“How so?” Thad asked, as we started to walk toward the end of the alley, wind whistling around the corner. I shrugged.
“I think I caught four Glimpses when you stood up and puffed yourself out like that,” I told him. “Those guys thought about robbing us for a second, then you changed their minds.”
Thad gave a tiny chuckle. Callista shook her head though she was obviously entertained. Our banter had lightened the air that for the longest time had seemed too brutal to yield. I tried to push it aside so that I could focus, but each time the skin around my wrists and ankles stung I was reminded of the gurney’s straps that had rubbed them raw. But my hurt became like a battery to me. It made my steps stronger. There was a mission, a purpose now.
Revenge? Maybe; but I preferred retribution.
We turned the corner and continued along our quiet path on the sidewalk. Tall lamps went up and down the street and continued so far that they only disappeared when the hill blocked them from view. Only one car drove far off in the distance, and even though I studied the windows of the buildings around us, each step only confirmed to me that nobody was watching. I saw Fabolli’s from a block away.
Callista fell beside me as we walked, stony and determined. I knew she didn’t like this idea, especially now that we were out in the open for these few minutes. She kept studying the windows and dark spaces, hands swinging tensely and always ready to produce her claws the moment she might need them.
“We’re alright,” I assured her. She nodded.
“If it’s there, then we’re safe,” I said. “We’ll have an upper hand. It’ll throw them off.”
“One bullet and you’re dead,” she reminded me. “You don’t think they’ll sniper you out? Having that Blade just makes you more of a target than before.”
“And it makes them far more scared than ever,” I replied. She pressed her lips together, choosing not to continue. We crossed the street, our steps the only sound besides the whistle of the crossing sign and the fizzle of a neon light. The green shutters on the restaurant’s windows were now nearly invisible in the shadow of its porch overhang.
I led them around to the back. Breaking in to buildings was not my specialty, but I’d been forced to do it once or twice when clients had conveniently “forgotten the keys”. Picking a lock brought my heaviest surcharge because it carried such a high risk of prosecution. Also, when chasing down cheating lovers, sometimes picking a locked door revealed sights I never wanted to see—I kept the charge high in case I’d need therapy one day.
As I expected, there was a door tucked away in an alley behind the restaurant. I didn’t have my picklock set. It didn’t really matter though. A quickly lifted hand and the slashing of five blades all at once took care of both the lock and the handle. The noise sounded like swords grinding against each other—or on this side of town, more likely a drunk scraping the side of his car against a wall he’d swerved too close to. When the employees arrived the next day, they’d likely think a bear had mauled their door.
A bear loose on Pico Boulevard. I could just imagine all the locals curling up in a panic. I grinned and shoved what remained of the door open with my shoulder. There was no alarm. That was one of many mistakes the owners of this shop had made. I should have offered security consultations too.
The thrill of my easy entrance pushed me faster, even allowing some excitement to seep through. With cautious steps, we entered in to the kitchen: long countertops sitting above cheap floors, spatulas and utensils and knives hanging in rows against the wall. I couldn’t see much more than a flicker from a pilot light inside an oven, the lights from a refrigerator door, the red glow of a digital clock on the wall. Everything was heavily noiseless.
I held my hands out to avoid bumping the edge of something. I heard Thad fiddling with his flashlight and he finally got it on, but the beam was so weak that it would only shine a few feet around our shoes.
“Sorry guys,” he apologized. He took the lead though, sweeping the ground in front of us and trying to light up the walls. The radiance gleamed against the bottoms of hanging pots like they were misted mirrors, onto the metal of the industrial freezers and sinks, across the knives and cleavers washed and ready for the next day’s business. If we were lucky, we wouldn’t even need to leave this room. If there was a basement, surely the door would have been designed to sit in here.
Unfortunately, though Thad swept the walls with light on all sides, there were no doorways other than the one we’d passed through and the exit to the dining area. So Thad continued ahead and pushed the flapping doors apart with his side.
When we stepped through and into the nearly pitch-black hallway, suddenly my outstretched hand was caught by another. I jumped, but recognized the soft fingers instantly: Callista’s. She clutched mine, riveted in terror and trembling. Her fear had been disguised by the inky darkness that she was so afraid of.
It distracted me immediately. My mind traitorously started to debate what her hand in mine meant. Was she actually trying to hate me less? We walked like this behind Thad, searching the walls for a door.
The blinds on the front of the restaurant were closed so the windows provided only minimal light. Cleaned booths and tables were lined up in neat rows. Thad’s light skimmed over them, careful to avoid the windows and door. He let the beam go up the wall, across the old jukebox, around the cashier’s computer.
We all spotted it at the same time: a wide-open frame with no door beside the counter, obviously leading down because of the sloped roof beyond. We darted toward it until we’d all gathered in front of the entrance.
“There’s our basement,” Thad said. His light revealed a set of wooden stairs. He didn’t wait for us to reply before heading down.
The steps creaked unsteadily beneath our feet. At the bottom lay a giant room with green carpet, and wooden paneling on the walls littered by outdated neon signs and old license plates. Four pool tables sat in a neat row in the center, with chairs hijacked from the upstairs tables in disorder around the games. A row of pool sticks hung on the wall beside a change machine. The ceiling was so low that it was only a few inches above Thad’s head. A game room.
I was about to say something snarky, but was cut short when Thad’s flashlight shone into the corner of the room. All of a sudden, I was hit with a strange feeling of déjà vu so strong that it caused me to turn and look back up the stairs, trying to shake off the momentary dizziness.
“This is definitely the right place,” I spluttered. Thad shone the flashlight at me.
“I remember this” I went on, “It wasn’t this place, but looking up that stairway. This flat roof. It’s weird. Claustrophobic.”
“Familiar?” Thad pressed. I nodded.
“Definitely,” I replied. He was relieved.
“Then we’re in the right spot,” he said. “But unless the Blade is a pool stick, we’re still looking for another door, right?”
I nodded, drawing away from them but finding that Callista wouldn’t release my hand. So I pulled her along with me, hoping that my palms wouldn’t sweat into hers as I nervously studied the walls, trying to recall my dream. Obviously, this basement was part of the heavy foundation from the original church. It hadn’t changed at all since my first life, except for the new walls and the tables. If I was only to line this up with what I remembered from my dream…
It clicked like a peg sliding into a slot. When I stood in the far corner of the room, suddenly it was like I was back in my dream again. The familiar urge returned: the push to run away, to hurry up the steps and outside, even though I could see that there was now a restaurant beyond the opening.