Wendy Briese-Thompson cringed as the scream reverberated through the air. Still, she kept moving up the old spiral staircase, leaning against the stone wall as if attempting to hide in the shadows.
Just a few minutes ago, Wendy had found herself in a dark, cluttered room, filled with tables and desks and chairsi that seemed to be well over a century old. It had all seemed so familiar, and yet she couldn't place it.
Then the screaming had started, an almost unearthly howl of agony.
Stumbling blindly, Wendy had managed to find her way out of the room, and had found herself in a long stone corridor. Traversing that, she had come across the staircase, and began her climb.
Which brought her here.
Aside from the screaming, something else was unnerving the woman- everything just seemed so familliar.
And then, there was that slow knocking. At least that's what Wendy had thought, but as she grew closer, she began to hear a distinctive *clink* with each bang.
Someone was hammering something.
Wendy could see the top of the staircase now, but she had to fight the urge to run as another scream washed over her. She had no desire to meet who (or what) was making the man scream, but she knew HAD to get out of here.
As Wendy slunk her way up the final few steps, things suddenly began to make sense.
Hammering in nails.
Screams of agony.
Wendy gagged, and fell to one knee, trying to keep the contents of her stomach down as the horrid realization came to her.
Someone was being crucified.
"Oh, God, no. Please, no!" Wendy whispered as another scream echoed around her.
She struggled to her feet, fighting down the urge to run again. But something forced her onwards, and she left the stairwell. Absently, she noticed that nothing looked familliar anymore.
What the heck is going on here?
Whatever it was, judging by the increase in volume of the screams, it was through that doorway.
Silently (although she figured her pounding heart would be a dead giveaway), Wendy flattened herself against the wall. Then, with a silent prayer that no one was looking at her, she peeked through the door.
And discovered, to her ever growing horror, that she was in a church. The sanctuary was obviously old, but well-maintained. It was obvious that the building was still in use.
Although who probably used it next would be in for a VERY nasty surprise.
In frint of the altar, four men in hooded black robes stood by passively as a fifth man, also hooded in gray, did the dirty work. One more man, this one in red, hung from a T- shaped apparatus, nails through his hands and feet.
Wendy wanted to charge into the midst of everything, and condemn the entire lot of them for this murder... this desecration. But she could not get her feet to move.
It was probably just as well, even in her prime, Wendy wouldn't have done well in a five on one situation.
At least the screamng had stopped. The victim had gone into shock long ago.
Finally, their gruesome work finished, the five men silently turned and left the sanctuary, the one in gray looking at the hanging man just a little longer. Wendy crept forward, into the sanctuary.
And gasped.
Being a catholic, Wendy had seen countless depictions of Christ's execution upon Calvary, but none of the statues or paintings could have prepared her for the horror of a real crucifixion taking place in front of her.
She wavered just a tad as she stood in front of the gruesome scene. But as the man's vacant eyes stared at her... no... THROUGH her, a sudden burst of energy hit her.
A moment of resolution.
Ignoring the blood flowing from the man's wounds, Wendy ran to the cross, and began yanking on one of the nails. She tried her hardest not to think of the gaping holes in the man's appendages, just focus on getting him down.
Just focus on saving him.
But the nail was too bloodied for Wendy to get a good grip, and she fell backwards with a grunt. If the man was losing this much blood with the nails in, he would surely bleed to death when she pulled them
There was no way she could save this man by herself.
"It's going to be okay," she tried to assure the man. "I'm going to go get help."
Wendy was almost certain the man couldn't hear her, but she turned and ran, out the back of the sanctuary. She flung open the door, and ran out into the cool night air.
"Help!" She screamed, noticing a group of men standing across the way. "Call 911!"
Not a single man made any indication that he had heard her. Wendy ran forward, down the front stairs into the street.
"Please!" she tried again. "There's been an attack and-," the words died in her throat as she drew closer. They had unhooded, but she saw four black robes, one gray.
The exact same men who had done this horrific deed.
Oddly enough, the men didn't seem to notice her, and Wendy wasn't sure that was a good thing or not. One thing was clear- they would not help her. She started to turn away, to look around for other people, a phone, anything.
But.something caught her eye.
Four of the men seemed indistinct, she had never seen them before. But the fifth man, the man in gray...
Wendy saw a flash of blue in his raven black hair.
"No..." she whispered, staggering forward, it couldn't be...
It was.
Rick Logan.
Rick Logan, her friend. Rick Logan, who had fought so hard to keep himself from becoming a monstrosity. Rick Logan, who had struggled with his inner nature.
Rick Logan, who had just crucified a man on a church altar.
"RICK!" Wendy shrieked, still trying to make sense of everything. Without any regard for her own safety, she ran towards the group of men. "RICK!"
She was now less than ten yards away, but still, Rick hadn't even turned to acknowledge her. Had he not heard her?
She doubted it.
"Don't you dare ignore me!" she screamed, breaking into a run. She had to know why... why had Ulfric done this horrible thing?
Without even a nod, Rick turned away, and began to walk down the street. Wendy ran at him, unsure of what she would do when she caught him.
She never had to make that decision, for she slipped on the slick asphalt, and fell hard. Groaning in pain, Wendy quickly scrambled to her feet.
Rick and his four companions were gone.
Wendy looked around wildly. It was just simply impossible for the men to disappear like that, but she was alone in the street.
She remembered why she had ran out of the church in the first place- she had to save the man in red. Wendy turned around desperately, trying to find a phone, a car, anything she could use to get help. But there was nothing.
Well, then, she'd have to find something. She turned and started to run up the street.
And slipped again.
Why the heck was she so clumsy tonight? Wendy silently cursed herself as she picked herself up the slick asphalt again, but paused as she looked down...
The asphalt was wet, because it was covered in blood. And now the blood was all over her too- her hair, her clothes.
Her hands.
Wheeling around, Wendy stared back at the church. A virtual river of blood, was flowing out the doors, cascading down the entrance stairs, into the street. Wendy stared at the macabre scene, refusing to believe that all of this had come from the man in red.
"Why, why is this happening?" the redhead asked weakly, looking around in desperation.
The answer hit her- it was happening because of her.
She wasn't there for Rick anymore, and he had done this. She had been his guiding light, and when she left the WWA to pursue other endeavors, that light had been snuffed out like a candle in a hurricane.
And without her, Rick had been driven to this horrible deed.
She looked down at her hands, covered in the man's blood. It was certainly fitting.
How many other people had Rick Logan hurt because of her? How deep in despair had Ulfric grown without her influence, when Victor Mandrake was the only friend he could listen to?
How many people had Wendy Briese damned in her selfishness?
"No..." she cried, trying to deny it.
But it was true.
She had damned them all.
2.24.2010
THE NEST
INDIANAPOLIS, INDIANA
2:49 AM EASTERN STANDARD TIME
With a gasp, Wendy Briese-Thompson bolted upright in her bed.
She was home... she was safe. Terrence was sleeping beside her, and, near as she could tell in the pale moonlight washing in through the windows, she was not covered in blood.
Just a dream... just a horrible, horrible dream.
Careful not to disturb her husband, Wendy slowly climbed out of bed, walking over to the windows, and staring out across the front yard below.
Trying to make sense of what she had just seen.
It had been just a dream, she kept trying to tell herself, but there was something... a quality, that suggested to her that what she had seen was not simply inside her imagination.
That, sometime in the past, Rick really had committed this atrocity.
And Wendy found herself hating him for it, as much as she hated herself for not preventing it.
To Wendy, the whole thing was appalling on two fronts. Considering that it was the method that Christ had died, Wendy viewed a crucifixion, especially one in a church, as a blasphemy, a mockery of one of the chief tenants of her religion.
Also, it was a horrible, horrible way to die.
It was all so hard to believe, for her. She remembered Rick, silent and awkward, picking her up on a motorcycle. She remembered Dan's tale of Ulfric standing next to Terrence, trying desperately to locate her. She remembered Rick tearfully telling her the arrangement he had made with Mandrake, in exchange for her freedom.
The images of her friend flashed through her mind, and she almost smiled.
Then she saw her body, curled up in a fetal position in the middle of the ring, Ulfric and his brother taking turns hitting her with Lucifer. She saw the two men laughing as Terrence, with the last ounce if his stregnth, collapsed on top of her to shield her from further damage. She saw Ulfric triumphantly kicking a stretcher over, Terrence helplessly strapped to it. She saw him on a beach, all but promising Darrel Beslove's death to her.
She saw him in a church, drivng a nail into the hand of a helpless man.
Maybe it wasn't so hard to believe, after all.
Maybe Rick Logan had done the world a favor when he pulled the trigger.
Maybe she had wasted her time in even thinking that she could have been a moral compass for that monster.
"What are you doing up?" The masculine voice behind her made her nearly jump out of her shift. She turned around, and saw her husband standing there, a look of curiosity on his face.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."
Terrence shrugged. "Considering how damned beautiful you looked staring out the window, I don't mind."
Wendy smiled. "I was just... thinking."
"Oh? About?"
Wendy paused, unsure of what she should say.
"I've been thinking too," Terrence said, walking beside her to stare out the window. "About you."
"Oh?"
"Yes," Terrence paused, and Wendy could sense that something was troubling him. "I think you're hiding something from me."
Wendy froze for just a split second, then forced herself into a teasing smile. "Well, your birthday is just a couple weeks away..."
"No," Terrence said softly. "But over the past month, I've sensed a change in you. You've been sadder, and youM always seem to be tired. And you've been jumpy as hell. Hell, I nearly gave you a heart attack a couple minutes ago."
Wendy said nothing. She just stared out the window, hoping that Terrence wouldn't guess her troubles.
"Is something wrong?" Terrence asked.
"No," Wendy said quietly. "I've just been sad about the theater."
There was a pause, before Terrence answered. "Wendy, for being such a great actress, you are one hell of a shitty liar."
Wendy gulped. She wanted to tell Terrence that Mandrake was harassing her again. But she knew that with her lover's temper, such a confession would spell doom for her husband, as he'd foolishly run into a situation he stood no chance of winning... or even surviving.
She had to give him something, though, to throw him off the scent.
"I had a dream tonight." She finally said.
"Oh?" Terrence was curious. "What about?"
"Rick," she simply replied.
Terrence's face darkened slightly. Even though the two had grown to respect each other during Wendy's incarceration, Terrence never could bring himself to trust the man. And he never quite understood his wife's caring for Rick, either.
"I saw him murder a man." Wendy said. "By crucifixion
"
Terrence reached forward, and wrapped his arms around her. "It was just a dream, hon."
Even as she returned the embrace, Wendy shook her head. "No... it felt... real."
"Dreams sometimes do, Wendy. You're still grieving over his death. That's okay."
"I just feel, somewhere along the line, I failed him."
"Hush," Terrence said as he kissed her forehead. "Rick was a grown man, and he made his choices. You're not to be blamed for anything he did."
Wendy was silent. What Terrence said made sense, but the words of Mandrake's letter came roaring back to her. Had she and Terrence not left the WWA, would she have been around to prevent any of this? Could she have.stopped Rick from his destructive course?
Or would it have not made a damned bit of difference either way?
Attonement and attrition, Mandrake had said.
And the gut feeling that had told her the nightmare was not just her imagination was telling her exactly where.the attonement lay.
"Let's do it." Wendy whispered.
"Eh?" Terrence asked, releasing her and staring at her quizzically.
"Let's go back. To the Alliance." Wendy now.spoke with greater confidence.
"Are... are you sure?" Terrence asked. When Wendy nodded, he added "Why?"
"Because..." Wendy paused. "Ever since we watched that PWX show, I've been thinking about it. I remembered the thrill of the competition, the roar of the crowd. The puzzle as I tried to find the best strategy to bring my opponent down. And, Terry, I do miss it."
"I miss it too, but remember, Wendy. It wasn't all winning and glory."
"Of course not" Wendy smiled. "But Terrence, I think we can do this. I don't know if we can be the saviors Pollaski wants us to be, but I honestly think that we can be as much a force as we were six years ago. I'm just worried about Theresa."
"We'll prepare her," Terrence assured her. "She's a smart girl, she can handle it. And if not, we won't allow her to watch.
"So this is it, then?" Wendy asked. "The WhirlyBirdz are to fly again?"
Terrence paused. "You know, I always hated that name. But no way we can change it now."
Wendy laughed. "Its who we are. I'll call Dan tomorrow morning, and we'll find a place to begin training."
Terrence grinned, and beckoned to the bed. "Why wait? I'd be up for a little 'sparring' right now!"
Wendy smacked her husband on the shoulder. "I'd rather not have to explain to Theresa why you were screaming at three o'clock in the morning."
"That sounds like a challenge"
"No," Wendy shot back, trying to stifle a yawn. "That sounds like me trying to trash-talk my husband in the middle of the nighti. And I think we better save our energy until tomorrow. Goodnight."
Wendy walked around to her side of the bed, climbing under the covers. As she lay drifting off to sleep, one final thought crossed her mind.
Rejoining the WWA would push her and Terrence out into the open, where certain sinister forces may very well be waiting.
So be it.
The thought was both exhillerating and terrifiying
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