Deep Blue

by David Niall Wilson

  When Dexter’s head had finally dropped, Madeline had risen, removed the half-full coffee cup from his grip, and rinsed it quietly. With a quick puff of breath, she’d doused the last of the candles, and walked slowly to her own room, and her bed. There was a comfort in the house not being empty, an air of warmth and caring that had been missing, despite her faith.

  Now the morning sun crept across the tiled kitchen floor, the only motion dust-motes floating in those bright beams. Then something—a shadow—moved across the window. Just an eclipse-flicker blocking the sunlight, then gone. A scrape of sound on the porch beyond the window made Dexter shiver, groaning softly and shifting on his arm, but he didn’t awaken.

  The window darkened again, and a face rose slowly, filling a single pane of the window on the back door. Deep, haunted eyes gazed into the room, sweeping left, then right, taking in everything at once. Long, gnarled fingers slipped up to press against the glass, not really trying to enter, but feeling. Sensing the home, and the moment—savoring it.

  Then another shift, and a soft gasp. Madeline was in the doorway, wrapped only in a white terrycloth robe, now clutched to her with knuckle-white fingers. The face disappeared in a flash: there, and then gone. Madeline tried to catch her breath, tried to take a step forward, but found that she had to lean against the doorframe for support.

  Dexter raised his head groggily, and was on his feet in seconds as he took in her pallor and the expression of shock on her face. He rounded the table quickly, sliding an arm around her back for support.

  “Madeline?” he said, “what is it? What did you see?”

  She shook her head, then raised an arm and pointed weakly at the door. “He was here,” she whispered. “Oh God in Heaven, he was here.”

  Dexter helped her to a chair and moved quickly to the door, glancing out across the grass toward the trees. Nothing moved. The morning was in full bloom, flowers swaying gently in the breeze and the sun glittering off the tops of the trees and glistening in the dew on the grass.

  “I don’t see anyone,” Dexter said. “Who did you see? Who was there?”

  Madeline was silent for a few moments, gathering her courage. “Brian,” she said softly. “I haven’t seen him in years—so many years—but it was my Brian. He looked so much like his father.”

  Madeline dropped her face to her hands and her shoulders began to shake gently. Dexter stood his ground, letting her let it go. He turned back to the trees again, searching, looking for any sign of motion. He saw nothing, and was about to turn from the window when a flock of birds, flushed from the comfort of the trees off to his left, took to the sky in a flurry of motion and color. Dexter stared at those birds for a long time, wondering. Wondering who had startled them. Remembering the bar, and the vision Brandt had dragged them through. Remembering the snakes, and another man, glimpsed that one time and etched into his mind.

  Dexter turned from the window almost violently, moving along the counter and reaching for the coffee maker. He stumbled and nearly knocked the glass carafe from its base, but recovered just in time, gripping the handle tightly.

  “You saw him?” Madeline asked softly.

  “I don’t know,” Dexter answered. “Saw someone, something, in the trees. A flock of birds took flight. Startled.”

  “What is wrong, then?”

  Dexter stared at his hand for a while, then slowly released his grip and began to make the coffee, thinking. “I’ve been searching for—something—for a very, very long time,” he said at last. “I thought I knew what that thing was, though I didn’t really know how or where to find it. Now, everything has shifted. Everything.

  “Seems like only a few days ago I was at Shaver’s apartment, dragging him back into the world. I was in charge, the guy who was going to make things happen. Brandt had taken off, and Synthia went right behind him. They brought us right to that edge, right where I was all those days in front of that damned . . .” he glanced at her sheepishly, shrugged, and went on, “. . . damned tank of snakes. The pattern was there. I was part of it, sucked in and whole for just that long.

  “Then it was just me again. Me, and Shaver, and after I dragged him out of that apartment and back into the world, Liz.”

  The coffee was brewing, and Dexter turned, spinning one of the chairs at the table so he could straddle it and watch Madeline as he spoke.

  “The thing was,” he continued, “things kept getting stranger and stranger, and the more I thought I knew what would fix them, the more I was proven wrong. The less control I had, the less certain I was that I’d ever find the answers to any of it.”

  Madeline nodded. “Well, you are all here now. So strange. Every one of you, myself included, with a piece of this. Every one of you from a very different place, with a very different gift, and yet, the Lord brought you together.”

  Dexter watched her, his eyes gentle, but his mouth curved into a slightly bitter smile. “I’m not sure I agree who’s behind it. Not sure I have any faith in a God, or salvation. I can say that I’ve seen some very bad things, and some incredibly wonderful things, and most of them in a short span of time, in the company of those four hooligans in the other room. I have experienced—something—power, I guess, beyond what most of the world will ever see. I have been part of it—am part of it.

  “I don’t know if this ‘Payne’ is the Devil. I don’t know if Brandt and Wally and your Brian are the emissaries of a higher power, or just more pieces of the same puzzle—bigger pieces.

  “What I do know, or, what I believe, is that something very important is about to happen. I don’t know what, or exactly when, but I feel it. It’s in the air. It was in that vision last night. In each and every step along the weird road that brought us all here. I think Payne believes he is controlling it. I don’t believe that. There are too many ‘powers’ at work, and not necessarily working in the same direction at the same time. I don’t think any one of them knows who is right, and who is wrong, necessarily, and I’m damned certain they don’t know which way the scales will tip.

  “So,” he trailed off sheepishly, realizing he’d been nearly ranting, “I guess I’m hoping you are right. I’d feel a whole lot better about all of this if I knew I was on the good guys’ side, and that we were going to win.”

  “What if there aren’t winners and losers?” Brandt asked from the doorway, entering slowly. Dexter nearly blushed when he realized his friend had been leaning on the doorframe for some time. “What if it’s a balance? What if you can’t have a Wally, or a Brandt, without a Payne, or a Forbes? What if you can’t have good without the bad to judge it against?”

  “One big cycle?” Synthia asked sleepily.

  “Or pattern,” Dexter said, nodding.

  Coffee poured, the conversation wore on, and would likely have continued through the morning into the afternoon, if it hadn’t been for the voices from the front of the house, and the sharp knock on the door.

  Madeline set her coffee down and rose, moving from the kitchen. Liz rose and joined her mother, the others slipping up behind, so that when the door swung wide, they were gathered around Madeline in a semi-circle of support.

  It was a small group they faced, eyes turned to the ground beneath their feet. Helen Saxon stood in front, flanked close behind on either side by Wendell Ames and Tom Braddock. Tom had his hat in his hand and was twisting it, one way, then the other, as if he was on the brink of ripping it in half.

  “Yes, Helen?” Madeline asked, her voice steady.

  “Maddy,” Helen Saxon spoke softly, the name unfamiliar after all the years, “Maddy, I don’t know no other way to say it, but that it’s to be today. This very evening. The others, they talked among themselves, and we just don’t think we can wait another week. It bein’ Sunday and all, and Reverend Payne not bein’ here for much longer.”

  “It was always a morning thing,” Madeline said. “You know that, Helen, and you—Tom, you know it better than any, you having carried that tent in and out of your shed more times
than I’d care to count. It’s a morning thing.”

  “We know that, Madeline,” Wendell cut in. His chin was set, and his eyes narrow, as if he’d been in this argument too long already. “We told them all that. Hell, I near to told them I wouldn’t have a part in it, but what can we do?”

  “The Reverend Forbes, Maddy, we let him down,” Helen said. “We let him down, and we turned from him, and our own ways. It was shameful, and we have a chance, now, to set it right. Will you help?”

  Madeline hovered between yes and no— between flight and courage. Helen’s eyes dropped again, waiting, and Wendell glanced off toward the trees. Only Tom, old Tom Braddock, held her gaze steadily, waiting. He would do what she said. In that moment, Madeline saw this. He wanted to set the Reverend Forbes free. It didn’t matter how bad that man might have been, how much pain he might have caused, Tom wanted to do what was right, and in his mind, there was only one such thing.

  “It’s a hell of a thing,” Wendell mumbled.

  Madeline nodded. “That it is,” she answered. “That it is. My daughter is here, Tom, did you know that? Helen? Wendell? It’s funny, I haven’t seen her in almost as long as it’s been since any of you spoke a civil word to me. Here you all are, though.

  “She and these young folks,” Madeline turned, letting her visitors see the band gathered behind her, “understand more of what is to come than any of you ever will.”

  Madeline turned then, following Wendell’s silent gaze with her own, scanning the line of trees beyond the road.

  “Is he out there, Maddy?” Wendell asked softly.

  “He is,” she said, “and God help us, but I know we have to do this thing. I will be there, I will do my part. The youngsters,” she turned back to the doorway again, “will be our music. Our choir.”

  “But, we have a choir,” Wendell started to protest. He stopped when he met Madeline’s gaze.

  “I’ve said my piece, Wendell. You do this my way, or I don’t do it at all, and I wish you Godspeed.”

  Madeline turned away and started back through the doorway. Brandt and Liz and Shaver stepped aside, to let her pass.

  “Whatever you say, Maddy,” Wendell called out. “Whatever you say. Nothing about this will be the same, and maybe that’s as it should be.”

  Before he could say more, there was the crunch of tires on gravel, invasive on that near-deserted stretch of road. They all turned, and Madeline stopped, spinning on her heel. The sound of the engine died, and the heavy slam of a door announced the arrival of George Culpepper. He stood for a long moment beside his Buick, taking in the scene at the door with a scowl.

  “George,” Wendell said, nodding slightly.

  “Morning, Wendell,” George answered, stepping away from the car and making his way down the walk slowly. “I reckon you all came to tell Madeline about the ceremony?”

  “We did,” Wendell answered, with the tone of someone girding himself for a fight.

  “Don’t suppose you mentioned that there were those opposed to such nonsense,” George stated, tipping his hat deferentially to Madeline, who’d returned to her place in the center of the doorframe. “Hello, Madeline,” Culpepper said quietly. “I hope the day finds you well?”

  “I don’t know as I can say ‘well,’ George,” Madeline answered, “but I’ve been worse. Yourself?”

  “I won’t beat around the bush, Madeline,” George said. “I feel like hell about all this. I don’t mind telling you, it’s an odd thing this Reverend Payne waltzes into town, and into the church, and that very sermon Reverend McKeeman keels over and dies. Has anyone told you what I told them about that, Madeline? I’m guessing not, because I see them up here, dragging you into this thing, and I don’t see them fighting or pleading.”

  “They’ve not mentioned you or Reverend McKeeman at all.” Madeline spoke the late Reverend’s name with something akin to contempt.

  “I don’t expect they did,” Culpepper replied. “Madeline, I don’t trust that man, Payne, and I don’t like what is happening to us one bit. We are all being dragged back into something we left of our own free will, and why? Because some man, claiming to be a man of God, walked into our town, watched our minister die, and decided he should be in charge. Doesn’t that seem just a little bit odd to you?”

  Madeline watched Culpepper for a long time. No one spoke, and Wendell had begun to fidget before she finally answered. “There are a lot of ‘odd’ things about what has happened to our town, George,” she said at last. “There are a lot of odd things we have done, in the name of God, and in our own interests. I understand what you are saying, and it is a terrible thing when a man dies, but you have come to the wrong place if you plan to preach the new ways. Look at what has become of us, and tell me they are better. Tell me that Reverend McKeeman was making a difference, that things were changing for the good while he was alive. Go on, that’s what you think. I know it, have known it for years, but don’t expect me to agree with it.

  “Things weren’t better for me, George. You didn’t care for Reverend Forbes. A lot of folks didn’t. Most feared him, some even hated him, but I’ll tell you one thing, George Culpepper, Reverend Shane Forbes understood the sacrifice my husband made. He may have played against that, used it to his own gain. He may well have been a very evil man, but he understood. He knew things you will never understand.”

  “I understand that a man lies dead,” Culpepper replied. “I understand that a man we called our Reverend Father until a few short days ago has breathed his last breath. I also understand that, rather than follow that man’s wishes after his death, his remains are about to be subjected to something I thought we’d left behind us, alongside of the remains of another man he fought very hard to replace.

  “That wasn’t a natural death, Madeline. I don’t care what they say, or what you have heard or seen. I have been following death on this mountain so long I can hardly remember the days I didn’t, and I’m telling you. No man dies like that. There is no physical reason. There is no history of weakness in the heart, or the body. McKeeman was a healthy, happy man looking at another twenty years of life and the ministry, and he is now dead.

  “I want this all to stop. I want his body taken down the mountain to his own people. You all do as you want with those ashes, that bottle of dirt that used to be Forbes, but leave McKeeman out of it.”

  “That’s not my call,” Madeline answered, “and you know it. I will tell you this, George Culpepper. I know you went to a lot of fancy schools before you came here. I know you have all sorts of well-learned facts and memorized histories to back you up. I know a few other things as well.

  “I know this mountain. I know what has gone before, and in large part, I know why. I know my husband. Brian was a good man. You say what you want about Reverend Forbes, but he wasn’t the first preacher on this mountain, and he won’t be the last, nor will Payne. Brian is out there, and he hungers. He hungers to do what is his gift, and his lot, and his curse in life to do. You would deny that. You would push it all neatly back into a history book and find some nicely dressed city-bred man of God to tell us it is all legend, and heresy, and fantasy. You know what I think? I think you are afraid of what you’ll see tonight, Mr. Culpepper. I think you’ve been afraid of what goes on here since the first day you set foot on the mountain. I think you feel it deep in your heart and that you fear, as well.

  “I will be spending the day at my stove. I will be preparing my portion of the feast, and I will be praying. If you were a smart, God-fearing man, you would be doing the same. The rest is out of our hands. For good, or for ill, the hunger will be sated. He will walk among us.”

  “Amen,” chorused Wendell, and Helen, and Tom.

  Madeline turned away again, and this time she disappeared into the house without a word. Brandt stood for a long moment, staring into Culpepper’s angry, frustrated gaze. Then he too turned away, and the others followed. Dexter slowly shut the door behind them. There was nothing more to say.

  Slow
ly, those gathered beyond the door turned and headed down the walk, Culpepper to his car, and the others to the road, not bothering to ask for a ride. Lines had been drawn, and decisions written in silence. The sound of gravel shooting from beneath the old Buick’s tires echoed long after the lot of them disappeared down the mountain.

  Only hours remained.

  Nineteen

  Liz and her mother stood side by side and watched as the procession made its way up the mountain toward their home. Years melted away in a matter of seconds, and they wrapped one another in a tight embrace, both, in their own way, wishing the years away and another at their side. It had begun. The candles lined the road, flickering their eerie light against the backdrop of the trees.

  “I wish he was here,” Liz said softly, leaning her head on her mother’s shoulder. “I wish I could talk to him before this starts.”

  “I know honey,” Madeline said, wrapping her daughter in one arm and squeezing tightly. “I know. I wish he was here too. Brian would know what to do, what to say.”

  “It will come to you,” Dexter said, stepping up behind them. “That is the way it works. Everything is a pattern. Besides,” he added, “they didn’t seem to have a clue what to do, or say, when they were here earlier. I suspect they will do whatever you tell them and be glad for someone to make the decision.”

  Madeline didn’t answer. They all watched as the townsfolk approached once more. Brandt and the others were making last minute preparations and tuning their instruments. Dexter had chosen to bring only a small portion of his drum kit, and those pieces were already stowed in the van. He’d been drinking coffee straight through the day, as the others worked. Madeline, Liz, and surprisingly enough, Synthia, had been cooking since their visitors had left that morning. Under Madeline’s supervision, the tiny home had come alive with the clatter of dishes and the pungent aromas of baking bread and roasting meat.

  The food had stacked and stacked, but none of them had the least bit of appetite. There were a few nibbled crumbs near the sink, but for the most part, the knowledge of why, and for whom, the food was prepared was enough to keep them away. The tension, and the coffee, did the rest.