold himself up. The ground had his complete and relentless attention.
But a bright beacon glared from over the hill, enough for him to notice without breaking his attention on the soil. At first, it was a small glint, and then it was a quick flash. A splinter of light squeezed from the top of the hill, and powered a deep hope that drove him towards the horizon.
Panting and struggling up the rest of the hill, Randy reached out to grab a hold of the light, but instead crashed to his knees far away from the summit. His left arm kicked out and tried to brace for the fall, but it failed. He rolled onto his shoulder, completely drained of energy. Wheezing in the dry dirt, the world around him spun in a starved blur. His legs kicked. They persisted without his efforts, jerking in instinct, forcing him into a crawl. The gravel road tore into his face and arms, without regard to pain, as he pressed on. Legs slithered, his body inched up the hill, leaving bloody pebbles in his wake, but his feet tired quickly and his muscles strained to work. The road hungrily chomped at his flesh until his wounds were tapped of blood.
Randy, amazed to do so, found himself draped over the crest of the hill. There he could see a blanket of lights. Not sure if he had flipped over onto his back, Randy could see the stars, and he watched them spin around the sky. His legs kicked one last time and pushed him over the hill. He tumbled and twisted forever, rolling towards the bottom.
A wooden fence post stopped Randy's weak bones, and that's where he stayed. People strolled by, noticing his disheveled body, without moving a muscle to help. He gazed up with a gaping mouth and an outstretched hand, trying to utter a plea, but nothing came. His hand clutched at open air, tenderly hoping to connect with a compassionate hand but
all he uttered was a stunted breath; it was his last before he passed out alone.
Chapter 22
Randy awoke in a small tin makeshift house. The musk of sweat and tears lined the walls and offended his nose. When he fully awoke, he thought he was in prison again.
"How long have I been..."
"A day."
The voice was sweet. This kind stranger brought him a small tin cup of water and a hunk of bread. By the dullness in her eyes, Randy could tell this food was a generous portion that would leave her hungry. She was as skeletal as the others he had seen on his travels. Her children clung to her with bony arms, cringing away from Randy as he ate their bread. Their young faces looked so weathered. Not a single child laughed or smiled. No playfulness existed, except in her smile. She watched as Randy carefully poured water on his lips, being mindful not to spill. A wet gleam covered her green eyes as he passed half the loaf back to her.
Randy's mother had green eyes. They both had the same shining smile. He wanted this woman to wink the way his mother did. The perfect signal that he used to receive; it soothed him, told him everything would be all right. But she saved that for her children.
Randy's strength recovered by nightfall, and he waved goodbye to the kind mother and the huge squatter city. They waved lightly in response. As he left he turned back and noticed their fires were so bright and abundant that the area lit up like the night sky.
"I'm coming Bets," Randy said to those lights.
He turned and traveled towards the lights in the opposite direction, towards Boston, and something happened that hadn't occurred in a long time. A smile grew on his face; it was his own hope and not the gift's. It made him happy, something else he hadn't been in awhile.
Boston strolled up and welcomed him as if it knew what he had gone through. The dust and dirt, like burned remains, looked like a golden payment to start him off on a new life. Walking through the streets in awe, he never let his persistent convulsions ruin the amazement. From that point on, the convulsions eased, and Randy became master over the light within him. That morsel of hope outweighed the years of turmoil.
Automobiles sputtered by and the buildings grew higher, leering ominously down at Randy, but he breezed past the clamor until he arrived at Betsy's door. Before his hand could curl into a fist to knock, his fingers spread and caressed the grains in the door, wondering if he could handle the news if Betsy had died from the illness the letter suggested.
Randy rapped and nervously gulped. Eons seemed to pass before a few chains jingled and locks clanked. Sweat pooled Randy's palms and back.
"One moment," a woman's voice softly sang. The door creaked open.
"What can I do for..." she began.
After rubbing her eyes a few times, she saw Randy's sweet smile. "Oh dear God," Betsy exclaimed.
Her five children raced to the door and watched Betsy wrap Randy into a hug. Her husband watched from the hallway.
"Come in, come in, dear brother," Betsy ushered him in.
Randy sat on the sofa. The children gathered around with their parents to hear Randy's tale of the past several years. At any one time, three of the five children would be on Randy's lap or in his arms, taking to him immediately. And his love facilitated it. He smiled at Betsy and she smiled back. They talked for hours until her children and husband Ted went to bed. Betsy and Randy continued until the break of daylight, seeing Ted off to work at the courthouse and the children off to school.
Chapter 23
Randy stayed with his family for a couple weeks and tried to find a job. Ted tried but couldn't swing an opening in the courthouse for him. The search grew futile, but had no effect on Randy's happiness. Every morning he woke to a peaceful unity that surrounded the house. He knew he could go on living like this forever, or at least die happy.
But plans different from his were unfolding and Randy knew it, felt it in his gut and in the ache of his right knee.
It was at night, two and a half weeks after he had arrived, that Randy found out what the terrible gale beneath his skin and the obstinate tailing convulsions were.
He had hid them well from his nieces and nephews, along with the story of the sanitarium, but couldn't hide anything from Betsy. She knew everything.
"What's da matter, Uncle Wandy?" the second youngest asked as Randy shook during a late dinner.
"Nothing, baby," Betsy told her, as his writhing slowed and mottled color came back to his cheeks, "Eat your food."
After a moment, Randy spoke as if time hadn't passed, "I'm alright."
When the convulsions occurred in front of the family, he'd play it off as something distracted him and he'd continue on as if nothing happened.
The gift was able to be contained somewhat and the promise of a normal life seemed possible. The family sat and listened to the radio in the evenings, just like Betsy and Randy did in their childhood. After an evening of radio theatre, everyone headed off to their rooms, and Randy feel asleep curled up on the couch. Resting peacefully, he snored away until a flash woke him. A reflecting glare bounced off the glass door of the tall wooden grandfather clock nearby and shone right into his eyes. Bright white beams of moonlight bounced off the pendulum, and illuminated the dust in the surrounding air. The time etched on the clock, an etched in his head was ten after ten. Randy was rarely woken by convulsions anymore; he knew something so he knew something was actually happening. But he ignored it and flipped away from the moonlight to fall asleep again.
But another flash bombarded him and he saw Kara, his youngest niece. The flash rapidly turned into a convulsion that rumbled into reality. He found himself in her room, staring down on her sleeping in her crib, next to her two other sisters on the bed. Kara barely twitched or peeped as Randy moved closer. He peered over the wooden railing at her sleeping peacefully, curled up into a chubby ball. The mechanical ticking sound from the pendulum punched against his ears.
Randy was disoriented from sleep; he tried to wake and clear his mind but couldn't. Nothing felt right. His body was light and the railing of the crib had no texture; it put no pressure against his hands. This feeling was familiar, but what was once a vague impression was now as tangible as reality; this didn't feel like a convulsion because he didn't feel the light's frigid hold. He felt like he was holding the light. For all the time the light had been inside him, emitting warning signs that he hadn't caught until tonight. Randy walked in this waking dream, without an ounce of clarity or reason. He felt like he had mastered it, beaten it down to the depths of his soul to where it had to obey. But it quickly became crystal clear that he was at the light's mercy. He closed in on his baby niece.
Panic invaded his mouth and head as he tried to scream, but only the sweeping silence of the house responded. Without his command, both of his hands landed on her little lumpy body. He stared at them in confusion and noticed they were blue. She cooed as he reached for her face. His right hand moved up and pinched her nose shut and his left crept into her mouth and probed. Every movement was beyond his control, his hands, his motions, everything was swift and automated. Kara's breath slowed to sweet purrs. Randy breathed in a heavier panic.
He couldn't feel his hands moving as he watched his fingers pinch a soft, thin object in her mouth. Randy tried to stop, pushing away with his lower back and yanking with his shoulders, but his arms were anchored to his wrists as his hands worked. The hand in her mouth searched until it pulled out with a snap. The other hand let go of her nose. And then she was sweetly still and all too silent.
Deep creases stamped into his face as his bottom lip curled up in-between his teeth. Through the welling tears, Randy stared at an odious blue light clenched between his fingers, feeling the essence of her soul radiating from it. Pulsing between his fingers was her life. Agonizing over her empty body, gazing with awe at her pinched soul, the blue light began to fade. It twinkled into smaller pieces until it dissipated into blue specks that Randy frantically tried to grab. The vestiges danced about the air and avoided his
fingers and floated to the dark shadows of the room. The blue tint faded, making her soul indiscernible from dust in the moonlight, then vanished into nothingness.
Wonderment captured him until he leaned over the crib again. Kara was deathly still. Her mouth gaped open like she was yawning and her green eyes were glazed, spouting out over her long stiff lashes. He desperately wanted to scream and wake up the world, but no sound came. Trying again, he prayed for his voice to boom loud enough to wake the dead, but instead his voice was blurted out in the back of his head. An inaudible murmur and nothing more. His sinful blue hands stared up at him and he began to fear himself. Looking over himself, he saw an ethereal skin covering his entire body, tinted a light blue. There was nothing real or tangible about his body; he didn't feel like he existed until a tug on his backside pulled him away. An unseen force was dragging him, slowly at first, giving him enough time to look over his shoulder and catch a glimpse of his body hunched on the couch, tightly wound in sweaty sleep. There were two Randys until the tugging snapped the two bodies together on the couch, slamming him awake. His eyes glowed in the dark, and he darted up and over to her crib, finally emitting a scream to wake everyone in the house. Everyone except for Kara.
Hold the Light Page 11
