CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

“So, you’re really just going to sneak off?” Hannah walks out of her closet carrying pajamas. Her face is set in a scowl. "You know what? Don’t even answer that. I’m going to go take a nice, long bath, and if you aren’t here when I get out, and somebody comes looking for you, I’m pleading ignorance.”

“Hannah—”

“I see nothing, I know nothing.” She stomps into the bathroom and shuts the door.

Bobby has a small lantern and leads the way as we cut across an empty Jhana Park.

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” I ask.

“There,” he says, pointing toward the glowing skyline of Atman City.

I freeze in my tracks. “What? You mean tonight? Right now?”

Bobby turns the lantern toward me. “Do you not wish to visit? I was under the impression that you have a pressing desire to take in the sights and sounds of the forbidden jewel.”

“I did. I mean, I do,” I say. “I just didn’t think it would be tonight.”

“What matter is it when we go? What difference would be made by the addition of time?”

“You’ve got me there.” I struggle to rein in my nervous energy. “What the hell. Let’s go.”

“Excellent.”

The black of the night is total; the lantern’s electric glow cuts only a small path through the darkness. I stick close by Bobby’s side, tethered to him by a sense of unease. Despite being a night owl, I’ve always felt nighttime carries danger and a sad sense of solitude. Maybe the quiet amplifies the things that go bump in the night.

I’m startled by a strange, shrill howl from deep in the woods and grab Bobby’s arm. “What is that?”

“Chupacabra. They feed on souls. Quite common, actually.”

“What?”

Bobby puts his hand up to his mouth to stifle a laugh.

“Oh, great, Bobby. You’ve picked a hell of a time to start with the jokes.”

“My most humble apologies, Dez. Consider it a lapse in judgment I shall not repeat.” He looks back over his shoulder before we head deep into the densely wooded area at the edge of the park, where he stops.

“Would you be so kind as to hold this for a moment?” He hands me the lantern and I hold it up while he opens his messenger bag. He pulls out two hoodies and hands the smaller one to me. “Put that on,” he tells me.

“What for?”

He takes off his bag for a moment while he slips into his hoodie. “Our chances of encountering the City Guard are extremely slim, but a risk nonetheless. Long sleeves conceal our bracelets, preventing our identification as non-residents.”

I pull on the too-large sweatshirt and have to roll up the sleeves so they don’t hang down over my hands. “I never would have thought of that.”

“When you have made as many visits to the city as I, it’s a simple matter of trial and experimentation to eliminate as many potential pitfalls as one possibly can.”

We push through the brush at the far side of the woods and follow a narrow but well-worn path through soft, low grass and up a sloping hill toward the city.

“Looks like you’re not the only one who ignores the off-limits rule,” I say. “Lots of foot traffic.”

“It is equally likely that I alone have made this path in my many visits over the years.”

“You really think you’re the only one who comes here?”

“As this is all a figment of my imagination, it would only make sense.”

I let his presumptions slide, too distracted by our rapid approach to the city. Cresting the hill, we come to railroad tracks that look more like rollercoaster track laid flat on the ground. A low, electric hum grows louder as a train approaches. We stop to watch it breeze by, slicing through the darkness with incredible speed and barely a sound.

“That’s a little different than the ones we come in on,” I say.

“Quite. It is part of the commuter line that moves about the city, transporting its residents from place to place. It is both swift and convenient.”

Once across the tracks, we arrive at the outer limits of the city, which spreads out before us, climbing up the foothills toward the mountain looming in the distance. The city sprawls out in a jumble of organized chaos like a Dr. Seuss illustration come to fruition.

A cobblestone street leads away from the tracks and up a smallish hill, crowded on either side with buildings that seem to have no semblance of order. An enormous, angular Victorian house butts up against a modern loft, and a medieval inn, thatched roof and all, sits next to a 1950s diner. Most remarkably, a building that has the distinct appearance of a convent shares an adjoining wall with a pulsating nightclub. A line outside snakes down the block, each reveler waiting for the cartoonishly muscled bouncer to allow them past the velvet rope and into Club Bromios.

“Wow,” I say, breathless.

Bobby smiles. “Indeed.”

“Why do the adults get all this?”

“With regard to the city and its environs, the Atman Council seems to have taken the approach of a parent appeasing petulant children with a great deal of toys. They hold an uneasy truce with a multitude of individuals who exist in a stasis of sorts, not allowed to move on, but not considered irredeemable enough for eternal damnation.” He holds up his hand like a waiter with a tray and gestures toward the city spreading out before us. “And this is their playground.”

“But what about the adults like us who are working on letting go? Why are they here in the city?”

“Transitional adults are segregated in housing sectors far separated from all this. They, too, are forbidden from traveling outside of the confines of authorized precincts.” He clicks off the lantern and stows it in his bag. “But they are of no consequence to our journey. Where would you like to go first?”

“Uh … ” I shake my head, still marveling. “I have no idea.” What lies before us must be a tiny fragment of what the city holds. “Where do you usually go?”

“My usual spot will not make a good first impression, I’m afraid. We shall save that for another night. As this is your introductory visit to this fair city, I suggest we begin with a walking tour of the neighborhood, and you can decide what you’d like to do first.”

“Well now, we’ll definitely have to come back. I want to see this mystery spot of yours.”

We head up the cobblestone street toward the crest of the hill, crossing at the diner and ending our walking tour before it even begins. The scent of hamburgers and fries wafts into the street, setting my stomach rumbling and my mouth watering. “Oh,” I groan. “I would kill for a milkshake.”

“By all means.” Bobby steps up to the entrance. Bells hanging above the entryway ring as he holds the door open for me.

Black-and-white checkered linoleum polished to a high sheen reflects our silhouettes as we enter The Amaranth Diner. I stop at the glowing neon Wurlitzer jukebox by the door. My fingers run across the song selection buttons, and a pang of homesickness hits me, one so powerful it nearly knocks me from my feet.

“She’s a beaut, ain’t she?” A platinum blond with a bouffant hairdo and a blue gingham apron holds a pair of menus in her hands. Her plastic nametag informs us she’s Vera.

“My grandparents have one just like it in their rec room,” I say.

“Grandparents?” Vera smiles, revealing tobacco-stained teeth. “My, how time does fly.” She looks to Bobby. “You want to sit at the counter, or would y’all like a booth? We don’t discriminate here,” she says kindly.

“How positively liberated of you,” Bobby says.

Bewildered, I grab his arm and pull him back toward the door. He holds up a finger and tells Vera, “If you would be so kind as to indulge us for one moment.”

“Take your time, kids,” she says. “The booth or table dilemma is never an easy one to sort.”

“She thinks there’s still segregation?” I whisper.

Bobby leans in and whispers back. “City residents understand the concept of time passing without them, but in practical application, the idea can be rather elusive.”

“This place gets weirder and weirder by the minute,” I mutter as I follow Bobby back to the counter.

Vera beams at our return. “So, have you decided?”

“Booth,” I say. “Stools always make me feel like I’m going to fall off.”

She laughs. “Me too, hon’.” She leads us through the empty diner to a spot by the window and hands us the menus.

“I don’t know about you, Bobby, but I don’t need this.” I slide the menu back across the table to Vera. “Can you just bring me the greasiest, saltiest, most delicious thing you have?”

“You got it.”

“And a milkshake?”

“What flavor?” she asks. “We got butterscotch, cherry, chocolate, peppermint, strawberry, and vanilla.”

“Butterscotch. Definitely.” My stomach growls in agreement.

“I’ll have the same,” Bobby says.

“That’ll be up in a jiffy,” she tells us. She grabs the menus and heads for the counter.

“Imagine that,” I say once we’re alone. “Waitressing through eternity. I wonder why?”

“Unparalleled people-watching.”

“I’m hooked,” I say, taking in the vintage surroundings. “I see why you spend so much time here.”

“And this, to borrow a tired metaphor, is but the tip of the iceberg.”

Vera returns in a few minutes with two butterscotch shakes and two cheeseburger platters heaped with fries. “Here you go. The greasiest, saltiest, most delicious thing we have.” She puts the plates down and leans in close. “Just to let you know, we got a couple of City Guard officers who are Monday night regulars. Should be here in half an hour.”

“Enjoy,” she says before walking away.

“What’s that mean?” I ask.

“It seems our evening shall be cut short. After we finish this bountiful feast, it would be wise to make haste to the dormitory. The City Guard are not individuals we wish to encounter, especially so soon after your arrival. They bring with them an enforcement power and a great deal of complications.”

“But what about our sweatshirts?” I hold up my covered wrist.

“They are meant only to diminish the risk of attracting attention, and are not intended to pass close inspection.”

“But we just got here.”

“And certainly need to return without delay.” He smiles and pops a fry in his mouth. “Have no fear, Dez; your visits have only begun.”

My heart sinks, but my stomach demands satisfaction. We dive into our food, making quick work of the heaping platters before slipping unnoticed from the diner.