by Anton Strout
I shook my head. “I have no idea. It’s all too fast . . .”
Electronic flyers for dozens of the stores popped up on the screen, one of them coming to rest on a page full of designer camping equipment at one of the high-end boutiques here. A highlighted box appeared around one of the items.
“A flashlight?” Connor asked as he looked over my shoulder. “Does that mean anything special to you?”
“Not that I can think of,” I said.
“Well, think harder,” he said, snapping a little. I looked at him. The beard might be gone, but there was still a hint of wildness about him. “Sorry, kid. It’s just that of all the things she could have shown us from this mall, a flashlight seems kind of trivial.”
“Maybe it’s dark where she is and she’s scared,” I offered.
“Maybe,” Connor said, considering it.
“I don’t know,” I said after a few minutes of staring at it in frustration. I turned away from the machine to look at Connor, but he was staring down one of the corridors, ignoring me.
“Connor?”
He looked at me for a second, then pointed off into the distance. I followed his hand and stared, not noticing anything at first. Then I saw it. A lit-up sign for one of the boutiques was blinking on and off.
“It’s flickering,” he said. “Maybe that’s what she meant by flashlight?”
Without another word, we headed off toward the store, but as I went to step into it, the sign went dead.
“Hold on, kid,” Connor said. “It stopped.”
“I see that,” I said. “Let me check inside the store.”
“Just hold on a second,” he said, looking around. The corridor continued on in a blinding array of shops and restaurants. I joined Connor as he looked off toward an area where the corridor turned to the right up ahead. Then I spied it.
“There,” I said, pointing up at an overhead light flickering in its socket. “Good eye.”
The two of us raced off down the hall. Now that we knew what we were looking for, it was easy to follow the string of flickering lights as they led us deeper and deeper into the shopping complex. The place was sprawling, full of more shops and restaurants than entire parts of the city. As we ran to follow, much of the crowd thinned as the lights led on. When we rounded one final corner, the hallway ran on for about thirty feet and dead-ended in an art installation that was a mix of frosted glass, enormous metal gears, and large hunks of dark wood that were surrounded on all sides by television monitors running an endless loop of static. Standing almost twenty feet tall were two carved figures on pedestals on either side of the eyesore.
“Ick,” I said. “Modern art. And hideous modern art at that.”
“You want to interpret that for me?” Connor asked. “My brain is still playing catch-up.”
“Well, outside of the dead end, I’m thinking that this must be where building staff stores all their out-of-use art pieces. Look at all that. No wonder no one comes down this end of the place. That gear and block thing, those winged statues . . .”
Connor continued looking down at the end of the hall, his nose wrinkled as he took it all in. He gave an uncharacteristic nervous laugh and rubbed his eyes.
“Kid, I’m not sure if this is sleep deprivation or the crazy talking still, but those ain’t statues.”
I looked once again at the figures on either side of the frosted glass and wooden wall hanging. While I was thankful Connor wasn’t crazy, I felt my heart sink a little as I took in the sight before us. The statues were bulks of solid mass that each rose fifteen feet above the five-foot pedestals they were set upon. Their features were minimalist, as if the artist fashioned them with only a slight attempt to make them look vaguely human. In truth, the statues could have been the offspring of a mating between a human and The Blob.
“Intimidating-looking,” I said, “but so what?”
“Keep watching,” Connor said, and I did. There was nothing out of the ordinary to them, until the head on one of them moved. It moved at a snail’s pace, looking from one side of the hallway to the other. After another moment, it shifted its weight from where it stood from one leg to its other. This wasn’t a Hall of Presidents level of movement, either.
“They’re alive,” I said.
“Thank God,” Connor said, laughing and relaxing a little. “Wasn’t sure if my brain was running up to speed yet or what.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell him his laugh was still coming off as a little bit whack-job. Instead, I kept my eyes on the two creatures, watching as the second one began moving as well.
“They’re guarding something,” I said, “but surely not that art piece. What, then?”
“That’s for us to find out,” Connor said. He looked over at me and pulled aside my coat, revealing the holster on my belt. He tapped at my bat. “Looks like you’re going to need a bigger bat.”
“Screw the bat,” I said, reaching into my pocket and pulling out a roll of Life Savers. “I’m going with Plan B.”
“Which is . . . ?”
Connor watched as I started crunching down the entire roll.
“If those are some kind of guardians, then they’ve got to be guarding something. And I refuse to believe they just like hanging out by that hideous installation because they like it. I’m going over there using a little restraint and subtlety for once.”
“Geesh, kid,” Connor said. “It’s like I don’t even know you. When did you put on your big-boy pants?”
“When my foolishness got Jane into this mess in the first place,” I said, feeling a twinge of guilt.
“By all means, then, lead on.”
“Nothing like taking the direct approach,” I said, and headed straight for the accumulation of blocks, cubes, and gears. I raised my fist and knocked on one of the blocks of wood. It was solid, and the flesh of my hand did little to make a sound against it.
The second I started thumping on it, the statues came fully to life. From where I stood next to their stone bases, the size of their bodies was even more imposing. Claws and talons formed at the ends of their arms and legs. I stood there, caught somewhere between impressed and terrified. The two of them hooked their talons into the edges of their stone pedestals as they bent down to grab for me, their stone claws reaching out. If Connor didn’t grab my arm and pull me out of the way, they might have crushed me. He ran off down one of the adjoining corridors to our right, and I followed. My heart sank as I saw the hallway dead-end up ahead with a tall wall of curtained-off windows.
I looked back over my shoulder. The two statues had leapt off their pedestals and, despite being made of solid stone, raced after us with far more agility that I thought possible. I turned and ran faster, only to find Connor at the dead end, climbing up the curtains. I sprinted the last twenty feet and started up after him, finding the dark blue fabric made me feel as if I were climbing up an ocean.
About fifteen feet up, my arms started to burn with the effort. I had closed the gap with Connor and was about three feet below him and to his left when I felt one of the statues grabbing for me. It was like being swatted at with a gravestone. The other one lashed out with its claws and grabbed a handful of Connor’s trench coat, tugging at him.
“Keep holding on, kid!” Connor shouted. “Don’t let go, even if they pull you off!”
It was easier shouted than done. I did what I was told and dug my fingers firm into the fabric as it continued pulling at me. Above, there was a tearing sound as Connor fell free, but he was still holding on to a long strip of curtain as he went. With his section of the curtain weakened, it wasn’t long before I felt mine give and I fell back toward my living statue, covering it with the fabric as I tumbled behind it. Connor was already back on his feet as I struggled to mine.
“Pull!” he shouted and yanked at the fabric still clutched in his hands. It rolled over the statue and when it finally came free of the creature, I realized what Connor had done. Light streamed in from the windows behind the tears in t
he fabric, falling in large swatches across his statue. The low grinding sound of its movement slowed, and the parts exposed to the sunlight started to transform into an unmoving mass of solidifying stone. I couldn’t pull at my fabric fast enough. My statue seemed wise to what was happening and tried to bound away, but daylight was already hitting the surface of its skin. It was already midleap and got about ten feet off the ground before its own solidifying weight brought it crashing back to earth. Unbalanced by its petrified parts, it toppled over, flapping around on the floor of the mall.
Connor and I dropped the remains of our curtains and ran back toward the fantastical structure they had been guarding.
Once we arrived, we stood there marveling at it. “It’s not an art piece,” I said. “It’s a door.” As art it had been hideous, but as a locking mechanism, it was the most ingenious and extraordinary structure I had ever seen. Blocks of wood, steel, and glass were interlocked in a pattern of gears that looked like the interior of a giant watch.
“So now what?” Connor asked.
“I have no idea,” I said, running my gloved hands along the surface of it, feeling all the gears and slots where things could be shifted. “It is a door, and a complex one at that. I can’t begin to find where, or how, it opens.”
Connor looked over his shoulder. “Well, we need it open . . . now.”
I studied the door, hoping it might suddenly make sense to me, but it was beyond my comprehension. “Give me a week,” I said, slipping off my gloves, “and I might solve this Rubik’s Cube by traditional means, but I’m going with something more nontraditional.”
I put my hands on one of the large metal gears that stuck out, letting its coolness sink into my hands before pushing my power into it. The electric snap of connection filled my mind’s eye with images of people going through the intricate puzzle of opening this door. I pulled my consciousness up the surface of the here and now, slowing the images down in my mind so I could take the time to re-create each and every step as I experienced it.
“Hurry it up, kid,” Connor said. “I can’t be sure how long those stonies are going to stay half-frozen like that.”
“Don’t rush me,” I said. “I’m psychometry-ing as fast as I can here, Connor.”
“Sorry,” he said. “I’m sure the homicidal statues will understand.”
“Not helping,” I said, pushing myself into the vision of the next step. One of the glass blocks needed to be slipped over and down to release the next metal gear. I did as I saw. Connor fell silent while I ran through the motions and hurried through the rest of the puzzle. I had no idea how long I had been at it, but when I heard the final click of release set in the gears, I pulled out of the vision, shaking from my sugar depletion. I turned to Connor, dazed, only to see that the two half-stone statues had nearly struggled their way back to us. One dragged its lower half along using only its arms, the stone of its legs gouging a trail in the floor as it went. The other limped with one solid stone leg slowing it down. Too weak to speak, I let my weight fall hard against the door and it opened inward. Connor looked over in time to see the door swing open. Turning his back to the living statues, Connor leapt over me, grabbed my arm, and pulled me into the area beyond the door. He let go of my arm and I rolled across the floor as I caught glimpses of him heaving the door shut behind him. The sound of pistons and the whirr of gears fired up as the lock re-engaged itself.
“C’mon, kid,” he said, helping me back to my feet. He reached into my inside coat pocket and pulled a roll of Life Savers out. He snapped it in two and handed them to me. “Let’s get moving. I don’t know if they know how to get in here, but I don’t want to stand around here to find out, either.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled through a mouthful of candy.
We were in a dark corridor that led to a point of light about thirty feet from us. Connor headed toward it and I followed, scarfing down Life Savers as I went. The light was coming from a distant arch and grew brighter as we drew closer, but it wasn’t like the daylight outside the Gibson-Case Center. It looked like it was early-evening light, as if we were walking toward a sky fading into sunset. Connor stepped out of the tunnel first. I came through and stopped dead beside him. What I saw seemed impossible, and my mind had a hard time drinking it in.
We were standing on the edge of a forest at evening. A cobblestone trail led off into the distance, and through the trees we could see the spires of a castle rising up high. Something in my brain snapped. I wanted to say something, anything, to bring me out of my sudden dream-state feeling, but I was at a loss for words.
“Please tell me you see this, too,” Connor said. “I know I’m still running on crazy, but feel free to join the party.”
“I do,” I said. “What wardrobe did we just step through?”
Dark shadows flew from the forest, the low light hiding whatever was closing in on us. I had sense enough to pull my bat out and extend it. My eyes tried to follow the shapes as they flitted back and forth, but it was near impossible. Connor took a fighting stance and stood at the ready.
The dark shadows hit the ground about twenty feet in front of us. Despite the darkness, I could tell they were humanoid, which gave me a sense of hope. Being humanoid meant that my bat might work on whomever the enemy was.
I choked it up over my shoulder and ran forward, ready to strike. Connor grabbed my sleeve and stopped me in my tracks. He stepped forward, and one of the shadowy figures stepped forward as well. As it came out of the shadows, I felt the last part of my logical brain give up. Connor was standing in front of the figure, but from where I stood, it looked as if he was looking into a mirror. The face staring back at him was a younger version of his own.
13
Connor stood in silence for several minutes before he backed away. When he reached my side, he leaned over and whispered. “Jesus Christ, kid,” the color running from his face. “It’s Mini-Me.”
“Steady, Connor.” I stared at the figure in front of us. He wore a skull-and-crossbones-covered hoodie paired with skinny jeans. He looked like a poster child for Hot Topic, but looking up at his face, there was no doubt as to his identity. The teenager looked like a younger version of Connor, only with whiter skin and a darker mop of brown hair that was almost black.
“Aidan?” Connor asked, stumbling forward. His eyes were fixated and he looked like he was ready to fall over. I reached over and put my arm around Connor’s shoulder to steady him. Despite my effort, his knees gave out and he crumpled to the ancient-looking cobblestones of the trail we were standing on.
The boy in the hoodie looked perplexed.
“You know who I am?” he said to Connor.
Connor nodded in slow motion, his eyes never leaving the boy. “You don’t know me?”
The boy stared in wonder at Connor, but shook his head. “I recognize you from my nightly visits, but I don’t know you, no. Your friend called you Connor . . . ?”
I stood there, bat still held up high on my shoulder. I had no idea if this was truly Connor’s brother, but if I went by color chart alone in identifying monsters, I was pretty sure I knew what this thing was by its pallor alone. Vampire.
“You were the one I chased the other night,” I said, gripping my bat tighter. “I saw you at Connor’s, yet you’re telling us you don’t know who he is? Then why were you there? Why have you been visiting him like that for weeks now?”
The boy raised a finger to his lips, silencing me. He walked toward us, radiating calmness.
“All in good time,” he said, placing one hand on Connor’s face and his other on mine.
His touch was like a drill of raw emotion running straight into me. It swirled in my brain and filled me with what I thought must be his confusion and wonderment. Connor must have felt it, too, but he pulled back from the boy, scrabbling back across the cobblestones. He rose up on one knee as he pulled something out of one of the sleeves of his trench coat. A wooden stake.
The boy looked on, unconcerned. “This might no
t be the best place for that,” he said, spreading his arms out to the surroundings.
Taking my eyes off of him was difficult, but I pulled them away only to notice the presence of several dozen other “people” standing along the edge of the shadowy forest. I looked back at Connor, but he was still watching Aidan and brandishing the business end of the stake at him. I reached over, grabbed Connor by the shoulder, and pressed his arm down to his side while helping him up.
“Aidan may have a point,” I said. I looked down at the stake. “A better one than yours . . .”
“This thing isn’t Aidan,” Connor said, shaking his head. His staking arm slowly started to rise. “I’m not sure what it is, but it is not Aidan.” Connor leapt like a shot at the boy before I could stop him.
“Connor, don’t!”
As Connor charged him, the boy moved in a blur of preternatural motion as if he was The Flash. Connor’s arm rose to drive the stake at him, but the boy was gone from the spot and already whirring around behind Connor. Connor’s hand flew open as the boy swiped at it with impossible speed, twisting Connor’s arm behind him and placing his own arm around Connor’s neck.
“What are you?” Connor asked, anger thick in his voice.
“I think you know, friend,” the boy whispered into his ear, “but as I said, all in good time . . .”
The quiet crowd around us surged forward from the shadows, all with the same preternatural speed. They were from all walks of life—different skin tones, different styles of dress—but all with the same snarling look on their faces. Then I noticed even more commonality among them—fangs.
As the crowd closed in on us, Aidan looked up and waved them away. “Enough! I have these two under control.”
“You do?” I stepped closer, swinging my bat down in a preparatory arc before me.
The boy let go of Connor’s arm, then pointed to his own hand wrapped around Connor’s throat. “What part of I’ll crush his windpipe do you not understand, pal?”
A woman who looked to be in her midtwenties rushed like the wind up to the boy. She looked Hispanic with a head full of curly brown hair that looked almost alive in a Medusa sort of way.
