Penult (Book Four of The Liminality)

by A. Sparrow

  Without sleep, there were no dreams, and no escape from the darkness closing in on me. There was no possibility of communing with the Singularity, no glimpses of Karla. It was horrible, sitting there in the chilly darkness of my stony room. I flashbacks to the feeling I had as a prisoner in that church basement.

  At least all was quiet in New Axum. It was one small mercy that the warriors of Penult never attacked at night.

  And then everything changed. Every perception shifted. Sounds, odors, touch. I could hear a motor whirring somewhere close, an engine whining in the distance. The dust and must of the stone chamber was replaced by some kind of floral perfume blended with the aroma of dirty socks. My rough, homespun canvas blanket was replaced by sleek and smooth cotton sheeting.

  And I realized I was no longer in the Liminality. I had faded. This was not the same luxurious hotel suite I had found myself in Glasgow. The shades were drawn but the light of a grey dawn seeped around the edges. This room had two double beds packed in close with a night stand between them. I occupied one. Helen and Jessica occupied the other, sleeping soundly after another long day of amateur detective work.

  I pulled my covers off and sat up, nearly fainting from the rush of blood. I was parched and hungry and my head throbbed like a hammered thumb. There was a half empty bottle of Highland Spring and some leftovers in a plastic container on the TV stand. I polished off the bottle and wolfed down hunks of cold lasagna with my hands.

  I checked the clock. It was a little five a.m.. Various brochures and maps were strewn about the desk. I raised the shades slightly to let in more light and saw that every pamphlet had something to do with Aberdeen. Why Aberdeen? Had the ladies gotten a hot lead on Karla’s whereabouts? My heart started to thump. I wasn’t even sure I was ready to see Karla in person yet. I just didn’t know what I would say to her, I was so upset about what she had done.

  I noticed a sheet of paper on the floor next to the door and an envelope beside it. I tiptoed over to avoid waking the ladies but I shouldn’t have worried. There was a mostly drained bottle of scotch on the bed. They slumbered deep and drunk.

  The first sheet was a note from the hotel staff warning that the credit that had been provided had failed to clear authorization due to a hold and to please stop by the front desk as soon as possible to arrange for an alternative form of payment.

  Then envelope was addressed specifically to me. I slipped out the note it contained and unfolded it. My stomach quaked as I read the scrawl.

  “Leave Aberdeen ASAP or die. The Friends are on to you and after you.”

  My heart commenced to thump and I threw on the clothes someone had folded neatly for me on the bedside chair. I stuffed an extra pair of clean socks and underwear into the pockets of my hoodie and grabbed a pen and a sheet of hotel stationery from the desk.

  Dear Helen, Jessica, Fiona and Britt,

  “The chase is over. It’s time for me to go somewhere quiet and lay low. Thank you so much for all you did for me. Just so you know, you guys don’t need to worry about Karla anymore. I saw her. She’s fine. No one ever kidnapped her. She ran off on her own. So you can all go home now.

  Love,

  James

  P.S. Be very careful around Aberdeen. Someone appears to be looking for me.

  It was a bit terse, but I hope it conveyed my gratitude and warned them sufficiently of any potential risks they faced.

  I slipped out the door and closed it behind me as gently as I could. As I made my way down to the lobby, I fished around my pocket for the ivory credit card that was no longer worth the plastic it was printed on. I sighed, seeing how little cash I had left, took the card and stuck it in a heat register along the wall. I should have known that it would only be a matter of time before the Friends of Penult figured out I had broken my promise.

  I was actually surprised it had taken them so long to intervene, and that fact alone gave me hope. It told me that they were less than godly. They were not nearly as all knowing and omnipresent as they liked to make people believe. They were just people like me, and capable of laziness and incompetence.

  I left the hotel without the slightest of where I should be going. It was cool out. Overcast, but the pavements were dry. The sky looked more like it wanted to clear than to rain.

  I decided my priority should be to get out of town by the least predictable means possible. So I turned down the first narrow alley I came to, followed it to the end, and at the juncture, flipped a coin to determine which way to turn. It turned out to be a stupid thing to do, leading in a circle that would have taken me back to the hotel had I not abandoned that plan.

  When I came upon a larger street I just went straight, keeping my hand clasped around the pen I had taken from the hotel, hoping might serve as a suitable focus for my will in lieu of a sword.

  The streets proved empty except for a single drunk man in a tie and raincoat. I played hopscotch with a newspaper van delivering bundles of freshly printed tabloids to every newsstand along the route. When I came to a bridge, I crossed it, and on the other side found a road sign pointing to Inverness, 240 km. That was the last place I wanted to go at this point, but I continued onward, seeking only to get the hell out of Aberdeen and put some distance between me and the ladies, for their safety if nothing else. Maybe at some point I could veer south, though I realized that might send me into the Cairn Gorms again, the mere thought of which made me shiver. Better to hug the coast maybe, to Dundee and Perth.

  A small blue Vauxhall pulled out of a space and rolled slowly up to me when I reached the main drag. The passenger window rolled down. A youngish man with sideburns and longish red hair peered out.

  “You look like someone who could use a ride out of town.”

  “Um. Thanks, but no thanks.”

  “No. Seriously. Get in. It’s not safe for you out here.”

  I took a step back.

  “How do I know you’re not with the Friends?”

  He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a card.

  “Here.” He handed me a black, carbon fiber credit card just like the one I had once gotten from Wendell, with my name in glossy black letters over a matte background.

  “Keep this one. It’s yours. The white card they gave you? Destroy it. It’s how they track you.”

  “I already got rid of it.”

  “Good! Now hop in. We need to whisk you away from here.”

  “Was it you who stuck that note under our door?”

  “Reggie’s the name. Didn’t expect you to go rambling off on foot, but glad to see you took us seriously.”

  “Do you work for Wendell?”

  “Let’s just say we share the same employer. Come on. Hop in. I’ll get you out of here.”

  Footsteps clattered on the pavement behind me.

  “James!”

  “You know her? Is she a threat?” Reggie lunged over and reached into the glove compartment.

  I turned. Jessica, flannel shirt dangling over pajama bottoms, was running across the bridge barefoot.

  “No. It’s just Jess.”

  Something popped across the street. The driver’s side window splintered, forming a many-pointed star. Reggie grunted and slumped. A perfectly round and blood-rimmed hole had appeared in his temple.

  I yanked opened the door and dragged him out of the driver’s seat, taking his place. Jessica arrived breathless and aghast at the sight of the dying man lying in the roadway.

  “Get your ass in here and get down!”

  Another pop. The next bullet took out what remained of the window glass and passed inches from my cheek, miraculously missing my face. I could almost smell it as it hurtled by.

  Jessica was halfway in the door when I squealed away from the bridge, forgetting where I was for an instant and driving on the wrong side of the road. This was the UK, you idiot.

  ***

  It took a good five minutes for Jessica to catch her breath.

  “James. What is happening here?” she sa
id. “Who shot that poor, poor man? And why did we steal his car?”

  “It’s the bad guys, Jess. The bad guys are onto me.”

  “May I ask … which … bad guys? Sedevacantists? Those assassins? The drug dealers?”

  “Nope. None of the above. This time it’s the Friends.”

  “Friends? I’m sorry?”

  “The Friends of Penult. They work for those angel wannabes in the Liminality. They’re trying to exterminate us, first there and now here.”

  Jessica looked confused. I didn’t blame her, but I didn’t bother to explain it any more detail. Maybe the less she knew, the better. I already felt bad for dragging her into this web.

  As I drove, I spent more time looking in the rear view mirror than through the windshield. So far so good, the only headlights I saw were not keeping up with us.

  “Where are we going?” asked Jessica.

  “Your guess is as good as mine. Any suggestions?”

  “Why don’t we go to the police?”

  “Fuck no! If they detain me I’ll be … we’ll bit sitting ducks for whoever is coming after us.”

  She sighed. “Alright. Would you rather we go somewhere and hide? Someplace remote, perhaps, with limited access?”

  “Yeah. That sounds good. What do you suggest?”

  “Well. My aunt has a cottage in the Orkney Islands. We go there on holiday from time to time but no one’s living there at the moment. I know where she stashes the key.”

  “How do you get there from here?”

  “Follow the A96 to Inverness, and then go north on the A9.”

  ***

  At first we drove evasively, without apparent aim, turning south along the shore then west towards the mountains, before making our way back up north to catch the A96.

  The wind blasted Jess through the shattered window. She daubed at specks of poor Reggie’s blood with a Kleenex and tossed away bits of broken window glass.

  We passed endless farms and fields. Around every curve, at every junction, I expected roadblocks. Every car that overtook us, I feared was the police or the Friends. But for four hours we drove unmolested, stopping in Inverness only to use the loo and grab a sandwich. We were headed now for a place called Thurso, where Jess said we could catch a ferry.

  “Do you know any place we can ditch this car?”

  “The ferry terminal has a car park.”

  “Well, no. We need someplace where no one would find it right away. Otherwise, it’ll be traced to us on the island. You realize we’re gonna be murder suspects.”

  “M-murder? Oh my.” Her eyes glazed. Her posture stiffened as she considered the implications of my remark.

  “Are there any cliffs around maybe we can roll this thing off?”

  “Actually, yes. Up on the headlands, there are plenty.” She patted the upholstery and frowned. “But….”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Such a shame to ruin this nice Vauxhall.”

  “Never mind that. I’ll buy you a new one. Come on, show me how to get there.”

  We drove a little further down the paved road, passing Thurso town and the ferry port, and continued north to some fields and moors where we turned up a rough track leading through some overgrown and shrubby ledges to the edge of the cliffs.

  The brisk wind whistled through our broken windows. Whitecaps topped the breakers rolling in off the North Sea. I half-expected to encounter a brigade of Cherubim scaling these bluffs. Even the seagulls make me look twice and count their wings.

  We got out. I left the car running, found a big enough rock to weight down the gas pedal, reached over the seat and threw it into gear. The car rolled over the edge and flipped over, crashing upside down into the rocks below. Unfortunately, the tide was out and the vehicle remained completely exposed in the rocky shallows. At least it hadn’t burst into flames.

  “Oh my, this is not ideal, is it?” said Jess.

  “It’s fine. When the tide comes in it’ll be underwater. Come on, let’s go catch that ferry.”

  ***

  It took us the good part of an hour to reach the ferry port. On the plus side, there was absolutely no one around to witness our approach. There was a farmer on the far end of one of the worked fields, but he was too intent on his haying to even notice us.

  Doubts began to harry me. “Are we doing the right thing? I mean, going to an island? There would be no place to run.”

  “It depends. I still don’t understand why they are chasing you. These … Friends … as you called them.”

  “Simple. They don’t want me meddling in … in … their business. In the afterlife.”

  “I see. Well … on the plus side … I suppose Stromness would be the last place they would expect you to go. I doubt very much I’m on their radar. And they surely don’t know my Aunt Meredith.”

  “I hate to say this, but if they were able to track me all the way to Aberdeen, they probably know all about you gals.”

  “Nonsense. I have no skin in this fight. I’ve never even been to this Root place. I’ve got no plans to go, frankly.”

  “You’re helping me. That’s enough to make you a target.”

  She stared out over the docks in the harbor. “Regardless.” She shrugged and gave a sneer. “I have no regrets. Seems a worthy cause, regardless of the consequences. Unfortunately, this means our search for Karla is over. For us, anyhow. I suppose the others will carry on. I didn’t get a chance to tell you, we have some solid leads.”

  I let my breath out in a burst.

  “Did you not you read my note? I’m all done looking for her. Turns out, she’s no hostage. She ran off on her own.”

  “Are you sure about this?”

  I sighed. “Pretty damn sure. Turns out, she ran off to put pressure on me. To make me feel bad so … so I would cross over.”

  “Well now. That certainly sheds a different light on things.”

  “Listen, Jess. I’m just thinking … for your safety, it might be best if we split up.”

  That suggestion rattled her a bit. She frowned at me. “I’m not worried about safety, love. Honestly. I’m all in.”

  “But you don’t need to go to this island just for me.”

  “Honestly. It’s a good a place as any to hang out, now with the farm gone. And things were getting a little too cozy for my taste in Fiona and Britt’s little townhouse. Don’t get me wrong, they’re lovely gals. I just need my private space.”

  “Okay. Then … let’s go.”

  Chapter 53: Stromness

  We followed the road down from the bluffs, arriving at the piers of Scrabster Harbor Terminal just as the 1:15 p.m. ferry to Stromness was loading up. The black card Reggie had given me was burning a hole in my pocket, but I wasn’t quite ready to use it to book passage. Might as well blow the rest of my cash while we were still trying to remain incognito.

  I had never been on a boat this large before and worried I might get seasick. But I was fine. My stomach lurched a bit, but everything stayed where it was supposed to.

  Jess and I hung out on the upper deck by the smokestacks, staring at the surf. The water looked as impenetrable as steel. I was feeling down and defeated. There was a hole in my heart where my feelings for Karla had been and it didn’t seem fillable.

  I still loved this beautiful, ugly world. This was where I wanted to be, surrounded by this ocean, this land and this sky. The roots knew this, and that’s why they stayed away.

  An hour and a half later my ferry-conditioned legs were still yielding and flexing against imaginary swells as we walked the solid cobbles of Stromness. The island town was all narrow lanes and grey stone buildings. Every village in Europe looked like a fairy tale to a kid from Florida.

  Jessica led the way to the grassy heights above the town. We picked up some cheese and bread from a grocer along the way. Aunt Meredith’s cottage looked abandoned, its shingles retaining whitewash only in the deepest grooves.

  She fished a key out from under a heap of
broken flower pots in an herb garden bursting with lavender, sage and thyme. The heavy oaken door creaked open to a musty parlor crammed with ancient furniture draped with crocheted afghans and doilies. Jess and I pushed open some windows to air the place out.

  I collapsed into an overstuffed easy chair in the main room while Jessica raided the cupboards of a tiny kitchen.

  “Do you like mussels? Smoked in a tin?”

  “Beats smoking them in a pipe.”

  She ignored my quip. “They might go nice with our cheese and bread. Ah! And it looks like Auntie has some spirits stashed behind everything. Would you fancy a shot or two of schnapps? Might take the edge off our nerves.”

  “Sure. Why not?”

  We lunched in the sitting room. Neither of us had much to say. But eventually, after her second hit of schnapps, Jessica’s curiosity got the better of her.

  “These Friends of Penult, I take it this man they shot was not also a ‘Friend?’”

  “Not of Penult, anyhow. You might say he was friend of Frelsi. One of the folks who help souls transition to the afterlife. Permanently. To become Freesouls. He’s kind of like a mercy killing assassin.”

  “Mercy … killing?”

  “You could call it assisted suicide. He kills people who really, really want to leave this world, but don’t want to go to the Deeps. You do it the right way and you could get stuck in the Liminality. But that’s a good thing. Or at least, used to be. It pays … really well.”

  “So, let me see if I understand this. The Friends of Penult kill mercy killers because they want to keep the people who want to die alive? That seems a bit non-sensical, don’t you think? Kind of like the pro-life folks who kill doctors.”

  “They believe it goes against the natural order not to let the Reapers choose who goes and who stays. There’s like a war going on between those who become Freesouls through the back door, against the rules, so to speak … and the Freesouls who did it the proper way … or so they say.”

  “These Friends of Penult might have a point, don’t you think? Suicide, assisted or not, is not what God intended … for anyone.”

  “Well … that’s assuming there actually is a God … and that He actually gives a shit about what any of us common folks do.”