Read the previous parts here: |1|2|

4

Trevor found the interior of Aisling Inn put him off balance as much as the bourbon had. The ceiling reached out at odd angles that canted inward and then out again on its way up to what was presumably the apex of the middle spire. The balcony of a second floor was visible, but dipped behind seemingly random pieces of wall, each of which held a variation of the same abstract mural; inverted pyramids pierced in and out of each other to both complete and interrupt their lines. Skylights cut into the idiosyncratic design, allowing the harsh red of twilight to spill into the foyer. They made their way past a large stone fireplace that sat unlit in the corner with a small group of comfortable looking chairs gathered in a semi-circle around it.  Across the floor was red and orange carpeting that looked to be covered in a type of foreign alphabet he couldn’t quite place. 

Arthur stopped them in front of a large greeting desk. Behind it stood a tall woman in a gray dress suit with brown hair wrapped into a tight and modest bun. Her nose and chin were sharp, and her eyes were bright green. “I see my husband has brought home a stray,” she said with the same odd accent as Rory. Her thin lips tilted to one side in a smirk.

“Aye, and the man needs some rest.” Arthur leaned across the desk and planted a kiss on the woman’s cheek. “Dillon, this is my wife, Agneta. Agneta, this here’s Dillon, a wayward soul in need of a bit of rest.”

Trevor offered a wavering hand to shake, and Agneta took it lightly. Her skin was smooth and warm in his hand, and he felt himself longing to hold onto it for too long. “My pleasure,” he uttered. 

She held his stare. “Indeed. A bit too much of the local concoction, I see?”

Trevor smiled, embarrassed. “Just a bit stronger than I expected.” He found himself consciously drawing his shoulders back to stand up straight in her presence.

Arthur patted him on the back, knocking him back off balance. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. I’ve got a follow up with Rory before I turn in. Need to be sure he’s learned his lesson.” He winked at Trevor and strolled back across the lobby and out the doors. 

Agneta produced a large metal key from behind the counter. “I’ll show you to your room.”

“Great,” Trevor croaked nervously. He swallowed at the knot that formed in his throat.

“Follow me.” 

As she made her way over to the stairway next to the counter, Trevor followed. Before meeting her at the bottom step, in an absentminded move, he removed his wedding ring and dropped it into his pocket.

Their footsteps were soft against the carpeted steps. Intimate was the word he found coming to mind. Trevor’s eyes fell onto her lithe claves that flexed as each high heel clad foot found purchase.  Rita had worn heels the night he had met her. They walked around the block from the small coffee shop where the date had started, and his eyes had wandered just the same then—Just the same as you did with Ellen. 

He broke the suffocating silence. “Some interesting design choices going on in here.”

“Oh yes,” she said without turning, “Our founders brought over their love for art from home. It’s not so much tradition as it informs a certain way of life here.”

The statue of the child and the ram-horned snake passed through Trevor’s mind. “Where exactly is that? Home, I mean?”

“The farthest back we can find is from when the Norsemen held control over the Rìoghachd nan Eilean; what you would know as the Isle of Mann.”

That explains the accents. “That’s quite a history.” 

“Indeed. We’ve carried on many things from the old days.” They reached the second floor, but she stopped and nodded to something hanging above them. A wooden plaque of similar design to the one hung at the bar was nestled into the wall above them. “IN THE LAND OF PLENTY, WOMEN SERVE THE NEED.”

Trevor couldn’t help but ascribe his shameful and sudden feelings to its words. Why did she point it out? She’s just ribbing you. You’re drunk, don’t be stupid. He realized she had already started down the hall and hurried after her. 

As he caught up with her, she stopped in front of room 203 and held out the key to him. “This will be yours.”

With fingers he hoped she didn’t notice were shaking, he took the key. “Thank you.” He expected her to walk back downstairs, but instead, she simply stepped aside. Carefully he slid the shaft of the key into the lock and felt the teeth brush against the tumblers as it drove home. Blood coursed through his body and into his brain, and the lightheadedness he was struggling with from the local brew was enhanced. 

Something’s not right…

The key turned, but not without considerable effort. He could hear the bolt shift within the door. Sweat filmed over his palms, causing them to slide a bit on the heavy copper knob as he turned it.

The room was small and quaint.  Wallpaper wrapped around with abstract stalks of corn rising to the ceiling at canted angles while a single bed with brown linens sat against the wall. Thick curtains of a royal green covered all but a crack of the twilight beyond a window. 

“I hope you find this comfortable.” Agneta had stepped in behind him, too close for his comfort. 

Still, Trevor found that he wanted to draw her closer. He pictured himself wrapping his arm around her waist to feel her hips press against his.

Stop. What the hell has gotten into you?

Agneta placed a hand on the door. He noticed her smooth fingers that tapered off into well kept and shaped nails. 

“Thank you, it looks very nice,” he said, clearing his throat.

Agneta gave a knowing smile. “Then, if there’s nothing more I can offer you, I’ll be on my way.”

He nodded and offered a good-natured wave.

“Good night, Trevor,” she said as she closed the door.

5

That’s not what she said, that’s not what she said…

Trevor sat on the edge of the bed, eyes locked onto the light reaching under the locked door. He had sat as such for the past 45 minutes, attempting to convince himself that it had been a slip up in his mind. There was no reason for Agneta to know his real name. It was impossible. 

But is it? Did she take your ID?

With fingers that didn’t have all of their feelings, he fumbled his wallet out of his back pocket and produced his driver’s license. Trevor Dillon Ander. It had been safely tucked away, so there was no way that she could know.

He couldn’t place why the idea troubled him so; Arthur seemed good-natured enough, if not a little prying. The bartender was a bit impatient, true. The machines Rory had spoken of also crept back into his mind. Lost in the corn, they were…in the corn. In the Land of Plenty.

“Plenty of bullshit,” he said to the empty room. 

He decided that he would set his alarm for early in the morning, and get out of dodge before any more peculiar locals decided to introduce themselves.

He lay back into the bed and closed his eyes.

…in the corn…

…you’ll find paradise…

6

Corn surrounds him. Above there is nothing; only the void of space. No stars, no moon, no sun. The dark presses in. Canted stalks of corn rise, unreal, pastel stalks that blur his vision. But he can hear a voice.

“Trevor? Why?” It’s a woman.

He moves toward it, parting the stalks as if swimming through them. Somehow he can see despite the lack of illumination from the antimatter above. 

More voices rise from ahead of him. They are chanting something, but it’s so low in volume it’s more of a rumble rising from beneath the earth than sounds produced by vocal cords. 

“Why were you late?” He knew that voice. It was Rita. He recognized it as the question that burned into his brain and into his heart that night. But how had they brought her here

(to paradise)

and why was she bringing this up now?

The chanting grows as he draws nearer to them. It is words he doesn’t understand but can hear they have a purpose beyond his understanding. “Zaahat Kall…Zaahat Kall…” It drones on, increasing in intensity with each repetition.

“You were late, and it all fell apart.”

He breaks into a clearing where a large circle of naked, faceless figures sway gently, like corn in the wind. Dots of red sit in the shadow where their faces are not. In the middle of the circle is a woman tied to a large post. 

It’s Rita. Her face is calm, and her fiery hair dances in a wind that doesn’t exist. “You were late and they lost the machines. Lost paradise…”

The circle stops their swaying, the shadow faces, with their crimson eyes, turn to look at him. 

Trevor wishes to run, but is paralyzed by their sight and their chant that grows ever louder. “Zaahat Kall…Zaahat Kall…”

The woman is now different. The red hair  has turned brunette and wrapped into a tight bun. She is wearing a gray dress suit. It is now Ellen tied to the post. She is crying and wrenching against her binds. “Why, Trevor? Why did you do this to me?” 

He remembers that night, all of the nights. The reasons Rita left that he continues to push down inside. He can’t be late. He was late from the start.

Ellen is now a woman in dirty trousers and a shirt torn to shreds. Her engorged breasts are exposed, and her stomach resembles a deflated balloon dripping with blood. She sobs at him. “Why? You were late, yet you return. The machines!”

A horrendous, metallic grinding erupts from behind him. 

The chanting grows. “Zaahat Kall…”

The circle raises their hands to the void.

As the metal on metal roar grows closer, he looks up to see Agneta descend from the nothing, adorned in a billowing dress of red and black. Somehow he can tell the void flows from her. Her voice booms around him. “Paradise will rise!”

The roar is deafening as it joins the chant. It envelops him.