Hold the Light (14 page)

Randy's mother had green eyes. They both had the same shining smile. He wanted this woman to wink the way his mother did. The perfect signal that he used to receive; it soothed him, told him everything would be all right. But she saved that for her children.

Randy's strength recovered by nightfall, and he waved goodbye to the kind mother and the huge squatter city. They waved lightly in response. As he left he turned back and noticed their fires were so bright and abundant that the area lit up like the night sky.

"I'm coming Bets," Randy said to those lights.

He turned and traveled towards the lights in the opposite direction, towards Boston, and something happened that hadn't occurred in a long time. A smile grew on his face; it was his own hope and not the gift's. It made him happy, something else he hadn't been in awhile.

Boston strolled up and welcomed him as if it knew what he had gone through. The dust and dirt, like burned remains, looked like a golden payment to start him off on a new life. Walking through the streets in awe, he never let his persistent convulsions ruin the amazement. From that point on, the convulsions eased, and Randy became master over the light within him. That morsel of hope outweighed the years of turmoil.

Automobiles sputtered by and the buildings grew higher, leering ominously down at Randy, but he breezed past the clamor until he arrived at Betsy's door. Before his hand could curl into a fist to knock, his fingers spread and caressed the grains in the door, wondering if he could handle the news if Betsy had died from the illness the letter suggested.

Randy rapped and nervously gulped. Eons seemed to pass before a few chains jingled and locks clanked. Sweat pooled Randy's palms and back.

"One moment," a woman's voice softly sang. The door creaked open.

"What can I do for..." she began.

After rubbing her eyes a few times, she saw Randy's sweet smile. "Oh dear God," Betsy exclaimed.

Her five children raced to the door and watched Betsy wrap Randy into a hug. Her husband watched from the hallway.

"Come in, come in, dear brother," Betsy ushered him in.

Randy sat on the sofa. The children gathered around with their parents to hear Randy's tale of the past several years. At any one time, three of the five children would be on Randy's lap or in his arms, taking to him immediately. And his love facilitated it. He smiled at Betsy and she smiled back. They talked for hours until her children and husband Ted went to bed. Betsy and Randy continued until the break of daylight, seeing Ted off to work at the courthouse and the children off to school.

Chapter 23

Randy stayed with his family for a couple weeks and tried to find a job. Ted tried but couldn't swing an opening in the courthouse for him. The search grew futile, but had no effect on Randy's happiness. Every morning he woke to a peaceful unity that surrounded the house. He knew he could go on living like this forever, or at least die happy.

But plans different from his were unfolding and Randy knew it, felt it in his gut and in the ache of his right knee.

It was at night, two and a half weeks after he had arrived, that Randy found out what the terrible gale beneath his skin and the obstinate tailing convulsions were.

He had hid them well from his nieces and nephews, along with the story of the sanitarium, but couldn't hide anything from Betsy. She knew everything.

"What's da matter, Uncle Wandy?" the second youngest asked as Randy shook during a late dinner.

"Nothing, baby," Betsy told her, as his writhing slowed and mottled color came back to his cheeks, "Eat your food."

After a moment, Randy spoke as if time hadn't passed, "I'm alright."

When the convulsions occurred in front of the family, he'd play it off as something distracted him and he'd continue on as if nothing happened.

The gift was able to be contained somewhat and the promise of a normal life seemed possible. The family sat and listened to the radio in the evenings, just like Betsy and Randy did in their childhood. After an evening of radio theatre, everyone headed off to their rooms, and Randy feel asleep curled up on the couch. Resting peacefully, he snored away until a flash woke him. A reflecting glare bounced off the glass door of the tall wooden grandfather clock nearby and shone right into his eyes. Bright white beams of moonlight bounced off the pendulum, and illuminated the dust in the surrounding air. The time etched on the clock, an etched in his head was ten after ten. Randy was rarely woken by convulsions anymore; he knew something so he knew something was actually happening. But he ignored it and flipped away from the moonlight to fall asleep again.

But another flash bombarded him and he saw Kara, his youngest niece. The flash rapidly turned into a convulsion that rumbled into reality. He found himself in her room, staring down on her sleeping in her crib, next to her two other sisters on the bed. Kara barely twitched or peeped as Randy moved closer. He peered over the wooden railing at her sleeping peacefully, curled up into a chubby ball. The mechanical ticking sound from the pendulum punched against his ears.

Randy was disoriented from sleep; he tried to wake and clear his mind but couldn't. Nothing felt right. His body was light and the railing of the crib had no texture; it put no pressure against his hands. This feeling was familiar, but what was once a vague impression was now as tangible as reality; this didn't feel like a convulsion because he didn't feel the light's frigid hold. He felt like he was holding the light. For all the time the light had been inside him, emitting warning signs that he hadn't caught until tonight. Randy walked in this waking dream, without an ounce of clarity or reason. He felt like he had mastered it, beaten it down to the depths of his soul to where it had to obey. But it quickly became crystal clear that he was at the light's mercy. He closed in on his baby niece.

Panic invaded his mouth and head as he tried to scream, but only the sweeping silence of the house responded. Without his command, both of his hands landed on her little lumpy body. He stared at them in confusion and noticed they were blue. She cooed as he reached for her face. His right hand moved up and pinched her nose shut and his left crept into her mouth and probed. Every movement was beyond his control, his hands, his motions, everything was swift and automated. Kara's breath slowed to sweet purrs. Randy breathed in a heavier panic.

He couldn't feel his hands moving as he watched his fingers pinch a soft, thin object in her mouth. Randy tried to stop, pushing away with his lower back and yanking with his shoulders, but his arms were anchored to his wrists as his hands worked. The hand in her mouth searched until it pulled out with a snap. The other hand let go of her nose. And then she was sweetly still and all too silent.

Deep creases stamped into his face as his bottom lip curled up in-between his teeth. Through the welling tears, Randy stared at an odious blue light clenched between his fingers, feeling the essence of her soul radiating from it. Pulsing between his fingers was her life. Agonizing over her empty body, gazing with awe at her pinched soul, the blue light began to fade. It twinkled into smaller pieces until it dissipated into blue specks that Randy frantically tried to grab. The vestiges danced about the air and avoided his fingers and floated to the dark shadows of the room. The blue tint faded, making her soul indiscernible from dust in the moonlight, then vanished into nothingness.

Wonderment captured him until he leaned over the crib again. Kara was deathly still. Her mouth gaped open like she was yawning and her green eyes were glazed, spouting out over her long stiff lashes. He desperately wanted to scream and wake up the world, but no sound came. Trying again, he prayed for his voice to boom loud enough to wake the dead, but instead his voice was blurted out in the back of his head. An inaudible murmur and nothing more. His sinful blue hands stared up at him and he began to fear himself. Looking over himself, he saw an ethereal skin covering his entire body, tinted a light blue. There was nothing real or tangible about his body; he didn't feel like he existed until a tug on his backside pulled him away. An unseen force was dragging him, slowly at first, giving him enough time to look over his shoulder and catch a glimpse of his body hunched on the couch, tightly wound in sweaty sleep. There were two Randys until the tugging snapped the two bodies together on the couch, slamming him awake. His eyes glowed in the dark, and he darted up and over to her crib, finally emitting a scream to wake everyone in the house. Everyone except for Kara.

The whole house erupted into waking mumbles and groans as Betsy raced over. Her anxious eyes scanned over her daughter, looking for oddities, as Randy held the infant in his arms. He couldn't peel away from Kara, cradling her, exaggerating his every move just in case she would awaken. Lips puckered against his teeth, Randy gently combed over the wisp of hair that curled on her forehead. Betsy reached out and scooped her from him, hollering for her husband. Betsy's baleful outburst stunned the family as they gathered.

Betsy ran out the door. Her husband followed with the children, and they headed for the hospital. Once there, the doctors tenderly exchanged the limp, doll-like body for promises and prayers. The family followed the child except for Betsy and Randy. The hallway was silent.

Betsy turned to Randy, desperate for some sign to her baby's condition.

The space between them ate at their hearts. He sat penitently with his head buried in his hands. Tears crept from his palms and down his wrists until they met with their bloodshot eyes.

"What happened?" She asked, taking one of his hands.

"Get away!" He leapt back, pushing her away.

She held back tears, expecting the worst, but still hoping that her youngest child wasn't lifeless.

"Don't touch my hands," he trembled, "They did this."

"Randy..."

"I ...I ...I saw her, Bets. I saw her there, all sweet, and I took it away. I don't know how ...I didn't want this. I just took it away!"

"Took what?"

"I saw it ...I did it. Something made me," Randy looked at his hands, "It was here tonight for Kara and for me."

"For God's sake, stop it! You're scaring me," Betsy pleaded.

The white door banged against the hushed hallway, and her husband appeared.

"Betsy, come quick."

Her husband went through the doors and Betsy followed. She paused before the doors swallowed her and turned back for Randy.

"Come with us..."

His chair was empty.

"Randy? Randy. Randy!"

Her cries echoed through the hallways and Randy's head as he ran through the hospital. The sterile walls closed in on him as he stumbled through them, the clean air burning his nostrils. Slipping about the maze of corridors, shoes squeaking along slick floors, he ran as fast as possible.

Among the blur of his retreat, something stopped him in his tracks; something dark and cavernous. An open doorway beckoned at him. Bewildered by why he even thought to stop there, Randy peered into the vacant room with curiosity. With contorted fingers, he pushed the door aside and unveiled a gloomy chapel. The atmosphere was stale and sacred. Curtly passing through the shadows dancing about the room, he came to a small cross jutting out of a stout altar. He glared then genuflected before it. His torso collapsed over his leg. His hands folded together atop the crown of his head as he wailed.

"Lord, what am I?"

The room was silent.

"God, help me."

Branches brushed up against the outside of the window. Random beams of moonlight sneaked through the glass and splashed the wooden cross.

"How could you hate me so much?"

Dead calm.

"Am I an abomination? Will you chase me through the ice and snow after I destroy all my loved ones? I am a prophetic soul bound for an unhallowed fate of tears and remorse?"

The tiniest squeak arose from a distance down the hallway.

"Am I to sulk in the night's shadows, pilfering little children?" Randy slung infuriated accusations at his God.

The cross sat in the mellow night, moonlight fluttering around the wooden surface like a misshapen spotlight. As the illumination waved around the room, turbulent as an ocean storm, a sickness tampered with Randy's stomach and created a queasy swirl. He rubbed his palm into his right eye and shook his head. Confused and jilted, he craned his head towards the icon, squinting at its shape. Something wasn't right.

"It's crooked. No, it's moving. Must just be the shadows."

The sound of wood creaking made Randy's heart pound bloody panic in his throat. A chaotic dance of light and shadow made the cross appear like it was bending towards him, bowing before him. Bowing to him. The head of the cross leaned closer to him as Randy scuffled backwards.

"This can't be happening..."

He scooted further away from the cross in fear as it bent itself at a right angle, creaking more and more. Everything empathic within his soul snapped apart as splinters from the genuflecting cross exploded about. Shards of wood shot over his head, but the cross was still whole. Before him, the stout top of the cross stared him down. Terrible thoughts flooded his body and soul and a haunting decision made itself apparent.

"Or am I a vigilante?" Randy asked the cross. "Am I your unwilling tool to take life? You choose, I kill, and you sort them out when I'm done? And I'm supposed to live with that?"

The shadows shifted with the branches as the cross nodded.

Randy began to cry as he realized what he had become. Not everything made sense right away, though clarity came with time. The sacred and the secular resided all within him.

Randy rose from his knees and turned his back on the cross forever.

Walking out the sterile halls into the living night, Randy existed within that decision for the next sixty years, sitting in solitude and holding the light.

PART THREE

George

Chapter 24

"Your turn, sir," I told my father, fingers pinching the smooth rook.

"Humph," he mumbled, staring at the board and assessing my move.