by Pawlik, Tom
The morning air was crisp, but the late October sky was hard and blue. Cloudless.
Conner started down the steps and passed another man coming up. A man who looked familiar somehow, dressed in jeans and a leather jacket. A beefy, blue-collar type. Conner frowned, stopped, and turned around.
The other man had turned as well. Now Conner placed him. He did know the man after all. “Jim Malone?”
Jim nodded, extending his hand. “Conner, right? How are you? Good to see you up and around.”
“Thanks.” Conner smiled and shook hands. “Believe me, it’s good to be up and around.”
Jim chuckled. “I guess you had quite a scare, huh? We heard from your secretary about your . . . y’know, about the heart attack.”
Conner patted his chest. “Double bypass. It certainly helps to put things in perspective.”
“I guess so.” Jim scratched his head. “I’m not sure if you remember, but we were in that same day. Of your heart attack, I mean. Annie and me. We met with you earlier that afternoon.”
“Yeah, I remember. I was trying to convince you to move forward with that malpractice lawsuit. As I recall, you had decided to go home and pray about it over the weekend.”
“Yeah, well, you could say we were asking God to show us a sign. We were real confused and weren’t sure if we should go ahead with it.”
Conner raised an eyebrow. “A sign, huh?”
Jim shrugged sheepishly. “Well, we didn’t ask specifically for Him to give you a heart attack or anything, but when we heard about it on Monday . . . well, we kinda figured maybe God was trying to tell us something.”
Conner found himself chuckling at that thought. “Do me a favor. Next time ask for something a little less dramatic, will you?”
Jim laughed.
Conner nodded back toward the building. “So, what brings you here? Are you visiting someone too?”
“Yeah, uh . . .” Jim looked up at the facility. “To tell you the truth, I’m not sure exactly what I’m doing here. Just trying to make a connection with one of the kids, I guess.”
“Me too,” Conner said. “Just an acquaintance really, some kid who got in with the wrong crowd, I think. I thought maybe I could be of some help, but unfortunately, I think I may have just made things worse. I don’t think I’m cut out for this kind of stuff.”
“Yeah.” Jim looked down and sighed. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”
They both fell into an awkward silence for a moment. Conner didn’t really know the guy well enough to make further small talk, and frankly he was going to be late getting to the office as it was.
He turned to leave. “Well anyway, nice to see you again. I hope you have better luck than I did. Take care.”
7
MITCH GAZED DEEPER into the stranger’s window of liquid light. He could see the images more clearly now.
“There’s . . . like, another room back there,” Mitch said. “Some kind of room.”
Nathan stood still. “Good. See anything else? any details? What kind of room?”
Mitch squinted, pushed the dark glasses tighter against his face. “Umm . . . I see something. A bed, I think. And some other stuff . . .” Then he straightened up. “It’s a hospital room.”
Nathan moved closer. “Can you see the bed?”
“Yeah . . .” The surface seemed to grow calm, and the entire room came into focus. Someone was lying on the bed. Mitch could see a network of tubes, lines, and monitors behind it. He couldn’t quite see the person’s face. It was wrapped in gauze. The person was big—too big to be a woman or a child. It was definitely a man.
There was some kind of picture on the patient’s arm. A tattoo. In fact there were multiple tattoos, the biggest one resembling a snake coiled around the upper arm. Though not exactly a snake . . . more like a dragon. A Chinese dragon wrapping around his arm, jaws open wide, fangs bared, horns curling up from its head…
It looked like . . . exactly like Mitch’s tattoo. On his arm!
Mitch lurched away from the window. “This is some kind of trick,” he said. “Just another hallucination.”
Nathan grabbed Mitch’s arm. “It’s no trick. Look again!”
Mitch saw movement through the portal. Someone had just come into the room. It looked like a doctor. He leaned over the bedside and touched Mitch’s head.
Mitch frowned. “Who’s that?”
“Listen,” Nathan hushed him again.
Mitch could hear another voice, echoing softly, as if far off in a vast canyon.
“Mitch.”
The doctor took a clipboard off the foot of the bed and began reading. Mitch instinctively moved sideways for a better view, and the entire scene inside the window rotated along with him. Almost as if Mitch was able to turn and get a three-dimensional view of the room through the portal. Mitch had a clear view of the doctor’s face now. He gasped.
“Conner?”
Mitch hadn’t seen the guy in five years, but he was sure that was Conner Hayden. Why was he dressed like a doctor? Mitch reeled. He watched Conner replace the clipboard and lean down again. Mitch could hear his voice better now. More distinct.
“I’m not going to let you die.”
Mitch pounded the wall with his fist. “Conner!”
Suddenly the image went black.
Mitch backed away and pulled off his glasses. The hole in the wall now revealed only some wiring and part of a wooden stud behind it. The light and the watery surface were gone. It looked like just an ordinary hole in an ordinary wall. His brows curled down, and he turned to Nathan. “Where did it go?”
“These windows only last a few minutes.” Nathan removed his glasses and shook his head. “Think what you want to think, but I’m telling you it’s the truth.”
Mitch inspected the hole. There was no sign of water or any electronic devices. Nothing to explain what he’d just seen. “I don’t believe you. Give me one good reason why I should believe you.”
“What’s the last thing you remember? I mean . . . all those years ago, before everything started going crazy. Do you remember?”
Mitch tried to think back. He ran a hand through his hair. “I . . . uh . . . I was going to pick up Linda. My girlfriend. I was going to pick her up from work. I was going to propose. Had a ring and everything.”
“It was a big night.”
“I had my bike. I just got my Harley running. I wanted to surprise her.”
“And then?”
Mitch paused. It was all hazy after so many years. He had ridden north and then … He shrugged. “Then I saw the storm.”
“You never made it to see your girlfriend,” Nathan said.
“Because of the storm.”
“No, because a Dodge pickup truck crossed into your lane and sent you flying into a ditch.”
Mitch’s lips tightened. “No, it didn’t.”
“You broke three ribs, fractured your pelvis, and sustained severe head injuries. Someone called an ambulance.”
“Shut up!”
“They brought you to the hospital, but you had lost a lot of blood. They put you on a ventilator. They’ve been monitoring your brain scans, looking for the slightest glimmer of hope. Any sign that you might still be in there.”
“I said shut up!”
Nathan grabbed Mitch by the collar. “That was two months ago! You’ve been here only two months!”
Mitch shook himself free and shoved Nathan aside. He stumbled to the front of the store, his chest heaving. The room seemed to sway beneath him. This was crazy. He couldn’t listen to any more of this nonsense. He wouldn’t.
Nathan drew up beside him. “This place . . . this isn’t Indiana. It’s like a movie set. It’s all just a facade. Your body is lying in a hospital room in Illinois. In a coma. But your soul has gotten trapped here. In this place.”
“I can’t believe it.”
Nathan continued. “Think about it. All the weird stuff you’ve seen here? This place does that to you. You see what yo
u want to see. It even shows you stuff you don’t want to see. Old memories. Dreams, nightmares. All of that can take on what seems like real form.”
“Are you saying I’m dead?”
“No. Not yet. This place is just like a doorway. When someone dies, they usually pass right through to the other side. But sometimes people get stuck in between. Trapped here. Not dead but not really alive, either.” He pointed at the hole in the wall. “You’re being kept alive—barely. But there’s still some hope. That’s why you need to get back into your body. The longer you stay here, the harder that’s going to be. The less chance you’ll have of surviving at all.”
Mitch turned away. This conversation was beyond bizarre. He had been here for five years. He could remember every day. Every book he’d read. How was that possible? “There’s no way it’s only been two months.”
Nathan’s voice softened. “Time doesn’t have any meaning in this place. Not like it does in the material world. I know you think it’s been years, but it’s only been two months since your accident.”
“How do you know all this?”
Nathan paused. “I’ve been sent to help you. To help you find your way back.”
“Sent by who?”
“God.”
Mitch laughed. “Dude, God doesn’t care what happens to me.”
“Yeah, I know that line. I’ve heard it all before. The fact is He does care, Mitch. More than you know. I’ve got to help you get out before it’s too late.”
“Too late for what?”
“Survival,” Nathan said. “The longer a spirit remains separated from its body, the less chance there is for the body to heal. You’ve suffered major injuries, but there’s still some hope you might recover. That’s why you have to leave that farm. And we have to get going as soon as possible.”
Mitch rubbed his eyes. His head was throbbing. “I can’t take this anymore. Why should I trust you anyway? Howard hasn’t done anything to hurt me. Other than being a little quirky and a terrible cribbage player, he’s not all that bad. And we’ve managed to keep the aliens away. Give me one good reason why I should trust you.”
At that point, the milk truck rumbled up in front of the store and its horn blared. Mitch moved to the window and peered out.
Howard waved at him. “C’mon, Hoss. The day’s a-wastin’.”
Mitch nodded and waved. “So,” he grunted and turned back to Nathan, “give me one good reas—”
But the store was empty. Nathan—whoever he was—had vanished.
8
JIM MALONE SIGNED IN at the main desk and made his way through the security gauntlet of the corrections facility. He produced a letter and some additional paperwork from his pocket, along with two forms of ID, and slid them to the woman behind the counter inside the first set of locked doors.
She was black, stout, and gruff looking. A mop of glistening dark curls hung low, just over her eyes. She squeezed the last bit of a cream cheese–laden bagel into her mouth and scanned the papers for several seconds. Then she curled an eyebrow at Jim.
Jim shrugged. “His . . . uh, his probation officer said it was okay. Just to talk for a few minutes. He said to bring you this letter, and he said you could call him if you needed to.”
“Popular kid,” the woman grunted through a mouthful of bagel and pressed a button beneath the desk. The door to Jim’s left buzzed. “C’mon through.”
Jim pushed the door, left his keys and wallet inside a basket at the desk, and followed another guard to an elevator. They rode this up to the third floor and walked another hall to a cramped room divided in two by a counter with a thick glass window. Gray walls, beige tiles, smelling of a nauseating mixture of body odor, bleach, and floor wax.
“Wait here.” The guard motioned for Jim to take a seat at the counter. Chrome, gooseneck microphones and plastic speakers were mounted on each side of the glass. The guard took the paperwork and left the room.
Jim was alone and felt a sudden wave of emotion wash over him. The walls seemed to draw close around him, like a trash compactor. The place felt cramped, stuffy, and dismal. A sterile, white clock clicked softly on the wall behind him. Several minutes went by. Jim kept an eye on the metal door on the other side of the room. His claustrophobic sense grew stronger and he found himself almost short of breath.
Another minute creaked by. Still no one came through the door. Jim could hear muffled sounds coming from beyond the walls. Coarse laughter mixed with angry, high-pitched rants and deep, barked orders. All probably quite normal for this place, but still it gave Jim a growing sense of despair. What would it be like to live in this place? Even for a few days?
Three more minutes passed, and at last the gray door across the room opened. A lanky youth stood in the doorway with a brawny figure looming behind him. The guard gave the kid a slight shove into the room, then pulled the door shut again, leaving the kid alone.
Jim vaguely recognized the boy’s face. He’d gotten his name from the newspaper and had made initial contact with the probation officer.
Devon Marshall. Sixteen years old. Mother was an alcoholic. Father deceased. Devon had been arrested twice, once for possession of a controlled substance and the second time for selling it.
Devon stared straight ahead, not making eye contact and looking dazed or maybe drugged or something. He stood by the door for several seconds, then shuffled over and slouched into the chair across from Jim.
Was this one-way glass? The kid was acting like he couldn’t even see him. Jim leaned toward the microphone. “Uh . . . can you . . . can you hear me?”
Devon stared at the glass. Not through it at Jim, just at the glass itself. Maybe at his own reflection. Jim frowned. What had they done to him?
“Are you okay?”
Devon didn’t say a word.
“My name is Jim. Uh . . . Jim Malone. You don’t know me, but I . . .” Jim suddenly found himself at a loss for words. It was an awkward enough situation, but now even more so with Devon’s bizarre behavior. “I found you. Two months ago, when you were shot. I happened to be walking by and I saw you. You and your friend inside the car. I called 911. And I . . .”
Devon’s face was a mask of indifference.
Jim went on. “You weren’t breathing, and I performed CPR on you until the cops came.”
Still no response.
Jim sat back a moment. This wasn’t right. Maybe he’d had some kind of brain damage. This wasn’t normal behavior. “Look, I don’t want anything from you. I just . . . I just wanted to talk to you. Just once.”
He paused again and swallowed. His mouth was dry. “I wanted to say that I’m sorry about your friend. I was all alone. I couldn’t save both of you. I got you out of the car and tried to help you. I called for help, but nobody else was around.…”
Devon’s gaze flickered slightly. Up into the glass, as if searching for something.
Jim saw the reaction and leaned closer. “I’m sorry about your friend. I really am. I could only help one of you. By the time the cops came, he was already . . . It . . . it was too late.”
Devon’s gaze drifted across the glass, finally locking onto Jim’s face. He peered through the glass into Jim’s eyes.
Jim felt a chill crawl down his spine. It wasn’t a friendly look. He tried again. “I had to choose. I don’t know why I went over to your side of the car, to pull you out.”
Devon’s lips parted. A soft voice whispered, “You let him die.”
Jim blinked and stared for a moment. “I—I couldn’t help you both. I’m sorry. I really am. I could only help one of you.”
The sight of the other kid’s body lying beneath the blue sheet had haunted Jim’s dreams nearly every night. The whole scene played itself out in his sleep. Over and over.
Devon stood up and leaned forward, pressing his hand to the window. The glass creaked and turned white as crystals of frost appeared at his fingertips. “You let him die.” Another patch of frost appeared where his breath wafted onto the glass
. It spread outward from his hands, creeping up to the ceiling and down to the countertop.
Jim slid his chair away, staring at Devon, now half-hidden behind a thin veil of ice. A blast of cold air hit Jim’s face, as though the AC had suddenly kicked on full throttle. Or more like he’d just stepped into a walk-in refrigerator. He could see the steamy tendrils of his own breath curling up in front of him now.
He caught one last glimpse of Devon’s face. Eyes completely white, lips peeled back. Saliva foamed between his clenched teeth and dripped down his chin. His head began to jitter. Then his entire body shook.
Then he fell backward onto the floor.
“Help!” Jim found his voice again. He jumped up and pounded against the glass. “Somebody help him!”
9
MITCH STARED OUT THE WINDOW, watching the empty fields roll past. Mile after mile of gray, lifeless countryside stretched out, it seemed, forever. Howard was whistling again. They were taking a different route back to the farm so they could stop at the gas station for oil and whatever food they could scrounge up.
But Mitch’s thoughts were wrapped around the stranger he had seen in the bookstore. And the bizarre scene he’d witnessed through the hole in the wall.
He hadn’t mentioned anything to Howard. Nathan had said Howard was not to be trusted, but Mitch wasn’t completely convinced Nathan could be either. The guy seemed to know quite a bit about what was happening. But it could have all been a trick. Mitch had seen that kind of tactic before numerous times. For all he knew, this Nathan guy was just another of the aliens’ attempts to get him to leave the farm.
Still…
“So, uh . . . so I was thinking,” he said as nonchalantly as he could. “It’d be nice to get away for a day or two. Maybe take a little vacation or something.”
Howard choked off his tune. His weedy gray eyebrows scrunched together as he threw Mitch a sideways glance. “Vacation? Are you tryin’ to be funny?”