Everwild

CHAPTER 40 The Changeling and the Golem

Mikey McGill had certain realities to face.

Allie was gone, the bridge was uncrossable, and Nick had disappeared into a vortex. Were it not for his own selfish intervention, Allie might have arrived in time to save Nick-and maybe she wouldn't have been taken hostage. Had Mikey not been so captivated by his own misery, perhaps she would have been here with him right now, instead of on a train heading west.

Now he had a choice. He could rage in fury at his own pigheaded stupidity, and wallow in self-loathing-that would certainly be the easy, familiar thing to do-or, he could, for once, choose to do something useful.

Later that night, he returned to his minions, and called them to him one by one. He then carefully rearranged their distorted, twisted faces, bringing them back to normal, and, when he could, made them a little better-looking than when they started.

"I release you from my service, now and forever," he told them. "Now go home."

They lingered just long enough to be sure he really meant it, then they headed back for Nashville.

Once they were gone, Mikey made his way back to Graceland, where the dozen or so of Nick's Afterlights still kept a vigil, not knowing what to do. Mikey told them to go as well.

"We can't just leave," they said.

"Yes, you can," Mikey told them. "Go back to wherever you came from. Tell stories to your friends about the Ogre, only don't call him that. Call him by his name. Nick."

Reluctantly they left. Then, after they had all gone, Mikey turned and strode straight into the vortex.

Mikey began to feel the effects of it right away-a shifting inside of himself like the rumbling stomach of the living, but this feeling was all over his body. He followed the overpowering smell of chocolate to the Jungle Room where a layer of the stuff, about an inch thick, covered the entire floor.

Even before he stepped into the room, he began to change. He grew fingers from his knees, and nostrils in his armpits. The fingers turned to flowers and his eyes slid down to his elbows. He had no control over what Graceland was doing to him and he could see what it had already done to Nick. He had no idea whether a vortex was a living thing, or just a thing, but he knew he couldn't fight it, and so he didn't try. He gave in, letting it turn him into a creature in constant flux. He had a mission here, and as long as he could remember that mission, the vortex could not destroy him.

He got down on his knees and began to work. When his arms turned to tentacles, he used them. When they turned to flippers he used them. When he had no appendages at all, he waited until he sprouted something new. He worked, training his mind entirely on his task. It took more than an hour, and when he emerged, he was wholly unrecognizable. Changes came so quickly now, he did not become any one thing entirely before changing to something else. Yet somehow he made it out the front door rolling, squirming, crawling-and he pulled with him a very heavy trash can-since the vortex existed in both worlds, he was able to pull it like any other Everlost artifact. It said "recyclables only," but he had removed the cans and bottles it had held, and now it was full of rich, creamy fudge-the kind that melts in your mouth-but he had no intentions of eating it.

Now that he was out on the porch, beyond the outer edge of the vortex, he sat down trying to slow the changes that swept through his body. He was changing once each second, but he concentrated, trying to make each form last, until the changes were coming once every five seconds. Then he took control, defining the changes as they came, choosing the forms he would assume.

Only one problem remained now. He could no longer remember his original form. Was he a creature with arms or with wings? Did he walk on all fours or did he have eight legs? Was he a creature more at home in water than land? Did he have a tail?

He found that trying to remember himself was impossible, so he tried to remember someone else. Her. Allie. Allie… He could see her face clearly in his mind, then tried to see himself through her eyes. It was by finding her that Mikey found himself.

One by one he pushed forth arms and legs, drew in any stray horns, and made his unsightly spider spinneret shrink into standard human hind-quarters. By and by he became who he was the irascible, short-tempered, imperfect, but occasionally heroic Mikey McGill.

Once he was done, and he was sure his form would stick, he dragged the trash can from Graceland, and found a deadspot on the stone path of a nearby park. It was late now- long past midnight, but he did not care about the time. He webbed his fingers, effectively turning his hands into shovels, and began to scoop out the fudge, creating a pile on the ground. The stuff had hardened in the cool night to be the consistency of clay. That made it easier to work with. From the lump before him, he began to fashion a figure. A head, shoulders, a torso, arms, and legs. If he could rearrange the features of other Afterlights, surely he could shape an entire being from scratch as long as he had the raw materials.

There is an ancient story about a rabbi who, desperate to protect his village from destroyers, created a man out of earthen clay. He put into it all the care, all the hope, all the faith that he could muster. He danced around it, called on the secret name of God, and thus willed his clay creation to life, and it walked the earth. A golem. A creature not quite alive, but not quite dead.

Mikey was no rabbi, did absolutely no dancing, and rather than mud, he worked in a mixture of sugar, butter, and the brown ground powder of a rainforest bean-but like his sister, Mikey had a will that could move the universe.

When he was done, the chocolate golem was not much to look at. Its shape was roughly human, but it was little more than a mound on the ground. Its face had no features, but Mikey hoped that wouldn't matter.

It was early dawn now. The sun was threatening the eastern horizon. Newsboys in the living world were hurling papers featuring headlines about the destruction of the Union Avenue Bridge.

Mikey put the finishing touches on the golem. He scraped a line for its mouth; and above it, pressed his thumbs in, creating indentations for its eyes; then beneath the eyes, he shaped a small bump of a nose. He poked two holes for ears, and then put his lips close to one of the holes and whispered

"Wake up…"

A moment passed. Then a moment more. And then two eyelids rose, revealing a pair of eyes that were the same shade of brown. The golem blinked, then blinked again.

"Am I?" said the golem. "Am I?"

"Are you what?"

"Am I… here?"

"Yes," said Mikey, "you are. Do you know your name?"

The golem looked at him blankly. "Do I have a name?"

"Yes. Your name is Nick."

"My name is… Nick."

"Say it again," urged Mikey.

"My name is Nick!"

The holes on the side of the golem's head grew into actual ears. The slit that was its mouth became a pair of lips.

"My name is Nick!" the golem said again, and sat itself up. "Is your name Nick?"

"No. I'm Mikey."

"Mikey McGill!" said the golem, pleased with itself. Its shapeless body took on human curves. Its lump of a nose spread with two nostrils.

"What do you remember?"

"I don't know," said the golem. He looked around, then said. "Allie!" And suddenly his mittenlike hand divided into fingers and a thumb. He looked at them curiously.

"Yes! Yes, Allie!" said Mikey.

"But… but what's an Allie?" asked the golem.

Mikey sighed. This wasn't going to be easy, this wasn't going to be quick, but in Everlost, time was a plentiful thing.

"Allie's a friend," Mikey told him, "and you and I have to help her."

The golem stood, then walked, and when Mikey felt confident that the golem was sure-footed enough, he led them both west, toward the Mississippi, until they could no longer fight the wind.

There was no way they could cross the bridge, there was no way they could forge the river…

… But there was another way to get to the other side.

Now, as they stood in place, they both began to sink into the living world. The golem looked down, to see his brown ankles had already disappeared into the earth. "We sink if we don't keep moving!" he said. "I remember now!"

"Good," said Mikey. "Keep on remembering."

They were up to their knees now, but Mikey made no move to pull himself out, and so neither did the chocolate golem.

"Hold on to me," Mikey told him. "Hold on to me tight, and whatever you do, don't let go."

The golem did as he was told, but as they sunk to their waists, he said, "I don't think this is a good idea." "It's all right," said Mikey. "We're just taking a trip."

"Where are we going?"

"We're going under the river, coming up on the other side. And then we're heading west to find Allie." Mikey forced his feet and his hands to grow into long, jagged claws, just perfect for moving through the earth. He had once clawed his way back from the center of the earth, he had to believe he could do this!

The wind still blew strong and relentless, but it did not penetrate the earth. Soon they had sunk to their chests.

"I'm scared," said the golem.

"So am I, Nick." But then Mikey thought about Allie, and came to understand that there was another feeling in him far more powerful than fear. A feeling that made his afterglow turn lavender. He held on to that feeling as he sank to his shoulders, and kept on going. Then, in spite of everything, he began to smile. So much of his existence in Everlost had been full of despair. Despair, and a fear of losing what he had. But Allie was not lost, she was just there across the river, waiting for him to find her. Nick was not lost either-not entirely.

It was then that Mikey McGill realized something. It must have been his sister who first called this place Everlost, because by naming it so, it stripped away all hope except for a faith in her, and the "safety" she could provide. Well, Mary was wrong on all counts, because nothing in Everlost was lost forever, if one had the courage to search for it.

Mikey held tightly on to this shining truth as he and the golem sunk into the earth. Then with all the force of his heart, his mind, and his soul, Mikey McGill began to dig. EpilogueEPILOGUE Requiem for the Living

On a bench in a train station in the city of Little Rock, Arkansas, sat a girl who made the ticket agent nervous.

She had arrived early in the morning, presumably to wait for someone to arrive on the train, but few passenger trains came through Little Rock's Union Station-in fact it was more of an office building now than anything else. The ticket agent called security, and the two security guards on duty eyed her from a distance.

"A nut job," concluded the older man, but the younger guard was not so jaded. He had just turned twenty, and was new to the job. He still saw the best in people. "Maybe she's just waiting for the Texas Eagle."

"That train's not due for hours," said the older guard. "I'm tellin' ya-she's a wacko. Sooner or later there'll be a 'tell' that gives it away-you watch!"

The girl did not have the look of the various and sundry crazies that frequented the nation's train stations. She was well-dressed-in fact, overdressed in a emerald-green satin gown. True, her red hair looked a bit disheveled, but she was neither talking to herself or engaging in questionable activities-although sitting for hours in a train station was, in and of itself, questionable.

She was hard not to notice. What with that shimmering gown, she was the only bright spot in the dreary station, and it drew the younger guard's attention all morning long, until he finally approached her. She was as beautiful up close as she was from a distance, although some discoloration around one eye attested to some sort of trouble.

"Are you all right, Miss?" he asked. "Can I help you with anything?"

"No," she said cheerily. "I'm just waiting for a friend."

"The train isn't due to arrive for another six hours- and with that bridge down in Memphis, everything's been rerouted, so it's bound to be late. Wouldn't you rather come back later?"

"My friend is not necessarily arriving by train," she informed him.

"Oh." Since he didn't quite know how to respond to that, he just let her be, convincing the other guard not to evict her for loitering. It occurred to him that this girl fit the description of a woman wanted for questioning in the bridge disaster, but there was no way it could have been her. This girl was far too young and innocent to be involved in that kind of thing.

She was still there at noon, and was beginning to get fidgety. The young guard had realized she had not eaten-in fact, she didn't even have a purse or wallet of any kind, so he bought her a bagel at the station cafe, and gave it to her.

"On the house," he said. "Why, thank you!"

"Are you sure I can't help you?" he asked. "Maybe we could call your friend."

"I'm afraid he has no telephone." And clearly neither did she.

She ate her bagel slowly, with a grace rarely seen in these days of fast food and stuffed faces. If she was still here when his shift ended, he thought he might offer to buy her dinner-if only to watch the graceful way she dined.

As the day wore on, she became more and more unsettled, and her behavior became such that the older guard crossed his arms and said, "See, I told you so!" But again, the younger guard convinced him to leave the poor girl alone. "She's all yours," the older man said as he left at the end of his shift.

At about four in the afternoon, the girl began to walk around the station with increasing impatience, zeroing in on anyone who lingered alone for too long, and the guard began to truly feel for her.

"Is it you?" she asked a man who stood reading a newspaper.

"Pardon me, I thought you were someone else," she said to a worker fixing a vending machine. "Are you someone else?"

These were all "tells" to be sure, and now that she was up and about, there was one more thing to give away the fact that things weren't quite right. It was her dress. It was beautiful, it was elegant, and it still had a price tag hanging from the back. *** The living world had not been kind to Mary Hightower in the week she had been in it. Resilient and adaptive though she was, there were simply some situations she was unprepared for. It wasn't only that her sensibilities were suited to a kinder, more genteel time, but she had also forgotten the endless inconveniences of the human body.

First there was the weakness brought on by hunger and thirst, which nearly caused her to faint several times during her first few days alive. The need for nourishment was an ever-present nuisance. She abhorred theft of any kind, so she hoped simple human compassion might sustain her. She was appalled at how few people were willing to share their food with her when asked politely. In the end she had to resort to taking food from abandoned plates after the diners had left-and even then she was constantly shoed away by heartless restauranteurs.

She quickly became disgusted with bodily functions as well, but discovered that ignoring them was not a good idea-and then there was this awful business of body odor. In Everlost she always smelled faintly of lilacs and wildflowers-just like the fields around her on the day she died. Well, the living body did not smell at all floral, and although she had worn the same green velvet dress for more than a hundred years, in just a few days it had become so dirty and so foulsmelling that people would keep their distance from her.

Over the week, as she traveled west, she had come across several men who appeared gallant, and willing to help her-such as the man who purchased for her the lovely dress she now wore. However there was nothing gentlemanly about them at all. In fact, they turned mean when she didn't return their affection, and left her.

Well, she thought, at least I have my self-respect, and a new dress.

On the night before her arrival in Little Rock, she bathed herself in a fountain to wash off the stench of living, and groomed her hair with a brush she had found in a drainage ditch.

"Meet me in one week's time," Milos had whispered to her on that terrible day in Graceland. "One week's time, at the train station in Little Rock."

No matter what she was forced to endure during this terrible week, she was determined to look her best for Milos.

She knew he would be skinjacking, so there'd be no way to spot him in advance. All she could do was wait. So that's what she did. She waited all morning, and all afternoon. But as the day wore on, and the sun began to set, she became increasingly worried. What if Milos wasn't coming? What if he had changed his mind? What if she was now truly stuck in the living world? And what if this nightmare of a week became her whole future? She imagined herself aging, her body corrupting with decay. What had she done to deserve such an unspeakable punishment?

A train came, people boarded, people left, and it moved on. It was long after dark now, and Milos had not come. She buried her head in her hands and wept.

"Listen, Miss… I'm sorry your friend didn't show…"

She looked up to see that nosy young security guard again. She gathered what little poise she could, and pulled a few stray strands of hair back from her face. "It's fine," she said. "Really it is." She looked at the large station clock, which showed half-past nine. They were the only ones left in the station now.

"I'm sorry," he said, "but the building's closing."

Mary blotted her eyes, as he sat down beside her. "You must work very long hours," she said. "You've been here since this morning."

He offered her an apologetic shrug. "Actually my shift ended a while ago. But I was worried about you, so I stayed."

Then he reached around to the back of her neck. "You know you left the price tag on."

"Did I? I hadn't noticed."

"Might as well be a 'kick me' sign. May I?"

"Please."

He reached into his pocket. "I got this off a troublemaker the other day. He was trying to shoplift cigarettes." And he produced a large switchblade. He reached behind her and cut off the tag.

"Thank you."

Then he offered her his hand. "My name is Roberto, but my friends call me Beto."

"A pleasure to meet you, Beto. My name is-" She hesitated, then said, "My name is Megan. Megan McGill."

"Listen," said Beto, "since we're closing and all, maybe you might like to go get something to eat."

Mary sighed. So here it was again; a young man pretending to be a gentleman. Was it too much to hope that he could be sincere?

"Yes," Mary said. "I would like that. I would like that very much." She wiped away the last of her tears and they left-but before they reached the door, he stopped, as if perhaps he had changed his mind.

"Is everything all right?"

"Yes," said Beto. "I thought I had forgotten my keys, but they're right here." He jingled them in his pocket.

"Oh-so we're taking your car…"

"Got to," he said with a chuckle. "Already missed the train."

Mary wondered how wise it was to get into a stranger's car, but decided unless she wanted to walk these empty downtown streets alone, she had little choice.

"A city can be a scary place at night," said Beto, as they stepped out into the cool night. "But this neighborhood looks worse than it is." Then he added, "Besides, you have your own personal security guard."

Mary laughed at that, if only to make the moment less awkward.

"This way," he said, leading her down an alley. "The parking lot is in the back."

He took her hand, and she chose not to resist.

"So what are you hungry for, Mary? Chinese food, maybe? A burger?"

"Food is food," she said. "Anything is fine."

It wasn't until they were halfway down the alley that she realized, and stopped cold.

She had told him her name was Megan… not Mary.

A distant streetlight at the end of the alley lit half of his face, but from this angle his eyes were in shadow, so she couldn't be sure. "Milos?"

Then he smiled. "I was wondering how long it would take for you to figure it out!"

"But… how long?"

"Do you remember when he stopped to check his keys?"

Milos laughed, and Mary launched herself into his arms. She simply couldn't stop herself, and in return, he held on to her with arms strong and unfailing.

"You came back for me! You came back!"

"How could I not? Your children need you," he said. "I need you too."

Milos went on to tell her about their week west of the Mississippi. The train traveled slowly, stopping at every town they came across, but they hadn't found a single Afterlight. There were dubious sightings of creatures that seemed part animal, part human, but that may just have been the over-active imaginations of the younger children.

"I've been thinking about what you said," Milos told her. "How you might be able to work from this side. It will be difficult, but it might work. Even alive, you can give comfort to your children. Of course you won't be able to see them, but they can see you."

"Is anyone with you right now?" Mary asked.

Milos shook his head. "No. We're all alone in both worlds."

"Good!" And then she did something she never had done in Everlost. She kissed him. She kissed him so long and so hard that he had to back away to catch his breath. She knew it was partially the weakness of her flesh that made her do it, but she also knew it was necessary to seal the bond between them. He had come back for her. He didn't have to, he didn't need to-he could have chosen to rule her children alone, yet he didn't. Mary knew what he wanted; he wanted to take Nick's place in her heart. The least she could do was make him think that he had achieved that goal-and who knows, maybe someday he would. But for now, she would do him the service of telling him what he wanted to hear.

"You are very special to me, Milos," she told him. "You are every bit my equal, and I'm glad we found each other."

Even in the stark slanted light, she could see that he was blushing. "So then… shall I spend some time with you in this body?"

"No," Mary told him. "I've spent enough time in this body." In fact, she realized, it had been more than enough. She did not want to endure another day in the dread place called the living world. This week had been horrible-but in a way, it had been a gift to her. It made her realize just how desperately all the people who suffered from life needed to be freed from it. She would free every single one of them if she could-and maybe someday soon she'd be in a position to do it. Not just a hundred, or a thousand, but all of them! She would not rest until no one on earth was left alive.

Of course, just as with bringing down the bridge, it would take planning and precision to bring an end to the world of flesh once and for all, and allow Everlost to take its place… but if it was ever to happen, then it had to start today. Not with a thousand souls, but with one.

"I want you to do something for me, Milos," Mary said. "There's a switchblade in your pocket…" Milos reached into Beto's pocket, pulled it out, and opened it. The blade caught the glare of the streetlight at the end of the alley, casting a long, sharp shadow against the brick wall.

"I don't belong in the living world, Milos. I belong in Everlost. I belong with you."

When Milos realized what she was suggesting, his hand began to shake, and she gently touched it to steady it.

"Are you… sure about this?"

"More sure than anything."

"But you will go into the light."

"No-because you'll catch me, and stop me."

"But then you will fall asleep. You will sleep and you won't wake up for nine months…"

"And you'll protect me while I'm sleeping, won't you, Milos?"

Milos took a slow, deep breath, then he nodded. "Yes, I will," he finally told her. "And I promise I will be waiting for you when you awake."

"I believe you," Mary told him. "I trust you." But then something troubling occurred to her.

Milos must have read it in her eyes, because he said, "Do not worry about this fleshie. He was kind to you, and so I will make certain that your body of flesh is never found, and he will never know what he has done."

Mary smiled. "You think of everything, don't you?"

"It is something I learned from you."

Milos looked to both ends of the alley to make sure they were unobserved, before lowering the blade to her chest. It still quivered in his hand, so he tightened his grip until the blade was still. Then in that lonely alley in the living world, Megan Mary McGill put her arms over Milos's shoulders, feeling the steel tip of the blade lightly pierce her new satin gown, just barely touching the skin above her heart. She looked into his eyes until she could see Milos behind the face of the security guard, and then she commanded in a powerful, impassioned whisper:

"… Bring me home, my love…"