The pounding was so loud against her eardrums that it sparked match-like flames behind her eyes. Patty turned her head away from the noise and the lights. All she wanted was to sink into darkness, quiet, nothingness. But it was not to be. The pounding thuds increased in volume, yet the sound was not the familiar drum beat of her heart. The sound was... external. Puzzled, Patty opened her eyes. Suddenly, the sparks of light behind her eyes became one large beam in front of her, slowly intensifying into a house-sized, sun-like halo. She squeezed her eyes shut and dry swallowed, her tongue still thick with last night’s alcoholic beverages.
“I must be seeing things,” she acknowledged, voice slurring. It sometimes happened after overindulging. She peeped one eye open just in time to see a pencil-thin stick figure step out of the light.
“What the heck?” Patty blurted, rubbing her eyes. “Who are you?”
The voice boomed at her like a foghorn in an ocean bay. “I AM WHO YOU WANT ME TO BE.”
“Loud! That was too loud,” she whispered. The pounding sound reverberated in her ears and she didn’t know which orifice to cover, ears or eyes.
“I don’t like it here,” Patty whined. “Who are you? Am I dreaming?” Patty’s rum-filled mind sorted through several possibilities, finally accepting the most logical alcohol-induced assumption.
“Are you my, uh, my guardian angel?” Her throat seized and she coughed, a dry hacking sound. She needed a drink. “Is there such a thing? Because I heard, well, I heard people like me, I mean, people who sorta drink a lot, um, I heard that we have guardian angels. Yeah, and I heard these guardian angels take care of you when you can’t take care of yourself.” Patty squinted again into the light. “Is that who you are? My guardian angel?” She supressed a sob. “Cuz I don’t like it here. Not ‘here’ here. I mean at home. My life. I don’t like it there.”
“Patricia... Patty.” The voice had a low, sonorous yet calming tone. “Take my hand and cross over. It’s not too late.”
The figure shimmered in the light and Patty sensed he was welcoming her.
“Patty, it’s never too late.”
She held out her hand.
* * *
Jayden sauntered through the school’s parking lot, her two classes finished for the day. It was lunch time and students were lounging around their vehicles. Her mind was skittering from one idea to another, trying to figure out what to do about the Jeep. And how to figure out those dreams.
“Hey, Jayden!”
Not recognizing the voice, Jayden continued walking.
“Hey you... Shortstop!”
That brought her to a halt. There was only one person in the entire school who knew she played ball. The pineapple ponytail girl.
Jayden hesitated and shifted her backpack. Two cars down, beside an old Honda Civic, stood that one person – the girl who enrolled at Jayden’s school last spring. The girl from the rival softball team – the girl with the pineapple ponytail.
“Hey, are you playing this weekend? It’s the playoffs!” Her curling-ironed ponytail mane bobbed up and down and then swished back and forth, like a frisky pony. A few students looked at Jayden in disbelief as if to say, “The Queen of the Bully Biahtches plays baseball?” Jayden scowled at them. Yeah, I have a life away from school, morons. Get over it.
She strode toward the girl. “Shut UP!”
The girl’s face dropped for a moment and then she placed her hands on her hips. “What is wrong with you, girl?” she snapped back at Jayden. “I can see you have no friends and I’m thinking maybe you could use one. Me.”
It was like a punch in the gut for Jayden. No one had ever sought out her friendship, especially at school. Her reputation as queen of the bullies evoked fear, not camaraderie. She didn’t know what to say.
“I’m heading home,” the girl continued. “Need a ride?”
Jayden gulped. This is déjà vu. The girl had attempted to befriend Jayden last spring and, feeling cornered, Jayden felt forced to make an on-the-spot choice: be bully or be nice. Back then, she was all bully and no nice. Today, though…
“I, uh, could use one,” Jayden said slowly. “A ride, that is.”
The girl held out her hand. “I’m Michelle, Michelle Dinnick-Schulze. But everyone calls me D.S., like DeeEss, get it? Cuz who can even spell Dinnick-Schulze?” The girl laughed. “Where do you live? Are you hungry? Do you want to grab a bite to eat first?”
“Man, easy, easy! You sure talk a lot,” Jayden stated as she fastened her seat belt. “I live about five minutes from here and if you hang a left at the lights, there’s a pita place along the way.” There was no way the girl was coming to her home – no one ever came to her mom’s place. She kept that part of her life private, just as she kept her sports life private.
“Oh yeah, pitas, I love them!” The girl’s ponytail bounced and swished with her pronouncement. “Hold on!” D.S. accelerated sharply in reverse and then launched the Honda into first gear. “Yee haw!” she hollered out the window.
Jayden couldn’t help but grin. I think I like this girl.
* * *
The heavy-duty cable cutters were cold in his hands. He liked it that way. The cutters were an integral part of his bitter chant, his own portable drum set, his own scissors of destruction. Each thud emphasized the menacing words of his chant: “I don’t like it. I don’t want it. I HATE it.” THUD THUD THUD.
Richard stroked the razor-sharp metal tips and caressed the long arms of the tool. He stood and listened intently. They were out there somewhere. Crossovers. Tracking them was his job and stopping them from getting to the top of the mountain was his mission. That’s what he told himself night after night. There were no days. Only darkness and moonlight. Cold, ghostly moonlight.
He almost had one of them too. A few nights ago, he activated the shield and trapped the female Crossover at the cliff. He gingerly scratched the thick scar across the top of his head as the scene replayed in his mind. He was confused. How did the girl get past the shield? Nothing could get through that electrical force. Their faces looked familiar though, but it made no sense to him. No one ever came back after they fell into the Town of Sleepmore. Ever. Nevertheless, he was certain they were the same three who outwitted him… when? Was it last month, last week? Or last year? The time was night and night eluded time. There was only one long ‘now’ that stretched endlessly. The moon stood still in the sky. Only clouds, water and wolves moved. And Crossovers.
Richard pointed the cable cutters at the moon. He was about to call the wolves when a disturbance in the darkness caused him to pause… there was something in the air. Something he could sense but not see or smell. That could only mean one thing: a Crossover.
A horrible, wicked grin stretched across his sickly face. It was time to hunt. Throwing the cable cutters over his shoulder like a double-barrelled shotgun, Richard began to march.
* * *
Connor sat beside Georgia’s hospital bed, a story book propped on his lap. He had gently placed one of her hands on his arm, hoping for a response while he read from her favourite book. It was a story about Mama Pangolin and her young son, Foleydota, and their adventures with a cheeky peacock named Persnickity. “In a land far away where the sun always shines and the snow never falls…” A knock on the door interrupted his story-telling.
It was the head nurse. “Your dad called and said he was delayed at the fire station and won’t be here until 10. He couldn’t reach you. He said you must have turned off your cell phone.”
“Yeah,” Connor responded. “I always turn it off when I’m here with Georgia.”
The nurse nodded and walked toward the prone child, studying the bedside medical equipment. The intravenous pump continued its clockwork drip while the LED bars and numbers on the monitors maintained their green glow. “Her vitals are stable – no change.”
“Yet,” added Connor.
“Yet,” agreed the nurse. She quietly left the room.
The sun was emitting its last rays and twilight was gathering gloom. Connor finished the pangolin book and then took Georgia’s limp hand in both of his. He wanted her to draw on his strength, to take from him whatever she needed so she could get out of Richard’s dream world. I have to find her… before it’s too late.
“Before it’s too late,” he said out loud. That’s what the apparition, or protector or whatever he is… that’s what he says. Connor contemplated the man’s words. Was he talking about Georgia?
Connor flinched, his mind reeling at the implication. He flinched again when Georgia opened her eyes.
Staggering to his feet, he called out her name. Her deep blue eyes were open – but they were as blank as the lidless eyes of a storefront mannequin. Her face, however, was animated in a torturous contortion of utter, primal horror.
She began to whimper and mewl, like a blind kitten in search of its mother. Connor grabbed the ‘call’ button for the nurse and pressed it repeatedly.
“I’m here, right here,” Connor whispered, stroking her forehead, waiting for the nurse to return. Georgia’s mouth was open but no sound emerged. Her lips were drawn back over her teeth as if she was stuck in a silent, distorted scream. The incongruity of her lifeless eyes and terrified expression made Connor take a step back. Her face revealed terror, but her eyes displayed nothing. Emptiness.
And then she spoke. In a voice emanating from the depths of her body, she moaned: “It’s the Thtompy Monthter.”
Connor fell to his knees.