Twin Spirit

by Matthew Thompson

  “What are you saying?” asked Lily.

  He puckered his lips and stared with wild eyes. “The touch of your mother’s hand may, and I express may transform – what are your names?” he asked, wafting his finger in their direction.

  “Lily, and she’s Rose. May what?”

  “May transform you into a true spirit. And Rose too will become a spirit, joining our world.”

  “A spirit, here, forever?” uttered Rose.

  “Although… the moment of contact may have implications; environmental dependencies may well be your deciding factor.” Pei began scribbling more on the blackboard. “I believe for you, Rose, to become a spirit is reliant on the physical laws of our sectors. If, however, you’re not confined by such laws, then a connection between your mother and Lily, entangled with a human aura, will result in you becoming a nonentity. And without the confines of Angelo physics, you may be forced out. Thus, Rose will possess no spiritual connection, and shall be transported back to where she came – back to Earth!” he said in triumph, underlining his formula, and spun an Earth globe on the table with force.

  The twins tried to untangle Pei’s logic from the lunacy. They watched the globe spinning with a slight wobble on his science-infested table top. The Earth then unhinged from its stand and rolled towards the edge. It stopped before plummeting and rolled back to the centre of the table, colliding with a furry creature.

  A large brown, droopy-eared rabbit emerged from the undergrowth of scrunched paper and wooden splints. It bobbed its head and touched the globe with its wet nose. Worse were the large strands of dribble which drooled from its jaw.

  “I believe this formula could be the catalyst for my next thesis,” said Pei. “Ooh, isn’t that right, Dribble Holly?” He scooped up the rabbit into his arms and cradled it like a baby.

  Lily collected her thoughts, averting her eyes from the oozing drool. “So, if we find our mother and make contact within a sector, Rose may became a spirit too. But outside the sectors, I will become a true spirit, and Rose returns to Earth?”

  “That’s what I said. Aren’t you sleepy, yes, you are.”

  “Okay… now, how do we find our mother?” asked Lily.

  Pei had a think. “Just one moment.” He placed the bunny down and dialled a number. There was no answer. “Where are you?”

  “Where’s who?” Rose asked.

  “An engineer. He knows the sectors like no other. You can take the portal. It’s a ten-minute tram ride to the Penn Portal Station.”

  “Portal? We were told they were dangerous,” said Rose.

  “Ah, you mean being found, by Govern?”

  Rose nodded. “That’s what Mrs Barnett said.”

  “Well, I’m afraid you don’t have much choice. There won’t be another delivery for days.”

  “Where do we catch the tram?” asked Lily. “And what number? What if we get lost?”

  “I don’t know the number. Blast it, Dribble Holly. I may have to leave. Could I… could I leave?” He peered through the slight crack in the curtain. “Are you sure you can’t… bah! Okay, I drive. We leave right now.”

  * * *

  Rose stepped outside into the world of Sector NY-334. As she climbed the steel steps, she gawped at the familiar environment. “Wow,” she uttered, observing a blimp cruising beyond skyscrapers. “This is –”

  “New York!” confirmed Pei, standing in the doorway with both hands fixed on the door frame, carrying a wary-eyed expression. “The setting of nineteen thirty-three,” he added, and gave the girls a disconcerted smile, glancing at the building tops. “I always love Art Deco.”

  Rose nodded while admiring the scene. She then turned to the professor. “Is something wrong?”

  “No, very good here. It’s just… I’ve not left since…” Pei paused to recollect. “Probably two – no, maybe three years ago.”

  “Three years!” cried Lily. “You’re scared? That’s kinda wussy.”

  “Agoraphobia! Not wussy! My condition is serious, OoOOoo, you, girl, need to learn manners!”

  The twins watched an agoraphobic in action. Pei forced his right hand onto the steel banister, then placed his left onto the door knob, with knees bent in preparation.

  Rose clenched her fist, willing Pei to overcome his fear. Lily tried to withhold her giggles, and failed.

  He looked poised to jump, rocking back and forth, preparing for propulsion. “Be back really soon, Dribble Holly. Real soon. Now I go. Now I go. Now –”

  “Pei!” shouted Lily.

  “Coming! Three, two, two and half, two and a quarter…”

  “One!” shouted the twins.

  The professor leapt onto the lower step and huddled around the banister while the door slammed shut. “I did it! I did it!” he cried, hugging the steel bars. “Now open the car door,” he added, and tossed the keys to Rose, pointing at a black, boxy vehicle.

  Without hesitation, Rose entered the car, leaving the door wide open. She clambered into the back seat of the Ford Model A. Looking back to see Pei’s progress, she witnessed a white-cloaked blur. He threw himself into the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut, causing the Ford to rock from side to side.

  “Ahhh… easy,” said Pei, and placed a key into the ignition, starting the engine. “Now, let’s see if I remember how to drive.”

  “Why do you even have a car?” asked Lily. “You never go out.”

  “Gloria has been with me for over forty years.”

  “You gave it a name?” said Rose.

  “Yes, named after my first kissy woman. Now, buckle up and keep low, we don’t want to attract attention,” he concluded before beeping at the scavenging pigeons, then weaved in and out of traffic, overdosing on adrenaline.

  American flags fluttered from skyscrapers, trams ran back and forth, hotdog stands sizzled, and grand advertisements were displayed for all to see. Many men wore brimmed hats, suits, shirts and ties, carrying their suitcases in a hurry. Women wore hats too, though much smaller, with petite jackets and long, slender dresses. However, Rose knew enough history to know Asians weren’t common in these parts. In fact, people of all races graced the sidewalk, conversing together; black children playing with Caucasians and Asians – a sight Rose never witnessed on Earth in nineteen sixty-three.

  “Move it, slug!” shouted Pei, honking his horn and waving his fist. “Go, go, go!”

  Snapped from her thoughts, Rose incurred an injection of anxious energy.

  “Oh, no," said Pei. “What’s all this traffic? Lots, lots and – police!” The Ford moved at a sluggish pace, which made Rose feel safer at least. “I take another route. Hold tight,” he added, and made a sharp u-turn, causing a vehicle to swerve. “Yeah, same to you!” he bellowed, communicating with a hand gesture.

  Pei’s temperament tipped over to the mad variety, concluded Rose, though Lily was more entertained by his expressive charm.

  “Ah… yes, look. It’s all quiet down here,” said Pei, delighted. “I smart, see, I know what I’m – Oh no, what’s this?”

  Red lights flashed ahead. The Ford came to a halt as a uniformed man waved his arms up and down and blew a whistle while another strolled towards them.

  “Oh… not good. Hide, get down, quick!” urged Pei.

  Rose unbuckled and crouched behind the front seats, scrunching herself tight.

  The uniformed man tapped on the window three times. Pei wound it down.

  “Good morning, sir,” said the officer. “I’m afraid we have major malfunctions across Park Ave and Fifty-seventh Street. I need you to turn your vehicle around and proceed through Broadway.”

  Pei hesitated. “Err… of course, officer.”

  “Malfunctions?” whispered Rose to herself.

  “No way through. Impossible, right?” asked Pei.

  “This area is closed for your safety, sir. Now, on your way.”

  “But, it looks fine.”

  “You wouldn’t say that if you’ve seen what I have.”

/>   “I take my time, no rush. I can take risk, no?”

  A pause. “Sir, may I ask you to turn off your engine and step out of the vehicle.” A longer pause. “Sir, turn off your engine and step out of the vehicle,” the officer repeated sternly.

  Before the officer had time to demand again, Pei yelled, “Okay!” and in a screech of tires and billow of smoke, he sped off.

  “What are you doing?” asked Rose. “You’ll get us into trouble!”

  “Shush now! I know what I’m doing.”

  Rose couldn’t help but peek over the passenger seat, witnessing reality gone loopy as a theatre advertisement vanished and reappeared, as if operated with an on/off switch. The road side too: signposts, post boxes; there one second, gone the next. Surely the world around her wouldn’t vanish?

  “Hold on! It get bumpy!”

  Rose squeezed the seat, causing deep finger impressions. The professor’s comment wasn’t the cause for a tightened grip. It was the road ahead.

  “We have potholes!” cried Pei.

  Rose stared through the windscreen. Her lips parted and quivered. She frantically wanted to speak, to tell him to stop. Her voice finally returned and she yelled, “Pei! They’re not potholes!”

  Layer upon layer of tarmac had vanished. They hurtled and descended over the absent road. A foot drop dispatched the steel bumper and a disturbing rattle perpetuated underneath the chassis. Rose couldn’t bear to watch as their vehicle approached the lip of the ditch which Pei had called a pothole. The impact caused Rose’s head to connect with the roof. The mighty Ford continued regardless, parting company with the front grille.

  The following officers weren’t so lucky: their vehicle became detached from its front wheel axle. The car scraped to a halt beside a barber’s shop.

  “Ha-ha!” bellowed Pei, observing the officers’ vehicle disappear within a cloud of smoke. “Just like the movies, yes?”

  Rose simply nodded with sheer relief, though the sight ahead prevented her from serenity as the limping Ford marched towards another blockade. Pei frowned before accelerating the car, ripping through the caution tape. If it weren’t for the pedestrian crossing the road, they might have rejoined the traffic. Instead, Pei swerved around the petrified woman, causing the Ford to collide with the kerb and be forced onto two wheels. Like a stuntman, whether he intended to or not, Pei kept the car in motion and careered down the road towards speechless onlookers. Rose gripped harder than ever, hanging on to the seat to prevent the opposite window breaking her fall.

  The Ford trundled on to the sidewalk and toppled over onto all four wheels with a crash!

  “Wow! Cop chase, two wheels. Very exciting.”

  Rose breathed deeply, gathering her thoughts.

  Lily grinned.

  Within sight, a gigantic building with colossal stone columns situated ahead. A sign pointing in its direction read:

  PENN PORTAL STATION

  Rose stared at the building while continuing to claw the seat. She reminded herself to let go, opened the door and stepped out of the vehicle, slightly dazed but in one piece. She staggered forward as Pei fully wound down his window.

  “Stanley will take you to your mother, I’m sure of it,” he said, holding a piece of paper out of the window, which Rose took. “Now, once you reach the sector, follow the railway lines until you reach the Scrap-yard Tower. You can’t miss it, okay?”

  Rose looked at the paper. It read: Stanley Hopkins, Scrap-yard Tower, Falcon Drive, S-IR-294.

  “Here, you need this,” said Pei, placing a silver coin into Rose’s hand. “A token, for the portal. Don’t lose it now.”

  “Thank you for… everything,” said Rose, with a slight whimper. “Have a safer drive home, won’t you?”

  “Thanks, Professor, that was a ride I’ll never forget,” said Lily as police sirens came hurtling down Broadway.

  Pei glanced over his shoulder and grimaced. He turned to the twins and gave them a bow of his head. “You take care, and good luck!” he said with passion, giving them a thumbs-up and a heartfelt smile before flooring the throttle once again.

  The Ford limped away, slowly gaining momentum while dropping the rear bumper at one side. The siren blazed louder, closing in on Pei. The twins could only watch as the police vehicle roared past with a heart-stopping:

  Bang!

  The front tire of the police vehicle burst, causing the pursuer to career into a lamppost. Smoke billowed from the engine, while the officer, clearly in a state of frustration, stepped out and gave his wreckage a booting.

  Stunned by the calamity, Rose felt off balance, unable to think clearly. Sharp pains stung her mind. She clutched her dizzy head and then slowly regained her composure. Three deep breaths later, normality returned.

  “What’s wrong with you?” asked Lily.

  Rose sighed. “That was – weird.”

  “Stop babbling and get moving,” she ordered.

  Rose stumbled forward, directing her feet towards the station. Its large revolving doors swept the twins inside, and towards their imperative portal.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The Life, Death and Spirit of Shane and Niall Brady

  “Grovel for your brother!” declared the most despised man in the lives of Shane and Niall Brady. The man who claimed to be their father. At least for Niall, Frank Brady was his biological father; for ten-year-old Shane, however, he was his step-father.

  * * *

  “Shane!” shouted his mother. “Come down please.”

  Shane turned his head towards the bedroom door. “Coming!” He placed his racing cars in a toy box and headed downstairs. The smell of freshly baked bread engulfed him. Quite rare during the war, thought Shane; Mother must have saved the rations for something extra special.

  In the kitchen, his mother stood by the bread as it cooled on a tray. His father sat at the kitchen table, hands clenched, with a newspaper laid out in front. A large suitcase stood in the corner of the kitchen; a suitcase only ever used for holidays.

  Shane’s mother came towards him, placing a hand around his shoulder, ushering him to the table. He sat uneasy, looking at his parents in turn while his mother knelt by his side.

  “Sweetie, you know about the war, and how soldiers are going away, fighting for our country, freedom and our lives.”

  He began to nod and looked towards his father.

  “Son…” His dad leaned forward on the table with his lofty eyebrows causing deep creases in his forehead. “I’m going away for a while. Now, in the meantime, you and your mother will live in Ireland, with your grandpa and grandma.”

  Shane looked puzzled, glancing at his mother and back to his father with anxious eyes. “When will I see you?”

  His father sighed. “I can’t answer that, son. Not that I can promise you. But as soon as possible, that’s for sure. I’ll write to you and your mother, whenever I can.”

  Shane’s expression didn’t change. He fiddled with his pockets and looked at the red and white chequered tablecloth.

  “You’ll be fine, tough guy like you, huh? You’ll be going on an adventure. You like exploring, don’t you?”

  He shrugged his shoulders, avoiding his father’s eyes of authority. “Yeah…” he muttered.

  “That’s my boy.” His father stood and walked round the table. He wrapped his arms around his only child, kissing his forehead. “I love you, son, you and your ma, very much,” he said, while covering Shane’s head with one hand, brushing back his hair.

  Shane watched his role model, his best friend, his daddy, take the suitcase and leave, knowing his father would enter a battle called World War Two.

  * * *

  Living in a four-bed house in Meath, Ireland, Shane enjoyed the company of his mother and grandparents, but couldn’t hide his longing to be with his father.

  He always looked forward to seeing the postman. A plump brown envelope would drop through the letter box, landing on the mat like the greatest present he could ever ask for. Most of th
e letters were about his father’s training tasks and daily life overseas, and mentioned how much he was missing them. He did so by comparing it to food; Shane knew how much his father loved rhubarb and custard, or steak and chips with an ample serving of brown sauce. Well, apparently, he would give up eating them forever to see Shane and his mother again. It made Shane smile and sad all at once.

  The letters came most weeks, until a uniformed boy stood at the door on a damp, drizzly Tuesday evening. While Bing Crosby sang ‘An Irish Lullaby’, Shane’s grandparents looked ever so sad.

  The boy held a hat by his side, along with an envelope. Though this envelope wasn’t brown, it was white. Shane’s mother seemed to know that it contained something terrible. So much so, she burst into tears without even reading what was inside.

  “I’m awfully sorry,” said the uniformed boy, leaving the envelope by the phone.

  The telegram was later read, and informed them that Shane’s father had been killed in action, battling against Germans on Italian soil. The news consumed Shane, along with his mother, like nothing before. He thought he’d never be able to smile again.

  Shane missed all the meals the following day, and sobbed himself to sleep most nights, to dream of past times, only to wake to confront his nightmare.

  He didn’t go to school that week, and barely uttered a word. No longer did life have any meaning or purpose. Time will heal, said the elders. Time is on your side, they assured him. But Shane could only wish to go back in time.

  * * *

  Two years later, the war had finally ended. At the age of twelve, Shane worked hard at school, and enjoyed spending time with a close group of local friends. He still thought about his father, almost every day.

  His mother, too, had progressed. She seemed more alive, happy even. She frequently asked Shane’s grandparents to look after him, especially at the weekends, when she would disappear.

  On a bright Sunday morning, a man came to the house while Shane was eating his breakfast. He was tall and well-built with dark, piercing eyes. The man, who went by the name of Frank, gave Shane a lump of toffee and a strong handshake upon their first meeting.