Word & Void 02 - A Knight of the Word (29 page)

Stef! He had to go back in for Stef!

And then she appeared, stumbling out the smoke-filled doorway of the shelter, a small child clutched in her arms. Firefighters clustered around her, taking charge of the child, moving both of them away from the blaze, the building behind them bright with flames.

Ross broke free of the restraining hands and went to her. She collapsed into his arms, and they sank to the rain-soaked pavement.

“Stef,” he murmured in relief, hugging her tightly.

“It’s all right, John,” she whispered, nodding into his shoulder, firefighters rushing past them in dark knots, hoses trailing after like snakes. “It’s all right.”

Fresh Start burned for another hour before the fire was extinguished. The blaze did not spread to the nearby buildings, but was contained. The shelter was a total loss. All of the women and children housed in the building were safely evacuated, in large part because of Stef’s quick action in getting to them before the blaze spread to the sleeping rooms.

Only the night manager did not escape. His ruined body was found in the basement, lying near the charred filing cabinets and records bins. It took only a short time to make a tentative identification. It was a man, not a woman, and Ray Hapgood had been on duty and was unaccounted for.

It was three in the morning when Ross and Stef reentered their apartment and closed the door softly behind them. They stood holding each other in the darkness for a long time, breathing into each other’s shoulders in the silence, saying nothing. Ross could not stop thinking about Ray.

“How could this have happened?” he whispered finally, his voice still tight with shock.

Stef shook her head and said nothing.

“What was Ray doing there?” he pressed, lifting his head away from her shoulder to look at her. “It wasn’t his duty. He was supposed to go out to his sister’s in Kent. He told me so.”

Her fingers tightened on his arms. “Let it go, John.”

A stubborn determination infused him. “I don’t want to let it go. Who had the duty tonight? Who?”

She lifted her head slightly and he could see the angry welts and bruises on her face. “Simon makes up the list, John. Ask him.”

“I’m asking you. Who had the duty?”

She blinked back the tears that suddenly filled her eyes. “You did. But when you went home sick, Ray offered to fill in.”

He stared at her in disbelief. He had the duty? He couldn’t remember it. Why hadn’t he known? Even before he was sick, why hadn’t he known? It should have been posted. It must have been. He was certain he had looked at the list. So why didn’t he remember seeing his name?

He felt worn and defeated. He stood in the dark holding Stef and looking into her eyes, and for the first time in a long time he was uncertain about everything. “Did you see my name?”

“John …”

“Did you, Stef?”

She nodded. “Yes.” She touched his face. “This isn’t your fault, John. Just because you weren’t there and Ray was doesn’t mean it’s your fault.”

He nodded because that was what she expected him to do, but he was thinking that it felt like it was his fault, just as it had felt like it was his fault at San Sobel. Any failure of responsibility or neglect of duty belonged to him, and nothing could change that. He closed his eyes against what he was feeling. Ray Hapgood had been his friend, his good friend, and he had let him die.

“John, listen to me.” Stef was speaking again, her face close to his, her body pressing against him in the darkness. “I don’t know why this happened. I don’t know how it happened. No one does. Not yet. So don’t go jumping to conclusions. Don’t be shouldering the blame until you know the facts. I’m sorry Ray is dead. But you didn’t kill him. And if it had to be someone, I would rather it was him than you.”

He opened his eyes, surprised by her vehemence. “Std.”

She shook her head emphatically. “I’m sorry, but that’s how I feel.”

She kissed him hard, and he kissed her back and held her tightly against him. “I just can’t believe he’s gone,” he whispered, his hand stroking her slender back.

“I know.”

They held each other for a long moment, and then she led him to the bedroom. They undressed in the dark and crawled into the bed and held each other again in the cool of the sheets. The streets beyond their window were silent and empty. All the fire trucks, police cars, ambulances, and bystanders were gone. The rain had faded away, and the air was damp and cold in the wake of its passing. Ross hugged Stef’s smooth body against his own and listened to the soft, velvet sound of her breathing.

“I could have lost you tonight,” he whispered.

She nodded. “But you didn’t.”

“I was scared I had.” He took a long, slow breath and let it out. “When you were inside, bringing out the last of those children, and I saw the flames climbing the walls, I thought for sure I had.”

“No, John,” she whispered, kissing him gently, over and over, “you won’t lose me ever. I promise. No matter what, you won’t lose me.”

The dream comes swiftly, a familiar acquaintance he wishes now he had never made. He stands once more on the hillside south of Seattle, watching as the city burns, as the hordes of the Void swarm through the collapsed defenses and begin their ritual of killing and destruction. He sees the battle taking place on the high bridge where a last, futile defense has been mounted. He sees the steel and glass towers swallowed in flames. He sees the bright waters of the bay and sound turn red in the reflected glare
.

He finds he is cold and indifferent to what he witnesses. He is detached in a way he cannot explain, but seems perfectly normal in his dream, as if he has been this way a long time. He is himself and at the same time he is someone else entirely. He pauses to examine this phenomenon and decides he has changed dramatically from when he was a Knight of the Word. He is a Knight no longer, but he remembers when he was. Oddly, his memories are tinged with a wistfulness he can’t quite escape
.

Before him, Seattle burns. By nightfall, it will have ceased to exist. Like his old life. Like the person he once was
.

There are people huddled about him, and they glance at him fearfully when they think he is not looking. They are right to fear him. He holds over them the power of life and death. They are his captives. They are his to do with as he chooses, and they are anxious to discover what he has planned for them. The exercise of such power is a curious feeling because it both attracts and repels him. He wonders in a vague sort of way how he got to this point in his life
.

From the long, dark span of the high bridge, bodies tumble into an abyss of smoke and fire like rag dolls. Their screams cannot be heard
.

The old man approaches, as he has approached each time in the dream, and points his bony finger at Ross and whispers in his hoarse, ruined voice, I know you
.

Get away from me, Ross orders in disgust and dismay, not wanting to hear the words he will speak
.

I know you, the old man repeats, undeterred, the bright light of his madness shining in his strange, milky eyes. You are the one who killed him. I was there
.

Ross stands his ground because he cannot afford to turn away. His captives are watching, listening, waiting for his response. They will measure his strength accordingly. The old man sways as if he were a reed caught in a stiff wind, stick-thin and ragged, his mind unbalanced, his laughter filled with echoes of his shattered life
.

Get away from me, Ross says once more
.

The Wizard of Oz! You killed him! I remember your face! I saw you! There, in the glass palace, in the shadow of the Tin Woodman, in the Emerald City, on All
Hallows’ Eve! You killed the Wizard of Oz! You killed him! You!

The words fade and die, and the old man begins to cry softly. Oh, God, it was the end of everything!

Ross shakes his head. It is a familiar litany by now He has heard it before, and he turns away in curt dismissal. It is all in the past, and the past no longer matters to him
.

But the old man presses closer, insistent. I saw you. I watched you do it. I could not understand. He was your friend. There was no reason!

There was a reason, he thinks to himself, though he cannot remember it now
.

But, the young woman! The old man is on his knees, his head hanging doglike between his slumped shoulders. What reason did you have for killing her?

Ross starts, shaken now What young woman? Couldn’t you have spared her? She was just trying to help. She seemed to know you
 …

Ross screams in fury and shoves the old man away. The old man tumbles backward into the mud, gasping in shock. Shut up! Ross screams at him, furious, dismayed, because now he remembers this, as well, another part of the past he had thought buried, a truth he had left behind in the debris of his conversion
 …

Shut up, shut up, shut up!

The old man tries to crawl away, but he has crossed a line he should not have, and Ross cannot forgive him his trespass. He strides to where the old man cringes, already anticipating the punishment he will deliver, and he lifts the heavy black staff and brings it down like a hammer
 …

Ross jerked upright in the darkness of his bedroom, eyes snapping open, body rigid, awash in terror. His breath came in quick, ragged gulps, and he could hear the pounding of his heart in his ears. Stef lay sleeping next to him, unaware of his torment. The bedside clock read five-thirty. He could hear a soft patter against the window glass. Outside, it was raining again.

He held himself motionless beneath the sheet, staring at nothing, remembering. The dream had been real. The memories were his. He squeezed his eyes shut in dismay. He knew who the young woman was. He knew who it must be.

And for the first time since the dream had come to him, he was afraid it might really happen.

W
hen the phone rang, Nest was buried beneath her blankets where it was pitch-black, and she was certain it was still the middle of the night. She let the phone ring a few times, her mind and body warm and lazy with sleep. Then memories of last night’s horror at Lincoln Park flooded through her, and she crawled from under the covers into shockingly bright daylight.

Squinting uncertainly against the glare, she picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Nest, it’s me. Are you all right?”

John Ross. She recognized his voice. But what an odd question. Unless he knew what had happened to her in the park, of course, but she didn’t know how he could. She hadn’t spoken to anyone afterward. She’d come back and fallen asleep almost immediately.

“I’m fine,” she answered, her mouth and throat dry and cottony. What time was it? She glanced at the bedside clock. It was almost noon. She had forgotten to set the alarm and slept more than ten hours.

“Did I wake you?” he asked quickly. “I’m sorry if I did, but we have to talk.”

She nodded into the phone. “It’s okay. I didn’t mean to sleep this late.” She could feel the pain begin even as she spoke the words. Her entire body was throbbing, an ache building steadily from a low whine to a sharp scream. “Where are you?”

“Downstairs, in the lobby.” He paused. “I called earlier and there was no answer. I was afraid something had happened to you, so I decided to come over. Can you come down?”

She took a deep breath, still working at waking up. “In about a half hour. Can you wait?”

“Yes.” He hesitated a long time. “I’ve been thinking. Maybe you were right about some of the things we talked about. Maybe I was wrong.”

She blinked in surprise. “I’ll be down as quick as I can.”

She returned the receiver to its cradle and rolled onto her back. Whatever had happened to him must have been every bit as significant as what had happened to her. She didn’t know for sure that he was ready to concede the point, but it sounded as if he might be. She stared at the sunlight pooling on the floor in a golden rectangle in front of the tall window. Not only had she forgotten to set the alarm, she hadn’t even bothered to close the drapes. She looked out at the sliver of blue sky visible through the walls of the surrounding buildings. Last night’s storm had given way to better weather, it seemed.

She rolled slowly out of the big bed, her joints and muscles groaning in protest. Every part of her body ached from last night’s encounter, and when she looked down at herself, she found bruises the size of Frisbees on her ribs and thighs, and scratches on her hands and arms that were caked with dried blood. She could hardly wait to see what her face looked like. She glanced at the blood-streaked sheets and pillow cases and grimaced. She was grateful she wouldn’t have to explain all this to the day maids when they came around to clean up.

She went into the bathroom and showered. She was reminded by the heap of damp towels and washcloths that she had showered just last night, but she needed to perform the ritual again to prepare for her encounter with John Ross. Last night seemed far away, and the deaths of Ariel, Boot, and Audrey more distant in time than they actually were. At first, as she stood beneath the stream of hot water, they didn’t even seem real to her, as if she had dreamed them, as if they were imagined. But as the details recalled themselves, the images sharpened and solidified, and by the time she was pulling on her jeans and an NU sweatshirt, she was surprised to find she was crying.

She picked up the dirty clothes, stuffed them into a laundry bag, and shoved the bag into her suitcase. Her windbreaker was in tatters, so she dropped it into the wastebasket. She would have to buy a new one before she went outside. She paused, wondering exactly where she was going out to. She had taken the room for two nights, and her plane ticket home was for four-thirty that afternoon. Was she really leaving? Was her part in all of this over? She remembered her promise to herself the night before that she would see things through to the end. She had made that promise for Ariel and Audrey and Boot, but for herself, as well.