The Light You Cast - 7. Chapter 7

“You’re mad at me, aren’t you,” Michael said.

I considered him over my coffee. It tasted thin, but it was better than nothing. The forlorn and sunken look in Michael’s eyes made me wonder if he hadn’t slept well last night. We sat across from each other, sky painted pink with sunrise outside the window.

“A little,” I replied honestly. “We agreed on something, but you didn’t keep your word.”

He nodded and pulled his feet up onto the seat, tucking his chin into the crevice between his knees. He wasn’t wearing any shoes, only a pair of old black socks with a hole in one of the toes.

“Sorry,” he said. “I understand if you don’t want me around anymore.”

I rubbed my eyes for a minute. He was right. If I couldn’t trust him, I didn’t want him around. I felt terrible about it, but it was true. He was just a kid, after all, and kids made mistakes all the time. It wasn’t his fault he was in this situation. And I’d agreed to take him along on this insane journey. The complexity of my feelings around him made it hard to find my voice. But I couldn’t leave him hanging there, so I had to try.

“I wouldn’t do that to you,” I said. “We’re in this together. But I need you to be more cautious. Even if you don’t understand why. We have to be able to trust each other, right?”

He nodded and wiped at his eyes with his sleeve. “If it makes you feel any better, I worked out our route from the train station to this costume shop you wanted to go to. Arvi helped me.”

“Can I see?” I asked. He pulled out a spiral lined notebook from under his seat and handed it to me. The first page had a penciled map and the second a list of transit lines we needed to take. He’d even calculated the fares.

“Nice work,” I approved, handing it back to him. “That does make me feel better.”

He gave me a tired smile and took the notebook back. “So can you tell me about the costume shop? What kind of costume are you going for?” His eyes lit up mischievously. “I never really pictured you in anything but this.” He gestured at my outfit, which consisted of a threadbare shirt covered by a flannel, and battered grey cargo pants. “Please tell me you’re a secret drag queen or something awesome like that.”

“I’m not trying to find a costume,” I laughed. “My friend Jonathan works there. He’s going to help us get settled.”

“Too bad,” Michael sighed. “I can’t wait to see it, anyway. I’ve got a list of costumes I want to try. Pirate, zoot suit, one of those inflatable dinosaurs. I wonder how they do in the off season? I mean, they must do like 98 percent of their business on Halloween.”

“I don’t know,” I replied. “You’ll have to ask Jonathan.”

Michael looked out the window for a while. I joined him. The terrain consisted of muskeg punctuated by bare icy spruce. Now and then a granite boulder would push through the snow. Other than that the land remained flat, far different from the mountainous forest I was used to. It felt like I could see for miles.
The train pulled to a halt for what seemed like the hundredth time. A long freight began to pass by, shaking our passenger train with the force of a thousand wide metal cars rolling down the tracks.

“Everyone says we should be in Toronto by tomorrow morning,” Michael said.

“Maybe,” I said. “We’ll get there when we get there.”

He took a big yawn and stretched his arms up over his head. “I’m gonna go get something to eat. Need anything?”

“Nah. Go ahead. See you later.”

I didn’t see him again for hours. In the meantime, I decided to get up and stretch my legs.

The other passengers on the train were beginning to look familiar now, even though I hadn’t spoken more than a word or two any of them. One young couple who appeared to be on vacation always seemed excited and happy, huddling together and whispering excitedly over the view as if it were a treasured secret. At least a dozen passengers were retirees. They gravitated to each other, enjoying the food and talking and laughing together for long stretches. A family with three kids running up and down the aisles playing tag and hide and seek, getting underfoot every chance they got.

I spotted Arvi in the lounge car, caught up in an animated conversation with Zak. I didn’t particularly want another encounter with Zak, but I was bored, so I decided to join them.

“And BAM - the car exploded! Just like in the movies!” Arvi was saying.

“Are you for real?” Zak exclaimed. “You never mentioned that before.”

“Yup. It turned into an inferno. The car was red hot inside the flames. It looked like a scene from hell. And the passengers were still inside. It was pretty horrible, actually. Oh, hey Ethan!”

At Arvi’s greeting, Zak looked up and flashed a smile at me. I didn’t feel like sitting down so I stood near them instead. “Hey,” I said. “What are you guys up to?”

“We’re talking about the craziest thing we ever saw,” Arvi replied. “Got any stories?”

“Sure,” I replied.

“Please, do share,” Zak said. “We’re desperate for entertainment.”

I thought for a minute. I had several stories to choose from, but one in particular came to mind. “I used to work at a sawmill. One day I was working on the line and the guy a few feet down from me dropped his wedding ring. He reached out for it by instinct and the sawblades cut his hand clean off.”

“Oh, shit!” Arvi pulled his hair with both hands, bouncing in his seat with a look of pure joy. “Was there blood?”

“Everywhere. All over the conveyor belt. His hand kept moving down the line between the logs until someone finally snapped into gear and stopped the belt.”

“Was he okay?!”

“He never came back to work, so I don’t know.”

“Wow,” Arvi breathed. “You didn’t have to clean it up, did you?”

“No. I got sent home for the day.”

“Hmm,” Zak said with a nod of approval. “That was pretty good. Hard to top it, but I’ll try.”

He thought for a while, which only added to our curiosity.

“It happened when I was fifteen years old. I was sneaking off after school to smoke cigarettes with my friends. Back then we lived father out, not near the city. We wandered pretty far so no one would see us smoking. And then we smelled something horrible."

“Oh no,” Arvi whispered. “Was it--”

Zak held up a hand and Arvi stopped himself from interrupting. Zak continued. “We found a woman face down in the mud. Her skin was bloated and purple, and she was totally naked.”

My stomach turned. Thinking about dead people was not exactly my idea of entertainment. Maybe I shouldn’t have joined this conversation after all.

“Oh my god, I remember that!” Arvi exclaimed, eyes wide. “You wouldn’t stop talking about it for days.”

“It was definitely on my mind for a while. A few weeks later we found out she’d been murdered.”

“That’s awful,” I muttered.

“Yeah. Poor woman. But c’est la vie. Or maybe I should say, c’est la mort. Okay, Arvi. Your turn.”

Arvi scrunched his face. “I’m out. I already gave you everything I have.”

“Ethan? You?”

I shook my head. “I think I’m done. See you around, okay?” I made to leave but Zak stood up and followed me down. He touched my elbow as I walked, but I pulled away immediately.

“Please wait a minute,” Zak said. “No more stories. Let’s find Michael and play some more Euchre. Yeah?”

I conceded to that.

The hours passed, some torturous, some distracting, and some in a mental fog brought on by sitting still for far too long. I tried my best not to think about what was coming, but the closer we drew, the more I worried. I must have doused myself in at least three cold showers over the next 24 hours, to rid myself of thought and re-center.

The landscape gave away to suburbs, and then with startling speed our view became crowded by a vast expanse of tall buildings. We arrived in Toronto at four in the afternoon, about ten hours behind schedule.

I didn’t spend much time on goodbyes, and thankfully Michael didn’t want to linger, either. He took Zak and Arvi’s numbers, promising to call them at some vague point in the future. After shaking hands, we parted.

We stepped off the train onto a wide platform. I let my vision span out over a sea of people. There must have been over a hundred. People of all shapes, colors, and sizes waited for their train or stood in line for tickets. None of them appeared to resemble Mr. Jameson, but it seemed impossible to tell. I gave myself a scare when a man with graying red hair passed right in front of me. But he was too tall, his face too narrow.

“So many people,” I said incredulously.

“For real,” Michael agreed. He looked around the same way I did, scanning faces.

“I don’t see anyone. Do you?”

“No,” he replied. I sagged with relief. Crisis averted. We were safe from Mr. Jameson for now, at least. I began to feel a little foolish for my reaction on the train.

“Do you know where we’re supposed to go now?” I asked meekly.

“I think so,” Michael said. “Follow me, okay?”

From there, I truly began to feel glad Michael had come. I was hit by a cacophony of movement, sound, people, businesses, cars and buildings. I felt too overwhelmed to function. I found myself clinging to Michael’s lead pathetically. He took us to the Drug Mart, where he bought us day passes for the TTC. Then he asked directions to the bus we needed. We lugged our suitcases onto a bright red streetcar that ran on a line. I took us about two miles before we had to get off and find another line going east.

Power lines criss-crossed the streets crowded with buildings. Everything was covered in asphalt or cement. Most of the trees grew out of tiny holes in the sidewalk. Other trees grew on manicured park fields or in the carefully cultivated lawns in front of businesses and shops. Nothing real. Nothing wild.

I felt distinctly uncomfortable walking past all the thousands of strangers on the streets. In the back of my mind, I remained convinced that one of them would try to harm me. Restaurants filled the air with the aroma of spices unfamiliar to me. Many buildings had been painted with vibrant street art, giving parts of the city a cartoonish, otherworldly feel. I glued my eyes to Michael’s back and tried not to look around more than I had to.

Between streetcars, walking, and buses, we arrived about an hour later. The costume shop sat next to a building painted sky blue with a mural of a goddess-like woman’s profile, head adorned with rays of white light. The tall, narrow costume shop had a sign displaying “Rayna’s Attic” in fat, lively purple letters against a black background. The windows were plastered with concert posters and announcements for plays, some of them having already occurred months in the past.

“We made it!” Michael proclaimed. He jumped up and down on his heels a few times as he scanned through the posters and tried to get a glimpse of the shop through the narrow stripes of window between them. “We’re here!”

“Thanks to you,” I said. I gave him a tiny smile, but I was all nerves and couldn’t muster that level of enthusiasm. With a deep breath, I opened up my suitcase right there in front of the store and took out Jonathan’s coat. It gave me a reason to be there, and something to say. I draped it over my arm and swallowed. I could feel sweat trickling down the center of my back. Michael just waited for me, absorbed by the posters.

Bells tinkled when I pushed open the glass door.

Squawk! Squawk! Two parrots beat their wings up in the rafters and a green feather floated down. When I followed it down with my eyes, I spied another large white bird perched on a fur coat.

The shop was stuffed to the brim with clothes, hats, and antique jewelry. It was a total chaos of colors and feathers and fabric. Round racks were crammed with clothes and crowded together. A red curtain marked a dressing room in the back, and next to that a worn wooden staircase that led to the upper floor, blocked with a velvet rope and a sign that said "employees only." In the corner, a glass counter sparkled with goudy old-fashioned rings. On top sagged carousels laden heavily with earrings and bracelets, three oval mirrors and a rack of scarves.

"This place is awesome!" Michael turned a full circle in awe before he started digging into a rack of clothes. Rather than halloween costumes, most of the clothes appeared to be tailored in more subtle patterns and colors, appealing to people who wanted to dress up like they came from another era or culture.

Squawk! One of the parrots took flight. A woman who looked to be in her forties came down the stairs. Long black hair hung loose down her back. A simple, clingy black dress and a long string of turquoise beads complimented her brown skin and slim frame. Her eyes were lined with thick black liner, teal feathers dangling from her ears.

"Upstairs, upstairs," she shooed another bird which had been camouflaged against a coral pink hat on top of a coat rack. The bird gave an angry squawk and flew up, landing on the balcony. I followed its flight and tried to make out what was going on up there, but all I could see were the wooden rafters of the ceiling. Someone hummed along to music playing quietly and a mechanical whir sounded now and then. It must have been a sewing machine.

"Hello, boys. Can I help you with anything, or just browsing?" the woman asked. She made herself busy as she spoke, rearranging dresses on one of the racks with quick sharp movements of her hands. "Men's clothes are in the back corner over there," she gestured with her chin.

"Actually, I was hoping to talk with Jonathan," I said. My hands felt clammy with sweat and I darted a glance back up the stairs. I suspected the sounds up there came from him.

She stopped what she was doing for a minute to give me a curious look. Her eyes lingered on my suitcase for a moment. "He's working. But if you want to leave your number I can have him call you in a few hours when he’s off."

"That's alright, I can come back. But do you think you could give this to him? It belongs to him, I'm just returning it."

When I held out the suede jacket, her expression changed. She blinked at it, then back at me with a frown. She set down a stack of dresses over the counter and came over, taking the jacket and holding it up, inspecting it for a moment.

"This is ruined, isn't it? Too bad, it was a nice one." She clicked her tongue and hung the jacket in the crook of her elbow. She glanced over at Michael who was rummaging through a pile of vintage shirts on sale. "Wait here a minute."

I couldn't pretend to be interested in anything at the shop. I was too nervous to do anything other than stand there, listening. Soon enough the whirring sounds stopped, and a scratch indicated a needle being lifted from whatever record had been playing. Now the only sounds came from the birds, until the thunder of feet got my attention.

Jonathan literally ran down the stairs. I clenched my jaw, ran sweaty palms over my pants. Then he was in front of me with his lanky height, blonde hair pulled back in a short ponytail, wisps hanging by his ears, his fine long nose, soft green eyes, Adam’s apple, a slim brown vest and ivory sleeves pushed up past his elbows, pressed brown suit pants with a sharp crease line... It all hit me at once, in one breath. My mouth was too dry to swallow.

"I can't believe it," he said, taking his last few steps slowly. "I thought you’d never come."

I didn't have any words. It felt too surreal, seeing him again. "We got in an hour ago," I managed.

"How are you doing? Are you alright?"

I glanced over at Michael, who had stopped rummaging to watch us talk. "I'm fine, thank you."

Jonathan followed my eyes and gave him a little wave.

"Hi," Michael said, hanging back behind the table. "I like your shop."

"Thanks, I'm pretty fond of it myself," Jonathan smiled.

"Michael, this is Jonathan. Jonathan, Michael," I introduced them stiffly. The bells jingled and a pair of teenage girls came into the shop.

I had to remind myself to breathe. "If we could go somewhere private, I'd like to talk to you about a few things," I said.

"Would you be willing to go down the street with me and have a cup of coffee or something?"

I shook my head. "Somewhere no one will overhear us."

Jonathan hummed and tapped his chin. "I have a room upstairs. It's more like a closet. But it's private and no one will hear us if we talk quietly."

I nodded.

"Hey, Michael, I'd better go. I don't know how long, just don’t wander off too far and I’ll find you soon."

"Okay," he replied, watching us cautiously. I couldn't help but notice his expression towards Jonathan bordered somewhere between curiosity and distrust.

The stairs groaned when I walked up them. Upstairs was a mad-house of cloth, spools of thread, and piles of clothes. Jonathan didn't bother showing me around. He led me straight to a tall door and pushed it open with his shoulder. Shelves of neatly folded material lined the walls, sorted by color. A table with two chairs had been tucked in the back, on it a plastic mat and sharp scissors. It was the most organized part of the shop I'd seen yet. Jonathan cleared off the table and gestured to a chair. A single light bulb hung from the ceiling, swinging slightly in the draft.

"Hello again," I said quietly and sat down.

"Hello again," he replied.

He sat across from me. I looked him over in silence, lightheaded and unsure of myself. A strange crawling emotion begged me to reach out and touch him, his hand, his shoulder, anything to convince me he was real. But if I did that, I wouldn’t be any better than Zak. I didn’t want him to think of me that way. So I swallowed it all back and tried to speak.

"I'm sorry," I started, looking down at my hands. "I don't quite know where to start."

"Let's start with something simple, then. How do you like Toronto so far?"

I grimaced slightly. "I don’t know. It's huge."

"Definitely. Believe me, it was a culture shock when I first moved out here. But it grows on you."

"I’ll get used to it,” I said. “Hopefully.”

“I can help with that,” he smiled. “Can I assume that going back to Alberta is out of the question?"

I nodded.

He locked his eyes on mine and leaned forward. “It’s not because you killed someone else, is it?”

The blood drained from my face. I could feel it grow cold. "Almost, but no," I managed. My hands felt shaky so I withdrew them from the table and put them in my lap instead, averting my eyes. "You said you’d start simple."

"Sorry." He sighed and sat back in his chair, looking me over. “There’s no helping it, though, is there? Maybe you can tell me this. What changed your mind about talking to me?”

Things ran through my head that I’d never consider putting words to. Part of me thought perhaps he would be my undoing, the start of a dark misery that would lead to my eventual death, all which I had long deserved. Another part thought he would save me from my misery and help me rise up out of the lake where I’d buried myself for so long. Nothing felt certain, except that I felt I had no choice but to face him now. Jonathan sat watching me with a look on his face. Knowing. In-control. He possessed everything I was missing.

“It’s hard to explain.”

Jonathan didn't say anything, so I continued.

"I don't know what I expect from you, but you said you could offer me something, and I don't have anyone else."

Then I felt his hand on my arm. Just a gentle squeeze sent chills up the back of my neck. “Here,” he said, and handed me a handkerchief from his pocket.

I hadn't even realized my temples had grown wet with sweat. I wiped them quickly, humiliated. But another feeling replaced the surge of frustration I felt at how obvious my nervousness had become. Something deeper, cavernous, a darkness inside of me that I was too terrified to look at.

God, I was out of control! I stood up, all but prepared to run out. But he stood up with me and blocked my way to the door.

"What’s happening to me?" I asked. Had I said that out loud?

He embraced me, then. It took me a moment, but I found myself hugging him back. I could feel his smaller body shudder slightly, then sink into me further.

I held him like the draft might blow us apart if I let go. I couldn't release my arms, couldn’t take my eyes from his hair. I felt high, in some other dimension from reality.

I couldn’t let him part from me, so instead, I pushed my lips against his.

I don’t think he expected it. A soft moan met my mouth. He melted against me, hands lifting to my neck. Our lips parted against each other. An insatiable need drowned me, held me to him. I didn’t want to come up for air. How long it lasted, I couldn’t say. Nothing made sense anymore. All I knew was that I needed him more than I’d needed anything in a long, long time.

“Ethan,” he breathed against my mouth. “Jesus, that's good.”

He kissed me again, teeth grazing against my lower lip. Time stopped. My chest trembled. I didn’t want it to end. But then he pulled away, eyes glazed when they met mine.

“Um. You’re hurting me.”

With a sharp intake of air, I released my hands. I’d been gripping his arms so tight my hands felt stiff.

“I—” the apology stuck in my throat. Heat rushed up to my face. What was I doing?

“It’s okay! It’s more than okay. Just. Just wait here a minute. Let me ask if I can leave early.”

He darted out of the room so fast I couldn’t protest. I was left with the company of my own spinning mind. What had come over me and possessed me to do something so bold, I couldn't explain. But he liked it. Incredulously, I smiled to myself. I didn't trust my feet to hold me up much longer, so I sat down in a heap on the chair and counted the seconds until he returned.