Speed of Light (8 page)

Round, silvery metallic buildings dotted the landscape like shiny buttons on a camouflaged uniform. Brick ramblers not far from the traffic of the road were flanked with lilacs and peonies. Old farmhouses and red barns were set farther back down drives lined with tractors and combines.

“Where are we going?” Tens asked.

Nelli sighed. “An old converted milk factory in Lebanon.”

What? Where?
“Lebanon? How are we supposed to get to Lebanon?” I asked.

“It’s a rural town northeast of here. We’re not talking about the country.” Nelli twisted her lips and smiled.

I had begun to tumble onto the fact that a person could travel the entire world and never leave Indiana: Paris, Moscow, Peru, Brazil, Edinburgh, and now Lebanon.
Is it any wonder I get confused?

Nelli chewed on her lip. “I’ve thought about this a lot. I need to run something past you.”

“What?” I waited.

“I’ve been assigned an intern, who started volunteering after DG hit the news. He’s a foster kid himself who’s going to Butler University.”

“Okay …?”
Where is she going with this?

“He’s a really nice kid, very earnest. I think he would be good for Juliet. Give her someone to talk to.”

“You mean set her up with him?” Tens asked.

Nelli shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe. At least put them together to see if they hit it off? Maybe I’m wrong,
but I think he’d understand where she’s coming from. Maybe get through to her, where we can’t?”

“I don’t know that she needs a boyfriend, but she could definitely use a friend,” I said.

“Have you told him anything?” Tens asked.

“About her being a Fenestra? No, of course not. He’s very kind. Last week, he made me pull over to rescue roadkill.”

“Did it live?”

“We were too late, but he took it home to bury it properly. He says he wants to change the world by using computers to improve the poverty divide. I think he will. He’s very focused on technology and he’s a wiz. I thought I’d ask him to help with the investigations—the organizing, getting all the information uploaded into a database we can reference, doing the legwork, nothing dangerous to you. Then he and Juliet can spend time together. No pressure. That’s where we’re headed.” Nelli pointed out the window, toward a tall brick smokestack towering far above the buildings around it. Cracks ran down the stack, making it appear as if the decrepit brick might topple at any moment. Painted down the side, emphasized by large cracks, was the word
MILK
.

Interesting. Kinda creepy, kinda hick
.

“Are you sure this is the place?” Tens asked.

Railroad tracks and crossing signs cut the earth and roads. Buildings clustered together in what served as suburban sprawl around lesser cities and towns in the country.

“That’s where we’re going. Not into downtown.” Nelli pointed. “It’s an odd and rare collectibles store now with a seasonal theater troupe. It used to be a milk production and distribution plant.”

My heart sped up as we neared. “Where’d they …”

“Find the remains?”

“Yeah.”
Please help us send you home
.

“Bales says the owners of the building are expanding the theater sections and were going to refloor the dressing rooms. There were stones out of place. Crews noticed a bone fragment. When they lifted a tile, there was more. This is a skeleton, not a person.”

“Do they know when it was placed there?” Tens asked.

“Based on the clothing, they’re thinking the remains were buried there in the early seventies. It’ll take time to pinpoint completely. I haven’t seen anything yet either.”

Puzzled, I asked, “How did it take so long to find?”

“The building was abandoned for years, and even when it was used, not all the cubbied offices and storage spaces were occupied.” She shrugged, her expression clouded. “There are lots of gloomy crevices in the world.”

We turned into a parking lot in the rear of a large brick building painted to look like a collection of row houses.

“There he is.” Nelli pointed at Bales standing across the street.

Tallish and burly in a way that leaned toward either intimidating or teddy bear based on facial expressions, Bales pushed off the tree and sauntered toward us. His
sun-darkened complexion clearly delineated a farmer’s tan and crow’s-feet. He wore industrial overalls, steel-toed work boots, and a crew cut so short it merely hinted at brown hair. Except that he wasn’t much older than Nelli, he could have fit in at any diner, drinking a cup of coffee, talking about the good ol’ days.

His face softened and lit up when Nelli hugged him.

We shook hands. His were the size of baseball mitts and he loomed over both Nelli and me. With beefy shoulders that appeared used to lifting hay, Bales made Tens look like a skinny praying mantis.

“How do you want to do this?” He directed the question at Nelli. “The coroner will be here soon and it’s technically a crime scene.”

“Can we get within sight of where they found the remains?”

“Yeah, there’s a walkway above they use for lights and props now. People built walls but didn’t lower the ceilings. Looks like a maze from up there.” His voice was deep and gravelly as he led the way with his hand planted firmly on Nelli’s back.

“We could be charged with tampering—you’re all aware of that?” Bales asked, no censure in his voice, simply curiosity.

“We know,” Tens answered for us.

“It’s important.” Nelli squeezed Bales’s hand.

“Must be since you’re not a rule breaker, darlin’.” He gave her a private smile, making her blush.

As we walked closer to the building, my thoughts
turned to whoever’s remains we were here to find.
I hope these bones let us close a chapter for one soul
. And lead us to answers instead of more questions.

“Want to see if you can get within sight? I don’t know that he’s related yet.” Nelli let her question hang.

Related as in a Fenestra?
“Yeah, let’s go.” Tension lifted my voice up an octave and I rubbed my hands on my denim shorts.

Tens’s shoulders were tight and he walked on the balls of his feet, as if ambush might come from any direction.

The ladders swayed and rusty hinges creaked. A pigeon studied us and cooed.

“They say the birds keep coming in, but they don’t know why or where,” Bales informed us. Dust motes hung in the air and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust. I heard and smelled cows from the not-too-distant past.

Heading in the direction Bales pointed, Nelli took over the lead. Her sensible pumps clipped and slipped on the rungs.

Exasperated, Bales asked, “Woman, why didn’t you wear sneakers like I told you to?”

“I don’t wear sneakers.” Nelli didn’t hesitate to answer.

“I’ll buy you a pair. If we keep working together, I don’t want to worry about your ankles turning.”

I shared a glance with Tens and a smile. They sounded like an old married couple.

The brick walls were worn and stained. What few
new windows there were didn’t feel quite right in the industrial design of the space.

“Just down this catwalk. You’ll see the crime tape.” Bales motioned ahead of us.

I whispered to Tens, “Do you see that?”

“What?”

“The light.”

He shook his head.

“Grab me.” I’d gotten better at being on my feet, but I didn’t trust myself yet not to fall off a ladder. Especially when my Fenestra self went to the window and left my human body behind.

I felt his hands slide around my waist.

“What’s wrong?” Nelli turned her head, but her body was wedged ahead on the catwalk.

“I
don’t know.” I said the words to Nelli as I found myself standing at the window to the next world. When Auntie taught me how to be a Fenestra, we started with a curtained summer window. According to her, I should be able to control the window itself, but either I was a slow learner or there was a difference in my window’s operation. For the most part, the dying seemed to conjure scenes reflecting their lives, their history, and their loved ones. The view to the other side could be anything from meadows among snow-capped mountains to movie theaters showing black-and-white classics. Usually, smaller family groups to large crowds showed up
to welcome and embrace the newly departed. At some point, they all moved beyond the window to the Light on the horizon.

But this was eerie. This window was a blank void. A nothing. Neither dark, nor light. No life, no animals, no people. An emptiness hung heavily as if it sucked the air out of the space. No one stood next to me. I shivered, unsure why I waited at a colorless, featureless rectangle.

“Hello? Is someone here?” I heard a tearful voice call from behind me.

I turned and saw a teen, in torn and dirty brown corduroy pants and an orange striped shirt, bare feet muddy and scraped, huddled in a corner. Long hair streaked with dried gook made it impossible for me to tell the gender or the age. Fear radiated toward me.
Don’t cry, Meridian. Be strong
.

“I’m Meridian,” I said, startling the person. I lowered my voice. “I’m a friend. What’s your name?” I carefully picked my way closer, crouching with each movement because every noise begat a startled reaction. Closer inspection made me think this was a boy my age, or a bit younger. Pale and too thin.

“I’m—Oh no, oh no, oh no.” He started to hyperventilate, each syllable growing in panic and volume.

I held my hands up and out. “Slow down, slow down. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I don’t remember my name. Who am I?” He lifted his head toward me.

A gasp broke from my lips—his eyes were melted
shut. As if someone played with the skin and smashed it together like a sand castle under a heel.

I knelt and scooted closer. “I’m a friend. I’m not going to hurt you.” My pulse quickened. He couldn’t see me and the wounds didn’t appear accidental.
Who could wound another person like this?

“Are they coming back? Did they hurt you too? What do they want?” He clenched his knees, drawing himself farther back into the corner.

“No, no one’s hurt me.” My heart ached for him.

“It’s so bright. Is it summer? Why can’t I see your face? How long have I been here? What’s my name?”

“I can try—”

He interrupted, as if he hadn’t talked to anyone in decades.
He hasn’t
. “Can you take me home? What’s my name?”

“You’ll remember it, I promise.”

“Can you take me home? Where’s Uriah? Aileen?”

I shook my head, fighting back sympathetic tears. “It’s going to be okay. Can I take your hand?”

He held out a shaking hand blotched with grime and muck. His ragged, bloody fingernails were painful to see, as if chewing on them had been the only way to pass the time. “Have you seen Lucille? I heard her scream, but she hasn’t answered me. Can you take me home? I want to go home.”

I gripped his icy fingers, trying to move us closer to the window. No one still alive ever met me here. He wasn’t alive but didn’t know he was dead.
This has to be the soul belonging to the skeleton Nelli brought us to investigate
.
“Can you walk with me? Just a few steps?” I felt the sill to my right. It was Auntie’s summer window; I finally sensed the breeze through the curtains. I didn’t understand why the window wasn’t of this boy’s making and choice. I’d had to manifest it, call for it.
How did I do that?

“Where are you taking me?” he asked, trembling.

“Out of here. Okay?”

Someone, Nelli or Tens maybe, clinked on the catwalk above me and whispered apologies. The living plane rarely infiltrated my space here. Neither did this world appear to the living. They couldn’t hear me speak or see me move. Auntie could be in both planes at once—that was my goal. I wasn’t there yet. I appeared catatonic now that I wasn’t passing out each time.

The noise frightened the boy and he shrank away, trying to let go of my hand. “Are they coming back? You have to leave me here. Go now. Can you escape? They’ll hurt you.”

“I’m not leaving. You’re okay. It’ll be okay. Do you know Juliet?” I tried to distract him while we inched closer.
Is he a kid from the recent past or the long past?
His clothes were so outdated that I couldn’t imagine he’d know her.

He cocked his head and stopped. “Who?”

Not Juliet. Older than her?
On a long shot, I asked about Juliet’s mom. “How about Roshana?”

He nodded. “She’s Argy’s girl.”

“Were you friends?” Excitement tinged my voice.

“No, they’re part of the brat pack. New arrivals.”

“How old are they?” I tried to calculate which decade this boy came from. If he was older than Roshana and she was sixteen when she had Juliet, I’d figure it out later.

I took mincing, shuffling steps toward the window, gently bringing him with me.

“Seven, maybe.” He shrugged. “I’m sixteen. I think.”

I was trying to do the math but it wasn’t working right. My back hit the windowsill.

“You need to climb through here. It’s a window. Can you feel it?” I faced him and helped him feel the casement with his hands and lean against it with his hip.

He dragged his hands around the opening. “Can you take the blindfold off? It hurts.”

Tears stung my eyes. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want to go by myself. Can you take me home?”

“I promise you’ll get home if you go through the window.”

“Is it a way out?”

“Yes. Please?” I begged.

“If I stay, they’ll come back and hurt me more, won’t they? I don’t want to leave my friends.” He seemed torn between fleeing and wanting to help the other kids he thought were still around here.

“They can’t hurt you once you’re through the window. I promise I’ll look for your friends. Maybe they already got out?” I didn’t take my eyes off of him, willing him to acquiesce.

He hesitated, his hand barely passing the sill, reaching beyond. “You think maybe they escaped?”

“I haven’t seen anyone else.”
An honest statement, if not completely truthful
.

He reached a hand completely through, then pulled it back.