The Soul Seekers (10 page)

“Where to?” she asks, taking my—William’s—arm.

I feel his voice coming out of me in a deep vibration, a delightful, warm sound. “Hmm, I thought we could go over to your favorite place for once.”

“What? You mean the hardware store again? I’d love to!” She’s dripping with sarcasm, a playful smile on her face.

I nudge her playfully. “We could still do that. You wanna do that?” I begin to pull her arm in that direction.

“No!” she laughs. “I can’t tease you, can I? You always win. No, I want to go to the dress shop. Although, I have to warn you, my window shopping skills are in full swing today. We might be there a long time.”

“Remember, we can look but we can’t buy,” I say, sounding like a father.

We begin to cross the street but I hold her back, waiting for a light blue Chevy to pass. It stops for us, even backing up a bit, and I wait as she steps off the curb; I give a small signal of thanks to the driver.

She begins, “Since it’s my birthday. . . .”

I can’t hear the rest of her sentence, only the sound of a revving motor and then screams, I hear her screams. Metal pushes her violently from my arms and the next thing I see is her landing with a silent thud across on the other side of the street, unconscious. The car speeds on, screeching around the curve and then into nowhere.

I run as if hell is wrapping its teeth around my ankles. I throw myself to the ground by her lifeless body.

“No! Cathy!” Sobs rip inside my chest, as painful as anything I’ve ever felt before.

Moments later, an ambulance roars around the corner and stops with men flying out to gather her bloody body. They don’t need to tell me, I know she is dead. I know because I can feel it’s all gone.

“Emma?”

I found it hard to open my eyes; tears started flowing out of control. “Who was she?”

“My sister, Cathy.”

Pulling my hand from his to wipe at my cheeks, I searched his eyes. “I am sorry.” I couldn’t stop the pain that sat in my chest. My hand trembled and hummed from the break in our electric current. “How did you do that? I was there. It was real.”

“I’ve had a lot of practice, believe me. When I learned I could visit my past using stored memories it became a source of escape.”

I touched him again. “Show me more. I want to see your whole life.”

“You have to go home, remember?”

I did? Why would I ever again want to leave him for any reason? Reluctantly I drew my hand back. “Next time then.”

“I’ll be here,” he said.

¤ ¤ ¤

Grandmother Carrie was waiting for me when I got home. “Young lady, what are you doing coming in like this after staying out all night? Have you never heard of a telephone?”

I dropped my bag with a plop on the floor. “It was stupid of me and if it helps at all, I didn’t have any fun.”

“Where were you?”

Telling her the whole truth didn’t sound like such a good plan. “I was at the library. I went in for a second after the fair because it was hot and I fell asleep. That’s all.”

She started to smile but cut it short with a raised eyebrow. “I have an attic I need you to clean.”

“Is that my punishment?”

“You’ve obviously never been in the attic. You’ll see.”

I hugged her. “You were right about everything.”

Her hand patted at my hair, and her arms held me tight. “I know, baby. And I’m here if you need me.”

We locked eyes: my dark brown to her soft brown with the lovely wrinkles around the edges. I hoped that someday I could be the person she wanted me to be. I wanted it more than ever.

First things first—I had to hide the coin. In my room, I thought of slipping it under the mattress but knew that was the first place anyone would search. There was the old Kodak, but that wouldn’t work because it still had an undeveloped roll with shots of Dad on our trip to Aspen.

I sat on the bed, my eyes scanning the room. I saw the tiny chest Dad had given me. It was an old oriental box with an intricate lock. I grabbed the box and began to untwist its spiral latch. A few turns to the right, a pull underneath, a jar to the left, then the slightest of taps upon the metal and it popped open.

The smell of cedar met my nostrils, reminding me of a day a few years ago when I had sat in his arms. Big, strong hands had twisted at the lock in front of my young eyes, and he had laughed at my gasp when the box lid sprung open. It was our secret; his only tangible gift of great value. One day, he said, I was to place my expensive treasures in it—all the things he intended to buy me when someday our ship came in.

The thought made me sad, but I realized there wasn’t anything to be sad about. Dad and I were sharing a moment, just like the old days. He was still in my life, helping me just as he always had before.

I placed the coin inside, and after re-screwing the combination, shoved the box into the back of the closet.

The attic was a mess. Pulling some boxes aside, I made my way to where a light bulb hung recklessly from the rafters. I reached up to turn it on and stood in its soft glow for just a moment. Dust filtered down through bare light, like tiny snowflakes—everything was covered with the stuff. Cobwebs were everywhere, looking like strings of fuzzy yarn hanging from object to object.

Against the far southern wall stood a collection of antique furniture, some of which I remembered from holidays spent there as a child. Other pieces—thicker, darker pieces that spoke of a time I could never understand, stood in shadows; forgotten relics from my grandmother’s youth.

The ubiquitous yellowed wedding gown hung inside a protective muslin bag by a full length mirror, now cracked. The dress was tiny, made for someone much shorter than I, and it was of an age that no longer existed but for someone’s lasting memory.

Three empty trash bags were clutched in my hand, waiting for me to make the first move and decide on where to start. If only it wasn’t so hot. I was having trouble breathing in such thick, dusty air. I ran a sweaty hand across my forehead, a bad idea since I already felt a layer of dust clogging up my pores. I was going to be a complete mess before this punishment had been served, and a long, hot shower was in store.

I grabbed a stack of papers off the floor, ready to toss them into an open trash bag, stopping when a headline caught my eye.

Springvale Seekers Hold Picnic at New Meeting Hall.

I looked at the picture of men dressed in suits wearing thick black glasses. A chill went through my body. There they were, June 14, 1956. I couldn’t understand anyone ever being so gullible as to join. I imagined the camera operator asking them to smile, giving up after the first few tries. Their eyes were hollow, looking at them made me shiver even in the heat. Sitting down on a box I began to read the article underneath the large black and white photo.

“Springvale’s newest church, the Soul Seekers, are holding a picnic this weekend at their elegant and newly finished two-story building. The event has been placed in hopes of recruiting fresh faces. Children, adults—all are welcome. Pie raffle to precede lecture and new member sign-up.

“The Soul Seekers are a fresh kind of ministry aimed to reach out to the lowest sinner or the wandering soul. Their aim is to build a large community of grand fellowship strong enough to deal with the problems facing our world today: loss of hope, lack of faith, and weakness of conviction. Join this wonderful group and be a part of Springvale’s most promising future.”

My stomach turned. I wondered how many people had gone to this picnic, not realizing the dangers behind the promises. And through the years, how many events had been held, enticing even more members? I held the dried, aged paper over the open trash bag and dropped it in with disgust.

Suddenly, all the heat in the attic changed and my breath flew out in a long cloud of frost. I heard the sound of footsteps coming closer, echoing through the drafty room and ricocheting against each wall in stereo to my overexcited, buzzing ears. They stopped just short of where I sat. I trembled, waiting for him to speak.

“I’m tuned to you now, Emma.”

“Yes,” I whispered. “Yes, this is my life, and I get to spend it how I please. I found the coin, I’m the only one who can see you. It’s fate.”

A frown flashed in the corners of his mouth. “Don’t doom yourself to fate, Emma.
Fight
it a little.”

His hands moved to extricate me, which I resisted. Our eyes met, lips close.

“What’s wrong with me wanting to help you? You’re just afraid.”

When I toyed with a strand of black hair, his eyes closed. “I’m terrified,” William said.

“But you shouldn’t be. I’m here for this. I know it. When we get you back into a normal life again, you’ll be happy that I helped.”

This time William was successful in unbinding my grasp, and he moved away to sit on a crate of records. “Oh,” he said, eyebrows raising for a second. “I see.”

“What?”

“You think I can be normal again.”

“Well, yes. I thought that’s what this was all about. Don’t you want to?”

William bent over to pick up an old record sleeve with Dean Martin on the cover. “I gave up on that idea a long time ago.”

“Then what? I don’t understand.”

“Emma, I’m just trying to keep from becoming a Seeker. There’s no hope in me ever being alive again.”

“I don’t believe that.” I turned, no longer able to look into his eyes. “I think there
is
a chance. I can feel it.”

“How exactly did you think something like this would work? We’re caught in something that’s too big to handle. All human knowledge is completely subservient compared to what they do. We don’t have the
means
to change me back.”

I frowned, still hiding with my back turned. It was true that I’d misunderstood his plans and had begun to think impossible things. But, why would it be any harder to keep him safe than it would be to make him a real human again? Either one seemed impossible. Why not try?

“Because if we do, you’ll be caught in the crosshairs. It’s not worth it.” He’d heard my thoughts, and this time I felt intruded upon.

I brushed my hair away from my shoulder, feeling the heat of the attic more than ever, even with him near. “You’ll be stuck here forever then, or worse.”

It hurt to think of him dying. A hard lump caught in my throat, and knifelike pain pushed against my chest for the reality of hopelessness.

He sucked in a breath, and I heard footsteps coming near, but they stopped short of where I stood, by the wedding dress. “I’m used to the idea, Emma.”

But I’m not.

In resignation, I reached for a box of old sewing scraps, perfect for a new quilt. Gran had said the other day how she needed some to start a new project. I took the box over to sit by the attic door. When I looked up, William was leaning against a dresser covered in muslin. He gave me a sweet smile, and I, despite the burning feeling in my chest, smiled back.

I remembered the old newspaper article, pulled it from the trash, scanned over the article again, and handed it to him. “Look, William. You probably remember this, right?”

He inspected the headline and showed a sour expression. “Yes, unfortunately. My sister went to one of those and came back saying how wonderful they were. She wanted me to go with her, but I never did.”

He couldn’t read the full article without throwing it back in the trash.

“I remember not liking the way she started to act as if she belonged to them and felt compelled to go to the meetings every other night. I tried to convince her it was abnormal, but she said they made her feel as if she belonged.” He pressed his lips together in tension. “Our adoptive mother encouraged her to go.”

“William, tell me about your sister. You said she meant a lot to you. What was she like?”

“She was pretty, but I showed you that.”

I smiled and nodded at the memory. Pretty was too modest a word, she had been luminous and graceful, more than any movie star on screen.

“She was a comfort to me, maybe I relied on her more than I should have, but she had a kind and generous spirit.”

“What did you do after she died? I saw you there on the street when they took her away. What happened to you?”

William leaned over on his knees, examining a photograph he’d found on the floor. “I ran. Our adoptive mother smiled at the news of Cathy’s death. I tried hard not to hate her, I really did Emma, but she was truly an awful human being. My sister gone and nothing but a smug grin.”

A book slipped out of my hands in distraction. His pain was fresh and new, despite all the years, and I could feel it transferring to me. “Where did you go?”

“Down to the lake to camp out for a few days, until I decided it would be wrong to miss the funeral. I went back to town but wasn’t allowed inside the church. I put up a fight, and just when the police started to put the handcuffs on my wrists, they
showed up.”

I didn’t have to guess who he meant by that.

“Marcus convinced the police that I needed a mental evaluation and that the congregation was well equipped to handle my needs. Alistair spoke of a ceremony and said we’d be going into the caves. The eclipse was coming and they were all very excited.

“They dragged me through limestone tunnels using a mental force I wasn’t equipped to handle. I had a certain amount of psychic powers but I wasn’t strong enough to deal with what they were doling out. Whenever I fought back, a paralysis would stun me. All my muscles became lead, even my bones felt numb.

“We reached a large cavern room where they tied me down. Men in robes hovered over me, chanting horrible prayers.”

I was now sitting at his side, glued to every word. Somewhere along the line I had grabbed his hands and held them tightly. “Go on,” I whispered, holding in a breath as he raised my hands to his lips to place a gentle kiss on each palm. Carefully he placed them back into my lap and pulled his away, continuing with the rest of his story.