The Space Between (8 page)

"It's father!" Elizabeth hissed, reaching out to push Isaac toward the door. She tried to turn the knob, but it wouldn't move. "Hurry! You have to go! And please come back for me before it's too late!"

Isaac fought within himself, trying to decide if he should leave her there. But she seemed sure of her words, and he thought it would be better to trust her now than risk putting her in further danger.

"I'll be back," he whispered and stroked her cheek with his fingertips. She closed her teary eyes and leaned against his touch.

Isaac reached down and grabbed the doorknob. It turned with ease in his grip and he pulled the door open to unveil the void again. As he stepped through, Elizabeth's arm pushing at his back, he could hear the deep, angry bellow of a man from somewhere beyond the black.

"I see you, devil! Stay where you are, you cowardly demon!"

The voice echoed in Isaac's ears as he passed into the darkness.

There was no falling, no smacking of his head. Isaac didn't even need to put his hands out to keep from hitting the hallway wall. Out of reflex, he had closed his eyes as his face dipped through the darkness, coming out on the other side with a slight tingling sensation that quickly faded. When he opened them, he was standing there, looking at the opposite wall and still breathing heavily from the excitement of the father's advance. Isaac turned, finding nothing but the door to his room which was supposed to be there. He leaned to the left and saw the wall next to it begin to change, then stepped back, not wanting to tempt himself into passing through again so quickly. He needed to figure things out, to reason through what had happened. He laughed, amused at the idea of trying to apply logic to the situation.

The heat of adrenaline still coursed through him, causing his fingers to tremble, his stomach to flutter. And it was difficult to deny how the feeling in his belly resembled another. The young woman, Elizabeth, had held him so tightly, looked upon him with such love and trust, he couldn't shake the feeling it had left him with. He knew if he stood there long enough, imagining her tear-streaked face as she implored him to take her away, then he would probably step back through and do just that.

But that would be rash, illogical. And, Isaac reasoned, the risk involved might be far more than he could imagine. He hardly knew her, knew her father even less, and she could be as insane as she had made him sound. She knew Isaac's name, but she also pretended to
know
Isaac, to have seen him before. It was impossible, of course, and simply reinforced the notion of her questionable sanity.

And what about yours?

An even better question. Exactly how mentally balanced could a man who, not only once but twice, walked through a magic door into a room that shouldn't be there? Wasn't it possible his madness was further aggravated by the bump on his head? And Elizabeth's reference to the journal? Just his tricky subconscious incorporating the spoils of his adventurous morning, just as it would in a dream. Yes, he needed to get out, see some real people, and maybe even seek some help, either with getting his head straight or finding out more about this house.

Isaac checked his watch; it was ten after one.

What?

He checked it again, just to make sure the second hand was still moving. It had been eight minutes after the hour when he had awakened. He'd gotten up and went straight to the door. After standing for no more than a minute, he had passed through into Elizabeth's room, where he was certain he'd spent at least five minutes with her before being ushered out the door. That should put the current time at fifteen after, possibly later. Yet, there it was, his fully functional watch ticking its way toward 1:11.

You need some air, away from this place. Don't twist this up anymore than it already is.

He decided to get out of the house for a while, and the gathering in town was the perfect excuse. After a quick change of clothes and a few splashes of cold water across his tired features, he left the house, not bothering to lock up behind him.

There were no parking spaces available within the town square. The roads leading through were blocked off with large sawhorses marked "Holden City Police." Traffic had been routed down a side street and around the center of town, and cars were lined up along both sides of the road coming out of the square. Isaac didn't have much choice but to park and walk about a hundred yards. He hoped the nap had done a thorough job of letting his back muscles unwind.

The square was packed with people. They seemed to be spilling in and out the four separate exits, like blood through a monstrous heart. He slipped into a stream of pedestrians working their way into the center, following the smoky, sweet scent of barbeque. It was easy to find the source: three large black, metal contraptions constructed of immense cylinders, rectangles and boxes, each coughing out their own plume of savory smoke. Six men stood behind the grills, each of them basting, spraying, and turning the various cuts of meat. The lines were long, but apparently the cooks and the accompanying women serving up the food knew what they were doing. In no time Isaac was squeezing his way through the crowd with a heaping plate of pulled pork, baked beans, and corn on the cob.

He heard his name break free from the crowd noise and looked up to see Albert and Harold sitting on a short wall of bricks circling one of the many stands of trees and bushes found throughout the square. Each of the older men held their own plates, now practically clean of whatever they'd piled on earlier. Albert was smiling and waving Isaac over toward them. Harold nodded, half of his face hidden behind a large cup of iced tea.

"Have a seat, Junior," Albert said, sliding closer to Harold so Isaac could squeeze between him and a sheepish, elderly woman nibbling on half of a pork sandwich.

Not much was said as the three men sat there. Isaac supposed (especially after taking his first bite of the food) it was understood that talk could wait when there was something that delicious cooling on your plate. Albert waited for him to finish, took his paper plate and cup from him and waved down a young boy, who carried it all off to a nearby trash can.

He slapped Isaac on the knee and smiled. "How'd the rest of your day go? Didn't go
fallin
' down any stairs, I hope."

"Not so much. I took a look around the place, out in the yard and the barn. I managed to get a little rest before heading up this way."

"Yeah? That's good to hear. I was a little worried about you, the way you were sitting in that rocker looking like you'd been run over a few times by a tractor."

"That bad?" Isaac asked, not sure how much Albert was exaggerating. He'd definitely felt better.

"You just seemed a little tense, is all. Nothing I supposed a bit of walking and a warm bed wouldn't cure."

"That seems to be the case," Isaac agreed, and the two men looked out into the crowd, letting the conversation idle until a more comfortable subject came up. Isaac spotted Sissy, the waitress from the diner, in the crowd with her friends. She waved at him as the two younger girls simply stared with their big, star-struck doe eyes. He waved back just before the crowd shifted, cutting them off from view.

After a while the mass of people thinned a bit, and when the woman sitting next to Isaac left with her small group, he decided to prod the two men for information. He glanced over and saw Harold watching him. When their eyes met, Harold shifted his gaze quickly out to the crowd. Albert noticed Isaac was no longer interested in people-watching, and shifted his position on the wall to face the younger man.

"Something on your mind, Ike? You look a little ruffled."

"Actually, yeah." Isaac focused on Albert but tried to keep tabs on Harold's head movement, watching for any interest the other man might show in the conversation. "I was wondering what you might know about that place I have out there. Who lived there before me, any interesting history. Things like that."

Albert rubbed his chin and narrowed his eyes at Isaac. "I'm afraid I wouldn't be much help to you in that regard. I didn't move out here until about ten years ago, the first five of which I spent trying to convince folks like Harold that North Carolina was considered a Southern state."

Harold turned to look at his friend, grumbling something as Albert leaned back and prodded him with one elbow.

"Now, Harold here might know a few things," Albert continued, throwing a thumb in the other man's direction. "He's Logan County, born and bred. You ever decide if that was the Willoughby place you mentioned?" He leaned his head back to listen for a response. Isaac couldn't quite hear, but it sounded as though Harold answered in the affirmative. Albert nodded and turned his attention back to Isaac.

"Harold used to work out there when he was just a young buck, doing chores around the yard and barn, keeping the horses and cattle fed. Probably saved most of his pay to buy his first horse, huh Harold?"

"You
ain't
much younger than me, Al," Harold finally spoke up. He looked at Isaac, his gaze almost defiant. "We already had quite a few cars in town at the time, what with the mill being open. I worked for
Obediah
Willoughby, brother to James Willoughby of Willoughby Lumber Supply. Their father opened the mill and James ran it, paid himself a fair wage and split the profits with his brother."

"Did
Obediah
have a family?" Isaac asked, not backing down from the antagonism evident in Harold's eyes. "Any children?"

The question seemed to startle Harold, and the old man's gaze skittered away from Isaac's, getting lost in the crowd again. "I don't remember," he mumbled.

"What do mean?" Albert's tone was soft with humor and obviously not meant to rile Harold. "You worked there for a few years, didn't you?"

"I said I don't remember!" Harold spat back. He stood and walked around the oasis of trees and shrubs. Isaac and Albert watched him work his way through the crowd until he reached the diner, where he slipped inside.

Isaac looked back at Albert, who was shaking his head. "I honestly don't know what's gotten into that old goat. He's been awful moody since yesterday, and rude to you. But I guess you've noticed."

"Just a little," Isaac agreed, nodding. "It seems he has a bit of a problem with me."

"I can't see why. Far as I know, he'd never heard of you until now, and he
ain't
said a word about anything to me otherwise."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, watching as the crowd dwindled down. A few kids ran around, kicking empty cups while a handful of older folks began the process of erasing all evidence of the celebration from the town square. After sitting there and being able to think of nothing else but Harold's erratic behavior, Isaac decided he would face the problem head-on.

"I suppose I better find out just what issues he might have with me. Maybe I didn't answer some fan mail he sent," Isaac joked. Albert laughed, but the humor wasn't enough to lighten the apprehension Isaac felt as he stood and walked to Mama's Kitchen.

Harold was sitting at his usual spot, close to the door. There were two waitresses behind the counter and one working the floor. The place was more crowded than it had been on Isaac's first visit. Most likely it was overflow from the gathering outside. The tables were all taken, as were most of the counter stools but for two on Harold's right. Isaac walked over and sat in the one next to the old man, who was hunched over a hot cup of coffee. One of the waitresses came over and placed a cup and saucer in front of Isaac, and he nodded his acceptance, then waved off her offer for food.

Glancing over his shoulder, Isaac could see that Albert had moved around the small brick wall in order to see into the diner. He thought doing so was very considerate of the old-timer, especially since curiosity was probably eating him alive. Isaac turned back to face Harold, who had still not acknowledged the younger man's presence. He took a quick sip of his coffee to clear his throat before leaning toward Harold.

"You mind telling me what I've done to piss you off?"

Harold set his coffee down and looked out the window. Isaac saw Albert point, shaking his finger once at his friend. He thought he might have heard a short, muffled laugh from the grumpy man. Harold turned to face Isaac, but there was no trace of any such amusement on his face. It seemed more a strange mixture of fear, anger, and disbelief. Isaac had no idea how he could have elicited such emotion from someone he hardly knew.

"You say someone just gave you the Willoughby place?" Harold asked.

"That's right."

"And you got no idea who?"

"No clue."

Harold sat silent for a minute, his eyes having dropped and fixated on Isaac's shoulder or possibly the counter. When he looked back up at Isaac, the anger had left his eyes. Now the old man looked more frightened and sad than anything. When he spoke, Isaac could hear as much in the trembling of his voice.

"And you have no family out this way? A grandfather or great uncle or anything like that?"

"I don't think so."

"You sure?"

"As sure as I can be. My family never settled south of Tennessee."

Silence again, more examination of Isaac's jacket sleeve. After a full two minutes passed and Harold said nothing, Isaac spoke.

"Look, I don't know what you think I've done or who you think I am, but I don't know you or anyone else in this town from Adam's cousin. Now, you've got a problem with me, and unless you tell me what that is, you're just going to have to deal with it on your own. But I don't care much for being treated like a hand-me-down."

Their eyes met again, and Isaac saw the smallest swell of anger returning. But it faded, and Harold turned back to face his coffee. Isaac thought the conversation had ended and he started to get up when Harold grabbed his arm. He sat back down.

"Albert's right. I did work out at the Willoughby place. I was young, about ten years old, give or take.
Obediah
Willoughby paid well for what I was doing. Hauling water for the horses, stacking hay, keeping the grass trimmed around the house. He was mighty proud of that house, though he'd never admit it. Pride is a sin."

Harold glanced at Isaac to emphasize the last point before continuing.