Button Hill

by Michael Bradford

  But when they reached the front of the train, their way was blocked. There stood a pale boy with black marble eyes, not one strand of his bone-white hair out of place. Behind him stood the conductor and his skeleton crew in blue railway caps and coats. “I believe you have something that belongs to me,” said Cobb. He pointed a finger at the music box Harper still carried in her hands.

  Harper began to stammer. “Mother told me she got rid of you.”

  Cobb picked at a sharpened fingernail. “Not the most trustworthy woman, your mother. Never one to keep a promise. But me, I always keep my promises, and we had a deal.”

  “No way,” said Dekker. “I kept my end of the bargain.”

  Cobb cackled. “Not you, dead boy. Without your heart, you’re no use to me anymore. I meant her.” He pointed at Harper. “If she wants to go home to Dayside, she’s got to give me the heart. That was our deal, wasn’t it?” His marble eyes spun in their sockets as he looked from Harper to Dekker and back again. “And by the laws of Nightside, deal breakers must pay a most unpleasant price. The Bone clan is ready to receive its newest member.”

  “You can’t do this!” shouted Dekker.

  Harper sighed. “You’re right, Cobb, that was our deal. But look around you. Things have changed.” She took Dekker’s bone hand and squeezed it gently. “I grew up in Dayside, but my home is here. As much as I want to go back, Understory needs me. My city needs me.”

  Cobb snarled. “There’s no way out this time. Hand it over, or the conductor will take it for me.”

  The skeleton swept forward. “Cobb is correct in his reading of the laws. Deals must be honored. But if Miss Asphodel is ready to assume the role of governess, then she is choosing to stay.”

  “No!” Cobb screamed, but the conductor waved a hand and cut him off.

  “And, Master Dekker, may I remind you of the debt the city owes you and your sister for your assistance in awakening the Nightclock—a payment for special services rendered?”

  “Oh, right! Special services. I’d like to collect now, if that’s all right.”

  The skeleton removed his blue cap and bowed. “How can we serve?”

  Dekker grinned and pointed at Cobb. “Please, put that jerk on the train. And this time, make sure he has a ticket.”

  The skeleton snapped his finger bones. Quick as a whip, his crew moved in, but Cobb was faster. He shoved his fingers into the eye sockets of the nearest guard and wrenched it sideways by the head, scattering bone men like bowling pins. He scrambled onto the roof of the train and began running toward the rear. At the last car, he turned and shouted, “That heart is mine—it belongs to me! When you’ve forgotten me, I’ll be there, waiting in the dark.” Then, like a shadow slipping into shadow, he jumped off the far side of the train and was gone.

  Twenty-Two

  The conductor held out two silver tickets to Dekker and Riley, but when she made no move to lift her head from Dekker’s shoulder, the skeleton pulled his hand back. “I’m sorry, brother,” said the skeleton. “Your sister’s light is too weak to return to Dayside. In her ghostly state, she is more part of this world now than the world above.”

  “There has to be a way,” said Harper. “She’s done so much for us.”

  The skeleton rubbed his jaw. “The music box, if you please.” He took it delicately between his bony fingers and lifted the lid. He removed the heart and held it up to his eye sockets. “This instrument is uncommonly strong, though it has sustained some damage. Nevertheless, I believe there is enough life left in it for two to travel.”

  “Sure, just do it. If it’ll save my sister, cut it in half if you have to.”

  “That’s exactly what I shall have to do. Once done, it cannot be undone. Are you sure this is what you want?”

  “Will they be able to survive in Dayside?” asked Harper.

  The skeleton nodded. “For a time. What you are now, we used to be. What we are now, you shall be. The inscription on the station doors is true for all, but no person can say when that moment will be upon them. The living can but use the time they are granted to shine most brightly.”

  Dekker nodded and held Riley out toward the skeleton. “Do it.”

  The conductor cupped the heart between his hands for a moment, and when he opened them, one half of the heart lay in each of his palms, beating in time. Ever so gently, he moved one hand inside Riley’s ghostly form, to where her heart should be. When he let it go, it pulsed inside her like a light. Almost immediately, Riley’s cheeks began to flush, and Dekker felt her weight grow more substantial in his arms. “The warmth of your Dayside sun should restore her fully. For now, she sleeps. Protect her light, Dekker. And your own.”

  “Thanks. For everything,” he said.

  The conductor led them down the steps, onto the tracks and toward a smaller train, on the other side of the rail yard, that was pointed in the opposite direction. There was no platform, just one thin metal tread leading up into the train. They climbed aboard, and Dekker set Riley gently down in one of the seats. The skeleton passed Dekker the other half of the heart and bowed. “Until we meet again, brother.” He turned on his heel and began to move back down the aisle toward the exit.

  “I guess this is it,” said Harper.

  Dekker looked into her eyes. “Maybe you can visit me sometime at Tilted Station?”

  She nodded. “I’d like that. I’ll call you.”

  “On the antique phone?” he said. She laughed, but a tear spilled between her lashes and down her cheek. He reached out to gently brush Harper’s cheek with his bony thumb.

  “Probably. Take care of yourself, Dekker, and your sister. Will you tell my dad what happened? Tell him I’m staying here to look after things now that my mom is gone. He’ll know what that means.”

  “I will.”

  The train whistle blew. Harper climbed down out of the car. It was empty now except for Dekker and Riley. He sat down beside her. The train jolted and rolled slowly out of the station. “Last time for this, I hope,” said Dekker to himself, and he looked at the half-heart beating steadily in his hand. He lifted his shirt and peeled away the flap of skin on his chest. It was dry and cracked. He stuffed what was left of his heart up into his chest and twisted it. As the train picked up speed, warmth like he had never felt before flooded his whole body, from the tips of his eyelashes to the soles of his feet. He closed his eyes and lay back, overcome with weariness. “Warm. I’d forgotten about warm,” he mumbled as he drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  Something hard pummeled Dekker’s shoulder once, twice, three times. “What’s that for?” he grumbled sleepily.

  “If I have to tell you, then you’re really going to get it,” said Riley. “You don’t want to miss this.” She whopped him again. “Wake up.”

  “Miss what?” Dekker grumbled, and then he remembered where they were and sat up.

  The train was rolling into Tilted Station. The sky was filled with red and orange light. As the train slowed to a stop, they passed Aunt Primrose and Captain Tom standing on the platform.

  Dekker looked at Riley. She was smiling, a pink flush in her cheeks. With her hair short on one side, she looked a little like a Barbie doll that had been given an at-home punk makeover. “What are we going to tell Mom about your haircut?” said Dekker.

  “Forget about my hair—what are we going to tell her about your arm?”

  He looked down at the smooth, polished bones. “I guess it will have to be the truth.”

  “At least you don’t stink like dead fish anymore. We can tell Auntie you’re a recovering zombie.”

  “Yeah,” said Dekker. “But maybe we should stick around Button Hill for a little while longer. You know, just in case things come undone again.”

  Riley giggled.

  Dekker laughed too. A dead girl likes me, and I’m mostly alive. I got my sister back. Things could be worse.

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to the Saskatchewan Arts Board and the Saskatchewan Foundati
on for the Arts for providing financial support for the writing of this book. Thank you also to Shauna Bradford-Wilson, Terry Jordan, Mary Bishop and Alice Kuipers for your patient reading and advice as I ironed out the kinks in the story. And to the friends and family who endured the early drafts and were bold enough to tell me what they really thought of it: I couldn’t have done it without you…

  Michael Bradford was born in 1975 in St. Albert, Alberta. He has worked as a grass cutter, waiter, pizza-delivery boy, literacy teacher, elementary-school vice-principal and published poet. Button Hill is his first novel. He lives in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, with his wife and two children.