by David Wright
No, he wouldn’t bring a date back to the house.
Besides, Larry hasn’t dated anyone since I’ve known him.
Someone else is here. But who?
Abigail was sleeping in a T-shirt and shorts. She changed clothes, pulling on a striped black and purple long-sleeved shirt with a skull on the front and her long black skirt, then slipped into her knee-high matching purple and black socks and looked at herself in the mirror, admiring her gothiness.
She wasn’t sure why, but Abigail took tremendous delight in the sour looks she earned from passerby on the streets when she went out with Larry at night. Quiet judgment burned in their sockets, as if they had any right to appraise her — as if they knew anything about her at all.
Abigail was about to open her bedroom door when she saw a note from Larry taped to the inside. She tore it from the white wood and read it.
“Hey Abi,
I’ve got someone coming over whom I’d like to hire, so you have someone at home to watch you when I have to run out for business. Just a few hours a night.
I told her you have some condition where you sleep all day, but she doesn’t know anything more than that. She used to be the au pair for a family across the street, and she seems really great. So, please, let me do all the talking, and please … be nice.”
Be nice? What does he think I am?
Abigail crumpled the note and tossed it in the trashcan beside her desk, annoyed, then pushed open her bedroom door when she heard Larry’s voice drifting up from the stairs. His most charming version talking to the girl.
She must be pretty. I wonder if he’s hiring her for me, or himself?
Abigail heard laughter — an annoying giggle which sounded far too happy.
I can just tell I’m gonna hate her.
Abigail threw an exaggerated cough into her closed fist, announcing herself as she descended the stairs to see Larry and a pretty blonde girl standing, not sitting, side-by-side in the living room.
“Oh good, she’s up,” Larry said. “Hey, Abi, this is Katya.”
“Hi,” Katya said, smiling as she reached out her hand to shake Abigail’s.
Abigail met Katya’s eyes but kept her hands tucked into her long sleeves. She looked at Larry, quietly asking him to take the ball.
“She’s got this OCD thing. She doesn’t touch anyone.”
Katya smiled again, a fake smile which annoyed Abigail even more than she already was, which was quite a lot considering she was barely awake.
“It’s good to meet you,” Katya said, seemingly unsure what to do with her hand now that she wasn’t using it to shake. Abigail caught herself drawing a nugget of pleasure from the girl’s awkwardness, and wondered why she was feeling so catty towards Katya.
Her mind flashed to a stolen memory from Larry’s ex-girlfriend, Abigail’s first victim. She realized where her feelings were coming from — she was feeling Lydia’s jealousy.
Weird. And gross!
Abigail felt awkward, as if Larry had somehow read her thoughts. She shook the feelings from her shoulders and gave Katya her best smile. “Nice to meet you, too,” she said.
“Let’s all have a seat, eh?” Larry gestured toward the couch. “Would you like a drink, Katya? Abi?”
“No, thanks,” Katya said.
Abigail said, “I’ll have a Pepsi, please.”
“OK,” Larry said, then left the two of them in the living room while he went into the kitchen.
Abigail took a seat in one of the two overstuffed leather recliners, forcing Katya to either take the other recliner, or the sofa. She chose the sofa. Larry returned and handed Abigail a cold Pepsi, searching her eyes for confirmation that she’d seen the note so she didn’t say anything to contradict Larry’s story. Abigail nodded, though she sort of wanted to leave him hanging, since she was still annoyed that he’d led her to murder an innocent woman.
Larry took the other recliner so the three of them sat in a triangle, though Abigail felt like the definite center of attention. She was sure if Larry weren’t there to move things along, she and Katya would’ve stared at one another for a half hour before either found a word between them.
“So, Katya, where are you from originally?”
“Ukraine, though we moved here when I was 7. Well, to New York first, and then here, five years ago. Where are you from?”
“I’m from California,” Larry lied. “Abi here is from Florida.”
Florida? I don’t know anything about Florida. What if she asks me something about Florida? Hopefully, she’s never been there either.
“How do you like it out here?” Katya asked.
“It’s OK, I guess,” Abigail said, quietly.
“What do you like to do for fun?”
“Read, watch TV, play games. Sometimes I draw stuff. But I’m not that good.”
Larry said, “Don’t let her kid you, she’s a great artist!”
“I’ve never been good at art,” Katya said. “Though I do love to read. I loved Harry Potter, but I guess everyone else did, too. Have you ever read the Paratime series?”
Abigail leaned forward, “Yeah, I loved it!”
Katya’s eyes brightened. “I’ve never met anyone else who read them before,” she practically squealed. “Or at least not that we talked about. Do you have a favorite one?”
“I only had one book,” Abigail said. “It had a bunch of stories in it. How about you?”
Katya laughed. “Same. I just had one collection, but I read it like a thousand times. I’d never read anything like that before, with all the parallel worlds and histories. I loved it, and I liked Lord Kalvan of Otherwhen best.
Abigail felt genuinely and quite suddenly happy. “That one was in the book I had! The story I liked most was He Walked Around the Horses. It should’ve been boring, but wasn’t.”
Paratime small talk turned into a ton of other topics and scraped two hours from the evening. Conversation drifted from books and stories to Katya’s early childhood in Ukraine, to a nightmare family she briefly worked for right before the Radleys. Katya held her tongue, not trashing them too bad, probably thinking Larry might not hire her if she talked bad about her clients. But it was Larry who coaxed the stories from her, one by one, slowly at first, then relentlessly after he practically split his middle laughing about a time the spoiled rotten mother of a horrible brat refused to change a single diaper. Her kid would sit in poop all day if the nanny wasn’t around to change her. Her husband, a nice guy and ugly enough to put up with her crap, challenged her to change one. She did, but not without puking all over the place.
By the conversation’s end they were gobbling pizza and sitting together at the dining room table. Abigail felt herself relax, a little, and actually start to maybe like Katya, the first woman she’d known in years, besides Stacy. While Stacy was nice enough, she was still Abigail’s captor, along with Randy the monster who kept her in his closet, so Abigail never felt completely at ease.
“So,” Larry said as he swallowed a pepperoni Abigail plucked from her slice and put on his plate — she hated the thought of eating pigs, who she felt were too cute to eat. “You want a job? Abi is really sweet, and I promise you’ll never have to change a diaper.”
Katya laughed. “Yes, I’d love to watch Abi. Do you prefer Abi or Abigail?”
Nobody had ever asked Abigail her preferred name. Ever. She loved that Katya had done so. While she didn’t mind Larry calling her Abi, because he’d been doing it for so long, she did prefer Abigail, and told Katya.
Larry looked stunned, “You mean you don’t like Abi? Wow, I feel like an idiot!”
“It’s OK,” Abigail said. “I don’t mind either name, really. Besides, you talk fast, and Abigail probably takes too long to say.”
Larry acted wounded, “Ouch. Burn.”
They all laughed. It had been a while since Abigail had laughed — too long. As she watched Katya’s infectious smile, she felt like the dark cloud that had been hovering over her life for so
long might finally be lifting.
* * * *
CHAPTER 5 — John
Anchor Harbor, Washington
John sat at the back of The Hideaway Bar, named appropriately enough given the circumstances, waiting for what seemed an eternity.
The waitress, a redhead with green eyes and ample cleavage spilling from her tight black tee, eyed him from behind the bar. John returned her smile, nursing flirtation as much as his whiskey. Something about her, beyond the obvious, had worked its way under his skin, making John wish he could have sex without draining the life from another.
It was funny how quickly lust turned his words into innuendo and his thoughts naughty, considering how long it had been since he’d even entertained the idea of sex. Of course, he rarely put himself in situations where he’d run into nubile women.
She sauntered over to his table for the third time in 15 minutes.
“Your friend usually this late?” she asked, grinning as she sat across from him at the table.
John tried to avoid looking down her shirt, but failed miserably. “Yeah, he’d be late to his own funeral.”
“That’s OK,” she said, meeting his eyes. “I’ll keep you company.”
The waitress smiled. “I’m Amanda.”
“Rick.”
“Ooh, I like that name,” she said. “It’s strong.”
John laughed, knowing she would have said that for any name in the world, except maybe for Adolf.
Her laughter made music as she set her palm on top of John’s gloved hand. “Cold?”
John flinched, pulling his hand back and spilling whiskey onto the table.
Amanda’s eyes shot open in alarm. “I’m sorry,” she said, reaching into her apron for a handful of napkins, then quickly swiping them across the spill, soaking a fair mess of it into the napkin before moving the flickering candle against the wall, avoiding John’s eyes as she mopped the tiny flood, embarrassed, or maybe feeling rejected.
John felt like even more of a freak than normal. “It’s OK,” he said, trying to think of anything that might dim the sudden awkwardness from their table. He thought of three possible comments to smooth things over, though none made it to speech before Amanda slipped away from the table. She returned to the bar, asked the bartender for another shot of whiskey, then came back to the table and gently set it in front of John, still avoiding his eyes.
“Thank you,” he said.
“You’re welcome.” She paused, as if trying to decide whether to sit back down or switch tables and flee discomfort.
“This asshole bothering you?” a voice shot out from behind Amanda. The waitress turned, startled, and saw Larry standing behind her with a huge grin. He was wearing jeans, a black tee and his faded green military-looking jacket, looking every bit the slacker. “It’s OK, he’s no trouble,” Larry said. “Just not used to being around such beautiful women. A bit shy, and a little on the gay side, I’m afraid.”
Amanda smiled, seemingly unsure if Larry was kidding, until he laughed and reached out to shake John’s hand. “How’s it hangin’?”
John shook Larry’s hand as Larry sat across from him, in Amanda’s too-briefly occupied spot.
“Can I get you something?” she asked Larry.
“You all got Mountain Dew?”
“Um, no, we have Sprite, Coke, Diet Coke, and —”
“I’ll just have whatever he’s having then,” Larry said.
As the waitress walked off, Larry sighed, “Damn, man, she is fine. I really need to get out more, and really need to get laid. This babysitting stuff is not for me.”
“You’re not babysitting Abigail, you’re looking after her, like a father.”
Larry laughed, “Dude, I am not daddy material. Look at me.”
“You’re doing fine,” John said, then after a long pause added, “You are doing fine, right? Abigail is OK?”
“Yeah, yeah, we’re doing all right. Though, you could call her yourself, you know?”
John shook his head and took a deep swig of whiskey. “No, it’s a whole lot easier if she doesn’t hear from me until I’m done working for Omega. Trust me.”
“For her, or you?”
Amanda returned to the table and saved John from his answer. She placed the whiskey on a black cardboard coaster in front of Larry, then handed them each of them a one-page laminated menu, full of fried vegetables, fried chicken strips, fries and the sort. John had told Amanda he’d wait to order something once Larry arrived.
“I’ll give you all a few minutes,” she smiled, tapped the tabletop with her fingertips, then made her way to another table to clear a young drunk couple’s tempting basket of chicken wings, along with their growing collection of empty bottles.
Larry took a swig of whiskey and swallowed with a wince. “Wow, been a while since I touched the hard stuff. So, what made you reach out for a meeting? I was starting to think you forgot about me,” Larry said, pretending his feelings were hurt.
“I need to find someone, an Other.”
“Who?”
“Shadow.”
“You want me to find fucking Shadow?” Larry asked. “You trying to get me killed?”
“I wouldn’t ask if I thought anyone else could help. Jacob’s back, and if anyone can find him, it’s Shadow.”
“Jacob is back? From the portal I saw on the Web?”
“A new one opened in Anchor Harbor. We need to figure out how he created a new portal, why he’s back and what happened to Caleb. That means finding Jacob.”
“Can’t you just tune in on your alien radar and find Jacob?” Larry asked.
“No, that’s the thing. I can’t feel him out there. He’s blocking me. Either that or something’s changed, I don’t know. Nothing this big happens in the underground without Shadow knowing something. Or being part of it. Shadow is the only one I can think of who would know if Jacob has reached out to his old Harbinger contacts.”
“You mean whoever’s left in Harbinger you’ve not yet killed,” Larry winked. His words fell out fine, but the wink was clearly a veiled accusation.
“No reason not to say what you mean to say,” John said, pointing at Larry’s glass. “Take another few sips and you can blame it on the whiskey.”
“I don’t have to sip whiskey to say shit that needs saying,” Larry snapped, ironically taking a sip of his whiskey. He swallowed, then set his glass on the table. “You’ve got the Others pretty damned scared, John.”
“I do my job,” he said. “We protect the world from the Harbinger threat.”
“Yeah, but it’s not just Harbinger you’re after.”
“Sometimes there are obstacles on the way to the bad guys. Sometimes we have to question innocents caught up in the whole mess.”
Amanda was approaching their table, but froze five feet away after crashing into the sudden ice between John and Larry. She turned and made herself busy two tables over.
Larry measured his words then opened his mouth. “So, they’ve got you parroting the company line, eh? Question innocents? What happens when you’re done questioning them? They getting returned to their lives?”
“I don’t know, I help find them and bring them in. After that, I’m done. I don’t do the questioning.”
“Word on the street is, nobody is coming back, John. Omega sweeps in and takes everyone, entire families, away in the night, and they’re never seen again. Everyone thinks you’ve turned on your kind and are into extermination; Harbingers, Others and the Halfworlders — anyone who knows anything, gone.” Larry leaned down and blew out the candle. “POOF! Like that, they’re gone. So I gotta ask you, John, is this some sort of Guantanamo thing where you’re keeping them all tucked in secret prisons, or are you blowing out candles, one by one?”
John finished his whiskey and met Larry’s eyes. “We’re not murdering innocent people,” he said, thinking of Mathews shooting Emilia as the words “not murdering” burned from his tongue. “From what I’m told, they’re putting people i
n a detention camp until this whole thing blows over. I don’t know where it is, nor do I think they trust me enough to tell me.”
“You really believe that? Or is that the lie you tell yourself to make it easier to step in their footprints?”
Where the hell is this animosity coming from? How long had Larry been holding this in?
John reached out, tightly grabbed Larry’s wrist, and squeezed.
“You think I want to hunt my own people? You think I like that they’re using Hope as a chip to play me? I wouldn’t even be here if you hadn’t betrayed me, Larry. None of this would be happening if not for you. I would be dead like I wanted, Abigail would never have been turned, the portal would never have been opened and Caleb would still be here. This is all because of you, and all I’m doing is cleaning your mess. No, I don’t like it, but I don’t have a choice. You put me in this position — so sit there and judge me from Olympus, fine, but remember, it was you who set this into motion. Your greed.”
I guess I’ve been holding shit in, too.
John stood to leave. “Screw it, I’ll find Shadow on my own.”
“Wait,” Larry said. “You’re right.”
John turned, waiting for Larry to finish.
Larry said, “I’m kinda freaking out now. Feeling like shit for something that happened with Abigail. And all I keep thinking is this shit wouldn’t be happening if you weren’t out there in the field. You are so much better with her than me. This shit wouldn’t have happened if you’d been with her, instead of me. I fucked up.”
John sat back at the table, his heart frozen in fear that Larry was about to say something horrible. “What happened?”
Larry told him about a woman they’d killed — a woman he was certain had killed her own child, but hadn’t, which Abigail discovered while feeding. Abigail was feeling horrible, and Larry was feeling guilty, thinking maybe he let emotions cloud judgment, and that he should’ve done a better job making certain the woman was guilty, or switched their target to someone else, for whom there was no doubt of their guilt. It wasn’t hard finding truly guilty people, after all. But something about the woman had worked under his skin, and he might not have been as thorough as he usually was.