When I did, I looked right at Rebecca and said, “I’m sorry for what happened to you.” I fought to keep my voice steady, sincere. “But I’m also sorry to tell you that you’re wrong. Dead wrong. Every thing you’re doing here and all of your reasons behind it are way off. You are sorely misguided, and too many people are suffering because of it.”
But even though I tried to gaze upon her with love and compassion, I guess I didn’t really realize until it was way past too late that the look, the word, and the emotion was completely unrecognizable, completely meaningless, to someone like her.
The next thing I knew, little Shucky had transformed into the Hell Beast I’d first met, as Rebecca stood before us, shaking with uncontrollable rage, her eyes glowing in the same way as her dog’s.
“You will never leave this place!” she screamed. “You will never find your way out of here! Never, I swear it!”
The ground shook, the wind howled, and a steaming hot blaze flared and burned all around, and less than a second later, Rebecca and her Hell Beast were gone.
20
I will never forget the sound of it.
For as long as I continue to exist, I know for a fact that that sound will exist right along with me.
I mean, how do you get past the shriek of hundreds of souls screaming in agony?
How can you possibly get over something like that?
Just because they were no longer encased in real, physical, flesh-and-blood bodies—just because they were no longer in possession of a beating heart and central nervous system—didn’t mean they were aware of that.
Rebecca ruled their perception in a way that made all of their mental and physical agonies seem all too real, just as she continued to rule our reality too.
The gale raged around us, whipping my hair into a frenzy, causing it to lash hard against my face, leaving me with no choice but to duck my head low, squint my eyes tightly, and yell into the howl of the wind. My voice rough, hoarse, as I struggled to be heard over the blare, warning Bodhi and Buttercup to concentrate, to locate the small gap of silence in their own heads, reminding them as well as myself that it was the only way to keep us from sinking even deeper into Rebecca’s hell.
Yet, despite all of that, despite the fact that we all knew better, it was pretty rough going for each of us. It was one thing to know we were playing into the false reality of Rebecca’s world—quite another to spare ourselves from it.
I manifested a leash for Buttercup, something he usually hates, but at that moment he was all too willing to be anchored to me, and we clung to each other, making our way between souls, our bodies getting battered and buffeted as we desperately searched for the prince. But there was so much wind and smoke and debris, so many traumatized souls, it was impossible to see his.
“We have to split up.” Bodhi grasped my arm and shouted into my ear. “I know you don’t want to, but trust me, it’s the only way. We have to free these souls one by one. If we stay like this and do nothing, we’ll never get anywhere. We’ll just get sucked into the vortex of extreme suffering, along with the rest of them.”
I looked at him, not at all sure if I was really up for the task. Even though I felt like I knew the territory, possibly better than him, there was still a small part of me that didn’t trust myself.
There was still a small part of me that didn’t quite believe I could actually, effectively accomplish all that.
I was barely handling myself with them, so how could I possibly maintain my concentration and focus without them?
I mean, it’s one thing to talk the talk—it’s quite another to actually walk it.
And as far as I and focusing went, well, let’s just say we were like two distant cousins who’d rarely met.
But Bodhi, sensing, if not hearing, my hesitation, along with every worried thought in my head, looked at me and said, “You can do it, Riley. You’re going to be fine. Heck, you helped me, didn’t you?”
I nodded. That much was true, though the reminder didn’t do much to ease my own nagging doubt.
“And what about Buttercup? Where would he be right now if it wasn’t for you?”
I gazed down at my dog who was gazing up at me, and I couldn’t help but hope he couldn’t hear my thoughts just like I couldn’t hear his. I didn’t want him to know what a big wimp I’d become.
I wrapped my arms around my waist and bent my head low, my hair whipping all around me, getting thrashed pretty good, as I danced around on my tippy toes to keep my feet from being burned.
Some apprentice I was turning out to be—I couldn’t even concentrate my way past Rebecca’s manifested weather storm.
I’d barged my way in here without ever once stopping to consider just what I might be getting myself into, only to flip out and lose all my nerve at the exact moment it truly began to matter.
It was like gazing into a mirror and seeing the absolute very worst version of me.
But then again, I was only twelve.