by Sean Cullen
Dmitri had managed to calm his babka after she burst in on them in the shed. She kept babbling about Princes and Enemies and Little People until Dmitri finally convinced her to lie down on her daybed in the living room. He made her some tea and toast, but by the time he carried them into the living room, she was asleep as if nothing had happened. Dmitri left the tray on the coffee table and went up to bed himself.
Noon found the three conspirators in the BQM Eatery on Ossington Street. Harold had suggested it because he knew that the nemesis lived nearby. They could stake out the streetcar stop. Also, he was quite fond of their burgers. They sat on stools, faces to the window with an eye on the transit shelter across the road.
“How do we know this guy’s going to come?” Delia said. She picked at a salad with a plastic fork. “How do we even know he is the nemesis or whatever? How do we know that the old lady isn’t completely nuts?”
“That isn’t very nice,” Dmitri said sulkily.
“She has a point, though,” Harold admitted. “I just think this is the guy. I can’t think of anybody else who fits the bill.”
“So when will we see him?” Delia asked. “Are you sure he’ll come here?”
“I take my piano lessons nearby,” Harold said through a mouthful of low-fat turkey burger. “I ride the same streetcar as he does lots of times. He always got out here. His mum works in the Pizzeria Libretto across the road.”
“Why do you know all that?” Delia wondered.
Harold shrugged. “I dunno. I’m an artist . Or at least I want to be an artist and one of the things artists are supposed to do is observe people. You know.”
“So he comes here to meet his mum,” Delia said. “What if she isn’t working today?”
“She is,” Dmitri interjected. “I called and asked for her an hour ago. I hung up when they went to call her to the phone.”
“Wow.” Delia nodded, impressed. “You guys are good. And a little bit creepy.”
Before Harold could respond, Dmitri sat up higher on his stool and exclaimed, “There he is!”
Their eyes swung to the other side of the street, where a streetcar had just stopped. The door opened and passengers stepped down onto the road. An old woman was struggling with a shopping cart in the narrow folding doorway when a large, broad-shouldered boy lifted the cart and carried it to the curb for her. The old lady smiled and said something to the boy, who merely nodded and turned toward the BQM window.
Chester Dallaire had changed a great deal since the bizarre episode that had made news headlines. He was leaner and his skin was clearer. His hair was neatly trimmed. The cruel smirk he’d habitually worn when he picked on Harold and Dmitri during their first weeks at RDA was gone. His expression was guarded and his eyes wary.
“That’s the nemesis?” Delia asked. “I was expecting someone … I don’t know, scarier?”
“He was indeed more frightening before the incident,” Dmitri explained.
“Incident?” Delia asked.
“He had some kinda breakdown and ran away. Wouldn’t stop running,” Harold told her. “They say it was like he was possessed or something. It was on the news.”
“That’s the guy?” Delia cried in disbelief. “I remember that story. He doesn’t look crazy.”
“He had therapy and he’s only just come back to school,” Harold said.
“He used to pick at Brendan and us,” Dmitri continued. “But now he’s a different person.”
“Pick on us,” Delia mumbled. “Okay, let’s go.”
“What?” Harold cried. “Go where? What are you gonna do? Just walk right up to him and ask him if he’s the nemesis of Brendan? You’ll sound totally crazy.”
Delia shrugged on her coat. “You guys stay here and try not to wet your pants, okay? Just leave it to me.”
While they were talking, Chester had entered the pizzeria. Delia took her time, crossing at the light and entering the restaurant through the steam-glazed glass door.
Inside, a few customers were enjoying their pizza and pasta at a long bar. Long tables full of lunchtime diners stretched toward the back of the narrow restaurant. The room buzzed with conversation and the clatter of plates as people met for lunch before the holidays. Delia scanned the room for Chester but couldn’t find him. Moving deeper into the restaurant, she passed beneath an arch that was covered in a chalkboard. Customers had scrawled messages praising the food in multicoloured chalk. She paused to read a couple of comments, and when she dropped her eyes again, she almost ran into Chester.
He was carrying a plate full of pasta in one hand and a pizza in the other. For an awkward second Delia was nose to chest with him. She looked up into his face.
Everything about him was big. He was easily a head taller than Delia. He looked down at her warily.
“Hi,” Delia said at last.
“Hi,” Chester answered. “Do you mind?”
“Oh, sorry.” Delia stepped out of his way. He passed her and went to an empty stool at the end of the bar nearest the window. He sat down and unrolled a knife and fork from a napkin. For a big person, his movements were careful and precise. He cut his pizza into wedges and then into smaller pieces. Lifting a piece to his mouth, he stopped, his brown eyes aimed at Delia.
Delia realized she’d been staring at him and tried to cover her gaffe with a winning smile. She walked over and stood beside him.
“Hi, again. Sorry I was staring at you. I think I might know you from somewhere.”
He put the pizza into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “No, I don’t know you.”
“I think you know my brother, though. Brendan Clair.”
Chester paused with another morsel of food halfway to his mouth. What passed over his face? Fear? Worry? Delia pushed on.
“I’m Delia.” She held out her hand.
He ignored it. “Brendan Clair, huh? I know him but we aren’t friends.” He stared straight ahead at the mirror behind the bar.
“Why not?” Delia asked.
Chester turned his head and glared at her. “What do you want?”
“Me? Nothing. I don’t … ” Delia stammered. She decided on the direct approach. “Fine. Just tell me, has anything weird happened to you lately? Anything connected to Brendan?”
Chester laughed bitterly. “Don’t you follow the news? I had a breakdown! I lost my crap for a whole day. Ended up in the psych ward. Are you just trying to make fun of me or something?”
“Can you remember if Brendan had something to do with it? It’s important.” Delia put on her best pleading look, her big blue eyes wide.
Chester just stared. At last, he said, “How could you know that?”
Delia leaned in closer and gripped his arm. It was hard and muscular. “Because I had the same thing happen to me,” she whispered. “I lost a few hours of my life. A couple of my friends lost a whole day.”
Chester licked his lips. Nervous sweat beaded his brow. “It happened to you, too?”
“I’d like you to meet my friends and talk to them. Something weird has been going on with my brother, and I think you can help me get to the bottom of it. Will you help me?” She amped up the pathos, calling on all of her hours of teen-drama TV viewing to mimic a girl in need of a friend.
Chester was about to answer when a woman with dark hair greying at the temples and Chester’s brown eyes approached from the other side of the counter. “How’s your food, Chess?”
“Great, Mum. Thanks,” Chester answered.
“And who’s this?” Chester’s mum asked, smiling at Delia.
“A friend.”
“A girlfriend?”
“Come on, Mum.”
Delia came to his rescue. “I’m Delia Clair.”
“Clair?” The woman’s face lit up. “You wouldn’t be related to Brendan Clair, would you?”
“Yeah,” Delia confirmed. “I’m his sister.” Delia watched in surprise as tears filled the woman’s eyes.
“He was so sweet to Chester when he was in t
he hospital. He was the only one who came to visit him and I swear that after he came, Chester began to improve immediately.”
Delia caught Chester’s eye and raised an eyebrow. He frowned and looked away.
“Do you want something to eat? Or drink?”
“No thanks, Mrs. Dallaire. I just ate.”
“Well, if you want anything at all, you let me know.” A waiter waved a hand to summon her back to work. “And you tell Brendan I said hello!”
“I will!” called Delia to her retreating back. Turning to Chester she said, “Finish your pizza. We have to talk.”
An hour later, the four of them sat around a table in the Communal Mule, a café not far away. When Chester saw Dmitri and Harold, Delia had to turn on all her charm to keep him from turning tail. He eyed them warily and said nothing. Over the last hour, though, his guard had slowly come down as he listened to their accounts of their lost day and their conviction that Brendan was somehow responsible or at least involved. The clincher was the drawings.
“You drew these?” Chester said, impressed. “They’re pretty good.”
“Thanks,” Harold said. “They’re some of my best work. The only problem is, I can’t remember drawing them.”
“And then there’s this.” Delia laid the grainy image from the webcam on the table. The little figure was blurry but recognizable as a female dressed in oddly old-fashioned clothing. Brendan stood behind her in the frame, looking up at the camera, his face frozen in an expression of surprise.
Chester stared at the photo for a long time. Then he mumbled something under his breath.
“What did you say?” Dmitri prompted.
Chester looked up, his face pale. “I said, she’s with him most of the time.”
“Who? Who is she?” Delia demanded.
“More like what,” Chester answered. “She’s a tiny person … with wings like a bug or a dragonfly. She flies around him. Usually she’s hiding in his pocket.”
“Wait a minute,” Delia interrupted. “Are you saying you’ve seen her?”
“Lots of times.” Chester nodded shyly. “And other ones like her, too. Big ones. Little ones. They’re all over the place.”
“What are you talking about?” Delia said, mystified.
Chester sighed and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “I don’t remember anything from that day when I tried to run away. It was like I was hypnotized or something. I only remember waking up in the hospital. My mum told me Brendan had come to see me there. It didn’t make any sense. I mean, all I ever did was pick on him and these guys.” He jerked his head at Harold and Dmitri.
“Why should he come and see me? And there was something else. I felt more at peace with myself than I had since my dad died. I felt better. My mum forced me to see a therapist and talk about why I’d had that episode and stuff, but I knew I was going to be okay. They finally let me out of the hospital and then … ” He paused, as if deciding whether he should tell them, but continued. “That’s when I started seeing them.”
“Who?” Dmitri asked softly, not wanting to hurry him.
“The beautiful people. They glowed sort of, like they were shining from the inside out. There weren’t many of them. I’d just see them once in a while on the street, as if they were trying to pass themselves off as normal people. At first, I didn’t know how no one else could see them. They were impossible for me to ignore. I asked my mum if she could see them, but she said she couldn’t see anything special about the people I pointed out. I stopped asking her ’cause I didn’t want her to think I was losing it. The thing was, I didn’t feel crazy. I felt special. I could see things that other people couldn’t. I just had to keep it to myself.
“I started to see impossible things, little people in the trees and in the grass running around right under people’s noses. There was one guy who hung out with a pack of squirrels, and people must have thought he was a squirrel ’cause they never batted an eye. I should have been scared but I wasn’t. I loved it.”
Harold and Dmitri listened with rapt attention to Chester’s story, both of them wishing they could see these people he was talking about. Something about what he was saying seemed to resonate with them. They never even contemplated disbelieving him because deep down what he was saying rang true.
“Do you see any of these people right now?” Delia said suddenly.
Chester frowned and looked around. He looked out the window of the café. “There. The guy on the corner with the hat.”
They all craned their necks and looked out to see a man in an overcoat and a wide-brimmed felt hat standing at the crosswalk waiting for the light. He didn’t seem in any way unusual. He held a newspaper under his arm and was talking animatedly into a cellphone.
“He doesn’t seem weird to me,” Delia scoffed.
“Okay,” Chester said. “How cold is it today?”
“What does it matter?” Delia asked.
“It’s minus ten Celsius,” Harold offered.
“Minus eighteen with the wind chill,” Chester confirmed. “Look at his hands.”
The man wasn’t wearing gloves. His hands were bare. “And that jacket?” They saw now that the guy was wearing a thin spring jacket that couldn’t possibly have kept him warm in the subarctic chill.
“They put up some kind of illusion so they look like us. At least that’s my theory. If you could really see him, you’d know that the cellphone he’s using is a piece of wood and his hair is blue and shines like one of those fibre optic lamps.”
The light changed and the man set off across the street.
“You’re asking us to believe that you see things we can’t,” Delia said.
“I’m not asking you to believe anything.” Chester raised his coffee and slurped it noisily while leaning back in his chair. “You came to me, remember. Believe me or don’t. Couldn’t care less.”
Delia chewed her lip. “Tell me about Brendan.”
“He’s one of those people. So is your other friend. The girl with the stick.”
“Kim?” Dmitri and Harold gasped at the same time.
“Uh-huh.” Chester nodded. “And that new teacher.”
“Greenleaf!” Harold and Dmitri said together.
“Wow,” Chester laughed. “You guys are good at that. You should start an act.”
Delia smacked the table, setting the cups clattering in their saucers. “Listen! So Brendan is one of these … people? Things? The bigger question we need answered is what are they and what do they want?”
“Why do you want to know?” Chester asked, leaning back and cracking his giant knuckles. “They aren’t doing you any harm.”
“I live with one of them in my house,” Delia spat. “It’s disgusting.”
“You know two of them, actually. That French chick who just showed up? The hot one? She’s one of them, too.”
“No way!” Harold exclaimed. “That’s cool.”
“No, it isn’t. It isn’t cool!” Delia shouted angrily. Other patrons of the café jerked their heads around to stare at her outburst. She sneered at them and turned back to her companions. “We have to find out what he’s doing.”
“I know what he’s doing,” Chester said mildly. At their shocked expressions, he shrugged. “This dude showed up at school today with two other scary ones and sort of froze everybody, put them to sleep on their feet. He was different from any of the others I’d seen. He was, I don’t know, really powerful, a total badass. All the other ones I see are sort of quiet, harmless, you know? Not this guy. He scared the crap outta me. And the other two with him, a guy and girl, had that psycho vibe, too. It’s the only time I’ve ever seen one of them interfere with people in any way. I pretended to be dazed like everybody else. I heard them talking about some gathering that starts tonight on Ward’s Island, only they called it something weird: ‘The Island of the Ward.’ Kim and Greenleaf were seriously mad at this dude they called Puck.”
“Puck! As in hockey puck?” Harold asked, confused.
“What kind of name is that?”
“I only know of one Puck and he’s in A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” Delia said thoughtfully.
“A midsummer’s what?” Harold asked.
“A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” Delia said disdainfully. “Shakespeare, dumbwad. And Puck is a character in the play. He’s a fairy who causes all kinds of trouble for some people who go into the woods.”
“Sounds dumb,” Harold grumbled.
“Well, it isn’t!” Delia spat.
Dmitri cleared his throat. “Perhaps this Puck is in some way related to the character in the play by Shakespeare. Maybe … ” He paused as if his theory were taking shape in his mind. “Maybe the character was based on one of these people that Chester can see?”54
“There’s only one way to find out,” Delia announced. She looked into each of their faces in turn. “We’re going to this gathering tonight! And Chester is going to take us.”
54 Indeed, Puck in Shakespeare’s play is based on Pûkh, Lord of Tír na nÓg. Pükh actually commissioned the play from the Bard of Avon. In the end, Pûkh defaulted on payment because he didn’t like the way he was portrayed. Shakespeare went on to mount the play in London with great success.
THE GATHERING
“You guys are going to be all right?” Brendan’s mother asked for the tenth time as she allowed her husband to help her on with her coat. The Clair parents were dressed up for a party at the Matador, a seedy bar not far from their home.55 Brendan’s dad was playing in the band so he was dressed in his vintage tuxedo.
“What is it tonight, Dad?” Brendan asked. “Jazz? Rock?”
Edward Clair smiled. “Rockabilly! The Matador will be shakin’! It’s the last night before they close it down. They’ve actually gotten a liquor licence for the occasion!”
“What is the world coming to?” Mum said, laughing. “We’ll be home by midnight.”