by J. J. Neeson
“You think you’re the only woman to mess up her twenties? No one’s perfect. You’ve moved on. That’s what matters.”
Absently, Reigh nodded, not as lenient with her past. “Do you want me to stay and help close up? No charge.”
Mrs. Florence waved her hand. “You go along now. You have a visitor waiting for you back at the bayou.”
***
The smell of blueberry pancakes wafted through the air as she passed a pretty bistro that advertised an all-day breakfast. It reminded her of the blueberry pancakes she and Calder would stack on top of their plates at the dollar buffet. Reigh was tempted to treat herself to the bistro, in celebration of her new job, but her pocket wouldn’t allow it, so she instead went into a convenience store to spend what change she had.
Passing by the liquor section, there was a sale on six packs of a local microbrew called Magic Ale-Chemy.
“Beer is beer,” she said out loud, thinking it as good a celebration as the bistro, and she grabbed the bottles, along with a frozen pizza a few aisles down.
By the time she reached the bayou, her arms were sore and sweat poured from her face. After an hour of walking, the six pack felt like a bag of sledgehammers.
A motorcycle was parked out front of the shack, gleaming black in the setting sun. Cautious, Reigh stepped carefully towards the porch, where she found a man passed out near the door. He reeked of bourbon. Gently, she nudged her foot against him, but he didn’t move.
If she’d met him out in a bar, she’d probably be drawn to him. He was attractive, with a sturdy face and powerful, tattooed arms that would have invited her in… if they weren’t currently flopped over his side like dead weight. His dark blonde hair went down to the bottom of his broad neck in thick waves, meeting the collar of his black T-shirt.
Hoping Lu could identify the stranger, she called her.
“Hello?” Lu answered, speaking in a hushed tone.
Reigh felt bad for disturbing her, but she didn’t have much of a choice. “There’s a man passed out on my porch.”
“He probably belongs to the gypsy family. They always have people coming and going.”
“He’s blonde, so I doubt he’s a gypsy…”
“I’m sorry, Reigh, but I can’t leave my daughter’s side. She’s sleeping now, but I need to be here if she wakes. And Samuel is trying to get the other two settled down for the night. Can you call the police? I’m sure—” she stopped. “Wait, you said he was blonde?”
“Yeah. Dark blonde. And there’s a motorcycle parked out front.”
“I’ll be right there.”
***
It didn’t take long for Lu to arrive. Reigh didn’t need to speculate why. The speed at which her truck swerved up next to the shack told her Lu was not happy about the unexpected visitor.
“Where is he?” she demanded, storming out of the truck.
“Here.” Reigh pointed down.
“That son of a—” Lu stopped and took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. It didn’t seem to work. She shook, alight with a profuse anger. “Wake up, Thorston!” she shouted. “Now!” She snapped her fingers.
Immediately, the man stirred and struggled to sit up. Reigh reached down to help him, but she let go when Lu stepped forward. Lu, so petite and pleasant, had been shooting sunbeams yesterday, but now she was almost frightening, like a bad-ass cupcake that could take them both out with a single flick of her wrist.
“Thorston, I told you never to come back,” she roared. “You can’t keep showing up here.”
Now upright, the man rubbed his neck. “I had nowhere else to go.”
“You never do.”
“Please,” he begged, holding up a hand. “Not now, Lu. My head is pounding.”
“I’m about to make it a whole lot worse.”
Reigh knew it wasn’t her place to interfere, but this was technically her house now. She wanted to know what was going on. “Who are you?” she asked.
“He’s the reason my sister went back to Mexico,” Lu answered for him.
Thorston flinched. “That was a long time ago.”
“And yet you still show up here. Get on your bike, and never come back.”
“I told you, I have nowhere to go.”
They both fell silent, Lu fuming with her arms crossed and Thorston rubbing his head. The guy was in a bad way. He was more than drunk; he was upset. The dark circles beneath his eyes gave him away, filled with a sorrow he could not hide.
“Is he dangerous?” she asked Lu.
“Only if you give him your heart, like my sister did.”
Despite the bad blood between the man and Lu’s family, Reigh couldn’t let him drive, and it was clear Lu wasn’t going to play taxi for him. She wasn’t even sure an actual taxi would come all the way out to the bayou. “He can sleep on the couch tonight. I don’t mind,” she offered.
“There’s no way I’m allowing that,” Lu protested.
“Look at him. He can’t drive, especially on a motorcycle. Not like this.”
Lu considered it. “Fine,” she reluctantly agreed. “But don’t be charitable. You kick him out on his ass first thing tomorrow.”
With nothing left to say, she marched back to her truck, slammed the door, and sped away.
“Wow, she’s a firecracker when she’s angry. I think I saw sparks,” Reigh muttered.
“It’s always the sweet ones,” he replied with misery. “Thanks.”
“Yeah, no problem.” She helped him to stand.
He was a lot taller than he’d appeared slouched over the porch. Next to him, she felt like a mouse next to a bear. Awestruck, she had an urge to reach out and squeeze the muscles of his arms to make sure he was real and not another hallucination in this strange town.
Instead, she retrieved her groceries from the porch steps and unlocked the door. “Will you fit?” she teased.
Ducking as he entered, he went straight to the couch and stretched out, completely at ease in the shack, as if it were his own, which it probably had been at some point in.
In the nook, she boiled the kettle on the stove then made him a mug of instant coffee, humming rock tunes that flowed from the radio, lost in the music. Since the moment she had flicked the switch, the radio had been on, and it always would be. The music was a constant reminder of who she was, her grounding in a world she did not fully understand, normal or strange.
Thorston accepted the coffee with gratitude and gulped it down. “That stuff works fast,” he said when he was finished, setting the mug on the floor. “My headache is nearly gone. What did you use? Some herb?”
What the hell was that supposed to mean?
“No,” she replied, indignant as she leaned against the couch, waiting for him to move his feet. “It’s just ordinary coffee.”
“Whatever,” he mumbled as he closed his eyes.
His eyes didn’t stay closed for long. With her full might, she kicked the couch, jostling him. “I said you could stay the night. That wasn’t permission to be an ass.”
“Sorry,” he said flatly, and he made room for her to sit. “I’m not used to sharing this place, not since Eva went back to Mexico.”
“My place,” she amended. “It’s my place now. So what has you so upset?”
Grief shadowed his face. “A friend died. Motorcycle accident. His funeral is tomorrow.”
Reigh was sad to hear it. “Here in Broken Ridge?”
“Unfortunately.”
“I’m sorry.”
“So am I,” he said, his voice cracking. It was clear this friend had meant something to him.
She sat back, drowning in the softness of the couch. “Man, what a day,” she sighed.
“At least it’s one we survived. To Dodger,” he toasted, lifting the empty mug from the floor.
“To Dodger,” she echoed.
After a brief silence, she turned to him. “This town isn’t like other towns, is it?”
“Nope,” he answered, unreserved.
> “I’m pretty sure Lu woke you up with the snap of her fingers. And that my new boss is psychic.”
“No more calling in sick,” he joked.
“That’s not the best part. When I arrived yesterday, a rune I have often seen throughout my life smoldered itself into the town sign.”
He turned his full attention onto her. “I saw it when I rode in.”
“Were you sober enough to see it?” she challenged.
“I didn’t hit the bourbon until I got to the bar. I saw it.”
She let out a long breath. “So I didn’t imagine it. It’s all real. Not a hallucination.”
“You gonna freak out?”
It was a possibility, but she felt pretty calm, all things considering. “I’ve seen the rune for a long time. I’ve already processed it.”
He seemed relieved to hear it. “It’s a Norse symbol. Any idea why it keeps appearing?”
“I often see it when I’m in need of guidance or protection. It partially led me here.”
Leaning his head back on the couch, he closed his eyes again, losing focus on their conversation as he drifted into the gloom that surrounded him. “Are you sure it’s guiding you towards something worthy? Sometimes we’re led astray by things we hope are good, but they aren’t.”
She refused to believe it. “No, the rune is good. I have it tattooed on my back, so it better be.”
“Can I see the tattoo?” he asked without opening his eyes, already knowing her answer.
“No,” she said sharply.
Yawning, he nestled further into the couch. “Whether good or not, research that rune down at the library tomorrow. It means something if you keep seeing it.” Then he added, “You don’t like pottery, do you?”
“What is this town’s obsession with pottery?” she mumbled. “I’ve been roped into going to some circle on Monday.”
“You haven’t been before?”
“No,” she said. “Obviously. I just moved here.”
“Well, you’re in for a treat.” It sounded as if Thorston was teasing her, if he was capable of humor in his anguish.
Recognizing how tired he was, she took the yellow blanket and tucked it around him. He acknowledged the gesture with a slight nod of his head. Minutes later, he started to snore next to her.
She’d only just met the guy, but he invited a sort of warmth, like sitting next to a bonfire, and so she closed her eyes as well and joined him somewhere beyond the shadows.
***
“Go away,” Lu commanded, facing the jaguar—a mural painted on the back wall of the reception area at the garage. “I refuse to set you free.”
The jaguar stared back at her, a knowing in its vicious eyes.
Turning away, Lu reached into a drawer behind the desk, pushing away receipt booklets and loose, grease-covered bolts until she found the emergency vial she needed.
Against the florescent lights, the black liquid in the vial shimmered so dark, it was almost purple. Quickly, Lu drank the tonic down, trying not to gag at the awful bitterness it left in her mouth. She needed to calm down. Pacing the room, she took a series of deep breaths, trying to tame her anger.
How dare he! How dare Thorston come back! She’d assumed the last time he’d broken into the shack would be his last, given the warning she’d sent him. He knew the consequences of upsetting her.
Lu sank into the seat behind the desk, a hand on her head. Normally, she had much more compassion for people, but she would never forget how much suffering her sister Eva had gone through when Thorston left her that horrible, heart-wrenching day.
Living in a smaller house at the time and pregnant with the twins, Lu had invited Eva and Thorston to take shelter with them in their cellar as a hurricane drew close, its winds reaching out like arms to steal the rocks from the earth. As her house rattled, she sat in the kitchen waiting for them to show, but they never did. When she could wait no longer, she fled with her husband towards the cellar, into an afternoon as dark as night, only to find Eva bent on her knees in the grass, dressed in only her nightshirt, crying her pain out into the pounding winds. Thorston had left. Not for the first time, but for the last. As they’d lifted her sister from the grass, they’d known that if he did come back, it would not be for Eva.
Lu’s phone rang, echoing across the room. “Hey handsome,” she answered. “I’m just at the garage.”
“You okay?” Samuel asked, weary. “He didn’t upset you so much that you—”
“No, I’m fine. I drank the emergency tonic, but to be safe, I’ll stay locked away here just a little longer.”
“I love you.” The helplessness in her husband’s voice was unmistakable.
“I love you too,” she whispered, setting down the phone.
She glanced back up at the jaguar.
I’ll be free, one day, she almost heard it say. And when I am, you’ll be no more.
***
“You want to argue the veracity of folklore using leading scientific theories in physics?” Nikki’s supervisor, Dr. Brent, asked the next morning from behind his desk, raising a skeptical eyebrow.
Impatient, Nikki rolled her eyes up at the man, who was twice her age but dressed as if he were a middle school prep boy. His collared shirts were annoyingly bright, especially the pink one he wore today, but his pretentiousness was even more intolerable. “There a problem?”
Dr. Brent adjusted his glasses as he examined her thesis proposal. “Besides your attitude, no, not technically. When it comes to writing a thesis, there are no wrong answers, only poorly argued hypothesis. But…”
“You think it’s a wrong answer,” she concluded with discontent.
“Nikki, it’s not personal. I’m not attacking you or your culture—”
“This has nothing to do with my culture.”
He seemed confused. “You won’t be using gypsy folklore as a basis for comparison?”
How can a man as intelligent as Dr. Brent be so ignorant? she thought.
Drawing in all the mercy she could, Nikki answered, “First of all, my family prefer to be called Romani, not gypsies. And no, I will not be using Romani folklore as a basis for comparison. I’m not that closely connected to my heritage, as you know. I’ll be exploring general concepts.”
“Give me an example.”
Nikki turned her head towards the window, hating that she was confined to Dr. Brent’s office. The pretty green foliage outside that decorated the lawn of Louisiana State University in Baton Rouge was completely invisible to her. Under pressure to make the rally, she had to convince him to approve her thesis quickly.
“Other worlds,” she stated. It was the easiest to present to Dr. Brent without her notes. “The Celts believed the fay were birthed of a parallel world. The Greeks had Olympus, the underworld, and Elysium. Closer to home, people who practice voodoo believe there are many worlds protected by guardians within the crossroads. For centuries, science has been used to refute the belief in these other worlds, but with the recent advancement of physics, it would be imprudent not to at least recognize the possibility that other worlds can exist.”
She paused to allow Dr. Brent a chance to voice his opinion, but when he thankfully said nothing, she hurried on. “Work by leading physicists, those who are in the news and on TV, suggests that the only way our universe can mathematically exist is if there are multiple dimensions, to put it simply. I recognize that many of these dimensions are theorized to be flat with no potential for life, but we know so little. Some of these dimensions could be similar to our own—the other worlds our ancestors were so certain existed.”
Dr. Brent was stone. “So you’re going to try to persuade an academic board that there is an Olympus?”
“I’m not going to argue that the existence of other worlds is absolute, just that there is a scientific possibility they might exist.”
He tapped his pen against her proposal. “This has absolutely no application towards science.”
“I disagree. It is extremely re
levant to humanity’s understanding of the universe. I use other worlds in folklore only as an easy example. Plenty of people out there believe in some type of other world, the most prominent being heaven.”
“You believe in heaven?”
“I’m staying far away from religion. It’s too personal. I’m focusing on folklore. But between you and me… yes. I do. I believe in the existence of other worlds, but I also believe in a world that surpasses them all, one that is pure. The original.”
Based on the way his lips turned, he was warming to her proposal, thinking it through. “You can’t use multiple dimensions as a foundation for your premise,” he eventually told her. “It’s too ambiguous. I need something more solid.”
“Then the wormhole theory—the ability to move across the universe not by walking in a straight line from A to B but by bringing the two ends of the metaphorical rope together—the wormhole. Perhaps these other worlds exist with us in our universe. There are hundreds of millions of stars within a single galaxy and hundreds of millions of galaxies in the universe. It’s entirely possible that life exists out there, life that is comparable to ours, much like how a star is a star from one galaxy to the next. Wormholes could be how we access these other worlds.”
He stopped tapping his pen. “Better, but you haven’t won me over completely. You’re studying to be a physicist. Where is the math?”
“It’s a research masters. I can review the math within the relevant theorems.”
He took a moment to think about it further, flipping through her proposal. She glanced at the clock on his desk, irritated. In its reflection, she saw a woman in her mid-twenties with long black hair and cat-like eyes who was clearly eager to leave. Many told her she was stunning and meant for a career more glamorous than theoretical physics, but she had no time for glitz. If given a choice, she would rather chain herself to a dumpster in protest of homelessness than stumble down the red carpet.