by A. Sparrow
Chapter 53: Facilitation
Hand in hand with Bianca, Sabonis saunters through the sand hills of Dilmun, denuded anew by the Pounders. They find little remaining of his old homestead. The cove is erased. One pear tree, half its branches torn away, is all that remains of the orchard, although new buds are already forming on the twigs.
“No biggie,” says Sabonis. “I’ve rebuilt before. We can rebuild again.”
He spots two sections of post fencing leaned together to form a shelter.
“Someone’s been here,” says Sabonis.
“It was me,” says Bianca. “I came here looking for you.”
“Aw, how sweet. Didya miss me?”
Bianca averts her eyes, shyly.
Sabonis goes over and wiggles the rickety shelter. “Not bad for a start. But this will never hold up in a wind.” He digs a post out of the sand and fits it against the peak of the A-frame, starts lashing it with some scraps of rope to provide extra support.
“I’m not worried,” says Bianca, looking over the sea.
“Me neither. But this is just temporary. We’ll make a nice big hut with a thatched roof, just like before, expect with a bigger porch where we can sit and watch the breakers. You know, there’s no reason we can’t stay here a long time. A real long time. Not forever. I mean, nothing is forever. But … keep our nose clean. Take care of these bodies. These are good bodies they give us, tougher than the crap they issue in that other place.” His eyes linger in Bianca’s, wistfully. “Did I ever tell you about the Prospers, and the little girl they had … the one they named Diamond?
Bianca walks over to a dune where a blue tarpaulin lies half-buried. A catamaran appears around the point, sails full.
“Holy shit,” says Sabonis. “Is that my boat?”
“How many cats do you think exist on Lethe?” says Bianca.
She rises up on her toes and waves out at the craft.
A dreadlocked man at the rudder waves back.
“Well, whataya know,” says Sabonis. “Old Roddie survived the Pounders. You know what? That man deserves that boat. I’m not even gonna try to get it back from him.”
“As if you could, if you wanted,” says Bianca. She drags the tarp away. Clumps of damp sand fill its creases. She digs beneath it, uncovering a staff topped with a bronze head, axe on one side, a bladed hook on the other; and three black cubes dangling from a leather thong.
“What the fuck?” says Sabonis, backing away. “What the Hell are you doing with that thing?”
Bianca's eyes lose some of their twinkle.
“I forgot to tell you. They’ve made me a Collector.”
“You?”
“Don’t worry,” says Bianca. “It’s not like they’ve gone and put me with Alecto. I’m just a Collector.”
Sweat beads on Sabonis’ brow and slickens his grip on the fencepost.
A thin, calm smile creases Bianca’s lips.
“Bianca, you’re not—?”.
“I said, don’t worry,” says Bianca, stepping towards him, the pole ax balanced in her hands. “I’m just coming to help you.”
Chapter 54: Synched
I’m out in the yard, getting ready to mow the lawn for the first time that spring when I hear a tapping in the tree house. I poke my head up through the hatch. Diane’s iPad is there, laying on the floor, totally exposed to the elements. What’s more, the damned thing is turned on.
I had gotten used to strange little pranks and noises over the last few days, but this is too much. I clamber up the ladder.
The poltergeist arrived about two days after the storm. I heard the door creak open, saw the curtain ruffle and bulge. And it wasn’t just me. Gina noticed too when she came by yesterday, a chill draft, a distorted and muffled voice. She went into the kitchen for a glass of water. I heard the tap run, and glass breaking on the floor. She ran back and leaped into bed, telling me she saw a chair move on its own.
It’s out here now, in this willow tree, working that iPad of Diane’s that, by all rights, should be in Long Island with Diane. The words of that weird lady from Connecticut, the one who back in March tried to deliver a message from a ghost, return back to me. I wish I had a way to contact her, because I have so many questions.
That weird feeling in my spine comes back from time to time, but it never lingers long. I get a twitch and a shooting pain and then it’s gone. If I gird myself against it when it comes, I find I can resist its influence. It’s easier to do when I’m aware it’s in me. Its only when I don’t pay attention that it gets the better of me.
I clamber onto the platform of the tree house. The iPad sits in the corner, screen changing ESPN to Patriots.com like it’s surfing the web all on its own. I sit and watch it for while, trying to get a clue from the sites it visits, who might be operating it. Eerily, every site it visits has a slot on my favorites. Mist condenses on the screen and frosts over.
I crawl across the platform cautiously. I’ve been up here and the wood is getting pretty rotted. I am afraid of falling through the floor.
I lunge for the iPad. My hands tingle and go cold. Something ripples into my limbs, running first down my arms, my torso, and finally, my legs. I panic. It’s the poltergeist, dissolving into me like sugar into coffee, possessing me.
Something snaps into my head, and then I know things I wish I never did. But it’s too late to forget them. I sit in the tree house and quiver.
I remember something falling—a tree. Before I could even flinch it smashed through the windshield, and drove through me into my seat, cracking ribs, bulging out my eyes, flattening my lungs so no air gets in or out. My heart skittered like a frog trapped under a rock then stopped. Softly, slowly, everything faded.
I know about Lethe and Sabonis and Bianca and what waits for us after death. Despair emulsifies with hope. I’m both scared and relieved to know that life goes on after we die, only it’s kind of like this one—no picnic.
I scramble out of the willows and run for the house. The puffy clouds over Cortland never looked so evil. I slam the kitchen door, scoop my phone off the table to call Gina. I need her with me. Now!
But somehow I hang up before the second ring.
THE END