She’s dressed and downstairs before any of the others are up, opening the front door and skipping down the steps like a child. Jumping from the last one she lands flat on her feet in the deep snow, sinking until it’s halfway up her shins. Already it’s settling in her hair and on her shoulders. Taking a couple of difficult steps, she turns and looks at the house. It looks like the picture on the front of a Christmas card.
There are plenty of dry clothes in the closet in her room which makes it snow angel time. Lying down carefully in the wet white stuff she moves her arms up and down to make the wings and her legs together and apart to make the tail although she doesn’t think angels have tails. Perhaps it’s supposed to be the base of their robe. It's the first one she's ever made. She’s seen people do it on television and in the movies but it’s much more fun than it looks on screen and she’s laughing when the front door opens and Rick steps outside, looking up.
‘When did it start snowing?’
She pushes up on her elbows and smiles at him. ‘Sorry, did I wake you?’
‘No. I wasn’t sleeping. Did you do this?’
‘Me? Course not! How could I do this? Luke and Matt must have done it, but isn’t it amazing?’ He looks dubious. ‘Not a fan of winter?’
He shakes his head but comes out to the steps, turns his face to the sky and closes his eyes, letting the flakes settle on his skin. Then he makes more tracks as he comes over to join her, staying away from her angel, lying down himself and sinking into the thick blanket. Emilie watches him for a few seconds until he disappears from view then turns her head again and looks up at the sky, at the feather-light fall coming directly at her. It’s magical.
‘I died,’ Rick blurts out.
It takes her by surprise, takes her a couple of seconds to work out a response. ‘Are you talking metaphorically?’
‘No. Really. During that last fight, a guy stabbed me. He killed me and I went to Hell.’
She doesn’t understand. ‘But you’re here.’
‘I know. It doesn’t make sense. But I remember Hell. When I fall asleep I dream of it, and I’m hallucinating the same things.’
She doesn’t know what to say. She hasn’t had any dreams for the last two nights, just sleep, deep and refreshing. Maybe her mind is too tired to construct anything or her subconscious has experienced so much weird shit recently it doesn’t see the point of making more up.
‘Do you remember dying?’ She hopes he’s imagining this, hopes he’s just had a couple of nightmares as his brain deals with the same horrors hers has blocked out.
‘Yes.’
‘What was it like?’
She wants to know, to see if similar memories will surface in her head. She doesn’t want her death theory confirmed, obviously, but eventually they’re going to have to work out what’s going on. She should be cold – should be freezing – but she isn’t, she’s just right, and that’s clearly not normal.
He tells her about the dead thing in the park that was once a man, about looking down and seeing the knife sticking out of his stomach, seeing the blood, feeling the pain. He tells her about his dream of Hell that felt like a memory and about the terrible visions that are haunting him. She listens to everything he tells her and considers it carefully. She’s relieved nothing like that is happening to her. The entire time he’s talking, all she can see is snow. She can hear his voice but she can’t see his face. She doesn’t need to. He sounds very serious and very scared.
When he’s finished she tries to comfort him by telling him the truth; she doesn’t remember seeing him die, doesn’t remember seeing him dead. But then she doesn’t remember seeing him at all right at the end because she was so focused on Luke and Matt at the top of the hill. Once the attacks on them stopped she didn’t take her eyes off Luke until the flash that almost blinded them.
‘If you’re right, can’t you just stay here?’
‘I don’t know. We don’t even know what this place is.’
Which is true, and wherever they are she can only hope they aren’t going to be here indefinitely. She isn’t bored yet; it’ll take a lot more quiet days and long and restful nights before she’s anywhere close. But contrary to her feelings when they first arrived, she doesn’t want this to be the last place she sees. If she’s helped to safeguard the world she would quite like to live in it for a while. She wants to see all the monuments Hollywood insists on destroying in every disaster movie since the Millennium: the Eiffel Tower, the Pyramids, the London Eye. Places she thought would be there forever and now can’t be so sure.
‘I can’t go back. What I remember... it’s worse than anything we’ve seen up here; way, way worse.’
She wishes she could think of something useful to say, something that will help, even if she isn’t certain she believes him. ‘Have you spoken to Luke and Matt?’ she suggests in the end, because she just can't think of anything else. ‘They seem to be capable of changing this place. They should be able to do something, shouldn’t they?’
‘I was thinking maybe all of us can change it if we try.’
She’s highly doubtful about that, so she closes her eyes and concentrates hard on a chocolate sundae with hot chocolate sauce, whipped cream and toffee pieces. She even holds out her hand in case it appears but it doesn’t.
‘I don’t think I can,’ she admits, not the least bit surprised. ‘Have you tried?’
He hesitates. ‘No.’
‘So try.’
He falls silent for a long few minutes, during which time she becomes aware that the snow under her has melted and there’s a fresh layer settling on her. She sits up carefully, brushes it off and gets to her feet, turning around to look proudly down at her creation. It’s a perfect snow angel that looks just like her in some strange way. Rick’s lying still. He hasn’t made an angel. But his eyes are closed and she wonders what he is trying to do.
‘I don’t think it’s working.’ He sounds worse than miserable. He sounds defeated.
‘What did you try?’
‘I tried to make a bird fly overheard.’
She hums. That’s more beautiful than she might have thought him capable of. But still it’s probably more complicated that she had in mind. ‘Why don’t we start with something simple? We’ll try together. Imagine a snowman on the steps.’
~..~
‘I see it is snowing!
Unique shapes falling to the ground
Land as virgins.’
There’s a single note of joy in the landlord’s otherwise flat voice. It immediately distracts Rick from concentrating on building a snowman with his mind and leaves him feeling faintly ridiculous. He's been hoping so hard to see the strange man again but now he's here and he wishes he wasn't. Opening his eyes he gets up quickly inside the Rick-shaped void in the snow, standing in the hollow of his own stomach, between the outline of his hips. The landlord is standing on the bottom step in a good foot of the stuff, the hem of his coat and his boots hidden from view. He looks as if he simply materialised there.
‘I have never seen it snow here.
I suppose it could be
God's icebox.’
Rick has the distinct impression that the landlord has just tried to make a joke, perhaps his first ever, and he thinks he should laugh at it but he can’t even bring himself to smile. The white flakes are sticking in the dark curly hair and on the long coat, sparkling like diamonds. But as Rick stares at him the skin starts to slide from the expressionless face, leaving behind bronze metal plates like the workings of a pocket watch, glass eyes glinting in the white light, and tiny pistons where his mouth should be. Rick blinks loose a tear and the landlord is himself again, although his big staring eyes still look as if they're made of glass and his unmoving mouth and curling lips still look mechanically controlled. He shudders. He doesn’t want to be around the landlord any longer and trudges back up the steps into the house.
Emilie follows and he hears her inviting their visitor inside. In the hall he turns arou
nd and the landlord’s standing in the doorway. Rick would happily bet there are only his and Emilie’s footprints on the steps. With the rate at which the snow's still falling, the angel Emilie left will be filled within the hour and the bottom step will be at the same height as the rest of the yard. It’s impossible that all this came down overnight. More likely it just appeared and Rick’s angry that Matt and Luke wanted it to snow, of all things. It seems like a frivolous wish when what he wants is to stay out of Hell.
Joe and Gabe are up, Joe offering the landlord coffee an in off-hand way as he heads into the kitchen. He gets no reply. Instead they’re treated to another of those little poems. Rick can’t remember what Joe called them.
‘You are all still here.
I will come back when I need
To lead the way out.’
‘Out of where?’ Rick approaches him. He must know what's going on if he's waiting for something to happen and when it does he could be the one to end the illusion they're all living under, the illusion Rick does not want to see behind. ‘Where will you lead the way to?’
When the landlord doesn't answer, when he just continues to stare with that same vacant expression that doesn't change, Rick gets angrier. He knows it's possibly a mistake but he doesn’t think he’s got much to lose. If Matt and Luke saw the things he’s seen, they wouldn’t be fooling around, making it snow. Emilie thinks he’s imagining it all and there are no shadows under Gabe or Joe’s eyes so they’re obviously getting some restful sleep.
Taking a step forward Rick grasps the front of that long blue coat, making fists as best he can in the rough, heavy material and pulling the tall man towards him even as he’s towering over him. Immediately Joe shouts at Rick to leave him alone, but he doesn’t. His knuckles are pressed tight to the landlord's body and he can feel it hard and solid, not like skin and flesh. Maybe there’s nothing under it all and he's just a skeleton, Death come to reap their souls when the time is right. But he’s too heavy to be made of bone. He isn’t fighting back, isn’t struggling or trying to get away, and for the few seconds they’re locked together Rick has the impression of staring into the face of a puppet.
Strong hands on the tops of his arms yank him back and he can’t miss Gabe's voice in his ear hissing at him to let go. Reluctantly he complies, dropping his hands and stepping away. Emilie’s apologising to the guy but Rick isn’t sorry. ‘Tell me!’ He leans into the landlord’s face, ‘Tell me what's going on! Where are you supposed to lead us?’
There’s no change in the monotone voice when the reply comes.
‘I cannot tell you what you are not ready
Or what is not yours
To know.’
‘Why don't you make any sense?!’ He’s aware of how desperate he's sounding but he doesn’t care because the things that are happening are making him desperate.
‘Hey!’ That's Luke, yelling down from upstairs, ‘We're trying to sleep!’
Rick looks up, sees both he and Matt standing on the mezzanine looking over the rail. At least they’re dressed. ‘Make him tell us where we are!’
Luke ignores him as he stomps down the stairs, Matt at his shoulder, and stops in front of their visitor. ‘You must be the guy who talks in Haiku.’
The way the landlord turns on the spot, as if he's pivoting on the soles of his feet, makes Rick think of the toy soldiers he used to play with as a child with arms that just moved up and down and legs that didn't move at all because they were carved from a single piece of wood.
‘It is an honour to meet you.
The brothers who preserved
All life.’
Luke’s expression is almost comical. They’ve never come across as the typical hero type but they would probably enjoy some kudos if they really have saved everything.
‘Okay. Well, it's good to meet you too. How about you tell us what you want, where we are and why we're here?’
‘Debt cannot be repaid in life.
We will repay in death
What is owed.’
‘That doesn't answer any of the questions I asked, does it? How about trying again?’
‘Only you can make the decision.
Once you choose to let go
It ends.’
‘Let go of what? What ends?’ Luke doesn’t get a response to that.
Matt comes out from behind his brother, steps around him, and approaches the landlord cautiously with a question Rick doesn’t expect. ‘Have we met before?’
‘I am made in an image you understand.
I the key
You the lock.’
That one makes even less sense than any of the others and it’s accompanied by a whirring sound followed by a sequence of clicks as their visitor’s arm rises in a series of staggered movements and his left index finger unfolds so he's pointing upwards at the spiral staircase on the mezzanine landing. Then he stops. He doesn't move much anyway but it's as if an off-switch has been thrown or he's broken down.
Rick can't believe it. He needs more. There must be more. ‘Can we stay?’ he shouts into the landlord's inanimate face but there's no sign that he's being heard. ‘Shit!’ He falls back, taking two heavy, blind steps and accidentally stamping on one of the wool creatures that has ventured out from under the stairs. It doesn't make a sound, just dies under his foot, wool strands coming loose from its body. Another of the creatures makes a distressed sound and runs awkwardly towards its fallen friend. Emilie bends down and scoops it up, holding it gently in one hand, rubbing its belly with one finger, actually making soothing noises.
Rick feels sick. He grabs his coat from next to the door and goes back out into the snow. It’s too thick to run through, he has to take long strides, but he needs to put as much distance between himself and the mad house as he's able. He doesn't look back. He does, however, hear Matt call out to his brother that it’s snowing. He hears the excitement like it’s a surprise to either of them, like anything in this God-forsaken place should be a surprise to them. This is their world he's trapped in, but the alternative is worse and it'll be forever. He isn’t evil, he’s just an idiot! He doesn't deserve what's waiting for him! The punishment doesn't fit the crime.
Rick doesn't stop until he reaches the roadhouse.
~..~
Luke pokes the broken-down landlord in the chest. He doesn’t respond, doesn’t even rock back because he’s too heavy to move. He turns away, back to Matt.
‘In this Scooby Gang of yours, is Rick Shaggy or Scooby?’
Matt doesn’t answer. He’s staring out through the open door. ‘Luke. It’s snowing.’
Luke looks up and sees the blanket of white stuff covering everything, then glances over to see the grin on his brother’s face. He’s looking like all his Christmases have come at once. Matt’s even putting down the mug of coffee that Joe's just handed to him to pull on boots and a jacket that are by the door even though he didn’t put them there, and to run out into the snow, laughing like a hyena.
They should talk about the robot landlord, if that’s what he – it – is, but he supposes that can wait and instead follows Matt’s lead, dressing appropriately and stepping out into the deep snow that crunches beneath his boots. He scoops up a handful from the steps and compresses it before throwing it at Matt, an easy target as he’s got his head back and his face tilted up to the sky. Luke’s aim is a bit off but it hits his brother squarely in the chest.
‘Ow! Bastard!’
Quick retaliation means war, but as Matt's laughing at his own direct hit on Luke's shoulder, Luke makes a dive for him, knocking him onto his ass, scooping up the top layer of powdery snow and getting it up inside Matt's white T-shirt before he knows what's happening. Unfortunately, in Luke’s bid for a quick escape, he loses his balance and falls onto his back where he's instantly straddled and pinned down. They're equally matched in a hand-to-hand fight, but it's impossible to get a grip on anything except Matt for leverage and before he can work that to his advantage there's snow down his top
and a freezing cold hand down the front of his jeans.
Embarrassingly, he screams like a girl and Emilie comes to his rescue, pelting Matt with snowballs. She doesn't fight dirty, Luke notices, doesn't get physical. She might have done had it been Luke on top but she won't with Matt because she doesn't know how he'll react and neither does he. They're both insanely proprietary about each other. So she throws snowballs with Joe and Gabe looking on in amusement, but that's all she does. None of them get any closer. No one interrupts what's clearly meant for them.
This is why they wanted it to snow. They once tracked an escaped Hellhound to Whistler one winter and discovered a white world in which Luke got to watch his brother laugh for real and they got to play for a little while. It's a good memory for both of them and he intends to enjoy it this time around too.
Matt's white T-shirt has turned transparent with the melting snow. As Luke follows him into the kitchen his eyes catch on the vivid red scar that crosses Matt’s back from his left shoulder blade to halfway down his spine. Something with long, sharp talons, needle-sharp teeth and reptilian eyes did that, something they've never put a name to and never caught. It was one of those rare times when he bit the bullet and took Matt to a hospital, despite his protests and whining about medical insurance. They stayed long enough for a nurse to clean, stitch and dress the wound, but got out of there before the cops arrived. They've always made it a rule to stay far away from the authorities, never sure what would happen if they caught up. For a couple of years it was easier to believe that the cops were looking for them than it was to think that they weren’t. Now it's simply second nature.
The House at the End of the World Page 18