The Dark In-Between

by Elizabeth Hrib

  “I’ve been waiting,” he says. “I won’t chase you anymore.” He slides his hands into his pockets and whispers, “I have been for years.”

  Her heart stutters to a stop, winding her instantly.

  Evan looks as defeated as she feels, and in the silence that stretches between them, he walks away.

  As she watches him, hot tears blur her vision, turning the world around her into shattered glass.

  THIRTEEN

  CASEY DABS AT her eyes with the thin edges of her shirt, sniffing and crossing her arms as Red appears at the end of the street.

  “Were you spying on us?” she demands with the kind of authority that comes only from emotional outbursts. Her voice is pitched and wobbly and she’s not sure if the pressure behind her eyes is going to manifest in a bout of uncontrollable tears now or a splitting headache later.

  Red’s jaw twitches but he admits to nothing. Smart.

  “I don’t need someone else telling me how I feel,” Casey declares. “I know how I feel.”

  “Isn’t that the point, though? To talk about it?”

  “Think yourself a grief counselor, too?”

  “You don’t have to do that with me.”

  “What?” she snaps. She turns back toward the house, hands balled into fists. She’s not sad anymore. Just angry. A flame-coursing-beneath-her-skin kind of angry. All she wants to do is scream into an abyss, or bury her face in a pillow. Maybe both.

  Red strides along beside her. “Be combative. I know it hurts, but lashing out does nothing but strengthen the divide between you and the rest of the world. Between you and the people that can help.”

  “Can you drop it? We need to go to Limbo. Now.”

  Logically, she knows none of this is Red’s fault. But the illogical part of her brain is locked onto him like a target that needs to be destroyed. If he knew what was good for him, Red would abandon this burning pile of wreckage before it erupts.

  Casey grinds her feet into the pavement, trying to displace some of the boiling rage into the ground.

  “You don’t have to do this alone,” he says. “Give Evan some time. He’ll come around.”

  “I don’t want him to,” she snaps. “It’s better this way.”

  “Casey—”

  She stops suddenly in the middle of the road, turning to face him. “I’ve had the stages of grief memorized since I was nine.” She ticks them off on her fingers. “Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance.” She marches ahead, crossing in front of traffic. “You know what’s not on the list? Chasing souls through Limbo.”

  “Is that what you’re angry about? Limbo?”

  “Angry. Scared. Does it matter? That’s where Liddy is.”

  “It does matter if you’re scared,” Red says. “That’s why I’m here. To help you. To keep you safe.”

  “I’m not afraid of Limbo!” she says. “I’m terrified of finding her.”

  “Liddy?”

  “Yes! I’m terrified she’s going to tell me it was my fault. I’m also terrified that we might never find her!”

  “And that will feel like your fault, too,” Red says as if he’s read her mind. As if he’s sensed that’s what scares her the most. With her parents dead and now Liddy, her world is shrinking, and she’s terrified of what that means.

  “Why couldn’t you tell Evan any of this?”

  “Because I was afraid he’d run. That it would be too much for him and I really would lose him. Having him be angry with me seems like nothing compared to that.”

  “How do you know he would run?”

  “Because I would,” she says quietly, avoiding his eyes now. “If the positions were reversed.”

  “I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit. You don’t seem like the type to run, Casey.”

  “Well, you just don’t know me very well.”

  “You think Evan’s the type,” Red prods, “to run?”

  “You don’t know what people are capable of until they’re thrown into a situation,” she tells him. She marches up the driveway and into the house. Karen’s gone, probably to bed before her shift tonight.

  “That’s not it.” Red closes the door behind them. “I’ve seen you two together. There’s something else bothering you.”

  “Besides trying to rescue my dead best friend from her shitty afterlife?”

  “You’re mad at him,” Red says.

  “I’m not. Why would I be? He didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “And you think you did?”

  “I know I did.”

  “I think you’ll find a lot of people would tell you otherwise.”

  “Don’t,” Casey says, gritting her teeth. “Don’t be like Evan telling me what I know. None of you were there that day. You can’t possibly know.”

  “So that’s it?” he says.

  “Can you leave it alone, Red?”

  “You’re a survivor, Casey. You don’t have to punish yourself for that.”

  She looks up at him, and the anger deflates into guilt. “Then help me find her so I can stop.”

  * * *

  LIMBO OPENS INTO a tangle of grapevines, hanging flower baskets, and crawling ivy that curls across a wooden archway dividing the space between a homely patio and a sprawling garden.

  Casey steps from beneath the arch and past a hedge line made of rose bushes. Red carves those same strange symbols into the wooden lattice of the arch, sealing the doorway, and follows after her.

  “Where are we?” she asks.

  “In someone’s back garden by the looks of it.”

  The sky is an ugly gray color above, clouds churning. The ground gives off the chill of winter without the snow.

  Casey steps around a hanging bird feeder to avoid hitting her head. Circular stone paths cut through the yard, along gardens packed with plants and rock figures and funny woodland ceramics. A pair of gnomes at the base of a shed catch her attention, only because they both have white wings.

  Odd, she thinks.

  A shadow shifts above her, stretching down the side of the shed. The pop of metal makes her jump, but when Casey looks to the top of the shed, there’s nothing there.

  “Liddy?” she whispers.

  Red looks up. “I don’t think that was Liddy.”

  “We should get inside,” she says.

  Red’s across the yard in an instant, trampling flower beds.

  He’s fast, so much faster than she is, but she’s agile, slipping between an iron gate and a tall wooden fence that Red has to climb.

  Attached to the garden is a house made of red bricks and pale, beige siding. A curl of smoke lifts from the roof.

  “In there,” Casey says.

  Red pulls ahead. When she catches up with him, he’s staring at the side door, set between two giant hanging baskets that spill over with purple and yellow petaled flowers. And beyond that is another fence, blocking them off from a street. It’s built of black iron that reaches into straight, spiked points. There’s no gate, no way through.

  Two concrete steps lead the way to the door and Casey steps onto the top one. Next to her head dangles pretty glass windchimes. They make no sound now, though. The air is still.

  Hand paused by the doorknob, she curls her fist and knocks instead.

  Inside she hears footsteps and Red reaches out, yanking her back. He steps past her, so close she can feel his forearm brush against her skin.

  A moment later the door opens, and there stands a woman, wrinkled with age, coils of white hair spiraling around the rectangular-framed glasses perched on her nose. She glances out the door, unconcerned by them, but intrigued by the garden beyond. She waves them in hurriedly, gesturing with the long edge of a curved blade—similar to the dagger in Red’s hand.

  “Get in, get in,” she says, ushering them both into a kitchen. “If you came from the garden, wipe your feet. I don’t want you tracking it through the house.”

  Casey looks down and does her best to leave most of the mud on the
mat by the door.

  “Limbo-walker,” Red whispers. His guard remains up, however, his weapon drawn as he scopes out the kitchen.

  “Well, sit down.” She points to the table. “Sit. The kettle is still hot. I’ll pour you a cup.”

  Casey looks to Red, but he shakes his head, motioning to a stairwell.

  “I’m not blind, just old,” the woman barks. “If you have something to say, speak your mind.”

  Neither of them say anything, and the woman’s eyes narrow into slits as she regards Red. “You can explore all you want, boy, but you won’t find anything of concern.”

  “We’ve had a run-in with Azrael recently, so you’ll forgive me for being thorough,” he says sharply.

  “Oh, you two must have stumbled into a particularly bad soul. Azrael doesn’t usually fuss so much over the good ones. She leaves that to her creatures.” The woman toddles away, sporting a heavy limp. “You know, if I’ve learned anything in these last fifty-seven years it’s how to lock up a place from those vile beasts.”

  “I’ll just take a peek anyway.”

  The woman shakes her head, using her weapon as a sort of cane, muttering, “Angels.”

  “Stay here,” Red tells Casey, moving toward the stairwell.

  “But, Red—”

  “Stay. Here.” He leaves no room for argument before walking away.

  “Quite a bossy fellow, isn’t he?” the woman calls over her shoulder, knocking a spoon against the edge of a mug.

  Casey clenches her teeth. “You have no idea.”

  The woman returns to the table with the mug and looks from Casey to a chair. Without waiting to be told, Casey slides into it.

  “Sugar?”

  “Uh, yes, thank you.” The mug is set in front of her and a square of sugar is plopped inside.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Casey.”

  The woman takes a seat opposite her, pushing her glasses up her nose. “I’m Gloria.” Somewhere in the house a door rattles, hard, and the familiar shriek has Casey nearly jumping out of her seat.

  “Settle down, girl. Honestly.” Gloria sips her tea, thin fingers hugging the warmth from the mug. “They come and come, but I never let them in. One day they’ll learn.”

  “Learn what?” Casey wonders, heart still pounding.

  “That I made my decision long ago and will not be swayed.”

  Casey sips at the tea, surprised at the sweetness. “How long have you been here?”

  “On and off for many years. I received my calling as a young girl, much younger than you.” She gets up again and wanders into the kitchen for a plate of shortbread cookies. Using her weapon, she nudges aside the edge of the curtain covering the window. “Something’s got them worked up.”

  “It’s me.” Casey sighs. “I think.”

  “You?”

  “I’m looking for someone.”

  “A particular someone?”

  Casey nods.

  Gloria shuffles back to her chair. “This wouldn’t happen to be a young lady, would it? About your age, long blond hair … Bit of an attitude?”

  “Liddy!” Casey says excitedly. “You’ve seen her?”

  “She sat in this very chair for a moment with me.”

  “When?” Casey gets to her feet.

  Gloria waves her down. “She’s long gone.”

  Casey frowns.

  “I’ve seen cases like yours before. Soul mates they call them. You know, the voices usually whisper—unintelligible things, mostly—but in cases like yours, you see things, you hear bits of conversation … it’s remarkable.”

  “So there are others like me?”

  “Of course.”

  “And you…?”

  “Have been walking Limbo since before you were born.”

  “I don’t understand. Liddy’s been walking through other Limbos, deaths belonging to other souls. So, are you … dead?”

  “Oh, this isn’t my Limbo. It belongs to my husband.” She sips her tea. “That man, I tell you. He’s never been ready for anything a day in his life. I should have known he would linger. Barely gone a moment before I heard the whispers, and I just knew it would be him, confused as anything. But I never could rush that man. Not even toward his own afterlife, apparently.”

  The way she says it all makes Casey want to laugh, but a thought replays in her mind and she stops. Fifty-seven years. Has this woman really been walking Limbo for that long? Her face falls.

  “What’s that look for?”

  “Nothing,” Casey says. “I just … I wondered if I would have to chase Liddy for as long as you’ve been doing this. Or if I’ll ever find her at all.”

  “You know what my advice would be, child?”

  Casey looks up at her.

  “To stop chasing her and start pulling.”

  “What?”

  “This thread that links you, this bond … it goes both ways, you know.”

  “What?” she says again, not quite following.

  Gloria smiles patiently. “If you can hear her, that means—”

  Casey takes a moment to try to understand. “So … Liddy can hear me, too?”

  “That’s why she’s running,” Gloria says.

  “She’s looking for me?” Casey frowns. “But Red never said—”

  “Angels,” she sighs, rolling her eyes. “What do they know of this place? They can’t even hear the whispers.”

  “But she’s lost. How do I help guide her back?”

  “Go where the link is strongest. The place that connects the two of you.”

  “The harbor,” Casey whispers.

  “Call her there, and maybe she’ll follow.”

  She jumps to her feet. “Thank you. Thank you!”

  She hears footsteps on the stairs then. An elderly man with wire-frame glasses and a hooked nose comes into view. He stops behind Gloria, placing his hands on her shoulders. “Sorry, dear.”

  “It’s fine, I’ve had company to keep me occupied while you lollygagged.”

  “I always did like this house.”

  “So did the kids.” She pats his hand gently before turning her attention back to Casey. “Anyway, we best be off. That pack of mutts outside is getting rowdier by the minute. And you best be getting to wherever it is you’re supposed to be. It isn’t wise to linger alone in the in-between. It can be hard to keep your wits in a world that never settles.” She says it with a wag of her finger, like a grandmother warning to bundle up against the cold. “We’re going to pop out through the garden. All the best, child.”

  Gloria takes her husband’s hand, tucks it into hers and guides him through the house and out the door. She looks back once. “Be careful, girl! Your friend might not be the only thing that answers.”

  Then they wander off into the garden.

  “Red!” Casey cries, jumping the stairs two at a time. She follows the narrow staircase to the second story of the house. Portraits of a happy family decorate every surface and Casey lingers in the warmth that’s been left behind.

  Down the hall, there’s movement, and Red appears in a doorway. “Have they gone?” he asks.

  She nods. “Just now.”

  “Any sign of her?”

  “No, but Gloria said Liddy was here. And she told me—”

  Help!

  A voice startles her and she stops next to the bay window. It has a perfect view of the darkened street below. Oily spots from the streetlamps leave glowing impressions every few feet. Between them, shadows race, never stopping long enough for her to trace their true shape, but something else captures her attention.

  Red comes to stand by her. “What is it?”

  “Him,” she says, touching the window, shivering at how cold it feels.

  A slim figure appears in one of the streetlights, his face turned up as if to study the houses that line the street. She can tell he’s lost. Perhaps he doesn’t even realize he’s dead yet.

  “Is he calling you?” Red asks.

 
Before she can turn away to answer, the figure screams. The cry is pure terror, ragged and hot, echoing down the street. He cuts back and forth across the road, skidding on the gravel, tripping on his own feet as he throws his weight away from the black mist. It slithers across the ground, filling every streetlight until there’s nowhere for him to run.

  It all happens so fast. In the space of a blink. From the shadows the obsii emerge, clawing and shrieking. They surround him, swarm him, and then he’s gone, dissolved in their shadow, scorch marks left upon the ground.

  “No,” she whispers, hand still pressed against the glass.

  Was that it? The creatures had claimed him that fast?

  Red draws the curtain across the window, like pulling a sheet over the eyes of a body that’s just died. “They don’t always play by the same rules, Casey. The darkness hunts all souls, regardless of whether they belong in the shadows or not.”

  “How is that fair?”

  “It’s not,” he admits.

  “So the light has to abide by all these silly rules and the darkness gets to do as they please?”

  “It can seem like that.”

  “It is like that, Red.” She’s angry now. Angry that in his last moments, the boy had known only fear. Angry that he’s been stolen away. What if it had been Liddy? What would Red say to her then?

  Mostly she’s angry at Red’s resigned acceptance of it all.

  For a flicker of a moment, she can see how tempting the darkness is, how easily one could bend toward it. If always doing the right thing means she’s destined to lose, is it even the right thing anymore?

  “There’s a lot about Limbo that is out of your control,” Red says quietly.

  Casey’s lips twitch. “Let’s go. There’s something I have to do.”

  FOURTEEN

  THE FRAGRANT SMELL of Gloria’s gardens chase Casey from Limbo and back into the real world where she promptly grabs her car keys and races out the door. Red is steps behind her.

  “Slow down, Casey!” Red jostles in his seat and slams into the car door as she pulls out of the driveway too quickly. “Tell me again what she said?”

  “Gloria said I should stop chasing Liddy and use the connection between us to call Liddy to me instead.” She slows at a four-way stop and glances down at the gas gauge. The red needle points precariously near empty; she’ll have to fill up before they get on the highway.