Redemption (2 page)

The girl cringed as she picked herself off the ground. Then she turned on the spot and looked around. Stones were not the only things to have fallen from above; several dead pigeons lay all around the scattered debris. Had they been taken out by the crumbling stones or the wild essence lightning? They seemed strangely undamaged. A chill overtook my body.

I watched the girl run off.

The essence had returned within me and permeated the air all around us. I couldn’t wait any longer. Scared of missing the opportunity, I grabbed hold of the pool of clarity deep within me. I pulled it out and let it flow through my limbs. First, I worked on it slowly, deliberately, but instinct soon took over and the crisp tingling sensation soon became soft and warm. Pliable, like flesh. Part of my as-of-yet unchanged stone skin crackled as I flexed my arms. I rubbed my hands along them, feeling more and more as the change took shape. First into a flesh version of the stone beast whose form I had been in for the last decades, and then as limbs elongated and my body’s memory took over, I changed into my true form. The one I had been born in, the one that still felt most natural even if it took more energy, more essence to maintain.

My skin was raw against the night breeze.

Under the cover of shadow, I used protruding stones and small holes where I could lodge my fingers or toes and climbed down the tower and along the body of the church until I reached the frozen ground. The cold December air made my naked body vulnerable. I needed to cover myself somehow. A small sound behind me brought Garnier to my attention. He was right behind me sporting his famous crooked grin.

“What are you two doing? This is not our world anymore,”
Antoine hissed.

“So? We will simply make it ours.”
Garnier reminded me of a tightly wound spring, just released.

All around were things I could touch. I stroked the church’s stone wall. Its grainy surface scraped against my fingers.

I motioned to Garnier to follow me to the spot where the airtight box had been hidden—courtesy of Alice who had done her best to look after us after we became trapped in stone. We pushed past a few bare bushes to a spot where large flat stones covered the ground.

I remembered watching Alice struggle with the stones. It had been midsummer and she’d had the cover of night as well as that of the leafy bushes, as she toiled for hours to preserve our belongings. We had never seen her again, and Vincent had suffered her absence in silence.

The moon highlighted the curves of Garnier’s wiry build as he helped me move those same rocks—unchanged by the passage of time.

The box, which looked like a small casket, did show signs of wear, but was otherwise intact. We broke the thick leather straps that kept it sealed and opened the box.

I dived in, found my clothing, and held it for a moment, briefly distracted by the feel of it under my fingers. The fiber brushed against my skin as I quickly slid it on, not bothering to properly fasten my suspenders. I didn’t have time to spare.

I didn’t pause. While I walked away, I grabbed a stale cigarette out of my pocket and lit a match to it—the paper was smooth under my fingers. My hurried strides, rigid at first, became looser with every step.

“Where are you going?”
Vincent asked.

Vincent and Antoine still remained unchanged, and I was tempted to yell at them to seize the opportunity while they could. But I didn’t have time and they could take care of themselves.

“I must find her.”

“Who?”
all three of them said at once. Their tones varied from pity, to concern, to alarm.

“The one who woke us,”
I said as I turned the street corner in a half jog. If they wished to continue the conversation, they’d have to follow me. I couldn’t lose her.

“But why?”
Vincent’s voice was deceivingly innocent. None of us were innocent, we’d all seen too much.

“Are you not curious?”

“Curious? What is there to be curious about?”

“The girl, of course.”

“No, the girl seems inconsequential,”
Garnier said.

I couldn’t afford to lose sight of her. She had piqued my curiosity, not the dull voyeuristic curiosity from the past seventy years—I was actually
intrigued
. It was not a strong emotion, but I didn’t
want
a strong emotion, I’d had enough of those, yet this … curiosity … filled the void.

She was well ahead of me but with my eyesight, this wasn’t a problem—not until she turned onto another street. I scanned the area until I saw the street sign: Peel Street. I looked around me to make sure the street was clear of people before I started sprinting.

Whenever I saw or heard someone, I kept to the shadows, sometimes even cutting through alleyways. I finally reached Peel only to see her enter a glass building. We’d seen these new buildings come to life while we were watching from above, yet we couldn’t understand the glass-and-steel monstrosities that slowly dominated our stone panorama. Eventually, we came to accept them as part of our cityscape. And though the people inhabiting these buildings couldn’t hold my interest, the structures themselves did. They were more akin to us, standing still while lives would come and go.

I touched the building. It seemed cold with its steel and glass. Yet, who was I—a creature who lived as stone for over half a century—to judge it as cold? I shook my head. I didn’t have time for distraction.

I entered the building and followed the throng of people who lined up to get through a gate. They exchanged currencies for what appeared to be transit tickets. I shuffled through my pockets. I doubted they would accept the light-peach bus ticket I found in there. I jumped over the gate without drawing any attention and made my way through the crowds, looking for the girl.

If I’d been stronger, I could have shapeshifted into my other form. It would have allowed me to track her, but her scent was unknown to me. It wasn’t the best form to use in an underground transit system anyway.

An underground train system, to be specific. I stared, wide-eyed. We’d thought we were seeing everything from our perspective but it now appeared that we’d missed an entire other side to our beloved city. I crossed the platform and took in the concrete architecture as I went. I was inclined to abandon my search in favor of these sights. What interest could this insignificant creature hold when I could take in these new structures, these new companions that would remain part of my life for so much longer than the people? But it will still be there when she’s gone. I had to find her while I could.

From a pass overlooking the boarding platforms, I saw her below.

2

Aude

On the metro station bench, I lean against an advertisement for a new miniseries on Canal Vie. I take deep breaths trying to calm the shaking in my limbs. The circle tile pattern on the floor claims my full attention until I hear the whooshing sound of the subway speeding through the tunnel. I jump up before the blue train screeches to a stop. The doors can’t open fast enough. I push my way through the crowds and find an empty bench, where I plop down, taking up both the too-hard black and white speckled seats.

I wearily watch people board and exit the train. Once I’ve had enough of that, I take my notebook out of my purse, glad the men didn’t think of taking it when they ran off. It’s marked with “Odd” in thick black strokes. That’s me; I’m Odd. The name suits me.

All right, so my name is actually Aude, pronounced ode, like a verse or sonnet, which I guess is fine too, in a it’s-so-weird-it’s-cool kind of way.

I flip through my notebook nervously, but can’t concentrate on it. Questions push themselves to the forefront of my thoughts, where I can’t ignore them so easily. Who were these men? What did they want from me? What happened out there? The more distance I put between myself and that church, the less real the incident seems. Could this have even happened to me? I feel my arms where I am certain bruises are starting to form. Those are certainly real enough. The drumming I can dismiss. Maybe some hippie event happening within my hearing range. But the chanting? The strange voices in my head? Did that even happen, or are my thoughts too jumbled up that I’m imagining things? Is this post-traumatic stress? Mom would know, but then I would have to tell her I was in danger, and I’m not sure I’m ready to do that. I have to tell someone though.

I take out my cell phone and quickly check the display. Neither Lucy nor Patrick has responded to any of my texts yet. If they hadn’t stood me up,
again
, I wouldn’t be walking the streets of Montreal by myself. I know it’s not their fault I was attacked. I know my anger is misdirected but I hold on to it anyway. I need to be angry with them right now, because otherwise, I have to think too much about what happened, and I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to be scared.

“Excusez moi, est-ce que je peux m’assoir ici?”

I stare up at him, with wide eyes. I know his voice. I heard it in my head; it had been talking about me after I was attacked. Except, it couldn’t really have happened and I’m going crazy. It’s normal after dealing with the stress of having been attacked. I’m making up things, and now I’m associating a stranger’s voice to these things. It’s good Mom leaves all those psychology books lying around, so I can figure this out on my own. Maybe I don’t have to talk to anyone about this.

And I have to admit his voice intrigues me, even if he
is
speaking French.

“Oh, sorry,” I answer him in English. Like most Montrealers, I
can
speak French but I don’t see why I should be the one to make the effort to speak a language other than the one of my choice. I move for him though.

Sitting this close to someone in the metro you can always smell them, and this is often not a good thing—like right now. His voice may be strange and intriguing, but the rest of him is just strange and unappealing. He smells of dust, cigarettes, and Vaseline, which is not a nice combination. I spare him a look from the corner of my eye but can’t tell much about him. His dark hair is slicked back (with Vaseline?) and he’s wearing a white T-shirt tucked into dress pants with suspenders. He has a cigarette behind his ear. There’s nothing about what I see that would normally elicit any sort of interest on my part, but I’m still compelled to take a closer look. I resist.

3

Guillaume

I tried to make eye contact with the girl, but she never looked at me. I could force her to talk, yet I didn’t know what power she held.

And her plight may not have mattered to me, but I wasn’t an especially violent monster.

She was an attractive human. I took the opportunity to memorize her features. Her hair passed her shoulders. A strand of it swept over almond-shaped eyes outlined with black make-up. It was a look that would have been unheard of in my time, but I had observed enough to know that it had been considered fashionable for quite some time now. Her skin was a light bronze color and her lips were full and shiny. The book she carried was marked with the word
Odd
. It seemed fitting. I stored the information in my mind in case the details proved to be useful to track her later.

I took in her scent for the same reason. She smelled sweet, like sugary vanilla. Beneath her hygiene products, I detected the faint musky smell of sweat. The scent of which made my pulse race, and I memorized it as well. She wore a burgundy velvet hooded cloak, black wool skirt, thick knee-high socks, and high combat boots. So many different textures. The part of me that had been stone for decades longed to touch them with my human hands, but it would be inappropriate, so I resisted. She dressed differently from many of her kind, but this wouldn’t help me track her.

Did she look at me from the corner of her eye? I wondered how I appeared to her, but it didn’t matter.

“Excuse me.” She stood and waited to get past me. I moved my legs out of her way.

I assumed this would have been her stop, but she didn’t exit the train. She stood holding on to the metal pole and our eyes met. Something passed between us at that moment, but I couldn’t say what. I hadn’t been flesh in too long. I couldn’t remember what every little feeling running through me meant. It fed my curiosity though. It confirmed that I needed to know more.

“How did you make the drumming sounds?” I cut straight to the chase. She’d be exiting soon, and I didn’t have much time.

“Excuse me?” Her eyes widened in fright. How interesting. I hadn’t meant to scare her.

“The drumming by the church. Your chanting was beautiful by the way, but I don’t understand how you caused the drumming.”

She took a few steps back. “I don’t … ”

The doors opened and she was gone. I stood up as the chimes went off to indicate the doors closing. I managed to exit the train in time. She was at the top of the stairs. I followed her, keeping out of sight.

We emerged on Ste-Catherine. The street was one I’d been to in the past but was now only vaguely familiar. Everything seemed more colorful. I was used to the bright lights and loud music. I’d been looking at a similar scene further down on Crescent every night for decades.