The Influence(87)

But though they continued to talk about it even after the fire was out and Dave was in the kitchen with them, none of them had any idea what that something was.





TWENTY EIGHT




The sun had only just come up, but Tad was already off to his new job with a roofing company in Benson, and Mariah was safely on the bus to school. Alone in the house, Cissy Heath knelt on the floor of the kitchen before the cross on the wall, praying. She prayed each morning, not for material success, not even for health or long life.

For forgiveness.

Even now, she wondered what sort of judgment would be passed on her. She’d been a cock jockey in her younger days, had ridden any pole she could fit in her hole, but she’d returned to the church in the 1990s and had led a blameless God-fearing life since then.

Now, through His angel, she was in the direct service of the Lord. Which ought to count for something. Then again, Tad had been one of the men shooting off guns to celebrate New Year’s Eve, so it was also possible that any gains she’d made were balanced out and she was right back where she started.

Finishing her prayer, she remained kneeling, eyes closed. She was trying for calmness, inner peace, but there was an old fragment of song lyric trapped in her head, going around and around, and she couldn’t for the life of her remember the name of the tune or who had sung it. After the song segment that was tormenting her, there was a line about the “flat Sargasso Sea,” which made her think it might be “Rock Lobster” by The B-52s, but she knew that wasn’t it.

The title was on the tip of her brain.

Flat Sargasso Sea.

It was…it was…

“Mimi on the Beach.” By Jane Siberry.

Yes.

The entire song came flooding back to her—melody and lyrics—and while relief accompanied the knowledge, another emotion was stirred by the recollection: sadness. The song made her sad. She remembered when it had come out, remembered how young she’d been, how much future was still ahead of her, how many possibilities the world had held. Her life could have gone in a thousand different directions, and while she was proud of who she was today, the truth was that this was not where she would be—or who she would be—if she had her choice.

She suddenly felt depressed. Where was Jane Siberry? she wondered. Was she still recording music? Where was Selina Choy, who’d been her freshman roommate back then? Was Selina still alive?

Every path her thoughts took ran to darkness and Cissy opened her eyes and looked up at the cross on the wall, then around at the shabbiness of her small kitchen. She loved her husband and her daughter, and she truly did believe, but every so often she wondered what things would be like if she hadn’t gone back to the church. A nagging notion in the back of her mind told her that she might be happier.

Which was why she needed to pray.

She shouldn’t have such thoughts.

Closing her eyes tightly, she offered up another prayer for forgiveness, finishing with three Hail Marys, and told herself that she felt better.

Cissy had had breakfast with Tad and Mariah, but mouthing prayers had made her thirsty, and she stood, opening up the refrigerator and pouring herself another glass of orange juice. She set herself in front of the sink, drinking it, staring out at the vacant lot behind the grocery store.

Last night, she’d dreamed again that she was in the smokehouse, only this time she had been alone with the angel and it had…unfurled.

Its new form had been terrible, far worse than its original appearance. It was jet black rather than dark green, and its formerly thin wings were thick and spiky. Demonic. Just like its body, which now had clawed feet, two extra insectile arms and stood twice as tall as a man. But it was the look of insanity and hatred on its wild monstrous face that frightened her to the core of her being.

The end was coming soon, she knew, very soon, and the angel would reward those who deserved it and punish those who didn’t. She was afraid of that judgment, and she wondered if it wouldn’t be better to just avoid it, to escape it, to opt out.

To kill herself.

Kill herself.

The idea was somehow calming.

The church had always taught her that suicide was a sin, but when she thought of the angel and the way it had looked when it revealed its new self—

when it had unfurled

—killing herself seemed like a viable option.

Cissy had heard about the good fortune the angel had brought some people, the bad fortune that had befallen others, the luck that had changed, and she’d wondered why nothing like that had happened to her or her family. It occurred to her that that was what was happening now. For the truth was that she had been happy and satisfied until today, until this moment. Her past had been something she had been ashamed of and regretted. All of a sudden, it was something she missed, something she had lost, and she wondered if the change in her fortunes involved her happiness.