~27~
Now
Sunday, October 17, 2010
The part of the plan that Kristoff hated most was getting the gun.
He had phoned home the moment he arrived at the motel in Denver late last night and spoke to his wife for nearly an hour. With the time difference it was quite late in Maine; he could hear the snapping of the common room fire as he talked with Renee, and then he could also hear Elsa come back into the room. Anna had died, like usual, and the nights were always long for his sister.
He had even spoken to Elsa for a little while, mostly in reassurances that what they were doing was the right thing. She had somehow made all the necessary arrangements; Kristoff now had several thousand dollars in cash on him, some of it for routine expenses like food and lodging and the rental car. The rest was for the gun, which none of them had wanted to bring into their equations.
He hated the taste of fear in his mouth. It made him feel childish and stupid. If Paddy were alive, he'd be laughing, which wouldn't have helped any, either.
Now he was cautiously lounging outside a Korean restaurant in Denver's unambitious Chinatown. The fact that Elsa could arrange an illegal firearm purchase from across the country in a single day didn't even surprise him anymore; he had learned to stop being surprised at what Elsa could accomplish when she wanted something bad enough.
They would use no names. Only cash and steel and a prayer that the police were oblivious and sun-drunk on this falsely bright October morning.
There was a tap on his shoulder, yet the unremarkable man who had tapped him kept walking on, not looking behind him to see if Kristoff was following. It was just as Elsa had said, so Kristoff followed him through a narrow and clean-swept alley.
Kristoff was careful in handing over his money, and in taking the handkerchief wrapped weapon. He unwrapped it and saw a .204 Ruger. The man had no expression on his face as Kristoff expertly checked the magazine and the chamber.
Farm boy.
The weapon would do, though he was more accustomed to a rifle than a handgun. He and Paddy and their dad often hunted, though Kristoff supposed he got the most enjoyment from just being outdoors with his family than the actual hunting itself.
It took Paddy years to become a better shot than Kristoff; a sense of competition had always run deep in his family. His brother had hooted and cried, "In your face," the first time he outshot Kristoff at the range.
The transaction for the illegal firearm was too easily completed, and Kristoff had a deep sense of misgiving. It tasted like rusted barbed wire in his mouth.
Back to his motel, to check out and get to Alliance. He phoned home, and told Renee in general terms that his shopping had been successful - for about the millionth time his newly pregnant wife told him to be careful. Kristoff needed no such reminding; never had he wanted a quiet life more than now. Everything hinged on Haley, and on the courage of a dying girl embraced with cancer.
Once on the road, Kristoff speed-dialled Haley and got only her voice mail. "Haley, this is Kristoff. I'm on my way. Don't go anywhere, all right? Stay at the hotel, I'll be there in four hours. If you need to go to Rick's, please let me know, all right? Wherever you are, call me right back."
A strange feeling was brewing within him. It reminded him of sunlight that would be swallowed unawares by a towering thunderstorm, purple-black with electricity and hate. It reminded him of the marsh, and softly imploding fence posts.
Haley didn't call.
When an hour had passed, he tried her number again. It went right to her voice mail. His voice shook as he left a message. The moment he hung up, he pulled over to the side of the road and parked the car. Even though he could not see his newly purchased firearm, he could feel its malevolent presence.
He phoned home.
"Have any of you heard from Haley?" he asked.
"Not since this morning," Elsa said. "It's two hours earlier there, right?"
"Yeah, it's just past eleven."
There was a storm of whispers between his cherished women, his most-beloved family. In the background, he could hear Anna trying Haley on Elsa's cell phone. When Elsa came back to the phone, her voice was stirred. "Drive fast, Kristoff. We can't reach her either."
He was about to hang up when he heard her add, "Kristoff, you know I love you, right?"
The plan. Why did it require such sacrifices? Didn't he already give Elsa up once, along with the rest of his family?
"I've always known, Elsa. I couldn't have asked for a better sister. Stay strong, all right?"
His eyes were stinging when he hung up the phone and merged back into traffic. All that seemed left was prayer, and all he could ask for was that God was not blinking.
...
While Elsa was speaking to Kristoff, Anna felt her inner soul collapsing. She was nearly numb as she tried to contact Haley over the phone. When she could not make contact, she felt a drought of emotion arise within her, her fractured soul blistered by sere and uncaring winds.
Yet a halcyon of stillness remained, some remnant of her dead night, betrayed only by advancing fire in her eyes. The light pouring into the common room held a gentle golden aura, a mockery, really, of all the blood in the world.
Anna found she could not even think of the plan they had devised together. The sacrifices were too great to comprehend. She saw Elsa's hand shake as she hung up the phone. It was her last goodbye.
Anna liked to think of herself as a strong person, who didn't second guess her decisions. But as she sat there, worrying for Haley and the madman who was after her, aching already for Elsa who was leaving her this very night, she got even more still, even more quiet.
If she had known all this, these nine years and all their joys and pains, would she have gone to the fortune teller? She liked to think that the answer would be yes, that she would be strong enough to bear this and a million times more for the sake of her Elsa.
But the starlight on their skin had been so very long ago. So many years with no midnights, not for her.
Elsa turned to face her, and her skin sagged at the corners of her eyes, where fine lines had made a map of her skin. The roots of her hair were starting to grey. The scars at her throat were slightly soggy with age.
Without hesitation Anna stood, overriding the screeching of her stitched wounds, and she gathered her lover in as tight an embrace as she could manage. It hurt so much, but Anna didn't give a damn.
Pain was good. It meant that for now, she was alive.
"Why couldn't we just have it all, Anna?" Elsa asked, holding her tight. "Doesn't everyone else get their happy ending?"
"Ssh," Anna whispered. "Because of you, Casey finally will."
...
Carhenge. Midnight. You will meet your mother. Go alone.
Rick's mind wouldn't stop revolving, churning at the conversations of this past week and spitting out those comments that were most weighted.
The fortune teller is using Brin as bait. For you.
He sat at his kitchen table and stared at the music box. He looked beyond it to the empty chair. Haley had been sitting there yesterday, strangely close-mouthed and endearing. More than once she had looked so incredibly exhausted, so beaten down by this unseen world that he had wanted to comfort her; a touch on the hand, perhaps, or a warm smile.
The world really took a chunk out of you, didn't it?
Rick was disgusted at himself that he couldn't even give her that much. He was busy trying to get the best of both worlds. He wanted his daughter back. He wanted to comfort Haley.
I'd rather you not think I was a candidate for the October calendar of Miss-Straightjacket.
He was a fool.
He stared at the music box. Katja had told him it would be essential. She had finally and with great hesitation revealed where she currently resided; in Antioch, Nebraska, a half hour drive away. Haley's dark lips had gone into a thin and displeased line at the news; she eventually said that she doubted the fortune teller had lived there for more than a week or two. The fortune teller was a mere wisp on the wind, she had said.
All of their planning the night before had hinged on two things: Rick didn't want to lose his chance, and Haley didn't want to lose hers, either.
So, as dangerous and foolhardy and impossible as it was, Rick would go first. Haley would watch, as unobtrusively as she could; if the fortune teller saw her, everything would cease. So when he was finished, when the moment of truth came, she would emerge to confront the fortune teller.
With a flying tackle, if need be. Haley needed answers more than anything else.
Rick was no longer really sure what he needed, other than eight o'clock to arrive faster so they could go. They would drive to Antioch together. The fortune teller wanted him there just before nine pm.
The last thing Haley had said yesterday before fleeing into the night had scorched him. "I don't want to see you hurt," she said in a half-strangled whisper, and the words teetered over the ledger of his soul. Were they pain words, or words of joy?
She had also said, "The price she quoted is not the one you'll pay, Rick. Believe me."
It was almost eight pm. Haley should have been here a while ago. His heart hammering, he called Haley's cell phone. It didn't even ring; it went right to, "Hi, you've reached Haley's phone, but Haley herself is obviously MIA. Leave a message!"
Rick hated voice mail. He hung up.
His palms were sweaty. As per the fortune teller's instructions, he wore a light cotton shirt and old, comfy pants. He wiped his palms on his pants and got up to get a cold Stella from the fridge. He popped the top, and then stopped. He looked at the cool and clear lager, the foam that clung to the neck of the bottle, and left it on the counter.
He would need all his wits tonight.
He needed Haley.
Dusk had fallen, and there was a chill breeze knifed with cow. The neighbourhood boys were still running and screaming across the lawns; what kind of curfews did their parents give them? They threw leaves at each other and the occasional fallen crab-apple.
Brin would have watched them from the window seat, chatting on the phone while painting her toenails bright colours, colours like Haley's hair.
At twenty after eight he actually left a message. "Haley, are you all right? We need to leave soon! Call me!"
Lauren, an elderly neighbour with a heart of coal, yelled at the kids from her front porch. They skedaddled to a more tolerant lawn.
His heart was pounding fiercely, and he entertained the brief notion of lighting the joint in Brin's box.
He left another message on Haley's phone.
And at eight thirty he climbed into his car, and set the music box and his backpack on the passenger seat. He looked into the back seat, but of course Haley wasn't there.
Night was cruel, and drew on a velvet cloak of beauty, a necklace of starry faux-pearls on her delicate and miserly throat. Rick didn't think about much as he drove to Antioch; his headlights revealed a world of subdued hills, then the struggling lights of the tiny town. Antioch had inherited quite a name from world history. The ancient Roman city of Antioch was now buried beneath the sediments of the Orontes River half a world away.
The fortune teller said she lived in a house by the lake.
Why was it always water?
Water is the gateway to the unseen world, and the mirror is the proof.
The directions were easy. Last night Haley had Googled it, and shown him a map. He called her again, and left another message, now hoping that she had to change their plans and was going to meet him there instead. As he turned down a gravel road, he expected to see her mediocre rental car on the side of the road; close enough to walk, but far enough to be unnoticed.
His unease grew as there was no sign of her. He turned down a driveway, where evergreens loomed on either side like hardened sentinels. There was a dim light ahead; as he got closer he saw a porch light suddenly turn on, illuminating a neglected deck, softened by rain and time. Paint was peeling in long strips from the lintels and jambs.
He almost turned around.
Almost.
He felt propelled.
Was he walking his own path, or had fate set it for him?
Rick got out of the car, slinging his backpack over his shoulder and cradling the music box to his chest. His faded leather bomber jacket protected him from the chill night. Behind the house he could see a sloping lawn melding into a wooden dock; all illuminated by a slightly gibbous moon. There was a light on upstairs, but the rest of the house was dark.
Last chance to walk away. Live in his empty house, play poker with his friends, and be horrified as the memories of Brin faded into nothingness along with the memories of Kathryn. There was no place in his house anymore that smelled of his wife. Four years had robbed him of that.
He would be damned before allowing it to happen again.
Rick was still a little unsteady as he approached the porch. There was no doorbell, so he knocked twice, a little too smartly.
He forced himself not to look back, as if Haley would somehow materialize in the woods when he looked for her. He didn't realize how much he wanted Haley to be with him until the vacuum of her presence.
He had been abandoned by everyone in the end.
The door opened. He didn't expect the youthful face that looked back at him.
Katja looked at him, at the pink music box in his hands. "Let's begin," she said.
Then
Friday evening, November 30, 2000.
It had taken longer than expected to drive to Wales; the roads were spiteful and venomous with snow. Haley was driving; Anna could not bear to be in her own car. The fortune teller had told her to arrive no later than 9 pm, so they had left early enough to waste some very quiet and menacing time in the town. Under Haley's blistering questions, Anna had finally spilled the entire story, and now both of them were silent and unsure.
Usually Anna didn't have Haley's faith. Could a world such as this actually exist, sight unseen?
I want Elsa.
Haley believed in it. Anna remembered the fiery touch of Elsa's fingers, the silky caress of her skin and forced herself to believe likewise. She would have her Elsa back, because everything without her was just wrong. The ache of missing her had not dissipated in the slightest with the slim passage of time; each day was forever, and each night was agony.
The sun had set hours ago, shortly after 4:30 pm. Haley's headlights sliced through the close murk of trees and latent fog. The house that the fortune teller directed them to was tiny, falling softly into disrepair and neglect. A single porch light illuminated the winter night. There was a tangle of puppies playing in the new snow, watched warily by a bitch with low-hanging teats. She lifted her lips in a silent snarl as Anna and Haley passed her by, Anna carrying her backpack and Haley resplendent in her black and blue hair and black lips.
Haley grabbed Anna's hand as they stood on the porch, and Anna turned to look at her. Haley seemed uncertain, but now that Anna was here, she would not, could not stop. She squeezed Haley's hand and knocked on the door with her other.
Seeing the fortune teller again brought back the horror of that night at the fair, the shrill whistle of the steam-tortured calliope, the smell of hot oil and popcorn. The card that Madame Katja had given her was the Eight of Swords.
Swords surround you; you cannot remain immobile forever.
Clarity rocketed through Anna's mind; for a single moment she could see everything, connected together like the stretching intestines of moose. The cards, the words of the fortune teller, the accident, and the funeral. Gerda's words, and Anna's knowledge that this path was the path of swords. How high a price would she pay to have Elsa back with her?
Any price.
Katja's eyes were veiled, and when Haley nudged Anna the connection was severed before all truth could be revealed.
They followed the seemingly young woman into the dimly lit house, and Anna could smell the slight mustiness of closed doors and shades. The house seemed old and cranky at being newly awakened; Anna did not imagine that the fortune teller actually lived here. There was no life here to be had. Katja led them to a bathroom, where an old-fashioned claw tub sat as the centerpiece.
Some of the floor tiles were cracked and broken, but the floor was exceptionally clean. Haley was told to stand in the corner and, for her life, to stay there until the ritual was done. So she stood there, her face pale against her black lips. When Anna handed her a clean and folded sheet, she held it tightly to her body.
From the backpack Anna took out Elsa's favourite scarf. Before handing it to the fortune teller she inhaled one last time, and caught Elsa's scent, the scent of orchids and cassis and honeyed summertime.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" the fortune teller asked.
"Yes," Anna said instantly.
"I told you on the phone exactly what is going to happen. There are risks, you understand?"
Anna nodded, holding the scarf as if she were holding Elsa.
"Then we proceed. Place the scarf on the floor over there, and let's begin."
Anna was floating now, bobbing along on the sea of her need. She put the scarf on the ground and then looked at Haley. Next to the profusion of black lipstick, Haley's face was pale and scared. Anna suddenly rushed over to her and wrapped her in a tight embrace, feeling the thickness of the sheet between them. "Remember, Haley," Anna whispered, "no matter what happens, don't interrupt. Don't interfere. It will be all right. I love you. I love you so much."
Haley squeezed her tight. "Don't do it, Anna. Please, don't do it."
"Ssh," Anna soothed, stroking Haley's soft black and blue hair, her other hand on Haley's shoulders. When had Haley become so thin? "It's going to be all right. I promise. Everything will be back the way it was."
"Anna, if..." and Haley's voice trailed off, silenced by the lump in her throat.
"Nothing's going to happen," Anna said. "In just a little while you'll be hugging both of us."
At that, Haley stopped protesting. Anna kept her eyes on her best friend as she backed up to the tub. It was already glistening with warm water; the fortune teller had turned on the taps during their exchange. There was no sound except for the sliding of the water over the ceramic sides of the tub.
The seawater had made such sounds, and it had been so very bitter.
The tub was deep, but soon it was three quarters full. Katja turned off the taps. "Get in," she said, kneeling next to the tub.
Fully clothed, Anna awkwardly sank into the water.
Throw fate a bone. Divert it from your destiny.
"Take a deep breath if you like," the woman said softly. "Once you're inside, find her quickly. You won't have much time."
Anna took a deep breath, and looked at Haley. The younger girl's face was stricken, but she did not move. Anna nodded once, then sank beneath the rippling warmth.
Katja rolled up her sleeves, and then held Anna down. It would take four minutes.
For the first few moments there was no panic. Underwater, Anna opened her eyes, and the fortune teller looked further away than she really was, a disconnect between her arm and the surface of the water as was expected with the scientific law of refraction. Above the fortune teller's face, Anna could see her own reflection in a mirror that was suspended above the bathtub.
Katja had never told her why a mirror had to be there.
The burning in her lungs intensified as she willed herself not to breathe. To just relax. This was her choice. Her whole body could not fit in the tub - her legs hung over the edge by the taps.
She kind of wanted to breathe. Her hands contracted into fists. She forced herself into stillness, and remembered the comment she had once made about gremlins multiplying in the water.
In one shuddering moment, she remembered the look on Elsa's face as she had sunk under the icy stink of the bastard seawater.
No air. Only water.
Must have air.
Her primal brain took over.
Thrashing, arms flailing, Anna wanted nothing more than to breathe air. Fresh, sweet air.
The arms of the fortune teller were surprisingly strong. Anna remained pinned to the bottom of the tub. Anna opened her mouth to scream, to take it back, nearly drowning once in the horrifying slickness of seawater was enough; she decided she didn't want to do this, not this.
She opened her mouth, and breathed only water.
It invaded her lungs with the softest of touches, caressing the insides of her windpipe, extending warm fingers into the millions of clusters of alveoli, blanketing them. Water, the source of all life, the most magnificent of all creations; water enveloped her, seduced her, and finally, shockingly, in a bathtub in Massachusetts by the hand of a stranger, killed her.
No fairy tale light in a tunnel awaited her. She was propelled into the gray mists of an unseen world.
And Elsa was there.
It was just as Anna had dreamed it would be. She had no idea what surface she was walking on, what sort of mists encircled her, but those mists suddenly parted, revealing the shrouded majesty of a vast garden, and there she was. Elsa was wearing the same sort of clothing she wore in life, her long white hair a platinum waterfall over her shoulders, and her neck was glorious and clear of scars. Elsa lifted her hand to touch a budding twig, and it was her left hand, and those last two fingers were actually there; Anna looked at them in confusion.
There had been no words spoken, but the last urge of the fortune teller was still deep in her mind.
As if Katja had some knowledge or power beyond the physical plane, Anna felt the first soul deep tug, somewhere near her belly button.
Elsa looked up. She was confused.
"Anna?" she asked.
Anna took two steps forward, but then halted as another tug came, even stronger.
four minutes
She lifted her hand.
Elsa's eyes had flown wide open, her face was a beloved symphony of delight and concern. "Anna, are you...?" she asked, but then Anna was actually pulled back by this unseen force, the mists undulating at her feet like greedy shadows.
The muted greenery of the garden was already fading. She could feel the tiles of the bathroom underneath her back.
Anna opened her mouth to implore Elsa to come to her, and Elsa was running to her now.
Not fast enough.
And not enough time.
It was the third time that Anna wasn't able to say goodbye to the love of her life. With a last swirling of inconsequential mist, Elsa was gone.
And the water was bitter.
...
A/N: I will update with Chapter 28 next Wednesday, and then Chapter 29 and 30 next Saturday. That's right, everyone - next Saturday will be the last update for Dark Horse. Until then, keeping reading and reviewing!