Shay grinned. "You have to trust us. If the Inquisition of Purity is to become your family, you must trust us fully in everything."
"Trust you? Then can you answer some questions for me?"
He shrugged his shoulders under his red sash. "I will try."
"My friends. Annette and Gin . . . are they alive?"
"I don't know. That's the truth, Dean. I don't know."
Surely Shay knew something. "What happened to the officers at the Mana Glen Correctional Facility? They were missing when you broke me out."
"The things we do, we do for the greater good."
It was as he had suspected. "You killed them."
"It's not that simple, Dean. I don't want you to hate us. We're going to be family, after all. A family must do what's best for the family, even if other people get hurt in the process. You planted the bomb in order to keep your daughter safe and to get to see your sons. I will be just as happy as you when that day comes. But first, orders are orders. My father likes to run a tight ship. Even I have orders to carry out, whether or not I like them personally. We do what we are told because anarchy is the enemy of purity."
"But you're causing anarchy. All these attacks, the nuclear bombs all over the world, the riots, the wars? We can't even go outside without gas masks sometimes because of the radiation and debris in the air. And you're saying you don't want to cause anarchy? You did this. The Inquisition did this."
Shay laced his fingers together and rested his hands on the steering wheel. "Yes, we did. It's all part of the greater plan, Dean. First, we must shatter the sculpture in order to shape it anew. Once the world destroys itself and humanity is thrust into its last lingering, desperate breaths, then we ride in and save it from itself. We will be the saviors of the human race and of history. There is an order to everything, and it has been out of place since the Zurvan Syndicate decided to amp up its operations in meddling where it didn't belong. Don't let the current conditions on this planet concern you too much. In a few short years, everything will be back to normal, but better. And you, my initiate, will get to be a part of its reconstruction."
Was Shay aware of the state of the world? Dean nervously sipped his coffee. "I watched the news this morning."
"Oh? Good. I'm sure that was entertaining."
"The uh, Speaker of the House and the President pro tempore of the senate were both injured or killed in the explosion, they said they're not releasing much information at this time. So, the Secretary of State is now acting president. She held a press conference addressing the state of the world right now. She said that our plan, the plan of the United States, is to become isolated from it all. We're cutting off trade. We're bringing all our troops back home, at least the ones who survived the attacks in Asia and South America. She claimed that a terrorist group called Sand, with roots in Iran, radicalized Nikolas and Jackson as well as other teenagers and young adults so they could attack from inside the country. Cities are under curfew with military police and National Guard deployed in the streets to keep the peace while agents screen every citizen for ties to Iran or to any known terrorist groups."
"Sand?" Shay chuckled. "What an odd name for a terror group. I knew they would get caught up in this somehow."
"They're the people from the funeral invitation."
"Indeed. It's no secret to you now, Mr. Amethyst, that there are people in this world with powers and abilities that most humans don't have. Chronomancers. Wizards. Sorcerers. Mages. Whatever you'd like to call them, to call us. I'm one of them. Iskaydrians. They've been labeled as many things over the centuries, none of them very good, unfortunately. Most live their entire lives without knowing that they carry special blood. Sand is a group of Iskaydrians with their Avelayan pets who defy the system. They are rebels. They neither want to be a part of the heretical Zurvan Syndicate nor upstanding inquisitors for us. They believe in change. They believe in an equal partnership between Iskaydrians and their Avelayans, for the most part."
"And that's wrong?" Dean asked, thinking back to what Niki had told him of Avelayans.
"You tell me. Your government is blaming Sand for all the fighting and the death occurring in the world. They're blaming Sand for turning poor Niki into a terrorist."
"Just because part of his family is from Iran, that doesn't make him a terrorist. I have friends from all over the Middle East and they're wonderful people. I once let a man I met on a bus use my office for his prayers when he had nowhere else to go. He became a dear friend."
Shay snickered. "Well, aren't you just the charitable soul? None of that matters now. The government has created a profile for these terrorists, for some allies of Sand, and anyone who fits that profile is now under suspicion. Iranians, anyone from the Middle East, young American teenagers, and drama students of any race."
"Drama students?"
"They believe that Jackson Carter was radicalized through drama propaganda that was given to the Mana Glen Drama Club."
What was the world coming to? "That's absurd."
"Is it? The FBI is saying that skills Jack learned in drama, the acting, the makeup, the costumes, contributed to his ability to elude police and carry out these attacks. They are also blaming acting itself, saying that many plays can inspire impressionable youths to act out their characters in real life. Drama has been shut down all across the United States from frantic parents afraid that their babies are turning into unfeeling terrorists."
"And what about the children taken out of those programs? Because I know how this works."
"They've been moved to institutions where they will be monitored, temporarily, of course. And the instructors are placed on a watch list. Schools are censoring their material, banning books and music that could inspire more children to go down the path that Niki and Jack took."
"They didn't kill those people."
Shay shook his head. "No, they didn't. But that's what the media is saying. That's what even the government has come to believe."
"I was on this case. I had a chance to clear it up, but I needed more information. No one would listen to me based on what I had."
"It's all right. You don't have to worry about any of that anymore. All you have to worry with is this assault rifle and going in there to prove your allegiance to us."
Dean took the assault rifle and looked at the police station as two officers entered, officers he knew. He knew their families. He knew their favorite football teams. He had called them by their first names and bought them Christmas presents that were still in his closet at home. They were the closest thing to family that he had. Now he was sitting in a car outside with a weapon meant to cut them down and end their lives.
"Dean?"
His voice was an airy whisper. "What?"
"Eat your sandwich."
"I will . . . after this. My stomach is in knots."
"Well, we certainly don't want you to get sick."
He sighed. "No, we wouldn't want that to stand in my way."
"This has to be done, Dean. It is regrettable that so much blood must be spilt, but it is the way of revolutions. There must be death to bring new life. You're fighting on the front lines of this battle that will usher in a new age for all of humanity. Do this and you'll be hailed as a hero in the history books. There will be statues of you erected in the new world, the new pure world. I will make sure that you have a mansion with a new family. I will give you women who can carry your children. You'll be father to hundreds of babies to make up for the ones you lost."
"And what will I tell them? What will I see when I look into their eyes?"
"What do you mean?" Shay asked.
"They'll look to me for a role model, for advice, for how to be a good person. But I'll be hiding all of this. They'll have everything they need?"
"Of course."
"But it will be money stained with the blood of all these people I've kill and am going to kill. They're not my lives to take, Shay. I was meant to protect and serve. I stood by that code for years. It was the thing that
gave my life meaning. I just wanted to help people."
Shay placed his bony hand on Dean's knee. "And you are helping millions, maybe even billions, around the world who will flourish and prosper in this new world we create. Is it a faith issue? There was plenty of killing and bloodshed in the Bible, Dean."
"Don't you dare bring my faith into this."
"I was only trying to help-"
He shouted at him in the quietness. "Shut up. Let me prepare myself for this, all right?"
"Take your time, initiate."
Dean ran his fingers along the cold barrel of the rifle, feeling the bumps and edges, the weight of it foreign in his hands. He closed his eyes in the silence with the ash drifting down like snow where it collected on the windshield. Could he do this? Why was he even thinking he could? Was he truly considering going through with it? How selfish was he that he would slaughter his friends and these innocent people right before Christmas just for a chance to maybe see his children again? His heart ached, begging him not to do it. His soul cried out for him to stop. But he knew he had gone too far. There was no turning back now.
The high-pitched beeping caught his attention. He reached for his phone, but Shay snatched it away as he had been doing all morning. "What is it?"
Shay scrolled through another email. "Hmm. This is interesting. How many times is this kid going to die, I wonder?"
"What are you reading? Tell me. It's my phone, damn it. That email was meant for me. You can at least tell me what it says."
"Another email from Sand, it looks like. Take a look."
Dean took the phone from him and read over the email.
Due to recent developments and the unforeseen error in sending out funeral invitations prematurely, we have written to inform you that the funeral for Nikolas Valentino has been postponed until a later date.
"Postponed."
"Postponed?" Dean's brow furrowed as he tried to understand what it meant. "I don't know if that's a good or a bad thing."
"Says they sent out invitations prematurely. Perhaps they're still waiting on him to die."
A tiny spark of hope came to life in his chest. "You mean he might be alive?"
"It's possible. Or it's also possible that Sand is toying with us. Either way, we have more important business to attend to. Do you want to reunite with your family, Dean?"
"My children?" Dean asked.
"Of course. They're waiting for you in your own section of the compound where you four can live as a family once again."
"You're serious?"
"Absolutely. But you have to do this first. This is your last mission before you can move in with them. Don't you want that, Dean? Don't you want to spend Christmas with your children? How long has it been?"
It seemed like multiple lifetimes. "Thirty years. Thirty-two, I think."
"It's time to go home, Dean. You've been lonely for far too long. They need you. They may not be kids anymore, but they are still your children. Imagine how difficult this has been for them, remembering you all these years, but never knowing why you're gone. Why are they with another family? Why did daddy never come home? Why did daddy abandon them in those woods that night? Does daddy not love them anymore? Did daddy give them away because they were bad or did something wrong?"
Dean covered his mouth with his hand as his eyes stung. "Don't do this to me. They knew I loved them more than anything. I would have died for them. Damn it, I've killed for them. I would do it all again if I had to, if it would mean something."
"It will mean everything to them."
"Will it?"
"Without a doubt. Do this, then go home to them. Hold your children and tell them that you love them. They need to hear that from you. Thirty years, they've been without you. They've cried at night. They've wished on countless shooting stars to see you. They prayed for you to come back to them. I know this because Lance and Nathan grew up with me. They're my brothers now. When they blew out candles at their birthday parties, they both made the same wish. They wanted you. Every year at Christmas, they would draw you pictures or write you letters and place them under the tree for you. They made you gifts every year, hoping you would get them someday. They missed you, Dean. It tore them apart because they didn't even get to say goodbye."
He was going to lose all composure if he didn't make Shay stop. "Please stop talking."
"There's a stockpile of notes, origami, macaroni art, and finger paintings under their beds even now, saved up from years of wishing. Don't let their wishes go unfulfilled. Go to them."
"I know what I have to do."
Shay smiled and grabbed the steering while eagerly. "You do?"
"I do. It's time."
"Take your gas mask, Dean. It's horrid out there."
There was no need for that. "I don't need it. It will only get in the way."
"Good luck. I'll be right here for you once you're done. Then you'll go see your family."
"I will see them. I will see them all again very soon." Dean opened the car door then stepped out onto the ash-covered sidewalk that was blackened from grenades and signal flares. His tan trenchcoat fluttered in the wind and his silver bangs swept to the side. "Tell my children . . . tell them not to be like me."
"You'll get to tell them yourself soon. Trust me."
Dean walked up to the double doors to the police station and paused. Behind those tinted windows, he knew the officers were joking around and passing out their secret Santa gifts. They were watching shows on television, eating cookies, and drinking punch while trying to block out the upheaval in the world around them. Even through all of that, people found the goodness with each other.
He readied the assault rifle. "Holly, forgive me. Dear Lord, you know why I do this. Give me the strength to pull the trigger."
Shay called to him from the car. "Dean, what are you waiting for? Go inside."
"I can't do that." Dean placed the barrel of the AK-47 under his chin and closed his eyes. "Go to hell. No one else dies because of me!"
"Dean! No! Not like this!"
Police officers rushed out of the building with their pistols at the ready, barking orders at him with panic in their voices. Cars pulled over, the drivers rolling down their windows to film the entire thing despite the ash that continued to fall from the toxic green clouds overhead. The officers, his friends and brothers with the force, shouted for him to drop the weapon, to not do it, but he was ready.
With one final breath of the cold Memphis air he had known for all his life, Dean squeezed the trigger.
Chapter 15
The scent of oranges and star anise greeted Jack back into consciousness. As he opened his heavy eyelids, he took a deep breath of the fragrance that filled his lungs from the plastic mask over his mouth and nose. The wooden ceiling above him sparkled with spots of sunlight that entered through the blinds behind the plain bed where he was hooked up to an IV through a tube in his right wrist. His limbs felt weighted and foreign, but he gathered up his strength to prop himself up on one elbow. He ripped the mask off and tossed it to the concrete floor with a clatter.
He looked to the two metal tables next to his bed. They were covered with gauze, vials of unknown substances, a coil of ivy with yellow flowers growing out of it, and a pale blue sapphire the size of his fist. He followed a string of red beads up to the section of wall above the square window to see the woven tapestry of blue butterflies that hung there as if it was protecting him from something.
A dark-haired man in his forties with chiseled features and oddly familiar warm brown eyes stepped out from behind a white curtain that split the room in two halves. His polished black shoes scuffed across the floor and his grey pinstripe suit was adorned with a large purple lily in his breast pocket. The man offered a melancholy smile, accenting the bags under his tired eyes. "Ah, you're awake. How are you feeling? Can you hear all right? I don't know the extent of your injuries."
Jack groaned as he pulled the IV out of his arm. For a moment, he was startled to
find himself completely unclothed, but the sight of his own body shocked him more. His ribs protruded from his chest as if he was starving, fading purple and blue bruises splotched across his pale skin from neck to hips, two gashes on his stomach had been sewn shut with sutures, and his left arm was wrapped in bandages. How long had he been asleep?
"Jackson? Please tell me your hearing wasn't damaged in all that fighting in Stalingrad."
He rubbed his ears that still had a bit of ringing. "I can hear you. Where am I?"
"A personal medical room at Sand Headquarters, in Washington State. We're in the middle of a gigantic forest with nothing but trees for miles around. You didn't answer my question, though. How are you feeling? Warp sickness is nothing to play around with. It's deadly, especially in cases as bad as yours was. The herbalists here gave you elixirs and special aromas through that mask that helped to bring you back from a coma."
"Coma?"
The stranger pulled the curtain back all the way behind him to reveal the other side of the room. "You were unconscious for two days. It's December 25. Merry Christmas. I have it on good authority that the tapestry above your bed was a gift from Ellie."
His heart skipped a beat. "Ellie? Is she here?"
"No, it came in a package from some random location, but there was a note saying it was from her."
"So, it's Christmas? I feel pretty good for being in a coma, I guess. I-" Jack's words left him when he blinked away the fog of sleep to see the ocean of purple lilies surrounding the other bed in the room. In the middle of the flowers with machines hooked up to him was Niki. He watched with an open mouth while his friend's chest rose and fell gently with each breath. "Niki."
"He's alive. They had declared him gone, but his heart somehow kept beating. He's been getting better ever since."
"I thought . . ."
The man patted Niki's leg through the blanket. "I know, I did, too. When I got the call, I did everything in my power to get here. I wasn't going to miss his funeral. It's been so long since I've seen him."
"Who are you? A friend of Mr. Allen's?"
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