White Space

“Oh God.” Now other details are materializing in the dim light. On this main floor, there are rows of wooden benches. They look familiar, not because she’s necessarily seen them before here. But I know what you are. She brushes a hand over the hard back of one bench; in the well, near the floor, she spots a folded wooden bar. A kneeler, which means … Dead ahead, there is a dais on which rests a carved pulpit. Turning, she faces the door through which she’s come—through which the others will be on her in a heartbeat, because she can hear them getting closer and louder—and sees high up and just below one of those arched windows, a large, long, rectangular plaque: probably stone, and the kind of marker you’d inscribe with the names of benefactors or Bible verses.

Pews. A pulpit. Next to the door, she now sees a low cabinet filled with books. They must be hymnals. Turning back, she lifts her eyes to a spot immediately above the pulpit on its gated dais—no, not gates; they’re communion rails—and spots the hulking saw-toothed pattern of an organ’s pipes. Of course: if you’re going to sing something from a hymnal, you’ll need something to keep the mad in tune and the lunatics on track.

She knows now, exactly, where she is.

She’s in a domed chapel for the insane—and trapped, like a bug under a bell jar.

RIMA What She Was Made For

THE ECHOES OF the first blast hadn’t quite died when there was another thunderous boom. Still perched on the snowmobile, Rima felt her heart give a quick, convulsive flutter, like the wings of a startled bird. From the church, another scream tore through the fog.

I’ve got to go into the church. But why should she do that? Rima didn’t know, yet she could feel her body obeying some call she couldn’t quite hear and didn’t understand. Got to get inside.

“Rima!” Casey said, as she swung off the sled and onto the snow. Scrambling after, he grabbed her arm. “What are you doing?” Then he seemed to realize what he’d done, because he threw a fast, nervous look at the snow. “We need to get off this stuff.”

“No.” She stared down at the white beneath her feet. No death-whispers now. The birds are psychopomps; they must be carrying the whispers with them. Or maybe the birds were the whispers. She didn’t know. “They’re all gone. But I think …” Tugging free, she took a halting, tentative step. “I have to …”

“Have to what? Where are you going?” Casey said. He reached for her, but she angled away and left him grabbing air. His gloved hand balled in frustration. “Rima, talk to me. We have to stay together. What are you doing?”

“I don’t know.” She looked back at him over her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Casey, but I think”—she could feel her legs tense, and realized, with a touch of wonder, that she was getting ready for something—“I think I’m supposed to …”

“No. Rima, no, wait!” As if sensing the danger, Casey started for her.

He was a second too late. “I … I can’t!” And then she was suddenly darting across the snow, heading for the church, even as a small voice of sanity screamed, What are you doing, what are you doing, what are you doing?

“Rima!” Casey cried. “Rima, stop!”

She couldn’t. A crazy compulsion had grabbed hold, dug in its talons, and wouldn’t let go. This was her destiny, what she was made for, what she had always done. She churned over the snow. The church rushed toward her out of the fog, the distance between them collapsing, the fog folding to bring her closer as if they were points at either end of a single line now drawn together. One of the church’s heavy wooden doors was ajar; the spicy scent of incense and spent gunpowder bit her nose.

She flattened herself against an outer wall. The brick was cold as metal. Across the snow, she could see Casey coming, and knew she was almost out of time. Casey would fight to keep her out of the church, and probably win.

Go, before he stops you. She gathered herself. Go now, go go go!

She vaulted for the door.

EMMA This Is Your Now

1

SHE MIGHT HAVE stood there, dumbfounded, until they caught her, if not for the bangs and shouts. Heart leaping, Emma shoots a glance at the chapel’s door. Got to block it. Then find a way out. Not much time either, but she has to. All these windows, and she’s in a dome.