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A voice, slippery and deep, echoed quietly through the trees. “You will find your destiny with me, Tom Hunter.”

  The voice had come from one of the bats behind him, he could swear it. But then he broke from the forest onto the bank of a river and the thought was lost.

  A white bridge spanned the flowing water. A towering, multicolored forest lined the far bank, dazzling like a box of crayons topped with a bright green canopy. The sight stopped him.

  Green. A mirage or heaven.

  Tom limped toward the bridge, hardly aware of the bats squawking on his back. His breathing came in great gasps. His flesh quivered. The black bats fell from his back. The lone white bat flapped eagerly on a low branch across the river. His ally was large, maybe as high as Tom’s knees with a wingspan three times that. Its kind green eyes fixed on him.

  He knew this bat as well, didn’t he? At least he knew that his hope rested in this creature now.

  In his peripheral vision, Tom saw that thousands of the black creatures were lining the stark trees behind him. He wobbled onto the bridge and gripped its rail tightly for support. His mind began to drift with the water below. Slowly but steadily he hauled himself across the bridge, over the rushing waters, all the way to the other side. He collapsed into a thick bed of emerald green grass.

  He was dying. That was the last thing he thought before the pain shoved him into the world of unconsciousness.

  5

  Something woke him. A noise or a breeze—something had pulled him from his dreams.

  Tom blinked in the darkness. Breathed hard, tried to clear his mind. The bats weren’t simply figments of his imagination. Nothing was. His name was Tom Hunter. He’d fallen on a rock and lost his memory, and he’d just escaped the black forest. Barely. Now he’d just passed out and he was dreaming.

  Dreaming that he was Tom Hunter, being chased by loan sharks he’d stiffed for $100,000 four years ago in New York.

  Problem was, this dream of Denver felt as real as the black forest had. There had to be a way to tell if he really was, at this very moment, physically lying on a bed of green grass or staring at the ceiling of an apartment in Denver, Colorado. He could test the reality of this environment by standing up and walking around, but that wouldn’t help if his dreams felt like reality. He would be able to see if his skin was stripped off or if his arm was broken, but since when did dreams reflect reality? He’d broken his arm in the black forest, but here in this dream of Denver, he could be totally healthy. In dreams, the condition of one’s body didn’t necessarily correlate.

  Tom moved his arm. No broken bone. He had to find a way to push past this dream and wake up on the riverbank before he died there, lying on the grass.

  The door opened and Tom reacted without thinking. He grabbed the machete, rolled to the ground, and came up in position one, blade extended toward the door.

  “Tom?”

  Kara stood at the door, facing him with wide eyes. She certainly looked real enough. Standing right there, still wearing her white nurse’s outfit, long blonde hair pulled up off her neck, blue eyes as bright and feisty as ever. He straightened.

  “Expecting someone?” She flipped the switch.

  Light flooded the apartment. If this was real and not a dream, light could attract the night crawlers. The New Yorkers.

  “Does it look like I’m expecting someone?” Tom asked.

  “What’s the machete for?” She nodded at his right hand.

  He lowered the blade. This couldn’t be a dream, could it? He was here in their apartment, not lying unconscious by some river.

  “I had a crazy dream.”

  “Yeah, how so?”

  “It felt real. I mean really real.”

  Kara tossed her purse on the end table. “Nightmare, huh? Don’t they all?”

  “This wasn’t like just any dream that feels real. I keep falling asleep in my dream, and then waking up here.”

  She stared at him, uncomprehending.

  “What I’m saying is that I only wake up here if and when I fall asleep there.”

  A blank stare. “And?”

  “And how do I know I’m not dreaming here, right now?”

  “Because I’m standing here, and I can tell you that you’re not dreaming right now.”

  “’Course you would. You’d be in the dream, wouldn’t you? That’s why you’d think you’re real. That’s why I think you’re —”

  “You’ve written one too many novels, Thomas. It’s late, and I need to get some sleep.”

  She was right. And if she was right, their problems weren’t as simple as a case of the delusional novelist being chased by black bats.

  Kara turned and started for her room.

  “Uh, Kara?”

  “Please. I don’t have the energy for another crisis right now.”

  “What makes you think this is a crisis?”

  She turned. “You know I love you, brother, but trust me, when you wake up with a machete in your hand, telling me I’m just part of your dream, I think to myself, Tommy’s going off the deep end.”

  She made a good point. Tom glanced at the window. No signs of anything.

  “Have I gone off the deep end before?” he asked. “I don’t remember doing that.”

  “You live off the deep end.” She paused. “I’m sorry, that’s not fair. Apart from buying $20,000 worth of statues you can’t sell and trying to smuggle crocodile skins in them and—”

  “You knew about that?”

  “Please.” She smiled. “Good night, Thomas.”

  “I was shot in the head tonight.” His urgency suddenly returned. He ran to the window and peered past the curtain. “If this isn’t a dream, then we have a very big problem.”

  “Now you are dreaming,” she said.

  He yanked off his hat. The cut must have been obvious, because her eyes went wide.

  “I kid you not. I was chased by some guys from New York and got shot in the head. I passed out in a garbage can but escaped before they could find me. And you’re right, I’m not dead.”

  Kara hurried over, incredulous. “You got shot in the head?” She touched his scalp gently, as a nurse would.

  “It’s fine. But we may not be.”

  “It’s a head wound! You need a dressing on this.”

  “It’s just a surface wound.”

  “I’m so sorry, Tommy. I had no idea.”

  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “If you only knew. I’m the one who should be sorry.” Then under his breath, “I can’t believe this is happening.”

  “You can’t believe what’s happening?”

  “We have a problem, Kara,” he said, pacing. She was going to kill him, but he was beyond that now. “Remember when Mom lost it after the divorce?”

  “And?”

  “I was there with her in New York. She couldn’t work, she got into some serious debt, and they were going to take everything away from her.”

  “You helped her out,” Kara said. “You sold out your end of the tour company and bailed her out.”

  “Well, I helped her out. And then I came to help you out.”

  She tilted her head. “But you didn’t sell your end of the tour company. Is that what you’re going to say?”

  “No, I didn’t sell out. It was already a bust.”

  “Don’t tell me you borrowed money from those crooks you used to talk about.”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Thomas? No!” She lifted her hands in exasperation and turned away. “No.” She spun back. “How much?”

  “Too much to pay back right away. I’m working on it.”

  “How much?”

  He dug out the receipt, handed it to her, and walked back to the curtain, as much now to avoid her eyes as to check the perimeter again.

  “One hundred dollars?”

  “Thousand,” he said.

  She gasped. “One hundred thousand? That’s insane!”

  “Well, unless I’m dreaming, it’s real. Mom needed sixty
to come clean, you needed a new car, and I needed twenty-five for my new business. The carvings.”

  “And you just took off from New York, hoping they would be fine with that?”

  “I didn’t just take off. I left a trail to South America and then split with full intention to pay them back in time. I have a buyer in Los Angeles who’s interested in the carvings—should bring in fifty, and that’s without the contraband. Just took a little longer than I expected.”

  “A little longer? What about Mom? You’re endangering her?”

  “No. No connection they ever knew about. As far as the records go, she got her money from the divorce settlement. But that’s not important. What is important is that they found me, and I doubt they’re interested in anything other than cash. Now.”

  The full meaning of what he was saying settled over Kara. Any sympathy she’d felt for his bullet wound vanished. “Of course they found you, you idiot! What do you think this is—Manila? You can’t just walk away with $100,000 of the mob’s money and expect to live happily ever after. They let one person get away with it, and every Tom, Dick, and Harriet will be robbing them blind!”

  “I know! I just got shot, for crying out loud!”

  “We’ll be lucky if we both don’t get shot! What were you thinking, moving here?”

  Her statement hit him broadside. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. The whole business suddenly felt impossibly heavy to him. He’d risked more than she could ever know to help out their mother. He’d left a life behind in New York to protect her, to make a clean break, to get back on his feet with the import business. That he would endanger Kara by bringing this debt to Denver had never occurred to him.

  What was he thinking moving here, she wanted to know? He was thinking that they’d both been abandoned by their parents. That they didn’t have any real friends. Or any real home. That they were suspended between countries and societies and left wondering where they fit in. He wanted to be Kara’s brother—to help her and to be helped by her.

  “I was twenty-one,” he said.

  “So?”

  “So I wasn’t thinking. You were having a tough time.”

  Her hands dropped to her thighs with a slap. “I know. And You’ve always been there for me. But this . . . I just can’t believe you were so stupid.”

  “I’m sorry. Really, I’m sorry.”

  Kara looked at him and began to pace. She was steaming all right, but she couldn’t bring herself to take his head off. They’d been through too much together. Being raised as outcasts in a foreign land had woven an inseverable bond between them.

  “You can be an idiot, Thomas.”

  Then again, the bond wasn’t beyond being stretched now and then.

  “Look,” he said, “I know this isn’t good, but it’s not all bad.”

  “Of course not. We’re still alive, right? We should be eternally grateful. We’re walking and breathing. You have a cut on your head, but it could have been much worse. We should be toasting our good fortune!”

  “They don’t know where we live.”

  “See, that’s the problem here,” she said. “It’s already gone from I to we. And there’s nothing we can do about it.”

  The pain in Tom’s head was making a strong comeback. A wave of dizziness swept over him, and he walked unsteadily for the chaise lounge. He sat hard and groaned.

  Kara sighed and disappeared into her room. She came out a few seconds later with some gauze, a bottle of peroxide, and a tube of Neosporin and sat by him.

  “Let me see that.”

  He faced the wall and let her dab the wound with peroxide.

  “If they knew where we lived, they would be here already,” he said.

  “Hold still.”

  “I don’t know how long we have.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” she said emphatically.

  “We can’t stay here, and you know that. They found me in Denver, probably through the dinner theater. I should’ve thought about that—the theater advertises all over the country. My name’s in the credits.”

  She wound the gauze around his head and taped it. “Seems appropriate that a production of Alice in Wonderland would end up being your demise, don’t you think?”

  “Please. This isn’t funny anymore.”

  “Never was funny.”

  “You’ve made your point, okay? I was a fool, I’m sorry, but the fact is, we are still alive, and some pretty bad people are trying to kill me.”

  “Have you called the police yet?”

  “That won’t stop these guys.” He ran his fingers along the bandage and stood. His world tipped crazily.

  “Sit down,” Kara ordered.

  She was being bossy, but he deserved to be bossed at the moment. Besides, allowing her to boss him would help repair any breach in their relationship.

  He sat.

  “Take these.” She handed him two pills. He threw them into his mouth and swallowed without water.

  Kara sighed again. “Okay, from the top. You have some mob thugs after you for stiffing them out of $100,000. After four years your sins have finally caught up with you, presumably through the Magic Circle dinner theater or the Java Hut. They shot at you and you escaped. But you were on foot, so they know you live close by, and it’s only a matter of time before they find you again. Right?”

  “That’s about it.”

  “To top it all off, the blow to your head is tempting you to think that you live in another world. Still right?”

  He nodded. “Maybe. Sort of.”

  She closed her eyes. “This is insane.”

  “Maybe. But we still have to get out of here.”

  “And exactly where are we supposed to go? I have a job. I can’t just pick up and take off.”

  “I’m not saying we can’t come back. But we can’t just wait here for them.” He stood and began to pace, ignoring a sudden whirl of disorientation. “Maybe we should go back to the Philippines for a while. We have passports. We have friends who—”

  “Forget it. It’s taken me ten years to make the break from Manila. I’m not going back. Not now.”

  “Please, you have more Filipino in you than American. You can’t run forever.”

  “Who’s got the bullet wound in his head? I’m not running anymore. I’m here. I’m an American, I live in Denver, Colorado, and I like who I’ve become.”

  “So do I. But if they came this far to settle a debt, they’ll hound me for the rest of my life!”

  “You should have thought about that earlier.”

  “Like I said, you made your point. Don’t beat me into the ground with it.” He took a deep breath. “Maybe I can fake my death.”

  “How on earth did you manage to talk them out of $100,000 to start with?”

  He shrugged. “I convinced them I was an arms dealer.”

  “Oh, that’s just great.”

  The pain pills were starting to make him woozy. Tom sat again, leaned back, closed his eyes. “We have to do something.”

  They sat quietly for a long minute. Kara had always insisted she was happy here in Denver, but she was twenty-six and she was beautiful and she hadn’t dated in three years despite her talk of getting married. What did that mean? It meant she was a stranger in a strange land, just like him. Try as they may, they couldn’t escape their past.

  “I’m sure you’ll think of something,” Kara said. “I don’t think I can leave.”

  “I’m not going to leave you alone here. Not a chance.” His head was spinning. “What did you give me?”

  “Demerol.” She stood and walked to the window. “This is completely insane.”

  Tom said something. Something about leaving immediately. Something about needing money. But his voice sounded distant. Maybe it was the Demerol. Maybe it was the knock on the head. Maybe it was because he was really lying on the bank of a river, stripped of his skin, dying.

  Kara was saying something.

  “What?” he asked.

&n
bsp; “.. . in the morning. Until then . . .”

  That’s all he got.

  6

  At the foot of the arching bridge, on thick green grass, the bloodied man lay facedown as though he had been dead for days. The black beasts on the opposite shore had deserted the charred trees. Two white creatures leaned over the prone body, their wings folded around their furry torsos, their short, spindly legs shifting so that their bodies swayed like penguins.

  “Hurry, into the forest,” Michal said.

  “Can we drag him?” asked Gabil.

  “Of course we can. Grab his other hand.”

  They bent, though not so far—they stood only about three feet if they stretched—and hauled the man from the bank. Michal led them over the grass, through the trees, into a small clearing surrounded by fruit trees. The ground was clear of debris and rocks, but they couldn’t be doing the man’s belly any favors. Soon it wouldn’t matter.

  “Here.” He dropped the man’s arm. “I assume he can’t hear us.”

  “Of course he can’t understand us. No sir,” Gabil said, kneeling beside the man. “How can he understand us when he’s unconscious?”

  Michal nudged the man in the shoulder with a frail foot resembling a bird’s . “You say you led him out from the black forest?” Not that he should doubt his friend, but Gabil did have a way of milking a story. It was more of a comment than a question.

  Gabil nodded and scrunched his lightly furred forehead. The expression looked out of place on his round, soft face.

  “He’s lucky to have lived.” Gabil stretched one wing in the direction they’d come. “He barely made it through the black trees. You should have seen the Shataiki that had him. Ten at least.” Gabil hopped around the fallen body. “You should have seen, Michal. You really should have. He must be from the far side—I don’t recognize him.”

  “How could you possibly recognize him? His skin is missing.”

  “I saw him before they took his skin. I’m telling you, this one’s never been in these parts before.” Gabil stood over the prostrate body again, swaying.

  “Well, he didn’t drink the water; that’s what really matters,” Michal said.

  “But he may have if I hadn’t flown in,” Gabil said enthusiastically.