The Antarcticans (17 page)

Joshua looked at the floor to see whether any of the other tiles had creatures lurking under them. He put his feet on the floor and walked over to the door, careful not to cross the threshold. The twins held up their fists, threatening him with a beating. Joshua reached out to Margie, his hand inches from her face. “It’s okay, Margie. I’m going to take care of you,” he whispered.

She smiled back at him and moved her eyes to either side of her, as if to ask, “What do I do about the twins?”

Joshua closed his eyes and imagined blank space around her, imagined her standing there in her beautiful dress, calm and serene. When he opened his eyes, she was rubbing her arms, wiping away the bruises and marks they had left. The twins had vanished.

“Thanks, doll,” Margie said.

Joshua gave her a reassuring smile. “I’ll always protect you.”

Dr. Cristofari was observing his brain waves and vitals from her office. She could see he was agitated. She typed on a panel and prescribed a sedative, which quickly went into his body so he would calm down. On her monitor, she had watched the scene that was playing out in his mind. He was still in his bed, and his white med suit was still fully intact. His eye scanners were reporting tremendous activity.

“Good night, sweet boy. We’re not giving up on you,” Dr. Cristofari said.

Gavin was in his car, driving home from his mother’s house. The radio was buzzing about the unidentified aircraft carrier that had approached the Florida coast. The reporter was interviewing a top US government defense official who had stated that he didn’t know which country the ship belonged to but believed the ship’s entry into US waters might have been a provocation from the Chinese.

Gavin laughed loudly.
Who actually knows what’s going on in this world?

The rain was beating against his windshield, and the roads were starting to flood. He hoped he would make it home without having to pull over to let the city’s pumps catch up and bail the water out through the flood-control system. When he finally arrived at his house and opened the front door, the smell of lilacs assaulted him. He gently closed the door and approached the dining room. On the table was a small vase, a leftover from one of the flower arrangements he had ordered for Noila on a special day. It was bursting with purple-and-white lilacs. A small package sat at the edge of the table, wrapped perfectly in red paper with a green bow. The tag read, “Call me.” Gavin looked at the door and the windows to see if anything had been broken when whoever had delivered this had come into his house. Lucifer had access to his whole life now; that was clear. He pulled off the bow and tore through the paper. Inside was a phone—it illuminated when he touched the screen, and a green rectangular button appeared on the screen with the name “Lucifer” along the perimeter. Gavin pushed it and pressed the phone to his ear. He heard Lucifer’s voice on the other end.

“Apologies for my abrupt departure. It’s never my intention to be rude to guests in my home. As you might have seen on the news, the
Dragon
had a bit of a misunderstanding with the US military. Any interest in coming back aboard in a day or two? I won’t be here, but you can spend some time with Joshua.”

“How do I get there?”

“Your departure point will be the same as last time. Someone will call this phone to let you know when you should be there. Don’t travel too far—you might not have long to get there,” Lucifer said, then ended the call.

Gavin’s house phone rang. He walked over to the wall in the kitchen and picked up the receiver.

“Pastor Pennings?” a voice asked.

“Yes. Who is this?” Gavin said.

“Oh, hey, Gavin, it’s Frank.”

“From church?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s going on?” He wasn’t sure what to say since he wasn’t officially affiliated with the church any longer.

“One of the kids in my youth group said I should reach out to you. I know you’re busy with your son right now, but are you planning to be at the youth group event Saturday night? I have you listed as one of the speakers. And I don’t mean to pry, but it seems like you’ve been MIA for a while. Anything I can do?”

“Yeah, sorry, no, I don’t think I’ll be able to make it. Everything going okay at the church?”

“Everything’s fine. Your being away gives me and the other assistant pastors a chance to step up to your duties and lead. But you know how it is—there’s nothing hard about praising the Lord every day. He’s leading all of us in your absence. We’re all hoping you can work your differences out with the church deacons and come back.”

“Ah, okay, well, I’m not sure that’ll ever happen after what I’ve done.”

“Is there anything I can do for you, Pastor Pennings? Does the missus need anything? I know your son’s illness must be really hard for you. I’ve been praying for all of you every chance I get,” Frank said.

Gavin was breathless for a moment as he contemplated the reality that he wasn’t a pastor any longer. “No, it’s okay. I appreciate the prayers, Frank. I’m praying the Lord steps in here soon to get us out of this mess.” He cringed when he said that because it felt forced and disingenuous.

“I never doubt that for a second, Pastor. Talk to ya later.”

Gavin shook his head and placed the phone back on the hook. That life seemed so far away, almost as if it had happened to someone else.

The house was immaculate. He could imagine Noila running around the house getting everything in order. He wandered through the empty house looking for clues as to what he should do next. He stopped in the kitchen and stared at a tile in the backsplash behind the sink that he had looked at a thousand times in the past. It was two stick figures, drawn in purple and red, with triangles and circles in their hands. Joshua had drawn it when he was five. His kindergarten teacher had gotten the good idea to have all the kids create a piece of art that could be incorporated into their homes. Joshua had chosen a ceramic tile. The first tear that rolled down his face felt coerced from his bank of sorrow. Then a tidal wave crested over him, held for a minute, and crashed. It pushed him to his knees as tears flooded his eyes. The circumstances of his world were crushing; his threaded web of beliefs was tangled and overloaded by how quickly and heavily each new problem descended on him. He reached for the sink, but his hand slipped, and he crumpled to the floor. His body shook, and he clasped his hands and looked to the ceiling. “Lord, help me. I can’t do this. I’m sorry.” He gripped his hands tighter, digging his nails into his fists.

“Help me!” he yelled through his choked sniffling.

The house was quiet: a tick-tock from the kitchen clock, a car door closing in his neighbor’s driveway, a child squealing with delight, palm fronds brushing the living-room window. More tick, more tock. Then the phone rang, not the house phone but the phone on the table, the phone with the golden emblem. Gavin’s heart dropped in his chest, his grief suspended by surprise and a sprinkling of dread. He jammed his head against the cabinet; then the phone rang again. He rammed his head harder into the wooden door. The ringing didn’t stop. Over and over it continued. Finally he crawled into the dining room and reached for the tabletop, where he had left the cell phone. He fumbled the phone, and it fell to the floor. He pressed the green button flashing on the screen and pulled the phone to his ear again.

“Be at the dock in twenty minutes.” He didn’t recognize the voice.

“Is this…?”

The caller disconnected.

Gavin chucked the phone against the wall and pulled himself into a ball, his thick, dark hair dragging through the shag carpeting. He counted to sixty then stood up, walked to the small credenza at the end of the room, slid the door open, pulled the cork from the Scotch, and put the bottle to his lips. He swallowed three mouthfuls hard, his throat protesting against the strong alcohol. He slammed the bottle on the dark wood and left the top open. He wiped his eyes, pushed his hair into place, and pulled his car keys from his pocket.

“Here I come,” he said.

…

Gavin arrived at the same
Dragon
, but the mood of the ship had changed. Armed guards met him as the helicopter set down on the ship. They looked around nervously and escorted him to the covered elevator to bring him below deck. The top deck had been cleared of furniture. The swimming pool, which had been adorned by planters and beds and thick cotton shades, was now a flat runway with two fighter jets parked. The edge of the deck around the entire ship was lined with guards, all standing firm, all with high-powered laser rifles.

“What’s going on?” Gavin asked one of the guards.

The guard nodded to him and urged him to keep walking.

Leo met him inside the ship and handed him his room assignment. “Apologies for my not being able to provide you the same room, but I think you’ll find this room with a view more suitable.”

Some of the corridors had signs posted, indicating only certain people were allowed down them. The air was tense, and people on the ship were moving briskly about. The carpets, which had given the common areas a welcoming feel, had been replaced with textured black rubber. When Gavin got to his room, he found a printed note on
Dragon
stationary, the words in embossed gold, explaining the current heightened security posture the ship was in and listing areas of concern. Most important was that if the ship’s alarm sounded, guests should return to their rooms and not come out until they were notified it was safe to do so.

The door chime rang. He opened the door to a woman in her seventies, her silver hair cropped short. She wore huge tortoiseshell-rimmed glasses, fitted black pants, and a tan turtleneck.

“Hello, Gavin. I’m Dr. Sagona. I’ve been waiting for you. I’m sorry I missed you last time you were on the ship. I know you just got in, but would you have some time later? I thought we might have some things in common. I hear you’re great researcher of the Christian religion.” Her tone was soft and inviting; she spoke with the intelligence and grace of a lifetime of education.

“Sure. Just let me get settled in. Do you have quarters here or an office?” He abruptly shot his hand out to shake hers.

Dr. Sagona looked down at it then put her hand up as if she were going to give him a high five. “I don’t shake hands,” she said unapologetically. “I’ll send my details to your room, and we can get together when you’re free.” She turned on her heel and walked away.

Gavin’s first call was to Dr. Cristofari to schedule a time to see Joshua. She sounded surprised when he called. A few minutes later, she met him at the door to the clinic.

“Is something wrong? You sounded surprised to hear from me,” Gavin said.

“Let’s get to a private area before we discuss your son’s condition.”

She led him through the corridor to Joshua’s room. After they entered, she sealed the glass doors behind them. Gavin walked over to Joshua and reached out to touch him. He looked back at Dr. Cristofari to make sure it was okay.

“Go ahead. It won’t affect his mental state,” she said.

Gavin pulled Joshua’s hand into his and held it, rubbing his fingers, “Hi, son. I hope you can hear me. Your mom and I love you very much. Whatever’s going on right now with you is okay. It’ll always be okay.” Gavin didn’t believe his own words, but he was intent on reassuring Joshua and hoped he could hear him.

He stepped away from him and leaned toward the doctor. “Has something not gone as you expected?”

“Joshua is a very strong young man—his mind, that is. He holds very firmly to the things he believes are important and right. While we might consider that a good thing, it makes the transition process we’re attempting to move him through difficult, because he won’t decouple from his identity.”

“What’s the next step then?” Gavin asked.

Dr. Cristofari pushed a few stray auburn hairs away from her face. “What we’re doing is experimental, and every case is different. I wish we had a second step to move to. I’d hoped that just exposing him to the treatment longer would break him away from the personalities he’s experiencing. But it isn’t working. I’ve been talking with some of the other psychiatrists. Without getting into too much medicine speak, they suggested we insert something familiar into his world to coax him onto the path he needs to follow in order to be completely—and excuse the word, as it sounds a bit cold—reprogrammed.” She buried her hands in the pockets of her lab coat.

“What exactly are you suggesting?” Gavin was agitated and confused.

“Who’s the disciplinarian in the family? Your wife or you? Who would Joshua be more apt to listen to if given a command from either of you?” she asked.

“Definitely me. My wife is like apple pie with him.”

“Well, then, it’s an excellent thing that you’re here and his mother isn’t.” She activated a panel on the wall and brought up Joshua’s file. An image appeared on the screen. “This is Joshua’s brain. I’ve identified two areas where he has structural abnormalities, likely causing his hallucinations. It’s interesting because we often see these in artists, musicians, and authors. Those with an innate intense creativity. But in this case, the abnormality crosses the threshold from a creativity that can be harnessed and, for example, put into a painting, to hallucinations that are out of control.” She looked at Gavin to make sure he was following her explanation.