Chapter Eleven
Doing a second creative manifestation ceremony was not something I had on my bingo card for this year. But then neither was unexpectedly getting parked by the love of my life, or losing my ability to write, or, you know, willingly doing the first creative manifestation ceremony.
‘Manifestation? This really is ridiculous.’ River is sitting smooshed up on the roof terrace’s little patch of grass, a pink rose-patterned blanket laid out before him, my ‘Sexy Library’ scented candle flickering away in its centre.
He glances over the rooftops, seemingly unimpressed with the view.
To be fair to him, it’s not as beautiful and balmy out here as it was last night; bruise-coloured clouds crawl above us threateningly, the sound of a police car siren whining in the distance.
‘Oh, I’d say we’re already well into the realm of the ridiculous,’ I point out, taking in this unfeasibly hot fictional character in his Stetson and too small Shakespeare T-shirt and then looking down at myself, a heartbroken book nerd in my next-door neighbour’s periwinkle kaftan.
‘But this is the only explanation I can think of. Last night I manifested help with finishing the final Bedlam Creek book. There must have been some mix-up and you ended up here instead. Some confusion in the universe, a glitch …’
‘A glitch?’
‘I don’t know! We’re feeling around in the dark here, clearly … Hmm … we don’t have the tiaras,’ I mutter to myself. ‘But I’m sure that’s fine. How much difference could they have really made?’
‘Do you even know what you’re doing right now?’
‘No,’ I admit. ‘But Mrs Casablancas – the neighbour I did the ceremony with last night – is out at her dog-training class and she sometimes goes to the pub afterwards to complain about unruly dogs with the other attendees. They have a lot to say on the topic. We can wait until she gets back, if you want, but I don’t know how long it’ll be. ’
River shakes his head firmly. ‘No, thank you. We need to undo whatever this is as quickly as possible, and if this lunacy is the only plan you’ve got then I guess we should get on with it.’
‘I agree.’ I clear my throat and take a deep breath. ‘Okay. Dear Universe, the ether, Buddha, God, goddesses and, uh, Princess Diana. We, uh, thank you for …’
‘Princess Diana?’ River pinches the bridge of his nose. ‘Princess Diana?’
‘You know who that is?’
‘Of course I do. The people’s princess.’
‘Wait … you know Princess Diana but you don’t know Google …’
‘It’s called Skangle.’
‘But I never wrote Skangle in the books. Surely I should know everything you know?’
His eyes darken with irritation. ‘Can you really not fathom the possibility that maybe you didn’t invent me? That I’m actually a real person? ‘Cos I can assure you that I am. I have an entire life, memories, thoughts and feelings you know nothing about.’
‘But Bedlam Creek doesn’t exist in the real world.’
‘In this world.’
‘This world is the real world! You saw for yourself – it’s not on the map!
It’s not online. I remember the day I came up with the town of Bedlam Creek.
Twentieth of August 2021. Josie’s … well, that’s not relevant.
Why on earth would I lie about it? I’m as unhappy about all this as you are! Frankly, the timing is awful.’
River shakes his head. ‘I’m not saying you’re lying.
I can spot a phoney a mile away and you don’t strike me as the lying type.
But earlier you said I go to my wood hut to “devise evil plans to ruin Cassidy”.
That’s not even slightly true. Not least because my family relationships are way more complex than that.
I actually go to the wood hut to read. Oakley Ranch is loud; the machinery, the cattle, the boys.
It’s the only place in town where I can get any peace other than the old cedar tree at Blue Egg Meadow.
How do you explain not knowing that, if you “invented” me? ’
I frown. He’s unnervingly right. I know barely anything about this man outside of the few details I wrote, the big bad stereotype I conjured as a narrative tool. So how is this happening? How is he talking about experiences I know nothing about? He’s my character – it doesn’t make any sense.
I blink. ‘I … well, I can’t …’ I say, my bottom lip sticking out with surprise. ‘You read books?’
‘I read plenty of books. All the way to the end, too. That’s what I’m saying.
You don’t know me. There’s something more to this.
’ He rubs the heel of his hand over his forehead.
‘What if we’re both right? What if this world is real but, I don’t know, mine is too?
Like a … a parallel universe or something. ’
‘A parallel universe?’ I squeak, my brain all muddled and confused. ‘That’s ridiculous. That’s not a real thing.’
‘And me being a made-up character conjuring up at your house isn’t ridiculous?’
I shake my head. ‘But if Bedlam Creek is in a parallel universe then how am I, over here in this universe, writing entire books about it?’
River runs a hand over his jaw. ‘Yeah, that part makes zero sense. I don’t know.’ His eyes flash. ‘And I don’t like not knowing.’
‘God. What an utterly weird conversation this is.’
River’s mouth quirks upwards a tad, the ghost of a smile crinkling his eyes. ‘Yep. This is the weirdest thing I’ve ever witnessed and I’m from Texas where we race armadillos for fun.’
I nod. ‘I read about that in my research on Texas before I started the series—’
At another allusion to him being a fictional character, River’s starter smile abruptly drops. ‘Christ. Let’s just get on with it, shall we?’
‘Sorry. Yes.’ I look back up towards the now rapidly darkening sky and try to focus.
‘Okay. As I was saying, thank you, Universe and goddesses and everyone else for kindly sending River this way, but … I think there might have been some sort of mix-up somewhere. I asked for help with my writer’s block.
’ I wriggle, my cheeks turning a little pink.
‘And, uh, I may also have asked for Henry to want me back so that I would be free of heartbreak.’
‘Henry?’ River asks.
‘The love of my life,’ I explain. ‘We’re currently on a break. His decision, not mine. He left me four weeks ago and I can’t seem to—’
‘Yeah, yeah, got it.’ River waves me away as if I’m boring him.
I tut, look back towards the sky and continue my plea. ‘But instead of my writer’s block being solved, or Henry wanting me back, River has somehow shown up. No blame from me, though, Universe. Mistakes get made. These things happen.’
‘Yeah, these things happen all the time,’ River snarks.
‘And, as you can see, River really really does not want to be here. And I really really do not want him to be here. There is zero point in him being here. So if you could kindly send him back to wherever he came from? That would be, um, much appreciated. Thanks and best wishes.’ I glance at River and gesture towards the clouds above. ‘You need to express your gratitude.’
‘Express my gratitude? To the sky?’ he scoffs. ‘Yeah, I don’t think so, lady.’
I huff, my normally healthy supply of patience starting to wear thin.
Henry, writer’s block, my failure to once more make it through the gates of the cemetery and now this?
River’s unhelpful attitude rankles. I fold my arms across my chest. ‘Look, obviously I know your fatal flaw is that you’re a stone-cold cynic, but we need this to work.
I agree, it is ridiculous. Believe me, I know.
But I’m trying here and this is the only idea either of us have.
Can you just go along with it? You’re not the only person who has a life to be getting on with, so could you stop being an asshole and help me out a little? ’
River’s eyes narrow.
I quickly cover my mouth with my hands. I’ve never had a short temper before.
That was more Josie’s speed, so much so that my inability to get angry often got on her nerves.
At my core, I’m a passivist. A lover, not a fighter.
I’ve only ever fought back once in my life and the consequences of that incident have firmly stopped me from ever doing it again.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say immediately. ‘I didn’t mean to take that tone with you. It’s just … this is very stressful.’
River eyes me thoughtfully. ‘No, you’re right, I am being an asshole. Not the first time I’ve been given that note.’ He lifts his chin. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Oh! Okay then. Thank you. I accept your apology.’
We lock eyes for a brief moment. Then River blows the air out through pursed lips and looks up awkwardly. ‘Gratitude. Right. Um, yeah, thank you to whoever is responsible for … this. You have my gratitude. Now, please, for the love of God, could you make it stop?’
I hand River a biro and a blank sheet of paper from my notebook. ‘Now we each need to write our manifestations down on a piece of paper and then burn them on the candle.’
‘So dumb,’ River mutters, then catches himself. ‘Sorry. I guess that cynicism runs pretty deep.’
We take a minute to write down our requests then hold our papers over the flickering candle flame, the pair of them catching into one single orange-blue blaze.
They gently crackle and spit and just as they burn down to ash, an unexpected and almighty rumble of thunder booms from above us so loudly that it vibrates beneath our feet.
A blinding flash in the sky lights up the whole rooftop with its bleached glow, the sharp snap of it making me jump.
‘Shit!’ I startle when the rain starts to fall, quickly gathering up the candles and my blanket and shoving them back into the carrier bag before everything gets soaked through. ‘What the hell?’
‘Wait! Is … is this it?’ River yells over the sound of the sudden rain as he scrambles up onto his feet.
‘What’s happening? Is it working?’ The lightning crackles right above us three times in quick succession, tinging the sky with an other-worldly purple hue.
Another roar of thunder surrounds us, like it’s wrapping itself around us. I gasp.
River’s jaw drops. ‘Holy shit. Something’s happening. You were right. I think it’s working! Ha! It’s working! I’m going home, baby!’