The Door (Part One)

  Chapter Six

  Another day passed.

  A week.

  A month.

  Hot May turned into the sauna that was June. My daily routine consisted of grueling manual labor around the house under the disapproving scowl of the Caretaker. I scraped and painted the exterior, installed new windows, and tended my garden. Strangers continued to visit, and I slowly learned who they were. Or at least, what groups they were. I was still convinced they were gang members. The savage Tili with their chameleon skin, freaky Komandi who drank too much, and the warrior women were called Woli. The golden-eyed cowboys were Nidiani and the men in gray space-jumpers from the Bikitomani gang.

  I googled all of them and found nothing, just like the Caretaker’s house didn’t show up on google maps and her business wasn’t listed anywhere online. Any pretense I had of her hiding illegitimate gang activity under the guise of a real live bed and breakfast vanished by the end of the month.

  She wasn’t trying to hide what she did. I just couldn’t figure out exactly what that was. I searched the house whenever she went to the grocery store. There was nothing to tell me her real name, no sign of drugs or other criminal activity I could identify, no records of any sort that might shed light on what this place really was, no photos. She didn’t even use a computer and I couldn’t find any sign she bothered tracking her finances. The old car had no registration in the glove compartment or license plates, either.

  All I knew: gang members showed up, spent the night and usually left after breakfast the next morning. Some spent more than one night, though it was rare, and some appeared at random times throughout the day. I saw some of the same people but most of the time, there were only new strangers.

  But everyone, even those I’d never seen before, knew about the Prisoner, and pretty much everyone I ran across asked me how she captured me.

  I never answered that question, because I didn’t know what to say. That I was sent here after committing murder in self defense? I didn’t have it in me to explain my circumstances. It was easier to let them speculate how a four hundred year old woman had managed to chase down, subdue and imprison a nineteen year old girl. What caught me off guard was how easily they seemed to accept the idea of someone imprisoning another at random. No one brought up the law, court, cops or what my family thought when they joked about it.

  Every day, I watched people magically appear and disappear from the road without ever understanding how or why. And every day, my plants produced fruit and vegetables at a rate that defied everything I googled online.

  I didn’t need the Caretaker to confirm what I firmly knew to be true after a month there. This place was special in a supernatural way that defied rationale and everything I tried to research online. Whenever I asked her about it, she pretended she didn’t know what I was talking about or flat out lied.

  The only person I could really count on was my mother, whose messages were frequent throughout the day. She kept me from quitting the first month or running away.

  Another two weeks passed.

  I’d been there a full forty-five days and was ready for vacation when the Caretaker tasked me to learn to chop wood. In summer. For no reason I could figure out.

  But I did it or at least, tried.

  Frustrated with my latest task, I flung down the axe after a day of failing to chop more than two pieces in half. The sun was setting, and a cooler breeze than the oven heat of the day brushed the back of my neck. I’d figured out after several days of bloody hands and blistered palms to wear gloves I dug up in the shed. Breathless and agitated, I let the axe slip to the ground and tossed my head back. I ended every day the same way: sweaty, aching and tired. I didn’t think I’d ever get used to using my body the way I was. I was getting stronger but not fast enough to keep from being exhausted and sore.

  Knocking came from the front of the house. It was the time of evening when random gang members started showing up. By the time I’d gathered my tools and straightened up the shed, it was past sundown. The windows of the house glowed with warm light, and the scent of another of the Caretaker’s homemade dinners wafted towards me.

  Her cooking was the only thing I couldn’t complain about. We rarely spoke, aside from her bossing me around and me occasionally snapping back, but that woman could cook. She kept me well fed.

  I waited until the visitors left the kitchen before venturing in. I didn’t care to talk to anyone, especially when they started joking about how I became a prisoner, and I always avoided the Komandi and their leers.

  Taking the plate she prepared me, I walked past the sitting rooms and office, glancing in as I went to see who was present.

  Woli, Bikitomani and Tili. My gaze skimmed over everyone. I registered Tea Leaf after turning my focus away and tripped over the rug at my feet. Stumbling, I caught myself and paused at the foot of the stairs, debating whether I should double check. A lot of his gang members had been in, but this was the first time I’d seen him since the first time it stormed. My quick glance revealed he’d grown a goatee and appeared healthy.

  With a shake of my head, I went upstairs. Our last exchange still stung and I was surprised by how raw the wound felt. I had kept the stupid rock, too, and kept it in the drawer with the penny and knife he gave me.

  What kind of person gave another a penny anyway?

  Upset to see him, I sat on my bed to eat my dinner in peace and then crawled into bed after a shower so I could wake up and start all over again in the morning.

  The next morning, I went through my normal routine of watering the garden then grabbing my breakfast to eat on the back porch to avoid the visitors. I reluctantly fished the damn axe and gloves out of the shed next and went to the pile of wood awaiting me. I’d seen people chop wood on television. Having never played sports and leading a rather sedentary life, I didn’t understand fully how my body was supposed to move to do anything physically taxing.

  “Where did she even find wood around here?” I looked around. I had a feeling the Caretaker found horrible things for me to do because she wanted me to either quit or leave. I’d also picked up the bad habit of talking to myself the past month, since there was no one else I wanted to talk to. “I mean, really. There are no trees anywhere!”

  But there were tree trunks. Tons of them had magically appeared overnight beside the garage. Already angry about my morning, I picked up the axe and began attempting to hack a trunk into pieces. The axe blade stuck in the tree as often as not, and I braced my legs on either side of it to wrench it free. My balance was all over the place. I was the worst wood chopper in the history of the planet.

  I spent an hour whacking the shit out of it before my anger erupted. I flung the axe away and planted my hands on my hips, breathing hard and no closer to chopping up one trunk let alone the twenty or more waiting for me.

  I closed my eyes and let the sun warm my face, doubting I’d ever be able to satisfy the Caretaker. Why did I care what she thought anyway? What was stopping me from refusing the stupid shit she had me do?

  I deserve this. I sighed. I killed a man, even if by accident, and this was my Purgatory. There was no other explanation for the supernatural weirdness or my continued suffering under the Caretaker, who was probably a demon in disguise.

  Quiet, gruff words spoken from behind me drew my focus. They were in a language I didn’t know.

  I turned to face Tea Leaf. Dressed in leather and velvet, his eyes were more blue today than any other color, and his chameleon skin had turned black, as did the skin of all Tilis when they were in direct sunlight. He was missing a layer or two of clothing, probably because of the heat, and a belt was slung low across his hips. No sign of weakness remained.

  My insides fluttered at his direct look, but I didn’t let myself dwell on why I had secretly hoped last night to have the chance to talk to him. He was handsome in a very different way, and the odd way he carried himself and intent gaze left me uncertain if he had purposely come to see me
or if I had somehow crossed into his path, and he was unhappy about it.

  “What do you want?” I asked, aware he couldn’t understand.

  He motioned to the axe I’d thrown in anger.

  “You want to chop wood? Be my guest.” I waved in the general direction.

  Tea Leaf retrieved it and returned. He pointed to the trunk, the axe blade and to my hands. And then, he chopped in slow motion, pausing to talk and point to his target and the axe blade as he went.

  He wants to teach me to do it right. But why? What was his game?

  I watched him slice through the trunk like he was born with an axe in his hands and it weighed as much as a popsicle. He held it out to me after a few strokes.

  I took the heavy tool grudgingly. He shifted my hands on the handle then stepped back.

  My next attempt was just as clumsy. I didn’t need to hear his clucking to know how bad I was at this.

  He stepped forward again, this time motioning for me to widen my stance and guiding me via hand signals on how to stand and swing. I did what he said, waited for him to help me adjust then swung. It was easier this way, and the axe came away from the trunk without a fight.

  I did it several times and then paused, almost out of breath. I met his gaze. “Thanks.”

  He gave me the intense, impenetrable look characteristic of every Tea Leaf to enter the house, the one that made me think they existed in a state of constantly being offended. I didn’t know what to think about his help, and I couldn’t help wishing I could ask him why he was being nice now when he’d returned the rock twice.

  Like a rock mattered. Yet for some reason, it had. As if aware of the quiet becoming awkward, Tea Leaf shifted and turned away, headed back towards the house.

  “Hey, wait,” I called.

  He paused and faced me.

  “I’m … Gianna.” I pointed to myself, feeling foolish. “Gianna.”

  “Gianna,” he repeated.

  I nodded. I pointed to him. “You are …?”

  “Teyan.”

  “Teyan.” It was pretty for a savage Tea Leaf. “Nice to meet you, Teyan.”

  He nodded once and strode back to the house.

  Even knowing how strange everything about this place was, I couldn’t help thinking he was just … odd. If language weren’t a barrier, would his behavior make more sense? He had so much more self-command than any nineteen year old boy I’d ever met.

  I watched him until he disappeared inside the house, disappointed in myself for not … I didn’t know. Wanting to talk to him then freaking out when he approached me. I was awkward around people in general and more so around men, but I didn’t want to be that way around him, and I didn’t understand why.

  I channeled my frustration at my world into chopping wood. By the time the sun set, my hands shook and the muscles of my upper body burned from use. I’d made it through half the stack of tree trunks and was too tired to care how many gang members were in the house.

  After putting everything away in the shed, I returned to the house, grabbed my plate from the kitchen and headed towards the stairs.

  Until I realized there were over thirty people jammed into the three rooms used to host visitors on the first floor. Tili and Komandi were crammed into one parlor, people from the other three gangs in the second, and the Caretaker and a single member of each of the five gangs in her office.

  If she needed help managing everyone, she’d command me to do something.

  Teyan was in the same room as the Komandi. I glanced once but not again, hurrying upstairs to eat.

  After a quick shower, I settled into bed. Seconds later, the Caretaker’s sharp knock jarred me as it always did.

  I went to the door and yanked it open. “What?”

  “I could use some help, girl.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Take them tea and coffee while I work with their representatives. A caretaker from another bed and breakfast is here. He can help you.”

  I sighed noisily. “Fine.” Closing the door, I got dressed in jeans and a t-shirt then returned downstairs.

  “Kitchen, Yankee!” the Caretaker yelled from the office.

  With an eye roll, I obeyed. Teacups were set out on trays and four kettles whistled on the kitchen stove. A man with golden eyes but no cowboy hat was at the stove.

  He turned when I entered, smiling. The cowboys were definitely the nicest of the bunch. He was handsome and blond with youthful features and a lean body that bordered on skinny.

  “You must be the Prisoner,” he said, eyes twinkling.

  “Yeah.” I didn’t even blink at the nickname anymore. “You’re the other caretaker?”

  “I am. I manage a place like this far away. I visit the Caretaker often, usually to pressure her into finding an apprentice to help her run this place.”

  “That ain’t me,” I said with a snort.

  “I don’t know. You seem to get along here fine.”

  You have no freakin’ clue. “You have a name or do I call you Caretaker Two?”

  “How about Carey for short?” He grinned.

  “Whatever.” I placed as many teacups on a tray as possible.

  I prepped everything and carried the first tray to the room with the warrior women, cowboys and men in gray jumpsuits.

  “Prisoner,” one of the golden-eyed cowboys greeted me.

  “Howdie.” I set down the tray.

  Most of the people were gathered in tight groups, whispering and oblivious. Returning to the kitchen, I watched Carey unwrap and steep teabags into the teapots.

  “So if you’re a caretaker, then you do what my Caretaker does?” I asked.

  “Host the Five Peoples? Not really but I do host other tribes.”

  “Five Peoples. Hmm.” Was that basically the same thing as a gang around here? “Tribes?”

  “Or peoples. Whatever you want to call them,” Carey replied.

  “They aren’t Indians.” I’d researched all the reservations around us in my downtime.

  “No.”

  “Can you explain the mystery at the end of the driveway?” I asked him.

  “You sure you don’t want to become her apprentice?” he countered with an amused glance.

  “I’m not staying here past my year, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Then maybe you shouldn’t be asking too many questions.” The warning was friendly.

  “I just want to know if all this – whatever it is – is illegal. I have enough issues with the law,” I said. “Could I go to prison for being associated with this place?”

  “No. Never,” he said quickly. “This place is sacred and is treated as such by all the clans. No harm may come to any Caretaker or their apprentices or property. It’s a duty very few are called to perform. In fact, I’m the first from my tribe who has ever been selected to become a caretaker. Most of the time, it’s your people.”

  “My people. As in …” I frowned. He was dancing around something, but I was also closer than I’d been since arriving at discovering what really was happening here.

  He smiled and returned to the teakettles.

  “What brings you here?” I asked.

  “I have a problem I was hoping she’d help me solve,” he admitted. “She’s the oldest Caretaker and the mentor of pretty much every Caretaker out there. When we have problems, we come to her.”

  “What’s your problem?”

  “It’s more of a who than a what.”

  “So … who’s your problem?”

  “You ask a lot of questions for not being interested in becoming an apprentice!”

  “Whatever. How is this rundown piece of crap sacred?” I tried a different angle.

  Carey laughed. “It does need work,” he agreed. “You’ve made good progress on it, though. It’s pretty much a refuge or maybe, neutral ground, makes sense. Open to everyone, the injured, tired, sick or those traveling.”

  “So the gangs … clans o
r whatever if they need a neutral zone, then there are issues between them, right?”

  “Yes. Our Five Peoples have been at war for a very long time with a common enemy.” He began pouring tea into cups. “But not here. This is a safe place.”

  Safe wasn’t the first word I’d use to describe the rickety house and its grumpy Caretaker.

  “I really shouldn’t say more without your Caretaker’s permission,” he added.

  I heard the firm note in his tone this time and sought some way to continue talking about whatever it was that went on here. “Five Peoples. I don’t think I like the Komandi but the others seem nice.”

  “No one likes the Komandis,” he agreed. “Though most people hate the Tili worse.” Something dark passed through his gaze. Just as quickly, it was gone.

  “Your people are nice,” I said. “And I love your hats.”

  He chuckled. “So do we. Some men have more hats than horses and decorate them with priceless gems.”

  There were moments when I thought for sure I’d discover without a doubt this place was supernatural. Just as confusing were those when these people seemed so normal, it was ridiculous to assume someone else’s customs were supernatural because they were foreign to me.

  Of course, watching the Tili turn colors when they went from the sunlight outside the house to the shadows of the interior defied normal in every sense. Maybe it was denial that made me choose what to ignore about the weird operation the Caretaker was running or maybe, I wanted to keep distance between me and this world, or any world, for fear of being hurt again.

  But I was curious, too, and constantly at war with myself over which would win: my need to understand what was happening around me or my fear of getting hurt if I grew attached to anyone or any place. It was too easy for bad things to happen.

  “Your people seem too nice to have issues with anyone,” I mused. “But I can see the Komandi and Tili being pains in the ass.”

  “Very true. Their two tribes are closely related. They are allies and have been since long before the Discovery… ah, for a long time.” He smiled. “My people allied with the Woli and Bikitomani and the two factions have been pretty much at war for a while or were, until we developed a common enemy. We’re not eager allies for sure.”

  I was imagining gang turf wars, which happened occasionally in the City. But I couldn’t understand what they were fighting over. Cacti? Desert? Carey was talking around something again. This much I knew.

  “Ready?” he lifted a tray.

  I nodded and picked up one.

  We walked together into the second room with the nicer peoples to deliver the rest of the trays and were greeted by a few smiles from those closest to the door.

  “Hey, Prisoner,” another friendly golden-eyed cowboy said. This one was much older than Carey, possibly in his fifties.

  “Hey,” I answered and set down the tray. I handed him a cup of tea. “What’s going on?”

  “The usual. You gonna tell us how the Caretaker caught you today?”

  This drew a few amused glances.

  “Nope,” I replied.

  “Ah. We could use some laughter.”

  “Sorry.” I straightened. “You need anything else?”

  “We’re good. Thanks.”

  I left and went back to the kitchen and the pantry in the corner packed with trays and other food and dishes. With some anxiety, I realized I was walking into the lions’ den next. Carey had stopped to chat with a few other men in cowboy hats and a warrior woman. I waited for a moment then decided I valued my sleep more than his help.

  In and out then to bed, I told myself. I carried a tray to the room where Teyan was. It was more crowded and resembled what I imagined a frat house looked like. Smelly men gathered around telling stories and drinking something out of flasks. While the people in the other room were tense, those in here seemed like they were having a reunion with long lost family members. They were loud, too, and I hesitated at the entrance.

  Several of them had dragged necklaces heavy with coins, gems, and other strange charms out of satchels and were telling animated stories to those nearby. I watched them, more puzzled by the men in this room than any of the other gangs. Occasionally, one storyteller pointed to one of the trinkets on the chain and began another story while those around him either laughed or listened intently.

  The trinkets looked like junk to me. And every man had charms that were different than anyone else’s. None of them were uniform, which left me at a loss as to what exactly they were or how they could be of interest to others.

  “Rough crowd,” Carey said, pausing beside me with a tray of tea.

  “What are they doing?” I asked.

  “The charms on their chains are all symbols for something. They’re swapping stories about the contracts, friendships, marriages, agreements, or whatever it may be that each symbol represents. Each is basically an alliance or negotiation of some sort.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said.

  “The Tili and Komandi have no written language and their dealings with others outside the tribes are part of a complicated system of honor and loyalty. Watch that one there.” He nudged me and looked towards two men – a Tili and Komandi – near the door.

  The Tili handed the Komandi a penny similar to the one Teyan gave me. The Komandi accepted it, held it up to the light, grinned and bowed his head. Then handed it back. The Tili smiled in return and pocketed the penny.

  “You see?” Carey asked. “They just agreed on something.”

  “How in hell did you figure that out?”

  “Think of the charm as a token of mutual agreement. The Tili hands the promise of loyalty and friendship to the Komandi. Usually, the token is of great value to the giver, a sign of respect. The Komandi acknowledges the value and gift. If he wishes the alliance to be two ways, then he returns the item of great value to the man it belongs to. If he isn’t interested, he keeps it, which means if the Tili wants his help or support or anything from him, the Tili will have to pay for it rather than rely upon their friendship.”

  As he spoke, my jaw went slack. I’d spent the past month offended by Teyan only to discover I’d misread his intention completely. “But … what if he kept it? Is it … bad?”

  “No. It’s the receiver’s choice. Either way, the giver must respect the decision. The giver is obligated to help the receiver, as symbolized by the token, but the receiver isn’t obligated to help the giver,” Carey explained. “Sometimes, powerful men collect the charms and boast about their ability to call upon all these people. It’s a one way alliance.”

  “Oh.” I could think of nothing else to say. And suddenly, I felt really, really bad about Teyan, even if he wasn’t bothered by the idea I hadn’t given the token back.

  “Complicated, isn’t it? Every one of those tokens is a friendship or agreement, a record of sorts.”

  I looked at the charms on the necklace belonging to the man closest to us anew. “How do they remember everything?”

  Carey shrugged. “One of the advantages of having no written history. They’re used to oral storytelling in place of the internet and are known for having terrific memories.”

  “And none of them speak English,” I said, gaze on Teyan. I wished I was able to tell him I hadn’t meant to imply I didn’t want to be his friend. Except … well, I kind of didn’t want to be anyone’s friend. I didn’t feel stable enough to have friends, and what happened when someone found out my past?

  “You don’t want them to,” Carey’s voice grew quieter. “These two clans … you want to stay away from them. Genocide, child murdering, and you don’t want to know what they do to their prisoners.” His eyes were sad, his look dark. “They’re monsters in every way. Some people said they should be banned from the neutral zones because of the atrocities they’ve committed.”

  My pulse quickened. I had kind of suspected the worst about them, given their roughneck appearances and how they greeted anyone not in their clan.


  “But they’ll respect you so long as you’re under the Caretaker’s protection,” Carey added. “Just keep in mind you don’t want to piss off one of them. They have charms for their enemies, too, and looooong memories.”

  I wanted to enter the sitting room even less after his information. I glanced at Teyan then away quickly.

  It was probably a good thing I didn’t know their customs before keeping the penny and knife, though I didn’t really understand why Teyan wanted to be my friend, either, unless it was out of gratitude for attempting to help him when he was injured.

  I trailed Carey into the room, tense and ready to flee at the first sign of danger. He was little less at ease, which worried me. With a tight smile, Carey set down the tray of tea and began passing out the cups and saucers to the savages in the parlor. Several eyed him, but most appeared more interested in exchanging stories with the others. Unlike the three clans in the adjacent room, the Tili and Komandi mixed and mingled with no distinction between them aside from their clothing.

  I kept my focus on the tea. I was beginning to feel like I knew nothing of the world outside of New York. How many places were there like this in the world? Did other people know about them? Counting down each cup, I lifted the last and passed it off to one of the savages when it happened.

  The Komandi beside the Tili I was serving smacked my ass hard enough to scare the shit out of me, and I reacted the way I’d been taught in self-defense training.

  I punched him. Hard.

  The Komandi was knocked back. He caught himself against the back of the couch and straightened, staring at me in surprise. The whole room fell into silence.

  “Oh, god!” I gasped, staring down at him in horror. Carey’s reminder not to piss anyone off pounded into my brain. My chest was too tight to breathe. If he didn’t kill me, I was going to have an epic panic attack. Carey had gone as still as the rest of them, no doubt out of surprise as well.

  Someone behind me spoke.

  Two men laughed in response. Then three. Then more.

  His shock wearing off, the muscular Komandi with his face painted in front of me touched his nose and drew his hand away to display blood. He held it up and spoke. Rather than sentence me to death, he started to smile.

  The men around us laughed.

  “Gianna ...”

  I blinked not expecting to hear my name in the middle of their gibberish tongue, and glanced over to the speaker. Teyan was smiling like the others. He’d been the one to say my name and appeared to be telling a story before he addressed me.

  “He … he says next time hit him harder or he’ll think it’s foreplay,” Carey whispered.

  The man before me spoke again, this time resting a hand on his heart and bowing his head.

  “And he says he didn’t mean to dishonor you. He didn’t know you weren’t interested.” Carey translated.

  Why would I be? The thought fled. I was still on the verge of a breakdown, not quite believing the man wasn’t going to kill me where I stood after all Carey said about the savages.

  “It’s okay,” I managed. “I hope I didn’t hurt him.”

  Carey translated, and several more men burst into laughter.

  “You can only hurt me by denying me your beauty,” replied the Komandi with the broken nose via Carey.

  What the hell did I say to that?

  The Komandi took my wrist and placed it at his throat.

  “He says next time you punch a man, punch him in the throat instead. It hurts more,” Carey said and joined me.

  “Um, thanks,” I replied.

  The Komandi released me. Carey nudged me away, for which I was grateful. I was frozen in place. Taking my arm, Carey escorted me out to the hallway. The hand I’d used to punch was shaking, and I was distantly aware of it hurting but too close to a panic attack to register how bad.

  “You got lucky,” Carey said. “They must be drunk to have such good senses of humor.”

  “Yeah. Thanks.” I pulled free from him. “If you need anything, let me know.” I spoke the words over my shoulder as I fled upstairs to my room. I closed the door and hunkered down, my back against it in case the Komandi changed his mind and decided to kill me.

  Sweating, trembling, panting, I let the mild attack take me and waited until the worst was over before I regained control of myself. Breathing deep and steady, I gradually unwound from the ball I was in and sat up with a grimace. My hand ached, along with the rest of my body.

  I crawled into bed and pulled the covers over my head, still afraid the Komandi meant to track me down and kill me. As I drifted to sleep, I went over what Carey had told me about the savages, especially their weird custom of linking stories and agreements to random pieces of crap.

  As horrible as Carey made them out to be, I still felt bad about Teyan.