Page 180 of The Pansy Paradox
The space around the willow tree was my first and most successful experiment in King’s End. Perhaps because the fissures in the cemetery are so small. Indeed, if those were the only fissures here, King’s End would not be a permanent post. But do you remember how it felt there, secured in the willow’s embrace? The calm, the peace? I was able to bend the Screamers there, redirect them back in on themselves, in a sense, creating a loop. In doing so, I created tranquility.
When the Sight attacked you there, it was showing you what’s possible. The space around the willow is now even more tranquil. You did that. You healed those fissures even further. You can continue to heal them, all the ones I’ve bent and looped. Oh, my dear girl, what we could have done together, given half a chance.
However, there’s a catch. There always is, isn’t there, especially with the Sight. Do you remember how the blood flow stopped only when you let go of Daniel? Remember that feeling, because you must be willing to let go of everything, and I do mean everything, everything and everyone you cherish.
The other catch is this: You can’t appear willing. Instead, you must appear clueless and, yes, unremarkable. The instigator in all this will expect many things from you: fear, hatred (you are your mother’s daughter, after all), incomprehension. This person will not expect obedience, never mind willingness. Appearing clueless is your armor; appearing unremarkable is your shield.
As for your sword? You know what to do, because I showed you myself. It was you there that day, back when the housing development was still a meadow. Our silent witness that all three of us have been searching for ever since. Harry believes it might be Ophelia Connolly, as does the instigator in all this. Harry is doing everything in his power to protect her.
I know better, because I know who your father is. What you accomplished goes far beyond power fueled by a single dimension. The first time I coaxed you back to consciousness, I knew that I’d already met you. On that day, in the meadow, you not only saved Harry Darnelle and King’s End. You may have saved the world.
I knew I would have to prepare you, train you, and, in the end, be willing to let you go. Your father knew what was to come as well. He loved you so fiercely that he gave up life in both dimensions on the minuscule chance you might survive all this.
The end won’t be easy for me. This is also something your father saw, and it nearly broke him. I hope it won’t break you.
Now, I must trust that the Sight will offer up the memory of the Mother’s Day event at the community center, where our efforts left us sticky with decoupage, and you found the secret compartment so delightful. I must trust that the Sight will lead you to these words in time.
As with most everything else, I’m giving Adele the memory box for safekeeping. That way, I won’t be tempted to open the secret compartment and check to see if this letter remains, even if that means never seeing the other items again.
But my days are short, and I’d rather spend them with you, in the here and now. Even if by the time you return home, I won’t be fully myself. No, that backhoe won’t physically slice through me, but I’ll feel it as if it had. In a few weeks, King’s End will feel it as well.
My darling Pansy-Girl, my sweetest of flowers, know that you brought light to my life and joy to my heart. If I must leave you with this unspeakable burden, also know that I leave you with every ounce of my love.
Chapter 84
Pansy
King’s End, Minnesota
Sunday, July 16
We’re barely off my front porch when half a dozen Enclave agents surround us. Yes, we could’ve left by the back door, and maybe should have. Then again, three agents are currently there in the garden, trampling the lavender and rosemary. The results would most likely have been the same.
But the front door? That way, someone’s doorbell camera—most likely Guy’s—will pick up the commotion. The Sight insists this is a very good thing. For once, I agree.
Jack is howling, not caring if he wakes the neighborhood. Or perhaps that’s his goal. I can’t shush him. No one can. It takes a punch to the face for that.
I rush to his side and help him sit up. He rubs a hand across his jaw, wincing, spitting out a few blood-laden curses. The three agents from the backyard round the corner of the house. Jack looks to them and then the other six. His thoughts ring as clear as mine. Really? Nine agents? Just for me? I blink a couple of times and feel the trickle of blood before the question pops into my mind.
What would clueless and scared Pansy Little do?
What have I done? For there are choices to make, and certainly other dimensions where I made those choices.
“Why do they want you?” Jack scoots closer, and we huddle together. “Mort said it was something your mom and Henry’s father did, that they damaged a gateway. But that’s not quite right, is it?”
“No, that’s not quite right.” My words come out stiff and formal. I suspect this is all I can, and should, say to Jack. Oh, how I wish he’d left, was already at the airport. I wonder if there’s a version of these events when he does leave.
The night around us is silent and still. A few chirps from crickets. A single bark from a dog a few blocks away. Typical of July, the air is oppressive, and sweat sprouts along my spine. Light from the street lamps illuminates Jack’s expression. And I know.
There is never a version of events where he leaves me.
None of the Enclave agents have done more than trap us in a circle. They aren’t even speaking, which is strange. One agent presses a finger to an earpiece, tilts his head, but otherwise doesn’t move. My gaze meets Jack’s, and I see the thoughts churning. Yes, these agents are waiting for something, or, more likely, someone. They don’t dare do much more than keep us surrounded while waiting for their next set of orders.
“I’ll create a distraction,” he says now, rubbing a hand over his mouth as if he’s wiping away blood. “You get the hell out of here.”
Jack bursts forward with speed and strength that belies his injury. I don’t waste this effort. I do what scared Pansy Little would do.
I run.
