What Happens In-Between: a short story by Kody Boye
In which a girl and her cat enter an alternate dimension to uncover the truth
When my brother died a year ago, I wasn’t sure what I would do. Stricken by grief beyond compare, I laid in bed for days—physically processing, emotionally exhausted. My mind was a battlefield during those hours, those days, those untold weeks and even, it felt, those unfortunate months. It seemed impossible to escape the trenches of that unholy war, but the reality was always there.
My brother—my big brother—had been killed by three men while he was coming home in the middle of the night.
The security camera footage from the gas station where his murder took place hadn’t been able to identify the men. It was too dark, the police had said. We can’t see their faces, they had said. They claimed it was just a random robbery, and that he’d simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Still—that burning anger, that festering rage, has built in me for a long time. So long, in fact, that I feel some days I might break.
The only thing that’s been keeping me intact is my brother’s black cat, Marty. Smaller than most, and with a pair of brilliant green eyes, Marty has been my shadow, and my constant companion, throughout my journey of not just physical and emotional recovery, but spiritual as well.
But as much healing as Marty has provided over this year-long period, I have come to realize that Marty is not just any ordinary cat.
No.
Marty is special—so special, in fact, that I’ve found myself doubting my reality at times.
I found this out when, nearly a year after my brother’s murder occurred, I began to have dreams.
Wake up, a voice says. Wake up, Shontelle.
I open my eyes on what I believe is an ordinary night to find that it is not my room and the ceiling fan above, but instead a white sky. Stretching endlessly into the distance, it washes outward for eternity, like a great fog that is slowly passing over a silent land. There is no sun—at least, so far as I can see—and though there are dark gray clouds, they do not shield the world from light.
“Where am I?” I find myself whispering.
You are here, that same voice says, in the In-Between.
The In-Between? I think.
I push myself upright and run a hand across my braids just in time to see what appears to be a field of lavender, which shifts in the breeze, bowing at some moments, then dancing the next.
“Hello?” I ask. “Who’s there?”
A little black cat jumps from the brush and lifts its head to regard me with brilliant green eyes.
“Mah… Marty?” I ask. “Is that you?”
It is me, the voice says.
A frown tugs at my mouth. A flicker of hesitation causes my heart to beat faster. A swell of breath fills my lungs, and for a moment, I am unsure what to think. Then, I say, “I’m dreaming. I know I am.”
But is it really ‘just a dream?’ the voice asks.
Marty seats himself. Lifts his eyes to face me once more. Stares for several long moments, then turns as the breeze shifts, and the lavender bows to the side. There is a storm coming, the voice says. We should go.
“Where are we?” I ask. “And is that really you talking, Marty?”
We are in the In-Between, the voice replies, and yes, it is my voice you are hearing.
“But how can you talk?”
The cat doesn’t answer. Instead, he stands, steps forward, then reaches out and taps me with his paw before saying, Come.
For whatever reason—either by coincidence or the necessity of dream—I am not dressed in my pajamas. Rather, I wear the same clothes I wore when I walked into my backyard to consider downtown Denver: my boots, my jeans, my black T-shirt and my striped red hoodie. I am more than thankful for this, as the moment I stand, I am buffeted by the wind, dagger sharp, cold as ice.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
To the Temple, Marty says.
“The Temple?”
The cat meows and begins to lead me forward.
Unable, or more so unwilling, to argue, I pause only to pull my hood over my head before pursuing the cat down what I now see is a red-and-gray cobblestone path.
It is hard to see what lies in the distance. Given that we are buffeted by rain, the cat that claims to be Marty leads me onward, quickly but effortlessly navigating around the puddles that are beginning to develop upon the path. I, meanwhile, am struggling to keep up, because as time goes on, I feel the bitter cold stabbing at me, the tumultuous rain bearing me down.
At one point, I feel as though I will not make it.
Then, Marty says, There it is.
And I look up, only to find myself consumed by awe.
The temple—which, seemingly, has appeared from the fog itself—is massive. At least three stories high, with a single domed roof and several columns to hold it upright, it appears to be something out of time and place, in that its white marble rises into the heavens, and that its columns sparkle in the lightning flashing overhead.
I ask, “Is that—”
But Marty darts forward as the torrential rain continues to fall.
I give as careful a chase as I can. Maneuver toward the temple’s large stone doors. Watch as Marty turns to regard me beneath the impressive awning.
I call, “Marty!”
But he does not wait. Rather, he slips through the gap in the door.
Within moments, I am stepping beneath the awning. Breathing, then sighing, my relief as the rain no longer falls upon me. I whip the sleeves of my hoodie to free the drenched fabric of rain, then take another deep breath before stepping forward. I find that I have to squeeze through the gap in the stone door, as it is only open a breath.
Thankfully, the inside of this place—this temple—is warm. Candles burn all around, and sweet-smelling incense drifts throughout the air.
“Where are we?” I ask.
I told you, Marty replies. The Temple.
“But what is—”
Movement ahead silences me.
I lift my eyes. Peer through the darkness. Watch as a massive presence develops in the shadows.
“Who is it?” I find myself asking.
To which Marty can only reply with, The Lion.
He is as Marty says he is: a lion, who, with glistening white fur, appears from the darkness behind a massive bejeweled throne. At first, I believe his fur is only glowing as a result of the candlelight. As he steps forward, however, I watch as beads of light woven through his mane pulsate, then brighten, casting rays of luminescence about and all around.
There is little I can do but stare.
The lion lifts his head to face me. Centers his gold eyes upon my face. Then he says Hello, Shontelle in a voice that is so pure, so powerful, that I feel I will break.
I say, “Hello.”
The lion turns his head down to regard Marty, who stands between us like a guardian in the night, then says, I take it this is her?
This is her, Marty says.
The lion returns his head to face me.
“What… what’s going on?” I ask, twisting my head about to look at the incense burning, the candlelight flickering. “Why… why am I here?”
You are here because you bear the burden of a terrible loss, the lion then says, and because you are meant to face it in kind.
“Wait. What?”
The lion steps forward, allowing its weight to distribute upon its massive blonde paws. His approach triggers every fight or flight instinct in my body, yet somehow, someway, I am able to remain in place.
Marty circles me, then comes to sit at my side.
The lion steps forward; and in the light emanating from the many florescent jewels interwoven through his mane, considers me with his golden gaze. Do you feel yourself capable, Shontelle?
“I… I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do,” I say, tightening my hands into fists to keep them from shaking. “How am I suppose to know if I’m capable?”
You are to face the monsters that dwell in your mind, in your heart, but most importantly: in the world that you live within.
“Wait. The monsters in my world?”
The lion nods.
“Do you mean… Do you mean…”
The lion nods once more. Yes, Shontelle. I mean those monsters.
This time, I am unable to keep from trembling. Panic assaults me—a wicked wind in the night—and instantly there are tears beading at my eyes, running down my face. My heart pounds, my blood runs hot. Worst yet: I feel an alien sensation, much like I am being watched by things I could not ever possibly imagine.
The lion says, Do you believe yourself capable?
“I—” I start to say. “I don’t—”
The lion lowers his head to look at Marty. Will you guide her, small one?
It would be my pleasure, Marty replies.
The world darkens. My focus sharpens. I see, quite plainly, the face of the lion, captured within a vignette of blackness.
Then, just like that, I am awake.
A sudden breath is drawn into my lungs. A painful awareness fills my mind. I claw for the sheets beneath me, only to find that they are still there, that I am still here, in my room, in my bed, in the real world.
It’s okay, I tell myself. It was just a dream.
But was it?
I open my eyes to find muted gray light streaming through my bedroom window. It is also, surprisingly, raining, which may be why my imagination had conjured the storm in my dream. Which may be why I still feel cold. Which may be why—
“Marty?” I ask. “Are you there?”
It takes only a moment for my brother’s little black cat to lift his head from where he rests among my blankets.
“Tell me you can’t talk,” I then say.
The cat meows, and offers a long, drawn-out yawn before resting his chin atop his paws.
With a sigh, I turn my head to regard my cell phone, which displays a crisp and early 7:45 upon its surface.
“No wonder I feel like crap,” I mumble. “I feel like I hardly slept.”
“Shontelle!” I hear my mother call. “Are you awake?”
“I’m awake!” I call back. “Give me ten more minutes!”
“Up, Shontelle! Now!”
Groaning, I cast the blankets from me, much to Marty’s displeasure, and throw my legs over the side of the bed.
The moment my eyes settle upon my reflection in the body-length mirror is the moment I feel my reality shifting.
At first, I am looking at myself.
Then, a moment later, I am looking over my shoulder, and seeing the striped red hoodie hanging on the hook atop my door.
What in the— I start to think.
Marty bumps his head against me.
I startle, then curse. “You scared me,” I say.
But the little black cat with the prettiest green eyes merely blinks and swishes his tail as he considers me.
“Don’t take me on any more adventures,” I whisper, lightly tapping his nose with my index finger. “Okay?”
He meows and jumps from the bed, leaving me to begin my morning routine.
Naturally, the shower I take feels warmer on this unnaturally cold fall day; and, naturally, stepping out of it after a few minutes feels colder than ever before. I am quick to apply my makeup—a pale purple eyeshadow and a plum lip against my dark skin—and garb myself in a long-sleeved shirt and jeans before turning toward the door, which Marty is already seated at, looking on at me expectantly.
“I’m coming,” I say as he meows once more.
He is bursting out as soon as I open the door, maneuvering the short hall and then the slight rise that leads into the living room and kitchen, meowing all the way. He jumps atop one of the bar stools situated at the kitchen island and regards my mother expectantly.
“I know,” my mother says. “She sleeps in on Saturdays, doesn’t she?”
The little cat meows and turns his head to look at me.
“Sorry, Mom,” I say as I step into the kitchen. “I had… weird dreams.”
“Do you want to talk about them?”
I shake my head as I grab an apple, then as I sink my teeth into it. I chew for several long moments, then swallow before asking, “You couldn’t have just left?”
“I know that you think I’m being overly cautious,” my mother says, “making you lock the deadbolt and all, but… well…”
“You never know,” I say after a moment’s hesitation.
“Yeah,” my mother says. “You never know.”
She shifts her attention to the bag arranged atop the kitchen island. Looks from me, to Marty, then back to me again. Then she says, “You’ll be okay here by yourself?”
“I’ll be fine, Mom.”
“You’re sure you don’t want to go to your aunt Ruth’s? I’m sure she’d love to have some company.”
“And leave Marty here by himself?” The cat meows as if agreeing with me. “I’m fine. I can take care of myself.”
“I… I know you can.”
She hesitates, allowing her eyes to shift from the bag, to me, then to the bag once more. Then she sighs and says, “All right. I guess I’ll get going.”
“It’s just for the weekend,” I say as she lifts her bag and begins to make her way to the door. “It’s not like anything will happen anyway.”
She opens her mouth to speak. Stops. Sighs, and says, “I know, honey. Everything will be just fine.”
She turns. Kisses my cheek. Draws me into a hug. Then she turns and unlocks the door, and says, “If you need anything—”
“I know to call,” I say. “Don’t worry.”
She smiles. “Goodbye, Shontelle. And remember—”
“No wild parties,” I say.
Her laughter is the last thing I hear before she closes the door behind her.
“Well,” I whisper to myself. “Now that that’s over with…”
We can discuss the matters at hand, that familiar voice says.
Every hair on the back of my neck rises. “No,” I say. “It… it can’t be. It couldn’t be.”
But it is, the voice my dream self knew belonged to Marty says.
“I’m dreaming. I have to be.”
The little cat comes to sit beside my feet and cranes his head up to look at me. Does this feel like a dream? he asks.
“It has to be. It can’t—Ow!” I cry. “Marty! You bit me!”
To prove to you that this isn’t a dream, the cat says, lifting a paw to wipe at his face.
“I hope I’m not bleeding,” I say.
Stay focused, Shontelle.
“Focused?” I ask. “You just bit me, and you’re asking me to stay focused?”
Precisely.
I groan as I lift my gaze to look out the living room windows. “God. Can’t anything be normal in my life?”
Your life is normal, Marty replies.
“Sure it is,” I reply. “I’m the black Sabrina the Teenage Witch.”
If that’s a talking cat reference—
“It is!” I say.
—then you must have accepted the fact that you’re no longer dreaming.
“Well, you bit me, for one.”
Marty jumps up on the couch and considers me with his green eyes.
“How can you talk to me anyway?” I ask.
You ever hear of telepathy?
“No,” I say. “I mean, yes, I’ve heard of it. I’ve just not… heard it.”
Lord Lion gave me his blessing, Marty says. Freedom to speak to the girl whose heart has been broken, and whose world has been shattered.
“But why? I mean… why give you that blessing? Unless it’s about—”
Nick, I think.
A sudden hurt tugs at my heart, prompting a quick inhale to fill my lungs, tears to burn at my eyes.
Marty considers me cautiously.
“This is about Nick,” I say. “Isn’t it?”
Your brother was a special person, Shontelle. He was one of the few who could bridge the worlds and reach the In-Between.
“What exactly is the In-Between?”
I’ll explain later. Marty turns his head toward the door. Now, come. We have somewhere to be.
“But I told Mom I wouldn’t—”
Marty narrows his eyes at me.
I swallow the rest of my sentence down, then sigh and say, “How do I know you’re not going to run off?”
Do you honestly think I would?
“It’s going to look weird if I’m just following a cat around.”
Is that any more strange than talking to one?
I open my mouth to speak, but stop. Then I say, “Fine. We’ll go. But you can’t go on foot.”
What’re you—
“You’re gonna have to go in the backpack,” I say.
Oh, dear, Marty says.
A few minutes later, I am stepping outside my front door—my cat-carrying backpack over my shoulders, Marty stuck within it.
When I said ‘We have somewhere to be,’ I didn’t think we would be going this route.
“I can’t risk you walking the streets,” I say as I turn to lock the door. “People walk their dogs. And, again: following a cat would be—”
Strange. Yes. You’ve said.
I adjust the pack against my back and grimace as I step onto the sidewalk. “You’ve gotten heavy.”
If you wouldn’t tempt me with treats so often— he starts to say.
A moment later, I am turning my head to survey the world around me, then saying, “Where exactly are we going?”
The corner shop.
“You mean… the one where—”
Yes, Shontelle. The one where Nicholas was—
“Don’t say it,” I whisper. “I… I know what happened.”
There is a silence, then, followed by a cautious sigh. Marty then says, He was my person, too, Shontelle.
“I know he was, Marty,” I say. “I didn’t mean to imply that he wasn’t.”
Another sigh. Then, Marty says, Let’s go.
There is a quiet hesitation, a careful trepidation, that consumes me as I make my way forward, as I begin to advance up the street. I am thankful, now, more than ever, that the rain has stopped. But in its wake the humidity has increased, causing my breath to turn blue in the daylight. It is almost enough to make me turn back. I know, however, that I cannot.
The lion had said that I would be tested, and that Marty would be the one to guide me. But how, I wonder, am I supposed to succeed when I do not know what I am being tested with?
For a moment, I am unsure what to think.
Then, it dawns upon me.
“Marty,” I say. “Why are we going to corner store?”
We are going there because—
“No. I want the truth. Tell me why the lion is sending us there—why you are making us go there.”
Another sigh. Then, There are parts of this world that sometimes bleed into the In-Between. Normally, these events do not cause issues. But when something so tragic happens—something so violent occurs—it is said to stain the fabric of reality. This is why the lion is sending us to the corner store: to right the wrong that has been committed in your brother’s name.
“Are you saying that we’re going to…” I swallow. “Do something about this?”
I am saying that we must seal the porthole that has been created there.
I come to a halt at the side of the road. My thundering heart threatens to not only pound against my rib cage, but but stop entirely.
“I’m just a girl of sixteen, Marty.”
Young women can do extraordinary things.
I take a moment to steel myself for what is to come—for the reality of what it is I might do to make itself clear. When it finally does, and when I am finally able to withstand what I feel will be the emotional tempest of a lifetime, lift my eyes to look back at the road, and say, “Okay.”
Then, I begin to make way forward once more.
It is hard for me to adequately prepare for what it is I am about to see. Having avoided this part of town for nearly a year now, I feel it only makes sense that my heartbeat would quicken, that my mind would race. Every fight or flight instinct within me wanted to activate.
To run, or fight—that was the question pounding within my brain.
The only problem was: I couldn’t exactly turn around, given that I was being tested. And even if I wanted to run, I knew I couldn’t. This is because, deep down, a part of me knows that Marty is telling the truth, knows that this stain in the earth, or whatever the hell it is, has altered the landscape of this reality and the next. To think that I could turn back now is an understatement.
No.
Regardless of my reservations, and despite all my fears and distrust, I know I have to make my way to the corner store, and face everything that had happened that fateful night.
That single thought compels me forward.
“Do you have any idea what we’ll find when we get there?” I ask. “Or what we might be looking for?”
It should be obvious once we get there, Marty says.
I’m about to ask what he thinks might be obvious when I lift my eyes upon reaching the edge of the road.
There, in the distance, stands Logan’s Corner Store—or, more adequately: what it used to be. Its windows have been boarded shut. A metal fence guards its doorway. A single yellow warning sign is taped to the door, likely warning people not to trespass, or face fines for doing so.
“Woah,” I say, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. “I didn’t know it had closed down. It’s been here forever.”
Bad news spreads quickly, Marty offers. Perhaps they simply could not sustain themselves any longer.
I open my mouth to speak, then stop as a frown tugs my lips down.
Is something wrong? my brother’s little black cat asks.
“No,” I say. “At least… I don’t think there is, anyway.”
Be cautious as you go forward. We don’t know what might be lurking around here.
“Wait. Did you just say what?”
Marty doesn’t reply to my question. He simply taps the pack and says, Go.
“But what if there’s… I dunno? Cops or something?”
The authorities are not here, Shontelle. They’ve long since left this place behind.
The words strike me in a way that makes me feel small. However—I know I do not have time to dawdle.
For that reason, I crane my head toward one side of the street and then the other, then press the crosswalk sign and begin to make my way forward.
Walking across the street, in the middle of the city on this dreary day, is almost unfathomable. There are no people around—no cars, no buses—and though I have my brother’s black cat against my back, I feel far more alone than I could have ever thought possible.
Is this, I wonder, the weight of loneliness?
A pang of regret strikes me once more.
Then, I remember:
The night it happened.
Before Nick went to work.
Not saying goodbye. Forgetting to say that I loved him.
He’d been all smiles, then, just as he normally was; and I, I had been too caught up in schoolwork, too involved in math, trigonometry, and the way numbers and values aligned. He’d said, See ya later; and I, I had been like, Yeah. See ya.
That had happened on the night he’d died. The night he’d walked home from his job at the gas station. The night he’d passed this very corner store, only to be accosted, mugged, then shot three times by the people who’d robbed him.
They’d left him dead at the edge of the sidewalk—
And here, now, as I approach this place, I feel it—actually feel the place where he was found, the place where his life ended, where he’d taken his last breath. Something, and I’m not sure what, has caused me to see that place in the concrete, that stain in the ground.
I lift my eyes to look at the corner store, only to find that the metal gate that divides it is no longer there.
“Marty,” I say. “What’s going—”
I want to finish by saying on, but all of a sudden, the world is shifting, my perspective skewing.
For a moment, I see the old corner store, long decrepit and abandoned by the world and everything in it, set on the backdrop of a silent city.
Then, a moment later, I see the corner store as it would be in the In-Between—shaped much the same, but built from wood, its windows boarded, but its door hanging off at the hinge.
I say, “Are we—”
And Marty finishes by saying, Yes, Shontelle. We are in the In-Between.
“But—how?”
Does it really matter?
I lift my eyes to look at the building again, and frown as I consider its lonely structure.
I ask, “What do we do now?”
Marty replies with, You face what is to come.
“Which is—”
I blink.
Feel someone bump into me.
Hear a voice say, “Watch it, kid.”
Then I open my eyes, and find that I am in the real world once more.
Three men are passing me by—three men who, though like me in many respects, are also unlike me just the same. I see their faces. Their hands. Their baggy winter clothes, their unnatural dispositions.
Then, I hear it—or, more accurately, him.
Please, I hear Nick say. Just take my wallet. Let me go.
You ain’t goin’ nowhere, one of the men replies.
There is a scuffle of noise. A muffled cry.
Then, an explosion of activity.
Bang.
Bang.
“Bang,” I whisper, almost too quietly to hear.
One of the three men turns their head to look at me. He lifts a cigarette, lights it, says, “You shouldn’t be here.”
“And neither should your cat,” the second man replies.
“Be a shame if something happened,” the third man says.
If something happened.
A shame.
I see their eyes. Their faces. Their cruel dispositions. Then I blink—and unlike before, when I could just feel the spot where Nick had died, I actually see him, on the ground, his chest bloodied, his mouth agape.
I gasp.
One of the men asks, “What’s the matter with her?”
Another replies, “Who knows. Just get her out of here.”
I turn my head—and see, quite clearly, the blood on their faces. Nick’s blood. My brother’s blood, shimmering purple, like oil spilled, but not catching the light.
One of the men steps forward. Says, “You need to leave.”
I say, “You did it.”
“Did… what?” the man asks.
“You’re the one who killed my brother.”
One of his friends laugh. “What’s she on about?” he asks, lifting his cigarette to his mouth.
“He was here that night,” I say. “Almost a year ago. You took his wallet. He begged for his life. Then you… you…”
Shontelle, Marty warns.
“You shot him!” I cry. “You shot him! You killed my brother!”
The man drops his cigarette. “Shut her up,” he says.
I see a flicker of movement. A coat part. Then, a stark black holster.
Then, I run.
But I don’t spin and run. No. That would be too logical. Instead, I push past the two men smoking, and round the edge of the corner store.
This wasn’t what you were supposed to do! Marty cries. You weren’t supposed to see them!
“Too late now,” I say, and spin about the corner—
Just in time to see the rear door of the corner store hanging open.
I don’t hesitate.
I push my way in, expecting to see the inside of Logan’s one moment—
—only to step into the In-Between the next.
There is no corner store here, beyond this aged doorway, this forgotten place. Instead, there is a field—a lavender field, within which the purple plant grows strong, stretching, ever so vastly, into the distance.
I hear one of the men say, “What the hell is—”
And I bolt into the field before they can see me.
“Get her!” one of the men say.
They are stupid, stupid men. So stupid, beyond recognition, to follow me into a strange place, an alternate world. But they are dumb, but also determined, and as a result, they push their way in, allowing their feet to touch down on cobblestone, for their weapons to be raised as they attempt to find me.
Let me out of the pack, Marty says.
“No,” I whisper.
Shontelle. Just let me out of the—
But I ignore Marty, and instead, squint to focus through the stalks of lavender wavering ahead of me.
The men are advancing. Sneering. Looking around, attempting their search. I hear one ask, Where are we? To which his companion replies by saying, Who the hell knows? And to which the third then adds: We have to find her and put her down.
I inhale a quick breath.
And that is all it takes for one of the men to spot me. “There!” he cries. “In the field!”
“Get her!” another calls.
I turn and run as fast as I can.
But, naturally, I am pursued—not just by the men, but their guns. A monstrous sound goes off, and small birds lift from beneath the lavender, spreading wings, taking flight. I realize a second later that it was a gunshot that heralded their departure, but don’t bother to stop.
No.
I simply run.
Run.
As fast as I can. Cutting through the lavender as if my life depends on it, which is probably not far from the truth.
I do not know where I am going. All I know is that I am running—running—into depths of this world I could not have ever Imagined.
Marty says, Let me out!
And I cry, “I’m not losing you too!”
The cat yowls.
I shrug the pack from my back and tuck it against my chest.
Then, I stumble beyond the field of lavender—
And into a vast grassland of flowers.
One of the men bursts from the clearing, huffing and puffing. The second follows suit, then the third.
The one huffing says, “Found you.”
“Leave me alone,” I say.
“You sound just like him,” the man says. “Just like your brother.”
“Leave me alone!” I scream.
He lifts his gun. Centers it on me. Says, “On your knees. Now.”
But I refuse to move. To cave. To bow to him—this lowly man, this common criminal. I will not face the end of my life, nor be killed execution-style. For that reason, I simply say, “No.”
“No?” He laughs. “You’re telling me no?”
“That’s right,” I say. “I’m telling you no.”
He laughs again. Lifts the gun. Fires diagonally into the air.
I flinch.
He says, “Maybe now you’ll listen.”
Yet, I don’t. I simply stand here—my back straight, my shoulders squared, staring at the men who killed my brother, who took everything he meant to the world, and to me and my family.
The man gestures to his companions and says, “Grab her. And her cat.”
“No,” I whisper.
One of them starts toward the backpack, from which Marty is desperately trying to escape.
“Leave him alone!” I say.
One of the men grabs the backpack, prompting a yowl from Marty.
“Maybe you’ll pay attention once I do this,” the man says, and points the gun at Marty.
“No!” I scream.
A sudden wind whips from behind me, stirring the flowers at my feet, the lavender at their backs.
A constellation of lights appear from within the lavender.
Then, a moment later, the Lion is stepping forward.
One of the men turns. Whispers, “What the—”
The Lion roars, prompting all three men to back up, and the one holding Marty hostage to drop the backpack.
The Lion gazes upon the men. Then he says, Do you know who I am?
The men stare into the animal’s golden eyes, their faces wild, their mouths curled in horror.
I am the Lion, he says, and my name is Justice
A gun goes off.
The Lion turns his head. Bares his teeth. Roars.
I scramble out of the way just in time for the magnificent beast to pounce upon the man who tried to shoot him.
I grab Marty. Sling the backpack over my shoulder.
Then, I run.
I don’t know for how long I run. For how long I wander. For how long I travel. At one point, I am pushing through stalks of lavender, then the next starting to walk upon the cobblestone road.
Come time I enter the temple, I find that I can only it in darkness, and wait for the Lion to appear.
The backpack rests beside me, unmarred save for the mess of grass stuck to the straps, and Marty gazes out the porthole to look at me with his pretty green eyes.
I ask, “Was this the test?” Then laugh and ask. “Was this the—”
No, a voice then says. It was not the test.
I lift my eyes just in time to see the Lion stepping through the doorway. There is, surprisingly, no blood on his fur.
“Did you—” I start to say.
They have been dealt with, the Lion says.
Though a weight is lifted from me, a certain grief takes its place, weaving through me like a needle across a tapestry, attempting to repair all that has been lost, but scarring me just the same.
It is all I can do to keep from sobbing.
Still, I know that things have been done, that justice, fabled as it happens to be, has been served. As a result, I stand to face the Lion, and ask, “Did I pass your test?”
Luring those men here was not the test, the Lion replies. Their fates were merely a byproduct of the test you were meant to take.
“Which was—”
Facing the past, so you could heal for the future.
I blink, stunned. Then I say, “What are you—”
There are old wounds within all of us, the Lion says, but through the art of regeneration, they eventually heal. When new flesh grows over them, it leaves a scar—a permanent reminder of what has occurred. Sometimes, this is to remind you of what has been, so you will not repeat the mistakes of the past. But sometimes, old wounds never truly heal… not until you face what caused them.
A flicker of movement appears behind the Lion—an aspect of light coming together to form the shape of a person, the figure of a man, with white eyes, long arms, firm hands.
For a moment, I am unsure what I am seeing. Then, I sense him, his presence, and say, “Nickolas.”
I step forward, ready to touch him, to love him, to hug him. But the Lion steps in front of me before I can do so, and says, He can only hear you. He cannot respond.
“But… how?” I ask. “Why?”
There is a threshold that separates the dead from the living, the Lion then says. Some call this Heaven. Others call it The End. There are some who even call it Nirvana—because in death, there is a release; and with that release, there are no troubles, no burdens.
I lift my eyes to look at the shining countenance that is my brother, and find tears swimming from my eyes in the process.
I bring the aspect of your brother here so that you may truly say goodbye, the Lion continues, and to help you realize that love is eternal. There is no greater power than that.
“I’m sorry,” I say, lifting my eyes to face Nick. “If I’d’ve known… if I’d’ve thought…”
The aspect of my brother blinks as he considers me.
“I would’ve told you I loved you one last time,” I say.
The aspect of my brother smiles. Then he flickers—first once, then twice, like a dying light in a world beyond this one.
Then, he is gone.
And I, once more, am broken.
As I stand here, in this place In-Between, I find my heart beating, my mind racing, my lungs drawing in oxygen, filtering air.
The Lion steps aside. In his passing, there opens a portal into my living room. Go, now, the Lion then says, and know that you are loved.
Turning, I reach down, take hold of the backpack that Marty is still within, and pull it into my arms. “Lord… Lion, I guess I should say.”
He turns his head to look at me.
“Thank you,” I say. “For… For giving me this chance. For giving Marty your blessing. I don’t know how, or even if I can ever repay you.”
Take care of my friend, the Lion then says, and he will love you until his dying days.
Marty meows.
I sniffle, but nod.
I then turn and step into my living room—
And just like that, the portal closes, leaving the past behind, and the future before me.
For a moment, I simply stand there, looking on at the space where I once was, at the place I once been. I think of all I have wondered. All I have lost. Every fractured emotion, and every radiant memory, I have experienced throughout this long and painful year.
Then, I say, “Thank you, Marty.”
The little black cat—my constant companion, my tireless guardian—purrs.
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