The War Gate

by Chris Stevenson

  A few police officers had stopped by to ask about the damage. Sebastian downplayed the incident, attributing it to typical juvenile behavior. Avy knew they had no real proof that Drake was behind the vandalism, and felt sure he would deny any involvement.

  They painted the building on Thursday. Avy trailed behind Sebastian, mixing the paint, handling the hose, and positioning the trough bucket every time they had to paint another section. It was an arduous task. Avy had to change out her mask a dozen times when it became clogged by the persistent mist of paint that seemed to get into every pore of her body. They hadn’t shared more than a few sentences during the work detail. There had been nothing to say—no salve to the open wounds, just a determined resolve to clean up the mess, to restore the theater back to its original glory.

  After strapping the commercial sprayer into the back of Avy’s Samurai, they took a sit-down break on the pavement, pulling the masks from their faces. Avy looked at her hands, knowing that it would take a quart of turpentine to remove the dried paint from them.

  “You know damn well they hired some street kids to do this,” said Sebastian.

  “It’s not a new low for Drake,” Avy said under her breath. “Hit men, hired assassins, gangsters, it all fits into his personality. All he had to do was offer a hundred dollars between a half dozen kids to get the job done. The end result was thousands of dollars in damage. He wanted to ruin the act by stopping our income. I doubt that anyone would have come to the performance in a building that looked like this one. They hit us right in the pocketbook again.”

  “Not just that, but they took the time to organize it after we interrupted their plans with that flight. It sure is peculiar how they knew we were not on the property again.”

  “They’ve been following us—a full-time tail, watching our every move.”

  “I don’t think they had one following us to the airport. I did some fancy driving. If we had a tail, I shook it. Otherwise they might have known what we were up to and stopped us there.”

  “I didn’t say they were perfect or the brightest bulbs on the string. We have to be ready for more of the same. We can’t leave the theater unless we have someone to babysit for us. I have a good idea who could do it, at least part time.”

  “I agree,” said Sebastian with a sigh. “Get that Chubby fellow. I have some of my own ideas on how to set up some traps around here. For now, I’d better get this equipment back. You can come with me if you want.”

  “I’ll lock myself in. I have a call to make.”

  Avy watched him drive off. She entered the theater, then went to the bathroom to clean up. After showering, she got on the phone and called her friend. She had a long chat with Chubby, telling him about the recent vandalism. He listened with rapt attention, asking numerous questions. At the end of the conversation, he promised that he would be right over.

  Chubby arrived thirty minutes later, wearing an oversized Alpine pack. He had a sleeping bag tucked under his arm. His first impressions of the theater backroom came after stepping through the door.

  “Gosh o’ mighty. What a magical place. I’ll bet you never get tired of looking at things. Oh, I knew this was urgent so I cashed in on three weeks’ vacation. I’ve never used my off-time, so I figured this was a perfect opportunity. I hope you don’t mind—I had to bring Gretchen. She throws a hissy fit if she doesn’t get to ride along. Well, half a hissy fit, she’s pretty old. She’s taking a wee wee outside right now.”

  There was that look again—the whole universe could have collapsed back in on itself but it wouldn’t have mattered to Chubby. He stared at her with a mixture of wonder and shy endearment.

  The small dog appeared at the door. It made arthritic steps across the floor. Gretchen looked up at her, wagging her tail in a crooked circle. Avy said, “I remember her. She’s more than welcome. She can have the run of the theater. We have a few bunnies on the bound around here from time to time, so she’ll be in good company.”

  “How neat,” he said. “I wonder if I could look around. This place brings back memories. My mom used to bring me here to watch old Vincent Price movies. It was fifty cents for a double feature back then. I’ve never been in the backroom before.”

  “Knock yourself out.”

  Chubby walked the length of the room, stopping every so often to eye some piece of machinery or prop. He disappeared around the corner into the wing. A moment later, she could hear exclamations of wonder—lots of “oohs.” He’d found the large stage props. She made some coffee while waiting for him to return, which he did minus his pack. She thought that odd, until he cleared up the mystery a moment later.

  “I found the perfect bed,” he said, looking like a small boy in wonderland. “It’s a little narrow but it will do just fine.”

  “Where would that be?”

  “The guillotine pad.”

  Avy cocked her head in surprise, and then offered him a chair. They began to chat. He told her that his parents had both passed on, revealing that he had been especially close to them. He said he’d felt lost when they both suffered strokes three years apart. He touched upon his interest in law enforcement, explaining how he never seemed to be able to pass the government or state police exams, but did well enough to qualify for the correctional facility.

  Chubby had been “big boned” during his childhood, suffering the barbs of jokes and rejection, in particular when it came to the opposite sex. His teachers were endeared to him because he never disrupted class, shirked his studies, or played hooky. He had never heard the call of the sport’s machine, being neither inclined to join in the physical contact sports nor desirous of bonding with the hardcore jocks. What he had known of life had been restricted to solitary pursuits, sometimes escaping into his own world through comic books, then later novels. But when he spoke of his contact with the inmates he’d met over the years, he expressed joy in having played a part in their rehabilitation. When he spoke of Avalon Labrador, his eyes brightened and his face took on a glow. Of course, Avy had heard much of this before.

  “I always knew that Avalon was innocent,” he said. “You can tell about those things when you are around so many different people. It’s easy to spot the grifter folk, the liars, those who don’t respect personal rights. You can tell who is guilty or who might be an accessory. It’s in the eyes, you know—they are the window to the soul. Innocent eyes are unafraid, filled with an inner peace. Guilty eyes are like...” He pointed to a manikin overhead. “Like that. Dead—uncaring. They always shift like they are running away from you. Now, Avalon, her eyes were always full of questions and easy to read. She had the most calm composure, which was part of her nature, too.”

  “She seemed like a sweet, unselfish person,” said Avy.

  “Oh, yeah. She always seemed to have enough even when she had nothing. In prison, you apply for all the privileges you can get your hands on because that is your world. If it doesn’t come your way, you take it away from somebody else. It’s a shark pool. But Avalon? She never wanted to put anybody out or asked for anything. Like she wanted to make my job easier! Imagine that. She draws the short straw, but she ends up concerned about what I need. Not for just the first couple of years, either. For fourteen years, she never changed, never lost her dignity. She never put another person through anything like she had to suffer. I think they call that grace under fire. I’m not sure. But she had loads of it.”

  “I didn’t even know her,” Avy said. “From the little I’ve learned, I believe she lived a righteous life. I’m convinced that Drake set her up to take the fall for her husband’s death. I know what you’re saying about her integrity, too. She wrote a note to me that was like a last dying creed. She seemed to take the blame for everything that happened, like it was fate. I could tell the strength had left her because she had given up. It’s heartbreaking when somebody apologizes for something they didn’t do.”

  “That was Avalon,” Chubby said putting his hand over his heart. “As God is my witness, I don’
t often come across people who are innocent. Your mother’s case just never felt right from the beginning, all the way up until the end. We talked about possible suspects all the time. Drake’s name did come up. She said he wasn’t the type to commit such a crime. She said he lacked conviction in whatever he did—that he was the gutless type.”

  “How did you feel about that?” Everything he told her confirmed what she had suspected all along. Chubby was much brighter than she expected.

  “I disagreed. He had motive with opportunity, from what I knew of the evidence. I’m not saying that I was a better judge of character than your mom was at the time, just that I think she was too forgiving where he was concerned. After all, he inherited the business. The one good thing he did was adopt you, but even that left me with some bad vibes. I’m just so glad you turned out the way you did.”

  Avy smiled. “Let’s just say that I have more than enough truth on my side to know that Drake Labrador is guilty of murder. If I knew of a way to plant the evidence back into his hands, I would do it right now. He’s never liked me. He couldn’t get me out of his home fast enough. I think he is suspicious of what I know about him right now. He’s trying break my spirit.”

  “Yeah, you told me about the graffiti attack. We know he has a security force that was in on it. I just don’t understand why you don’t turn the case over to law enforcement.”

  “Because I have no case—no real evidence. Not yet, at any rate. I have to get out there and find it. I have to rediscover it—it’s there—just buried somewhere. He’s trying to throw me off the scent. He’s using his security for the muscle.”

  “Are all these security men armed?”

  “Yes, I think they call themselves the Hollywood Mafia.” She described the general appearance of Drake’s security personnel, emphasizing that they stuck out in a crowd.

  “Well I’m packing, too,” said Chubby with a stern look. “It’s a hog leg and I can punch a two-inch group in paper at twenty-five yards. They best not pull a weapon on the likes of us.”

  Chubby did not possess great stature, but he seemed a pillar of strength and determination. She had a feeling his gentle “behavior switch” could toggle in the opposite direction, birthing an aroused monster. He might have been polite, even kindhearted, but there did beat within the breast of this man a savage drum that could pound with the best of them. Chubby was no coward. Somehow she had known that all along. She felt she knew this man, almost like she had known him for a lifetime. More to the point, the mother within her called out from a deep secluded place inside, confirming that Chubby was a true ally of her heart—a defender of her soul. If those premonitions were not enough, how could she mistrust a person who loved a small ratty mop of a dog that had brittle sticks for bones and a face that would make a child cry? No contest.

  She offered her hand for a shake—her seal of approval. “We’re partners then. We’ll stand against this together.”

  “You damn betcha we will!”

  She owed him more than a partner agreement. She owed him a deeper secret, an explanation of how she knew of Drake’s guilt. Her mother had been on the receiving end of a Janus visit. Chubby had never told her that he had seen Janus, just that he’d heard of the mysterious visitor from her mother’s lips. Though he seemed receptive to the strange visions, she wondered how he would react to the wondrous skills Avy possessed. In particular, her Gate-Walking magic. How would he react if he saw her use it? Would it push him over the edge of believability? It wasn’t every day that one could disappear through a solid object. She remembered her own first impressions watching Janus vanish into thin air. A normal mind could not grapple with such things. She knew that a time would come when she would have to explain everything.

  The backdoor latch rattled. Chubby flew to his feet, grabbing a fold-up chair to brandish over his head. Avy calmed him, explaining that Sebastian had arrived back from his trip. Chubby relaxed, then assisted Sebastian through the door, hefting some large packages.

  Sebastian upended the containers on the cot, spilling out numerous hardware items. “I think I bought out the surplus store,” he said. “I’ve got some laser rifle sights, motion detectors, security cameras, intruder alarms, extra deadbolts, and other cool stuff. They’ll think twice about breaking in here again.” Sebastian extended his hand. “Nice to see you again, Chubby. Welcome to our little abode.”

  “Nice to be here. Avy gave me a rundown on your troubles. I had some time off, so I thought I could help. What’s first on the list?”

  “For a starter, we can set up this gear. I have hand tools on the bench.”

  “No time like the present.”

  Good, thought Avy. The men were going to twist wrenches together. That would give them a chance to bond. It would also give her an opportunity to slip away for an indulgence. She went to the workbench and picked up a piece of cardboard.

  “Wanna help, Avy?” asked Sebastian.

  “I’ll pass. I need to practice on my act for the next performance.”

  Sebastian’s eyes fell on the piece of cardboard at her side. He nodded, then went to work opening the packages.

  She walked through the wing into the main theater and down an aisle to sit in a back row seat next to an exit door. The house lighting afforded her the illumination to study the words on the panel of cardboard. She read the words aloud, pausing, digesting the implied meaning of how the words related to each other.

  Love and hate is the sun and the moon, the future and the past. One face looking forward—the other looking back. The bridge to each is within your grasp. A turn from either direction takes you to another place. You are the key. I promise you will learn all the paths. One day you will know it all.

  She could see the parallel in the love-sun, hate-moon reference. It implied a positive-negative connotation, or a yin-yang. The future and past, she thought, must indicate the one face looking forward into the future, and the one looking back, which signified the past. She went back to the love-hate. She knew she had to use hate as the driving passion that moved her forward through the portals. She did not understand how love might have anything to do with traveling through the Gates. Love was the opposite of hate—the other side—the reverse direction. It was the other face, too. Therefore, hate and the moon were tied to the future. Wait. That made sense now. To travel forward through the Gates she used the intense emotion of hatred, so moving forward was traveling into the future. That’s how she had lost time with the longer trip. She had accelerated into the future, but just a tiny bit. She reasoned that love was the opposite direction—back in time. How did she travel backward? She had to summon the most positive emotion of all—love.

  She looked at the writing again. “The bridge to each is within your grasp” meant she was capable of both directions. That went without saying. “A turn from either direction takes you to another place” had to mean that it was an alternate route. But from what? The starting point?

  She stepped into the aisle. She thought of a mock scenario, taking a step forward like she was going through a door, pretending that she was now traveling forward in the hate mode. Then she pivoted around one hundred-eighty degrees to face the opposite direction, thinking thoughts of love. This was sending her back in time, hurtling through the Gates. Okay, that simulation seemed to make sense. There were two major paths. The intensity of her thoughts coupled with the duration she stayed on one side was the throttle. One direction was one hundred-eighty degrees to the other. Her body posture was the compass needle. Turning toward either side would keep her on the same path, but traveling through side Gates. It was possible to steer herself. That made sense because she had never moved from a forward standing position while testing the Gates before. She had been too terrified. Was it that simple?

  She sat down, trying to put it all together. How could she travel to where she had to go and know when she had arrived? How did Janus do it? She reasoned it had to be in his head—ingrained in him. Who would know better than the maste
r of the transportation system? That did not solve the problem of how the Gate-Walkers manipulated direction, distance, or time. What would an amateur need to guide them?

  Then she had it.

  The sphere of travel was three hundred-sixty degrees. A small compass would work. An electromagnetic disturbance would render a compass useless though. Would an ordinary wristwatch work to move through time? Sure, why not? If so many minutes on her watch represented months or years, she could calculate her landing zone by experimenting. Moving full throttle forward, stopping to exit, and then ticking off the exact time it took her to get there in conjunction with discovering the date would be the benchmark, provided that her speed was constant. But that was up to her, wasn’t it?

  Besides positioning herself and walking off the distance, to travel in all directions and times, she would have to change her emotions from one extreme to another with the skill of a Tibetan monk. Was it even possible to master such emotions? Normal humans didn’t possess such powers, let alone the ability to control them. Yet when she read the last three sentences it occurred to her that she might be wrong.

  You are the key. I promise you will learn all the paths. One day you will know it all.

  She held the key. The key gave her the privilege. Learning all the paths meant she had to practice. One day she would know all of it. She needed to earn that driver’s license first though. She shivered at the thought of such trips. How many Gate Masters were out there on the super highway? She likened herself to someone traveling around the circuit in a model T Ford, while all the NASCAR drivers zoomed past her. Her luck would be to run off the road and crash into a ditch.