Frelsi (Book Two of The Liminality) Page 9

Isobel squeezed her sister’s hand.

  “Oh my.” said Jessica, shuddering. She put her arm around Karla and they walked three abreast down the path. “I’m sure James is just fine. He’s probably just stopped off someplace for dinner. You’ll see.”

  ***

  Morning announced itself not through birdsong, but through Renfrew singing ‘Sisters of Mercy’ at the top of his lungs. It was bright behind the shades, but a deep chill hung in the air.

  Karla shot up from the mattress. “Is he here? Did he come back?”

  Jessica already had her jeans and fleece jacket on, and was brushing her hair in the mirror by the door. She said nothing, but Karla could see her face in the mirror, all blank and grim.

  “Did he not come?”

  Jessica shook her head. A wave of wooziness swept over Karla. She held onto the bedpost to steady herself.

  “Renfrew doesn’t know yet. James is not going to hear the end of it if he misses the morning chores.”

  “I will come and help.” Karla scrambled out of the bed where Izzie still slumbered. She pulled on her jeans. “We will let my sister sleep.”

  Karla fought back tears but failed. Her thoughts went straight to the worst case scenarios: bounty hunters or her father. Uno e lo stesso—one and the same. Dribbles poured down her cheeks.

  “Oh, hon. I’m sure he’s fine. He’s probably still up there looking, trying extra hard to find you.”

  “I just pray he’s alright. Our father, he is a monster.”

  Chapter 12: Joshua

  I laid atop the piano, staring out of the pit, watching the sky yellow and darken. I pondered schemes for getting out of this freaking hole. The walls were nearly vertical and at least a hundred feet deep, about half of it solid rock impervious to spell craft.

  A ladder wouldn’t work. I wouldn’t have the strength to lift one long enough. Daunted by the task, I turned my attentions to converting the piano into a shelter. Maybe if I slept on it, an idea would come.

  I had in mind a cozy tent like the three-person dome Dad bought when he thought he could convince Mom to go camping with us. Fat chance of that. I don’t know what he was thinking. A weedy flower bed was the closest Mom ever got to an untamed wilderness.

  An air mattress with a cozy sleeping bag completed my vision, but just as I geared my mind up for Weaving, I found myself on the mattress in that church basement, woolen blanket prickly against my bare skin.

  The transition startled me, particularly when the pain came roaring back into my ribs and beneath, into my shins and shoulder where that bastard Mark had struck me with his cricket bat.

  I wondered what had dragged me back from Root. I sure as hell hadn’t experienced any upwelling of hope of the sort that had sucked me back from prior visits. What did I possibly have to look forward to here?

  I was glad it was dark. I did not want to see those blood-spattered walls and that filthy mattress. At least in the darkness I could pretend I was somewhere else.

  I heard some footsteps tramping over a hardwood floor overhead. Some faint music. No rumbles. I wondered if I had slept through Sunday. Root had a way of making me lose all track of earthly time.

  I noticed no wheezes or raspy breathing emanating from the cell across the hall. I took that as good news. Maybe Linval’s asthma had eased.

  “Hey Linval!”

  He did not respond.

  I got up from the mattress and lurched over to the line of light that seeped beside the door frame. My insides felt like a bear had tried to claw its way out of my ribcage. I peeked outside. Linval’s door was triple latched, just as before.

  “Linval?” I repeated, louder. “You there?”

  There was a tray beside the door with some dried up hunks of bread and a Dixie cup full of water. I dunked the bread and took a bite. It was decent bread, even though it was stale, but I had surprisingly little appetite.

  I felt a stiffness in my lower abdomen, a deep, dull pain that turned into shredded razor blades every time I shifted. It was like nothing I had ever felt before. Something was terribly wrong inside me. Maybe it was a broken rib. Maybe something more.

  I settled back down onto the mattress. Some faint chanting and singing started up in another part of the building. It was some kind of service, I supposed. Nice to know this was a functioning church with actual parishioners. It meant there was some hope of being discovered by someone who might not approve of torturing young men in dungeons.

  When the chanting ceased, I heard more footsteps clomping overhead, in bunches this time. A door squealed. Feet descended creaky stairs. Another door, more footsteps, another set of stairs. One last door opened and someone came treading down the hall.

  I wrapped the pillow around my wounded mid-section, bracing myself for another round of beatings. I stared down at the flimsy plastic plate on the floor, wondering how I might convert it into a weapon.

  The bolts slid open, one by one.

  “James? Are you awake?” It was Joshua. He spoke through the door.

  “Y-yeah.”

  “Don’t worry. I made Mark wait down the hall. I’m sorry we had to hit you. But it was the only way we could get you to understand that we really, really want you to cooperate. Do you understand?”

  I grunted.

  “I’m opening the door now and I promise, I only want to talk.”

  “Where’s Edmund?”

  “He’s … upstairs. Don’t worry, he won’t be coming down. He’s agreed to wash his hands of these … proceedings. I’m taking full responsibility for recovering his daughters … and for your welfare. You need to realize that we have no intention of keeping you here against your will … once we get the information we’re seeking we will let you free. You do understand that, don’t you?”

  “I … guess. What happened to Linval?”

  “He … uh … had a medical issue.”

  “Is he gonna be alright?”

  “It was a chronic condition. I assure you, he is in good hands.”

  A key slipped into the lock. The door swung open. Joshua stood there in a vested suit with a ruffled cravat. He had a wide-brimmed hat in one hand and a stout, black umbrella in the other.

  He reached back and flicked on the light. “Oh my, you look so pale. But at least you’re up and about. I was getting worried. Every time we came down you were sleeping and we couldn’t rouse you. I feared you might have fallen into a stupor.”

  “How long was I out of it?”

  “A good day and a half. It was Saturday when we last spoke.”

  “Crap! You mean, it’s Monday already?”

  “Yes.”

  I sighed deeply. “That means I’m missing work.”

  “Oh? Where are you employed?”

  “Um … it’s down south a ways,” I said, taking care not to be too specific.

  “Edinburgh?”

  “No. A bit farther down.”

  “England?”

  “Yeah, kinda.”

  “How curious. I would have assumed that you lived in the area, considering you were interested in Karla. How did you two manage to correspond?”

  “We didn’t.”

  Joshua expelled a huff of impatience. “You’re still not being very forthcoming with me, James. That does not bode well for my patience.” He twirled his umbrella in the flat of his palm.

  “Listen, I haven’t spoken to Karla in over a month. It’s just … I was in town … and I thought I might try to look her up. I didn’t know exactly how to get in touch with her.”

  “But somehow you knew she was staying with Linval?”

  “No. I wasn’t sure. It was a shot in the dark. Even coming up here was just a hunch.”

  “Would a young man named Sturgis Boyle have anything to do with this hunch of yours?”

  I tried keeping my face blank, hoping to feign ignorance. I could tell by Joshua’s deepening smile that I had failed. I would have made a horrible poker player.

  “It’s alright. We already know he was one of
Linval’s friends.”

  “Was?”

  “Is. Was. Figure of speech. We found a motorcycle hidden in the shrubbery, registered under Sturgis’s name. Would you know anything about this? Was Sturgis in the area the day we visited Linval?”

  “I didn’t know him. Honest.”

  “How did you get to Glasgow?”

  “I took a train.”

  “You know nothing about this motorcycle?”

  “No.”

  Joshua’s smile collapsed. His head shook slowly. The way he kept rolling that umbrella in his hands, I waited for him to wind up and start wailing on me.

  “I’m disappointed in you, James. Here I am, prepared to let you walk and I have to listen to you lie to me, in a house of faith no less.”

  “Listen. I don’t know where Karla went. Honest. I wish I did. But I don’t. I don’t think she even wanted me to know.”

  “Oh? Did you two have a falling out?”

  “Not really. I don’t think she was ever that interested in me. We’d had absolutely no contact in over a month.”

  “But she does care for you, or … cared. We know that.”

  “How?”

  He shrugged. “Oh, various writings on scraps of paper and notebooks. Your name, scratched and scrawled in the bottoms of drawers. Girlish things.”

  “Really?”

  “But let me get this straight. You wanted to be her boyfriend, but you believed she turned you down?”

  “Yeah. Kinda. That’s sort of how I feel.”

  “So you were basically stalking her when you went to Linval’s?”

  His smile crept back into his lips. He rolled his umbrella, gazing into me. His eyes were a washed out blue that made them look bleached. They seemed to lack for something. I’m not sure exactly what I was looking for, but whatever it was, it wasn’t there.

  “You know, James? I do believe you’re being honest about not knowing where she is. I can see the pain in your face when you speak of her. Your eyes have such longing. They’re so bereft of hope.” He sighed. “I can have a talk with Edmund. If we let you go, you will need to assure us that you can remain discreet about this whole affair. You must leave Scotland. And you mustn’t mention this to anyone. Do you think you can manage that?”

  “Um. Sure.” I didn’t believe his offer, but I nodded eagerly. “I won’t say a thing.”

  The worried way he looked back at me, told me that he didn’t quite believe me, either.

  “Very well,” he said, his expression gone sour. “I’ll speak to him. I’m so sorry you had to get tied up in all of this. But I’m sure you can understand how it might feel to be a father whose daughters have gone missing.”

  He reached for the door and started to leave, but hesitated and turned back around.

  “Tell me, what do you know of this … Liminality business? Have you experienced it yourself?” He scanned my face. His smile coiled up tighter. “You have, haven’t you?”

  “Maybe. What about you?”

  “Me?” He chortled. “Heavens no! I’ve always perceived it as a mass hallucination, influenced perhaps by the infernal. The malady had stricken Edmund’s first wife, and his father-in-law as well. He was hoping his daughters might avoid it, but alas, the tendency seems to dominate that side of his family.”

  “What does he care? He treats them like shit.”

  Joshua raised his umbrella. “You will show respect!”

  “Sorry. But it’s true.”

  “You people don’t understand. Flesh is temporary. It is almost superfluous in the grand scheme of things. The soul, on the other hand, is eternal. It must be protected at all costs.”

  “So life means nothing? Then why do you bother? Why don’t you go jump off a bridge?”

  Joshua frowned. “Now, now. I never said life had no worth. Life is a time for doing the Lord’s work.”

  “Karla says she was abused.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Karla was a difficult child. She was recalcitrant.”

  “So that gave him the right to molest—?”

  “That is a lie! She told you lies! Edmund did not spare the rod, but … that was all. Those girls challenged him. Can’t you understand? He was trying to save their souls.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “She was suicidal, James! And suicide is an unforgivable, condemnable sin!”

  I sat up straight, wincing as my ribs crackled, gazing past him at the silent room across the hall.

  “And what about murder?”

  Chapter 13: Night Sounds

  Alone again and in the dark, I don’t know when or why I wobbled back to Root, but I was here and grateful for the relief. I tried to imagine a scenario where Edmund and Joshua set me free from that basement cell, but I just couldn’t. The criminal nature of their deeds had them in a bind. There was no way they could let me out alive without consequences. If I wanted out, I would have to rely on my own wits. The cavalry wasn't busting through that door.

  My woolgathering was disturbed by the faint rumbles and moans of some distant Reapers. The bottom of the pit, vast as it was, suddenly seemed not only exposed, but confining. I abandoned my idea of weaving a shelter. I was determined to get myself out of that hole.

  I set to work, first by illuminating patches around the circumference of the pit to fill its shadowy recesses with light. That made things much less creepy. I then wove myself another hoodie and a pair of jeans, this time with a more careful and deliberate weaving that I hoped would be more resistant to the spells of the Dusters. I took the time, as well, to make a weapon—a samurai sword just like the one I had used to battle that old, scarred Reaper. It seemed like a good choice for me—light, maneuverable and a potent focuser of my will.

  One by one, I carved stairs and handholds angling up the wall of the pit. It all went smoothly until the roots transitioned to solid bedrock. I tried to get the stone to respond to my spells but I couldn’t even alter its shade. I had to change tact.

  Manipulating my sword like the magic wand that it was, I expanded the topmost step into a platform that jutted like a balcony over the lumen of the pit. And then I grew a stalk out to support its base, severed the balcony and cantilevered it out from the pit wall, extending it slowly but surely in stretches and spurts.

  The contraption looked absurd, like something out of Dr. Seuss. The dang thing started to tilt and teeter and nearly dropped me back into the bottom of the pit. I hung on and ascended into the open air, leaping across the gap to reach solid ground.

  I raised my sword in the air, victorious. Let those Dusters come at me now and the outcome might be different. I don’t know why I held such a grudge. Maybe I just took offense to the smug and inglorious way they had treated me, like some errant sheep strayed from its paddock.

  Horizons dark, the night was full-blown, lit by a moon with too many spots. I could see the dark notch in the hills that was the canyon where the Dusters had nabbed me. I scanned the sky to get my bearings, glad to see no mantid wings silhouetted against the stars. I half expected to see giant moths infesting the sky.

  What now? Victoria had wanted me to find a better place to await her return, a pit less accessible to mantids. I wasn’t sure why it mattered. I supposed it would be good to find a pit that was a little less waterlogged and provided easier access and egress. Something not quite as deep would do.

  That first sinkhole from which we had reached the surface would be ideal. The tunnels connecting it to the rest of Root were mangled and constricted, thanks to me. There was water there, but not too much. But most importantly, that was the last place in this world I had seen Karla and Isobel, so it was the most likely place to find them should they reappear.

  Maybe it was perverse of me to wish for Karla to be immersed in utter misery, but that was the only she could maintain her connection with Root. It was my last hope of ever seeing her again. I was much too lonely and selfish to wish her the best—a life without the Liminality. Without me.

  The pit of my stoma
ch tightened. What if she was actually doing well wherever she was? What if she missed me only a little bit, not enough to drive her into a full-blown depression? And what if she didn’t miss me at all? What then, was left for me to hope for? Frelsi? Should I stake my future on some sketchy place full of souls who had engineered their own deaths?

  The day’s encounters had dashed my hopes for carefree exploration of these upper reaches. Before the Dusters jumped me, I had actually enjoyed my foray into the canyon. It had been quite the adventure. But now I knew I couldn’t just wander at will. They would be watching and waiting to bind me up and toss me back into a pit.

  Was there no place in this universe where a guy could be free? Where he didn’t have to constantly worry about extermination? Flesh or soul, it didn’t matter. No existence was safe. Not even death was liberating.

  Tired of worrying and wallowing, I started to walk, my body shifting into auto-pilot the way it often did when my head was in a muddle like this. Walking had always been the best way for me to clear my cobwebs, to gain the kind of release that was simply not possible from staring at the same four walls all day.

  At least I had the plains to myself. The night belonged to me. A slight wind had started to flow after a day of stillness. It brought life to the sparse shrubs and trees that dotted the landscape.

  Westward, Victoria had said, was where she had the found the damaged tunnels, so westward I roamed, using that weird, speckled moon as a guide. I hiked along the gently undulating barrens, parallel to the hills.

  I crossed little streams, shrunken in their beds, silvery in the moonlight. I veered around pits of every size from stovepipes to hockey rinks, treading lightly over crusts, like snow-covered crevasses, that had not yet collapsed, evident only from cracks and the hollow padding of my bare feet.

  Foul emanations spewed from some holes. Others sucked clean air inward. The underworld had its own active ventilation system, as if it were a living breathing entity.

  I thought I should have no trouble recognizing that first sinkhole. Maybe the ladder would still be in place, but if not, the little waterfall and the overhanging ledge were quite distinctive. The problem was, I must have passed dozens of pits in the span of a mile. There was no way I could find it wandering along some random transect.