Hurt: A Novel (Solitary Tales Series) (32 page)

112. Come Alive

One more time.

I click on the track again and listen to it for the fourth time.

Each time I feel the rage burning inside of me.

I’m listening to my iPod while lying in bed, and I have a vague memory of listening to this Foo Fighters song while exploring in the woods. Back when I was naive. Back when I didn’t worry about things like what I did or didn’t believe in. Back when I walked without scars and without baggage.

But now it’s all different.

Now I feel the soft fur of Midnight next to me, a sweet reminder of a girl long gone.

This song says everything I feel right now.

I want to believe in it, but I’m not sure.

I really want to believe, Lord, but I’m not sure.

Did You really die, and did You really rise?

That sweet little story is as precious as this dog, but is it really true? It sounds nice and heroic and utterly unbelievable, but I want to believe it’s true. I do, but I have doubts because I’m here in this rotten and rotting world.

Come alive.

I want to see Your face.

Come alive.

I want to feel You here next to me.

Come alive.

I need You to be next to me.

I don’t know what to do and I feel alone and I have nothing and nobody to turn to and these prayers these prayers just keep going up like bubbles blown and popped for nothing.

Did You really save me on that train in Chicago? And if You did, then why and what for?

I want to see You.

I want to know You’re there.

I need to know that all of this is for a reason.

Please, God, tell me.

Show me.

I’m not an Abraham and I’m not a Moses and I’m not a David but I’m a somebody and I need You, God.

Please help me.

Please open my eyes.

I don’t want to keep doubting.

But I don’t know, because all I feel is utter and overwhelming anger.

Anger.

Anger at everything, including You.

113. Alone

Kelsey doesn’t return my voice mails or my texts, and I know I should have left her alone. Now I find myself waiting and wondering.

I have this odd déjà vu from right after Jocelyn died. Going through the motions in front of Mom. I don’t want to lie to her, but I can’t tell her the truth. I can’t say anything to anybody else. I wonder if they know about Brick and Newt and the note to Mr. Meiners.

Saturday hovers like a piñata above me. I want to strike it down and get rid of it, but I’m blindfolded and can’t do a thing. Blindfolded and muzzled.

I want to grieve over Uncle Robert’s death, but I’m too numb. Maybe all of this has been a lost cause. There’s no point in trying to fight. Right?

I curse at myself and say that I have to fight.

I have to fight for Kelsey. I have to fight for all of these people who have been infected with this sickness and darkness for so long. Some are already gone, but there are good people here. I know that.

Like Newt, who originally stuck his nose into things only to have his body become scarred for trying to be a hero.

Like the group that meets on Sundays at hidden locations, not to plan and scheme but to worship.

Like the families who are still trying to do what they should. Poe’s family. Kelsey’s family. Oli’s family.

Like people like Mounds and Iris and Harris.

There are still decent people around this place. Somehow, in some way, I have to not only fight for Kelsey and my family and myself, but I have to fight for these people.

Otherwise the evil will spread.

The darkness underneath the bridge will continue to feed into the night.

The monster in the tunnels below will continue to strike during the day.

The savages in robes will continue their strange and sick rituals.

The demons inside Staunch and Marsh and Kinner will continue to plague this town.

Do I believe in these demons? Yes. I don’t understand them, but I know they’re there. One or a dozen. I don’t know. But they’re there.

An imprisoned Saturday turns over to Sunday. I go to sleep and have nightmares, unspeakable ones where I find myself strangling my mother and then running away with blood on my hands. I can’t tell if this is a sign of things to come or just my messed-up imagination.

All I know is that Sunday comes, and I have one last day to do nothing.

Of course, I’ve never been able to listen to those telling me what to do.

And I’ve never been able to simply do nothing.

114. Promise (1)

You don’t need to sit in a pew to pray.

And you don’t need a preacher to show you how to worship.

You don’t need a designated time and specific songs and a request for cash to feel like you’re in a church.

You kneel on the edge of a mountaintop looking out at the rolling valley below. You can see the clear blue sky between the tops of the trees. You can hear the wildlife around here. You can feel the soft breath of air.

You feel right praying.

Asking God to help.

Asking for strength.

Asking for things you don’t even know you need.

Your heart feels like a heavy, rusted-out muffler that’s barely hanging on. Yet your eyes can see what’s around you. This beautiful place that God created. These hills and forests and animals.

God made all of this.

And even after it all went to hell, God never abandoned all of this. He made a promise. One to Noah after destroying the world and saving his family with a big boat. You know that the Bible is full of promises.

About never abandoning you as a father might. About never letting you down as a mother might. About never failing you as a friend might. About always loving you.

You look up in the sky and ask for help. For more help a little longer. So you can get through today and tomorrow and then leave.

You don’t need answers. You just want the hope that God promises.

It sounds easy, but the way you’re feeling, you know it’s not.

Maybe one day you’ll be like Iris. But today you’re just Chris. You have a long way to go. And you still don’t really know how to get there.

115. Promise (2)

Much later, after the sun sets and the night settles in, you find this in the stack of postcards from your dad. Even though he’s far away, these postcards make him seem like he’s just around the corner.

“For I know the plans I have for you,” says the Lord. “They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope.”

116. The Thinner the Air

Is it possible to have a dream without sleeping? To be lost in a nightmare without actually ever slipping into slumberland?

I’m not sure, but it seems I’ve stepped over into that other place, the place of visions and horror shows. It’s suddenly very, very cold. And pitch black. Not the darkness in my room, where I can still see my alarm clock glowing in the corner. No, I can’t see a thing.

But I can feel something. Something out there in the black. Something watching me.

The night is nearly over.

The voice, speaking as clearly as if she was right in front of me, belongs to Iris. I try to call out, but I can’t.

The day is almost here.

I start running toward the voice, but it sounds all around me. I see a spot of light that seems a million miles away, slowly but surely growing larger.

Do you fear the Lord?

Again I try to call out to her, but I can’t. The light in front of me is growing, and I keep heading for it.

Do you obey His words?

I nod and say yes, but I’m silent. Silent and running.

Let those who walk in the dark, who have no light, trust in the name of the Lord and rely on their God.

The light is growing so bright that it burns. Suddenly I have to stop because I can’t breathe. The air is getting thinner as if I’m somewhere high up on a mountain.

Let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds.

The light is suddenly slipping away, and I can’t breathe.

I try to scream out to Iris to help, regardless of where I am, in a dream or a vision or my imagination.

See to it that the light within you is not darkness.

117. New Surroundings

The gray cotton-ball-filled sky seems to get darker earlier than normal. I haven’t done anything today except worry and pray and try calling or texting Kelsey. By the time I get on my bike and slip the backpack over my shoulder, I pretty much realize what’s about to happen.

I’m either going to save the girl and be a hero or I’m going to die alongside her.

Riding down these narrow, winding roads, I’d love to say that I’m filled with peace. But I’m not. Maybe I’m doing something wrong with this faith and these prayers. I don’t know. I just know that I’m half adrenaline and another half petrified terror.

The first sign of anything—life, impending death, doom and gloom—is the figure I see at the place where the Heartland Trail used to end. By the time I get here, the sun behind the clouds is almost gone. Yet I can see there’s a man standing by the area in the woods that’s been cleared for the road.

He’s holding a torch.

Thankfully he’s not wearing a robe.

I slow down as I approach. I’m far enough away in case I need to bolt.

Then I see his face.

It’s Jared. Or the person who called himself Jared.

He doesn’t react to seeing me. Instead, he just motions for me to keep going.

Like he’s a guard on duty. Or a gatekeeper, only allowing certain people access.

I don’t say anything. I simply keep going.

It only takes a few minutes to reach the church. It looks just like I remember it from when I came here with Poe. Two stories, a combination of wood and stone, a steeple at its top.

But all the old run-down buildings are gone. The weeds and overgrowth are all gone too. The road I’m on connects with the road I remember seeing heading the opposite direction. It’s paved in both sections, with only the church connecting it. Dozens of small trees and bushes have been planted alongside the road. But there’s no reminder of the burnt-down town.

I see a few cars in the parking lot. I’m not exactly sure how any of this should go. Do I wear the creepy robe into the church? Should I be wearing it now?

This is all completely crazy.

I’d laugh like this was a
Saturday Night Live
skit except there’s nothing funny about it. Especially the part about being in the middle of nowhere and not knowing where Kelsey is.

When I get off my bike, I feel I’m being watched. Not like that’s anything new, but I feel it especially now in the muted light. There’s no welcoming light on the outside of the church. No lights on inside either.

Other than the three cars parked outside, there’s no sign that anybody is around.

I slowly walk to the front of the church and then try the door handle. It’s unlocked.

For a second I hesitate.

Then I push forward the door. The inside is pitch black. I have a flashlight in my backpack that I’ll need to get out in just a second if—

Something clamps onto my face.

A hand presses against my mouth and nose, and I suddenly know what’s happening by that familiar awful smell even as I try to scream and jerk them off me.

It’s no use.

I breathe in and cough and then—

118. Facing the Grave

Rumbling. Around me. Inside my head. Outside my head. Something like the bass at a concert, or no … an organ.

An organ is playing.

And drums.

Really?

Maybe not an organ, but it’s something that sounds like a bunch of chords playing. Not a song, but more like a droning.

Something nudges at my side, but I can’t stand up because something else is pressing against me. I’m either strapped in to something or weighed down.

“Stand.”

I feel pulled up at each side. I wobble, but I’m propped up by people holding me.

My eyes open, and the shaking light is distorted. Slivers. Streaks.

I’ve got a hood over me.

“Move.”

The voice is barely audible because of the organ or synth-gone-to-hell sound. But I take a step forward and almost fall. Then I’m held up again.

“Move.”

I look down and just see black. My robe has been put over me. I can feel my warm breath against the sheet covering my mouth. The eyeholes are round and clean, allowing me to see out.

Something shuffles to my side. I try to turn but can’t. I’m still wobbly.

“Put your hand on the shoulder of the person in front of you and walk slowly forward.”

There are lit candles circling me. Or I should say circling us. Because there’s another circle of dark-robed freaks, which I’m now a part of.

Superman can’t come out because they stuffed his face with Kryptonite.

I can barely stand, barely take in my surroundings.

Help me, God.

The wailing organ keeps going.

I’m part of a circle surrounding that gravestone—which is in the shape of an upside-down cross. I know Kelsey is here, but from where I’m standing I can’t see her.

A figure in white moves to the base of the gravestone.

Then my vision starts to go blurry as I see him pick up something that looks like—yeah, it’s definitely dead, whatever it is. Some kind of animal. He puts it on a hook and then pulls on a chain hanging from the roof.

That’s so not a sheep, no it can’t be.

I hear someone—no, I know for sure it’s Marsh—talking. He’s talking, but I can’t understand what he’s saying.

It’s Pig Latin and that’s a pig he’s pulling up and soon all of us will be frying bacon.

My mind is a mess. I can barely stand, I can barely see. My mind is going in and out, and I’m fighting for every breath.

Come on, Chris, come on.

The words keep coming, and I finally realize that he’s speaking French.

I don’t know why except for the fact that Solitaire was French.

Guess that French class would’ve come in handy right about now.

Soon the words morph into English, like a confusing movie ending its subtitles for no reason. It’s definitely Marsh talking. Maybe he’s speaking to me.

“The severed dark of the heart will answer the call,” he says. “The blood of the sacrifice will bleed over the Chosen One. The angel’s servant will be summoned, and the casting will begin.”

After he stops talking, the music seems to get louder again. The others are chanting, and I feel it. I feel something heavy and real and …

I know this feeling.

It’s like the time when I felt the cold dread coming out of the mouth of the tunnel underground. Or the moment I was in Staunch’s cabin, that time when I felt something brushing against me. Or that time I was under the bridge. I could feel this same awful pressure against my whole body, especially against my heart and soul.

I try to remember the Scripture from my dream where Iris spoke. My mind is twirling, but I remember bits and pieces and I try to replay them over and over.

Marsh is chanting, and the group answers. We’re walking now. I don’t feel awkward or stupid; I just feel numb.

Lord help me protect me.

I don’t know how long this lasts, but it seems a while. Eventually the music stops—thankfully—and the group stops moving, which I’m even more thankful for. My head is spinning.

I see a figure in white walking toward me.

“The blood is spared for one, and he who is blemished will be given the power to heal the blemished.”

He’s trying to talk like the Bible … or
The Godfather.

He stands before me. “Figure of night, escape the shadows, and take off your blinds.”

A hand extends, and I see the white robe beckoning me. He raises his hands as if he wants me to take off my hood.

I pull it off and finally manage to breathe a little better. But the air is also full of the same cold despair that I feel in my heart. I hear a few voices and murmurs and even a high-pitched gasp of surprise when I take off my hood.

There are maybe twenty or twenty-five people in black robes. No—strike that, they’re blood-red robes. All facing me.

I want to take off each hood and demand to know why they’re here and if they know exactly what they’re doing.

“Bow, my son,” Marsh says as he puts a hand on my head.

I get on my knees, still wobbly and still worried that I won’t be able to recover from being knocked out. I kneel and then see a bloody hand reach over and wipe my cheek. Both cheeks. Then my forehead.

Something tells me the blood he’s wiping on me isn’t fake.

I shake my head and blink to get a better look at everything. Slowly but surely my mind is waking up.

I wonder if they’re here.

I think of Newt and Brick. I wonder if they were able to do what I wanted them to do or if they’re like Kelsey—missing after being contacted.

Marsh opens up his hands and starts praying, and the words are awful. No, awful isn’t the right word. They’re vile. They’re sick. I try to not hear them.

I scan the room for Kelsey, but I still see no sign of her. Nor can I see any sign of Kinner.

I thought he was going to give me a key or something. Is that like passing a baton?

After the prayer, the robed figures move to the pews facing the grave. Marsh tells me to stay so I do as I’m told. I’m dizzy and tired, and probably the fear factor in my veins is bubbling over.

“The blood has proven that this is the chosen one,” Marsh says.

We’ve been walking under the bleeding animal. I guess it rained blood on top of me.

Maybe that can be a song you write one day when you’re singing along with all of Uncle Robert’s greatest hits.

“Come to the throne, Chris. Cast your doubts aside and surrender. The night opens its mouth, and the enemy knows. The enemy is far from here.”

Then I look up and see him.

Kinner.

Great-grandfather Walter Kinner standing there in the kind of suit a man might wear while lying on his back in a coffin.

He looks at me and smiles.