'This must be faith,' he said. 'Believing in something. No wonder Starlene gets so high off this stuff.'
'Believe in me, Freeman. Believe in us'
The bridge flickered to life, grew strong, cut a long golden ribbon through the black deadscape. Vicky was closer now, so near Freeman could reach out and touch, even though his flesh was lost and left behind. This was a touching of the soul.
Her thoughts flooded him, her love seeping into him like a warm and gentle electricity, a power of life and yearning. They probed each other's dark spaces, threw out their fears and regrets as if they were old clothes in an attic trunk, opened the doors inside and walked together into strange rooms.
The bridge was heaven-white now, shining, the gap closing, the triptrap taking on something beyond mere mystery.
He let some of that light into the dark place under the bridge, the place that no one was allowed to see, a memory from the day that Dad took over his head and made him kill Mom. Six years fell away like nothing in the land where time had no meaning.
Vicky was with him as Dad juiced him and triptrapped him, filled his brain with thoughts, an experiment of Dad's mind control theory, just another day at the office for the world's most daring pioneer, and Freeman had no choice but to leave the closet in Dad's lab and walk through the kitchen and take the knife from the drawer and go down the hall, Dad working his legs, commanding his muscles, making Freeman want to do this, reminding him that Mom demanded perfection even more than Dad did, with her 'no second chances' philosophy, convincing him that Mom was the enemy, she was the one who deserved to be punished for bringing Freeman into this sorry world and for letting Dad inflict all those cruel tortures on him.
Vicky opened the bathroom door with him, Mom never locked it because everybody knew that soaking time was her private time, and everyone needed a place to escape now and then, especially when Kenneth Mills was playing mind games, and the knife was in his hand and the steam on his face and Mom had her eyes closed as she lay in the tub, the soap wreathing her neck, her body beneath the bubbles, and just as he lifted the knife, she opened her eyes and smiled and the smile stayed frozen there as Dad ordered him to bring the knife down and the water turned red and she tried to say something, but he brought the knife down again and the blood trickled from her lips and Vicky screamed with him, screamed from the outside in, and Dad laughed in awe of his own power, because if he could make other people murder the ones they loved, then the world was his.
Vicky stayed with Freeman as he brought the knife down again and again, and even when his arm was tired, he couldn't stop, Dad made him do it some more, and the tears ran down his face along with the spattered blood, and the soap bubbles cast their rainbows in red, and Dad was all over his brain, whispering things, putting sick thoughts in there, promising him that this was only the beginning, no one could stop them now that Dad knew the way in, and the Trust didn't matter, the Trust wouldn't understand, this type of control belonged only to those who knew how to use it.
Vicky stood with him when the knife finally clattered to the tiles and Dad came into the bathroom, and for the first time ever Dad was proud of his son, proud because he could make bis son just like him, and Dad picked up the knife and wiped it clean on a towel and then the guys from the Trust came by and took away all of Dad's machines and made an anonymous phone call to the police and the rest was almost history except history not only repeated itself, it never went away.
Freeman expected Vicky to draw back now that she knew. He deserved to be alone. That type of monster should be thrown to the darkness, not pitied or mourned or loved. Such a monster should be condemned to the black, cold world beneath the bridge, where it could wallow in its own hate until it drowned.
'I… I didn't know,' Vicky said. The bridge dimmed.
'Go away.'
'Why didn't you tell me?'
'Get out of my head, damn you.'
The bridge faded, fell to threads, dissipated like a ghost that had died a second time.
'No,' she said.
The light swelled. The link grew stronger as she came on again, sent herself out to him, grabbed with all the hunger for things Freeman called hope.
She opened herself to him, offering everything, pouring into him, and he had no shield for this, because he didn't expect it, and had never known such a force could exist.
The bridge was as hot as the sun, even more blinding than the surrounding darkness, but Freeman could see clearly, their souls had substance, they walked toward each other across the bridge, slow motion, every step a miracle, and Freeman made himself stare straight ahead, to not look over the side of the bridge where the darkness ran like rivers in every direction and dead things flitted.
'It's not your fault,' she said. 'I understand.'
He'd heard that before. It wasn't his fault. He was the perfect victim. He just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, his soul trapped in a body born to a man who wanted the power that only God should have. The power to shape the souls of others. To crush them and burn them and ruin them. The power to inflict the worst kind of pain.
'It wasn't… I didn't mean to,' he said.
Vicky's image approached. 'It will be okay, as long as we're together.'
'I don't think we're going back. To the real world, I mean. I think Dad is killing us. Back there in the real world.'
'I'm not afraid anymore.'
'Me, either.'
'Touch me.'
They closed that final distance, the tug of their souls exerting spiritual gravity, so close, so hopeful, desperately close, a flicker and heartbeat away from joining in a union stronger than that of atoms.
Then the troll appeared.
Dad stood between them, with his black soul and his twisted brain and bis sharp teeth, ready to gobble them up.
FORTY-SEVEN
Starlene huddled in the dark cell, her arms around Dipes and Isaac. The walls quivered, the metal doors clanged in the corridors, and bits of ancient plaster fell from the ceiling. Whatever Kracowski and Mills were doing, it was tearing the building apart.
'What's happening, Dipes?' Isaac said. 'I mean, what's about to happen?'
'It keeps changing,' Dipes said. 'First everybody was dead and wandering around, then we were standing outside the fence, looking back at the building.'
'All of us were outside?' Starlene asked.
'No. Not Freeman and Vicky.'
'That's what I was afraid of.' Starlene wasn't sure that God would want people to know the future, because they might try to change it. But maybe God's plan included taking responsibility for the future. God didn't send you anything you couldn't handle, even telepathy and clairvoyance and precognition.
She wondered if God would want her to reach out with her mind, to triptrap like Freeman and Vicky. Surely He wouldn't stop her if it was His will. But, if He didn't approve, would He blame her for trying? It might be a sin that had never come under consideration. She offered a quick prayer, linked with God in that strange and powerful way that was the biggest mind trip of all.
She asked her question and the answer came. Her heart was clear. Her soul was pure enough. She called on the memory of that brief moment in Thirteen, when she could read the thoughts of those around her.
Nothing.
Isaac peeked out the cell door. 'That new doctor's doing something to the machines.'
Starlene closed her eyes and concentrated. All she heard were her own panicked thoughts and the vibration of the building roaring in her ears. Powder poured from the crumbling masonry. She hugged the boys even more
