All Light Will Fall (34 page)

The woman said nothing. She stared up at her superior with
an unreadable expression. The man looked to Gwen, then to Ruby, his eyes doing
a back and forth dance between them. Then he huffed and slowly moved aside.

“I swear, you’re going to get me in real trouble on of these
days, Gwen. You’ll owe me for this.”

Gwen grinned. “Yeah, just put it on my tab.” He gave Kent a
pat on the shoulder.

The door opened slowly, or perhaps not. Perhaps my mind had
slowed it down. I didn’t know. I only knew to find him. And I did.

He was down a small flight of steps, his tall, lanky figure
arched at the far end of the table. A circle of men crowded around it, but
there was only him. Only the familiar shape of him, of his moving hands, of his
strong and delicate profile angled slightly away from me.

The talking in the room died down. One by one, the men
looked up from the paper flutters and the empty coffee mugs that had been
strewn across the table in the heat of debate. I saw my father rise up like the
break of day. It was beautiful, that curious motion, that haunting movement of
my father that proved him undead and far too real, and far too alive.

He looked at me. And when he did, I nearly cried.

He swallowed the floor with his strides. We united, and
there was so much warmth. In his arms. In his breath. I wept silently in that
killing embrace of his. I became a little girl in his arms. I held onto him,
gripping him like a pillar of strength. And he was my strength.

“Corrine, my God,” he gasped.

His gripped me tighter to reassure himself that I was indeed
real. When he drew me back, I saw joy in his eyes. It was a mellow joy, but joy
nonetheless. He looked tormented, dried out, and detached. It was war, I knew.
But my father was unyielding. I saw his resistance, alive and alight in the
gleam of his eyes.

“We mustn’t talk now,” he whispered. “I’m in the middle of
strategic planning right now. How is your mother?”

I broke free of his grasp. “Always second,” I hissed.

“Corrine, don’t...”

“Don’t what?” I snapped. “I haven’t seen you, my father, in
eleven years, and you tell me that I’m not worth a few minutes, seconds of your
time—”

Gwen placed his hands on my shoulders.

“Get your hands off of me,” I warned. He stepped back.

“We have plenty of time later, Corrine. I swear to you...”

“I don’t want to talk to you later,” I growled. “In fact, I
don’t want to talk to you ever, understand?”

My father frowned. And there it was, that infamous,
bullheaded scowl of his. He was always this way; dispassionate, witty,
analytical, and far too perceptive. A snarling whip. I should have known. But I
wasn’t hurt, nor was I disappointed. I was ashamed.

“Corrine,” he sighed, “you’re not a child anymore.”

My breaths quickened. I turned hotly on my heels.

“I’m leaving,” I uttered. Gwen eased to the side, keeping my
father from pursuing me.

“Just let her be for a while,” I heard Gwen suggest to him.
“She’s been through hell and back.”

I stormed up the steps and past the two guards. Gwen
shadowed me down the hall, inviting himself into the room again.

“Get out,” I said.

“Look, I know you’re pissed and have every right to be, but
you should take it easy. You haven’t healed yet.”

“I said get out.”

Gwen leaned against the door, crossing his arms. “Yeah babe,
I’m afraid I’m not going anywhere,” he said.

“Babe? I indubitably despise nicknames,” I hissed.

Gwen laughed. “I suppose I would take that as a snide remark
if I knew what the hell ‘indubitably’ meant.”

I went to speak until a subtle sound caught my ear. Mother
was awake. I looked at her just as her eyes opened.

“Water,” she groaned.

Gwen moved to the nightstand and poured her a cup. I
couldn’t move. For some reason, my legs were still as stone. I watched Gwen
help her drink. She could barely raise herself. Her elbows trembled as she
propped against the bed pillows.

“Easy now,” Gwen whispered. He glanced at me. “Get the hell
over here, you scared or something?”

I
was
scared. That she had forgotten me. That I was
unworthy. But I loved her. And I was selfish. I had to hold her. I had to ease
the longing. I moved to the bedside.

“Mom,” I called.

Mother looked to me. She froze, her eyes splitting in
horror. She slunk back against the wall in a scream.

I grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. “Mom! It’s me!
It’s Corrine!” I cried.

Gwen yanked me by shoulder. “Corrine! Get off of her!”

“Let go of me!” I snapped. I pushed him, nearly sending him
across the room. I looked back at Mother. She laid limp against the mattress.
She looked haunted. Her skin was pale as death.

“God! Lord God!” she gasped. “Is it... are you really..?”
She shook her head. There were tears in her eyes.

I couldn’t stand it anymore, seeing her so broken, so lost
inside herself. My hands slipped from her shoulders, falling gently into her
lap. I curled myself against her and cried. But it was more than with tears. I
cried with my whole body. The sobs raked all through my back, and in and out of
my lungs. Never had I cried so fiercely! Like a child. Like a babe from the
womb.

I knew not why I cried. Was it relief? Was it joy? Was it
rage? Perhaps it was all these things. Because I had suffered them all. The
longing and the loneliness. All for her. And she was here now, with my head to
her chest, living. Then suddenly I understood the reason I cried. I was tired,
but I could rest now.

Finally, I could rest.

My mother’s singing woke me up. She was humming. It sounded so
much like Fern’s humming. It was a somber song, one with no lyrics, only the
melancholy lull of her voice. I thought, for a moment, how our earthly days
were not so different. They, too, were a hollow rhythm of highs and lows.

I rose from the bed. Mother smiled and stroked my cheek. I
held her hand.

“Mom,” I said. My voice trembled. I didn’t wish to bring her
pain. But I had to know. “What... what happened to Fern?” I asked.

A look of death came over her and then the tears. She said
nothing. The door opened suddenly. I cast my eyes away, refusing to look at who
had entered.

My father rushed over to the bed. He drew my mother into his
arms.

“What did you say to her?” he demanded. He sounded accusing,
as if the reason for my mother’s suffering was
my
doing. But it was he
who had abandoned us to find his own selfish existence in the world. And now he
was here, holding her with those undeserved hands.

“What did you say to her, Corrine,” he repeated.

He was looking at me, but I still wouldn’t face him.

“I only asked about Fern,” I said.

“You couldn’t have waited?”

“I don’t understand why you care so much. You never did
before.”

My father narrowed his eyes. There was something fierce in
them, something blinding. Hurt. Anger. Guilt perhaps?

“Why don’t we let your mother rest? We can talk outside,” he
grumbled. He laid her gently against the pillows.

“It’s alright,” Mother insisted. “Let me tell her.”

“No,” my father said. His order was final.

“Rest,” he said to Mother. Then he looked at me. “Why don’t
we go get something to eat?” he said. It sounded like a demand, but I followed
him anyway.

The halls were unusually quiet. Neither of us spoke on our
way to the mess hall. I tried not to look at him again, but I found my eyes
trained to the back of him. I was mesmerized by the strength of his back and
the ride of his shoulders. It disturbed me how similar he was to those forestry
illusions I had seen back on Niaysia. I could see it now, the same striking
image of him sailing through the trees, shining beneath that fantastic Niaysian
sun.

“How are you feeling?” he asked suddenly.

“I’m fine.”

“Are you?”

I sighed. “I want to know what happened to Fern. Mom told
you, didn’t she?”

He stopped all of a sudden and faced me. He stood straight,
completely militarized, his face stern and controlled. But still there was a
wounded air about him that revealed itself in his speech.

“She was taken by the authorities. Your mother doesn’t know
why. She tried to fight them, which led to her arrest. But I can only guess
that they want with her the same thing they wanted with you.” His eyes
narrowed. “And I’m sure you know what that is.”

I stared at him for a moment. What would ARTIKA want with
Fern? I didn’t know. She was innocent, an Ardent, scared of the truth, blind to
the grave. There was hardly anything similar between me and Fern. The only
truth we shared was the truth of our mother and father. The truth of our blood.

Then it came to me, what ARTIKA wanted, what ARTIKA thought
to recreate. They wanted me, another 2102 to control.

Another me.

“Are you alright?” my father asked. He reached up to touch
me and for a moment, I let him.

“I’m fine,” I uttered.

“Corrine, I want to know what happened to you. Every
detail.”

I swiped his hand away. There was less concern in his voice
and more of a demand. I was used to it, being regarded this way. I was a
soldier, after all. And no reclaimed memories or act of treason could change
that fact. I had the will of a warrior. But being spoken to like that, so
shamelessly by my father, infuriated me more than I ever thought.

“I meant what I said. I don’t have a thing to say to you.”

“Corrine.”

I turned just as he went to grab me. My arm swung, almost
unconsciously, and bore deep into the wall. My father stilled, staring at the
dent of metal, his eyes widening in fascination.

“Do not touch me again,” I growled.

He held my gaze. And that light of awe faded, replaced by a
soft look of despair. It only angered me, the pity in his eyes. I had no use
for his pity. Did he not know? Did he not understand my hatred, my rage towards
him? Did he not even care to know? What was I to him? Was I truly his daughter,
his child? I didn’t think so. His love was too little and too hideous. How
could I have wanted such love? How could I have bled and tormented myself over
such a soulless love?

“Corrine, listen to me...”

“Why should I?” I snapped.

“Because I’m your father.”

I took a breath, my chest heaving. “I had a father,” I told
him, “and he’s as dead as the man standing before me now.”

The look in his eyes hardened, his breaths becoming as
labored as my own. And I was glad to see it. I wanted him to hurt. I wanted him
to know a pain of the heart that killed—my pain.

He opened his mouth to speak until someone from down the
hall called out to him.

“Colonel, I’ve been searching for you. Lieutenant Dale needs
you in the board room.”

The boy came to a stop before us. And when he saw me, he
nearly jumped from the floor, his jaw going slack and a blush on his face.

“Who is this, colonel?”

“This is Corrine.”

“Corrine!’ the boy gasped. “You mean...”

“Yes, my daughter.”

“Your daughter?”

“Yes, sergeant, my daughter. Is that all?”

The boy shook his head. He blinked, fumbling with himself a
little.

“Nice to meet you. Oliver Murdock, but I usually just go by
Murdock around here.” He held out his hand with a smile. And his kindness
reminded me too much of Ellis.

I turned away without a word.

“Man,” Murdock whistled.

“I know,” my father said, “she’s a handful.”

“Yeah, but she’s smoking hot.”

“What was that, Sergeant?”

“Uh, nothing Sir. Shall we go now? The lieutenant’s
waiting.”

When I returned to the room, Mother was awake. She lay on
her side, her eyes half opened in a daydream. She looked up at the sound of the
door opening.

“Did you eat?” I asked softly.

She nodded. “Your father brought me something earlier. Did
the two of you talk?”

I went and slid in bed beside her. “Hardly.”

“Corrine,” she sighed.

“I don’t want to talk about him.”

“He’s your father.”

“That’s just a word.”

“It’s more than a word, Corrine. It’s the truth.”

I brought her head down against my shoulder. “Mom,” I
whispered.

“Hm?”

“I’m going to bring Fern back,” I said. “I swear it.”

Mother said nothing. I felt her body shake and the heat of
her tears on my shoulder. Her cries were the saddest sound.

I looked down at Mother. She had fallen asleep in my arms.
And I couldn’t forget perhaps how corrupt they were. Too corrupt to hold her,
my mother, with all her righteous beauty. My hands were so sick with death I
almost thought to throw her away from me, terrified that that ungodliness would
latch onto her and destroy her.

For a long while, I traced the outline of her figure. I
reminded myself that I had evolved from that body, from the cavern of love and
patience that existed within her. I would cherish her forever, not because it
was she who gave me life, but because it was she who taught me life. Even with
all of my sins, I could not be without my mother. She was my stronghold and my
sanctuary.

I thought of vengeance. I thought of it for Fern and for my
mother, but not for me. My vengeance was a different kind. It bore no offense
and no ill towards injustice. It had no emotion. Blood and death, that’s all it
was. It was in my design from the beginning, ever since the chamber, and I
would always remember it, the night of my death and that forsaken eve of
rebirth.

I had buried Corrine. She was of the past, dead in the tombs
of my heart. At times I could hardly bear it, Mother calling me by that barren
name. But how could I tell her that Corrine had died and some deranged stranger
had possessed her body, had stolen her voice, and mimicked her touch? How could
I tell her what ARTIKA had done without revealing myself down to every mark of
sin? I couldn’t. I’d rather be back in the chamber, my flesh ripped from the
bone. I would drown again, in the red of my very own blood, before the truth
could come to her.