08-13-2016, 06:35 PM
Chapter 3
Opening the Door
Just like that, he was gone. Kat was not even able to go to his funeral. The sickness had taken her again, chills and cramping and fever. It was too dangerous for her to travel. At least, that's what Noah told her. He said that people her age were getting quarantined by the CDC, and that some of them hadn't ever been seen again. It would have been worth the risk to her, just to see him again. The world had become much lonelier without him.
Not that living with Noah was the worst thing, of course. The old man had so much knowledge to impart. He knew about old stories that went back to the First People, or even before. His craft with medicine was top notch. Noah hadn't been exaggerating about his degrees. Doctor, historian, he'd been around for some time. It was an amazing time of growth for her.
There was so much to do on the reservation that Kat hardly had time to feel sorry for herself. She wondered if Noah was purposeful in that regard. There was wood to haul, gardens to weed, planting to be done. He was also an expert tracker and hunter. That fall she took a trophy elk with Noah's help.
She improved her meditation practices, and with breathing learned to utterly relax herself and try to open the third eye that she imagined to exist in the middle of her forehead. At times she began to become aware of a shimmering source of energy, smooth and tranquil, placid like the surface of a pond on the morning. If she was just a little closer, it seemed, she could just reach out and touch it. Quickly she learned that trying to snatch it was futile. At best she'd come up empty handed, and at worst something would snap back on her, leaving her with a stinging headache. She tried to talk to Noah about it, but he was very little help. “I do not know how to describe this thing. I don't even know what it is. Just perhaps let it happen to you.”
And so Kat found herself sitting cross-legged in her room staring at a handkerchief on her bed. Let it happen.
That was a bitter pill to swallow. Although...when there was no ability to control a thing, one had to give up the illusion of control being a choice. Only then could hope find its way in.
Father, I miss you and that's okay. I accept it and I give in as if you were here.
The focal point shifted from her head to her breast. She began to look at the handkerchief as though seeing it from insider herself. And it rose from the bed of its own accord, pulling itself taut three times before dropping, as Kat in her shock lost control. That was the first time.
Sometimes people would come by to be treated by one thing or another. Noah was the only doctor on the reservation, and although he was largely retired he still saw anyone who needed treatment. Fall gave way into winter and Kat was permitted to assist Noah in their treatment. Kat found an almost constant awareness of the power. It really was everywhere, and must have been Gitche Manidoo as described in the ancient stories, the Great Spirit. Sometimes she would embrace the power and – sift through – the different elements. Sometimes while the power entered her she could touch someone and know what was the matter with them. Fluid in the lungs, an infected cut, even a tumor. She became very keen at those. They almost had a smell to them. Noah would send them to the appropriate place for care. He wouldn't entertain discussion about Kat trying to fix it herself. From the looks of it, he didn't really seem to believe she could.
One time a person showed up who wasn't. The man, just a nondescript camper of few words and rugged clothing, was limping on a broken leg. He seemed normal when Kat answered the door, and she had him lie down on the couch. She left the room. Then she realized she'd forgotten something, and turned around to see Noah with his back turned, and the man standing on his leg again with a knife in his hand.
“Noah!”
she yelled, and did the only thing she could think of, which was lash out with all the power she could. A clap of wind threw the man against the far wall and over turned the couch, sending the knife flying. Something was wrong with the man's face. It was … animated. Like a puppet made of skin and bones. And it was faster than it seemed. The creature swept down and grabbed the knife again, jumping this time at Kat, but Noah had regained his bearings by then as well as his .44 magnum revolver. One shot was all it took.
Afterward, when they were cleaning up, Noah remarked that he had recognized the face and it had been some transient who from time to time slept out in the woods on the border of the reservation. They buried the body in the woods. Kat had never seen anyone die before. She had nightmares for weeks of people being possessed by animated things.
Spring came again. Kat had been living on the Cherokee reservation for nearly a year now. She hadn't had any symptoms for at least a month. And that's when Jerome showed up. The young Seminole had made his way here as a part of the referral. The 22-year-old had gotten into some trouble with the law but was trying to straighten himself out in order to be a better father to his newborn daughter. But then he caused a minor earthquake somehow a week ago. He'd been advised to come see Noah. Two days after arriving, he had a violent attack. Screaming fits and shrieking about monsters, and convulsions. Noah gave him some laudanum just to calm the young man down. But even after the attacks subsided, Jerome was antsy and anxious, and lacked focus, as if constantly gripped by panic.
Noah and Kat did what they could. Noah had worked out a ritual with drums and peyote when an attack came on, and that helped him through the worst of it. During more lucid times, Kat tried breathing exercies and meditation.
“Can you feel the resonance? Relax. Just let it come. Watch what I am doing,”
she would guide him. But Jerome said it wasn't like that. “It's like I'm fighting and wrestling with it,”
he said. “If I relax and let it take me – I'll get swept away. It'll destroy me.”
It became quickly apparent that there was nothing she could do to help Jerome. Indeed, his experience seemed so alien to hers as to be potentially an entirely different power.
Jerome headed downhill fast. His mental state decayed as his fits became more frequent and more violent. One night he set fire to the woods. He quickly became addicted to the morphine laced liquor, and would for days at a time before showing up screaming fits of rage at the heavens while lightning struck down from a clear sky. Times of lucidity became fewer and farther between.
Until Flag Day. That night was hotter than most. Jerome had been gone for three days and three nights. Kat was washing the dishes from the evening meal, when a gust of wind threw the front door off the hinges. Jerome. Screaming for Noah. “I see you, Noah! I can see everything! I see your lies!”
He made for the bedroom. Kat turned and reached out for the power, and threw ropes of Air around his limbs. Something invisible struck out against them, and she hissed as she felt them lash back at her like a recoiling whip. Then she was forced aside, and a wall of flame rushed her way. She threw up a quick wall of Air but was still singed.
Jerome was strong, much stronger than her. Thoughts of being able to help him fled. There was no way to help this craziness. He was out of control. Jerome forced his way past her into Noah's bedroom. She couldn't see around the corner, but heard three shots fired. Heart in her throat, she rushed around – and found Jerome holding Noah by the throat, revolver having been thrown across the bedroom.
“You did this to me old man,”
Jerome whispered. “How can I ever be normal again?”
Kat was sure, in that instant, that they were both going to die at Jerome's hands if she failed to act. Bonds of air wasn't going to work, and she just wasn't strong enough in the use of fire. The gun was too far away and she had no other weapons. Maybe there was a way to get him away from his control of the power. She grabbed the power, and Jerome swung his head around. How could he tell?
Quickly, almost reflexively, she made a knife of the essence of Spirit and rammed it right between that space in between, where he could tap into the Great Spirit.
Jerome dropped Noah and cried out. He looked at her with sad eyes, suddenly full of awareness. “You...it's not there...what did you do?”
Kat wasn't sure how to answer that.
Jerome wasted away. The craziness was gone, and he wasn't dangerous anymore. In fact he seemed more self-aware than ever. But he was a shadow of his former self. It seemed like he had given up the will to live. He stopped eating and one day just lay down, never to get up again.
Noah and Kat buried Jerome behind the house, where the summer flowers and wild grass formed a ring beneath the shade tree.
Afterward Kat felt for the first time a temptation to give into despair and let go of hope. So that was her cue that she needed to leave. “I made a promise to my father,”
she told Noah. “I'm not sure where I'll go. Somewhere where I can learn more, though.”
The old man wished her the best. “There will be another coming soon who will survive like you. Now is not the time for you to meet.”
So she struck out southward. Toward Atlanta. To find out what she could learn.
Kat had opened the door to a new world. Now she just needed to step through.
Opening the Door
Just like that, he was gone. Kat was not even able to go to his funeral. The sickness had taken her again, chills and cramping and fever. It was too dangerous for her to travel. At least, that's what Noah told her. He said that people her age were getting quarantined by the CDC, and that some of them hadn't ever been seen again. It would have been worth the risk to her, just to see him again. The world had become much lonelier without him.
Not that living with Noah was the worst thing, of course. The old man had so much knowledge to impart. He knew about old stories that went back to the First People, or even before. His craft with medicine was top notch. Noah hadn't been exaggerating about his degrees. Doctor, historian, he'd been around for some time. It was an amazing time of growth for her.
There was so much to do on the reservation that Kat hardly had time to feel sorry for herself. She wondered if Noah was purposeful in that regard. There was wood to haul, gardens to weed, planting to be done. He was also an expert tracker and hunter. That fall she took a trophy elk with Noah's help.
She improved her meditation practices, and with breathing learned to utterly relax herself and try to open the third eye that she imagined to exist in the middle of her forehead. At times she began to become aware of a shimmering source of energy, smooth and tranquil, placid like the surface of a pond on the morning. If she was just a little closer, it seemed, she could just reach out and touch it. Quickly she learned that trying to snatch it was futile. At best she'd come up empty handed, and at worst something would snap back on her, leaving her with a stinging headache. She tried to talk to Noah about it, but he was very little help. “I do not know how to describe this thing. I don't even know what it is. Just perhaps let it happen to you.”
And so Kat found herself sitting cross-legged in her room staring at a handkerchief on her bed. Let it happen.
That was a bitter pill to swallow. Although...when there was no ability to control a thing, one had to give up the illusion of control being a choice. Only then could hope find its way in.
Father, I miss you and that's okay. I accept it and I give in as if you were here.
The focal point shifted from her head to her breast. She began to look at the handkerchief as though seeing it from insider herself. And it rose from the bed of its own accord, pulling itself taut three times before dropping, as Kat in her shock lost control. That was the first time.
Sometimes people would come by to be treated by one thing or another. Noah was the only doctor on the reservation, and although he was largely retired he still saw anyone who needed treatment. Fall gave way into winter and Kat was permitted to assist Noah in their treatment. Kat found an almost constant awareness of the power. It really was everywhere, and must have been Gitche Manidoo as described in the ancient stories, the Great Spirit. Sometimes she would embrace the power and – sift through – the different elements. Sometimes while the power entered her she could touch someone and know what was the matter with them. Fluid in the lungs, an infected cut, even a tumor. She became very keen at those. They almost had a smell to them. Noah would send them to the appropriate place for care. He wouldn't entertain discussion about Kat trying to fix it herself. From the looks of it, he didn't really seem to believe she could.
One time a person showed up who wasn't. The man, just a nondescript camper of few words and rugged clothing, was limping on a broken leg. He seemed normal when Kat answered the door, and she had him lie down on the couch. She left the room. Then she realized she'd forgotten something, and turned around to see Noah with his back turned, and the man standing on his leg again with a knife in his hand.
“Noah!”
she yelled, and did the only thing she could think of, which was lash out with all the power she could. A clap of wind threw the man against the far wall and over turned the couch, sending the knife flying. Something was wrong with the man's face. It was … animated. Like a puppet made of skin and bones. And it was faster than it seemed. The creature swept down and grabbed the knife again, jumping this time at Kat, but Noah had regained his bearings by then as well as his .44 magnum revolver. One shot was all it took.
Afterward, when they were cleaning up, Noah remarked that he had recognized the face and it had been some transient who from time to time slept out in the woods on the border of the reservation. They buried the body in the woods. Kat had never seen anyone die before. She had nightmares for weeks of people being possessed by animated things.
Spring came again. Kat had been living on the Cherokee reservation for nearly a year now. She hadn't had any symptoms for at least a month. And that's when Jerome showed up. The young Seminole had made his way here as a part of the referral. The 22-year-old had gotten into some trouble with the law but was trying to straighten himself out in order to be a better father to his newborn daughter. But then he caused a minor earthquake somehow a week ago. He'd been advised to come see Noah. Two days after arriving, he had a violent attack. Screaming fits and shrieking about monsters, and convulsions. Noah gave him some laudanum just to calm the young man down. But even after the attacks subsided, Jerome was antsy and anxious, and lacked focus, as if constantly gripped by panic.
Noah and Kat did what they could. Noah had worked out a ritual with drums and peyote when an attack came on, and that helped him through the worst of it. During more lucid times, Kat tried breathing exercies and meditation.
“Can you feel the resonance? Relax. Just let it come. Watch what I am doing,”
she would guide him. But Jerome said it wasn't like that. “It's like I'm fighting and wrestling with it,”
he said. “If I relax and let it take me – I'll get swept away. It'll destroy me.”
It became quickly apparent that there was nothing she could do to help Jerome. Indeed, his experience seemed so alien to hers as to be potentially an entirely different power.
Jerome headed downhill fast. His mental state decayed as his fits became more frequent and more violent. One night he set fire to the woods. He quickly became addicted to the morphine laced liquor, and would for days at a time before showing up screaming fits of rage at the heavens while lightning struck down from a clear sky. Times of lucidity became fewer and farther between.
Until Flag Day. That night was hotter than most. Jerome had been gone for three days and three nights. Kat was washing the dishes from the evening meal, when a gust of wind threw the front door off the hinges. Jerome. Screaming for Noah. “I see you, Noah! I can see everything! I see your lies!”
He made for the bedroom. Kat turned and reached out for the power, and threw ropes of Air around his limbs. Something invisible struck out against them, and she hissed as she felt them lash back at her like a recoiling whip. Then she was forced aside, and a wall of flame rushed her way. She threw up a quick wall of Air but was still singed.
Jerome was strong, much stronger than her. Thoughts of being able to help him fled. There was no way to help this craziness. He was out of control. Jerome forced his way past her into Noah's bedroom. She couldn't see around the corner, but heard three shots fired. Heart in her throat, she rushed around – and found Jerome holding Noah by the throat, revolver having been thrown across the bedroom.
“You did this to me old man,”
Jerome whispered. “How can I ever be normal again?”
Kat was sure, in that instant, that they were both going to die at Jerome's hands if she failed to act. Bonds of air wasn't going to work, and she just wasn't strong enough in the use of fire. The gun was too far away and she had no other weapons. Maybe there was a way to get him away from his control of the power. She grabbed the power, and Jerome swung his head around. How could he tell?
Quickly, almost reflexively, she made a knife of the essence of Spirit and rammed it right between that space in between, where he could tap into the Great Spirit.
Jerome dropped Noah and cried out. He looked at her with sad eyes, suddenly full of awareness. “You...it's not there...what did you do?”
Kat wasn't sure how to answer that.
Jerome wasted away. The craziness was gone, and he wasn't dangerous anymore. In fact he seemed more self-aware than ever. But he was a shadow of his former self. It seemed like he had given up the will to live. He stopped eating and one day just lay down, never to get up again.
Noah and Kat buried Jerome behind the house, where the summer flowers and wild grass formed a ring beneath the shade tree.
Afterward Kat felt for the first time a temptation to give into despair and let go of hope. So that was her cue that she needed to leave. “I made a promise to my father,”
she told Noah. “I'm not sure where I'll go. Somewhere where I can learn more, though.”
The old man wished her the best. “There will be another coming soon who will survive like you. Now is not the time for you to meet.”
So she struck out southward. Toward Atlanta. To find out what she could learn.
Kat had opened the door to a new world. Now she just needed to step through.