by Indi Martin
“Dude!” yelled Nathan. “Warn me before you shower me with glass! I’ve bled enough today!”
Chris laughed, and it felt so good, releasing a tiny bit of the anxiety and fear that had wound his insides into a knot. “Sorry,” he apologized, grunting as he shoved the bar between two planks of wood and pressed his weight down. The sound of splintering wood sounded unnaturally loud as it echoed through the cellar, and he suppressed the urge to stop.
“What about the thing outside?” whispered Nathan, watching him intently.
“I don’t think there is one,” replied Chris. “Remember, Luke said he killed Melissa.”
“We saw something at the door,” pressed Nathan.
Chris stifled a yell of victory as the first board fell away from the window. “I don’t know what that was,” he answered, his voice quieter as he peered through the broken window in the biting cold that rushed in from it. “But I’m hoping it just wanted Luke.”
“Maybe it was Melissa,” said Nathan. “Her body was missing when the lights went out.”
“Sure,” said Chris, not sure at all, but unwilling to consider the options and risk being frozen again by fear. The temperature in the already-cold cellar was quickly dropping now that the new draft had been added to it, and he knew they needed to get to a warmer place as quickly as possible. He shivered as a second board peeled away and fell onto the ground beyond.
“Cold,” said Nathan, wrapping his arms around himself.
“Yep,” answered Chris, grimacing with strain as he worked loose the last board between them and freedom. With a last push of effort, it, too, pried away, and their exit was clear, if small. “There we go,” he said, his voice a hoarse whisper of excitement. “You ready to get the hell out of here?”
Nathan nodded up at him, his swollen eyes wide and his beaten face solemn. “Absolutely.”
“Okay, let me get out and I’ll help you get through,” said Chris, grinning wildly. “See you on the other side, bro.”
He hoisted himself up on the narrow window ledge and threaded his head through sideways, the only way it would fit. He felt his shirt catch on several pieces of glass that he’d missed, but he wasn’t overly concerned about it. He reached through and pulled himself forward with the grass and the earth clutched between his fingers, chuckling inanely at how ridiculous it must look. A tall, lanky man wriggling through the birth canal of the cellar window. The air, though incredibly cold against his numbing face, felt and tasted fresh and free, and he reveled in it, drawing giant gasps of the freezing air into his lungs. He was at the rear of the house, and could see the electrical cables threading their way through the forest, on poles that looked ancient and forgotten. Gritting his teeth, he pulled himself free of the house in one last push, flipping over and sitting in the dead grass. “Okay,” he hissed through the window. “Your turn, Nathan.”
“Is it safe?” he heard his friend call tremulously from beneath.
Chris glanced around. He could see the boarded-up bedroom windows on the back of the house, and the exterior of the house looked as badly aged as the inside did now. The paint, where it still remained, was flaking and peeling in giant strips from the wooden siding, and the house itself stood at an odd angle, as though ready to collapse. “Safer than it is in there,” he called back, slightly louder. “Toss me the crowbar.”
There was a moment of silence, then he heard Nathan assent, and heard him climb up the creaking crates gingerly, pushing the crowbar ahead of him out of the window. Chris snatched it and tossed it a few feet away. “I got ya,” he said, trying to sound brotherly and comforting, as he saw Nathan’s head appear within the window.
“How did you fit through here?” asked Nathan wonderingly, peering at the tiny window’s frame.
“Carefully. Put your head sideways, yeah, like that,” directed Chris approvingly as Nathan squeezed his skull through the opening. “Now your arms, I can pull you out.”
“K,” replied Nathan, feeding his hands and arms through the small opening. “I’m not sure I’ll fit,” he complained, his voice rising in pitch slightly as fear colored his features.
“You’ll fit fine,” reassured Chris. “You’re not any bigger than me.” He grabbed his friend’s wrists and pulled Nathan, grunting, up through the window.
“Ow, man, stop for a second,” demanded Nathan. He was halfway out, his legs dangling somewhere behind him, and his chest suspended above the grass as Chris kept tension on his wrists. “I’m stuck.”
“No you’re not, suck in your belly.” Chris edged to the side, keeping his friend’s arms extended, to view the scene.
“I am sucking it in,” snapped Nathan.
“Well, keep sucking, I’m just gonna pull you harder.”
“This is ridiculous,” he muttered, but exhaled all of his air and braced himself.
The house creaked dangerously, a cracking through the air that made Chris drop his friend’s hands and look around wildly.
“Get me out!” begged Nathan, his eyes wide and frightened. “There’s something behind me! Please, please pull!”
A great shudder seemed to undulate through the wood, showering them both with sawdust. Chris bent down and grabbed Nathan’s arms, and yanked as hard as he could manage.
An awful snapping feeling sent shivers down Chris’ spine, but he was focused only on getting Nathan out of the house, safely, alive. He pulled with all his might, and Nathan was screaming, any pretense they’d made at stealth completely disappearing. At last, Chris felt a give, and Nathan was out, his legs propelling himself forward, and they tumbled together in a heap on the hard ground. The house gave another splintering shudder and as Chris watched, the cellar window collapsed completely between two massive layers of stone. A great hollow moan seemed to breathe through the window, a sound of loss and anger, and Chris dragged Nathan further away, grabbing the crowbar and brandishing it in front of him.
“Jesus,” breathed Nathan, looking at the solid stone that he had been trapped in only moments ago. “I think you dislocated my shoulder, though,” he said, holding his shoulder and grimacing.
“At least you’re not chopped in half,” Chris retorted, examining his arm. “This won’t feel great, but it’ll be better after, okay?”
Nathan gritted his teeth while Chris placed his foot against his side and pulled slowly downwards. The pressure built and built, until Nathan wanted to cry out, but then something clicked, deeply, and he felt himself retch. He was very sore, but the immediate, sharp pain had subsided. “Thanks,” he whispered. He shivered, all too aware of the biting chill around him now that this particular crisis had passed. “We’ll freeze out here.”
“Let’s head back to the van,” suggested Chris, and Nathan nodded in fervent agreement.
Running ahead, Chris scanned the darkness around them. It was dark as only a very rural place can get, with only a sliver of a moon visible casting a faint silver light. He reached the van and opened the driver’s door, pausing briefly to take in the incredible host of stars shining above him. He could see the faint path of the Milky Way spilling across the horizon, but there were stars everywhere, absolutely everywhere, and he smiled in spite of everything that they’d been through. It can’t be so bad, he thought to himself. It can’t be so bad with such a view. But his thoughts drifted back to those already lost, and he tore his eyes away from the sky. They needed warmth, and a way back to civilization. And then, he figured, they’d need a lot of therapy.
27
“Looks like it’s a pretty straight shot up 81,” called Chaz from the back seat, his face lit a dull blue by the tablet in his hands. Charlie exchanged a glance with Morgan, smiling wryly and nodding toward the GPS device mounted on the dashboard, which had already mapped their route.
“Thanks, Chaz,” she said, smoothly turning onto the main road out of the Unit complex.
“Should take less than three hours,” he responded.
“Yep,” she answered, her eyes on the road, still smirking.<
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Morgan sighed and settled further into the leather seat, trying to get comfortable. He was glad that Chaz had been included; not only did he genuinely want to find out more about the kid, but it was also a welcome addition to dilute the thick atmosphere that seemed to hang between himself and Gina. Something had changed, and he wasn’t sure it was for the better. When he’d called on her in Victor’s office to give her their go-time, she seemed strained and reticent to speak to him; when it came time to pack into the vehicle, she’d slid silently into the back seat beside Chaz without a second look. Morgan had also noticed she’d been fidgeting with something in her pocket again, and he sighed quietly. He had signed up for Unit to help solve mysteries, sure, it was what he loved - but he hadn’t expected his own old partner to be one of them.
The trip up I-81 was quiet and dark, their CB crackling with occasional driver banter that was sometimes useful (“Watch out, drivers, there’s an overturned car at mile marker 42 that’s slowing down traffic”), but more commonly raucous and blue. The black Land Rover sped silently through the night on its concrete track, moving continuously north as it cut through the mountains. Except for intermittent outbursts from Chaz listing interesting tidbits of information about their destination, the ride was bereft of any conversation between them. It was late; Charlie had chosen to depart that night instead of waiting for the morning, and Morgan hadn’t questioned the call. He felt sleep tugging at his eyes and obliged, closing them and resting his head against the seatbelt, listening to the crackle of the CB and the low thrum of the engines as they raced toward Pennsylvania. Sure beats flying, he thought, shuddering as he thought back to the tiny aircraft he’d had to take to Snow Hill, Maryland and his near-paralyzing panic upon having to board it. He smiled to himself, thinking on how much his life, and his view on the world, had changed since that night. He had taken a risk, breaking jurisdiction in a way he’d never thought he would, to keep his partner safe - and what had come of it wasn’t just a new job, but a glimpse into a reality he wouldn’t have believed if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes. He still wasn’t sure what he thought about the idea that the things that go bump in the night, things that frighten children in stories told around the campfire, may in large part not be fiction. For now, Morgan was content to do what he needed to do to keep those around him safe, and save those that were threatened by these forces so that they could live a normal life sheltered from the realities to which he’d been exposed. Eventually, he wanted to understand, but he knew understanding wasn’t necessary to do his job well. Not yet, anyway.
His thoughts became less ordered and began to wander as the comforting hum of the vehicle settled into his bones. There would be time for questions and answers; now was the time for sleep.
⇼ ⇼ ⇼ ⇼ ⇼
“Just remember that you must keep these bricks in place at all times, Ms. Gina,” he’d said, pointing out keystones in her mind that were the most important in her walls. Gina shivered, remembering Victor’s words and re-focusing, touching each keystone in her mind. It wasn’t easy at all, and she was exhausted. It may have been an easy drive for everyone else, but her features were drawn and her lips pinched with effort. She knew now how lax her defenses had been; if she had to do this all of the time, she wasn’t sure she could. Exhaling, she let them crumble, wrapping her hand around the talisman in her pocket, thankful that Victor had allowed her to have it. She had promised that she would try to rely solely on her walls instead of the amulet, and here it was not even two hours into the trip, and she had failed. She stroked the carved stone with one finger, feeling like an utter failure.
In retrospect, she wondered if she shouldn’t have simply asked to skip this outing entirely. Clearly, she still had a lot of work to do on her own, and she worried about being a vulnerability on the team; ever since Victor had worked with her to unlock her potential, she felt she was spiralling out of control. It used to be so easy. Now, it felt like work, and the wonder she had initially felt at being able to touch another person’s mind was now muted by fear and guilt. The talisman felt warm against her leg, and she could feel the thin veil of disconnection that told her it was working. She didn’t even care how it worked, just that it did.
Gina peered around the headrest in front of her to see Morgan’s head resting against the door frame and sighed. She had promised Victor that Morgan would help her with her sleep issues, but she was starting to have second thoughts about that. He needed sleep too, as Victor had pointed out, and she wasn’t even sure he could do much good. Besides, her last voyage into her dreams hadn’t been fraught with fear like they used to, and she was genuinely curious to know what lay behind the giant door at the bottom of the staircase. Still, exploring it during a mission was perhaps not the smartest idea. She had no idea what she would do for sleep, although she had brought a small bottle of PM meds. Gina had asked Victor about them early on, and he’d warned her off of them, advising that although they might help, they might also make it more difficult for her to wake from a dream if she really needed to. She considered this and thought that it might be worth the risk. Gina glanced over at Chaz, who was engrossed in some puzzle game on his tablet computer, and she looked away before he noticed her, choosing to stare out the window instead. She didn’t have the energy for being social. Turning inward, she surveyed the ruins of her walls, laying in bricks across a grassy hill; experimentally she tried to lift one and set it back in place, but it seemed too dense and heavy, and she let it fall back to the ground. Shaking her head, she frowned. Why is this so hard? she wondered, her mind flitting back to the conversation with Victor. “You just do not want to restrict yourself, not yet,” he had said, and she shuddered. That’s not true, she asserted loudly to herself, but her own words rang hollow in her head. She’d flushed with humiliation when he’d said it, because she knew it was true. Who could resist such a thing? Certainly not me, apparently, she thought, chagrined. How can I make myself want to shut it off?
⇼ ⇼ ⇼ ⇼ ⇼
Morgan was startled awake by lights, and jolted upright to see the overhead on and Charlie smiling at him from the driver’s seat. “Nice nap?” she purred. “Get your shoes on, we’re at grandma’s house.”
He mumbled something incoherently back at her that even he didn’t understand and yawned. They were parked in front of a chain hotel whose rudely fluorescent lights reached out and slapped Morgan fully awake. Grabbing his bottle of water, he drained it before stepping out into the chill night air. It was 2:45am.
“What’s the story, Charlie?”
She shrugged, lifting her wheeled suitcase easily out of the back. “Not sure. I know you think it’s a hoax, but I really think we should approach it like it isn’t.”
“I agree,” mumbled Gina, who was still half-sitting in the back seat. “If they really are in trouble, I’d feel terrible if we pussyfoot around and something happens.”
Morgan nodded in agreement. “I don’t have a problem with that. Although, they’ve been missing for a while. If something really is up here, I’m not sure we’ll get to them in time anyway, but I agree that we should try. So, what’s the plan?”
“Well, let’s get settled first, check in and get our stuff inside. If everyone’s up for it, we can swing out to where I think Locke’s house is and see if we get lucky. Chaz, you have the coords I gave you, can you put them in the GPS?” Chaz nodded, and bounded off. “Good. If we can find it tonight, great. If not, we’ll have to ask around in the morning, surely someone in Lykens will have a better idea where to look.”
“You don’t have an address?” asked Gina.
“Sort of,” replied Charlie. “Lykens only got mail carriers recently, before that everyone had a post office box and came into town for their mail. Still happens in a lot of smaller towns. So the mailing address on record for Esther Locke was her PO box in Lykens proper. I have a general idea where her house is, but not an exact one, and as far as I can tell it hasn’t been sold to or inhabited by anyone since her dea
th, so the records are a bit sketchy. Electrical records show the house had electricity, but only that it was attached somewhere along one of the hubs, which is less helpful than you might think. There are no water, gas, or trash records.” She shrugged. “Not always an exact science.”
“That makes sense,” answered Gina, her head down as she pulled out her suitcase. Morgan furrowed his brow as he observed her. She seemed tired and flat, a two-dimensional representation of her normal extroverted, fiery self, as though she had been partially deflated. Even her lovely, strawberry hair seemed to dangle limply from where it emerged from her ponytail.
“Well, I’m up for another ride tonight,” he said, not taking his eyes off of his partner. “Even if we can’t find it, we can at least get a feel for the layout of Lykens.”
“Of course you’re up for it, you had a nap!” snapped Charlie playfully. She turned on her heel and walked toward the office. “I’ll check us in,” she called over her shoulder.
Morgan stepped forward and placed his hand lightly on Gina’s frame. “Are you okay?” he asked quietly, keeping his voice low enough for only her to hear.
“Just tired,” she said, glancing up at him briefly before lowering her eyes again. She looked like she was about to cry, which alarmed him terribly. There weren’t many things that Morgan would say he accepted as definitive fact, but one of them was that Gina Harwood was not a crier.
“Don’t shut me out, Gina, not me. I’m here if you need me.”
She nodded and smiled a ghost of a smile. “I know, thank you.”
“Got it plugged in,” announced Chaz, bouncing back toward them. “Y’all should let me drive.”
“Fine by me,” called Morgan, chuckling in spite of himself. He knew that Charlie would dissent heavily to that suggestion.
