Fortress: a novel in progress

Avery crashed through the forest, small tree limbs slapping his face as he ran. The cold turned his panting breath to clouds obscuring the view behind him each time he turned back. The leaves crushed like burned paper under his boots, leaving a trail of brown bits and dust behind, stirred up and flying in a minature tornado. Back deep, in the forest, were crashing sounds, low, thunderous, making dead leaves drop loose from the grey limbs above. Another look back through a puff of moist foggy breath but still he could see nothing behind him. Ahead the decayed and falling building came into view. He touched the door frame and shoved the ruined door aside with his shoulder. Splinters exploded. He stepped into the blackness and found the bottle with only his hands and the memory of where it had been before.

Avery blew a long white breath. When the vapor faded away, he was gone.


_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _




“So, what’s so important?"

Eamon Burghere stood. His rough curly brownish hair blew and bounced in large ringlets around his face, and he pulled the collar of his grey coat up a little higher.

“Hello Eamon."

Nancy was as beautiful as the day he first saw her. Her black hair was shorter now, cut severely just under her ears, but her green eyes were as fierce as ever and her worried smile cracked his own icy surface. He still refused to smile back.

“I’m sorry to call you like that, but I got a call from Avery." She took his arm and with a hard nudge forced him to walk alongside her.

“Why would Avery call you? He knows we’ve been divorced for three years." Eamon frowned harder. “Actually, maybe he doesn’t."

“He knows, Eamon." Nancy rolled her eyes and patted him on the shoulder. “He called me because he didn’t want to be the one to tell you . . ."

Eamon’s skin crawled.

“Tell me what?"

Nancy stopped walking and took his hands. She held them tightly and looked down, closing her eyes. “Your father . . ."

“What?" Eamon heard his own voice this time, just as the blood began rushing in his ears. His voice was round and hollow like an old log decaying and broken in the forest.

Nancy’s voice was like a distant dream.

“He died this morning."

“Jesus Christ," Eamon said. He jerked out of Nancy’s grip and spun away. “He burned up in one of those fucking experiments, didn’t he? Or maybe it was one of Avery’s this time. Jesus."

“No," Nancy whispered. “He died peacefully in his sleep. Avery said when your father didn’t wake up to his alarm clock he went to turn it off and check on him and he was already gone." She stepped closer to him and touched his shoulder.

“If there’s anything I can do . . ."

“Nothing." Eamon shook his head. “I’ll call Avery at the house."

“Are you okay?"

“Fine. I’m fine. Thank you for coming."

“I could drive you home . . ."

“No." Another rush of blood, but this time to Eamon’s face. The thought of letting her see how he lived pained him. “I’ll walk."

“Alright." Nancy put her hands in her pockets. “I guess I’ll go. It was good to see you."

Eamon turned and looked into her face and nodded. He knew she was lying. He knew it wasn’t good for her to see him. Just as it wasn’t good for him to see her. Ten years of bad marriage washed like muddy water between them. He thanked God everyday that they had no children. Or maybe he cursed him. Children might have made them stick together. But today, she lives in her big house in the city all alone, and Eamon lives in his dump in the trailer park, all alone.

In a dry scratchy voice Eamon replied, “It’s good to see you too."

She caught his eyes for only a second and then walked back toward her car.

Eamon turned and looked out over the waterway. His father was gone. In his sleep. Somehow, that just didn’t seem right. Maybe it didn’t seem fair. A man who risked his life everyday for the most insane of experiments dies in his sleep, while someone else who has never done anything extraordinary in his life gets hit by a car.

Nancy honked her car horn as she drove past him. Her black Jaguar flashed and sparkled even in the light of a cloudy dark day. He watched her pull out of the parking lot and onto the road and disappear in the morning traffic over the bridge.

He walked up to the bus stop and sat down next to an old black woman with several shopping bags full of groceries and wearing large roundish sunglasses and a lavendar hat.

“Bad news?"

“Hmmm.... Yeah." Eamon sighed. “My father died."

“Oh," she said, as she took off her sunglasses. “I’m sorry, Eamon."

Eamon shrugged. He wasn’t sure what to say.

She patted his knee. Her fingers wore many rings with large stones of different colors.

“It’ll be alright. You just come by and get some soup later. I’m making my famous beef stew. You come get a bowl this afternoon."

Eamon smiled. “I’ll do that Miss Emma."

“Make sure you do. There’ll be something good in it, just for you."

The bus hissed to a stop and Eamon helped Emma carry her groceries up to her regular seat.

The ride home was quiet in a noisy sort of way. On the bus no one spoke. The drivers' radio was faintly playing some old big band music through a tinny and much abused plastic speaker stuck in a space between one of the handrails and the dashboard. The small assortment of people said nothing from the park by the waterway all the way to the trailer park. It was the end of the line for the bus route. The back of civilization for the city dwellers, but home to the odd bunch on the bus.

The doors opened beside the large green sign with peeling paint and the words “Paradise Acres" spelled out in falling wooden letters painted yellow. Behind it were thirty worn out, thin and rusty single wide mobile homes, probably new in the 1970's, but now hopelessly outdated and falling apart. Some had roofs built over the existing home on tall posts, while others were sagging on their supports. But each one had a well tailored shoe box yard, with bright flowers in pretty painted boxes and tall trees shading the sitting spaces and rusty barbeque grills.

Eamon stepped down carrying Emma’s groceries and he followed her to the first trailer on the right, the one with the three foot cross decorated in faded blue silk flowers in the front yard and a low white plastic fence.

“Just bring that in here, Eamon." Emma opened her front door and stepped up into the trailer.

Eamon followed.

Inside were rows of white metal chairs folded up and leaning against the opposite wall. A faded floral couch was pushed against the left wall. Hanging over the couch were photos of all kinds of people; weddings, christenings, get togethers of various types. Everywhere else were religious symbols and spiritual sayings on gaudy plaques or inside fancy frames. And silk flowers of all kinds filled tall vases throughout the room.

“There," she said. “On the table."

To Eamon’s right was an old Formica table and several wood chairs of mismatched styles. Matching seat cushions in a purple plaid and ivy print were tied on each one. Eamon set the bags on the table. Emma made a noise from the kitchen and Eamon looked up. She was eating a Granny Smith apple and looking at something on her laptop screen.

“Look at that." She laughed. “Those ladies are something."

Eamon walked around the counter and glanced at her screen. There was a photo of a group of middle aged ladies holding up a check and smiling.

“It’s my sister up north. I told her they’d get that grant to beautify their street. They just needed to have a little faith." Emma patted Eamon’s shoulder and turned put away a few things in her fridge.

Next to Emma’s laptop was a large full color photo printer, a fax machine, a scanner and a small copy machine. A stack of Church bulletins lay half folded next to the copy machine.

“Now you," she said. “You need a bit of comfort." She closed the fridge door with her heel and threw away her old carton of milk. “Take one of these." She walked over to a wicker basket laying on the counter on the opposite side of the room. “Hm... And one of these."

She handed him two brochures. One was titled “Dealing with a Death in the Family", the other “The Loss of a Parent".

“That second one," she said, as she slipped on her reading glasses to glance at it. “It’s really for children,� she said. She looked up at him. “You know, young, teenage or so. But I give it to all my parishioners when they lose a parent. Just because you’re all grown up doesn’t mean you’ll miss your father less."

“Thank you," Eamon said. He took a deep breath.

Emma watched him a moment as he looked over the brochures.

“Now, you go on home and give yourself some time. When’s the funeral?"

Eamon blinked.

“I don’t know. I forgot to ask." For a second his mind went blank. For a second he remembered a flash of his childhood. Another funeral someone asked him about. Another parent lost. And he remembered someone else handing him a similar brochure.

He shook the memory from his mind.

“You’d better call and find out then. Will your brother be handling things?"

Eamon’s face flushed pink.

“I don’t know."

He looked up at Emma. She reached out and patted his hands.

“Too many questions," she said with a warm smile. “Go home and rest for a while."

Eamon nodded and walked out the front door, guided by Emma’s comforting grasp. She patted him on the back as he stepped out into the daylight again. He wasn’t aware that it had been as dark as it was inside. He squinted back and waved at her as he walked around the fence and into the depths of the park.

Eamon switched on the light as he climbed up the steps and into his front door. Stepping inside his own home felt dark and damp and uninviting. He fell into a large blue chair by the door and covered his face in his hands. The old man was gone, and Eamon found it hard to feel anything but guilt at not feeling grief. He opened his eyes and blew out a long breath. Between his fingers he saw the answering machine flashing the number two. He closed his eyes again.

That would be Avery. Avery calling and apologizing for sending Nancy instead of coming himself. But why did he send Nancy?

Eamon grabbed the arms of the chair and pulled himself up to his feet.

“Hello, this is the home of Eamon Burghere. No one can come to phone right now. Please leave a message...."

“Eamon . . .I guess by now you’ve seen Nancy. She was going to call me after she saw you but I guess she either hasn’t had the chance or you’re still talking . . .It was . . . He was . . .I . . .Oh crap. I was never any good at this stuff." There was a long silence. Eamon’s finger hovered over the next button. “Look, just call me when you get in."

“Hi Eamon." Nancy on her cell phone. He could hear traffic in the background. “ I wish you would have at least let me drive you home. Let me know if you’re okay, all right?"

He deleted the messages and turned back to his blue chair. The phone rang. Eamon stopped and turned back, staring at the answering machine.

“Hello, this is the home of Eamon Burghere. No one can come to phone right now. Please leave a message...."

“Eamon?" It was Avery.

Eamon walked over to the phone and looked at it momentarily before picking it up.

“Yeah?"

There was a moment of long silence.

“She talked to you?"

“Yes."

“Are you okay?"

“Yes."

“I’m sorry Eamon," Avery said.

“For what? You didn’t kill him."

Silence. There was a faint buzzing on the line.

“Avery?"

“No, I didn’t kill him."

This time Eamon was quiet for a long moment.

“What happened?"

“The experiment went wrong. I don’t know really. He was there with me, but then he was gone and there was this thing . . ."

“Oh Jesus Christ, you did kill him!"

“No! No, Eamon! It wasn’t like that! There were just . . . complications."

“Complications?"

“Yes,� Avery said. His voice sounded tiny and far away. “There was something over there. Something that came after us."

“Where? What are you talking about?"

Again, Avery was silent for a few moments.

“Come home, Eamon,� he said. “Come home and I’ll show you."

“It’s been six years-"

“I know, but this . . .this is worth the reunion. We have to make arrangements for the funeral anyway."

Eamon rubbed his face with his free hand.

“The funeral." He groaned. A lump grew deep in his throat. To go back there was bad. To go back even for the funeral. Maybe because of the funeral. Very bad.

“All right," Eamon said. “I’ll catch the bus in the morning."

“No, I’ll send a car."

There was that edge to Avery’s voice again. That commanding tone he took when things were going the way he planned.

“No," Eamon said, using his own self assured voice. “I’ll take the bus. If you send a car I won’t come."

Avery sighed.

“Suit yourself," he said. Then there was only a dial tone.

_____________________________________________________


Morning came only too quickly. Eamon’s alarm clock raged at him to get up. His hand fell on the book Emma had given him with his soup. A book of spiritual poetry meant to uplift and humor him. Some of it was very funny, and someone had gone to a lot of trouble to keep the illustrations humorous as well, but the subject matter was life’s milestones. The big things that one encounters during life. The deaths, the births, the marriages, the changes that make life, as the author of the book said, interesting. Eamon only got through about four of the poems before putting the book down. Avery’s words made him cold in his stomach. He worried about what he was going to learn today and couldn’t think about anything else.

He turned off the alarm clock and peeked out of his blinds into the morning sunlight. He saw the neighborhood kids all dressed up for school and playing while wearing their heavy book bags up at the entrance to the trailer park. The bus was late today as it often was for these kids living on the outskirts of town. It was already nine o’clock.

Eamon showered and dressed and grabbed his coat. Breakfast would have to wait. He locked the door behind him and headed out to the bus stop.

A few of the kids spoke to him.

“Hello Mr. Eamon!" Three young boys Eamon knew as Emma’s God children waved at him as he walked toward them and the city bus stop next to their school bus stop. He smiled and talked a little with them until the school bus arrived. They waved to him from the bus windows as they pulled away.

His own bus arrived just after the school bus left. He climbed up and sat in his regular seat. Emma waved to him from her yard and made a motion as if she was reading a book. He smiled back and waved, nodding. And from there he settled for the hour trip back to his father’s house.

The bridge came into view beyond the traffic and the street lights. Eamon looked out over the river as they crossed and at the city behind him. A city with layers of history crammed into a tiny sliver of land between the ocean and the river. It’s slowly creeping skyline growing higher and higher. He looked across the river in the direction he was heading now, the soft jungle-like greens and browns and greys of the wild forest land and swamps. It seemed like two sides of a coin. The wild jungle versus the sophisticated metropolis. The truth was much muddier. The swamp was too big and too costly to tame, so the land was left alone to flourish. And there, on the right hand side of the road just beyond the bridge and the merging traffic of the interstate was an insignificant dirt and gravel road. Eamon stopped the bus and got off. It left him in a cloud of red dust and grey oil smoke. The other passengers watched him through the windows as they pulled away.

Eamon stared at the forest and the gaping hole of the driveway. Traffic zoomed past him stirring up more dust and flapping his coat.

Time to face a few demons.

He took a deep breath and went in watching where he stepped on the gravel drive. Memories flooded back as he walked; a tree he and Avery played in as boys, the dry empty ground where an old collapsed building with a metal roof had been where they used to take girlfriends, the old round swing they never used as a swing but more as a torture device, swinging it at each other like a frisbee. . . And then the day he left. The day he came to help his father move some things in the basement. The day he saw what his father’s and Avery’s experiments had done to the two of them. The hundreds and hundreds of clear glass bottles in box after box . . . His father’s hand, deformed from some experiment gone horribly wrong. The rush to the hospital and finding out the hand wasn’t the first time something had happened. They told him it had to be done. They told him it was necessary to go back and try again. They said it was life or death. He walked out of the house and never came back, until today.

Today the birds sing, the breeze blows through the rustling dry leaves and the house is a shadow of darkness crouching like a predator in the bushes. Eamon rounded the last turn and came out in the clearing around the house. The old parking lot he remembered from his childhood was completely gone now, torn up and grass grown over. The shadow of the steeple marked a cross in his path. He shielded his eyes from the sun and looked up at it. Growing up in an old church was strange enough, but his father being a recluse made it even stranger. He stepped up to the double doors and the oddly crooked door knocker and knocked twice. Around the doors vines had grown, honeysuckle vines. He remembered someone carefully planting a cutting when he was a child. Someone who’s hands were white as the clouds in the sky . . .

Avery jerked the door open. He was taller and thinner now, his face gaunt and sharp. His beach tanned skin had long turned pale. His eyes were as cold blue as Eamon remembered. Ice blue. He looked twenty years older.

“Eamon." Avery examined him just as shamelessly as Eamon had him. Eamon knew what he must have looked like; pudgy, his reddish hair slightly grey at the temples, his hands stained from working a real job, his clothes worn.

Avery pulled the door open enough for Eamon to enter.

The house looked the same as it always had. There were more boxes gathering dust in the corners, more unused furniture fading in the noontime sun that was shining through the cloudy, rarely cleaned ornate windows, and more clear glass bottles, everywhere, many of which were broken and left where they were, the bits of glass sparkling like diamonds. Avery closed the door once Eamon had walked into the living room. The sound echoed off the plastered walls and the tile floors. The fireplace was a gaping black jaw bigger than Eamon’s dining room. The painting of Avery’s mother still hung there in its gilded frilly frame. Her skin yellowed from the bright sun peering in the large circular window, what was once the centerpiece of the group who worshiped there. The lead with clear and frosted glass of various textures formed a beautiful scene depicting a head to toe view of Jesus with outstretched arms. The room was at once both cold and hot, from the freezing stone tile floor and the heat of the sun glaring in the window. The effect was uncomfortable and the church congregation was moved, not just because of the window, which could have been replaced, but also because of the constant flooding out of the parking lot, driveway and the basement. The swamp seemed to want badly to take back its own. Eamon and Avery’s father had let it do just that. The only remaining furniture was a huge brown leather couch from the 1980's and a floral wingback chair and smoking stand by the fireplace. A sad floor lamp sagged over the smoking table, the shade malformed and ripped. A rug too small for the space was centered in front of the fireplace. It too had seen better days. On the opposite wall from the majestic circular window the arched window that had originally been there was filled in with bricks and left bare. A set of nondescript doors was inset in the bottom right corner. A book cabinet with glass doors and a long roman upholstered bench filled the rest of the wall.

“It looks the same," Eamon said.

“I know. We haven’t had any time."

Eamon looked back at Avery. The sun lit his white shirt from behind, casting the shadow of his chest like an x-ray against the front of the shirt.

“Looks like you haven’t had time to eat either."

Avery gave him an evil look and pushed past him to the double doors.

“There hasn’t been time to eat. Too much has happened here and there."

“Where’s there?" Eamon watched Avery walk to the doors. He saw a flash of shiny brass and heard the click of the door latch inside. Avery opened the door and stood aside. He motioned for Eamon to enter.

“I’ve been keeping it locked since he died," he said.

Eamon watched him carefully as he walked up to the doorway.

“I’m not sure why," Avery said. “But I really want to go back."

Eamon turned and looked into the room. The first impression was of a glass factory. Hundreds of the glass bottles filled the center of the room. Eamon remembered the Austria marks on the boxes and how excited his father was to have finally gotten them. Now they filled the room from floor to ceiling with tubes and smoke and heat elements and digital thermometers, and over to the left, just under the window were two hospital beds with intravenous infusion equipment and a computer monitor between them. A digital video camera was fixed to the wall facing the beds and a pair of computers were set up under it right by the door. Eamon walked into the room further. His father’s old mahogany desk was set up in the far corner and littered with notes and notebooks of various kinds and sizes. Diagrams and calculations were sprawled across a huge blackboard behind the desk. Both his father’s and Avery’s handwriting covered everything. Eamon walked up to the blackboard and for a moment tried to make sense of what he saw, but just to the right, behind the massive construction of bottles was a bulletin board. Hundreds of photos were pinned there. So many they migrated from the bulletin board onto the wall itself. Eamon stopped and stared. Avery had started talking again, but Eamon wasn’t listening. There was a picture . . .

“Mother?" He heard his own voice break. Avery stopped talking. Eamon walked up to the collage and plucked a snapshot from the wall. A woman in jeans and a pink sweater was shyly looking at the camera. Her long wavy hair curled up at the ends. There were freckles across her nose and, for once, she was smiling.

“Jesus Christ." His own voice caught fast in his throat. Avery was suddenly next to him.

“You see why we had to go back," he said.

“Back?" Eamon glanced at him and then turned back to the photo. Avery took it from his hands and turned it over. The date the photo was developed was printed across the back.

“That was only eight years ago?" Eamon turned to Avery. “But she died twenty years ago . . ."

Avery nodded then walked back to the desk. He gently touched the pages lying there.

“He saw her only once. It was as if not a day had passed. He told me about it. It was an accident that he found her in the first place. It was an accident that he ever got there at all." He walked slowly around the table. “Then, after many unsuccessful tries, he did get back." He lifted a photo in a frame from the desk. It had been pushed back into a corner buried just a little under yellowed papers. Avery looked at it a moment before handing it to Eamon. Eamon took it. Avery’s mother was there, laughing in the sun, playing in fallen orange leaves. She looked about fifteen years old, but the look was still there, slightly arrogant, slightly vain.

“She didn’t know him yet," he said. “She was just a girl."

Eamon looked at Avery over the frame. If he hadn’t been so miserable he would have laughed.

“Time travel? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?"

Avery shook his head. He slowly walked toward the hospital beds.

“No, Eamon,� he said. “It’s something else. Maybe a kind of travel, but not time travel."

Eamon took a last glance at the photo of Avery’s mother and set it back on the desk. His own mother’s photo he slipped into his coat pocket. He followed Avery back to the beds. Avery was staring at the one on the right and rubbing his chin.

“He died here?" Eamon stood next to him and looked down at the bed.

Avery made a noise in agreement.

“But what killed him wasn’t on this end," he said thoughtfully.

“What do you mean?"

“It was . . .on the other side . . ." His eyes glazed over with a faraway look. “Something was out there . . .I don’t know what it was . . .It came after us. Running. Through the forest and screaming . . .I . . .I turned around to see if it was behind us. It was so loud. I couldn’t see it, but the trees were moving . . .I turned back around to help Dad but he was gone.� He looked down at his hands for a second. “I tried to find him. I didn’t know if we could come back apart . . .I was afraid of the sounds and the crashing trees . . .Leaves were flying around . . .I didn’t see him. So I waited in the barn for a while and hoped that thing wouldn’t find me . . ." He looked down at the floor and turned away. “After a while things got quiet . . .I went outside again . . .He was no where. Gone. Not even a trace of clothing, nothing. I searched for a long time. I called him, but he never called back . . .After a few days, I decided to come back. I’d searched everywhere. I didn’t know what else to do. That world is so small . . .I can’t imagine where . . .where he would be . . . where his body would be."

“His body? His body is here."

“Yes, but . . .That’s not what I mean, not in the same sense."

Eamon sighed.

“I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about and I don’t think I want to know. I think the best thing we can do right now is get the funeral arrangements taken care of and let me get back to my normal life in my normal house and let you get back to . . .� He caught Avery’s cold stare. “Whatever the fuck it is you do here."

He stormed past Avery back into the living room.

“But I need your help," Avery said. There was that edge to his voice again, just on the verge of commanding, but soft and gentle like a snake. He slowly followed Eamon back into the living room. “This project hasn’t been going on very long-"

“Those pictures say otherwise, don’t you think?� Eamon felt the blood rush to his face. “That picture of my mother? From eight years ago-"

“That was an accident."

“And the one of your mother? When was that taken?"

“Two years later."

Six years ago.

Eamon clenched his teeth and closed his eyes tightly. His hands balled into fists.

“Yes," Avery said. “That’s when you helped him with moving the bottles. Just after that in fact. He was so glad to finally get the right bottles."

Eamon walked to the front door. Avery watched him.

“He tried to go back to your mother first,� he said. “But we couldn’t get it right." He looked up at the painting over the fireplace. “After he saw my mother he tried to get back to her too, but it was never right. He never got back. Instead he began turning up in a different place. And the worlds kept getting smaller . . ."

Eamon opened the door and marched out into the sunlight. The cold took his breath, but his anger kept him warm. He stomped all the way back to the highway. Instead of waiting for the bus he walked. The next nearest bus stop was a good hour’s walk away.

Avery violently shuddered as the door creaked and finally slammed shut behind Eamon. His hands involuntarily balled into fists. He snatched his coat off the hook by the door and followed Eamon, slamming the door behind him.

Eamon was already some steps ahead of him, stirring up dead leaves in his wake. Avery stopped and watched his half brother’s angry departure. He could see Eamon through the trees as he turned along the driveway curves. Eventually he disappeared from sight around the last curve and onto the highway. Avery sighed and shook loose his tense hands. His car was only a few steps away. He pulled his keys out of his pocket and touched the button to unlock the door.

________________________________________________________

Eamon stomped along the side of the road toward the metal bridge. Rocks seldom walked on cut into his feet through the soles of his shoes. Trucks zoomed past him, blowing his coat around and freezing him inside. At times like this he regretted giving the coat Nancy had given him away. It was nice and well made, but expensive and it came from her. Because she knew he needed it. And that made him hate wearing it. Made him feel like a beggar. But now, with cars and semi trucks nearly blowing him into the ditch, with bitter cold air tinged with burning oil smoke and gas blasting at him and freezing his bones, he wished his pride hadn’t insisted on turning down such a needed thing.

At the moment, however, he was where he was, wearing what he was wearing and his anger at Avery was at least keeping him from being as aware of the cold as he would normally have been.

Avery and his insanity. Avery and the “other worlds". And mother. His mother, Avery’s mother. Was anything he said real?

A car horn honked from the other lane. Eamon looked back. A sleek silver car had slowed down alongside him. The darkened window went down and Avery’s nearly white blond hair poked through first.

“Get in the car," he shouted.

Cars passed between them. Eamon shook his head and walked faster. Traffic was beginning to line up behind Avery.

“Get in the car!" Avery shouted again, this time his voice was deeper, more forceful.

The third car in line behind Avery whipped out and passed him. The first and second followed, but three more pulled up in their place. Avery hit the gas and sped ahead.

Eamon shivered again as he watched his brother’s car zip through traffic, passing every car that had passed him and many more. He disappeared over the bridge and Eamon breathed a sigh of relief. Only a moment later he glanced up and saw the silver car heading back toward him. He stopped. Avery again whipped through traffic and slammed on brakes just in front of Eamon on the side of the road. He got out of the car and walked around to Eamon.

“Jesus Christ, Avery. What the fuck are you doing?"

Avery walked toward him. Without a word he walked around and opened the passenger door.

“Get in the car."

They stared at each other as cars passing by slowed down but did not stop.

“I’ll drive you home," Avery said. His voice was nearly a whisper. Eamon wasn’t sure how he heard it at all.

A highway patrol car pulled in behind Eamon from the other lane. He parked and stepped out of the car.

“Sir? Is there a problem here?"

Eamon turned to the officer, but Avery spoke.

“I was trying to give my brother a ride home, but I don’t think he recognized me," Avery said, in a sing song telephone voice. “We haven’t seen each other in a while."

Eamon never took his eyes from those of the officer.

“Tell you what sir,� the officer said. “Why don’t I give you a ride instead."

Avery opened his mouth to speak, but this time Eamon spoke.

“Thanks, Dan."

He walked with the highway patrolman to his car. Avery slammed the door and in a moment whipped back into traffic, disappearing down the long driveway to the house.

“Thanks for rescuing me, man."

“No problem, Eamon,� The officer said. “Is that guy really your brother?"

“Yeah, he was,� Eamon said. “A long time ago." He and the officer both got in the car. “Now I’m not sure who he is."

Dan looked at him with a funny confused expression.

Eamon sighed and shrugged.

“Have you ever felt something wasn’t right,� he asked. “You know, felt like something deep down was seriously wrong with someone but you couldn’t put a finger on it?"

Dan chuckled.

“Yeah,� he said. The highway patrol car joined with other traffic and headed over the bridge into the city. “I had a partner once. Not a work partner, a fishing buddy. You know, the kind of guy who buys the beer and owns the boat, right? He knows everybody and everybody likes him. That sort of fella.

Eamon nodded.

“Yeah, my buddy, Greg, was like that,� Dan said. “Then, one day we were on this lake Greg said he had just found out about that was supposed to be great for fishing. We went with another friend of mine on the force, Ed Williams. Anyway, all three of us were out there just fishing and talking a little and drinking and Ed saw something funny floating about ten feet or so away in the middle of a bunch of lily pads. We paddled over and it was a woman’s hand, kind of bobbing there, just at the surface the water. The fingers were reaching upwards and just barely poking out of the water so that each time a ripple passed over them they would be visible. We pulled her body out after calling for help on the radio and it turned out my friend had killed his wife and sunk her body in the pond. I don’t know why he killed her, but afterward he thought her body would make good fish food and he didn’t want it to go to waste so he weighted her body down and chucked her in the pond. Then he invited us to go fishing.� Dan looked at Eamon as they stopped at a red light. “Is that the kind of something you’re talking about?"

Eamon sat and thought about the fingers in the pond. Then he thought of his father’s upcoming funeral.

“My father died," he said. “Just a day or so ago."

“Man, I’m sorry Eamon."

“No," Eamon said. “It’s all right. We hadn’t gotten along in some time. I’m not even sure he was mentally stable." He crossed his arms over his chest and looked out the window at the storefronts as they passed through the new revitalized downtown area. “Honestly, I’m not really sure if Avery is mentally stable."

“Why? What happened?"

“They have a history of crackpot science. Both of them are highly educated . . .I’m sorry," he said. “Both of them were highly educated. They were both smart men. I guess you could even go so far as to call them geniuses. I know my father was, and I know he was trying to breed one when he fathered each of us."

“What?"

Eamon took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Blurred visions of his childhood fluttered by. He reached down to his coat pocket and pulled out the stolen photo of his mother. He gazed at it for a moment before saying anything else.

“This is a photo of my mother," he said. Dan glanced down at it briefly.

“She’s beautiful," Dan said.

“Yes, she was. She died when I was a child," Eamon said. “I don’t know how or why. My father was very disappointed in her and disappointed just as much in me. I’m not a great scientist or scholar or anything special at all. But my mother graduated at the head of her class and so impressed my father that once she had graduated he asked her to marry him."

“He was her teacher?"

“No, he wasn’t her teacher so much as a resident scientist at the campus. She visited him regularly and they discussed things," he said. “Ideas and speculations about things that those kinds of people discuss. Math and physics and other such stuff that’s way over my head as it would be for any average person. Anyway, he thought he had met his match. He thought that she could mother the perfect son for him. Nevermind that he could have collaborated with my mother directly on these fantastic ideas of his. No. He had to have a son." Eamon shook his head. “He truly believed that a woman could not comprehend the crazy ideas he had."

Dan grunted and shook his head as well.

“What were these ideas?"

“Well, that’s where I’m not much help. See, I can’t figure that crap out to save my life. I was a horrible student, I have no interest in science other than what you see on documentaries on tv and I was far more interested in drawing and painting than working out complex equations." He was quiet a moment. “In the end, maybe that’s what did my mother in. Maybe she was embarrassed by me too."

“Eamon, come on, don’t say shit like that."

Eamon waved his hand as if to shoo the words away.

“No," he said. “I’m not on a self pity trip. I’m just saying maybe she did commit suicide just like my father said because I was such a disappointment to him. I know she couldn’t have any more children after me. Maybe displeasing him broke her heart. I really don’t know. All I do know is that shortly thereafter he brought home the bitchiest and most vain and sadistic woman I’ve even known and made her his wife. She was Avery’s mother, and she gave my father the genius he’d been waiting for."

***Just a quick word from the author....I wrote this between 1:30am and 3:30am. Please don't judge too harshly. I was half asleep...***


Avery slammed the door so hard the leaded glass window shivered.

"Damn him!" He marched dramatically into the room and threw his keys as hard as he could against the gaping mouth of the fireplace. He fell to his knees in front of the hearth and sucked in a long deep breath. He looked up at the faded face of his mother gazing down at him from the painting over the mantel and sighed.

"I'll just have to try again," he said. "I have to be more cautious next time. A little less enthusiastic." He grabbed a poker and fished his keys out of the white pasty ashes. "What would you have done, my mother?" He lowered his voice to a pale whisper. "You would have dripped honey in your song and spoon fed him with it. You could always get us to do anything." He glanced up at her again, sideways and caught that glint of superiority in her eyes, her half twisted smile up to some sort of trouble. Was she fucking the artist as he painted her? Avery shook away the evil thought. His heart wanted to believe his mother was a saint. His intelligence showed him the truth. She was a beast in his father's house, but she gave him what he wanted; Avery. Too bad she didn't live long enough to see how it all ended up.

He spun away on his heels from the dark glare of the portrait and stomped into the laboratory again. He peeked at her one last time before he shut the door. She still laughed at him. She still laughed at his father. He locked the door behind him.

For a moment he just breathed there, with his head resting against the doors, his hands still holding the knobs. His mind raced, playing back the events of the last several days over and over. He lied to Eamon. He had left too soon. He didn't stay and help his father. He ran. That thing, whatever it was, scared Avery and killed his father. Now he knew he would have to go back without Eamon's help. He noticed his hands had become ice cold. He turned slowly and gazed at the beds lying side by side. Without looking he flipped on a switch on the desk by the door and power came on to all the machines in the room. The computers whirred into life. He walked over to the notes on the bed closest to the door. His father's scribblings covered the page and his own notes filled the margins. Within moments he was back in his routine of checking and calibrating and measuring. He jabbed his own arm with the needle and lied down on the second bed, tapping the intravenous equipment to make sure the fluid started. It did, slowly. He watched it travel down the tubes and into his arm, and he felt it, at once both burning and freezing. He grit his teeth from the pain, and the darkness took him yet again.

____________________________________________

The light was blue, like very early morning just before sunrise on a frosty winter day. His breath puffed before him in a hot white cloud. Snow hid in shady corners between trees and under winter dead bushes. A remnant of ice glittered in other shady places where the wind was still. Avery took another long deep breath. The air always seemed clearer here, cleaner. It always refreshed him.

"A-Avery?"

Avery's spine tickled as heard a craggily ragged voice that sounded as if it was just behind his left ear.

"Avery? Is that you?"

It was his father's voice. Was he dreaming this?

"Avery? I know you're here. Where are you? I can't see you."

Avery turned very slowly toward the sound. Nothing was there but a small gust of wind trying in vain to lift up damp leaves.

"Father?" He whispered. "Where are you?"

"What?" The voice said. It still sounded as if it was right behind his ear. "I'm right here. Can't you see me?"

Avery thought a moment before answering.

"No, father," he said. "I can't. See, your body has died and is about to be buried. I'm trying to bring you back, but there's no body to come back to so I don't know what to do." The voice said nothing. "Tell me what to do father and I will."

The pale blue sky turned dark like a bottle of black ink spilled on a sheet of paper. It spread quickly until everything was nearly pitch black. Avery fumbled with his fingers until he found a tree. He latched on and waited.

A yellow light began creeping slowly toward him in the forest. It bobbed as if bouncing on a string. A sudden urgent sense of panic washed over him. He gulped and held on, hugging the tree. The wind picked up and shifted. It was a hot wind now. Like a warm gust on a July afternoon. The life in its path changed. Dead leaves turned green again, snow melted and turned into glistening puddles, tiny creatures were born and then died as the light passed and they found themselves behaving as if in Spring in the wrong season. The light was a fuzzy yellow ball about five and a half feet or so off of the ground. It stopped in the clearing by Avery and his tree and changed. It became the shape of a person, a woman. Features became apparent.

"Mother!" The words just barely broke the air between his lips.

She was as he saw her in the photo, young and thin and girlish. She wore jeans and little boots and a small light summer sweater of lavender.

"I was," she said. Her voice was just as he remembered it. There was no youthful coloring to it.

"What?"

"Fucking the artist," she said. "I was."

Avery said nothing. His heart pounded in his chest.

She walked around a small tree like a little girl around a flagpole, leaning out as she swung around touching the flowers that grew at her fingertips and died as she passed them.

"He was a fine young man with black hair and hazel eyes. I quite enjoyed him. Your father didn't see us. He didn't care about anything but you and his work." She stopped and touched her chin with a delicate finger. "I don't think I ever heard his name," she said. "he was a good painter though, wasn't he? It is such a lovely portrait." She stopped spinning around the tree and turned to another. The portrait faded into view as if still hanging over the mantel. She stared at it admiringly for a long moment. "Funny you should notice that," she said. "Your father never did."

She shrugged and turned back to her son. As she drifted closer to him he felt hot as if her very touch could burn him.

"You helped him get here," she said. "You helped him get to me. He should be proud. Thanks to your help he almost got to what he wanted."

"He was trying to get back to you," Avery said. He found his voice again after much effort.

She laughed out loud and golden light burst around her and faded up into the trees.

"No," she said. "He was looking for her."

"Who?"

"Her." The 'R' in 'her' dragged out for a long time. She faded out and faded back in. For a moment he saw the cold blue light of morning and the forest through her.

"His first wife," she said. Her own voice was small and far away. "He loved her, Avery. He loved her more than me. He only needed me to create you."

Anger bubbled up in his chest.

"No! That's not true. He did love you."

"Oh, my innocent Avery," she said. She smiled and moved to him. He felt scorching heat emanating from her face. "You are so sweet to say so, but his true love was she. Not me. I was a means to an end. You were that end. He did not care after you were born. What I did didn't matter to him." She sighed. "He only looks for me now out of guilt, and because he cannot find her." She shrugged. "But now, it's time for me to go. Your father calls out for you somewhere. I'll try to find him and help him if I can. If not, then he can stay with me, if he will have me again. We can burn together," she said. Her body burst into flames. Avery stumbled backwards, his own hair singed. She laughed and vanished in a puff of acrid smoke and the blue forest returned. He coughed and spat at the nasty smoke she left behind, unable to catch a breath.

He sat up gasping on the bed in the lab.

________________________________________

Eamon shook his keys out of his pants pocket as he climbed the steps to the door of his trailer. Moonlight peeked between illuminated filmy clouds, a modest smile in the night sky. It had been a long day at the print shop and his hands were stained blue from running blue ink on the press all day. He smelled of ink and dusty paper and glue. The morning excursion with Avery seemed like a distant nightmare, but like all nightmares, late, just before bed, they tend to return and worry the dreamer, and the trouble with Avery was no exception. Eamon saw the flashing number 5 on the answering machine and let out a low groan. He pushed the play button, grabbed the handset and fell into his favorite chair. One message from Nancy, the rest from Avery, frantic crazy messages about his mother and hearing their father's voice in the forest and something about fire. Eamon groaned again. All he wanted now was a slice of pizza, a long hot shower and a good night's sleep. He stared at the phone for a long time. His hands were so blue stained they looked dead in the darkness. Eamon put down the phone and rubbed them again, trying to get the ink off. He went into the kitchen and tried his special industrial hand cleaner. In a few moments the phone was forgotten and Eamon was in the shower.

He came out wrapped in a towel and bathrobe. He took the pizza out of the freezer and started cooking. Lights passed by the window. Eamon picked up the remote and turned on the tv. A small single light jumped around the window, but Eamon was turned to the stove. He heard a click and the door burst open. He spun around. Avery stood there covered in sweat. His eyes were dilated and bloodshot. His hand shook as he tried to hold the flashlight still.

"You are one hard man to find," he said. He half smiled and fell to his knees.

"Jesus Christ!" Eamon ran to him. "What the hell-"

Avery grabbed his arms.

"I saw her," he said. "I saw her!" Tears streamed down his face. "You have to help me get father out of there!"

"Oh Christ Avery, he's dead!" Eamon shook himself loose and walked to the door. He peeked outside at the other trailers in the hopes that no one heard Avery's shouts, then he shut the door.

"He's not dead," Avery said. He slumped back down again. "He's there. She said so," he said. "He's there.... I heard his voice."

"Heard his voice?" Eamon glared at him. "How?"

Avery grabbed at his arms again.

"The lab," he said. "Let me take you back to the lab. I can show you-"

Eamon grabbed Avery's right arm. A trail of needle marks lined his skin.

"You need help, Avery," he said. "But not that kind. I'm not going to the lab and you're going to get some help, now." He tore away from Avery and picked the phone up off the floor where he'd left it earlier. He took a deep breath and speed dialed Nancy. He watched Avery slump even more on the floor. He had looked pale and thin during the day, but now, in the dark he looked almost childlike he was so thin.

"It's me," he said. "I've got Avery here. He just burst in. Nancy, there's needle marks all over his arms." He explained about his visit and what Avery looked like now, and suddenly he realized he had to tell her where he lived. Keeping it a secret didn't seem as important as getting help for Avery. As he talked to Nancy he walked over and took Avery's frail and shaking hand. "Okay," he said. "We'll be right here." He ended the call and sat down on the floor next to his brother. "Now we'll get help," he said.

Avery shook his head.

"No," he said. "It's not what you think. It's a formula father developed to help us go to the other world."

Eamon sighed. "It's a world in your mind Avery. He played a trick on you. He got you addicted to something and made you believe you were going to another world, but it's all in your head. It's the drugs. It's not your fault. I can't blame you for this. He could be very... convincing."

Avery shook harder.

"No," he said. Tears streamed harder down his cheeks. "No, I saw her. She burned my hair. Can't you see it?"

Eamon turned on the table lamp just by the chair. He studied Avery carefully and shook his head.

"No, I don't. Where did she burn it?"

Avery glared at Eamon in anger and confusion. He struggled to his feet and pushed past Eamon. He opened a couple of doors in the hall until he found the bathroom. The light brightened the hallway. Eamon got to his feet and followed him. Avery stared at his face in the mirror. He reached up and touched his white blond hair.

"It was gone," he whispered. "Burned away. She did it when she said goodbye."

"Maybe you should lie down for a while. Come in my room." Eamon guided Avery to his bedroom and helped him get comfortable. "You just lie here and rest. Nancy will be here soon." The timer beeped insistently in the kitchen.

"That's my dinner," Eamon said. "You rest. I'll be back shortly."

Avery pulled the blankets over his shoulders as he lied there in the dark. One more time he touched his hair where she had burned it away in the other world and it was still there. But he had seen it at the house. He had looked in the mirror before he left. It was gone and his face was burned black. He grit his teeth and squeezed his eyes tight.

It was real, he thought to himself. I was there. I was.

Wasn't I?

****Again... Please excuse typos and anything that doesn't make any sense. I wrote this over several days super late at night.****


Eamon ate quickly. Thoughts raced madly through his head.

Drugs? Could his father have been on drugs?

He redressed after his finished his pizza and slipped in his room to check on the now sleeping Avery. The blankets were nearly pulled over his shock white hair. Eamon closed the door and heard the crackling and popping of tires on the trailer park drive outside. He opened the front door and waited. The Jaguar slowly approached and came to stop next to the steps. Nancy climbed out and dashed up to the door and inside past Eamon. She was out of breath and flushed. Her anxious eyes questioned him.

"He's okay," Eamon said. 'He's sleeping in the back."

"You're sure you don't want to call the hospital?" She took off her coat and Eamon took it and hung it on a rack by the hall.

"What if it is some sort of a narcotic, Nancy? I could get him put in jail."

"But Eamon, it's illegal. Besides that, have you thought that maybe he killed your father?"

Eamon shook his head and he gestured toward the couch.

"no," he said. "I don't think he did. If anything the opposite would have been more likely."

Nancy sat on the couch while Eamon poured her something to drink.

"What?" She screwed up her face in that disbelieving scrunched up way she had when she was confused. "Your father was a very old man and he was frail. He couldn't kill a fly much less a grown man like your brother."

He handed her the glass and settled down next to her at the other end of the couch.

"He was obsessed all his life with this... for lack of a better word, quest, to get back in time to a certain place in his past. I don't think he ever made it. But Avery was his ticket to get there, I know that."

"Jesus, Eamon. I don't have a clue what your talking about. None of this makes any sense."

Eamon sighed. "I'll try to explain." He looked down at his hands and thought for a moment. "There was one moment in my father's past that haunted him all of his life. Everyday he regretted whatever it was and it drove him to try and go back and fix it. I guess all of this boils down to a friend of his who claimed it was possible to go back in time. He announced his finding at a meeting and was laughed at by everyone but my father. My father took him aside and had a long conversation with him. After that they were best friends and partners in this experiment, but something happened and my father kicked him out of the house and began doing the research and work on his own. During this time it became apparent that he would not succeed without help and he needed someone young and strong to be his partner. He decided the best way to make sure of loyalty was to breed his own associate... I know how crazy that sounds... So, he married my mother and I came into being, but fairly early on it was apparent that I would not be the type to blindly believe and follow his directions so he gave up on me. He and my mother tried for years to have another child, but were told it would be impossible. She killed herself as you know and then he found Avery's mother. With her he got his partner and a genius as well, nearly as smart as he himself. Father was extremely pleased and basically abandoned Avery's mother and myself to our own devices while he nurtured Avery and made him what his is today." He half laughed to himself. "Funny... In the end, he still didn't succeed in time."

"Then I know what you need to do," Nancy said while thoughtfully sipping her drink. "You need to find your father's first partner and ask him what the hell this whole thing was about. He must have told the man, don't you think?"



______________________________________________



Nancy stayed the night. Eamon couldn't help but feel good about her very presence in his living room snuggled up in thick blankets on the couch. He'd slept fitfully in his sleeping bag on the floor in the hall to make sure Avery didn't wake in the night and sneak out of the house. Avery's hair still poked from the top of the blanket, but his breathing was deep and he seemed to be sleeping restfully. Eamon started a pot of coffee and listened to the birds waking the neighborhood outside. Somehow it just felt like a good day.

"Who will you get to watch Avery today," Nancy said. She stretched and sat up. The blanket fell from her shoulder. She was wearing one of Eamon's old flannel shirts. They always seemed to look better on her. "You can't leave him by himself." She yawned. "Is that coffee?" She stood and walked to the bar. "You don't drink coffee."

"No," he said as he turned back to the pot and poured a mug full. "But you do."

Nancy smiled sleepily. "Yes, I do," she said matter of factly. She smiled.

"I have a friend who might keep an eye on him for me," Eamon said. He set the mug on the bar, gently pushed it to her, turned back to the kitchen and grabbed the sugar jar and a spoon. He set them by the mug. Nancy smiled at him. Her eyes were thoughtful and searching his face. "She's used to dealing with troubled people."

A shadow passed Nancy's face. She looked down at the coffee.

There was knock at the door.

"Who are all these people with these noisy cars in here?" Emma's hand were on her hips.

Eamon laughed. "Come on in, Miss Emma."

Emma wore a huge straw floppy hat decorated with giant purple silk flowers and a long white trailing ribbon. Her dress was fluffy and bright with a large flower print and she wore a navy blue coat with a grey fake fur trim around the collar. She covered her mouth with her hands when she saw Nancy.

"Oh my," she said. Her voice was a hoarse whisper. "You must be Nancy."

Nancy's face turned pink. She greeted Emma with an uncomfortable smile and shook her hand.

"Hello."

"Nancy," Eamon said. "This is Emma Johnson. She's the landlord here and the local minister. Miss Emma, this is my ex-wife, Nancy Reynolds."



"Burghere," Nancy said. Her face flushed redder. "I um.... I kept my married name. Of course, um... Eamon didn't know that."

"No," he said. He stared at her. "I didn't."

Emma chuckled. "I'll bet you don't know he still keeps his wedding ring in his pocket so he can pretend he's still married in public."

"What?" Nancy turned to Eamon.

Emma grabbed her hands. "Now, shhh, darling," she said. "You didn't hear that from me." She walked Nancy over to the bar and sat down with her. "Hmmm.... Mister Eamon Burghere, you might pour Miss Emma a little of that nice black stuff in that pot in there."

Eamon gathered his wits again and went back in the kitchen. As he poured a mug for her he spoke.

"I have a request, Miss Emma," he said. He brought her the mug. She eyed him carefully. "It's not a nice one."

Nancy offered her sugar.

"Oh no, honey," she said. "I only take mine black. I like it with a kick in it in the morning." She turned back to Eamon. "Of course today, something else might give me a kick. What is this ominous sounding thing you want me to do, Eamon? I left my gun at home and Miss Nancy here seems to be quite happy in your presence."

Eamon smiled.

"No," he said. "It's my brother." His face darkened. Lines reappeared on his forehead and between his eyes. "He's in my bed asleep." Eamon thoughtfully rubbed the metal edge of the counter. "His arms have trails," he said. "We don't want to report him to the police until we learn more about what's happened to him and that means Nancy and I are going to have to do a bit of footwork today. I'll have to call in to work. I have some sick leave available. They told me I could take some time off because of father's death too... Maybe I should."

"Eamon's asking if you could look after Avery today, Miss Emma," Nancy said. "Don't feel you have to though. He's delusional and needs medical care, but we're trying to find out-"

"If he killed your father," Emma said slowly. Her face had taken on a seriousness Eamon had never seen before. "I understand. Maybe I should go get my gun."

"Frankly Miss Emma," Nancy whispered. "I would. From what Eamon told me about last night and yesterday it might not be such a bad idea."

There was a thump from the back room. Eamon left to check on Avery.

Nancy turned and grabbed Emma's hand.

"Please don't feel you have to do this. This man could be very dangerous. Do you know anyone who could stay with you who wouldn't report him?"

Emma nodded. After a moment of thinking she spoke.

"Yes," she said. 'I do, but he's not a good sort of man. He'll protect me to the end of the earth, but he'll steal from me too and he killed a man once."

"Does he live close by?"

"Yes, just at the end of this row."

"Is he a threat to you?"

"No," Emma said. She flattened her skirt a little. "He's my son." She took a deep breath. "He was in jail a long time for what he did. He was a user, but they cleaned him up. He's quiet now. Works as the park janitor and keeps to himself. He won't go to church, but that's alright as long as I can keep my eye on him. He's a good boy except when he's using. He'll know how to keep this man straight."

"Thank you Emma."

____________________________________



"Eamon?" Avery sat up slowly, blinking at the early morning sun peering between the slats in the vertical blinds. Eamon sat at the foot of the bed. He buttoned the last button on his shirt and stood up.

"Nancy and I are going out for a while," he said. "I thought you might like to sleep in." He checked his hair in the mirror over the dresser. "Did you sleep okay?"

Avery nodded. He rubbed the back of his head and moaned.

"There's some breakfast waiting in the kitchen. Just call Emma if you need it."

"Emma?" Avery coughed a little. His head felt foggy and sore as if he'd banged it against the wall all night. He climbed out of bed.

"She's my landlady," Eamon said. "She's taking care of you today, so you should take advantage of it and get some rest."

Avery went in the bathroom. A few moments later he came out. He took a few uneasy steps to the bed. Eamon caught him as his knees gave way. He helped him to the bed.

"Jesus Christ, Avery," he said. "Look at you. You're a shell of yourself. Take some rest today. Sleep. Eat. Stay off your feet."

Avery shook his head. "What about father?"

"No," Eamon said. "Not today. Another day won't matter. Nancy and I are looking into what you said."

Avery peered up at Eamon, shading the sun with his hand. "You're going to the house?"

Eamon nodded. "Amongst other places, yes."

Avery gave a deep sigh of relief and laid back on the pillow. "Thank God," he whispered.

Eamon watched his brother a moment more. Avery's cheeks had sunken even more and dark circles blackened his eyes with deep shadows. He could count the bones in Avery's neck.

"All you have to do is rest," he said. "Miss Emma will check on you. Her son, Harris is the janitor here for the park and he'll check up on you too. He's quiet but nice. He's helping his mother with her chores today."

Avery nodded contentedly. He closed his eyes.

"Well," Eamon said. "We're off then. You just get plenty of rest. We'll be back soon."

He hesitated at the door, but Emma put a hand on his shoulder and nodded. He quietly stepped backwards out of the room and into the hallway. Harris stood stooped over at the other end of the hall. He was over six feet tall and built like a football player. He kept his head shaved and wore thick black rimmed eyeglasses.

"He'll be alright," Harris said. His voice resonated through the room.

Eamon shook Harris' hand and hugged Emma. Nancy waved and they headed out the door together and climbed in Nancy's car. Avery's car was halfway in the bushes to the right of Eamon's trailer. He had gone over the bump and into the trees. A trash can was on its side and spilling its sorted contents all over Eamon's front yard. Nancy backed out and they pulled out of the trailer park.

_____________________________________________



They went to the house first. The early morning sunlight peeked through the trees and cracked the driveway with sunlight and shadows. The hulking mass of the old church sat like a monster behind a veil. They turned the last corner and came out into the open area that used to be the parking lot. Even in daylight the house seemed ominous and disturbing. Eamon stepped out of the car and looked up at the leaded glass window.

"It's been a long time since I've been here," Nancy said. She too looked up at the window. "Nothing much has changed. It's just more overgrown-"

"And more evil," Eamon said. He whispered, but Nancy heard him. She startled and watched his face.

Eamon took a deep breath. "It was bad enough with Avery here, but, without him here to distract me...." Nancy studied his face. He shook it off and looked back at her. "Let's go."

He slammed his car door and climbed the steps to the front doors. He reached in his pocket and fumbled with Avery's keys. Nancy reached up and touched the doors. They were open. Eamon reached out and stopped her before she took a step inside. He led the way. He slowly pushed one of the doors open. The house was in it's usual disarray. The once spectacular entry was tired and gray and dusty with age and neglect. He went first to the guest bath by the door on the right. He carefully pushed the door open but nothing was there. He looked up the stairs but shook his head when Nancy put a foot on the first step. They walked into the living room. The portrait was lit up by the sun shining in the lower windows. The dust made the light appear yellow and old. Avery's mother seemed to watch the two of them walk slowly to the kitchen and dining room. Nancy found herself glancing at the face in the painting. Eamon carefully inspected the kitchen and the storage room in the back. Everything seemed okay. Nancy stood in the dining room out of eye shot of the portrait. She shivered in the cold of the stone rooms. Eamon motioned for her to follow and he lead her to the double doors of the laboratory. Once inside he closed the doors behind them.

"I hate that portrait," Nancy said.

"So do I," Eamon said.

They turned around and faced the mess of bottles and glass and gadgets. Nancy stifled a surprised gasp. Eamon led her around the monstrous sculpture to his father's desk. Nancy paused at the wall of photos and examined them while Eamon sat at the desk and searched through the drawers for notes or an address book.

"I know he told me the man's name," he said as he slammed one drawer shut and opened another. "But for the life of me I can't remember what it was."

"So many," Nancy mumbled. She lifted one of the photos and revealed another. "Why did he take all these pictures?"

Eamon thumbed through a worn spiral notebook filled with scribblings. "I don't know." He paused on a page and read it closely. Satisfied that is was of no use he lowered the book and turned the page. "He got one of each of our mothers as young girls. I don't know how he did it."

"What?" Nancy turned to him. Her fingers still graced the edges of a snapshot of a small child.

"Well," Eamon said. He gestured toward the beds. "If that's how they got to this 'other world' I'm not sure how you can carry a camera with you."

Nancy looked at the beds.

"Somehow they did though," she said softly. "Look at this."

Eamon swallowed back a sudden lurch in his throat. He stood and walked to Nancy. Under the photos of the little girl was one of Avery. He was cold. Avery's breath was a puff of white in front of his face, in his hand he held a notebook and pencil.

"That could have been taken two weeks ago."

She shook her head. "Look again."

Eamon removed the photo from the wall, releasing the little girl's to float to the floor. Nancy grabbed at it but missed. It fluttered to a stop just by her toes. She bent over and picked it up. Eamon carried the picture of Avery to the window. Nancy followed. Avery was standing by the ruined foundation of a building.

"I still don't see-"

"You're not an architect," she said. "I saw it immediately. That's this house."

"What?"

"That is the foundation of the house we are standing in right now. Shall I prove it?" She took Eamon's hand and led him back through the living room dodging broken bottles and sad sagging furniture and out the front door. She walked him around the side of the house to a place where the parking lot hadn't been. "He's standing here. So, I will stand here and you walk over that way about fifteen feet. Then turn and look back at me and compare it to that photo."

"I've seen this foundation a thousand times," she called out behind him. "I recognized it from our wedding photos. We stood here and my mother took our picture. "

Eamon did as she requested and held the photo up next to her. It was identical. The foundation was exactly the same. Even the trees were in the same place. But in the photo the house was a ruined mess of rotted boards and crumbled bricks and stone.

"Oh my God." Eamon's voice blew away with the icy breeze. Nancy stared back at him.

"So how did he do it," she asked. "And why are there so many photos of young girls pinned to that wall?"

"Young girls?"

Nancy pulled the one she picked up from the floor from her pocket and handed it to Eamon.

"Who are they?"

____________________________________



Back inside and standing in front of the wall they examined the hundreds of pictures of young red haired girls. Suddenly the faces seemed to stand out from the other photos of buildings, trees, and a ruined city.

"What did you find in the notes?"

"Nothing," Eamon said. He tore himself away from the faces. "I know there must be something here somewhere. He worked with that man for years."

"Maybe he locked all the original work away somewhere."

They both turned and looked around the room. Both stopped in front of a huge red lacquered Chinese cabinet decorated with gold dragons and delicate flowers.

"He had this as long as I can remember," Eamon said. Nancy tried to open it. "And he's kept it locked as long as I can remember too."

"There must be a key somewhere."

Eamon thought a long moment.

"There is a key," he said. "But it's not a normal one. There's some sort of trick to it."

"A puzzle box. Great."

"Yeah. He never let us watch. All I saw once was this."

Eamon reached up and touched a tiny blue flower on the right side of the box at almost the very top. His other hand touched the claws of the dragon's claw that wrapped around the left side of the box. He pushed and both buttons clicked, but nothing happened.

"That's all I know," he said. "But this has to be where it is."

"We have to get in there," Nancy said. She and Eamon carefully examined the box and it's intricate decoration. After a few moments Eamon stopped looking and sat on the floor.

"Christ," he whispered. "What if my father is still in that place like Avery says." His eyes were on the bed and medical equipment on the other side of the room. Nancy sat next to him. She leaned back against the box and patted his back. "He's waiting for Avery to come help him and we've got him trapped at the house," he said. Nancy leaned against him and put her head on his shoulder.

"Don't jump so quick and assume that little bit of foundation in that photo tells the whole story. Give it time. Let's get this thing open and get some help before we jump to conclusions."

Eamon sighed. "They let this thing get too far without getting outside help," he said. "That's what they did. He must have had a reason why he had to keep all of this so secret."

"If it involves a little girl, I'm not surprised he's kept it a secret. Is there a chance you or Avery have a sister you didn't know about or anything?"

"I guess that's possible, but Nancy," he said. He looked into her eyes. "He cared so little for us. Avery's mother and I had to look out for ourselves. I can't see that man giving a damn about a daughter unless there was something in it to help him and this, this thing, he was so obsessed with." He gestured toward the mass of glass.

"Then the answer may be a matter of another sort of obsession," Nancy said. She climbed to her feet. "Let's get in this box."

Eamon stared at the photo of the red haired little girl deep in thought.

Nancy jerked at the side of the cabinet. It lurched to the side. She jerked the cabinet a little harder. It moved just a little. Eamon stood, put the photo in his pocket and shoved the cabinet as hard as he could. It crashed to the floor. They heard a tiny click. A drawer popped open at the base between the feet. The contents spilled out. Both Eamon and Nancy crouched down beside it. They found an almost sixty year old newspaper, a girl's silver charm bracelet, and a class photo of a teenage girl with long red hair. A business card also yellowed with age fell out of the newspaper. Nancy picked it up.

"William Toussant, Engineer-"

"That's him," Eamon said. "I remember now. He had a day job, but his passion was science fiction and he was determined to find a way to build a time machine. He ended up losing his job and practically living with my father."

"What happened then? Why did he leave?"

"My father kicked him out of the house," Eamon said. He thought about it for a long time. "I can't remember why."

"Is there a computer on the internet in this house?"

"I don't think so."

"Let's go then," Nancy said. She climbed to her feet and dusted off. "We'll go somewhere where there is one."

Nancy went out to the car. Eamon picked up the photo, the bracelet and the newspaper and examined them as he followed.

"There's an article circled here," he said. "Lyssa...." His voice trailed off.

Nancy got in the driver's seat. Eamon opened the passenger door still reading the newspaper.

"What's it say?" Nancy pulled down the long drive way and out onto the highway heading back into town toward the bridge.

"Lyssa Matney. She was a girl in high school. Fifteen years old. She was hit by a car and killed." Eamon opened the paper and found the rest of the article. "Jesus Christ...."

"What?"

Eamon read more. "Professor Moren Burghere was the first on the scene. With tears in his eyes he held the girl's hands until the ambulance arrived, but it was already too late. She died within moments of being struck by the car. Ralph Stedman was charged with manslaughter. He had a blood alcohol level of .10." He looked at Nancy. "She was killed by a drunk driver and my father was there."

"So it would appear,"Nancy said. "But what does that have to do with all those bottles and things back there?" She pulled stopped at a red light and watched a girl walking down the side of the road carrying an umbrella. The girl crossed the street in front of them.

"She looks so familiar," Eamon whispered. The girl's school picture was in his hand. "I just can't figure out where I've seen her."

"You weren't born until many years after she was long dead. How could you have seen her?"

"I saw her recently. I know it. Just like you knew that foundation," he said. "I know faces." he reached in his pocket and pulled out the snapshot his father had taken of the little girl. Nancy gasped.

"Is it her?"

"No." He shook his head. "But that's where I think I've seen her. On that wall of photos. All those photos. they all looked in some way like this Lyssa. He was looking for her."

They pulled into Nancy's office parking lot.

"Oh no," Eamon said.  "I can't go in there."

"That's okay," she said.  "You wait here.  I won't be a moment.  I just need to use the computer."

Eamon watched her dash from the car into the front door of the shiny glass building.  She straightened her shirt and shook hands with a few people before rushing past them and into her office.  While he waited he looked again at the photo.  Her name was written on the back.  Lyssa Anne Matney.  

The car door opened.  

"Okay," Nancy said.  She was out of breath.  "I got an address, but I'm not sure it's the same guy."

"Where-"

"Across town. Close to the beach.  The boardwalk.  This guy has a condo apparently."

"A condo on the beach?"  Eamon frowned.

"Yeah," Nancy said as she backed out of the parking lot.  "How could a guy go from homeless and broke and living with your father to living in a condo on the beach?"
Eamon looked down again at the girl.  A dark thought crossed his mind.  He looked at Nancy.  he could tell she was thinking the same thing.

"Blackmail would explain a lot of this," she said.

"I know it would," he said.  "But blackmail for what?"

Nancy shook her head and looked back at the road ahead.

"I have my suspicions, but for now let's just talk to this man and learn what he can tell us.  Anything he was keeping secret couldn't matter now, right?  Your father is dead."

"But Avery-"

"No." Nancy shook her head.  "If this is what I think it is Avery has absolutely no idea."

Eamon stared out the window not seeing but thinking.  Nancy took a deep breath.  A deep line of worry crossed her forehead.  

"You have to have some idea of what I'm thinking Eamon.  You're a smart man."

Eamon closed his eyes.

"I know," he said.  His voice was tired and low.  "I know what you're thinking.  I'm trying not to think it myself.  The truth is that I really don't know what he was capable of."

"I didn't even realize he taught at a high school."

"He did, but only for about two years.  There was a woman he was seeing at the time.  She went through some emotional trauma and asked him to step in and take over her classes for her.  I think she lost a baby or something.  I know it was something big like that.  Something where she expected to be happy and then her world fell apart and she lost it for a while.  He talked about it sometimes.  He said it was the most fun he ever had teaching."  Eamon paused for just a moment.  "It was the only thing I ever remember him talking about where he showed any joy."

"Here it is,"  Nancy pulled the car into a parking lot by a tall thirty or forty story building.  She parked by the massive entrance.  They found William Toussant's room in only a few minutes.  A quick elevator trip and turn a corner and there it was, on the side facing the ocean.  Eamon rang the buzzer.

"Who is it?"  The man had a deep rough voice with a slurred edge to it.

"Mr. Toussant?"  Nancy said.  "My name is Nancy Burghere and-"

"Burghere?"  The man mumbled in what sounded like shocked surprise.  "Is this about old man Moren?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you are some relation to him, I take it?"

"Well," Nancy's own voice dropped off.  "Not anymore, but I was married to his son Eamon for a long time."

"Oh, yeah.  I thought I recognized the man with you there."  The lock unlatched and a tall man with thick wavy white hair ushered them inside.  By the door was a computer screen.  The outside of the door and the hallway could clearly be seen.  The old man gestured at the screen and smiled.  "Beats a peephole, don't it?"  He led them into the living room and offered them a glass of iced tea.  The living room was lined with huge sliding glass doors and windows with an uncluttered view of the beach and the ocean.  

Eamon gasped.  

"Yeah," Mr. Toussant said.  "That's some view, isn't it?"  He chuckled.  "Of course, the first hurricane to come along will wipe the place out.  You just can't get home owners insurance in this building.   That's why my rent's so cheap.  The builders made this place the same time they made that one down south in Florida that got wiped out in that category 2 surge."  He thought for a moment as he sat down in a fluffy white recliner.  "I forget the name of that storm.  Shouldn't have collasped in just a category 2, you know."  Then he smiled at them. "Doesn't matter right now, though.  I've got visitors."  Nancy and Eamon sat on the grey corduroy couch opposite him.  "What brings the Burghere's to my humble abode?"

Eamon reached in his pocket and pulled out the school picture of the red haired girl.  he looked at it for a second before handing it over to Mr. Toussant.  

"This," he said.  

Toussant looked at it for a moment, squinted, pulled out his bifocals and looked at it again through them.  He turned it over and read the girl's name.

"Lyssa."  He looked at the front again for a long thoughtful moment.  "I guess you've been going through his things.  You'd be bound to wonder what all that hocus pocus stuff was about anyway."  He looked at it again.  "I never understood," He said quietly.  "He was so obsessed."  He handed the photo back to Eamon.  "It was as if that child bewitched him somehow.  But, you know...  The truth is probably much simpler to explain.  It was such a shock when she died right there in his arms.  He was so upset.  He was so...  in love with her."  

Nancy let out a soft moan and lowered her head.  Eamon just stared at the old man.  

"He never touched her until she died in his arms.  He had longed to for so long, you know.  But he knew it wasn't right, wasn't natural."  He leaned back in his chair.  "He wasn't teaching her class.  He was teaching a class across the hall.  But he saw her everyday." He sighed and stared far away.  "I really don't think it would ever have been more than a grown man's fantasies had she lived.  He would have found something else to occupy himself and forgotten all about her, but when that car hit her and he ran to her and she grasped his hand while the ambulance was coming....  It broke him.  Broke his heart.  Broke his mind.  He became convinced there had to be some way to save her."

"He went to your lecture?" Nancy asked.

"Oh, well," Toussant said.  He chuckled.  "It was just a dinner, really.  I got to running my mouth about this great idea I had for a story and your father," he said to Eamon. "Got there just as I was explaining about my theory for time travel, only everyone was kidding me and no one would take me seriously.  See, I wanted to be a science fiction writer.  That crowd would humor me and let me tell them my ideas for just so long before they'd start making suggestions and then making fun of me.  But this time, for some reason, Moren took me seriously.  He pulled me aside after the dinner and talked to me.  I tried to tell him it was all just made up....  Just a story, but he refused to listen.  So, he insisted I help him build this impossible thing I'd invented in my head."

"That's so crazy,"  Nancy said.

"He was a young and foolish man at the time, ma'am," Toussant said with a smile.  "I was too.  After a while he got me believing the damned thing would work too and I gave up my own life to help him."  He took a deep breath.  His voice deepened.  "I gave up the only chance I ever had to marry, lost my job, ended my career....  I even gave up writing.  To this day I just can't pick up a pen or sit down at a typewriter.  I just can't.  I work as a greeter at a variety store.  I take the bus everywhere I need to go.  I have no family and very few friends, but they are good friends.  We spend a lot of time together.  All of us loners and bums...."  He smiled at Nancy's sad expression.  "Hey, don't you worry about me.  It's not the life I thought I would have, but it's not a bad life.  At least not until that hurricane comes with this building's name on it."

"How did this time machine thing...  How was it supposed to work?"  Eamon showed no emotion.  his face was hardened in a look of determination.

"You want to know about the bottles."  

"That, and the drugs."

"Drugs?"  Toussant jerked his head back.  "What drugs?"

Eamon took a deep breath.   "There are machines there at the house in the lab.  Intravenous machines...  Medical equipment.  Two gurneys.  My brother's arms are lined with needle tracks.  He goes on and on about having left our father behind in this other world."

"We've seen pictures-"  Nancy's voice broke when Eamon turned to her and gave her a look that said 'be quiet' but it was too late.

"Pictures?"

Eamon sighed.

"Yes," he said.  "There are hundreds of them.  There are shots of the house completely destroyed in them.  Shots with Avery standing there in the middle of it and hundreds of shots of red haired young girls."

Toussant said nothing.  He stared in Eamon's eyes.

"I want to see," he said.  

Nancy took Eamon's hand.  He turned to her.  She nodded.  he took a deep breath and turned back to Toussant.

"All right," he said.  "But you have to keep this quiet until we understand what happened to my father."

The old man nodded.