Desdemona, Tag Cavello [classic literature list TXT] 📗

of problem. Classes had just let out, and there were kids on the playground. Nuns called for them to come inside out of the rain. They listened, but only just. Screams and laughter filled the air.

Sunny took one look at all of it, shook her head, and led Dante to the end of the school building, where it met the church. A door with a metal push bar told them to go away. Ignoring it, Sunny pushed the bar. Next moment they were in a dark, silent hallway, very long. The door clicked shut. Smells of cedar wood and incense descended upon them. Other doors, all closed, brooded in deep shadows. At the far end of the hall Dante could see a candle flickering.

“Let’s keep moving,” Sunny whispered. She didn’t sound quite so determined anymore.

“What’s the matter?” Dante asked.

“Scared.”

“Of what?”

Her eyes squeezed shut. “Upward-going souls, Dante. But I’m all right. Let’s just do this.”

They started toward the candle. Sunny’s boot heels clicked on bare wood. Closer, closer. Though soft lights in the ceiling provided some glow, it was the candle Dante stayed fixed upon, as if its light were the only light, and somehow Sunny’s ring would appear next to it.

They came to a T intersection. The candle rested on a plain wooden table too small to use for anything else. On the wall above it hung a crucifix that made Sunny recoil.

“I’ll go this way,” she said, stepping backward.

“Alone?” Dante asked.

She glanced fearfully at the crucifix. Then: “I would like to be alone when I find Maris, yes.”

“Sunny, what are you going to do to her?”

“Nothing,” she insisted. “I just want my ring back.”

“That will happen faster if I’m with you.”

“It’ll happen faster when I make her regret ever stealing from me.”

“Don’t hurt her, Sunny. Like you said—just get the ring back.”

Sunny’s green eyes did not shine in the candle glow. They were like lamps that had been put out. But her teeth gnashed as she asked whether or not that was an order. Dante told her it was.

“Don’t worry then,” the girl replied in mock deadpan. “She’ll be perfectly safe.”

“What if I find her first?”

“You won’t. May I go now?”

“Yes. Good luck.”

Sunny stepped backward, until her body seemed to dematerialize in the gloom. Dante went the other way. There were fewer doors in this direction. He supposed that would make his job, whatever it was, easier. On the left a long window gave him a view of the nave. It was all but utterly black. He could see ghostly outlines of wooden benches. A lectern. A huge golden crucifix. The crucifix was lit so the weeping, suffering figure of Jesus, ten feet tall, could more conveniently shame his congregation.

Dante shook his head. This was no place to heal the sick, or have prayers answered. Were a sick baby to be carried to the lectern by Pope John Paul himself, that baby would eventually die. Prayers did nothing. Hope. Faith. Nothing. The phone to Heaven was a toy. Had to be, because Heaven didn’t exist. And even if it did, why, God would test one’s faith in Him by killing someone he loves. So His followers seemed to believe. Oh, the Lord made my little boy die of cancer to test my faith in Him. I believe, I believe. Praise Jesus, I believe. Dante didn’t get it. If God resided in all beating hearts, why were tests necessary?

“Tell your dad,” Dante said softly to the crucifix, “to just go ahead and give me an F.”

“Wisdom,” a voice responded near his shoulder, making him jump, “does not come from test scores.”

Shaya smiled peacefully in the gentle light. His eyeglasses twinkled like stars.

“If indeed that’s what you meant by F.”

“And where did you come from?” Dante was compelled to ask.

“I’ve been waiting around for you. And Maris for Sunny.”

“She’d like her ring back.”

Shaya nodded. “I know. She’ll get it.”

“Since when have followers of Christ thought it okay to steal?”

“Since the motivation for it is someone’s soul. Wouldn’t you break a car window to save a suffocating child?”

“Sunny isn’t suffocating.”

“She will be. She can’t breathe in the nave.”

Shaya took a step forward. Dante, though by no means on his home turf, stood his ground. “Is that where Maris is?” he demanded. “The nave?”

“That’s where everything is, Dante. And that’s where it’s all going to end for Sunny.”

“What are you talking about, you brain-washed, fanatical loon?”

Unscathed by this insult, Shaya continued to smile. “Saving a soul,” he replied.

“Sunny doesn’t need saving.”

“I know she doesn’t, Dante. I know.”

It was time to leave, Dante knew. To go get Sunny and quit this place, ring or no ring. But first he had to punch Shaya in the jaw. He balled his fist, swung it—

Shaya blocked it. His arm was like concrete. Pain shrieked through Dante’s bones.

“Don’t make me hit back,” the peace-loving boy said, sickeningly docile. “Please. Just wait here until it’s finished.”

Dante swung again. This time Shaya ducked. And when he came back up, a punch of his own caught Dante under the chin, laying him low.

“Sorry,” he heard Shaya say, as the church shadows grew darker. “Sorry.”

∞

Sunny watched her boyfriend disappear down the hall. Her end was not so dark as his. Not that it mattered. Her eyes worked perfectly well in low light. She walked pertly to the end of the hall, ready to snap Maris’ neck if need be. A window on her right let on the church nave. It was dark, but Sunny saw everything—benches, a lectern, Maris—just fine.

Maris!

She stood near the lectern, holding up Sunny’s ring. Behind her was a huge golden crucifix. Its light glowed in Maris’ blonde locks, setting it afire like the mane of a holy mare at the chariot of Elijah. Not unsettled in the least, Sunny went to the end of the hall, where a wooden door opened onto the nave. Her hand reached for the latch—

And froze.

To enter the nave, she knew, would automatically put her on borrowed time. The power of God and Christ would act as poison in her lungs, killing her within minutes.

Go back then, she told herself. Get Dante. He’ll take care of this.

Yes, he probably would, and Sunny was sorely tempted. But what she’d implied to him earlier was true: This wasn’t his fight. This was Sunny versus Maris. Darkness versus light. Truth versus lies.

Yes, but…how long can you hold your breath again, girl? Thirty seconds? Make that twenty-five if you’re moving around.

Sunny took several quick, deep breaths, getting her lungs ready for a workout. She looked back through the window. Maris was still in the nave, still waiting.

All right then, Sunny thought, here I come.

She returned to the door and inhaled the deepest breath she could—AHHHHHHH! Then she pulled the latch. The door clicked open. Knowing she didn’t have time to waste, Sunny went inside.

The pressure was immediate. A gentle squeeze from a cool blue hand. It bore down on Sunny’s chest, teasing away her air. She moved swiftly towards her adversary, who by now had noticed her presence and offered a welcoming smile. Sunny got halfway up the aisle when the door closed and locked. Stunned, she whirled on her heel. A young priest stood at latch. In his hand was a small gold key. On his face, unflinching severity.

Like so many drowning victims, Sunny realized the depth of her dilemma just as she began to run out of air. Her eyes scrambled over the empty benches for another door, another way out. All were too far off. Her small chest was hurting bad. She needed air.

“Don’t fight it,” Maris said, stepping gracefully from the lectern. “Just lie down. Lie down and let go.”

Sunny’s hands clasped over her lips. It was all the defense she had against breathing in. Her diaphragm buckled. She fell to her knees.

“That’s it,” said the other girl in a whisper.

Now completely out of air, Sunny was forced to inhale. Daggers rushed through her lungs. Tiny pieces of broken glass that made her scream in agony.

“This is a church,” the young priest said, from what sounded like a million miles away.

“My apologies for the noise,” Maris replied. “But really, once we begin, it won’t take long.”

Crumpled on the floor, unable to move, Sunny shrieked Dante’s name. She could see the priest’s black shoes. He had come to her side. Something wet splashed the back of her neck. The pain it caused was unspeakable. Screeching fire in a high wind. Gnawing teeth of a rabid bat. Unflinching sunlight on shadows centuries old.

“All Holy Saints of God,” the priest incanted.

“Intercede for us,” Maris said.

Sunny’s arms closed over her head. Her whole body shook with cold, as if walls of ice were closing round her, bending her bones.

And the priest: “Be merciful.”

And Maris: “Spare us, O Lord.”

“Dante! Dante please help!”

“Be merciful.”

“Graciously hear us, O Lord.”

“I can’t breathe! I can’t breathe!”

“Then stop trying, Sunny,” Maris said, kneeling next to her. “Let go.”

“From evil, deliver us, O Lord,” the priest continued.

Sunny turned her eyes to Maris. She was smiling affectionately, and her eyes were full of light as the cell of Peter in that time when his chains were loosed. And her words were the same as that one who loosed them. “Follow me,” she whispered, “follow me.”

And Sunny turned her eyes back to the floor of the church, beneath which her true father dwelled, pragmatic and just, unbound by complexity, impassioned, imprisoned. A creature who, observed without fear, took flight from his low tier, wings afire with that excessive purpose no one being should call his own, or tether in a cage for to acolytes be shown.

And Sunny called forth his name, and he heard, for the window of the nave was suddenly smashed to pieces, and there came the sound of its explosion, and darkness from the other side, and the darkness arrived, reaching for its mistress, gathering her in its embrace, while her screams stopped and moved to other throats less accustomed to what faith could not do, and what sometimes came to undo it.

∞

Dante awoke on the hall floor. There was blood in a pool around his lips. Shaya’s punch had knocked out a tooth. He raised his head, hoping to get a sense of how long he’d been out. The feat was scarcely possible, though his surroundings told a lie. He lay alone in the hall, as if an entire year had passed. There were no sounds, no movements. Even the candle flame was steady.

Spitting blood, Dante got to his feet. He called Sunny’s name. Her answer came in the form of a scream.

“Dante! Dante please help!”

His eyes flew open. Dante’s purpose came to life. His sluggishness disappeared. He ran to the other end of the hall, saw the nave entrance, and went back. Somehow he knew that entrance would be locked. No problem. The nave had a window, and Dante, a bludgeon. He yanked the table from underneath the candle in one swift move. The candle flew off like a rocket. Holding the table by its legs, he went back to the window, lifted, and smashed.

Glass flew in a piercing spray. It covered the floor, the benches, its chaotic music echoing off illusionistic vaults high above. A blonde girl whom Dante took to be Maris screamed. A priest leaped backward from a crumpled shape at his feet. One look told Dante everything he needed to know. Dropping the table, he ran towards the shape. The priest intercepted him.

“Deliver us!” he screamed. “Deliver us from the snares of the devil!”

Dante gave him a hard shove. The priest stumbled backward over a bench. His Bible struck the floor on its spine, flopping open to who alone knew what page. It mattered not at all to Dante. Calling Sunny’s name, he knelt beside her. She didn’t answer. Her breath came in short, wheezing strokes.

“It’s all right, baby,” he told her, “I’m here, I’m here.”

He scooped her from the floor. From here there were two ways out—front door or back. Wanting Sunny clear of