The Spaces Between Us

by Ethan Johnson

  “May I help you, sir?”

  “I need a one-way ticket.”

  “Destination?”

  “What’s leaving today?”

  The agent gave Gene a hard look. “I thought you were ready to book a trip. My mistake.”

  Gene sighed and repeated a word he heard on the overhead speakers. “Bennington.”

  The ticket agent eyed him suspiciously, then punched up the details on her computer.

  “I do have a bus leaving today for Bennington Vermont. I hope you’re ready, because it’s departing in thirty minutes.”

  Gene nodded. “Yeah, I’m ready now.”

  “How many bags are you checking in?”

  Gene held his arms out to his sides. “Just me.”

  The agent gave him another hard stare, then returned to her computer screen. “Name?”

  Gene thought up something quickly. Something memorable. “Andy Sipowicz.”

  “Spell the last name, please.”

  Crap. Gene tried to spell it out phonetically. “S-i-p-p-o-w-i-t-z”.

  “Address?”

  “Can we skip this part? I don’t like giving my personal information out unless I have to.”

  “Is there an email address where we can send a confirmation to, and let you know of any discount or travel offers?”

  Gene glared at the agent. “Pass.”

  The agent rolled her eyes and clicked her computer mouse a few times. “Economy is $210.74. Would you like to upgrade?” She frowned and reconsidered the offer. “All that’s going to get you is priority boarding, really. Probably not.”

  His travel budget was going to evaporate quickly. He decided to go with it and sort things out in Vermont. He’d just have to eat cheaply between here and there. “Nope, that’ll be fine.” Moments later, he was sitting on a metal seat amongst a group of wayward travelers. A woman with missing front teeth grinned at him. He looked down at his bus ticket and read it intently. To his relief, a loudspeaker announced his bus was starting the boarding process and directed him where to go. He sucked down the last of his coffee and tossed the cup in the trash.

  Once at the bus, he stood in line, and handed his boarding pass to the driver. He looked over the document and checked his name off the list on a clipboard. “Enjoy your trip,” he chimed. Gene grunted and got on board. He found a seat near the back of the bus, next to the window. He folded his arms and pressed his head against the glass. Vermont was well over a day away.

  CHAPTER 77: INVESTIGATION

  Hours had passed, and Jacqueline wasn’t coming up with any ideas for solving the mystery of Marc’s sudden departure from his job, or his unexplained presence in Dubai. She took a deep breath and decided to follow the path of greatest resistance in hopes of getting answers. She swiped her cell phone screen a few times, then tapped the contact entry for LAUREN-CELL. The phone rang three times, then went to voice mail. Jacqueline swore and terminated the call. She redialed her number. It rang twice, and her youngest sister came on the line.

  “What is it, Fortune?” It sounded like she was walking outdoors.

  “Have you spoken to Marc lately?”

  “None of your damn business. Bye.”

  “Lauren, this is important. He may have killed somebody.” The call terminated. She swore again and dialed her number once more. The phone rang three times, then the sound of wind blowing into the phone echoed over the line.

  “Oh my god, what?”

  “Did you hear me? I said Marc may have killed someone. This is serious. I need you to be serious. Can you do that?”

  There was a puff of wind in the mouthpiece. “Fine, what?”

  “When did you speak to him last?”

  “When he was here visiting.”

  “And that’s it? No calls? No texts?”

  “Well… he did ask if Agnes was missing, and I said no. That’s pretty much it, why?”

  “He quit his job, and now he’s apparently in Dubai.”

  “He’s in what? You broke up at the end.”

  “Dubai.”

  “Where’s that?”

  Jacqueline groaned with exasperation. “On the other side of the world. Listen, this is important: did he mention a new girlfriend?”

  “Yeah, well, I mean, no, he didn’t. Agnes says he does.”

  “Agnes? What did she say?”

  “Pretty much that Marc has a new girlfriend.”

  “Okay, fine, I’ll call Agnes. Lauren, please let me know right away if you hear from him.”

  “Whatever. I’m fine, by the way.”

  “I’m sorry, I’m just very concerned and trying to get answers. I didn’t mean to sound like I— “

  The call terminated. “Well, that went well.” Jacqueline dialed her parents. Agnes couldn’t be reached by phone any other way. Her mother answered.

  “Jackie? Is everything okay?”

  “I’m fine, Mother. Is Agnes available?”

  There was a pause on the line. “I’m sorry, did you ask if Agnes was available?”

  “Yes, Mother. Is she there? If so, I need to speak with her urgently.”

  “One second.” The call became muffled. Jacqueline figured her mother was covering the mouthpiece with her hand as she called for Agnes. There were more muffled sounds, including the word “job”, then her mother’s voice once more. “Here she is.”

  “This is Agnes Morris speaking.”

  “Agnes? It’s Jacqueline. Listen, I heard that Marc has a new girlfriend. Lauren told me you knew something about this.”

  “Yes, he does, to my understanding.”

  “Tell me everything you know about her.”

  “I’m afraid I know very little at all. It might be better if you tell me what happened, and why you’re so concerned.”

  “Marc quit his job, and now he’s apparently in Dubai. I thought it might have been a case of mistaken identity, but I am looking at security photos and it’s definitely him.”

  Agnes’s voice trembled. “Was he… alone?”

  “No, he was with a group of people, mostly Middle Eastern. Nobody I have ever seen before.”

  “Was he… with a woman with long dark hair?”

  “Yes, yes he was.” Jacqueline sat up straight. “Why, is that her? Do you know who she is?”

  “I’m not exactly sure. If you don’t mind, more information will be very helpful right now. Where in Dubai?”

  “What? Oh, there is a luxury condo building called the Forty-Nine Palms. Somebody I know professionally has… had family there. He sent me the security photos to confirm his identity.”

  “Can you… send them to me?”

  “How, Agnes? You don’t have a cell phone or an email address.”

  “Send them to Gracie. I’ll look at them when she gets home.”

  “Okay, sure, fine. Any help you can give us is greatly appreciated.”

  “Yes, of course.” Agnes hung up the phone.

  Jacqueline sat back in her chair, clutching her phone to her chest. She didn’t like not having all the answers or having to ask her sisters for help. She took a few breaths, then opened a desk drawer. She withdrew a USB cable and connected her cell phone to her computer. If Agnes could identify the woman in the photos, that would help Phillip. And Phillip’s gratitude would go a long way toward securing a better future for Richardson at Mercurio-Atlan, that is, if Agnes didn’t screw this up for her. Jacqueline gritted her teeth and did her best not to think about that. If there was one thing she prided herself on, it was her ability to focus. And with that, she copied the photos from Phillip onto her computer.

  CHAPTER 78: PROJECTION

  Agnes sat on her bed, resting her hands on her lap. She considered the best course of action. She wanted to consult with Image, but it wasn’t time for their next scheduled conversation. She wasn’t sure how often she could reach out to Image, and to what extent she could help under the circumstances. She thought back to her prior lessons and tried to remember what sorts of things Image would hav
e instructed her to do.

  Purity of Heart. Purity of Thought. Purity of Motive.

  She centered herself with these words. She needed more information about what Marc was doing, and who was with him. Her best option was to reach out through the void and connect with Jacqueline. This was easy enough, as Jacqueline was focused on her at that very moment, composing a message to send to Gracie.

  Agnes closed her eyes and waited for the black smoke to surround her. Seconds later, she was standing in an office beside a metal and glass bookcase, displaying awards and selected business books. She looked over and saw Jacqueline seated at her desk, concentrating on her computer monitor. Agnes floated to Jaqueline’s chair and watched as she selected photos to send.

  There was Marc, holding hands with the long-haired woman who pushed the king to his death. The one that Marc rescued from being left for dead outside of the walls of an ancient city. The one that apparently inspired or compelled him to quit his job, and inadvertently or deliberately set fire to his apartment. Jacqueline pulled up another photo just of the woman, and Agnes felt a chill as she recalled the words that came to her during her prior vision: For centuries Men have worshiped at the altar of Inanna, and for centuries more they shall worship Inanna still. Inanna was very much alive, and seemingly not the worse for wear.

  Jacqueline pulled up another photo. Agnes gasped as the grainy likeness of Tobias filled the monitor.

  Oh, Marc, what have you done?

  Agnes floated away from the desk. She had to act quickly. She knew that she was outmatched by Inanna somehow, enough so that Image would have certainly leveled the playing field somewhat. But she chose to rely on her own wits and capabilities. She spoke to the void.

  Show me where Marc and Inanna are now.

  The black clouds returned, and Agnes felt herself being transported across time and space. The smoke dissipated, and Agnes opened her eyes to find herself back in her bedroom. She snapped her eyes shut. Inanna wasn’t going to vex her this easily.

  Show me where Marc and Inanna are going.

  The black smoke swirled around her once more, and when it cleared she found herself in a small cinder-block room with the door cracked open. A lump of some sort sat on the floor. When Agnes projected places, she couldn’t touch anything, but she got a close look at it by crouching down. It was a female head, rendered in modeling clay. It was flattened on one side as if it had been dropped.

  Agnes floated through the door and observed rows and rows of workers intently working lumps of clay, trying to knead the air bubbles out of it. It reminded Agnes of her eighth-grade art class, except these were all adults of varying ages and ethnicities. The only unifying element seemed to be their shared purpose. A middle-aged woman in glasses spot-checked the result of their labors with a ruler. She nodded approvingly at a clay brick that met her specifications. She signaled that it may be put with the others. Agnes followed the worker to a pile of clay bricks, all set neatly on a square of plywood on the floor. There were other stacks that appeared complete, and Agnes guessed that they each stood about eight feet tall, and four feet across on each side.

  Agnes frowned over this project. The purpose was not immediately clear. Nobody spoke of why they were doing it. Two women, including the one that Agnes had directly observed spoke only of defects and air bubbles. The workers nodded at the assessment and re-worked the clay until it was approved. Then they scooped up another hunk of clay from a pallet and repeated the process.

  Agnes decided to have a look around. She floated past the drop zones that were previously used to store piles of trash. She was not aware of their purpose as they had all been thoroughly cleaned out. Plastic bins were scattered throughout the warehouse and had been intended to move something around, but they all stood empty and neglected.

  Pallets of clay stood in a neat row. Workers would occasionally roll them to the rows of tables as ordered. The clay was lumpy and misshapen, but gave no immediate clue as to why, or where it had come from. All activity was directed toward kneading it into bricks of the same size and shape.

  Agnes decided to orient herself. She floated through several walls until she was outdoors. She found herself outside of a large building that struck an imposing figure against the bleak winter sky. She floated upward and twirled around slowly. She saw an airport close by. She spun around and saw something recognizable and unsettling: the Chicago skyline against a gray backdrop.

  Agnes saw something else approaching her: black shapes floated toward her from every direction. They were amorphous, and of the darkest black shade imaginable. They were attracted to her, almost as if they had been sent to her by somebody… or something. She looked around for a means of escape. She dropped down to street level. The shapes converged above her, and combined to form a giant circle, blocking out the sky. It descended slowly, as if to envelop her. She wasn’t sure what would happen if it were to touch her, even in her astral form. She looked around for a landmark and spotted a street sign. She noted the intersection and crouched down on the pavement.

  Home.

  The black smoke returned, swirling around her. It dissipated quickly as the descending black disc sucked it into itself. Agnes began to panic.

  There.

  Agnes projected herself just beyond the reach of the disc. It broke up into its separate parts and trained its path on her new location. She floated along the street, but the shapes, despite appearing to be slow-moving were gaining on her. It wouldn’t be long before she was engulfed in them.

  Salon.

  Agnes shot ahead to the hair salon that Gracie had led her to the day before. The shapes were distant, for now. She saw them correcting their course. She passed through the window and stood in the cramped waiting area of the salon. She had bought just enough time to make her getaway. The stylist was combing out a woman’s long platinum hair.

  Home.

  The black smoke swirled around her once more. As it filled the room, she overheard the stylist.

  “Yeah, she was a real cutie. Her name was Marcie. I dunno, I don’t think I could keep up with her. But you know how I feel about derby girls. Oh well, a girl can dream, right?”

  Agnes felt herself transported across time and space. The smoke cleared, and she was back on her bed. Her eyes snapped open. She slung her knit bag over her shoulder. She stepped out into the hallway and ran into Gracie, who was heading for her bedroom in a huff.

  “Gracie, wait.”

  Gracie’s door slammed shut.

  Agnes rapped on her door intently. “Gracie, please, I need to talk to you.”

  “Kiss my ass, Agnes!”

  Agnes frowned, and rapped the door again. “Gracie, please. It’s important. It’s about Marc.”

  “Eff Marc. And eff you. Eff everybody.”

  “I need you to print an email for me. It was sent to your address. Gracie, please.”

  Gracie threw open her door. Tears streaked down her red cheeks. “For the last time, Weirdness, I don’t care about anybody or anything. Go to hell, and leave me alone.” She slammed the door hard into Agnes’s foot.

  Gracie turned red. “Get out of my goddamn way.”

  Agnes shook her head. “No.”

  Gracie tried to close the door again. Agnes stepped into the opening and prevented her from succeeding. Gracie gave up and threw herself onto her bed, staring intently at the ceiling. Agnes closed the door behind her gently. She sat down on the edge of the bed beside her sister.

  “Hey.”

  Gracie snorted but did not respond verbally.

  “Did you get your job back?

  Gracie sniffed. “What do you think?”

  Agnes nodded. “I’m sorry, Gracie.”

  “Whatever. Eff that place.”

  “I meant about you and Aimee.”

  Gracie snapped her gaze to meet Agnes in a wave of fury. “Shut the hell up, right now.”

  Agnes patted her. “It’s tough, not being loved for who you are. It’s tough when someone you care fo
r doesn’t feel the same way.”

  Gracie wiped her eyes. “Shut up, shut up, shut up.”

  “And it’s tough when you care for somebody, but you’re afraid to tell them how you feel.”

  Gracie closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. “Shut. Up.”

  Agnes leaned forward and plucked the black business card from Gracie’s nightstand. She smiled at it, then looked over at Gracie.

  “I saw your friend today. She was talking about you.”

  Gracie turned beet red. She spoke barely above a whisper. “No, you didn’t.”

  “I did. Just before you came home. She wants you to call her.”

  “No, she doesn’t.”

  “Would it be so bad to call her and tell her how you feel? What’s the worst that could happen?”

  Gracie wiped her cheek with her fingers. “She’s out of my league, I told you. I’m not going through that humiliation.”

  Agnes smiled sadly, and gripped Gracie’s hand. “Hey.”

  Gracie squeezed her eyes shut.

  Agnes leaned in. “She’s saying that about you.”

  “No, she isn’t. Shut up, Agnes, you’re really pissing me off.”

  “I would never lie to you, Gracie. Especially not about this. And you’ll have to be honest with her, Marcie, if you’re serious about pursuing a relationship.”

  Gracie’s eyes opened. She stared at the ceiling again. “A relationship, how? She’s there, and I’m stuck here. Probably forever.”

  “You’re not stuck.”

  “Oh, really, genius? Let’s see: I’ve got no money, no car, and no job. Who is going to want to get with this?” She patted her stomach derisively.

  Agnes tilted her head. “Be honest with me. If you could have one chance to see your friend, and tell her how you feel, would you take it?”

  “Didn’t I do that yesterday?”

  “Well, you did see her. And you lied about your name, your interests, and paid with someone else’s money. What if you had a chance to start over and just be you?”

  Gracie pulled her hand away. “I’m not anybody.”

  Agnes patted her. “Yes, you are. You’re Gracie Effing Morris. I heard you’re going places.”