by Amy Saia
Another scream. A staggered breath. “Did I hit it?”
“’Fraid not. Try again.”
Lining up, I told myself to relax. I probably aimed too high last time. The distance would make a bullet sink, so there had to be some allowance made.
This time . . . there was no Marcus. But I felt it—a need to protect one of the most precious things in my life. Holding steady, I kept my eyes on the target and then carefully pulled the trigger again. An explosion ricocheted across the field, and then water burst out in a rapid stream. I lowered the revolver and laughed.
“Hey! Look at you! I’d hug you, but you got a gun. Go ahead and clear the rest.”
My third shot was lower than the one before, too low for me to be satisfied. Fourth shot was closer to the intended target. Fifth, didn’t even hit. The sixth, and last, was spot on.
“Luck, perhaps. You still need a lot of work. But . . .” he rubbed at his neck, “I’ll go ahead and sell you the gun.”
We made an exchange, right there in the clearing. The revolver and my seventy dollars.
“Do I sign anything?” I asked.
“Nah. All you need around these here parts is a good handshake.”
I knew he’d say that.
But he was wrong. You needed a lot more in Springvale. You needed a good gun.
Chapter 16
Forehead pressed against a panel of dirty glass, I held up a hand to shield the sun’s reflections while I peeked inside the Seeker’s church. Concrete steps descended behind me with no welcoming flowers or friendly landscape like most churches had. Everything inside was dark wood beyond the front foyer, with long rows of pews stretched toward a black altar. No statues along the walls. Stained glass windows were covered with dark fabric and a huge light fixture hung precariously over the pulpit, swaying slightly with a breeze. I slid down a shaking hand to open one of the heavy oak doors before fear could get the best of me.
“May I help you?” a voice asked to my right, making me jump inside the shadows of the front entrance.
I turned to meet the deep, gravelly voice. Marcus stood in the front foyer. In full regalia of black suit, shining shoes, thick black glasses and hair combed away from his brow in severity, he had emerged from shadows, eyes curious.
“Actually, yes,” I said, clearing my throat. “I was thinking of joining your church. Your schedule at the post office said there are youth groups tomorrow. May anyone join?”
He stepped into a bright swath of sunlight, and those eyes, the same ones I remembered peering down into mine with such hatred at the eclipse, swallowed my body in a slow pattern. “We welcome anyone here. Which would most definitely include you, Miss . . .” He held out a hand.
I couldn’t do it. I could not shake Marcus’ hand. It was against everything I lived for. Every cell in my body screamed at me to leave, get away, run, run!
“Shay,” I choked out, hands clutching my purse. I didn’t want to use William’s name because I wanted William to have no part in this. “What kind of religious teachings do you offer?”
His pale eyes locked with mine and his hand slowly returned to his side. “We teach our patrons to open their minds to a higher power. A universal understanding. We ask them to leave all outside thought behind and to embrace our system of intellectual spirituality—a collective fellowship, where people work together toward a common goal.”
I chewed my lip under his controlling and icy gaze. It was important to not act a coward.
“Would you like to come inside?” he asked. “I have a few minutes before meeting someone for lunch.”
Come inside? Was he serious? I had come with serious plans, of the murderous sort, not to talk or take a tour. Still, I wasn’t able to do something as courageous as pulling a trigger just yet. I knew it was what I should do, wanted to do, but an invisible threshold existed inside of me. Thou shalt not kill. What kind of person would I become if I killed someone, even if that person was Marcus?
“I can only come in for a minute. I have some errands to do.” An irrational claustrophobia built inside my chest at the thought of being inside the church. But there was also anger. At myself and at him. Coward, I raged. I was nothing but a coward.
We left the front foyer. All sounds of the street disappeared as we entered into a hot and musty section near the windows, dust eddies floating down.
I followed close, but not too close, through the aisle separating two sections of pews. Beneath my feet ran a thin, blood-red carpet, spotless and new. His black shoes left tiny dents as we walked, which I avoided stepping on in some form of unconscious defiance. I watched as he walked up a few stairs to the pulpit, reaching for a thick, onyx-adorned book with the letters SS carved in antique scribe.
“This,” he said, holding it up with his long fingers stretched across its black leather in pale stripes, “is the future, better than the one we currently possess. No more blind faith, no more suffering.”
My hands trembled as I caught a certain flash from his eyes which felt like a challenge. “Is it a Bible?”
He scoffed, appearing to hold in a bit of anger. “A Bible? No. No—imagine all those people sending out wishes to their invisible God . . .” he scoffed visibly at this. “No, here we harvest thoughts and keep them as a sort of cache for the whole parish to use at will. All we ask is for each patron to believe in our teachings. To give every intent and thought to this family, and be willing to sacrifice, if asked. With this collective power, you will never see Springvale turn to homelessness like other towns and cities. We’ll never need to ask the government for help. Springvale will have a power all unto itself. Don’t you find this impressive, Miss Shay? No one’s ever done that before.” He saw the doubtful expression on my face and laughed quietly. “I realize it sounds unbelievable, but I have a vision for this town. I just need everyone to believe in it—to help me.”
He placed the book down, and then closed the few steps between us. “You would make a good member of the ministry, my intuition tells me.”
I backed away, a familiar nausea building inside my stomach. “Would I?” My back hit something hard, and I placed a hand behind to steady myself. It was the wooden slab of a pew, cold and unpolished.
I felt my chest tighten and release. It was all I could do to stand there without showing any signs of the test he was putting me through, similar to the kind William and I endured at the eclipse. Soon my breath would leave and after that my muscles would turn into jellyfish flesh. I faked a smile and raised a brow at him, but then I felt something twitch in my abdomen, and fear spread. The baby. It was kicking. I’d never felt it kick before.
Oh God, I could take the test, but what would it do to the baby? It would be crushed. The same way I had crushed the paper flyer in my hands.
The revolver was in my purse. Slowly, my fingers slid down to rest over the soft fabric, fingers clutching inward until I felt hard metal somewhere within. There were no bullets in the chamber, but I’d pull it out anyway. To warn him. To keep him away.
A car passed by outside, breaking the hard silence between us. The pressure inside my lungs and stomach eased off, and a slight shaking took its place. Marcus stood back with a dent appearing in his side cheek: he was pleased.
Quietly turning from me, he put the inscribed book down over the pulpit before heading back through the aisle. I was to follow. “Yes, a fine new member indeed, Miss Shay. Come tomorrow night. I’ll be waiting for you.”
“I’ll be sure to come,” I heard myself answer back. I no longer felt as confident as before. This infiltration, it was too close, too dangerous. Marcus scared me so very much, and like a child, I wanted to go home and hide under my bed until the scary boogieman vanished.
He showed me to the front doors, poised to hold one open with a lengthy arm. The caustic smell of sweat hit my nostrils and made m
e ill. Standing there under his gray eyes seemed to cause all oxygen, all light from reaching me. “Tomorrow?” he asked again, at last shoving the door so it would open a crack. A stream of fresh air blew past us, washing away the queasiness, much worse than any morning sickness I’d experienced in those first few weeks of pregnancy.
“Yes,” I said, faltering. But could I really go back there? Was I strong enough?
Me? I? How selfish. Someone else needed to be kept safe, she or he. Their entire life depended on every little choice I made.
My breath came short, and I began to back away, hand still clutched to my purse.
The door closed with a hollow thud, and I stood there on the landing, sweat forming under my hairline in little tickling beads. Through the windows, I watched his figure recede into the ebony shadows of the church.
I’d felt it before, but I truly understood now: Marcus was evil, and nothing good in the world could survive in his presence for too long.
¤ ¤ ¤
That night everyone sat in the front room watching an I Love Lucy episode, but no one laughed in the appropriate spots, or even seemed to care about the Philco being on. Gran’s silver knitting needles moved furiously inside her hands, Grandpa sat in his leather chair half-asleep, and Mother pretended to read a Look magazine, a faraway glint in her eyes. I couldn’t put my finger on the exact reason, but we all appeared to have crossed a bridge, each of us, in our lives, and didn’t understand where to go next. At least, this was how I felt, and it seemed natural that the whole world might be lost in the same predicament.
I watched the setting sun as it spread through the northern windows. Amber-golden beams hit the glass menagerie in the furthest western corner of the room and split into prisms of color. Little rainbows hit and reflected, scattering themselves through the cabinet and far down onto the carpet. As the sun faded, the prisms died and washed into nothing. I peered at Gran and found her watching me. Her knitting needles stopped their crisscross dance.
A moment passed between us. It had substance and couldn’t be denied. We didn’t speak. The two of us rose from our seats and moved out to the backyard.
“Emma,” she said, stopping before me. A magnolia, thick with blooms and fragrance, brushed the top of her head. “You’re not my niece.”
“No.” Finally, finally recognition from her. No more pretending.
“I’ve been having little flashes of images, and you are not my niece.”
“That’s right.”
We both moved to the stone bench she kept near the rose bushes. She sat down first and patted the spot next to her.
“I can’t get over how young you are,” I said, lowering down. I wanted to touch her hair, put my arms around her. But something stopped me.
The last bit of sunlight created shadows which danced and played across the surface of her golden hair. Those brown eyes searched mine. “You are like a daughter to me, but I don’t understand it completely. A different time—the visions I’m having show a much more advanced world, though not one I understand. Many things have changed. Not all of them good.” She reached out to touch my hand. “We share a gift.”
“Yes.” My fingers squeezed around hers. “I’m so happy you remember. I didn’t want to frighten you—I didn’t mean to interrupt your life. But I had to see you again.”
A thought took over and she made a small sound. Death. Had she envisioned her own death? “Gran, I—I’m sorry for coming to you like this, maybe it was wrong.”
At the mention of my endearment, she raised her brow. “Child, you have to be conducting some sort of joke. I cannot be someone’s grandmother, I’m too young!” The weight of it settled and she whispered something to herself. “Grandmother? Oh sweet lord.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t say good-bye . . . before. In my time. It was my marriage and life, and everything felt so out of control.”
Her eyes turned tender. “I can see you’re serious. So, I have a granddaughter. And now . . . you are with child? My life is passing before my very eyes.”
“I’m sorry. I would never put this on you, invade you with my problems. But I knew you’d understand.”
Our eyes met, and I could see she was connecting the dots, comparing our likeness. Once satisfied, she sat back with a sigh. “My dear, I’m trying to understand. My clairvoyance has often seemed more a passing fancy than a real ability, and so I can’t guarantee any proper insight into your problems. Let’s just say that I foresee possible danger, and loss, but you will prevail.”
“Will I? Right now I feel like everything is one, big, stinking mess. I shouldn’t have come back, I should have stayed in Penn Peak. William told me to, but I wouldn’t listen. I never listen. That’s why our marriage is in trouble.”
A hand reached out to grab my own. “You’re too hard on yourself, dear. Every wife feels inferior to her husband. It’s normal to think every problem is your making, but it seldom is. In other words, it takes two to tango.”
“I guess you’re right.”
“Yes, I am.”
We embraced. Gran coaxed my head onto her shoulder, then rocked me for a very long time. “You were so familiar to me, but even this seemed impossible!” The sun sank completely. A light breeze started up in the trees. I shut my eyes to the sensation of her hand smoothing up and down my back and the soft humming she made deep in her throat. I could go to sleep like this and never wake up. I didn’t want time to move or change. It was wonderful right now.
But things had to change.
Eventually I pulled away to search her eyes. I let out a long sigh. “Gran, there’s something important I have to do—and it’s dangerous. You wouldn’t approve, so I’m not going to tell you what it is, but I have to do it. It means I have to leave.”
She patted my hand. “I may not understand all of it, but I do think you’re here for a good reason.”
I wanted to ask her if it all turned out okay, but doing so might force her to see the worst—an unfair thing to ask a person. So I said, “I know things could go wrong. But my life won’t be right until I face this problem.”
It was her turn to sigh. “I see. Well, all I can really ask you, then, is to remember those you love, and not to act out of anger. Not all the information is available to me—I’ve only just started to develop my clairvoyance, but I’d like to give you this bit of advice: accept help. Give in a little. Don’t try to change the entire world alone, or you run the risk of ending up alone.”
I didn’t want to hear it. Even from Gran, so wise with her warm fingers on top of mine. Bad news would only hurt things, throw me off track.
She continued on. “Pauline has never listened to me. I’ve controlled her, nudged her, tried to show her the right and wrong of every situation, but she’s hell-bent on doing things her way. I fear . . .” her voice faded. “Well, I fear it won’t be long before she leaves, and she’ll never find out how much I love her.” Gran smiled. “Funny, but I’ve never been able to use my gift when it comes to my own daughter. The angels have blocked me out, it seems. How unfair, and yet, I can see the reasoning. If I could see her life, every part of it, I’d want to change it. Perhaps ignorance is a blessing, after all.”
We watched the moon appear and grow stronger within a darkening sky. The stars came out and stared down at us. I wondered, who was watching who?
I stirred; the bench had grown uncomfortable. I raised a hand to touch her soft cheek. Not the one I was used to, but the shape and warmth of it was familiar. “I want you in my heart all the time, Gran. I don’t ever want you to fade.”
“I’ll always be with you, Emma. That’s love. Don’t give up on love. Not for me, or anyone. Let it lead you.”
Chapter 17
At dawn, I rolled over and reached for yesterday’s clothes. No time to take a bath. I yanked on my hair with a bristle brus
h until all the tangles gave way, and then gathered up my things. Mother slept soundly, a peaceful expression softening the harsher ridges of her face. I wondered what she was dreaming of. For a second, I thought about kissing her on cheek. It might be the last time. But I didn’t want to wake her, because then I’d have to explain. It was nice seeing her like this. Childlike. No troubles. No worries. Sunlight fell across her hair in golden rays, and it was exactly the way I wanted to remember her.
And some things can’t be explained.
What sun existed quickly disappeared behind a layer of dark clouds. An angry storm hovered near the horizon, sending out little flashes of lightning, rumbles echoing seconds later. Not the kind of day to be homeless, I thought, slipping a note onto Gran’s front living room table. Thank you for loving me no matter what. We’ll always share “the gift.” I’ll never forget. Yours, Emma.
A similar one sat on Mother’s vanity, along with it a train schedule and a one-way ticket out of town. I hope you find what you’re searching for. Don’t forget the ones who love you the most. Always, Emma.
Then it really was time to go. I closed the door behind me as softly as I could. Good-bye, beautiful house on Walters Lane. I’ll never see you again.
Heavy air touched my skin like a warm, damp cloth. It mixed in with a thread of coolness, making me paranoid.
Upon reaching the square and its perimeter of shops, most of them still closed, I stood and took a panorama of the entire town. Post office, hardware store, drugstore, small movie theater, dress shop, newspaper office, all with low storefronts and a high steeple behind, like a scorpion’s stinger ready to strike. It made me dizzy. Like I was a ghost, wandering in the morning. Unknown, unseen, unimportant, never a citizen, always a film of mist passing through. With slow footsteps, I headed to the gazebo and up its steps before plummeting down on one of its wooden slatted benches. Now what? It always seemed to be the question in my life. Now I’d kill Marcus. I’d rest here awhile, then I’d go kill Marcus, like I’d planned all along.
