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About Tehuti
I am an amateur writer of novels, serials, and novellas. Most of my work is in the genres of fantasy, mythology, drama, occult, GLBT, and erotica.
As I'm not seeking publication, I offer my work online for free reading. I'm not seeking stylistic critique so much as feedback from people who just like reading what I write. I love hearing what people think of my characters, plots, themes, etc., so if you have any comments or advice on those, feel free to share. I'm not hugely popular and often go many months without hearing from readers so I enjoy all the comments I get!
My interests are Ojibwa mythology, Mackinac Island, Egyptian mythology, Jungian symbolism and dream interpretation, ritual crime, fantasy writing, and various other things you can find in my personal bio, available just to the right. Please click to learn more about me and what I'm looking for in terms of readers and potential friends.
Feel free to hit me up if you're interested in any of these things, and enjoy my writing!
Tar! :) |
1: Memories NOTE!!--the prologue is actually PART OF THE STORY! Please don't skip reading it!
Original circa 1994-5 version. Scroll down for the 2007 rewrite.
MEMORIES
July 1989
LIGHT FILTERED in through the open window, and a gentle breeze fanned over Damien's face as birds sang outside. He sighed and closed his eyes, his head resting on his pillow. Though it looked as if it were going to be nice out today he didn't quite feel it; he hadn't gotten nearly as much of the sleep as he should have last night.
The dreams. He'd been having the dreams again. Like some kind of ache in his joints they kept returning to plague him. As if the one about his sister wasn't bad enough, now the one about the fire had come back. That had been about fourteen years ago yet it insisted on sticking with him, as much as the murder of his sister three years past. He'd almost fooled himself into thinking that he'd conquered that one, when of course he hadn't.
It was a nice day, so he decided not to waste it by lying in bed brooding over his nightmares. He never had before and he wouldn't start now. He got up and left the room, rubbing a crick out of his neck as he walked down the hall.
There was a low buzz as everybody else in the house--and there were quite a few of them--walked around, eating or talking or watching TV. A few greeted him. Damien stopped at the end of the hall and blinked as if still asleep. He almost felt like it. Someone touched his shoulder and he nearly jumped, but it was just his girlfriend, Katrina. She smiled and pecked him on the cheek. He was grateful for the dimness of the hall, as it hid the shadows that he was certain lurked under his eyes.
"Good afternoon," she said; he glanced at the clock and saw it was just after twelve. How long had he been lying there? "So you really are still alive."
He shoved down any memories he had left of the nightmares. No use bringing the others down with him. "Unfortunately for you," he replied, giving her a sly grin and a pinch to the arm.
"We'll just have to see about that," she replied, picking up some stray dishes from an end table and going out into the kitchen. He followed, sniffing the air.
"So, dream up any new songs for your soon-to-be, much-lauded second album?" Kat asked. "You've been talking about it for so long it's a wonder you haven't just willed it into existence."
When she turned around to look at him he gave her a forced smile and she could tell. She sighed, lowering the dishes which she'd been holding aloft. She set them down on the counter.
"Not again, Damien." She shook her head, unable to believe this was still going on. "When are you going to get help for this?"
"I don't need help," Damien replied, a tiny bit of his stubborn side coming out in his voice. Yet he refused to make eye contact, knowing she could see right through him. "They'll go away."
"Yeah, just like they always do," Kat said. "You know that they won't. For as long as I've known you you've been having these dreams. Why don't you at least tell me what they are?"
"They're nothing," Damien insisted, catcing her by the arm as she turned away again to pick up the dishes. He whirled her around to face him and kissed her.
"Your nose is cold," she murmured.
"You can warm it up for me."
"We'll just have to see about that," she said again, pulling herself loose and depositing the dishes in the sink. "And don't you try to change the subject on me, Damien. I'm not falling for that one again."
Damien started to protest when the doorbell rang. Since Kat was closest to the door she went to answer it. Damien followed her out onto the porch, wondering who could be calling. Even with all the people living in the house, they rarely got unannounced visitors. Beyond the screen door, out in the buzzing heat, stood a uniformed deliveryman, holding a package under one arm and a clipboard under the other. On seeing Kat and Damien he pulled the clipboard out.
"Is there a Mr. Damien at this residence?" he asked, reading from the paper.
Behind Kat Damien smiled. He was quite well known in the music industry by now, thanks to the success of his first album, but there were still some people out there who added "Mr." to his name. He wondered if the same thing ever happened to Madonna or Prince. "Right here," he replied, squeezing around Kat and opening the porch door.
"Got a delivery. Sign here, please." Damien took the proffered pen and signed his name, then took the parcel. "Have a nice day," the deliveryman said, tipping his hat and jogging back to the waiting truck. Damien let the door slam shut and paused to examine the package. It was simply a small box, wrapped in nondescript brown, with his name on top.
"What is it?" Kat asked.
"I don't know," Damien replied. "There's no return address." He hefted it and shook it. "It doesn't feel too heavy either. No ticking, so it can't be a bomb." A grin.
Kat snorted and put her hands on her hips, impatient. "Well, open it! It is addressed to you, isn't it, Mr. Damien?"
Damien smirked at her joke and sat down on the porch swing, unwrapping the package. He opened the box and brushed aside some tissue paper--and then his hands froze. His face went white.
Kat drew back, slightly alarmed. Damien had used to live on the streets--actually sleeping near an old bridge--so barely anything fazed him nowadays. At least, nothing as mundane as a mail package. She sat down beside him, pulled away some of the paper, and looked inside for herself. She frowned.
Lying upon a bed of tissue was a stylized D made of gold, about three and a half inches in height. It twinkled up at them, catching the sunlight still filtering in through the screens.
Kat stared at it for a moment, then looked back up at Damien. "Damien?" she asked softly. "What is this? Who's it from?"
Damien didn't reply. Instead he just kept staring at the letter, swallowing repeatedly in an attempt to regain his voice. Kat noticed a note included in the package, and she took it out and unfolded it. Written upon it in plain script was a simple poem:
One is silver,
One is gold.
Take the new but
Keep the old.
--F. D.
She frowned again. "Damien? Who's FD? Damien, tell me. Who's FD?"
Damien had started trembling. After several minutes he finally spoke.
"This is a joke," he whispered, so softly that she had to bend closer to hear. His voice shook. "This is all some sick practical joke. I heard it--I heard the gunshots--"
"Gunshots?" Alarm lit her eyes. "Damien, tell me what's going on!" She took him by the shoulders and shook him, and when that produced no reaction she slapped him across the face. At that he shook his head and gazed up at her, though it took a few seconds for his eyes to focus on her face. His mouth opened and closed several times and he stared at her stupidly.
"Who's FD?" she asked again. "And who was shot? Tell me what's going on."
He continued staring at her, then looked back down at the D glittering in his lap. "My uncle," he finally replied. "He--he was my namesake. Damien. He was killed about fourteen years ago. When I was really little. There was--this is too unbelievable." And he covered the D up with his hand, as if hoping to put it out of existence by the mere act of ignoring it. Kat pulled his hand away, however, and looked him in the eyes.
"Tell me," she said firmly. "I'll believe you."
Damien faltered for a minute, then went on. "My uncle--there was this--cult, sort of--I don't remember much--I was really little--"
"What happened to your uncle?" Kat prodded gently.
"He was shot--trying to help us," Damien said, putting his head in his hands. By now tears were dropping from those unusual golden eyes of his. "All I remember is that all of us were in this cult but I don't remember what it was. There were these people in black robes, and this fire--there was fire everywhere." He shuddered. "They built this big fire around us and we couldn't get out, and my uncle came to help us."
Kat couldn't believe half of what she was hearing, though she knew he must be telling what he at least thought to be the truth. He wouldn't make up a lie like this. However, she said nothing, and nodded for him to go on.
"That's all I know," he said, lifting his head from his hands to reveal his tear-streaked face and red-rimmed eyes. "I ran away, and I heard this shot--and I just kept running." He stopped, as if searching to remember something, and then it hit him. "He gave me this before we ran." He pulled out his own necklace, a silver D. Kat had never noticed it before since he'd always worn it under his shirt, and had thought it to be just an old chain he'd somehow taken a liking to. But he held it next to the golden D and they matched--exactly.
She looked at him.
"What kind of a cult?" she asked, still only half believing.
He shook his head. "I don't know.... They dressed in these dark robes with hoods, like they were the reverse KKK or something--the leader wore something on his head, some kind of skull with horns." He swept his hands back over his head, mimicking what he was seeing in his mind.
Kat sat up abruptly, something striking a chord. "A goat?"
Damien shrugged and sniffed, wiping his eyes. "I don't know. Could've been."
"How old did you say you were?"
"About six. I don't remember well. I tried to forget. It's that that I've been having dreams about all this time." He let out a shuddery sigh. "I guess I can't forget."
Kat took his arm and stood up, forcing him to stand with her. "Come on," she said. "We're going to find this FD."
He gave her a confused look. "But how do we know who he is? Or where he lives?"
"I don't know about where, but I know who."
"And how do you know that, when I don't even know?" Damien pressed, his voice rising slightly.
Kat looked in his eyes. "Because," she replied, "I believe your uncle is still alive."
**********
Rewritten 2007 version. Not proofed.
CHAPTER ONE
MEMORIES
July 1989
LIGHT FILTERED IN through the open window and a gentle breeze fanned in through the screen, the sound of birdsong and the occasional car passing by accompanying them. As soon as the sunlight hit the bed, its occupant's eyes flickered open, then squinted nearly to a close again. Damien had to blink a few times to get used to the glare, and the sound of his heart thudding in his chest kept him from hearing the birds and cars for a moment. After a pause he tilted his head back at an uncomfortable angle and saw the window and the image of tree limbs overhead, upside-down behind him. The leaves were swishing in the wind and somewhere in the distance a dog barked.
Damien let out his breath and his heartbeat started to slow. He lay on his bed listening for anything else for a moment, then slowly sat up and rubbed at his eyes. There were no running or shouting noises. Apparently he hadn't screamed this time. Thank goodness for small miracles.
The dreams had apparently returned again. It wasn't as if they ever permanently went away, for they always came back like a dull ache in his bones, but once in a while they would give him a short respite. He could tolerate them, as long as he didn't wake up the household with his screaming, which unfortunately happened now and then; he guessed that the rest of the household had just gotten used to scrambling out of bed and pounding on his door to tell him to wake up and shut up, they were trying to sleep, but that didn't mean it wasn't still embarrassing. Today, the dream had faded out before he could wake up too noisily, but it had been close for a moment. The sunlight had seemed so much like firelight falling upon his face...
He shivered despite the summer warmth and swung his legs out of bed, still rubbing his eyes. At least it was the fire dream, and not the other one, the one about his sister. He tried not to think about this as he got up and stretched and rubbed a crick out of his neck. He was the only one who had noticed the dream this time, so there was no point in dwelling on it. He had better things to do than lie in bed all day.
He opened his door and peered out into the hallway, just to make sure that there were no belated answers to the nightmare, before chastising himself for acting so silly and stepping out of his room. The house's main hallway opened up before him, leading past the kitchen and to the den. He could hear talking already, then reminded himself that the sun had been relatively high in the sky so he must have slept in. Not that he was much of an early riser, but still, he usually managed to be up before most of the others living in the spacious house.
He nodded a bit groggily at someone as they passed--an assorted handful of family members, friends, and boarders lived under the same roof, so he didn't even pay attention to who it was--and made his way toward the den. He halted just outside the kitchen to look within. A few of the residents were in here, putting away dishes, so breakfast must have passed, but Damien didn't feel very hungry as it was. As soon as he recognized the female figure standing at the sink, back to him, his spirits lightened a little and he slipped silently into the kitchen and made his way toward her. The others glanced at him but then went back to their various tasks, and he reached out to put his hands over the woman's eyes.
"If you do that, then you're doing the dishes," she said, before he could even touch her.
Damien dropped his hands and didn't hesitate to give a mock pout when his girlfriend Katrina turned around to look at him, putting a sudsy hand on her hip. "How come you always spoil my fun?" he insisted. "And how did you even do that...?" he added, a bit mystified, as she turned back to the sink and started rinsing dishes. He looked at his hands. "Am I a noisy tiptoer or something...?"
"You've pulled the same routine every week since I've moved in here," Kat replied, still busy with the dishes. "You're kind of predictable."
"Predictable?" Damien exclaimed, and moved to stand beside her, waving a hand. "I'm anything but! Admit it, this is the first time I've tried this routine after breakfast."
"After lunch," Kat said, and when he just stared at her she turned and gave him a look. "It's after noon, Dami. You slept through lunch."
Damien blinked. "Really?" A pensive frown settled over his face. "I guess I need to start getting to bed sooner..."
"Well, at least you can't blame that on me." Kat held up a dripping hand, one finger pointed upward, as soon as he opened his mouth. "Don't even say it. Like I said--you're predictable."
Damien's mouth twitched and he took a step back to lean against the counter, crossing his arms. "Well--don't say I didn't offer or anything. As it happens I was up late writing lyrics since I didn't have anything else to keep my mind occupied..."
"Oh--yeah," Kat said, and her face finally lit up and she turned to face him. "I keep meaning to ask! Your second album. You must be writing them down like wildfire if you plan to get that thing out in time."
"It'll be on time," Damien said. "Just see. I have a way of getting things done fast." This time he held up his finger. "Don't even say it."
"So is that what all that sleeping was about, then?" Her own mouth twitched. "You have a mistress now? And she keeps you up late writing? I guess you dreamed up the rest of the album while you were zonked out, right?"
Immediately all of the blood drained from Damien's face and his smile disappeared. The image of flames leapt up in his mind's eye; he hurried to shove it to the back of his head, where it wouldn't bother him so much, but the damage had already been done. Kat's brow furrowed as if she were puzzled, then she let out a sigh and crossed her arms again with a resigned look. Damien bit the inside of his mouth and mentally cursed himself for being not only predictable but obvious.
"Not again, Dami," Kat said.
"Again what?" Damien asked, a bit too defensively. "I told you I was up late writing."
"Yeah, and since when does writing make you look like that?" Her eyes hardened slightly. "It's those dreams again, isn't it? I thought I said you should try getting some help about that."
"They'll go away," he replied, a trace of stubbornness working its way into his voice. He avoided her eyes now. "They always do."
"Yes, and then they come right back again. You've been having these dreams ever since I met you, and before that even. Can't you just tell me what they're about? At least?"
"They're nothing," Damien said. Half of him felt like arguing and defending himself, but the other, tired half won out, and he forced an unconvincing smile instead. "Just forget it, okay? Since there were no interruptions I actually got some decent work done last night--though interruptions aren't unwelcome."
Katrina stared at him hard for a moment, then rolled her eyes with a gusty sigh and turned back to the sink. "What was it I was saying about predictable? I can never get a word out of you..."
"You just haven't tried the right word yet," he said as she wiped off her hands. "And like I said, I'm hardly predictable! This is the first time I've tried that routine after lunch. There, doesn't that count for something? Effort at least?"
"If that's the same effort you use for your songs, then you're really going to need a lot more work."
"Oh, ouch," Damien said, putting a hand to his chest as if she'd just shot him. "No wonder there were no interruptions last night." He caught her by the wrist as she started to turn away from the sink and whirled her around so abruptly that she bumped into him, and he kissed her. He felt the tendons in her wrist tense, but just for a second, and couldn't keep the smirk from his face.
"Your nose is cold," Kat murmured.
"You can warm it up for me," he offered.
She rolled her eyes again. "Pre-dic-ta-ble." She pushed herself away from him and headed for the entrance into the den. "And don't try that trick on me, either. I mean for us to really sit down sometime and actually talk about those dreams, because if you don't get them out in the open then they'll bother you forever."
Damien rolled his own eyes heavenward and let out an exaggerated sigh, starting to follow her. "Who's predictable? I've said a million times..."
The doorbell rang, cutting into his halfhearted argument, which was just as well as he didn't feel like arguing. Everyone glanced up from what they were doing and toward the utility room, where the back door was located; "I'll get it," Damien and Kat both ended up saying at once, and they gave each other dirty looks before heading out to answer it together. Damien made sure to keep pace with Kat, as he was sure she could easily shove him out of the way if she really wanted to.
"Predictable," she said under her breath.
"I'm rubber and you're glue," he whispered in response, unable to think of anything wittier.
He opened the inside door, which just gave her the chance to step out onto the porch and open the outside door. A uniformed delivery man stood outside on the stoop, peering through the screen; he touched a hand to his cap as Kat opened the screen door and held up a clipboard.
"Good afternoon, Ma'am; is there a...'Mr. Damien' at this residence...?"
Damien couldn't help the smirk that came to his face this time. He never used his last name in his career, and it wasn't printed anywhere in the liner notes of his first album, so he supposed that it was no wonder that some people still referred to him as "Mr. Damien." Still, he wondered if the same thing ever happened to Prince or Madonna. "Right here," he said, stepping onto the porch and reaching over Kat's shoulder, just to annoy her, which worked.
"Got a package," the delivery man said, passing over the clipboard. "Sign here, please."
Damien took the clipboard, ignoring the way that Kat crossed her arms and glared at him as he scribbled down his name. He handed it back and was passed a small package in return. "Have a nice day," the delivery man said, touching his hat again and jogging back to his waiting truck. Damien and Kat watched him hop in and drive off before turning their attention back to the package.
"Guess he isn't a fan," Damien mused.
"Who cares about that?" Kat nearly snapped. "Who's that from?"
Damien glanced at the addresses on the package and frowned. "'FD,'" he read. "That's it. No return address." He looked at the other address and his frown only grew. "That's weird...whoever FD is, they know my last name."
"Well, I know your last name too."
"Yeah, but how many other people out there do? I didn't include it on the album..." He looked the package over--plain brown wrapping, plain packing tape, nothing outstanding. "That's odd."
"Are you expecting anything?"
"Like what? The only thing they deliver in packages like this is porn." Damien let out a cackle. "Oops. Did I say that out loud?" He shook the box. "Not ticking, so it can't be a bomb. And it's too small to be those magazines I ordered..."
"Well, open it already!" Kat exclaimed, shoving him so that he bumped into the doorframe. "Or are you going to make me stand here all day waiting?"
"I didn't know you were into those kind of magazines," Damien protested, then dodged a swipe from her hand. "Okay!" he exclaimed with a laugh, starting to tear at the paper. "But don't say I didn't warn you. You're the one who keeps complaining about predictability..."
Kat just crossed her arms and started tapping her foot as he pulled off the plain brown wrapper to expose a plain brown box, which he opened up to display the plain tissue paper within. "Okay," Damien said again as he ruffled through this, "this is getting kind of annoying. It's probably some psycho who didn't like the first album..." He pulled aside a last piece of the tissue paper and then froze, staring down into the box. A second later it fell from his hands and struck the porch floor with a muted thud, making Kat jump a little. She uncrossed her arms and furrowed her brow at him.
"Dami--?" When he didn't immediately respond she stooped down and quickly snatched up the box. "What is it--? Should we call the police--?" She had to push aside the tissue paper that had fallen back into place, fully expecting to see something like a death threat or a bloody ear or--something equally morbid--which was why she was confused when nothing of the sort was revealed. Instead all that she saw was a small piece of folded paper, and what looked like a golden stylized letter D on a chain.
Kat's frown grew and she carefully lifted the necklace out of the box, letting it dangle before her eyes so that the light glinted on it. The curve of the D was pointed and narrow at the top, widening to a squared-off end on the bottom, and it was about three and a half inches in height. She searched it for any sort of inscription but found none, not even a karat measurement. Noticing the little piece of paper again, she took it out and unfolded it, hoping for some sort of explanation behind the odd object. She didn't get one.
One is silver,
One is gold.
Take the new but
Keep the old.
--F. D.
"FD again," Kat murmured half to herself, then looked at Damien, who was still staring at the porch as if the box still lay at his feet. "Dami? Who sent this? What does it mean? Does this person know you or something?"
In response Damien slowly shook his head. "This...this is some kind of joke," he whispered, his face white. "A sick joke. It has to be."
"Is it a threat?" Kat asked again, still not sure what to think. "If it is, we can call the police, they'll listen." She looked at the D. "It doesn't...seem very threatening, though..." She peered at him once more. "If it's a joke then what's it trying to say--? Do you know who sent it?"
Damien just shook his head again, seeming dazed. "Nobody should even know about that...this can't be it...I heard the gunshots, they had to be real..."
"Gunshots?" Kat echoed, her eyes growing wide. "Damien, what the hell's going on?" When he didn't answer, she grasped his arm and tugged on it; when that produced no reaction, she slapped him in the face. Damien blinked a few times before lifting his head to look at her. His hand crept up to his cheek and he furrowed his brow as if unable to believe that she'd just done that.
"Damien," Kat said again, trying to keep her voice firm but level, "tell me what's going on. Who is this FD and who was shot?"
Damien stared at her for a moment, then his eyes seemed to mist over and he looked away, at the screen windows. "You wouldn't believe me," he said sullenly. "Nobody would."
Kat's mouth nearly fell open and her voice stuck in her throat. She snapped it shut and took a swift step to the side so that he was forced to look at her, and the look he got on his face was one that a small child might get, his lip almost sticking out as his eyes darkened. "What--?" she exclaimed, then thrust the box out at him. She was surprised to see him flinch back as if expecting a snake to strike him, a flicker of fear crossing his face, and she drew the box back. "Wouldn't believe what?" she demanded. "If you don't start talking--"
"Look," Damien said, and she recognized more than defensiveness in his voice, "some things, you just don't talk about, okay? Evidently somebody dug up some info on me and decided to play a joke. Ha ha, funny, joke's over. You can toss it away now." He grabbed the box from her hands and tossed it onto the porch swing, but the slip of paper fluttered out as he did so. He snatched at it a few times in an almost comic fashion before grasping hold of it, and looked ready to crumple it up and toss it as well, when he must have seen what was written upon it and he froze again. He was silent for a moment or two, then his fingers curled around the paper to hide it in his fist, and he slowly turned to look Kat in the eyes. She bit down an exclamation of annoyance, seeing the look there.
"If I tell you," he said, "you won't tell anybody else--right?"
"Dami..." Kat looked confused. "What happened? Whatever it is it can't be nearly as awful as..."
"You won't tell anybody--right?" Damien pressed.
Kat nodded quickly, giving a helpless shrug. "All--all right! I promise. What's this about? Why can't you tell anybody else?"
"Because nobody would believe it," Damien said, "and I doubt you will, either." He suddenly sank down into one of the porch chairs, looking exhausted, and dropped his head into his hands; Kat waited a moment before following suit, and waited for him to speak again. It was a very long time before he did.
"Those dreams I keep having," he said, and she leaned forward a little. "I keep dreaming about something that happened when I was little. It was my uncle. My mom's brother. I was named after him. He had a necklace just like that." He lifted his head and pointed at the box on the swing.
"I'm not sure I get it," Kat said. "It's just a necklace. Anybody could have made one like it, you said so yourself that somebody could've looked you up."
"But I've only ever seen two necklaces like that and Uncle Damien was the only other person who had one," Damien said, and started tugging on a chain around his neck. He wore a small silver cross outside his shirt; when he pulled out the second chain and showed her the silver "D" dangling from it, he said, "You honestly mean you've never noticed me wearing this before? It's not like I ever take it off."
"Well--I've noticed it before, yeah," Kat said, "but it's just that--well--I was always more preoccupied with other things." She blushed.
"Uncle Damien gave me this when I last saw him," Damien said, putting the necklace back, "and that was when he was shot. And killed. I heard the shots and there's no way they would've let him escape after all that, so somebody's looked me up and this is some sick practical joke."
Kat held up her hands, shaking her head. "Huh--? Dami--could you backtrack a little?! You say your uncle was murdered and nobody believes you about that--? Have you ever told the police--?"
"Nobody believes you when you say a cult tried to kill your family," Damien cut in, and that effectively silenced her, though the look that she got on her face must have been obvious. Damien's eyes darkened again. "See? That's the exact same look they would get. That's the exact same look everybody gets, when you tell them crazy stuff like that."
Kat forced herself to take a breath and let it out. "Just...just tell me what happened," she said. "All of it, this time." When he hesitated she reached out and grasped his hand. "I promise I'll listen...and I won't tell you you're crazy."
Damien bit his lip. "You didn't say you'll believe it."
"Well, something's been weighing on you so much all this time that you keep dreaming about it, hasn't it? Just tell me, and I promise I won't laugh you off. But you have to tell it all."
He stared at her for another moment or so, then let out a small breath and looked down at the floor. "When I was really little," he said in a halting voice, "all of us--my brothers and sisters and me--we were in this...group, sort of. I don't know much about it because I was so little. All I seem to remember is being in a big room, and being scared all the time that someone would come for us--I don't know--maybe whoever the leader was. They must've had a leader, he must've been the guy in the field."
"Field?"
"That's what I keep dreaming about. My mother and father were in there too. I never saw my father much...but my mother...she was always there, keeping an eye on us. I honestly think I don't have more bad things to dream about, just because she was always there." He took a breath and let it out. "Her brother--my uncle Damien--somehow she got through to him, and he came to help us get out. I don't remember all the details--I was like, what, six or something?--all I know is it was dark, and I was confused, and we were running through this big field...and then they caught up with us..."
He shivered despite the warmth, and drew in on himself. When he didn't continue speaking, Kat slowly got up--she felt that to stand up abruptly might startle him--and went over to the swing. She retrieved the box and went back to her seat, taking out the little golden D and looking at it for a brief moment before putting it in Damien's hand and closing his fingers around it. He blinked and sucked in a breath, then resumed talking, as if she'd just turned a key.
"We were running through this field," he said, staring off into space, "and we were almost going to make it, I could tell, but they showed up. I don't know...I guess they'd known all along. They cut us off. The leader...I couldn't see his face. But he and his guys were in black. They must have expected us. They set this big fire, and it surrounded us, and they were on the outside and we were on the inside...it was so bright it hurt my eyes...I think I remember crying but I'm not sure. It feels like a dream, but whenever I dream about it it feels like it's still happening."
"They were going to burn all of you...?" Kat asked, trying to suspend her disbelief.
He shrugged and reached up to shakily wipe at one eye. "I don't know. The guy up on the bluff was yelling something about a 'sacrifice,' and then when my uncle showed up he started yelling even more. I think he was glad to see him at first, but then when we started running..." He dropped his hand into his lap. "We had to leave our parents behind. They stayed. I always wonder why they stayed. My uncle ran with us. He's the only reason why we got through that fire--I know we never would've done it alone. He gave me this silver D and told us to keep running, and we did, and then--" Another shrug. "Gunshots. I heard them...they were so loud. I just kept running...I never even looked back. I knew he was dead even if I didn't understand anything else. I knew that when people got them angry, they ended up dead--and that's exactly what they did to Uncle Damien." He opened his hand to look at the gold D. "This can't be his," he whispered, his eyes welling up. "It must be a joke."
He stopped speaking, and a long silence drew out between them. "You said it was a cult," Kat said softly after a while, and he peered at her as if checking for disbelief or mockery. "Do you have any idea what kind? What makes you say it was a cult?"
"I don't know," Damien said with a third shrug, a small bite entering his voice. "Maybe the fact that they wanted to sacrifice all of us?" He appeared to force himself to settle down. "All I know is we were always kept in this big room with lots of other people...kids and women...not many guys...whenever I asked Mom about Dad, she would just say that he was out or busy or something...and they dressed all weird, especially when we were running. They were in black, except for the guy up on the bluff, and he was in black too but he had a red sash or something and something weird over his head."
Kat furrowed her brow. "Over his head--? Like a hat?"
"No, not a hat, though the other guys wore hoods. Some kind of mask." He swept his free hand up over his head. "With horns."
Kat sat up straight. "A goat mask?"
"I don't know. Could've been." He sniffed and rubbed his eyes. "All I know is, whenever I dream, I keep seeing flames, and that mask, and hearing those gunshots...now you know why I stay up late and tend to wake everybody up all the time?" He began fiddling with the D. "And all this time I've just been wanting to forget...I guess I can't forget. Because if I keep seeing it after so many years..."
He trailed off when Kat stood up, taking the gold D and the note from him and putting them back in the box. "Come on," she said. "And we'll go find this FD."
Damien's brow furrowed. "Huh--? I don't even know who that is. For all I know it's one of those psychos from that cult, playing a trick on me!"
"I doubt it's one of them," Kat said, "because why would they give this to you--just hand it over? And not try something more direct? You said yourself that they were going to kill all of you. I doubt they'd just mail you a necklace and a poem and leave it at that. This doesn't smack of a threat, it smacks of a reminder. A notice."
Damien got to his feet and followed her as she opened the screen door and stepped outside. "Hold on!" he exclaimed, catching the door as she descended the steps. "A notice of what? If it's not a threat or a joke then what could anyone possibly be wanting to tell me with that?"
Kat at last halted in her steps and turned to look him in the eyes. "That your uncle is still alive."
Continue:
"2: Finding FD" 
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