Gated

by Matt Drabble

  “Emily, Michael,” he greeted them. “It’s wonderful to meet you both, but unfortunate that it’s under such sad circumstances,” he commiserated. “I’m Landon, Landon Sheldon-Wilkes, if you please, but don’t hold a silly name against me,” he whispered.

  “Did you know Janet well?” Emily asked.

  “Not as well as I would have liked, I’m afraid,” he said unhappily. “Perhaps I would have been able to help the poor woman; so young and such a tragic waste.”

  “Have you seen Chris?” Michael suddenly interjected, looking around.

  “From what I understand from Casper, he would appear to be too distraught to attend the service today,” Landon replied.

  “Casper told you that? Has he spoken to Chris? Because I haven’t been able to contact him since…” Michael struggled to articulate, “…since that night,” he concluded.

  “Mr. Christian,” the deacon said formally, “tends to matters of the town, all kinds of matters,” he added somewhat mysteriously. “You’ll have to excuse me, I have my own matters to attend to, as I’m sure you understand.”

  Emily watched as Landon looked over Michael’s shoulder and nervously exited the conversation. She turned to see what had spooked the deacon, but all she could see was Casper standing serenely and showing sympathy with the townsfolk.

  The service started soon after, and Emily sat as waves of comforting platitudes washed across the gathered congregation. Landon spoke clearly and concisely; his tones were pleasant and comforting. His rhetoric was soft and warm, nonjudgmental and gentle.

  Before they were all too uncomfortable, the service ended and everyone trooped gratefully outside into the cooling breeze. Emily linked hands with Michael as they stood beyond the church's entrance. The townsfolk all began to slowly shuffle towards the rear of the grounds to where Janet would be laid to rest.

  The church was a small, quaint, white wooden building, with a steeple top protruding through the roof. There was a porch jutting out of the front with an overhanging pitched roof and a pristine picket fence. The grounds were beautifully maintained as she’d come to expect with every inch of Eden. The grass was lush and a deep green, and, not for the first time, she marveled at the horticultural skills involved in sustaining such greenery in such hot and dry weather. The graveyard was lined with immaculate white marble headstones, all standing to attention in perfect formation. She glanced at the engravings as they slow-walked from the church. Most of the dates covered extraordinarily long lives: 98 years here, 102 years there. Before they’d emigrated, she’d morbidly looked up the average life expectancy in the US, and found that it was worryingly only around 78 years. The people of Eden were beating those odds out of sight according to their headstones.

  The burial was short and to the point. Emily did not know if any of Janet’s family from outside of Eden was present. She knew many of the town’s residents, but she could not possibly recognise everyone. As soon as the casket was lowered, people seemed to thin, as couples drifted away at the first opportunity. Emily and Michael shuffled with the crowd out towards the main road, following the crowd. It had seemed like an insufficient goodbye, but then she questioned what exactly would be?

  As with all of Eden’s major facilities there was a tram stop right outside, and they lined up with several other grievers. Emily hadn’t been to a funeral before, but the tone amongst the people seemed a little light. Perhaps it was the hot and sunny days that appeared to demand happier dispositions. She gave a mental shrug. Janet had seemed nice enough, and she’d had visions of forming a close friendship with her new neighbor, but Janet’s matrimonial betrayal had effectively ended that plan. She had watched her mother eaten away by her father’s constant wanderings and broken promises. If Janet was so unhappy, then she should have just left Chris. Her betrayal was unavoidable and unforgivable in her eyes. She knew that Michael would miss Chris if he didn’t come back and she felt badly for him. Michael didn’t make friends easily; she’d watched him struggle throughout their time together, failing to make any sort of meaningful connection with other human beings.

  She suddenly hugged him fiercely and kissed him hard. He smiled back at her. The love between them was palpable, and the other queue members looked shyly at them with warm pleasure. Their family would have to be enough friends to go around; she and the new baby would suffice, judging by the events of the day. They were indeed truly blessed.

  ----------

  Michael cruised along the smooth, flat road. The day stretched out before him, a welcome warm embrace full of cooling breeze and a little gentle exercise. There were large banners strung from telegraph poles beside the road proclaiming the Woodland Festival’s near arrival. Throughout the town, the talk seemed to be all about the festival. Michael was unsure as to just why such an annual show would take such precedence in people’s minds. There were massive posters and signs dotted around the town, and every store was abuzz with chatter.

  The funeral yesterday had been a dark day, but it had not taken away from Emily’s joy with their new home, and for that, he was eternally grateful. The morning had dawned, beautiful and blue as always, and Emily had woken him in the nicest possible manner. It was always said that death and sex were inextricably linked. He’d forgone his usual routine of sitting outside in the rear garden. Chris had still not returned, and the house next door was a sad, empty shell, devoid of life. He thought that maybe he should attempt to track Chris down, but he’d tried his cell on numerous occasions to no avail. If anyone would know anything, then it would be Casper, but he felt a strange reluctance to contact the town manager. Everything in the town seemed to flow through Casper and Michael felt the need for a little distance. Perhaps that was also what Chris would have wanted: a little distance, a little privacy, and who was Michael to intrude? He could only imagine how his own world would collapse if anything ever happened to Emily. When the car had smashed into her and taken their baby, he’d sat in an ICU ward not knowing the extent of his wife’s injuries - it had been a two hour eternity. The subsequent police investigation had turned up nothing but an abandoned car about a half mile away. The car had been apparently reported stolen earlier that evening, and the police were eagerly writing the incident off as joyriding kids losing control of an unfamiliar vehicle. Joyriding! Was there ever a more inappropriate phrase? Mindless thugs had stolen his unborn child and nearly taken his wife as well into the bargain. There was sure as hell no joy involved.

  The mountain bike beneath him cushioned his increasing weight comfortably. The front shocks eased up and down, but were barely required due to the immaculate road. He had finally gotten around to purchasing the bike from a recommendation, as per usual, from Casper. Despite his reticence over the man, the town manager knew every corner of his small kingdom, and could always be relied upon to steer anyone in the right direction. Due to the nature of the town layout, bikes were always a useful addition to have. The roads were flat and perfect, and everywhere that you needed to get to was only ever a short pleasant ride away.

  “Killians” was a small bike shop off of the square. The large display window held hanging bikes of all shapes and sizes on display. A purple awning that matched all the others in size, material, and shape hung outside. A cute black logo of a family cycling, along with the store's name, was embossed upon it.

  Michael had entered the store with a soft jingling bell that announced his arrival. He’d stepped into the air-conditioning cooled interior and paused, smiling and waiting for an assistant to spring forward as they always did. This man was in fact the owner. He wore a long white apron over a short-sleeved red checked shirt and stone colored shorts. His stocky boots looked fit for hiking and he wore long socks rolled down. He had long, bushy blond hair and a full heavy beard, and his face was tanned and lightly lined by the sun. Michael guessed his age at early thirties. He was fit and athletic looking with broad shoulders and toned legs, and obviously he practiced what he preached.

  “Jack Killian,” the man an
nounced with a broad smile and an outstretched hand.

  “Michael Torrance.”

  “So what can I do for you today, Mikey? We have the finest selection of bikes in Eden. Of course, it’s the only selection in Eden,” he laughed.

  Over the next thirty minutes, Michael was taken through a rigorous matching process that he thought would never end. He was measured, weighed, and his legs were checked for muscle tone and strength. Jack paired him with several models, each time standing back and stroking his chin thoughtfully before retiring into the back of the store and trying another model. Eventually, as Michael’s patience was wearing thin, Jack finally settled on an Airborne Cross Country Goblin in Coolaid Green. It was a hardtail 29er with a hydroformed frame, RockShox Reba RL lockout fork, full SRAM X7 2x10 drivetrain, ELIXIR R hydraulics and a WTB wheelset. Michael had no idea what any of that meant, but the bike looked pretty damn cool. He forked over his credit card, his mood not even spoiled by the hefty - slightly over a thousand dollar - price tag.

  “That’s the one, my man,” Jack pronounced as Michael sat aboard the bike. “That baby will get you around town or anywhere else that you want to go.”

  “Feels great,” Michael said, swaying from side to side, feeling the easy balance, and weight.

  “So where are you thinking of heading for?” Jack asked.

  The question sounded natural and friendly enough, but ever since the sheriff outside of Janet’s house the night that she died, Michael couldn’t help but feel a little suspicious. Ever since they had moved to Eden, the welcome had been warm, and their new neighbors had been involving, but all of a sudden Michael found his imagination clocking in and starting work. He knew enough about himself to realise that his new novel - where a once welcoming town suddenly devolved into one with sinister overtones - was bound to influence his overworked mind. He knew this in a theoretical sense, but he could still not quite shake the feeling that all eyes were on him and Emily. The looks in some of the stores felt a little too long, and the questions seemed a little too intrusive. Michael was working hard so as not to spoil their new home. He was always looking for the other shoe to drop and he did desperately want to be happy, but he still didn’t want to answer as many questions as he was getting, friendly or otherwise.

  “Oh, just around town, you know.” He patted his expanding middle. “Got to work some of your hospitality off,” he laughed good-naturedly, if a little forced.

  As Michael was leaving the store, he suddenly noticed faded green paint on the side of the bike shop. “Hey, Jack, what’s that?” he asked, pointing to the markings.

  “Just a couple of kids with too much time on their hands, I guess,” Jack replied nonchalantly. “Sheriff Quinn will get them soon enough, I’m sure.”

  Michael stared closer at the washed and faded paint. He could just about make out the fading words “Wake Up” - a strange epitaph. Perhaps it was a new band or pop culture reference that he was unaware of.

  He had soon been on his way with a wave and a smile. He’d woven his way a touch drunkenly down the main street. He had been a keen advocate of cycling in his youth, mainly down to the lack of any other transport, but it had been years since he had last owned a bike. He discovered that the old saying was true as he began to straighten his path and his momentum steadied. Soon he was cruising casually, not quite daring to take one hand off the bars to acknowledge the friendly catcalls as he passed people that he now knew. Ten minutes later he was out of the residential areas and headed back towards his home.

  The view out of his writing room had long since tantalized him. The long, straight deserted road ploughed a path through lush green fields and stretched off to the forest horizon. He’d always planned to explore this picture perfect view, but for some reason he just didn’t want to divulge those details to Jack Killian, or anyone else for that matter. Eden could be a touch smothering, he was beginning to find, and Janet’s similar words returned to haunt him as she’d used that same word - smother. As great as he had found the town and its people, he was starting to desire a little quiet, a little freedom on his own terms, and beyond friendly, but prying, eyes.

  He passed his neighborhood and continued out onto the main deserted road. The hedgerows swayed in the breeze as he left all houses behind. He was no farmer but the thriving fields looked pregnant with vitality and abundance. He cranked up the volume on his MP3 player and the stinging chords of the Foo Fighters blasted his adrenaline levels as he charged the road. He could see the flat landscape stretching out in front of him like a luxurious carpet, and there were no farms in sight, no houses, no barns, or silos. Eden was surrounded by a large wooden wall on three sides, a great reassuring barrier that separated them from the outside world, a world where random cars mounted pavements and babies were lost. It had been the promise of protection, security, and safety that had brought them here in the first place and he could see the great walls from here, off in the distance. The fourth side of Eden was where he was heading. The wall seemed to be unnecessary there, as the natural thick forest barrier grew in its place, spreading out through the space where the manmade barrier ended.

  The road in front of him began a gradual incline and he began sweating as his unpracticed legs pumped harder against the grain. Eventually he passed through the fields and shuddered slightly despite his effort. The temperature seemed to drop as he approached the woodland. He pulled up as he reached the edge of town; he rubbed the goosebumps on his arm wishing that he’d brought a long sleeve top; perhaps the weather was finally going to break. His heart sank a little with the thought of the glorious weather passing. He felt, as many did, that moods and the weather were inextricably linked.

  The woods seemed darker the closer he got, and a narrow pathway led from the now dirt track that he was riding along, as the tarmac gave way to a more natural base. The path wound its way up into the heavily canopied forest, a thin brown trail that disappeared into the darkness. As he’d approached the outskirts of the town, he’d been eager to take his new toy off into the woods - now, however, he paused. He shut off the MP3 player and took out his earphones. He was met with an oppressive silence; the world was dead and cold around him. Despite the thick, dense forest, there were no sounds of animal life within the wooded area, there were no bird calls, and Michael looked up to the skies and saw no fluttering wings of any variety. Suddenly he felt scared; it was a panic that started in the soles of his feet and climbed with clutching bony fingers up his legs and into his gut. His hands trembled, and his primal mind flooded with flight or fight inclinations. Anger took hold, and he cursed himself for fearing a trail that stretched beyond some trees in a dusky light, like some modern day Little Red Riding Hood promise. He tucked his MP3 player into his pocket and lowered his head. His feet were unsteady as he placed them on the pedals. His throat was dry and the fear tasted bitter in his mouth. He took his not-inconsiderable courage and plunged into the woods, his speed increasing as it was fuelled by fear. He brutally silenced the thoughts that screamed in his head, telling him that this was a bad idea. The temperature dropped the further he rode hard onto the upward slope of the pathway. He disappeared from sight of the road and the world as the dark forest swallowed him whole.

  ----------

  Emily munched hard on the pastrami and Swiss sandwich. She was only a little over three months along but her energy levels were seriously flagging. It was only lunchtime but she was already exhausted. Teaching had always been a vocation rather than an occupation to her, and she’d loved her job from the very first second that she’d stepped foot in a classroom and looked into the eager eyes of a room full of children.

  She was sitting in the teachers’ lounge; the room was bright and airy, the sofas long and luxurious, and on more than one occasion she had dropped off embarrassingly. The seating was a light orange and the room was painted a magnolia shade. There was a long table on the rear wall under a large sunny bay window. A top-of-the-line cappuccino maker hissed lightly with steamed milk; the coff
ee was easily as good as anything purchased in a store, and the cups were neither chipped nor stained. There was always a selection of fresh fruit and assorted pastries laid out each day. Emily had never felt so spoiled. Back in the UK, the teachers’ lounges were always a mad scrum of selfishness.

  The door swung open and Sarah-Jane bounced in. Emily had yet to see her fellow educator in anything but a positive mood.

  “Hey, Ems,” Sarah-Jane practically yelled. “What’s good here today?” she asked as she made a beeline for the deli counter. “Oh, I love Danish,” she garbled through a mouthful.

  “How are the monsters treating you, SJ?” Emily asked jokingly.

  “Oh, they’re not monsters,” Sarah-Jane answered seriously.

  Emily had found that Americans did tend to take everything that she said at face value. She stared at her friend with a raised eyebrow for a few seconds.

  “Hey, you’re joking,” Sarah-Jane responded, pleased with her deduction. “I’m getting good at this.”

  “If I tell you something, can you promise to keep it to yourself?” Emily asked.

  “I suppose so.”

  “No, SJ. Not suppose - you have to promise. You have to mean it and keep it,” Emily said earnestly. She stood and took her friend's hand for emphasis. “Promise?”

  “Okay, I promise.” Sarah-Jane used her free hand to cross her heart solemnly.

  Emily looked SJ full in the face and considered. She was desperate to tell her friend, but she and Michael had decided to keep the pregnancy a secret, until at least after the first trimester. She took the plunge anyway, her desperation for a confidant overwhelming. “I’m pregnant,” she whispered.

  Sarah-Jane’s face near exploded with joy. She grabbed Emily and hugged her tightly, jumping up and down. “That’s so wonderful,” she panted.