He squints at me, about to make a move.
I raise my glowing fists, feeling power beyond my own—beyond the realm of the living or the natural.
I swing a back-handed punch.
It’s a little dramatic, but it feels good, even though I’m sure I look like an awkward teenager making a homemade lightsaber battle video.
My glowing fist slips through the air, a trail of light stretching out behind it.
Mr. Frank is baffled by my action, until Wisp’s long, ribbon-limb flickers into view between us, a mirror of my swinging fist.
His eyes go wide, and his body twists back. He moves with speed beyond comprehension. His hand taps the submerged ground, balancing his body as Wisp’s tendril whiffs over him. Then he bounds back to his feet like some kind of Lady Gaga backup dancer. I half expect him to drop and spin in a series of breakdance windmills.
Instead, he just grins at me, pleased by the revelation that Wisp and I are acting in concert. I’m not sure how it’s possible, or if it’s repeatable, but I can tell it was a concept neither he, nor Morgan, nor Reggie, nor anyone else working with SpecTek had imagined.
“Crap,” I say, and I follow my back hand with an awkward left-handed punch. As ridiculous as I look and feel, Wisp’s ribbon-arm follows my swing with much more power and grace, slipping into reality and through the air. It whooshes over my head and swings at Mr. Frank.
This time, he doesn’t duck.
He jumps.
Like a mountain lion, he springs twenty feet up, clearing the ribbon and landing with a splash.
“All that power,” he says, moving toward me again. “And no real understanding of its potential. You’re a small man, with a small mind and miniscule ambitions. No wonder she wanted to leave you.”
He’s trying to unnerve me, I think. Trying to get under my skin.
But maybe he’s right.
Maybe he knew Morgan better than I did.
She kept all of this from me. What else was she hiding?
The light in my hands flickers.
He’s trying to sever our connection, attacking my mind instead of my body.
And honestly, I have no argument against him, or any of my fears. I have real reasons to not trust my wife. But I know I love her, and I know—despite the secrets—that she loved me.
But more importantly, I’ve learned over the past few days that I am enough on my own, that I can be bold, and brave, and powerful without her.
I clench my fists tighter. The brightness flares.
I swing at the air and Wisp’s tendril flows with me.
He dodges, leaps, and runs. An impossible target, and he’s not losing steam, while I’m swinging at the air and starting to feel tired.
I’m rope-a-doping myself.
So I stop swinging and start imagining.
And the attack continues. One at a time, the ribbons strike, and one at a time, they miss. I nearly catch him off guard, striking with both limbs at the same time, but he still moves faster than I can attack with the two arms.
But I have more than two arms now.
Show yourself, I think.
I don’t bother looking up. I know Wisp is above me. I can feel her massive form towering above me, filling the flooded field, her flowery form unfolding, her many limbs wriggling in the air like a child’s drawing of the sun.
When Mr. Frank’s eyes snap up toward the kaiju, I attack again, this time with dozens of arms, all striking out as fast as I can imagine.
Mr. Frank sprints across the field, leaving a wake behind him. He dives and jukes like a running-back as Wisp’s limbs pound the ground, always where he’d just been standing.
And then he does the unthinkable.
In the face of an overwhelming attack from a ghost-kaiju controlled by a man, he charges.
One punch will do it, I realize. The moment I’m unconscious, I’ll lose control. But that might not be the end. Wisp would still defend me.
I think.
It’s also possible that without Rain or me actively awake and invoking whatever these strange abilities are, that Wisp—who isn’t tethered to SpecTek—would be unable to act.
I launch a multi-armed attack, aiming for his legs.
And finally, Mr. Frank makes a mistake.
He jumps.
Unless he has wings under that suit, or can turn into a bat, his trajectory is set in stone.
Knowing that I’m bad at baseball—sorry Randy—and that Morgan was worse, I swing out with six arms.
The first three miss, as Mr. Frank folds his body into a ball and flips.
The fourth swing makes contact, but tips him higher. A foul ball.
Mr. Frank unfolds above me, eyes gleaming, still smiling, still confident. He cocks a fist back.
Then I wipe that smile off his face with a strike from behind he never sees coming.
One moment he’s there, the next he’s toppling through the air, across the Colorado River. I watch him sail away, losing sight when he crashes into and through a building.
I’m about to pump a fist in the air and cheer when I spot Dragonfish in a dive, headed toward the ground behind the building Mr. Frank just crashed into.
I cringe. That must be where SpecTek—
A ball of orange light bursts into the air, silhouetting buildings in front of it and drowning out Dragonfish’s glowing blue form. As a shockwave moves through the city, glittering glass bursts from windows and twinkles toward the ground.
Dragonfish peels up out of the fire, underbite jaw open wide, aghast eyes looking back at the fireball.
The shockwave races across the river and strikes. The slap to my eardrums knocks me down. Gasping and struggling to right myself, I’m assaulted again, this time by the roars of monsters from another plane of existence. Hands clutched to my ears I fall forward, face submerged, the water helping to muffle the bellowing beasts. But the sheer force of their voices tears through me, shaking my insides and stealing my breath.
Nearly my consciousness.
And then, all at once, they stop.
I push myself up out of the water, and my first thought is of Rain.
She’s still unconscious. Still lying on her back, but the water level has fallen some. For the moment, she’s safe.
I glance up and find Brute’s many eyes locked on me.
Not on me, I think, and I turn to Rain again, expecting to find her glowing.
But that’s not what I see. She’s still out.
Which means…
I turn back to Brute.
Yeah, he’s looking at me.
As is Dalí. And Dragonfish is on its way back, double-time.
I lift my still glowing hands.
How the hell do I turn this off?! I wonder, and then I tremble as a high-pitched wail cuts through the sky. It’s Storm. The monster is a quarter mile off, but the sheer size of the kaiju makes it look like it’s right on top of me. I turn my head up, following its long tendril arms up to its mouth-covered body.
Before I reach the top, its many limbs part like a curtain, revealing its luminous underside. For a moment, I squint at the light, unable to clearly see what’s been revealed. Then my eyes adjust.
“Ohh,” I manage to say. “Oh, God…”
44
It’s the face of a girl—a scared little girl, staring down from Storm’s underside, looking through the curtain of undulating limbs for the one thing it holds dear—its mother. Though Storm wasn’t raised by Rain, something supernatural must connect them. She doesn’t know Rain, but knows who she is. The luminous face is turned up in fear. Like the other kaiju, it is not destroying the world of the living because it is evil, but because it is confused, and frightened.
The Riesegeists shouldn’t be hated…they should be pitied.
Like the people they’re inadvertently killing, they’re victims. The blame for all of this resides on SpecTek and Mr. Frank, whose punishment has already been doled out. Morgan and the other once-human SpecTek scientists aren�
��t absolved of their involvement, but none of them signed up to be unliving monsters.
The only true innocent in all of this is Storm, whose real name I don’t even know, but whose anguish I recognize even though I’m not a father.
I remember what it was like to be a kid. To be lost. To feel like I would never see my family again. I’d been left behind at a lake, sure I had been forgotten. Tears in my eyes, I wandered until a stranger picked me up. After a few minutes driving, covering more ground than I could on foot, I spotted my parent’s station wagon. While I’d been searching for my family, they had been searching for me. I’d been lost for just ten minutes, but it left a mark on my psyche that lasted into adulthood.
What Storm must be feeling…ripped not just from her mother, but from her own body and reality? If she remembers anything of who she was…
Tears come again, like at that childhood lake, but the desperate sadness I feel now isn’t for myself.
It’s for the colossal monster about to smear me into the ground before it destroys Austin, and maybe the world.
She needs her mother…
But Rain is still unconscious. How will she feel when she sees Storm’s face? Will she remember the girl that once was? Will she experience the profound pain of realizing someone you love isn’t just dead, but an abomination? For the first time, I wonder if Rain’s amnesia is a blessing.
The ground trembles as Dalí swings around toward me, small explosions erupting from the tips of its long limbs as they carve buildings and vehicles in half.
Brute lifts its powerful arms out of the river, pounding them on the shore as it pulls itself free.
Dragonfish has nearly returned, swooping up and down, showing no signs of slowing.
And Storm… The poor child’s eyes have locked on to the tenuous beacon supplied by my glowing hands, but I offer her no relief or hope. I’m just a stranger, but maybe like that man at the lake, who offered me help, I can guide her to her family?
I reach a hand out to Storm. “She’s here! Your mother is here!”
There’s no way she can hear me over the rumble of explosions, heavy foot falls, and kaiju vocalizations, but maybe she can sense the message?
Several of Storm’s thousand-foot-long tendrils jut out, piercing buildings on both sides of the river. The appendages tear through concrete, steel, and glass like they aren’t even there.
The monster wails. While the many mouths on its upper body roar into the sky, the mouth on its youthful face lets out a sob.
My heart breaks.
I lift up my other arm, no longer offering a helping hand, but an embrace.
It’s stupid. Insane. Makes no sense, but I’m being guided by instinct here. Somewhere in that quarter-mile-tall monster is the soul of a child who wants to be found and comforted.
My hands glow brighter, and I let go of my fear, reaching up and out with all of my being, eyes closed.
The rumbling around me stops.
The growls and barks of angry kaiju die down.
All that remains is the distant grind of crumbling buildings and the wail of sirens, which fade into the background of my consciousness.
The momentary peace startles my eyes open.
Far above, the swirling storm clouds have gone still. Soundless lightning continues to flash, filling the now-night sky with blue light, but the strong winds have died down along with the kaiju.
They’re all connected.
Long ribbon arms reach up high above me, flickering in and out of the world as they stretch toward Storm.
It’s Wisp, many arms open for an embrace. The Riesegeist that was once my wife extends my offer of comfort and mercy to the child.
You’re safe, I will Storm to hear. You’re not alone.
Storm’s outstretched tendrils snap back, but don’t cover her massive glowing face. The girl is looking at me now, and at Wisp.
The hundreds of long limbs supporting Storm slide out to the sides as the massive body lowers down.
Wisp’s flowery body blooms, opening itself to the colossal monster. I don’t know if the Riesegeist can be killed again, but the gesture leaves Wisp defenseless—to Storm and the other three kaiju. They’re holding their ground right now, curious about what’s going on, but that could change at any moment. With SpecTek destroyed, I’m the one and only thing drawing them. The moment they remember me, I’m toast.
The young face attached to the underside of a monster squints at me. She’s not buying it. Or not feeling it.
While Wisp is still mimicking my movements—or is guided by them—we are still separate, pulling Storm’s attention in two different directions. Toward the strange man with glowing hands, and the even stranger once-was-a-woman who looks like a giant, ghost-flower.
How can we possibly hope to comfort this…thing?
She’s a girl, I remind myself. A scared little girl.
And you’re not doing enough.
Be bold, I think, or was that Wisp? Step into yourself.
I step back, toward Wisp. The Riesegeist’s body hovers just behind me, held aloft on a bed of ribbons and extended petals. My hands slip inside the body and the connection slams into my gut.
For a moment, I share in Morgan’s pain. Death is uncomfortable. Unbearable. At least, for a Riesegeist. I push back on the discomfort, letting my love for Morgan cut through.
“Are you here, baby?” I ask.
With you. I feel the words. Love you.
“I know.”
I feel her spirit lighten. Okay, Han.
I can’t help but laugh. This is definitely Morgan, and not just some small piece of her. It’s all of her. Speaking might not be easy, given our existence on two different planes of reality, and our current circumstances, but our little Star Wars homage is enough to confirm that every part of this monster is my wife.
Proud of you.
I stand frozen for a moment, in part because Morgan’s words have moved me, but also because I’m looking up into the glowing blue eyes of Rain’s daughter. The face hovers a few hundred feet above, angled to look down at me, its long limbs twisting to accommodate the posture change. She’s not impressed.
Wisp’s ribbons extend farther, reaching slowly for the child’s face.
A single ribbon traces a gentle path over the smooth, luminous skin.
I feel nothing.
No connection.
No understanding.
“It’s not enough,” I say. “I need to reach her.”
I take another step back, my body just inches from Wisp’s. My hands, glowing like Rain’s, are immune to the effect of touching a Riesegeist, but I have no idea what will happen if I step inside her. I could be lost forever, trapped inside a monster that was—and still is—my wife. Or I could be protected by the power granted to me at the SpecTek explosion.
I feel Wisp tense behind me. She’s unsure as well, and clearly understands the risk.
“I don’t see any other way,” I say, closing my eyes and stepping back. “I’m the only one who can—”
A hand clasps mine, fingers locking.
“Morgan?” I ask, opening my eyes to find Rain standing before me, soaked and serious. Her glowing hand is locked with mine, inside Wisp.
Light arcs between us.
“She needs her mother,” Rain says, her body and face flickering to life and then exploding with light.
Protected by my connection with Rain, I step inside Wisp.
Rain follows.
Light flows around us, growing brighter. I attempt to close my eyes at the brightness, but I can’t—they’re already closed.
My skin tingles with cold energy.
Gravity falls away. My stomach churns as my feet leave the ground.
I open my eyes to find myself hovering in a growing cocoon of light, hands interlocked with Rain’s. She’s hard to look at, every part of her—even her hair—shines with the brilliance of life itself.
“Rain, what’s happening? What are you—”
&n
bsp; Before I can finish my question, the cocoon is pierced, and we are no longer alone.
The newcomer is the antithesis to Rain. Where my newfound partner exudes life…the thing with us looks like death. A ragged soul with an emaciated face and a tattered, legless body. Where there should be arms, there are fluttering, chunky ribbons. It glows an ethereal blue, like the Riesegeist…
Because it is a Riesegeist…
My heart breaks for it.
For her.
“Morgan…”
45
Morgan’s spirit hovers around us. On edge. Suspicious. Confused.
“It’s me,” I tell her. My instinct is to let go of Rain’s hand and embrace my wife, even in her current hideous state—because of her current hideous state. My heart breaks for her, but Rain’s grip remains tight.
If I let go, I’ll be here forever.
Hollow eyes glare at me, outraged by the intrusion, perhaps offended by Rain’s radiant life.
“Talk to her,” Rain says. “Get her closer.”
“Morgan, it’s me. It’s Saul.”
She slides closer as the cocoon of light grows brighter, blue sprites swirling.
Something is happening. We don’t have a lot of time.
What the hell is Rain planning?
“Remember…” I search the past for a distinctive memory. Something that’s impossible to forget, even in death. Years of memories flit past. Passionate encounters. Arguments. Destinations. Events. I’m not sure why I land where I do, but I’m speaking before I really evaluate it. “Remember when we went horseback riding?”
Her stare remains blank.
“They gave me the white horse. The one who’d been carting around a…how can I say this politely? Hell, its just us. A heifer.” While I’d never call an overweight person a heifer—I’m not an asshole—something about the image of a cow riding a horse, always resonates with Morgan when we recall the story.
“That poor horse was tired and grumpy. Bucked me every step of the way. Scraped me up against trees like I was a tick. And to make matters worse, the saddle was freakin’ loose.” A chuckle rises from my throat. This is always where I laugh, because from my perspective, it was somewhat frightening. “I swear to God, when I started sliding to the side, I thought I was a goner. I didn’t know what to do.”
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