Wayfarers end, p.9
Wayfarer's End, page 9
I need help. I’m sick. If I stop at a house maybe someone will help me.
No, keep going, another part of him urged. Nobody would want to help you anyway. You only have yourself to rely on in this world. You’ll find a place to rest on your own.
Actually, miraculously, there was a good place up ahead.
Across the road under a streetlamp’s warm glow, someone left a big comfy arm chair at the edge of the sidewalk. Phin smiled, pushing forward until he reached the chair. It was a wide, plush armchair, just like the ones back at the Inn. By some wonder, it was actually dry. He sank into it gratefully. The fabric was so soft and warm; it was like putting on a thick, down jacket. Pulling his legs underneath him, he sat cross-legged and warmed his hands over the crackling fire that danced merrily in front of him. Phin couldn’t even remember gathering branches for fuel or getting the matches out of his backpack, but he must have at some point. It was a good thing the damp matches worked, after all. The little fire crackled cheerfully, warming him to the core. Holding his hands out over it, he closed his eyes so he could savour the delicious heat. A log popped loudly in the fire, startling him out of his reverie.
That’s strange, he thought as the light from the fire grew brighter and brighter. There was an odd screeching, honking sound like geese made when they flew South for the winter. The light grew brighter still, consuming him. There was a mighty thump against his side and he flew through the air, tumbling end over end like towels in a clothes dryer. There was no way to tell which way was up. Dark sky, stars and white snow spun together too fast to hold onto. And then he plowed into the ground with an all too solid crunch; limbs flailing, body twisting in impossible directions. Turning over and over until there was no pain and just blessed silence.
Chapter Ten
Meeting Colin
We were silent the whole way to the cemetery. Aunt Sandra tapped her fingers nervously on the steering wheel as she drove, while I looked out the window at the wintery world. The roads and sidewalks were mostly clear of snow, but the tree branches were still outlined with white. It was beautiful.
“Hang on,” my aunt said, pulling over in front of a row of little shops. “I’ll be right back.”
She left the car running while she ran inside and was back a few minutes later with two bouquets of flowers.
“One for Colin and one for Henry,” she said with a smile.
I glanced at the flowers, not quite liking the idea of giving the same present to the dead and to the living. It felt too much like saying goodbye. “Can we save the red and purple one for Henry? He’d like it.”
She nodded and resumed tapping nervously on the wheel. I’d never seen her so rattled. Had I pushed her too hard to bring me to the cemetery? She was under a lot of stress last week.
The cemetery was not what I’d expected. There was a small building standing in front of a green field surrounded by a high, black metal fence. It was closer to the ocean, so there was much less snow than at our place. Only a few patches of white, on the closely-mown winter grass. There were no headstones. Just undulating hills with a few driving paths scattered about. Grey, leafless trees lined the road.
The gate was propped wide open and to one side was a sign reading, “Tranquility Grove.” At least it wasn’t the same place where the Horse Trader was buried. We drove through the gates without stopping.
“Are those the graves,” I asked, pointing to the rows of identical flat squares neatly pressed like kitchen tiles into the hillside.
“Yes, it’s not very inspiring, is it? Your dad would have thought this was the most boring place possible to have laid him to rest.” She laughed, a little unsettled. “They have some silly policy that all headstones should be flat and unobtrusive. I would have liked to have found a more beautiful place for your dad, but I didn’t find out about his death until it was too late. The police called your grandfather when it happened. The shock caused his stroke. Your father would have appreciated the irony, anyway. Here he is.”
I had no idea how she knew where to stop. Everything looked exactly the same. Somehow she found the right place.
I couldn’t move when she got out of the car. I sat frozen and watched while she took the flowers and crouched down next to the dark, stone square. Her lips moved as if she spoke to someone. And, it was silly to think it, but I hurt knowing she missed him after all the bad things he’d done.
After a few minutes, I reluctantly unbuckled my seat belt and followed her into the cold winter afternoon.
Colin’s tile was a slab of thick, black stone with little flecks of gold running through it. I reached out and gingerly touched it with my fingertip—ice cold and unexpectedly beautiful.
“It’s granite,” my aunt explained. “Simple, but elegant is how they described it in the brochure.”
I nodded, staring at the engraving on the stone. Colin Brown, beloved son and brother. You will be dearly missed.
I pressed my lips into a thin line and looked at the square. There was no word father engraved on the stone, something Aunt Sandra forgot to mention. Did she notice? A corner of the black marble was chipped and I jabbed my finger into the sharp edge.
“He’s not really here of course, darling,” my aunt said in a soft voice. “The city had him cremated by then, but once your grandfather came to his senses, he wanted some sort of memorial stone for him. We scattered the ashes here.”
I bit the inside of my cheek, using the pain to keep me grounded. What was I supposed to feel in this crazy situation? If this were a movie, it would be raining and I’d be dressed in black with a matching umbrella. I’d stare down at his grave, tearfully saying all the right things. I’d be a nice, forgiving daughter, not a conflicted hurricane of rage and sorrow.
“You’re sure he was cremated,” I demanded, practically choking on the words. “Is there a certificate or something to prove that it was him?”
She turned and gave me a funny look. “Of course it was him. What a question.”
“I just want to make sure. Absolutely, one hundred percent sure that it was him.”
“Oh,” she said, realization dawning. “I see. Yes, I promise you that he really died for sure, Cara. He wasn’t a Nzumbe. He was very badly burned when those men destroyed the house, and he had multiple gunshot wounds. There was an autopsy and then he was cremated. He’s gone, Cara.”
Henry survived worse than that, I thought, sick to my stomach. And the Horse Trader only had one wound. He could have survived that easily.
“The Horse Trader,” I blurted, unable to contain myself. I’d never intended to talk to her about him. Ever. “You promised he died for real, too. One hundred percent?”
She dropped her gaze to the ground and didn’t meet my eyes.
“Of course he did, honey. I told you that already. He was cremated like your father. Louisa made sure he’s not coming back. Cara, most Nzumbe, even if they were violent while living, are very gentle when they are transformed. It was a healing mechanism that was supposed to give them time to escape and seek shelter. Not so they could be undead warriors.”
I shuddered, not wanting to think about a kind, peaceful version of the Horse Trader hunting me down.
“So, he’s not buried in the city, then,” I said quietly, studying her carefully. She was acting a little weird. “His friends and family didn’t have a funeral for him?”
She stared at me, confused. “Not that I know of,” she said slowly. “I’m sure he was cremated.”
I stared at her, but her face was only full of concern. She didn’t look like a liar.
She believes what she’s saying, I told myself. Then Louisa lied. Lied to both of us. But why?
“Can we go now,” I asked, sickness churning in my stomach.
“Oh course, honey. Whenever you like. I know this can’t be easy for you.”
“Uh huh, I’ll wait in the car.”
I hurried to the safety of the car and buckled my seatbelt. Click. Aunt Sandra laid the flowers gently on the stone, brushing her hands together as she stood.
I exhaled again as soon as the car rolled through the exit gate and the cemetery was behind us.
I’ve done it, I told myself. Now I never have to step foot in there again. Ever.
“Do you feel okay?” Aunt Sandra looked over with concern. “Are you sure you’re up to a trip to the hospital?”
“I’m fine,” I said. “Just fine.” There was no way I’d miss my chance to see Henry.
She hummed, but kept driving.
The traffic ahead grew heavier and heavier, and finally slowed to a crawl.
“Oh dear,” my aunt said. “I knew we shouldn’t have come this way. I forgot about the earthquake.”
“What do you mean,” I said, sitting up to peer out the windows.
“Oh, you know, honey. All those roads and houses were shifted during the earthquake when the tunnels collapsed. They’ve rerouted traffic from downtown so everything is congested.”
“Wait, I thought it was just the earthquake shaking some buildings apart? What tunnels collapsed? Where?”
“Downtown,” she said patiently. “It’s all over the news. I thought you knew. It’s those old mines honeycombed all over the city. Nobody knows where they are until one of them collapses. Well, this earthquake was big enough that it made a bunch of the shallower mines cave in. Nobody was hurt, but quite a few houses were damaged and it will take a while to fix the roads. They’re still trying to figure out which direction the tunnels lead so they can fill the rest of them. They’re not sure if any more will collapse.”
I sat silent, my mind churning. Nobody was hurt, she’d said, nobody they knew about. But what if there were Nzumbe down there somewhere, trapped and alone? What if they needed my help?
Chapter Eleven
Out of the Dark
Meep, meep, meep.
“What is it,” Phineas muttered, squeezing his eyes shut. A steady beeping came from somewhere behind his head, a far-away alarm clock someone forgot to shut off.
Turn it off, he thought, worming under the blankets. I’m not ready to get up.
The beeping didn’t go away. Whose alarm clock is it, anyway? I’ll bet its Caleb’s. He’s probably late for school. I’m just going to stay here until breakfast is ready. I wonder what Cara is making.
There was a long pause between his thoughts as he floated in a peaceful white fog. When he was aware of his surroundings again, he was not in his bed at the Inn. He was surrounded in a soft, warm blanket of snow, covering his body from head to toe.
Strange, he thought sleepily. I must have fallen asleep outside Ramsay’s barn. Good thing the snow is so warm.
His body was heavy, weighed down, but warm and luxurious. Phin lifted one snow-covered arm, but instead of falling away, the white powder clung tightly to him, coating his arm from his fingertips up to his shoulder. His arm would only move a few inches before it stopped. It felt like it was wrapped in cotton.
The snow must be messing with my vision, he thought with a laugh. It didn’t bother him. He felt a strange euphoria; as if life were a wonderful joke. The snow had fallen over his right eye, packed tightly against his face. It, too, was strangely warm and pleasant.
Blinking his left eye, he looked around. Was he in a room or still outside beside his miraculously warm fireplace? Or was he in the woods with Ramsay? They were on an adventure together, weren’t they? Too sleepy to think about it further, he closed his eye and snuggled deeper into the snow.
“Young man! Excuse me, young man.”
“Mmmmmwaaah,” Phineas mumbled. “Go away.”
“Excuse me. It’s time to wake up.” A soft but firm voice brought him reluctantly out of his beautiful sleep.
Phin blinked a few times until he made out a woman’s face through the haze. She had dark skin and round glasses. She peered down with kindly interest.
“Time to wake up and face the world. You’re lucky to be alive.”
Groaning, he drifted back toward sleep. “Okay, lucky later. Right now, just sleep.”
She laughed and gave him a light tap on the cheek, which made him wince. “Well, the doctor wants to talk to you and get an idea of how you’re feeling. You’ve had quite the ordeal. Your parents will be relieved you’re okay.”
Phineas blinked with his uncovered eye, awareness flooding him. He glanced around the room, panic hammering in his chest. Yes, definitely a hospital. There wasn’t any snow, of course, just pale pink walls with green borders and a barrage of machines beeping away.
He turned his head, but it only moved an inch. His right arm was covered in a long, white cast. There was something wrong with his right eye and he couldn’t feel his body under the sheets.
“Easy there,” the nurse said softly, laying a hand on his arm.
Phin gazed at her, his breathing shallow with panic. His chest spasmed and he couldn’t get enough air.
His parents! Were they there? Were they really alive, waiting in the hall, worried about him? Or was his new reality still his mother and new boyfriend plotting to kill him?
Gulping and choking, his eyes watering from the effort to catch his breath. The nurse said something to him, but he couldn’t hear her.
Of course it’s not a dream, he told himself bitterly.
He was in the hospital and these people would want to know all about who he was and who his parents were. They were going to find out what a terrible person he was for running away and stealing Ramsay. They would press charges and put him in prison.
Well, I won’t tell them, Phin thought fiercely. Nobody needs to know about that stuff, anyway. I’m going to start my life over again and be someone else, someone who matters. This is my chance.
It took him a moment to realize the nurse was still there. She placed her hand against his chest, her eyes sympathetic.
“You just lie still and relax, honey. Can you remember your name, at least? Is there anyone we can call for you?”
“No,” he whispered. “I can’t remember anything.”
He closed his eyes and burrowed under his covers, burying his head to keep her from seeing the lies stamped on his face. He’d never been a convincing liar.
After a moment, she patted his arm. Her shoes squeaked on the tile as she left the room. The door clicked shut with a soft click.
Phin lay frozen until his heartbeat returned to an even keel.
A new life, he reminded himself. A chance to start over. Everything is going to be okay.
He squeezed his eyes shut and ignored the single tear trickling down his cheek.
“Did I ever tell you about my time in the war,” a shaky voice said, almost next to his ear. “I was a sniper. I had fifteen bullets in me by the time they found my body. I didn’t die, though. What regiment were you with?”
I’m hallucinating, Phin thought. It’s a side-effect from the medication. The man stood at Phin’s feet, peering at him suspiciously. He looked older than dirt and had a shock of white hair standing straight up from his head. He wore a thin blue housecoat and glasses. Under bushy, white eyebrows, his bright blue eyes were clear and sharp.
“I wasn’t in any war. I was hit by a car,” Phin muttered, still struggling not to cry. Although, when he thought about it, his whole life had been a kind of war; just not the type with bullets.
“A car, huh. Say, what card games do you know? My card playing partner is a little under the weather right now. Do you know euchre?”
“No,” Phin said shortly, wanting to be left alone.
“Whist?”
“What?”
“I said, Whist. Do you know how to play?”
“I don’t know anything,” Phin said, shutting his eyes to block out the man. “I don’t know anything at all.”
“Well now, that’s a shame,” the man said. “Seeing as we’ll be spending so much time together, Roomie. You can call me Stanley.”
Great, Phin thought. Just great.
Chapter Twelve
Henry
The hospital wasn’t too bad to look at from the outside—a three-story brick building scrubbed clean by the driving rain. I couldn’t stop shaking. Henry was up there somewhere and I was terrified by what I might find in his room.
Back when I was a kid, I’d spent a few weeks at the hospital myself. I didn’t remember much. I was brought in after the police found me abandoned in the warehouse. I’d been so wild with fear, they kept me pretty drugged up the whole time. The Warden told me I bit quite a few staff and they were glad to get rid of me as soon as they could.
“Are you sure you’re ready,” my aunt asked, reaching over to squeeze my fingers. “We don’t have to do this today.”
I took a deep breath and nodded firmly, straightening my spine to keep myself from folding into a trembling heap on the floor. As eager as I was to see Henry, part of me panicked about what I might find. As long as I was safe at home feeling angry, I didn’t have to acknowledge how much danger Henry was in. Being at the hospital was a grim reminder that this wasn’t another dream. I wasn’t ready to face reality just yet.
“Let’s do this,” I said, keeping my voice steady.
We walked silently down the long hall toward the elevator. I kept my eyes fixed on the closed blue elevator door and concentrated on breathing. I didn’t want to see any sick or injured people. I’d seen hospital shows before—there could be blood and guts spilling out anywhere. When I did glance around, there was nothing horrible to see, just friendly nurses in clean blue scrubs bustling from place to place. A few people waited on benches, sipping coffee or flipping through magazines, but nobody looked like they were about to drop dead or spread contagious diseases. I wrinkled my nose at the extra-clean antiseptic smell, but still, it could be much worse.
