Morpheus Road 03 - The Blood (8 page)

"What if you're wrong, son?" Foley asked.

Coop didn't have a quick answer. He wanted to show confidence, but the best he could do was act in the moment and make the best possible choice. "Then I'm wrong. But we've got to take control, and as long as he's got you, he's got power over all of us."

The others exchanged nervous looks.

"Zoe, what happened to the other Guardians?" Coop asked quickly. "The ones that survived the battle at the Rift?"

"They have all returned to their own visions," she answered.

"What about the spirit swords that were left in Ree's vision when Damon's soldiers went into the Blood?"

"The Guardians still have them, but what good can the swords do if they are scattered throughout the Black?"

Coop processed that information, then said, "All right. Go to your vision; take Maggie and Gramps and don't allow Damon to enter."

"I'm afraid that ship has sailed," Gramps said. "Damon can pretty much go wherever he wants no matter what any
body allows him to do."

"Then find someplace there that you can defend and wait until you hear from me."

The sounds of shouts and scuffling feet grew louder. "You gotta go," Coop declared.

Maggie grabbed Cooper's hands and looked him straight in the eye. "What are you going to do?"

Coop started to give a quick answer, but held back and offered an honest one instead. "I don't know."

Maggie looked grim and Coop gave her a quick hug.

"They are coming!" Zoe shouted, pointing to the stretch of gladiator cells they had just run through.

"Go!" Coop demanded. "I'll see you soon."

There wasn't time for more talk. A swirling wall of color appeared behind each of the spirits as they took a step backward . . . and disappeared.

All but Cooper.

The gladiator who Cooper had impaled was the first to enter the room. He boldly strode forward with one thought in mind: execution. He still had the black sword and raised it to strike.

Coop was about to step out of the vision, when . . . "Stop!" Damon commanded.

The gladiator cringed and shook with rage, but he stopped. Several more Roman soldiers with traditional spears entered and spread throughout the room, followed by Damon, who strode in quickly.

Cooper was prepared to blast out of that vision at the first sign of trouble but needed any clue he could get as to Damon's strategy, so he waited.

Damon went right to the large cell and stuck his head in to inspect it.

"Taking attendance?" Coop asked. "Don't bother. They're gone."

Damon scanned the empty cell, then spun to Cooper. Coop felt his rage. He glanced to the gladiator with the
black sword in case Damon gave him the order to attack. Instead Damon smiled.

As Coop had seen so many times before, Damon's emo
tions swung wildly. It was just one of the many signs of his insanity.

"No matter," Damon said with a shrug. "I can easily hunt them down."

Coop said, "You could, but isn't it more fun this way?"

Damon laughed, genuinely. "Perhaps. But rest assured I'll be keeping a much closer watch on Ree Seaver."

"Where is she, anyway?" Coop asked casually.

Damon wagged a finger at Cooper as if chastising him for being a naughty boy. "Still so sure of yourself. It's what I like about you. I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but in spite of the debacle at the Rift, nothing has changed."

"Except that your entire army was sucked into the Blood," Coop shot back.

"Do you seriously believe my strength comes from those few spirits? There are countless spirits in the Black who clamor to join me. I watched as you observed the faces of the spectators in the arena. You saw their rage. Their hun
ger. These are spirits who cannot accept that their fates are being determined by so-called superior beings."

"The Watchers?" Coop said.

"Yes. Watchers. Why should they have the right to judge us? To judge anyone? Billions have accepted their decisions throughout time without question. I say we should each determine our own future, and I am not alone."

"So that's why you're in this vision? To recruit more sol
diers? What did you promise Emperor Titus? The greatest spectacle of all time?"

Damon gave Cooper a sly smile. "That is
exactly
what I promised him."

"Did you also tell him that you really don't care about how the Watchers have run things? Did you tell him that you're just using that as an excuse to get the spirits fired up so that you can get what you really want?"

"And what do you believe that is?" Damon asked, smug. "One last battle to prove something . . . mostly to your
self. So sad."

Damon stiffened.

Coop had tweaked a nerve, so he continued to push.
"And how does Brennus fit into your plans? I hear you went all snaky when you didn't find him in Riagan's vision."

Damon twisted his head slightly, as if trying to wrap his mind around the question and the fact that Coop knew enough to ask it.

Cooper offered him a smug smile.

"Brennus," Damon said thoughtfully. "A name you over
heard that could mean anything . . . or nothing. We will leave it at that."

Damon waddled up to Cooper and patted him on the cheek. He stood a good foot shorter than Coop and quite a bit wider . . . not at all the intimidating warrior he envi
sioned himself to be.

Coop had to hold himself back from hitting the guy. "I need you to do something for me," Damon said.

"I'm not going to tell Marsh to find the poleax," Coop
spat. "Give it up."

"Then deliver a message to him for me. Since he is in possession of a crucible, I am unable to do so myself."

"You're kidding me, right?"

"Not at all. Tell him that I grow impatient. Make him understand that unless he locates the poleax and delivers it to me, I will destroy his mother."

"I'm not going to tell him that," Coop shot back.

Damon backed away from Cooper with a knowing smile. "But you will, for I am quite serious about making good on my threat. What kind of friend would you be to keep that information to yourself?"

Cooper fought to keep his rage under control.

"You're a miserable bastard," he said, seething.

"Characterize me any way you'd like," Damon said casu
ally. "But you cannot deny that I know how to get what I want, and I want the poleax. Deliver the message, or Ree Seaver dies."

Damon strode from the room, followed by the Roman soldiers. The last to leave was the gladiator, who stayed long enough to give another thought to slicing into Cooper with the black sword.

"This is not over," he warned, then turned and exited.

Cooper was left alone, standing in the bowels of an ancient stadium that was the vision of an emperor who'd lived in the Light somewhere around the year eighty. He closed his eyes, desperately trying to control his feelings of fear and frustration. Finally, he couldn't contain himself any longer and let out an anguished scream.

"Where are you?" he shouted.

The animals in their cages roared back an answer, but it wasn't what Coop wanted. What he desperately needed. He staggered about looking for something he knew wasn't there.

"Why aren't you here? Help me! Why don't you stop him?"

It was futile.

Not a single Watcher appeared. Or answered.

It was the second funeral of the summer and no easier than the first.

Ennis Mobley was laid to rest in the same cemetery as Cooper Foley. And Terri Seaver. Ennis had no family living in the States. His only relative was an elderly aunt who lived in Kingston, Jamaica, who Marsh's father, Michael, flew up for the service.

Ennis's closest friends were the Seaver family, so Michael took charge as soon as he learned of the tragedy and handled all the arrangements. There was a simple service at the funeral home in Stony Brook that was well attended by Ennis's friends and colleagues. He was loved and respected by many.

Cooper was there, though only Marsh and Sydney knew of his presence. He stood beside them throughout. While
the three grieved for Ennis, thoughts of Damon and the true reason for Ennis's death were never far away.

Ennis's final journey in the Light was to the cemetery. Nei
ther Marsh nor Sydney could bring themselves to go. Michael understood. They had just been there to bury Cooper, so he didn't insist that they pay the place another visit.

What Michael didn't realize was that for Marsh and Sydney, the horrifying memories of the cemetery had little to do with Cooper's funeral. The two had confronted the full fury of Damon's frightening visions that day, and nei
ther wanted to set foot in that graveyard ever again . . . alive or dead or anywhere in between. So when the services ended, Sydney and Marsh drove home while Michael and the rest of the mourners brought Ennis to his grave.

Coop hadn't said much throughout the service, out of respect for Ennis. That ended on the trip back to the Foleys' house, when he quickly related all that he had seen in the Black.

"So Damon's building another army," he announced to complete his tale. "He's making it out like it's some kind of revolution against the authority of the Watchers, and there are plenty of idiots who believe him."

"Who is Brennus?" Marsh asked absently.

"I don't know, but he sounded like a bad dude, and Damon sure wants to find him."

"And Damon can't just step into Brennus's vision in the Black?"

"He can. He did. But Brennus wasn't there."

"Where was he?"

"I don't know, Ralph," Coop said, frustrated. "I'm not the afterlife expert here."

"Maybe Ennis can help you," Marsh offered.

Sydney shot him a quick look, as if surprised that Marsh would have said such a thing.

Marsh ignored her.

"To do what?" Coop asked.

"He thinks the sixth crucible might be in the Black. Maybe he can find it. And maybe he can find my mother."

"Maybe," Coop echoed, with no enthusiasm. "I'll have to look him up. He should be landing in the Black and los
ing his mind right about now."

"Where do you think my mom is?" Marsh asked.

"I don't know, Ralph," Coop said impatiently. "I don't know anything."

"Was there a clue in anything Damon said about her?" Marsh asked, pressing.

Cooper didn't answer.

"Coop?" Marsh prodded.

"No!" Cooper snapped. "Give me a break. I'm lucky I found the others."

"Easy," Marsh cautioned. "I'm just trying to think it all through."

"Yeah, well, me too," Coop countered. He said nothing about Damon's threat to Ree.

"
Are you all right?" Marsh asked. "You don't sound right."

"I'm fine . . . for a dead guy."

"That's not what I meant.

"I'm going to Zoe's vision," Coop said, changing the sub
ject. "I'll be back soon. You two are staying together, right?" Neither answered.

"Hey!" Coop shouted. "You hear me?"

"Don't worry," Marsh said with assurance. "We'll be fine."

"Wish I could believe that." With that, Cooper disap
peared in a swirl of color . . . without having delivered Damon's threat to Marsh.

Marsh and Sydney drove on in silence. It was becoming a habit.

Since the day Sydney had nearly been killed at school,
Marsh had been sleeping at her house on the living room couch so they could both be near the crucible. His dad didn't mind because he knew the Foleys were there to chap
erone. He was thrilled that Marsh was finally getting a life, and a girlfriend. The excuse Sydney gave to her parents was that Marsh's room was being repainted. If that had been true, it would have been the longest painting job in history, but the Foleys didn't question Marsh, because they thought of him as their second son and liked having him around. Especially since Cooper's death.

Sydney did too . . . at least until the day Ennis had died.

Sydney pulled the car up to the curb in front of her house and killed the engine. She turned to Marsh and finally said the words she had been holding in for days.

"You knew," she said with disdain.

"Excuse me?" Marsh replied innocently.

"You knew he was going to kill himself."

"That's just stupid," Marsh said, and got out of the car, headed for the house.

Sydney jumped out and followed.

"How could you have let that happen?" she demanded. "He was your friend."

"I—I didn't know," Marsh said, stammering. "How could I?"

Sydney grabbed him by the arm and spun him around, forcing him to look at her.

Marsh hadn't experienced the legendary fury of Sydney Foley since the two of them began their unlikely romance, so the moment was surprising yet strangely familiar.

"That's a lie!" she screamed. "I wanted to stay and pro
tect him with the crucible, but you insisted that we leave."

"He wanted us to go," Marsh said defensively. "I did what he asked."

"I should have known," Sydney lamented. "As soon as you told him that his dying would get him closer to Damon, something changed. I saw it and so did you, but you under
stood what it meant. You told him to be careful. And when you looked down on his dead body, you asked him to find your
mother. Is that why you let him do it? To help find your mother?"

"Stop," Marsh demanded. "This isn't my fault. I didn't start any of this."

"I know, but it doesn't give you the right to look the other way and let someone die."

Marsh couldn't stand still. He walked toward the house, then quickly spun back and faced Sydney.

"Don't you dare judge me!" he yelled. "You have no idea what it's like to have so much at stake!"

Sydney was ready to erupt but held her temper and responded with measured words.

"I know exactly what it's like. And because I care about you, I
haven't
judged you. I backed off. I gave you space. I barely offered my opinion, and you know full well that isn't me. But I did it because I thought that's what you needed. I did it because I love you and I love my stupid brother and because I'm scared. But I'm not going to do it anymore."

"What does that mean?"

"Damon is a cold-blooded bastard who has no respect for life. I will not sink to his level, even if you can."

Marsh recoiled as if Sydney had physically slapped him.

Sydney dug into her shoulder bag, pulled out the cru
cible, and jammed it into Marsh's hand. "Go home. I'll take my chances alone."

She turned quickly and started back for the car.

"Sydney?" Marsh called.

Sydney stopped walking but didn't turn back to him. Marsh approached her from behind and leaned over her shoulder.

"You're right," he said. "Okay? I had an idea that some
thing like this might happen. But you know what? It's what he wanted. He was haunted. Not just by Damon, but by knowing that his actions killed my mother and set this nightmare in motion. He was doomed from the start, Sydney. There was nothing we could do to change that. Ennis has moved on, and maybe he's got a better chance of being at peace now than he had in life."

"It wasn't about him," Sydney said without looking at Marsh. "It was about you. You let a man die because it might help you. And that makes you no better than Damon."

Marsh opened his mouth to argue, but no words came out.

"Get your stuff. Don't be here when I get back," Sydney snapped, and hurried to her car. She got behind the wheel, slammed the door, and took off quickly.

Marsh stood on the walkway watching Sydney's sil
ver Beetle drive off. His relationship with her was the only good thing that had come out of the monstrous events of the summer. Now even that was slipping away. Strangely he wasn't sad. Or angry. Or even ashamed. At least not at that moment. His mind had traveled to a much more disturbing place . . . a place he didn't want to share, especially with those he cared about.

He was on his own again. And he had information. Something he hadn't explained to Cooper or Sydney.

Lignum vitae.

He knew what it meant.

If he was right, the game was about to change. But for that to happen he would have to perform an act that might damn him for all time. He didn't care. He was willing to do it. Sydney was wrong. It wasn't just about him. It was about his mother. And Cooper. And now Ennis. If he were to allow his thoughts to spin out of control, he would admit that it was also about every soul that now walked in the Light . . .
or existed in the Black. With that much at stake, most any
thing he did to stop Damon would be justified. He hoped. The real question was, could he do it?

Marsh wished Cooper had stuck around. They needed to make a plan. He hated that there was no way to contact him. It wasn't like he could pull the Ouija board out of the closet and use it like a Bat signal. Marsh could only wait and hope that Cooper got back to him . . . before Damon did.

Marsh needed to go home, so he jogged the familiar route through the neighborhood that he and Coop had taken thousands of times before. He made the trip quickly, then dragged himself and his stuff up the porch stairs and into his house for the first time in several days. It was only mid
-
afternoon but he was already exhausted. He had taken the day off from work at Santoro's Trophies and didn't want to do anything but sleep. There was no telling when he'd get the chance to rest again, and he needed to be fresh. He entered the empty house and went directly for the stairs to climb up to his room, and bed, when he heard a voice.

"Marsh? You out there?"

Marsh froze. His throat clutched. Someone was in the house.

"Marsh?"

His panic lasted no more than three seconds because he recognized the voice. His father was calling from the kitchen.

"Dad? You home already? That was fast."

Michael called back, "C'mon! Dinner's ready. GTH in here!"

Dinner? It was way too early for dinner. Marsh started walking toward the kitchen, when he heard someone run
ning down the stairs from the second floor. He shot a sur
prised look up to see . . .

Himself. Marsh himself came running down the stairs.

But it was a young Marsh, who looked no more than ten years old.

"Coming!" Young Marsh called.

Marsh's mind locked. He was looking at a young ver
sion of himself wearing jeans, PRO-
Keds
, and a
Boba
Fett
T-shirt . . . all clothes that he remembered well.

"Who are you?" Marsh managed to say with a gasp.

The kid didn't acknowledge him. Or even hear him. It was like Marsh wasn't even there, which made him wonder which Marsh was real . . . him, or the specter from the past.

Another voice called from the kitchen. A woman's voice. One that made Marsh's heart ache.

"C'mon! Dinner's getting cold!" she called. Not an unusual warning, except that the voice belonged to his mother.

"On my way!" Young Marsh called back as he hit the ground floor and sprinted toward the kitchen. He gal
loped through the dining room and disappeared through the swinging door, just as he had done thousands of times before.

Marsh fought to stay in control. He knew what was hap
pening. It was Damon. It had to be. When he was haunted by Gravedigger, Marsh thought he was going out of his mind. Now he knew better. Damon was capable of creating visions to mess with his head. He had to hold on to the fact that they were nothing more than shadows. Illusions. The only way they could hurt him was if he let them, and he had grown too strong for that. After what he'd already seen, there was nothing that Damon could show him that would do any real damage.

With that in mind, Marsh got his feet moving and walked toward the kitchen.

As he drew closer to the swinging door, he heard the familiar sounds of a family sitting down to dinner. There
was the clatter of serving bowls, the metallic chirp of silver
ware being placed, the scrape of chairs across a tiled floor. The voices were muffled, though Marsh could make out every word.