by Ira Robinson
Tamara brightened. "Yes, exactly. And you won't notice any of the individual strings the spider made until you get up really close and personal with it."
Sam nodded, having seen the same thing many times.
"That's what folks like me do. We are close and personal with the web of fate, to see each of those strands and how they connect to everything else, while the rest of the people can't."
"So my strand is connected to my father? Wouldn't everyone's be? To their fathers, I mean."
"Yes," Tamara nodded, "but I can look much more closely than just that. I see every molecule that makes up the string, if I concentrate hard enough and have something belonging to the person." She waved her hand before Sam could ask. "It helps make the gift stronger. For you, I used your paintings."
"And they showed what?"
"That there's a lot more to you than people expected." Tamara gave a light laugh at Sam's reaction. "It's true. You've got more going on than you think, Sam. For one, you have a similar talent to my own."
"What?" She bolted upright, her legs kicking out from in front of her.
"Not exactly how mine work's, but something comparable. It seems to happen when you paint."
Sam thought about the times in the past days she had awakened with the paintbrush in her hand and the canvas before her filled. Could she be right? Sam still remembered nothing of picking up the brushes and using them.
"I've been painting out of control lately," she offered.
Tamara nodded again. "Yeah, that's what's happening. You're tapping into your gift while you are not thinking about it. While you have been asleep, right?" At Sam's yes, she continued. "The subconscious part of you is using the talent, since you've got no real control over it. When did it start?"
"A few weeks, I guess," she replied. "The one with the white figure was the first."
"Are you aware of what it is?"
Sam shook her head. "It came out of nowhere. I have no clue what it's supposed to be."
"Would you like to know?" Tamara gave her a sympathetic look. "It might disturb you."
"More than I already have been?" Sam chuckled, but there was no mirth in it. "Tell me."
"The timing you say fits. It makes sense, at least from an outsider's view." Tamara thought for a brief moment before going on. "When you were involved in searching for the little girl, Cassie, you encountered a strange light."
Sam nodded again, furrowing her brows. "Yeah, it was out in the middle of the woods."
"That was an area a breach was happening in."
"You guys have mentioned those before. What exactly does that mean?" She was not sure if the girl would answer her, but she had been forthcoming thus far. It could not hurt to ask.
"Remember how I said there were a lot of worlds, and some are connected together? Those connections have problems at times. Things from one realm spills over into another. When that happens, all kinds of mayhem can go on." She adjusted herself in the chair, letting her head roll back a little as she spoke. "This little area around our quaint town is among the most... tenuous."
"Meaning what?" Sam asked, leaning forward.
"Meaning that strangeness can and will occur. Ever wonder where the legend of Bigfoot came from? Probably here. Maybe a hole ripped open into another world and the first one slipped through the cracks."
Sam laughed but Tamara bent her head back to stare her down, a dead serious gaze on her face.
"I'm not joking." She sat up straighter. "We've often wondered if some of the weird things people have seen were not just legends, but realities that have wandered from one world to another. People encounter these beings or pockets where the laws of nature don't quite work right, and talk about it to their friends. They tell it to more, and, soon enough, you have the birth of a legend."
"So I encountered something like that? A myth?"
"You came to a place that one world was beginning to leak into our own. That's what we call a breach." Tamara pulled her hair from her eyes and tried, unsuccessfully, to leave it tucked behind her ear. "Someone else did, too, and it left both of you changed. Cassie, though, did not come away from it as well as you did."
"Cassie?" Sam perked up, shifting her weight on the bed. "What happened to her?"
"The energy of the breach altered both of you at a deep level. For you, the difference was not very drastic. You were born with the potential for a talent, and that skill became unlocked in that place. That's why you are able to make the paintings you do."
"Huh?"
"Yours is similar to my own. You tap into the web of fate and see the strands, but it does not really seem to be fully under your control. Not yet, at least." She bent forward, her voice dropping a bit. "I can probably help with that." She said it almost as a whisper, then sat back, glancing around her as if someone might be listening in.
Sam thought of the camera she found earlier and wondered if, perhaps, they really were.
"You're able to pick things out of the skein, but it seems to be limited, at least as it stands, to what's happening in the immediate here and now. The white figure you drew on the canvas was, in fact, Cassie, only not as child she started out to be." Tamara squeezed her hands together. "It was Cassie as she was before she died, changed by the energy from the breach."
"Oh my God," Sam whispered under her breath.
Memories of the pictures of Cassie she had seen during the search, the way the little girl looked so alive and happy. How could the thing she drew be that small child?
Nausea erupted within her as the memory of the thick paint slathered on her hands and arms the moment she awoke from what she thought was a dream. She bent forward, the ache overwhelming her as saliva pooled across her tongue. She leaned further as another wave swept through.
She grit her teeth together and closed her eyes, waiting for it to finally subside before letting them flutter open again. Her jaw hurt, but the nausea passed.
Her stomach still felt heavy, though, as she asked, "What happened to her, Tamara?"
"I can't say," replied the girl, concern on her face. "I don't know, and I don't think I really want to. But one of us found her, and we made sure she was laid to rest." She turned her eyes down to the floor. "It was hard on everyone."
They were silent for a long time before Tamara finally broke it. "Things like that are the reason we are here. The Society is here to ensure that doesn't happen, and without us here, I don't know what this world would become."
"I still don't see why people should not be warned," Sam said, though niggling traces of doubt made the words seem flat, surprising herself.
How would the public react if they really knew what was transpiring? If they encountered something like the shadow of her father hunting her down, would they be able to come to terms with it? She was the one going through it and even she did not know how to accept it.
What would the average person do? Would they take it all in stride and think nothing of it? Or would they panic and run away? Or worse?
It did not sit well with her, but if everything this girl and the others had to say was true, there would be no way the people of Tanglewood could come to grips with it. Not and survive with any sense of normalcy.
Maybe they were right, but Sam did not have to like it.
"So what's next for me?" she asked, smoothing out the wrinkles in her pants as she shifted again.
Tamara sighed, her pupils rolling up a bit as she put her thoughts together.
"I guess we try to figure out what to do to keep you safe, for one, and how to break this connection between him and you." She hesitated again after that.
"And?" Sam prompted.
Tamara's eyes met hers again. "And we have to do it as soon as we can." Her hands animated as she spoke. "The longer we wait, the stronger the revenant becomes. And the stronger he is, the more he feeds. It is exponential.
"There's one other reason we have to be quick, as well. I sense it in you, right here." She pointed to a spot on her own chest, and
Sam instantly knew she was correct with her fears. "It is growing, and if we don't take care of it soon, it's going to overcome you."
Sam's eyes widened as Tamara fixed her with a hard gaze.
"If that happens, any idea of self you have will be gone, and you'll become a revenant, too."
Chapter 25
Despite being hungry, after Tamara finally left, Sam managed more sleep.
She did not know what would come next, and, though there were many pieces disturbing her about being there, the place did give her a sense of comfort. Maybe it was because she had seen no hint of the hat man since coming there, or having solid stone walls surrounding her. Either way, it did not take her long to sink back into sleep once the girl was gone.
The door was still shut when she swung her legs over the bed and stood, but the knob turned easily when she tried. The familiar hallway beyond had an addition she did not remember.
The man in a chair just outside was already in the process of standing when she opened it. He smoothed his clothing, using his hands to spread the wrinkles away from his dark shirt and pants.
"Good morning, Miss Miller," he said, though he did not smile or give any indication he was anything more than business.
She nodded to him, tossing her hair a little as she scratched an itch on her scalp. She figured must look quite a mess.
On first glance, Sam did not recognize the guy, but as she adjusted to the waking world, she realized he did seem familiar. Someone she saw around town at one time or another, perhaps, but she did not know his name.
It took her only a few more seconds to notice the small gun at his hip, a wicked looking black pistol in a holster. She missed the feel of her own.
"You've been given permission to have limited access to the facilities here, Miss Miller," he said, his voice gravelly and thick.
"I'd like to freshen up," she answered, and waited for him to wave her in the direction to go.
He led her down the same long hall she went through before, becoming accustomed to it even with her few interactions thus far. She still did not have any indication, other than the guard apparently assigned to her, of whether it was day or night. The lack of windows was annoying, leaving her sense of time bereft.
Unlike before, a few of the doors they passed were open; she peered into their contents as best as she could while they stepped quickly.
In one room, a large set of monitors lined the walls, much like what she saw in the conference. This, however, was darker and tables with chairs sat beneath the glowing screens. No one occupied them.
Another chamber held a line of lockers, with beds on the other side. It reminded Samantha of an army barracks. This, too, was devoid of people.
The guard stopped shortly after that; Sam almost thumped into him.
He waved his hand at the door and stepped aside, propping himself against the stone.
Sam walked through into a lavatory the size of her living room at home. Stalls ran along one side, while a large sink and the counter to go with it took up most of the wall to her left.
She took a second to bend down and glance beneath the partitions, checking to see if anyone else was in there with her, but it was void of all but her. There was no indication to show if it was exclusive to women or was shared between genders.
She slipped into a stall and used it quickly. Before leaving, she spent a few minutes to get her hair under some semblance of control and wash off her face.
It helped clear out some of the cobwebs her broken sleep left behind.
Her stomach growled as it, too, grew further awake, and she realized it had to have been some hours since the last time she had anything to eat. When she exited the bathroom and the guard perked up from his place of pause, she asked him if she could get something.
"Mister Howard would like to see you," he responded, not really answering her question.
"Oh, well, then we can't keep him waiting, can we?" Her tone dripped with sarcasm, but he seemed to not notice. He merely started walking down the corridor again without another word.
She followed, sticking her tongue at the man as she paced behind him. Was he oblivious to it?
They reached the end of the hall, near the place the conference area occupied, but instead of going through the door she used before, he turned to the one nearby and knocked twice, the stone walls around her echoing the sound.
There was no marking on the the entry to show this office was any different than the others they passed, but the voice of Mortimer murmured through it. "Come!"
The escort opened the door and waved her toward it, expecting her to oblige. She hesitated before going inside, and he followed in her tracks.
The old man perched at a wood desk that looked more aged than himself. His petite frame nearly disappeared behind its darkened lacquer finish.
Her nose picked out acrid cigar smoke, a heady scent that made her stomach curl slightly; she had never been a fan of them. The clutter on the desk, however, showed nothing of an ashtray.
There were piles of papers, books, and items she could not identify. Some were heaped along the edges of the workspace, threatening to tip over onto the floor at the slightest pressure.
Three bookshelves took up space in the room behind Mortimer. They were stuffed completely with texts, all different sizes, though she could see none of the titles clearly in the dimmed light coming from the lamp.
"Hello, Samantha," he said as he indicated the empty chair across from him. "Please, have a seat."
She glanced to it and back again to the escort who followed her inside. He moved away with his brows raised toward Mortimer. When the old man nodded and shooed him out with his hand, he backed from the room.
"Get me a sandwich or something," Sam called out to him before the door closed.
She took to the seat, pulling it from the spot near the wall, bringing it closer to the desk.
"Thank you for coming, Samantha," Mortimer said.
"Did I have a choice?" Her stomach grumbled again, making her belligerent. The passing of minutes would not relieve that problem.
"There's always choice, my dear. Some of them may be wrong, but they are choices." He smiled at his joke, but Sam did not return it. Being locked in her cell of a room did not give her a humorous viewpoint.
"I want you to understand we are going to make every effort we can to help you with your problem," he said as he braced his hands against the desk and leaned forward. "I am sorry for the way it was revealed to you last night. I know how hard it is to hear information that runs contrary to what you believe."
"If I was told about all of this," she waved around, "I wouldn't be going through it, would I?"
"Perhaps." He nodded softly, almost imperceptibly. "It was not easy for us to go that direction with you. Your family has always been an important part of the Society, but things we saw in you at an early age made us hesitate at bringing you in."
"Like doing the right thing?"
"The right thing, my dear, is not necessarily the finest." He sat back and put one of his hands behind his head. "What we do, we do for the good of Tanglewood, and the world at large beyond its confines. It is not an easy onus to bear."
"And being lied to all your life is?" Sam did not want to be angry, hated feeling the way she did, but after the treatment she received in the grip of these people, his words chafed her. She wished she could talk to Tamara more. At least the girl seemed more sympathetic to what she was going through.
"Regardless," he continued, "what is past cannot be changed. The problem at hand takes precedence."
"It seems that could have been taken care of if I had full knowledge of the history of my family. Some kind of warning would have been better than making me think I was crazy."
"That was more Bart's decision than ours," he said, "though he had approval from us to do with you what he felt best." He sighed loudly, letting his arm come back down to rest beneath his desk, cutting it off from her view. "Again, regardless, I have authori
zed assistance for you."
His eyes bore into her as he said, "Your father was a great operative in the Society, among our brightest. His loss was a blow to what we do here, and he was important to our history. Your mother, too, did much to aid us in our efforts." He softened at the mention of her mom. "She and Jackson fell in love after working with one another often."
"They met through here?" she asked, coming forward despite the emotions running rampant through her.
He nodded. "Indeed. Heather was a powerful witch, but whenever they worked in partnership, there seemed to be something extra with her." He shrugged a little. "Maybe it was the love they shared. Emotion can add much to magic.