The Sleepless (61 page)

Megan took hold of Matthew’s hand, and then she produced from her pocketbook the zinc-and-copper disc that Michael had left with her. Thomas instinctively stepped away, and he pushed David Jahnke away, too. He didn’t believe in any of this, but he didn’t believe in crowding people, either, when they were doing their very best. 

Megan held the disc in the palm of her hand and the sunlight caught it and made it shine like a distant window. ‘Look at the light, Matthew, and relax ... look at the light, and relax. The light is all there is. The light is the centre of the universe. The light is everything. We’re feeling sleepy, we’re feeling tried. All of our aura is draining out of us, all of our strength ... we’re sliding into a trance, Matthew, you and I together, holding hands ... we’re sliding into sleep, Matthew, just you and me ... following the point of light, following it, passing right through it ... ‘ 

Thomas watched in gradually increasing astonishment as Megan’s eyes closed, and Matthew’s eyes closed. The two of them remained in a strange tableau, Matthew standing beside Megan’s wheelchair, holding her hand, quite natural in every respect except that they were both deeply asleep. Thomas cautiously approached them, and walked around them, and stared into Matthew’s face, from only inches away. 

‘Holy shit,’ he said. ‘He’s gone. I mean, he’s completely gone. And Megan, too. I didn’t know hypnosis worked that quick.’ 

David Jahnke didn’t know what to say. This wasn’t procedure. This wasn’t even showing-off. This was just weird. 

Megan and Matthew walked hand-in-hand across the grass, and then up the steps to the lighthouse door. The day was grey and colourless, like a black-and-white photograph found in a long-lost shoebox. The lighthouse door was closed, but they passed
through
it, with a rustle of disturbed molecules, and stepped inside. Megan called, ‘Hallo, Michael? Hallo?’ but there was no reply. 

They climbed the spiral staircase to the library door and opened it. Michael was sitting hunched and naked in a chair, his knees drawn up, his chest lacerated and covered in dried blood. But he slowly raised his head as they walked in, and gave them a widening smile of recognition. 

‘
Meegggaannn
... ‘ he said, in a slow, blurry voice. ‘
Matthheeewww ...
‘ 

They saw his aura flickering all around him, pinkish and bright. Their own auras danced across the library like ghosts, unbalanced, furtive, like flames. They joined their auras with his, and all three of them felt a surge of enormous power, of enormous heat, like opening a furnace door and standing bare chested in front of it. Michael rose from his chair, naked, wounded, but almost floating above the floor. 

‘Azazel!’ he shouted, his voice echoing and booming.
‘Azazel!’
 

‘Mr Hillary’ appeared at the door, accompanied by Joseph and Jacqueline. He looked different to Megan and Matthew: they could see the darkness of his aura – the glimmering black turmoil that surrounded his physical outline. 

But they could see his eyes even more brightly: blazing and red. For a moment they felt genuine, terrible fear – especially since ‘Mr Hillary’ seemed to sense at once that Michael was different. 

‘Who are you?’ ‘Mr Hillary’ asked Michael, with suspicion, and that was the giveaway. He must have sensed that Michael had more than one aura within him. 

‘I’m the one who’s come to get you,’ said Michael. ‘I’m Aaron’s friend. I’m man’s friend. I’m the friend of all those women you defiled.’ 

‘Mr Hillary’ began to laugh. A deep, mocking, knocking laugh, like somebody throwing an empty beer keg down a rubbish chute. But then Michael went for him, hurtling across the dusty rugs and seizing his hair and twisting him around, then kicking the legs from under him, so that he fell heavily onto the floor. 

Michael had the power of Megan and Matthew inside him. One magical, one martyred. He burned with power, he exploded with power. 

‘Mr Hillary’ roared
arrrrghhhhhh,
and clambered to his feet in a fury. He lashed at Michael with his riding-crop – once, twice, three times – but Michael was far too quick for him, in the way that Megan had once been agile. Then the strength that had once been Matthew’s punched ‘Mr Hillary’ in the ribs – and punched him again – and punched him again – and punched him again – huge sledgehammer punches that smashed his ribs and broke his breastbone. 

‘Mr Hillary’ shrieked in rage and pain, and blood flew out of his mouth. He was hysterical, furious, and filled with human adrenaline. But three auras in one body were more than he could handle. He staggered back, tripped on the rugs, staggered again, ran for the door, hurtled down the steps. 

Michael went after him. He didn’t care that he was naked. He was angelic now, he was superhuman, he was three-in-one. He leaped down the steps in pursuit of ‘Mr Hillary’, and flung open the lighthouse door. He could see the patrol cars positioned all around the lighthouse, their red-and-blue lights flashing. He could see Megan, head bowed, in her wheelchair, and he could see Matthew Monyatta. And he thought: God bless you. 

Because he could see ‘Mr Hillary’ now, running across the sandy grass, his white hair wild in the wind, his grey coat flapping behind him, and he set off in hot pursuit. 

He heard one of the cops shout, ‘Freeze! Police!’ to ‘Mr Hillary’, but of course ‘Mr Hillary’ didn’t stop running. 

The cop fired a single shot, and ‘Mr Hillary’s’ coat burst open at the back, but ‘Mr Hillary’ kept on running, faster and faster, towards the shoreline. One of the patrol cars roared into life and started speeding across the tummocky grass towards him. 

Michael ran after ‘Mr Hillary’ like he had never run before. Naked, he ran like a Greek athlete, every muscle tense, every artery pumping. ‘Mr Hillary’ ran into the surf, his feet splashing in the foam, and now the patrol car was skidding and slewing across the sand, only fifty feet away. 

It was then that the impossible happened. 

‘Mr Hillary’ kept on running, but his footsteps splashed less and less heavily into the incoming tide. Then he didn’t splash at all, but started to climb up into the air. He was still running, but now he was running six feet above the water. Then ten feet, then twenty feet, then higher still. 

The patrol car sprayed to a halt in the shallows, and the two officers climbed out of it, and stepped up to their calves in sea water. They shaded their eyes with their hands and watched in disbelief as ‘Mr Hillary’ pounded up into the sky, arms going, legs going, running and running, higher and higher. 

Michael reached the surf and didn’t stop. 

Now,
he told Megan and Matthew.
Now, for the love of God, now!
 

He ran deeper and deeper into the surf, up to his calves, up to his knees, up to his thighs. 

Now!
he screamed, inside of his mind.
Now!
 

And he lifted, he felt himself lifted. He felt the buoyancy, he felt the lightness. His knees surged up through the foam, and then his shins. Then his feet were kicking at the surface of the water, and with one last skip of spray he was up in the air – climbing, higher and higher. 

It was desperately hard. It was like running up the side of a mountain that wasn’t there. He had to keep on running, he had to keep on pumping his legs and pumping his arms, because every time he eased up a little he could feel himself dropping. 

It was his aura that took him up, his human aura, and he could feel the strength and the buoyancy that Megan and Matthew were giving him, too. They were sharing all of their energy, all of their faith. It was the greatest combined act of courage and trust that he had ever experienced – three strangers, working together, and giving their
all
 

He could see ‘Mr Hillary’ climbing into the air high above him, his feet running quick and furtive, his head hunched, his coat flapping. He tried to run harder, tried to climb higher. The sea was glittering fifty feet below him, then seventy feet. And still ‘Mr Hillary’ was struggling higher. 

Now!
he begged.
Now!
 

And down on the ground, watched by a serious and baleful Thomas, Megan and Matthew lowered their heads and tightened their hands together and gave Michael everything they could. Matthew was shuddering with the strain. Tears were pouring from Megan’s tightly shut eyes. But Thomas knew better than to wake them. 

Up above Nahant Bay, one hundred and fifty feet in the air, Michael was close to ‘Mr Hillary’s’ coat tails. He reached out and snatched at them once, and missed. ‘Mr Hillary’ turned around with fiery red eyes and snarled at him like a wolf, and leaped ahead, and leaped ahead. 

‘Azazel!’
Michael screamed at him. But ‘Mr Hillary’ ducked his shoulders and climbed up even higher, his boot heels kicking in thin air. 

Two hundred feet up, and over a half-mile away from the shoreline, Michael thought that he had lost him. He was climbing so high, running so strongly. But then Michael gave one last lunge, and caught hold of his coat, and stopped running, so that he would fall. 

‘Nooooo!’
ranted ‘Mr Hillary.’
‘No, you bastard! No, you fool! You’re one of us! You’re one of us!’
 

He dragged at his coat, and struggled and kicked, and tried to gain height. But even the aura of Azazel the Scapegoat wasn’t enough to carry two people into the sky, not on a planet where the gravity was so strong, and the weight of human sin was so heavy. 

‘Mr Hillary’s’ coat began to scorch, and smoke started to pour out of his boots. His aura was literally overheating. He screamed, and twisted, and lashed at Michael with his fists. He turned over and over, smoking and burning and kicking. 

‘
You’re one of us! You’re one of us!’
 

But Michael clung onto ‘Mr Hillary’s’ coat tails and refused to let go. And his nightmare of falling came true. He plunged downwards toward the sea, and ‘Mr Hillary’ plunged too, until they plummeted apart from each other, tumbling over and over, two small black specks against the morning sunlight. 

Fifty feet above the ocean, ‘Mr Hillary’ exploded. There was a soft
ffoommph,
and a brief flare of white flame, and then pieces of charred body and clothing began to fall. 

His grey coat fell last of all, floating this way and that on the wind, like a falling leaf, smouldering as it fell. At last it dropped onto the surface, and covered up his burned remains, the way a mother would have done. 

Beside it, Michael swam bruised and aimless in the swell, gasping for breath. 

Thomas immediately went over to one of the Essex County deputies, who was standing open-mouthed beside his car, and snapped, ‘Coastguard, quick. I want both of them out of the water pronto, the dead one and the not-so-dead one.’ 

Then he went over to Megan and snapped his fingers right in front of her face. She didn’t respond at first, but then he snapped his fingers again, and patted her cheeks. 

‘Megs! Megs! It’s me!’ 

She blinked at him. She didn’t seem to recognize him at first, but then she gradually smiled. 

‘Megs? You did it! Whatever it was, however you did it, you did it!’ 

She nodded, and kept on smiling. There’s just one more piece of unfinished business, sweetheart. The white-white men. The lily-white boys.’ 

He found Jason locked in one of the small whitewashed rooms at the top of the spiral staircase. As soon as he opened the door, Jason came running across the room and hugged him tight and wouldn’t let him go. 

‘Are you all right?’ he asked him. ‘They didn’t hurt you, did they?’ 

Jason shook his head. He didn’t cry, but he wasn’t going to let go. 

‘You smell like hospital,’ he said. 

‘I got scratched, that’s all. The paramedics put some antiseptic on it.’ 

‘Is mommy all right?’ 

‘Mommy got scratched, too. But she’s okay.’ 

Jason looked up at him. ‘I saw you through the window. I saw you climbing in the air. How did you
do
that?’ 

‘You can do anything, so long as you try hard enough.’ 

‘But you were right up high in the air.’ 

‘I didn’t do it by myself. Megan helped me, and a black man called Matthew. We did it together.’ 

Jason said, ‘What about the other men?’ 

‘The police have got them all rounded up in the library downstairs. You won’t have to see any of them again.’ 

Jason hugged him even tighter. 

‘Come on,’ said Michael, ruffling his hair. ‘Let’s go see mommy.’ 

They went down the spiral staircase. In the library, the lily-white boys had been assembled under police guard, thirteen of them altogether. Jason averted his eyes as Michael guided him across the room to the opposite door. 

‘Goodbye, Jason,’ said Joseph, taking off his dark glasses, but Jason didn’t turn around.