by Tom Mohan
Liza began walking again. She heard calls from behind her, sensed someone coming toward her. She quickened her pace, her bare feet seeming to know just where to step. The forest sang its welcome as she slipped into the trees.
The forest canopy blocked all light from the stars and moon. She could still hear Tír na nÓg’s song in her mind, otherwise, the forest itself was silent. No insects or birds uttered a sound—if insects and birds even inhabited this ancient place. She turned and looked back. The field and farm had vanished, replaced by a wall of trees and undergrowth.
Liza continued on. The invisible eyes bored into her, carrying with them a sense of anticipation. She felt fear, but she felt love as well—she was a stranger, yet at home. Again, the contrasts did not escape her.
The whispers of excited voices filled the silence.
The Princess. The Princess comes. The Princess.
The whispers emanated from all around her, like the sound of wind through leaves. Among them, all but indiscernible was another voice, another word.
Daughter.
Though there was no path, the undergrowth seemed to move out of her way of its own accord, parting to create a pathway for her feet. She did not know if it was directing her or she it. The forest grew brighter the deeper she went, the trees themselves casting their own faint illumination. The air was cooler and much less humid. She inhaled, and the rich scent of the forest invaded her senses. There was another scent there as well, a part of the other but not belonging, rancid, like the scent of something dead.
A glint of light caught her attention, and Liza turned toward it. She moved in that direction and was surprised to see what appeared to be an old milk truck almost hidden by the undergrowth. The vehicle was green and rusty with a large, rounded front end and a long rear panel with one small, square window on the side. She assumed there would be a matching window on the other side as well. Liza looked around at the unending forest that surrounded her.
How did a car end up here? She searched for any sign of an old road that might have once led to this spot, but the growth was solid and ancient.
The scent of cigarette smoke wafted through the air. “Hiya.”
Liza jumped at the unexpected voice. She spun and saw a young man resting against the front of the milk truck. He took a drag off of his cigarette and winked at her. He wore blue jeans and a tight black t-shirt. His pant cuffs were rolled up, revealing scuffed, black boots.
“Can’t say I’ve seen you around here before,” he said. He inhaled deeply. “Ah, I smell your life. Definitely haven’t seen you around here before.” He took another drag from his cigarette before flicking it aside. It flew a few feet before vanishing as though it had never existed. He crossed his arms, looking much like a gang member from some 1950s movie.
“Who are you?” Liza asked.
The young man smirked. “Who am I? Well, my name’s Johnny Caperelli. At least it was.”
“Was?”
Johnny Caperelli pushed himself from the hood of the car and pulled another cigarette from behind his ear. A Zippo lighter appeared in his hand, and he snapped it open and lit the cigarette in one smooth, practiced motion.
“Yeah, was. Johnny Caperelli doesn’t live in your world anymore.”
Liza looked around. “No, you live in Tír na nÓg.”
Johnny grinned. “You’re smarter than you look, dollface. Not bad looking, either. Course, it’s been a long time since any real babes have passed this way.” He winked and blew smoke rings into the air.
Liza could feel the menace in him. She knew she should find her way out, but something was holding her, waiting for her. She’d been brought to this place for a reason, and she didn’t think she’d be allowed to leave until she discovered what that was. “Was that your car?”
Johnny gave the hood of the vehicle two raps with the palm of his hand. “This here was my true lady love. 1941 International Milk truck. Only a few of these babies made. Perfect for hauling special cargo, if you get my meaning.”
Liza shook her head. She did not get his meaning. She didn’t think she wanted to.
He laughed, the phlegm-filled sound of someone who had smoked too much even for his apparent young age. He moved around the back of the truck, and Liza felt a sense of vertigo as the scene shifted. She was now viewing the vehicle from the rear.
He threw open the back door with a flourish. The putrid odor of rotting meat wafted out. Johnny leaned into the vehicle, and Liza knew she should turn away, run from there as fast as she could. She didn’t want to see what he was going to bring out but was helpless to pull away.
Johnny Caperelli withdrew from the rear of the milk truck holding the bloated purple corpse of a young woman. Her tongue lolled grotesquely from rotted lips.
“I’d like you to meet my girlfriend, Molly.” He kissed the corpse on those horrid lips before shoving it back into the truck and turning his attention to Liza. “Looks like I need a new girlfriend. I hear you’re available.” He slammed the door of the truck and stepped toward her.
“Keep away from me,” Liza said, taking a couple steps back. “I’m not like you. I don’t belong here.”
“Don’t belong here? Really? You are one clueless chick, aren’t you? You belong here more than I do. Do you even know why I’m here—why I’m stuck here?” He lunged as if coming for her. She leapt back, but he only laughed. “I’m here because your friends the Finns murdered me and left me here to rot.” He motioned toward the truck. “Murdered poor Molly, too. That’s what the Finns do, you know? They lure folks here and kill them.”
Liza took another step back. No, that couldn’t be true. The Finns protected the world from people like this. They didn’t kill innocent people.
“Don’t believe me? Ask her.” He pointed.
Liza was afraid to take her attention from the man before her, but she felt a presence behind. She shifted so her back would be to neither and saw a middle-aged woman step from the trees. It was obvious that she’d been pretty at one time, but she had the look of one who had lived a hard life. Her dress was white with a faded floral pattern, and her bare feet disappeared into the grass.
“They killed me, too, the Finns,” she said, her sultry voice not quite fitting the face from which it came. “I was going to be someone important, but they didn’t like that. They didn’t like that I would be more important than them.”
“And me,” said another voice as a young man slipped from the trees.
“And me.”
They were all around her now. People of all ages, male and female, dressed in clothing that crossed generations. Still more came, all accusing the Finn family of murder.
Liza felt a hand on her arm, and she spun to see Johnny beside her. Up close he stank of death and evil. In this world, everything had a scent. She wrenched her arm from his grasp. “No, the people I know aren’t murderers.”
The throng of spirits pushed closer around her.
“The people you know?” Johnny said. “How well do you really know them, Elizabeth? You don’t know them at all. You’ll put out for anyone who gives you attention.”
Liza opened her mouth to defend the family she had grown so close to in such a short time, but no words came out. How much did she know about them? They seemed nice and treated her well, but people were dying all around them and Conall had been barely human at the end.
She suddenly wondered if she knew them at all.
The crush of spirits and the scent of death grew overwhelming. She had to get out of there, go back home where she belonged. She pushed through the host of bodies, moving through them easier than she had expected.
“Where you going, dollface? I need a new girlfriend.” Johnny’s laughter followed her as she broke through the crowd and sprinted into the woods. She tripped and stumbled along, the undergrowth no longer parting for her as she bolted in panic. The voices returned, whispering.
Murderers.
As she fled, Liza caught glimpses of other spirits appearing a
mong the trees, staring at her. So many of them. The thought hit her that they were all human, not of the fae as she understood them. She had not even experienced the fae. Was she really in Tír na nÓg, or some other realm the Finns hadn’t told her about? Had they told her the truth about anything?
Liza continued to run, her breathing harsh. The familiarity she had first felt when entering the forest was gone, and she thrashed forward.
Daughter.
The whispered voice filled with love and acceptance brought her to a gasping halt. Liza realized that the other voices had stopped, and the forest had fallen silent. Sweat dripped down her face as she peered into the trees around her. She felt the coldness of the pendant against her chest. It wasn’t painful like dry ice, but a more soothing cool that slipped beneath her skin and through her body, calming and stabilizing her. Something drew her to the left, and she turned that way.
“You don’t want to do that,” Johnny called.
Liza smelled the odor of his cigarette, but the spirit remained out of sight. “Why not?”
“Because I said. That should be good enough. You’re mortal, alive. You have no idea what you’re messing with here.”
Doubt crept back in, but she forced it down. She knew that she’d been drawn into this forest for a reason. If this angry spirit could actually do her harm, she thought he would have done it by now.
Johnny Caperelli laughed. “I see what you’re thinking. I already have hurt you. You’re just too stupid to know it. You’ll find out, though.” He laughed again, and then his voice faded into the trees.
Liza turned back in the direction she was going. The forest remained eerily silent, but she didn’t feel the eyes watching her. A strange peace settled over her. She walked on another five minutes or so until she saw a shimmering light ahead. The light was warm and peaceful and drew her to it. She passed out of the trees into a large clearing. What was at the center of it took her breath away.
The man in room 204 stirred in his sleep. He gasped, and his eyes popped open. The room was dark, the blinds pulled tight as they had been since he’d checked in six days ago. The pull that had brought him this far had changed. It was stronger, more insistent, and he knew the wait was over. The barrier—or whatever it was—had fallen.
The man sat up and threw his legs over the side of the bed. He sat for a moment and let his senses reach out. This was something new to him, something he was still growing accustomed to. He could feel the others, those like him who had followed the pull this far only to wait.
This hotel was the closest to their destination, and many like him had stayed there, some longer and some not as long, but all seeking the same thing—power. He did not feel any jealousy or competition toward his fellow travelers. They were one body on a pilgrimage to something unknown, yet priceless. The fact that there were so many only reinforced the reality of his own experiences.
The man rose from the bed and stretched the kinks from his muscles. He took his time showering and getting dressed—there was no hurry, not yet. He could hear the sounds of others moving about the hotel, getting ready. An excitement pulsed in the air. He knew all of them could feel it.
As he left the bathroom, he noticed muted, gray light filtering in around the edges of the curtains as dawn brightened the sky. He packed his few belongings and stepped outside into the parking lot. Several others, pilgrims like himself, were already getting an early start on their day. He glanced to the east where the sun would soon pop over the horizon and then to the north—toward the speck on the map known as Halden’s Mill. He didn’t know what to expect, but he did know that it would be a day that the fine residents of Halden’s Mill would never forget.
• • • • • • •
LIZA WALKED OUT of the forest as though passing from a dream to waking. The lush colors of Tír na nÓg faded to the shades of green that she had been so in awe of before. She was surprised to see that the sun was shining. It was at least mid-morning. Jacob sat on the ground at the edge of the field. He sprang to his feet and hurried toward her.
“Liza! Finally. I’ve been so worried about you.”
Liza peered at him, still trying to adjust to the sudden change.
“Liza? Are you all right?”
She nodded. “Where are Marcas and Chief Murphy?” There was no sign of Conall’s body, either.
She thought she caught a glimpse of irritation on Jacob’s face at the mention of Marcas, but if it was there, he recovered quickly.
“Murphy took charge of getting Conall’s body to the morgue. Marcas went with them. He didn’t want to leave his brother.”
Liza allowed that to set in. Marcas had let her enter the forest by herself and then abandoned her to be with his dead brother. It hurt. Perhaps the spirit of Johnny Caperelli had been right.
“You waited for me.”
He looked at the ground as though embarrassed. “What else could I do? I can’t go in those woods like Marcas and Conall.” He shrugged. “Couldn’t just leave, either.”
“Thank you.”
He looked up at her. “It’s the least I could do.” He nodded toward the trees. “What happened in there, anyway?”
Liza struggled to remember the details, but they were already fading, like the nightmares she could never quite remember. She remembered Johnny and his cruel words, as well as the other spirits in Tír na nÓg, but beyond that she had only dim memory of something beyond belief.
Murderers.
After that, she remembered nothing until stepping out of the forest. Had she really been in the land of the fae, or had it been something else? She had not seen anything other than the spirits. She was pretty sure they were not fae.
“Liza, are you with me?”
Liza smiled. “Sorry. I’m not sure what happened. I don’t remember much.” She looked around at the bright summer day. “It felt like I was only in there an hour or so.”
“It was a lot longer than that.” He stepped in front of her and used a finger to lift her face toward his. “You look beat. Let’s get you back to the house and into bed before you collapse here in the field.”
Liza realized how exhausted she was, though she wasn’t sure sleep would come. If it did, would it bring the nightmares?
She allowed Jacob to put his arm around her as they walked—or stumbled—back to the house. She was still coming to grips with the fact that Marcas had abandoned her while Jacob had waited. That Murphy had left came as no surprise. He’d disliked her from the first. Ruth was waiting for them when they got to the house. Jacob asked if anything had changed with Cullen and Ana.
Nothing had.
Ruth fixed them something to eat, though later Liza couldn’t remember what.
The next thing she knew, she was waking up in her bed, the house silent. Muted light shone through the curtains, indicating early evening. She reached over to the side table and retrieved her phone.
6:35 p.m.
Between her walk in the forest and sleeping, she’d lost most of a day. No doubt she’d be up all night. She sat up on the edge of the bed and ran her fingers through her hair. She was still wearing the pants and t-shirt from her sleepwalking escapade the night before. She felt dirty and sticky and decided a shower was in order before anything else.
Liza heard no sound from downstairs as she took her things across the hall to the bathroom. Ruth must be here. Maybe Jacob as well. She took her time in the shower, allowing the hot water to wash away the grime and tension of the previous night. A part of her couldn’t believe Marcas’s brother was dead. She’d never had a chance to meet the real Conall—only the thing he’d become. A wave of regret washed over her. If he was anything like the rest of his family, he must have been a good person. Or was he?
Murderers.
Liza shook the thought from her mind and finished her shower. She reached through the curtain for her towel and felt a breeze on her arm. As she grabbed the towel, she heard a click, like the bathroom door closing. She froze where she stood, the t
owel held in front of her, and listened.
Silence.
Liza wrapped the towel around herself and pulled the shower curtain aside. The room was empty. She stepped out of the shower to the door. It was still locked. She toweled off and pulled her robe on.
Thinking she must have imagined the sound of the door, Liza picked up her brush from the vanity and looked up at the steamed-over mirror. He breath caught, and the room swayed around her. She stumbled back against the wall, her gaze never leaving the mirror. Scrawled in the condensation was one word.
SLUT
Beads of water ran from the word like tears. Liza’s knees felt weak, and she willed herself not to sink into a fetal position on the tile floor. Taking deep breaths to steady herself, she grabbed a hand towel from the rack and scrubbed the word from existence. Her heart pounded as she scanned the small room for any other sign of the intruder. She felt completely vulnerable dressed in only a towel.
Putting her ear to the door, she listened for any sound in the hall. The house remained as still as when she first woke. She was not used to the kind of quiet that filled the air in this rural countryside.
She had never imagined that silence could be so terrifying.
Knowing that she could not hide in the bathroom all night, Liza twisted the knob, causing the lock to disengage and pop out beneath her palm. She pulled the door open an inch and peered out into the hallway. She could only see in one direction through the small opening. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary.
She pulled the door open and stuck her head out, ready to jump back if anyone was waiting for her, but the hallway was empty. She scurried across the hall to her room and closed the door behind her. It only then occurred to her that if anyone was hiding in her room, she’d locked herself in with them. She grabbed a heavy, empty vase from the dresser by the door and searched the closet and under the bed. She was alone.