by Lee Hayes
“Okay, I can do that,” he looked at Franklin, then down at the bottle. “Bottle,” he said as he deepened his voice, “move.” Nothing happened. “Bottle, I said, come to me.” Still, nothing happened. Simon repeated the phrase several times, but to no avail.
“Stop. That don’t even sound right. It sounds fake. Look, be natural with it, and stop trying to sound like Merlin the Magician.”
Simon didn’t know why, but he felt nervous, like he was playing to an audience. He had never been one for attention, often preferring to blend into the background; however, this was his show—The Simon Show—and he really wanted to perform, if only for himself. He wanted to make something happen, make some magic. The possibility of taking control over his life filled him with excitement. If he could make the bottle move, then he wouldn’t be a slave to his powers. He could control them.
He took a few, deliberate breaths to calm himself down. Then, he steeled his resolve and tried again, speaking in his most natural voice, but nothing happened. The bottle didn’t budge, not even a centimeter. As he repeated his commands something about that relaxed tone in his voice seemed far too casual for the task at hand. After all, he wasn’t playing some silly game; he was trying to defy the laws of physics and in deference to those laws, he needed to be more somber, more focused.
“This ain’t workin’.” The frustration in Franklin’s voice wasn’t disguised. “Are you even tryin’?”
“Yeah, I’m trying. It’s not like there’s a How-To book for this.” They both exhaled in disappointment.
“Okay, maybe we takin’ the wrong approach. How do you feel when something happens?”
“Scared.”
“That ain’t what I mean. I mean, when it’s happening, what’s going on with your body? Didn’t you say something about some tingling you felt? And, right before you walked on water, you were sweatin’ like a hooka in church. Maybe you need to get hot and sweat before something happens.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“Do a few sprints, get your heartbeat up. Sweat.” Simon pondered the idea and it seemed as plausible as anything else.
“Fine, but if I slip on some leaves and bust my ass, I’m going to punch you in the face,” he said.
“I’d like to see you try, College Boy.”
“Stop calling me that.” The moment Franklin called him that name, Simon felt irritation building in his chest. It felt like a spark.
Simon moved over to the edge of the circle of trees where the weeds stood tall. With a sudden burst of speed, he ran through the clearing where the circle began to the group of trees on the outside. He repeated the action for several minutes until his heartbeat was raised and moisture dampened his forehead.
“A’ight, now try it again,” Franklin commanded, which also irritated Simon. Simon closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Hurry up!” Franklin screamed. “We ain’t got all day.”
“Would you shut the fuck up! Damn.”
“Whatever, College Boy.”
Inside, Simon felt the spark become a flame, like the moment a match is struck, before it burst into flames. He felt a small prickly feeling in the bottom of his feet. His eyes were still closed, yet he could see the bottle clearly. In fact, he could see everything around him clearly, even the sour look on Franklin’s face. The tingling sensation moved up his leg and soon he felt it all over his body, but it wasn’t painful. It felt as if every cell in his body suddenly ignited. He imagined the bottle moving, flying swiftly through the air, and as he did, he heard a loud crash and the sound of glass breaking, which startled him. He opened his eyes and saw Franklin lying against the dirty grill, his eyes wide.
“What happened?”
“The . . . the . . . the bottle. You did it,” he said as he pointed toward a tree. “It flew into that tree and broke. It was like a fuckin’ missile. I thought it was going to hit me in the head!”
“Oh shit, man. You all right?”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine,” he said as he dusted pieces of rust and black soot from his jacket. “I wanted you to move it, not kill me in the process.”
“Man, I wasn’t trying to kill you. I was moving the bottle, like you told me to.” Simon’s voice didn’t reflect the level of concern he knew that it should have, considering the speed in which the bottle whizzed by Franklin’s head. Simon had seen in it his mind; he had even heard the bottle slice through the air as it soared by. There was a vacant place in Simon’s soul that would have smiled if he had opened his eyes and saw Franklin’s skull split open, blood gushing from his head; that was the part of him that scared him to death.
“All right, let’s see what else I can do.” Before Franklin could respond, the old metal grill shook and then shot through the air as if it was a football that had been kicked through a goalpost. It flew beyond the top of the trees and disappeared. They heard it clank loudly against the forest floor as it thudded to the earth.
Quickly, Franklin moved to Simon’s side. “Just gettin’ out of the line of fire,” he said, swallowing hard. Now, Franklin emitted a scent that emboldened Simon; the sweet smell of his growing fear swept across the area, fueling Simon’s lust for power. Simon looked at him hungrily, his nose greedily inhaling his scent. Franklin’s fear made him strong. Power swelled in his veins. He felt dizzy, intoxicated. He took a few steps forward so that he was standing in the center of the circle of trees. From his vantage point, he could see all around him with a simple turn of his head. He saw deep into the forest, far beyond where they stood. He saw a couple of deer standing near a creek and an abandoned vehicle that had been taken over by forest vines. “Fire, there’s an idea,” he said, repeating Franklin’s words. Simon inhaled several times and looked upward, toward the sky. Suddenly, the tops of all of the trees in the circle burst into roaring flames and all that could be seen was an enormous ring of beautiful fire. The sweet harmony, made by the crackling of the dried branches as the flames consumed them, filled Simon’s heart with tremendous pride, as did the ostentatious display of his awesome power. He had never seen anything so spectacular; and, it was all his doing.
“Oh shit!” Franklin exclaimed. “Put it out befo’ somebody gets hurt!”
Simon smiled dryly when he looked at Franklin, his eyes completely black. Franklin took a few steps backward. Suddenly, the fire was on the ground, running the circle at the base of the trees, enclosing them. “Don’t worry. It won’t harm you. I won’t let it.” Simon walked closer to the flame. Franklin did not follow. The fire began to move forward, fed by the abundance of dried leaves and twigs, and began to encroach upon the center of the circle where they stood. The heat of the blaze pushed hard against the duo, with Franklin struggling against the waves, but Simon reveled in its intensity.
“Dude, this ain’t funny,” Franklin said, trying to hide the panic in his voice.
Simon cut his eyes at him, as if his words had somehow offended him. He then focused on the flame and spoke, with his arms extended and the palms of his hands pointed toward the wall of fire. “Stand back and behave,” Simon said to the flame. The entire circle of flame moved back in one motion, upon command. The fire burned, but did not consume.
Whispers and hissing sounds could suddenly be heard, as if a thousand snakes suddenly awakened underneath the leaves, which now rustled with life. Simon looked back and saw Franklin with a terrified expression gripped his face.
“Simon, make it stop!”
Instead of diminishing, the flames grew higher and higher, showing no signs of relenting. Simon reached into the fire with his bare hand and rotated his arm. He felt as if he had become a part of the fire and the fire was a part of him; he knew no harm would come to him.
He looked back at Franklin, whose eyes were wide with fear, as his gaze darted between the circle of fire and the rustling of the hissing leaves. Simon turned away and walked through the flames, leaving Franklin trapped.
CHAPTER 20
“You sure this the right place?” Franklin asked in
a dry voice, looking straight ahead at the black-and-white sign, attached to the red brick building, that read Hollytree Convalescent Center. They arrived in Houma as darkness robbed the sky of all light, draping the world in an eerie gloom that was void of even a sliver of moonlight. The darkness seemed to spread out endlessly in all directions, cutting the center off from life itself. Franklin noticed that the center’s lawn was in a state of disarray, much like a battlefield after a midnight melee. A fallen tree lay horizontally across the lawn, and a few benches and trashcans were tossed carelessly on their sides. Clearly, a storm had ripped through the area, but they had business more pressing than a passing storm.
The drive back to Louisiana from Texas had been even quieter than the drive to the Lone Star State. The return trip was filled with so much that simply couldn’t be summed up in words. Simon didn’t know how to fully articulate his fear that the evil growing within him had metastasized; he harbored tremendous dread that he’d soon lose the man that he was and that the Simon everyone knew would be cannibalized by the Simon he was sure to become. So, for most of the trip, he sat in the passenger’s side of the car and barely moved. Not only were his thoughts heavy, but the unleashing of his power in the forest had drained him, leaving him weak and wobbly; too tired to speak, even if he wanted to. It had been too much for him to endure. Even now, he wasn’t fully recovered.
Simon let out a hot puff of air. “Yeah, I’m sure.” Simon didn’t move, not even an inch; he didn’t even blink.
“You know you hafta to go in,” Franklin said, thinly veiling the urgency that colored his voice.
“I know.” The weight of what lay inside felt like heavy stones on his shoulders, forcing them into a downward slump. Inside were answers to questions he no longer wanted to ask and the weight of his worry could be measured in pounds. “She’s in there—Adelaide.” She might be his grandmother, but Simon knew nothing else of her, except this extraordinary connection they shared. Maybe she was locked away in this place for a good reason, hidden from the world by a higher power. Maybe she was the ultimate evil, lying in wait for him for some wicked purpose. Or, maybe she was his savior, his light. He simply couldn’t be sure.
“What you waitin’ fo’?”
“I don’t know.”
“You scared?”
“Terrified.” When Simon awoke in Franklin’s car after their visit to the forest, he felt more than weak; he felt cut-off from everything, including the world and his feelings. He was like a container whose contents had been emptied; he didn’t feel fear or curiosity or remorse or any emotion. He simply felt empty. Now, he felt terror. Tangible fear.
Franklin shifted in his seat. Out of his periphery, Simon could see his friend’s head turn in his direction. “You scared me, man. I thought I was gonna die. I thought you was gonna let me burn.” Franklin’s voice was thick, heavy with unspoken emotion. “You like my brother and I thought you were gonna kill me. If there’s a chance this woman can help you figure this shit out, you hafta go for it.” Simon turned his head toward Franklin and met his gaze; Franklin then looked down at his nervous hands. “I’m terrified, too.”
“I told you no harm would come to you. I don’t care what happens.” Simon grabbed one of Franklin’s hands. “Look at me. I will protect you with my life, if necessary. You gotta know that. You’re about the only family I have.” Even before the words fully passed his lips, Simon had begun to doubt them. Until he learned to control the darkness in his heart, he knew that he wasn’t in any position to make promises, regardless of how sweet the lie sounded. When the fire had raged in the forest, more than a few minutes passed before he even thought of saving Franklin. In fact, had it not been for the memories of their friendship that suddenly entered Simon’s head, Franklin would have been burned beyond recognition by now; his body, nothing more than a pile of ashes carried away by the wind. In order to hold on to himself, Simon had to hold onto Clara’s words when she told him to “remember love.” In those moments, when his powers raged in the firestorm, he barely remembered love; it was a fading feeling, a flicker, no more than a small candle deep inside a vast cavern.
“Will you go in with me? I’m still a little weak.”
“I got you, man.” Simon opened his car door and struggled to pull himself out of the vehicle. His feet were heavy, like stone, and his stomach remained unsettled. The cold night air bit into his skin, and snowflakes fell from the sky, suddenly. Snow in Louisiana was an anomaly, and this storm appeared out of nowhere. Simon knew its cause; it was him, and moreover he knew this was the beginning of more odd occurrences. A deep sense of melancholy drifted down on him, like the snowflakes that fell in soft clumps. He moved slowly in front of the car, which was parked directly in front of the building, and leaned his hip against the grill. From his vantage point, the building seemed enormous; its brick walls expanding half a city block. It was a formidable structure, full of sharp angles and intimidating lines.
Simon heard the door close and Franklin shuffle his feet across the asphalt parking lot toward him. Franklin moved to his side and they leaned together against the car in silence, watching the snow fall.
“What if she can’t help me?” Simon inquired after a few elongated seconds. His voice carried his concern deep into the empty night.
Franklin paused. “Then God help us all.”
Simon pried himself from the hood of the car, stood tall against the sharp wind, and then moved laboriously forward to his future, with a prayer in his heart.
Addie wiggled her fingers and toes as she sat in a stiff, upright position in the recliner in her room, a tell-tale sign that her binding spell was weakening and that she was becoming stronger in these final hours; strong enough to possibly break the spell that kept her crippled. At this point, she could even move her neck from side-to-side, if only slightly. If her spell broke completely, the power she had used over the years to keep it in place would return to her in full measure, albeit slowly. Even though her strength was returning, she was still afraid to use her power on herself; instead, she chose to strengthen her binding spell. Her efforts may ultimately prove futile, but it was all she knew to do.
Over the last couple of days, her connection to Simon had been severed and she had tried desperately to reconnect; her efforts were in vain. When she had tried to reach him all she saw was a vast, all-encompassing darkness and a deafening silence. She feared the worst. Maybe he had given in completely to the darkness. Maybe she was already too late.
Inside her room, everything was quiet—too quiet—even the television was silent. Outside her door she heard occasional voices from the staff going on about last night’s storm and talking about the minutia that filled their days, living in ignorant bliss of things yet to come. They were concerned about silly things such as car payments, taking their children to soccer practice, the latest celebrity gossip, or the newest high-tech gadget they wanted to buy when they got paid, when all around them there were signs of the coming apocalypse; raging wildfires, seismic shifts in the earth, violent storms—such as the one that sprang up suddenly last night. By comparison, their concerns were silly, but they had the luxury of not knowing what Addie knew. Indeed, ignorance is bliss.
The unexpected storm that tore through the state the night before was widespread and fierce. Its violent winds toppled trees, ripped roofs from buildings, and tore houses from their foundations. The rain, which came down in sheets as thick as blankets, flooded the streets and forced residents to recall memories of recent storms. Weather forecasters, caught off guard by the sudden storm, were left dumbfounded by its raw force, blaming it on an unusual weather pattern in the atmosphere.
Addie knew better. Whatever had caused the storm certainly wasn’t natural. Deep in the clutches of night she heard a wretched scream that shook the sky so ferociously that she thought it would tumble and fall. Seconds later, the heavens split open and rain fell with torrential force, hammering the earth with heavy drops. No, this storm wasn’t natural at all; it wa
s birthed by an unholy force. She felt it.
And now it was snowing; hardly a natural effect.
Addie had felt something else last night—pain. Somewhere, in a place hidden far from view, the shadows cried. Addie wondered what could have happened to cause such agony, especially when they were perilously close to the Ascension. If they were in pain, then maybe, just maybe, she could still undo her mistakes from so long ago, but time was running out. For everyone.
As the snow continued to fall in hard, fast flakes from the black sky, Addie felt a sudden chill, like a stabbing pain at the base of her spine that caused her body to jolt. She tried to cry out, but had no voice. Her pain was sharp, like a warning. Her intuition suddenly overwhelmed her senses in ways she hadn’t felt in years. Something wasn’t right. The atmosphere was charged with power unlike she had ever felt. Immediately, her mind raced toward Eli and Rebecca. Could her feelings be related to them? She focused her energies and quickly dismissed that thought. What she felt now was different. This power was feral—unchained—much different than the contained evil she always felt from them.
She focused again to try to find the source of this awesome power and shuddered when the stabbing pain returned, threefold; the pain was acute. Then, she knew. Something wasn’t coming for her; something had arrived. Her day of reckoning, at long last.
She had waited so very long for this moment and now that it was upon her, she wasn’t sure how to react. She bore the mark of shame for this abomination, wearing it like a scarlet letter. Her shame had burned in her soul for twenty years. She had relived her mistakes over and over again every day for two decades, cursing her naivete and her arrogance. All of this was her fault. All of it. From her own womb, the first Thibodeaux male in seven generations had been born, much to her horror and the horror of her sister-clan. Many generations ago, the women of the clan had cast a powerful spell to prevent the male chromosome from taking root in their bloodline, effectively preventing the birth of a male from any woman whose veins pulsed with even the most infinitesimal drop of Thibodeaux blood. As powerful as the sister-clan was, and had always been, it was not infallible. Their magic was not foolproof; nature had its own power and the shadows had many tricks.