The Wish Bridge

The Wish Bridge

 

One

Journal Entry / September-1963

I'm lying on a warm boulder just large enough for me to stretch out, gazing up into the spans and listening to the wind move through the aspens. I love the sound; a secret language only the trees can understand. That almost sounded like poetry. Abby would have approved.

The steel beams are falling, bit by bit. The rust eats them like a cancer. The stone work shows obvious structural failure; cracking mortar and missing river rocks. The once-solid roadway above is also overgrown with vegetation. You can only see it now because of all the kids that come here. The burnouts and late-night bonfires keep the road alive somehow. The bridge itself has not been crossed since the center span collapsed and ripped away, falling into the ravine below. That was twenty years ago according to Mr. Carter. Time and weather will have it soon, though. It will be cast down as if it never existed.

No birds fly around the beams or up in those rafters. The swallows don’t nest there; not even pigeons. ‘City chickens,’ I call them. I first noticed this nearly a year ago – soon after Abby disappeared. People say you hear voices here. I think they hear themselves thinking. If you listen long enough you can probably convince yourself you hear anything – cars passing, train whistles, voices. Regardless, I have never fallen asleep here. No matter what I believe about the noises, there is something about this bridge that is at once quiet, soothing, yet disturbing. Everyone felt it.

End of entry - JM

He closed the journal and placed his hand on the worn cover. Just the thought of Abby made the young man's stomach hurt, which is why his stomach hurt pretty much all the time. It also reminded him that he had not eaten today. He felt for the biscuit in his coat pocket. His mom wrapped it in wax paper, kissed him on the cheek and reminded him to eat something – just like always. The biscuit was buttered and had a strawberry jam blob in the middle. Very good, but he had to force himself to finish it.

His buddy appeared right on time, a few feet away, sitting expectantly. He held out a piece of the biscuit, and the critter scooted over in that staccato motion that all ground squirrels seem to have. He tried to remain still as the squirrel snatched the largest crumb and shoved it into his mouth. He laid the remaining bits on the boulder and watched as they were removed in the same fashion, the pilferer then bounded off to wherever his stash was kept. “I wish I had your view on life, buddy.” The young man smiled, and then realizing that he was doing so, returned to his usual, somber state.

“That little turd is 'gonna get fat if you keep feeding him biscuits.”

“Yep, but he'll be the one to survive the winter, huh? How you doin' Mr. Carter”

The old man picked his way carefully among the huge boulders, a carved walking stick crunching into the gravel to help steady himself. His tanned face could be seen in the shadow of his ragged fedora. He arrived at Jonathan's perch with a smile and a flourish.

“Good day to you, Sir Jonathan!”

“Good day to you, Mr. Carter.”

“Glorious afternoon, is it not?”

“It is, at that.”

“How's the journal coming along?” Jonathan noted that the old vagrant had the grace to let him finish his entry before making his presence known.

“I'm not sure, Mr. Carter. I suppose it helps, but who knows. At least it's the truth.”

 He side-stepped around the younger man's boulder and situated himself on a smaller version. “Son, I told you before, keeping it all bottled up inside is no good – no good at all. It'll eat you up and take years from you.” And almost as an afterthought, he added, “I know.” He patted Jonathan on his knee. “You keep writing if it helps.”

Jonathan nodded and placed the journal into his pack. “Thanks, Mr. Carter.”

“And that's another thing. How long do you have to know me before you can call me Bill?”

“Not sure, Mr. Carter. It just doesn't seem respectful.”

“Ha! Respectful? Hells bells son, you are on one very short list! I'll tell you what, if everyone in this town treated me with half the amount of respect that you show, well...” He let his words drop off. Jonathan wasn't really sure what to say to that, so he just nodded again. “John, are you alright? I mean really son, are you?”

He swallowed hard and clenched his teeth, fighting to steady himself, and finally nodded. “I'm okay – Bill.” He smiled when I said it, and it seemed to appease the old man, because he snatched the worn hat from his head and held it over his heart.

 “Hallelujah! He knows my name!” Both men laughed at that.

Jonathan stretched back out onto the warm boulder. “Mr. – Bill, I know that you've been here a long time. You've never... seen it happen, have you?” The silence went on for so long than Jonathan sat up to make sure the old man had heard him. What he saw sent a chill over his body. Bill was staring into the river, a hundred feet below.

“Bill?” The old man slowly turned his face to Jonathan. His expression was one of abject sorrow. “I am truly sorry, son. You know I like you, and I know you're a stand-up young man. “

“But?”

“But there are things that need to be left alone, John.”

“What needs to be left alone, Mr. Carter? What?”

“Please, son. I– “

“Why did it happen? I know you know more than you let on. Why can't you just tell me and let me get on with my life, what there is of it?”

Bill stood more quickly than Jonathan thought him capable of. “Now let me tell you something! Don't you ever say crap like that! You hear me? You are young and strong, with your whole life unwritten and with limitless possibilities! You are going to drive yourself crazy trying to make sense of this, or hurt yourself, or both! Move ahead. Go to college. Join the Army. Write a book. Rejoice, oh young man, in thy youth!” He swung the walking staff up into a theatrical pose.

“Your Vaudeville days are showing again.”

Bill lowered the staff and sat, removing his hat. “That there's quite a ways before Vaudeville, smarty pants, but I will never willingly place you in danger. Remember that.”

Jonathan reached into his pack and tossed a pack of Camels to the old man. “Like I said, you're a good man.” He stood and placed a tanned hand onto Jonathan's shoulder. “I know you're hurting, son. Know that it will pass.” He turned and picked his way back through the maze of rocks and boulders, headed to the small shelter he called home.

Jonathan watched him enter the woods and disappear into the shadows. “No, Bill. It won't.”

Two

He walked the quarter mile to town, bringing himself back to the present as he was crossing the railroad tracks that cut through the abandoned road. Minutes later he stopped to look down Central Avenue. The speed limit sign showed 35 MPH, but some rebel had spray painted it to make it appear as 85 MPH.

“Genius,” he said under his breath, and made his way down to Shaky's. Going up the steps into the sandwich shop, he paused and looked north on Central. Not a moving vehicle in sight, only Tommy Cole on his bike peddling his way from the opposite direction. More than likely headed for the pinball machine in the shop. “Gotta' get out of here someday, buddy,” he said to himself. But the voice in his head whispered the truth. You can't leave. You won't leave her. He stepped into Shaky's.

“Hey my friend!”

“What's shakin', Shaky?” Martin Barnes, also known as Shaky Barnes, owner and operator. It wasn't that the sandwich shop Martin ran sold great milkshakes, the nickname was acquired when Martin was still a teenager. He was a big guy. “Big enough to shake the ground,” his football teammates would tease. The name stuck.

“Business as usual, Jonathan. Coke for ya'?”

“Sounds good.” Two locals were headed out the door; Mr. and Mrs. Burton. Both had to be at least eighty. Both nodded a greeting to Jonathan as they passed him.

“Comin' up. Sandwich or anything?”

“Stay away from my mom, Shaky.”

“Ha! Ya' got me! Hey, don't blame me for caring, buddy. She worries that you don't eat”

Jonathan smiled and threw a wadded napkin at him, which Shaky snatched out of the air with startling quickness.

“Whew. Tony Kubek better watch himself. You'll be after his position.”

“Darn right. And I'm a heck of a lot better looking.” He double tapped his heavy knuckles on the counter, his usual sign that he meant every word of that statement. The Coke burned going down, but he had been at the bridge for quite a while, so he enjoyed the cold drink.

“Made any plans yet?”

He had to think about how to answer. In truth, he had made a hundred plans. None would come to pass; he had no doubt of this. “Yeah, in fact I was thinking of-”

“You were thinking of taking that step. That's what you were thinking, right Johnny?” The door was open due to the nice weather, so he had not heard anyone enter the shop. “Ain't that right, Johnny?” Corbin Reece came to the counter and sat next to Jonathan. He smelled of cheap cologne and Camel cigarettes.

“Corbin, unless you plan on ordering something, there's the door.” Shaky tapped the counter for the second time in less than a minute. He stared at Corbin as if he were a bug.

“Hey, easy Shaky! I just wanted to have a conversation with Einstein here. How you been, Johnny? Seen any ghosts out there? Heard any voices?”

Jonathan drank the last of the Coke and stood up, reaching into his pocket. He tossed a nickel to Shaky, which was snagged without the big man removing his eyes from Corbin.

“Or Yogi Berra,” Jonathan laughed.

“What, you're a baseball genius now? Figures.”

Jonathan shook his head and sighed. “Corbin, what time did you start drinking this morning? Or is that stench from last night?” Corbin turned to face him.

“What's it to you, loser?” Corbin slid back off of the Naugahyde-covered stool and posed like a James Dean photograph.

“Loser? That's the best you can do? Did you misplace your dictionary again?”

Corbin started to take a step toward him, but a large hand was placed onto his chest, shoving him at least three steps backward. Martin pointed a beefy finger at the punk. “Out. Unless one broken jaw isn't good enough for you.”

“Don't think I forgot about that, Johnny,” he whispered, menacingly.

“I certainly hope not, because that would mean you probably have brain damage.”

“Oh, you're so smart, huh?”

“What's your point?” Jonathan asked, raising his eyebrows.

Shaky snorted and made a shooing motion to Corbin.

“You ain’t never gonna find her,” Corbin hissed. “She took that step.”

Jonathan sat the bottle down on the counter and turned back toward the punk.

“John,” Martin said quietly. “No.”

Corbin was nearly to the doorway, raising a middle finger without turning around. “She's gone forever, loser!”

“One more word and I turn him loose.” Martin said this with no emotion in his voice.

Corbin smiled and leaned over to the juke box. He tapped a couple of buttons and saluted Jonathan. He flipped the collar up on his jacket, and slowly walked out. Jonathan stared at the doorway until his eyes unfocused.

“John-”

“Don't, Shaky. Just... don't.” Elvis crooned from the juke box.

Wise men say only fools rush in. But I can't help falling in love with you. Shall I stay? Would it be a sin? If I can't help falling in love with you.

Martin shook his head. “Asshole.”

“You really need to charge customers to play that thing, Shaky.”

                                                          *

On the road, a few feet from the bridge, Bill Carter sat in an ornate dining room chair. Both the chair and the occupant were old and battered. They looked out of place in this location. The old man was sitting upright, his hands folded in his lap, eyes closed – listening. It usually didn't take too long if he timed it correctly. On this day, he had done so. His voice was a whisper.

“Missy, I'm here darlin'.” A long moment passed. The aspens shook, and on the wind, he caught the scent of Ivory soap and vanilla extract. He opened his tired eyes and smiled.

Three

Jonathan passed the picket fence that surrounded his yard. The front door of the house was open, and the storm door glass was pulled up to let in the breeze. He looked at the faded paint and wooden steps that needed to be replaced. He shook his head and went into his home.

“Mom?” He didn't think that she was home yet. Joan Masters worked at the local A&P and her schedule was never written in stone. Working as many hours as she was offered for the last seven years, Joan had been the main source of income for the family. The family now consisted only of Joan and Jonathan. Charles “Charlie” Masters was killed on a job site by a faulty electrical panel, and their world changed overnight.

Satisfied that he was alone, he dropped his pack onto the small couch and walked into the kitchen. Opening the refrigerator and closing it without removing anything, he turned to the kitchen window and leaned on the sink. “I can't do this anymore.” Tears nearly spilling, he ran cold water and splashed his face. He wandered the living room until it began to close in on him, causing his breathing to feel labored. He shoved the storm door open and went out to the porch swing. The chains squeaked as he moved his leg back and forth. The rhythmic sound and gentle motion soon pulled him into a light sleep, where he dreamed a familiar dream.

*

The literature class was a joke. A single steam radiator struggled to warm the room in winter, never fulfilling the task. The saving grace was Abby. She had completed college only months earlier, stepping in when Mrs. Green had suddenly died from a heart attack. Abby was sort-of local, growing up about twenty miles north of Siever, Oregon. No one else even applied for the position. She was accepted with little discussion among the school board, and she was wonderful.

Abby was twenty-three, an English lit major. Slim, brunette, and smart as hell. She was the all-American girl, and Jonathan was so in love with her that it hurt. It began as most love affairs do; with a smile and kind words. His review of The Grapes of Wrath stunned her, in part because Jonathan was one of six in the class that actually completed the assignment, and more so because of his views on the story. Her request for him to stay after class was greeted with cat calls and wolf whistles. Corbin Reece had offered the nastiest comment. “Huh. Guess that's one way to get an A. Right Einstein?” He added an obscene gesture for effect.

“Maybe Mrs. Sharp can answer that for you, Corbin.” Abby said this evenly and with a smile on her face. “Be in her office in ten minutes.” Corbin's grin turned to a sneer. He glared at Jonathan before walking out of the classroom.

By the time their conversation had concluded, Jonathan learned that she carried the scent of Johnson's Baby Shampoo in her long, pony-tailed hair. He could almost taste the Clove chewing gum in her mouth. It didn't take long for the attraction between them to be acted upon. Jonathan never saw Abby as an older woman. She was simply Abby and he loved her, fiercely and completely. They spent any time together that they could manage. It was obvious to anyone that saw them that they were lovers, but nothing could be proven. No one ever saw any questionable behavior between them other than the fact that they spent a great deal of time together. A few board members raised the issue, but they were warned to be certain of a charge or the counter charges would be equally damaging. Slander had to be done correctly in a small town. Even so, there was no evidence – until the dance.

Shaky had closed the door for the evening, the neon OPEN sign was unplugged, and the two remaining customers felt safe enough to risk a single dance. Shaky leaned on his broom and smiled at the dancers, who held each other with tenderness and moved with easy grace, gliding around the empty room as Elvis wafted from the juke box. They moved like wraiths; smoothly, silently. Unmarred and perfect. Mouths inches apart. Breath shared. Promises silently made to one another. And for a moment, the world stopped. The front door was shoved open. Corbin Reece's face was a picture of malice – and envy.

Four

Within a day Abby had been accused, tried and convicted of immoral behavior with a student. The school board–all five of them–unanimously voted to remove her teaching privileges and ban her from ever teaching in the district. Letters of notification were also mailed to every district within a hundred miles. She was shunned by most of the townsfolk, and eventually would not venture out of her small, rented home. Jonathan’s mother was actually involved in a fist fight at the A&P store over a comment made by another cashier. No charges were issued; it was a fair fight and as the owner saw it, Lucy Mason got exactly what she deserved with that black eye.

Jonathan ignored the instructions from his mother to, “stay as far away from that young woman” as possible. Abby finally answered her door after Jonathan threatened to kick it in. He was shocked at her appearance. It was obvious that she had lost weight, and that she had not been sleeping. It hurt his heart so, that he found he was weeping along with her as they held each other.

“I’m leaving, John. I have to. I have to find someplace that they didn’t blacklist me.” Jonathan felt the world collapse like the old bridge, crashing and destroying everything beneath it.

“No,” he whispered as he held her. “Please Abby, you can find something else to do.”

“Something else? Here? John, in their eyes I am a criminal. I can’t stay here.”

He felt another spar twist, snap, and fall onto the rocks. “Abby- “

“Please go before someone knows you’re here. I don’t want your mom to get into another fight.”

“She’s tough. She can handle it. Besides, she knows how I feel about you.” Abby held her hand to his face. She seemed so small to Jonathan. The desire to protect her swept over him like a wave. “We’ll figure it out, I promise. I’ll be done with school in less than a week. They’ve already told everyone that we will be let out early.

“Because of me.”

“Because of us,” he replied, and kissed her cheek. “I brought you a sandwich and some other stuff. Please eat something, Abby.”

“I will. You should go.” He stood, pulling her up with him. She leaned into him and shivered. All he could think of was how to protect her – how to make this all go away.

*

Walking to Shaky’s, Jonathan passed Dealing Dave’s Used Cars & Tractors. Dave sat on a faded, green and white steel glide-swing near the front steps. He waved and flashed his best, “come in for the graduation special” smile. Jonathan ignored him. He had little respect for the man, after the piece of junk that Dave conned Jonathan’s mom into buying. “Up yours, dickhead,” he muttered as Dave continued the wave and smile.

Entering Shaky’s, his eyes adjusted from the bright sunlight. He noted the stares he received from the few customers at the counter and tables. He knew all of their names-every one of them. “How’s everybody doing today?” Jonathan bellowed; arms spread wide. “Are we all feeling happy and close to God?” He glared at the nearest customer, Mr. Wiggins, a man he had done field work for. Wiggins nodded to Jonathan and returned to his coffee. Jonathan stepped up to the counter and clapped his hands as he sat on the nearest empty stool. “The usual please, Mr. Barnes.” Shaky gave him a glance that said, ‘what the hell are you doing, Jonathan?’ and placed a Coke in front of him. Jonathan took a long drink and slammed the bottle down onto the counter.

“Whew! Nothing like a cold drink on a hot day.” He turned to the two women to his left, who both happened to be on the school board. “Am I right?” They looked down their noses at him. “No? I thought if anyone would appreciate a nice cold one it would be you two, Mrs. Maples, Mrs. Sharp.” Both women turned bright red. Everyone in Shaky’s knew full well that these two loved their gin and tonics, even while sitting in Board meetings, destroying a young woman’s career.

“John, take it easy buddy.” Martin whispered.

“Take it easy? I’ll take it easy. I’ll take it easy on these hypocrites and mudslingers. I’ll take it easy on these wife beaters and alcoholics. I’ll take it really easy on the cheaters and liars.” Jonathan was shaking now, fists clenched, daring anyone to challenge him – hoping someone would. Martin moved up beside him, his beefy arm around Jonathan’s shoulder.

“Come on, let’s walk outside for a minute.” Jonathan barely heard him, but his legs were moving. Martin led them a few paces down from the shop. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re feeling, Okay?”

Jonathan looked confused. “What? What happened?”

“You got pissed off and said what was on your mind, that’s what happened.”

“I - I guess I did.” He suddenly thought that was very funny. He snickered, which started Shaky giggling. The two men stood laughing on the sidewalk.

Five

Abby stood on the edge of the collapsed span. Her eyes were red and puffy, and her hair was pulled back in a haphazard pony tail. After Jonathan left her house, she walked aimlessly before realizing where she now was. She stood with her arms folded, staring down into the rushing water far below. She swayed slightly when the breeze rushed around her. Her career was ruined. One mistake, just one stupid mistake and– “God,” she whispered. “I just wish I could do it over again.”

The breeze dropped away from her. It was still visible in the aspens on either side of the road, but near her there was stillness. She felt static electricity lifting her hair. There was nothing strange about the bridge she was walking on, except... it was whole now. She wondered how it had been repaired so quickly. She was just standing on the broken edge a moment ago, wasn't she? Or was it last week? She couldn't remember now. Her mind buzzed with memories that didn’t seem to belong to her. All she knew for absolute certainty is that she needed to know what was on the other side of the bridge.

  *

Jonathan walked down the abandoned road toward the bridge. He didn’t want to be home right now. It was hard enough to breathe outside much less sitting inside that stifling place. He finished the Coke and started to fast-pitch the empty. What he saw a hundred yards away caused the bottle to slip from his hand. Abby was standing in the middle of the bridge – a bridge that was not supposed to be there. No, she wasn't standing, he thought. She's walking. He tried to shout her name, and found that he could’nt. He did the only thing he could do; he ran to stop her.

Abby reached the end of the bridge and paused. Something was wrong. She didn't feel she was in any danger, in fact she felt wonderful. She saw the line that marked the end of the bridge and where the road began again. She desperately wanted to know what was beyond it.

Jonathan ran. He tried again to shout for her but something was squeezing his throat, preventing it. He was nearly there. A few more steps and he would reach the bridge. Abby was stopped at the other end. He shook his head and tried to form the word that meant her name. All that came to mind was, no – and he found his voice with the screaming of that one word.

Abby jumped as if startled. She heard something far away. Someone had shouted something. She could’nt imagine who would be shouting at her. She tilted her head to one side as if to say, Hmm, oh well, and stepped over the line.

Jonathan watched Abby take the final step off the bridge and onto the other side. The air seemed to shimmer around her; a halo of heated air that pulled her forward. She stepped through the ring as he was finally able to screamed her name – and she was gone. He was running full-out until he realized the bridge center was once more collapsed.

  Six

(Present Day)

Jonathan started awake on the porch swing. The sun had nearly hidden itself and he shivered. His back hurt, and his left arm was numb from the position it was in as he slept. He sat up on the swing and rubbed the feeling back into his arm. “Numb,” he said out loud. “That's how I am going to end up.” He stood and stretched his back, catching the last rays of sunlight over the top of the pines across the street. He stood until the light faded, leaving his face in gray shadow. His eyes narrowed and shone with the last light of day. “Like hell I will.” He went inside to get ready.

*

The next morning found two men standing near the bridge. One very old, one very young.

  “I'll stay here for as long as it takes, but you’re going to tell me what’s going on.” Bill did’nt respond. He stared at the bridge and fumbled with the carved walking stick. “Tell me!” Jonathan demanded. The old man winced and shook his gray head.

“It can kill you, son. Don’t you understand? It can kill you!”

Jonathan grabbed the walking stick, holding it as he stared at the old man. “Enough.”

 Bill looked defeated. He stared at John – through him. “She is – was – my wife. Her name was Missy. She was unhappy here and I knew it. I kept thinking that things would change. They changed, alright.” He sobbed and removed his hat. "She took the step, John. She spoke the words and then she stepped across.”

Jonathan felt as if he were falling; his stomach rushing into his chest. “Stepped across,” he said. “Like Abby.” Bill nodded. Jonathan sat down on the broken road, staring across the void of the collapsed span. “When do you talk to her?” As the old man gave him everything, Jonathan listened and formed a dangerous plan.

*

“I know you’re not gonna listen, but son, this is a mistake.” Only a little while had passed since Bill's story was told. Afterward, he stood silently and listened to Jonathan's plan.

“It’s better than sitting here for years doing nothing.” Bill looked lost at that statement; crushed. “I’m sorry,” Jonathan said. “I didn’t mean it to sound like that.”

“It’s okay. You’re right, and I know it. I just– “

“You just stayed close to her all these years no matter what, that’s what you did.”

The old man nodded and smiled. “Yeah, I suppose I did. I wish – “Jonathan held his hand up to stop the old man from completing the wish. “Boy, that would have thrown a wrench into it! I was just going to mention that you are a brave man, John.”

“Yeah, be careful what you wish for.” Jonathan winked. He sat, closed his eyes and concentrated on Abby. He pictured her face, her hair, the small freckle on the back of her left ear. He saw the clear nail polish on her fingertips, her one dimpled cheek when she gave her full smile. “Abby,” he whispered. “Abby – I'm here.”

Bill shifted uneasily, sensing the change.

“Abby.” Jonathan frowned in concentration. He tasted her lips, smelled the clove gum and baby shampoo. “Bill, I can smell her.” His voice was a whisper.

“Dear God.” Bill crossed himself and lowered his head.

Jonathan opened his eyes. He saw the bridge and the collapsed span, and nothing more. He stood and inhaled, closing his eyes again. “Abby, please talk to me.”

“Jonathan-”

He rose and stumbled forwards. “Abby? It's me, Abby – it's me!” He cried and shook with excitement and the strangeness of it.

“Jonathan! you can't be here! You can't be here! You have to go!”

He reached out, hoping that he could feel her. He could see nothing. The voice was as clear as it would be if she were standing directly in front of him. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

“Jonathan– “

“Abby!” He stood at the break in the bridge, shaking with anger and fear and anguish. He turned to Bill and nodded. He pictured Abby, and said the words, and took the step.

Seven

He puked. When the shimmering air finally stopped, he was left with the feeling of being spun around on a fun wheel for too long. For a few minutes, he couldn't stand. He stayed on his knees and let the wind cool him, easing his churning stomach. He stood slowly, holding his knees and easing himself upright. The vertigo was still there but slowly dissipating.

Jonathan stood on the abandoned roadway, facing the town. “What the hell is this?” He looked back and saw the bridge, once again broken and ruined. “That's the right way. That's the end that I crossed, but – what the hell?” He took a few steps along the road then stopped, turned to look again at the same view. “This is crazy.” He ran for town.

The railroad crossing was there, as he thought it would be. He had already figured out that this was somehow a mirror image of the real town. He ran down Central Avenue. Slowing to a walk as he entered town, he stopped and placed his hands on his hips, breathing heavily as he turned a complete circle. The first thing he noticed was the lack of life. No birds, which were always present here. No dogs, no cats. He moved to the opposite side of the street as he neared the car lot and read the sign: Dealing Dave's Used Cars and People. “What?” He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and read the sign again. Dealing Dave's Used Cars... “and People.” He stood at the lot entrance, staring. Dealing Dave was sitting in his faded green and white steel glide-swing. Despite being hot from the run, Jonathan shivered. Dave waved and smiled.

“Hey there, brother!” Dave shouted his greeting. “Something I can show you today?” Jonathan hesitated only a moment, then carefully moved toward the cheap-suited car salesman, who stood smiling and adjusting his brown sports jacket.

“Strange to see you here, John. Didn't expect this. I'll ask you to excuse my not shaking your hand. I don't normally do that until a deal has been struck.” He slapped a chubby arm onto Jonathan's shoulder, which caused Jonathan to flinch. “You seem a bit skittish, son. Everything okay?”

Jonathan's plan evaporated. He had no idea what to expect here, but this certainly wasn't Dealing Dave. He steadied himself, and looked at the sign. “And people?”

Dave turned to glance at the advertisement. “Why, of course! Not much call for cars or tractors, so I had to, you know, supplement my income.” He winked at Jonathan and grinned his salesman grin.

Jonathan struggled to comprehend the moment. He felt dizzy and nauseous again, and everything seemed to be moving at a slower than normal speed. He took a deep breath and tried to swallow, but found that he had no spit. His hands were shaking so, that he folded his arms to hide them. “You know why I'm here. Where is she?” His voice as unsteady as his body.

Dave's grin faded. “Oh, she's around.” He looked at his old Timex. “Probably headed over to Shaky's here in a bit. Why do you ask?”

“Why do I ask? You know full-well why I'm asking, Dave, or whatever your name is. By the way, what is it?”

“Questions can be dangerous, son. Best you remember that.”

”You’re not him,” Jonathan said flatly, trying to muster courage. “Why not just be honest, or is that beyond you?” Jonathan thought for a moment that he had gone too far. The thing that was not Dealing Dave stood straighter and glared.

 “Beyond me? Oh my - such arrogance. So be it.” There was a heat shimmer in the air near where Dave was standing. He seemed to shake violently; becoming blurry – difficult to focus on. Jonathan screamed and put his hands in front him, as if to somehow ward off the horror that now stood before him. He could feel the evil emanating from the thing, threatening to drown him in madness. And then it was gone, and Dealing Dave was once again there in his cheap, brown, jacket and double-knit pants.

“Whoa, easy there. Now that's better,” Dave chuckled. It made Jonathan's skin crawl. “But you did ask for it.” He glanced down, looking at himself. “Tsk, so droll. Perhaps something a bit more classic.” Again the shimmer. Dave now dressed in a suit unlike any Jonathan had seen, holding a straight cane made of glossy-black wood. The top was fitted with a stone or glass globe holding something inside that seemed to shift and undulate. Dave spun the cane deftly, bringing it to a sudden stop with the silver tip clicking on the asphalt road.

Jonathan stood still, uncertain of what to do. Every nightmare he had ever had was just affirmed, and this was happening to him. It was real. He tried to gather himself and failed. He wanted desperately to turn and run. “Abby,” he said. “I want Abby.”

“Well I am sure you do, my friend.” Dave's salesman smile was back.

“I can't call you Dave.”

“What's that?”

“Dave.” Jonathan said. “I ... I can't call you Dave. You're not Dave. What is your real name?”

Dave stopped inspecting his manicured nails and snapped to attention. “My name – ah, yes. Hmm. I suppose I could let that slip. You may address me as... Verin.”

“Verin,” Jonathan repeated the name. “That's not familiar.”

Verin looked insulted. “I take it your mother did not make you attend Sunday school. Pssh – no matter. I suppose it is the way of things. But there was a time, my boy,” he hissed, “when I was feared nearly as much as, well... I am sure you would be bored in my telling of that tale. But I was very much hoping for a bit of excitement upon feeling you come across.”

Jonathan noticed that Dave/Verins voice had changed. He now spoke with a slight accent. His mom would call it ‘uppity.’ “You… felt me?”

“Oh yes, quite so. I'm very... sensitive.” Verin smiled. “Alas, I become so easily bored with, shall we say, good folk. Dull as powdered milk. But what say we move on, shall we?”

Jonathan wasn't sure what he could do to prevent whatever was about to happen, but he was going to put up a fight. “So, what do we do now, Verin – haggle?”

“Ha! Well played!” Verin shouted with earnest glee. “Haggle it shall be, my young hero.” Verin stepped closer to Jonathan. “Oh yes. Yes! The dutiful knight come to rescue his true love. Excellent!” He walked around Jonathan, flicking bits of dust imaginary from his shoulders as he spoke. “Perhaps there is a deal to be made here, Mr. Masters. Perhaps a deal that could benefit us both – and even more – entertain!”

“Well, maybe.” Jonathan carefully weighed each syllable. “What did you have in mind?”

Verin raised both hands and clapped them together. “Wonderful!” He lowered his voice to a whisper, leaning in. “I grow sick of these fine folks,” he said, glancing left and right. “Their petty sins and wishes stale my taste for adventure. “Verin turned about and opened his arms wide as if to encompass the entire town. “This is but one of my lots, so to speak. There are many, many others.”

“I see,” Jonathan said flatly.

“No – I am certain that you do not. However, I shall still offer the deal.”

Jonathan held his breath. Verin made the offer. A deal was struck, and sealed with a handshake.

Eight

No one walked the streets. No one drove by, window shopping from their cars at Mort's Apparel. No kids were at Drug-Mart, trying to sneak quick peeks in National Geographic magazines, or at the nearly nude blonde on the cover of Man Junior Annual. The rest of the town was silent as Elvis wafted from the juke box inside Shaky's Sandwich Shop.

Abby danced. Her arms were set just so, head leaning inward as if she held a partner. She swayed back and forth, turning slowly, eyes blank. Jonathan stood in the doorway and watched with fascination and horror.

Wise men say only fools rush in. But I can't help falling in love with you.

He stepped into the dimness of the shop and stood motionless, watching her. Abby moved near him, still holding the position and the blank stare. As she made her turn, Jonathan took her hand and placed his arm around her waist – and they danced. For a moment, Abby gave no indication that she realized Jonathan was there. The song ended, and she raised her head to look at his face. She shook her head and pushed him away, collapsing into sobs.

“No-no.” she said as she collapsed onto the tiled floor. “No more!”

Jonathan knelt in front of her. “Abby, it's me. It's really me.” He took her hands and placed them on his face. She held him and sobbed uncontrollably. “We need to leave. We need to go right now,” Jonathan whispered.

They walked quickly, heading for the bridge. As they neared the railroad, they saw Verin standing in the middle of the crossing point. He seemed to be dancing a waltz. He twirled the polished cane as he moved.

“Ahh, my young lovers!” He stopped his lone waltz. “So happy that you are reunited. True love is so very rare; seldom seen in any time, you know.”

“So, I'm told,” Jonathan replied. He held Abby closer. He could feel her trembling. “Are we done here?”

Verin adjusted his sports jacket and stabbed the silver tip of the dark cane into the cross tie at his feet. “Very nearly. “Again, the voice like slow-flowing lava. “There is but a small detail remaining, and our agreement shall then progress to phase two.”

Abby pushed away from Jonathan to stare in horror. “Agreement? You can’t make a deal with this... this thing, Jonathan!”

Verin mimed being stabbed in the heart, cane held aloft as if beseeching some higher power for assistance. “Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, creeps in this petty pace from day to day. To the last syllable of recorded time; and all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow.” He lowered the cane and stepped up to Jonathan. “Macbeth is one of my favorites,” he said with his voice lowered, as if sharing some dark secret. In a blur of motion, Verin touched the dark globe to Jonathan's chest. Jonathan gasped and stumbled away from the swirling crystal.

“What did you do!” Abby screamed at Verin. “There’s no deal! You leave him alone!”

Jonathan steadied himself. “Abby. It's okay, I know what I'm doing.”

“No, you don't! Don't you realize what he is?”

“Time to be going now, kids.” Verin spoke the words as if he were a chaperone at a high school dance. He winked at Jonathan and shooed them both toward the bridge. “See you soon.” Behind them, Verin wavered and shimmered as he spun the dark cane between his fingers, and continued his lone waltz in the crossing.

Nine

Jonathan stood on the sidewalk across the street from Shaky's. The return trip on the bridge seemed normal. “Normal,” he said to himself, shaking his head in amazement. He explained the plan to Abby several times the night before – each time she seemed to relax a bit more. She was still asleep in his bed when Jonathan sneaked away. This would work; it had to. He walked across the street and entered Shaky's.

By lunch time, the shop held several regulars. The one Jonathan was waiting for had yet to make his appearance. For now he sat at the counter, remembering details of his conversation with Verin.

“I assure you, Mr. Masters, it is a sound plan. I also assure you that my assistance – should it be required – will be quite available.”

“I want Abby safe. She didn't want to come here, you know that.”

“Intricacies, Mr. Masters; fine print. It will be the death of us all.” He laughed loudly, as if some great joke had been told. “She will be quite safe; back with her boring life and her stained reputation.”

Jonathan bristled at the remark, but was smart enough to remain silent. “Remember the deal,” he said.

“Oh, I shall, Mr. Masters. Of this you can be certain.” The creature flashed eyes as red as blood, and Jonathan's stomach clenched. The deal was made. It was not the plan he would share with Abby.

*

Corbin Reece entered Shaky's like he owned it. Jonathan tried to calm himself. “This is going to work,” he whispered.

What's cookin', Shaky?” Corbin hopped onto a stool and slapped his hand on the counter. He turned to Jonathan. “Hey there, Einstein!” Jonathan ignored the jibe. He sat rolling something between his fingers, staring at it. “You go deaf or something? I'm tryin' to be sociable.”

Looking up, Jonathan half acknowledged Corbin, and returned to gazing at the thing between his fingertips.

“Whatcha' got there, a booger?” He laughed at his own joke.

“No, Corbin, it's... well, I think – “Jonathan looked around as if to make sure no one was listening. He slid over next to Corbin and spoke in a low voice. “Your dad worked in the mines, didn't he?”

“What the heck do you want to know that for? You thinkin' of tryin' it? Every mine around here is tapped out. Everybody knows that.”

Jonathan opened his hand. A single, rough ruby as large as a silver dollar flashed its color into Corbin Reece's eyes.

“Jesus, Joseph and Mary.” Corbin reached to touch the ruby. “Where did you dig this up?”

“You wouldn't believe me if I told you.”

“Try me,” Corbin said, eyes wide.

 *

Within the hour they were standing at the edge of the collapsed bridge, where Jonathan told the story of how he came to possess the ruby.

“Bullshit, Masters.”

“I'm telling you, if you do it, it works. I don't pretend to know how, but it works.”

“You're full of shit. You spend too much time reading stories. Should'a known.” He turned and started walking back toward town.

“Oh yeah?” Jonathan said. “Watch this.” He held out his hands toward the other side of the bridge, and said the words Verin had told him to say. “I wish I may. I wish I might.”

Corbin snorted. “Yeah, right.” But his mouth dropped open. He walked toward the bridge – which now stretched unbroken to the other side. The two of them stood and stared at the shimmering ring that surrounded the now-complete structure.

“This is what happens,” Jonathan said. “Then you can just walk across.”

Corbin stared unblinking at the sight before him. “You just walk across?” he said quietly. “Just like that?”

“Just like that,” Jonathan answered. He took a few steps out onto the bridge and turned, shrugging his shoulders. “They're over there, all sorts of them. I brought one back to make sure I wasn't hallucinating or something. It's still here.” He flashed the stone at Corbin, shaking it like a piece of bacon in front of a dog. Corbin stepped onto the bridge.

“John! What the hell are you doing?

“Is that Corbin? Get the hell off of there!” Bill raised his walking stick at them. “Are you both crazy?” Jonathan could see Bill below them, just at the edge of the trail to his shack, shouting.

“Shut up, you crazy old fart!” Corbin yelled back at the old man.

“John, please!”

Jonathan held up his hand. “Bill, it's all right.” He shouted. “Abby came back. She's fine.”

“What? Miss Akers? She's back here? How?” The old man was making his way up the trail toward them. “Don't do this, John!”

Jonathan stood in the center of the bridge, looking down at Bill. He shook his head. “This is wrong,” he said. “So wrong. Abby wouldn't want this.” He grabbed Corbin by the arm and started pulling him back. “It's a lie, Corbin. It's a lie! You have to get off of here, now!”

Corbin yanked his arm free and looked at Jonathan as if he were an alien. “What the hell's wrong with you, Masters?” He shoved his way past and ran for the opposite side.

“No, Corbin! Stop! It's not what you think it is! Stop!”

The punk that had tormented Jonathan for so many years slid to a stop, turned, and let out a rebel yell. Jonathan could only stand, silently pleading with the man to stop; to not cross to the other side. Corbin bounced on his toes, grinned, and ran through the ring. Jonathan leaned over, hands on his knees, breathing heavily. A shadow came toward him, stopping when it touched his feet. Jonathan snapped upright.

Verin clapped his hands, applauding. “Well played, my boy! Well played! I knew there was fire in you. I saw it right away. I shall leave you to your life now, Mr. Masters – such as it is. Enjoy your moment of bliss with your little tart.”

Jonathan stepped up closely to Verin. “Enough. I completed my part of the deal, so it's your turn.”

Verin grinned. “Yes,” he hissed. “Fire, indeed. A pity it showed itself too late.” He lifted the dark cane, its globe holding the swirling blackness inside. He tapped Jonathan directly over his heart with the crystal, holding it there. He said something in a language Jonathan had never heard, and pulled the globe away. Jonathan nearly stumbled but watched repulsed, as something slid from his chest; something shimmering and wholly black. It floated across the space between his chest and the globe and entered the crystal.

“The deal is completed. And with that Mr. Masters, I bid you adieu.” Verin bowed, turned, and doing a light shuffle while twirling his cane, danced to the other end of the bridge.

Bill was up on the road when Jonathan made it back to the town side. He leaned on his walking stick, and put a hand on Jonathan's shoulder as Jonathan sat. “Are you alright, son?”

Jonathan closed his eyes. He heard the wind moving through the aspens, and felt the sun on his back. Normal things. He thought. He opened his hand and saw he still held the ruby. He thought of the danger that he had faced, and of the reason for facing it. He thought of the life that they would have together. He thought of what he had done to Corbin. “Abby's safe. That’s all that matters. “Yeah, I'm alright.” He clapped Bill on the back and started the walk back to town.

Epilogue

On the sidewalk outside of Shaky's, a ragged Buick sat idling. It was loaded with all the worldly possessions of two young lovers.

“You take care of each other,” Shaky said as he bear-hugged Jonathan. He also hugged Abby, but with a bit less enthusiasm.

“We will,” Jonathan said as Abby nodded in agreement. The local sheriff and a small band of searchers had scoured the area to locate Corbin Reece. The search was called off after three days, and everyone seemed convinced that the young man had left town; hopping a freight or simply walking out to Kelso, or maybe Longview, and then hitching a ride down the coast to California. Either way, no one would spend a great deal of time worrying about him. Abby's story was simple; she had left town to escape the drama but decided to come back for Jonathan.

His mother had finally accepted the news that he was leaving. She blessed them both and told Jonathan to remember she would be here if they needed her. “Go out there and be great,” she told them both. Her voice shook. “I’ll send you some money when we get settled, he said. “I promise.” That had nearly changed the plan for Jonathan. It hurt him so badly to leave her here, but Joan Masters knew the words to say.

“You write to me and let me know how you are doing. I expect to see you both around Thanksgiving or Christmas. Got that? “I love you, son.” She slapped him on his rear like she had done all of his life, and sent them on their way.

Abby drove the Buick through town. Jonathan watched the storefronts slide by one last time. They crossed the tracks on Central Avenue. Abby stopped the car. “We're really doing this,” she said.

Jonathan looked down the abandoned road toward the bridge. “Yeah, we really are.” He reached for her hand and she met his with her own. The Buick grunted forward.

*

Bill Carter stood on the edge of the abandoned bridge. He spoke quietly, nearly a whisper. “I'm sorry it took me so long, darlin'. Sorry for being such a coward. But I'm coming for you now. I'm coming for you.” The old man raised his hands toward the opposite end of the bridge. He listened to the winds moving through the aspens, and felt the sun on his face. He closed his eyes.

“I wish I may – I wish I might.”

End -