“Life 3 of 9”
Between the Books: The Divine Darkness
This story takes place between The Divine Darkness and The Lasting Light.
Spock felt that he’d gone somewhere pleasant enough, but it was just beyond the grasp of where he’d been a moment ago. Ali and Aurora weren’t there, but the echo of someone else was. He recognized her instantly, his heart fluttering against his little chest as soon as the nostalgic, soothing scent hit.
He meowed his unique call to her—a sound he hadn’t uttered in over a decade, since the people took him away and put him in that terrible, lonely cage. His throat went tight, so that he couldn’t help but purr with every breath, when she trilled back his call. His real name.
He rushed to her, the little, black cat who’d brought him into this world all those years ago, and they rubbed cheeks before she licked his face. He blinked, and all his siblings were around him, egging him on to play. He couldn’t resist the urge to join in, and the four little kittens rolled around on the soft carpeted floor and chased one another back and forth through the room. He felt no territorial impulses, only the pure, innocent joy of being a kitten once more and playing without a care in the world.
Aurora’s cries, echoing from everywhere and nowhere, gave him pause. He looked around, hoping to pinpoint a way back to the four-year-old human girl he’d grown to love so much. And then there was Ali, who had given him such a beautiful life outside that metal cage. She’d rescued him, given him back his dignity, and showered him with gifts and wonderful foods. He’d had a good, long, happy life thanks to that woman.
Had they ever really existed, or was this the only place that he’d ever really known? His memories of them went fuzzy, as though perhaps they’d only been a dream. But then he heard the little girl once more, and his heart ached to return to that other world again.
“It’s not fair!” Aurora cried, and then Spock heard a thunderous explosion that sounded like shattering glass.
The cat watched with intrigue as he left a shade of himself behind with the echo of his mother and siblings, as though some version of himself might yet remain there. Then he blinked his eyes, and he was in the living room. All traces of his mother were gone, but Ali and Aurora were both there.
The child lay unconscious. Alisha tried desperately to wake her, but there was nothing she could do.
The panicked mother’s face was puffy and drenched with tears. She turned to Spock, her eyes meeting his for a moment before she said, “She Shattered everything again. Couldn’t handle losing you. I know it’s not natural; I tried to stop her. God knows how long she’ll be gone to us this time.”
Spock cocked his head, taking in the woman’s words. Every last one of them registered, and he understood suddenly that Alisha was doing more than simply making calls with her sounds. They had individual meanings, and together they created an even deeper message.
“Fascinating,” he said.
Alisha slapped her forehead as she laughed and cried at the same time. Tears continued to stream freely down her cheeks. “And she Shattered us into a world where not only is the cat back from the dead, but now he can talk. Extra points for creativity, Rora.”
The words “back from the dead” registered, taking meaning in that mysterious new way. Spock immediately understood that the place with his littermates and mother had been somewhere beyond this one, a realm he had to leave if he wanted to stay in this one. Aurora had brought him back here—at a serious cost to her health.
Spock remembered the last time the child had Shattered reality. She had decided that she and her mother needed “angel wings,” so they could fly like some of the other humans had learned to do. She slept for so long afterward. Ali cried most of the time.
“One of these times, she might not wake up,” Alisha said with a sniffle. “But she’s too little to understand.”
“Understand.” I understand. Spock got to his feet and moved to comfort his long-time friend. He watched the woman cry and cradle the sleeping girl for a good, long time before he summoned the courage to speak once more. “Rora might die?”
“I don’t know.”
“Like I died?”
Alisha gently laid the child back down and gathered Spock into her arms with another sob. She hugged him almost too tightly. “I thought you were gone forever.”
He rubbed his cheek against her wet face, purring wildly once more. “Me too.”
She set him down, and the two turned their attention back to the sleeping Aurora.
“She really did it this time,” said Alisha.
“You’re telling me.”
“I can’t believe I’m talking to the cat.”
“The cat can’t believe he’s talking.”
“I should get Aurora to her bed.” Alisha wiped her face with the sleeve of her shirt then heaved the child from the floor and carried her upstairs.
Spock followed. “Where’s everyone else? Do you need help?”
“Everyone except for Meg and Sam are working.” Alisha laid Aurora on the child’s twin-sized bed.
“What are Meg and Sam doing?”
Alisha stared straight ahead, fresh pools of tears forming. Her eyelids fluttered, and she took a deep breath. “They went to dig”—she cleared her throat and took another heavy, shaky breath—“a grave for you.”
“Someone should probably tell them I’m no longer dead.”
“Probably should.” Alisha stared off, her gaze going distant.
“She’ll come back,” Spock said as though he knew it to be true.
It had to be true.
The cat curled up beside the sleeping child, vowing to himself that he would watch over and protect her until she returned. His purr intensified as Alisha sat beside him and petted him on the head. He looked up to meet her gaze before he added, “Rora is special—the most special—isn’t she?”
“A lot of people seem to think so.”
“Then why do strangers keep coming to hurt her?”
Alisha stopped petting him, and her expression went grim. “Well, I guess some people define ‘special’ a little differently than we do.”
“Like it’s a bad thing?”
Alisha nodded. “The very worst.”
The idea held heavy in Spock’s chest. “But Aurora’s good… right?”
“Of course,” she said, but a hint of uncertainty in her eyes betrayed her.
Paper Shadows 