Volume 1: Bailex, #1
Page 12
Kieran and Riya linked their hands together. The bright light appeared as Kieran stepped through the trees. But this time, it was coupled with a strong force attempting to rip Riya’s hand from his own. He fought it, clenching his fingers around hers. They took another step, neither of them letting go—their muscles trembled. The light faded and Riya got a quick glimpse of the cottage. Then, without warning, she was swarmed by a flock of crows. Their clawed toes gripped onto the backs of her arms and legs. Working together, the crows lifted her sprawled-out body in the air. They flew in unison, carrying her back through those mystifying trees. Kieran chased after them, shrieking at them to let her go, until they deposited her by the red mailbox. Lying by the side of the road, Riya pulled her legs to her chest, curling up into a protective ball. Kieran heard her muffled whimpers as he neared.
“Are you okay?” He hesitantly touched her shoulder, not wanting to startle her.
“I don’t know.” Riya’s voice was shaking.
Kieran helped her up and assisted her in brushing off her clothes. She leaned on the mailbox for support.
“I’m not going back in there.” Riya had her hand resting on the curved metal as she lifted her eyes to Kieran. The terror hadn’t fully faded. “It’s not a place meant for me. But, Kieran, you need to go,” her voice was adamant.
Kieran shifted his eyes away and shook his head, all the while fully aware that he didn’t really have a choice.
“Take this.” Riya unclipped the compact canister of pepper spray from the top handle of her bag and handed it to Kieran. It was something she had been carrying with her since her previous foster placement.
Kieran pursed his lips together. His chest rose and fell as he inhaled and exhaled through his nose. He took the pepper spray from her outstretched hand.
I can do this.
“Don’t you dare move from here,” Kieran’s tone was forceful, trying to feign confidence. But his shaking hands gave his fear away.
Riya slid down the post supporting the mailbox until her bottom hit the ground. She searched her backpack for her bottle of water and finished it off. “I won’t. I promise.”
Sixteen
Nowhere and Everywhere
FOR THE FOURTH TIME that day, Kieran walked the ominous path and then disappeared through the trees in a flash of light. This time, however, he entered with an outstretched arm and his finger hovering over the spray trigger of the compact canister of pepper spray—ready to engage anyone, or anything, that crossed his path. His heartbeat echoed in his ears as his eyes scanned the ground and then the trees that surrounded him. He looked upward, toward the tops of the trees. There—dispersed throughout the greenery—were numerous crows, their ebony bodies glistening in the sunlight. Despite Kieran’s proximity, the crows did not react to his presence. He let go of the breath that he was holding and dropped his arm. Feeling more at ease, he put the canister of pepper spray into the side pocket of his backpack.
Riya was right. It was her who was not welcome here.
Each step that brought Kieran closer to the cottage sent a shockwave through his temples. The throbbing and light-headedness reminded him of how he felt at the dance the night before—on the cusp of collapsing. But Riya wasn’t there to catch him this time. He set his backpack on the ground and pressed his fingertips on the sides of his head. He moved his fingers in a circular motion in an attempt to settle his mind. With his eyes closed, he took long even breaths, willing the ill-timed afflictions to ease. He knelt down and unzipped his backpack, fishing out the half-drunk bottle of water. The warm liquid wasn’t refreshing, but it seemed to do the trick, at least for the time being.
“CAW.” Kieran ducked and folded himself atop his backpack, dodging the plunging crow. It landed on the peak of the roof above the cottage entrance and cocked its head. Its eyes bored into Kieran, beckoning him.
Kieran cautiously rose and brushed off the scatter of pine needles that had attached themselves to his legs. He repositioned his bag on his shoulders and approached the cottage. It was a small structure that looked like it had been plucked from a fairy tale—single level, wider than it was tall, adorned in brown bricks, with a moss-covered roof. Kieran peered through the mirrored window that was adjacent to the front door. He was half expecting to see a table with three bowls of porridge and three beds of descending size. Yet, all he saw was his own reflection.
He straightened himself and shuffled his feet along the ground until he reached the door. The door had no handle. He hesitated a moment before he tightened his hand into a fist and lightly tapped his knuckles on the heavy wooden door.
No answer.
“Hello? Is anyone there?” Kieran called out.
Nothing.
Kieran tapped louder the second time.
“Come in,” a voice invited him inside.
Kieran looked quizzically at the weathered wood, unsure of how he was going to get through the handle-less door. He pushed, but it was no use. He began walking around the perimeter of the cottage; he was sure there must be another way inside.
Kieran ran his hand along the stacked logs that made up the exterior of the structure as he walked. The wood was smooth, free from the rough bark that covered the surrounding trees. Fallen, dried pine needles crunched beneath his feet as he slowly rounded a corner toward the back of the cottage. So far, there had only been more mirrored windows cut out of the exterior walls. As Kieran came back around to the front of the cottage, his original concern was confirmed. The wooden door appeared to be the only entry point. He approached the door again. His frustration mounted—he knew he must be missing something incredibly obvious. Unsure of what else to do, he placed his palm on the smooth wood and closed his eyes.
Nothing.
Ugh! Why can’t I ever get it to work on demand?
He felt defeated. But just as he was about to remove his palm from the door, a glowing light appeared just below the base of his thumb. Kieran’s breath hitched. The dot began tracing the outline of his hand, leaving a thin luminous line in its wake.
“What…” Kieran stared as the bright line rounded the tip of his pinkie finger and down the side of his hand. When it reached the level of his wrist, he felt his hand lock into place. He felt a surge of energy rush up his arm and into his core.
“Pull it toward you,” the voice from inside instructed.
Kieran stared at the halo of light outlining his splayed fingers.
Pull it toward me?
He dug his feet into the soft earth and rolled back his shoulders. He slowly drew his hand back toward his body, the bend in his elbow deepening as the door began to move. It was lighter than Kieran had expected, its movement smooth and effortless. His glowing palm remained flush on the door until he pulled it open enough to allow himself into the cottage. With wide eyes, he examined his hand—twisting his wrist from one side to the other—while his legs carried him into the dimly lit dwelling. The door closed behind him with a thud, and Kieran startled. He looked back over his shoulder at the one, now sealed, exit.
“You must have a lot of questions.” A deep voice filled Kieran’s ears.
Kieran turned his head in the direction of the voice, and his gaze fell on a head of thick white hair. The man’s face was shielded by an oversized mug of tea that was raised to his lips. He was stretched out in a worn leather recliner with one ankle crossed over the other. On an adjacent side table, a discarded tea bag sat pooling on a saucer. The man, with his bushy head of white hair, took a sip of his tea and then cradled the steaming cup in his hands. Kieran’s jaw fell open. The man’s face was much younger than Kieran had assumed—now, he would peg the man to be in his thirties, generations younger than Kieran had initially thought. The man’s eyes were the palest of blues, and his skin, a few shades more golden than Kieran’s, seemed to sparkle.
“I’m Giuseppe,” the man smiled and lowered his mug to the side table. He pulled in his legs, forcing the lower extension of the chair back
into place. He gripped the arms of the chair, causing the leather to buckle, and thrusted himself to a standing position. He extended his hand to Kieran, who obliged, but still didn’t say a word. He was mesmerized by the juxtaposition of this man’s appearance.
Giuseppe chuckled as he shook Kieran’s loose hand. “Nice to meet you, Kieran.”
“How do you know my name?” Kieran managed to get out, not yet sure whether to feel scared or relieved.
Giuseppe let Kieran’s hand go and gently gripped his shoulders, turning him around to face the door through which he had entered.
“Take a look,” Giuseppe pointed to a small television screen mounted above the doorway.
“Are those my…” Kieran pointed at two sets of handprints displayed on the screen. One was very small and looked to belong to an infant. And the other, with swirls and curves highlighted in green, looked to be the size of his own hand. The letters on the bottom of the screen spelled out Kieran’s name. He looked at his palm and then toward the screen—his mind began to put all the pieces together.
“I think you got it,” Giuseppe laughed. “Your hand was your key. How about I get you something to drink?”
“Water would be great,” Kieran replied.
Giuseppe led Kieran to the couch that sat opposite a fireplace full of smouldering logs. Kieran lowered himself onto the plush cushions, sneaking a glance back at the screen.
“Where exactly are we?” Kieran called out, remembering how he had literally disappeared into the trees. Were they in some alternate universe? Kieran twisted in his seat, turning his back to the fire. Nothing looked otherworldly. The room was rustic with exposed wooden beams and deep-hued decor. Exactly what one would expect to find in a cottage nestled in the woods. Rising up slightly, he stretched his neck to see down the short, narrow hallway that lead to a quaint kitchen. He could see Giuseppe standing in front of a deep porcelain sink and filling two glasses with water.
“This place is referred to as The Cottage, by those who know of it,” Giuseppe replied. “And to further answer your question, it is and everywhere.”
Giuseppe returned with two full glasses of water and placed them on the low table set between the fireplace and the couch where Kieran sat. Giuseppe then settled back into his leather chair.
“See those?” Giuseppe raised his finger to the framed images above the fireplace mantel. He pointed at a collage of black and white photographs of mailboxes.
Kieran nodded. Some were simple mail slots. Some were similar to the red one with a curved top labeled One Forest Ridge Lane. Others were rectangular in shape, either mounted on a wall or free standing. Kieran thought the display to be quite artsy for a place like this.
“That’s the only one with a person in it,” Kieran exclaimed, pointing to a frame on the bottom row.
“Oh my goodness…she moved. The picture moved.” Kieran stood and watched as the girl leaning against the post of the mailbox moved her hand to her ear. She removed an ear bud and turned her neck to examine it. He only saw her face for a split second, but he knew who she was. “That’s Riya,” his voice was a mixture of excitement and trepidation.
“Yes, it is.” Giuseppe laughed, taking a sip of water.
“Those aren’t photographs,” Kieran stated matter-of-factly.
“No, they aren’t. They are access points. Portal markers.”
“Portals?” Kieran contemplated. His mind was whirling, trying to wrap itself around the existence of something he had only ever read about in sci-fi and fantasy novels. “Is that what brought me here? A portal?”
Giuseppe nodded.
Kieran scanned all the frames. “There are so many of them.”
“They lead to places all over the world…”
“Nowhere and everywhere,” Kieran whispered, repeating what Giuseppe had said minutes earlier. “From here you can access everywhere.”
“I can. And people can access me. But only certain people.” Giuseppe looked to Kieran, but Kieran’s gaze was fixated on the picture frames. He was trying to rationalize what he was being told.
Giuseppe continued. “But you won’t find The Cottage on any map, or in any atlas.”
Kieran stepped closer to examine the black wooden frames of various dimensions and thicknesses. He looked at the nearly static images they housed. “Why do some of them have green lights in their corners?” He scanned the rows, counting three bright green circles.
“That means there’s something there waiting there for me.” Giuseppe hoisted himself to his feet. “Come, I’ll show you. I’m due for some fresh air and exercise.”
Kieran turned and Giuseppe motioned with his hand for Kieran to follow.
He trailed Giuseppe past the short hallway that led to the kitchen. They then continued to walk toward the back of the cottage, into a hallway that had one door on the right side and two doors on the left side. Kieran twisted his head to the right as they passed the first doorway and peered through the slightly open door. All he could make out was a brown shag rug, a heavy wooden table, and a bank of filing cabinets that were a cross between pink and brown. Nothing seemed odd or out of place, but there was something about it that made him pause.
“That’s the records room,” Giuseppe explained, backtracking a few steps to be by Kieran’s side. Kieran bit down on his bottom lip as his cheeks flushed, ashamed that he was caught snooping.
Giuseppe gripped the door handle and brushed past Kieran, inviting him into the room. Kieran’s heated cheeks cooled as he entered the small square space. It was just large enough to fit a rectangular wooden table in its centre. The table looked as though it could easily seat ten people. It had a scuffed tabletop that rested on thick square legs; its presence was almost overwhelming in the modest space. The floor was carpeted in brown shag that was worn flat around the single chair that was tucked into the far side of the table. Kieran scanned the perimeter of the room—pairs of filing cabinets lined the yellow walls. That something that had made Kieran pause outside of the room—he still felt it, even more so since he had entered.
Kieran tilted his head back as far as it would go. The filing cabinets towered over him like giant trees in an ancient forest.
Kieran felt the weight of Giuseppe’s palm on his shoulder. “This is centuries worth of information,” Giuseppe explained.
“But how…” Kieran looked to Giuseppe, then peeked out into the hallway—where the ceiling was clearly visible. Kieran’s heart began to race as he thought back to the outside of the cottage—a single-story dwelling, with the uniform moss-covered roof. Unsteady footsteps moved Kieran backward. He didn’t know what he was moving away from, nor did he know what he was moving toward. Maybe the hallway, maybe the front door of the cottage, maybe the bus stop at the supermarket where he could get on a bus that would take him home. His body began to tremble.
Why did she tell me to come here?
I didn’t ask for this.
For ANY of this…
The dreams.
The premonitions.
He backed into one of the filing cabinets with a thud.
Giuseppe reached for Kieran’s shoulder to steady him. “I think that maybe you’ve seen enough for one day. I’ll deal with those mailboxes later. Why don’t we go back to the other room and talk.”
Kieran nodded and allowed Giuseppe to lead him back to the couch. Kieran sunk into the cushions while Giuseppe went to fetch another glass of water. Enough for one day, Kieran thought back to Giuseppe’s words and chuckled to himself. He had had enough for a lifetime—maybe even two lifetimes.
Kieran let his head fall to the back of the couch and concentrated on the plain white ceiling, with the ordinary wooden beams. His head fell to the side, with the weight of a whole other world bearing down on him, and his eyes caught the image of a particular photograph. A family portrait that hung on the panelled wall behind the leather recliner.
“Do you live here alone?” Kieran called out.
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br /> “I do,” Giuseppe replied over the running water.
The faucet shut off, and Kieran listened to Giuseppe’s footsteps as he neared. From behind the couch, Giuseppe extended his arm over Kieran’s shoulder, handing him a fresh glass of water.
Kieran gripped the glass and drained half of it in one gulp. The pressure in his head was building again.
“Is that your family?” Kieran pointed to the framed black and white photograph. Even through the faded pixels, he was able to pick out Giuseppe in the group shot. Giuseppe was among the youngest of the three generations pictured. The four elders were posed in high-back regal looking chairs in the centre of the composite. Standing behind the chairs was the next generation. And sitting on the floor, at the elders’ feet, were Giuseppe and his cohorts. His hair was wild and white even then.
“It is.” Giuseppe rounded the couch and touched his fingers to the edge of the frame, his lips lifting into a smile.
“Do you see them often?”
“Not anymore.” Giuseppe’s hand fell from the frame and a wave of longing and sadness flashed through his gaze. But, just as quickly, he straightened his back and stretched his neck from side to side, ridding himself of the emotions. Turning his back on the photo, he took his place on the couch next to Kieran. “That’s a story for another day. I think it’s about time we talk about you.”
Seventeen
Things Aren’t Always as They Seem
“IT WAS JUST AFTER my twelfth birthday that things started to change.” Kieran lifted his glass of water from the coffee table and took a sip. He placed it back on the smooth wood surface and continued. “First, it was odd dreams. I would dream something one night, and then the next day that exact scene would play out in real life. Like word for word, action for action. Everything. The first time it happened, I assumed it was just déjà vu. But even then, I knew something felt different. I’ve had déjà vu before, and it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t just a feeling that something had already happened. I knew what was going to happen before it actually happened. And when the dreams kept on coming…I felt like I was going crazy.” Kieran let his body relax into the couch. “But I did save a boy’s life. That was pretty cool.”