by Geoff North
Abe gave up on his shirt and dunked his head beneath the water. He resurfaced inches in front of her. “And it means no laws, no police, no rules, or school… no family. A week or two away from all of that might be great. But how long’s this going to last? If these powers leave us, how will we survive?”
She brushed a lock of wet hair from eyes and he placed his hands on her shoulders. Becky floated towards him and they kissed. The cool moisture from the falls gave way to warmth as their bodies met. Abe’s hands traveled from her shoulders and beneath the water. Becky pushed him away gently. ‘I can’t… I’m not ready for this. Not after all that’s happened.”
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
She kissed him again. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for. It’s me, you know? Me and my stupid hang-ups.”
“You’re beautiful, Becky.”
She blushed. “I bet you say that to all the girls you kidnap on your African safaris.”
“Just you.” He motioned her to follow him back to the rock. “Come on, I think I saw some kind of fruit tree back in the jungle. Hungry or not, we really should try and eat something.”
She rang out the front of her shirt while he explored the forest. Becky had only kissed one other boy before Abe—Sheldon Janz back in the ninth grade. That kiss had been far more awkward, and wetter. Hard to believe anything could be wetter after kissing in a pool of cascading falls, but Sheldon had proved it possible. He had been all probing tongue and slobbering lips. Becky smiled and stared back into the depths of the water. She would sooner kiss a fish than Sheldon, but another kiss from Abe would be fine.
Becky jumped when he sat down beside her and deposited an armload of fruit to the ground. “I don’t know if these are fit to eat but they look good… Did I scare you?”
“I was just thinking.”
He tore into one of the red and yellow fruits that resembled an oblong-shaped gourd. Dark purple juice dripped out followed by a plop of pulp and black seeds. Abe held one half to his face and drank the remaining insides down.
“You sure they’re not poisonous?”
He swallowed and scooped some of the pulp out. “They could be lethal for all I know, but most lion attacks don’t turn out so well either. I get the feeling our stomachs are as strong as the rest of us now.” He tore into another and offered half to her. “Go on, give it a try.”
“I don’t think so. I’m still not hungry.”
“Come on, they’re really good. Tastes like strawberries.”
The bottom half of his face was stained purple. Juice dripped from the tip of his chin. The desire to taste his lips again had passed. Becky took the fruit and drank. “Mmm… that is good.”
They ate more strange fruit and took another swim to clean their faces and hands. They lounged on the rock for a few more hours and talked about where they were and the chances of ever seeing home again. They slept after that until the sun started to sink in the west, marking the end of their second day away from it all. Abe gathered some dry branches and Becky watched as he rubbed two sticks together. He wasn’t sure it would work, but Abe had the strength of ten men and limitless energy. It didn’t take long for a fire to light the gloom settling in around them.
“Kinda creepy, isn’t it?” He added more wood.
The afternoon mist and rainbows cast from the falls had turned into a grey shroud of fog. “A little. But I feel safe with you.” She cuddled up to him for additional warmth. “You don’t think we’ll get flooded out during the night? What if it rains?”
He wrapped an arm around her. The awkwardness of the night before was gone. “I think it’s better if we stayed out of the forest. Don’t worry, I’m not tired. I’ll keep a watch over the fire. Try and get some more sleep.”
For the first time in over twenty-four hours Becky felt truly tired. They’d slept in the afternoon but that was more from gorging on fruit and sitting beneath a hot sun. She lay back on the stone and nestled her head against his bicep. “We can do shifts, you know, like they do in the movies.”
“Sure… like the movies. I’ll wake you at around three.”
“You don’t have a watch.”
He kissed the top of her head. “Go to sleep, Becky.”
A dozen sets of eyes watched the yellow flicker of light from the other side of the pool. They’d been watching for hours. Something moved from the trees and started for the water. A hand reached out and pulled the wanderer back into the dark. They spoke no words but the message was clearly written on the older humanoid’s face still waiting patiently in the black jungle.
Not yet. Not tonight.
Chapter 6
Allan didn’t have to sneak through the house late at night. His father was usually too drunk to care about—or feel—anything after midnight. It was the mornings that worried Allan. Ted Bagara slept most nights on the couch or next to it on the floor, depending how fast he drank his rye and how hard gravity c laimed him. Allan hadn’t seen much of his father since the encounter with the thing in the woods—an entire week of sneaking around with Sheila and coming home before the sun rise.
But it couldn’t last forever. One of these mornings he would be caught, and this was the morning.
“Where the hell were you all night?”
Allan glanced at the wall clock. Not even six yet. Did he even go to sleep? He closed the front door quietly even though it no longer mattered. The old man was still drunk from the evening before. Allan could smell the stink of him halfway across the living room. And he looked pissed. Should’ve prepared better—should’ve had an excuse ready. He opted for heading to the stairs, his head hung low. Maybe he’ll finally crash into oblivion now that he sees I’m home safe and sound.
“Where you think you’re going? I’m talkin’ to you, shithead! Where the hell were you all goddamn night?”
Fat chance of him caring I’m safe and sound. “I was out with some friends. We didn’t do anything bad.” He’d made it to the second step.
“On a school night?”
“It’s summer holidays.” Fourth step.
“Get the hell back down here… I ain’t done with you yet. Why you such a mouthy shit? I know damn well it’s summer holidays. Why you hafta be so goddamn disrespectful?”
“You’re drunk, Dad. Sleep it off.”
“Drunk, am I?” He fell off the couch and climbed unsteadily to his feet.
One hit. That’s all he’s got in him. One hit.
One hit turned into three. They weren’t particularly hard, and even drunk out of his senses, Allan’s father still had what he thought was the decency to strike his son with an open palm. He never hit his son in the face. It was usually a clap over one of his ears or a smack to the back of his skull. Allan sank into the steps and curled up. Ted hovered over him. “Get up and take it like a man. Why you have to turtle up all the time?”
Allan peeked over his arm. “Because I don’t like being hit, and I won’t fight back.”
“Why the hell didn’t she take you with her?” He hauled off and hit him again. “You know what it’s been like these last seven years... raising a goddamn coward all by myself?”
Allan never saw it that way. He still loved his father, or at least he loved the memory of the man he’d been before Kathy Bagara left. Why didn’t she take me with her? He’d asked the question a million times before, but he always knew the answer. Because she loved the traveling salesman from Montreal more than her husband… more than her son. Because they had wanted to start fresh without any baggage. Because Allan wanted to stay with his father. Ted Bagara was fifty now, a drunken shadow of what he once was. It wouldn’t be hard to fight back. It wouldn’t take much to make him shut his mouth once and for all. I could shove him into the wall and pound on his face. I’m bigger than him now. I’m bigger and stronger.
And then it occurred to him that he didn’t need to fight back. All it would take is a suggestion.
His father loomed over him, swaying. “You just going to
cower there with that dumb look on your face?”
So why didn’t he pass out when I told him to sleep it off?
“You didn’t answer my question! Why you such a chicken-shit?”
Because I was scared. Because I’m always scared of him. People won’t do what I tell them if I don’t believe in myself.
Ted hit his son again. He hit him on the back of the head so hard the boy fell forward, to the bottom of the stairs, knocking his father against the banister along the way. “It’s a girl, isn’t it? You were out all night with some stupid little girl.”
Allan stood up off the floor and stared silently at him. Ted sat on the steps where his son was seconds earlier and sneered back. “I’m right, hey? Some whore from school has got you sneaking around at night and lying about it. That’s exactly how it started with your mother. They fill your head with god—”
“No more talking.”
His father stopped talking.
I don’t have to be afraid anymore. Fear is the only thing left between us. Allan pointed to the top of the stairs. “I want you to walk up there… Now.”
Ted did as he was told. It was more of stumbling lurch but he managed to make it to the second floor. He stood in the upstairs hallway and waited for his son to instruct him further.
“Go into the bathroom.” Allan followed him inside. “Get on your knees and stick your head in the toilet.”
There was a gurgling sound as Ted Bagara clutched at the sides of the bowl and lowered his face beneath the water. He had either forgotten to hold his breath, or the idea of where he was putting his head had made him start to gag. Allan grabbed him by the hair and pulled him out. “Take a deep breath and put your head all the way in… until your nose touches the very bottom.”
Ted nodded and inhaled.
“I bet that isn’t a nice feeling, is it, Dad? Being scared and bullied by someone that’s supposed to love you?” He wasn’t sure if his father could hear him. The gurgling noises started again a few seconds later. Probably not. “Things are going to be different. You’re going to quit drinking. You’re going to let me go where I want, when I want… Understand?” Ted nodded his head frantically—or he was beginning to inhale toilet water, it was difficult to tell. “I want you to quit swearing and saying bad things about the people I see.” More nodding and thrashing. His entire body was writhing, the fingers clutched to either side of the toilet had turned white as the porcelain of the bowl. “Get your head out of there.”
Ted lifted his head and gasped for air. He started to cough and vomited back into the bowl at the same time.
Allan turned away and listened to his father retch. He saw his face in the mirror and wiped tears from his cheeks. When had he started to cry? “That’s enough for now, Dad. Clean yourself up and go to bed. We’ll talk some more later.”
When he was finished, Ted wiped his mouth and chin with toilet paper from the roll. He flushed and left the room without saying a word. Allan started for his bedroom but decided he no longer wanted to sleep. He went downstairs and out into the backyard. He sat in the old rusted swing set his parents used to push him on and watched the sun rise.
He wanted to cry some more but the tears wouldn’t come. His mom had left seven years ago… his dad—though still there in body—had left shortly after. Allan was the grown-up now. He would make the decisions for his family, and things would be very different.
***
Sheila sat on her bed surrounded by the remaining pictures of her twin brother. She could hear the muffled sobs of her mother through the wall in the next bedroom—in Abe’s room. Andrea Feerce had spent the last twenty-four hours there trying to cope with his disappearance. It wasn’t getting any easier to listen to. Danny Feerce was holed up in the workshop outside. Sheila wasn’t certain whether he’d been crying or not, but she knew he’d thrown plenty of tools around. Earlier an eighteen inch long wrench had crashed through the window and twirled another forty feet into the front yard. It was likely a mess inside. He’d remained the night out there and hadn’t left all day. But then again, Sheila hadn’t given him a choice. Yesterday morning she’d stopped at the workshop on her way home from another late night with Allan and found her father brooding on the stool in front of his work table. Sheila had suggested he stay there until she had a chance to finally clear her mind and come to a decision. The same command had been given to Sheila’s mom. She could either stay in Abe’s room or she could stay in her own. There would be no more pacing throughout the house, waiting for a son that would never come home.
It couldn’t go on like this. Sheila had to make that decision and she had to make it soon. Saying goodbye was a hard thing to do. Saying goodbye for everyone was almost impossible. She should’ve told them the truth the night of their first encounter with the thing in the woods. But how? So sorry, Mom and Dad—Abe won’t be coming home any time soon. He’s been sent seventy-five thousand years into the past with my best friend to end the human race. Don’t bother setting a place for him at the supper table tonight… or tomorrow night… or the night after that.
On the second day of Abe’s absence she had told them they couldn’t call the police. They were forbidden to use the phones altogether. And now, well into the seventh day, Sheila had sent her parents into separate rooms—just like they used to do to her and Abe when they fought as little kids—and left them there. How ironic. She brought them food and water and allowed washroom breaks as long as they went straight back to their designated areas. It seemed a cruel and sadistic way to treat one’s parents, but Sheila had no other idea what to do with them until she was fully prepared to do what had to be done.
She ran her fingers gently across the last three pictures of Abe left on the bed. On her left side was an eight by ten of her and Abe on their first day of Kindergarten. You could tell it wasn’t a happy moment in the little boy’s life. He wasn’t grinning from ear to ear like his sister. The last thing he wanted to do on that cool fall day in 1998 was leave the safety of the Feerce farmstead. It didn’t get much better after elementary. Abe barely made it out of grades five and six, and once Junior High started his marks plummeted further. Her brother wasn’t the smartest kid in school, but he wasn’t the slowest either. He just had other ideas floating around in his head. He wanted to be a farmer like his dad, or a mechanic like his Uncle Bob. He wanted to work outside and use his hands.
The second picture—the one set to her right—was Abe’s Grade Eleven school photo. Sheila picked it up and traced her finger along the side of his handsome face. This was the most recent picture of her brother. It was the photo that best portrayed what he would become, the man he would look like. Did he even get the chance to grow old back in the past, or did the disease he carried cut his life short along with the last of humanity? Sheila recalled the creature’s hesitation when she had asked how they could still be here when all their ancient ancestors had supposedly been wiped out. A familiar pain stabbed somewhere inside her brain. That agony always came when she tried to think too hard about the thing in the woods. Some questions couldn’t be asked—they couldn’t be thought—without the pain. She placed the photo back down and accepted things as they were… as they would always be.
The picture in front of her was the smallest and most worn. It was also her most cherished. Their mom had taken it during the summer of 2007 without them knowing. They were sitting at the end of the long dock in Clear Lake, a popular tourist attraction at Wasagaming Park less than an hour away from Birdtail. You couldn’t see their faces; Sheila and Abe had only been used as foreground setting for a more impressive view of the water and distant tree line across the water. But it had a special meaning to Sheila. Her head was resting against Abe’s shoulder, her flowing black hair matching that of her brother’s shorter cut. Only minutes before the picture had been taken Abe had admitted to her he had a crush on Rebecca. He made her swear not to tell, and Sheila had promised to keep it between them. She’d kept that promise. Even when Becky complained about h
im and whined what a bug he was, Sheila kept the information to herself. She suspected Becky felt something for her brother in return, but that was something the two of them would have to work out on their own.
It hadn’t been an easy thing for him to admit. She remembered how red his normally pale face had become—how he had told her without looking her in the eye. And she remembered what he had said after she promised him it would be their little secret. I love you. Abe never said stuff like that unless he really meant it. That was when she had rested her head on his shoulder and told him she loved him, too. That was when their mom had taken the picture.
And that’s what made the decision to destroy these last photos and command her parents to forget they ever had a son so difficult to do.
Sheila kissed the image of the fifteen-year old twins and gathered up the others. All the other pictures of Abe’s existence had been plucked from the photo albums and taken down from the walls and burned earlier that day. These last three were placed in a metal trash basket in front of Sheila’s bedroom window. She opened the window and took a book of matches off the sill. She lit the oldest and most flammable photo—the first day of Kindergarten—and waited until it was half consumed before pulling her hand back. Most of the smoke was carried outside but some of it stung her eyes creating even more tears.
“I love you, brother… I won’t forget you.”
The picture of them on the dock caught last. It didn’t burn as quickly. Sheila changed her mind and reached in for it. She blew the small flame out that had already consumed the bottom quarter away and tucked the photo under her mattress. When all that remained in the basket was black ash, Sheila left her room and went to see her mother. She was sitting on the end of Abe’s bed, holding one of his shirts in her lap.