Discovering Normal

by Cynthia Henry

  Whew.

  Beth bolted, but had no idea where Chris was; where a deranged maniac would keep him. “Deej,” she breathed, more for herself and the contact of it than with any real expectation that he’d be there with an answer.

  Without warning, a group of white shrouded women appeared around a corner, holding baskets laden with fruit, chanting and staring straight ahead. They passed her without so much as a glance. A little girl was gripped firmly by her mother. She turned back as they passed and gave Beth a sad smile. Just as quickly they disappeared around a corner.

  Time was ticking; Beth could almost hear the grains of sand dripping through an hourglass. It was up to her. She couldn’t think about her odds dwindling with each crystal that fell. She ran in the opposite direction of her earlier outing since she’d covered most of that area previously and there was no sign of him. She thought of the layout of the west turret as she darted. She’d spotted a stairwell not far from the one that led up. Perhaps they’d taken him by way of that. It was close and probably far easier than trying to lug a resistant prisoner clear across a medieval fortress. Beth paused and calculated. Her mind whirled until she made sense of the best route to lead her up and around and back to that general area without retracing steps. She bolted with her hand covering her weapon just in case.

  She’d made it through two separate corridors when it happened.

  The descending of devoted thugs.

  “Halt!” one actually called out and she waited for the, ‘Who goes there?’

  Beth spun, but only to find three more behind her. “Deej,” she whispered to no avail and then there was nothing left to do. She spun, gave a mighty kick to the jaw of the biggest who was unbalanced enough to topple against the one behind him, both falling to the floor in a heap. The third lifted a carbine, but Beth, who was trained by the best of the best, snagged hers, fired a shot through the hand nearest the trigger. He yelped, but was only wounded as was her plan.

  Startled, the original three poised their guns, but hesitated and she caught it. They were instructed to take her kicking and screaming if need be, but not harmed.

  Bryan Holden wanted to do the honor himself.

  Sneaky and in no way fighting fair, Beth aimed and took out three hands--for some reason she’d always been a crack shot when it came to trigger fingers--one right after the other. Blood oozed amongst cries of the surprised brainwashed as she spun and bolted, not knowing where she was going, but figuring it out as she went.

  She approached the hoard of women she’d seen earlier who most certainly had heard the nearby shots, but kept on walking, chanting. She thought briefly of grabbing one, getting her submissive little neck in a headlock and threatening with the still smoking gun, but the little girl, not much older than Audrey and the only one who seemed to notice her at all, looked questioning. Beth trotted on, said a silent ‘I’m sorry,’ to Chris just in case they may have been the key to his location and tried to think.

  Mercifully she heard a crackle from her microphone. She ducked into a deserted corridor and realized quickly it was some sort of gallery. Spooky and dull eyes followed her every move. “Deej?”

  “It’s George. We heard shots.”

  “It was me. I’m fine though.”

  “They fired?”

  “No, I’m in the corridor. Joanna King knows…it’s a long story, but they’re on to me. I fired, but aimed for their hands.”

  “Good girl,” George said with a smile in his voice.

  Beth squeezed her eyes and tried not to remember Chris giving her the tip. Hands will hurt like hell, knees will maim, but the bad guy would still be living to testify. She’d never forgotten it.

  “We’re coming in, Bethie. We have some good backup and will be moving within the hour. I think you should know the press got wind of it. CNN cameras are at the gate. It’s over. One way or another it’s over.”

  “I have to find him.”

  “Beth--”

  “I’m not stopping now, George.”

  He sighed and Deej came on the line. “Any idea where he is, Bethie?”

  “That’s the problem. This place is enormous. I thought maybe Joanna King would help me, but she blew me in instead.”

  “Dungeon.”

  Beth struggled to hear the distant word. “What?”

  “Dungeon. They’re medieval in structure. They probably threw him in a dungeon. Aim down, Bethie.”

  And it made perfect sense.

  “We’ll be there soon,” Deej breathed and Beth cowered behind an ancient dusty chair.

  Footsteps descended and Beth was certain anyone who cared to listen would hear the thrumming of her heart. She saw a rifle with a laser and prayed it wouldn’t investigate this gallery of distant faces and eerie eyes. She thought of Chris and Noah and Audrey and George. She thought of life and love and sorrow and shame. Her heart pounded with each footstep and prayed with each pause. Her hand reached to cover the tiny gun she’d once again concealed as she sucked in a breath and waited.

  The person was close now, hovering just beyond the chair that made her want to sneeze if she thought about it so she didn’t. She just waited for him to pass, to deem it clear and go on to another darkened corridor carved from stone.

  “Hello?” a voice called.

  Oh sure, like she was going to answer.

  Time was ticking, ticking like it hadn’t since all this had begun and it had seemed to go pretty fast a couple of other times. These psychotics had the advantage of knowing where Chris was; knowing where her handsome husband who had always been the hero was stashed, hopefully alive, but undoubtedly broken.

  Her mind spun and the guard did too. Then she felt it. A hand gripping her shoulder lifting her up pulling her out while the eyes that surrounded her from Gothic frames watched merrily.

  “I’ve found her!” bellowed a voice belonging to a face she couldn’t see. The guard who Beth had been studying for long minutes now approached, poked at her as if she’d detonate, and felt the lump of gun. He slid his hand through her wrap, lingering too long in her opinion, and pulled out the stealth. He examined it for a minute and then hurled it into the atmosphere, leaving it to spin and slide to some unknown place.

  “I saw children,” she said hoping he’d think and recall that others were here; innocent others and anyone could stumble upon the loaded and deadly steel.

  But he laughed as he wrenched her hands behind her and allowed the beefier figure she still couldn’t see grab hold.

  “Farley-Fauna the Divine!” the voice behind her shouted into an echo.

  Then he pulled her toward the outer light and she had no choice but to follow.

  ***

  Chris shook with a chill. He was hot and cold all at the same time and comfort seemed like a dream from a long, long time ago.

  There were things that you remembered, even this close to death. You remembered smells and jokes that made your side split when you were just a kid and had all the time in the world to laugh. You remembered the high you got when the bases were loaded and your smack of bat to ball drove them all home.

  You remembered the smiles of children you loved and the feeling of slipping under the warm and thick covers to find the person you wanted most of all waiting there.

  And then, even this close to death, you had to figure out it if any of it had ever really happened at all.

  Far above the platform that Chris rested on, a door opened and there was more commotion than usual as it slammed closed. Time again for gray broth and a fish head.

  He tried to sit up because the sounds were different and so little was ever different here in this world of cold. He attempted to hoist, though his energy was gone and through the fogginess of his eyes he could just make out heavy forms tugging something so utterly soft and white down the treacherous stairs.

  They’d reached the bottom now, but the guard kept tugging until it was all so close. The white--the angelic and clean white--rippled in the cold and damp vapor from the water
below. Chris squinted and heard a gasp, saw hands fly and others grip tighter to the alabaster flesh they clutched.

  “Chris,” the one in white muttered, but hands slapped over the mouth. Still her eyes--it was female he could determine--held firm and concerned.

  And then like a wave crashing or a sky opening or a threatening blow that didn’t come, he knew.

  It was her.

  She was here.

  “You are the pair of true evil,” the guard who had mauled Chris more than once said before he released the heavenly vision and flung her toward him. “Partake of your foolishness. Alas, your time in this realm is soon to be past. At long last you will watch one another suffer and then be no more.” The guard turned, not looking back or even caring that he’d brought them together after so much time apart.

  The vision in white straightened and crawled to the place Chris lay, curled and broken. She touched his cheek and it felt like silk against his rough and unshaven skin. “Chris, my lord what have they done to you?”

  The door far above slammed, but she didn’t stop or pause; she just stroked and hoisted so his head rested against her chest. Chris felt his eyes slip closed because it really didn’t matter anymore, but she jostled him until he opened them again. “Please, stay with me. Please, don’t disappear.”

  She clutched him close and it felt so good, felt a way he never dreamed he’d feel again. He didn’t know for sure what she’d been to him once long ago--she could’ve been mother, lover, friend--but she cared somehow though nothing was completely clear.

  “Who?” he managed to mouth through the dryness and pain.

  “Who am I?” she asked as she stroked and cradled him.

  “Who?”

  “I’m Beth Stoddard. I’m your wife.”

  Some things got you wondering, some things helped you to know. But he was just so damned tired.

  “Chris!” She jostled and shook him. “Chris!” She landed what he could almost feel--a stinging slap to his cheek. “You’re Christopher Phillip Stoddard. You’re a former Special Services Agent of the United States. You’re from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, but we live in Ontario, Canada now. We have two children, Noah and Audrey. Your mother is a housewife who made wedding cakes for friends and family. Your father has worked for the Department of Public Works for forty-five years. You love hunting, fishing, the Phillies, and EAgles, Saturday Night Live and Worsteschire Sauce. You laugh when our friend Jackson insists upon singing Karaoke and run when you see a green pepper. You hate phoniness, the Dallas Cowboys and anything by Michael Buble.” She clutched him so tight, shook him when she wasn’t sure and wouldn’t even think about allowing his eyes to slip closed. “I know everything there is to know about you, Chris. You have a life. Just hang on for me, please.”

  He studied what he could and somehow knew it was true. He tried to think, but decided it was best to leave that up to her. He’d concentrate on the clarity that hovered just out of his reach.

  Chapter 23

  “I received word that Farley-Fauna has been seized. Where have you taken her?”

  Omish-Ogden paused near the stone doorway. The corridor was dark and lit only by sconces--ambience that The Most Masterful generally loved, but he had much else on his mind. The betrayal of Farley-Fauna was at the top of the list.

  “We have thrown her to him, Your Excellency. Joined them in the deepest depths of the Flora-Sky.”

  The Most Masterful looked to all of the walls of the fortress. “The forces of evil have arrived.”

  “Aye.” Omish-Ogden cocked a gun. “We are ready.”

  “Wait for the first sign of infiltration. Only then shall we strike.”

  “And the women?”

  The Most Masterful paused at the door leading to the vast catacombs. “They shall prepare the meal and tend to our clothes, Omish-Ogden. Nothing has changed.”

  “But with the forces come fire and steel--”

  The Most Masterful spun to face his hired gun. “You question me, Omish-Ogden? Question my vast knowledge of all?”

  The huge man trembled. “No, Your Excellency. No.”

  The Most Masterful starred him down; exuded his strength and power in the metaphysical. “I am delighted to hear that, Omish-Ogden. It would dishearten me greatly if I had to deal with not one but two of my most faithful believers in one day’s time.”

  Omish-Ogden lowered his bald head in reverence.

  The Most Masterful snatched a sconce and left Omish-Ogden there, bowing in repentance, as he made his way down the dimly lit stairs.

  ***

  Beth adjusted the sheath of gauze she’d ripped from her wrap and had tucked around Chris. She shivered and pulled him closer to her chest. He wasn’t conscious--sleeping or comatose she couldn’t be sure--but she clutched him tight and took comfort in the vague beating of his heart. He’d always been so strong, so in control, so unwavering. To see him here like this--thin, sick, broken--was all the hurt Beth had ever felt rolled up into one painful moment. But he was alive, he hadn’t taken his own life and that had to be enough for now.

  “Chris?” she murmured with her lips buried in his thick, but matted hair. God only knew how long it had been since he’d been allowed a shower, a shave, decent food. He didn’t move, just laid motionless in her arms. His frame was still large and heavy, but it was covered with so little flesh now, he felt like a completely different man.

  But he wasn’t.

  Her finger traced the sockets of his eyes, the sharp plane of his sculpted nose, the lips that had won her over that very first day with their taut and sly slope. He was bloody and bruised, but despite it all, he was still handsome--still had the exact proportion of dashing bad boy charm.

  She scooped him closer and rocked as if she were holding Noah or Audrey. “Deej,” she whispered into the microphone, but there was nothing. He’d said they’d move soon and swiftly.

  The game was over, but it was impossible to tell who’d won.

  ***

  He’d never allow it.

  He couldn’t allow it.

  Not happening in this lifetime.

  The Most Masterful watched as the one who’d dare impersonate his beloved Farley-Fauna rocked gently with the one of true evil in her arms.

  Did she think him a fool?

  “Chris,” she murmured as her hand lovingly stroked what was left of him.

  Fury bubbled in The Most Masterful’s very human gut. He detested doubting himself, but perhaps he should’ve killed the one of evil weeks ago when he’d been broken, but still completely coherent. Arrogance was never a good thing, The Master had taught that over and over. This was proof. His father’s greatest strength had been in his ability to recognize and react.

  Now these two who had served to ruin the peace of Flora-Sky once before appeared to be reunited though, Beth Stoddard the imposter, had wanted nothing to do with her husband even before the ordeal had begun. She had recognized then that he was so very inadequate.

  But had The Most Masterful driven her back into her husband’s arms?

  The Most Masterful watched from the stairway of stone. They would meet their fate--they left him no choice. Farley-Fauna could have been spared had she not betrayed him.

  But Beth Stoddard deserved to die.

  A swift demise, however, would be far too fine a fate for those as crafty and evil as the Stoddards. They needed to witness something more.

  But they weren’t alone. His posted followers at the gate had said that once again the very human world was trying to infiltrate. Once again they’d brought blazing weapons and cameras of vanity. They didn’t understand the peaceful Flora-Sky who strove only to launch the chosen ones to the heavenly stratosphere of truth.

  The Stoddards were responsible for this calamity and those such as Dara-Dawn as well. She had proven to be such a disappointment. She’d shown jealously and envy--all too human of emotions. She proved to be weak when she should’ve been strong. She proved to be frightened when she should’ve unde
rstood. She wasn’t worthy. Another mistake though he, The Most Masterful, was but a young deity; still learning, still striving to ensure it was all where it should be.

  Understandable, but unavoidable nevertheless. Dara-Dawn would have to join the visiting Stoddards in their struggle for redemption.

  Beth Stoddard raised her head as if she’d caught a glimmer of his torch. The Most Masterful wouldn’t move, wouldn’t hide. She would bow to him--The Most Masterful of them all.

  He turned and disappeared up the stairs and into the light.

  Chapter 24

  She told him about the day they met.

  She told him about the day they married.

  She told him about the sump pump they’d had to replace three times that first spring because the little hardware store in town kept ordering the wrong model. It seemed that heavy duty sump pumps weren’t all that popular in Garrity.

  She told him the story of the no hitter he’d pitched when he was thirteen. It was a family favorite that she’d heard relayed again and again and again by everyone from his grandfather right down to his parents’ eighty-year-old next-door neighbor who’d sat in the stands that day.

  She told him how he’d suggested Audrey’s name when they’d exhausted most other choices.

  She told him how they’d both come down with food poisoning from bad tuna salad while on assignment in Willowrose, Kansas before they were even an official couple. She held the plastic wastebasket for him; he returned the favor for her.

  She told him about the Christmas trees she selected each and every year that were way too tall for their nine foot ceilings, the twelve pies she made him taste so she could decide which to enter in the fair. He’d picked the raspberry and sure enough, she’d won.

  She sang camp songs into his ear and recited Shakespearean soliloquies until she couldn’t think of anything else to say.