Restoration

I reached the top of the basement stairs and pushed open the trapdoor.

Gene, Kristy Lee, Bodhi, Sasha, and Henderson stood in the farmhouse living room.

Everyone looked exhausted.

Like we’d run a marathon through somebody else’s nightmare.

Which, technically, we had.

Gene looked past me.

“John?”

“Stayed behind.”

“Why?”

“He had cleanup.”

Gene considered that.

“Of course he did.”

Bodhi searched the room.

Then looked toward the open trapdoor.

“We didn’t find Rachel.”

The words broke something in his voice.

Everything we had survived.

Everything we had defeated.

And he had still come home without her.

I climbed the rest of the way out and lowered the floor door behind me.

The Farm settled beneath my feet.

Warmth moved through the floorboards.

Not memory.

Recognition.

The same feeling I’d had when we first arrived.

Only stronger.

Something above us shifted.

A soft sound.

Like a door closing in a room that hadn’t existed moments earlier.

I looked toward the staircase.

“She’s here.”

Bodhi’s head snapped toward me.

“Where?”

“Upstairs.”

“How do you know?”

I didn’t have an answer that would make sense.

The Farm knew me.

I knew the Farm.

Apparently, that was enough.

Bodhi took the stairs two at a time.

The rest of us followed.

Most of the upstairs rooms had been ransacked years ago.

Furniture overturned.

Drawers pulled open.

Mattresses flipped.

Closets emptied.

Evidence of desperate people looking for something they could not understand.

Gene stopped near the end of the hallway.

“That wasn’t there before.”

A white door stood where the hallway should have ended.

No scratches.

No dust.

No knob.

Just smooth white wood set into faded wallpaper.

Bodhi approached it.

The door opened before he touched it.

White light filled the hallway.

Not sunlight.

Not electricity.

Something cleaner.

Beyond the door waited a room without corners.

White walls blended into a white floor beneath a white ceiling. There were no windows. No furniture except a narrow bed at the center.

Rachel lay upon it.

Still.

Peaceful.

Exactly as Bodhi remembered her.

He stumbled forward.

“Rachel?”

The rest of us remained in the doorway.

The white room began changing around him.

Corners appeared.

The floor became hardwood.

White walls softened into faded wallpaper. A dresser formed beneath a window as late-morning sunlight spilled through lace curtains.

The space joined the farmhouse one detail at a time.

Except for Rachel.

She remained asleep.

Bodhi knelt beside the bed.

Touched her shoulder.

“Rachel.”

Nothing.

Panic entered his voice.

He shook her gently.

“Rachel, wake up.”

Still nothing.

Kristy Lee sighed.

“Men.”

Bodhi looked over his shoulder.

“What?”

“Don’t you know anything?”

He stared.

Kristy Lee smiled.

“You have to kiss her.”

Gene nodded solemnly.

“Works in all the reputable medical literature.”

Kristy Lee looked at him.

“Cartoons aren’t medical literature.”

“They’re heavily researched.”

Bodhi ignored them both.

He brushed a strand of hair from Rachel’s face.

His hand trembled.

Then he leaned down and kissed her.

For one terrible second, nothing happened.

Then Rachel breathed in.

Her eyelids fluttered.

She looked up at Bodhi.

Confusion crossed her face.

Then recognition.

Then relief so complete it looked painful.

“Bodhi?”

His face crumpled.

“Yeah.”

Rachel touched his cheek.

“Bodhi.”

She wrapped both arms around him.

He held her like he had spent three years practicing.

Then Rachel stiffened.

Fear replaced relief.

“No.”

She pushed against his chest.

“No, you can’t be here.”

“It’s okay.”

“They’ll find you.”

“They already did.”

“You don’t understand.”

“We took care of them.”

Rachel stared at him.

“The Order?”

“And something calling itself the Lord of Dreams.”

“The who?”

Bodhi laughed through his tears.

“That is a very long story.”

Rachel looked around the bedroom.

Her breathing quickened.

“How long?”

Bodhi’s smile disappeared.

“What?”

“How long was I gone?”

Nobody spoke.

Rachel looked toward us.

Then back at Bodhi.

“I only meant to leave for a minute.”

Bodhi took her hands.

“Rachel…”

“No.”

“I need you to listen.”

Her eyes filled.

“How long?”

“Three years.”

The words seemed to strike her physically.

Rachel folded forward.

Bodhi caught her.

“No.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, no, no.”

“I waited.”

She looked up at him.

No anger in his face.

No accusation.

Only love.

“You waited?”

“Of course I waited.”

Rachel covered her mouth.

“I tried to get back.”

“I know.”

“I tried calling you.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t leave you.”

Bodhi rested his forehead against hers.

“I know.”

She kissed him.

Not like a sleeping princess.

Like a woman who had lost three years and needed proof that something remained.

Gene quietly backed into the hallway.

Henderson followed.

Kristy Lee pulled me with her.

“We should give them a minute,” I said.

“Several,” Gene replied.

Then Sasha pushed between us.

She entered the bedroom at full speed.

Bodhi barely had time to move before Sasha launched herself onto the bed.

Rachel gasped.

Then laughed.

The sound stopped all of us.

Sasha climbed directly into her lap.

Tail beating against the mattress.

Whole body shaking with joy.

“Oh, Sasha.”

Rachel buried her face in the dog’s neck.

Sasha covered her with kisses.

No growl.

No hesitation.

No watching from across the room.

She collapsed against Rachel like she had finally completed a job she’d refused to abandon.

Rachel held her tighter.

“You got gray.”

Sasha licked her chin.

“And bossy.”

Another kiss.

“And apparently much heavier.”

Sasha ignored the criticism.

Rachel laughed again.

The real Rachel.

No performance.

No cold smile.

No wrong song entering anybody’s head.

Just a woman holding her dog.

Sasha approved.

That was good enough for me.

We left them alone.

Mostly.

Sasha refused to leave.

An hour later, the farmhouse kitchen filled with noise.

Gene found bacon.

Kristy Lee found eggs.

Henderson discovered enough coffee to restore civilization.

I found a phone signal.

Before anyone could assign me kitchen duty, I stepped onto the porch and made three calls.

The first went to my aviation manager.

“I need a helicopter tomorrow morning.”

A pause.

“Where?”

I looked toward the mailbox at the end of the road.

“I’m working on that.”

I called Henderson through the open door.

“What’s the address?”

He gave it to me.

I repeated it into the phone.

“Nearest suitable airport after pickup. Have the plane waiting.”

Another pause.

“Yes, tomorrow.”

Longer pause.

“Then start now.”

The second call went to an executive-transport service.

“I need an armored limousine and driver delivered to Paradise by eight.”

Henderson appeared in the doorway.

“Armored?”

I covered the phone.

“You people keep getting shot at.”

He considered that.

“Fair.”

The third call took longer.

A Jeep.

A touring motorcycle.

Two helmets.

Temporary registration.

Drivers willing to deliver both before breakfast.

Money solved many problems.

A willingness to call regional managers at home solved several more.

I returned to the kitchen.

Gene pointed a spatula at me.

“What did you do?”

“Solved transportation.”

“How?”

“I made phone calls.”

“That wasn’t what I asked.”

“You’ll see in the morning.”

He narrowed his eyes.

“Man, how rich are you?”

“Breakfast first.”

We ate around the farmhouse table.

Nobody mentioned that the groceries belonged to two men who would never return for them.

Not at first.

Eventually Henderson set down his coffee.

“I called Paradise.”

The room quieted.

“They’re sending officers for the motorcycles. I’ll make sure Jack and Dipper are reported missing.”

“Missing?” Gene asked.

“I can’t tell the county coroner they were eaten by biblical giants in another dimension without inviting follow-up questions.”

“You could tell the truth.”

“I intend to.”

Henderson looked toward the living-room floor.

“I’m still working on the nouns.”

Nobody laughed.

Jack and Dipper had been criminals.

Trespassers.

Men who believed calling dibs carried legal weight.

They had also died terrified.

That deserved more than a joke.

Henderson lifted his coffee.

“To Geriatric Jack and Little Dipper.”

Gene raised his cup.

The rest of us followed.

“To two men who deserved arrest,” Henderson said, “but not that.”

We drank.

Then we ate because the living still had to do that.

Rachel came downstairs wearing an oversized shirt Bodhi found in one of the bedrooms.

Sasha stayed pressed against her leg.

Bodhi stayed pressed against the other side.

They took two chairs and somehow occupied one.

Rachel drank water slowly.

Ate half a piece of toast.

Then looked around the table.

“You should probably tell me what happened.”

Gene leaned back.

“You sure?”

“No.”

“Good answer.”

Bodhi started with the morning she left for ice cream.

The unmoved seashell bowl.

The school.

The notes.

The Farm.

The books falling from shelves while nobody else saw them move.

Rachel covered her mouth.

“That was me.”

“I know that now.”

“I was trying to reach you.”

“You threw an entire shelf at a librarian.”

“I couldn’t control it.”

“I thought I was being hunted by a poltergeist.”

Gene laughed.

Rachel hid her face against Bodhi’s shoulder.

“I was trying to save you.”

“You terrified me.”

“I’m sorry.”

Bodhi kissed the top of her head.

“It’s funny now.”

“It is not.”

“It’s a little funny.”

Gene took over from there.

His version included several explosions that had not happened, two car chases that had, and a claim that he had personally defeated four dozen trained assassins with a plastic fork.

Kristy Lee corrected him when necessary.

Which was often.

Henderson explained Paradise.

The Order.

The Farm.

Dan Callahan’s extremely popular foam-sword video.

I objected to that portion.

Nobody cared.

Eventually the story reached the Dreamer.

Rachel listened without interrupting.

Her expression changed as we described the false version of her.

The sickness.

The manipulation.

The villagers.

Jack and Dipper.

The throne.

When we finished, Rachel stared into her coffee.

“I didn’t know.”

Bodhi rubbed her shoulder.

“I knew the Order was looking for me,” she said. “I knew they wanted my power. I didn’t know what was behind them.”

“You slipped between worlds,” I said.

Rachel nodded.

“I’d done it before. Only for seconds. Step out. Let danger pass. Step back.”

“What changed?”

“I went farther.”

Her eyes lost focus.

“I found a room where nothing could reach me. No dreams. No voices. No doors.”

“The white room,” I said.

“Yes.”

“You were safe.”

“I was trapped.”

Her fingers tightened around Bodhi’s.

“At first, I could still feel him.”

Bodhi looked at her.

“Me?”

“Always.”

A sad smile crossed her face.

“You were far away, but I knew where you were. Then the room got quieter. Time stopped meaning anything.”

“You didn’t know three years passed.”

“I didn’t know three minutes passed.”

Bodhi closed his eyes.

Rachel touched his face.

“I tried making openings. Small ones. Books. Sounds. Whatever I could push through before the room sealed itself again.”

“The poltergeist.”

She glared.

“Stop calling me that.”

Gene raised a hand.

“In his defense, it’s a strong description.”

Kristy Lee lowered his hand.

Rachel continued.

“I was getting weaker. Then something changed.”

She looked at Bodhi.

“I felt him first.”

Bodhi’s thumb moved across her knuckles.

“Love.”

Rachel nodded.

“A direction. Something calling me home.”

Her gaze shifted toward Gene.

“Then I felt movement.”

Gene pointed at himself.

“Me?”

“I didn’t know who it was. It felt like someone running toward danger while every sensible part of him begged him to stop.”

Kristy Lee smiled.

“That’s him.”

“Courage,” Rachel said.

Gene looked uncomfortable with the word.

Finally, she turned toward me.

“Then a door appeared.”

The room grew quiet.

“I couldn’t see what was beyond it. There was no proof it went anywhere.”

“Faith,” Henderson said.

Rachel nodded.

“I stepped through.”

I thought about the wooden door in the Dreamer’s castle.

The stone forgetting how to remain stone.

“We pulled you back.”

“All three of you.”

Bodhi kissed her forehead.

Rachel leaned into him.

“And the help of some very good friends.”

The stories continued long after the food disappeared.

We moved into the living room.

Someone found blankets.

Someone else found another bottle of something Henderson claimed had been entered into evidence years earlier.

Gene told us about the first time Kristy Lee threatened him.

Kristy Lee explained that it had not been the first time.

Henderson described his first week as mayor.

Bodhi talked about the books he had stopped writing.

Rachel listened to every word like she was collecting pieces of the years she had lost.

Eventually the stories slowed.

Henderson fell asleep in an armchair with his tie loosened.

Gene stretched out on the floor.

Kristy Lee rested against the couch with one hand buried in his hair.

Bodhi and Rachel sat together beneath a blanket.

Sasha lay across their feet.

I stayed awake longest.

The Farm creaked around us.

Not empty anymore.

Not haunted.

Full.

Lost people had a way of finding this place.

Or maybe the place found them.

For one moment, I imagined the porch repaired.

The barn restored.

Young athletes walking the fields before sunrise. Men sitting around this same table telling the truth after years of lying to themselves.

Lost River.

The thought came quietly.

I let it sit.

Some decisions didn’t need to be attacked immediately.

I closed my eyes.

By morning, the world looked ordinary again.

Sunshine covered the fields.

Coffee filled the kitchen.

Three engines approached along the dirt road.

Gene went to the porch first.

A new touring motorcycle rolled from the back of a delivery trailer.

Black.

Chrome.

Large enough to carry Gene without looking frightened.

Two helmets rested on the seat.

Gene stared.

“Is that mine?”

“Paperwork is in the saddlebag.”

Kristy Lee looked at me.

“You bought him a motorcycle?”

“I bought both of you transportation.”

Gene slowly walked around it.

He looked dangerously close to becoming emotional.

Then he pointed at one of the helmets.

“That one looks small.”

“It’s hers.”

“I knew that.”

A dark Jeep pulled in behind the trailer.

Four doors.

Plenty of cargo space.

A padded area prepared for Sasha.

Bodhi looked at me.

“Please tell me this one isn’t stolen.”

“Not even a little.”

Rachel ran one hand across the hood.

“You did this overnight?”

“I know people.”

Gene continued circling the motorcycle.

“He knows rich people.”

“I am rich people.”

The final vehicle rolled into view.

A long black limousine.

Newer than the one that brought us to the Farm.

Cleaner.

Armored glass.

Henderson walked down the steps.

He inspected his reflection in the paint.

“Is it bulletproof?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

The driver opened the rear door.

Henderson looked inside.

“Minibar?”

“Stocked.”

He smiled.

“You understand public service.”

Paradise officers arrived behind the limousine.

They loaded Jack and Dipper’s motorcycles onto a transport trailer.

No one called dibs.

Then it was time.

Gene and Kristy Lee left first.

Gene fastened his helmet.

Kristy Lee climbed on behind him and wrapped both arms around his waist.

Gene looked at all of us.

His visor remained raised.

“Guys.”

He paused.

“It’s been real.”

Kristy Lee’s grip tightened.

“It’s been fun.”

“Gene.”

“But it hasn’t been real fun.”

Kristy Lee smacked the side of his helmet.

“Ow.”

Even through the padding, he sounded offended.

“I’m bad at goodbyes.”

“We noticed,” I said.

Gene looked at me.

The joke disappeared.

“You’re a good man, Dan.”

“So are you.”

He glanced away.

“Yeah, well. Don’t spread it around.”

Bodhi hugged him.

Then Henderson.

Then me.

Kristy Lee climbed off long enough to hug Rachel and Bodhi.

When she reached me, she squeezed hard.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Staying.”

That one landed.

She returned to the motorcycle.

Gene lowered his visor.

The engine came alive.

He lifted one hand.

Then he and Kristy Lee disappeared down the dirt road.

Bodhi loaded their small collection of borrowed clothes into the Jeep.

Rachel climbed into the passenger seat.

Sasha immediately claimed the back.

Before Bodhi closed the door, she jumped out again and ran toward me.

I knelt.

Sasha pressed her head against my chest.

I wrapped both arms around her.

“You take care of them.”

She licked my cheek.

“I’m serious.”

Another kiss.

“Bossy dog.”

Her tail wagged.

Rachel approached me.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then she hugged me.

“I owe you my life.”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“You opened the door.”

“We all did.”

She stepped back.

“Be well, Dan.”

“You too.”

I pointed toward Bodhi.

“Keep an eye on him.”

“I intend to.”

Bodhi pulled me into a hug.

“I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Next time your wife disappears between worlds, call someone.”

Rachel folded her arms.

Bodhi smiled.

“I’ll put it on the list.”

They climbed into the Jeep.

Sasha settled into the padded cargo area with her head between the front seats.

The Jeep turned toward the road.

Rachel looked back through the open window.

Bodhi lifted one hand.

Then the three of them disappeared beyond the fields.

Together.

The way they were supposed to be.

Henderson stood beside his limousine.

His driver waited with the door open.

“I suppose this is me.”

“Looks that way.”

He shook my hand.

Then pulled me into a brief hug.

“Your mother would be proud.”

I looked toward the horizon.

“I hope so.”

“I know so.”

He released me and straightened his jacket.

“One thing’s for sure.”

“What’s that?”

“You’ll never forget Paradise.”

I smiled.

“No.”

The limousine door closed behind him.

“I don’t think I will.”

The armored car rolled down the dirt road.

Then I was alone.

The Farm stood behind me.

Quiet again.

But not empty.

Maybe Lost River would find its way here someday.

Maybe it already had.

A distant sound moved across the morning sky.

Low.

Rhythmic.

I looked toward the horizon.

A dark speck appeared above the fields.

It grew larger.

Rotors beating against the air.

The helicopter crossed the last line of trees and circled the Farm while the pilot inspected the landing area.

Then it descended toward the open field.

Wind swept across the porch.

Grass flattened.

Dust rose around my shoes.

The helicopter would take me to the airport.

My plane would take me to Texas.

To a ranch that needed rebuilding.

Paradise had saved us.

The Farm had remembered me.

But there was only one place in this world that had ever truly been mine.

I stepped off the porch and walked toward the waiting helicopter.

Home.