by Brian Harmon
“Then forget the girl,” growled the tall man. “Find someone else.”
“We’ve been more than generous with you,” said the fat man. “You said you could do what we asked.”
“I can do it! I just need a little more time! A few more days!”
“I’m not sure we understand each other,” the fat man warned.
At this point, Zachery’s voice grew shrill again. “I do! I do! I swear to God I understand you! Please don’t hurt me again!” The panic in his voice made me cringe. He backed into the shelf, rattling it. I heard something fall and clatter to the floor.
“I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” decided the tall man. He stood up straight and took a step toward the boy. For a moment, I had a clear look at his face, which meant he probably had a clear look at mine, too, if he’d only been looking my way. I quietly backed up a few steps, out of sight, and continued to listen. “I can tell he’s got this under control. It’s like he said. He just needs a few more days.”
“That’s right!” gasped Zachery.
“And if he has to do it without the Graupner girl, he will. Won’t you?”
“Yes sir!”
“You’d better not fail,” said the fat man. “You gave your word. We trusted you.”
“He’s not going to let us down,” insisted the tall man. “Why would he? He’s got nothing to lose, right? And everything to gain.”
“Yeah…” said Zachery. “All our dreams will come true.”
“That’s right. All your dreams. And people like you and us, we know how to dream big, don’t we?”
“Yes, sir,” he agreed.
All his dreams would come true. He kept saying that. I wondered what it meant. Was it going to make him rich? I didn’t understand. I still don’t understand.
When I heard them speak again, I realized they were moving toward me and I turned and fled back up to the furnace room. Behind me, at the bottom of the steps, I heard the tall man say, “Did you hear that?” and my heart skipped a beat in my chest again.
“Hear what?” asked the fat man.
“I thought I heard footsteps on the stairs.”
Panic washed over me again. I heard their footsteps on the stairs, rapidly approaching. I took off running, intending to just get out of there, but already I knew I couldn’t reach the other side of the room before they reached the doorway behind me. They’d see me. And once they saw me, I was sure they’d remember me. They’d hunt me down. They’d probably kill me. I needed somewhere to hide.
I’m not entirely sure how it happened, but somehow, as I circled around the furnace, I caught sight of a dark recess in the wall to my left. I didn’t really think about it. It was like a reflex. I turned and darted into it and crouched down, making myself as small as possible.
I hugged my knees and held my breath. I prayed. I waited for the worst.
The tall one appeared from behind the furnace and crossed the room, running. He didn’t look in my direction. He assumed I’d left. Even if I had somehow managed to turn the corner before they came up the stairs, I realized I’d never have made it out of the building. He would’ve seen me in the hallway.
Maybe he wouldn’t have chased me down out there in the open hallway, for everyone to see, but I’d be just as dead. I’m sure of it.
Zachery appeared next. He, too, ran right past without looking around. He reached the end of the room and stopped there. He stood looking up the steps. I imagined that he was looking at the tall man, who must’ve been standing up there, looking back and forth, wondering where I’d vanished to.
Then the fat one was there. He didn’t run. He walked right past me, only inches from where I was hiding. My heart skittered to a stop again. I began to wonder if I might be doing serious damage to it. My mom always liked to say that a good scare took ten minutes off your life. I wondered if I might be losing days or even months off mine today.
He stopped between me and Zachery, blocking my view of him.
“Did you see anyone?”
“There was no one here,” replied Zachery.
Then I heard the tall one say, “No one in the hallway.”
“Forget it,” said the fat man. “Wouldn’t be the first time we heard footsteps that didn’t belong to anyone.”
“That’s true,” agreed the tall man.
These guys weren’t making much sense. How could footsteps not belong to someone?
“We’re done here anyway,” said the fat man. Then, to Zachery, he said, “Time’s running out. You get those kids on board or you find someone else. If you want your reward, you’d better complete the task.”
He took a step forward. For a moment, there was nothing between me and Zachery. If he’d been looking at me, he would’ve seen me there, but he was looking at the floor instead, nodding. He didn’t seem to want to look at the fat man.
I didn’t exactly blame him.
“He’ll get it done,” said the tall man. “Most people would sell their soul for the chance he has. He’ll find a way to get our little task done. Isn’t that right?”
“Yes sir.” Zachery stood up a little straighter, encouraged.
“You know where to find us, don’t you? In case you get yourself into any trouble?”
“I told him we have a room at the old folk’s home,” said the fat man.
“I’m supposed to ask for the executive guests,” reported Zachery.
“Good man,” said the tall man. “Now let’s get out of here. I’m hungry.”
The fat man crossed my line of vision again. When he walked away, the other two were already gone. But before he left, he turned and looked around one last time.
I thought for a second that he had me that time, that I’d run out of luck at the very last moment. But although his gaze passed over the furnace, the twisting ducts overhead, he never quite looked in my direction.
Then, finally, he left.
I heard their voices in the hallway. Then they turned the lights out and left me in the pitch dark of that awful room.
It was lucky I was smart enough to add that flashlight to my bag before I left for school this morning. I dug it out and turned it on. It didn’t help much. The room is still eerily dark around me. And all this machinery makes some pretty creepy noises, but I’m in no hurry to leave. The last thing I want to do is bump into one of those suits or Zachery. I’ll give them time to forget about me. Besides, as I explored my hiding place with the flashlight, I caught sight of the crack in the wall I saw in my dream, the one I saw you pulling my next message out of.
So here I am, writing away by the light of my flashlight, hoping desperately that Zachery and those creeps are far from here by the time I’m done.
I have to tell you, it’s weird, me writing to you like this. Not just that I’m now and you’re another time far from now. Not even all the strange things I’m writing to you about. I’m talking about the writing itself. See, I’ve never been very good at writing before. But now, suddenly, I’m scribbling out all of these words. I don’t even know where they’re coming from. When I started writing to you, I had no idea how I was going to express what I needed to say, how to explain what was going on so that you’d be able to understand it. It’s like someone’s guiding my hand, putting the words in my head, telling me what to say to you.
Is it possible that we’re not doing these things on our own? Do you think, maybe, someone or something is watching over us, guiding us?
Do you think it’s God?
I should go now, I think. I don’t want to be caught down here. I don’t want to draw attention to myself. And hopefully the grays have gone away by now.
I don’t know yet where I’ll leave my next letter. I haven’t dreamed it yet. But I know I will. Maybe tonight. I’m not concerned because I know you’ll find it, just like you found this one.
Wish me luck!
Chapter Eleven
“Why would agents be staying at an old folk’s home?” asked Karen.
Eric shrugged. “Maybe agents
are fond of bingo.”
She carefully shuffled through the pages, skimming over the fifty-four-year-old words again. “It’s so weird. We were just in that place. And he’s telling this story like it happened yesterday…”
“I know.”
“We were inside those rooms. We saw what he saw. But it was decades ago.”
“It is kind of trippy.”
“It is.” She read the words in front of her, trying to comprehend not just the time that had passed since they were written, but the sheer courage of the boy who wrote them. “I like this kid,” she decided. “He’s ballsy.”
Eric nodded. Hector reminded him of himself. He wasn’t interested in the thrills, and he didn’t pretend to be any braver than he was. He was simply compelled to find the answers to the questions that were forced upon him. And he dealt with the obstacles that were placed in his way as they came, with only as much courage and bravado as was absolutely necessary.
“What do you think this Zachery kid meant when he said that all his dreams would come true?” asked Karen.
“Hard to say. But it sounds way too good to be true, if you ask me.”
THAT’S USUALLY HOW IT IS, agreed Isabelle.
“No mention of those things we ran into,” he observed.
“Not much mention of anything, really.” She rolled the papers up again and put them in the glove compartment with the first two. “I mean, we already knew those gray agents were forcing Zachery to do something for them, and we still don’t know what.”
WE KNOW THE GRAYS WERE MAKING HIM PUT TOGETHER SOME KIND OF TEAM
“Whatever’s supposed to make their dreams come true is apparently their reward,” added Eric.
AND IT OBVIOUSLY HAS SOMETHING TO DO WITH THAT BOOK
“Right,” said Karen. She rubbed at her temples again. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you? Have you heard of any crazy books in all your travels?”
THERE ARE LOTS OF POWERFUL BOOKS OUT THERE. ALL OF THEM ARE DANGEROUS IN THEIR OWN WAY. SOME MUCH MORE SO THAN OTHERS. NO ONE KNOWS WHAT ALL OF THEM ARE, MUCH LESS WHERE. THEY TEND TO GET LOST AS OFTEN AS THEY’RE FOUND
“Speculation?” she pressed.
AT THIS POINT, I HONESTLY WOULDN’T KNOW WHERE TO BEGIN
“The witches I met in Illinois last summer had a spell book,” recalled Eric. “Could it be like that?”
THAT WASN’T SO MUCH A BOOK AS A RESEARCH LOG. I’D BE SURPRISED IF THE GRAY AGENTS WERE USING ANYTHING AS TAME AS THAT
Eric and Karen exchanged an uncomfortable look. They didn’t like the sound of that.
BUT IT COULD DEFINITELY HAVE BEEN A SPELL BOOK OF SOME KIND. IT SORT OF FITS. THE TEAM ZACHERY WAS ASSEMBLING COULD HAVE BEEN A MAKESHIFT COVEN
OR IT COULD JUST AS EASILY HAVE BEEN SOME OTHER KIND OF BOOK. LIKE I SAID, WITHOUT MORE INFORMATION, I CAN’T SAY FOR SURE WHAT IT COULD BE
Eric considered all of this for a moment. He didn’t like the picture that was beginning to form in his head. “We know that agents were here in Creek Bend in 1881. That’s when they opened the portal in the high school basement and summoned a jinn. They used teenagers then, too, but their dreams certainly didn’t come true. They were all burned alive for their trouble.”
“The same fire destroyed half the town,” recalled Karen. “The Fire of 1881.” Anyone who grew up in Creek Bend knew of the Fire of 1881. It was talked about in school. There was an entire room dedicated to it at the local museum. And there were two town memorials.
“What if the gray agents were trying to replicate what their predecessors in 1881 did?” said Eric.
“Why would they want to do that?” asked Karen.
BECAUSE THEY’RE EVIL
She actually looked a little embarrassed at that. “Right,” she said.
“Or maybe the first time didn’t go exactly as planned. Maybe the fire was an unexpected side-effect. Maybe the gray agents thought they could do it right this time.”
“I don’t remember anything about a Fire of 1962. Does that mean they failed?”
OR DOES IT MEAN THEY SUCCEEDED?
Eric ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. The only way to find out is to keep finding Hector’s letters.” And poor Hector had no way of knowing what he might be up against. He wished there was a way to contact him.
It was so frustrating not being able to help.
Karen stared out the window for moment, silent. Then, finally, she said, “So… Where do we go now?”
That was the question, wasn’t it? Besides the Goss Building—which they were never going back to if they could help it—the only place Hector mentioned was that the agents were staying at an old folk’s home. “How many retirement homes are there in Creek Bend?”
“No idea.” She pulled out her smart phone and began tapping away at the screen. “I wasn’t going to start shopping around until after your next birthday.”
“I’m not going to a home. I’m just getting a live-in nurse. A hot one. Maybe one with a sexy accent.”
“Great idea,” she replied without looking up from her phone. “I can’t wait to meet him.”
Isabelle responded to that with, LOL!
“Nine came up in yellow pages,” she reported. “But that’s just a quick search. Are we looking for a retirement home or a nursing home? Or just a senior apartment complex? Or are we talking something more like a hospice? ‘Old folk’s home’ isn’t all that specific.”
No, it wasn’t. Nor did it sound particularly nice. “And we can’t know for sure that they weren’t staying in a neighboring town.”
THAT’S TRUE, agreed Isabelle.
“But it would’ve had to have been someplace that was here in 1962.”
“But we don’t know for sure that it’s still here today, then, do we?” countered Karen.
ALSO TRUE
Eric stared through the windshield. This was all so damn confusing. Fifty-four years was a long time. Lots of things changed in that much time. How was he supposed to make any sense of all this?
“Unless…” said Karen.
He turned and looked at her.
She went back to her cell phone. “I’ve been wondering why they chose Goss of all places. I mean it seems a little random, doesn’t it?”
“A little. Maybe. I’ve never thought much about where I’d go to execute an evil plan. I don’t think a rec center would immediately come to mind, but what do I know?”
“Hector told us that if Zachery needed them, he was supposed to ask for the ‘executives.’ That sounds like they might’ve been higher-ups from some kind of parent company. What if it’s not the rec center, itself, but the place that owns it?”
“Gardenhour?”
“Gardenhour owns a lot of properties. Mostly they specialize in helping children, but they do have facilities for adults and seniors, also.”
“Like retirement homes?”
“Exactly.” She swiped at her phone a few more times and then skimmed the page that came up. “I’m pretty sure I remember something about one of those places… Ah. Here we are. The Soman Sanatorium.” She wrinkled her nose at the screen. “Well that sounds horrifying.”
“It does,” agreed Eric. “And what does a sanatorium have to do with retirement homes?”
“Bear with me. Soman Sanatorium was built by Gardenhour to treat tuberculosis patients, but it closed in the late fifties. After that, it was converted into a nursing home.”
Eric grimaced. “Am I the only one who thinks that sounds awful?”
“The property was eventually sold in the early nineties, but it fits our time frame. In 1962, it would’ve still been owned by the same people who own Goss, and it would’ve been operating as a nursing home.”
Eric tried to wrap his head around this. “So Gardenhour is in league with the agents?”
“Well, we don’t know that Gardenhour was involved in anything,” said Karen. “I mean, I certainly hope not. They’re a good organization. They do great things. I always try to con
tribute to their fundraisers. These guys might’ve just been posing as executives.”
That was a very good point. Agents were obviously resourceful people. Many of them even had supernatural powers. Posing as executives to get free lodging and access to multiple buildings probably would’ve been easy.
“Okay, so you said Gardenhour doesn’t own it anymore. Who does?”
“Julian Berchey.”
He tried to think. “Where do I know that name?”
She gave him that look that she reserved for his stupider moments. “Seriously?”
“What? We can’t all be as popular as you. Some of us don’t know everybody who lives in this town.”
Karen rolled her eyes at him. “The artist?”
“Oh yeah. Him.”
DUH, said Isabelle.
“Oh shut up. You didn’t know either.”
It seemed like a longshot. There was no proof that the “old folk’s home” the fat man in the gray suit mentioned was the old Soman Sanatorium. And even if it was, they had no reason to believe that Hector would’ve gone there, much less that he might’ve left the next letter there.
But they didn’t have any other ideas, either…
Chapter Twelve
In the middle of Creek Bend, located on the bank of the river and prominently visible from the Main Street bridge, was one of the city’s most colorful landmarks. The Aberration Station was a sprawling, two story complex covered in bright, fanciful murals that had always reminded Eric of Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory. The main entrance was flanked by two enormous gears sticking out of the ground. Other, smaller gears were peeking out of the grass around the winding sidewalk. Still others were fixed to the wall of the building itself and painted into the murals, giving the entire property the illusion that it was one great, hand-painted, clockwork machine. It was the home, studio and gallery of celebrated local artist, Julian Berchey. But before it was the Aberration Station, it seemed, it was the much less bright and whimsical Soman Sanatorium.
Eric was familiar with the building. The outside of it, anyway. He’d never actually been inside. Although he knew precisely who Berchey was, he’d never actually met the man. He couldn’t even quite place the name when Karen first mentioned him because, to him, the man had always simply been “the artist.”
