Jigsaw World Read online

  Just as she got through taking down his order, there was some sort of flicker around her body, and he saw her walking back toward the kitchen, and standing in front of him at the same time. When he looked into her face, it was obvious that she was noticing nothing amiss, so he didn’t press the point. Instead, it was time to solve the mystery of the missing El Paso.

  “Do you happen to know how far it is to El Paso? I thought it was around here somewhere, but I didn’t see it on the signs.” Tom said. Out of the corner of his eyes, he was seeing flickering visions of the waitress and other people in various parts of the diner, doing reasonable and acceptable things, but seeming to violate the laws of time and common sense.

  The waitress, who was wearing a name tag that called her Mildred, assumed a slightly confused, with a smidgeon of suspicious look. “I never heard of a town called El Paso. There is a town called Mosey Trail a few more miles down the road. Are you sure you got the name right?”

  Given the oddness of the situation, Tom decided not to press his luck. “I may have got it wrong. What do you people do for fun around here?”

  Mildred brightened right up. “We mainly just farm and ranch around here. Once or twice a year, we go raiding across the border; rustle a few camels or the occasional Manticore. In the fall, there are the sacrifices to do, of course. Those are a lot of fun if we have caught enough border crossers. Otherwise, we have to find some troublemaking teenagers in town to make up the difference.”

  “I hate when that happens,” Tom said. “Anyway, thanks for the info.” Mildred smiled and headed back toward the kitchen just as her phantom-self had done a couple of minutes before. Tom looked at Bailey, who was watching all of the activity around them, both physical and spectral, with an intense scrutiny that Tom had never seen from any other dog than Bailey.

  No sooner had Mildred passed through the swinging doors of the kitchen, than Tom saw some manifestation of her coming out of the kitchen bearing their food. She delivered the platters to their table with a satisfied smile, and then flickered back into the kitchen. The food certainly looked substantial, despite his momentary worry that it shared the spectral nature of the people in this town, but Bailey proved its validity by diving right in, and wolfing down his patties. Tom followed suit, and he had to admit that the fries were fantastic, and the burgers were wonderful.

  Twenty or thirty minutes later, they piled into the van with full bellies, and a more cheerful disposition toward life in general, and this trip in particular. They made a brief stop at an Evolopump station for gas, and then they were off headed east down Interstate 10.

  Tom drove for a couple of hundred miles, getting off of the interstate for a little while toward the end of the second hundred. When they finally decided to stop for a little rest, they found themselves in the restful town of Toyahvale. Town might have been overstating it a bit. It was a small crossroads community of perhaps a hundred souls, one lonely restaurant, a Bed-and-Breakfast and several farms.

  He pulled up to the restaurant parking lot and parked. He and Bailey jumped out of the van and went into the cafe. He had decided not to worry about whether Bailey was permitted in any of these establishments, because so far, none of them seemed to have had a problem with him. Maybe Texas really was the most civilized state in the nation.

  They settled into a booth at the back of the restaurant, and ordered a coffee and the steak dinner for Tom, and milk (in a bowl) and the steak dinner for Bailey. There were three other customers in the place. One of them was sitting by himself, and was an obvious traveler, and the other two were just as obviously locals, laughing and sitting together next to the front window.

  Tom strolled over to the traveler, and invited him to join Tom and Bailey. He promptly took Tom up on the offer, joining them at the booth forthwith. It turned out that he was Seth, a tourist just in from New Jersey, headed the long way to Los Angeles to visit his Lesbian sister before shipping out with the Peace Corps.

  As they were talking, and smoking the cigarettes that were forbidden to smoke indoors in most of the liberal leaning states of the union, a loud, argumentative noise rose up from the two natives that had been dining together. Both of them rose to their feet, and the large bearded one pushed the smaller one back, and took out a large Smith and Wesson revolver, and shot the other one in the head.

  The waitress and the cook emerged from the back, and the survivor requested that they reseat him at a cleaner table while they cleaned up the mess. While he was sitting down, they called someone, and requested that they respond to the cleanup. The waitress then came over to the table where Tom and Seth was sitting, and advised them to stay away from the body and the blood.

  “What happened?” Seth asked. “Why did he shoot that man?”

  “Ted had a rash, and Brandon saw it. He shot Ted so the rash wouldn’t infect anyone else.” The Waitress said.

  “He was killed just because he had a rash?” Tom asked. “That seems a little strict.”

  The waitress sat down and told the two of them the whole story. Some two months ago, a local farmer had wandered into the restaurant with a vicious rash on his neck. He scratched it a few times, and then he shook the Preacher’s hand when he met him. The next day, the man returned to the ‘town’, and attacked a couple, tearing out the throat of the guy with his teeth, and eating the meat that he tore away. The wife ran away to get some help, and finally ended up at the church with a couple of concerned friends. Meanwhile, other townsfolk had put down the attacker.

  When they saw the Preacher, he had a vicious rash extending the full length of his arm. They promptly loaded the Preacher up and took him to the house of the local healer, who put him in bed. Sometime during the night, the Preacher got up and killed the healer, tore her body into pieces and started eating her.

  Ever since that horrible night, the sighting of a rash in the town has been a death sentence. A few times, the disease had been more advanced before the townsmen stopped the carriers. The poor people who were infected were starting to change into something more like a feral and predatory ape than like a human. The hunger for freshly killed meat and blood was overwhelming for the victims. Animal meat was like trying to satisfy a meth problem with a cup of coffee. Only human flesh would satisfy the hunger, and only for a few moments.

  A man in an ill-kept Sheriff’s uniform came into the restaurant, and took notes as Brandon told him what happened. A couple of EMTs followed him in a few minutes later with a medical gurney in tow. The EMTs loaded Ted onto the gurney and took him out the door, just as a group of four men wearing clear plastic coveralls, and carrying various cleaning agents and devices came in.

  The waitress came over to where Tom and Seth were sitting and told them that they would need to leave the restaurant, and that their food was on the house because of the problem. Tom thanked her, and the two humans and one canine got up and left the building.

  “Well, I would ask you if you need a ride, but I know that you are going the other way, and that you must have a car, because you would not have made it this far across Texas hitchhiking.” Tom said.

  “I am all set.” Seth said. “The car is doing well, and I think that I will try to make it to the coast all in one long drive.”

  “Not a bad idea, but let me give you some advice.” Tom said. “Don’t depend too much on what your map says. I have noticed that things west of here seem to be different from what the maps indicate, for some reason. Also, there seems to be a number of dangerous storms and situations between here and Phoenix, so sail through that area as fast and quietly as possible.”

  “After this rash thing, I will take you at your word on the danger. You take care of yourself and your dog. Hope you get to where you are going.” Seth said.

  Five minutes later, Tom and Bailey are loaded up in the van, clicking the miles off toward the interstate on Texas Highway 17. Tom had an insane urge to stop somewhere and wash his hands and skin after that last stop, but he recognized the hypochondriac nature of that u
rge, and repressed it.

  Once they regain the interstate, Tom popped the top on one of his precious ‘road beers’ and nursed it as he drove. With eight hundred miles between him and anything interesting, he doubted that he would get much trouble from a little drinking and driving right now. If he were to pass a County Mounty, chances are that he too would be engaging in a little ‘road beer’.

  He kept an even pace, peeling the miles off at 63 of them per the hour. After a couple of hours, he started to feel the pressures of an aging bladder, and in one of those mysterious trip miracles, he sees a sign for a place called Urstation City. He took the indicated off ramp, and rolled into a small city which looked to be a college town interbred with a new age food coop and second hand bookstore type of town.

  Just for the hell of it, he pulled off into the parking lot that fed the small house converted to storefront with the sign advertising ‘Martha the Oracle’. After everything that had happened, Tom saw no reason why getting his fortune read would be unreasonable. Tom and Bailey walked up to the door, Tom knocked twice, and then he pushed the door open. He had always been confused about the protocol for entry in these sorts of situations.

  Inside the store/house, it was fairly dark, with two candles burning on a table. On the table was a little bell ringer, like the ones that you would find in a run-down motel with some run down old man in charge of the night desk. Tom proceeded to tap the ringer, and after a moment, a piece of black velvet cloth that apparently served as a hallway door moved to one side, and an overly plump middle-aged lady waddled into the room.

  “Hello, I am Martha.” The lady said. “Have you come for a reading?”

  “Nope, I came for some coffee, but if you are out of coffee, I will accept a reading.” Tom quipped. “Lay it on me.”

  Martha sat down at the table, and said, “Please sit down. I will take a moment to reach a precognitive state.” Tom sat down beside Martha, and Bailey lay down at Tom’s feet. For about three minutes, Tom watched as Martha sat quietly, with her eyes closed. At the end of that time, she opened her eyes. She began to speak in a voice unlike that which she greeted Tom with.

  “You are on a destined path. You will speak to a god, and you will stand with bloodied hands above the dead. You will see and overcome one whose soul is fire, and one whose soul is a wolf. You will see the gate that bars a horror. You shall see those without souls, and those with many souls. You will find a place where time is fractured, and where many worlds touch. You will see those who hide in the sky. You will risk a secret, and find a love. You will find a stone, and build a world. You will find the monster in the man.”

  Having said that, Martha closed her eyes once again, and after a few seconds she opened them again. In the voice that she originally greeted him with, she said, “That will be forty dollars, please.”

  Tom thought about stiffing her for the money, just for a second. He decided after a few seconds reflection, that the entertainment value of the reading was probably worth the forty bucks, and there might be a small chance that the reading was valid. He reached into his billfold and pulled out two twenties.

  “Alright, here is forty, but I might be back for a refund, if your reading is off.”

  “In that case, you won’t be back.” Martha said with a twisted grin. “My readings are never wrong.”

  After a couple of more exchanges, Tom got directions to the nearest motel, and Bailey and he piled into the van, and made their way to the motel. After paying another forty bucks for a room, Tom had a room and was busy selectively unpacking items for the night. The liquor store next door provided beer and rum, and the bookstore next to it promised a cornucopia of fine books to peruse.

  Over the next half hour, Tom secured a twelve pack of bud and a fifth of cheap rum, a pack of smokes and a large Meat-Lovers pizza. Then he and Bailey ambled over to the Book Store. They entered the store through a small set of steps leading downward into a short brick corridor that terminated at the door of the bookstore.

  As they entered the store, they relaxed into the darker and cooler world that the store seemed to exist in. Somewhere the soft fragrance of vanilla incense magically made the store a place of soft magic, where one could read the endless tomes of knowledge and experience for long hours while a truce was called for all the earth.

  Forty-five minutes later, Tom was curled up on one of the easy reading chairs, and Bailey was curled up in canine comfort under his feet. Tom had an eclectic collection of science fiction, travel, philosophy and occult books. He had just finished a sci-fi book dealing with macro-wormholes used for travel by aliens, and was into an occult book dealing with lycanthropy.

  “Bailey, we have to get a silver knife somewhere. I suspect that we will encounter werewolves sometime soon, and the best advice is to stick them with a silver blade. I wouldn’t put it past them to have mastered wormhole travel, so if you see one forming, give me the high sign so I can jab in time.” Tom said. Bailey thumped his tail against the floor in agreement.

  “I don’t think werewolves travel by wormholes.” Said a cute little freckled red-head that was scanning nearby titles, and obviously snooping. “They would have a logistics problem. Every time they entered the wormhole, they would lose sight of the full moon, and then they would revert to human form.”

  “Yeah, but think how horrifying it would be for the wormhole to open up in front of you, and to see them transforming to furry murder machines in front of your eyes, just before you get ate.” Tom joked. “Also, they could transport themselves to a planet with no moon, or one that has a full moon all the time.”

  This was just the start to a long and wonderful afternoon at the bookstore, and then later, back at Tom’s motel room. Even Bailey was enjoying himself, although he wisely refrained from the consumption of alcohol when the party entered that phase. After the social and biochemical necessities, Tom had the opportunity to discover for himself that Vicki (that was her name) was an actual red-head. After a careful and energetic inspection of Vicki, they eventually settled down into a state of slumber in the bed.

  Tom is sitting in front of a crackling campfire, watching the flames dance in front of his eyes. Across the fire sits a large man with red hair and a beard who is so tall that he looks slender. He is wearing some sort of leather garment with multiple layers in areas that suggest it is some sort of leather armor. Beside him is a spear made all of a gleaming silver metal, stuck upright in the ground with the point aimed at Heaven. The man is missing his right hand. It seemed to Tom that he should know the man, but he didn’t.

  “Who did you say that you were, again?” Tom asks.

  “You mortals have such short memories.” The Man says. “I am Tyr, son of Odin, son of Bor, son of Buri, calfed by Audhumla. I have saved the worlds of man a thousand times in the last five thousand years, the last time in the company of a great host of gods and walkers and workers of magic.”

  “I don’t know the name Tyr, and Audhumla sounds to be a hefty lady, but I have heard the name Odin before.” Tom said. “Was he named after the Norse god?”

  “Not named after, He is the Alfadur, who gave his eye at the well of Mimir, who hung upon the Worldtree for nine days and nine nights, who founded the city of Asgard, and who guards the nine worlds against the creatures of chaos that would bring on the final winter.”

  “He sounds like a happening dude. So why are you here, Tyr, what do you want of me?”

  “I want nothing from you, Watcher. I have a message and a gift for you. I will see you in the world in a few days. Here is the gift that I give you, the blade of ManeKnivblad, which you will need soon. Your hands will soon be blooded, and the blade will dispatch one whose soul is fire, then one whose soul is a wolf.” Tyr says, and gives Tom a long silver knife. “Like all Watchers, you are blessed to be removed, and cursed by it also. Take care, and I will see you soon on the path you travel.”

  Tom woke up and took a moment to remember his circumstances. He remembered Vicki, and looked about the mo
tel room eagerly for her. He didn’t see anything, and when he rubbed his eyes to clear them, there was something thick and sticky on his hands. He focused his eyes, and saw that his hands were covered in cold and congealing blood, at that stage where it was significantly tacky when he brought his fingers together. He smelled the overpowering coppery smell of the blood. He had a flash of concern for Vicki, and got up, washed up his hands at the sink, and started looking around for her.

  Finally, he found her. She was wrapped up in a blanket, lying in the back of the van, with her throat cut and very, very dead. Bailey was in the van too, but he was very much alive, sleeping in the front seat. Tom concentrated, but he could not remember anything after making love to her last night. He had no idea why she was dead, or why she was in the van.

  All Tom knew is that if someone thought that he had anything to do with her being dead, it wouldn’t go well for him. He had better find a safe place to stow the body, and get away from this place. He went back into the motel room, packed his stuff, and double-checked the place for anything forgotten or troublesome. He settled up with the clerk, and by noon, they were tooling down the interstate.

  A bit further on, they came to one of those lonely off ramps that always accesses some sort of utility road. Tom took that one, and started looking about for a good spot as soon as the road turned to gravel under his tires. An hour later, Vicki was buried in some soft dirt near a creek, and the van had returned to the interstate.

  Tom did a cursory check of the van and his bags, to make sure that everything of his was in the van, and anything that would tie him to Vicki was not. Rolled up in one of his shirts, he did find the blade that he received in the dream, or one just like it. It was clean and unbloodied, so he decided to keep it.