by Nino Cipri
Instead, Tricia nodded again. “I understand.”
Ava flicked her eyes up from the crack, boring into Tricia. “Do you.”
Tricia transitioned smoothly into the Blank Wall. “What a loss,” she said. “Jules was a great employee.”
She thought Jules was dead, Ava realized.
Tricia pulled open one of the desk drawers, fished some papers out of it, and slid them across the desk. “I’ve got some additional paperwork I’ll need you to fill out, detailing the incident for internal records and for OSHA—”
“They’re not—” Ava couldn’t bring herself to say “dead,” not even to deny it. Her throat locked up around the word. “Jules stayed behind.”
“Oh!” Tricia said. “Oh, that’s fantastic! So much less paperwork if Jules just walked off the job.”
She smiled at Ava, like it was a joke they were sharing in.
“Jules never just walked away from anything,” Ava hissed. “They hated this job and LitenVärld and all the suburbanites bitching about their wedding registries, and they still dragged themself in here.” She leaned back in her chair, taking a deep, petty pleasure in the fact that she’d managed to cut through all of Tricia’s prepared remarks and expressions. “They deserve better than this place, and I hope they …”
Her thoughts suddenly derailed. Whatever she hoped for Jules didn’t matter. She didn’t actually know if they’d survived.
Tricia was silent for several seconds before letting out a slow, calming breath. “I understand this was a stressful shift for you,” she said. “Why don’t you take the rest of the day off? You’ve got some PTO saved up, I think.”
Ava repressed the urge to scream. “Can I just get a couple minutes alone?” she asked.
“Of course,” Tricia said. She seemed smug now. “You’re overdue for a ten-minute break. Enjoy your hot chocolate while it’s still warm.”
She got up, came around the desk, and seemed to hesitate by Ava’s side. Ava, the aftertaste of rage thick in her mouth, decided that if Tricia touched her—gave her a supporting pat on the shoulder or, god forbid, tried to hug her—that she would not feel even a bit guilty for punching her manager right in the face. Maybe Tricia sensed that, maybe she just remembered it was time for her own lunch break. Regardless, she moved past and toward the door, where she paused.
“Oh,” she said, turning back. “I will need the FINNA back from you.”
Ava clenched her jaw. “I lost it in the last wormhole,” she said. She gestured to her tunic, which didn’t have pockets. “I was a little preoccupied with getting through the maskhål before it collapsed and trapped me in the void.”
Tricia huffed a short, sharp sigh of annoyance. “Corporate is not going to like that. I have some calls to make.” She put on the Not Angry, Just Disappointed face. “I’ll let you know what they say.”
The office door clicked softly shut behind her.
Ava slumped forward. She clasped her hands around her elbows and hunched over, shuddering uncontrollably. “Shit, shit, shit.”
She had left Jules behind. She had no idea if they were alive or not. She thought of how she had rushed forward the first time, and had looked back to see Nouresh torn open. What would she have seen if she’d looked back the second time, when Jules had stayed?
There was no way they could have survived the horde. Almost instantaneously, her mind reversed course: of course Jules was alive, they had never faced a challenge whose ass they couldn’t kick, and they had the stores of righteous rage that all retail employees collected. Reinforcements had been on their way, right? It was impossible to think that Jules was dead. But there were so many Danas and Marks, how could Jules have survived?
Ava’s brain spun in circles, unable to decide if Jules was alive or dead, triumphant or lying in pieces. It was like looking at all the mirrored realities that she’d seen in the collapsing maskhål; but instead of cracking apart, dispersing into the void, these seemed to grow larger, crowd her brain more violently. Alive. Dead. Happy. Dismembered. Alive and celebrating victory. Torn into bloody pieces and cursing Ava with their last breath.
Ava lost minutes to the static in her head, before she could remember how breathing worked and how to move her limbs. She was left with the overwhelming urge to sleep, to stress-nap away the next several hours. She briefly thought of her favorite LitenVärld cube for illicit naps, the Goth Spinster room that was draped in black and velvet. But even that made her shudder. More than anything, Ava realized, she wanted to get the hell out of this store.
And she never wanted to come back.
Her legs felt like rubber when she stood, but held her weight after a few wobbly steps. She made her way out of Tricia’s office, then into the break room. She grabbed the coat out of her locker, her hat and gloves, and was about to shut it again when her eyes drifted to Jules’s locker.
Back when they’d first started dating, the two of them would leave silly, stupid notes in each other’s lockers. Jules occasionally folded theirs into complicated origami: whales, giraffes, penguins. Ava had saved them, of course. After the breakup she’d shoved them all into a shoebox, along with all of the other detritus and memorabilia from their relationship.
Ava pulled open Jules’s locker, crouching in front of it to look inside. She was first confronted by a bunch of dirty lunch containers, of course. Ava had to laugh, because honestly, Jules was such a slob about some shit. Some unopened granola bars. Their winter coat, an old dumpy thing that they’d bought from a Goodwill ages ago.
And, hiding at the back, the scarf that Ava had made for them. She remembered the sight of it around their throat that morning, how it had made her stomach churn and acid sting her throat.
Ava pulled it out gingerly past the granola bars and molding Tupperware, as if it were liable to explode. She looked at it, rubbing her thumbs against the tightly knit wool. The hope she’d poured into it hadn’t worked the way she’d imagined. She and Jules were never going to be a couple again, but—what was it Nouresh had called it? They could have found their footing with one another. Knit themselves back together in a different shape.
She briefly felt the urge to make a big exit. Destroy the break room, flip a table, light Tricia’s desk on fire, pull the alarm. The urge passed; she was too damn tired for the melodrama. She settled for writing “I QUIT” on her ID card in permanent marker and leaving it artfully draped across the hot chocolate she hadn’t drunk. Then she took the back stairs out to the loading dock, where the half-dozen dudes paid her no more mind than they ever had, and walked the three-quarters of a mile to the bus stop.
She dozed off on the bus, missed her stop, but recognized where she was and pulled the cord. The bus let her off about a mile from Jules’s studio apartment, which had, for a brief couple of months, been nearly as familiar as her own home. Ava trundled slowly through the snow, which had continued to spit down through the day, spiteful and cold, turning the sidewalk treacherous. The mile-long walk took nearly twice as long as normal, with the road slippery and arduous. Ava pulled the scarf tighter across her face as the wind slapped bits of ice into her eyes and cheeks.
The spare key, thankfully, was exactly where she remembered it, under the novelty welcome mat that said Hello … Is it me you’re looking for? If they were here, she would have yelled at Jules for not moving the key, hiding it better. Who’s going to break into a shitty third-floor attic apartment with a Lionel Richie mat? they always said. Besides, I got fuck-all worth stealing. The most expensive shit I’ve got in there is the coffee my parents buy me.
Ava slipped the key into the deadbolt and unlocked the door. Jules’s coffee was really good. Better than the shit she bought.
It was warm inside, because Jules tended to run cold. Ava let herself in, toeing off her shoes and dropping her coat onto an empty hook. Jules’s studio should have looked different; so much had changed since Ava had been here last, though that had only been about a week ago. But no, there was the same rickety bed pushed up aga
inst the wall. Same dresser, half the drawers hanging open, spare change and half-empty water glasses and mugs littering the top. Same bulletin board covered with pictures of places that Jules planned to travel to someday, or that they’d traveled to already. They had left their dishes from breakfast in the sink, which could do with a good scrub, and there were papers and stuff all over the kitchen counters.
Ava absentmindedly tidied up the papers, automatic as breathing. She’d always been picking up Jules’s apartment, since the mess made her itch. She wasn’t really looking at what she was picking up, not really, until she noticed her own name at the top of a page.
Dear Ava,
You once told me that
Nothing else was written below it.
Ava dropped the paper back on the counter, then sat on the bed. Her mind felt … blank. Heavy. Like it had been filled with the same epoxy that had been poured into the crack in Tricia’s desk.
Ava pulled off the clothes she’d bought in that market—had it only been a couple hours ago? It felt like months—kicked them onto the floor, and curled up under Jules’s duvet. She was asleep almost instantly, and stayed that way for nearly fifteen hours, dreaming that she had traveled to other worlds, dreaming that she had never left, dreaming that Jules had just stepped out for coffee.
CHAPTER TEN
Two days later, a taxi dropped Ava off in front of Saint Joseph’s. The enormous edifice reminded her of the L. V. Anahita when it had surfaced beneath them: too big to understand, to hold entirely in her mind. She almost got back in the car, the request to take her home on her lips. Then she shook herself and went inside, following the complicated directions to Ursula Nouri’s room in the recovery unit. She’d timed her arrival to coincide with the beginning of visiting hours, but it took her nearly half an hour to find the correct floor, and then the correct room. Customers at LitenVärld complained about getting lost in the store, unable to find their bearings. Ava had felt the same when she’d first been hired, but it was even worse at the hospital, which felt like a labyrinth by comparison.
Ava sighed in relief when she finally spotted the paper plaque with the name Nouri on it. She raised her hand to knock, put it down, shook herself. Why was she so nervous? She’d carried this woman barely conscious through a tunnel in time and space. A fifteen-minute conversation wasn’t too much to ask. She rapped on the door.
It opened, after a moment, to reveal the young woman who had come to the customer service desk in the first place. Ursula’s granddaughter. She stared blankly at Ava until recognition washed over her face. “Hi!” she said. “Sorry, come in. Grandma, look who it is!”
Ava blinked at the sight of Captain Nouresh in the hospital bed; she looked smaller without her imposing coat and sword. She seemed paler, as well, either from blood loss or from the gray February light filtering through the window. Bulky bandages peeked out from the neck of her hospital gown, and wound around her arms.
Still, her eyes were lively and sharp as they alighted on Ava. She shifted a bit, sitting up with a pained grunt. “Hello, hero,” she said. “I hear I owe you some gratitude.”
“Grandma, use the buttons on the bed to sit up,” the girl fussed. She adjusted the pillows propping Nouresh up, and said, “Sorry, I don’t think we’ve properly met. I’m Farah.”
“Ava,” she replied, and they shook hands.
“I don’t know if thanking you is like, even appropriate?” Farah said. “But holy shit, thank you so much.”
Ava, unnerved by the girl’s sincerity, muttered, “It’s fine, really, I—”
“Are you a hugger? Do you hug?”
Ava looked over at Nouresh helplessly, and the older woman shrugged, then winced as she pulled at her wound.
“Sure?” Ava said. Before she could prepare herself, Farah’s arms were around her, squeezing her fiercely. It was sort of alarming, really.
Farah released her, but only long enough to plant a kiss on each of Ava’s cheeks. “If you need anything—like, seriously, anything—I will help you.”
Ava nodded, quailing under Farah’s intent gaze. She was a lot more like Nouresh than seemed possible.
“Farah, dear, could you get us some tea? Maybe give us some time to talk?” Nouresh asked.
Farah nodded, then looked back at Ava. “Make sure she doesn’t wander off, okay?”
Ava nodded again, and Nouresh added, “We’ll keep each other firmly on this earth.” Farah squeezed Ava’s hand once, with a terrifying strength, and then went out into the hallway, shutting the door behind her.
“She seems … cool,” Ava said after a moment.
“She does, doesn’t she?” Nouresh said. Her voice was fond, a little surprised. “I wasn’t sure what to expect, but her grandmother raised her well.”
“Pour one out for Ursula,” Ava said.
“May the sea keep her memory,” Nouresh agreed.
“How much does Farah know?” Ava asked delicately. “About what happened?”
Nouresh pursed her lips. “She’s chalking some of what I said up to a concussion. To be fair, I said most of it when I was barely conscious …” She sighed. “But it hasn’t escaped her notice that her beloved grandmother has many more scars and significantly longer hair.”
“Are you going to tell her?”
“Eventually,” Nouresh said. “She deserves that. Ursula does as well.”
Ava sat in the chair by the bed. It was comfortingly warm; Farah must have been sitting there. “Captain Nouresh,” she started.
The older woman raised a hand. “You carried me through a collapsing marejii, I think you’ve earned the right to call me Uzmala.”
Ava nodded. “Uzmala. Do you remember what happened to Jules?”
Uzmala sighed. “I know they saved my life. I know they pulled me through that door. It gets hazy after that. Farah told me that the two of us emerged alone.”
Ava chewed on her lip. “Jules stayed behind. They held the door. I think they fought the drones.”
“A good place to make a stand,” Uzmala mused. “Those bulkhead doors are narrow, and they would have had to come through one at a time. Someone handy with a sword could hold off a horde for quite a while.”
Ava’s stomach roiled. She’d forced herself to go back to her own apartment the night before, to eat and to gather the things she’d thought she needed. Her meal sat uneasily in her stomach now, and she had to swallow a couple times before she could speak the question she’d come here to ask: “I don’t suppose you still have your coat, do you?”
Uzmala smiled at her. “They bagged all my belongings and left them in the closet in the corner. What you’re looking for should be in there.”
Ava got up, pulled the red plastic bag from the closet, and tore it open with shaking fingers, even though she could already feel the FINNA’s bulky shape through the thin plastic. Ava only had dim memories of running through the last maskhål, but she clearly remembered slipping the FINNA into the wide pocket of Uzmala’s red coat, worried that it would slip from her sweaty hands. Uzmala had still been wearing the coat when the ambulance crew strapped her to the stretcher, and Ava had been hustled off to the break room.
The coat was stiff with dried blood, but she was able to maneuver the FINNA out of the pocket. She carefully put the bag back in the closet and then sat back down by Uzmala’s bedside.
“Did I mention that I quit my job?” Ava said faintly.
“Good for you,” the older woman replied. “I might be biased because I was dying at the time, but that store seemed like a depressing place to spend your hours.”
“It’s only the second job I’ve ever had,” Ava said. “My boss, Tricia, always said that we were a family. I should have realized she meant that I would have to put up with constant bullshit.”
Uzmala nodded, though she winced as she did, and put a hand up to her bandaged shoulder. “Was my tool bag in the closet? Fetch it for me, will you?”
Ava did, laying it gently on Uzmala’s lap. “Give me tha
t thing,” Uzmala said, holding her free hand out for the FINNA. After a brief hesitation, Ava did so.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but it sounds like you have nothing really holding you here. And one compelling reason to leave,” Uzmala said, popping the back of the FINNA open. “Not to mention a good vehicle out. This thing is old, but hardy.”
“You would know, right?” Ava said weakly. “Being old and hardy yourself?”
There was a hint of steel in Uzmala’s eyes as the woman looked at her, unimpressed. Ava shrank back in her chair.
“Anyway,” Uzmala said. “What’s holding you back?”
“You mean besides the monsters that nearly ate us?” Ava shot back.
Uzmala fished a thin, copper-and-steel screwdriver out of her tool bag. “Every world has its monsters. I’ve been watching the news, and yours is no exception. What’s the real reason?”
Ava shut her eyes. She didn’t want to say it; saying it made it real, instead of just a nebulous, nightmarish fear inside her head. Then she thought of the two lines in an unfinished letter, and all the things that she and Jules might never say to each other.
“What if I tell the FINNA to find Jules,” she said slowly, quietly. “And it says they’re … indisposed? Like Ursula was?”
The look that Uzmala gave her this time was longer, softer, and more thoughtful.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Ava said, “I’m glad that you and Farah are doing okay, but I don’t want an appropriate replacement for Jules.”
“Even if the alternative is never to see them again?” There was no judgment in the question, just a soft understanding. Ava remembered Nouresh’s sad smile, back at the Anahita’s bazaar, when Ava asked the captain if she had a family. Not anymore.
But this wasn’t the same, was it? She didn’t know if Jules was dead. They were Schrödinger’s Cat at this point, alive and dead and all points in between until Ava made a choice to find out. And if they were alive? What then? It was hard to articulate what Ava wanted, even to herself. She didn’t want to find Jules and run straight back into their arms. But she’d felt something new growing between them, something fragile but important. And she wanted to protect that, nourish it, and see it mature.