American Elsewhere - By Robert Jackson Bennett Page 0,234

small white skull. Mrs. Benjamin and the woman stare at it, though one does so with a look of reverence and the other with a look of profound dread.

“You do remember,” says Mrs. Benjamin, “that I did just help you.”

“Yes. And I don’t care. Do you feel afraid, Sister?”

“Yes, I feel afraid.”

“Do you feel weak?”

“I suppose I do.”

“That’s how I felt. How I’ve always felt. Weak and scared. It isn’t fair, that I was weak. It wasn’t fair that all I could be was Mother’s Ganymede. I could have been stronger. I could have been better. If you had given me the chance.”

“Ganymede?” says Mrs. Benjamin. “I don’t understand.”

“All I got to be was Her servant. I carried Her cup, I brought Her entertainment. Yet She never thanked me. Because all She ever thought about was you. You five, my elders, always off rushing about, doing important things. She never cared about anyone else. And she should have cared. She would have, if She’d had the chance. You all fought for Her, made sure no one else could ever have Her favor! You manipulated Her!”

“We manipulated Her?” asks Mrs. Benjamin sniffily. “That is a stunning revision of history.”

“Shut up!” snarls the woman. “Don’t act like you didn’t! I… I know what She would have done if you hadn’t made sure you were the favorites! She would have… She would have loved us. She would have loved me. You don’t know what it’s like, being so forgotten. You don’t know what it’s like, to be cast aside. She never even knew us. Never even cared about us. You don’t know what that’s like. None of you do!

“But all that will change.” She thumps herself on the chest. “I am the weapon in Mother’s hand! I am the tool of Her mind! I am Her device, Her emissary, Her herald! I am first in Her eyes! And when She comes I will be rewarded, and I shall be loved! She will come back, and She will love me! Do you hear me? Do you hear my words?”

“I do,” says Mrs. Benjamin warily. “But I wonder if it is really worth it.”

“It is!” says the woman. “It must be! It has to be!”

“Are you sure Mother is even coming? You showed me Her body in the cavern, but…”

“She is! Mother will wake when Her host comes near! That last piece of Her!”

“A child. A human child.”

“Not for long. Soon Mother will wake and take Her rightful place at the center of this world.”

“And then what? You will replace First, replace the rest of us?”

“Yes!” shouts the woman. She is on the verge of sobbing now. “I found Her! I’m the one bringing Her here! I brought down those who would stand in Her way! I brought the woman here! It was me, me, I did it all, it was me! Not you, never you! You never helped! Never helped me, not once!”

“We never knew…”

“You did know! You had to know! Stop… stop saying that!” The woman begins to thrust the open box forward, preparing to send the little skull tumbling onto Mrs. Benjamin…

… which is when Mona’s hand darts forward, and shuts the box with a snap. Before the woman can react, Mona shoves the barrel of the Glock up against her back, right at the base of her spine, and pulls the trigger.

Immediately the woman’s legs give out underneath her: the round has just cleanly severed her spine. She flops awkwardly on the floor, rolls over, and stares at her belly, from which the round has rather messily exited; blood is pouring out at a fairly alarming rate.

Mona stands over her, breathing hard, and looks between her and Mrs. Benjamin. “Right,” she says.

The woman stares up at Mona, then at the wooden box in her hand. “You, you…”

“Yeah,” says Mona. “I shot you. But don’t worry, you’re not dying, at least not fast. I’m smart enough to know that shooting you would just shift you around.” She points her gun at the woman’s chest. “I can make you hurt, though. Real bad. I’m learning to be pretty good at that. Now I want you to tell me what happened in that room back there.”

The woman looks at her blankly, then examines her wound again. She does not seem all that pained or concerned by it.

“Tell me,” says Mona again.

The woman remains still, unresponsive.

“I don’t think physical threats will work, dear,” says Mrs. Benjamin. “It’s my understanding that it has died or hurt