“Her tongue was cut out for givin’ the preacher attitude,” Eighty-two nodded her head towards Ninety-seven. “Better watch how you talk.”
“How should I talk to him then?” Celia fumed. “Should I shut my mouth and wait to die? Turn out like you?”
They turned their eyes to her, pitiful and tortured yet in them Celia saw a weakness that she wouldn’t allow to take over her own spirit.
“Look at you. You’re dead already,” she trembled, fighting back the urge to cry. “I’m NOT dying this way!”
“What happened to you during his sermon? Did you have a seizure?” Eighty-two asked.
“I saw a highway of stars, and myself walking towards me.”
“Yourself?” old Sixty-eight asked.
“My spirit, I guess.” Celia answered. “I think it was a sign… tryin’ to tell me somethin’”
“What’s your plan then?”
“To make it to that highway. Or die tryin’.”
CHAPTER SIX
ESCAPE
Jackie kept her arms above her head as the girl had instructed. The look of fear on Javier’s face broke her heart. She watched as Casey held a pen to the orderly’s throat and guided him down the hallway.
She thought how unlucky it was that it was only twenty minutes until the start of Cameron’s shift. He would surely have been able to help. The orderly downstairs, Philip, was in poor shape and far too old to try to physically restrain the deranged young woman.
Jackie looked down the alarm button on her desk. She had been told that, if she pushed it, Casey would drive the pen right into the main artery in Javier’s throat. She was ashamed to feel worried about what Dr. Greenburg might say after the reprimand she had received for her workers making poor judgement calls twenty-four hours prior, and now one of those same employees was being held hostage by one of the patients that her supervisor had noted in the meeting as being neglected.
The whole situation was a shit-storm. She would be lucky to get to keep her job when it was all said and done. She watched on the security camera as Casey forced Javier out into the parking lot before she brought her shaking hand down to activate the alarm. She hesitated and took a deep breath. The police would be there in minutes to start what was more than likely the end of her employment at the facility.
****
He found Allan sitting on a park bench beside the man-made lake. Allan sat with his back to the old man. He didn’t have to speak. The other wanderer could feel his energy from down the street.
“I wondered how long it would take you to come talk to me.”
“You know you have broken the rules, Al,” the old man spoke as he brought a can of chewing tobacco from his back pocket.
“So have you,” Allan answered, turning his eyes up to Byron.
“We each have our own sanctuaries to do as we please with what we were granted. It’s not your business what happens there.”
“We are still human, Byron.”
“That’s where you are all wrong. We are more than human,” Byron answered.
Allan heard it in the old man’s voice, a feeling of superiority, a dangerous thing to possess when wielding the power to travel between the worlds.
“Do you hurt people in your desert?” Allan asked.
“Why don’t you pay me a visit and find out,” the old man answered, spitting a thick mouthful of chew out on the ground at Allan’s feet.
“Is that an invitation?”
“Damn right it is,” Byron answered as he walked back to his car.
Allan could feel the rumble of the engine in his rib cage as the old man pressed the pedal to the floor. Fear struck him like cold needles in his spine.
He contemplated calling a meeting of the other wanderers. Breaking boundaries was strictly prohibited, but since he had been openly invited, they couldn’t punish him for going to the church in the other desert.
The young man had been studying the many disappearances on a certain stretch of highway, the victims vanished into thin air. It just so happened to be in the old man’s designated territory.
Byron was an elder among their kind, well respected for his power and known for meticulously adhering to the laws—specifically those regarding privacy. It made Allan think of all the serial killers in the real world… how they fit the old man’s description perfectly. Allan knew for sure that only one other traveler would even consider his suspicions… someone who hated Allan almost as much as he hated Byron.
****
Javier drove southward, knowing soon that law enforcement would be looking for anyone driving a car fitting the description of this one. Night would only protect them so much, and by morning the highways would be crawling with patrol cars, searching for the poor orderly who had been abducted by a patient at a mental health facility.
“We’re almost there,” he spoke over his shoulder.
Casey was laying in the back seat, covering herself with a jacket he left back there in case of rainy weather.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“My grandmother’s house,”
“Aren’t you afraid of me… that I’m schizophrenic or possessed?”
“There are many people in this world that are mistaken as such, but really they have a sensitivity to energies that others are numb to.”
“How can you tell the difference?”
“Because, it feels differently when I encounter those kinds of people,” he answered. “Many people called me crazy at one time and I believed them until my grandmother and her brother showed me how to live with what I am. You will find a way to control this… to find yourself again.”
She was silent for a long time before she whispered, “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. Not until you get your answers.”
****
Alba pulled open the door to see her grandson with another person who was wrapped in a thick coat even though it was summer. She gave Javier a puzzled look, but allowed them inside. He quickly began speaking to her in whispered sentences. Casey recognized that he was speaking in Spanish. The elderly woman had no teeth and her face was deeply wrinkled, yet she fired back with a spirit of someone years younger, even lifting her bony hand once to slap him across the cheek. Javier looked to Casey. She was frightened, but he waved her apprehension away as the old woman beckoned them to follow her deeper into her small house.
“She’s always this way,” he said, rubbing his cheek.
“Take a seat while I stash the car. Don’t worry, she only slaps people that she knows,” Javier said, showing Casey to the couch.
Javier wasn’t gone long, but it felt like an eternity with the old woman staring at Casey, her gaze invading the young woman, making her stomach twist. The room in which they sat, was dimly lit by a single lamp on a corner table beside Javier’s grandmother, its light accentuating how frail and wrinkled she was. Her hooked nose reminded Casey of the stereotypical depictions of witches made popular at Halloween. She was only lacking the green skin. Her companion returned after parking his car in the old woman’s garage and locking the door.
“Won’t they look for you here?” Casey asked.
“No, actually, the cops won’t even know she is my grandmother… she lives in the shadows,” he answered.
Casey looked to him in confusion, thinking he was referring to her having a lifestyle in the arts of dark magic.
“She’s not here legally,” he whispered as he took a seat beside Casey. “That’s why she doesn’t trust you being here.”
“Tell her she can trust me. I promise. I won’t say anything.”
The grandmother nodded.
“Thank you for helping me,” Casey said.
She was growing dizzy and nausea was building in her gut. Casey knew when her other self was preparing to communicate, she would speak to her soon.
The grandmother stood and beckoned them to follow her.
“Come,” she said.
It was her only attempt at English the
entirety of Casey’s visit but Javier was there to be an interpreter, and, as Casey came to find out, a guide into the planes of her spirit and mind.
****
Celia was startled awake by a hand gripping her shoulder. Ninety-seven hovered over her with a frantic look in her eyes. She was the youngest of the brides besides Celia. Her dark hair was going silver at the roots and the number carved in her forehead was large and jagged; she had fought hard against the marking.
A low growl raised the hair on Celia’s arms. The hound was in a foul mood. It stalked down the center of the church with all the hair along its back on end like a black ridge. Ninety-seven helped Celia to her feet and they scrambled up onto the seat of the closest pew. She looked across the room to see the other two women doing the same thing. Sixty-eight held her finger to her lips, signaling to remain silent.
Celia felt dizzy, her body weakened from the episodes she had been plagued with since entering the church. Her spirit was crying to break free of the old stranger and the bloody sanctuary he used to hide the devil beneath his skin.
The dog began to bark at the window. The night was black beyond it. A screeching answered the hound’s warning.
Ninety-seven held onto Celia, trembling as Celia kept her gaze fixed on the view outside. Something raked against the thin wooden wall sending the dog into a frenzy of violent growling and gnashing teeth. Celia looked to Sixty-eight. She was cradling Eighty-two, her eyes wide. She just kept shaking her head and putting her finger to her lips.
A scraping at the windowpane caused Ninety-seven to cling to Celia, making her turn in curious horror to see what would possibly frighten a dog who had been raised on eating human flesh.
CHAPTER SEVEN
SPIRIT VINE
Two yellow orbs hovered there, and a misshapen head blocked out the light of the moon hanging over the other desert. Around the orbs, she could make out a dark, vaguely human face. As her eyes focused, the being shrieked—a high-pitched wail of something ravenous. Its face twisted into a malevolent smile, revealing a maw of yellow fangs. Holding her gaze, it brought a bony hand up to scratch its nails against the window.
The dog retreated beneath the nearest bench, its tail tucked between its legs. It kept its teeth bared, but stopped its growling and barking. Ninety-seven put her hand over Celia’s mouth, and they held their breath as the creature just beyond the thin barrier stared hungrily in at them. Shrieks echoed out beyond the other walls of the church, dark faces came to peer in at the tortured women inside.
****
Javier motioned for Casey to sit beside him on the grass in the backyard. She was exhausted. The night was now winding down and the horizon was violet with approaching dawn. The old woman spoke in Spanish and Javier translated to Casey who didn’t understand any of it, even in English.
“She says you are only half of a soul. That is why your life has been nothing but unhappiness ever since your birth.”
“She can see that just by looking at me?”
Casey was dressed in the thin hospital-provided pants and smock. They reminded her of scrubs that the nurses wore, only thinner and in a light beige color. Her feet were covered only in socks. She couldn’t argue with the old woman’s assessment.
“She can feel it,” he answered.
“How will I ever get better if I was born this way?” Casey asked.
“She has seen others like you. You are very rare in this world. She wants to help you find the highway of stars.”
Grandmother continued to ramble while she made her way into her house, speaking through an open window to the kitchen.
“You have to find the half that you lost,” Javier said.
“How will I do that?”
“She has a way,” he answered. “I will travel with you.”
“Where are we going?”
Javier hesitated for a moment then brought his finger up and placed it on her forehead. The wound there stung at his touch. Casey understood, but it frightened her.
“You won’t be alone,” he reassured her. “My grandmother is a shaman of sorts, experienced with things people like Dr. Greenburg could never comprehend.”
Casey could smell something coming from the open kitchen window. It smelled foul, like a smoldering refuse fire.
“We are going to find that highway in the stars. Your other self is there. That’s where you will finally feel whole.”
“Did you have it as bad as me?” she asked.
“You told me that you had to be shown how to live with what you really are.”
“You are much more sensitive than I am, but I subdued mine with drug addiction. I had two battles to fight, but in the end, I gained control of myself.”
“How?” Casey asked, but something within her told her it had something to do with the vile smell coming from the kitchen.
“Ayahuasca, the spirit vine,” he answered.
****
Allan felt him approaching, an energy that rivaled Byron’s in ferocity, like a gathering storm, only it was tempered by his calm demeanor. Benjamin Hall stood well over six feet tall. His muscular build and dark skin often earned him sidelong looks from his neighbors. If they truly knew him, as Allan did, they would not be able to thank him enough for his service to them. He strolled up to Allan’s car, his face placid yet the energy emanating from him was rife with warning.
“Allan,” he spoke.
“Big Ben,” Allan replied.
“What brings you here? You know about the boundaries.”
“I wouldn’t have come all the way up here if I didn’t think it was serious. I won’t stay long.”
Benjamin nodded, assessing the fair-haired younger man. He was a coward. Benjamin knew it, but his conclusion had nothing to do with Allan’s feeble frame and soft hands… it had everything to do with his heart.
“Need help huntin’ them again?” Benjamin asked.
“Not exactly.”
A car on the street slowed to nearly a stop, the passengers inside staring out at Benjamin and the blue car he leaned against. They were his neighbors across the street—typical nosy older folks—both looked as though they expected to see Benjamin slinging bags of crack into the window of Allan’s car.
“Come inside,” Benjamin said, glaring at them as they parked and hurried into their house. “If they only knew the things I’ve done for them, they wouldn’t be lookin’ down their noses at me.”
He showed his guest to a seat in the kitchen and laughed, “They all probably think I’m a rapper or something.”
Ben’s home wasn’t the largest on the street, yet it was hundred times more luxurious than anything Allan had ever lived in. The neighborhood was tucked into the forests of northern Arizona. It was pricy, but to Benjamin it represented a place he had always dreamed of living in. It was also more than three hours from Allan’s territory and over four hours from the old preacher, Byron.
“People! They have no idea,” Allan said.
“I think you have forgotten, too.” Benjamin’s words stung Allan but he knew better than to add any fuel to the fire.
“Why are you here?” Benjamin asked.
“What would you say if I told you one of our own could be a threat to those in the real world?”
“I’d say I need proof, not speculation. One hundred and fifty percent proof.”
Allan nodded, “If I show you that proof, what will you do?”
“Same I do to those others,” he answered. “Stop playing games with me.”
“It’s Byron. I’ve been doing some research…”
“Did that involve goin’ into his territory?” Benjamin interrupted.
“Not yet,” Allan answered. “But he gave me an invitation.”
“Tell me more about your suspicions before I even consider traveling.”
“Do you know how many hitchhikers and other people have disappeared on his stretch of highway?”
“Coulda been picked up by truckers… so what?” Benjamin sighed.
&nb
sp; “No. They just vanish into thin air, seemingly,” Allan said. “Look it up, the authorities are calling him the invisible man.”
“Still not enough to go on. We all have our own territories. Been that way forever. It’s not our business what goes on there.”
“That law doesn’t refer to rape or murder. You know that,” Allan spoke. “Those missing are mostly women, stretching back into the sixties. How long has Byron been in control of that territory?”
“About that long.” Benjamin scratched his chin and ran his massive hand over his face, “What do you think we should do?”
“I’m accepting his invitation. If I don’t contact you again, you will have your answer.”
“Why are you being so reckless? Tryin’ to atone for not being there when I needed you the most?” Benjamin asked.
Allan didn’t know how to reply other than looking at his feet, the wounds he left in the past clearly had not healed, they hadn’t even begun to scab over.
“I can’t change that. If I don’t come back, you know where to find me, in the old man’s church.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
PRISONERS
“Hadn’t seen any of them in years,” Eighty-two spoke after sitting in silence for hours. The things at the windows had fled as the sun rose over the other desert. The women were rattled and exhausted. Celia felt her hopes of escape were crushed by knowing what dwelled beyond the torturous church.
“He’s afraid of them too. I think that’s why he don’t stay too long out here… something in him draws them to him.” Sixty-eight said, carrying over a filthy plastic gallon jug. The preacher had left it there for the women to keep from dying of thirst. Always just enough to wet their tongues, but never enough for a proper bath or anything else. Celia accepted it, only to keep herself strong enough until she got suicidal enough to attempt crossing the desert.
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