Walker
Michael Langlois
Contents
Dedication
Epigraph
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
Acknowledgments
Also by Michael Langlois
About the Author
Copyright
For my parents.
You taught me everything I know that matters.
The individual has always had to struggle to keep from being overwhelmed by the tribe. If you try it, you will be lonely often, and sometimes frightened. But no price is too high to pay for the privilege of owning yourself.
—Friedrich Nietzsche
If I’m free, it’s because I’m always running.
—Jimi Hendrix
1
Daniel shivered. It was August in St. Louis, ninety degrees easy, but he could barely feel it. Beads of sweat stood out on his brow, but when he wiped them away with the palm of his hand, the skin of his forehead felt cool and clammy.
A month ago it had been just a few momentary bouts of anxiety. Nothing he couldn’t handle. He’d been under a lot of stress and figured it was normal, all things considered.
But, of course, it got worse. A week ago it became chills and goose bumps for ten minutes at a time, accompanied by a rush of nervous energy that left him pacing his apartment like a caged animal until the feeling went away.
Yesterday it stopped going away.
He hadn’t slept last night. He hadn’t done any work today. Instead he had stared blankly at the monitor in his cubicle until lunch and then bolted out of the office without saying anything to anyone.
Twenty minutes later he’d ended up here, sitting on a bench in the park where he used to play as a kid, and where he usually went to think when he needed some space. He fought the urge to leap to his feet and start running. Anything to burn off the energy that made him feel like he was about to burst out of his own skin. He clenched his fists and tried to focus on something else.
The noon sun had turned the park’s concrete paths incandescent, creating white-hot ribbons that burned against the cool green of the grass. Daniel gulped deep breaths of thick, moist air as he fought for composure. For control.
The worst part was the maddening feeling that he was forgetting something important, something that was just on the tip of his tongue. The feeling escalated with the physical symptoms, which were as bad right now as he had ever experienced, so it was all he could do not to scream in frustration.
And to top it off, whatever was happening to him couldn’t have come at a worse time. He didn’t have time to be freaking out in the park. He needed to be spending his lunch breaks and evenings looking for a second job. He had nothing left to sell, and his credit was long gone. His only option now was to get another job, and quick.
Growing up, his mom had always worked multiple jobs to keep the two of them fed and indoors. He’d be damned if he was going to do any less for her, now that she was the one who needed help.
She was the reason he always came to the park when he needed some space to think. Back when he was a kid, every time she had one of her rare days off, she would spend it on him. It was always ice cream they couldn’t afford, whatever of his friends she could round up on short notice, and this park. Every good memory he had of his childhood, she gave to him right here.
He deliberately unclenched his jaw and focused as best he could on those memories. Of all the good times he had in this park. One in particular stood out, just before Thanksgiving, when he was ten years old.
His mom had called in sick at the diner and again at the hotel where she was a maid, and for once all of his friends had been home and able to play. They’d gotten loaded up on sugar until they could barely see straight, and then spent the rest of the day running around like tiny maniacs.
They played until the sun itself gave out, and at sunset they finally collapsed together on the leafy ground in exhaustion, red-faced and laughing. His mom had been sitting on this same park bench for that whole afternoon, pretending to read.
Every time he looked over to check to see if she was still there, she was peeking around her book at him and smiling. His chest ached to remember it.
He clung to the memory, trying to recall every detail. Things like the crackle of the leaves and the color of the light, and how the wind had felt tugging at his clothes. He reached for those sensations, and to his surprise, they came. Effortlessly. Vividly.
For the first time in his life, he could recall an event with perfect clarity. He could feel it like he had as a child, the sights and smells and his emotions, all rolled up into a single experience.
And in that split-second, the feeling of something stuck on the tip of his tongue vanished. Understanding dawned on him with the deep pleasure of an itch finally scratched. It was like looking at a jumble of letters and suddenly seeing the word, or remembering the name of a song that had been eluding you for days.
He couldn’t articulate exactly what it was that he understood. There were no words for the revelation. It was an inexpressible epiphany. He simply knew with absolute certainty that there was something extra in the world around him, something that he and everyone else had been blind to until now. Something that he could suddenly feel as easily as the sun on his face.
This new feeling was tied to his memories somehow, and by focusing on them and reaching out with his new sense at the same time, they became so intense that he felt as though he could smell the crisp fall air and feel the wind on his face.
The ground shifted under his feet.
He stumbled and fell, his legs numb and unresponsive. He tried to catch himself, but his arms had also gone boneless, as if asleep. It was all he could do to turn his head at the last second to keep from smashing his face into the ground.
A cold gust of wind whipped around his body, plucking at his thin clothes and turning the sweat on his face and neck icy. His cheek pressed against a carpet of stiff, papery leaves.
Darkness crowded his vision, compressing it into a narrow tunnel filled with swimming specks. He couldn’t get enough air. Where seconds ago he had been bursting with barely restrained energy, now there was nothing. It took everything he had to draw a breath. More than simple exhaustion, it was as if he had tried to run himself to death, draining every last bit of strength from his body until he dropped.
Gradually his vision cleared and feeling began to creep back into his arms and legs. His breathing eased. In minutes his arms no longer felt like jelly, and managed to roll over onto his back, panting. The air was cold enough that his breath plumed out in front of his face.
Rich golden light streamed through the trees and threw long shadows across the leaf covered ground. It was sunset. A few minutes ago it had been noon. And summer.
A prickle of fear touched him, just for a moment, and then faded. He knew the abrupt change in season should be alarming, but a dreamy, bittersweet feeling seemed to be pressing in on him from the outside, mixed with the honeyed light. The strange emotional pressure made him feel slow and unfocused, as if drugged.
Daniel pushed to his feet and looked around. The park had changed. The concrete paths
were gone, as were the fountains, hedges, and trashcans. Even the city skyline that should have risen from the horizon in front of him was missing.
Instead there were just trees, as far as he could see in every direction. Not too thick, but just enough to give the impression of being in the woods. Long streaks of tattered clouds glowed with orange fire in the vast sky overhead, vivid against a backdrop of clear, darkening blue. A picture-perfect autumn sunset over a storybook autumn forest.
There was a playground in the distance. He could just make out a knot of smiling parents inside it. They stood close together, next to several pieces of unused playground equipment.
They were dressed in dark woolen sweaters and coats, with the men sporting soft white scarves, and the women puffy, ornate dresses. Black prams with oversized wire wheels completed the bizarre tableau, making the entire scene look like a movie set for a Victorian-era drama. Despite the strangeness of their dress, Daniel was relieved to see that he wasn’t alone in this place.
The only recognizable landmark was a park bench next to him, just as there had been before. Unlike before, the bench was occupied.
On the far end sat a middle-aged man in a long dirty apron. He seemed oblivious to Daniel’s presence, even when Daniel sat down next to him.
When Daniel spoke, he was surprised to hear that his voice was steady, even calm. “Excuse me. Can you tell me where we are?”
The man turned toward Daniel. His dark hair was shot through with gray, as was the stubble on his cheeks and chin. He furrowed his bushy eyebrows. “Well it’s the park, innit? Where do you think?”
Daniel smiled politely. “Right. But do you know the name of it?”
“It’s …” The man looked confused for a moment. “Well, it’s just the park. Don’t know why it would need a name, it’s the only one we got.”
“If you say so. Thanks anyway. The name’s Daniel, nice to meet you.”
The man shook Daniel’s smooth hand with his own work-hardened one. His nails were caked with dirt and the creases in the palm of his hand were black with grime. The strength of a lifetime of manual labor was obvious in his grip.
“William,” said the man. “Chandler by trade.”
“Chandler?”
“I make candles. Are you thick?”
“I’m starting to think so.”
A tiny smile flickered across William’s lips. “Hum. Been times I felt that way myself.” He faced forward again and gazed into the distance. “I’m for home soon. Just as soon as the sun goes down. Seems wrong to just walk off and turn your back on such a beautiful sunset, don’t you think? Like thumbing your nose at God.”
“Do you live close by?”
William continued as though he hadn’t heard. “Been a day. Old Pete came into the shop just now as I was closing up. Had his hat in his fist and his face was all red. You know how he gets when he’s been at the bottle. He was on and on, saying that he was so sorry and that it should never have happened to such nice folks as my Mary and the kids. I asked him what the devil he was talking about, but he just up and left without another word. Crazy old coot.”
“Shouldn’t you go home, then? To check on things?”
“Oh yes. I’m just leaving. Gotter be home for suppertime anyway, my Mary doesn’t like me to be late for supper. I’ll be home in just a minute, and everything will be right as rain. Pete’s crazy. Everybody knows that. Things’ll be fine when I get there, you’ll see.”
Daniel pitied the man. He doubted very much that things would be fine when he got home. They sat together for several more minutes, until it became clear that William wasn’t going anywhere. Daniel stood up.
“I should head home myself, but to be honest, I’m not sure how to get back. Do you know the way out of the park?”
“The way you came in, I expect.”
“Yes, well, I’m not exactly sure how I got here. I think I passed out.”
William shrugged, his eyes glassy and vacant.
Daniel pointed at the playground. “Okay, then. I’m going to ask those people over there in the—”
William’s hand flew up caught Daniel by the wrist. The movement was shockingly fast and his grip was hard and painful. Daniel tried to pull back, but he couldn’t budge.
William yanked him closer and his eyes were clear and cutting. “Are you mad? Can you not see? They’ll eat you alive!” His gaze bored into Daniel for a few more seconds, until whatever impulse drove the sudden outburst guttered and went out. His face went slack, and he let go.
Daniel snatched his arm back and stumbled away from the bench. Fear and adrenaline cut through his soporific daze. For the first time he could feel a swell of panic, just under the surface.
Wiping his sweaty palms on his pants, he turned and walked quickly towards the playground. William was clearly insane, and probably dangerous. Maybe he was right, and the nicely dressed people enjoying the park with their children were the ones to watch out for, but Daniel doubted it. Besides, someone had to help him get home.
As he approached the playground, he could see that everyone in the group was chatting with one another. As he got closer, he kept expecting to hear bits and pieces of their conversation. But it didn’t happen.
At fifty feet away, there was still nothing. At twenty feet he strained to listen, but only heard the wind sigh in the treetops and the leaves crunch under his feet as he walked. All else was quiet. Their lips moved without sound, like actors in a silent movie.
He tried to shrug it off as just one more weird thing about this place, but the closer he got, the more certain he became that he was making a terrible mistake. His feet slowed as he approached, only a few yards away now. And then he realized something horrible.
All of the men had the same face. Different heights and weights, slightly different clothes, but otherwise the same man, over and over. The women shared a face as well. Under each elaborate hat were the same delicate features, the same eyes.
Daniel froze. Goose bumps prickled up his neck and over his scalp as he faced the crowd of people. What he had thought at a distance was conversation, was instead the mindless opening and closing of mouths, all in silence. And all in unison. Every person gaped and closed their lips in perfect synchronicity.
He raised his hands and took a step back. As one, three of the men facing him leaned forward as though into a stiff wind.
And Daniel knew, all the way to his bones, that William had been right. He spun on his heel and ran.
He flew across the leaf-slick ground, barely in control of his headlong flight, desperately trying not to slip. And as he ran, he realized several things. This wasn’t a park. There was no nearby town. With the possible exception of William, he was likely the only human being in the whole godforsaken place, and most importantly, there was only one way out.
He reached for memories of his apartment, and despite the terror pounding through him, they came effortlessly.
Vivid impressions burned against his consciousness, nearly blotting out everything else. Rumpled blankets on an unmade bed. Jeans on the floor. The hum of traffic from the road beneath his window. The feel of his sheets and the weave of the thin cotton blanket he used in the summer.
The bench was right in front of him, but he didn’t slow down. Instead he reached out with his new understanding and strained towards the memory, trying to make the connection that he could just feel the edges of. And then he had it.
He slammed into the edge of his bed at a dead run and pitched forward, tumbling across his mattress and hitting the floor on the other side. Exhaustion kicked his lights out for a second time today, but now he didn’t have a surplus of pent up energy to take the brunt of it.
The last thought to cross his mind as he lay on the carpet with his heart stuttering painfully in his chest, was that he was no longer breathing.
2
Daniel lived. Disoriented, he blinked at the ceiling a few times, expecting the blooming, crushed-glass headache of a hangover to well up in his s
kull any second. It didn’t. Physically he felt fine, but he couldn’t remember why he spent the night on the floor in his clothes.
He smelled coffee and sat up, trying hard to bring the world into some kind of focus. He felt like he and his brain were communicating by carrier pigeon: slowly and in short bursts.
There was definitely someone in his kitchen making coffee. He could hear them in there, making comfortable little spoon-on-ceramic-mug noises. He lived alone and had the only key, so there shouldn’t have been anyone else in the condo. Hell, even he shouldn’t have been in the condo, judging by his bedside clock. He was hours late for work. That was bad, he was supposed to be finding a second job, not losing this one. What was he doing?
And then the previous day slammed into his consciousness, despite his brain’s attempt to crab sideways away from the memory. William. Sunset. The playground. He forced the images out of his head before they got too vivid, terrified that they would send him back.
He got to his feet and discovered something else. He felt fine. No chills or nervous energy. It must have been building up inside him until yesterday’s events released it. He remembered how dead tired he’d been after he arrived in that godforsaken park. He hoped it wouldn’t build up again, because he had no intention of ever going back.
A cabinet closed with a quiet thump in the kitchen. He really should go see who was in his house. He was already rattled, and even at the best of times he’d never been good at confrontations, especially if it involved the possibility of getting his ass kicked.
Fortunately, there were no sounds of furious looting coming down the hall, so he doubted that whoever was in there was actually robbing him. Of course, the quiet might just be the stupefied silence of a burglar trying to figure why anyone would live in a nice condo like this and have the possessions of a hobo.
In any case, he figured that the chances of a thief breaking in and then making coffee were pretty low, therefore he was unlikely to get shot by going out there and seeing who it was. Probably. He was as convinced as he was going to get, so he yanked open his bedroom door and strode boldly into the kitchen.
Walker Page 1