by Sean Platt
The sound of the waiting room doors opening heralded the entrance of the surgeon. Trudy went to him so quickly Will didn’t have time to follow. By the time he did, he would have felt like he were butting into the conversation. So he stayed put, about 20 feet away, tilting his body toward the conversation while trying not to be too obvious, watching Trudy’s reactions for any sign of what might be happening with Sam.
“A coma?!” she cried, “I want to see my son!”
A coma?
Will’s heart froze in his chest; the unthinkable suddenly reality – Sam could wind up a paraplegic, regardless of Will’s intervention. Had fate found a way around his loophole as it had so many times in the past?
He flashed back to the last words they’d had as Sam was leaving for the day. They were unkind. Will told Sam he was a fool, and they were going to lose everything on what, sentimentality and an unwillingness to let go and lean into the inevitable?
The surgeon led Trudy away from the waiting room.
Will started to follow, but the surgeon, a Greek man with dark eyes and darker hair, turned to him, and said, “Are you family?”
“He’s my boyfriend,” Will said. “We live together, so practically, yes.”
“No,” Trudy said, glaring back at Will. “He’s not family.”
They left Will standing in the hall, devastated, the words robbed from his mouth.
Forty-Five
Will Bishop
Kingsland, Alabama
The Sanctuary
March 25, 2012
Morning
“Jesus, that’s a giant cross!” Desmond said, pointing to the massive wooden cross erected overnight, or in the misty morning hours, in front of the church. It dwarfed the original cross, still standing to its left, by almost half, and looked sturdy enough to hang someone from.
“Is there a crucifixion on the schedule today?”
A chill ran down Will’s spine. The cross was even more menacing under the light of the sun than it had been in the shroud of his dreams. Given that everyone was already dressed in funeral black, a crucifixion didn’t seem entirely impossible, even if Will hadn’t seen it in his dreams.
“If you’re gonna take the Lord’s name in vain, I suppose that’s about as close as you can get to an appropriate use of blasphemy.” Will laughed, trying to smother his chill.
Desmond said, “This place just keeps getting weirder and weirder.”
“You’re telling me, ‘brother.’” Will said, and they both laughed.
They were on their way to breakfast, about 50 yards from the table, when Desmond pointed to The Sanctuary’s front gate. “You know anything about that?”
Will didn’t, but it took him approximately one second to not like it a bit. “No idea.” The sun was bright above, making the white of the snow scream below. He made a visor with his hand to improve his view, but it didn’t help much. “But it looks like we have a visitor.”
Brothers John and Rei were standing by the gate, huddled beside a handful of their most intimidating men. The stranger stood in front of the huddle, slightly inside The Sanctuary, too far for details beyond the dark thatch of hair and the familiar darkness Will had seen in his dreams too many times to count.
“Well, what do you think?” Desmond gestured toward the gate. “Does our new friend end up kneeling at the altar of New Unity, or does he get smart in the other direction?”
“Who knows? Has anything turned out as we expected? Maybe that guy out there,” Will nodded toward the gates, “ends up on that back there.” He threw his thumb behind him, toward the new cross. “All we can do now is watch, and wait.”
“Ah,” Desmond said, “the end of the world special.”
The men fell silent as they approached the breakfast table, which Mary, Paola, and Luca were already sitting at. A few others from the church were also seated at their table, neutering any real conversation.
Desmond pulled out his chair and sat directly across from Will. Both men folded their hands and waited for Morning Prayer. Will smiled at Mary and Paola and Luca, but didn’t see Linc at any of the other five tables. There was another few minutes of silence, and when it was clear that neither Brothers Rei or John, or The Prophet, were coming to lead grace, Brother Reginald stood and thanked The Good Lord for all they were about to receive.
Silverware clinked, a few people coughed, and the wood from the bench whispered as members of the congregation shifted in their seats. The silence was so loud it was nearly a scream. Paola couldn’t take it. She dropped her fork with a clatter and yelled, “Isn’t anyone going to talk about him?”
Will didn’t think she and Scott had been all that close, but he kept the thought in the back of his head where it belonged, then reached for Paola across the table. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Some people like to grieve in silence. Just because no one’s saying anything, doesn’t mean they don’t care.”
“Scott was funny,” she said. “He wouldn’t have wanted everyone to keep quiet.”
“Well then,” Will said, “let’s remember the good times. How about the time we were stuck in that warehouse for two days and had nothing to eat, and Scott made you the imaginary milkshake?” All eyes were on Will, even the ones that acted like they weren’t. “Now what was in that milkshake again?”
“It was a Jolly Rancher flavored milkshake, with rainbow sprinkles, chocolate chips, and magical drops from the sun to keep me warm.” Paola laughed, then wiped a tear from her eye. “And it was in a tall glass made from sugar crystals and Saturn rings.” Paola started laughing harder through her tears.
That was enough to get others at the table, those who hadn’t known him and had no right to really talk of him, to do just that, with more than a fair share of “he’s with the Good Lord now,” and “the Gates have swung open early for him.”
Will saw Desmond trying not to roll his eyes while grabbing Mary’s attention. But her mind seemed elsewhere, which would explain the gaze that was nowhere near Desmond. There was a new frosty layer between them that had to be a recent development. He wondered if they’d been in a fight, but the chill was only coming from Mary. He waited for her head to turn in his direction, then swallowed his mouthful of biscuit and said, “You okay?”
Mary nodded. Desmond’s eyes moved between her and Will, as though he wanted to know the same thing, and was sure one of them harbored the answer.
Mary and Desmond were always desperate for alone time, but had to wait until after breakfast each morning, when they could sneak away to the garden and steal a few minutes’ worth of whispers. But the funeral was scheduled for this morning, so they wouldn’t have their usual chance. Any whispers worth stealing would have to be stolen later.
Two of the older women in the congregation, whose names Will didn’t know, began clearing the tables as the rest of the congregation drifted like the black cloud it was out of the house, past the church, and beyond the far wall, outside The Sanctuary and to the cemetery in the woods just beyond.
The iron gate whined open to a short, twisting path through the woods, leading to the ancient cemetery. Even if it wasn’t ancient by biblical standards, it was ancient for American soil, with a few newer headstones mingled among the mostly Civil War-era graves.
Will’s eyes were everywhere, but The Prophet was nowhere in sight. Not knowing where he was made Will feel like a target. The Prophet, Brother Rei, and John had been watching him more intently in recent days. Perhaps The Prophet had seen the same things Will had seen in his dream, and wanted to act before events unfolded as they would. Will’s hairs were on end as he searched for The Prophet. Fortunately, the mystery was cleared before the funeral started.
Brothers Rei and John approached the congregation with The Sanctuary’s new visitor one step behind. The visitor and John stayed at the back, as Brother Rei walked to the front and glanced at the hole in the ground, then turned his attention to the congregation. The corners of his mouth were heavy, dipping toward his almost nonexistent chin.
He cleared his throat and said, “Before we get started, I must inform you, as deeply saddened as I am to do so, that The Prophet has taken ill, and is on bed rest for the day. He shall be well again soon, but I regret that I must step in and administer today’s ceremony.”
Brother Rei lowered his head, then clutched the Bible to his chest with one hand while raising the other to the sky. He held his pose for more than a minute, then raised his head and moved his eyes across the congregation. Will wondered if any of the people standing with hands folded and eyes on Brother Rei wanted him to get the hell on with it, or whether they were happy to stand in the stinging cold while he milked the moment of every drop. Brother Rei might be third in charge, but he may as well have been second, the way he enjoyed the spotlight. John was more of a silent partner in the church, while Brother Rei desperately wanted to be as charismatic as The Prophet was.
“We are gathered here together to celebrate a young life ascended to Heaven. Brother Scott was taken from our flock too early, yes, but we have no reason to mourn. For Brother Scott was called Home and ushered through the Gates; Brother Scott now has what we are all waiting here to get. Our Good Brother Scott most certainly received his Heavenly reward for his hard work, ridding this world of Demons, which is what he was in the thick of doing when he was called home by the Good Lord Himself.”
That was all Brother Rei managed before Luca fled the funeral, crying.
Will was suddenly grateful that Luca was only a boy inside the shell of a man, giving him the perfect excuse to run off and leave. And since a boy shouldn’t be wandering through a Demon-infested forest alone, Will would be happy to do the Good Lord’s work and look after him.
Will followed Luca back to his Quiet Spot, where he sat with his head in his chest, buried beneath gangly arms, looking every bit of eight as he did sixteen.
“You okay?”
Luca looked up, nodded at Will, then buried his head back where it belonged.
“What are you thinking in that head of yours? You don’t mind telling me, right? You can trust me. Remember, I’m the man with the lobster tacos. I flew you all the way across the country. And plus,” Will smiled. “I’ve known you since you were only eight!”
Will wasn’t sure if the joke about his age would upset Luca further, and was relieved when the boy broke into a little laugh. Will took Luca’s laughter as permission to sit. “You know,” he said, “I’m sad, too.”
Luca looked up. “You are?”
“Of course. Scott was my friend. And these days, friends are scarce.”
“I was mean to him,” Luca said. “The last time we talked, I mean. It makes me feel like maybe I had something to do with him not ever coming back.”
“You know that’s ridiculous, right?”
Luca nodded, but fresh tears fell from his eyes anyway. “I heard Scott call me a freak. But he didn’t say it. He thought it. And I heard him. And he knew I heard him, and was even more freaked out. So, I ran away, and when I did, I was kind of wishing I’d never saved him. I know it sounds silly, but I feel like if I hadn’t thought that, maybe he wouldn’t have died yesterday,” Luca cried, loud enough for Will to scoot closer and shush him.
“Not sure it’s best to draw attention to ourselves right now with talk of hearing thoughts,” Will said in a whisper, even though there was no one around them. He took off his jacket and handed it to Luca. “Cry into this, okay.” It was freezing outside, but Will would rather be freezing than heard, and The Sanctuary felt like it was growing ears.
“Don’t be silly,” Will whispered. “You had nothing to do with Scott dying. Nothing. It happened, and you have to be okay with it. It wasn’t like you knew he was gonna die and did nothing to stop it. And even then, fate’s gonna do what it’s gonna do. It’s easier to win an argument with Paola.”
Luca smiled, then surprised Will by dropping the subject. He surprised him more by changing it. “Do you think we should be here? I mean, right now, at The Sanctuary. Do you think it’s safe?”
Will looked at Luca for a while before he said, “What makes you say that?”
“Because this place feels wrong to me.”
“Can you tell me what you mean?”
Luca looked everywhere except at Will, before he finally said, “Just promise not to think I’m weird. I don’t want to be weird anymore.”
“Sorry, kid,” Will shook his head. “No can do. You’re definitely weird. We both are. That’s what makes us worth talking to in the first place.”
Luca laughed, but only for a second, then said, “Is it sometimes okay to do the wrong thing for the right reason?”
“Ah,” Will said, finally getting where Luca was going. “You’re worried about Rebecca, right?” Luca nodded, eyes still in the snow.
Will wondered which of the hundred things Luca wasn’t saying he should ask about first, then went for the shortcut. “What are you worried about? Are you wondering if Rebecca’s okay?”
Luca shook his head. “No, I know she’s okay. She told me. But I want to help her. I keep thinking maybe I could get her out of there if I tried. I keep thinking I should.”
Will raised his eyebrows. “What do you mean she told you? Have you been over there talking to her? You have to be careful, Luca. If you’re caught, you’ll be in trouble, too.”
“I can hear her in my head, but she can hear me, too.” Luca said. He closed his eyes and swayed back and forth for a second, before opening them again and holding Will’s eyes for the first time. “We talk to each other. I know it’s really happening, and that it’s not just in my head, even if you think I’m crazy.”
Will said, “What makes you think I think you’re crazy? Didn’t we cross the country together on account of a dream?”
Luca nodded. “But this isn’t in a dream,” he said. “It’s in real life. And when it’s in real life, with real people, it feels like I’m going crazy. Even though I know I’m not.”
“All of it is in real life,” Will said. “Even the dreams. And you’re closer to sane than almost anyone here, Luca. You’re not crazy; you’re gifted. And you can’t change who you are, so stop trying. You’re different than us all. Most likely better, too. Best you can do is not question the gift. Embrace it, and try to do the best you can for as long as you can. Nothing less will do.”
Will kept talking, but only in his head. “You’ve nothing to be worried about. I hear a thought or two myself, here and there.”
“You have?” The words were already out of Luca’s mouth before he realized what that meant. They’d been speaking without words for a while.
“So, you can hear me, too?” he thought. “Why can’t everyone else?”
Will shrugged. “Honestly, kid, I have no idea. My best guess is that they probably could. They just don’t know how, or even that they can. Like I said, everyone’s weird. Unless they know for a fact that they can do something, most people assume they can’t do something that sounds hard or impossible, even if it’s as simple as closing their eyes and getting it done. Tell you what,” Will put his hand on Luca’s shoulder. “Close your eyes and think of something, but don’t say a word.”
“Okay,” Luca said.
Will watched Luca as his muscles relaxed. When his face was placid, Will said, “Now, tell me what you see.”
Luca said, “I can see you, and the Man in the Middle. We’re all in the courtyard here. And there’s fire in the background.”
Will felt a cold chill. He could see The Man in the Middle, too. But his view was nowhere near as sharp. Will could see The Man, and Luca, but he could not see where they were, or even himself. “Do you know who he is?” Will thought.
Luca shook his head. In his mind, he said, “I saw him picking petals last night in my dream, or trip, or whatever it was. But I don’t know what it means. The dreams are always there, but they never tell me what’s going to happen.”
“Sounds to me like you have nothing to worry about,” Will thought.
“Do you see wha
t’s going to happen next?” Luca asked. “I’ve had bad dreams, really bad. But when I wake up, I can’t remember much.”
“No,” Will thought, realizing it was much easier lying to Luca in his mind. “I’ve no idea what’s going to happen next.”
No point in telling Luca what he can’t stop from happening, or it will only make the goodbyes that much harder.
Forty-Six
Charlie Wilkens
Dunn, Georgia
March 25
Pre-dawn
Charlie’s feet were rooted to the floor, his eyes fixed on the reanimated corpse that used to be Vic, but was now a human-monster hybrid.
Vic’s right arm was wet and ebony from the elbow down, just like the monsters’ skin. His arm was misshapen into a twisted mockery of a limb, fingers fused together to form an oversized blade-like appendage. His face was corrupted by an army of black veins marching across his skin like spider webs, covering every inch and deepening every crevice. Something pushed at both cheekbones from beneath his skin, forming half circles of withered, darkened pits beneath beady, black reptilian eyes.
Vic opened his mouth and screeched an inhuman cry. The scream sounded as if Vic were trying to dislodge something, or many things, from a prison in his throat. Then he ran toward them, swinging his blade-hand at Charlie. Charlie rolled to the ground, as Adam jumped back, and dashed toward the gate.
Where the fuck are you going, Adam?!
Vic turned around and looked up at Adam, as though he might give chase, then turned back to Charlie, just as he rose to his feet. Something resembling a smile spread over Vic’s rotting face, revealing jagged, blackened teeth.
Vic screamed again, that sickly scream that ripped straight through Charlie’s brain, and leaned into another attack, this time with his normal hand. His punch landed on Charlie’s left ear sending a thunderbolt of pain between his eyes.
