Abel

by Zack Metcalfe

  Chapter – 9

   

  I could feel the softness of my bedspread, the thin fabric I use to cover myself, the arm I rested my head on. My eyes were closed. It was the middle of the night, and I could think of no reason why I would be awake now. My room was warmer than I was accustomed to.

  I was clinging to a dream I had been having. I thought I had been enjoying it, but was only just recalling the details. There was a garden, a massive one. Stakes were mounted everywhere, separating the endless diversity of life. People moved through the rows of plants, watering them or planting them or picking them.

  …The sky was blue.

  I heard something in my room, and I opened my eyes. It was the sound of someone taking a breath. I froze, listening intently. The exhale came, shaky and frightening. As quietly as I could, I groped in the dark for the power cell. The pearls were locked tightly in my other hand.

  Weak sobs came from the darkness. Soon my hand landed on the cell, and I activated it. The room was filled with dull green light as I held up the cell, looking for the source of the noise.

  I dropped the power cell when I saw her. The green light made her look ghostly, transparent. It took me some time to realize that she was transparent. A woman was sitting in the middle of my room, legs curled up, face covered in tears. I couldn’t tell if she noticed me. She didn’t seem to.

  I sat up in bed, shocked. She sobbed on, and I felt a pang of guilt for not reassuring her. The thought seemed absurd once I considered it, but human nature isn’t so easily controlled.

  I started to stand up, then waited. She didn’t react, so I continued. I was subtle with my movements, slowly coming to my feet. Taking a step towards her, I leaned to get a better look at her face. Even the transparency, the tears, the scrunched up features left no doubt. I saw her, and I knew her.

  “Mary?” I asked the woman.

  Mary Tanaka gave me a quick glance, then she looked away. Her sobs lessened, and she cleared her throat.

  “Sorry…I started it…it was me.”

  “You started what?” I asked.

  She took very deep breaths before answering. “The first bombs fell on my apple tree. Terrans were unable to protect it. Didn’t make a difference. The seeds had already spread...the seeds of our doom.” She looked at me again, then got to her feet. She stepped towards me, so I stepped back. “You know what I did when this happened?”

  “You continued your work,” I answered. Part of me was terrified, the other interested. I couldn't stop myself from backing away.

  “That’s right,” she assured me. “I saw what a single apple tree was capable of. My response to a war was to recreate what started it.” She was getting closer, her tearstained eyes fixed on me. “What would you have done?”

  “I don’t know,” I answered.

  “Could you have stopped?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Could you have watched people die for your mistakes?”

  The fear inside me started to win. “You’re not real.”

  “I don’t think you could have.”

  I closed my eyes as I backed into a wall. “There is nothing there,” I repeated to myself.

  “I could. In fact, I did.” Her voice was breaking.

  “Leave me alone,” I said, closing my eyes tightly.

  “I’m so sorry, Mitch,” she whispered. I could feel her sting of regret as powerfully as she could.

  “There is no one there,” I said again. “There is no one there.”

  “No one?” she asked.

  Everything became deathly still, and I waited.

  I opened my eyes to an empty room.

  There was no one there.

   

  __________

   

  The things I see in the dark are vague creatures, things meant to embody my fears. Mary Tanaka however, was the essence of someone real, someone I knew well enough to give her shape.

  If I had reached out to her, would I have touched her?

  Would she stop my hand, or would I stop my hand?

  I couldn’t do this anymore. No matter where I went, no matter what I was doing, I would look over my shoulder. I couldn’t eat or sleep. Work was my only escape, mindful, continuous labour that drained me. A part of me needed to be alone, free from my thoughts.

  The drug’s name was written in Martian English. I recognized the symbols as the ones that made the ghosts go away.

  Opening the lid, I shook a few pills into my hand, observing their jet blue colour. Never had I ingested them before. The option was always there, a cheap escape from my own thoughts. It would only take a action, one swallow and it would all go away for a time. Still, I feared the pills. What if I liked them? What if a free mind compelled me to take them again?

  What if I became addicted to sanity?

  My hand started to tremble. I would have done it had my mother not come.

  She came through the doorway, with a tired, worried look on her face. I felt guilty with the pills in my hand. Her reaction was the same as it always was when I considered taking pills.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Th-they’re getting bad, mom. I’m seeing things…I just can’t ignore.” I must have sounded pitiful.

  My mother exhaled heavily, then walked up to me. “Son, you know what those drugs will do.”

  I nodded, not meeting her eyes. She sat down next to me.

  “They will make you like everyone else,” she clarified. “They will force you to think and see like most people do.”

  “Isn’t that a good thing?” I asked.

  My mother shook her head. “No. Being like everyone…being the way everyone thinks you should be, isn’t a good thing. It isn’t a normal thing.”

  “…But my work.”

  “Your work has been done, and I know for a fact that no normal person could have accomplished it, not like you have.”

  I wasn’t sure if that were true.

  “It was called a disorder,” my mother continued. “Others would say there’s something wrong with you. I say there’s something right with you. Every difference has its place, and you should treasure yours.”

  Now I understood what she meant. It was something so personal, so deep within me, I often forgot it to be true. No normal person could have done this.

  “Do you want a delusional son?” I joked.

  My mother put her hand on my cheek. “I want my son exactly the way he was born. I refuse to lose him to this poison.” She took the bottle of pills from my hands, and carelessly threw them across the room. “Maybe, son…some delusions shouldn’t be ignored. Maybe they don’t always mean you harm.”

   

  __________

   

  The corridors were no less dark, no less foreboding, but somehow less lonely. I discovered the insects had survived, which brought a smile to my lips. On closer inspection, I realized there were a few dozen species in this place. I had to be impressed. Their planet was destroyed, and their population still vastly outnumbered that of humanity.

  I found them comforting. Suddenly I didn’t feel so small. I followed the same path I did last time, walking with more confidence. My power cell was glowing, held high.

  I came across the painting of the ships in the storm, the crews of men desperately tying themselves to railings and masts. I walked closer to it, looking it over. I couldn’t explain why it meant so much to me. Maybe it was my vision of a perfect world, one where opposing people could stop fighting long enough to see they had a common enemy, the storm that would destroy everyone if they didn't act.

  A perfect world.

  I saw another part of the picture I hadn't seen before. In between the two closest ships were men in the water, belonging to both sides, swimming against the waves. Some were grabbing onto each other for support, even if the other was an enemy. Some seemed to be staying afloat, while others were drowning. I felt a kinship with these men.

  “Do you think t
hey remember what they were fighting for?” Mary’s ghostly voice asked from behind me.

  I shook my head, keeping my eyes on the painting. “I doubt it’s forefront on their minds.”

  Mary’s transparent figure stepped noiselessly next to me, observing the painting for herself.

  “What about you?” she asked. I looked to her.

  “What about me?”

  “Do you remember what you were fighting for…back on Mars?”

  We made eye contact. She wasn’t crying anymore. She looked curious. It took me a few moments to understand what she meant.

  “Oh, no. I wasn’t in the war.”

  “Then…where were you?”

  I turned back to the painting, pointing at the men in the water, struggling between the two battling ships. “There,” I answered.

  She nodded, then stepped away. I did the same, heading down the hall to the bright lights of the destroyed garden. Mary trailed behind me, looking nervous. She was afraid of what she might find.

  I reached the garden and knelt down. The apple tree was growing peacefully. I took some time to calm myself. It was difficult not to have powerful emotions when seeing such an awesome thing. Mary seemed to be having a similar experience. She stood behind me, staring.

  “Do you think Oppenheimer would have destroyed his work had he known what it would do?” she asked.

  I stood up and passed through the garden, moving to shelves and cupboards in the room beyond.

  “Who?”

  “Common name,” she assured me. “He’s a figure from ancient history, the first man to split the atom. He made the atomic bomb possible.”

  I looked to her for more information, but saw that she was kneeling next to the apple tree, paying little attention to me. Shaking my head, I returned to my search. I wasn’t exactly sure what I was looking for.

  As I rummaged through the ruins, I discovered a variety of familiar tools, and a few not so familiar. They didn’t interest me. I doubted these tools would be of much value. I opened a lower compartment, one filled with glass cylinders. The light in this area was poor, and the green from my power cell was dim. I couldn’t quite see what was inside the cylinders.

  I gently pulled one of the cylinders free, and held it closer to my eyes. Inside were what looked to be hundreds of small black beads. On the cylinder’s smooth glass surface was a label, written in a language I didn’t recognize. It seemed similar to Martian English, but not quite.

  “Malus martia,” Mary said, stepping close and peering at the label.

  “What?”

  “They’re seeds, Abel. That’s their Latin name.”

  “What does this one say?”

  “Martian apple tree,” she answered. “My very first creation.”