ELEVEN

Mrs. Krenski was an elderly woman, somewhere in her nineties, that had arrived at the hospital a couple of weeks before - she was from Ray's old neighborhood, and was one of those ladies that ends up in every historial society, botanical society, and special event team.  It had been a stroke.  She wasn't expected to wake up, but she was expected to last a while.  Ray had known her a little.  There was already another ruined road stretching out from Ray's pillar, winding out into the dark, which he believed led to her.  He'd been thinking about who it would be smart to look for in the outlands much of the day, and Mrs. Krenski has seemed perfect.

We took the jeep, from Gina's place.  Or, a jeep, at least, though this one looked a little newer and more military.  As we skimmed along, we noticed that there hadn't been any changes to Ray's pillar; we guessed that seeing how it looked the night before had fixed it in his mind at the time.  A bit of circling, and we found the other road, and set along it.

As we drove, we saw in the distance what looked to be a swarm of bats - but far larger, and their bodies too thin.  Ray joked that they were bat-winged devils.  We all laughed, but even the laugh had a bit of a nervous edge to it; the idea that those were human shapes with wings, obscured by distance, was a little too believable.  The swarm never turned towards us, though - they had left or crossed our route before we ever caught sight of them.  The bat-things had their own destination in mind.

It wasn't hard to tell that we'd arrived; Mrs. Krenski's pillar was Ray's old neighborhood, dressed up in age and time, and lit with nostalgia.  Mrs. Krenski, it seemed, tried to remember each place at its best, and succeeded.

High up on the side, though, there was some kind of scalloped encrustation, like a wasps' nest folded in on itself in repeating clamshell shapes, one inside the other.

"What do you think that is?"

"Dunno.  Bad feeling, though."

"Yeah."

We walked around the base, which Ray told us was Kingsport First Baptist church, and came to the doors.  We were met, there.  But it was a preacher who met us, not Mrs. Krenski.  And as he came out the doors to meet us, other members of the congregation, all in sunday best, materialized transluscently around us and slipped past us to walk inside.  Ray gave us a kind of 'hold back' hand gesture, to say he had this one.

"Been a long time since you came in these doors, young Mr. Sanderson."

"Yes, it has.  We're here to deal with that." Ray turned a little, pointed up at the ugly nest-thing.

"Well, well.  Turned Samaritan, have you now?  Well, we may have a little something for you, then.  Come in!"

As we walked in, I mumbled angrily at Ray "What do you mean, deal with that?"

To which he responded "Worked, didn't it?"

And then we were inside, following the preacher on a meandering course.  Hardwood floors and everything polished until you could see the inner glow of it, warm afternoons in sunshine.  That was the inside of Mrs. Krenski's mind.  Not all of it, of course - we could see hints of sorrowful sights, and hear youthful music from long ago echoing as we went, and it was plain that there was plenty of variety off the main corridors.  But the well-worn halls, utterly solid and real-feeling, had that hazy golden glow.

Gina elbowed Ray, with "Hell of a lady, was she?"

"Yeah.  She was.  Still is, even if this is the only way to see her."

Gina hooked her arm through Rays, so they could walk together.  Which made me jerk for a second, but was kind of the obvious next thing, once I looked back and considered it.  Though I didn't really make any notes on it in these pages, they had cracked a lot of jokes together; they had a fight with thrown toast the morning before, and a hundred other little things.  Where I'd paid attention at all, I'd just chalked it up as 'bonding', rolled my eyes, and left them to it.

Turning my attention back, the preacher was suddenly holding a military-style rifle.  I feel like I should be rattling off a couple of letters and numbers to say what kind, but I haven't got a clue about such things.  He was holding it laying across his palms, offering it out to me.

"This belonged to Abe.  Figure you know how to use it?"

"I...  Suppose I might have some idea."

I took the rifle, and almost collapsed.  Holding it, I could feel the history of the thing as Mrs. Krenski believed it to be.  Not as it had been.  In her mind, Abe Krenski had been a dashing, daring warrior, with an almost movie-star quality.  I gave the rifle a couple of parade-ground turns, which came off perfectly.

"Nice jacket, coz."

I was wearing a military jacket now.  World War two, maybe?  The cut seemed old enough that it could be, anyway.  And I was carrying a canvas satchel, as well, now.  The satchel twitched, the flap turning over.  The cat poked her head out, and gave me something of a look.

Mrow.

"You got that right, cat."