Angel Fall (25 page)

Alex began to sob, sobs so deep it felt as though they would crush him, but he was already crushed, and he had done it with his own hands as he had smashed his mother and all the people who had ever loved him. Smash and run. Smash and run. Smash with hate and vicious words, then run from the guilt when he saw them suffer. Run from their anger. Run from their pain. Run from every whisper that told him he was wrong. Because he
couldn’t be
wrong. Not ever.

If he were wrong just once, he might be wrong about
everything
.

So when guilt whispered, smash it and run. If someone said you hurt them, hurt them more and blame them for it. Smash and run. Better that others should be broken and not you. Always, always, smash and run.

But as Alex stared into the darkness at the glistening fragments of his mother’s life, he couldn’t smash and he couldn’t run. The shame and guilt overwhelmed him. What would happen when you couldn’t? All that was left was to cry. But as he wept, a soft, cold voice began whispering that there was something else he could do, something that would take away the pain forever.

Clench his mind.

Twist it into hardness.

Freeze the sorrow.

Strangle the shame.

Swallow it whole.

Turn his soul into a glacier of solid ice.

The voice whispered that if he did it long enough and hard enough, the guilt would go away and never return. Nothing could ever hurt him again.

And Alex obeyed.

Closing his eyes, he clenched his teeth until it felt like his jaw would snap. Then he twisted, froze, strangled, and swallowed. When he opened his eyes, the vision of his mother had disappeared. He was back in the darkness of the cave, staring at the glowing ooze. And he felt much better. Sorrow? Gone. Shame and guilt? Gone along with it.

He took a deep breath. What had made him see such awful things and feel so bad? Clearly it was illness, fever, delusions. But he wasn’t shivering anymore. He was still sick; yes, still very sick. The fever would come again, he knew it. And the hallucinations would get worse, so he had to prepare for them. He would be brave, and being brave meant telling himself the truth while his mind still worked. And what was the truth? The visions were all lies. He was not a bad person! Oh, maybe he had done a few unkind things, but he had never intended to hurt anyone. Especially not his mother. Even though she had hurt him terribly. Was he so much worse than anyone else? Of course not! So why was he stuck in this hideous place? He knew a lot of really horrible people, and none of them were sick and rotting in a filthy cave. No matter what he had done, he didn’t deserve this.

It wasn’t fair.

But nothing had ever been fair in his life. Nobody had ever really cared about him. Not a single person. He hadn’t hurt people; they had hurt him. Over and over he had tried to make them understand how really hurt he was. That’s why he had done things—he was just trying to make them see. But they didn’t want to see because all they cared about was themselves. Well, he didn’t care about any of them either. And his mother? What was the truth about her? She had been glad to get rid of him so she could live her life in peace. That’s why she had sent him to England.

More truth?

In spite of all the cruel people in his life, he had always done the best he could. Always! And he had tried so hard to please everybody. He had given so much and what had he gotten in return? Rejection! And now sickness and pain and death. Well, he hated them all, every last one of them, all the people in the broken glass. And he would hate them forever. But there was one creature that he hated beyond all others:

That dog!

And all he had done was try to save a girl from a terrifying monster, risked his life to help someone. And for that the dog had torn him to pieces, ripped his flesh, filled him with this disease. How he despised it, how he wished he could kill it all over again, throw it into the chasm, see it
smash
and
crash
against the rocks, shredding into bloody chunks of meat.

Alex continued to weep, cursing everything and everyone he knew. As he cursed, he began to hear something—soft at first, far away, but coming closer. He listened. It was
singing
. A soft sweet voice singing. A girl’s voice. Lovely, so lovely, but filled with
sorrow
. Alex strained to hear. Where was it coming from? And the words, he couldn’t quite make them out, but they were familiar. Where had he heard them? And then out of the darkness came…

With that, the most awful vision of all appeared; it was as though the dungeon vanished and he was standing in the moonlight looking up into a delicate tapestry woven of mist, sprinkled with stars. Up, up it went into a crimson glow, and with the singing voice he heard ten thousand notes filled with wistful sadness.

Then she came, down the endless strands, the most beautiful creature that Alex had ever seen. A spider? It wasn’t a spider. Her crystal body was only a shadow, a shell that held the loveliness of her soul. Walking toward him, with her fingers sweeping over the strands, was a girl, her beauty softer than the mist around her, and as Alex looked into her eyes, he felt the greatest love he had ever known. She came toward him, playing the instrument of her own creation, her wonderful eyes entering his soul. In one moment she understood his sorrows, saw every dark thing that he had ever done, and still she loved him.

And he loved her too with a passion that made him want to cry out, to fall at her feet, to be her slave, to swear his love forever. But then he saw a hand lift a torch and cast it into the Mist of Eternity.

And the hand belonged to him.

He screamed, but it was too late. The mist caught fire. The strands of the great harp broke and the loveliness turned to horror. As her creation burned, the girl began to burn with it. Her agony was unspeakable. But not once did she cry out. Her eyes just kept looking at him with unbearable love. Then, at the last moment, her face turned upward and she whispered…

Then the last of the strands gave way. For a moment the lovely face hung over a chasm. And with a sigh she was gone. Screaming, Alex wanted to leap after her.

Instantly he was back in the darkness overcome with the terrible thing he had seen. In that vision all of the lies crumbled around him. The lie of his comic-book dreams. The lie of the girl with the long black hair. The lie of the Cathedral. The lie that he was a hero.

The truth?

His whole life was filled with murders. Not the murder of bodies, the murder of hearts and souls. And before every murder he had been warned. His conscience had warned him. But he had murdered it too. Finally it had led to this. The murder of the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. And the dog had tried to stop him. The dog who had been his friend, who had saved him in the dead city, who had shown him where to get food, who had tried to lead him down a different path away from the nightmare on the mountain. And he had destroyed it like all the others.

Into his heart came the pieces, the shards, the splinters of every selfish choice that he had ever made, every choice to hate and rage and hurt another person, every choice to care only about himself, to smash and run, to hide in a world of twisted heroes, of murderous images smeared on the walls of his soul. All the lies, all the smashing and running, had prepared him to believe the greatest lie of all, the lie that would destroy him forever, the lie that he was his own god. The dog had been his last hope, had brought the last warning. Not with a whisper, but a roar.

Lost!

Lost!

And no one to blame but himself. Alex sobbed, but this time it was from a truly broken heart. And through his tears he whispered, “Oh, God, help me.”

Silence.

Deathly silence.

The silence of eternity.

Then out of the silence came a voice. And when Alex Lancaster heard it, he froze.

Softly it said, “Alex, Alex, Son, you’ve got to stop doing this. You’re driving yourself crazy.” It was the voice of his father.

T
ori awakened.

Not that she wanted to. Her dreams had been soft. Something about kittens. But there was a wonderful smell in the air, a smell that reminded her of home. She stretched and yawned. And then her eyes popped open.

Chicken strips!

It was the smell of hot, fresh chicken strips!

To her amazement, someone was sitting on the end of her bed, and he was holding a plate full of them—and steaming French fries too. It was an old man in a robe with a craggy, wrinkly face, and he was smiling at her.

“Good day, granddaughter. Might I inquire about the state of your appetite? Could it be ready for a bit of a nibble?” His eyes were twinkling.

Tori stared. Something was
very
familiar about him. She had seen him someplace, and not very long ago. Then she remembered and pulled up a pillow to hide behind. “I know you.”

“Do you, indeed?”

“You’re the one who was on the boat…in that box.”

“What an intelligent and observant girl. You are quite correct. The last time you saw me I was well crated and professionally shipped, if you will.”

“You were dead.”

“Strictly speaking I still am. Or I should say my body is.”

“That means you’re a ghost!”

“Well, let’s consider this carefully. Do ghosts normally deliver huge platters of fowl, thickly encrusted and carefully shaped into unrecognizable portions that people of your world find ravishingly delectable?”

“What?”

“Do ghosts deliver chicken strips? That was a rhetorical question, and the obvious answer is that, indeed, they do not. Do you have any idea what a ‘ghost’ even looks like?”

“Sure. They’re kind of foggy and you can see through them.”

“An apt description. They are the essence of fog. In fact, I have known one or two who were in such a state of fog that they couldn’t pull themselves together enough to look like anything more than a layer of pestilential gas. Pitiful creatures. Hmmm, I don’t think I feel like one of those. But you decide. Here, touch my hand.” He extended it toward her. Slowly Tori reached with one finger and gave his skin a quick poke.

“Well, you don’t feel foggy.”

“What a relief.” His eyes twinkled even more.

She dropped the pillow down an inch. “But you could still be a ghost.”

The old man laughed. “Well, whether I am one or not, the only thing that matters are these heavily encrusted clumps of fowl. Now, to me they look rather like the squeezings from a mineshaft rolled in river sand. However, it is my understanding that you fancy them to the exclusion of all other foods.” Lifting the plate, he examined them closely. “I would suggest, granddaughter, that haste is required in consuming them. I imagine that they are less than flavorful cold.”

“Why do you keep calling me granddaughter? You’re not my grandpa.”

“Not your most recent one, that’s for certain. But I am your grandfather with about forty-two ‘greats’ in front of it.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Not important, but you’d best get started ingesting these before it becomes impossible to pass them over your tongue.” He held out the plate. She took it.

“I don’t suppose you have honey-mustard.”

Without batting an eye he pulled out several tiny plastic tubs.

Tori took them. “Thank you.” Opening one, she stuck a strip into it. A single taste and she groaned with pleasure. “
I love chicken strips
. They’re so much better than rat food.”

“I shall inform the chef, but I shall not tell the rats.”

She continued stuffing her mouth. Then she picked up a fry. Instantly the old man produced a red plastic bottle. “It is my understanding that next you will require a squirt of liquefied vegetable matter.”

“It’s called ketchup. Yes, thank you.” Taking it, she squeezed a big dollop onto the plate and swooshed the fry through it. Then she tucked it into her already overcrowded mouth. “You didn’t happen to bring a Coke.”

“Ah, I knew there was something missing: dirt-colored water. We’ll have to go to the kitchen for that. Come along.” Rising, he headed toward the door. But Tori stayed where she was. He turned and looked back. “Well?”

“I don’t want to go out there.”

“Why not?”

“Way too many bugs.”

“There are no bugs in the kitchen.”

“There are a billion right out that door. I saw them when I came in.”

“If you want a drink, I’m afraid we have no choice. I’ll be waiting outside.” With a smile, he opened the door and left the room. Tori stared after him. She was very thirsty. But thirsty enough to face 448 hexatrillion insects? Finally she crawled out of bed, and cracking the door open an inch, she peeked out. What she saw was so startling, that she pulled it open all the way.

On the other side of the door was an outside world, and in the silver moonlight stood a big tree with a swing. The old man was swinging on it, pumping higher and higher, with his robe flapping around his bony knees. Laughing joyfully, he called, “Did you ever wonder whether you could swing so high you’d go all the way around in a circle?”

Tori almost started crying. It was her backyard on Earth. There was her house just the way she remembered it. Slowly she walked out into the grass. It was covered with dew.

“This is my backyard. My home, where I grew up.”

Smiling, he dragged his feet and came to a stop. “I imagine that you’ve spent a lot of time on this swing.”

She stared at him. “This is a dream, isn’t it? I’m not really home at all.”

“My child, you are wise for one so young. Let’s call it half a dream. You really are home, but only for a visit.”

Wistfully she looked around. “I’ve missed it so much. Will I ever come back to stay?”

“That is a question I cannot answer. The path of your life is not visible to me.”

“Is my mom inside?”

“She is.”

“There aren’t any lights on.”

“It’s the middle of the night. Let’s go see her, and on the way we’ll get some of that special dirt water that you love so much.” Taking her hand, he led her to the back door. Quietly they made their way into the laundry room and then the kitchen. Tori went to the refrigerator and pulled out a can of Coke. Popping it open, she took a long drink, then looked around. “It isn’t the same in here. Something’s wrong.” A kind of shadowy haze hung over everything. “What’s that in the air?”

“It’s sorrow.”

“What do you mean?”

“When there is great sorrow the world around it begins crying. Most of the time the mist of tears can’t be seen. But you’re walking in the twilight realm, and here it’s visible. Come, let’s find your mother.”

As they went through the dining room into the hall, the haze grew thicker. Finally they came to a bedroom door. As he opened it, the old man whispered, “We must speak quietly or we will enter her dreams.”

Tori peeked in. Misty softness hung everywhere, but over the bed it was so heavy that she could barely see through. Walking over, she looked down. A figure was lying under a blanket. A dim shaft of moonlight struck a sleeping face. It was her mother and there were tears on her cheeks.

“She’s crying in her sleep. Why is she doing that?”

“Her dreams are of you and your brother and sister. She knows of the plane crash and thinks that you have died.”

Tori looked up at him. “Did we die?”

“No. But that is hidden from her. The future she cannot see and the present she cannot bear. So it is in the past that she lives where memories break her heart. Would you like to see what she is seeing?”

“Yes.”

Instantly the room was filled with flickering images of Alex, Amanda, and Tori. In all of them their mother was reaching out, trying to touch them, to take them in her arms, but they were never quite close enough. Then came echoes of pain. Every angry, hurtful word that she had ever spoken filled the room. And tears ran down her cheeks.

“Her mind wanders endlessly through all the things that she has done and said to each of you. She longs to go back and be the mother that you needed, but you have vanished from her life.”

Tears filled Tori’s eyes. “She’s a good mom. She loved us and took care of us. I don’t want her to be sad. Can I wake her up?”

“No, but there is something that you can do.”

“What?”

“Whisper into her dreams. Tell her you love her.”

“Will she really hear me?”

“Her heart will hear.”

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Tori bent down and whispered, “Mommy, don’t be sad. I love you so much. You were so good to us. You took care of us every day. You made me a birthday cake with yellow flowers.”

The sorrow in her mother’s face seemed to deepen and more tears came. And then suddenly Tori could see inside her. Beneath the face of her mother was another face, the face of a little girl. She and Tori looked so much alike that they could be sisters. And the little girl was crying.

“Is that my mother the way she really is?”

“Is and was. She has been crying for a very long time.”

“Why?”

“Long ago things happened that broke her heart. Broken hearts can get angry and they are easily frightened.”

“What happened to her?”

“Her father left and never came back.”

“She told us he died when she was little.”

“In a way, he did. But leaving and never coming back is worse than dying. It tears a ragged hole in a child’s heart. In your mother that hole remains. When she was little she tried to fill it with dolls.”

“So that’s why she loved them. When our daddy left the hole must have gotten bigger.”

“Much bigger, for she saw her own pain echoing in your eyes and blamed herself.”

“But it wasn’t her fault.”

“The little girl inside can’t understand that. She blamed herself back then too.”

“I want to kiss her. Couldn’t I do it? Wouldn’t she feel it?”

“It will be like the kiss of a butterfly.”

“I want to do it anyway.” Tori bent down and kissed the tears. Then she ran her fingers through her mother’s hair. The lines of sorrow softened. “I want to give her something to make her feel happy again.”

“What would you like to give?”

“This.” Reaching up, she removed her necklace. The light within it shone like a tiny star. “When I was so scared it made me feel happy again.”

“Granddaughter, that was given to protect you.”

“Could it protect her instead?”

There was a moment of silence. When Tori looked up, the old man’s eyes were filled with tears. “It will be a thousand times stronger, because it comes with your love, and it is all that you have to give.”

Carefully she laid the necklace into her mother’s open hand. “It’ll be here when she wakes up, won’t it? It won’t be just a dream.”

“It will be real. And she will wear it always.”

“Will she know it’s from me?”

“Her heart will know. Now it’s time to say farewell. We must return.”

Gently Tori kissed her mother and whispered, “I love you. Don’t be sad.” Once more she ran her fingers through her hair. Then she rose and the old man led her toward the door—but just before they reached it, he stopped and they looked back. The light from the necklace was glowing in her mother’s hand, and the mist of sorrow was gone. Looking at Tori, he smiled and said, “Though you have given away the pearl that casts out terror, its strength will be with you always. Now go, and never, ever be afraid again.” With that, he opened the door and ushered her through. Instantly her mind was lost in the soft darkness of sleep.