Entanglement

by Drue M Scott

  Mikale’s weight steadily pulled on any energy Mathieu had stored. His hair, drenched in sweat, appeared a darker shade of black. He could barely maintain his balance as they approached the far north wall; I hope it’s the right corner. Slouching over, there was nothing left; keeping Mikale on his shoulders had reached its breaking point. His phone rang.

  “Follow wall to closet next to laundry machines, hold.”

  Mathieu sighed, “I guess I have to find more.”

  “There’s an old drop chute. Breaking lock to it now.”

  And how the fuck are you supposed to climb out of a goddamn laundry chute? Asking the question of his comatose patient, Mathieu understood the demand was just as much meant for him. “Guess we have to try.”

  The static of a police radio clicked, and Mathieu’s heart dropped. Guess our good luck has come to an end. The door was mere inches away but it was padlocked. Breaking it would draw attention and picking it was going to take more time than they had. Merde! Gently placing the weight of his grip on the door knob, it creaked opened. Are you fucking kidding me right now? The closest thing he could remember to being joy washed over him. Stepping carefully into the closet and gently closing the door behind them, Mathieu noticed a light filtering in from the laundry drop. Setting Mikale down, the shedding of his weight felt like the world had been removed from his shoulders, Mathieu ran over to the small rectangular hole.

  “Hello?” His voice just above a whisper echoed metallically against the scuffed up rusted walls of the laundry tunnel. “You there?”

  “Yes,” real_soul22’s response came just as his silhouette blocked most of the light entering the small angled tube. “Push your companion up I will grab him.”

  The voice, bouncing irregularly in the long unused laundry drop, struck Mathieu as familiar. It was a voice he knew; reality and the tricks the old metal played assured him he was mistaken. Hesitancy still stirred within him, but it wasn’t enough to slow him any further than the question of where he knew the voice from already had. They needed to escape, and this was the only viable option. Grabbing Mikale and laying him on his back in the tube required far more effort than he thought it would and nearly caused Mathieu to fall over. Catching himself and thankfully saving Mikale from plummeting out of their escape hatch, Mathieu knocked over a rusty old shelving unit. The noise was certain to be heard, but the luck that it fell bracing the door closed was just one more indication that maybe his views on coincidental good fortune were wrong.

  “Hurry,” Grabbing Mikale by his shoulders and pulling him free of the small chute, real_soul22 snapped. “They’ll be on us soon.”

  Climbing into the brown decaying tunnel, slivered pieces of the rotting metal embedded themselves into his palms. The pain made him want to yell, the determination made him want to move faster, but the desire to be free of this situation was the only thing that gave him strength enough to succeed. Each labored movement in the confines of the chute brought their rescuer into focus. His voice was easily placed with his form. There was no way it was possible, but the truth of it was unmistakable now. Tumbling free of the old laundry drop, Mathieu speedily rose to his feet and snagged the man in a head-lock. Mikale lay unconscious on his back but appeared safe, and Mathieu had to gain control of the situation.

  “Whoa, hold on, Mattie. Don’t do anything rash.”

  “Rash? You mean like handing my best friend over to a murder? That kind of rash?” Securing his grip tighter, Mathieu kicked the other man’s feet out from under him. Crashing to the ground, he wrestled them into a position where he could easily snap a neck if he had to. “We are way beyond rash, Lucas.” The name soured in his mouth, and he felt the need to spit. “You have two seconds to tell me what the fuck is going on.”

  “Mattie, hold on.” Lucas did not fight or struggle under Mathieu’s grip. “We’ve not two seconds to spare.” Tapping his hand to Mathieu’s leg in a gesture of giving up, Lucas calmly continued. “The police or worse will be on top of us in moments.” His voice was quiet and urgent. “My car is just there behind the trees, and I have a safe place not four miles from here.”

  “And why should I trust you?”

  “You shouldn’t. But let me prove to you that you can.”

  “So help me god, Lucas, if this is a trick, if either of us is hurt, I will fucking rip your goddamn head off with my bare fucking hands.”

  “And I’ve no doubt that you will.” Patting Mathieu’s arm near his shoulder, Lucas let out a half groan partial laugh. “And clearly you are capable.”

  “Fuck off.” Pushing his once best friend from him, they both quickly rose to their feet.

  “I’ve got your friend. Here are the keys.” Tossing a set of old Ford keys, Lucas lifted Mikale propping him on his shoulder. “I’m right behind you.”

  ##

  Opening his eyes slowly, Sergei pondered his reality. I died. There were no feelings of pain, no anxiety, nothing outside of complete bliss. The brightness that had drowned out discernable sight at first, slowly faded. He was comfortably warm despite clearly remembering how cold he was as the darkness overtook him. People, with unrecognizable features, hustled around him but never touched him. They moved as water rushing around an island; he was that island. Joy Division’s “Dead Souls,” one of his favorite songs by the band, played faintly in the background, but all other sound was gone, except for his own breathing. Where am I?

  “Great choice of music, man.” Vevila popped up beside him seemingly from nowhere. “I knew I liked you for a reason.” Her hair was drawn back showing off her purple roots and the plethora of varying earrings that adorned both ears. Her comfortably worn, black T was the same Joy Division shirt he coveted in his closet back home. “I bet you’re pretty confused right now, huh?” Slapping him firmly on the back, she laughed.

  “Um… I,” Sergei had no idea where he should start or how he should start speaking. “Yeah?”

  “Malachi can explain it better, but we died.” Nonchalantly declaring the lack of physical life, Vevila smiled and took Sergei by the hand. “Come over here.” Tugging him to the red brick wall to their right, she bounced. It was far from the personality Sergei thought matched the life-force that had shared his body so recently. As they moved, the crowds of people molded around them, but otherwise ignored their presence.

  “How are you here? Why didn’t you take my energy?” Sergei swore he was speaking in haste, but his words sounded slow and thoughtful to him. The room around them felt small. The brick walls and concrete floors were stained. Flashing lights matched the rhythm of the music, and though no other sound really broke past their conversation, other than his favorite song, he swore the people were cheering gleefully. “You should have saved yourself.”

  “Our souls were connected. I took a chance that maybe yours would not fracture if I remained with you.” Vevila’s smile was so friendly Sergei couldn’t help but grin in response. “The fact is you didn’t deserve to die the way you did, and it was clearly my fault that you…” she paused to think about her word choice, “…did.” Dropping her shoulders dissatisfied with how she sounded, Vevila sighed.

  “But, what about Mathieu and Mikale?” Sergei turned away to look out into the crowd. “We’re in a night club.” The statement almost felt like a question to him. “Where are we?”

  “A.D.D. much?” Vevila laughed. “Yes, we’re in a night club, and the greatest band of all time is on stage.” Unbridled joy colored her words, and her voice carried that joy effortlessly into Sergei’s soul.

  “I don’t understand. Your friend Stewart and that asshole Jacob.” The concern he knew he should feel wasn’t actually present.

  “It’s all good. Do not worry your mind about the past.” Lighting a cigarette, she nonchalantly stated. “Thank you, by the way, for offering me your power.” Taking a long drag on the smoke, she thumbed it dropping ash. It disappeared before reaching the floor.

  “You would’ve done the same.”

  “Are you two r
eady?” Malachi paced towards them in the crowd. All the faceless people moving around him were blurry; he was in sharp focus. Sergei took note that his figure was strong, and he had long hair. His attire appeared similar to Vevila; they were concert goers in the early ‘80’s new wave/punk era. Tattered jeans, tight enough to show more than Sergei was comfortable seeing, and an Anarchy T loosely fit but still flattering, appeared perfectly in place. “It’s time to go.” His spiked hair and colored roots angled his face in a way that seemed unreal.

  “Go where?” Sergei stepped forward meeting Malachi in the crowd.

  “I would have thought by now you would have figured that out.” Malachi smiled placing his hands on Sergei’s shoulders. “Back to Earth.” Drawing the confused man in tighter to him, he whispered. “You are both headed back; your parts have been played.”

  “But?” Though he knew he was anxious about what occurred, no sense of that anxiousness plagued him. He knew his thoughts and concerns were important, but the stress that he was sure he should have felt was absent. “The balance, the fight, Mikale, Stewart.”

  “Do not unnecessarily hold on to things of the past. What lies before you is far more interesting.” Malachi glided them away from the crowd over to Vevila. Reaching out, he gestured for a share of her smoke. “That time is over.”

  Peace, and the acceptance of it, flooded Sergei’s being. There was no comparison to it on Earth. “Is this heaven?” He questioned as he watched Malachi exhale a ring of smoke that was supernaturally perfect. It floated upward, shifting its shape into the lyrics being sung by the raging band on stage behind them.

  “This is the place you needed it to be and I the guide to be certain you saw it.” Handing the Marlboro Red back to Vevila, Malachi raised the right corner of his lips in a partial grin.

  “A concert?” Sergei quickly inquired.

  “A passing point.”

  The warmest and brightest light Sergei could imagine blinded him and numbed his other senses. As speedily as they had appeared, Malachi and Vevila were gone. The music had stopped; his whole world ceased to move, but he was not dead. The light which engulfed him lessened. It steadily gave way to darkness. It held no fear or malice within it though. It was void. No confusion, no discomfort, no loss, it was a blank page simply waiting to have the future written on it. A sudden chill ran through his body, and he could hear crying. The loudest cry he had ever known; it was a baby. His sight slowly returned, but nothing was in focus. The crying continued. His breathing felt shallow and uncomfortable; like breathing in too deeply when it’s freezing outside. He was moving in an unfamiliar environment by hands that held him softly. He was crying. I am crying? Nothing made sense to him, but nothing frightened him either. He heard voices, but he could not see from where they came. A man spoke, his voice was deep, and Sergei could feel it vibrate in his ears. A woman’s voice became clearer; it was the most beautiful voice he had ever heard. It was the angels singing to him. Still, he cried. Blurry vision slowly gave way to reveal the angel before him. She was god and heaven and all the good things he could ever remember. Her blue eyes cried, but she smiled. He could feel her heart beat within his whole body. I am laid upon her chest? Ease washed over him. Every thought, every memory, every feeling before this moment faded into nothing. There was only the warm heartbeat of his angel, her voice, and her magical face of beauty. The crying stopped.

  “Hello,” the angel spoke. “I love you, Daniella Lynn Warner.”

  “She loves me.” Everything of who Sergei once was disappeared.

  “Mommy Loves You.”

  ##

  Morning began to whisper its warm light through the trees and into the cabin—if a shack of old wood and boarded up windows could be called a cabin. Lucas hadn’t lied about the distance from the hospital to his make-shift safehouse, but Mathieu didn’t feel any comfort in it. Dusty and wreaking of mildew, the decrepit, one-bedroom shack was well guarded by trees and a long winding dirt driveway. It had plenty of good vantage points to see anyone who approached if you could manage a line of sight between the damp 2x4’s that were nailed over more than half the windows. The door didn’t lock, and the floors creaked with every step, but the woodstove and fireplace set opposite it, made for a warm environment if nothing else. It wasn’t necessarily cold, but the wet Northwest climate seeped into his bones. Mathieu was thankful for a place to lay Mikale as they waited for him to wake up. Approaching the 25th hour since Malachi healed him, Mikale was still motionless and not a word or peak in energy had been felt from Stewart either. Hope that Malachi had made it to them in time began to wane. Turning his angst about the situation back on Lucas, he paced over heavily, causing the floor to protest, and snatched up his ex-best friend by the arm.

  “You have a great deal of explaining to do,” Mathieu shouted. His raging anger further emphasized his lack of concern for the volume of his voice. “Starting with, why in the name of fuck’s sake should I not kill you right now?” Strong-arming Lucas into the bedroom, which smelled even worse than the living area, Mathieu swung the other man to the wall.

  Lucas hit it hard enough to send debris down upon both their heads. He raised his hands in defense but made no gesture of offense. “I’ve followed you since Paris. I… I kept track of everything you were doing. I even studied what you researched and learned everything I could about Jacob and fractured souls and…”

  “And nothing. That doesn’t give me reason enough to not choke the fucking life from you right now.” Mathieu’s anger visibly swelled within him. His face became red, and his muscles tensed readying themselves for an attack.

  “I’m sorry, ok.” Lucas dropped his hands. His shoulders followed suit in a defeated posture of uncomfortable acceptance. Regardless of what Mathieu might do, he swore to himself that he would not fight back. The sorrow that overwhelmed him made it impossible to do so even if he had wanted to. “I didn’t know what I was doing. I thought maybe I could somehow control the situation. I… I don’t know what I thought.” Tears swelled in his eyes. “I love you, okay?” Breaking down, Lucas fell forward into Mathieu.

  “No!” Mathieu moved allowing Lucas to hit the floor. “You don’t get to love me. You don’t get to love anyone.” Turning, he took two full steps away from Lucas towards the opposite wall. “Aiden is dead because of you.” The memory angered him and tortured him with sorrow, simultaneously. “Do you not understand the pain you’ve caused? The nightmare I have endured since that…” Unable to finish Mathieu spun back around, jerked Lucas up from the floor, and set both his hands to the other man’s throat. “Do you know what you’ve done?” Screaming, he increased his pressure. Lucas’ face became red. Blinded by hate, he squeezed tighter; Lucas remained limp under his grip. “I fucking hate you!” Mathieu began to cry as he forced Lucas to the floor. “I wish you were dead and not him.” Choking under the hate and pain, he felt more tears streamed down his face.

  Lucas’ eyes twitched back and forth. Everything in him screamed “self-preservation”, but he was not going to stop Mathieu. He believed he was worthy of nothing less than death.

  “I fucking hate you.” Tears pouring from Mathieu fell and mixed with the tears of his old friend.

  “I love you,” Lucas strained the words out.

  “Liar!” Mathieu began pounding Lucas against the wood plank floor. “LIAR!” With each assault on the target of his indignation, Mathieu could feel the life he was threatening slip away. “Goddamn you, Goddamn you to hell!” Lucas fell limper than he had already been under Mathieu’s grip. Sudden regret tore at Mathieu’s soul. Letting go, he fell to Lucas’ side and cried uncontrollably. “Why?”

  Lucas did not respond.

  Starring up at the ceiling, tin siding, and plywood, Mathieu tried to focus; his sight blurred with his tears. His heart mourned, his soul grieved, his anger dissented, but his mind knew that Lucas regretted what had happened. “Lucas?” He questioned between the tears that choked his breath.

  Still no response.
/>   “Lucas?” Mathieu rolled to his side and propped himself on one elbow to look over at his friend. “Hey.” Nudging him with his free hand, Mathieu felt panic begin to stir. “Hey!” Shaking him gently at first, followed by a stronger more jolting shove, his panic leapt into full-on alarm. Contorting his body up from the floor and onto his knees, Mathieu frantically searched for a pulse. There was none. “Fuck!” Tilting Lucas’ head back to open his airway, Mathieu immediately started chest compressions. Each downward thrust, he noticed the bruises he had left upon Lucas’ throat. “What have I done?” Counting to himself, he moved to do mouth-to-mouth. “Breathe, goddamnit, breathe!” Back to compressions. Blinding fear blanketed his thoughts and clouded his sight; the horror of what he had done began to sink in. “I’m sorry.” The words felt inadequate; they were. “I. AM. SORRY!”

  A bright blue flash bolted from his hands and entered Lucas. Every emotion Mathieu had ever felt towards his friend flooded out and poured down into Lucas’ heart. Bright sparks of light bounced throughout the room as Mathieu began to convulse. A thunderous boom, shaking the walls and dislodging several of the poorly hung 2x4’s, erupted from their connection. Lucas shot upright faster than the lightning dancing in his chest; Mathieu fell limp with a heavy exhale and hard thud to the floor.