Running Home – Chapter 3 (Penn and Sword series)

“What…?” I whisper, brow bunching. Duck? Like the animal? I flip over the letter, but find no other message. “What does that even mean—?”

Behind, my bedroom door bursts open, clattering against the wall.

I react fast and do as the letter warns. I duck just in time as a thick, leather-bound book flies through the door, smacking against the mattress.

“And another thing,” an annoyed, brash voice breaks through the air, “don’t EVER try to keep secrets from ME Vincent, because I swear to EVERY GHOULISH GOD—”

I gasp. A sizzling, reddish light crackles around the corners of the door frame as the vested stranger fills the threshold with nothing but fury in his thick brows. His glare stops my heart. But when he presses his hands to either side of the frame and finally notices me curled down low, his pale face drops in confusion.

His righteous volume lowers. “Well… you’re not a terribly insincere fish-man.”

My mouth stops working. Too shocked to move.

The stranger adjusts his red vest, no longer torn, as he searches my bedroom. Both hands, fingers bony and long, sift through his unkempt black hair. “How did I…” He looks behind him, then forward again. “Where’s the dock?”

Slowly, I find my feet and catch an unnatural reddish glow behind him that definitely wasn’t there before. Beyond his thin shoulder, I search for the source and balk.

The third-floor loft… is gone.

Behind him, black-painted shelves stack high, each filled with leaning tomes, piles of red and cream papers, and tightly coiled scrolls. Coal drawings pin every inch of exposed wall. Dozens of crimson-glowing orb lamps decorate the sparse space left, stretching high into an unseen ceiling. Thick scents roll through the air, spicy like cinnamon. Yet citrusy too.

All impossible.

The red-vested intruder notices my curious stare. He quickly slams the door shut before I can take in more details of the strange room beyond, then points a long finger at my nose. “Who are you?”

I blink back to the empty bedroom. To the man who fell from the roof. Standing right in front of me. Alive, clothes untorn and put-together. Bags under his eyes less purpled. Color returned to his thin face.

The mystery needles at the base of my skull. I hide the red letter in a fist. “Who are you?”

His long, pointing finger deflates. “Right, uh, I suppose I am the one barging in.” He shuffles his hair. “This is your… bedroom?”

“Yes.”

Penn spins around to scan each wall, then scratch at the nearest one. Sniffs it. “And this is… Earth?”

I squint. “Where else would it be? Mars?”

“Hardly.” He sniffs again. Then scoots past me, leaning away from any sort of touching contact in this small space. The stranger collects his thick book from the bed while searching the room from this angle, then straightening to glance out the still-open window. “Ah, Excalibur! Home sweet home again… Oh, I suppose I should apologize. Throwing a book at someone’s head. A roommate, no less!” He spins back to face me. “Not very polite.”

“No, it’s not. What was…that?” I point at the closed door. “The hall looked different.”

The stranger’s jaw rocks from side to side. Then his dark gray eyes fall to my balled up hand. His thick brows ease their confused scrunching. “Ah… You have one of my letters.”

I stiffen. “What?”

“In your hand. The reddish paper. My signature. I make it myself.” He grins proudly.

With a huff, I reveal the crumpled note. “Sad girl? What’s that about?”

His thin shoulders shrug. “Is it accurate?”

My cheeks heat.

With a curt nod, he snatches the red paper away. “Let’s see, let’s see. Hm… brief message. Though helpful, I suppose.” He chuckles once, nervous. “Sorry again.”

“Who are you?” I cross my arms, nothing standing between me and the door now. I take a cautious step forward. “How did you—”

As if sensing my intentions, the stranger rushes around me, pressing his back to the door. “Probably a fault in the port. Showing up in the wrong door. Nothing for you to worry about. Or remember, actually. Never remember it. And I’ll never bother you again.”

“What were you doing on the roof?”

“The roof?”

“You fell! What were you doing up there?”

“I… fell? Hm. Strange.”

“That’s where you left the letter! Don’t you remember?”

“Remember,” he says, a soft giggle escaping him.

My cheeks heat again. “Why are you laughing?”

“I’ll fix this. Don’t worry.” He quickly turns and opens the door, but only enough to slip back to the other side that isn’t the loft. Into that red-glowing room that shouldn’t exist.

I rush after. “Stop!”

He snaps the door shut like a child. So, I tug it back open, ready to berate him with more questions.

But the glow is gone. The spicy-citrus scents fade away. All that’s left is the blank screen TV and several lonely bean bags scattered on the floor in the loft.

A twisted thrill slices through my stomach.

How… did he do that?

Marching across the hall, I twist the knob of his bedroom, meeting resistance. I try again. And again. But to no result.

Where did he come from? What was that room? Why was he on the roof and so cold and why doesn’t he remember anything?

The questions skewer through me. But the longer I stand here, hand on the knob, midnight silence offering no answers, the less adrenaline surges through my system.

“Have I lost my mind?” Turning away, I hold my head. I haven’t slept properly for days while trying to find a place to live, escape my dysfunctional family, escape the debilitated diner, the terrible, terrible fight. My sister’s goodbye letter…

The panicked pulse returns behind my ribs. Maybe I’ve finally snapped. I just need to sleep. That’s all. I should just go back to bed. I turn back toward my room, tense shoulders deflating. Not looking forward to three hours of sleep before my long day of work.

Behind, Ghost’s bedroom door creaks open.

I spin about and find those dark gray eyes alighting on mine once again. Imploring. Sagging. Rimmed in purple. “Can I ask you a question?” He leans out the door, hiding as much of the alien red glow behind him as he can. The same red glow but coming from a different door this time.

I stare, astonished. Confused. Mind scrambling like eggs. “How… How the hell are you doing that? Are you some amateur magician? What’s back there?”

He continues on as if I never spoke. “Why would I send you one of my letters?”

Searching for words, I mutter nonsense at first, as flustered as Simon was around me. “I… don’t know. You’re the one who addressed it. How am I supposed to know what you’re thinking? Walking on the roof, barging into my room, throwing books at my face. You should be answering my questions. Who are you?”

He smiles, head tilting to one side.

I scoff, at a loss.

“I suppose we are roommates, hm?” he says, leaning back. “Well, welcome. Enjoy your new home.”

I lift on my tiptoes to see over him but can’t catch much more than the reddish light cast over the impossible room before it snaps shut, leaving me in nighttime darkness.

My frustration boils over as I turn away, soft and bitter. “This isn’t my home.”

The door creaks again. I whip around to find him poking his head of messy black hair back out. He looks me up and down with those tired, tired eyes. He bites his lip, as if keeping his question at bay. But it bursts forth, quiet and curious. “Where is your home, then?”

It’s such a strange question from such a strange person.

My answer comes out harsher than I intend. “I… don’t know anymore. But it’s not,” I gesture at the dark hall, “this place.”

His smile shrinks, bends at the edges. “This isn’t my home, either.” Something in his gaze twinkles. “Apologies for my assumption. What is your name?”

Chest tight, I say, “Acantha. Sword.”

“Ho, what a name. Acantha Sword. And you’ve ended up here! Excalibur. Of all places.” He grins at me, genuine in his fascination. Though why, I don’t know. “Goodnight, Acantha Sword. I will see you soon.” He closes the door before I can protest.

I push it open again, not stopped by a lock this time. But only the unused bed, empty desk, and dark window greet me under the moonlight.

The red felt blanket remains on the mattress. Where I left it.

The red letter’s curling script pulses through me. For the sad girl.

I catch my reflection in his window, seeing the same sagging features, puffy eyes, and turned down lips as the red-vested stranger decorating my heart-shaped face. Perhaps morphed under the same emotion. Loneliness. Anger.

Loss…

Slowly, I close up his room and return to my own. Shut my window. Lock my door. Red felt blanket cuddled close, I question my mind. Wonder how this mystery red-vested guy conjured the glowing room. Wonder if I’ve finally lost myself in the grief of losing the only home I’ve ever known.

I will see you soon, he’d said.

“Who are you?” I whisper into the night, realizing he hadn’t offered a name in return. Eyes on the bedroom door, sternum twisting tight, I wait. Half-afraid of him appearing. Half-intrigued to meet him again.

To see that sad, smiling face again.