Page 11 of Unruly
I nod, clearing my throat from the much thinner air here. “Yes.” I walk down the three stone steps that lead into the apartment building and catch up with Borja. “It’s mild weather today, yes?”
Borja nods. “Pretty mild, yeah. Probably won’t snow for another few weeks. Where’s the antique shop?”
I glance down at my tablet. “Near Central Square on Prospect Street.”
“Cool. That’s walking distance.”
I follow the confident man, filled with questions about what life is like in this era, but focused on the task at hand. I’m not exactly sure what we’ll find at the antique store. Perhaps there’s an object the Horror is attached to. Hopefully we’ll find it quickly so I can go back to my normal routine. Being in the Above feels like wearing a too-tight suit.
We turn onto a much busier road, and the sudden flood of sounds is deafening. I stumble over my feet for a moment before catching my balance.
Borja notices, pausing. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, really. It’s just very loud.”
He nods in understanding. “This is nothing compared to Boston proper.”
“Boston proper?”
“The city. We’re in a suburb of Boston. If you go into downtown, with all the traffic and tourists and businesses, that’s noise. October is one of the busiest times in Mass outside of the summer months too.”
“Why? What’s special about October?”
Borja’s brow crinkles for just a second before he nods. “Oh, right. You’re not from here. It’s tourism. The changing leaves. Salem, of course. It’s a great time to visit New England.”
“Salem. Much has happened in this state over the years.”
“Yeah, that’s why everything’s haunted.” He chuckles. “Especially Salem. Those damn witch trials draw in the crowds.”
“Those women were not witches.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Do you know that for sure?”
“Yes. Every single one of them found their way to the Revival House. Many joined the cause, but they weren’t witches. Not in the way the Above defines it.”
“We’ve pretty much figured that out over the years. It was a sad time that resulted in innocent people dying.”
“I’m glad history has found its way to the truth.”
“Not in all cases, for sure. There’s a cool memorial to the people who died in the trials. I can take you to it sometime.”
“I doubt I’ll have time for sightseeing.”
“Right.” He nods. “You’re not on vacation.”
“No.”
We walk another block in silence while my head swivels around taking in all the sights, sounds, and smells of modern life in America. Most of my visits to the Above are one on one with a Chaser, and often in a quiet place like a home. I can’t remember the last time I simply walked around.
We pass a group of young women dressed in cozy sweaters, plaid skirts, and sensible shoes. Collectively, their eyes land first on Borja, then me, before they dissolve in a cacophony of giggles and mumbled words.
“What was that about?” I ask.
“What?”
“Those women. They laughed as they passed us.”
Borja looks over his shoulder. One of the girls is looking back at us and waves at Borja. He smiles, shaking his head. “They think one or both of us are cute.”
