Hold the Light (36 page)

"Christ!" I sighed in frustration. "This will go on forever."

Standing like a statue on the platform my wounds finished calling all my blood back home and healing my wounds, when the painful rift in my head pounded and squealed loudly in my ears. The gift joined it and climbed up my throat. They were either working in unison or the gift was reeling in pain from it. I couldn't tell.

Then it hit me, harder than the stab wound, harder than any blow the convict landed on me. The shredding headache manifested into an agonizing realization. The gift had been trying to tell me something, trying to tell all of us who lived with it, about a dark secret.

"Oh great," I sighed. "Something more terrible than holding the light? Or the similarities between Amber and Veronica? God, what else?!"

I strained but just couldn't understand it. It was garbled in my head. It felt like a complicated puzzle that I might never decipher. Shaking my head at yet another damned mystery to unravel, I ran. I tried to outrun the riddles and the convict, all the way down the tracks towards home. Wanting to sprint to the hospital to see if Amber was all right, I realized that the convict, if still alive, would follow me right to her.

I followed the rails to Boston and reached my house just before dawn. I steered clear of my bathroom and crashed asleep in my bed.

Chapter 69

I called Amber's cell phone when I woke after a couple hours, knowing she'd smuggle it in or convince someone to give it to her. She answered and I heard no background noise. None of the bustle of a hospital relayed through the phone and my suspicions grew again.

"I think he's still out there," I told her.

"Well, just stay low," Amber ordered. "I told the police when they came by a half hour ago, that someone tried to rob me but I fought him off. I told them he was following me and I was hiding out to avoid the mugger. But I didn't mention you; so don't go to my place. Stay at yours."

My house? She wanted me to stay in one spot the cops would find me. I was amazed they weren't here already. This was a set-up.

"George?"

"Yes?"

"The media has the story," she explained. "Be very careful."

I'll be careful. Conspire against me and I'll be careful all right. I thought about the scar on her lip again and it bothered me. I stewed in paranoid anger. She's betrayed me. The urge to punch my hand through my bedroom wall engrossed me. It quickly subsided as I thought back to when I would do that when I was young.
Hey Jude
popped into my head.

The switch conspiracy, the scar - the demon could have switched them? Amber, Veronica, they both look so much alike; it's a perfect ruse. Or just paranoia? Dammit all to...

"George?" Amber asked. "You still there?"

"No worries sis, I'll watch my back," I mumbled into the receiver.

"What are you going to do?"

"I don't know yet, but I have to do something."

"Well, if I can't persuade you differently," Amber's voice began to soften. "Just be careful and lay low for a little bit. And catch some rest."

"I will, I promise."

"Shit," she said, "Could you hold on, I have another call?"

"No, I'm done."

"Alright then, bye. Be careful."

Feeling betrayed and miserable, I crashed the portable phone onto the cradle, knocking the antenna loose. I should have realized long ago that the people around me would either suffer or turn against me. And that was probably just how the demon wanted it too. It probably had crafted this plan for ages.

I had to think of something quick. I sat on my bed and waited, pondering all the things I didn't want. No holding the light. No allowing the convict the damned gift. No staring at a white sheen that emanated out of the bathroom. But that one, that last despair was something I did want. I needed to leave it behind. Needed to leave the house, but I couldn't bring myself to it.

Everyone had abandoned me in my wayward state and I'm the only one to blame. All I ever wanted was to be better than my father, but my fears always stopped me. Or made me run.

"Well, not any more," I said, determined to make a change.

My coat was strewn across the bed and I reached into the inner pocket. The crinkled, yellow piece of paper was safe and I sighed in relief. Flinging the coat on, I hopped off the bed walked out. I came to the bathroom and took a deep breath.

"You'll be fine," I told myself.

I took a hesitant step forward and the instant my boot touched the white light coming from the bathroom, I grew cold. A gust of wind shot below my skin and I prepared for another convulsion. I attempted to continue my stride down the hallway, but my feet wouldn't respond. My soles stuck to the floorboards as the white glow shifted to pulsing neon blue flashes. The light beckoned me to come inside, to come and look into the mirror again. See yourself and realize what you are.

"No," I said. "You've taken almost everything from me, but you can't have me. You can't have a trade or bargain and I sure as hell won't give you any prayer to twist against me."

A warm draft covered my face and shattered the cold that paralyzed me. The light released me and my chest settled down. It retreated and cowered in my torso, almost whimpering. I took the opportunity to beat the light as far down as I thought to be possible.

Chapter 70

I ventured outside and smelled life with renewed faith. The warmth of fall's colors shone on me as the wind rustled through my hair. All of my surroundings were bustling with life, even as nature perished. And it all made me satisfied but there was one thing left.

In my heart I knew there was one last errand to run, one last nagging thing to be done, but I hadn't the slightest idea what it was. There was no one left and all my options were exhausted. I was running solo and the solitude wasn't frightening anymore. But I knew I needed help to end this. I was blind to the fork in the road before me and I prayed there was someone left to show me the way. I had a feeling it would be the road less traveled, though.

A convulsion took me and it felt different. The ball of the gift within burst and I left to take another soul. I saw a face for a split second then it vanished. I had the soul of a woman and then I didn't. The soul defiantly ran from the gift. The convulsion was over almost as soon as it began.

I could only guess this lucky woman must have had a near-death experience. Catching only a glimpse of the face, I pondered on its familiarity. I blinked and shook my head, amazed at how quick my prayers were answered. I knew there was a reason I mindlessly revisited my apartment even though I risked being captured. I hoped and prayed that her soul had truly managed to defy the gift.

"Betsy," I said with elation, her sweet face brightening my memories.

I hopped into my car and instinctively drove. The route to her house effortlessly came to me. I hoped she was still alive. Maybe the gift's new feeling induced a new method of taking lives?

Or maybe she was still alive.

I drove with the enthusiasm that only hope can provide. I felt I had risen from my own ashes to be born again. Yet I couldn't help but wonder what help could we give each other?

I pulled up and parked in the same spot as my first visit. I stared at the house I thought to be hers, but it was different. All the shades were shut tight. The house was unkempt and almost dilapidated. The vigor of home was gone, apparently sucked dry over time. The brown paint chipped and peeled, revealing white underneath. Clumps of dead leaves crowded the bottom of the waterspouts and the wild bushes leaned over from their own weight and attacked the dim porch. The grass was checkered brown as weeds loitered about, strangling out the remaining green of the yard. Even in the sunlight, her house was dim.

"When this is done," I said to the despondent house. "I'll fix you up."

Maybe she had moved out. Or she was still there and couldn't keep up with it anymore. Perhaps the loss of her brother was too much for her to handle and she slumped into seclusion like I did, only venturing out for food when living another day felt bearable.

Walking up the cracked path, weeds nipping at my ankles, I pictured her sitting in her living room covered in dust, with an empty wine glass sitting on the table just out of reach. I shook the image out of my head and trusted to hope. Carefully, my foot creaked on the wooden step leading to the porch. I stood staring at the warped door that had long splinters of wood bowing from it. The porch light was on and it flickered and buzzed. I noticed black dots of dead bugs inside the cloudy plastic casing. My hand rose to the glass portal in the door and I hesitated.

"Please be alive, Betsy."

I knocked. With each pound on the door, it opened wider and wider. I peered into the house and looked for signs of life. There was nothing but darkness as I shut the door behind me. I entered her hallway blind; the interior was surprisingly dark for the daytime. She had managed to shut out all the sunlight. I walked slowly through the void with my arms out and felt for obstacles. My hand found the wall and it lead me along her endless hallway. It felt like I'd never reach the end until I saw a light shine from the distance. There was a sliver of sharp glow that pierced through a crack in the curtains directly ahead. Slowly making my way to the window, I reached my hand to where I last remembered the couch to be, and walked to the light. I whisked the curtains aside and the sun shone directly down on me. After opening a few more dusty curtains, the living room shone in a different light than I remembered.

The same colors painted the walls so did the same pictures, but one was missing, leaving a clean rectangle on the wall. Was it Randy's picture?

I scanned the living room and watched the dust twinkle in the sunlight. The vapors of emptiness hovered all about. If she was alive in here, she was satisfied with her sorrow.

All the other rooms of her house were attached to the living room and the doors to those rooms were all shut. All but one. I cocked my head curiously and walked through the sunlight to the room. I peaked through the space between the door and the frame. I could see a window within the room that was slightly open. The thin gossamer drapes were flapping in the cool evening air like chained ghosts, reaching for the bed.

I pushed the door open further and saw Betsy on the bed, arms atop her chest with the missing picture clutched beneath them. From what I could tell through the eerie light, she looked older than the years that had passed. Her innocent elderly face had sunk deep with guilt and her eyes dented in like potholes. A delicate frown rested on her wrinkled lips that must have been put there by a broken heart. She looked dead.

"Dead." I whispered, "Dammit, I didn't think I had taken her. Why couldn't she have survived?!"

I was so close. If she just would have held on like I thought she did, maybe we could have shared in the warmth of a long overdue conversation. We could have discovered what to do next. She must have died peaceful, but lonely, probably holding onto the chance that I would come visit her. I disappointed yet another person and now she was visiting Randy. She had passed on with her brother's picture in her hands and on her mind. Sorrow must've overflowed her soul and spilled into her blood stream and poisoned her. The warmth she was looking to fill her vacant arms unfortunately could only be fulfilled by death.

I leaned over to kiss her cheek. She didn't deserve any of this, but at least she wouldn't have to suffer anymore. With my lips puckered over her cheek, her eyes fluttered open. Quickly realizing she was staring at a strange man in her bedroom, her eyes opened fully, and so did her mouth.

Her wail pierced my ears. Stumbling backwards, I bumped into the wall.

"What on God's earth .... get out!" she yelled.

A switch jabbed into my back and the lights came on. Scrambling to pull her sheets to her chin, ready to defend herself with Randy's picture, she panted and shook in fright. I bounced off the wall, straightened up, and looked at her. Her frozen fists relaxed and she curiously peered at me as her heart settled.

"Remember me?" I asked, while she regained her wits and breath.

"You look familiar," she replied sweetly, to my surprise.

My heart began to slow down. I was glad that the scare alone didn't kill her. Thank God she's alive.

"I'm George, I was here ..." I started.

"...with Randy all those years ago!" She smiled; something that she probably hadn't done for a long time.

Her eyes lit up, her face flushed with a lively pink, almost like she was embarrassed, as she leapt from the bed and wrapped me into a tight rocking hug.

"My God, how long does it take for people to visit me?" she said, patting me on the back with Randy's picture.

"You were so still ...I'm sorry as hell about the scare."

"Well, times have been rough without anyone and ..."

Her delicate mouth dropped its corners into a deep frown and tears crawled down her cheeks. With trembling hands folded on top of each other at the base of her neck. I leaned in and wrapped her into a hug.

"I miss him terribly," She cried into my chest.

"Me, too."

"Oh, he didn't deserve this, George. He deserved so much better. He was so tortured for so long."

"I know. That's why I've come."

I sat her down and told her all that had occurred. Betsy held Randy's picture the entire time, rubbing her fingertips along the glass and the wooden frame. We bantered back and forth, trying to keep a sense of humor, but she cried a couple more times and I went into a few convulsions.

We fed off each other's energy and took great comfort in remembering the past.

"I am sick and tired of the gift and want to finish my tour of duty," I told her. "I want to put it back where it belongs."

"Where would that be?"

"That is about the best question I've heard in my lifetime. Where does the ender of all life go?

No matter where it goes, Betsy, it has to remain safe and working, no matter what."

"You know, my dear," she slowly shifted her head as she spoke. "We're here for death, it's not here for us, you know. I mean, what would it do without us?"