“But how are we going to do that?” Marigold wondered aloud. “And why did those freaks back there call me a ‘Messiah mom’? What did they mean by that?”
“Eons ago, Imagination predicted that your son would one day save humanity from itself. I felt it, too. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have gone through all these backdoor shenanigans,” he coughed into his hand again. “I believe in Aiden Haunt. He’s going to change things. Build things. Strengthen humanity. I can feel it. Just like you can feel your son is no longer here.
“If you can convince him to be born, then he will be the next Messiah. That’s all I can see in my limited vision. Imagination’s the one who could see into your son’s dreams. I only go with my gut. God behind the wooden door will watch over him. I’ll do the rest.”
Marigold didn’t like seeing Instinct like this. She imagined her own brother, lying on his death bed, ready to come…well, here. She chose her last question carefully, knowing he needed to rest.
“Will my son really be that important in the future?” she asked. A green fire spread around Instinct again, duller this time, but still there.
“From what I feel inside, he’ll be the most important man who has ever stepped foot on Earth. I’ve never felt anything like him before since the beginning of mankind, and I’ve been here for all of the ‘messiahs’. Instinct’s eyes drooped, and for a moment his voice trailed off. “I’m so…so tired.” A bony hand covered his mouth as he yawned. “You must watch over me while I sleep.”
The glowing blade appeared on his back. He pulled it from the scabbard and passed it over the fire to Haunt.
“If you see anybody coming, wake me up…”
He laid down and disappeared behind the fire.
Haunt gave his wife another weak smile, but she didn’t return it. She wasn’t ready to forgive him. Not yet. Not after what he did.
Chapter Thirty-Three
“Aren’t you ever going to talk to me, honey?” Haunt asked as he sat behind Marigold on the ostrich. His fingers barely touched her shirt like a shy boy at a middle school dance.
“I’m still not ready yet,” Marigold said. She squeezed Instinct’s waist to keep from falling. He didn’t look frail anymore after his long rest and both Haunt and Marigold saw him in their own special way again. Both saw him glowing green and powerful, but Haunt saw him as Steve Covington, and Marigold saw him as her brother, Adam. Marigold felt Instinct’s muscles tighten underneath his black shirt. She remembered it from her childhood. It was one of her brother’s favorites. It said Marines in big, yellow stenciled letters across the chest.
The darkness of the forest eased as light emerged in the distance. The ostrich headed toward the light. Its skinny neck bobbed as it walked.
“I couldn’t live without you, honey,” Haunt said to the back of her head. “I know it was selfish of me to leave our son like—”
“Aiden,” Marigold interjected. “His name is Aiden.”
“Ai-den?” Haunt said slowly, tasting the name. “I didn’t mean to abandon Aiden. You know that. You have to know that. I wanted him just as badly as you did.”
“Then why would you kill yourself?”
“I don’t know. I really don’t. I’ve been wondering the same thing ever since I got here. It’s like something took control of me when I was back in my car and I wasn’t thinking straight. All I could see was that night and nothing beyond it. I couldn’t imagine living the rest of my life without you, Snuffle. I couldn’t even make it through the night.”
“Then you didn’t try hard enough,” Marigold said, wiping her tears. The ostrich ducked under a lantern on a low branch and they all ducked with it, even though the branch wasn’t low enough to hit them.
“I’m sorry,” Haunt said, his voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t mean to let you down. That’s the last thing I wanted. I just needed to be with you”
She cringed at his words. If only she could just forgive him. They had shared half a lifetime together and she still loved him more than life itself and would do anything for him. Even die for him like he did for her. But she couldn’t forgive him. Not after leaving Aiden behind. Aiden was bigger than the both of them. The best she could do was respond with a slight nod and an, “I know,” to his apology.
She squeezed Instinct even tighter as the air grew warmer. The ostrich stepped on crunchy branches. Marigold winced. It sounded like bones snapping.
A ray of light peeked into the forest.
“Instinct,” she said close to his ear.
“Yes, Marigold?”
“What are we going to see once we get out of here?”
“A tower,” he said. “What you people call a skyscraper.”
“A skyscraper?” Haunt exclaimed. “What do you mean?”
“You’re going to have to ask Imagination,” Instinct said. “That’s his creation. It’s been here since the beginning of mankind.”
“How much farther? Is it far?” Marigold asked.
“No,” Instinct said. “In fact, we’re here.”
They ducked underneath the last of the low hanging branches that criss-crossed across the path. Beyond the edge of the forest, grass as green as Astroturf stretched out in front of them.
Sitting in the middle of a verdant field was a brilliant, cloud parting, skyscraper. It was a mile away and taller than any structure Marigold or her husband had ever seen. It was thick at the bottom and grew slimmer the higher it went until it disappeared into the clouds like the trees they just departed. The exterior was all windows, and faint lights glinted and flashed from inside the building.
“What is this?” Haunt whispered.
“The home of Imagination,” Instinct said.
“This is where Aiden is?” Marigold asked, clutching Instinct’s shirt.
“Yes,” he said. “He’s here. I can feel him.”
He brought the ropes down on the ostrich’s neck and the beast ran toward the building.
Marigold felt a knot twist in her stomach. She didn’t know what it was, but something made her feel like they were heading into a trap.
Chapter Thirty-Four
“Why do I need this?” Haunt asked as he stared at the pistol in his hand. The cold grip was rough like sandpaper.
“Remember, I can’t help your wife,” Instinct said, looking at Marigold. “If anything happens in there, you’ll have to protect her.”
“And what might happen?” Marigold asked.
Instinct shrugged. “This is literally the domain of ‘anything goes.’ So stay on your guard. Imagination lied to all of us. Don’t trust a word he says. Follow my lead.”
The ostrich sat down behind them. It rested its head on the ground.
The three approached the building, stopping in front of a revolving door. Instinct moved toward the door, but Haunt grabbed his arm. The shotgun and machete were criss-crossed on Instinct’s back again and his body was radiant and green. He looked ready for war.
“I’ve never fired a gun before,” Haunt said. “Can I have the machete instead?”
“No, I might need it this time,” Instinct said, turning back to the door. “The bullets are insubstantial in my hands against other Archetypes. But the blade is like an extension of me. It’s like my arm. I gave it to you because I didn’t need it against lust. Lust is not an Archetype. But I’ll need it now. Besides, the gun fires how you imagine it to fire. Just aim and shoot. Your mind doesn’t know the difference. Not here.”
“What might be inside there that I could actually shoot?” Haunt asked.
“I don’t know. Like I said, anything,” Instinct said, his lips pursed in irritation. “You can’t shoot Imagination. Bullets wouldn’t harm him. He could imagine that you don’t have a gun and then, you wouldn’t have one. It would disappear from your hand. But, if Imagination brought along lust from the forest, then you could shoot them. They’re like bugs in these parts. They don’t last long and keep coming back no matter how many of them you kill. Just watch your bullets.”
>
“Why? How many do I have?” Haunt asked. Marigold looked over his shoulder.
“How many do you think you have?”
“I don’t know,” Haunt said. “It looks like a six-shooter from a Clint Eastwood movie.”
“Then it’s got six bullets,” Instinct said, “If you can’t imagine more, then your mind settles on that. You can’t fathom an infinite supply. The human brain isn’t capable of it.” He pushed himself inside the spinning door.
Haunt and Marigold followed, rushing into the door. It spun about and took them to the other side.
“Whoa,” Marigold said.
Haunt looked up at the ceiling, his mouth hung open in awe.
A giant crystal chandelier hung from the high ceiling. Its glass sparkled blue and fuchsia. Just below the last of the tear-drop shaped crystals, tiny, silent fireworks exploded in continuing rounds of rainbow colors.
A perfect replica of Michelangelo’s, “The Creation of Adam” stretched across the ceiling above the chandelier. The glass chain that connected the magnificent facetted light hung at the very point where God and Adam’s fingers met. Intentionally placed, the chandelier with its blue light was a representation of the birth of man, and also the birth of Imagination.
The vibrant blue light represented freeness and creativity. Haunt and Marigold both felt like they had wings in their shoes looking up at the chandelier and painting. They could create anything in the world if they wanted to. All they had to do was imagine.
Marigold peeled her eyes from it. She couldn’t lose focus on Aiden. Not again; she felt him in this building. She looked over at Instinct, who stood behind a plain, circular desk that looked out of place beneath the magnificence above it. The marble floor felt cool but comforting to her bare feet as she rushed across the floor to join him. Haunt followed her, staring at his feet to keep from getting lost in the possibilities the ceiling could offer.
A great, round clock hung on the wall above Instinct. Both hands were stuck on the number twelve. Instinct looked up at them, then back down at the massive tome in the middle of the desk. He flipped through what looked like a telephone book. Its yellow pages were thin and covered with names.
“Enjoying yourselves?” he asked.
“What’s going on with the chandelier?” Haunt asked, pointing back but not looking at it.
“One of Imagination’s flourishes,” Instinct grumbled. “It’s excessive, I know.”
“It’s beautiful,” Marigold said.
“I’m sure he would be happy to hear you say that.” Instinct said, flipping pages.
“Does that clock work?” Haunt asked.
“I don’t know,” Instinct said, tracing the page with his index finger. “If Imagination isn’t hostile when we get upstairs, ask him.”
“Is there any way to tell the real time outside of this p—” Marigold began. But Instinct put up one index finger while he kept the other on a page.
“Aha! Michelle Fernandez.” Instinct said.
“Who?” Marigold asked, peeking over the desk.
He tapped his lips and pulsed green.
“That’s who’s dreaming about Imagination right now,” he said.
He shoved the large, telephone sized book back inside the desk and rushed to an elevator on the right side of the room.
Marigold shook her head. Why hadn’t she noticed it before? This room was full of surprises.
“You’re taking us to Imagination, right?” Marigold asked, following him to the elevator.
“Yes,” he said. “Michelle Fernandez is having a dream with Imagination in it. We need to travel to that dream now.”
Beside the elevator was a polished metal panel, its height and width almost as big as the elevator door itself. It was covered with billions of tiny, yellow nipples.
“What are those?” Marigold asked but, Instinct didn’t respond. He ran his fingers along the rows until he was just shy of the middle. His finger hovered over one of the small, yellow nipples, and then he pressed it. The door opened.
“People’s names,” Instinct said. “I was looking for Michelle’s.”
Haunt looked at the “nipples” and noticed they were in fact buttons, though infinitesimal. He squinted and saw what looked like a single letter on each of them.
“Come on,” Instinct said, walking into the elevator. “Michelle Fernandez could wake up at any moment. Our window of reaching Imagination might be brief.”
Neither of them understood what that meant, but they followed him anyway. The walls of the elevator were covered with mirrors. Haunt stared into the glass, taking in his reflection. Eerily enough, he didn’t see his wife’s or Instinct’s reflections, even though they stood to his left.
“How come I can only see myself?” Marigold asked.
“Another mystery of the Landscape,” Instinct said. “Close your eyes.”
“Why?” Haunt asked as he saw his wife close hers.
“Because each floor is somebody’s dream,” he said. “Some of them might be good, some of them might be bad. There’s no way to know for sure. I suggest you just close your eyes.”
“What do you mean?” Haunt asked, but Instinct leaned in and pressed the single button on the inside of the elevator. Unlike the buttons on the metal panel, this one was red and clearly visible. It read, “MICHELLE FERNANDEZ.” Instinct pushed it. At first, the elevator went up with a crawl, but within seconds its speed intensified until they shot up like a rocket.
Haunt felt the speed pressing down on him. He also felt his wife’s hand reaching out for him. He took it and squeezed tight. She squeezed even tighter. He stared into the mirror. Its shiny surface began to change until it wasn’t a mirror at all. In its place was a large expanse of clear blue sky. Haunt looked left and could no longer see Instinct or his wife. But he still felt his wife’s hand, and he squeezed it tighter still. He peered down and saw himself flying. He looked up and saw the sun.
Instead of being able to fly wherever he wanted, he was locked in place. He looked up. The sun was getting closer and closer. He moved forward, hoping to press a button and stop their ascent, but his arms were pinned to his sides. Glancing down he caught sight of a web of seatbelts that went across his body. He tugged at them, but they wouldn’t give. He was strapped in tight.
The sky around him began to darken until it gave way to the darkness of space. Thousands of stars stretched out in all directions. He felt the heat from the sun burning his flesh. A siren screamed. Lights flashed red. He felt his skin melting and charring like a pig being roasted on a spit. His eyes popped and bubbled and his flesh burst into flames. He would be engulfed by the sun any second now. It was nearing…and nearing! And—
“AHHHHH!”
Haunt collapsed and Marigold collapsed with him. She still held his hand. When he looked up, Instinct stared down at him. Haunt’s heart pounded.
“What happened?” Marigold asked from the floor.
“Your fool husband decided to keep his eyes open,” Instinct said, picking them both up.
Marigold dusted herself off and gave her husband a dirty look. She closed her eyes again and kept her hands at her sides. Haunt followed suit.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Through his eyelids, bright colors flashed. He knew that something was going on, but he kept his eyes tightly shut. Whatever it was, he didn’t want to see it this time.
Seconds passed and Instinct said, “Okay, we’re here.”
Haunt opened his eyes and looked at his wife again.
“Sorry,” he said again.
“Remember,” Instinct said. “Be on your guard.”
When the doors opened, Haunt took a step back.
They were in an office. It seemed so out of place. Marigold and Haunt stepped cautiously out of the elevator, following behind Instinct. The room was quiet and split down the middle with a carpetless floor. Half a dozen cubicles lined each side of the room, and it was warm. Too warm, actually, and Haunt unbuttoned his collar to the
third button as he looked left and right. Framed newspapers hung on the walls, but they were so far away that he couldn’t read them. He wished he knew what they said.
At the end of the room was a clear glass window, and it curved at the middle, revealing the whitest clouds and the bluest sky Marigold and Haunt had ever seen; the two of them thought of the chandelier again. All three of them walked toward it and—
*RING!*
Haunt and Marigold screamed. It came from one of the cubicles.
“What was—” Haunt began but Instinct put a finger to his lips. He hunched low and patted the air. They hunched low with him.
“Where are we?” Marigold mouthed.
“Michelle’s dream,” Instinct whispered, taking out his blade. “But I have—”
The sound of squeaky wheels emerged at the end of the room. Haunt looked down at the gun in his hand. It felt heavier, even though it looked no different. Marigold hugged his arm. Their hearts thudded in their throats.
A black office chair came from behind the right side cubicles. The chair turned toward them, and Marigold squeezed Haunt’s hand. Imagination sat, bathed in a soft blue light with a smile on his face. To Marigold he looked like Mr. Chomicki. Haunt saw his grandfather. But they both knew exactly who he was. On Imagination’s lap was a baby in a blue oval.
Marigold squealed. She stood with her arms outstretched for her son.
Instinct grabbed her wrist.
“Let me go,” she shouted.
“No. We need the truth first.” He pulled the sword from his back and glared at Imagination.” Why did you lie to us?”
“It had to be done,” Imagination said simply. “The Messiah’s safe, isn’t he?”
Marigold wrenched herself free and darted toward Imagination. The prospect of holding Aiden was overwhelming. She couldn’t help it. She would do anything to wrap her arms around her son.
The Darkness of the Womb Page 12