The Trilogy of the Void: The Complete Boxed Set

by Peter Meredith

  Again, he knew a strike was coming, and again he guessed wrong where it was coming from. Pain exploded in the large muscle of his thigh—she had landed a heavy kick and the muscle seized up immediately. He tried to jump back as before, but she knew his moves now and jumped with him, striking out in a series of blazing fast punches, hitting him on his face and neck and stomach. Her accuracy for a blind girl in the dark was astounding.

  Pain seemed to erupt spontaneously all over his body but it was over in seconds and he didn't know he was falling until he hit something heavy on the way to the floor. It was the table he had seen earlier and acting on instinct, he tried to crawl under it, only he moved tortoise like, slowly dragging himself forward and it was nothing for Talitha to find him. And like a tortoise, she flipped him over, exposing his vulnerable area.

  He felt her land on his chest, straddling him and he lashed out with a punch that hit something soft and yielding. It had been weak, terribly impotent and had no effect on her at all. Talitha began to punish him then. Punches rained down on him out of the black sky, hitting him everywhere, making him grunt with the force of the blows, but she was holding back, wanting his to remain conscious, wanting him to feel the pain.

  She got her wish, but only to a point, then his arms sagged down and he no longer attempted to protect himself. The punches landing now felt distant as if they were happening to someone else. Talitha must have realized he was near to blacking out and she was up off of him then.

  For a few seconds he couldn't tell if he was awake or in a deep sleep and just laid there uncaring where his sister had gone to. Suddenly small hands gripped him and he felt himself lifted off the floor. Talitha had him high over her head, and her strength was astonishing, she brought him down fast, slamming him onto the wood table. It collapsed under him, practically disintegrating and he went through it to the floor.

  It didn't hurt at all, but the movement up and then slamming back down had brought him around from his near stupor. His head cleared somewhat and he felt her grip his feet and pull him from the mess of the destroyed table. Struggling against her, his hand found purchase on a chunk of wood, the leg of the table, he thought.

  Turning slightly he meant to attack her with it, but she was invisible in the darkness. Near or far, he had no idea and he hesitated with the make shift club pulled back waiting to strike. He knew he would have one shot but now indecision was even taking that from him.

  "How you feeling? How's the back? Can you still feel your…?" she began.

  Just as she had done, he oriented on her voice and he swung the table leg hard at it. There was a thud and the leg jarred uncomfortably in his hands, sending splinters into his palms, but these went ignored. He swung a second time and again hit something however, it was moving and there was less force transferred to his hands.

  From a sitting position, his next blow whistled through the air, hitting nothing and he then scrambled up, swinging the leg back and forth, but still not finding a target. He knew where the table was and guessed a direction in which the door stood. Swinging the table leg in short vicious arcs, he went in that direction and felt the leg hit something unexpectedly.

  It grunted.

  Talitha! He attacked with more strength, but she seemed to evaporate and his club swung in vain. A moment later, he struck the wall. The club flew from his hands, which had gone instantly numb with the force of the blow.

  There was no point even trying to find the club in the black. Instead, he weaved his hands over the wall, searching with a frantic speed for the door and in seconds, his questing hands found the frame and he had the door open in a snap.

  The light, which had been dim before, dazzled him and he spun about. Talitha was there. Squatting in an odd position a few feet away and Will saw that at least one of his swings had done some damage, her head was bleeding profusely down the right side and the shoulder of her dress was already soaked.

  She glared up at him, evil and hating, seeming to be little more than the small demon she so desperately wanted to be and the sight of her put a fire under his hatred. The club lay closer to him and he dashed forward and grabbed it, but she barely moved, only swinging to the side to face him again.

  Her squatting position made him wary, fearful of the fact that she could lash out like a coiled snake and with this in mind, he juked one way and then danced back the other and swung the club. Her vision had improved; he guessed by the way she blocked the blow from the club with an out stretched arm. It was a solid blow to her left forearm, but she did little more than grit her teeth. He repeated the maneuver and with the same results only this time she grunted from pain and anger.

  Her squatting seemed strange and limiting and he took full advantage of it, he next dashed halfway around her before striking, she spun in a tight circle and again blocked with the same arm, her left, but there would be no more blocks coming from it. It dangled useless now, very likely broken. He kept up the attack swinging hard for her face and now she could only throw herself back onto the floor to avoid the blow and Will now saw why she hadn't done more.

  One of his strikes in the dark had been lucky, her right knee looked turned around and swollen. There was a pause as his eyes took in the sight of her mangled knee and she put up her right hand, and pleaded, "Ok! You win. Don't hurt me."

  At that moment, his hatred was at its greatest and it was easy to ignore her words, he took the table leg as if it were a baseball bat in both hands and gripped it tight preparing to finish her quickly, however pain shot from his left hand. Looking down at it, a jolt of shock went through him.

  Two fingers on that hand stuck out sideways looking grotesque; they had been dislocated defending himself in the dark. The sight of it made his stomach queasy and he paused for a moment, unable to take his eyes from the deformity.

  "I said you win, Will." Her words were still pleading, sounding desperate and now her evil glare was gone. She was his sister again hurt and bleeding, or so she would have him believe, however he could see the cruelty lurking beneath. It was something she could no longer hide and it made his hatred that much easier to bring out.

  He focused on that hatred and glared down at her, needing to be furious to do what he had to do—this was going to end here and now.

  "What? Are you still giving me the silent treatment?" She paused concentrating. "Oh, I understand now. You want to kill me, is that it? I can't believe it. You would kill your own sister?"

  "You're not my sister," he said, contempt forming the words, making them hard. "You're Ba'al Fie-ere, remember?"

  Unbelievably she smiled and lay back tucking her good right hand under her head. She seemed to be relaxing, enjoying the moment. "I am Ba'al Fie-ere. Thanks Will. It's so good to hear you saying my name."

  "Bitch! How's that for a name?" Without waiting for an answer, he jumped at her, swinging the table leg at her face. Though injured she was strong and quick and spun about kicking at his knee, intending to maim him just as she was, however, he saw it coming and dodged it.

  Still relaxing, she laughed softly, "Sorry Will. It's going to be harder than you thought to bludgeon me to death, but I like the idea and not only that, I like the enthusiasm you have."

  Her eyes lit up suddenly. "Picture this: You, waking up in a cold sweat and you try to wipe it off frantically, because in your mind the sweat is blood. And this goes on night after night. You no longer dream my terrible dreams once a week, but every single night! Every night you kill your sweet innocent sister, breaking her bones, deforming her pretty little face, but somehow she lives longer, far longer that you could believe. And it takes swing after swing before she stops moving and even longer, until she stops crying and still you hammer away, because you are afraid! You keep going because she just might get up and take her revenge!"

  Talitha paused and sighed in obscene happiness at the image she had conjured. Will stood aghast and then he became angry, but it was an impotent anger, because he feared that part of what she'd said would be true.
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  She slapped the cement with impatience. "Ok, Will start swinging! Hurt me slowly." She waited for only a second before going on, "Let's go! Don't worry, I promise to make it good…I'll scream at every blow…I'll cry real tears, I swear. I'll even beg you to stop, here watch."

  Talitha's face lost her evil happiness and Will stared amazed and outraged, as she suddenly looked lost and afraid, in pain. "Will! Stop please, I didn't mean it," the words shrieked out of her as if he had really been hurting her. "No, don't, it hurts! Stop please! Stop…stop." She blubbered quietly, tears running down her face and the performance was so realistic that his arm, the one holding the table leg, slowly lowered.

  She might've saved herself right there, but she began to giggle like a little girl, "I wish I could see your face better. Heck, I wish I could see mine. Did I look like Talitha, did I capture her essence?" Her questions seemed sincere, but they were lost on her brother, who attacked her in a fit of rage.

  "Will, no it's me Talitha," she screamed in terrific fright as Will swung the club at her leg. He missed and she pushed herself further back, "She's gone! The other Talitha has gone! It's me." She wailed, but he attacked again striking her calf. "Please stop, it's me." Her face was screwed up in pain and fright, something Will found nearly impossible to ignore and he stepped back for a second.

  The moment he did, Talitha's smile returned. "Good, that was good. I like the way you don't try to rush things, remember slow pain is good pain."

  "Damn it!" he roared with empty defiance.

  "I told you it wouldn't be easy." She smiled wickedly. "You have to really want it."

  "Yeah, but shooting you won't be hard at all," Will said with a touch of wickedness of his own.

  "Damn it," it was her turn to curse. "I was hoping you had forgotten the pistol. Well let's see if you have enough rage left in you, because I gotta say you sound kinda tired."

  Tired wasn't the word he would've used, he felt well past exhausted and his head was beginning to throb with what he figured would be a headache to beat all headaches. "I may be tired, but I hate you, and that will be enough."

  "But do you hate the real Talitha, your sister. I was just faking back there, but if you use the gun, it'll be on her." He paused not knowing what to say and the delay brought back the evil smile. "There's only one way to find out if you hate me enough to kill her."

  Talitha came back then.

  Will had seen it happen enough to know it wasn't a fake this time. The provocative smile drained away slowly into puzzlement, however that look lasted less than a second until the electricity of shock lit up her face.

  "Will?" It was a whisper. Her eyes shot wide and rolled about in their sockets, but her head was still, unmoving. Her nose however went into overdrive, sniffing quietly, breathing in the horror of the room.

  "Will?" This was a little louder.

  The fire of Will's hatred was dying slowly in him and he knew if he waited any longer, it would be gone, and he wouldn't be able do what his prudence knew to be the right thing. He took a step toward her and she jumped back afraid of the sudden movement.

  "Will, is that you?"

  "Yes, stop moving," he growled this through gritted teeth.

  "Ok...I can see a little, shapes and shadows...Is Father Alba going to be ok? I can smell his blood and I can smell...lots of blood. Did I do all this? Did I kill all these people?"

  He stood behind her trying to work up the hatred again. "You killed Father Alba and in a way...Father John as well."

  "Father John?" she asked, whispering the words. "I don't know who he is, where..."

  He didn't let her finish, but reached down and grabbed her good arm and began pulling her with savagery, dragging her across the floor.

  "What're you doing? What's going on?" Confusion, pain, and fear made up the alarm in her voice. Will kept his face toward the door, afraid to look down and see his sister, knowing his heart would break if he did, knowing the other Talitha would win.

  "Will?" she pleaded again when he didn't answer.

  "I have to kill you," he said as he hauled her back to the room where some poor boy knelt bound to his eternal box.

  Talitha went limp, resigned to her upcoming death. "Ok...I understand...I'm so sorry..."

  Feeling each of her words loosen the bolts, holding his anger in place, he asked in a choked voice, "Please don't talk. Just be quiet."

  He gained the room and pulled her inside. The gun lay near the decaying body, which he refused to look at, but saw all the same. He couldn't help it. It was the movements of the maggots, they were horrible but hypnotic and his eyes remained on them even as he reached down, fumbling for the gun.

  It was a blessing to turn away from the child and with a large shaky breath, he went back to the grim task he had to perform. Talitha hadn't moved, except to sit up, and she stared vacantly at the floor, tears small and noiseless trickled from her eyes and found their way to her chin, leaping off in an attempt to escape the inevitable.

  Will, knowing he couldn't shoot her in the face, went around behind her. This was better. Here, the blood of her wounds was visible and there were no familiar sad brown eyes staring up at him, holding him back.

  "I'm sorry Talitha," he thumbed the hammer and aimed at the back of her head, but then turned his face away unable to watch.

  "Will!" A deep voice rumbled from the doorway, "What're you doing?"

  Will kept his face turned away from both of them. "It has to be done!"

  "Go away, Jim, please. Don't look at this," Talitha's voice was shrill with embarrassment.

  But Jim didn't leave, he advanced on Will, his face set in determination. Will swung the gun in his direction, but Jim ignored it and then ignored Will as well, calmly going to one knee, he put his great arms around Talitha.

  Both Will and Talitha were stunned into a moment of silence by this, but Will found his voice, it was a child's petulant whine, "Get away from her, I mean it."

  "No, if you kill her, then you kill me," Jim said and his voice was an adult's, it held gravity and significance.

  The gun lowered, dropped would be closer to the truth, and Will stood impotent with it dangling against his leg. There was no way he could shoot Jim. In addition, the fire of his hatred burned away leaving behind bitter ash and all that was left in him was a sense of duty; he had a responsibility to protect others from his sister.

  The boys she had come to Boston to help were all dead, as was her purpose here. Talitha realized this as well and pushed Jim away with her good arm, saying, "Thank you, Jim. That was sweet, so wonderful of you...but I'm a lost cause. Go back to your orphanage and back to your children, they need you."

  Jim leaned away trying to peer into her small pretty face and she held him there with a stiff arm, "Ok, Will. Do it...kill me quick." She meant it.

  Will brought the gun up, fully intending to shoot his sister, but when he turned his head away, not wanting to see the blood he would cause, he saw something. Or more closer to the truth he didn't see something. Where Luke had once lain trussed in the knotted stole, there was now only an empty patch of cement.

  Chapter 18

  The Pewter Cross

  When Jim saw the horror of Father Alba's face, he seriously questioned his vow not to hurt Talitha. And when he saw the blood, drying on her hands, the blood that stained her with guilt, the vow went out the window completely.

  But then he saw something else, a girl, small and vulnerable and in truth innocent, and he gave up his pretense of anger and moved in to hug her and to protect her and if he had to, die with her.

  When she held him back stiffly, he only paused a second, before he moved her arm out of the way and hugged her tight, his face against hers and she didn't fight him but instead began to cry. Her tears were warm and soft, tickling him as they traced the border where their skin met. They were also, in a sad way that broke his heart, wonderful.

  He knew her tears were partially because of him, perhaps mostly so. In their long talks, he h
ad the sense that she'd been desperately lonely and he had shown her by his hug that he cared for her. He felt her hug him back hard, clinging, and afraid to give this up, the one true moment of affection she had experienced in years.

  Jim waited for the shot to ring out with a strange feeling of contentment. He realized he could die this way and be happy. But no shot came.

  "What?" Will asked perplexed.

  Jim glanced up at the oddness in the man's voice and saw Will staring at an empty spot on the floor, as if looking for answers from the mute cement. Jim's contentment died right there and not because of a bullet. It was then that he noticed the hideous smell and saw the atrocity tied to the wood box in the center of the room.

  "Luke...he was right there," Will muttered and sudden fear overwhelmed the perplexity on his face. He snapped the gun up and swiveled it around the room, searching the dim corners. "Jim, did you see Luke at all when you came in here?"

  "No. It was just you and Talitha and...that," he added grimacing at the sight.

  "Damn it! Where's Sean? Is he still alive?" Will asked urgently.

  "Sean is with Father Alba, but where's Father John?" Even as Jim asked the question, he felt he already knew the answer.

  When Sean and he had been trying to find a way into the building, they'd heard the gunshot. It came low and distant, a muffled noise but still unmistakable for what it was. The back entrance to the factory had proved impossible to get through and they were in the process of trying to break into a second story window when the sound of the gun, and the others that followed had nearly sent Sean and him into a panic.

  They threw subtlety aside and tore the frame of the window out by hand, uncaring of the noise. They were frantic to get inside, but both men were so large that each took turns getting stuck going through the small opening and it was minutes before they could get in. They were slowed even more when they tried to race into the stairwell.

  It was blocked with furniture just as Will's had been and the two men had to charge repeatedly at the door to get it wide enough to allow Sean to fit through the opening. This slowed them down, but it also saved Jim's life. The great force they sent into the door had knocked a chair loose from the pile of furniture and this had bounced down the stairs, hopping miraculously over the trip cord and into the gun, disturbing the trap that had been set for them.