The Girl Clay

by Amy Cross

  “Get away from me,” I mutter, trying to turn back.

  “Gently does it,” the other woman says, as she and Debbie force me up and into the motor-home's dark interior.

  “Don't fight this,” Debbie adds. “This is how it was meant to be.”

  I turn to them, but they step back and push the door shut, leaving me standing and shivering in darkness. I reach out, fumbling for the door-handle, but a moment later I hear a faint clicking sound and I realize that I'm locked inside.

  And then I hear him.

  Turning, I look into the darkness and listen to the sound of someone moving nearby.

  Seconds later, a candle is lit over by a small table, followed by another and then another until finally ten are burning and I can just about make out the face of a man. He looks down at the candles for a moment, before turning to me. He's young, maybe my age or a couple of years older, but I instantly recognize his features. He looks so much like his father, the sight of him makes me want to throw up.

  “My name,” he says calmly, “is Nathaniel Kenseth. I believe you knew my father back when he was in charge of the compound. Please, Rebecca -” He pauses. “I'm sorry, I believe you like to be known as Clay. Please, Clay, come and join me, won't you? I have been waiting such a very long time to make your acquaintance. Even though I knew Attaroth himself was bringing you to us, I confess I still felt more than a little impatient. I suppose that's another human weakness, isn't it?”

  I stand shivering by the door, watching him with suspicion.

  “The TH-14 will wear off soon,” he continues. “I'm sorry, that was just a precaution. I was worried you wouldn't be keen to join us, so drugging you was the only option. It's crude, I know, but at least you're here now and I trust that you feel refreshed after your bath. I read up on these things and determined that a bath filled with the milk of other women would be the best way to cleanse your body. You've suffered so many hardships in your life, so it's only fitting that at the end of it all you should experience a little luxury. Don't worry, there's no need to thank me.”

  “What do you want?” I ask, still feeling too weak to smash the door down and get the hell out of here.

  “Enlightenment,” he replies. “Ascension. A new plane of -”

  “Bullshit,” I say firmly.

  “A new plane of consciousness,” he continues, barely batting an eyelid, “as promised by our master, the great Attaroth.”

  “You've been speaking to Attaroth?” I ask.

  “I've been in daily communion with him, yes. He appears to me in visions. Great, wonderful visions filled with so many colors.”

  “If I ever see him again,” I whisper, “I'll show him a vision or two.”

  “He has shown me the way,” he continues. “He has allowed me to glimpse the next reality, the paradise that awaits us, and he has shown me the means by which we can all reach that world. He has nothing but the most positive intentions, Clay, and all that remains for us to do is to show him that we are worthy. We are worthy, I'm certain of that.”

  “You sound just like him,” I sneer.

  “Like Attaroth?”

  “Like your father. You're both insane.”

  “I'm not my father,” Nathaniel replies, “so please don't treat me as if I am. He was an imperfect man, a man with flaws, a man who had the right heart but who struggled with bringing his dreams into reality.”

  “He was a disgusting old pervert,” I point out.

  “As I said, he had his flaws.”

  I take a few barefoot steps across the motor-home's wooden floor, until I'm standing right by the table.

  “He was a monster,” I say firmly.

  “He was flawed.”

  “He killed everyone.”

  “His heart was in the right place.”

  “He was a coward.”

  “Like all men, his soul was -”

  “He fucked me!” I shout, taking a step forward with the full intention of smashing this asshole around the head, before I suddenly feel dizzy. Reaching out, I grab hold of a nearby shelf and struggle to steady myself. Right now, I feel as if the whole motor-home – no, the whole world – is swimming around me. “Do you know what he was?” I whisper, barely able to breathe. “Do you know what he did? Not just to me, but to other children...”

  “I'm not blind to my father's crimes,” Nathaniel says after a moment, still sounding so infuriatingly calm. “I read the police reports, and I spent enough time with him as a child to know that he...” He pauses for a moment. “On his behalf, Clay, I apologize. Still, there's no point dwelling on the past, is there? All scars heal and one must simply move on rather than constantly dredging up all the bad things that have happened.”

  “Burn it,” I whisper.

  “I'm sorry?”

  “Burn it,” I say again, finally feeling steady enough to turn back to him. “Burn everything here.”

  “We'll be ascending soon enough,” he replies. “My father had many, many faults, but he was right about Attaroth. Ever since I myself began to experience these visions, I've come to understand that my father was simply too damaged to fulfill Attaroth's prophecies, whereas I...” He pauses again. “Well, I think I've managed to avoid most of the traps that swallowed my father's soul. At the risk of sounding immodest, I believe I'm much better placed to lead a new generation to the next plane of consciousness that awaits us.”

  “And you brought me here to help seal the deal?” I ask bitterly.

  “I brought you here because Attaroth himself commanded it. I'd been under the impression that you perished during the siege all those years ago, but no, Attaroth insisted that he'd deliver you to Silverglade, and here you are. He promised a miracle, a resurrection, and look at how he delivered. You, Clay, are our miracle. Every religion has to have a resurrection at some point, don't you think? A point of connection between the world of mankind and the world of the gods?”

  “You're sick,” I whisper.

  “And you're damaged. You've been through a lot, Clay, and it's a miracle you're still standing. Your mind must have been almost ripped apart, it's a testament to your strength of character that you're not a gibbering wreck, rocking on your haunches in the corner.”

  “I needed to eat,” I tell him, “and to keep running. I didn't have time for a mental breakdown, but I've penciled it into my diary for some time real soon.”

  “That's good. Humor is a wonderful mechanism for coping with -”

  “Go to hell!” I shout, lunging at him before stumbling and dropping to my knees. Falling forward, I almost hit my face on the edge of the table, before Nathaniel reaches out and catches me at the last moment.

  “The TH-14 is still in your system,” he explains, holding my head gently. “It's very effective, but one of the side-effects is the fact that it can take a long time to flush out. Just be patient and don't push yourself too hard.” He leans closer. “Your urine might be green.”

  “Where is he?” I whisper, wiping a patch of drool from my chin. “Where's Attaroth?”

  “He's all around.”

  “But where specifically? I want to talk to him.”

  “When the time is right.”

  Struggling, I manage to turn to face him. “I want to talk to him now.”

  “Clay -”

  “Now!” I shout, trying and failing to get to my feet before leaning against the table. Turning, I look across the dark interior of the motor-home. “Where are you? Talk to me!”

  “Clay, please...”

  “Talk to me” I scream, forcing myself up. Losing my balance for a moment, I stumble back against the wall before looking up at the roof. “Where are you? Attaroth, get down here! You owe this to me!”

  “He will appear when the time is right,” Nathaniel says, still sounding so calm.

  “Fuck him,” I mutter, taking a few faltering steps away from the table before feeling the world spin around me again. For a fraction of a second I lose my balance completely, and when I reach out
for support I crash into a shelf full of plates. Struggling for grip, I manage to pull the shelf away and I tumble down to the floor, with plates and cups landing and smashing all around me.

  “Careful,” Nathaniel says after a moment. “You might hurt yourself.”

  Forcing myself to sit up, I take a series of deep breaths, hoping against hope that I might manage to get my body back under control. The strain is too much, however, and I let out a cry of frustration as I realize that there's no way I can get out of here just yet. I walked straight into a trap.

  “Beautiful,” a dark voice whispers suddenly, emerging from the darkness at the far end of the motor-home.

  I freeze instantly.

  I know that voice.

  “She is, isn't she?” Nathaniel says. “You were right. Beautiful in her own way, of course.”

  “You should have seen her when she was a child,” the voice croaks. “She was so pretty.”

  “Who...” Crawling forward, I stare ahead until finally I'm able to make out the vaguest of shapes in the darkness. There's a man back there, sitting in a wheelchair.

  “My father is here to join the ascension,” Nathaniel replies.

  “No,” I whisper, as the wheelchair comes closer, its wheels squeaking with every turn. “He's dead.”

  “My father is very much alive,” Nathaniel explains. “The official reports state that Jacob Kenseth was killed in the siege, but those reports aren't quite accurate. As you can see, he was able to get away, thanks to the grace of our great ruler Attaroth.”

  I watch in horror as the chair comes closer, and finally I see the face that has haunted my dreams every night for the past decade. Jacob Kenseth – so much older now, but with the same weaselly eyes and intense expression – smiles at me as if in some sick, twisted way he's glad that we've been reunited after all these years.

  “Clay,” he says, his voice sounding dark and gravelly, “it's so very good to see you again.”

  “What are... What...”

  Filled with the unstoppable urge to tear his goddamn head off, I lunge forward, only to fall flat on my face.

  “I promised you that the ascension would take place,” the old man continues, “and I am a man of my word. My son is in charge now. Welcome back, Clay. It's time for us to praise Attaroth one more time and rise to the new level of consciousness that he promised us all those years ago. Better late than never. We must thank Attaroth for bringing us back together.”

  I feel his old hand brushing my shoulder, but I'm too sick to push him away, too sick to even scream. A shiver passes through my body, however, as his flesh touches mine.

  Ten years ago

  “Rig five!” shouts a man down below the walkway. “Bring it over!”

  Stopping for a moment, I look down at the yard, where lots and lots of train-lines are running into what looks like some kind of depot. There are men working down there, shouting at each other as other men work in various cranes. Hearing a deep rumbling sound, and feeling the walkway starting to vibrate, I look back and watch as a freight train heads this way at low speed; it passes below the walkway and slowly snakes its way into the depot, as workmen in bright orange jackets continue to work on one of the other tracks.

  “Miss me?” a voice whispers in my ear.

  Spinning around, I find that Attaroth is standing right behind me.

  “How did you -”

  “Find you?” He smiles. “I can always find you, Clay. The only reason I let you think for even a second that you'd got away was that I needed to crush your spirit. Do you really believe that a god can be given the slip? Look at you, you're just a little girl. I know you're special, but not in a way that allows you to get away from me. The most you can hope is that maybe you'll bore me into leaving you alone, but that's not very likely either.” He leans down toward me. “Face it, Clay. You're mine.”

  Turning and running, I make my way down the steps at the far end of the walkway. When I glance over my shoulder, I can't see Attaroth anywhere. Still, I'm sure he's around, watching me and waiting to prove his point again. When I get to the bottom of the steps, I turn toward the alley that runs along the side of the fence, but suddenly I spot him up ahead, watching me from a distance. Turning, I watch for a moment as the workmen make their way along the tracks, and then I hurry after them, figuring that maybe I can ask them for help. Just as I'm picking my way across the tracks, however, I feel something suddenly clamp my left foot.

  Looking down, I see that part of the track's signaling system has moved, trapping me.

  “That's unfortunate,” Attaroth says, suddenly stepping out from behind me. “What are you going to do now, Clay? Ask God to save you? Go on, try. It would amuse me greatly.”

  “Help!” I shout, but the workmen don't seem to be able to hear me.

  Feeling a rumbling sensation in the metal, I look along the track and see that a freight-train is coming straight toward me. It's going slow, but as I try to pull my foot free I realize that I'll still be crushed if I can't get away.

  “Submit to me, Clay,” Attaroth continues, “and I'll free you in a heartbeat.”

  Ignoring him, I try again to loosen my foot, but the metal is clamped tight around my ankle and I can already feel the sharp edge cutting into my flesh.

  “Come on,” Attaroth says, “the train's getting closer and no-one can see you, but I promise it's going to hurt if you don't find a way to get moving. I can give you everything you want, but I need you to admit first that you're mine. You are mine, aren't you?”

  “Leave me alone,” I whimper, sobbing as the train rumbles toward me.

  “Am I going to have to make you learn your lesson the hard way?” he asks.

  “Help!” I scream, waving at the train in the hope that the driver will see me in time. “Somebody help me!”

  “They can't see you,” Attaroth says, “unless... Maybe I should change that.”

  “Hey!” one of the men shouts suddenly. “Stop!”

  Turning again, I see that the workmen are frantically running toward me, waving their arms.

  “Too late,” Attaroth says, stepping off the track. “The hard way it is.”

  Hearing a loud screeching sound, I turn and see the panicked face of the train's driver. He's already slammed the brakes on, but it's too late and with my foot still clamped by the rails, all I can do is scream as the train crashes into me, knocks me down and grinds its wheels straight through the center of my body.

  Today

  “Praise Attaroth!” Debbie says with a broad grin as she pulls me along the corridor. “This is it, Clay. It's the moment we've all been waiting for. We're finally going to ascend to the new world.”

  As I struggle to get free from her grip, I can't help noticing the silver locket hanging from a thread around her neck. It looks exactly the same as the ones that we were given ten years ago, so I guess the main plan is pretty much the same. Nathaniel Kenseth is determined to finish what his father started, and Attaroth is apparently happy for it all to go ahead.

  “So how did he get you?” I ask, playing for time as we head toward the door at the far end. I still feel sick, but the effects of the drug are starting to wear off. “I had you pegged as a pretty smart person, Debbie, so how the hell did you get dragged into all this garbage?”

  “Nathaniel showed me the light,” she replies. “He showed us all the light.”

  “And what does that mean exactly?”

  “Light is life.”

  “And what does that mean?”

  “Beauty is reality.”

  “You sound like a goddamn gift-card,” I mutter.

  “I know you understand,” she continues. “Deep down, you're one of us. Mr. Kenseth always tells us that you're unnaturally tuned to Attaroth's frequencies. You've been given a glimpse into the next world.”

  “It's not so great,” I mutter.

  “He also told us that you're a little cynical sometimes.”

  “Only a little? I must be slipping.” />
  “I get it,” she says, stopping and turning to me as we reach the door. “The life of a disciple is difficult, and you spent ten years out there suffering so that you'd understand the world better. The fact that you've survived at all is...” She pauses for a moment, eying me with compassion. “I know what happened to you,” she continues finally. “Nathaniel left nothing out. He told us what his father used to do, and he told us about your crazy mother, and about how you were shot and... To be honest, Clay, you amaze me. I just can't understand how someone could go through all of that stuff and not end up as some angry, insane monster filled with hatred for the world.”

  “I'm just good at hiding it,” I say darkly.

  She smiles.

  “I mean it,” I add. “I'm growing a big old ulcer, too. That, and I force myself to try to be a better person.”

  “The power of Attaroth helps keep your soul above the mire.”

  “It's nothing to do with Attaroth.”

  “You'll see,” she says, patting me on the shoulder. “He's the source of all your strength. It's almost time, Clay. You're going to ascend to your rightful place at the head of a new stage of human evolution.”

  “For God's sake,” I mutter as she opens the door and pulls me through, “why don't you just -”

  Stopping suddenly, I realize that the Kenseths' plans might be a little further advanced that I'd anticipated. As we emerge from the one remaining building left after the compound was destroyed all those years ago, I find that spotlights have been set up on the grass, while a makeshift stage has been erected so that the Kenseths can tower above the cult's new members. There are about fifty people here, all kneeling on the grass, and whereas previously all the members were female, now there's a roughly even mix of genders. Stunned, I spot Ben and Tom in the crowd as Debbie leads me over to the edge of the stage, where Nathaniel Kenseth comes over to greet me with a microphone in his hand.

  “Clay,” he says, his voice amplified by a tinny speaker at the front of the crowd, “why don't you come up and accept your destiny?”

  Speechless, I stare out at the crowd. They all look so hopeful, so certain that this time Attaroth is going to take his followers up to a new reality. It's hard to believe that after running for ten years, I'm basically back where I started.