Tom Pawlik - Beckon

“I don’t care.” George grabbed her shoulders. “I can’t lose you again.”

“Lose me?” Miriam touched his cheek and smiled. “After all these years you still don’t… understand? Death isn’t the end, George—not for me. I’m… just going home.”

“Are you so sure of that?” Vale pointed to the windows. “Death and disease rule out there. But I saved you from it. Here in this town, I’ve given you immortality.”

“You’ve made them prisoners,” Miriam countered. “They live in fear of you. Afraid that one day you’ll take it all away from them.”

Vale’s eyebrows went up. “And you would have them believe you’re not afraid of dying?”

Miriam shook her head. “I may be… afraid of dying… but I don’t fear death.”

Vale grunted. “And why is that?”

Miriam grimaced and doubled over, leaning on George for support. And then with all her strength, she straightened again, leveling her gaze at Vale and the others. But George saw in her eyes neither hate nor anger nor even defiance, but rather…

Compassion.

“Because… I know the Author of life.”

Vale scowled and looked away from her. “It’s not too late, George.” His voice was even and confident. He got up from the table and slipped a glass vial from his pocket. “I can stop her suffering. I have it in my power.”

“Yes!” George reached out his hand. “Give it to me.”

But Miriam clutched his arms, refusing to let go. “No! I won’t live like that.”

“George?” Vale held out the vial and moved closer. “Do we have an agreement?”

“Yes, yes. Give it to me.”

Miriam lunged forward, snatching the perilium from Vale’s grasp. She fell in a heap, smashing the vial onto the floor. Glass shattered and the yellow liquid splashed across the tiles. The others gasped and scrambled to their feet.

“No!” George slumped to his knees and wrapped his arms around Miriam, lifting her to his chest. “What are you doing?”

Miriam’s breaths came in choppy bursts. “Setting… you… free….”

Tears poured from George’s eyes as she began to shake, her arms and legs quivering with increasing violence. He wept with bitter moans, desperately trying to hold her body still. But she arched back in his arms. Her head twisted and she groaned through her clenched teeth.

“No, no… dear God.” George sobbed like a child. “Please don’t leave me.”

Miriam’s body shook in violent surges, and he tried to hold her tightly but couldn’t prevent the ravaging onslaught of her spasms. He couldn’t ease her suffering or fend off death. He couldn’t…

He couldn’t save her.

George felt the whole world shift as his brain shut down to the trauma. This wasn’t happening. Miriam wasn’t dying. They never came to Wyoming. He never heard of perilium.

Seconds crawled past like hours. Eventually her tremors weakened, her body relaxed, and her eyes rolled back down. They seemed to fix on him for a brief moment as a sigh escaped her lips.

“No… sting…”

Then her eyes lost focus and she fell limp in his arms.

Elina still had more questions than answers. This newcomer, Jack, fascinated her, but his story was chilling. And while there were still some missing pieces, he had certainly shed light on the N’watu and why the people of Beckon were doing what they did.

But she didn’t know how many others there were. Was the whole town infected by this substance? This perilium?

And she wondered further about the couple she had encountered the day before. They seemed genuinely unaware of what was going on in this place and completely appalled by their discovery of the dungeons below Vale’s palatial lodge.

But it had been too long since their encounter. Clearly, if these people had been able to call for help, they would have heard something by now. Either they had been caught or killed—or worse, perhaps they were both part of the town’s conspiracy and had just been toying with them by pretending to help.

Elina felt like screaming. She hated not knowing what was going on. Hours had passed since they had brought Jack, but she couldn’t tell what time it was or even what day it was. She was filthy and hungry and now more angered than scared. But at least with Jack she had someone who knew more about what was going on.

They discussed various theories about the N’watu and the creatures that were apparently lurking farther down in the cave. They talked for hours, but Elina was getting more and more frustrated. All this talk was just fine, but it wasn’t getting them any closer to escaping—even to formulating a plan for escape. And in the back of her head, Elina knew it was only a matter of time before Vale came for another sacrificial offering. Before it was time for the Soul Eater’s next meal.

She peeked out the window in her door. “Jack, I can’t just sit here and wait around for them to come and get one of us. We have to try to escape.”

She heard Jack’s voice reply, “What exactly did you have in mind?”

“I don’t know, but I’m tired of waiting.”

“How many others are down here?”

“The best I can tell is maybe five or six,” Elina said.

Elina could hear Jack testing his cell door, inspecting the lock, the hinges, and the window bars. After a few minutes he issued an exasperated sigh. He sounded like he was giving up hope. And she couldn’t let that happen. Down here, hope might be all they had.

“Jack… do you believe in God?”

There was silence for a few seconds. “I guess so. I mean, my father would take me to church when I was a kid, but it always seemed so… I don’t know. Lifeless. And when I see places like this, I wonder if He’s even real at all. And how He could allow stuff like this to happen.”

“I don’t have a very good answer for you there,” Elina said. “I’ve only been going to church for a couple months.”

“A recent convert?”

“Well, more like a revert.”

“What do you mean?”

Elina sighed. She’d never shared this part of herself with anyone before. She had never seen the need to. She had always been too arrogant and independent. But her current circumstances seemed to provide an opportunity.

“My father was such a good Christian man. I was only thirteen when he was murdered… and something happened to me. I guess I just stopped caring about God. I couldn’t forgive Him for letting my father die.”

She heard Jack grunt softly. “I think I can relate to that.”

“So I was angry most of my teenage years and even through college. And when I joined the LAPD, I was an angry cop. A good cop, but an angry one.”

“You said you used to be on the police force. What happened?”

Elina’s chest began to ache. “I was on a call, a robbery. And I ended up pursuing a suspect. I followed him down an alley and lost sight of him for a moment. When I found him again, he had turned and was walking toward me.”

“Was he armed?”

“I thought he was, so I fired my weapon. But I didn’t warn him. I didn’t identify myself. I just fired. Three or four shots. One to the head. And I didn’t care. I didn’t know who he was, but I hated him and I wanted him to die because he was just a thug like the one who killed my dad.”

“But it wasn’t the right guy, was it?”

“No….” Elina could feel the tears in her eyes. They dripped down, cutting a salty path through the grime and dirt on her cheeks. “He was just some kid. Some innocent kid the guy had passed in the alley. Some kid just walking home from a party.”

“Let me guess—an internal investigation, a reprimand. Mandatory leave?”

“The suspect was black. The kid was black, and the guy who killed my father was black….”