Leviathan

by Nicholas Gagnier

  Coming to, the world spins around my daunted perception. A once meaningful attachment to darkness powers my fear of it, having short-circuited into irrational reactions. Eyes trying to make sense of my surroundings look for light, as other humans taught me to do when blinded by shadow.

  Kinks in my neck from sleeping with my head pointed at the floor form a vague awareness of how I came to be here. Realizing my hands are held behind me, unable to separate; I remember .

  Stephen Hardwick has a role to play in why I’m bound to a wooden chair, and some responsibility in Emily Rickard’s disappearance.

  Light has abandoned me.

  That is, aside from a match flaring in my partner’s cupped hands, alerting me to his presence in the corner. A cigarette on his lips dangles into the safe space his hands form to set its tip aflame. The Stephen Hardwick I know has never smoked a cigarette in my presence, and I wonder how many more things about him I don’t know.

  You’ll be paired up with Stephen Hardwick, Director Hazel told me on my first day working this case. No doubt, another person I’ll have to justify your assignment to. He can be…difficult.

  None of this makes sense.

  “Good,” my partner says, “You’re awake.”

  A plume of blue smoke trails upward between his fingers, suffocating the small space only lit by the cigarette’s burning end. West’s crew has disappeared, as has Royce.

  Only Hardwick and I remain.

  That said, this case has shaken him. Loss of his last two partners. There’s some personal messes in there, too.

  “Stephen,” I grunt, “What’s going on?”

  Man has seen too many funerals lately.

  Hardwick chuckles.

  “I haven’t been completely honest with you, Ramona. The FBI has not been completely honest with you, either. So, before you hear what I have to say, please keep in mind; they left you high and dry.”

  “High and dry? What are you talking about? And why the fuck am I tied up?”

  “A precaution. I didn’t want to risk you taking the news the wrong way. Maybe doing something irrational, as women are ought to do, right?”

  “Spare me your misogyny,” I reply, “and tell me what’s going on.”

  Flicking the cigarette, Hardwick paces in front of me, drawing on its end. He exhales the dour mix of chemicals on his breath, gathering words.

  “We live in an ever changing world, Knox. For better, worse. Who the fuck knows? But some of us- the old guard, who have been here, protecting the people for years- just aren’t so comfortable with change.

  “When I started with the Bureau, back in the seventies, it was simple. Black and fucking white. Bad guy popped up, we put ‘em away. You get yourself on a Most Wanted list, we took you the fuck down.

  “But then, something changed. The Wall fell in Berlin, the Cold War ended. I don’t fucking know. But the point is, bad guys just weren’t so easy to find anymore. People were more educated than ever, and the politicians kept squeezing our budgets. More and more, my brothers in blue were being handed pink slips, told to clean out their desks. There just weren’t enough heads to bust anymore.”

  I say nothing.

  “You got some of these guys,” he continues, “served their country for thirty fucking years! Suddenly, they’re let go. They can’t pay their mortgage anymore. Got kids? Forget it. Might as well send them to community fucking college, because Princeton’s out of the equation.”

  “So what you’re essentially telling me,” I reply, as sarcastically as I can possibly make it, “is you created something for the FBI to chase?”

  Hardwick doesn’t respond, which is the only answer I need.

  “Jesus, Stephen. So, Jordan West?”

  “Dead. Since eighty-seven.”

  West never surfaced at all; Royce and his crew simply made him their figurehead, and Hardwick sold the narrative to the Bureau.

  “How did he die?”

  “Hardly matters, Ramona.”

  “Fuck you!” I spit, “All this time, it’s been you. You, and Ryan fucking Royce. Where is that coward? Tell him to come in here, and face me like a man!” Struggling against my binds, the chair’s feet scrape along the floor, but the knots are too strong.

  “I suggest you calm down, Knox.”

  “Calm down? Why? Because I’m a woman, incapable of blatantly accepting how twisted and depraved this job has made you? Because you need to put me in my place, Stephen-”

  My tirade is interrupted by the back of Hardwick’s hand striking my face. The force of the smack sends my hair to my side, head flying backwards, to the point I wonder if my neck might be broken.

  Nope, I think in resetting its position to hanging over my collarbone; still here.

  Still have to watch this bullshit play out.

  “Shame,” my partner says, looming over me. Head pounds, face burns; my mouth hangs open with every laboured breath. “I wish you could see the greater good, Knox. At the end of the day, we have to protect society; but who protects us?”

  As he turns his back on me, I say the only response I can think of.

  “It’s the job we signed up for, Stephen. From the day I entered Quantico, I knew how expendable each and every one of us is. What did you expect? A fucking parade in your honour?”

  “No,” he scowls, glaring back at me, “I hoped for dignity. I wished for fairness. I expected, that after all this time and sacrifice, my brothers would be taken care of.”

  “Well,” I say, “the joke’s on you. Because now there will be more than pink slips waiting for you, Stephen. I’m thinking jumpsuits and highway cleanup, if they even let you venture beyond your cell.” He turns to continue leaving, when I call his name, forcing him to glance back at his sins. One final time. “No matter what led you to this, it’s not too late to stop it, Stephen.”

  All this desperation only earns the slightest acknowledgement.

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Knox.”

  I scream Hardwick’s name as he exits through the door, and I am left alone. Revolting against the ropes holding my body to the chair, I scan every corner of the desolate warehouse, looking for an escape route. I don’t know Hardwick’s plans for me, but don’t think they amount to anything which includes my survival.

  Moments later, still working to free myself, I am proven correct. The muggy autumn air makes it harder to detect the exact moment the building catches and smoke spills under the door, but I am quickly aware of my new predicament.

  The flames are quick to appear, climbing the walls, beginning to eat away at structural integrity. I yell Hardwick’s name to no avail; my former partner is gone. As with Jim Partridge, he assured my death to continue his reign of terror over D.C.

  I can’t let him win.

  Drawing strength from every shallow reserve, I fight against the dark cloud gathering at my feet, crying out at the inferno around me. I fight for Emily Rickard; for Ian Armstrong and John Hazel, who put their faith in me to stop this.

  I fight for Maya, no longer with me in body but lingering in my sentiments.

  I wish Tim was here.

  You are more capable than you will ever be aware of. Nothing has stopped Ramona Knox yet, has it?

  If that black cloud is the man who calls himself Death, and Tim did indeed ward off my pursuers, he might be around here somewhere. Screaming Hardwick’s name has not benefited me as the flames climb higher and breathing becomes more of a challenge.

  “Tim!”

  On some level, I am not afraid of death; what terrifies me is the thought of another child taken by Hardwick’s hand. Of failing those I set out to protect.

  These kids actually belong somewhere, with people who love them.

  As the inferno reaches critical mass, my struggle forces the legs of the chair to snap, collapsing the rest of it to the floor with me.

  Gasping, there is little more I can do to fight the darkness rising all around my body. It pours into my lungs through the nose and mouth, smothe
ring everything good that ever existed within me.

  I would have killed for that, once upon a time...but there’s no chance of that for me.

  Forgive me, Emily.

  What is it with you rookies? Come in here, all full of carte blanche idealism, thinking you’re going to make any kind of difference here?

  My thoughts all run together. Given no space to breathe, they pound on the walls, demanding to be freed, but only one escapes.

  I have failed.

  Do you know anything about this case, or did Director Hazel send you still in diapers?

  So, if you will let me do my job, sir, I will kill for them instead.

  Why did they pick me, Tim?

  Darkness closing me off to the biting heat which will momentarily eat me alive, all I can see is the man who appeared me under a table at five years old. Against the backdrop of death and dismay washing over me, his is the only voice which matters now.

  I think, in times of very few options, we look to the best and the brightest of us to lead the way, but rarely consider the burden placed upon those few.

  I’m so fucking sorry.

  For everything.

  Chapter Seventeen

  When I open my eyes, the scorching heat of the burning warehouse is gone. Replaced with a serene black canopy, I am spellbound by its darkness; in love with it, because it is a reflection I have never been able to meet in the mirror.

  Where there should be the white light I have heard about, endlessly described as and synonomous with the end of life, there is only blackness. Tiny holes pierced in its facade gives the impression of standing under a starlit sky. Hints of blue glare sizzle across its horizons, unnoticeable to the unaware eye.

  I always imagined the afterlife as a cold, soulless place. In contrast, it is a warm blanket on my flesh; fine-tuned for comfort, despite no fire or light to produce such heat.

  And in front of me, the man who calls himself Death awaits. I have not seen him since the night Maya died, other than suspecting him as the monster which attacked the forces in pursuit of me.

  “Tim?”

  My guardian angel smiles, but the expression is bleak. I could swear his eyes water, but that would be like saying his suit has a wrinkle in it; pretty unlikely.

  “Hello, Ramona.”

  Hands clasped behind his back, I have never been so glad to see my guardian angel. The sentiment is not returned. His former warmth is dissipated, as if used to light this place for visitors.

  “Where are we?” I ask.

  “We are in the Arcway,” Tim replies, “My creation. It is the step before entering my realm, where you will await salvation or damnation.”

  “Does that... mean I’m dead?”

  Tim grimaces, nodding.

  “You did not survive the warehouse, Ro. You fought valiantly, but... it wasn’t enough.”

  I’m not sure what to say.

  “And Emily?”

  The man who calls himself Death cannot answer me. In the grand scheme, my passing means little. Hers is everything I wanted to avoid.

  “Did you...know this would happen?”

  The look in Tim’s eyes tells me everything I need to know- about life, my death, and anything between. I am a speck to him.

  If I wasn’t, he might have been more honest.

  “You always gave your life for this, Ramona. For them. You asked me, maybe in jest. For your sake, I could not tell you. To do so....would have robbed you of resolve, perhaps altering any chance Emily Rickard had.”

  “Does she?” I ask, “Have a chance?”

  “Ramona-”

  I interrupt his meager attempt to console me.

  “Did she, or did she not, ever have a fucking chance, Tim?”

  The man who calls himself Death sighs.

  “No.”

  This entire time, I have been manipulated on all sides. Hardwick and Royce are single-handedly responsible for the biggest hoax in FBI history. My guardian angel has let chase my tail, because he knew all along.

  I am finished.

  “I want to know what happened to her,” I say.

  “Pardon?”

  I will not let him play these games any longer.

  “I gave my fucking life for this, Tim. I want to know everything. Who you are. Why you let me go on this goose chase. Why you even bothered showing your face when I was five years old, hiding under a table. You could have just left me alone like everyone else! I would have been fine, asshole! You fucking piece of shit!”

  I flail bunched fists at him. He absorbs every blow against his breast with calm, allowing me to purge the demons that have found a habitat inside me and called it home. When my arms tire and resolve is broken, I collapse against his collarbone, and feel safer than I’ve ever been as Tim’s arms wrap around my shuddering shoulders and bleeding sobs.

  When I finish, wiping eyes with the back of my hand, he doesn’t react. Instead, his arms reach up once more, clasping my shoulders like my birth mother never cared to.

  “I will tell you everything,” he says. “Walk with me.”

  As the question forms on my lips, asking where on Earth there is to walk to, new scenery around me fades in. Rather than the starlit canopy, a massive forest looms behind me. To the front, a giant body of water stretches in all directions, with only a strip of beach to separate the two. All of it is looked over by a blazing object in the sky I initially mistake for a sun, but is a swirling star of sorts.

  “What is this?” I ask, as we begin walking the length of the beach.

  “This is a place that no longer exists,” Tim explains. “It was destroyed shortly before I took this role. But it is where many things became clear to me, so I sought to preserve some iteration of it in the Arcway.”

  “So... this is not that Shroud place you were talking about?”

  Tim chuckles.

  “No, this is merely an illusion. Some people would be unnerved by the initial gateway’s scenery.”

  We come to a mirror on the beach. It is old, held up by two rocks and eroded sand where the object has been leaned. It is tall, like the one near my apartment door, and my eyes are just as averse to meeting their reflection.

  “This will show you everything,” Tim says, “I have been saving it for you.”

  “For me?”

  Tim smiles, but it disappears just as quickly.

  “Perception is a strange beast,” he explains, “The mirror will explain, without interpretation, the chain of events which led me here. In times past, there was a device whereby you might have been able to experience them. Doesn’t matter. Please,” Tim gestures, ”The mirror will answer everything.”

  Looking down at the landscape directly surrounding the object, the terrain has seen all its grains swept away, creating a ring where its gentle dunes should be. Stepping over the shored up sand into a semi circle of bedrock and solid ground, the mirror activates. Its outer edges see luminous cracks form in the twisting metal frame. The center ripples, swallowing my reflection; where glass cast curious expressions at its spectators before, the surface appears like water now.

  Looking into its depths, I forget all about the man who calls himself Death. Hardwick and Royce are driven from my mind, along with Emily Rickard.

  All the answers in the universe are at my disposal, and I am spellbound by them.

  The first thing it shows me is two children- a little boy, and a little girl. I recognize the boy from Los Angeles; it is Tim as a kid. The figures fade, and I am looking at a supermarket, much like the one Emily disappeared from.

  The little girl holds the mother’s hand. The market is busy. Tim argues with his sister, and the mother chastises both of them. She cuts up the cereal aisle, clutching the daughter’s hand.

  She releases the girl; both children wander as she browses the meat counter. The boy goes one way, the girl another. The mirror transitions, and suddenly I am outside the market with them.

  The mother screams, holding the little boy’s hand. Free palm
over her mouth, shrieks pierce the quiet Valencia neighbourhood, further broken by sirens wailing toward them.

  I was right.

  This all has to do with Tim’s sister.

  Before I can turn around to confirm it with him, the mirror transitions again, forcing my attention back to its secrets. I see my guardian angel- as a human being, fully grown in- escort a boy through a forest, meeting several armed men. They welcome him to a town called Haven. Imagery intercuts with visions of a woman screaming on a hospital bed. They come in flashes, intermittent and short-lived every time, before cutting back to the town. Voices pour from the mirror’s surface, manifesting from all directions; over the next few moments, I see everything Tim promised.

  Haven. The Shroud. The Timestream. By the end, I am gifted understanding I’m not sure is entirely wanted. The mirror returns to its natural state; I have no words. Tim appears behind me; looking back at my guardian angel, there is slight guilt for how I have treated him.

  “Why are you showing me all this?” I ask.

  “Because you’ve been asking me for years, Ro. Whether you’ll admit it or not, you have always wanted to know, haven’t you?”

  He’s not wrong.

  I say nothing, because there’s clearly a deeper point here.

  “Like I said, perception is a strange beast. For you have seen me since that day under Maya’s table, when Jeremy was trying to break in and hurt her.”

  “What’s your point?” I ask.

  Tim sighs.

  “When I became Death, inheriting the role from my predecessor, I struggled with the scope of my powers. This is too much for one person to wield, and I can see how boredom and bitterness drove those who came before me to madness.

  “I started thinking about everything which brought me to this point, Ramona. I thought about my sister’s abduction at such a young age, and what happened to those who took her.”

  “So all this has been to avenge her?”

  The man who calls him Death shakes his head.

  “No. It may have started, being about wanting to know. The individual who accompanied me on the journey to this role had a special connection with Grace, and told me the ending to her story.”