Inn Between Worlds: Volume 1

by Thomas A Farmer

  “I’m not entirely sure,” I replied, frowning. “Have you ever heard of Opopanax?”

  “Opopanax?” she repeated, tasting the world in her mouth. “No. I can’t say I have.”

  I explained about the ageless boy in the hotel room, repeating his words to Jessica: Help me. Help Opopanax. Barthandelus is feeding.

  “Feeding? You don’t think he’s a cannibal, do you?”

  I shook my head. “No, something tells me this is stranger and less straightforward than cannibalism.”

  “Either way,” she said, rising to her feet, “we need to get into his room.”

  “Yes, but we don’t know what we’re up against here. After what happened in Scarborough, I’m reluctant to go in, blind.”

  “We could call CindyLou.”

  “She said to call if we needed anything.”

  “Exactly.”

  I nodded.

  Jessica went to the phone. She started to check the underside of the handle to see if there were any instructions, but even from across the room I could hear the line ringing, and she put the phone to her ear. The line connected, and through it I heard a man’s voice, loud and clear even from across the room. “Front desk.”

  “Yes, is CindyLou available? This is Jessica Snow in 2119.”

  “Ah yes, Miss Snow. I’m afraid CindyLou has stepped away. She has other urgent matters to which she must attend. I’m Sam. How might I be of assistance to you and Mr. Dormer?”

  Jessica’s eyes indicated she was at a loss, unsure of how to proceed. I twirled my finger in a go on gesture. She nodded. “CindyLou was under the impression we were brought here for a reason. We think we’ve determined one of the Inn’s current guests may have kidnapped someone and is currently holding them in his room.”

  A measured moment of silence from the other end of the line ensued. After great consideration, Sam spoke. “I see. This still doesn’t answer the question of what I can do for you.”

  “Is there any way of knowing if Bartholomew Barthandelus has left his room or is still in it?”

  At the front desk, Sam cursed. “I knew there was something about that man. I couldn’t see what it was though. It was beyond my abilities. I believe he’s still in his room. Do you need him drawn out?”

  “Yes.”

  “Very well. I’ll have a skeleton key brought to your room. I must impress upon you the singular uniqueness of this situation. You must not abuse this privilege.”

  “Believe me, we fully understand.”

  “Good.” Sam sighed. “Give me some time. I have a feeling Sir Barthandelus is a formidable adversary. While there are other dangerous men and women in the Inn, I would rather avoid an outright confrontation in these halls, especially when a man such as he – if he truly is a man – is an unknown factor in the equation.”

  I sensed Sam suspected something about Barthandelus, but I didn’t know how to broach the subject, not with Jessica the one on the line, and she did not ask. Instead, she said, “Thank you, Sam.”

  “Don’t mention it,” he replied, and terminated the call.

  six

  Ten minutes later, a soft knock punctuated the silence. I darted to my feet and crossed the room. Outside, I found a pixie of a girl – lithe and elvish, ears elongated similarly to the boy’s in the dream, her skin flawless, its tone seeming to darken and fade in accentuated flourishes only a paint brush should be able to create. Her body was unmarked by tan lines, and her skin didn’t seem to abide by the standard rules of pigmentation, for she was fair skinned in some regions and cocoa in others. I was able to determine this primarily due to her state of dress, or lack thereof; she wore lacy white and blue undergarments which left only the most private portions of her body to the imagination. Her hair, which alternated through a variety of pink and purple hues, was pinned up by a golden scarab pin.

  The girl regarded me with a raised eyebrow. “Dormer?”

  I swallowed, realizing with an uncomfortable twinge of guilt I had been unabashedly studying her body. “Yes.”

  She reached into the crevice between her breasts and withdrew a key, its ornate handle featuring a grinning skeleton amongst interwoven strands of gold. “Give me a couple minutes to draw him back to the brothel.”

  I took the key from her. “Be careful.”

  She smirked. “Oh, don’t you worry about me, honey. If he’s nothing less than a gentleman, I’ll make sure everyone knows he ain’t a gentleman for the rest of his days.” She flashed her pearly whites and chomped them together for dramatic effect.

  Behind me, Jessica laid a hand on my shoulder and peeked past me. “Thank you for doing this.”

  She smiled. “No, thank you. Anyone who brings trouble to this Inn needs to be sorted out. We all appreciate you coming here.”

  I thought again about Ron’s comment regarding the brothel and how it had not been a fixture in the Inn before Barthandelus’s arrival. “You work in the brothel?”

  She smiled. “Yes.”

  “Forgive me, but how are you a regular here? Ron gave us the impression the brothel isn’t normally open.”

  The girl’s smile widened. “How, indeed,” she said, then turned and began to walk down the hall, her footfalls the merest whispers of echoes.

  “Wait,” Jessica said, halting the girl’s progress. She turned toward us, her gaze inquisitive. “Let me slip ahead. I’ll give Teddy the all clear once you’re downstairs.”

  The girl nodded. “Good thinking.”

  Jessica slipped past me. As she joined the working girl in the hall, she showed me the walkie in her hand. “Yours is on the bed.” I nodded. She turned, whispering something to the girl just beyond my earshot, then continued on down the hall, and disappeared down the stairwell.

  The girl waited outside Barthandelus’s door. I gave her a curt nod before slipping back into my room. Once the door was closed, I retrieved my walkie, turned it on, and depressed the trigger. “Mic check, mic check.”

  Jessica’s voice burst through a crackle of static like a firework. “I read you loud and clear, darling. I’ll let you know when you’re good to go.”

  “Thanks.”

  There was a pause before she spoke again. “What do you think you’re going to find in there?”

  I considered what I had seen in the dreamscape, how the figure had been simultaneously young and old, shifting between the two as if time and age were both amorphous concepts.

  I told Jessica the truth. “I have no idea.”

  I sat on the edge of the bed.

  “By the way, I saw you checking out that girl.”

  I scoffed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh, yes you do! It was kind of hard not to check her out. Hell, I was checking her out, and I’m not into chicks.”

  I shook my head, pressing the walkie against my forehead. I said nothing.

  “She wasn’t leaving much to the imagination, which is in our favor if she’s going to get Barthandelus out of his room and back to the brothel.”

  “Let’s hope so.”

  Then there was silence. I pondered what the boy meant when he said Help Opopanax; my ability to help was severely hindered by my lack of knowledge. I hoped answers awaited me inside Barthandelus’s room.

  The walkie barked to life once more. “You’re clear. Go.”

  “Copy.”

  I rose, ready to move, but I realized that, if I were to encounter any danger in the minutes and hours ahead, I may not be able to adequately defend myself as I was. In the past, I have always been resourceful in extricating myself from predicaments, but with time I have found myself in far tighter jams. My time in Scarborough Hill only solidified this point for me, for I had been forced to act with deadly force.

  I have never liked firearms. Whereas I believe people should be able to protect themselves, the idea of personally taking someone’s life via projectile has always made me feel not only uncomfortable but tainted. Before the past year, I had never been forced to tak
e another’s life; now, I had taken several, the last of which had been by firearm.

  Desmond. His sister, Izzy, died as well, although not because I shot her. I’m not entirely sure if I can count her as a direct casualty of my actions, but I feel like she was.

  I wrestled with my need for a weapon, knowing it was sensible, but my sensibilities cried out against it. I have never fancied myself to be an action hero like Jack Bauer or Jason Bourne, characters who kick ass and take names as well as shoot first and ask questions later. Times change, however, and so must I, because the inability to change and evolve inevitably leads to death and extinction.

  I went to my bag, pocketing the walkie as I went, and found my new weapon of choice, a Sig Sauer P227. Will had been sure to hook Jessica and I up with firepower before we parted ways. “It’s a dangerous world out there,” he’d said. “It’s best you go into it prepared.”

  I checked the P227 to ensure it was loaded with the safety on, then tucked it into my back waistband and pulled my shirt down over it.

  From bed to door, from door to hall, through the hall to Barthandelus’s quarters, I went with single-minded purpose. As soon as I reached his door, I inserted the skeleton key, turned it, and heard the lock disengage. I opened the door and slipped into the dark room beyond. I flipped the light switch, but there was no power.

  The room couldn’t have been more different than the one in which Jessica and I were staying. This space wasn’t simply a room but a log cabin, and every surface was encrusted with what could have easily been a millennia’s worth of dust. Across the living area, floor to ceiling windows, partially obscured by age and grime, offered a panoramic view of a dark, snowy vista. The nearest trees were barren and black, and the cloudy night sky blocked out the moon and stars.

  I lifted the walkie and depressed the trigger. “I’m in,” I said, but when I let go of the trigger, I noted there was no telltale sign of the static indicative of a connection. I hesitated, then tried the walkie again. “Jessica, do you read?”

  Nothing.

  Observing the dark landscape beyond the windows, I realized the likelihood I was still in the Inn was slim to none. Somehow, the room to Barthandelus’s quarters served as a portal to his true base of operations elsewhere. I’d left the Inn.

  “Well, shit.”

  I pocketed the walkie. For now, I was on my own.

  The cabin’s living room was a mausoleum. Had it contained sarcophagi in the corners and in the center of the room, I would not have been entirely surprised, but there did not appear to be any sign of mummified remains in this part of the residence. However, while there were no sarcophagi, the treasures of those who would have been buried here remained, not as gold and artifacts and trinkets, but as books, magazines, vinyl records, and films, VHS and discs alike. They were piled high in stacks throughout the entirety of the residence, in many places waist-high, in others even higher, and I perused the titles as I went, for the night beyond, as starless and moonless as it was, surprisingly afforded enough light to see. I studied the treasures, brushing dust away so that I may observe them unimpeded.

  To the left, I noted several films on disc and tape, all of which I knew, with my knowledge of pop culture, should not exist. One, a Marilyn Monroe film titled Something’s Got to Give, was never completed, for the leading lady died in the midst of production and the film was abandoned. Nonetheless, the cover featured Monroe in a pool, smiling seductively, arms out of the water as she lifted herself up. Her shoulders were bare, and the slightest hint of the swell of her breasts rose above the side of the pool. The cover was an obvious allusion to what was intended to be the first true skinny-dipping scene by an A-list star in Hollywood; it would have been a hell of a draw for the studio had the film been completed.

  Other films caught my eye, such as Star Trek: Planet of the Titans, Phantasmagoria: The Visions of Lewis Carroll, Superman Lives!, Batman Triumphant, a version of Triumphant’s predecessor Batman & Robin featuring Bruce Willis as Mr. Freeze, and Spider-Man 4, featuring a cover with the Tobey Maguire Spidey and John Malkovich as the Vulture. Beyond them, I noted book titles that didn’t exist as well, including Shakespeare titles Jesus of Nazareth, Love’s Labours Won, and Cardenio, as well as several Stephen King novels: Sword in the Darkness, The House on Value Street, and The Cannibals.

  Past the Stephen King titles was a stack of Sullivan Doyle novels, with In the House of Wolves and Nyctophobia among the first two. More awaited beneath them. I shuddered to consider how many there were.

  I tore my eyes from the titles. This room was a treasure trove of things that weren’t meant to be.

  I checked the rooms to the right. There, I found countless stacks of items, the nearest of which included VHS copies of Revenge of the Jedi and Back to the Future featuring Eric Stoltz as Marty McFly. Other than the things that could not be, there was no sign of the boy, or man, or whatever.

  I ventured past the sofa in the living room, knocking over a stack of old newspapers as I went. I didn’t bother checking the headlines. I’d seen enough. If there were endless pop culture changes collected in this place, I didn’t want to know what events had come to pass in elsewheres and whens. To go down that road was madness.

  The kitchen was unoccupied. To its right, a ladder led up to a loft. I climbed it and discovered the space above was far tidier than the main floor; it lacked the hoarded stacks.

  I was nearly ready to give up this fool’s errand, to return to the Inn and re-establish contact with Jessica, when I noticed the small door in the corner. It was roughly two and a half feet tall, just large enough for me to crawl through, and featured a padlock, but it wasn’t engaged. Anyone could get in, but no one or nothing behind the door could get out.

  I went to the door, pulled the lock off, and pocketed it. I dared not leave it out here; if Barthandelus were to return, he could easily lock me in if he so chose; I would not become a prisoner so easily. I pushed the door inward, revealing naught but darkness, and climbed through a veil of musk that offended my olfactory glands. I gagged. Strands of cobweb hung about my face, but it appeared as if someone’s previous passage had knocked away the wall which should have greeted me.

  In the darkness, a voice rasped, “Hello?” I returned the greeting, and the owner of the voice choked a sob. “Oh, thank the gods. I was afraid it was him.”

  My eyes adjusted to the gloom, and I saw a figure tied with wire, hands behind his back. His face was drawn and gaunt, deeply lined with wrinkles, his blonde, shaggy hair obscuring half his face. Despite this, the half I could see appeared quite young, as if the wrinkles were a side effect not of age but something else. He wore a tunic and cloth pants, both of which were ragged and only hinted at the ravages of malnutrition underneath. His eyes were his most lively feature, for they blazed a fierce and unsettling red.

  “What has he done to you?” I asked. “How long have you been here?”

  “He’s feeding upon my mana,” he said, coughing. “I’m not sure how long I’ve been here. Time is… funny here.”

  Time isn’t all that’s funny here, I thought.

  I scuttled past him, settling on my knees. “Let me get you out of this,” I said, working on the wire binding his wrists.

  As his bonds loosened, he sighed with relief. “Pray tell, what is your name?”

  “Teddy.”

  “I am Vayne Opopanax, the thirty-seventh of my line.”

  The thirty-seventh of his line? I wondered. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”

  I finished untying his wrists, and he gasped, pulling his hands forward and rubbing the lacerations where the wire had cut into his flesh. “Opopanax found me,” he explained. “I was chosen. Many have come before me, and unless I die here in this gods-forsaken cabin, many more will come after.”

  I helped him with the wire encircling his ankles. “Vayne, I’m sorry, but I have no idea what you mean.”

  “Opopanax is a spiritual life force,” he said, grunting with effort as he p
ulled at a length of wire. “It is the source of my mana. Barthandelus feeds on mana, and therefore I can sustain him in ways others can’t.”

  “Okay, that makes a lot more sense,” I replied, shaking my head. “Freaking weird, but it still makes more sense.”

  We unwound the rest of the wire, and he stretched his legs, groaning as he did so. “We have to go before he gets back. I can’t face him, not like this. I’m too weak to call on my mana.”

  The walkie in my pocket squawked, and Jessica’s urgent voice cut through a burst of ear-splitting static: “-you can hear this, get out. Get out now, Teddy. He’s com-”

  Then silence.

  I had lost contact with Jessica as soon as I entered the cabin and closed the door to the Inn. Therefore, I surmised Barthandelus must have opened his room door and entered the cabin. When he closed the door, he’d cut off my line of communication with her once more.

  Vayne and I exchanged looks. Our time, it seemed, was running dreadfully short.

  seven

  I was worried about being locked in the crawl space with Vayne, but I did not wish to be discovered here with nowhere to run. At least atop the loft, I might have better options for escape even if the only safe way down was the ladder.

  I led Vayne out the way I entered and emerged, huddling, in the corner of the loft. He followed, grimacing as he rose to his feet. I shuddered to think how long he’d been tied up in that chamber. I’m not claustrophobic, but the very nature of that space, with its oppressive darkness and abundance of cobwebs, could induce an anxiety attack in anyone, myself included.

  I didn’t bother to close the door behind us. I pulled the Sig Sauer from my waistband and, rising to my full height, approached the ledge.

  Below, the old gentleman in the top hat was awaiting my reveal, standing amidst the labyrinth of things that should not be as he studied the loft. He was not surprised. Instead, he merely lifted his hands and applauded me in melodramatic fashion. “That was a clever ploy, sending Pixie to call on me. I’ve never been one to deny the pleasures of the flesh.”