Thea Harrison: Rising Darkness

He had never seen eyes as old as hers. He was too young and ignorant to understand how deadly they were. All he knew was that this strange conversation was more real than anything else that he could remember.

He ran to the fence, clutched metal links in both hands and looked up at her. “I’m sorry,” he said. The unaccustomed words stuck in his throat, but he forced them out anyway. “I’m sorry I was rude. Please, would you teach me how you did that?”

Her face softened and she touched his clenched fists with gnarled fingers as she spoke aloud for the first time. “Well said. And I might teach you, but it still depends on one more thing.”

He shook his head in confusion. It was so odd. From a distance she had seemed so small, barely taller than he was. Now that he was right up next to her she seemed to tower over him.

“Anything,” he promised. He had been so young.

She bent forward and locked gazes with him. He realized that he had been wrong about her eyes too. They weren’t like friendly little raisins. They were hot and full of burning power like black suns.

“You must keep it a secret,” she whispered. “Or I will have to kill you.”

Terror thrilled him. Never, in reality or his wildest imagination, had an adult spoken to him like that. And she might even mean it.

(Whereas the man he had grown into knew very well that she had.)

He pushed against the fence. “I promise. I won’t tell anyone.”

“Ever,” said the old woman.

He nodded. “Ever.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Cross your heart and hope to die.”

Those words. She meant them. Wow, this was so cool. He held her gaze and grinned. He crossed his heart and hoped to die.

The old woman smiled her approval. “Atta boy.”

She told him to be quiet and wait, and he did, though it was one of the hardest things he’d ever done.

He was rewarded for his patience two weeks later. Walking home from school, he saw a U-Haul van parked in front of a small house located a couple of doors down from where he lived.

Curious, he wandered over to watch half a dozen men unloading furniture, appliances and boxes. There were no toys, no bikes, nothing weird or spooky, just ordinary furniture. Pastel. He had started to turn away when he heard a thin, elderly female voice from within the house call out to the men.

A sharp, delicious shiver, like the flat of a cold blade, ran over his skin.

He hadn’t heard that voice for very long, but he would recognize it anywhere.

He knocked on her door. She gave him a cookie. To the hired movers they looked like a pleasant, ordinary old woman making friends with a well-mannered, curious neighborhood boy.

A week later the old woman met his parents. Soon after that he was taking piano lessons from her on Tuesdays and Thursdays. His family didn’t own a piano, so he also went over to her house on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays so he could practice on hers.

His parents were amazed and delighted at the strength of his artistic dedication. It seemed to be just the key they needed to settle him down. When his mentor invited him for summer vacations, they agreed with a poorly concealed relief.

In the meantime, Michael grew from a troubled little boy with messy, uncontrollable emotions into something quiet, controlled and infinitely more deadly.

He learned who he was.

More importantly, he learned why he was the way he was.

“You lost the other half of yourself,” his mentor told him. “It happened a very long time ago. So long ago, in fact, that I am surprised there is any sanity left in you at all. You must remember who you are. You must remember everything you can, and rediscover your skills and your purpose. I can help you do that.”

As he learned meditation and discipline, he grew to understand what his mentor meant. He felt that raging part of him like a beast that was too lightly restrained. He harnessed that energy as he grew older, turning all of his focus onto it, and scarlet threads of memory began to unfurl into the past.

Past before his birth in this lifetime.

Past into distant history, so very long ago.

And he began to remember what he had lost. Who he had lost.

The other half of himself.

An unshakable determination settled into him. If she still existed in any way, he would find her again.

He would find her.

EARLY ON THAT bright spring morning, Mary continued with obvious reluctance toward her ex-husband as he stood in front of her house.

“Oh that’s flattering of you,” Justin said with a grin. “Good thing my ego is so preened and shiny. Good morning, and screw you too.”

“You show up uninvited, you get what you get,” she said. Her voice sounded rough. She cleared her throat. “For pity’s sake, man. It’s not even seven o’clock yet. I never talked to you this early when we lived together.”

“Then why don’t you answer your phone?” he said in exasperated reply. “If you’d pick up, I wouldn’t have to stop by unannounced.”

She squinted at him then jogged up the stairs to unlock her front door, while he followed her at a slower pace. “Because it didn’t ring.”

“Is it even in the house?” he retorted as he came up behind her. He peered past her at the riotous mess inside. “How can you tell? The hood of your car is cold but you weren’t answering when I knocked. I was going to let myself in to make sure you were all right.”

She sighed. “Don’t make me regret giving you that key.”

“You’ll have to arm wrestle me to get it back, and you know I cheat.” Once they had both stepped inside, he looked at her again more closely. Something in his face changed, the humor dying away. “Are you okay? You look really pale.”

“I’m fine.” She removed her sunglasses and rubbed at her face. She could still feel creases on her cheek from the cloth she had slept on. The pounding in her head had grown worse. She turned to walk to her kitchen and said over her shoulder, “I need coffee. Do you want a cup?”

“Yeah.” Justin followed her. “Look, do me a favor. Make an appointment to see your doctor, okay?”

“What? No. I said I’m fine.” Mary stopped in the middle of her kitchen and looked around in confusion. She knew exactly where she was, but everything still seemed alien, incomprehensible.

She didn’t belong here. Panic clutched at her again, like a drowning victim trying to pull her underwater. She flung it off, shaking herself hard like a wet dog as she headed for the coffeepot.

“I don’t think you’re as fine as you say you are.” Justin frowned at her.

She waved a hand as if to brush away his words. “I had a day from hell yesterday. My shift was twenty-six hours long. We had a multiple car accident and a couple of gunshot victims.”

He shook his head. “That’s rough. What happened?”

“The accident was a pileup on I-94. No fatalities, thank God. The shooting was a different story. Some girl found out her BabyDaddy had another BabyMama. She borrowed her brother’s nine-millimeter and emptied the clip into the pair while they sat outside at the local Dairy Queen.” She glanced at Justin, her expression grim. “Now she’s in jail facing murder charges. BabyMama Two is dead and BabyDaddy is in ICU. He may or may not make it, and all the babies have been taken by Child Protective Services, which, when you think about it, might be the best thing that’s happened in their little lives.”

Justin’s voice turned hushed. “I heard about that on the news.”

She yanked open a cupboard, pulled out the coffee and a filter. She said over her shoulder, “To top it all off, I got maybe four hours’ sleep, so of course I look like shit. It’s no big deal.”