by Mary Eicher
Claire came in to convince Lucy to go to bed. “I’ll stay with her, if you like, but you need to rest.”
“I’m fine, Mom.”
“You’re not. You’re exhausted physically and mentally. You need to rest.”
Lucy’s cell murmured. She glanced at the message and turned it off.
“Temmie?” her mother asked, knowing the answer.
“It doesn’t matter,” Lucy said grim-faced.
Claire put her hand on Lucy’s shoulder. “What you’re doing is wrong, Lucy. Temmie didn’t cause this to happen to Angie. She has nothing but love for both of you. Be angry at God if you must blame someone. Temmie needs you.”
“I’m all out of help for anyone but Angie.”
“And you need her. So does Angie. She asked about Temmie again today, you know.” She knelt beside Lucy’s chair. “Please, Lucy, call her, talk to her. Let her see Angie anyway. Please.”
Lucy opened The Very Hungry Caterpillar book in her lap and didn’t respond other than to indicate the conversation was over. When she finally went to bed, Lucy dreamed of Temmie and the last night in Rome. In the dream she was happy as they loved and laughed and held each other. Then she saw herself rise in the bed and drive a knife through Temmie’s heart. Lucy awoke in a sweat, gasping, and afraid, whispering, “Temmie.” She felt a presence in the room that peered at her from the shadows and then was gone.
*
By special arrangement, Sarah Hemsley’s funeral was held in the Cathedral across from the park where she and scores of others had died. It was attended by the wealthy and powerful from all regions of the state. Her body would be laid to rest in her family’s crypt in San Francisco. But the funeral was in LA to reinforce the magnitude of the crime.
Governor Hemsley was stoic in his grief, keeping one eye on his wife’s coffin and another on the poll numbers which had shot up nearly twenty points. He told no one of his wife’s headaches in the days before her death. He convinced himself they were, as she had told him, merely migraines. But he considered the existence of a Harbinger a possibility; something he had never been inclined to do before.
Reverend Uberdorf was invited to attend the funeral due in no small part to the death of the bishop who’d been his most ardent detractor. The funeral was a show of unity between the Catholic church, the upstart cult that had helped after the explosions, and the Protestant religion to which Sarah Hemsley had belonged. The media ate it up, broadcasting every minute of the funeral and interviewing members of all the different sects. A demonstration planned for an area near the cathedral was moved to the south side of the city where attendance was sparse.
Arrayed in his monkish trappings, Uberdorf stopped for an interview as he left the church.
“See, my dearest friends,” he said, moving his arm from side to side in front of him. “The Harbinger brings peace. Just days ago, this was a scene of horrific violence, but now there is an outpouring of love.”
The interviewer let him prattle on a bit before spotting the next celebrity cleric. Uberdorf sauntered to a waiting car where he checked his phone. His mentor had never replied to his message. That was highly unusual, he thought. But he was not particularly disturbed. There had been a flood of donations and recruits immediately following the bombing. His Servants had been seen as helpers at the gruesome scene. If the elusive mentor was annoyed, so be it.
Governor Hemsley walked behind his wife’s coffin as it was carried to the hearse. He got into the back of the lead car and rode to the airport. He declined to speak to reporters at either end of the trip. He was leaving the messaging to his staff. His job was to look heartbroken yet strong throughout the ordeal. He found the assignment easy enough. He’d loved Sarah almost as much as he loved politics. He’d lost one, but his future in the other was assured.
Arrangements for the bishop’s funeral were far more modest. To avoid an embarrassing comparison with that of Sarah Hemsley, the private funeral included only a few clergy and invited members of the diocese. The bishop’s passing would have proved more noteworthy in a non-election year. And the bishop’s public denunciation of the Harbinger didn’t help either. Despite the temporary truce, the religious sects were not done with their war. Even while the bishop’s funeral was underway, Uberdorf’s Servants were attacking another rural church.
*
Artemis marveled at the scale of the gigantic observatory. Strang gave her a personal tour, expounding while he did on the many discoveries that had been made at the Keck. Without the glare of city lights, the Keck afforded a singularly unobstructed view of the universe.
“It makes one feel insignificant,” Artemis offered when the tour was completed, and they found a spot to sit and talk.
Strang shoved his hands into his pockets. “Observing our place in the grandeur of the universe expands one’s mind. It permits us to transcend our sorrows.” He saw the sadness still evident on Artemis’s face and sighed. “Perhaps not all our sorrows. We may be made of stardust, but do not always twinkle and shine. Hum?”
Artemis shook her head. “No, not always.”
Strang’s attention turned to a tour group making its way about the observatory. He was amused at the effect his beautiful companion had on several of the young men. They gravitated to her like planets caught in the irresistible gravity of a star. Artemis had such magnetism and yet seemed completely unaware of it. Strang raised an arm and shooed the admirers away.
He took out a file and showed her the latest images gathered from the heavens. He explained how the telescopes were used in an overlapping manner to observe specific segments of the sky. He pointed out images of comets and galaxies billions of light years away.
She listened politely but did not engage. She had thought about their previous discussion, and while finding Strang’s theory and the man himself utterly beguiling, her basic questions about the Harbinger had not been answered. This visit likewise seemed to her merely a pleasant distraction.
“I see I am losing the attention a lovely young woman. How boorish of me!” he chided himself. “It would be better if you told me what of all this might be of interest to you.”
Artemis ran the tip of her tongue along her lip. “When my brother died after experiencing the Harbinger, I wanted to know why. Why did it happen to Cab? Why does it happen at all?” She looked vulnerable as she spoke, her bright-blue eyes darkened and impossibly sad. “Your theory that there is a change in the universe and, as a consequence, in us doesn’t provide the answer I need. Even if it is true, your theory addresses ‘what’ not ‘why.’”
Strang nodded. “Did you know that the atoms in your body are older than the Earth? Older than everything you know. The atoms all around us have existed from the beginning of the universe, from the first second of the first moment of that legendary Big Bang. Those atoms have been part of stars and planets and comets throughout time, constantly moving, constantly changing, eternally striving toward some goal.”
She stared intently at him, taking in every word not as one being polite but as one who truly listens. It was perhaps the quality he appreciated the most about her. He traced her form with his hands close but never touching her.
“Now these atoms compose the mortal form of the extraordinary Artemis Andronikos. The consciousness that has brought these humble atoms together has a purpose. Discover the purpose and you will know the answer to why.”
Artemis stared at his face as if his earnestness could help her truly understand. “Why would a change in the Great Rift have any effect on us?”
“Because it is us!” he said emphatically. “We are tiny cells in a vast physical reality we call the universe. We are a part of the universe. We have form and consciousness. We have dark matter connecting everything. How could it not affect us?”
“That sounds more like astrology than astronomy, Wolf.”
He smiled, relishing her directness. “It’s truth, my darling girl. Philosophy, astronomy, astrology, psychology…name any field of inquiry yo
u can think of. These are the ramblings of blind men in a dark room. Each man with his own language describes reality as he perceives it. None of them grasp the whole.”
He stood and paced as he spoke, his arms flailing in dramatic emphasis.
“Temmie. The universe is one.” He stopped and raised a single finger. “It is that which exists. Like the burning bush said to the Hebrew Moses: ‘I am what is.’ We are not separate from the universe. We are part of it. And a change anywhere even in the farthest reaches of the cosmos must therefore change us.” He settled into his chair and combed back his errant hair. “My search is not unlike yours, Temmie. I seek meaning in the mechanisms of the cosmos. You seek the meaning of an event that has brought you great pain. Can you not see that our search is the same? Perhaps together we shall find our answers.”
*
The Strangs treated Artemis to a dinner that rivaled the first. They ate on the lanai and enjoyed a beautiful island sunset without another word about dark matter. Wolf entertained them with stories told with his ebullient flourish. Willa chuckled at her husband’s unusual cheerfulness and treated Artemis as a member of the family. She brought out a package and handed it to Artemis. It contained a T-shirt with a unalome design on the front.
“Thank you,” Artemis said as she opened the package and traced the beautiful but strange design. She cocked her head to one side and looked to Wolf.
“Oh, don’t ask him, Temmie,” Willa implored her. “He’ll give you some theory about consciousness and dark matter.” She smiled. “The unalome is the path to enlightenment. The twists and turns represent the trials in one’s life. The line represents peace and harmony. And the dot represents death when one returns to the universal consciousness.”
Wolf smiled. “In other words, it is a flow chart for dark matter.”
The two women broke into simultaneous laughter. Wolf’s eyes twinkled in amusement. Artemis followed Willa to the kitchen to say goodbye.
“I may not see you again, Temmie,” Willa said when they were alone. “Thank you for making Wolf so happy. His heart hurts as much as yours although you both think you are concealing the pain. Could you find room in your life to stay in touch with him? He is going to be so alone in his vast dark universe.”
Artemis hugged her gently. “I will.”
Willa reached up and brushed Temmie’s bangs to one side. “Wolf believes the universe sent you to us, Temmie. I think it must have, and I am very grateful it did.”
Strang opened the door to the kitchen and leaned in. “What goes on in here? The weather is closing in, Temmie. You should not be on the mountain in the fog.”
She kissed Willa on the cheek and hugged Strang at the front door. “Goodbye. Thank you, Wolf. Thank you for everything.”
He took her hand as he walked her to the car. “My parting wish is that you will find your answers, my darling girl. Embrace your gifts and be the goddess that you are.”
*
The Right Reverend Uberdorf liked his new crib. The house was roomy and elegant in a gaudy sort of way. There were statues in the garden and a view of the San Fernando Valley that made him feel he’d finally escaped the squalor of his youth. His broadcast was syndicated on fifteen stations, and he was positive the number would continue to grow. The Harbinger was global, and Uberdorf believed it would take him global as well. He was a rich man well on his way to becoming a wealthy one.
He dipped his hand in the swimming pool and thought it a bit cold to take a dip. He’d have to get drunk before he’d dive into it. And getting really, really drunk was the plan. His guests had already begun to arrive. Several men were strolling through the immense backyard and sampling the food as quickly as the caterers could put plates on the tables. There would be nearly a hundred Servants attending the festivities, and he had room for many more. But he had picked the men who served him best, proving they were loyal and capable of literally any challenge. These were the men who would build his empire.
This was not a party for his more pious followers. Tonight was a celebration of their methods, and the success those methods had brought them. He saw the women begin to filter in just as he had planned. The best call girls in LA all spruced up and eager to provide services to the Servants. He took a drink from a fresh glass of whiskey and watched his guests begin to mingle.
Uberdorf felt feathery fingers rub the bald spot on the top of his head. It was Fiona, he knew. She was obsessed with his tonsure. He reached up and removed her hand.
“You need a shave, Jamil,” she said. “Don’t you want to look your best for our guests?”
“That would be my guest, Fi!” he said, squeezing her hand a bit too tightly as he removed it. “And I am not the mighty monk tonight. Tonight, I’m the man.”
She frowned and sauntered off. He watched her ass as she walked. He was tired of her, he realized when the view of her bouncing ass failed to impress him. Fiona was last month’s indulgence. He was moving up, and he wanted a fresh bit of meat. And there was no shortage of potential merchandise. Women had discovered him—or at least his money. He would select a new dick holster tonight. He wanted someone to keep him calm while he planned the next escalation. He was thinking maybe a bigger venue than a church. But it had to be connected with religion since that was the point. The Harbinger was attacking those medieval artifacts that kept people on their knees. His church, his God was the new path to redemption. He’d made that abundantly clear.
*
Artemis checked her phone for messages and once again found none. It was her last night in Maui, a beautiful night with a crescent moon shimmering in Strang’s mysterious dark matter bedazzled with stars. But Artemis saw only a dark void. Lucy was gone. She had to accept that fact just as she had come to accept the loss of her brother. There was an emptiness in her heart she believed would never be filled. No diversion could keep her from feeling the pain. Coming to Maui had failed to bring her peace. It was time to accept the reality of being alone. She slipped a Hawaiian wrap over her swimsuit, palmed the room key, and left everything else behind.
The night air was warm and fragrant. A light breeze played with her hair as she strolled along the beach. She thought of Lucy and folded empty arms against her chest. Lucy was the one. She had been so sure of that. Lucy was her soulmate, her lover, her reason—or with a nod to the kindly Dr. Strang, Lucy was the purpose of her life. Losing Cab, having him taken from her, had left Artemis shaken and looking through her pain for answers.
But losing Lucy was different. Lucy had left in anger and taken any hope of happiness with her. Lucy had rejected the love they shared, turned it into an evil thing. Lucy had not merely rejected Artemis; in the end, she had hated her. It was a pain beyond bearing.
Artemis counted the steps between the torches lining the beach and listened to the music from the resort and the cheery chatter of the guests. They were the sounds of a world she could not will herself to experience.
She came to the end of the resort’s manicured shorefront and stopped. Beyond the torches, the isolated beach was black and foreboding. She could hear the waves pounding against the shore, but she could barely see them in the scant moonlight. She turned and looked back at the lights of the resorts. Discovering no reason to return, she stepped into the darkness.
The sadness was so deep within her that she couldn’t remember the time before Cab had died and the world had been adequate. Now the world itself was encased in darkness, consumed with the industry of death. She realized as she walked that darkness was the one constant in her life. It connected her to everything. It was the darkness Wolfgang Strang called dark matter.
She came to a small cove sheltered by tall lava cliffs with waves gently lapping a crescent beach. Artemis shed her wrap, waded into the surf, and began to swim.
The water was cool and smooth as it caressed her. She swam out toward the breakwater, venturing ever closer toward the wild water beyond the jagged rocks. She listened to the waves crashing against the breakwater. They seemed
to beckon, and she was tempted. It would be so easy to end the pain, easier than to bear it any longer. All she had to do was swim out past the breakwater to whatever lay beyond. She hesitated and let herself float, her face turned up toward the crescent moon.
Hearing a voice calling from the shore, she turned and swam toward the sound.
“You alive?” asked a young native girl sitting on a bluff behind the beach. “You not move. I think maybe you want drown.”
“I’m fine.” Artemis walked out of the surf and began to wring water from her hair.
The stranger rose to her feet. She was not a girl at all, Artemis discovered, but a woman with an abundance of wavy black tresses that fell freely to her waist. She had penetrating brown eyes and tanned skin that glowed almost golden in the moonlight.
“But you lost, ’o wau paha. No thought of one who looks for you.”
“Why were you looking for me?” Artemis asked, bending to retrieve her wrap.
“I think you are in need of me,” the woman said. She was clad in a single piece of blue cloth tied at one shoulder. She untied the knot and let the cloth slide to the sand. She was tall and voluptuous, and her hips swayed gracefully as she approached.
Artemis stood motionless as the woman walked around her, slowly running a finger lightly along her collarbone and then along her shoulders and back. Artemis dropped her wrap. All her loneliness rose to the surface, drawn by the touch.
“Kaikua’ana?” the woman asked in a soft, sensuous voice. “Or maybe you say Tita? Sister, yes?”
Artemis nodded. Yes, she was a sister. The woman put her hand beneath Artemis’s chin.