by Micah Thomas
“Whose?”
“I don’t question the provenance of this—not after what I had to do to get it. This is a diary of the adult daughter of the founder. The man who cracked open Pandora’s box. In a sense, it’s a confession.”
“What happened to her?” Cassie asked, not wanting to open the bag, but feeling drawn to it. The cloth cover had wrinkled where it’d been soaked deepest.
“Well, that’s not exactly clear in terms of details, but it is entirely reasonable to believe that Cynthia—I believe you know who that is—had her murdered.”
“Fucking Cynthia,” Henry said.
“You do know who that is, right?” Don asked.
“Yeah. The queen bitch of the Black Star Institute,” Cassie and Henry said together.
“Bingo.”
Her hand hovered over the book, hesitant to touch it. As Henry and Cassie had discovered, certain objects carried a hidden psychic weight of history with them. This would have been silly to her before merging with Henry. It seemed everyone measured time in epochs before and after the Raid. For Cassie, it was BH and AH—Before Henry and After Henry.
“Let me touch it,” Henry said.
“Okay,” Cassie said out loud as she unzipped the bag.
She gently placed her hand over top of the diary and half closed her eyes.
Don looked at her, confusion on his face. “Aren’t you going to read it?”
“Give me a second,” Cassie said in a hushed voice.
On contact, Cassie felt the touch of a woman’s femininity followed by incredible pain and sorrow, and then fear. Henry and Cassie slowed the world outside and flipped to the internal view screen of perception.
They were in a darkened studio apartment. They were watchers, carried behind the eyes of a terrified woman. They felt her fear as their own. The apartment wobbled as she moved about in a hurry. They watched her frantic hands wedge a table chair covered in a vinyl slip beneath the door knob, its floral print dating this in the early 80s. She was clutching the very same diary, not yet stained with blood, to her chest, before tucking it beneath the mattress of her little single bed.
A shadow in the window. It was time. They all knew it. She replaced the diary with a kitchen knife and crouched beside the desk next to the door. No knock. The door flew open from a powerful kick.
“I don’t want to see this,” Cassie said to Henry.
“Those fuckers,” Henry said, feeling the fire inside heat up, wishing he could intervene.
The rest was ugly, brutal work. Blood seeped through the mattress, deep and dark, staining the little diary beneath.
Cassie’s perception of time returned to normal. The vision left and she was present again. She pulled her hand away from the book.
Don wiped sweat from his forehead. It was getting warmer in the kitchen. “So are you going to read it?”
“No. No need. Can you take it away?”
“Sure. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“No. It’s okay.”
Don took the diary back to whatever hidden hole he kept it in and returned. “I showed you this because I figured if you came back after all this time, it stands to reason that you are looking for answers. There are clues in there. I’ve read it back and forth.”
“That keen investigator mind at work.”
He chuckled. “Sure. Well, I haven’t made the trek up there, but if the house still stands, might be something in there. Something forgotten.”
“That’s it?”
Don looked flustered. “I can tell I’ve disappointed you. For one thing, we could clear your name. We could show the country who actually started this. Even if nothing turns up, I’ve got other leads for you. I believe we could, if you were open to it, get beyond the wall. And if that diamond ring turns brass, I know of a dozen more leads; other abandoned Black Star research labs we could try.”
Cassie sighed. “I just got here.” The soreness still lingered in her arms.
“Yeah, but I’ve been molding in this basement for so long, mushrooms are sprouting between my toes. I’m originally from up in those parts of the country and it’d be nice to see how they are fairing.”
“I see. You talking road trip?”
“We’ve been road buddies before,” Don said with a smile.
“Aren’t you worried about being associated with public enemy number one?”
“I think, even after they made a big fuss after Vegas and the President, that they have bigger fish to fry. No offense, but they probably forgot about you. I don’t have a TV, but I understand you’ve not made the headlines since the Raid.”
“Aren’t you a little worried that this might be dangerous? You have it pretty good here,” Cassie said. She was aiming for funny, but she couldn’t force a laugh.
Don leaned back and raised an eyebrow, “As I recall, you once pulled a gun on me, and I’m pretty handy myself. I believe we’ll be fine, so long as we are smart about it.”
Cassie checked in, but Henry’s mind was closed to her. “What is it?” she asked him.
We have to try. I need to get out of your body. His thoughts had a sudden force. She felt his energy spike the way it did when he wanted to burn. Cassie had some understanding of what it must feel like to be him, to be in his state, but he was concealing something—perhaps the depth of his frustrations. They’d tried a body swap in Mexico and it ended in total disaster.
Next time, we have to be sure, Cassie said.
She looked at Don’s waiting expression and cheery green eyes and said, “Let’s do it.”
CHAPTER FOUR
EVA’S ROOM WAS absolutely teenager: a mélange of childish and adult themes. Pink walls, glow-in-the-dark stick-on stars on the ceiling, posters from vampire films, and one racy photo of a topless fireman suggestively managing his hose. Eva slept in a massive four-post bed with heavy, light blocking drapes. The cocoon, her dad called it. A baroque oddity in a modern teenage space. The darkness provided some relief to Eva when the world was too much.
Eva woke to light, her mother standing with the heavy curtain pulled aside, a look of concern on her face.
“Good morning, bunny.”
She took a quick inventory. Bandage on her head. She’d fallen days ago. Right. I’ve been out of it. Yup. I’m back. She looked at the orange pill case in her mom’s hands. She knew the label from memory. It read ‘anti-hallucinatory, anti-anxiety, anti-psychotic’.
“Mom, my head hurts.”
“You were sleepwalking again last night.”
“I had a bad dream.”
“Do you want to stay home again today?”
“Yeah, but I think I had a test today or yesterday. I don’t remember.”
“It can wait. Let’s get you some breakfast and you can go back to sleep if you want. I was reorganizing the pantry and found more of your medication. Left over from before. I don’t think they expire.”
“No, Mom. I don’t need anything today. Give me a minute and I’ll be right down. I love you.”
“I love you, too, bunny,” her mom said.
Eva dressed. The clean clothes smelled of sunshine. It was getting cold outside. She had no idea how her Mom managed to keep life so domestically pleasing, but she was grateful.
Mom was in the kitchen, messing with the stove. Eva was going to help when she saw a bloody rag sitting in the bottom of the kitchen sink. Eva turned on the faucet and let the water run a red rinse down the drain. It hypnotized her. Blood. There was blood. She could almost perceive a shape in her mind. Looming. Ominous. Over her shoulder. She and the other mind watched the blood together. Pretty.
“Honey, turn off the water. We have to conserve.”
“Was someone hurt?” Eva asked, her mind still distant and dreamy.
Mom leaned over her and shut off the water. “Oh, that. Dad broke another coffee cup this morning. I swear, he’s such a klutz. If he wasn’t so handsome, I don’t know what I’d do with him.”
“He did?” Eva said and leaned backward into her mother
.
“Yes. Why don’t you sit down and eat your oatmeal?”
Eva sat at the table she’d been eating at most of her entire life. Running her fingers over the table leg, she searched for her marks—the indents she’d made when teething and chewing up furniture like a little beaver. This was her seat at her table. She was present. The familiar surrounded her, but didn’t ground her. Eva felt alien to it—or it to her. Even her mother’s smile, no sign of strain, no deception, yet unreal. A movie Mom doing movie Mom things.
“How’s your head? Would you like an Aspirin?”
“My head?” she asked, touching the bandage. The wound beneath had healed, but her head still hurt so bad to the touch. She had the thought she should have an MRI or something, but those days were over.
“You’re just like your father. What are we going to do with you?”
The words floated on the surface of her mind. Just like Dad. Something about Dad. She heard an engine revving deep in her mind. It was something of a growl. Her head hurt all right. Was it even her head?
“I was thinking, since we are home alone today, maybe you’d like to do some errands with me? Unless you feel well enough for me to drop you off at school?”
The thought of being in school, staring at meaningless words in meaningless books. No. Anywhere but there. “Sure, Mom.”
It was childish to be pulled along in the rickshaw cart, but despite rationing there’d been no gas for the family car in over a year. The creative craftspeople of the island had made an industry of such carts. It was amusing, a thing of the past finding new purpose in the present. Quaint. But in this exact moment, it was infantile. She hadn’t seen her bike in the garage. Maybe she’d left it somewhere. The backyard? It didn’t matter. She didn’t want to drive. She wanted to ride.
The weather was indeed getting colder, but at least it wasn’t raining. She pulled her socks up, which had scrunched halfway down her foot into her boot, and nestled into her heavy scarf. Eva’s view of the street rolled by slowly as her mother pedaled with a lack of hurry. Nothing felt right. Neighbors waved to them. She waved back. Was this what people did during the day? Normalcy was not seeing a town of Americans ever increasingly fit from all the cycling around. They were supposed to be obese, binge-watching their favorite shows or shows they hated, complaining about politics, afraid of the whole world ending. And then it did end, and nothing changed.
Eva shuddered, a chill running through her entire body as they pulled into the main street drag. She had the sense they were going to see a car accident or a crime scene, though it was impossible. Nothing bad happened here. They didn’t have cars anymore. She closed her eyes and saw the blood in the sink again. Eva braced herself for blood and broken glass. She knew it would be there, coating the streets in a shiny, sharp, sticky, red mess. It would be covering the store fronts and the faces of the people in them.
She opened her eyes when they stopped, parked so to speak, in front of the coffee shop. There was no blood. Only people in their sweaters and toting totes, clothes shopping bags over their shoulders. For a moment of intense cognitive dissonance, it struck Eva as incredible. What on earth does shopping even mean now? No credit cards. No cash. What is this local economy even about? She was sure she’d pondered this once before and it had made sense. Some barter system, but what the actual fuck? Engines revved in her mind, the pain started to creep back in, and she had to think about something else.
“Hot cocoa?” her mom asked.
“Uh, coffee please.”
“My little grown up girl! When did you start drinking coffee?”
“I can’t remember. Can I wait here?”
“Its so cold out. Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
Coffee was good. She needed to wake up. She was so close to waking up. There was a veil blocking her. She felt the real world was on the other side of this damned thing, if only she could wake up.
***
Eva returned to school the next day. The homework was the same. The lessons were the same. It was as if reality waited on Eva to pick back up. Don’t think crazy thoughts. If every day was the same, how would you even tell if you missed time? September, October, November. Whateverember. She’d made plans with Dylan during study hall. His parents were having a game night with their friends across town. They were going to do it. She’d more or less told him she was ready. She’d left for home straight after school, not even waiting for Victoria. There’d be hurt feelings, but this was for her. She wanted this. Nothing else was in her control. Eva had been on house arrest, forced to rest for way too long. She wanted to get fucked. She was going to get fucked.
This is bullshit, Eva thought as she biked up to Dylan’s house. She knew what day it was. She wasn’t confused. This night was supposed to be for her and Dylan. Why were so many people at his house? The front lawn was covered in bikes and rickshaws, strewn haphazardly. Her head hurt and all she wanted to do was hug him and feel safe. Eva heard music from inside—loud, electric music. Someone had fired up a generator for this occasion. What the fuck? she thought as she let herself inside.
A kegger. A high school party straight from the movies. She could hear Dylan singing a loud and fast song. It was good. It was original. She loved this one. He was too caught up in the music to notice her. Eva spotted classmates—seniors mostly—as she scanned for any adult supervision. She didn’t see any. As she passed the bathroom, Eva caught a whiff of pot smoke. Skunk weed—the only type available that she knew of. Gross, but this meant even the freaks had shown up, invited or not. She had to give it to Dylan, this was some party.
She pushed past kids dancing and knocked over a cup or two, but no one seemed to mind her. This was a party. They were all so happy. Everywhere Eva looked, another smiling, dopey, shit-eating grin. She found Vickie in the kitchen playing beer pong.
Eva made eye contact and hovered, a spectator in the corner by the stove.
“You suck!” Vickie yelled at her opponent, some fuzzy goateed boy, as she downed another cup.
Eva felt a reeling confusion. Did she get a contact buzz from the weed? She didn’t think so. The music changed in her ears to something slow and rhythmic, droning on and on. Victoria was here at least, but how did she know there was a party and Eva didn’t? She steadied herself on the countertop. This wasn’t right. Was she dreaming?
Eva shuddered as someone wrapped their arm around her.
“Easy, babygirl,” Vickie said. “It’s just me.”
“Jesus. I don’t feel right.”
“Come on, where’s my sexy minx? Hiding somewhere behind those eyes?”
“Fuck it. Vick, bring me something sweet to drink and we might see what your tighty-whities look like,” Eva said, summoning some banter. Maybe this would be fun? She remembered what fun was, right? If she tried, she was sure she could be normal for a little while.
Vickie brought the drink back; something blue in a plastic cup. “To those who wish us well, and all the rest can go to hell!”
“I guess.” Eva looked at the window reflecting her face in a dark mirror over the sink as she held the cup like a sacrament. “Should I be expecting acute brain bleeding after this?”
“Nope. It’s blue. Drinking blue things gives you super powers. Everyone wants powers. Will you use yours for good or evil?”
Eva turned and gave her a glare.
“It’s a joke! It’s good. Drink up.”
The drink was sweet and true to its purpose, very strong. Vickie and Eva pressed their way back into the living room and danced with their classmates. Eva still felt a strong disassociation creeping around her brain, yet it was followed with the roly-poly feeling of being supported by the drink, the music, and Vickie’s good nature. They danced to the music and Eva didn’t care if Dylan hadn’t looked her way. She didn’t care if others were bumping against her body. She enjoyed this intoxicated immunity to cringing at the touch of strangers. Even if this was temporary; even if this was a dream.
The
song changed again, and with a sense of wonder, the lyrics Dylan sang seemed to be pouring out of her mind.
Mother bore me with silver tongue,
grandmother said I’m the devil’s son,
this thickets quicker than careless sheep,
this grasping tongue can't release,
hold me in the tightest places,
this trap is sprung against your graces.
Where were these words coming from? She was drunk, but drinking didn’t explain this. Eva sensed things before they happened. She could hear their thoughts. She had a mental picture of the kids making out upstairs and others getting high in the bathroom. Her awareness was thorough, cataloging everything. As it expanded, she sensed everything and everyone in the house, locked in a haze.
The world slowed for Eva. She froze, yet nothing stopped around her. Vickie was dancing as if nothing weird occurred. Dylan’s words became less melodic. He was reading an invisible script. Was he narrating something? She didn’t like this poem streaming from her mind to his.
Ahhh. Its not my name you know; I don't know why they
call me that, yet everyone does. What have you
been up to? Your sleeping trick is curious. I like it.
Its different from home, oh home is gone. You're such a
gentle lamb, that’s why I love you. You are utterly delicious.”
He was staring at her, but it wasn’t Dylan in those eyes.
“This is crazy. None of this is happening.
Its all a dream. I'm dreaming.
No. That's a lie. I don't know what to do.
I wish I could take it all back, and go home. I'm scared.
I wish I believed in something, I'd make a deal with god—any god—to make this be over.
Shit! I'm so alone. I'm fucked.
Horror. She tried to clear her mind, lest her next thoughts come through the microphone of Dylan again. She was panicking. If she were a pinball machine, tilt lights would be flashing.
A loud, rushing wind took her mind. She was having a fit. Her consciousness dropped down and down, through the black nothing. Faces emerged for only a moment and sank back into soupy darkness. Some people she recognized, some she didn’t. Dylan and Victoria, and Amy—fuck Amy. So far down, she thought.