Chapter 2 of The Other Breed: The Door in the Riverbed

We walk for forever and three-quarters before the greenery begins to thin and the ground starts to slope downward, revealing the shimmer of the river through the bushes. Beth is shivering, but I feel like I’m on fire. The fast pace is a culprit, since I’m not as good at working out as I should be, but it’s not just that. I still feel anxious. I tug on my silver bracelet, pulling it around my wrist so that the dragon is on top again. There are a few other etchings in the connecting plates: a spider, a paintbrush, a crown, a key. The last plate is blank. I don’t know why those images are there, in particular, but I’ve only taken the bracelet off a few times since I got it from my mother.

I suppose I always twist the dragon to the top because it reminds me of her. She’d had a sculpture in her studio of one, and I always thought she resembled it. Long-necked, graceful, strong, fiery, so pale her skin almost shone . . . it had just seemed obvious. After she disappeared, the sight of a dragon would always comfort me, as if she was still with me. I have to admit that a small part of me only agreed to follow Hombre because the draw of a stranger taking me here, of all places, has provoked some child-like hope that she might just be sitting there on a rock, smiling and ready with some explanation. I just wish the rest of me could believe that such a fantasy was actually a real possibility. 

We push through a few more bushes until the leaves and ivy finally make way for the jagged, moss-covered rocks which surround the river bed. It’s calm here, even though I remember a waterfall being further down, churning the water so that you’d never think it’d return to a peaceful flow. I know this part, though I only came here a few times. This is where my mother first took me, isn’t it? Where the water was wide enough for me to meander, but not deep enough that I could easily slip under. A lump forms in my throat, and I fiddle with my bracelet. I keep my eyes on the water, not daring to look around and have my hopes dashed, once again, when she’s not here.

 “So, I need Carmen – ” Hombre looks at Alyssa and Beth, “and just Carmen – to go out in the middle of the water.”

“Stop looking at me like that,” Alyssa mutters, “Do I look like I want to go in there?”

“You’re not the one I’m worried about,” Hombre quips, looking at Beth.

She’s already at the edge. I don’t think she heard Hombre because she asks: “Anyone want to swim with me?”

Hombre sighs, though he can’t help an amused smile, “I said Carmen is the one who needs to go in.”

I frown. It looks cold. “You want me to . . . what?”

“Wade into the water.”

“You brought us here so she could stand in a river?” Alyssa asks, giving him a look of disbelief. I can see her physically restrain herself from hitting him.

He notices the movement, too, staring at her as she grips her wrist. He asks, “Should I add in a ‘please?’”

“Well,” I say, and he turns back to me, “as nice as that would be, I’d prefer an explanation as to why.”

He sighs, tapping his foot impatiently, “I don’t know if that’ll actually help convince you, but fine, there’s a door in the river I need you to open.”

We all just stare at him.

He just stares back – though his eyes are locked solely on mine. I can’t hold his gaze for long, my eyes darting away as my teeth start tap-dancing on my lip again. This keeps getting weirder and weirder, and it’s only solidifying the stupid hope that my mother is sitting here, somewhere, waiting for me to find her.

“A door?” Beth asks, “Did you take something? Maybe we shouldn’t have let you drive.”

“You’re aware that’s a river, right?” I ask, trying to ground this back in reality, “And therefore shouldn’t have a door in it?”

“Even if there was one,” Alyssa adds, looking at the water with a frown, “Wouldn’t it be impossible to lift open? What could you even put under a door in a river, anyways? Anything under it would get flooded out.”

Hombre shrugs. “Maybe you should go check it out, Carmen.”

“Why me?” I ask, frustrated.

He shrugs again, trying to look clueless. “You said you’d help me, right?”

Damn it. I sigh and turn toward the river. I’d rather be in cold water for a minute to shut him up than stand here arguing for another thirty. My stomach is in knots, anyways, so the quicker we leave the better. And, well, if I’m being honest I have to admit that the curious, hopeful part of me is wondering if there truly is a door, and, maybe somewhere behind it, some answer about my mother.

I step across the smooth stones, heading toward the water. I’m careful not to fall and split my head open, though the rocks get more slippery as I get closer in. Somehow this makes me more determined to get across them, but when I finally reach the edge I find myself pausing. I listen to the lapping of the water as I stare out toward the middle of the river, which catches and throws back the faint light left over from the day. Well, I’m committed to this now. The faster I can show Hombre there’s no door, the faster we can get back to the car. Even more important, the faster I can quash these stupid fairy tales the little girl in me desperately wants to believe.

I take a deep breath and then step one of my my mud-encrusted, zebra-print flats into the water. I connect easily with the bottom of the river bed but then instantly recoil, yelping, “Cold! Cold, cold, cold, damn it.”

“Want my sweatshirt?” Hombre asks. I can almost hear the grin in his voice.

I turn to glare at him. “I’ll just go back to the car and leave if you act like that.”

His smile evaporates to be replaced with a frustrated grimace, and I swear I see his irises swirl again, but this time with scarlet and gold. Really, I must be hallucinating, but this is twice now and I’m completely sober. What’s going on?

Hombre speaks, and his words sound like both a plea and a command, “Just get in the water, Carmen. Please.”

“Fine.” I say, which makes it feel more like this is my idea. I put my foot back into the river, slowly, trying to get used to it. The cold seeps into me. Ankles, knees, thighs, and that’s as deep as it goes. My shorts are luckily still an inch above the water, so at least I won’t have soaked, freezing clothes clinging to me once I’ve done this.

I take a few steps forward to humor him and am about to turn around and gloat, when something catches my eye. I can’t help but to gasp.

There’s a glowing edge about five feet in front of me, lying flat on the riverbed. I turn, gaping, “There . . . what? I do see a door. Why is there a door?”

His face lights up, “You see it?”

With two huge strides he’s wading in after me, apparently immune to the cold. I can’t help but focus on his eyes as he draws nearer, but they’re the same blue they always are. But . . . if I’m really seeing a door, now, did I actually see them change color? My stomach feels like it’s in a knot. What’s going on? Did I get slipped something?

“I don’t see anything,” Alyssa announces loudly, stepping forward to get a better look. Beth’s already started scrambling across the rocks to try to spot the glowing lines.

Darien’s now next to me, and he turns to face me, frowning, as he asks, “Where is it? Show me.” His voice is commanding. Perhaps . . . desperate? What is this door and why does it seem to matter so much to him?

“It’s right there. I mean, it should be obvious. It’s glowing.” He looks around, clearly not seeing something right in front of him. I frown and point to it, “You can’t see it? Right there?”

His eyes follow my finger, but he shakes his head, “No.” He lets out a frustrated growl, “Damn it! I don’t understand. I could see the other one just fine, why is this one different?” He looks at me again, demanding, “Open it!” I stare at him. He pauses, takes a breath, “Sorry. I mean, is there any way you can open it?”

I offer, a bit confused by his behavior, “I guess I can try, since you asked nicely.”

He smiles, though it’s tight. I look away, trying to hide my own excitement, which has bubbled up beneath my confusion. Whether I’m trying to conceal it from him or myself, though, I’m not sure. I wade over to the door. I can see a divot on the side of it. It’s not exactly a handle, but it’ll work. I bend down, hooking my fingers in, wincing at both the weight of the door and the temperature of the water. I can feel the rock shift, so I pull a little harder.

With a sucking sound the stone slab forces its way up through the current and stands open, water darting around it as if it doesn’t exist, forming a little Moses moment. Inside is a glowing, swirling mess of colors: emerald and cobalt and pink and scarlet and gold and violet and a thousand other colors in between. I just stare at it, mesmerized. I forget about the show we want to get to, the problem set I need to do, my general worries about life. What is this? Is this real?

“Thanks, chica,” Darien leans in close, whispering into my ear. It sounds almost sad, which surprises me. He seemed so determined to get here, so shouldn’t he be happy? I mean, that little, stupid part of me is ecstatic right now. It’s singing with potentials and possibilities, trying to crowd out the rest of me, which is convinced this must somehow be a hallucination.

A shiver runs up my spine. I can sense Hombre just behind me, almost touching, but not quite. I swallow. My heart starts pounding, the anxiety back again. I almost step away from him, but stepping away would mean stepping into . . . whatever that is.

“Alright,” he says, “now, I need your bracelet.”

I blink, looking down to see an outstretched hand. I ask, “Why?”

“Don’t worry, it won’t affect you. You can take the car, I’m leaving this way. It was nice to get to know you, but I – I have a duty. I can’t keep ignoring it.” He hesitates, “Maybe . . . maybe I can see you again someday.”

“Hey!” Alyssa shouts, and I look over to see her gripping onto one of the trees that leans over the river, “What is that?”

Beth’s already lowering herself into the water, clearly itching to get a closer look. Some part of me wants to walk back and talk it out, safe in the car: Alyssa convincing us with some theory about how the lighting at dusk probably caused an odd reflection; Beth cracking some joke; myself starting the car and driving away from whatever this is, getting two drinks at the bar and chugging them before I call Cal and tell him this crazy story I must’ve made up in my head, just like I tell him all the crazy stories I think I’ve made up in my head. When he softly suggests it might be real, I’ll laugh, tell him he’s wrong, and ask him how he and his girlfriend are doing. More likely, I’ll probably just never tell him anything at all. I taste blood from my lip, mixing with that bitter, remembered taste of ash and I feel, suddenly, like puking.

Hombre snaps my attention back to him with a sharp, “Carmen.” I turn to look at him, wide-eyed, and he shakes his head, his hand starting to reach up to my face. He seems to have done it unintentionally, as he quickly pulls it back down, saying, “You shouldn’t chew your lip like that, it’s bleeding.” I blink, and he looks away slightly, his tone more insistent, “I need the bracelet.”

“Why?” I ask again.

He looks upset. I’m a bit upset myself. It’s my bracelet. This is the only thing I have left of my mother’s.

“Carmen, come on.” I turn away from him as he begs, softly, “Please.”

I look down into the swirling water and I swear I can see her, buried in the rainbow of colors. “Carmen,” my mother says, “Carmen, I love you.”

I know this part, right? The part where she turns and leaves. I’ve seen it a million times. But this time . . . something’s different. There’s a sharp pain in my chest as some shadow seems to clutter the memory and I feel something light brush against my skin, almost like cobwebs. I shiver as my mother smiles at me, turning to walk away. The shadow is still there, layered over this disappearing woman, and it lets out a scream as it twists away from something I can’t make out.

“Carmen!” It shrieks, “Carmen, you have to leave! You have to leave now!”

Maybe I do it to follow the remembered form of my mother. Perhaps I do it because the words of the shadow command me and I feel a strong tug at my wrist. Probably I do it because some part of me is still smarting that Hombre’s trying to take away my only connection to that far-off woman. But the reasons don’t really matter, there are only two small steps before I’m over the little, swirling opening and it’s pulling me in.

A hand darts out, grabbing my wrist, and I know it’s Darien’s, but it’s a little too late to stop me.

The colors suck me down, gripping me solidly, and I suddenly panic, remembering the other part of the memory now, the part where Cal pulls me into a hug as my mother steps into the car, where he whispers in my ear, “Carmen, I’m still here. The two of us are family, no matter what they do to ruin it.”

The walls of water are reaching up around me as I sink, tears pricking at my vision. My big brother . . . working all the time for me, saving up everything for me, giving up on his dreams for me. What am I doing? I should’ve made that phone call, at least so I could’ve heard his voice. What if I never hear it again? What if I’ve totally screwed up everything he’s worked for? Everything he’s given up?

But even as I panic, it’s as though some other part of me is soothed. What causes it, I’m not sure. Maybe it’s the strange weight-less sensation, the way the colors seem to welcome me in as they tug me down amongst them, but somehow I feel that Cal would bless this.

Hombre’s voice echoes out in protest as he tries to pull me back up, “Carmen, you’re not supposed to go!”

Well, it’s too late now. I try to shake his grip, but that only makes him strengthen it. He’s bent over almost double and I know, now, that he’s going to be dragged down with me. From the look on his face, I can tell that he knows this, too, and he doesn’t seem happy.

Beyond him I can hear shouts and splashing. My stomach turns over on itself as I realize what that means. I don’t want Beth and Alyssa to come after us! I try to turn and tell them to stay, but my voice is swallowed up and whatever echoes of the river there were are now erased as the silence welcomes me – well, I guess us.

Ohhhh . . . Carmen, what have you gotten into?