The Deeps (Book Three of The Liminality)

by A. Sparrow

  “Like … what?”

  “These girls, for example. Simply put. You don’t cooperate. I kill them. One at a time. You take your pick who goes first. And I won’t stop with them. I’ll go after anybody you care about, and I’ve got a long list. Your buddies from Brynmawr are on it. Yep. I know all about those folks. James. Renfrew, Helen, Jessica, Sturgess. I did my homework on you. And there’s another girl—Isobel. She’s a special one. Maybe I should put her on top of the list. I promise, one by one, I’ll take them out.”

  “What? What kind of crap is this? Those guys, these girls have nothing to do with what I did.”

  “Doesn’t matter. All that matters is that you care if they’re harmed, and it’s obvious you do. It’s all about persuasion. So, they all become targets until you come around. And if you don’t? If it’s clear that even that approach won’t sway you? Then it’s time to cut our losses. The clemency is voided and you James, become my target.”

  “Jesus Christ!”

  “Now, I don’t expect a final decision right here and now,” said Wendell. “I understand it’s a big step and I’ve given you a lot to chew. So I’ll give you time to think about it. You’ll be hearing from me in a couple days. And don’t try to run from me. I’ll find you. I have ways.”

  The train was already pulling into the next station. Wendell handed me the cardboard tube. “Here’s a little present for you. Ciao.” He passed down the aisle and waited by the door.

  Something twitched under my jacket. I slapped at it as it scurried down my sleeve and out the cuff, dropping onto the floor with a solid clop. It was a clump of folded leaves, twigs and bits of paper. It was about the size and shape of a mouse, but had too many legs to be a mammal.

  “Is that … Billy?” said Ellen.

  “No,” I said. “It’s not … mine. It’s his.”

  The little creature scuttled down the aisle after its master.

  Chapter 18: Grams

  A slate gray Cadillac idled beside a tiny station, little more than a brick kiosk and a few parking spaces. The blonde girl we met in that bathroom in New Haven stood leaning against the fender. Spotting us through the window of the train, she winked and waved.

  Wendell swept through the parking lot, the fabric of his suit shimmering in the wind. That little mousey centipede creature zipped along the pavement and caught up with him, scurrying up his pant leg. Wendell kissed the girl on the lips and swung around through the open door into the driver’s seat.

  Only as the train began to pull out of the station did the appendages restraining Urszula relax and subside. Freed of their grip, she exploded out of her seat and screamed in frustration, drawing nervous glances from an older couple seated at the far end, the only other occupants of the car, who had so far been oblivious to all of these strange happenings.

  The tracks paralleled the main road. We picked up speed and passed the gray Cadillac as it stopped at a traffic light at the edge of a decrepit downtown. Ellen scrambled for her plastic sack, fishing out an eyeliner pencil still wrapped in plastic.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Writing down his p-plate number. Th-that was a death threat, guys! We have to report him.”

  “To who? The police? What are they gonna do?”

  “He threatened to kill us!” said Ellen, scrawling numbers onto her hand. “New York. FRLC 888. I mean, the guy admitted … outright … that he murders people!”

  “I wouldn’t exactly call it murder.”

  “Say what?”

  “He was right. These people want to die. It makes a better situation for them. A lot of them would have ended up killing themselves anyway, and that would have sent them to a worse place.”

  “I can’t believe I’m hearing this from you, James.”

  “I know what I’m talking about. The Liminality can be a nice place to hang. Parts of it, anyhow. A lot nicer than some people’s lives.”

  Ellen gave her head a shake. “Okay. What’s this Liminality thing you guys keep talking about?”

  “It’s … the place I go when you see me tuning out.”

  “What, like a dream world?”

  “No dream,” I said. “It’s very real.”

  “I don’t understand. Where is it? How do you get there?”

  I sighed deeply and rolled my eyes. “It’s hard to explain exactly where it is geographically speaking, but it’s connected to here. It’s some kind of threshold … a front porch, foyer or lobby or something… for the afterlife. The place collects suicidal souls. I don’t mean like mopers and sad sacks. I mean people who are really serious about wanting to die. I mean like on the brink of offing themselves. I don’t know if it’s supposed to be some kind of ‘scared straight’ deal. You know, to give people a second chance to reconsider. But some souls only last a few minutes before they’re reaped. And then there’s other folks who go back and forth for years. Like me for instance … and Wendell … and Urszula, for that matter, though she’s a special case. We’ve learned to game the system. It’s our hangout now. Like a second life. These people who Wendell … facilitates … they want to spend all their time there. Forever. Make it permanent, without all this back and forth I have to do. Only, setting that up is tricky. If you off yourself, you just end up in the Deeps, which is a sort of waste bin for souls. Hell, I guess. But not like the Hell you read about. Are you following me?”

  “I … think so,” said Ellen. “It sounds so crazy, but what else is new? Who am I to argue after all I’ve seen you do?”

  “I take exception,” said Urszula. “The Deeps is not a ‘waste bin.’ It is simply another plane of existence.”

  “Well, there you go.” I shrugged. “She should know. She’s from there.”

  Ellen’s jaw dropped a little lower and narrowed her eyes at me. “From … Hell? You mean … she’s a … a demon?”

  “Don’t use that word,” I whispered. “She doesn’t like it.”

  I removed a white plastic cap from one end of the tube Wendell had given me. The tube contained a samurai sword identical to the one I had conjured down in the tunnels, right down to the golden tassels and the electric blue silk wrapping the hilt.

  “Oh my God!” said Ellen. “Are you like a … ninja too?”

  “Nah. Hardly. I don’t even like ninja flicks. Except for ‘Kill Bill,’ but that’s not really—”

  “You have it! Your scepter!” said Urszula, her eyes gleaming.

  “Yeah, but this thing’s not very practical on this side. I mean, I can’t very well go waving it around in public.”

  “Save it. For special occasions,” said Urszula.

  I slid the sword back into the tube and replaced the cap. Throwing back my head, I stared up at the ceiling. “Guys. I’m so sorry for dragging you into all this. I should have let you both go on your way back in Philly.”

  “On my way? What way?” said Urszula. “I have no business here. I go wherever you go.”

  “Same here,” said Ellen. “I was in deep even before Wendell showed up. I’ve got Sergei after me too, you know. And … I want to help you. To get out of this … uh ... situation. And to do the right thing.”

  “Yeah, well. I guess you’re right. It is kind of too late now. Considering that both you guys are on Wendell’s hit list.”

  “I still think we should report him,” said Ellen. “The police may be able to protect us.”

  “Pfft!” I sputtered. “No, way. If he wants somebody dead, he can make it happen no matter where we go, police or no police.”

  “I am not afraid of the Frelsian,” said Urszula. “He is just another Weaver. Once I find a suitable scepter and recover my spell craft I will put him in his place. The two of us, against him? He has no chance whatsoever.”

  “Holy cow!” said Ellen. “You do magic too? So you’re like a …. a witch or something? Wow! Wizards. Witches. Escapees from Hell. I feel like I’ve stumbled into the middle of some vast conspiracy. I mean … I had no idea.”

  “No cons
piracy here,” I said. “It’s just the way the universe operates. Standard operating procedure, apparently. But I know what you mean. Who knew? Right?”

  “It is not the way the powers-that-be intended,” said Urszula. “The ancient pathways have been warped and exploited.”

  “In other words,” I said. “The afterlife has been hacked.”

  ***

  The train rattled past a series of defunct factories and up into a river valley that grew narrower and rockier, guarded by ever taller bluffs.

  “Next stop, Naugatuck,” said Ellen.

  “Thank God,” I said. “I’m getting sick of riding these fucking trains.”

  “Wish I had a phone. I could call ahead to Grams.”

  “Does her village happen to have a market?” said Urszula.

  “You mean like a supermarket?”

  “I’m guessing she means more like a farmer’s market,” I said.

  “Um, sure,” said Ellen. “But I don’t think it starts up till June. What are you looking for?”

  “Some stouter clothes,” said Urszula. “Some sewing implements. Perhaps a shank of pork. Some cabbage. Beets.”

  “Oh, don’t worry. Grams will hook you up, I’m sure. There’s a Super Stop&Shop just down the street and a TJMaxx right next to it. Maybe James can spare a little cash.”

  “No problem,” I said. “I wouldn’t mind hitting the TJMaxx myself.”

  “Yeah? Well, we’re gonna have to hose you down first,” said Ellen, pinching her nose.

  “What? No hot showers? Where does your grandmother live? In a barn?”

  “Of course you can have a hot shower. She’s got a nice little house on a hilltop, with enough bedrooms for each of us.”

  “Bedrooms? For sleeping?” said Urszula.

  “Um, yeah,” said Ellen. “Did you … have something else in mind?”

  “I have not slept … since my life ended. I think I may have forgotten how.”

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “It’s just like riding a bicycle. It’s not something you forget. Just close your eyes and think of dragonflies. It’ll happen on its own.”

  Ellen stuck out her lower lip and looked at me. “She doesn’t sleep?”

  “News to me,” I said. “I didn’t know that about Dusters.”

  “Dusters?”

  “It’s … just a nickname for souls who escape from the Deeps.”

  Ellen gave her head another shake. “Stop! You’re giving me a headache,” she said. “You know, there’s still another thing I don’t understand. This Wendell guy. Why does he need to murder suicidal people? Why can’t they do it themselves?”

  “I told you. Suicides end up in the Deeps. It’s just how things are. Somehow, if it’s an accident or someone murders you, it’s different. Only, to make it work you have to be away from the influence of the Core—the center of the Liminality. That means high altitude. Mountains and glaciers. It’s like … another way to game the system … a loophole. Does that … make any sense?”

  “Not … really.”

  “Yeah, well. It’s not something you really need to worry about. A person as bubbly as you is never gonna end up in a place like that.”

  “Thank God for that,” said Ellen. “I only hope you’re right.”

  The train rolled past yet more factories, crossing a road lined with strip malls. It squealed to a stop next to another small platform. Across the tracks sat a squat brick building that looked like a classic old train station, but now sporting a sign for the Naugatuck Historical Society.

  The doors opened. We all popped up and rushed outside. I exited without any hesitation this time. I didn’t care who was there to greet us. I just wanted off the damned train.

  I didn’t have to worry. The few folks hanging around had their own business to attend to. Nobody gave us a second glance.

  The doors closed. The train rumbled off, leaving us alone in the sun and a swirl of breeze.

  “We can walk it,” said Ellen, beaming. “It’s not even a mile.”

  Urszula reached over and snagged my arm and took Ellen by the hand. We went up the road like Dorothy and her two flawed friends. All we were missing was Toto. Don’t ask me which one of us was Dorothy.

  ***

  We strolled away from the river and tracks, up a hill through neighborhoods dense with multi-family houses on small, unkempt lots. Urszula found a fallen maple branch on the ground and stripped it of its wilted leaves. A woman pushing a stroller dared allow her gaze to linger too long. Urszula glowered at her till her smile evaporated and she hurried on her way.

  And then, the weirdest thing happened. I could see the three of us on the sidewalk from a height above the treetops. There was Urszula kneeling in someone’s yard stripping her maple branch. Ellen walking several steps ahead, urging us to follow. Me, standing with my hand clasped over my eyes.

  The vision spiraled closer, swooping through the canopy, homing in on me. I opened my eyes to a bird-like creature that came gliding down through the branches. I flinched and dodged but it matched my maneuver and landed nimbly on my shoulder. The way it shared its visions with me, I knew it had to be Billy.

  I watched as he shifted his shape from a sparrow to something with claws on its wings, like a tiny bat. It clambered down the front of my hoodie and into my pocket.

  Ellen turned around. “What’s wrong?” she said. “What are you gawking at?”

  I didn’t want to freak her out any more than she already was, so I didn’t mention anything. “Ah … nothing. Just catching my breath.”

  The road climbed and joined another street spanning a hilltop. The houses and lots were bigger here and the street was lined with big, old oaks. Sloped yards fell away, providing views of a glistening ribbon of river flanked by an elevated highway. The denser part of town filled the flats below us.

  Ellen picked up her pace, her eyes bright with anticipation as she skipped up to the summit of the hill and veered down a cinder drive towards a shapely old house with a Mansard roof and dormers in the attic.

  The house had seen better days. Several clapboards were missing and those that remained had flaking white paint gone gray with mildew. A dinged up Camry that could have used a good wash was parked in the driveway.

  Ellen skipped up cracked front steps onto the porch and rang the doorbell, turning to blind us with her toothy grin. Urszula and I caught up to her and stood off to one side while we waited.

  “It takes a while for her to get to the door,” said Ellen. “Grams doesn’t move too quickly these days.”

  “This is your house?” said Urszula. “Where you were raised?”

  “No. Actually, we lived up the river, out past Waterbury. A town called Thomaston. But we used to come down here a lot.”

  Urszula craned her neck up at the rooftop. “It is big. How many families live here?”

  “Oh, it’s just Grams by herself. Gramps passed away a few years ago.”

  She turned back and knocked on the door. There was no sign of anybody home. “Hmm. Her car’s here. Maybe she’s taking a nap.”

  “This is not a good sign,” said Urszula. “Not with assassins about.”

  “Don’t talk like that!” said Ellen. She rummaged through an array of flower pots bearing dead geraniums and the bleached remnants of chrysanthemums. She came up with a corroded old key on a Mickey Mouse key chain and stuck it in the lock. The door squeaked open and she bustled in.

  “Grams? Grammie! You home?”

  Urszula and I followed her in as she rushed through the sitting room and kitchen in a panic, peeking into the downstairs bathroom before trotting up the stairs. “Grammie?”

  Urszula looked at me gravely.

  A chill ran down my back. “You don’t think … Wendell was here? You don’t think he … killed her?”

  Urszula looked at me and nodded.

  Floorboards creaked overhead. A succession of doors squealed open. Ellen came walking calmly down the stairs slowly, her face ashen.
>
  “Did you find her?” said Urszula.

  “No. But her bed is … unmade. And her suitcase is empty. I don’t think she’s just gone off visiting.”

  I poked my head into the kitchen. The sink was full of dishes.

  Ellen plunked herself down on an easy chair and stared straight ahead at a boxy, old Sony television with a picture tube.

  “Why don’t you call your parents? Maybe they know something.”

  “I don’t speak to them,” she said. “Haven’t, in almost a year. They don’t even know I’m back in the country. Let’s just hang until Grams comes back. Maybe she just went shopping …. with a friend … though ….” She glanced towards the kitchen and her face sank further. “Her purse is on the counter.”

  I stood next to her chair and rubbed her shoulder. She reached for the clicker and turned on the TV. Some jewelry sale on QVC came on.

  Urszula was making a hell of a racket, slamming drawers and jingling silverware in the kitchen.

  “What the heck are you doing in there?” I poked my head in.

  She said nothing, granting me barely a glance. Closing a cabinet, she brushed past me carrying a large butcher’s knife and a small, sharp parer. She brought them into the sitting room where she settled onto a rocker and proceeded to whittle away at the knots and branch stubs on her maple bough.

  “I promised you guys a hot meal,” said Ellen, sighing. “I should go cook us some dinner.”

  “Never mind,” I said. “You look beat. We can scrounge, or order take-out or something.”

  She switched over to CNN just as a story about a kidnapping and a hostage situation was being presented. She clicked away quickly over to Animal Planet and a show with nothing but baby animals—cubs and kittens and pups.

  “I can’t imagine where Grams ran off to.” She turned and looked at me. A slight tremble quivered her lip. “You don’t think … could … Sergei … have something to do with this?”

  “No way,” I said. “I mean, how would he know where to find her? You yourself said she had a different last name than you?”

  “He took my purse,” said Ellen. “My luggage. My passport. There might very well have been something in there linking me to Grams, like … her phone number.” Her eyes widened. “Oh crap! There was a post card! A post card I never sent, addressed to her.”