When Darkness Falls

by Chanda Stafford

  Ian hunches over the kitchen table. At first, all I see is the broad expanse of his back, muscles glistening in the yellow light, tapering into a trim waist that disappears into a worn pair of jeans. Thick, corded scars twist from his shoulders down to his waist.

  Phoebe presses gauze stained with blood to his side. She absently swipes at a lock of hair clinging to her forehead, but her focus remains on Ian. “That was the stupidest thing you’ve ever done,” she mutters. “My mother would roll over in her grave if she knew.”

  “I had to try,” he mumbles, his face buried in his arms. “If I have the chance to go home, I have to go for it.”

  “But why now? You’ve been here for such a long time; I thought you were content. I thought you were happy here.”

  “I am.” He hisses as she dabs antiseptic-soaked gauze to his injuries. “Can we please discuss this later?”

  “Fine. Where did you go?”

  “Hell.” He lifts his head long enough to let out an empty laugh. “Those damn creatures came at me almost immediately. Coming back was the only way I could lose them.”

  Her lips purse as she glances toward the bodies outside the lighthouse. “But they still followed you.”

  “I know. I couldn’t break the seal in time.” Ian stiffens when Phoebe cleans another gash, the one lower on his back. “Thank you for helping me kill them. It would have been a disaster if any had escaped.”

  “It’s a good thing they were more interested in eating you than exploring, then.” Phoebe finishes cleaning the claw marks lining Ian’s side. After she’s done, she tosses the gauze in the sink. “Maybe Danny’s right. Maybe it’s time to figure out how to close the portal.”

  “I can’t. I don’t know if I could survive without it.”

  Phoebe’s lips thin. “Even if it gets someone killed?” She grabs a curved needle and some thick thread from the first aid kit. “I’m going to start your stitches now.”

  Ian grunts in response.

  As she starts closing his wounds, he winces, but he doesn’t react otherwise. I don’t know how he does it. A greater respect for him grows inside me. I’d have passed out by now, for sure.

  “There,” Phoebe says as she ties off the last piece of thread. “Try to keep it clean. I think I did a pretty good job, but you never know what kind of bacteria those creatures might transmit.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Ian stretches, craning his neck to examine her handiwork. “It looks great. Thank you for all of your help. I really appreciate it.”

  When they start to clean up, I take that as my cue to leave. I don’t want either of them to catch me sneaking around and eavesdropping. I crouch down on the log, preparing to jump off, when the stump wobbles and then cracks in half, sending me teetering backward, arms pinwheeling in the air until I crash into the ground.

  The air rushes from my lungs, and I can’t breathe. I can’t move to escape even if my life depended on it, and it just might.

  “What was that?” Phoebe asks.

  “Damn it. I thought we got them all,” Ian answers her. “But we better check it out.”

  “I’ll do it, you stay here and—” The door slams.

  I start to catch my breath and push myself into a sitting position as they sprint around the corner and skid to a stop.

  “Austen?” Phoebe puts her hands on her hips, her frustration evident in the frown on her face. “What on earth are you doing here?”

  “Just passing by, I’m sure.” Ian rests what looks like a sword against the side of the lighthouse and strides past Phoebe to offer me his hand. I take it, and he pulls me to my feet. “How much did you hear?”

  I brush myself off and glare at Phoebe. “Enough.”

  The corners of his mouth quirk. “You could have come to the door.”

  “Then I wouldn’t have made such a grand entrance.”

  He chuckles, grabs his sword, and leads us to the front of the lighthouse. After we file in, he motions for Phoebe and me to sit down in the living room. “It’s never too late for a good cup of tea.”

  “Let me help.”

  He waves me off. “Sit down and play nice with Phoebe for me, okay?” The twinkle in his eyes belies the warning in his words. I nod meekly and sit down.

  The glass feathers hanging from the rafters in Ian’s living room stir when Ian passes underneath them. The statue of the old man seems sadder, lonelier somehow. Who is he? His detailed features, his beard—it all seems so realistic. A thought niggles in my mind, but it’s so tenuous, I can’t quite grasp it.

  “Why did you follow me?” Phoebe folds her arms over her chest. “It’s dangerous out there.”

  “As evidenced by the pile of dead dinosaurs outside,” I quip. “This is all connected somehow, I just know it. Please tell me what’s going on.”

  Phoebe hesitates. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

  “Quit trying to protect me.” I throw my hands up in the air. “I’m not some stupid little kid anymore. I can take care of myself.” When she doesn’t respond, I push on. “You said Ian brought those things here?”

  Phoebe gazes out the bay window. “Yes. Going through the portal is very dangerous.” She chuckles. “But I guess I don’t have to tell you that, do I?”

  I shake my head. “No. Once was enough for me. What was Ian trying to find?”

  “That’s for him to tell you,” Phoebe says.

  Ian calls out from the kitchen. “I’m afraid I don’t have much, only some Earl Grey.” He brings in three cups and sets them on the coffee table.

  “That’ll be fine, thank you.” I glance at Phoebe, but she shakes her head. No more questions.

  Before Ian has the chance to sit down, Phoebe touches his arm. “Can I talk to you in private?”

  His lips thin. “Of course.” He turns to me. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Sure, no problem.” I pour myself a cup of tea because I need something to do with my hands.

  Phoebe’s voice echoes through the living room from the kitchen. “You can’t be serious!”

  “I think you underestimate her,” Ian murmurs. “Austen’s smarter than you give her credit for. She’ll figure it out eventually.”

  She snorts. “She’s seventeen. There is no way she could understand what’s going on.”

  My shoulders stiffen. Phoebe’s wrong. I can take the truth. I creep toward the kitchen and peek around the corner.

  “You were seventeen once,” Ian says. He leans against the sink, his arm gingerly touching his side.

  “That’s different.” Phoebe paces the small kitchen.

  “Is it?” he asks. “She found the portal, albeit accidentally, traveled through, and survived. That’s remarkable, no matter how old you are.”

  “But still—”

  “She deserves to know the truth.”

  “You’re wrong. We have to protect her.”

  “She’s not going to give up, you know.”

  She plants her hands on her hips. “She will if you tell her to. Come on, Ian. Think about it. If she starts snooping around the portal more, she’s going to get herself killed. That’s what happens to people who mess around with things they don’t understand.”

  “I survived, didn’t I?” he asks, his voice so quiet I almost miss it.

  “You know what? You’re right. You survived this time. But what about next time? I can’t do this anymore, Ian, I can’t. Especially if you’re going to put Austen in danger. Call me when you come to your senses.” Without another word, Phoebe storms past me and out the front door, slamming it behind her.

  I slink back to the couch just as Ian pads into the living room. His shoulders droop, and his eyes flicker with a faraway pain that I yearn to extinguish.

  “I’m sorry about that,” he says. “Sometimes Phoebe gets overprotective.”

  “If there are more things like that out there,” I say, pointing out the window, “then I don’t blame her.”

  Ian sits down gingerly, wincing when his injured side touches the
cushion. After taking a deep breath, he reaches for one of the cups. “It’s not all bad, you know. Sometimes it’s beautiful.” A wistful smile plays across his lips. “Sometimes it’s so amazing, so fantastic, I never want to return.”

  I wait for him to continue, but he doesn’t. “Then why do you?”

  He cups the tea in his hands and stares into its golden depths. “It’s not home.” He sets the teacup on the coffee table. “You know what? It’s late. You should probably go. I’m sure your mother is worried about you.” He stands up and offers me his hand.

  I slip mine into his, and electricity so strong I can almost see the sparks dances across my skin. I think he notices it, too, by the way his lips tighten and a muscle jumps along his jaw. I pull away, knowing it’s the right thing to do even though a small part of me hates to lose that touch, that connection.

  When we pass Ian’s glass sculpture of the old man, twinkling Christmas lights sway in our wake, illuminating the enormous wings curled around his back. Something in the back of my mind stirs.

  “Wings.” I skid to a stop. “Just like your story.” The world spins around me until slowly clicking into place. Oh my God. No. It’s not possible. It can’t be possible. “That wasn’t just a story, was it?”

  Ian reaches out to me, the loss in his eyes haunting. “Austen—”

  “That was you. You’re the boy with the wings.” I reach out and touch the old man’s knee. “The old man, he was your father. And the tower, and the birds, and even the evil king. It’s all real, isn’t it?”

  His Adam’s apple jumps as he gulps. “Please, let me explain. There’s so much more going on than you know.”

  “Like what?”

  “Come with me.” Ian leads me to the front porch. We sit on the front step under the twinkling stars.

  “Are you one hundred percent positive you’re ready for this?”

  He’s so nervous, I can see the sweat on his forehead glistening under the moonlight. “One hundred thousand percent.”

  He takes another deep breath. “All right, then.” Ian reaches across my lap and takes my hands in his. “I’m not . . . I’m not from around here, if you haven’t guessed.” He lets out a self-conscious chuckle. “I grew up in Greece with my father, Daedalus. The rest of the story I told you is true. We were kidnapped by an evil king, and my father made us wings to escape. I flew too high, too fast, and the sun melted my wings. And then I fell. Somehow, I survived the fall and landed in the ocean. I didn’t escape unscathed, though.” He rolls up the back of his shirt, revealing the twisted scars snaking down his back.

  “That’s not possible.” Even to me, my denial sounds hollow.

  He raises one dark eyebrow. “Neither is traveling through a hole in the back of a cave and getting abducted by ancient Greek pirates. Have you ever heard of ley lines before?”

  When I shake my head, he continues.

  “They’re bands of energy that surround the earth. Many people believe these lines hold power, but no one knows for certain. For those who can sense this power, or even tap into it, living by the intersection of two lines is a life-changing experience.”

  “So you’re saying there are energy superhighways surrounding the earth, but no one knows much about them?” Part of me wants to blurt out that he’s crazy, but there’s a pile of dead dinosaurs in his yard and rope burns around my wrists from an ancient Greek pirate. Unless I’m in a coma and imagining all of this after falling and hitting my head, this is real. All of it.

  He nods. “Yes. And when two lines intersect, strange phenomena occur, like a portal to other worlds.”

  “That’s not possible. Maybe in books, sure, or late-night TV shows hosted by people crazy enough to be admitted to an asylum, but not in real life.”

  He arches an eyebrow at my denial. “How can you deny it? You went there.”

  He’s right, but that doesn’t mean I have to jump wholeheartedly on the crazy bandwagon. I wave at the cave and the dead creatures. “There’s no chance this is some elaborate joke, right?” My voice has this pleading tone, as if begging him to admit it’s all a hoax so my life can go back to normal.

  “If only that were true.” He takes my hands in his. “Please hear me out. You were so desperate for answers earlier, and now I want to tell you the whole story.”

  I stare at our joined hands. I can’t take much more craziness in my life, but I have to find out what’s going on. “Okay. I’m listening.”

  Relief brings a smile to his face. “Thank you. When you went through the portal, you traveled to a small island off the coast of ancient Greece.”

  “How is that even possible?”

  “Time is,” he makes a circular motion with one hand, “fluid, for lack of a better term. It’s always going on, all around us, and it’s possible to tap into these different points in history and realities by going through gateways like this one.”

  “And that’s how you got here?” In my mind, I see Ian stumble out of the portal. He must have been so confused to find himself here.

  “Yes.” He squeezes my hands. “I know it’s a lot to take in, but you have to believe me. I’m telling the truth.”

  “Why did you stay here? I mean, if you could have gone home whenever you wanted.”

  He laughs a bitter, hollow sound. “I tried.” He points at the dead dinosaurs. “But it’s not that easy, as you can see. Even if there is a door on our side and a door on the other, they don’t always lead to the same places.” He pauses, staring into the darkness for several seconds. “I must have tried hundreds of times. I even learned to stabilize the portal, but I can’t tell where it goes until I travel through it.”

  I think back to the darkness and the strange stones jammed into the rock. I wonder if Dad would have gone home if he had the chance. “So that’s what those rocks were for around the portal?”

  He nods. “Crystals, yes. It took me around fifty years to figure out the exact configuration to lock down the portal. It holds the position on one side, and then I place crystals around the gate on the opposite side to make the opening secure.”

  The tragedy of his existence hits me. “Yet you never found your way home.”

  He stares out at the inky water lapping against the shore. “No. After a while, I gave up. I’ve tried to be happy here, I really have, but sometimes I feel like I’m merely living a shadow of my former life.” He turns to me. “But you, Austen, you’ve done it. Maybe it’s a fluke or part of the eclipse or something, but I don’t believe in coincidences. The lines took you to my home for a reason. My only hope is that they’ll do the same for me.”

  “But you can’t go now.” I gesture at his side. “You’re injured.”

  He shakes his head. “It’s simply a scratch compared to losing one’s home.” Ian stands up and offers me his hand. “Come with me. I want to show you one more thing before you go.” He leads me inside to the closet by the front door and pulls out a brown leather pack. I try to peer around his shoulder, but he quickly shuts the door.

  “What else are you hiding in there?”

  He chuckles. “Let’s just say that if we’re ever attacked, I’m pretty well prepared. Now follow me.” I trail behind him to the kitchen where he sets the knapsack on the table. From inside, he pulls out a strange contraption that looks like a two-way radio covered in wires and duct tape.

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s a ley line detector. It uses magnets, like those from a compass, to sense ley lines. This way, if I get separated from the line, I can find my way back.” He waves the device in the air. “This is my Hail Mary pass, as they say.” He switches out the batteries and tosses a few extra sets in the bag. When he finishes, he hefts the bag over one shoulder and turns away from me. “It helps if I stabilize both sides of the portal first. Then I know where I’m going if I have to make a run for it.”

  “Like tonight.” My dad and his parents must have been running from something, or they’d be like Ian, trying forever to get home. What c
ould be so awful that they’d take a chance going somewhere that could be more dangerous than where they were?

  He nods. “Yes. If I hadn’t stabilized the portal, I probably wouldn’t have made it back.”

  “I’m glad you did.” I squeeze his hand.

  Ian clears his throat. “It’s getting late.”

  I bite my lip, torn. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

  He nods at that and with our hands still clasped, he walks with me out to my car. “Why did you park all the way back here? You really don’t need to sneak around, you know.”

  “It seemed like the right thing to do at the time.”

  “Does it still?” His voice is a husky murmur as he tilts my chin up to gaze into my eyes. His words take on a new, deeper meaning, and I don’t think he’s talking about sneaking around anymore.

  Before I can respond his lips touch mine, soft at first, then harder, desperate, as if he needs the very air in my lungs to survive. I stand up on my tiptoes and lean into his kiss, planting my palms on his chest. I can’t move, I can’t talk, and I can’t think. I can only be here, in this moment, with this lonely, tortured, boy.

  He breaks away a moment later, desire warring with indecision in his eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

  I pull away enough to look into his eyes. “I don’t know about you,” I say, flashing him what I hope is an impish grin, “but I’m not complaining.”

  His cheeks darken and he chuckles. “No more sneaking around, okay?” He kisses me softly on the forehead after I roll my eyes at him. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  I almost blurt out that there’s no way I can possibly sleep, not after everything I saw and heard, but I don’t. Instead, I say good-bye and leave, my mind full of stories about people who travel through time, wings made of wax, pirates, and pterodactyls.

  It’s not until after I park the car in the driveway that I realize I didn’t actually pick up a movie. Stomach sinking, I slump in my seat, and wonder what I should tell Mom. Maybe, if I’m lucky, she’ll have forgotten and gone to bed already. Unfortunately, the light that flicks on through the living room window tells me otherwise.