by Sean Platt
I’m sorry you got put inside there, Luca thought. It wasn’t fair.
Luca had become used to the voices in his head, but until earlier that day, he wasn’t used to people answering back. But there was no mistaking the voice in his head this time. Rebecca said, “Are you really there?”
Luca thought, “Yes, I’m upstairs in my room. I’m looking at the box right now, and I can feel that you’re sad. Are you scared?”
“Yes,” Rebecca thought. “It’s really cold in here, and I’m hungry and lonely and I don’t know what’s going to happen to me. I heard bad stuff happened today. Is it true that someone died?”
“Some of the men went out on a run and were attacked by monsters. Scott died. So did Eli. They are going to have a funeral for both of them tomorrow.”
“Oh my God,” Rebecca thought. “Scott was your friend, wasn’t he?”
“Yeah,” Luca thought.
“I’m so sorry.”
“Me, too,” Luca said. “For Eli. Did you know him well?”
“Yeah,” she said, quiet for a full minute.
“You’re wondering what would happen if the monsters came inside The Sanctuary, aren’t you?” Luca thought. “You’re wondering if you would be safe, or if everyone would run and leave you behind?”
Luca could feel Rebecca nodding.
“I’m so cold. I keep wondering what’s going to happen to me in here. I’m afraid it’s going to be something really bad. Even if the monsters don’t get me, I’ll starve to death because no one will be here to put bread through the window.”
“I’ll make sure you’re safe.”
“How?”
“I don’t know yet,” Luca thought, “But I’m going to sleep now, and that’s where I do all my best thinking. It’s where I meet all the voices who tell me everything I need to know.”
“Who are they? What do they say?”
“I dunno who they are. They say all sorts of things,” Luca thought.
“How do you know they’re telling the truth?”
“Because I’m sleeping. The voices always tell the truth when I’m sleeping. I think because over there, they don’t know how to lie. That’s why I get more confused in the daytime sometimes than I do when I’m sleeping. When I’m sleeping, it’s only the voices talking. In the daytime, I can hear all the other people, too. It’s too much; I can’t hear the voices that aren’t people.”
“Huh?” Rebecca said.
“It’ll make sense soon,” Luca said. “Are you still cold?”
“Yes,” she said.
“I’ve got an idea,” Luca said, and closed his eyes, imagining himself floating out of his body. He floated over his bed, looking down at himself, this older version of him that still seemed so different than how he visualized himself.
He looked outside the window, floated toward it, and dissolved through the wall.
It worked!
“What?” Rebecca asked.
“Hold on.”
Luca floated out into the night air; he could feel its coldness on his skin. He looked above the house and saw the guard sitting in the box on top of the roof. The man was smoking a cigarette, staring at, and through, Luca’s ghost-self.
“He can’t see me.”
“Who can’t see you?” Rebecca asked.
“The guard. He can’t see me.”
“What are you doing? Are you outside?”
“I’m here.”
“Where? I can’t see you.”
“Close your eyes.”
Suddenly, Rebecca appeared, or a ghost-version of her, coming through the box and floating above it, looking around wide-eyed. Her bald head had small patches where Brother Rei hadn’t gotten all the hair. She looked sickly, like those kids in the sad commercials Luca always saw on TV, and it made him sad for her.
“What did you do?” she asked, using her mouth instead of her mind. Luca turned to see if the guard had heard her. He hadn’t.
“I don’t know,” he said, “This is the first time I’ve ever done this.”
“Can he see us? Is this real?”
“I don’t think he can see us,” Luca said. “And I’m not sure if this is real, or that it matters.”
“Take my hand; I want to show you something,” he said.
Rebecca reached out and as their hands touched, a spark shot between their fingers. She pulled back, but only for a second before reaching out again.
Luca closed his hand around hers. Her hand was ice cold. He thought warm thoughts, and the girl smiled, feeling the heat.
“How?” she asked, looking down at her hand, then back up at him.
“Watch this,” he said, pulling her up into the sky, both of them floating over the trees, and then even higher.
She pulled herself closer to him, as if she might fall if he let go.
Luca felt her coldness thaw against his chest, and he felt happy.
“Can we fall?” she asked.
“I don’t think so,” he said. “Let’s go somewhere.”
“Where?” she asked, looking at him, confused.
“There,” he said, pointing to a nearby mountaintop, which glowed in a weird orange light.
They floated fast through the falling snow. Below them, in the middle of all the snow, was a circle of greenery and vibrant flowers, a place untouched by the winter. And in that grass, a wooden swing set with red seats, even nicer than the one he’d sat on with Paola.
They landed softly, and he let go of her, though reluctantly. They were surrounded by thousands of lightning bugs, which kept a respectable distance away from them, as if solely there to provide light for them.
“What is this?” she asked, walking in a circle around the swing set, staring at it as if it were made of magical candy. She looked at the lightning bugs with a smile that lit up her face.
“A swing,” Luca said, with a smile.
“No, I mean this place,” she said with a smile. “Is this real?”
“Are you warm?” he asked, taking a seat.
“Yes,” she said.
“That’s all that matters then,” he said, kicking his feet out and setting the swing into motion. The swing’s chains squeaked and the set moved slightly up and down with each motion. Rebecca took the opposite seat and kicked her feet out too with a big laugh.
“This is so weird!” she said. “You did this, all of this, didn’t you?”
“I dunno,” Luca said, not wanting to call attention to the things that made him different. “Let’s just swing.”
Luca wasn’t sure how long they’d been swinging, but it seemed like a good while. She told him about her sister, Alexis, and how her mother hadn’t always been so mean, or scared.
Luca talked about his family, Will, and a lot about Dog Vader. He got sad talking about Dog Vader, so he changed the subject to the rest of his friends.
“Is she your girlfriend?” Rebecca asked of Paola. “She’s soooo pretty.”
“No,” Luca said, feeling weird talking about Paola with another girl. Luca looked up at the sky, noting how the stars looked a bit different than usual, though he wasn’t sure how. Perhaps he had dreamed them into being, as well.
Looking at Rebecca, as she told her story, Luca felt incredibly sad for her. She’d been through so much, and he wanted to make her happy. But what could he do? If he tried to get her out of the box, the people would surely further punish her, and him. He tried to remember how his dad made his mom happy, and then an idea came to him.
“Hold on a second,” he said, hopping off the swing.
He walked past the lightning bugs and into the snow, towards the trees which surrounded them, and thought a rose bush into being. The bush sprouted from the snow, pushing up, and growing within seconds, sprouting perfectly red flowers.
He picked one and then thought the thorns away, and they were gone.
He walked back to the swing holding the flower, and outstretched his hand, “Here. I know it’s not much, but at least you can be happy her
e. For now.”
She hopped off the swing, and stared at the flower, tears in her eyes, a smile on her face. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen! Nobody has ever given me flowers before.”
They stood awkwardly, like two young teens who didn’t know what to do or say next. He wondered if he should hug her, when she leaned forward and hugged him.
Her hug was warm and felt so good and so real, he never wanted the moment to end.
Luca felt butterflies stirring in his belly, and giddy.
Suddenly, his arms were empty.
Luca opened his eyes, and she was gone.
“Rebecca?”
She didn’t respond.
The lightning bugs scattered all at once, looking like a million candles flying apart and flickering out, casting the world into darkness.
Snow began to fall down upon the protected haven and cover the ground with increasing speed as if making up for lost time.
The swings vanished.
Someone was watching him.
At first, Luca couldn’t tell who it was, but he saw a shadow in the snow, about 20 feet away. Luca had to get closer and closer, until he could almost smell him – the man from a few nights before. The Dark Man; the Man in the Middle, standing behind the rose bush.
The Man in the Middle should have scared him. Luca was pretty sure he was born inside of the Terrible Scary. But for the first time, Luca wasn’t really afraid at all.
The Man in the Middle was wearing all black – pants, shirt, and a big, long coat like he’d seen cowboys wearing on TV. He was holding something in his black gloved hands, but it wasn’t until Luca was standing a few feet away that he could see what it was – a large red rose, but different than the one he had picked for Rebecca, which was now gone, with her.
The rose looked like it had a million petals, and its deep color looked like blood against all the white of the surrounding snow. When Luca was only a few feet away, he could hear The Man in the Middle saying, “She loves me, she loves me not,” as he pulled petals from the bud, then released them to the wind where they fluttered slowly into the flurry, then floated to the carpeted snow like droplets of blood.
“It’s you,” The Man in the Middle said.
“Do you have a rose for me?” Luca said, even though the question made no sense to him, like one of those things that happened in dreams. It was as if he was following someone else’s script, even though the words came from his mouth.
“Of course.” The Man in the Middle reached behind his back and produced a second red rose, with even more petals and none of them picked.
“Thank you,” Luca said. He took the rose and started to pick the petals, one by one, adding fresh drops of blood to the new fallen snow. He said, “She loves me, she loves me not,” just like The Man in the Middle.
They picked their petals together in silence, the cold wind stinging their cheeks, neither one afraid. Luca was about to leave to look for Rebecca when he said, “You’re sharing the snow right now with all of us, right?”
The Man in the Middle looked down at Luca, and said, “She loves me not.”
Forty-Two
Boricio Wolfe
In the woods
March 25
Early morning
Boricio stared through the binoculars, watching the snow cover the sloping roofs of the houses below, the place his gut told him that his team had gone to. There were no signs of Charlie, Adam, Vic, or Callie. But it made sense that they’d be down there. It was warm and looked like the safest place Boricio had seen in a while. If they were making a break from Team Boricio, this seemed like the best bet for the four of them.
He almost couldn’t blame them for leaving. But he was pissed as a motherfucker that they hadn’t thought to come get him. And to come here, of all places? To the enemy camp?
What, do they think they’re too good for me? They don’t want Boricio socializing with their new friends?
Either way, the trip wouldn’t be a waste. Even if Chucky Fuckup wasn’t down there letting Adam give him the old reach around, since Callie wouldn’t, the odds were solid that Boricio would find something to fuck, even if not Callie. Now that he’d had a taste of fresh pussy, or not so fresh in Jenna’s case, he was like a fatso off his diet.
Boricio tossed the binoculars into his backpack, then wrapped a scarf around his neck and pulled a wool hat over his head, just past his ears. He turned the pistol around in his hand, taking a long while to drop it in the trunk, along with the bag full of weapons, he would come back to get later.
He tossed his keys into a hole in a nearby tree, and covered the Z8 with a white tarp, where it was concealed well enough behind a thick wall of trees.
Boricio trudged through the snow toward the compound, until he found the road that led to the wrought iron gates in the distance. Every step thickened the new feeling inside him, a feeling he didn’t know but liked a whole fuck of a lot. It was like walking into a dream, wide awake.
He’d been watching the place for hours, and hadn’t seen one person he recognized. He hoped they wouldn’t recognize him, either. And if they did, oh well. He’d gotten out of there once before.
Boricio reached the entrance to the compound and stood in front of the gate, staring at the letters carved into the stone wall: “The Sanctuary.”
Even with the bitter wind biting the skin from his face, Boricio couldn’t help but laugh out loud.
Ain’t no sanctuary in the world with enough solace to save it from Boricio.
TO BE CONTINUED …
::Episode 11::
(Fifth Episode Of Season Two)
“THE LOOPHOLE”
Forty-Three
“John”
Kingsland, Alabama
The Sanctuary
March 25
9:06 a.m.
“It’s coming.”
The creature that was once John started its morning as it had each day, meditating in the middle of the manmade room, sucking in the soured air and reaching beyond the gates to speak with the best parts of him – the parts that crawled through the forest, waited in the mountains, and lingered in the shadows beyond The Sanctuary.
John smiled wide at the long awaited message, finally delivered by fraying fragments of his self, lingering in the shadows and oozing like oil over his thoughts.
“It’s coming.”
John was growing stronger by the day, and his new strength was making the old patience even more restless. He could end these humans in a flood of fury, before they had time to blink in disbelief. The man who called himself “The Prophet” believed them all safe, here in their laughably named “Sanctuary.” This man was foolish enough to think that his “God” would somehow keep his congregation safe inside a self-proclaimed holy land.
The Prophet’s holy land was hollow. The only thing keeping his congregation safe was It, or John as It was named in this mortal disguise. The humans would breathe their soured air as long as John allowed it, and not one second longer. The Prophet’s archaic god had nothing to do with their safety, but everything to do with how easy it was going to be for John to slaughter all his little lambs at once.
For now, the human gathering served John well, fencing them inside, too blind to see the bars that their “protection” had built around them, too thick to bend or break. He allowed it, encouraged it, fostered the illusion of safety by having his legions of darkness strike hardest whenever doubt about the The Sanctuary’s safety began to bleed through its walls.
Yesterday, he had to kill two. Today, he might need to kill another. John could sense the doubt threading itself through the seams of the woman, Mary, and her flock.
He should have killed them all back at the hotel, should never have allowed their strength to build, even if it was only a whisper compared to his inevitable scream.
But he couldn’t kill them all, not then and not now. Not without damaging his connection to Luca. And that was something he simply couldn’t afford to do. The boy was
more than powerful, he was preordained.
Luca would soon play a large role in the inevitable. He simply needed a little encouragement, a nudge in the right direction. The Prophet gave John the breadcrumbs to lay, which made it easy for Luca to follow him precisely where he wanted him – here, behind the walls of The Sanctuary, sharing the soured air with his pompous flock.
Things were starting to settle into place, the pieces finally fitting together. It would happen soon — the event he’d been made for; the event that would unite his scattered parts and fraying fragments into the fabric of the future.
John could feel the grand design like these humans felt hunger. He was born from the past, was the core of the present, and the only thing the future cared about. Because John was all that mattered to the universe, he knew things the humans never could, things they were not designed to see.
How could they expect to stare into the infinite when they couldn’t even smell the sour of the air?
John could see his true purpose forming in the shadows around him, slowly taking shape – crawling through the forest, waiting in the mountains, and lingering in the shadows while he waited behind the walls of The Sanctuary, preparing to strike.
His communication with the creatures these people called demons, monsters, and bleakers had grown stronger over the months. John was able to command them no different than he commanded his hand to pick up a drink, or his arm to bring it to his lips. The creatures were an extension of him, a deadly appendage, but they had grown dangerously restless, craving more strength in their numbers. They were gathering together in the world outside The Sanctuary, infesting new hosts, and spreading like wildfire through a bed of broken branches.
The Prophet had started the fire; he had been tricked into opening the vial and setting this life free – this life that feasted on death; this life that would erase the old.
