Cathedral of Dreams (13 page)

Keith sat with the fork in his lap and stared back at Bradley.

“How are you feeling?” Bradley said after a few moments.

“That's a good question. I don't really know. I go from complete external awareness where I am almost intimate with the sounds and odors that are right here.” He stomped his foot on the ground. “Then I'm off in my own head wondering about the boy and angel, about Dad. I go back and forth. Both feel more real than my life inside Newcity that's only behind me by a day. It's strange.” He paused only a second before he said, “And when I think back, that person doesn't even feel like me anymore…or I don't feel like I did then. So, to answer the question, I'm not sure how I'm feeling.”

Bradley shook his head. Sam brought another plate of food and a glass of juice. “I thought you might want to wash this down with something.”

Keith looked into Sam's eyes and recognized a softness of gaze coming from a frame of tanned skin and a few wrinkles, a roughness of structure. “You are being so kind,” he said. “Thank you.”

Sam gave Bradley a strange look and then departed.

“You were going to say something, weren't you?” Keith said to his uncle. He began to eat again, but slower this time. After putting a forkful of eggs into his mouth, he pointed to the pile on his plate and said, “These are really good.”

“I was just thinking that this might take longer than usual. I have a lot of questions for you,” Bradley said.

“About?”

“This angel you mentioned? Your father? This is new. I haven't encountered anything like it before.”

“Only the boy with the bullet hole in his head,” Keith said, “like the doctor.”

“Like the doctor? Does he know about your dad and the angel?”

“Only the angel. Dad was in the last house.” He looked up, “You know, where Mom picked me up?

Keith pointed at Bradley with his fork, a slice of sausage stuck on the end. “I've been thinking about that doctor,” he continued, and instantly knew that he had not been thinking about the doctor at all, but that something had just occurred to him. From where? “If others have escaped, why didn't he have guards in the room, or locked the doors? Didn't he sort-of allow people to escape?”

Bradley made a toothy smile that almost looked evil to Keith. The man nodded with his head and shoulders, a great affirmative. “Yes, we have wondered the same thing. I am glad that you noticed. We'd also like to know why there is an apparent pattern to which particular house escapees are brought to. Although you are the first to see what we might call an apparition.”

“That's what Dad said, that he'd rather be called an apparition.”

“I must ask: does your mother know about this?”

“I slept most of the way here,” Keith said in way of an answer.

“Then let's keep this to ourselves for now. I wouldn't want her to become upset in any way. You know, she's carried on with her life, and if she felt for a moment that Dan was still, shall we say available, then it may change things for her.” Bradley tapped his fingers on his knee as though getting impatient.

Keith's heart leaped into his throat. “I don't know if I can do that. I'm used to answering questions when I'm asked and it feels uncomfortable holding things back. Lying is difficult; it takes a lot of concentration.”

“Yet, you were able to lie – even if it was just a little – in order to get out of Newcity.” Bradley set his jaw. “Look, Keith, this is important. I'm not kidding here. Before we can talk about this openly with the rest of these people, especially your mother in this case, I have to know more of the details. I have to figure this out.” He began to stand, then sat back down. “Something is happening inside Newcity that can, and will, affect us all.” He looked away. A breeze rippled the canvas behind him, generating a murmuring sound as it did so. His eyes closed slowly, then opened again before looking back at Keith. “You are the link to that understanding. I'm sure of it. Even more sure now that I've talked with you.”

Keith sensed the feeling, the urgency, the commitment behind Bradley's words, and it scared him. If he was the link to anything, wouldn't that put him in danger, wouldn't that make him vulnerable? “I don't know if I like this. It might be easier to just go back inside.” His stomach wrenched as he said the words. The sensation was so unexpected that he dropped his fork on the ground and clutched at the pain. Emotions rushed through him, several at a time, anger and euphoria, excitement and anguish. He wanted to cry, to run out screaming, but someone else, someone other than the Keith he had been a day ago, held him back. It was unbelievable to him that he could sense the strength inside, that he could notice the difference between the two people named Keith: one in the past and one sitting inside him at that very moment.

“I didn't mean that,” he said. He looked around and set his plate, with the remainder of food, on a stand near where he sat. He bent down, picked up the fork, and laid it on the plate. “What now?” he said.

“Yes, indeed.” Bradley slapped his knees with his palms. He was obviously focused on his next move, but his anxiety showed through his body movements, visible as tiny jolts—the fact that he looked as though he was about to stand up one moment and then would lean back as though trying to get comfortable. “I don't want you to go out there until I can be sure that you'll only discuss your escapades with me and not with the others. This debriefing has already taken longer than usual. There'll be suspicion if it takes much longer.” Bradley couldn't try to hide his tension any longer and stood up. “Please, promise me that we'll talk later, in private.”

“It's your camp,” Keith said. “I think I can do that whenever you want.”

Bradley stepped closer to shake Keith's hand for the second time that morning.

While shaking hands a small voice he now recognized as his own said to Keith, “Find a quiet place.” Keith looked around to where the voice came from.

“What is it?” Bradley said.

“The boy,” Keith said.

Bradley cocked his head and said very slowly, as though not wishing to scare the boy away, “Is he here?”

Keith surveyed the area. “Not him, just his voice.”

“Amazing. After all this time.” Bradley patted Keith on the shoulder. “We will definitely talk about this later.”

“What does it mean that I'm still hearing him?”

“Somehow, you are connected to the Newcity system beyond the chip's influence.” He smiled broadly again, “Just my guess at this moment. We'll learn more about that connection later when we talk again, and I can promise that I'll figure it out. But for now, you've got to meet some of the others. You've got to appear as though your experiences are not unusual. I know you can do that for me, can't you?”

It was no use telling Bradley that holding everything in and lying to the others would be difficult for him. Keith had already expressed that concern. Now Bradley was stressing his hopes as much as his assertions. “Okay,” Keith said, to appease the man's worries.

Bradley appeared to be satisfied with that. “Sammy!”

Again, Sam immediately pushed back the flap and entered the tent. Keith could imagine Sam listening to their entire conversation, and surmised that he must be a loyal member of the group, one who Bradley could trust.

“I think Keith may need some privacy. This has been a lot for one man to go through. Show him to his tent so that he can get settled and have some quiet time.” Bradley squared off to Keith one last time. “That'll be your home for the next few days or so, at least.”

Keith forced a grin. “Privacy sounds good,” he said. And it was just what the boy had ordered. “But I'm not used to a tent. I've never slept in one and I need a shower.” He rubbed his face, “And a shave.”

“Sammy can help with that, too,” Bradley said. “We'll talk later.”

Keith turned away and followed Sam outside. The sun shot through the trees with arrows of light. The morning had already warmed and the long food table was being cleared by a group of the people. Others appeared to be doing chores here and there, collecting wood on a pile, cleaning the dishes by hand, moving chairs around. Everything was done by hand, no mechanisms of any kind. He didn't see a TV anywhere, nor did he hear music. The whole place was primitive to the point of ridiculous. In a world where practically everything was automated, or could be automated, they used none of it that he could tell.

Sam nudged him when he stopped for too long. “Come on, some of the others who escaped will want to meet you.”

Keith's stomach felt like it slipped into his throat. This would be where the lying would begin. The others would know about the boy intimately, except that the boy would look like them instead of Keith. And the angel wouldn't exist. His father, too, would not be part of the conversation. He thought about the lies he'd have to tell, or the information he'd have to hold back, as he followed Sam through a path in the woods.

Sam stopped at a side path marked with an orange ribbon and pointed. “Down there is where you'll find a place to shave and wash. Your tent is this way.” He proceeded with Keith on his tail.

Beyond the compound stood six dark blue two- or three-man tents. About a dozen men and women — obviously from Newcity — noticed him coming into their smaller encampment. There was a soft look to their builds, and a reticence in their demeanor.

“Oh my god,” one of them said, but Sam ignored it and showed Keith to his tent, which lay to the far left of the others. “You'll sleep alone for a while. Until you feel more comfortable with the closer contact you'll have here.”

Keith opened the flap and saw a sleeping bag and a small pack of some kind. He wondered what was inside the pack, but didn't go into the tent to find out. He'd explore that later. When he turned back around, he noticed how some of the other escapees were touching one another, holding hands. One man had his hand on the shoulder of the man in front of him. Perhaps this is what Sandra had meant in the van when she said that he'd get used to the touching soon enough. But the group didn't advance on him. They stood back and gaped. He hoped it was out of respect for his privacy.

Sam reached down and took Keith's hand and shook it. “Well, look, I'll leave you to get acquainted here, and maybe later I'll come by and introduce you to the rest of the group.” He nodded to the escapees and rushed off like he had other work to complete before the morning ended.

“It's unbelievable,” a blonde woman said. She stepped forward, letting go of the man's hand she held.

Keith stood still, not knowing what to do.

The others slowly stepped around him, but continued to give him plenty of space. They looked him up and down and more words of amazement came from their mouths.

“What?” Keith said.

“Do you realize who you are?” the woman asked. “Do they?” She pointed into the woods where the other group was working away at their chores.

Keith glanced into the crowd before him without turning his head. His eyes shifted back and forth, his body still, waiting to see what they would do next. “I'm not sure what you mean,” he said. “They know who I am. My mother is there.”

The woman approached. “I'm Stacy. And you, my friend, are the boy with the bullet hole in his forehead.” Her head twisted around to glance at the others, “Grown up, of course.”

Keith couldn't answer. The idea was preposterous. How could it be? Tears worked their way to his eyes. Finally, he squeaked out one word. “Why?”

Unexpectedly, everyone moved in closer and reached out to him. He was sure they wanted to comfort him, but the overwhelming contact and closeness brought on more tears, which turned to sobbing. As though the entire experience came down on him at once, he couldn't hold back his anguish. But he couldn't stand the attention either. Finally, he lashed out with his arms, “Go away! Leave me alone!” He felt closed in.

Stacy opened her arms, but not to hold him. She backed away and with her outward reach created an invisible circle around Keith.

He fell to his knees. His nose ran and his mouth filled with saliva. He coughed then sucked in as much air as he could, suffocating from his own panting need for breath. He let out a long “Ohhhh,” and continued to weep. He pleaded with his own thoughts to explain what was happening. He voiced it out loud, calling on the boy, the girl, “Please someone tell me why.”

As his heaving subsided and he breathed in deep repeated sighs, Stacy approached slowly with her hand out. “It's okay. It's all right. Go ahead and let it out. I would have thought you'd known,” she said.