by Michael Rigg
The heart-shaped locket was beautiful and had an ornately-carved face like a paisley design of gold, silver and bronze. It swayed suspended on a thin chain with links that glinted in each of the precious metallic shades.
"Oh, Bryce. It's beautiful."
He blushed as he smiled. "I had been holding on to this for quite some time. I'd found it on a battlefield back in '91." He leaned close and turned the locket around to show me the back side of it. The back was plain except for a puckered dent and a scratch in the shape of a frown. "It's a totem of luck is all, a fragile beautiful thing that saved my life." he smirked shakily as though he were afraid he was being corny. "It's yours."
"Bryce, I—"
"I want you to have it, Alice." His thin smile was tender as he pointed to the dent. "Its beauty was marred by circumstance proving it to be a very potent charm, a representation of a strong will and faultless character... like yours." He opened the chain and turned it around so he could fasten it around my neck. "The small imperfection on the back is from an Imperial bullet that punctured my breastplate and would surely have killed me if not slowed by this tiny heart."
Biting my lower lip, I sat up and pulled my hair up to the top of my head so he could clip the necklace around my neck. His hands slipped around me and I could feel his warmth, a gentle calming contrast to the clawing pale fingers of my nightmare. I let my eyes flick to his as he leaned close. "Bryce, you shouldn't. It's your good luck charm, and—"
"And you need it more than I, dear Alice. If nothin' else, perhaps it will light your way through dark dreams."
He leaned back and I looked down at it hanging from my neck, then I tucked it inside my shirt and blushed at him. "Thank you. It's very sweet." Without hesitation I leaned forward and kissed his cheek. He took my hand and brushed my knuckles with his warm lips. "I promise to return it to you when I no longer need luck," I said.
His smiled matched mine. "Keep it as long as you need, Alice."
Lucien reached down and tapped Bryce's shoulder for attention. Bryce stood up and ducked his head inside Lucien's curtain as the two men whispered, Bryce now only visible from his chest to his knees. I stared only for a moment, admiring the shining brass buttons on his uniform, the smart black leather belt, and the way his trousers hung on his hips before lighting with a blush. I turned back to my portal and the silently rushing clouds below us.
Bryce peeked down at me and spoke in a low tone. "If you'll excuse me, dear lady, I'm goin' to attempt to capture some winks at the behest of my father's man here." He grinned. "Lucien will take my post, and if you're not still tired, I'm sure he'll bore you with tales from the U.K."
"Not so, Bryce," Lucien's muffled voice grumbled above me. "Alice and I had a pleasant conversation at the sweet shop."
"Pleasant," I whispered with a quiet smirk. I didn't mention that we only talked about the ghouls and witches, and Lucien's parents being killed. Any hope of sleep was gone. Lucien climbed down, pulling his jacket after him after popping his bowler on his head. He adjusted his bowler as Bryce pulled himself up into the top bunk. "Pleasant dreams, Captain." The butler asked if he could get me anything from the kitchen and I shook my head. He asked if he could "Nip off to the tables and fetch the newspaper.” I smiled wider, trying not to laugh at how Lucien could switch from murderously suspicious to quaint as an old grandad, and nodded again.
"I shant be long."
"I'm fine, Lucien. Really."
"Very good." He touched the brim of his hat, smoothed out his jacket, and moved off.
I was surprised when the next thing I knew I was shaken awake by Lucien. I had no idea how long I'd been asleep, but blinked in surprise that I fell back to sleep at all.
"Wake up, my dear. We're landing."
I nodded and worked my way out of my bunk. When I stood up I could see between the curtains into Bryce's bunk. He wasn't there. "Where's Bryce?"
"The Captain has already scuttered off to the front. He asked me to fetch you presently and to join him for coffee."
I stifled a yawn and stretched, then pulled my hair back into a ponytail. I smiled at Lucien and spoke in what I was sure was a ridiculous impression of a Southern Lady. "Of course. I would be delighted to join Captain Landry. Please nip off and inform him that I will be by presently."
In perfect seriousness and without missing a beat, Lucien touched his bowler brim and snapped off a quick bow. "Of course, madam." Laughing, I grabbed his arm to stop him. "Lucien, I was kidding."
He looked confused.
"You don't serve me. I was just messing with you."
The portly butler huffed. "Madam, my life is service. To the Landrys and those who extend beyond them." Then he winked. "But I'd like to start anew with you, dear lady.” He glanced up and down the car before leaning close and lowering his voice. “Now that I know you're not a creature of the night meant to prey upon us in our slumber...” He touched his brim again. “Now come. Let us not keep the officer waiting."
"Very well," I chuckled and let him take my arm. This had the air of a new day, filled with hope, and safety.
The SkyTrain was abuzz with activity though it was still dark outside. There were still several sleeper compartments with "Do Not Disturb" chains across their curtains; travelers, Lucien said, who would be going on to Dallas or Houston. Though he had probably only managed an hour of sleep or less, Bryce was bright and freshly shaved, his uniform looked pressed and new. He smiled brightly as he got up from the booth and offered me his hand as I approached.
"Why Captain Landry, always the charmer," I laughed lightly as I placed my fingers in his palm and he guided me to my seat. I just caught the exchange of glances between he and Lucien, and Lucien's shrug.
"If I didn't know better," Bryce chuckled, sliding in next to me, "I'd have mistaken you for a lady of the South."
"Why thank you, suh," I bowed my head and barely suppressed a chuckle as Bryce and Lucien joined me. I don't know why, but after a good extra couple of hours of sleep following the nightmare, I felt refreshed enough to face whatever came my way. My brain still had major holes in it, but at least now I felt alert and alive. I touched my hand to my shirt, felt the tiny heart-shaped bump at the end of the necklace chain and smiled.
"I must say," Lucien said, "It is good to see you in pleasant spirits after your awful turn last night."
"Lucien," Bryce chided.
I touched his arm. "It's all right. I do feel better. Cleansed, in fact. I barely remember the nightmare, and after all, it was just a dream." It was a lie of convenience. I couldn't let my only benefactors in this reality lock me up for my own protection. Something inside me said I needed to stay alert and independent.
It was then my eyes opened wider to the smell of fresh coffee that found me through the pipe and cigar smoke in the cabin. Bryce had arranged a silver carafe of aromatic coffee and a matching silver tray of scones, toast and pats of butter and jelly, sugar, warm marmalade, syrup and tiny silver dollar pancakes.
"Mm," I smiled. "Smells wonderful. What a treat."
Bryce lifted the carafe. "May I pour for you, my lady?"
"Please." I lifted the dainty cup and saucer and let Bryce pour my coffee. He then filled his own cup, and set it back on the tray after Lucien waved off an offer. The butler lifted the newspaper and continued reading.
"You haven't finished that yet?" I chuckled as I used the tiny tongs to drop a cube of sugar in my coffee.
"Interruptions abound, but not to worry. All the news is the same," Lucien said.
"How are the Cubs doing?" I asked, and again, astonished myself with a fleeting memory. Where did that come from? Cubs? Baseball? Chicago? What if the Cubs—what if baseball—didn't exist here?
Without missing a beat, as though the conversation were
completely natural, Lucien said, "Looks like they're bound for the series again," the butler harrumphed. "It would be nice if the Rangers would get their chance."
Bryce looked at me. "Alice. You are a fan of baseball? You're from Chicago? Metro City?"
I nibbled a bit on a scone, my gaze a flat daydream. "I think maybe so." I looked at Bryce, recognition dawning. “I honestly don't know why else I would have asked about the Cubs.” I looked to Lucien and put down the dry cookie. "Wait... Again?"
The butler smiled. "The Chicago Cubs have won four straight World Series in a row, my dear. This looks like a fifth coming up. ...Really quite boring."
I turned and looked out the window. I muttered to myself. "Now that simply does not seem right.... That does not seem right at all."
~~~~~~~
The whole time I put on a pleasant fresh face for Bryce and Lucien, I was glancing around for any sign of the mysterious woman with the dark eyes and silver hair I'd seen in the restroom. I don't know why it didn't connect with me immediately, but the strange woman I thought I saw had a chilling resemblance to the pale faced goons of my nightmare.
Then a thought struck me. I reached out and touched Lucien's hand to pull him from the paper. “Lucien, what do ghouls look like? Do they look like us?”
Bryce gave us each a sharp glance, but listened curiously to the man's answer.
Lucien lowered the paper to appear over it at both of us. He shrugged his eyebrows. “Dastardly things. Gray mottled flesh with protruding bones, wild black hair like filthy oil, talons that will—”
“Oh.”
Both men glanced at me. Lucien held my gaze. “Why do you ask?”
I quickly threw out, “Something in my nightmare, but it wasn't anything like that.”
“Oh,” Lucien said as he lifted the paper again. “You would know full well if you encountered one of those beasts in a dream.”
I gave up after awhile, figuring either I had been mistaken about what I saw—perhaps she too was some kind of dream—or chalked up my reaction to an overreaction and imagined if the woman was here that she was probably asleep in one of the covered bunks.
After one cup of coffee and two scones, the SkyTrain buzzed and vibrated as it slowed into the Shreveport, Louisiana Tesla Bridge. I looked out the window and watched as the enormous fin lowered into its wing position. I felt us dip slightly as the SkyTrain glided downward. Once the fin cleared my field of vision I could make out a twisting river around the central part of the city. Sky carriages and an enormous airship buzzed across the horizon. The city wasn't as tall as New York or Philadelphia, but the tallest buildings still bristled with iron piers and moorings where winged balloons and other contraptions hung. A river twisted its way through the city.
“River Rouge,” Bryce said, “Tributary to the mighty Mississip.” I nodded and watched as we drifted over it and rapidly slowed.
From my vantage point it looked like we were descending too fast as we approached a broad flat building illuminated with bright landing lights. The sky was deep blue but growing brighter by the moment, the distant horizon clearly visible, and just a thin dome of hot orange appeared over the horizon. Suddenly, the SkyTrain slowed and dipped again. Several electronic snaps and pops vibrated overhead and small green sparks of St. Elmo's Fire danced out along the edge of the wing as the SkyTrain hovered into the platform. Before I knew it, we'd stopped.
Down below a tall set of stairs that rolled up to connect with the forward hatch of the SkyTrain, I saw about a dozen travelers with bags or carts. Several people removed tickets and boarding passes from purses or pockets, some picked up suitcases. Most of them were dressed like cowboys, flannel shirts and leather vests, Stetson hats or bowlers. Some had brass goggles over the brims of their hats. One man carried what looked to be a mechanical umbrella that opened and closed, fanning him. Some women wore gingham or Victorian dresses, parasols collapsed and held down at their sides until the sun came up fully. Only a couple of men were dressed as gentlemen, wearing waistcoats and vests with top hats or stovepipes.
The passengers of our SkyTrain were fairly quick to disembark and it wasn't long before Bryce took my hand and helped me out of the booth. Lucien trotted off ahead of us. There was no sign of the silver-haired lady. If she were on board, I imagined she'd be bound for Houston or Dallas. I wondered aloud, "I don't see any soldiers, Bryce."
He smiled at me as he took my arm. "That's because you're in the deep South, my dear, as tucked into the comfort of the Confed'racy as you can possibly be."
"Oh. That's good, I assume?"
His response was a toothy smile. “You are ever the surprise and delight, dear Alice.”
We made our way outside and the first thing that struck me was the humidity and stillness of the air. Many of the female passengers pulled out fans and breezed themselves, a few people grumbled. One man used a metallic inhaler before removing a rubber gas mask from a satchel, and pulling it snugly over his head.
Lucien, ahead of us, stopped next to a woman in a beautiful wine-colored gown with gold trim and white lace at her neck and wrists. A tall, skinny pale man in a gray shirt and suspenders—who appeared to be her servant—stood nearby with his hands clasped behind his back. Her red hair was bright in the rising sun, tucked and pinned up from her alabaster face sprinkled with freckles. Her blue eyes were large and icy. She wore no makeup of any kind. Didn't look like she needed it. She was a vision.
Bryce let go of my arm and stepped forward once we were on the platform. "Lydia!"
Noticing him, the woman beamed, her white teeth shining. She lifted her gown and raced toward him while the skinny man and Lucien stood back and watched. "Bryce!"
When Bryce told me about his family, he didn't mention a sister named Lydia.
As I watched, they met and embraced.
And kissed.
It wasn't the kiss of a simple greeting and my heart immediately sank. It was the deep, passionate kiss of a soldier and his bride after a long absence during wartime.
I don't know why I suddenly felt sick and wished I hadn't eaten that scone. Was I feeling something for Bryce Landry? Was it possible he existed somewhere in my hidden memory, or was I really that completely taken with his Southern charms that I was starting to build new memories that favored a hope he would always want to be with me? It wasn't obvious until the pangs I felt just now. All that washed away as holes punched through my chest and a lump formed in my throat.
When they finally parted, Bryce turned toward me, his smile bright and as warm as ever. The woman took me in from canvas shoes to dirty ponytail. She said, in a very regal-sounding and pronounced Southern Belle accent, "Is this the poor urchin you told me about, Bryce?"
"She's not an urchin, my dear, and really quite capable in many respects."
"I'm sure," the woman said. She held out a white-gloved hand to me. "Lydia McFerran. Charmed"
McFerran? I remembered then something Pandora had said about Bryce and Irish women. I took her hand and smiled with a slight nod. "Alice... for now." I fought the urge to crush her dainty fingers, and smiled to myself knowing I could if I wanted to.
Bryce stepped up next to her and explained to Lydia McFerran, talking about me as if I were a display in a museum, or the zoo, "She lost her memory, dear, but seems to take a shine to Lewis Carroll's story about—"
Lydia McFerran held up a hand and Bryce closed his mouth. "I am familiar with the tale, Captain, and the delightful irony of the name."
She had an air like royalty, but maybe this was just the expected presence of a lady of the deep South. Whichever the case, I felt horribly underdressed. I was surprised that she didn't release my hand immediately, and didn't inspect her hand when she finally did. She simply smiled brightly and said, "I hope that when your memory
returns you'll regale me with tales of your adventures leading up to your introduction to my fiance."
"Fiance?" I blurted it. I didn't mean to and almost gasped.
Bryce's smile was no longer bright. It sank to a flat grin. I couldn't tell if his expression was pity toward me, the 'poor urchin', or that he wasn't particularly thrilled about marrying her? He said, "Lady McFerran and I are to be wed at Christmas."
I was afraid I'd choke if I spoke, but had to. I managed, "Congratulations to you both."
Lydia turned to Bryce and said in her sweet drawl, "My carriage is waitin', Captain. I trust you will be ridin' with me in the coach."
"Of course, my dear." My heart stung again when he kissed her hand. "Come along, Alice. I simply cannot wait to show you Seven Orchards."
Feeling like Lucien's dogsbody, I trudged along behind them, between Lucien and the skinny man, suddenly wishing for a nightmare.
CHAPTER 14, “The Daughter of Lazarus”
William "Wilco" Rink was dead for a total of 42 minutes.
When his eyes opened, the first thing he did was roll onto his side and throw up on the floor of the Drake Towers apartment he shared with his daughter. Coughing and sputtering until his head stopped spinning, he reached to the back of his scalp, ripped off his pilot's cap, and felt the numb part of his skull that, less than an hour ago, was pocked and collapsed by lead bullets.
"Oh, God," he winced, not quite sure what had happened but feeling none the worse for wear.
He remembered the paddy wagon stopping, complaining voices from outside, then gunshots. There was a loud 'clank' from just behind his ear...
Then he woke up here.
No. Wait. There was more. He had knowledge he didn't have before. He knew something about—
Wincing again, fighting the nausea, and trying to grasp at the floating cloud of a dream somewhere in his healing mind, Wilco opened his eyes wider to take in the dim sunlit room, the bands on the wall formed by the light that broke through the horizontal blinds of the two room apartment. Air traffic hummed beyond the window behind him. The morning rush hour in Philadelphia buzzed along unabated by the evening's events. But where is—?
