Spire in the Woods/7

Most people have largely forgotten about all the hysteria surrounding the Y2K bug, and rightly so. It was a fundamentally silly concern. I’m not saying it was outside the realm of possibility that a few systems would crash or that there wouldn’t be a couple of automated billing issues, but an embarrassingly high percentage of the population believed, like my father, that it could cause a nuclear holocaust.

We’d been fighting about it since Thanksgiving.

“That’s not how missiles work, dad.”

“Oh, so you’re a nuclear technician now? All the control systems that launch our ICBMs are computerized. And they’re old computers. They’re not compliant. You don’t know what will happen.”

“I know missiles don’t launch unless they’re told to. It’s not like they’re sitting around in their silos going, ‘Can I launch yet? Can I launch yet? Huh? Huh? How about now?’ and the computers are sitting there going, “No. No. No. Wait, what year is it? 1900? Crap, I haven’t been invented yet. Release the dogs of war!”

I’d been fighting with my parents for weeks to let me go to Drew DeLuca’s New Year’s Eve party, but in addition to the imminent threat of thermonuclear war, they thought 15 was too young to stay out all night at a coed party. Originally, they had wanted to pick me up by ten. After I brought Alina home, my dad suddenly reversed his position. I could stay over at Drew’s.

In the past, I had always been at home when the ball dropped. Usually, my brother would fall asleep around 11 and my parents had long since outgrown the compulsion to make New Year’s Eve special. This usually left me alone with Dick Clark and my daydreams of having someone to kiss at midnight.

Of course, that was all immaterial. There was no way Alina would turn up at DeLuca’s. And after finding out what had happened to Kerry, and having to tell my parents about it, well, I didn’t exactly feel like celebrating either.

My dad actually stayed up with me that year. He was convinced the power would go out at midnight. A part of me hoped he was right. Sure, it might have meant the end of the world, but at least it would have taken my mind off of how crappy I felt.

At midnight, the ball dropped. So many things had happened to me that year, so many things that I’d thought would make me feel happy or maybe just fulfilled, but the girl I loved was still miserable, one of my best friends had brain damage and there was nothing I could do for either one of them. The world was the same miserable place it’d been that morning. No more, no less.

I tried calling Alina before I went to sleep but hung up when her dad answered. The next day we spoke only briefly. She seemed more distant than ever but assured me it was only because her parents were in the next room.

At my parents’ insistence, Mrs. Peterson joined us for a late dinner on her way back from the hospital. The dark wood surface of our dining room table was polished to a mirrored finish and Mrs. Peterson looked out of place sitting at it, her old T-shirt and stained khaki work pants reflected back up at her. My little brother was visibly uncomfortable to be sitting across from her. He had the same expression on his face as he had the first time we’d gone to a Sox game by ourselves and, heading back to Alewife, a homeless person had sat near us on the T.

None of us spoke much, but before leaving Mrs. Peterson did accept the name of a speech therapist my dad had tracked down from one of the partners at his firm earlier that day, and had agreed to let us help her pay for it.

I knew he had ulterior motives, but I got the impression from the look in my dad’s eyes that he did really want to help. My dad’s a bit of a shark and I think that may have been the first time I’d ever seen him look at someone with pity.

Monday morning I saw Fletch for the first time since Kerry had fallen through the ice. It had only been a week, but it felt like a lifetime. Fletch looked tired in a way you don’t often see in teenagers. He looked like my grandfather right before he decided he couldn’t take any more chemo. He looked beaten.

If he didn’t know already, I didn’t think he could handle an update on Kerry’s condition. We rode in silence.

School was a torture. Everyone was laughing and smiling. They complained of being back from break but were eagerly catching up with friends, swapping stories about New Year's and Christmas, and commiserating about the lack of fresh powder anywhere on the East Coast that year. They had no idea Scary Kerry was lying in a hospital bed, practically unable to speak.

At least when Rob had killed himself, his death had been so public we all went through it together. With Kerry, aside from Kim Murray and Dan Burgen, Fletch and I were the only ones who even seemed to notice she was missing.

It’s lonely being miserable in a crowd of happy people.

Drew teased me about having missed his party, but quickly realized I wasn’t in the mood.

“You all right, dude?”

“Not even close.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

Shaking my head was all I could do without crying. Drew squeezed my shoulders in a half hug and then gave me some space by turning back to our group of friends. I disappeared wordlessly into the crowded hallway in search of the only person that could make me feel better.

I found Alina right before the bell rang for first period. She was sitting against the lockers with Sara Cohen. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but based on how quickly they stopped talking I got the impression it had been about me.

All I wanted to do was put my arms around Alina, to melt against her and bury my face in her shoulder. To lose myself, even if just for a second, in the sensation of holding her, but the bell rang before I could even get a word out and Sara dragged her off to class with scarcely a backwards glance.

The rest of the day crawled by in a meaningless cacophony of lecturing teachers and jabbering students. With each passing minute I felt like it was harder and harder to breathe. I spent the last period staring at the second hand of the clock, willing it to move faster until it struck three.

That’s when I heard them. The bells.

One...I was in my den, I was inside Alina...two...writhing against her, I felt as though I’d melt and explode all at the same time...three...I never wanted the chimes to end...

But they did. I was sitting in my desk, breathing hard. Everyone else around me was packing up their things. I took a moment to collect myself and followed suit.

They’d sounded as loud as they had from the shore of the Quabbin. As loud and as beautiful.

That Wednesday, Fletch and I were in a car accident. It was on the way to school. We were running a little late for some reason, although I don’t recall why. Fletch had slowed down the car to make the turn onto Cold Spring Road and then froze, letting the car drift into the trees on the side of the road.

For my part I was yelling, but he didn’t seem to notice for a full eight seconds. He just sat there, his foot lightly pressing the gas, his car pressed up against a grove of small pine trees, its wheels spinning up dirt and fallen needles.

I didn’t need to ask what had happened. It was eight o’clock. He’d heard the bells.

When he snapped out of it, Fletch was visibly shaken.

“Oh, God! I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Are you all right?”

I was fine. The only real damage was a crack in the front bumper and a bent sapling. We’d been lucky: if we’d been a few seconds earlier or later, it would have struck eight while Fletch was going thirty or forty down our winding streets, and the trees would have been a lot less forgiving.

“Have you heard them? Since we were out there?” he asked.

“Yeah. Twice. Kerry’s heard them too.”

“I’ve heard them eight times. They keep getting louder.” Fletch shuddered. “Do you think this is what happened to Rob? The bells just kept ringing, kept getting louder and louder until he couldn’t take it anymore?”

I didn’t. The bells were too beautiful, or so I thought at the time. I was actually a little jealous Fletch had heard them more times than I had.

We arrived after first period had already started, too late for me to have had any chance of seeing Alina that day. I hadn’t seen her all week and every time I called her house, it seemed like her father answered and I’d just missed her. Awfully social for someone who still ate all her lunches with the guidance counselors.

Although in fairness to Alina, I got it. I found the general din of the classroom intolerable and the cafeteria even worse. Everyone else seemed so happy. So carefree.

I’m not sure when exactly I began checking the time compulsively. It may have been the day Fletch went off the road. It may have been later in the week. Regardless, the time seemed to be the only thing I could focus on at school. Suddenly I was holding my breath whenever a new hour approached, each time hoping that I would hear the bells again.

I remember thinking that it was funny: back before I knew for sure there was something lying beyond the realm of our senses, I’d always turned to prayer. And now, after years of seeking out the supernatural as a way of bolstering my faith, after having found the evidence that I was searching for, I found myself unable to complete so much as a simple Hail Mary without my thoughts straying to the sublime beauty of the bells.

I guess it was foolish of me to think that finding the Widower’s Clock would reaffirm my Catholic faith. I still didn’t know if there was a God. All I knew for sure was that there were the bells and the bells were housed in a spire in the woods on an island in a reservoir just a car ride away. And I’d be getting my driver’s license in a little over a week.

I tried to dispel thoughts of returning to the Quabbin, but the unhappier I was at school, the more I longed to return.

There was no question Alina was avoiding me. I kept trying to call her and kept getting her parents. I didn’t want them to think I was a pest, so I tried to keep my calls down to one a day, but it was so hard. I took to calling and hanging up if she didn’t answer.

Pathetic. I know. But I couldn’t help myself. We were taught in Sunday School that hell’s worst torture is how exquisitely your soul feels the absence of God; if that’s true, surely a teenager’s worst torture is how exquisitely they feel the absence of their first love. Especially when it’s a rejection.

The dirty looks started on Tuesday the 11th, just over a week after we’d come back from break. I’d gone looking for Alina in the juniors’ hallway, same as I had every morning, and there was Sara Cohen, looking at me like I was filth incarnate. It stopped me dead in my tracks.

I didn’t know Sara very well, but she’d always seemed so friendly. Seeing that disgust directed at me...it was shocking. I wasn’t real popular, but I had never elicited that sort of reaction. Mostly, at school, away from my handful of friends, I was invisible.

The next day at lunch I noticed it wasn’t just Sara. When I went up to get my food, I noticed that the whole table of sporty girls that Alina used to sit with before Rob’s suicide were staring at me. It was the sort of reaction I’d seen people have to Scary Kerry, like they simply didn’t want me to be there.

While I didn’t know any of these girls especially well, I had met one or two of them through Kristy and thought we were on good terms. I tried giving them a smile and tilting my head back in that, “hey” gesture. Some turned away quickly; a few of the others pursed their lips in an expression I couldn’t read. After that I noticed they kept looking over at me throughout the rest of the lunch period. I picked at my tray for a while, then left without eating.

I missed feeling invisible.

I tried calling Alina again that night. I knew I wouldn’t like hearing whatever it was she had to say, but I had to hear it. Her answering machine picked up. I thought about leaving a message, but didn’t see the point.

How could she treat me like this? All I ever wanted to do was help her and make her feel good. I felt like someone had scooped out my insides and left me a languid husk. I couldn’t imagine a worse feeling.

I couldn’t sleep. I stared up at the ceiling and tried to convince myself that she really did care about me. That her happiness that we were together and had made love had brought her survivor guilt rushing back. Christ, I was practically praying the girl I loved was suffering from psychological problems.

I don’t remember if it was three or four when I heard them. Those fucking bells. They sounded so sweet and so clear. I felt like I had after the first time I’d kissed Alina. I saw the version of us from my daydreams, walking the halls, holding hands, smiling and laughing as we argued about whose friends to sit with that day. I felt full again.

The next thing I knew, I was waking up.

Thursday, the 13th, was a snow day. As desperately as I wanted to see Alina again, even just to bump into her, it was a relief not to be in school. I stayed in bed until nearly noon, and then had breakfast with my brother. It was so calm, so peaceful. Nothing to do but play videogames and watch the snow fall. Maybe I’m romanticizing it now, but January 13th, 2000 was the last normal day of my life.

Friday was my birthday. Sixteen years old. It should have been one of the happiest days of my life, but all I really felt was resolve. I decided I had to know what was going on. Enough was enough. If I couldn’t catch Alina at school or get her on the phone, then I’d just have to make Alina’s house my first stop as a licensed driver.

Fletch and I got to school early. Ever since the bells made him drift off the road, he insisted we leave early enough to be sure we were parked before 8 o’clock.

I skipped my locker and went straight for the juniors’ hallway. Halfway there, Drew DeLuca intercepted me, pulling me into an empty classroom.

Drew was co-captain of our swim team and the years spent swimming laps had left him absolutely ripped. He moved me about as easily as he would have a small child and when the door shut behind us, he didn’t loosen his grip.

“Dude, what’s going on with you and Alina?”

There was something very accusatory in his voice. I tried to step back but he yanked me forward, maintaining his uncomfortably close distance.

“That’s what I want to know,” I mumbled. Drew stared unblinkingly into my eyes, like he was trying to see right through me, as I told him about how Alina had come to me at his birthday party asking me about a reference in Rob’s suicide note. About how we’d kissed at her house, about how Kerry had fallen through the ice, and about how Alina and I eventually made love.

I left out the part about the bells.

“Jesus Christ. Jesus fucking Christ.” Drew dropped his hand from my arm and turned to walk away. The angry edge was gone from his voice but he didn’t sound relieved. “Dude, Sara Cohen told the whole swim team this morning that you, er, that you’re like stalking Alina. Saying you’re like Rob Kennan. Well, actually, she implied you were a hell of a lot worse.”

I sat down hard. I felt like the room was spinning, like the wind had been knocked out of me.

“You’ve got to back off, dude,” he continued. “She’s got a boyfriend.”

“She has a...who?”

“That guy she dated last summer. What’s-his-name. From Bishop Guertin.” What’s-his-name was Ryan Dorset. They’d met at a track meet two years earlier. Ryan Dorset was rich. Ryan Dorset was tall. Ryan Dorset was handsome, and, although I may not be the most objective source on this, Ryan Dorset was a douchebag. The first time I’d ever spoken to him, I was wearing a Radiohead shirt and he quizzed me about their album titles, as if I was some bandwagon follower who had to justify my fandom to him.

How could Alina do this to me? Take my virginity and then backslide with an old boyfriend? How could she be so shallow? Ryan Dorset. Happy birthday to me.

I would have liked to have stayed hidden in that empty classroom, but the bell rang. Emerging into the crowded hallway, I could feel people staring at me. Whispered conversations halted at my approach. John Landry, who was on the track team with Alina, shouldered me as I came out of the stairwell near the gym’s locker rooms.

It’s weird how quickly gossip can change your whole world. I wouldn’t exactly call John Landry a friend of mine, but we had sat next to each other in Bio the year before and had always gotten along well enough. Robert Kennan had learned, through no fault of his own, what a rumor could do to your life.

And so had Alina. Which made her doing it to me somehow extra-painful. She knew how much the whispers and sidelong glances could hurt, and she was subjecting me to it anyway.

Of course, in fairness to her, what she said about me wasn’t a lie. Not exactly. If only she had talked to me. I wouldn’t have had to go to her house that day.

My mom picked me up from school a little early and took me to the DMV. I passed the written exam and the driving test with flying colors. She offered to let me drive home, but I declined. It would turn four while we were still on the road and I didn’t want to risk an accident. If my mom thought it was weird she didn’t say anything.

After we got home, I lied and said I wanted my first car ride to be a visit to Scary Kerry, who had been released from the hospital the week before. My parents thought that was sweet, even complimented me on what a good person I was. I thanked them and forced a smile even though I felt dead inside.

I headed out for Alina’s around a quarter to five. Her parents wouldn’t be home for another hour or two. I swear to God, all I wanted was to talk to her. I never meant for anything else to happen.

Please believe me when I say that. Please.

When I arrived, there was a car parked behind Alina’s blue beetle that I didn’t recognize. I went up to the door but something stopped me from ringing the bell. It was a queasy feeling. The sort of feeling you get when you know your life’s never going to be the way you want it to. I took a closer look at the car. It had a Bishop Guertin parking pass.

The son of a bitch was there.

I walked through the yard around to the back of the house. A part of me wanted to catch them red-handed— though it’s not clear to me there was anything to catch. If they were together, I couldn’t exactly call it cheating because if Alina wouldn’t even talk to me, clearly we weren’t going out.

I guess I just had to see it with my own eyes.

I crouched down beside one of the basement windows and peered in. There she was, on the couch where we’d had our first kiss, lying on top of Ryan Dorset. His hands were inside her shirt and hers were working aggressively to undo his belt.

I wanted to leave. I wanted to run away. To scrunch my eyes closed and pretend that I had never seen anything. But I couldn’t. I was held in place by a morbid fascination. It was almost like in a dream when you’re not in control and just watching yourself from the outside. My mind was screaming to go but my feet stayed planted and my eyes drank in every detail. To this day, I remember what I saw from that window even better than I remember our first kiss, or the way Alina always smelled like vanilla, or how it felt when I gave her my virginity.

What I saw was Alina unfastening Dorset’s pants and sliding her hand into his fly. It was tough to see her face, but I could tell she wasn’t crying. I could tell she didn’t feel conflicted about what she was doing.

I realized, some months later, that I’d never seen her look that way at me. I’d always been the aggressor. I guess I hadn’t noticed because, at 16 years old, I had internalized the idea that that was what guys were supposed to do, and that good girls were supposed to be, well, not reluctant exactly, I wasn’t so far gone as to think girls didn’t also want sex, but I believed they’d be more demure, less eager.

But at the time, standing there outside her basement window, I wasn't think of Alina’s perspective. I didn’t consider how she felt about Ryan Dorset, or what she must have thought of me. I could only stare as they wriggled out of their clothes and watch as Alina guided Dorset inside her.

I felt like Adolf Riefler.

That’s when it turned five and I lost myself completely to the bells. One...I felt warm, but not like before. This was different. It wasn’t like a blanket, it was like a fire. Two...my heart pounded in my chest like thunder in a storm. Three...I was acutely aware of my body, my arms and legs pumping like pistons, the wind blowing past my face. Four...I could feel the weight of something solid in my hand. Five...once, when I was eleven, I had gotten into a fight at school and it took two teachers to pry me off the other boy. I had given him a black eye and knocked out the last of his baby teeth.

Anger can also feel good. Bloodlust can also feel like home.

When the last of the bells tolled, they were replaced by the sound of a car alarm. Alina, only half dressed, was screaming and crying and sobbing, all at the same time. I looked up just in time to see Ryan Dorset, wearing nothing but boxers and a pair of sneakers, punch me in the face. I fell down hard onto the pavement of Alina’s driveway, which was covered in broken glass. Apparently I’d been smashing in his car windows with a large rock.

Dorset grabbed me by jacket and pulled me up into a seated position so he could get a good grip on my throat.

“Stop it! Stop it!” Alina shrieked. I’m sure somewhere one of her neighbors was already calling the cops.

“What the fuck’s the matter with you, huh? Why can’t you leave her alone?” Dorset asked. He maneuvered his body weight on top of me, pinning me down as his fingers dug into my neck. It’s an awful feeling, having someone you don’t want to be there on top of you, pressing down.

The rock was still in my hand and I swung it with everything I was worth. It hit the side of his face with a sickening crunch. I’d broken Ryan Dorset’s jaw and sent him rolling into the Aminevs’ snow-covered front lawn. He must have been in shock because it took him a second to realize how hard he’d been hit and for the pain to set in. I could see the realization, the fear, in his face. It made me feel good. It made me feel big.

Dorset slowly began to crawl away on his hands and knees. I got to my feet and held the rock up, high above my head.

“Please...please...” Alina whispered. All the color had drained from her face. Every bit of her was trembling. Tears rolled unchecked down each of her cheeks. She was looking at me and what she saw scared her. “I’m...I’m so sorry....”

I looked back at her. Her eyes were red from crying. Her lip quivered. She looked a lot older than 17. Suddenly the rock felt heavy and I didn’t feel so big. I let the rock fall from my hand. It landed in the snow with a soft plop.

Ryan began to blubber in pain. His words were unintelligible, or maybe I just don’t want to remember what he said. Blood was gushing from his mouth. It stained the snow beneath him as he crawled.

I had not intended for things to turn out the way they did. Alina was terrified of me and that was the last thing I ever wanted her to feel. Especially about me.

I opened my mouth and found no words. I reached out towards her, desperate to comfort her and she recoiled from me with a gasp. Her eyes squeezed shut, bracing for an impact I could hardly blame her for fearing.

I didn’t know what else to do, so I just left. It was the last time I ever saw Alina Aminev.

I found myself on the highway with the music blaring. I was driving fast down 495. It had to have been at least half an hour since I’d left Alina’s. I had no memory of the intervening time.

I couldn’t go home. I couldn’t. I’d be arrested. This wasn’t like a shoving match. Ryan Dorset would need medical attention. He was the second person in less than a month that I’d put in the hospital.

Then again, where was I gonna go? What was I gonna do? Make a run for Canada? Even if police wouldn’t soon be looking for my mom’s car, I probably had seven or eight dollars on me and access to another $250 or so in my Bay Bank savings account. Hardly enough to get too far.

I felt dead inside.

There was only one thing that could make me feel better. I wanted to hear them again. One last time. For real.

I was going to the Quabbin.

The sun sets early in the winter. Hell, it had already started going down even before I’d arrived at Alina’s. By the time I’d hit the Quabbin it was a little after 8:30 and dark. I parked the car near the trailer park, as Fletch had done the night Kerry fell through the ice. I remember wondering how close I was to where he’d parked the night Rob found the Spire.

The walk to the lake took a little longer than last time. There was about four or five inches of snow on the ground and the ploughs had turned the sides of the road into little snowbanks a foot or so high. It made walking on the side of the road slow going. Luckily, I only saw one car drive by and they didn’t pay any attention to me.

It was bitter cold. I hadn’t noticed at first, but with each step the wind was cutting further and further through that dead feeling. I just kept walking. It was like being back on the hike with Scary Kerry. You’re hyper-aware of your body and all of its aches and pains, but if you just keep walking your brain goes blank.

It felt good not to think.

I was only about halfway between the entrance to the Quabbin and the reservoir when I heard them. So sweet. So lovely. So warm.

Suddenly it wasn’t so cold anymore. I didn’t feel the wind. Or at least not a winter wind. I felt a warm breeze on my cheek. It smelled dewy and sweet. The full moon shone down on the lush green forest surrounding either side of the dirt road. Hadn’t it been paved only a moment ago?

I could hear crickets. A tiny light flitted past the corner of my eye. Then another. And another. Fireflies, dancing through the air. It was so warm. I took off my jacket and stood watching the fireflies try to find one another in the hopes of mating.

And then the bells finished their call and I was standing in the snow, holding my jacket and staring at nothing. I quickly struggled back into my jacket.

I looked back the way I came. The moonlight bouncing off the snow bathed everything in a weak blue light. It was beautiful, but sterile. A much harsher environment than the one in the vision I’d just had.

I had returned to hear the bells one last time, but looking back in the direction of the trailer park, well, there was nothing for me back there, nothing good at any rate, so I turned back towards the reservoir and started walking. One foot in front of the other. Just me and one last mile.

When I finally reached the shore, it was nearly nine-thirty. The wind had blown the snow into little drifts leaving some patches of ice bare. In the moonlight, it looked almost like the Quabbin was made of white and blue marble. It was scenic but I barely noticed. I was looking off at the larger of the two islands; its trees, frosted by snow, left it almost invisible against the horizon.

I wondered dimly if the bag with Kristy’s raft and my mother’s Bible was laying somewhere out on that ice. It’d been cold the last couple of weeks and the ice was silent. Either it’d grown thicker or the snow was dampening the sound of its cuh...cuh...cuh’s.

I stepped out on to the Quabbin's frozen surface. It was easiest to walk where the snow was thickest. With each step, I drew closer to the place where Kerry had fallen through the ice, sinking deeper into my self-loathing as did. I almost wanted the ice to give out beneath me. The thought of plunging into the dark depths of the freezing waters below, of having what little warmth I possessed sucked from my body and leaving me numb, physically unable to feel anything, was enticing.

I didn’t want to feel. I didn’t want to think and I didn’t want to feel. Not like this.

I had barely caught a glimpse of Kerry’s face as she fell through the ice. Standing there, trying to picture it, all I could see was Alina, and the horror I’d filled her with.

I considered, for a long moment, stomping my feet in an effort to open up a fissure in the surface of the reservoir. But there was something else I wanted more than the anesthetizing relief the cold offered. I wanted the bells.

Being close to their source strengthened the memory of how they made me feel when I heard them. It was as if I was being pulled towards them by an invisible string. Actually, it was more like I was underwater, holding my breath, being sucked along by a gentle current. It felt like if I ever wanted to breathe again, I had to go where the waters wanted to take me. I had to find the Spire.

Wind pushes snow around capriciously. If the snow can catch somewhere, more snow will pile up on top of it, forming little drifts, like sand dunes in a desert. If there’s enough wind, eight inches of snow might result in some spots where the ground is barely covered and others where the snow runs two, three feet deep.

I didn’t see anything that extreme that night on the frozen surface of the Quabbin, except for one oddly blocky little snow drift. As I drew nearer, I could see, in the moonlight a cloth strap peeking out of the snow. It was my duffel bag. The one I’d dropped after pulling Kerry out of the water.

The bag had been soaked and left outside for weeks. It felt like a solid block of ice, and probably weighed close to 30 pounds. I doubted there was much in there that could be salvaged. Maybe the raft, but my mom’s bible was almost certainly done for and the incense and various things Kerry and I had accumulated were probably ruined. But I took it up anyway. Leaving it there, so close to the source of the bells, seemed as disrespectful to me as leaving trash behind in the pews at Church.

The ice in its frozen straps cracked as I slung the bag over my shoulder and pressed on.

It must have been 9:58 or 9:59 by the time I stepped off the ice and onto the shore of the large island, because I’d scarcely reached the woodline when the bells tolled ten.

I found the ankle-deep snow replaced by a broad dirt road and the snow-capped trees with colonial homes, but these colonials weren’t like the McMansions that dominated my neighborhood. No, even in the near darkness I could see that these were much more solidly built, and each looked different enough from the others that they couldn’t possibly have all been made from the same plan.

The bells rang out like thunder. I fell, shaking, to my knees, letting their raw power wash over me. I could feel the sound waves reverberating through my bones. I was vibrating to the frequency of the universe. It felt like staring into the true face of God. My whole body tingled. My whole being crackled with energy.

I wept because it was so beautiful.

I wept because I was unworthy.

I wept because I could do nothing else.

The call of the bells washed over me like a wave at the beach and sucked me into their undertow. I thought I was leaving this world. I thought my next breath would be at their source. I felt like a weary traveler finally able to rest and a dreamer waking from sleep, all at once.

Then the tenth bell sounded and I was lying in the snow. It was silent, except for the wind, and I wept for a different reason. I was alone in the darkness, alone in the cold, in a world where I’d lost my place.

There was no way but forward. There was nothing for me but the bells.