The Incident Under the Overpass

by Anne McClane

  “That might be fun.”

  “That’s the spirit. You’ve just taken your first step into a larger world,” Jimmy said, channeling Alec Guinness.

  “I’m so glad I caught you. Do you think I’m too old to complete the training, Obi-Wan?” Lacey asked, finally getting over herself.

  “No. You’re the perfect age. But probably not reckless enough.”

  “Ha! I’ll show you! I can learn.”

  “We’ll see. I’ll run you through some exercises Saturday.”

  “Can’t wait!”

  The call disconnected, and Lacey thought about seeing her brother. Happy anticipation was quickly replaced with panic. How was she going to tell him about her mutant power?

  23

  Lacey parked along St. Claude, in a neighborhood undergoing a New Orleans-style gentrification. She crossed the street and stopped at a small, grassy lot. It contained a driftwood sculpture that looked like the bones of a dinosaur. An arch composed a makeshift entryway, two unmatched wooden beams connected by a ten-foot-long tree branch along the top. Etched into the bark with a crude hand, the sign read Universal Garden. She had read that the building she was headed toward had once been a store called Universal Furniture.

  On the other side of the street, near her car, a man shuffled past. He looked like an old-time hobo; all he was missing was the stick and bandana attachment. Lacey thought of Fox.

  He would have had a fit if he knew she was heading into this neighborhood alone. She smiled at the thought and gave Fox a mental “fuck you.”

  The exterior of the New Orleans Healing Center was painted a warm orange hue. She felt like she was entering a giant peach. A wave of calm passed over Lacey the instant she walked through the door. Sculptures were on display in the great atrium, some suspended from the ceiling, some firmly planted to the floor. The diffuse afternoon light broke through high windows; a few folks carried yoga mats.

  Lacey thought of Eli and wondered how he knew this place. She thought a little further and realized how little she knew about Eli at all. She didn’t even know where he was from. Was he really Professor X? If so, the upside was that he could help her figure out her mutant powers. But the downside worried her—did she really want someone that far up into her thoughts? She needed Magneto’s helmet. Maybe they sold something like it here at the Healing Center.

  She lingered at a directory sign, hoping an answer would magically appear. A yoga studio, a co-op grocery, a credit union, a bookstore, an interfaith worship center.

  Bingo. The occasion called for a quick prayer, Lacey decided. She wandered up to the interfaith center on the top floor.

  She entered a small studio space, empty except for big cushions arranged on the floor. Glass doors opened onto a rooftop terrace. Ominous storm clouds gathered to the south, beckoning her outside for a closer look. A downpour threatened, the pleasant breeze saturated with the scent of the coming rain. She drew in a deep breath.

  Thank you, God. She began her “gratitude” prayer. What am I grateful for?

  For being alone, at the moment. Too many new people were entering her sphere. Too many people who seemed to know more about what was going on than she did. Trip hiring the new girl.

  Small potatoes, she thought. Move on.

  Eli. Eli sends her here, she follows mindlessly.

  Tonti, sharing new, deep, dark secrets from the Becnels’ past.

  Nathan, occupying too many of her thoughts.

  What was going on, and why was she allowing these people to run her?

  Keep an open heart and you’ll find love again, I know.

  That song.

  Sorry, God, for the ’80s music. I really am trying to pray.

  Was she keeping an open heart but losing her mind?

  She was grateful for her brother. She would see him tonight. She could tell him everything. But would she? It would be worth it. He could help ground her.

  She peered south, willing herself to focus on the storm clouds. If she was in the clouds, she’d be able to see a great swath of southern Louisiana. Metairie, where she’d got her start. Galliano, where Fox had had his beginnings. Galliano, which she hadn’t known existed until she met Fox. Further back, Big Fox, and the mysterious Birdie. Birdie, whom she hadn’t known existed until six days ago.

  A terrible accident. Her irrational fear of losing someone in a car crash. Birdie.

  Pay attention. Eli’s words came to her.

  She thought of every change in her life since Fox had come into it. She thought of everything that had happened since Fox had left her life. Most of it in just the past two weeks.

  Pay attention.

  She’d healed Nathan underneath the overpass. In the shadow of Popp Fountain. She knew she had, though she didn’t understand it. She knew it in the same way she knew her heart was beating. Popp Fountain, where Fox had told her of the ping. The ping. Fox had said everything became clearer, for just a little while.

  Forget Fox, seek the ping. Pay attention.

  Birdie had possessed the same ability. Ping. Birdie, somehow, had passed it along before she died. Ping.

  But how the hell do I fit into this? Why me?

  Birdie had saved the Becnel children, if Tonti was to be believed. Or at least helped them not be ruined. And who knew what else she’d done while she was alive?

  Still doesn’t answer why me. And if so, what am I supposed to do with it?

  There have been others now. Tom and Jerry. Angus the security guard. And, Miss Esther Mae. Now dead. Ping.

  Am I grateful for this, whatever it is?

  Lacey took another deep breath, and felt a fat water drop fall on her ear. She opened her eyes and saw the rain upon her. She hurried back inside, wet from only a few seconds of exposure.

  The ferocity of the downpour kept her inside the Healing Center for over an hour. She was on the verge of something, some realization that remained elusive. She spent most of that hour in the bookstore.

  Several copies of the Bhagavad Gita were displayed next to a stack of New Testaments—St. John’s. She was drawn toward a section marked “Healing.” She read the back jacket of a book written by a woman who credited her internal healing power with curing her of cancer. Another book on Olga Worrall, who was known for her healing abilities. Another book on famous despots throughout history who claimed to have healing powers.

  Lacey Becnel doesn’t make a good despot name, she thought. Maybe the Dark Lace?

  “I don’t think that’s your path, young Lacey,” she heard a baritone voice say.

  A man with a mass of dreadlocks stood like an oak across the stacks. She knew him. Cecil.

  That can’t be a coincidence, she thought. Remember, you want to ask him something.

  She couldn’t remember what it was.

  From his height, Cecil could see the despot book she was holding in her hands. He smiled his giant sun of a smile, and it lit up the shadowy bookstore.

  Lacey smiled in return and wondered if Eli had known Cecil would be there. Did they know each other?

  “Cecil,” she said. “Do you know this place?”

  “Of course,” he answered. “Do you not?”

  “No, no. Someone told me about it, and I thought it was time to check it out.”

  “Indeed,” he said. “Once again, we meet over books.” He moved like Treebeard around the shelves and stood beside Lacey.

  “Oh! That’s right.” Lacey felt like she was in a trance.

  “Books are helpful for finding direction,” he said. “But you must know how to seek it.”

  “I…I think that’s what I need,” Lacey stuttered. “I don’t know what’s happened to me.”

  “Life has happened to you, young Lacey,” Cecil said. “Same as it happens to all of us. People around us die, people around us are killed, we get injured, we are all subject, this is ordinary.”

  Lacey wasn’t sure if Cecil was speaking, or if she was hearing him in her head.

  “What you’re concerned wit
h,” he continued, “what you should be concerned with, is what you’re becoming. That is extraordinary.”

  “What am I becoming?” Lacey asked, a little too loud. A goateed hipster behind the checkout counter looked up from his book.

  “That is for you to find out,” Cecil answered, a register lower. “No one will be able to tell you. Be suspicious if they do.”

  Lacey considered this. “I think I would trust you if you told me,” she said under her breath.

  Another full-powered smile. “Careful with that trust, young Lacey. It gives you much strength, but it can also get you detoured,” he said. “I left two things at the counter for you. They will enlighten your search. Remember, your story has multiple strands. They are knitting together, now, to form something truly unique in the universe. Seek out those who are knowledgeable.”

  He stepped toward Lacey and enveloped her in a bear-hug embrace. “It’s time for me to go,” he said.

  It was the last thing Lacey remembered him saying before the tidal wave hit her. A wall of images, much more powerful than the ones from her last Cecil encounter at Mardi Gras World, crashed down upon her: A woman’s face, now familiar. A bloody crash scene. Fox’s father. A young man in army fatigues. All these images—with their corresponding narratives—coursed through her impossibly fast. In a millisecond, all was revealed. But like a sneak peek through a curtain, the veil came down just as quickly.

  Lacey stood alone, drenched with sweat. The goateed counter man stared at her. She willed her leaden body to walk behind a shelf to escape his attention. She focused on a copy of the Bible. Where had Cecil gone? She hadn’t even seen him leave. She tried to focus on the flood of images, and strained to retain just one tiny portion of the knowledge. The woman’s face. Why was it familiar?

  Big Fox. Birdie. The woman was Birdie.

  At Mardi Gras World, Cecil had said his auntie practiced “light magic.” Birdie had been Cecil’s aunt.

  That had to be it. So she had a living connection to Birdie. Cecil had to know more about her. But Cecil was so elusive he might just as well be a ghost.

  But still, it’s more than I knew when I came in here.

  Almost sleepwalking, Lacey walked to the counter. Cecil had said he’d left something for her.

  She faced the hipster behind the counter. His expression had turned friendly. He held up a book.

  “He bought this for you. Said to make sure you didn’t leave without it,” he said. His voice had a lilt that did not match his surly countenance.

  Lacey looked at the book. The Hidden Reality by Brian Greene. The subtitle read Parallel Universes and the Deep Laws of the Cosmos.

  He dropped it into a bag. “There’s something else, too, just a bunch of photocopied pages he brought. They’re in this bag too.” The hipster’s perpetually annoyed look returned.

  Lacey snatched the bag from his hands. “Thank you.” She scanned the pages. They looked like some sort of family history or genealogy, dense with names and dates. No sign of any personal note from Cecil.

  She walked out of the bookstore, eager to be out of the eye of the man tending the counter. She read the book jacket as she headed toward the exit of the New Orleans Healing Center. It was about science and quantum physics. Physics was the one subject she’d struggled with in school.

  Great, she thought. So, I possibly have Cecil’s family history and a book on quantum physics. All this stuff might as well be written in Latin.

  When she stepped through the doors of the New Orleans Healing Center, the sun had come out, turning the air to steam. She swore she heard a chime behind her, from the direction of the bookstore. A light, clear, ping. In that moment, she decided to accept it as a good omen, and not try to track down the source of the sound.

  24

  Lacey noted the time as she pulled out her phone: 9:30. She was annoyed and relieved. Annoyed that her brother hadn’t told her to expect the crowd of about twenty or so youngsters milling about his tour bus. Relieved that her energy wasn’t flagging. Usually by this time of night, sleep was the only thing on her mind. But she was amped up. She felt like she could be up for the next thirty-six hours.

  “Are you here?” Jimmy answered.

  “Really, dude? When did you get a fan club?” Lacey said.

  Jimmy laughed. “Sibling rivalry gives you a convenient memory, Budgie. I’ve always had one. Hold on, I’ll send Helga out.”

  “Fine.” She ended the call.

  The crowd of teenagers all turned in hushed attention, like a colony of meerkats, as the door to the tour bus opened. There was audible disappointment as a broad-shouldered woman exited the bus. She had brassy blonde hair tied in a braid, and her black polo shirt was tucked into functional black chinos. Lacey immediately understood why Jimmy called her Helga.

  Lacey turned her shoulder to the crowd. Helga had no problem spotting her. She approached and faced Lacey head-on and asked, “Who are you here to see?”

  “Jimmy Campo.”

  “And what’s your name?”

  “Lacey.”

  The correct code word cracked the ice on Helga’s façade. She smiled and held out her hand. “Lacey, I’m Amy. Come with me.”

  Lacey smirked as she fell into step beside the woman. She was sure her brother, probably the whole band, had never called this woman by her given name.

  Helga opened the door to the bus and ushered Lacey up the steps. Jimmy was sitting in the driver’s seat, hands on the steering wheel, playing distraught and asking, “How am I gonna keep this thing above sixty?”

  “Pop quiz, hotshot,” Lacey responded, lapsing into their movie quote language.

  Jimmy’s hair was long again, and he had lost the extra weight he’d been carrying on his six-foot-two frame the last time Lacey had seen him. He jumped out of the driver’s seat and lifted Lacey off the top step and set her down beside him, hands on both her shoulders.

  “How ya doing, Budgie?!?” he said.

  Lacey had figured she’d find her brother in his good preshow mood. It could break either way before a performance. If it had been the dark one, he wouldn’t have asked her to come by before the set.

  “Man, I’ve missed you!” Lacey said as she gave him a hug. “This tour is agreeing with you; you look really good.”

  “I think I might finally have this figured out. I’ve been managing to keep up my workouts on the road. Surprisingly, this isn’t as easy at thirty-six as it was at twenty-five.”

  “Yeah, big surprise, Chump. Getting older sucks,” Lacey said.

  “Where’s Gellee?” Jimmy asked.

  “She had to work tonight. She’s going to try to make it for your set,” Lacey answered. Angele had texted Lacey her change of plans. There was still a slight chill between them.

  “You want something to drink, Lace?” Jimmy asked, his back to Lacey.

  The interior was more spacious than she had expected. Jimmy was blocking her view, but she could sense people milling around in the back of the bus.

  Lacey replied, “Just some water if you have it, please.”

  “Have a seat, I’ll get you some.”

  There were two recliners to Lacey’s left, and a padded bench opposite. Lacey guessed the well-worn black recliner was where her brother spent most of his time, probably opting to sleep there over what appeared to be a sleeping cabinet a little further back. She took a seat on the bench.

  All the windows had dark wood panel shades on them. The look of the bus was an uncanny match to LeViticum’s sound—a lot of retro elements combined in a very twenty-first-century way.

  Someone emerged from the back, not her brother. He was tall—but not as tall as Jimmy—and leaner, wearing black jeans and an Avengers T-shirt. Shaggy, rust-brown hair and an angular face. He looked ready for the stage. He walked up to a charging laptop, but turned his attention to Lacey when he noticed her.

  “Hey,” he said with an approving smile and piercing blue eyes. Lacey detected a bit of brogue in that one word.
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br />   “Hello,” she answered. When he didn’t turn his attention away, Lacey stood up, her hopes plummeting. She had wanted to debrief Jimmy on her supernatural state now, before his set. This new guy would make it impossible.

  “You’re Jimmy’s sister,” he said.

  Definitely sounds Irish, Lacey thought. “Yeah, that’s right. Are you new to the band?”

  She had a good idea of who he might be, and was glad her level of annoyance gave her an edge of cool.

  “Yeah, that’s right,” he returned. “I’m Trevor,” he said as he held out his hand.

  He had a very firm handshake, but the real force came from the twinkle in his eye. Trevor was clean-shaven, but Lacey thought with a little bit of facial scruff he’d be one tall leprechaun.

  “You a Marvel fan?” Lacey asked, gesturing at his T-shirt.

  “What, this shirt? I just thought it looked cool.”

  Lacey narrowed her eyes at him, not sure what kind of small-talk would succeed.

  Trevor’s face broke out in a wide grin. His mouth was as sexy as the sound of the words coming out of it.

  “God, I love Americans,” he said. “You have the hardest time detecting irony. So much fun.”

  “How do you know I’m American?” Lacey asked. It was all she could think to say.

  Trevor laughed outright. “You’re hilarious!”

  Lacey considered. His personality was a definite shift from the oblique indifference she’d come to expect from Jimmy’s other bandmates. With Trevor Toomey as lead singer, LeViticum had achieved breakout status. There was definitely some sort of alchemy at play.

  “Lay off her, Seamus.” Jimmy popped Trevor in the shoulder with a water bottle.

  “Sorry about the water bottle, La,” Jimmy said. “We’re trying to be green, but I couldn’t find a clean glass. Figured you could at least take this inside.”

  “Good for you,” Lacey said, smiling. This streak of conscientiousness was new. Lacey remembered her conversation with their mother, and the unmentioned girlfriend.