by Brian Harmon
“That’s right.”
“How can you not be sleepy after being awake for over thirty years?”
Eric closed his eyes and leaned back against the seat. He couldn’t very well be annoyed. For days after his return from his journey through the fissure, he’d sat and talked with Isabelle on the phone, asking her all of these very same questions, trying to grasp the curious nature of her condition. Patiently, he explained, “Because time doesn’t affect her body. She’s in the exact same physical condition she was in when she first disappeared. She wasn’t hungry because she’d recently eaten. She wasn’t thirsty. She wasn’t tired. Her body has basically been on pause ever since that moment.”
“But she can move around and talk.”
“She’s aware of the passage of time, but not affected by it.”
“That’s confusing.”
“So are combustion engines, but your car still works.”
“Touché, Monsieur Smarty-Pants.”
“Is there anything else?”
“Does she breathe?”
In the background, Eric heard Karen say, “Okay, quit hogging my husband.”
“Okay, fine…”
Eric heard the phone change hands and then Karen’s voice took over. “How’s it going?”
“It’s going. I’ll say that.”
“Any idea what’s going on, yet?”
“A little. Not much. Found out how Aiden disappeared six years ago.”
“Really?”
Eric told her about the restaurant, but he didn’t describe any of the encounters he had inside. He didn’t want to worry her by admitting that he’d been shot at. He could fill her in on that later. Maybe.
“That’s insane! I’ve been in there hundreds of times.”
“I know. Me too.”
“What are you doing now?”
“We’re going to try to find that apartment again. Hopefully, I’ll have some answers soon.”
“That’s good. Let me know what you find.”
“I will.”
“Say hi to Brooke for me.”
“Funny.”
“It is. By the way, Diane really wants to know what’s going on between Paul and Rose?”
Eric grinned and held the phone out to Paul. “It’s for you.”
“What? Why does she want to talk to— Aw man!”
Eric laughed. “Take it.”
“No! I’m not taking that phone. I’m not talking about that stupid manikin.”
Putting the phone back to his ear, Eric said, “Paul says, ‘No comment.’”
“He’s no fun.”
“I know.”
“We so want to know what happened. I just know it’s funnier than Gertie described it.”
“It was. Maybe Isabelle will tell you all about it.”
“Oh, do you think she would?”
“I’ll bet she would.”
“Oh… Hold on… Oh, that’s her on the call waiting!” Clearly, Isabelle was more than eager to talk about it. “Bye!”
Eric hung up the phone and looked over at Paul, still grinning.
Paul scowled back at him. “I hate all of you. You know that, right?”
Eric grinned. “Oh. That reminds me. That fat cowboy thinks you’re a transsexual named Kenny.”
“What?”
“Just a heads up.”
Paul was completely flustered now. “How…? Why would…? Come on! How does something like that even come up? I mean, really.”
Eric laughed and leaned back in the seat as Paul muttered grumpily to himself.
Recalling his brief conversation with Diane, he cocked his head and wondered… Did Isabelle breathe?
He’d never thought about that before. He’d have to remember to ask her sometime when she wasn’t giggling with Karen and Diane over Paul’s embarrassing scene at The Creek Boutique.
Chapter Sixteen
Paul parked his truck in front of Big Brooke Tavern and the two of them stepped out into the sunshine. There was still no sign of the alley between it and Sheltie’s Pet Grooming.
“So how do you make it appear?”
Eric had no idea. Up until the gas station, these places had always just kind of appeared on their own. He wasn’t sure how he was able to see them.
In the gas station, however, he managed to find the hidden doorway by closing his eyes and feeling for it.
He walked over to the place where the two buildings met and examined them. There was a clear seam between the two. The layout and even the color of the bricks didn’t match. A clear line of mortar ran all the way from the foundation to the roof. But he knew there was a space between them. He’d already been inside it. Yet his eyes told him that was impossible.
Eric glanced around, making sure no one was near enough to see him behaving strangely, and then placed his hand on the tavern wall. Looking at that seam, it stood to reason that he couldn’t actually place his other hand on the wall of Sheltie’s. It should be physically impossible. He simply shouldn’t be able to reach that far.
He reached his hand out and placed it firmly against the wall.
So much for that theory.
Eric looked up at the two buildings. It didn’t make any sense. He knew there was something here. Back at that empty store, he’d been able to see the place even though Paul couldn’t, suggesting that it was like the Victorian mansion in downtown Seattle that Isabelle described. These places weren’t just sometimes here and sometimes not. It was just that most people couldn’t see them.
How then, could he not feel his way into this alley?
He walked all the way to the tavern door, dragging his hand along the brick, and then turned and walked all the way back to the door at Sheltie’s. Nothing. It wasn’t here.
Paul stood beside his truck and watched. When Eric seemed to be completely out of ideas, he said, “Wasn’t there a door inside the tavern?”
“There was. Then there wasn’t. It disappeared on me, just like the rest of it.”
“Well, maybe it’d be easier to find the door than the whole alley.”
“I don’t see what difference it would make.”
“I don’t see how an entire building can disappear in the first place.”
“I don’t know. It just did.”
“Well I say we go in and have a drink. You can think about it in the air conditioning.”
Eric looked over at the tavern doors. He really didn’t want to go in there. He dreaded another encounter with Brooke Rufar. But Paul was right. There was nothing more they could do out here. For all he knew, the only way back in was through that metal door.
Paul didn’t wait for him to decide. He turned and walked straight to the front entrance.
Begrudgingly, Eric followed him.
The cell phone sang again. It was another of Karen’s friends. Eric returned it to his pocket without answering. He never thought he’d actually miss his stupid phone, but he was quickly tiring of hearing that song.
“I’m going to order a drink and find a table. You do whatever it is you have to do to find that door.”
Eric nodded and followed him into the tavern.
The atmosphere was completely different now. The lights were on, music was blaring and waitresses were bustling about. It was between the lunch and dinner crowds, so the place wasn’t packed, but it was impressively busy for the time of day. It felt like a different place altogether.
Paul walked straight up to the bar, where Leon with his big belly and long beard turned to greet him.
Eric turned left and walked around the room, pretending to admire the decorations. A quick glance at the little area in the back corner of the room revealed that there was still no door and he still had no idea how he was supposed to make it appear. He was beginning to wonder if these places only showed up at certain times of day or under specific conditions. Perhaps he’d only found them by chance. Worse still, perhaps he could only find these places once and then he could never go back.
He recalled returning t
o the PT Cruiser after his conversation with the Rufars and noticing that the upstairs windows had changed. The window with the plywood over it was gone and all of them had curtains that weren’t there when he was inside the apartment.
It didn’t make any sense.
He walked along the wall, examining the décor and glancing around at the people in the tavern. There were several bikers in the room, most of them clad in their typical bandanas and leather jackets, many of them sporting impressive facial hair, but there were also several men in business suits, two young couples and two families with young children. There was even a pair of elderly ladies sitting at a booth on the far side of the room.
He had to admit, for his first time venturing inside a biker bar (during business hours at least) he was a little bit disappointed. This was nothing like the movies.
He reached the little nook at the back corner and followed the wall around to where the metal door should have been. Three beefy-looking, middle-aged bikers were sitting at the table back here and complaining passionately about the current president.
Still making an effort to look like he was admiring the decorations, Eric dragged his fingers along the wall, feeling for something out of place.
But it was only a wall.
Eric moved on. He didn’t want to linger too long back here and draw the attention of the bikers. He didn’t think they’d like him very much. After all, he’d voted for the man they clearly wanted to see impeached.
The Spice Girls began singing in his pocket as he walked past a short, burly man with a long, gray ponytail. Eric clapped his hand over it, embarrassed, as the man looked over his shoulder at him, his eyes scanning him.
That was just great.
He fished it out of his pocket and answered it without looking at it, eager to shut the stupid thing up. “Hello,” he grumbled.
“It’s deeper!”
Eric was caught off guard. He’d forgotten about the mystery caller. “Who is this?”
“Everything gets twisted as it goes deeper…”
“I don’t understand.”
“Hurry! Death is coming sooner than I thought! Time is running out!”
“I still don’t—”
“Sixteen!”
“I don’t understand! Whose death? Aiden’s?”
But the mysterious caller was gone again. Eric looked down at the phone, confused. What did all that mean? Who was death coming for? What was deeper? What did he mean by twisted? And what did sixteen mean?
Returning it to his pocket, he turned and looked around the room again.
Having received his beer, Paul had retreated to a quiet booth and seated himself.
It seemed Eric had nowhere to go now but up to the bar.
At least it was Leon who was tending it this afternoon. That didn’t seem quite as uncomfortable as talking to the man’s flirty wife. But the thought had barely crossed his mind when he turned the corner and found Brooke standing there and Leon disappearing into the back room.
Resisting the urge to dive under the nearest table, Eric sighed and walked up to the bar.
Brooke turned to meet him and immediately gave him an enormous grin. “Look who’s back!” she boomed over the music. “Eric Fortrell! That was awful fast. Did you miss me?”
Eric gave her a bashful smile. “I finished all my errands a little early and had time to kill. I thought the least I could do for causing you guys trouble this morning was stop by and spend some money.”
“You were no trouble at all, honey.”
“You’re too nice.”
“Now you haven’t give me enough time yet to be too nice to you, sweetie,” she told him with a wink and a playful shake of her immense bosom. “You just got here.”
Eric opened his mouth, but couldn’t find any words to say to her.
Brooke gave him a hearty laugh and leaned over the table. “Did you bring me a pretty flower?”
Discomfort was inadequate to describe how this conversation was making him feel. “No, not today. Sorry.”
Brooke gave him a small pout and swept her eyes up and down him. Again, he felt like a rack of beef dangling in front of a hungry beast. “Maybe next time.”
“Maybe.”
Standing up to her impressive full height again, she said, “What can I get you?”
Eric ordered a beer.
While Brooke filled his order, he looked around and recalled something Diane had told him that morning. “I heard from a friend that this bar is haunted. Is that true?”
Brooke placed his beer in front of him and gave him another broad grin. There was a curious sparkle in her eyes and a strangely passionate purr in her voice as she replied, “It is.”
Eric placed his money on the bar. “What kind of things go on?”
“Footsteps, mostly. At night, after hours. We hear them upstairs while we’re cleaning up, but when we go up there it’s always empty. And at night when we’re in bed, we hear things downstairs. You’d swear someone was here, but there never is.”
He took a drink of the beer and said, “That’s strange.”
“It is. We also hear a man’s voice occasionally. Always from whatever floor we’re not on. And those lights above us move, too.”
Eric looked up at the light fixtures overhead. “Has it always been haunted?”
“No. Actually, it just started a few weeks ago. Before that, I don’t recall ever hearing or seeing anything unusual.”
Lifting the beer to his lips again, he said, “That’s really interesting.”
“Are you some kind of ghost hunter?”
“Me? No. I just like hearing stories is all.”
Leon emerged from the back room and walked over.
“Look who came back to see us,” boomed Brooke, gesturing at Eric.
Leon gave him an inquisitive look. “Back so soon?”
“He said the least he could do after causing us so much trouble this morning was come back and spend some money.”
“He wasn’t any trouble.”
“That’s what I told him.”
Eric felt like a child sitting there, with both hands clasped around his mug.
“I was telling him about our ghost,” Brooke went on.
“I don’t know that I believe in ghosts,” Leon declared, furrowing his brow in an amusingly disapproving expression. “Must be some other explanation for it all.”
“Maybe there is,” agreed Eric. “I just think it’s fun to share ghost stories.”
“I think so, too,” said Brooke. “What about you? Do you have any ghost stories of your own?”
You have no idea, thought Eric. Aloud, he only said, “I’m afraid not. It would be fun, though, if I did.”
“It would be,” said Brooke.
Eric took another long swallow from his beer and glanced back at the room. Paul was still sitting by himself, watching him. Turning forward again and lifting the beer, he said, “I should probably get going. I’ve got an appointment to keep this afternoon.”
“So soon,” pouted Brooke. Again, she bent over the counter, her cleavage hovering before his face.
Eric downed the rest of his beer and placed the mug back on the counter. “Yeah. I can’t be late. And I think I saw someone I know. I should say hi before I leave.”
“Well you come back soon, okay?”
“Sure,” said Eric. “I definitely will.”
“Bye, then.”
“See you later,” said Leon.
Eric nodded and turned away. As soon as he did, he saw a familiar figure standing in the doorway. A wide man in a cowboy hat had just entered the room.
Chapter Seventeen
Eric stepped behind a support column and a signboard advertising the week’s specials and tried to look like he was examining a framed black and white photograph of the USS Missouri.
What the hell was the cowboy doing here? He couldn’t blame the man for still being angry about that business with those metal kitchen trays, but how did he find him so quic
kly? How did he know he was here? Had he followed them? It couldn’t just be a coincidence. He had trouble believing anything was mere coincidence anymore.
Peering around the column, he saw that the fat man was making his way slowly around the far side of the bar, his chubby face turning slowly, scanning the room. Even from here, he could see the wide bandage pasted across the bridge of his nose.
It appeared that his aim had been surprisingly true back there.
The three bikers were still sitting at their table in the corner nook, still complaining. Now their topic had shifted to the economy as a whole and how that was a direct result of the ineptitude of the currently elected officials.
He stepped as inconspicuously as possible into the nook and examined a photograph of two dozen officers in formal dress.
The cowboy walked on, looking around. Even with that chubby waddle in his stride, he managed somehow to look sinister and not at all jolly. The tavern was busily decorated and crowded enough to make it difficult to pick out a single face, but Eric couldn’t stay out of sight forever.
There was no way he could get to the door without being seen. He needed another way out. Fast. But he still didn’t know how to make the door appear.
He faced the photograph again and closed his eyes. He had to calm himself. But calm didn’t come easy. This man had tried to kill him. He shot at him. He set terrifying monsters on him. Of all the people he’d ever met, this guy definitely ranked a top five in the category of most dangerous.
Surely he wouldn’t pull out his gun here, would he? Not in front of so many witnesses.
Then again, maybe he wouldn’t have to. If he set one of his projections loose, it would cause plenty of panic. In such chaos, he’d probably have ample opportunity to chase him down and pay him back in full for the sucker punch at the restaurant.
Eric was beginning to realize that he really sucked at remaining calm.
He opened his eyes and glanced back into the tavern. The cowboy was walking past Paul now. Paul wouldn’t have known this man. He hadn’t seen him, after all. But he didn’t exactly blend in. He was a fat man in head-to-toe cowboy attire, exactly as Eric had described. Even from across the room, he could see the suspicious way that his brother eyed that big, black hat.