by Nate Allen
the center of my face has numbed completely. My face is bruised and beaten. It’s how I feel inside, both in body and in spirit. Ms. Brands had something in her, and it attached itself to me. I feel exhausted in every aspect.
“Come upstairs with me. You don’t need to be down here alone. I know that you want your time, but I know you, Matthew. When you look at me with eyes like that, you are letting every thought fill your head. We can cry, but not alone. Not down here. There are too many shadows, too much darkness. You need light.”
“Okay.” I don’t want to go with her. She can talk this way only because Jesus came to her. Before that, she treated me like a crazy for having faith. I anointed her this morning because I felt something dark trying to get in, and she laughed at me. Only hours later, how can she be the one who has the solid ground? How can she be the one who is offering me the light?
I have been standing in the gap for her for five nights, willing to take on her hurt so she doesn’t have to feel it. And it has transferred. My knees are about to buckle. I am haunted. I am in throbbing pain. My faith is there but hard to reach. Every time I try to give it all to Jesus, and lay it at the foot of the cross, my feelings overtake me. Feeling is enemy to the Spirit. It is fickle and fleeting. It is human, backed by emotion, thought, and reason. It is telling me to resent Janet for how easy it has become for her.
But, I don’t. She would be dead had it not been for that encounter. It’s a selfish part of me that wants to see The Lord for myself. I wasn’t nearing suicide, like Janet. I wanted her to be lifted up. And now that she is, part of me wants her sad again. This is feeling.
John Doe
Everyone called him Little Tommy. His actual name was Thomas Aerie. Dad’s death gave Teddy a hold on my childhood home; Thomas Aerie’s gave Teddy a place to call his own. The events that led to the killing of Thomas began with something as simple as an idea. I remember the moment that it flooded into my head, images and all. He was a pale skinned boy with blonde hair almost the same color. His voice was quiet and careful. He didn’t like to offend, or disrupt. It’s the reason I believe Teddy had for choosing him. The light in Thomas was almost as bright as it was in M.
Thomas Aerie is my true origin, and I still question how I could have done what I did to him. He was only seven and small for his age. I had seen Thomas many times before. He lived in Minea, just minutes away from me.
I was barely fourteen. The fingers of Teddy were already deep in me—they had been since the moment I killed dad. His voice was the only one I wanted to hear, like a compass guiding me. He didn’t just sit in my thoughts. He pulled on my feelings. When I saw Thomas, I could only see the light. The light that I no longer had. The light that had been taken from me when my mom died. And it made me hate him.
That hate grew, until one night I dreamt of turning out the light in him. And when I woke up, my mind filled with vivid ideas of just how to do it. It came in images and sounds. It wasn’t something Teddy was telling me, but he was presenting the option. If I couldn’t have the light, why should anyone else?
When I thought of Thomas, I thought of dad, and then I thought of the shed. I thought of the fear I felt, and the hate that accompanied it. Killing dad was the beginning. But, it didn’t end there. It only grew.
Teddy knew of my pain. He said it would be lifelong. He said that turning the lights out in others would help make the pain go away. It did at first…
Thomas ran through my yard, out of breath and terrified. Three others had followed him. They were boys, my age and younger.
“We just wanna play, Little Tommy!” they said. He ran down the gravel path, past the house. At first I only heard his feet kicking up gravel, but then I saw him. Teddy had told me it would happen this way. And as it was playing out, his voice whispered directions to me. He told me to call him toward the house. And I did.
I was his protector. That was Teddy’s first direction. Thomas ran toward me, and slipped inside the house. We waited in the entryway.
“They’re gonna hurt me.” his voice was still that small squeak, now covered with a coating of fear. I could nearly hear his heartbeat in his breath.
“No they won’t.” I don’t want to think about what comes next. Every word I told him was a lie. Every small smile I gave, every reassuring word I said, was all an act. I never had any intention of protecting him. It was all part of Teddy’s plan. I could have stopped, but I didn’t.
A small voice tried to tell me that I didn’t have to do it. It tried, but failed. Whenever I would consider listening, I filled with hate. Maybe that was Teddy. Or maybe it was me. I still don’t really know.
I only know what comes next in the true origin of me. I led him away from the entryway, and up the stairs. Knocks were coming from the front door, with voices saying, “We know you’re in there, Little Tommy! You can’t hide forever!”
His eyes weren’t wide and terrified anymore. They were like M’s. The light I saw made me grab a hold of his neck and squeeze. I thought of dad sticking me with his piece, the pain of losing mom, and before I knew it, breath didn’t come from him anymore. I don’t remember a struggle. Maybe there was none. All I remember are his eyes. They haunted me, because even in his death, I saw the light.
Matthew Mills
I’m at the top of the stairs, hugging Janet. Her head fits like a puzzle piece with my shoulder. Neither of us has said anything. I can tell that it’s something that she missed. I’ve missed it too.
When we were young, our hugs became extended slow dances. Sometimes music wasn’t required at all. I would do my best rendition of Elvis’ Can’t Help Falling in Love. I try it again right now, but only tears come to her eyes. Maybe it’s too soon.
Now, there’s a kiss.
“I love you, Matthew.” she whispers as she kisses me a second time. “I love you so much.”
“I love you too, beautiful,” I reply. She smiles. And just like when we were young, our hug has become a slow dance. I have never actually known the lyrics to the song, so I just hum over the parts I don’t know. That makes her smile. The Lord has given me this moment to have with her.
I’m midway through the chorus for a second time. Her smile is pulling me in, and I’m about to kiss her deeply. It’s the first time in at least a week that I have felt this way toward her. Nothing sexual can happen. It’s far too soon after the miscarriage. Even in my attraction I know this. And she does too. But, that doesn’t keep her from kissing me deeply, and rubbing her hands down my arms. We know we can’t, but we want to.
There’s a knock at the door. I can see the immediate switch in Janet’s eyes. The mood is gone. She kisses me once more and then walks into the kitchen.
The first knock was quiet. The second one isn’t. It’s loud. I get to the door before a third knock happens. It’s Ms. Brands. And all I can feel is fear. Something is in her, and it followed me home. And now, so did she.
Her eyes are different than when I last saw her. They are more aware somehow.
“Marcy didn’t leave the school alone. There was a man with her.”
“What did he look like?” I’m shocked, but able to speak. My stomach feels bottomless.
She is turning around to leave.
“What did he look like?!”
When she looks at me again, her eyes are lost.
Answers/Fallen
John Doe
Thomas’ disappearance was soon overshadowed by the deaths of the three boys who had chased him. There was never any explanation found as to why, but three days after Thomas’ death, all three boys were found face down in the stream, after having jumped from the top of the downtown bridge. The explanation was as simple as this: Teddy got inside their heads. Even though Thomas’ death wasn’t slow and methodical like Teddy had planned, it was my act of obedience following his strangulation that gave him all the more power. I stuck his skin with a needle, withdrew his blood, and placed the vial where I was instructed to. Mom had a full collection of teddy bears. I c
hose one that was small and shy and slipped the vial inside.
Teddy wanted to put on a show. His power grew from an idea planted in the boys’ heads to complete control. He wanted to be the reason a small town lost its sense of comfort, even safety. And the deaths of the three boys did just that. The articles began as inexplicable and eventually became wild speculation that never got close to the real truth. It cast a dark shadow over a town that had been spry and light.
What followed is a lot of the same. After Thomas, Teddy had me in a position I couldn’t break free from. Two people were already dead because of me. What was a third? Or a fourth? It’s how I thought. And Teddy took advantage of it. The years passed. The town emptied. And the body count grew.
I have lived in a prison I helped build, year after year. But, there has never been a child like M. Before her, Thomas was the brightest light I had ever seen. The only difference is the hate I had for the light then, has now become a longing. I can’t believe I am able to admit this to myself. Just hours ago I felt there was no hope for me, no redemption, no reason for me to fight to get free. I didn’t even think it was possible. I used to think Teddy was all powerful, but there has to be something behind that light with even more power. If there isn’t, I would be dead right now.
I just passed a sign. The words are faded and
