“I can’t.”
We stood looking at each other. Serene poked out her head, and we both shot her a glare. She quickly disappeared.
“Clara, I came to apologise, ’cause I took something from you. I get it now. I took your privacy.”
I thought about my non-god talks, my non-god confessions. Had I ever spoken of the Undoing aloud?
No. I breathed easier.
“Well then, I suppose, I suppose that I took something from you as well. In the tower. I shouldn’t have . . .”
“Shouldn’t have what?” Elias asked.
“You know very well the what I’m referring to.”
Elias raised his brows, waiting.
“I took the advantage. It’s one of the ways I’ve used you. It’s what I do.”
“Awesome.” He grabbed my hand and yanked me away from the warmth of the tent. “You need to see this. Before anyone else, you need to see this.”
We ran toward the shed, and Elias opened the padlock. He winked and threw open the doors. One Porsche and one airplane.
“Are they —”
“Finished. Done. Ready to go.” He placed his hand on the plane. I rubbed mine on the Porsche.
“You rebuilt it. I mean, inside and out.” I peeked inside. New seat. New leather interior. A new dash. “She’s fast, isn’t she?”
“Very.”
“Think we can take her out tonight?”
He looked over at me. “Yeah. Let’s try. It’ll be her maiden flight.”
I pulled on the passenger door. “It’s locked.”
“I’ll help you up on this side.”
I walked around and Elias lifted me, turned me in the air and set me in the plane. “Get settled. Belts and goggles.”
“Wait. I was referring to the car. I’ve been in enough tiny planes.”
“No worries, mate. Isn’t that what you would say? I can fly it. I built it, floor to flaps. I’ve tested it . . . and Juan isn’t here to stop us.”
A minute later, the propeller was spinning, and I was freezing.
Two minutes later, we eased out.
Three minutes, and we bounced across the field, gathering speed, gathering strength, bound to the earth, and then, we weren’t.
We didn’t travel far or high, maybe twenty feet off the ground, just high enough to narrowly miss telephone poles. But I was alive again. And the wind in my face joined the lightness in my heart, because I was with Elias again. My trusting Elias. The Elias who could bring hardened metal to life and make it soar.
He had the same effect on me.
Ten minutes later we set back down, bounced to a stop, and rolled it back into the shed.
“You built an aeroplane.” I rubbed my face. “You built a bloomin’ aeroplane out of junk!”
Elias helped me out. “They think these are sculptures. But I figured if we are on a road trip, we may as well travel in style.” He gestured at the Porsche. “I made a small trade. Should fit three nicely.”
“And when are we leaving?”
“Now.”
CHAPTER 25
I returned from my tent, my bag slung over my back. The plane was loaded on a trailer, and Elias was once again busy removing the left wing with a blowtorch. Three men eased it down, tucked it into the fuselage, and Elias secured it.
“I don’t know how many times I’ll need to do that. Hopefully this was it.” He breathed deep and reached out the U-Haul keys. “Kirk, the truck stays with you. But I can’t help thinking I got the better deal.”
A large artist eagerly grabbed the keys. “Are you kidding? Even if it had been working before, we had no purpose for the rusted Porsche. I just hope your guy back in Wisconsin will accept the Porsche in the truck’s stead.”
“Shouldn’t be a problem.” Izzy appeared, carrying her guitar case. “He’ll be fine with the deal.” She smiled at Elias. “It’s been quite a trip. Just look at you two now.”
I walked toward her. “You’re not coming?”
“No. I’m staying here for a while. They don’t seem to mind that I’m a nut, or that I don’t have it all together, you know? This seems like a good place to figure out my story, and then maybe . . . maybe I go home. Tell my parents that Anchorage has a university too.”
I blinked. “I thought you said you didn’t have ’rents anymore. I really thought you had done the deed.”
Izzy laughed. “I love them, you dummy. Who do you think is after me? Not the law. My parents have never stopped looking for me. But Wisconsin can wait a few more weeks.” She raised her guitar case. “Every commune needs a troubadour.”
“You actually play?” I gave her a hug. “And your ’rents live where we found you?”
“An hour away. Oh, London. Take care of him,” she said. “Lots of love there, and it’s all for you. Mistreat him and I will kill you.” Izzy’s voice softened. “Even though I love you.”
She set down her case and popped the latch, removed a steel-stringed guitar, and she played. It was quiet and beautiful and haunting. She played as we climbed in the car. She played through the starting of the engine.
Izzy played until she was a shadow in my rearview mirror.
I reached the end of Cary Road and paused at the T, glancing left and then right. “I don’t know where to go.”
“I know.”
“Does that bother you?” I asked.
Elias shook his head. “Take me someplace new.”
“New. Well, we were west, we can continue east. It doesn’t matter, because maybe the real you is finally here to stay. Maybe the Other One is gone.”
He gently kissed my ear. “No. I feel it. I’m slipping right now, Clara. Hold my hand.”
I did. For an hour, our fingers intertwined. I shared stories of London. Of Marbury street. Of my dad and my mum, Teeter and Marna. He said nothing.
“And there’s one more story I need to tell.” I took a deep breath. “Because it explains pretty much everything about why I’m here.”
His grip tightened around my fingers, and then released. I looked into his eyes.
My Elias was gone.
“What happened to the truck?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“And Izzy. Where is she? Where’s the guard?”
“Home. She’s going home.”
“I see.” He bowed his head. “Are you going to abandon me too?”
I took hold of his wrist. “No, Elias. You and I will continue together. We need to leave Salem temporarily. Care to consult your map?”
Elias bowed his head.
What was it like to live with gaps? To be here one moment and gone the next? I once felt sorry only for my Elias, but here, with the Other One, I felt for him too.
“Clarita? This is for you.”
He placed the sketch on my lap.
“No, Elias, take it back. I don’t need to see it.”
Elias slowly removed the sheet. “But it explains . . .”
“It’s a father running and a child fleeing, isn’t it?”
Elias shifted. “What else do you know?”
I forced a smile. “I know that for the first time maybe I don’t need to . . . know, that is.”
“Well,” Elias said, and his voice drifted.
Izzy had come and gone, but her words hung with me. I would look after Elias. I would set myself aside, at least until this quest was done. There would be plenty of time to broach the topic of my secret during the return trip.
He cleared his throat. “Orion’s clear tonight. Did we find the forge? Did you meet Hephaestus?”
“Yes.” I pointed toward the back. “The forge fixed the plane. I flew in it. Amazing skill.”
“So still on track. We continue.” Elias pointed to the right. “We should head to the east. To the sun. Or in our case to the light to find the Lightkeeper. We stop the evil; Salem is healed.”
And maybe you are too.
Vermont.
New Hampshire.
Our road twisted through be
autiful mountains. Not like the Alps, with their crags and peaks. Switzerland caused awe and wonder, its terrain created by an angry God with a sharp chisel. These mountains rolled like waves, smoothed, perhaps, by the flow of prehistoric seas. Gentle. Comforting. We whisked through the dark, through the rise and fall left by deep waters.
Then, we couldn’t.
“Elias. Wake up.” I shook his shoulder. “We’ve reached the ocean.”
He stretched and blinked. “The ocean. We are far from Salem, aren’t we?”
“Yes. We must have crossed into Maine.” I pulled over, the turn-off to I – 95 looming. “There is no more east. It’s north or south from here on. Not much more north either. You have no passport. Canada isn’t an option.”
Cars rushed by us, and I stared at a distant bay, whose hand reached out and grasped the Atlantic, whose hand reached out and grasped my home. England. It called from the other side of that sea. London. It had been months since I’d turned to face it.
Elias fought with his star map, twisting and turning it until the direction lined up. “We are out of stars. We’re at the edge of the world. This is the horizon.”
“Well then, I say we head north.”
“Why?” he asked.
“Reach me my diary.”
I opened the pages and flicked on the dome light.
“Kabul. Day 102. I bumped into the three on a small street, safe supposedly, but crumbling. I wanted to see this place, this mess of a country. My dad had built a hospital, and I hoped to stay there, but fighting had leveled it. So I turned around, retracing my steps. I walked quickly, my head covered, through the shadows. I was prepared for misery. I was not prepared for this chance encounter.
“Two Americans and a Swede. They called themselves Peacewalkers.”
“Peacewalkers?” Elias frowned.
“Uh. Travelers from Salem.”
Elias gave an exaggerated nod. “I suppose you’ve bumped into them during your travels.”
“Well, these three used to be five. One perished in Syria. One in Cyprus. They had walked across Iraq and through Iran. They had walked South Sudan and years ago walked Rwanda. Yugoslavia. Libya. Egypt. One walked Vietnam. Wherever there was war, they walked.”
I paused. The faces of these three older men were imprinted in my mind like few others.
“Why were they walking?”
“They were praying.” I sighed. “To non-god. They were praying for peace, for Salem. I told them they were simply causing more disruption. That if they were ever taken, they would be used and tortured, and the United States and Sweden would be in a quandary of sorts, not knowing whether to attempt a rescue. I told them they were placing their homelands in a scrape.”
I looked out the window. “They said they were walking to a different homeland. They had left instructions to be ignored. They believed they needed to pray. There were explosions in the distance, and I suggested perhaps non-god could not hear them over the sounds of war. They lay their hands on my head and began to babble, but I shrugged them off and headed south, back toward the airport.
“They headed north, citizens of two countries, proud of one but searching for another. Searching for Salem.”
It was quiet for a while. “I wonder who they were.” He folded up his map and tucked it in the glove compartment. “We won’t need this anymore. Did they say they had seen the Keeper, the enemy?” Elias said.
“Oh, I am certain they had seen him up close.”
“Then north. We’ll go north like they did, and we’ll prepare.”
“Prepare?”
“Pray.” Elias folded his hands. “Do you know how?”
“For me, it seems to be an acquired taste.” I bit my lip. “Maybe if I’m alone and given the right environment.”
“Start.”
Elias squeezed tight his eyes and bowed his head. He had assumed the position. This had not been the desired outcome of the story. “I, uh, I shall pray quietly.”
“How am I supposed to learn?” he asked without opening his eyes. “Pray.”
I exhaled, and forced my mind onto non-god, onto the large cross. “Um, we’re in Maine. We are looking for —”
“The Keeper,” Elias whispered. “Tell God we’re looking for the Keeper.”
“I was coming to that,” I hissed. “As you just heard, we are looking for the Keeper. If you answer mythological inquiries, perhaps you could show us where to go. The end.”
I stepped on the gas and drove into morning, trying to place as many miles as possible between me and my first public prayer. We were close to our destination, I could sense it, and there would be no more slowing now.
CHAPTER 26
Maine took my breath away.
Mountains bathed in colour sloped down on the left to kiss the sea on the right, and in between we zipped forward on this ribbon of tar, tracing the shape of each bay, of each harbour.
And then, north of Portsmouth, I saw it.
The Keeper’s Inn.
It was just a small bed and breakfast. A converted white clapboard carriage house. But the sign was clear, at least to me.
I slowed and turned my head. Evil did not emanate from the windows, and the place held no malice. It shook me just the same.
Not as much as the next sighting.
The Keeper’s Eatery.
Fifteen minutes separated the buildings, likely unrelated concerns. I scanned the landscape harder. Fish houses. Lobster houses. Lightkeeper mercantile.
Keeper.
That word graced signs and businesses everywhere I looked. If Elias knew what surrounded him, he would be beside himself. Well, beside this self.
“Elias. I know you trust me as your guide.”
“I do.”
“But this quest. I know so little about this Keeper. Could you clarify anything that might help me as I search? Do you have any more details? Anything at all?”
He removed his sketchbook from his pack. He hunched over a page, and his hands clutched and re-clutched a pencil. Finally, he let his hand go. Minutes later, he reached me the pad. “I guess it’s time. I have that.”
“It’s a lighthouse.”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“No, not maybe . . . and not a general lighthouse. This is a specific one. We’re looking for the keeper of this lighthouse. Am I correct?”
“I don’t know.”
“It makes sense, doesn’t it? And what’s this building, this faint building. Is it a building?” I squinted at the structure sketched so lightly it was hardly there. “Is this a mistake?”
“I don’t draw mistakes.” He folded his arms.
“Right, well, may I keep this? Just until we arrive? I think it may prove quite handy.”
We drove on, and for the first time the scenery stole attention from our purpose. There was a piece of England on this coast, with settlements wrapping arms around each inlet. We reached Penobscot Bay, and the towns lining it grew smaller, and quainter. The pace slowed and the air was kissed with salt. Rockland. Rockport.
Camden.
“Stop here.” Elias pressed his nose against the glass. “Stop here.” He swallowed and glanced around, his head cocked. “That bay.”
“Do you remember something?” I asked, and slowly pulled onto a side road.
“I remember.”
We had been following idiocy for so long, the presence of a memory, a real memory, felt a certainty that should not be ignored, no matter how faint. I screamed and pounded the wheel. “I knew it. I knew it, Elias. We would get near and you would remember, and then not just part of you but the other part of you, and when both of you remember . . . Oh, Elias, this is it. I feel it.”
“What are you taking about?”
“It doesn’t matter. What do you remember? Maine? Camden? Penobscot Bay? A building? A street?”
“A feeling.”
I paused. “You remember a feeling? That’s it?”
He patted his belly. “I’m hungry. Come on.” E
lias got out of the Porsche.
“So he remembers being hungry. We stop in Camden because his stomach grumbles.” I tongued the inside of my cheek and rubbed my face. “Fine.”
We wandered downtown, past the white clapboard inns and flower shops, and into the town’s three-story brick heart, my steps a few behind Elias’s. There was a uniqueness to his wandering, a route filled with frequent pauses and lengthened looks.
Until we reached the wharf.
Then his feet found purpose, and he quickened his gait. Beyond the harbour; up, over, and around on the road that traced its shape. He veered toward the water again, and then Elias ran.
And stopped.
Laite Beach. Elias stepped gingerly onto the sand-less shore. He crunched over pebbles and shells, dropped to his knees, and pressed his ear against the ground. Dots were connecting — I knew it — and I gave him room, room to walk on the tide wall, balancing as a child. Room to dip his hand in the water.
Thirty minutes later, Elias still stared at the tide, before glancing at a small island on his right.
It happened.
“Curtis Island.” Elias pointed into the distance. “See it? That’s Curtis Island.” He half turned and gazed at the mountain on his left. “That’s Mount Battie. I’ve been to the top before. From the top you can see everything.”
I froze.
The confused one. The Other One. The paranoid Elias stepped into my world.
I broke into a run and wrapped him in a hug. “You remember this place! Elias, this is real. These places are real. These memories are real. We aren’t in Salem, we’re not following stars or myths, but still you remember.”
He looked at me, fear in his eyes.
I shook my head. “We found it, a memory that predates your Great Undoing.”
“I want to leave.” Elias abruptly turned from the sea and climbed back onto the road. We followed its curves back into town. Passed the swaying boats of the Camden Yacht Club and across Frye Street. We split the red brick buildings straddling the road, and peeked into the windows of several chowder houses.
Then the town opened, and the road forked before us. Everywhere floated the smell of fish, and we wandered into Boynton-McKay, and plunked down in one of the high-backed booths.
“Is this all right?” he asked. “I’m so hungry.”
Both of Me Page 19
