“I hope you’ve done yourfuckingpenitence!” The man pulls something from his waist, spitting as he says the wordpenitence.“You’ll be meeting your maker soon enough, little snake.”
A glint of metal, then, quick as the bolt that lights up the night sky, he jams a knife into Peter’s abdomen—slamming it upward, maneuvering it under the heart’s protective cage… and piercing it. With another strike of lightning, scarlet spews from Peter’s mouth and gushes from his wound, bathing the man of mist in a crimson shower.
“Y-you will p-pay… S-Selby dirt!” Peter spits, the mist only chuckling at Peter’s last words before pushing him face-first into the puddle beneath him. His screams, muffled by the water and exhausted by his many injuries, were hopeless below the strength applied. Petrified by the events playing out before me, all I can do is stand here and watch as his body convulses and gyrates, the air leaves his lungs, and water takes its place… my vision tunnels—my breathing becomes restricted and depthless.
A stabbing in my head and the feeling of water fillingmylungs have me falling to my knees in the mud within seconds. My vision is going in and out as I gasp for air. It’s like I am drowning all over again—like I am drowningwithhim. The mist forms before me, the golden glimmer in his eye eluding an amount of sadness that should have been too much for one person to have to experience alone.
“Is that you, Oliver?” His eyes are searching, as if he doesn’t see me. “If it is, please let Niven know that ‘things’ have been ‘handled’.” He looks over his shoulder at Peter, “I must clean up fast or this could get ugly.” Then the man of wisps was gone, as though carried on a strong wind—Peter was gone too.
What.
The hell.
Just happened?
I try to stand, as the wind begins to pick up around me, a whirlwind of dust and dirt swirls where Peter once lay. Strands of smoke start to lash out, defying the gravitational pull of the dirt devil, and an ear-splitting howl roars above the whooshing from the spiraling air. Then they charge at me, and an uproar of cackling breaks forth from a disembodied voice... filling my head, enhancing the agonizing pain that is still present.“He can’t save you.”The ghostly anomaly wailed.
“P-” before I can finish his name, eyes appear mere feet in front of mine. These are not the same eyes as before. No, these were like a swamp green—where the gilding eyes of the previous Phantasm portrayed sadness, these were filled to the brim with sheer hate and envy.
I knew this aura—it was Peter, and as if he were looking into my soul, he spoke again,“At least I was able to rid the world of a fewdisgusting.Selby.Peasants.”In a trice, he launches into hysterics. Then, I am knocked back. Hitting my head as the fog shoots through my body, vanishing as the world starts spinning, and I am thrown into the void of darkness once more.
~*~
My mind is a labyrinth of memories—each one a moment in time that Peter helped Evelyn or me. A vision of the garden loomsbefore me—I look around and see that I am alone. Not fully understanding, I take a step forward, and a path begins dimly shining beneath my feet. The memories rise into the endless sky and separate a few feet away from each other. I look back at the lit runway before me and descend into the ominous hedges.
Deeper into the abyss. The shrubbery is moving—breathing as if it is alive. I can still see the images. The first one gets closer as I advance further, and I start thinking of it, trying to remember it. This was just after the car accident.
Peter:Hey champ, can you stare at me for a bit? I need to check your eyes using my flashlight for a sec. To make sure they are dilating. (Bending at the waist before me he shines the light in my eyes. I am blinded, as my vision turns into a dancing phantasmagoria of colors.) One more question, (His voice is disembodied.) Where is your father?
The colors grow brighter, then flash white, and I am standing amidst the hedges in the garden again—a new path forming to the right of me. The hedges appear gray-scaled as thick branches sway sporadically throughout them.
Without looking back, I bolt to the mouth of the towering, colorless shrubbery. The light from the last memory fades the further away I get. As I pass through the thin, leafy entrance, it collapses behind me—the light snuffed out with it, except for the dim gleam from the moon. I scan my surroundings, not much really to see, the soft silvery glow from the sky offers very little assistance.
Taking a deep breath, I walk forward, and as I plant my first step firmly in front of me, the bigger branches begin to shake. My heart starts to race as the feeling of terror consumes me and not giving myself any more time to stand there in fear, I bookit—kicking up the soft dirt as I run. The walls appear to be closing in, causing my adrenaline to spike and make the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
Then I make the worst mistake of my life—I look back, as I do, and something grabs me. Screaming, I search to find the culprit, slapping my body like I am covered in ants. Finally, I can pull far enough away from the hedge to see that it is one of the bulky branches. To my surprise, it isn't a branch at all—it is an arm, complete from shoulder to fingertips, and it's got me locked in its creepy grasp.
Punching.
Clawing.
Pulling.
None of this does any justice or brings me any closer to escaping this thing’s death grip, so I do the unthinkable—I give in enough to ease the tension, then, lifting my arm to my face, I clamp down on the meatiest part of the hand just below the thumb until it releases me. Stumbling backward, I do my best to stay mindful that there is a possibility thatallof them are like this. I don’t have time to think, so I let my instincts guide me. I squeeze my eyes shut and shout to the sky.
“I know you are out there, and the pagan Gods have never listened to me, so-” I am overtaken by a strong wave of surrender and sorrow, as tears propel from my eyes. “Please, God, if you can hear me... Help me!”
A crash of lightning responds to me, and rain begins to fall. I stare up in awe, allowing the two liquids to mix: the rain and my tears. A moment passes, and a sound interrupts my prayer of thanks, one so subtle but distinct like a snake slithering in the grass,as I open my eyes again, I see the hedges separating and moving further apart, making a clear line to the end.
Still crawling, I rush to be free from this section of the labyrinth, and once at the clearing, my body crumbles to the ground with exhaustion. My rest is cut short when a familiar sobbing erupts somewhere within the clearing. Turning to my belly, I find the second memory has descended—it was Evelyn the night of prom, sitting in the ambulance. I had called Peter because I didn’t know what else to do at the time.
Peter:(sitting next to Evelyn in the back of the ambulance as they check her vitals before they move her to the hospital for testing.) Are you okay? (Evelyn doesn’t speak. She pulls the blanket the EMTs gave her a little tighter and nods, avoiding eye contact.) I just don’t understand. (He continues, I lean closer, not remembering this part, I was shaken up just as much that night.) Where is your father? (Evelyn shrugs) What kind of father would allow this to happen to his daughter? (She finally looks at him, an obvious look of disgust on her face.)
Suddenly, she opens her mouth to speak, but no sound joins it, then another flash, and back to the garden. I pound the ground with my fist. “I don’t understand.” I yell toward the stars afresh, “What does all this mean?”
I am answered by the sound of a large stone being rolled away, and I am greeted with the opening of a new path. This one, however, seems straightforward. It is a short one, and the clearing is one I have become very accustomed to—in the clearing is the stunning rose bush and the intricate bench. Stepping through, I notice a small glow emanating from the carnation bush behind the bench, drawing my immediate attention.
As I walk over to it, the shadows that once silhouetted it were diminishing, and the gorgeously detailed bird came into view... as did the wording that was once caked with dirt and debris. As I lean in to read the words, there are no more obstructions—the bench is clear, but the message is not. I am thrown into a moment of Deja Vu, and the night’s events with Peter and the misted man replay themselves. Another flash of light, then darkness as the burn and lack of oxygen return, Peter’s words ring crisp and clear in my head.
