by Amy Cross
"It's not possible," Dr. Cole says. "Not in these circumstances, and not without leaving some kind of trace." He steps forward.
"Keep back," Ed says, grabbing his shoulder.
"Wait," I say, taking a couple of steps toward the cross. "It's okay. We just have to stay out of the circle." I point at the circle in the dirt, which seems to establish a small perimeter around the base. "Bill must have done this," I say after a moment. "Bill must have realized the cross was dangerous, and he drew the circle in order to make sure no-one would go any closer."
"Bill left a note," Ed says. "Why wouldn't he mention the cross in the note?"
"Because his mind was in disarray," I reply. "He wasn't thinking straight. He clearly knew something was wrong, even if he couldn't quite explain it properly. Something must have happened that made him realize..." I pause for a moment. "Something must have happened that changed the cross. I swear to God, we touched it before and we were fine, but obviously something altered it. Maybe Bill found some kind of power source..." I sigh, realizing that right now I'm just grasping at straws. Still, looking down at the circle, I feel quite certain that Bill intended it to act as a warning for us. And then... did he disappear in the same manner as Lawrence?
"I'm making an executive decision," Ed says. "As the de facto leader of this expedition, I'm pulling us out. This place is clearly dangerous."
"What about Bill?" I ask, turning to him.
"What about us?" he replies. "We have a duty to ensure that we're working in a safe environment, and that's something I can't guarantee right now. The insurance alone -"
"Fuck the insurance," I say. "We have to find Bill!"
"He's clearly dead!" Ed replies, raising his voice. "Either he wandered out into the forest and died, or he went the same way as Lawrence!" He pauses for a moment. "I'm sorry to be blunt, Paula, but you can't deny the evidence that's right in front of your eyes."
"We don't know that Lawrence is dead," I reply.
"I think it's a pretty safe bet," Ed says, "unless you're pushing some other theory that you'd like to share with us?"
I stare at him for a moment, and then at Dr. Cole, and I realize that whatever's going on at Devil's Briar, it's far beyond anything I understand or can explain. Before, the cross seemed like some kind of decorative item put in place by a highly religious settlement, but now it seems that it served a dual purpose. Whoever erected this damn thing, they were clearly working on some kind of project, and that project quite obviously had some serious consequences.
"We have to get out of here," Ed continues. "Look at this logically, Paula. The place is a death trap. We can't be certain that anything is safe. There could be untold hazards all over the town, and we simply can't go wandering around and relying on pure luck to stay alive."
"We have all the equipment we need," I reply firmly. "We can check everything. We can work out what this thing is!" Turning to look at the cross, I take a deep breath as I try to imagine what it must have been like for Bill to have been alone up here. He always had such an inquiring mind, but... Suddenly a cold shiver runs through my body as I realize that for the first time, I've started thinking about him in the past tense. It's as if I've somehow started to assume that he must have died. I close my eyes for a moment, trying to take in the gravity of this realization. I left Bill up here, and now he's dead. No matter what anyone says, that has to be at least partly my fault.
"I agree with her," Dr. Cole says suddenly.
Opening my eyes, I turn to him. "You do?"
"We must proceed with caution," he says, "but there's no reason for us to turn and run. It's quite possible that whatever caused this incident will only be detectable for a fixed period of time. If we leave and come back, it might be too late. I'm not suggesting we do anything rash, but I think we can stay for a day or two. If we're putting this to a vote, I say we stay."
"We're not putting this to a vote," Ed says, sounding a little irritated.
"I'm staying too," I say.
"Think about this, Paula," Ed replies with a sigh. "Just because you feel guilty about Bill -"
"I do feel guilty about him," I say. "You're right. And I have to know what happened to him. When I was here before, this cross was just a big bit of metal. Now it's something else. If we come back again at some other time, it might be just a tower of metal again, and we'll never be able to find out what happened. Whatever's going on here, it's occurring right now, and we can at least get some equipment from the truck and see what we can find out."
Ed pauses, and I can see that I'm starting to wear him down.
"We stay for a day or two," I continue, realizing the irony of the situation. I was so reluctant to come back here, and now I'm the one who wants us to stay. Then again, things have changed and it's clear that whatever's happening at Devil's Briar, it's way beyond anything we currently understand. "Besides," I add, "can you even be sure we'll ever find the place again? It seems like you couldn't locate the town for days, and then finally it was just... here. If we leave now, we might never be able to come back. As an academic, you must realize that we should get started as soon as possible."
Ed stares at me for a moment, before turning and looking up at the cross. "We have to establish a perimeter around this thing," he says eventually. "Ten feet. No-one gets any closer. If I see so much as a fingertip crossing the ten-foot line, we're out of here immediately."
"Deal," I say, turning to Dr. Cole. "Are you in?"
"I'll start fetching the equipment from the truck," he says, turning and walking away.
"I still don't think this is the smartest idea in the world," Ed says to me.
"It's the only option," I reply, staring up at the top of the cross. "Whatever this thing is, it's taken Lawrence and it might have taken Bill. At the very least, I want to find out what it's for and how it does what it does. And maybe we can even..." I pause for a moment. "Maybe we can even get them back."
Ed smiles. "Get them back? Paula, where exactly do you think they've gone?"
"I don't know," I reply, aware that I must sound like I'm losing my mind. "Forget it. I just want to know what happened to Bill." I can't tell Ed the truth, though; I can't tell him that I'm starting to wonder if maybe there's a chance that Bill is still alive somewhere, and he's just lost. And if that's the case, then maybe there's some way to get him back. While that possibility remains, there's no way I can leave Devil's Briar.
Epilogue
"Victoria!"
I ignore the voice.
"Victoria!"
Opening my eyes, I stare straight ahead and realize it didn't work: I'm still here. All morning, while the nurses got me dressed and prepared me for my uncle's arrival, I've been hoping that somehow I can make myself disappear. I've tried squeezing my eyes together as tight as possible, convinced that eventually I'll simply pop out of the world, but every time I open my eyes again I find that nothing has changed.
"Victoria, will you stop standing around with your eyes closed all the time?" The nurse slaps me hard on the back. "If you're not careful, the wind will change and you'll be stuck like that forever. Is that what you want?"
I take a deep breath, trying not to cry. I don't know why the nurses at the orphanage seem to hate me so much, but it's like they just want to order me around all day. I suppose in some ways it's good that I'm finally getting out of here. When my parents were killed in the fire, it looked for a while as if I'd have to spend my entire life in this terrible place. Finally, though, the nurses were able to locate my uncle, and they arranged for him to come and pick me up. Any minute now, he'll walk through the door and take me away with him.
"You must be well-behaved when you leave us," the nurse continues. "If you let the devil into your soul, Victoria, it will reflect badly upon us. You don't want that, do you?"
Sighing, I squeeze my eyes tight shut again, hoping against hope that this time it'll work and I'll cease to exist. I imagine what it will be like for the nurse to look down and suddenly see me fade away to nothing.
That'll teach them. I just want to be free from all of this trouble. Life is too hard.
"Stop that!" the nurse shouts, slapping me again. I take a step to the side, momentarily shocked by the force with which she struck me. I pray to God that my uncle will be a little more gentle. My parents never used to hit me, but since coming to the orphanage I've been beaten almost every day. The nurses here believe that if they don't strike me regularly, the devil will be able to creep into my heart and roost in my soul. They tell me I should be grateful to them for taking the trouble to keep me innocent. They warn me that once I've left this place, I should beat myself regularly if I want to avoid becoming Satan's plaything.
"Here he is," the nurse says, grabbing my hand and leading me over to the door. I see a tall, handsome, middle-aged man approaching, and suddenly my fears seem to evaporate. It's almost as if this man makes me feel safe and secure, merely by being in the room.
"Well," says the man, smiling as he reaches us, "this must be my niece Victoria." He leans down and shakes my hand. "I am Thomas Paternoster, your uncle. I only wish we could have met under less tragic circumstances."
I stare at him for a moment. My parents never mentioned an uncle when I was growing up. In fact, I'm pretty sure they told me that I had no uncles or aunts at all, but I suppose I might have made a mistake.
"Say hello to your uncle," the nurse says firmly.
"Hello," I say.
"It's very good to meet you," he replies.
"Will you be taking her directly to California?" the nurse asks.
"I shall," he tells her. "Are there any papers for me to sign?"
"None at all," she replies. "All the necessary authorization has already been completed. Before you leave, there is only one more thing that I must impress upon you. She is an energetic young girl, with a fierce temper. She is intelligent, but she sometimes fills her head with wild ideas. I would strongly advise you to ensure that she is properly disciplined at all times."
"I shall," my uncle says. "I certainly shall." He turns to me. "Victoria, shall we get going?"
I reach out to take his hand again, but this time I notice something strange about his fingers. "Why don't you have any fingernails?" I ask, looking up at him.
He smiles. "I'm afraid that is a very long story," he tells me, "and one that is not easy to explain to anyone, especially a child."
Cautiously, I take his hand and he leads me out of the orphanage. I glance over my shoulder and see the nurse watching as we leave, and my heart is filled with joy at the thought that at least I shall never again have to come to this place. I do not know what life will be like with my uncle, but I am quite certain that it will be an improvement over my recent fortunes. I hope he is a kind man, and that I can be happy in his care, and I feel confident that he won't hurt me. I know almost nothing about my uncle, but I am quite certain that nothing he does can ever be as bad as my life in the orphanage. Perhaps, finally, I shall once again have a home.
Book 7:
Weatherman
Prologue
The pain is intense. Within the first few milliseconds, my skin has been burnt away completely; a moment later, all the muscle and meat is gone from my bones; finally, I feel the bones themselves start to blacken and char. I want to scream, but time is rushing past so fast, all I can do is stare straight ahead as I feel the flames smash through my skull and consume my brain itself. Finally, a white hot blast engulfs me completely, and I wait for the moment of death; I wait for everything to go black, and for my soul to go back to how things were before I was born. I wait and I wait and I wait, and still death doesn't come.
Finally, I realize something has changed. The fire is gone, and I am still alive. Not just alive, but complete. I hold my hands up and see that all my flesh has returned. I take a deep breath and feel the air fill my lungs. The pain still echoes through my bones, but as I take a step forward, I realize that something has changed. I try to remember what happened to me, but I find that my memory is full of holes and gaps. I pause, desperately searching my mind for some reminder of who I am and where I come from, but there's nothing. The only thing I remember is my name, but even that seems to be fading from my consciousness. I focus, trying to keep my name alive; dropping to my knees, I recite the two words over and over again and - I blink, and it's gone.
Chapter One
1925
As I awaken from a restless dream, I reach across the bed and find - to my surprise - that there is no sign of Victoria. I take a deep breath, listening for some sound of her elsewhere in the house. Something has been troubling my new wife since the day of our wedding last week, and I fear that she is struggling to cope with the shock of recent events. The sudden and shocking manner of her uncle's death, which occurred by his own hand, has left a deep scar in Victoria's psyche, and my best efforts to help her have so far all been in vain. I have not broached the subject with her, preferring to wait patiently for her to recover of her own accord, but I feel that time is running out. If she does not begin to improve soon, I shall have to consider some other means by which I might help her.
Getting out of bed, I glance out the window and see the dark, quiet town. It is the middle of the night, and the whole of Devil's Briar seems to be fast asleep. As I walk through to the hallway outside the bedroom, I start to become aware of a sound in one of the other rooms. It takes me a moment to track her down, but finally I find Victoria sitting in my study. She seems to be observing a set of candles that burn on my desk, and from the look on her face it is as if these candles are the most important things in the whole world. She stares at them with such absolute dedication and devotion, I hasten to believe she has not even noticed my arrival. I walk quietly into the room, and still she does not look up. I cannot help but wonder where the line between sanity and insanity is to be found, and whether my dear, darling wife has perhaps slipped across that line already.
"Victoria," I say quietly, my voice cutting through the hush of the room. "Is everything okay?"
"Yes," she replies tensely, still not looking at me. It is as if she is desperately staring at the flickering candles, looking for something that might appear within the flames.
"It is late," I continue. "Or early. Either way, I feel you should be in bed. It is so cold, and there is a real danger you might catch a -"
"I am fine," she says. "I am afraid I must do my work by night. In daylight, the light of the candles is diffused, and I have difficulty seeing the patterns. Only at night can I be certain that I do not miss anything."
I take a deep breath, turning to look at the candles as they continue to burn on my desk. Whatever Victoria sees, or thinks she sees, in the flames, it is clear that she attaches great importance to this ritual. Every night, she rises from the bed once I am asleep, and every night she sits for hours and hours, staring at the candles as if she expects to learn something. It is most unusual behavior, and there is a look on her face that makes me worry; it is as if she has forgotten all her earthly cares, and thinks only of the candles and what they might tell her. She has been neglecting her chores during the day, and I am quite certain that she cannot continue to spend her nights in this manner.
"What do you see?" I ask, deciding to try a different approach.
"What do I see where?" she replies, still staring at the candles.
"In the lights," I say, walking around to join her. I place a hand on her shoulder, hoping to distract her for a moment. She does not look up at me, but it feels good just to be touching her. "You stare at the lights every night," I continue. "Is there something you see in there? Is there some pattern that you, and only you, can discern?"
She pauses for a moment. "I see only the flickering lights of a few candles," she says eventually, "but I am concerned not with what I see at present, but with what I might see. It might take just a moment, but I hope I shall bear witness to some kind of sign. Some symbol, or..." Her voice trails off. "You must think me insane, Albert."
"Not at all," I assure her, alth
ough in truth I have begun to doubt her sanity. "I merely wish to understand the phenomenon that occupies so much of my dear wife's time. Clearly this is something that is very important to you, and I should like very much to know what is on your mind. Are you troubled, my dear?"
"No," she says. "Not troubled. I merely seek..." She pauses again. "I fear, Albert, that you will doubt my sanity if I tell you the truth. If you ask me again what I seek when I look into the candles, I shall tell you the honest truth, but please be sure before you ask that you have faith in my strength of character. I cannot have you doubting me."
I stare at her, watching her beautiful face in the flickering light of the candles. "I shall not doubt you," I say, "nor shall I believe you to be mad. I merely want to know what attracts your attention with such force. I want to know what drives you to rise from our bed in the middle of the night and spend hours sitting here. My dear, I ask you most humbly to explain."
"I am waiting for a sign that he has woken," she says. "I am waiting for a sign that he was correct, and that he did not end his life in vain."
"You are waiting for a communication from your uncle?" I ask. This is, in truth, what I had feared. "My dear, he has been taken by God. He does not walk as a spirit among us. Rather, he is in Heaven. His soul is at rest, and he waits with our maker for the glorious day when we shall all join him."
She shakes her head. "You do not understand, Albert. I would of course agree with you in normal circumstances, but on this occasion you are quite wrong. My uncle is not dead. He is merely resting. He is preparing to return in some manner that I do not quite understand, but..." She falls silent for a moment, and she leans a little closer to the candles, almost as if she expects to see something. "He will awaken soon," she says eventually. "He told me himself that he could not be certain of the timing. He was worried about how long the process might take, but he was convinced that his calculations were all correct."