by Skye Knizley
There was a silver and blue telephone booth across the lot, and she strode toward it, occasionally glancing at the rusty old truck that sat near the edge of the highway, facing the booth. Something about it bothered her, maybe it was the smell of diesel and burned brakes, maybe it was the way it listed to one side, maybe it was simply the old, abandoned look it had. Regardless, she was wary. She skirted the bumper with another glance into the cab then stepped into the booth, leaving the folding privacy door open. She dropped a handful of change into the phone and dialed a number she knew by heart. It was early, but the person she was calling would be up. They answered on the third ring.
“Hello?” Nikki asked.
Cadence closed her eyes and rested her head against the glass of the booth. Hearing Nikki’s voice made her long for home, long to hug her just once more, to talk to her and share everything that had happened.
“Ceej, is this you?” Nikki asked.
The glass was cool on Cadence’s head. She concentrated on that sensation and the sound of Nikki’s voice instead of answering. Answering might put her in danger.
“CJ, I know it’s you. Please talk to me, tell me you’re okay and you’re coming home,” Nikki said.
Goddess, she wanted to do that. She wanted to go home, to stop running and be normal again.
“I know I say this every time you call,” Nikki said. “But it wasn’t your fault and I’m fine. I just want you to come home, I miss you. Everyone does, please talk to me and tell me you’re okay.”
Her walls broke, Cadence opened her mouth to say something, and her danger sense exploded, warning her of a deadly, imminent threat. She turned and saw two Men in Black exiting the motel office. One was tall, well over six feet, with long slender limbs and an elongated skull that made him look like an ancient Mayan. The other was of average height and build, and appeared to be completely hairless. Hairless tossed his hat aside and vanished, while the elongated man began to run. As he moved, his arms reached for the phone booth, stretching to an impossible length.
Cadence dropped the receiver and leapt out of the booth just as his arms wrapped around it and ripped it from the ground with inhuman strength. He tossed it aside as if it weighed nothing and regrouped, his limbs returning to a more or less normal size.
“Come with us, girl. Don’t make us kill you,” he said. His accent was Russian, with a strange lilt that made kill sound like keel.
“I don’t think so,” Cadence replied, climbing to her feet. “Leave me alone.”
“The hard way, then,” said the other.
He coalesced around her, a gaseous creature without features or form, and Cadence began to cough, inhaling him. The harsh, metallic tasting gas filled her lungs and choked her, cutting off her oxygen. She squirmed away on her back and coughed, trying to force oxygen into her lungs. After several tries, she spat bloody foam and drew a ragged breath that made her chest and lungs ache.
“Come with us, you don’t want to die like this, writhing in pain,” the gaseous man said. His voice was breathy and pitched high, like Marilyn Monroe speaking through helium. If she hadn’t been coughing blood, Cadence would have laughed.
“You should have ended that sentence with ‘boop boop bee doop,’” she muttered, climbing to her feet.
“We are tired of chasing you, girl!” The Slender Man said.
Cadence backed away and raised her shield, putting it between herself and both men. “Fine, don’t, its no skin off my nose. I still don’t even know what you jokers want from me.”
She had no idea if her shield could stop gas, but so far it had stopped everything including a speeding bus, so she was willing to take her chances.
“Forget Vasily and Starr, I am going to kill this little bitch!” Gaseous said.
Cadence angled her shield toward him and concentrated, making it thinner and wider to contain his spreading form.
“You know what happens to gas molecules when they’re subjected to high frequency sound?” She asked in a casual tone.
Slender Man frowned. “What are you talking about?”
Cadence shrugged. “Just wondering if he knew what was about to happen to your friend.”
She wrapped her shield around them both and unleashed her scream at the highest octave she could achieve. The sonic boom all but obliterated the Gaseous man, separating his molecules and sending them spinning away into the ether, while the ear-destroying sound wave burst the Slender Man’s ears and eyes. He fell to the ground, unconscious, bleeding from his eyes.
Beyond them, the scream continued its path of destruction, shattering what was left of the phone booth and breaking windows in several of the motel rooms. The neon tubes in the office windows sparked and went out, the television antenna on the roof bent and a flock of emaciated birds headed for the hills, squawking in pain.
Cadence sank to one knee as the clerk, a younger man, staggered out of the office and surveyed the carnage that, moments before, had been the front of the office. He looked at it in disbelief, wiping his shaggy hair out of his face, then looked at her.
“What… what the hell?”
“He did it,” Cadence replied, waving a hand at the Slender Man.
The clerk stepped toward him and Cadence returned to her feet. “Don’t touch him, he’s dangerous. Call the cops then lock yourself somewhere safe until they get here. Or better yet, evacuate and run.”
She shook her head to clear it and staggered toward the room they’d exited only minutes before. Using her powers always left her feeling weak, like her batteries were drained, and this time was worse. Every time she pushed herself, it was worse.
“Should you go in there?” The clerk asked.
Cadence didn’t look at him. “Probably not. Call the cops and hide, stay safe. And if anyone asks, you never saw me.”
She entered the room and looked around. It was almost identical to her own, same ugly comforters, same drapes and wallpaper. Two neat leather suitcases sat on stands at the foot of each bed, two carry-out containers sat on the table, but neither bed had been slept in.
“Are you in trouble?” The clerk asked, peeking through the door.
Cadence opened the nearest suitcase and began rummaging inside. “Its just better if you don’t tell anyone about me, okay? The Slender Man is the badguy, now go get the cops!”
The clerk scurried away and she finished her search of the first suitcase. There wasn’t much, just boxers, tee shirts and neatly folded suit pants, all black. In the toiletry bag was a strange collection of body powders and oils, all intended to make skin soft and supple. Judging by that and the size of the clothes, she assumed this one had belonged to the Slender Man. Maybe it wasn’t just her own abilities that came with a price.
She closed the case and turned to the other one, which contained a similar collection of clothes. In the bottom, beneath the clothing, were a few comic books, a girly magazine and a map of the western united states, neatly folded and kept in a wax bag. She opened it and placed it on the bed, careful not to smudge any of the writing. To her surprise, there was a notation for every place she’d stopped. Every motel, every side of the road dive, every club she’d worked was marked down. The two men had tracked her all the way from Lobo to catch up with her here.
The thought made her go cold. How could anyone follow her? Half the time she had no idea where she was going, she chose destinations at random, trying to be impossible to follow. How were they tracking her?
She folded the map and stuck it in her back pocket before closing the suitcase and hurrying back outside. She didn’t know if the two men had backup, but if they did she didn’t want to be here when they caught up with their comrades. She threw her backpack into the Mustang’s trunk with her guitar, started the engine and roared away without a second glance. She kept her foot down hard on the accelerator until the temperatur
e gauge was edging into the red, then slowed to a more sedate pace and rolled the window down. The cool morning breeze chased away the fear and she turned on the radio. She’d installed a tape deck, but someone had stolen all but a Bon Jovi tape, and she wasn’t really a fan. Instead, she sought out a local rock station and let it play, singing along with the songs she knew and trying to memorize the ones she didn’t. One bonus to her abilities seemed to be that she learned songs by ear, memorizing the chords and progressions like normal people breathed. By the time she stopped for another gig she would have a repertoire of whatever was playing on the rock Top 40. It kept her performance up to date and gave her a deep songbook, almost guaranteeing she could get a job playing virtually anywhere.
The song ended and the radio announcer came on reading the news. She turned it up when they mentioned destruction at the Blackberry Motel, which was burning out of control. There was no mention of any survivors, only that five were found dead, burned alive.
“No,” she whispered, slapping the steering wheel. “They were safe!”
“No, we weren’t,” the clerk said beside her.
Cadence jumped at the sight of the spirit coalescing beside her, and the Mustang fishtailed, spinning to a stop in the dust at the side of the road. It sat there for several moments with dust settling on the hood before she was able to look at him. He was translucent, like smoke in the evening. She could see the desert through him, like looking through sheer curtains. He was badly burned, and his eyes were melted away by the heat. The sight made her queasy and she had to look away.
“I tried to save you,” she said.
The clerk shook his head, blood weeping from his empty sockets. “You tried to save yourself. You could have fought them, but you ran! You let us die to save your own skin like you always do.”
“What did you want me to do?” Cadence snapped. “I don’t even know why these people are after me!”
“Does it matter? You leave corpses in your wake. You’ve got abilities, I saw them and you should have protected us.”
He looked away, out the window. “I was getting married in a week. Who is going to tell Ellie what happened?”
Cadence stared at the pony logo on her steering wheel, her hands shaking. “I’m just a kid.”
The clerk looked at her again. “So are most superheroes, haven’t you ever read a comic book?”
Cadence laughed and started the stalled Mustang. “I’m no hero.”
“I don’t think you really have a choice,” the clerk said. “You stood up to them and you weren’t afraid. You’ve got powers, sound-based I would guess, and you can see ghosts. Sounds like a hero to me. With great power comes great responsibility.”
Then he had a stupid definition of hero. This was real life, not a comic book and that line from Mr. Lee was getting tiresome. The heroes didn’t swoop down out of the sky, say something pithy and kick the bad guys in the crotch. In this world, the heroes died painfully.
“Like you said, I leave corpses everywhere I go. I haven’t seen my girlfriend in forever, she almost got killed because of me,” Cadence replied, driving the car back onto the street at a sedate pace. “Not a hero.”
“Because you’re afraid,” the clerk said.
“Hell yes I’m afraid,” Cadence said. “If you woke up in the trunk of a car naked with broken hands, you would be afraid, too.”
“But you’re not afraid of me,” the clerk said.
She couldn’t argue with that. She was startled by his appearance, yes. She hadn’t seen a ghost since Phoenix had passed into the light almost eighteen months ago. But he wasn’t frightening, he was just a spirit.
“I’m sort of used to seeing weird things, you rate somewhere around marshmallows in breakfast cereal and mushrooms on pizza,” Cadence replied.
“You’re braver than you think, Cadence Phoenix.”
The car filled with golden light and she glanced at him, not surprised to see that he was bathed in the heavenly glow just as Phoenix had been.
“How did you know my name?” She asked.
The clerk’s eyes reappeared and he smiled. “Perks of moving on. I gave the message I was sent to deliver, please tell Ellie Swanson I love her. It’s the least your can do.”
He vanished, swirling upward like a bad 60’s special effect. When he was gone, the glow faded and Cadence was left alone in the car. She felt guilty. He was right, she did leave them to die. She told them to hide and washed her hands of whatever came next in favor of protecting herself. But what else was she supposed to do, put on a goofy costume and swing to the rescue? Where did you even get a goofy costume, it wasn’t like you could just pick one up at the local shopping mall.
She sighed and leaned back into the seat. She hated feeling remorseful, it sat in her stomach like a bowling ball. The clerk, the nametag pinned to his shirt had said ‘Felix,’ had asked her to tell his fiancée he loved her. Fine, maybe that would help with the guilt.
Ahead was a side street off the highway, winding into the middle of nowhere. She turned the Mustang around and accelerated back toward the motel. There was a gas station not far from there, surely they would have a telephone book. There couldn’t be that many Ellie Swanson’s in Blackberry, Nevada.
***
As it turned out, there was only one Ellie-May Marie Swanson in the Blackberry area. She lived in a small two story house at the end of a dirt road. The house was old, with flaking white paint and a sagging front porch, but it was clear that the house was loved. Flowers had been planted around the porch and they were flourishing in spite of the desert heat. Thought the yard had no grass, it was neatly raked and arranged in a sort of Zen garden, or at least a Zen garden for someone who had only seen pictures. An old Jeep was parked in front of the house, and a State Trooper sedan was parked beside it, the lights still flashing. No doubt the cops were there to tell her about the accident.
Cadence parked her car on the edge of the dirt road and sat on the hood, strumming her guitar and snacking on a fried pie she’d gotten at the convenience store after looking up Ellie’s address. She was just wiping the crumbs off her hands when the state trooper exited the house, climbed into his car and started to drive away. He slowed when he spotted Cadence, and rolled down his window.
“Can I help you, Miss?” He asked.
She gave him her best teen-girl smile. “Just here to see Ellie, officer, and didn’t want to intrude. Is she alright?”
The trooper pushed his hat up with one finger. “As good as can be expected, I guess. She could use a friend, I’m glad you’re here. You have a good day now.”
He drove away and Cadence walked the short distance to the house, leaving her guitar on the passenger seat of the car. She felt odd walking up the steps to the house, how did you tell someone that you’d seen the ghost of a loved one? It sounded like a one-way trip to the funny farm.
She squared her shoulders and knocked on the screen door, half hoping that Ellie wouldn’t answer. A few moments later a young woman with red-blonde hair and cry-stained cheeks appeared in the doorway.
“Yes?” She asked.
“Ellie Swanson?” Cadence asked.
Ellie nodded. “Yes, can I help you? Look, if you’re selling Girl Scout cookies or something, I’m really not in the market right now.”
Cadence smiled. “I was never a scout. No, ma’am. Um… Felix wanted me to tell you he was sorry, and that he loved you.”
“I beg your pardon?” Ellie asked with fresh tears in her eyes.
“Felix. I knew him, sort of, and he asked me to tell you that he was sorry and to let you know he loved you,” Cadence said.
Ellie’s face darkened and she moved to close the inner door. “Is this some kind of sick joke? The officer just told me he was killed and now you’re on my doorstep mocking me?”
“No ma’am
, I’m not mocking you. I know how he died, at the motel. He was the desk clerk there,” Cadence said. “I think… I think I was the last person to see him alive and he wanted me to give you that message.”
She turned away and started down the steps. “I’m sorry I couldn’t offer more. My condolences, Ms. Swanson.”
She crossed the street and climbed into her car, only taking a moment to secure her guitar in the back before starting the engine and heading back to the highway. She’d wasted enough time on a fool’s errand. Nobody was going to believe she could see ghosts, trying to pass on messages from the dead was just stupid.
***
She drove until her eyes were sagging and passing cars were merely blurry headlights poking through the darkness of night. She stopped at a motel with the unlikely name of The Drifter and parked beside an old Harley motorcycle. The bike was old, with military markings and saddlebags of tanned leather the same shade as her own A2 jacket.
The motel was far off the Reno strip, almost out of town. It wasn’t much, two stories of white concrete with a central office and an offset restaurant with a bar, but it would do. It was the kind of place she wasn’t likely to encounter law enforcement, reporters or Men in Black.
The clerk was a middle-aged woman, attractive but not beautiful. She rented Cadence a room for two nights for fifty dollars without any questions and didn’t raise an eyebrow when she signed her name Pam Dawber. She then took her pack and guitar to her room, set them on the bed and adjourned to the restaurant, which sat on the corner of the parking lot.
The restaurant was bigger than it looked, with a small waiting area adjacent to an old-fashioned lunch counter. A handful of rough and tired looking men sat at the end of the counter enjoying what looked like steak and eggs drowning in ketchup, while three families were seated in the dining area. The food smelled good and the pies in the cooler behind the counter looked amazing.
