by Rune Skelley
He held her, reassuring his poor, vulnerable girl that things would get better.
She squeezed him, then stood.
Their last stop was the kitchenette. She balled up the tattoo sketch and burned it in the sink.
In the cabinet beside the refrigerator she found a half-empty bottle of Southern Comfort. She took a long pull, then offered it to Fin. He took a sip, capped the bottle, and added it to his box.
Rook stared at the blinking light on the answering machine. “I might have an assignment for CTP.” She pushed the button and they listened to the messages.
The first was someone named Donovan, inviting Rook and Marcus to a party. The next was Lara, Rook’s friend from the library, asking if she planned to go to Donovan’s party. Then the police called about her jacket and ID. After yet another call about Donovan’s party, a woman’s voice came from the tinny speaker.
“Brook, are you there? Pick up.”
Rook shook her head. “Piss off, Mom.”
“Junebug said you got married! And not to Marcus!” Rook’s mother went on in a disbelieving tone. “Brook, honey, I can’t believe it. You’re only 21! Except, wait, what’s today? Oh no! I missed your birthday again! You’re 22 now. Happy birthday, Brook, honey. You should have reminded me. Anyway, you’re just barely 22. Did you really get married?”
Rook squirmed.
“You need to call me, Brook. Oh, and Marcus, if you get this and she did marry someone else, could you please call and tell me who?”
Fin felt bad for thinking it, but Rook’s mom sounded kind of wifty.
“Junebug?” Rook spat. There followed one more message, the landlord demanding the rent, but Rook talked over him. “How the hell did Bug find out?”
“Um,” said Fin.
Rook eyed him suspiciously.
“I talked to her when I was looking for you. She’s your sister, so I thought… I didn’t know it was something you wanted to keep secret.” It hurt a little that she didn’t want her family to know about him.
Rook kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you for looking for me.”
“You’re not mad?”
“Not at you.”
She took a final look around, then said, “I’m done here.” She dropped her key on the coffee table.
Fin hefted two of the boxes and went out the door. Rook picked up the other two and left without looking back.
CHAPTER FOUR
ALLEYWAY AT NIGHT
A search of aviation records has uncovered a number of charter flights connected to the Declanist Cult. Authorities believe cult members have fled to southern Africa where leader Declan Spitz is rumored to have purchased land in several countries using embezzled ministry funds. The investigation is ongoing.
Webster Daily Press, 11-9-2000
Severin descended the main staircase, feeling like he was waking from a dream. He’d spent the past few hours having tantric sex with Melissa, recharging himself with her energy.
He thought back on afternoons spent in similar pursuits with Gale. There had been no sign of his twin in the three days since Melissa arrived. Gale was gone. She was never coming back, an idea that gave Severin vague consternation.
The onset of an odd malaise correlated with Gale’s absence. Severin never felt anything like it in the many years before he met her, but it hit him as soon as she left.
Before they met, she nonetheless was out there, his complement, balancing things on some metaphysical level. They were, in a sense, a composite entity. If part of that entity were destroyed, the remainder would be thrown out of balance. That partial entity might even go into irreversible decline.
I am merely the half that hasn’t stopped moving yet.
At least his consternation was no longer vague.
Such injustice. Instead of three power sources he now had only one. Severin momentarily lost himself in a reverie of how things ought to be, Gale babysitting her grandchild while Willow and Melissa competed to please Severin in exchange for tiny scraps of knowledge. Far fairer to think of than the reality, where he had only this counterfeit Gale who openly resented him.
So far, Severin had succeeded in stringing Melissa along without teaching her anything of her power. It was key that he prevent her from attaining independence, ensure she remained afraid of being alone. And, ensure she never comprehended how dependent he was on the power he absorbed during their couplings.
Her fondness for alcohol made all that almost too easy. She thought she wanted to gain her freedom, but she always chose numbness when it was offered.
At the bottom of the steps a promising coffee smell drew Severin toward the kitchen. He glanced at the smooth, shiny stump of his left arm. I should have made Melissa recover the slab. Her contact with it would have released all the pent energy, and he would now be the Collective Superego.
Marsh stood in his path. “There’s been a development, and I think you’ll want to know about it.”
Severin grunted and tried to keep heading for the kitchen. Marsh didn’t budge.
“This is important. I need to talk to you.”
Severin folded his arms. A fleeting look of horror crossed Marsh’s face when he saw the stump.
Let him wonder.
Marsh swallowed and launched into a mercifully succinct explanation of the disaster at Shaw Ministries. He requested direction with regard to the jewelry, which might be in new hands now. Given the obvious coverup, Marsh speculated those hands could be governmental.
Severin raised his eyebrows. “This is the astonishingly important news? Shaw is dead, and our need for the jewelry is passed. I have initiated a new project, and do not have time for such irrelevancies. Now, please excuse me.”
Marsh let out a heavy sigh, and smiled, relieved the matter was closed.
In the kitchen, Severin collected a case of white wine to take upstairs. He drank red himself, but there was half a bottle in the attic.
*** *** ***
Fin?
“So now you want to talk to me? Where the hell were you when we were freezing our asses off?”
There was little we could have done to help you. We were quite exhausted.
“Cry me a fucking river. You had enough juice to move us a few miles.”
A regrettable set of circumstances. Give us a chance to make it up.
“What do you have in mind?”
Partnership.
“I hung up my superhero tights once Kyle was under control.”
Before you came among us, we thought we knew all the answers. In our arrogance, we mistreated you. You dealt us grievous injury and pain. In self-defense.
“I’m not sure this is stuff you should be reminding me about if you’re trying to win me over.”
You could have left us to perish. You could have completed our destruction yourself, for which we couldn’t have blamed you. Instead, you fashioned for us a marvelous solidarity. You made us better than we were before.
After a long pause, Fin sighed.
“You’re welcome. Let’s call it even.”
In the time since you reshaped us, we have had much to contemplate. We understand now, where before we toiled in ignorance. We have discovered our mission, and it is something we cannot accomplish alone.
“I can’t wait to hear this.”
Healing us was merely a warm-up for you. There are so many who remain lonely and confused, and you, Fin Tanner, can heal them. You can heal everyone.
“I thought you said you gave this a lot of thought. This is the same old Bloated Wisdom routine, and you know how I feel about that shit.”
This isn’t the same at all! The Floating Wisdom sought to impose its own unity, and it was unfeeling in pursuit of that goal. We want you to be the one to bring your people together. We know the ecstasy it brings. You can spread that to your own kind, Fin.
“Do I have to come up there and kick your asses? It’s the same thing, no matter how you dress it up.”
Please, Fin. Think more carefully about y
our own beliefs. You know this must happen, and you must be part of it.
“What the fuck are you talking about now?”
Divided Seed shall a Divided Child Beget, who shall grow into a Divided Man.
“NO!”
Yes. It is destiny.
“It’s the half-baked, pretentious ramblings of a maniac. Ignore it. Forget it. Contemplate something else!”
Shaw never knew where those ideas came from. Why they matched your life.
“Anything can match up with anybody’s life, if you want to believe badly enough. Especially if it’s as vague as Shaw’s bullshit.”
We followed Shaw’s words back to their source. We’ve seen the truth, Fin. And we think you know it already. Let yourself admit it. There’s already a tenuous connection between all human minds, a collective not so unlike the Floating Wisdom. The dreams and terrors of the whole race flow together to make a Collective Id.
“You can convince yourself of anything, no matter how crazy, if it’s what you want to believe!”
And you can refuse a truth, however incontrovertible, if it’s uncomfortable.
“I will not help you with this.”
We cannot do it without you.
“Good. You can’t do it. Fuck off and die.”
Fin...
“Fuck off and die.”
*** *** ***
In order to fully awaken the Collective Id, thereby restoring light upon the Earth, the spiders required assistance. With Fin’s refusal, they would need to reawaken the other half of the Divided Man. But how? He was comatose, his mind shattered much like the original Floating Wisdom.
The prophecy itself provided guidance. They turned to its other major figure, the Completer, and eavesdropped on her sleeping mind.
Rook dreamed she stood in an alleyway at night, lost. The New Revelations were spray painted across the block walls on both sides. Her bare feet sank into loose, filthy sand. Her flashlight provided only a feeble, greenish light.
Adding the prophecy to Rook’s dream was the most the spiders could manage. She couldn’t hear them like Fin, so they had to use more subtle means of communication. It was having an effect, though. She recognized the words and turned away, looking for a way out. No matter how far she ran, she never made any progress.
Rook wanted to escape before Reverend Shaw found her. Being surrounded by his ominous words recalled her to a dangerous time when she and Fin were his prisoners. Shaw hurt Fin, and she had to help. The sand became finer, more like ash. She sank in to her knees.
The spiders observed as Rook struggled in the gray dust, the alley now gone. She called for Fin, but the ash she slogged through was Fin. She had to rebuild him from the inside, digging up blocks from the ashes and organizing them into a tower. There were too few stones. To make up the shortfall, she added herself as a building block every few spaces.
The spiders withdrew to ponder what they had seen.
The essence of Rook’s dream was factual. Fin had been catatonic, his mind destroyed, and she restored him. In so doing, she performed her function as the Completer.
She could do it again.
Tomorrow night, Rook’s dreams would feature Kyle.
*** *** ***
Brad had never before been to the boarding house where his sons lived. He was depressed by the state of dilapidation. It needed a new roof and fresh paint. The front walk was heaved over the roots of some long-gone tree. The owner didn’t want to invest in upkeep while awaiting an offer from a developer, an all-too-common story with the big old houses in the neighborhoods close to campus.
The floorboards of the porch sagged as Brad navigated the narrow strip that had been cleared of ice. He knocked on the door and Bishop answered.
“Hi Brad.” Bishop shook his hand. “Glad you could make it before I had to head to work.”
“It’s not a problem. Is he here?”
Bishop nodded. “They don’t come out of the room much. Third floor. End of the hall, on the right.”
“Thanks for helping me track him down.” Brad started up the wooden stairs.
“Brad,” Bishop said. When Brad turned back he continued, “I was sorry to hear about Kyle.”
Brad smiled a grim smile. “Thanks, Bishop.” He shook off the wave of melancholy and climbed the steps.
Standing outside the door to Fin’s room, Brad rubbed his jaw and hoped he wasn’t about to get punched again. The only sound from inside was the sporadic click of typing.
Brad rapped on the door. The typing stopped and footsteps scuffled. The door opened inward and revealed Fin’s alleged wife holding an open laptop. Her pale blue eyes widened when she saw him.
Her hair was black now, and styled in an aggressively choppy fashion. She wore a tight black top sheer enough to reveal the black bra underneath, and a startling number of tattoos. A chess piece pendant hung around her neck, and a sequined Union Jack miniskirt rode low on her hips. Her fishnet-clad legs ended in Cookie Monster slippers with ping pong ball eyes.
Brook glanced over her shoulder, into the part of the room blocked by the door.
“Is it Bish?” Fin’s voice asked from those deeper recesses.
“No,” Brook said and swung the door fully open.
Brad took in the room in one dismayed glance. A twin mattress lay defeated on the floor in the far corner. Squeezed in along with it were a green armchair and ottoman, a cafe table with two chairs, a rickety entertainment center, a dorm fridge, a stack of liquor boxes, and an enormous amplifier with no guitar on the stand beside it. The atmosphere was musky, if one wanted to put it kindly, a complex blend of overdue laundry, marijuana, and sticky sheets. A black garbage bag covered the only window. The walls looked like they’d been decorated by an angry teenage boy. The heap of dresses and lingerie beside the amp was the only sign a female lived here.
Fin sat at a flimsy desk crammed into the closet, staring at his Mac. The monitor was cluttered with palettes.
Fin clicked the mouse one final time and turned around. When he saw Brad he bristled and looked away, swearing.
Brook shifted her gaze between Brad and Fin. The silence grew awkward. Brad sought his VP of Lending smile, but settled for its wonky backwoods cousin.
“Hello, Brook. I’m Fin’s father, Brad Tanner. I’d like to welcome you to the family.”
Brook nodded and gave a tiny smile, then grasped her pendant and said, “It’s Rook actually. Like the chess piece.” She waved the necklace at him.
“Rook,” Brad corrected himself. “Sorry.”
Fin snorted and pushed his chair out from the desk. He stomped over to his wife in his stocking feet and wrapped an arm around her.
“What do you want, Brad?”
What Brad wanted was an end to all the hostility. He stood in the doorway, wishing what he had to say would be easy.
“I’m sorry, Fin.” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his khakis.
Fin stood there.
“I’m sorry for a lot of things,” Brad went on.
“Okay,” Fin said and reached out to shut the door. Rook stopped him.
“Let him talk,” she urged quietly, earning an immediate place in Brad’s heart.
Fin rolled his eyes but made no further move to close the door. Rook backed him up a step to one of the seats at the cafe table, where he sat heavily beside his lava lamp. She took the other chair and placed her laptop on her knees.
Neither of them invited him in, so Brad continued to hang back in the doorway.
“Well?” Fin demanded.
Brad achieved fleeting eye contact. “Your mother just came back, that evening you saw her.” Fin was going to interrupt, so Brad talked faster. “I know what it looks like, but that’s not true. It’s a very strange situation, hard to explain. I’ll do my best.”
Fin affected a bored look.
“I’m sorry I didn’t keep her safe. It was my responsibility and I failed. I came here to apologize for letting you down and for not keeping your mother safe. I
didn’t know…”
“Didn’t know what?” Fin spat.
“I didn’t know there was any reason to worry. We were making plans to be together. She told me she was pregnant. I was going to leave Melissa.”
Fin scoffed. Rook seemed to be taking notes.
“And then she was just gone. You know. You were there. She vanished, and I knew it was because I hadn’t done my job. I should have protected her. I should have kept her safe.” Brad blinked tears out of his eyes. “But now that she’s back, I won’t let anything or anyone hurt her again. That includes you.”
“Me?”
“Don’t punish Willow for my failings. You can be mad at me, refuse to forgive me, hate me forever. I’m used to it. But she doesn’t deserve it.”
Fin’s angry stare dropped.
“We’ve moved out of the bomb shelter. We’re at the Buckminster Grand. I’m sorry we invaded your territory and that you feel violated. I needed a safe place to take her and the baby where Melissa wouldn’t look. Or Severin.”
“Who the fuck’s Severin?”
“He’s the man you should be angry with. He had Willow in his basement all these years, in some kind of cryogenic sleep.”
“So the baby’s his? Did he rape her?”
“The baby’s mine, Fin. Zen’s your sister. Willow was pregnant when she was abducted and she was in labor when I found her.” He could see Fin’s incredulity mounting. “I know it sounds crazy, but it’s true.”
Fin wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his dingy shirt.
Brad wished he could comfort his son. He cleared his throat and said, “Tomorrow’s her birthday. It would mean the world to her if she could talk to you.” He pulled a business card from his pocket and held it out. Fin stared at the floor. Rook set her computer down and approached to take the card.
“I’ve left the bank,” Brad explained. “Our number at the hotel is on the back. Call anytime. Zen keeps us up anyway.”
Rook flipped the card over and read the number. Brad noticed a tattoo around her ring finger. He looked at Fin’s left hand and saw its mate. Were they legally married, or did they just get the matching tattoos and consider that good enough? He didn’t think he could ask.