The Shattered Gates (3 page)

Usually Kyle moved well, employing a fluidity of motion that sometimes seemed almost too easy. John wasn’t sure what exactly gave him that impression. It was a tiny thing, and after watching Kyle for just a few moments, the impression always faded from John’s consciousness. It was like the slightest lingering accent that could only be caught for brief instants.

Today, Kyle’s ethereal grace had been somewhat subdued. John’s strongest impression was that Kyle seemed to have made an attempt at normalcy. His heavy coat and knives were nowhere to be seen. He wore dark gray work pants and a white sleeveless T-shirt. His long black hair hung in damp strings down his back. Even the scars covering his arms and at the edges of his mouth seemed paler and less obvious. His one disturbing feature was the thick bandage that engulfed his right shoulder.

“I didn’t know you’d gotten back.” John decided not to ask about the bandage, where he had been for two weeks, or their near encounter at Steamworks bathhouse. Confronted with the reality of Kyle, his curiosity folded.

“You might have been asleep.” Kyle stopped at the kitchen table. He looked down at the bills and for a minute, John had the irrational thought that Kyle could somehow tell that the letter had been sitting right there.

John said, “I was just adding up the expenses.”

“Nothing’s overdue yet, is it?” Kyle picked up the electricity bill and looked at it. He turned it over slowly. He didn’t appear to be reading the balance so much as studying the bill itself, as if it were an interesting artifact. After a moment, he placed it back on the pile.

“The water bill was due last week, but I paid it...” John shoved his hands into the pockets of his robe out of habit. His fingers brushed across the metal surface of the key. He pulled his arms back up and crossed them over his chest. “And, you know, rent is due tomorrow...”

“Oh, I’ve got the money for you.” Kyle dug into his pocket with his left hand. He held his injured right arm close to his body. “How much was the water bill?”

John watched him pull out a thick wad of bills. They looked like hundreds. Hundreds of hundreds. John stared at the money. It was like something from a cartoon. Real people just didn’t wander around with thousands of dollars in loose bills crammed into their pants pockets.

 Kyle counted out the rent then glanced up at John questioningly. “How much for the water?” he asked again.

“Ah, it was fifty-four bucks total, so your half...” Exactly how much money did he have there, John wondered. He couldn’t even guess. Two inches of bills, maybe three? Maybe the bulk of it was fives and ones, and Kyle was just attempting to impress him by wrapping a hundred dollar bill around them.

Kyle frowned. “I don’t have any smaller bills on me right now.”

John could feel his mouth opening slightly, preparing to form the words,
“Where did you get all this cash?”
Instead he said, “I think I have some twenties. Maybe I can break one of the hundreds.”

Kyle shook his head.

“Why don’t I just give you a thousand? I think that should cover my half of the rest of the bills.” Kyle dropped the money down on the table.

“A thousand.” John repeated the number just to say something. It was too much money, obviously. Even adding in Kyle’s half of the water bill, there would be a lot of money left over. Something like five hundred dollars.

That was enough to pick up a new pack and better supplies for winter camping, possibly even a GPS. Or, it could go into his Jeep repair fund. He could use a new pair of pants. If he just bought new socks, he could throw out his old ones and forget about washing them. Hell, maybe he’d actually buy something from that stupid underwear catalog.

 He forced himself to stop his fantasy shopping spree. He couldn’t just take the extra money. Kyle hadn’t even seen how little he owed. Not one of the calls on the phone bill was his. The electric bill was tiny, and so was the gas. And John definitely didn’t deserve to take anything from Kyle. He’d just stuffed his mail in the garbage.

“I don’t think your half adds up to that much,” John said.

“I’d rather pay too much than too little.” Kyle shrugged, and then winced as he moved his right shoulder.

“But that’s way too much.” John glanced at the money. All the bills looked crisp and new.

“Don’t worry about it.” Kyle’s tone was disinterested. He looked at the coffee pot. Again that expression of abstract interest flickered over his features.

“I can’t just take your money,” John insisted.

“No?” Kyle looked up at him.

“No.”

“All right, then you can pay me back.” Kyle started to shrug again but then stopped himself. “Why don’t you take me out to breakfast, and we’ll call it even?”

“Breakfast? We’re talking about something close to half a grand.”

“I eat a lot. If it really bothers you, leave a big tip.” Kyle smiled, and John realized that the other man was enjoying this argument in some perverse manner.

“Okay, fine. I’ll take you out to breakfast,” John stated flatly.

Kyle broke into a grin. “Great. I’ll get my coat.” He turned and almost skipped up the stairs.

John stared after him.

Did he think he was going to get solid gold eggs? A priceless diamond omelet? He had to know that John was just going to take him to the crappy diner where he and his friends hung out. He could eat until he was sick, and it still wouldn’t add up to five hundred bucks.

 This was something that some insane, Howard Hughes type did. Something befitting a knife-wielding freak who had to pay people just to sit in the room with him.

Suddenly, John’s thoughts came to a crashing halt. That was it, wasn’t it?

Kyle wasn’t paying five hundred dollars for breakfast; he was paying five hundred dollars to have John take him out.

 As John gazed up at the empty staircase, his entire body began to fill with tense premonition of the monstrous social horrors sure to come.

Chapter Four

It was the air; he always noticed it when he came through the gateway. The air here floated around him, feeling thick, almost liquid. Breathing here felt like drinking. Exotic, rich flavors rolled over his lips. Scents clung to his skin like seawater.

Kahlil drew in a breath. His lungs tingled with the heady suffusion of oxygen. It felt like enough to last him hours—just this one breath. But he wanted more. He loved tasting everything in the air: cologne, cleansers, human sweat, pollen, insect pheromones. The next breath would taste of hot asphalt, tobacco, wild flowers and the distant ocean. The profusion of scents attested to the vibrancy of life here, so different from his own world of Basawar.

It delighted him even now as he stepped through the door of the diner, and the smell of a perpetual breakfast engulfed him. The odors of bacon grease, fried eggs, black coffee, and cigarette smoke hung like a yellow fog over the brown booths and Formica tables.

Kahlil watched John’s expression change as he scanned the customers. John disregarded the cluster of teenage girls sharing one order of french fries. He ignored the two old men in denim overalls, as well as the line of strangers sitting at odd intervals along the counter. He paused as he caught sight of a booth far back, and then frowned at the blonde woman who waved at him.

The woman was pale, her hair more white than yellow. Her eyebrows almost faded into the translucent expanse of her delicate face. Her tight, clingy clothes emphasized the fractional curves of her slim body. The image of a green-eyed kitten warped across the tiny expanse of her baby blue T-shirt.

An equally slender, dark-haired man slumped in the booth next to the woman. He looked like a remnant from an old film noir, dressed in black pants, a white shirt, and suspenders, his once slicked-back hair now hung in disheveled strings. He sagged against the padded seat like a corpse that had been propped up there. His eyes barely opened as the woman jumped up and waved at John.

“Hey, Toffee,” the woman called out, “we were just talking about you. Come join us.”

“Toffee?” Kahlil asked quietly.

“Nickname. John Toffler. Toffee.” John’s expression looked as if this was an old pain that he had learned to live with. Kahlil found it amusing. It was such a small burden.

It struck Kahlil as odd that either of the two people in the booth would be John’s friends. There was a striking disparity between their physical appearances and John’s that implied opposing lifestyles. Where these two seemed tiny and nocturnal, John’s build was tall and muscular, almost intimidating. His sun-bleached blonde hair and deeply tanned skin blatantly displayed the weeks he spent outside.

“I’m here with someone, but I’ll catch up with you guys later.” John started towards an empty table across the room.

“You can both join us.” As the woman got up, Kahlil stared in awe at her shoes. Like golden altars supporting her tiny feet, they were absurd and exquisite at once, exactly the kind of thing that no woman would wear in Basawar. He felt an inexplicable warmth towards the woman for owning such shoes.

She rushed to John and, catching him before he could sit, wrapped her arms around his waist. “Come on, I promise we won’t embarrass you in front of your new boyfriend.”

“He’s not—” John began, but the woman turned to Kahlil. She held out her hand.

“I don’t think I’ve met you before. I’m Laurie.” She smiled, and Kahlil noticed the plastic barrettes shaped like ducks hanging limply in her hair.

“Kyle.” He shook her hand.

Her pale eyebrows shot up. “Not Kyle the roommate?”

She glanced back to John for confirmation. Kahlil didn’t miss the flicker of horror that passed over John’s face as he nodded in acknowledgment.

“Yes, I believe that would be me.” Kahlil smiled.

“So we meet at last.” She peered up at him. “You really do have tattoos on your eyelids! I totally thought Toffee was lying about that.”

“He wasn’t lying.” Kahlil bowed his head and closed his eyes, allowing her to see the Prayerscars clearly.

“Cool. They’re eyes.” Laurie moved closer to him, and he caught the very faint scent of beer and pine trees.

“Didn’t that hurt?” Laurie asked.

“A little.”

“Yeah, right. I would totally be screaming if they even came close to one of my eyes with a tattoo needle. I swear to God. I almost fainted when I got my ears pierced.” She casually glanced at Kahlil’s bare ears. “So do your scary tattoos have any special meaning?”

“I don’t believe so.”

“You don’t believe so. That’s kind of evasive.” She grinned but didn’t pursue the question. Kahlil warmed to her further for that.

“So do you mind if I’m really nosy and ask if you’re single or not?” She seemed to be joking, but he wasn’t sure.

“We really need to sit down and order, Laurie,” John broke in. “And somebody should take Bill home.” He pointed back to the booth where the pale man had collapsed onto the tabletop.

Laurie waved her hand as though she were brushing Bill’s inert, sprawling form aside. “He just needs some coffee. Come on, you guys can help me bring him back to the land of the living.”

Laurie grasped Kahlil’s arm, tugging him back towards her booth. He allowed her to pull him along, and John followed behind.

“Come on,” she said. “I’ve been wanting to meet you for ages, but John obviously doesn’t want to share you.”

“Maybe he just doesn’t want to share you,” Kahlil replied.

“Not in this lifetime.” Laurie cocked her head slightly. “You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?”

“I might.” Kahlil started to shrug, then stopped himself, remembering his shoulder. The yellowpetal water had numbed the pain, but he didn’t want to start bleeding through his bandages and clothes in the restaurant. John would never take him anywhere else again.

“So, what do you think of it?” Laurie asked with a teasing smile.

“Does it matter what I think of it?” He still marveled that desires of this kind could be discussed aloud here in Nayeshi, even in this sideways manner. The freedom to speak aloud made him almost giddy. He stole a quick glance at John and noted the flush coloring his tanned cheeks. Briefly he held John’s gaze, and it seemed that something like interest lingered there, despite his obvious embarrassment.

But Kahlil warned himself against becoming caught up in this illusion of freedom. Someday, word would come from the Black Tower, and all of this would end in blood or ruins.

“Of course it matters what you think. That matters the very most.” Laurie’s voice dropped into a stage whisper.

“I believe my actions will speak for my thoughts on the subject.” Kahlil smiled, knowing that neither John nor this woman could comprehend the truth of his words.

“Really?” Laurie returned his smile like a conspirator. “I thought that something like that might be going on. John never tells anyone anything, but I know when there are birds and bees in the air.”

The conversation reminded Kahlil of talking to the bones. Everything alluded to something else. One word might mean another thing completely. “Sword” could be “a key.” “A key” could be “death.” They were like riddles. But where the bones spoke in riddles because their lives depended on deception, here it was a matter of harmless amusement. Kahlil could enjoy it, though John plainly did not.

He said, “No. We are not going to start talking like spies in a bad French film. We’re just going to eat and talk, like normal people.”

“You really can be a whole lot of no fun sometimes, Toffee.” Laurie stopped at her booth and said to Kyle, “I have no idea how you put up with him.”

“I didn’t do anything...” Bill cracked an eye. He looked at John and then to Kyle.

“Oh hey, Toffee.” Bill’s voice was rough. “We missed you at the mountain party last night, man.” Slowly, he pulled himself fully upright and scooted over to make room for one of them beside him. Laurie took the space with a little bounce as she sat.

For a moment, both John and Kahlil remained standing, obviously waiting for the other one to sit first. It simply went too much against his instincts to allow himself to be blocked into a seat between a wall and John. If he had to get to his feet quickly, he didn’t want to negotiate any obstacles. He stepped back slightly.