Authors: P R Mason
“Senji told the tourists we were shooting a film and they were interrupting.” Zen shook his head and returned to his rope rescue.
“They finally left.” Senji laughed. “None of them even asked why we didn’t have a video camera or sound equipment.”
Once Zen had cut and untied the last of the ropes, Rom rose and strode toward me. Seizing my hands, he pulled me up and into his arms in one motion.
“Kizzy, you anger me.” He shook me, but all the while he grinned.
“What?” I asked. “What can you possibly be angry about?”
“Terrible chances taken. You gave your blood, your very life to that vampire.”
“It was the only way to get him to ingest the Downy Woundwort.”
“I cannot believe how you did it.” He shook his head, before dropping a quick kiss on my lips. He hugged me to him. “But you have saved us all.”
“Not all of us,” a voice screamed inside my head. A little boy’s voice. Adam’s voice.
A thought occurred.
“My messenger bag.” Pulling away from him I scoured the floor, frantic that it might not have made it through the vortex, until I saw it lying near the base of one of the construction lights. Scrambling over to it, I grabbed it up, opened the flap and saw the plants safely nestled inside.
“You brought some back,” Zen said.
“Yes.” I handed the bag to Zen before I stood again. “Rom needs two more treatments. You should use the rest to try to grow a supply for us in this dimension. Just in case.”
“There are plenty here for that.” Zen rummaged in the bag counting. “More than enough, I think.”
More than enough.
“In that case, I’m going to need three of the plants,” I said to Zen “And a ride in your car immediately.”
“No,” Rom roared. “You cannot be thinking to take more chances.”
“Don’t you see I have to?” I crossed to Rom and placed my hand on his cheek. “You were wrong. I didn’t save all of us.”
“I’m not following any of this.” Zen scratched his head. “Where do you want me to drive you?”
“To the wormhole.”
“This is insanity.” Zen stood with Rom and I at the head of the stairs peering down the wormhole hall. “The passage has deteriorated so much, I doubt the wormhole still works. You shouldn’t go.”
“Yeah,” Petra said from a step below us. “This place looks like my bedroom and you know what a dump that is.”
“I’m with Petra.” Chase put an arm over her shoulder. “Petra's bedroom is a dump.”
“I’ve been doing some research on wormholes,” Senji said from the step below Petra and Chase. “No one knows much for sure, but there is a theory that the greater the quantity of positive energy that passes through a wormhole, the more quickly it is degraded.”
“So the more times and people we pass through this one, the faster it collapses?” I wiped at the dirt, grime and blood on me with wet wipes from Zen’s van. Apparently, the entire package wasn't going to be enough to keep me from resembling a mugging victim.
“Maybe, it collapses,” Senji replied. “I'm not sure. The information I'm finding is about wormholes in space.”
“Let us abandon this.” Rom's navy blue eyes implored me. They squeezed at my heart with their intensity. How had he become so important to me in such a short time?
“Not us.” I threw down the last used wipe. “Me. I’m the only one going this time.”
“Kizzy. You could be trapped in a void if you go in there,” Zen said.
“Come on. You took a chance on the wormhole just for a stock portfolio. I have a much better reason.”
“I think you know I lied about that. I went looking for Devon.”
“Then you know exactly why I have to do this.”
“Yes but, Kizzy, let me go instead,” Zen suggested and I knew how much that cost him due to his PTSD.
Placing my hand on his arm, I shook my head. “No. I have to do this alone. But thank you.”
“And me? You order that I not go. Do you not trust me to help you?” Rom asked.
“Of course I trust you.” I went on tiptoes to press a kiss on his cheek. “It’s because I trust you that I need you here waiting for me. I’m just going to nip through and then I'll come right back. I’ll be fast, I promise. But you know I have to do this. I have to try.” I kissed him quickly. “You heard what Senji said. The more people who go through the wormhole the worse it deteriorates.”
“Theory only,” he said.
“Please be here with Zen and the others to make sure I come out.” I clutched his arm.
He stared at his feet. I knew that was all the agreement I would get.
Turning to the hall I adjusted the messenger bag over my shoulder and squared myself.
“Keep to the center of the hall, if possible,” Zen directed as he fastened a climbing rope around my waist with two carabiner clips.
“Okay. But don’t let Rom follow me, please,” I whispered.
Zen nodded. “Secure this rope on the other end.” He tugged the rope to make certain the tie would hold, “It may help you get back.”
Glancing back over my shoulder, I took in Zen, Petra and Rom, meeting each of their eyes for a few seconds. Then I adjusted my messenger bag and walked into the hall.
After only two steps it was just as before. The passage whined and groaned around me with the walls rising and falling as the floor pitched and rolled. This time, rather than a funhouse mirror, the hall was more like a roller coaster ride. I crawled over the rubble pile that had tripped us up the last time through. Another pile lay just beyond that required a climb to surmount.
When the hall began to shake as if an earthquake was happening, I just kept moving. There was no way of knowing what was going on around me until I reached the bedroom.
At one point I gave up trying to walk and, instead, adopted a crawl through the hall. Finally, I reached the door to the bedroom and the end of the wormhole. On hands and knees I crossed over.
The sudden absence of movement disoriented me for a moment. Eventually, I took in the sunshine streaming through the window and the sounds of birds singing outside. After getting to my feet, I stumbled to the window and saw that indeed the city did exist out there and not some black void. The square laid out before me was a welcome sight. Even more welcome was the sight of my dad’s car parked just where Rom and I had left it.
I made my way out the window to the veranda. After unfastening the rope from my waist, I clipped it to the wrought iron balustrade. Everything seemed to be going well as I went down the spiral staircase and out to my dad’s car. The sooner I could get this done and be back to the wormhole the better. Every second made it less possible I’d make it in—or worse out of—the wormhole again.
The keys to Dad's car were under the mat. From the position of the sun, I guessed it was probably about noon and wondered if it was possible that I’d arrived back in time only a few minutes after Rom and I had gone through the wormhole with Namia. If the car was still here, surely not much time could have passed.
Sliding into the driver’s seat, I felt weird. I’d only driven on only a handful of occasions and I hoped I could do it without getting into any accidents. I had no choice really. The car was the only way to get to my dad’s house in a hurry. After firing the engine, I put the car carefully in gear and moved slowly forward.
The drive to Dad’s house, a few blocks away, seemed to stretch to a million miles. I couldn’t quite get the hang of the brakes. Each time I touched them with my foot, the car jerked violently to a stop. A touch on the gas made an equally violent start. The front end of the Camry appeared longer than a football field through the windshield as I tried to wield it around corners.
Finally, with Dad’s house in sight, I drew a relieved breath that is until I saw the blue lights flashing in the rearview mirror. The police.
I pulled the car to the curb and stopped directly in front of Dad’s house. Switching off the engine, I rolled down the window and waited. Now I’d be taken to jail, I’d be locked up and I’d never get back through the wormhole. Worse, I’d probably meet myself at some point and bring about the end of the world or something.
All of the anxiety of the last few days boiled up and a sob burbled out of my lips. Before I knew it, another sob and then another escaped until I was heaving in and gulping out horrible cries as tears streamed down my face. Laying my head on the steering wheel, I gave into it.
“Are you all right, Miss?” a voice, I assumed the officer, asked through the window but I couldn’t answer.
“Kizzy. What are you doing out here?” I heard my Dad ask. “And in my car?”
“You know this young woman?”
“Yes, officer. This is my daughter.”
“She was driving erratically,” the officer stated. “But since she seems to be in some emotional distress I’ll just make this a warning.”
“Thank you. I’ll take over from here,” Dad said.
By this time, I’d been able to calm my wailing down to a few hiccupping sobs. I lifted my head off the wheel as Dad opened the door.
“Come on in the house, honey.” He reached into the car and took the keys from the ignition.
Grabbing the messenger bag off the passenger seat, I let him take my hand and help me out of the car. With his arm over my shoulders we crossed the street and walked to the front porch. The two of us climbed the steps and entered the house.
“How about something to drink? Can I have an OJ?” I asked. The crying had taken all the moisture out of my body.
I followed Dad into the kitchen, where he poured the drink and handed it to me.
“What’s going on Kizzy?” he asked. “What are you doing here? And why were you driving my car? Not only do you not have a license, it's dangerous. You could have gotten in an accident, young lady.”
Taking a gulp of the juice, it burned all the way down my throat. But the sensation was oddly comforting to the soreness there.
“I know, Dad. I came here because I’m worried about you.”
“Why? You know I’m working nights at the plant. What could happen to me? I should be sleeping.”
“Why aren’t you sleeping?”
The question seemed to confuse him. “I had the strangest dream and it disturbed me.” He pondered that for a moment. “I think it did anyway.”
“I have something here.” Taking the messenger bag off my shoulder, I put it on the kitchen counter and extracted a plant from inside. I tore off some of the leaves and placed them in the mortar and pestle that sat in the corner near the spice rack. After mixing in some olive oil, I ground the leaves to a paste.
“What are you doing?” Dad asked. “Don’t think you’re going to distract me from your illegal driving, Kizzy.”
“Dad, please,” I insisted. “We need to apply this poultice to the wound on your shoulder.”
“How do you know about that?”
Crossing to him, I pulled back the collar of the shirt and peeled back the bandage. The area around the wound was already significantly redder than the last time I’d seen it.
“This stuff will heal it real fast,” I said.
After pushing him into one of the kitchen chairs, I reached into the mortar and slid my fingers through to scoop up a glob of the mixture. I applied the goop of Downy Woundwort poultice to Dad’s shoulder and packed in on. I retrieved the first aid kit from the bathroom and dressed the wound with a bandage.