Dark Doorways by Kristin Jones Read Free Book Online Page B

How did you know?”
     
    ***
     
    The walk to the pier became
violescent; the fog colored our world lavender. Michael and I got off the train
downtown–purple line to red line, like we always did to get into the
heart of Chicago– and made the trek in silence, not knowing what we would
find. Immersed in the purple fog, we could barely see each other, let alone
this mysterious boat.
    Swanson had agreed to meet
with me another time, probably happy to delay our awkward conversation. Neither
of us knew how to continue working together smoothly in our academic context,
and we certainly had no clue how build a familial relationship. So I turned to
Michael.
    I turned to him and held him,
concerned that the madness of our local mysteries would engulf him again. It
was easier than dealing with Swanson.
    Very little could be seen
though the walls of fog that morning. Lake Michigan, gone. The pier, gone. That
enigmatic boat, also gone. Not that I expected it to appear for us anyway.
    “Maybe we should just go get
some coffee.” The fog was wearing me down, taking too much effort to look
through. But my promenade companion stood motionless, looking out to where the
pier should have been, to where the boat should have been.
    “I’m thinking of switching to
linguistic anthropology.” His frown as he spoke could have been anywhere.
Cafeteria. Library. Haunted boat. Men .
    “Oh, nice segue.”
    “I know. I’m just
disappointed. I really wanted you to at least see the boat. Not go on it or
anything. Just see it.”
    “So why linguistic
anthropology?”
    “It sounds more interesting,
you know, more based in people’s lives. Plus I’d only have a couple extra
courses I’d have to take before–”
    Like magnets on a fridge, our
heads were pulled around simultaneously. Someone had run across the sidewalk,
rushing toward something. Or was the person darting away from something?
    “Was that–”
    “Yeah, I think it was.”
    The fog allowed us to follow
her, our two lurking shadows that she never guessed were there. As our hands
intertwined, I thought only of how nice the skin-on-skin contact felt. Michael,
however, kept his focus on her .
    Her silhouette slipped into a
coffee shop, only after glancing behind her to check for potential menaces.
Violet fog masked us, allow us to slither closer, unnoticed.
    “We were going to get coffee
anyway, right?” I whispered.
    Once inside, I inhaled the
intense aromas, wondering if they could make a soy latte. As if reading my
mind, Michael went to the counter to order. Between my latte and his Americano,
she appeared again. Alone. Staring at us.
    “You see her?” I murmured
like a ventriloquist. This could be a career option, I thought, in
case things stay awkward with Swanson .
    “I do. She’s staring at us.”
Michael whispered, straight-faced, eyes focused on the barista.
    We had no choice but to move
down the counter to await our beverages. Unfortunately, the move placed us in
arm’s-length of her table. We had to acknowledge her.
    We both slowly looked up,
very cartoon-like. An anvil was about to fall on someone.
    I sipped the hot latte
nervously, happy to hide behind the paper cup. No cinnamon. Interesting. I
could have sworn I ordered it with cinnamon, what Mom had always added.
    “Michael. Sarah. Nice to see
you both.”
    The contemptuous sneer said
otherwise. Her eyes squinted as she spoke, as if her entire face struggled to
release the words so incompatible with her actual thoughts. And what were her actual thoughts? Who was this wraith-like misfit?
    “Eliza! Nice to see you too.”
Michael’s politeness helped to counter my awkward gaping.
    Her body was expanding.
Getting up to harm us was, apparently, too much effort, and so she simply
expanded toward us. Her brown hair had been more tame last time I saw her, her
clothing more in order. She seemed, what ? Desperate ?
    “Sarah, SARAH!” Michael was
pulling me by the oxters, dragging me off in my immobile state.
    Why my