The Liminal People Read online

  “So I should take this pup as you being curious about me?” She shrugs her shoulders, revealing a massive python resting behind her. “Fair enough. So let me just say this, then. I’m sorry for killing your animal friends before. I didn’t realize what was going on.”

  “It’s all right,” she says, wiping the tears from her face. “My fault really. Putting them in harm’s way and all. I had asked them to do a lot before. Most of it they didn’t understand. Never asked them to go to their deaths. Didn’t think they’d do it. Figured they’d run away after you did . . . whatever it was you did to them. But they kept fighting for me. Even when I told them not to. I told them all to get away from you, but they wouldn’t hear it. They was all, even this lot, everyone, willing to die for me. How’s a body supposed to handle that?”

  I give her a completely honest shrug.

  Looking around the station (turned liminal girl flop), I realize who I’m sitting in front of. All the decorations belong to Prentis. This hardened street child, this liminal one, is a typical teenage girl complete with impossible crushes and fantasy loves. “It’s been a crazy week and a half for me, Prentis. Maybe you, too?”

  “Heard you killed Alia.” I nod, opting out of specifics. “Rajesh, too?” She shakes when she says his name.

  “Both of them are gone.”

  “I understand about Alia. She wasn’t all bad.”

  “I know.”

  “Just the runt of the litter, yeah? Didn’t like always being looked down upon, is all. Tried to look out for her. Tried to be her friend. But she wasn’t hearing me, always trying to fiddle with things. . . . You probably think she didn’t like me, right? Wrong. She loved me, like a sister, like a mother. See, but she couldn’t understand how to show it, thought it was a limitation to love somebody.”

  “It was quick.” She nods. Before she asks, I tell her. “I took my time with Rajesh.” She’s smiling. More animals lounge between the two of us.

  “You here for me, then?” she asks. “Want me to work for you, like I did for Alia?”

  “Not so much, no. I want to try something new. See if you’re up for it. If not, I swear you’ll be left in peace—at least by me. See, Tamara’s got this idea that she and I should live together. I’d train her, give her lessons, learn her proper in case a bigger, badder Alia came around. I’m thinking if I do it for one, I could do it for two.”

  She blinks more times than I thought possible . She tries to speak, coughs. Tries again.

  “I killed her mum and dad.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “I swear I did. Alia she said she wanted me to keep tabs on them, so I asked the rats to keep a look out for their scent and they found them and then Rajesh he blew them up. You see? I’m responsible. I couldn’t, I can’t look her in the eye.”

  “But when she took up refuge here, the rats knew. That means you knew. But you didn’t tell.”

  She nods. “Penance after the car blew up. I wasn’t in favor of the killings, yeah? But still, I can’t . . .” Again I nod. Then I breathe deep and tell her some truth.

  “I killed my brother,” I tell her. She pulls her head back slightly. “He was like us. Had powers like Tamara. I punched his head in until all I saw was red.”

  “Was he a bad man?”

  “Was Alia a bad girl? My brother had the same problem she did. Didn’t know what to do with someone that loved them too much. Is that bad? You tell me. That’s not the point. Point is I did something that I considered unforgivable. Didn’t help that no one around me would forgive me, either. I never tried to make amends. I never tried to make it right. I just assumed that if I did it once, then that’s what I was, that was all I was destined to be. I spent years trying to heal people, trying to make that right wrong, never realizing that’s what I was doing. I don’t wish that on you. I don’t wish that on anyone. Did you mess up? Of course you did. And our kind tends to mess up big. My question is, when are you going to start trying to rectify your mistakes?

  “Who are we to make such mistakes and ask to be forgiven?

  “Someone called us liminal people. It’s the best description I’ve heard yet. We dance the line between humans and gods. Some of us think they’re too much like gods. I’d like to see what it feels like to be human. Humans have families. Maybe the ones we’re born into, but how about the ones we choose?”

  “She can’t forgive me,” Prentis states.

  “Yeah? ’Cause if she does it’ll mean you’ll have to be in charge of your own life? You’ll have to live a human life. No more living underground. No more dumpster diving for food. If she forgives you, it means you have to enter the real world and try to make some sense of it. I know from experience, the life of a slave can be easier than the life of a human. But don’t get it twisted. You can only be one or the other. A human being or a slave.” I stand, and for the first time since I put it on, I take the razor-blade necklace off.

  “This is my chain, Prentis. My master made all his servants wear them to let us know how close we were to death. He likes to joke that if god is as close to you as your jugular vein, then he is even closer. Stupid joke with no humor, you know? I’m tired of being a slave, Prentis. Aren’t you?”

  She stands for the first time, and all the animals flow off of her like water. In her own dirty way, she’s gentle and kind with them all. She can’t weigh more than eighty-five pounds. Her face is pockmarked, and her dirty blond hair is oily and reeks of garbage. Her clothes are two sizes too big for her. But she smiles, and she looks glorious to me. I drop the razor and like magic I feel lighter.

  I give Prentis a one hundred euro note and the address where Tamara is staying. She’s cautiously optimistic entering the cab. I don’t blame her. A couple of days ago this would have been a scam I would have used to deliver her to Nordeen. Now, it’s a genuine act of kindness so foreign to my character I’m questioning whether I’m actually doing it. I’m about to call Tamara when her quixotic voice enters my mind. “Good job,” I feel her say. I also feel her restraint in not calling me father. I wonder whose benefit it’s for. I go white milk on white sheets in my mind, before I think anymore.

  My conversation with the animal girl opened a possibility so simple that it had eluded me for the past thirteen years. A possibility that, if true, makes life infinitely more complicated in the long term—but easier to manage in the short. I look up in the sky and see a beneficent alien descending on the streets of London. I think they call it the sun. I take it as a good omen, a sunny day in London.

  The familiar flood of pheromones is so comforting I take a full few minutes in front of Samantha’s door before I regulate my body to be as immune as possible. She opens with a grin before I’m done knocking.

  I took my time getting to her neighborhood again, not out of fear, just judging all the angles on the next most important conversation I’ll ever have. I watched a movie and ate a great dinner. I went to the bridge where Yasmine died and said a silent prayer to my own ambiguous gods, asking that her soul be kept safe . . . and close to Fish’n’Chips, a better husband and father than I ever managed to be. I told her to keep an eye out for me, because I might be seeing her soon. Ten times during the day and night I felt the tickle in the back of my mind—Tamara, trying to talk to me. But I sensed no urgency in her, no danger. She just wanted to know where I was. Sorry, luv, if this works out you can have me for the rest of my life, but this thing I have to do on my own.

  “I’m sorry, I know it’s late,” I offer as Samantha opens her door, this time in a red wrap. It’s two in the morning and she’s smoking that sweet smelling not-pot again.

  “I welcome you into my house, Taggert.” It’s a formality. As soon as I step in, she hugs me hard and blows some of that smoke into my mouth. It’s a bliss-filled intoxicant ride that even my regulatory powers can’t shake off. “I’m so happy you made it through your journey alive.”

  “As am I. I want to thank you for what you gave me.”

  “And you’d
like to ask me if I’d be willing to do it again.”

  “But your opinion first. If you’re willing.”

  “I will make tea. You will sit. Then we will speak.”

  I wait until she’s ready, and I lay it out for her. I don’t hold anything back. Not just about the past week or so. But my entire life. From Mac to Yasmine, to London the first time, the relief work, the Mog, the trek, the Dogon, Nordeen, the Aussie, South Africa, the lie I got away with the last time I was here. What I did to Rajesh, what Tamara did to Alia, every detail I can I tell her. I trust her. I shouldn’t. I don’t know her. But I’m trying new things, so I end with what I consider to be the most valuable piece of information.

  She listens with the patience of a priestess. Her questions are only probing in that they get me to speak more. She watches me except for when I tell her about killing the liminal children. And though she doesn’t look at me, I know it’s not out of judgment , but because she knows I’m unaccustomed to such honesty. All she does is listen. I respect her for it. Love her for it. I describe some of the darkest bits of my history, my soul, and her implacable face doesn’t change. When I’m done she pours more chocolate tea. We drink in silence.

  “I was taught a name,” she says. “It’s a name in a dead tongue, and so it has power. It is the name of the first growing sentience on this planet. It is the name of the first of the old gods. It was the god that was consumed by the other gods, the god which gave them the sustenance they needed to go on creating the rest of the universe. The home of that eaten god is Earth, and it is from that god that all other deities have sprung. To say its name in the presence of some causes great pain. In others it is a source of great relief.”

  “Samantha, I appreciate your religion but—”

  “I’ve told you this before, Taggert. This is not religion, this is fact.” She rises to her knees and leans over in my ear. “I give you this name, healer, so that if you have nothing else you may call on my god to protect you.” And she says the name. Like the words Nordeen used to reduce the lion, this word is weighted. But I am not heavier for hearing it. Instead, I am aware of my own contribution to the weight of the world. I want to speak it.

  “Hold it close to your heart now,” she says, leaning back into her seat. “Just as a scalpel can be a weapon, it can also be an instrument of healing. Intent is important with names such as this.”

  “Why . . . why did you tell me your god’s name?”

  “From the time you left, I’ve been petitioning my . . . congregation for permission to do so. I know of no greater strength to offer. I told you so that it might help in your coming conversation with your former master. And because I was directed to by mine. Can we go to bed now?”

  “Where is your razor?” It’s the younger Nordeen I face. But we are not in the jungle. We are sitting at a table on my rooftop in Biya. A place I will most likely never see again.

  “I will not be wearing it anymore, Nordeen.” A harsh snort, a mix of a laugh and a grunt, escapes his spirit mouth.

  “It seems the Ethiope bitch has limited my abilities in this visit. My goal was to devour your head whole.”

  “I didn’t think anyone had the power to curtail you.” I pour spirit tea for him and offer it. It’s the first time I’ve seen confusion in the old man’s face. He turns to the illusory sea.

  “In this medium, as it is only spirit stuff, your whore—”

  “I’d appreciate it if you’d stop calling her that,” I bark.

  “It’s pheromones, you addlepated oaf!” he barks back. “The only reason I sent you to her is because I thought you’d be able to defend yourself against them.”

  “I have. This isn’t about her.”

  “Are you sure? Don’t say it’s about religion. Don’t tell me she’s converted you to her heretical ravings. . . .”

  “It’s not about the religion, either. I didn’t like, don’t like, who I am under your control.”

  “But you are powerful with me.” He turns to face me. “Think on it, Taggert. Could you truly have asked for a better teacher than I? Not only opportunity and time to study your skill, but you also had interactions with others like us. Who else could have given you that?”

  “And it is for that reason I’m meeting with you now. I would be a liar if I said I didn’t appreciate what you’ve done for me. But the price is too high.”

  “What price, boy? What have I made you do—?”

  “You made me kill children!”

  “Psychotic children that should’ve never been born. Twisted approximations of us at best, bastard spawn of demigods at worst. My God, Taggert, do you truly view me as such a monster that I would order the random slaying of children?”

  “Yes.” It seems his fury will explode from his skin for a minute, and then he smiles.

  “Of course I would. It’s good to know you’ve grown past me bluffing you. By the way, when you wake tell your whore that she, as well as you, your daughter, and the totem girl are officially on my list. And when I come to London—”

  “You come to London and all the tricks I’ve ever learned, seen, thought about, imagined, had nightmares of, and fantasized about will be leveled against you and whatever powers you bring.” I’m furious. He knows about Tamara. “I was yours. I did as you asked, without question, for seven years. My time serving you is over.”

  “But you will serve someone, Taggert. If not me, then one of my allies. And if not them, then one of my enemies. But make no mistake, little healer, you cannot remain neutral in the forthcoming battle. I know you. I know your secret desires. Like the stupid American you are, you would try and take the Ethiopian as a wife and raise the totem girl and your daughter as sisters. Where do you think a quartet of power like that will be able to hide, boy?”

  “If I have to serve, it won’t be you!”

  “Again I ask you, this time in all seriousness, what was so wrong with serving me? You killed children? So what? Do you know how many children there are on this planet? One more or less doesn’t make any difference to anyone. The stakes that are coming will make one human life the equivalent of a peanut in a bag. Life, human life, our individual lives, do not matter.”

  “Another might believe that, Nordeen. But I am a healer. Despite what you may think of me, I am at my heart a healer. All life matters.”

  “Does life matter so much that the illusionist is still alive? How about her friend, who killed your old flame? Is he still alive? Or were you thankful for the opportunity to cull them both, as I knew you would be when I sent you up there?”

  “What?” Even in my spirit body I’m shaken.

  He clucks his sprit tongue and looks out at the sea. I think it’s real until he waves his hand and turns the waters red. “You know better than almost any other living being on the planet how easily I could turn this image into reality. I could drown the coast of England in blood and muck and mire. You cry about the children I’ve had you dispatch. Imagine what one with my age and their temperament could do. Name me evil if it helps you sleep better, Taggert, but know that I’ve been practicing Atlas-like levels of restraint since before your country of origin was even formed. What you call evil, I call the bigger picture. I knew you’d go to London. My goal was for you to bring all four of the young ones under your wing—and by extension under mine. But what was I to tell you? That your former lover and your bastard child had need of you? That it was better for them to be protected by the legend of my power than some flimsy junior politician? Think, boy—what other reason did I have for letting you keep the necklace on? I sent you out in the hope that you would bring more of us back. But as luck would have it, this Alia child was too deranged and your daughter too resourceful. Fine. You still managed to bond both the whelps to you. Beg forgiveness, here and now, and I won’t go to my contingency plans. Come now, Taggert, think. When do I ever lose? I wouldn’t send you off to foreign lands without having a way of getting you back in line, would I?” It takes me a second. I’m afraid, more afrai
d than I’ve ever been in my life. He could have my brother, fully healed, waiting in the wings. Samantha could be one of his. That’s how devious he is. Tamara, Prentis, they could have already been under his control before I even got here. But I will be brave.

  “Yes, you would send me,” I say quickly. “You’d send me because you love me.” He stands, knocking over the table.

  “What . . . ?” And I see it. The chink in the mighty Nordeen armor. “You’ve gone mad.”

  “Maybe. But why else would you send me out to collect the one thing you couldn’t give me, a family? It was the kindness of your nature, such as it is.”

  “I’ve encouraged you to breed!”

  “I said a family.” I stay seated, remembering that I am safe in a glass bed next to a woman capable of stopping this interaction if it becomes too untenable. “Yes, you’ve pushed whores and norms my way. But another one like us? Never. You say you knew about Tamara. That means you’ve known about her for a while. But you found a way to send me to her when she needed me most. I know how your mind works, Nordeen. You wanted to frame me as the hero so the girl and her mother would look to me for support. No doubt you had a plan to get rid of Bridgecombe, leaving me the inherited parent.”

  “You are a competent parrot, boy. I’ve said as much already.”

  “True, but not the why of it. There are a thousand and one ways you could have gotten both of them to come to you. A simple alliance with Alia would have gotten at least her under your wing, maybe . . . maybe even saved Yasmine’s life. It wasn’t their powers you wanted. It was them. And it wasn’t for you personally. It was for me. You did what you could to give me a family so that I would stay with you, love you like you love—”