Root (Book One of The Liminality)

  “But why me, of all people?”

  “What do you mean?” said Lille as she poured our cups. “Why not you? Do you find yourself unworthy?”

  “Of course he does,” said Bern. “This is Root. The land of self-hate and doubt.”

  “Something tells we’re not in Root anymore, Toto,” said Lille.

  “For me to have these powers … it doesn’t make sense. I’m just James Moody. I’m a nobody.”

  “Ah, but you’re the son of Darlene,” said Bern.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “These things tend to run in families. I’m just saying.”

  “My mother … she had powers like this?”

  “I’m just saying,” said Bern. He took a sip and made a face. “This tea is weak.”

  “Count your blessings,” said Lille. “At least it’s hot and tastes somewhat like tea.”

  ***

  We headed off again, though Lille was reluctant to leave the hollow. She had already placed four stones on a terrace above the pond to mark the corners of the cabin she aimed to build.

  The silhouetted hills which had been flat and black as paper cutouts began to bounce and reflect the burgeoning light and take on definition and dimension, if not yet color.

  “That glow,” said Bern. “That is no city like we thought. I do believe that we’re looking a sunrise.”

  “What a shame,” said Lille. “I was hoping for some nice little village with a cozy inn and a bakery.”

  “Personally, I can’t wait to see what daylight brings us,” said Bern. “Even if it is a wilderness.”

  I walked with a bounce to my gait, feeling a bit like a girl from Kansas heading down a yellow brick road. I wanted to stay in the moment and enjoy the adventure, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Karla and the trouble waiting for me on that bench back in Inverness Station.

  The glow ahead brightened and rose above the hilltops. A perfect dome grew like a bubble into a golden orb that perched there, all speckled and splotched with craters and mountains.

  “Well what do you know? It’s not morning after all,” said Bern. “Certainly had me fooled.”

  My heart did a flop at the implications of this place having a moon. But something about it seemed off. Was it the arrangement of its features? Its size and color? I couldn’t quite pinpoint exactly what was wrong, but something definitely seemed different about this moon.

  A swarm of buzzing tingles overtook me, stinging my skin like a limb re-awakening after having fallen asleep. “Ah fuck … here comes the fade … I’m out of here, guys.”

  Bern sighed. “Ah … too bad. It’s down to me and the old broad again.”

  “If you don’t like my company mister, then fine, I’ll go back and start building my new cabin.”

  “I was just saying, it was nice having James around.”

  “Au revoir, James,” said Lille. “You take care now.”

  “Catch you on the rebound,” said Bern.

  But this time I wasn’t sure I’d ever be back.

  Chapter 51: Showdown

  Again, my head was a spinning bag of mush. Some rhythmic, treacly sound oozed through the air—music, I guess it was called. It played over the train station’s public address system. It must have been present before. I just hadn’t noticed it filling the gaps between train announcements.

  And then I could feel the bench pressing hard against my back, digging deep into my thighs. The old lady who had been sitting next to me was gone. I was relieved to find myself alone. The station was empty, not a train or passenger in sight.

  I must have left my brain behind in Root, because when I glanced up at the clock, I couldn’t remember how to tell time. It had something to do with the position of those fast and slow hands, but I might as well have been staring at a pile of runes.

  A man stepped out from behind a support column. He was smiling, but not in a friendly way. A bulge protruded from his denim jacket that was obviously the barrel of a pistol.

  His mouth moved and made noises, but it took a long while before I could process his sounds into meaningful words. He spoke with a thick brogue, but it was my head that was the problem. This was the worst post-Root hangover I had yet experienced. It left me feeling positively brain-damaged.

  And then—suddenly—the music became Van Morrison, the clock told me it was four in the morning and the man started making sense.

  “I said, you’ve run a long way, haven’t you, mate?”

  I wasn’t sure I could talk yet, but words found their way out.

  “What do you care?”

  “I care about the price that’s on your head, mate. And ain’t it my lucky day? They just upped the ante. Somebody out there’s real anxious to find you. Got your face plastered over all of Europe.”

  I kept staring at that lump in his jacket.

  “Are you gonna shoot me?”

  “Not if I can avoid it. You’re worth way more delivered alive than dead. But it’s a decent enough bounty dead, in case you’re getting any ideas. Now get your arse off that bench and do exactly what I say.”

  I stood slowly up, my body creaking and aching from all the abuse I had been inflicting on it lately.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Shut your face and walk towards that exit ramp.”

  “Wait a minute. Why should I? If they’re just gonna waste me ... I mean … why don’t we just get it over with here?”

  He shoved me hard. “I said get along. We’re going outside.”

  “I’m serious,” I said. “Why should I go with you if they’re just going to off me?”

  His eyelids flickered. “You don’t know that. Maybe they just want to talk.”

  “Yeah, right. Sounds like I don’t really have any reason to go. You might as well shoot me now. Why don’t you? Are you scared?”

  “Scared of what?” he chortled. “I’m not scared of no little yank twerp. Now get your arse moving.”

  “You never killed a man before, have you?” My eyes scanned the station for some sign of activity, but there was absolutely no one here, not even a bum.

  “I’ve cracked plenty of heads in my day. And I’d be happy to oblige and blow out your brains if you don’t get along! Even dead, you’re worth a decent wad of quid.”

  He shoved me along. I moved as slowly and clumsily as possible, feigning an injured leg. Karla had warned me not to leave the station, but I wasn’t sure how much longer I could stall. The guy was getting pretty nervous and pissed off.

  I walked slowly to a handicap access ramp that led up and out of the station. The concrete carried a sheen from the light mist was falling, droplets swirling under the street lamps.

  Now that we were almost outside, I was the one getting nervous. Time was running out. The odds of my escaping would get no better than they were at this very moment with me and him one on one. If this guy had any friends on the way, my chances of freedom would slide to the infinitesimal. I considered making a run for it.

  A dark shape shifted in the shadows behind a vending machine. A shoe scraped on the concrete.

  “Drop it!”

  Karla stepped out from behind the vending machine wielding a foot long chef’s knife. My thrill turned instantly to panic on seeing her pathetically inadequate weapon.

  “Karla. He’s got a gun!”

  The bounty hunter looked at her and chuckled. “Ooh! Such a big knife for a little girl. Who’s this? Your girlfriend?”

  “Put that gun down,” said Karla, with a growl to her voice. She came after him like a fencer.

  He laughed again. “No. You drop your blade, sweetcakes, or your boyfriend gets it. What on earth are you thinking? You’re ten feet away and I’ve got a gun. Do you think you’re a fucking ninja? You’re not even holding it properly.”

  “Oh? And how do you like the way my sister holds her shotgun?”

  “What sister? What shotgun?”

  “Isobel!”

  Isobel turned the corner
behind us and leveled an ornate shotgun with a burl wood stock at him.

  The guy wheeled around, using me as a shield. Karla pounced, extending fully, jamming the point of her blade into the wrist of his weapon hand. The gun went off as he lost his grip, deafening in my ear, hot gases from the barrel singing my cheek. I thought I was dead, but the bullet struck high on a wall above a ticket counter. Plaster crumbled down.

  I spun away and dove onto the tile floor, scrambling for the pistol before it could slide onto the tracks.

  The bounty hunter crouched, his good hand clamped over his wrist. Blood trickled down his fingers and pooled on the white tiles.

  “You won’t get far,” he said. “None of you. I’ve got friends on the way.”

  “You are not the only one who has got friends,” said Karla. “And don’t you dare think one minute that my little sister does not have the will to shoot. Her father takes her for skeet, and she is a very good shot and full of hate for evil men, aren’t you Izzie?”

  “That’s right, La. I say kill them all!”

  “Stand next to that pillar.”

  “What?”

  “Do it, or we will dispose of you here and now. It might interest you to know that we have all three contemplated suicide. It is how we met. Think about that. Your death means nothing to us. We have nothing to lose.”

  The guy’s cell phone went off. Isobel saw it lying on the ground next to the Coke machine and crushed it under her heel.

  “You’re all a bunch of loonies,” said the guy.

  “Now go! Up against the pillar. James, Isobel keep your guns on him.”

  I pointed the guy’s own pistol at him, though I had no idea how to cock or even to tell if it had a safety. Isobel kept the barrel of the shotgun leveled on his chest. Her gaze had a manic intensity.

  The bounty hunter complied grudgingly, leaning against a support pillar that was about as him. Karla pulled a bicycle chain from her handbag, went behind the pillar and reached the chain around his torso, twisting it until it dug into his flab and locking it onto a metal mount for a fire extinguisher.

  “That should hold you a little while.”

  “You won’t get far,” said the bounty hunter. “If he had come along with me they might have let him live, being a first-timer and all. But not no more. Not after this. Clemency’s out the window. They’ll have every miscreant in Europe on your trail. They’ll nab your bum. You just wait.”

  “Good luck finding us where we are going,” said Karla.

  “Oh? And where’s that? Let me guess. The Isle of Man? The Orkneys?”

  “Frelsi,” said Karla. “Come, Isobel … James. They are probably waiting for us.”

  ***

  We exited the station to a city that glistened. Veils of mist, silvered by the street lamps, wafted in the fickle breeze, droplets so tiny they defied gravity, rising and flying, refusing to fall.

  A wheeled suitcase sat next to a phone booth, pull handle extended. Karla slipped her blade into an outer pocket, but left the handle sticking out. Isobel concealed the shotgun beneath her oversized raincoat. I didn’t know what to do with the gun. I had seen guys in movies stick them under their belts in the small of their back, so that‘s what I did, worried I might shoot myself in a butt cheek in the process.

  Karla strode off towards a bridge wheeling the suitcase behind her. Isobel trotted to catch up. I checked the entrance of the station to make sure we weren’t being followed and went after them.

  The streets were abandoned. The occasional delivery van went by, raking us with its headlights.

  “So where exactly are we going?” I said.

  “Isobel has a cousin in Glasgow who’ll put us up. He’s the Black Sheep of the family. An atheist.”

  “Glasgow? But isn’t that kind of close? We can’t stay put there. They’ll find me.”

  Karla set her chin and swiveled her head around, regarding me with cool, clear eyes. “You’re not coming with us.”

  “What?” The ground beneath my feet suddenly felt a lot less solid.

  “Only Izzie and I are going to Glasgow.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It is simple. The only way for us to be together is to stay apart. Keep our hearts heavy. That is the trick.”

  “But that’s ridiculous! But it doesn’t have to be this way. We could run away together.”

  She twitched her head, quickly and decisively. “There is nothing left for us in this world. Root is where we belong. We just need to find Frelsi and learn how to ditch this place without giving up our souls. And now that we find those upper reaches, I think we are closer than ever. No?”

  “But there’s nothing there. I went on with Bern and Lille after you guys faded. There’s nothing there but wilderness.”

  “You can’t know that. You are here. You must have faded right after us.”

  “Come with me to Rome. I know how to keep us safe there.”

  “You are not safe anywhere with us, nor we with you. Three are much easier to track than one. You are better off on your own.”

  We walked onto the bridge as a heavy truck rumbled across and shook the grating. I could see a river churning far beneath the treads.

  “But what if something happens … and I never see you again?”

  “That’s a chance we need to take. Don’t you understand, James? Frelsi is eternity. Frelsi means freedom.”

  “I don’t care about fucking eternity. I want you now.”

  Karla stopped and turned around under the street light. Isobel stood by her side, rapt and enthralled by our quarrel. Her eyes were just as fierce and determined as her sister’s.

  “Think about what you just said. How stupid you sound. Immature. And after all you have seen. Think about it, and you will know why I feel how I feel.”

  I was shivering. There was plenty of chill in the air, but I didn’t feel cold. I felt adrift.

  “But where will I go?”

  “I have someone coming who will take you to Wales for now. But you must not stay in any one place too long. But Wales is a lovely place to start. Safe and lonely, where can you miss me and be miserable in peace.”

  “This is insane. Why won’t you come with me?”

  She rolled her eyes. “You are being dense again, James. How many times do I have to explain to you the art of surfing?”

  She looked at me with eyes as hard as the steel beams that made the bridge, and as soft as the rain. “Life here mostly sucks, James. And even when it is not, it is temporary. We both know there is something better … and forever. Victoria’s people know how to make it so our bodies can be discarded. But it will take time.”

  A small car—a Fiat—pulled up, driven by a thirty-ish mulatto fellow with collar-length dreadlocks and a pair of nose rings. Isobel hopped into the back, propping her shotgun up against the window. The guy got out and loaded Karla’s suitcase into the trunk.

  My heart tumbled, my innards swirled, as if my organs had been caught up in a violent storm.

  “James, this is Linval. His friend Sturgis should be coming along soon to take you to his Uncle’s place in Brynmawr. He’ll give you room and board in return for chores. He’s lost a leg and does not get around as well as he used to.”

  My head was swimming. “When did you … arrange all this?”

  “Wales was supposed to be for Izzie and me to go. Back when I still hoped you would never find me in Inverness. But then you came and now I see it is a better place for you. Izzie and I can lose ourselves in Glasgow. No one in the family is in touch with Linval. They don’t even know he is alive.”

  She opened the passenger side door.

  “Karla … no … I can’t do this—”

  “You are not to come to Glasgow, do you understand? And stay out of Cardiff, too. There is too much big time drug dealing there.”

  “But … Karla … I can’t live … I don’t want to … without you.”

  She paused and looked at me. Something in my eyes and pos
ture must have affected her because she stepped away from the car, swooped over and settled into my arms, pressing her cheek up against mine. I was too obliterated to hug her back, but my arms slowly found their way around her shoulder blades.

  Tears dribbled onto her collar and mixed with the raindrops already beaded on the nylon. I didn’t sob or anything, I just leaked. I wanted to say stuff but my words refused to congeal.

  “Don’t worry. You just ride that storm. Let your heart despair, as I will mine. The more you do, the sooner we’ll see each other in Root.” She lifted herself up on her toes and studied my eyes. “We are both young,” she said. “Time is on our side.” She kissed me on the lips, brief and soft, and stepped away.

  She got into the car without looking back and slammed the door. Isobel stared back at me, a faint smile curling her lips—a blonde Mona Lisa. The window rolled down. Karla jabbed her finger at the window towards a lone headlight coming our way across the bridge.

  “Here comes your ride.”

  The Fiat pulled out from the curb and did a three point turn, heading back across the bridge. A motorcycle pulled up, ridden by a young man with a rusty goatee. He wore a watch cap under his helmet.

  “Yo, I’m Sturgie. Hop on mate. We’d best be off. It’s a six hour ride to my Uncle’s place.”

  I got onto the back of the bike and looked across the bridge towards the Fiat’s retreating tail lights. I lifted my eyes to the chaos of the clouds just now beginning to reveal their true nature in the burgeoning dawn.

  The motorcycle roared off and I knew right then that my heart would never heal, would never be at calm, not here in this world, not ever, unless Karla and I both found our way to Frelsi. In Karla’s eyes, it was no big deal. We just had to find a way to stay as miserable as possible here without offing ourselves. That wouldn’t be so hard for me if we had to stay apart, but I could only pray that she felt the same about being away from me. I couldn’t help but feel that I might be reaching for the unreachable.

  Epilogue: What, no death?

  Wait, wasn’t he supposed to die? But he does. Just not yet.

  In a hurry, are you? Wishing me dead? There was a time when I too rooted for bad things to happen to me, because that was my only ticket to Root.

  Death will come for both me and you, I guarantee, before you know it. There’s much more to tell about the time that comes before. We’ve only scratched the surface here.