The Space Between (The Book of Phoenix)

by Kristie Cook

  Whoa. That was heavy. Imagining him as a young boy with no parents and having to grow up with virtual strangers made my chest ache. I’d lost my parents at nine years old, but at least I’d always had Pops. I now understood what he’d meant when he said he had no one.

  “And then I came along and ruined it all?” I teased in an attempt to lighten the mood.

  Micah peeled one last piece of siding out. “Yeah, something like that.”

  He had pulled away about five feet of siding, leaving the pieces pried back perpendicular to the building, revealing a six-foot-high rectangle of plywood. He began knocking around on it until we both heard the hollow sound.

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  “It means there’s nothing solid behind there.”

  “I know that,” I huffed. “I mean what you said—something like that. You were all nomadic before I came along. Or were you a controlled nomad?”

  “Yeah, I was.” He turned to face me and put his hands on his narrow hips, right where his jeans hung. “After my discharge, I had a few places to visit. People I owed a personal thank-you to. That part was controlled. And then I had the uncontrollable need to go to Virginia and make a stop at that god-awful show that night. I don’t know why, but I knew I had to go. How can you listen to such noise?”

  I chuckled. “Yeah, it sucked, didn’t it?”

  “Sid Vicious must have been rolling in his grave. Anyway, I hung around for a week or so, but the need to be there disappeared. I started heading north again but stopped in Northern Virginia, having no idea where to go next. I had no home, no job, no purpose.”

  “Wait. You were in Northern Virginia? Right after the show?”

  “A week after.”

  “Whoa. That’s when I’d gone home for Pops’ funeral.”

  His eyes tightened as he stared at me for a moment, then he gave a slight head shake before he went on. “I decided to give Angie, my last foster mother, a call, and she suggested I come down here. Said she had a widowed friend who needed someone to watch her house over the summer while she went north, and she even had a place for me to stay. I wasn’t sure about the idea when Angie first mentioned it, but eventually I couldn’t ignore the urge to come here. As soon as I got to town, my new neighbor asked if I knew anything about fixing his roof, and then more work fell in my lap. And right when I finished my last project, you showed up.” His gaze drilled into me. “Any control over my life I thought I had . . . it was all just an illusion.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Well, isn’t that how life is anyway? Anytime you think you have control, life waves its big magic wand and poof! Everything around you has changed. Life’s an illusion.”

  He lifted his hands in the air. “Do you get what I’m saying, Jace? The last several months were all about you. As if I was drawn to you. Or pushed to go where you would be.”

  The description of Twin Flames echoed in my mind, causing chills to slither over my skin.

  I broke eye contact with Micah and looked at the plywood. “So, uh, are you going to find a way in or not? If not, I think we need to get to the library.”

  “I’ll get my saw. It shouldn’t take long.”

  Ten minutes later, Micah had cut a door into the back of the building. The long and narrow space was about eight feet wide and seemed to stretch all the way to the front of the building, as expected, although the other end receded into dark shadow. While Micah went to retrieve a flashlight, I stepped inside. And became completely disoriented.

  I still stood in the dark, empty space, but at the same time, I felt like I was in an entirely different structure. Like an image overlaid onto my vision, I also stood in the hallway of a big house with shiny hardwood floors and pale yellow walls. In front of me, a curved, sweeping staircase with a wrought iron and wood banister rose to the second floor ahead. Sunlight poured through a large Palladian window at the second level of the foyer up front, and a pair of gorgeous, dark wooden doors stood open, exposing a manicured lawn shaded by royal palm trees and oaks dripping with Spanish moss. The view beyond, however, was obscured by a bright, white light.

  “Jacey?” Micah’s voice came from a distance. The vision faded, but the disoriented feeling lingered.

  “Did you see that?” I asked. “Do you feel it?”

  Micah’s eyes darted around. “It does feel strange in here, but all I see is an empty space.”

  He shone his flashlight over the gray concrete walls.

  “This is unexpected,” he said as he walked farther inside to inspect. “I’d hoped the pipes would be exposed.”

  The light careened over the area, glancing over an object in the far corner.

  “What’s that?” I asked. Micah moved the beam back, and it landed on a rectangular, brown object lying in an otherwise empty room that shouldn’t even be here.

  I rushed over to it. A book. My fingers caressed the soft leather cover before picking it up. Micah stood behind me, looking over my shoulder as he directed the light on the front cover. We both gasped.

  An intricate picture was embossed into the leather—what appeared to be a large willow tree with fish and dolphins swimming underneath it. A clasp secured the book closed, like a journal, but there was no keyhole, no knobs to squeeze together, nothing. I turned the book over, only to find the same image embossed on the back, but still no way to reveal the pages inside. Looking at the front again, I swiped a finger over the clasp, feeling for something, anything, but only found smooth metal.

  “I wonder what’s wrong with Sammy,” Micah said, distracting me. Sammy stood at the makeshift door Micah had cut open, barking in our direction but not coming in. “We better get going anyway. We have a lot to do, including buying you a new door.”

  When we returned to full daylight, I inspected the clasp more closely and ran my finger over it again, but still nothing.

  Micah set the plywood into place, kind of leaning it precariously, then half-assed pushed the siding over it.

  “There’s nothing for anyone to bother in there,” he said as we walked around the corner. Then he glanced up toward my door. “But your place is a different story.”

  We went upstairs, and Micah fiddled with the door enough so it would close. The latch wouldn’t lock and the door would be easy to push open, but at least it wouldn’t be hanging ajar, an open invitation to anyone passing by.

  “Sammy, be a good boy and guard our stuff, okay?” I said, scratching him behind the ears. “Don’t let anyone in. Bark like crazy and scare them away.”

  He wagged his tail, as if he understood.

  “I could really use a shower,” Micah said as we headed toward his truck. “Do you mind if we swing by my place for a minute?”

  Trying not to let my imagination carry away at the thought of Micah in the shower, I could barely manage to say, “No problem.”

  “Why’d you bring that?” he asked when I slid into the cab.

  “Oh.” I looked down at the book still in my hand. “No idea. Didn’t realize I had.”

  I placed it on the seat and pretty much forgot about it when we pulled into a familiar driveway.

  “You live here?” I asked with a laugh.

  “Yeah, back here. Why?” He drove up to the guesthouse that sat behind the very house I’d first pulled up to when I came to town. The one where Buck found me right when I’d thought I’d seen someone moving around inside. The “someone” had been Micah!

  “Um . . . no reason,” I said, my voice wobbly. Adding this “coincidence” in with everything else made me want to break into laughter—hysterical, likely maniacal laughter. “Trust me. You don’t want to know.”

  I felt kind of weird being in Micah’s little home. After all, I’d only met him yesterday. But I was also curious to see where he lived. How he lived. He left me in the small living room with it
s adjoining kitchen while he went into the bedroom. He didn’t bother to close the door, and it was all I could do to not follow and watch. Instead I poked around a little, though there wasn’t much to see. The owners had obviously furnished the place, and whatever personal belongings Micah possessed, they weren’t out on display.

  Just as he grumbled something incomprehensible then turned the shower on, the knob of his front door wiggled. My breath caught, but before I could move, the door swung open. A tall woman, only a little older than me, wearing a bikini top and a beach towel around her waist, stood in the doorway. She sucked in a breath and glared at me with slits for eyes and fists on her hips.

  “Like, who the hell are you and what are you doing in my house?” she demanded.

  Chapter 16

  So Micah had a girlfriend. And not just a girlfriend, but a live-in girlfriend. Awesome. Totally fucking awesome. So much for him being all alone. His entire sob story was probably a crock of dung.

  “I don’t need this,” I muttered as I headed for the door. But the woman wouldn’t move.

  “What? You think you’re gonna, like, mosey on outta here without an explanation?” she said. “Think again!”

  “Geez, take a chill pill. I had no idea. Really.” I tried to shoulder my way past her so I could run far away from there before I either broke into sobs or busted my hand as I put it through something. I couldn’t believe how stupid I’d been. Of course someone like Micah had a girlfriend. He was no different than any other jerkoff who had his looks, playing me like the dumb, naïve girl I was. And it didn’t help that she had a perfect body with bodacious curves and honey-colored, smooth-as-silk skin bared for all to admire. I wanted to put my hand through her.

  When she shoved me back inside, I almost did.

  “You think I’m, like, stupid or something?” she nearly yelled. “Nobody steals from me and walks away from it!”

  My hands balled into fists at my sides, and I was about to take a swing.

  “Who the hell are you?” Micah and the woman said at the same time.

  Wearing only a towel around his waist and dog tags, he stood dripping wet in the bedroom doorway, and oh my god, was he a sight to see. But I was certainly glad I wasn’t on the receiving end of the glare he had for this woman. Okay, I’ve misjudged things. But if she wasn’t his live-in girlfriend, who was she?

  “Did you just, like, take a shower in my house?” the woman screeched.

  Micah strode several paces toward her. “You mean my house.”

  “Excuse me? I’m so sure!” Her eyes traveled down Micah’s wet body and up again, and her voice went from salty to sweet. “I, like, think I know where I live, but if you’d, like, want to stay . . .” Oh, gag me. Then she looked over at me and back at him. “Just put the dog out first.”

  I flew at the woman, but Micah’s arm darted out and wrapped around my waist. Oh, my god, I was up against his nearly naked body. The woman’s eyes narrowed, and she made a sound of disgust.

  “I suggest you leave,” Micah said, his voice low and threatening. “You have no right coming into my place and treating my guest like this.”

  The woman lifted an eyebrow. “Leave? Are you kidding? You both need to leave my place, or I’ll call the cops. Or better yet.” She turned and glanced out the still open door. “Here comes my Aunt Gracie. You, like, totally don’t want to mess with her.”

  Micah’s arm around me loosened but didn’t let go. “Grace Jones? She’s your aunt?”

  The woman recoiled with surprise. “You know her?”

  “Of course. I’m watching her house for her. Taking care of the grounds.”

  The woman chuckled and rolled her eyes. “I’m so sure. Are you high or something?”

  “Martha? I heard all kinds of racket in here. What’s all the fuss about?” An older woman, about sixty years old and the kind of soft and plump you wanted to hug, appeared in the doorway. “Oh. Who’s this handsome young man? You didn’t tell me you met anyone.”

  “I haven’t,” Martha said through clenched teeth as she folded her arms over her chest. “I, like, came home and found her in here and he was taking a shower in my bathroom.”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Jones,” Micah said, “there must be some kind of misunderstanding.”

  The older woman tilted her head as she peered at us. “Do I know you?”

  Micah’s arm completely released me, and he took a step forward, holding his hand out. “Yes, ma’am. I’m Micah Humphrey. You hired me to take care of your place for the summer, remember? We met in March.”

  Mrs. Jones smiled and shook Micah’s hand. “You’re right. There must be some misunderstanding.” Both Micah and I relaxed. “Martha’s my only house sitter. The only person I’d ever trust. I’ve never met you before in my life, young man. I think I would remember. You’re very handsome and charming.”

  “Ma’am, I assure you we’ve met before. Angie introduced us, remember?”

  “Angie?” Mrs. Jones’ eyes glassed over for a moment, then she shook her head. “No, I’m afraid I don’t know an Angie. I’m sorry for whatever misunderstanding there is here, but you must leave now, young man.”

  “Mrs. Jones—” Micah began.

  The sweet old lady pulled her glasses down her nose and peered over them, looking Micah squarely in the eyes. “Put some clothes on and get out of here now. If you do so quietly, I won’t call the police. I see you’re a soldier and not pressing charges for breaking and entering is my way of thanking you for your service. Do you understand?” She pushed her glasses up her nose and smiled sweetly again, though her eyes meant business.

  Micah stared at her in disbelief for a long moment. Then his gaze went to Martha, and then came to me. He gave me an infinitesimal shake of his head before turning on his heel and heading for the bedroom.

  “Excuse me,” I said softly. “I’m totally sorry for . . . this.”

  I made a beeline out the door and for the truck, but then I wasn’t sure what to do. The old me would have kept on walking. My place was only about a mile away, and a walk on the beach sure sounded better than listening to excuses of a psycho who had been mooching off some poor old lady, living in her guesthouse without her even knowing it.

  But things were different now. My life had become a Rubik’s cube, with new twists and turns every day creating a bigger, unsolvable mess. My own best friend and roommate had denied knowing me, so how hard was it to believe an old woman who’d met Micah only once would have forgotten him? Except she wasn’t that old and seemed to have her wits about her. And Micah was definitely unforgettable.

  “It starts with the people you know and love, and before long, your whole existence will be completely forgotten by this world.” The shadow-man’s words echoed in my mind.

  I had to give Micah the benefit of the doubt. After all, we were apparently in this together.

  “Thank God you’re still here,” Micah said as he came jogging up to the truck, a huge army-green duffle bag in his hand. He swung it over the side of the bed and dropped it into the back. “I thought you would have booked by now.”

  “Oh, I was tempted.”

  He came around to my side of the truck and placed a hand on each of my cheeks. “I have no idea what just went down, but I’m going to find out. I need to make a phone call. Please believe me, Jace. I’m not some weirdo breaking into people’s houses and lying about it.”

  His eyes told me his truth. “This is totally bogus, whatever’s going on, but, yeah, I believe you.”

  He pulled me into his arms, and my heart went into overdrive.

  “Thank you,” he said with a breath of relief. He kissed the top of my head, then let me go and opened my door for me. “We’ll go to the library first. I can use the pay phone there to call Angie. She was my last foster mother, the one who told me about M
rs. Jones. They’d been friends for years, according to Angie. Maybe she can explain what’s going on.”

  When Micah tried to call her, though, her line had been disconnected. He called directory service for her state and all the ones surrounding it. Realizing he was grasping at straws, he slammed the phone into its cradle, making the bell ding. He braced his hands on the side of the phone booth, and his head hung as he glared at the ground. His jaw muscle twitched.

  “Micah, don’t have a cow, but I have something to tell you,” I said from right outside the folding door, and he looked over his shoulder at me with anger sparking in his eyes.

  The events from this morning might piss him off even more, which I didn’t exactly want to do, but he needed to know. What had happened to me was apparently happening to him. I told him all about my phone call with Bex and then what the Billy Idol dude’s voice had said afterward.

  “What the hell does that mean?” he growled.

  I could only shrug, because, like with everything else going on, I had no idea.

  “Well, let’s see if we can find out.” He pushed out of the phone booth and strode for the library’s front doors.

  As soon as we walked inside, I drew in a deep breath, loving the musty fragrance of old books and leather bindings. But this little place resembled a home library compared to the one at school. The university library had several floors of nothing but books, with a few computers in one section for students to write papers, although I never used them. The machines scared me, except for the one where I could look up books by author or subject and the screen would tell me what section the book was in, which was pretty convenient. Here, they only had the standard card catalog. And not much of a selection, especially non-fiction. So much for doing extensive research.