Dead Spots (10 page)

Mackenzie seized the purse and the few items that still littered the ground. She snapped it shut and swung it menacingly at the gruesome bird. The bird's red eyes glared as it dove at her. Crying out, Mackenzie ducked, raising the purse in self-defense. The bird landed on it, its heavy claws tearing into the sequined fabric. Mackenzie shrieked and shook the purse violently, aiming to shake it off.

“Mackenzie, let go of the purse!” Grant shouted.

He swung at the bird, but it dodged under his attack. The gaping mouth slashed at Mackenzie's face and she let go of the purse straps, ducking away. Triumphantly, the bird flew a few feet away, clutching its prize. Grant ran toward it, but the bird skipped away out of range as its fierce beak darted through the opening. With a squawk, it snatched the baby blanket and tugged it out of the tote bag.

“No!” Mackenzie screamed. She ran toward the bird, just a few steps behind Grant.

The bird spread its wings and caught a wind gust, soaring over their heads.

“No! No!” Mackenzie leaped and managed to snag the edge of the blanket.

The bird screamed.

“There is no way in this hell I'm going to let you have it!” Mackenzie jerked violently on the blanket, digging her nails into the soft fabric.

“Mackenzie, we need to go now!” Grant frantically swung at the swarm of creatures that were dipping lower and lower overhead.

“It can't have it! It's Joshua's!”

With another mighty pull, Mackenzie dragged the hissing bird out of the air. With a sharp kick, she sent the bird fluttering across the asphalt. Triumphantly, she clenched the blanket in one hand while reclaiming her purse.

“C'mon! There's even more now!” Clutching his stick, Grant ran.

Mackenzie burst into a full sprint behind him. The glowering red eyes of the birds flashed red as they circled overhead, stirring up the wind. The drafts of air sent her hair flying around her face, threatening to obscure her vision.

Grant darted off the road and onto a dirt drive. Mackenzie followed, trying not to trip. The dirt was loose, soft, and hard to run through. Her heels kept sinking into the ground, making her stumble.

Ahead was an old ranch-style house. The boarded-up windows and overgrown yard told of its abandonment. Most of the roof had collapsed, leaving a gaping hole, and one corner of the house was blackened from fire.

Grant barreled up to the front door, shouldered it open, and disappeared inside. Mackenzie leaped onto the porch and followed him, glancing back one last time.

The tornado of black birds had dissipated as the creatures settled into the trees along the driveway, their red eyes watching until Grant slammed the door shut.

The interior of the house was in even worse condition than the outside had suggested. Mackenzie violently coughed as their footsteps disturbed the dirt and soot on the floor. Covering her mouth, Mackenzie followed Grant through the foyer into a large living area. The muted light streaming in through the broken windows revealed the scope of the damage inflicted on the house.

The walls were blackened, the floor was rotting, and half of the house was rubble. A heap of ruined furniture sat in the center of the living room covered in black mold and cobwebs. Graffiti decorated the walls, beer cans and cigarette butts littered the floor, and a pile of soiled mattresses was shoved up against a stone fireplace. Each step they took sent more motes of dirt whirling through the pale sunbeams.

“This place doesn't seem very safe.”

“For now,” Grant answered, gingerly shoving some refuse out of his way with the toe of his loafer. He cautiously advanced through an archway into another room.

“I really don't see it improving,” she called after him. Her skin was itching and she felt filthy just standing in the house.

The raspy hoots of the odd birds grew in volume outside. Cautiously, Mackenzie tiptoed across the scorched floor to a shattered window to peer out. The red eyes of the creatures filled the trees lining the long drive. She hated the evil birds with all her heart. The thought of the bird stealing the baby blanket she had so lovingly created made her furious. Maybe she was crazy for thinking so, but it felt like they had stolen or attempted to steal what they knew was most important to her. If she had to choose between Joshua's blanket and the Xanax, she would pick the blanket. At least she had rescued it.

She ducked out of view and hurried after Grant.

“They're still out there,” she said, stepping through the archway and into a narrow hallway that appeared to bisect the house. “Grant?”

“In here. I'm in the kitchen.”

The carpet was a mildewed mess. The walls were heavily damaged by smoke, water, and fire. Mackenzie kept her mouth covered, coughing low in her throat. She found the doorway to the kitchen and caught sight of Grant's broad shoulders and dark hair as he stood in the center of the burned-out room. Arms crossed over his chest, he appeared to be studying the room.

“Wow. It looks like the fire started in here.”

“I think so, too.” Grant gestured toward the destroyed oven.

The floor was a melted mass of puckered linoleum that cracked under her feet. The cabinets were burned-out husks, and charred beams were all that remained of the ceiling. Mackenzie could see the sky through the holes in the roof. Thick clouds obscured the sun, making the room gloomy and foreboding. A single window was over the sink, and the only other door in the room hung crookedly from its bottom hinge. It opened to a pantry filled with charred boxes and jars.

“This is perfect,” Grant decided with satisfaction.

“Uh, are we seeing the same thing?”

Grant righted a blackened metal kitchen chair and set it next to the broken table. After testing its strength, he gingerly sat down. “We need to talk about the dead spots and you need to listen.”

Folding her arms across her chest, she sighed. “Grant, those things are still out there.”

“And that is why you need to listen to what I have to say, Mackenzie.” He rubbed his face wearily, and then combed his fingers through his hair. “I'm trying to help you because I have seen what a dead spot can do to people. What it did to people I cared deeply about. How it feeds off people, consumes them little by little, until they're nothing more than a shadow of the person they once were.”

Maybe it was the earnestness of his words, or his pleading tone, or perhaps simply because he had just perfectly described how she had felt since Joshua died, but Mackenzie relented. “Okay. Talk to me about the dead spots.”

Grant loosened his tie and unfastened the top two buttons of his shirt. With a haunted expression on his face, he began to speak. “Like I explained before, dead spots are locations that have been abandoned by humanity and time. Ruins of a world that once existed. These locations, scattered all over the world, sometimes contain doorways into the world between the living and the dead, the world of dreams and nightmares. The world we are now in. The dead spots connect this world to the real one.”

“And once you enter, if the door shuts behind you, you're stuck, right?” Mackenzie leaned her hip against one of the sturdier looking counters.

“Exactly. Where we are right now—this house—is another dead spot like the café. In the world of the living, if someone opened the front door right now we might possibly escape. But people rarely go in to dead spots when people that are trapped, like you and I, are close enough to get out. And beyond that, the door opening in the world of the living has to open the door on this side for a true doorway between worlds to form. It doesn't always happen.”

“Which is why you're still trapped here?”

“I stayed in a dead spot for close to a year, waiting for the doorways to align. I could sometimes hear the living moving through the building. They sounded like ghosts.” Grant lowered his head, rubbing his chin anxiously. “I nearly went mad trying to find a way out.”

“That's why you flipped out when you saw me, huh?”

“I thought maybe we could get out. But the door had shut.” Tapping the ruined table with one finger, he continued. “Let me ask you a question. Why do you think the café altered once you went inside?”

“'Cause the dead spot was messing with me?” Mackenzie felt awkward just saying the words.

“When you entered the café, what were you thinking about?” Grant met her gaze steadily. She had the impression he was trying to will her into coming to a specific conclusion.

“Uh … that I was stupid to go inside. That it was gross. Stuff like that I guess.” She scratched her elbow, feeling uneasy. She had been thinking much darker thoughts than that, but she didn't feel the need to share with Grant. Even if Grant was a creation of her broken mind, she didn't feel like divulging her innermost thoughts.

“Are you certain?” He looked dubious.

“I have no idea what you're getting at.”

“Did you maybe wonder what the café had looked like in its heyday?”

“Actually, more along the lines of it having once been someone's dream,” she confessed. Of course, that had only been a small part of what she had been thinking about when she had dared herself to enter the café.

“The dead spot responded to that thought.” Grant rested his hands on his knees and leaned forward. “Do you understand what I'm saying?”

She gave him an incredulous look. “Uh, sure.”

“Why do you think I told you to concentrate on just eating lunch? I told you not to look at that woman for a reason. Not to think about negative things. Remember? So it wouldn't twist things around you.”

“Yeah, but…” She licked her lips nervously. Tanner had appeared after she had thought about him, hadn't he?

“Did the menu have all your favorite foods?”

Slowly, Mackenzie nodded. It had listed every one of her favorite diner foods.

“Was the jukebox playing some of your favorite songs?”

A growing wave of awe and terror threatened to crash down on her.

“The whole café was responding to your thoughts, Mackenzie. All of it. That's why I wanted you to concentrate on just having a simple meal, because the dead spot was reshaping the world in response to what you were thinking.”

Mulling over his words, Mackenzie stared at the man before her. His handsome face was tired and his manner a little brisk, but he wasn't unkind. There was something about him that made her want to trust him, maybe even believe him.

“If I was manipulating it, then why didn't it give me back my car?”

“I was waiting for that question,” he said with a slight smile. “Only things that have been abandoned become part of this world.” Grant stood, stretched, and shrugged off his jacket. “Now this is where you may have a little trouble believing me.”

“No, no. I'm having trouble believing all of it.”

Mackenzie watched him hang the jacket over the back of the chair. “When a person first enters a dead spot, they are full of life. That energy is…” Grant searched for the words. “Um … I guess life-giving would be a way to state it. But the longer a person is in this world and gives in to its torments, the dimmer that life becomes, the less energy they have. And when it becomes depleted, it gets harder for it to be reenergized.”

“So it's magic?” Mackenzie wasn't sure what he was trying to say, but she thought of the café and felt uneasy.

“Somewhat. I guess we should start with something small.” Grant walked over to the pantry and scrutinized the blackened cans. He finally pulled one out, trying to read the remains of a label. “This is peaches.” He moved to Mackenzie's side and plunked it into her hands. “I want you to think about how this can must have looked before the fire.”

Mackenzie squinted at him. “Why?”

“Just do it, Mackenzie.”

“Fine.” Staring at the can, Mackenzie could make out a little bit of the label. It was a brand her mother used in her delicious homemade cobbler.

The smell of cobbler suddenly cut through the nasty burnt reek of the house. Mackenzie's eyes widened as Grant whipped about. They both stared at the oven, now a gleaming white appliance. Through the oven door, they could see cobbler bubbling away in a pan inside.

“What the hell?” Mackenzie gasped. Her gaze shot to the can in her hand. The label was fully restored and the can was shiny and new. Mackenzie dropped it.

“You're doing that!” Grant exclaimed. “You're manipulating the dead spot. Don't stop, Mackenzie!”

“How? I don't understand!”

“The cobbler is ready. What do you need to get it out?” Grant gripped her arms excitedly.

Mackenzie shifted her gaze to the countertop where a wire rack and pot holders waited on a clean surface. Lifting her eyes, she saw that the cabinets were restored. Tentatively, she opened one, revealing heavy stoneware plates. Her trembling fingers pulled the knob on a drawer and slid it open. Shiny silverware was inside.

“What's good to drink with cobbler?” Grant asked, grinning with excitement.

“Milk,” she whispered.

Together they turned to see that the refrigerator door stood open revealing a frosty jug of milk.

“I like vanilla ice cream, too,” Mackenzie said in a meek voice.

Grant hurried over and pulled open the freezer. Icy mist embraced a gallon of vanilla ice cream.

Mackenzie covered her mouth with her hands, overwhelmed. Her mind began to race, imagining where they needed to sit down to eat. Before her eyes the table and chairs jerked upright and instantly transformed into chrome and plastic perfection. Raising her eyes, she witnessed the ceiling being restored, blocking out the blackened attic and dreary sky. Beneath her feet, the tiles bubbled, then flattened into a white-and-black checkerboard design.

The oven door released a hot plume of air as Grant claimed the cobbler, pot holders with a sunflower design protecting his hands.

Mackenzie staggered over to the restored kitchenette and fell onto a chair. Soft white cotton curtains fluttered over the sink, sunflowers decorating the black hem. Within a minute, there was no sign of the blight left by the fire that had consumed most of the house. The kitchen was exactly like the café now: a perfect, gleaming example of another era.