Window in the Earth Trilogy

by Fish, Matthew

  “She is not Alena, she is your daughter! It’s Kylie!” Christopher attempted, although knowing well that there was no reasoning with Kylie’s father in his current state. It was apparent that he was fully lost to both his own madness and the abyss of darkness that the bad memory had shrouded his mind in.

  Without reply, Mr. Leiter lunged forward, and immediately Christopher leapt back and to the right, barely avoiding the blade. Christopher knew he couldn’t keep up the dodging for long, but what else could he do? Mr. Leiter brought his knife high above his head, ready to bring it slamming down on Christopher. However, just as he raised the knife, there was a sudden, jarring sound of meat tearing, and Mr. Leiter sunk to his knees, his mouth agape as he groped absent-mindedly at the paralyzing wound that had just been ripped into his back. The great blue smoke-bear, Face, stood behind him, his smoky claw wet with Mr. Leiter’s blood. Mr. Leiter himself writhed about in agony, still trying in vain to reach the injury on his back. Face swiftly scooped up Kylie’s father in its arms, and then, with a sickeningly loud thud, threw the full-grown man with bone-breaking force against the jutting rocks of the cave wall.

  “Face…,” Christopher whispered as he scooped Kylie back up. She was still breathing regularly and made soft, faint sounds as she did, as though she was simply sleeping. “…thank you.” Christopher turned again to see Face sitting on the ground before Mr. Leiter’s broken body. “Face,” he said, “go, or you’ll get left behind.”

  However, Face did not react at all. Christopher was worried for a moment that it was too late for Face. He hoped otherwise, and he looked back once more before he continued on ahead. He had to get Kylie to safety.

  Christopher stumbled out of the cave entrance and was greeted by two flashlight beams, and their owners, Jack Olen and William Walker, who were both shocked to see him and Kylie. They ran over to Christopher and took her from his arms, planning on taking them both back to Bones’ house. Luckily, fearing something was wrong, Jack Olen had already called the authorities, and an ambulance was already waiting there for them when they arrived.

  That night, the police searched the entire cave. Inside they found Mr. Leiter’s body, gored and destroyed by what they believed to be some kind of wild animal. As for James, all they ever found of him were his shoes, and a single large blue feather floating in the cave’s new pool, where the falls used to be.

  The next day, Christopher visited Kylie in the hospital. She was doing fine and only suffered a small wound from the knife. Luckily, there would be no permanent damage and she would only be left with a scar as a memory of what had happened that night. Later that day, when Kylie was back on her feet, she and her mother left for Nevada. They had decided not to stay in Pine Hallow a single moment longer, not with all that had happened. It was just too painful. Christopher hoped that they would be able to stay in contact, yet had no idea if the distance would ever allow it to be possible. Saying goodbye was so difficult that Christopher felt as though he would never really get over it.

  Christopher stood at the house, his suitcases in his hands as he made his way to Aunt Lynn’s van. He stopped for a moment, looking back one last time at the old Janes house and remembering all the memories he had made there, and all the people he had loved and lost before, after, and in-between. He wondered if he would ever see James again. Just thinking about it all made him feel as though everything had been so pointless. Bones was gone now—James, too. Kylie and her mother were in Nevada, and Kate and Poppy with them.

  Jack Olsen quietly made his way up the Christopher. He looked downright exhausted. After getting back from the hospital he had helped with the search for James.

  “Christopher…,” Jack said as he held out a hand to say goodbye.

  “Jack,” Christopher answered lightly, returning the firm handshake.

  “We will keep looking, I promise you,” Jack said, placing a hand on Christopher’s shoulder. “If he’s still on this earth, we’ll find him.”

  “I’m not sure that he is anymore,” Christopher said quietly. “Though, I don’t think he minds.”

  “Someday you’ll have to let me in on this,” Jack whispered as he patted Christopher on the back. He picked up Christopher’s suitcases and helped place them in the back of the van.

  Christopher paused for a moment as William Walker towered over Aunt Lynn. He could hear him yelling something like, “If you don’t straighten up your ways I’ll break you into little pieces and straighten you up myself,” and then he mentioned something about lighting her on fire afterwards. Bill quickly became silent when Christopher walked up to the car.

  “Bill,” Christopher said, nodding.

  “Have a good trip,” Bill said, and then opened the back door on the driver’s side for Christopher. “If you need us, you know how to get a hold of us.”

  “Thank you,” Christopher whispered as he watched the two oddly coupled men walk back to their truck.

  Christopher was about to step into the van when he felt something strange brush up against the back of his leg. “Stinky?” he asked, looking down at the gray-and-white cat.

  He carefully picked up the feline, examining him closely. The cat let out a low little meow, followed quickly by the tiniest wisp of blue-colored smoke. Christopher hugged the cat to his chest as he climbed into the van.

  “What’s that?” Lynn asked as she looked back to Christopher and the cat.

  “It’s my cat,” Christopher whispered, rubbing the animal gently behind its ears. “I’m not leaving without it.”

  “That’s all right…,” Aunt Lynn whispered, knowing she had no choice. She slowly put the keys into the ignition, started up the van and then began backing it out of the driveway. “So…what’s the cat’s name?”

  Christopher stared at the cat for a few moments, and then smiled. “Face.…”

  “‘Face’…?” Aunt Lynn asked. “What kind of a name is ‘Face’?”

  To: James Janes

  The Alena Cave at the Old Janes House

  Pine Hallow, Missouri

  May 31st, 2002

  Dear James,

  I’m sorry. I know it has been a long, long time since I have written. Please don’t think that I’ve forgotten about you after all these years have passed. I would never feel right if you ever thought that way.

  I just wanted to write to tell you everything that has happened, and things that might happen. I don’t know if this letter will ever reach you, but I just want you to know about these things that happened after you disappeared.

  I’d like to say that everything was just fine after leaving with Aunt Lynn, but life was hard adjusting to the new school there. It was as though I was adjusting to a whole new world entirely. Aunt Lynn and I ended up settling down in Troy, Illinois. It’s a pretty small city that’s about half an hour from Saint Louis, and was far enough that the great flood of ’93 never came our way.

  About two weeks after you disappeared, I made it down to Pine Hallow for Bones’ funeral. I had really hoped to see Kylie there, but she wasn’t. I don’t know why she wasn’t there, and I had lost contact with her completely at that point. I remember I was so saddened by it all, just seeing the house and the cave again. I wanted to go in, but couldn’t bring myself to do it; I knew that you weren’t there anymore. You know they actually buried your shoes in a coffin? I thought you’d get a kick out of that.

  I went to college in Bloomington, at Illinois State University. I was happy to finally get out from Aunt Lynn’s house and free of her. She wasn’t a bad parent, but she just was too irresponsible. I’m glad that she never saw any of the money that Bones had left for us.

  Two years ago, I finally got in touch with Kylie, on the internet of all places. Can you believe that? I invited her to come up the following weekend and stay with me for a week. Upon getting my address, she arrived the very next day. She never left. We were married shortly afterward. We are actually expecting a child of our own soon. Me, having a child. Can you believe it?

&nb
sp; I’m thinking about getting into story-writing, and maybe one day writing about our story, and what happened that short week during that unforgettable summer. I don’t know if I’ll ever follow through with it, though.

  I don’t know what else to add. A lot has happened, but in the same way not much has happened. Stinky, that stray cat from Bones’ house, he’s still with us. I don’t think he’s a normal cat, as he has lived an unusually long time. I’ve actually named him “Face,” because I think that at one time that was what someone called him. Alena once said that he used to be “one of the bad memories.” I think I finally understand that now. I think Face was a bad memory that Alena turned into a good one. Sometimes in life that is just what you have to do. I will keep you updated as things happen. Hope to hear back from you someday.

  Sincerely, and with love from your brother and sister-in-law,

  Christopher and Kylie Janes

  ***

  A Window in the Darkness

  By Matthew Fish

  Copyright 2011 Matthew Fish

  Act I

  The Prince of Foxes

  The Fox and the Old Wolf

  In a field of tall grass, flowing like ocean waves in the warm summer wind, lies an old fox hole. The hole is a quiet place, a warm place of comfort and simplicity. It has no greater purpose past the simple shelter that it affords the red fox.

  Thunder rumbles loudly through the air and echoes down the hole, the red fox being startled to its feet. The drumming beat of rain comes next. The sound is obtrusive. The fox grows restless in its constant presence.

  Taking a chance and leaving the safety of its hole, the fox darts out into the world, its head hanging low as it sprints. The fox stops beneath the shade of a tall ash tree. The tree is a familiar place, and, although its familiarity imparts a sense of security, it is a false sense that momentarily blinds the fox from the truth.

  An old grey wolf with cold blue eyes rounds the circumference of the tree, its teeth bared.

  “This is my tree,” the grey wolf snarls.

  Without any fear or hesitation, the red fox sits upon its hind quarters and confidently replies, “You must be lost, for this tree belongs to me.”

  “Leave now,” the wolf continues.

  The fox instead lies against the dry ground beneath the trunk of the ash, feigning comfort. “You are the one that must leave, for I own not only this tree, but the world about it. I own the sky, and the earth beneath it.”

  With an annoyed growl, the wolf asks, “Then, fox, what is it that I own?”

  “You only own the rain, old wolf,” the fox softly answers.

  “Leave now,” the wolf repeats. “Leave now… or I shall stain the ground red with the blood of your throat.”

  “You may kill me if you wish,” the fox says in a confident tone. “However, in death I will take with me all that I own. I will take the tree, so you will have no shelter from the rain. I will take the earth so that it will not drink in the rain water, and I will take the sky so that the endless sea above is no longer contained. Instead of raindrops, a deluge of water will rush into the void, and drown you.

  For a moment the grey wolf hesitates, and then continues with a growl, “How do you expect to convince me that this is the truth?”

  “Therein lies your problem,” the fox answers sleepily, “For I do not have to.”

  1

  It is Friday morning, and Jack Wolfe has just returned from picking up a pack of cigarettes from the gas station. He can still remember the taste of his first smoke; after all, it has only been about three weeks since he started. At first, it was stress, the stress of being in college, the stress of failing out of college. Then, it became something to do, a way to keep his hands busy while he was trying to piece together a solution for how he would break the news to his parents that the eight grand they contributed to this past year’s education would have been better spent being pissed down a toilet in the form of expensive booze.

  Ripping open the pack of Camels, Jack fumbles in his jeans pocket for his lighter. He places the lit cigarette to his lips and inhales deeply. His fingernails are worn from constantly being picked at, and his soft brown eyes are besieged by tiny half-moon circles of darkness. It was not as much the whole failing part that troubled him so deeply. It was the sudden realization that his future suddenly lacked any concrete form of certainty.

  He was, however, not entirely surprised. He had seen his grades continue slipping well past spring. He had wanted to do better; he had even felt that he could have done much better. However, there was an issue, one of motivation. Too often would he stay in bed, recovering from long nights he had spent doing nearly anything he could think of except studying and homework. There was time lost watching hours upon hours’ worth of television shows and late-night adult comedy, followed by about an average of fifteen to twenty minutes’ worth of pornography. And then there was his roommate Mike, whose singular hobby and obsession were videos, pictures, and stories involving larger-than-average breasts, or “massive jugs” (as he would often refer to them), and would talk about his beloved obsession for hours to Jack, even when Jack had other things to do. Regarding the giant breasts, even the word “massive” was often an understatement as much of the material that Mike viewed often crossed the line between the absurd and just-plain-stupid fake.

  Finally, and most recently, a beautiful distraction materialized. Into Jack’s life came an alarmingly cute young girl named Emma Creek, who he met through a short conversation regarding an art project in a class he had barely attended up until the last few weeks. It was a five-minute conversation that replayed in his mind over and over again, minus all the superfluous words that were exchanged. He liked to watch her talk, and smile—her mouth favored the right side in a half-grin that was strangely, uniquely, charming. Her eyes were happy, the kind that people often call smiling eyes, smiling blue eyes. Her hair was short and light, dirty blond with bright yellow streaks that curled at the ends—a playful haircut that seemed to bob and dance along in a complimentary way to her every move and mannerism. Emma, unlike most of his roommate Mike’s interests, did not have comically massive jugs. In fact, from what Jack could tell in an above-the-shirt evaluation, they were rather small. However, this revelation did not trouble him in the least, because they looked exceptionally nice nonetheless, as far as he could tell.

  Halfway through his cigarette, he realizes that if he had met Emma earlier, perhaps he would have tried harder in his classes. Then again, no one gets it right on their freshman year, right? He started to feel like the biggest idiot that walked the face of the earth. He finally meets a girl that he finds genuinely interesting and who is actually interested in him—hopefully—and now he has gone and royally bagged the “fuck me award” by failing nearly every class he was enrolled in—even failing the art class that he was confident was going to be a “sure thing.” Of course, he and Emma had only gone on one date: a short dinner with a bit of small conversation, followed by a walk on the quad through the many different trees that he knew not the names of. It had been warm, with soft breezes dancing about. Above the two had been dim stars, barely visible past the red glow of city lights. His stomach was filled with a warm feeling of uneasiness and elation at the fact that she reached over and put her hand in his, a touch that sent him reeling with emotions that hadn’t surfaced since he kissed Jenny Nome in eighth grade on a dare from a mutual friend. To whom he had lost his virginity two years later—the girl, not the mutual friend; that encounter happened the year after that. The date with Emma Creek ended with a quick kiss, the whole time with Jack thinking what the hell this girl saw in him exactly. It was not that he was unattractive. He had always done well with his boyish good looks and kind face. However, he often found that there was nothing interesting about himself when he would stop and think about it. He had very few interests, nothing above and beyond that of the normal Joe on the street or everyday fuck-head Tom. Jack had no great talent. He could not draw. He wouldn’t k
now what to do with a guitar if he picked one up, besides set it back down. He had some amount of intelligence, enjoyed literature, movies. Yet there was absolutely no motivation at all when it came to doing responsible things. Sure, other girls had liked him in the past, but they, like himself, were wholly unremarkable people as well, often interested only in material things and the promise of a weekend state of drunkenness, never looking past appearances and casual sex as sport rather than emotional attachment. It was the fact that someone so impressive and unique showed interest in him that amazed Jack and made his stomach feel like being on all the best parts of a rollercoaster ride.

  Jack flicks the finished smoke into the toilet and then proceeds to piss on it, fanning the smoke with an open hand into the bathroom vent. Smoking was not allowed in the dorm bathrooms; however, he figures he has a one-way ticket out anyhow. Making his way back to his cramped, messy dorm, he notices the tiny red light on his answering machine is blinking. Pressing the button, Jack lies against the bed, resting his head against the brick wall beside it.

  “Hey, Jacky, pick up. You there?” the familiar voice comes, sounding slightly concerned. “Jacky, it’s your brother, Daniel. I need you to check on mom and dad—I haven’t heard from them in a few months and I’ve been calling nearly every day. I’d come down myself and all, but yeah. Besides, you’re much closer anyhow. I know you’ve been dodging them, but just do me this favor, all right? Later.”