The Gateway Through Which They Came

by Heather Marie

  I turn back and wait for her to appear beside me, while a baton troupe stomps by. Behind them comes the Joseph High float filled with all the faces I can’t stand, except one. Hidden behind the group of cheerleaders flinging their pom-poms, Koren is being pulled to the front by Justin. My stomach drops at the sight of his hand wrapped around hers. It’s exactly the thing I didn’t want to see tonight. He’s barely paying attention, waving his other hand like a jackass to the crowd; meanwhile, Koren looks unimpressed. It’s not until her expression seems to falter that she pushes between the others. She’s not smiling or waving. Her mouth opens as if to shout something, and her eyes go round with terror.

  I nudge past the man beside me to get closer, to see what she’s seeing. Fingers graze my arm as I force myself through. Julie’s voice says something behind me, but I ignore it. I can’t explain myself to her just now, or ever. All I can do is watch the unreadable expression on Koren’s face.

  I turn back to Julie to make her understand, but how could she? It doesn’t matter. I don’t get a word in before she freezes, her attention suddenly on something else. I turn back to Koren, and discover her eyes trained on me.

  “Aiden!” she screams, but the sound stops short under all the cheers. I’m not even sure that’s what she said. It could have been anything over this noise.

  A funny feeling twists in my gut and the music drowns out as I focus on my surroundings. Something’s here. Is that what Koren was trying to tell me? It can’t be. How could she know? A gust of cold plows through me, but not in the same way a brush of wind sweeps through the air. This is different. This is the energy of a Bleeder, and somewhere within the rush of emotions, is a hum. Vibrating and low, yet hesitant.

  I shake off the familiar thrum of a fellow Gateway and take in the pressure weighing upon me. The cold ache in my skin is strong. Whoever this Bleeder is, they’re packing energy. There are too many faces to pinpoint exactly where it’s coming from, but there’s no denying it. It’s watching me, playing with me. The sensation of it surrounds me, circling over and over just as the shadow did on the track. I search hard for something to give it away. Any hint of its proximity to me.

  Across the street, a face stares back at me through the crowd.

  He’s a teenager with short cropped hair like a Marine. His clothes are desert camouflage that’s been soiled with blood and dirt. It takes a second for me to notice that there aren’t two eyes staring back at me, just one. There’s a messy red hole where the other one should be. The hollowness of the wound is a blackened pit in the darkness, setting off the features of his young face. I wait for him to make a move. It’s hard to tell under these circumstances if a Bleeder is going to be friendly or not. When their life is taken so abruptly by violence, there’s no telling how they will react.

  Another pair of eyes captures my attention only feet away from the soldier. Her disheveled brown hair falls around her face in tight, wet curls. She can’t be much older than five. It doesn’t seem out of place to find her there, except she’s wearing a soaking wet nightgown and her feet are bare. The slight bloating of her skin is similar to a drowning victim.

  An old man with yellowed skin, and a hole in his throat the size of a cigarette, stands in the street to the right of me. Behind him, a teenage girl with bright platinum hair and bruising around her throat glares in my direction. Chills streak down each of my limbs as I realize that not one, not two, but four Bleeders are staring back at me through the crowd.

  Each of them has a look of hunger in their eye. The kind of hunger that begs for salvation, for a taste of freedom; to rid themselves of their defiled bodies. What could bring so many Bleeders here all at once? They don’t travel in packs, at least not that I’ve ever seen. But my biggest concern isn’t so much that as it is: why are they standing there like they’re waiting for something bad to happen?

  Floats continue passing by, Koren now long gone. Every time I blink, the Bleeders close in on me. I swear if I could stop blinking, maybe they wouldn’t move at all. My heart races. My biggest fear has come to realization. Right here, in front of all these people, I’m going to be outed. Not as a Gateway, exactly, but as a kid who clearly has issues. Proving all the old rumors about me to be true.

  They don’t even know the half of it.

  Before I can process what’s happening, the Gateway I sensed seconds ago crashes through everything else, hitting me like a semi-truck. It’s the strongest connection I’ve ever felt. A hum coming at me from all directions. How many are there—one? Two? I can’t tell. Maybe they’ve come to help. They sure are taking their precious time.

  My relief is short-lived. The other Gateway’s presence fades faster than it came, disappearing along with the last of the floats. And just like that, I’m left to fend the Bleeders off on my own. Putting my ass right back to square one.

  Wonderful.

  The Bleeders are closer than ever. Swarming me with no remorse. I push backward through the crowd, looking for an escape. Everything is spinning so badly, I can’t find which way is up. In front of me, I spot Trevor. He must notice my absence when he turns to me, recognition setting on his face. I try to yell for him to stay but I don’t get the chance. Something grabs me from behind.

  on, are you all right?” Father Martin’s comforting voice sweeps over me.

  Sweat gathers at my brow and I don’t have to see myself to know what I must look like. My face is tight with shock, and my lips are stretched as if nearing a scream. I can’t gather my words to speak, my breath catching in my throat. Mom peeks over Father Martin’s shoulder, her eyes heavy with concern.

  “Aiden,” Mom says. “What’s happened? Are you hurt?” Her black hair brushing against her shoulders looks even blacker at night, and her face is twisted into one of those expressions that makes my stomach hurt. She’s frightened.

  That makes two of us.

  My vision swims with the images of the four Bleeders and I blink them back. I take a quick glance over my shoulder to be sure they’re gone. They are. Confirming this allows me to breathe again. How I manage to remain standing is beyond me. Pain in my knees shoots up my leg, and it’s then that I realize how stiff they are.

  “I’m… I think I’m sick,” I lie.

  To collect my bearings, I fold myself midway to rest my hands on my knees. I’m sure this move gives my feigning sickness a little more leverage. When I stand straight again, I can see Mom’s convinced, though terrified all the same. Father Martin, he’s not buying it.

  “Perhaps we should get you home,” Father Martin offers, lifting his hand in the direction I assume his car is parked.

  I nod, the movement weak and small. “I’ll ask Trevor to take me. If that’s okay?” I direct the question toward my mom, who nods.

  On cue, Trevor glides in beside me, forcing his way between bystanders.

  “Come on, man. Let’s get you out of here.”

  We walk away, then Father Martin calls out. “You’ll come see me tomorrow, won’t you, Aiden?”

  I look back at him. “Yes, Father.” My words feel heavy in the air, an understanding passing between us.

  Yes, I’ll be there. Things out here are turning against me. Unknown things that are stronger than anything I’ve ever experienced. Who knows how much time is left before I completely lose control, or before whatever is seeking me out gets what it came for.

  The night is filled with nightmares. Bleeders and shadowed figures loom over me. I feel suffocated in my sleep, like a pressure weighing down on my chest, pressing me into the mattress with force. I struggle to breathe, my lungs ache for air. Darkness and laughter crush into me as if those very things are entities of their own, draining me of life.

  I don’t wait for my mother to wake before I head out. Her questions will only complicate things even more, and questions she will inevitably have after last night. I can’t wait any longer. It’s time to do what I should have done in the first place.

  The only thing keeping me sane is knowing that
Father Martin may have the answers I need to rid myself of this burden. This “gift” is something I wish I could rip out of me. If only I could shove my fist through my chest and cleanse myself of this curse, I’d make it all stop. Forever.

  All the times I’ve been to the Church of Saint Christopher, I’ve never come across the front door locked after opening hours. Desperation rips through me as I bang my fists against the solid wood. A part of me nearly cries out for someone to let me in, but I bite back the words. Deep down I need what little salvation this place could grant me. It’s something I need now more than ever.

  I pace the walkway, focusing on steady breaths. Father Martin has to be here. He said he would be, didn’t he?

  “What are you doing here so early?” Julie ascends the steps and comes to a sudden halt.

  She cocks an eyebrow, waiting for an explanation. I’ve owed her a few of these lately. This last week has made our friendship more awkward than anything else. Honestly, it seems like everything between us has changed since Koren showed up.

  I clear my throat. “Um… your uncle asked me to come by. I thought… I thought he’d be here by now.”

  “Oh.” She walks past me and attempts to open the door. “That’s weird. I saw him leave this morning.” She would know. Julie’s been living with Father Martin since her parents’ fatal accident three years ago.

  “Should we be worried?”

  “Worried? Oh, no. I’m sure he just didn’t realize the door locked behind him.” From her pocket she removes a set of keys. It doesn’t take her long to find the correct one. I can almost kiss her as she swings the door open and gestures for me to go in.

  As we enter, the lights throughout the church are on. A shocking cold greets us with the smell of freshly blown out candles permeating the air. Just as quickly as the cold struck, it disperses, allowing warmth to expand in waves, pushing the remnants of chilling energy outward. It’s as if the church was under a spell and we freed it upon entering.

  With the door safely shut behind us, I reach an arm across Julie to hold her back. Whatever was in here couldn’t have gone far. For all Julie knows, it’s just a draft coming from an open window, but this is a chill I’m familiar with.

  “Wait,” I tell her. “Let me check things out first.” I take a step ahead of her, keeping my eyes searching the room.

  “Why? It’s nothing. Someone probably left the AC on.” Her tone says it all—even she doesn’t believe that.

  “In the middle of December?” I say.

  She doesn’t respond.

  I creep down the aisle, the altar straight ahead. A strange energy mixes with the hum of another Gateway, and I have to ask myself if it’s the church feeding off me, or if the person who broke in is one of the same. A Bleeder? A Gateway? I can’t decipher the sense in my gut to determine which.

  The old building is silent as if it’s listening for the entity that violated it. Small swirls of smoke dance into the air, streaming from the snuffed out candle wicks. It’s unnaturally quiet, making me uneasy. I can’t imagine what a Bleeder would be doing in a church. A Gateway would make more sense. Unless, perhaps, a deceased member of the church lives within the walls, haunting this place.

  It’s no secret that the church has its fair share of Gateways coming and going. But I’ve been a member here for years, and I always know when things such as Bleeders and Gateways make themselves known.

  There’s no evidence of who it could have been. The now unlit candles don’t give me much to work from. The warmth of the building steadies itself, making it clear that whatever was here is gone… for now.

  A shadow flickers in the corner of my eye near the Father’s chambers. I turn my head with a quick snap, hoping to catch a glimpse. My attention is locked in on this mystery and I intend to follow, when Julie steals me from my thoughts.

  “What are you looking for?” Julie says from behind, startling me.

  “Je—” I stop myself before taking the Lord’s name in vain. “Didn’t I tell you to wait?”

  Her brow furrows. “Well, you’re being weird. Knock it off!” She stomps away toward her uncle’s chamber, clearly shaken.

  My annoyance level drops when I remember the shadow.

  “Julie! Wait!” I hurry after her, but she’s way ahead of me.

  She’s at the door, her fingers on the handle. I could swear that thing disappeared through that very door. My hand lands on hers as she begins to turn the handle.

  The main entrance to the church jolts open. We jump away from the chamber door and turn back to find Father Martin, dirty with sweat and grime. His hair is disheveled and he’s nearly out of breath. He seats himself in the pew nearest him, looking desperate for relief.

  “Uncle Jacob?” Julie runs to him and I follow close behind.

  “Father, what happened?” I ask, kneeling beside him.

  Father Martin reaches for a kerchief from the breast pocket of his jacket and pats it across his forehead.

  “Well, wouldn’t you know it? I got a flat tire on my way here.” He looks older this way, exhaustion heaving from his body.

  “I’ll get you some water.” Julie leaves us and runs back to a small room where he keeps a mini fridge.

  Last minute, I whip around to stop her but she’s already gone. Whatever I saw earlier ran and I have to find out why.

  “I’m so sorry to keep you waiting for me, Aiden,” Father Martin says, catching his breath.

  I reach for his arm and with a soft tap, I say, “Don’t worry about it. Did you need me to fix that tire for you?”

  “No, no. It’s been taken care of it. Why do you think I look like a mechanic?” He chuckles, showing his hands that are covered with black smudges.

  Julie is back within seconds, holding out the bottle of water. “Drink this.”

  He takes small sips, recuperating after each intake. We sit back and take in the sight of him. The color slowly flushes back to his cheeks and he seems to be recovering.

  “Did you run over a nail or something?” Julie says, taking the bottle back and recapping it.

  “I don’t believe so. I was driving and all of a sudden the tire gives out. Just like that.” He demonstrates with a snap of his finger. “After I switched it out, I couldn’t find a single thing wrong with it.”

  Julie and I make eye contact and quickly break away. I hate that we can hardly look at each other now. It’s so unlike how we were before, as if she’s suddenly aware of something that she couldn’t see during the summer we spent together. What does she know about the work her uncle and I do? Does she know of our meetings years ago when he helped perfect my gift?

  Father Martin is still shaken from the incident, but waves away our attempts to help him to his feet. Julie’s concern far outweighs whatever else she’d put together. The unknown presence within the church is forgotten, the Gateway hum weak and nearly gone. I want to ask Julie what she knows, but I’m too afraid.

  Despite it all, one thing is clear: whatever was in this church is likely what tried to stop Father Martin from interrupting its agenda.

  I just can’t understand why.

  ather Martin tries his best to make me stay, but I insist that I go home. I can’t see myself taking up his time when he looks this exhausted. It doesn’t feel right. Julie’s expression as I leave remains sketched in my mind. Does she feel the shift? Can she sense that something about me is changing? Julie is a strong person of faith. There’s no way she could disregard what she felt in the church this morning. It was too disturbing to ignore.

  A text from Trevor tempts me to join as he and Evan plan to spend another day in the game room. It would be nice to get away, to get my mind off things, but I can’t shake the presence I felt in the church. I have to ask myself if it’s possible for a Gateway to turn Dark Side. It’s the only thing that could describe what I felt back there.

  I reply to Trevor with some pathetic excuse, and head home.

  Mom doesn’t ask any questions after I walk through the
door. She knows about my visit with Father Martin, which seems to calm her a little.

  “I made some lunch for you. It’s in the fridge,” she says, forcing a smile as if trying not to make it obvious that she’s worried again. She’s a little late on that. The way her fingers rub the gold cross dangling from her necklace is proof enough.

  “Thanks,” I say before heading to my room. An appetite is something I don’t have, which says a lot about me these days.

  I spend most of the day catching up on trigonometry homework, though the idea of hanging with the guys sounds a thousand times better. But as it is, I need to get this done or I never will. Each math problem takes longer than the previous one. Concentration is a hard thing to find when your mind is distracted with an attempted Bleeder attack and a bolting shadow. Not to mention everything else that’s occurred over the last week.

  Seriously. Could my life get any more confusing?

  Day turns to night before I can process that the day has come to an end. I’ve read one page of Hamlet about ten times, yet the words have refused to sink in. There’s no use trying. I won’t accomplish much of anything tonight.

  The tension in my muscles makes for sore limbs as I lie back on the bed and wish for sleep. I contemplate what it is Father Martin could do for me tomorrow. What he could say to make things better. Most of all, I don’t know what to tell him. How much is too much? If something already has its sights on him, it’s possible I could make him even more of a target.

  If there was someone else who could help me, someone who might understand what it means to fight personal demons. I wonder if Father Raimi would be up for the challenge. These demons were far more than anyone could imagine, going way beyond my insignificant life. Maybe I could trust him. He’d lost his faith once. Can he help me find mine?

  The click of a door wakes me, face-first in a book I didn’t realize I fell asleep on. From the darkness surrounding my room, I assume it was my mother shutting off the light. Have I been asleep long? The book slumps to the floor as I pull the sheets over my waist. I close my eyes and hope for more sleep, but a lurking feeling takes hold of me. Something awaits me somewhere, but I can’t make sense of the urge to stand up. I’m exhausted when I stumble from bed through the dark, tripping on a shoe in the middle of the room. The curtains are pulled back, allowing the light of the moon to guide me to the reflecting glass.