The Spaces Between Us

by Ethan Johnson

  She didn’t know Bess very well, as they mostly spent time together at the Manor, or shuttling back and forth. She knew that Bess was more advanced in her studies, but perhaps this just meant she had been doing it longer but not progressing to the degree that Agnes had in a shorter amount of time. Maybe Agnes just had a better teacher. Arrienne seemed capable enough, but this was the first direct contact she had ever had with her. Maybe Image was a more intensive instructor, though Agnes wondered how Bess had filled so many notebooks.

  She tried to mend fences between them. She reached out to Bess on a higher plane of consciousness, as they did whenever they needed to communicate. Vocal speech was forbidden by Henry, as they were still being indoctrinated by his mystic Order, of which Agnes still knew very little.

  It was nice to meet Arrienne. She was a big help.

  Bess shrugged. Yeah, I guess so.

  Bess stared straight ahead. Agnes kept her eyes closed, but she knew Bess wasn’t fully focused on their conversation.

  Agnes decided to review the scenes they had witnessed at the Manor. It wasn’t immediately clear who this Tobias was, or why he was to be summoned with the candle that she mistakenly used as a pathway to her brother’s apartment. She tried to send her consciousness to him and find out how he was holding up. She felt badly for returning home in such a jarring fashion, but she panicked. Boring old Agnes, panicking. Gracie would have gotten a kick out of that one. Well, maybe not, if she had been there.

  She was having trouble finding Marc. It was like a thick wall separated them. Something dark, blacker than the deepest black she had ever known. Was he… hiding? How would he know how to do this? Unless… he had a spirit guide of his own. They didn’t usually get right into such advanced topics two or three days into instruction if Image was a reliable benchmark.

  Agnes’s musings were interrupted by the car coming to a stop. She opened her eyes. Bess sat with her arms folded across her chest. Agnes looked around. It wasn’t quite sundown but getting darker. They didn’t seem to be quite home yet.

  Out.

  Agnes leaned forward, not quite believing what was happening.

  Bess?

  Get out of my car.

  Agnes’s lower lip trembled. Was she being cast out of the Order? Or just Bess’s car? Had she really acted so badly back at the Manor?

  Bess, what’s wrong? Can you please tell me?

  Bess turned and stared darkly through her. Agnes felt a wave of pure hatred pass through her stomach, making her queasy.

  Nothing’s wrong, Agnes. Nothing at all. You can fly home in a golden airplane or something.

  Agnes gasped. Oh, Bess, is that what’s upsetting you? I’m so sorry… I thought... I thought you… knew. It just never came up before.

  Well, I didn’t know, and I don’t appreciate you not telling me. Or teaching me how.

  Agnes reached out and patted Bess’s thigh. She gave her a sad smile. Bess, I can’t be expected to read your mind.

  The women laughed—on the inside. Bess patted Agnes’s hand, then slid the car back into gear and drove her home.

  CHAPTER 35: SMOKE SO SWEET

  Marc returned to his apartment at long last, carrying a shopping bag printed with REFLECTIONS IN GLASS in elegant cursive script on the side. He set the bag on the sofa as the front door slammed behind him. He took off his coat and was about to toss it in the floor like always, but this time he decided to take the time to hang it on the edge of his bedroom door.

  He had stopped by a drive-through on his way home, and therefore didn’t have to concern himself with fixing dinner. Not that he cooked a lot anyway, but tonight was special. He didn’t want any distractions.

  He set about setting up the incense holders and began to place them around his living room. He looked at the white candle on his coffee table and thought for a moment. He went to his bedroom, flicked on the overhead light, and stripped the bed. He wadded up the sheets and covers and tossed them onto the bedroom closet floor. He threw the pillows on top and closed the door.

  Next, he removed the mattresses one at a time. He grunted as he wrestled with the top mattress, but soon he had it up against the wall. The box spring was lighter and went up against the opposite wall.

  He deconstructed the bed frame and held the pieces awkwardly against his thighs. He shuffled over to the closet and opened the door again. The frame parts landed on top of the bedding with a loud clank.

  He unplugged his table lamp and alarm clock. He carried them into the dining room and set everything down on the table. He kept his end table and dresser in the bedroom, as he determined they would be useful. He pulled his bedroom curtains shut and crimped the edges to block any outside lighting.

  Now he could get organized. He set the incense holders down on the dresser: one close to each side, then one more on the end table. He went back to the living room and carried the coffee table gingerly, balancing the white candle on the center, with his yellow plastic lighter sliding dangerously close to the edge of the table. He set the table down in the center of the room, managing to keep everything from falling.

  He returned to the living room and reached into the shopping bag. The sales clerk insisted on wrapping the bell like it was going to be shipped to Hong Kong, despite his assurances that he was only driving about 20 miles. He tore off the packing material from the bell, then the glass rod. He set both items down on the coffee table.

  “At last,” he declared, rubbing his hands together, then he groaned. One more thing.

  He went into the bathroom and pulled his bath towel off the bar next to the bathtub. He pulled his coat down from his bedroom door and tossed it out into the hallway. He closed the door and pressed the towel into the gap along the threshold.

  He picked up the lighter and looked down at the candle. After all the preparations, it was time to start the ritual. He snapped off the light switch, then flicked the lighter. A strong flame shot up and wavered steadily. He knelt before the coffee table, but it wasn’t a coffee table to him anymore; it was an altar.

  The candle accepted the flame from the lighter, and soon the room glowed with a golden pallor. He rose to his feet and lit the incense, one at a time. Smoky haze formed in the room. Marc wondered if he should have pulled his smoke detector battery before starting his ritual. He glanced up at it and remembered that he had removed it months ago, when he forgot about some bacon he was frying up.

  He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. He slowed his breathing and started an internal mantra: Inanna.

  After letting the incense intensify, he opened his eyes and picked up the glass bell and rod. “Inanna.” He struck the bell, letting it reverberate until it fell silent. He set the bell and rod on the coffee table and closed his eyes again.

  The smoke was sweet and seductive. Whatever that head shop clerk had for unofficial sale wasn’t anything like this. He felt the exotic scents fill his nostrils. He felt himself transported. He felt lighter than the air. Tendrils of smoke coiled and looped around the room.

  Inanna.

  Marc smiled. He hadn’t said that, out loud or inwardly.

  “Yes,” he sighed dreamily.

  You have returned to save Inanna.

  “Yes.”

  You love Inanna.

  “Yes.”

  Do you know the way of Nineveh?

  “Show me.”

  The way of Nineveh is not for the weak.

  “I will be strong.”

  The way of Nineveh is the way of suffering.

  “I will suffer for you, Inanna.”

  The way of Nineveh leads to wickedness.

  He gulped. “We will be… good together, Inanna.”

  Inanna will show you the way of Nineveh.

  “Yes, show me.”

  Speak your desire to the flame. Speak your desire to Inanna.

  “I love you, Inanna. I want to be with you, and only you. I want to hold you close to me and feel your touch. I want to have you all to myself.” Marc had a catch in his
throat. “I will forsake everything for you.”

  Inanna hears your prayers. Inanna will show you the way of Nineveh. You will come and see Inanna once more.

  “I am ready.”

  Speak the words. The light is the way. The light leads to Inanna. Speak the words.

  “The light is the way.”

  Speak the words. The light leads to Inanna.

  “The light leads to Inanna.”

  Speak the words.

  “The light is the way. The light leads to Inanna. The light is the way. The light leads to Inanna. The light is the way. The light leads—”

  Brightness filled the room. Marc’s eyes were closed, but his eyelids were bright yellow. He felt a blast of heat, and he dropped to all fours. He felt small stones and dirt press into his palms.

  He opened his eyes and found himself in a grassy field. In the distance, he saw the walled city from before: the place where he had seen Inanna. The place where they had enjoyed each other before heaven and earth. The place where she became his and his alone. He scrambled to his feet, wiped his hands on his pant legs, and began to run toward the city.

  No.

  Marc stopped in his tracks. “No? Where are you, Inanna? Show me.”

  He looked around anxiously. Nobody was approaching him. Nobody was around at all, just him and the scorching summer sun. A large black bird swooped overhead. Its shadow passed over him and away from the city.

  Soon you will see Inanna. Follow the way.

  He instinctively decided to follow the bird, in the absence of any other hints. The bird made wide arcs in the sky but seemed to be waiting for him to catch up. He stumbled along, thankful to be wearing clothes, especially shoes. Dark clumps of dirt broke apart with each step, leading him closer and closer to a thin wooden pole. The bird swooped down and landed on a tree branch near the pole and let out a screech. He finally got a good look at it: an inky black vulture.

  “Inanna.” He felt his stomach turn. There was no answer, only the wind rustling against the tree. Marc walked slowly forward. The pole came into full view. There, in the dirt, he saw Inanna, impaled on a spear. Her lifeless eyes stared up blankly at the sun. Flies buzzed around her corpse.

  Marc fell to his knees and howled. “No!” He beat his fists on the hot ground. “No! No! No! Inanna, you can’t be dead, you can’t! I love you!” He stopped hitting the ground and sobbed. This was the way of Nineveh. The way of Nineveh was suffering. Marc curled his lips in rage. The way of Nineveh was not for the weak.

  He crawled over to Inanna and kissed her forehead. “Inanna, I will kill everyone who did this. I will burn Nineveh to the ground!”

  Her lips pulled into a smile. She said weakly, “You will not.”

  Marc recoiled in horror. “Inanna?”

  “Take me... to my… brother.” Her words were barely above a whisper. He nodded, dumbly. He crouched down to lift her off the ground.

  “The spear… pull it out.”

  “But Inanna… if I do that, you will bleed out, and you’ll die.”

  She coughed, and fresh blood rose to the corners of her mouth. “Please. Do as I command.”

  Marc nodded and gripped the spear handle. He pulled upward and groaned while Inanna let out a bone-chilling scream. He tossed the spear aside and looked down upon his suffering lover, who clutched her wound in agony.

  “Now… quickly. Take me... to my brother.”

  “But, where is he? I don’t know who he is… or where… or what to do.”

  “Have… you learned… nothing at all…?”

  Marc dropped to his knees and clasped Inanna’s hand between both of his own.

  “The light is the way. The light leads… The light is the way. The light… it uh, leads to…” He had no idea what to say next, and then it hit him. “The light leads to Tobias.”

  Darkness enveloped them both. Marc squeezed Inanna’s hand tight, and his eyes closed even tighter. He felt as though they were floating, then falling.

  He opened his eyes to find a Middle Eastern man in a suit rising from behind a desk in a well-appointed and dimly lit office. Two burly men stood silently at the door, facing forward. They caught sight of Marc and began to step toward him, but the well-dressed man waved them off. He crouched down, staring at the two of them with a blend of terror and amazement.

  “Inanna.”

  Marc gasped. “Who… who are you?”

  The man did not speak. He lifted Inanna’s left hand and saw her wound. Tears fell from his eyes, and he shook his head. Inanna smiled faintly and closed her eyes. “Inanna has returned.”

  The man spoke tenderly through a veil of tears. “Yes… yes… Inanna has returned.”

  Inanna pointed her chin down at her abdomen. “Please, brother… do not let me die.”

  The man nodded and pressed his hands against her wound. She gasped and moaned. Marc’s eyes widened. “Hey, what are you doing? You’re killing her!”

  The man made a soft shushing noise, then uttered words that Marc had never heard before. Inanna made slight movements with her lips, almost as if she was mouthing them in unison. It was some other language, something ancient. Inanna’s pallor improved. Her eyes shined, as though cured of blindness. Her hair was lustrous, and dark. Tears flowed from her eyes. Marc had never seen a woman so beautiful in all his life. He squeezed her hand tightly. “Inanna.”

  The well-dressed man whispered, “Inanna.”

  Marc looked over at the man, who nodded in gratitude. Marc glanced down at Inanna and let go of her hand. His hands reached for the spot where he had pulled out the spear moments ago. Millennia ago. Her skin was warm, whole, and caked with dried blood. Most importantly to him, at present, she was alive. And here. And his.

  CHAPTER 36: RITUAL

  Agnes awoke the following morning and performed her typical morning routine. She used her designated 20-minute time slot in the bathroom that she shared with Gracie, including a quick dip in the shower, featuring a dollop of off-brand shampoo and lathering up with a green bar of soap from the discount mart. She splashed water up on her face and perked up a bit, albeit secretly. She wore no makeup, but she did put a face on for the others.

  The solitude of the bathroom offered a special sort of sanctuary. She hummed quietly to herself while the hiss of the shower provided ample cover. After she shut off the water, she pulled the shower curtain aside and reached for a plain bath towel, wrapping it around herself modestly. She looked up at the wide bathroom mirror and gave an almost coquettish smile. She liked the way her wet hair fell in straight lines over her left eye. She tousled it a bit and gave it some curl.

  Time was running out. She wrapped a second towel around her head and squeezed out as much water as she could. She patted herself dry with her first towel, then reached for her nondescript bathrobe that hung on the back of the bathroom door. She slipped it on and tied the sash around her thin waist.

  Off came the second towel, and her hair presented a certain waifish charm, had anyone been inclined to notice such things. She brushed her hair with downward strokes until she looked suitably presentable, which is to say, not worth a second look. She took one last look in the mirror, then folded up the bath towels and placed them neatly in the wet towel hamper. She opened the bathroom door to find Gracie hopping around impatiently. Agnes smiled and gestured that she was all done in there, and Gracie brushed past her and slammed the door. Agnes padded toward her bedroom, to the sound of her sister calling through the bathroom door.

  “Quit listening to me pee, you perv!”

  Agnes closed her bedroom door and dressed herself in tan pants, a pale-yellow shirt, off-white socks and underwear, and plain canvas slip-on shoes. She slung her knit back across her chest and patted the side for reassurance. The notebook had not been touched. She walked softly down the stairs as Gracie sang something loud and off-key in the shower.

  She hung her knit bag on the back of her usual seat at the dining table and made her usual breakfast: plain tea, plain oatmea
l, and plain yogurt on the side. Mother was in the TV room watching a celebrity bake-off. Father was still in bed. This is what he had worked his entire adult life for: the right to sleep in as late as he pleased on weekdays. Weekends were no different, not that he cared to make any comparison.

  She sat and cooled her initial servings of oatmeal with puffs of breath, pausing before taking each bite. While she ate, Mother stopped by the kitchen to top up her coffee. She looked over at Agnes and made a face that was a blend of concern and annoyance.

  “Agnes Darlene Morris, call your brother.”

  Agnes looked up from her oatmeal. “Yes, Mother?”

  She stood with her hand on her hip. “I don’t know what sort of nonsense you pulled when he was here, but he’s been acting strangely ever since. Gracie showed me the text messages he’s been sending her lately. Whatever it is, it ends now, understood?”

  Once a mother, always a mother, Agnes mused. “Yes, Mother.”

  Mother went back to the television just in time for a cupcake battle to begin in earnest.

  Agnes sighed and dropped her spoon into her half-finished oatmeal. She cleared her spot and put the unopened yogurt back in the refrigerator. Maybe later, she thought. She brought her tea with her to the front room and lighted upon her usual perch.

  She rarely used the phone, but when she did, she had a knack for calling at a good time. She closed her eyes and searched for her brother across time and space. Darkness still surrounded him, and she couldn’t get a bead on exactly where he was and what he was doing, although she did catch sight of a shapely olive-skinned leg rubbing up and down against one of his. Awkward. She retreated, and sat quietly in the front room, sipping her tea.

  Half an hour later, Agnes returned to the kitchen to clean up her tea mug. She stood at the sink and serenely hand-washed the mug, as per her daily ritual. After shaking off the excess water and drying it with a dish towel, she turned to put the mug back in its designated spot in one of the overhead kitchen cabinets. Something caught her eye. Gracie was seated at the head end of the table, munching on a bowl of cereal.