Infinite Testament

by Greg Ness

  The door opened. He knew it! He checked his watch: 1:13. He slept for two hours! Worse, she was late! Sara stood at the doorway. She was a beautiful young girl, 14 years old. She had her mother’s dashing green eyes and her long blonde hair flowed angelically. She was gorgeous, innocent; Daddy’s little girl. He would kill the boy who tried anything beyond a passing glance.

  Sara smiled at her dad, Mr. Ixley.

  “Where have you been?” he asked sternly.

  “I was at Emily’s. It was just a small get-together,” she replied with her sweet innocent voice. And of course, she wasn’t lying.

  “Do you know what time it is?”

  “I’m sorry, Daddy.” Her glossy eyes stared at him, like a puppy that knew it was in trouble.

  He couldn’t resist. So she slipped once. Big deal. He loved his daughter too much. He’d let this one slide. “Alright, but next time you’re in trouble!”

  “Thanks!” She ran over and gave him a hug. “You’re the best.”

  This filled Mr. Ixley with joy. He smiled and rubbed her head.

  “Alright, head to bed Sara.”

  Sara ran to the stairs. “Oh, Daddy! You won’t believe it!”

  He sat back in his chair, his heart radiating with warmth. “What’s that sweetheart?”

  “I got asked to go to prom at school today!”

  The radiator in his heart shut down and broke. The gentle warm feelings were instantly replaced with a deep arctic freezing. His face turned to stone. “What?”

  “Isn’t that exciting?”

  Although she was a junior, he wasn’t ready to let his daughter go to prom. He would never sign the permission slip. Wait. He was the dean. She didn’t need a permission slip. It didn’t matter. He wouldn’t allow it. She would have to go with a boy: a boy who would probably try to take advantage of her. Much more than a passing glance. No. It was not exciting. Not exciting at all. His frozen mouth moved enough to mumble, “Who asked you to prom?”

  Sara’s face lit up. “The cutest guy in school: Bruce.”

  Mr. Ixley lost all feeling in his body. A jackhammer turned on in his brain and pounded away, offering no mercy. He thought he would throw up right there on the spot.

  This was the worst-case scenario.

  10

  “I’m sorry Bruce,” Sara Ixley said, “I just can’t do it anymore.” Tears drew lines down her face, which had turned puffy red. The innocence that once emanated from her core was gone. Besides her obvious sadness, there was something drastically different about her. A light inside her went out; her life had become a disaster.

  Bruce sat in Mr. Ixley’s reading chair. Mr. Ixley used to hate when he sat there. But there he was, looking at the girl he had grown to love. She was unlike anyone he had ever met. She was an incredibly strong woman. He was losing her; she was losing it. “Please Sara…”

  “No Bruce,” she interrupted, “I…I can’t. Every time I look at you, it just reminds me of what happened.”

  Bruce gazed into her eyes. She refused to look into his. She stared in the distance, looking at nothing in particular. Her green eyes were empty.

  The whole situation deflated Bruce’s heart, which shrunk painfully like a balloon that had lost all its air. There would be no dissuading her. She wasn’t the same girl he fell in love with. What was done was done. He had done more than anyone could expect. But it wasn’t enough. Not for Sara.

  What happened on prom night changed them forever.

  Bruce entered Mr. Ixley’s home. It was prom night and Bruce was there to pick up his girlfriend: Sara Ixley. He was exquisitely dressed with a fancy black tuxedo. Mrs. Ixley, who actually liked Bruce, opened the door. She was so fond of him, she insisted on being called by her first name: Rachel. It was hard for Bruce to remember and he often slipped. It just seemed unnatural to call someone’s mom by her first name. Nonetheless, Rachel was an attractive woman whose resemblances could be seen in her daughter. Everything about Rachel and Sara seemed to match: their personalities, their looks, their mannerisms, it was like they were the same person. The female members of the Ixley family were the polar opposite of Mr. Ixley-they were delightful.

  Rachel exclaimed, “It’s so nice to see you, Bruce!”

  “Thank you!” Bruce said as he hugged her.

  Mr. Ixley stood at the far end of the living room, staring at Bruce. His hair was straightened and he looked as stiff as he did at school. It was obvious he wasn’t happy. Not happy in the slightest. “Hello Bruce,” he said without emotion, “I see you are here to pick up my daughter.”

  “Hello, Mr. Ixley,” Bruce replied, “I’m here to take Sara to prom. We’re going to have a great time.” Bruce displayed a level of respect he had never given to Mr. Ixley before.

  Mr. Ixley slowly nodded his head. He didn’t buy it one bit. Bruce was not to be trusted. Mr. Ixley stood with his arms at his sides. It was like he was in the military and had to maintain perfect posture. What was he doing? Bruce laughed on the inside. What a strange man.

  There was a long pause and uncomfortable silence between the two rivals. They stood staring at each other until finally, Bruce broke the silence. “So….” What came next eluded him. For now, it would be the best he could come up with. Just one word: “So.”

  “So….” Rachel interjected, trying to break the silence, “Sara is in the bathroom getting ready. She should be out in a few minutes. Why don’t you take a seat, Bruce?”

  “Oh sure, thanks, Mrs. Ixley… I mean, Rachel,” he said. Bruce and Mr. Ixley maintained eye contact. It would not be broken easily. Bruce took a seat in Mr. Ixley’s favorite reading chair. When that happened, Mr. Ixley nearly keeled over. He felt a wrench in his gut; his majestic sanctuary had just been violated. He maintained his calm and sat on the couch across from Bruce.

  It was Bruce’s first time in Mr. Ixley’s house. He noticed the fancy “I’m smarter than you” decorations adorned all over. A wooden globe, African sculptures, a fully packed bookshelf, and elaborate paintings were just some of the things oozing of Mr. Ixley’s ‘intelligence.’ Apparently, he just couldn’t resist.

  “Nice globe,” Bruce said as he attempted to give Mr. Ixley a compliment.

  Mr. Ixley nodded. “Yes.”

  Bruce smiled at Mr. Ixley. He didn’t smile back. Mr. Ixley stared at him with the blankest expression a human being could ever wear.

  Rachel sat next to Mr. Ixley, maintaining her chirpy enthusiasm. “Isn’t this exciting?” Mr. Ixley was silent. Bruce laughed. It sure was.

  Out of nowhere, Bruce’s bladder came calling. “Hey, do you think I can run to the bathroom real quick?”

  Rachel replied, “Sure! You’re going to have to go upstairs since Sara’s in the bathroom down here. Just go up the stairs and it’s the first door on the left.”

  Bruce leapt off the beloved reading chair and the wrench promptly left Mr. Ixley’s gut. Bruce headed to the stairs near the front door and traveled upward. As he made his way, he saw a plethora of framed family photos hanging on the wall. Mr. and Mrs. Ixley were with Sara in all types of poses: some spontaneous, some planned. The photos depicted Mr. Ixley at his happiest. Bruce had certainly never seen Mr. Ixley like that at school. His bright smile humanized him a little bit.

  Sara had that effect on people.

  Bruce reached the second floor of the house. Where did she say the bathroom was? He headed to the right. The first door on the right. That’s what she said. Right? Nope, he stumbled upon a bedroom. He presumed it to be Mr. and Mrs. Ixley’s.

  Ever since that night in the forest freshman year, Bruce wondered what Mr. Ixley might be hiding. Stephen and Bruce only had speculation. It was a secret they kept from everyone. But a secret they always wanted an answer to. If Bruce took a quick peek inside the room, he might find something interesting. But if Mr. Ixley found him, he would kill him. Literally.

  Bruce popped his head in the bedroom. It would be a risky move. He leaned toward the stairs and listened for voices. He could hear
Rachel. She was talking to someone; it had to be Mr. Ixley. If he moved swiftly, there was no way they would ever know.

  Bruce slipped into the bedroom.

  The room was spotless. There was a king size bed, neatly made, against the wall. Not an article of clothing anywhere to be found. Just more artwork and a bookshelf. Bruce approached the bookshelf. Maybe there would be some cult books… or something like that. He glanced at the titles. Nothing out of the ordinary. There were even a couple titles Bruce was forced to read in class.

  Bruce’s heart raced. Each passing moment, they would be waiting for his return. And each second he didn’t emerge, they would start to wonder what he was doing.

  There was a closet door deep in the room next to the bed. Bruce tiptoed and approached the door. He put his hand on the handle and noticed his hand shaking. The adrenaline was pumping now. Maybe he should leave the room. But he had to know. He came this far. There was no going back. He opened the door. It was a walk-in closet. It was fairly big, about six solid steps long. Pretty normal so far. He walked inside.

  One step. He saw some of Rachel’s clothes.

  Two steps. Some of Mr. Ixley’s clothes.

  Three steps. Shoes, ties, and laundry: all to be expected.

  Four steps. He started to realize he was entering a point of no escape. There would be no hiding if Mr. Ixley came looking for him.

  Five steps. There was no point. There was nothing in here. He had to leave.

  Six steps. He stopped. There was something. The closet reached a dead-end. A white sheet covered the wall in front of him. He lifted the flimsy cloth and moved it aside. A door revealed itself underneath.

  The door looked like it was hundreds of years old; it was made of dark, ugly wood. The round handle was rusted and could fall off at any second. There was a giant letter X with a circle around it carved on the door. The circled X extended from the top of the door to the bottom. It was clearly marked as an X, not just two crossing lines. It had a daunting look to it. Not surprisingly, it was the same symbol he had seen several times before.

  The door had no place being there. It looked like it belonged on an abandoned haunted house. The sight scared the wits out of Bruce. What was Mr. Ixley up to? This door confirmed at least one thing: Mr. Ixley was keeping plenty of secrets. Bruce could only imagine what was behind this door. The answers to every question he ever wondered about that night in the forest awaited him.

  Bruce put his hand on the doorknob and creaked opened the door. He looked inside.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Mr. Ixley’s voice rang out.

  Mr. Ixley was standing at the entrance to the closet. There was no escape.

  Bruce’s bladder was definitely calling now.

  Bruce was gone. Sara had officially ended their relationship. She held her head in her hands. Tears poured from her eyes.

  Sara felt like she had nothing left. It had become hard to wake up in the morning. The beautiful girl who had once been the envy of every guy at school was now replaced with a dark, lonely creature that wanted nothing to do with anybody. She dragged her feet up the stairs. Every step seemed to produce a slam that echoed through the house.

  She entered her parents’ bedroom. Books were scattered everywhere. The bed was disheveled: the mattress was stood up against the wall and the sheets were sprawled on the floor. The artwork that used to grace the wall was ripped into shreds on the floor. The room looked like a war zone. But there was no war. Just Sara.

  The shades were closed. The room was dark. Sara could see, but it wasn’t easy. She noticed a picture resting on the nightstand. It was of her with her parents. The three of them sat, smiling. She missed that. Everyone in the picture was happy. She remembered that day. It seemed like just yesterday. She would do anything to live that day over again.

  Little did she know, she would.

  On the floor in front of her sat a knife. She had considered using it before, but failed to go through with it. Life was no longer worth living. Every waking second was painful. Her heart was tortured. She was sick of crying. Enough was enough.

  Sara picked up the knife. It was long. It was sharp. It would get the job done.

  She held the knife to her wrist, weighing whether she was sure this was what she wanted to do. The cold blade rested, waiting to slice her open. She would never forgive herself for what happened. That was the agonizing truth. She shut her eyes and thrust the knife downward, digging into her skin. She hurriedly slit her other wrist, just to be sure.

  Blood poured out of her like a stream. It was much quicker than she imagined. It was also a lot less painful. Her body cooled. It was an oddly pleasing sensation. Her eyes felt relaxed. Truthfully, she hadn’t felt this good since before the prom night incident.

  She fell to the ground. It would all be over soon.

  Unexpectedly, a light clicked on. It tugged at Sara’s eyes. It wasn’t the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. The light peered from a crack under the closed closet door. Who could’ve done that? Mr. Ixley was off meeting with somebody, totally unaware of the extreme level of Sara’s torment. No one was in the house. The light went on by itself? Impossible. She must have been hallucinating. A side effect of dying maybe?

  The light spread wider as the closet door started to open. Sara was curious. Despite everything around her blurring in and out of sight, she lifted her head to get a glimpse.

  Everything moved slowly. She couldn’t tell the actual speed at which the door was opening, but it seemed to take hundreds of years. The light crept up from the floor toward her face. Inch by inch, it crawled upwards. The door snarled open and her face illuminated. The light was blinding. Though just the closet light, it was the brightest light she had ever seen.

  The light disappeared off her face. A figure now blocked it. The glow protruded from around this mystery person. Her eyes squinted, trying to catch a look at the figure. She couldn’t tell who it was.

  Sara Ixley was inches from death. Unfortunately for her, her attempt to die was about to fail.

  11

  Vince Kane sat at his desk and scribbled away at complex mathematical equations. He was a freshman in college trying to keep up with his hoards of homework. His dorm wasn’t the biggest of rooms, but it sufficed. The hum of the light above him was always a distraction. His sophomore roommates made the room smaller, but he managed to find a nook to make his own. He had no decorations on his side of the dorm but his roommates covered their walls with posters of scantily clad women.

  Vince was as sharp as they came. His parents, avid football fans, were always disappointed in him. Frankly, they wanted an athlete. But what they got on their first try was a mathematical genius. His younger brother Chad, no doubt a result of Vince’s athletic failures, was always the favorite. They cheered for him at his games while Vince quietly propelled himself through high school. Vince grew to hate sports, especially football. It was all his parents cared about. They didn’t care that Vince was number one in his class. And it wasn’t even close. His GPA shot miles above the next closest student’s. But nothing he did could measure up to his brother’s football. Football this, football that. The great thing about college was that he didn’t have to hear it anymore.

  He was determined to show his parents how wrong they were, and that process started with schoolwork. Biological engineering wasn’t an easy field, but for Vince, it was a cakewalk. He could have taught the classes if he wanted to. His mind was built for it. But, of course, no one cared about something as complex and important as biological engineering. They only cared about football.

  The fact that Vince had no friends might have seemed like a problem, but it helped his cause. He was able to fully focus on his studies and let nothing else get in his way. It was lonely sometimes, but he came to college with a giant chip on his shoulder. Besides that, he was socially awkward; sometimes it was just better to flat-out keep away from people.

  When Vince applied to live in the dorms, he opted to be random
ly boarded with strangers. Unfortunately, it was hard to concentrate in his dorm with his babbling roommates. They were always up to something to distract him. To them, life seemed to be one big joke. Whether they were in college to learn or to party was debatable. Vince was increasingly frustrated with their unwillingness to let him study in peace. And there they were again, babbling away in the room. What were they even talking about?

  “Free Will.” Bruce said.

  “Okay,” Stephen responded, “and what do you think about it?”

  “I believe there is a God. But if he as an omniscient, all-knowing God, then there is a problem: we can’t have Free Will.” Bruce chewed on his pencil as he talked, a habit he acquired from the boredom of high school. He sat in his desk chair, spinning. “In that case, we can’t have Free Will because if God knows what I’m going to do, then I don’t have a choice in my future. If what I do tomorrow is already determined, it is impossible to have Free Will.”

  “Interesting point,” Stephen conceded. He noticed Vince attempting to do his homework. He seemed somewhat distracted. Why didn’t he just go to the library? Oh well.

  Bruce continued, “If I don’t have Free Will and I murder someone, then I can’t be held responsible. My decisions, the thoughts in my head, everything I did to lead to that murder would be out of my control. The fact that the murder was predetermined would absolve me of any moral responsibility.

  “My decisions are who I am. If I have no control of my decisions, then who am I?”

  Stephen stared at Bruce. He was becoming a philosophical mastermind right before his eyes. Little did he know, it was this very issue that would change their lives years later.

  Stephen asked, “So then what does it come down to?”

  “I believe we must have Free Will,” Bruce answered, “I don’t believe what we are going to do is already determined. I don’t think God knows what we’re going to do. I don’t believe there are outside forces influencing our decisions. God allows us to determine our own fate. He has to. If we don’t have Free Will, then what defines us as human beings is gone. We have the ability to analyze a situation independently, with our own Free Will, and make a decision. And that is what makes us special.”