by Amy Cross
“Marnie and I could both tell how important it was to you.”
“But only to me!” I reply, before once again forcing my anger back down. “It only mattered to me,” I continue. “The battle, defeating the enemy, that mattered to the whole world. That was important, but this? Me being back in this little wooden church? That's for my own ego, Donald. I didn't have to be brought back here to die, I could have just been left to die in the mud with everyone else from the battle.”
“You deserved better.”
“A lot of people deserved better. They didn't get it.”
“We couldn't help them. We could help you.”
“That's beside the point.”
“Not really.” He pauses. “You always talked about this place, and we could tell how much it would mean to you if we got you back here. To be honest, there were times on the journey when we didn't think you'd make it. I don't think you understand how close you came to dying on the road, Rachel. Three separate times, I had to give you emergency aid right there in the cart, just to keep you going. Frankly, it's a miracle that we got you here at all, and it's another miracle that you ever managed to get out of bed.” Another pause, before he makes his way over to the medical box, opens the lid, and takes out a small mirror. “Have you seen yourself?”
I shake my head. I was hoping he wouldn't ask me that question, because I know I won't be able to resist.
“Do you...” He looks at the mirror for a moment. “Forget it, it's a dumb -”
“Give it to me.”
“Rachel -”
“Give me the mirror.”
“No.” He sets the mirror in the box. “I don't think you need to see.”
“Give me the mirror,” I say again, limping over and grabbing the box. I take the mirror out and turn it so I can see my face, and then I feel a shudder pass through my body when I finally witness the true extent of the damage. “Oh...” I whisper, but that's the only word I can get out right now. I knew I'd been badly hurt, but I never...
“I'm sorry,” Donald says after a moment. “Rachel, there's no need to -”
“Shut up,” I mutter, turning away from him, still staring at my reflection. A section of flesh is missing from my forehead, and my right eye has been hacked at the edges, leaving the eyeball looking as if it might come out at any moment. The right side of my nose is missing too, and there are burn marks all around my mouth, mostly on the right side. I tilt the mirror down to see my neck, and then I start pulling the bandage aside to reveal yet more damaged flesh.
“It's like that all over,” Donald tells me. “If it makes you feel any better, you actually look better than you did a week ago.”
I swallow hard, before passing the mirror back to him with a trembling hand.
“I'm sorry,” he says again.
“Don't be,” I mutter. “I'm just being vain.” For a moment, I think about how I looked the last time I was here at the church. My God, I was young and healthy then, fit too. I guess I'll never be like that again.
Donald sets the mirror back into the box. “Your wounds -”
“You shouldn't have brought a child here,” I snap, turning to him. “I don't care how you rationalize it, but that was one of the big rules from the start.”
“I already told you -”
“You should have found another way!”
“We tried!”
“Obviously not hard enough!”
“I thought you'd be dead before it mattered!” he replies, although an expression of shock immediately crosses his face. “I mean... Rachel, I...”
“No,” I say, shaken by his honesty. “I get it. You were right to think that.”
“Rachel, please, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean it like that.”
“I should be dead,” I mutter, thinking back to how I looked just now in the mirror. “Why am I clinging on to life like this? I mean, I'm not, not really. Why haven't I died yet?”
We stand in silence for a moment.
“I don't know,” he says finally. “I guess some part of you wants to keep fighting.”
“Which part?” I ask. “Tell me, so I can set it straight.”
He sighs.
“She's in danger,” I continue.
“From what?”
“From...” Looking around at the empty room, I feel a sense of mounting frustration at the realization that I have to keep explaining everything. Do these people never learn?
“From you?” he asks.
“No, not from me.”
“Then from what?” he continues. “I know you're worried about something coming after you, but do you really think that's going to happen? Nothing followed us here, and I don't see how they'd know to look for you here. Even if they set out to find you, it'd take years.”
Looking up at the ceiling, I see lines of light poking through and I wait in case there's any sign of movement up there. A moment later, another rumble of thunder fills the sky. Earlier, I felt certain that something was on the roof, but I was confused by the fact that I also sensed a presence inside the church. The little girl was complicating things, getting in the way of my senses, but now I can separate her out and focus. I wait, and then I hear the faintest bumping sound from up on the roof.
There's something there.
I know it.
“You have to get your daughter away from here,” I say finally.
“There's a storm.”
“So?”
“So the causeway is impassable right now.”
Sighing, I turn to him.
“It is,” he says firmly. “We'd most likely drown if we tried to cross to the mainland right now. We have to at least wait until morning.”
“You want to spend a night here?” I ask incredulously.
“I want not to drown.”
“You shouldn't have brought her here,” I continue, “and even after you'd made that colossal mistake, you should have turned around immediately. You should have put me on the bed and left, you could have been miles from here by now.”
He nods.
“I don't want some kid getting mixed up in all of this,” I tell him.
“Do you think I do?” he asks. “She's my daughter.” He pauses. “She's already been asking about you. She wants to know who you are and how we know you, and what happened to you. She's extremely curious.”
“Don't tell her anything.”
“Okay.”
Staring at him, I realize that he's lying. “You've already told her,” I continue, “haven't you?”
“Just the basics.”
Closing my eyes, I try to stay calm. I want to strangle him.
“She's a child,” he continues. “She has questions, it's only natural.”
“None of this is natural,” I mutter, opening my eyes again. “You didn't tell her about the battle, did you?”
“Of course not.”
“Good. No child should ever know that evil exists in that form.”
“It might make her feel better to know that evil was defeated, though.”
“Don't tell her about it,” I say firmly. “If you do, you'll have to change her bedsheets every morning for the next year.”
Limping over to the window, I look out and see that rain is falling more heavily now. Donald's right, the causeway would be treacherous in this weather. Even if a wave didn't wash them into the rough sea, the howling wind would most likely cause them to slip on the wet rocks.
“Do you want to meet her?”
I turn to him.
“Do you want to meet Tammy?” he continues. “Properly, I mean. I can introduce you.”
I consider the suggestion for a moment, before shaking my head.
“Are you sure?” he asks. “She's right through that door, in the next room.”
“I know that,” I snap. “That's the whole problem, isn't it?” I look over at the closed door. “Is she scared?”
“Probably. A little.” He waits for me to say something. “It might make her feel better if she
could meet you.”
I shake my head.
“For her sake?” he adds.
A shudder passes through my chest. I remember what it was like to be a child and to have fear in my soul. Fear drove me, it pushed me out into the market near my home. That's the problem with children, if fear settles in them at an early age, the rest of their body grows around it until the fear can no longer escape, and then they have to live with it trapped inside for the rest of their lives. The most they can hope is to find some task that distracts them. Something practical is best, and something worthwhile, like restoring an old church.
“You should go to her,” I say finally.
“Marnie's playing with her,” he replies. “Trying to distract her from the storm.”
“It's going to be a big storm,” I tell him. “You won't be able to distract her all night.”
“But the church will hold up, won't it?” he asks. “We don't have to worry about the walls collapsing, do we?”
I glare at him.
“Of course not,” he adds, quickly realizing his mistake. “I guess there's no electricity out here, so we'll have to make do with candles.”
“There are some blankets,” I mutter, suddenly remembering the items I left here all those years ago. Limping across the room, I push past Donald and then kneel next to the old dresser in the corner. The pain in my body is intense but I refuse to let it show, so I simply open the dresser door and see to my relief that everything is as I left it. It's crazy to think that while I was out there, traveling and eventually fighting, these blankets just sat untouched on the shelves. Pulling one out, I realize it's the one I brought here from my grandparents' house, one that my mother made; the smell alone is enough to remind me of my childhood, but I resist falling into a glut of remembrance and, instead, I hold the blanket out for Donald to take. “Give this to her,” I tell him, before adding a second blanket. “And this one, too. There are more here, she might need them. It could get cold, especially with the holes in the walls.”
“Thank you,” he replies, taking the blankets.
“There are more,” I add. “You and Marnie should take some.” Looking up at the ceiling, I realize that the holes are large enough to let not only wind but also rain inside. I really should go up there. There are worse ways to die that hard at work. In fact, the idea appeals to me greatly.
“No,” Donald says suddenly.
I turn to him.
“You're not going up there,” he continues. “Are you insane? The storm is -”
“You can't stop me,” I tell him.
“No, but -”
“So I can go up there,” I point out. “Really, I can.”
“I'll do it.”
“You'll do what?”
“I'll fix the roof,” he replies.
“Over my dead body,” I say darkly.
“You won't let anyone else work on the church?”
“Not while I'm still alive.”
He sighs. “We'll make do. There aren't holes everywhere.”
“There are too many,” I reply, getting to my feet. “It's like seeing an old friend wounded and not trying to help. I want the place to be in good condition by the time I die.”
“Then you should wait until after the storm.”
“I won't last that long.”
“I...” He pauses, and I can tell that he knows I'm right. “Please don't make us watch you go out there to your death.”
“You watched me walk onto the battlefield,” I point out.
“That was different. That was necessary, it was what we signed up for.”
“The church is hurting,” I continue. “I won't leave it like that, and the last time I checked, you had no way of stopping me. I can do what I want, when I want and how I want, and there's nothing you can do to change that. What else should I do? Sit in bed and wait to see if I get better? The face I saw in that mirror a few minutes ago is not the face of someone who's ever going to recover.”
He sighs. “Then what exactly do you want me to do, Rachel?”
“Two things,” I reply. “First, keep your daughter away from me. She doesn't need to see me again, I look awful, I'd only horrify her. And second...” Pausing, I hear the sound of wind and rain battering the side of the church. “Go into the room at the back and fetch my hammer and some nails. I have a job to do.”
Six
The ladder slips slightly as soon as I set my left foot on the bottom rung. Fortunately, the ladder's base simply moves a couple of inches from the wall and then lodges against a large rock, and I take a moment before figuring that it's steady enough.
With my right ankle so badly damaged, climbing isn't exactly easy. Rain is still pouring down, making the ladder incredibly slippery, and the strong wind isn't helping. Looking up, I see the stormy sky churning high above, and a moment later there's a rumble of thunder, as if the natural world wants to add its voice to the chorus of disapproving moans. I already know that Donald and Marnie think I'm insane, but right now their opinions don't really matter to me so much.
I have a job to do.
Despite almost slipping a couple of times, I finally reach the top of the wall. There's a very basic gutter running along the roof's edge, but I don't have time right now to reminisce over the day when I got everything set up. There are small metal pegs set into the roof, and I reach out and use one of them to start hauling myself up. In the old days, I used to clamber up without any trouble at all, but this time I have to be careful. One fall could be enough to ruin my legs, so I take a couple of minutes to maneuver myself up from the top of the ladder and onto the roof itself. My feet slip a couple of times against the wet metal, but I hold on tight to the metal pegs.
I won't fall.
I refuse to fall.
For a moment, however, I have to rest. Breathless and with pain rippling throughout my body, I look up at the sky again and watch as rain comes pouring down around me. As bad as the storm might be right now, I know it's only going to get worse, and the wooden roof is already way more slippery than I expected, worse even than the ladder. Looking around, I see numerous gaps in the wood, with water running down and into the church's interior. I have a hammer hanging from my belt, and I already propped several long planks of wood next to the ladder, ready for me to haul them up.
Donald offered to help, but I turned him down.
Actually, he did more than offer. He insisted, and I only managed to dissuade him by making him feel guilty about his daughter. I'm not too proud of that, but I got what I needed in the end.
Solitude.
The chance to work alone up here until...
Another rumble of thunder passes overhead.
I'm going to work until I can't work any longer, and then I don't see much point in drawing another breath.
Reaching down, I grab the top of one of the wooden planks. Even this simple task is going to be difficult, especially with so much pain in my torso, but I grip the plank as tightly as I can and then I start to haul it up. Figuring that no-one inside the church can possibly hear me, I let out a gasp of pain, followed by another as I finally tip the end of the plank and start to slide it alongside me onto the roof. Once again, the pain and effort are way, way more than I expected, but I guess I'll just get better after a few tries. Besides, it feels good to be working again, and it's not as if pain and pleasure are mutually exclusive. I can feel both at the same time and be content with that. With a trembling hand, I reach down for the hammer and start to un-loop it from my belt. The sooner I get to work, the sooner I can start to feel good again.
Turning, I'm about to start hauling the plank up toward the nearest gap when I suddenly become very much aware of the open space all around. The church's roof isn't exactly large, but there's more than enough room for someone to hide, either on the other side or perhaps behind the steeple. Thinking back to the sound of something thumping into the roof earlier, I tell myself that there's no way anything else is up here; after all, I'd surely have been at
tacked by now, especially since I'm such an obvious target. As if to underline the fact that I'm hurt, there's even a small amount of blood on my hands from a wound on my wrist that opened up a moment ago. I take a deep breath, trying to stay calm as I continue to look around, and then finally I tell myself that there's no point delaying things.
Either something is up here waiting to strike, or it isn't. I can't change a thing by hesitating.
Gripping the plank with one hand, I use the other to hold onto the metal pegs and start pulling myself up the sloping wooden roof. At one point I make the mistake of using my damaged right ankle to push against one of the pegs, and the flash of extreme pain makes me cry out; reminding myself that I need to be more careful, I move more slowly until I reach the nearest gap and prop the wooden plank nearby. I run my fingertips against the gap, feeling where the wood has splintered, and for a moment it's almost as if I'm examining a wound on the flank of an old friend. I've always told myself to keep from being sentimental, but right now I figure I'm on the verge of death so, really, who would begrudge me a little woolly thinking?
“It's okay,” I whisper to the church, even though the wind and rain are too loud for me to be heard. “I'm going to fix you. At least one of us can be put back to how we used to be, right?”
Spotting a flash of movement on the other side of the hole in the roof, I lean closer and peer through. To my surprise, the gap is wide enough for me to be able to see all the way through to the inside of the church, and I spot Donald, Marnie and their daughter Tammy far below, sitting on the steps before the wooden altar. I can't hear what they're talking about, of course, and they've got no idea that I'm watching them; still, for a moment I can't help but admire their little family unit. I wish I'd had more time to get to know Donald and Marnie, to understand their world, but everything that happened over the past couple of years has been a blur. How could I not have known that they had a child? As I watch Marnie stroking Tammy's hair, and as Donald talks to the little girl, suddenly they both seem like completely different people. As parents, they're almost -
Suddenly I hear a bumping sound nearby.
Turning, I look across the sloping roof just in time to see a section of wood slipping down from the base of the steeple. The wood, just a small chunk really, lands neatly in the gutter as rain continues to fall, and when I look back up toward the steeple I can't shake the feeling that something might be hiding up there, just on the other side of the wooden column. I wait, holding my breath, but now all I hear is the sound of rain pounding down all around. The wind is getting stronger too, ruffling my clothes with such force that it seems to be trying to grab hold of me so it can fling me off the roof. I've been so worried about something coming after me for revenge, I never thought that perhaps the storm itself is trying to kill me. Turning, I look out to see for a moment and see darker clouds headed this way. Looking back over at the steeple, I try to imagine what might be hiding just out of sight, waiting to strike.