Twin Spirit

by Matthew Thompson

  Frank would soon become his step-father. Together as a family, they moved to Dublin.

  Life changes occurred yet again: a new school, new friends, and new father figure. However, not a replacement; Shane made that distinction clear in his mind. But the greatest change of all: Shane now had a step-brother, Niall.

  Niall was younger, by two years. He seemed quiet and reserved, but as Shane got to know him he became more open. Yet still, something wasn’t right. Niall seemed to carry a secret, a burden, like a constant reminder weighing his shoulders down and causing a thoughtful frown. A secret which Shane was determined to discover.

  * * *

  Eight months of marriage had moved along blissfully. Strange, then, when his step-father returned home late one evening and began to shout at Shane’s mother.

  He jumped out of bed and leaned against the stair banister, listening to his step-father slur his words, taunting. He hit Shane’s mother that night. Not only did Shane hear it, but he almost felt it, and knew he would never forget it.

  The following morning, he got ready for school. He didn’t say a word about the matter and nor did his mother, but she hid the bruise the best she could with make-up. His step-father listened to the radio, occasionally laughing, and simply ate his toast.

  Weeks passed by, and Shane kept the knowledge of the night to himself, thinking it had been a one-off event. However, one Monday evening, when all seemed fine, Shane and Niall lay awake in bed hearing the impacts a hand makes on skin and trembling cries.

  “Stop, please stop,” uttered Niall from under his blanket.

  Shane turned in his bed to face Niall. “Why’s he doing that?”

  Niall shook his head. “I was told not to talk about it. If I did…” He threw the covers over his head and began to hum.

  Shane cringed, then picked up the pillow and buried his head beneath it.

  * * *

  Late one humid Saturday evening, his drunken step-father arrived home. That night, while Shane’s mother was away, his step-father witnessed Shane’s hand departing a forbidden place.

  “What are you doing, boy?” asked Frank, frowning while steadying himself with the living room door.

  “I was just… looking,” said Shane, closing the drinks cabinet.

  Shane’s step-father gazed at him with venom. “Looking? No you weren’t. You were going to steal. Isn’t that right, boy?”

  “No, I wasn’t, I –”

  “Shut up!” He gripped his belt, taking it out from his alcohol-stained jeans.

  “Dad…” said Niall, standing at the door in his pyjamas. “Don’t, Dad, please.”

  His father coiled the belt around his hand and took hold of Niall. He turned him around to face the living room wall and held him there with one hand.

  “Tell me not to do it, boy!” he shouted, looking back at Shane.

  “Don’t do it!”

  He swung the belt into Niall’s back, causing him to scream.

  “Stop it!” yelled Shane, at the top of his voice.

  “You’re going to have to do better than that, boy. Grovel, grovel, and mean it.”

  Shane looked into his step-father’s eyes in horror. “Please, I beg you, please don’t hurt him, please!”

  Another slash of the belt provoked a louder scream from Niall. Shane grimaced and grovelled on his hands and knees, pleading over and over for him to stop. Soon enough, he did. Apparently, for Shane, grovelling had the power to grant his plea.

  Weeks and months passed by and nobody spoke of the truth. And yet, a least once, sometimes twice a week, Shane, Niall, or both were beaten by a leather belt and buckle. The brothers were even unsure if he remembered what a monster he became after intoxicating himself. What Shane did know, however, was that it had to end.

  * * *

  On a stormy night, Shane was awake in bed. Had it not been so important, he wouldn’t have got up and got dressed. However, action had to be taken and justified the need to see it through, even if a storm raged.

  As for their mother, the fact that both Shane and Niall had sustained cuts and bruises, yet she seemed oblivious, was more brutal than the beatings. She appeared to have accepted her husband’s ways, defeated, abandoned and soulless. The brothers pitied her, as she too reached for the drinks cabinet more and more often to ease her woes.

  “Ni… wake up,” said Shane, rocking his brother’s shoulder.

  Niall woke, startled, nevertheless aware of the event to unfold. A plan known for over a month. A mission to run away from all the beatings they incurred from their ghastly guardian.

  The storm continued to rattle outside with great ferocity. Shane knew the plan with precision. The key to the car was always inside Frank’s jacket pocket. The brothers sneaked downstairs and Shane took the key without hesitation. They then opened the garage door, the raging storm dampening the sounds of their covert mission.

  He inserted the key into the ignition, pausing for the heavens to rumble. After turning the key, the diesel engine growled into life, and out they drove through the deserted, rain-swept streets of Dublin.

  Driving was new for Shane; aged fourteen, he had only read about it in the library but had watched observantly, mastering the technique in his mind. Putting it into action wasn’t so challenging. However, he hadn’t foreseen he’d be driving through torrential rain. Nor that he would be chased by another vehicle.

  Headlights flashed in the rear-view mirror and a large, dark mass came hurtling towards them, identical to Frank’s second automobile. Appearing larger and blacker than ever, it gained like a hunting predator.

  Shane pushed his foot down to the floor. A push too far it seemed, as the car skidded on the drenched tarmac and became air-borne after colliding with the kerb. Had steel barriers been there (they were introduced two weeks later), Shane and Niall wouldn’t have rolled down into the ravine.

  The relentless storm continued to bash the car as it bobbed and scraped the edges of the raging river. The doors buckled. Water cascaded in. The brothers’ yells were unheard. Half a minute later, all was quiet.

  * * *

  Unusual as it may seem, Shane and Niall benefited from the stormy night, they thought. No longer were they at the mercy of a brutal hand and belt. They had their spirit lives ahead of them, in Kiian.

  * * *

  One month later.

  “Shane?” said Niall, as he lay on a bed in a darkened room, alone with his brother. “Are we leaving tonight?”

  “Yes. There’s nothing to keep us here. We don’t belong in an orphanage. My father’s out there, somewhere.”

  Niall expressed his anxiety, then said, “Will we find him?”

  “I hope so. This flyer says the London Library has all spirit records. You all packed?”

  He nodded.

  “Good. When lights go out, we leave.”

  Nine hours later, after three train journeys through the sector, inspired by Victorian London, Shane and Niall arrived outside the library. A carnival spread along Oxford Street. From what Shane could gather, it was to remember those left behind on Earth. Those in the parade wore colourful costumes and danced to the sound of trombones.

  “C’mon,” said Shane, “let’s go inside.”

  Waiting in line to be served at the information desk, Shane observed the vast interior, featuring what seemed to be the entire collection of books ever written.

  “Can I help you?” asked a young man behind the desk.

  Shane stepped closer to him. “I’m looking for my father. How do I find out where he lives?”

  “We have records of all known spirits. I can have a search for you. However, details of residence aren’t supplied without confirmed relations, I’m afraid.”

  Niall looked at Shane’s thoughtful expression.

  “Can you at least tell us the sector he’s in?”

  “No, I’m sorry…”

  “Can you… just look up Michael Kendel?”

  The man nodded and reached for a book; it was fou
r inches thick. “Date of passing?”

  Shane looked to the ground, thinking. He recalled the uniformed boy holding the letter. “That would be the sixth of April, nineteen forty-three.”

  The man flipped through the pages, paused, and flipped again. His lower lip dropped. “Just a moment,” he said, and wandered off to his fellow worker for a hushed conversation.

  The woman he spoke to came towards Shane. She smiled and said, “Hello. I’ve been informed you’re looking for your father.”

  “That’s right.”

  She examined the page in the book, the expression sombre. “I’m awfully sorry. He’s no longer here.”

  “What?” said Shane.

  “He passed away, over two years ago.”

  “How?”

  “The details of his death aren’t given here. I’m sorry.”

  “But this is the afterlife. He should be here.”

  “The records don’t lie, I’m afraid.”

  “No. No, you’re wrong.”

  Shane stormed out of the library in a rage and dashed through the carnival, pushing others aside. He entered an alleyway, splashing through puddles and began kicking a pile of boxes next to a dumpster, then repeatedly thumped his palm against the brick wall. He stopped himself and gripped his head with both hands, hearing footsteps. Niall had caught up.

  Screams. Panicked voices came from the carnival.

  Shane looked up to witness a man barge his way through a family, toppling over a young girl. The man ran towards Shane and Niall. He seemed in a hurry, as if his life depended on it.

  Up above, the black fleet appeared beneath grey clouds, with bat-like wings the size of a private plane. Three Govern dived with grace to the carnival in full swing, prompting a standstill.

  Shane wasn’t repulsed by the Govern; he admired them from what he had learned during his short time in Kiian. Their power to be unafraid of anyone, anything they may encounter, excited him. He and Niall watched as a Govern swoop down, opened its sleek black tentacles, which glowed red, and engulfed the runaway man in seconds.

  That moment, Shane understood. He approached the creature. It seemed busy, recoiling and relaxing. He stood within five metres of the eight-foot creature, which had wrapped its wings around its body of tentacles and created an hourglass figure. Its sight, Shane presumed, came from within the rigid hood. Inside, its face couldn’t be seen.

  “We’ll help you catch them,” said Shane in his bravest voice. “My brother and I.”

  It moved as if floating on a bed of air. Two spindly black tentacles rose from its body and touched Shane’s temples. He took a deep breath and held it, watching in peril as the faceless Govern fluttered its body and screeched a sound so loud he became deaf, except for a high-pitched buzz.

  Shane witnessed only darkness.

  Niall’s face expressed worry as he leaned over his brother. Shane, on his back, opened his eyes to see his brother appearing to speak; his lips moved for sure, but Shane heard nothing. After a moment’s anxiety, he finally heard Niall’s voice, ever so faintly.

  Within a day, Shane’s hearing regained clarity – as did life.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Minds for Revolution

  The interior of Penn Portal Station echoed with announcements, combined with chatter and footsteps; it was almost as chaotic as the entry hall, though every bit as grand. High above, shards of light pierced the glass panes. Steel arches webbed across the roof, and the largest clock the twins had ever set eyes on ticked.

  Rose excused and apologised her way through the masses. The direction for most appeared to flow towards the centre of the station, where mechanical sounds came from.

  She finally caught a glimpse of the station’s centerpiece: a chain of black, cylindrical, steel objects lined up, each featuring a light at the top, like an oval of eighteen-foot-high lighthouses with an open entrance. People entered and vanished within a flash of light, as if having their photo taken.

  “The portal looks harmless enough, right?” said Rose, turning to the side to give Lily a better view.

  “I hope you’re right, for your sake,” said her considerate sibling. “Let’s go already.”

  Rose headed towards the centre and joined the shortest queue she could find; at least a dozen awaited their turn. She witnessed a young woman insert an item into a slot; the token, she thought, just like the one Pei had given her. The woman then stepped up onto the portal platform and began to type on a key panel. Rose glanced down at the piece of paper and back again towards the woman, who had vanished.

  One by one, spirits stepped into the portal: a flash of light, followed by the sound of industrial exhaling, like a vacuum cleaner after being switched off, only the sound was much deeper and much more threatening.

  Rose’s heart rate had doubled in pace. She felt leering eyes upon her and heard gossiping tongues. She caught snippets:

  “…ever seen that…”

  “…she’s human… I doubt she’ll be here…”

  “…still primitive… really unfortunate…”

  “What are you staring at?” said Lily, causing Rose’s unease to magnify. “I have a right to be here too!”

  Rose stared hard into the paper and walked a few paces. She was next, and carefully watched the man in front proceed through the sequence. He stepped inside the cylinder and caught Rose’s fearful eyes, then raised his hand to hold the brim of his hat and gave her a nod, before vanishing like a magician.

  Holding out the piece of paper within her shaky grasp, she stepped forward and inserted the token, then entered the portal. A panel to her left featured letters and numerals. She began to type, one by one, double-checking every input. The sector displayed on screen above the keyboard, adjacent to the command ‘Enter’ and a flashing red button. Her index finger hovered over the button, and she pushed it.

  White light beamed above. Rose shut her eyes tight and squeezed her hands together as an eerie drone surrounded them. Deeper, the frequency caused Rose’s ribs to vibrate. She exhaled along with the portal. Did it work? Rose had felt nothing, not even a flutter of hair gone astray.

  She snapped open her eyes.

  The vast, arched, steel interior dwarfed everything in sight and was filled with muffled sounds. Compared to the Penn Portal Station, there appeared far less of a crowd. Men wore taller hats than those witnessed in New York. Women dressed in large frilly frocks that made their waists seem petite.

  Rose took her first steps into Sector IR-294, mouth parted in awe, and made her way towards daylight where the railway tracks departed the station, disappearing round a bend.

  The sound of a horn alerted the twins’ attention. Steam blasted through a funnel as a locomotive cruised closer, easing her heftily constructed wheels into the station. She glided alongside platform five like the queen of the railways, all mighty and majestic. Men and women lined up and observed with interest; some appeared to be taking notes as she came to a standstill.

  “She’s a beauty, so she is,” said a male voice.

  Rose glanced to her left, while Lily did the same to her right.

  His accent was known. Rose certainly had watched enough television to hear many voices, and Irish was unmistakable.

  “I got to tell ye, I ain’t seen the likes of you two before. No sire, not ever,” said the man beside them and smiled, looking at the twins in succession.

  Rose smiled back. “We have to be going now,” she said, and continued to walk in the direction Professor Pei had told her.

  Footsteps followed.

  “Yep, they don’t make ’em like that anymore. Heck, not on Earth anyway,” said the man. He smiled and held out his large hairy hand. “Sorry, my name’s Shane, nice to meet you both.”

  Rose stopped walking and looked at his hand. She gave it a quick shake.

  “My curiosity got the better of me, what with your humanness and your… lack of spiritness,” he added, before grinning crookedly.

  Shane wore a brown leather jacket o
ver an off-white shirt and a dark flat-cap slanted to one side covering most of his short blonde hair. He was probably taller than her father, and around thirty years old. He seemed charming enough, if a little too keen to talk.

  “I’m a fan of the Flying Scotsman, myself,” said Shane. “I got to ride her some years ago. My God, she has power behind those wheels.” He scratched his neck, then stroked his stubbly chin. “So you here for business, or pleasure?”

  Rose had been told many times by her father to avoid speaking to strangers. Although taking that advice would mean not speaking to anyone in the spirit world. She glanced again at his welcoming face. “They’re amazing. But I don’t know anything about them,” she said while admiring the intricacy of the wheels. “Well, we need to be going now. It was nice to meet –”

  “Lack of spiritness?” butted in Lily. “Don’t think you’re so special, mister.”

  “Whoa! Ha-ha. You’re a feisty one, so ye are,” said Shane, holding out his hands in front and took a step back as though he had a gun pointed at him. “I don’t mean to offend ye – simply stating what little I know, that’s all.”

  “Too late. Let’s go, Rose.”

  “Look… let me make it up to ye both. Where ye headin’?”

  Rose’s father had given her the correct response to that very question. “We’re waiting for our father. He’ll be here any second,” she recited, remembering very well.

  “All aboard!” shouted a uniformed man, and blew his whistle hard and loud.

  Shane looked to the train as steam blasted from its wheels, then glanced back to the twins. “So how come you were headin’ out the station?”

  “We’re going to the Scrap-yard Tower, you know it?” said Lily.

  Don’t say that!

  “Oh, so that’s it. And I’m thinking you’re not from round here. Because that way is the long way. I’m talking… forty minutes,” he said, pointing along the railway lines as the locomotive rolled away, giving a triumphant blow of its horn. “But sure, I know the Scrap-yard Tower. Though I’d watch yourselves, I’ve heard the owner is bit cuckoo, if you know what I mean.” Shane twirled his finger at the side of his head and then turned to his right, facing the rear entrance. “Ye wanna be heading that way. Takes half the time. I should know, I live here. Anyway, I’m headin’ in that direction. I’ll escort you there, free of charge of course.” He looked at the twins, adjusted his cap with one hand, followed by a wink and grin.