Gwynn put up his hands and backed away. “Whoa. I’m not sure if you were keeping score, but I got my ass handed to me. How am I supposed to stop something like that?”
“If you look at the vortex, you should see tendrils extending down to the ground. Those are coming from the open tears. This place held one, but you’ve already closed it. With a bit of training, I’m sure you could close the rest.”
“Do you have time to train me?”
“Hopefully.”
Gwynn shook his head. “No. I’m not buying that. I think you need to get on your phone and start getting the professionals in here.”
“You can do it, Gwynn. You’re a Script. A little training on how to use your abilities to fight and you’ll be set. Besides, I’d be there to back you up.”
“You mean like you were while Elaios used me for a punching bag?” Gwynn’s fists clenched. His body seemed healed, but the sting of Elaios’ fire clung to his memory.
“You know I was fighting the Curse.”
“Sure, and what will keep you busy the next time?“
“There won’t be a next time. I didn’t know Gwynn. I thought the Curse was here because of the tear you had left open. I wouldn’t let you go alone again.”
Pridament tried to be kind with his tone, but Gwynn couldn’t care. If Suture existed, this was their mess to handle. He just wanted his life back.
“Just forget it, okay? Are we done here? Did I close the tear I made?”
“Yes.”
“Then I think I’d like to go home.”
The two descended through the house in silence. It had returned to the decrepit derelict Gwynn remembered from Halloween. They walked out the front door and got in the car. As Pridament pulled out, a pale girl in a black dress waved to Gwynn from the window. She mouthed some words and Gwynn knew what they were, as sure as if she had whispered in his ear. “Be seeing you soon.”
13/ Reaching for the Moon
Jaimie paced in the kitchen. The last dying rays of sun were retreating beyond the horizon. What had her visitor’s words meant? Should she allow Gwynn some more space? Like hell. When the boy got home, he would go to his room and only leave it for food and school. In another few months, he would go to college. When that happened, she would give him space. While he lived under her roof no damn way would he use a school suspension for hanging out.
She never gave herself a chance to ask who he would be hanging out with. In all the years they had lived together, he had never brought home a friend. No, if that man told her to let Gwynn do as he pleased, then it was not a good thing.
Her feet and back were protesting. Too much stress, too much time moving back and forth on hard floors without a rest. She embraced the discomfort and used it as further fuel for her anger. Nine years of perfect, predictable behavior. Now this. Suspension. Disappearance. Some rational part of her mind said she should be worried, not angry. Some part of her understood she felt more frustration and anger toward herself than Gwynn, but those parts were waging a losing battle.
Lights cut across the ceiling in the hall. A car had pulled into the drive.
Jaimie sprinted down the hall and threw the door open. The car lights, still on, blinded her. The whir of an engine fan kicked on as the car idled. A few moments later, a rattling noise accompanied the engine shutting off, and the lights died, leaving her blinking away spots.
Two figures approached from the car. The first one she focused on turned out to be Gwynn. The boy’s clothes were in tatters.
The second figure stood taller, a man. He appeared in his mid forties. Tall, brown hair, nothing outstanding. His eyes though, they were dark and grim. His discomfort of being here wafted off him like stink.
Jaimie allowed them inside the house and shut the door before she started to yell.
“Where the hell have you been? What happened to you?”
Gwynn looked back at the man and then hung his head.
“Well, I’m waiting for some sort of explanation.” Jaimie wheeled on the stranger. “And who are you?”
The man cleared his throat. “My name is Pridament. I met your nephew at the hospital.”
“What happened to you?” Jaimie asked, turning her attention back to Gwynn.
Again, he seemed to search for guidance from the man who called himself Pridament. “I’m going to go get some different clothes on.”
“Excuse me?” She didn’t like this. First, the hated man shows up, now Gwynn looked to some stranger to explain his actions. She wouldn’t lose him. “I think you’re going to stay here and explain to me why you look like you were in a bar fight and are being driven home by a virtual stranger.”
“I don’t want to intrude, but perhaps if the boy were more comfortable he might tell you what’s happening.” Pridament said.
“You shouldn’t intrude and I don’t give a damn about him being more comfortable. This is my house and I want an explanation.”
Gwynn had been almost up the stairs, but now he stormed back down. “Your house? What happened to us being in this life together? What happened to us being all the family we had so we had to stick together?”
“Exactly. So don’t you think if you’ve gotten involved in something you should tell me?”
Gwynn shook. “What? Do you think I’m involved in drugs or something? Would you like to come upstairs with me and search my room?”
“That sounds like a challenge.” She prepared to storm up to his room and tear it to shreds.
Pridament held up his hands. “Whoa there. This is getting out of hand. Maybe both of you should calm down and take a breather.”
“Maybe you should get the hell out of my house.” Jaimie bellowed.
Gwynn turned a shade of red that approached purple. “I see what this is all about. Nine years I’ve been the quiet mouse. I never raised my voice. I never questioned instructions. Now, suddenly life is happening to me and you can’t handle it.”
“That’s not it at all.”
“Yes, it is. Jesus, I didn’t even ask for this. Do you think I want to be some freak? Do you think I need this shit on my shoulders?”
Gwynn shoved by Jaimie and threw open the door. On his way out the door, he grabbed a ratty, too short, jacket. Why had she even kept that coat?
“Gwynn…”
“Let him go Jaimes.” Pridament touched her gently on her shoulder. Even though rage blinded her, she couldn’t ignore the feelings ignited in her hearing that name. Her eyes burned as unbidden tears surged forward.
“What did you call me?” She turned to him.
Pridament’s eyes were gentle, understanding, familiar. “You’ve done an amazing job with him Jaimie. Give him some time to cool down. He’s had a lot dumped on him.”
Jaimie’s voice came dry and cracked. “Who are you?”
“You won’t like the answer.”
“Please. I’m sick of all the riddles and games.” Pleading filled her voice. She hated it. She didn’t know this man, and she hated being weak in front of him. Still, the name. Only one person had ever called her that. “I need to know.”
“All right.” He said. But it seemed the last thing he wanted. “This might be…unsettling.
The air seemed dryer. Jaimie’s hair tingled, as though she had brushed against a drape and picked up a charge. Pridament’s face started to shift. His nose reforming, the position of his eyes shifting. Each movement brought the face toward something she recognized. When she had no doubt what final form the man’s face would take, Jaimie fainted.
§
Fuyuko still had doubts about the swings.
Mom was right about one thing; the cold night air is comforting.
She had learned over the years that her mother held a certain amount of wisdom. Doubts or not, if her mom said to ride a swing, then she would ride a swing. A simple search on Google Earth had provided her with the location of a nearby park.
It always looks so easy on the map, she thought, correcting another wrong turn. It did
seem easier in the two dimensional space of a monitor. Things got increasingly difficult the more dimensions you added. She laughed. It sounded like a lesson at Suture.
This night provided lots to be thankful for. The moon shone a bright three–quarters in a sky clear and full of stars, and the clean, crisp air tickled her lungs. To top off the perfection of it all, the boots she wore were so comfortable. Every mission before had required combat boots. She reveled in the luxury in having well made, civilian, footwear.
At the end of the street, a walkway led to green space. Fuyuko picked up her pace, sensing her destination within reach. Despite her misgivings, her body tingled with excitement at reaching the park.
Fuyuko stopped at the end of the walkway and let her eyes adjust. Just a hundred feet from the light of the residential street, the park seemed covered in a shroud that blocked out the artificial light. Thanking the moon for its brightness, she followed the paved walkway, moving through the parkland’s series of slopes and valleys. She heard the grinding of cold metal before the playground came into view. Odd, someone else wanted to ride swings late on a cold November night?
She came around a small hill and the playground came into full view. A large climbing structure with three slides of differing height and shape dominated the space. Another structure for climbing shaped like a dome stood to her left. To the right, the swings, where a lone figure kicked his feet toward the sky.
It’s like he’s trying to escape the pull of gravity.
Fuyuko inspected the boy on the swings. “Ho–lee shit.” She muttered. Fate always proved to be a strange and crafty bitch. “Gwynn?” She called.
He turned his head to inspect her. He stopped kicking himself higher and let gravity reclaim him. Fuyuko moved closer.
“Why is it whenever I’m having a rough time, I run into you?” He asked.
“Lucky?” Inside she cringed. She had little experience in banter between virtual strangers. Most of the people in her life had been there since childhood.
He laughed. “Maybe.”
Fuyuko motioned toward an unoccupied swing next to Gwynn. “Is it okay if I have a seat?”
“Go ahead.”
Her stomach fluttered. Something about the boy undermined her confidence. A reminder that this mission is stupid? Why the hell am I even here?
“So what are you doing here?” She asked him.
“This is my thinking spot.”
“Really?”
He looked away from her toward the sky. “When I’m swinging, it just feels like I’m leaving the world behind.”
When Gwynn’s eyes turned back to her, he wore a weak smile. What had Justinian said about Gwynn? ‘He looked like a killer.’ Fuyuko didn’t see that at all. No, just a lonely boy, with life experiences too old for his maturity to handle. She pitied him. She sympathized.
“So what brings you to the swings?” He asked.
Fuyuko laughed. “Just trying to figure some things out. My mom said I should try it. Apparently it always worked for her.”
“So I’m not the only one who does his thinking on swings? Good to know.”
He kicked himself higher into the air, focusing his attention on the sky and moon above.
Fuyuko shrugged and walked back a few steps. She then lifted her feet from the ground and started pulling herself up to the sky. Back and forth, kick up, kick back, a physical rhythm. The wind wrapped around her and whistled in her ears. As she went higher, the moon seemed just that bit closer. She would then fall back and the world would rush into view. Rocketing forward, the world disappeared again, replaced with the starlit sky. Motion became everything, the sensation of flight and falling mingled into a sense of freedom. How could anyone think when all these sensations begged to be lost in? Why did this feel so new? She had been a child. Hadn’t she been on swings before? Probably. But she’d forgotten those days and replaced them with holes in the world filled with monsters. A simple thing, riding a swing, and yet the joy it brought her seemed beyond reason. Her companion remained speechless. The sound of metal creaking under cold and weight their sole soundtrack. The two of them seemed to swing in tandem, the sound of the metal a two–part melody soaring and dipping with the movements of their two bodies.
Fuyuko had no idea how much time had passed. It surprised her to find she didn’t care.
“So have you figured it out yet?” Gwynn asked.
His words shattered the minimalist symphony. It took Fuyuko a moment to try to process what he had even asked her. She laughed, embarrassed because she’d stopped worrying for a moment.
“No. I’ve just been enjoying swinging.”
“Like I said, the world just goes away.”
“How about you?” She asked. “Have you figured out whatever brought you here?”
He sighed—a weary, heavy sound. “I’m not sure if I’ll ever sort it out.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Silence. Guess not.
“It’s just that,” the suddenness of his speaking startled Fuyuko, “have you ever thought your life felt solid? I mean, you knew what would happen every morning, you knew where life was heading, you could count on things.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever felt that way.” Her life could never be that way. She felt faint tingles of jealousy toward him.
“You’re lucky. Because when you do feel that way, that’s when everything falls apart. I’m just pissed. I should’ve known better.”
“I think that’s just the way life is.”
“It’s bullshit.”
Fuyuko stopped herself from arguing any further. How could she hope to make him understand? When you became an active member of Suture, you didn’t know where you would sleep, wake up, or whether you’d survive. Chaos wasn’t something you understood, you called it family.
Without warning, Gwynn launched from his swing. He stood statue still, craning his head forward. He turned back to Fuyuko.
“Did you hear something?”
She hadn’t, but he looked alarmed.
Fuyuko landed two feet behind Gwynn. She stepped to his side. “What did you hear?”
He shushed her. Her ears detected nothing but the dying movements of the swings behind her.
Each passing moment clicked in her like the movement of a clock hand. As time and silence continued, her confidence in Gwynn diminished. Justinian had seen a killer? No, nothing but a lost little boy, who was increasingly getting on her nerves. She readied to snap. Then the sounds of panting and pawing at the ground on the other side of the hill reached her.
It could be anything, she told herself. But increasing knots in her stomach said differently. Not a tear, but something that reeked of its energy.
“Oh God, no” Gwynn said.
Fuyuko followed his gaze to the top of the hill. Hungry eyes and sharp teeth met her eyes.
14/ The Sword of Sorrow
Having company on the swings seemed wrong. His spot to escape and think seemed too private a thing to share. Especially with the day’s events crushing down on him.
After his parents had died, he and his aunt had moved to this town to start over. She’d found a new job and a house big enough for them each to have space. It had taken two weeks after they moved for Gwynn to venture out. Finding this park had been a small blessing. Almost ten years had passed, and the swings were still the first place he fled when things became overwhelming. He’d always been alone before, finding solace in the dark where no one saw your tears. Then she had arrived.
Besides the day he lost his parents, this day ranked as the worst. And here she was, just like she kept showing up yesterday.
Who are you? He wondered. I’ve run into you so often. Can it be more than a coincidence?
The rhythm of her swing matched his. Two objects, often out of sync, aligning for just a moment. Despite his questions and doubts, having her here made it seem, what, safer? Or maybe his experience with Sophia had left him feeling so alone, he needed someone else to speak wit
h.
A stab of guilt. Sophia. She’d told him to stop the world from bleeding—to heal its wound. Did she know about the vortex? No, how could she? But what if…? If he could close the vortex, would Sophia be normal again? Could they be together? If he could go back, he would do anything to keep her from going into that house. Even if she hated him for it.
His reaction to Jaimie’s over protectiveness had been childish. She wasn’t punishing him, she was afraid for him. Not over protectiveness, just love. He should’ve tried to breathe and keep it cool. He had to go home and set things right.
The words ‘I’m going home’ were about to leave his mouth. Then the wind sighed—a soft humming that started to grow and swell until a variety of pitches reached him. Someone sang in the darkness.
Gwynn leaped from the swing. He landed on the ground craning his neck in the sound’s direction. Maybe he had just been hearing things—one more symptom of his exposure to the tear.
The singing came closer.
Despite being unable to place the melody, it held a familiarity. A single voice, female, chanting. It wasn’t English. Latin? Was it even a true language?
Gwynn turned to Fuyuko. “Did you hear something?”
She shook her head, no. She jumped from the swing and took a step to stand beside Gwynn.
“What is it?” She asked.
“Shhh.” Gwynn tried to still everything in his body. The distracting thump in his chest the hardest to ignore. If Fuyuko couldn’t hear it, he could still be hallucinating. Had Pridament been wrong? Could his connection to the tear remain?
Gwynn’s body reacted to the singing. His muscles tensed, adrenaline pumped a euphoric high through his system. He felt stronger, ready. But for what?
Then he saw them.
“Oh God, no.”
Over the hill padded two creatures. Each had four muscular legs that carried their bull–sized bodies with ease and grace. Red, angry, eyes set in a dog–like head locked on to Fuyuko and Gwynn.
“Gwynn,” Fuyuko’s voice lacked any trace of fear, “get behind me.”
His mouth slackened. If he had super powers like Pridament said, why was he the one immobilized by fear? “But…”
Harbinger (The Bleeding Worlds) Page 11