Callahan: A Gothic Tale

A Tearful Farewell

1 A Tearful Farewell

Autumn 1994

Splatters of bleak autumn drizzle dotted the cubic '70's-style opaque windows' exterior, the glassy slivers between each square piece offering a somber, unobstructed view of the sodden campus grounds near which she found herself situated. She noticed, not for the first time that week, a small cluster of crows, cawing to no end, and could swear that one of them was staring straight at her—

"Mace?"

She turned away from the pixel-like window frame to face the man who had orchestrated her escape, bringing her nearly two and a half decades earlier to do so. She knew, deep down, she ought to be grateful—thanking him, even, for rescuing her, steampunk-style, from near-certain death from silent, unwavering pestilence. But she was simmering with rage and frustration all the same, not to mention sorrow at having left her sisters behind at Vera Manor to see things through. Anger at her own body for betraying her before she could even form a single memory. Blaming herself, at those odd moments of the early morning before the sun rose, wondering if she would ever see her siblings again, as she stared up at the ceiling tiles—cork, cellulose, gypsum composite—for what felt like the hundredth time in just as many days. She understood what they told her—it wasn't her fault, it was for her own safety, and she had to escape—

Scythe.

Even uttering the word in her mind made her shiver. A heretofore unstoppable force that struck during the unearthly witching hour at arbitrary days of the autumn/winter season, targeting the most vulnerable of magical beings, forcing countless to enter into hiding—or die. Closing her eyes for the briefest of seconds, she imagined herself fireside, New England Journal of Medicine articles scattered across the nearby coffee table, sipping hot spiked apple cider with Maggie and Mel, Paganini's Violin Concerto 1 playing at low volume from the sunroom, where Harry would recline in his favorite armchair to read the newspaper.

Instead, she had found herself waiting out the first half of her mandatory two weeks of quarantine staring at the soaked campus grounds, people watching and catching up on whatever scientific literature she managed to bring with her, both online and otherwise. Granted, they were in a hardwood converted apartment with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, with a partitioned area for the bed, with a tiny kitchenette and a bathroom with a single shower. But it still wasn't home.

Maggie managed to smuggle her a hygge potion that she had sprinkled sometime before, akin to ambient potpourri, causing the airy room to smell of vanilla and cedar. It wasn't enough though. She willed away tears, knowing her newfound family had sacrificed her presence to save her for a second time, even if it meant a different chronological period and place. To travel home was impossible, at least until Spring. If that.

She felt a tap on her shoulder and turned around. "Mace, are you ok?"

Macy rebuffed his touch and went to make herself a cup of coffee, the second one that morning. "Is that even a question?"

Autumn Evening, 1 Week Before, Present Day, Vera Manor

I regret to inform you...

They had received advance notice through their adventures and misadventures of mysterious deaths in the magical community as of late. A satyr down for the count, a faun paralyzed in place, his breath no more. Soon, the pestilence had migrated to the human factions, targeting enough local crystal shop owners, causing sufficient mortality to generate an in-depth health department investigation splashed across local, then national, news.

HIs grim countenance greeted her as she returned from the Command Center, jubilant at having discovered mystical elements of recombinant DNA; he had led her into the living room where her two younger sisters sat, their visages tear-stained.

"W-what's wrong? Who died?" She recalled herself asking in the moment. They shook their heads, unable to speak, for fear voicing it aloud would make it so.

"Macy, we need to run away."

Her brow furrowed as she gave him a quizzical look. Say what? And who's 'we'?

"Mace," he swallowed hard and continued. "Your medical history of having been born "still" puts you at great risk of death by the harbinger of pestilence, Scythe."

"But—we can fight him off!" Macy began. "And Knansie brought me back!"

Harry shook his head. "It doesn't matter, not to Scythe. There's no antidote, no potion, no cure at present. If he knocks on the door at 4 am and you're here, you will die," as her eyes began to well up.

She shook her head. "No. No, Harry—I can't lose my family again—"

"I'm afraid we have no choice." He held a letter with a dark-emblazoned "S" seal and a pair of skulls. I regret to inform you...the header started as Macy visibly recoiled. "He's coming soon."

Autumn, 3 am, Next Morning, 1 Week Before, Present Day, Vera Manor

Packing her bags always meant leaving a place she loved, going to a place she despised. This she understood to be true her entire life, until arriving at Vera Manor and finding herself among family once more. Her telekinesis was slightly off-aim, her gene therapy magazines, laptop, and Heaven's Vice DVDs crashing into each other, falling haphazardly into the awaiting suitcases. She stuffed as many bundles of clean clothes into her duffel bag as she could, not to mention magical purses and potions Maggie had smuggled from the Command Center's aged wood cupboard earlier that evening.

Harry had explained that for her to remain safe, they had to transcend time and space, but for her own safety, could not tell her more until they arrived. She thrived on routine and control of her environment, and now, she had neither. In the meantime, their mutually agreed-upon plan was to lay low, buying enough time for Macy to build an antidote while avoiding Scythe's crosshairs.

Autumn, 3:50 am, Next Morning, 1 Week Before, Present Day, Vera Manor

A knock at the door was all it took for Harry and Macy to flee, taking their carefully-packed-to-the-gills bags with them to the bottom of the Vera Manor stairwell, where they gave Maggie and Mel one last hug, tears streaming down their cheeks.

A second knock, more insistent this time.

"Now!" Bags in hand, Harry grabbed Macy's arm, holding her back as she screamed for her siblings. "Mace," he shakily whispered in her ear, beneath her curls. "Please, love, we need to run. It's our only hope. Please don't make this any harder than it is—" She took a deep breath and nodded, wiping away her tears with the delicate pad of her finger. Good girl, he thought to himself, terrified but nevertheless resolute as he took hold of her and their belongings, orbing away into the darkness.