Attack

by Rachel Starr Thomson

“Then why don’t you do it?”

  She shuddered.

  “You’re afraid of what you’ll find there,” Diane said. “But you’re a soldier, aren’t you? You can’t just stay out of enemy territory because it might be dangerous. It is dangerous. This is war.” She frowned. “When you talked me into the Oneness all those years ago, you did it by painting a picture of a world that was supernatural, where we could all become more than ourselves, where anything could happen. But you don’t live like that world really exists. Yes, you’re good to others—good to me, good to your cell. Unusually good. But you’re ignoring a whole lot of power.”

  Mary blinked and lowered her eyes to the smoothly polished floor.

  Was she right?

  David frightened her more than anything on earth. She would have faced a battalion of demons before she would go exploring his heart. And yet he was her brother. He was Oneness. He knew her like she refused to know him. And maybe he frightened her so much not just because of what he was, but because of what she was.

  Because he was challenging her to find out what she was.

  Maybe, just maybe, she had buried herself in the Oneness after all. How had he put it? Lost in the conglomerate.

  Not because it had to be that way, not because the Oneness demanded it, but because she wanted it—wanted the safety of numbers and anonymity and being one more component in a great machine.

  A body, she reminded herself.

  But what good was a body part that didn’t function properly? Or to its highest potential?

  She looked up and fixed her eyes on the deck.

  “You’re going to do it, aren’t you?” Diane asked. She hadn’t moved—or picked her book back up.

  Mary just looked at her, and after a moment nodded slowly.

  She ascended the stairs feeling like she was walking off a precipice. Spray met her as she came out into the air again, wetting her hair and clothes. The water was cold, but in the hot air that hardly registered; it felt alive and made her feel alive.

  She wondered what she would leave behind by entering into David’s world with him.

  His expression changed as she approached this time—somewhere between elation, surprise, and fear.

  “You’re going to do it, aren’t you? You’re going to come in?”

  “I need to know what you know,” Mary said. “And feel what you feel.”

  “So you can rescue me? So you can pull me back out?”

  “Yes.”

  “You know that, once you’ve been in my soul, it might be you who need rescuing.”

  “I know.”

  “No one else will come in after you. I’ve been with Oneness for twenty years, and no one has ever dared go that deep. You have power, you know—we all do. And no one uses it.”

  “Not no one.”

  “Who does? Richard? He buries himself away in prayer. Speaks with power but never pushes the limits, never seeks to be all he is. The hermit I killed? He was even worse—cut himself off from the rest of you, for all intents and purposes. Because he was too strong, and too afraid of his strength. Some other nameless, faceless millions, all over the globe? They’re all like you. Every single one I’ve seen is like you—using your power to stay low and lose yourself in the mass instead of distinguishing yourselves in any way. The Oneness are fools. They pretend to embrace great power and terrible reality and then spend their whole lives hiding from both.”

  She almost smiled. “You sound like an apologist. Like one arguing for the Oneness, not against it.”

  “I would, if I didn’t hate it so much. I don’t want to be great on your terms. I want to be great, or at least to exist, on my own. And you—you all—have denied me that forever. That doesn’t mean I can’t see what you do not: that the Oneness truly is power.”

  He leaned back, but his eyes didn’t take on their early languidness. They were sharp, bright. He was interested now. “The demonic are different. They exult in, bathe in, play in power. It is everything to them. Imagine if you were to do the same, how much would be available to you.”

  “Power is not our goal, or our lifeblood,” Mary said. “Love is.”

  “Well then,” David said, smirking, “come inside and love me where it’s real. You know you can. You know you must. Do it.”

  * * *

  The woman got into the car escorted by bodyguards, but they did not stay with her, instead fanning out to the rest of the alley and ensuring the car got out without a hitch. Richard pulled his cap low over his eyes and pulled the car out smoothly, raising his hand in a friendly signal to the bodyguards that all was well—dearly hoping it would work.

  The moment she entered the car, he felt all that her music had aroused in him. He knew her, knew her heart and soul, knew how passionately she believed in higher things and how deeply she wanted to call others. He also felt the conflict: whatever it was that held her back. Stopped her from issuing invitation to the Oneness, stopped her short of being what she was.

  He eased the car into traffic without saying a word, just checking in the rearview to ensure his passenger was real, was really there, and was all right. She was more beautiful up close than she had been on stage, simple and elegant. She seemed distracted, staring out the window in a way that betrayed agitation.

  He didn’t think she would notice if he went the wrong way.

  Not that he didn’t want to take her home—he just didn’t know where that was supposed to be.

  Guessing, he headed back to the freeway. He had some idea where the wealthier apartments and condos were; hopefully she was staying somewhere in that district.

  To his surprise, she noticed.

  “You’re going the wrong way,” she said abruptly. He didn’t respond.

  She leaned forward and tapped him on the shoulder. “Kevin. You’re going the wrong way. We’re in the penthouse this time, remember?”

  He cleared his throat, debating whether to actually turn his face for a moment, but in the time it took him to ask that question, she got over her distraction and really saw the man in front of her.

  “You’re not Kevin,” she blurted, with surprising calm, and two seconds later, “You’re Oneness.”

  “True, and true,” Richard said. “My name’s Richard. My apologies for the unconventional introduction, but I need to talk to you.”

  He was impressed that she didn’t seem startled or intimidated. There was in her an openness he hadn’t expected from someone David was targeting. The others he had gone after—Diane, Jacob, even Reese—had been hardened to some degree, had thrown up walls. But openess seemed the primary characteristic of this woman’s soul.

  “The car isn’t a good place to talk,” she said. “I can steer you toward home if you’re willing.”

  “I’ll take you anywhere you want to go,” he said.

  “Good then. Get off that exit and turn around.”

  He obeyed. A quick glance in the rearview showed eyes that were alive with interest and curiosity. Far from being suspicious or cagey, she was treating him like a welcomed friend.

  “Just a few exits up,” she told him once they were back on the freeway going the other way, and then added, “What did you do with Kevin?”

  “Gave him something of a hangover,” Richard said, wondering how much to tell her. But then he decided to be as open with her as she was with him. “I set him free.”

  She was quiet at that, sitting farther back in the seat and pondering.

  “How much do you know about me?” she asked.

  “Very little. I know your name—Melissa. I know you’re one of us.” He lowered his voice. “And I know they’re targeting you.”

  “Pull off here,” she said softly, and directed him down a busy three-lane one-way street to a high-rise on the left, where he pulled into a parking garage, parked in the reserved spot where she told him to, and got out to open the door for her.

  “Thank you,” she said. She wavered a little on her high heels when she got out, and he put out a ha
nd to steady her. She let him.

  “You’re very trusting,” he said with a smile. “Most women don’t like to be alone with strange men in a parking garage.”

  “You’re not a strange man,” she said. “You’re one of us. Most men, I do not trust. You, I do.”

  He liked her. He liked her immensely. He wasn’t sure he had expected that. He’d been counting on finding another Jacob or David—someone swallowed by her own twisted perspective or eaten up by hatred.

  He wasn’t expecting to find Melissa.

  She led the way to the elevator and from there to the penthouse suite, but in such a way that he felt like he was leading, or at least doing more than following like a flunky. She passed her elegance on, endowing others with it, rather than making them feel low. He knew it was this way with everyone, not just him; he could feel that.

  The penthouse was like her: elegant, simple. An open-concept apartment with windows on all four sides looking out over the city, it was uncluttered, graced with a few carefully selected paintings on the wall and furniture the colours of cream and wicker. She poured him a drink without asking and then seated herself on a love seat, gesturing for him to sit down across from her.

  He did.

  “What do you know about me?” she asked.

  A slightly different question from the “how much.”

  His answer was much the same. “Very little. You are brilliant; I attended your concert this afternoon.”

  “Oh,” she said, perking up and seeming pleased by that.

  “And as I told you before—I know your name, that you are Oneness, and that they are targeting you.”

  “Who is this ‘they’?” she queried, but he was fairly sure she knew the answer.

  “The hive,” he said grimly. “They’ve been sending you children. They’re trying to turn you against us. I’m just not sure why or how.”

  For the first time, a troubled expression crossed her face. “I love the Oneness,” she said. “I always have. I have been One since I was a child—six years old. My parents were One.”

  “Married? That’s unusual.”

  “It was a blessing.” She put her wine glass down and paused, as though pondering whether to tell him more. “The Oneness has been my whole life. When I began to play and to write music, it was with the express purpose of putting the Spirit’s invitation into notes, where others could hear it audibly.”

  “But that’s not what you played this afternoon,” Richard said gently. “Forgive me, but while you expressed our ideals and our hope, you did not express the invitation. You backed off.”

  “I can’t play it anymore.”

  “Why not?”

  She lifted troubled blue eyes to him. “Because I’m not sure I believe in it anymore.”

  “You love the Oneness, it’s your whole life, but you don’t believe in it?”

  “I am not sure I believe it is what it says it is.”

  He sighed. “Then I know why the hive is targeting you.”

  She stood and faced a window, looking out, folding her arms in front of her. “I don’t like that word. Targeting. Like I have nothing to do with it. Maybe I am exploring.”

  He considered joining her but decided to give her space instead. She swept one arm out, encompassing the city. “Down there, what I see is two things: order and chaos. The Oneness and the darkness, the demonic. No?”

  “It’s an apt picture.”

  She turned. “Then tell me why the Oneness cannot give me order, and the demonic can.”

  “I’m not sure I know what you mean by that.”

  “You mentioned the children. Do you know what they do when they come here?”

  He didn’t. “I have no idea what their visits to you look like.”

  She walked back to stand before him. “Then you probably also have no idea that I am dying.”

  Her words startled him so much that he physically jumped.

  She sat down. “Cancer. I am told it’s incurable. I am told I will die within a year.”

  “You don’t look sick.” It was a stupid thing to say, and he kicked himself.

  “Nonetheless, my body, which is Oneness, which is supposed to be tapped into the Life beyond life and given strength and vitality by the tapestry of beings all across the world, is corrupt and corrupting. And I sought the Oneness for answers, I have prayed, I have tried to connect to the strength of others, and I have found no help at all.”

  Despite the force of her words, she did not look away or betray any undue discomfort. They might have been discussing music or a public event.

  “But then the children started coming. Yes, I know they are possessed. But they are forcing me to rethink my beliefs about that. Because when they come, they are innocent—they are children. The demons only give them power.”

  Richard thought of the same children holding his hands at the house where Clint and David had tried to burn several of his friends alive, and he shuddered deep within. The face they had shown Melissa was only a partial one. There was always another side to the coin.

  “They can heal,” she continued. “When they come, I surrender to their power, and they heal me, bit by bit. The doctors confirm it. They don’t know why I ‘don’t look sick,’ as you told me. They don’t know why the cancer isn’t progressing like it should.”

  “But they have not told you that you’re in remission?”

  She hesitated. “Let me rephrase. The cancer is progressing. It’s growing. But it’s having no effect on me. The treatments I get from the children are canceling out its power. They are giving me life. Life the Oneness can’t give.”

  “How often do they come?” he asked.

  “Once a week.”

  “When are they due to come next?”

  “In two days.” She gave him a pointed look. “You’re very much bothered by this.”

  “I am, yes.” There was little point in hiding that. “You say you love the Oneness, yet you’re betraying it.”

  “Perhaps not,” she said. “If the Oneness is that which gives life, and it is not giving life, then perhaps the Oneness is corrupt and needs to be called back to purity. If what we call chaos is imparting wholeness, then perhaps we need to question our terms.”

  “Or,” Richard said, “perhaps you are deceived, and your terms are skewed because your perspective is skewed.”

  “Life and death are rather clear. If one thing is giving me life, and another giving me death, it’s not hard to see where the true power and goodness lies.”

  “That would be true,” he said, slowly, aware that he was treading in deep waters, “if death was the end. But Oneness has always been the transcendence of death—the lasting beyond it. So death is not the ultimate evil.”

  For the first time, her face clouded, and he saw hurt and defensiveness there. “That’s easy for you to say when you are not facing it,” she said.

  “I have faced it. Recently. In battle with the demons.”

  “Good, then. Die in a glorious fight, convinced that you’re a hero and your death is a blaze, and leave me to waste away and lose everything. My music—my purpose—everything. Not in a fight, just in corruption. I’m only thirty-three years old, Richard. I should not have to die like this.”

  He closed his eyes, unable to continue meeting the expression in hers, but he could not shut out their connection—the Oneness, the communion of souls that even now racked his with her pain and abysmal sense of loss, of waste.

  He couldn’t blame her for her questions. Couldn’t even blame her for turning to the powers she had, when they offered her another way—a way to save herself, her work, and her sense of destiny.

  David had been right to target her. She was enormously vulnerable because she was enormously gifted, because she cared more deeply than most people, Oneness or not, ever would.

  He couldn’t possibly tell her that he had taken her “healers” away. They would not be coming in two days. Maybe not ever again.

  He saw that from her
perspective, and winced. The Oneness had not only been unable to heal her. It had denied her the one source of healing she had found—had actively cut it off.

  He couldn’t say that.

  He did say, and he wasn’t even sure why he did, “I don’t want you to die.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “Likewise.”

  She smiled. “I believe you really do care. You’re very sincere—I sensed that from the moment in the car when I realized what you were. And you have power of your own. You’re a man of the Spirit like few are. I’m sorry that my questions, and my journey, are an affront to you.”

  He wanted to protest that, but in a sense she was right. She was questioning, actively pushing back, against everything he stood for.

  “Did you know your driver was possessed?” he asked.

  “Kevin? Of course.”

  “So the children aren’t the only hive members you’ve had around.”

  She smiled, almost indulgently. “I’ve been questioning the reality of things. About what exactly the demonic is. So while I am unsettled about the answers, I’m practicing tolerance.”

  She leaned back and interlocked her long, slim fingers over her knee. “So, I’m afraid if you came to rescue me, it’s not going to work. I have chosen what I’m doing. I’m not really open to being rescued.”

  He shook his head, smiling, and reached for the drink she had poured him. He needed it. “There are more than one of you, you know. It’s an all-out attack, a strategy. David—”

  He stopped. She looked puzzled.

  “You don’t know this side of the story, do you?”

  She smiled. “You may as well tell me.”

  He nodded. “It’s long. Or it feels long. But there’s a man—one of us. His name is David. Unlike you, he hates the Oneness. Something happened to him twenty years ago, we don’t know what, that made him want to be free of us. He can’t be, and he’s become twisted—angry and bitter. He’s the one who began the hive.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Somewhere along the way, he decided that if the Oneness will not let him go, then he is going to destroy it. And he sees clearly what everyone else does not—that if the demonic and the Oneness come together, chaos will override. The Oneness will became an agent of darkness, not only not holding the world together or combating darkness as it should, but actively spreading it. Death will ultimately triumph.”