by S. F. Kosa
“Come on, Shirin,” she said, her voice oddly singsong. “I’ll help you sit up.”
Awkwardly, she pulled a pillow from the stack under the bed and tried to lift the rigid woman’s head, but Shirin bucked and arched, in silent combat with herself. Her face had gone beet red. Parvaneh shoved her arm beneath the woman’s sharp shoulder blades, yanked her up, and slapped her on the back. Saliva stretched from Shirin’s mouth, a thin thread all the way to the covers in her lap.
“Help,” Parvaneh shouted. “She’s choking!” She kept slapping, pulling Shirin forward, hoping that wasn’t a bone breaking beneath the frantic collisions of her palm with Shirin’s spine. “Help,” she screamed. “Someone help!”
Fabia and Ladonna appeared in the doorway. “What are you doing to her?” Fabia shrieked. “You’re hurting her!”
“She’s choking! I don’t know what to do!”
Darius pushed between the two women. “Get her to the meeting room,” he said tersely. Tadeas and Kazem entered and made for the bed.
Hands closed over Parvaneh’s. Pulled her away from Shirin, who continued to writhe, her face purple. Eszter held her tight, providing safety and warmth. Parvaneh relaxed, feeling the hard lump of Eszter’s meditation stone against her back.
“Hurry,” Darius said. “The time is now.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Parvaneh begged. “I was just trying to feed her!”
“Shh,” said Eszter, her arms still tight around Parvaneh’s body. “You’re okay. It’s going to be okay.” She steered her through the door and guided her out of the building, across the clearing, toward the meeting hall. “You’re going to be okay. Just stay quiet.”
She was the opposite of okay. Everyone had been shunning her, and now she was going to be blamed for hurting Shirin again. They were going to kick her out—no money, no name, no shelter, no food. They were going to send her away and let her die.
She began to cry.
“No,” whispered Eszter as they reached the door to the hall. “This isn’t about you.” She took Parvaneh’s face in her hands. “Focus on the moment.”
Parvaneh gritted her teeth, wanting to scream. Everything had gone wrong so fast.
Eszter let her go and pushed her inside and up the aisle, where everyone stood at the altar, surrounding Shirin. With little shoves and a constant stream of soothing words, Eszter propelled Parvaneh all the way up the steps.
“She should stand next to me,” Darius said.
Eszter tugged on Parvaneh’s hand, her expression a million messages at once—stay calm, I’m here, it’s okay, I’m terrified. “Come on,” she said aloud. “Do as he says.”
Parvaneh hadn’t even realized he was talking about her. Dazed, she let Darius clasp her hand and pull her toward him. Right next to Shirin’s head, her open eyes, her lips turning purplish blue, her fingers scraping at her tongue.
Darius yanked Parvaneh against him, her belly pressed to the altar. He grabbed her wrists and moved her hands toward Shirin’s body.
She pulled back instinctively. This woman was dying, and no one was talking about 911 or ambulances or hospitals. They were just letting her suffer.
“Stop fighting me,” Darius murmured. He forced her palms to Shirin’s throat. Parvaneh cried out, feeling the loose skin of the woman’s neck, the trembling beneath her skin. “Feel it,” he said. “Feel the consciousness reaching for her. For us.”
Parvaneh didn’t want to feel it. She didn’t want to feel anything. She didn’t want to exist. Darkness licked at the edges of her vision. Her whole body tingled. Darius pressed himself against her back while everyone else murmured words beyond her comprehension.
Parvaneh gagged. She couldn’t breathe. Darius wedged his knee between her legs, holding her upright. The fog closed in, and her ears began to ring. The only things she could still feel were Shirin’s twitching throat and Darius, his body a cage, forcing her fingers closed. The din in her head grew louder, the sound slicing through her brain, cutting her into pieces.
And then everything went silent and black.
She awoke to the sound of water dripping and gasped at the feel of a cool rag on her forehead.
“Be still,” Darius said. “You’re safe.”
She opened her eyes. She was lying on her back in one of the private rooms like Shirin had—actually, this was Shirin’s room. “Is Shirin—”
“The consciousness welcomed her soul back into its loving embrace, and as she began her journey, we all felt it.”
“But you—you made me—”
“We all knew it was time for Shirin to return to the consciousness,” he explained. “And you had the honor of witnessing her departure.”
“We caused her departure,” she whispered. “Why didn’t we help her?”
“This was what she wanted. She was a true follower of the consciousness. We were lucky to have had her for as long as we did.” His voice was somber but not sad.
“She looked scared,” Parvaneh said, hoping she didn’t sound accusatory. She was terrified that this would be blamed on her. At the thought, tears started in her eyes. “I was trying to feed her. I didn’t want to hurt her!”
“No one said you hurt her.”
“Fabia did.”
He frowned. “It sounds like Fabia was the one who was scared. And not in touch with the movement of the consciousness through all of us.” His eyes met hers. “But you felt it. You touched it, and you recognized it, didn’t you?”
Parvaneh opened her mouth to argue, but wasn’t this what she wanted? “I…think maybe?”
“You recognized the force of it even if you don’t have words to describe it. The deep profoundness of all of it—it was too much for you to bear in that moment.”
“I fainted,” she murmured, realizing he must have carried her here, stupid and helpless.
“You were overwhelmed when it touched you.” He stroked the backs of his fingers across her cheek. “You shuddered in my arms. You made me feel it too.” His fingertips traced down the column of her throat.
It reminded her of Shirin’s throat, twitching and pulsing as her soul fought its way out of her body. She shivered.
“See?” he whispered. “You feel it even now. And once again, you make me feel it too.” He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath.
Parvaneh didn’t move. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to cry.
His lips descended on hers, his tongue jutting between her lips. His hand closed over her throat, holding her there. She froze with the shock, with the sharp, hot demand of it. He pulled back, breathing hard. “You make me taste it,” he said roughly. “I can feel the consciousness calling to me from inside of you. It wants us to connect. Soul to soul. I knew you were special.”
She stared up at him, uncertain, hopeful, terrified. Her entire self was a jumble of mismatched signals, memories, words. “I…I think I feel it,” she said hesitantly.
He nodded, as if that was what he expected. He stroked her hair away from her face. “I know the last few weeks have been hard on you. I know you’ve wondered if this was the right place for you. You wondered if anyone cared and especially if I cared. I’ve seen it all. Even when you think I wasn’t looking, wasn’t seeing, I saw.”
It hit her square in the chest. Tears streaked down her cheeks. She turned on her side, sobbed while he contained all of her in his arms.
She wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, with Darius whispering words of understanding in her ear, telling her that she was helping him on his journey. In her whole life, nothing had felt this safe and good. After the most frightening minutes of her life, here she was: held and accepted and seen. Finally. She nestled into him, greedy for every second and breath he was willing to share.
He pressed a kiss to her temple. “I hate to leave you, but I need to check on the others.”
“It’s okay,” she whispered. “I understand.”
His hand rested on her head. “I know an experience that profound leaves its mark on a person, and I am going to help you through it.”
She nodded. Turned her head to find his face close to hers. This time, the kiss was slower but no less demanding. As before, confusion twisted with fear and hope inside her. Was this romantic, or was it spiritual? Was she supposed to want him in this kind of sexual way?
What she wanted was to be safe. To make sure this was her place, where no one could uproot her. She welcomed him, arching upward. He groaned and let her go. “I’m having trouble focusing,” he said with a chuckle. “Your soul speaks to me so clearly.”
“I feel it too.”
He stood up. “Tonight, after our group meditation session, you and I will meet privately to continue your guidance.” He reached into the pocket of his robe. When his hand emerged, it was curled into a fist.
“Each week, we send a group to town, to do some cleaning jobs and shopping for the things we don’t purchase in bulk. Supplies for the children and such. Would you like to be assigned to this team next week?”
She nodded. She hadn’t been off the compound for months. It felt like a huge reward.
“Close your eyes,” he said.
She did without hesitation. Would he kiss her again? Did she want him to? Did it matter anymore?
The questions fell silent as she felt him take her hand. Turn her palm to the ceiling. A warm, hard-edged object was pressed into her hand. He curled her fingers around it. And then he left, closing the door with a soft click.
Parvaneh opened her eyes. Looked down at her hand, her fingers opening like the petals of a flower. Sitting on her palm was a meditation stone, blue with markings she’d only just begun to recognize.
She cradled it to her chest as she laughed and cried until her body relaxed into sleep.
Chapter Twelve
Bend, Oregon
December 11, present day
The text from Gina, Arnie’s alien-obsessed girlfriend, comes right as I pull up in front of Hailey and Martin’s house.
Found that list of people who were never IDed and might of made it out. Kyra Zana Parvaneh Ester Roya Lala Someone got out you can print that.
I stare at her words, cold prickles zapping across my skin. This is the list of six, the only ones left unidentified after the ashes cooled. I’m one of them. We were the strays. All young women, under twenty when our world caught fire. I remember their faces. I remember how they died. I remember what I did.
Thanks, I text back. Will vet this info and follow up.
Back in my room, aching and jittery, I settle onto the bed with my laptop. My heart is beating way too fast—121 beats per minute—considering that all I did was read a text and walk down the hall. It’s because of what I have to do next.
I start with Shari Redmond. Ladonna. Great baker, practical, level-headed, utterly devoted to Darius until the end. I see that she served her time, but after that, there are no mentions of her, no obituaries, no marriage announcements, no residential listings, absolutely nothing. She’s a freaking ghost.
I Google the only other survivor from that night: Fabia. I remember the look on her face, too flat to have contained such malevolence. Or maybe devotion. At that point, I didn’t care what it was, only what it was doing.
Locking us in.
After Fabia yields no real results, I Google her other name. Not the one Darius gave her but the name she had before. I know better than anyone that it might not have stayed her name, but I remember the first time I met her, how strangely proud she was of it. She held out her hand to shake mine. “Marie,” she said. “Heckender.” There was a light in her eyes, an anticipation. Easy to read even though I’ve never considered myself particularly good at reading people. Her, though, I could always read. She was the most obvious person I’ve ever met.
Marie Heckender, she told me. Heck-en-der, she repeated when I shook her hand. I remember wondering if she wanted me to give her my last name, and I had no intention of doing that, not the one that had been strapped to me since birth; I hated it so much. Later, she told me she thought I might recognize her name. My asshole father does his best to make sure people know it, she said.
Sounds like you’re pretty angry with him, I replied.
She looked disappointed. He’s CEO of Willamette Central Bank, she told me, resentment seeping from every word. Too busy making money to notice his family. So yeah. Then her face turned, lifting in a sharp smile, the only sharp thing about her. I pulled all my money out of the trust fund before I came here. Maybe he’ll notice that.
Before we left for the compound outside of Bend, Darius pulled me aside. Like he could see the doubt all over me. He could see straight through me, maybe even at the end. Marie’s loyalty will carry us through dark times, he said. This is what the consciousness communicated to me.
I believed him then. I shoved down my instant suspicion and dislike of Marie, who became Fabia, who became a murderer because he wanted her to.
I suppose he wanted me to be one too. And he got his way.
I shift my legs, curling them to the side, and peer at my search results. If I want to survive, I have to know every fact, every minute shred of evidence. I have to know all of it better than Miles. Before Miles whenever possible.
The woman calling herself Fabia was taken into custody at three in the morning, along with Tadeas and Ladonna and over a dozen children under the age of four, after Deschutes County emergency personnel responded to a trucker’s call to report a fire off Route 20 between Tumalo and Sisters, right on the edge of the Deschutes National Forest.
She was identified as Marie Heckender after her father, Jack Heckender of Portland, got her an expensive attorney who managed to get a judge to grant her bail—after she’d been charged by the Deschutes County DA with thirty-five counts of first-degree murder. That made headlines. And then she blamed everything on Darius, cooperated with authorities, and testified against Tadeas and Ladonna. She got off with less than a decade in prison.
In the article reporting her release from Coffee Creek Correctional Facility just south of Portland, it is noted that her parents visited her every week. They asked that their privacy be respected during her parole. She’s been free for almost a decade.
A chill runs through me. This world suddenly seems too small. With Arnie spending Thanksgiving with Hailey and Martin, with Miles connecting with Chief Ransom, it feels like anyone could link things up at any moment. I have to keep Miles away from Marie Heckender.
I shoot to my feet. I can’t focus, can’t think. I need to run now. If I don’t, I’ll start screaming, and I won’t be able to stop.
I tear off my clothes and pull on my leggings and a running shirt. My socks and running shoes. I pop another four ibuprofen because I know this is going to hurt. I grab my earbuds and keys, head to my car, and make the quick drive to Riverbend Park. The trail’s still cement here, but Hailey promised it was packed dirt farther south, so I turn up the music and take off, desperate for the release that comes with a heart rate running at least 80 percent of max.
I know what I’m going to do. I have to find Marie before Miles does and somehow scare her into not talking to the media while acting like I desperately want her to. I have to talk so she doesn’t recognize my voice, but it’s been twenty years since she heard it. And then I’ll tell Miles I did everything I could to convince her to sit for an interview, and I’ll say she threatened to sic her lawyers on us for harassment. Given what I’ve read about their effectiveness during the trial, for which her father spared no expense, it really could work. I could keep her away from this. From me.
That leaves Shari Redmond, a.k.a. Ladonna. She must have changed her name. I should have been monitoring all of this all along. But instead, I’ve had my head buried in the sand.
My fists clench even though they’re supposed to be loose. My ankle turns as I land wrong on a rock, and I stumble but catch myself, sending spikes of agony lancing up my shins and into my knees. Anger is the heat in my chest, anger at myself for failing this test, anger at the world for making it so damn hard.
I dodge around two guys hiking along the trail, their backpacks and water bottles telling me they’re planning to be out for a while, even though twilight is painting the sky pink and orange and steely gray. My back is throbbing and so is my head. But I want to run forever, follow this river to its end, over a cliff, down the falls, far away from the terror that’s ridden me ever since Miles announced he was coming to Bend.
Who am I kidding? I’ve been terrified a lot longer than that. Now it’s bloomed in my head like a carnivorous plant looking for sustenance, devouring all the scraps of peace I’d managed to gather to myself over the years. A degree. A name change. A knit-together past woven out of lies.
It happens so quickly that I barely have time to catch myself. My toe snags on a root, and the ground rushes up to meet me. I throw out my hands to keep my face from colliding with a cluster of rocks, and I succeed.
The cost, though: my left wrist. Like inserting my arm into a volcano, into a wood chipper, both at the same time. I let out an airless scream, my vision crimson. My heart beats in my throat, my fingertips. The ground shakes beneath me and I hear shouting, even though one of my earbuds is still in my ears, my music pounding. I look up at the stranger kneeling down, his arms outstretched, concern etched across his face.
He’s not a stranger, though. Noah, his dark hair mussed, his friend Arman on my other side, leans toward me, panting. “Dora! Are you all right?”
“My wrist.” I hold it against my chest carefully, like a weapon, the pain so sharp I’m surprised it doesn’t stab right into the rest of me. “It’s broken.”