The Spaces in Between

by Chase Henderson

  They had an argument. He couldn’t explain logically or illogically why on Earth monsters like the Irishman and his employer would be interested in him. The memories of everything that lead up to it where drowned like a dream and the details becoming fuzzier with each night’s rest. Though a good night’s rest was hard to come by. He was starting to see the Irishman behind every corner.

  When Warren had returned to bring Janet a bagel from the continental breakfast downstairs, she was gone. Two grand laid on the nightstand wrapped with a note from the Radisson pad reading Goodbye. The suitcase with the rest of the money was gone. He really didn’t blame her; in fact, he was always confused why she stayed with him this long anyway.

  Probably just out of pity over what happened to my arm.

  Instead of charging out of the room after her, he collapsed on the floor and wretched. He lay there crying for the better part of his time before checkout and left without bothering. That night he walked back to their apartment and sure enough all of her things were gone along with their pet pile Steve. Janet’s engagement ring was on the kitchen area table. He went to bed and slept for two days straight. The song from the Rock Horror Picture show played on his mind on an eternal loop.

  Dammit, Janet (slut!) I love you!

  A sane person like Janet would have moved without leaving a forwarding address if they knew a monster like the Irishman had their contact information. Warren didn’t care anymore he would almost relish in the idea of the Irishman or his employer or those men in the black suits would come and finish the job. They might not have killed him, but his will to live was long gone.

  When he finally woke up, Warren Elliot shambled through Baltimore like a zombie looking for food. He had no desire to live, but starving himself to death wasn’t the desired method. If he was going to take his own life it would be something painless, but deep down Warren was afraid he’s just screw it up. He considered going back to the abandoned hospital to scavenge his phone and laptop. He thought better of it also believing the Irishman not to be a painless death either.

  That’s when the weirdness started up again. He was staring blankly for the sign to flash Walk. Something clicked inside his brain like a car ignition. Colored steam lifted from everyone around him like auras. The aura of each person that passed him appeared unique. He picked up bits and pieces of each person that passed him.

  The man in the gray pinstriped suit was on his way to the law firm (the same one that Janet worked for), but today he was planning to leave early. He was meeting a woman he had met through MySpace. She was only sixteen, and that was the biggest selling point for him.

  The woman in the maroon pantsuit had slapped her three year old this morning so hard that one of the child’s very tiny teeth was knocked clean out for drawing on the walls. She had told the nanny that the child had fallen down the stairs before going to work. She had called in to work saying that she would be late today since she was accompanying her child to the Emergency Room. In reality she was heading to the bad part of town to meet the man she was having an affair with.

  A man in a blue jogging suit passed. If things weren’t going to drastically change for him he would be dead this afternoon. He would dart in front of a car to prevent a little girl from getting plowed instead. Granted this would only be if he decided against picking up the newspaper after his jog. Or if the little girl spotted the dog across the street and darted after it. These possibilities are branched out before him like a tree.

  No! I can’t be doing this! I’m just making this all up!

  Across the street he saw a man in a black hooded sweatshirt that had the face of a beast. It was an amalgamation of a boar and a tiger with tiger stripes and tusks jutting from the feline mouth. Warren stared at this hallucination fascinated. The beastman noticed that he was being wanted and glanced at Warren. He stared for a moment himself and recognition flashed in his aura. The beastman dashed across the street with preternatural speed.

  He forgot his death wish and his convictions that this could not be possible. He pushed through the crowd, but he might as well have been pushing on a brick wall. The beastman was already on his side of the street. No one else seemed to notice it snarl and the spittle drizzle from its mouth. One man passed them on the street and he stood out to Warren. What first drew Warren’s attention was the man’s pristine aura, and the second was the claymore sword he nonchalantly twirled in his hand. The tip of the blade severed the beast at the abdomen.

  “OW!” a man in a hooded sweatshirt yelped. “Watch where you’re swinging that thing!” He looked down at his stomach. “Am I bleeding?” Warren looked around and the auras had vanished.

  “You’re fine,” the man with the claymore said, “Its blunt. Might bruise though. Sorry. Look if it does come by the Harbor and show it to me. I’ll give you a free reading. Day’s going to start looking up for you.” But the man with the sword’s eyes was not looking at the man in the hoodie, but at Warren Elliot.

  Warren recognized the man almost immediately from schoolyard tales – the Urban Shaman. Before the hoodie man could protest the Urban Shaman walked away. Warren wrote the whole thing off to craziness and went home. He mindlessly flipped through the channels.

  “Man on daily jog saved a young girl this afternoon –“ Click. “ – is currently in critical condition –“ Click. “I was glancing at the people and spotted her in my peripheral, and I thought to myself she was going to go. She’s ok, but I got clipped by the car. “ Click. “Astronomers across the country have been blinded by strange space light…”

  Warren settled on To Catch a Predator. It took him a moment, but he recognized the man in the towel. It was hard to recognize the man without the pinstripe suit on.

  ***

  Warren got up from the bench and rubbed his eyes on his right arm. He picked up the Subway bag at his feet and headed over to the cave-like monuments. Sitting at the mouth of the cave was the Urban Shaman. Warren handed him the bag. He took his pick and handed the bag back to Warren.

  “You left half the sandwich,” Warren said.

  “It’s an old rate. Come. Sit with me. Eat with me.” He patted the bare concrete next to him. “What is it that you want to learn about today?”

  “Yes, it’s for my story.” The most convincing lies are the ones we tell ourselves. He scratched the symbol branded on his arm. “What do you know about a spirit named Teftin? Mythologically, speaking.”

  “Well, nothing much. Not really mentioned in most of the grimoires, but I’ve heard something about him being a technology spirit. An angel from the highest levels, but I’m not entirely sure why.”

  “Highest level?”

  “Like I mentioned yesterday. Reality as we know it is like an onion with many different layers with us at the bottom. That is not to say we are separate from those realms, but we don’t directly interact with them because we’re on different frequencies. Things on one layer interact with one higher and lower without major change.”

  Warren looked over at the Urban Shaman. He had finished his sandwich already. He noticed a picture lying in he Urban Shaman’s lap.

  “Who is that?” Warren said.

  “Oh sorry,” the Urban Shaman replied, “I’m a little preoccupied today. It’s just…someone I used to know. His presence dropped off the face of the Earth nearly ten years ago. Yesterday it showed up again for an instant. I know you don’t seem to believe in this stuff…”

  Warren’s eyes widened. “Could you show me that picture?” The Urban Shaman did. “That hair color I’d recognize it anywhere. Where did you get this?”

  “Out of his wallet? Do you know him? He apprenticed to me a while back, but honestly you’re a better student that him.”

  “Not exactly…” Warren said and thought No that’s the man who haunts my dreams the Dread Pirate, Cameron!

  “You are a difficult man to read Warren Elliot,” the Urban Shaman said, “There is a veil about you that prevents any clear looks at your aura.”

>   “Yes, right,” Warren said, “I just realized that I might have left an oven on at home! Erm, or at least I have a fear of that. Anyway! One quick follow-up: How does one go about opening their Third Eye?”

  “For your story?”

  “Yes…of course.”

  The Urban Shaman grinned. “If it had opened before then you only need to be confident that it will happen again. If you get too caught up in the results you’ll get, how you say, performance anxiety.”

  “Yes! Thanks!” Warren yelled back to him.

  ***

  After a quick stop in Janet’s office and then their apartment Warren hailed a cab to the airport. Her boss informed him that she just up and left the office one day. Never bothered coming back. Warren knew why and there was no reason for her to come back. He wasn’t expecting a take a flight, but the airport was the only place he knew where he could rent a car.

  “I need a car with a GPS,” Warren told the smartly dressed lady behind the counter. “Most sophisticated one I could rent.”

  “Of course, sir,” she replied, “We only need to see some ID. Will this be cash or credit?”

  “Cash,” Warren replied. He had nearly two grand in his pockets. He had become too paranoid about the Irishman watching his bank activity to deposit it

  “We’ll need you to run a credit application then,” she replied. “We need to run it through OFAC to make be doubly sure this car will not be used in any terrorist’s acts.”

  “OFAC?” Warren asked, “What does that even mean?”

  “Standard procedure.” The colors don’t run. Warren read in her eyes. No, not her eyes.

  “Alright, fine.” he said. “I’ll just pay with my bank card.”

  “Very good.” She swiped his card.

  The third eye in Warren’s brain opened. He could hear the hum of her computer – its voice. He told it Approved. Thank you.

  “You’ve been approved thank you.”

  Within minutes instead of hours he was ushered into a Lexus something or other. It didn’t really matter to him. Take me to Janet.

  Continue down this road. It replied in a voice that no one else could hear.

  Well he had gotten this far, but the hard part was yet to come – convincing Janet that the Cameron stories were true.

  ***

  Take a right on this road, the Lexus’ GPS said in Warren Elliot’s head. Despite having only one functioning arm the Lexus was very easy for him to handle on his nonstop drive from Baltimore to Washington, DC. Some feature of the car was helping him out. Not in the way it was intended, but like the GPS it was going the extra mile so to speak.

  Stop here.

  Warren jumped out the car’s door right in the middle of the street. Worry began to creep up his spine. “Uh, go find a parking spot.” He wasn’t terribly surprised when the car drove off on its own accord. He ran with a limp all the way to the red brick apartment building’s front porch. He was met with a locked door and a series of numbered doorbells. Many of them had labels, but most did not and Janet was among them.

  “Tell me which one is Janet.” Like most inanimate objects the switchboard made no response. “Then which one do I press? Do I try them all?” If I could get that GPS to find her calling her should be no problem. He went for the cell phone in his pocket and remembered that the Irishman had “borrowed” it. Probably thrown it away by now since Warren cancelled the service the next day.

  The Zune was still in his pocket. But even in all their infinite awesomeness what help could Wolfmother be to him right now? Well, Apple made that god damn cell phone inside an Ipod, and there are those cell phones that can use Wi-Fi as a free alternative. He pulled the Zune from his pocket, pressed a few buttons, and found an unprotected network broadcasting from inside the building.

  Call Janet. The LCD screen lit up and announced her name and number followed by “Dialing…”

  “Hello?” she answered on the other side. “Mom?”

  “No,” Warren replied. She recognized the voice immediately it was spoken with clarity like he was standing in the room with her.

  “How did you find this? I’m unlisted!”

  “I’m standing outside.”

  “Oh my God! Jesus Christ! You are involved in the Mafia. I knew it! I’m calling the police.”

  “Jesus, Janet! If I was involved in the mafia then why the hell were we living in a slum in Baltimore?”

  “It makes far more sense then those two horrible men targeting us for no apparent reason. They knew everything about us!” Her words were beginning to slur together. She was starting to speak faster than he could understand. He waited for a moment while his brain translated.

  “That man was a vampire and the reason he hired the Irishman is because something wanted to find me because of my association with Cameron!”

  “What? Who?”

  “The Pirate King!”

  “I’m calling the police. Either you’re a horrible liar or insane!”

  “I’m only the first part and my only lie is that the whole thing was just a dream. You knew it was true even if you’ve had the chance to push it away now, but I finally just got it!”

  He could hear her weeping now. “Those kinds of things just don’t happen. Just a dream of all that damn Sci-Fi you watch.”

  “Look out your window then. I’ll prove it to you.” He saw the blinds go up on one of the upper story windows.

  “Lights go out.” Nothing happened. “Lights go out!” The streetlights stubbornly continued to illuminate the streets below.

  “Well?” he heard her say through the Zune. That reminded him that he really could do this. That he wasn’t insane.

  “Lights go out!” he screamed.

  “I’m calling the police,” she said.

  “Wait,” he whispered. He was suddenly reminded of psychics’ claims of jealous phenomenon blocking their powers when they try to demonstrate them in a scientific environment. Until now he thought that was a pretty poor excuse. He took a deep breath. Lights go out. And they did.

  “What now? A black out?”

  “Are you on a landline phone?”

  “Yes, but I don’t see how-”

  “If this was a blackout then how are you still talking to me?” The other end was silent. “Wait, now look! Pink!” But all that she heard was “Wait, now look!” followed by strange humming that reminded her of driving under heavy power lines.

  “Hello? Warren? Are you still there?” All the lights flickered back on now pink. Not a pink tone, but each light was burning a clearly pink glow. By the morning most people forgot the pink lights or didn’t notice them all together, but for Warren and Janet they would always remember the pink lights. “…I’m so sorry. I’ll be right down-“

  “No I’ll come up.” Warren didn’t know what he was trying to do, but he was going to do it anyway. He concentrated until everything melted away but them and pink stars over their heads. They danced awkwardly in space with Warren’s one arm.

  “I missed you so much,” she said over a sob. “I’m so sorry.”

  And under the pink stars they were one.

  “The biggest misconception about reincarnation is that we remember our past lives. Memory is mortal, and that is the most terrifying truth about death to most people whether they realize it or not. Then how is there past life memories? Mostly delusional, but what people don’t realize is that when memory dies it doesn’t go away. It’s more…public domain.”

  The Urban Shaman

  Book Four: The Spaces Beyond

  In which Cameron meets God.

  Lord Sananda of the Ashtar Command was enjoying his morning mug of green tea while reviewing the morning reports. Despite his calm exterior he was quite troubled. An anonymous tip came to the Command informing them that the Soulforge was stranded in deep space. Of course most of the tips about the Pirate King are taken with a grain of salt. Usually the stranger and more farfetched the more likely they are to take it as serious information. This wa
s a policy picked up after reports of the Pirate King stealing an entire sector of Andromeda. How is that even possible? What would he even do with that?

  The claim was circulated around the Command before it was deleted off the LCD sheet. It made for a good laugh even amongst the higher-ups. It was only a snicker when another report came in from an Atlantean cargo freighter claiming to not be able to find said Andromeda sectors despite their Intergalactic Positioning System being in perfect condition. When the officer manning the mailroom came back to his desk after circulating that little report on an LCD sheet his wireless inbox was overflowing. More reports of missing planets. He grinned while going through the top of the pile. It amazed him how fast galactic legends can spring up and spread. This was faster than when a site on the Wireless reported that the genetically engineered chicken foodstuffs of an intergalactic restaurant chain were in fact actual chickens. Absolutely preposterous.

  His grin faded halfway through the list. This one was urgent. It would have been on the top of the pile if the inbox wasn’t so crammed. Andromeda Intergalactic Wide Web Commission reported outages of all communication in the supposedly stolen sector. Each new report in his inbox got increasingly more urgent, and it became apparent the e-mail filters were overloaded. By the time he had gone through all those reports his inbox was full again. His system has three e-mail servers capable of holding 50 terabytes of information each, and an e-mail only takes up about thirty-two kilobytes. Now that’s about 1.6 billion e-mails.

  His math was off because the calculator function wouldn’t open under the stress on systems, but it was still billions. A patrol was dispatched to check the sector, and within the afternoon the Ashtar Command was gripped in full panic mode. The Pirate King’s threat level was elevated from Yellow-Orange meaning ‘high-vague threat’ to pure Red meaning ‘will probably kill you soon.’ The highest rating.