Scratch, page 25
Then Holly saw the chain.
“What the…” she began. Adam moaned in her arms and more blood flowed from his mouth. She looked down at him, feeling more love and empathy than she had ever felt. Fresh tears blurred her vision. Gabrielle was a white and blue blur as she kneeled next to them.
“What… what are you?” Holly asked. “Why are you chained?”
“I am here to heal him,” Gabrielle said. She looked at Raz and held her manacled wrists up to him.
“I can’t,” he said.
“I cannot heal this injury if the chains remain,” she said. “He is near death.” She held her hands up again.
“But…” Raz stammered. “I can’t. Not outside the circle of the church.”
“Why is she chained?” Holly asked, a note of hysteria creeping into her voice. “What’s going on? Why is this little girl in chains?”
“She’s not…” Raz said, took a deep breath and started over. “There are things you don’t understand. She’s not just a little girl, she’s…”
“Goddamn it, Raz,” Jack said. “What I understand is that he’s dying and you’re still being an idiot. Unlock her so she can heal him. We’ll deal with the consequences when he’s better.”
“He’s right,” April yelled at her husband. “For once in your life, be a man.”
Raz bridled at the insults, but swallowed his pride. “God forgive and protect us,” he murmured through gritted teeth as he pulled the key from his pocket. He leaned forward and unlocked the shackles. They clanked on the gravel of the road as they fell off Gabrielle’s wrists and the chain went slack.
“Thank you.” Gabrielle placed her hands on Adam’s chest.
* * * * *
Billy had never shot a gun before in his life. He had picked it up off the ground, pointed it in the general direction of the man who had chased him, and pulled the trigger. He was completely unprepared for the massive recoil from the big 12-gauge. The gun kicked backwards in his hands as the concussion of the blast slapped his eardrums. The trigger guard broke his forefinger and the gun butt slammed into his ribs. Billy yelped and dropped the gun, barrel first into the mud.
“God Damn!” he cried, and stuck his injured finger into his mouth. Only then did he look at his target.
Ed still stood. His mouth was open in shock as he stared dumbly at the mangled bloody stump that, seconds before, had been his left arm.
“Sonofabitch,” he muttered and lifted his remaining hand to cradle his injury. Colors erupted in his field of vision and tiny spots swam in the liquid kaleidoscope. Then the darkness crawled up his spine and claimed him. Ed pitched over onto the ground with a thud and a splash.
Billy pulled his already swelling finger out of his mouth and shook his hand in an effort to get rid of the pins and needles of that were stabbing into it. The action caused him even more pain. He wrapped his left hand around his right finger and turned to look for Michaela. Ed was already forgotten.
“Michaela? Baby? Where are you?” he called. “Come to Daddy.” He peered through the darkness, trying to see where she may have run. His eyes swept over the open pit and he became aware of the deep green scent of rot and mold. “Oh no,” he said and eased toward the edge. A flash of lightening revealed a rain-pocked expanse of black water and emerald algae. A second later the thunder cracked in pale imitation of the gun and he heard Michaela scream somewhere in the woods off to his right.
“Michaela!” he cried, and then ran toward the sound of her voice.
* * * * *
Scratch leaned back against the wet stone wall of his chamber. Fresh blood ran over his eyes, a gift from Shelley’s wound. He felt the first waves of pain wash over him from Adam. The man was very near to death, and Scratch felt fearful for his own life. While his kind seldom died, it was not impossible. If he and Gabrielle were too enmeshed in Adam’s body and soul when he expired they could be dragged into the darkness with him.
Scratch fled his body so as not to feel the pain as closely. It didn’t really matter what happened to the flesh. That was not his true form any more than Scratch was his true name; simply the shape he had been locked in by those who had imprisoned him.
Out once more into the night, called to violence, fear, and pain.
He hovered near Michaela as she ran. She was scared; her heart was a hummingbird, small and frantic in her chest. It was dark, she was lost in the woods, and the Big Bad Wolf was behind her. She was wet from the rain and from fear-inspired pee. She had lost a shoe, one of her favorites, Mommy would be mad, but she had to keep running or the wolf would get her. If she ran long enough, Adam would save her, like he did before. She knew he had to be around here somewhere.
Scratch moved on. Billy stepped onto the path that led from the quarry into the woods next to the stream. His hand throbbed. Michaela was not far from him now. He could hear her tiny feet crashing through the brush.
Scratch left him and returned to Ed. His breathing was as shallow as the muddy tire track ditch he lay in. Blood poured from his injured arm. It wasn’t a fatal wound, not if he received attention soon enough. But he was here alone, and likely to die from blood loss.
Ed? Scratch whispered. There was no response. Ed had retreated into his own internal chamber, a place to escape the pain.
Ed? Get up. Still nothing. Scratch straddled the wounded man’s chest. Could he ride him now, the way he had done in the past when he was stronger? Ed was in no position to resist him. He pressed his forehead against Ed’s and pushed, worming himself into the inert body.
A minute passed, perhaps a little more. Then, Ed’s eyes snapped open, glowing from within as Scratch looked out at the world through them. The body rolled over and used its uninjured arm to push itself into a sitting position. Scratch wore the body awkwardly. He fell twice more into the sludge before he was able to make Ed stand. The pain in his arm was formidable, but nothing compared to the century of agony Scratch had endured.
He stood, swaying on uncertain feet. He felt the cooling rain run through his dirty hair and drip off his brow, as the hot blood dripped from the exposed bone and tissue of his arm.
With shambling steps, as if his soul had moved but his body was slow to follow, he began to walk toward the woods.
CHAPTER THREE
Adam ached from his encounter with the bear. He felt chewed up and spit out. It had been an ordeal that left him feeling stronger in his soul, even though his body was still near death.
He walked a narrow path through the Deep Woods. The shadows yawned around him, thick and black. One misstep would plunge him into that trackless expanse. The shadow would wash over him and the Deep Woods would claim him.
A warm light kissed his brow from somewhere ahead of him on the path. It was blue and comforting and promised surcease from suffering. The pain from his missing finger ebbed and the deep ache in his side began to diminish. He strode forward, each step stronger than the last. The path widened, branches and briars parting before him as he ran. At last he broke free of the constricting undergrowth into a clearing suffused with healing azure light.
“Michaela?” Adam asked.
Standing before him was a beautiful child, blonde and angelic. She was taller than Michaela; she was more serene, more ethereal than any human child could be.
He fell to his knees before this vision, knowing that he had died. He knelt and closed his eyes, accepting his fate, ready for whatever came next. She placed her hands upon his brow and Adam felt waves of healing wash over him. He was enveloped in her glow and the aches of his abused body disappeared. He opened his eyes and they were full of tears. He gazed upward and saw diaphanous wings of heavenly white had unfurled from the child’s back.
“Come back to us, Adam,” she said.
He closed his eyes once more, inhaled deeply, and then slowly opened them again.
* * * * *
“What are you doing?” Holly asked as Gabrielle knelt beside her. Adam’s head was still cradled in her lap, a muddy Pieta. His chest had stopped moving. The bubbles of blood at his mouth had burst.
“Helping.” Gabrielle reached out to Adam and cupped her small white hands on the sides of his face. She closed her eyes and raised her head into the storm.
“Come back to us, Adam,” she said.
Holly gasped as a pale blue glow enveloped Gabrielle. The aura grew until it surrounded all three of them. Holly’s fear and terror began to subside. The light flowed from Gabrielle’s hands into Adam. It raced across his body in streaking blue swirls and spirals. Holly saw the wound in his side begin to close, the flesh and skin sliding together like water and sealing without a visible seam. The tissue around his severed finger began to heal, leaving behind a knob of flesh where his knuckle was. The finger did not grow back.
Holly saw the back of Gabrielle’s shift began to push out. The fabric stretched and ripped at the seams. Her wings emerged and unfolded, pulling the shift away from Gabrielle’s body, glowing in the rain-soaked night.
“Oh my god,” Holly whispered. The vision of her childhood was true. She had seen an angel, this angel, here in Canaan. How could she have forgotten something like this? How had she relegated this miracle to a world of fantasy and make-believe? Tears streamed down her face as she reached a hand out and lightly, reverently, brushed Gabrielle’s cheek.
Then Adam took a deep breath in her arms and opened his eyes.
* * * * *
What Holly saw as wounds to Adam’s flesh Gabrielle saw as a bundle of dimly glowing lights, cut off from their source. At the center of this bundle was that source, a small flickering flame that was about to go out.
Gabrielle flew across the energy trails of Adam’s body much like Scratch had coursed over the valley. This unseen world of the spirit was her home. She gathered the severed tendrils of light, reweaving them, healing his essence and repairing his physical wounds. She spiraled and twisted through the branching patterns of his soul, gradually nearing the small flame at the core of his being. She felt its heat, dim but present against her face. She settled next to it and cupped her hands around the tiny blue flame.
Gabrielle’s eyes snapped open in surprise as she was drawn into Adam’s dream. She saw him kneeling before her in a clearing in the Deep Woods. His spirit-body, covered in blue patterns, echoed the pathways she had traveled to find him. It carried the same wounds as his physical self. His side was bleeding and a finger was missing. She saw the bear claw that hung around his neck and the attitude of surrender and acceptance in his posture and Gabrielle knew that Adam had not just been near death, but had been on a journey.
She had seen it before, of course. There have always been humans gifted with the ability to interact with the spirit world: shamans and mystics and lunatics. Their kind had come to hers since humans first appeared on this world, asking for favors and sending prayers in return. Some could travel into the knife’s edge between the worlds and beyond. Most were healers, seeking only to help their community. Others were simply on a quest, hoping to understand the mystery of the world in which they lived.
Some sought to claim the powers of the Otherworld for their own. These dark magicians wanted nothing except raw power, and gave nothing in return for the boons they took. It had been men such as these who had found a way to bind the creatures of the spirit realm and chain them to their will. Gabrielle and Scratch had been lured and captured by a man with this power: a man named Lars Toland.
But that was long ago, and though the responsibility for keeping them bound had passed down through generations of the Toland family, the power had not. Raz was a weak man. He and the people of Canaan had taken what was once a profound mystery and reduced it to a petty secret. The rites, and the will of the whole community had kept the chains in place, but if Gabrielle could break free now, no one here would know how to bind her again.
She looked at the kneeling man before her and knew that he was here by accident. Though he had always been drawn to being a healer, he was unaware of his power. He had always dismissed his visions, his glimpses into another realm, as mere imaginings and fantasies. His world had given him no context for his dreams and intuitions. Shamans and mystics were considered insane in the modern world of reason. Not that some people weren’t simply insane; occasionally they went mad, like the one who had taken the child of Adam’s heart. Some found expression: artists and writers, poets and holy men. But there were those few, those dreamers who glimpsed a world beyond their own who were locked away so that their gifts languished and the human race received no benefit from their imaginings.
Adam looked up into her eyes with wonder. She was not the first spirit being he had seen here in the space between the worlds. He wore the token of Bear, a spirit that was far more ancient and powerful than the little mysteries she and her brother were. Bear was a warrior, the great mother that taught caring for all the cubs of the world, and a healer. If Bear had touched Adam then he would carry these gifts back into the world with him.
The last pieces of her prison were breaking away. The names had been spoken; she had escaped the circle and the iron. A shaman had bound them, and now she had found another who might be able to aid them and set them free.
She placed her hands on his brow, touching the deepest core of his being. His eyes rolled up until only white was showing, an expression of ecstasy and understanding. His mind was clear.
His body was healed.
* * * * *
He was wet, and covered with mud, and though he felt the gravel of the road pressing into his back, he knew he was in Holly’s arms. The pain in his side was gone, and he reached for it with a hand that, while not whole, was healed. He opened his eyes.
Kneeling over him was the angel of his vision. Her hands, cool and soothing, still cupped his face. Her white-gold hair was dark with the rain that splashed from above her onto him. Wings, enormous from his perspective, spread out from her back. A smile lifted her lips. Her eyes, blue beyond telling, as old as the sky, were filled with intelligence and wisdom not seen by anyone in Canaan for a long time.
“I’m still dreaming, right?” Adam said, and then Holly was hugging him close and crying into his bloodstained shirt. He sat up and embraced her, not sure what had just taken place, exactly, but that he was in the middle of a miracle.
But then all of it came back.
“Michaela?” Adam asked, alarm tainting his voice. “Where is she? Billy?”
“He took her,” Holly said, and fear for her daughter replaced the relief she felt for her husband.
“Where?” Adam asked. Absentmindedly he picked up Buggly, sodden and filthy, and tied it to his belt with the red shoestring collar. He looked at the place where his little finger used to be and felt a momentary shock. It was an insignificant loss compared to Michaela. He looked at the faces around him and yelled.
“Where are they?”
“He ran up the road,” Jack said. “Ed went after them.” He paused for a second, and then added, “There was a gun shot.”
“I have to find them,” Adam said, and turned to follow the road.
“I’ll go with you,” Jim said as he pulled the .38 Special out of the holster at his back. “Get in the truck. We’ll make better time.”
Gabrielle stood by Holly, naked in the rain, her wings folded against her back, fluttering in the wind. Adam stopped next to her and gazed in awe. He was seeing the impossible, he knew. Beings like this couldn’t exist. Part of him wanted to stay, to dance with the mystery before him, to understand this avatar of the unknown.
But his daughter was in danger.
“Thank you,” he said. “Whatever you are.”
“She’s an angel,” Holly said.
“No,” Gabrielle whispered. “No I’m not.” She spread her wings and brought them down in a great beating motion. Gabrielle’s feet lifted from the ground.
“No!” Raz screamed and ran, too late, toward his charge. His hand swiped at empty air as Gabrielle rose above their heads and ascended into the rain-swept night.
“NO!” he wailed again. They stood and watched, awestruck, as the blessed angel of Canaan, West Virginia flew free for the first time in a century.
“Oh, shit,” Shelley said.
“Come back!” Raz wailed, but Gabrielle grew smaller in his vision until she disappeared.
“Raz!” April yelled. “She’s gone. We can’t bring her back.”
“Yes we can,” Raz said, his face a pallid mask of desperation. “The ritual… we just practiced it. We must enact the ritual of binding before it’s too late!
“Jack!” he yelled and grabbed the older man’s arm. “Get in your truck and go pick up Nellie. April and I will go to the house and get things ready.” Jack felt a protest rise in his throat, but decades of protecting the secret of the valley won out. He knew his duty.
“Okay, Raz.” Jack looked at Adam and Holly. “You’ll find her,” he said.
“Jack,” Holly asked, “what’s going on around here? What ritual? What was she?” Jack just shook his head and climbed into the cab of his truck.
“You need me, Raz?” Jim asked. The gun was cold and wet in his hand.
“No,” Raz said. “Take them and find their daughter. You can’t do anything to help us in town, but I trust you to do whatever’s necessary out here.” The meaning in the Reverend’s eyes was clear to Big Jim Tucker. After everything they had just gone through to save him, Jim would hate to have to kill Adam, or Holly for that matter. But protecting the secret came first.
