Rich Shapero

by Too Far

  She put her head in his lap, and he held her with both arms, and they listened to the chickadees while the light leeched away.

  ***

  It was as Robbie expected. He could see Mom's silhouette in the window as they reached the bottom of the Hill. Fristeen hurried through the shrubs. When he was halfway across the deck, the back door flew open and Mom rushed out.

  "Why, Robbie? Why? Why? Why?"

  She dragged him across the living room and they fell together on the floor.

  "Answer me," Mom shrieked.

  Robbie couldn't find his voice.

  "Answer me!" Mom shook her head savagely, and then her lips puffed out and she was bawling miserably, falling apart.

  "Mom—" He just stared at her. "Mom—" Why wasn't Dad here? He would know what to do.

  "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Mom struggled with her breath. "I'm overreacting—"

  Something terrible is happening, Robbie thought.

  "I've quit." Mom closed her eyes to see her thoughts more clearly. "I've quit."

  "Your job?"

  She nodded, then broke again, sobbing quietly to herself.

  "I had to see her," Robbie said. "I just had to." He slid his hand in his pocket the way Dad might do.

  Mom shook her head. "It doesn't matter." She tried to smile. "It's over now."

  Robbie's fingers felt the leaves. He didn't realize what they were till he drew them out. A sprig of rouged blueberry, creamy lettuce lichens and a pair of sphagnum rosettes with velvety stalks.

  Mom's expression was quizzical, then she melted as he reached up and planted them in her hair. Fresh tears wet her cheeks, grateful tears.

  "You're beautiful, Mom. We'll be okay."

  "Yep," she blurted, and she laughed adoringly. "It will be easier— Once all this is behind us." She gazed around the sad house. "We're leaving," she said. "Going back to the States. Maybe Thursday—just a few days."

  Robbie stared at her.

  "I've started to pack." Mom kissed him. "We'll stay with Grandma. Till things make more sense. Did you cut yourself?" Mom frowned.

  "No—"

  "You've got blood on your hands."

  ***

  Sleep didn't come quickly, but by midnight, Robbie was deep in a dream.

  He knew where he was—the Peeling Trees were all around him. The sky was dark gray, and he could hear distant rain. A pale ground fog covered everything to the level of his knees, and the trees rising above it were trembling, as if trying to uproot themselves. But none of them could move, and neither could he.

  A familiar rumble rose through the woodland. A motorcycle and rider appeared, speeding toward him, wheels gliding smoothly beneath the blanket of fog. It's Duane, Robbie thought. But when the cycle roared up, spitting leaf litter and gravel, it was Grace who was straddling the growling machine. She shook her hair in the breeze, gave an exhilarated sigh, and regarded him with her sparkling eyes. She wore Duane's jacket, and she'd brought the rain with her. Robbie could hear the drops tapping on the hard leather, while the beady-eyed animals squeaked and snarled within.

  "I heard you talking about him," Grace laughed. "I saw the target you tacked on the laundry room door."

  "Shivers?"

  "One night, he came to visit. And— I couldn't send him home." Grace eyed Robbie with deep emotion. "I knew it would happen. I told you—"

  "What?" Robbie said numbly.

  "My Romeo, dear. My Romeo!" Grace beamed, and held her hand up. "We're married now. See my ring?"

  Her finger was cut clean around, and lumps of blood glittered in a band of white pus.

  "I'm taking her away—" Shivers' voice rose from the fog.

  Grace saw the recognition in Robbie's face. "You're old friends."

  "He's a monster," Robbie told her. "He eats people. You can't go away."

  Grace was surprised. "Why not?"

  "You have to stay and take care of Fristeen."

  Grace laughed. "You're doing that."

  "He's almost a man," Shivers said acidly.

  Suddenly, the ground fog was gathering, bunching before Robbie, drawing in from the borders of the grove. It billowed and towered, sucking air up, dripping and giving off odors of canker and mold. The lumpy brow mushroomed, the sagging nose pushed out, and deep in the dark eye holes, white balloons grew—shriveled at first, bulging as they filled with noxious gas. His chin lay coiled over an expanse of soaked moss.

  "Nice job," Shivers wheezed. He cracked his chin to the side.

  The moss was floating, and there was a gaping hole, like the hole at Big Sponge. On a giant fan of dead willow leaves, Fristeen lay floating, naked and stiff. Her eyes were open, frozen in mute despair, and around them the cuts from the willow stubs were crawling, bending and twisting like purple worms.

  "She's doing just fine," Grace frowned. "Don't you think?"

  Shivers nodded. "I like her better this way."

  "Well," Grace smiled at Robbie. "It's almost over. You'll be along shortly?"

  "Yes," Shivers said. "I'll be along."

  With that, Grace revved the motorcycle and roared away through the trees.

  Almost over, Robbie thought.

  Then he realized that Fristeen's willow barge was sinking. The water crept over the crinkled wales and the stern went under, turning her ankles green. He cried out and fell to his knees, trying to reach her, but his feet were like a tree's, rooted in the earth. Water poured into the barge now, swamping it completely, and Fristeen was sinking, her face gazing up at him. Robbie felt himself shuddering from head to foot. Was it the fog, or what he saw as the water closed over her? Fristeen was cold, joyless as a stone. Her likeness to Dawn was gone for good. The white mouth was around him now, and everything was mist. Shivers swallowed him whole, and began to chew.

  The end. . . the end. . . Just like He Knows said.

  Robbie's senses faded. He heard Shivers' juices, inexorably churning. And then another sound rose and obscured even that. A rushing, a rushing—

  Could it be— Could it be—

  Yes! A great rushing, not of the wind, not made of dead chill and Shivers, but of feverish life, joyous and frenzied, powerful enough to sweep all fears away.

  The Dream Man was speaking!

  "I'm here now, Robbie. Be calm.

  "Why haven't I come? I'm impatient, covetous—sometimes I'm crazed. I plot and move on, my restless thoughts race. It's autumn—I scorch the forest in my haste. Raze it! Make it blaze! I will not wait. Yellow's my disdain for those left in my wake. Russet my regret, and gold my relief— For the passing dream, Robbie, puts an end to all. To be free, you see, means always leaving, or returning to the place where leaves never fall.

  "Dream, Robbie. Dream. Put poor Shivers out."

  All at once, the Dream Man's heaven seemed very close. Robbie could feel himself floating way up in the sky. He could hear the stars bursting to life, he could smell their sparks.

  "Mysteries endless, wonders unceasing. No season of dying and no thought of return. A new life to lead, new air to breathe; a soul mixed with your own. Her name is Fristeen.

  "Dream, Robbie. Dream. It's not too late."

  The Dream Man was chanting a song of great romance, and they were its heroes, flying to meet him.

  "You're a prince, born of thought, son of thought's king. And to thought you will return, unshackled and free. To me, my dear son. Be brave. Say goodbye."

  They had been cleansed in the Cabin. They had risen in smoke. They had passed through the stormwind, and entered the cauldron. They'd been crushed and consumed with the Dream Man's thoughts. And now they floated in that bright place where he and Dawn had withdrawn to. Their home in the skies, where his power met her peace. Where ideas spanned the ether, fast as dragonflies, and joy poured out from an infinite source. Where the clouds made moods for you, and the winds made music, and a love pure, desiring a splendor sky-wide, pricked and painted itself with blood from a thousand horizons.

  Robbie jerked upright, sheets i
n both fists, knowing what he would do.

  He dressed quietly, opened his window and clambered over the sill.

  12

  The night was cold and clear. A silver glow lit the ground. Robbie hurried along the path to Fristeen's house. When he arrived, all the windows were dark. He rapped on the door. A moment later, it creaked open and Fristeen's pale face appeared in the gap, marked by dashes and squiggles, but otherwise intact.

  He threw his arms around her, hugged her, then checked to make sure, gazing deeply, seeing the sun in her heart and the life in her eyes. She giggled and touched his nose with her finger. He was so happy, he could barely speak.

  They stepped into the house together. It was very cold. Fristeen retrieved a branch from a small pile and faced him.

  "Do you know how to make a fire in the stove?"

  Robbie stared at her. "The Dream Man spoke to me."

  She cocked her head.

  ***

  "He still wants us," Robbie said.

  "The Cabin?" Her eyes grew wide.

  "Is Grace here?" He glanced toward the back.

  Fristeen shook her head.

  "It's our last chance," he said. "Mom's going to take me away."

  "No." Fristeen dropped the branch. "She can't do that."

  Robbie scowled. "It's hopeless here."

  They locked gazes, thinking about the things that had happened. Here seemed to take in so very much.

  "Let's go live with them." Fristeen quivered as she spoke.

  "We have to go now, before Mom wakes up."

  "Okay." And she went to dress.

  "Put something warm on," he called after. "It's freezing outside."

  Freezing and spooky. Every noise startled them—boughs scraping, something ticking in the scrub, their own feet crunching the leaves. As they approached the crest of the Hill, the moon rose over it, nearly full. Tall aspens were silhouetted on either side, their branching crowns once again leafless, like the nerve trees in the poster on Robbie's bedroom wall.

  How far in the past all that seemed.

  They topped the Hill, and the moon swung clear. Everything was in view, and they knew the way well. But the forest was very different in the dark. The Bendies loomed threateningly, the wind rat-tatted the weave of the Fallen Down Trees. Robbie walked past He Knows without stopping, and when

  Fristeen objected, he shook his head. "It's not the end."

  Was Shivers already with them? Their breath fogged the air. When they reached the twin stumps at the start of Where You Can See, Fristeen stopped.

  "Can we have some soup?"

  Robbie nodded. "It's ready." He held an invisible spoon to his lips and blew on it. Then he brought it toward her.

  Fristeen took a sip. "Much better," she said.

  But the biting wind on the high ridge was a true taste of winter, and the higher they climbed the more they shook. The view below, always jolting, was nearly obscure. The view above and beyond, was like nothing Robbie had ever seen. Beneath the moon, rows of cloudbanks were pearling—the backs of waves headed away from this world, into the next.

  They descended through the Dot Trees, seeing a new magic—the dots glowed in the moonlight. All the branches were twisted with stars, and each time your eye shifted, a new Pleiades rose through the glittering web. But as the two of them approached the slope's bottom, the magic turned menacing. New stars were settling, falling out of the sky. The branches were glittering with snow.

  "Shivers," Robbie muttered.

  As if in response, the snow fell harder. Robbie felt Shivers' cold breath on his back. His toes began to ache and his fingers hurt. Fristeen made fists and held them beneath her chin. They faced into the wind and crossed the Perfect Place. The meadow was turning white. The wind beat against them and whistled in their ears. Robbie blamed himself. Why had he been so fearful? They had so many chances to reach the Cabin when the sun was out.

  He found the dark opening in the Needle Patch, and they squirmed through it as quickly as they could. But when they rose on the far side, the snow was falling fast and the way to the Jigglies was nothing but a guess. Robbie stumbled forward, arm raised, squinting to keep the drift from his eyes. The way grew dimmer. Shivers was curtaining the moon. What were those sighings, those wheezings nearby? The murky thickets hid invisible creatures, following, watching, pausing when they did, huddling to confer.

  The white rods above them—they were Jigglies, weren't they? Robbie couldn't see the marker he'd left there, everything was so padded with white— Yes, the Jigglies. He was feeling his way, but he knew where he was. The snow's surface was deceptive. It looked perfectly smooth, but when you put your foot down, twigs crunched like bones. He wiggled his toes in his shoes. He could barely feel them.

  "Are you okay?" Robbie glanced back.

  Fristeen nodded. "I'm really cold. Is this the way?" She eyed the white thickets around them warily. Everything looked so strange.

  The tangled web looked strange to him, too. Where was Trickle? Was it beneath the white blanket? Had he walked past it without knowing? He glanced back. The falling snow was filling their prints. He started forward, then stopped.

  "Fristeen—" Robbie turned to her.

  She saw the confusion in his face.

  "We need to go back to the Patch," he said.

  But when he tried to backtrack, what he thought was their trail led him to another place that looked unfamiliar. The cold snow was falling even more thickly, and a bucking wind was kicking the new drifts. When he stopped again, Fristeen linked arms with him, looking anxiously to either side. They both knew—they were lost.

  A shrill wheeze rose behind them, and a sudden flurry consumed them. They hugged, hiding their faces from the whirling snow.

  "Tonight's the night," Shivers whispered in Robbie's ear. The flurry shifted, swirling behind a rise, dragging a long chin behind. "A new beginning," Shivers promised. "Tonight . . . tonight. . ."

  To the right, the ground tended up. Maybe he could find a high point, Robbie thought. If the snowfall thinned, he'd be able to see. He glanced at Fristeen and started to climb. She followed behind. The wind blew fiercely, the white cleared for a moment, and the Cage stood out from the slope. Robbie's hope rose. But they weren't in Too Far, and it wasn't the Cage—it was some other tangle with a great stump in the center, and as they struggled around it, something atop the stump shifted. It hunched in the wind and slid onto Robbie's shoulders like a heavy cape. He heard sucking sounds as he fought with it, and then a hooded head jutted from its mossy fringe. "A juicy spot," Shivers wheezed. "Relax and settle in." A stringy tongue darted through soggy lips, sagging nose dripping between cheeks loam brown. Fristeen grabbed hold, and together they threw the moss off.

  Suddenly the snow gave way and they sank to their hips. A deadfall opened, gaping to swallow them, Shivers beneath them, mouthing eagerly. Robbie fought to get loose, sinking, panicked, Fristeen screaming in his ear. She churned beside him, scrambling and stumbling, dragging him with her out of the hole.

  "Robbie—"

  He clutched her.

  "Touching," Shivers mewled. "Devotion, my sweets, is life's great farce. The heartwood molders the same as the bark."

  "What do you know?" Fristeen lashed out.

  "You," the wheezy voice twisted with hatred, "are snot in Shivers' nose."

  In his mind, Robbie reached for the Dream Man. Please, he begged. I need your help.

  He grabbed Fristeen's hand and started to move again, forcing his way through the furious blast. Trunks cracked, branches hurled, whole trees tumbled past. Shivers was tearing up the forest around them. Robbie sank to his knees in drifted snow. Where was he going? Should they stop and huddle down? Try to get warm? Shivers saw his weakness and swept up behind him. Robbie heard throaty breathing, and when he turned, a flying branch struck him in the face.

  Fristeen screamed.

  Robbie buckled with pain, sharp things in his mouth. He spit out the pieces of chipped teeth, and felt for h
er. She was kneeling beside him, a dreadful sight—shuddering violently, face chalky, cuts black, lips turning gray. Shivers cackled, as if something were settled. Despite himself, Robbie started to cry.

  "Secrets," Shivers whispered. "So many secrets."

  Fristeen grasped Robbie's arm and tried to stand, but she was too weak to lift him.

  "Just lies, like Mom said," Shivers hissed. "Fristeen's here because of you."

  Shivers was right, Robbie knew. He'd as soon die here. But Fristeen— He'd delivered her to Shivers. His dream had come true.

  "Dreams of the condemned," Shivers said with feeling. "Pitiful ghosts. It's just between us—your tears, your shame. No one will ever see the two of you again."

  Robbie heard Fristeen sobbing. She was giving up, too. She collapsed beside him, her thin frame shaking. He was sorry, so sorry—

  A terrible roar—some new fury of wind overhead. And then the storm tore apart. Robbie saw midnight and moonlight with snow circling down. And through that sudden corridor a dim figure came floating: Hands with his candles lit, high above the trees.

  Robbie's heart leaped.

  Hands tilted his rack, steam jetting from his nose.

  An eddy shrieked in Robbie's face. "Haven't you learned?"

  But Robbie raised himself through Shivers' fierce coilings as Hands' blue shadow hovered above. He grabbed Fristeen's arm and helped her up.

  "Follow Hands," the voice of the Dream Man spoke through the storm.

  The gray ghost turned, antlers flickering like a great candelabra.

  "Hands," Robbie said to Fristeen. "See him?"

  Shivers laughed. "Hat Rack? What's he doing outdoors?"

  "Come on," Robbie said.

  "Follow Hands," the Dream Man repeated.

  And that's what they did. Hands led the way to the top of the rise, then along its crest. The wind sawed in front of them, teeth digging in, back and forth.

  "What are you doing?" Shivers howled in Robbie's face.