TIME BEING, Chapter 14. PAIN AND FEAR

A dying woman travels through time to significant points in her life, but things are not as she remembers them. Accompanied by a handsome young stranger and her childhood cat, the fate of both past and future now lies in her aged hands.

Chapter 14. PAIN AND FEAR

 

Sylvan was done—she’d had enough. She was happy for Aron, that his quest—whatever it had been—was now complete, but what about her? Her son was gone. Aron, who disappeared into the crowd after his revelation, was gone. She had lost track of the red diary ages ago and supposed it was gone too. But she remained, alone in that odd, unpredictable cacotopia.

She felt a soft presence, then a weight in her lap.

“Brie, I still have you, don’t I?”

“Yes,” the cat purred, “but not for long if we don’t get moving. We need to put this behind us, and fast.”

Sylvan felt a stab of panic. “Why? What now?”

Brie vaulted across the room and pawed furiously at the wood paneled door. “Go now!” was her only answer.

Sylvan rose, but slowly. Her back and legs ached. She seemed to be aging exponentially, her former fifty-year-old body now plagued with seventy-year-old pains.

“Where will we go?” she muttered, shuffling over to open the door.

Again no verbal reply—just a look, and then Brie ran dashing into the carnival throng.

Sylvan’s dread shot up a notch as she realized she’d best follow quickly if she didn’t want to lose her little guide. At first, Brie’s path confused her, but soon she began to understand the intent. Brie had a route in mind that took her out and away from the carnival. Away from the bright lights and into the surroundings, the ominous black.

Brie, as a cat, might be able to see what was out there, but Sylvan’s human eyes gave her no clue. She stumbled as her feet touched gravel and then pavement—a street? She could only make out vague variations, a strip of dark shadow, darker at the edge. Ahead of her, running at an unrelenting pace, was a small dot of gray—Brie.

As they moved away from the lights of the fête, Sylvan’s vision adapted. Sure enough, they were traveling a roadway with a worn dotted line down the middle and deep forest to each side. Briefly she wondered what they would do if a car came, but more to the point was the question of where the road might lead.

Sylvan paused to stare back at the carnival. They had come farther than she’d realized. What had been a blaring brilliance was now just a glow on the horizon, and the calliope music merely a soft serenade wavering on the wind. She hadn’t noticed that wind before. Was she not paying attention, or had it just come up?

Brie had stopped too, sniffing at the air with profound interest.

“What do you smell, little one?” Sylvan whispered, keeping her voice low without knowing why.

“Shadows. Memories. Figments,” Brie hissed back. “They are coming for you, Sylvan. They want to tell you…”

Sylvan spun away from the portentous declaration. Brie had said those words once before, when they were escaping the Patch. She knew what was coming—the demons!

She scanned the deep dark at the side of the road. At first, her puny vision picked up nothing beyond the dense, flat black. No, that was wrong—there was movement within the void. She made out shapes, foul shapes. Twisting and writhing like something in torment, they moved in upon her. In another instant, they surrounded her, whispering in unearthly tones words she couldn’t understand.

Macabre beings pulled at her clothes and plucked at her skin. The more she fought them, the more aggressive their attack. They had the upper hand, and though Sylvan tried to fight, she was no match for the otherworldly denizens.

She sunk to her knees in surrender. Yellow eyes peered down at her. Gaping mouths dripped saliva or blood—she could not tell which. The smell of death hit her, death and, oddly enough, violets.

“You have missed your destiny,” came a cold voice from out of the cluster.

“Have you forgotten?” said another in the same flat tone.

“So little time,” proclaimed a third.

“Embrace your purpose,” several of the demons demanded at once.

“Go away!” Sylvan charged, her voice thick with fear.

“We cannot,” intoned a particularly grotesque fiend. “Do you not see? We are not just any demons—we are yours.”

“The blind exaltation!” they screeched in one long raven’s cry. “The Event! The Event!”

The scene was beginning to lighten, just enough so Sylvan could make out faces, those horrible faces peering down on her. But even as she watched, appearances were changing, morphing into ones that were far more familiar—friends and family, those she had met on her journey across time.

Mother, father, aunts, uncles. Her grandmother, smiling with forgiveness; her grandfather on his deathbed, but love in his eyes. Her son, eighteen and leaving home, and again as he was at the carnival such a short time ago. She even saw herself, as a young woman, a child, a baby.

Then another set of characters asserted themselves upon the rest. The doctor from the Avenue, the crone Sylvan from the Patch. Men and women, people she had seen before but couldn’t place swirled around her like ghosts of memory. The only ones missing in that hodge-podge of recollections were the most important persons of all, Aron and Brie.

The turmoil of faces was both mesmerizing and dizzy-making, and Sylvan covered her eyes with her hands, feeling like she might be sick. As she concentrated on her breathing, slowing it from a fearful pant to a semblance of normality, she noticed the voices were waning. Finally they disappeared altogether, leaving only the sound of the river and the wind. Still, she kept her eyes tight shut, fearing it would all come crashing back if she dared look.

Upon her eyelids, she perceived a growing luminescence. Instinctively her eyes popped open to see a pair of headlights approaching on the road. There was no way she could haul her decrepit body up in time to escape the oncoming car, but the point was moot—she found herself to be completely paralyzed.

Helplessly she watched the twin heralds of her death bear down upon her. The lights were blinding, but that was the least of her problems. Would it hurt? Would she die? Or would she merely be transported to some other place in time and one more torturous trial?

Shimmering, the blaze went from white to crimson, and within the red vortex roiled the radiance of a sun. Sylvan knew this thing, this fierce phenomenon of light. She had run from it in the Patch, urged on by the old crone of herself. What did it want? What did it mean?

Even as she watched, the vortex replicated over and over until it obscured the entire landscape. Thin lines, like veins, snaked throughout the pulsing veil. Then came the sound she remembered, the wailing, keening, rattling, churning song unlike anything made by human voice or hand. The singularity had come for her.

“It is called the Event,” said Brie, returning to Sylvan’s side.

“What should I do?” Sylvan mouthed back, her eyes fixed on the marvel.

“Run or stay, it is your choice. But I caution you…” The cat’s tone lowered to a growl. “…this opportunity will never come again.”

“I can’t…”

“But you can.”

Sylvan breathed deep and let herself be  swallowed by the crimson veil. At first, there was only pain and fear. Then she felt an atmospheric shift. Her blood surged hot throughout her body, and she could move again. She went to rise, to run, but a tendril of red broke from its core and reached out to her. As she watched, it became something else, something more—her diary! Suddenly she knew what she was supposed to do.

Taking the book and pen, Sylvan began to write with frenzied inspiration. The pain and fear were gone.

 

 

The Final Chapter, CODA QUASI, coming next Saturday.

For the complete story up until now, look here.