A Path of Oak and Ash (5 page)

“As before, but think of you, as you.”

Carrick paused closing his eyes he pictured his reflection in the mirror from his birthday. His dark mahogany hair, bright blue wide eyes, slightly hollowed cheeks on either side of his straight nose that sat above his average mouth and slightly dimpled chin.  A tall thin, yet defined frame, covered in his worn clothes.

Opening his eyes he looked down to find his own hands at his sides, a familiar worn tee-shirt on his chest and ripped jeans on his legs, his own tattered tennis shoes on his feet. It was refreshing to be...himself. 

“It worked! I-“  Turning to his uncle he his words caught in his throat.

Erik Slaine was just over six feet tall and triple Carrick’s width.  His frame covered with a sleeveless cloak in a midnight green, the edging done in black fur, a thick layer of muscle covered his bare chest underneath that gold medallion, chiseled abs decorated with a series of runic tattoos over his ribcage.  Bistre pants came up to just under his belly button, belted by some braided leather, tucked into thick leather boots.  Large hands were home to several engraved rings decorated with ruby, emerald and sapphire stones.  With all that he was however, the most shocking part to Carrick was his face.

A pair of blue eyes that mirrored his own stared back at him, aged maybe two decades more judging by the small crow’s feet.  The same defined jaw and high cheeks that his mother had always claimed he had inherited from his father were pronounced on Erik. Even his hair, though far longer, was the same mahogany shade. Rather than the full beard he expected, his uncle had five 'o clock shadow, the cleft of his chin visible under the stubble. 

Carrick smiled, an expression that started out small but ended in a wide grin. This man standing next to him on the beach, half a world away from where he was raised, was his blood.  There was no doubting that now.  Staring at his uncle, his proud, tall uncle, he felt a tinge of sadness, he imagined his father had looked quite similar. If only he had known him.

They walked for a good half mile, before turning inward up the slowly sloping hill.  High in the air above Carrick heard the gentle call of Arcedes, as she flew circles around them in the clouds.  He felt relief she had made it out of the plane and over the waters in one piece. 

Erik stopped him by grabbing his shoulder halfway across the rolling green meadow. “Here.” He gestured wide with his palm over the grass.

Directly in front of them was a circle of stones, surrounded by a larger circle of smaller pebbles.  From the grass it looked as though no human feet had been in the area for many years.  Moss covered some of the larger stones, wild flowers bloomed wherever they had taken root.  The air was calm, but carried with it an electrical aura that was hard for Carrick to put to words.  The meadow was alive, the center of the stone circle drawing him in like a magnet.

With the flick of his wrist, Carrick was ordered to stand within the center circle and keep still.  It was an order he did not wish to disobey.

Erik walked past him, directly into the center of the large stones, standing just off absolute middle.  Placing his left hand over the amulet that hung upon his chest he whispered quietly to himself, head bowed.

There was a rattle that started on the edge of the field.  The small outer circle of pebbles rose off the ground until they were three feet in the air.  The light breeze stopped, with it the sounds of the forest were also removed.

Out of the silence came a singular sound, a drop of water leaking from a sink amplified a hundred fold.  In that moment of sound ringing in his ears, Carrick felt weightless, his vision blurred.

He had fallen a thousand feet without moving. 

The silence lifted, sounds of nature flooding his ears.  Crickets, birds, the babbling of a brook. The smells of fresh water not sea, thick pines not floras from a meadow.

Blinking quickly, he tried to reacquaint himself with his surroundings as his stomach churned.

The meadow was gone. 

The bright sun, blue skies and fluffy white clouds had been replaced with a green canopy, the leaves of the tall trees each easily the width of a small car blocking out all but small beams of light that cascaded down to the flowers and moss that lined the forest floor.  Blooms seemed to glow in shades of blue purple and orange like dim strings of Christmas lights around the trees.  Fireflies zipped between them in swirling patterns, a white bird let out a loud caw and took flight to the left.  Its wide wing span gleaming against the floral ceiling.

Carrick found himself listing to the side, light headed.  A thick palm clapped on his shoulder.  Erik was standing next to him, his face beaming with pride he spoke.  “Welcome to Dre'ien.  Welcome home.”

The last words he heard before he lost consciousness, his mind falling into the black depths of the unknown.

5

“Come on Liz, live a little!” 

When Matt Dickinson had approached her with his idea, her first thought was to immediately reject it.

“It’s sick.  So freaking morbid.”  She had snapped at him, hiding behind the blue-gray shield of her locker door.  Elizabeth Waters had never enjoyed being the center of attention. So when Rick Smith had been plastered all over the evening news she about choked on her dinner. It hadn’t taken an hour before some reporter had traced out her relationship to him and the Water’s residence had a slew of news vans on the lawn, each boasting a cameraman and a overly hair sprayed, fake tanned reporter eager to ask her more personal questions than her grandmother.

The next day had been a nightmare. The next week just as much.  She had gone from one of the most popular girls at the school to the most whispered about and avoided.  Well half avoided, half interrogated.  Some apparently thought she was secretly an insane murderer like her now ex-boyfriend, others thought she was a poor victim.

Matt was one of the latter.

“Aren’t you curious?  Just a bit?”  He had pressed.  She was not going to admit that she was indeed curious.

“There will be cops. We’re going to get in trouble.” Had been her argument.  From there Matt had spent the greater part of physics class and study hall trying to convince her otherwise.

A sly smile on his boyish face, his hazel eyes twinkling with mischievous intent. “No, we won’t.  And no there aren’t.  There’s not much to stake out, I passed by on my way home last night.  They evacuated the whole building under some gas leak worry after the blast.” 

That had been the sentence she had finally relented on.  Just one peek.  Just one look. That’s it.  Then they were leaving.

She had arranged a great cover story, Matt was taking her to a late movie.  She had worn a black cardigan and dark jeans because it was in style, not because she had some sort of secret spy motive.  Her mom had bought the whole thing with an eye roll about teenagers and poor decisions.

Now standing within the police’s do not cross line she felt her Mom’s words were probably more accurate than she had known.  Sure there was the thrill of adventure, but in the forefront of Elizabeth Waters’ mind was a deep wave of confusion.

Richard Smith lived in apartment 2B.  She knew this, not only from the directory listing, but because she had dated him.  When he took her to the dance he had quite nervously insisted they stop by his mother’s place for pictures. 

His mother had been a dream.  A bubbly energetic woman whose aura seemed to brighten everyone’s mood.  Mrs. Smith had nothing but praise for her son.  Rick had politely put up with every compliment and snap of the camera, the perfect gentleman.  Although they didn’t really click that night, mostly due to Mary’s jealous bawling, she considered him to be a dear friend. One who although was a little weird at times was great boyfriend material.  At least that’s what she had thought.  When the news hit she felt beyond hurt, betrayed.  Not only by him, but by her own judge of character. How could a guy like that murder his mother?  Set off a bomb in his own home?

That was the thing, standing there in front of apartment 2B, there was no damage. The steel door hung happily on its hinges.  The welcome mat below was cheerfully unscathed ready to greet anyone who dared venture down the corridor.

Across the hall however, whomever had lived in 2C had a very bad night.  The door to the apartment was flat out missing, the frame blown out with the wood edges blackened and twisted. In the dim light it didn’t look like a doorway, but the gaping maw of hell.

“Maybe the news was wrong?”  Matt whispered, shaking the flashlight slightly.

“All those cops and reporters?  Please...they found out what color shoes I wore to homecoming within fifteen minutes, I’m sure they can find the right apartment for their victim.”

“Put these on.”  Matt handed her a blue pair of latex gloves.  “So we don’t leave evidence.”

“This is wrong.” She hissed, putting them on anyway.  Their intent had been to check out the damage and maybe look for clues to what could have caused someone as sweet as Rick to lose his marbles. After all, he had gotten a D in chemistry, how could he have built a bomb?

“Come on...let’s see what happened down there.  Maybe he lured her into a different place?”

On unsteady feet Liz walked into the decimated apartment, staying as close as she possibly could to Matt without suffocating from his cologne. 

There was evidence of an explosion in the kitchen area, cabinets literally evaporated by the door.  In the living room though, was a scene that didn’t come close to the news story.

The walls were riddled with bullet holes. There were also deep gouges into the plaster.  Three pronged claw like marks that tore through the bad paint job at varying heights; some up by the ceiling others down at about waist level.  There was no domestic animal that came to mind that could inflict that kind of damage. Not to mention this building didn't allow cats let alone whatever did that. 

Panning the room brought the flashlight's beam around to the only piece of furniture in the space; a broken desk chair.  Bloody duct tape still clung to pieces of the wood that once comprised the arm rests and front legs.
Oh no...no way...

With her gaze firmly locked on the red kissed silver strips Liz took a step forward.  Her right foot caught on something causing her to fall forward in alarm.  Heavy arms wrapped around her torso, helping her steady and lingered just long enough to make her feel awkward. 

She pushed Matt away.  “Sorry my foot caught on...what...what is this?”  The flashlight in Matt's hand pointed down, the cheap linoleum showed evidence of the blast, but then above the burned torn squares were interlaced thick dark ropes that spread and interweaved around the space with little leaf offshoots.

Vines?

“I think we should go.”  Matt’s voice wavered, the flashlight shaking.

Liz frowned at him, clearly from the way he had dressed up and slathered on fifteen pounds of Axe he had figured he could bring her here to get some sort of emotional reaction.  Really, like she was going to make out with him in the ruins of her now-wanted-semi-boyfriend’s life?  Whatever.

“Just a bit longer okay?  This is really...weird.”

The light source continued to jump and bounce around making it virtually impossible for her to get a read on the rest of the room.  Growing increasingly frustrated, she reached over and snapped the flashlight out of Matt’s hand.  Watching her step Liz carefully made her way to the ruined chair in the space.

The steady light focused on it, she caught the reflection of metal in the debris.  Various scalpels were buried under the wood and vine.  Her gut wretched, had Richard brought his mother to this room and tortured her?  No.  He couldn’t have.  Wouldn’t have.  Rick had saved her life once.  She couldn’t believe someone like that was capable of torture.

But how well do you really know someone Elizabeth?
She thought of all those other news stories.  The man who kept a woman locked in his basement for a decade.  None of his family members or friends had suspected anything either.  Perhaps her denial was just a stage of grief.

Standing in the middle of that horrible place her shoulders sagged.  Maybe she hadn’t known him at all.  Maybe. He had done this.  Her arms fallen to her sides, she closed her eyes in the dark.  Not wanting Matt to see the tears streak down her face.  With two deep breaths she regained her composure.

When her eyes opened she saw the light had fallen on a deep hole on the right wall, one decorated by a climbing vine.  The only place on the walls where the foliage moved up.

She squinted. It looked like there was something in that hole…

“Liz come on....we really got to go.”  Matt had started whining, his feet slowly backing up to the doorway.

“One more minute...” Mind reeling, she approached the crevice like it was filled with poisonous snakes. Anything could be inside there.  Another bomb, a body part, a weapon.  Crouching down, the flashlight illuminated the broken plaster and old wooden wall beams behind the drywall.  In that thin valley of shredded wires and rotted wood was a green leather bound book.  The cover was damaged-probably from the explosion-and embossed in a weird language she didn’t know.

“What is it?  What did you find?”  Matt whispered loudly from a distance.

Gently Liz took the book out of its secret place, shifting the weight from her hand into her purse.  “Nothing.”

Standing, she brushed her long blond bangs out of her eyes.  Her curiosity had brought no answers, only more questions.

With a curse, she looked to her wayward tempter.   “Let’s get out of here.”