Awaken

11

“Thou wouldst conduct me there where thou hast said,

That I may see the portal of Saint Peter,

And those thou makest so disconsolate.”

DANTE ALIGHIERI, Inferno, Canto I

What the —”

As he stumbled through the doorway, Alex let out a stream of expletives so colorful, I was glad Chloe wasn’t around to overhear it.

Frank seemed to agree. “Kiss your mother with that mouth, mate?” he whispered, lifting a finger to his lips.

It was so dark, however, the gesture was barely visible. Outside, I could hear the steady pounding of rain. The scent of moist earth was heavy in the air.

“I don’t have a mother,” Alex said irritably to Frank. “What is this place? Why are you whispering? And what’s this I’m stepping in?” He lifted his shoes in disgust as they made crunching sounds against the material carpeting the stone floor. “Sick, it’s everywhere.”

“Dried poinciana petals,” I whispered. “There’s a huge tree outside.”

I realized I might have overreacted when I shoved him through the door. I hadn’t given him or Kayla much prepping as to what to expect. As a team leader, I kind of sucked.

On the other hand, experience was on my side. The first time I’d passed through this door, the journey had ended with my own body on a gurney in an emergency room.

This time, because none of us was dead, we ended up somewhere else entirely … somewhere I’d also been before. Only that time, I’d had John as my guide.

As my eyes adjusted to the dim lighting — Mr. Liu had closed the door on his side, blocking off any glow from the Underworld — I could make out Frank’s silhouette as he went towards the ornate metal gate at the front of the tomb and checked to see if there was anyone around who might notice us creeping forth.

But who’d be out for a stroll in a cemetery in the middle of a hurricane?

Through the small, cross-shaped slits that had been built into the brick walls, I could see that the dark sky was tinged with pink. Frank’s words echoed, once more, through my head.

Red sky at night, sailor’s delight. Red sky at morning, sailor take warning.

The digital numbers on Alex’s waterproof wristwatch read 11:00 p.m. I could see no sign of streetlights on any of the roads surrounding the cemetery.

“The hurricane must have caused a power outage,” I murmured.

Alex was looking around, as was Kayla, but Alex was the more vocal in his complaints.

“What is this place?” he asked again. “A church?” He nearly struck his head on the low ceiling and winced. “For midgets?”

“It’s not a church,” Frank said, before I could figure out a diplomatic response. “But you still might want to show a little respect.”

“Why?” Alex asked. “Did someone die in here? It sure smells like it.”

“You might say that,” Frank replied. “It’s a crypt.”

Kayla said, “No way.” Alex’s response was less polite.

“Yes, it’s a crypt,” I said quickly. No point in glossing over it. “It acts as a portal through which the souls of the departed can enter the land of the dead ….”

That’s how John had explained it to me once, anyway.

“Unless you aren’t dead, of course,” I went on rapidly. “Which we aren’t, so don’t worry. Then the portal opens to the Isla Huesos Cemetery.”

My explanation must not have sounded all that reassuring, since Alex started swearing again.

“Crap,” he said, looking panicky. “You didn’t say this is where we’re going. You didn’t say anything about a cemetery.” He dove to wrap his fingers around the wrought iron gate that barred the way out, poinciana blossoms crunching madly beneath his feet. “Get me out of here.” He shook the bars when they didn’t budge. “Get me out!”

“Alex,” I said, in what I hoped sounded like a soothing voice. “Come on. There’s nothing here that can hurt you. Truly evil spirits are everywhere but graveyards.” This was a conclusion I’d come to through experience … the experience of having been murdered in my own backyard.

Alex threw me a disbelieving look over his shoulder. “Are you kidding me? I got killed in a cemetery, remember?”

“Oh, right,” I said. I’d forgotten Alex’s own experience was quite dissimilar to my own. “Never mind.”

Frank rested a heavy hand on Alex’s shoulder. “Easy, son,” he said, though he probably wasn’t more than a couple of years older — at least in looks — than Alex. “We need to make sure no one’s out there.”

“Of course no one’s out there,” Alex cried. “Look at it. It’s a hurricane! But I’d rather be out there in the rain than standing around in some phantom tollbooth, waiting for the dead to pass through me in order to get to the Underworld … or for someone to kill me again. So get me out —”

Frank looked at me, his eyebrows raised.

“Alex,” Kayla said, sounding amused. Despite what she’d seen the last time she’d been in the Isla Huesos Cemetery, she was apparently unbothered at being in it again. “That’s not what The Phantom Tollbooth is about.”

“Frank,” I said, feeling sorry for Alex. “Help him.”

Frank leaned over to help Alex open the gate.

“Anyway,” Kayla went on. “You were just in the Underworld, surrounded by the undead. What’s the difference?”

“The difference is,” Alex said in a tightly controlled voice, “now I’m back in the cemetery where I died, and I would prefer to exit it as soon as possible, thanks.”

A second later, the gate was open, and Alex burst out of John’s tomb. Once he reached the poinciana tree, he turned to stand beneath it, but even its enormous branches didn’t offer much shelter from the pouring rain.

“If you think about it,” Kayla said, the first to break the silence that followed, “it’s kind of normal for him to have post-traumatic stress, considering what happened last time he was in one of these.” She raised her hand to indicate the crypt. “Except there’s no coffin here. Why is that?”

“There was never a body to put in a coffin,” I said to Kayla. “Up until now. This is John’s tomb.”

Kayla’s eyes widened, then she quickly looked away.

“Oh,” she said in a small voice. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I said. My voice sounded equally small.

I couldn’t blame her. It had been hoped that building the crypt would help put John’s spirit to rest. Mr. Smith — the most recently appointed cemetery sexton — had even had a name carved over the door to the tomb: HAYDEN.

These things had done nothing to quell its owner’s indomitable spirit, however, which had remained restless … until now.

“You all right?” Frank asked me. I barely heard his voice above the howling of the wind, it was so soft, softer than I’d ever heard it. Soft with concern. Concern for me, a girl he’d hated the day he met me.

“I’m fine,” I said quickly, and adjusted my bag so it sat more squarely on my shoulder. “We need to find something to wedge that door open.”

The door either hadn’t been there or hadn’t been particularly noticeable any of the other times I’d been inside the tomb …. No big surprise since it was made of rotting wood and hidden in shadow. I was worried if it didn’t stay open, we’d be locked forever from the Underworld (unless I really messed things up and wound up dying again). I didn’t have John’s gift of teleportation. If I did manage to get help for these people, I was going to need a way to deliver it to them (although how I was going to fit a boat through such a small door was a problem I was going to have to deal with later).

“Hang on,” Frank said. “I have just the thing.”

Frank reached down, then pulled a long object from the dead blossoms on the crypt floor. In the darkness I couldn’t tell what it was until I heard the sound of breaking glass as he smashed it against the wall.

“Captain Rob’s Rum,” I said with a sad smile. The brand had been named after John’s abusive, alcoholic father. “How appropriate.”

“Finally, a use for it that won’t give a man a splitting hangover.” Frank wedged the broken neck in the door.

“Are you coming or not?” Alex shouted at us from beneath the poinciana tree.

“We’re coming,” I assured him, and stepped out into the rain.