Descent Into Madness (36 page)

              “Please, don’t,” Aleksandra whispered, her tears soaking his cheek.

              Wesley brushed aside tears as he lifted Aleksandra into his arms. Her fragile body clung to his as her eyes stared up. He fixed his eyes ahead, into the darkness. Colin and Judith fell back and sat along an outcropping of tree stumps.

              They watched in a stupor as Wesley carried Aleksandra toward the cabin’s outer door. The creaking wood severed the silence as the door opened, and Judith wept. Colin stared in horror and disbelief, watching Aleksandra’s limp arms fall away from Wesley’s shoulders as the two disappeared inside.

              “You bring me to my death,” whispered Aleksandra, her head rolling back to watch the candles light as they descended the stone stairs. “You know this.” Her warm auburn locks cascading over Wesley’s hands.

              He glanced down and relished how the candlelight caught the vibrant pumpkin and fiery sienna highlights. The vampiric blood played a nightly symphonic masterpiece in her precious hair. It was the first image he woke to, and the orange blossom lured him to sleep. Now the vile sickness of time was stealing this from him, too.               He averted his eyes, focusing on the room coming into view. “I do,” he finally replied.

              “And still you do this?” she asked as they stepped off the stairs and into the chamber.

              One by one, the candles flickered, circling the room with light. The room had remained unchanged. Shimmering dust clung to the bedding, to the walls.

              “I was hoping you would accept the alternative,” Wesley resigned, carrying her to the bed. He laid her down, placing her head on the pillow. A puff of dust exploded and settled in her hair, muting the vivid redness. He reached over and smoothed away what little collected on her face, but she reached for his shaking hand and held it to her bosom.

              “We have discussed this,” she began. His lips parted as he moved to interrupt her, but she continued. “We agreed.”

              “But you may recover,” replied Wesley. “Bree returned; it can happen.”

              “You read the same pages, my love,” Aleksandra spoke gently. “She was never the same. It was a new madness, a new melancholy. She existed inside herself, having woken in a time that was not her own. Unfamiliarity surrounded her, everywhere she looked, and the only people she still knew were you and I, and Aksel. Everyone else was dead. Wesley, streets had changed. People had changed. I do not want that. If you think I am mad now, there is no way you will control me later.”

              Wesley walked to the other side of the circular bed and crawled in beside Aleksandra. He edged his body closer to her, and took her into his arms.

              “I do not want to leave you, either,” she admitted.

              “Then just sleep,” he begged. “Sleep and when the madness passes you will wake, and I will be here.”

              “We both know I cannot do that, and I am far too weak to fight the inevitable,” her words leached into his heart. He knew what would come next. “Help me.”

              Wesley pulled away and peered into her eyes, and then pressed his lips to hers. They were salty from her blood tears, and cracked from lack of feeding. But he held his lips against them until his own were numb.

              “I will be eternally in love with you, Aleksandra,” he said, withdrawing from the bed. He watched as she returned her head to the pillow.

              “And I you,” she smiled, weakly, closing her eyes.

              He descended the stairs backwards, stopping two steps up. He could still see her on the bed; the candles surrounding the room were still aflame.

              “One day I hope I can forgive myself for what I now do,” he whispered, his hand reaching into the room. Wesley snapped his fingers toward the bed and flames sprung up at the coverlet’s edging. A trail of fire snaked its way around the room’s edge, and laced its way up the wall, crawling like an insidious weed. Smoke and flame ate the dust, and devoured the ancient, worm-eaten fabrics. Aleksandra lay motionless on the bed, awaiting the flames.               Wesley turned and started walking up the stairs, the smoke following him.

              “Wesley,” Aleksandra’s haunting voice screeched through the crackling. “Wesley!” He rushed back down the stone steps, halting at the fire’s edge. “Wesley,” she called. She remained laying on the bed, unmoved.

              “I’m here, my love!” he screamed over the fire’s rage.              

              “Good-bye,” she cried, sitting up, her eyes glaring through the flames.

              Wesley watched as Aleksandra collapsed onto the bed, the fire creeping closer to her body. Fire covered the floor, the walls, and it was nearing the ceiling.

              As a wall of smoke pushed past Wesley, he turned and fled, rushing up the stairs and through the secret door. He did his best to bolt the passage and conceal it, but he did not know how the fire below would affect the building up top.

              “We must go,” Wesley called as he approached Judith and Colin. “Now!” The two held each other. They had not moved from the stumps.

              “Wesley,” Judith walked toward him and Colin followed.

              “We will talk about this later,” he assured her. “For now, we must leave.”

              “Who is that?” asked Colin, pointing to the cliff overlooking the inlet. “Hello, there!” Colin called out to the shadowy figure. “Come down!”

              “If we were watched, then Aleksandra’s safety is compromised, Wesley!” said Judith. She peered into the darkness.

              Wesley stared at the shadowy cliff, its rocky surface littered with earthy debris. A dead, rotting tree lay against a large boulder near the cliff’s edge. And smaller boulders were scattered about the forgotten surface. The cliff was unreachable and inhospitable.

              “There is no one there, Colin,” noted Wesley, his eyes turning to the sea. 

              “You do not see them?” asked Colin, his eyes straining against the night. “It was a woman.”

              “Grief takes many forms, my friend,” replied Wesley, his voice shallow and flat. “Let us leave this place.”

THIRTY-EIGHT

July 11, 2013

5:00 am

T
he muggy staleness covered the trio as they walked into the quiet State Street apartment. Wesley had not wanted to return, he wanted to flee, to hide from this hellish reality he had help create. The body of his sister lies in wait, tucked away in a room, its unnatural heat frightening him. His wife – his amour – turned to ash on foreign soil – in a forsaken chamber built for nothing but destruction, it seemed.

              Aksel, Bree, and Aleksandra: madness and destruction surrounded him. And he feared it.

              Wesley dropped his keys next to Aleksandra’s on the door-side table. His fingers grazed the multicolored DNA strand on her keychain. He fondled the coils and let his fingers slip over her keys – the one to the front door, the one to the car no one drove. Their harsh smoothness felt removed from that moment, felt wrong. Wesley dropped the keys as a tear fell on the metal, marring its sparkle with crimson honesty.

              Wesley kept his gaze on the lush Berber as he walked toward the bedroom. There was the bed he and Aleksandra shared. The covers on her side were still turned back, the depression in her pillow still present from the day before. He could still smell her Hermes Eau D’Orange Verte perfume on the bedspread, on her pillow, in the air itself.

              Judith fled to the kitchen and unlocked the apartment’s other balcony. The glass door creaked as she slid it open. She howled into the windless Chicago night, cursing the bustling city below. Her hands squeezed the railing until the metal collapsed, and she could twist the mangled steel. Chunks broke off and she stood staring at how the weakened metal yielded to her new power – and she hurled them into the darkness. She hurled them at the cars below; cars filled with people still alive, still blissful and oblivious.

              Colin, left alone, stared at the room at the end of the hall. The maple door was closed, but behind sat the matriarch; still, silent, warm. Colin desperately desired Bree near him; he craved her silence, wanted to stroke her stone fingers and run his finger though her hair, the tips slipping past her hyaline strands. He ached to feel her, to caress her cheek and sense its warmth on his lips. He needed her to wake; to have her answer his questions; to have her hear his pleas.

              Colin approached the door and ran his palm over the smooth surface, tracing the graining, stopping at the brass knob. His fingers snaked loosely around the orb. 

              Judith moved past him, sighing, “Let that be for one more night.” She slipped down the shadowed hall, moving toward the study.

              “Perhaps that is best,” whispered Colin.

              He waited until he heard Judith’s feet leave the adjacent hallway to turn the doorknob and flick on the harsh fluorescent lights. His eyes scanned the small room and roamed the settee. They traveled the floor while his hands tossed throw blankets aside, searching for marks of a struggle. He whispered. He begged under his breath and squinted, hoping his eyes were deceiving him.

              Colin shouted, “Wesley, she is not here!”

              “No, she is not,” a feminine trickle startled him from the room’s entrance. Colin could hear Wesley emerging from the bedroom and bounding toward Bree’s chamber. His footsteps fell heavy on the carpeted floor until they stopped, suddenly, half way down the hall.

              Colin turned, Bree’s cashmere throw still in his hands, to see a tussle of auburn hair and soot covered clothes blocking the doorway.

              “Aleksandra?” he whispered.

              The bottoms of her jeans were singed, so were the cuffs of her Valentino top. But she was unscathed, the fire sparing her. Ash muted her hair’s golden highlights, replacing them, instead, with an aged grey. In that moment, Wesley considered that his beloved could age; that the centuries had come to claim her. 

              “Wesley,” Judith’s shrill rang loudly from the Study. But, neither man moved from their spots. They watched Aleksandra as if she were a specter about to vanish before their wanting eyes. 

              “Wesley,” Judith’s voice swelled. “Wesley!”

              “You should go to her,” Aleksandra urged. “Both of you go.”

              Wesley slowly advanced toward Aleksandra, asking, “How is this possible?” as she slid from the room’s entrance.

              She did not shrink from him as his palm graced her cheek, or as he twisted a lock of her hair around his finger. As his hand brushed ash from her shoulder, she did not flinch; her eyes remained fixed on the hallway before her.

              “Wesley!” Judith shouted from within the study. “Father!” she continued, her voice growing louder.

              “Just go, my love.” Her eyes met his – her stare no longer vacant. “Go.”

              Colin entered the room, his eyes and mouth stretching in unison. “Bree!” he exclaimed, a hand rushing to cover his lips.  

              “Who is that with her?” Judith asked, joining her father along the Study’s rear wall.

              Chicago city-light filtered in from the open balcony. Car light bounced off glittering high rises and skyscrapers lit up the night sky with their brilliance. All glorified in the city’s splendor that night, including Bree and the woman in black.

              The women stood watching traffic, listening to the thoughts of thousands. They stood embracing each other, holding onto a world long past.

              “Veronica,” Wesley said as he entered. He fell to his knees as the veiled woman turned and entered the room.

              “The woman in black,” Colin whispered to Judith.

              Veronica’s habit slithered across the floor as she walked toward Wesley. The prayer beads knocked against her rosary as each swayed with her steps – weaving their own eternal music with its clinking and clacking. Judith and Colin could not see Veronica’s face; and even Bree had not turned to face them when Veronica left the balcony. The two silently watched as Veronica placed her hand on Wesley’s head, and Aleksandra sauntered in.

              “Please forgive me.” His head bowed beneath the weight of her hand pressing against it.

              “Go to her, Aleksandra,” the veiled nun commanded. Aleksandra walked toward the balcony, her steps quiet and deliberate.

              “Aleksandra, stop!” Judith pled. “Dawn is rising, we must take shelter!”

              Colin and Judith watched Aleksandra walk onto the balcony and clasp Bree’s hand, squeezing it tightly. Orange began to erase the darkness; the black fading to pale blue, as Chicago and its people awoke to a new day.

              Soft watercolor purples and blues bled into the Study, reflecting off the marble fireplace, striking the room’s rich woods. The crescendo of color shifted to the desk, bouncing and glinting off the stainless steel. The rising vibrant dawn crept along the carpet, its blanket of color taunting them. Each inch the light traveled along the carpet was a reminder of vulnerability.

              The world was awash in Technicolor madness for but a moment.

              “It ends now, does it not?” Wesley asked, raising his head to meet Veronica’s cold, lifeless eyes. “That is why you are here – for revenge.” She withdrew her hand and stepped back. “No, there is something far more precious you are seeking – my penance.”

              “Father!” Judith ran to the door with Colin following, her shirt in his fist. The two cowered in what little shadow that remained. Her hands gripped the brass knob and turned, but the door would not budge. “Father,” wept Judith. She fell into her father’s chest, his Irish tweed collecting her ruby tears. Colin held her close, shielding her from the imminent light; from the sure pain and death the sunlight would bring.

              “Open the door, Veronica,” Wesley pled. “They have nothing to do with this.”

              “They stay,” Aleksandra called from the balcony. Judith shrieked as Aleksandra turned, her lips upturned, her face tanned from the dawn’s wickedness. Colin’s hand reached from behind and covered Judith’s mouth, muffling the glass-shaking noise.

              “Aleksandra, Bree and Veronica want us to enter the shadow!” Wesley screamed to his wife, who had returned her attention to the creeping sun. “They will kill us!” He howled, staring at Veronica.

              “We cannot kill you, Wesley; you are already dead,” Veronica replied.

              “But is the shadow not death enough?” he asked.

              She knelt, “You know nothing of the shadow, of the void. You walk the earth, Wesley. You bask in its moonlight, swim in its seas. You feed from its humans. You love its people. Do not, for one moment, speak to me of the void.” Then she rose and joined Aleksandra and Bree on the balcony.

              “Never speak of the void,” Bree whispered for all to hear.

              “Never speak of the void,” Aleksandra echoed, her voice an octave higher than her mother’s, but still as lethal.               “The sun will be over those buildings any minute, Aleksandra,” Judith said. She clung to her father, occasionally peeking out from the safety of his chest to see her coming destruction.

              “We are far too young to survive this as you appear to have, Bree,” Colin called out. “Please, if you care for us, let us retreat to the safety of darkness.” He waited and tried the doorknob once more, yet it would not turn. Judith’s weeping began anew as she buried her face in the itchy jacket

              “You’re going to obliterate them, Bree!” Wesley shouted. “Vengeance, hate, depression – your motives no longer concerns me – just let them go.” He stood and advanced toward the balcony. “I will gladly be your sacrifice, just save them!”

              Veronica, in her white-lined veil and ebony habit, and click-clacking prayer chords dangling from her waste, stepped from the group and walked toward him. She reached deeply into her pocket and withdrew the amulet. Her fingers wiped ash from its front.

              Veronica handed the trinket to Wesley. “She is going to save you – all of you.”

              Wesley, Judith and Colin watched as Veronica dissipated, leaving a subtle aroma of linseed oil and lavender in the Study.

              “What just happened?” Judith asked her father, but he could not reply. His slack-jaw had widened as Veronica left.

              “Come,” Aleksandra’s temptress voice called. “Come, Wesley.”

              “Wesley, stop!” Judith hollered as she watched the man scuttle to his wife’s side.

              “Colin, Judith,” Bree called, turning to them, “come stand at my side.”

              “Dad, we will burn!” Judith shouted, clutching onto her father’s sweater as he walked to Bree’s side. “Dad, please do not do this. Please!”

              “Do not fight it, Judith,” said Aleksandra, her grinning face giving Judith more unrest. “Let us be together.”

              “Together where?” Judith fought. “The void?”