"You home, Luke?" Gladys's voice echoed through the empty entryway, her tone casual yet carrying an undertone of curiosity.
"Shit," I muttered under my breath, my heart skipping a beat as the safe lid slipped from my fingers, crashing down with a metallic clang that seemed to reverberate through the room. "Yeah," I called back, trying to mask the sudden rush of adrenaline with a veneer of calmness. "I'll be right there."
In a flurry of motion, I kicked the backpack into the dark recesses of the wardrobe. My hands, slightly trembling, slid the door shut, the old rollers groaning and rattling in protest. Each sound felt amplified, a telltale reminder of the secrets I was desperate to keep concealed.
I wiped my palms on my jeans, trying to rid myself of the cold sweat that had formed, and started down the hallway. My steps were measured, an attempt to regain composure before facing Gladys. The walls seemed to close in on me, each step echoing in the silent house.
"How did you guys go?" I asked as I entered the living room, my voice steadier now but still carrying a hint of the anxiety that gnawed at me.
"Well," Gladys began, her eyes searching mine for a moment too long, as if trying to read the thoughts I was desperately trying to hide.
"Oh, where's Beatrix?" I interjected, eager to steer the conversation away from anything too probing. As I stepped into the living room, the familiar yet now oppressive space seemed to tighten around me, the weight of my actions and their potential repercussions bearing down.
"She had other things to do. I dropped her off at home," Gladys replied, her nonchalance not quite reaching her eyes.
I nodded, accepting her response, yet my mind was elsewhere. My own list of tasks seemed to grow with each passing second, each more perilous than the last. Engaging in a detailed conversation with Gladys was a luxury I couldn't afford, not when there were so many threads that needed to be tied up, loose ends that could unravel at the slightest tug.
"But you've finished all the deliveries?" I pressed on, needing confirmation that at least one aspect of this tangled web was resolved. The truck, the dead body, the lingering echoes of my involvement—all needed to be erased, leaving no trace that could lead back to me.
Gladys smiled, a simple gesture that should have brought relief, yet it did little to ease the knot of tension in my stomach. "Yes."
"Great, thanks," I responded, the words feeling hollow. Relief mingled with an undercurrent of unease, a necessary reminder that in this precarious balance of secrets and lies, nothing was truly resolved. The room seemed to constrict further, the walls whispering of hidden truths and unspoken fears, as I stood there, grappling with the duality of relief and the ever-present shadow of guilt that loomed over me.
"And I've brought you the truck back with the shelving you asked for," Gladys announced, her voice cutting through the tense silence that had settled between us.
"Thanks. I had completely forgotten about that," I admitted, the words slipping out with a tinge of self-reproach. My mind had been so preoccupied with the myriad of other concerns that the mundane request for shelving had slipped through the cracks of my memory.
"Oh, and here's a few pages on how to pour concrete," Gladys continued, her tone shifting to one of helpfulness as she pulled a few crumpled sheets of paper from her pocket. The papers, slightly worn at the edges, rustled as she handed them over.
I took the pages, my eyes quickly scanning the text and diagrams. The illustrations were simple, yet they conveyed the necessary steps with clarity. "They've even got small diagrams," Gladys pointed out, a hint of pride in her voice for finding such a resource.
I nodded, folding the pages meticulously before sliding them into my back pocket. "I'm sure these will be very helpful," I said, the words polite yet distant, my mind only partially focused on the concrete instructions.
We walked together to the driveway. Gladys handed me the truck keys, the metal cold and solid in my palm.
"I see the other truck is gone," she remarked, her gaze drifting to the empty space where the vehicle had been parked.
"Yeah," I responded, my voice steady but my mind racing. "It's all been taken care of." The words felt hollow, a façade to mask the uncertainty that gnawed at me. I didn't fully grasp the details of the truck's disappearance. Cody and the vehicle had vanished through a Portal, a sight that still seemed surreal, leaving a void of information and a trail of unanswered questions.
Where precisely had they gone? The mystery lingered in the air, an invisible weight pressing down on me. I hadn't heard from Cody since, and the lack of communication only deepened the sense of unease. The driveway, now missing one truck, felt like a reminder of the unknowns I was entangled with, each unanswered question adding another layer to the web of secrets I found myself caught in.
"We really should give him a proper burial," Gladys stated, her voice firm as she climbed into the driver's seat of her car, the upholstery creaking under her weight.
"Burial?" I echoed, my curiosity piqued as I leaned against the cool metal of the car door. The concept seemed incongruous. "We don't have a body to bury."
"You know what I mean," Gladys retorted with a sneer, her impatience evident. "Like a memorial service."
"A memorial service?" I repeated, the idea churning in my mind. It felt like an unnecessary gesture for someone we didn’t really know.
"Yeah," she affirmed, her gaze steady and unwavering.
"But you didn't even know him," I countered, my voice laced with skepticism. The thought of holding a memorial for a boy who was essentially a stranger seemed pointless. He was connected by blood to Jamie, sure, but to us, he was just a name, a faceless entity. His death was a tragedy, but in the grand scheme of things, allowing sentimentality to cloud judgment could lead to more dire consequences. I wrestled with my conscience, trying to balance the pragmatic side of survival with the humane aspect of acknowledging a life lost.
Gladys's expression softened into a pout, her eyes conveying a mix of frustration and sadness. "It's what Jamie would want," she declared, her defiance clear in her tone.
I exhaled a deep sigh, the weight of the situation pressing down on me. Arguing with Gladys seemed futile, her determination evident. "Okay," I conceded, recognising the importance of maintaining unity, even in the face of impracticality. "Let's meet back here at eleven tonight."
Gladys turned the key in the ignition, the car's engine coming to life with a steady hum. I lingered beside the vehicle, the moment pressing down on me with a mix of apprehension and resolve.
"But," I began, pausing as I chose my words carefully, aware of Gladys's tendency to escalate situations, "let's just keep it really short and simple." The last thing I needed was for this memorial to spiral into something more complicated or conspicuous.
Gladys, sitting behind the wheel, fell silent for a moment, her expression contemplative as she considered my suggestion. "Agreed," she finally responded, her voice carrying a note of reluctant acceptance. It was clear she had envisioned something more elaborate, but the practicality of my words seemed to resonate with her.
I watched as Gladys began to reverse her car, manoeuvring it around the grassy vacant corner block where she had parked. The vehicle moved slowly, cautiously, as if mirroring the heavy, uncertain atmosphere that enveloped us both.
Suddenly, Gladys stopped and wound down her window, a sense of urgency cutting through the calm. "Hey, Luke," she called out, her tone shifting. "I don't suppose you can pay me soon for everything?"
I approached the car, squinting against the harsh glare of the sunlight, which cast an unforgiving light over the scene. "How much?" I asked, bracing myself for her response.
"Seventeen hundred will cover it," she stated flatly, her eyes meeting mine with a straightforward intensity.
Seventeen hundred! The figure echoed in my mind, a staggering sum that sent a jolt of disbelief through me. Is Gladys serious? My eyes widened, the number seeming to loom larger and more daunting with each passing second.
"There's a lot of shelving in there," Gladys added, as if to justify the hefty price tag. Her voice was matter-of-fact, but I could detect a hint of defensiveness, perhaps anticipating my shock or resistance.
I sighed deeply, the weight of the moment pressing down on me as I opened my wallet. Inside, twenty crisp, green hundred-dollar notes sat snugly, a reminder of the dwindling resources at my disposal. With deliberate motions, I counted out the notes, and handed the substantial wad of cash to Gladys.
"Thanks, Luke," she said, her voice carrying a mix of gratitude and relief. "I have a few bills that need paying in a few days." There was a pragmatic tone to her words, a reflection of the everyday struggles that didn't pause even for our extraordinary circumstances.
I offered her a smile, an attempt to mask the growing unease inside me. Gladys had been a pillar throughout the chaos of the last twenty-four hours, her involvement costing her more than just time and money. "It's fine," I responded, infusing my voice with as much nonchalance as I could muster. Despite the strain on my finances, acknowledging her efforts and sacrifices seemed only right. In many ways, she deserved far more for the risks she had taken and the burdens she had shouldered on my behalf.
With a nod, Gladys shifted the car into gear and reversed back onto the street, the engine humming a soft farewell. "See you at eleven," she called out, her voice drifting back to me as she drove away.
I raised my hand in a wave, a gesture of parting as I watched the silver Honda Civic shrink into the distance. Turning back, the reality of my situation settled in once more.
I opened my wallet again, the emptiness inside echoing the hollow feeling in my chest. "Only three more left," I murmured, the words barely a whisper as I gazed at the remaining notes. My eyes closed gently, a brief respite as the gravity of my financial predicament washed over me. At this rate, all the money will be gone within a week. The thought was a desperate one, laden with anxiety and uncertainty. There has to be another way, I mused, the problem demanding a solution that I was yet to find.
Realising there was no point returning to the safe in the wardrobe to put only three hundred dollars in there, I closed the front door and activated the Portal against the large gate at the end of the driveway near the house.
Climbing into the cab of the truck that Gladys had returned, I felt a mixture of gratitude and responsibility. The truck's engine rumbled to life, a comforting purr in the midst of solemnity. I carefully drove through the kaleidoscope of colours, the portal's contorted hues enveloping the vehicle as I navigated through this bridge between worlds.
The Drop Zone materialised before me, marked by two stacks of rocks that stood as silent sentinels to this clandestine meeting point. I drove with a precision I hadn't realised I possessed, threading the truck between the natural markers with an inch-perfect manoeuvre that brought a flicker of pride amidst my anxieties.
As the vehicle came to a halt, Paul emerged. He opened the back of the truck, his expression one of curiosity and anticipation.
I hopped down from the cab, the ground beneath my feet felt somehow unreal, as if each step was a reminder of the extraordinary path my life had taken. Joining Paul, I peered into the truck's cargo space, and a sense of astonishment washed over me.
The interior was crammed from floor to ceiling with boxes, a testament to Gladys's diligence. In that moment, the sting of the money exchanged softened, replaced by a recognition of its value. Gladys had indeed outdone herself, turning a hefty sum into a tangible asset that filled the truck's vast space.
"An assortment of shelving," I declared, my voice cutting through the still air and catching Paul off guard.
"Shelving?" he echoed, his eyebrows knitting together in a mix of surprise and confusion. "What for?" His gaze flickered over the cargo, seeking understanding.
"For the sheds," I responded, a hint of impatience creeping into my tone. To me, the necessity of preparation for what lay ahead seemed self-evident, a foundational step in the grand scheme of our plans.
Paul shook his head slightly, his expression still clouded with doubt. "I think we're a bit far away from needing shelves," he remarked, casting a glance around the unfinished, bare surroundings. "We still haven't finished the first slab of concrete."
His words pulled me back to the immediate challenges, the foundational tasks that needed addressing before any shelving could be considered. "Oh, that reminds me," I said, a lightbulb moment flickering to life as I remembered the crumpled sheets of paper in my back pocket. I extracted the folded instructions, a tangible piece of Paul’s next steps. "The concrete instructions," I announced, extending the paper toward him.
"Thanks, Luke," Paul replied, his tone carrying a mixture of gratitude and resignation. He accepted the papers with a cursory glance, then, without further inspection, tucked them away into his back pocket, perhaps a gesture of acceptance more than immediate utility.
Together, we set about unloading the boxes of shelving from the truck, the physical exertion a welcome distraction from the unending thoughts of what lay ahead. We stacked them neatly in a corner of the Drop Zone, their presence a premature yet hopeful preparation for a future yet to be built.
Sweat trailed down my forehead, a testament to the exertion and the unyielding sun overhead. "I'll be back soon," I declared, the promise hanging in the air as I climbed back into the truck's cab.
With a final glance at the boxes of shelving, a symbol of future endeavours and the groundwork yet to be laid, I revved the engine. The familiar roar filled the air, a signal of departure and transition. I steered the truck back toward the Portal, the gateway that stood between realms, its colours swirling in anticipation.
As the truck and I merged with the vibrant hues, the Drop Zone, with its stacks of potential and plans in progress, faded from view. The gate, once a portal to possibilities, settled back into its mundane form, a simple barrier marking the boundary of what was and what might be.
