Chapter 7: The Rains of Abraboca

Once upon a time in France, there was sky that shrieked with fire and whispered with rain. In that sky, sitting in a big, lumbering bird made of metal and patchwork parts, was a man who looked at himself in the mirror every morning and dared to call himself a soldier. He would tighten his belt, buckle his buckles, and smile his pilot smile. A man of the Royal Flying Corps, beating the German dogs back to their stinking, putrid hovels. A star. A hero. A bloody, blood mess.

     The man who dared to call himself a soldier took to the sky on a day just like any other day. It was April, and the skies were on fire. And the spark that lit them never ceased, burning the heavens over and over and over again. Only silence filled the empty spaces between the shouts and the crackle of bullets and the shriek of burning metal. The world slept below, and the skies burned bright above France. And the man who dared call himself a soldier saw the fire and the dead, empty sky, and told himself that No, there’s nothing. Just a void. Just a big, gaping void waiting to swallow us all. There’s no God. No glory. No holy reward waiting at the end of tunnel of light. We’re shambling stacks of meat and brittle bone with only our brains and our c***s to guide us.

      That coward watched comrades turn to ash. That coward looked at the cold, dead corpse of a little girl and felt nothing. That coward just stared while Bernie Lutz burned alive on the banks of the Scarpe. And here and now, in the darkened sanctuary of Abraboca’s only church, that coward stood blinking and dumb as his doom marched towards him with open arms.

     It’s him, he thought. Not just Bernie. Not just Naomi. Not just stupid Parish. It’s HIM. All of him. The end. The unknowable darkness. The fire above France that burned and burned and burned and did nothing but eat. It took so many years to find me here, but now here we are - reunited at last, John Swansea and the fire of Hell.

     “Happy to see us?” Bernie Lutz cocked his head and grinned wider than human flesh would allow. “It’s been so long, John Swansea. Do you remember this face? You watched it burn. Yes you did yes you did yes you did did did did did.”

     Jennifer took aim, pointing her gun at Bernie’s head. Even as she did it, I could see her eyes darting around, fixing on the daughter she never had. Bernie kept grinning, kept walking.

     “Oh, mommy, you’re so silly.” When he spoke, the high, soft voice of Naomi came screeching out. “Don’t you know your toy is empty? Don’t you know, know, know? You tried to shoot us earlier. Poor Richard took those stupid little metals in his stupid little head. Even if your toy did have little bullets, it would not work, mommy dearest. No it most certainly would not.”

     “Shut up,” was all Jennifer said. “Shut up or -”

     “Pooooooor Richard Parish.” Bernie spat a wad of ash onto the faded wooden floor. “It took him so long to change. So long to adjust. He was a dead man walking when he made his little confession. It comes crashing down near the end. The memories blur, the minds twist, the worlds collide. It’s hard to tell where you end and He begins. You’re part of Him, then, like we’re part of Him. Fthaggua is king. Fthaggua is lord. Fthaggua is rising and rising and rising some more. The girl is all we require. One more and He will rise like the fire and tear this world asunder.”

      Now, here’s the thing: I wasn’t okay with that.

      “Jennifer, no.” I snatched the gun out of her hand and tossed it away. “Take Darcy. Take her now, and -”

      “Mister Swansea, I’m scared. Are we going to -”

      “No, honey. I swear, we’ll -”

      “Ia! Ia! Fthaggua fhtagn! Ia! Ia! Fthaggua fhtagn!”

    “Can you hear them singing?” Naomi stepped forward and stood side by side with Bernie Lutz. Two children, lost and broken and damned forever. “Can you hear the darkness smiling? This world will burn and humanity will turn to ash in the fire of His new creation.”

     Darcy rose from the pew, ducking behind me. The hordes of hell were advancing, with Bernie and Naomi leading the pack. I scooped Darcy into my arms and retreated past the altar towards the stain-glass Christ. Jennifer stood still, something bobbing inside her throat. I opened my mouth to scream, but no words came out.

     “Naomi,” she said over the din of screams and chants and demon song. “Oh, Naomi. My sweet, sweet Naomi. My little girl. You grew up so fast and mommy missed you. She missed you so much.”

     Like a woman possessed, Jennifer waded past the hordes of fire and smoke towards the only thing that mattered to her. She wrapped her arms around Naomi, who twisted and turned and tried to get away. And when they were locked tight and there was nowhere to run, Naomi threw her head back and screamed. Her cry became fire, her fire became ash, her ash became nothing. Her skin crackled and burned, and Jennifer Matthew’s flesh caught with it. She never screamed. She never cried. She never let go.

     “We see your heart, John Swansea,” Lutz was saying. He was so close now. All he had to do was reach out and choke the life out of me, Darcy, the world. “Fthaggua sees all. He sees your cowardice. He sees your soul and finds it lacking.”

      Naomi convulsed, flailing her arms around. Tears of ember flowed down her cheeks as she burned, as Jennifer burned. It was hard to tell where one ended and the other began. It was all fire, just burning, burning.

     “Darcy. When it’s over, run.” I kissed her and buried her in her my chest and promised to never let go. “Run as far as you can.”

     I don’t think I’ll ever know what happened next. All I know is that something tugged inside my chest, made me swing my arm back at the patchwork Christ that adorned the wall. The ball of my wrist collided with the glass, and the rain was falling again. Not just a little bit. All of it. The whole window turned to hail in a moment.

     Jennifer was screaming now, but so was Naomi and Bernie and all the others. The coward who called himself John Swansea screamed, too. The rain was falling, broken and sharp and deadly. My back cried out in agony, but I gritted my teeth and remembered what it was like to feel something for once. Darcy was silent, and I could feel her cold hand gripping mine.  

     “Ia! Ia!” The voices were strained now, agony scorching every lyric. “Ia! Ia! Ia! Ia! Iiiiiaaaaaaa!”

     And when it was over, when the last shard had fallen and the singing turned to shrieks, I ran. Past Bernie, past the mob of fire, past the burnt chunk of flesh that had once been mother and daughter, out the door and into the weeping din of Abraboca. I ran and kept on running. Darcy was in my arms, but she might as well have weighed nothing. The darkness was palpable, hungry and sad, so I let it have its way. I let the darkness swallow us.