Vestige (6 page)

But after several months of caring for her dad, Clarke’s dreams turned into nightmares where she would hunt her mother down, knock her to the ground, and kick her, over and over. Her mother was defenseless against Clarke’s rage. In those dreams, her mother never spoke, and after suffering her daughter’s abuse, she would once again vanish.

The dreams and the nightmares disturbed Clarke equally. She was relieved when she stopped dreaming about her mom altogether. After all this time, she thought she had trained herself not to think about the woman who was such a disappointment to her.

Clarke sat on the edge of her bed for several minutes, trying to calm herself. She understood her mother’s role in the nightmare but who was the man? She didn’t know a Mr. Grimshaw, did she?

The sun leaked through the blinds of her bedroom. She needed to get going but to where? Should she go to school? Should she look for her dad? What about Mary? Mary would never leave without saying good-bye. At a minimum, she would have left a note. Maybe Mary was missing now too.

Even though the Emergency Alert had said everyone should stay home, Clarke couldn’t do that. She couldn’t stay in her big empty house just waiting for someone to turn up. She needed to do something. She needed to find out what was going on.

Once dressed, Clarke went downstairs to make herself breakfast. She turned on the TV hoping for some good news but only heard that awful beeping and buzzing. All the networks were still running the same Emergency Alert from yesterday. She turned the TV off.

She made herself pancakes again even though she still felt a little queasy. She took a few bites and then walked over to the garbage. She was about to scrape her plate but stopped herself before the food slid into the can. Instead, she put the pancakes in a baggie and placed them in the refrigerator.

Before leaving the house, Clarke tried to call Mary but got her voicemail again. “Mary, it’s Clarke. Just wondering if you’re home. I could use a little help. Can you just call me? You don’t have to come over or anything. I don’t know what to do...um...okay...bye.”

Clarke hung up the phone. Should she wait for Mary to call back? She stared at the phone for what seemed to be an eternity, but her nervous energy overwhelmed her. She imagined that she was the last person left on the planet. She had to find someone, anyone. She needed to know that everyone hadn’t disappeared, so she abandoned her post by the phone and ventured out.

Clarke walked for several blocks before she stopped at Ogden Avenue. On any other morning, this street would be packed with cars. Ogden was one of the busiest streets in LaGrange, second only to LaGrange Road. But today, there wasn’t a car in sight.

From where she stood, she could see the intersection of LaGrange Road and Ogden. Deserted. She turned around and looked back towards the train stop. Empty. Either everyone had listened to the Emergency Broadcast, or she was truly the last person on earth.

Her stomach twisted into a knot. Maybe she should have stayed home. The empty streets freaked her out even more than her empty house did. She was about to head back when she noticed a couple of people a few blocks down. A wave of relief pulsed through her. “Thank God…people.” She ran towards them.

By the time she reached the place where she had seen the others, they were gone. Breathing hard, she looked around. Where would they go? At that moment, music drifted from the building in front of her. “Of course…a church, St. Francis church.” Clarke felt stupid for not thinking of coming here earlier.

St. Francis Catholic Church sat on the edge of Ogden. The stairs leading to the main entrance began just feet from the curb. Clarke and her family were once members of this parish. She used to attend mass with her parents every Sunday, but she hadn’t been here in at least three years, if not longer.

Even though Clarke wasn’t crazy about going to church, she always liked this building. St. Francis was truly a work of art. At the front of the church, statues of St. Francis and Mary stood guard. Beautiful stained-glass windows decorated every wall. During the day, the sun glimmered through these windows, refracting the light and coloring the nave. At night, the interior lights beamed out those same windows displaying the pieces for the enjoyment of all who passed by.

As she climbed the stairs, the music grew louder. She remembered how the pipe organ filled the dome and bounced back towards the congregation, creating a chanting echo.

When Clarke entered the vestibule, a familiar dread took hold. She felt like a kid all over again, forced to endure an hour of complete boredom. She dipped her fingers into the holy water, blessed herself, and looked towards the altar. Long ago, in her religious education class, the teacher had pointed out how the long center aisle and the shorter side aisle intersected to create a cross-shaped floor plan. The teacher said that this style of architecture had a name, but Clarke couldn’t remember it.

The church pews overflowed with people, but almost all in attendance were older. As Clarke scanned the crowd, she noticed a homeless man sitting in the back corner of the church. He was staring at her, but when Clarke’s eyes met his, he looked away. She continued up the center aisle until she found an empty seat in the third row.

At the front of the church and to the right of the altar, the organist played a dirge. Another man tried to sing along. The depressing hymn continued until the electronic tune of Beethoven’s fifth filled the dome. The organist stopped playing and looked around. His face turned red. The soloist nodded, so the organist reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and answered it.

Clarke could hear his whispers but not his words as he talked to the person on the other end. When the call ended, the organist stood and whispered to the soloist. They stared at each other for a moment, and then the soloist stepped up to the microphone. He tapped on the mike a couple of times before speaking. “Good morning. Um...the 8:00 A.M. mass will not start on time. Father Vincent had to go to the village hall and meet with town officials about our current situation. You know...since he’s the pastor. So...um, Father Thomas will be here shortly, and he will say the mass. Thank you for your patience.”

The man cleared his throat, and the organist sat back down at his instrument. Within moments, the mournful sound of the organ wailed once again. Everyone remained in their seats except for the homeless man whom Clarke had seen when she first entered the church. He slinked up and down the aisles. His eyes darted from person to person. As he walked, he mumbled to himself. Everyone seemed to be ignoring him, so Clarke tried to ignore him too.

She knelt down and placed her face in her hands. She tried to remember the prayers she had learned in her religious education classes but couldn’t. She could only think about the prayer she recited every morning, the one that finally came true. Her eyes burned as she tried to hold back her tears. She hated herself, so selfish, so cowardly. Maybe what her mother said in the dream was true. Maybe they were the same. If she were eighteen when her father had been diagnosed with MS, maybe she would have left too.

Clarke’s thoughts were interrupted when the door to the left of the altar opened. Expecting Father Thomas, she looked towards the door, but instead of a priest, she watched Micah and Jess’s friend Amber step into the church.

Amber dipped her fingers into the holy water and blessed herself. She then turned towards the altar and genuflected. Micah watched her perform the ritual but did not follow suit.

Clarke smiled, relieved to see Micah. “Hey, Micah...Micah...” she whispered. Clarke sat on the edge of her seat and waved, but Micah didn’t see her.

*****

Micah and Amber walked up and down the aisles looking for Amber’s mom. Micah had never seen Amber’s mom before, so he only pretended to look for her.

Amber’s distress, the haunting music, the people praying—all these things had a surreal quality about them. The images from Micah’s dream began to emerge. Could his dad have killed himself? If so, where was his body? There would have been a body, a still lifeless body, not one that gets up and walks away on its own.

Micah snapped back to reality as soon as he noticed the homeless guy on the other side of the church. The guy looked at Micah and waved. Micah looked around. “Shit…is he waving at me?”

“Who?” asked Amber.

Micah’s muscles twitched as the homeless guy dropped his hand and headed towards Micah. This was more than he could deal with. “Amber, I’ve gotta go. I hope you find your mom.”

“What? Micah, where are you going? Come on, I need your help.”

Focused on his assailant, Micah ignored Amber’s questions. As the homeless guy turned into his aisle, Micah rushed towards the door that he had entered. On his way out, he bumped into a priest. “Excuse me," said Micah.

The priest nodded and continued on his way into the church.

Micah had only been outside for a moment when he heard a girl’s voice. “Micah…Micah…wait.”

Micah turned expecting to see Amber, but instead, he saw Clarke. For the first time that morning, a smile spread across his face, and for a brief moment, he forgot about his troubles.

“Oh, hi...um…” Even though Micah remembered Clarke’s name, he pretended he didn’t.

“Clarke…my name is Clarke.”

“Yeah, right, Clarke from the park.” Micah could feel his face get hot. Good thing Cody and Dustin didn’t hear that.

“Funny.” Clarke rolled her eyes. “Where you goin’ in such a hurry?”

“I was trying to get away from someone.” Micah looked towards the doors of the church.

At that moment, the church door flew open revealing the homeless guy. He rushed towards the two teens. “I’ve been looking for you. You’re Micah, aren’t you? You have to be him. Funny, at first, I thought the golden light meant you were bad, but now I know it’s good.”

Micah shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.

“He told me I’d find you here,” said the homeless guy.

“Is this the ‘someone’ you’re trying to get away from?” Clarke whispered to Micah.

“I don’t know why he thinks he knows me,” Micah lied. He figured that Cody was behind this—payback for the other day. Nevertheless, he worried that this crazy man would embarrass him in front of Clarke.

The homeless guy pointed at Micah with his gnarled finger. “I need to talk to you...alone.”

Clarke scrunched her nose when she saw the homeless man’s long, dirty fingernails.

“Listen, man, I don’t have any money or anything like that,” responded Micah.

“He told me I’d find you here,” the homeless man repeated.

“Who, Cody?” Micah asked.

“Haven’t you seen Bob?” asked the homeless guy.

“Who’s Bob?”

“You know...Bob, my dog.”

Micah’s ears started to ring, and his vision narrowed. He thought about the dog from his dreams. “Bob is that brown dog…your dog.”

“Bob said you’d be here. The beast is coming. You’re the only one who can stop him. You’re the last vestige of hope…”

“And your dog said all this?" Clarke giggled.

At the sound of Clarke’s mocking, Micah straightened himself. “Listen...whoever you are—“

“Jon, my name is Jon.”

“Okay, Jon. I think you have the wrong person. I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I haven’t seen your dog,” Micah said forcefully.

Jon leaned in and whispered to Micah, “Is this part of an act because of her? You know that she’s one of them.”

“One of who?” Micah backed away. He had enough of Jon’s gibberish.

Jon gave Micah a nod. “Okay, Okay. I get it. Come back later...when you’re alone. I’ll wait here for you, but don’t be too long. We don’t have much time.” He turned and walked back towards the church.

As Jon reached for the door, it swung open. Amber stood in the doorway. Jon cast his eyes towards the ground as he stepped out of her way. Amber didn’t seem to notice the homeless man. Her eyes were focused on Micah and Clarke.

“What’s going on?” Amber asked as she hurried towards the pair.

“Nothing,” Micah answered, taking a step away from Clarke.

Amber looked directly at Clarke. “I know you. You go to our school. Yeah…you’re that Kent girl.”

“My name is Clarke.”

“A ginger named Clarke. Your parents didn’t love you very much, did they?”

“At least my parents loved me enough not to give me a stripper’s name.”

Micah looked at the ground as he tried to hold back his laughter. Amber burst into tears and walked away. Micah didn’t try to stop her.

“Huh...didn’t see that coming,” Clarke said.

“Give her a break. She can’t find her mom,” Micah said.

“So…I can’t find my dad, and my mom disappeared years ago. Am I supposed to feel sorry for her?”

“No. I’m just sayin’.” Micah hesitated before continuing. “My family is gone too.”

“So you’re alone?” asked Clarke.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Do you want to be alone together? I mean just until we figure out what’s going on?”

“Yeah…sure…why not?” answered Micah.

*****

Father Thomas rushed through the side door of the church. He had been in bed when Father Vincent called. He didn’t even have time to shower. His eyelids felt as if they were made of lead. He doubted that he had more than an hour’s worth of sleep. All those missing children….

Thomas went to the sacristy to dress for mass. When he opened the closet door, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His salt and pepper hair stuck up in all directions. Shoot, he forgot to comb his hair.

Maybe he should just leave. No one would know. They would probably think he disappeared like the others. Why not? His mother was long gone. Ten years…she’s been dead ten years. She’s where she’s going to be—heaven or hell or a dark, mildewy grave. What he did now wouldn’t change anything for her. He deserved a second chance, didn’t he?

The first half of his life had been a sacrifice to atone for his mother’s sins. She had raised her only child to believe that if he became a priest, she would have a fast pass for the pearly gates. And since Thomas was a good boy, a mama’s boy, he did what he was told. But Thomas didn’t believe in any of that anymore. His mother sold him a bill of goods.