Genie and the Sandman

by Julie Parker

  Closer he came.

  A flash of the story Little Red Riding Hood came to mind. The fed being the unsuspecting child, and I, the big bad wolf. I gestured with my hand for him to come closer. Closer child, closer….

  Then I had him. Just like the rat in the trap.

  My hands reached out and latched tightly onto his arm. He appeared startled by my sudden show of strength and bravado. He attempted to use his other hand to push me off, but desperation made me determined to hang on.

  “Get off me,” he hollered, while trying to get to his feet. “Let go!”

  But as my agony coursed through my hands and into him, his grip grew weaker as mine grew stronger. Pain contorted his features, and understanding began to dawn in his eyes. He knew what I was doing. His free hand flew to his chest, where I knew the pain was assaulting him first. The relief I felt was welcome. I could not turn back now, not even if I wanted to. Self-preservation had kicked in. The fed would receive his just desserts. And although he would have left Logan to die from his wounds, I would show him mercy. Yet, a part of me would see him suffer. He had dared to hurt my love, and I wanted him to pay. Not with his life, but with a taste of how agony felt. Hadn’t he taken everything from us? Our one chance—now a proven fact—to get home and finally have this nightmare over? I wanted justice, not only for Logan and me, but for all the Logans and Paytons who were trapped, wanting to go home.

  My mind raced as the pain receded. After I healed Logan, I would heal the fed. I hadn’t intended for things to work out this way, but he’d left me no choice. Logan needed me.

  What happened next is cloudy in my memory. I remember the fed writhing in anguish, and in a sudden desperate show of strength he raised his fisted hand. I remember seeing it flash before my face. And then…nothing. He must have belted me in the head, because everything went black.

  I awoke dazed, Logan holding my head in his lap. For a moment I forgot where we were, and thought perhaps we lay upon the grass in Logan’s backyard. But as I peered around I noticed the looming manor house just ahead, and remembered.

  “What happened?”

  Logan shrugged his shoulders and wouldn’t meet my gaze.

  It was then I noticed the fed lying off to the side of us. A memory tugged at the corner of my mind, one I didn’t want to examine. I rolled and staggered to my feet. When Logan saw my intent, he leapt up and stood in my path.

  “Don’t,” was all he said.

  That one word, and the way he said it, made a shiver run through me. I had healed Logan, and then the pain had taken hold of me. The fed then knocked out Logan, and I recalled him badgering me. As I laid there on the ground, I had drawn him closer with my soft whispers. I’d reached out and grabbed hold of him, transferring Logan’s pain inside of me into him. He’d struggled while I had thought about revenge. I’d wanted him to pay.

  “Is he…?” I couldn’t voice the word. When Logan only stared at me, I pushed my way around him. I had to see for myself. The ground between us seemed to stretch out suddenly. I crossed the distance, my footsteps heavy and slow, and finally came to rest before him. He lay still as though in slumber, and hope leaped into my chest. He’s asleep. But even as I consoled myself with this foolish thought, I saw the gaping wound in his chest, put there by my hands.

  I felt Logan behind me. His arms came up and pulled me back against him so that my head was resting on his chest. “There’s nothing you could have done differently. Don’t blame yourself for this.”

  Don’t blame yourself. He was right, of course. I couldn’t heal someone if I was unconscious, the voice of reason assured me. It had all been bad timing. How could I have known what he was going to do? The fed and I had both dealt each other a terrible blow. Although I would recover, he would not.

  Logan held my shoulders and turned me away. Hand in hand we walked toward the manor. Woodenly I strode, refusing to turn and look back upon the man lying dead on the grass. Guilt gnawed at me, but I refused to let it in. It wasn’t my fault.

  What about consequences? the logical side of my brain demanded. What if the fed’s counterparts all dropped dead because of me? This guy had been a jerk, but what about the others? They could be fathers, husbands, brothers…how many people would be affected by what I had done? Though it was true I had no idea if we were connected in life and in death, I had to carry the weight of this regardless. Not only for this one death, but perhaps several more. The responsibility was mine, no matter how it had come to pass.

  We came up before the manor and the place looked deserted. After a careful scout around the perimeter, we went inside. We had to exercise caution. As far as I knew, we were still on the run from evil Lord Nelson. Everything was the same…not surprising since it hadn’t been long since we’d left there. Why then, did it feel as though it’d been a dozen years?

  Logan sat down on the fur rug before the hearth. I joined him and placed my hands on his wounded head to heal him. He objected until I gestured at the abundance of stone in the room. I needed to focus on something else, if only for a little while. To do good with this power. Heal, not harm. It was quickly done and expelled into the hearthstones. As an added bonus, when I felt my own head, the large bump was no longer there. So, I’d learned something new this time around. I could heal myself as well, it seemed. If only I could take away the pain in my heart and the stain upon my soul.

  Logan went outside and buried the fed while there was still light. We’d be leaving in the morning. It’d only been early afternoon in the last world, yet here, the sun was almost down. Later, he told me he’d placed no marker over the grave. His reason being, if someone got curious and dug the body up, the modern clothing would be shocking to this world. Part of me wondered if he was protecting me from what he really thought. What we both thought. How can there be a marker when we don’t have a name?

  We made a fire and dozed in each other’s arms as the night turned dark and cool. The last thing on my mind before I feel asleep was the knowledge that I’d killed a man. A man whose name I’d never know. And that my life would never be the same again. A little voice reminded me that I had wanted him to pay. And hadn’t he with the ultimate price…his life?

  Finding the cave with the well and the hidden tunnel was our next step. We followed the creek, camped when it got dark, hunted when we were hungry, and rested when we got tired. We kept to the woods, out of sight, wary of strangers seeing us in our modern clothing. Blankets taken from the beds at the manor kept us warm at night; we lit no fire to draw unwanted attention. Our purpose was clear, our path, precarious. Time was not our friend here.

  I felt different. Logan could sense it, I know, from how quiet I was. He respected my need to ponder things on my own. Taking a life was not something I’d ever thought to claim responsibility for. But now I owned it and bore the burden heavily. I was forever changed, no longer innocent and ordinary. Not in this world, at least. In this world I was a healer. And a killer. The latter a stigma I would carry from world to world, until the end.

  When at last we stood before the cave I finally felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe this time we would be lucky. We may find our way home.

  “Can you remember the way?” Logan asked me.

  We had discussed this at length on our journey here, our best option being to return to the last world we were in. Logan could make his final wish, thereby wishing us home.

  “I hope so.”

  He took my hand and we entered the cave together. “This could be it then. It could all be over soon.”

  My smile was genuine, although restrained. More than anything, I wanted to go home. I wanted to forget everything that had happened. Even all the wonderful moments Logan and I had spent together in this medieval world seemed somehow tainted now.

  We walked to the back of the cave and found the entry to the tunnel. Logan’s arm crept around my shoulders and he squeezed me affectionately. “It’ll be all right.”

  “Will it?”

  “In time. You’ll see.�
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  As much as I wanted to believe him, somehow, I didn’t think it would.

  Chapter Thirteen

  We roamed the tunnels for what felt like hours. Even though we lacked the map, the images of it were burned into my memory. It confused us both greatly when in time we came to the exit we were certain should be covered over by an old barn door, only to find it was not so.

  “Are you sure?” asked Logan for the umpteenth time. He had not failed to question every twist and turn we’d made.

  Even I was beginning to question my own recollection of my haphazard drawing. I ignored our unsavory surroundings and made my weary bones comfortable upon the dirt floor. Logan sat down beside me.

  “What do you want to do?” he asked.

  “I dunno.” If the guy who always had a plan was at a loss, who was I to make a decision?

  He let loose a great sigh. I knew he was thinking about how doltish it’d been for me to take us into the medieval world, out of a world where we were only one wish away from home.

  “Why didn’t you just blackmail the fed into wishing me to heal?” he’d asked upon our long walk. “Especially if he thought you could just vanish at will.” I’d told him that the fed was demanding proof of my boasts of other worlds. I’d hoped to combine our two desires. And I had. Only now I pondered my actions and the dire consequences of them.

  Before us was yet another branch-off from the long straight tunnel we’d been following. From where we sat I could see at least three possible exits. I gestured before me. “Let’s see what’s behind door number one.”

  Logan climbed to his feet and pulled me up beside him. “Beats sitting around here. Maybe we can find some grub.” As usual, his stomach was his first concern.

  The first short passageway ended with what appeared to be an opening to another world. Like the entrance to the medieval world, long vines and brush obscured much of our view to the land beyond. We approached cautiously, parted the greenery, and peered outside. Even from where we stood, safe in the confines of the tunnel, a bone-chilling wind blew against our faces, making us shudder. The wet slap of rain landed on our bodies as we ventured out. Mud sucked at our feet, and within moments our clothing was slick and clung to our skin. It appeared to be night, as everything was quite dark and deathly quiet, except for the howl of the wind.

  “Look there,” Logan said, pointing off into the distance. There appeared to be a dwelling of some size, with much light blazing from within.

  “Let’s pick another exit,” I said. We obviously weren’t home, and I wasn’t in the mood to trudge through wind and rain, especially not dressed the way we were. We’d left our blankets in the cave with the well, foolishly thinking we’d not need them. It took a moment or two, but Logan relented and we journeyed back into the tunnel. I was cold and shivering as we walked toward the other two possible exits

  The second tunnel was quite short, and ended in a cave. There was no well, but the center of the dirt floor had a circle of stones, which contained the charred remains of a fire. Poking our heads out of a narrow rocky exit, we spied a blazing blue sky, green hills, and valleys as far as the eye could see. The sight of what looked like a pterodactyl swooping overhead made us pull our heads back in a hurry.

  “Looks like it’s door number three,” Logan said, pulling me back toward the strategically positioned entrance to the tunnel at the back of the cave. It was well hidden if you didn’t know what you were looking for.

  Our quick pace brought us toward the third and final passage. We ventured down the long route, which twisted and turned and ended up at what seemed at first to be a dead end, until we noticed the short opening, barely visible from behind a heavy wooden barrel. Logan eased it aside before he struggled through the hole. I climbed through next. We appeared to be in an old cold cellar. There were barrels of apples, jugs of cider, and sacks of potatoes and carrots, and a shelf with beige-colored blankets; for horses, perhaps? We both snatched an apple to eat and looked up the rickety ladder that led to a wooden trapdoor.

  “I don’t know, Logan,” I said. It made me nervous thinking about popping up into somebody’s home or barn.

  “I’d say ‘what could possibly go wrong?’ But I’ve lived and learned.”

  “Yeah, the hard way.”

  Logan shrugged his shoulders and stepped up onto the ladder. He’d climbed no more than two rungs when we heard a loud thump, followed by a lot of yelling. Next there was a shotgun blast.

  Logan jumped back down off the ladder. He snatched an empty sack off a shelf and tossed in some apples and carrots, and a couple of the rough looking blankets. When we heard another shot blast we hurried back to the deepest shadow of the cellar and found the little doorway. Once we were in the tunnel, Logan pulled the heavy barrel back into place.

  “We could keep searching,” he said as we walked toward the long straight tunnel. “Or we could just curl up in the blankets and sleep.”

  It’d been early evening when we’d left the medieval world. We’d walked all day, and both of us were tired. I was about to agree with Logan’s suggestion when we suddenly heard voices coming our way. Logan cautiously peered around the corner and then pulled his head back swiftly. “Holy cow. It’s us. And we’re coming this way.”

  “No! Old Logan warned me about running into ourselves. He said to avoid it at all costs.”

  “It appears we no longer have a choice, except, which world you want to risk?”

  Hmm…rain, dinosaurs, or the Wild West? What a choice. “Um, let’s go with door number one.”

  So, the rainy world it was. We raced to the first portal and darted out into the stormy night. I desperately hoped that our other selves wouldn’t notice our muddy footprints before the entranceway and follow us.

  Logan fought the wind to grab a blanket out of the sack and tossed it at me. “Here, wrap up in this.” He covered himself with the other one. Though scratchy, it was surprisingly warm and comforting against the beat of the rain and the howl of the wind. Next, Logan put his big, strong arm around me and pulled me up tight beside him. I felt strangely content.

  “Hey,” he said, noticing my glum expression. “You never know, maybe your new gift could get us home.” Ever the optimist.

  “Yeah,” I agreed, making my voice loud so he could hear me. I wondered what it would be this time.

  The strong wind hindered our steps, which were already cautious. This was a new dimension, and we had no idea what to expect. I chanced a peek around my blanket at the ominous sky, warily recalling the pterodactyl from the other world. Huge gnarled trees loomed around us, appearing to try and reach out and grab us as we passed by. The atmosphere was frightening and mysterious, like an old Vincent Price movie.

  We passed through a two-sided, heavy iron gate, which was thrown wide. It attached to a ten-foot high iron fence that appeared to stretch around the perimeter of the gloomy, gothic- looking manor. A line of coaches, complete with coachmen and pairs of horses, was parked out front, waiting to drop people off. At least, they appeared to be people. Everyone was covered up with long dark cloaks because of the rain.

  “Hell of a time for a party,” Logan commented.

  Before anyone could notice us, we took cover behind one of the nearby trees. From what I could see of the guests, who were rushing to get indoors out of the rain, it appeared to be an exciting affair. Despite the rotten weather, spirits seemed high. Laughter rang out amidst the crash of thunder.

  “Do you want to go in?” Logan asked.

  I shrugged my shoulders, not knowing what I wanted to do. Should we risk it? Or wander around a bit and try to find shelter elsewhere?

  My shivering caused Logan to make a choice. “Let’s risk it,” he said. He stepped out of hiding, paused a moment to tuck the sack behind the tree, and then led us right up to the front door as though he held a golden ticket in his hand.

  A slight line was forming. Perhaps they were in fact asking for invitations? But no, as we moved along, I saw the cause of
the delay. The doorman and his helper were diligently attempting to rid people of their wet wraps. When we were next in line, I viewed the interior of the place through the open double doors. There was a grand, if somewhat dated foyer, quite large in size, and able to hold the small crowd of guests. Why only the doormen were there to attend them, I had no idea. Perhaps their host was waiting to make an appearance. I glimpsed a giant staircase just beyond the archway of the foyer. As we approached the doorman in our wet blankets, covering us from head to toe, he sniffed in disdain.

  “Really,” he said, his voice snooty and mean. When he would have said more, Logan let his blanket fall back from his head and towered regally over the man. At once, the doorman bowed his head in reverence. “Oh, my lord. Pardon me, I beg you. I did not know it was you.” His head lifted along with one pointy brow as he turned his eyes upon me. “I see you’ve caught the girl. Good show, my lord.”

  Before Logan or I could do anything more than exchange questioning glances, the man ushered us past the others. “Tell the guests to take their ease in the drawing room,” the doorman directed his young helper as we passed by. “Have wine served while they await their lord.” The young man gave a quick nod and began to direct the guests, while the doorman hurried us off down a long corridor. We came to a stop in front of an imposing door. We had passed a few others, all of them arched and made from wood.

  We entered within, the doorman shutting the door behind him. He gestured for Logan to seek out the warmth of the fire that was blazing away in the hearth. Being frozen practically to the bone and dripping wet, we needed no further urging. But as I went to step away, the doorman latched onto my wrist with an iron grip. “Not you, troublesome girl. How dare you lead my lord on a merry chase, tonight of all nights?”

  “Get your filthy hands off her.” Logan sprang at us and shoved the man so hard that, not only did he let go, he also sprawled onto the floor.