Gateway

by David C. Cassidy

  She stroked his temple. He had always been forgetful, had always been embarrassed by it. But she sensed something more. “What’s wrong, baby?”

  He was tapping again.

  “Stop that, okay?”

  He did. He stumbled with his words. “I … I don’t know if I can make it tonight.”

  “Why? What is it?”

  “Oh, you know. Judd.”

  “Drunk again? Did you have a fight?”

  Jared stared straight ahead.

  “It’s not Judd,” she said. “Is it.”

  He shook his head.

  “What, then?”

  “The usual. The writing.”

  “Are you stuck? Just take a break. Come on, we’ll go out and have some fun like we planned.”

  He tapped again.

  “Stop that. Please.”

  Again, he stopped. “I just … I don’t know. I’m not really up to it.”

  She reached out and brought his hand to her cheek. It was always so smooth; so tender. A writer’s hand. She caressed it a moment, and when his eyes dimmed, she drew it away. She knew.

  She folded her arms. “You could at least look at me.”

  He didn’t.

  “It’s her,” she said. “Isn’t it.”

  He turned to her.

  “You promised, Jared. You said you weren’t going to go.”

  “I know,” he stammered, pounding the wheel. “I know. It’s just that she came back with a major deal. Three books! I mean, that’s insane! I can’t pass that up. How can I pass that up?”

  Marisa’s heart sank. It burned. It boiled away.

  “Mar, it’s just for a while—”

  Her lips trembled as her eyes betrayed her. She almost cried. Almost died.

  “I understand.”

  ~ 52

  A tear slid down Marisa’s cheek. Her lips trembled. She trembled.

  “Marisa,” Jared muttered. Only now was he coming out of his stupor. His gaze fell.

  She sniffled. Dried her cheek with her hand.

  He looked up. “I’m so sorry. I’m …” He choked up.

  Marisa took a moment. She straightened, throwing on the brave face. “Well. That’s that,” she said flatly. “I guess we did learn something.”

  “Do you want me to go? I can go if—”

  She threw her arms around him.

  “Please don’t,” she said. She started to weep.

  ~ 53

  Jared held Marisa for several minutes. When she finally pulled away, their eyes met. He kissed her.

  “I love you, Mar. More than anything.”

  “I love you, too. I hope you know how much.”

  “I do.” He said it again.

  “Jared—”

  “What—oh. Damn.” He could feel the warmth of his blood as it slid from his nose. He tipped his head back and the stream stopped.

  Marisa fetched a box of tissues. She cleaned him up. “Better. Are you okay?”

  “I’m good.” A lie. The fever had come. Not as bad as it could have been, but bad enough.

  “You’re sweating again.” She got him some water.

  “Not as good as the wine,” he joked. “But thanks.”

  Marisa sat as he drank. “Better?”

  “A little. It’ll pass.” He looked at her worriedly. “Are you all right?”

  “Me? Yes, why?”

  “Just wondering if you feel different or anything. This is new territory … for both of us.”

  “I’m okay. I’m a little overwhelmed by it all.”

  “What was it like? For me, it was amazing. Scary … unsettling … but amazing.”

  “At first, I didn’t really feel anything,” she said. “But then it all hit me. This wave of emotion. It just rolled over me. Even the smell of your cigarette coming from the car. But there was more. I felt warm. And cold.”

  “Cold?”

  “It’s hard to put into words. For a moment, I felt alone. Cold and alone. It was more than a little frightening. I guess the revelation struck me pretty hard. I lost you once, Jared. I don’t want to lose you again.”

  “You won’t.”

  He finished his water. His gaze seemed to dim.

  “Don’t worry,” she told him. “It would seem that your gateway is a one-way street.”

  “You didn’t sense anything from me? Nothing?”

  “You sound disappointed. Or relieved.”

  “I’m curious, that’s all.”

  “Well, if you’re concerned that the dark secret of Jared Cole is out, fear not. The author is still a closed book.”

  ~ 54

  Marisa put the last dinner plate in the cupboard. She turned off the kitchen light and headed upstairs. Kit was already asleep. She took a long hot bath, and after slipping into bed, called Jared to wish him goodnight.

  “Thanks again for dinner,” he said. “I’m still stuffed.”

  “Small wonder! You ate like a horse.”

  “I know. I’ll pay for it later, I’m sure.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment. My casserole is usually so-so.”

  “I’m sorry about today,” he said.

  “I’m not.”

  He paused. “I love you, Marisa.”

  “I love you, too.”

  “Have a good night, sweetheart. Sweet dreams.”

  “You too, baby. Goodnight.”

  She set her cellphone on the night stand and switched off the lamp, then curled up beneath the covers. The faint blue glow of the hallway night-light streamed beneath her door.

  She was restless. She couldn’t get Jared out of her mind.

  She did fear losing him. More than ever. She just hadn’t realized it.

  Until today.

  Did this really happen?

  Her logical side told her no. That same disciplined part of her brain that didn’t let her child wander off, or let some drunken lush slap her ass at the bar without calling him out to embarrass the shit out of him. And yet, that free-thinking part, the one that was open to things like spirits and ghosts and unexplainable premonitions, called her on it. Did she really believe it?

  She did. And that scared her.

  It wasn’t the fact that her writer boyfriend possessed this otherworldly power—that he could see into the very depths of her being—that he knew her better than she knew herself. No, what really gave her the creeps was what had happened … what she had felt in the gateway.

  That sense of abandonment.

  That coldness.

  But no. It was something else. Something like cold. She wasn’t the writer, Jared was, but if she had to describe it, it felt dark and dreadful. As if she had not been alone. As if something had been lurking in that black river between them.

  That’s crazy, girl. Why don’t you just call up Jared and end it now? He’d think you were nuts, with a capital N.

  She gave herself a mental shake. This was nonsense. Nothing more than a typical girly-girl reaction to something inherently spooky.

  And yet—

  What about Kit? Jared sensed nothing from him. But did Kit sense anything? That cold? That sense of dread? That gripping fear that something was out there in the gateway, stalking the darkness?

  She cursed herself for being so melodramatic. But the truth was, she was afraid. Afraid for herself, afraid for her child.

  ~ 55

  Sleep came around ten, but Marisa woke with a start only an hour later.

  “Kit?” She listened. “Kit!”

  She sprang from her bed and rushed to his room. He was shaking and drooling. His small face was contorted. His eyes were shut. Even in the dim light from the hallway, she could see the veins around them snaking in every direction.

  “Kit!”

  He was speaking. One simple word, over and over. She had no idea what it was, but it was clear it wasn’t English.

  She steadied him as she held him close. It took him less than a minute to come out of it.

  He looked up at her, blocking
the light with his hand. His hazy eyes were mildly bloodshot. The veins had retreated. “Mom?”

  “Are you okay, baby?”

  “What happened?”

  “A seizure.”

  Kit trembled. He was clearly shaken.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “We’re okay.”

  “I’m thirsty.”

  She got him some water. He drank it quickly.

  “Can I have some more?”

  “That’s enough for now.”

  “I gotta pee.”

  Marisa tucked him in when he returned from the washroom. “You okay, kiddo?”

  He gave her a thumbs-up. “You should get some sleep, Mom. You look tired.”

  She kissed him on the cheek and closed the door behind her. Lying in her bed, she kept an eye on the light beneath her door. All she could think of was that word. She had no idea what it was, or if she could even pronounce it.

  Now, fatigued, she could scarcely remember how it sounded. And when she tried to remember, found herself yawning, unable to keep her eyes open.

  She slept.

  ~ 56

  Jared ended his call with Marisa and set his smartphone on his desk. His rising fever seemed the least of his worries for the moment.

  What choice did you have?

  He’d been asking himself that all afternoon, all through dinner, all the way home. When Marisa had confronted him, he should have come up with some bullshit story instead of the truth. Hell, he was in the business of bullshit. But he had choked.

  It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her—he did. It wasn’t that he didn’t want her to know—he did. What he hadn’t wanted was for her to find out the way she did.

  And what about Sonia Wheaton? Could he trust her? He didn’t know. All he knew was that he didn’t want to become some freak show for all the world to see.

  He finished cleaning the mess around his desk and set his laptop on top of it. The computer had a small dent in the corner, but it booted fine. Downstairs, he went to the kitchen and fixed himself a turkey sandwich. He loaded it up with mayo, cheese, and tomatoes, and added a side dish of four garlic pickles and some crackers. Despite what he’d told Marisa, he couldn’t believe he was still hungry. He’d had two heaping plates of her casserole. A thick slice of carrot cake as well.

  He ate in the living room in front of the TV. After finishing off the sandwich, he drank two bottles of Coors. He grabbed himself another, and sat back to watch the news to get his mind off his troubles. Before he knew it, he had drifted off.

  ~

  It was just past eleven when he jerked awake, clutching his chest. His heart thudded; his eyes ached from the fire that was burning within him. A deep throb ran through his bones.

  He dropped the bottle still in his hand. It struck the floor and beer splattered the hardwood. A bolt of pain spiked inside of him, his fever running wild. He cried out and slipped off the sofa. It took everything in him to stay on his knees.

  Fresh blood dribbled from his nostrils. He looked up, groaning, and for a moment, believed the eyes of the eagle were glowing. It was all in his mind, he knew, and yet, there was something deeper there, something lurking within his thoughts. Something cold. Something dreadful.

  He hit the floor and blacked out.

  ~ 57

  Jared stirred. Streams of sunlight beamed through the tall windows of his living room.

  He rose to his knees. His jaw ached.

  Yes. He’d hit the floor like a rock.

  He got to his feet. His legs were numb. His hands were no better.

  He picked up the beer bottle and set it on the table. He was parched. In the kitchen, he drained two glasses of cold water. He returned to the living room and cleaned the blood with a wet cloth and some paper towels.

  He stared at the eagle. Its eyes stared back.

  He tried to remember. Tried to remember last night.

  He recalled the dread that had swarmed through him. Recalled that lasting sensation of something hovering about him.

  But no. That wasn’t right.

  It was inside of him.

  Yes. Whatever it was, it was watching from within. As if—

  He hurried upstairs and called Marisa. She answered on the fourth ring.

  “Mar?”

  “Jared? I’ve been calling all morning! Where have you been?”

  “I overslept.” He checked the clock. Only then did he realize he’d been out far longer than he thought. Twelve hours. And still he felt drained. “Is everything all right?”

  “Can you come over?”

  “Is it Kit? Did something happen?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I’m not sure.”

  “Mar?”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “I can hear it in your voice. And I can hear you tapping.”

  He stopped.

  “What is it?” she said.

  “When I get there. An hour. Is that okay?”

  “I wish you’d tell me.”

  “I’ll be there soon. Hold tight.” He ended the call.

  In the bathroom, he stood cold when he saw himself in the mirror. His eyes were darker. Bloodshot. Thin, ugly veins ran jagged around them. His skin seemed older. Ragged.

  He guzzled more water and dropped the cup. It crashed in the sink, the water splashing the vanity and the mirror.

  His hands throbbed. He had to bite down on his lip to stop himself from screaming.

  ~ 58

  Jared couldn’t remember where Marisa lived, and his GPS bailed him out. When he pulled into her driveway around one, she was standing on her stoop. She looked anxious, her arms folded. Her hair was tied back, and despite her sober expression, he thought she looked stunningly beautiful.

  He met her on the steps. She was staring.

  “I know,” he said. “I look like crap.”

  “Does it hurt? Your eyes are really red. And your face—”

  “Can we go in? I could use some water.”

  He waited in the living room while she got him a glass. He drank slowly when she sat down across from him.

  “I know that look,” he said. “No doctor.”

  She shook her head. “You make stubborn a fashion statement.”

  He drank. “Have you had lunch?”

  “What? You call me up, keep me on pins and needles, and now you want something to eat first?”

  He shrugged honestly. “I’m hungry.” He didn’t tell her about the three donuts he’d stopped to get on the way. He’d scarfed them down like a man who hadn’t eaten in days.

  She rolled her eyes. “Come on. I’ll make you a sandwich. Ham okay?”

  “Ham’s good.” She could have said dirty-sock sandwich and it would have sounded tasty. His stomach growled.

  He followed her into the kitchen. She fixed them a couple of sandwiches, adding some cheese and crackers before putting the kettle on for tea.

  “Careful,” he said, remembering the scalding she received the last time.

  She smiled. “That’s why I love you.”

  She sat across from him. He was halfway through his sandwich already.

  “Do you even taste your food?” she said. “Slow down a little.”

  “Sorry,” he said, his mouth full. It came out soh-wee.

  “What happened to your hands?”

  “Huh?”

  Jared set his sandwich down. He gave his hands a once-over. The scars were darker. The skin along his fingers was flaky and cracked, like it often got in the dry winter air.

  He rubbed his hands. Still numb. “The parasthesia. Must be.”

  “Well?” she said. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

  “You first. Kit.”

  “I don’t really know what to think,” she admitted. “Last night he had another event.”

  “Is he okay?”

  “I’m sure he is.”

  “Mar?”

  “I don’t know for sure. He seems okay.”
r />   “Is he here?”

  “Upstairs in his room. He says he doesn’t remember what happened.”

  “What happened, exactly?”

  “It was just like before. With you.”

  “At the park. The gateway.”

  “It was awful. I can still see his eyes.”

  “The same as before?”

  She nodded. “He spoke, Jared.”

  “… Spanish?”

  “I think so.”

  “Do you remember what it was?”

  “I wish I did. It was late … I was more worried about Kit.”

  “What did it sound like?”

  She shook her head in frustration. “I don’t know. He said it over and over. It all happened so fast.”

  “Can you make a guess?”

  “It was en-something. Like enter. But it wasn’t that. It was longer. Like … enterrrrr.”

  “Was it entender?” He pronounced it slowly, phonetically.

  She repeated it. Shook her head.

  “Entero?”

  “No.”

  “Endentar?”

  “No.”

  “Um … enterrar?”

  Her eyes widened. “Say it again.”

  He repeated it.

  “A little harsher,” she said. “Say it over and over.”

  He did.

  Marisa nodded excitedly. “That’s it. That’s it. What does it mean?”

  “It means bury.”

  “Berry, berry? Like a fruit?”

  “No … like a coffin.”

  “That’s pretty morbid.”

  “Are you sure that’s what he said?”

  “Yes. Why? What’s going on in that zany brainy?”

  “I’m not sure,” he said. “I hope to hell it’s just my imagination.”

  “You’re scaring me, Jared.”

  He bit off some cheese. “I think Kit’s premonition was wrong. It wasn’t what we thought it was.”

  “My burn? Then what was it?”

  “This is going to sound totally nuts. But I think it was about what happened to the Greenwoods.”

  Marisa stirred. “That’s crazy.”

  “What time did Kit have his seizure last night?”