The Spaces Between Us

by Ethan Johnson

  “What do you command, my lord?”

  Tobias rose from his seat and plucked a candle from a shelf. He gave it to Sayed, who accepted it graciously. “Sayed, if you be loyal to me as you say, then you will do exactly as I command. Your failure shall reach across the centuries, and men will curse your name and your progeny until the end of time.”

  Sayed blanched. “I shall do exactly as you say, my lord.”

  Tobias motioned for him to sit. “I have a new ritual that must be performed as I pronounce it to you, by you, your children, and all of their descendants, until it is ordained that the ritual should end.”

  Sayed’s eyes widened. “But my lord, I have no wife, and no children.”

  Tobias smiled gently. “Then I command that you should take a wife, and with her, bear children.”

  Sayed nodded vigorously. “It shall be as you say, my lord.”

  “Then mark well what I say to you and swear to me that I shall be obeyed in this holy ritual that your family and descendants must perform without fail.”

  Sayed listened to the manner of this new ritual, looked curiously at the candle, and nodded his understanding and acceptance of his orders. When Tobias had finished providing the instructions, he ordered Sayed to commit the ritual to writing as quickly as possible lest he forget any part of it. Sayed stiffened and gave assurances that he would not fail in any way, woe be to any who yet did.

  Tobias smiled and clapped Sayed on the shoulder. “Be off with you, then.”

  Sayed nodded, and rose. “When a son is born to me, I shall name him Tobias, in your honor, my lord.”

  Tobias smiled. “Sayed has a better ring to it.”

  Sayed smiled broadly, clutched the candle, and exited the hut.

  Tobias sat and stroked his beard. Nineveh began as but a single brick. My empire has so begun, all praise to Inanna!

  Agnes shook her head. Whatever this portended was not going to end well.

  Where is Inanna now? Show me where she is today.

  Black clouds swirled around Agnes, and the vision of Tobias faded away. She felt weightless again, then felt a falling sensation. Instead of landing on her feet, she felt something soft press against her back. She awoke to find herself still in her bed.

  CHAPTER 65: TRASHED

  Gene groaned and rubbed his forehead. He squinted and felt around the dimly lit room in which he laid. His coat was gone. His hand reached for his wallet, which had been taken as well. He groaned again and strained to sit up.

  He remembered shooting Hector. He didn’t remember much after that. His head pounded. He felt the back of it and expected blood. His hand came back blood-free. He winced and shifted around on the floor to lean up against a painted cinder block wall.

  Sharon.

  He remembered that she slipped and sprained her knee, or worse. He remembered holding off the advancing workers at gunpoint, Hector’s freshly killed corpse on the floor, missing Alphonzo by a hair, and then the room going dark.

  Panic began to set in. He tried to stand up but lacked the strength. He looked up at the door to his makeshift cell. There was a thin glass window embedded with crisscrossed wire mesh embedded in a steel door. A round metal knob was mere feet away, but he couldn’t reach for it quite yet.

  He tried a different tack. He slid over and dropped onto his hands and knees. He crawled slowly and painfully to the door and reached up to grip the knob. He tried to twist the knob from side to side, but it just clicked and barely moved. He was trapped.

  He moaned and forced himself to stand. He squinted through the thin window and tried to get his bearings. He saw Gloria walk quickly toward somebody that he couldn’t quite make out. He was in a room connected to the factory floor. His vantage point was shifted from where he and Sharon overheard the all-hands meeting.

  Gene pounded his fist on the metal door. “Hey! Over here! Hey!”

  Gloria did not look over. She was either too far away to hear him, or she was ignoring him. Gene felt around for a light switch, He found one near the door: black with a silver metal plate around it. He flicked the switch. Nothing happened. He flicked it up and down a few more times and cursed at it.

  He was a caged animal, and like a caged animal, he was becoming increasingly frustrated and impatient. He wanted a way out. He had fixated so much on the sole door and window that he hadn’t looked around the room to find alternative means of escape.

  His head still pounded, but he figured it was now a blend of whatever knocked him out and his feelings of panic at being confined in a small room. He winced and pressed his palms to one of the walls, feeling around for signs of weakness. Maybe a cinder block was loose. Maybe there was a hole that he hadn’t noticed. He worked his way methodically from the top of the room to the bottom. The first wall didn’t reveal any obvious weaknesses.

  He moved on to the back wall. He was reaching up as high as he could when he heard a key turn in the door. The light dimmed considerably as someone stepped in front of the vertical window. Gene wheeled around and prepared to charge the door. A well-dressed man with neatly groomed hair held up his hand and pressed something into Gene’s ribs. Excruciating pain radiated throughout his body, and he dropped to the floor.

  “So, this is our unexpected visitor. I apologize for your sparse accommodations, but then again, manners are for the deserving.”

  Gene grunted and doubled over, hugging his ribs. “What the hell is this...?”

  “Precautions. You’ve already shown yourself to be a violent man. I prefer to converse with more... civilized company.” The well-dressed man gave a gentle smile.

  Gene grimaced. “Like those animals you’ve got out there? What have they done to Sharon?”

  The well-dressed man looked surprised. “I’m afraid I’m not aware of anybody by that name. Am I to understand that you were not alone?”

  Gene snorted. “You fricking know. Figure you got cameras.”

  “I’m afraid we do not. We are a small operation and have nothing of value to concern ourselves with anyone wishing to steal from us. We are merely trash collectors. And who desires to steal trash?”

  “You do.”

  “But I do not steal trash, I pay handsomely for it. One hundred dollars cash per cart load. I have an army of volunteers that appreciate my generous terms.”

  Gene shook his head. “What for?”

  The well-dressed man smiled. “I think it’s fair to say, that’s my business.”

  “Bull.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Streets and San is my business. You’re stealing from us.”

  The well-dressed man considered Gene’s logic. “And for this, you take a life?”

  “My partner was hurt. I defended her.”

  “I was informed that you were alone and shot an unarmed man without provocation.”

  Gene’s face reddened. “Well, you were informed incorrectly. Now where’s Sharon? She needs a doctor.”

  The well-dressed man stepped out of the room pensively, then raised his arm in summons. Alphonzo answered it, hastily.

  “Yes sir, Missah Syed.”

  “This man tells me his partner is injured and needs a doctor. You told me that he was here alone.”

  Alphonzo nodded vigorously. “Yes sir, Missah Syed, he sure was. All by hisself. He shoot Hector dead for no reason. Everybody was scared to death.”

  Gene’s fury boiled over. “Listen, you fricking weasel, you did something to Sharon. Is she locked up in a room like this one? Are you taking a break from raping her?”

  Mister Syed stood authoritatively over Alphonzo. “Is this true? You have a woman held captive?”

  Alphonzo shook his head. “No sir, Missah Syed, I swear on my Momma’s grave, I don’t got no woman locked up no place.”

  Mister Syed crossed his arms tightly across his chest, and leaned in toward Alphonzo, who visibly shuddered. “I thought we agreed that you would be honest with me.”

  Alphonzo was struck with terror. He dropped to his knee
s and pleaded with clasped hands. “I swear, Missah Syed, ain’t no lie! I ain’t got no woman no place! I ain’t lying!”

  Mister Syed looked Alphonzo squarely in the eyes, then relaxed. “I believe you.”

  Alphonzo breathed a sigh of relief. The well-dressed man stood up straight.

  “Which means we have a murderer and a liar all in one, cornered like a wild dog. And I have no use for wild dogs in my place of business.”

  Alphonzo rose to his feet and hopped a few times with nervous excitement. “Aw, yes we do! We surely do, Missah Syed, he in there like a rat in a trap, he surely is!”

  Mister Syed raised his arm, in another summons. Gloria answered it, carrying a cardboard box. Alphonzo twirled around. “Aw, snap! This gonna be good!”

  Mister Syed opened the box and removed an olive-gray lump. He held it up to Alphonzo. Alphonzo cried out in terror. Workers crowded around Alphonzo. Mister Syed looked down and studied the olive-gray object with an intense fascination. His voice was low and measured when he spoke once more.

  “Are we... processing another batch soon?”

  Gloria nodded. “We were just about to activate the chamber.”

  Mister Syed waved to the workers. “I trust we have room for one more thing.”

  The workers seized Alphonzo and dragged him away. He screamed for mercy and recited a list of good things he had done for Mister Syed. Gloria winced and tried to ignore his cries for help. Gene’s jaw slackened. He had no idea what he had just witnessed. Mister Syed entered his cell. He handed the lump to Gene.

  “I trust this was your partner.”

  Gene turned the lump over in his hands. Sharon’s sculpted face looked up in a frozen death mask. He yelped and pushed it away from him. The head made a sickening splat as it struck the floor. Mister Syed stepped out of the room, closed the door, and locked it. He rose to his feet and ran to the door, pounding his fists against the cold metal, to no avail.

  Gene slid down to the floor.

  CHAPTER 66: G’NIGHT, GRACIE

  Gracie laid on top of her comforter and listened to streaming music through her ear buds. She held a black business card in her hand and let it slide through her thumb and forefinger, only to pinch the card and prevent it from fluttering down onto her face. She flipped the card vertically and repeated the process.

  She chose to ignore the why of it all, how Agnes had literally whisked her away to Marc’s apartment, how his apartment was on fire and burned up, how they took his cell phone, wallet, and car keys, only to ditch his car in a liquor store parking lot. If she dwelled on all of that, she’d have to come up with answers, some of which she was quite sure she wasn’t wired to process.

  She held the card vertically. A pin-up model in a mini skirt and stockings bent over suggestively with a pair of scissors and clippers. Gracie’s eyes fixated on the gold script on the left side of the card:

  Hands-On Hair Design

  by appointment only

  (773) 126-2809

  Gracie glanced down at her phone. She exhaled wistfully. She’s out of my league.

  She snort-laughed at the thought of Agnes giving her a pep talk in Marc’s car. It was strange, knowing that her oft-ignored sister knew the truth about her and La... Aimee. For as much as Gracie desperately wanted to be “out and proud”, to have anyone else in the know was an unsettling feeling, mainly because Gracie hadn’t made a grand exit from the closet. Agnes knowing about the two of them robbed her of something.

  She let her hand fall to her chest, still holding on to the business card. She closed her eyes and thought back to how the stylist got close to her, nearly cheek to cheek, providing a picture for her mind’s eye to frame and appreciate: her full lips, her raven black hair, her theatrical makeup, side by side to her boyish face, a portrait made just for her.

  “Is this what you had in mind?” Her voice still rang in her ears, despite the raucous alt-punk jangling in her ear buds. Gracie nodded and gasped. Yes, yes, she wanted that. Somebody who she’d have to keep up with. Somebody who didn’t live her life in secret. Somebody who wasn’t the least bit concerned about what anybody thought about any decision she ever made. Somebody she couldn’t bring home to meet her parents, or if she did, somebody who would know how to make her forget what they said and command all her attention.

  Gracie smiled broadly. She bet that stylist drove a hearse and lived in a funky apartment with sixteen cats. She probably had a lava lamp and beaded curtains. She probably had friends with names like Lucretia and Marti.

  Gracie’s eyes snapped open. She picked up her phone and took a deep breath. She launched her phone dialer and pressed *67, then the number on the card. Her heart pounded as the phone rang. She glanced up at the time. Wasn’t Chicago an hour behind? It was 10:38 P.M. their time, then. The salon was either closed or just getting going with a cadre of vampires looking to touch up their roots with purple hair dye.

  After four rings, her thumb slid down to disconnect the call. Right at that moment, the line clicked and a woman spoke in a breathy voice.

  You have reached Trixie at Hands-On Hair Design. Our hours are by appointment only. Please leave a message, and a good call back number, and I will return your call as soon as possible. I can’t wait to get my hands... on you!

  Gracie terminated the call. Trixie. Of course, her name was Trixie.

  It was probably something more boring, like Martha or... Agnes. Gracie shuddered. She tapped on her music streaming app and chose another station from the list: The Mood.

  Gracie sank into her bed and closed her eyes again. Trixie and Gracie. Gracie and Trixie. Just wait until Lacey sees me together with Trixie. She smiled as Trixie’s salon appeared before her amid wisps of fog.

  Gracie stood outside of the salon door. The lights were off, and a sign hung in the door that read YES, WE’RE CLOSED! She grabbed the door handle and gave it a push. The door opened, and a sweet smoky scent wafted in the air as she entered the salon. A red lava lamp glowed in a corner. Red globs of colored wax lazily floated up to the top, or sank to the bottom, forming a shapeless mass. Red velvet hung on the walls. Wrought iron Gothic candle holders held pillar candles that burned intently, adding to the stalactites of wax that hung down from the edge of the platform.

  She walked slowly along the floor, done up in a black and white checkerboard pattern. She passed through a wall of beaded curtains and listened to them rustle as they closed behind her. Her hand pressed against a heavily painted black door that bore a simple red placard that read PRIVATE.

  She began to push the door open, when a woman with a dramatic hair style, thick eye liner, and black lipstick blocked her from proceeding. Gracie instinctively knew her name. Marti.

  “She doesn’t want to see you,” she snarled.

  Gracie glared at her opponent. “Yes, she does.”

  Another voice filled her other ear. “You’re not her type, sweetie. Go home.”

  Gracie sucked in her breath. Lucie. She took a step backward, and the pair took the opportunity to block the door completely. Lucie wore a leather headband and a black sun dress, with shiny black combat boots. She raised her arm and rested it against the door frame. Her arm was covered in elaborate tattoos. Her fingers glittered with silver rings on each one, thumb included. She cocked an eyebrow and wiggled her fingers at Gracie.

  “Buh-bye now.”

  Marti smiled cruelly. “This is the grown-up table, hon. Trixie’s busy.”

  Lucie smirked. “Really busy. She probably won’t have time for us tonight. A girl can dream, though.”

  Marti stepped forward. Gracie got a look at her from the neck down. She wore a studded leather dog collar, a black tank top with no bra, ripped jeans, and black high-tops. She was inked too, on both arms and down one leg, from what Gracie perceived through the holes in her jeans.

  “Back to the dollhouse, Missy. Aimee misses you. You two can play roller derby lesbos and listen to skater punk, doing whatever it is that passes for cool in your world. Trixie is
real. She’s too real for you, and your fakey fake fakeness.” She leaned in and taunted her with those last three words.

  Gracie stumbled backward. She hit the checkered floor and cried out as she landed. Her tormentors stood over her and laughed coldly.

  “Fakey Gracie got hurt? Poor baby. Poor Fakey Gracie. Run home to Aimee. She’ll kiss it and make you feel better. Bye-bye, Fakey Gracie!”

  Gracie felt tears welling up. She felt her face redden and her ears burn. “I am real!”

  The pair looked at each other and burst out in hysterical laughter. Marti bent over and slapped her thigh. Lucie wiped tears away and struggled to catch her breath. “Real? You? Oh, honey, there’s not one real bone in your body. Oh, that’s precious. I think I might have just peed a little.”

  Marti scrunched up her nose. “Gross.”

  Gracie rose from the floor and tried to push past her tormentors. “I’m real, and I’m going to see Trixie. She’s in there waiting for me.”

  Marti grabbed Gracie by her shirt collar and pulled her backward. “We told you, Trixie’s busy. Now run along home, Fakey Gracie. It’s a school night.”

  Gracie fumed. “I’m not in school. I went to work instead.”

  Lucie perked up. “Oh really? What doing?”

  Gracie mumbled and looked at the floor.

  “What was that? Something about working part time at a skating rink? Oooh, that’ll impress Trixie.”

  Marti lifted a framed document from the wall and turned it to face Gracie. “Yes, Trixie’s doctorate in Comparative Eastern Religions is no match for a girl who can work a cash register on occasion.”

  Gracie gulped and read the framed document. Across the top in ornate calligraphic script ran the heading SMART PEOPLE UNIVERSITY.

  Marti hung the document back on the wall. “But, you’re right. A high school diploma blows this out of the water. You’re quite a catch!”