We made our way toward the front of the post office. It was weird the way the place was designed. It felt as if the front of the building should be facing State Line and not the back. We stayed close to the building and made our way to the front. I didn’t know why I was surprised when the thugs came around the corner. They were expecting us. Constantine wasn’t kidding—these two were the biggest men I had ever seen in my life. One of the Incredible Hulks grabbed Bartholomew by the shirt and lifted him at least four feet off the ground.
“Let go of me, you punk.” Bartholomew was swinging his legs, but it made no difference. He looked like a baby suspended in the air.
I tried to help by rushing in. That didn’t last long. I was backhanded at least six feet back. What did these guys eat? My face was on fire. Thankfully, my M16 was still strapped to my neck, or it would have blown off. I wasn’t sure if I could take a clear shot. They had Bartholomew hanging like a sack of potatoes. I pulled one of the recorders from my pocket. I wished I’d had time to test it, but Bartholomew was starting to turn purple. I said a quick prayer and turned the thing on.
I was amazed. Two grown men dropped to the ground. They literally fell on the ground as if somebody had knocked them out. The lullaby was soothing, and I felt all the emotions I had poured into it while I was playing it. Bartholomew fell on his butt when the guy dropped him. I had not had time to warn him.
“Sorry about that, Bart. Are you OK?” I rushed over and helped him up.
“Why didn’t you do that at the beginning?” Bartholomew was looking at the thugs in shock.
“I had no idea if it was actually going to work. Here are some earplugs, just in case it starts affecting you. Come on, help me move these two off the street. They’ll draw attention.” Bartholomew plugged his ears and helped me drag the big guys next to the fountain. We sat them on the curb and tried to make them looked as natural as possible. If you believed it was just two drunk guys, it would work.
“Now what?” Bartholomew was looking around the fountain.
“It’s not going to pop up on us. Close your eyes and open your sight. We need to get in.”
I did the same thing I had just told Bartholomew to do. I opened my sight slowly. I wasn’t sure what was waiting for us. Thank God nothing and no one was there except for a huge split in the fountain. It was probably eight feet tall by ten feet wide. It wasn’t like a garage door with clean, even lines. This was jagged, like when you cut the corners off bread and missed pieces.
“No wonder they needed the equinox. That thing is huge.” Bartholomew was standing next to me, also staring at the huge hole.
“You’re right. I was expecting a hole like a window or a door, not an underpass.” These nuts were not extravagant. “Are you ready? You can always stay here and guard the hallway here.”
“Right, and let you get killed. No way, Isis. I’m going with you.”
I smiled at the little guy. He had guts.
“In that case, let’s cause some mayhem. Constantine, we’re going in. If we’re not back in thirty, give Death the bad news and close this door up.” I placed the recording next to our sleeping beauties as a safety precaution.
“That is definitely a last resort. Make sure to get out of there, with or without the hostages. Those witches won’t leave here alive.” Constantine’s voice was venomous.
Bartholomew swallowed and looked at me. My eyes were wide with fear. Mental note: do not make Constantine mad.
“Going in. Safeties off; shoot first; ask questions later.”
Bartholomew took the safety off his 9mm. I did the same with the M16. We nodded at each other and walked through the tunnel.
I was nervous about entering purgatory. The place was so bright, my mind was in pain. I felt as if I were choking to death in a furnace.
Bartholomew screamed next to me, “Close your sight! Hurry!”
It took me some effort to close the sight. The burning sensation stopped, and I could breathe again. I slowly opened my eyes. “Are you OK?”
Bartholomew was on his knees breathing heavily, but he nodded. I gave him a moment to recover. With my normal eyes, I took a look at purgatory. It was a version of Texarkana. Not like the real one; this one was cleaner, as if everything had been power-washed. The colors were brighter, more intense. At home we were getting ready to start fall, and the trees were changing color. The trees here were in full bloom, almost springlike. The weather was cool, and a freeze smelling of fruit filled the air. Even the air smelled cleaner. It was so weird—a permanent spring.
“I guess if I needed to wait for permission to go home, this would not be a bad place to wait,” Bartholomew whispered.
“I wouldn’t mind having weather like this all year long. I just wouldn’t want to get stuck here for eternity.”
“I agree. But where are all the people?”
“If purgatory is only a Catholic belief, I guess you’ll only have the Catholic souls who were living in Texarkana here.” It was an empty town, with no cars or people anywhere—except that stupid black van parked by the Vietnam memorial. “I’ve figured out why they needed the tunnel-size entrance.” I pointed at the van.
We made our way through the empty street. The whole thing looked spooky. Bartholomew and I kept looking over our shoulders, but nobody was around. We reached the memorial. Bartholomew took the right side, and I took the left. The
