“But…”
“Nate,” she interrupted, shaking her head once with firm resolve. “You’re afraid she will despise you, but surely you know her well enough that hate is not her way. She loves you, Nate. “
Freya held to his hand as he gathered himself, knowing she was right. For all she had been through in her childhood, Erin was still the most inherently good person he had ever known. A lot of that credit went to Dean and Maria, of that he was certain. They had shown a troubled kid love and respect, and in the light of their faith, she had bloomed.
But it did not make the choice any easier.
“Okay,” he said finally, nodding more to reassure himself than Freya.
She smiled, leaned over, and planted a gentle kiss upon his cheek.
“So, it’s all true then?” he asked. “God? The Devil? This is judgment?”
“It’s not so simple as the Christian belief, Nate. I prefer to think of it as light and dark.”
“How much do you know?”
Freya smiled. “It’s more about how much I can tell you, Nate.”
He snorted, wiping away the drying tears. “Right. Okay, well I just have one question then. The dead changed for a short time after your death, and became entirely focused on Erin, before reverting back to their usual emptiness. Why?”
Freya took a deep breath, her head tilted as though listening to something in the distance.
“The dead are crude tools, Nate, and the force behind them isn’t pulling the strings all the time. That which I call “the Dark” thought that Erin killing me would break her, and it would have, had her faith in you not been so strong. She knew, as much as it pained you, that you would take that burden from her. She wasn’t ready, yet in that moment of weakness, proved her strength. Erin’s strength comes from putting her faith in others, not just herself, and she has more faith in you than any other living soul. We think the Dark got angry for a time at its failure. For that little while, we think it tried to frighten her into hiding behind her safe walls, making her fear she would endanger her friends if she went out to face them.”
“She struggled with that.”
Freya nodded. “But then the Dark made the worst mistake it could make. It trapped you, made you bait, trying to break her, or make her do something reckless and get herself killed. If she hid away, and you died because she did nothing, the guilt would destroy her.”
Nate laughed then, wiping away the final tear from his cheek. His mood lightened.
“But Old Scratch wasn’t counting on her flipping the finger, huh?”
Freya laughed and shook her head. “No. She faced every fear she had, because the one thing she feared more than anything, Nate, was letting you down. The Dark has a little more to learn about humanity, I think. All it knows are our sins, our cruelties, our hatreds, and all the dark places of our collective soul.” She grinned, her face radiating unfettered joy. “I don’t think it understands the power that love can give us mere mortals, and it certainly underestimated Erin’s threshold. She has enough love for all of us.”
“So, it just gave up?”
“Erin is special, but she’s not the only one bearing the torch out in the night. I’m sure the Dark will try something else, only this time it will likely use a scalpel rather than a hammer.”
Nate nodded. “The Children of the Resurrection.”
“There are many pieces, Nate, and the board is bigger than we know. These battles rage across the globe, and we are just one small skirmish in a war for our survival, but it doesn’t make it of lesser value.” She stood up and walked barefoot on the lawn, leaning to pluck a white gardenia from one of the blooms and breathing in its scent. “I’ve always loved gardenias,” she said, floating back towards him on light feet. She offered the white flower to him, which he accepted in both hands. “It’s time for you to wake up now, Nate.”
“We miss you,” he said.
“I know, and I miss you both too, and that little rascal, Particles. I’ll see you again, I’m sure. Now, wake up Nate.”
He wanted to say something more, but his eyes snapped open in the dimly lit room to find Alicia standing above him with a steaming cup. His sudden alertness startled her, caught halfway in the act of nudging him awake.
The farmhouse was starting to lighten with the dawning sun, and Nate opened the sleeping bag. Swinging his legs out, he pulled on his boots and left them unlaced before accepting the hot beverage with a word of thanks.
Was it just a dream? It had felt so… real.
“Where did that come from?” asked Alicia.
“Huh?” He followed the direction of her finger to a white flower that rested by the pillow.
A gardenia.
Nate picked it up in shaking fingers, staring at it in wonder.
“Nate? Sir? You okay?” Alicia’s concerned questioning brought him to his senses.
“Hmm? Aye, sorry. Still a bit foggy from the sleep. Weird dreams,” he added absently.
“So, what’s the plan for today then? Same again?”
Nate sipped at the black coffee, rolling the gardenia’s stem between finger and thumb.
“No,” he said finally. “No, Alicia. Today… well…”
He stared at the white flower in his hand and sighed.
“It looks like I’m going home.”
About the Author
Carl Meadows had his first novel published at the age of 30. Seriously, just one copy. It was a 30th birthday present from a friend and sits in a gift box on his shelf. It was a valiant attempt but needed some serious work, as apparently it contained a social worker with kung fu. For the record, that was not his intention.
Seeing his name on the cover, however, reminded him of what he wanted to do since the age of seven. Working hard at
