In many ways, Luanda had been correct. It was time to grow up.
Chapter 5
Who Are You?
“Lady, you must hurry,” a child’s sweet voice called out. “He is coming!”
She lifted her aching head and glanced about in a panic. Blackness surrounded her. The air stunk of mold. She had no idea where she was. Fear gathered at the tip of her spine and cut her breath short. She tried to remember how she’d arrived here but couldn’t. The most frightening question in the world stabbed her brain.
Who am I?
Gradually her heart rate slowed and she could think more clearly. She knew one thing for certain – she was sprawled out on a dirt floor. This was plainly obvious due to the sand in her mouth and the pressure on her chest, not to mention the fact that when she reached her fingers out before her, searching for a handhold, loose dirt was all she brought back.
Her terror returned, but it was quelled by the touch of something soft and furry brushing against the back of her neck. It was comforting, though she couldn’t see its originator, and just like that her dread slipped away.
“Get up, Lady,” the child’s voice said. “We must go.”
She did as instructed, rising up on legs that trembled beneath her. Exhaustion attacked her body, pricking her with an endless barrage of tiny needles. The thing that touched her neck then wrapped around her hand and clutched it. She felt claws press into her wrist, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable sensation. For a moment she questioned the prudence of trusting whatever it was that spoke to her, but that doubt vanished when another sound emerged, cutting through the blackness like a scalpel. It was the shake of a baby’s toy, or perhaps the warning of a rattlesnake’s tail. It echoed all around her, and she allowed the thing that held her hand to lead her through the inky black void.
“Faster, Lady,” the voice pleaded. She swung to each side as she ran, her legs still muddy. It felt like she was being yanked along by a speedboat. She bumped against a hard surface, perhaps a wall. The rough surface flayed the skin on her bare shoulder. A yelp escaped her lips between spurts of ragged breath. She couldn’t see anything, but still the world spun.
The thud of four feet pounding into dirt changed to the pang of heels on slate to no sound at all. The bottom dropped out on her. She treaded in nothingness. The reassuring, paw-like hand let go. She plummeted, dropping through a jungle of unseen, oily vines that slapped against her face, covering her with slime. She imagined her body crumpled and broken, lying at the bottom of some rocky gulch, and screamed.
Suddenly, as if she’d been yanked to a stop by bungee chords, her descent ceased. With the wind knocked out of her, she let loose a whimper. Her mind whirled and became one with everything she could see, which was nothing at all.
* * *
When she opened her eyes it felt like years had passed. She lay in the center of a large square room whose walls were the same color as the floor, which made it seem at first as if the space never ended. The only sign that there were tangible dimensions were the red doors, four in total, situated at the center of each wall. There was a small coffee table to her right. An old lamp and a glass of water rested atop it.
She sat up and glanced down at herself. She wore a white tank top. Its shoulder straps were caked with dried blood. A pair of jeans clung to her thighs. She wore no shoes. “Huh,” she whispered, and stood up on legs that worked much better than they had before. She approached the table. Her tongue grazed the prickly, dead skin flaking off her dry lips.
So thirsty, she thought.
She picked the glass of water up off the table and brought it to her mouth. Cold fluid rushed down her throat when she tilted it, spilling over her chin and drenching her shirt. She didn’t care. The thirst was all that mattered. She gulped it down. The liquid plummeted into her empty stomach. Cramps followed soon after as her body cried out for more, more.
Feet shuffled behind her. She didn’t react right away, as if lost in a dream. Instead she leisurely placed the glass back on the table, wiped drops of water from her lips, and turned around.
Standing close to her was the oddest of creatures. It was no more than three feet tall, with a toddler’s body covered with white fur and the head of a cat. It walked upright on reverse-jointed legs. The eyes were emerald green orbs cut down the center with vertical black stripes.
She felt no fear at the sight of it. A sensation brewed deep within her, as if this was a memory she couldn’t quite grasp, trapped beneath an invisible membrane. She reached out for this memory, but it fell away from her.
The creature took a step forward and twitched its pink nose. Its eyes glimpsed this way and that, scanning the room. It touched her arm with its paw, looked her in the eyes, and then down at the floor.
“You want me to sit?” she asked.
The creature nodded.
“Okay.”
She sat down and crossed her legs. The cat-like creature curled into a ball across from her.
“Lady,” it said, “we are safe now.”
The sting of memory again stabbed at the back of her brain, but she still couldn’t reach it. When she tried, she only brought back a handful of emptiness.
“Who are you?” she asked. Her voice was shaky.
“You do not remember me, Lady?” it replied. “You must be very tired. You must rest. It will help you remember.”
“Please,” she begged, “just tell me.”
The creature licked its nose and stared at her. “I am Trudy,” it said. “I am your friend.”
She tried to force her mind to work. Again she brought back nothing. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember…anything at all.”
“Oh, he is such a bad one!” the creature exclaimed. “He did this to you!”
“Huh?”
“He is making you forget. He is trying to hide you from yourself. He wants your power gone.”
She shook her head. “I don’t get it. Who are you talking about?”
Trudy uncoiled its body and approached her. Its feline mouth pressed against her ear. “Percy,” it whispered. “The Shadow Dweller. The Life Grifter. He has been chasing us forever. He hates us.”
She felt close to tears in her ignorance. “Who is he? Why’s he doing this? Why does he hate me?”
“He is afraid of what you will do to him. He is afraid you will know his name.”
“Know his…I don’t…fuck!” Her emotions boiled over. “I don’t get any of this!”
“Calm yourself, Lady. The answers will come.”
“I’m sorry,” she muttered. She tugged at her damp shirt. “I feel lost. I don’t know anything. I don’t even know my name. I’m scared.”
“I understand, Lady. But we cannot move too quickly.”
The tears did come this time. “What am I supposed to do?”
“You have to find out who you are.”
Trudy moved away from her and approached one of the red doors. Its tiny white paw twisted the knob. The door opened. Trudy motioned to her.
“Through here,” it said.
Beyond the door appeared a long hallway. At the end of the hallway was the entrance to an adjacent room. She stepped ahead, hand-in-hand with her new/old friend. She had to stifle a chuckle, for in a life she wished she could remember she was sure she’d be pinching herself awake by now.
They paused at the boundary between the corridor and the new room. She leaned forward. The space beyond the entryway was murkier than the area in which she stood, like a wall of shimmering water separated them. A scent wafted to her, burning her nose hairs and making her sneeze, as if the atmosphere beyond the barrier was composed of industrial-strength ammonia. The smell wasn’t the strangest part, though, for she swore she could see the shadow of movement slip across the liquid curtain.
“What’s going on?” she asked. Her heart was racing.
“You will see,” answered Trudy. “You must break the boundary first, and then you will understand.”
“Okay,” she muttered.
She lifted her hand. Her fingers pressed into and then through the pliable meniscus. The blood in her veins ran hot. She yelped as an unseen force yanked her hand through the buffer, followed by her wrist and forearm. Panic overtook her and she tried to pull away. The portal wouldn’t allow it. It kept sucking her in, slowly.
Marcy glanced down at Trudy. The odd creature’s pupils sparkled in the eerie light as it nodded, saying do not be afraid without words. Marcy bit her lip and breathed in deep. She surrendered. Her body was wrenched through.
* * *
A woman dressed in a white hospital nightgown sits upright on her bed. Her legs kick in their stirrups. A very tall man stands behind her and holds her down, gently, by the shoulders. The woman writhes. The man, whose hair is brown and wavy, won’t let her go. He grips her tight with his strong-looking hands and tells her everything will be fine. The woman looks up at him. Her pleading eyes brim over with tears.
“What about my baby?” she asks.
Doctors and nurses fill the room, concentrated mainly around a birthing cart. The baby in the glass bassinet is a girl, and she is blue. Her eyes are closed. She isn’t breathing. The only sounds to be heard are those of the adults, who articulate their displeasure at the seriousness of the baby’s condition.
The tall man leans over the woman on the bed. His voice shakes when he speaks, unveiling the falsehood of his strength.
“It’s okay, honey,” he says. “They’re doing everything they can.”
The woman starts crying. “What’s wrong with her,” she begs, “what’s wrong with my baby?”
A black specter hangs over the room, unseen by all who occupy it. It arrives like a mist, all billowing, smoky tendrils, and hovers above the bassinet. It emits strange sounds, like the whirring of a turbine, and a thin tube of darkness descends toward the silent newborn.
Without warning, a shaft of light erupts from the bassinet. The hovering cloud disperses with a high-pitched whine and collapses in on itself. It disappears into space, as if the air itself is a door that can be opened and closed at will. The sound of a baby coughing follows, and a gasp and sneeze and hoarse wailing follow that. The infant’s lungs are filled with air. The doctors and nurses who surround it explode into a chorus of cheers. The mother and father, themselves looking quite blue, stop holding their breath.
“Congratulations, Shirley,” a nurse says. She approaches the new parents holding the child, who is swathed in receiving blankets. “You have a beautiful baby girl.”
The nurse hands the child over. The mother, Shirley, nuzzles her nose into the tiny nape of her daughter’s neck. The child giggles.
“Look, Alex,” she says, gazing up at the tall man with equal amounts relief and adulation. “Isn’t she gorgeous?”
“She is,” replies the father. He is attractive, and he is beaming. “Welcome to the world, little Stephanie.”
Shirley’s expression grows quizzical as she says, “You know, I’m not so sure about that.”
“No? But I thought we decided.”
“We did, but that’s before I got to see her, to hold her.”
“So what’re you thinking now?”
Shirley smiles. As with Alex, the father, she is beautiful.
“She feels like a Marcy to me,” she says.
* * *
A midwife passed her body through. She backed up. Her eyes darted around the room, from the parent who held the baby to the stack of greeting cards on the nightstand that offer congratulations. She then lifted her eyes to the spot on the ceiling where the black cloud had disappeared. There was a soft, furry paw in her hand, and when she looked beside her, she saw Trudy there, licking her nose. She pointed at the child.
“Is that…” she began, but her words were choked away.
“Yes, Lady. It is you. And your parents.”
“My name’s Marcy.”
“Of course.”
“I…remember. Sort of.”
“It will all come back, Lady. You will understand how much they loved you. You were their one and only.”
The scene began fading away. Marcy shook out of Trudy’s grip and sprinted towards the hospital bed. Her parents, those she could almost remember, flickered out of existence.
“No!” she screamed. “Come back!” The room started to spin. She closed her eyes and shrieked.
“Calm down, Lady,” said Trudy. “You must be careful. If you become too emotional, your safe place will crumble.”
She felt the cat-child climb up her leg and latch onto her back. Its claws dug into her flesh, though not in an aggressive way, and her shakiness faded along with the scenery. An old tune entered her memory. She swayed, hummed, and let the soothing grip of the music set her mind at ease.
“Now, Lady,” said Trudy, “open your eyes.”
She did, and was astonished to find that they were in the antechamber again: coffee table, four walls, and four doors. She noticed the door that she’d just entered seemed different somehow. It was sealed shut, without a knob. The ridges melded with the wall, becoming one with it, as if it had been painted there.
“Where are we?” she asked finally, after nothing remained of the door but a burgundy shadow.
“We are in your safe place,” said Trudy, her hiss-like cat voice blowing into her ear. “The place you created long ago.”
“That doesn’t make sense. Is this a dream?”
“No. Perhaps.” The creature shrugged. “It is what it is. There are many levels of existence, Lady. This is only one of them. It is as real as anything else.”
Marcy grunted. Frustration and confusion had found her.
“That’s fucking great,” she said.
“Do not fret, Lady.”
“Don’t tell me what to feel,” she said. Anger brewed in the pit of her stomach. “You don’t know the first thing about me.” She let loose a humorless chuckle. “Shit, I don’t even know that much about myself.”
Trudy hopped off her back and circled around to face her again. “It is not true what you say, Lady. You know who you are, you have simply forgotten. And I know you very well. I know everything about you.”
“Tell me about me, then.”
“I cannot. You must discover for yourself.”
“Why?”
“Because it is something you must do on your own. I can show you the way, but I cannot make you understand. It would not be real, even if I tried.”
“So what do I have to do?”
“You must remember the seeds which formed you. You must see how you came to arrive here.”
“How am I gonna do that?”
Trudy pointed a clawed finger at the second door. “Go through. I showed you how. It is easy.”
Marcy sighed and stepped toward the second door with defiant compliance. She opened it. Memory took over from there.
* * *
She sees herself again, and she is four years old.
Marcy sits upright in her bed with knees hugged tight to her chest. The bedroom is dark save a single nightlight, which shines like the beacon of a faraway lighthouse on a foggy night. Stuffed animals surround her, their lifeless eyes staring straight ahead. Rain pelts the roof above her. The floorboards creak with night terrors.
The little girl rocks back and forth. “Rain, rain, go away…” she sings in a soft, sweet voice.
The quavering of a rattlesnake’s tail appears, joining with the rain’s pitter patter to form a fearful percussion. She picks up her head and stares into the far corner of the room. Despite the suddenness of this audible intrusion, the expression on her face, with eyes wide and lips turned downward, says this is not the first time she’s heard such things.
Across from her, the shadow of a shadow stirs. It slithers across the wall, ostensibly two-dimensional, and expands both up towards the ceiling and down onto the floor. It approaches the little girl with the directness of hungry flames yet never fully exposes itself.
“Go away,” Little Marcy whispers.
A disembo
died voice speaks from the swelling darkness. It is all right, my dear, I do not want to hurt you. I only want to play.
“Nuh-uh,” she replies. Black tentacles skate across the ceiling. “You wanna hurt me. I know you do.”
Why would you say that, sweetheart?
“’Cause you’re bad. Like Percy in Madeline Lake. A bad, bad crocodile.”
That is not true, my love.
Little Marcy reaches behind her and grabs a doll. It is a stuffed white cat with soft, downy fur. She hugs it close to her chest, shuts her eyes, and starts again to sway. She hums. The trespasser’s shadowy feelers are almost on her; phantoms that slink in from above and below.
Little Marcy prays. The doll in her arm begins to glow. She opens her eyes. There is no fear in them any longer. Instead, a sparkling brightness appears that seems to cry out in anger. She hoists the doll with outstretched arms. A spark of light materializes at the base of her bed. It starts out the size of a pin, and it pulsates. Before long, it’s as big as a beach ball.
A shape comes forth. It is of human form, curled into fetal position. Fur sprouts on its body. A tail grows from its rear. The brightness it emits forces the interloper to pull away its smoky appendages. This strange new being uncoils. It is half child, half feline. It licks its paw and stands up. Eyes like emeralds stare at the little girl. Thin rays of light spring from the ends of each white hair on its body. It appears to be smiling.
The new being turns to face the black smudge that is the interloper. It lifts its paws. Its face scrunches in concentration. The bedroom grows brighter than ever.
Tell it to stop, darling, says the incorporeal voice of death. Tell it to leave. Do not be afraid of me.
“No, Percy,” Little Marcy says. A grin spreads over her lips. “Just go away.”
An inhuman roar fills the air. It causes the fabric of existence to shudder. The blackness then retreats, its tentacles withering like slugs sprinkled with salt. With the dexterity of a living oil slick it disappears behind the Care Bears poster hanging from the bedroom door. A wave of relief washes over Marcy’s tiny features.
Dead Of Winter (The Rift Book II) Page 7