Dusk in Kalevia: Chapter 3

Toivo woke before the sun rose to a painfully dry throat and the disorientation of being in an unfamiliar place. Trying to understand the sound of the radiator and the chill of his pillow, his mind grasped fruitlessly for meaning.

His memories of past incarnations were the clearest in the moments between sleeping and waking, all muddled together in an incoherent blur of human experiences–a train whistle, the smell of the sea, the bright clash of swords on the battlefield. He lay in the dark with the scratchy linens pulled up around his ears, sorting through the fragments, and began his usual morning routine of puzzling out who he was, where he was, and why.

As the fog began to clear, he walked himself back through the events of the day before. There had been the jaunt over to state security to be interviewed by the police, and the wretched boiled dinner eaten alone in the hotel’s small dining room. Kalevia. That was it. He was in the People’s Republic of Kalevia.

The “why” part of things, however, remained a mystery. It had happened as he supposed it always did: months ago he had awoken dazed and alone in a new body, with nothing but a vague sense of a great and nameless purpose. He had no idea who had summoned him or what he was in for–merely that he was poised on the precipice of some dire happening, while in the back of his mind, Kalevia had drawn him like the moon draws the tides.

He knew there were others out there as well, from his hazy half-memories and the mysterious correspondences that found their way to him. Birds brought him messages. He had followed their instructions to the letter, training with the Americans in the art of espionage and teaching himself what it meant to be human in the twentieth century. He didn’t fully grasp the identity of these angelic allies, but the messages filled him with an inescapable sense of déjà vu; every time he received one, it was as though he’d stepped a little closer to the edge of the cliff.

As if summoned by his thoughts, he heard a scuffle at the window, and the shadow of a little round head poked up into view. Toivo counted to ten, then dragged himself from the warmth of the covers with a groan.

“Zophiel,” the dove said as soon as it flapped the room. “The drop has been loaded.”

Toivo sighed. “I’ll check it as soon as I can. I need a location.”

“I will lead you there.”

Toivo nodded and gathered his clothes for the day as the bird continued its recitation from the top of the bureau. The roofs and walls outside the window were tinged with the pale blue of the long, slow dawn; he knew that if he must leave, now would be the perfect time.

“Case officer requests a meeting, and has left a door open. End of message.”

Toivo let the bird out, dancing from one bare foot to the other in the painful draught that blew across the floor. He hoped the bird would remember to wait for him as he orchestrated an escape from his hotel prison.

Toivo shaved slowly and deliberately in the yellow-tiled bathroom, meditating on his options. The hot water soothed him, and he let gravity pull the safety razor down his face to erase the pale stubble of travel and sleep. As he tilted his head up to reach the last patch of lather under his jaw, he felt a sudden sting as the blade caught and bit into the sensitive skin.

He cursed as a thin ribbon of blood trickled down the side of his neck. Instinctively, he pressed his washcloth against the spot, but by the time he had finished dabbing away the blood, the cut itself had already vanished.

This body, for all its apparent humanity, had a few tricks about it. He wasn’t sure of the extent of this aspect of his powers–he was too squeamish to subject his body to much experimentation–but he’d gingerly observed every accidental nick and cut knit itself back together within a matter of minutes. Perhaps he had little to fear from the threat of violence, although he would prefer to avoid the pain.

He knew, however, that there were some wounds from which he would not heal. From some obscure and dreamlike part of his memory, he recalled deaths, numerous and varied, although the exact details were lost. The pain. The heart stopping, consciousness fading. Nothingness.

How had it happened? Who had killed those invulnerable bodies?

Toivo had felt something the day before at the State Security Building. A cold emptiness had touched him on his way out the door, and he’d been drawn into it as light to a black hole. It was not the sorrowful static of human need–but something immense that had held him enthralled for an instant before he fled, sweating and trembling, into the safety of Isokoski’s car. He didn’t have to investigate its source to know that that darkness could end the earthly existence of Toivo Valonen and send him back to the light from whence he’d come. He shivered and turned off the tap.

Back in the bedroom, he dressed himself in layers–a sweater beneath his suit coat, a cable knit scarf. By the time he finished buttoning his fawn-colored overcoat, he felt some of his anxiety beginning to fade. He was ready. All he had to do was make it out, and his mission could finally commence. Today was the day he would meet the source of the mysterious messages; perhaps some of his questions would finally be answered.

With a deep breath, Toivo left the safety of his room behind. He was still a little unclear on the exact method of his getaway, but he was fully prepared to improvise. A memory began to surface in his mind as he walked down the hall, and a sudden flash of inspiration crystallized his half-formed plans.

He stared at the rows of doors lining the walls and remembered what the dove had said. Left a door open.

Toivo retraced his steps to the door of his room and stood staring at it, trying to recall the technique. He tentatively pressed a hand against the wood and focused, feeling the energy flowing from his palm. He wasn’t sure this would work, but as always, instinctual recall assured him that he’d done it before. Just like with the surveillance equipment in the walls, his mind entered the door, exploring its structure, imbuing it with the memory of his presence. After a moment he broke the link and stepped back.

The door looked unchanged, but as he started down the hall again, its conceptual image lingered in the back of his mind: a portal open for his return.

Down in the lobby, the concierge at the front desk looked up from his work and frowned. “Going somewhere?” he asked, with an accusatory glare at Toivo’s winter ensemble.

“Later today. I have to start gathering material for the book.”

“Mm. And your escort?”

“He’ll be along,” Toivo said, and vanished where he stood.

Toivo leaned against an armchair and watched the concierge become absorbed in his administrative tasks. Hiding in plain sight as he’d done during his time with the Americans, Toivo wasn’t truly invisible. He had merely slipped from the minds of people in the room, becoming as unremarkable to them as a piece of furniture.

It was a useful trick, but it would only hold up to a point. The more Toivo tested the rules or drew attention to himself, the thinner the mental camouflage became. He pondered the guards at the door. Even in his current state of inconspicuousness, he doubted that he could sneak past them without incident.

He sauntered over to the entrance, inching forward until he was close enough to smell the licorice tang on the breath of the guard nearest to him. A skin-colored hint of idle fantasy from the mind of the man caused Toivo to flush, and he studied the distracted face, recognizing the guard who had been on duty the night of his arrival. What was his name again? Ah, yes.

“Iiro.”

The guard jumped visibly.

“What?” he barked. “What do you want?”

“Can you do something for me? I just want to get some fresh air before my driver comes, and they said you could take me.”

“Did they?” Iiro asked in clear annoyance, resuming his position. “I’m on duty right now.”

“They said it was fine. Just to the corner and back.”

The guard rolled his eyes, but he settled his gun more firmly across his shoulder and motioned with a jerk of his head for Toivo to lead.

“Come on, then.”

Toivo hurried down the street with stiff, short steps, head down and collar up, desperate to preserve the envelope of warm air trapped within his coat. The guard refused to walk abreast of him, but instead trailed a few paces behind–sullen and watchful, like the trainer of a dog prone to misbehavior.

As they proceeded with their awkward stroll, Toivo fretted over his imaginary leash, longing to bring his escape plan to completion. The situation didn’t give him much leeway. He toyed with the idea of breaking and running, and wondered how far he would get before he was shot in the back.

What Toivo needed right then was a door. He hoped to come across the right sort before Iiro’s suspicions were aroused and he aborted their little jaunt. To fulfill Toivo’s criteria, the door had to be out of the way, left unlocked, and accessible on a regular basis without anyone taking much notice. As they passed the front doors of groceries and cafes, Toivo glanced around surreptitiously, hoping for a miracle.

He found it. There, hidden away in a narrow little alley, was a red door. Toivo felt himself sweating under the layers of wool as he veered off the sidewalk and into the shadows, ignoring the guard’s cry of warning. Begging that it not be locked, he turned the handle.

It opened easily on oiled hinges, releasing the smells and steam of a laundry. This was the one. Toivo quickly removed his glove and pressed his palm against the frozen wood.

A sense of the door arose in Toivo’s mind, alongside the lingering after-image of the door to his room. He tied them together, confusing them about where they began and ended, convincing them that they were one and the same. He felt a tenuous link form, a thin ribbon of light marrying them into a single portal, just as a rough hand jerked him backwards by the coat collar.

“What d’ya think you’re doing?”

Toivo twisted in Iiro’s grasp, fruitlessly searching for a plausible excuse for his behavior.

“A-are a lot of doors in Vainola painted red like this?” he stammered in desperation.

“What?” Iiro spat. Judging by the look on his face, it was the most ridiculous question he’d ever heard.

“I’m just trying to get details for my book.”

Toivo breathed easier as he felt the grip on the back of his neck loosen. He took a chance and pried gingerly into the guard’s thoughts, to see if this misdirection had been adequate.

What an idiot, this tourist. Why did he have to leave his post for this bullshit?

Better you know me for an idiot than a spook, thought Toivo, slightly wounded.

“I’m all done,” Toivo murmured. “Let’s head back.”

Toivo spent the rest of the walk soothing Iiro’s vexation with softly modulated memories of his time as an up-and-coming cadet. As soon as he crossed the threshold of the New International Hotel, Toivo mumbled his thanks to the placated guard and beat an eager retreat back through the lobby, where the concierge remained absorbed in his mysterious bookkeeping.

Toivo dashed up the stairwell and ran until he stood, bristling with anticipation, before the door of his room. He confirmed that he was alone in the hallway before turning the key in the lock.

A blast of frigid air hit him in the face. Instead of a hotel room, he was greeted by the dirty brick of the alley walls.

He stepped through the portal and into the alleyway, closing the red door behind him.

Proceed to Chapter 3, page 3–>