Realm Wraith (41 page)

A little ways past the village center they reached houses, and even from down here it was familiar. Rayne recognized this place from his little adventure with Darrigan. So the demon had known him as a child, he reasoned. David soon pulled up in front of the same house as before, this time from out on the street, and not from above.

“I shouldn’t be long,” Rayne told him. “I’ll just ask to take a quick peek at the house, and we can head home.”

“Take as long as you need,” David said.

With a gentle click, Rayne shut the door of the car and placed a hand over his wheel, running his other one through his messy hair.

“Relax,” he told himself. “This will do you good. Get on with it.”

He rolled up the cobblestone pathway past the front gate among green bushes and brilliantly colored flowers that waved to him in the breeze. He reached up to the knocker set against the front door, then saw the doorbell, and reached for that instead. A pleasant ringing followed.

After a couple seconds he heard footsteps, and an elderly woman, hunched over, with curly white hair and a flower print dress, opened the door.

“Wot do you want?” she asked, adjusting a pair of purple spectacles to peer at him.

“My name is Rayne Mercer. I’m sorry to call without notice like this, but I used to live here as a boy. You bought this house from my parents, and I was wondering if perhaps you could let me see the house for a bit?”

The old woman narrowed her eyes. “Now see here, don’t you think it’s a bit rude, popping by people’s houses without a courtesy phone call? Get off my stoop!”

“Please, it will only take a moment.” Rayne peered behind her into the entryway of the house. Sure enough, he recognized the floral wallpaper, and beyond that a hall with a table holding a bowl of apples. This was his old home.

“I bought this house fair and square,” the old woman snorted. “I don’t know anything about the people that used to live here, or any fellow named Ryan Merchant. Bugger off before I ring the police!”

She slammed the door in his face, and left Rayne standing on the stoop, feeling very stupid. He regretted not calling first. Defeated, he wheeled back down the cobblestones, approaching the car.

“Well I’ll be, is that little Rayne Mercer?” a voice called to him. He looked over to see an old man walking down the sidewalk. “My word, what happened to you? Oh, and don’t mind Mrs. Perkins, she’s a sour old bat. Never did like visitors.”

“I’m sorry, have we met?” he asked.

“Oh come now, you remember me, right? Been living here for over fifty years! Knew your father, I did. And I remember you from when you were a small child! You were a teenager last I saw you, but I could never forget that face!”

“You knew me as a child?”

“I sure did! What’s the matter, you forget?”

“I’m sorry, it’s just been a rough couple of months.”

“Oh, I getcha. I getcha. My face ain’t all that memorable anyways, can’t blame you for forgetting.”

Rayne approached the elderly gentleman. He felt as if he should know him, but nothing came to mind. The man was tall and stood up quite straight, about in his seventies. He had a full head of silver hair swept back, and wrinkles and age spots lined his sharp face. He wore a black coat with a burgundy scarf tucked into the collar, and a pair of black spectacles rested on his nose, hiding clear blue eyes.

“You really knew my family?” Rayne asked.

“Yes indeed, my lad. Upstanding man, your father, very no-nonsense fellow. And your mother, what a fine bird she was, eh? Used to come round to visit me on Tuesdays while your father was out. She and I got along famously, we did,” the man laughed, then appeared nervous and shifted his gaze away from Rayne. “Anyways, if there’s anything you’d like to know, feel free to ask.”

“Can you tell me about myself? What was I like as a child?”

“Ah, you were a precocious youngster. Very clever, very curious. Imaginative, too. Always pretending, talking to imaginary friends. Your father didn’t care for that, took his belt to you more than once, he did. You straightened out as you got older, tried to do your father proud.”

“And what about—?” Rayne wasn’t quite sure how to phrase things. “Did anything happen, when I was a child? Something bad, something that might have traumatized me?” He remembered the pit. Surely something as drastic as being buried alive would be gossip for the neighbors.

“Something bad? Well, no, not to my recollection.”

“Do you recall a boy my age? Something of a bully, who used to get into rows with me? Whatever happened to him?”

“Do you remember his name?”

“Sorry, no.”

“I can’t recall anybody like that ‘round this neighborhood. Was he your age?”

“Yes, we were the exact same age.”

“Nope. There were lots of kids ‘round here when you were young, but I don’t recall anybody picking on you. There were a few bigger rascals that caused a ruckus. Fair bit older than you, though. And you were quite the troublemaker yourself.”

“I was?”

“Oh yes, very mischievous. I recall when you damaged the floorboards in Mrs. Winkle’s house, she almost broke her ankle ‘cause of that. Then there was that time you let opened the door to Farmer Rochester’s sheep paddy, and they escaped into the woods. Wild dogs got most of them. And let’s not forget when you got behind the wheel of your father’s car and drove it into a tree. He was right furious with you. Oh, right, there was that too.” The old man looked down. “You and the girl down the road, Caitlin, I think her name was. You were playing down by the river. The way I heard it you stole her doll and tried to throw it into the water. She went to grab it and you pushed her in. Almost drowned, she did. Lucky for her the river washed her ashore after dragging her along a bit. Your father really scolded you for that. That’s when he put you in boarding school. I think that’s what got you to start shaping up.”

“I did that?” gasped Rayne.

“Aye. But you were only seven. It was a cruel act, but children can be very cruel sometimes. And look at you now, such a fine young man. Your mother was always quite proud of you, but she was especially pleased to see how kind and caring you became. She told me so many times. And your father seemed pleased that you were shaping up to be a proper gentleman. No more imaginary friend nonsense, no more mischief; you were going to study law, and have the proper career he wanted you to have.”

“I never knew.” Rayne looked at the man. “Was this Caitlin all right?”

“Oh, certainly. She wasn’t in the river long, and it was the dry season, so the water wasn’t that deep.”

“Oh.”

“You really have forgotten, haven’t you?”

“It’s mostly a blur, sorry to say.” Rayne leaned forward. “Could you perhaps tell me anything about my dog?”

Nearby he noticed David leaning against the car steering wheel. He didn’t seem to be paying attention, but Rayne couldn’t shake the feeling he was eavesdropping, the sneak.

The old man took pause. “Your dog?”

“Yes, I had a dog once. Named Kueyin.”

“I think you might be a bit confused, lad.”

“How’s that?”

“Well you never had any pets growing up. Your father would never allow it. I’m not certain why you would think you had a dog.”

“It’s one of the few things I remember clearly.” Rayne creased his brow, not understanding how this one childhood memory could be a lie.

“I’m not sure whose memories those are, but I can tell you right out, you didn’t have a dog. Maybe you saw it in a film somewhere. Or perhaps it was a flight of fancy; you were always imagining crazy things as a lad. Maybe you pretended you had a dog. And now that your head’s a mess, you can’t tell fantasy from reality. Might explain why you remember some boy who never existed neither.”

“I guess.” The memories felt far too real to Rayne to be made up.

“Well, I’d best be going. The missus will scold me if I’m not inside in time for supper. You take care, lad, and don’t be a stranger.”

“Right. Thank you for speaking to me, sir.”

“See what I mean? Such a polite young man.”

As Rayne watched the man stroll up the sidewalk, another notion occurred to him.

“Sorry, one more thing,” he called out.

“What is it, lad?”

“When I was about ten, was there any sort of incident? Like, one of the houses in this neighborhood catching fire?”

“In this neighborhood? Hasn’t been a fire for about a century. Sounds like another flight of fancy to me.”

“I see. Thank you.”

Rayne returned to David’s car, mind filled with thoughts. Not only were his fleeting memories a lie, he realized, but Darrigan lied to him as well. That whole story about seeing Rayne as a child, was any of it true? Rayne had not seen the reaper in many nights, but he made a mental note to confront him the next time they met.

“So somebody knew you,” David remarked. “Did you remember anything?”

“Not really. But apparently I was a right bastard as a child.”

“Aren’t they all?”

They drove home in silence, while Rayne watched the road, and thought about everything he’d learned during his visit. Was he really guilty of such childhood mischief, capable of being so cruel? And could he have done something in the past so terrible that it would condemn his soul to the Abyss? These concerns plagued him, but he had no way to quiet them.

* * *

The sun sank deep beneath the horizon by the time they arrived back in Langfirth. The darkened streets made navigation more difficult, and the evening traffic slowed them down to a crawl. David turned off onto a side street to speed things up. Rayne didn’t recognize anything in this part of town.

“Do you know where you’re going?” he asked.

“Oh yeah, the hospital’s over that way. It’s out of the way, but this way’s better when there’s traffic.”

“The hospital?”

Rayne looked out the window, just as they drove past the bright lights of the hospital. He looked down the street, and saw the familiar old café. At least these places were familiar. David drove for a few blocks more. He came to a stop beside a block of apartment buildings, as another car crossed the intersection in front of them.

“Let’s see, I think this neighborhood’s about six kilometers from home,” David said.

Movement caught Rayne’s eye and he looked outside again. Even in the darkness he recognized that form, and the soul within it: Miranda, walking home from work. She did not notice him there in the car. He wondered if he should say hello. She walked down the street and approached her apartment building, passing through the front door.

Rayne didn’t know what to do. He felt he ought to go see her, ask how she was doing, let her know he was all right. He hadn’t seen her at all since the night they had read that book together, not in the real world, and not in the Abyss. But nervousness gripped him, he didn’t want to impose on her by dropping by unannounced.

“Damn it,” he muttered, banging his head against the window in frustration. He was beginning to understand just how repressed he was, from his father’s upbringing, from life in general. “Stop the car.”

“What’s that now?”

“I just want to say hello to Miranda. Do you mind?”

“Oh no, not at all.” David pulled up to the curb, and unlocked the doors.

Rayne pushed his chair out first, and steadied his body as he moved himself over to the seat. Once he was settled, he followed Miranda’s faded path through the front door right into the lobby, eying the mailboxes lined against the wall. They were labeled, with names and flat numbers, so he searched until he found a name.

“Miranda Tomille, 3F,” he noted. This old building had only one elevator, and it wasn’t in the best of shape, but he didn’t have much choice. He rode the rickety thing to the third floor, where he stared down the hall. The lights were dim, the wallpaper peeling. Miranda’s means were not enough for her to live in a better maintained building. He wheeled across stained carpet until he reached a door, with the letters '3F’ half-hanging off it. He hesitated as he raised his hand to knock, but a voice screamed at him in the back of his mind, urging him to do it. So he knocked.

He sat there in the dark hallway feeling dumb for a few minutes. He turned to leave, despite the protests coming from inside his head, telling him to stay and knock again. Then he heard footsteps, and the door cracked open.

“Rayne?” She sounded surprised.

“Hi. I was out for a stroll, and I saw you walking. Thought I’d pop by, say hello, see how you’re doing.”

She was very pale, nervous, and looked at him with darkened eyes framed by bags. She shuffled on her feet with an unsteady stance. After a moment of hesitation, she reached up to unchain the door and threw it open the rest of the way.

“Please, come in,” she said, though her voice sounded hollow.

He took her half hearted invitation and entered. The apartment was small, cramped, but the décor was pleasant. A pale carpet covered the ground, an old couch with white upholstery and two matching armchairs lay spread around a low table. A large window peered into the outside world, but its only view was of a brick wall, the building across the alley. The light here was also dim, coming from a singular lamp standing near one of the armchairs.