Doorway to Your Dreams, page 36
Spooncake began to walk away then stopped.
His message wasn’t complete.
“Come and get me,” he wrote.
He concentrated on the bottles of chemicals resting on the rack along the far wall of the lab: Benzene, Isopropyl Alcohol. The shelves began to move with a small quiver as if the lab was being shaken by a small temblor until finally the momentum grew until the shelves began to shake and jump.
Bottles fell and shattered on the tile.
Within seconds, the lab’s floor was a pool of toxins.
McAllister bent down, touched his finger into the syrup, and imagined a flame. A wisp of a flicker formed on his index finger then grew into a small flame.
It was big enough for what McAllister needed.
Within moments, the lab was engulfed in fire. The glass bottles of chemicals that remained intact exploded and provided additional fuel to keep the fire growing.
DeCarlo’s office door was closed.
Locked.
McAllister placed the palm of his hand on the door and stared at the locks. Each one turned and clicked. The door squeaked open, and the fire weaved its way into DeCarlo’s office.
This would send the right message, he thought.
It was time to get back to Colfax.
There were things he needed to get ready for because, if he knew DeCarlo, he wouldn’t like what had just happened to his kingdom.
*
McAllister rubbed his eyes as his home came into focus. He was back in Colfax. Still sitting on his recliner. Katie was curled on his lap. He stroked her chin and could feel her purr.
They’d be coming soon.
Coming for their pound of flesh since he’d hurt them where it counted most.
They robbed him of his life with Linda.
They’d robbed Kristy of any knowledge of her father besides a few snapshots and stories from his parents and her mother.
He’d robbed DeCarlo of his beloved Traumland.
The balance sheet wasn’t square yet, not by any means. To make sure this was put to an end, he’d told them where to find him.
“Come and get me,” he’d written and had even drawn a rudimentary map to Colfax. His message to them was crystalline: I’m ready when you are, boys.
He knew their egos would not let his act go unpunished. They’d want him dead, and DeCarlo would want to be involved this time. This would be one project where he wouldn’t pull a Charles Manson and send his surrogate to do his dirty work, Baxter Hammond.
DeCarlo would want to draw first blood and watch as it spilled onto the floor. His paranoid personality wouldn’t let him do anything less.
Spooncake checked the time again.
He remembered midnight.
Now it was 9:00 in the morning, noon for DeCarlo and Hammond. He knew Saturday morning cartoons were a thing of the past, Scooby-Do and The Jetsons were relegated to obscure cable stations, but the young of Colfax were being quiet this particular morning, allowing him to keep the normal thought-noise in check and the echo in his skull to a dull hiss. He needed things to be quiet in order to concentrate and finish the task at hand.
They would fly to Minneapolis more than likely. DeCarlo had enough connections on the ground to ensure they would have the proper munitions ready when they knocked at his door.
But they wouldn’t knock.
Spooncake knew that.
Spooncake closed his eyes and concentrated on the two men.
Yes. They were already in the air. Somewhere over Michigan.
They’d make their presence known tomorrow morning.
He’d be ready for them.
He had just a few loose ends to wrap up, instructions to write and leave.
But for now, Spooncake was tired.
*
DeCarlo walked down the jet’s ladder and onto the tarmac at the private terminal.
“How far from here?” he asked as he tightened his talons up to his throat.
“Bit more than an hour,” said Hammond. “It’s right across the border.”
“You still feel him?”
“Yes. But it’s not strong.”
“I want him alive. I want to kill him. Don’t even think of doing anything before we get there. I want to surprise him.”
Hammond stifled a laugh.
“What?”
“You think he’s going to be surprised? No. He knows we are coming.”
*
Spooncake looked around the house and nodded.
“I think I’ve covered my bases.”
Exhausted, Spooncake took the picture of his Linda he’d brought from the bedroom dresser, sat down in his recliner, and pulled the worn, faux-wood lever to extend the chair’s leg rest. There was a loud crunch and click as the chair’s old reclining levers did their work for the last time.
It felt good to be off of his feet.
He picked at the silver tape he’d placed on the arm rest years ago to cover a gouge on the faded brown naugahyde.
He was cold.
And scared.
He wasn’t afraid of death. He’d become overly accustomed to it during his tour in ‘Nam. He’d seen an overabundance of the blood and death brought on by war. He’d witnessed the life of his wife abruptly taken away from him in the middle of a desert highway. What he was preparing for paled in comparison to what the soldiers went through in those jungles. He was certain this was nothing compared to what Linda must have experienced on that hot summer day in Goldfield, as deep inside of her consciousness, she knew what was about to happen.
Still, he was afraid that he hadn’t thought of everything. That Kristy wouldn’t get here in time. That they’d hurt her while trying to get to him. That they’d somehow see what was coming and make a hasty detour before he had time to end Traumland with a final, swift, retributive blow.
Tomorrow, Kristy would be the key. Success would ultimately depend on her. He had to make sure Kristy was safe, and that she knew what to do when the time came. He’d have to count on her level-headedness to carry out her side of the plan—even though she knew nothing about it.
Yet.
Spooncake leaned forward and pulled the blanket off of the back of the recliner. He held it to his face and took a long, deep breath.
“Linda,” he said.
His hands shook.
“Whatever comes next, I hope you are there.”
He pushed his fingers through the crochet holes and wiggled his fingers.
“I know. You hated when I’d do that. You always said I’d stretch the yarn.”
He pulled the blanket to his face again.
“I can still smell your roses, Lin.”
Even after all of the time that had passed, he thought he could still detect a faint scent of Linda’s perfume. He reverently unfolded the blanket, placed it over his feet, and pulled it up to his knees. Linda had crocheted this for him, and he wanted it next to him right now. The time had come to put an end to Traumland and the monsters it had created.
Spooncake looked one last time at the picture of his Linda.
“You are so beautiful.”
He smiled and kissed her image behind the 5X7 piece of glass. He placed the framed photo on his chest and held it with his left hand—ensuring his wedding ring touched the frame.
Spooncake closed his eyes and asked for sleep.
And dreams.
*
“Something’s wrong.”
“Well, don’t hold back,” said DeCarlo sarcastically.
“I just lost him. He was there. Now he’s not.”
“He’s up to something. He wouldn’t have left that little drawing if he didn’t want us to know who set the lab on fire.”
DeCarlo checked the gun sitting next to him and the shotgun that was resting on the back seat.
Both were loaded.
“How much longer?”
“About fifty miles. We just crossed into Wisconsin.”
“Step on it. I want this over with.”
*
Sleep obeyed and came quickly, as did the dream. Spooncake walked through the dream’s doorway and into his living room.
He looked at the man on the recliner, holding the picture, his legs wrapped in a crocheted blanket, his eyes closed, his chest moving slowly up and down with each breath.
He knew it was him.
He also knew what needed to be done on this side and the effect it would have on the other side of the doorway.
Everything was possible on this side of dream’s door. He’d learned that long ago. Imagination held no bounds within the realm he was now in. There were no rules. The power he’d been cursed with by Traumland had taught him that what he imagined in his dream happened on the other side of the door, just in a different way.
He was old. He was no match for guns. No match for either Hammond or DeCarlo. At least not in his physical form. He wasn’t about to give them the gratification of riddling him with bullets. If he was going to die, and he knew today was his last day in physical form, it would be on his terms.
He concentrated on his body lying on the recliner, and within moments it became as transparent as cellophane. He could make out his brain encased in a seemingly plastic skull. The quivering arteries leading away from his pulsing heart and the veins coursing blood back to it looked like the complex city map of a teeming metropolis. His lungs expanded and contracted with each breath. He walked closer to the reclined body and stretched his hand and fingers out as if in a handshake.
He pressed his fingers against his chest.
At first there was a slight resistance.
He pressed harder.
He sensed a small pop as the resistance gave way and his fingers and hand slowly made their way past his clear plastic skin and into his rib cage.
He could perceive motion, though, and knew his heart was close as he could feel its steady pulsations against his hand.
Steady and rhythmic.
He curled his hand around his heart. It was slippery. His fingers were now red and sticky with blood. Gently, Spooncake made a fist and grasped his heart within his hand.
His body on the recliner momentarily quivered as the beating heart trembled under the unknown and unnatural pressure.
He increased the pressure of his grasp.
His eyes fluttered open.
The beating heart shook and resisted. The steady, rhythmic beats were now unsteady quivers.
Even though he felt no pain, Spooncake resisted the temptation to reduce the pressure.
Then, finally, his heart shuddered and stopped.
On the other side, his body’s right arm fell from his side and dangled over the side of the recliner. His lifeless, open eyes stared at the ceiling. His mouth was frozen in a slight grimace. Spooncake put his fingers under the leather lace and gently pulled the medallion from his neck.
He’d made a promise. It had to go to a McAllister.
Spooncake knew who it had to go to.
His work on this side was done for now.
There was no one to go back to now.
There was no one to wake.
Best of all, Spooncake noticed, there was no noise on this side of the dream.
The doorway back was closed.
Forever.
He felt alive.
Strong.
Strong enough to take on Hammond and DeCarlo.
*
It was Monday morning, and Kristy had the opening shift, again. Someday she hoped to be able to move away to the cities. Minneapolis or St. Paul were the best bets. She wanted a job that actually meant something. She wanted to go to school. But as it was, she lived paycheck to paycheck and didn’t have the opportunity to save a penny. When all was said and done, she had $5.35 to spare at the end of each month. That would barely get her a coffee and pastry at one of those fancy coffee shops twenty miles away in Eau Claire let alone provide her what was needed for school. Besides that, rent was much more in the cities than it was in little Colfax.
It was pointless ambition but a pleasant dream. She’d need a lot more money to rid herself of the shackles of small town life.
A lot more.
Kristy sighed and shrugged.
She grabbed the damp bar towel from the sink and started wiping the antique stainless steel cash register. Living here in Colfax and working the bar was her lot in life whether she liked it or not. She thought that Jimmy might have been her salvation, but he turned out to be a dud, another small-town guy who didn’t have dreams beyond the confines of his home town. Another one who didn’t want to escape from his childhood bedroom.
“Unless some prince comes to steal you away, looks like you’re stuck,” she said to her reflection in the mirror next to the bar glasses. Having finished polishing the cash register, she moved to the bottles of booze stacked on a wooden platform with three shelves. Each shelf was a little higher than the next and allowed her to easily see the labels and grab the bottles when called. She took the bottles from the first row, placed them to the right of the register, and started cleaning the shelf.
She looked up into the mirror again and squeaked.
“Spoon! You scared me. How’d you get in? I’m not even open yet! Where have you been, anyway? Haven’t seen you for days, since you left with the paper. Joe was asking about it, by the way.”
The image in the mirror just smiled. It was 7:30 in the morning. A full half-hour before he she opened the door and thirty-five minutes before Spooncake normally came in for his first drink. Kristy caught her breath and turned around to talk to her friend.
No one was there.
Goosebumps drizzled down Kristy’s back.
“What the? Now I’m starting to see things. I definitely have to get a new job.”
Then she heard him.
“Suzy. Don’t be afraid.”
“Spoon?”
“Don’t be afraid.”
The drizzle of goosebumps turned into a major downpour. They moved from her back to her arms and neck and even her toes. Kristy held her breath and looked back into the mirror. Her friend was standing next to her.
She exhaled.
“Would you stop that!” she said as she turned to face him.
There was nothing but the empty chairs of the saloon.
She felt his hand on her shoulder. In the mirror, Spooncake was by her side.
“Don’t be afraid,” he repeated.
She could see him in the mirror. See his mouth move. Hear his voice. See and feel his hand on her shoulder.
But he wasn’t there.
“Suzy,” he said. “I’m gonna miss you most of all. You always reminded me of my Linda. You would have made your father proud.”
Kristy stared at the mirror. Frozen. She didn’t know what to say or do.
Spooncake smiled his smile. His scar stretched under his white whiskers.
“I have to go now. Will you take care of Katie for me? She’s a good girl. Feisty, just like you. She hasn’t been fed yet, but she’ll be up soon. She’ll be hungry. Vocal, too.”
Kristy was not one to immediately jump into the pool of paranormal hype, but she had to accept what was happening and what had evidently occurred a few short blocks away in a small white house with a single, red rocking chair sitting within a screened porch. Her eyes began to water, and her lip quivered, but she didn’t allow herself to break down.
Spooncake always admired her character and strength.
Her level-headedness.
She wasn’t about to let him down now.
A single tear fell from each eye. She felt Spooncake’s finger on one cheek then the other. In the reflection, his finger stopped each tear yet she felt it slide down her face to her neck and then wick into the collar of her blouse.
“Don’t cry. I’m fine now. I feel wonderful. There’s no noise here on this side of the dream. It’s finally quiet.”
Kristy stopped trying to turn to see him at her side and smiled back at the reflection in the mirror. She crossed her right arm and put her hand on her shoulder. In the reflection her hand was on top of his.
“I left you something. It’s under my bed. A couple of suitcases. You’ll want to get those before they do. Don’t let them have the suitcases. That was always for you. And now it’s time for you to live your life.”
She felt the pressure of Spooncake’s hand leave her shoulder. In the reflection, his hand was gone. Now there was a woman standing behind him. She had long, golden brown hair and vivid green eyes the shade of oak trees in summer. She was in a pink dress with small white flowers that made her look like a 50’s housewife. At the base of the necklace, in the pit of her throat, was a golden pendant, an infinity sign encased with red and blue crystals. Kristy could smell her perfume.
Roses.
Spooncake always talked about Linda, his wife. The only woman he didn’t call Suzy. He always said that Linda smelled like a rose garden when she wore it.
“Linda,” said Kristy.
The woman’s reflection smiled.
“Thank you,” she said to Kristy.
“For what?”
“For looking after him.”
The woman took Spooncake’s hand and began to lead him away. In the distance, Kristy could see the form of a small boy.
“Spoon?”
The couple in the mirror stopped and turned. Spooncake looked younger. He stood straighter. Smooth skin replaced his scars. His hair was now dark blonde, not white.
He smiled at her.
“Live your dreams, Kristy. Live your dreams.”
And they were gone.
Kristy dropped the bar towel that had grown dry in her hand and grabbed her keys that were next to the register. She had to get to Spoon’s place before they came.
She just didn’t know who they were.
*
Even though she knew there wouldn’t be an answer, Kristy knocked on the door. Deep down, she hoped she’d hear an, “It’s open.” But after what she’d just experienced, she knew she wouldn’t. She turned the doorknob and heard the click as the door opened.
