The Deeps (Book Three of The Liminality)

by A. Sparrow

  “You guys are gonna be sorry.”

  Chapter 17: Wendell

  It was a short train ride back to Bridgeport. The three of us had barely caught our breath when the stop was announced. We hovered inside the door until the last possible moment, craning our necks out like wary chipmunks, ensuring no one was waiting to waylay us.

  And this time, there was nobody. No watchful loners poking at smart phones. No weird guys in fancy suits holding placards. No blonde girls with compact machine guns in their purses. A bunch of people got on the train, but once they did, the platform was clear. Nobody got off but us.

  We huddled beside a vending machine while we waited for our connection, which arrived only a few minutes later. As we boarded, some of the stress that had been weighing me down just melted away. It felt strange but marvelous to worry a little bit less for a change. We had shaken both Sergei and the guy with the Cadillac. And now we were headed to some obscure town where we could further disappear. I mean, who had ever heard of Naugatuck and who would ever want to go there?

  I plopped down into a fake leather seat and granted myself the luxury of calming down, letting my nervous perspiration dry for a change. I needed a shower badly and my clothes were ready for the trash bin. They reeked of swamp and sweat. Silt stains streaked my jeans, the cuffs were shredded. Clumps of debris remained in my pockets from all that bushwhacking we had done.

  What was worse, I kept having this crawly sensation in my midriff that made me wonder if I had bugs in my underwear. Weirdly, the feeling vanished whenever I brought my hand towards the spot, before I could even touch it. I didn’t even need to scratch. I thought it was probably some kind of skin condition related to bad hygiene.

  Ellen was positively giddy about seeing her Grams. “She makes a homemade mac and cheese to die for. Real Vermont cheddar. Bread crumbs sprinkled over the top. And she cans these homemade dill pickles that are way better than anything you can find in a store.”

  I had no desire to visit Ellen’s grandmother. If I had my druthers I would have stayed in Bridgeport and slunk away on my own, blending in with the local homeless population, slurping soup at some charity feed trough, sleeping in a cardboard box under some highway overpass. That was the kind of lifestyle most conducive to me focusing my attention on the Deeps. Basic survival. No distractions.

  I still had every intention of ditching the girls as soon as it became practical. I figured Ellen would be safe with her Grams. And Urszula would be fine on her own once she got over her weepiness. If she could handle the Deeps, she could figure out Connecticut. The time was coming for me to concentrate on my main mission—keeping my promise to Karla.

  “She doesn’t know we’re coming,” said Ellen, babbling on. “But that’s no big deal with Grams. I used to drag my friends over to her place all hours out of the blue. She’d always find a way to feed them. That’s Grams for you?”

  “I hope she doesn’t mind if I conk out at the dinner table,” I said, as my eyelids slipped to half-mast. “I’m getting pretty sleepy.”

  Ellen chuckled. “Been there. Done that. In high school, Friday nights, me and my friends used to get totally sloshed, and we used to show up at her house after football games. And she would come downstairs in her jammies and feed us! I used to have a bit of a drinking problem.”

  Urszula was snuffling silently again, her face buried in her drawn-up knees. She kept her gaze fixed out the window, watching the outskirts of a small industrial town slide by, with its weathered brick mills and concrete flood barriers and what seemed to be a helicopter factory.

  I wondered how different this place looked from the world she left behind a hundred years ago. I knew nothing about Silesia, only that it was on the far side of Europe, halfway across the world. I pictured a greener place with farms, dirt roads and tidy villages. I’m sure they had trains, but not nearly as many cars.

  Twin freshets recommenced their flow down either side of Urszula’s nose. Her face bore the same contours, but it looked so much more delicate on this side of existence. I wondered if she really was more fragile here or if it was the gray skin that made her look more rugged on the other side.

  She snatched up a swath of her baggy sweatshirt and blew her nose. She glared at me fiercely. “Why are you staring?”

  “Just wondering if you’re okay.”

  “Of course I am okay! I am fine. I am just not … stable … right now. I hate not having control over my emotions.”

  “Do you feel … different here?”

  “What’s different is … that I feel. Too acutely. The numbness … it is gone … and I miss it.”

  “What’s wrong?” whispered Ellen. “Why is she crying all the time?”

  “Oh, she’s still adjusting to this place,” I whispered back, though loud enough for Urszula to overhear.

  “This is not my world,” she said. “No more. If ever. I was made for Neueden. That is … my Heaven. And some day I dream I will sleep the long sleep … and join the Singularity … and that will be good as well.”

  “I don’t know about that. Doesn’t sound so great to me. All those souls packed together in one brain.”

  Ellen looked puzzled. I didn’t bother to explain.

  “You, obviously have not spoken to your friend, Mr. O,” said Urszula, training her stiletto-like gaze on me. “The Singularity is glorious. God-like. You can spread your soul far and wide. Be in many places at once.”

  I just shrugged and leaned my head against the window, closing my eyes, probing my own psyche, hoping for some sign of those roots, but there was no sign of anything stirring. Instead, Billy, my familiar, got in touch, flashing me images of a slate gray Cadillac zooming through a red light along a road lined with strip malls. And whatever sense of ease I had cultivated, evaporated just like that. I could only hope that the vision came from someplace far away.

  “See that?” said Ellen, pointing to a brick building on a hill. “That’s St. Michael’s. The Catholic school I used to go to when I was little. It’s a senior center now.”

  “You lived here?”

  “Until I was ten. We moved to Naugatuck when my dad took a job up in Torrington.”

  The train crossed over a big steel trestle flanked with wide swaths of Phragmites marsh. We had come to the confluence of two rivers.

  “So, what town is this here?”

  “Well, at the moment we’re in Derby, but we’re just about to cross over into Ansonia.”

  Again, I felt something scurry and squirm under my shirt. I slapped at myself, trapping a lump of something in a fold of cloth beneath my arm.

  “What’s wrong?” said Ellen.

  “There’s something … in my shirt.” I reached into my neck hole and got my hands around a clump of leaves or something, but it slipped out of my fingers and out of my reach.

  “Jesus Christ! Do I got roaches on me?”

  “What?”

  More snatches of vision intruded, as Billy shared birds-eye glimpses of the gray Cadillac rolling through a residential area of small ranch homes with tiny yards, newly leafed trees, gardens freshly tilled.

  The train slowed and crept into a station. We rolled past a man in a wide-brimmed hat and mirror shades standing on the concrete slab of the platform. He held a long cardboard cylinder—the kind people used to carry rolled up maps and posters. His dark suit was cut from a fabric that seemed to defy gravity, the way it floated off his limbs. It shimmered with a cryptic texture that only revealed itself at certain angles of light.

  “Holy shit! That’s him!”

  The train stopped. The doors opened. A few got people off. I twisted around, gripping the corner of the seat, in time for a glimpse of that suit swirling into our car. “He’s getting on the train!” I scrambled to open the courier bag, putting my hand around the grip of the pistol.

  “What do we do?” said Ellen.

  “Keep your eyes straight ahead.”

  “What is going on?” said Urszula, emerging from her
mopey reverie.

  “Keep still,” I said. “Whatever you do, don’t look back.”

  But the guy strode right up the aisle and came straight to our seats. He stood over us, smirking. I looked up, sheepishly. He had taken off his shades revealing deeply pitted eyes, but they contained a surprised amount of warmth and mirth.

  He had a pale complexion on a weathered, closely shaven face. Deep creases and a smear of gray in his temples and sideburns. If I had to guess his age I would have said late thirties, early forties.

  Ellen looked to me for reassurance. I was at a loss for words.

  “You’re a hard man to pin down Mr. Moody. Honestly, one would think you were afraid of us for some reason. But I mean no harm.”

  My finger trembled over the trigger.

  His gaze followed my arm into the courier bag. He frowned and did this little swirly thing with his finely manicured hand and the gun suddenly became too hot to hold. I yanked my hand off the grip. Something sizzled. A strand of acrid smoke snaked upward.

  “I wouldn’t bother with that now,” said the man. “Those rounds are duds. I just made sure of that. But don’t worry. The gun’s still usable. You just need some new ammo.”

  “Who the fuck are you?”

  He thrust out his hand. “Wendell Thomas Franks. It’s great to finally meet you. I’ve been looking forward to it. You had us on a real goose chase there for a while.”

  I stared at his hand before taking it reluctantly and shaking it. He had unusually long nails, but his fingers were soft, like a surgeon’s.

  Urszula scowled, but kept herself contained. Funny, how now that we had an actual threat standing before us, she managed to control herself. But she had just witnessed what this man could do. Maybe she was just being cautious.

  “What do you want from us?”

  “Us? It’s only you I want to talk to. I’ve come to make you an offer.” He glanced at the girls and frowned. “Maybe we can go someplace a little more private? Don’t worry. I don’t work for this Vukovic guy. I’m an independent operator … in an entirely different field of enterprise. But you and I, we’ve got a lot in common. And anyhow, I just want to have a quick little chat. Alone would be better … for all involved.”

  “No. I’m not leaving my friends. You want to talk to me, you talk to me right here.”

  The man sighed. “Suit yourself.” He sat down next to Ellen. “But I have to warn you. Discussing this stuff in public puts your girls in a little extra jeopardy.”

  Urszula bristled. “You lift one finger again, you jeopardize your ass.”

  “Whoa, now!” The man tilted his head back and squinted at Urszula. “Will you listen to that sass? Now that’s my kind of gal!”

  “What is it you want?”

  “Let me put it simply. Your escapades in the war managed to impress some very important souls.”

  “What souls?”

  “Let’s just say they’re of the Sanctuary. Home to the most illuminated folks in the Liminality. You see, Mr. Moody, I hail from Frelsi. And I’ve been sent to woo you. Not as a fighter. As a facilitator.””

  Urszula gasped. She balled her hands into fists and started to clamber over me to go after him.

  The man brought up his hand. Bulges and protrusions sprang from the upholstery. Amoeboid appendages wrapped around Urszula’s thighs and dragged her back down.

  “Holy cow! I knew it! The girl’s a Duster! You’re a long way from home, little darlin’. How did you ever manage that?”

  Urszula hissed back at him.

  The guy cuffed my shoulder. “It was his doing, wasn’t it? Of course! I should have known. What a neat trick. I bet you don’t even know half of what you’re capable of. I see what they mean now by your potential.”

  “What you guys do … it’s magic … isn’t it?” said Ellen, in a small voice.

  “Well, let me tell you, hon. A man named Clarke once said that any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. Not that I would call what we do technological. It’s just … nature. But a part of nature most people don’t have access to.” He scrunched his eyes and scratched his chin. “And there’s something else he said. Oh yeah. That the only way of discovering the limits of the possible is to venture a little way past them into the impossible. That’s actually pretty relevant to our present situation. It kind of defines what your learning process will be, Mr. Moody. Though, it seems like you’ve already done a bit of venturing.”

  “What is it that you do exactly? And what do you want from me?”

  “Well, don’t be shocked, now, but some people tend to call my line of work … assassination. Personally, I like to think of myself as a Facilitator.”

  Ellen’s face blanched. Urszula struggled against her restraints, which responded to her squirming by growing more and thicker appendages.

  I chuckled. “So you’ve come to kill me?” I’m not sure why I found that funny.

  “No. Not necessarily. We would actually prefer that you come work for us. I’ve basically come to make you an offer. A chance to become my apprentice … or … more like my understudy … a helper … a fill-in, because, even though I’m really good at what I do ... I can’t be everywhere at once.”

  “You want me to kill people?”

  “Well … yeah. But we’re talking people who want to be dead … for the most part. Other than the … uh … special cases we get now and then. It’s not murder … usually. It’s basically assisted suicide. You know what kind of people end up in Root. Our targets are happy to see us. It’s a pretty nice gig … for a hit man.” He winced. “Though, I don’t care for that term. Sounds … crude.”

  “Why me?”

  “Well, duh! It’s obvious you’ve got the skill set. It’s not common, what folks like us can do. Everything’s made of the same stuff, in any plane of existence. But that matter on this side tends to be a little less malleable. You know … because it’s supposed to be reality.” He gave a quick chuckle. “But actually, it just takes a little more oomph to get it shifting. Believe me, those skills are rare. Souls like you and me, we don’t grow on trees. And you’re just learning. You have no idea, kid, what you’re gonna be capable of some day.”

  “So … what are you offering?”

  “Clemency, for starters. Full forgiveness for all the chaos and destruction you wreaked on our fair city. For waking the dead. Aiding our enemies.”

  “I don’t need or want anyone’s mercy. What I did, I would do it again.”

  Wendell’s face went sour. “Fair enough,” he said. “You don’t have to like us. I’m pragmatic. But before you say no, at least let me at least spell out the entire offer.”

  “There’s more?”

  “Hell yeah, there’s more. For one thing, there’s a very generous compensation package. Tax-free and very discrete. To start, two hundred Gs wired every month to an offshore bank account. All expenses paid. Plus bonuses. Our clients have no use for money where they’re going. There’s no shortage of resources. Some of these people have huge estates and even the little ones add up. And since they’re not dead … yet … we have zero issues with heirs or probate. It’s a gift. We always insist on payment in advance.”

  “Oh my God!” said Ellen.

  “I’ve only been at this a few years and I have an eight figure bank account. It might look like I drive an old beater, but I just have this thing for classic Caddies. That’s my working car, anyhow. I’ve got others, too. Range Rovers. Teslas. Townhouses in Montreal, Boston and New York. Five acres and a beach house in Maine. Once you’re up to speed, you’d have your own territory. We’re thinking of having you cover the Midwest, let’s say Ohio to Iowa. You’ve got roots there, from what I hear.”

  “You want me go state to state and kill people?”

  “Well, yeah. But remember, these are suicidal people. Passive, harmless, grateful people. It’s easy as pie. I can show you all the ropes. There are so many ways to do it clean, evade forensic analysis, m
ake it seem like natural causes. Because you and me, we have the craft. We can touch without touching.”

  Ellen seized my arm. “James, you can’t do this. No matter what he gives you. It isn’t right.”

  “But that’s not all,” said Wendell. “I’ve got another perk you might be interested in. There’s a guy who’s been giving trouble, a certain Mr. Sergei Vukovic. He’s onto you, James. He knows you’re in Connecticut and it’s only a matter of time before he homes in on you. I can get him off your back. Permanently. You agree to come work for us, and I will personally remove him. He and his people won’t be bothering you anymore.”

  Now that, I had to admit, was even more tempting than the money or clemency. Life would sure be a lot easier on this side without Sergei and his goons chasing me around.

  “No, James!” said Ellen. “You can’t do this. Killing is wrong. Even if people want to be dead. It’s not up to them. We’re put here to live our lives.”

  “Yeah, well. That’s a nice thought,” said Wendell. “But mistakes happen. Some of us are better off going elsewhere.”

  “No!” said Ellen. “That’s just wrong. He can’t just go around killing people.”

  Wendell shrugged. “Why not? It’s no big deal. There’s no blood. I can show you how to do it clean. And most of our targets are willing and grateful. We just grease the skids, so to speak. Yeah, sometimes, there’s ... special cases. Strategic interventions. Restorative justice. But that’s not the bulk of our business.”

  I noticed Urszula attempting to outwit her restraints. She would sit back and pretend to be calm and compliant until they relaxed. Then she would casually reach down and try to peel one off her legs. But they were wise to her manipulations and sent out a new lobe for every one she pulled off.

  Ellen looked at me, shaking. Her eyes teared up.

  “Nah. Listen. I can’t do this. I’m not cut out for it.”

  Ellen swooped in and hugged me.

  Wendell just stood there and studied me. His chest heaved and he let out a long and deep exhalation. “Well, kid. I was hoping it wouldn’t have to come to this, but I have to tell you. This offer of mine, it’s not all carrot. There’s some stick involved, as well. If you don’t help me out. I’m afraid I’m going to have to give you some other incentives to reconsider.”