by Mary Eicher
Lucy grinned. “I can’t wait to see Angie. She’ll be at school now, but I’m going to pick her up early. You want to come with me?”
“Thanks, but no. I’ve got things to do and you need a little mother-daughter time. I’ll have them drop me at my place.”
Lucy turned on her cell phone as she climbed into the gray sedan. She clicked on the waiting message and stared at it and then at Artemis with a look of horror signifying the world had ended.
“What?” Artemis cried. She grabbed the phone and read the text from Lucy’s mother. She tossed the luggage into the open rear door and raced around the vehicle. Opening the driver’s door, she said, “I’ll drive.”
The woman driver started to argue. Artemis lifted her with ease and set her in the passenger side and then climbed behind the wheel.
“This isn’t a carjacking. It’s an emergency.” Artemis gave her an apologetic look. “And I’ll give you a two-hundred-dollar tip.”
“Then let’s go,” the driver said with a shrug. She punched cancel on her phone and turned off the Uber app. She wouldn’t need to work for the rest of the day.
Lucy sat rigid in the back. Artemis monitored her in the rearview mirror.
“I’ll get us there, Lucy. Your mother says she’s alive.”
Sometimes the world burns down around you regardless of what you do or even what you deserve. Lucy rocked back and forth in her seat, her arms wrapped around her waist. She stared out of the window, willing the car to go faster and praying to a God she suddenly believed in. She couldn’t collect her thoughts, couldn’t respond to whatever Artemis was asking her. She felt as if she were dying, and one word screamed like a banshee in her mind: Harbinger.
Artemis tore through traffic, oblivious to stop signs and unafraid to blast the horn at tepid drivers in her way. They reached the hospital with Lucy not having uttered a sound. Artemis returned the car to the driver, handed her the money promised, and collected their bags while Lucy dashed into the emergency room. Following at a run, Artemis confronted an ER nurse and was directed to the waiting room on the fourth floor.
“Mom?” Lucy cried when they reached the waiting room outside surgery.
Claire hugged her and wiped the tears from her daughter’s cheeks. “Angie is alive, Lucy. They said something about an aneurysm. They are still working on her.”
Artemis’s heart raced. She ran her tongue along her lips and tried to think of something to say. There was nothing. She couldn’t think of a thing that would make it better. She watched as Lucy and Claire sat down on the plastic chairs and huddled together. She thought of the day Ichabod died and how she felt, and she knew that Lucy was in a place where nothing or no one could comfort her.
She sank into a chair across from them and looked imploring at Lucy’s mother. “Please. Tell us everything you know.”
Claire obliged, relating everything she could remember about what had happened. Angie had grabbed her head and fallen to the floor. When Claire had picked her up, Angie had been like a ragdoll. The child was breathing, but she wasn’t there. Her eyes were fixed, seeing nothing. Claire had called 9-1-1 immediately and wrapped Angie in her SpongeBob blanket to keep her warm. She rocked her and talked to her until the ambulance arrived. Angie was still staring blankly when the EMTs gave her the IV and did other things, she didn’t remember what. The emergency room sent Angie straight to surgery, and since then, there had been nothing to do but wait.
“That’s different than Cab,” Artemis told them, optimism in her voice. “It doesn’t sound like the Harbinger to me.”
“To you!” Lucy stood up and glared at Artemis. “That’s a comfort since you and the Harbinger are old friends. It follows you; probably even talks to you. Or maybe the Harbinger just hates you and kills the people you love.”
Artemis sat stunned at the words pouring out of Lucy’s mouth. “Lucy, I…I didn’t…”
Lucy leaned against the green wall and sobbed. “You were in my house. You held my daughter. And now she’s heard the Harbinger, and she’s…she’s dying. And it’s all…”
The rest of the sentence went unspoken as Lucy wept uncontrollably, but Artemis felt the words as if they’d been shouted: it’s all your fault. She lowered her head. If the first blow doesn’t knock you down, and you survive the second one, the third takes you out. First Cab, then Angie, and now Lucy! Artemis could hardly breathe as she sat in the sterile little room and waited for someone to bring them news.
*
The moon was full that night, but it shed little light into her gloom. Artemis had left the hospital at Lucy’s cold insistence and gone home to pace and hurt and even try a prayer, though she knew prayers didn’t work. She watched the cab driver back out of the driveway and picked up her bag. The house loomed dark and forlorn, echoing the feeling in her heart. It wasn’t the homecoming she’d wanted. It wasn’t a homecoming at all. She had come to an empty place void of life or warmth. She felt numb just as she had when she returned from Lake Isabella.
Artemis unlocked the door and entered the house, not bothering to turn on a light. The house was a mausoleum filled with the ghosts of lost loves. Her parents seemed to wick through the empty rooms, and Cab’s voice echoed down the halls. But there was no Lucy anywhere and Artemis feared there never would be.
She sank into the couch and wondered what to do. The idea of eating seemed unpleasant, so she went to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of wine. She decided to bring the bottle with her back to the living room. Whispers slithered past in the dark, but she refused them. Her voices had nothing good to tell her. Instead, she sat and sipped the wine and gave herself body and spirit to the dark. At last achieving equity with the pain, she rose and turned on a light.
She called the hospital periodically to get updates on Angie’s condition. They would only tell her that Angie was there. Which meant the little girl was still alive. Lucy did not answer her calls or texts. There was nothing but silence, and Artemis could not contain the wild speculations ripping up her soul.
She took a shower and unpacked, tossing the clothes from the trip in the laundry. She searched for things to keep her busy and tried to focus her mind. But the minutes dragged by as she stared at her phone and pleaded for it to ring. By midnight, she turned on her computer and began a search for information about what could have happened to Angie. She selected sites and read all there was available about aneurysms.
The little girl had most likely suffered a hemorrhagic stroke. Artemis winced as she read such a stroke is 40 percent fatal. If Angie lived it would take her months to recover, and she could experience muscle weakness and have difficulty speaking or thinking. The one light in all the data, the one hope Artemis could cling to, was that it had not been the Harbinger. Angie could live. Angie would live. Artemis could feel the truth of it. And Lucy might forgive her. Of that she was far less certain.
She went to bed doubting she would sleep. The bed felt empty, but she could smell Lucy’s scent on the pillowcase. She turned on her side and cradled the pillow against her. She had felt this lonely once before in her life. She had finally recovered from losing her brother, finally begun to feel happy again. As she looked to the future, she wondered if she would survive another loss. Then, long into the night, Artemis lay awake, and for the second time in her adult life she wept.
*
“I have no problem with you personally, Bishop,” Uberdorf schmoozed, putting his feet on his desk and cradling the phone on his shoulder. “But your church is a different story. Your pope says terrible things about us.” He paused to light a cigarette. “And as God is my witness, I don’t understand why. We are all men of God. We should be tending to our flocks. Why can’t we work together?”
The man on the other end of the phone was not giving an inch. “The autumn fair is a Catholic event, Reverend Uberdorf. We have plenty of volunteers, and frankly, we neither need nor want your help.”
“There, you see what I mean?” Uberdorf was enjoying the conversation. He knew how much
it bugged the bishop to call him reverend. He covered the phone and chuckled. He liked playing with people, especially when he held the high ground. There was nothing the bishop could do to him except refuse his offer. And that had been a given. Uberdorf was merely setting the stage for what the Servants were going to do anyway.
“You won’t even entertain the prospect of working together. And a fair is a positive thing. It’s a perfect occasion to come together in Christ. I hope you will give our offer more thought.”
The bishop was firm in his denial.
“Well, I will have my Servants around the fair to assure your safety. You can’t stop us from that.” He hung up and tossed the phone on his desk. “You can’t stop us from anything, Bishop Jackass.”
It would be much easier to plant explosives when the booths were being set up. But the fair would last all weekend, and his men would find a way. They would rush in after the detonations and be seen helping the victims. It was another brilliant plan and just the kind of war Uberdorf preferred. The bad guys end up the heroes, and the world begins to spin the other way. Best of all, he was the one who got to spin it.
He dashed off an encrypted message to his mentor. He asked again for a meeting because his mentor was not on board with more violence. Uberdorf didn’t see the need for the secrecy between them any longer. It was getting in the way of what he wanted to do, and time was a big factor. The Harbinger had gone national, and he was preparing to follow. He had sites picked out all the way to the Mississippi. His broadcast was being syndicated. He was on the verge of superstardom.
All of which made him feel he had earned a meeting with SME where they could get their priorities straight. Besides, he was curious about someone powerful enough to pull the strings of both government and media. There was a lot Uberdorf could learn from such a person. There were things he would need to know, especially when somewhere down the road the opportunity arose to replace his mentor.
He turned his attention to a newsletter prototype he wanted to start issuing weekly. The Voice of the Harbinger—he still wasn’t solid on the name—contained accolades about his broadcasts and prints of his best sermons. It had pictures of the Servants at work and puff pieces about individual monks, particularly the good-looking ones. It was not quite what he had in mind after he read it. It looked all right in print, but it was wanting something to capture the short attention span of internet viewers. He marked up the copy with changes and sent it back to the writers for rework. Everybody should be working harder, he thought.
“My dearest friends, this religion isn’t going to establish itself!”
*
It was Lucy’s mother who contacted Artemis eight days later. Artemis had suffered the first three days the most knowing Lucy was agonizing over a Harbinger countdown she knew was unnecessary. When the third day had passed and Angie still lived, Artemis had imagined the relief Lucy felt and dared to hope she’d hear from her. She’d sent a text, but like all the earlier ones, her message had gone unacknowledged, and the long days of exile had continued.
Claire told her that Angie was being released from the hospital soon, and they were bringing her home. Angie had difficulty walking, and she spoke very little, but they were hopeful for a full recovery.
Artemis thanked her from her heart. “Please give Angie a hug from me,” she said, adding one more thing before Claire could end the call. “Tell Lucy I love her.”
There was a pause before Claire answered in a hushed voice, “Give her more time, Temmie. Lucy is focused on Angie right now. I’m sorry; I know this must be hard on you.”
“I miss her,” Artemis said, her voice filled with sadness.
“I know.”
The call ended without the words Artemis wanted to hear. A simple “she loves you too” would have given her hope and the strength to make it through the loneliness. She poured herself a glass of wine and retreated to her window seat.
She made a rueful smile. Here I am again with mother’s comforter, staring out of the window just as I was when Lucy first walked into my life.
She paged through one of the magazines she had taken from the plane on their way back from Italy. An article about a scientist named Wolfgang Strang caught her attention. The article was more an ad for flights to Hawaii than an in-depth look at Strang. But something about the man with his playful eyes in an otherwise serious face piqued her interest. She recognized a familiar look in those handsome brown eyes. He was searching for something, just like her. He looked as much philosophical as scientific. He was an astrophysicist with a unique view of something called the Great Rift and a heretical view of dark matter. Artemis knew he was much, much more.
Philosophers tell us to look inward for answers when we have questions. Looking within herself, Artemis found only loneliness and pain. Perhaps looking outward would give her the diversion she needed. The Great Rift was as far outward as one could go. And she wondered as she examined Strang’s photo what answers he was searching for.
She looked out of the window at the quiet street beyond her hermitage. Whatever was happening had a logical explanation. The Harbinger had focused the world on death. Maybe that was the point. Death. Perhaps death was the only answer to the mystery of life. It ended. Before hers ended, Artemis decided to visit a favorite spot once again. Maui was her sacred place. Maybe she’d even look up Dr. Wolfgang Strang, she mused.
*
The article had taken a long time for Lucy to get back to. She preferred to be with Angie every minute even while she slept. But her editor was getting insistent, and she had to provide something to merit continuing to work at home. Jake hadn’t liked the first draft about the encyclical and how the pope failed to reassure Catholics concerning the Harbinger. He wanted an article that promoted how normal life was in Rome compared to the rampant hysteria in America. It felt, at times, like he was blaming her for having started the whole thing with that initial human-interest article back in May. Jake’s relationship with her had been on a downward trajectory ever since.
Finding normal a concept with which she no longer identified, she decided on a different slant. She got a cup of coffee and fired up her laptop on the kitchen table.
She’d started creating the current draft of the article before leaving Rome. It provided an annotated summary of the encyclical from the point of view of a fallen-away Catholic. Reading it, Lucy had to agree with Jake. The article was too harsh, even sarcastic. It was not a message she wanted to send any longer.
Lucy had not been to Mass since high school, but the fear of losing Angie had awakened old teachings. She read the final paragraph and winced.
For two thousand years, the Catholic church has found change anathema to doctrine. The church has been an obstructer at worst and a slow adopter at best. With regard to the Harbinger, the church is continuing that dismal record.
Lucy deleted the paragraph and reworked the rest of the article. She emphasized how people in Rome were content with the pope’s proclamation. She used the word normal to describe their daily life. Jake will like it, she thought, as she pressed send. Being an honest journalist no longer seemed a mission worth pursuing. She could be a hack if that’s what it took. She put away the laptop and went to see if Angie had awakened from her nap. Finding her sleeping peacefully, Lucy stepped into the bathroom and peered at the bedraggled face in the mirror.
Her eyes seemed like dull rocks embedded in dark circles. Her skin was sallow, and her frown portrayed both anger and guilt. It had been only weeks since Angie had gotten sick, and Lucy looked years older.
“That’s what happens when you deny your feelings,” Claire said from the doorway. “They reveal themselves in your face.”
Lucy spun about. “I am not denying my feelings. I can’t escape my feelings. I am scared and angry all the time. My heart breaks for my little girl. And I will never forgive myself for having left her.”
“And Temmie? Will you ever forgive Temmie for having made you happy?” Claire stepped forward. “
That’s all she did, you know. She didn’t bring the Harbinger, Lucy. I was wrong about that. And neither of you deserve to be punished. That’s all crap, and you know it. You’re just afraid of being hurt.”
Claire waited for a reply, but Lucy merely dropped her head and didn’t answer. “I have wanted happiness for you ever since Angie was born and you rejected the father. I want you to have a life beyond being a mother. And I believed you finally found someone wonderful to share your life with. Now you are throwing joy away with both hands.” Claire pursed her lips. “It is so very hard to watch.”
Lucy gave her a defiant look. “Why did you raise me a Catholic if you don’t believe the church’s teachings?”
“Oh, bother, Lucy.” Claire shook her head. “I didn’t. Church was your father’s idea, not mine. And you aren’t religious, at least you never were.” She placed her hand on Lucy’s shoulder. “Listen to your heart, Lucy. Call Temmie.”
Chapter Thirteen
Two weeks before the election, Governor Hemsley was exasperated that the demonstrations were continuing. They popped up like mushrooms in different cities across the state. And like mushrooms they sprung out of bullshit and were threatening to poison the voters.
“What the hell do the people want?” Hemsley muttered.
The whole country was awash with rumors and fake news that kept the public agitated. And it had all started in California. He didn’t know how to calculate the ramifications for his reelection. There had never been a time like this. It felt as if the Harbinger was his opponent rather than the charismatic candidate the Republicans had selected.
Hemsley picked up a piece of toast from the room service tray and then tossed it back and dusted his hands. He wasn’t hungry; he was itchy with indecision. The polls were all over the map. And then there was that mercenary, Uberdorf, who was using the Harbinger to get rich. He banged his fist on the room service tray with such force it knocked off the coffee pot.
“What the fuck am I supposed to do?” he raged, kicking the pot across the room.