Catherine House

by Elisabeth Thomas

  After session, Theo and I returned to his room. We touched and bit each other. I screamed.

  When Theo finished, he fell asleep almost immediately. I stared at his profile in the blue moonlight, watching his chest rise and fall. I ran a finger over his nose. His breath was warm against my cupped hand.

  I slid out of bed.

  Theo’s room was so cold my clothes felt damp as I pulled them on. I rubbed my arms and blinked against the dark before bending to rifle through the pockets of his jeans. Yes. There it was.

  I slipped the keycard into my pocket. I grabbed one of his hoodies and pulled it over my head.

  I glanced at my reflection in the window. With the hood down, I looked almost like Theo. We were the same height and had the same skinny shoulders. It made me smile.

  As I walked through the dark halls with Theo’s key in my pocket, I saw the whole house, as if in a cross section. The boys and girls fast asleep in their beds; the classrooms, empty now, blackboards wiped clean and projectors clicked off; the aides dancing to Motown as they cooked breakfast down in the kitchen. I even saw the professors in their tower. Some were sleeping, gently snoring, and others were stirring from their beds, wandering to the bathroom, falling asleep on the toilet.

  My house. My beautiful house.

  Past the art gallery, down the stairs. Into the hallway with the gold umbrella wallpaper.

  Something whistled behind me. I turned, but no one was there.

  I listened to myself breathe. My heartbeat was steady and low. I didn’t feel nervous. I felt wonderful.

  I swiped the card in front of the keypad. The keypad beeped and clicked. I turned the handle.

  The lights in the lab were off, which was good, because I hadn’t considered what I’d do if someone was still there, working late. The glow from the hallway briefly illuminated two long lab tables that recessed into gray space before I closed the door and the room fell to black.

  I felt along the wall for a switch. I flicked it on.

  The lab looked like a smaller version of the one upstairs. Long rubberized counters held a mess of ledgers and notepads, pen caps and pencil shavings, compasses, beakers, thermometers. One wall was lined with bins filled with plasm kits and rubber gloves. Another was lined with bright red cubbies all crammed with heaps of junk: broken teacups, computer mouse pads, a crushed-in lampshade, two dusty VCRs. I reached in to feel the insides of a cubby I couldn’t see clearly. I found a netted bag of marbles.

  My footsteps echoed against the tile as I walked farther into the room. The air had that familiar warm milk smell.

  This could be my place. These could be my secrets.

  The wall by the cubbies held a whiteboard scribbled over with incomprehensible equations and diagrams. Someone had doodled a silly, googly-eyed dragon in the corner.

  A series of cages lined the wall on the other side of the whiteboard. I bent to peer into their recesses.

  That’s where the smell came from: more rabbits.

  I unlatched one of the cages and reached inside. The rabbit barely reacted as I pulled it into my arms, but it was definitely alive. Its nose twitched as it nestled into the crook of my arm. Its fur smelled like urine and sawdust. I stroked the rabbit’s soft, fine, fragile head. She looked like a girl bunny, I decided. An Amy.

  “Hi,” I whispered into the pink folds of Amy’s ear.

  “Hello,” someone responded.

  I whirled.

  How long had Sandy been standing there? At the other end of the lab, near a tall black door.

  He stepped forward into the light. His eyes had the same vague look they always did. As if he weren’t quite focused on my face.

  “Hello,” I said back.

  “What,” he said, “are you doing?”

  He moved closer, and closer. I had never stood this near to him before, not since I spoke to him a year ago in the great hall. He was wearing pajamas, and his curls were mussed, as if he had just gotten out of bed. In the dim light, I could barely see that his skull was covered with orange bruises.

  I clutched Amy tighter.

  “I’m no one,” I said. “I’m not here. Okay?”

  Amy’s heart beat fast against my own.

  “Okay,” he said.

  Sandy walked past me. I stepped back, but he didn’t touch me. He sat in one of the chairs by the lab table.

  And that was all he did. He rested his hands on his knees. He didn’t look at me, or at anything. He just sat and stared ahead, blank-faced, incurious.

  I watched Sandy for a few minutes more, my heart still thumping. But he didn’t do anything else.

  Amy’s whiskers twitched against my hand.

  I glanced back at the door Sandy had come from. There was a keypad next to the handle, like the one outside the lab.

  I clutched Amy tighter as I swiped Theo’s keycard in front of the box. It clicked.

  As soon as the door closed behind me with a thud, I was lost. The room was perfectly black, a depthless void. I tried not to panic as I groped for a light switch. I don’t know why I was scared. I’d never been afraid of the dark.

  I finally found a switch, and the overhead lights flickered on, casting a low submarine-yellow glow. I blinked and rubbed my face. I felt like I was in a golden darkroom, or some mystic mermaid hollow.

  At first I thought it was a small space. I noticed only one lab table. But on the right stood another table, a long surface with a series of cases arranged on top. That table receded into the dark farther than I could see.

  Behind each case lay a binder of notes. The binders were all dated; the earliest one was from the year M. Neptune was hired.

  Still petting Amy, I walked along the cases. They looked like they were made of black plastic. Some were small, no bigger than my hand. I thought I heard an insect-like buzz coming from a few of them. As I kept going, they grew progressively bigger.

  I peered at the spine of one of the binders. Below the date, the label read, “Rabbit 2.14.”

  I clutched Amy tighter.

  The case by the Rabbit 2.14 binder was fixed with a simple flip lock. I pushed it open.

  A rabbit sat crouched inside. A real white rabbit, alive, just like Amy. No—not alive like Amy. As I opened the case, the rabbit sniffed and its whiskers twitched, but otherwise it didn’t move at all.

  It didn’t move because plasm pins were connecting its skull to four perfect spools of thread. One spool in each corner of the case.

  The rabbit’s nose kept twitching.

  I closed the lid carefully.

  I rubbed Amy’s ears as I stared out at the rest of the cases. They marched on to the end of the room. Cases and cases, all full of animals and objects networked into the suspended animation of Theo’s plastic infinity.

  On the other side of the room stood two much bigger cases, each about seven feet long. It was hard to see in the low light, but one of them looked like it was already opened, the other still closed.

  A binder lay beside the closed case.

  I squinted at its cover: barbara pearce. Beneath that, it listed her age and weight.

  I walked closer, slowly.

  I put my hand on the case.

  I swallowed.

  “Hi, Baby,” I whispered.

  I swallowed again.

  I didn’t know why, but in that moment I felt nothing. I felt nothing and thought nothing. The only thing in my head was a stupid scrap of lyric from that ABBA song we’d been singing weeks ago, echoing over and over as I tried to breathe. It used to be so good. It used to be so good.

  I stared at my hand.

  I could have opened the case. I could have seen what objects were there inside. Maybe Baby was pinned to her sister’s old Brandeis T-shirt, or to a cold Master Lock, or some freshly sharpened pencils. Any of the silly little objects she really, really loved. Maybe she looked peaceful, like I’d always dreamed for her. And maybe, when her eyes roved toward mine, I wouldn’t have been afraid. Maybe she would have touched my hand and I w
ould have felt fine.

  I don’t know. I didn’t open the case. I only stood there, my hand on the cold plastic, trying to imagine that I could feel something beneath my palm, some kind of human energy. But I couldn’t, really. I couldn’t feel anything.

  I wiped my face. My cheeks were wet.

  *

  I returned the keycard to Theo’s drawer that night, but I didn’t stay in his bedroom; I went to Yaya’s. I opened her door without knocking. The hallway light flashed onto her sleeping face. She was in bed, breathing steadily, her mouth relaxed into something like a smile.

  I climbed in next to her. She made a small sleepy sound as her arm reflexively tightened around me. I curled into a tight ball, hugging myself.

  I must have slept, because then I was waking up alone in Yaya’s bed. The pillow was damp. Gray morning had dawned.

  I ran a hand over the sheets where Yaya used to be. The bed smelled like her.

  I wanted to call for her—I needed her—but couldn’t. My throat ached.

  I could hear Yaya’s small, human noises in the bathroom on the other side of the wall. Water sloshing in the tub, her humming as she washed herself. Then the drain popped, water gurgled, and her damp feet padded against the tiles. She was brushing her teeth. She was getting ready for the day.

  Untitled

  I shifted my books to my other arm as I pushed open the door to the great hall. I felt stupid carrying my things all the way from my bedroom, but I needed to work on my tutorial, and I hated being in my room. I always found myself looking around, remembering all the little things of Baby’s that used to be there but weren’t anymore. Her hairbrush. Her notes. Her jacket. Her shoes. I wished her things were there. I wished, in the middle of the night, I could turn in my bed and whisper to her, Are you sure about this? Are you okay?

  How could she be okay?

  I couldn’t be in the bedroom. And I couldn’t go to one of the libraries, where I might run into Anna or Diego. I couldn’t see anyone right now. I couldn’t pretend to be fine.

  Some days I was different. Some days my brain ran in abstract nightmare circles. I paced from one wall to the next. I took nervous shits. I couldn’t be alone, so I ended up attending classes that weren’t my own and lingering in the great hall after meals. I lounged for hours in the music room, hanging out with second-years I didn’t like or even know. I wandered from bedroom to bedroom, lazing and gossiping and begging friends to tell me stories until I fell asleep. But I couldn’t sleep. I just lay in my bed and stared at the black ceiling, wishing I could stop thinking, wishing I were dead.

  Other days, days like today, I just wanted to be alone.

  I dropped my books on one of the tables in the great hall.

  The sky through the windows was anxious predawn ultramarine. Outside, on the yard, dirty snow melted into the soil and little creatures twitched and oozed awake. The night was warming into a grim March morning. But in here I was the only living thing. The tables stretched out long and empty. The chairs, which were usually scattered all over the room, were tucked neatly in place. The tapestries hung still. Nothing moved, and nothing made a sound.

  I pulled out a chair. It screeched as it scraped against the stone floor. I sat down.

  I stood up again. I walked to the ice cream case by the dessert service.

  I scooped up a big ice cream cone. Two lumps of cherry chocolate chip.

  “Oh,” a voice called, “there you are.”

  Theo was loping toward me from across the hall. His hands were in his pockets. He was smiling.

  The emptiness of the hall had distorted his voice. I almost didn’t recognize it.

  “Yaya thought you might be here,” he said as he came closer. “Hi.”

  He gave my cheek a cheery kiss, then climbed up onto the table. He swung his legs.

  “Go figure,” he said, “I pull an all-nighter, and that’s the only time I can catch you. You’ve been waking up so early.”

  I licked my palm. The ice cream was melting down my hand.

  “Well?” He laughed a little. “How are you doing? I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”

  “I’ve been studying,” I said.

  “Studying?”

  “Yes. My advisor keeps giving me more revision notes on the first half of my tutorial essay.”

  “Shouldn’t you be in the second half by now?”

  “That’s why I’m studying.”

  He ran a hand along my cheek.

  “You’re so pretty,” he murmured. “I could look at you forever.”

  I stood very still as he touched me.

  “Where are you coming from?” I said.

  “The lab. This is like my third all-nighter this week. I’m getting better at them, though. I’m getting so strong.” He made a bicep and mugged.

  I threw the cone in the trash.

  Three weeks had passed since my visit to M. Neptune’s lab.

  Theo rubbed my shoulders. “I miss you,” he said.

  I touched his waist. I missed him, too.

  Make me better, I wanted to say. Say everything is all right. Say everything is fine.

  I stepped between his legs. I ran my hands over his thighs.

  “You know,” he said, pulling at a lock of my hair, “sometimes I like to imagine you as a little girl. Scraped knees, climbing trees. Playing princess games.”

  “I never pretended to be a princess.”

  “Man, everyone pretended to be a princess. Even I pretended to be a princess.”

  “I never wanted to be a princess. And I didn’t climb trees. I got into fights.”

  “I can just imagine you,” he said, “like one of those magic story creatures. A child born under a leaf.”

  I stroked his fuzzy head. That wasn’t me at all.

  Noise had started to stir in the kitchen, pots banging against pots and porcelain scraping against porcelain. The aides were preparing lunch.

  I bit Theo’s neck. I pulled at his shirt. He got up and lifted me onto the table.

  It almost felt good.

  “Are you okay?” Theo said afterward.

  I looked down. I was bleeding. I wiped between my legs.

  “I’m fine,” I said. I wasn’t sure if it was my period or not.

  “Sorry.”

  “Stop apologizing. I did it.”

  Theo grabbed a napkin from the dessert service and handed it to me. He kissed my hairline.

  *

  The painting shone. I stared at it, my Agnes Martin notes limp and useless on my lap. Months of classes and theory and notes and drafts, and now I had less to say about this work than ever before. What could I say? What words could I use that were honest, the way the painting was honest? Words were silly human inventions; the painting was a vision. Its pattern of space and light and colors had a rhythm that was so arcane, so simple and true. What description could possibly contain it?

  I used to think the painting’s surface was beautiful. I used to think its material, the magic matter, was the stuff of divinity. But what if the space between this world and eternity wasn’t a happy place? What if it was infinitely lonely and sad?

  I went to my room. I closed the door and turned off the light. I looked down at the Molina courtyard.

  No one was there. No one was there and nothing moved. I could smell, through the cracked window, a spring perfume of fester and growth.

  Today was Friday. Soon, session would begin in the great hall. But I wasn’t going. I hadn’t been to any sessions since visiting the lab. It didn’t matter that we weren’t pinned during the ceremonies; I knew Viktória and M. Neptune had to be using them to experiment on us in some more oblique way. I didn’t want to be there. I didn’t want to feel the power of the house and its things.

  I stared at my hand on the desk, like I had stared at it when I touched Baby’s case in the lab.

  How could I have left her?

  I went to the bathroom, clutched the toilet, and heaved. Nothing came up.

 
I closed the lid and sat on it. I leaned against the cool, clammy wall.

  It didn’t matter if I was awake or asleep. Either way, I couldn’t breathe.

  Baby wanted this, I tried to remind myself. Baby wanted this. Baby believed in Catherine.

  So why couldn’t I? Why couldn’t I believe?

  I’d never been afraid of dying. Even after I saw the girl in the hotel. I’d hated myself and that room and everything, but I still wasn’t afraid. I wasn’t afraid of the dark. I was afraid of the light—the future. And now I could see them all, all the future days, smothering Baby’s nose and mouth. And every object around me, from the pale tiles on the bathroom floor to the toilet pull, the mirror over the sink to the empty claw-foot tub, every detail that once blessed the house now seemed to damn us, me and Baby, here, to our world’s double: a boundless hollow horror earth I hadn’t recognized until now.

  *

  Rain slurred and smeared against the parlor window. We lingered over our tea, slouched in armchairs, prone on the floor, still hungover from the night before. There had been a party in the Ashley basement to celebrate the end of midterms. I had a blurry memory of a pair of blue-and-red roller skates unearthed from the bottom of some closet, a long stretch of hallway, the noise of plastic clattering against stone, and Yaya screaming, “I broke my arm! I broke my arm! Oh—did I? Oh—oh, it’s fine.” And me, laughing desperately.

  “I want to die,” Anna mumbled. She was lying on the rug, arm slung over her face. “They used to be better than this.”

  “Who did?” Diego said.

  “Not who, what. Hangovers, I mean. They didn’t used to hurt so much.” She flopped her arm off her face. “And I already have another Phonetics test coming up. Have you started studying for it, Ines?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know if Theo has his notes?”

  “No. I don’t know. Didn’t you see him in class today?”

  “He wasn’t there. You haven’t seen him lately?”