Hang Wire

by Adam Christopher

  Bob stepped up to Benny and pushed her back against the store window. Benny hit it with a thud. Bob moved back a little, in case they were getting attention from passersby, or people in the shop.

  “I am not Kanaloa. My name is Bob. I am not a god. I am a person just like you.”

  “But–”

  “Don’t ever ask me again,” said Bob.

  Benny blanched and shrank back, pushing herself against the glass behind her. “Sorry.”

  Bob took a deep breath, and brushed Benny’s shoulder down with his hand, embarrassed at his outburst. Benny was a new kid but she had to know.

  “It’s all I can do to hold myself back,” said Bob. He looked around, smiling, nodding to a few people on the sidewalk who seemed to recognize who he was, even in the white linen shirt. He spoke softly, trying to be inconspicuous. Not that it really mattered. Nobody who overhead would believe what he was saying. “If I just stretch out my hand, pluck Ted out of the crowd, I might decide I can do something else too. You know, I haven’t eaten in a long, long time.”

  “Eaten?”

  Bob turned to Benny, and he smiled. Benny flinched.

  “Remember what Kanaloa was god of, Benny.” Then he turned, and walked down the street, anger fading. But there was hunger inside him. He sighed, rolled his shoulders, and turned. “Benny?”

  His friend pointed across the street. Then someone cried out.

  “Is anyone a doctor?”

  Bob jogged back to Benny. “What’s going on?”

  “Dude, that was Ted. He collapsed on the sidewalk.”

  Bob was halfway across the street already.

  Bob pushed his way through the onlookers. He was surprised so many people had stopped to help. Maybe it was because the man lying on the street looked like one of them – smart brown jacket, sensible haircut, shoes that were not expensive but well chosen. Bob felt like telling the crowd that perhaps they should show the same care to those who lived rough on the streets of San Francisco, but decided to save it for another time.

  It was Ted all right. He was lying on his side, curled in a fetal position. Bob dropped to the sidewalk, kneeling next to a woman who was loosening the top buttons of Ted’s shirt. She glanced at him.

  “You a doctor?”

  “Ah, no, ma’am. I’m a friend of this guy.”

  The woman leaned back a little and looked Bob up and down. The ill-fitting linen shirt. The old, faded jeans. The bare feet. The long hair.

  She pushed Bob away. Bob, surprised, fell back onto his ass. “Hey!”

  “Fuck off,” said the woman. “You’re not taking his wallet!”

  “His wallet?”

  The woman stood up. One of those standing near had his cellphone to his ear. He tilted it down and waved at her. “There’s an ambulance coming.”

  “Call the police too,” said the woman. She turned and pointed at Bob, now standing. “This guy tried to steal his wallet.”

  “Ah, ma’am,” said Bob, backing away, hands in the air. One of the men in the crowd stepped forward and shoved Bob’s shoulder, his nostrils flaring. Someone else tapped him on the shoulder.

  “Isn’t that the guy from the beach?”

  A ripple spread around the group.

  “The dance guy?”

  “That bum?”

  “Isn’t his name Bob?”

  “That’s not Bob.”

  “I took my mom down there just last week.”

  “Dude,” said Benny, pushing her way in. The man who had shoved Bob turned on Benny, but Benny just nodded at him and grabbed Bob by the shoulders, pulling him back a little.

  “What’s gotten into them?” asked Benny.

  “We have to get him out of here,” said Bob.

  “Dude, I know.” Benny looked down at Ted. “At least he’s sleeping again–”

  They both turned at the sound of approaching sirens. An ambulance pulled up, the crowd parting to let two paramedics through.

  “Oh great,” said Bob. He reached forward to tap one of the paramedics on the shoulder, but the man who had pushed him blocked his path and shoved him back again.

  “Cut it out!” the paramedic said.

  The other man nodded at Bob. “This guy’s trying to steal his wallet.”

  “Look, I’m a friend of his,” said Bob. “His name is Ted – Theodore Kane. Check his wallet yourself. You’ll see.”

  The paramedic joined his colleague, who had put an oxygen mask on Ted and was trying to talk to him. The first paramedic reached inside Ted’s jacket, extracted a wallet, and from that a driver’s license.

  “Theodore Kane,” he read.

  “Went to school together,” said Bob. “Ted’s a freelance writer. Doing work for the Bay Blog.”

  “Fine,” said the paramedic. “We’re taking him to the hospital. You can ride with us.”

  Benny tugged Bob’s arm. “Will he be safe in the hospital?”

  “He won’t be safe anywhere.”

  — XXVII —

  SAN FRANCISCO

  TODAY

  The apartment was – as she’d feared – exactly as Alison had left it. She’d even paused in the hallway, key in the lock, listening, before she pushed the door open slowly. Like it was the door to Narnia, to the magic kingdom, to her normal life and Ted’s normal life. Where nothing had ever happened.

  But it was just the same. The laptop on the table, closed. The door to the bedroom ajar. The apartment empty. Ted gone.

  Alison sighed and swung the door closed behind her. She stood for a moment, breathing deeply. It was OK, she was following the plan. She hadn’t seen him between the office and the apartment, and she’d taken some time, ducking down side streets, trying to remember old routes Ted used to walk. There were parks nearby and rows of pretty houses. He’d mentioned that he liked to take different routes, vary the routine, enjoy the walk.

  Nothing.

  It was time to call both the police and every hospital in the book. She pulled her cell from her pocket and sat at the table. She flipped the laptop open, frowned at the page of Chinese text that was still showing in the word processor, fired up a browser, and started searching for hospitals.

  Her cell rang, vibrating in her hand, giving her a fright. She looked at the display but didn’t recognize the number.

  “Ted?”

  “Hey, Alison. No, it’s me,” said the voice on the other end.

  “Benny?”

  “Ah, yeah, sorry. It’s Benny. We’ve found Ted. He’s fine.”

  Relief. Exquisite and simple. Alison sighed deeply and slumped over the laptop.

  “Benny, thank God,” she said.

  “We’re down at St Roch. The hospital.”

  Adrenaline pumped into her bloodstream, making her nauseous. Alison felt like she’d been kicked in the stomach. She brushed the bangs out of her eyes. “The hospital? Oh God, what–”

  “No, no, he’s fine. We found him and brought him in.”

  Alison rubbed her forehead. “Who’s ‘we’? Zane?”

  There was a wet sort of click, followed by someone rubbing sandpaper against the mouthpiece at the other end. Benny had moved the phone away from her mouth and was talking to someone else. Alison heard the tail end of the laugh, and then heard Benny say something. Then she was back on the line.

  “Me and Bob.”

  “Bob?”

  “Look,” said Benny. “Better come down here. We’ll explain everything.”

  Alison’s heart began to race. “OK, OK, hold on,” she said, scrambling for a pen. There was nothing on the desk, so she opened the word processor on the laptop and began to type, the phone between her shoulder and ear. Benny gave her the address and a set of directions that sounded easy enough.

  “I’ll be right over,” she said.

  “See you soon.”

  Alison hung up, and stared at the notes she’d typed. St Roch was clear on the other side of town. What the hell was Ted doing way over there? It was nowhere near the office, or Benn
y’s apartment for that matter.

  And what was Benny doing with Bob, the beach bum from Aquatic Park?

  Alison drove her car up out of the parking garage underneath Ted’s apartment building. Ted didn’t have a car, so his spot was always empty. The car drove up the ramp, bounced on its suspension at the top as she gave only the most cursory check for traffic, and then, tires squealing, she took a left and sped down the street.

  The man pulled out of the shadows, into the sun. He watched the car disappear, and then looked up at the apartment building. He was on foot – not that this posed a problem; he could move around the city as he pleased, as it pleased. He just had to trust that it knew where to go next.

  He looked up at the sun, felt the burn, the pain in his eyes. And then the earth shook, a micro-quake just under his boots, and then he knew.

  St Roch. The hospital there.

  And then it said: Soon. Soon.

  The man opened his eyes, looked into the sun, and followed the light. The ground hummed, and the sidewalk was now empty.

  — XXVIII —

  SHARON MEADOW, SAN FRANCISCO

  TODAY

  Nadine awoke in a room that was dark and stuffy. She moaned, and her voice echoed with a flatness she recognized. She sat up, rubbed her forehead.

  She was back in the Winnebago, in the sleeping compartment. It was big, spacious enough for a regular double bed, a built-in dresser, and a mirror in one corner opposite the bed, the other wall filled with a compact fitted closet. As she sat up she could see herself in the mirror on the dresser; herself, and the back of the man sitting on the end of the bed.

  “Jack?”

  It was dark in the bedroom, only the light from the carnival coming in through the slats of the blinds on the left wall. Jack’s face was in shadow, but he was wearing the ringmaster’s jacket and hat. Both sparkled in the half-light.

  “There’s a power here,” he said. Nadine pushed herself back up against the headboard. In the doorway of the bedroom was another man. Tall, thin, he was a black shape wearing a tall hat. He was leaning against the doorway, one hand apparently looped through his belt. It looked like his other hand was tucked into the pocket on the front of his waistcoat, but Nadine couldn’t be sure.

  Joel. Joel was a fucking creep who shouldn’t have been brought into their bedroom.

  “The fuck is he doing here?” she said.

  “It’s growing. It’s moving. I can feel it.” Jack wasn’t listening to Nadine. In fact, he wasn’t even looking at her. He was staring somewhere into the middle distance, like he was lost in thought.

  “Jack, tell me what’s going on,” she said. She was surprised at the strength of her own voice. The last thing she remembered was the bonfire, the girl being pulled from the ashes beneath it.

  “It’s hungry. It sleeps and we feed it. Fire and blood. There’s power there. Power in death. In murder. It’s hungry and we feed it. It can create life of its own, too. They’re part of it, extensions of it. They’re made of the earth like it is made of the earth. We pull them from the fire. The dancers call it Belenus, but it doesn’t have a name. We–”

  Nadine leapt, but Jack moved with unnatural speed. He grabbed her wrists as she swung herself over the edge of the bed and pushed her back down. Nadine yelled out and struggled, but it was no good. Jack’s grip was solid, his hands so cold her wrists hurt. Joel stepped out from the doorway and stood over the pair of them. He looked down at her, his white eye shining in the half-light.

  “I follow a light,” said Jack, and Nadine gasped in horror. Jack was speaking, his eyes unfocussed, but as he spoke, Joel mouthed the words.

  “The light is cold,” said Jack/Joel. “It comes from a dark place, a void of endless dimensions. It’s hungry too, but weak. Intelligence, ancient and awful. It shows me where to go, what to do. It drew me here, to this city, this place. To the thing that sleeps beneath us all. A force of nature, of the world itself. But a thing without mind, direction.”

  Nadine gave another push, but Jack held her firm. She didn’t understand what Joel was saying, how he was saying it through Jack. It was all a dream, a nightmare of earthquakes and a city falling into the abyss. Her eyes filled with tears as she struggled on the bed.

  “But the light can control it. The light tells us to feed it, and soon it will awake,” said Joel, through Jack. “Soon I’ll be free.” He turned and walked back to the doorway. “But not yet. There is still hunger, and pain. And I follow the light, and the light it shines for thee.”

  Jack suddenly released Nadine. She screamed and pushed herself off the bed. This time, Jack did nothing. Nadine shoved Joel out of the doorway and ran down the length of the motorhome. She reached the door and pulled it, but it was locked. She fiddled with the deadlock and catch, but the door refused to move. She thumped on it, screaming for help.

  “You can’t leave.”

  She turned. Jack was right behind her, and behind him, Joel leaned in the doorway of the sleeping compartment. Jack held up his hands, and between them flexed a loop of thin steel cable.

  Nadine screamed again and pulled and banged on the door. Then the loop of steel dropped over her neck and was drawn tight.

  — INTERLUDE —

  POINT PLEASANT, NEW JERSEY

  1967

  Pay dirt. He’d hit big, the mother lode. He arrived in town, checked into the motel named, optimistically, the Pleasant View – of the parking lot and freeway, mostly – called the number from the newspaper, and then driven across the Silver Bridge into Gallipolis, New Jersey. It all went so very smoothly.

  Joel waited patiently as Jim, owner and proprietor of Jim’s Auto and Gas, stamped his feet and blew into his hands. The December night was cold and clear. A frost would dust the park just across the road tonight, and most folk would stay indoors. Christmas was coming, and the townsfolk had better things to do than come out at night and look at antique junk.

  “You OK there, mister…?” Jim looked Joel up and down, unsure of the man standing in just his old black suit, old-fashioned hat tucked under his arm. Joel smiled and nodded at the padlock on the garage door.

  “Let’s just get events progressing in a more forward direction, Mr Jim, if you would be so kind.” Joel put one hand in his pocket and slid the index finger and thumb of the other into the fob pocket of his waistcoat. The gold coin was screaming at him, inside his mind.

  “Well, OK, now,” said Jim. “And it’s Mr Callaghan, but Jim’ll do. Everyone calls me Jim.” He pointed over Joel’s shoulder. Joel half-turned and saw the man’s name in six-foot-high letters, black and red on a white panel, high above the garage and gas station that was adjoined to the lockup. It was late and the sign was unlit, but the white enameled background picked up the moonlight, making Jim’s name easy to read.

  “In fact,” said Jim, bending over to fuss at the padlock, “you might be the first person I’ve actually told my surname too.” He laughed and got back to work. After a moment, the lock snapped open and Jim pulled it from the catch and dropped it into the pocket of his parka. Door unlocked, he released the catch and heaved. The door creaked and the metal roller front buckled a little, but it remained in place.

  “Little help here,” said Jim, shifting over slightly.

  Joel took his left hand from his pocket, but his right hand was slower, the fingers lingering over the coin. In his head the coin screamed and screamed again. He ignored it and the scattering of gravel outside the garage crunched under his feet as he moved to help Jim with the door. The roller groaned in protest and the coin in Joel’s pocket screamed his name, and then there was a click and the door was free. It rolled speedily upward, taking Jim’s and Joel’s hands with it until it left their grasp and clunked into the frame at the top.

  “You got a truck or something?” asked Jim. He stepped across the threshold, vanishing into the dark. A second later a small light clicked on, and then another – single bulbs with white cone shades, set in rows in the high ceiling.

&nb
sp; Joel’s fingers found the coin again and this time he took it out and rolled it across his knuckles, almost without conscious thought, as he stepped into the garage.

  The space was as tall as it was long and wide – a hollow cube, the floor thick with dust. Attached as it was to the auto workshop Joel suspected it had once been a workshop itself, now relegated to storage. It was full of machinery that looked like it was folded up, or disassembled and stacked in pieces. There were metal poles and plain sheeting, plenty of it, but the two small lights picked out something brighter – yellow and red and green paint, covered with dust but still shining. Joel saw shooting stars and the tail of a comet, paintings of ringed planets, of lions and tigers and creatures that were neither, animals that had never lived.

  Not on Earth, anyway.

  “Been here a while,” said Jim. He stood next to Joel and surveyed the contents of the garage like an explorer standing atop a mountain. Then he swept the baseball cap off his head and ran a hand through his thick white hair. “Now I think about it, I’m pretty sure it’s always been here.”

  “Always?”

  “Well, I’m Jim the second. Jim the first – my old dad, rest his soul – started the auto shop, oh, thirty years ago, maybe longer. Built a double workshop but always used this half for storage. Guess the town just isn’t big enough for the enterprise he had in mind. But I can remember the shed being loaded up and then locked. He took me on when I was fifteen, apprenticing, you know, and he didn’t like me coming in here.” Jim turned back to the stacked components. “No sir, that he did not like at all.”

  “Do you know where he acquired the, ah… collection?”

  Jim laughed and looked at Joel. “Collection? Now that’s one way of looking at it. It’s just a load of parts, far as I’m concerned. A load of parts that I ain’t got any use for. Business is good and we’re redoing the shop, expanding out here. This all has to be moved. Just wasted space for me at the moment.”

  Joel pursed his lips. This was a mother lode, all right: the biggest collection of the carnival he’d yet found. If he could find more collections like this, it would shorten his quest by quite a margin, and then he could move west, where the light was shining, where the coin was forever pulling when it wasn’t near to its kith and kin.