Trudging up the mountainside, gun in hand, sweat running into his eyes sending the sweet burning sensation all through his body, meaning to interrupt his concentration, his balance, and his sanity, he thought he might never make it. The snow was coming down so hard and so thick he wouldn’t have been surprised if a dump truck was stationed on the cliff above his head, releasing snow in waves down upon him. Soaked from top to bottom and from side to side, the harsh breeze would eventually freeze his clothes and hair to his skin. That was a pleasant thought. Willing his left hand to move upwards to the next protruding rock, he closed his eyes. Thoughts spun around his brain as fast as dogs around a race track, one after another slowly pausing in front of his eyes, taunting him. What are you doing here? Do you really think you can save them? You’re just one person, how much can you do, really? You’re insane. You could be sitting at home playing Halo, you know. Stupid asshole.

Shaking his head from side to side like clearing an etch-a-sketch, he shoved the thoughts away from conscious view. He then engaged his muscles and hoisted himself up to the rock ledge directly in front of him. As he struggled to maintain his grip, he threw his gun upwards, landing with a thud on the snow covered rock. His hand, now free, pulled his weight upwards, his leg swinging to the ledge above and he finally found himself on a flat surface, his stomach beginning to chill from the frozen rock. He could hear his pursuers, but they were still a ways down the mountain yet. No need to hurry.

He felt like his eyes were glazing over… was this death? In what felt like slow motion he reached out for his gun, but before his fingers came into contact with the metal, something bright caught his eye. Awestruck, he fell backwards slightly, sitting on his feet. His hand fell limply to his side. Was this the place they had been taken? Had he finally arrived? He wasn’t crazy after all, was he? For the first time in what seemed like years, he smiled. Small, timid, but it was there. The joy underneath threatened to burst through his wind chapped lips and unleash a brand of warmth so vivid it would melt the snow. His brain lit up, and it felt like his almost dead batteries had been replaced with new ones.

Unbelieving, he slapped himself across the face and whispered, “This is real.”

***

He paced back and force, his steps quick and long, his hands clasped behind his back. He was wearing an itchy wool sweater that, as he began to sweat, it began to itch mercilessly. Drops of sweat began to bead up on his brow, and he wondered if the time would ever come. Head down, he watched his feet kick out in front of him as he paced. Why had he chosen to dress nicely, was it really that special of an occasion? What was he expecting, anyway? His brand new shiny black leather dress shoes rubbed on his heal uncomfortably. Shaking his head to himself, he realized that maybe being himself, instead of a dressed up pussy, would have been a better choice. Oh, who knows. First impressions are the best or worst, depending on which side of the interaction you find yourself.

“Grant, are you ready?”

He stopped pacing immediately, and looked up, his dark eyes searching. They landed on his mother; she had just opened the door across the room and stepped through, letting the door close behind her. She appeared calm, but slightly on edge. Grant wished he could hold his composure like she could. He sucked in a deep breath, his lungs burning, and let it out slowly. He unclasped his hands, now clammy and cold. He cleared his throat and croaked out, “Are you sure I should do this?”

His mother smiled softly. “You’ve wanted this your whole life, haven’t you?”

“Yes…” He strode closer to her slowly, running his fingers through his hair. Now that it was happening, he didn’t know if he really wanted it after all. “How do I look?”

“Handsome.” She reached out and straightened his collar, and quickly took her hands away. She knew how much he hated her doing things like that. He was a grown man. She patted him on the chest and looked into his eyes, full of pride. “You’ve grown into a wonderful man. Just be yourself. He’ll see it.”

I doubt it, he thought to himself, but to her, he returned the smile. “Thanks, mom.”

Not another word was shared between them at that moment, but the look in his mother’s eyes begged him to be strong, no matter the outcome. This calmed him a little, but he couldn’t promise her that he’d be strong. He’d played this scenario over and over again in his head, with all the possible outcomes dancing before his eyes. Yet, 30 years of imagining is no match for the one moment of reality. He cracked his knuckles and took his mother’s hand gently. He felt tears ball up in his throat, but he willed them away.

“Will you be here when I come back?”

“Yes, in this very room. I’ll wait in the arm chair by the fireplace.” She paused. Looking down, Grant could tell she was getting choked up as well, but for different reasons. He squeezed her hand.

“It’s not your fault. I just wanted to meet him… for closure, to know what he’s like.” She looked up with him, her eyes wet, her eyeliner smeared slightly, her cheeks a deep pink. “Please don’t feel guilty.”

“You’re a sweet boy. Always such a strong soul.” She hugged him, her faced squished against his shoulder. He could smell her favorite perfume, White Shoulders, which reminded him of being a kid. Just the two of them. And eventually his little sister, but in this memory it was just the two of them. She had just sang him his favorite bed time story, gave him a kiss, and hugged him tight. Don’t let the bed bugs bite. If you need me, I’m here. I will never leave you. She was always his rock, his stability. Now he was a hat toss away from the person who made him doubt himself, wonder if he was loved, why he wasn’t like all the other kids. She pushed away from him slightly and made sure his shirt wasn’t wrinkled. Her eyes swimming, she looked up at him and said, “Now get in there before your feet get too cold.”

She was right. He was about two seconds from saying ‘fuck it’ and getting the hell out of dodge. He nodded, turned around, and headed towards the door she had appeared through. He got to it, pushed it slowly, and walked through. As soon as he was through and into the next room, his mother collapsed into the arm chair and sobbed into her hands.

Grant’s new shoes loudly tapped on the hardwood floors, and again he regretted his decision to dress all fancy. With one last check of his dark hair, he rounded the corner into the den, where he saw a man at the window, facing out, a burning cigarette in his hand. He was tall, thin, yet you could tell he was aging by his slumped shoulders and beer gut. He had a full head of silver hair, and wore jeans and a tweed jacket. When the man heard his footsteps echoing off of the walls, he turned around, yet still leaning on the window frame.

Grant stopped in his tracks. “Robert?”

The man laughed heartily, sucked in a drag of his cigarette, and said, his words full of smoke, “You can call me dad, if you want.”

At the word dad he grimaced slightly. He hadn’t thought about this part, and he was confused about whether he even wanted to call this man dad. Not wanting to be rude, he smiled crudely in an attempt to disguise the disgust on his face, and said, “Okay. Dad…” Grant walked towards the man, Robert, and thrust out his hand.

His dad took it and with a firm grip he shook it. He backed up and took his place by the window once more, looking not at Grant, but outside. No hug. That’s okay, in all of Grant’s fantasies, not once did Robert…er… dad…ever hug him. Although he was being more aloof than he had anticipated.

Grant drew in a breath to throw out an ice-breaker, but Robert said, absently, “The weather here is hellacious.” Wide-eyed, Grant stopped and sighed out, “Yeah. It takes a special kind of person to live here.” Then it dawned on him, “Didn’t you live here at some point?”

“Yes,” he croaked out, his voice dry from decades of smoking. “But I don’t like remembering that part of my life. I much enjoy the life I live in Nevada.”

Looking out at the snow covered tree branches and the beautiful cardinal that decided to look in the window from the tree, Grant merely replied, “I bet.” He had a sneaking suspicion that Robert wasn’t only speaking about the weather here in good old Ohio. If Grant didn’t know any better, that was a jab at him and his mother. Burying it down for the moment, Grant said, “So, how is life in Nevada, then?”

Opening the window briefly, Robert flicked his cigarette out into the snow, narrowly missing the lovely bird that sat outside. It flew away in a panic and Robert slammed the window shut again, a cool gale finding its way into the house. Finally turning towards Grant, he said, “It’s wonderful. You should think about moving to a warmer climate. It’s like paradise.” He saw the skeptical look on Grant’s face and said with a chuckle, “It is! I wouldn’t lie. Plus, everything a sinner would ever want is in Las Vegas. It might be slimy and full of debauchery but…” he held up both of his thumbs and pulsed them towards himself, “…so am I!”

Riotous laughter bellowed from the older man, followed by a round of deep coughing, followed again by the laughter. Grant smiled politely, but did not see the humor in it. He was 30 years old and had never been to Las Vegas. He was certain he wasn’t missing much.

Robert continued with the invitation. “But, I drive a cab, and believe me, in Vegas, you can make a killing driving a cab. It’s easy, too, just the way I like it.” Completely oblivious to his son’s disgust, he continued, “I’ve been married for 25 years to Thelma, and have a son, Robert Jr., who is doing well. He’s going to the University of Nevada at Reno getting a degree in Pharmacy.” He paused with an excited look on his face. “Pharmacy! Can you believe it? He’s a smart kid, that one. He got it all from his mother.”

Grant was nearly boiling over with anger by the time he was done. Oh, I’m fine, dad, thanks for asking. I just graduated with an MBA from Penn State, but you don’t need to know that, since good old Rob Jr is going for Pharmacy. It’s really awesome that you named your second son Robert Jr, by the way, since you obviously don’t love me as much as good old Robert Jr, that smart kid! Oh, and mom’s fine, not as fine as Thelma I’m guessing, am I right? I have a little sister, too, her name is Ashley. She’s a really great person, but hey, not as awesome as driving a cab down the strip, eh?

“Sounds spiffy,” Grant replied after an awkwardly long silence. He didn’t mean to say ‘spiffy’ but he just couldn’t help it. He had to say something other than, ‘Oh shut up you egotistical piece of shit.’

Suddenly realizing he hadn’t said a word to Grant that wasn’t about himself, Robert shifted his weight and asked, “So, how’s your mother?”

“Great,” Grant replied, lifting his eyebrows, as if to say What do you think? “She went back to school, got her nursing degree. Now she has a job she loves and a house.” His eyes were bright with pride. “She’s fought hard and won.”

Robert pressed his lips together and nodded. No reply. Just as expected, Grant reminded himself, so don’t get offended. He was finding it hard to keep his tempter in check. Suddenly unfolding his arms, Robert intently looked around the room for a chair in which to sit down. The only tables in the room were wooden and straight, fairly uncomfortable, but he made his way over to one and sat anyway. Awkwardly enough, it was behind Grant, so he had to turn around in order to see the old man.

Running out of things to say, Grant offered, “How long are you in town for?”

“Just today.” Flat, no affect at all. Not surprising. “I gotta fly out and get my ass back to work tomorrow.” He took out another cigarette and lit it with a swift flick of his zippo. “Probably gonna head out soon.”

Head spinning, Grant stumbled a step back and he frantically found a place to sit. He glanced up at Robert, who didn’t look the least bit concerned that he had almost fainted. Just puffed away on his cigarette; that damn thing got more love than Grant ever had. Without thinking, Grant spat out, “Mom lets you smoke in here?”

A half smile spread across Robert’s old, leathery lips, smoothing out the small wrinkles that clung to the parameter. “I guess I didn’t ask.”

Grant brought a hand up to his mouth and realized that his fingers were trembling. He had tried to be optimistic about this meeting with Robert, but the reality was it was going the worst way possible. But what did he expect? He knew that Robert was self-centered and wanted nothing to do with his old life in Toledo. What this smug Robert guy didn’t know was that, even though he thought it was a memory of a life he wanted to forget, he was actually forgetting real human beings that were once close to him, like his mother, and that were physically part of him, like Grant himself. Robert was too stupid to realize that, so at least he had that part right: his son, fuckin’ Robert Jr, had gotten his smarts from his mother, Thelma. Though that was hard to believe in and of itself, because Thelma once was a dancer at the Paris hotel, and that’s where she had met good old Bobby-boy way back in 1984. It was not only a memory Robert brushed under the table, but family too, whatever ‘family’ means.

Staring at Robert, with full intention of making him feel uncomfortable, Grant crossed his legs patiently, as the older man smoked his cigarette in what seemed a calm hurry. He looked around the room, his grey eyes flat in the dim lit place, and not once did his gaze meet Grant’s. Not once. I wonder what it would take for him to look at me, to say, ‘Grant, my first son, how have you been? I’m sorry I left you.’ That’s all he wanted. NO! He only wanted two words. I’m sorry. That’s it. He knew in his heart of hearts he would never get it. Not even on Robert’s death bed would he utter them. He felt like being bold and asking him why he left, why he never wrote, why he disappeared and made him feel like the only outcast at school with no father. The kids would make fun of him, asking him how he even came into existence without a father. His 7 year old self would get defensive and cry ‘I have a dad’ to which to bullies would retort, ‘Prove it!’ He never could. He didn’t even have a picture, besides the old black and white wedding picture his mother still had stashed in a photo album somewhere.

She didn’t like to talk about it, and with good reason. She married Robert without her parent’s blessing. Far from it; they forbade that she get married to him. They said he was no good, that he was a drunk, that he had no job, that he was a loser, that he was with her only for her looks. She didn’t believe it, they were in love, she argued. So, she married him. Almost immediately she was pregnant with her little bundle of joy, and as soon as Robert heard of the baby on the way, he hit the road, Jack. And neither of them saw him again. What a stand up guy! What a role model. And Grant’s mother, Dot, never forgave herself. But she reminded herself on a daily basis for 30 years, If it hadn’t been for my marrying Robert, I would never have been blessed with Grant. And so it was.

Robert stood, placing his smoldering cigarette butt in a flower vase, thinking Grant wouldn’t notice. He straightened out his tweed jacket and thrust out his hand once more. “Nice to meet you, young man.” Cautiously, Grant took it, amazed at what was happening before his eyes. “I’ll see ya when I see ya, I guess.”

Turning around on his heel, a mild squeak rose from the hardwood floor and he charged through the door, through the next room, past Dot, and out of the house. Grant stood with his hand still in the air, where he had, just a moment ago, been shaking Robert’s hand. From outside a few seconds later, he heard a car engine turn over and the sound became more and more distant, and then gone. Grant stood dazed in one spot, wondering if what had happened was real. From the rank cigarette smoke that still hung in the room, and the foul taste in his mouth, he would wager it had been real. Embarrassed, angry, frustrated Grant bolted out the door and past his mother. She shouted something after him, but he ignored her. He burst through the front door and into the winter air. A tear ran down his cheek, and as he noticed this he became even more irate. Why in the holy hell should he let this stranger get him riled up like this? To cry? Who cries over a stranger?

His mother called after him again, but he couldn’t talk to her now. He was too filled with contempt and anger. Slamming his car door, he realized why he was angry. He deserved to know his father. Robert took that from him. As he turned the key and shifted it violently into drive, he gripped the wheel and began to scream.

***

The wind whipped across the snow covered landscape, leading Grant to wish he had grabbed a larger jacket, and perhaps a scarf, as he angrily left his mother’s house. He was so hot with anger at the time that it hadn’t occurred to him that it was below freezing outside. Leaning over the old wooden fence, he looked down at the stream, now frozen in time, dirt and leaves suspended in a forest stew until the spring thaw, a smiled flirted with the corners of his mouth. Despite his anger, an image of childhood emerged; a pleasant memory that he couldn’t help recalling, even as he grasped at the edges of his uncomfortable wool sweater for warmth.

He was 10, and his little sister, Ashley, was 7. When they were children, they were the best of friends. The two were still close now, in adulthood, but nothing like the relationship they shared back then. He was Ashley’s only brother, and she was Grant’s only sister. They were inseparable, especially when the kids at school made fun of them for having no daddy. Sure, they had no daddy, but they had each other.

Running and giggling, they bounded towards the river, the high grass tickling their bare legs and toes through their sandal clad feet. In truth, it wasn’t really a river, but more of a creek, but it was deep enough to do some rudimentary fishing and to root around in the mud for snails. This particular sunny afternoon, the two siblings were going to fish, but there was a new added bonus that Ashley was particularly excited about: Her big brother was going to teach her to skip rocks. She had always seen it done in the movies, and she witnessed her brother do it on occasion like a magician pulling a bouquet of flowers from his shirt sleeve, so she timidly asked if she could learn.

Of course Grant had agreed to bestow his little sister with his worldly knowledge of rock skipping, and after they grabbed a pole and some bait, they ran off with barely a waive goodbye to their mother, who just shook her head with a smile and continued to prepare dinner.

“Wait for me!” Ashley cried through her laughter as she struggled to keep up with her big brother. “Wait up!”

Still running, Grant turned back momentarily and barked back, “Gotta keep up with the big guns, Ash-hole!”

Finally, they came upon the stream, babbling softly despite the breezy day. Grant got his fishing pole ready, but Ashley knocked it to the ground impatiently, sporting a mischievous grin. “No! You must teach me first.”

Grant raised an eyebrow in faux incomprehension. “Teach? Teach you what, grasshopper?”

She hit his shoulder and giggled. “You know! Skipping rocks!”

“Oh!” He hit his head and crossed his eyes, making Ashley roar with laughter once again. “That! Duh, sorry.” He put his forefinger up to his lips and Ashley’s laughter stopped abruptly. “First,” he said in a whisper. “You must find some flat, smooth rocks.” He looked around and quickly found an example. He held it up in front of her face. “Like this. Go!”

She ran off, grinning ear to ear, trying with all of her might not to burst from excitement. Grant crossed his arms in front of his chest, feeling proud of himself, but he felt even more proud of his little sister. He was glad to help her, even if he did give her a hard time in the process. What did she expect, that was his job as big brother. He turned and faced the water, no more than 15 feet deep in the middle, and perhaps 50 feet wide. Weeping willows lined both the north and south banks, which provided a nice shade and a perfect overhang which acted as his own personal retreat. He was perfectly content in thinking that no other kids had called this place their own, and thus he dubbed it in his mind Camp Grant. He liked the ring that had...

“Grant!” A tiny voice called from about 10 feet to his left and closing, interrupting his daydream. “Grant, I found 9! Is 9 enough?”

“Yes it is, little partner, now come back over here!” She ran with all of her might through the thick sand coated with river rocks and sticks. Ashley’s dishwater blonde hair was now slightly stuck to the sides of her face from sweat and river water. Her grin was still as big as ever.

As she looked up at him with intense interest, he began his lesson. “Okay, so you know how to toss a frisbee, right?”

She nodded, piling all but one of the rocks she had found at her feet. The one she kept she flipped over and over in her fingers absently.

“Good. So, get a good grip on the rock, putting your index finger here and your thumb here...” he placed her fingers carefully on the rock as he spoke “...now lean back and bring your arm back like you’re gonna toss a soft ball, but throw it with the flick of your wrist like a frisbee.” He demonstrated the stance and the throw for her, and the rock skipped clear to the other side of the river.

“Oooh,” Ashley mumbled in awe.

“Now you try it, little girl. Let’s see what you got in that arm of yours.”

She looked up at him, uncertainty strewn across her face, but all it took was one wink from him, and she knew she could do it. Ashley lined up her shot, standing sideways towards the creek, her left hip closest to the water, while her right hand was held behind her, the rock poised in her hand just as Grant had placed it. She swung her arm, and yes! (Grant pumped his fist at her form) flicked her wrist, and by God, the rock skipped. Not as far as Grant’s had, but it skipped 3 full times. Ashley screamed with joy and jumped up into Grant’s arms. “I did it!! I did it! Can I try it again, please? I won’t take too long, I promise.”

“Of course you can, little partner,” he said, hugging her back. “Skip rocks all day long, I’ll be here.”

Grant now looked over this same body of water, cloaked in snow and sheathed in ice, shivering slightly in the winter air, his breath turning to a fine mist with every breath he let out, and he let himself smile. And why not? What fun they had, and it had all happened in the absence of his father. In the absence of Robert, the low life cab driver from Las Vegas. He had lived this long without him, why was it so important to have him in his life now? Everyone has an invisible pull towards family, but now, his anger subsiding, yet his eyes still burning, he wished he could take out some hedge trimmers and cut the line that held him to Robert.

Deciding to let his mind wander, he leaned up against the fence for awhile longer. Every so often, he could hear the engine of his nearby car popping and creaking as the cold air sucked the life out of the hot metal beneath the hood. As he just existed, he felt like something was changing around him. Like the air was getting heavier, denser, older. Older? Did it smell different? Yes, but how? Like dust? Like... farmland and cattle? Didn’t it always sorta smell like farms and cattle?

Grant shrugged it off and stretched his arms high in the air. The sun was making its slow journey towards the western edge of the sky. He decided he better get going. Perhaps he should go back to make sure his mom was okay. He slowly turned to make his way back to his parked car, the windshield starting to frost over as the evening slowly crept over the landscape, when Grant heard a soft pop. Then a crunch. All at once, a soft pressure squeezed around his ankle.

Tripping, he fell forward, panic drawn across his face. In a reflex reaction to catch himself, he stepped a pace and slipped violently on a patch of ice, cleverly disguised by a thin layer of snow. The pressure around his ankle became as tight as a vice grip, and he was flung backwards, and hit the wooden fence with a whack! A sharp pain shot up his side and down his right arm, as he reached back for something on which to stop his fall. Yet there was nothing there but cold air and a couple snow flakes gently dancing and swaying out of the sky for his fingers to touch. The ancient wood broke with a bitter snap. Arms flailing, a scream finally escaped his lips, his mind finally realizing what was happening.

Time almost stood still as he fell back, his stomach turning somersaults, a dull ache forming at the front of his skull, his limbs just about hyperextending themselves in order to find some leverage. A big root, a piece of fence jutting out, a tree branch, anything. Yet, his grasp found nothing, and his arms and legs moved in space. A thought zoomed through his head, wishing a hand would thrust itself at him from the ledge above, like in the movies. Alas, this was no movie, this was real life. And he was plummeting faster than he would have ever recalled towards the dark grey and dull river.

A low thud resonated through the ice as Grant’s body came into contact with the river’s frozen surface. At first, his eyes darted around, realizing he was still alive, he was above the water, breathing, thinking. Beginning to move slowly, he pressed his arms to the ice in order to sit up. That’s when he noticed the water pooling around him, his arms now soaked. His gaze snapped to the ice around him, saw the cracks, heard the cracks. Each crack widened and ran along the length of his body on both sides as fast as lightning bolts. Moaning, the ice shifted, then a lethal crash and before he could take a last gulp of air, he was underwater.

Now, all of his other thoughts were utterly null. Robert was gone. His anger was gone. The memory of he and Ashley playing in this very river was gone. All he could comprehend was how cold it was and that he couldn’t breath. Couldn’t breath. This wasn’t the normal You’re tickling me so much I can’t breath or I’m going to plug my nose and jump in the pool. No. This was if I don’t get out of here soon, I will die. Feet thrashing in an attempt to find the river bed below, and never finding it, he realized quickly he was draining all of his energy in a idiot’s panic. He looked up to see where he had fallen through the ice, but with the oncoming night, he saw nothing but a uniform dark blue and gray curtain of ice. His heart sank and suspended in water he momentarily lost hope. But his spirit wouldn’t let him give up. He remembered the words his mother had said to him not 2 hours ago: Always such a strong soul. Always such a strong soul. He couldn’t let her down. He was strong, and he would live.

Swimming in the direction he thought was up, his wool sweater now as heavy as lead in the water, he decided to slide his hands along the underside of the ice until he found the hole. It was the only thing he could do to save himself. His hands were numb, but as he floated upwards in this surreal state, they hit resistance. There it is! his mind cheered. He ran his fingers frantically across the slippery underbelly of the beast that might kill him. Solid, perfect, never ending ice. Grant’s head was tilted as far back as it could go so he could look up, the light above fading fast, the color of his world turning to a navy blue. He hoped his world wouldn’t turn to black.

Closing his eyes, his lungs pounding, he resigned himself to death. I didn’t think I’d die like this his mind lamented. But just as he believed he was as good as dead, his searching hand came up through the ice. The hole in the ice. He’d found it, by good God and baby Jesus! Rabidly he clutched at the edges of the hole, slipping easily, but he got his head above water, and tasted sweet air like he had never before with a deep and greedy gasp.

Spitting water and coughing up what had gotten into his lungs in jagged and sharp bursts, he tried as hard as he could to keep a hold on the slippery edge. It was getting dark, and he did not want to go under the surface once more. Crossing his arms and laying his head on them with a sick splat, he began to cry. His life was now in a different perspective. He regretted with all of his heart wasting his life wishing for a dad. He should have been grateful for his life, his wonderful mother, his loving sister, his education, and most of all, his life.

Freezing, he began to wonder how he might drag his heavy, soaked, and rapidly numbing body out of the water. Lifting his head slowly, he looked around the ever dimming world that was even dimmer down in a ravine lined by weeping willows which was this river. Eyes widening, his heart leapt into his throat. Nearby, taunting him, was a large protruding root, like the one he was wishing for during his backwards fall down. Trying not to be too cynical, he rolled his eyes, hoping God wouldn’t notice.

Carefully moving his arms out, and having a time of it, as his arms were numbing and shaking, he slowly got his hand close enough to grab the root. He gave it a small tug, and it seemed stable. That was good news. He wasn’t so sure about his hand. He could still close his fingers around the root, but how tightly he had yet to find out. The cold seeping into his very bones, he began to struggle with his own mind. It told him Oh, what’s the use in trying? Just give up and die with dignity.

“No,” he said to himself, his voice a ghostly whisper, wavering slightly to the rhythm of his shivering. He thrust his other arm out with every ounce of energy he could muster, and got a hold of the root. Contracting his biceps, he began to pull. At first, it did nothing, and he was afraid hypothermia had taken over his body. Yet, a moment later, as he squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth, his body began to move. He could hear the quiet swishing of the water as he passed through it, and his gentle grunts as he pulled turned into ear piercing screams. Pull damn you, PULL! His brain urged and with that, he propped a knee up on the ice and pushed the rest of his body to the surface.

His wet clothes made a squishing noise as he let his muscles relax a bit. The temperature was dropping by the minute as night fell, and the crunching noise of his clothes beginning to freeze got his attention. If he could make it to the car, he’d be alright. He could turn on the car, crank the heat, and all would be well. The shore was nearby, and he cautiously, slowly crawled towards it. Once his hand hit the mishmash of rocks and sand, he made a twisting and awkward jump towards it, landing on his knees. Feet completely numb, he began to crawl. Grant’s brain was beginning to slow, the cold working its way into the gears and gumming it up. Nevertheless, he could think of one thing: Must get to car. Must get to car.

Like a nearly drowned muskrat, he dragged his limp body up the riverbank. He grabbed at the snow and muddy leaves with a fervor only a dying man can muster. Eyes drooping, his heart beating shallowly in his chest, he came to the spot in the fence where he fell through. Once he was safely on the parking lot side of the fence, he gave the fence a dirty look and mumbled, “You bastard.”

Digging around in his pockets for his keys was like sifting through molasses. Grant’s finger had lost much of their dexterity, but he found the fob. Pressing the button that unlocked the doors, he car uttered a hollow thunk and a high pitched beep! to indicate the doors were now ready for entry. Isn’t technology wonderful? Still crawling, he reached up, his arm shaking, grabbed onto the handle and pulled towards himself. With what was left of his strength, he hoisted himself up into the driver’s seat, thrust the key into the ignition, and turned it. The engine roared to life, and if his numb face would have let him smile, he would have. Letting the door close on its own, he rolled over to his side and turned the knob all the way to the right. Full heat. His body tingling, a black veil covered his vision.

***

Light fluttered his lids open reluctantly. Squinting, the brightness seeped into his car through the driver’s side window, and he unconsciously turned his head towards it. Grant’s dark brown hair was still plastered to his forehead, but instead of dingy river water acting as the clinging agent, it was sweat. His car had been running all night with purely hot air blowing out at him at full blast the entire time. Breathing in deeply through his nose, he was taken aback by the smell. “What the...?” he murmured as he sat up straight. Reality hit him then: that was no dream. That had really happened. The smell was the dirty water, dirt, leaves, and perhaps some goose excrement, all caked into his now (almost) dried clothes.

He lifted his hand to touch his face, and felt the dried on grit. But he felt it. His heart fluttered in his chest with delight and he said, quietly, “I’m alive.” Then louder as his eyes got wider and he sat up straighter, squaring himself in the bucket seat, “I’m alive!” Finally, he unfolded the visor and flipped open the mirror on the underside of it, looked into it, and saw his very own eyes staring back at him. “I’M ALIVE!” he declared triumphantly. Smiling so widely it almost hurt, he rummaged around to find his cell phone. Pockets, passenger’s seat, floor. Nowhere to be found. Oh, it probably fell into the river he thought extraordinarily joyfully. And who gives a shit anyway? I’m alive, dammit!

Remembering that right before he fell into the river, he was planning on going back to his mom’s house to see how she was doing after the ordeal with Robert, he decided he would stop by there first, to give her a long hug, a kiss, and to tell her he loved her. And why not? He did love her! And Robert could eat shit and die for all he cared. Shifting the car into reverse, he pulled out of the parking spot and high tailed it to his mother’s house, all the while the massive grin never leaving his face.

Pulling up in front of his mom’s house, in the exact same spot as yesterday, he leapt out of the car and nearly ran towards her front door, paying no mind to the ice. He was just too happy to be alive to care. And what if he did slip and fall? He would savor the sensation, and the pain, and laugh heartily, because pain is all a part of life. Life that he still had thanks to some sort of miracle. Having her spare key on his key ring, he unlocked his mother’s front door for himself, and waltzed right on in, as only someone’s child can.

“Mom!” he chimed. “It’s your son! Are you home? I need to tell you something crazy...”

Taking a left and heading into the dining room, he found her sat in front of her computer, not stirring at his voice. He raised one eyebrow in surprise. He had yelled at a fairly loud volume, how had she not heard him?

“Mom?” he inquired slowly, and veering to the right and walking deliberately towards her. Her back was facing him, and she still did not turn around to greet her son.

Walking up to her until he was only a few inches from her, he laid his hand on her shoulder. She did not stir. Perplexed, his hand started to tremble. Still, she did not stir. Frightened, Grant whispered, “Mom, are you okay? Mom. Dot! Dotty! It’s Grant! Wake up!”

Mind spinning, he knelt beside her and studied her gaze, which was locked on the computer screen. Her eyes were moving as if she were reading the open webpage in front of her. Every so often her lips would move, as if reading quietly to herself, but she never acknowledged Grant’s presence. He brought his face close to hers, as an archeologist would do to a new, indecipherable hieroglyphic, and she pressed on reading.

Thinking she might be having a stroke or something, he ran into the kitchen and picked up the phone. He dialed 911 and slammed the phone to his ear. As soon as he heard the greeting, “911, what is your emergency?” he began in, “My mom, she is unresponsive and it’s freaking me out! I think she might be having a...”

“Hello?” the 911 operator cut in. “Is anyone there?”

“Yes!” Grant shrieked. “My name is Grant Wright and...”

“Hello?” the operator asked again. “I will ask one more time, then I will be forced to hang up to clear the line.”

“Oh, my God, yes there is someone here.” Pressing his back up against the kitchen wall, he slid to the floor, sitting with his knees bent up to his chest. Defeated, he repeated, “My name is Grant.”

“I’m sorry, but I do not hear anyone on the line,” she said, obviously part of her official protocol. “I am hanging up now.”

A dial tone stabbed his ear drum. As he listened to it, he could almost make out words. Youarescrewedandtheworldisfuckedandthisisnotadreammmmmmmmmmmm.

He thrust the receiver back on the cradle above his head on the wall. What was going on? Was this some sort of practical joke to cheer him up after his hard (even harder than anyone else knew) day yesterday? Shaking his head from side to side, he could not justify what was happening. An idea suddenly burst in his head as he hissed, “Kimberly might know.”

Reaching up and knocking the receiver from its perch again, he dialed his girlfriend’s number hastily. After a couple of rings, she picked up.

“Hello?”

“Kim! Thank God I got ahold of you! Some crazy sh...”

“Hello, Dot? Is this you?”

Sighing heavily, he couldn’t believe his ears. “No, but it’s Grant, your loving boyfr...”

“Dot, this isn’t funny? What’s going on?”

Grant brought his fist up to his mouth and bit his fingers unknowingly in frustration. Why could no one hear him? Was it this phone? Before he could say another word in vain, he heard Kimberly say distantly, “Huh, I don’t know...” and hang up.

This time, he dropped the receiver on the floor, producing a large commotion as it hit the floor, and then the wall, over and over again on its spring-like cord. Knowing exactly what he’d see, but still hoping he’d see differently, he peered around the edge of the doorway to where his mother was sitting. Just as he expected, she sat, rather contentedly at that, chin resting in a cupped hand, looking at her email box now.

Closing his eyes, his face became flush and hot. The intense joy he had felt only moments earlier had been dashed by... what? Some weird phenomenon where he was being ignored. Or maybe he was invisible. Or maybe he was dreaming and this wasn’t happening at all? He had thought that falling into the river was a dream and it hadn’t been. Ah ha! Maybe this was a dream within a dream...

Not convincing himself of any of that, he staggered to his feet. He decided going home and hiding under the covers for today was in order. Once he woke up tomorrow, everything would be fine. He’d tell his mom and Kim what had happened and they’d all just laugh it up together.

Dragging himself to his mother’s side again, one side of his mouth gradually curved up in a smile. She was so beautiful, so caring. He was lucky to have her as a mom. He kissed her on the cheek and said, “Mom, if you can hear me, this little joke isn’t funny ‘ha ha’ it’s funny ‘uh oh’. You got me good, yes you did. I love you, and I’m sorry I stormed out yesterday. I hope you know I wasn’t mad at you.” Moistening his lips, he studied her face and said gently, “I love you. That is all. I’m going now. The jokes on me, you can give it up now.”

Rising to his full height, he walked to the front door and exited, locking the door behind him. Still shaking his head, biting his cheek to hinder whatever sadness he felt, he couldn’t help but feel abandoned, alone. His mother wasn’t much of a practical jokester, but when she got him, she got him good. Trying to shake it off, he got back into his car, and sped off towards his apartment, located about 15 miles south in a city called Maumee.

Trying to get his mind off of things, he observed the beauty of the world. The leafless trees with glorious ribbons of snow balancing atop them like tight rope walkers, the wispy clouds in the extra light blue sky, the crispness of the air, how the sun seemed sharper in the winter months. It all seemed so... right. Perhaps it was his near death experience, but all those years of complaining about the winter seemed silly now. He could never move to a warmer climate, especially at the urging of Robert. Noticing another cardinal perched atop a mailbox by the roadside, he smiled, recalling the one he saw yesterday. What are the chances of seeing one of those gorgeous red birds that often?

As his thoughts began to focus more fully on the road again, he gasped and slammed on the break. Throwing his car in park, he flung off his seat belt, ripped the keys out of the ignition and jumped out of the car. He spun lazily around once, twice, three times in order to see if his eyes were fooling him. No, no they weren’t. The houses, the buildings, the street lights, the stop lights, the paved roads... were gone.

A wail welled up in this throat as his day became ten times more bizarre. Fingers balled up into fists, eyes burning, heart pounding, he screamed as loud as he could, his voice carrying and echoing across the empty landscape. He looked down and saw that he now stood on a dirt road where the paved one had been only moments before, so at least he knew this path had to lead to somewhere. Whether this somewhere was good or bad, he would find out sooner rather than later. A vast forest stood before him, like an army of giants lined up shoulder to shoulder for battle. Green topped and in full bloom, this new world was in the midst of spring. It was beautiful, but it sprung up so suddenly Grant did not know what to make of it. And what happened to modern civilization?

He fell back into his car wearily and turned the key to start the car. It wouldn’t turn on, not even a growl or a click or a sputter. It was completely dead. Throwing his head back and closing his eyes, Grant’s first thought was I’m in a world where cars either don’t exist or just plain don’t work. Fabulous. Furious, he got out once more and slammed the door, taking his keys with them. What good these will do he snickered to himself with a huff, shoving them in the front pocket of his slacks. Taking a couple steps in the direction he was originally going, he thought he heard footsteps behind him. Spinning around rapidly, he gasped again, heart pounding, wild fire in his eyes.

“Whoa, easy boy,” the girl said. “I just heard your scream and wanted to see if someone was hurt.”

Beholding the person before him, he couldn’t utter a single syllable in response. She was dressed in an embellished gown that was taken directly out of America’s 1850s; or, more logically, from one of the nearby Amish communities. The dress she wore was full, with a skirt consisting of several layers on top of other layers until it reached the ground. It looked like it had a hoop holding it out in that full look. On top, she wore a laced up bodice with a blouse underneath. The shoulders were also full and the sleeves ran conservatively all the way to her wrists. She smiled at him pleasantly, timidly. Waiting a moment, she asked, “Are you alright?”

“Yuh, yes,” Grant stammered. He looked down at his shoes, which had been new the day before, but were now covered with mud and sort of warped from being in the water. Suddenly he brought his hands up before his eyes to study them. He couldn’t see through them, so he must not be dead, but where was he now? And who was this beautiful woman?

Her smile brightened and she blushed. Her dark hair was pulled back in a braid, her lips painted a pale pink. “I couldn’t help but notice the strange contraption you have there,” she articulated apprehensively, pointing meekly at the car. “May I ask what it is, sir?”

Grant laughed heartily and answered without a second thought, “It’s a piece of crap, that’s what it is!” He laughed again, but stopped abruptly when he noticed the look on her face. Written on her face was an expression of fear, mixed with embarrassment. He realized where she came from, men likely did not talk to a lady in such a fashion. “I, I’m sorry. It doesn’t work, is all. I am not sure where I am or what happened, so I was going to start walking.”

“Oh, you’re lost!” The sympathy in her voice was rich and thick like melted caramel, and she took another couple steps towards him, then stopped. “You don’t need to go on alone. Come with me, I have a map you can look at.”

Grant pressed his lips together firmly. Unsure if he should go with her, or if he should even tell her how he got there (or rather, where he’s from), or if he should ask such a stupid question as ‘where am I?’ or ‘what year is this?’ he hesitated. He decided to be honest.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he stated, “but I don’t even have the foggiest idea where I am. Just a moment ago, I was driving through Toledo, Ohio in the year of 2013, and now suddenly I’m...” he held out both of his hands, palms up, and shrugged. “Everything disappeared and now… now I’m here.”

The girl cocked her head to the side, her mouth slightly agape, not believing what she heard. She questioned, “Oh my, sir, did you hit your head? What you say is crazy talk...”

Grant’s hands fell to his sides and his features softened as he looked at her. “I’m dead serious, I swear on my mother’s grave. I have no idea how I ended up here.” Out of nowhere, and idea came to him. “Do you know anyone who deals in magic?”

Her tiny smile turning into a pout, she said, “Yes, but we only go to her in extreme emergencies...”

“I’d call my case an emergency,” Grant lamented, as he took a couple steps closer to her. She must not have been a day over 18 years of age. “Please trust me. I have no ill will.”

Considering this, she clasped her hands in front of herself reverently, fingers intertwined neatly, and then let them fall with a puff to the front of her skirts. “Okay, far traveler. Before we set off, may I have the pleasure of knowing your name?”

“Oh, of course!” He straightened up his dingy sweater and cleared his throat cordially. “My name is Grant Wolfgang Wright.” Smiling, he bowed. He wasn’t sure how this strange place acted in terms of customs, so he was making things up as he went along. “And who might you be, ma’am?”

“My name is Eliza Mary Worthington, nice to meet you.” Curtsying, Grant breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed he had done the right thing by bowing. “Wolfgang, what a great name!” she exclaimed.

“Yes,” Grant agreed, his eyes rolling slightly. He had not been too much of a fan of the name himself. “My mother is a huge classical music fan. Mozart was her favorite.”

Eliza grinned as she said, “Mozart is favorite of our family, too. We are able to go to Orchestra Hall every so often to hear it.” An awkward silence feel between them, and her eyes went to the ground, shy. “May I tell you something?” she spoke bluntly, almost forced.

“Yes, please do.”

“I’ve never been around a man by myself. Well, other than my pa and my brothers.” Meeting eyes with him again, she continued. “So, it might be best that we do not linger. It may also be best if we get you out of here by morning. My pa is expected back from town in about two days.”

Curious, Grant asked, “Where does your pa go when he goes ‘to town’?”

“Funny you should ask,” she said, brightly. “He goes to Toledo.”

***

Following behind Eliza a little ways, as to maintain her trust that he wouldn’t hurt her or try anything, together they made it to the fantastic yet humble house in which she and her family stayed. Grant thought it would be a one room log cabin that he had read about in elementary school. It was much larger than that, having at least 4 distinct rooms. The roof consisted of fancy red curved shingles that had to have been imported from elsewhere. It had taken them about 10 minutes to arrive there, but all along the way, Grant had not seen one other person or structure. Thinking about it, he hadn’t seen an animal either, besides the dazzling red cardinal he had spied right before he had driven into this different world.

Coming upon a small path that led to the house, Grant broke the silence. He was apprehensive to do so, but she already thought he was crazy, so what would it hurt? “So, what year is it currently, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“1851,” she answered, turning back to him for a brief moment to say it. Using what knowledge he had of history from his college days, he began to think what this might mean. If, that is, he was in the same 1851 about which his textbooks had spoken. He remembered that the president at the time was Fillmore, the last Whig to hold office. Having always idolized Abraham Lincoln, he was slightly bummed he hadn’t landed in some other dimension of 1861 when Lincoln claimed the White House. There were no cars, no TV, and not even radio yet. If he was in the 1851 he knew about, slavery was still alive and well. A shiver ran through his body. Clasping his hand over his mouth briefly, he shuddered, thinking What has happened?

Without realizing it, they were at the front door of the giant shack. “Come in,” Eliza invited, opened the door before him, and revealed what might have been considered ‘luxury’ in the mid 1800s. Beautiful, plush oriental rugs adorned the floors and a large, elegantly carved table rested on top of it. On the other side of this large room, many chairs sat in a semi-circle. They must have been for family story-telling or for Bible study. Grant was only assuming they read the Bible, but he felt safe in that assumption.

“Would you like some tea?” she inquired, as she rushed off into the kitchen. There was already a modest fire going in the fireplace near the circle of chairs.

“Yes, that would be great,” he mumbled in response, still trying to piece everything together. Becoming antsy, he asked, “When can we see this magic woman you were talking about?”

“As soon as you’d like.” She hung a tea pot above the fire and sat next to him at the large table. Smiling, she looked like a mother. “Finish your tea first.” Neatening up her braid, she went on. “She’s a mystic, but she would rather be called a sorceress. Her name is Prudence, but don’t ever say it to her face.” Laughing gleefully, she continued, “Call her Prudy, if you please.”

“What does she do exactly?” Magic and witchcraft were all considered to be hogwash where he came from; he figured here, around here, those of the magical arts might be highly revered like a doctor or healer.

“She can foresee events and she can talk to the dead.” Her voice sounding grave, she looked away suddenly, out the window. “Sometimes she can read minds, which comes in handy when someone has committed a crime.”

“Can she answer questions about a person’s past?” This was really what Grant wanted to ask her: Where did I come from? Why am I here? Is there a purpose to my arrival in this world?

“Oh, yes, of course. She does that mostly for fun and for family history purposes.” Standing up at the sound of a high pitched whistle, she rushed over to the tea pot and lifted it from the fire. “Tea’s done!” she announced, sat the pot on the table while she kept on going to the china cabinet for two tea cups and saucers.

Pouring some tea into the cup in front of him, she spoke some more. “Prudy is really, oh, I don’t know, peculiar. I think her special powers make her just that much different from us, that she may feel like an outcast. Because of that, she lives off in the woods, at the bottom of the dell by the swampy pond.”

Grant smiled at this and thought jovially, Oh, we aren’t in the woods now? Then he thought of a saying that his mother had often said, We aren’t out of the woods yet. How appropriate that was for him in that moment.

Clearing her throat after taking a dainty sip of her tea, she looked him straight in the face. Again she asked, “May I tell you something?”

“Always.”

“I think you’re telling the truth.”

“Oh, really...?”

“Yes,” she cut in. “I’m not sure how to describe it, but you’re different. I don’t mean how your clothes are different or your accent but... it seems to me like your voice echoes, like you’re speaking in a cave.” Bringing her hand up to her face, she felt her blood rush into her cheeks. She had never spoken so openly with a man, especially a stranger. “And when you walk, it’s like you aren’t touching the ground. When I first saw you, it was like you were levitated off the ground by the smallest amount. On the dirt road where you stood, you left no foot impressions.” Swallowing hard, she concluded with, “You aren’t from this world.”

Ruminating over this for a second, he replied, “That’s an interesting thought. Who is your president?”

She looked puzzled, so he rephrased his question, “Does your country have a ruler? What is your country called?”

“Well,” she said, tilting her head slightly and looking to the ceiling in thought. “This is the Ohio Territory. All the territories put together is called the United Territories of England. We are ruled over by Queen Victoria.”

The only thought his brain could muster was Oh my God. Staring at her, he gasped and sat back in his chair, his hands falling limply to his lap. His stomach did a flip flop that made him want to gag. In what kind of place was he? He needed to get to that mystic woman, Prudy, and double quick.

Covering her heart with her hand softly, she said, “Oh dear, what have I said? What’s the matter?”

Shaking his head, he closed his eyes. “You’re right. I’m from a different world. In the world I’m from, in the year 1851, none of what you said is true. Not one detail.”

“Oh, my word!” she exclaimed. “Why do you think...?”

“I don’t know,” Grant stated solemnly. “I need to see the sorceress. Now.” Gulping down the rest of his tea, it burned his tongue, but the warmth felt good. His near death experience the night before had left him with a strange perpetual chill. Setting down his cup a little too hard, it startled Eliza into spilling her tea a little bit. Keeping her composure, she set down the tea and left the room to find a rag to wipe it up with, wordless.

Annoyed with himself for the outburst, he covered his eyes with both hands and propped his elbows up on the table. Digging the heels of his hands into his eyes hard he rubbed back and forth. Once again he wished that when he took his hands away, the little house, the tea cups, the spring forest, and Eliza would all be gone. But when he did so and his vision cleared, he was still sitting in the fancy log cabin in the middle of an 1851 no one had ever heard of.

When Eliza returned, she held a white wash rag in her right hand, and dabbed at the spill. Grant noticed that she was stirred up, maybe confused, maybe fascinated, he couldn’t tell. Leaving the rag on the table, folded in quarters, she said, “Let’s go then. I can tell you are anxious to get answers.”

“Yes, I am.” After a moment he added, “I’m sorry if I startled you. I’ve had a long and terrible day.”

A half smile teased the corner of her lips. Sighing, she said, “It’s okay. I’ve been a little nervous, if you can’t tell. We don’t get many visitors, especially not any from different worlds.” Straightening up her dress, she said, “Come on, I’ll show you to Prudy’s hut.”

***

Standing on the upper lid of the dell in which Prudy lived, both Eliza and Grant started out over the land. It shimmered like gold and like copper; the reflection of the sun off of the slick and coated leaves as they rustled around in the air was breathtaking, like a laser light show. Touching his arm lightly, she looked up at him. “Do you see her hut, below?”

He could, but barely. It was camouflaged with bark and vines and mixed into the landscape quite well. He noticed not too far from there was a small pond, overgrown with algae. Exactly as she had described. “Yes.”

“Good. Go to her. She will let you in. Whenever a distant traveler comes into this part of the world, they go to her, and she welcomes them with open arms. Do not fear, she is kind.”

For the first time since they mounted the top of the valley, he looked down at her. Her face looked like that of a porcelain doll. It was flawless and smooth, innocent like a child. Her bright eyes twinkled in the bright sunlight, and wisps of her hair that had escaped the braid flew to the side, over her mouth and nose. She was smiling at him, and that smile gave him the peace of mind he desperately wanted. Needed. Concerned, he asked, “You’re leaving me?”

“Yes, I’m sorry.” She touched his arm again, as if the physical contact would let him know she was still there for the moment. “I can’t let Prudy see us together. If the rumor got out... my father...” She shrugged. “You know how that goes, right?”

“Absolutely.” Cupping his hand, he clapped it to her shoulder gently. Feeling her shiver slightly, she knew in the brief time that they had known each other, she’d come to admire him. “I sincerely thank you for all your help. I’m not sure what will happen to me now, but if I don’t return tonight, please don’t fret.” Turning her towards him, he put his free hand on her other shoulder. “It’s been a pleasure knowing you, Eliza. You’re the most kind and gentle person I’ve met in almost all my life. Well, besides my mother.”

With the mention of his mother, she smiled freely this time, and it was radiant. “A man who loves his mother above all else is a real man, indeed.” She touched his hand briefly with hers, and answered, “It was my pleasure to help you. I hope to see you again someday.”

“I hope that, too.” He pulled his hands away from her then, but not wanting to leave her. She seemed so familiar, as comforting as his mother’s perfume. But he knew that he had to go on without her, and thusly resigned himself to this fate. “Good bye, Eliza.”

“Farewell, and Godspeed!” Pausing, she added shyly, “Grant Wolfgang.” He walked away from her in that moment, trying not to look back at her. When he was halfway into the dell, he stopped and turned around, expecting her to be gone, but she stood there still, her hand raised. It took his breath away for a moment, and he raised his hand in return. She then turned and left him.

Feeling alone again, his shoulders slumped forward and he became tired. Again, he wished for his bed and for pulling his covers tightly over his head, to forget everything. Except for maybe Eliza. As he hurried down the hill, he heard a jingling noise. He couldn’t help but laugh as he said to himself, “Oh, right. My useless car keys!”

As he strode up to the door of the shack, an eery feeling gripped him. A vision flashed before his eyes, of the world he came from, his girlfriend’s wonderful smile cut short by intruding men covering her mouth and throwing her in a car and speeding off; a vision of masked cowboys with guns kidnapping Eliza at gun point, her father helpless to do anything; a vision of his sister being carjacked in downtown Toledo, being held for ransom.

“GOD!” he cried, the volume of his voice raising higher than he would have liked. Just then, the front door of the hut swung open, and a woman revealed herself. Screaming again in surprise, she laughed pleasantly.

“Hello, child,” she said in a whisper, a deep weather worn voice. “I’ve been expecting you. Come in, come in.”

“Oh,” Grant said in response, dazed. “Hello, I’m...”

“I know who you are,” she wheezed, opening the door wider. “You’re Grant Wright. Come on, don’t be shy. Sit, sit!”

As he entered the small hut, he had to duck to make it through the tiny doorway. Feeling nauseous, and not sure why, he noticed a stereotypical round table with a crystal ball sitting in the middle of it. Almost laughing at how tacky it was, he then noticed an oversized deck of cards sitting nearby. Not only did he feel like he was in a strange different world, but now he felt like he had entered a strange different circus sideshow. However, Prudy was much different than he had pictured her in his mind’s eye. He had imagined her as an older woman, maybe with green skin like the wicked witch of the west, a big wort covered nose, a dark cloak, a black pointy hat with a wide brim, and maybe even a black cat sitting on her lap. She was not even close to that, and he felt kind of ashamed for labeling her before he even met her. She was kind of stout, but her face was pleasant regardless of the low, smoker’s voice she had. She had a round face and a cute upturned nose with her dirty blonde hair pulled back in a messy pony tail. In stark contrast to Eliza, she wore bootcut jeans and a cute pink t-shirt with butterflies screen printed on the front. She was actually a cute woman who, it appeared to Grant, was pulled out of the 1990s.

Sitting down in a chair that must have been made for a child, as his knees came nearly up to his chest, Prudy took a seat across the small table from him and immediately lit up a cigarette. To Grant’s amusement, the pack she threw on the table read ‘Virginia Slims’. Pulling in a large puff of smoke, she held it in her lungs for a second and studied his face. As she blew it out slowly, she said, “So, I’m sure you have a ton of questions for me. But first I have one for you.”

“What would that be?” Grant asked in the first full sentence he had managed to string together since he met Prudy.

Putting her elbow on the table and shifting her weight to the side, she explained, “I noticed that your clothes are a little... mussed up. Looks a little uncomfortable and, excuse me for saying so, but they kind of stink. Would you like new ones?”

Finally the tension he felt in his stomach loosened a bit and his nausea subsided as he answered, “Wow, yes. Yes, I’d love some different clothes. Comfortable ones. I’m jealous of your jeans and sneakers, actually.”

Prudy laughed at this, with a deep sandpapery quality to it. “I’m glad to have finally met someone who knows what jeans are, honestly. It’s been decades, maybe longer.” Lifting the hand that had the lit cigarette clasped between two fingers, she waved it around in a sideways ‘8’ formation, the sign for infinity. After doing this twice, she nodded in approval. “There,” she said and sucked in another lung full of smoke. “What do you think?”

“What do I think of what?” Grant asked, lowering his eyebrows in confusion. He looked down at himself and smiled. To his delight, he now wore a t-shirt (which said Penn State, oddly enough), a pair of his favorite jeans, and some Vans sneakers. He moved around in his seat to feel the touch of the smooth, soft fabric, loving it. “Oh, thank you!”

“Not a problem,” Prudy said, and shifted in her seat again. “Now,” she continued, getting right to the point, “I know you’re from the year 2013. Congrats, by the way, that year is fantastic. I also know that it’s a world on a different plain altogether from the world in which we now sit. I could tell you why and how you got here, but...” She trailed off, looking over Grant’s shoulder and into the next room. Still looking through him instead of at him, she said, “...you might not like it.” Shaking her head, she corrected herself, “No, you won’t like it. And I hate being the barer of bad news.”

Confusion enveloped Grant’s entire being then. Bad news? What kind of bad news? He was a pretty straight forward kind of guy, and he couldn’t imagine what the news might be, but he hated when people sugar coated the truth, too. Swallowing hard, the gulp echoing in his skull, he bit his lower lip. “Whether I like it or not doesn’t matter, I guess. If it’s the truth, I need to hear it, easy to swallow or not.”

“I like you, poor wandering child.” Putting out her cigarette by snuffing it aggressively on the table beside the crystal ball, she then tucked one leg underneath her, making herself more comfortable. “I’ll just go ahead and tell it to you straight. Brace yourself now.” She waited for a sign from Grant to continue, and he nodded. So, she said, leaning forward slightly, “You’re dead.”

His first reaction was to ask, You’re joking, right? or Are you fucking serious? But the way she had prefaced her statement made him believe that she told him nothing but the truth. Once the words came out of her mouth and his brain had chewed them over, it did make sense. His mother hadn’t see or hear him, and neither had Kim. Eliza said his voice sort of echoed and that his feet did not leave prints on the dirt road. Grant’s eyes slowly moving upwards, they met Prudy’s dazzling blue ones. Her eyes were as steady as dual running jet engines. It dawned on him and said without thinking, “It happened when I fell...”

“Into the river,” she completed his sentence for him, puckering her lips in thought. “Yes, that’s right.”

All at once he realized, I am dead. I’ll never see my mom again, or Kim, or Ashley, or even that scumbag, Robert. With those thoughts running through his head like little speeding finches darting and diving through the air, tears began to well up in corners of his eyes. Yes, he was a grown man, but he was dead. If that doesn’t deserve a tear or two, he didn’t know what did. All that education, all of that effort, for nothing. Now he’ll never have the chance to be a husband or a father, or even an uncle. He had just begun his career, now he’d never see the wonderful things that it had in store for him. It seemed cliche, but he had never been to Europe or learned another language... it seemed so petty to immediately start regretting anything, but that is exactly where his brain went.

Seeing his eyes darting around frantically as he thought, swimming in tears, Prudy’s voice softened. “Grant, don’t worry. It’s not over. Really, it’s only just begun, and if what I’ve seen is true, you could get your life back. You were talking to Eliza just as an alive person does, and you’re talking to me now. And no, this isn’t heaven. Or hell. This is Earth, but on a different plain, as I mentioned before.”

Grant’s throat was as tight as the eye of a needle, but he managed to squeak out, “What have you seen? What do you mean?”

“In this here crystal ball, child,” she said, her voice sympathetic. “I’d dare wager that you’ve seen it, too.”

“My sister... Kim... Eliza... I saw them all kidnapped by masked attackers,” Grant said, tears running down his cheeks now. “Is that what you saw?”

“Yes,” Prudy agreed. “I did see that. And that is what will come to pass, and there is nothing that I, or God himself, can do to stop it. However, and this is the good part, you can do something about it.”

Snorting a laugh of derision, Grant said, “Me? How can I do anything? I’m fucking dead, remember?”

“You haven’t been admitted to an after life, Grant. That means you have a higher purpose on Earth. When you entered into this world, you crossed a threshold no one ever does.” She giggled slightly, balled her fingers into fists, lifted them both and pointed both of her thumbs back at herself. “Well, except for me. I was the only one to cross the barrier... when I died, of course. I’m from 1995, if you couldn’t guess from the Air Jordan’s I have on.” Laughing again, she looked at Grant, and noticed he did not even flinch at her joke. “Alright, lame, I know. But that is how I’m considered ‘magical’ here in this different dimension of 1851. I’m from the God damned future. My higher calling was to help these people, to heal them, put their minds at ease, be their rock. You, my wandering child, have a similar yet different fate.”

Waving her hand over the crystal ball, an image appeared of a snow covered fortress. “When you crossed over to the United Territories of England, Ohio Territory of 1851, you didn’t do it quietly. Someone noticed. They are called the Gate Keepers, and they thought that once I got through the barrier all those decades ago, that they had sealed it shut, air tight. Their job is to make sure all the dimensions that run parallel in the universe run smoothly, and that everyone stays in their place. This includes the dead, as well. Your passing set in motion a berzerk opposite reaction. They need to make sure you get expelled from this dimension and off to either heaven or hell, whatever your life’s fate is. Anyway, long story short, to make sure you are purged, they need to eliminate your reason for staying amongst the living. Your higher calling is to rescue your sister, Kim, and Eliza. The Gate Keepers are making sure those three people do not exist anymore.”

Gravely, Prudy reached across the table and touched his knee, which was nearly a foot above the table in his rather compact position. Looking into her eyes, he knew she was from his dimension, and that she was dead, too. It only made sense. “The Gate Keepers actions only solidify your purpose,” she went on. “But if they catch you at any point, they can sweep you away and end your life, as easily as one sweeps dirt from the porch in the autumn.” Biting the inside of her cheek, she gathered her words, as she could see Grant was becoming overwhelmed. “Please don’t worry. This will be a challenge, but I will help you. The Gate Keepers will be sending these important people in your life to a different dimension, which one, I do not yet know. However...” she passed him a watch which seemed to materialize out of nowhere, and he took it, reluctantly. “This watch will keep us in contact, no matter what dimension you’re in. I can send you to whatever dimension I need you in, but only if you still possess it. I can also give you updates. I have ways of finding out where your ladies will be sent, but until then, I’ll keep sending you to different dimensions every 24 hours or so, to keep you safe.”

“But...” is all he could say. So, this was his life. Struggling to stay a wandering apparition and to steer clear of these so called Gate Keepers. Struggling to save his beloved sister, his wonderful girlfriend, and this new soul, Eliza. Struggling against time, against fate, against chance. It was only by chance that he ended up in some other dimension; if he hadn’t he’d be floating up tranquilly to heaven. Or hell, who knew. “What if...?”

Shaking her head, she stroked his arm tenderly and then rested her hand on the table. “No ifs. Not now. There are only two choices for you, but I think the right choice is clear. Either get caught and die, or escape and...”

“Save them,” he finished. Widening his eyes to clear the tears and haze away, he sat back, ripping his gaze from hers. “I must save them.”

Smiling, she lit another cigarette and waved her hand over the crystal ball again. This time, the scenery changed. “First order of business, Grant, is to send you to another place, another plain of existence. You’ve interacted with too many people here in this weird 1851, so I must send you to...”

Standing without being prompted, he stuck the watch in his empty pocket (the other one still filled with keys, perhaps not as useless as he once suspected), his newly sneakered feet hitting the wood slat floor. “Send me where you must, just help me save them. I have a clear purpose now.”

Nodding again, she stood, wavering both of her hands in his direction, her cigarette smoke leaving ribbon-like smoke trails in the sideways figure 8 formation. And with that, he disappeared. “Godspeed,” Prudy whispered and hesitantly sat back down. Puffing her cigarette, she closed her eyes. “Prudy’ll take care of you.”

***

When Grant’s consciousness became aware again, he was in a familiar place; however, the differences were astounding. Trees still bloomed a magnificent green, but there were less of them. To Grant’s surprise, many of the houses he remembered from his childhood were now built, the ones that were built after World War I. Simple rambler type houses that were painted white with black shutters, and sharply angled roofs. Several of them were farm houses with vast corn fields stretching over the land like a blanket laid out for a picnic. Looking down, he now found a cobble stone road under his feet, though it looked in disrepair. The grass grew high and healthily. Nevertheless, one strange phenomenon grabbed Grant’s attention like a bully grabbing a child’s collar.

Everything was covered in an alarmingly thick layer of dirt.

Lifting his head to look out before him, down the cobblestone street, he noticed a field that stretched out beyond the hill was entirely covered in dirt. Poles stuck out of the dry and swirling muck a mere few inches, halves of wagon wheels peered up out of the dirt, even an old Model T was half buried in the soft, fine soil. Panic stricken, he instinctively looked up, and horror replaced the panic all in one sweep. Above him in the sky, was a monstrous black cloud, swirling and gaining momentum, becoming larger with every movement. A gust of wind whipped his hair around as he looked off into the west. As he did, a shudder ran through his body and an involuntary, “Oh, God” escaped his lips.

Rolling out of the west, was the biggest dust cloud he had ever seen, moving slowly towards him in great leaps and crashes like a giant wave of water. It rose from the ground all the way up into the sky, very likely miles in height. It was still several miles out, but it would be upon Grant before he knew it. The wind picking up, he began to run, first slowly, then gaining speed until he was at a full sprint. He couldn’t be out in the open when that dust cloud, that dust storm, wrought its fury upon wherever he was.

As he ran, he could feel small granules of dirt smacking him in the face, like someone shooting a million tiny pellet guns at him. Closing his eyes to slits to keep the grit out, and angling his head down slightly against the horrendous wind, he stretched his legs out as far as they could go, and reached his arms out in front of him with every stride, hoping that would propel himself forward more. Where he was running to, he didn’t know, but any sort of shelter would do.

“Sir, over here! SIR!” A voice carried over the wind to him, and he craned his neck over his right shoulder to see where it was coming from. Covering his eyes with his hand as if shading out the sun (but he was shading them from the dirt), he looked around frantically. The voice came again, a little louder this time, “Over here!”

Spotting a man standing on the front step of a modest house on the other side of the road, Grant started to make his way in that direction. Astounded, he noticed the man was wearing a sharp suit. Wearing a white collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a loosened necktie with no sport coat over it, it appeared as if he had been working hard on something in the house, perhaps after a long day at the office. Over the white shirt he wore a double breasted waistcoat, which had a chain dangling from the pocket. Atop his head, he wore a black fedora with a wide grey band around it near the bill. With one hand he held his hat to his head, and with the other he waved to Grant and said, “Get in here, Pal, unless you want to get dust pneumonia!”

Grant ran up to the man and put out his hand. “Thank you so much,” he said, as the man shook his hand heartily. “What’s going on?”

Rushing Grant inside, the man closed and locked the door behind them. There were boards nailed over all the windows, which made it dark and damp inside. The man took off his fedora hat and threw it on a nearby end table. “A black blizzard is coming, that’s what going on.”

Puckering his lips as if he was going to say What? Grant stopped short when he felt the nasty crunch of sand and dirt in his mouth. Hearing it crunch and clatter against his teeth, he stopped what he was doing and brought his hand up to his mouth, as if the sound echoed embarrassingly loud throughout the room.

The man walked across the room, stopped, turned on his heel, and made his way back over to Grant. “I’m sorry,” he said, looking Grant in the eye. Grant could tell the man was upbeat and jovial by nature, but in the strain of the situation, his hazel eyes were rather flat and emotionless. “Where are my manners? My name is Howard. Howie, if you’d like. This is my house. My wife, Martha, has gone to stay with her mother in Charleston, where there isn’t quite as much dust blowing around.”

Grant smiled, but he felt it came across fake. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Howie. My name is Grant.”

“Pleasure is mine.” Looking at Grant a bit longer, confusion tangled his face up in a less than flattering expression. “I’m sorry again, sir, but what are you wearing?” Howard laughed slightly, looking down over Grant’s t-shirt and jeans, then added, “And why were you wandering around outside when the dirt storm is immanent?”

Sighing, Grant simply answered, “It’s a long story.”

Falling into the great, deep red, velvet sofa on the other side of the room, Howard grinned, and his eyes came to life. Looking over at Grant sidelong, he said, “I know it is. I was trying to stay out of it, but I can’t. I can see you’re a good guy.” He pointed to the chair across from him. “Sit down if you’d like.” Then, as if it were no big deal, “Prudy contacted me. I’m here to help you.”

As creepy as that might have sounded, Grant was taken aback with pure joy. “Oh, my God, fantastic! I was afraid I’d have to explain my whole predicament again and awkwardly ask you where I was and what year it is now and...”

Laughing, Howard said, “No sir, we can avoid all of that. And you’ll be safe with me.” Bending over and reaching between his legs under the sofa, he pulled out a large wooden box, almost the entire length of the piece of furniture itself. Opening the lid slightly, Grant stole a glance at a couple tommy guns. Wide eyed, he looked up at Howard, who nodded in delight. “Beautiful, ain’t they? If anyone comes around, I’ll take care of ‘em.”

“Holy shit,” is all Grant could say, as Howard closed the box and shoved it back under the couch. Sitting up again, Howard crossed his legs and crossed his arms, looking fairly content, even though the wind outside was shaking the window panes in their fixtures. The lights flickered slightly.

“Apparently, this storm is coming all the way from South Dakota. Can you believe that? South Dakota!”

“Where are we now?” Grant asked, his voice low and wary.

“Toledo, Ohio of course.” Howard winked at him. “As far as I can tell, and from what Prudy told me, you’ll likely only travel through time, not space.”

“Crazy,” Grant said under his breath, still not entirely believing what was happening.

Before Grant could speak up again, Howard offered, “And this is 1934.”

Shocked, Grant leaned forward, trying to concentrate on Howard’s words. 1934. Black blizzards, dirt storms, black rollers, dust storms... Yes, this is the Dust Bowl. Astounded, Grant asked, “Do you guys get these black blizzards often?”

“No, not really,” Howie answered. “When we do, it comes from hundreds of miles away. Our top soil stays put, so we can still farm. Lately, though, we’ve gotten so much dirt roll in that it’s threatening to smother our crops.” Shaking his head, he said, “From what I’ve read in the papers, it’s a nightmare down in Texas and Oklahoma.”

This is a good sign, Grant thought suddenly. This is exactly what I learned in school. So far, nothing strange has come up, so maybe I’m in my home dimension. Snickering to himself, he thought, Jeez, never thought I’d really think there were dimensions, let alone a ‘home’ dimension.

Windows rattling, roof moaning, lights flickering, the main onslaught of the storm was upon them. That’s why it seemed so strange when someone knocked on the door.

***

As Eliza walked back towards her cottage, her hands swinging freely by her sides, her braid floating lightly behind her, she was struck by an odd feeling. Feeling like she was being watched, she quickened her step. Her green eyes darted to her left, then to her right, to the sky and back again. Seeing nothing, but still feeling awkwardly in the spotlight, she pulled up her skirts an inch so she could run. She was still far from her house, so a rich fear blanketed over her being. A young woman walking outside alone was not a rare thing, but when her father and brothers were away, it was a rarity indeed.

The long grass tickling her legs and her lungs burning as she pushed herself up the hill, she spied a red ribbon wrapped around the trunk of an old, tall Norway spruce, indicating the outer fringe of her father’s land. A tiny strand of relief floated through her mind, but she pushed it away as she thought You aren’t home yet, you still have a mile to go!

Beginning to tire, her run slowed, her gate becoming arhythmic, almost stumbling along in the wilderness surrounding her home. Stopping suddenly and hunkering over, she gasped for breath. Closing her eyes, sweat forming around her temples, she heard crunching radiate out of the woods. Foot steps, and closing in fast. She couldn’t tell from what direction they were coming, but she panicked. Screaming, she began running again, but her leg muscles began to tighten and cramp. Wailing in pain, her lamentation was cut short by a hand covering her mouth from behind. Feeling a cold metal up to her cheek, she knew she was captured, but by whom?

“Just stay quite girly, and we won’t hurt ya,” a man said with a thick southern drawl. “Just come with us. If you cooperate, perhaps you’ll get home before your daddy does. He’d never know anything happened at all.”

Tears streaming from her eyes now, she knew she couldn’t struggle her way out of this one, the man was too strong for her petite body. But who was he and what did he want? Before her eyes several other men appeared, all bearing guns, one in each of their dirty, callused hands. Greasy mustaches and beards adorned their sooty and heavily creased faces, each wearing a wide brimmed cowboy hat. They wore what used to undoubtedly be nice collared shirts with bolo ties at the neck, but they were now worse for wear and needed to be replaced. Each man wore jeans with chaps and leather cowboy boots. From the looks of them, Eliza figured they were land pirates or mercenaries.

Wrapping his arm tightly around her neck, Eliza’s captor laughed and bellowed, “Alright, we got ‘er, boys! Let’s get the good God damn out of here. Ravana will be pleased with our speed.”

With that, the man hauled Eliza away, taking no care for her comfort and almost strangling her for several moments before he hoisted her up and threw her in the back of a covered wagon. Leaning into the back of the wagon, the man grasped both of her arms, and tied them together behind her back with some thick rope, likely used to wrangle horses or cattle that have wandered off. Over his shoulder, she noticed a bright red cardinal land on a tree branch in the distance. Content that she wouldn’t try to get away, he closed the back flap of the wagon, leaving her in darkness. In an instant, she heard a man cry “Hee-yaw!” and the horses that pulled the wagon began their labor forward, the wheels of the wagon reluctantly turning forward in the bumpy, uneven grass. Hearing the jingling and jangling of belts and loops and spurs, she knew the rest of the men were mounting their horses; with the thud of hooves hitting earth, it sounded like a hundred horses rushing off.

Within minutes, she could tell they were back out to the dirt road, or at least the path leading up to her family’s house. Only problem was, in her mind, they weren’t heading towards her house, but away from it. The uncertainty, the loss, the thought of never seeing her family again tugged at her heart strings so hard that she could barely contain the sobbing digging at her throat, begging to be set free. Popping into her head out of nowhere was the wandering stranger she had just bid adieu to not 30 minutes ago, Grant. Fondly she thought of his eyes, the way he tried to be so polite around her, the way they had said good bye... Through her tears she smiled, because at least she knew he was safe with Prudy.

As her thoughts drifted away from her and into nothing, she was startled by a loud wooshing noise. Then, like a gale of wind was contained within the confined space of the back of the wagon, she was pushed to the wooden planks with the force of a thousand men. Eyes wide, she looked up, not seeing the canvas covering of the wagon, but seeing through it. A line of blue glowing light slid slowly from the front of the wagon to the back, like a fluorescent divider caressing its canvas curves. As it passed over her field of vision, she noticed an immediate change: the clear blue sky changed to that of a cloudy, snow filled one. As the wagon galloped along, she could see a large, dark castle reveal itself, they were honing in on it. Yips and cries of triumph rose from the land pirate crew as they drew nearer and nearer. Soon, the canvas faded back to normal, and she was in darkness once again. Beginning to shiver from her new, colder environment, she closed her eyes. She amended her last thought: I hope Grant is safe with Prudy.

***

Howard looked over at Grant, steady concentration written across his face. Grant was bewildered and, truth be told, slightly frightened. Had the Gate Keepers found him already? And why hadn’t Prudy warned him via the watch he had been given? Remembering the watch, he reached into his pocket and pulled it out. He wasn’t sure what it would look like when used as a communication device, but to him, it still looked like an ordinary pocket watch. Getting up, he tread over to Howard, in order to speak more softly.

Whispering as faintly as he could and still be heard over the wind whipping outside, Grant said, “Who in the hell do you think that is?”

Shrugging slightly, Howard wet his lips. “I’m not sure...” He trailed off, staring blankly in thought, which made Grant uneasy. “I hope it’s just my daughter. She was over at her friend’s house when the wind started howling... I was hoping she’d just stay over there.”

Silently letting out his breath, Grant replied, a little louder, “Well, that’s good. You better answer it then. It’s better than who I thought might be at the door.”

Without hesitation, Howard said, “Gate Keepers.” Walking around Grant and towards the door, he added, “They wouldn’t knock.”

Holding his ground, anticipating that the wind would reach for the door and attempt to rip it off its hinges, he twisted the knob and opened it about a quarter of the way. Reaching out with one arm, while holding the door steady with the other, he grasped whoever was out there and pulled her inside. Struggling to close the door, the girl fell to the floor with a thud. Finally clasping the door shut with a click, Howard bolted all the latches again, locking out the storm.

The girl, it turned out, was completely covered in dirt, head to toe. She shook her head from side to side, the dust flying out in all directions and delicately dancing to the floor. Shooting her father a dirty look, she then noticed the other man in the room and crawled backwards a touch, still sitting on her bottom. She shrieked, “Ghost!!”

Wheeling backwards himself, Grant ran into the end table, wobbled off balance and fell to the floor, as well. Not expecting someone to yell at him in that moment, he could not form any words. He only gaped at her, his eyes wide. Looking over at Howard, his eyes begged, Do something!

“Darling, darling, calm down,” Howard said in a soothing voice as he knelt down beside his daughter. “It’s okay, no need to go nuts.”

“But dad,” she said, her voice wavering in fear. “I’m certain he’s a ghost! Am I not right?”

Incredibly, a half smile inched across Howard’s lips and his eyes looked mischievously over at Grant. Letting air out through his nose in a sharp burst, trying not to laugh, Grant nodded at him. Howard looked down at his daughter once again. “Honey, I have something to tell you, but go wash up first. You’re filthy.”

“Please, dad...” she begged, as she scrambled to her feet. Noticing for the first time how covered in dirt she was, she hit her skirts a few times, plumes of dirt rising from them. Disgusted, she uttered, “Ugh...”

“No ifs, ands, or buts, young lady,” Howard said defiantly, and the girl stomped off down the hall and disappeared in the darkness, leaving faint dirt outlines of her feet as she went.

Laughing, Howard said, “Teenagers.”

“They are a challenge, that’s for sure.” Grabbing onto the side of the end table for leverage, Grant pulled himself to his feet. “I’m not as young as I used to be...” he said to himself, laying a hand to his lower back and arching it slightly.

Sitting on the couch, Howard plopped down next to him. Not knowing what to say, he smiled at him quickly and then turned his head to look out at the dark grey room. To make conversation, Grant asked, “What is your daughter’s name?”

“Her name is Eliza, after her great-grandmother, my grandma. We call her Liz. She has two little sisters, both in Charleston with their mother. My oldest boy is at Ohio State, I’m so proud of him...” He trailed off, noticing that Grant was now slumped over and covering his eyes with his palms. “Grant, what’s wrong?”

“I just... I’m not...” Grant sputtered and tripped over his words, but he couldn’t seem to think straight. Taking in a deep breath and letting it out as slowly as he could through pursed lips to steady his nerves, he removed his hands from his eye sockets and turned his head to look at Howard, cupping his chin in one hand. “Do you believe in coincidences? Or fate?”

Puzzled, he shrugged. “Sure, why n...”

“Good, because I have a doozy for you.” Grinding his teeth and flaring his nostrils, he said, “The dimension I was in right before I came here, where I met Prudy and everything, I met a girl named Eliza. The year was 1851. Correct me if I’m wrong, man, but I think that was your grandmother. She was only about 18 or so when I saw her...” Trailing off, his eyes glazed over a bit. What kind of game is this? he pleaded with himself. This is nothing my mother could have cooked up, so what in the world is it? Maybe I got hypothermia, and I’m just dreaming this whole thing, in a coma, in the hospital...

“My good Lord,” whispered Howard. “That’s insane. This inter-dimensional thing really is strange...”

“Why do you believe it’s true? Why are you buying into this? Cuz some lady named Prudy said so?” Bursting out in frustration, Grant got up, and raised his voice a little higher. Waving his hands frantically at his sides, he roared, “How can you even see me? Hear me?”

“BECAUSE WE’RE DEAD, TOO, OKAY? We’re dead, too...” Eyes filling with tears now, he looked up at Grant, searching. “Just Liz and me... but she doesn’t know. That we’re dead, I mean. She just saw that you have some strange see-through quality to you and it scared her. She doesn’t realize that she’s like you.” Twisting his mouth to the side, his said between barely moving lips, “That’s why my wife and kids are in Charleston. They moved there after Liz and I... you know.”

“I... I’m so sorry.” Grant sat back down, feeling like a fool. He should have known that was the case instead of naively thinking that everything was a joke on him. How egotistical of him. Liz’s ear piercing scream really shook him up, and he lost sight of what he had felt in 1851. With Eliza, Howard’s grandmother. And with Prudy, another dead soul. “Howard, please forgive me, I didn’t mean to...”

“Don’t worry about it, Grant. I realize that you are newly deceased. I remember when it first happened to me, and I it finally dawned on me that I was kept here for some reason, along with my daughter. I was incensed. I was furious. It took me a long time to adjust. We’ve been dead for probably a good five years. I just learned from Prudy the reason we’re still here is to protect you for your purpose.” Trying not to smile, but a smile showing through anyway, he said with a high heart, “Once we get done assuring your safety, we can finally be allocated to where our souls can rest.” Sighing heavily, he concluded, “I can’t wait.”

Suddenly feeling guilty, Grant closed his eyes. They fluttered back open when a small voice said, “Daddy, what can’t you wait for?”

Hesitating for a moment, Howard smiled at his daughter calmly and said, “Just these dust storms to be over, sweetheart. Just these dust storms.”

***

Staring blankly out the great window, his mind wandered to a time when things were simpler. He and his men merely acted as patrolmen, like border guards. Now, by some higher power he had never met, they had turned into bounty hunters. Had he argued with this new assignment? No, he hadn’t. For there was great wealth and prestige that came along with it. Grinning fiercely, he realized he was the most powerful being in the reich. The reich that guarded over the well being of all the dimensions and all the worlds that made up existence.

That might seem numerous and daunting. Not to him. He flourished with the stress he now found himself wound up in. In the previous decades, he had found this job boring beyond compare. Finding himself day by day relentlessly staring at surveillance tapes and observing nothing afoot, he thought about doing something different altogether. Once he thought of going rouge, but shook it off just as fast. The man upstairs (not a god, just the king or whoever he really was) would find out as quickly as he could snap his fingers, and the entirety of the Gate Keepers would find him and slice off his head from his very own shoulders. This he did not want, and thus he kept to himself. Always plotting, always planning, quietly and to himself, it finally came to fruition. A memo asking him to head up this mission to capture some humans from a couple different dimensions in order to trap a suspect and runaway half-dead escapee. This rarely happened; they all knew about Prudy and where she ended up (which wasn’t so bad) but they all had thought security was tight enough to prevent another vagrant. They thought wrong.

Who knew he’d be in such a position now? Perhaps his own mother, although she hadn’t known it at the time. Being merely a poor peasant girl who became pregnant out of wedlock, she was shunned by her community and her family. She had no education, but she knew what she wanted to name her forthcoming son. She had heard it many times in her 20 years of life, and she thought it was beautiful. Little did she know, this name, in the extinct language, meant ‘one who anguishes the world’. How true this would turn out, especially in this late hour of his own life. A life that he had loved and hated all at once. How he found himself in the palace of all dimensions at the head of the reich was anybody’s guess, but he knew why. Cruelty, steadfastness, loyalty to his overlords, quick decision making, and most of all, intelligence and his way of making any situation a beneficial one for the reich. It had earned him his stripes.

“Sire, the grunts approach.”

Shaken out of his daydream, he twirled around like a whirlwind. Setting his square jaw sternly, his eyes narrowed and his eyebrows came together, pensive. Black eyes staring, almost pupil-less, the man who came calling took a step back aghast. Absently he rubbed at the stubble he know found on his chin and cheeks; since this whole debacle began he hadn’t been home to shave. Long frown lines outlined his mouth, as the leathery skin beneath twitched downwards. He would have been considered a handsome man if it weren’t for his weather worn and scarred face. Thick, brown hair fell over his forehead gently, accentuating his high cheek bones. Clasping his hands in front of him politely, he finally spoke to the man, who looked spooked.

“How far out?”

“About 15 minutes away, sire,” the trembling man answered, stepping back a bit more.

Parting his lips a tad in thought, the man said, “Which human have we gotten, young man?”

“We’ve gotten the girl, Eliza, from Hen Dimensiwn Orllewin, the alternate 1851. We still need to procure the two from the dead one’s home dimension.”

“Excellent.” The tenor of his voice was unfeeling, but in his head, he thoughts overflowed with excitement. It had only been a couple days and already they had captured and brought back one human. These turn of events had been most pleasant. “Please, let me know when they arrive. Until then, I shall stay in my office.”

“Very well, sire,” the man’s wavering voice said in response. Rather plump but naturally upbeat, he couldn’t control how nervous he got when he was around a higher authority.

“At ease, Sterling, you have done well, as have that group of insane mercenaries. There will be much celebration tonight.” Sterling could have sworn, for the first time in his tenure, that a wisp of smile touched his sire’s lips.

Easing up a bit and presenting a smile of his own, he said, “It is good news. I will bid thee come to the front cambers once they have arrived, Sire Ravana.”

“Thank you,” Ravana replied, and turned once more to the window that gave him a spectacular view of the snow covered mountains. If there’s a heaven, I am in it he thought to himself and laughed heartily. And Eliza will find, she is in her own personal hell.

***

Sitting in the dining area of Howard and Liz’s home, Grant waited. Wishing to explain to his daughter their real plight in privacy, Grant had excused himself to the other room. He would have gone outside, but the storm still howled. Looking out the back window, he saw that the land that was once a small farming community now looked like a nightmare. Everything was blacked out, smokey, snuffed out like the cigarette Robert had unthinkingly put out on his mother’s table. The sky swirled in a blackness that looked like an oil polluted ocean sloshing and wavering in a hurricane. The dirt was so potent that he couldn’t see even a few inches beyond the window, blotting out the sun or any other light source for that matter. Never witnessing anything so dark, so fearsome, so final, he looked away quickly and tried not to listen to the sounds of the two talking in the other room.

Too many thoughts filling his mind, he lifted up his right hand to study it. If he was see through, wouldn’t he be able to see it, too? Or did that defy the laws of physics? Staring intently, he only saw his hand. After a few moments had elapsed, and he was still staring, his eyes began to focus in a different way, and true as true north, he could faintly see through his own hand. Perplexed, he moved his face in for a closer look. As he waved his hand back and forth slowly to see if it would blur, or if the things he could see through it would blur, he got an odd feeling in his stomach. Almost like what he felt when he had been in 1851. Growing worse and worse, he couldn’t ignore it anymore. He was about to get up to ask Howard if they kept any milk of magnesia in the house, when he noticed a tiny light radiating from under the table.

Astonished, he backed up sharply, uttering a silent yelp, as if a spider was crawling up his pant leg, and the little light followed him. Dismayed, he patted his jeans as if they might be on fire, but it didn’t help. Consciously calming himself, he realized he wasn’t hurting and no small creatures were crawling all over him, either. Upon further inspection, he discerned where the light was coming from.

His pocket.

The light growing brighter, he reached into his pocket and yanked out the watch, which now seemed to vibrate to some degree. Light poured out of the edge where the cover clasped over the watch face. Intimidated and unsure, he apprehensively pressed down on the switch that flipped the cover up and off the face. As he did so, a light so brilliant and so starling leapt out towards him that he dropped the watch to the floor.

“Never fails,” the female voice radiated out from the watch’s position, now back underneath the table. “I wish I could turn that light down.”

“Prudy?” Grant dropped down to his knees and scurried under the table to fetch the watch. To his surprise, upon the watch face was Prudy herself, as if transmitted via webcam. “Is that you?”

“It is I, dear one,” she replied pleasantly, a cigarette sticking out of the corner of her mouth. “Of course, when I call, it’s typically not good news.”

Heavy hearted, he grasped onto the watch and backed out from under the table, falling backwards to sit on the floor, child-like. Timorous, Grant looked at the holographic image of Prudy. His mouth becoming as dry as sandpaper, he tried to swallow but couldn’t. Tracing his teeth with his tongue slowly, he tried to brace himself for whatever she had to tell him. “Alright, lay it on me.”

Nodding, she leaned forward a bit, unknowingly monopolizing the entire image with her face. “It’s Eliza,” she said, a tight quality to her voice. Her eyes looking at the ceiling, Grant could see the tears starting to gather there. “Some hooligans came and snatched her up. I’m probably right in assuming it was Gate Keepers.” Backing up, she waved her hand over something outside of his view, the crystal ball. “Lucky I have this God forsaken crystal ball, or I’d be as worthless as a barrel of monkey nuts.”

Guilt tearing his brain in two, he sat the watch down on the floor in front of him gently, and brought his hands up to his forehead, teeth grinding in pain. Bearing his teeth like a wild animal, he could not believe it had happened so soon. “Is she okay?”

“I think so, Grant.”

“Why is this happening?” A sob escaped his mouth then, as he said, “You had to have known that Eliza is Howard’s grandmother, right? And if something happens to her, they may cease to exist! You know that, right?”

“Of course, I know that,” Prudy cooed calmly, taking a drag of her Virginia Slim. “What we really need is to get you out of there, out of 1934. I have a hunch they know where you might be hiding out.” A long pause grew like a chasm between them, when she finally said, “And who you’re hiding with, I’m afraid.”

“So...” Disoriented at first, Grant then realized what this meant, as the pieces fell together. “Oh, no! So Howard and Liz have to run away, as well?”

“Yes.” This was all she could say, sensing the growing anger brewing in him. “For their safety. Good thing about it is, once you’re safe in another dimension, they can dissolve into whatever fate lies at their feet. So, they will be free soon, and out of harms way.” Sighing heavily, observing his increasingly angered face, she asked, “Do you understand?”

“Yes.” Scratching his head, becoming agitated, he spoke faintly. “Why am I running away? I should be running towards those fucking Gate Keepers. They already have Eliza, and I need to save her. I need to intercept them before they get to Ashley, and Kim...”

“For now, I need to toss all three of you to another dimension, then we can talk about the next move.”

“No, we need to talk about it NOW,” Grant demanded loudly. Without knowing it, Howard was standing in the doorway, silent. He had been since he heard the first time the watch crashed to the floor. He was spellbound by the magic within it, but he was dismayed by what Prudy was saying, especially after the conversation he had just had with Liz. Trembling partly in fear, but partly in longing, he kept his silence until one of them beckoned for him.

Face steady, left eye twitching in its socket, her eyelashes swaying like hummingbird wings, Prudy gritted her teeth for a moment. “You will go now, and we will talk in a bit. Unless you want to die, because regardless of the weather conditions you’re in right now, they are coming to get you, and they are 10 minutes out.” Snapping her fingers sharply, a sound radiated from the other room. No, closer. From the doorway to the living room.

Grant wrenched his neck over his shoulder and saw Howard standing there, eavesdropping. Sheepishly, Howard smiled and wiggled his fingers in Grant’s direction. A moment later, Howard’s pocket began to glow and, surprisingly, ring like a telephone.

“Oh, uh, pardon me,” he stumbled as he grasped at his pocket awkwardly. Flinging his hand this way and that, every second or to flecking a lame smile or holding up a finger to Grant as if to tell him he would be with him in a moment. Finally, he got the item out of his pocket, and it was an exact replica of Grant’s watch. He flipped open the golden door and said pleasantly, “Hello, dear, how are you?”

Prudy raised an eyebrow and leered at Grant. Firmly she stated, “You, Howard, and Eliza are going immediately.” Redirecting her gaze at Howard, she asked sweetly, “Do you have a problem with that, Sugar?”

Trying to contain his excitement, he answered, “Absolutely, darlin’.”

“Grant, you’re going.” And with that, the whole room began to slowly waver, like a large slab of sheet metal. Confusion rushed over Howard, his eyes rolling slowly to look at Grant. Grant’s anger dissipated and he stood up abruptly like a soldier at attention. Waving to Howard, he urged him to come over to his location. Starting in that direction, he stopped himself and turned his head towards the living room. He opened his mouth to call out for Liz, but no audible sound came out. The wavering of the air around them deepened and sped up a notch, beginning to make it’s own sound and sucking the sound right off of Howard’s vocal chords. Wide eyed, he ran over to Grant and shook his head, putting his hand on his shoulder.

The thick, transforming air began to hurt them; they knew that this was the way to the next dimension. Grant had not remembered anything like this with the last two interdimensional trips, but perhaps the slow, lengthy, painful transition did not bode well for him. Looking into Howard’s eyes, he knew why he was acting so strangely: He did not want to leave without Liz. Resolutely, Grant shoved the watch, and Prudy, into this pocket, and together, through the crashing metal sounds and the thick molasses environment, they went off to find Liz. They resolved to not leave her behind, to be taken, and possibly destroyed, by the Gate Keepers.

***

A thick smog crawled over the surface of the rocky, craig filled land like a dying alligator dragging itself to shelter. It was black and rank and mildly acidic. The sky above was a thicker, darker black than the smog, so full of innumerable minerals that it had a tiny silver sheen that sparkled dully in the dim light that radiated from somewhere deep in the ground or high through the dark atmosphere, it was impossible to tell. The ground consisted of dark, rough, delicate molten rock; some where harder than diamonds and other would disintegrate at the slightest touch. You never really knew when you were walking on a solid footing or when you might fall into a sink hole that lead you to more darkness and eventually a lonely and painful death. For under this rocky surface flowed great rivers of liquid hot magma, that sometimes spat to the surface if it didn’t feel like trying too hard, but when it got some momentum, it would burst forth in great thundering, explosions.

Not much can survive in this environment, but against all odds, some creatures did roam this carcass of a planet. There were a couple mini-tribes of humans, scattered across the landscape in isolated patches that they knew were stable and wouldn’t swallow them up like a hungry whale. These people, these survivors, kept living because the adapted; those who weren’t smart enough to adapt died off rather quickly. Intelligent humans knew immediately that they had to build shelter that was acid resistant and even fire resistant. Their clothes had the same purpose. Ingeniously, they came up with a way to turn the acid rain into non-toxic water. The few animals that remained were hunted for food; the only remaining plant, the Creosote Bush, was used as a medicinal herb. This bush was a survivor in and of itself, as it survives by stockpiling water, and stealing water from other plants, killing them off. Scraggly coyotes and armadillos remained, and when they went to feed off of the bushes, the humans would kill them with primitive spears, beat them with molten rocks, and cook them by deep frying them in pools of lava.

Other predators roamed the skies. At first glance, they may appear to be ominous looking vultures. If one, or a group of them, swooped down to the surface low enough, you’d see it was something much different, something that evolved into an animal the likes no one had ever seen. Flapping its wings slowly in great swooshes, the wing span was at least ten feet, maybe more. The body looked just like a vulture, black greasy feathers, yet the head and feet were much different. The head and face looked like a hyena, exactly like if someone had cut the head off the vulture and crudely sewed on the severed hyena head, it was that disgusting. Much of the fur was falling off, leaving bald spots, due to the acid rain, but somehow its eyes survived, and even thrived. Eyes, glowing green, cast two low, dim spotlights out into the sky, and move with the darting of its pupils. Night vision. They were the biggest threat to both humans and other animals alike in this strange, dark place.

Falling to his knees and coughing violently, Grant closed his eyes tight. It was like pepper spray was all around him, stinging, coxing tears to stream down his cheeks. Hands hitting the ground, he immediately drew them away, alarmed by the rough, porous texture and by the extreme heat. Trying to open his eyes and failing, he decided to stay where he was and call out blindly to see if his companions made it through the time warp with him.

“Howard! Liz! Speak to me! Where are you two?”

Faint, echoing, wavering like the air in Howard’s house, now left empty and desolate in the black blizzard of 1934, he heard an answer. “We’re here, both Liz and me. But we’re fading fast, hopefully being admitted to Heaven!”

Groaning, Grant touched his hand to his forehead, a pain produced by sadness and remorse beginning there. “Heaven?”

“Yes, Heaven! I can’t believe it.” This time, it was Liz. “We were glad we could help you on your quest, Grant. It was a pleasure to meet you, and to see you as you were, so I could learn I was just like you. I’m sorry if I scared you.” Giggling, her voice getting more distant, her voice chimed, “Just think Grant, our very existence means you will be successful in your quest!”

Squeezing his eyelids tighter together, he scrunched his eyebrows together in contemplation. “What do you mean?”

“Eliza is my grandmother,” Howard said. “If something happened to her, if the Gate Keepers killed her in the past, Liz and I wouldn’t be here now. That means she lives to have a full life of getting married and having children. And grandchildren. Me!”

Mulling this over, sweat forming at his brow now, that logic made sense. Trying again to open his eyes, he got them open a sliver to behold something that filled him with great joy. A great passage way opened up in the bleak and desolate landscape, and out of it erupted the most brilliant, white light Grant had ever seen. It was dazzling, almost dancing, like the light was made up of tiny fairies. Within the perfectly shaped rectangle stood Howard and Liz, hand in hand. Standing upon the light itself, they floated there, gravity lost, their physical bodies left behind. With it, they left behind their troubles, the lies, the heartache, the struggles... now they could march off together and smile forever in Heaven, and look forward to the day they would see the rest of their family again. Liz, teeth filled grin never ceasing, looked up at her dad standing beside her. Smiling back at her, he tucked some of her golden hair behind her ear. He looked back out at Grant, and waved. He uttered, very faintly, “Your path will be hard, but don’t give up! As long as you stay true to yourself and to those you love, your journey will be a success, and you’ll live again!...”

Just then, the passage closed, faster than zipping up a jacket, almost like water swirling down a drain, and it sucked in the beams of light, along with his friends from 1934. Tears running down his face again, but this time in sadness, he closed his eyes in defeat and sorrow, and slumped over on to the ground again, paying no mind to the heat of it all. He had no weapons, no protection... how in the world would he get through this extreme dimension?

Sniffing hard and reeling into another coughing fit, he rolled over onto his back. Smacking his head on something solid, he sat up straight, as if out of a bad dream. Forcing his eyes open again, he looked down at the curious new object. To his horror and delight, he stretched out his hand and picked it up. It was a brand new, shiny, and rather heavy gun. Why was it sitting here, so out of place? Was it waiting for him? Laughing to himself, he knew the inscription on the barrel immediately.

Colt. Single action. Revolver.

Knowing the style looked old, like it came out of 1890, he had a hard time believing that it was in such great shape, especially considering its present locale (and God knew how long it had been sitting there). It had a dark wooden grip and a super long barrel. He popped the cylinder open and saw all six shots where still in it. How convenient.

Snapping the barrel back into place and tucking it in his belt loop, his eyes were finally becoming used to (as well as they could be, that is) the rancid air to open them an milli inch more. Standing up, he finally took a good look around. His head fell back, his mouth opening. Unbelieving, he wanted to scream, he wanted to curse God, he wanted to take the gun out and blow his own brains out.

But he couldn’t do any of that. Not while Eliza was captured, and his sister and girlfriend were next. If he didn’t act, they, along with himself, were surely destined for infinite doom.

In the grim environment, the glowing from his pocket caught his eye immediately. Annoyed beyond compare, he ignored it. Prudy was the last person he wanted to talk to right about now. If he could have his way, he would take the watch out, toss it high in the air, and pretending it was a clay pigeon, he would shoot it out of the air with one shot, blowing it to smithereens. Self-control is a virtue, so he just waited it out, and within a few seconds, the light pulsed off.

A loud boom rolled across the landscape, which at first sounded like a bomb of some sort. However, when it happened again, he realized the sound was organic, it came from a living creature. It was like 100 dogs barking all in perfect unison. Looking around him frantically, trying to find what was coming and where he could hide, he realized quickly he was looking in the wrong direction. He should have been looking up into the sky.

***

Walking across the parking lot, she pulled her collar up to her face, sheltering it from the cold. She knew that her destination was only a couple hundred feet away, but as she walked, the wind biting at her nose and ears, producing tears to well up in the corners of her eyes, she regretted not taking one more second to grab her scarf from the closet. Had she really been in that much of a hurry? At the time she thought she was going to be late if she didn’t leave that instant, and wouldn’t you know it, she got there ten minutes early. Shaking her head to herself, she pulled her hands as far as they would go up into the sleeves of her winter coat. And no mittens she thought to herself. You even keep some in the backseat of your car, why didn’t you just grab them? With that thought, she quickened her step, anticipating the warm air that would hit her face as she entered the building ahead.

Her rosey, flushed cheeks stood out against her pale, freckle pocked skin, and her golden blonde hair fell to her shoulders in wavy strands of messy perfection. She was one of those girls whose hair was always perfect, even when she just woke up to when she just got done working out. Blessed is what she told other people, lucky is what she thought to herself. Especially considering the tangled, dull mess of hair her sister wound up with. Above average height, her entire life people told her she should aspire to do two things: model or play basketball. Resenting every person in her life telling her what she should do, she didn’t do either, though she did take up beach volleyball, which she adored playing in the summer. In a way, she wanted to do something that would be the complete opposite of everyone’s expectations, like be a 5 foot 10 inch tall horse jockey or competitive gymnast. Right now, she was only 26 years of age, still with her whole life ahead of her; she didn’t want or need a dream career right now, anyway. For the time being, she found herself working at a large electronics retailer, but she hoped that her forthcoming degree could get her a promotion down the line. Cashiering now, hoping for an executive job with a corner office. Pipe dreams, but dreams are the only things that kept her going sometimes.

Smiling and squinting in the bright winter sun, her joy slowly faded as she thought about Grant. She hadn’t heard from him in almost two days, very unusual. When she tried to call, it when directly to voicemail, which worried her a great deal. Grant never turned his phone off, and he always answered when she called. They had been together for nearly five years, were talking about getting married now that Grant had gotten his MBA. His car wasn’t at his house and his mother, Dot, hadn’t seen him since he stormed off when his long lost dad had been in town. She resolved that after work today, if she still hadn’t heard from him, she’d file a missing person’s report.

Kimberly Johnson, at a brisk walk-waddle now (the way one would walk when worried about slipping and falling on the ice and directly onto one’s ass), she was approached the front doors fast. Pulling out her key, as she was the first person there, she was about to slide it into the lock when a man’s voice startled her.

“Hey,” it said.

Twirling around, she thrust herself up against the still locked sliding glass door, the main entrance to the store. “Yeah?” she answered, nervously.

“Do you work here?” the man asked, flatly. Studying him, she noticed he looked peculiar. He was not bundled up at all, which was strange considering the wind chill was currently standing at -4. Standing legs parted, thumbs in his pockets, his face seemed bored. So why was he there and asking her questions at 7:30 in the morning? His jeans, which sat low on his hips, were smeared with what might have been dirt or perhaps manure. When the world was covered in three feet of snow, that was highly unusual all by itself, considering plain old dirt hasn’t been seen for almost five months now. Weirdest of all, Kim thought, was the cowboy hat that sat far back on his head, like he had been recently scratching his forehead and didn’t place the hat back in its proper position when he had finished.

Not knowing what to say, Kim reluctantly answered, “Yes, but we aren’t open yet. I’d love to help you once the store...”

“Shut up.” Interrupting her, he stepped forward slowly. “I know who you are.” Plastering herself up to the glass, moving her face away from him, she began to protest, but once he stopped only about five inches from her face, what little speech she had left was gone. “You can come with me quietly, and you won’t get hurt, or you can struggle and shout. In the later case, I’ll be forced to hit you so hard with the butt of my gun” he flashed his gun out of the holster hanging on his hip “that you’ll be knocked out cold.” Making a pop sound with his tongue off the roof of his mouth, he concluded with, “So, what’ll it be, Kim?”

Feeling like she’ll loose with whatever she chose, she asked bravely, “What have you done with Grant?”

“I ain’t done nothing to Grant,” he answered, chewing on a nasty wad of tobacco, sloshing it around deep in his cheek. “It’s him who has done something to you.”

Grabbing her by the shoulders, confusion struck her like an anvil falling out of a cartoon sky. What did he mean by that? Was Grant alive? And, more importantly, was Grant the man she thought she knew?

He spun her around and slapped a pair of handcuffs over her wrists. A sharp whistle escaped his lips, and immediately she heard horse hooves hitting the frozen concrete of the parking lot. Horses? In the middle of Toledo? Isn’t that against city regulations? Once the horses came into view, she was newly shocked. It wasn’t just horses: it was a covered wagon.

***

Ravana had very little memory of his mother, and he never came to know his father, as he had been conceived out of wedlock and that was a disgrace to any nobleman, so he decided to be unnamed. His mother, Fatinah, was a beautiful and gentle woman, so it was only fitting that her name meant ‘captivating’. Large doe eyes, long eye lashes, flowing black hair, skin as soft and fair as milk chocolate, she was more beautiful than any of the other women in the city. Because of her social status, she was shunned, and although she wanted an education, she was denied this, as she was merely a street peasant, doomed to spend the rest of her days as a night walker, a prostitute.

Though he loved his mother, he somehow, deep down in his gut, resented her. It is not her fault for her social status or the fate she was born into, but he couldn’t help but secretly blame her for the abysmal way he grew up, and for the way the fellow citizens look upon him. Every child that was born outside of the bonds of marriage was seen as the spawn of the devil himself. Thus, when he and his mother walked to the market to buy their bread and vegetables, nothing but scorn, hatred, and ethnic slurs were hurled at him. Ravana never understood this... what had he done? Had he had a choice in the way he was conceived? Did he choose to be born to a whore mother? Did he choose to have an unknown, invisible father. No, he hadn’t... so why did the entire village hate him?

This was the seed planted in Ravana, and the ‘one who anguishes the world’ was truly born.

With this pure hate, came desire. He sought out a few of the street gangs that littered the alleyways and parks and asked if he could join at the young age of 13. They didn’t even consider him, and laughed him out of the group, hanging his head in shame on the way home. However, defeat was a word he did not know, and to show this gang that he had was it takes to join, no matter his age, he took it upon himself to take part in his own little initiation. Fashioning a sword out of scrap metal, he stalked off into the night, jaw set, shoulders square, the gate long, and his rage boiling hot. In the blackest part of the night, he showed up at the house of one of the gang’s members, Juan. Sleeping soundly, he never heard his small yet mighty contender enter the room. With one confident swing, he cut Juan’s head off cleanly. It was done so masterfully and with such speed that no scream escaped Juan’s throat, just blood gushed all over his bed, pillows, and pooled onto the floor. Ravana exited the scene without a second thought, and for the first time in years a weird feeling pooled up in his stomach... Joy.

When the gang found out about Juan’s murder, they had no idea who the perpetrator was. They didn’t even know where to start. Typically, if another gang was responsible for any crime, they would announce it, as if it were something to be proud of. No gang made any such announcement, and thus everyone was flustered and confused. Ravana made his way back to the gang’s den, handmade sword at his side, and announced, regardless of what punishment was in store for him, even death, that he was the one who murdered Juan.

A few of the gang member’s were so irate, they would have killed Ravana right then and there. But the gang’s leader, Karawan, stopped them by silently stepped forward. The rest of the gang ceased their shouting, curses, and fist hurling when he did, the universal sign of power. Stealthily, as if he were floating on air, he walked towards Ravana, and put both of his hands on both of his shoulders.

“Ravana, just a boy, yet did a man’s job, and did it better than any of you fucking pricks,” Karawan said, not looking at his gang, but looking into the eyes of the child Ravana. “When we rejected you, you did not go home and cry. No, you took it upon yourself to show us your worth.” Smiling softly, as a mother smiles at her newborn, he said, “You, my child, are worthy. I want you to be my apprentice. Do you accept?”

Gasps of shock and horror echoed through the gang, eyes darting around in confusion, but as soon as Karawan lifted one hand into the air from Ravana’s shoulder, it all stopped again. Placing his hand back on its rightful shoulder, Karawan raised both of his eyebrows, as if to beg Well?

Trying not to show too much excitement, Ravana bit the inside of his cheek. His gamble had worked. He took a chance by murdering one of the gang’s members, looking his own death straight in the face, and he had actually come to terms with dying, but instead of killing him, they wanted to make him one of their own. The dream he had had welling up inside of his very being for as long as he could remember, that of taking all the hate he felt and to use it for something useful, for something that would gather love and brotherhood to him, for something that would make him feel joy for the first time in his entire life, it was finally coming true. A cramped smile spread across his lips then, as he looked back into Karawan’s eyes, and he answered emotionlessly, “I graciously accept.”

“Very fine,” Karawan exclaimed, brightly. He turned to the rest of the gang and presented its newest member to them. “Here is our new student of darkness, Ravana! He will achieve great things, I know it!” Turning back to him, he said lightly, “Now that you’re an official member of my gang, is there anything you have in mind to do? Like, a purpose you wanted to join us?”

“Yes,” Ravana answered immediately. Eyes darkening to an almost terrifying shade of red, he said, full of venom, “I want to hunt down and kill my father.”

***

Frozen against the charcoal sky, eyes as wide as saucers, Grant was momentarily struck dumb. The creature he saw floating above him, as slow and graceful as a majestic bald eagle, yet as frightening and terrifying as watching a nuclear shell falling from the heavens, flapped its wings hard and let out another of hits horrifying multi-cries. Far off in the distance, a thunder of deep, menacing, barking howls answered it, rolling across the dirt swept rocks like a shock wave. The great winged creature moved its head and looked straight down at Grant, opening its slimy mouth to reveal rows of pointed, razor sharp teeth, and yowled again.

Not thinking to use the gun, Grant got up and ran as fast as one bolts up in bed from a nasty nightmare. All he could think of was running as fast as the sprinters he saw at the last summer olympics. My feet are light, I feel no pain, nothing will hinder my escape his mind chanted. You will not die here, wherever you are. That thing will not swoop down and kill you. The incoming flock of his buddies will not even see you, you’ll be so long gone...

Looking down, he noticed a huge hole in front of him filled with some sort of orange liquid. Realizing with horror that this was magma of about a million degrees, he put on the brakes and his Vans tennis shoes skidded to a stop mere inches from the evil, burning ooze. He turned around to figure out at the location of the disturbing half-bird half-hyena, and saw it was circling around, like its vulture instincts commanded it to, waiting for his back-up to arrive. Just then, something grabbed his elbow and pulled him into the shadows, which was even darker than the world around him.

“What the...?” Grant shouted, stunned. Once he got his bearings about him again, his eyes adjusting to the even lower light, he realized he was surrounded by a tribe of people. Well, perhaps not a tribe but at least a family of four individuals. They all had long, knotted, dirty hair, making it impossible to determine the males from the females. Each wore a shirt and pants of God knows what color, since they were deeply stained with the black dirt of this peculiar planet. Faces smeared with black mud, feet bare, it appeared as though they lived in this underground cave. Regardless of the magma flowing about ten feet away, the cave was pleasantly cool. Turning his head towards them, he noticed all four of these new people’s eyes glowed. It appeared especially strange, because everything was black or grey, including the sky, so their eyes popped out like diamonds in a vast pile of rocks. Even more strange was the color: bright orange.

Grant’s breath was taken away. Mouth agape, he looked at the person who still had a hold on the crook of his elbow. In a pleasant, almost heavenly voice, the person said, “You are not safe out there.”

Keeping his mouth shut, though he felt like blurting out No shit, he nodded vigorously. He shifted his weight so he was further inside of the cave, not wanting the deformed creature outside to get a whiff of him, reach its deformed mouth inside, and rip him to shreds.

“My name is Mary,” the person continued. Waving a hand behind her, she explained, “This is my family.” Each person raised a hand into the air, keeping it there for a few seconds, stationary, and then they all went down in unison. The woman, Mary, studied Grant, and moved her mouth to one side, disapprovingly. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“I don’t know,” was all Grant could answer. Eyes darting around to the three other family members, he noticed they were all staring at him unblinkingly. He swallowed hard. “I’m... I don’t know what I’m actually called but... I’m stuck between being dead and being alive...”

A chorus of gasps rung out in the cave.

“And, believe it or not,” Grant said, “this is the third dimension I’ve been in today. I have this watch...” Pulling it out of his pocket, it swung by its delicate, gold chain, swinging like a pendulum, back and forth, back and forth, as though he were trying to put everyone in a trance. To his surprise, the face of the watch was still glowing from beneath the closed cover. Strange, since Prudy had called several minutes previously.

A chorus of Oooooh rang out in the cave.

Shocked by the slivers of light that spilled from the watch, Grant grabbed it with his other hand and flipped it open. Glancing over at Mary, he saw she was smiling. Doing a double take, and smiling a little himself, he asked her quizzically, “What?”

“The watch.” She scooted closer to him, her arm touching his. Cringing, he realized she was transferring some of the oily, black residue to his arm. “I’ve seen one like it before.”

“Really?” Lifting the watch up so Mary could see it better, he asked, “Where?”

“Well,” she laughed, while another of the creature’s massive howl-barks rung out and echoed across the land outside. “To be completely honest...” She leaned closer to him, and whispered, “In a different dimension. Around here, you don’t have to be dead in order to jump dimensions.”

“Oh, my God...” He relaxed slightly, slumping forward. “How?” Shaking his head he said with a sigh, “Not that I know where I need to go...”

“No worries,” Mary said, in that same chiming, beautiful voice. “You don’t need to, because we do.” She turned to the three people sitting behind her, and began to speak to them in some alien language that Grant had never heard before. To him, it sounded like a series of grunts and sharp wails, but after about a minute, all three of them got up, turned around, and walked further into the cave, away from them, lost to sight by the thick shadows.

“What do you mean?” Confusion and a scared wavering took over Grant’s voice. “How do you know where I’m going? And what did you say to them? Where are they going?...”

“Grant, we are the people that were rushed out of the Capital City, out of the ruling dimension. We are the clan of people who were a step under the King himself, and above the Gate Keepers. We were called the Time Keepers.” Smiling softly, she closed Grant’s pocket watch. “The Gate Keepers felt threatened by us, so using their hard-ass mercenaries, we were banished to this desolate place. We’ve been here a long while, but we still don’t know what it’s called exactly, as no humans had ever lived here before we dropped in.” Laughing a little, but noticed the horror on Grant’s face, and she continued. “It’s not all bad. We still have our powers. It’s just that our kind of people have been... oh, how would I put it... mapped. For example, if any of us try to jump dimensions, it will fail, because our genetic maps will be recognized, and access will be denied.”

As Mary spoke, the three others emerged from the depths of the cave and sat silently beside her, all in a row. Her orange eyes glowing even brighter, like tiny fires raging in her skull, she kept right on explaining, as if they weren’t there. “However, Grant, you do not share our genetic make-up. Not even close. So, I can send you to where you need to go.”

“But I don’t even know where...” Grant said quietly, but Mary hushed him.

“I can tell you. Eliza, Kim, and Ashley are being take to the Capital City. There is a castle there, on the top of a humongous mountain, called Weissenberg. That is where the all-dimensions leaders reside, and where the Gate Keepers stay. The ladies will be thrown into the jail, down in the cellar.”

“I’m not sure what to say. Prudy...”

Mary snorted out a short laugh, reached over and touched the pocket watch. He looked at her face, concerned. Gently, she asked, “When was the last time you spoke to Prudy?”

“Not since I’ve been in this dimension,” Grant answered quickly. “I ignored her last call...”

“Good,” Mary said, and snatched the watch from his hands. Gasping, he reached out for it in vain. Handing it over to the largest person in her family, Grant was still not sure if it was a male or female, the watch was then clasped between both of the person’s large, menacing hands. Shrieking, Grant tried to leap over Mary to regain the watch, but she held him back. It would have been too late, anyway. The person crushed the watch into no more than chunks of gold, springs, and gears, between hands that acted like an automatic vice grip, and ground it to rubble like a mortar and pestle.

“What the fuck are you doing!?” Grant exclaimed, vehemently. “That was my only way to contact Prudy!”

“Without it, you’re safer,” Mary said, calmly.

“I don’t follow you,” he answered, becoming short of breath in his anger, venom in his words. Shaking her hand from his arm, he began to stand, when Mary said something that made him fall back to the ground.

“Prudy works for the enemy. She is one of the Gate Keepers. She was going to lead you right into their hands.”

***

“Sire,” Sterling said, this time peeking in through the doors cautiously at Ravana’s turned back. “They are here. You’re presence is required at the front.”

“You could just say, ‘Come and greet the prisoners,’ Sterling,” Ravana said as he turned around, his eyes narrowed. “Unless, of course, there is something else down at the front doors that needs my attention.”

Licking his lips several times, Sterling slipped inside Ravana’s large, oval shaped chambers. The doors slammed shut behind him, making him jump in the air nervously. Sweaty palmed, he stumbled, “Well, um, Sire, Ravana Sir, um, there might be...”

“Spit it out before I throw a dagger through your throat.” Walking towards him with the swift yet stiff movement of a ghost, Ravana was directly in front of Sterling in mere seconds. Gasping, Sterling’s face began to turn a sick shade of green.

“Okay, Sire, I will just say it.” Straightening up his shoulders, then his arms and lastly his head, he said bluntly, “The mercenaries killed one of the prisoners during her capture, Sire. There was no getting around it, she was belligerent, difficult, and she fought back, injuring one of our own.” Clearing his throat nervously and pulling out the collar from his neck as if it had gotten tighter all of a sudden, he added in consolation, “They brought her body to the castle. For proof.”

Ravana closed his eyes. The plan was not going as he might have hoped. He wanted all three of these women to be alive, so they would be available to torture if needed, but mostly to lure Grant to the Capital City, to trade his life for all of theirs. Now that one was dead, there was no telling if Grant would take the bait. Grinding his teeth together, he took in a deep breath and held it. Part of being the head of an inter-dimensional group such as the Gate Keepers was to always have a back up plan, to always think on your feet. Right now, he couldn’t think of a way out of this one. Stay calm, first of all, he pep-talked himself. Grant was still in the Iargúlta Dubh dimension, the place that wasn’t precisely a real dimension at all, but a replica of a desolate alien country he had seen once; exactly where she had asked Prudy to dump him. The Iargúlta Dubh was similar to a very realistic hologramed environment. It was sort of like a holding cell until they were ready for him to be lead to the Castle Weissenberg to meet the ultimatum he couldn’t (theoretically) refuse. Grant was a good, stand-up guy, thus it would only follow that he would never say ‘no’ to such a proposition.

Letting the breath out slowly, he resolved to think about his next course of action over night. It was always good to sleep on it; a fresh mind could think clearer. For now, however, “I will go down to greet them.” Clapping a hand on Sterling’s shoulder, he did something he rarely did: he showed his gratitude, with a distant caring in his eyes. “Thank you.”

Shocked, Sterling saluted his Sire. “No problem, Sir Ravana. It is my job and my duty.”

With that, Sterling left the room, and quickly scurried off down the hallway in the opposite direction than he had come. Ravana watched the door close and, now that he was alone, his shoulders slumped forward slightly. For the first time in his life, he felt defeated. In his life, he had always found a way to transcend, to come up with creative solutions to problems, to be the one who triumphed and basked in the glory. Now, he was realizing quickly that his plan had flaws that he did not think about or foresee.

Twisting his torso around to his right, and then willing his feet to move, he made his way over to where his jacket hung on a hook at the far end of the room. He took it off the lone hook, slung it over his shoulders, and shoved his arms in, hands emerging on the other end of the sleeves. For some reason, his mother’s face came to him in that moment, placing a coat on his tiny shoulders as a child, so loving, so soft, so caring. Maybe it was karma; maybe he was finally getting what he deserved for forsaking his own mother... and hunting down his own father like a wild boar.

Putting back on his game face, he pushed all of those thoughts out of his head. It’s useless to dwell on the past, he roared at himself. Learn from it and move on. There is no room for emotions in this business. He pushed his mother’s face, his father’s memory, any thoughts of defeat away. Only his pure evil, spiteful, foul, loathsome core remained, the only part of himself that he ever wanted to reveal itself again, in private or in public. There was no room for weakness, and no time for weakness, either. With his new found energy, he exited his office.

***

Waking up, her head ringing, her sight in a troubling, wavering double-vision, she had no idea what had happened. Wasn’t she supposed to be work right now? Bolting up, thinking she overslept for work, it slowly came back to her: cowboy, handcuffs, covered wagon, knocked out cold. Now she was... where was she?

To her surprise, her hands were no longer bound. Her captors must have thought she wouldn’t wake up any time soon. How hard did they hit me? she wondered to herself. The wagon was still moving, as the carriage she found herself in was being jostled and jolted around, and she could hear the horses’ hooves on the road and their breath bursting from their nostrils every now and again. Crawling to the back of the wagon as quietly as she could, she was curious to see where she was exactly. Pulling the canvas that served as the rear exit door to the side with her finger, she took in a strange sight: a curvy mountain road, covered in snow. Taking a chance, she peeked her head outside, the cold air hitting her face like a swift back hand. Now she really wished she had that scarf she had neglected to grab at home. Peaking her head around the side, she beheld the most magnificent thing she had ever seen: A castle.

It was made of a dark stone, and looked like a medieval cathedral. It had sharp spires that thrust so far into the sky, clouds covered their tops. With it’s grandeur and artistic detail, it looked like something plucked out of a alternate universe’s Disneyland. With every hoof that clomped on the ground, they grew closer and closer to the front doors. They would be there within minutes. Ahead of them, there was another covered wagon. And in front of that, another wagon.

What kind of parade am I a part of? Kimberly thought as she ducked back into her own covered wagon, closing up the back curtain of canvas. To her surprise, there was a bottle of some sort propped up in one of the front corners. Scrunching her eyebrows down, creasing her brow, she hadn’t noticed it until now, even though it ebbed a pale glow of pastel pink. A fine liquid sloshed around inside of it with the rhythm of the wagon’s motion. Suspicious, she slowly made her way towards it. For some reason, it reminded her of Alice in Wonderland. She wouldn’t have been surprised if, on the side was embossed the words Drink Me. Getting closer, she realized that the bottle said nothing, written or otherwise.

Feeling like this might all be a dream, she picked up the bottle delicately. I wonder what this is supposed to do, and why it’s in my wagon she wondered to herself. Glancing down, she noticed that under the bottle, a note sat. Forgetting about the bottle for a moment, she picked the note up, opened it with her forefinger and thumb, and read:

Kimberly,

You don’t know me, but my name is Mary. I just wanted to let you know that Grant is safe, and is with me now. You do not need to know the exact details right now, but I will be sending Grant to save you. In the mean time, don’t say anything to your captures, don’t give in if they threaten to hurt you, and stay strong. Grant says he loves you more than anything Sweet Pea, and he’ll get you out.

Also, I hope that the bottle of potion finds you well. I only had a glass bottle, so I hope it doesn’t break in that sorry excuse of a wagon you’re currently traveling in. Drink it as soon as you can, and toss the bottle out the back of the wagon, that way, your captures will not be the wiser. This will help you to resist pain, and it will help aid your transition back to your dimension, that of Toledo in 2013.

God speed to you, my girl! All will be well, I shall see to it.

Yours truly, Mary

Putting the note back in its place, Kim wondered if she should trust the note. How did she know that Grant was with this Mary, and that he was actually safe? How could he trust that he was going to come save her? And, most importantly, how could she take her word for it that, without all the details, that everything was going to be okay?

Sighing, a smile spreading across her lips, realization took over her whole body, from toes to crown. Sweet Pea. No one on the planet knew his nickname for her was Sweet Pea, especially some woman named Mary from a different dimension. With that, she twisted the cap off of the bottle and gulped down the contents in one swig. Grant would come to save her. She knew it for sure now.

With that, she tossed the bottle out the back, with a faint clunk against the frozen rock outside. Several moments later, the wagon stopped. Creaking and squeaking was all she heard, and she immediately knew what it was: the opening of the front gates.

***

Slumped against the cave wall, Grant was thunderstruck. Mind racing, he forgot about the pocket watch altogether, or why he had been so adamant with getting it back only a few seconds before. Eyes glazing over, he began to question everything, even Prudy’s explanation of his predicament. I’ll just go ahead and tell it to you straight. Brace yourself now, she had said, full of care, full of compassion. Then she dropped the bomb: You’re dead. But was he really? What was real and what was an illusion? Was the watch really a tracking device? What about the very clothes on his back? Were they some sort of evil weapon trying to prevent him from saving the most beloved people in his life? Beginning to rip at his t-shirt and moaning incoherently, Mary took his arm again.

“Grant,” she said. “Get ahold of yourself.”

Closing his eyes, he felt first his mouth, then his neck, and then his entire body tremble and shake. Now, for the first time since his world got turned upside down by driving into 1851, he hoped more than anything that he was in a coma, and that this was all a dream. Because if this was his real life, he wasn’t sure if he could handle it.

Startled, he sat up as straight as a board and his trembling stopped immediately. It was the voice of Howard: Your path will be hard, but don’t give up! As long as you stay true to yourself and to those you love, your journey will be a success, and you’ll live again! Tears welled up in his eyes as the voice drifted around in his head, like a marble around the bottom of an empty box. His mind wanted to remind him that he was now uncertain of who he could trust, of reality itself, but he said out loud, “No.”

“Grant, I’m worried about you,” the voice of Mary chimed, sounding distant now, as well. Unable to answer her, he was in the grip of a very real waking dream.

Like a harp, the voice of his friend Howard came again: You can trust me, I was a little out of the loop about Prudy, but you can trust me. I’m in a better place now, and I am able to see the big picture. Mary and her clan are true to their word. They will assist you with getting to the Capital City, and you will snag both Eliza and Kimberly and skip town, back to your home dimension.

Confused, Grant vocalized to his friend the rest of the occupants of the cave couldn’t see, “Howard... you didn’t mention Ashley. Ashley is there, too, isn’t she?” When no immediate reply was made, he asked frantically, “Ashley is okay, right? Right?!”

After a pause that almost literally ripped Grant’s heart out through his chest cavity, the voice came again: Yes, and no, Grant. I don’t know how to tell you this but... the Gate Keepers’ mercenaries killed your sister. But, please, DON’T fret!!

“Don’t fret?!” Grant shrieked, writhing around on the floor of the cavern. “You just told me my sister is dead!...”

She is in a state like yours, Howard’s voice cooed from heaven. Once you get to the Dimension Jumper, you will see her again. I promise. I will send her to you. You and she have the same mission now, and when you’re both successful, you’ll live again!

Burying sobs in his throat, his chest heaving violently, he squeaked out in reply, “You better not be lying to me, Howard. If you are, I swear I will find you and haunt you, so you will not get a days rest for the entire length of eternity.”

Don’t worry, Howard laughed, gayly. You will see her, and together you’ll save both Eliza and Kim. By the way, don’t loose that gun. It may or may not have been placed there for you to find.

Hearing the jovial nature of Howard’s voice, Grant smiled with tears streaking clear paths down his dirt covered face. “Okay, okay, Buddy. I’ll believe you.” Glancing over at the four others, all of them a case of fear and confusion, Grant said, “Do me a favor, and whisper to the rest of this family, so they don’t think I’m completely insane.”

All at once, they all jumped in their seats and looked around, obviously hearing Howard’s voice. After a moment of ruckus confusion, they settled down and nodded, looking over at Grant. “Thank you, Howard,” he whispered to the rank air, and with that, he felt Howard’s presence disappear.

“Do you believe me now?” Mary asked with a sly smile. Feeling rather silly, fixing his disheveled shirt, he nodded. “Now, we must get you to the Dimension Jumper, and fast, because your girls have just been deposited at Weissenberg Castle.”

“Alright, where is it?” Grant tried to get to his feet once more, but Mary tugged him back down. The three people behind her giggled under their breath, amused by this.

“We have to use our magic to send you there.” She turned around and nodded to her companions, as if letting them know that the time for Grant’s departure was nigh. “The Dimension Jumper is a big machine... have you ever watched Star Trek?”

“Yes...” he replied, confused by why the question was relevant.

“It’s a machine that resembles the transporter utilized on that television show. You step into it, and once it senses your presence on the tele-pad, it’ll teleport you directly to the Capital City.”

“Neat,” he said quietly, with a nostalgic half smile. “But will it know where I’m going? And not to place me right in the middle of the Gate Keepers’ chambers?”

“Absolutely,” Mary answered brightly. “It’ll drop you off at the back of the mountain, where it isn’t heavily guarded. That way you can sneak up to the castle, like a ninja.”

Mood shifting like the ocean tides on a night with a full moon, he perked up. He could finally see the light at the end of the tunnel. Soon, his fate would be realized. Yes, he had finally come to terms with the fact that he had died in the river, but he wasn’t entirely dead. He was trapped between worlds, the living world and the dead world, and to get back to the living world, to see his mother again, to feel Kimberly’s lips on his, to wrap his sister in a hug and call her a booger brain, he had to get to the Capital City, get his girls, and run like hell. If he failed, not only would he be doomed to death, but so would his little sister. And that just wouldn’t do. His own life was one thing, but if you messed with his little sister, the over-protective, do-anything-to-fuck-you-up big brother came bursting forth, like a carnivorous monster.

Cracking his knuckles and standing to his full height (just barely escaping a good bang on his noggin on the roof of the cave as he did so) he looked into Mary’s glowing ember-filled eyes, and to the glowing eyes of all of her clan members. Nodding to each of them, he said confidently, “Let’s do this! I’m ready!”

Gathering in a circle, latching hands, the four Time Keepers beckoned Grant to position himself directly in the center. As he did so, he got a queazy feeling in his stomach. What if he failed? What if Howard was wrong? What if he gave it all he had, and still let everyone down? Would he still be remembered as the strong young man his mother had spoken of just a day or two prior? With all the strength he could muster, he built up courage within himself. You can do it, you will do it, you will see your mother again, and you will live to fly to Nevada and tell Robert once and for all what you think of him, his shitty attitude, his beloved Robbie Jr, and his slut of a wife!

Encapsulated inside the circle of clansmen (or women) by the latching of hands, they began to chant in their guttural, rough sounding language. As soon as the chanting started, an amazing thing started to happen. A twinkling light, like sparklers that a child would play with at the 4th of July picnic, radiated from the soles of each person’s bare feet, on the surface of the stone floor. It traveled up their bodies, like a wind spinning around dead leaves in autumn, until the luminosity intensified when it reached each pair of clasped hands. Once the bursts of light got to their intertwined fingers, it exploded into a brilliant eruption of light, and like a firework, its sparks cascaded in ribbons all around the cave and fluttered to the floor like fireflies. Then, like searching crooked lightening bolts moving horizontally across thin air, two dozen beams of amazing light sought out for Grant, like thirsting animals searching for water. Once it got ahold of him, it overtook his body in a millisecond, shaking him and stiffening his body like a granite statue. Involuntarily, his arms reached up to the ceiling, and with a grin so wide it hurt strewn across his face, he vanished.

***

Smiling, Ravana stood before the giant draw bridge that served as the main door to his magnificent castle. Hands on his hips, feet shoulder length apart, he couldn’t help but feel like a burden had been lifted from him, freeing up his mind to handle this situation, to think more clearly, to show the King he was the right man, no, the only man for this job. Indolently the bridge began to lower, allowing crisp, vivid beam of light spill into the dark interior of Ravana’s fortress. As the bridge lowered, more and more light rushed in; soon enough, it incrementally illuminated Ravana’s face from top to bottom, and his steady expression of aplomb. His eyes were different, they had a new life and vitality infused into them, and sparkled wildly, like an untamed fire raging in the forest. Handsome tan complexion, deep cheek bones, dark hair falling into his face, he took no notice to the stray lock or to the fortuitous smile that teased at the corner of his mouth. The culmination of all his planning, all his waiting, all of his manipulation and striving were finally coming to a head, and he’d see the physical manifestation of this as soon as the draw bridge connected to the road on the cliff right outside his stronghold.

With a powerful boom, the wooden gate landed on the adjacent cliff, and to Ravana’s delight, three covered wagons, each headed by those disgusting land pirates (that he couldn’t stand the sight or smell of) clasping the reigns of six beautiful horses. A raucous heeyah! rang out from one of the pirates mouths, and with that call, all the horses began forward, over the bridge, and into the castle proper.

Instinctively, Ravana lowered his rough, merciless hand to the butt of his gun, which was holstered low on his hip. Always wearing his gun, he never distinguished that movement from his regular stance, but those around him noticed, how could they not?, and backed away in fear and averted their eyes from his gaze. In the back of his brain, unconsciously, he did not trust these land pirates, or their motives. He couldn’t wait to pay them their bounties and bid them adieu.

Sterling, who was standing at Ravana’s side, much more confident now, shouted, “Ahoy, mercenaries! Sire Ravana would like to take a look into your cargo holds!”

The musty, ragged man who drove the first wagon, jumped down out of the driver’s seat and approached the two men. “You will be pleased with our catch, Sir.” Taking off his hat and plastering it to his heart, he bowed before Ravana, much to the Sire’s surprise.

“Rise.” Ravana, being almost a foot taller than the pirate man before him, he looked down on his, darkened by his very shadow. “I will be pleased, will I?” he said with a hint of sarcasm.

“I think so, great Sire.” Turning back towards the covered wagons, the man said, “Follow me.”

Ravana and Sterling followed closely behind their guide. Looking up suspiciously, he studied the other land pirates, who had all dismounted and were waiting around unsurely. Each failed to meet his gaze, which brought Ravana a heightened sense of prestige. Cracking their knuckles and awkwardly kicking a stray rock or dirt in the entryway, they all seemed very nervous. And rightly so, Ravana’s thoughts growled.

Closing in to the first wagon, Ravana nodded to it sternly. “Show me.”

Clearing his throat tensely, the land pirate bit his bottom lip and said, “Behold! This is the girl from Hen Dimensiwn Orllewin. Safe and sound.”

Pulling back the canvas flap at the back end of the wagon, he stood aside, leaving room for Ravana to gaze inside. Walking forward, at first all he could see was darkness. Only a second later, laying his hands on the wooden platform that served as the floor of the wagon to lean all of his weight forward, he saw a girl in a dress will fluffy skirts huddled in the corner. Smiling, he regarded her. “Eliza...”

Wanting to lash out and drag her fingernails across the skin of his evil face, Eliza was unable to answer. A startled squeak escaped her lungs, her eyes enlarging with a cascade of tears.

“It’s okay, Eliza. If all goes well, we will not have to hurt you.” His voice sounding concerning, like a parent speaking sweetly to a child who had just skinned her knee, he pressed his lips together. “Whether you get hurt is not my choice. If I had a choice, I would never hurt such a pretty maiden such as yourself.” Leaning forward more for emphasis, his voice deepening with resent, he boomed, “The choice is all Grant’s. Pray he makes the right one.”

Before he could say any more, a scuffle broke out behind the third and last covered wagon. Closing the canvas sheet by ripping it out of the pirate man’s hands, he rushed past the second wagon to where the struggle ensued.

“What is going on here, maggots?” he roared, his eyes full of fury. “Speak!”

“The girl in this wagon was not bound, and was trying to escape while our attention was diverted to the first wagon, sir,” a well spoken mercenary offered, standing before him and bowing low. “We’ve captured her again, and re-secured her wrists. We’ve also bound her ankles.”

“Which one is it?” Ravana roared, shoving aside the mercenaries that were standing around, unhelpful, and conveniently getting in his way.

“This is the escapee’s girlfriend, from the home dimension. She’s a feisty one.”

“Let me see her,” he hissed and approached the back of the third wagon with full momentum. Peaking inside, his mouth twisted in an sinister grin he said, “So, we meet finally, Kimberly.” Raising his eyebrows, he hissed, “You’re a handful, aren’t you.”

“I’d spit in your face,” Kim said defiantly, sitting in the middle of the wagon. “But I wouldn’t waste a single ounce of it on you.”

Chuckling, he narrowed his eyes, lowering his eyebrows into an expression of evil longing. “I like you,” he said slowly, and wet his lips unconsciously. Kim shuddered. “If you weren’t in love with the enemy, I’d attempt to sway you to my side.”

Confused, Kim felt his eyes taking a hold of hers, but with all of her might she tugged her gaze free and looked up, tears making their way to the edges of her eyelashes, a sigh wheezing out of her lungs. “Never,” she breathed.

Closing the curtain on her and twirling around on the heel of his boot, he beckoned to the unworthy grunts, “Show me the middle wagon.”

Nervously glancing at each other, not wanting to be the one to show their overlord the contents of the middle wagon, none of them moved. “NOW!” Ravana shouted, and one of the men jumped and led him to the middle wagon, unaware that Sterling had already broken the bad news to Ravana.

“Behold, Sire, the escapee’s sister, from the home dimension.” Visibly shaking, he explained, “We have her, sir, but she did not survive the scuffle. We killed her as a last resort, and her body is contained within this wagon.”

To their surprise, Ravana did not react. Unsure, the silence deafening, the man who had volunteered to talk looked around to the other mercenaries, begging them with his eyes What do I do now?

Meandering towards the second wagon, flashing a death look accentuated by a wide, teethy smile to all of the terrified onlookers, he grasped both canvas flaps that served as the rear doors and thrust them to each side, screaming at the top of his voice, “LIGHT!”

A violent storm of light exploded in the back of the wagon, meaning to illuminate the dead and limp body of Grant’s beloved little sister, Ashley. Ravana’s pupils grew small in the flash, and in that second his jaw dropped. Turning around to his audience again, letting the flaps drop back down into place, spots still dancing in front of his vision from the bright light, his voice rumbled, exasperated, “Ashley... where is she?”

***

Opening his eyes, he beheld the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. Wherever Mary and her clan had sent him, there was no way he was still in the dark, horrible, dirty, scary dimension. The most brilliant, bright green sprung from the trees like a million metal slinkies in motion. Below his feet was grass as thick as cotton and as green as the trees that surrounded him like the chanting clan, in a perfect circle. Tilting his head backwards, he closed his eyes, as the sun, full and bright, was directly above him, hot in the noon time position. A selfish thought struck him then: He wanted to stay here forever, and forget about going to a snow clogged, craggy mountain with a fortress full of people who wanted to send him to hell inside, and forget the consequences of doing so. The sun felt wonderful upon his skin, and the singing birds rang like a symphony in his head, a welcome treat after the flying vulture-hyena thing’s multi-bark-scream (a sound no person, he decided, should ever have to hear).

Knowing he could never do that to Kim or Ashley, or even Eliza who he felt such a strong connection to, he looked straight forward once again and opened his eyes. Just as Mary had said, a large cylinder shaped machine stood in the middle of this sirine forest. The middle was hollow, and upon the floor stood a number of grey circles. The tele-pads, he thought. His very next thought propelled him forward, and he ran, eyes wide. Where is Ashley? Howard promised Ashley would be here!

Eyes darting to and fro, he did not see another living creature. Marching around the Dimension Jumper, he held his hand out in front of him and whispered, “What the fuck?”

Watching the Dimension Jumper out of the corner of his eyes, he wondered if Howard had lied to him, and if he should just climb up into the teleporter and be whisked off to Capital City. So many things have turned out to be lies, Grant lamented. This could be, too. Howard said he was on my side, but when I was in 1934, he sure seemed to be on Prudy’s side...

A voice floated into his consciousness then, and without looking, who knew who it was. Tears of joy welled up in his eyes and a timid smile pushed his flushed cheeks up, producing a dimple. The voice asked, “Grant?”

Pivoting, he beheld the sight of her. Could be a trick, his mind warned. But he knew it was her. She looked to him with admiration and love like only a sister could. Swinging his arms powerfully at his sides, he ran to her and wrapped her in a hug. He felt her lungs expanding and contracting, he felt his hand on her back, her hair in his face, and heard her trademark oinking laugh. “Hey, Little Partner,” he gasped through his tears.

***

Trudging up the mountainside, gun in hand, sweat running into his eyes sending the sweet burning sensation all through his body, meaning to interrupt his concentration, his balance, and his sanity, he thought he might never make it. The snow was coming down so hard and so thick he wouldn’t have been surprised if a dump truck was stationed on the cliff above his head, releasing snow in waves down upon him. Soaked from top to bottom and from side to side, the harsh breeze would eventually freeze his clothes and hair to his skin. That was a pleasant thought. Willing his left hand to move upwards to the next protruding rock, he closed his eyes. Thoughts spun around his brain as fast as dogs around a race track, one after another slowly pausing in front of his eyes, taunting him. What are you doing here? Do you really think you can save them? You’re just one person, how much can you do, really? You’re insane. You could be sitting at home playing Halo, you know. Stupid asshole.

Shaking his head from side to side like clearing an etch-a-sketch, he shoved the thoughts away from conscious view. He then engaged his muscles and hoisted himself up to the rock ledge directly in front of him. As he struggled to maintain his grip, he threw his gun upwards, landing with a thud on the snow covered rock. His hand, now free, pulled his weight upwards, his leg swinging to the ledge above and he finally found himself on a flat surface, his stomach beginning to chill from the frozen rock. He could hear his pursuers, but they were still a ways down the mountain yet. No need to hurry.

He felt like his eyes were glazing over… was this death? In what felt like slow motion he reached out for his gun, but before his fingers came into contact with the metal, something bright caught his eye. Awestruck, he fell backwards slightly, sitting on his feet. His hand fell limply to his side. Was this the place they had been taken? Had he finally arrived? He wasn’t crazy after all, was he? For the first time in what seemed like years, he smiled. Small, timid, but it was there. The joy underneath threatened to burst through his wind chapped lips and unleash a brand of warmth so vivid it would melt the snow. His brain lit up, and it felt like his almost dead batteries had been replaced with new ones.

Unbelieving, he slapped himself across the face and whispered, “This is real.”