Shimmer: A Novel (19 page)

“What am I supposed to do about this?” Grainger asked in exasperation. “How do I protect my town?”

“Leave us to our work,” Ambrose said. “Trust that we know the way to defeat this menace.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“You don’t really have a choice, Grainger,” Barrett said impatiently and also a bit dismissively. “You can’t shoot this or slap cuffs on it. You can’t fingerprint it and toss it in a holding cell. Go play cop somewhere else.”

Ambrose knew Barrett was fighting his own post-battle lethargy. The veneer was clearly off his civility. Grainger has half out of his chair when Ambrose shouted, “Enough! Bickering wastes valuable time.”

Grainger exhaled sharply and settled back into his wingchair.

“Now,” Ambrose said after glancing back and forth at them to make sure neither was about to fan the flames of their argument again. “Chief Grainger, we Walkers will do what we must. What I can promise you is that we will keep the lines of communication open. If you want to protect your town, the people here, then I suggest you do so.”

“But how?”

“By keeping them out of the way,” Ambrose said. “When we tell you a rift is imminent, it’s likely we’ll have an idea where it will appear. Your best course is to evacuate any civilians in that area. Keep the people out of harm’s way and you will keep them safe. As simple as that.”

Grainger scoffed. “In theory,” he admitted grudgingly, then sighed. “Okay. I’ll try things your way.”

Ambrose had been careful how he phrased the instruction, which basically came down to assigning the chief of police the role of crowd control. Unfortunately, if Grainger became any more involved in thwarting the rift and the creature who was attempting to use it as a causeway to earth, he would likely end up as another hapless victim.

“And while I’m keeping the good people of Hadenford out of your hair,” Grainger said, “will you repair this rift?”

“And kill the Outsider, but not necessarily in that order,” Barrett said.

“If you seal the rift, why do you need to kill the… creature?”

Now it was Barrett’s turn to scoff. “Insurance.”

Grainger looked a question at Ambrose.

“This Outsider has the power to manipulate the rift,” Ambrose explained. “It’s possible he also created the rift.”

“So what’s to stop him from creating another?”

“Precisely,” Ambrose said.

“You’re right,” Grainger said, nodding. “The hell with due process on this one.”

“Not that there ever is any,” Barrett commented gruffly.

“What?”

“Due process. We operate outside the law.”

Grainger frowned. “Sounds like the proverbial slippery slope.”

Ambrose clasped his hands on the desk. “We’re attempting to stop the corruption of our world, of our very universe. We cannot settle for half-measures. The stakes are, simply, too high.”

“So the ends justify the means?” Grainger asked. “That’s what you’re saying.”

“Our ‘means’ are proportionate to the level of the threat,” Ambrose said. “In this instance, any means are justified.” Grainger, as someone accustomed to following rules and procedures to the letter, to filing paperwork in triplicate, and to being accountable to various oversight committees, appeared to have trouble accepting the concept that the Walkers were an
enforcement
agency that answered to no one. “Our own government takes extraordinary measures in the interest of national security. And our… charter, if you will, is much broader than national security,” Ambrose continued. “National interests are rather parochial where we are concerned. We are responsible for dimensional security.”

“Who put you in charge? What gives you the right—the power—to act in the interests of an entire planet?”

Ambrose shrugged mischievously. “Who remembers such things?”

“I wasn’t trying to be funny,” Grainger said, irked.

“Neither was I,” Ambrose said. “We have been ‘in charge’ as you say for thousands of years. We consider it an honor, a duty, a calling. But let me ask a more important question.”

“What?”

“If we relinquish this mantle—the power, as you say—who will replace us? Who out there comprehends the nature of the threat? Or even knows of its existence? Who would battle the unknown on its terms? Who would have the ability, the resources, or the capability to defend our very reality?”

No doubt thinking about what he had witnessed earlier in the evening, Grainger slowly shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“We walk in shadows because we have always walked in shadows, Chief Grainger,” Ambrose said. “We stand between the darkness and the light. We draw the line there and we defend that line. Would you have us abandon our posts?”

“Wish I had an alternative,” Grainger said softly. “But right now I got nothing.”

“If we should fail,” Ambrose said grimly. “Feel free to seek other solutions.”

“Gee, thanks,” Grainger said and then wearily pushed himself up out of his chair. “I have a lot to think about. I’ll be in touch.”

“Thank you,” Ambrose said. “Barrett will see you out.”

“That’s okay,” Grainger said quickly. “I know the way.”

After Grainger left the office, Barrett started to speak. Ambrose held up his hand for silence, waiting until he heard the front door close before nodding.

“We’ll be tripping all over him,” Barrett said.

“On the contrary,” Ambrose said, “I believe he will be fine.”

“He’s not one to sit back and let others do what he believes is his duty.”

“Perhaps,” Ambrose conceded. “But I think not. He will realize the enormity of the situation and work with us.”

“And what if he convinces the governor to call in the National Guard?”

Ambrose chuckled dryly. “Let hope we resolve this matter before it comes to that. This Carnifex, the one Thalia referred to as
Messor Carnis,
is impatient. We won’t have much time to prepare. Success or failure will be determined shortly.”

“Failure?” Barrett asked in a voice tinged with incredulity.

“Have you not considered the possibility?”

“On a personal level? Sure,” Barrett said. “I’ve seen it. But… what you said to Grainger about seeking other solutions, I thought you were being facetious.”

Ambrose shrugged. “Let’s hope he heard the same tone in my voice. The more confidence he has in us, the less likely he is to interfere.”

“Which is good, right?”

“Absolutely,” Ambrose said. “We stand the best chance if we are left unfettered by the well-meaning. However, the seriousness of this threat eclipses anything the family has faced in centuries, perhaps longer, and our numbers leave much to be desired.” Ambrose spread his hands, as if the rest of his argument was obvious, if better left unspoken.

“I, for one, won’t give up without one hell of a fight,” Barrett said.

“I should hope not,” Ambrose said. “But none of us can afford to falter in this battle. One stumble, one miscalculation, could be our undoing.”

Barrett nodded grimly. “With that in mind, I intend to get some rest.”

“As you should,” Ambrose said. “Pleasant dreams.”

“No guarantees, right?” Barrett said and smiled. “You too, old man.”

“I have a few things to finish here,” Ambrose said from behind his desk, hands folded calmly, where he sat for several minutes after Barrett had left. With a weary sigh, he pushed himself up out of his chair and removed several old volumes of lore from his bookshelves. He intended to look for any references to a being or entity referred to as Carnifex or Messor Carnis. Then he would check the Walker journals in the computer room on the second floor and, finally, perform a database search of the online records. Basically, he planned to research until the approach of dawn. A few hours sleep before morning would have to suffice.

At the corner of his desk, the telephone rang.

So as not to disturb the others, Ambrose scooped the receiver up from its cradle before the second ring. A bit of intuition caused a smile to spread across his face. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this call, Gideon?”

“I had… an encounter a short while ago.”

The smile faltered. “Serious?”

Gideon’s voice sounded small and far away. “Serious enough.”

“Oh, it’s just that I thought—you are well, though?”

“Bruised but unbowed.”

“Good,” Ambrose said. “That’s certainly good to hear.”

“He came looking for me… here.”

“I’m sorry, Gideon,” Ambrose said. “These things happen.”

A long sigh on the other end of the line. Ambrose sensed that Gideon had already made a decision but was reluctant to give it voice. “I’m coming home, Ambrose,” Gideon said finally. “Flying in tomorrow. If you’ll have me.”

“You are always welcome here, Gideon,” Ambrose said. “All of us will be delighted to have you here.”

“No,” Gideon said quickly. “Don’t tell anyone. That will come soon enough.”

“As you wish,” Ambrose said, a little confused by the request. “It will be good to have you among the family again.”

“Yeah,” Gideon said in a tone that lacked any enthusiasm for the prospect. “Guess I finally know my place, huh?”

“Gideon, you can be with us and still have a life.”

“Don’t kid a kidder, Ambrose,” Gideon said. “See you tomorrow.”

The line went dead.

Ambrose replaced the telephone receiver on its cradle. They needed Gideon. Truth be told, they needed a dozen more Walkers, but such a reunion was, for all practical purposes, impossible. And yet, Gideon was a beginning. He talked about coming
home
though he had never lived with Ambrose, Liana, Thalia and Logan, because home for Walkers was never a place. Home meant family, standing alongside other Walkers, and facing duty without end.

Chapter 29

Once again, Liana checked on Chelsea in the downstairs guestroom. The young woman lay still, sleeping peacefully, her right arm dangling over the side of the cot. She would suffer nightmares, of that Liana was certain, but for now her exhausted body was allowing her some mercifully uninterrupted rest. Liana raised Chelsea’s errant arm and placed it gently across her abdomen. Then she backed out of the small room and closed the door halfway, enough to mute most of the light and sound coming from the hallway, but not enough to seal the sleeping girl in utter darkness.

Liana expected to find her sister in her attic studio, but Thalia had fallen asleep in the bedroom they shared, sitting in her bed, knees drawn up to her chest, with her head tilted uncomfortably to the side. She’d tossed her paint-spattered smock over a chair but had neglected to change out of gray shirt and jeans into nightclothes.

Though she was loath to disturb her sister’s slumber, Liana guided Thalia down into a supine position on the bed, lowering her head onto the pillow as she whispered comforting words.

“Liana…” Thalia muttered, her eyes fluttering open.

“Go back to sleep. It’s late.”

“He told you?”

“Ambrose? Yes he told me.”

“About Carnifex?”

“Uh-huh,” Liana murmured.

She was kneeling beside the bed, stroking her sister’s upper arm in what she hoped was a soothing rhythm, when Thalia said, “Hold me.”

“Okay,” Liana said and climbed onto the bed, positioning herself on her right side, facing her sister. She draped her left arm across her sister’s waist. “Better?”

Thalia turned her head toward the sound of Liana’s voice and stared at her for a long moment before nodding. “It’s him,” she said grimly. “Carnifex. Reaper of Flesh.”

“How do you know?”

“Just do.”

Liana proceeded with caution, and part of that strategy was to adopt a casual tone. Any form of intense interrogation would cause Thalia anxiety and no doubt induce a panic attack or hysteria. “What do you know about him?”

“He’s bad,” Thalia said. “Destructive and… filled with hate for us. He would kill us all, but…”

“But what?”

Lying on her back, Thalia shrugged her shoulders awkwardly. “Don’t know. He listens... but not to us. He is a hunter and a destroyer. Our blood and pain and fear give him power, the power to cross.”

“To cross through the rift.”

Thalia nodded. “That’s what he wants, what he needs. A pound of flesh. But no, he wants pounds and pounds of flesh, enough to come here… but then never enough. He’s like all of them. Insatiable.”

“Who?”

“Those who rule in the dark.”

“Beyond the rift?”

Another nod. “It’s a bad place… very bad place.”

“Thalia, is that where you were when…?” Liana asked.
When we lost you?

Instead of answering the question, Thalia gazed at Liana frantically with her gold-flecked hazel eyes. “Promise you won’t ever go there, Liana. I couldn’t bear to lose you.”

“Thalia, I—”

“Promise!” Thalia shouted with sudden desperation, her eyes wide and alarmed. A moment later, she tried to rise from the bed, but Liana caught her shoulders and made an unsuccessful attempt to get her to relax again. Thalia’s body continued to thrum with tension.

When Thalia’s panic comes, it’s like a wildfire in her brain,
Liana thought dismally. “I promise to stay safe, Thalia. Okay?”

Thalia stared at her for long moments, as if expecting a retraction. When it didn’t come, her body sagged with exhaustion. “Good,” she whispered, nodding. “As long as you promise… okay.”

“Promise,” Liana said softly, giving word again to the lie.

Chapter 30

Remarkably, Fallon remembered to stop at the Wawa mini-mart for milk and realized at that moment that she’d completely forgotten about preparing dinner for her father. As she recalled, she’d been making a grocery list when the premonition of murder had practically propelled her out the door.  After what happened at Chelsea’s house, she’d lost her own appetite and had neglected her father in the process. Along with the milk, she grabbed a couple frozen microwave meals with preparation times under thirty minutes.
Better a late meal, than none.

She entered her home with an apology on her lips, but found her father asleep on his recliner in front of the television, deaf to the droning, endless news channel he’d been watching. Although he hadn’t changed out of his rumpled clothes, he’d made at least one trip into the kitchen, as evidenced by the bag of hard pretzels tucked beside him on the chair, and a couple more empty beer bottles clustered on the end table.