Forgiven

by Gina Detwiler

  As the music builds, figures emerge from the curtained area below the screen—dancers in white coats with zombie-like expressions. They march in lock-step, curve around Shiva, and form three lines before the audience. The music stops and a drum—part ritual, part militaristic—beats loudly as the dancers separate. They fling their coats off to reveal skin-colored bodysuits so they appear to be naked. The drumming intensifies as the dancers move to its rhythm—they gyrate wildly, flinging themselves in a frenzy like protons in an atom. More dancers emerge from the curtains wearing black masks and flapping huge white wings. They surround the naked dancers as if they are attacking them, cover them with their wings, and some of them perform mock sexual acts.

  Soon the “angels” and the naked dancers form a huge, writhing cluster. Out of their midst is launched a man wearing a costume of white fur with horns on his head. This man is Darwin Speer—except it isn’t. It is a very tall, muscular dancer with a shock of white hair, his face painted to look like a skull. He is carried forth by the mass of dancers, human and angel, his arms spread wide. The audience erupts into cheers. The Speer character is placed before the statue of Shiva, and all the dancers bow down to him. One of them throws a white robe over his shoulders. They begin to chant “La roi du mode est ici!” over and over.

  The king of the world is here.

  The music builds as the dancers seem to tear each other apart in ecstasy. Giants appear from behind the screen, walking on stilts with goat horns attached to their heads. Some of the angel dancers are raised on harnesses so they appear to be flying.

  The ceremony ends with a crash of symbols and the entire company, all but Speer the goat-god, fall to the ground as if dead.

  The audience erupts into a standing ovation that lasts several minutes.

  “What does it mean?” I ask Uriel.

  “It means Darwin Speer has made himself a god. And this collider is his stairway to heaven.”

  50: Castle

  Grace

  We drive for over two hours. I try to peek beneath the bottom of the blindfold like we used to do in second grade playing Pin the Tail on the Donkey. Blindfolds are really stupid. They should have used a bag. Don’t these people know I’m an old pro at being kidnapped?

  Not that I see anything except grass and trees and distant mountains. My vision becomes increasingly blurry, so attempting to focus makes my head throb. I keep touching the back of my skull, sure there’s a big crack there and my brains might be falling out.

  “I need to go to the bathroom,” I announce as loudly as I can. There’s no response from the front seat.

  I seriously do have to pee, on top of everything.

  Vaguely, I wonder why I’m not more scared. Is it the result of being hit so hard that I can’t even process my situation rationally? Or my belief that I am still in the dream and I will wake up before I am actually killed?

  The car picks up speed around curves. My stomach roils and I put a hand over my mouth to keep from throwing up.

  “Are you okay?” Jared asks for the seventh or eighth time.

  No, definitely not.

  “Sure.”

  Only a week ago, we celebrated our wedding in a little stone chapel in the woods. There’d been cake and Loganberry and dancing. And I had started to think everything would be okay.

  Little Mis-Fortune.

  The car starts to climb, taking several curvy switchbacks. Just when I can’t hold the nausea anymore, the vehicle comes to a stop. Our door opens and someone hauls me out of the car. The air feels blessedly cool. My head spins and I lean on the car for support.

  “Welcome, Jared. Grace. You can take those off now,” says a German-accented female voice I remember all too well.

  I take the blindfold off. High stone walls with medieval towers surround us. It’s a castle courtyard. Normally, I would find it pretty cool.

  “Wow, a castle,” I say. “Good for you, Lucille. You’re a true evil queen now.”

  She raises one eyebrow.

  “She’s injured,” Jared says.

  The woman gives me a last, withering look. “We will have her examined.”

  I don’t like the sound of that. She gestures for us to follow her. I hang onto Jared as we walk, and struggle to not throw up all over Lucille’s shiny shoes.

  She approaches a massive door and two guards in black military outfits swing it open. We find ourselves in a vast medieval foyer lined with suits of armor and colorful shields.

  Darwin Speer stands among them.

  “Jared! Grace! Welcome to the Ark!”

  He wears blue jeans and a black turtleneck. He looks thinner than the recent magazine covers, hollow-cheeked and pale. His white hair is streaked with black. Something is clearly wrong with him.

  We follow him into another large room furnished with couches and tables but equally medieval. Not a single modern convenience in sight, only stone and wood and candlelit chandeliers.

  I wonder if this castle has a modern bathroom because I really need one.

  “I’m really sorry about the way this all went down,” Speer says. “I know you’ve had a long night. Do you want to eat and get some sleep first? Whatever you want to do.”

  I don’t get this guy. He nearly took out an entire city to find Jared and force him back to Switzerland, and now, he acts like the genial host? He must be totally deranged.

  “Bathroom,” I blurt. Even saying the word makes my head shatter.

  “Grace has a concussion,” Jared says. “She needs attention.”

  “What? Oh, gee, I’m sorry about that.” Speer speaks into his watch like a super spy. “Owen, can you come up? We have a situation.”

  Owen appears instantly. He is the attendant with the baby face and slick haircut I remember from the yacht.

  “Can you take Miss Fortune to the restroom? And then the clinic. Have her checked out.”

  “I’m staying here,” I say and lean heavily on Jared.

  “No, you need to go,” Jared’s voice is firm, and he removes my hand from his arm. “I’ll see you later. Promise.”

  I hate his brusqueness and how he practically pushes me away. But I do really have to go.

  “Follow me, Miss Fortune,” Owen says.

  “It’s Mrs. Lorn,” I snap.

  “What?” says Speer. “You two? Well, congratulations! We’ll have some champagne and celebrate when you’re feeling better.”

  Seriously?

  “We don’t drink champagne,” I say as Owen leads me away. I strain toward Jared, but he doesn’t look at me. His eyes are locked on Speer.

  We pass through several more grand, medieval rooms and then to a set of stone stairs. I have to stop on almost every step as the act of stepping down makes my brain slosh around in my skull. Owen waits patiently.

  At the bottom, he swipes a badge to unlock a large, modern, steel door. He opens it and gestures for me to enter first.

  The hallway is dimly lit with actual electric lights. Owen points to a door marked with a WC sign. “Can you manage alone?”

  “Of course.” I wrench away from him, and grab the wall to keep from falling.

  I get through the door and shut it but there’s no lock. The bathroom is modern, thankfully—I was afraid I’d find only a chamber pot. I take care of my business, despite the gradual darkening of my vision and the way my blood seems to flood my temples like a tsunami. When I open the door, Owen is standing there with a pleasant smile on his face. He has something in his hand I can’t quite see.

  “I need to…lie down.”

  That’s the last thing I remember.

  51: Mercy

  Jared

  “Do you mind if I have a drink?”

  Speer looks terrible. His skin is splotchy although he has tried to cover it with the turtleneck and what looks like makeup. He’s jittery too, reminding me of Lester Crow in withdrawal. His eyes are a dull gray as if they have been drained of color.

  He goes to his bar and pours himself a large glass of
whiskey.

  “How did you do it this time?” I ask. “The EMP.”

  “Pretty cool, huh? It’s called CHAMP. A non-nuclear device currently in its testing phase by the United States government.”

  “You stole a government weapon?”

  “I didn’t need to. The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs is in the Group. We’ve become buddies, as you Americans say.”

  “And a client?”

  “It seemed like a fair trade.” He downs the glass and pours another. “After you ditched me in Iceland and Norway…well, I had to figure out a new way to draw you out. This was the perfect solution to achieve my goal without any loss of life. I hoped that would make you happy, at least.”

  “Except for all the destruction you caused. What were you thinking, using Rael for this?”

  “Don’t worry—he’s been contained. Anyway, I can’t be held responsible. Collateral damage. It happens.” He takes another gulp of whiskey. “Man, you really had me going. How did you get out of Norway, anyway?”

  “I’m here,” I say. “What do you want?”

  Speer sits in a chair. He crosses and then uncrosses his legs, drinks some more, and wipes sweat from his brow.

  “I seem to have a glitch or something.” His voice thickens like he’s having trouble forming the words. “I did more tests. There’s no evidence that the Huntington’s has come back. It’s just…I don’t know. Doctors can’t figure it out.” He swallows the rest of his drink. “I need to know, Jared. What are you?”

  “You’ve seen Rael. That’s what I am. That’s what you are too, now.”

  “No.” He shakes his head. “No, there has to be something I missed.”

  I take a breath. “How many people have already had the treatment?”

  “Not many. A few dozen. But there will be many more very soon.” He jumps up and goes to refill his glass, talking fast. “That’s why I need to get more blood. Our lab experiments show that new infusions alleviate the negative symptoms in mice. But we can’t make the serum fast enough, and we can’t replicate the strands. I tried extracting from Rael, but his strands are too corrupted. The mice merely turn into zombies. Look, I’m sorry for doing it like this but you didn’t give me a choice. You disappeared.”

  “You never intended to let me go, did you? The whole thing with stealing my passport and pretending to get a new one—that was all lies.”

  “No, no! It was only a delaying tactic. Admittedly, a little crude. I wanted you to stay with me until we’d finished the serum to make sure it worked. But then you…look. The State of California will approve my treatment for use in a matter of weeks. We have doctors from California and all over the world here learning how to perform the procedure. What did you expect? I had to find you.”

  I sigh. “I guess neither of us has much of a choice.”

  Owen appears in the archway. “Sir?”

  “What?” Speer snaps.

  Owen glances at me. “The girl…fainted. We took her into medical. The doctor says she will be fine but she’s very dehydrated and has a severe concussion—”

  “I want to see her,” I say.

  “Don’t worry, Jared, we’ll take good care of your wife.” Speer downs his third drink. He chuckles.

  The anger comes in a rush, overwhelming any shred of sense. I lunge for him and knock him back against the bar. His glass flies free and I punch him in the face. He falls to the floor and covers his face with his hands. Blood pours from his nose and drips onto his shirt. I tackle him and tear at his clothes, lost in a rampage.

  Shouting and scuffling ensues. Hands pull me away but I flick them off easily. In the next moment, there is the familiar prick in my neck. I let go and drop to the floor.

  “Take him…” Speer says, choking on blood. Two men haul me to my feet. My strength runs out of me like air from my lungs. I tuck the piece of Speer’s shirt in the waistband of my jeans before I lose the ability to move at all.

  ***

  I awaken strapped to a gurney. A thick steel collar rims my neck. Manacles on my arms and legs are attached to chains anchored into the floor.

  A bright light shines in my eyes. It’s then blocked by the face of Len Wilder staring down at me.

  “Welcome back, Jared. Good to see you again. Although I did hope we wouldn’t have to do it this way.” He sighs as if he’s disappointed. “I’m not sure what you were trying to prove by attacking Darwin.”

  “I’m a Nephilim,” I say. “I can’t control myself.”

  “I suppose that’s true.” He straps the tourniquet on, swabs my arm, and sticks the needle in. I wince at his roughness.

  “I want to see my wife.”

  “I’m afraid that won’t be possible for a while. But we are taking good care of her. Please don’t make trouble. The sooner we get what we need, the sooner you can be reunited with her. Assuming Darwin allows it. We thought you’d killed him.”

  If I wanted to kill him, he’d be dead.

  I grit my teeth and ball my fists as I struggle against myself. Everything in me is ready to explode. I lie still as the blood drains from me. One bag, then two. He should stop, but he keeps going. Three…four…six. Half the blood in my body. Either he’s trying to weaken me so I can’t fight or escape, or Speer is so desperate for more blood that he doesn’t care what danger he puts me in.

  When the doctor is finished, the guards unhook the chains and all four of them lead me out of the room. They practically have to carry me, I’m so weak from loss of blood. They bring me down a long hallway to another set of stairs and we descend further underground. The air grows cool.

  We arrive at a dark, musty-smelling space, lit by a single red-tinged light bulb. I blink, my eyes adjusting, my vision blurred from loss of blood. Iron rings are embedded in the dank stone wall, dripping with mildew. A ledge juts from the wall on which lies a thin blanket. A bucket stands in the corner.

  A dungeon.

  The guards drag me across the dirt floor and attach my chains to the rings. The chains are long enough that I can lie down or stand, but I can’t move more than two feet in any direction. They helpfully move the bucket within my reach.

  “Let’s see if he can get out of this,” one of them says in French.

  “I can’t wait for him to try.”

  They laugh and head up the stairs. The steel door slams with one final, damning echo.

  52: Awaken

  Grace

  I don’t know where I am.

  Pain jackknifes through my skull and I remember.

  Jared.

  I left him with Speer. Where is he? I see him in my mind in some Frankenstein-like laboratory, hooked up to machines, screaming as bolts of electricity run through his body.

  I need to get up and find him, but I can’t move.

  My body doesn’t seem to be connected to my brain. Am I awake or asleep? Alive or dead?

  I glance down and notice my left hand resting on my stomach. I focus on one finger until it flinches. Then the others, one by one. Finally, my hand. I raise it to form a fist.

  Okay, so I can move.

  A fancy, red-velvet canopy hangs over my head, like the kind on old-fashioned beds. A wooden chair with velvet padding and gold trim sits nearby. Beyond that, a tapestry hangs on a whitewashed stone wall. The window is tall but narrow and the room is circular.

  It’s like the tower of the castle.

  Ralph would love this place. It’s definitely old-school—Dark Ages-school.

  It takes a while to rise to a sitting position. Every time I move, my brain slams into my skull. I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and wait for the nausea to pass. A glass of water and a bottle of Tylenol sit on the bedside table. The bottle contains two tablets. I take them both. That won’t even make a dent, but it’s better than nothing.

  When the room finally settles, I straighten and look around in search of a door.

  There isn’t one.

  I’m locked in a tower like Rapunzel, except without the cool hair. />
  I feel for the bracelet—it’s still on my wrist. Can you find me, Ralph? Probably not, since the power is most likely still out in Buffalo, even if the bracelet worked at this range. Does anyone know where we are?

  Someone knows.

  Ariel knows.

  God knows.

  Get us out of here, I whisper. I try to stand. The room spins and spins and I drop back to the bed, my head between my knees.

  A loud, scraping noise comes from under the floor. I jerk upright. A trap door opens in the floor and a tall man in a white coat appears like the devil emerging from the underworld.

  “Ah! You’re awake.”

  He hoists himself up from a ladder and approaches me. He’s smiling, but his eyes are beady and intent. “I’m Doctor Wilder.” He takes something from his pocket and I tense. A gun? A needle?

  No, a flashlight.

  “Grace, right?”

  I don’t bother answering. He shines the light in my eyes. I squint and see red.

  “Can you tell me what month it is?” he asks.

  “Uh…May.”

  “Good. And where do you live?”

  “Buffalo.”

  “Do you know where you are now?”

  “I’m being held prisoner in the castle of an evil ogre.”

  “Ha-ha. Good. Your memory seems fine. Are you experiencing dizziness? Nausea? Headaches?”

  “Yes.”

  “That should ease in time. What you need is rest and fluids. No strenuous movement for a while.”

  “This Tylenol won’t cut it.”

  “Ibuprofen will be more upsetting to your stomach.”

  “Where’s Jared?”

  “Jared is fine.”

  “I want to see him.”

  “That won’t be possible right now. You should know, he attacked Mr. Speer and almost killed him.”

  “What?” The shock of this hurts worse than the headache.

  “Yes, we’ve had to…secure him. Thankfully, Mr. Speer got away with only a broken nose. It could have been far worse.”