Porter's Bookstore - Final Chapter

Chapter 5 - Ashes to Ashes

Brandon went still as a statue, his eyes wide with fear. He swallowed and tried not to shake as Alan carefully shoved the end of his shelf between the two boards, pressing the edge of the book, pushing it back towards the middle of the shelves.

“There,” Alan whispered. “Let’s get it out of here, okay?”

The other two nodded and stood slowly, carefully, and began to walk the hallway to the incinerator. They were hit by the heat spilling from the open door of the huge metal furnace as they entered the room. The furnace’s body and piping writhed with blue-white arcs of static and twining snakes of light, the entire thing crackling and snapping at them.

“Okay,” Alan started. “Put your boards up across the incinerator’s opening, but don’t touch the furnace, and don’t let go until I can shove the book into the flames.” He looked at each of them in turn, they nodded. “I’m not sure if it will burn completely up if I can’t get it all the way into the flames. And I don’t think I’ll be able to do anything about it once it’s in there.” A large crackling arc jumped from one furnace pipe to another, emphasizing his point. “Don’t touch the furnace,” he said again quietly. “I’m not sure, but I think the book might be able to kill anything that touches the incinerator once it’s inside.”

“Yeah,” Brandon muttered and Angela nodded. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

They stepped up to the open door.  Heat flowed out from the furnace in hideous waves, the interior a flickering orange and white hole of fire. All around them the furnace snarled and snapped, the static charges reaching out and biting their arms, their faces. Against pure instinct to run, they held the boards up to the door, the book sandwiched between like the dark, horizontal pupil of some demonic eye.

Alan set the end of his board against the spine of the book and shoved with every once of strength he could muster. The furnace gave off an incredible flash of light, electric charges flew from every surface to every piece of metal in the room - buttons, belts, necklaces, doorknobs, hinges, screw and nail heads, everything. The fire within flared, the heat climbed to an intensity that could not be withstood and Brandon, Angela, and Alan threw up their hands, dropping the wooden shelves to the floor and falling backward away from the inferno. The air filled with the smell of burning paper, glue, and leather; and then by the smell of burnt flesh, hair, and bone.

~ ~ ~

Jessica took the martini off the beach-side bar and placed it on her tray. She carried it out to the patio and set it on the small round table next to one of the deck chairs.

“Here you go, Mr. Porter,” she said, her voice light and pleasant. “I think John has finally figured out how to make them the way you like.”

She glanced at the older man. He was sitting with his eyes closed, his head resting on the back of the deck chair, his mouth slightly open.

“Mr. Porter,” she said quietly, a soft smile on her lips. “Your table will be ready in just a few minutes.”

He didn’t respond. She watched his chest for a second, felt a little silly for doing so, but he wasn’t a young man anymore.

“Mr. Porter?” she called again and took a step toward him.

“Mr. Porter?” she called louder and placed her hand on his arm.

The arm beneath her fingers crumbled away, leaving a large divot of empty air where skin, muscle and bone should have been. Jessica screamed, stepped back and caught her foot on the chair leg, jostling it. Mr. Porter disintegrated into a pile of ash and dust on the chair’s cushion and the cement patio. An evening breeze swirled around the screaming waitress, picked up the remnants of the old man, and spread him out over the beach in front of the Island Paradise Hotel, dispersing the subtle scent of brunt paper, glue, and leather with the old man's ashes as it passed through.

~ Peace and finality

Porter's Bookstore - Chapter 4

Chapter 4 - Descent

 Brandon set his foot on the first iron step and flinched. A static charge raced across the twisting scrollwork under his shoe, but all he felt was a mild buzzing beneath his foot. He took another step, pulled gently, but firmly against Angela’s weight.

“I’m good,” he said by way of encouragement. “Come on. You can do it.”

He took another step and felt the boards shake as she followed him onto the stairs. He could hear the high-pitched whine of her voice as it hummed from between her lips.

“You’re fine. Take another step.” The shelves shifted and twisted slightly in his hands. “Angela…”

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered, “but I can’t. There’s too much twist in the stairs. I can’t hold on to it like this.”

He looked over his shoulder and saw what she meant. He was three steps down, trying for the fourth, and she was on the top step trying hard not to lose her grip while avoiding the railing.

“Okay, okay. Just carefully walk your hands down the shelving, maybe six inches, and try from there.” She blinked and then started to inch her fingers forward, toward the book.

“OhgodOhgodOhgodOhgod,” she mumbled as she moved forward.

“Good,” he said when she took a step down and closer to him. “Let’s try again.”

“It’s in my face. I can’t see where I’m stepping,” she said.

“Try to put it more over your right shoulder, sort of over the railing.”

He felt her shift the boards and then started to lose his footing on the step. He tried to lean the other way, over compensated and his elbow touched the center support. White lightning flew up his arm to his shoulder and down to his hand.

“SHIT!” he snarled and recoiled.

“Oh, God, I’m sorry!” Angela cried out.

“It’s all right, just don’t let go.” He took a breath and blinked a few times. “Okay, the bad news is touching the metalrailing hurts like hell. The good news is you don’t get sucked into the book.” He peeked up at her. “You all right?”

“Yeah.”

Brandon started down the stairs again, tilting the shelves slightly to the right to help Angela maneuver behind him. There was a sharp snap and she cried out, “OW!”

“What happened?”

“I hit the railing.” There was a pinched quality to her voice, pain and fear combined. “I’d like to avoid doing that again,” she said softly.

“I know. Come on.”

They slowly made their way down the remaining stairs, turning counter-clockwise around the sizzling center support pole; each of them sucking in sharp breaths of air as the stairs reached out covertly and singed a knee, a hand, a shoulder. A minute later Brandon touched the wood floor at the base of the staircase. He walked forward, Alan stepping to the side of the shelves again, his board raised, watching. Brandon turned toward him.

“Where are the stairs to the basement?” he asked.

“In the back corner, next to the bathroom,”

“Please tell me they’re wooden and straight,” Angela said softly.

Alan nodded. “The incinerator isn’t far from them, either.”

“Where’s your manager?”

“He’s up front counting the till. The barista is probably doing the same at the coffee counter. When they’re done they’ll switch and count the other till to be sure there aren’t any mistakes. It’ll take about ten minutes before they switch. We can make it down there before that.”

“Okay, wait,” Brandon muttered, “I need to turn back around.” He set the boards on his head once more, pirouetting underneath as he repositioned his hands. He nodded at Angela as she lowered her end to a more reasonable height. “Let’s go.”

There was a loud crack behind her as the stairs threw out another arc of static. She saw the bright flash of it reflected in Brandon’s eyes and flinched.

“It’s okay,” he told her. “Just a little further.”

“I know,” she said through clenched teeth. “Let’s just get it over with.”

He nodded and started to walk backwards toward the unisex bathroom at the back of the store. She followed and grimaced, her steps uneven and clumsy.

“You okay?” Alan asked her.

She shook her head, but kept walking. “I think I twisted my ankle when I ran down the stairs for the water bottles. I didn’t really notice until now.”

“Do you want me to take the boards?”

“No. I’ll be fine, it just smarts, that’s all.”

Alan gave her an unconvinced look as she stepped gingerly on it again. “You’re sure.”

“Yes. Besides, I’d rather keep that damn thing where I have some control over it, no offense.”

“None taken.”

They walked in silence for several steps and then Alan shook his head. “Did you see the dust?” he asked softly.

“Inside the book?” she asked.

“Yeah. On the ground. What do you think…”

“People,” Brandon said quietly. Alan looked at him. “Maybe insects, maybe a mouse or two, but mostly people.”

“But how?”

“Whoever touched it before me must have knocked it out of the shelf. It was on the floor when I found it and I was going to put it back.” He looked at Angela. “I didn’t see anyone when I was pulled in. Just the pages, the words, and dust all over the ground.” She blinked a few times and swallowed. “It must have been a while before I touched it. Hours.”

“Christ,” Alan whispered. “How the hell did it ever get in here in the first place?”

“I don’t know, but we need to get it out,” Brandon replied, looking over his shoulder at the “Staff Only” sign on the door behind him. “Do you have a key to get us down there?”

Alan jammed his hand in his pocket and pulled out a ring of keys. “Yeah, here.” He turned to the door and unlocked it, pushed it wide open and flipped on the light. “Be careful, the steps are a little steep.”

There was a menacing sizzle and snap along one wall. He looked back at the stairs and cringed as static leapt between the metal brackets holding the wood railing in place. “Don’t touch anything,” he muttered.

“Why?” Angela demanded. “I thought you said they were wooden!”

“The steps are and so is the banister. But the brackets that hold the banister to the wall are metal. And they’re throwing sparks.”

“Jesus! I can’t do this!” she wailed.

“Are there railings on both walls or just one?” Brandon asked.

“Just one.”

Brandon turned to Angela. “Okay, we can do this. We’ll just lean on the wall without the banister and stay as far away from the railing as we can. It’s what, twelve steps? We can do that. Come on.” He backed toward the basement door. “Alan, go down there and get the incinerator ready. Once we get to the bottom I want to throw this damn thing in and get the hell out of here.”

“Right. Be careful,” Alan said and disappeared down the steps. There was a loud snap followed by a curse.

“All right. All in one go,” Brandon said to Angela. “No stopping unless we absolutely have to. Remember, lean on the wall without the railing and go for it.”

Angela nodded. “Okay.”

They started down the stairs and pressed their shoulders into the blank wall. The way was steep and narrow and as Brandon reached the first bracket it flung out a spark and struck him in the thigh.

“Damn it!” he growled. Angela hesitated. “Don’t stop!” he shouted. “Just go! All the way down, go, go, go!” They stumbled and half fell down the remaining steps; both of them turned broadside to the wall to stay out of reach of the static.

Brandon came down hard on the basement floor, the last step taller than all the rest. He stumbled, lost his balance and fell backward, dragging Angela down the steps. She fell into the railing, right on top of a bracket, and screamed. The static charge flew up around her and sent her hair out in all directions, lit her face in an unearthly bright light. Brandon pulled the shelving with all his strength and she fell forward and to the right, still clinging to her end of the boards.

“Angela!” he yelled.

Alan came running from down the hall. “What happened?”

“We slid down the stairs…the electrical charges…I fell and dragged her into the railing,” Brandon stammered as he tried to kneel and still hold the shelving in place. Alan smacked the boards hard with his own, the vibration from the strike sending a different kind of electric jolt through everyone’s hands.

“Jesus! What the hell?!” Brandon shouted.

“The book!” Alan yelled back. “Look!”

“Oh God,” Angela managed to whisper as she also tried to kneel. “Brandon, don’t move. It’s almost to your fingers.”

 
~ Peace and vigilance

Porter's Bookstore - Chapter 2

Chapter 2 - Brandon

Brandon stumbled and ran his head into the bookcase in front of him. He had seen a woman in the bright flash of light, in the instant before he was free. He had tried to grab her, but she was suddenly gone, caught in the binding, slipping into the text, beyond his fingers. He looked down at his hands, the skin loose and dry and cracked. They looked like his grandfather’s hands, seventy not twenty-three. He blinked and rubbed his face, felt the skin cry out at the roughness of his fingers, the elasticity of the skin on his cheeks gone, begging for moisture.

He had to get out. He stood up and lost his balance, reached out to catch himself and jerked his hand violently away from the books on the shelves as his fingers brushed against the glossy dust jackets. He glanced feverishly around for the stairs and lurched toward them. The wrought iron railing produced a bright spark at his touch, the static following him down the twisting steps as he fled the second level of the bookstore. He hit the wooden floor at the bottom of the staircase and stuck his static burned fingers in his mouth. There was no saliva in it to soothe the pain. He bolted for the door.


“Hey, watch where you’re goin’!” a customer hollered at him as he careened off the man’s shoulder. Brandon turned his haggard face and grimaced an apology as he dragged the heavy door open and fell out into the cold December air.

He stood on the sidewalk and drew in huge gulps of outside air, freezing cold, and filled with the remnant exhaust of the traffic moving past the storefront. He coughed, the dryness of the air raking the back of his throat like sharp twigs and glass. He stood there trying to recover, his eyes closed, hand over his mouth, struggling for air when the woman's face flashed against his eyelids, so shocked, so amazed, on the verge of terror. He knew what she was feeling, knew that now she was ripping at the paper with fingers that were withering before her eyes, screaming and not being heard. He knew.

Shit!

He turned and walked up the block past Loaves and Fishes Cafe, past Step Right In Shoes, and Pet Depot. He shook his head trying to get her face out of his mind. He could hear the scream and put his hands over his ears, felt the loose skin along his jaw, wrinkled and hanging.

Shit!

He stopped in front of the pet store and squeezed his eyes tight. It didn’t help. He could still see her, floating behind the bright flashes of eye-stars and the twisting lights that spun faster the harder he pressed his lids together.

Shit, shit, shit!

He opened them again and stared at his reflection in the plate-glass window. He looked ancient, shriveled, a walking mummy. Beside his reflection the woman’s face appeared, her mouth open in a scream, her eyes wide with terror. Beyond her image, behind the glass and inside the store, white rats, tawny mice, fuzzball hamsters, and a litter of tabby kittens wandered around their display cages. Brandon darted inside.

He located a salesgirl and dragged her to the window display. “I want two,” he pointed as she stared at his face.

She forced her gaze to follow his wrinkled hand. “Kittens? What color?”

He shook his head violently, his stomach turning over. “God no. Rats.”

She gave him another long stare and then stepped over to the cages. “Boys or girls?” she said as she reached into the cupboard underneath and pulled out a collapsed cardboard carry box.

“I don’t care,” he replied. She glanced up at him as she folded the box into shape. He felt his face redden. “Girls. No! Boys. No! One of each. Really,” he muttered, “it doesn’t matter.”

The salesgirl stood back up and set the box on the counter. Brandon leaned towards the cage to watch her remove two of the occupants. They scrambled away from her fingers as she chased them around the cage. Finally she caught one and deposited it in the box. She looked at him again and he nodded. She grabbed a second rat and stuffed it into the box with its cage-mate.

“Do you need any bedding, a cage, some food?” she asked as she secured the top of the box. Two pink rat noses poked out of two air holes on one side of the box.

“No, I’m good.”

She pushed a few treat cubes into the holes before handing the box to him. “Don’t leave them in there too long and not alone. They’ll chew their way out in nothing flat,” she instructed as she stuck a barcoded sticker to the box.

“Right.” He lifted the box from the counter and felt the rats scramble on the smooth cardboard bottom, their claws struggling for a hold that wasn’t there. “Thanks.” He headed for the cashier and dug in his back pocket for his wallet while the rats danced in their box in tiny circles around each other.

He set the carry box on the counter and pulled out a credit card. The cashier looked at him, her mouth slightly open, and then at the box. A pointed rat nose covered with twitching whiskers was sticking out of an air hole on either side.

“Eighteen fifty,” the girl mumbled. He handed her the card and she took it, staring at his hand and then glancing quickly at his face. She ran it through the machine and got an error message. She tried again and got another one.

“Here,” he muttered softly and handed her his debit card. Same result. Error times two. She handed the cards back and he reinserted them before digging in the bill pocket for some cash. She glanced at his driver’s license and then at his face. He pulled a twenty out, shoved it across the counter, and jammed his wallet back in his pocket. Still darting looks at him, the cashier punched in the amount. The drawer dinged as it popped open and she pulled a one and two quarters from the till.

“One fifty is your change,” she said and set the bill, coins, and the receipt on the counter and slid them towards him. She snatched her hand back before he touched the money and then looked mildly apologetic.

“Thanks,” he stammered and grabbed the money, stuffed it in his front pocket and picked the carry box off the counter. The rats did their mad scramble dance as he hurried to the door.

“Wait, do you want a bag?” the cashier called after him as the door swooshed shut. He didn’t bother to wave off the question, just hurried back towards Porter’s with his rats.

The bells above the doors jingled as he pushed his way through and half-walked half-ran to the twisting staircase. He felt exhausted and in desperate need of a drink, but all he could see was the woman’s face as the pages closed in around her. He managed to take the steps two at a time, twisting himself around the center support, the carry box rocking wildly from side to side as he climbed, the rats skittering around inside.

Overhead, slipping quietly through the dry air of the store came the manager’s voice. “Good evening. Porter’s Bookstore will be closing in fifteen minutes. Please make your final selections and bring them to the front registers for purchase. We wish you a warm and comfortable evening and thank you for stopping in to see us.”

Brandon took a hard right at the top of the stairs and headed back towards the Self-help section. The air filled with the scent of ozone, the hairs on the back of his neck started to rise. He reached the aisle and watched in horror as the sales associate, his little corner cart sitting nearby, reached down to pick the book up off the floor. Even under the weight of his coat the hair on Brandon’s arms stood up.

“NO!” he shouted and the man turned his head, a question on his face as his fingers closed over the book’s spine. There was a tremendously bright flash, a sharp crack and the sudden appearance of a woman, who fell shoulder first into the bookcase across the way. The sales associate was gone.

Without thinking Brandon ran to the woman and grabbed her. She looked up and let out a strangled cry of relief. She looked twenty years older than she had when her face had flashed in front of him as he was flung from the book’s grip.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She stared at him and then nodded, blinking her eyes. She reached up and wiped her cheeks and then looked down at her hands. “I can’t cry,” she muttered and then looked back at Brandon. “There’s a man.”

“Yeah, one of the staff. He tried to pick the book up.”

“That’s what I did,” she said, her voice soft and perplexed.

“We’ve got to get him out.”

The woman looked down at her hands, turned them over and back. “My God. How long…”

“Ten minutes, maybe fifteen,” he said, helping her to her feet. She stared at him as she stood, reached out and touched his ravaged face.

“How long?”

“I don’t know, an hour, maybe.” He reached down and picked up the carry box. The rats were starting to chew the edges of the air holes. “We’ve got to get him out,” he said again. “Here, move over.” She stepped aside and watched as he moved closer to the book.

“Wait! What are you going to do?”

“Drop the rats on it. Them for you, I mean, for him.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Obviously the book grabs the next living thing that touches it and throws the used-up one out. At least it does if the used-up one is still alive.” He had an after image of the dust scattered all around his feet while he had struggled between the pages.

“No, God, don’t do that!” Her eyes were wide with horror.

“They’re rats, he’s human. What? Are you going to touch it again to get him out?”

She took a step away from him and shook her head. “No. Just…wait,” and she turned on her heels. “Just wait, please!” She ran down the aisle and towards the staircase. “WAIT!” she shouted and he heard her feet smacking the iron steps as she hurried towards the first floor.


~ Peace....

Final Chapter of Stewart and Joshua's Story begun 11-24-09

Here is the final installment of Joshua and Stewart's story.  It's been a long time in coming, I know, and I have appreciated your patience and support as I have written my way through to its end.  It is my hope that you have enjoyed the crazy little journey I, they, and we have been on.  I welcome your comments, insight, and thoughts about the ending, the story, the proces, etc.  For those new to the blog, this story began on 11-24-09 and ends here.  Please use the tag cloud to navigate back to the beginning and read from there.

Without further ado...


Chapter 14 - Freedom

Before he knew it Joshua had run right into the heart of the chaos filling the hall. There were people dressed in orange bio-hazard suits carrying black boxes on straps and wielding long black wands over a pile in the middle of the floor. The air was filled with an irritating clicking that grew in intensity the closer a wand was brought to the pile. Near the door, the door he wanted so badly to reach, were police officers and paramedics, several of whom were in the process of putting on orange suits.

On instinct Joshua headed for the nearest doorway and pressed himself into the shallow depression. The door behind him had been shut, but not latched and, as he pushed back to avoid the searching eyes of the men who had been chasing him, the door gave way and he stumbled backwards into an office. The door swung slowly shut, but stopped short of closing, coming instead to rest on the latch and leaving a thin window between the doorframe and the door.

Joshua looked quickly around himself. The office held a desk, a file cabinet, a computer, and a several chairs, all of which were turned this way and that, one was tipped over completely. There were papers on the desk and also on the floor beside it. The handset of the desk phone was dangling off the edge of the desk and making nasty buzzing sounds over and over again. He felt Stewart wrap his body tighter around his neck and patted the salamander on the back.

Shouting out in the hall drew the boy back to the door and he peered out through the crack left by the latch. Across the hall was another doorway, the familiar male stick figure on a black square posted next to it. People in orange suits were walking in and out, some carrying the black boxes and wands, some carrying red bags with white crosses on them. Eventually a silver cart with silver wheels and a mattress on it came into view and was steered into the men’s room.

All around his door Joshua could hear the voices of men and women, all of them speaking fast and a bit too high. Someone in regular clothes walked by and then another person, a woman, stepped up to the door.

“We can talk in here,” the woman said and Joshua watched in horror as the doorknob began to turn. He stepped back but there was no where he could dart to hide.

The woman took a step into the office and caught her breath as her gaze fell on Joshua in the stolen lab coat. “You…” she whispered.

Joshua swallowed. It was the woman who had grabbed him the other day. He decided that he would run right at her and kick her in the shin to get away.

“John,” she said and turned her head to look over her shoulder, “there’s not enough room in here for the officers. Let’s try the conference room instead.”

“Yeah, all right,” a man answered.

The woman turned back and looked at Joshua. “I imagine the emergency crews want us out of their way while they take Mason out to the ambulance,” she continued. “The conference room would be better.” She held Joshua’s gaze and then whispered, “Leave the coat here and wait until they take him out.”

“What did you say?” the man asked.

The woman started to close the door. “I said the coast will be clear once they take him out.” Her voice grew softer as the door came back to rest against the latch.

Joshua let out the breath he had been holding. She hadn’t told on him. She had looked right at him and then left without telling. His knees felt weak.

“Gggggoooo lllloooookkk,” Stewart growled from under Joshua’s chin.

The boy walked back to the door and peeked out the slit once again. The silver cart was sticking out of the men’s room door and two paramedics in orange suits were holding on to it. The one nearest the hall stepped on a pedal near one of the cart’s wheels, then both paramedics disappeared into the bathroom. There was a lot of scuffling and grunting before they reappeared, each one carrying one end of a stiff board with someone lying on it.

“Careful…up and over…” someone said as the board and person on top of it were lifted onto the cart. There was a thump as they set it down followed by a deep groan.

“Mason,” one of the paramedics said, leaning close to the head of the person on the cart. “Mason, can you tell me where you are?”

“Hell,” came the weary reply.

The paramedic looked up. “Let’s get him out of here.”

The other paramedic finished fastening straps across the man lying there and then flipped the pedal near the wheel with his toe. The cart started to roll and the two orange-suited men maneuvered it out into the hall.

After the cart came clear of the bathroom and they pushed it down the hall toward the outside door. Joshua caught a glimpse of the man lying on it as it passed. His face was white with red patches on it and his mouth was hanging open. The sight of him sent a shiver all the way through the boy, one so deep that it made his stomach turn. More people in orange suits came out of the bathroom. The ones that didn’t have the clicking black boxes were carrying other things: pieces of clothing, a pair of shoes, one had a clear plastic bag that had a wallet and some loose change in it.

All of these people turned and headed for the outside door as well and the hall grew quiet. Joshua opened the door a bit wider and looked out. The only people left were near the door at the end of the hall. He could see the flashing red and blue lights on the police cars and the ambulance just feet beyond it. He took a tentative step out when Stewart hissed in his ear.

“Lllleeeevvvv tthhhhhe ccccoooooattttttt.”

Joshua pulled his foot back into the office and let the lab coat fall from his shoulders. He put his hand over Stewart’s back to make sure the salamander didn’t fall and then he peeked out the door again. Now the hall was silent and empty. He stepped out and started walking fast for the outside door.

“Hey!” a gruff voice rang out behind him. “What the hell are you doing in here?”

He took another step.

“Hey you! Who the hell said you could come in here?”

Joshua peeked over his shoulder. A policeman was just coming out of a room at the far end of the hall, his face stern and angry. “This isn’t a playground!” the cop shouted.

Joshua swallowed hard and started to take another step.

“Rrrrrruuuuuunnnnnnnn,” Stewart growled in his ear and the step became a leap and the leap turned into pumping legs.

In less than twenty feet Joshua was out the door and dodging through orange-suited bodies and surprised cops. The summer air hit him like a wave, filled his nose with the scent of fresh grass and car exhaust. Adults shouted at him as he ran, but he didn’t stop. With his hand firmly over Stewart he ran flat out until he could no longer hear the angry voices, until he could no longer see the flashing red and blue lights, until he could hardly breathe for the stitch in his side. He ducked between two dumpy houses and skittered across the alleyway behind them, rounded a corner and slipped through a thin copse of trees. In front of him was a pond that he nearly fell into. He slid to a stop and sat down hard on the bank and breathed in great gulps of air.

Stewart uncurled himself from around Joshua’s neck and looked out at the lake from the boy’s shoulder. He lifted his glossy black head and smelled the warm air. Satisfied, he crawled down Joshua’s arm and stood on the boy’s knee.

“This might be a better place to live, Stewart,” Joshua said as he regained his ability to speak.

“Yyyyeeeeesssssss,” Stewart hissed.

“I don’t think they’ll be able to find you here.”

“Ssssaaaaaffffeee.”

Stewart climbed down off Joshua’s leg and made his way through the grass to the waterline. He stepped into the pond, felt the cool, soothing water as it caressed each of his six legs and then turned and looked at the child, his child.

“Ttthhhhiiissssssss iiiiisssss gggggooooooodddddd. Ggggggoooooo hhhhhooooommmmmme. Ccccccoooooommmmmmeeee bbbbbaaaaacccccckkkk.” He turned and faced Joshua, rearing up on his hind pair of legs, his tail curved in the water behind him for support. “Ppppplllleeeeeeesssssseeee ccccoooooommmmmeeee bbbbaaaccccckkkkk.”

Joshua smiled and nodded at the salamander. “K. Don’t get eaten before I can get back here.” Stewart stared at Joshua for several moments, his bright red eyes unblinking and clear.

“Iiiiiii wwwiiiilllllll bbbbbeee ssssaaaafffeee. Ccccoooommmmmeeee bbbbbaaaccccckkkkk.” Then he lowered himself into the water and swam off.

Joshua watched the expanding wake as the salamander slipped away. After ten minutes or so he tossed a few handfuls of ripped up grass and twigs into the water, then he wiped his eyes with the back of his hands, the dust on them mingling with tears and leaving brown smudges on his cheeks. He stood up and looked out over the pond.

“Bye, Stewart,” he whispered and walked back the way he had come.

~ Peace and completion

Chapter 13 of Joshua and Stewart's harrowing tale started on 11-24-09

Chapter 13 – Hello, again

Joshua’s heart was in his throat. He had no idea where the gravely, hissing voice had come from, but it had been too close to his ear and it scared him. When it said to get out he had wasted no time fleeing from the room he had been hiding in. When it said run he had run, down the hall and into the first room he found with an open door. He held his hand over Stewart, terrified the salamander would fall to the floor and die. Images of those bright red eyes staring down at him from high above his mother’s head filled him with fear.

Stewart. Stewart was here, with him, in this crazy building. He should be out in the pond where he had left him a few weeks before. Joshua stroked the salamander through the collar of the white shirt he still had on.

The room he had run into had a short twisting hallway that ended up being a bathroom. There three toilets, each with its own little room, and two sinks backed by a long mirror. Two towel dispensers hung on one wall and there was a tall mirror that reached from the floor to the ceiling beside the dispensers.

“It’s a bathroom, Stewart,” he told the salamander. “There’s water.”

Joshua walked over to the sink and turned the faucet on. The water was icy cold, but as he added hot to the flow it grew warm and comfortable. He reached over to the towel dispenser and pulled a handful of paper towels out, stacked them together and then held the stack under the water until they were soaked. He squeezed the extra water out and then set them on the counter between the two sinks.

“Stewart,” he said and patted the salamander. “Come out and get wet. The towels are warm. You need the water or your skin will crack.”

He could feel the salamander uncurl himself from around his neck, Stewart’s tail and claws tickling as he moved. In the mirror Joshua could see the broad glossy black head rise up under his chin, the bright red eyes staring out at him.

“It’s okay, Stewart. Come and get wet.”

The salamander blinked and then crawled back down Joshua’s arm the way he had climbed up, tickling and wiggling as he wormed his way down the shirt’s sleeve and onto the back of Joshua’s hand. He stopped at the end of the sleeve, his head out, his front legs on the back of Joshua’s hand and looked left and then right before he pulled the rest of his body out from inside the sleeve.

The salamander had grown a lot. He was nearly as long as Joshua’s forearm and it took several seconds before his tail cleared the end of the shirt sleeve. But it wasn’t the length or breadth of him that startled Joshua and made his mouth open in wonder. It was the extra pair of legs that had grown between the front and rear pair.

“Stewart,” Joshua whispered. “You grew two more legs.” He reached out and gently touched one of them. Stewart glanced back at him and then walked onto the counter and sniffed the wet paper towels. He placed a tentative front foot on the wet pile and then, satisfied that they were safe, crawled onto the stack and lay down, belly flat on the moist towels, legs, all six of them, stretched out along his sides, and his tail flat out and hanging over the edge of the pile. If he had been in a tank of water he would have seemed to have been swimming.

“Do they hurt,” Joshua asked, stroking the other extra leg.

“Nnnnnnoooooo,” Stewart said, his head barely moving from the towel’s surface.

Joshua snatched his hand back. He stared at the salamander and then looked up, into the mirror, afraid someone had walked in when he wasn’t paying attention. There was no one there. He looked back at the salamander resting on the warm, wet paper towels with his eyes closed.

“Did you just say, no,” Joshua whispered.

“Yyyesssssssss,” Stewart hissed.

Joshua stood there, his mouth open, his eyes wide, warm water still running in the sink, and stared at Stewart. Slowly he reached his hand out and let the water run over his palm. He cupped some of the water and gently let it spill over Stewart’s back.

“How’s that?” he asked.

“Gggoooooooddd,” Stewart replied.

Joshua gently laid his warm, wet hand on Stewart’s back and could feel the salamander humming with pleasure.

“That’ really cool, Stewart. That you can talk.” He stroked the long smooth red spotted skin. “That’s really cool.”

Stewart opened his eyes and looked at Joshua. “Yyyesssssss,” he hissed.

The intercom crackled in the ceiling above them. “Access to the south entrance temporarily restricted. Please use alternate routes,” a woman’s voice told them. “Access to the south entrance temporarily restricted. Please use alternate routes.”

Stewart stood up and looked at Joshua. “Dddaaaanngggrrrrooouussssssss,” he hissed. “Gggeeetttt ooouuuutttttt.”

“You said that,” Joshua nearly shouted. “That was you back in the other room!”

Stewart put his front feet on Joshua’s right hand. “Gggeeetttt ooouuuutttttt.” Then he scrambled back up Joshua’s arm under the shirt sleeve and curled himself back around the boy’s neck.

Joshua laid his hand along Stewart’s back. The salamander was warm and damp from the water, but his grip on the boy’s skin was sure and firm. Without really thinking about it, Joshua grabbed the wet paper towels off the counter and tossed them in the trash and walked quietly down the twisty hall to the doorway.

The main hall was empty, though quite a bit of noise was coming from his right, where he thought the door to the outside should be. He looked that way for a long time and then decided they had better go left instead and try to find another door. He took several steps down the hall in this new direction when three men turned a far corner and came rushing towards him. Joshua froze for a second and then Stewart’s gravely voice filled his ear once more.

“Rrrrrruuunnnnnnn.”

Joshua turned and ran back down the hall, the three men right behind him. He held his hand over Stewart’s back and headed for the place he thought the door should be – just a little further and then down the next hall.

Behind him he heard one of the men call out.

“Hey! This area is restricted! Didn’t you hear the announcement?”

Another voice joined the first.

“Stop, damn it! You’re heading right into the hot zone!”

Another man appeared around the corner Joshua was headed for, his eyes wide and filled with confusion as Joshua ran at him.

“Grab him,” another man shouted from behind. “He’s going the wrong way!”

As Joshua ran past him, the man who had just appeared reached out and snagged the lab coat Joshua was wearing, pulled the boy towards himself and reached out to catch him in his other arm. Joshua felt the floor shift under his feet as he lost his footing, felt the fabric of the coat go taut and pull against his forward momentum. Along his throat he felt the pressure of Stewart’s body, felt it vibrate and the salamander’s head rise up under his own chin. He stepped down, put his free hand on the rising ground, let his other arm slip free of the coat, twisted to the left and spun out of the shirt. Beneath his chin Stewart opened his mouth, the bright flame red of his mouth and throat flashing at the man who had grabbed them, and hissed as loud as he could manage.

The man jerked back at the sight and sound of Stewart. “What the hell is that!?” he shouted and threw himself against the wall.

Joshua righted himself and rounded the corner. The door outside was where he remembered it, right there at the end of the hall – a hall filled with people in orange suits and uniforms.



~ Peace and courage

Chapter 12 of the Stewart and Joshua story started on 11-24-09

Chapter 12 – Suddenly

He had barely reached the next depression, barely caught his breath when another voice called out.

“Stewart!”

For an instant Stewart panicked, fear gripping his entire body. Now the voices knew who he was. Then, from somewhere deep in his mind he realized…he knew that voice. He opened his eyes and forced himself to look in the direction his name had been called. There, beneath a long ledge, behind shining silver sticks and branches, was the child.

The boy shoved some of the shining sticks aside. “Stewart!” he said again, his eyes wide and compelling.

Before he knew what he was doing Stewart turned and ran at the child. He no longer cared about the long whiteness, or the disembodied voice, or the people running around carrying things. Here was his child. Here was the one he wanted to find. Here were warm hands and kind eyes. Here was home.

The child reached down, spread his fingers on the floor and Stewart found speed in his legs that hadn’t been there before. His front feet touched the child’s palm, carried him up the boy’s wrist, and pulled him under the long white cloth that covered the rest of the child’s arm. He ran upwards until he found the child’s neck, to the warm, soft place where the boy's shoulder made the perfect spot to sit, and there Stewart stopped. He pressed himself tightly against the child’s throat, wrapped his body, his tail, everything, around the boy’s neck and clung to him.

He could feel the child’s heartbeat, could feel every breath the boy took, and the warmth, the safe warmth of him through his skin. The child reached up and laid his hand on Stewart’s back.

“Stewart, you’re so cold,” he said softly, his voice sending vibrations into Stewart’s body. The boy took the sheet he was wearing and pulled it up against Stewart and hid him from the cold air. “You’re too dry,” he said next. “You need water.”

He felt the boy look around, his chin brushing over Stewart’s head as he looked to the left and then to the right.

“There’s no water in here,” the child told him. “We’re gonna have to leave.”

At first Stewart didn’t say anything. He would stay or he would leave with the child. Where the child went he would go. As long as he was with the child the rest didn’t matter. Then he remembered the empty shadow and the man who had worn it. And he remembered the word the woman had used only moments before.

From deep in his throat he pulled the word out. “Ddddaannnggrrruuussssss.”

The child’s whole body went rigid. Stewart could feel the tendons on the boy’s neck stand out. He took another breath and tried again. “Ggggeetttttt ooooouuuutttttt.”

The child bolted out from under the ledge, shoving shining sticks in all directions. Several fell over and made a tremendous crash that rang painfully in Stewart’s head. The child stumbled forward, caught himself on his front legs and then got up and ran for the door, one hand held against Stewart, the other waving wildly in front of himself as he ran. A dozen steps and they were out in the bright white of the hall and Stewart closed his eyes in response to the painful light. He could feel the child look right and left and then run again. Running was good. Running meant leaving. Leaving meant grass, and fresh warm air, and water. Running meant life.

“Rrrruuunnnnnn,” he hissed and held on.


~ Peace and motivation

Chapter 10 of Joshua and Stewart's adventure started on 11-24-09

Chapter 10 - Urgency

Stewart reached the end of the hallway and turned the corner. For a brief instant he was in the dark and then the entire world flashed into brilliant existence. Out of pain and fear he slammed his eyes shut and pressed his body to the floor. Nothing happened. He slowly opened his eyes and realized he was in another long, never ending whiteness. This one was a bit different, though. He could see several depressions along the sides that held tall pieces of trees with no branches and no leaves. He skittered along the floor toward the first one and slipped into the depression as a person came striding into view.

The person carried a bundle in his front legs and never looked down where Stewart was trying desperately to hide. He walked by so fast Stewart felt the breeze the man made with his back legs. Three heartbeats later the man disappeared into a different depression in the white wall and the hall was deserted once again.

Stewart lifted himself off the floor and peered in both directions. Just as he stepped away from his hiding spot a voice crackled through the air.

“Code seven, south entrance. Code seven, south entrance.”

Stewart looked frantically around to find the mouth the words were coming from, but he was alone. His heart raced and his legs shook with fear. Where was the voice coming from?

“Code nine, men’s room, south entrance. Code nine, men’s room, south entrance,” the disembodied voice continued.

Not knowing what else to do, and filled with an extreme need to run, Stewart scurried out into the hall and made for the next depression. As he reached it he heard the slap – tap of shoes coming toward him. He pressed himself into the base of the strange flat tree and tried to look like a rock. Two women passed by him talking to one another, their voices tight and clipped.

“Code seven?”

“Yeah, that’s for the HazMat team. Someone’s had some kind of biohazard accident.”

“At the south entrance?”

“I guess.”

“But there aren’t any labs by the south entrance. And what’s code nine?”

“That’s the medical team.”

One of the women stopped. “They’re going to the south entrance…”

The other woman turned and looked at the first. “Yeah, the codes are probably related.”

The first woman raised her hand and pointed in the direction they had been walking. “That’s the south entrance,” she said. “I’m not going anywhere near it.” She turned away from her companion. “I’m going back and head upstairs from the main tower.”

“It’s probably fine, Ann,” the other woman said. “They would’ve closed this section if it was dangerous.”

Ann shook her head. “Nope. I want children someday. I’m not taking chances. If you want to go this way, fine. I’ll meet you in Lab 38 in ten minutes.” She started to walk back the way they had come.

The first woman shook her head and then sighed. “Fine, fine, we’ll go the long way. You’re so paranoid.”

“Yes, but I’m alive and I plan to stay that way.” Ann walked quickly down the hall with her companion hurrying to catch up. Stewart didn’t move until the clicking of their shoes was gone.

The word dangerous sat in Stewart’s head like a sharp stick. He knew what it meant and a blurry image of the hunting rock crossed his mind. He swallowed and ran for the next depression.


~ Peace and urgency

Chapter 8 of Stewart and Joshua's adventure started on 11-24-09

Chapter 8 - The long whiteness and the empty shadow

Everything was so bright. And cold. The sun was no longer the right color and it wasn’t warm like it should be. The ground beneath Stewart’s feet was wrong. It was too flat and too smooth. And there was nowhere to hide. He hadn’t noticed that right away. The light had been so sharp that he had stumbled through the sneaky hole several feet before he started to wonder what was wrong with the grass. With his eyes half closed to shade them, he could finally see there was no grass, just flat, bright white, on and on and on. He turned and looked back the way he had come. The man wearing the shadow was still thrashing about in the pond. Between the pond and the sneaky hole was grass and rocks and dirt. He looked forward again. Everything beyond him was…different.

In the distance he could hear slapping sounds, voices talking too fast for him to understand, clicks and buzzes and clanging. All of it made him nervous. All of it made him want to hide. The only place that seemed possible was a shady spot beside a tall, thin wall so he scurried towards it.

His claws made tiny clicking, scratching sounds on the ground as he ran. His tail swished back and forth with the undulations of his long, narrow body. Once he made it to the shade he curled up and watched. It wasn’t nearly as dark there as he had hoped. He still felt very exposed with no grass hanging over him and no dirt and rock to blend in to. He looked at his front foot. It stood out against the white ground like a deep red-brown clump of mud. He looked up, searching for birds. There weren’t any and that was good.

After resting a few moments he peeked out and looked further down the long whiteness. He breathed in and out and it irritated him. Breathing in the water was so much easier. The water just flowed into his mouth, over his gills, and back out into the pond. Now he had to pull the cold, dry air into his lungs and push it back out again. The more he moved the harder he had to breathe, and his gills were beginning to stick to his sides. He hated how that felt. He looked back at the sneaky hole. It was still open. He could run back out and hide, then scurry his way back to his pond and be safe.

The man from the high, clear place climbed out of the pond and started back. He was dragging the two nasty sticks behind him and water glistened off the shadow he wore. He was not walking very fast. His steps were heavy and each time he raised his back feet water sloshed out of his legs. As he got closer, Stewart could see his face inside the huge clear eye and it made him shiver. The man was breathing hard, Stewart could hear it, and every breath he took seemed to hurt him. The man’s mouth was a long, straight line and he had deep grooves over his eyes. He stepped through the sneaky hole and the wall slid shut behind him. Stewart felt a deep sense of panic as he watched the grass disappear.

The man took three more steps into the long whiteness, dropped both nasty sticks on the ground and began to peel the shadow off. He pulled the shadow’s head off his own and let it fall to the floor, then he pulled on a loose piece in the front and tore open the shadow from beneath his neck all the way to his back legs. The whole thing made Stewart shake. The man pulled the shadow from his shoulders and let the shadow fall to the floor in a heap. He stepped out and then walked slowly down the long whiteness, his back feet leaving small puddles of water with each step. He turned and suddenly disappeared into the wall.

Stewart looked from the wall where the man had been to the lump of shadow he had left on the floor. Curiosity got the better of him and he crept toward the shadow with slow, tentative steps, swinging his head from side to side to be sure he was safe. All of a sudden a part of the wall further down flew out from the face and the long whiteness was filled with voices. The woman and two men poured out and began searching for something. Stewart scuttled into the folds and hanging down places made by the shadow and hid.

“Mason!” the woman shouted. “Mason where are you?”

Stewart watched from under an overhang of orange as one of the men started down the long whiteness in his direction.

“Look, he left the biohazard suit.”

“Don’t touch it!” the second man yelled and the first one stopped ten feet from Stewart and his hiding place. “Natalie, call the HazMat team to come take care of it. One casualty is more than enough, Rob.”

The first man nodded and then glanced at the floor. “He’s gone in there,” he said and pointed to the place in the wall the man had disappeared into. “Call the medical team, too, Nat. Send them to the men’s room. He’s gonna need them in a hurry.”

The woman nodded and tuned back the way she had come. She pulled the broken piece of the wall back into place, leaving the men alone in the long whiteness.

“What do we do?” the first one asked. “He’s a dead man. What do we do?”

“We go in there and make sure he’s there, we don’t touch him, and we wait for the med team. They know what to do. That’s their job.”

“I’m right, though, aren’t I.”

“Yeah,” the second man said as he carefully stepped around the water on the floor. “He’s a dead man all right. He’s got maybe 36 hours at best.”

“Shit,” the first man hissed and followed the other one into the open space in the wall.

Stewart stayed hidden for a few more moments before he realized just where he was. Slowly he crept out from under the shadow and then crawled onto its skin. He peered at the pile left by the man and he shuddered. There was nothing in there. The insides of the shadow were gone. No bones. No meat. No fat. Nothing. Stewart looked at the place where the sneaky hole had been and wished it would come back. He wished it would let him out. Then he remembered why he was in the long whiteness in the first place. The child. The warm hands and big eyes. If this is what the man had done to the shadow who knew him, what would he do to the child who didn’t? Stewart climbed down off the shadow’s skin and scurried down the long whiteness, hugging the base of the white wall as he ran. This was no place for a child. Not for his child.


~ Peace and spirit