Invisible Dawn

by Weston Kincade

  “Thanks, Shanahan,” muttered the commander after the first close call. The shifter did not try to hide his smirk as he watched Marlin’s eyes return to the small screen, determined not to show his frustration.

  In the second hour of the search, the small contingent of agents crept closer to the red dot on Marlin’s screen. Leodenin kept his eyes peeled, ignoring the sweat streaming down his back and underarms. He refused to take off his duster and admit that the wardrobe had been a bad choice. Instead, he comforted himself with the knowledge that the sun would be down in another couple hours. Setting comfort aside, he looked for signs of Madelin, but found very little.

  They crossed streets with Spanish names plastered on blue road signs, not unlike his home. He glanced at the different structures along the way and shadow buildings appeared outlined in vibrant colored webs. Some were smaller than those in this world, while others were bigger. A few times he spotted buildings he recognized from home, superimposed on this one. They were all carryovers from closely linked planes. Phantom people crossed his path regularly, oblivious to the mirrored realities.

  This was something Leodenin had grown accustomed to throughout his training. He need only reach out with a knowledgeable finger to make each of the worlds accessible. But according to the researchers, the more he shifted, the more difficult it would be to find his way home. This was why he had never crossed over. The agency put too much money into its patients to risk them before they were ready. Glancing at what had to be the fourth fruit vendor they passed, Marlin brought the group to a halt. The abrupt stop pulled Leodenin out of his layers of thoughts and memories.

  “This is it,” said Marlin, staring at the run down apartment building in front of them. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with his shirtsleeve before glancing down at the device to double check their location. “They haven’t moved.” His voice was calm and measured in its certainty.

  Confidence and training had made stoic readiness second nature and it took over as they approached the apartment building. He wiped the sweat covered screen on his pant leg before returning it to his pocket. The street light on the corner turned red and the men crossed the wavering pavement as it cooked in the El Paso heat. Leodenin fell back behind them.

  They’re bodyguards. It’s their job to stop the bullets, thought Leodenin.

  Marlin took the lead, sidestepping the metal fan rattling against the entryway door. None of the men made a noise on the worn carpet as they stepped into the lobby, guns drawn. A slim clerk sat at the front desk, his dim lamp casting shadows on the wall behind him. The top of his balding head was visible over the cheap countertop.

  Father Leodenin caught a glimpse of the man’s tired eyes before fear lit his chair on fire. He leapt to his feet stammering but the words were lost as Marlin leveled his 9 millimeter inches from his quivering nose. The commander placed his finger across his lips and the man responded with a series of quick nods. Without a word the finger directed the man back into his seat, which he obeyed. Then in one fluid motion, Marlin reached over the counter and ripped the phone cord from the wall.

  In a quiet but firm voice, Marlin asked. “What room is the woman in the white gown in?”

  “Th...Th … Three-o-nine,” stuttered the aging desk clerk.

  With a wave of his hand, Marlin directed his second in command. Shanahan circled the desk and emerged behind the frightened man with a roll of wide cloth tape. Within seconds the man was bound to the chair and knocked unconscious by the butt of Shanahan’s gun. The agent propped the clerk’s head on the desk, clicked off the lamp, and slipped back into the main group. Then, Marlin signaled for the other half to separate and find another route up.

  The commander led his group up the rickety stairs. They followed single file, backs to the wall and eyes peeled for any sign of an ambush. Very little of their procession could be heard, even from the defunct floor-boards. However, Leodenin was having difficulty avoiding them. He gritted his teeth with each creak of his footsteps.

  Why do I even have to be here? he wondered. A nagging voice in the back of his mind reminded him that he had asked for this assignment.

  Some agents cast condescending looks at him with each noise, but most kept their eyes on the rooms and hallways above and below. They were in their element now. With each sound of aging wood, Leodenin’s breath stalled. He expected something to pounce, their stealthy approach having been given away by his ineptitude. But, each time the ambush was postponed. The air in the building was stifling, and his nerves were wearing thin.

  The group stalked up the two flights of stairs and stopped at the third. The stairway opened to a hall lined with apartment doors. Waiting with the others, Leodenin controlled his breathing and watched Marlin check the scanner. Then, he nodded to Shanahan, who stepped around the corner and down the darkened hallway. The light from the window at the end of the hall revealed little.

  The place is like a ghost town, thought Leodenin, half expecting a tumble-weed to roll by.

  Marlin turned to Shanahan and motioned for him to head further down. The men streamed by like a school of fish. He followed with Leodenin bringing up the rear. As they came into position, a shudder ran down each man’s spine. This was what they lived for, but also what they feared.

  With their backs to the wall, the other agents avoided the glass shards on the floor, but Leodenin’s booted foot came down on one with a loud crunch. The others froze.

  Aware that their ambush was compromised, Shanahan took advantage of the second of surprise that remained. He lifted his muscled leg and kicked the rotten door in. The flaking paint and plastic room number disintegrated as the door splintered and shot into the room. Large slivers of the wooden frame flew through the air like sharpened stakes.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 7: Stretching Boundaries

  Wednesday, June 21st

  How do you know what someone truly means to you? Well, you never really know until you’ve lost them, or so I’ve learned…

  ~Excerpt from the Journal of Madelin Boatweit~

  Jedd awoke groggy and more tired than the night before. After a cursory glance around the room, it seemed that all was as he left it. The television advertised the time as 5:13 p.m. He moaned at having left Madelin for this long. Perturbed, he buried his face in the pillow and shouted muffled insults until his stomach growled, interrupting the self-deprecating barrage.

  He was still exhausted enough to sleep the week away, but Madelin needed him. He did not question whether the night’s events were real. In fact, he was certain he had found her. Setting aside his feelings, Jedd forced himself off of the rumpled bed covers. His tensed muscles ached after hours of hibernation. His cellular peeked out from under his leg on the edge of the bed. He stuffed it into a jean pocket before heading to the restroom.

  Jedd was stunned to find a gaunt man with sunken eyes staring back in the mirror. He ran his hands along the sides in disbelief. Finding nothing, he peered at the haggard face staring back and finally concluded that it was his own reflection. He looked like death warmed over. His stomach gurgled, reminding him of the need for sustenance.

  This kind of hunger isn’t normal, thought Jedd. The dream must have drawn on my resources more than I realized. I’ve got to get some food before I try it again, and quick. Madelin’s out there all alone.

  Jedd grabbed his jacket and key and slipped out the door. A neon sign announced a twenty-four-hour breakfast joint next door. He leapt across the parking lot and filled up on all-you-can-eat pancakes, courtesy of another generous patron. As he ate, his mind whirled with the possibilities of what Madelin might encounter in his absence. Concluding that Madelin was at least lost and scared by this point, Jedd folded a handful of pancakes into a burrito, dipped them in the dwindling dish of syrup and sped back to the room.

  His concern grew when he caught sight of the television display. 5:46 p.m. haunted him from the middle of the darkened room. Rejuvenated, Altran flicked on the lights, locked the door,
and downed the last of his soft drink before flopping onto the wrinkled bedspread. He exchanged glances with the man in the mirror as he leaned against the headboard. His dark olive color had returned with the influx of syrup-drenched pancakes.

  “At least PASTOR’ll have a hard time recognizing me,” he muttered to the man across from him, a slight quirk drifting to his lips. Without another word, he closed his eyes and searched for Madelin.

  Another stomach-churning ride of loops and swirls greeted him before Jedd found himself in a dim room. The wallpaper glistened as though the very walls were sweating. A rough skinned man sat slouched in the corner of the dark room with his head held in his hands. A stream of light slipped through the blinds, illuminating his short military cut. His graying widows-peak gleamed under the scant rays.

  Standing across from him was the woman that had consumed Jedd’s thoughts for the last decade. The window lit her from behind, majestically. The sight of the blood-stained bandages reminded him of the consequences of the previous night’s journey. While he'd drained every ounce of energy he had left, Madelin had suffered far worse. The tattered remnants of her kimono allowed her a shred of decency and her hair blazed in the sunlight.

  She stared down at the older man with jade eyes that glowed ferociously, but the longer he looked the more emotions he saw hidden beneath her gaze. The scene stalled and the fire in her eyes dwindled as she slumped into a wooden chair.

  A prolonged silence settled on the room and Jedd forced her name over the static gap. Madelin’s head whipped around and shock flooded over her, but soon the look was replaced by a familiar smile.

  She was not able to see him, but the voice had become a comfort in this unfamiliar world.

  Sensing that something had changed, Daniel’s head drifted up. “Madelin, is something wrong?” he asked, his whisper carrying across the sweltering room.

  With a glance she replied, “No, everything’s fine.”

  And then, as though speaking to an unseen presence, a stream of jubilant conversation flowed from her lips. “You found me. Are you okay?”

  Daniel watched from the darkened corner as she prattled on in a one-sided conversation. Insanity was all that came to mind, and if that were the case there was little he could do to help her. It was heart wrenching to think this beautiful woman might be inflicted with such a thing but the explanation solidified in his mind with each utterance to the faded wallpaper. In the hope of discovering a more accurate rationalization, he leaned in to listen. Madelin’s face betrayed nothing. Her reactions to the conversation were genuine. Dismayed, he allowed the odd monologue to continue without interruption.

  While pondering Madelin’s sanity, the recent memory of her mysterious appearance interrupted his thoughts. Her tale was so far-fetched, he doubted even a lunatic could create such a story. Searching for an inkling of reassurance, Daniel’s gaze rose to meet Madelin’s as she shifted her attention back to him. He delved into her bottomless green eyes and it seemed that time stood still. At that moment, he knew that no matter how unusual her story was, he could not give up on this enchanting woman.

  No mystery remained in that gaze and Madelin stood stunned by the openness with which she saw Daniel. His strength lay hidden beneath his dignity and pride, but trickled around the edge unimpeded. In that moment she learned more about her newfound friend than she knew about herself. She saw who Daniel Robertson truly was and knew he saw the same. The pain and loss he had endured was clear, but under the folds of memories clenched in a fist of sorrow, stemmed the strength that kept him going. After what felt like hours of soul searching, the voice of her familiar friend chimed in.

  “Madelin, I don’t know how close they are to finding you, but it’ll be better if you wait for me. I can help. Where are you?”

  Madelin broke her profound gaze and turned from her seated companion. She relayed a description of the surrounding area and their hotel to mysterious godfather.

  Buying into her story, Daniel’s concern grew.

  What the hell’s she doing? If there really is someone there, she can’t tell them where we are. Who is it she’s talking to? What if they give us up? Shit! he almost shouted.

  “Who in the world are you talking to?”

  Madelin turned back to the darkened corner and replied, “The friend I told you about. He’s coming to help.”

  Unable to argue with an invisible man but finding it impossible to discredit her odd behavior, Daniel shut his mouth. He watched the one-sided conversation continue and stifled his anger.

  He reached over to the worn nightstand and gripped the neck of a tequila bottle he left open days before. He considered finishing the last third, but instead spun the bottle an inch over the wooden tabletop. The sound of alcohol sloshing was strangely soothing. While staring at the waves within the opaque glass, he considered his options.

  I got myself into this, for better or worse. I’ll see it through, he concluded. I just hope destiny’ll give me enough time to make amends.

  “Can you trust this man?” asked Jedd.

  “Without a doubt. How will you find me? I ran through some kind of rip in the wall.”

  Silence answered back. Time stretched, but eventually a whisper carried through. “I’ll try crossing where you did. I might be able to find it. Then you can reopen the portal. Can you meet me there?”

  “Sure,” she said, brightening at the thought of seeing her illusory protector. It occurred to her that she still did not know his name. Shaking her head at the absurdity of the situation, she asked, “And can you finally tell me your name, or should I keep calling you my imaginary friend?”

  A chuckle carried to her ears before he replied. “Jedd Altran. I was a close friend of your father’s. But we’ll get into that more later. Do you remember anything about the area you shifted from?”

  “Shift, what do you mean?” she asked quizzically.

  “The place you escaped from, where you walked through the wall. It’s called shifting.”

  Madelin shook her head and a frown creased her face. “No I don’t. It all looked the same.”

  “Okay,” he replied, “Stay where you are. I’ll find it and meet you there as soon as I can. Wait for me.”

  Seeing Madelin perk up gave Daniel hope, but always the pessimist, he wondered what problems might lurk in the near future. His hand drifted from the bottle to the Glock 19 on his bedside and caressed the pistol grip. The gun had been with him for longer than he cared to acknowledge, and he felt naked without it.

  At that second, Daniel heard the soft crunch of breaking glass outside the apartment door. Gun in hand, he leapt across the room and shoved Madelin toward the window.

  Fear sprang to her eyes as he whispered, “Out the window, NOW! Someone’s here.”

  Without a second thought she did as ordered, stepping out the open window and onto the emergency fire escape. Daniel followed on her heels but just as he leapt out the curtained window, all hell broke loose.

  Black clad agents kicked the door in, shattering the frame and showering the room with wooden projectiles. The PASTOR operatives flooded the room like a swarm of ants. Weapons readied, they drew down on Daniel. The ancient window panes shattered as the first few agents riddled them with bullets. The rest of their silenced shots peppered the wall and window sill.

  Altran watched in horror as the four black clad soldiers filed into the ancient hotel room. Powerless, he roared, “Run, Run, Madelin.” He slid through the wall and into the air at the top of the fire escape.

  Madelin climbed the stairs like an Olympian, but with each step, the decrepit staircase threatened to detach from the brick wall.

  Unable to do anything but watch, Jedd drifted to the roof and searched for an escape. It did not take long to come to a horrifying conclusion; there was no escape.

  Daniel topped the foot-high wall encircling the roof and came to the same realization. Positioning Madelin behind him, he hid behind a brick smokestack. He peered around the corner and wait
ed with his weapon readied.

  As fear took hold, Jedd floated back over the stairwell and peered down at the well-trained men in pursuit of his goddaughter. There was no way out. Panic set in and he let out a vicious battle cry that pierced the void in which he stood, erupting over the discordant static of this world.

  The bloodcurdling scream that escaped Jedd’s lips chilled Madelin to the bone. For an instant she saw him over Daniel’s shoulder, sparkling in the sunlit sky. A man of average height, he wore a leather jacket with jet-black hair. He stood over the stairway, held up by nothing but air. Arms outstretched, he glared at the climbing operatives. She watched as Jedd summoned his remaining energy, his muscles contracting into quivering knots of rage. Even the air around him seemed to contract. Random gunfire lanced through his incorporeal body harmlessly. Then, with a flip of his legs, he hurled himself down at the agents. His war cry echoed back to Madelin as he hurtled toward the ground before breaking off a moment later.

  A tear escaped her eye as a fearful assumption came to mind. “Is he dead?” she asked, but before she could give it further thought, the first of their pursuers peered over the roof’s ledge.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 8: A Father’s Sacrifice

  Emotion, passion, and writhing hatred were all Jedd felt as he watched the black-clad operatives storming the fire escape. The suddenness of his appearance startled the agents and bullets soared, but found nothing of substance within him.

  After all I’ve gone through to find her, you aren’t about to take her away, he swore to himself.

  Coming to a decision, he screamed, “The hell you will!”

  Instinct took over and he let out a guttural shout that echoed across heaven, hell, and all earthly planes. Altran summoned every ounce of his being and thrust himself at the oncoming kidnappers. Adrenaline flowed through his veins like the fiercest of rivers.