I had completely lost my urge to run. I don’t know what I had been thinking. Of course, I had to return to the lake. There were no two ways about it. I was the sole reason Urszula and Ellen were entangled in this mess. Until they were safe, I had an obligation. In fact, their safety was the only reason I had gone up to Burlington in the first place. I didn’t care about the cash that Wendell promised.
But with each mile closer to the cottage, my dread grew deeper. I had no reason to be scared. I had done exactly what Wendell had asked, so he had no absolutely reason to be displeased. But still my stomach churned at the prospect of meeting him face to face again.
I guess it was his utter mastery of spell craft, the sheer magnitude of his all-knowing, all-powerful abilities that intimidated me. He had the power to take instant retribution and that was terrifying. He could take a life with the ease that most people spout a cuss word. One little burst of anger or impatience and someone dies.
By the time I turned onto that dirt road encircling Lake Dunmore, my heart was pounding like a jackhammer. I parked on the side of the road just before the driveway. That shipping tube was rolling around in the back seat. I snagged it, popped the cap, took out the sword and shook off the swaddling.
With a deep breath I stepped out of the car and pointed my blade at a dandelion. Being riled up as I was, it didn’t take long to spin something loose. My elbow went numb. The tip of the sword quivered. The blossom shriveled and burst into flakes.
That made me feel a little bit better. Armed with a smidgeon of confidence didn’t have a minute ago, I stormed down the drive past that horrid gray Cadillac.
There were no lookouts posted on the porch. No one came to the door to intercept me. And the door was left unlocked. I doubted it was because I had caught Wendell off guard. He simply didn’t consider me a threat.
I flung the screen door open and stomped in. The three of them—Wendell, Ellen and the blonde girl—were sitting in the living room watching the local news. Wendell was wearing a slinky, taupe track suit with a pearly, almost metallic sheen. At first glance, it looked like Ellen was swaddled in a straightjacket, but it was actually her clothing, expanded and merged seamlessly with the fabric of the sofa. She had become one with the upholstery.
Ellen had been crying. Her face was damp and flushed. She sat there gawking at me, but I had a hard time looking her in the eye.
Both Wendell and the blonde girl had empty bowls and soup spoons perched in their laps. It seems they had both had a taste of Urszula’s borscht.
“There he is! There’s our guy, Meg! What did I tell you? I told you he’d come straight back.”
“Why is he shaking?” said the blonde girl. “His face … it’s so red.”
“You feeling alright, kid?” said Wendell, screwing up his eyes.
I pointed the sword right at his belly. “Cut her free!” I sputtered. “You fucking cut Ellen free and get the fuck out of here! And what’d you do with Urszula? Where the fuck is she?”
“Whoa! Calm down kid. Put down that freaking sword and have some soup. The stuff is great. Borscht, I think they call it.”
“I did exactly what you said. You free her right now! And tell me what you did with Urszula.”
Wendell’s eyebrows bunched and tilted. “Oh, calm the fuck down or I’ll weave you into the couch right next to her. Listen, she was acting up. Getting hysterical. I didn’t have any choice; she had to be restrained. But don’t worry, it’s only cloth for Christ’s sake. The fibers will relax on their own. Just give it time. She and the sofa will go back to exactly how they were. But never mind all that. This is a time for celebration. You passed your initiation, kid. Meg, pass the boy a beer.”
The blonde girl, Meg, reached into a paper sack and pulled out a Heineken. She tried to hand it to me, but I pushed it away.
“I don’t want any fucking beer. I want my friends free and I want you out of this fucking cottage.”
“Put down that fucking sword before I stick it up your ass! Jeez guy. The only reason we stuck around here is so we could toast your success. Together. I mean, for Christ’s sake, we brought you presents. That brand new Subaru in the driveway? That’s for you. It’ll help you blend in. Those things are popular up here.” He patted a bundle of folders and envelopes. “This stuff is yours as well. All kinds of goodies here. Driver’s license. Passport. Credit cards. Bank account. Everything you need to be human again. So c’mon, crack a beer with us. Let’s toast your budding apprenticeship.”
I just stood there with my lip quivering. I had lowered the sword, but my hands were sweating and trembling so much that the tip of the blade wiggled.
“Can’t,” I said. “I’m not twenty-one.”
“So? Meg’s not even nineteen.”
“It’s the law.”
“Jesus!” Wendell rolled his eyes. “Old enough to kill, but not old enough to drink. What is wrong with this country? Oh, what the hell, looks like it’s just you and me Meg.” He clinked his bottle against hers and took a long swig. “Come on. Let’s get out of here. Kid’s not in a partying mood. Let’s show him his other gift and let him have some rest.” He got up out of his chair.
“I don’t need any more gifts.”
“Yeah, well. This one you gotta see,” said Wendell. “This one’s special. Trust me.” As he brushed past, he flicked his wrist and the sword slipped free of my grip and slammed point first into the floor. The floor boards squeaked, the wood fibers tightening against the metal. I tried yanking it out, but the blade wouldn’t budge.
“C’mon! Out to the driveway. Won’t take more than a minute and I’ll be out of your hair. I just want to show you something.”
I looked at Ellen. “You okay?”
She nodded.
“I’ll be right back.”
I followed Wendell and the girl outside.
“The keys are in the Subaru,” said Wendell. “There’s an extra set with the title in the glove box. Everything’s registered under your name.”
He waved me over to the trunk of his Cadillac. My heart sped up. I was hoping it would be Urszula in there, and that she was okay.
“Consider this … another peace offering,” said Wendell.
He lifted the trunk. Inside, lay a disheveled, dark-haired man with a carefully sculpted beard and mustache. The sleeves and inseams of his cheap suit were fused together, appressing his arms to his sides, keeping his ankles crossed together. His tie had been grotesquely elongated and wrapped many times around his mouth. His eyes bulged with terror.
“Who the fuck is this guy?” I said.
“He’s with Sergei’s crowd. We caught him prowling around the MetroNorth in Waterbury. Check this out.” Wendell pulled a fancy pen from his pocket and flicked it at the bound man. His shirt ripped open, buttons spattering wall of the trunk. The man’s chest was tattooed with a huge cross, its central shaft spanning navel to sternum. A pair of onion-domed cathedrals flanked it.
“See that? Russian mafia.” Wendell reached in and grabbed the guy’s collar, yanking him up to a seated position in the trunk.
“Wait. What the heck are you doing?”
“He’s your present.”
“Wait! What am I supposed to do with him?”
“I don’t know. Interrogate him. Keep him hostage. Make him your butt slave. I don’t care. He’s yours to do whatever you want.”
“Why don’t we just … let him go?”
“Oh no. Can’t. He knows where you live now. We let him go, he’ll lead Sergei straight to your door.”
“But … I don’t want to deal with him. I’ve got enough to worry about,”
“Fine. Suit yourself.” Wendell shoved the prisoner back down against the floor of the trunk, took out his pen and wiggled it as if he were signing his signature in the air.
It was a death warrant. The man went still. His eyes turned glassy.
The bottom dropped out of my stomach. “Holy fuck! Did you just … kill him?”
“H
e had a bubble in his brain. What do you call it ... an aneurysm? It was gonna pop sooner or later anyhow. I just helped it along. That’s part of the trade, pushing the right buttons. Everybody’s got these triggers in their body. You just gotta know how to find them. I’ll teach you how, when you’re ready.”
“You just murdered him. Right in front of your girlfriend.”
Wendell rolled his eyes. “She’s used to it. Don’t kid yourself, kid. He would have done the same to you. He’s a hit man.”
“Just like you.”
“No. Not like me. Not at all,” he said, with annoyance. “I’m a Facilitator. I deal with lost souls. Nobody ever volunteered for this guy’s services.”
“Christ. What do we do … with his body?”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of the disposal. It’s just a matter of arranging a scene where death by natural causes looks plausible. Another thing I can teach you. It’s kind of fun, actually. This is when you get to be creative.”
He slammed the trunk and went to the door. Meg was already in the front seat, touching up her makeup in the mirror.
“Hey, wait a minute. What about Urszula?”
Wendell snapped his fingers. “Meg, give him the Garmin.” Meg reached into her purse and pulled out something that looked like an oversized slab phone. She tossed it to me.
“There are two waypoints entered into that thing. One will lead you to your little Duster friend. The other’s for your next job, but let’s not worry about that just yet. I’ll check back in with you in a day or so.” He winked at me. “Enjoy your vacation. You did good kid. Elsie thought you were really sweet.”
“You spoke to her?”
“You betcha. She’s probably dead by now. But let me tell you, she was impressed. Told me you were gonna be a good one. Said you had a nice bedside manner.”
He hopped into the Cadillac, the door slammed and they drove away, the sound system blaring some kind of Celtic drivel swarming with harps and dulcimers. I stood there in the drive, breathing their dust as they disappeared over the rise.
***
I went back in the house and found Ellen still sitting forced into that perfect posture on the sofa, the legs of her jeans knitted together like the poor guy in the trunk, the cuffs of her wrists connected to her lap.
“Are they gone?”
“Yup.” I said, as I wrenched my sword out of the floor boards.
“Thank God!” She let out a long exhalation of relief.
I touched the tip of my sword to the couch, trying to undo Wendell’s weaving. But either Wendell’s spells were unusually resistant or I was still too flustered by the encounter to conjure even the feeblest spell craft. I gave up and started to hack at the cloth, intending to cut her free.
“Don’t!” she said. “You’ll ruin the upholstery.”
“How else am I suppose to get you out?”
“Be patient. The fibers are coming loose on their own. See?” She pulled one of her arms free and lifted it. “It just takes time.”
“Okay.” I took a seat across from her, and we just sat there and looked at each other awkwardly. “Mind if I change the channel?”
“No. Go ahead.”
I grabbed the clicker and switched it over to ESPN.
“Did she … suffer?” said Ellen.
“Who, Elsie? Nah. I don’t think so.”
“Did you have to watch her … die?”
“No. Actually, I just delivered the bag and left. I didn’t stick around.”
There was hurt in her eyes. She wasn’t her usual smiley self. Not surprising. But I couldn’t look at her directly. I had to keep looking away.
“Want some … soup?” I said.
“I … I’m disappointed in you, James.”
“Yeah? Well, join the club. I don’t like me that much, either.”
“But … it’s not because of what you did to that woman. I understand that now. At least I think I do. Things are different with you people. Mortality has a different meaning to you all. I can’t possibly know what it’s like, not having gone where you’ve gone. But … you didn’t have to ditch me like that.” Her voice cracked and a fresh stream of tears dribbled down her cheek. “Next time you go … take me along. Take me with you. Promise?”
“Next time? Who said there’s going to be a next time?”
She looked at me coldly. “Wendell.”
“Let’s not think about that right now. Hey look! I think your jeans pulled loose. Try standing up.”
She tried to rise but the tail of her jacket was still connected to the couch and yanked her back down. She wriggled free by slipping her arms out of the sleeves and strode over to me. I thought she was going to slap my face or something, but instead she pulled my head into her bosom and ran her fingers through my hair.
I sat there, not knowing what to do. So I got up out of the chair. She hung onto me. I didn’t know what to do with my hands, so I just let them relax onto the small of her back. The situation confused me. I had no idea that she had such feelings. And I really didn’t want it to lead anywhere.
But she was the one who broke it off. “What’s this?” she said, slipping her hand into my pocket and pulling out the device Wendell had given me. It was gray and scratched and ancient looking. It looked like it had been through a war.
“It’s a GPS unit,” I said. “Wendell said we could use it to find Urszula.”
“Really?” Excitement and urgency returned to her voice. “Does that mean she’s okay?”
“I … don’t know. He didn’t say.”
She stepped back and turned the device over in her hands. “Have you ever used one of these? How do you even turn it on?”
“Beats me,” I said. “My mom had a TomTom, the kind that talks to you. This one’s kind of old school.”
She started pressing buttons, holding one down until the greenish-gray LCD screen came on.
“Come on! We need to go outside. Capture some satellites.”
***
Ellen was a wiz with that GPS and its clunky and cryptic button interface. She got it figured it out in no time at all, locked in five satellites with an accuracy of ten meters. And while that was happening in the background, she found a screen listing two waypoints labeled: ‘treegirl’ and ‘laurent.’
“Let’s go for treegirl,” I said, peering over her shoulder.
She selected it and pressed enter. A compass arrow appeared on the display along with coordinates and a proximity reading: 153 meters.
We charged off the porch and up the driveway. Crossing the road, we plunged into the forest beyond. Something small fluttered past my shoulder and into the underbrush. I wouldn’t have put it past Wendell to have left some of his own creatures behind to spy on us.
We charged up a thickly forested slope. Ellen paused every few steps to consult the device. “Crap. We’re losing the satellites under this dense cover. The arrow on this compass is swinging every which way.”
“Let’s just keep going the way we were going,” I said. “There’s a clearing up ahead.”
We came to a woodlot where several trees had been harvested for firewood or whatever. Branch trimmings littered the ground, some still bearing least season’s withered leaves. Ellen stood in the center and raised that GPS unit to the sky as if it were a torch and she the Statue of Liberty.
“Alright! We’ve got a fix again. Eighty-five meters. Keep going that way. Down that slope.”
We entered a patch of old growth conifers, hemlocks, I think. Dead branches barred our way, but they were brittle and thin, so we just bulled our way through, snapping them off, absorbing their scratches.
On the other side, when the canopy began to thin, we checked again. Seventy-nine meters. Somehow, for all the walking we did, we weren’t getting much closer, as if we had been circling around our target.
It occurred to me that Wendell might have rigged the device to torment us, but when we jogged to the right, along an old stone wall, the num
bers again began to fall again.
The unit beeped when we were ten meters out from the selected waypoint. The display flashed: ‘treegirl.’
We stopped and studied the forest surrounding us. We were surrounded by old sugar maples with scars where they had been tapped for sugaring.
“I don’t see any sign of her,” said Ellen. “Not even footprints. And the ground is soft. What exactly are we looking for?”
I didn’t know what to say. The compass arrow was useless now, it kept wheeling around aimlessly with every stride, probably because we were so close.
Something scurried through the branches. Smaller than a bird. It was an insect. A cicada, to be specific, though it was at least two months early for cicada season.
The creature didn’t share any visions with me, so I was a bit suspicious at first. But for some reason I had the strongest feeling that this was Billy, reconfigured after the mauling that Wendell’s familiar had given it. Maybe he no longer had enough life force to sustain himself as a sparrow.
He raised his wings and buzzed off the branch, landing on a tree trunk across a swale.
“Follow that bug,” I said.
“Really?”
“That’s Billy. I’m pretty sure of it.”
I splashed through the swampy meadow.
“Oh God, not another swamp.” Ellen hesitated at the edge.
“Oh come on! It’s not that bad.”
When we reached Billy, he took off again and landed on another massive, old beech tree that stood out from the rest, its bark smooth and gray like an elephant’s hide. The trunks of the surrounding maples were rough and corrugated by comparison.
I went over and stared up into the branches girding myself against the possibility of any ‘strange fruit’ dangling from a noose. Ellen came up behind me and clung to my arm, resting her chin on my shoulder. She was shivering, even though the afternoon was balmy.
“What are we looking at?”
“Dunno,” I said.
I circled the tree slowly. Its bole bulged a good four feet in diameter at the base. Deep indents marked ancient wounds healed long ago. Even the first branchings were as large as or larger than the surrounding trees. It would have made the perfect platform for a tree fort, with its vast and horizontal spread of limbs.
A rotten hole surrounded by tumorous burls marked a place where a large limb had once snapped off. Ellen wedged herself into a knobby hollow and climbed up to the knot hole.