Lost Souls Page 8

  “Dalton, our time is short. We need to begin the process of getting you back to your dimension. Go back my Son, and bring our souls home. But be careful, Death is waiting on every corner to defeat us and will stop at nothing to win. I will do all I can but as you now know, there are rules even we must abide by. My love is with you always. I will anxiously await your return.”

  Dalton looked up into His eyes and nodded his head. Everything was perfectly clear now. He knew what he needed to do. He knew where he needed to go; the only thing he did not know was how to get back to Marissa.

  “Father, how do I go back?”

  “That is one thing I cannot tell you Dalton. It is the one piece of the puzzle you must find on your own. You have all the knowledge to do so, you just have to think. Love will find your way home. Love is always the answer and that is all I can tell you my Son.”

  Dalton felt the weight of the situation crushing him as he tried to get his thoughts to fly to a solution the same way the information had been inputted into his head but it wouldn’t work. As he stared into his Fathers eyes, he felt himself falling back down into his body, which still lay beneath the tree. Information was still downloading into his brain at the speed of light, miraculously being retained in the reservoirs of his brain. One thing he knew for sure was he had a lot of work to do.

  ***

  AT LONG LAST the information slowed and eventually stopped. The speed and clarity of his thought process now scared him and he was almost afraid to think of anything. How in the world did they get used to all of this... this … knowing? Fred Noonan approached him now and helped him up off of the ground.

  “So, now you know. Now you know how excited we were to see you. We have known always that you would come. We just didn’t know when but now that you are here, we have much to do. Let’s head back to the camp and talk.”

  Dalton didn’t know if he would ever be able to speak again. All he could think about was the daunting task that was now ahead of him. Saving the world? Him? How in the world was he going to do it? He felt the eyes of all of the lost ones on him now and struggled to find a way to comfort them, to at least seem like he knew what to do. “Love is the answer,” his father had said. Love was Marissa, now, and for all time, it seemed. The two of them had walked this world together more than once and had found each other yet again this time. As they approached the place they now called home, Dalton looked to Amelia for some kind of clue as to what they should do. She looked back at him and shook her head as if she could read what he didn’t say.

  “I don’t know, she said. “None of us have been able to figure it out but don’t think we haven’t tried. We have been waiting for you hoping you held the key, but you seem to be as lost as we are. No need to worry, we will figure it out Dalton, together.” She smiled once again holding out her hand to him and together they walked over the threshold of the building that Madoc built.

  ***

  THIS TIME, WHEN he seen the cross, he walked over to it and lay his head against the woods it was made from. Few knew it was actually made from three different trees. The cross was made from the wood of the cedar, pine and cypress, all of which grew together in the same spot, intertwining with each other until they formed what looked to be one tree. Dalton now knew that this was the tree that Lot, the nephew of Abraham had watered eons ago. The tree that Herod had used to reconstruct the Temple which was later removed and discarded and eventually was used to construct the cross. As he stood with his head leaning against the rough wood, his death and suffering once again played through his mind, as well as the love of the people who had stood with him and believed in him. A sigh so sad escaped his lips as he remembered. After some time, he turned and faced his new group, his new believers. What were they going to do? How was he to lead their ascendants back to this place? He ran his hand through his hair and took his place at the head of the table looking at the ones who were closest to him and said simply, “Let’s get to work.”

  At the sound of his voice, there was an immediate cheer and smiles from everyone. At long last they were going to bring their families home. They were finally doing something to try to get out of there.

  “Has anyone got any idea of how we begin?” Dalton asked.

  “Aye,” Madoc replied. “We have been working on an invention for years, all of us contributing something from our story of how we got here. We all have brought with us a crucial part that seems to fit perfectly with other things that others have brought with them also. Amelia contributed the propeller blade from her airplane, others the steel of their swords or shield, others articles like books and money which we melted together to forge into other parts. Everything so far that has been donated has meant the world to whoever gave it. We are wondering what it is that we are missing, what it is that you have brought with you to contribute. It has got to be the final piece of the puzzle but none of us can imagine what it is.

  Looking lost, Dalton thought about all of the things that had been shoved into the backpack that had so stubbornly refused to come undone. No matter how hard he had struggled, that clip would not come open. Now he knew why. There must be something in there that was needed to finish the contraption that would take them all home. Jumping up, he ran into his bedroom and dragged the backpack out into the room, opening it and looking through everything, hoping that when his fingers closed on the right item, he would feel something, some kind of sign. Clothes, shoes, bear mace and the first aid kit, matches, tent pegs, all taken out and put into piles. More t-shirts, a Swiss army knife, the same one he had longed for on his excruciating journey down to the bottom of the cavern, another first aid tin he had thrown in at the last minute, a book he had been reading before the start of this adventure with its pages curling and twisted from being wet. Nothing seemed to be the “thing” he needed. Still sorting through the mound of items, silverware wrapped in bubble wrap, a favorite coffee mug he had had since college that said “I went to college and all I got was this lousy mug” that had miraculously made it intact, his favorite blanket that seemed to keep out the cold regardless of how low the temperature dropped. Nearing the bottom of the sack, he slowed and looked up to see the shock on some of the faces. Madoc had picked up the silverware and unwrapped it and now stood turning the fork this way and that marveling at the ingenuity it must have taken to come up with such a useful tool. Others had picked up various items and stood examining it or looking at it in wonder. Dalton hadn’t even thought of how strange some of this stuff would look to the ones who had been gone for centuries, millennium. Stopping, shaking his head, he looked at them all and said, “Nothing feels right. I know when I find it I will know it’s the one. Nothing so far feels like it’s it!” Frustration was evident on his face as he pushed the backpack away from him. “I know we are running out of time and I thought this part would at least be easy!

  Why can’t I find what we need?”

  Fred Noonan walked over and gestured for him to come and sit with them at the table.

  “Nothing worth the trouble is ever easy,” he said wisely. “This has been the most incredible afternoon, and what you have learned is more than any of us can even imagine learning. Our experiences at the tree were nothing like the one you had. You were out for at least four hours. With us, the longest any of us were out was a mere half an hour. We were all drained when it was over, could barely make it back here when it was done. If it weren’t for the help of others practically carrying us back, we might not have made it. Surely you are exhausted from the ordeal? Do you need to rest for a while?”

  Dalton had to admit it was true. He had never felt so exhausted in his life. He was totally drained. Yet how could he sleep knowing there was so much to do? How could he rest knowing the lives of all civilization, past and present were relying on him? Why couldn’t he just know what to do? The irritation he felt was beyond belief. Realizing that he could do nothing more at this time, he agreed with Fred.

  “Perhaps you’re right,” he conceded. “Perhaps I do
need to rest and just think about all that’s happened. Maybe our Father will send a dream or a clue and show me the way.” Even as he said it, he knew it wasn’t likely to happen. Hadn’t he already been told the rules forbade it? Hadn’t he already been told that love was always the answer and when he’d heard that, realized that was all he could be told? Sighing, he pushed himself out of the chair and turned to go to his bed to rest. As he stood a small child of about eight came to him, clutching the blanket he had pulled out of the backpack in his earnest search for the item that would save them all. She held the blanket out as she peered at him through her deep brown eyes.

  “Don’t forget your blanket,” she whispered, barely audible among the murmuring of others.

  Dalton squatted down so he could be eye level with this child. “Thank you very much. This blanket is my favorite, given to me years ago by my grandmother. She made it just for me when I was about your age.”

  The child eyed the colorful quilt with wonder. “It’s very beautiful,” she says.

  “Would you like to hold onto it for me? Watch that it doesn’t disappear?” he asked.

  “Disappear like we did?” she whispered, fear evident in her eyes.

  “How did you disappear?” Dalton inquired wondering how such a small child could have managed to be here.

  A short, burnished skinned man rose from a chair at the far end of the table and came to where they were, squatting to be eye level with the two of them.

  “I am Kaskae, chief of the Eskimo tribe from Lake Anjikuni. My whole village is here, and this is my daughter Aguta. I am sorry if she is bothering you.”

  “No,” Dalton responded. “She isn’t bothering me at all. What is your story? How did all of you come to be here?”

  Settling down on the floor and sitting the child on his knee, he took a deep breath and started his story…

  “It was a bitterly cold night,” Kaskae began. “No one would leave their huts for fear of frostbite or even dying. We had all stocked plenty of food in preparation of the storm we knew was coming. My wife, Quilaq, was mending my son’s sealskin coat by the fire while the caribou stew simmered for our dinner. Suddenly, there was a blinding white light and all thirty of our tribe woke up here. It was like falling asleep in one place and awaking in yet another. We stay pretty much to ourselves, have a camp set up just to the north of here. Amelia lets us know when something big is going on, like your arrival. We are all excited to get back to Anjikumi where we come from in Canada. None of us have aged a day since we ate from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil… our children stay children and our old stay old but don’t die. Even though it is not the tree of life, we have stopped aging. Our beliefs and religion is different from everyone else’s, yet here we all are.”

  Dalton shook his head in bewilderment. This story was as crazy as his own was.

  “When I wake up, I think we must trade stories of how we all got here. Surely there is a clue to be had somewhere in one of them. Let’s all meet here again in a few hours and talk.”

  Everyone agreed and Kaskae gathered up his people and left while others mingled talking amongst themselves, perhaps trading stories of how they had each come to be here so long ago. Dalton made his way to his room and lay on the bed, so many random thoughts coursing through his brain. How was he ever going to figure this out? With a sigh he closed his eyes and was soon fast asleep.

  ***

  MARISSA FELT LIKE she was dying. Felt like she had gone crazy and couldn’t find her way back to normalcy. She was still in the hospital, now on the psychiatric ward because no one would believe her. No one would listen and really hear what she had to say. She knew she wasn’t crazy. She knew what she’d seen and heard and felt the day that Dalton died. Surely he was dead; no one could ever have survived that fall down Devils Kettle! She had watched as he’d teetered on the edge, his eyes pleading with her in a silent scream that had never made it to his lips, for help that she couldn’t possibly give him from where she had stood, and then watched as he’d toppled over the unforgiving falls. The guilt she felt was beyond belief and she thought she might never be able to forget how she had seemed to be running in slow motion as she’d screamed for him to get back from the edge. Why didn’t he listen? How could he not have heard her? Tears welled in her eyes and once again she tried to fight them. Now when she slept she had nightmares, nightmares like she hadn’t had in years. Shadows that haunted her, darkness that seemed never ending, and monsters. She had never been plagued by this many nightmares before, not even after her mother had died in the fire. Now she could barely stand to close her eyes for fear of them. The only restful sleep she ever had was the drug induced sleep the nurses administered usually after she had screamed herself hoarse. The doctor kept telling her it was all her imagination but she knew what she’d seen and no one, not even a doctor was going to convince her it wasn’t real.

  One night in particular, she had awakened to see an ebony hand, with fingernails as long as each bony finger, reaching out for her, surely trying to take her into an oblivion that matched Daltons. Again she had smelled the stench that wafted from this disgusting … thing. What did it want from her? Why could she not find peace? Why wouldn’t the doctors listen to her and believe her!? She had tried everything she could think of to convince them that she was telling the truth and that she’d seen what she had seen. She was never going to get out of here, and who cared anyways? What did she have to go to when she did get out? The contents of an apartment that held nothing but memories of a love she had thought was forever? A neighborhood she couldn’t even walk through without thinking of him? Marissa sighed and rolled over in the bed to look out the window at the tree that had still had a few leaves on it when she’d first been put in there and now was as bare as she was. That was exactly how she felt, bare, stripped of all that had been good. She doubted if she would ever be able to piece her life back together again after this. It had been hard enough after she’d lost her mother, if she wouldn’t have had Dalton she might not have made it through that. How she missed them both. Marissa picked at the fluff balls that had formed on the blanket and tried to figure out how to get out of there. Maybe it was time to play their game and agree that it was all a figment of her imagination; that the shadows and chanting must have been her mind playing tricks on her because she had been so distraught after Dalton had disappeared down the waterfall. Maybe then they would let her go. If only she could turn back the hands of time to when they had stopped at the motel and Dalton had begged her to stay there instead of going on to Judge Magney State Park. If she would have agreed to stay, he’d still be there. What good was the money they had been saving now? She had been so worried about spending a little more, wanting to continue saving for the house they had both wanted. Well, what good was that now? Now she had no one to share her dreams with, no one to spend the damn money with anyhow. A tear slipped down her cheek and ran into the corner of her mouth where she reached up and absently brushed it away. All the tears in the world wouldn’t bring him back to her. What right did she have to even be here? She should have jumped into the water and tried to save him, or at least died trying. They could have died together. The way it should be. As she watched the last leaves fall from the tree, she finally let the tears flow as she heaved in a breath and sobbed for all she had lost, sobbed for all that could have been, and would never be again.

  Death peered down at her from his perch above the window. While he was here, he might as well take care of some business he had been putting off for days now. He became a mist and hovered above the roof for a time before finally seeping in through the open window and dissipating into a grain of sand. He could take any form he wanted at any time which helped tremendously in situations like this. Down the hall he rolled on until he felt her presence. Immediately he stopped, transforming into the sight she would recognize, and stared in at her. Stared in at the one who had waited so long to see him and when she finally noticed him, he smiled.

  As Pietra lay o
n the cold sheets, the sheets that seemed to steal away any warmth her body managed to generate as fast as she could generate it, she sighed. It seemed she had been lying in the same position for days, months maybe and again prayed to whatever deity that could hear her, to let her go. She knew her family would be crushed. She also knew they might never forgive her for giving up but she was tired, as tired as a person could be, and she just didn’t have the strength to fight it anymore. She no longer believed in God, if there was a God, He would never have let her lay here for so long begging to end the pain, begging to have the strength to fight or the strength to die. She no longer meekly asked, she demanded now. She begged and demanded and still no one heard her. In her mind she screamed, cried, moved like she could no longer move because of the lightning fast bolts of pain that traveled her bones every time she tried despite the medically induced coma, despite being paralyzed from the neck down like she had heard the doctor tell her husband.

  Staring at the same spot on the same wall, day after day, night after night, begging for something to change, for anything to change, but it never did.

  Her visitors had been regular in the beginning, she’d seldom been alone. Everyone coming in and doing their part, encouraging her, praying for her, telling her all about the life she was missing out on now that she was stuck here unable to live it anymore. The days her husband had come, staying with her constantly, never leaving her side unless it was to shower or eat or to use the bathroom. He had loved her then. He had devoted himself to her and when people remarked on how wonderful he was he had looked at them solemnly and quietly reminded them that marriage was for better or worse, in sickness and in health, until death do we part. Well, she wasn’t dead yet, was she? But where was Michael? Where had he been for the last three months?