Alyssa had decided to stay in town and return with Rose and Gil , so Peter raced home, not saying a word about the conversation. There wasn’t time. Earlier, his wife hadn’t known whether or not to tell Rose about what was happening. She was in danger, too, after all. How would she convince her that this was all real, though? She’d think they were out of their minds. They would have to figure out how, and soon, but tonight might not be the night. They would find a way to get her to stay at the house. Maybe we can get her drunk or something, and offer her a place to sleep? Whatever it takes.
Peter found himself speeding on the way back, and it made him feel kind of rebellious. He was on an actual mission, and he liked the feeling. Since he was a kid he’d wanted to be Indiana Jones. Indiana Jones didn’t follow the speed limit. Nazis were always trying to kill him, anyway. What was the point of abiding by local ordinances and regulations when the collective might of a fascist industrial world power wants you dead? If that’s your life, you don’t worry about getting pulled over.
Peter shot from the car and through the front door. He ran all the way up the grand staircase, then changed his mind. He turned around, rushed back down the stairs and into the kitchen. Derek was not there, only Miranda-Julia and Dickon. He stood over the barn door, panting.
Miranda-Julia glanced at Peter, but said nothing, concentrating on the strange Yorkshire child. “Okay, now say ‘my brother is a dog’s butt’,” she said to Dickon.
Dickon nodded, seemingly happy to play along. “Me beem’s uh dog’s butt.”
“Ha!” Miranda-Julia made one loud clap of her hands. “I wouldn’t know what you said if I didn’t know what you said!”
Peter, out of breath and out of shape, spoke with a raspy voice. “Where’s Derek?” he asked Miranda.
“He’s up in the attic.” The girl waved her hand, dismissively, in the general direction.
“Thanks,” Peter said, then ran out.
Miranda-Julia shouted at his back. “Don’t let your heart explode on the way up the stairs, Iron Man!”
In an instant, Peter was there. He saw Derek through the archway. The boy was just standing there. He was gazing at the moon window, as entrapped by its charms as if it were the ghost of Socrates offering sage advice from beyond the grave.
“What’s up, Derek?” Peter said.
Derek turned his head, slightly, but didn’t completely look away. “Hi, Peter.”
“You getting anything from that?”
“I think so.”
“What?”
Derek turned fully around. “I’ve never been this close.”
“Really?” Peter remarked, surprised. “Nobody ever brought you up here? Douglas’ whatever-whatever-grandson?”
“No.”
“You never asked?”
“There weren’t always people living here. And when there was, well…I guess I didn’t ask.”
“Well, now that you’re here, what do you think?”
“I think…” Derek turned back, faced it, again, crossing his arms and concentrating. “I think it’s...”
“Go on.”
“I think…” Derek walked up to it and touched the moon with his right hand. He was barely touching it, the window was so old and delicate. “I don’t know what to call it. There’s no word, really. It’s peaceful but…”
Peter nodded. “Exhilarating?”
Peter and Derek sat up there for a while on the floor. Surprisingly, they didn’t talk about the window. They talked about Derek. Peter couldn’t believe how wrong his opinion of the boy was. The boy wasn’t dark. He wasn’t depressed. He wasn’t a ‘bummer’. He was like Alyssa, that’s all. Complex. He may have even been the most complex person Peter ever met, and Peter had known some wacky individuals in his time. But maybe being wacky, being strange, wasn’t the same as complex. That was just being complicated, which is not the same thing. Peter came off complex, he knew, because he was pretty smart and he could talk a good game. In the end, though, he knew he was more like Rose than Alyssa. He was simple. Thank God.
“No girlfriends, Derek?”
Derek shook his head. “No.”
“Why not?” Peter asked, it felt like something a grown up would say. Did he have any advice? What did he know? Peter was old to Derek. He would be talking from what must seem like another dimension to a boy his age. Derek would take whatever he said as wisdom, not advice. Which was fine.
“I just…” Derek shrugged. “I just don’t have a lot to say to girls.”
“They want you to pay attention to them. Be interested.”
“Oh.”
“You find them interesting, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I do. I really do. I just…don’t know how to go about it, I guess. I’m not good at it.”
“It’s not hard. Well, I don’t know why I said that, actually, because it is. It’s really hard.”
“Yeah.”
“It might even be too hard." Peter felt better. “They should have robot girls for beginners, you know, robot training girls for the guys just starting out.”
Derek giggled a little, covered his mouth. “Robot training girls!”
“Yeah. Girls get training bras, don’t they? What about our training? We need robot girls, with airbags, just in case.”
Derek’s giggle burst into a huge laugh. He rolled onto his back. “Airbags!"
"You laugh now, but girls your age are way ahead of you. They're sitting at the finish line waiting for you to catch up, and they’ve already done an extra lap.”
Eventually, Alyssa came up and joined them. When Derek found out his mother was there, he went downstairs, leaving Peter and his wife watching each other in the quiet room. They hovered for a while, touching just a little, eyes cast down. Testing the water. Then they embraced. Almost immediately, relief was crushing them both. They were back. It just needed to be finalized.
“Oh god, Peter!” she said, squeezing him with everything she had. “All I’m doing is thinking about you.”
“Me, too, sweetie. Me, too.”
“Promise you’ll tell me everything. Everything. Soon.”
“Of course, I will.”
“You tried to tell me, already. I wasn’t listening. I’m so sorry. I was just…”
“Don’t be sorry. For god’s sake, don’t be sorry. Not for me.”
“But I can’t help it.”
“We’re into some crazy stuff out here. It’s screwing us both up. You don’t have to feel bad that you were thinking like a reasonable person.”
“I wasn’t reasonable, and you know it.”
“I didn’t believe any of this, either. Not at first. I thought I was crazy, too.”
“The Bunyine. I didn’t believe that part. When I saw what happened to Rose's store, it woke me up.”
“I know. It’s crazy.”
She kissed him aggressively. It was sloppy and frantic. “You’re never gonna know what it was like! I thought…I thought it was over. That everything was over. I thought I’d lost you.”
“I didn’t know what you were going through, Lyssie. I know now. I get it. I get it, now. Let’s both stop feeling bad, okay?”
"Okay."
"Good. You and me, Lyssie."
"Forever, Peter.”
Over the next twenty minutes, Peter told his wife what he could. When that was done, they looked over the moon window, it was obvious to both of them that something had to be done with it. Alyssa stared at it the way Derek had been doing, just a short time before.
“I’m not, exactly, sure what it does. If it does something, at all. The moon though. It has to be the moon. I just have a feeling about that.”
“It is a weird color. Weirder than the rest of the window.”
“I felt something happening with it the other night. The Van damage thing. It reflects magic, or something. Collects it. Dammit. I don’t know what it does, for sure, but I think it’s supposed to keep the Bunyine away.”
“Then why is it up here?”
“We’re supposed to all come up here, I think, when it comes. The stairs can keep it out, probably, but that thing’s here to guarantee it. If the creature really struggles, it might be able to force its way through, but not if this is here. That kinda makes sense.”
“So it’s like…what, a last refuge? Like a panic room?”
“I guess.”
“Why not put it on the ground floor? That would keep it out of the house altogether.”
“I don’t know. If Windward didn’t do it, there’s probably a good reason.”
“Okay. Let’s assume it keeps the thing away. It makes more sense to have it with us.”
“Remove it from the window?”
“Yeah. I can even put it back. I fixed some Tiffany lamps in a shop class in High School. It’s not that hard.”
“What if they did it differently back in the day?”
“I don’t think it’s all that different. I’ve got tools. I won’t break it. I promise.”
“People are gonna be really pissed about the window.”
“That Windward guy is gonna be okay with it. I have a good feeling about that.”
“You just like breaking stuff.”
To Peter’s surprise, Alyssa really did have tools. She had gone and purchased a whole kit in town. She went downstairs to get them and came back five minutes later with a tote bag and set it down on the floor. It clinked like a stack of gym weights. She didn’t just have tools, she had a whole tool set. She started unloading everything she’d need onto the floor. Shiny new wrenches. Wire strippers. A utility knife. Everything. Peter watched, fascinated, until she was finished.
Peter shook his head. “There’s like a hundred things still left in the bag. What else is in there?”
“I’m gonna have to remove a lot of the glass pieces to get to the moon.”
“You seriously know how to do this.”
“I’ve just never done a window before.”
“How do you remove them?”
“You need a soldering iron. I have one in here. I don't have time to explain everything to you.”
“Wait! A soldering iron. This is my world. I should be doing this.”
Alyssa just kept working. “Our guests are downstairs with nothing to do. The kids are playing video games, but Rose and her boyfriend are just sitting there.”
“They’re seeing each other?” Peter asked.
Alyssa shrugged. “Not yet,” she said. “It’s gonna happen, though. You should see the way they look at each other when they talk. It’s really melodramatic. They’re like people in a silent movie, it’s that ridiculously obvious. I wonder how long this has been going on. I mean, they want to tear each other’s clothes off.”
Peter nodded. “Let’s hope it’s not that kind of day.”
Downstairs Peter found Miranda-Julia, Derek, and Dickon sitting around the living room television with Call of Duty 3 running on his Xbox. The volume was turned up to ear-blistering levels. The two older kids were the ones actually playing the game, showing Dickon the ropes. He seemed confounded by the violence, nervously twisting his hat in his hand, wincing at the sound of the guns and gawking at the explicit blood splatters. Peter noted that one of the players was better at the game than the other.
“Why do you stink, Derek!” Miranda-Julia yelled.
“I’ve never played this!” Derek complained.
“I’ve never played it, either! And I’m awesome!”
“I don’t know what to do! It’s hard!”
“I told you to be the sniper! All you gotta do is snipe! Why’s that so hard? You find a place, you hunker down, you snipe!”
“It’s not that easy!”
“Yes, it is!”
“No, it isn’t!”
“Why don’t you just flick your boogers at’em! You can be the booger soldier! Dickon! You be the sniper! Derek’s just gonna fling his boogers at the Nazi zombies!”
Dickon didn’t have the least idea what any of what she said meant. He just smiled at her, then slid a little back from the television. Peter just walked by, allowing the boy to have this character-building experience.
Rose and Gil were sitting in the kitchen, drinking coffee around the barn door. They both smiled when he walked in. Gil’s police hat was on the nearby counter. Peter wondered why he didn’t have a mustache.
“How do you do, Peter? Thank you for inviting us over,” Rose said, sweetly and sincerely.
“Yeah, that’s right,” said Gil . “Coffee’s good, too.”
Peter nodded. “You would know. Coffee and donuts, right? You’re the expert.”
Gil chuckled. “Not much of an expert. Try to stay in shape, you know?”
Peter put on a face of exaggerated curiosity.“Then what do you do all day?”
Rose gave him a mocking grin. “Yeah, Gil, what do you do all day?”
Gil shrugged whimsically “I just keep the peace.”
Peter went to the coffee maker and poured himself a cup. “Not easy these days, huh? Getting weird out there.”
Gil exhaled, shook his head. “You ain’t kidding, Peter. You ain’t kidding. Never seen anything like what I saw today. Like a train barreled through town.”
Rose nodded. “It really is something. We’ll be alright, though, Derek and I. It will just take a bit of time to get it all up and running, again.”
Gil looked at her, as serious as can be. “We’re gonna figure this out, Rose. Don’t you worry about that. We’re gonna set this all straight, soon as is humanly possible. Whatever I can do on my end, I’ll do. You can put that in the bank.”
Rose patted his hand. “I know, Gil. I can always count on you.”
Peter wondered just how much he can tell these two. They aren’t card-carrying members of the Barn Door Club. They weren’t here, they haven’t seen any the crazy stuff we’ve seen. Although he wanted to, he knew that opening up to them might cause more problems than it solved.
“So what do you think happened, Gil? I mean, wow. That was some serious stuff I saw in town.”
Gil cleared his throat. “Yeah. That’s for sure. Never seen anything like it.”
“So you really think an animal did all that?”
Gil shrugged. “That’s the prevailing theory, Peter. Don’t know what to make of it, myself. Pieces don’t fit together, you ask me.”
“Really? What pieces?”
“There’s just no animals that can do that. Not in these parts. Not in the wild, anyway.”
“You’d need a herd of elephants.”
“They’d have to be the largest elephants in history.” Gil made a flopping gesture with his right arm. ”Marta Finnicum’s car was flipped up to a standing position, then it fell flat on its roof. Don’t know how. Imelda’s car was standing on its right passenger door. Don’t know how that happened, either.”
Peter leaned back in his seat. “How could something that big just disappear, though?”
Gil let out a long breath, then shrugged. “Deer hide under spruce trees. Of course, I’ve never seen a spruce big enough to hide whatever this thing was. You know, Rose, you gotta remember to put in a video camera before you reopen. That would be damned useful.”
“I’ll think about it, Gil,” Rose said. “I’m not really a technology person.”
“That’s for damn sure!” Gil laughed. “Your house’s still got a land line, and you ain’t some geezer.”
“So where would something as big as an elephant hide?”
Gil thought about it. “I suppose a cave. But a cave that big? Don’t see that very often. Never seen one around here. Honestly, though, if this elephant, or Rhino, or whatever it is, is just passing through, the chances that it stumbled on some huge cave, well, odds are not in favor of that. The creature would have to be one lucky monster.”
“Maybe it is from around here. I mean, if it needs to be from around here to have a hiding place, then maybe it has to be from around here,” said Peter, sounding as serious as he can get. “Rule out what’s improbable.”
Gil shook his head. “Yeah, but if something that big was in these parts, there’s no way we wouldn’t know about it. How could it hide from everyone? No hiker, or bow hunter, or local ever sets eyes on it? How would it keep that up? That thing would have to be a goddamn genius.”
Alyssa began by removing the entire window, then she laid it down on the floor. An hour later, she had a good portion of the panels removed. She removed just enough to allow her to pry the moon loose and get it out. The process had been kind of messy, she’d never done it before. She’d assumed it was just a larger version of a Tiffany lamp. That wasn’t exactly so. She didn’t even know everything that old windows like this were made out of. Looking it over, she suddenly wondered what she’d tell the townsfolk. She didn’t really care, to be honest. She cared about the people downstairs. Nothing else mattered. To hell with old windows. If the spirit of Douglas Windward cares, he should have said something.
She sliced through the ancient putty like she was carving her way through the jungle with a machete. D.D. Windward continued to stay silent. Derek said that the old guy was a toughie. A soldier. One of those English guys who traveled the world on foot with a rifle and an eighty-pound pack, conquering countries along the way. Back then, even rich guys went to war. Rich guys missing limbs. You don’t see that anymore. People were harder back then. She didn’t know much about Douglas Windward, but from what she’d heard so far, she couldn’t imagine that he’d bother about a dumb old window at a time like this.
What kind of time was it, though? If she was being honest with herself, really honest, she had to admit to herself that she didn’t think there was such a thing as a Bunyine. She would have to see that to believe it, and she was fairly certain she wasn’t going to see a giant talking cat tonight, or any night. She was sure of it. I don’t know what’s causing all this confusion, but you have to ask yourself - is collective insanity more likely, or less likely, than a talking cat that was much older than the Bible? I don’t know what the probability is, but I’m pretty sure it points toward delusion, not monsters. Am I really being unreasonable asking reality to qualify something impossible before I believe it’s real?
After what seemed, beforehand, like a job that might take months, the panel was out and in her hands. She took the glass to the bathroom the next floor down and rinsed it off in the sink. She scraped away that lead glazing that Velma had mentioned. The one that was like one Da Vinci had used. It didn’t mean a thing to a putty knife. When it was all off, she stood staring at the amber glass in her hands. There’s something here. Something kind of beautiful. It drew you in, whatever it was. It didn’t talk to you, it got you talking to yourself. It stirred thoughts in your mind. Started fires. It was peace itself. Bliss. Like nectar spouting from a spring on Mount Olympus. What strange, strange thoughts. More fanciful thoughts than I generally have. Not without a generous dollop of sarcasm. Maybe a touch of alcohol, too. The message it conveyed had been quiet for a century. That’s what the glaze had been hiding. Anybody standing near it would have felt something, even if it was almost imperceptible to most people, they would have to feel something. Douglas was smart to cover it up.
Alyssa looked away from it. She was wasting time. They’d discussed dinner and had decided to launch Sparkle’s first Homeworld Panquake. They used to have them, now and then, up in California. Pancakes and waffles for twenty people, but eaten by six or seven. Rules are that everything must be eaten. There has to be a Panquake tonight. Waffles and pancakes are all we know how to make. A big gooey, buttery, wonderful mess. Peter called it a Homeworld Panquake just to emphasize that it was the solar system’s premiere panquake. Better than all other planets combined. It was just so wonderfully stupid. Just thinking about it made her stomach rumble.
Alyssa went downstairs into a fog of noise, the air filled with laughter and jazzy background music coming from the living room stereo. She carried the glass panel, or whatever it was, wrapped in a towel. She set it on a chair and joined the party. Everyone was gathered around their new dining room table. Kids and adults, both, laughing and feasting around it. The table was so huge it looked like a small stage sitting between them. The whole gang, plus the table, still filled up just a fraction of the room’s space.
Peter was overseeing the meal in his apron and chef’s hat, which had arrived with the rest of their things. He was doling out the food, making a very vocal fuss if anyone tried to serve themselves. He was doing his angry French chef accent, because it’s not really a Homeworld Panquake until the French chef makes an appearance yelling ‘dumb Americans!’, ‘filthy Americans!’, ‘undeodorized Americans!’. It wasn't the traditional panquake, where the center of the table is filled with mile high stacks of waffles and giant pancakes as large as garbage can lids, he was serving everything from a tray. There weren't the buckets of syrup, either, but it was close enough for her.
He was keeping everyone merry, in the way that he did. Her heart felt like it wanted to leap out of her chest and into his arms like a cat. All the stress he’d been under, it didn’t show the least bit. Suddenly, she couldn’t take her eyes off of him. He seemed glamorous. Larger than life. Nobody could feed hungry, straight-laced country people breakfast for dinner and make them believe it was best meal they’d had in months. Nobody but Peter Huffy.
He was the only person who had never let her down. Never. He had a gift for making her happy and she had come to depend on it. He was crazy to think that he didn’t live up to her expectations. Crazy. He made her expect more from people. She was spoiled by his success. His genius for her. She wasn’t sure if she could live without it now. She didn’t want to even try.
She knew that the way he’d acted in the car earlier wasn’t him. Does he really think that way? Underneath the surface, is he harboring a whole boatload of luggage? She didn’t think so. She’d never seen him act that way before. Watching him now, she could see that Peter was still Peter, and that was what she loved most about him. Him.
Rose and Gil were sitting very close to each other. Their hands lay side-by-side on the tabletop, their fingers wanting desperately to entwine. Gil turned to Alyssa. “Where you from, ‘lyssa? Don’t know a thing about ya. You're a total mystery.” he said, happily scooping food into his mouth.
Alyssa smiled, pausing a fork was halfway to her mouth. “I’m from Urumqi,” she answered. It was technically true.
Gil’s lips pursed like the mouth of a gym bag with the ties pulled tight. “Huh. Never heard o’ Urumqi. Sounds Eastern”
“Eastern, yeah,” Peter said. “East of Harrisburg.”
“That don’t sound right to me,” Gil laughed. “Something’s up there. Sure it’s a nice place, but it’s not near Harrisburg. No, sir.”
“Nice!” Peter exclaimed. “You’ve got no idea, bud! Urumqi’s beyond nice. It’s the South of France of China.”
“Home sweet, home,” Alyssa said.
Gil swallowed a mouthful of pancake. “I wouldn’t be from anywhere else, but here. No offense to Urumqi.”
“None taken by Urumqi,” said Alyssa.
She was watching Peter, again. Suddenly, she loved him even more. Was that even possible? She’d thought she was losing him, and it had made her act strangely. Coldly. Now it just seemed silly. Peter Huffy would never fail her. He would always come through. All I know is if there was a S.W.A.T team sprawled out across the floor, bleeding and gushing, Peter Huffy would still be standing. If I needed him to, he’d make it happen. She knew that. If she needed it, he’d do it. Do it for her. The girl from Urumqi.
Why? Why did he love her so much? What was so special about her? Nothing, really. Maybe there’s nothing special about either one of us. That’s what’s great about winning the lottery, anyone can do it. You didn’t have to be born rich, or gifted, or be anything special. You could be from Urumqi or Saline County, Kansas. Nowhere. Absolutely nowhere. You could be born in a polluted industrial city, where the air made you sick and the water was filled with poisons. You could be born into a family of stunted religious people who never said they loved you, who thought that suffering was righteous and that only the next life mattered. You could be the kind of person that’s not supposed to make it in life, but you did make it. You did it. You won.
That’s what’s great about the lottery. All you need to do is play. Buy a ticket and the world can be yours. All you have to do was dance with a stranger at a nerd party because you wanted to get away from your creepy date. What was his name? Chuck? Chuck that I met on the Geek Squad? And it was a party Peter and his buddies weren't even invited to. Peter is the lottery. Peter is the ticket and the prize. So am I. That’s why Peter and I can fight monsters. We’ll fight them, and beat them. We’ll send armies of them running for their lives. We’ll do it for stuff like this - pancake dinners and vanishing English kids. Stupid stuff like that. That’s the kind of stuff I like. That’s the best stuff in the world.
She was thinking nothing but the best kinds of thoughts when she noticed, on the other side of the table, the look on Dickon’s face. The boy was distracted from the goings on around him. His mouth was hanging open just a little. He'd slid his hat off the table and back onto his head, as if he was getting ready for something to happen, but he was too afraid to speak. Frigid. Speechless. Perhaps too shy to make a fuss in front of all of these people. He looked lost, like he didn’t even know why he was so nervous. Alyssa stood up and gestured to Peter to get his attention.
“Peter,” she said, beckoning him to her. Peter set down his spatula and walked around the table. Alyssa put her mouth up to his ear. “Something’s up with Dickon,” she whispered. "Something's wrong."
Peter looked at the boy. The kid met his eyes and Peter could see that he was more than nervous, he was scared. At that moment, Peter felt it, too. It was a kind of weak tingling inside him, a little flame of nervousness trying to grow and get noticed. He turned back to Alyssa and now put his mouth up to her ear. “We’ve got to get upstairs. All of us.”
Alyssa shivered. “I thought it couldn’t go out in the day. The sun's still a little out.”
“Maybe it can. I don’t know. Maybe if it’s far away enough from town it can suck it up and do it.”
Alyssa nodded. “Okay,” she said calmly. She was no longer whispering. The time for whispers had ended. She faced the table. “Hey, guys, listen...um...this is going to sound like a strange request, but Peter and I, um..." It hit her just how strange what she was about to say was going to sound. "Peter and I, we…”
Alyssa was interrupted when the center of the East wall, which contained the front door, collapsed in and the world came crashing down on their heads. Something terrible came barreling through the dust and debris. Something gargantuan and looking to keep its promises. The kinds of promises only a demon would keep.