by Ciar Cullen
“I should have known it was coming. You lecture everyone about going with the flow, but sometimes a little planning is in order.” Why bother? We’d gone through this a million times. Mom would rush into my room, panicked. “Annalise is missing!”
“Again?” I’d search a dozen likely hiding places, including a few trees, a storm drain around the corner, and the back of the ice cream truck. She’d usually giggle, even after learning her punishment.
She wasn’t giggling now.
“You’re a good brother.”
“I’m an average brother. I’ve taken better care of the Punks than I have you. Sometimes, I don’t understand you, don’t know what you need or why you do the things you do. I never have. Guess I never will.”
“I got the itch this time. I think I was running away from the fact that we’re ghosts. We are, aren’t we?”
“Yeah, I think so. You know, Einstein believed in ghosts.”
“Now you sound like Screw. And Einstein did not believe in ghosts.”
“Well, he believed in the paranormal, at least late in his life.”
“Didn’t he go kind of bonkers?”
“At the end. Dementia, I guess. Or maybe he used up his brain with all those big thoughts. But while he was in his prime, he had a theory.”
“Duh. Heard of it.”
“Well, Screw told me that one of the corollary theories was about vortexes being a dent in the fabric of time. A dent that swirled inward and brought energies into it instead of away from it. He conjectured that such a vortex could capture spirits and all sort of mystical phenomena. He was right about most things. Why should this be different? I’m pretty sure it’s not a mummy curse that brought us here.”
“At least it feels like being alive.” She fussed with her skirt and avoided my gaze.
“Then why so sad? Isn’t this what you wanted? 1890 and Steamside?”
“I don’t know what to do.”
“What do you mean?”
“What do we do, Jack? I don’t need to collect Punks to shore up the numbers, or teach everyone how to behave Normally, or even stay Steamside, for that matter. These vortexes—they open the whole world. I know you intend to tell the Punks.”
“It’s only fair. I don’t own them. They can go anywhere, do anything. The Normals don’t even notice the anachros, the nightmares are our own, and we can defend against those.”
“I don’t want you to lie to them. I just don’t know where I fit in.”
“Fit in? Where do any of us fit in?”
“You have Emily, Jack. It’s different. You’re a team, a good team. I really care for her.”
Duh. Men, brothers especially, can be idiots.
“Do you think Fen and I are going to go tripping around the world without you?”
“I wouldn’t blame you. Hell, I would in your shoes.”
She brushed at a tear and I pulled her in for a hug. “My whole adult life, you’ve been my center. How can you think that would ever, could ever change? My God, Annalise, I love you. Do you think I came to Egypt to get just Fen? I nearly died thinking I’d lost you!”
“You have to believe me, Jack. I didn’t mean to pull Fen with me. I thought somehow I could find my own way.”
“You tried to leave me?”
“Maybe subconsciously. To set you free. You’ve taken care of me for too long. I’m not sick anymore. You can stop.”
“Don’t talk like that. We’re together, for as long as we have. That may be a long time. Just enjoy this, Petti. We deserve a little fun, even if we’re dead and in the wrong century.”
“Yes sir.” She hugged me and cried more, and I joined her. I finally knew it was time to stop lying to myself, to them all. I had nothing for them.
Petti, Fen, Screw and I took a day to ourselves to rest Steamside after our welcome home. The Punks had a million questions and I promised a million answers, but begged off for some rest.
* * *
Summer gave way to Fall with a whimper. I noticed the change in the angle of the sun’s rays as it set on Steamside. I walked the Wall, my cat, now named Carter, following my steps. Sweet Pea had the night off, and I was alone.
Screw snuck up on me and poked me in the back.
“You walk on little cat feet, like a Ninja.”
“Still think I’m Chinese, don’t you?”
“Aren’t Ninja Japanese?”
“I have no freaking idea.” We laughed. “Come on, you’re off duty.”
“I’m in charge here. I tell me when I’m off duty.”
“The Man put out an all-call and sent me to get you.”
“Leave the Wall unattended?”
Screw put his hands on my shoulders and held my gaze. “Say goodbye to the Wall, Fen. Stand by your man and all that shit. Come on, I’ll need you to prop me up as much as you’ll need me.”
“He’s going to tell them everything, isn’t he? He’s going to…to shut us down? Why didn’t he talk to me first?”
“He’s going to set us free. He’s setting himself free, Fen. Let him.”
“I do not like the sound of this, and I intend to blame you.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Small walled town up for auction, going for a pittance.
Screw and I stood in the back of the mess hall. He belonged up front, maybe I did too, but I was determined not to distract Jack.
The first stunning development, at least to me, was that Jack wore his own clothes—black t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. Two scarabs hung on his necklace of keys as his only ornament, save his tattoo. Whether or not he intended it as a statement, it spoke volumes. Oh, yes, and by the way, he looked hotter than ever.
Petti stood by his side as he explained the details of our trip to Egypt, including the demise of our ancestors. The Punks hung on every word. Prince Albert raised his hand, and just like at a Presidential news conference, Jack pointed to him.
“Yes, Albert?”
“You’re still here. And Petti and Fen.”
“Right, so Albert’s question is whether or not we can change history without jeopardizing our own existence. And it seems we can.”
I leaned to Screw. “Prince Albert’s a little slow on the uptake, huh?”
But Albert wasn’t finished. “So if we’re the only ones who see the anachros, then maybe they’re residual hauntings, not intelligent hauntings, like us.”
“But the Normals see us, Albert.”
“Maybe because we want them to. Perhaps the anachros, being inanimate, don’t get that choice.”
Screw nodded. “Nice point, actually.”
“Everyone, I don’t pretend to have all the answers. I hope that we’ll learn more, but for right now, your guess is honestly as good as mine.”
The Punks murmured to one another and Petti clapped her hands for silence.
Jack went on to describe the vortexes and how to use them, if one so chose. He told them I had managed to get to Modern, but that it hadn’t been fun and games.
“God, he’s resigning.” My heart fell. He’d failed as the Man, in his own eyes. How could he not see the success sitting before him? Four dozen individuals from diverse backgrounds. They’d been traumatized, and he’d cuddled them in his arms, nursed them back to sanity. He’d given them purpose, a safe haven, and hope. Jack found a way to feed them, clothe them, even entertain them. He’d guarded them from their own nightmares. He was their father, and he was quitting. How could he not see what everyone else could?
Another Dodger, Scissorhands, raised his hand.
“If we can go anywhere, then we’re basically just living in Normal. What if we don’t want to live in Normal? Can we stay here?”
The Punks chatted to each other as if this were foremost on their minds.
“Of course you can stay here. You all had a hand in building Steamside, in making it what it is. You’re free to do anything you want, go anywhere you want.”
He sounded frustrated, and I was about to raise his anxiety le
vel a notch. But I wanted it to come from me. The others might not have the nerve, but they sure as hell wanted the answer. I raised my hand.
He frowned and pointed. “Yes, Miss Fenwick?”
“Where are you going, Sir?”
The cry went up from all the Punks, my question repeated in a number of ways. “Yeah, where are you going?” With the unasked question: Can we come too?
“Hold onto your hat, Emily Fenwick,” Screw whispered and took my hand. “And don’t blame me.”
Jack flushed, not the good flush he got when we were alone, but a flush that meant he wanted the earth to open up and swallow him. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to…um, Miss Fenwick about this in private yet, but…”
Fatty catcalled and stood. “Why do you need to speak with Miss Fenwick about it, Sir?” The Punks laughed and looked around, finding me in the back with Screw. I waved and they laughed more.
“I think I’ll turn it over to Miss Pettigrew at this point.”
Petti stood, folded her glasses, and pushed Jack aside.
She surveyed the crowd to garner anticipation, as if she were about to preach a bit of old-fashioned religion.
“Imagine! Put all your notions of Normal aside for a moment. Imagine that you could be yourself. Dress as you do now, drink and party as you do now.” She stared at Prince Albert. “Imagine if you didn’t have to steal for a living.”
“I don’t mind stealing that much,” he protested.
That annoyed the hell out of her, but she waved off the thought and forged ahead.
“Never mind. Imagine touring the world, seeing great wonders, without even needing a vortex. You would be the center of attention, the talk of the town, the spectacle of the century! Children would remember you their whole lives.”
Jack cleared his throat.
“What?” She snapped.
Jack motioned for her to pick up the pace, but she wasn’t having any of it.
“Sailing great ships, riding spectacular train routes, exploring Indian territory on horseback.”
Screw laughed. “She’s selling it hard.”
“What the hell is she talking about,” I asked him. He put his finger to his lips.
“We have the talent. We have the know-how.” She spread her hands across the imaginary sky to indicate an imaginary sign.
“Pettigrew’s Steamside Circus.”
The Punks murmured.
“That, my friends, is what Jack and I are going to do. Screw will join us, of course. We’ll work our way across this great land spreading joy and wonderment. And then, who knows? To Europe, most likely. And lands beyond, perhaps even the mysterious Orient.”
Jack stood and held up his hand. He looked pretty mortified. “I think that’s probably enough for one day. As I said, you are free to do as you like. Stay Steamside, live in Normal, shred to another place. We’ll run things normally for another week. At midnight next Sunday, anyone who might like to join us should meet at the shredding station.”
Petti nodded. “We’re having another party on Saturday night, so prepare to get skunked!”
Jack scanned the group for a moment and gulped.
“I just want to thank you all for putting faith in me, for helping to keep things together. I’m sorry I couldn’t find a way to get you all home.”
Jack bolted from the room before the Punks had a chance to utter a word. I went to follow him, but Screw held me back. “Let him grieve a bit, Fen. He’s been here a long time. Some things you have to do alone.”
But he hadn’t asked me if I wanted to go. He hadn’t asked me to join the circus. And he knew damned well how much I hate clowns.
* * *
I rode as fast as I could, which of course was no faster than the velocipede would take me. I could barely see through my goggles, splattered with mud. I don’t think any of the Punks had ever gone as far away from our town as I had. My refuge was a hill about an hour’s ride away. I’d come here during my darkest moments, on foot before Screw had built my bike.
I needed this place, where no one could find me, where no one knew my name, not the squirrels or birds or whispering breeze. And I needed for it to remain a secret, my secret.
Yes, they were still there. I’d brought my spy glass, to make sure. On the far bank of the river, or really just a meandering tributary of what I guessed was the Hudson, a dozen small thatched huts hugged the bank. A fire always burned in the center, sending gentle spirals of smoke into the air. Young boys chased after one another, and girls clung to their mothers while they washed in the stream or did the myriad chores women do.
I’d only seen the men twice, but they were there now, pulling their bounty from sledge-like wood contraptions. Deer, squirrel, hare. The scene mesmerized me with its tranquility and timelessness.
In my head, I called them Mohegan, but I really had no idea. Nor did I know if the time they lived in was hundreds or thousands of years before 1890.
My one secret from my sister, from Screw, even from Fen. Steamside wasn’t just another place, it was further in the past. Which is why I’d once hoped we could get back to the future. But that would stay my secret.
Anyway, once in a while I’d come and check on them, make sure our nightmares weren’t disrupting them, and that they were oblivious to a bunch of lost souls a few miles away. Because I knew that someday, they’d be pushed away, or killed by my ancestors’ illnesses.
I couldn’t—wouldn’t hasten that. One curious Punk, and their way of life might end sooner. It wouldn’t be on my shoulders. It wasn’t a politically correct thought or moniker, but I thought of them as ‘my tribe’. I took care of the Punks by being at their beck and call, and took care of My Tribe by guarding them from the Punks.
Now I’d abandon them, both of my tribes.
I waved goodbye to the Indians, to no one watching. I could always come back, I told myself. We weren’t dismantling Steamside, and no doubt with a number of Punks deciding to stay, I’d always be welcome to return. I just wanted as many of the Punks as possible to get back to Normal, and leave the deep past alone.
How much harm could a circus bring to 1890? I laughed and got back on my bike. With Petti running the show? God. Emily would keep me sane. My stomach turned in nerves at what I was about to do. The easiest part was telling the Punks I’d be leaving Steamside, that they were free to go. The harder part yet to come—Emily Fenwick.
Chapter Twenty-Four
A lovely surprise.
I’d kill him. Like my sparkly watch-part yo-yo, thrown away and then yanked back, away and back, away and back. He held the string and I’d spin for him.
Petti called to me on the Wall and I peered down at her. “Go away, I’m on duty.”
“Don’t make me come up there.”
“Suit yourself.”
I’d retrieved Sweet Pea’s chair and pouted there for an hour, gazing out at the trees and seeing nothing, waiting for the Man. Fuming mad. So, to him commitment meant he called the shots without discussing anything. Had he ever used the word commitment? Of course not. What man actually used the word? Hell, sticking to one TV station without surfing was too much commitment for most of them.
Petti threw her bag onto the plank walkway of the Wall and clutched at the ladder. “At least give me a hand.”
I clapped. She cursed and crawled onto the plank.
“You have many annoying tendencies, Fenwick.”
“Stuff it. I heard it already from Screw. I’m to support the Man, understand what he’s going through, blah blah blah.”
“You love him, don’t you?” Petti leaned on the guardrail and stared out over Steamside. I pulled her back a bit.
“Don’t lean so far. I don’t know if ghosts can break a neck, but I don’t want to have to haul your little ass around if you hurt yourself.”
Petti turned toward me and sat on the walkway, her legs curled underneath. “Now, have you decided your role in the circus? Because Screw and I agree your marksmanship is quite remarkable,
as you know, and with a bit of tweaking…a revealing costume, for example…”
“God! You’re making assumptions too? How insulting. You’re just like your brother.”
“Yes, yes, you wanted to be consulted, yada yada. We know all that. We hope to be ready within a month’s time for our premiere performance. Of course, we’ll need to post the event, garner interest. Perhaps bribe a newsman to write about us.”
Howard Carter settled in Petti’s lap, and I retrieved him and held him tightly. “Ignore the evil lady and she’ll go away.”
“Screw’s dirigible will create the greatest sensation, of course, with a banner announcing our arrival streaming behind. It will have to be large enough to read from the ground.” She tapped at her lips and then made a notation in her little book.
“Screw’s dirigible? He doesn’t have a dirigible.”
“He will. The Dodgers think we have supplies to get through the week and have turned to helping him.”
“How long does it take to build a dirigible? Even Screw can’t pull that off.”
Petti shrugged. “He says it’s modest in proportions. I’m sure he’s on target. Now, I’m counting on you to pull together an act, perhaps on horseback, like Annie Oakley. Can you do that in a month?”
“How about if I shoot at clowns from the dirigible?”
“Now you’re just being silly.”
* * *
After returning from my secret place and changing for a quick trip to Normal, I was exhausted.
Emily would be a bit miffed, I guessed, that I hadn’t spoken to her before the Punks about the circus. But I had to get that speech out of the way. I needed to go to her as another guy lost in time and space, not the Man.
I know I was jumping the gun. I’d put it all out there for her to shoot down if she wanted. I’ve had my share of close calls with women, but this one couldn’t come quickly enough. I’d never wanted anything so much. I wanted to know that we’d always be together. Because I’d never been happier, dead or alive, and it had to last.
Petti descended from the Wall and rolled her eyes at me. “Best of luck. You’ll need it.”