A lighthouse searchlight was riveted to the corner, kept always on by a hand crank generator hidden away elsewhere on the ship, a surrogate sun that never let him know if it was night or day. Two inch thick steel bars cut the room down the middle—perfectly spaced, re-soldered to the ceiling and floor at the start of every year, inscribed with holy litanies of fear and protection. Half of the forgotten space belonged to whoever walked through the door. But the other half belonged to him, and his half looked as though a tendril of hell had forced its way through the crust of the earth and allowed the pure, unfettered essence of insanity to seep out. Swirling, untraceable hieroglyphics smothered almost every spare inch of metal. Most were brown and flaking, but some were still the same vibrant red as the blood they were drawn with. Hair, skin, and grime floated on pools of urine. The entire room reeked of despair.
“Silas!” His voice was cracked and hoarse as he pressed his face against the bars. I barely repressed the urge to curl my lip in disgust. He looked like a scarecrow that was nearly out of straw; a sad, malnourished echo of himself covered in weeping sores where he dug parasites, both real and imaginary, from under his skin. “I told the angel you would be coming,” he continued. I stepped closer and allowed him to run his broken nails across my face. “I told him but he didn’t believe me.”
“Terence isn’t an angel,” I said as though lecturing a child.
“And yet he has beautiful feathered wings and a beautiful golden halo.”
“He…” I began. “If you say so…” I ended. He smiled and played with my eyelids.
“You’re so big now, Silas. You must be at least six inches taller than when I last saw you. Look at how much hair your face can grow! Have you been watering it? Have you been planting fertilizer along your jaw?” I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose.
“No, I haven’t been cultivating a hair garden on my face.”
“Well maybe you should start! That’s how I maintain this flowing testament to masculinity,” he said as he ran his fingers through the tangled mass that spilled almost to his waist. I remained silent and allowed him to dote over me to his heart’s content. As much as I hated him, hated being near him, it pained me on an inescapable level to see him brought so low.
“Yesterday I saw a pair of blue jays through my window. They looked so colorful and happy and free. And today one of the blue jays came back and sang to me. He sang a very sad song so I wondered what happened to the other blue jay. I asked the angel but he said there were no blue jays. He said that I didn’t have a window. For being an angel, he’s quite the lying son of a bitch. He has beautiful wings though, and a beautiful halo. I’ve tried several times to buy those wings from him but he refuses to sell no matter my offer. For some reason he—”
“Enough!” I snapped. “I didn’t come here to discuss your delusions.”
“No,” he agreed with a smirk. “You came here to discuss your delusions.” I smirked back and crossed my arms.
“You know better than anyone they aren’t delusions.” He spent several seconds looking at the ceiling and puffing out his cheeks before he finally drifted back to reality and replied,
“Very well, since you too insist on denying me my bluejays, tell me what’s wrong.”
“It’s getting worse,” I stated flatly. “They used to be easy to contain—memories I know weren’t mine, faraway shapes waving at me from the fog, voices so distant I couldn’t make out what they were saying—things that I could ignore. But lately, lately they’ve been getting closer. They come at me in hordes when I’m alone. They drag me screaming into lives I never lived to experience deaths I don’t deserve. I feel as though I’m constantly being watched, one step behind, just around the corner every time I turn around. Their conversations cloud my thoughts and make me forget who I am. Sometimes I look at mirrors and don’t recognize myself. Sometimes I strike myself across the face just to make sure it still hurts. Sometimes it doesn’t and it’s as though someone else has become me and I am someone else, looking back at myself and thinking how unfortunate it would be to be him. Sleep has become nearly impossible… They watch me from the dark, just waiting, waiting for me to overcome my fear and drift off so that they can ravage through my dreams and take bites out of my soul. My every moment is haunted by the ghosts of people I never knew. And they… they hate me!”
He grabbed me by the collar and pulled me against the bars. His breath was hot and rancid against my face as he wrapped an arm around me and stroked my hair.
“It’s alright, Silas. Everything will be alright.”
“That’s what I tell Micah,” I whispered into his beard. I’d allowed the gate to my emotions to open just a crack, but even that was too much and they’d all come surging out, breaking through every makeshift dam I tried to build in their way. “I promise him that it’s nothing, just bad dreams. I promise him they’ll fade with time and the worst part is that I think he believes me. Is this the fate that awaits us both? Caged like an animal? Tossed away to be torn apart by our own minds until there is nothing recognizable left?”
“Hey now,” he said. “I resent that ‘caged like an animal’ bit. I think I’ve done quite well with what I was given. You humans give up so easily.”
“How do I deal with this?” I asked, begging for guidance from the only person in existence who knew what I was going through. He snorted.
“What do you mean how do you deal with it? You man up and you deal with it. That’s how you deal with it! Recite the rules for me, Silas.”
“How is that going to help?” I asked, finally starting to regain my composure in the face of his indifference.
“For once in your life stop asking questions and just do as you’re told,” he snapped. “What is the first rule?”
“Always put family first.”
“Why?”
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“Because blood is thicker than water.”
“What is the second rule?” he asked with mounting excitement.
“Never fall in love.
“Why?”
“Because every rose has thorns.”
“And the third rule?” he asked with obvious glee. My heart turned to stone and I forced myself from his grasp with a brutal shove.
“You are the farthest thing there is from a hero,” I spat. He smiled and opened his arms wide.
“And yet I’m still alive.”
“Are you?” I asked, pointedly looking around his cell. “I don’t know why I even bother coming down here anymore. How can you possibly help me if you can’t even help yourself? Oh, and you killed me again.” He raised an eyebrow and tilted his head to the side.
“Did I? Where did it happen this time?”
“You walked into a hospital I was in, led everyone into storage rooms, and then gassed us all to death.” He squinted and thought about my accusation for longer than I expected.
“You’re going to have to be much more specific than that…” he finally said.
“That’s as specific as I’m going to get,” I replied with some bite. He rolled his eyes and let out a long breath.
“Oh, Silas, it’s going to put some serious strain on our relationship if you throw a fit every time I happen to shoot you in the head or fill your lungs with volatile toxins.” A bark of laughter left my mouth like a gunshot and I said,
“Yes, because our relationship is so perfect except for that tiny little thing. I forgot.”
“Well if you’re going to start being a smartass then you might as well just go. You’re welcome for holding you through your little breakdown a minute ago.” I bit back a retort and started towards the door, hoping to leave before he realized the one thing he’d forgotten.
“Silas, one last thing before you complete your usual tantrum and storm out.”
“What?” I asked without turning. I knew what he was going to ask, he knew I knew what he was going to ask, and we both knew what I was going to say. But he asked anyway.
“When do I get to see Micah?”
“No.” I replied. “Don’t even start. I’m not bringing him down here to see the pitiful creature that used to be a man he barely remembers.”
“I am his father,” he growled dangerously. I whipped around and stormed back across the room towards him.
“Are you? Are you really? Is it your hands that tuck him into bed every night? Is it your name he cries out when he wakes up in the darkness confused and scared? Is it you up there keeping him safe and warm, teaching him how to be a man?”
“Silas, that’s not fair. He needs to know that—”
“I am the one who decides what he needs to know!” I roared through the bars. “Where was the caring parent when you decided to abandon us both?” The door crashed open and Terence stepped into the room.
“I think you should go,” he said, unsure of whether or not to raise his rifle. “Father Gregory doesn’t like the prophet getting overstimulated.” I grabbed him by the throat and slammed him against the wall. Unnoticed pain flared through my chest.
“I told you not to call him that,” I hissed.
“Silas,” my father said calmly. “Let him go.”
I pried my grip loose with my other hand and stormed out of the cell, acutely aware of how much the whole incident might bite me in the ass.
I took the stairs back up to the main decks two at a time. The constant, rhythmic motion helped to calm my temper, and so by the time I arrived at my quarters I was firmly back in control. I opened the door slowly and peered inside. Micah wasn’t there. He was probably topside playing with his friends or performing one of the dozens of necessary chores that even children could help with.
Our assigned blanket was folded neatly on the under our only pillow. He’d organized my desk for me. Official memos, sketches of landscapes and scenery, random bits of metal without obvious use, mementos from my most notable patrols—all were stacked or piled or categorized with a dedicated eye. And in the center, laid out clearly for me to see, was a colorful drawing. It showed two stick figures, one short and the other tall, one with blonde hair and the other with black, holding hands and smiling as they strode down a brown and yellow brick path through two hills of green. Disproportionately large flowers of purple and pink smiled right along with them underneath a big yellow sun, which was obviously also smiling. I picked up the drawing and hugged it close to my chest long enough to feel my heart beat against the paper before I carefully placed it in my pocket for safekeeping. Swinging my pack off my shoulder, I emptied its contents onto the cot before reaching down into it. There, beneath the hidden flap I had sewn into the bottom, I pulled out the crumpled American flag bandana and placed it between the brass casing of the first bullet I’d ever been shot with and a somehow unbroken snow globe that portrayed Santa Claus ice fishing at the North Pole. Dark red droplets dotted the fabric and the sight of them caused my heart to plummet.
“Why do sunrises exist?” I asked. Nobody answered. I couldn’t even hear the water this deep inside the ship, nor could I hear the breeze. I was alone. Surrounded by a womb of iron, despised and feared by those I risked my life to protect, I was alone.
“Why do sunrises exist?” I asked again, my voice shaking. I could see Pavel’s face in the knotted wood of my desk. He smiled crookedly beneath his broken glasses.
“Why do sunrises exist?” I sobbed brokenly, tears welling up in the corners of my eyes. Pavel’s face was lost as my vision swam and I quickly reached up to brush the tears away. But it was too late, his face was gone and my desk was once again just a desk. I screamed and knocked the carefully organized clutter to the floor with jerking swipes of my arms. He was right there! He’d been right there and now he was gone! He’d abandoned me. I’d fought so hard to bring him home, and he’d abandoned me... I slammed my fists against my desk again and again until the cheap wood cracked and splinters dug into my skin. Stumbling backwards, I ran into the wall and slowly slid to the floor, my hands still shaking and my tears refusing to fall. I pulled my knees up to my chest and hugged them close.
I was alone.
I was alone.
Slender arms held me close and a veil of soft black hair wiped away my tears.
You’re never alone.