Sephirot, p.26
Sephirot, page 26
He left Worlds Apart Café and walked toward his car, pulling out his keys. He clicked the unlock button on his keyring, and the car lights flashed as the locks unbolted.
A voice behind him said, “Duncan? Is that you?”
He turned, heart beating a little faster, to find himself facing a red-haired woman in an alluringly V-necked blouse and tight jeans, with a little silver cross on a necklace and dangly earrings that swayed as she moved. She smiled, revealing a row of perfect teeth.
“Oh, my god, it really is,” she said, and the next thing he knew, he was in her arms. He hugged her back, reflexively. She smelled spicy and a little sweet, just a hint of perfume. He knew most of it was her body’s own scent, like when I was with her last…
“Allison,” he said.
“You remember me?” She gave a delighted laugh.
“How could I not?”
Like a guy could forget the woman he lost his virginity to, on a rug in front of a roaring fire in her father’s hunting cabin…
Danger. Don’t get taken in. And get away as soon as possible.
“How have you been?” she was saying. “It’s been, what, five years?”
“More like six or seven. And I’m fine.”
“Married yet?”
“Nope. You?”
She held up a left hand that was bare of adornments. “Not yet. I won’t be easy to trap, I don’t think.”
Trap. Yup. Good choice of words, Allison, or whoever you are.
“I would have thought you’d have wanted to marry and settle down, honestly.”
“Really? Well, I thought some lucky woman would have had you tied up, too. But maybe I’m the lucky one. You want to… do lunch?”
Something about the way she said “do lunch” almost made him laugh.
Mr. Consentino had been right. They were good with the mimicry, but not spot on. Allison loved having sex, but she wasn’t this… sultry. They got the surface right and the details wrong.
“I’d love to,” he said. “But I’ve got an appointment I have to get to. Maybe another time?”
Allison put out her lower lip a little. “Oh, that’s too bad. I work as a paralegal, and I have a long lunch break today, I thought running into you was fortuitous, you know?” Again, there was more than a hint of come-on, and one that would have worked fine under most circumstances.
Such as if they were really in Colville, New York. Not in some strange world of masks.
“Don’t you think lunch would be fun?” she said, still pouting.
“It would have been. But I gotta go.” He shrugged. “Sorry. Give me a call, though. I’m in the phone book.”
There was the sound of shrieking tires and blowing horns, and then a dull, hideous thump, followed by an outcry of many voices. Allison gave a little shriek.
“Oh, my god,” she said, putting one finely-manicured hand to her mouth. “Someone’s been hit!”
He turned, and looked over at where a group of bystanders were crowded. A silver Mazda was angled across both lanes, both doors open. Even from where he was standing, he could see a dent and a crimson stain on the hood.
“C’mon!” Allison walked toward the scene as fast as her high-heeled shoes would allow.
A man lay on his back, one leg twisted at a grotesque angle. Blood covered the side of his face, and more was seeping through his t-shirt. His eyes were half-closed, and he moaned, moving his head from side to side.
It was Drew Consentino.
“Lay still, buddy,” someone said. “We’ve already called for an ambulance.”
“I didn’t mean to hit him,” came a tearful female voice. “He walked right out in front of my car.”
He walked up to his fallen coach, moving like a somnambulist. People parted as he came through, and he knelt by the stricken man. “This is because of me,” he said. “They did this because of me.”
Mr. Consentino opened his mouth, and licked his lips, and groaned. “I guess I was wrong when I asked what more they could do.”
“I’ll stay with you until the ambulance comes.”
“No!” Mr. Consentino tried to sit up, and failed. “You can’t stay here. That’s why they did this to me. It’s to keep you here, to keep you entangled. Get out of here. I’m done for anyway, no matter what.” He coughed, and blood sprayed from his mouth and spattered Duncan’s clothing. “Go. Now.”
Duncan half turned. The accident had happened right in front of his car. There’d be no driving away, not for some time. “My car—”
“Doesn’t matter how,” Mr. Consentino said. “As long as you don’t stay here. They’ll be converging on this place, now they think you’re trapped here.”
He looked over at Allison, standing a little behind him, her beautiful face radiating sympathy and a desire to comfort. He knew what she’d say. Now you can’t go off alone, you need to be with someone when you’ve had a shock like this, I’ll make you feel all better…
And she would. He’d feel all kinds of better. And then he wouldn’t need to remember anything, ever again.
He stood, knees straightening in a sudden, jerky movement, and backed away. Allison reached for his arm, touched him, but he pulled away from her as well, and turned and ran. He heard, as he fled, voices saying, “Why is that man running?” and “He said this was his fault!” and “He said the accident happened because of him.”
The voices faded into silence as he ducked around a corner at a full run, sprinting down the familiar streets of Colville that, if Drew Consentino was right, wasn’t Colville at all.
He ran past the columned façade of the Colville Public Library, then took off at a diagonal to cut through Clifford Park. People eating takeout food and chatting occupied long park benches. Solitary sorts reading books or texting occupied shady spots under trees. A pair of shirtless teenage boys laughed and tossed a frisbee around. The whole scene was idyllic, and could have had the caption “A Summer Day In The Park.” No one looked up as he ran past. His shorts and t-shirt gave him the look of a jogger, and the drying blood spatters on his t-shirt looked like a smudge of dirt unless looked at closely.
Which no one did. No one tried to stop him. He exited the park at the other corner, and only then turned to see if he’d been pursued.
It appeared he had not.
But where to now? It was possible to get back to his apartment on foot, although a good hour’s walk at least. And there was no certainty he’d be any safer in his apartment than anywhere else. He crossed a bridge over the swirling current of the Catanic River, tumbling over its shaly bed, and halted for a while in the middle, looking down into the water.
He didn’t even know what he was looking for. It could be a portal, or it could be almost anything else. Even Mr. Consentino couldn’t tell him exactly what he was trying to find. He said if he kept putting one foot in front of the other, he’d be okay.
And that he’d know it when he saw it. Whatever it was.
But spending hours aimlessly wandering through Colville wasn’t all that appealing. And there was also the warning he’d received about this place being more dangerous after dark. “The masks fall away,” Mr. Consentino had said, which sounded terrifying. The idea that all of these people, and all of the places as well, were mere appearances hiding something inhuman was far scarier than the up-front horror of Gevurah.
And he was hungry. All he’d consumed so far that day was a scone and three cups of coffee. He found a little deli just on the other side of the bridge and got a roast beef sandwich to go, which he ate sitting on a bench watching people go into and out of a little bookstore whose sign said “Flying Centaur Books.”
Wasting time. He finished the last of the sandwich and wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. This was getting him nowhere. Although he did need to eat.
He got up, deposited the napkin and the sandwich bag into a trash can, then walked down the sidewalk under the shade from some ancient sugar maple trees. The street ended in a t-intersection, and he faced the soaring steeple of a church, with wide marble steps leading up to heavy double doors. Set in the center of the front wall was a circular stained glass window, and above that was a gap where a huge brass bell hung. A sign, its modernness a little jarring next to the classic architecture of the church, said, “Colville Methodist Church. Rev. Katherine Courtwright, Minister. All who are seeking answers, come inside, for what you seek is here.”
“Well, that sounds hopeful.” He stepped forward to cross the street toward the church.
He still had one foot on the sidewalk when the barking started. Tearing down the middle of the road, its eyes fixed on Duncan, was a huge dog. Its feet were a blur, but the savagery in its eyes was unmistakable. Teeth were bared, and a streamer of drool trailed it, splattering on the road. Its barks were deep-throated, guttural, primal. The black fur had an oily look, but along the back of its neck the hair stood up like spikes.
He froze. He’d never been afraid of dogs, but this one looked easily capable of tearing his throat out. He yelled, “Hey! Stop!” The dog slowed, perhaps ten feet from him, its breath coming out in one continuous grinding snarl.
“Back off,” he said, in as stern a voice as he could manage while trembling. The dog didn’t come closer, but it wasn’t cowed, either. It stood between him and the church, bristling and growling.
“Well, they’re trying to stop me, and that tells me I’m on the right track,” he said under his breath, and then to the dog he said, “What now? Wait for you to attack? Or try to run past you? That’d end with me getting mauled. And I’ve been patched up enough times on this merry adventure.”
The dog walked a pace or two, then turned back, as if it were drawing a line on the pavement beyond which Duncan could not cross.
“Yeah, I get it, you ugly sonofabitch. No going into the church. But why?”
A distressed voice came down the road, causing both Duncan and the dog to turn. “Moddy! Moddy, where are you?”
Around the corner of the next block came a middle-aged woman in a checkered blouse and tan slacks, wearing an apron. She took in the scene in front of her, and gave a horrified yelp. “Oh, Moddy, Moddy!” And then to Duncan she said, “He hasn’t hurt you, has he?”
“No,” he yelled back, still keeping his eye on the dog. “But he’s damn determined not to let me move from this spot.”
The woman trotted up to them, her face a study in agitation. “Oh, young man, I’m so sorry.” Without a moment’s hesitation reached down and grabbed the dog’s collar. Duncan frowned. The dog seemed to shrink when she touched it, diminishing into a quite ordinary-looking black lab, looking up at her sheepishly and wagging his tail.
“He’s not dangerous, but he’s got a loud bark. He wouldn’t have hurt you, I promise.”
“He acted like he was ready to rip my guts out.” He looked at the woman and dog through narrowed eyes.
“Oh, but he wouldn’t have, really. Although I can see why you were scared. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Perhaps you should sit for a while, after your fright? I could get you some tea, and I’ve just taken cookies out of the oven. My house is right around the corner. It’s the least I can do, after what naughty, naughty Moddy did.” She looked down, and scolded, “You are such a bad boy. Pushing open the screen door like that. You could have been hit by a car, and you scared this poor man half to death.”
Moddy whined, and his tail went down. A more abject-looking dog Duncan had never seen. Not a trace of the slavering savagery he’d shown only minutes earlier.
“No, it’s quite all right,” he said. “I’ll be fine. None the worse for having been a little frightened.”
“Are you sure?” she said, a wheedling tone entering her voice.
“I’m sure.”
And Moddy looked up at him, and for a fraction of a second, his lip curled back, exposing one white canine tooth.
“Well, if you’re sure, then. Come along, you bad dog.” She turned, and still holding Moddy’s collar, she walked back down the street. Duncan followed them with his eyes until they turned the corner.
“Okay, then,” he said. “And note how I’m looking both ways before I cross, so I don’t get mowed down by a speeding cyclist, or something.” He crossed the street, then went up the marble stairs to the front door of the Colville Methodist Church, opened the door, and stepped into a warm, dim space that smelled of old books and candle wax.
The door shut behind him, and a voice in his mind said, Safe. At least this far.
The entryway was utilitarian, a cork board had notices headed “Ladies’ Altar Society” and “Ministry and Oversight Committee” and “Signups for Community Food Pantry.” A pile of last Sunday’s church bulletins sat on a little wooden table near the inner doors. On the left, a staircase downward was labeled with an arrow and the words “Sunday School,” and to the right, a staircase upward had a similar sign that said, “Choir.”
He went to up to the inside door, put his hand out, and paused.
He had not seen the inside of a church for perhaps fifteen years, since visiting his maternal grandparents in their native New Mexico as an eleven-year-old, and being dragged, protesting, to Saint Anne’s Catholic Church in Albuquerque. The whole thing seemed to his young mind a mix between silly ritual, bad singing, mumbo-jumbo, and extreme boredom. His grandfather’s surreptitious wisecracking, and a promise of a hike with him up into the Sangre de Cristo Mountains that afternoon, had made the experience bearable. But churches still had those bad associations—adults doing weird and pointless things, having to sit still and be quiet, and then life going on exactly as before after the whole thing was over.
He pushed the door open a little, and the sensations became overpowering. The way the light filtered through angled panes of colored glass. The dark wood pews. The marble baptismal font. The brass plaques honoring parishioners who had passed away and who, probably, had also been generous donors. And in the front, like some grotesque icon of torture, a crucifix, with the beaten and bleeding body of Jesus hanging by its hands and feet.
“Feel your pain, dude,” Duncan said, and went in.
The interior contained an immense silence, a cavernous emptiness waiting to be filled. The pews, row on row, stood in orderly lines to the left and right, and he walked soundlessly between them toward the altar. There was only one other person in the church—a small, birdlike woman, dressed casually in jeans and a sweatshirt, standing behind the lectern straightening out a stack of handwritten notes.
She looked up as he approached, and gave him a tentative smile. She was perhaps forty years old, with straight brown hair in a neat, simple cut, and small round glasses that reflected the light as she moved.
“Hello?” she said, setting down the handful of papers. “Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for Reverend Courtwright,” he said, without exactly knowing why.
Intuition. Mr. Consentino said he’d know what to do.
“You’ve found her.” There was some relief in her tone. Understandable. A woman, alone in a church, and a strange man walks in, it’s bound to raise some fears, even if you trust that God is watching over you.
She walked out from behind the lectern, and stepped down from the altar. “People call me Reverend Kate. Or just Kate. I don’t stand on much ceremony.” She put out one hand, and gripped his in a brisk handshake.
“I’m Duncan Kyle.”
“Nice to meet you. What can I do for you?”
Good question. How could he find out what he needed to know, without betraying his knowledge to her? Then he did a mental shrug. No, never mind that. Screw being subtle. Just because everyone here was behind a mask of lies, didn’t mean that he had to be.
“I’m trying to find a way out of Binah.” He looked directly into her eyes.
Her forehead creased. “Out of where?”
“Binah.”
“Is that some sort of word for trouble?”
“No. It’s a place. In fact, it’s where we are. But I’m guessing you knew that.” He gave a grim chuckle. “But you’re right, in a way. Trouble is exactly what this place is going to turn out to be, I think.”
“I’m…” she started, and then stopped, frowning and smiling at the same time. “This is the Colville United Methodist Church, Colville, New York.” Her voice was kind, patronizing. “I’ve never heard of a place called Binah. So I really don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”
“I think you do.”
“Perhaps we could contact someone, someone who might be able to help you. Colville Social Services—”
“Oh, come on, Reverend, cut the crap,” he snapped. “I don’t need Social Services, I need help. I know where I am. I know, or at least I have an idea, of what’s going to happen when the sun sets. And I want to get my ass well clear of this place by then.”
Reverend Kate’s eyes met his, only for a moment, and then she looked across the empty pews toward the door. When her gaze moved back to his face, she wore a different expression, a mixture of wariness, curiosity, and fear.
“Now, let’s start over,” he said. “I want to find a way out of here before nightfall. I think you know why.”
“Yes.” All of the condescension was gone from her voice. “I know why.”
“So you get why I need to act quickly.”
“Yes.” She turned her hands toward him palm upwards. “But I don’t know how I can help you.”
“You can tell me how to find a way out of Binah.”
“A way out of the world.” She paused, rubbed a hand across her forehead. “It’s a peculiar request.”
“But you understand what I’m asking. So stop stalling.”
Again, there was a pause, as if she were considering how to answer. Then she said, “Oh, yes. Yes, I understand.”
“So…?”
She gave a fluttery little motion with one hand. “So, it’s not really that easy. Which I’m guessing you know. If you can even make the request, you know that.”
