Steamside Chronicles

by Ciar Cullen

  After several minutes, Emily sat back on her heels and closed her eyes. I squatted next to her and put my hand on her shoulder.

  “Don’t say anything, Jack, okay? No platitudes.”

  “You got it.” And I did, oh, how I did. “Come on, let’s get out of here. You’re drawing a lot of attention we can’t afford. I don’t mean that as a criticism.”

  “I know.” She put her hand over mine and stood. I peeled off a few dollars for our meal and left Petti to explain to the staff that Fenwick was a foreigner, and that this was the newest treatment for heart ailments. Who knows, maybe it would catch on.

  Fen pulled off her shoes and plopped on her belly onto the bed. I poured us both a glass of sherry and sat near her. She rolled onto her back and without meeting my gaze, took the glass and downed the sickening stuff.

  “This is tough for me, Fen.”

  “Are we going to have a ‘let’s not have a relationship’ talk? Can I have a rain check for that? It’s nothing personal.”

  It was all personal. The fact that I didn’t have her in my arms, that she wasn’t crying, that I didn’t know what the hell I was supposed to do, that I wanted to cry myself. It was personal.

  “Wanna get out of here, do something?” I wanted to turn back the clock about two hours and finish what we started. I took out my watch and checked the time. Emily clutched at my hand and I slowly opened it, unsure what she wanted.

  “What’s that?” She pointed to the fob. I unclipped it and put it into her palm. She studied the scarab attached in gold, turning it over to read the inscription on the back, then swung it back and forth.

  “Earth to Fenwick.”

  “What does the CHP stand for?”

  “Claudin Pettigrew, our ancestor. I don’t know his middle name.”

  She reached beneath her bodice, withdrew a thin gold chain, and swayed it back and forth as she had mine.

  “I’m tired of coincidences, anachros, and weird stuff like this. I think we should talk about Egypt.”

  Chapter Ten

  No rest for our weary friends.

  We didn’t stay in Normal that night, even though it was late by the time Jack woke Petti to tell her about my scarab. We could have stayed; it would have made sense. My theory is that Jack didn’t want to deal with the sleeping arrangements, i.e., didn’t want to sleep with me and didn’t know how to tell me. We waited for Screw and Barber to return to the Henry and then skipped out on the bill, skipped out on New York.

  I reached for Jack’s hand right before the shred, but he slipped away a few seconds before me. For a moment, I watched them go, like characters from The Original Series returning to the Enterprise, full forms dissipating into twinkling Victorian cutout dolls.

  I considered stepping off the shimmering sidewalk beneath the obelisk, staying in Normal, trying to go it alone. I pictured them coming to life in Steamside and looking at one another in shock. Where’s Fen? Jack would be frantic. If he thought I’d done it on purpose, he’d be hurt, right?

  Or would he just be anxious that I’d disappeared with the key to his mystery? Perhaps furious. So close, he’d think.

  This is your brain on love--you over-think every move, every look, every word. Even words, gestures, and looks that happen only in your imagination. I glanced around at the Park, thinking that I preferred life Steamside, working on the Wall, and eating with the Punks, whether Jack was there or not. And of course, I couldn’t give up on the Man yet, just because he hadn’t fallen into bed with me. I couldn’t give up on him at all. That’s the other stupid part about falling in love. Everything feels hopeless, and hopeful, at the same time.

  I glanced at the obelisk, wondering about Egypt, wondering about my parents, and then closed my eyes and let go, let the pain of the shred distract me from the ache in my chest.

  The ache turned to a gut clenching burn as I opened my eyes and saw Juan bending over me on the street. “Hang on, Emily, hang on. You’ll make it.”

  “I’ll make it?” I’m not sure I spoke aloud. I glanced around to be sure I wasn’t caught in another dream, grounding myself in the smells and sights of a rainy night in the Bronx. Sirens screamed through my brain, my limbs went numb. I wanted so much to grab onto Juan’s shirt, to touch his face, but I couldn’t lift my arm.

  Had Steamside been a dream, a near death experience? Jack wasn’t real; he hadn’t kissed me. Petti hadn’t fussed over me, Screw hadn’t amused me. I’d never taken a shot off the Wall, because there was no Wall. No Man.

  “I’m not ready, Juan.”

  “You’ll make it, Emily. You’re banged up, but your vitals are…okay.”

  “No,” I whispered. The effort to speak brought on vertigo and nausea. A head trauma, I corrected myself. “I’m not ready to come home.”

  Juan brushed at my hair as the beep beep beep pounded pain into my head when the ambulance backed up. I closed my eyes and let myself drift, knowing I could slip away forever by doing so. I thought of being in Jack’s bed, curled up in a haze while he sat near me.

  The pain of my injuries dissipated and my head cleared, only to begin the spin that signaled shredding. It took me a full minute to understand where I was, that Barber was steadying me in his long arms and patting my back. I glanced over his shoulder at Jack, who looked like he did when I clobbered him. Angry, confused, and trying unsuccessfully to cover both feelings.

  “Don’t do that again, Fenwick.” He turned on his heel and walked toward his quarters. Sweet Pea intercepted him. They fell in step together, no doubt while she gave Jack a report on the happenings of the day.

  Too tired for a snappy comeback, I let Barber, Petti, and Screw fuss over me a little as we headed to our rooms. I didn’t say a word about going home. I didn’t know what to say. Which was the dream? I needed time, time, time. Please God, I thought, let time be still for a while.

  I flopped down on my bunk as they chattered on about anachros, scarabs, and nightmares. I didn’t give a damn, and they couldn’t make me.

  The noise level rose to a decibel beyond my tolerance when Sweet Pea knocked on the open door and greeted us.

  “Everyone get out! I have to sleep or I’ll kill someone.”

  “Then you’re not going to like what I have to say.” Sweet Pea chuckled.

  “You are fucking kidding me.”

  “Nope. He says because you violated the code, you get the Wall. In about five. I’ll get the coffee going.”

  Screw rolled his eyes, Barber and Petti backed out of the room.

  “And what will he do if I politely decline? Huh? Shoot me? Send me back home? Make me go to sleep without dinner? Well, I’ve had dinner, and it was awful. A man died at dinner. A man died at dinner…” And I died in the Bronx. But I came back. I came back, and I don’t know why.

  “Shit.” Screw took off his top hat and shook out his hair as he sat on his bunk across from me. I cried, and he watched sympathetically. He didn’t move to comfort me, nor did he seem uncomfortable watching me cry. Oddly enough, it shortened my jag a bit, and I wondered if he’d responded that way on purpose.

  He opened his pocket watch, a sign to me of his loyalty to the Man.

  “Two minutes, Fen. Don’t be late. You frightened us all. And you broke the code.”

  “Fuck the code.”

  “No, fuck you for doing that to us, to him. To me.” Screw changed his clothes in front of me, pulling on his shorts and his Modern Converse sneakers. Damn it. He was going to walk me to the Wall if he needed to.

  “Can’t he cut me a break?”

  “Why should he? Because you’re so cute, because you kiss so well, or because you have a scarab like his? Or because you administered CPR and it didn’t work? One minute.”

  “If you say one more thing, I swear I’ll put a bullet through that pretty face of yours.”

  I stripped off my Normal outfit and pulled on my oldest frock. Screw threw me my rifle. The pistol was still strapped to my leg.

  I would have run to the l
adder, but in my exhaustion, running with loaded weapons was a no-no. Lieutenant greeted me with a cup of her terrible coffee, and I threw it back without a word.

  “I hear you had a rough time in Normal.”

  That wasn’t the half of it. “Take a running leap off the Wall, Lieutenant.”

  Sweet Pea chuckled and went to her corner. I liked her a lot.

  Since the sun had set hours earlier, the nightmares were in full parade already. I didn’t have time to be anxious. No, it was different. I wasn’t anxious—there’s a difference. I knew I’d be okay, that I’d do my job well enough, better than well enough. I liked this.

  I’d been in the zone only a few times in my life. The hyperfocused state in which things are in slow motion for you alone. In the zone, you can make a three-pointer with your eyes closed, know you’re going to knock one out of the park before the ball gets to the plate, sense trouble before it materializes. I guess regular girls found great shoes on sale that way.

  “Lieutenant.”

  “Yes, Fenwick?”

  “Why are the dreams all modern? All of them—the clothes, the people. Why no 1890 stuff?”

  She narrowed her eyes and scanned the field for nightmares. I pointed to a lost woman, wandering in tears, reaching her hands out as if she were a mime trapped in a box. In Harry Potter pajamas. “Wake up, lady. You aren’t lost. And buy new pajamas. That’s lame.” Poof.

  Sweet Pea shrugged as if it weren’t a relevant question. She knew her job and did it, no questions asked.

  I watched through the night for any non-modern anomaly. Zip. I let a giant rabbit round the wall and pass into Steamside unscathed, just to scare the Punks if they awoke. I thought it was a brilliant practical joke and my glance at Sweet Pea dared her to say anything, but she shrugged with a smirk. “If it makes you feel better. Nothing more dangerous, though, or I’ll shoot you myself.”

  At daybreak, I returned to my room and fell into bed with my clothes on. I couldn’t have slept more than three hours when Screw rubbed my back and handed me a cup of coffee. I was starved, and pretty sure I’d missed reveille and breakfast.

  “Time?” I mumbled.

  “Lunch. And then we’re meeting. Bring your scarab.”

  “Sure, who goes anywhere without their scarab?”

  * * *

  “She’ll be along in a second, Jack. Try to relax. And lighten up on her. Fen had a scare or something. She was really pale when I woke her.” Screw shrugged an apology for his roomie and prepared himself an absinthe in his precise, ritualistic fashion.

  I shot him a look I hoped spoke volumes, not sure what I meant. Fen had scared the hell out of me, and it made me angry she had that power over me. Let the others think I was worried about her scarab, or even worried about her. I thought it was over, that I’d lost her, that for some reason she’d left me. Not Steamside, but me.

  Fen appeared in the doorway and lingered there, as if she didn’t want to jump into the pool, but dangled a toe in to test the water. Again in her jeans and tank top. This time I was sure it was a statement.

  “What are we talking about?”

  “Scarabs, anachros, whether or not to set up a basketball hoop, and politics.”

  “Politics?” She crinkled her nose. “God, I don’t even know who the President is.”

  “Benjamin Harrison. Heard him speak. Dull as a turnip.”

  Petti snapped her fingers for attention. “Kids, kids, time’s a wasting.”

  Fen sighed and stepped forward, dug into her jeans pocket, and pulled out a duplicate of my scarab. I turned it over to read the inscription. PDF.

  “Percival Fenwick. Middle name?”

  She shrugged. “Maybe David. We have some Davids in the family.”

  Fen sat on my bed next to Screw. Dark circles rimmed her eyes. She looked like she needed a hot meal and a month of sleep. I had a momentary guilt trip for putting her on the Wall. It was the code thing to do, but I did it for the wrong reason. An abuse of power. Would Benjamin Harrison abuse his office? Probably. Shame ate at my gut. All the time Steamside, and I’d managed to avoid abusing the Punks for personal reasons.

  Petti took off her glasses and cleared her throat. “Let’s assume that Claudin Pettigrew and Percival Fenwick knew one another. Good?”

  “May as well. Of course, scarabs are popular now.”

  “We have to start with some assumption, Jack. The scientific method. So, Claude and Percy were pals. In Egypt together. The real question is for Screw and Barber.”

  Barber laughed. “You got to be kidding me. You think I have a family tree like yours? In Normal, my ancestors are not likely to be explorers, trust me.”

  “How do you know, Barber? You’re part white, aren’t you?”

  “Petti, come on…”

  “Well, isn’t he? Look at him. He’s partly European. I’m sorry, Barber, but it’s a fact.”

  Barber laughed. “I’m not offended. I am what I am. But I can’t give you the ethnic breakdown.”

  “And then there’s me.” Screw rested his chin on his hand and smirked. “Go for it, Petti. You’re going to put a Japanese man in Egypt in 1890?”

  Fenwick flushed and opened her mouth to speak but I shook my head to warn her off. Damn. She thought what I did, that Screw was part Chinese. All those cracks about building the railroad, San Francisco, and Chinatown. He’d played along the whole time.

  “So, neither of you have seen a scarab in your family, nor heard any mention of an Egyptologist?”

  “What’s your real name, Screw?” Fen couldn’t seem to come to grips with her mistake.

  “Jade Kung Fu.”

  “Sorry I asked.”

  “Oh, come on. I’m not sensitive about it. It’s Jasper Corwin.”

  “Corwin?”

  “Shhh.” He held a finger up to his lips. “Don’t tell anyone, but I’m not their real child.”

  So, one of Screw’s secrets, not the most important no doubt, out in the open. Adopted.

  “How about you, Barber, what’s your name?”

  “Franklin James Barber. Nothing very mysterious there. A solid American name, grounded in my mixed heritage. Slave and European.”

  Screw flopped back on the bed and Fenwick did the same. I didn’t like the proximity of their limbs on my bed linens. What did go on in their room? Why the hell had I put them together?

  Petti looked at me and shrugged. “What now? Ask all the Punks if they have an ancestor who went to Egypt? Or if they’ve seen a scarab like these?”

  Screw sat back up. “Look, two may be a coincidence—counting a brother and sister as one. Three would be unlikely. Four would be statistically significant.”

  “But what would it mean? That we’re here because someone we’re related to went to Egypt?”

  Fenwick answered for us all. “That we’re cursed because someone we’re related to went to Egypt.”

  “Do you believe that? Egyptian curses? What could they have done, released a demon mummy guy or…or release a mummy guy?”

  “Does it make less sense than being here because you died on the New Jersey Turnpike in a storm or I died in the Bronx on the job? By the way, do Barber and Screw remember dying?”

  “I was in jail,” Screw said. Jail? That was the first I’d heard of it. Secret number two.

  “Whoa. You going to leave us hanging like that? A white collar crime no doubt. Got it! You hacked into a government computer.”

  “Your view of me is so narrow, Jack.”

  Fen snapped her fingers in imitation of Petti. “Enough! God, no wonder nothing gets done around here. Have the four of you sat around talking for years?”

  Petti laughed. “Oh, someone is a wee bit testy today. Needs a spoonful of sugar to help the punishment go down, doesn’t she?”

  “I’m exhausted and armed, so shut the hell up, Petti.”

  I whistled to shut them all up. “Let’s get back to it. Screw, do you remember dying, or coming close?”

  “Nope. I wen
t to sleep one night, and woke here.”

  “How about you, Barber?”

  “I was at the Y, showering after practice.”

  Petti stood and brushed at her skirts. “I suppose I’ll just go ask people if they have a scarab, yada yada. Screw and Barber, come help me.”

  Fenwick started to leave, but I pulled at her elbow. I had to know why. Why she’d stayed behind, if only for a moment. I had to know that it wasn’t me.

  Chapter Eleven

  Matters of the flesh.

  Fen pulled the thin gold chain from her pocket and dangled it in the air. “I would like it back, if it’s all the same to you. Or do you keep everything until the sentence is over?”

  She wandered to my window and seemed rather interested in the grass growing on the knoll past the Wall.

  “Aren’t you going to complain about the punishment for violating code?”

  “Nope. I like the Wall, and I like Sweet Pea. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she’s a friend.”

  “Are you going to tell me why you violated code?”

  She faced me and folded her arms over her chest. “I don’t know why I stayed behind.” Her lids fluttered and she brushed her hand along my desk, rearranging odds and ends piled there.

  “What are you holding back?”

  “Who’s asking? The guy who runs Steamside with a somewhat malleable fist? Or the guy who kissed me in the Hotel Henry?”

  “Both. Both of us need to know. One of us a lot more than the other.” There, that was all she was getting out of me. A hint of a sliver of caring. I had to get those tables turned back around.

  “Did you finish A Study in Scarlet yet? I’d like to borrow it.”

  “That’s how you’re going to change the subject?”

  “No, I just didn’t want to forget. I’ve been tired, and I keep forgetting to ask you.”