Audrey disappeared. I wandered around, wondering where fugitives went to hide. I found food and smoked some weed, then slept wedged together with thirty or forty other people in a large room laid out with a variety of rugs. When I saw Audrey two days later, she lifted one eyelid groggily but gave me no sign of recognition.
I had no plan except to try and see Teresa and not get caught by the authorities. Listening to the people around me, I would sometimes hear ripples of fear about a bust on the warehouse. One night, I smoked a joint with one of the heads whose picture I took in the Square the day Lola had tripped out. Normally, I would have mentioned the incident, but paranoia ate away at me, so I kept quiet, trying to remain anonymous. After awhile, red-eyed and flying high, he laughed and said, “Man, I remember you. You were with those chicks. Yeah, at the park. Man, they were beautiful. Like, I met one of them a while back, and she said you were dead, man.” He laughed, and I mumbled and hid my face by looking at the floor.
“Hey, man, ha ha, like fucking A, you’re dead. Here, take another toke. Smoking with a ghost. Ha ha, far out.”
Chapter 5
I moved between crash pads in the East Village, slipping away if I thought someone recognized me. A thoughtful look from a stranger or a wrinkled brow from a vaguely familiar face would spook me. Were they trying to place me with the celebrity of my art show, possibly the publicity of my Andes kidnapping, or had there been news of my violent escape from Bellevue? I wondered how much of an effort was being made to find me, finally deciding not to chance contact with Teresa or Daisy until I had a better feel of my situation. In the jungle, I had been paralyzed at night. In the city, I used darkness to move through the streets.
One chilly evening, I was sitting on a bench in Tompkins Square Park, smoking a cigarette butt I had found, when a voice behind me said, “Well, now you know more than last we met.”
I twirled around, surprised to be caught unaware by someone approaching. Santa Pigeon tossed a winter coat at me. “It’s getting cold.”
“Santa, man, it’s good to see you.”
“So, Deets, why are you standing still?”
“I’m not. I’m moving around.”
“You’ve been stripped of your normal connections again, like in the mountains. What’re you going to do?” He rummaged in his jacket pocket. “Here, I got you these.” He handed me a pack of Kools. “You want to continue your art career? Fall in love all over again? You could follow some strange dream, see what adventure comes of it. Maybe answer a prayer out there that’s been assigned to you?”
“Oh, man, it’s not a game, is it? Maybe to the ones who lay down the paths, but not to those who walk them. How do you fit in? You and Doctor Steel?”
“We don’t always fit in, do we?” He pointed at the jacket that lay across my lap. “What else you missing? Boots? Knapsack?”
I scratched the top of my head, wondering if these questions were clues similar to the poem he had scribbled to me before he disappeared in the Cambridge courthouse bathroom. It had taken me months to finally unravel that message.
A dog barked, and I listened to the barely audible thump of its paws hitting the ground and its quick easy breathing as a blur approached, then sped past our bench. Black shining fur, eyes lit with joy, and mouth open with dog laughter. I stared after the running ebony body until it blended perfectly into the night. Maybe gone into some new dream. I turned back to Santa.
“Man, if he had wings, he would’ve—”
Gerald Pigeon had disappeared too. Again. Instantly, with no farewell.
“Another quick visit, another cryptic message. Give me a break.” I tugged on the jacket and jammed my hands into the pockets. In the left pocket was an unsealed envelope. I sucked on my cigarette to give myself light as I spread open the top and peered inside. Instead of more of Pigeon’s veiled poetry, I was looking at a cashier’s check made out to Teresa Little for nine thousand dollars.
Deets, why are you standing still?
Boots? Knapsack?
Of course. He’s talking in riddles and symbols. He knows my boots and knapsack disappeared in Pan’s valley pasture and is giving me hints to get packing and moving on whatever is about to happen next.
First stop has got to be Monster Alley.
I propped back the cardboard and felt around the ceramic window box. Nothing. I had been hoping my boots and my knapsack with the sketch pad and photos stuffed into it would be there.
Santa was right. I do know something of the god tunnels. What do I do with that knowledge?
Darkness surrounded me as I studied the formula scratched into the brick wall for inspiration on how to proceed. Sounds, vaguely musical, some familiar, some otherworldly, emanated from the squiggles and lines and icons. I leaned in closely to listen, fascinated and curious that the equation sang and hummed. I felt comfortable with the new discovery, like Pan’s flute was revealing secrets of the alley wall.
The auditory manifestation near my four-legged symbol was a low roar of some indeterminable, but titanic, energy. I traced the now familiar pattern on the wall deftly with my fingers, not knowing what to expect. The physical layout of the portal and the wall were different here than in the Andes, and I was mystified on how their dynamics might behave. I pushed slightly at the brick, wondering if it would let me pass through it. Nothing, but in that moment I understood how to unlock the front door of the Monster Alley house.
After repeating the finger magic, I stepped past the beautifully decorated door, closed it quietly behind me, and stood still in the hallway. The enigmatic plain steel door with no handle was on my right.
A cold steel door. No coincidence. It’s got to have something to do with Doctor Steel.
Remembering how Steel swayed power over the demon Beelzebub, I decided to stay clear of the door, not wanting to see who would welcome me, or how they would, if it opened.
Nor did I relish the thought of encountering the old hag that occupied one of the apartments in the hallway.
I climbed the stairs to the second floor.
My knapsack sat at the top of the landing, leaning half-crumpled against a section of wall painted to portray a forested path of evergreens. The trail looked little used, with pine cones and fir needles littered under a dark arch of branches. My battered companion seemed to be sitting on the wooded trail, rather than being balanced against a two dimensional rendering of shadowed trees.
An aura of truth and determination clung to the pack. Although stained with specks of red and blotches of jungle green, looking torn and frayed, and smelling like fire ash and manure, it was blessed with droplets of dew, fresh on the flap. A wave of relief blew clearly through my senses, so maligned these past few months. My mind had been shattered by the unfiltered screeches and sirens, the slamming of doors, the rattles and coughs of the streets of New York, then numbed by medicines to dull it all. Since escaping the hospital, the invasive voices of strangers in the city’s cars, stores, restaurants, and apartments were an ongoing disturbance. From the dirty pile of khaki canvas with the warped sketch pad poking out of the top, I could hear the chirp of birds, the hum of insects, the rush of river water. It felt like home.
Next to the pack sat my well-worn boots.
I sat huddled in the hallway, staring at the artistic rendering of the woods, the deserts, the pounding surf, and the myriad of marine life. I was positive I could see movement behind finely rendered bushes or in the depths of the detailed ocean. The artist had somehow managed to give the impression of the passing of time with tricks of shadow and light to suggest moonlight slowly fading and alternating with sunshine.
A boom shattered my reverie. A red flash pulsed up from the first floor. A sharp, but garbled, voice filled the bottom of the stairwell. It resonated with a menace that reminded me of Filomena cursing me in the Venezuelan stream. Whoever it was, they were unmistakably aiming their words at me. After a
few minutes of the unintelligible threat, I sensed footsteps, that slipped and sliced like an assassin’s blade, move to the front door and enter into the streets I lived on.
Should I knock on Amelia and Jenny’s door? Ask for help? Yes.
I moved stealthily, hugging the wall, feeling as if I was sneaking through the painted ferns, hiding behind the brambles and cactus, ducking under branches, and dashing across the sandy, barren spaces.
As I held my knuckles poised to knock, the eyes of the partially hidden half-ape that decorated Amelia’s door pulled at me. In the ancient orbs, the artist had accomplished more than a skilled rendering. The perception that someday I would be standing in front of the creation with questions had been clearly achieved.
You’re here. You belong here. Yes, it’s a game within a dance within a play. And yes, you were called. In answering, you found your own ways to discover secrets, find keys, pray for and gather blessings, exist in curses, and walk through dreams. Don’t try to figure out the rules, or who’s playing who, or if you’re a toy or a hero or a king, or if you have tripped up and lost. You’ll never know. There’ll always be mysteries, like the methods and motives of the characters surrounding you.
“It’s indecipherable, isn’t it?” I spoke aloud.
The eyes answered. It all makes sense when harvested in the realms that regard your deeds as crucial. Just do what you need to do, but don’t be so foolish as to forget that mortals are at a terrible disadvantage to those who inhabit the domain of consciousness you now tread in.
From the other side of the door, I could hear many voices and the spray of laughter. A night of amusement. The feeling that I had been called on to entertain or perform enveloped me. Would I find refuge or detailed explanations from those that seemed to know my every move? Lost in the clink of glasses and the murmur of music, snippets of conversation were barely decipherable.
“I knew he...”
“But still, where did... could do it.”
“If he comes through again...”
“The bird.... I don’t think....”
“Pan had to... despite damage...”
I thought of the times Amelia had the chance to, but never did, give me satisfactory answers. Pigeon tossed me crumbs, sympathized with me as I scrambled after them. Doctor Steel challenged my every move.
What were the powers setting me up for?
I had the check with Teresa’s name. Hers would be the door I knocked on, not this one.
I surveyed the street, believing the cruel-sounding thing that had arrived by portal, then slipped out of the Monster Alley house before me, was watching my every move. Was Doctor Steel toying with me again, or had some new demonic minion arrived in town to eviscerate me?
I could hear Steel’s rasp in my mind. You learned a secret of the gods, Deets, so it’s no longer just rednecks, jealous cousins, crazed women, or venomous snakes.
Amelia’s ape at the door had offered little concrete advice in how to operate in the world I moved in. Don’t be so foolish... mortals... terrible disadvantage...
With no recourse but to protect myself, I heeded the warning of the apeman painting as I moved west across town, watching every shadow, every doorway, looking to rooftops, avoiding drainage openings, readying myself for a claw to grab out at me, a fang to strike, a creature to pounce. I stuck to the best lit streets, the most crowded sidewalks, my concerns about police nothing as compared to the newly-arrived threat.
Snow filtered down, the flakes tiny and wet. I felt I was leaving a trail across the Village that any time-hopping, dimension-cruising demon could follow.
After crossing 6th Avenue, I sensed a large car had slowed and was pacing along behind me. I knew who it had to be, wondered only briefly about how the Cadillac had traveled here from Venezuela, then looked over my shoulder to try and make out the occupants. Behind the smoked glass windows, I sensed a shadowy lump of heads and shoulders crowding the interior. A pair of red eyes flashed from the front passenger seat.
Oh, man. They can be anywhere.
Hoping to throw the threat off my tail, I backtracked and returned to a heavier trafficked area. I ducked my head and pulled up my collar—just in time for a second peril. A police car pulled to a stop at the corner I was approaching. Recognizing the squad car’s number, I paused to watch Officer Al and his partner, Jack. They were taking a break, lighting cigarettes and sipping hot coffee.
If the police took me, it meant jail, but I’d probably survive the night. The Filomena-type creature was far more menacing. And if that mass of heads in the back seat was any relation to Beelzebub, I’d be snicker-snacked and swallowed.
I continued walking, directly into the path of Officer Jack’s observation of my progress.
He’s just a cop checking out the approach of a stranger at night. It’s routine safety. He’s got to stay alert. He doesn’t recognize me. Breath easy. Should I meet his eye? No.
I turned the corner, expecting someone—a cop, a demon—to make their move. Three steps, ten, twenty, thirty. Nothing.
The door of a bar opened, and a driving beat cut across my path. I glanced at a poster and saw the featured band was Chang ’n Clyde.
“I fell apart at the crossroads, crawled on my hands and knees.”
I didn’t have time to stop and see my old friends. I had to reach Teresa.
“Begged the devil for mercy, I can’t take it no more, please.”
Chapter 6
All the lights in Teresa’s apartment burned bright. I tucked myself under a small awning across the street, blinking through the gathering snow, trying to figure out how many people were with her. I watched the interplay of silhouettes across the three windows that faced me. Two women, two men.
I hadn’t interrupted Amelia’s party because I had felt inferior and removed from the portal-hopping beings and gods I imagined had been gathered in play. I needed to be with a loving human, someone I understood, could laugh with, and confess to. But now I found myself unable to go to Teresa’s door, watching shadows that hurt and confused me as she shared herself with others.
Can’t you see me out here?
Can’t you feel me out here?
I climbed mountains for you.
I’ve had to make my way to you by stealth.
Don’t you know I’m the one who would always risk all I am for you?
Where did my heart lead me when I learned to fly?
To you.
Teresa, please, come to your window.
Then, not sure of what I was doing or why, I traced my fingers through the air in the shape of the feathered creature with the star balanced on its nose. As I moved my hand, I suddenly believed the symbol had to be a dog with wings. My hand felt hot, causing small wisps of steam to rise in the air around it. Snowflakes evaporated five or six inches away from my super-heated skin. A short bolt of blue light shot from my hand, disappearing as soon as it leapt forth. I was startled by my action and the resulting magical burst. A great fear tore through me as I realized I had acted rashly, not having any idea what my arcane capabilities were, other than gaining access to a portal. I hadn’t even considered what Teresa might want or what directing my magic towards her would do. Had I sent her off into a jump-tunnel? What kind of ability did I possess? I felt I was teetering on the lip of some great abyss as invisible and silent watchers judged how I kept my balance.
Then my eye was drawn away from my inner self towards Teresa’s windows where a gentle spray of blue radiance spread lightly against the glass. I heard the magical essence whisper as it dissipated, “I need to talk with you.”
With those words, a stirring swept through the area. A man and a woman left the front entrance of Teresa’s building. I recognized Cynthia, wondered how she had reacted to the photograph of her father. The black, oversized Cadillac cruised slowly by. From within, a pair of red eyes picked me out in
my shadowed hiding place. Whether it was Filomena or a sibling demon, the red glow held a clear message. We’re watching. You blend into the darkness well. Your giveaway was when you used your power. Now we know you’re becoming adept. We’ll meet another time. The car blended into the mainstream of traffic, the frightful creatures released of hunting me to play however they played at night in New York City.
Teresa appeared at one of her windows. She lifted the bottom half and slipped the storm panel partially up after struggling to loosen it from where it stuck on a warped metal runner. A man stepped out the front door. Teresa called down to him, “Don’t forget the anchovies this time.”
I crossed over and moved up the stairs quickly. Rapping lightly on the door, I rattled the knob with my other hand.
“Back already?”
I knew that by habit she would next look through the peephole.
The door swung open, and I stepped inside my old living room.
A befuddled expression was frozen on her features.
“What... when?” After a moment of looking absolutely lost, she gathered her stricken senses together and let out a deep sigh of relief. “I’ve been freaking out, worrying about you.”
“Teresa, I needed to see you.”
“I’ve missed you.” She threw her arms around me and held tight.
“I have so much to tell you.”
Still holding each other, leaning our upper bodies back as we shared a loving smile, our pressing together below the waist was obvious and thrilling.
“I need to hear everything you have to say.”
Her hands were tender heat, her eyes dancing. We melted into each other and kissed, our lips rediscovering intimacies that had grown foreign and unique.
Miracles (The Remarkable Adventures of Deets Parker Book 3) Page 4