Psychopomp: A Novella (12 page)

I’d begun to see decrepit houses. Abandoned farms. Row after row of withered crops. Weather modification had hit this area hard, years ago. Chunks of cement sat in the middle of the fields, relics of cloud-seeding experiments gone wrong. Planes had flown through clouds over these crops, releasing a mixture of chemicals intended to make it rain. The cement powder in the mixture hadn’t broken apart during the release, and these blocks had fallen from the sky.

The weathered shutters of the farmhouse I approached swung lazily in the wind, barely hanging on by their hinges. All the windows were broken. The front porch had splintered away from the outer walls and had become a useless pile of wood. My vision blurred as I circled to the back of the house. I found another door, the steps leading to it more or less intact. I climbed up and knocked loudly, even though I knew no one would answer.

I leaned against the screen door, waiting. My eyes kept drifting closed.

As my body started listing to one side, I roused myself and flung a hand at the latch. It broke off at my clumsy touch and the door swung open. I stumbled into a musty, dingy kitchen, feet echoing on unstable floorboards. Colorless flowers were printed on the walls.

“Hello?” I called over the rhythmic banging of the shutters. My voice sounded hoarse and weak. I wasn’t sure when I’d last used it.

The chipped porcelain sink caught my eye, and I hobbled toward it. Miraculously, there were a few gulps of brown water left in the pipes. My burning body longed for more, but I could hardly walk. With my hands out to feel for walls and furniture, I forced myself into the next room. Vision blacking in and out, I found a couch that let up a cloud of dust when I fell face first onto it.

Sleep came quickly, like a light gone out. At first it was restful. Then I began to shiver and sweat, drifting in and out of dreams. The night whirled around my spinning head.

In my delirium I realized I was not just the only person for miles, but the very last person on earth.

The nights were almost as warm as the days. Cooling units hidden in metal plants and vents in the sidewalk spurted soft breezes into the air, but sweat beaded on Dominique’s brow anyway.

Wearing a shiny black dress that had been delivered to her room earlier in the day—thankfully while Delia had been out on an errand—Dominique walked through Cizel to the address Hiram had given her. The dress left her shoulders bare and felt like water on her thighs. She looked plainer than anyone she saw—one woman wore a top made of clamshells and beads and another had on an elaborate skirt of what looked like fish scales—and she felt all the more exposed because of it, though no one seemed to pay her much attention.

She arrived at the address, which wasn’t far from home at all. The building was a convention center of some kind, only one story but tall and sprawling. A false garden filled with luminescent ferns and glowing orange flowers surrounded it, edging the path leading to the entrance. Dominique’s steps slowed on the path as she stared, wondering if real plants were anything like the hard, cold replicas before her.

Others passed by her and headed inside, arm in arm and entirely at ease. She kept glancing around for Hiram and wondered if his invitation had been some elaborate joke. Or maybe something had happened to him, given his line of work. Maybe she would never see him again and never know what had become of the man, the murderer.

If a terrorist were going to bomb the city, she thought, a party would be the perfect place. It had happened before, and recently. The parties were always full of people who supported the war and benefitted from it. Delia had been right—no one would bother with a row of modest businesses. A place like this was the real target.

And yet she kept waiting for Hiram instead of leaving. She chided herself miserably each moment she continued to stand there.

Just as she was beginning to feel lightheaded from the oxygen the plants emanated at regular intervals, she heard deliberate, easy footsteps. Whirling, she caught sight of him coming up the path toward her, all shiny hair and understated clothes that perfectly skimmed his tall, well-built body.

“Good evening, Dominique,” Hiram said. “You look lovely.”

“Thanks for the dress.” She attempted a smile. “It’s, uh… different.”

Smiling without a hint of superiority, he held out his arm for hers. She took it, disturbed at the close proximity of their bodies. His solid warmth was comforting and pleasant. A murderer shouldn’t have felt so nice. And she shouldn’t have enjoyed herself so much.

Her guilt temporarily fled when they passed through the arched entrance. It was one large room lit up with pale lights and made to look like a courtyard of sorts. Tropical trees had been painted in silver along the walls. Golden, flickering holograms roamed the room in the shape of animals from long ago: cheetahs, horned impalas, ostriches.

The ceiling stretched high above, and it had been designed to look like a clear blue sky with the sun shining down. Some machine had even been used to simulate light, frothy clouds. She wondered if the world had once looked like this.

“How did they do this?” Dominique asked, her lips parted in wonder. “How did they know?”

“Books,” Hiram answered. “As for the rest, this is old technology. But it’s still impressive when used in interesting ways.”

She cut a glance at him to see if he was secretly laughing at her, but his gaze roved admiringly over the room. Food and drink tables had been set up in each corner. Music streamed all around from hidden speakers, the songs interspersed with realistic animal sounds. Most of the guests wore beige or green, though some had opted for animal prints. Dominique’s black dress seemed stark, but she felt suddenly lovely in it. She was distinct in the softness of the room.

They ate, watching the room and not speaking to each other. Everyone seemed to stream around them, as if there were an invisible bubble closing them off from the rest of the room. Dominique looked at Hiram, wondering if he noticed. But if he did, he didn’t seem bothered. His gaze was serene and contemplative.

He glanced down at her and held out his hand. Dominique put hers in it and allowed him to lead her out among the other dancers. The fast-paced song changed to something slower as they faced each other, almost as if he’d timed it.

They whirled together, hand in hand. Dominique didn’t know the steps, but she managed to move more or less in time with Hiram. She detected a glint in his eyes and the faintest of smiles on his lips, perhaps indicating his amusement at her lack of practice. But she thought maybe, just maybe, he might have grown fond of her. Men like him didn’t make permanent companions of girls like her, but maybe she would be the exception.

The man was obviously rich. As long as she didn’t have to actually
watch
him kill people, spending her life with him wouldn’t be so terrible.

Dominique blinked as he whirled her in another direction. What was she
thinking
?

“You try to hold your feelings in reserve,” he said, “but you aren’t very good at it. It’s no secret to me how you feel, Dominique. However, nothing can ever result from those feelings. Your affections flatter me, but I
am
that man you fear. Do you understand?”

Steeling herself, she tilted her head and arched her eyebrows proudly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He gave a small shake of his head, the light in his eyes dimming. “Never forget who you are, Dominique.”

“Why would I—”

As the words left her mouth, an explosion sounded and the room shook. People screamed, and Dominique gasped in fright. Hiram’s hand tightened around hers. Her gaze snapped to his and she fell instantly into the depths of his dark, fathomless eyes. His face was no longer that of the remote, quiet stranger whose mansion she had cleaned. It was not that of the calm, kind man who had accompanied her to the dance. He had become the cold-blooded killer she’d known him for from the very beginning. Understanding flooded her.

“No,” she whispered. “
No.
”

“Yes,” he said, and there was perhaps a touch of sadness in his voice.

“The girls—”

“All home safe, at this hour. And you are here with me.”

The other guests clutched at each other and pushed toward the door, voices rising with panic. Dominique’s heart threatened to beat right out of her chest. “Delia—my mother—”

Hiram shook his head, eyes closing briefly. He said nothing.

A sob caught in her throat and she stared at him, willing this not to be true. “Why did you do it?”

“I didn’t, Dominique. I only knew it was going to happen.”

“Who are you?” she asked accusingly.

“No one.”

Enraged and afraid and filled with despair that burned at the base of her throat, she pushed away from him and stumbled through the flickering holograms toward the door. There was still a crowd, but Dominique managed to elbow her way through it. Outside, she shoved past people lingering in frightened clusters on the sidewalk and ran across the street. The ground fell away beneath her feet as she drew closer to the agency, her dread weighing more heavily with each step.

She could smell the smoke and singed bricks now. Even before she turned the last corner, she knew what she’d see.

The agency was destroyed. The outer walls had collapsed, crushing the interior. Bricks and shattered glass lay scattered in the street. The adjacent buildings had taken some damage as well, their blackened walls beginning to crumble and their windows broken.

Tears stung Dominique’s eyes as she picked her way closer among the rubble. “Delia?” she called, coughing. Her stomach roiled with fear and worry. What had her mother done to warrant this?

There was no answer but the wail of a siren several streets away. Then someone called out from one of the neighboring buildings, begging for her help.

Carefully, Dominique headed toward the faint voice, peering into the dark wreckage. She saw a woman’s pale face turned toward her. The woman held one hand out, and Dominique hesitated before reaching in to grab it. But when she pulled, the woman didn’t move. Beams and sections of wall held her in place, all of it too heavy for Dominique to lift.

Something nearby crashed, sending up a cloud of dust and ash, and Dominique let out a scream. “I’m sorry,” she said to the woman. “Help’s coming. I can hear the sirens.”

“Wait!” the woman called, but Dominique retreated across the street and stood in the shadows, arms wrapped around herself. She stared at the smoldering remains of her home, shivering despite the heat.

What was she to do now? Where was she to go?

She thought of seeking out the other girls who’d worked at the agency, but they would have to deal with their own troubles when they learned of this. Many of them had families they helped support, and some had children. They’d have no help to offer her, and she had no other family of her own to beseech.

Her whole life had been in that agency, in her little room upstairs. Now she had nothing. No one.

Only when the police and ambulances arrived, along with a few ambassadors, did Dominique leave, keeping to the back streets so no one would see her. She didn’t know who she was hiding from, unless it was Hiram. But she thought he’d be able to find her anyway, if he wanted. The idea of seeing the dark embers of his eyes again filled her with dread.

When she arrived at the edge, she realized she’d known all along it was where she’d have to go. It was where everyone went when there was no place else.

Girls waited for furtive men in the glow of red lights over doors. Boys roamed the shadows, selling stolen pills.

She saw Hiram Bartholomew’s eyes in the shadowed face of every man she passed. She found an empty section of wall and leaned against it, hands clenched at her sides. His voice rang out in her mind—an empowering refrain, a repeated admonition.

Never forget who you are.

I didn’t want to get up, but I knew the house would fall down on me if I didn’t. There was no way it would withstand these winds much longer.

My head was too heavy for me to walk upright. I pushed along the walls like a blind animal, my only goal to get outside. Fuzz filled my head. I felt completely disconnected from my body, my muscles moving seemingly of their own accord.

Something jagged sliced my palm. I barely winced at the pain. The door was right in front of me, and I pushed through it. The wind entered my lungs as I struggled to draw breath. It coursed over my sensitized skin. My feet missed the steps and I crashed onto the ground. Thunder roared through the dark clouds overhead.

I tried to haul myself up but found I couldn’t. Then I realized I felt much better not standing up. So I dragged myself along the ground, clawing with my hands and pushing with my feet. Moving was hard. My bones cracked. I didn’t know how long I’d slept in the house. Everything hurt and my head still throbbed. At least the house was behind me. At least I was making progress.

Gabriel. Gabriel.

Lifting my head, I squinted at the horizon. I could see them. In the distance I could see the mountains. Just a suggestion of blue against the sky, appearing as insubstantial as the very air.

There was no way I could crawl that far. I looked down at the palm of my hand. The cut, grimed with dirt and tiny rocks, had not yet begun to heal.

Lightning flashed. The hair on my head and arms lifted. Dirt whirled up around me.

I understood my misery was nothing compared to the misery the earth had suffered. Humans forgot, but the earth remembered everything. Everything we did left a record on the land.

Blood is the debt we all must pay.

I knew just what to do.

With a guttural cry, I drove the thumb of my unwounded hand into the cut on the other. Pain lanced up my arm and through my body. I opened the cut further, pushing my thumb down deep until stars danced before my eyes. Blood spilled out, flowing down my wrist and dripping onto the ground. The bright red drops turned dark when they hit the barren earth, soaking into the surface.

The earth needed my blood and I would share it freely. This offering would buy me safe passage.

More lightning. Small red figures scored the earth around me. They spun with flickering grace. One of the featureless figures twitched closer. It seemed to bite its nails even though it had neither nails nor teeth. It grew bigger, menacing me with harsh, wordless whispers. Everything burned.

A few feet ahead of me, I saw something growing from the ground. I couldn’t tell what it was, but I dragged myself toward it. My eyelids started to droop.

And then the rain came. It was the first time I’d ever felt drops of water from the sky landing warmly on my skin. It was the first time I’d seen water darken the parched land.

The earth had accepted my offering.