A Flight of Souls Page 8

  “You’re not my son!” he shrieked. His voice rang horribly loud through the water. So loud I feared it would attract the attention of the ghouls. Even some of the other ghosts, comatose against the ground, stirred a little, their heads tilting toward him. “You’re not my son!”

  “Shh!” I hurried toward him as he continued to shout, cursing that I was unable to grab his shoulders and shake him into silence. “Please, Lucas! You must be quiet!”

  But he only continued to howl and insist that I was not his son.

  Utterly bewildered as to what the heck was going through his mind—why does he even think he has a son?—I moved close to his ear and spoke as quietly as I could to avoid making any more noise than we had already. “I know I’m not your son!” I hissed. “I never said that I was. I’m your nephew.”

  At this, he stopped shrieking. Slowly, his hands moved away from his head and lowered at his sides. Then even more slowly, his head raised from behind his knees and his blue eyes, glinting with pain, met mine.

  He frowned deeply.

  “My… nephew?” he breathed.

  “Yes,” I replied, nodding vigorously. I was just relieved that he had stopped causing such a ruckus. “Derek Novak is my father. Sofia Claremont-Novak, my mother.”

  His lips mouthed my parents’ names, although no sound came from his mouth. Then his eyes widened, a gleam of urgency in them. His voice rose to a whisper. “And where is my sister?”

  “In The Shade,” I replied, “caring for her newborn. Where the rest of our family is.” At least, those still living.

  His mouth formed a hard line, and then he fell into silence.

  The fact that Lucas didn’t think to ask about his father, Gregor—who had still been alive at the time my grandfather had killed Lucas—said a lot about his feelings toward him.

  Lucas’ frown deepened and then, as if somebody had flicked a switch in his mind, he began shaking his head again, but at least this time he didn’t let out another howl. He just sat there, looking tortured and confused.

  I’d never known my uncle. I only knew him through my parents’ eyes as being malicious, vindictive, and terribly jealous of my father. If I hadn’t recognized Lucas by his likeness to my father, I never would’ve guessed that the lost, broken man sitting before me now was him.

  Such bewilderment washed over his face that I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him.

  “Lucas,” I said, attempting to snap him out of the daze he had fallen back into. I wondered whether he could concentrate on any train of thought for more than a few moments. “You must tell me what happened to you. How long have you been down here?”

  He swallowed hard. “I… I do not know,” he replied after a long pause. “Th-There are no calendars in Hell.”

  Hell. Was it possible that he believed that this was actually Hell? That in all the time he must have spent here, he’d never discovered that this was all a hoax? No wonder he lost his mind. I wondered if he’d been caught by the fae, as I had.

  Again, I felt the urge to grip his shoulders hard and shake him in an attempt to ground him somehow. But all I had was my words to get through to him.

  “You know that this isn’t actually Hell, right?” I asked, gazing firmly into his eyes. And what did he mean by his “son”? Is he aware of the existence of Jeramiah, after all? I wanted to flood him with questions, but his mind was terribly fragile. I needed to take this in baby steps.

  Lucas squinted at me. “What?”

  “Neither you nor I are in Hell. We are in the realm of ghouls.”

  He continued squinting, as though he was having problems comprehending my words.

  “Do you hear what I’m saying?” I pressed. “How did you get down here? Were you caught?”

  He nodded slowly, and then shook his head a second later. “Not caught.”

  “Then? How did you get here?”

  “An angel led me here. It… it was my fate.”

  So he was caught, just like the rest of us. He would have been within the catchment date of the fae’s operations; Marcilla had told me this kidnapping had been going on for nearly five decades now. Perhaps he’d hung around The Shade for a while, and then felt the urge to escape his half-life. I grimaced. “That was no angel, Lucas. It was a fae.”

  “Fae? What is a fae?”

  I wasn’t sure how to answer that. I had been too preoccupied with other questions to find out much about the creatures from Marcilla. “They’re con artists,” was the simplest way I could think to reply. “They made a contract with the ghouls—these evil creatures that surround us—decades ago and provide them with a constant flow of ghosts. The fae prey on those wishing to pass over to the other side, and spread a rumor among the ghost community that they’re some kind of messengers of heaven.”

  Lucas stared at me, stunned, as though a moment of clarity had fallen upon him. “That…” he murmured. “But I knew that.”

  I frowned. “You knew what?”

  The certainty that had sparked in his eyes died down a little. “At least, I thought I knew,” he muttered. “I… I’m not sure what I know anymore…”

  Apparently not only had he lost his mind, but also his memory.

  Then, to my horror, he began groaning again.

  “Listen,” I said, trying to catch his fading gaze. “Whatever these ghouls have done to you, you’re not thinking straight.” To put it lightly. “I can help you, Lucas. I can tell you the truth about what’s really going on here. But you must keep quiet. Okay?”

  He stopped groaning and nodded slowly, even as he looked uncertain whether he could trust me. There was fear in his eyes that reminded me of an untrusting child. Betrayed, vulnerable, weak.

  I decided that for now, it was best not to ask any more questions—questions that he was clearly in no state to answer. I was surprised that he even knew his own name anymore. Judging by the looks of the ghosts floating at the bottom of his pool, I certainly doubted they knew their names. They looked so far gone, so… dead. Compared to them, Lucas was in good shape. I found myself wondering again why he appeared to be in a different category. Whatever the reason, it didn’t matter. I needed to try to get through to him. He’d obviously been here for at least a few years, and he was bound to know more about this place than the ghosts on the upper levels. Perhaps he could tell me something that would give me a clue as to how to escape.

  I settled next to him in the corner, but to my surprise, as soon as I sat down, he scooted away from me, creating a distance of a few feet.

  I tried to maintain steady eye contact with him. First, I needed to try to jolt his memory. But to do that would require some improvisation on my part… “I’m going to run through what I think happened to you,” I began. “Try to remember and correct me where I go wrong… You became a ghost after Aiden shot you with a hunter’s bullet. Then you passed some time in The Shade, watching our family live their lives.” As I reached this part of the story, I realized that perhaps he had been around to witness Gregor’s death after all, and that was why he hadn’t bothered asking about his father… I paused, wondering if he would interject.

  He remained quiet, but at least his eyes were fixed on me. He was listening.

  “You witnessed many happenings around the island,” I went on. “Disasters and celebrations alike. Then your soul grew tired of waiting around and watching others live. You felt the urge, the desire for something else. Something more. To go somewhere where you truly belonged. You then came across some other ghosts. They told you about the myth of the glowing portals, and you believed it. You went to one such portal at midnight, and that was when you were caught by the fae.” I paused again. He was still listening. “They looked like angels, but instead they brought you here and you’ve been here ever since. In the realm of the ghouls.” As I finished, and he still made no signs of talking, I couldn’t help but ask him in exasperation: “Are you really telling me you thought you were in Hell all this time?”

  I just couldn’t wrap
my mind around how nobody could have told him. Or perhaps… he had been told but he’d forgotten.

  The sentience in Lucas’ eyes grew as I asked the question. He nodded slightly, but then the nod was immediately followed by a shake of his head.

  “I… think I remember… somebody told me,” he said, squinting as though dredging his memory. “The… The Underworld?”

  I nodded vigorously.

  He continued to squint. “The light, I remember that, too. And the angels or… fae, as you say. And then… white coffins. There was more than one of us.”

  It was a relief how even his voice was beginning to sound—so much more sure of himself compared to just a few moments ago.

  Perhaps he wasn’t quite as far gone as I’d feared. Perhaps all it took was a little nudging for the cobwebs of his memory to clear, to jolt him into remembrance.

  “You’re remembering,” I said, hoping to encourage him.

  “Yes,” he said slowly. “Yes, I am.” There was a profound look on his face, as though he’d just solved an ancient mystery. “Then… I was taken to a pool, and thrust there with other ghosts. Some of them spoke of the glowing creatures being false messengers, as you tell me now. But then I… I must’ve forgotten along the way.”

  “Did you ever try to escape?” I asked. “Surely you must have?”

  Lucas faltered. And then the glint in his eyes dimmed again. I realized I’d made a mistake in asking the question. He wasn’t ready for it yet. I was certain that he was sinking back into his shell, but then he whispered, “Yes. I did. Too… many… times.”

  His answer made me dare to continue this line of questioning.

  “What did the ghouls do to you when they caught you?”

  At this, he pursed his lips, his eyes darkening. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he breathed. “I don’t want to,” he added, more forcefully.

  “It’s just that… I’m trying to escape myself,” I pressed. “I want to know what I’m up against.”

  Lucas’ eyes narrowed on me. “Don’t try, boy. Don’t try. I-It’s not worth it.”

  “I’m going to escape,” I said, my voice a little louder than I had intended it to be—more of a correction and reassurance to myself than a statement to Lucas. “I’ve already decided. So anything at all you can tell me would really help.”

  “I have told you,” he said faintly. This time, I really was losing him. His eyes averted to his feet, glazing over. Then he drew up his knees again, closing himself off to me, to the world.

  He didn’t like talking about the ghouls. That much was clear. I should not have pushed so far in my questioning yet I just couldn’t help it. I was desperate for any information at all. I racked my brain for something I could say to lure him back out of his shell again. My mind turned to one of the first things he’d said to me. That I wasn’t his son.

  “I know your son,” I blurted, before even considering how he might react.

  It worked. His eyes snapped up to me, sparked again with life.

  “My son?”

  I was still dying to know how he even had a clue that he had a son—for everybody, including even Jeramiah, seemed to be under the impression that Lucas had no idea that he had impregnated the local miller’s daughter. But I resisted the urge to ask him now. “Yes, your son. I’ve seen him. And he… He very much wishes to see you. His name is Jeramiah. Jeramiah Novak.”

  Lucas’s eyes widened in wonderment. “Jeramiah Novak,” he repeated softly. Then a look of anxiety played across his face. “Is he still alive?” he asked in a strained whisper.

  “Yes,” I said. “He is a vampire. He is alive.” Granted, I didn’t actually know where Jeramiah was right now—but I assumed that he was alive. Why wouldn’t he be? He would’ve left with Amaya, after his failed attempts to finish off my parents and grandfather.

  “What is he like?” Lucas asked.

  Now I would have to lie.

  An asshole just like you were would have been the truthful answer, but not the most tactful one in this particular circumstance.

  “He, uh… He looks like you,” I replied. That was about the most I could bring myself to say about Jeramiah at this point in time. And it wasn’t even all that true. Jeramiah did not look much like Lucas—at least, I hadn’t been able to recognize the resemblance. In hindsight, I guessed there were similarities; their eyes, height and hair color. But otherwise, I guessed Jeramiah must resemble his mother more than his father.

  “He’s actually been trying to reconnect with you,” I went on.

  “Reconnect,” Lucas murmured, leaving the word hanging in the air.

  I cast my eyes up at the surface of the pool, still paranoid that the ghouls would be on the hunt for me to file me back in chronological order… most likely after they were done “disciplining” me, whatever that entailed.

  Lucas brought my focus back on him again as he asked, “Where is he now?” It was both a relief and a pleasant surprise to have him asking questions.

  I didn’t know where he was. Perhaps he’d returned to The Oasis? I realized that might be the best answer to give Lucas, given the fact that it was where Lucas had actually died. It might serve to provide yet another jolt to his dusty memory.

  “The Oasis,” I replied. “Jeramiah misses you terribly. He even installed a memorial stone there…” And tried to murder my parents and grandfather to avenge you, I added silently.

  Now I saw a small window with which I could try to pry him open again. “Is… there anything at all that you could tell me that might help me figure out a way to escape? If I managed to find a way, you could come with me. I could help you to find your son… to reconnect with him,” I added, emphasizing the word that seemed to mean a lot to him. “You would like that, wouldn’t you?”

  He nodded. “I would.” His voice had become hoarse. “I would very much like to see my son…” Again I found myself marveling that this was really the same man who had attempted on a number of occasions to rape and murder my mother.

  Here, I paused, waiting for him to take the bait. Finally, he did—though not in the way I had really hoped.

  “I did try to escape this place before,” he murmured, furrowing his brows. “I recall it now. More than once. More than… any of these ever tried…” He gestured toward the ghosts on the floor of the pool. They had stopped watching Lucas now, and had returned to their former, comatose state. “But each time I got caught. They would take me to a room. Lock me in… a box, where I would see things… Terrible things.” He paused, swallowing hard. “The last time they locked me up was… the worst. After that, I never tried to flee again.”

  “How exactly did you try to escape?” I asked.

  He shifted uncomfortably, though his eye contact remained constant. “The last time was when… when I was still higher up.” He nodded his head up to the ceiling. “Many ghosts tried to escape at once. I was one of the leaders of the plot, at the forefront of the crowd as we attempted to escape through the base of the whirlpool. As soon as the ghouls spotted us storming toward them, they closed the exit. And those they believed to be at the forefront of the plot were punished and then… thrust downwards. Further down than I’d ever been.”

  I was still thinking about the exit. “How did the ghouls close the exit off?” I asked.

  His face scrunched in concentration. “They, uh, they kept… a net nearby, tucked among the rocks. It was a net that none of us could pass through. They fixed it at the base of the vortex and fastened it. There was nothing we could do to get out. It was just… impossible.”

  So they have some kind of barrier. I hadn’t noticed any “net” when I had been down there but then again, Lucas had said that they kept it stashed away. I wondered when the last mass escape attempt had taken place. I would’ve thought that it would happen on a regular basis, but perhaps only among the new recruits, who hadn’t already seen that it was “impossible”.

  I also found it interesting that Lucas had said he’d been a leader among
the rebels. Leader. From the description my father had always given of him, he’d never struck me as a leader; a wannabe leader maybe…

  It appeared that this place had changed Lucas in many ways.

  “So,” I continued, “you did find out that you were not actually in Hell. You found out before you got thrust down here?”

  “Yes,” he replied. “Yes, I did. But I… I appear to have forgotten a lot of things after the last time the ghouls caught me. Though… I’m starting to remember some things now.”

  From the horror behind Lucas’ eyes, I got the feeling that none of the things he was remembering were welcome.

  I was about to continue my questioning when I froze. The sound of ghouls tittering drifted down from the chamber above. They’re still looking for me. Two shadows loomed over the surface of the pond. Then a hand dipped inside. I looked around wildly for somewhere to hide. If one of them peered into the water and looked around, they’d spot me in a matter of seconds.

  I was about to hurtle down to the floor and attempt to bury myself beneath the sleeping ghosts, but then Lucas moved in front of me. I moved backward, deeper into the corner. He sat up a little straighter, enough to block direct view of me—at least somewhat. Of course, his body was translucent and on close scrutiny, it would be easy to see me behind him but… As one of the ghouls poked his head into the pond, his frightening gleaming eyes scanning the waters, he glanced only briefly over Lucas. I curled up into a ball and hunkered down low, trying to keep every part of me hidden behind Lucas’s form. It seemed that the ghoul didn’t spot me, as a moment later he raised his head out of the pond again. After he exchanged some more eerie words with his companion, the two shadows moved away. Lucas shifted a little, and I uncurled, slowly daring to resume my former position next to him. I stared at my uncle.

  “Thank you,” I whispered.

  He shrugged, averting his eyes to the comatose ghosts beneath us.

  “You look just like my brother,” he murmured, even as his gaze remained fixed away from me. His jaw tightened. “Though… if I remember rightly, you have your mother’s eyes.”