There's No Place Like Here Read Online Free PDF

the table, his left hand drummed on the wood and his right hand signaled for another coffee. His mind stayed positive. She was coming. He knew she would come.
    Eleven A.M., he tried calling her mobile number for the fifth time. It rang and rang and finally, “Hello, this is Sandy Shortt. Sorry I’m not available at the moment. Leave a message and I’ll call you back as soon as I can.”
    Jack hung up.
    Eleven thirty, she was two hours late and once again Jack listened to the voice message Sandy had left the previous night.
    “Hi, Jack, Sandy Shortt here. I’m ringing to confirm our meeting tomorrow at nine thirty A.M. in Kitty’s Café in Glin. I’m driving down tonight.” Her tone softened. “As you know, I don’t sleep,” she laughed lightly. “So I’ll be there early tomorrow. After all our conversations I look forward to finally speaking with you in person, and Jack”—she paused—“I promise you I’ll do my best to help you. We won’t give up on Donal.”
    Twelve o’clock, Jack played it again.
    At one o’clock, after countless cups of coffee, Jack’s fingers stopped drumming and instead made a fist for his chin to rest on. He had felt the café owner’s gaze on his back as he sat for hours waiting nervously, watching the clock, and not giving up his table to a group willing to spend more money than he. Tables filled and emptied around him; his head snapped up every time the bell over the door rang. He didn’t know what Sandy Shortt looked like; all she had said was that he couldn’t miss her. He didn’t know what to expect but each time the bell tinkled, his head and his heart both lifted with hope and then fell as the newcomer’s gaze flitted past his and settled on another.
    At two thirty, the bell rang once more.
    After five and a half hours of waiting, it was the sound of the door opening and closing behind Jack.
    9
    F or almost two days I’d stayed in the same wooded area, jogging back and forth trying to re-create my movements and somehow reverse my arrival here. I ran up and down the mountainside, testing different speeds as I struggled to remember how fast I’d been running, what song I’d been listening to, what I’d been thinking of, and what area I was in when I first noticed the change in my location. As though any of those things had any part in what happened. I walked up and down, down and up, searching for the point of entry and, more importantly, the point of exit. I didn’t want to sleep, I wanted to keep busy. I didn’t want to settle like the personal possessions scattered around; I didn’t want to end up like the backless earrings that glinted from the long grass.
    Thinking you’re missing is a bizarre conclusion to arrive at. I’m well aware of that. But it wasn’t a sudden conclusion, believe me. I was hugely confused and frustrated for those first few hours but I knew that something more extraordinary than taking a wrong turn had occurred because geographically, a mountain couldn’t just rise from the ground in a matter of seconds, trees that had never grown before in Ireland couldn’t all of a sudden sprout from the ground, and the Shannon Estuary couldn’t dry up and disappear. I wasn’t simply lost—I was somewhere else.
    I did, of course, contemplate the fact that I was dreaming, that I had fallen and hit my head and was currently in a coma or that I’d died. I did wonder about whether the anomalous nature of the countryside was pointing toward the end of the world and I questioned my knowledge of the geography of West Limerick. I did indeed consider very strongly the fact that I’d lost my mind. This was number one on the list of possibilities.
    But when I sat alone for those days and thought rationally, surrounded by the most beautiful scenery I’d ever seen, I realized that I was most certainly alive, the world had not ended, mass panic hadn’t taken over, and I was not just another occupant of a junkyard. I realized that my searching for a way