Natassa laughed now, a lilting musical tone that could easily mesmerize someone. Like me, maybe. I was glad I’d accomplished the task of freeing her, but I was still in awe and a bit wary.
She whispered something into the horse’s ear. He whinnied. Then she faced me. “This beast is bonded to me,” she said. “But not even I can choose to give him away.”
The horse snorted in agreement.
“What has this got to do with me?”
“Nothing. I wanted to see him, that’s all. We share a connection.”
I waited. For my “gift.” Natassa wasn’t the least concerned that someone would find us, but I was more than a little anxious to get out of there. I’d retrieved my two rifles, and I wanted to leave. But I waited for Natassa. I had no idea what this was about or what was coming. If I had known, I might have prepared myself. Or at least tried.
She gently kissed the great beast above the nose, and then took my hand. “Come.”
We made our way to an empty stall. She settled herself on the clean, hay-covered ground and gestured to me. I sat Indian-style across from her.
“Closer,” she whispered. I complied. She took my hands into her own cold ones, and once more closed her eyes. Again, I felt a shiver run through my body. A single tear trickled down her cheek.
“You have endured much sorrow.”
She was talking about my wife, my son. “Yes.”
“Your boy haunts you.”
I tensed. Tried to pull my hands away, but she tightened her grip. “Listen...” I began, but she interrupted me.
“Don’t speak.”
I didn’t like this. It was none of her business. I’d done my job. She was free now.
“But you are not free,” she countered. “I can help you, and your son, if you so choose.”
The memory of my son burning to death came to me, now with an electrifying jolt that was more powerful than any of my nightmares. I saw him, heard his agonizing screams as I watched, helpless. I cried out, myself in pain now, but she didn’t let go of my hands.
“Spinoza. Your son is here. What would you say to him?”
The temperature in the stall dropped. Natassa opened her eyes, urging me on. I really, really did not want do this. Whatever “this” was.
“Look!” she commanded. Just beside us, a human form started to materialize. I gasped at my nine-year-old son. He did look like a spirit, but he was actually sitting next to us.
My beautiful boy. No charred hands, no burning body. My son, my son.
“He is asking to speak with you. He cannot do so except through me.”
I could barely find my voice. “My permission?”
“Yes. This may be your only chance. I ask you again. What would you say to him?”
“I would say...I’m sorry. So sorry.” My son held my gaze. My sweet son, who used to laugh with me, ask questions, smile up at me as if I were the answer to the world’s problems. My son, who trusted me with his life. A trust I betrayed.
He wasn’t smiling now though. He was close to tears. I realized tears were pouring down my own cheeks.
I wasn’t prepared for this. Not this, never this. My boy sitting beside me. After six years. He should be fifteen, but he was still nine.
“Speak now, or not at all.” Natassa was in a trance now, her deep violet eyes focused inward. Still, she gripped my hands.
“I’m sorry. So terribly sorry,” I croaked.
Natassa’s hair rustled as though blown by unseen wind. “He does not want you to be sorry.”
I could hardly get words out. I couldn’t take my eyes off my son, who nodded slightly.
“But I killed you...” I said, or tried to say. Truth was, I was having a hard time forming words.
“Not so,” Natassa’s voice sounded far away now. Her voice had taken on a softer quality. A child-like quality.
I tried to speak, tried to refute her words—my son’s words. Sweet, sweet Jesus.
“It is not always for us to decide who lives or dies. Such decisions are sometimes beyond our power.”
“No. I did it,” I said passionately, my voice coming to me in a burst. “I was drunk. Again. Oh my God, I was drunk and I killed you and I will never forgive myself for it. Never...”
Natassa locked eyes with me now. “For your son’s sake, you must.”
My boy was fading in and out. I hadn’t seen him in six years. He looked earnestly into my eyes, pleading. What for, I didn’t know.
“He loves you, Spinoza. He cannot leave this realm because he loves you so. He’s been with you, always. Hurting as you hurt. Weeping as you weep.”
“I—can’t undo it. There’s nothing I can do.”
What came next nearly drove me over the edge to insanity. Natassa spoke, and now I was certain it was my son’s voice. “But you have done something, Daddy. You save other kids.”
I let out a strangled cry, and then found my voice again. “I-I don’t understand.”
“If I had lived, you wouldn’t be saving other kids, Daddy. Don’t you see?”
“See what? Please, I don’t understand...”
And now Natassa blinked and looked at me, and her voice reached me, not my son’s. “Your son gave up his life for others, Spinoza.”
“I don’t under—”
“His sacrifice prompted a new direction in your life.”
“A direction driven by guilt,” I said.
“Driven by the pursuit of justice, Spinoza. You were brought here to help others, to save others, to give hope...and to find the missing.”
I digested this, or tried to.
Suddenly, a rush of memories flooded my thoughts. Visions of the missing children I had found. Reunited with their parents. The joy of love in the families I had helped over the years. I realized my son was sending these visions through Natassa. He had seen me every day. Why hadn’t I known it? I wept harder.
“I would have been taken from you anyway, Daddy. But any other way wouldn’t have made you into what you are now.”
I still fought it. “But I’m a monster...”
“No. You’re a savior. Don’t you see? Can’t you see it?”
“But I loved you so much, David.”
“Then remember the love. Not just one day. Remember our life together.”
Suddenly a rush of warmth streamed through Natassa’s cold hands into mine. Throughout my body. Warmth I’d felt when David would hug me. When I kissed him goodnight. Bought him his first skateboard. Movies and ice cream. All the things I’d done to make my son happy. Because I loved him. Joy. For the first time in years, I felt true joy.