The Amulet- part VI

Purity remained in that coma for six months. During that time her parents, their only child so near death, lost all semblance of sanity and normality and were as spectral beings. Neither even bothered to change clothes for weeks at a time, fearing their beloved Purity would slip away forever during their brief absence.

Purity came out of her coma one warm and sunny afternoon, just moments before her father returned. The funeral that began in a misty rain had ended with parting clouds and the hushed singing of a warming breeze.

He stood in the doorway looking at his still but wide-eyed daughter as if confused. Then he knelt at her bedside and told her of the passing of her mother through halting and, at times, unsounded syllables, laced with the utmost love and gratitude for her restoration, and profound sadness at the loss of his best friend.

Purity's remembrance of that event was brought to an end by the cringing voice of the murderer.

" Your boy is all grown up now, would you like to meet him?"

She looked at him as a child would look at a tormentor who had offered to forgo a beating in exchange for a heavy price. She did not notice that the scenes of the bus stop had ended, replaced with moving images of Purity in various stages of childhood, played in a macabre slide show designed to dissolve any sense of rebellion she may have been fostering.

The fiendish monster knew what her response would be, and he used the tension of the moment to produce a low, growling, chuckle.

The sad and debilitating desolation she had felt when the child was taken, that had returned in force at the prodding of the beast before her, vanished at the joy and disbelief that she may indeed see her son.

The murderer waved his hand towards the tree behind them, the one that was destroyed and renewed moments earlier. The tall, majestic oak grew shorter and shorter, branches took on a sheen, like oil on water, and the great tree contorted and shook. Within one minute it was still, having forfeited all tree-like appearances, and was now as a young man. Paul's eyes filled with tears, and he felt as if he were 13 years old again, looking in a mirror.

" This is Scapularium, a reference to his 'calling,' his 'reason for being'. Did you know I spent a lot of time at your bedside during your 'coma?' Did your father tell you how much you talked, or what you said in your stupor?"

Purity shook her head. "No," she said, barely able to form the word, her throat feeling as if it were a labyrinth of antiquities, dust-filled and abandoned. Paul was still looking at the boy, hollow and destitute his soul was at the sight of such a fine young man that, his heart assured him, was indeed his child.

" Oh yes, you would have died had I not," the murderer said.

Scapularium moved towards his parents like an executioner might approach his next assignment. He paused for a moment, looking into the eyes of his mother.

Purity stifled a cry, her face flooded with tears. She tried to touch him, but found her arm refused to extend. Paul tried to touch him as well, moving his uninjured right hand towards his son.

Scapularium took Paul's hands in his, and, as quickly as it had shattered, his left hand was restored. The love he saw in the eyes of his son stole the breath from him, and he could make no sound as Scapularium released his hands and moved away.

He quickly embraced Purity as their son continued his walk to who he had known up to now as his father. He knew he must not let the murderer see the flash of discernment he had felt when he first laid eyes on his mother, the stirring that had begun in his soul, the longing that would eventually force a decision.

The healing had been so tranquil, and the boy Scapularium so intent on hiding his feelings, that the murderer did not noticed what had happened.