The Dark Above

by Jeremy Finley

  Lily narrowed her eyes. “But … I’m a monster—”

  “No, no honey,” William took her arms. “You’re not. I know it’s hard to understand. But you and I—we’re … connected, somehow. And others like us.”

  “Do you make them do bad things too?” she asked.

  “I don’t want to. That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

  “You made me stop. Maybe you can make them stop too. I don’t want people to get sick anymore. Why did they do this to us?”

  William held his breath. “Do you remember … when you were taken? Up into the stars?”

  She just stared for a moment, and then nodded once.

  “And when they brought you back … what happened?”

  She shook her head firmly. Tears pooled in her eyes.

  “Ok.” He reached out, touching her arm. “It’s OK—”

  “I saw you,” she said, stifling her sob. “I saw you when you dreamed.”

  William’s eyes widened. “You could see me in your dreams?”

  “I had to find you.”

  Her bottom lip jutted out and the tears let loose. William held her, stroking the back of her hair. “You’re a brave girl, Lily. But can you tell me, why did you feel like you had to find me?”

  “Because of the monster,” she said, the bitterness sounding harsh in her young voice. “It’s waiting for us.”

  * * *

  William’s legs hung off the edge of the picnic table. The trees that lined the back of the motel were still; even the branches didn’t sway, as if to indicate it was too hot for anything to move. He’d need to shower again after sitting out here.

  He took another swig from the bottle of water. It was warm already.

  A shape briefly interrupted the sole source of light, a bulb positioned above the trashcans in the back. Hands in his pockets, Quincy strolled towards him.

  “Lily asleep?” William asked.

  “Yep. Had to practically write her a contract in blood stating that if she changed into the world’s ugliest unicorn pajamas, she could wear the world’s ugliest dress again tomorrow. You’d think I’d bought her Vera Wang.”

  William managed to smirk. “She loves it.”

  “Poor kid. Wherever she came from, whatever life she had, she must have not had much.”

  “I wish I knew anything about what happened to her before, but she’s clearly traumatized by it. Enough to where she won’t talk about it.”

  Quincy leaned against the table. “Gotta be honest with you: I’ve wanted to know this all my life. But now that I do, I’m not feeling real good about it.”

  “Obviously you didn’t know what you were getting into.”

  “I give zero shits that the papers call me a crazy conspiracy theorist. You should see my office in LA. I have the first edition of Communion in a glass case. And yes, I will admit, a framed Independence Day poster. You grow up a fat kid with no friends who likes science, and your Dad tells you about your great-grandfather’s research about people disappearing into lightning, what else are you supposed to become?”

  “I bet you are regretting those interests now.”

  “Here’s the reality: I lead a pretty shallow life. I’ve made a lot of money on teenage girls wanting to project images of their faces to their boyfriends. I’m not curing cancer. I am surrounded by people with way too much plastic surgery driving Teslas. It is any wonder than I sought out a greater understanding of the cosmos?”

  “Apparently it’s genetic.”

  “I mean, can you believe it? Our great-grandparents discovered the first proof. And seventy or so years later, here we are. And let’s be honest: This isn’t by chance. The Corcillium wanted us to make this connection, but obviously without all the death and explosions.”

  “And it’s only getting worse. That’s what scares me the most.”

  “Will you tell me about what you see in these dreams? I think it’s pretty obvious now that it’s how you’re connected to all the disasters, right?”

  William took a long drink and started with the eyes in the storms. What he saw in the fires, the violence, the deaths in hospitals, finally ending by seeing Lily’s eyes in the stone.

  “And to wrap it up with a bow, there are snakes. Everywhere.”

  “Jesus. No wonder you wake up freaking out. But what you can do with Lily … that’s hope, right? She says she saw you in her dreams. Maybe that means the others out there … can see you too. That’s why you got online, isn’t it? You wanted to see where the storm is coming. Where the fires are. Because if you can stop Lily…”

  “I don’t even know how I do it. And it’s everywhere now. Global. I dream of it, everywhere. It’s like a virus. Carriers in each part of the world. I can see it, but I can’t communicate with them. And I’m the cause.”

  “And maybe the cure.” Quincy raised a finger. “I know Steven thinks there’s one causing the hurricanes that keep hitting New Orleans. Speaking of hurricanes: those drinks are responsible for my lack of memory of the eight Mardi Gras I’ve been to.”

  “It’s a slow churning storm, but it’s coming. I’ve seen it. It’s insane to think about heading there, but I don’t know what else to do. If for some reason I can find the person doing it…”

  William turned to him. “But you’ve got to leave, Quincy. You shouldn’t be here. Lily has to stay with me, and Steven refuses to leave.”

  “Well yeah, he’s your grandfather. Sorry about that slip of the tongue, by the way. I just assumed you figured it out. Plus it’s practically mentioned in every tabloid written about your grandmother.”

  “It’s doesn’t matter now. You need to walk away. I can’t risk any more innocent people dying.”

  “I’m hardly innocent. While I don’t enjoy being shot at or blown up, how could I go back? ‘Hey Phil, will you book me that trip to the Barbados with those twins, who clearly are into me for my body and not my millions?’”

  William smiled, and Quincy slapped his knee, leaving a wad of cash. “You and I could be pals, you know. I know a fellow troublemaker when I see one. I’ve read about your exploits in Nashville. Pissing on the hood of the paparazzo’s car was particularly impressive.”

  “Just particularly stupid,” William said, holding up the cash. “What’s this about?”

  “I left some with Steven too. Best that we distribute the wealth just in case something else blows up. Got to make sure that Miss Lily remains in the finest of fashions.”

  “Even if the reason you tracked me down was to make a buck, if you hadn’t been there, Lily and I would be in some government prison, or maybe dead. We’re alive, in part, because of you. But I still don’t think you should stick around.”

  “And miss all these wonderful accommodations?” Quincy yawned. “Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you that Steven said to wake him up when we get in. He said something about experimenting with something as you slept. What’s he talking about?”

  “I’ll explain when we get inside. It’s about trying to stop the spread of the disasters. I don’t know if it will work.”

  “Well, whatever he wants to try, I’m here to help too. Feel free to use me for my money.” Quincy patted him on the back as they rounded the building.

  William laughed. “Thank you, Quincy.”

  As they quietly opened the door to the room, they could see Lily in a hard sleep on top of the covers. Steven was slumped in a chair, his head resting on his shoulder.

  Quincy walked over, whispering. “Steven, wake up—”

  The door behind them flew open with a bang, slamming against the wall. The barrels of guns moved into the room.

  They were on William in a heartbeat, pushing him on top of the bed with his arm twisted behind his back, rushing over to point their guns at Steven’s head. They even moved in on Lily, guns drawn.

  None were dressed in black.

  “Mr. Martin, are you alright?” asked a nervous man, considerably smaller than his gun-toting companions, quickly shutting the door.r />
  “Holy crap, Phil!” Quincy smacked his hands together. “My God, it worked! I could kiss you. For Christ sake, put the guns down. Bob, Tommy, come on. Guns down. Richie, loosen up on the redhead. Let go. That’s an order.”

  William felt it, the rush inside him. A match scratched across stone. An automatic reaction that he wanted this man off him, for the pain of his twisted arm to stop.

  He twisted his head around to Lily, who had sat up and was focusing her eyes on the man holding him down.

  No, Lily. No!

  He watched her flinch for a moment, and then go back to being just a frightened little girl.

  “Hey guys, I’m serious.” Quincy snapped his fingers. “Guns down! Let him up.”

  “Mr. Martin, we have to go,” said the fidgeting man at the door.

  “Everybody chill out right now,” Quincy said. “I appreciate the cavalry, but enough. You found me, I’m safe, I’m fine. Look at me, OK? I’m not in danger. Not by these people. Get it? Drop the weapons.”

  “Mr. Martin, please. Our car is waiting outside.”

  “Phil, you’re my damn assistant, not the director of my security team. That’s you, Richie. So loosen up on Will there, let him go.”

  “We’ve got our orders, Mr. Martin,” grunted the man holding William. “The board is displeased.”

  “Your orders come from me, Richie.” Quincy’s face was turning red now. “And you followed protocol. As soon as I got money out of that ATM account, you knew to track it. And it worked. But I’m altering whatever plans you’ve been given. We need a car and a plane big enough for all of us.”

  “Get him out, fellas,” the man ordered.

  Their guns still focused on Lily and Steven, the men moved towards Quincy, motioning to him to follow.

  “Hey, you don’t make the decisions here. I’m the one whose initial is on the plane, remember? Phil, like I said, we need a car for all of us—”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Martin, but that’s not our orders. We’re bringing you in to safety. The board is really concerned. The stocks have tanked since you disappeared—”

  “The board?” Quincy roared. “You can go back and tell those jack offs that I call the shots. And I’m not going anywhere without this crew. Richie, you don’t understand—”

  “Sorry, Mr. Martin. You know the board. Millionaires with this much at stake don’t mess around. They want you brought in safely, away from these people,” the man holding William said. “And ultimately, that board is who makes sure we get paid. And we need our paychecks. We’re going now.”

  The beefy security men were on Quincy, rushing him out like a president under fire.

  “No!” Quincy ordered, even trying to wrench away, but the men were built like semi trucks.

  The bodyguard leaned down to William. “I will have a gun on you until we are out of this place. Don’t you think about making a damn move.”

  With a final hard press on William’s arm, the man backed out, his gun still pointed at them. Swiftly and quietly, he shut the door.

  Seconds later, there was a squeal of tires and a flash of headlights. What remained was a street, dark and still.

  TWELVE

  “You are going to burn a hole in that carpet if you walk in front of that window one more time.”

  Lynn stopped pacing, her hand rising in exasperation. “What else am I supposed to do?”

  “You should look over this pamphlet on the Antietam Campaign Trail, as I have seventeen thousand times.” Roxy took the brochure and threw it back in the drawer by the nightstand.

  “What have I done? I have no idea what happened to that boy. Or his brother. Did they get caught? They’re strangers, for God’s sake, and I just recklessly put them in harm’s way to help us escape.”

  “Listen, those are country boys. You know what Hank Williams Jr. says is true. Of course they survived. And if the guards caught someone trying to help us, don’t you think Mr. Wonderful out there would have come in here and given us another lecture? That boy got away, Lynn. Whether or not he was sober enough to do anything with that phone number is another story.”

  Lynn started walking again. Morning had come, and with it a breakfast on trays served by an agent who refused to speak to them. But he had, at least, parted the curtains to allow in some natural light.

  “Wonder what they’ll bring us for lunch,” Roxy muttered. “Food is usually the one thing I have to look forward to, so at least that’s normal. Can I request Papa John’s?”

  Lynn hated the feeling. Even when William had first disappeared, and in those awful, dark days in Argentum, she had never felt unhinged. But she felt it rising, now, like a fever. The walls around her weren’t closing in, per se, but the room felt tighter.

  The weight of the shadow was growing. She felt it. It had to be tied in to what was happening to William. She had to find him. Giving the number to that young hunter may have been reckless and potentially fruitless, but she’d had to risk it.

  “Roxy, I hate that you’re here—”

  “Nope.” Roxy shook her head. “I can tell by the tone of your voice what you’re about to say. You know I’d be even more angry if I’d shown up at the house and I couldn’t find you. Kate is just worried; she doesn’t want you caught up in what William’s going through, so she holed you up here.”

  “They’ve gotten to her. I know I sound irrational, but it’s true. She doesn’t know the truth. She’s never believed it. Anne and Chris and the boys must have called and realized I’m not answering my phone. They’ll know something is wrong.”

  “Then it will get to the point where Kate can’t leave you here without an explanation—Now, what the hell is that?”

  Roxy pointed out the window. Lynn turned to the sight that once made her skin crawl. But now the large vans with the bold call letters of networks and local stations, following each other like some kind of parade, stilled her breath in her throat.

  They kept coming, one after another, turning off the frontage road and heading down the long gravel driveway.

  Both women hurried to the window, watching as the trucks began to stop. The passenger and driver’s-side doors flew open, men and women in fashionable suits rushed alongside drivers in jeans and ball caps, gathering their equipment.

  Like a tiny grand marshal, the Volvo that had led them in now parked directly in front of the home. As one of the security officers rushed out, a small woman, her hair in a fierce ponytail, waved her hand to the media to gather.

  Lynn had to force herself to both breathe and not cry, watching her youngest daughter stand before the burly and enraged agent.

  “This, ladies and gentlemen, is classic Stella,” Roxy said with admiration.

  Lynn reached for the door, seeing one of the agents running from the yard towards them. But Lynn was closer, and rushed out into courtyard with Roxy behind.

  “Stella!” Lynn cried out.

  As the agent began to berate Stella for being on private property, she pointed to her mother and called out to the photographers.

  “You wanted proof of my mother being held against her will? There she is. And sorry, sir, you don’t have a no-trespassing sign posted outside. In fact, according to this,” she said, thrusting a thick file at his chest, “this home is owned by Senator Glenn Scotter, who died twenty years ago and bequeathed this home to the government for out-of-town dignitaries, which in my book, makes it government property and therefore public property. We’ll do it right here, guys, once you get video of that man who wants to push my mother and her friend inside.”

  The agent Stella was pointing to, towards whom the photographers had swerved their lenses, had stopped at the edge of courtyard. Lynn met the guard’s eyes for a moment. It was clear they were trained to secure prisoners and even kill, but not in how to respond to a swarm of reporters.

  “Perhaps while this fine government employee reaches out to his agency’s lawyer, we’ll have this quick news conference,” Stella said. “Start streaming, folks, becau
se here we go.”

  As the multicolored mic flags were thrust before her, Stella put her hands on her hips. “My thanks to the news organizations who responded to my announcement. Quick introduction: I am Stella Roseworth, the daughter of Lynn Roseworth and my late father, Senator Tom Roseworth. As I indicated, this brief statement will concern the unfair seizure of my mother and our dear family friend by the government. Should you doubt it, let me ask her myself. Mom, are you being held here against your will?”

  The reporters strained their mics in Lynn’s direction, for she still stood a good yard or so away.

  Lynn raised her voice. “Yes I am.”

  Even from this distance, she could see the eyes of the reporters widen.

  Stella nodded. “So let me reiterate: My mother was taken into custody by the government against her will. It is unclear which agency has done this. I would not summon you all here today without proof. And so, seeing this, you will understand why I am taking my mother out of here.”

  Stella outstretched her hand. “Mom, Roxy, come on.”

  Lynn couldn’t hear what the agent hissed to Stella, but she saw her daughter flinch.

  “My mother is under government protection? Protection from what?” Stella said. “We’re all here, sir. And we’d like to hear it.”

  “Which agency do you work for?” a reporter called out.

  “Why is Lynn Roseworth being held here?” another yelled.

  Lynn grabbed Roxy’s arm and led her across the grass. As the agent rushed towards them, the photographers did as well. Trained to capture footage of riots and shootings, they saw no challenge in getting video of two seventy-nine-year-old women crossing a yard.

  Stella was even quicker, bolting from the agent. He reached out for her, but running six miles a day made her difficult to catch.

  As they reached each other, Stella brought both women into a fierce embrace, the media swarming like a barrier between the women and the guard.

  With reporters and photographers in their faces, yelling questions while dictating the events into their phones and cameras, Stella led Lynn and Roxy towards her Volvo.