The Crimes of Orphans

by Obie Williams

  “Is he ready to go?” Lita asked.

  “As ready as he can be,” Amelie replied. “I couldn’t do as much as with you, but he should be okay until we reach a hospital.”

  Lita nodded. She knelt down, slipped her arms under Alex, and groaned as she hoisted him up, cradling him against her as she stood.

  “Be careful,” Amelie warned. “Your leg could still tear open. Do you want me to help you?”

  “I’ve got him.”

  “At least let me take that coat.”

  “No. I’ve got it. Just grab the shotgun there and my handgun by the door and let’s get out of here.” Amelie nodded and did as she was told, walking next to Lita in case she needed any support.

  On their way out, Amelie paid the arena one last look. “I’ll send people down here to make sure this whole thing is demolished.” Lita nodded in agreement.

  It took them a while, Lita having to stop to catch her breath a few times, but they finally made it out of the coliseum. She laid Alex on the ground and had Amelie stay with him while she commandeered Cleric’s car to get her out to where they had parked Rain’s—if it even was Rain’s car anymore. But who else’s would it be?

  When Lita returned, Amelie helped her place Alex in the back seat.

  “I’ll sit in the back and watch over him,” Amelie said as she headed around to the other side.

  “Good call,” Lita replied, and watched as she climbed in the back seat and placed Alex’s head in her lap. Lita shook her head, amazed at how much Amelie had grown between the two times she’d tried to kill her. Now, despite all that had happened, Lita was fortunate enough to count her as an ally or even, as she had put it, a friend. It almost felt like atonement.

  Almost.

  Settling into the driver’s seat, Lita placed Rain’s coat on the passenger side and got the car rolling. She sighed, feeling the weight of the last few days trying to settle in on her shoulders but knowing there was no way she could really let it all come down. Not yet. Not here. She had to get Alex somewhere to be seen; she maybe even had to be seen herself. Then, sometime after that, when she was alone and maybe halfway through a good bottle of vodka, she could let it loose. She could open the floodgates. And oh God would those waters flow.

  Behind her, she heard Alex stir and groan.

  “We’re alive,” he said weakly.

  “Yeah, kid. We’re alive,” Lita replied.

  “But…but Rain…” Alex whispered.

  “He saved your life,” Amelie said.

  “But if I hadn’t…” Alex said.

  “No,” Lita said firmly. She grabbed the rearview mirror and tilted it so she could see him. “Don’t do that. You didn’t do anything wrong. Today, yesterday, or a year ago. None of this was your fault.”

  Tears were streaming down Alex’s cheeks, cutting clean lines in the dust that covered his face. He sniffled. “But I’m alone. I’ve never been alone.”

  Amelie looked up to Lita, who stared back at them for a long moment, then turned her gaze down to Rain’s coat. Reaching out, she placed her hand on it softly, feeling its aged, battered leather against her palm.

  “You’re not alone,” Lita said. “You’ve got me, kid. I’m not going anywhere.”

  And the truth was, she wasn’t. For longer than she could remember, Lita had never known exactly where she was going. Always uncertain of the next job, the next meal, or the next place to sleep—she hadn’t stopped moving for more than half her life. Now she had a home to go to. She had friends to be with there. So many things in her life were still unsure, unclear. But for the first time, she felt certain about one thing. She was where she was supposed to be.

  FIFTH INTERLUDE

  Close thine eyes now, my sweet love

  Thou art watched by stars above

  In moonlight shadow, troubles cease

  Come morrow’s dawn, thou shall find peace

  Centuries had passed since his death, and he saw everything.

  In this place, no mortal constraints held sway. He never aged past his young eleven years. His blue eyes never tired. His blond hair never grew. He never yearned for food or drink. He was never cold. He was never bored. He was never in pain.

  But he could still feel, and sadness pervaded his entire existence.

  He had been reminded countless times that he could have anything his heart desired if only he left the Room of Attachment. There were limitless feasts of every food imaginable. Vast oceans to swim in that never grew stormy nor saw the chill of winter. There were infinite trees to climb, endless days of eternal summer to bask in, and whatever else he could possibly dream of.

  But he would not leave this room.

  He had been told the room was different for everyone. Some were comfortably furnished with luxurious sofas and the action played out on a stage. Some were simple grass huts with bare walls and dirt floors, and the images came in a fire burning at their center. Some had no room at all, and the watchers just floated above everything they saw.

  In his, the only things that remained static were him, sitting cross-legged, and the large circular pool before him. Everything was displayed in its shimmering surface. Around him, the walls constantly shifted in shape and color. Sometimes they swirled furious shades of red. Occasionally they were streaked with stark, hopeful beams of white. But more often than not, they slowly dripped black and rippled deep, dark blue. Those were the colors of his grief.

  Today, those dark shades were everywhere. His eyes almost never left the pool any time, but on this day he was utterly transfixed. He didn’t even look up when his guide entered.

  “I’m not leaving.”

  “You say that to me every time I come to you,” his guide replied, “but for the first time, you are wrong.”

  The deviation from established routine was enough to cause the boy to break his gaze. He turned his eyes towards his guide and blinked in surprise. For countless years the guide had come to him monthly and only ever displayed casual acceptance of his determination to stay.

  “What did you say?” the boy asked. Though he was intrigued, his eyes moved back to the pool before he had even finished his question.

  Smiling, the guide approached the boy and sat down next to him. They were nearly the same height, for they had been nearly the same age when they had died. As the boy sat staring intently at the pool, the guide sat staring intently at the boy.

  “How is he today?” the guide asked, nodding towards the pool. The boy shook his head sadly.

  “Not well. I think he means to kill himself.”

  “You can see into his mind. Is that what he is thinking about?”

  “Yes, but he’s thought about that more times than I can count. This time it looks like he might actually do it.”

  The guide followed the boy’s gaze, and together they looked at their view of the world below. There, sitting on the edge of a cliff overlooking a vast forest, was the boy’s brother. His black hair hung over eyes rimmed with glassy tears. As they watched, one of those tears fell down the path of the scar that marred the man’s left eye. He was gazing at a horizon that was gradually shifting from black to blue. Before long, the sun would rise, and the man believed it would set him free from the pain he had felt and his brother had witnessed for lifetimes.

  All around them, the walls began to swirl as trickles of white slipped in amidst the folds of darkness. The guide observed this, then looked back to the boy.

  “Tell me what you’re thinking,” the guide said.

  “I want to save him,” the boy replied.

  “You know we’re not allowed to intervene.”

  “Not from here,” the boy said, then looked to his guide firmly. “I want to go back.”

  The guide frowned, but not in disapproval. It was a look of concern. “Are you aware of what that entails?”

  “I know the rules,” the boy said. Eagerness was beginning to creep into his voice, and the walls were starting to swirl faster, more and more white pouring into them. �
�After two hundred years, any person who wishes to return may do so. I’ve been here a lot longer than that.”

  “That is not all there is to it,” the guide said.

  “What else is there?” the boy inquired. He kept glancing at the pool, but he was gradually allowing the guide to have more and more of his attention.

  “Two centuries is the time requirement, yes, but the rule is meant to go hand-in-hand with the Room of Attachment. You have not fulfilled the purpose of this place.”

  “How is that?” the boy asked, his brow furrowing. “I’ve spent more time here than anyone ever has.”

  “That is exactly my point,” the guide replied. “The room is meant to give you a place in which to let go of everything that ties you to the world. The time spent here is different for everyone. I have seen people tarry less than an hour, and I have seen some linger long enough to watch their great-grandchildren grow old and die. But yours is a singular case. No one has ever remained here longer than a century and a half, let alone so long past the required term of stay. No one has ever held a connection to something that long.”

  “That gives me a better reason than anyone to go back.”

  “Quite the opposite. You have not seen what this place has to offer beyond this room. You cannot fathom what you would be giving up.”

  “I don’t have a choice,” the boy said, nodding towards the pool. “He’s my brother. I can’t turn a blind eye to him. I can go back, I can help him. Then, someday, he and I can both take the grand tour together.”

  “No, you cannot,” the guide said slowly.

  The boy looked at him and blinked. “What do you mean?”

  “If you leave this place and continue your mortal life from the moment you left off, someday you will die once again. When that happens, you will not be allowed to return here.”

  “Then…where will I go?”

  “I do not have the answer to that question.” It was the first time the guide had ever said that to the boy, so he felt compelled to elaborate. “Just as only those who have been here can comprehend what it is, only those who have been elsewhere can comprehend that.”

  “I don’t think I understand,” the boy said.

  “Is this place at all like you dreamed it would be when you were alive?” the guide asked.

  The boy looked around for a moment, as if he were somehow unfamiliar with the room he had been sitting in for centuries. “No, I guess not.”

  “Then whatever other place—or places—await those who do not come here cannot be imagined any more accurately.”

  “But…now I know what this place is. If I go back, I can tell him. I can give him something to be hopeful for. A reason to try to come here, even if I can’t.”

  The guide shook his head. “The living are incapable of bearing knowledge of this place. Upon your return, you will forget every moment you spent here. To you, it will seem as though only an instant has passed since your death.”

  The boy looked down at the pool thoughtfully. “That’ll be confusing.”

  “I imagine so,” the guide replied. “But upon your second death, you will remember once more. You will remember, and you will exist forever elsewhere, knowing what you gave up. Would you sentence yourself to an uncertain eternity for him?”

  “He’s my brother,” the boy repeated. “I gave my life for him. What more is an eternity?”

  “Quite a lot, actually.”

  The boy looked up suddenly, youthful curiosity filling his eyes. A splash of green danced across the walls. “How do you know so much more than I do? I’ve been here longer than you.”

  The guide smiled. “In the Room of Attachment, time flows as it does in life. Outside these walls, it moves differently. I’ve had millennia to learn everything this place can teach. You cannot imagine what awaits you if you step out of this room with me.”

  It was the boy’s turn to smile. “You’re going to try to persuade me right until the last moment, aren’t you?”

  “‘Warn’ would be a more appropriate word.”

  “Warn? Warn me of what? You don’t think he’d hurt me, do you? I mean, I know what he did to you, but after that he…”

  The guide held up a hand and shook his head. “No. I am well aware of the change my death brought about in him. In fact, if you go back, I know exactly how far he will go to protect you…as well as everything that will happen as a result.”

  “Are…are you saying you can see what will happen to him if I go back? You can see whether or not I help him?”

  “I can.”

  “Can you show me?”

  The guide was silent for some time. When he finally spoke again, he sounded almost fearful. “If God spoke to you one day and told you that when the final battle comes, it will not be a war between demons and angels, but rather a single fight between two humans…two children with warring hearts of light and dark…would you believe him?”

  “I…I don’t understand…” the boy said.

  The guide rose to his feet. “Stand with me and close your eyes.” The boy looked at the pool apprehensively. “I assure you, he will not die in the time it takes for you to see this. You can trust me.”

  “I know I can,” the boy said then looked up. “You’ve been the only person I’ve known for so long.” he paused briefly “But it hasn’t always been you, has it? Before you arrived, I was…”

  “Alone,” the guide finished. “Only what you allow can exist in this room, and before your brother’s heart changed, your turmoil was so great that you would not let anyone near you. Only once I arrived did you begin to feel hope. It is why I was chosen to be your guide.”

  “And that was all leading up to this?”

  “Yes, as this will lead to everything I am about to show you. Now stand and close your eyes.”

  The boy paid one last glance to the pool, then nodded and did as he was told. At first, there was nothing but blackness. Then, he felt his guide’s fingertips touch him lightly on the forehead.

  In an instant, he saw everything that was to come.

  He gasped sharply, his eyes shot open, and he stumbled backwards, falling onto his rear. He began to tremble. All around them, the walls erupted in a violent riptide of deep purple.

  “That’s what will happen?” the boy cried. “That’s what will happen if I go back?”

  The guide nodded.

  The boy scrambled to his feet. “Then show me what will happen if I don’t go! I need to know if it would be better if I didn’t!”

  “I cannot,” the guide said calmly.

  “What? Why?” the boy demanded.

  “I can only see futures that are possible, and there are none in which you do not return.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense! If I was going to go anyway, and I’m just going to forget, why did you show me?”

  “Because it was not meant to dissuade you.”

  “Then what was it for?”

  “To make you resolute. Because you believe you can change what I’ve shown you, and nothing I say will alter that belief.”

  The boy’s eyes dropped and moved slowly over to the pool. Below, his brother sat awaiting death, completely unaware of what was about to begin.

  “Are you ready?” the guide asked.

  “Almost…” the boy said.

  “You have a final question.”

  He did, and even though he knew he wouldn’t recall the answer after leaving this place, he couldn’t depart without asking.

  “What does my brother have to do to atone for everything he’s done?”

  The guide looked down and shook his head. “Out of everything I’ve learned in this place, the answer to that question is the most bitter irony I have ever known.”

  The boy gave his guide a puzzled look. “What do you mean?”

  “Your brother believes he must answer for thousands of deaths, including my own. However, one cannot sin without free will. All the atrocities committed by your brother were the work of a monster inside him. H
e is not responsible for those acts.”

  “Are you saying his conscience is clean?”

  “No,” the guide replied, looking back up slowly. “He committed one murder of his own volition, and it is the only one he will never ask forgiveness for.”

  The boy’s eyes widened and he raised a trembling hand to cover his mouth. But before he could say anything, the guide approached him, placed a hand on his chest, and whispered something to him so profound that, in the instant before he was sent away, the boy almost asked to stay.

  It was not like falling. There was darkness and pain and then, suddenly, a blinding burst of light.

  And there he was. Trembling, naked, lying on the scorched earth and unaware of how he had gotten there. As the world came into focus around him, the final remnants of where he had been slipped away from him like a splintered dream. He tried to grasp them, but to no avail. As he turned his eyes up to meet the startled, disbelieving gaze of his brother, the last thing his guide had said to him drifted through his mind one final time.

  “She’s coming. God help you all.”

  Table of Contents

  ONE

  I

  II

  III

  IV

  TWO

  I

  II

  III

  IV

  V

  THREE

  I

  II

  III

  IV

  FIRST INTERLUDE

  FOUR

  I

  II

  III

  IV

  FIVE

  I

  II

  III

  SIX

  I

  II

  III

  SEVEN

  I

  II

  III

  SECOND INTERLUDE

  EIGHT

  I

  II

  III

  IV

  NINE

  I

  II