The Hawley Book of the Dead

by Chrysler Szarlan

  Jeremy waved to me from the stage. “Hello, love.”

  I was frozen in place on the very edge of that narrow metal grating, unable to move.

  “Jeremy,” I said through clenched teeth, “where’s my harness?” I was afraid even to breathe.

  “Oh, that. You don’t need that anymore.”

  “Are you crazy? I’ll just go splat on the stage if I jump.”

  I could see even from that height he’d assumed the look of infinite patience that I’d always found acutely irritating. “Actually, you won’t.”

  “Does this dimension, wherever we are, not have gravity?”

  He looked around. “Well, we’re just in the Bijoux, which I think still has gravity. But sweetheart, you’re missing the point.”

  “Look, Rigel Voss is outside, coming to kill me any minute. I have to figure out what to do. And you’re not helping!”

  “No. I’m only here to make suggestions.”

  “Well, if this is a suggestion, it stinks!”

  “That’s my girl, good and stubborn. It’s your stubbornness that makes you my bet in any fight. You’ll never give up, even when backed into a corner. That’s when you’re most creative. Now, all you have to do is make the leap.”

  “And I suppose you’ll catch me?”

  “No. As ever, you won’t need catching. You can do this, my darling.”

  I looked down. The stage seemed tiny from that height. All reason told me I would die if I jumped.

  Jeremy called up to me, “It doesn’t take reason, love. It takes faith in yourself.”

  “I’m a little short on faith right now.”

  “Then get some help.”

  “There’s no one else here, you idiot!”

  “Hmm. I prefer ‘wanker.’ ‘Idiot’ is a bit harsh, don’t you think? And it’s not exactly true, that no one else is here. I believe in you. And Caleigh does.”

  “Caleigh’s with Nan.”

  “Well, I know that. But she’s with you, too, as I am.”

  I felt for the string, still in my pocket.

  “Just try the first pattern you taught her. What was it?”

  I thought about it. “ ‘Witch’s Broom.’ ”

  He laughed. “How very fitting.”

  As I looped the string into “Witch’s Broom,” the catwalk, the theater, and Jeremy last of all, faded and softened like wax melting. I heard him call to me once more, “Hold fast, my good witch, and believe.”

  Then I saw Caleigh, with Nan beside her. Hail pelted the roof of Nan’s house, drowning out the speech between them. Caleigh’s hair was damp with sweat. I could feel her heart hammering with my own, echoing the thrum of thunder. Her eyes opened, and I knew she felt all the tendrils working out from her to me. I felt them, too.

  Nan placed Caleigh’s own white string in her fingers, the string Simon Magus had given her. I gasped. But then Nan said a word, and Caleigh sat up, looped the string around her fingers. She wasn’t afraid. She would get it right this time, so everyone could go home. Nan held sharp sewing shears, waiting. They were all old and simple patterns, tried and true. “Lightning.” “The Sword.” “The Star.” “Sunrise.” And finally, “The Twins.” Then she began one that I knew was called “The Web of Darkness.”

  4

  After the string eased from my hands, I made a mental inventory. I went to the closet where I’d last seen the sword, hoping Mrs. Pike hadn’t moved it. I scrabbled around in the dark of the closet, and my fingers touched the intricate scabbard, tucked behind the scrim of jackets and coats. When I slid the sword out, its jewels gleaming, it seemed right in my hand, balanced and lighter than it appeared. The blade shone bright even in the dimness of the hall.

  I remembered the vision of my great-great-grandmother with the sword on the battlefield of Antietam. Lightning flashed again, closer this time. I knew I should get to the church before the storm worsened. But I felt the pull of the Book once more, knew it was part of the magic I was crafting. I ran to it, and its soft leather felt hot in my hands. I opened to the first page. In purpling ink, words I hadn’t seen before appeared: “This is the Book of Revelations. Use it for Hurts and Triumphs, for Healing and to make Death come.” I flipped gently through the pages. All were now filled again with writing. Many hands had written in the Book. Early pages were written in a script I didn’t recognize. Further in I saw the Five Corners place names I knew of old—Joy Tavern, Camp Rock, Hell’s Kitchen Road. The stories were interspersed with quotes from the book of Revelation. I got to later pages, thick with writing I knew. My breath caught in my throat. My Nan’s writing. Describing the disappearances, first of her friends, then of the town itself.

  I thought of them, Nan, my ancestor of the portrait, all the Revelations. I willed them to help me. I turned to a random page, a random sentence. It felt like a prayer. It felt right. My eyes fell upon this: “And he had in his right hand seven stars: and out of his mouth went a sharp two-edged sword.” I would take the sword to the church. What would happen then, I had no idea. I only knew Rigel Voss was waiting for me there. I took up the sword and the crushing weariness left me. I felt the generations behind me, with me. I tucked the Book in my jacket pocket, and went out into the snow.

  5

  If the devil had made his way to the church, he might have melted a path to it. Rigel Voss had not, but I could see a faint indentation in the snow, the violet shadow of a trail that meant someone had traveled there. I slogged in the snow, up to my waist, using the sword as a walking stick. The wind had risen to a howling screech. Branches rent from trees flew by me. Lightning cracked and split a tree just at the top of the drive. The storm was everywhere. Icy rain pelted my skin. But I took my bearings, headed for the church. The sword propped me up. It felt light; it was no burden. I had my hand on its hilt as I struggled through the snow and ice. I knew I could still escape, leap onto Zar’s back and have him trot me out of there, striding chest-deep to the village where I would be safe. But then this cat-and-mouse game Rigel Voss was playing, had been playing for months, would continue. I knew he would not be caught. Simon Magus would keep him hidden. If Voss saw me leave, he might let me, then disappear as he had every other time, only to surface again. We’d never be free of him. I knew it was foolish, knew it might mean my own death, but I had to face him. I wanted to. It must end here. I was ready.

  The lock of the big white doors had not been touched, but I saw that the hummocky valley in the snow led to the side door. It was standing open, its padlock nowhere to be seen. The snow had drifted into the foyer, into the aisle between the pews, like a bride’s train. The smell of lilacs warned me again. I pulled the sword from its sheath and held it before me. It was bright and thin and looked as if it could slice a man to the bone. I gripped the hilt softly, as if my hand was made for it, rather than the sword itself fashioned for human hands. A light seemed to emanate from it. The church had never been wired for electricity. I switched on the flashlight in my other hand. I stepped inside slowly, pivoted until I had a view of every corner of the square, plain nave.

  Then I saw him. The black shadow of a man. It looked as if he might be praying, he sat so silently, so still, head bowed. I shone the flashlight full on him, and he turned. He seemed so normal, neither a devil nor fiend. Just a man with a quiet face, thinning hair. He looked younger than the man I’d seen in the visions. He looked innocent.

  He shielded his eyes, said, “Revelation. There you are.”

  In Las Vegas, on the Strip, in his theater, Simon Magus climbed up his silks. The houselights dimmed. The show was about to begin. He’d weave his web of darkness.

  Voss said my name as if he knew me. And he did, I realized. More intimately than some of my friends. He’d studied me, followed my every move.

  I dropped the flashlight. It clattered on the wooden floor, spilling light. I reached to grip the sword hilt with both hands, my heart pounding. I stepped quickly and silently into the darkness at the front of the church. After all the years scramb
ling around in dusky theaters, my eyes adjusted swiftly; I could see well in the near-dark. Voss turned to the right, the left, looking, searching. He ran to where I’d stood. He was rattled, and hadn’t expected to be. I performed my one turn, my perfect visible vanish. I held the sword close so that it would be encompassed in the vanish as well.

  “God damn it, where are you?” He scrabbled for his own flashlight, then spun its beam. I thought how ludicrous this all was, and couldn’t stifle the laugh that rose in my throat. He ran toward the sound. I’d forgotten that I could still be heard, my voice penetrating that shimmery between-worlds place. I stepped aside, feeling the displacement of air as he passed. He slammed into the rail behind the pews, spun again, seeking.

  “I’ll find you. You know I will. I always do.”

  The heavy velvet curtain parted. The audience gasped. The magician, elegant in his swallow-tailed tuxedo, hung suspended from two long silken ropes, high above them. Then, from utter stillness, he swung and twirled, spun the ropes, spun them and wove them, arcing his body through the air. Plunging, swooping, he began weaving a miraculous, intricate dark blue web.

  Voss ran again, again I stepped aside, felt his bulk rush past my body. I risked speech. “Where are my girls?”

  And suddenly I knew for sure that he had less knowledge of them than I had. I felt his frustration, not only with me, but with Grace and Fai as well, for eluding him. I knew the answer didn’t lie with him. He pulled out a gun then, shot toward where I’d stood only seconds before. Low, so he might shatter a kneecap, wouldn’t kill me. He still needed me. But he was shooting blind. I stepped behind him, slid the point of the blade to the base of his skull.

  “I want you to drop the gun.” I felt the shock run through him. He hadn’t thought that I could best him, even for a moment. I pushed the point of the blade in, just a little. In the shadows, I couldn’t tell whether I drew blood, but I think I did. Something clattered to the floor. His gun. “I don’t have them. I don’t even know where they are.”

  “That’s better.” I eased up on the sword. “But you killed Maggie. And Jeremy. I want you to tell me why.”

  “I never meant to kill the girl. Her death was … a mistake.”

  Hatred coursed through my blood. It felt too huge for me to contain it all. I could have killed him then, but I needed to hear the truth. He told it.

  “I lost everything because of your disappearing act. And when I found out about the research they were doing, I knew you must have been in on it, some way. How you did it—that’s all I started out wanting to know. I wanted my life back. You ruined my life!”

  “That wasn’t Maggie’s fault, or Jeremy’s.”

  “I had to find you. I had to know. If I could explain it, I could make it right. Make you show them, my boss, my wife. So they’d know that it was real. That I wasn’t crazy. But I didn’t find you. After that girl died, my best chance, I knew it was too late. And then, when my wife died too … I found out about the experiments, how it’s possible to go between the worlds. How to be with the dead again.”

  I’d just been with my own dead husband, and all Voss wanted was to be able to do the same. Talk to his Alice, be with her again. The irony made me laugh.

  “Shut up! It’s not funny! You know. It all had to do with you. Why would you be there, otherwise, in the tunnels? You and the guy in the electric chair. He could go between the worlds, talk to the dead. I knew you could, too. So I had to find you. I need to know!”

  “What about Simon Magus?”

  “Who?” He didn’t react when I said the name. I realized he didn’t know who had enchanted him.

  “Never mind. Go on.”

  “No one would ever believe I hadn’t meant to kill the girl. You’d already made me a murderer. I had nothing to lose. When I finally found you, I waited months, figuring, getting to know your routines, the theater. Everything. You had no idea.”

  I shuddered. That he’d breathed the same air we did. “You made me kill my own husband.”

  He spat the words out. “You as good as killed my wife, my child. You made me kill your friend, your husband. We’re just the same. We’re both killers. I just want what’s mine by right. I need to be with her again!”

  Voss dropped and whirled so fast I didn’t anticipate it. He grabbed my waist and used his body weight to pull me down. The sword fell, must have hit him on its way to the ground. He roared as blood spurted from his leg. Startled, I must have reappeared. He took hold of my wrists, gripped them with one hand. I could smell his sweat, mixed with lilacs and his blood now, like molten metal. “Tell me!” he roared in my face. I willed myself to disappear again. He reached for my throat, but his hand hit my chin and I bit at the fleshy palm beneath his little finger.

  “Shit!” He let go of me, and I scrambled away, rolled under a pew. I could see the glint of the gun just inches from me. He saw it, too, and lurched toward it. The blood was pumping from his leg. I saw it spread, wet and dark, on his pants. Jeremy had bled to death. It had taken only moments after the bullet severed the artery in his neck. I’d tried in vain to stanch the awful spurting while his eyes went dark.

  I knew what I had to do, but it took every ounce of courage I possessed not to let the dread I felt paralyze me. I reappeared, rolled out from under the pew, and bolted for the door. Voss had whipped off his belt, was tying it around the bleeding leg. He looked up, saw me, dropped the tourniquet, and ran for me. I didn’t dare vanish. I had to keep him running. I ran out the church doors blindly, floundered into the drifts. I heard his breathing, harried as if he were the hunted one. I could feel him behind me, his rushing presence. He was a big man, with more blood in him than Jeremy. How long would it take?

  I ran toward the house, brightly lit again, the power on for the moment. I feinted and zigzagged, to tire him, to make the blood flow faster. I didn’t dare look back. I had to keep him moving. I rushed through the back door, tried to slam it in his face, but he caught it. Our fingers touched; his were cold as fish in a stream. I ran through the parlor, hurling vases and lamps behind me, tossing small tables in his path. He was so near. I knew he could catch me at any moment. I could almost feel his breath as it battled in his lungs.

  At the third-floor landing, he snarled my name, lunged for me. I felt his hand brush my shoulder. In another stride I was in my office, through the still-open doors. I turned at the railing of the widow’s walk to see him rushing toward me, all the color drained from his face. I climbed onto the railing, looked out for one split second at the houses, the barn, the church steeple. Our tracks in the snow. The ground, so far below me. I didn’t know if I could do it, after all. Sweat broke out on my forehead in spite of the cold. The icy rain pelted my face again, and I could hear the faint booming of the church bell.

  And then I leapt. Made the leap of faith.

  Simon Magus had done this countless times. He’d never wavered. But this night, in his fifth pass through the growing web, he reached for silk, found only air. He slipped, slid, grasped at the web to regain his balance. The audience groaned. There was no net.

  Simon Magus was slipping through the web of his own making. He clawed at the ropes, but couldn’t gain a purchase. He heard the cries of women, then a voice said, “I’ll cut the string now, Caleigh. Don’t be afraid.” He reached once more, into thin air. Then he fell. Before he hit the stage floor, he heard the voice again, using his own magic word against him. “I-undias!”

  Voss’s hand gripped my ankle, but still I soared. I felt weightless and powerful, as if the wind held me, kept me from harm. I soared over Hawley, saw it all laid out before me. I saw the first Revelation in this New World, this New England, her long hair trailing behind her, her eyes blazing, holding a sword up. My sword. The blue snakes on her wrists writhed like living things. I saw Hawley as it was, like the mural on our dining room wall, all the old houses and barns resurrected, lights burning in the windows. I saw Grace and Fai on their horses, Queen Anne’s lace in their hair, riding through H
itchcock Meadow. I flew between the worlds.

  I landed softly in a swell of snow. Only a few flakes drifted down. The clouds parted, and the full moon cast her lemony glow on Hawley Five Corners, on dying Rigel Voss. His hand flapped, reaching for me. He gripped my arm, and I knew everything. Even without the Book, I knew it all.

  In the days after Maggie’s death, Rigel Voss tried to be normal, tried to make sure Alice wouldn’t suspect anything. But he was distracted, couldn’t sleep, and when he did, he had dreams that shook him to the core. He would wake drenched in sweat, panting. Once he woke up yelling, he didn’t know what. Alice smoothed his hair, wiped the sweat from him with a cool washcloth. She didn’t ask, but he could tell by her silence that she knew something was horribly wrong.

  He still dressed in his suits and went to “work.” He would drive to another town, sit in a library, and scan the local newspapers for mention of his terrible deed, then find a dark bar where he could drink the afternoon away. For the first time in his life, he couldn’t make a plan, had no idea what to do, except try to protect Alice from the truth while he waited for the torrent of discovery and punishment to break over him. It didn’t matter that he’d never meant to kill the girl. He played the scene over and over in his head, how it would be when Alice found out her husband was going to prison and she’d have their child alone. But it didn’t happen that way. She never did find out what he’d done, yet the reality was worse than anything Rigel Voss could have imagined.

  Five days after he’d killed Maggie Hamilton and dumped her body, he returned home to find his old friends Rivera and Lindley sitting in an unmarked car outside his house. His heart started racing, like a marathon was pounding through his chest. Alice was on the screened porch, as usual. She waved to him as he pulled up. He thought of driving around back, ignoring the agents, but they saw him and stepped out of their car. He had no choice but to park behind them, greet them.