Gateway

by David C. Cassidy

  “I didn’t have a seizure. I’m pretty sure of that.”

  “You froze up, Jared. It’s like you just stopped breathing or something. It scared me. Aren’t you worried?”

  “Worried? I’m fine. Kit said he was okay.”

  “He seems okay. I pray that he is. At least his eyes are back to normal. His normal, anyway.”

  “I’m fine.” He wasn’t. His eyes ached a little, but his head was another story. He could almost feel the vibrations of the freight train running through it.

  “Fine?” she said. “Your color is off. Your eyes are still a little bloodshot. And it’s like you have varicose veins around them.”

  He rubbed his eyes. Blinked a few times. “Better?”

  “Jared.”

  “Look. I don’t know what happened. To either of us.”

  She stared him down.

  “What?” he said.

  “Look what happened to you! To Kit! I mean, if that’s not the definition of weird, I don’t know what is. It was like something out of your books.”

  “I’m guessing it was some kind of reaction to Kit’s seizure. Had to be.”

  “For both of you?”

  Again he shrugged. “It’s all I’ve got. Sorry.”

  “What about the words?”

  “Words?”

  “Did you hear what Kit said? During the seizure?”

  “He spoke? People can speak during a seizure?”

  “Yes. But he never has. That’s what’s so scary. You really didn’t hear him?”

  “No. I was kind of out of it. It all happened so fast.” He paused. “What did he say?”

  Marisa said nothing.

  “Marisa?” He had heard something, but it had been a voice in his head. More like a thought, one that someone—some thing—had driven into him. He tried to remember what it was, but his memory failed him.

  “I don’t know what he said,” she said, finally. “Maybe it was nothing. Maybe I imagined it. He was groaning … I guess I could have mistaken it for words.”

  “What did it sound like?”

  She paused, considering, then threw up her hands. “I don’t know. It was almost gibberish. It wasn’t English, I know that much.”

  No, Jared remembered. It wasn’t English. Not even close.

  “It must have been the groaning,” he said. It was the only thing that made sense. “Try not to think about it. Any of it.”

  “How? Aren’t you the least bit concerned? Maybe you should see a doctor. I should have Kit checked out, too.”

  “It wouldn’t hurt. But not me.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re still afraid of doctors.”

  “More than lightning,” he joked.

  “I hope Kit is all right.”

  “He seems pretty lively. Honestly, I don’t think you need to worry.”

  “It was just so scary,” she said. “And your nosebleed—that was awful, even for you. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Good as gold. But I could use a hot cup of tea.”

  Marisa put a kettle on the gas stove, and when it whistled, prepared each of them a cup. Switching off the burner, her sleeve caught the spout. The kettle slipped off the stove and crashed to the floor, the hot water scalding her left shin.

  “Shit!” she said, limping to the counter. “Owww!”

  Jared shot up to help her. He checked her leg, and cringed at the pair of thumb-sized scalds just above her ankle.

  “It hurts,” she said, wincing. “How bad is it?”

  “You’ll be limping for a bit.” He helped her to her chair and got her a cold damp cloth. He placed it on her shin and asked her to hold it.

  “I’ll clean up,” he said. When he finished up, he set their cups on the table. He sat. “I thought I was the klutz in the family.”

  She stuck out her tongue. “It’s not funny. It really hurts.”

  “Do you have any aloe?”

  “I think there might be a bottle in the washroom under the sink.”

  He fetched it and got down on one knee beside her. He removed the cloth and gently rubbed the lotion on her burns.

  “Oh!” she said. “It’s cold.”

  He looked up at her tenderly, and she smiled anxiously. It was the first time he’d touched her like this in years.

  “Jared,” she said, clearly unsettled. “It’s … it’s better—”

  He gazed into her eyes, those precious round hearts that had always stolen his. He went to kiss her, and she stopped him.

  “Jared,” she said. “It’s … it’s too soon.”

  “Is it?”

  She fell into his arms, fell into his kiss.

  ~ 27

  They spent the afternoon together, and when Marisa asked him to stay for dinner, Jared happily accepted. She made spaghetti and meatballs with a zesty sauce, and afterward they had a slice of peach pie and ice cream that Jared picked up while dinner was on the stove. Kit seemed perfectly fine, and after he went up to bed, Marisa and Jared shared some tea. They shared another kiss at the end of the evening.

  Jared was still smiling when he pulled into his driveway. He hadn’t even used the GPS.

  He watched some TV, then went upstairs for a shower in the en-suite bathroom. Afterward, he stood at the right sink in the double-sink vanity. He put some toothpaste onto his toothbrush, and when he raised it to his lips, dropped the brush in the sink, reeling in pain.

  His hands throbbed. If he didn’t know any better, he would have thought it arthritis. It wasn’t the parasthesia. Not the usual prickling, not the usual burning. This was cold hard pain.

  He rubbed his hands, but it did no good. The throbbing persisted, and only when it became unbearable did he cry out. And then it ebbed.

  His hands shook. He flipped them over and back. They were pallid, buttery in color. He made two fists, working his fingers until the pain slipped away.

  He cleared the steam from the mirror and leaned in. His eyes were still a little bloodshot. The skin around them held that same sallow tone. He could still see a hint of his veins.

  These weren’t there yesterday, he thought. Something happened today.

  He tried to remember. It was all like a fog. A thick, black fog. What he did recall was a sound—a voice—inside the gateway.

  Kit?

  He couldn’t be sure. Still, Marisa believed that her son had said something. Something that wasn’t English.

  No. It wasn’t English.

  He tried to force it, but it wouldn’t come. It was lost to him.

  What the hell happened?

  The gateway had opened, but it had been the strangest experience, even for him. There had been no sense of Kit, no all-consuming emotion—no window to the soul. No knowing.

  And yet—

  The gateway. Something had been there, lurking within it.

  Something had come through.

  The idea was absurd. Whatever he’d felt, it wasn’t concrete. It wasn’t real. The whole thing seemed more like a dream.

  A bad one.

  But that wasn’t right, either. He recalled a sensation of cold. Of dread. Of—

  Something had entered him.

  That too, was ridiculous. Ludicrous.

  But what about Marisa’s son?

  During the seizure, Kit had had the same experience. The bloodshot eyes. The veins. The changes in skin tone. The only differences were that Kit hadn’t suffered a nosebleed … and his physical reactions had only been temporary.

  Still … Kit’s odd changes had started first. Just seconds before his.

  Yes, he thought. It was almost as if what had happened to Kit had passed through the gateway into you.

  He stared at his hands. The scars had taken on an even deeper hue.

  Give it a rest, man. Kit’s fine. You’re fine. It’s just your zany brainy working overtime.

  He brushed his teeth and climbed into bed.

  ~ 28

  Jared screamed awake. He clutched his bed sheets, fighting the throb in
his chest. As it began to ebb, he groaned in the darkness.

  He sat up slowly. The clock on the night stand showed just past three. His head ached. His hands were cold and numb, his lower extremities, too. He tried to stand, but the prickling in his feet left him no choice but to sit.

  He rubbed his chest. A little better.

  Mental note—no more spicy meatballs. Check that—just three, not eight.

  He’d been dreaming. Dreaming of Kit.

  Dreaming of the gateway.

  He’d been wandering lost in the dark, in a place as black as his mind could imagine. There were only sounds. Voices.

  A voice.

  Yes. It had been there, whispering in the dark.

  Whispering. Over and over—

  There was more. That sense of dread, permeating the blackness like a thick oil. And—

  And something was in the dark.

  A shape—

  A shape, and—

  A bead of sweat slipped from his brow. His parched throat felt as if he’d swallowed a brick.

  He couldn’t remember what he’d seen. Or if he’d seen anything at all.

  But he did remember that voice.

  And now, he remembered that word.

  Quemar.

  His Spanish was a little rusty, but he knew the translation.

  Burn.

  ~ 29

  Jared slept past ten on Monday morning. He felt tired, and when he washed up, the bathroom mirror gave him some comfort. His eyes were not as bloodshot, and the veins around them had faded a little. The color in his hands and face seemed better, too.

  He had planned on contacting a local farmer, about an incident twenty-two years ago involving the Phantom. But just as he was about to tap in the man’s number, he received a text message. Marisa. She asked him to lunch, and he accepted. He met her on the library steps just past noon, and they took a short walk down the street to Remi’s Pizza. Now, sitting across from her in a booth, he sipped his Coke as their slices arrived.

  “You look better,” she told him, giving him a closer look.

  “Whatever it was, it’s on the outs,” he said. “Speaking of which, how’s your leg?”

  He wanted to tell her about his dream, about the voice. But of course, he couldn’t. After all these years, all that time alone in New York, he was finally beginning to feel normal again. Happy. Things were going so well between them, and the last thing he wanted was to fuck things up by freaking her out. He knew all too well how quickly things could change.

  Besides, he thought. You really think you heard what you think you heard? And that somehow, her son’s crazed rambling in Spanish was some kind of premonition of her burning her leg? Get a grip, man. It was a dream, remember?

  Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had heard that voice.

  “Actually,” she said, “my leg is why I called you.”

  “Is something wrong?”

  “Jared,” she said, doubtfully. “Promise me you won’t laugh. And promise me you won’t think I’m crazy.”

  “Zany brainy? You?”

  “Promise me, okay?”

  “Not until I hear it,” he joked. “Come on, you can’t just throw that out there.”

  “Promise.”

  “Okay,” he said, half-laughing. “I promise.”

  “You’d better. This isn’t easy for me.” She took a sip of her iced tea. “I almost didn’t call.”

  Jared bit off some pizza. “Just tell me.”

  “It’s about Kit’s seizure. What he said yesterday. That is, what I thought he said.”

  “Okay.”

  She looked at him, clearly reticent.

  “What is it?” he said.

  “You promised, remember?”

  He nodded.

  “Well,” she went on, “I don’t know exactly how to say it. So I’ll just say it. You remember when you asked if people could speak during a seizure? And if Kit ever had?”

  “You said he didn’t.”

  Again she hesitated. “He has.”

  “When?”

  “Just a few times,” she said. “Four or five, maybe. The first time he did it was a long time ago. That was a bad time for him. He was having several events every week. Needless to say, the first time it happened I wasn’t prepared for it. Afterward, he told me he saw spots. A shape. A person.”

  “What did Kit say?”

  “Just a single word. In fact, they’ve all been just one word. The first time, it was cake.”

  “Cake?”

  “Cake.”

  “Not chocolate, or carrot, or—”

  “Don’t make fun of me, Jared. You said you wouldn’t.”

  “Sorry.”

  She sipped her iced tea and took a moment. “I didn’t think anything of it. It threw me, sure. I mean, my child was having an event, and suddenly he throws out a word like that. It would mess with anyone.”

  “And he saw a shape? A person?”

  “I guess … I don’t know. You tell me.” She stopped.

  “Well?” he said.

  “I went to work the next day. I was still working for Clem Richmond at the dollar store. That’s who Kit saw. I mean, I think that’s who he saw.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “The girls surprised him with a birthday cake. And if you must know, it was chocolate, smarty pants.”

  Jared took another bite of his pizza and washed it down with some Coke. “A coincidence.”

  “Of course I thought that.”

  “But it happened again. Didn’t it.”

  “About six months later. And probably a year after that for the next one. But they were all the same kind of thing. Just a single word, then whammo—something happened, just like he’d said.”

  “Like what?”

  “Nothing bad, or anything like that. Like the one time when he said dog. A week later, Sarah Coleman’s dad came home with a pug.”

  “Your sitter? Maybe she told Kit they were getting a dog.”

  “She wasn’t my sitter then. Kit didn’t know her.”

  “Huh.”

  “Oh, don’t give me that look,” she said. “Yes. It sounds nuts, I know.”

  “I was just wondering—and no, I’m not teasing here—did he ever say any numbers?”

  “Like the lottery? If he had, you can bet I would have played them. Why the heck not?”

  He chuckled.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” she said. “I never thought Kit had any special power or anything, okay? Like some third eye, or something.”

  “But you think there is something to it. You wouldn’t have told me, otherwise.”

  She took a bite of her pizza and chased it with her drink. “It was easy to dismiss it. But then, about three years ago, I did a little digging. It opened my mind.”

  “What did you find?”

  “Kit was born with a caul.”

  ~ 30

  Jared shrugged at Marisa. He had no idea what a caul was.

  “It’s a membrane that covers a newborn’s face,” she said. “The doctor removed it, of course. It’s perfectly harmless—and quite rare—but old legends say that a child born with it can have second sight.”

  “So … you think he’s clairvoyant?”

  She smiled. “I’m just saying that I’ve embraced this odd quirk of his. Something happened that pretty much clinched it for me.”

  “What?”

  “I was sitting at home one night watching TV. I remember because it was the season premiere of Grey’s Anatomy. Kit was upstairs when the seizure struck. A mild one. Nothing strange about it. But just as he was coming out of it, he said Gramma. It was over a year since he’d spoken during an event, so I didn’t really pay much attention to it. Honestly, it kind of sounded more like a groan than a real word. I was just glad he was okay, of course. When I got back downstairs, the show was over. About thirty minutes later, the phone rang. I have to tell you, it scared me to death. After what Kit had said … I thought i
t was Dad, calling with bad news about my mom.”

  Jared bit into his pizza.

  “It wasn’t Dad on the phone,” Marisa went on. “It was Mom. She was rambling like a crazy person. I had to calm her down. She just checked her numbers in the lottery. She won five-thousand dollars!”

  “That’s incredible.”

  “Do you believe me? I mean, about Kit?”

  “I do. Despite the innate skepticism we writers cling to, I like to think I’ve got an open mind. On some things, anyway.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “I really thought you were going to laugh about this.”

  He reached over and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Not a chance, Mar.”

  She nodded.

  He leaned back in his seat. “How are your parents? Your dad still working?”

  “Still,” she said. “He’s got about a year before he retires. He’s not doing great, though. He’s been having these headaches. Migraines. On top of that, I keep telling him he’s got to shed about forty pounds. Problem is, Mom’s gotta stop baking.”

  Jared laughed. “She can always bake for me, you know. I used to love her apple pie.”

  “Me, too. Good thing that baking’s not in the genes, though. I’d never fit in my jeans.”

  Jared chuckled, but his expression dimmed.

  “Oh, stop worrying,” she said. “Mom always liked you.”

  “Your mom’s not the problem.”

  “I know,” she admitted. “But it’ll be all right. You know my dad. His bark is way worse than his bite.”

  “If only that were true,” Jared said. “The man scares the shit out of me. You know that.”

  “Don’t be such a baby.” She munched on a few bites of her slice.

  Jared finished his. “So,” he said, after some deliberation, “what do you think Kit said yesterday?”

  She sipped. “I tried all night to figure it out. I went to bed still trying to. It was only when I woke up in the middle of the night that it came to me. I have to admit, it still sounds like gibberish. But it’s definitely a word.”

  “What is it?”

  “Quemar,” she said, pronouncing it cue-mar. “I Googled it. This should interest you. It’s Spanish. It means burn.”

  “Kay-MAR,” he said, pronouncing it slowly. “You think Kit spoke Spanish?”