The Lost Door (26 page)

They heard the truck first, a deep rumbling coming down the street, and then the compressed air brakes before the engine was killed. Curiosity got the better of David. He stood and walked to the edge of the yard where he watched as three moving men opened the back of a truck. A red Plymouth Suburban turned into the driveway and a young couple—roughly the same age as David and Lilly—got out. The man was fit, hair trimmed short, wearing khaki’s and a blue polo. The woman wore a sundress and had her long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail.

“The new neighbors are here,” he told Lilly, continuing to watch.

The man walked to the movers and said something, though David couldn’t make out exactly what the muffled voices were saying. The woman opened the back door and futzed with something. When she stood she held a toddler in her arms, the young girl looking excitedly around, taking in her new surroundings. She had a white bonnet on her head and wore a similar patterned dress as her mother.

The picture perfect American family,
David thought.

He returned to his seat. “They look like a nice couple,” he said and took a sip of his drink.

“Excuse me,” a voice called out. He and Lilly looked up and saw their new neighbors. “Sorry to interrupt.”

“No, no. Not at all.” David and Lilly stood and crossed the yard. “I’m David Rottingham, and this is my wife Lilly.” They shook hands.

“I’m Frank Underhill. This is my wife, Jeanine, and… where did she go?” He looked around the yard and saw his daughter waddling towards the back of the garage. “That’s Claire.”

“Quite the explorer,” David said with a smile. Frank beamed, a very proud father if David ever saw one. “How old?”

“She’s two and a half,” Jeanine said. “Gets into everything.”

“I can imagine.” He watched Claire waddle back to her parents and smiled at the new faces.

“Aren’t you precious?” Lilly said and smiled back.

“Do you have any children?” Jeanine asked.

Two and a half, about the age their son or daughter would have been. A flash of envy crossed Lilly’s face so fast that if you weren’t watching for it it’d be missed. David saw it—he always saw the hurt in her eyes when a child crossed their path.

“No,” Lilly said with a shake of her head.

David steered the topic to that of the house the Underhill’s were moving into, saying he was happy someone had finally bought it. Too nice a house to sit abandoned. They chit chatted a few minutes more before the Underhill’s excused themselves to start unpacking. “It was a long drive, and I wasn’t quite ready to begin,” Frank confided when Jeanine chased Claire inside. “But we best get started or it’ll never get done.”

“If there’s anything you need just holler.”

“I’m sure I’ll be needing something sooner rather than later.”

He nodded politely to Lilly. “Pleasure.”

“Same,” she responded. “I’ll stop by later tonight and drop some dinner off for you.”

David shook his head. “That’s very kind of you, Mrs. Rottingham, but really not necessary.”

She waved his objection off. “I insist. I’ll tell you right now that the last thing your wife wants to do is cook after the day you’ve got ahead of you.” There was still a slight hesitation on Frank’s face, so she finished with, “I insist.”

“If there’s nothing I can say—”

“There isn’t,” she interrupted. “It will be heated and ready to go. All you’ll need are a couple of plates.”

“We’ll graciously accept then.”

“Good. Until this evening.”

* * *

“What’s wrong?” Lilly asked. David looked up to see her staring at him from across the table. “You’ve barely touched your dinner.”

He gave a weak smile. It had been nearly a week since his dream of DeMarcus, and each night was a struggle to stay asleep. In the shadows of his dreams he heard that unnerving screech and saw DeMarcus’ terrifying grin. “Just tired is all. I haven’t been sleeping well.”

You must bring her to me.

The words had rattled him. Was it possible she knew DeMarcus? If so, how?

“I know you too well, David,” she said wiping at the corner of her mouth with a napkin. “Spill it—tell me what’s wrong.”

He saw compassion in those eyes.

“When you were in the hospital a man came to visit you. He claimed he knew you.” He readied himself, waiting for some indication of recognition. “DeMarcus.” She blinked, though he couldn’t be certain that was a damning sign. “Do you know him?”

She shook her head. “Name isn’t familiar.”

“He was well dressed, wore a white suit. Grinned a lot.”

Her eyes shifted, if only for a second. She shook her head again. “No… doesn’t sound familiar. He came to visit me? In the hospital?”

“Yes.”

She reached up and touched the pendant around her neck, sliding it back and forth. “What did he say?”

“That you were friends as children.”

“Anything else?”

“No, nothing. Except… he did say he looked forward to seeing me again.”

Lilly’s fidgeting stopped, her breath caught. “When?”

He shrugged.
I don’t know
, it said. “You do know him, don’t you?”

She came to him and crouched, took his hands. “Promise me, David. Promise me that if you see him again you’ll avoid him.”

He’d never seen her scared before; it was unnerving. “Why?”

“Just promise me. If you see him again you will stay away and tell me.”

“Isn’t it me that’s supposed to protect you?” he asked with nervous laugh.

“This isn’t a game, David. Do you trust me?”

So DeMarcus had been telling the truth—Lilly was hiding something. The concern in her eyes, the love, David couldn’t help but nod. “Of course I trust you, but now I want you to trust me. Tell me… who is DeMarcus?”

Her mouth contorted, struggling to find the words. “I…”

David grasped her hands and kissed them. “Whatever you have to say—”

“You’ll think I’m crazy.”

“I already think you’re crazy.”

They searched each other’s eyes, neither blinking nor looking away. “This cannot be repeated to anyone,” she said. “It’s vitally important.”

David nodded.

“Good,” she said as she slid into the chair next to him. “It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.”

“What wasn’t?”

She looked up, gestured around. “This. Everything. Things became more complicated than they were supposed to—but that’s life in general, isn’t it?”

“Lilly—”

“Let me try to explain. I’m not from here.”

“I know you’re not from River Bend—”

“This is going to take a long time if you keep interrupting me.”

“Sorry.”

“When I say I’m not from here I don’t mean this town, nor do I mean this state or this country.” She squeezed his hands and stared into his eyes. “There’s another existence… elsewhere.”

His brow furrowed. “Elsewhere?”

“I’m from a place called Turmoore.”

“Turmoore
?
I’m not familiar with it. Where is it?”

“Not here, not Earth as you know it.”

She was right; he was starting to think she was crazy. Maybe his belief that she had suffered some sort of psychosis was accurate.

“Where we are now—where
I
am now—is the Shadow. A prison. A plane we send those excommunicated.”

Plane? The only thing he could imagine… “Do you mean Hell?”

She shook her head no. “That’s too simple. Think of it like this: life is a path up a mountain.” She hovered her hand horizontally. “Where we are at this moment is here. And Turmoore is here.” She placed her other hand directly on top of the first. “We’re born and as we grow we live and experience, then we die. When that happens we move up a level.”

“So Heaven.”

“Stop thinking religion; it’s too archaic. While Turmoore is a beautiful place it’s not Heaven.” She sighed. “Maybe it would help if I gave you some context.”

“That might help.” It came out condescending. “Sorry.”

She scowled at him. “Turmoore is similar to this plane. We have more advanced technology and are more in tune with nature. I guess the best way to describe it is pre your industrial revolution with organic technology. It’s hard to describe.

“So anyway, the way it works with planes is that when you die on one you move up to the next like rungs on a ladder. For instance, when you die you’ll move on to Turmoore, and those that die under your plane move to yours. Understand?”

“I think so. How many of these… planes… are there?”

“We don’t know. So far this is the only one we’ve been able to access.”

“Then how do you know there are others?”

“I don’t know all the details, but those that have been studying this believe it to be so.”

“Is your plane the last? Are you at the top?”

“Unknown but doubtful.”

“Then what’s next?”

“We don’t know.”

“You said our plane is a prison. Why?”

“Some in our government thought it would be a humane way to handle our criminals. We have very few, you see, and it seemed better to re-educate as opposed to lock up or execute. Unlike you we cherish life and won’t kill as punishment. There were no wars, no conquests—we worked together to further all Turmoorians. It was harmonious and beautiful and wonderful.

“When we discovered your plane and figured out how to send…” She paused, her head bobbing back and forth. “I guess ‘souls’ for lack of a better word… when we figured out how to send them to it, some felt it was a fair punishment for those most guilty. Not death, but a redo. A lifetime reliving an existence in the Shadow to learn and to be educated before getting a second chance in Turmoore. And with no way to return until the life here expired there was no concern of the person coming back. Out of sight, out of mind, as you say. We sent them back and washed our hands of it. However, there was a growing unrest regarding this practice. There was a revolt and then a war.”

He was trying to wrap his head around it but found it difficult. “And how does this work… this exile? Is it like reincarnation?”

“You are not reborn in the sense you are birthed. Your presence enters a host.”

“So you’re a prisoner is someone else’s body?”

“Not really. The presences, or souls, merge creating an alternate one. A chimera. Fragment memories of Turmoore remain in the shadows of the conscience, as do certain… quirks. To the casual observer it may go unnoticed, for others…” She shrugged.

“If this is a place of exile why are you here? What crime did you commit?”

“None. For me it was a refuge. While we have a government similar to yours we also have a ruling family.” She hesitated then said, “My family.”

“You’re royalty?” David asked.

“They didn’t want to risk my life in the growing unrest. When DeMarcus became… infatuated… with me, my parents had two of their advisers bring me here. When the time came I would return to Turmoore, in whatever state it might be.” She looked at him expectantly.

“If the presence from Turmoore retains only fragment memories, then how do you know so much?”

“I came by an alternate route. I didn’t inhabit a body here like the others. I presume it’s the same method by which DeMarcus came.”

“And who is DeMarcus?”

“He led the revolt.” She said it matter-of-factly, as if that explained it all.

“He loved you?”

She shrugged.

“Why?”

“Why does anyone fall in love? Though in his case I believe it more to be lust than love.

When the time came I would return to Turmoore,
she’d said. “How were you to return?”

“I don’t know. We were supposed to receive some sort of sign, a signal. And don’t ask… I don’t know what it was to be.”

“If there is no way back then why would he risk following you?”

“He’s insane. Does there need to be any other reason? I can only surmise he succeeded in taking over Turmoore and has come for me. But,” she added, “I don’t understand why he would sacrifice himself like this. Unless…”

Her eyes were distant, searching.

“Unless?” David coaxed.

She looked at him, and what he saw was fear and hope. “He found a way to return.”

ten

(1961)

It was clear and sunny, with just a hint of a summer breeze. The sky was deep blue and cloudless, and the tall field grass danced and sang as Willem and Sam ran through it, both laughing at the joy of being free of the confines of their house. The day was theirs to explore.

As they ate toast and drank juice they watched the birds at the feeder. In their imaginations the birds were carrier pigeons, one of which had a message about a notorious bandit that needed to be captured. Willy “Deadeye” Wild had been on the run for weeks and there was a sizable bounty on his head Willem and Sam intended to collect.