Episode 11: Lay Low

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Credits/Contacts

Author: Liz Keller Whitehurst: [email protected]For inquiries about MESSENGER or rights queries, 
contact April Eberhardt: [email protected]Book editor: Annie Tucker: [email protected]Podcast design/social media: Brandon O’Neill: oneillcreativeco.comPhotography: Joy Whitehurst: Instagram: @turquoisekoiAudio production and voice artist: Rachel Pater: richmondstoryhouse.orgOriginal music and sound direction: Wells Hanley: [email protected]Recording and audio editing: Lance Koehler: minimumwagerecording.comSpecial thanks to Wilson, Joy, Audrey and April

 

Find Us Online 

Website: messengerthenovel.comFacebook: facebook.com/messengerthenovelInstagram: instagram.com/messengerthenovelTwitter: twitter.com/messenger_novel

 

Questions to Ponder

For Alana, visiting Anthropologie is a kind of portal to another reality. What does the word “portal” mean to you? Do you have a place you go when the going gets rough?What do you make of the encounter between Jackie and Messenger? Watchers, Guardian Watchers are mentioned. What is the hierarchy Messenger seeks to overthrow? What role might Alana play in her plan?The stakes seem higher than ever. What effects will Messenger’s laying low have on Alana?Name the ways the theme “Mothers and Daughters” runs through this episode?

 

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Episode 11 Complete Text  📖 
(Click here to access the PDF)

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SNOW DAY

 

Snow in the city is magical, Alana thought. Somehow it buffers the noise into echoes and all the nastiness is covered in white. Messenger and the Flower Lady had their spots, thresholds they could stand in, covered doorways they could huddle under, spaces between buildings, under the eaves, where they could stay dry. That afternoon, Alana found them huddled together under the awning of an apartment building on Fifth Street. Alana had found them jammed in there, the Flower Lady’s wheelchair against the wall, some of Messenger’s bags in front of her wheels. They crumbled stale bread and coffeecake onto the sidewalk. A few dozen birds, chocolate with fawn markings, had gathered, ate and hopped around as if tame. They looked almost pretty against all the white-covered sidewalks, their little footprints the only marks dotting the fallen snow. Alana shook herself off, startled them all away. Messenger and the Flower Lady looked up.

            “Why don’t you two go to Ed’s and get out of this weather?”

            “Oh, no! It’s wonderful!” Messenger held her hand out beyond the awning to catch snowflakes.

            The Flower Lady giggled. “Don’t you know it’s good luck to be outside in the snow?” She raised her chin and took a deep breath. “Just smell it.”

            Messenger hummed, “Um hum! I love it! Honey, today’s a snow day. No school today!” 

            The Flower Lady squealed, “Wheeee! Snow day!”

            They were having such a good time—like silly school girls themselves. That’s one thing you could say about Messenger, Alana thought. Wherever she went, she had fun. “Whose apartment is this?” she asked them.

            “We don’t know,” The Flower Lady said. “Ostap manages the building and he lets us sit here when the weather gets rough.”

            As if on cue, Ostap came around the corner, bundled up in a navy stocking cap. He carried two coffee cups and handed one to each. “Ladies,” he said. “Compliments of Ed. Sorry,” he muttered to Alana. 

            “Oh, I can get my own. No worries!”

            “We’re snug as a bug in a rug,” Messenger said. “That’s what my mama used to say when she tucked me into bed at night.”

            “Your mother?” Alana saw an opening and jumped right in. “And where was that exactly? Where did you live as a child?”

            “Okay!” Messenger licked her chapped lips. “Want to know about my home-raising? I’ll tell you everything you need to know. Well, there was this nice young guy, had a real sweet clear face. He walked down the street and carried this great big cardboard box to make a playhouse for his kids. I stopped him and he jumped a mile! Scared! Of me!” She laughed. “Oh, I didn’t mind. I felt sorry for him. Anyway, I held up my hands so he could see I wasn’t packing. ‘Where you going with that box?’ I asked. The cardboard was so clean and smelled like a fresh sheet of paper. 

            “He looked stunned, caught in a split-second decision whether to speak or to just push past me. I knew he’d answer. He had that kind of face. ‘Here! Take it. It’s yours!’ he said. Now, I wasn’t expecting to hear that. He handed it over, then ran off.”

            Alana interrupted. “So how does this relate to your home raising?”

            “Hold your horses, I’m getting to that. So, Shane, you met him and the hamster . . .”

            Alana sighed. “Breakfast.”

            “Yes, Breakfast. Shane came along and looked that box up and down. ‘Where’d you get that? Are there any more? Can I have one?” Messenger shook her head. “I let his eyes hold me a second too long and I just handed it over. Can’t help it. That’s just the way I was raised. You share what you’ve got. It’s that simple. Oh, Honey, speaking of sharing, want some of this coffee? I got an extra cup here somewhere you could use.”

            “Yes! I’ll give you some of mine, too.” The Flower Lady chimed in. She opened the coffee top and offered some to Alana. “It’s real hot and real good.”
            “No. That’s okay. You two drink yours. I’ll go over to Ed’s and get one.”

            “You sure?”

            “Uh huh. Thanks.” Alana turned to head around the corner. “You will still be here when I get back, right?”

            “I guess so,” Messenger said.             

            “Because I do have some questions for you today.”

            She and the Flower Lady burst into raucous laughter. “Why am I not surprised? Questions are your middle name! Okay, okay. We’ll wait here for a while.”

            Alana walked back towards First Avenue, but there was a long line at Ed’s. She waited, got coffee and added some pastries for them, then hurried back around the corner and down the street.

            “You have got to be kidding me!” she said out loud. The threshold was empty. The sparrows had returned, had made footprints all over, and there were fresh crumbs in the snow for them. But Messenger and the Flower Lady were gone. Why were there no wheelchair tire tracks in the snow, either way on the sidewalks? Alana checked both sides of the street. 

            She stood in the doorway under the awning, furious with herself. Why didn’t you take their coffee and stay put? The snow was making Messenger sentimental and she was talking about her childhood. Does snow do that to everyone? 

            Alana thought back to her own snow days, spent with her best friend, Sara Snyder, and Sara’s older brothers. They’d pull their sleds down the street to a small park where all the kids in the neighborhood went. The steepest hill felt like an enormous mountain and stole your breath on the way down. They’d sled from early morning to lunch, when they’d go inside to eat grilled cheese sandwiches and drink hot chocolate Mrs. Snyder had made them. Then, they’d head back out.                         

            Alana’s mom would have to work, of course. Alana was that girl who always went to her friend’s house, never the other way around. The only time she ever saw her mom on a snow day was when Alana collided with Tommy Rochester mid-run. Tommy’s old-fashioned, wooden sled ran straight into her forehead and split it wide open. She still remembered how her shockingly bright red blood (it seemed like so much) soaked the white, clean snow. Tommy, usually a big bully, started to cry. Alana didn’t know if it was because he’d hurt her, the sight of blood, or both.

            “You’re fine, Alana. You’re just fine,” her mom repeated in the emergency room. She’d come down from her job on Fourth East. She held Alana’s hand while she lay on the table under the light and the doctor sewed her up. “Come on now. No fuss. Hold still. Just a few more stitches. You’re fine.”

            But she wasn’t fine. Blood wasn’t fine. The emergency room wasn’t fine. Stitches weren’t fine. That was the first time she could remember getting the shakes. 

            Alana stomped the snow off her boots and the little birds scattered again. She crossed the street, looking everywhere for Messenger. I’d give anything to get one measly childhood anecdote like that from Messenger, she thought. At least today she’d learned that Messenger had a mother she knew and could remember. Alana had trouble imagining Messenger as a child. The best she could manage was a smaller version of Messenger who walked the streets as she did now, a little adult who let nothing bother her or stand in her way. As usual, Alana’s questions piled up. That Flower Lady was a trickster. It never failed. Whenever Alana found Messenger with her, she’d always distract her or steal her away. 

            Okay—a mother. Messenger didn’t have to have a mother. Alana didn’t have a dad, to speak of. She took off her gloves and typed the following questions into her phone: 

            1. Have you always lived in the city? 

            2. Where did you live as a child? 

            3. Did you ever go sledding? (Alana knew many city kids who never did. Imagine!)

            4. When did the messages start? At what age? Were you scared?

            5. Did you tell your mother about them or just hold it inside? 

            6. How long did it take you to act or to deliver your first message?

            7. How old are you?

            Messenger could be really, really old. Or not. Once Alana came right out and asked her, but she’d dodged the question. Alana’s guess was minimum of 50. Maximum of 70? 75? But Messenger got around so well—no cane for her. She didn’t move fast, that’s for sure, but Alana had found evidence that she’d delivered messages in all parts of the city. Of course, she could take the subway or buses to different places. Still, she walked a lot and was outside almost all the time. In fact, Alana had spent significantly more time outside since she’d met Messenger than in all the other years she’d been in the city combined.

            She walked up and down half a dozen streets then headed back to Ed’s to see if maybe they’d returned. No. Alana went into the bathroom, peed and checked herself in the mirror. Snow was everywhere—her hair, scarf, shoulders—all over her coat. She thought she’d shaken most of it off before she’d come in. She frowned at herself in the mirror, then pulled all her hair back into a ponytail. 

            Ed looked up from brewing coffee.

            “Have you seen her?” she asked him.

            “You look cold,” Ed said. “I thought they were waiting for you on Fifth.”

            “Yeah. So did I. They left while I was in here. I’ve been looking ever since.”

            “Want to stay?” 

            Alana’s head popped up from brushing off more snow. 

            Ed actually made eye contact. “To warm up,” he added, then looked away.

            “I’d like to.” She smiled. “But I can’t. I’ve got to get to work by five. Guess I’ll just search until then.” 

            “Good luck.” Ed shrugged. “You know, she doesn’t mean anything by it. It’s just the way Messenger is.” 

            “I know. Thanks, Ed.” She put her gloves back on, left the warmth of the coffee shop and trudged back out into the snow. 

 

MESSENGER’S COMPOSITION BOOK: ELEVEN PORTALS

Mind is a portalHeart is a portalBody is a portalSilence is a portalWonder is a portalSound is a portalPain is a portalFear is a portalGratitude is a portalLove is a portalDeath is a portal

 

POST: CARMEN

 

“No,” the minister told me. “I’m sorry, I can’t marry you. I want to, but the bishop won’t let me.”

            Okay. What now? I mean, tears were streaming down my cheeks and I wanted to full-on sob but had to hold it together. I slammed the door to the church as I left, but it didn’t help. You know, Shere and I were trying to do the right thing and where did that get us? Shit out of luck, as always. I wandered down the street, this tirade against all of them fumed and seethed inside me. 

            The worst part was, I didn’t know how I was going to break it to Shere. We’d already had so many disappointments in this department. This was the tenth minister we’d asked! I hated to disappoint her. Being married in a church, by a minister of her own denomination, was so important to her.

            I was still fuming. When I got to the front of the coffee line, I said, “Small” instead of “Tall,” I was so rattled. A mind-fart. Anyway, something made me turn around and there she stood, right behind me. I was so lost in my own rage I hadn’t paid attention. She looked ancient. My eyes flew to her poor, swollen feet overflowing her shoes. I looked into her light brown eyes. She reached out and handed me a coffee sleeve with writing on it. 

            “Better take it,” the guy behind the bar advised. I noticed we were suddenly the only ones in there. Anger drained out and I was spooked. Was this a set-up? Were they working together? For what?

            “Don’t be afraid,” she told me. 

            The writing on the sleeve said, YOU GOT THIS.

            I ran out of that coffee shop and down the street. I needed time to just stop a minute, an hour, a day, so I could figure it out. Time to ponder this crazy coincidence. Because, believe it or not, my mother used to tell me, “You got this,” all the time. All my life. I miss her so much. Mom always had my back, the way I try to have Shere’s. Mom had been so wonderful when Shere and I told her we wanted to get married. When I read those words on the coffee sleeve, I could hear Mom’s voice, telling me, “you got this,” loud and clear. Even though she’s been dead for three years. 

 

MESSENGER’S COMPOSITION BOOK

 

PLACES: Incorporate as many of these elements into your life as possible:

sun

moon

water—moving, if possible

churches—usually best when no one else is there but you

campfires or bonfires

mountains

the ground beneath trees

wooden docks 

sunlight shining on water, making diamonds

breezes through trees, leaves

sand

stones

waterfalls 

crunch through crisp leaves 

snow

            Like each season, change usually happens in a very insignificant way. A tiny wave, a twitch, an impulse, a shift. Sooner than later, everything changes, because of the immense and intricate ways we’re connected. Connection is everything. That tiny impulse or thought creates a ripple, a wave that washes over everyone on the planet and beyond to the universe. All connected. The connection is what makes it real. And Baby, that’s what true magic really is.

 

ALANA HEADS TO ANTHRO

 

Alana tried her best to follow her resolution: let Messenger take the lead. “Relax. Do less. Let it flow. Wait until the timing is right,” Messenger told her. But following Messenger’s advice was easier said than done. Doubts crept in, overpowering Alana’s good intentions. She knew she had nobody to depend on but herself to pull this off. Could she? She wasn’t so sure anymore. The surge of adrenaline wasn’t pumping like it had at the beginning. Yes, she was getting new posts every day, testimonies to Messenger and the changes her messages had made. Fifty or so views a day wasn’t bad. But Alana knew you have to stay ahead of your story, keep the buzz going and create more. She knew time was running out just as fast as her money. Plus, something felt wrong. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but she sensed in her body the need for alertness at all times, a knowing that something was about to happen. No doubt all the strange coincidences, the vivid dreams and then the sightings of people from them, the CLINAMN license turning up, all put her on edge. 

            Riding the train in on a clear, raw morning, Alana felt all her worries clutch her gut and refuse to let go. But then she realized, Wait—I know what to do! Anthropologie! Here I come! Her heart lifted the minute she’d made up her mind. She would listen to Messenger and take a break. She’d go somewhere beautiful and peaceful, the one place where she could always catch her breath, forget about everything and feed her senses. Alana had always loved the woods behind her house growing up. She and Sara Snyder had spent many hours there exploring, building forts, climbing trees. Anthropologie had somehow created that same natural vibe, even though it was a store. There, Alana always experienced the connection Messenger talked about, the flow.

            So, instead of heading downtown as usual to search for Messenger, Alana took the W train uptown, then walked a few blocks past dirty snow piles. Alana entered through the double doors. Immediately her gut let go and all her stress evaporate. Because here, it was spring! At Anthro, they were always one season ahead. Heaven! Alana stood still and breathed, took in the sights, all the natural elements—wood, plants, the beautiful light pouring down from everywhere. She noted every wonderful smell—patchouli, lemon, orange, vanilla, jasmine, rose. Felt the energy of beauty and light. Creativity. 

            She immediately discovered their new spring theme—the sea! She took her time, wound her way through the different vignettes the designers had created. Crystalline barnacles, white-tinged with peach and pink, grew unexpectedly from most of the flat surfaces—a table, a trunk, along the tops of shelves of crockery. Specimens of starfish, sand dollars and anemones stood at attention under glass cloches on the apothecary table. A huge mast with tie-dyed sails rose up out of the dining table and reached for the ceiling. Alana could almost feel the soft sea breezes flutter in and out of them. Sea-salt crystals filled bowls and glasses and added the smell of the ocean to the scene before her. She looked up, couldn’t believe they’d actually hung a huge stuffed whale created from sailcloth, painted every imaginable shade of blue, from the high ceiling.

            The Anthropologie staff allowed you to linger as long as you wanted. No pressure. Alana never bought much. A latte bowl from the home department or a tin of Red Rose Salve for her chapped lips and sore cuticles was all she could ever afford with her sad budget. But that was fine. It was enough to remind her of this magical place and brought a little color to her apartment. Any little touch made a big difference to Alana. Her mother had never done much with their house back home. How could she? She was always working. 

Alana sat down in one of the dining chairs and breathed in, relaxed her shoulders and back. What am I really looking for from The Messenger Project? she asked herself. Her eyes rested on the aqua wine stems before her, each filled with sea salt. When she grew quiet like this, she sometimes did get an answer. Meaning. As corny and millennial as that sounded, it was true. That’s what had reeled her into getting involved with Messenger. Alana had recognized that Messenger’s work meant something. It made a difference.

            Alana noticed one of the young merchandizers she’d seen there before scurry around, try to push a table obviously too heavy for her across the floor. She was small, wore an oversized turquoise T-shirt, tucked into just the front of her black jeans. Alana envied her gorgeous, curly dark hair. The young woman surveyed the shelf she was filling, her head tilted slightly to the right, as an artist would gaze at her canvas. She arranged new products, organized them by color, size, texture. All the same ones lined up and in neat rows. That’s what Alana loved so much about this place. Artistry, but order. Patterns. Patterns everywhere. Everything connected to something else.

            Alana got up from the chair and wandered around some more. She slowed down enough to look at every single item and touch many of them. About a half-hour later, she finally turned to go. There was nothing, no matter how small, that she could afford. But it didn’t matter. She had drunk it all in, felt refreshed, like she’d taken a vacation. Alana headed down the long flight of marble stairs to the lower level, breathed it all in one last time. She walked out the door and down a short staircase into the Concourse. Something made her glance over at the crowds of people sitting at tables crammed into small spaces near the entrance to the skating rink. Alana froze, then felt the dizzy vertigo that was becoming familiar, when two worlds collided. She couldn’t trust the ground beneath her feet. Jackie? Here?

            Jackie, Messenger’s friend, the one who didn’t like her, sat alone at one of the square tables. She wore both her cat-eyed glasses on her face and a pair of brown plastic sunglasses perched on her head. Newspapers were piled high on the table and her plastic gloves black from the newsprint. In one hand Jackie held a big pair of pointed scissors that could double as a knife, in the other, a large, round magnifying glass. She stared at what she was reading, her eyes wide, eyebrows raised. 

            Alana watched, deciding whether to speak. 

            Jackie took a swig of the 2-liter plastic bottle of Coke Classic beside her, anchoring one of the newspaper piles neatly in place, then looked up in Alana’s direction, her eyes magnified by the glasses. She laid the scissors down. “Hey Sugar!” She waved. “Come on over here! Is Messenger with you?”

            Alana slowly inched over to her table. She’s in a good mood, Alana thought. “No—I’m alone. What are you doing here?”

            “I come here a lot to get my work done. It’s a good place to spread out and think. How ‘bout you?”

            “Oh, I just love that store.” She pointed back up the stairs.

            “Sit down a minute, take a load off.” Jackie gracefully motioned to the chair beside her, twisted her wrist as if doing an arabesque.

            Alana paused, then slowly sat.           

            “How’s your work coming? I know you and Messenger have been working mighty hard. You’re writing about her, right?”

            “Yeah! I think it’s going to be a book.”

            Jackie leaned forward. “Messenger might have mentioned something about that.”

            Maybe Messenger told her to be nice to me, Alana reasoned. Hopefully she didn’t warn Jackie not to talk.

            “Everything still a go? You and Messenger still working on it together?”

            “Oh, yes. Today, I’m just taking a little break. I find her downtown just about every day. It’s slow going, but I’m learning much more about her and her process. And you won’t believe how many posts I’ve gotten from people who’ve received messages.”

            Jackie smiled broadly, but it looked more like a grimace. “That’s wonderful! How many people have written you so far?”

            “Right now, one hundred and four.”

            “A hundred!” Jackie held onto the table with both gloved hands.

            “And four.” Blood rushed to Alana’s face and all her doubts raced back. “Maybe that doesn’t sound like a whole lot but it’s a start.” 

            “No. You two have been working mighty hard. A hundred is quite a few. A hundred is plenty. The word is spreading, thanks to you.”

            Alana nodded. “Some posts are really amazing, some not so much. But they’re varied, and they keep coming in. Seems like Messenger’s been delivering messages for a long time.”

            “Tell me more, Sugar!”

            This new Jackie seemed interested and enthusiastic about the project. Messenger had obviously talked with her about it. Maybe Jackie can help me convince Messenger, Alana thought. She decided to try. What did she have to lose? “Things are going well, and I really think this project has a lot of potential. But my problem is this: Messenger keeps telling me to wait. I’ve built a really good website, with just enough of my research, interviews and posts to create interest in the book. It’s totally ready to go, but she tells me to hold off launching it, even though I know I’m losing valuable momentum. I’m trying to be patient, but it’s hard. If I could only post it, I could continue to build on this growing interest in her and later launch the book.”

            “So, you’re just waiting for Messenger to give the go-ahead?” 

            “Yes, that’s right. Except I still have major holes in my research about her. I’ve got to include some of her backstory, but Messenger won’t reveal anything about her past. Where she’s from, her family—nothing. Some people question whether she’s even a real person, so I have to get some more concrete information for the book. So,” she paused and noticed how quiet Jackie had grown. But she’d gone this far—might as well go for it. “How long have you two been friends? Can you tell me anything about her past? Any little fact or detail would really help.”

            Jackie pushed her glasses up her nose. “There’s something you need to know about Messenger.” 

            Alana’s heart soared. Was she meant to run into Jackie today? 

            Jackie scanned the Concourse, then drew herself up to her full height. “Messenger’s playing with fire. A very dangerous game, indeed!” Jackie’s voice was low but fierce. Her eyes darted here and there. 

            “What do you mean?” Alana asked, confused by her sudden mood change.

            “Somebody’s gonna get burned. A lot of somebodies.”

            A chill ran through Alana, a stab of danger. She knew she’d said too much and shouldn’t say any more. What danger was Jackie talking about though? Danger to whom? Is this danger what I’ve been sensing?

            Jackie picked up her magnifying glass and furiously flipped through the newspaper pages. What was she looking for? Alana didn’t dare ask any more questions.

 

MESSENGER’S QUESTION

 

The next day was steely gray and bone-chillingly cold. Alana hurried into Ed’s and waved to him but skipped the long drink line. She found Messenger perched on her stool at the table. 

            “Whew! I about froze getting here.” Alana pulled off her hat and gloves and stuffed them into her coat pocket. 

            “Tell me about it!” Messenger gave Alana a big hug. “No coffee?”

            “I’ll get some later. Line’s too long.”

            Messenger’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, I bet Ed would let you cut.” She winked.

            “Messenger! Ed and I are just friends.”

            “Well, Ed’s a good friend for you to have. But don’t think I don’t see the flowers and hearts and things he makes for you in your coffee.”

            Alana couldn’t keep a smile from spreading across her face. “Yeah. It’s sweet. But listen, I have something to tell you,” she said. “You won’t believe who I saw yesterday!”

            “Who?”

            “Jackie!”

            Messenger carefully set her coffee down on the table. “You did?”

            “Yep! I was shopping at Anthro and found Jackie at a table in the Concourse, with her scissors and all her newspapers piled around her. She has to read with this huge magnifying glass. Listen, is she blind?”

            “Hardly.”

            Alana noticed Messenger looked tired around her eyes. “We had a nice conversation.” 

            Messenger sat very still and stared straight ahead. “About what?” she asked.

            “Oh, this and that. She wanted to know how my work is going, you know, with the story. She is so sweet. She seemed so interested in our project.” Alana knew she was baiting Messenger, but she didn’t care. Maybe she could use this.

            “She’s sweet, all right.” Messenger settled herself on the stool, both feet planted firmly on the floor. She picked up her cup and sipped even more slowly than usual. She put the coffee down, turned and locked eyes with Alana. Even though it made her uncomfortable, Alana found, try as she might, she couldn’t look away.

            “What did you tell her, Honey?”

 

LAY LOW     

 

Bright and early the next morning, Messenger spread herself and her things out on the bench beside the asphalt playground on Fifth Street. She closed her eyes, happy that the air wasn’t so cold today. She hadn’t even seen her breath walking over. She calmed her heart, felt it balanced on her diaphragm, with each breath in and out, a little massage, a pat to her sweet heart.

            She was not surprised to hear someone clip, clip, clipping down the sidewalk towards her. Messenger didn’t open her eyes. “I’ve been expecting you. Had no doubt you’d turn up. Like a bad penny.”

            “You better believe it!” Jackie plopped down. Messenger scooted over to give her more room. “Well, I hope you’re happy. What a mess! You’ve really gone and done it now.”

            Messenger slowly opened her eyes but stared straight ahead. “Done what?”

            “You know what!” Jackie shoved her glasses back up her nose. “But I’ll be happy to remind you how you’ve made one mistake after another. Uh huh. One after another. You got too involved with this girl. Too close. You know that’s not allowed. The first rule is . . .”

            Messenger turned to face Jackie. “I’m tired of rules,” she said. She rubbed her watery eyes with a brown paper napkin from Ed’s.

            “Not only does that girl intend to write a book about the messages—it’s worse! Do you know what she’s planning to do any minute? Go public with this website she’s made ALL ABOUT YOU! Everything’s going to blow up in your face. And you know what’ll happen then.”

            “Oh, yes.” Messenger was so tired. One-hundred-years tired. “I know.”

            “Well, stop it all right now, before it’s too late.”

            “Shhhh.”

            They both watched the lady with her Chihuahuas amble up, frown at them, then walk by.

            Messenger shivered. “Is she a Watcher?”

            “You know I’m not supposed to tell you who they are!”

            “Calm down, Jackie. We all know who they are, even if we’re not supposed to.”

            Jackie chuckled but immediately straightened her face. “Don’t try and get me off subject. This is serious.”

            “I know it’s serious,” Messenger said, her voice sad. “It’s almost time.”

            “Thanks to you! You could have stopped it all when I told you to. You could have let this girl go and found another one. But no. You’re just so stubborn.” She narrowed her eyes at Messenger. 

            Messenger stuck out her tongue. 

            They laughed. 

            “Never could follow rules,” Messenger said quietly. “Humph. One rule I did follow, I wish to God I hadn’t.” 

            “You mean leaving your daughter?”

            Messenger nodded. 

            “Leaving her and your family was for your—and for their—protection. It’s the same reason you’re not supposed to know who your Watchers are—except for me. Our work has always been dangerous. Besides, we’ve all made sacrifices.”

            “No, Jackie. Not like that.” Each word shot from her mouth like a bullet. 

            Jackie touched her arm. They sat in silence while a couple pushed a stroller with a dark-eyed baby in it. The baby smiled up at them, waved with her hands and feet. They talked baby-talk to her until the mother moved on.

            “My daughter’s her age now,” Messenger said, watched the mother’s back.

            Jackie paused. “Oh—you mean that Alana? And you’ve had no contact with your own daughter . . .”

            Messenger turned. “No. That’s one rule I did obey.”

            “And that’s been a terrible burden to bear. But why are you doing this now? Breaking all our rules? Trying to upend everything? Why do you insist on your own way? You know the danger you’ve put yourself and the girl in.”

            “Oh, Jackie, it’s all part of it. Can’t you feel it? The change is coming quick now. The swerve. The Clinamen. It’s too late for the old ways. We can’t keep doing like we’ve been doing. We need everybody working on this together. Not just us. We’ve got to come out in the open. We’ve got to let folks know they’re not alone.” 

            Jackie snorted. “Your memory must be failing you, Old Woman! You know what folks do to us the second they get an inkling of our aim? Or whenever too much light gets released too fast? Do I need to remind you what they’ve always done before?”

            “No. I haven’t forgotten.”

            Jackie drew herself up to her full height, the same way she had with Alana in the Concourse. “They’ll do it to you. Sure as I’m sitting here!” Her voice was sad. “That dark energy is building.” 

            “I know. I’m ready for it.”

            “You sure about that?”

            “Uh huh. Just give me some time, okay? Will you do that for me?”

            “Too late.” Jackie paused. “The Guardian Watchers sent me to tell you this: they’ve ordered all Watchers to withdraw your protection because your actions have put us and our work in danger. They order you to stop seeing the girl. Stop delivering messages. Leave the city.” 

            “Oh,” was all Messenger could say. She leaned back against the bench, as if all the air had been punched out of her.

            Jackie shook her head and chuckled.

            Messenger turned and stared.

            “I have to hand it to you, though, Messenger. You did it! You’ve created a swerve, all right.” She wrapped her coat tighter around her and dropped her voice to a whisper. “You’re not the only one tired of following the rules! What the Guardian Watchers don’t know is—I’m not obeying them! Neither are any of your neighborhood Watchers. We’re all staying the course. Holding our posts for you. We’ll do everything we can to keep you safe.” 

            Messenger’s face shone. She took Jackie’s outstretched hands. “Thanks. I thank you.”

            Jackie continued. “Why would we stop protecting you after all this time? Those Guardians have too many rules for us because they’re afraid of losing their control. Well, that’s just too bad. Listen, here’s my idea. For now, we need to slow things down for everyone’s sake. You need to lay low. Make yourself scarce. Make the Guardian Watchers think you’re obeying them. Stop seeing the girl and stop delivering messages. Just for a while. Then we can figure out our next step.”

            “This might actually work for the good,” Messenger said. “Alana’s not ready yet. She still needs to build her confidence and learn to trust more.”

            Jackie snorted. “That’s the least of your worries. Forget about the girl and focus on what I’m telling you! You’ve started something here, with all of us. A revolt! None of us wants to stand by and watch anything bad happen to you. We’ve been at this together for way too long.” 

            “We have, haven’t we? But,” she stared into Jackie’s eyes, “the end’s coming for me. I know what my next step will be. I’ll miss you. Miss all this. I’m going to miss her, too. There—I said it. Broke another rule.”

            “You broke lots and lots with her. Let’s just hope she doesn’t do something stupid and post that website. That could really ruin my plan. No telling what might happen then. Besides, the Guardians would go ballistic!” 

            “She promised me she wouldn’t. Guess we’ll just have to wait and see how it all unfolds.”

            “So, will you please do what I say, for once? Lay low for a while—and we’ll all work with your swerve. What do you call it again?”

            “Clinamen.”

            “Yeah. Whatever. Ostap’s already found a place for you. Come on.” Jackie stood up and grabbed two of Messenger’s bags. “We’re going there right now.”

 

MESSENGER’S COMPOSITION BOOK: LET GO

 

Let me tell you something. When the time comes, let go. A life needs air to burn brightly and well. That’s what feeds it—space. Air. Pile too much on, jam too much in—you’ll smother it. You can smother a life—like you smother a child or a fire. It’s tempting for all of us. Instead, let it be. Only add something once in a blue moon. Just feed the spark of life. That’s all it takes. Taking away is better. Want somebody to look at you like you’re flat-out insane? Tell them, “I have enough.” That’ll blow them away. To another planet, even. Try it and just watch. Yes! Know when to let go. That’s what it’s time for me to do.

 

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