The Final Destination

Ceilí crunched a couple more steps through the woodchips in the playground to sit on the bench. A heavy thunderstorm the night before made the woodchips a disgusting murky mess, but Ceilí was too tired to register the grey water seeping into her shoes. Weariness plagued her, but she was unable to give in to sleep, kept awake by the panging desire to write about her encounters. The experiences she'd had that day spun in front of her eyes, threatening her with the prospect of forgetting.

Ceilí rose from the park bench, her shoes squelching as the sunk momentarily deeper into the muck. She pulled a journal from her pocket as she walked towards the sidewalk. As she opened the front cover to go through the journal one more time, a deep rumble cut through the wet morning air. A slight tremor shook the pavement, causing Ceilí to drop her notebook in surprise. Water gurgled from the top of the fountain. Gradually the spurts coalesced into tall columns of water and the dirty fountain assumed some semblance if its former glory.

Those walking nearby turned, amazed, to the bizarre sight. Random windows in Watershed Heights opened and heads popped out to watch the water dance up and down, sparkling dawn light across the street.

As the water lost its sparkling allure, Ceilí's eyes shifted to the small crowd gathering around the corner of the building. A smallish woman in unremarkable clothes was joining the crowd, the same woman who Ceilí had tried to help so long ago. Ceilí jogged a bit and fell in next to the woman. The two walked awkwardly to the crowd and realized that they were gathered around a body. Dressed in a black cloak, possibly a habit, a woman lay crumpled on the sidewalk, blood dried and pooled beside her.

"Wow," Ceilí said.

"Wow," agreed Marjorie, "I've never really seen anything like this."

Then Marjorie made her way back to the fountain, ignoring the groups of people gathering, and began to inspect the plants living there.