“STOP IT!” I screamed. Tears poured down my face as I ran to Ciardha and pulled on his arms. I knew it was probably futile, but I didn’t know what else to do. I had to stop him from torturing Fanny and Greta. He and Macha continued to laugh their maniacal laughs as Ciardha kept one hand pointed toward Fanny and Greta, and the other turned on me.
He had me in the grip of his energy. I couldn’t make myself move from the spot where I seemed glued. My body twisted and convulsed unnaturally. At the same time, I felt so deeply sad, so entirely bereft of happiness or anything decent. All the while, Ciardha grew bigger, now almost as large as me.
“Fight it!” I heard Fanny yell.
“How? How do I fight this energy? It’s making me so … so sad. What is the point?”
“You have to focus on something that makes you happy,” Greta called out to me. “Remember, like you told us? Don’t let him take you under.”
My body was of no use. All I had left was my mind. It was time to focus like Madame Wong had taught me. I called on everything I had left, which wasn’t much, to repel Ciardha’s hostile takeover. I focused on the love I felt for Fanny and Jake and my dad. I focused on thinking about our happy times together. And I remembered the way Owen’s mouth had caressed my ear and gently touched my lips. I wanted to feel more kisses on my mouth someday, even if they weren’t from Owen.
The warmth began in my core and began to spread. It was as if I’d kindled an inner light. It spread throughout my body, banishing Ciardha. I could see my own aura glowing around me. It had gone from a light purple to an orangey-red. Out of the corner of my eye, it looked a bit like I was on fire. And I felt like I was on fire from within. I raised my arms up and out and repelled his energy. It was enough to throw him off balance and send him backwards, landing on his backside.
Fanny and Greta were momentarily freed from the energy prison he had made for them. I wasn’t sure how long it would last. I ran in their direction, hoping to get to them before Ciardha had a chance to imprison them, or me, again.
Ciardha’s body rose off the ground all at once, as if there was a pulley pulling him straight up. His lips curled in a sinister smile.
“You do have power in you after all. Good, so delectable. You will make me so powerful,” he said as he smacked his lips at me.
“Make her pay,” egged Macha. “Make her pay for her insolence, Master.”
“Macha, it is time you remember that I command here, not you.” Ciardha hit Macha as he had done before, this time knocking her out of the air and onto the rusty red ground.
He’s a psychopath with godlike abilities. We are in deep, deep shit here.
“I will decide the price to exact from her, and I will decide when. And I decide that it is enough for now. I want to save her for my game.” Ciardha hit me once again with the paralyzing power of his Dark Energy.
“It is time for you to choose. These two will be no help to you. Oh, don’t worry, I won’t kill them – yet. They will be the perfect spectators to enjoy the spectacle with me, and I’ll feast on their fear as an appetizer while you play my game.”
With that, Ciardha closed his eyes for a few seconds, and when he opened them, we were once again in an arena. Fanny and Greta sat in the stands behind Ciardha, who had placed himself on a dais. Ciardha had shed his suit jacket and now wore robes made of a black, shimmery material. Upon his head, he wore a crown with jagged points fashioned from ebony-colored glass. Macha flitted about at his right side while Dorcha sat obediently to his left as he languidly stroked her hairless, wrinkled head.
Greta and Fanny were caged in what looked like a force field of black electrical energy. They couldn’t move or they’d be electrocuted. And Ciardha had somehow clothed them in tattered, raggedy tunics that clung to their bodies, barely covering them. The rags revealed the bruises and scrapes they’d gotten in our battles in the Umbra Perdita. I hadn’t noticed before how wretched they looked. If we don’t get out of here soon, it’ll be too late for them.
In the center of the arena, a massive vortex of swirling energy had appeared. It looked like a portal.
“We have the best seat in the arena for the games,” he said to Fanny and Greta. “Now, Miss Adams, you must choose. The oh-so-delicious Owen Breen, planter of kisses and the object of your affection. Or the one you have called friend, your steadfast and loyal companion, Jake Stevens. Your lover and your friend, both in mortal danger. You can go to only one. Which one will you save?”
Ciardha had me. He had closed off all doors but one. He was forcing me to make an impossible choice. I couldn’t willingly choose either of them to die.
On the one hand was Jake, my best friend since we were three. Jake, who had always been there for me, and who I’d recently learned wanted more than friendship. Jake. Who I was starting to think could be more than a friend. Jake. Who made my hands tingle whenever he touched them. How could I not go to Jake?
Then there was Owen. Beautiful Owen who had given me my first kiss. Owen, who had made me feel beautiful and worthy and normal. With Owen, I had felt for the first time in my life like something other than a freak.
But his kiss was a sham. His affection a lie. Even though I knew that he had been under Ciardha’s influence all along, it didn’t take away from the fact that what I felt had been real. But he had felt nothing. How could I choose Owen over Jake?
All of the evidence weighed in favor of going to Jake. All except for one thing.
I was a Priestess of the Order of Brighid. It was my duty to consider more than my own desires and feelings. I had to make the decision on who I thought needed my help more, not who I wanted to save more. Who was most likely to die without my intervention?
I believed that Jake could save himself. I knew Owen couldn’t.
Of the two, I knew that Jake understood how the Umbra Perdita worked, how to get himself out of a tough situation. I knew that Jake was smart. If anyone could figure a way out, it was Jake.
And I remembered Jake’s words when he and I had to make a choice when we first arrived in that hell of a place. When we had been forced to choose between going to Owen first, or Fanny. Jake had said:
“We should find Owen first.”
“Really? That’s a surprising pick, coming from you. Why Owen first?”
“Because between the two of them, Owen seems more likely to have gotten himself into some kind of trouble already.”
I wasn’t sure which of them had actually gotten into more trouble first, but in hindsight, it was clear that if we hadn’t gotten to Owen first, he would have long ago been dead. And Owen had been under the influence of Macha and Ciardha the whole time we’d been in the Umbra Perdita – even before that. He didn’t even remember what we’d been through. He didn’t know how the Umbra Perdita worked. He was a sitting duck in whatever nightmare he’d been thrust into and was as good as helpless.
From that perspective, the choice was clear. In the moment, it seemed like the more selfless thing to do. I knew I didn’t have a chance with Owen anymore and wasn’t sure I’d want the chance even if it were offered. But what Jake and I had – our friendship – it was real. But if I went to Jake, I was surely condemning Owen to die. A Priestess helps the weakest first, regardless of her loyalties. That’s how I saw it, anyway.
“I have to go to Owen,” I said almost in a whisper.
Fanny hissed at me. “How could you? He’s always been there for you!” she screamed.
I couldn’t look at her. I didn’t want to go into Ciardha’s ‘game’ with Fanny’s disapproval and anger in my mind. I could only hope that if we all lived through this, she would one day understand why I made the choice I’d made.
Ciardha laughed heartily, shaking the ground beneath us. Macha whistled and cheered while Dorcha snorted and kicked her front legs up in excitement.
“Such a predictable choice for a young human woman such as yourself to make. Choosing lust over friendship, passion over loyalty.”
“It’s not like that.
You don’t understand …”
“I understand perfectly,” he said as he waved me off with his hand. “So be it, the choice has been made.
“But before you go to try to rescue your lover boy, I thought you may like to see where your – former – friend’s fear took him,” Ciardha said. With a wave of his hand, the portal began to clear of smoke and mist, and a picture came into view.
It was like looking into a cosmic television. At the center of the screen was a face I knew extremely well. A face that I had come to rely on to get me through the darkest of times. A face that had been with me while traipsing across Ireland, running from the law and taking on Super Size. A face that had also been there to share movies and study with and to laugh with. A face framed by spiky, blond hair and bejeweled with clear, intelligent blue eyes hidden behind his thick glasses. The face of my best friend. Jake.
There he was, in what looked like a jail cell. And he was wrapped in a straitjacket. I watched as two orderlies in white shirts came in and grabbed him. Jake was wriggling and trying to get out of his straight jacket, screaming, “I don’t belong here! I’m not crazy. This is all a dream!”
One of the orderlies said, “Hear that, Larry? He’s not crazy. Says it’s all a dream. Ha! Sure, buddy, sure you’re not. That’s what they all say here. Now be a smart boy, and don’t struggle, it will only make it worse.”
“Yeah, and don’t flinch when they put the probe in, or you’ll end up completely scrambled,” Larry said.
“Yeah, scrambled egg for brains.” The other orderly laughed.
“What … what are you going to do to me? What do you mean probe?”
“We’re taking you for your lobotomy. You’ll feel all better soon,” Larry said. “Course, you won’t know it.”
Both of the orderlies laughed then.
Jake began to scream bloody murder. He twisted his body, thrusting from side to side, trying to get free. But the large orderlies held him tightly. Then the one called Larry pulled out a syringe and jabbed it into Jake’s thigh. Soon Jake was limp in their hands as they dragged him out of the room.
Then I heard a loud scream that pierced through the dusty, thick air of the Umbra Perdita. The screaming wouldn’t stop. Please make it stop. Then I realized it wouldn’t stop because I was the one screaming.
The screaming and crying had made my voice hoarse. “No, you can’t do this. It isn’t fair. I change my mind. I’ll go to Jake. I have to go now. I’ll do anything you want, Ciardha. Take me, keep me here, suck the energy off of me. Do whatever it is you want with me. Just let me go to Jake. This can’t happen to him.”
“Your pleading and begging are entertaining, your misery delectable. But rules are rules. No take backs. And, Miss Adams, understand this. You are in my world. I will do with you whatever I want, and I do not need your permission. As soon as you crossed that threshold into my realm, you gave me your life and the energy that drives it.
“Now it’s time for you to go do what you can for lover boy.”
I didn’t want to save Owen. I didn’t want to save anybody. If my choice had caused Jake to lose his mind – lose his Jakeness … if I couldn’t be with Jake ever again, what was the point? I just wanted to die.
But I had no choice. Before I could say another word, I felt myself being sucked up into the awful transport of the Umbra Perdita, ripped once again from the terror I was in to a new, unknown terror. I felt like I was going to die from grief if the taffy puller of a portal didn’t kill me first.
What more do I have to endure?
That was a question I should never have asked in a world that makes your nightmares come true.
14
Terrible ripping pain as my skin was stretched and pulled, my insides torn apart. There was no getting used to the sensation of being severed limb from limb. Having been through it before didn’t help. I’d try to tell myself, “It’s okay. It’ll be over soon.” But my brain just told me to buzz off as it tried to deal with the terrible agony that made me just want to die already.
And just about the time that inner dialogue threatened to get ugly, when I thought that I’d surely die from the torment, I was spit out into a new place. Presumably this time it was the place where I could find Owen.
I’ve chosen wrong. I felt it. I knew it. How was I supposed to know that Jake’s fear had thrust him into a situation that was just about impossible for him to deal with on his own?
I wanted so badly to lie down and let the Umbra Perdita take me.
I was tired. Tired of being strong. Tired of pretending to be strong. At that moment, if I could have had anything I wanted, I’d be in Jake’s arms. In that moment, feeling that I was surely going to die, my only thought was of him.
Jake. He’d always been there for me. Always saved me. I wanted Jake to come rescue me from the nightmare I’d created for us all.
But I couldn’t have Jake. I couldn’t even waste the time to stop and be scared, or tired. Or to be saved. If we were going to get out of the Umbra Perdita alive, I had to be the one doing the saving. And I knew I couldn’t let the worst choice of my life be compounded by doing nothing to save the life I’d chosen. I wasn’t even sure I could help Owen, but I had to try. First, save Owen, then the rest.
Dust clouds billowed around me as I stood up, trying to get my bearings. As the smoke cleared, I noticed buildings on either side of me, and I was in the middle of a dusty dirt road.
I began to walk the street. A town saloon here, a post office there, a jail and a few doors down from that a general store. And horses tied up to a rail outside of the saloon. Wood buildings with wood sidewalks and a road made of dirt.
I was in the old American Southwest – cowboy country.
Damned Owen. Don’t tell me that he’s afraid of getting gunned down by Billy the Kid or something.
As I scanned the street for a place to start my search for Owen, I saw a trail of what looked like blood on the sandy ground outside of the saloon. I ran to the saloon and pushed my way inside.
The sign out front said ‘The Broke Spoke’. It looked like the only watering hole in town. I half expected to find Owen strung up in there with a rowdy crowd egging on a fight.
Instead, it was fairly quiet inside. There was no tinny piano playing, no fistfights or gunslinging going on. Just a large round table with about a half-dozen guys in long-sleeved shirts and dusty pants who looked like they were in dire need of a bath, smoking cigars and playing cards. There were a few other tables with guys sitting and talking over a drink. There wasn’t a woman to be found, not even a lady of the evening.
At the bar was a lone customer, who looked like he’d raided Johnny Cash’s closet. He was dressed entirely in black, from his black hat covering his black hair to his black boots. He wasn’t young, but he wasn’t old either. And because his black clothes weren’t covered in dust, he stood out from the others.
I noticed that none of the people in the saloon had auras. It made me wonder if any of the people were real. Of course they’re not real. I’m in a nightmare. All of them were plants – figments of an imagination. But whose? Owen’s? Ciardha’s? Or my own?
The Dark Man was dressed in a black, wide-brimmed hat that shielded his face from me. Sitting in the dim light of the saloon, it was all but impossible to make out his features. At first, I thought it was Ciardha here to play the game. I felt drawn to move toward the man anyway, my feet like they were on a conveyor belt pulling me in.
As I approached the man, I noticed he had a black cat on his lap. He gently stroked the cat’s head with his right hand. When I got about two feet away from him, I could hear the cat purring. I began to think maybe this wasn’t Ciardha because it didn’t seem likely that Ciardha could ever make a cat purr.
I felt I should speak to the man, but I didn’t know what to say. I just stood there, unsure what my next move was supposed to be in Ciardha’s no-win game.
A bartender was at the other end of the bar, wiping a glass with a towel. He noticed me
standing there and huffed, but came over.
“Whad’ya have?”
“What is he having?” I asked as I gestured toward the Dark Man.
“Coffee,” the bartender said.
“Coffee? Okay then, that’s what I’ll have.”
“A fine choice,” the Dark Man said. The bartender sat down a humble-looking mug that looked as if it hadn’t been properly washed in months. He tipped his metal pot and poured the black liquid to the rim of the cup then went back to what he was doing at the other end of the bar.
“That’s a lovely cat.” I watched the Dark Man pet the cat absent-mindedly.
“Yes, she is,” he said.
“She sure is purring. She must like the petting.”
“This contact. It’s illusory,” he said.
I wasn’t sure what he meant. The contact with the cat, or my contact with him?
“Illusory?”
“The cat and I. To paraphrase your human philosopher Borges, we are as if separated by a pane of glass. She, living in a world of singular moments, aware only of the instant of being. No fear of the future. No regret about the past. She lives in the eternity of the instant.”
“The ‘now’. That’s what you’re talking about.”
The man nodded.
“Your cat is in the ‘now’. But where are you?”
“Like you, I am destined to live a life that is a string of pasts linked to thoughts of the future, perpetually dragged around by my ego-mind.”
“You sound like my master, Madame Wong.”
“Your ‘master’? Master of what?”
That was a fair question. I took a sip of the viscous black liquid being passed off as coffee. The flavor was so awful I winced. It tasted like dirty feet.
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