Electricity and metal, swarms of people, these things should have kept most troublesome things at bay. But then, Luna Park’s location lent itself to trouble.
She looked over the other boardwalk games as she passed. Which one involved the least skill and the most chance? They all involved shooting or throwing something. Well, that might work. She stopped at a booth where rubber ducks floated in a shallow pool of circulating water. The ducks bumped into one another and swirled in their own little currents, their painted eyes staring into space. Five of them had red stars painted on their backs.
“Throw a ring on a duck with a star, win a prize,” said the young man.
“I’ll play,” she said and handed a ticket to him. She took the three rings he offered her. Two other players, a mother and daughter, stood next to her. Yukiko waited until they had thrown their rings, none of which went over the starred ducks. She tossed hers, bending things slightly, arcing the light, feeling the three people, the woman, the girl and the young man’s minds next to her own.
She liked them. She couldn’t help but like them. When she was that close to people, effecting their perceptions, even for a moment, she felt it. It was one of the last remnants of her kind, that feeling of connection with the people.
“You got it!” shouted the little girl.
The young man checked, and sure enough, one of her rings had encircled one of the starred ducks.
“Which prize do you want?”
Yukiko looked them over. “Which one should I pick?” she asked the girl.
“I’m trying for the pink dolphin,” she said. “There are real ones that color in the Amazon.”
“Are there now?” Yukiko pointed. “I’ll have the dolphin.”
The young man pulled it down and handed it to her. She set it on the table next to the girl and stepped away.
“Is it for me?” the girl said.
“Yeah, you can have it.”
“What do you say?” said the mother to the girl.
“Thank you!”
Yukiko moved down the boardwalk and glanced back. The young man was removing the rings from the ducks and looked confused. Her illusion had broken prematurely.
There were other games of chance, but none of them would reward her with money, and she knew enough about the effects of the place on her abilities. Perhaps she should use her tickets for rides. The roller coaster was of the old wooden style. She could remember when any roller coaster was considered a new thrill, even ones considered tame by modern standards. No, today she wanted something else. She wanted to get into the parts of the park where something might be lurking. The carousel. Yes, it was old and generations of children had loved it. The spinning and bobbing created just enough disorientation to make it a good place to check.
She found it on the map and headed toward it. She could smell it from a distance, underneath all the human smells and the beach smells. It was lower, like the lowest notes of a cello, like a long, drawn-out heartbeat. It was one of the places that made the park what it was. She smelled for Santiago, but he was not nearby. Knowing him, he was probably drinking at some nightclub downtown with a half-nude woman wriggling in his lap.
In his letter, he had told her something was wrong and that he could sense something coming. A difference in the air, like an approaching storm. He had asked her to come and see what she could learn. In all the years she had known him, he rarely asked for help. And when he had, she had always refused on principle. Her kind was not like him. Her kind had rules and a code of honor and nobility. Santiago was nothing more than a swindler and teller of tales. She refused to aid him in his cons.
It must have been difficult for him to ask her for help. And it had not involved a con, at least none that she could detect. She had agreed to come, mainly out of curiosity.
She stayed at the carousel, but aside from sensing a faint remnant of an otherkind who had come through a day or two before, she sensed nothing else. She spent three tickets on a haunted house ride, sitting alone in the car as it wound back and forth on a little track through a series of dark rooms. Screams, moans and tinny music in a minor key blared over the speakers. The walls were painted with fluorescent paint and lit by black light. It hurt her eyes. She closed them and inhaled. There was something behind the back wall of the ride, a higher-pitched sensation, like a tingle in the back of her nose.
She got on the ride next door, which allowed her sit in a yellow caterpillar as it wound through a garden of giant flowers, caterpillars and insects. The feeling was fainter on this ride. When she got off, she walked around, but the area behind the rides was impossible to access.
“What’s back behind these rides?” she asked the man at the churro cart.
“What, back there? There’s a staff lounge, offices, stuff like that.”
Yukiko circled around the rides, glancing at the map. Yes, that area would be off limits to her. She stopped at a snack stand that shared a wall with these offices and the staff lounge. There was the smell of pizza, nacho cheese, sugary drinks, the people, of course, and the other thing. It was fainter now than it had been on the haunted house ride.
“What would you like?” asked the girl at the snack booth.
Yukiko looked over the machines. “Could I have a red slushie?” She didn’t know what flavor “red” might be, but from past experience, she knew it would stain her mouth and tongue a fun shade of bright red.
“Here, I’ll get this one,” said an older man to the girl. He was sweating and out of breath. “You take your break.” The man had slanted green eyes and hair that had once been orange before it had gone gray.
“How much is it?” Yukiko asked. She wanted to get her money out on the counter and get out of there before it changed.
“Three fifty.”
He filled her cup while she hunted in her coin purse for coins to make exact change. She didn’t want to end up waiting for him to make change. She put the money down and found him looking at her, holding the cup in a stubby-fingered hand. His eyes were light green, almost the shade of sunlight as it passed through new leaves. She paused to smell. Nothing. Just regular human smell mixed with cigarettes and the deodorizing pads he put inside the soles of his shoes.
“I don’t need a receipt,” she said as she took the slushie and turned away. She had learned all she could, at least until she could discuss the issue with Santiago and learn whatever he knew. She sucked on the slushie as she left the park and walked down the block to the Seaside Inn. It was not on the seaside, of course. She would need more money than she had for a hotel on the beach. Her motel was a few blocks inland, a two-story U-shape of pink stucco with palm trees planted out in front. At the center of the courtyard sat an empty pool, cracked by age and earthquakes. She had already paid, using some of the real money she had won at the Chumash casino. She still had some of it left and needed to be careful with it.
She climbed the stairs, fished the motel key card from her coin purse and entered her room. It was a non-smoking room, and though it smelled like disinfectant and people, it was not too bad. She had certainly seen worse. Her plush tail and ears went onto to the bathroom counter and she washed off her makeup. She dropped onto the bed and flipped on the television. Why was she so tired? She could barely keep her eyes open. The voices on the television seemed so far away, like people talking through the wall. Or maybe there were people talking in the next room. She couldn’t tell, and within moments, she was sound asleep.
Chapter 3
After work, Astrid sat on the commuter train and checked the balance on her rail pass. She had enough to get her to the next payday, but would need to buy another pass right after she got her check. She leaned back in her seat and watched the buildings flash by the window in the dark.
She loved the train, not because of the people or the scenery, or even because she wasn’t at w
ork, school or home with her mother. It was something else. The train existed to move, to travel from one place to another, pausing but never truly stopping. Naturally, it rested at stops. It parked when the trains stopped running in the wee hours of the morning or when it was taken out of service for maintenance. But at its heart, it was built to move, to exist in the undefined places, the places that were neither destination nor starting point.
She got off at her stop and walked home. It was night, and walking alone in the dark wasn’t her safest choice, but what else could she do? She had to make money somehow, and without a car or anyone to drive her to Luna Park, the train was the only affordable option. She passed the quiet houses, all of them small, run-down two- and three-bedroom homes from the mid-twentieth century. Paint peeled, vehicles decayed and curtains faded bit by bit as the years passed. Only the children changed.
Astrid’s front door was locked and she rummaged in her purse for her key. Her mother wouldn’t get up off the sofa to unlock the door unless Astrid yelled through the door that she had forgotten her key, earning her a scolding. She unlocked the door and dropped her purse on the entryway table, kicked off her shoes and shoved them up against the wall next to the door.
“You took your sweet time coming home,” said her mother. She was in sweatpants and a tee shirt and had a glass of wine on the table beside the sofa. The television was on, tuned to a talk show.
“The guy who takes the shift after mine was late. And then I missed my usual train and had to wait for the next one.”
She watched her mother’s reaction. If she went back to watching television, Astrid could go into the kitchen and grab something to eat. She hadn’t eaten since her peanut butter sandwich at lunch and she was famished.
“What did you bring?” her mother asked. “Anything?” She took a sip of wine and the ice cubes tinkled against the glass. The wine was the cheap stuff that her mother bought at Walmart, some blend of red and white that combined into a light shade of pink.
“I thought you said you didn’t want any pretzels because they were making you gain weight.”
“How could you say something like that? You’re saying I’m fat.”
“No, no. It’s just that they’re unhealthy. Too many carbs. They’re all white flour and salt.”
“Well, I guess that’s true. But there’s other stuff they throw away at that park, right? Why don’t you bring home some pizzas?”
“Those aren’t particularly healthy either. And besides, I don’t work the pizza stand.”
“Well, why not?”
“Because I’m assigned to the pretzel stand. It’s what they trained me for.” Astrid took off her jacket and hung it on one of the pegs behind the door. Mother had gone back on her request for Astrid not to bring home any food, which meant she was looking for a reason to fight. Her mother was watching her. Astrid had to be careful. “So, what are you watching?”
Her mother glanced at the television. “I don’t know, some thing.” She fanned the air in dismissal. “You should have brought something home.”
“But you called Elliot and told me not to.”
“Never mind Elliot. This isn’t about Elliot. This is about you. And I just don’t want any more of those nasty pretzels you make. You’re a high school graduate now, and look at you.” She waved her hand up and down to encompass Astrid from head to toe. Her nose crinkled slightly, as if she smelled something unpleasant. Astrid knew that she was no beauty. She was flat-chested, her eyes were a completely unremarkable shade of blue and her nose was too big. Her blonde hair was getting too long and was starting to stick out.
“I’m growing my hair out,” she said. What was she thinking earlier about cutting or dying her hair? There was no way she could afford a haircut on top of a bus pass, a plane ticket to New York and any other expenses. She’d have to let her hair grow. “It’ll look better in a few weeks.”
“It’s not just that, sweetie. You could get free food at work, but you don’t even bother to do it. And when you do, you bring home crap. I work all day to support you, and you just screw around in school, play around at work and then come home and eat all the food I bought.”
“Sorry,” she muttered and headed for the kitchen. There was no way to win this. She hoped she could grab something and take it to her room.
“Now just a minute,” her mother said. Astrid heard the sofa squeak as her mother got up to follow her. Astrid leaned back against the kitchen counter and looked at the floor. The vinyl flooring was supposed to look like tile, but it wasn’t having much success. It was torn in a few places near the kitchen table, and was worn in the areas where people walked. Like everything in their house, it was old and ugly.
“I’ve got a bone to pick with you,” her mother said. “You need to really do some thinking about your life and where you’re headed. I’ve been tolerant up to now, but you’re going to be eighteen in a few days. You can’t freeload off of me forever.”
“I just finished school today, Mom.”
“You’re becoming a bum. I can see it. Your laziness is getting the best of you.”
“What are you talking about? I’m going to college in two months and I’ll be working all summer. I’m not a bum.”
“It’s not a real college.”
“Columbia? Columbia is a real college.”
“I mean the art classes. That’s not a job, that’s a hobby. That’s something you do for fun. You’ll be moving back in with me and I’ll be taking care of you your whole life while you draw things in your little notebook. You need to think about moving out and learning to take care of yourself.”
“I’ll be moving out in two months. I leave at the end of August. I told you.”
“So you have an apartment? Money for a deposit and everything?”
“No, I still have to sign the financial aid papers.”
“And why are you late on those? Why did you put them off?”
“I can’t sign until I’m a legal adult. And you refused to sign for the grants on my behalf. So now I’m stuck. And if I don’t get the full amount of my grants, it’ll be because I was late signing my papers.”
“I’m not going to co-sign on any loans for you to go play with paints.”
“It’s for grants, not loans. We went over this.”
“Don’t lie to me,” yelled Mother. “You’re getting loans.”
“But you don’t have to co-sign for those!”
This was getting bad. Astrid was shaking with anger and her mother was staring her straight in the face. She wanted a fight, and now she had it. But there was no way Astrid could get away without more yelling. Or worse. Mother took a step closer.
“Don’t you look at me like that, young lady,” Mother said. “It’s disrespectful.”
Astrid knew she needed to back down or it would get bad. “Sorry,” she muttered and opened the refrigerator.
“Don’t you turn your back on your mother. Now you listen to me.” Her mother moved even closer. Astrid closed the refrigerator and turned back toward her, avoiding looking directly in her eyes. Astrid wasn’t tall, and neither was her mother, yet she always seemed so much larger. She came within striking distance.
Astrid kept her eyes on her mother’s slippers. They had once been light blue, but were now a dull grayish color and the plastic soles were cracked. Her mother’s calloused feet hung over the edges.
“Things are going to change, starting now,” said Mother. “You look at me when I’m talking to you!”
Astrid forced herself to look up. Her mother stuck her finger in Astrid’s face.
“You are going to shape up or ship out, you got me?”
“Got it,” she muttered.
“That’s right,” said Mother. “Now get out of the way. I need something to eat, seeing as you didn’t have the courte
sy to bring home anything.”
Astrid left the kitchen. She could go back in half an hour and see if there was any cereal that she could eat for dinner. She went into her room and shut the door. Earthquakes and the natural settling of the house had left the door frame slightly askew, so she had to push the door with her hip to get it to close all the way. She flicked on the light, a bare bulb screwed into an ancient fixture in the center of the ceiling.
Beside the bed sat a cardboard box, and inside lay her cat, Cinderella, and her three kittens.
“How are you doing, kitty?” she said, kneeling down and stroking Cinderella. The sleek, white cat lifted her chin for scratching and purred. Astrid spent a few minutes petting the kittens. Cinderella watched her, but then closed her eyes and rested her head on her paws. The kittens were three weeks old now, big enough to move around the box, but not yet old enough to venture into the outside world. One male was solid white like his mother. The other two, a male and a female, were gray and black striped tabbies.
“I still need to name you guys,” she said. She thought of the smallest one, the white male, as Runt. He was tinier than his siblings, thinner and less energetic. She didn’t have names for the other two.
Astrid took her graduation cap from on top of her desk and tried it on. She opened her closet and pulled the gown from the hanger where she had hung it to get out any wrinkles. She held the gown up under her chin and looked in the mirror on the inside of the closet door. Tomorrow evening, she would get her diploma. And then, a few more months and she’d be off to New York.
Cinderella climbed out of the box and rubbed against her legs. Astrid lifted the gown out of the way.
“I don’t need your white hair on this,” she said, and reached down to rub the cat’s ears. She still wondered how Cinderella had gotten pregnant. No, that wasn’t true. She knew exactly how that had happened. But she had always thought that the cat was spayed. She had found Cinderella when she was eight and had fed her in the backyard. The cat had hung around, and Astrid had named her. The cat hunted, left mice, gophers and lizards on the back steps and Mother had decided she could stay as long as she killed vermin and didn’t pee in the house. But in all the years they had kept Cinderella, she had never gotten pregnant. And then one day, Astrid had seen that her stomach was protruding.
The Time Corps Chronicles (Complete Series) Page 59
