by Bryan Davis
Daryl set the other helmets beside Nathan's and took Kelly's elbow. “You got it, boss.” The two walked into the dimness and disappeared from sight.
After finding the lab at the front of the store, Nathan turned on a desk lamp and aimed it at the film processor. He draped the camera strap around his neck and scanned the controls. Good. It was similar to a machine his father often used when he was in a hurry and couldn't process the film at his home lab. Since his photos were frequently top secret, a drugstore owner would let him come in after hours and develop them himself, and Nathan often helped.
He flipped on the switch. If it had been shut down only recently, the chemistry wouldn't take too long to warm up, and there was no need to turn on the printer. He could just burn them all to a CD and print them later.
A dull thud sounded from the main store area. He jerked his head toward the noise. Nothing but motionless shadows in the dimness. A new chill raised goose bumps all over his arms. Were the girls safe? Should he have let them wander into the darkness without him?
He grabbed his mirror and jogged toward the women's department. As he closed in on the racks of clothing, he slowed, trying to make sure his shoes didn't squeak. A heavy foreboding of danger throbbed in his mind. Yet, no one was in sight — no hint of Daryl's usual chatter or the sound of footsteps. Everything was deathly quiet.
Still pressing his feet softly, he turned and walked backwards, using his mirror to see what lay behind him. Nothing. Only circular racks of ladies' sweatshirts and jeans.
He stared at the shadowy, feminine clothes. No sign of movement. Could they be in the men's department looking for his coat? He hurried along the dim aisle and again slowed and soft-stepped backwards, guided by his mirror. After passing the underwear and sock aisles, a rack of coats came into view, dark and indistinct.
A shadow darted from one rack to another — small, fast, fleeting. He jerked around. Nothing there. Walking on tiptoes, he approached the rack where the shadow had hidden, reaching his hand toward the thick coats hanging from the circular turnstile.
He snatched a coat and shoved it to the side. Still nothing.
Leaning over, he peered into the dark gap. Something touched his shoulder. He jumped and swung his fist but pulled back just in time to miss Kelly's chin. He shook his head hard. “Don't scare me like that!”
“Sorry. I wasn't sure it was you till I got close. It took me a while to grope my way over here.”
He searched the dark aisle. “Where's Daryl?”
“In the restroom. We found one of the customers hiding there, shaking like a leaf. Her name's Carlita. Daryl knows her, so she stayed behind to settle her down. I heard you walking around, so I knew I could find you.”
“Did Daryl's friend say why the place is deserted?”
Kelly leaned close and whispered, “Ghosts.”
“Ghosts?” Nathan glanced back at the coat rack. Still no sign of the shadow.
She nodded and pulled on his sleeve. “Come on. You can hear her story for yourself.”
“Not the ladies' room again,” he said, rolling his eyes.
She pushed him into the aisle. “Lead the way. You should be good at finding it by now.”
After taking a last look at the coat rack, Nathan hustled with Kelly to the restroom. Inside, they found a petite Hispanic woman leaning back in a lounge chair. Daryl, wearing a new coat with a tag still hanging over the collar, knelt at the middle-aged woman's side. She fanned her with a newspaper, blowing back her mussed black hair and open white collar. When the lady looked up at Nathan, her eyes widened. Sweat glistened on her brow as she raised two fingers. “¡Fantasmas! … ¡Vi fantasmas negros!”
Nathan translated in his mind. Ghosts! I saw black ghosts! Through all of his travels, he had learned enough Spanish to figure out what some people were saying, but he didn't dare try to speak it. He'd botch it for sure. “What did they look like?” Nathan asked. “Could you see their faces?”
The lady shook her head. “No sé cómo responder.”
Daryl dabbed the lady's forehead with a paper towel. “Kelly, can you be her interpreter? She understands some English, but she's pretty spooked. Besides, my Spanish stinks.”
“Sure.” Kelly set her hands on her knees and leaned toward Carlita. “¿Pudiste ver las caras?”
“¡Sí!” Her eyes widened again. “Una joven y un hombre.”
Kelly turned toward Nathan. “She saw a girl and a man.”
“Yeah, I picked that up.” Nathan read the sincerity in Kelly's glazed eyes. Barely able to see, she'd do anything to help. And now he had learned another one of her many talents. “One more question,” he said. “Did the ghosts speak?”
As Kelly leaned over again, she touched her lips. “¿Te hablaron los fantasmas?”
Carlita nodded vigorously. “La muchacha dijo que ella desea tocar el violín.”
“¿El violín?” Kelly repeated.
“Sí. Pero ella era muy amable.”
Kelly murmured, “I see,” then rejoined Nathan. “She says the girl wanted to play the violin, and she was very polite.”
Daryl rose to her feet and joined their huddle. “What should we do?”
“I think I saw one of the ghosts,” Nathan whispered. “Probably the girl. I'm going to see if I can catch her on film.” He pulled a wadded five-dollar bill from his pocket and gave it to Daryl. “Kelly and I'll stay here and hunt for the ghosts while you get Carlita over to Arby's for some coffee.”
Daryl took the five and unfolded it. “And some curly fries.” She yanked the tag from her coat and handed it to Nathan, pointing at the UPC code. “Just in case you figure out how to pay for it.”
He nodded, grabbed Kelly's hand, and led her out of the restroom. “If you'll take the mirror, I'll take the camera on this ghost hunt.”
“We should be wearing those safari outfits,” she said, squeezing his hand playfully.
Nathan handed her the mirror. “Save those for the next nightmare.”
With the camera poised in front of him, he led the way back to the men's department. When they approached the coat rack, he slowed his pace and tiptoed, searching the darkness for an animated shadow. The garbled radio music grew louder and faster, as if echoing his thumping heart. As he reached for the coat rack, a hint of movement guided his eyes toward an end cap stuffed with gym socks. A small human-shaped figure, as dark and shapeless as a shadow, stood at the edge of the aisle, facing him.
He raised the camera to his eye, turned on the flash, and focused on the diminutive ghost. Hair flowed past her shoulders, and feminine contours lined her frame, revealing her gender. Yet, with vague blackness veiling any details, she seemed like a bodiless soul.
As he reached for the shutter button, the background noise heightened to a frenzy, buzzing, beating, sizzling in his ears and sending a tingle through his body. His finger trembled as it hovered over the button.
“Nathan,” Kelly said, backing away, “maybe you'd better not.”
The ghost walked slowly toward them, reaching out her dark hand.
“Don't you want to know what's going on?” Nathan asked.
The noise grew so loud, Kelly had to raise her voice. “Yeah … kind of. But …”
Another shadow stepped up behind the smaller one, taller, thicker, obviously masculine. The static thumped in Nathan's ears like an audio jackhammer, threatening to break his eardrums. Both shadows now approached. In the camera's viewfinder, the girl's face grew clearer. A glimmer of light glowed in her eyes. Lips emerged, thin and delicate.
Suddenly, the noise fell silent. The girl's lips moved. “Nathan,” she said. “I finally found you. I need your help to play the violin.”
Nathan gasped. He hit the shutter button and staggered back. The camera flashed. Light shot out in a shimmering conic wave and spilled over the ghosts, illuminating every detail. Although the flash lasted only a split second, the light seemed to linger in the air, like glittering dust that spread the glow from one particle to the
next.
As if blown by the wind, the girl's hair streamed behind her. Blues and reds painted her dress and smock. Her face blushed with pink, accenting her familiar high cheekbones. Although she was taller now, her identity was unmistakable.
Nathan could only form the words with his lips. Francesca! But no sound came out.
Behind her, the man's face took shape — clearly Dr. Nikolai Malenkov, Francesca's adoptive father. His face carried a confused look, though not unpleasant. In his hands he cradled something long and thin, but with the flash still pulsing in his vision, Nathan couldn't tell what it was.
Like the embers of a dying campfire, the glitters faded, and the surrounding darkness swallowed their glow. Within seconds, the ghosts dimmed to black, then disappeared.
Standing in the middle of the shadowed aisle, Nathan lowered the camera and stared. His feet seemed anchored to the floor.
Kelly laid a hand on his back, her voice quavering. “Was that Francesca?”
He could only nod, hoping she could see his head bob up and down. His throat had clamped shut. What had he done? Did he send Francesca off into another dimension? What were she and Dr. Malenkov doing at Wal-Mart in the first place? Why were they ghostly shadows? And what was he carrying?
A whisper, or maybe an echo of a whisper, drifted through his mind. You, my love, are one of the gifted, and another is searching for you in her dreams. Perhaps we can guide her to a convenient place to meet you. And there was something else, something about a violin, but the dream seemed like wisps of vapor, transparent and impossible to grab.
Nathan shook his head. Could Francesca's phantasmic appearance in Earth Blue have been a manifestation of a dream? Francesca's dream? That would be truly bizarre.
He listened to the silence. The buzzing noise didn't return, only the gentle hum of a distant motor. Maybe the static had been a sign of Francesca's presence, a cacophony that needed to be decoded as they had done for the chaotic music at the observatory. If so, the silence proved that she and Nikolai were gone. Not a trace of moving shadow or hint of static remained.
Finally, Nathan forced out a few high-pitched words. “Let's get out of here.”
After finding a coat for himself and Kelly, he hustled back to the development lab, leaving Kelly at the adjacent vision center to try on glasses. The photo processor hummed, but the ready light, the indicator that the chemicals had come up to operating temperature, was still dark. He glared at the bulb. How long would it take? They had to hurry.
He found a plastic leader card and attached the end of the film with splice tape. No time to test a blank. It would have to work on the first try. Finally, the ready light flashed on. Perfect. Time to get busy.
Nathan loaded the card on the feeder sprockets, closed the cover, and listened to the chorus of noises. The film reeled out of the cartridge, then a snick sounded from inside, and the empty cartridge clattered into a recycle bin. The first step was underway.
“You all right over there?” Nathan called.
“Fine,” Kelly replied. “I can't find any glasses that help, though.”
“Hang on. This shouldn't take too long.”
As the machine hummed, images of evenings he and his father spent developing photos in a lab at home came to mind—a darkroom light, the odor of chemicals, a line for hanging the photos, and his father's tedious, yet thoughtful way of caring for every detail. By comparison, this machine was ten times easier.
After a few minutes, the last frame slid out the other end, and he sliced the roll free from the card with a pair of scissors. He then loaded the film into the scanner, pulled up the thumbnail images on the monitor, and clicked the mouse on an icon to burn the pictures to a CD.
When the process completed, he pulled the first photo up on the screen. A tremble shook Nathan's hand. Since this camera had belonged to Nathan Blue's father, who could tell what might be on the film? This picture showed Dr. Simon and Dr. Gordon standing together next to the telescope in the observatory. Near the top border the mirrored ceiling reflected the scene below it— a copy of the telescope and the two men.
Nathan zoomed in on the image. There was something in the mirror, something that reminded him of … Yes. That was it. A misty funnel spinning between Simon and Gordon. Could this be the arrival of Mictar?
He shook away his stare. No more time. He grabbed the CD, stuffed it in a protective envelope, and snatched up a new roll of film from the store's stock. He found Kelly sliding a pair of old-lady spectacles into its case and took her hand. “Let's hit the road!”
After figuring out how to pay for everything at the self-checkout lane, they ran outside with their valuables — mirror, camera, photos, CD, and helmets. Although the snow had stopped, the blistering wind continued. Bundling up, they shuffled to the motorcycles through a two-inch layer of snow. Nathan pulled out his cell phone and punched Clara's speed dial. A few seconds later, he let out a huff. Voice mail again.
They packed their load in the saddlebags, mounted the bikes, and plowed across the parking lot to the Arby's where they found Daryl coming out the door. Nathan handed her a helmet.
Flashing a thumbs-up, she yelled over the motorcycles' rumble, “Carlita's husband is coming to get her.”
“That's good. Thanks for doing that.” Nathan cut his engine and gazed at the snowy highway, now devoid of cars. At least Carlita was going to be okay, but what about Clara? Where could she have gone? The observatory? And where might Francesca be now? If she needed his help, he had to find her right away. Yet, Patar's warnings were all too clear. He had to play the violin, but should he get Francesca's help? If she couldn't play it by herself, how could he hope to?
He glanced at each of the girls in turn. Kelly shivered under her new coat, and Daryl's lips had turned blue. They couldn't go to the observatory, not in this weather. It was much too far away.
A ray of sunlight caught Nathan's eye. He looked up. The clouds streamed away far more quickly than normal, leaving behind a brilliant blue sky. And something else seemed strange. Sparkles coated the blue canopy, as if an artist had used glitter paint to spruce up the heavens. What could it mean? Another sign of interfinity?
After a tortuous ride through high winds that brushed them back and forth on the snow-covered roads, they arrived at the house. With the electricity still off, Nathan had to run inside and open the garage manually.
When they filed into the bedroom, they tossed their new coats on top of the trunk against the wall. The three sat cross-legged in a circle on the floor with the camera, the mirror section, and the photo CD in the center. With no laptop available, all they could do was stare at the CD's white paper envelope. The hidden photos would remain a mystery for a while longer.
Nathan reached into his back pocket and pulled out the music sheet he had found in the trophy case. “Almost forgot about this.” He spread it out close to Kelly's eyes. “Any clue? The only words said, ‘Foundation's Key.’”
She leaned to within a few inches of the sheet and squinted. “C Major?”
“Yeah. It's really simple. I could've played it when I was four.”
Daryl poked his thigh. “Don't just sit there, Mozart. Play it and get the mirror stoked for action.”
While Nathan applied the mirror to its place in the wall and tuned his violin, Daryl chattered. “When Carlita and I went into the Arby's, there was only one guy working, and he was zoned out, couldn't figure out how to use the register, didn't know the prices, you name it. Some guy in the corner was playing a little radio, cradling it like it was his pet hamster or something, and holding it so close I thought he was going to kiss it. Turns out, he was listening to the news, so Carlita and I slid into the booth next to his and eavesdropped. Good thing she didn't understand a lot of it, or she would've started shrieking fantasmas again.”
Daryl took a breath. “Apparently, a couple of those people you saved on Earth Yellow showed up here on Earth Blue. That author you told me about — Jack, was it?”
Sti
ll adjusting his violin, Nathan shook himself out of a trance. Although he had listened to every word, the image of Scarlet and her desperate Help me! kept flashing in his mind. “No. Jack was another guy from the plane crash. He showed up on Earth Red.”
“Right. Anyway, this author went up to his old house in Chicago and rang the doorbell. Seems his key didn't work anymore. His daughter answered and screamed so loud, the neighbors called the cops. So, when the guy explained his story, the media picked it up and went into a free-for-all frenzy. Then, a woman survivor showed up at her place of business after thirty years of being dead. You can imagine what happened. When that piece of gossip joined the media circus, every freakazoid end-of-the-worlder came out from under their respective rocks and announced the apocalypse. The whole world is scared spitless.”
Nathan lifted his bow to the strings. Those weren't the only scary happenings. Should he mention the weird sky? Probably not. No use getting anyone more phobic than they already were. “Are you ready?”
Kelly stood and faced the mirror while holding the music sheet in front of him. “I'm not ready. But go ahead.”
“Rarin' to go!” Daryl jumped up and hooked her arm around Kelly's. “That is … if there aren't any bottomless pits to jump into.”
Concentrating on giving the simple tune the best rendering possible, Nathan played it through flawlessly. As soon as he finished and the final note faded, the upper-left square of the mirror flashed like a camera and released a faint popping sound. Then, less than a second later, the square to its right flashed and popped. One by one, moving horizontally to the end and beginning again on the next row, each mirrored square flashed with a burst of light.
Before the series of flashes reached the third row, the image in the first square transformed. Instead of reflecting the room, it showed a snowy field dotted with small shrubs. The second square gave a side view of a gray-haired woman bending over the open hood of a car as if trying to do something to the engine. And on it went, square after square showing different scenes, popping up so fast, Nathan couldn't fully take in one before he shifted to the next.
