Inside the compound walls there had been a bloodbath. A grey cobblestone driveway encircled an ornate fountain of a cherub, long since run dry. The tiny bow in the angel’s hands stood out as a macabre joke, an angelic warrior standing idle, watching death surround it. Judging by the rotting and festering bodies tossed about around it, there had been much death to observe. Michelle pulled her red bandana up over her mouth and nose one once. Her barren stomach clenched in revulsion as the boy led her impassively through the gore filled, overgrown yard, and into the massive estate.
Inside was slightly more palatable. Only one body lay in the white tile hall, and it was desiccated to the point where Michelle couldn’t tell the sex anymore. It was facedown and naked for whatever reason, and her mind wandered to dark places trying to ascertain what had happened in this house of death.
Her dead guide walked her though the home, eventually exiting the open back onto a veranda that was as beautiful as the courtyard was horrible. The sun was setting to the side of the home, casting long streaks of golden color onto the frothy white waves cresting into the rocky shore. The light wind coming off the water smelled of the best things the sea had to offer. It reminded her of freshness, a sweet salty air, and the promise of clean skin. Michelle had stopped to take in the grandeur of the ocean, and the beauty of the home. For a moment, she almost forgot where she was.
When the wind shifted, she was reminded instantly of where she was. The wretched odor of the death nearby ensured her of a strong dose of reality. She shook her head and lowered the bandana, looking around for her intrepid undead companion. He was standing at the end of the veranda, near the very corner of the house. He waited until she saw him, and then pointed out a hammock swaying to and fro in the ocean breeze.
She walked to him, smiling at the comfort she hoped the hammock would bring her later. “Is this bed for tonight? Any chance there is food around here too?” Michelle was almost in a good mood.
The little dead black boy cocked his head to the side, his expression shifting to one of subtle amusement. Then his chest began to inflate. Michelle’s heart jumped in her chest as she realized he might speak to her. She knew it was inevitable when that welcome scent played again in her nose, the floral essence of lilies.
“There is food here. Tonight you shall sleep. Tonight you shall dream.”
And dream she did.
*****
Until the day she died Michelle knew she would never forget a single detail about the dream she had that night. In fact, most nights after that October night on the veranda, Michelle fell asleep thinking about the dream. The dream of The White Room.
Michelle Annabelle Lewis fell asleep under the stars to the rhythm of the waves cresting and beating against the rocks of the shore. When her mind pulled gently away from reality and entered the dream, she was still in the hammock, and had the fresh scent of the ocean in her nose.
The soft white light of the room emanated strong enough through her eyelids to let her know she was no longer swinging in the dark, suspended in the hammock above the veranda floor. Michelle had opened her eyes in the dream, revealing a sky above, filled with white puffy clouds that reminded her of a certain summer day spent in church. She heard the chirps of song birds in the distance, and instantly she felt welcomed, and at ease.
“Shelly, sit up, we need to talk to you,” a man’s voice spoke to her. It was the soft tenor of her father’s voice.
Michelle sat up in the hammock, steadying herself in the mesh of snow white rope. She swung her head around in the featureless white space, looking for her father. “Daddy? Where are you? Are you okay?”
“I’m right here peanut.” From behind her.
Before Michelle turned to the direction of the voice her heart was already pounding with glee. She had worried so badly about her mother and father since June. She had spent many an uncomfortable, sleepless night wondering what their fate was. When she turned, she saw her father sitting in a white chair against a white wall. He was dressed as she remembered him, wearing cotton khaki slacks, a button up white shirt, and a sweater vest. He loved his sweater vests.
Michelle got herself off the hammock and ran to him. In The White Room she was barefoot, and her delicate feet danced across the soft white floor to him. He stood and embraced her for what felt like forever, and yet was not long enough.
“You look good.” Her father smiled at her. She absorbed the familiar wrinkles of his face as she gazed on him.
“I look terrible. I haven’t taken good care of myself lately. If I were awake right now, you’d be chastising me for playing in the dirt.” Michelle smiled and wiped away the tears of joy running down her cheek. “How is mother, are you both okay?”
Her father never lost his smile as he shook his head at her. “Oh no Shelly. We’re dead.”
Michelle’s tears of joy abruptly stopped. “Wha-? What? How?”
“We died in a bombing I think. We were at the townhouse we just bought in Richmond. We were doing well. We had plenty of food and water. One minute we were there, then we heard some loud explosions outside, then the next second we were gone. I just hope the explosion was powerful enough to destroy our bodies. I’d hate to think we are still out there menacing the living.” He smiled sadly.
Michelle shook her head the whole time he spoke. “That can’t be. I mean…”
“Oh it can be Shelly. It's okay. It was our time. No sense arguing the point. There are far bigger fish to fry now.” That was one of his favorite ways to distract her. Whenever Michelle became angry, or frustrated, he always told her to not worry or fret. After all, there are always bigger fish to fry.
“You’ve met Oudry already?” It was less a question, and more of a presentation. As he asked her he gestured down and to his side, and Michelle noticed her dead guide had joined them in The White Room.
He sidled up next to her father and smiled a normal, boyish grin. His ravaged arm was made whole in the dream, and his ashen skin had returned to a healthy, dark sheen. Oudry’s smile was infectious, and Michelle couldn’t help but soak it in. He seemed so normal and loving here.
“Hello Michelle. I’m glad to have been chosen to be with you.” Oudry said in clean accented English, in his own voice.
Her lips trembled at the sound of his real voice. It was lilting, and innocent. “Oudry, what a wonderful name. I am sorry if I’ve been bad company to you on our journey thus far. I don’t understand all that is happening, and my patience and faith have been tested.” Michelle’s mind drifted painfully from the reality that her parents had died.
Oudry nodded in agreement with her as Michelle’s father spoke. “That is why we are here now. We’ve been asked to speak with you about some of what has transpired. Much has been revealed to us my daughter.”
Michelle’s heart leapt once more into her throat. Just the thought of learning more about what was happening made her tremble on the inside. In an instant she was rewound two decades to her college days, when everything was new to her. She felt revitalized, even there in the mystical dreamscape of The White Room.
“Come, sit at the table. It's important.” Her father gestured to the part of the room she hadn’t paid any attention to yet. A few feet away there was a round table. Like the rest of the room it was as white as a cloud in the sky, and gave off a perfectly normal luminescence that calmed and soothed. Arranged around the small circular table were three chairs, and her father, little Oudry, and Michelle moved to the seats. Once they were all seated, her father leaned forward onto the table, and crossed his fingers.
“Shelly, you’ve been chosen for a special purpose,” he said in a voice that had a hint of fatherly pride in it.
Michelle swallowed. “What purpose is that dad? I feel like all I’ve done is walk across half of Africa, starving, watching people kill each other, and fighting back the urge to vomit as the dead murder the living. This seems more like ordinary torture to me dad.”
Her father nodded knowingly. He did that a lot when
she was growing up. “I know dear. Your fatigue and loneliness must be tremendous. I can tell you’re hurting, and I know this seems like hell on earth to you, but it’s all part of a plan that even I don’t fully understand yet. I do know that this journey is necessary for your purpose.”
Oudry spoke up, “We are traveling to meet the Warden.” He looked back and forth from Michelle to her father and back again. It seemed like he was unsure if he was supposed to say what he’d just let slip.
“Who is the Warden?” Michelle asked her father and the boy.
The two men, one young, one old looked at each other, trying to figure out a way to explain what confused even them. Her father was the first to speak, “We don’t know who the Warden is. All we know of him is that he is the protector of the Trinity. And you are a member of that Trinity. Oudry has been charged with keeping you safe until you can be united with the Warden.”
“What’s the Trinity? The holy trinity? I’m lost.” Michelle paged through her knowledge searching for information about all things related to threes. There were multitudes of entries relating to the number three. Many religions found it important. She shook her head in thought.
“Not exactly. There is power in numbers Shelly. I don’t know why, but there is. It is like physics, or chemistry, or love and faith. It just is, and that’s how things work. Mysterious ways, right? Three happens to be a powerful symbol, and the wheels that have set this in motion have decided that the Trinity shall be the final chance for mankind’s salvation.”
“The wheels that set this in motion? Do you mean God?” The ultimate question.
Her father took a deep breath and pondered the question. After a long time of searching for the right words, he responded, “God is as good a word as we will ever use, yes.”
“So he exists? God really exists?” Michelle couldn’t help but smile. The White Room and everything that had happened in it thus far was literally a dream come true for her. She’d spent her whole life searching for God, and in a dream she’d found proof of it.
“Of all the people left in the world Shelly, you need to be careful calling ‘God’ a ‘he.’ Ascribing a sex to something as all encompassing as the Divine is to fall into the same trap that has led humanity to the catechism we are in. It is your role in this to guide humanity to a better understanding of what faith really should be.” Her father was almost sad as he told her all this.
Michelle was confused. She looked at her father and Oudry for some time, fathoming what he had said to her. She was meant to guide humanity? How would she do that? She hadn’t met a single living person since the Congo. Everyone alive had been killed by each other or the dead before she had the chance to speak with them.
Oudry spoke up, “You should be proud. God chose you to represent what he wants. He wants you to show everyone a better way.”
That helped her. It was much simpler than what her father had said, and seemed eternally better to her somehow. “I don’t know if I’m up for that. That is an awful lot of responsibility.”
“You are not alone in this,” her father told her.
“The Trinity?” She asked.
He nodded. “And more. Many more. The Divine has taken measures to ensure that you are given a fair chance at saving humanity. Many will help you along your journey. Like Oudry here for example. He is your protector until you can meet the Warden.”
Michelle was suddenly very happy for having her undead friend along all this time. Then a dark thought struck her. “Wait. If the Divine started all this, why do I need protecting? Can’t the Divine protect me by will alone? The dead are his instruments right? Why can’t the Divine just protect me without the need for Oudry and this Warden person?”
Her father looked scared. It was the first time she had ever seen her father scared. The White Room’s light waned as he began to talk again, “I don’t fully understand it all yet. But what I have pieced together, is that there is more than one force at play now.”
Michelle’s eyes darted around the darkening room, searching for ideas as to what that could mean. Her brain put two and two together, and she was not pleased with what she said next, “Whoa. Satan? Is it the Devil?”
“Again Shelly, I guess that’s as good a name as any. Although I’m sure you can understand it is a lot more complicated than just a fallen angel, a lake of fire, and a pitchfork.” Her father sighed deeply.
“Evil, right? We’re talking about pure evil?” Oddly enough, that made sense to her.
“Something like that. The Divine isn’t evil, but through course of action, it can bring evil into existence, and sometimes, to cure a cancer, you need to give up a pound of flesh. Evil can carve that pound of flesh easily.”
“Evil is doing all this?” She gestured around the room in her dream as if she was pointing out the horrors she’d witnessed with her own eyes in Africa.
“Mankind has brought evil upon us. So in a fashion, we have done this to ourselves. Evil powers the instruments that are judging us. Evil manipulates those it can to get at those it can’t. Evil brings out the part of us that we wish we didn’t have, and evil tempts us with the things we want, but are unwilling to earn. The Divine is protecting you from the evil it unleashed on the world using Oudry now, and the rest of the Trinity will later, when you are united.”
“So who is the third member of the Trinity? You’ve spoken of the Warden already. If I am the second, who is the third?” Michelle leaned forward, eager to learn the identity of the last person.
“The Soul. Some of us have called him the Scribe as well. He is the chronicler of mankind’s struggles. He will write of your success, or your failure.” Her father’s tone changed as he talked of the third. The darkened room suddenly filled with warm white light again. She felt buoyed by the essence of the room.
Oudry’s little frame even looked energized. “I wish I could meet him. He seems very nice. If he could forgive himself, he’ll make for a good leader. They will tell the most tales about him, if you all survive.”
Michelle’s curiosity was peaked. “Why is he called the Soul? If he’s writing everything down somehow, and he’s the Scribe, how did he earn two titles? And for that matter, who am I? What do they say about me?” She was confused.
Her father answered. “Second question first. We call you the Savior, but some also call you the Soul as well.” Her father’s pride showed through again. “It is your role to guide humanity to a better way, and to accomplish that, you must ensure that the Scribe, or the Soul if you prefer, redeems himself, thus proving that humanity is not beyond redemption, and is worthy of a new chance at life.”
She nodded, understanding somewhat. “Wait, I’m the Soul too? What does that mean?”
Oudry chirped up, “We think you two will fall in love. Everyone is wondering if you’re soul mates. I think you are.”
Michelle was unable to speak. Angels or ghosts were looking into her future, and had deemed that she might fall in love with a man that desperately needed her assistance to be redeemable. It was an unbelievable tale to say the least. It was certainly not the fairy tale she had dreamt of as a child.
“I can see you are skeptical, and that is understandable. I can tell you one last thing before the morning sun breaks and you need to leave. Your beliefs define you Shelly. You have walked amongst the temples, the shrines, the mosques, and the churches of almost every religion mankind has had faith in, and your ability to see the best in all of them has appealed to the Divine. Your faith had guided you your entire life, and now you have the opportunity to let your faith guide all of mankind to a better future. Trust in your beliefs, and you shall be rewarded.”
That comforted her. One last question rose to the top of her mind as the light of the room grew in intensity, and took on the power of the rising sun. “You’ve said ‘we’ several times. Who is we? Angels? Spirits? Ghosts?”
Oudry and her father looked at each other with wise, sad eyes. She regretted having asked the question immediately.
Michelle nodded sadly. “What happens to you if we fail? What happens if we are judged unworthy for all time?”
“Then humanity will disappear forever, we will be cleansed off the Earth, and our souls will be scoured from the record of existence, and the Divine will begin anew without us.”
The blinding light of the dawn sun pierced her eyelids, giving everything a rosy hue. This morning for this first time since they started their journey together, she’d woken up before Oudry tapped her. It was a whole new day.
*****
It seemed to Michelle in the days after the dream in The White Room that the world made a lot more sense. Sometimes the greatest fear is the fear of the unknown, and having even a small amount of the story presented to her brought her solace. Knowledge was power.
It also helped that she no longer feared the boy guiding her to her destination. In fact, she had grown quite attached to him, or at the least attached to the memory of who he used to be. Michelle now walked beside him, instead of twenty paces behind him.
Michelle’s attitude shifted dramatically towards her plight, and it seemed like the world shifted to reward her. No longer did she dwell on the massacre of humanity. Instead she filled her days with thoughts of how this would be, or how this could be a clean slate to start society and life anew, without hatred, without misconceptions, and without bias. Her mind was filled with hours and hours of recanting what she could remember of various religious texts, and tales of deeds both good and bad, and parables filled with insight from all over the world.
Adrian's Undead Diary (Book 5): Wrath Page 4