After the Fire

by Will Hill

  I really, really miss her.

  Two hours later I walk into the Group Therapy room and I’m looking for Luke before the door has even closed behind me.

  Part of me, the same part that spent the last few months before the fire looking over its shoulder, is convinced that he’s going to jump out and attack me. I know it’s stupid, if only because I have to believe that Doctor Hernandez and his watching colleagues wouldn’t let Luke hurt me, but I can’t fully shake the thought. I quickly check left and right, like a child about to cross a road, but I see no sign of him and I feel myself relax, just a little.

  “Hey, Moonbeam,” says Rainbow. She’s sat cross-legged in the middle of the floor next to Lucy and Winter, and the three of them are scribbling determinedly with thick crayons on a big sheet of paper. I haven’t the slightest idea what their drawing is supposed to be – from where I’m standing it looks like some sort of giant Satanic octopus – but it’s good to see them playing together, even though the sight of Lucy’s bruised face hurts my heart.

  “Hey, Rainbow,” I say. “Hey, everyone.”

  Most of my Brothers and Sisters look in my direction and smile or say hello or both. I give them my best smile back, even while I’m still scanning the room for Luke. I’m starting to think he isn’t here, but then Jeremiah gets up and races across the room with a paper airplane in his hand, making a gurgling noise I guess he thinks sounds like an engine, and that’s when I see him.

  Luke is sat on the floor in the far corner of the room, his legs pulled up against his chest, his arms wrapped around his knees. His head is up, and I freeze because it seems like he’s staring right at me, but then I look closer and I don’t think his eyes are actually focused on anything. They’re sunken and hollow, as though he hasn’t slept for days.

  “He’s been like that since I came in.”

  I glance round to find Honey standing next to me, her eyes fixed on Luke.

  “Has he said anything?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. “Not a word.”

  I grimace. Laughter and excited chatter fills the room as Aurora chases Jeremiah with something that looks like a Play-Doh snake, and Sunset and Violet sit at one of the tables, singing a song that sounds sort of familiar but that I can’t quite place. Then they stop singing and Sunset writes urgently on a piece of paper and I realize they’re making it up as they go along.

  None of them are paying any attention to Luke, which makes me feel more than a little conflicted. On the one hand, I’m pleased to see them just getting on with the business of playing and singing and acting like something close to normal children; but on the other, the fact that they don’t seem to care that someone they’ve known all their lives is very clearly suffering makes me feel uneasy.

  They’re just kids, whispers the voice in the back of my head. They don’t know what’s serious and what isn’t. Just be glad they’re okay.

  “Are you okay?” asks Honey, as though she can read my mind.

  “I’m fine,” I say. “Why?”

  “You look like you’ve been crying.”

  The tears finally stopped about fifteen minutes before Nurse Harrow came to collect me for SSI, but there was nothing I could do about my eyes, which are red and swollen and feel as dry as the desert.

  “I’m fine,” I repeat.

  She nods. It looks like she wants to say something else, but she doesn’t.

  I nod in Luke’s direction. “I’m going to talk to him.”

  Honey frowns. “Why?”

  “Someone needs to.”

  “Someone is talking to him,” says Honey. “Ten o’clock every morning, just like you and me and everyone else. He’s not your responsibility.”

  I want to tell her she’s wrong, because he wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for me – nobody would be here if it wasn’t for me – but I can’t.

  I can’t tell anyone.

  “I’m going to try,” I say.

  She shrugs. “Do what you have to do.”

  I nod, but for a long moment I don’t move. I don’t want to talk to Luke, in fact it’s pretty close to the last thing I want to do. But I can’t do nothing, can’t just leave him staring into space in the corner of the room.

  I take a deep breath, and force myself to slowly walk towards him. If Luke sees me coming, he shows no sign of it; he doesn’t move a muscle, and his eyes don’t so much as twitch in my direction. I keep a – very – close eye on him as I turn my back to the wall and slowly slide down beside him.

  “Hey,” I say.

  No response.

  “Luke? Are you okay?”

  Nothing.

  “I’m just going to sit here for a little while, okay?” I say. “You don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to.”

  His head doesn’t turn, but there’s the faintest flicker of movement in his eyes. I stay absolutely still and silent, until he eventually mutters something inaudible.

  I tilt my head towards him. “Say again, Luke? I didn’t hear you.”

  “Why are we still here?” he says, his voice little more than a low croak. “Why hasn’t The Prophet come back for us?”

  “I don’t know, Luke,” I say, because the only answer I have is one I know he doesn’t want to hear.

  “I didn’t deserve to Ascend,” he whispers. “That’s all it can be. That’s the only explanation. My Faith wasn’t strong enough.”

  “Luke…”

  “I wasn’t good enough.”

  “Don’t, Luke,” I say. “Please. You can’t think like that.”

  Ever so slowly, he turns his head. “We left the True Path,” he says, his eyes fixed on mine. “I don’t know how, but we must have. Somewhere along the way we got lost.”

  I stare helplessly at him. Despite everything he did, despite all the good reasons I have to hate him, my heart is aching, because what I’m looking at isn’t the person that Luke could have been, the person he had the potential to become. What I’m looking at is Father John’s greatest creation – a broken thing, filled to the brim with lies and fear.

  “Pray with me,” he whispers. “Pray with me, Moonbeam. It still might not be too late.”

  I shake my head. “I’m not going to do that, Luke.”

  His mouth twists into maybe the most unsettling smile I’ve ever seen. “You were never really one of us, were you?” he whispers. “You never had Faith. You were never True.”

  “You’re wrong,” I say. “I did have Faith. I had it for a very long time.”

  “And now?”

  I don’t respond. He can draw whatever conclusion he likes from my silence.

  For long, empty seconds we just stare at each other. Then his eyes suddenly narrow, and his smile disappears. “This is your doing,” he whispers.

  A tremor of fear rolls up my spine.

  Does he know what I did? Can he possibly?

  He doesn’t know anything, says the voice in the back of my head instantly. But you need to be careful. You need to be very careful right now.

  I’m suddenly extremely aware of how little distance there is between us, and that there’s no way I can move away from him without making it obvious what I’m doing.

  “I didn’t do anything, Luke,” I say, my voice still just about steady.

  His eyes slowly widen, as though he’s looking at something wondrous. “It is,” he whispers. “It’s you. How did I not see it until now?”

  “I’m going to go now,” I say, trying to stay calm. “I just wanted to check you were okay.”

  He reaches out and grabs hold of my arm.

  Calm. Stay calm.

  “Let go,” I say.

  He tightens his grip.

  “Luke,” I say. “Let go of my arm.”

  He doesn’t move. He just stares at me, and I see the wild light of madness that has returned to his eyes, and I can’t look at it any longer. I wrench my arm free and leap to my feet as he uncurls like a striking diamondback, his face darkening to furious red.

  �
�You!” he shouts.

  The room falls silent as our Brothers and Sisters all stop what they’re doing and look around. Out of the corner of my eye I see Honey take a step towards me, a deep frown on her face.

  “I didn’t do anything, Luke,” I say. “There’s no reason to get upset.”

  My words seem to momentarily confuse him, as though he can’t quite believe what he heard – because of course there’s reason to get upset, there’s every reason to get upset – but he rallies quickly enough.

  “Your mother was a Heretic!” he bellows, the words hitting me like a punch to the stomach. “She was a Heretic and your best friend was an Outsider spy and that makes you a Servant Of The Serpent! That’s why they won’t come back for us! Because you’re here! This is your fault! YOU DID THIS TO US!”

  I take a step back from the roaring heat of his anger but I don’t protest, don’t try to argue with him, because what could I possibly say? He’s telling the truth.

  The door opens and two male nurses I haven’t seen before step into the room.

  “Luke,” says one of them. “We need you to calm down.”

  He spins around, his eyes blazing. “You can go to Hell!” he yells. “Can’t you see, Outsider? Can’t you see The Serpent standing before you?”

  “I can see that you’re upset,” says the nurse. “Do you think you can calm down and continue this session, or do you need us to take you back to your room?”

  Luke stares at the nurse, his face twisted with crimson hatred, then spits on the floor. “I don’t want to be anywhere near her,” he growls. “Her stink makes me want to puke.”

  He strides across the room and out into the corridor without a backward glance. The nurses follow him, and the door swings shut.

  I stand on my own in the middle of the room. My Brothers and Sisters are all staring at me, but I can’t meet their eyes. I want to tell them that it’s okay, that everything’s all right, but I can’t, because it isn’t.

  Nothing is okay, and nothing is all right.

  And I don’t know if it ever will be.

  Agent Carlyle is here again. He followed Doctor Hernandez into Interview Room 1 as the clock above the door reached ten, and gave me a smile as he sat down.

  I didn’t sleep well last night, although I can’t pretend I’m surprised. Luke’s face hung in the darkness above me, twisted up with fury as he realized – or convinced himself – that I’m the reason he hasn’t Ascended to sit at the right hand of The Lord. As a result, I’m tired, and my brain feels warm and sluggish, and I can’t quite decide whether I’m glad Agent Carlyle is here or not.

  Based on yesterday’s session, it feels like he wants more straightforward answers from me than Doctor Hernandez, more what happened and who did what when and less discussion of what I feel or what I think. But more straightforward or not, the simple fact of who he is still makes me nervous. Doctor Hernandez works for a hospital and has a wife and seems pretty much like a normal person. Whatever else he may be, Agent Carlyle is still part of the Government.

  I know that shouldn’t matter any more. Or at least, it shouldn’t matter as much as Father John always told us it did. But some things go deeper than rationality; some things are sewn into the fabric of my soul, far beyond the reach of Doctor Hernandez and his colleagues and his process.

  I don’t know if there is any real chance of me getting out of this place. I want to believe there is, that Doctor Hernandez told me the truth and that one day I’ll get to walk outside and feel the sun on my face and go and start a new life somewhere far from here. But even if that’s a possibility, I don’t know how long it might be until it happens and I don’t know who actually makes the decision to let me go. I’m starting to suspect that Agent Carlyle will have a good deal of say in the matter.

  You need to tread carefully, whispers the voice in the back of my head. You’re not the only one who knows more than they’re saying. He’s smart, and he sees you better than you think. They both do.

  “Good morning, Moonbeam,” says Doctor Hernandez, as he arranges his pens and notebooks. “How are—”

  “I don’t want to talk about the Centurions,” I interrupt, because I’m tired and my hand hurts and I’ve been thinking about what I want to say ever since I woke up. “Or Nate, or my mom, or anything else that’s bad. So I honestly don’t know if there’s any point in doing this today.”

  “That’s all right,” says Doctor Hernandez. “That’s completely understandable. I’m sorry if yesterday’s sessions made you feel uncomfortable.”

  “It’s okay,” I say. “How’s Luke doing?”

  “We’re working with him,” he says. “I’m confident of a positive outcome.”

  I hope you’re right.

  “Good,” I say. “So shall I go back to my room?”

  Agent Carlyle glances at Doctor Hernandez, who keeps his gaze fixed on me. “Why don’t we just talk?” he says. “No questions you don’t want to answer, no agenda, no process. Just a conversation.”

  I narrow my eyes. “What about?”

  “I know you think that we’ve already made our minds up about The Lord’s Legion,” he says. “That we believe everything about it was bad. So why don’t you tell us about the other side of it?”

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “Tell us about a time you were happy,” he says. “A normal day, or just a memory that makes you smile. Something good.”

  “Why?” I ask. “That isn’t the stuff you care about.”

  Doctor Hernandez shakes his head. “That isn’t true,” he says. “Agent Carlyle represents the criminal investigation that you are part of, even though I know you wish you weren’t, but I promise you that I am interested in every aspect of your life, the bad and the good.”

  “I can’t think of anything good,” I say. It’s not even a lie.

  “I don’t want to believe that, Moonbeam,” he says. “Are you sure?”

  I think back, searching my memory for what he’s asking, but it’s not easy.

  Not easy at all.

  How it all ended has tarnished everything that went before, as though the fire itself has spread through my memories, scouring and scorching and turning everything dark. It’s like the present has poisoned the past.

  I can think of happy moments, but most of them are fleeting and only of interest to me: a joke I shared with Honey, the Friday afternoon when Amos brought hot churros back from Town, Nate’s face when the light of the setting sun caught him from a certain angle. Nothing worth telling anyone else.

  What about before The Purge? whispers the voice in the back of my head. Before Father John took over the Legion?

  I search back further, digging deep into my memories, until something rises up out of nowhere and I smile, both at the memory itself and because it’s something I can safely give Doctor Hernandez and Agent Carlyle, something they can get their teeth into without getting too close to the things I don’t want to tell them.

  Which seems like a fair deal.

  To me, at least.

  The fairy lights strung from the trees and between the corners of the buildings twinkle red and white and blue as Father Patrick winds up and hurls the baseball.

  Horizon frowns as it flies towards him, takes a swing so huge it almost spins him off his feet, and connects with nothing but air. The ball thuds against the wall of the Chapel behind him and everyone cheers and boos and whoops and hollers as he picks it up and throws it back where it came from, a wide grin on his face.

  “Nice pitch,” he says.

  Father Patrick tips an imaginary cap, his red hair bright in the glow of the Fourth of July decorations. I’m sat cross-legged on the warm tarmac of the yard, my mom on one side, Honey and Alice on the other. Honey is only four and not interested in baseball but Alice is keeping an eye on her while she chases one of the spare balls back and forth and she seems happy enough. I don’t know where Honey’s mom is – probably in her room, in the grip of one of her headaches. She gets them
a lot.

  My mom is finishing one of the last burgers that came off the grill before the game got started and she’s got mustard on her upper lip and ketchup on the end of her nose but I haven’t told her because she looks funny and I’m wondering how long it will take her to notice.

  I ate two burgers, I don’t even know how many chicken wings, some potato salad, some rice, and a spoonful of a green dip that Bear made. It tasted weird, sort of like moss, but I ate it anyway because I like Bear and I didn’t want him to feel bad if nobody ate his dip. My grown-up Brothers and Sisters are drinking bottles of Coke and glasses of lemonade. I’m not allowed to drink Coke but Bella has already let me have a sip of hers. I don’t think anybody saw.

  “Two strikes!” shouts my mom, holding up two fingers. “He’s got your number, Horizon!”

  The yard is pretty much full. When the game is over, some people will go and sleep off their barbecue and some will go into Legionnaire’s Hall and watch real baseball on TV and some will go and listen to music on radios in the gardens, but for right now, almost everyone is together in one place. I look around as Father Patrick tosses the baseball in his hand, at the men and women and children sprawled out in a loose rectangle, at the people waiting patiently for their turn to bat or pitch, and I smile because it’s warm and sunny and I’m with my Family.

  Horizon shakes his head at my mom and mouths “We’ll see.” She waves her fingers at him but she’s got a big grin on her face and it’s really good to see it because she doesn’t smile as much as I wish she would. Most of the time she doesn’t look very happy but I don’t ask her whether she’s okay any more because the last time I did she got really mad and told me that I would be the first to know if she wasn’t. I don’t think that’s true though. I think she just wanted me to stop asking.

  Father Patrick starts his wind-up again as Horizon takes his stance and raises his bat. But as his arm whips forward, an enormous burp rips across the yard and echoes away into the desert. Father Patrick pulls out of the pitch and almost overbalances as Horizon and everyone else turn towards the source of the noise.

  Luke makes absolutely no attempt to pretend it wasn’t him; his grin is huge, his face pink, his eyes bright with happiness. There’s a moment of stunned silence before Horizon bursts out laughing, a great booming noise that engulfs the whole yard and is impossible to resist. Luke doesn’t move as everyone else joins in – he just sits where he is, his face beaming with pride, as his Brothers and Sisters clap him on the back and ruffle his hair and the younger children stare at him with wide-eyed admiration.