"Amos was a real gentleman," said Quincy. "We hit it off. I liked him a lot more than I like you."
I get to my knees, then my feet. "Whatever you say, Quince." I don't have time to deal with his nonsense.
First things first: I can't find the remote control for my bomb.
"Where is it, Quincy?" I walk the area, kicking up sand, looking for the black plastic handheld. "I dropped the remote. Now where is it?"
"Amos took it." Quincy smirked. "He hid it. Said he didn't want you to have it."
Translation: Quincy has it. "Is that so?" As I stomp across the sand, I'm looking forward to giving him another beating.
"Where's the remote?" I haul off and kick him in the gut when I say it. "Give it to me!"
Quincy gasps as he takes the kick. He rolls into a tighter ball, as if that'll save him from more punishment. "Don't have it..."
I drop on him like a vulture and tear through his pockets and folds, patting him down with extreme prejudice. I rough him up along the way as payback for ripping me off.
Just as I'm flipping him on his other side, he opens his big mouth again. "Amos wants out," he says.
"Thanks for passing that along." I find something in his vest pocket, which at first feels like the remote—but turns out to be a cell phone. I whip it against a tombstone, and it flies to pieces.
"Amos said to tell you something else," says Quincy. "About the people in the church."
Suddenly, I stop what I'm doing. I can't believe what I just heard.
"What was that?" I say.
"Those dead people," says Quincy. "Your family and friends. Amos said to tell you it wasn't your fault."
My head spins from the shock of it. How can Quincy possibly know about my visions of the corpse-filled church? I've never told anyone about them. Never said a word outside my own head.
Of course, there's another possibility. "Nice try," I tell him. "You heard me talking in my sleep."
"No," says Quincy. "I was talking to Amos."
"Where's the damn remote?" I get back to searching him. "Give it up!"
"Amos left a sign," says Quincy. "To prove he was here."
"Bullshit." I punch him in the side for emphasis.
"Look at the back of your left arm," says Quincy.
For once, I do what he tells me. I look at my arm.
And the world stops turning.
I see a symbol there, smeared in blood—a question mark with a crossbar. Like a question mark combined with a crucifix.
And I recognize it.
A memory rushes into my mind...long-forgotten yet familiar. I am back in the church again, walking past the pews full of dead, bloody bodies. The statue of Christ on the cross gazes down in silent despair.
On the wall of the church, I see a symbol, painted in dripping crimson: a question mark combined with a crucifix.
Right there in my vision, I see it, and I start to wonder. As crazy as it seems, could Quincy be right about Amos?
CHAPTER 54
"You did the right thing," said Gowdy. "Do you see that now?"
The movie about Abe Stillwagon had ended, and the lights in the cave were back up...but Dunne just stood there as if the movie were still playing.
"Was that really...?" he said.
"Yes," said Gowdy.
"Where is he?" said Dunne. "What prison?"
"Doesn't matter." Gowdy shook his head. "Stillwagon's dead."
"Dead?"
"Executed," said Gowdy. "Last week. He's gone."
Dunne scowled. He was having trouble processing everything, to say the least. "Gone."
"You don't have to be afraid anymore," said Gowdy. "You don't have to tear yourself apart."
Dunne did not answer.
"You did the right thing by not fighting him." Gowdy nodded. "That's what I modified Godseye to tell you. You saved your wife and daughter from pointless suffering."
Still, Dunne remained silent.
Gowdy put a hand on his shoulder. "Nothing you could have done would have saved your family. It's time to let go of the guilt."
Dunne shrugged off Gowdy's hand and turned away. "I don't want to talk about it."
Gowdy stepped in front of him. "I know about the suicide attempts," he said. "I know you were working up the nerve to finish the job."
Dunne glared. He was seized by the urge to punch Gowdy in the face. "That's none of your business."
"You're my son," said Gowdy. "Her son." He gestured at Hannahlee, who was taking care of Lief on the far side of the cave. "We have an interest."
"Just like that?" said Dunne. "After thirty years?"
"After a hundred years," said Gowdy. "After a thousand. We will always be your parents."
"Tearful hugs," said Dunne. "Is that what you want? A life-affirming cathartic cry? Or do you just want me to kiss your ass?"
"None of the above," said Gowdy.
"I mean, shit," said Dunne. "This is a lot to take in. Are you sure you don't have some more incredible secrets to throw my way?"
Gowdy sighed, but he didn't look upset...which just upset Dunne all the more. "As a matter of fact, I do."
"Sorry I asked," said Dunne.
"This is what you need to know," said Gowdy. "I said I'd tell you the true meaning of 'Day 8.'"
Dunne waved dismissively. "I could care less about that at this point."
Gowdy caught Dunne's elbow and locked eyes with him. "They say God created the Earth in six days. On the seventh day, He rested. On Day 8, He turned it over to us.
"That's what this is right now. What it's been for all human history. Day 8." Gowdy tightened his grip on Dunne's elbow. "When humanity took over. When the mistakes started. Day 8 is all about mistakes.
"We need to move on to Day 9," said Gowdy, "when we finally put the mistakes behind us and live up to our potential. When we finally get it right.
"When we do right by the friends we left behind or the children we never knew. When we clean up the messes we let happen in our own back yard. When we forgive ourselves for the mistakes of the past...real or imagined.
"Which would you rather do?" said Gowdy. "Move on to Day 9, or stay stuck in Day 8?"
With that, Gowdy released Dunne's elbow and strode off across the cave to be alone.
In the process, leaving Dunne alone, too.
CHAPTER 55
Barcelona, Spain - November 1976
Fifty white doves are released, one for each year that Gaudí has been dead.
The doves leap above the crowd and thread among my towers, white wings beating against the bright blue sky. Some alight on my ledges and cornices, tiny hearts pounding against chiseled stone. Roving spots of warmth on a chilly day.
Down below, the bishop delivers his address to the masses filling the streets. He talks about how this is the fiftieth anniversary year of Gaudí's death. In honor of that remarkable man, the Passion façade and its towers have been finished. Gaudí's dream of faith and devotion to the Sacred Family lives on.
The crowd roars. Not with rage, as in the Tragic Week or Civil War...but with approval. With appreciation.
It's a sound I love. It accomplishes the very thing I once thought was my purpose in life. It drives away loneliness.
Not that I am often lonely these days. Gaudí is fifty years gone...even Quintana has been dead for a decade...and I have lost track of everyone else who has departed—but new faces continue to take their place. New architects and workmen and artists and tourists and children keep coming. Some even talk to me now and again.
They see me as something out of the ordinary...something grand. Which is what I thought of myself from the start. Humbled by time and death and destruction, I've stopped seeing myself that way...so the people's admiration has a different taste than it once did. Whatever there is about me that might be grand, it has nothing to do with my personal greatness. It is nothing I did.
It is only because of my maker.
When the bishop chants a prayer, he calls Gaudí a saint, an
d rightly so. Only someone so devout and inspired could have put in motion a dream that still lives and grows today. A monument not to his own glorification but to the hope of the world.
It is a privilege to be his creation.
The bishop splashes the doors of my Passion façade with holy water. It makes me think of that night years ago when the mobs splashed me with gasoline. When they set me aflame.
How things have changed.
Did Gaudí foresee all this, I wonder? Was it in his plans from the start, in the parts I couldn't see when they fluttered in the wind? If so, what else was on those pages? What is the fullness of his plan for me? That I shall grow to live up to his vision and help redeem the lost souls of this world?
Or was it only this: to realize, finally, that I can only ever live up to the parts of the vision that I can see. Or understand.
On the ground, the choir begins to sing...voices of varying timbre and pitch weaving together to create a beautiful structure of sound. Then, the crowd in the streets joins in, adding hundreds more voices...thousands...growing grander with each passing second. Turning the structure of sound into a cathedral, the equal in music of my physical form.
It resonates in every window and vault and tomb of me. Echoes and amplifies between my walls. Synchronizes with the secret hum of my mind and bursts skyward in a great harmonic bolt. Straight to the heavens.
I wonder if Gaudí will hear it. If he will recognize it.
Did he plan it all along? Years ago, when I thought I could fly, was it just a premonition of this moment? Intuition of this talent to channel the voice of humankind heavenward?
Or is the actual flying still to come?
My visions of flight from years ago are still strong. To tell the truth, I don't think I ever stopped dreaming about them.
Oh, to rise from my hole in the ground and soar through the air. To explore the far corners of the Earth and bask in its wonders. And when I have seen it all, to rise even higher, climbing past the sun to meet the stars and powers of the night.
How I once wished I could do that.
Now, even if these dreams were merely hints of other destinies to come, how I wish it again.
CHAPTER 56
Hollywood, California - November 1976
"What is the fascination with that cathedral?" Lianna Caprice rolled her eyes and shook her folded hands in a pleading gesture. "Can we please turn the channel?"
Cyrus Gowdy stood in front of the TV, hand hovering near the tuner knob on the top right corner of the set. "It's the Sagrada Família. One of the wonders of modern architecture."
Lianna sighed and got up from the bed. "Cyrus, sweetie." She wrapped her arms around him from behind. "We're missing our show."
"Just one more minute." Gowdy pointed at the screen, where a flock of white doves was flying up around the cathedral's towers. "This year is the fiftieth anniversary of the death of the guy who designed it. Antoni Gaudí."
"Darling," said Lianna. "When I say 'our show,' you know I'm talking about Weeping Willows, right? Which you wrote, produced, and directed, and which I star in? Which is premiering right now on another channel?"
Gowdy smiled at the screen as the camera panned along a peaked roof with pillars like crooked stalactites. "There's the Passion façade. They finished it just in time for the anniversary."
"Fascinating." Lianna said it with heavy sarcasm...then proceeded to reach around Gowdy and twist the tuner knob. She quickly switched three channels up the dial. And stopped.
Instead of the Sagrada Família, the screen was filled with an image of her.
"That's more like it." Without taking her eyes off the screen, Lianna guided Gowdy by the hand to the hotel bed. "Now let's enjoy this."
The two of them in their white terrycloth robes settled against the piled-up pillows. The gray light from the TV danced over their faces as the premiere episode of Weeping Willows flickered across the screen.
There was a shootout, then a love scene involving Lianna, then a commercial. The next segment started with a shouting match in the Team Room at the Willow family's ranch headquarters.
Lianna watched with her arms around Gowdy, her head on his chest. "This is wonderful," she said. "Like a dream come true."
Gowdy kissed the top of her head. "I know."
"Cyrus?" said Lianna. "What made you decide to watch the premiere with me instead of your wife?"
"She's not my muse, is she?" Gowdy caressed her long, red hair. "And she's not my star."
Lianna curled more tightly against him. "Do you think we were meant to be together?"
"It feels that way," said Gowdy.
"When we're old," said Lianna. "Thirty or forty years from now...do you think we'll be together?"
Gowdy cocked his head and stared into space. "Yeah." He grinned and nodded. "I have a feeling we'll be together then."
"So it's all going to work out." Lianna's voice was a purr of satisfaction. "We'll have our happy ending."
"To go with our happy beginning," said Gowdy.
On the TV screen, Lianna and Scott Savage fought a gang of thugs barehanded—and almost won. Lianna and Scott were both captured and dragged away just as the show faded to black and another commercial started.
"I'll be right back." Gowdy slipped away from Lianna, hopped off the bed...and changed the channel on the TV. The commercial was replaced by the Sagrada Família, surrounded by a sea of people bathed in sunlight.
Lianna sighed. "Not again."
"Just a minute, I promise." Gowdy sat on the edge of the bed, transfixed. "Just look at that. Gaudí was a genius, wasn't he?"
Lianna crawled across the bed and knelt behind him, twining her arms around his chest. "You're a genius."
Gowdy shook his head. "I could never create something like that."
"You made Weeping Willows," said Lianna.
"In fifty years..." Gowdy pointed at the screen. "Do you think people will turn out in honor of Weeping Willows? Do you think they'll revere it? Do you think it'll make a difference?" He chuckled. "Not a chance."
"Maybe Weeping Willows will be bigger than you think," said Lianna. "Maybe it will make a difference."
"It's schlock," said Gowdy. "Well-intentioned schlock, but still schlock."
"So make something that matters," said Lianna. "Nobody's stopping you."
Gowdy thought for a moment, then reached for her hand and kissed it. "Maybe you're right. Maybe someday."
Lianna whispered in his ear. "Do it for me."
"Will you help me?" said Gowdy.
"Of course," said Lianna. "We'll do it together."
A montage played on the screen, close-up shots of the cathedral's intricate features. "And what about that?" said Gowdy. "I've always wanted to see it in person."
"That, too," said Lianna.
"We'll see it?" said Gowdy.
"We will," whispered Lianna. "Together. I promise."
CHAPTER 57
Warpath Journal
Dateline: New Justice, New Mexico
The remote control for the bomb around my waist reappears. It floats into view above me as I lie on my back, staring up at the sky.
I've been worrying about what Quincy said about Amish Amos talking through me. The symbol I drew on the back of my arm—a question mark combined with a crucifix—matches the one on the wall of the bloody church in my vision.
But the bomb remote takes my mind off all that. I thought Quincy had taken it while I was blacked out.
But it's Jeremiah Weed who's dangling it over me.
"I'm done waiting," says Weed. "Get 'em up here now, or I'll push the button."
He gets my attention.
Weed makes some more threats, but I just lie on the ground a minute more, thinking things over. One problem still stands in the way of my plan, and its name is "Knox," as in "Knox won't come out and play."
The good news is, I have an idea for turning him up.
With Weed still standing over me, I toss and groan in the dirt.
I roll my head from side to side and make my eyes flutter like I'm having a seizure.
Weed backs up fast. Probably thinks I'm going to try to jump him. "Settle down, War!" He waves the bomb remote. "I swear, I'll push it!"
"I'm not War." I roll my eyes back so only the whites are showing. "My name is Amos."
"What the fuck?" says Weed.
With my eyes still rolled up to the whites, I flop my head to one side so Quincy can see my face. "Quincy?" I make my voice a little higher, though it's only a guess at what "Amos" sounded like. "Quincy, it's me. I'm in control again."
Quincy says nothing for a minute. And then he speaks.
"Amo-o-o-s?" His voice is a ghostly moan. "I'm ba-a-a-ck."
And I know I've got him. What I couldn't accomplish by kicking his ass, I made happen through trickery.
Knox Pittenger has returned.
Now to put him to good use. "Come with me, Knox." I get to my feet and then help him get to his. "It's time to go fishing."
"He's caught something," said Hannahlee. "His side's infected."
She gave Dunne and Gowdy a look at the sewn-up wound in Leif's side, which was oozing between the stitches. "We need to get him out of here."
Gowdy's hands jittered as he fiddled with the ruby frames of his glasses. "How soon?"
"ASAP." Hannahlee shot him a look, then bent to affix a fresh dressing to Leif's wound. "Unless you've got a stock of I.V. antibiotics on hand down here."
Gowdy shook his head. "I guess we'd better get moving."
"Hold on." It was the first thing Dunne had said in a while. He was still shell-shocked from Gowdy's Godseye blitz of information, not sure if he was more pissed off at Gowdy and Hannahlee for keeping secrets or revealing them...but his personal turmoil would have to wait. "Does the exit lead to Waystation Cemetery, like on the show?"
Gowdy looked relieved that Dunne was talking again. "Yes, it does. The cemetery's right above us."
Day 9 Page 25