Legacy of a Dreamer (9 page)

Chantal’s head hurt, and she closed her eyes against the pain.

“You okay back there?” Nick asked

She sighed, not knowing how to answer his question. Nick laughed, making her a little ticked off.

“I need answers, Nick,” she said, letting go and stumbling as she tried to regain her footing. She shoved hard against his sturdy back, wanting him away from her for a moment or two, but her strength failed her; pushing him was like shoving against the Hulk. She got nowhere pretty fast.

Nick’s skin morphed from the normal flat gray color back to the golden tone it had been in her apartment when he confronted Tony.
 

“I know you’re confused,” he said.

“Confused? I’m downright flipping my shit, Nick. And why are you smiling?”

“You’re cute when you’re angry,” he said.

“Oh, no. You don’t get to do that.”

“What?” he asked.

“That,” Chantal retorted, gesturing to his vaguely innocent, yet playful, expression with a pointed finger. He shrugged again, his expression stoic and back to business before he looked behind him toward the busy streets beyond. His eyes narrowed for a moment as if trying to focus on something far away.

“Nick.”

“Why do you call me that?”

“I don’t know. You just seemed like a ‘Nick’ to me at the time.”

“A dark shadow in the corner of your room looked like a ‘Nick?’”

She put her hands on her hips. “Well, what’s your name, then?”

“Mathias,” he said, taking a step closer. Before she could react, he had her in his arms, cradling her like a baby as he began walking.

“What are you doing?” she yelled. She tried to wriggle loose, but his grip was firm.

“Can’t have you walking New York streets without any shoes on,” he said with a laugh. “Might step on something questionable and then where would we be?”

“Yeah, right. Such a gentlemen,” she said, poking him in the chest. “Are you sure you’re not just trying to get fresh with me?”

He laughed, his head thrown back as if what she said was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. Chantal huffed. “Well you didn’t seem to have a problem before, dragging me shoeless into a darkened alleyway.”

“We were in a hurry,” he said. “It would’ve looked a little suspicious for me to be carrying a half-clothed woman as I ran down the street, don’t you think?”

“Oh, and this doesn’t look strange at all,” she muttered as Nick took a step out of the alleyway. Ignoring her, his movements were cautious. Chantal kept quiet, deciding it would be better not to distract him.
 

“I know I haven’t told you much,” he said, hushed. “But there will be more answers coming soon, I promise.”

Chantal watched him carefully. She didn’t want to interrupt him but she couldn’t stand the awkward silence as he walked.

“Where are you taking me?”

“To a church,” he said. “It’ll be safe there.”

Shocked, she glanced around her, trying to figure out where they were. They hadn’t been in the flat, shadow world for very long. They couldn’t have traveled too far.

“Mathias,” she said, trying his real name on for size. “Seems kind of old school.”

“My father found it fitting to name me after the apostle that replaced Judas,” he said, smirking as if at a hidden joke. Chantal noticed when he smiled that it softened his features, somehow making him look more human.

“Judas, the one that betrayed Jesus?”

He nodded. “You see the irony, right?”

“But I think I’ll still call you Nick.”

He shrugged.

“Your skin, it changed color.” She touched his arm near his birthmark. Nick’s eyes traveled down to where she touched him, a frown on his face. Chantal pulled her hand back, afraid she’d offended him.

“Like I said, we’re born with the gray skin of the Fallen, but we can change it to that of our birth mothers.”

“Was she an American?” Chantal noticed that he didn’t really have a foreign accent.

“Don’t know,” he said. “I was found in an orphanage in Israel. The priests didn’t know much about me, only that my name was Mathias and I wasn’t local.”

“Who found you?” she said, gauging his reaction. His countenance shifted, and for a moment, his skin lost its coloring. His telling eyes glossed over, the memory obviously painful.

“We’re here,” he said, pausing just outside a grand cathedral.

The cathedral stretched high toward the heavens, covered in strategically placed stained-glass windows that continued along the sides of the huge building. A large pyramid-shaped staircase was in front of the large front doors. The steeples were stone, and Chantal wouldn’t have been surprised to see a few gargoyles glaring down from their perches. It seemed out of place somehow.
 

“It’s beautiful,” she said.

“It’s safe, for now.” Nick started up the staircase taking two at a time.

“I can walk, you know,” she said. He laughed at her again, but despite her annoyance, she couldn’t help the way his laughter made her feel. It made her want to smile along with him. Choosing the petulant action, she grumbled instead.

Nick let her down once they reached the top, making a grand bow to her as if he were nothing more than her humble servant. Despite her mood, she smiled playfully and mock-punched his arm, earning another beautiful chuckle.

“After you,” he said, pulling on the large iron handle.
 

The door creaked open, revealing a candlelit foyer preceding another set of doors. Nick followed, always her protector.

She noted that despite their relative safety, she couldn’t shake the feeling of dread she still felt.

Holding one open for her like the gentleman he’d claimed to be, Nick waved her through the door, still in a teasing mood. Bowing to him this time, she entered the church. Her breath caught in her throat, and the hairs on her body prickled as she stared at the altar. Chantal stood frozen in place, as that strange sense of
déjà vu
came over her once again.

Elaborate wooden pews stretched the length of the large hall. Their simplicity seemed out of context in such a holy, ornate place. The candelabras lining the walls cast muted light onto the surroundings. Shadows danced along with the flickering flame, but they seemed to be missing something. Chantal looked around as she walked down the center aisle, expecting to see people kneeling, paying homage. However, there was no one. Sadness filled her heart.

The crucifix above the altar drew her attention, as if she could feel it connect to some missing part of her. It served as a reminder, something for the missing people to serve and pray to, and honor above all else. He seemed so lonely with no one to admire the beauty of his sacrifice. A lone lamb, forgotten.

He was emaciated, hung from that wooden cross, His cross. His torture and subsequent death screaming from his wasted features. The image resonated pain and fear from deep inside her. She moved closer to Him. She recognized His face, the expression so familiar it left her feeling cold and breathless. She looked at His eyes, seeking answers, relief, but found none.

She’d seen this cross before, somewhere in her nightmares.

“This is where they come,” Nick said, and it took a lot of effort for her to tear herself away from the man on the cross.

“Who?”
 

“I’ll show you,” Nick said, taking her hand. His hand in hers was warm and comforting, and she glanced at him through the tears clouding her eyes. She hadn’t realized she’d been crying.

He took her along the altar to a hidden door just off the platform. The narrow corridor beyond gave her a sense of claustrophobia.

“The nuns keep them hidden. Away from those that seek them out.”

“Keep what hidden?” she asked, her voice wavering with emotion and trepidation.
 

Nick looked at her with compassion and understanding. “The others like you.”

The hallway seemed endless, dark and dank, smelling of stale breath and mothballs. She imagined they traveled parallel to the elaborate stone walls of the cathedral. She couldn’t be sure, but the corridor had to lead somewhere. After a few feet, the ground began to tilt downward, making Chantal feel as if they were heading underground.

   
“What is this?” she asked, fear and anxiety evident even to her. Nick didn’t answer. Instead, he kept a steady pace down the narrow tunnel, following the hint of lighting toward his destination. He held her hand in a firm grip, offering her just the smallest sense of security though her alarm bells were sounding off.

For the first time, Chantal began to question herself and her decision to follow Nick. The fact that this, after all she’d witnessed, happened to be the first time she had second thoughts made her angry with herself.

What did she really know about him, after all? Nothing, in all honesty. Yes, he could kill a shadow beast and turn his skin different colors, but she didn’t know him as a person. Could he be trusted? Her gut told her she could. She’d be dead right now, if it wasn’t for him.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said. Why did he make her feel so safe?

“You have no clue what I’m thinking.”

“Yes, I do.” The cocky tone to his voice set her teeth on edge.

“What?”

“You’re wondering what you’re doing down here, with me. A shadow that came to life and killed a Seeker in your apartment.”

“No, I’m not,” she said.
 

Nick laughed. “You girls are so predictable.”

“Girls?” She slowed her pace, yanked her hand away, and rested a fist indignantly on her hip at his blatant dismissal of her womanhood.

Nick glanced back, giving her a wide, playful grin. She felt her face flush. He could be quite handsome at times, she mused against her will. She hated feeling so conflicted, so confused. Yet, being with him felt more natural than anything she’d experienced, at least that she could remember.

Nick grabbed her hand again and they picked up speed. They rounded a corner, and Chantal found herself standing in front of a large metal door.

“Is this it?” she asked, noting the thick, strong-as-iron looking door.
 

Nick nodded, his gaze fixed on the door. There didn’t appear to be any way to open it, no key access that she could see.

Nick stood motionless before it. His palms rested at his sides, his breathing calm and paced.

“What are you—” Chantal said, but Nick held up his hand and mumbled something. She was entranced by his sudden change. The words were foreign to her, but the cadence gave her a small sense of peace. Once he was done, he shoved the door open with ease.

“What was that?” She didn’t want to take another step without some kind of reassurances. She was sick of all the inquiry and intrigue. Why wouldn’t he just tell her what she wanted to know? Nick paused just beyond the door.

“There is more to this world than just what we can see or touch, Chantal. You of all people should know that by now. The answers you seek are inside. The priest can tell you all you want to know.”

Stunned, Chantal followed him silently through the metal casing. Just beyond the entrance, she could make out a large, rectangular room cast in dim lighting. There were a few people moving about in a bouncing rhythm, their action similar to a mother calming a fussy child. Soothing female voices in hushed song filled the room, adding to the feeling of calm and tranquility. Once she got closer, she could see that the women were in black robes, wearing the distinct white habits that signified them as brides of Christ.

Nuns? Priest? Why can’t he just answer her questions?
She thought as she continued scanning the room.

As they moved deeper into the room, the rest of scene came into view. Several cribs rested against the stone walls in rows like a makeshift nursery. Each simple crib held one blanket per child, and each baby wore bland nighties made of thin cotton. The sight reminded Chantal of her upbringing in the countless foster homes she’d been placed in. She never had anything extravagant, either, but at least she’d had her mom to hold her at night when she was little.

“What is this?” Chantal leaned over to Nick, but just as he was about to answer her, a loud scream tore from across the room.

A little girl, no more than eight-years-old, was in the fetal position on a small bed, screaming in terror. A nun rushed to her side and tried to console her, but she seemed scared. She cried harder, and her sharp trills woke up some of the sleeping babies.

Several nuns rushed to the babies, picking them out of their cribs and comforting them as best they could. The poor girl, abandoned, pulled herself into the smallest ball she could manage. The bloodcurdling sound stirred something deep inside Chantal, reminding her of those nights when she’d awoken trembling and anxious. She felt the sharp pain of fear envelop her as she watched.

“What’s happening? Talk to me. I’m tired of trying to guess what the hell is going on.” She turned to Nick, wanting answers.

“They are plagued with nightmares,” he said, barely heard above the noise. “Each of these girls is like you. They dream as you do.”

No. She did not dream like this. Yes, she had nightmares that left her feeling scared and helpless, terrified even. But they had never resulted into the outright hysterics these poor children were suffering.