Chapter 3
Farnsworth
Stepping outside in the Above is jarring. While not sunny, it’s considerably brighter than the Revival House, and I have to blink several times to let my eyes adjust. Borja is already several steps ahead of me.
He pauses, turning when he notices I’m not beside him. “You okay?”
I nod, clearing my throat from the much thinner air here. “Yes.” I walk down the three stone steps that lead into the apartment building and catch up with Borja. “It’s mild weather today, yes?”
Borja nods. “Pretty mild, yeah. Probably won’t snow for another few weeks. Where’s the antique shop?”
I glance down at my tablet. “Near Central Square on Prospect Street.”
“Cool. That’s walking distance.”
I follow the confident man, filled with questions about what life is like in this era, but focused on the task at hand.
I’m not exactly sure what we’ll find at the antique store.
Perhaps there’s an object the Horror is attached to.
Hopefully we’ll find it quickly so I can go back to my normal routine.
Being in the Above feels like wearing a too-tight suit.
We turn onto a much busier road, and the sudden flood of sounds is deafening. I stumble over my feet for a moment before catching my balance.
Borja notices, pausing. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, really. It’s just very loud.”
He nods in understanding. “This is nothing compared to Boston proper.”
“Boston proper?”
“The city. We’re in a suburb of Boston. If you go into downtown, with all the traffic and tourists and businesses, that’s noise. October is one of the busiest times in Mass outside of the summer months too.”
“Why? What’s special about October?”
Borja’s brow crinkles for just a second before he nods. “Oh, right. You’re not from here. It’s tourism. The changing leaves. Salem, of course. It’s a great time to visit New England.”
“Salem. Much has happened in this state over the years.”
“Yeah, that’s why everything’s haunted.” He chuckles. “Especially Salem. Those damn witch trials draw in the crowds.”
“Those women were not witches.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Do you know that for sure?”
“Yes. Every single one of them found their way to the Revival House. Many joined the cause, but they weren’t witches. Not in the way the Above defines it.”
“We’ve pretty much figured that out over the years. It was a sad time that resulted in innocent people dying.”
“I’m glad history has found its way to the truth.”
“Not in all cases, for sure. There’s a cool memorial to the people who died in the trials. I can take you to it sometime.”
“I doubt I’ll have time for sightseeing.”
“Right.” He nods. “You’re not on vacation.”
“No.”
We walk another block in silence while my head swivels around taking in all the sights, sounds, and smells of modern life in America. Most of my visits to the Above are one on one with a Chaser, and often in a quiet place like a home. I can’t remember the last time I simply walked around.
We pass a group of young women dressed in cozy sweaters, plaid skirts, and sensible shoes. Collectively, their eyes land first on Borja, then me, before they dissolve in a cacophony of giggles and mumbled words.
“What was that about?” I ask.
“What?”
“Those women. They laughed as they passed us.”
Borja looks over his shoulder. One of the girls is looking back at us and waves at Borja. He smiles, shaking his head. “They think one or both of us are cute.”
I scoff at that. “That’s how they show it? In my time—” I stop myself. “Well, it wasn’t like that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Women were demure and it was socially unacceptable to show such emotion outwardly. If a man wanted to court a woman, he would go to her parents first to seek permission, and then after a formal introduction, the courting could begin.”
“It’s definitely not like that now.”
“I don’t suppose it would be. A woman can approach a man directly?”
“Sure. It happens all the time.”
“Interesting.”
“I appreciated it when I dated women. I always had a hard time approaching them myself, but now I know it’s because I was uncomfortable with my sexuality. Once I realized I was gay, dating got a lot easier.”
My brain stutters for a moment. “You… You’re…”
“Gay?” Borja stops walking and faces me. “Yeah. Is that a problem with you?”
I shake my head rapidly. “No, of course not. I have no judgments of people.”
“You sure about that? You had a reaction.”
“I did, yes, but not a negative one. I’m not accustomed to hearing such things spoken aloud.”
Borja studies my face, his expression shifting from tense to relaxed. “I guess if women couldn’t talk to men directly, queer people had to stay hidden.”
“Yes, that’s right. I wouldn’t have been able to tell you if any of my contemporaries were queer, as you put it. We suffered in silence.”
He tilts his head slightly. “Are you…?”
My chest tightens as heat floods my cheeks; a most unusual reaction. I rub the back of my neck, avoiding his eyes. “We should continue our mission.”
Borja rests his hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay, Farnsworth. You’re safe with me and this is a very accepting area. We could kiss right on this sidewalk and no one would bat an eye.”
My jaw drops at the sheer scandalousness of such an idea. “M-men kiss in public?”
“And women. Anyone can. I’ll admit that not every state and city is that accepting, but it is here. When I’m dating someone, I’ll hold their hand or kiss their cheek in public. It’s fine.”
“I can’t imagine.”
He smiles. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and see a nice queer couple today somewhere.” His hand slides from my shoulder to my arm. “I hope so. I’d love that for you.”
I nod, moving just a bit to remove his warm, comforting touch from my arm. I haven’t been touched in a very long time, and while it feels nice, it’s not something I should get used to.
Walking on, I focus on my feet, just putting one in front of the other until my composure returns.
Externally, I hope I appear calm and professional, though my thoughts are a wild storm.
I can’t imagine even saying the words, much less indulging in them.
It’s been centuries since I’ve felt the warmth of a lover’s touch, and when I did it was soaked in shame.
My weakest moment. How fortunate to be a modern gay man.
After walking for a few more minutes, we turn onto another street and stop at the corner while vehicles of various sizes and colors speed past us.
Horns honk, people yell, music plays. The delicious smell of food wafts around us, interrupted only by another wave of freshly brewed coffee.
The air is crisp and cool, a pleasant departure from the stifling stillness of the Revival House.
“I think that’s it across the street.” Borja points with one hand and presses a button on a metal pole with the other.
“Yes, that’s the name of it.”
“How do we know what we’re looking for?”
“I’ll know once we get inside.”
He nods, grinning at me. “Do you have, like, magic powers or something?”
“It isn’t magic.”
“But you can do stuff?”
“I’m aware of the world beyond the veil. I see what mortals don’t, as you will too, but I’ve had many, many years of practice.”
“Cool.” He looks ahead. “Come on.”
We cross the busy street while all the vehicles stop and wait for us.
How polite. When we reach the opposite sidewalk, I take only one step before I’m brought up short by a person passing me and yelling at the top of their lungs, but their words make no sense to me. Borja seems oblivious to the person.
“Borja, what is wrong with that person?”
Borja looks over his shoulder and shrugs. “Who knows? Bad day, drugs, mental illness. Hard to say.”
“What is he yelling?”
“Sounds like Bible verses.”
I can tell from Borja’s casual reaction that this is not cause for alarm, and as I look around, I see most people aren’t reacting. One man stops and tries to hand the man what looks like money, but the man doesn’t take it, instead yelling “Repent” before walking on. This is confusing.
“You didn’t have people yelling randomly in the streets in your day, I take it?”
“No. They would have been taken to receive care.”
“Yeah, we don’t really take people against their will anymore, but we do have programs and resources. In the city, you’ll see people out at night offering food, clean clothes, things like that to people.”
“I see.”
Borja opens the door to the antique store, and as I step in, I’m immediately hit with the sense of an overbearing presence, but I’m almost certain it’s not the one I’m looking for.
“This way,” I murmur, already walking in the direction of the strongest energy.
Down each aisle, benign spirits vie for my attention, poking their heads out from various objects. Borja suddenly moves close to me, grabbing my arm. His eyes are wide.
“There are… Everywhere.”
“Benign, as you can see from their aura color.”
He nods, swallowing hard enough that his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “Purple, right?”
“Correct. They won’t hurt you. They can’t.”
“A benign spirit can’t become a Horror?”
“No, they were never in the Below. They escaped from their respective houses, likely because they have some tie or unfinished business here keeping them tethered to this realm. We don’t have the resources or any real interest in pursuing them.”
“They know you’re here?”
“They do. Perhaps one of them can be useful.”
We end up at the end of an aisle in a small, cramped room filled with all sorts of historical objects, from kitchen items to mirrors to books. There’s a small bowl full of old jewelry on the counter, and a box of antique photos.
“The energy is strongest here, but there’s no Horror.”
“There was.”
I tilt my head back to see the source of the voice and find a small spirit lurking behind a bookshelf. “Hello, GMW472.”
The spirit floats down, settling before me and Borja. “Georgina Marie Wilkins. How are you, Mr. Renard?”
“Not as well as I’d like to be. You say there was a Horror here?”
Georgina’s dead eyes are fixed on Borja. “Hello, handsome. What’s your name?”
“Uh, Borja.”