Then he’d used his power again, on the priest. And on others, too.
Who had he alerted that time?
Who would come after him next?
Perhaps even now another assassin was on his way . . .
Which meant that the ghost had been right about that, too. He was a danger, a menace. His very existence was a threat to his family and his friends. Already his father had paid the ultimate price. Who would be next? Peter? Maggie? His mother? How could he protect them? He couldn’t even protect himself!
As if in answer, Ethan remembered how the ghost had removed the noose from its own broken neck and handed it to him. “Take it and do the right thing for once, before it’s too late,” the ghost had said. “Your mother will be safe. They’ll all be safe.”
Was that also the truth?
What if the only way he could protect his mom and his friends was to kill himself like the ghost wanted? Could he do that?
Ethan had never felt so confused and alone. He didn’t know what to think, what to believe. He prayed for help as he walked. For guidance.
No answer came.
He stumbled on through the heat and dust of the day.
When evening drew on, Ethan sought shelter as he had before. His fear of what might roam this desolate landscape by night was greater than his apprehension of another visit by the ghost. Up in the hills he found a small cave. He gathered some stones with which to defend himself and then crawled inside to wait for whatever the night would bring.
Once again, when darkness fell the stars came out in a blaze of glory unlike anything he had seen before coming to this place. It seemed like a refined kind of torture that there should be such beauty in the sky, untouchable, aloof, like some far-off glimpse of riches from the depths of squalor. Those stars seemed to hold the promise of all that he was lacking: water, food, and less tangible forms of sustenance—nourishment for his soul. He ached to look at them.
This time, there was no moment of sudden weariness. No plunge into sleep.
This time, the visitor came while he was wide-awake.
He heard it first, the scrape of a shoe against the hard rock of the cave’s floor, then the skitter of a pebble kicked to one side. He was already clutching a stone in his right hand; he cocked his arm toward the sound and spoke in a hiss of air. “Who’s there?”
“Hello, Ethan.”
He nearly dropped the stone.
Then, as pale light sifted through the dark, illuminating the bloody figure who had spoken, he did drop it.
It was his father.
Or, rather, his father’s ghost. For the man who stood before him could not possibly be alive. His entire torso was soaked in blood, which had dripped down to cover his pants in gore. It seemed impossible that there could be so much blood in a human body. The only part of him that wasn’t drenched in blood was his face, and that was as pale as the moon, and as dead. In that lifeless face, which, he realized, was somehow the source of the wan light that filled the cave, two eyes as black and empty as the spaces between stars stared at him.
“Go ahead,” said the ghost. “Throw your stones. You’ve already killed me once. After the first death, there is no other.”
Ethan whimpered, drawing back against one wall of the cave.
His father spread out his arms. Blood dripped from his fingers. “Aren’t you glad to see me, Ethan? Won’t you give me a hug?”
“Y—you’re not my dad,” Ethan managed to gasp out.
“No? Then who is? Tell me that, eh? Who is?”
Ethan had no answer.
The ghost let its arms drop to its sides and sighed. “ To be honest, I’d expected a warmer welcome, considering I died trying to protect you. I don’t know, I thought maybe the word ‘thanks’ might pass your lips. Or ‘Sorry I got you killed, Dad.’ Or ‘Sorry I didn’t bring you back to life when I had the chance.’ But I guess that’s all too much to hope for. I guess you really are selfish and ungrateful at heart.”
Listening to this, Ethan found his courage. “Now I know you’re not my dad. My dad wouldn’t talk that way.”
The ghost shrugged. “Death has a way of changing a person. But at least I’m not selfish, like you. Despite what you did to me, I’m here to help you.”
“If you really want to help, just go away,” Ethan said through gritted teeth. “Leave me alone.”
“Sure, I could do that. But then what would happen to your mom? Your friends? You’re a smart kid, Ethan. You must’ve figured out by now that you’re a danger to them. What happened to me is going to happen to them unless you do something to stop it.”
“Is that what this is about? If you’re going to try and talk me into killing myself, don’t bother. That’s already been tried. It didn’t work.”
The ghost looked shocked. “Why, I’d never suggest such a thing! That would be a sin, a crime. Besides, that’s the coward’s way. The selfish way. What I’m suggesting is much harder. It’s a nobler kind of sacrifice. Unless, of course, you don’t care about the others at all.”
“I do care about them!”
“Just testing,” said the ghost and winked one abyssal eye. Then, leaning closer as if to impart a secret, he whispered, “You could stay here.”
A shudder ran through Ethan then, as much from the ghost’s words as from the breath that issued from the dark hole of its mouth, as chill as the icy void of space. “S—stay?” he echoed.
“That’s right. This is all in your mind, you know.” He gestured expansively with one bloody arm. “A dream, if you like. Only it’s real too. Your body is in a hospital bed right now. In a coma. Everyone’s waiting for you to wake up. But you don’t have to wake up. You don’t have to ever wake up.”
“I don’t even know how to wake up,” he said.
“Sooner or later, you’ll find out, as long as you keep looking. But as soon as you wake up, they’ll come after you again. They’ll strike at you any way they can. They don’t care who else they kill.”
“Who doesn’t care? And why do they want to kill me?”
“Does it matter?” asked the ghost of his father. “Dead is dead. Believe me, I know. And you know what else? It sucks.”
“So does this. I don’t like this place. I don’t want to stay here.”
“Well, of course not. I mean, just look at it. It’s a wasteland. A desert. But it doesn’t have to be that way.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve got power over this place, Ethan. You can make it into whatever you want. If you command water to flow from the ground, a spring will burst forth. If you ask the stones to feed you, they’ll turn into loaves of bread. You can have TV. Movies. Friends. Anything at all.”
“You’re crazy.”
“No, it’s true. Give it a try if you don’t believe me.” He kicked a rock with one blood-drenched shoe. “Go ahead. Tell it to turn into a loaf of bread. Or a Big Mac, if you’d rather. I’m kind of hungry myself. Maybe you can make me one, too.”
Ethan shook his head. The strange thing was, he actually believed what the ghost was telling him. He felt in his bones that he did have this power, that he had always had it. He could make this place a kind of paradise. A refuge. He could live here in comfort and safety for the rest of his life. Even if his body was somewhere far away, sunk deep into a coma, he would never need to know about it, never need to suffer.
And the people he loved would be safe.
But at the same time, he thought of all the old stories he knew, the fairy tales and myths. There was a trap here, he was sure of it. The ghost wasn’t telling him everything. If he made food for himself, or even water, he had a feeling that however seemingly insignificant that act might be, its ramifications would be huge in some way that was hidden from him now but might not always be. And then it would be too late. A fateful choice would have been made, after which there could be no going back, no undoing. He wouldn’t even have to eat or drink what he had made. It would be enough just to make it. As though doing so w
as against the rules of a game he knew instinctively without having ever played it before.
“Go on,” prodded the ghost. “When was the last time you had anything to drink? One word, I’m telling you, and it’s the best water you ever tasted in your life. Or a nice cold Coke. What’s the harm in that?”
“No,” Ethan said.
“Do it,” said the ghost, and there was anger in its voice. Anger and the threat of worse than anger.
“I said no,” Ethan repeated. He knew now beyond any doubt that whatever was facing him was not his father, but only something wearing his likeness. It was, he realized suddenly, the priest, or, rather, something that had worn the likeness of the priest just as it now wore the likeness of his father. And with that, he felt his own anger rise up in him, strong and fearless. The ghost had said he had power over this place. Had even challenged him to test it. And so he would, only in his own way. Before the ghost could speak again, he said, “I’ve heard enough. Go back to hell or wherever it is you came from!”
As quickly as that, he was alone again. The cave was empty of everything but the light of morning.
So began the third day.
It was the worst of all. Not because it was different in any way from the two days that had preceded it, but because it was exactly the same. Only now, thanks to his visitor of the previous night, Ethan knew he had the power to alleviate his suffering. He could, with a word, slake his thirst, fill his empty belly, conquer the heat and the dust, even the loneliness. But he didn’t dare. He knew that it would be a mistake to do so, an unforgivable, irrecoverable mistake. And yet the temptation to do so didn’t leave him for even one moment of that day. In fact, far from leaving him, it grew stronger, more difficult to resist, until Ethan realized that the time would come, and sooner rather than later, when he didn’t have the strength to resist anymore. But what could he do? The ghost had said that if he looked long enough, he would find the way out of this prison and back to his body . . . but Ethan didn’t think he had much more time in which to look before he succumbed to the demands of the flesh. It was funny, he thought, that he should still be afflicted by those demands even when he was no longer in his body.
Unless, of course, the ghost had lied about that too.
Ethan pressed on. He tried not to think further ahead than the next footstep. To contemplate going for days or even hours more without sustenance was impossible, but a footstep was not such a great distance or length of time, and he found that he could get from one footstep to the next without a struggle of will that would leave him exhausted, broken. He could do it, if just barely.
At last, evening fell. But this time Ethan did not leave the path and search out a shelter. He had no desire to simply sit in some crevice or cave and wait for the appearance of whatever new horror saw fit to plague him. If it was going to come, then let it come to him here, in the open, with him walking still unbowed, unbeaten.
He continued on beneath the stars, not looking up now, for he was afraid their remote beauty, as inaccessible to him as his body and the life that went with it, would cut him like a knife. His visitor had come twice so far, each time wearing a different guise, each one more painful than the last, more difficult to resist. Tonight would be the worst yet, and he needed no reminder of all that he’d lost, all that he searched for, to weaken him, soften a heart that must be as hard as stone.
Time passed, and he fell into a sort of doze. He was neither asleep nor awake but midway between the two, his legs moving of their own accord, his eyes glazed with the sameness of all he saw, so that it was as if he saw nothing at all.
From time to time he surfaced briefly from this somnambulistic state, his mind clearing, his breath quickening, but soon enough he would sink back into it again, pulled under by the weight of all that he was carrying, the burden of destiny he dimly sensed surrounding him like a second skin, a skin that was somehow both thinner than air and heavier than the earth itself. Or so it seemed to him, thoughts tangling with dreams, dreams with thoughts, until it was impossible to tell them apart.
It came to him quite suddenly that he was no longer alone. There was someone walking beside him, matching him step for step. How long this had been going on, he didn’t know. But he had the feeling it had been a while.
Strangely, he was not afraid. Instead, he felt grateful for the company. He glanced over, and saw that his companion was a man, tall and thin to the point of gauntness. He was similarly dressed, in sandals and an animal skin, and also carried a walking stick. Ethan could not make out the man’s face.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“A fellow traveler on this road,” came the reply.
“You’re the first one I’ve seen,” he said.
“There are no others,” said the man. “Just us.”
“How do you know that?”
“I’ve walked this road already. To the very end.”
“So it has an end. I was beginning to doubt it.”
“All things have an end. All things but one.”
“What is that?”
“God.”
Ethan felt a shiver go through him at that. “Are . . . are you God?”
“He is my father. And yours.”
“So we’re brothers, I guess,” Ethan said jokingly . . . but seriously too.
“All men are brothers, Ethan.”
“How do you know my name?”
“I’ve been sent to guide you from this wicked place. It is too early for you to walk this road. Too early for you to climb the hill that waits at the end.”
This gave rise to so many questions in Ethan’s mind that he couldn’t decide which of them to ask first.
While he was deciding, the man spoke again. “Have you seen The Wizard of Oz?”
The question was so unexpected that Ethan didn’t know what to make of it. He stopped walking and stood there looking up at the man, who had also stopped . . . but who had yet to turn his face toward Ethan. “Huh? You mean the movie?”
“It’s one of my favorites,” said the man, and now he did turn to Ethan, and in the cold light of the stars his features were young and handsome, and his eyes were not black holes like those of the priest and the ghost of his father but were instead themselves like stars, only brighter and more beautiful. “Like Dorothy, you have the power to get home anytime you like. You’ve always had it.”
“What, the ruby slippers?”
The man smiled. “In a manner of speaking. You are kept here by a great power, but yours is greater still. To you has been given the power to chain and the power to loosen.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your walking stick. Its true purpose is not to help you navigate this broken land. It holds you here, bars your way out. Break it, and you will return to your body.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No, I’m not.”
“What about you? You’re carrying one too. Are you trapped like me?”
“No. I carry it to remind me of what it is like to be trapped, to be a prisoner.”
“Why?”
“Because to forget that is to forget what it is to be human.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You will, Ethan. In time. But now it’s time for you to go. Your mother needs you.” The man turned and began to walk away.
“Will I see you again?” Ethan asked.
“I’ll be waiting for you at the end of the path,” said the man without looking back. He seemed to be walking incredibly fast, or just covering an immense distance with every step.
“Wait!” Ethan cried. “I don’t even know your name!”
“Yes, you do,” came the man’s voice, although he himself could no longer be seen.
Ethan stood for a moment, trying to puzzle out what the man had meant. But he was too impatient to think about it for long. He took the walking stick and examined it by the light of the stars. It was no thicker than his index finger. Gripping it in both hands, he pressed his knee against it and p
ulled up with all his might until, suddenly, with a noise like a gunshot, it snapped.
Ethan sat bolt upright.
“Oh my God,” came a voice. “He’s awake!”
He blinked in the harsh light and looked around. He was in a hospital room. There were doctors and nurses looking at him in surprise.
He was no less surprised than they. He could see right through to the core of them. Their souls were shining like stars. Like the stars he had seen overhead when he lay trapped in the depths of his body or perhaps somewhere far beyond his body.
There were tubes and wires attached to him; then there weren’t.
He was in bed; then he wasn’t.
The doctors and nurses were dropping to their knees.
“It’s him!”
“The second Son!”
“Our Father, who art in Heaven . . .”
Ethan ignored them. He could sense his mother in a room above him. She was hurt. Damaged. He started for the door.
Which opened suddenly. A huge man stood there. At first it looked as though he was going to block Ethan’s way, but then he stepped back, a look of wonder on his face. Ethan walked past him, into the corridor, and headed toward the elevator that he knew would take him to his mother. Behind him, he heard the man speaking to someone on the phone. Then, before he could get on the elevator, the man grabbed him by the arm.
“The boss wants to talk to you.”
Ethan turned, and he saw into the man: saw his entire past, filled with violence and drugs and sex; saw too the futures that spread before him like the branches of a tree, only one or two of which led to any flowering. Without thinking, he pruned the man’s future. Cut back the sterile branches, so that they might bloom again. Rekindled the guttering furnace of his soul, so that its light would shine brightly, nourishing the branches and giving them something to strive toward.
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