Gracie reached into her pocket and felt the assurance of the plastic card against her gloved fingers. “Yeah. Why do we need it so bad? It’s not like we’re renting a car or something. Wait, are we?”
Agnes led her to a neon lit building that cast yellow and green light into the night on three sides. Gracie shielded her eyes until they adjusted. One of the signs read OPEN 24 HOURS in giant letters. Another sign read GOLD.
Gracie stopped and turned to Agnes sharply. “You stole from them?”
Agnes shook her head. “I don’t steal.”
Gracie rolled her eyes. “Really, we’re doing this? Fine, you borrowed without asking?”
Agnes shook her head. “I need you to trust me. We’ll have to do this in your name, because you have an ID. We’re not at my usual spot.”
Gracie looked up at the buzzing neon, then at her sister. “Wait, you’ve done this before? With what, Mom’s jewelry? She never said anything about missing anything, and I thought it was all cheap junk anyway.”
Agnes reached into her knit bag and produced a small ingot. It shined under the neon lights. Gracie’s eyes bulged, and she swiped it from Agnes. She stuffed it into her pocket and made sure nobody saw what just happened. “Where did you get this?”
“It’s too much to explain. I can say that we need money, quickly. And this is the quickest way that I know.”
Gracie nodded hesitantly, then gulped. “Are you sure about this?”
“You’ll be fine. I’ll help you through it.”
Gracie reached for the door and gave it a tug. The door was locked. Gracie tugged harder, to no avail. “Open 24 hours, my ass.”
Agnes reached past her and pressed a white button. A buzzer sounded, and she gestured to open the door. Gracie pulled it open while eyeing her sister suspiciously. They stepped up to the window and a clerk leaned up to a metal grill embedded in the bulletproof glass.
“What’re you selling?”
Gracie looked up at Agnes, then fished the ingot out of her pocket. The clerk reached over and pushed a lever forward. A steel drawer opened. Gracie dropped the ingot into the drawer, and the clerk pulled the lever back. He reached over and removed the ingot and held it up to the light.
“Huh.”
Gracie looked through the glass intently. “Yeah?”
The clerk shrugged and swiveled in his stool. He unscrewed a bottle and squeezed something from an eye dropper onto the ingot. After a moment or two, he rubbed the ingot, and coughed. “Huh.”
Gracie looked at her sister nervously. Agnes smiled in her usual way and showed no reaction.
The clerk dropped the ingot on a scale and wrote down some figures. He pulled a paperback book from a shelf above his workbench and flipped through the pages. His eyes widened, but he tried to suppress his reaction. He swiveled back to Gracie. “ID?”
Gracie nodded and pulled her license out of her pocket. The clerk pushed the drawer open, and Gracie dropped it in. The door squeaked shut, and the clerk scanned his eyes back and forth over her license. “Is this your current address?”
Gracie nodded. “Yeah.”
The clerk looked up coldly from her license. “Not local.”
“Um, no.”
The clerk shrugged and wrote some information down on a pad. He tore the sheet from the pad and held it up to the window. Gracie looked at the various scribbles and X marks in various fields on the form. Her eyes darted to the bottom of the form.
“Five hundred?”
The clerk nodded. “Agreed?”
Gracie nodded dumbly.
The clerk finished filling out the form. He dropped it into the steel drawer, along with her license and a pen. “Sign and date.”
Gracie scrawled her signature and dropped the form and pen back into the drawer. She stuffed her license into her coat pocket. A few minutes later, Gracie counted a wad of twenties and stuffed them into her front pants pocket. Agnes smiled and finger-waved to the clerk, who grunted. Gracie pulled the release lever down and pushed the front door open, breathing a puff of air vapor as she met the night. She waited for the door to click shut, then she pulled Agnes away from the door.
“Five hundred? Are you insane? Agnes, this is more than I make in two weeks.”
“Made.”
Gracie puffed. “Fine, made. What exactly are we doing with this kind of money?”
Agnes gave a sly smile. “We’re moving to Chicago.”
Gracie’s jaw dropped. “How, exactly?”
Agnes reached into her knit bag and produced four more ingots. Gracie’s widened even further. “How? Where? What?”
Agnes smiled and dropped the ingots back into her bag. “Mystical powers, remember?”
Gracie nodded, in shock. “Uh-huh.”
Agnes swept a wisp of hair out of her eyes. “That was awfully generous for that sort of place. We can’t expect that from everyone. But optimistically, we might clear two thousand. That should cover first and last month’s rent someplace, and get us a home base, right?”
Gracie’s jaw ached. “Uh-huh, I guess.”
Agnes patted Gracie on the shoulder. “Do you not want to share an apartment with your weird sister?”
Gracie shook her head and gave Agnes a hug. “It’s just… all really sudden. We’re really doing this?”
Agnes pressed her chin against the top of Gracie’s head. “Marc needs our help. And you wanted a fresh start. I think… we both could use that right now.”
Gracie stepped back and wiped her cheek. “But what about Mom and Dad?”
“They’ll adapt. They won’t like it at first, especially Father, but they’ll agree that Marc could use family living close by. He needs a support system.” Agnes smiled sadly at Gracie. “That’s us.”
Gracie nodded slowly, and sniffled. “You know, if you would have told me what we were doing I could have been more assertive back there. Six hundred gets us closer to a nice place than five hundred.”
“Show me, at the next place.”
“You’re on.”
The sky flashed in red, green, blue, and white. Loud booms shook the building. Car horns blared, and off in the distance, the sound of young men whooping and hollering wafted through the air.
“Happy new year, Gracie.”
Gracie looked up through tears. “I’ve got to get used to this kind of excitement.”
Agnes put her arm around her sister as they walked slowly down the street. “You will.”
Gracie gave Agnes a nudge. “Yeah, I will.”
EPILOGUE: TWO MONTHS LATER
Gracie stood in the lobby of Modern Roofing Supply. A heavy-set blonde-haired woman wearing a white fuzzy sweater and blue jeans coughed and walked around the side of her desk. “Hi, I’m Cathy. You here about the receptionist job?”
Gracie ran her fingers through the fuzzy right side of her head. “Yeah, if it hasn’t been filled.”
“No, we have a tough time getting good help around here.” She waved her hand to a vacant desk. “To tell ya the truth, we could probably just stick a watermelon there with a face painted on it and save ourselves a lot of hassle.”
“That’s what I’m saying,” said a voice from around the corner, in the back of the office.
Cathy led Gracie to a small conference room and snapped on the lights. She motioned for Gracie to sit. “You got a resume?”
Gracie reached into her coat and pulled out a rolled-up sheet of paper. She laid it flat on the table and pushed it over to Cathy. “Yeah.”
Cathy looked over the document quickly. “Oh, out east, huh? You’re not from around here?”
Gracie shook her head. “Nope. I’m trying this adult thing out.”
Cathy laughed, and coughed. She held up a finger. “Jame, do you want in on this?”
A long-haired woman wearing a fleece pullover embroidered with ARCTURUS INDUSTREX SHINGLES and tan pants entered the room and sat beside Cathy. “Sure, beats working.” She reached across the table and shook Gracie’s hand. “Hi, I’m
Jaime.”
“Gracie.”
“Oh? I thought I saw something else on here,” Cathy said, looking over the document again. “She’s from out east, she says.”
“Do people show up to work out east?” Jaime smirked. Cathy coughed a laugh.
Gracie gulped, hoping they didn’t call Warren for a reference. “Yeah, totally.”
A slender dark-skinned youth, no more than eighteen years of age entered a room, dressed in earth tones: brown dress shoes, khaki pants, white long-sleeved dress shirt, and a tan-and-brown argyle sweater vest. He pushed his glasses up his nose and stood before a wooden desk. A bearded man with salt-and-pepper hair wearing a tweed suit motioned for him to sit.
“Well, James. The countess and I have been very impressed with your development. Oh my, yes indeed! Very impressive progress. I haven’t seen anything like it since Sri Lanka. You should be proud.”
The boy pushed his glasses up his nose and looked nervously at his lap. “Thank you, sir. But enlightenment should not lead to pride.”
The bearded man’s eyes lit up, and he stroked his beard jovially with a boisterous laugh. “Indeed, pride is not a virtue! Certainly not. Poor word choice, my boy, you must excuse the error.”
The boy nodded. “Of course, sir.”
The bearded man leaned forward and spoke in hushed tones. “But, as you say, enlightenment. Hum, yes! Enlightenment, that’s the thing. Many have searched, but nearly all have failed.”
The boy nodded. “The journey matters more than the destination, I think.”
The bearded man held his breath, then smiled widely and let out a huge belly laugh. “My, my, indeed, wisdom from the mouths of babes! Wonderful! Splendid.”
After steadying himself in his seat, he leaned forward again. “James, it is time for you to meet the countess. She has taken a keen interest in your spiritual development. You would do well to learn everything she has to teach you. Ah, here she comes now. I will excuse myself.”
A woman dressed in all black swayed slowly into the room. Her arms were covered in bracelets and bangles that clanked and jingled as she moved. She stopped in the center of the room, and the bearded man gave her a peck on the cheek. “How nice, Horace.” She looked at the boy sitting nervously at the desk. “This is our star student, then?”
The bearded man nodded and left the room.
The countess swished over to his chair and sat down awkwardly. “My, this reminds why we don’t normally share seats.” She smiled congenially across the table. The boy pushed his glasses up his nose and swallowed hard. “Now, then, James, Horace has told me all about you. You seem to be well on your way to enlightenment, which is no small feat! My heavens, you’re exceptional.”
The boy looked away, embarrassed. “I’m nothing special, madam countess.”
The countess waved him off. “Pish and tosh, my child. I know exceptional when I see it.” She looked side to side, as if to share a secret. “Not everyone has the stomach for this. Some sacrifice so much for the good of others but gain so little in return.” She shook her head mournfully.
The boy nodded sheepishly. “I live only to serve.”
The countess smiled broadly. “Yes, yes, I believe you do.” She clapped her hands, amid clanks and jingles. A frail old man in a brown suit entered the room carrying a metal tray with a metal pitcher on it, and something covered in black silk. She gestured to the man, and he set the tray down on the table before the boy.
“Will that be all, madam?”
“Yes, Chauncey, that will do nicely.”
The man bowed. “Very good, madam.” He shuffled slowly out of the room. The boy pushed his glasses up his nose and gave the countess a curious nod.
“Now then, James, I have a certain matter to discuss with you. Horace and I have traveled far and wide, learning as many of the universal secrets as possible. In fact, I was on my way to Nepal when Horace phoned me and spoke highly of your progress. We inch ever closer to enlightenment, but you, why, well, my heavens, you surpass us by leaps and bounds! Now, normally you’d have to spend dozens of years in Tibet to acquire this knowledge, but I have faith in you.” She pulled the silk cloth away from the tray, revealing a red brick on a white plate. “I don’t expect miracles, James. Not now. Not yet. But it is time you knew that ancient scrolls speak of those who had such, well, purity of heart that they could turn stone into gold with only a pitcher of water. Have you ever heard of such a thing?”
The boy shook his head nervously and stared at the brick.
“Well, put that on your list of things to contemplate while you meditate. Maybe the answer will be revealed to you. Who knows?”
The boy nodded, then swallowed hard. He reached for the pitcher and held it uncertainly over the brick. The countess smiled beatifically.
Horace stepped out of the side door of Eddington Manor. A middle-aged man had just finished clearing snow from the long driveway.
“Well done, Eugene. Come inside and warm up. I shall pay you as agreed.”
Gene blew a puff of air up through his mustache. “Appreciate it.”
Jacqueline sat with Monroe and Millie. Richardson was still at work. He had sent her a text message that he would be running late tonight. There was a big announcement and attendance was mandatory, he said, offering no other details. The twins had finished their homework and were being rewarded with screen time. They opted to use it on a two-player round of a virtual reality zombie invasion game. They bobbed their heads and aimed their controller in the direction of things like the lamp, or a vase, or their mother, while the view screen strapped to their faces displayed a different set of items and threats: barrels of toxic waste, discarded ammo crates, and half-clothed zombies swiping at them with bloodied fingernails. The twins shrieked and ordered each other to help fend off an attacker.
Jacqueline took the opportunity to interest herself in other—analog—pursuits. She found the adult coloring book and colored pencils that Agnes had given her for Christmas. She sat down at her desk in her home office and flipped through the pages. One of the designs caught her eye, and she shrugged and removed a red pencil from the box, then shaded in one of the segments. She felt time begin to slow down as she ran the pencil lightly back and forth, taking care to stay within the lines.
She set the red pencil down and pulled the orange pencil from the box. She found another segment that caught her fancy. It seemed like an appropriate place for that color. The pencil whispered as she shaded in the segment. She quickly switched to blue and worked on another piece of the design. She felt energized and yet relaxed all at once. Her mind began to clear, and soon she could only hear herself breathing as she applied sections of color to the page.
Marc.
She sucked in her breath. She hadn’t given much thought to him since early January. Phillip accused Marc of a litany of crimes: home invasion, theft, destruction to property, and most gravely, murder. Other than the security footage of Marc leaving the building—curiously, there was no footage of him entering, but the security chief claimed the tapes were routinely erased—there was nothing solid pinning Marc to any of the allegations. He was a person of interest, certainly, especially to Phillip. Her contacts at Mercurio-Atlan told her that he was doggedly searching for Marc and his companions and determined to follow any leads. Jacqueline agreed to let him know if he turned up, that is, after she arranged for a competent attorney. She wasn’t going to allow her brother to face Phillip’s wrath without a fight.
Jacqueline, it’s me.
Jacqueline dropped her green pencil, and it rolled across her desk and bumped into an inspirational paperweight. She felt a tug inside of her head, as though someone were trying to tap her on the shoulder, but more esoterically. She shook her head, blinked her eyes, and plucked a yellow pencil from the box and found another spot to color.
Jacqueline, it’s Agnes. I don’t have much time.
Jacqueline sat up in her chair. She tried thinking her response instead of speaking out loud.
Agnes? Where are you?
Jacqueline cupped her palms over her ears, unsure of where the voice might be coming from. Was this a trick? Was she hearing ambient sounds from the video game console and imagining they were saying something only she would understand? She reached over and closed her office door.
I can’t tell you right now. Marc’s in trouble.
Jacqueline squeezed her eyes shut.
Have you called the police? Agnes, he’s been accused of all sorts of things. Jail isn’t ideal, but…
She felt pressure against her forehead.
We can’t go to the police. Worse, he doesn’t realize the danger that he’s in. He thinks he has found the love of his life, but she’s going to kill—I have to go. I’m sorry.
Jacqueline clenched her fists and banged them on the desk top. “Agnes! Wait!”
Millie pushed the office door open. “Mom, who are you talking to?”
Jacqueline pushed the coloring book and pencils aside. “Nobody, sweetie. Are you and your brother done saving the planet from…whatever it is?”
“Zombies, Mom.” Millie rolled her eyes and stomped away.
Agnes took deep breaths as she sat at her new writing desk, in her new two-bedroom apartment that she shared with Gracie. She sat patiently and held a pen in her right hand, hovering over the first page of a new spiral notebook. She closed her eyes and waited for Image to make contact. After a few minutes, her pen sprang to life, as she neatly wrote lines across the pages.
Hello, Agnes.
Hi
I trust you have acclimated to your new surroundings.
Yes, the apartment is very nice.
Image is pleased. We will continue your lesson. Start a new section: We will call this one “Gods, Goddesses, and the Power of Belief.”
Will- she- stop us again?
Possibly. We shall continue. Now: There was a man in ancient Assyria that could convert matter into other forms of matter, as we have previously discussed. He had this ability innately, but he was assisted and inspired by the goddess Inanna. She was revered for several qualities, the least of which being love and fertility, but perhaps more notably, and more accurately, war.
The Spaces Between Us Page 33