The Homecoming

by Alan Russell

  Down, down the rabbit hole they went. The mad world opened up to them, and they fell in. They saw the universe around them as she had, felt as she had, felt as she did.

  The words came, and with them, images―haunted and gaunt faces, so many faces, and all of them tired and worn from a senseless grind.

  “Going nowhere,” sang Stella, “going nowhere.”

  The figures were in a hurry, but none knew where they were going. There was only the milling of the directionless.

  “No tomorrow,” sang Stella, “no tomorrow.”

  It was a dream; it was reality. It was alien; it was the state of humanity. Everyone wanted something greater, but they were tethered to fathomless despair. The listeners were forced to hear beyond the words. They were not allowed to be passive. Some reached for the light; some were too afraid and sobbed into their hands. The song was about them; the song was in them.

  And then Stella sang of dreaming and offered her confession, telling them the dreams in which she was dying were the best she’d ever had. And with her words she took them into her dreams, and into her dying, and into the death flights she had experienced.

  She offered the universe but demanded mortal payment; she showed them that death was but another journey. Some were terrified of dying, or of her; some wanted nothing more than to board the flight to the beyond. For those who could think outside their soon-to-be-cast-off shells, the universe opened, and they saw a distant port, and one beyond that, and another.

  And in the audience, the listeners cried not so much at the thought of death, but at Stella’s bringing them back to the life they knew, and to their mad world.

  Stella experienced her first day of school, as did they. Her insecurities were displayed and felt and sung, but it wasn’t only Stella’s song; it was everyone’s song and everyone’s loneliness.

  “Hello teacher, tell me what’s my lesson?” sang Stella.

  Dr. Rommel stared at Stella through his thick lenses; Dr. Rommel stared at all of them. They were on the viewing end of his microscope but still not seen. The teacher was looking right through them. Did they even exist? Were they the frogs on the trays being dissected in a glance?

  And then, once more, Stella sang of her dreams of dying, but most in the audience now understood her exultation that came with such a dream: there were some places bodies could not go and were not meant to go. Those seeking incredible journeys needed to shed their baggage. And to do this they needed to aspire beyond a world gone mad, a world they reentered as Stella’s song came to an end.

  The music was done. The Piper’s tune was finished. For a long moment, the auditorium was silent, as if everyone inside it needed to take in a deep breath.

  And then all hell broke loose.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  A young man called to the passersby, doing his best to explain. “I know it sounded like me,” he yelled, “but that was the Mr. Hyde in my thoughts. And that’s where he stays, just in my thoughts. I’ll bet he’s in you, too. Yeah, I thought some things when she walked by. But they say guys my age think about sex every seven seconds. So what I was thinking was normal. How was I to know she was listening?”

  A different kind of awakening had been felt by another student; her soliloquy was offered more to herself than to those nearby.

  “I wanted to dance onstage tonight,” said the girl, “but I was afraid I would be laughed at. I was afraid of being judged by others and found wanting. But now I dance to the moon.” And around the school grounds, moving to the music she heard, she began to dance. No one laughed at her, and some even applauded. But she did not dance for others; she danced for herself.

  Near the auditorium steps, a young woman called out to everyone, and no one: “I didn’t actually say anything to her, not aloud, that is. Mental body shaming is different, isn’t it? Besides, the person I was really shaming was me. On that day I had bad cramps and felt bloated. When I get that way, I want to eat carbs, but I was on this diet. I hate diets. I hate having to try and fit into this school’s impossible body standards.”

  Her confession prompted another: “The emperor isn’t wearing any clothes!” screamed a wild-eyed boy. “The emperor isn’t wearing any clothes!”

  And then there was a third voice in the chorus: “You’re right! We think our secrets clothe us, but they don’t. I’m gay! You hear that? I’m gay!”

  Some did not need to shout. A girl marveled at the changes she felt. “My demons seemed so large,” she said softly, “but now I can see they’re small. They’re manageable. In the space of a single song, I have grown, and they have shrunk. I don’t know how that’s possible, but it is.”

  Peace for one, turmoil for another: “When is that song going to leave my head?” asked a girl. “What it says to me is ‘J’accuse! J’accuse! J’accuse!’ And my answer? ‘Guilty! Guilty! Guilty!’ But I would change my answer. Help me to change my answer.”

  “I didn’t want her song to end,” said a boy, speaking to a girl he’d always wanted to talk to but had never gotten up the nerve. “I wanted to beg her to keep playing. I wanted to get down on my knees and worship her. But I knew that wasn’t what she wanted. What I need to do is put that kind of love out to the world, even if it’s mad.”

  And the girl spoke to him, spoke to the boy she’d noticed, but never dared to say anything to. “And I am part of that mad world. I play my role in the grand illusion. I’m trying to get the perfect grades so I can get into the perfect school and lead the perfect life. But we’re all imperfect. Look at me. I have everything going for me, right? I’m almost seventeen, and I’ve never been kissed. I’m not looking for a perfect kiss, but someone who wants to kiss me.”

  “I want to kiss you,” said the boy.

  As close as they were, the space still seemed far. But each of their gravities brought the other in closer, and he extended his fingertips and orbited around her until their faces came together.

  This wasn’t Scarecrow’s first rodeo, but it felt like it. From the beginning, everything had been so nebulous. That was the exact right word. Things were cloudy, unclear. The root of nebulous was nebula, a far-off galaxy. That’s how the first Star Wars movie had opened: A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away. But this wasn’t supposed to be some space opera. Or was it? That was the problem. Scarecrow had never been told what Dorothy really was or how she should be dealt with. He had more background than the rest of his go team, but was still kept on a need-to-know basis.

  And Dorothy, it seemed, was one of those damn Russian nesting dolls. You kept opening one doll after another, and the surprises never seemed to end. This, what they were dealing with now, was the aftermath of just one song. How was it that a single song could result in so much chaos? The shit had hit the fan big-time.

  His phone rang, as he’d known it would. “How bad are things?” asked the Guardian of the Gates.

  “Dorothy’s song caused a near riot,” said Scarecrow in a tone that was in no way apologetic. They certainly hadn’t been warned that her singing a song might be problematic. “You’ll need to do all sorts of damage control from your end.”

  “Where is Dorothy now?”

  “Auntie Em and Uncle Henry were in the audience monitoring her, but they were part of the fallout. When both of them became disoriented, Dorothy disappeared. We’re tracking her cell phone now. It shows she’s still in the immediate area. We’re trying to reach her through that, and we’ve also got ears on the boyfriend, who is trying to track her down. The two of them came to the show together, so it’s likely she’ll be contacting him.”

  “Call me when you have her in sight,” he said. “There is a new development from our end. Because Sir Hocus was making noise, we were afraid his inquiries might alert Jinnicky. That’s why we decided to bring him in. The Wizard will be talking with him shortly.”

  Sir Hocus, Scarecrow reminded himself, was Congressman Pierce. It was getting so you needed a goddamn program. Scarecrow was sick of all the Oz names. He was beginn
ing to feel like he was in fucking Oz. Any minute now he’d see flying monkeys.

  “It’s essential we get Dorothy in our sights posthaste and make sure of her safety.”

  “I understand,” said Scarecrow. “But you should know one more thing. Shaggy was in the audience. Her song apparently set him off big-time.”

  “Shit,” said the Guardian. “Could he be with Dorothy?”

  “No,” said Scarecrow. “Reports are that he’s still on the high school grounds.”

  “Find her! Find out what she’s up to. And call me as soon as you have her in your sights.”

  The line went dead.

  Stella emerged from behind a eucalyptus tree. She had used evasive tactics to distance herself from Guy Wilkerson. After her song she had heard his howling. He’d been like a wild animal baying at the moon. She’d thought she could escape the auditorium unseen, but he’d come running after her. Stella had gone in and out of buildings, and then doubled back. As an extra precaution ,she’d run from one eucalyptus tree to another, hiding in the shadows of the trees and making sure she wasn’t being followed.

  “Excuse me,” Stella said, interrupting a young man opening his car door.

  When he saw who had called to him, the boy gaped. “It’s you,” he said.

  “I’m Stella,” she said.

  “I know. I’m Brad. Brad Pickering. I was there. I saw you.”

  “I’m wondering if you can give me a ride, Brad.”

  He nodded enthusiastically, his head bobbing up and down. “Oh yes,” he said. “I’d be honored.”

  Brad ran around to the passenger side and opened the door for her. After Stella sat down, he closed the door behind her.

  When he sat down in the driver’s seat, Brad said, “Wow. I can’t believe it’s you.” Then he shook his head and showed her his trembling hands. “I’m feeling kind of overwhelmed by your presence. Having you here is, like, mind-blowing.”

  “What year are you in school?” asked Stella.

  “I’m a senior,” he said. “I know your brother, but we’re not friends or anything. I mean, we run in different circles. I’m kind of in the nerd group.”

  “That’s kind of where I am, too,” said Stella.

  Brad started laughing.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Nerd group?” he said. “You’re in a league of your own. Your song was like nothing I’ve ever experienced. I saw. I felt. It was mind-altering. It was mind-expanding. You know what I was wondering while walking to my car? I was thinking you might be God.”

  “I am no more God than you are.”

  Brad started his car and turned to Stella, but he couldn’t quite meet her eyes.

  “You gave me the stars,” he said. “Where can I take you?”

  Luke tried to fight down his panic as he did another loop around the auditorium. Where was Stella? Had that stalker gotten to her? Or had she decided to go away on her own?

  Stella’s song had been a revelation to Luke, and he was pretty sure he knew her better than anyone. With her words, he had felt so many things weighing on her. She had returned home a stranger, and instead of home sweet home, she had been a stranger in a strange land.

  He looked at his phone. She still hadn’t responded to his texts and phone messages. He wondered whether he should leave another.

  Luke thought about going over to the parking lot again. He’d been there five minutes ago, looking to see if she was waiting there for him. Of course he wasn’t the only one at loose ends. Everything and everyone had gone crazy after Stella’s song. Even now, people were acting as if they didn’t quite know what to do. Some in the audience had cheered until their voices gave out; others had sat contemplatively; some looked lost; some acted hypnotized. No one left the performance untouched. The audience was still milling around. Everyone seemed to have the need to talk about what they’d seen.

  Something caught Luke’s eye. There was a crowd gathered around two policemen. His first thought was that something had happened to Stella, but that was before he saw Tiffany talking to the cops.

  “I think she must have used some kind of aerosol drug on all of us,” Tiffany told them.

  She turned her head, looking for support from the Y-Girls, but none of the others said anything. They all looked dazed; they were certainly not alone in that.

  “I thought you claimed that this Stella Pierce was involved in an assault and battery,” said the officer with the notepad and pen.

  “She threatened me backstage,” said Tiffany. Once more she looked for backing from the Y-Girls, but they remained silent. “And if you look around, you can see lots of people are still tripping out. There’s no way that could have happened if she hadn’t drugged everyone. I think it must have been LSD or something like that.”

  Luke thought about stepping in, but judging from the skeptical cops, he didn’t see the need. It was clear they thought they were wasting their time.

  He moved away from the circle of onlookers. He thought about calling Michael or Mrs. Pierce. Stella had asked Michael to do her a favor and stay home with their mother while she performed at the talent show—she hadn’t wanted her mother to feel she had to protect her. As far as Eleanor Pierce knew, Stella was at a school function with Luke. That was true enough. But it was also a lie, Luke knew, enough for Mrs. Pierce to freak out if she knew Stella was missing.

  His phone chimed, signaling an incoming text. Luke’s heart skipped a beat when he saw Stella was the sender. He read her text and then looked at its accompanying picture.

  I love you, Luke. You will always have my heart. I know it would not be fair to ask you to go with me, so I will not be selfish. Leaving you breaks my heart. I wish our circumstances were different, and that we were not star-crossed.

  Star-crossed, thought Luke. Wasn’t that some Romeo and Juliet kind of crap? It meant destiny, or the stars, were conspiring against you. It meant their relationship was doomed. Bullshit. He wasn’t going to accept that. Her heart wasn’t enough. He needed her.

  I love you, he texted, and the stars have nothing to do with us. Where are you?

  As he awaited her response, he studied the picture she’d sent. The image showed white stones formed into a heart.

  Moonstones, Luke realized. And then he knew where she was. And he was also afraid Stella wasn’t going to text back. She had offered him a final farewell.

  He began to run toward the parking lot. Moonlight Beach was about a fifteen-minute drive away. But he needed to be there sooner than that. A thought came to him, perhaps inspired by the cops he’d seen. He slowed down to a walk and flipped through his phone contacts, hoping the contact number he’d been given as a kid, and had kept over the years, still worked.

  Luke found the contact’s name and hit “Dial.” The call went through; the number seemed good.

  “Pick up, pick up,” he said.

  Luke’s wish was answered: “Cheever.”

  “Hi, this is Luke Hart. I’m—”

  “I know who you are, Luke.”

  “It’s Stella,” he said. “Something happened tonight, and she took off. I think I know where she is, though. We were supposed to go to Moonlight Beach tonight. I’m on my way there now, but I remember you once told me you lived in Leucadia—”

  “I’m five minutes from Moonlight,” said Cheever. “I’ll go look for her now.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  It was a good thing he’d spotted Surfer Boy and followed him. If he hadn’t, Stella might have slipped through his grasp. But she wasn’t going to get away from him again, thought Wilkerson.

  After Stella gave him the slip, he’d noticed Surfer Boy and managed to stay close to him. Wilkerson had thought she might contact him. And she had. Then Wilkerson had heard the kid call some friend and give up her location. That’s all he needed.

  Wilkerson’s electric bike didn’t have the speed of a car, but it was a lot more mobile, and he didn’t have to worry about red lights or stop signs. He pushed the bike to its
limits, traveling from the side streets to the Coast Highway and back. With all the stops and starts on the 101, it was possible he might even beat Surfer Boy to Moonlight Beach.

  And even if he didn’t, wasn’t it the case that sometimes it was the last mouse that got the cheese? Wilkerson had no doubt he’d find Stella. They had their special connection, after all.

  He went shooting by the Self-Realization Center. It was a large compound full of gardens, compounds, and meditation centers. All the locals called it Swami’s. The monks there taught yoga and meditation, and followed the teachings of some guru. Wilkerson wasn’t interested in the koan What is the sound of one hand clapping? No, tonight what interested him more was the sound of one hand killing.

  Cheever cruised through Moonlight Beach’s upper parking lot. There were only a few cars there, and Stella wasn’t to be seen. The cop knew the parking lot had a ten o’clock curfew, but the beach itself only officially closed between 2:00 a.m. and 4:00 a.m. to discourage transients from sleeping there.

  He drove toward the sand and parked at the end of B Street. After Luke’s call, he’d jumped in his car, not even bothering to change, barely pausing long enough to get Rachel’s kiss and blessing. His penny loafers weren’t exactly beachwear. Cheever thought about taking off his shoes and rolling up his khaki pants, but then decided to hell with it. The boy had made it sound like every second counted.

  The beach facilities were all but deserted. There was no one on the playground or the three volleyball courts. The snack shack had been closed for hours, and the barbecues and fire pits were deserted, save for a few distant stragglers who were warming their hands over a fire. Cheever thought about going over to question them, then thought better of it. Stella would either be at the beach or not.

  He jogged down to the sand, and looked first to the south, and then to the north. The moonlight offered good visibility; he could see the lights of Del Mar on the point to the south, and the Carlsbad power plant to the north. No people were nearby; both stretches of beach looked equally deserted.