An
Excerpt from Looking on Darkness by Diana Laurence
Wyndham School was bordered on its north side by a rocky bluff which fell abruptly some forty feet to the river. At a certain spot, halfway down the bluff, there was a cavernous formation in the rock. This small cave had an entryway large enough for even the stoutest of the schoolboys to pass through with ease. However, it was not so easy to get to that entrance; this involved some very cautious climbing across and down several steep inclines. A false move would bring certain disaster, and although by some miracle no one in the school had ever taken that awful fall, everyone feared it was only a matter of time. Of course the cave—indeed, the whole bluff area—was strictly forbidden territory.
Jeremy and Brian had each visited the cave several times before, although never together; to do so was a rite of passage few Wyndham boys escaped. It was certainly impossible to be accepted into the Bloods, the school’s elite clique, without so doing. While it was no shame to be caught and punished for visiting the cave, to turn down an invitation to go there insured castigation by one’s peers. Any danger posed by the treacherous descent was nothing compared to that.
It was a bitterly cold, windy afternoon and the boys looked down at the river with some trepidation.
“My gloves are too slick,” said Brian. “but this won’t be a pleasant climb barehanded.”
“It’s going to be bloody awful,” agreed Jeremy. “We’d best get it over with.”
They sidled backwards down the long brown grass at the lip of the bluff, feeling with toes for their first footing. The first ten or fifteen feet down were not bad—the face didn’t get truly steep until the last ten feet. But in minutes their fingers were chilled to the bone and it was beginning to be difficult to feel what they were clutching. Brian bumped a knee badly on a rough boulder and let out a cry. At that moment he was out of Jeremy’s sight and the latter feared the worst.
“Ham! Are you all right?”
“Skinned my knee. Oh, bloody hell, I’ve ripped my trousers too.”
“Do you want to go back up?”
“No!” was the irritated but firm cry.
They continued the descent. Jeremy’s left boot took a scoop of dirt which was unpleasant but not a handicap; otherwise the rest of the climb was without incident and at last they reached the cave entrance.
Damp and dim as it was, the cave was welcome shelter from the wind. The boys sat down thankfully on the cold floor, breathing hard.
“You really take the biscuit, Lamb,” said Brian, examining his knee. “This had better be worth the trouble.”
“So it had,” said Jeremy. “Give me your torch.”
By the light of Brian’s flashlight Jeremy arranged a spot for the two of them in the back of the cave, on either side of a large, flat boulder which had served as a table many times before. From his pocket he drew a candle, lit it, and let a pile of wax drip down onto the center of the stone. Then quickly he pushed the base of the candle into the wax; unfortunately the cold rock had already hardened it. After several attempts the pile of wax was high enough that it stayed soft long enough for him to affix the candle. He raised his eyes to Brian.
“All right then,” he said.
The two sat down cross-legged, facing the candle. “What are we doing?” asked Brian.
“Searching,” said Jeremy simply. “It won’t be easy, but just do exactly as I say.”
Jeremy was usually a soft-spoken boy, but authority came to him when he required it. Sensing the import of the moment, Brian listened. “I want you to look into the candle flame,” Jeremy instructed him. “No matter what happens, keep looking.”
“What am I looking for?”
“Nothing. I mean that: look for nothing, the absence of everything.”
“I don’t understand—”
“Shush. You think you don’t, but you do. Trust me.”
At that moment that was exactly what Brian longed to do, more than anything in the world. He wanted to stop thinking, to stop feeling; he wanted Jeremy to think and feel for him, the way he had . . . the way he had that other time, at the burial.
He stared into the flame, trying to look for nothing, and was astonished at how easily it began to happen: the golden aura around the flame expanded, swelling slowly to fill his vision, and then it overspread his brain, casting its amber light on the walls inside his head. His chin lifted; his face was turned up toward the ceiling of the stone chamber, but in spite of the warm light his mind perceived, his eyes saw nothing.
“Brian.” The diphthong of his name was a perfect musical tone, singing in slow motion through his body. “You’re sleeping,” followed, each syllable exquisite. “How do you feel, Brian?” the voice asked.
A question! How sweet, how good to answer! “Warm . . . quiet,” Brian replied softly.
“Do you love me, Brian?”
Yes, yes, yes, chorused through him in response, but he was too enthralled to speak. He wanted to hear the voice forever, to sleep forever, dreaming that voice repeating his name so wonderfully, forever and ever.
“Brian. Do you love me more than anything else in the world?”
“Yes.”
“Say it.”
“I love you, more than anything.”
“Good, that’s good. Give me your hand, now.”
Brian blindly lifted his hand and held it out to the voice. The exercise of extending his hand felt like bliss—he didn’t understand why it was so pleasant. Something cold and smooth closed around his fingers.
“That’s good. You liked that, didn’t you? Tell me how it felt to obey me, Brian.”
Ah yes, now Brian understood. It was bliss to do what the voice told him. “It felt wonderful,” he answered.
“Yes, it felt wonderful. That’s because I know what’s best for you. It’s because I love you, more than anything in the world, and I know what will make you happy. Each time you obey me it will feel better, Brian.”
“Tell me what to do, Jeremy.”
“Yes, I’ll tell you. In the back of your mind I see a door. Turn around and look—do you see it?”
“A door.”
“There are things behind the door I wish to see, Brian. Look for the door.”
“I see it.” But the door terrified him. He didn’t want to see what was behind it. He began to tremble, but the cold, smooth hand of the voice squeezed tight around his.
“Open the door for me, Brian.”
“I’m afraid.”
“Have you forgotten? Remember how it feels to do what I tell you.” The voice lowered to a whisper. “It feels wonderful, Brian . . . it’s nothing to be afraid of. More than anything in the world you want to do what I tell you.”
The voice, whispering, was the loveliest sound he had ever heard. He wanted it to be solid so he could embrace it, he wanted it to have form so he could worship it. The feeling of fear, indeed, all feeling left him—there was only the voice, and its will. He turned and opened the door.
It was a room, and in the room was a bed, a hospital bed, in which his mother lay dying. Her eyes were dark in her white face, her white, thin face. Brian recalled dimly that at one time this gaunt face had terrified and sickened him, but this time it was different. He could feel Jeremy standing behind him, and Jeremy’s hand was on his back, it was gently rubbing up and down his spine, and the caress drove the fear out of his body.
“Tell me,” said the voice behind him. “What do you wish for?”
“I wish I could die with her. I can’t live if she’s gone.”
“Why?”
“She’s part of me—she’s part of me . . . if she’s gone without me, I’ll . . . I’ll go mad.”
“But see, she’s not gone, Brian. She’s right here.”
Brian looked at his mother and the color had come back to her face. Her eyes were bright and clear. She sat up in the bed and he knew she was completely well; she held her arms out to him and he ran to her and fell into her embrace.
“I haven’t left you, Brian,” said his mother. “Never, never.”
And then Brian realized the woman was not his mother. She was quite like her, that was true; but she was something greater, more perfectly beautiful. Perhaps he had been confused because the lady, like his mother, had always been with him. But now he saw that unlike his mother, she still was. The two of them had been together, alone together, in this place, forever, and so it always would be, wouldn’t it?
Except now someone else was with them. Brian suddenly felt the presence of that other, felt it potent and vibrant and . . . covetous.