Apathetic God

by Ian Withrow

  She rushed to the cracked doorway and pulled it open. The metal handle tore off in her hand, eliciting a gasp from the gathered crowd. They kept a healthy distance from her, with the exception of the cameraman and newscaster. Still, the woman seemed genuinely frightened, kept in place more by fear than confidence.

  “P-please, don’t kill me,” she whispered.

  Lauren shook her head, her oddly heightened senses were disorienting.

  “Kill you?”

  The woman nodded, crying wide-eyed as she looked past Lauren and into the lobby.

  “I didn’t. I mean I never…”

  Lauren’s emotions were a roller-coaster. One moment she felt pure, unadulterated joy, and the next crushing despair and sadness, then envy, rage, fear, and more. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself.

  “I don’t understand, w-why would you do this?”

  Lauren had no answer.

  She hadn’t meant for it to happen, and the side effects were clouding her mind and making it difficult to think straight. She opened her mouth to respond, second-guessed herself, and then began again.

  But what could she say? The urge to run built until she could fight it no more.

  She spread her wings wide and for once the crowd surrounding her gave her extra room rather than pressing closer.

  A perverse sense of relief flooded her heart. Now at last she had the space she craved so deeply. Her scowl settled back into place as she leapt skyward and raced to the clouds.

  She spent several minutes gaining altitude, hoping to blend into the overcast sky hanging low over the city. Within seconds she was hundreds of feet in the air. She felt light as a feather, and her muscles propelled her much faster and more easily than ever before. She took one last look at the city below, then dove into the cover of the clouds.

  Cold, wet wisps of condensations surrounded her and she couldn’t help but shiver. Her wings were still pumping, and she could feel the air rushing past her face, but the unchanging haze of the cloud bank made her feel as though she wasn’t moving at all. She picked a direction at random and sped away. The weather suited her just fine, so she carried on until the creeping feeling of lostness became unbearable.

  Lauren dipped downward just long enough to catch a glimpse the land below of her. She was over a body of water between two rocky coasts. Her vision remained altered, and if she focused she could see the land below with hawk-like precision. She marvelled at the patchwork of farms and small villages, stunned at the clarity. She was certainly a far cry from London, she couldn’t even see it in the distance behind her. There was land ahead, so she slipped back into the clouds and tried to sort out what exactly had gone wrong back at the tower.

  She played the events over and over in her mind, trying to pick out what had been different from a hundred other times she’s been stuck, surrounded by an impenetrable press of people. She recalled the raw surge of power she had felt. It had subsided only very slightly, and she couldn’t deny the intense pleasure and strength that had flooded her system. Even now she felt like she could bench press a truck.

  But what had she actually done? Was it really her, or some other force acting upon her? She tried to convince herself that maybe it was an outside force and that her gift had merely protected her. But then why would she be so... charged up? No, this was almost certainly some new development of her own.

  Lauren continued drifting through the sky, bitterly reminding herself that she was, once again, essentially alone. She struggled to feel more guilt than relief. Lauren lost track of time and the miles slipped silently past.

  She wasn’t sure how long she’d been wrapped up in her own thoughts when she first heard the crashing waves in the distance, but the roar of the ocean was impressive enough to pull her back to reality.

  Lauren looked down, pleased to see that the green landscape below her was devoid of people. She had allowed herself to drift lower, only a few hundred feet above the ground now. She was floating above a dazzling line of cliffs stretching as far as her keen eyes could see. A small footpath had been worn in the grass, stretching lengthwise along the coast, but there wasn’t a soul in sight.

  Lauren touched down lightly on the slope, taking a moment to marvel at the raw beauty surrounding her. The ocean roared a hundred feet below, and the land melted away into a rolling green carpet behind her. The rich scent of saltspray mixed with the tickle of wildflowers and she took a deep, calming breath.

  “Ok,” she said to no one in particular. “So maybe you can, y’know, kill stuff.”

  A tiny frown sprouted on her face as she said the words. She didn’t like the way they sounded, the heavy manner in which they hung in the air. At the same time, she felt… excited? It seemed too strong a word, but her heart skipped a beat at the implied power of the statement.

  Lauren stepped to the edge of the cliff and sat down, her legs swinging out into the open space beyond. She sighed and lay back against the soft cool grasses and wildflowers covering the ground, content to clear her mind and stare at the skies rather than face the consequences of reality.

  Her mind was not so easily pacified as her body. It was mere minutes before she was sitting up again and plucking at the grass dejectedly. The tiny, supple blades snapped easily in her fingers and found themselves cast helplessly into the turbulent currents below.

  Lauren’s idle hand found the thorn-covered stalk of a short thistle and she pulled back in surprise. The tiny spikes, so perfectly suited at prickling the unsuspecting passersby, had bent and broken rather than pierce her skin. She furrowed her brow. Lauren was no stranger to the bite of a thistle, stepping on them as a child had been the unavoidable consequence of insisting on running about barefoot. She’d never been so lucky as to touch one unscathed like this.

  Morbid curiosity took root, as she stared at her uninjured palm. Hesitantly she reached out to the plant once more. She pressed gently at first, and then harder as she found herself immune to the tiny barbs. Again she inspected her hand, her eyes wide as she realized that her skin seemed totally impervious to the sting of the plant.

  Lauren balled her hand into a fist and slammed it down on the flower, crushing it into the ground. She laughed out loud at her total lack of pain. Moreover, her simple gesture had left a sizeable divot in the ground, much deeper than she would have expected from the blow. Her muscles were no more strained than if she had lifted a piece of paper, but the impact looked like a sledgehammer.

  She felt a giddy high building in her mind at her newfound strength. This must be a side effect of what had happened in London, there was no doubt in her mind. She rolled over in the grass and lay back down, her elbows propping up her chest and head. She reached a slim finger out to the battered remains of the thistle and tried to concentrate. No response. Lauren scrunched her eyes shut and stubbornly focused her mind, demanding the powers within her bend to her will. She felt a brief stirring in her stomach, or had she simply imagined it?

  A few moments passed with no apparent change and she peeked outward from behind a half-closed eyelid. Her eyes snapped open at the sight of the thistle standing healthy and strong in the depression left by her fist. Every leaf, every spike perfectly healthy and lush. There was no evidence that she had ever injured it aside from the dent in the ground.

  Lauren shivered, her mind racing with possibility. Her face broke into a half-wild smile as she sat up on her knees, both palms placed flat on the ground in front of her. Again she closed her eyes, her brow furrowed in concentration. She dug deep inside, reaching for the power she had felt earlier, and found it within herself. She shivered internally at the dark, oily feeling that came bubbling to the surface of her mind.

  The power radiating from her core was irresistible.

  She felt a low electric buzz in her fingers slowly building into an steady hum of power that filled her arms and worked its way to her chest. She opened her eyes to see the greenery before her wilt and wither.

  But it wasn’t just under her p
alms. She rose to her feet in the middle of a swath of decayed vegetation several yards across. Her body was again filled with unfamiliar strength, though it was a tiny fraction of the power she had felt this morning.

  Lauren couldn’t help laughing giddily at the euphoric high that flooded her mind. She marvelled at her hands, inspecting them closely. In doing so, she noticed that faint silvery lines criss-crossed her arms. After a moment’s thought she realized what they must be; faded scars from her destructive self-medication. They faded until they were almost indistinguishable from the rest of her skin.

  So, she could control her healing after all. Moreover, she finally had a weapon to defend herself from the predatory world she’d been forced to live with for so long. A part of her, some distant voice within her mind, registered concern as her thoughts immediately turned to the revenge she could seek. But it was drowned out by the brightly burning lure of her newfound power.

  Lauren looked out over the broad, rolling hills once more. But where a few minutes ago she had seen only beauty, she now gazed hungrily at untapped power. She licked her lips and dropped to her knees again, plunging her hands into the soil and reaching within for that dark strength simmering in her heart. It came more easily this time, and she relished the cool smooth feel of it. Within moments she was leeching the life from the ground around her in an ever-spreading circle of decay.

  She was mesmerized by the silvery lines pulsing brighter and brighter on her arms as she drained the hills. But it wasn’t enough. She felt like a light bulb flickering in the face of too little power. She felt good, yes, but it was like eating steak and following it up with crackers and water. No matter how hard she pushed, it wasn’t enough.

  She hungered for more.

  Finally she sat back with a frustrated growl.

  Ding.

  Lauren jumped at the sound.

  Rather than check the phone in her pocket, Lauren seethed with sudden anger. She stood, barely noticing that the ground around her was darkened for hundreds of feet in every direction, and leapt into the sky like a bullet.

  The memory of her first flight came unbidden to her mind and she raced across the skies. The timid girl who had been a slave to every current and eddy of the wind had been replaced by a sleek savant, capable of driving easily through the strong headwinds she faced as she tore across the open seas between Ireland and Wales.

  Her newly strengthened wings carried her much more swiftly than she anticipated, and before long she was nearing London. She had every intention of facing Valerie, of demanding an explanation, of venting the rage and pain she felt.

  Until she passed over Farningham, that is.

  She pulled a tight turn as she passed the Chatwick estate, unsure of what she had seen. Sure enough her keen eyes had not deceived her. The tiny home was surrounded by news vans and clamoring reporters, but her eyes were focused through the bedroom window. Edward was gently holding Valerie, whose shoulders shook with painful-looking sobs. What little of her face Lauren could see was red with pain and suffering. In that moment a tiny light in Lauren’s heart rekindled and she hovered a moment, suddenly unsure.

  But the darkness within her demanded an outlet. It stoked the hatred in her heart back into a blaze and Lauren found her fists clenched and her jaw tight.

  She couldn’t land. Couldn’t face Valerie or the horde of reporters. She couldn’t go home, even now she didn’t think she had the strength to cross an entire ocean. She discarded idea after idea, growing more frustrated by the second until she settled on a course of action that brought a gleeful smile to her lips.

  Unnoticed by the tiny people below, her dark shadow slipped silently southeast, heading for the channel and mainland Europe.

  Weyland hadn’t moved in several days. A permanent scowl seemed to have taken up residence on his chiseled face as he sat atop a massive gilded throne in the heart of the newly restored Acropolis.

  Natalie entered the grand chamber softly, dreading disturbing her master while he… did whatever it was he was doing during these long periods of sullen silence.

  “Y-your majesty, Lauren has been seen in London.”

  He stirred.

  “How long ago.”

  “Just this morning. A few hours ago. The news is saying that she had some sort of fit and killed a bunch of people.”

  Natalie, for her own part, didn’t believe the reporters on television. She’d heard about Lauren’s gifts for most of her own life, and she had never once heard of Lauren committing such an act. Lauren had been selfless to a fault up until now.

  “A few hours ago?”

  His tone was deadly calm. Natalie braced herself for a blow.

  “Hours!”

  His rage was sudden and violent. He went from sitting across the room to towering over her in a flash of fire and smoke. Natalie cowered, biting her lip until it bled to keep from crying out as the heat from his skin blistered her exposed skin.

  He took offense when she expressed pain in his presence.

  Natalie stammered a response but Weyland ignored her. The smooth stone below his bare feet sizzled with heat and it was all Natalie could do to stay put. But her fear of him was greater than any pain she might endure. Natalie had seen him incinerate people for far less than bringing him late news. She trembled, sure of her imminent death. So it took her by surprise when he began to pace the marble floor of the chamber instead.

  Weyland muttered to himself as he wore out the stones with his relentless movement. Had he forgotten her? Was she free to go? Natalie didn’t know, but respect for his power kept her firmly rooted in place. After a few minutes of listening to his heavy footsteps she found the courage to sneak a peek at him, ignoring his preference that she keep her eyes dutifully downcast.

  The wheels in her mind spun freely as she witnessed the first instance of indecision she had seen him express. His endless self-confidence appeared vulnerable as it never had before. He was clearly wrestling with a difficult choice, but Natalie dared not guess what it might be. Still, the scientist within her grew more curious with every passing second. She decided it must be something related to Lauren.

  The thought made her heart swell with hope.

  Natalie had taken a massive risk by waiting to inform Weyland of his prey’s movements in London, but she had resolved to make up for her lack of action when Lauren had needed her most. She held desperately to the hope that Lauren would somehow rescue her.

  For Weyland’s part, it was as if Natalie had ceased to exist. She was only human, after all. After several minutes she shuffled uncomfortably and he finally stopped pacing. He looked surprised to see her still standing there.

  “Leave me.”

  Weyland watched his servant scurry from the room and returned to his introspection. Weyland had expected Lauren’s tantrum to last a few hours, maybe a day at most. But here it had been nearly two weeks and not only had she not returned, she seemed to be actively avoiding him, keeping her whereabouts hidden from the world.

  What are you playing at, little bird?

  He sighed uncharacteristically and cast about the room for inspiration. The throne room, with its splendor of artwork and abundance of gold and jewels, did nothing to excite him. He huffed at the trinkets, tribute from the various museums and collections of the world delivered by the hands of terrified mortals to his uncaring possession.

  Nothing caused his heart to stir or his blood to burn except for her.

  His powers had returned fully with his waking and his unchallenged might reminded him why he had slumbered so deeply in the first place.

  Boredom. Boredom and disappointment.

  A flash of fire and Weyland was standing in his bedroom suite. The charred black stones of the floor were the only evidence of his frequent visits, his servants kept the room immaculately cleaned in his absence. A bevy of gorgeous women, all sporting thin silk garments and heavy golden circlets around their necks, lounged on pillows around the room. A few of his concubines let out out gasps or j
umped with surprise, but all of the lingerie-clad women dropped obediently to their knees.

  Surprising, generally it took new girls a few days to fully grasp their place and proper behaviour, and by that time he was almost always done with them.

  But even the buffet of flesh in front of him didn’t ignite his passion as it had in ages past. Each of the women paled in comparison to the object of his desire. He must have scowled, because he could smell the fear in the room rising above the odors of rosewater and the faintest hint of ash and burnt skin.

  The trembling, terrified women in front of him were worlds away from the defiant angel that had struck him in his own courtyard. That knowledge burned in his heart and stoked his ever-raging temper. Knowing that he could not have thing thing he wanted most only further fueled his obsession.

  Heat waves poured off of his clenched fists as he scanned the girls until his gaze found a dark-haired, pale-skinned girl about Lauren’s height and build.

  “You.”

  He pointed menacingly and locked his eyes with hers. The rest of the women fled the room and tried to avoid looking at the girl they were leaving behind.

  Hours later, when he left the room, he did so on foot. The girl had taken the edge off of his frustration, but he had been rougher than usual and it was unlikely she would be useful to him again for many months, if ever. A shame, her resemblance to his prey had been… useful.

  More importantly, his head was clearer. Weyland would wait no longer. Enough was enough. It was time to resume his post at long last.

  He smirked as he passed his guards. To their credit they didn’t flinch at his passing. Weyland strode out to the courtyard and took a deep breath of the still, smoky air before disappearing in a blinding explosion.

  Moments later the timeworn stones of the old Covent Garden Market shuddered and cracked as Weyland crossed the two-thousand mile gap in the space of a heartbeat. The busy shopping center exploded in screams of pain as Weyland arrived with a blistering heatwave. Pain-wracked citizens writhed on the ground, unable even to stand as their skin sizzled and popped in the wake of Weyland’s power.