Michael Grant - Lies

A small bonfire burned on the beach, casting a faint orange light over a small circle of sand and rock and water.

No one noticed Sam as he approached. So he had time to identify most of the half-dozen kids out there. Francis, Cigar, D-Con, a few others, and Orsay herself.

“I have seen something…,” Orsay began.

“Tell me about my mom,” someone cried out.

Orsay held up her hand, a calming gesture. “Please. I will do my best to reach your loved ones.”

“She’s not a cell phone,” the dark girl beside Orsay snapped. “It is very painful for the Prophetess to make contact with the barrier. Give her some peace. And listen to her words.”

Sam squinted, not quite able to recognize the dark-haired girl in the flickering firelight. Some friend of Orsay’s? Sam thought he knew every kid in the FAYZ.

“Begin again, Prophetess,” the dark-haired girl said.

“Thank you, Nerezza,” Orsay said.

Sam shook his head in amazement. Not only had he not known that Orsay was doing this, he hadn’t known she’d acquired her own personal manager. Not someone he recognized, the girl called Nerezza.

“I have seen something…,” Orsay began again, and faltered as though expecting to be interrupted. “A vision.”

That caused a murmur. Or maybe it was just the sighing sound of the water on the sand.

“In my vision I saw all of the children of the FAYZ, older kids, younger, too. I saw them standing atop the cliff.”

Every head swiveled to look up at the cliff. Sam ducked, then felt foolish: the darkness concealed him.

“The kids of the FAYZ, prisoners of the FAYZ, gazed out into a setting sun. Such a beautiful sunset. Redder and more vivid than anything you’ve ever seen.” She seemed to be mesmerized by that vision. “Such a red sunset.”

All attention was again focused on Orsay. Not a sound from the small crowd.

“A red sunset. The children all gazed into that red sun. But behind them, a devil. A demon.” Orsay winced as if she couldn’t look at this creature. “Then, the children realized that in that red sun were all their loved ones, arms outstretched. Mothers and fathers. And all united, all filled with longing and love. Waiting so anxiously to welcome their children home.”

“Thank you, Prophetess,” Nerezza said.

“They wait…,” Orsay said. She raised one hand, waved it toward the barrier, fluttered. “Just beyond the wall. Just past the sunset.”

She sat down hard, a puppet whose strings had been cut. For a while she sat there, crumpled, hands open, palms up on her lap, head bowed.

But then, with a shaky smile she roused herself.

“I’m ready,” Orsay said.

She laid her palm against the FAYZ wall. Sam flinched. He knew from personal experience how painful that could be. It was like grabbing a bare electrical wire. It didn’t do any damage, but it sure felt like it did.

Orsay’s narrow face was scrunched up in pain. But when she spoke her voice was clear, untroubled. Like she was reading a poem.

“She dreams of you, Bradley,” Orsay said.

Bradley was Cigar’s real name.

“She dreams of you…you’re at Knott’s Berry Farm. You’re afraid to go on the ride…. She remembers how you tried to be brave…. Your mother misses you….”

Cigar sniffled. He carried a weapon of his own devising, a toy plastic light saber with double-edged razor blades stuck into the end. His hair was tied back in a ponytail and held with a rubber band.

“She…she knows you are here…. She knows…she wants you to come to her….”

“I can’t,” Cigar moaned, and Orsay’s helper, whoever she was, put a comforting arm around his shoulders.

“…when the time comes…,” Orsay said.

“When?” Cigar sobbed.

“She dreams that you will be with her soon…. She dreams…just three days, she knows it, she is sure of it….” Orsay’s voice had taken on an almost ecstatic tone. Giddy. “She’s seen others do it.”

“What?” Francis demanded.

“…the others who have reappeared,” Orsay said, dreamy now herself, as if she was falling asleep. “She saw them on TV. The twins, the two girls Anna and Emma…she saw them…. They give interviews and tell…”

Orsay yanked her hand back from the FAYZ wall as if she had just noticed the pain.

Sam had still not been seen. He hesitated. He should find out what this was about. But he felt strange, like he was intruding on someone else’s sacred moment. Like he would be barging into a church service.

He sank back toward the cliff’s deepest shadows, careful not to be heard over the soft shush…shush…shush of the water.

“That’s all for tonight,” Orsay said, and hung her head.

“But I want to know about my dad,” D-Con urged. “You said you could do me tonight. It’s my turn!”

“She’s tired,” Orsay’s helper said firmly. “Don’t you know how hard this is for her?”

“My dad is probably out there trying to talk to me,” D-Con wailed, pointing at a specific place on the FAYZ barrier, as if he could picture his father right there, trying to peer through frosted glass. “He’s probably right outside the wall. He’s probably…” He choked up, unable to continue, and now Nerezza gathered him to her as she had Cigar, comforting him.

“They’re all waiting,” Orsay said. “All of them out there. Just beyond the wall. So many…so many…”

“The Prophetess will try again tomorrow,” the helper said. She raised D-Con to his feet. “Go now, all of you. Go. Go!”

The group rose reluctantly, and Sam realized that they would soon be heading straight for him. The bonfire collapsed, sending up a shower of sparks.

He stepped back into a crevice. There wasn’t a square inch of this beach and this cliff that he didn’t know. He waited and watched as Francis, Cigar, D-Con, and the others climbed up the trail and away into the night.

An obviously exhausted Orsay climbed down from the rock. As they passed, arm in arm, the helper bearing Orsay’s weight, Orsay stopped. She looked straight at Sam, though he knew he could not be visible.

“I dreamed her, Sam,” Orsay said. “I dreamed her.”

Sam’s mouth was dry. He swallowed hard. He didn’t want to ask. But he couldn’t stop himself.

“My mom?”

“She dreams of you…and she says…she says…” Orsay sagged, almost fell to her knees, and her helper caught her.

“She says…let them go, Sam. Let them go when their time comes.”

“What?”

“Sam, there comes a time when the world no longer needs heroes. And then the true hero knows to walk away.”

TWO

66 HOURS, 47 MINUTES

Hushaby, don’t you cry,

go to sleep little baby.

When you wake, you shall have

All the pretty little ponies…

IT WAS PROBABLYalways a beautiful lullaby, Derek thought. Probably even when normal people sang it, it was beautiful. Maybe even brought tears to people’s eyes.

But Derek’s sister, Jill, was not a normal person.

Beautiful songs could sometimes take a person out of themselves and carry them away to a place of magic. But when Jill sang, it was not about the song, really. She could sing the phone book. She could sing a shopping list. Whatever she sang, whatever the words or the tune, it was so beautiful, so achingly lovely, that no one could listen and be untouched.

He wanted to go to sleep.

He wanted to have all the pretty little ponies.

While she sang, that was all he wanted. All he had ever wanted.

Derek had made sure the windows were shut. Because when Jill sang, every person within hearing came to listen. They couldn’t help it.