The First Male (32 page)

Onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten
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Onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten
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“You okay?” Franklin's concerned voice pulled Simon down from his perch and pushed the dark back down inside of him. Simon didn't know how long he would be free of the dark, but he knew he needed to be in control so that he could speak with Addie with a clear head. “You need to sit down?” Before Simon could respond, Franklin had started to lead them in direction of the group of bland beige sofa and chair sets that filled the waiting area.

“No, no. I'm fine.” Simon released his grip from Franklin's shoulder and forced himself to stand on his own. He stood on suddenly strong legs. His cough dissipated and his breathing stabilized, leaving him feeling invigorated. “I'm good. Really.” He looked at Franklin's face, which was colored with incredulity, and moved briskly toward the nurse's station.

He approached the nurse's station cautiously. A group of three nurses was huddled in the back, speaking in whispers. By the smell of the emotion that wafted from the trio to Simon's nose, he could tell they were in despair. Simon inhaled deeply and let their grief enter his body. Their faces were torn with sorrow; their eyes were red, puffy sagging bags. A great sadness shrouded
them, and they fought back a river of tears as they spoke about a missing nurse named Andrea, who was last seen a few nights ago, leaving with a man in the parking lot.

One of the nurses looked up and saw Simon standing at the counter. She wiped the tear from her cheek, tugged at her uniform in an effort to straighten it out and approached the counter, forcing a smile when she was near him.

“May I help you?” she asked.

“Yes, I'm looking for a patient—a resident—I think. Ms. Thibodeaux?” Simon asked meekly as he looked at the nameplate attached to her uniform. It read “Courtney.”

“You mean Adelaide?”

“Yes. Adelaide Thibodeaux.” For the first time, Courtney looked directly into his face, a flash of familiarity sweeping across her eyes. “Do I know you?”

“No, I don't think so. I've never been here before.”

“Really? Your eyes, they're so familiar.” As she stared into his face, Simon started feeling uncomfortable. He could feel her mind working hard to match his face with a name or place him into some context in which she would recognize him. Simon didn't like being looked at that way.

“Could you tell me her room number?”

“Oh, uh . . . it's room 173. Down that hall.” She pointed, and Simon turned his head.

“Thank you.” He waved for Franklin to follow him and they began their walk down the long hallway. Simon turned his head around toward the nurse's station and Courtney was still staring at him; still searching. If he had been more in control of his powers, he would have tried to read her mind, but he hadn't yet learned to call on them upon command, and he had more important things to deal with.

They walked down the hallway quietly, as if they were too afraid their voices would alert Addie of their impending arrival. The corridor was narrow and as they passed by room after room, they tried hard not to peer into open doors out of respect for the privacy of the residents. The numbers on the door increased the farther they walked, and after a few moments they reached the one seventies. With each step he took, his connection to the swell of power started to fade, leaving him feeling breathless. He slowed his pace and took deeper breaths, feeling as if his energy was being siphoned off the closer he got to her. As quickly as the wave of sudden power had manifested, it was passing, and his shoulders slumped, slightly. The manic swing in his energy level concerned him, but he knew it was symptomatic of much larger issues.

“Simon, wait,” Franklin said. He grabbed Simon's arm as they neared her room not noticing the change in Simon's posture. “What's the plan here? You gon' walk in and say, ‘Hey, Grandma, it's me'?”

Simon paused. Franklin's question threw him for a loop. After all he had been through, the last few days, he had never thought about how to start the conversation with this woman. What would he say? What could he say?

“I don't really know,” Simon said, trying to hide the fact that he was somewhat winded. “Hadn't thought about it.”

“We need to have a plan. What if she's . . . you know, like Medusa or something.”

“I doubt seriously Medusa is living in an old folks' home.”

“I guess you have a point,” he said, appearing to really consider Simon's words, “but you do seem to have an attraction to snakes—that's gotta come from somewhere. Maybe she's some kinda snake lady. I'm just saying. Or, what if she starts trippin', like actin' all angry or crazy or violent?”

“You don't have to worry. I told you, no harm will come to you.”

“You say that shit with such confidence, but I ain't convinced.” Franklin rolled his eyes.

“Follow me and be quiet,” Simon said after he could no longer endure the alarm in Franklin's voice. It had been Franklin who, only moments earlier in the car, had urged him to go inside and meet this woman, and now he was having cold feet. If this was a different circumstance, Simon would have told him he was acting like a bitch. Instead, he shook his head. “You aren't going to let an old woman scare you, are you?”

After a few more small steps, they stood outside of room 173. The door was almost closed; only a sliver kept it from being tightly shut. Simon leaned his ear closer to the door, hoping to hear some sound. The room was quiet. With trepidation in his heart, he slowly pushed on the door, which opened with an eerie creaking sound that seemed to reverberate off the dull white walls of the hallway. As the door swung open, an old woman with tousled salt-and-pepper hair came into view. She sat in a chair that faced the television, which was not on. Her eyes were glazed and at her feet was a pair of knotted blue slippers that were stained with dirty brown specs. The room was pleasant enough, with a painting of sunflowers hanging on the wall opposite her twin-sized hospital bed that was fitted with metal rails on the sides. The curtains on the window were wide open, revealing the fast-falling snowflakes.

Simon took a few more steps. He had expected to feel something profound the first time he laid eyes on his grandmother, but the keenness of his senses had dulled considerably. The room felt like an emotional vacuum in which nothing could exist, or escape; in stark contrast to the surge of energy and emotion he felt when he first entered the facility. She sat there in silence, her
eyes absently fixed on the wall in front of her. Surely, this feeble shell of a woman could not have been the one that had haunted him in his dreams.

“Excuse me. Are you Adelaide Thibodeaux?” he asked, his eyes fixed upon her aged face; his voice was shaky. The woman in his dreams was older, but certainly not as old as the woman he saw now. His eyes drew into tight slits, focusing on her face, searching for some recognition, waiting for her response, which did not readily come.

Simon didn't really need a response. He knew. He knew this
was
Adelaide Thibodeaux, in the flesh, or what was left of her flesh. She looked to be nothing more than loose skin struggling to maintain its grip on her aged skeleton. Her face was so sunken in, he could see the outline of her bones. To say she looked fragile would be an understatement.

“What's wrong wit' her?” Franklin asked meekly. “Is she even breathin'?” They stepped deeper into the interior of the room and jumped slightly when the door behind them closed on its own, suddenly. “What da fuck?”

Simon inched a few feet in her direction; Franklin stayed close. Simon froze in place when her head slowly, almost painfully, turned toward him.

“You . . . are . . . the one,” she said in a creaky voice that sent chills up his spine. Both men froze in place, horrified by her wretched voice, which sounded like it came from the grave.

“You . . . you've been trying to contact me . . . in my dreams?” The question in his voice carried very little weight. “I'm . . . Simon.”

“You . . . have . . . come . . . for me?” She struggled to speak and coughed as if choking on her own words. Her shoulders lurched forward in a hard jerk and instinctively Simon quickly moved to her, thinking she might fall out of her chair and hit the floor.

He moved a few paces backward when her coughing stopped and she didn't flop onto the floor. He looked down at his feet and nervously shifted his weight. He didn't know what to say or what to expect from her, but even in her decayed state, she still exuded power that Simon felt in his bones. His feeling of omnipotence had been replaced with a feeling of impotence; he felt limp, almost voiceless. “Something is happening to me and I think you know what. I need . . . answers. Can you help me?”

“Are you his grandmother?” Franklin's hurried question shot from the back of the room like a spear, but it landed flat; his question went unanswered.

“Sit,” she struggled to say. Simon looked around the room and pulled up a chair next to her. She seemed to be wrapped in the stench of death, which oozed from her pores.

We have much to discuss, you and me
. Her voice, which was much clearer and stronger, echoed inside his skull.
I have felt you. Should we fear you, Simon?

“Fear me? I think I should be scared of you.”

“Who are you talking to?” Franklin asked, looking around the room making sure no one else was around.

“Franklin, please be quiet.” Simon's tone was suddenly authoritative.

Have you become death?

“Huh? I haven't killed anyone,” he said impatiently to her, but then his mind was drawn immediately to the thugs in the street. He didn't know whether the one he threw across the street or the one who had been stabbed were alive.

They are alive
. Simon shuddered when he heard her words; then, he breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn't ready to become a killer.

Many may die
.

“No. No. I don't want that. How do we stop it?”

Release me
.

“What?”

Release me
.

“I don't understand. Release you? From what?” He looked around the room, searching for some clue or sign. Maybe he was looking for a key or a secret code. He looked at Franklin, who simply shrugged his shoulders out of complete confusion.

Simon looked at her again and suddenly understood. “Oh my God,” he said in astonishment. “You're trapped—in that body.” He jumped up suddenly.

Release me
.

“What's wrong?” Franklin asked as he moved closer to Simon.

“She wants me to release her—from that body.”

Franklin looked at Simon, then at her and back at Simon. “You can do that?”

“She seems to think I can.”

Time is short
.

“What do you mean ‘time is short'?”

They will come for you
.

“Who will come for me?”

Release me
.

“I don't know how.” Fear and frustration strained his voice. “She keeps telling me to release her, but I don't know how.” Franklin grabbed Simon and pulled him to the back near the door.

“I don't think you should release her.”

“I don't even know
how
to release her.”

“If she says you can, then I believe her. I've seen yo' ass walk on water and walk through fire, so I'm sure you can do this. I just don't think you should.”

“Why?”

“We don't know anything about her. Whoever put her here,
I'm sure they put her here for a reason. I don't think we should be messin' around with this shit.”

“Franklin, she's my grandmother.”

“You don't even know her.”

“We share the same blood. That's all I need to know.” Simon moved toward Adelaide and took his seat, staring into her hollow, blue eyes. For the first time he realized that her eyes were his eyes; they shared the same sapphire sparkle, although her eyes were clouded with haze.

He concentrated and tried to project his thoughts to her as she had been doing to him.

Before I release you, I need answers
. Projecting his thoughts came easier to him than expected when he focused. The slight tingling returned to his body, but by now, he had grown accustomed to it.
Who am I?

You are The One
.

The One? What does that mean?

You are life and you are death
.

I am none of that. I am Simon. Simply Simon. I just want my life back—my normal life
.

You are The One
.

Stop saying that
. Simon said with exasperation.
That tells me nothing. What the hell is going on with me?

Release me and all will be revealed
.

He looked around the room and found Franklin's face. He needed reassurance that releasing her, if he could, was the right thing to do, but reticence carved deep lines into Franklin's brow. Simon could feel his deep apprehension from across the room. Yet, at his core, he knew he had to release her; he was as sure of this as he was sure that it was snowing. He had come too far and had endured far too much to leave here without answers.

What do I do?
he asked her, caution imbuing his voice.

You must focus
.

Not knowing what else to do, Simon cracked his knuckles and inhaled deeply. He felt as if he should close his eyes, but her hollow gaze told him otherwise; instead of closing his eyes, he focused on her eyes. Her eyes, even though glazed, gripped him tightly. His body constricted as if he were restrained by a strait-jacket. Instantly, he felt his temperature rise; his breathing quickened.