Both of Me

  I was nervous for myself. Floating around this world was a boy who might know my most terrible secret. What could he see? Did he hear the scream? Did he see my Dad’s shouts? Perhaps non-god was getting even.

  A gnawing loneliness worked through me, and I needed to find Elias. Guinevere had certainly discovered our departure. This responsibility was not lost on me.

  I turned the key and squealed backward. East. He would head east, perhaps waiting for dawn to guide his way.

  I accelerated onto the motorway. With every mile covered, there was less chance of finding him, and five miles down the road there was still no sign.

  And then there was.

  Elias walked on the side of the road, his pace brisk and his thumb extended. I slowed to a stop and lowered the passenger window.

  “Just where did you think you were off to? I thought we had a deal. I thought we were in this together!” I pushed out of the car and rounded the bonnet, carrying equally the urges to smack and hug him. I stopped well into his personal space. “Have you nothing to say for yourself?” I jabbed him in the chest with my pointer. “How could you just leave me alone?”

  “Leave you? I thought you left me.”

  I stepped back. “I was right there in the car. What notion filled your brain . . . Ah. I see, left you for FFA,” I said, and the thought made me smile. “Oh, Elias, I’ve never seen him. We aren’t together, so no worries.”

  “You’ve never seen who?”

  “FFA. The one who you . . . you thought I was with.” I paused. “He is what this drama was all about, isn’t he?”

  “Listen. I don’t know who you’re talking about. I went for a walk and you disappeared. How can I trust you if you aren’t reliable? This quest is no small matter.”

  The Other One.

  “I didn’t disappear. You started walking. It was you.” I slumped back against the car. How short my moments with the coherent Elias were becoming. Six hours. That’s as long as I had him, and I slept away the time.

  “But you’re right. It is no small matter.” I opened the passenger door. “Please, get in the car. We have some distance to travel, correct?”

  He ducked his head inside and pulled it back out. “What do you know about the destination?”

  Lighthouse. Salt air.

  Lightkeeper.

  “Nothing, but I am sure you will tell me, test me at the appropriate time.”

  Elias rolled his bag over the seat and climbed in. I slowly walked around the back. According to my mobile, we were thirty-four hours from the coast. We could be there and back in three days. A frightening three for Guinevere, but perhaps forgivable under the circumstances.

  With the sun in my face, and the feeling of loneliness fading to memory, I pulled back onto the road.

  “As you surely know, Salem is a very strangely shaped country. One moment you’re in it, the next you are not,” Elias said.

  “Yes. I’ve noticed that. One moment in, next moment out.”

  “Your importance as my guide cannot be overstated. As we search for . . . as we journey, we must remain in Salem. The country is surrounded by enemies, as dangerous as the one we’ve been sent to find . . .” He paused. “Only in Salem will we be safe.”

  So we’re looking for an enemy.

  Elias dug in his back pocket and removed a folded wad. “It’s time you saw the map. This will keep us on track.” He unfolded it and spread it over his lap. I glanced over and cleared my throat.

  “That . . . is an autumn constellation map.”

  “That is correct.”

  “Which, if we were looking for Andromeda, may serve a useful purpose, but we’re not looking for small points of light, are we?”

  At this, Elias hinted a grin. A rarity. “Not points of light.”

  “A Lightkeeper.” I shook my finger toward the sky.

  Elias quickly folded the star finder. “What do you know about that? Where did you hear that name?”

  How firmly I had judged those at the inn. How cruel, I thought, to gamble for Elias’s delusions. But as I listened to him, I could not escape it. This is who he was right now: the Other Elias. This was him. The real world had gone, and Salem was all that remained.

  “My position as . . . as your queen’s —”

  “Daughter, certainly. She would have mentioned the Lightkeeper to her own daughter. Do you have any ideas where we need to go?”

  “The East Coast, perhaps? With lighthouses and salty air? She said nothing concrete.”

  “My sense exactly. So we will use this map and your manual and piece together the precise location. See . . .” He swept his hands over the map. “As long as these stars show in the sky, we can be certain we are in Salem. I suggest especially watching for Orion. Based on its position, we can remain in Salem while we journey east.”

  “Is that so?”

  Elias nodded. “So during the day, we cannot travel or we may end up entering another country entirely. We will stop each morning in Salem and wait for night to fall. If it’s clear, and we see Orion in the correct position, we’ll know we’re still on track.”

  I frowned. “Or we could just drive to the coast.”

  Elias’s voice turned hard. “You are my guide, and my queen’s daughter, so I trust you with my life. But I was placed in charge of this quest. You need to trust me with yours. Trust me with how we should proceed: Only at night. Only beneath Orion. Always east. Oh, and one last item. As we pass through Salem, it would be best if we were not known. Our high profiles make us desirable targets. I think we should change our names.”

  A burn ignited deep within me. My name. Was it beautiful? Was it homely? It didn’t matter. It was mine. Untouched by anyone since my birth.

  “I would very much like to keep my name.”

  “Then at least use another. For our protection.” He thought. “Clarita. How does that sound?”

  “Awful,” I said.

  “Good, and what would you like to call me?”

  This is a very bad time to ask me this question.

  “Clarita?” he asked.

  Words forced out from between gritted teeth. “Jason Bourne.”

  “Jason. That will work fine. Now, daylight is almost here. We’ll need to stop shortly. Clarita, will you kindly guide this vehicle to the center of Salem? And we will wait for evening to head further east.”

  “Sure, Jason.” I removed my mobile, my voice a mutter. “The center of Salem. There is no Salem. You need proof? Here, watch me enter the term Salem, Wisconsin. Watch absolutely nothing . . . pop . . . up.”

  I stared at the screen.

  “What does your machine read?” So confident, I wanted to smack him.

  “There is one. Salem, Wisconsin, located in Kenosha County, between Milwaukee and Chicago . . .”

  “Of course there is. How long until our arrival?” asked the new Jason.

  “A couple hours.”

  “That’s more daylight driving than I’d like, but it’ll need to do. Wake me when we arrive.”

  Minutes later, Jason slept deep and content.

  I drove agitated and confused. In the recent past, I had forfeited my name, feigned citizenship in Salem, and now was driving toward the center of my new homeland.

  “London is home. London is home.” My breathed mantra confused me still more. Not since Dad was whisked away had home carried a positive charge. I gladly allowed England’s memories to fade. But now they were an anchor.

  Home was falling through the cracks.

  I blinked hard and focused on the road, allowing my thoughts to travel on paths that led back to Marbury Street.

  Clarita. How does that sound?

  Clarita. Clara.

  Home.

  CHAPTER 14

  One half hour.

  In one half hour, we would reach the town of Salem, and the lunacy would reignite. My mother would be hailed as queen, and I would slip back into character.

  I drove through morning waiting for my cue.

>   Elias slept, and I took my gaze off the road to stare at his face. It was perfect.

  “Which one will wake?” I wondered, and pushed my hand through his hair. He shifted and slowly opened his eyes. I smiled, and he smiled back.

  “Where are we?”

  “Miles from Salem.”

  He straightened, and pressed his nose against the window, at an encroaching tree line that advanced right up to the road. And what trees they were! Like arthritic hands thrust out of the ground, they twisted toward the sky. But unable to reach it, they gnarled in on themselves. Most disconcerting.

  Behind them, stalks of corn stretched to the horizon. We were on a road seldom traveled, and Elias glanced over at me.

  “Tell me a story, Clara.”

  “You called me Clara?” I asked.

  “Is there another name I should know?”

  I breathed deep. “No. Clara is the proper name. A story. Well, let’s see. Have I told you about my family? My sibs or my ’rents?”

  “No. I thought maybe you hatched.”

  I slapped his shoulder. “I have them. I have a father — at least I did. Let’s see, a story . . . He came home and announced that he and I were going on a date. This wasn’t unusual. Dad often took me to Pasqualy for ice cream. But this time he added, ‘We won’t return home until next week, so pack extra clothes.’ I remember squealing with joy. I don’t remember why.”

  “Attention maybe? You were probably getting everything you wanted from him. Your dad and you, alone,” Elias said quietly.

  “I was young. Eight. Maybe nine. We ferried our auto across the Channel to France, and began to drive. I don’t think he had a route in mind. We just drove and sang his stupid songs at the top of our lungs. We sang until I laughed, and then I laughed so hard I cried, and then we sang some more. We sang our way through Europe, south, south, always south toward the sea.”

  I paused. “It’s been a long time since I’ve sung.”

  And in each town, it was the same routine. Dad would pull up to the pub or the church, it didn’t matter which. “Stay in the car, my Clara.” He’d disappear for a moment and return, and then we did have a route. We drove to the shabbiest home in town — old ones, leaning ones — and pulled up the drive. “Knock and hand them this. Tell them it’s from a friend, a friend from afar.” He would hand me fifty pounds, and I would run to the door and hand them money, and together my dad and I crossed the continent, giving away all our savings.

  We reached Italy and sat staring out at the sea. His arm was around me and we had no money, but I never wanted to leave. And he sang, gently. I just listened to his voice and the waves and watched the sun set over the Mediterranean.

  We slept in the car on the way back; he had only enough money for food and ferry. I couldn’t wait to tell Mum about our trip.

  So I did.

  Dad slept in the car again that night. Mum was so irate, she would not let him in the house. I climbed out of bed and snuck out to where he was and crawled beside him. And he sang me a lullaby.”

  I shook my head. “I have no idea what the fool was thinking. All the money he gave away could have saved us when he chose the slammer over his family.”

  “Sounds like you gave it away too.”

  “Weren’t you listening? I was nine.”

  “He sounds like a good man.”

  “You know nothing —”

  “Stop!”

  Elias reached for the wheel and gave it a tug. We swerved into the ditch, narrowly missing two gnarled trees before I regained control and weaved back onto the road.

  I slammed on the brakes and yanked the key from the ignition.

  “Rule number one. Never! Never touch this wheel. Rule number two . . .”

  He didn’t hear rule number two.

  Elias pushed out of the Fiat and rounded the auto, knocking feverishly on my window.

  I tried to join him outside, but the door bounced against his knee and slammed shut. I fought to lower the window. “As I was saying, rule number two —”

  “Give me fifty pounds.” He thrust his hand into the car. I slapped it and pushed it back outside. “You are not giving —” I peeked over his shoulder. “The Antique Barn does not need my fifty pound . . . dollars. I have dollars. You are not giving them fifty dollars.”

  “How many dollars is fifty pounds?”

  “Seventy-five, maybe eighty, but it doesn’t matter! You’re not giving it to them. Yes, it looks dilapidated, and I’m certain they could use it.”

  Elias placed his hand on my shoulder. “It’s not a gift; I’m buying something from them.” He stretched his hand toward the front lawn. “Look at that beauty.”

  It took a bit of time to narrow down his interest. The Antique Barn’s property was littered with junk. Signs and tools and rusted motors, all meters from the road. But when I followed his gaze, there was no missing it.

  “You want to buy an aeroplane.”

  Elias’s face lit.

  “But the fuselage is riddled with holes. There’s no propeller. There’s one wing.”

  “These hands can rebuild it.” He lifted both paws to show me.

  I slumped down in my seat and slapped my own over my face. “And it’s bloomin’ big. It’s a plane! There’s no room in the trunk of a Fiat.”

  Seconds went by, no answer, and I peeked up. No Elias.

  And then he reappeared, giddy.

  “This car has a hitch.” He placed his hand on my shoulder. “Clara, let me do this. This would be . . . real.”

  I straightened. “Is anything about you real?”

  He quickly glanced over his shoulder, an eager puppy.

  “And you can what, make this auto pull that? And you can fix it? For what? You aren’t flying it. The last time I let you into one of your contraptions . . .”

  Elias slowly, with a shaking hand, swept the hair off my face. I could think of no more objections.

  “You’re going to need more than eighty dollars. I’ll meet you there.” I restarted the car, performed a neat u-turn, and pulled into the driveway of the shop.

  Together, we surveyed the junk, and I slapped my hand over his mouth. “Let me do the talking. All of it.”

  He nodded, and I lowered my palm. We entered the two-story building. “Horrors.” I sighed.

  There were no words for the interior. Every meter was home to mounds of rubbish, none of which seemed worthy to sell. But Elias poked about with interest. I wandered to the counter, and read aloud the large sign hand painted in crimson:

  Welcome to The Antique Barn, where a handshake seals the deal.

  “Elias? I have another rule. Do not shake anyone’s hand. Do we understand each other?”

  “Who do we have here, poking around my treasures?”

  An older man, greying and paunchy, stood on the bottom step, leaning heavily against the railing.

  “I need to have that plane,” Elias blurted.

  “Elias!” I turned back toward the gentleman. “We’re just browsing about your shop.”

  “Hmm.” The owner grinned. “So you don’t really need the plane.”

  “Yes, we do!” Elias pounded the counter. I eased him back.

  “No, we don’t.”

  “Seems to be dissention in the ranks.” He winked at me. “Name’s Kirby. Any interest in taking a closer look?”

  Elias pumped his fist. “Absolutely!”

  “Come around the counter, son. We’ll take the side door, leave Miss Negativity to continue her browsing.”

  They both exited. “Absolutely no negotiating prowess whatsoever.” I puffed the hair off my face, and followed.

  Elias was already circling the plane. “So what do you want for her?”

  “Getting right to it, huh?” Kirby removed a tin of Copenhagen and offered some to Elias. “It’ll give you hair on your chest.”

  “Don’t need hair. Just the plane.”

  He slipped the tobacco back into his flannel coat pocket and stroked the piece of junk.
“I’m conflicted, son. Really, I am. I’d love to let you experience the roar of flight, the wind in your hair. But it ain’t just a matter of what I got into her, not with Bessy here. She done become a symbol of my store, which is my life. Lettin’ her go would be like lettin’ go the heart of the place, lettin’ go my name.”

  Elias has no problem asking for that.

  Elias doubled over and felt under the plane, and soon stood holding a chunk of rusted metal from its underside. “How much, Mr. Kirby?”

  “Then there’s the sentimental piece. I flew her myself, when I was not much older than yourself. I flew her north in the Canadian lands. Rugged, lonely places. Me and Bessy, well, we come through a lot of weather together. And don’t think you’re the first to try and separate the two of us.”

  “Price?” Elias pressed.

  “Got all her parts in back. Every one. Just need a few days a’ peace to set her to rights and we’ll be sailing the blue skies again.” Kirby spit a grotesque wad onto the ground.

  Elias stood, waiting.

  “Son, I can’t see letting a functioning piece of aeronautical machinery go for less than fifty.”

  “Fifty thousand?” Elias asked.

  “It’s just a thing, ain’t it?”

  “Deal.”

  “Deal?” Kirby stepped back.

  “Deal?” I ran toward Elias.

  “Deal.” Elias slapped the side and reached out his hand. Kirby quickly grasped it, and I groaned.

  “Clara, I just sealed the deal. I just purchased a functioning aircraft!”

  “With whose money?” I asked, offering him my most horrid gaze.

  “Well now, functioning is in the eye of the beholder,” Kirby fisted the nose of the plane.

  “Not true,” said Elias. “You told me you could fix her up in a few days. We’ll be back through to pick up my functioning piece of aeronautical machinery, isn’t that right, Clara?”

  I lifted up my palms. “For fifty thousand?”

  “Now, hold on.” Kirby pointed at the plane. “I never agreed to fix nothin’.”