by S. L. Naeole
Hanging up on the walls to either side of me were the various corpses of the wings’ original owners, their heads dangling limply to the side, their deflated and bloodied torsos nailed quite violently to the slate colored surface while trails of scarlet flowed down beneath them. The wall that faced me was bare, save for one, lone, black wing that still twitched as the last ounce of life left it, dripping to the floor in grotesque heart-shaped puddle.
I quickly shut the door, wiping my hands on the front of my shirt and grimacing when I saw the smear of blood that now covered me like a stroke of paint. I looked at the door handle and cringed when I noticed that it was dripping with the same crimson that now stained my shirt. Why hadn’t I realized that my hands were covered in blood?
Stacy’s frantic cry pulled my attention away from the horror of what I had seen. “Grace, hurry. I can’t find my way out!”
“Hold on, Stacy!” I took one last look at the door, my body trembling at the sight of the opaque red fluid that began to ooze from beneath it, and then ran down the corridor, passing first a bird shaped door, followed by one that looked like a lopsided heart, the sounds of screams and violence that erupted from each one driving me further and further away. “Hang on, Stacy. I’m going to find you!”
A soft thumping sound began to drum in my ear. I knew it was because I was overly excited, the fear of what I had seen taking a strong hold of my heart, clamping down on it and exaggerating each frightened beat.
“Grace? Where are you?” Stacy’s voice cried out, the sound almost hysterical.
“I’m coming, Stacy—talk to me, tell me where you are. Which door, Stacy—which door are you behind?”
The pounding in my head grew louder. Each step I took sounded like a thunderbolt hitting the side of a mountain, a roaring burst of noise that engulfed everything around me, and I had to hold on to the wall and door handles for support as the rhythm grew stronger and more frenetic with each beat.
I reached for the handle of heart-shaped door to my right and nearly fell against it; the door, the handle, it was all an illusion that had had been painted to mirror the opposite wall, the real door staring at me, mocking me as I struggled to maintain my balance. Upon closer inspection I came to determine that every single door on my right side was nothing but a painted fabrication, striving for some sort of balance to the already off-kilter hallway.
Everything was a match, even down to the painted blood pools on the floor. With a disturbed shake of my head, I continued on down the corridor, this time opting to remain as dead-center as possible.
My feet grew heavy, dragging on the tiles beneath them, as though my bones were made of heavy steel rods and the floor was one gigantic magnet, holding me down and preventing me from moving forward. I struggled with each step before finally realizing that I’d be able to move more easily if I slid my feet rather than lift them, but each miniscule inch fatigued me, sweat was beading and falling into my eyes, partially blinding me as my lids grew heavy from exhaustion.
“Grace,” Stacy’s weakening voice called out, somehow penetrating the storm inside of my head. “Grace, it’s too late. It’s too late, go back…”
There was a desperation in her voice that spurred me on, despite the feeling that my feet were about ready to drop off at the ankles and my brain felt like it was only seconds away from turning into jelly.
“Stacy,” I groaned. “Don’t give up on me, Stacy. I’m not giving up on you so don’t you dare give up on me, you hear me?”
With one last ounce of effort, I reached the final door. The dark spot in the center that I had spied from the opposite end of the hallway stuck out like a target against the golden circle that surrounded it. The color was as dark a black as I had ever seen, flat and deep and endless. I lifted a hand to touch it and pulled it back when the shock of a freezing cold wave of air hit my palm like it had been stabbed. I clutched my hand to my chest and cocked my head to the side, confused.
“Grace?”
The weakened voice was coming from the dark circle, slightly echoing as though it had originated from the bottom of a tunnel or well.
“Stacy?” I waited, holding my breath and gritting my teeth at the head-splitting thundering that continued to rattle inside of my head.
The voice grew louder. “Open the door, Grace! Open the door!”
I looked down at the handle and reached for it, my sore hand eager in its mission to release Stacy from her prison. “Hold on, Stacy. I’m going to get you out of there!”
“Grab the handle and open it, Grace. Hurry!”
There was a renewed sense of energy behind the voice, and I felt both relieved and alarmed by it. My hand stilled just above the door handle as I listened to the pleas that came from behind the circular door.
“Grace, what are you waiting for? Open the door, Grace! Open the door and get me out of here!”
That’s when I heard it. The change.
Stacy’s voice had always sounded like an odd mixture of roughness and sweetness all rolled into one. I’d recognize it in any shape, any form, dripping with any emotion.
This voice, however, was different. It was still Stacy, but in a way that wasn’t normal, wasn’t…human. Call it me being paranoid, call it simply knowing my friend, but my hand jerked away from the handle and I stepped backwards as the voice behind the door continued demanding that I open it.
My eyes took in everything about this door, from its golden outer ring to the tight, pitch colored one in its center that held some sort of mystery inside it. And then my eyes caught sight of the handle. I hadn’t noticed it previously because it had lain in my hand, covered by my anxious fingers, but now that I could see it, see what it was, I felt my jaw grow lax, my mouth gaping at the sight.
“It’s a…carrot,” I breathed, surprised.
A brass, cartoon-like carrot jutted out from the door, the leaves poking up at the top while the triangular root pointed to the floor. There was no pool of blood here, whether real or painted; just the bare concrete.
“Stacy?” I called out softly, and shivered with the cold chill of comprehension that crawled down my spine, apprehension pushing the chill to the very tips of my fingers and toes.
A violent shout came from behind the gold and black wood, startling me and forcing me to take a step back. “Open the door, NOW!”
I stared at the carrot doorknob once more and it was as though I could see the white rabbit standing there beside me, its cheerful white face smiling, its pink nose twitching in both agitation and curiosity as it hurried along to mail out its important letter.
The rabbit had always been focused on its task, and though I knew what its intentions were, I had still followed it, still asked it the same questions over and over again until it finally spoke to me. Each time it had replied, it had spoken of making that carrot cake should we ever meet again, but each time we did, the same scene would replay itself…until that last time. Something had changed, and it had affected everything around me, including my plans.
I looked at the door and gasped when finally I saw the door for what it was. It wasn’t a door at all. It was an eye. A large, pale yellow, almost golden eye that had watched me—and was still watching me—as I had hesitated and struggled to find Stacy before her body finally gave out and she could no longer be saved.
Seeing this intent eye staring back at me, realizing that it had been watching me caused my anger to take over.
The voice that had ordered me to release it was not Stacy’s. I knew, with every cell in my now boiling blood, that while Stacy was close, she wasn’t behind that door.
And then it all began to make sense to me, that strange dream that never did. The letter was a message that could never be delivered, never mailed because it was trapped in the mind of a seven year-old girl. Whatever the message was, it had waited all these years to finally be sent out. The recipient: Whoever it was that lay behind that door that demanded I open it and let it out. And the rabbit wasn’t a rabbit at all—it was a
warning. I had only to figure out for what, and why.
But Stacy was here. There was no reason for her not to be, and I simply needed to find her. It was with silent understanding that I turned around and knew that I wasn’t alone. The red ribbon, still dangling from the lotus-shaped door's vacant doorknob, waved to me like a flag and I began to race to it. I covered my ears with my hands and, remarkably, the pounding that hadn’t let me out of its vise-like grip suddenly ceased. It felt like the entire world had lifted off of me, and my feet were light and quick moving, spurred on by the revelations that had begun to spin their web in my thoughts.
It took me mere seconds to get to the door and I removed one hand to reach for the flying red streamer, unleashing the ceaseless battering into my mind once more. But this time my purpose was far too clear to be muddled with bright colors and fancy shaped doors and knobs, or the pounding of a heart that I now knew wasn’t mine. I grabbed the ribbon with my free hand and pulled it, trailing it behind me as I ran back towards that golden door. It remained wide, though I could see the dark spot that lay in its center begin to narrow.
“I’m coming, Stacy!” I shouted at the blackness as I leapt, the ribbon still clutched in my hand, my other hand reaching out towards the darkness as it enveloped me in its chilling emptiness.
***
“There are better ways to make an entrance.”
Her voice was like a cold splash of water after traversing the desert for days. I opened my eyes to greet her with a warm smile.
Stacy.
Or what looked like Stacy.
“Is that you?” I asked her, confused. It was like looking at her reflection through a cracked mirror fogged over with a thick haze of bluish smoke. She was incomplete and broken apart by everything that her mind had been through, the damage so profound, I bit my lip to keep from exclaiming my shock and dismay.
The prism that was her face held facets that moved independently of each other, never in sync. I was knocked off balance as she smiled at me, her fragmented eyes lighting up at different times. Her mouth—split into four different panes of mirrored glass—lifted into a smile like a segmented wave that was out of sync.
It didn’t help that we were in what felt like the inside of a large, cracked mirror, reflections of the two of us bouncing off at sharp angles, distorting and exaggerating who we were, what we were. This was the fragmented inner shell of her mind, and it was here that I would have to find a way to bring her home.
“Stacy?”
“Who else would it be?”
I shook my head and laughed, a nervous sound that startled me. As it had done before when Sam had taken control of my subconscious, it sounded different, so unlike my own voice—too musical, melodic, effortless. I questioned it; questioned my surroundings and who it was that stood before me, broken and rearranged like some twisted and perverted version of Humpty Dumpty. Until I saw the incredible sadness behind the dark brown eyes of Stacy’s shattered face that no amount of fracturing could hide and knew that angel or not, Sam did not possess within him the ability to feel such genuine melancholy. That was a human trait.
“We have to go, Stacy,” I said to her in an urgent manner. “We have to go before it’s too late.”
“I don’t know if I want to. What if I choose to stay right here? I’m safe here. I wasn’t safe out there. It’s dangerous out there.”
The child-like quality of Stacy’s behavior was shocking. Lark had said that her memories had to be reformed, she was starting from scratch almost, and though I didn’t quite understand at the time, I knew now that Stacy’s mind was like an infant. Without the thoughts and memories that aged one’s mind, she was as timid and frightened as a newborn, defenseless against the fears that now invaded her subconscious. The Stacy that I knew was never frightened, never defenseless.
How was I going to turn this fractured shell that stood before me into a whole person? I didn’t even know how I was going to get back…if we could get back.
There was a tugging at my hand and I looked down. The red ribbon—still held securely in my hand—was pulling, urgent and insistent. I followed its red length and saw that it was taut, the other end taking up its slack and encouraging me to follow its lead. I understood its intent and I quickly grabbed Stacy’s hand.
“We don’t have time to discuss whether or not you want to stay, Stacy. If you’re coming, we have to go now.”
“But what if I don’t like it out there? It’s so safe here. There’s nothing here that can harm me.”
My head shook in disagreement. “You’re safe here only until it’s too late, Stacy. You’re dying. If we don’t get back, this place won’t exist anymore because you won’t exist anymore. And if I don’t get back-” I realized with a shudder “-I won’t exist anymore.”
“Do you mean that you’ll be stuck here with me?” she asked innocently.
“No. There won’t be any ‘here’ to be stuck in, Stacy. Your mind will stop functioning. This place, it exists only because you’re still alive, but there’s not much time left. Your body is dying, your brain is being starved of oxygen and blood. I don't know how much longer we have but it's not long.”
The tugging at my hand grew frantic, my iron tight grip causing me to skid across the floor. “Stacy, please.”
“You go, Grace.”
I shook my head, my mind made up. “I’m not leaving without you, Stacy. It’s my fault that this is happening. The cancer returning, Erica, the coma; all of this is my fault. If you don’t come, I’m staying. I won’t let Sam win; I won’t let him feel my grief at losing you. I’m not leaving you here to die alone.”
Her head lifted, her face turning to mine and I watched, fascinated as the off-center planes that made up her eyes shifted, the lines blending together until I could see the two deep brown orbs blink in unison, the light behind them now familiar. She was coming back!
“You can’t stay here, Grace. You’re not done yet.”
I nodded enthusiastically. “I know I’m not done yet. That’s why I came to bring you back. You have to come back, Stacy. You have to help me finish this.”
Slowly, line by prismatic line, Stacy’s face began to reform itself, the blue, foggy haze that diffused who Stacy was began slowly fading away, revealing the warm and familiar smile of my friend, a singular smile, soft and pliant and oozing warmth.
The ribbon in my hand was now reeling me towards a darkened spot in the crystal walls that surrounded us, and I reached my hand out to Stacy, who gave me a curt nod and took hold of me, her grip strong and healthy, determined. We had won this battle.
Sensing that I had finally given up resisting, the red silk in my hand drew Stacy and I through the darkness with a jolting speed, the shattering glass engulfing the two of us in a hailstorm of sound and razor sharp edges. I felt the sting as one by one, the tiny shards tore through my skin, slicing through my clothing to feed upon my arms and legs, my hands and my face.
Stacy, on the other hand, was left unscathed and it dawned on me in that moment that of course she would—this was her mind, her memories, her thoughts that were raining down on us. If we didn’t hurry, I knew that it would soon overwhelm me and I wouldn’t be able to bring Stacy back.
With a crashing thud, Stacy and I landed on the cold concrete floor of the brilliantly painted hallway, the door behind no longer golden with its darkened center, but now a large, burgeoning black hole that was spreading further outward, quickly swallowing up the vivid hues on the walls. The red binding that pulled taut in my hand stretched across the corridor, painting a direct path towards the lotus door directly in front of us.
“This way,” I panted as I gathered my feet beneath me and stood up, pulling Stacy along with me.
As we passed each door, they shook, their handles twisting and turning in a desperate bid to open, rattling with cold, brassy ferocity when each one failed. I glanced at them quickly, an apple shaped door, then a crescent one, their frames bowing and bending towards the darkness that c
rept behind us, hungry in its need to devour what didn’t belong here.
The floor began to quake beneath our feet, and my footing was lost as I slipped on the blood that now slicked the surface. Stacy didn’t flinch as she landed quite solidly on the concrete beside me, and I silently thanked God for that—a fear or aversion to blood was the last thing that she needed to have with the future she was facing.
Together, side-by-side, Stacy and I reached the last door, the red ribbon now hanging slack outside of the void where the knob no longer existed.
“What now?” Stacy asked me, and I looked at her and frowned. I did not know.
I pulled at the loose material, winding it up until it was taut. I yanked at it, wanting whatever was on the other side to pull it once more, to pull us through.
Instead, the ribbon snapped. And I fell back, landing on the floor, the red silk now stained a deep burgundy as it sank into the blood that pooled around me.
“No!” I cried. “No, no, no! What do I do now? I don't know what to do!” I flung myself at the door, pounded on it as the whistling and rattling behind me alerted me to the growing danger of being swallowed up by Stacy’s thoughts.
“Robert!” I knew he could hear me. I knew he could.
“Grace, what’s going on? How do we get out of here?”
My hands flew to my head, the sting of the cuts on my face and my hands, and the sound of falling glass and splintering wood scattering my own thoughts and leaving me dazed as I struggled to gather them up, to isolate the thoughts that mattered. I looked at Stacy, her face and body splitting into two before blending back into one again—I was losing it and I didn’t have enough time to find whatever it was that was disappearing.
“Grace, are you okay?”
I shook my head at Stacy's question, knowing that I was as far from okay as possible. I was so close. We were so close and yet we couldn’t get out. This was not what was supposed to happen. I wasn’t supposed to die this way, not trapped in the mind of one of my best friends. I looked at her face and I saw the faith she held in me, despite the reality that I wasn’t so sure that we had succeeded in bringing her safely out of the prison of her own mind.