Gateways, page 28
Suddenly she realized they was talkin about a person. The One was preparing the way, everything depended on the One because the One was special.
Wait, she thought, stiffening as a thrill ran through her. I’m special. I got a power like no one else. And then there’s my name…
She levered up to a sittin position and crossed her legs, Indian style. “Yes!”
“What is it?”
“Luke, do you know what my name means?”
“Y’mean Semelee? It means…it means ‘Semelee.’ Just like Luke means ‘Luke.’”
“All names mean somethin. I ain’t got no idea what Luke means, but my momma told me that Semelee means ‘one and only.’ She said she named me that because I was her first and I was a real hard birth, and she wasn’t goin through that again. She said I was her first and last kid, her one and only.”
Luke frowned. “Okay. So?”
“I heard voices down in that hole and they was talkin about ‘the One.’ That has to be me. They was talking about me.” She closed her eyes. Excitement flashed like lectric shocks through her body. “And they kept on sayin somethin else too.”
What was it? It was right there, just out of reach…started with an R…but what was the rest?
And then she had it! The name popped into her head like she’d known it all along.
A strange name. She’d never heard nothin like it before. But then she’d never heard nothin like those voices before neither. Was that strange word their name for her, their name for the One? Had to be.
But who were the voices and what did they mean about “preparing the way”? What was the “everything” that depended on her, the One?
She had to find out. Maybe she’d learn tonight. But she had to do a couple of things before then. One of them was gettin her other eye-shell back. But first…
“I’m changin my name, Luke.”
He laughed. “That’s crazy! You can’t just change your name anytime you feel like it.”
“No. I got to. That’s why I was called back here. I thought the lagoon was talking to me when it said it wanted sacrifices, but it wasn’t. It was the lights—or at least the things that live in the lights.”
“Lay back down, Semelee. You’re talkin outta your head.”
“No.” She pushed him away. “Don’t you see? It was all to bring me here, to this place, at this time—to teach me my True Name. And now that I know it, I’m gonna use it.” She rose to her feet and looked out at the lights still flickering up from the hole into the early morning darkness. “Big changes comin, Luke, and I’m gonna be part of them, I’m gonna be right at their heart. And if you and the rest of the clan stick by me, we’ll have our day. Oh, yes, Luke, we’ll have our day.”
“Semelee—”
“Told you: I ain’t Semelee no more. From this moment on you call me—”
The name died on her lips. She realized that she mustn’t tell no one her True Name. It was only for her and those closest to her. Luke was close, but not close enough. The man called Jack, the special one…she could tell him maybe, but not right away. He’d have to prove himself worthy first.
“Call you what?” Luke said.
“Semelee.”
Luke stared at her. “Wasn’t you just tellin me—?”
“Changed my mind. I’m goin to change my name inside, but outside you can keep callin me Semelee.” She rubbed her stomach. “We got anything to eat round here?”
Luke straightened. “I’ll go check by the fire.”
As soon as he was gone, Semelee stepped out onto the deck and looked up at the stars wheelin above her.
“Rasalom,” she whispered, lovin the way it rolled off her tongue. That was her new name. “Rasalom.”
2
The man who was something more than a man opened his eyes in the darkness.
His name…someone had spoken his name. Not one of the many he used in the varied identities he assumed for various purposes. No, this had been his True Name.
He’d been reveling in the continued corporal mutilation of a teenage girl named Suzanne and the spiritual ruination of the family that tortured her.
Poor Suzanne had been chained to the other side of the wall of this Connecticut home for eleven days now. She had been raped and defiled and tortured and mutilated beyond the point of her endurance. Her mind had snapped. She had no more to give. She was dying. Her brain had shut down all but the most basic functions. She barely felt the corkscrew being wound into the flesh of her thigh.
But what was so delicious here was the nature of the one twisting the corkscrew: an eight-year-old boy. For it was not simply the pains of the tortured that nourished this man who was something more than a man; the depravity and self-degradation of the torturers were equally delicious.
He’d returned to this house to bask in the dying embers of a young life’s untimely end.
But now that was ruined, the delicious glow fading, cooled by a growing anger and—he admitted it—concern.
Someone had spoken his True Name.
But who? Only two beings in this sphere knew that name: one was listening for it, and the other dared not speak it. They—
There! There it was again!
Why? Was someone calling him? No. This time he sensed that the speaker was not merely saying his True Name, but trying to usurp it.
Rage bloomed in his brain like a blood-red rose. This was intolerable!
Where was it coming from? He rose to his feet and turned in a slow circle—once, twice—then stopped. The source of the outrage…it came from there…to the south. He would find the misbegotten pretender there.
All his plans were progressing smoothly now. After all these centuries, millennia, epochs, he was close, closer than he’d ever been. Less than two years from now—barring interference from those who knew he was the One—his hour, his moment, his time would be at hand.
But now this. Someone usurping his True Name…
Never!
The man who was something more than a man strode away from the house through the dissipating darkness. He had no time to waste. He must head south immediately, trace his True Name to the lips that were speaking it, and silence them.
He paused at the curb. But what if that was just what someone wanted him to do?
This could be a trap, set by the one man he feared in this sphere, the only man he must hide from until the Time of Change.
Back in the days of his first life, when he was closer to the source, he had enormous power; he could move clouds, call down lightning. Even in his second life he could control disease, make the dead walk. But here in this third life his powers were attenuated. Yet he wasn’t helpless. Oh, no. Far from that. And he could not allow anyone to use his True Name.
He must proceed with caution. But he must proceed. This could not go on.
3
Jack stepped into the front room and found his father fiddling with the French press.
“Don’t bother, Dad,” Jack told him. “I’ll pick up some coffee and donuts in town.”
He’d seen a Dunkin’ Donuts the other day and had awakened with a yen for some of their glazed crullers.
“Donuts? That sounds good. But I don’t mind making coffee. After all, the job has its perks.”
Jack groaned. “What kind do you like?”
“A couple of chocolate glazed would be great.”
Jack headed outside, trying to concentrate on donuts in the hope that would help take his mind off Carl and how he was going to bring him back. The air seemed less humid. Felt like a cool front had come through.
About time. The relentless heat day after day had been wearing him out. Maybe this was Elvis’s doing. If so, thank you, Big E.
A mist lay over the saw grass sea stretching away to the distant hummock. The egret was back in the pond, black legs shin deep in the water by the edge, waiting like a snowy statue for breakfast to move and give itself away.
He headed around the side of his house toward the car. He stopped when he rounded the corner. A woman was seated on the hood of his car. She wore cutoffs and a green tank top. Her white hair had been wound into a single braid. The companion to the shell Jack had found hung at her throat.
Semelee.
“About time you showed up,” he said, moving toward her, wary, eyes scanning the surroundings. Had she come alone? “I’ve been standing out here like some kind of nut announcing to the air that I’ve found your shell. I thought you said you’d know.”
She smiled. “I did know. That’s why I’m here.”
Jack couldn’t pin it down but she looked different. Her hair was just as white as ever, but her eyes held a strange look, as if she’d peeked through someone’s window and seen something she wasn’t supposed to know.
That was it. She looked like she’d discovered some sort of secret no one else knew. Or thought she had.
“Took you long enough.”
Her smile remained. “I had other things to do.”
Jack tensed. “Like what? You better not have hurt Carl.”
“Carl’s fine.” She held out her hand, palm up. “My shell, please.”
Now it was Jack’s turn to smile. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No. You give me the shell and I’ll send Carl back.”
“Not likely.”
The smile vanished. “You don’t trust me?”
“Tell you what: You send Carl back, and I’ll give you the shell.”
“No way.”
“What? You don’t trust me?”
Semelee glared at him. “The One don’t lie.”
Jack stiffened. The One? She’d just mentioned the One.
“What did you say?”
“Nothin.”
“You called yourself the One. What did you mean by that?”
“Told you: nothing. Now leave it be.”
Anya had talked about the One, but she’d indicated that Sal Roma was the One. Was he involved in what was going down here?
“Do you know a guy named Roma?”
She shook her head. “Ain’t never heard of him.”
“Is he the one who got you started on this sacrifice-to-the-swamp kick?”
Semelee’s eyes widened. She slid off the hood and stepped toward him. “How do you know about that?”
“Not important. Just tell me: Was it Roma?”
“Told you: Don’t know no Roma.”
Jack believed her. “Then who? Who gave you such a crazy idea?”
“Wasn’t no ‘who.’ It came from the lagoon its own self. If you listen, the lagoon’ll talk to you. Leastways, it talks to me. Told me in a dream that it was pissed off and that Gateways had to pay. Said it would exact a price of four Gateways lives a year and—”
“Wait-wait. That’s what it said? ‘Exact’?”
That didn’t sound like it belonged in Semelee’s vocabulary—at least not as a verb.
“Yeah. ‘Exact.’ Pretty weird kind of talk, doncha think?”
Jack wondered if it had been a dream at all. It sounded as if someone or something had been influencing her, and he doubted very much it was her lagoon. Much more likely it was an influence from that nexus point within the cenote.
He said, “You ever hear of something called the Otherness?”
“Don’t reckon I have,” she said, shaking her head. “Should I?”
“Never mind.” Just because she hadn’t heard of the Otherness didn’t mean she wasn’t working for it, knowingly or unknowingly. “But why Gateways people? There must be other folks living even closer to your lagoon.”
“There is, but the lagoon wants Gateways folks. Don’t ask me why, it just does.”
Jack jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “There’s one Gateways folk in there it’s not going to get. We clear on that?”
She nodded. “Absolutely. The lagoon’s already done what it set out to do with the sacrifices. There’s still maybe a score to settle, but the sacrifice thing is over.”
“What score?”
“That’s between me and the lagoon, but don’t you worry. Your daddy ain’t a part of it.”
Jack believed her this time, and found relief in the fact that his father was no longer in the clan’s crosshairs. But that was tempered by the knowledge that he’d been replaced by someone else.
“He’d better not be. And I’d better see Carl pretty soon or I might just lose that shell. Or it might slip out of my pocket as I’m crossing a street downtown. Wouldn’t take long for the traffic to reduce it to powder.”
Semelee went pale beneath her tan. “Don’t even joke about that.”
“What’s so important about that shell?”
Her hand went to the one around her neck. “I’ve had em since I was a kid, is all. I just want it back.”
“And I want Carl back.”
She sighed. “Looks like we’ll have to put together a swap meet. Bring the shell to the lagoon and—”
Jack shook his head. “Uh-uh. Bring Carl here.”
Jack watched Semelee’s hands open wide, then close into tight fists.
“You’re makin this awful hard.” She looked up at the hazy sky, then back to him. “Guess we’ll have to meet somewheres in the middle. You got any ideas?”
Jack reviewed his trip with Carl and remembered the dry stretch where they’d had to carry their canoe. He mentioned it to Semelee and she knew where it was.
“Okay,” she said. “We’ll meet there in an hour.”
Jack looked out at the Everglades and the clinging haze. Semelee seemed on the level but he didn’t know about the rest of the clan. And because of that, he wanted maximum visibility.
“What say we make it noonish?” he said.
“Why’re you makin me wait so long?”
“I need the time.”
“All right. See you then. And don’t be late.”
She turned and walked off. Jack watched the sway of her hips as she moved away. He missed Gia.
He was still watching her, wondering how she was going to get out of Gateways, when his father’s voice interrupted him.
“I hope you’re not really thinking of going through with this.”
Jack turned to find Dad standing on the porch, staring at him through the jalousies.
“You heard the whole thing?”
“Just the end. Enough to know that she’s connected to what happened to me, and probably to the others who’ve been killed. But what was that about Carl? Carl the gardener?”
“One and the same.”
Jack gave him a quick overview of what had happened—about the trip to the lagoon, and Semelee and her clan.
Dad was shaking his head. “You’ve only just got here, Jack. How did you manage to get involved in something like this in just a couple of days?”
“Lucky, I guess.”
“I’m serious, Jack. You’ve got to take this to the police and the Park Service.”
“That’s not the way I do things.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? This is the second time you’ve said something like that.”
“It’s plain and simple, Dad: I promised Carl I’d get him back safely. Me. Not the cops, not the park rangers. Me. So that’s how it’s going down.”
“But you didn’t know the odds against you when you made that promise. He can’t hold you to it.”
“He’s not,” Jack said. He shook his head. “You wouldn’t understand.”
Dad rubbed his jaw. “I understand perfectly. And you know, Jack…the better I know you, the more I like you. Carl’s not holding you to your promise…you are. I can respect that. It’s damn foolish, but I have to respect that.”
“Thanks.”
How about that? Dad did understand.
“But you can’t go out there alone. You’re going to need backup.”
“Tell me about it. Know where I can find any?”
“You’re looking at him.”
Jack laughed. Dad didn’t.
“I’m not kidding, Jack.”
“Dad, you’re not cut out for that.”
“Don’t be so sure.” He pushed open the porch door. “Come inside. I need to tell you some things you don’t know.”
“About what?”
No matter what he was told, Jack wasn’t taking an accountant in his seventies as backup, especially if that accountant in his seventies was his father.
“About me.”
4
Inside, Dad handed him a cup of coffee, then, before Jack could ask him what this was about, disappeared into his bedroom. He returned a minute later carrying the gray metal lockbox Jack had found back on Tuesday. He hadn’t expected to see it again, but he was more surprised by what his father was wearing.
“Dad, are you kidding with that sweater?”
His father pulled the front of the ancient brown mohair cardigan closer about him. “It’s cold! The thermometer outside my window says sixty-nine degrees.”
Jack had to laugh. “The Sasquatch look. It’s you, Dad.”
“Never mind the sweater.” He set the box on the coffee table. “Have a seat.”
Jack sat across from him. “What’ve you got there?” he said, already knowing the answer.
Dad unlocked the box and flipped it open. He pulled out an old photo and passed it to Jack: Dad and six other young guys in fatigues.
Jack pretended to study it, as if seeing it for the first time.
“Hey. From your Army days.”
“Army?” His father made a face. “Those clods? These are Marines, Jack. Semper fi and all that.”
Jack shrugged. “Army, Marines, what’s the diff?”
“You wouldn’t say that if you’d ever been in the Corps.”
“Hey, you were all fighting the same enemy, weren’t you?”
“Yeah, but we fought them better.” He tapped the photo. “These were my wartime buddies.” His expression softened. “And I’m the only one left.”
Jack looked at those young faces. He pointed to the photo. “What are you all smiling about?”
“We’d just graduated Corps-level scout-sniper school.”
Jack looked up from the photo. “You were a sniper?” He’d learned to believe in the unbelievable, but this was asking too much. “My father was a sniper?”
