Cain (28 page)

"Malo's taking care of it. He won't make any mistakes. But I'll double-check everything to make sure."

"And then?"

"And then ..."
Soloman paused, gazing into the bottom of the empty glass. "Then we'll send Cain back to wherever he came from."

***

Moonlight streamed through the curtained window.

Amy opened her eyes in the dark to see a silhouette kneeling beside her bed. The lean image did not move but her hands held something. Her head was bent but Amy knew it was the old nun, praying beside her. For a long moment the figure was bowed, her eyes closed as her fingers began to move ligh
tly over the object. And as Amy's eyes adjusted to the night she saw that she held a string of red and black beads, small silver beads separating them. There was a crucifix.

Then the old nun raised her head and opened her eyes, as if realizing Amy had come awake. For a long time they stared, and Amy was comforted by the kindness, the true love glowing in the pale face. Then with a small hand she reached out and touched the crucifix, lifting it slowly as the nun gazed in silence.

Jesus' head hung in death, eyes closed and arms stretched out in surrender, nailed to the sacrificial wood. His body, slender and silver, seemed ... so real.

Amy stared a long time, and then Mother Superior Mary Francis
spoke softly. "It is a crucifix." She waited as Amy blinked. "I have carried this one for many years. It has given me much comfort."

"I've never seen one," Amy whispered.

"It is the image of Jesus, our Lord, on the cross," the old nun added in a stronger tone. "But of course we know he is on the cross no more."

"Where is he?"

"Why, he is with
you
, child!" Mary Francis laughed lightly, placing a warm hand on Amy's forehead, smoothing back her blond hair. "He is always with you because he loves you!"

Amy focused on the crucifix. "I'm scared."

"Oh, Amy," Mary Francis replied, "always remember that you are never alone. He is with you even in this darkness. All you have to do is pray, and he will comfort you."

"If he loves me, then ... then why is he letting this happen to me?"

The old nun smiled gently, closing her hand over Amy's hand and the crucifix together.

"An enemy has done this, Amy. But he is a dog on a leash. Always remember that
.
He is a dog on a leash
. He can go only so far, and no further."

The crucifix was warm in Amy's hand.

"Does he really love me?"

The old nun's voice was close.

"Yes," she smiled gently. "More than life itself."

***

Soloman
tried to sleep but couldn't, and some time before dawn he was awake again. He was amazed that he still had so much energy, considering how long he'd been on his feet. He'd forgotten how long the body can go without sleep, driven by adrenaline and insomnia and the ceaseless battle mind-set that comes in prolonged combat.

Stiffly he arose from the couch, tossing off a blanket to hear Ben snoring loudly in a recliner. And as he stood he felt the pain in his legs, his hips. His back was also tense, pained by each move. But he knew it wasn't from too much exertion; it was from a lack of it.

His legs were accustomed to ten miles a day over the dunes, his arms conditioned to pounding the heavy-bag until they fell limp at his sides, each muscle exhausted by the weights and blows. Yet for days now he had not truly used his body, save for the conflicts with Cain, and his body had reacted to it.

An image passed through
Soloman's mind of a thoroughbred racehorse he once saw retired. The stallion, stabled until it could be transported to a pasture, was virtually crippled within three days, its legs swollen and stiff, almost unbendable. Its owners thought it was dying until the veterinarian told them to take it out and run it for a day. And, as he predicted, at the end of that day it was in peak condition again, the muscles sleek and strong, generating its own steam. The memory gave Soloman comfort; he knew there was nothing wrong with him but a lack of exercise.

On sore, stiff muscles he moved to the door, looking outside. Then he felt a chilled early morning fog swirling around him as he walked onto the front lawn, searching cautiously. He knew that it wasn't completely safe, but there was no way to exert energy inside the house.

When he was a few feet into the yard, the door safely closed behind him, he bent and stretched, trying to relieve the woodenness as he sensed a blood-red sun rising behind dark clouds. And he remembered the old line – red sky at morning, sailors take warning.

He cursed silently as he sensed a thickening of the thin air; a storm was coming. Then to release strength he moved with a kick, a punch, a combination of slowly hardening martial techniques that loosened him little by lit
tle. Within a few minutes he felt the blood flowing again, acute reflexes sharpening more and more, warming.

After ten minutes he was at it even harder and faster, coming into the flow while keeping his senses alive and alert to every surrounding sound, making his mind not only perform the movements with perfect balance and poise but heating his mind to catch every—

Owl's cry to ...

His fist struck hard into the air as—

Sky shadow against stars ...

He whirled and kicked, following with a spinning backhand to—

Wisp of wind ...

Over-reaching and correcting—

Forest falling quiet ...

Punch and kick, spinning into—

Dewdrops rising ...

He worked long, punching and kicking before—

Forest stillness ...

Feeling all of it with merciless concentration,
Soloman pushed himself to find the perfect angle, the last measure of skill in the moves, giving himself no respite, no rest between blows.

No
...

No surrounding movement.

Grunts exploded from him as he whirled and struck, testing his body to see what it could really do, and he was savagely pleased, finding some-thing in the moves that escaped him in rest. In another minute sweat was dropping heavily from his brow and still he didn't relent, throwing complex combinations of punches, imagining Cain in front of him, grunting as he hurled blows to tear down that bestial strength.

Finally he paused, breathing heavily, and maybe a bit too heavily. In
days, he realized, he had lost endurance, his lungs lessening for the lack of constant conditioning. Then he resumed and in the midst of a combination of kicks and punches heard the front door whisper open. He spun to see a small figure standing in the frame, the steel panel vanishing behind her.

Amy.

Behind her, he saw Ben in the chair, snoring like a chainsaw.

Amy rubbed an eye with a fist, staring.

Soloman was moving toward her before she blinked twice, smiling gently so she wouldn't be afraid. And she seemed to know that he was about to usher her back inside. He mounted the steps, opened his mouth to speak.

"I don't want to go back inside,
Soloman." She blinked. "I want to sit outside for a minute, if it's okay."

Touched,
Soloman gazed down, reaching out before he even knew what he was doing to gently remove a lock of hair from her blue eyes. And she didn't seem to mind as she smiled sleepily.

He placed a hand on her shoulder, amazed that he did. Then he turned to search the forest once more and saw nothing. He sniffed, found the scent of decayed leaves, green pine and forest borne on a soundless wind. He glanced into surrounding trees to see only shadows and bonelike branches hanging dead in cold air. No movement.

In his heart he knew that Cain had not found this place, yet. For if the beast had, he would have attacked; it was his nature. So there was no reason, really, except paranoia, to keep her inside. But he tried to ignore his affection for her in the decision. To maintain an optimum defense mode, he had to keep his mind as logical as possible. Yet he knew his decision was correct. No, there was no harm in a few minutes ...

"Okay, Amy," he said sof
tly. "Why don't we sit on the porch for a little while?" He smiled as he turned and sat. "We can watch the sunrise until you get too cold."

She sat down and wrapped her arms around her shins, knees below her face. She seemed sad and depressed as she stared out, and finally spoke. "Thanks for talking to me last night. I was scared."

He smiled, "Any time, kid."

He let her enjoy what she could while his eyes roamed, scanning without focusing, searching for distant movement because he knew he would discern movement before form. It was a technique he'd learned so long ago, in another life, but there was nothing there. And finally he sniffed, rubbing sweat from his eyes.

"Do you know karate?" she asked.

Soloman
laughed. "I pretend to."

"It looks like you do." She paused. "I know kids at school who say they do, but I don't think they really do. I think they just like to say that." She stared seriously. "I'd like to learn karate one day. Would you teach me?"

Soloman suppressed a smile. "Well, maybe when this is over I can show you a few things. It's easy, really. You'll probably pick it up in no time."

"Did you?"

"Did I what?"

"Pick it up in no time?"

"Well, I probably didn't pick it up as fast as you will. But then you're a lot smarter than I was at your age."

She paused. "Really? 'Cause I think you're real smart. You don't treat me like a kid. Not like everyone else. And Mommy says you're smart. She says that we can trust you."

Soloman hesitated, searching for the proper answer. "Well, your mom's a real good person, Amy." Then he sensed the direction of everything and sought to change it. "But yeah, I'll teach you some karate when this is over. If you start studying when you're young, you'll be a lot better than I am when you reach my old, decrepit age."

She smiled, and then it faded as she stared into his face. It was a disturbing moment for
Soloman and he blinked as his mind reached back. Then he looked away, searching the woods, concentrating. He had hoped that this wouldn't happen but it had. And, in the moment, he felt something within him reaching out.

"Why did you save me in the tunnel?" she asked. "I mean, why was it
you and not somebody else?"

A slow breath left
Soloman.

"I just happened to reach you first, Amy.
”

“My mom says it’s because it was just meant to be.”

Wind carried the sounds of birds rising to the sun. Soloman wasn't sure if he could still see the forest or not. "Well," he replied more calmly than he believed possible, "like I said, your mother's a smart woman. But you never really know about those things."

"I'm glad it was you."

Soloman laughed. "Well, it's almost over. Pretty soon you'll be able to go back home. Back to school and your friends"

"Are you my friend?" she asked.

Soloman was amazed at how the conversation kept getting out of hand. Every time he tried to put the lid on emotions, Amy effortlessly took it off again. "Yeah," he nodded, surrendering. "We're friends. I think you're a great kid."

"Did you ever have kids?"

Soloman was silent so long that he didn't even realize time anymore. Then he looked out, settling forward. "Yeah, I had a child. She was about your age, and smart – like you. She was ... a good little girl."

Amy was silent a moment. "Did she die?"

Soloman didn't blink, at the same time knowing it was remarkable. He looked down and spoke in his gentlest tone. "What do you ask?"

"Because you said 'was.'" She leaned forward, alongside him. "You said she was my age. That made me think she died."

After a time, Soloman nodded. "Yeah, Amy. She died. She died ... in an accident." And she seemed to know she'd approached something that hurt. Her voice had compassion.

"Do you miss her?"

Soloman smiled gently.

"Every moment."

***

Making arrangements for the trip to New York, Soloman finished off a late breakfast and walked into the living room to find Maggie resting in a recliner, emotionally fatigued from the ordeal.

Mother Superior Mary Francis and Amy were sitting knee to knee in the middle of the floor, playing a game that
Soloman couldn't identify. He stared a moment, an MP-5 hanging loosely in his hand.

The old nun was weaving a web of string before Amy's mesmerized
eyes, crossing finger over finger to build something complex and beautiful. And then after another moment she was finished, the loop crossed and re-crossed to make an amazing architectural image.

Amy laughed. "Is that Jacob's Ladder?"

"Yes!" the Mother Superior answered to Maggie's grateful smile; the real mother was finally resting. Sister Mary Francis continued, "Do you think you can do it?"