by A. Sparrow
“Why? What happened?”
“Come.” She grabbed my hand. Her fingers felt rough and dirty.”
This was not at all the kind of reunion I had envisioned all those months in jail. Had I had fooled myself into believing that she shared the feelings I held for her? Maybe there was a reason she was always keeping a distance between us. It wasn’t all due to fate.
She looked at me sideways as we walked on hand in hand. Her expression softened. The beginnings of a smile took form.
She stopped, glanced over her shoulder and flung herself into my arms. She buried her chin deep into my shoulder.
My doubts flew away like a flock of spooked pigeons.
She leaned back and looked into my eyes, her gaze piercing right through me. And then she rose up on her tippy toes and kissed me long and hard.
In a flash, her face went serious again as she glanced back in the direction we had come. She grabbed my hand and dragged me onward.
***
We walked and ran at least a mile, zig-zagging down residential streets, to the Vatican wall and away again, changing direction almost at random.
“This is how I move these days,” she said. “Every city. Every country.”
“Did you ever figure out who’s after you?”
“Does it matter?”
“Well, maybe. It could be someone benign like … the Friends of Penult.”
“Like who?”
“Penult.”
“Never heard of him.”
“Penult’s not a person, it’s a place. In the Liminality.”
She shook her head. “I am not worry about the Liminality. All I know is that my father wishes to punish me and he has many friends. And I know this Sergei gave my picture to every drug dealer in the EU. I don’t know if it is one or all of them coming after me. All I know is that I am being chased. I do not want to come to Rome again, because it is worse here. But it is the best place I know to meet you without having to say.”
“Maybe we should stop running until we find out who it is. Maybe you’re running for no good reason.”
“Don’t be stupido. A gazelle does not let herself be captured to find out if it is a leopard or a lion doing the chasing. Why does it matter if both are predator?”
“What if it’s just another gazelle?”
“I said, don’t be stupido. We have to leave Rome.”
“Okay. And go where?”
“We do not speak out loud our destinations. They have ways … of hearing.”
***
We caught a bus out of Rome to some sad and nondescript town on the outskirts, and then boarded a slow train heading north towards Verona.
Karla refused to let me buy tickets with the black card, but she gladly dipped into the thick wad of Euros I had taken from the old lady’s safe deposit box. Her eyes popped at the sight of all that cash.
She had lived practically homeless most of the time I was in prison. Any money she had, she spent on transport, scrounging food from grocery store dumpsters, or leftover crusts from sidewalk café tables.
“What’s in Verona?” I said.
“Nothing. We will not stay in Verona.”
“Where are we going?”
“Don’t worry about it. You’ll know when we get there.”
“I’m not worried. I’m just curious.”
“The less we say, the better. No ears to hear us.”
“Who’s listening?”
“You should know better. My father has friends. And Weavers make avatars. Like your Billy, yes? Your little familiar who feeds you sounds and visions?”
It had been a while since I had been able to conjure Billy—that manifestation of my will who seemed to have a mind of his own. What was left of him had pretty much dissipated.
Early on at Coleman Medium, when my cabin fever was at its worst, I was able to conjure him from shreds of tissue and cotton swabs to create a little moth-like creature whose eyes and ears I could share. I made him fly out the window and buzz strip malls and movie theaters. Having him was like having a personal surveillance drone. He went a long way to making my time bearable.
“Billy’s … gone,” I said.
“Trust me, I cannot squat to pee behind a bush without thinking that someone is watching me.”
“Actually, I … uh … I think I saw one.”
“Where?”
“Back at St, Peter’s Square.”
“You see?”
“That means it can’t be Sergei’s people, then … or your dad. They’re both … muggles … or whatever. It’s got to be someone with connections to the afterlife.”
“Your friends? Penult?”
“They’re not my friends. But I don’t know why they would come after you. You have no connection to Frelsi or Wendell … other than me.”
“Who is this Penult?”
“I’m not sure. I get the impression they think of themselves as angels’ helpers. Only the angels they’re helping aren’t exactly from … uh … Heaven.”
“Heaven?” She huffed. “You still believe?”
“Maybe.”
“Well, these Penults, if they really are angels, maybe to them I am an abomination. Once dead. Twice alive. Like Jesus.”
“Or … a miracle. I don’t see how they could hold it against you. It wasn’t fair for you to die in the first place.”
“Who says death is ever fair?” Karla’s lowered her eyes. “Did I tell you? I was unable to find Isobel. I think … she might be dead.”
“Don’t say that.”
“But there is not a trace of her. She was staying at the farm like we agreed. They were taking good care of her. But then she made some friends. She moves to Cardiff. Jessica tries to stop her but she does not listen. She is living there for a while. Hanging out with some punks. And then she is gone. No one knows where she goes … what happens to her.” She avoided my gaze. “I fear … she is gone.”
I threw my arm around her and pulled her close to me. “No way! She’s a tough kid. She can take care of herself.”
Tears dribbled down her cheeks. “She is my little sister. My only. I don’t know what I would do if … she is gone.”
“Listen. I’m sure she’s fine. I’ll help you find her.”
“But even on the other side … in Root. There is no trace of her. I have looked.”
“Well. That’s good. Right? It means she’s happy.”
“Or gone to the Deeps.”
I took her by the shoulders and forced her to look at me. “Stop! We’ll find her. I promise.”
***
It was already late in the evening when the train pulled into Verona, its terminus. Karla made me wait until all of the other people had retrieved their luggage. We only exited when the conductor made his last sweep of our car. We exited the train as far from the station as possible, charging across the tracks through the train yard.
A track worker shouted and swore at us. Karla made a rude gesture and kept running.
“Where now?” I said, as we climbed over a fence to reach the road.
“We take a bus.”
“Which bus? To where?”
“Any bus. Wherever it takes us. I don’t care.”
“Sheesh!”
We found a station and it was no secret when the next bus arrived that we were going someplace called Bolzano. We boarded and went to the very back where the lighting was faulty and the seat was veiled in shadows.
“I need a bed,” I said, plopping down hard beside her. “I’m beat.”
“Soon,” she said patting my arm. “Soon.”
I sighed and laid my head on her shoulder. Her jacket smelled like motor oil, as if she had been living in some garage. Her muscles were all tense. She smoothed my hair and pecked me on the cheek.
“They tried to kidnap my cousin Franca. Broke into her apartment and tried to kidnap her. They thought she was me.”
“Who did this?”
“I don’t know. And I don’t want them close
enough to find out. Now you see why I am so careful?”
“Your cousin, is she okay?”
“I think so. Her neighbors drove them off. She has … good neighbors. But I dare not go back. Ever.”
“When did this happen?”
“Early this morning, when you were still on the airplane.”
I took a deep breath.
“What the fuck is going on?”
“I don’t know,” said Karla. “I hoped you could tell me.”
“Do you even know where we’re going?” I said. ”Do you even have a destination in mind?”
She sighed. “No. It is better we not know. We just let the fates decide for us. Take whatever bus or train we see, wherever it goes.”
I slouched down lower in the seat and took her hand.
“So … when do we stop running?”
“When I feel safe.”
***
Fate brought to the city of Bolzano that night. I wanted to find a room but Karla nixed that idea. She didn’t feel safe enough yet to stop running and come out of the shadows. I was beginning to wonder if she ever would.
We tucked ourselves behind a wall and some hedges in a public park and took turns napping in each other’s laps. It felt so surreal to have her near after so much time apart. I was buzzed just holding her.
While she slept, I studied her face in the glow of a street lamp. She had worry lines in her brow now. Her eyes had retreated into their sockets. I couldn’t get over how much older she looked. Coming back from the dead will do that to you, I guess.
I didn’t want to know how my own face had changed. I avoided mirrors. My hair was a rat’s nest. Patches of sprouted randomly across my chin and cheeks.
In the morning, we crawled out from behind the hedge and dragged ourselves to a bus station. I bought us two tickets to a place up in the hills called Castelrotto. We munched on some brioche I picked up from a little stand in the station.
“In the mountains, we will stop and rest,” she said as we took our seats. “Okay?”
I sighed deeply. “Sounds like a plan.”
I had thought might catch a few winks on the bus ride, but the mind-blowing landscapes we encountered around every bend in the road made that impossible. I had the window seat and expected to go tumbling down the mountainside on some of those hairpin turns.
These were the Dolomite Mountains. I had heard they were nice but never expected to see such otherworldly spires of gravity-defying stone on this planet. And this is from a guy who had experienced other worlds.
My eyes stayed glued to the window. I didn’t understand how so much rock could get so vertical. But what do you expect from a guy who’s spent most of his life in the flat lands of Ohio and Florida?
The bus discharged us in an ancient town of stone buildings perched on the edge of a high plateau of impossibly green meadows surrounded by blocky and jagged peaks. We drank from a public fountain, splashing the drowsiness from our eyes with that pure and chilly water.
I spotted a staid but decent looking hotel down a narrow street off the main square.
“What about that place?”
“No,” said Karla. “This place is too crowded, too tight. Too many buildings and tourists. I don’t want to be blocked. I want to be able to see what is coming our way.”
“Yeah, well. Good luck finding that in a place like this.”
“Maybe not here, in the village, but we passed an inn a little ways up the road.”
“Cool. Let’s go.”
I hoisted my pack and we started back in the direction the bus had brought us. Karla had no luggage but for a canvas purse with frayed corners, that was stuffed with dirty clothes. I was going to have to take her shopping or find her a launderette.
As we walked we snacked on some thinly-sliced speck and hunks of hard cheese that we picked up at a little deli in the corner of the square. The inn wasn’t far all, still within sight of town, just up the hill on the edge of a vast expanse of rolling meadow. It was a clean and bright chateau-like place that catered to skiers in the winter season. Luckily they had a vacancy and could check us in right away. I let the desk clerk swipe my black credit card while Karla used the ladies’ room. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to conserve some cash while we were out in the boonies.
The room proved glorious. Karla let me shower first while she walked the hotel grounds to make sure we hadn’t been followed. That girl really needed a chill pill. Maybe a couple days up here and she would calm down.
When it was Karla’s turn, she took nearly an hour to wash up. I zonked out atop a cushy cloud of cotton and down, awaking only to find her emerging from the bathroom wearing one towel on her head and another around her middle. An array of panties, jeans and blouses hung dripping from a clothesline like semaphore flags.
She bounced down next to me and curled up close, smelling pretty for a change. We snuggled together and conked out in each other’s arms. I woke up from time to time to draw up the covers and keep her near. If this wasn’t Heaven, I couldn’t imagine a better place.
***
We spent the day in bed, at one point transitioning wordlessly into love-making as natural as breathing, even though we were both pretty much neophytes. We voiced no presumptions or conditions. I harbored no illusions or expectations, just love. Unprotected, of course, which worried me a bit after the fact, but not enough to spoil my buzz.
Karla was crying afterwards, which confused me. I could only hope it was joy. I lay and stared out the window. The scenery made everything even more unbelievable and miraculous.
A swarm of birds came fluttering up to the glass, wings scraping, beaks tapping before the swarm went on its way.
“Get down!” Karla shoved me off the bed onto the floor, landing on top of me. She pulled the covers over us.
“What are you doing? They’re just birds!”
“We can’t be sure.”
“Why are you so freaking paranoid?”
“I told you! They attacked my cousin yesterday! They are looking for me.” She peeked out from under the bed sheet, trembling, before scurrying over the window in her hands and knees and drawing the blinds closed.
“In her flat, they put something that looked like Fellstraw. Here! In the land of the living.”
“But why? Why would anyone want to kill you?”
“I don’t know. Maybe … because I am not supposed to be alive. I think maybe … they are right.”
“Nonsense.”
She pulled on her panties. She was so thin there were gaps around her waistline. I needed to feed this girl. I looked at the clock. It was a little after three p.m.. Too early for dinner, but maybe the little restaurant downstairs could accommodate us.
“How about we go down and have an actual meal for a change?”
“Room service?” she said, hopefully.
“Nah. Let’s get out and get some fresh air. We’ve been cooped up in this room all day.”
“Are you sure that’s wise?”
“Yeah. Why not?”
***
Karla was reluctant to leave the safety of our room, but ultimately willing. She clung to my arm as we made our way downstairs to a stone patio in a courtyard that opened up to the meadows.
We took a table in the corner. There were few other customers at this hour. An old lady stroking the Chihuahua in her lap. Some guy in a wide-brimmed hat and sunglasses, who was leafing through a stack of tourist brochures. He wore a jacket made of fabric that shimmered. It somehow looked familiar.
“Some wine?”
“I don’t drink,” she said. “Only … in church.”
“Tea then?”
“Sure.”
Her face was tense.
I patted her hand. “Relax.”
Wisps of fog snaked down the gullies of the higher peaks, but not a speck of haze marred the horizon.
“I like this place. Have you ever been here before?”
“Castelrotto? Yes. Kastelruth— the Austrians call i
t. It means ruined castle. My grandfather … you know, Luther. He met us here when Mama was still with us. When she was thinking of divorcing. She brought me here.”
“What happened? Why didn’t she?”
“He had her committed. To a mental institution. Divorce is forbidden among Sedevacantists. It was the only escape he had … other than murder. And I’m sure he thought about executing that option.”
“Is she … still with us?”
She shrugged. “I suppose. I have not been in touch with her. I don’t dare. For her sake … and mine. Especially now.”
The man with the brochures wheeled around to face us. He lifted his shades. I knew that face. I reached for a table knife.
Chapter 5: Zhang
“What’s wrong?” said Karla, reading the panic on my face. Before I could get out a word, her hand beat me to the knife and she burst to her feet, almost knocking over the table, brandishing the dull blade.
“Easy, easy!” Wendell opened his coat to reveal an ugly, blocky looking weapon—a high tech cross between an assault rifle and a machine pistol. “Sit down, both of you.”
The lady with the Chihuahua grabbed her dog and beat a hasty exit into the lobby.
“Didn’t think guns were your style, Wendell.”
“I carry them for deterrence. Listen. I’m not here to hurt anybody … so calm down! Take it easy. I’m just here to have a chat with you all.”
“I ain’t ever gonna work for you, Wendell. Can’t you take a hint?”
“This isn’t about me. My offer’s off the table. I’m here as a favor for a friend. He’s not looking for Facilitators. He’s looking for soldiers. His name is Zhang. Ring a bell?”
My face remained blank.
“He’s the current head honcho of Frelsi.”
“What does he want with me?”
“They need you. They’re under attack and getting hit hard.”
“Why the fuck would I want to help Frelsi?”
“It’s not just them getting whacked. It’s everybody. Your friends, the Dusters? All surface dwellers.”
“Who’s attacking them?”
“Penult. Cherubim mostly. Under the supervision of Hashmallim and Seraphim.”
“Cherubim?”
“It’s not what you think. They’re not babies with wings. They’re a bunch of cold-blooded, soul-less warriors.”