by Amy Cross
"Save it," I whisper, even though there's a part of me that wants the creature to die. My rational, logical mind knows that there's no way such a hideous thing should ever be allowed to live; then again, my heart is telling me that no matter where it came from, that creature is my child and I can't allow anything to happen to it. Trying to sit up, I reach out toward the altar, desperate to make contact.
"If the child dies," my mother continues, "we'll have to start again."
"Please," I whisper, straining to reach the baby.
"Stop it," my mother says, pushing my hand away. "There's nothing you can do for it now."
I watch as Dr. Mammone continues to work on the baby. He's clearly struggling to stay calm as he uses a variety of instruments to assess the child's status, but after a moment there's a high-pitched gurgle from the creature's mouth.
"If you let it die," my mother hisses at him, "I'll make sure that you suffer a thousand deaths!"
"I'm losing him," the doctor replies, working increasingly frantically.
"Let me hold him," I whimper, as tears run down my face. "Please, let me hold him..."
"Stop whining," my mother snaps, turning to me with pure anger in her eyes. "This is your fault. We thought you could carry such an important child, but you turned out to be weaker than any of us realized. There's -"
Before she can finish, screams erupt nearby. Turning, I see that somehow the thousands of candles and torches have fallen onto the congregation, setting their robes on fire. Burning bodies rush toward the door, but as the stampede builds they start trampling one another. Someone cries out that the door is locked, but more and more of the figures drop to the ground every second as the flames consume their bodies.
"This can't be happening," my mother says, staring at the horrific scene.
"It's dead," Dr. Mammone says, stepping back from the altar. "I don't know how or why, but -"
Above us, there's a loud, ominous creaking sound, as pieces of the church's stone roof start to crumble. It's as if the entire building is being shaken apart, and finally large chunks fall down all around us. Dr. Mammone turns to run, but a stone block drops straight onto him, crushing him against the steps that lead up to the altar.
"Let me see!" I shout, reaching out toward the spot where my child's corpse has been left. "I might be able to -"
"There's nothing you can do," my mother says calmly, leaning over me. "You had a job, and you failed. Now we'll have to start again. Your father and I can't have any more children, but we'll find another, and this time we'll make damn sure that it's one who can carry a child to term." She reaches down and starts tearing at the stitches in my belly, sending waves of pain through my body. "You're a failure," she adds, smiling as she rips each stitch away. "What's the point of a woman if she can't even carry a child?"
"Please," I gasp, as the pain floods my body. "Stop!"
"I'm just going to leave you right here," she says, finally letting go of me and taking a step back. "You could have had it all, Kate. You could have been remembered as one of the most important women in the history of the world. Instead, you -"
Stopping suddenly, she looks up just in time to see part of the ceiling arch crashing down straight on top of her; large pieces of stone smash into the wall before sliding down to the floor. I try to sit up, and although the chains are holding me down, I can just about make out a patch of blood where my mother was standing, as if her body was crushed and then smeared across the floor. Seconds later, I feel someone loosening the chains around my wrist, and I turn to find that Dagwood is trying to get me free.
"There's still time to get out of here," he says as he finishes freeing my arms and moves on to my legs.
"What's happening?" I ask, as the building continues to shake.
"I don't know for sure," he continues, "but I've got an idea. We have to get you out of here. They were wrong. They all misunderstood what was really happening."
As soon as I'm free, I hurry over to the altar and stare at the tiny, twisted dead body that was cut out of me a few minutes ago. It barely even looks like a child, but after a moment I realize I can see the beginning of a face beneath the burned, charred skin. I reach down to pick it up, but Dagwood grabs my arm and pulls me away.
"Don't touch it," he says, leading me behind the altar and down the stairs that lead to the basement.
"Where are you taking me?" I ask, stumbling as blood flows from my torn belly.
"This whole place is going to come down," he replies as we get to the bottom of the stairs and he pulls me into a side-room. "We must have misunderstood the text in the ancient books. We thought it'd be enough to cut the baby out of you, but something happened that changed everything." He leads me to the far end of the room and pulls the door open, and a cold draft immediately hits me. "This passageway leads up to street-level," he explains, turning to me. "Just keep running and you'll be safe. I have to go back and get the books. Without them, it'll be impossible to work out what to do next."
"That was my child," I tell him. "I can't leave him here! I have to go and get him!"
"You'll die if you go back inside," he replies, pushing me through the door. "Now run! I'll be right behind you as soon as I've got the books, Kate, but you have to run!"
I stare at him.
"Run!" he shouts, pushing me away.
As the building continues to shake, I turn and run along the passageway. Sure enough, a couple of minutes later I emerge from a small doorway across the street from the church. Police cars and ambulances are already filling the area, but all I can do is watch as the entire stone church collapses in on itself, sending up a huge cloud of dust as the neighborhood seems to shake for a moment. I step back into the doorway of a shop and try to cover my mouth as a wall of dust slams into me, and finally the carnage seems to subside.
I wait a moment, and finally I step back out of the doorway. The dust is starting to clear, and police officers are everywhere. I turn to look at the passageway, but after a few minutes I realize that there's no way Dagwood can ever have made it. Taking a couple of steps forward, I stop and look down at my legs, and I realize that blood is now pouring from the wound in my belly. I try to turn again, but this time I'm too weak. As a couple of police officers hurry over to help me, I drop to my knees and then finally I roll onto my side. The pain is too strong, and all I want now is to die.
At least once I'm dead, there'll be no more pain.
Twenty-one years ago
It's late, and I'm out alone.
Again.
Raising my camera, I look through the viewfinder and take a moment to compose the shot, before taking a photograph and then making my way along the sidewalk. I've come downtown to get some shots of a church. Lately, churches have really caught my attention, and since I'm going to be getting a lot of money from the insurance company following my accident, I figure I've got plenty of time to work on a few private projects. Besides, I need to distract myself, and to make sure that I stop thinking about Mark.
The best part of taking pictures at night is the fact that I can let my mind drift away. The noise of the city - all the cars and people and thousand of other sounds - becomes a kind of wail that replaces all my thoughts, allowing me to operate on instinct alone. Tonight, there's a very faint pain in my side, but for the most part I'm able to just focus on what I can see through the camera's viewfinder ignore everything else. If I can just live like this for the rest of my life, with no-one else to worry about, I'll be happy.
I spend hours wandering the city, and by the time I get back to my apartment I've got half a dozen used rolls of film in my pocket. It's almost 3am, but I'm too buzzed to sleep so I head straight into the dark-room I've rigged up in my bathroom. Now that I've got no-one else in my life, I can just focus on doing whatever I want; if that makes me selfish, I don't care, because all I want to do is develop my photos and maybe work toward an exhibition. I know I should feel guilty for kicking Mark out of my life, but the truth is, I'm finding it surp
risingly easy to live without him.
Seeing that there's a message on my phone, I hit the button.
"Hey, sweetheart," my mother says, "just checking in on you. Can you give me a call some time? Your father and I just want to make sure you're doing okay. Love you!"
I can't help but smile. My mother still fusses over me, even though I've been cancer-free for a few years. I guess she's never going to relax.
A few hours later, however, everything changes. When the first of tonight's photos are developed, I stare in stunned horror at a figure standing on the steps of one of the churches. He wasn't there when I was taking the photos, but he's there now. It's the man from my earlier images, the man I first saw at the old railroad trestles near my parents' house. I thought he was gone, but now he's back, and once again he's staring straight into my camera. I thought that by coming to New York I'd be able to get away from him, but now it's clear that he's followed me.
I don't know what he wants, but I figure it's time to start doing some digging. Heading out, I figure I need to resume my old project. I wander the streets for a few more hours until finally I spot the building I've been looking for. I get a few quick snaps from various angles, and somehow, deep inside, I can tell that I've found the right place. Taking a step back, I raise my camera and take a couple more shots of the church's columns.
Epilogue
Many years later
"Sorry I can't be there," Bella says. "You know I wouldn't miss your birthday for anything, right? Especially not when you're turning sixty-five!"
"You can't help the plane being canceled," I reply. "Don't stress. The last thing you want to do is start rushing and end up breaking the other hip. Pop by when you can. You know I'm fine. It's not like I'm alone."
"I'll be over with your gift as soon as possible," she says. "Hang on, I've got to go. Dominic's maid keeps trying to wave me over!"
Once the call is finished, I can't help but smile as I put the phone down. I ease my tired, aching old body up from the chair and start shuffling toward the kitchen, although I stop when I pass the mirror in the hallway. It's hard to believe that I've somehow managed to live to the age of eighty-five, especially after everything I went through as a child. I can't even remember how many times I was diagnosed with cancer, and yet I always pulled through. Then there were the events in the church twenty years ago, but again, I recovered. Since then, life has been strangely calm, but eventually I stopped looking over my shoulder all the time.
I make my way through to the kitchen. Everything's so calm and peaceful.
A few minutes later, as I'm stirring the stew, I hear the front door opening and closing. As my daughter Sebastiane comes through to greet me, I can't help but notice the large gift she's carrying.
"You didn't have to get me anything," I tell her.
"Nonsense," she replies, setting the gift on the table before coming over and kissing the top of my head. "Happy birthday, mother. I hope you're not too depressed about your birthday."
"There are worse things," I point out.
It takes me a few minutes to get the gift open, since my trembling hands aren't quite as strong as they used to be. Sometimes, I even struggle to hold my camera. Finally, opening the box, I discover that Sebastiane has bought me an old film camera, just like the one I used to have as a little girl. Lost in my memories, I examine the device, and eventually Sebastiane takes over the cooking as I sit at the kitchen table and try to remember how to use the camera properly.
It's been so long since I touched one of these things.
After dinner, Sebastiane helps me get the camera ready, and we go out into the garden to take some shots. I can tell that something seems to be on her mind, but she's a thoughtful girl and she's always been so good to me. She keeps encouraging me to take up photography again, although in truth I've lost much of the passion that I once had. Being a single mother for so many years, I struggled to raise her on my own, but I developed other interests. Today, however, as I hold this old camera in my hands, I can feel the fire reigniting in my soul. I might be old now, but that doesn't mean I can't get out and about.
"Do you mind if I ask you something personal?" Sebastiane says eventually, as I watch her through the viewfinder and prepare to take a picture.
"I suppose not," I reply.
She pauses. "Why didn't you tell me about my twin?" she asks eventually.
After a moment, I lower the camera.
"When I was conceived," she continues, "I had a twin. There were two of us in the womb. And then one day, my twin was cut out. Why did you never mention it to me?"
"How did you find out?" I ask, shocked by the memory of that horrific night in the church. Putting the camera down, I take a seat on one of the lawn chairs.
"I remember him," she replies. "We grew together, inside you. When he was taken away, I thought I'd be removed next, but instead I had to wait to be born the normal way."
"The people who cut your brother out," I say cautiously, "had no idea that I was carrying twins. They took your brother, and they assumed he was the only one." I pause for a moment, before finally realizing that I should tell her everything. "They sewed me back up," I continue, "and they tried to save your brother, but it was too late. He was too... He wasn't able to survive."
"Of course he wasn't," Sebastian replies. "Not after what I did to him."
I open my mouth to ask him what she means, but the words stick in my throat.
"He was weak," she continues, with a faint smile. "Even in the womb, I could tell he was inferior to me. We were just so different. Eventually, to amuse myself, I took to torturing him. He tried to fight back, but it's not as if he could exactly run away, is it? I found I was able to tear at him, but it gave me most amusement to burn him. I even poked out his eyes as soon as they developed. I had so many other ideas, but then he was ripped out of you and my little torture companion was gone. I was lonely once he was gone, but I never mentioned any of this as I grew up. It's only today, now that you have a camera again, that I feel I should be open with you."
"They thought your brother was evil," I reply, trying not to show my fear. "They thought he had the soul of someone very bad inside him."
"No," Sebastian replies blankly. "He was a perfectly normal child. I was the one they were looking for, but they missed me. And then I realized that they were going to hurt you, and I couldn't allow that. I couldn't let anyone put you in danger, mother, so I burned them all, and then I brought their pathetic little church crashing down."
"That was you?" I ask, with tears in my eyes.
"I had to punish them," she continues. "They were idiots, and they only would have caused more trouble if they'd been allowed to live. I reached out with my mind and razed that entire place. They'd have found me in your belly eventually, and I wanted to stay there for as long as possible. I wanted to be a part of you, mother. In some ways, I still do." She pauses. "I don't regret anything," she adds finally. "That church was wretched, and its congregation was filled with monsters. They'd have had to die eventually, and they'd done what I needed them to do, so I saw no reason to let any of them draw another breath."
I stare at her for a moment, barely able to comprehend the fact that my worst fears have come true. A few months after the incident in the church, I discovered I was still pregnant. Despite my misgivings, I felt I had no choice but to keep the baby, and when Sebastiane was born I loved her from the first moment I saw her. I told myself that she was a normal child, that it was the charred little creature that had contained the devil's soul. Now I realize that the charred creature was an innocent child, and Sebastiane has been hiding her dark side all his life, up until this moment.
"I always knew some other power saved me that day," I reply eventually, feeling as if long-buried doubts have finally come to the surface. "Just before I ran from the building, your father said he thought he understood what was happening. I suppose he must have guessed that I was carrying twins, and that you were still inside me."
"Now what?" she asks eventually.
I stare at her, and although I know I should see her as a monster, all I can see is my daughter. Ever since she was born, I've had doubts and concerns, but I put them all to the back of my mind and focused on raising her. Now that I know her true nature, I can't just abandon her.
"I'm still your mother," I tell her, forcing myself to stay calm, "and you're still my child." Reaching over to the camera, I pick it up and take aim at her once again; I watch him through the viewfinder for a moment, before finally taking the picture.
"That's the first time you've ever taken a photograph of me," she says with a faint smile. "I know you loved cameras when you were younger, but it seems like you've been scared of them since I was born."
"Maybe," I reply, setting the camera down.
"Are you going to develop that yourself?" she asks.
I nod.
"Because you're scared of what it might show?"
"Come and sit with me," I reply, preferring to change the subject.
Cautiously, she comes over to me, and finally she gets down on the floor before resting her head against my knees. I reach down and run my hand through her hair, and for a moment I can't help but wonder whether I should try to break her neck, for the sake of the world. It's at this moment, however, that I realize I can never turn against her. No matter where she came from, she's my daughter.
"I'm scared," she says eventually. "I feel something deep in my soul. Something dark. Sometimes, even though I try to be good, I know that my nature is to be cruel."
"We'll see," I reply, still stroking the top of his head.
"I killed someone today," she adds. "A girl at school. We were in a coffee shop, and I made her choke. I was just testing my powers, I wasn't sure it would even work, but..."
She pauses.
"Do you think I'm evil?" she asks finally.
"I don't know," I tell her, as a tear runs down my cheek. "All I know is that you're my child and I went through so much while I was carrying you." I pause for a moment, as the late afternoon sunlight seems to shift a little as it streams through the window. "I'm your mother," I add, "and I love you, and that's all that matters in the whole world."