1

The Set-Up

“People usually say only two things in life are certain; death and taxes, but I think there’s one more thing that’s certain, and it’s that life is one big joke.”

The small audience claps as Atticus finishes his comedy act for the night. In the brief moments of idle standing between the finishing line and his departure from the stage, the spotlight is blinding. Atticus winces and throws his hand up to shade his eyes from the light. His vision clears and a woman sitting quietly at a back table comes into view, hair cascading over her shoulders, looking more like an oil spill than any naturally dark hair. She’s not laughing, but she smirks and claps slowly.

To everyone else, Atticus is another mediocre form of entertainment, they come to see him as a distraction from their responsibilities. The shadow of his hand is cast across his olive face and the dark, loose curls that frame it. A Roman nose juts out below his brow, which covers dark, deep-set eyes, squinting slightly in suspicion. The woman sees a deer in headlights. His eyes cut through the shadow to meet hers; she recognizes them as belonging to a man hiding a deep hunger for something more.

*****

Another night, another half-empty tip jar. Atticus pockets the cash from the tip jar as well as the food slips given as venue payment. The familiar sound of his best friend’s crutches approaches from behind.

“Rough crowd, huh?” Sunny starts speaking before Atticus has fully turned to greet him. He has nearly shoulder-length, light blonde hair pulled back with a stiff headband from his heart-shaped face. He already isn’t necessarily tall, but the crutches make him appear even shorter as he hunches over them. Although the crutches appear natural with him; he holds them like an extension of himself, a result of years of experience.

“Yeah, that’s what happens when they schedule me for another family-friendly matinee. They promised me a late-night showing this time. Fucked me over is what they did.” Atticus throws his hands up in defeat.

“Hey man, it’ll happen, they just need to realize that your comedy will be a hit in the upper levels. Everyone down here is too depressed to take a joke. You’ve made enough to eat, right? Because we’re tight but my mom and I-”

Atticus cuts him off before he can continue, “No, I’ve got enough to get by until my next show. Your family has done enough for me, you know why I moved out.”

“I know I know, but you are part of our family, we can always make it work if you need.”

“I said no, the idea is that I start paying you back. Drop it, let’s get outta here.”

As the two guys make their way outside, the sun is just starting to set behind the multi storied buildings lining the canal. They have several flights of old fire escape stairs to go down since the building isn’t classy enough for a working elevator. By the time they get down at Sunny’s pace, the shadow of dusk has settled over the gloomy city.

“You know you didn’t have to come to this show, these stairs are ass.” Atticus breaks the silence as he flags down a gondolier in the canal.

“It’s fine, it’s not like I could afford to go to the higher shows with elevator access. You got enough cash for the boat ride back? We can walk too.”

Atticus pulls out a wad of tip money to hand to the man steering the boat as he approaches, “I’ve got enough, it’ll take forever to get you home at your slow ass pace.”

Atticus tosses Sunny’s crutches into the boat and lifts him onto his back to clumsily hop in. The gondolier grimaces as the boat rocks and water splashes them all.

“If you think this is inconvenient, think about how he feels, dick, take us towards the pier.”

The man turns his nose up and scowls before paddling northwest down the canal. The water is high from the peak of the tide as well as several days’ worth of torrential rains. The bottom floors of the surrounding buildings are nearly submerged in water, getting deeper as they make their way down, closer to the pier. It takes about half an hour, the two chatting quietly, before they get near enough to Sunny’s block to justify getting off the boat and Atticus repeats the process of tossing the crutches onto the wooden dock and shouldering Sunny enough to get them both back on solid ground. He hands the gondolier some extra cash before walking Sunny the rest of the way to his home. The buildings this far on the outskirts of the city are decrepit and at this point it’s hard to tell if the mold is still eating away at the wood and drywall or if it’s holding them all together like glue.

“You really don’t have to be my escort every time, Atti, I can handle myself out here. It’s been 14 years since I lost the leg.”

“I don’t trust the bastards out here, you’ve been jumped too many times. I’d feel pretty shitty if I left my crippled friend to find his way home in the dark.”

“Yeah, whatever, join us for dinner?”

“Nah, send the fam my love, I’m gonna head home. I’ll probably be out tomorrow morning to dive and see if I can scavenge up anything good.

Atticus turns and heads in the opposite direction, walking another mile or so back inland. It’s too dark by now to see much more than the silhouette of buildings on either side of the canal. The air is heavy and a stench of mildew and smoke has permanently settled over the city. Upon arriving at his building, Atticus heads up several flights of stairs until he makes it to his apartment. The walk has given him plenty of time to reflect on the night. The show hadn’t been terrible, he got some laughs and enough tips to cover the boat ride home plus some extra in addition to the two days worth of food slips. Most of the people at the show were the same bored faces he sees on the docks regularly. Families worn by the rain and disease and harsh treatment by the mobs. They were lucky to afford one night out a month and they had the unfortunate experience of choosing the night that Atticus performed. How was he expected to cater to a family audience last second when he had prepared a whole performance for the late-night addicts and cheaters? He did well considering half the jokes were improvised so that he wouldn’t offend a mother and her three kids. He would spend the next couple of days writing some extra bits so that he’d be more prepared. If he could just land a decent gig…

Atticus shifts his thoughts to dinner as he makes it to his apartment door and pushes it open. He was lucky Seatac provided semi-decent apartments to consistent entertainers, it’d taken several years to score the fourth level floor he lived on now. It smells like the same mix of cigarettes and mold that hangs over the city. Granted, his own habits have only added to the stench of cigarette smoke, but he promptly crosses to the window and opens it before lighting a weak candle. The smell won’t go away, but at least it’ll get masked enough to make the room livable. The apartment is a small suite, with a twin mattress on the floor opposite a kitchenette made up of a sink, a mini refrigerator, and an electric stove, the latter two of which were currently out of commission until Atticus could afford electricity again. The fridge may as well be a cheap cooler, but with the weather patterns of Seatac, it did enough to keep produce, bread, and cheese edible for a day or two. Atticus opted for the last of his stale bread and a beat-up can of beans with an expiration date from half a century ago; he’d eaten far more suspicious things.

Atticus lights a cigarette and jots down notes in his notebook before making it to bed. It takes a while for him to drift off, images of the night’s events playing over in his head but with a strange blank space. There was someone there but he couldn’t see a face anymore. The last thing he can remember before finally falling asleep is the colors of oil spiraling along the surface of the familiar canals he walks along every day.

*****

Atticus flips on the radio first thing in the morning, one of the only working devices in the apartment, as he throws on a green sweater and loose cargo pants for the day. He isn’t scheduled for a gig tonight, which means he has time to write new material and go scavenging for some canned food or anything that can be traded. While putting together another meager meal, the radio crackles with more static than usual. The radio host, a guy named Lenny, cuts in and out talking about the weather and upcoming shows. Atticus has never met Lenny, but his awkward yet confident voice has become so embedded in Atticus’s routine that he may as well be like family. Lenny is in the middle of talking about the rain clearing up for the next week when he cuts out and gets interrupted by another voice.

An unrecognizable woman’s voice breaks through, “Who cares? The rain actually won’t let up for long, sorry babes. Hiiii Atti-” she’s cut short as Lenny’s familiar voice comes back, “today would be a lovely day to go see a matinee with the family, if the gangs allow it! Tonight we have The Streamliners playing some new music at Ol’ Steve-O’s Water Hole as well as-”

“Nobody cares! Atticus are you listening? He should be saying your name, ‘Liminal Spaces with Atticus Frank-’”

“Next up is one of my favorites by tonight’s Century City headliner, Stomach Me by Jenny Holland…”

The strange woman’s voice comes through again, poorly singing a cover of the song before quitting, “ugghhh one of my least favorites by her actually, her old stuff was better, but who likes jazz anyway? I’m more of a comedy fan if you know what I mean-”

Her voice fades out in a mess of static as the familiar sounds of Jenny Holland come through with smooth jazz instrumentals. The static clears up and suddenly the radio is playing its usual crackles.

Atticus has quit eating completely as he stares at the radio, his brows drawn together. He had never heard that voice before, and yet she seemed to be speaking directly to him. He shakes the thoughts out of his head, he has other things to focus on, and Lenny called for clear skies, so it should be a good day to go out. Surely the woman’s voice meant nothing. He throws on his shoes, puts some clean water and his notebook in a sling pack, and heads out the fire escape to descend to the docks. The sun is out and there are no clouds in sight for the time being, so he heads northwest to the coast. The city is basically one big wharf, with wooden docks built on either side of the canals that were once streets and reinforced but crumbling high-rise buildings sandwiching it all. Atticus could picture what the city looked like a century ago, cars bumper to bumper down the streets and the sidewalks bustling with people going to and from work or shopping at the plethora of storefronts that are now under several feet of water on a good day.

The docks that Atticus travels along are situated only a couple of feet below the ceiling level of the first floor, with new and old stairways allowing residents to enter upper levels from the outside. Construction crews are constantly at work reinforcing infrastructure to ensure none of the skyscrapers fall any time soon. If Atticus were to travel inland, where the city rises in elevation, the buildings would be much more secure, and many of the streets only flooded by several inches or not at all. Down here, however, the quickest way to travel is by boat, through the canals. In a couple of blocks, the ocean would be visible, but at high tide, this part of the city could be considered part of the ocean.

As Atticus walks towards the end of what could be considered land, he passes tables of produce, textiles, candles, radio parts, and any other crude necessities being sold by merchants. There are alleys of these markets all over the city, but they become more high-end as one travels inland. Most of the people here seem either dirty or sick or both and the merchandise reflects that. Atticus will stop here on his way home for groceries, but for now, he walks through and heads toward the most flooded buildings on the coastline.

He stops in his tracks, however, when he catches a whiff of something that smells good for the first time in weeks. Towards the end of the market alley is a tent selling crude breads with the exception of a few remaining honey rice cakes; a rare find, to say the least. It would be tight, but he decides he can spare some change for a couple of small cakes and approaches the vendor. A petite woman smiles at him as he approaches, “Oh perfect! I was told to hold these for you, but I was getting worried as nobody came by matching your description, the woman was just so insistent on making sure I waited for you.” She has short, dark hair that bounces a bit as she speaks excitedly.

“Wait a moment,” Atticus cuts her off before she can continue, “who are you talking about? Long blonde hair? Was it Sienna Tenermill?”

“Oh no, not dear Sienna, I’d recognize her anywhere. No this was someone else…” she drifts off for a moment, “ I can’t say I can remember her face, let alone a name. Although she wanted me to send her regards and to let you know that she enjoyed your show last night despite the awkward circumstances.”

Atticus sighs and goes to pull money from his pocket, “I wish you could remember something about her, but I suppose you see a lot of faces on a regular basis. Could I at least get your name?”

The shopkeeper waves her hands in refusal of the money, “Don’t worry, dear, she already paid, so these last three cakes are all yours! I also wish I could remember, because she paid more than enough and I’d like to thank her again. However, you can call me Georgia, and please come back any time!” She finishes bagging the cakes and hands them over.

Atticus smiles and thanks her as he takes the bag. He turns to leave, staring at the wooden boards underfoot as he walks away, thoroughly confused. Regardless, he isn’t far from Sunny’s home, so it would be a quick pit stop and the kids are probably desperate for something other than plain rice and cold soup. Weird as that interaction was, Atticus takes it in stride and pulls out half of a cake to eat while he walks. It may not be considered a luxury to the high class, but it’s damn good to him. He saves the other half for Sunny.

A couple of blocks further north, Atticus finds himself at the Tenermill-Mattern household. It’s the upper level of a two-story building, but the lower level is uninhabitable and frankly, the rest of the house doesn’t seem like it will last much longer. Atticus goes around the backside, as there’s a large porch that Sunny’s late father, James, had built to surround the house and accommodate a dozen and a half chickens as well as their coop. He can hear the younger teens yelling in excitement as they see him through the windows. The twins, Marco and Elise, trample over each other as well as several chickens as they quickly meet him on the back porch. He sidesteps several more chickens as the twins nearly tackle him to the ground.

“Woah easy there kids, you’ll smash the goods.” He pulls the bag of cakes out of his pack and hands two of them to the kids. “Make sure to share with George and your mother!” he yells after them as they run back into the house in excitement. Atticus isn’t far behind as he enters the house, grabbing a handful of eggs from the coop to bring inside. The house is a mess, as several chickens have found their way inside; feathers are stuck to everything and they’ve relieved themselves on the floor in multiple places. The three teenagers have done nothing to pick up after themselves either, clothing and food are left on the furniture. On top of all of that, their mother’s seamstress work monopolizes most surfaces. There aren’t many rooms, but enough for Sunny and his mother, Sienna, to both have their own rooms while the other three share. They even have somewhat of a full kitchen and bathroom, though the clean water use is still limited in those and it’s generally a guessing game on whether they have electricity for the week. Atticus leaves the eggs in a bowl as he moves into the kitchen and scoops up a familiar chicken along the way. The chickens always remind him of his own mother, as Sienna took over their care at the same time she took over care of Atticus a dozen years ago.

Sunny is nowhere to be seen, but his three younger siblings are all at the counter, having cleared off a space to cut the cakes in half and eat together. Sienna marches in from another room, mumbling something about the kids being too loud before seeing Atticus with a chicken in his arms and her eyes grow wide, “Of course it was you causing this ruckus! You never cease to amaze me with how quickly you can put things in disarray in this household, Atticus Frank.”

Atticus chuckles, “Wow, not even a hello? You’re just gonna blame me for your kids letting chickens inside? I’ll go, if that’s how it is.” he turns as if to leave, but instead sets the chicken on the floor as Sienna quickly finishes crossing the room to pull him in for a hug. She isn’t tall, so Atticus has to bend over for her to reach.

“You never visit much anymore, where have you been? If it weren’t for Sunny being able to keep up with you, I’d fear you’d left for good.” Sienna has a warm smile and long, blonde hair tied back in a braid, revealing the wrinkles and stress lines that continue to get deeper every time Atticus visits.

“I know, Mom, I’m just busy and trying to make ends meet. I got lucky walking through the market today and figured now was as good a time as any to swing by. Sunny at work?” He unintentionally emphasizes the ‘mom’; it’s never come naturally since being adopted by her. Sienna hates it when he calls her by name but he can see her flinch a bit with the way he’s said that as well. They’ve managed their relationship regardless.

“Oh yeah, you oversleep so much you missed him by several hours. I just wish his greenhouse was closer so he didn’t have to leave so early to get there.” she pauses to swipe the last half of a honey cake left by the kids before they can eat it and they start moving into another room without the sweets to keep them around, “By the way, thank you for walking him home last night, it really does make me feel better knowing you do that, though I wish you would join us for dinner!”

“It’s the least I can do for him, and I’m sorry, I’ll come in next time around, I just don’t like coming empty-handed.”

“You make sure my son comes home every day, you’re never empty-handed.”

“You know, just last night he got onto me about how he can take care of himself, the damned cripple, so you better be careful giving me too much credit.” Atticus moves to lean on the counter as Sienna starts filling a pot to boil water – they clearly had electricity this week. “You don’t have to make tea, I won’t be long. I’ve got work to do and there’s no need to waste the power.”

She sighs and sets the water kettle aside before responding, “You and I both know that boy takes great care of himself and so many more, but I’ll be damned if that one leg of his could get him out of another one-sided fight quick enough.”

Atticus laughs, “Well that’s why I keep him around, I don’t have to run faster than the gang members, I’ve just gotta run faster than Sunny.”

Sienna gasps and tosses one of the teen’s nearby shoes across the room in his direction. He dodges just in time, but the surprise promptly turns to amusement as a smile spreads across his face.

“Anyways I gotta go, keep this from the other kids and make sure Sunny gets it,” he tosses the bag with the remaining cake half to Sienna, who catches it and quickly stuffs it into a jacket pocket. She looks more at ease than when he first showed up.

“You’re awful, you better come back and actually spend time with us soon!” she yells after him as he exits the house and starts heading back in the direction of the sea.

As Atticus makes his way to the very edge of the city, where the water is deepest, the wind picks up a small amount and pulls strong aromas of salt and fish inland. The ocean comes into view and the horizon is not looking as clear as Lenny had called for on the radio earlier in the morning. Atticus’s brow creases as he remembers the voice that predicted a storm, it felt too off. Regardless, he stops when he gets to a somewhat large, single-story building that he knows has a basement. It was once a grocery store but it had been largely cleaned out in recent decades. The main floor contains about 4 feet of standing water and all the glass doors have been shattered. He’d have to get into the water from the opposite side of the dock from the building, as the wood pressed close to the wall near the door’s height. If he wanted, Atticus could probably break apart part of the rotten wall for direct access, but he had decided that was a bit too conspicuous. He begins removing his clothes until he is just in his boxers, pack, and shoes –he wasn’t about to cut his foot open on broken glass– and stashes everything, including the notebook from his pack, around the corner of the building. Not enough people came snooping around here these days for him to worry too much about his belongings. Most scavengers gave up on this building because nobody had been able to get into most of the basement rooms without nearly drowning in the fully submerged storage space. However, Atticus managed to figure out the water flow in the space and where the supplies often got pushed after a storm. He also had figured out where a couple of vents were in the ceiling that created air pockets during low tide.

Atticus sits at the edge of the dock and then slides off into the canal. With his head above the surface still, he’s capable of slowly walking through the water but opts to swim since it’s faster. He makes his way under the dock and through the doors. The floor plan is spread out quite a bit and the basement access is on the opposite side of the store, so he has to swim a couple hundred meters, dodging old rusted shelves and plenty of trash to make it to a back room and then to a set of stairs. At the top of the stairs, he finds a shelf to sit on and catch his breath before moving forward. He removes his shoes here and ties them to a bar sticking out of the shelf. He knows that once he goes under, it’ll be a long swim down to the next air source, a vent in the ceiling. He’d been lucky to time his morning well enough to get here at low tide. He takes several deep breaths and prepares to submerge, knowing his timing has to be perfect or he’d have to turn around. He feels cold air waft in from the door and can tell the water is starting to move a bit more, there was a storm coming after all. This could either help him or royally fuck him while he’s in the basement, but he needs supplies if he’s going to eat more than the bare minimum. One more deep breath and he dives, kicking off the shelf he was on as much as he can in order to launch himself down the stairway faster. He makes his way down the stairs and immediately takes a right, where the vent is located. The water movement pushes him as well, greatly shortening his time to the vent, where he promptly extends his neck and head as far up as he can to reach the air.

He had tied a long rope to a metal bar and wedged it into the vent several weeks back to ensure he had a way of navigating the darkness. The waterproof flashlight he’d gotten ahold of to get into the basement the first couple of times had long since burned out. He pulls the rope up until he gets to the end, knowing it’s just about as long as he can swim before needing to turn around, and ties it around his waist, having to duck in and out of the vent to get air as he works. It isn’t a fast process.

He takes a breath and prepares to dive, reminding himself of the small fish residing here as well as the algae growing on everything and the occasional large catfish slowly navigating the darkness. He has yet to run into anything that causes him concern, even though the catfish scares the shit out of him every time he bumps into one. Flipping over and kicking off the ceiling, Atticus dives straight down to the floor, about ten feet down, and then stays parallel to the floor as he traverses the darkness until he hits the end of the rope and immediately returns to the vent. He repeats this process a handful of times, swimming in different directions until he hits furniture, the rope end, or manages to grab an item, most commonly cans. More than once, what he assumes to be the same catfish nudges his arm or leg. On his 5th or 6th dive, Atticus manages to find several cans of something lightly drifting across the floor. He kicks off the floor and back to the vent, having added enough weight to his pack to justify quitting or else the swim out could be more difficult. In all, he could count eight items in his head that he can remember stashing in the pack; good yield.

Untying the rope from his waist and taking his time to recover, Atticus finally takes one last big breath and pushes towards the exit. The added weight does not help his ascent. His heart skips a beat and he starts to panic as he struggles to the surface, but manages to kick off a stair at the last moment and make it all the way up. That would probably be the last of the day’s suspiciously good luck. Atticus quickly puts his shoes back on and treads across the store, his ears popping as pressure is relieved and his heart rate gradually goes down.

Outside, the sun is directly ahead but clouds continue to gather in the west, so Atticus does not hesitate to find his clothes and start the walk back to the market. As he walks, he inspects the contents of his pack. They’re all cans with a surprising lack of rust; somewhere in the time it took for society to crumble somebody figured out how to make nonperishable goods even less perishable. The cans contain beans, peas, and soup. Just like all the cans he eats from regularly– fantastic. He sighs, at least it’s edible, and he can pick up some fresh food on his way home.

*****

Just past the market as he heads home and the clouds are finally outstretched across the sky, Atticus runs into Sunny, going the opposite direction to his own home, and they stop to chat. Sunny slides to the ground to sit on the dock edge as Atticus smokes a cigarette that he’d managed to pick out of the hand of a drug addict, half-conscious on the planks several yards away.

“Should you trust what’s in that thing?” Sunny nods toward the cigarette, “doesn’t look like its owner is doing too well over there.”

Atticus takes a drag before responding, “Maybe not but what’s life if we’re not taking risks, right?” he pauses for dramatic effect, “but also I saw them buy it half an hour ago directly from the herbalist at the market and they already weren’t looking too hot. I fear the poor bastard is simply suffering from whatever they took before this sale was made.” He takes another long drag and they sit in silence for a moment.

Sunny breaks the silence as the rain finally starts to come down, making ripples in the water in front of them, “Didn’t Lenny say it wasn’t going to rain at all today?” he almost looks defeated, saying it.

“Yep, he did, but didn’t you hear that other new woman say otherwise?”

Sunny turns to look up at Atticus standing above him, “What the hell are you talking about?”

Atticus makes a face, “I was probably picking up on some other station or something. Maybe I didn’t quite get it back on Lenny’s station after tuning into your mom’s station last night.”

“Dude, she’s basically your mom too.”

“Yeah it felt weird right after I said it, I’m not gonna lie.”

Sunny lets out a laugh and reaches up for Atticus to give him a hand in standing up. “I should probably get home before the rain starts coming down too hard and these damn crutches slip on the wet boards.”

Atticus helps his friend stand, says goodbye, and the two of them proceed to walk in opposite directions as the rain starts to pick up. Atticus almost gets through the cigarette before it goes out and he tosses it into the canal.