by Rune Skelley
“None for me,” Rook said. Sleep was hard enough without the caffeine. She poured herself more wine instead.
Willow was passing out slices of pecan pie when Brad returned with Zen, who wore a fresh yellow stretchy suit.
“You would not believe—” he started.
“Brad! We have guests.”
Brad smiled. “So we do. Sorry.”
“Could I hold her?” asked Bishop. “My sister’s kids are growing up fast and I miss them sometimes.”
Rook nibbled at her pie. It was so rich she didn’t want to make herself sick. Fin did not share her qualms. He devoured his first piece and dished up a second, with extra whipped cream.
“Brad bought me the most marvelous thing,” Willow announced. She left the room and returned with a camera. “It’s a digital camera! I imagine it’s not very exciting for the rest of you, but it is for me.”
She took a few snaps of the individuals around the table, then said, “Rook, could you come over here with Fin? I need a picture of you both together.”
Rook sat on Fin’s lap, trying to keep her skirt from riding up. They smiled for the first picture. Fin pounced and kissed her for the second.
“I need a copy of those, Mom,” he said. “I don’t have any pictures of Rook yet.”
Rook was surprised to realize that was true.
“Would you like a family shot?” Bishop asked.
For the next several minutes Rook had flashbacks to being dragged to the Sears portrait studio with her brother and sister. So much repositioning, so many flashes. So many Tanners.
Willow said, “I want a picture of just my kids together.”
Fin tried to protest, but Zen ended up in his arms anyway.
He held her stiffly and she squirmed.
“You need to cuddle her so she feels secure,” Willow coached.
Hesitantly Fin tried it and Zen calmed. She stared at Fin with her big gray eyes and he looked down at her. Bishop snapped a picture.
“Hey there, Zen,” Fin whispered. “I’m your big brother. I guess we were supposed to grow up together, but we kind of got ripped off.” He sniffled. “When you’re older and Brad starts to bug you, you can call me and we’ll talk about it, okay?” He bent down and kissed her forehead, then handed her back to Willow. Brad smiled and laid his hand on Fin’s shoulder.
“You probably don’t remember, Fin,” said Willow, “but you first met Rook when she was one day old.”
Rook and Fin looked at each other, surprised.
“Cloud helped me deliver you, and I was returning the favor. I brought Dragonfly home to spend the night after Rook was born so she could bond with her parents.”
“Fat lot of good that did,” Rook grumbled, “since Casey wasn’t my real dad.”
“I always wondered how things turned out,” Willow said quietly. “We lost touch.”
“Oh, it worked out fantastic. Casey left right away. I always thought it was my fault, and eventually Mom confirmed it. I wasn’t really his daughter. She tricked him. Stupid fuck. He wasn’t Bay’s dad either and that didn’t bother him. He signed up to be a dad when he married Mom, but then he didn’t feel like living up to his obligations.”
Everyone else looked uncomfortable, but Rook couldn’t stop the flood of words.
“After that I had five other daddies. All of them ditched me. It’s enough to give a girl a complex.” Angry tears brimmed. “If only Casey fucking Martin had been able to put innocent kids ahead of himself…” Rook wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Not that I’m bitter.”
Fin put his hand on her knee. “It’s not your fault.”
“Mom’s on number seven now. He’s lasted longer than any of the others. Probably because I’m not around to get in the way.”
“Rook,” Fin said and hugged her.
In Fin’s arms Rook started to feel safer, loved. She blinked the rest of her tears away and said, “I think I’ve had enough wine.”
“I’m so sorry I bought it up,” Willow said sympathetically.
“So,” said Brad, coming to her rescue, “are you two looking for a new apartment?”
“No,” Fin said. “We can’t afford anything else.”
“Sure you can,” Brad said.
“Maybe later. Once I’ve gotten the freelancing up to speed.”
“Fin, that room you’re living in — no offense Bishop — that room is no place for newlyweds. Your wife deserves better.”
Rook silently agreed with Brad and looked to Fin for his response.
“How are we supposed to pay for what she deserves?” Fin asked, getting prickly.
“With your trust fund.”
Trust fund?
“Oh.” Fin sounded chastened. “Yeah.”
“You’ve got a great deal of money sitting in the bank while you make your lovely wife live in squalor. I know you don’t like to rely on me. You probably even think there’s a certain romance to the situation. ‘It’s us against the world.’ But you’re punishing Rook.”
“How much money are we talking?” Rook asked.
Brad looked pointedly at Fin, who looked pointedly at his hands.
“Fin?” she demanded. “How much?”
“I don’t know. Around $100,000.”
Rook’s eyes narrowed.
“I don’t think of it as my money,” Fin said.
“Your name’s on the account,” said Brad. “It’s yours. Think of it as your payment for putting up with me all these years.”
How could Fin let them wallow in poverty when he had access to so much money? It’s not like they needed a sports car or a Rolex, but some damn food would be nice.
“Dude,” said Bishop. “If I had that kind of money, I sure as hell wouldn’t be living in that house.”
“Fuck off,” Fin said, but he sounded defeated.
Holy fuck are we going to have a conversation when we get home. If Fin didn’t get a job immediately he could go fuck himself.
A short time later, as they put their coats on, Brad handed Fin an envelope.
“It’s a wedding gift.”
Fin opened the flap and peeked inside, then tried to hand it back.
Brad wouldn’t take the envelope. Rook snatched it. Inside were several hundred-dollar bills.
“You can’t buy us, Brad,” Fin said.
“It’s a gift, Fin. To celebrate your marriage. It’s not a trap.”
“We’re doing fine without your help.”
“No we’re not,” Rook said. She tucked the money into the inside pocket of her leather jacket and kissed Brad on the cheek. “Thank you, Brad. I really, really appreciate it.”
Brad smiled.
Fin glowered.
“You can pay him back when you get a job.”
CHAPTER SIX
BUBBLES OF LIGHT
With the recent closing of Talisman Tattoo, Webster is now a one-tattoo-parlor town. Owner Marcus Savage defaulted on his business lease. Property management firm J&K Enterprises will auction all business effects on December 3. According to J&K, a t-shirt store is planning to take over the basement location in Ricket Alley in time for Christmas.
Business Briefs column from Webster Daily Press, 11-30-2000
Moving another person into his room hadn’t made it feel smaller to Fin, because that person was Rook and he always wanted to be near her anyway. However, trying to store real food in his mini-fridge made it feel inadequate, somehow revealing how cramped the room really was.
Rook wouldn’t hear of ritually burning the Thanksgiving cash, but they worked out a compromise. They rented a safe deposit box where they placed that money, agreeing not to touch it unless it was life or death.
Meanwhile, it stung his pride sufficiently that he went out and applied for jobs at a few restaurants. Early December turned out to be a good time to do that, assuming you wanted to actually get such a job. Two of them already called back.
The upshot was they’d been able to shop for groceries. They did it at th
ree in the morning, when the only other people in the store were employees running floor polishers and pallet jacks. Fin sang along with the cheesy piped-in music, which made Rook laugh. He liked that. It was nice to know acting more like grown-ups didn’t have to mean the end of laughter.
Now the food was stashed in the tiny refrigerator and they lay together in the too-small room, spooning on the too-small bed.
“We need to get presents for your folks,” Rook announced.
Fin grunted.
“Nothing extravagant,” she continued, “but they’ve been really generous. This will be the first Christmas in years that I have any shopping to do. At least we have about three weeks.”
“Not quite,” Fin said. “Solstice, not Christmas. It’s a few days earlier.”
Rook twisted around to look at him. “Solstice, huh?”
Fin nodded.
“Nature cult thing?”
He shrugged. “Probably. But Mom never treated it as a religious holiday. She likes it because it’s a real thing, a verifiable feature of the Earth’s orbit. If you’re going to perform illogical ceremonies, it’s at least a logical time to do them.” Rook elbowed him, but not hard. Fin continued, “I always liked it because it’s different from what everyone else does, and it’s not commercialized. It gave me something to act superior about, if you can even picture me doing that. Plus it meant I got to open my presents sooner.”
Rook relaxed to her earlier position and nestled tighter against his body, her smooth warmth delicious against his skin, her gingered peach scent arousing.
“Have to buy them sooner, too,” she murmured.
*** *** ***
The Completer was the primary female in Fin’s life, but not the only female. Fin had recently reestablished ties with his mother. Without the farcical confabulation of the Floating Wisdom to blind them, the spiders recognized Willow from her sojourn in the Collective Id, where she created them. In a way she was their mother, too.
Which made Fin their brother, after a fashion.
If they could convey to Willow the beauty of their vision for a unified humanity, she might persuade Fin of his duty. If Fin would agree to fully awaken humanity’s collective mind, they could let Kyle slumber. It would save them the step of restoring the Divided Man, letting them move directly to restoring light upon the Earth.
The spiders tried to communicate with Willow, but she could not hear them. Excited by the possibility of interviewing their creator, they contemplated transporting her to the asteroid. But, no. Bringing her into their presence involuntarily was a flawed idea. She might become agitated. Fin had done enough damage.
They tried to reach her in her dreams the way they reached Rook, but Willow’s sleeping mind was opaque. Was it because it was her mind that shaped them? Was it because she was absent from the prophecy? A fascinating riddle, but its answer wouldn’t help.
Willow’s deafness meant they were no closer to getting through to Fin. She did not offer a shortcut to prophetic fulfillment after all. The mission still depended on Kyle.
Their energies were best spent convincing the Completer to perform her function.
*** *** ***
Severin hunched against the chilly breeze with his hand and his stump in his pockets. He crossed the back yard, returning to the House from a perfunctory visit to the garage workshop. He hoped to one day find his troupe of mad scientists building a gadget that would deliver to him dominion over the entire world, but nothing they showed him ever held his interest. His occasional — infrequent if he was honest — tours of their playground were entirely for the sake of appearance.
Only through the Elsewhere could he attain the power he yearned for.
Entering through the kitchen at the rear of the House, Severin frowned.
All the power he needed was already banked in a white-hot slab of rock drifting in the Elsewhere.
What it needed was a conduit. At the merest touch from the right person all that energy would pour out, stunning the Collective Id and allowing Severin to assume control. Willow had been intended for that purpose. Her absence at the critical moment was how the slab was lost.
Not lost, Severin reminded himself with a glance at his left arm. Moved. He trudged up the steps toward the attic.
Willow was no longer a viable conduit, so there was no reason to pursue her. She would never be made to cooperate voluntarily, even through trickery, and now with the slab adrift in the Elsewhere he couldn’t forcibly apply her to it.
Melissa would make an excellent conduit. Like her twin, Melissa would be adept with his table, able to tune in to the Elsewhere effortlessly. Able to reach the slab. She just needed coaching, a bit of practice.
Which led to the frustration.
Severin hated the thought that Melissa might discover her aptitude, because along with proficiency at the table itself she would gain insights into her own sizable power. Power that terrified her, power that expressed itself in misshapen ways and made her miserable. If she understood how it worked, her fear and misery would dissolve.
The very fear and misery Severin relied upon to control her.
She would leave in a heartbeat. Threats would be useless. She might hate him, but she didn’t fear him. She was only afraid of herself.
Even if he could deceive her into looking for the slab, there was no telling how long the search might take. Doubtless much longer than for her to discover mastery of her visions.
He reached the third floor and paused, still mulling.
The only avenue toward his ambitions was training Melissa to use the table. Otherwise the energy he’d spent a dozen years collecting could never be discharged. But by the time she could reach the slab, she would be transformed into a hideously potent rival.
Damn. Same answer every time.
Severin started up the final flight of stairs. Until some aspect of the game changed, he did not have a winning move. He would need to be patient. Watch for the correct opportunity.
He’d waited twelve years with Willow. He clenched his hand into a fist. No sense succumbing to impatience now.
When he reached the attic, Melissa lay in the hammock with a book, as always. She didn’t acknowledge him, but her contempt was palpable.
Patience had hardly been easy with Willow. Wise, but not easy.
The Melissa situation differed in some striking respects. Most obviously, Melissa was physically unrestrained. She might change the game if her own patience wore thin enough. A subtler but perhaps more worrisome difference was Gale. Severin could admit, inwardly, that he’d depended on his sister. He didn’t know the full import of her removal, how it might influence his own state.
Patience and wisdom need not always travel in company. To hesitate is lost.
“I have something different in mind for your next lesson.”
Melissa rolled her eyes. “Unless you plan to bring livestock into the equation, I fail to see what else there is to try.”
Severin smiled before he could catch himself. “Nothing like that.” He walked to the table. She laid her book down and watched him skeptically.
“You’ve seen me use this, and you know how powerful it is.” Severin pointed at the table with his stump. “Your lessons will now involve the table and how to use it.”
Melissa’s look turned downcast, but she rose from the hammock and took a few steps toward him.
“Some,” Severin added. “Some of your lessons.” He meant to allay her anxieties about approaching the table. “Of course,” he continued in a lower tone, “you must never, under any circumstances, touch it without supervision.”
Melissa stopped. “Hell with that. I don’t want to touch it, under any circumstances, period.” She returned to the hammock and collected her book.
Severin closed his eyes for a moment, and took a deep breath.
He tried another tack. “I’m trying to help you. Don’t you want to know more about your power? Isn’t that why you stayed?”
Melissa didn’t look u
p from her book. “I didn’t ‘stay.’ I just haven’t left yet.”
Severin scowled at the book obscuring her face. His mouth stretched into a sneer. “I should have trusted my first instincts. I knew you weren’t ready to move to the next stage, but I allowed my judgement to be colored by the wish that you be healed as soon as possible. I suppose it makes more sense to stick to the lessons you’re used to.”
Melissa turned a page.
“Put down the book.”
*** *** ***
Both the murky lighting and the buzzing sound were familiar, but they didn’t go together.
Rook recognized the bite of the tattoo needle on her thigh and knew it as the source of the buzz. Peering into the crimson gloom she saw the curved metal walls of the bomb shelter. Vesuvius on the kitchen table provided the faint light. Rook relaxed back onto the bunk.
The stabbing fire on her inner thigh continued, making her horny. Tattooing sessions with Marcus were always foreplay, or sex games outright. The erotic Pavlovian response was difficult to shake.
Rook could tell by the way the needle moved it wasn’t Marcus tattooing her. She lolled her head and saw Fin holding the tattoo gun, lost in concentration, injecting emerald ink into her skin. As he paused to dip the needle into the ink cap, Rook shifted her leg to see her new art.
“Divided Seed shall a Divided Child Beget who shall grow into a Divided Man,” repeated over and over like Jack Nicholson’s rant in The Shining, circling around and around her thigh from knee to hip.
Why would Fin choose to give her those words? And why in a typewriter font?
He was almost done. Then they could fuck.
Everything suddenly smelled like pheromones and black licorice.
Fin was using his right hand, and the eclipse tattoo was missing from his forearm. She looked at him more closely and saw he also lacked his other body art.
She picked up another tattoo gun and added the jagged eclipse while he continued to work on her thigh. Rook added the willow tree to his chest, then twisted around to reach his back and give him the double faces of Janus between his shoulder blades. This position put her thigh out of Fin’s reach. She wrapped her legs around his waist while she inked him, allowing him to add more prophecy below her knee. She rocked her hips, grinding her sopping sex into him.