FROM AWAY ~ BOOK ONE

by Mackey Jr. , Deke

  The one thing out of place in the backyard draws his eyes immediately: A ladder. Usually hanging from hooks behind their garage. Instead, it is now leaning against the house. Max notices just in time to see a pair of sneakers disappear onto the roof of the garage.

  Where his bedroom window looks out.

  ~

  Hockey stick in hand, Max approaches his own bedroom door. Unable to remember for certain if he’d locked his window after last venturing out for a surreptitious late-night puff to calm his nerves. For all he knew, she was inside already. And who could guess what condition she was in, or what she might do?

  There’s no question in his mind who it is, either trying to break in or already broken into his home. Wanda: His mother’s jilted junkie ex-girlfriend. Strung-out on that goo, no doubt. Up to no good, after being so deservedly ejected that morning.

  Of her purpose, Max wasn’t so sure. To beg for reconciliation? To steal in support of her habit? Maybe to exact some sort of revenge? It didn’t matter. Unless she was there to replace missing shingles or clean out the gutters, she had no reason to be climbing up onto the roof of his garage.

  He opens the door. His room is dark. The skull-and-crossbones flag he uses to block the window still in place. Everything as he’d left it when he’d risen that morning, intending to quickly pee before returning to bed. Of course, he hadn’t expected to encounter a naked drug addict in the washroom. Silly Max.

  Tap-Tap-Tap. Light. Against his window glass. She’s outside. But why would she be knocking? Did she honestly think someone would just let her in?

  He sets down his hockey stick. Grabs the cordless phone. As much as he’d rather his mom not know Wanda had returned, he had to be ready to threaten her with the police. He presses a nine and a one. Holds the display up like a crucifix. Pulls back the Jolly Roger.

  The sunlight is a flare tossed into the room. Max blinks at the silhouette. It isn’t Wanda. It’s Aaron.

  “Dude! Why are you on my garage?”

  “You’re ignoring my calls. My texts.”

  “And what’s wrong with the front door?”

  “We’re doing overnights. I assumed you’d be asleep.”

  This almost makes sense. Not quite, but...

  “I really need to talk to you, Max. I don’t have anybody else.”

  “Yeah, well...” Max shows very little sympathy. “You should probably get down before you fall off and hurt yourself.” He starts to lower the curtain.

  “Wait!” Aaron bangs on the glass. “You’re supposed to be my best friend.”

  “If I wasn’t your best friend, I wouldn’t give a shit what you believe. But I am, so I do.”

  “How do I fix this? What is it you want me to say?”

  “Honestly? I want you to say it’s all bullshit.”

  Aaron throws up his arms. Frustrated. “But I don’t know that. And you don’t either. Not for certain.”

  “If somebody told you two hundred ladies in clown suits were waiting outside your door, planning to attack you with custard cream pies... Would you be afraid to leave your house? Or would you call bullshit? Wouldn’t bullshit just be like, your default position? Until you’ve seen at least one lady-clown in the vicinity?”

  “That’s not the same thing at all.”

  “You’re right! It’s not. Because there are lady-clowns. And custard cream pies, too. They’re really out there. In the world. Not like that shit the Circle’s been trying to sell us.”

  “The Circle is not just somebody trying to sell something. It’s my mom, Max. My family. What possible reason would they have to trick us?”

  “I dunno. It doesn’t matter. Maybe they really, honestly believe what they’re telling us... Doesn’t make it true.”

  “But it could be.”

  Max doesn’t bother to hide his irritation. “Look: Pretty much all I’ve done today is shoot at zombies. But that still doesn’t mean I have time for this.” Max drops the curtain. Blocks out his best friend.

  “Geez, Max!” Aaron shouts from outside. “You must be pretty sure, if you can’t even stand the idea that I might disagree with you. Or maybe you’re scared you might be wrong. Maybe if you just cover your ears and hide your face you’ll never have to question your own beliefs!”

  Max whirls towards his window. Through the heavy black fabric, he gives an unseen Aaron the bird. Four times. Once they’re out of his system, he calms. Lifts the flag.

  Outside, Aaron waits. Silent

  “Maybe it’s true.” Max unlatches his window. Lifts it. “Maybe there is something out there in the water. Waiting for us to drop our guard. Nobody’s seen any sign of it in the last fifty years, but maybe.”

  He slides the wooden block into place to keep the window open.

  “There might have been some kind of invasion back then. Most Islanders had no idea anything at all was happening, but who knows?”

  He climbs out onto the roof of his garage. Sits down. The shingles are surprisingly hot beneath his palms.

  “I can’t prove it didn’t happen. I definitely can’t prove there’s nothing out there in the water. There’s no reason to think there is. No fossils. No photos. No Zapruder film. But, hey... Maybe we should just take the word of a handful of oddballs in a weird secret society of lighthouse keepers who believe that by watching a bunch of cheap-ass webcams every night, they’re keeping the world safe...”

  He looks up at his best friend. Shrugs. “Or maybe? It’s all complete bullshit.”

  “Maybe.” Aaron sits down next to Max. “But couldn’t we just avoid the subject? It’s not like we ever agreed on everything.”

  “No, I know. I just though we were on the same page with woo-woo stuff like this.”

  “It’s not like I flat out believe. I just think it might be possible.”Aaron looks up at the clouds. “I guess it’s harder to discount it when it’s coming from your family.”

  “Tell that to all the little kids at Jonestown when you’re passing out the Kool-Aid.”

  “Anyway, it should please you to know... I’m pretty sure I’m going to leave the Circle.”

  Max stares at him in disbelief. “You’re quitting?”

  Aaron nods.

  “Are you trying to ruin my life?”

  “Your life?”

  “Yeah! If you leave, then what am I supposed to do? I’d probably have to quit, too.”

  “I don’t... If you think the whole thing’s bullshit, then why would you even care if--”

  “They’re paying me to sit around playing games on my phone and get high every night... That’s exactly what I’d be doing at home for free, except I don’t have to worry about the Sheriff giving me shit for it. It’s the cushiest, slackiest, sit-on-my-assiest job, ever, and you’re just going to throw that all away because you freaked when the power went out during a storm?”

  A sudden realization crosses Max’s mind. “Damn! You really thought we were being attacked last night, didn’t you?”

  “What if we were? What if something came ashore? On our watch?”

  “Yeah! And what if the lady-clowns figure out how to use the ladder and climb up here after us?”

  “I’m serious.”

  “So am I: You cannot quit. If you do... I swear I’ll never talk to you again.”

  “You’re already not talking to me.”

  “That’s not true... Obviously, we’ve formed an uneasy truce, where we agree-to-disagree, but secretly I rip on all your bullshit fairytale beliefs.”

  “Secretly?”

  Max grabs a fistful of Aaron’s shirt. “Promise me you’ll stay in the Circle. You owe me, Aaron. If it weren’t for you, I’d still be blissfully ignorant of the whole damn thing.”

  This is what Aaron wanted. Help making the decision. He’s not sure how helpful Max has been, but--

  A guitar riff loops from Aaron’s pocket. His phone alarm. Reminding him of an appointment.

  “You taking your Grampy to see your Grams today?”

  “
Yeah.” Aaron stands up. Brushes off his butt.

  “Think I can hitch a ride with you tonight?”

  “Not sure how long Grampy’s--"

  “But I will see you there?” Max cocks his head. “Partner?”

  “Yeah. For now.” Aaron climbs down the ladder.

  But not before checking the yard for lady-clowns.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “Dad. I’m fine.”

  Ren stares at his daughter’s face. Anxious. Looking for signs of distress. Not trusting her to honestly report her condition. “You’re sure? Because if I break you, your mom is not going to let me forget it.”

  “Just needed to get it out of my system.” She makes a face. “And it is most definitely all... Out of my system.”

  “But you feel okay?”

  “I was seasick. We’re now on land. Consider the problem hereby solved.”

  The Eastern Star Ferry has docked. In a feat of radically poor planning, the three rows of cars carried onboard are expected to exit into two lanes, then merge almost immediately into one. Beyond that point, a police officer occasionally pulls a car over to the shoulder for inspection. Further narrowing the already minimal clearance space. Slowing the flow of traffic from a crawl to a one-handed drag.

  Last car on, last car off. Dawn and her father have been waiting a long time for their opportunity to debark. Only now do they finally touch wheels to dry land. The SUV advances a few inches. Stops. Another foot. Stops. Ren drums thumbs against the wheel. “It really doesn’t need to be this complicated.”

  On the nearby sidewalk, five nuns walk by on foot. The eldest in the lead. Setting the pace: Brisk. They pass the cars easily. Their faces don’t look much alike, but it’s still hard for Dawn to tell one from the next. By design, they blend together. She scans each forehead as they go by. Unable to spot any loose locks of red hair swinging free. She watches them until they disappear around a bend in the road.

  “Why would someone use ipecac?”

  “Ipecac? The medicine?” Ren laughs. “You don’t need any. Trust me.”

  Dawn doesn’t get it. “Why? What is it?”

  “It makes you throw up. They used to give it to people who’d swallowed something poisonous to help them... Get rid of it. Why?”

  “Just something I read somewhere.” Dawn fades away. Looks out the window. At the beginnings of the Cumberland Channel Bridge.

  Mirroring the mainland, construction has both begun and halted. Work well-underway but abandoned. Currently, the bridge amounts to a monstrous multi-lane highway entrance ramp surging upwards and outwards from the island the length of a football field before terminating abruptly over the water. A road to nowhere.

  But the island... The island is green. Lush farmland and tree-covered hills roll away behind the construction site. Dawn has waited years to see this sight.

  “We’re here.” Dawn smiles. “We’re really, actually here.”

  “Yes.” Ren is flat. Deadpan. “Congratulations.”

  Dawn glares at her father.

  “All right, Dawnie. I’m glad it makes you so happy to be here. Truly. I just... Hope the island manages to live up to your expectations.”

  Satisfied, she settles back into her seat. “I’m starting at the library. First thing tomorrow. Look through the old newspapers. Microfiche. Ask about island records. I want to have some info in hand before I actually approach anybody. Any family members...”

  She pauses. Waits.

  Compelled to fill the space, Ren agrees: “Sounds like a plan.”

  “And - of course - I’m not expecting you to--”

  “Good.”

  Final. Certain. No room for discussion. Dawn still hopes being back on the island will help break him down. Convince him at least to introduce her to the family, if not to reconnect himself. But until then... She’s on her own.

  Ahead, the green Jeep revs its engine impotently, emitting a thick smoke-screen of exhaust. It shifts to the left of its chosen lane. Then, the right. Looking for an opportunity to somehow hop-frog forward in the queue. Not finding one.

  Ren jumps at a sharp rap on his window. A uniformed police officer stands, miming the manual roll-down-your-window motion. Ren pushes a button to accommodate. Motors whirr. The window descends.

  “Is there an issue, Offi--”

  “I’m going to need you to exit the lane, sir. Pull up to the curb. Remove your key from the ignition.” Without further instruction, she steps away.

  Ren does as he’s told. “Clearly, she’s seen through our brilliant disguises.”

  Once parked, the officer approaches. Bends down. Rests her arms on the window frame. Ren’s breath catches in his throat when he sees her.

  “Antoinette?”

  Netty smiles past him at Dawn. “This is your daughter? Ren, she’s beautiful. It’s ‘Dawn,’ right?”

  Dawn can only nod. Struck by a sudden and uncharacteristic shyness. Unprepared for the attention of this mysterious woman from her father’s past.

  He answers for her. “That’s right. Um... Dawn, this is Antoinette. Er... Sheriff Hubert now, I guess.”

  “Just ‘Netty’ is fine.” Reaching a hand in towards Dawn. She takes it. Gives only the briefest possible squeeze.

  “Are we related?”

  Netty blinks. Momentarily stunned into silence.

  Dad steps in again. “How’s about I promise to let you know if we run into any relatives, okay, Dawnie?” He turns back to Netty. “You knew we were coming?”

  “I was sent to collect you. Play personal escort for the day.” She stage-whispers: “The Old Men request your presence.”

  Ren glances at Dawn. Half-smiles. “I just need to talk to Antoinette for a sec, Dawnie. Be right back.” He climbs out. Takes Netty’s elbow. Guides her a discreet distance away.

  “The Old Men are not my priority. First and foremost, we’re headed to the hospital. To see Paula.”

  Netty nods, frowning. “I get that, but they won’t like being put second.”

  “Well, I hope they prefer fourth, because we need to go check in at the Talbot and replace my phone, too.”

  “You’re not staying with your Dad?”

  Ren hardens. Looks away. Netty wants to know more, but takes the hint.

  “All right, well... I can get you a burner. And the hospital they might understand. But you gotta know, you keep the Old Men waiting while you drop off your bags? They’ll fight you on the sky being blue. You’ll never get their buy-in. Not on anything. Ever.”

  Ren takes a breath. Sets his jaw.

  “I’m not here for their buy-in. I’m not interested in their permission, their blessing or their stamp-of-approval. I’m here to tell them what is expected of them. And to ensure those expectations are met.”

  Netty looks at him for a long moment. Then laughs. “Okay, Ren. I’m very interested to see how that all turns out for you.”

  A sharp honk interrupts. The SUV. Dawn has shifted herself into the driver’s seat. “Yeah, I’m just going to head out. Give you guys a chance to catch up.”

  Ren shakes his head. “No, Dawnie, we’re--”

  “Division of labor, Dad: I go check in. You go see Paula. Lemon-squeezy.”

  “But you’ve never even been to the Island. You don’t know where--”

  “However shall I find my way?” Dawn holds up her phone. “If only it were as easy as saying: ‘VIKI? Set destination... Talbot Inn.’”

  The phone chimes. A friendly lady-voice speaks: “Plotting path... Talbot Inn. Turn right on... Shaw Avenue.” Dawn raises her eyebrows at her father. Triumphant through technology.

  Netty laughs. “Oh, I like her, Ren.”

  “Yeah, she’s a pip, all right.” He points a stern finger at his daughter. “Directly to the Inn, then stay put. No other moves without my say-so.”

  Dawn salutes. “Look after him, wouldja Sheriff?”

  Netty returns it. “I’m on it.”

  Ren watches his daughter drive away. Concerned.
/>
  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Wanda catches her keychain from the air.

  “Starting to think I own that rustbucket of yours, Wanda. Lately, I end up with the keys in my pocket more often than you do.”

  Preparing his pub for another day’s business, Scooter grunts as he lifts a stool down from a tall table-top. Grunts again as he slides it beneath. The strain underlines his own poor physical condition more than the weight of the stool.

  Without being asked, Wanda pitches in. Lifting the next stool without any effort at all. “I appreciate it, Scooter. I was in no state to drive anywhere.”

  “You so rarely are.”

  She might take offense if the words weren’t so true. Instead, she moves on to the next table. The next set of stools. “Wouldn’t happen to have any more of that stuff around, would you?”

  Scooter pauses. Shifts his suspenders. “I’m gonna be honest with you, Wanda. I took a call last night, telling me for now you’re cut off.”

  “Scoot, I--”

  He holds up a hand. “I just do what I’m told. You know that.”

  She does. All too well. “Just for now, they said?”

  “Until further notice.”

  “WANDA!”

  Surprised, she looks towards the back of the pub. Two heads are poked up from a booth. Waving her back.

  “Cheezus. What time’d they get here?”

  “Here? They showed up at my house around five a.m. Scared Lindy half to death banging. Insisted I come down and open the taps for them.”

  Wanda whistles low. “Guess I’ll be picking up the next round, huh?”

  “Sure thing.” Scooter brushes off his hands. Heads behind the bar. “Wanna save yourself some trouble? Just drop those keys with me, now?”

  Wanda ignores him. Heads for the booth.

  Being the slightly-less enormous of the two men, Roscoe makes room. Shifts towards the wall. Only after sliding in does Wanda notice the bandages criss-crossing Burl’s face. Their clean whiteness even brighter against the deep purple of his two black eyes.

  “Did you get the license plate?”