In Springdale Town by Robert Freeman Wexler Read Free Book Online Page B

him up the street to a dim alley between the Japanese restaurant and the rug shop. Shelling stopped at the black maw of the alley. “What’s this all about? I have rights, you know.”
    He tried to turn, but the man’s fingers clamped onto his shoulders. Shelling refused to move. Let the man push him. Instead, the man slipped his hands under Shelling’s armpits and lifted. Shelling squirmed, trying to break the policeman’s hold. He swung his legs back and forth, kicking at the man, but nothing had an effect. The policeman-jailer kept walking.
    Shelling had appeared in a short-lived television series starring that former professional football player, the one with the state of Texas tattooed on his scalp. The man’s size and intimidating interactions with the rest of the cast had upset the delicate essence of creating the show. Once, for fun, the man had grabbed Shelling from behind, encircling his neck with a chokehold that he didn’t release until Shelling began to pass out. The man had laughed his “huh huh huh” laugh, and what could Shelling do?
    But this new situation was opposite. There was a peacefulness to being carried, as though the act stripped Shelling of responsibility. He felt outside himself, and imagined what it would be like to gaze upon this scene–the dark-uniformed man carrying his burden, some recalcitrant youngster, down the alley. The massive jailer transported Shelling farther than he would have thought possible in this small town. Had they perhaps left the town, penetrated some intersecting region accessible only to this man?
    At some point they must have passed into a building, though Shelling noticed no transition from open alley to closed-in corridor, identical to the corridor he and his jailer had traversed earlier.

16
    Sammy and I chose opposite directions, but reached the moving panel at the same time. This one opened to a closet with a metal ladder emerging through a hole in the floor. We descended, Sammy first. The cold of the rungs bothered me, and I had to concentrate on not going so fast I trampled Sammy’s fingers. The light in the tube grew dimmer as we descended, though it appeared to follow us, illumining the nearest rungs. Above, everything was dark; I didn’t look down any farther than the next rung and the top of Sammy’s head. My shoulder muscles burned from the effort. Sammy’s breathing rasped, a heavy sound from deep in her throat.
    How much longer would this ladder to nowhere continue? The air down here...thin...insufficient. The walls, the tube, constricted, so hard to squeeze through. Something grabbed my ankles, held them. I tried to kick them free. I would not become trapped, not here, not before seeing one last time the glitter of sun on water, hearing waves caress the shore.
    “Patrick!”
    Who here knew my name? Not the others–they cared for nothing but their own petty squabbles. This dream amber-trapped me, forced its will.
    “Stop moving. Breathe, Patrick, breathe.” I became aware of Sammy’s hands gripping my ankles. I looked down. She had hooked her feet and knees onto the ladder for support. “You were panicking,” she said.
    “I’m okay now.” I must have sounded uncertain because she didn’t release me. She talked, not really saying anything, but the sound of her voice soothed me, and she stroked my calf with her fingers. My breath settled, air sliding in and out of my tender throat.
    She slipped her hands from my ankles and started down. I hesitated, though not for long. Sammy kept talking; obviously she thought I needed help staying calm. Who had put her in charge anyway? A ladder. I could go down a fucking ladder without coddling. I knew how to handle myself pretty well, no matter the circumstances.
    I glanced down at the top of her head. She cared about me, didn’t want me to injure myself. And she had brought me to this place to share an experience before I left town.
    “Looks like we’re nearly there,” she said. “Somewhere,