by K. H. Pope
“No,” Ammon answers.
“Why not?”
“Because I didn’t create it, and I don’t know the craft.”
“This is absolutely insane.”
“Have you ever thought that maybe that bellhop gave it to you because you can help her?”
“Well, he didn’t do her any favors by giving it to me. I don’t know how to destroy this thing, and I can’t enter it, either. I don’t know anything about this kind of magic. What about the Magi Elite? They can do something, right?”
“The Magi Elite is a vast organization, Alice, and not to mention, there is the matter of the Fellowship. The M.E. is focused on trying to stop them, and getting someone assigned to look into this thing may not happen for some time.”
I ask with an attitude, “How long will she stay in there?”
“Until the end of time, the weaver dies, or decides to release her.”
“Ammon, take this to the Magi Elite International Police Division, and see if they can help this woman. There must be someone there who can investigate.”
“I’m telling you, they won’t do it, Alice. The Fellowship has everyone tapped.”
“You’re going to the headquarters, right?”
“I am,” he says with a nod.
“Then take me with you. I’ll talk to the police.”
“Bad idea and no. Your one time history of breaking into the Magi Elite Headquarters has not been forgotten nor forgiven.”
I sigh with defeat. A bad choice on my part. That’s when I was looking for Calamous Fawlke and thought I could get away with breaking into the judiciary administrative wing, thinking I would find information on where he was being held in prison.
“Alice, I apologize, but I have to get going. There are important things happening at the headquarters that I can’t be late for.” Ammon strides over to a chair near the hallway door and picks up his coat.
“What’s more important than this?” I remark. “Take one day out of your schedule and help me, please.”
“There is a serious international problem, and as a senator, my presence is required. Oh, I didn’t tell you, did I? I’m a Magi Elite International Senator.”
“Good for you, Ammon. You’re already showing what a great politician you are.”
“Do I sense sarcasm?”
“Absolutely,” I reply.
Unbothered by my answer, he puts on his jacket and says, “Alice, I’ll tell you what I will do. After my meeting, I will go the Missing Persons Unit and see what I can find out about her?”
“How long will that take?”
“I’ll probably be in congress all day. So tonight, perhaps.”
“Ammon, that’s not good enough, and tonight will be too late.”
“Then you have to find a way to get her out yourself,” he says with annoyance. “I’m sorry. I wish I could do more.”
“You really disappoint me, Ammon. Thanks for nothing.” I go to the closet door to call for the transfer chamber.
If he isn’t willing to help this girl, I will. I got all the time in the world, and I know exactly where to start.
CHAPTER 4
My entrance into the states opens in Nephi, Utah, from a gas station men’s bathroom. The smell is so disgusting that it would send a pig running for fresh air. Not willing to torture myself much longer, I cross the lot to the exit that comes off of Interstate 15. The ramp is very dark, almost spooky, but it doesn’t stop me.
I get to the highway, and I see who I’m looking for. Attimus Grim is leaning on a cement barrier with his ankles crossed. Headlights from approaching cars and trucks outline his thin frame. He’s wearing a turtleneck, long sleeve black shirt, dark pants and shoes. His midnight dark tresses are blowing wildly with each passing vehicle.
Attimus is a grim reaper. I met him right on this highway. My charge was in a serious car accident near this very spot in 1984. He fell asleep driving. I was trying to get him to stay awake, but he was one of those charges that never really listened to his conscience, his family, or anyone for that matter. He had horrifying injuries, but Attimus took him before the ambulance arrived. I was so relieved he didn’t let him suffer.
Despite some accepted wisdom of grim reapers, they are not malicious or scary creatures. They are ghostly beings, usually assigned to areas around the planet. They do not wear hoods or robes. They simply collect human spirits and guide them to Limbo. Some do feel sadness for the souls they take, but others are not emotionally invested either way. There is a single list that they all strictly follow. They never question it. They never deviate from it, but I’m hoping to convince Attimus to do otherwise.
“Shamira, it’s wonderful to see you again.” He remains sitting. “How have you been? In good health, I assume?”
Shamira is my true name given to me when I was created as a guardian angel, and it’s the only one he or any grim will recognize.
“I’m in great health,” I answer. “I see that you’re still vigilant in your purpose.”
“Always. So, why am I so lucky to get a visit from that of a fallen angel?”
“How long before you collect your next soul?”
“Five minutes and eighteen seconds,” he answers quickly. “He should be passing us very shortly.”
“I need your help.”
Attimus rises from his concrete throne, giving me his full attention. I take the picture from the envelope and hand it to him. The moment he sees it, I realize this must look crazy to the few drivers that are going by on the highway. They can only see me, and they must think I’m some kind of lunatic talking to myself.
Attimus remarks, “This is a window to another dimension.”
“Can you tell me her name?”
“Vanessa Brenlich.”
I place the portrait and envelope back in my jacket pocket. “Do you know if a grim tried to take her?”
“There is no try. When the time comes, she will be collected. It doesn’t matter if she’s on the moon, in the ocean, or in another dimension.”
“Do you have any idea how she might have gotten into it?”
“Why would I know that?”
“Attimus, don’t give me a hard time. Grims know a lot of things.”
“You’re expecting me to solve the problem for you when that’s all you have to do is turn on a television set or go online. Her disappearance has been broadcasted for days.”
“You watch television and go online?” I reply, feeling kind of weirded out by what he said. A grim doesn’t do those things. I just thought he would know where she’s from off the top of his head.
“No, but I heard about her while waiting for an old man to die of a stroke in his home. He had bad hearing, and the volume on his television was really high. Couldn’t help but to catch that bit of news about her.”
“Okay, so, can you get her out for me?”
“I only collect souls, Shamira. You know this.”
“Well, what if she’s still in there when she turns a hundred and twenty years old? What if this dimension trap will not let her die?”
“Everyone will die eventually. No one lives beyond their life cycle. When it is their appointed time, they will pass, no matter who they are, no matter how long they’ve lived. The rest – the why, the what if - is not my concern. Thinking about such things make my job more complicated, and I don’t deal well with complications.”
“Attimus, you can save her.”
“No, I can’t,” he says with a deadpan look.
I sigh with aggravation and ask, “Can you, at least, tell me where she’s from?”
“I believe they said she was from Cactus, Texas.”
“Do you know her exact home address?”
“No.”
“I find it real hard to believe that you, a grim reaper, doesn’t know anything about this girl.”
“Believe it.”
I ask, not giving up, “Why doesn’t this bother you?”
“Because I won’t allow it.” His matter of
fact, nonchalant, not worried one bit tone is driving me crazy.
“Can you just get her out for me, please?” I beg. “Help me this one time. I know you can do it. Just break the rules for once.”
“Innately impossible.”
“Nobody wants to help. I don’t get it.” I huff and fold my arms.
“That’s where you’re wrong. You want to help her.”
“Is there anything else you can tell me about her, not what you heard on television or online or whatever, but from your grim reaper knowledge of all humans? Like the last place she was. Maybe, the last person she spoke to. Who put her in the trap?”
“Now, Shamira, you are making assumptions of me that’s not true. I can’t answer those questions. All I know is when my next soul is to be collected, and that’s in another minute and thirty-three seconds. That’s it. That’s all. Nothing else.”
“You know more than what you’re saying, Attimus. You have freewill. All beings have that gift. Use it and tell me what you know. Who put her in the dimension trap?”
He looks at a passing red car, rear wheel wobbling badly. A smile spreads across his face. “There’s my soul. The end time of a life always come at the proper time. I’m afraid we have to end our discussion.”
I shake my head in complete frustration.
“Shamira, it was wonderful seeing you again. Do take care.”
“You, as well,” I say, not really meaning it.
Attimus disappears as he walks away. At least, I know the place where she’s from. That’s better than what I had before I got to Nephi.
Upon my return to the gas station, I see a man, no doubt a wizard, and he’s standing inside the building, watching me through the glass door like a peeping tom. He is bald headed with odd, bushy white eyebrows, and he’s more on the chubby side. I try to act like I don’t see him, but it’s all for nothing. We’ve already made eye contact.
I rush to the women’s bathroom door on the side of the building and call for the transfer chamber. Right when he appears around the corner, I enter the room and slam the door close. He won’t catch me now. I breathe a little easier. Whoever he was, I hope I lost him for good.
CHAPTER 5
An abandon store is where I enter in Cactus, Texas. There’s nothing to indicate what kind it was, but the space is small, dusty, and filled with cobwebs. I leave out the front door. My view from the sidewalk, tells me this is truly a small town. The trailers across the street are abandoned. And despite that it’s only an hour into the New Year, there’s no traffic. No one is walking the streets. No firecrackers, no confetti, not a single balloon, and no parties. I bet this place is like this all the time. Nothing extraordinary happens here for fear that someone from the Fellowship will attack.
As I’m about to set off for the closest hotel, I notice a piece of paper attached to a telephone pole. Actually, copies of the same paper is on all the poles down the street. The word ‘MISSING’ is on the header. I take a closer look. The black and white picture underneath the block letters is definitely Vanessa Brenlich. She has long hair, a narrow nose, and thin lips. She’s been missing since December 12, 2019. I rip off the missing person flyer and bring out the picture from my jacket pocket.
It’s showing Vanessa standing sideways, but now, she’s looking out at an odd angle, different from before. Her hair is covering one eye, and I get the sense that she’s looking at me. Ammon said that she doesn’t know she’s in the trap. From the way she’s looking now, I’ll bet money that she does. Her gaze makes my hair on my neck stand on end. I fold the flyer, and place it and the picture in my pocket.
A neon lighted sign points to a hotel about a half mile down the road. My walk only lasts a few minutes. The lobby has three sofas. Every seat cushion is ripped. The television mounted on the wall across from the front desk is playing a newscast about different New Year Eve’s celebrations around the world. The attendant is barely awake with his head on his hand. I clear my throat to get his attention, and he jumps on his feet ready to help me. I pay for one night and go to my room.
When I get there, I’m not surprised by the decor. It’s a four wall monstrosity with a nasty stained blue carpet, an overly used bed, a table with two straight chairs, an arm chair, and an outdated boob tube. Maybe, I should have stayed in Paris and come back six hours later. I could still go see the Louvre, but it wouldn’t seem right. This girl is trapped, and I would be out sightseeing. That wouldn’t sit well with me at all.
I turn on the television, and the same thing that’s playing in the lobby is playing on this one. I change the channel. The first show I get to is a newscaster in a gray suit, speaking in a boring tone of voice about worldwide events.
South Korea is in the midst of a civil war. With the United States hardly united because of its own civil war with the Fellowship, it is believed that communist factions are taking advantage. America is too busy trying to police her own to protect or come to the aid of South Korea fully. Australia is becoming the superpower of the world, and the French government has created more laws to make it impossible for foreigners to become a citizen. The world has always been in turmoil. A war here, a famine there, and a tyrant ruling with fear. Nations are created through bloodshed, and they die the same way. Life hasn’t changed. Never will.
Before sitting down, I take out the flyer, the photograph, my cigarettes and lighter. I put them on the table and place my jacket on the bed. I settle back into the arm chair.
Sleep is not a luxury for me. Even if I just lay down and close my eyes, it’s not going happen. It’s part of my punishment. At least, I can sit and just rest, and by morning, I’ll be ready.
CHAPTER 6
My morning was full. I’ve taken a shower. I hand washed my clothes and let them dry on the heater unit, which took longer than I wanted. Now, I’m watching the news, and instead of worldwide events being broadcasted, the local news is on. And they’re talking about a subject that has my full attention.
“For more than two weeks, we’ve been covering the disappearance of a 19 year old woman name Vanessa Brenlich of Cactus, Texas. We are happy to report she has been found. She is currently with her mother in the Hamptons. Her parents, Peter and Olivia Brenlich, have said that she is doing well. They sent us a statement advising they appreciate all of the concern and help of the police departments and the public, but now, they request privacy. Good news for the Brenlich family.”
Why would Vanessa’s family report a lie? Vanessa’s body is in a dimension trap, and I have the picture to prove it. I’ll talk to Vanessa’s parents and see what the deal is. I grab the flyer and write down her parents’ names on the back. Once I’m finished, I fold the paper around the picture and place them in my pocket. As I’m about to throw on my jacket, a knock comes from the door.
“Who is it?” I ask cautiously.
There is no answer. I glance out the peephole. No one is standing in the parking lot, but I can sense there’s a wizard out there.
“Who is it?” I ask again.
My call goes unanswered. I pull the curtain back from the window, but still, I don’t see anyone. Against my better judgment, I open the door.
The white brow wizard from the gas station is standing in the parking space in front of my door. How in the world did he find me? I hope he’s not here to cause problems. I’ll hurt him if I have to. I’ve become pretty good at breaking ribs lately, and he’ll be next if he messes with me.
“Alice,” he says. His voice is rough, almost to the point of crackling.
“Good guess and you?”
“Jacob Pike,” he answers. “I’m here on behalf of my employer. He is interested in making you a deal.”
“How did you hide yourself from my view?”
“Cloak,” he says.
I need to be careful.
“Who is your employer?” I ask.
“That’s not important. I’m here because you have a valuable item, two actually, and my employer is willing to pay you for them.”
“You have what’s left of your wings. He’s willing to pay ten million in the newest currency.”
I huff and remark, “Not interested.”
The newest currency is an electronic point system. Most people carry around cell phones that access their points so they can pay for all kinds of things. Paper money and coins are obsolete. The points can be used almost anywhere in the world, but values of goods and services differ depending upon where the business is located. My financial transactions are done through Ammon’s secondary account he’s set up under his name. The world banks and governments, the ones that still exist, don’t know I’m alive. Exactly how I like it.
If I cared one bit for money, I’d take that offer, and our conversation would have been finished at that moment. But money means nothing to me. I don’t want worldly objects. I found out that the less I have, the easier it is to exist. There are no demands made of me with the way things are, and ten million points will demand ten million problems. It’s a human financial trap, and I will not be caught.
“His offer is generous,” Jacob remarks. “You should reconsider.”
“My wing stumps are not for sale.”
“He’s willing to go as high as fifteen.”
“They’re not for sale,” I repeat impatiently. “How many times do I have to tell you?”
“My employer will be highly disappointed.”
“I really don’t care.”
“What will you take, Alice? Name your price.”
“I’m shutting the door,” I answer. “That means you need to leave.”
“Think about it. How often are you offered that much?”
“Never,” I respond. “Now, if you’d excuse me.”
I go back inside and close the door. I take another glimpse out the window. He’s gone, I think.
After grabbing my cigarettes and lighter, I take leave of the hotel room. Sure enough, the stranger is gone, but there is a red truck at the other end of the parking lot.
As I’m about to walk away, something or someone feels familiar. Slowly, I stroll down the covered sidewalk, and I touch each door as I go by. Most of the rooms are empty, but before I reach the last door, I find the source. A person, a man. I know him. I knock on the door. It opens, and surprisingly, I’m looking into the eyes of John Zuller. There’s no way it can be him. He steps out of his room with arms wide open, and he gives me a bear hug. I’m absolutely speechless.