Perennial

by Potter, Ryan

  Lewis takes my left hand in his right and squeezes gently as we walk.

  “I’m sorry,” he says. “But at least you have the memories. Those will never go away. I envy the hell out of you, Alix. Most kids don’t talk about their parents like that.”

  “I know,” I say. “Believe me, I know.”

  “So,” Lewis says, “imagine this. If you could take that moment on the boat, the happiest moment of your life, and make it last forever, you sort of get the idea of what a Perennial high is like. That’s how good the stuff is.” He stops at the quiet corner of Maple Grove and Covington, where a run-down black Ford pickup rests in front of a stately house across the street. “There’s my truck.” He takes the keys from his pocket and jingles them. “Looks like it’s showtime.”

  “Is it yours?” I ask as we cross the deserted street.

  “My grandpa’s a retired Ford engineer and has a lot of cars. He tinkers around on them all day.” Lewis unlocks the doors with the key-chain remote. “Don’t let the looks of it fool you. This thing runs great. He called it his Detroit truck. It’s the only thing he drove if he had to go into the city. He made it look beat-up on the outside so nobody would ever think of stealing it.” Lewis shrugs. “It might not look very Beaconsfield, but it’s mine until graduation.”

  “I love it,” I say.

  We get inside the truck, where the smell of cleaning chemicals greets us. The interior is pristine and like new. Lewis starts the engine, which comes to life instantly and also sounds brand new. Lewis’s grandpa sounds like a cool guy, so I make a mental note to ask Lewis if I can meet him soon.

  Right now, of course, we have other business to tend to.

  “You were wrong a minute ago,” I say as Lewis pulls forward and makes a right onto Maple Grove.

  “About what?” he says, playing with the radio before powering it off completely.

  “About the Perennial high,” I say, glancing at the passenger-side mirror and noticing a pair of headlights far behind us. “I don’t think any man-made drug can ever replace the natural power of love. At least not the kind of love our family had.”

  Lewis doesn’t respond to that. It’s silent for a few minutes. A few turns later, I notice the same car still trailing us.

  Lewis notices too. He tightens his grip on the steering wheel and says, “I think somebody is following us.”

  The vehicle is closer now, maybe a hundred feet back, headlights almost blinding as they reflect off of the glass.

  “Speed up and turn on the next street you see,” I say, heart pounding. “But use the opposite turn signal.”

  “What?”

  “Just do it,” I say. “It’s something my dad taught me.”

  Lewis accelerates, doing at least forty-five in a twenty-five zone. The vehicle behind us speeds up and gains some ground on us.

  “There’s a right coming,” Lewis says, activating the left-turn signal.

  “Make the turn at the last possible moment, okay?”

  “Alix, what if it’s a cop?”

  “It’s not,” I say. “I can tell by the headlights.”

  Lewis does as instructed, hitting the brakes hard just before turning right onto another residential street lined with enormous yards and large homes. Moments later the mystery vehicle makes the same turn at high speed.

  “Shit,” I say. “We’re in trouble.”

  “You’re sure it’s not a cop?”

  “Trust me,” I say. “Besides, the lights and sirens would be on by now.”

  “He’s going too fast,” Lewis says. “There are little kids around here.”

  The vehicle is fifty feet away and closing quickly.

  “Just breathe, okay?” I say. “Whatever you do, don’t pull over. You need to get to a main road and park in a public place full of people. Can you find one fast?”

  “No problem,” Lewis says, eyes darting to and from the rearview mirror and the road. “But what if he—”

  “Watch out!”

  Lewis never sees the stop sign as we approach the residential intersection. The last thing I see is another pair of headlights to my immediate right, followed by a brief glimpse of a car colliding head-on with the rear passenger side of the truck, the awful sounds of metal grinding against metal ringing in my ears as we spin out of control.

  Then it falls eerily silent inside the truck as everything fades to black.

  Chapter 14

  “Alix?” the garbled voice says. “Oh my God. Alix, are you okay? Please just open your eyes! I’m so sorry. I never saw it coming.”

  I feel my left shoulder shaking and realize somebody’s trying to wake me up. Lewis. The accident. I’m alive. Thank God.

  “Hey,” I say, opening my eyes. “I think I blacked out.”

  “Oh thank you, God,” Lewis says, running his palm against the side of my face. “Are you okay?”

  “I think so.” I test my arms and legs, all of which feel good, but then I look at Lewis and realize he’s still driving. “Wait. Why are we moving? Lewis, did you flee the scene of the accident? That’s illegal. You can get in big troub—”

  “Alix, just listen and let me explain,” he interrupts. “The truck did a one-eighty, and we stopped in the middle of the street. The car that hit us kept on going. The one that was following us turned left and followed the one that hit us. They took off fast, which makes me think they were working together. Nobody was around, and I was worried they might come back, so yeah, I left the scene. Just like they did.”

  “Okay,” I say, shaking the mental cobwebs out of my head and wondering how sore I’ll be in the morning. “Don’t worry about it. How long was I out?”

  “Not long,” he says, eyes glued to the road as his free hand rubs my shoulder. “A minute. Maybe less.”

  “What about the truck? How will you explain the damage to your grandpa?”

  “I’m not sure,” he says. “I’ll think of something, but I’m actually glad this thing was built before airbags became standard. It’s running fine, but I think you’re missing the point.”

  “Which is?”

  “Somebody’s trying really hard to keep you out of Oval City.”

  ***

  We head southbound on the I-75 Chrysler Freeway and exit at Mack Avenue less than twenty minutes later. Turning left on Mack would take us into the relative safety of the Eastern Market district, but tonight we have a different kind of Detroit tourism in mind, and Lewis gives me a dubious look as he passes Mack and stays on the Chrysler Service Drive.

  Anybody familiar with Detroit knows about the woeful state of its city services. If you live in Detroit and need emergency police and/or medical assistance at your residence, you’ll wait anywhere from thirty to sixty minutes before help arrives. If you need streetlamps repaired, you’ll wait a lot longer. Poor city services are probably the main reason the city’s population continues to plummet. One thing I remember from my sophomore Michigan history class is that nearly two million people lived in Detroit in 1950, but only about seven hundred thousand call this troubled city home today. Dad says even that figure is misleading, because most of the people who live here only do so because they can’t afford to leave. Detroit is an angry city. Morale is in the basement.

  For all the little pockets of urban renewal that have popped up over the past decade or so, Detroit is essentially a disassembled jigsaw puzzle. There are a lot of different pieces to the city, but nothing brings them together anymore. For example, it’s not a pedestrian-friendly city. Like Dad said, you can walk in certain areas and feel safe, but those areas are few and far between. You can take the city bus if you don’t own a car, but the city bus is a city service and therefore notoriously unreliable. In fact, it’s common for the buses not to show up. There are no subways or trolleys. There is this creaky old elevated train thing called the People Mover, but it only runs in a small area of the downtown business district. It’s useless to most residents and therefore empty most of the time. I guess you could say the D
etroit People Mover has never really earned its name.

  I’m thinking about all of this as we head down the service drive because it is downright dark and creepy around here. My stomach is doing flips as we turn right on a street called Wilkins, where Lewis parks the battered truck curbside. There’s nothing around but darkness, overgrown fields, and abandoned buildings tagged with graffiti. I don’t see any cars, and I find it hard to believe we’re sitting in the middle of the modern Motor City. Honestly, it feels more like some postapocalyptic warzone in Eastern Europe or something. The only evidence of any life is the low hum of vehicles whipping along I-75 in the distance and the twinkling lights of the waterfront buildings along the Detroit River to the south.

  “Is this Oval City?” I ask, scanning both sides of the desolate street.

  “There,” Lewis says, cutting the headlights and pointing across the street, where four gutted housing towers stand in the distance like hollowed-out giants. Single-story structures dot the barren landscape as well, but it’s the graffiti-laden towers that grab your attention. “It’s hard to believe a lot of good people used to actually live here.”

  “I don’t see a single light.”

  “You won’t,” Lewis says, head on a swivel as he moves uneasily in his seat. “Unless it’s a flashlight or a fire.”

  “You okay?”

  “Not really.” He clears his throat. “I haven’t been down here in almost three years. I was always stoned out of my mind too. This is the first time I’ve been near this place sober.”

  “How do you feel?” I reach for his hand and hold it.

  “Thankful but terrified,” he says, guiding my hand to the side of his soft but masculine face and allowing it to rest there. It feels as if I’m touching the world’s most perfect sculpture.

  “Lewis, can I ask you a question?”

  “You can ask me anything, Alix.”

  “Is something happening between us?”

  He thinks about it and finally nods, saying, “Yes. I think we both know something’s happening between us.”

  I stare deep into his eyes, thinking that if my life ended at this very moment I would die the happiest seventeen-year-old girl on the planet.

  “Look …” I trail off, unsure what to say. “I don’t know … it’s just that I’m so new at this, okay? I’m new to all of this.” I laugh and shake my head to make sure I’m not dreaming. “I’m sitting here in the middle of a dangerous city I promised my dad I would never go to without him. I’m with a guy he’s never met, a guy who just fled the scene of an accident, and I even flushed illegal drugs down the toilet of my own house today.”

  “Don’t forget about the knife in your pocket, badass.”

  “Exactly!” I say, laughing.

  Lewis laughs too. “So you’re on some quest or something, okay? Just let it happen. I’m here to help you and keep you safe. You wanted to see Oval City because you know it has something to do with William’s death. Take a good look. There it is. And this is as close as we’re getting today, so can we leave now?”

  “Yes,” I say, still touching his face. “Thanks for showing me.”

  He tilts his head to the right and leans toward me. Time seems to slow as he brings his lips closer to my own. I follow his lead and lean forward to meet him. He places his palms on either side of my face. My whole body tingles with the kind of excitement I’ve only felt in my dreams about William. An amazing feeling of warmth spreads through me as I realize what’s about to happen.

  “Lewis?” I whisper, our lips inches from touching.

  “Alix?” he says, smiling.

  “No games, okay?”

  “What do you mean?” His warm, minty breath washes over me.

  “You know what I mean,” I say. “Something tells me you have a lot of experience in this department. I don’t. So don’t play games with me.”

  “I would never do anything to hurt you,” he says. “I promise.”

  I close my eyes and wait for him to take over.

  And that’s when something loud crashes onto the top of the truck with an enormous bang, causing us to flinch and pull away from each other.

  “Good evening, young lovers.”

  Terrified, I look to my right, where a filthy homeless man with a long, unkempt white beard stares at me through the open window. His rickety shopping cart is full of plastic bags, dirty clothing, and old pillows.

  “Spare some change for a struggling fellow human?” he says, the foul odors of sweat and urine wafting into the truck.

  “Not tonight, old man,” Lewis says, turning his head and looking out his window toward Oval City. I figure the man’s smell is too much for him. “Get lost, okay?” he adds. “And don’t touch my truck again.”

  The homeless man crouches and peers inside the vehicle. My heart rate spikes. I think about reaching for the knife but then realize the man isn’t looking at me. He’s watching Lewis. Well, the back of Lewis’s head anyway.

  “Lewis, it’s okay,” I say, digging into my front pocket and fishing out two dollars. “Here,” I say to the man. “Take this.”

  I offer him the cash, but he doesn’t take it. It’s as if he doesn’t even see it. Instead, he’s ultrafocused on Lewis.

  “I know you,” he says to Lewis. “Why would you bring a sweet girl like this down here?”

  “You don’t know me, old man,” Lewis says, head still turned. “I haven’t been here in years.”

  “You’re lying,” the man says. “I saw you here last night. I recognize your voice. Why won’t you show me your face, boy?”

  “Because you smell like death, okay?” Lewis says, angry. “You might remember me from three years ago, but I wasn’t anywhere near this place last night.” Lewis finally turns toward us, eyes narrowed as he glares at the man. “And by the way, it was her idea to come here. Not mine. So take the cash she’s being so nice to offer you and get the hell away from us.”

  We hear a round of disturbing laughter and a few blasts of what sound like firecrackers coming from deep within Oval City.

  “We need to leave, Alix,” Lewis says. “Pocket the money if he doesn’t want it.” He starts the engine and puts the headlights on.

  The man finally turns his attention toward me, giving me an inquisitive look as he reaches for my humble donation. I notice a sharp twinkle to his blue eyes. Despite his smells and sad career choice, there’s wisdom behind those eyes. It occurs to me that this isn’t your typical mentally ill homeless person. I misjudged him and assumed the worst.

  “Alix?” the man says, taking the cash and squeezing my wrist lightly as he does so. “You must be the one they’re waiting for. Funny, but I thought you’d be a guy.”

  It happens the moment he touches my skin. My throat goes dry as white light explodes inside my head, blinding me. The vision is unlike any so far. Instead of seeing this man’s past or future, I see something new and troubling, a wall of searing orange and red fire, the intense heat of which seems to prickle my skin.

  The vision only lasts a few seconds. When I open my eyes, I’m sweating and breathing heavily. One thing I sense for certain is that the fire represents evil.

  “You’re not human.” The words come out involuntarily, as if somebody else is speaking through me. I whisper the sentence so that Lewis can’t hear me above the truck engine.

  “Whatever you say, Alix.” The old man smiles and snatches the two crumpled singles from my palm. “Thank you. Have a nice night.”

  He turns and proceeds to push his squeaky shopping cart west down Wilkins Street in the direction away from the freeway, the man laughing and whistling as he ventures farther into darkness.

  “I’ll be right back,” I say, and I ignore Lewis’s protests as I open the door and hop out of the truck.

  I don’t follow the strange homeless man. Instead, I succumb to a strong urge to set foot on Oval City soil, crossing Wilkins Street in front of the truck and hearing Lewis get out behind me, Lewis calling my name and following
me as I step onto the overgrown brush bordering Oval City.

  This afternoon I experienced visions of Aruna’s past and future. Afterward, my reading on London Steel revealed things about our world that only a handful of humans ever see. And now, with the otherworldly reading on the homeless man, I know that good and evil exist. London hinted at the cause of evil. Demons. Demons possess human souls and make them do evil things. I know this now. What did London say about evil in Oval City? Something about it causing bad things to happen there. I believe her, because nothing but searing fire shoots through my head as soon as I set foot on Oval City land. Evil lurks below and above Oval City. Evil gave rise to this land, and evil shall remain here until it’s defeated.

  Perennial. Face. Oval City. They’re all evil. They all thrive here. I now understand that solving William’s murder is only part of my test. What Vagabond really wants me to do is destroy the evil that is Oval City, which means I have to figure out a way to do something the city of Detroit hasn’t been able to accomplish for years.

  The blunt truth hits me like a massive asteroid: if I want to bring justice to William and get rid of Face, Perennial, and all the sadness and horror Oval City has caused, I have to somehow figure out a way to destroy Oval City.

  But how do you destroy an entire city block?

  “Are you insane?” Lewis grabs my shoulder and snaps me back to reality. “This is a good way to get yourself killed. And what was all that weird talk between you and the homeless freak anyway?”