Chlorine Halos

Campfires & Kumbaya

Though his face held an emotionless expression, desperation threaded through Jasper's voice. Somorrah was no longer his home; It was merely one link of a chain, keeping him from the beyond.

Swallowing my incredulity, I asked, "So, you're a ghost?"

"As honored as I'd be to have a Séance title, I actually prefer the term 'spirit'," he replied with the faintest of smiles. 

I tucked the harmonica into my pants pocket, thinking of how to phrase my next question. "Are you here to help me help you?"

"I'm here to do whatever I can," he answered, ambling toward the cobblestone wall of the bridge.

Taking a step in his direction, I stumbled over one of four brass oil lamps placed on the curb. I furrowed my brow, wondering why such items would be set on a walkway. The realization slowly seeped into comprehension as my eyes traced the length of the wall. Parts of the pebbled pattern didn't match. 

"The swerving car," I mumbled, leaning against the ledge which overlooked the river below. "The passengers. You and my dad weren't here to save them."

Jasper flattened his chin and shook his head. "We didn't share a childhood on this grid. Your father was a rock thrown into the still waters of a different one. But, here—no rock, no ripples." He pushed himself away from the wall and began strolling to the end of the bridge, which connected to a dirt road.

"Wait a second," I called, hopping over the lamps. "Where are you going? I need to find your father. I need to save my friends."

"Where do you think we're going?" he retorted.

"Oh," I replied, exhaling some of my anxiety. "So, Krysta was right. He can get us into The California."

"Something like that."

"What do you mean?"

"Avian, you have to understand. I can provide you with guidance, but not instructions. I want to do more—believe me—but, it doesn't work that way."

"Are you saying you can't tell me what you know?"

"It depends. I can't divulge anything that would alter your path. If I were to say something that's out-of-bounds, you wouldn't be able to hear it. It would sound like nothing but gibberish."

"You can't be serious."

"Says the boy, trapped in a parallel universe. Is it really so hard to believe?"

I adjusted the satchel's strap on my shoulder, along with my tone. "I suppose I've believed crazier things with less proof. What can you tell me about this place, Somorrah?"

"I can tell you this is where you lived for the better part of a decade. But, when your father—" A fuzzy static filtered through his words, jumbling them into dissonance. "—The quick, brown fox jumps over the lazy dog. The quick, brown fox—"

Moving my head to the side, I squeezed an eye shut and interjected. "Okay, okay! I get it."

"And I was just getting to the good part."

I wiggled my pinky inside my ear, attempting to alleviate the lingering ring. "I don't understand. Did my dad bring me here?"

"Well—"

"Wait! Don't answer that if you can't tell me."

"I was just going to say that he did it to protect you."

"Protect me?"

My strata began to rattle inside the baton, casting a marvelous, encompassing dome of mist. A distant rumbling grew louder. Turning around, I came face-to-face with the white cursive lettering on a red emblem: Peterbilt. My breath begged to be held as the 18-wheeler passed through me, leaving me unscathed, however petrified.