by Simon Holt
She opened her eyes. They burned in the soapy water, but she was able to see up through the surface to the face above hers so bent on taking her life.
In her shock, Reggie almost gulped down a mouthful of water.
It was her own—her own face; her own hair, long again now, and dark and lustrous and hanging so its tips swirled in the water; her own dark eyes staring blankly down, neither filled with malice nor with glee, but with a kind of empty determination. Black scars traced down her pale skin from the corner of her eyes like permanently etched tear tracks, but she was not crying.
Reggie wanted to scream with her last breath, but her other self’s fingers tightened on her throat, choking out the sound. They were so strong, those hands, and now they pressed harder, forcing her down farther so the back of her head smacked against the bottom of the tub. With one last effort, Reggie reached up and pushed at her double’s face, grasping for her neck, her nose, poking at her eyes, anything that would put her off. She tore at her double’s lips and felt the skin break; instead of blood, black, wet smoke gushed out of the wound and clouded the air.
Through the smoke, Reggie glimpsed her other self’s teeth through her parted lips. They were blindingly white and filed down into spikes like sharp fangs. Then Reggie felt a searing pain as those teeth chomped down on her index finger. They sliced through her skin and bone as though they were no more than gelatin; Reggie instinctively yanked her hand back, and it came away without her finger attached. The double spat it out, and it landed in the tub by Reggie’s head and sank to the bottom, blood flowing out of it and turning the bathwater red. The pain was too intense, and Reggie screamed.
As she felt the water flow into her mouth, the pressure on her disappeared. Reggie shot up and gasped for breath, simultaneously spewing water from her mouth and trying to draw air into her lungs. Half the water in the tub had sloshed out onto the floor, but it was hot again, and there was no sign of blood, or smoke, or the other Reggie. She looked at her hand: Her finger was intact.
She leaped out of the bathtub, spilling more water over its sides, and scooted across the floor to the corner of the bathroom. She sat huddled there for several more minutes, coughing up water until her throat ached, staring with horror at the tub.
Reggie had no idea what had just taken place. Had she fallen asleep and dreamed it all, accidentally slipped under the water? There were no such things as accidents or innocuous dreams in her world anymore. Had it been a more nefarious vision sent by a Vour? Some instinct told her that it wasn’t that, either. She’d become used to the nuances of those, which felt like pressure on the mind as the Vour propelled fear to the front of the brain. This had been something different.
Despite the steam hanging in the air, Reggie was cold again. She reached for the towel folded on the sink and wrapped it around herself. If what she’d just experienced wasn’t a Vour-induced vision, and it wasn’t a simple dream, what could it be?
She’d splashed so much water out of the tub that it sat an inch deep on the floor. There were more towels hanging from a rod by the door, and Reggie took these and began sopping it up, crawling on hands and knees. The towels were soaked through in no time, but she at least was able to clean up most of the mess. When she got near the tub, she hesitated, then swooped her hand in to unplug the drain and skittered back across the floor again as quickly as she could. But no other specter attacked her, and the only sound was the glug glug as the remaining bathwater swirled away.
On shaking legs she rose and wiped the steam off the mirror.
Her reflection was crisscrossed with black lines, and her eyes were hollow sockets that leaked inky smoke.
Reggie shrieked and thrust her arms out in front of her face. Her hand punched the mirror and it shattered. She dropped to the floor again and was soon racked with sobs.
“What is happening to me?” she wailed, over and over, but there was no one to answer her.
She lay huddled in the fetal position, letting the tears flow. This wasn’t the work of an outside Vour—this was coming from within. Her own mind was turning against her, making her see the thing she feared. Suddenly it was becoming clear: Earlier, when she had wanted it all to end, that was the moment her figment had tried to kill her. She had done it to herself—the Vour in her trying to kill the human.
The thought popped in her brain like a corn kernel: Perhaps that wasn’t so terrible. She was going insane, turning into some kind of freak of nature, a creature never meant to exist, and she posed no end of danger to everyone she loved, and maybe even to humanity itself. Even her own mother had turned away from her. Perhaps death was the answer to all of her questions. The final test: She, who could never take a life, would have to take her own. For her own sake, and yes, for the greater good.
Reggie opened her eyes and sat up. Her hand really was bleeding now, and red streamed from cuts in her knuckles that were laced with shards of mirror. Larger fragments lay sprinkled across the sink. She rose, calmly this time, her sobs having mostly abated, and carefully chose the largest and most jagged of the pieces.
Just do it, she thought. End it now, before any more damage can be done.
She closed her eyes.
Just one more bit of pain, and all the pain will stop. Forever.
She put the shard to her throat and pressed it against her skin.
Where do the souls go? What do they see? The gateway to Hell’s eternity…
For some reason the last bars of Macie’s new song jumped into her mind. What had Macie called her that night? The girl who sees? Well, she did, and Macie had somehow known that she’d already seen so many gateways to hell. One slice and the memories of them would vanish.
Macie had known.
Reggie’s eyes shot open once more. Macie, who had started her down this path. Macie, who had figured out how to imprison a Vour, a feat that had shocked even the world-weary Eben. Macie had knowledge, had made discoveries, that no one else had—was that why Unger had captured and tortured her, to unlock the secrets she possessed? What if those secrets were a threat to the Vours now, and held the key to their ultimate undoing?
Macie, who had lived for who knew how long in Unger’s clutches but had not killed herself. Against all odds, had not given up. Surviving was fighting. By writing that journal, she had unwittingly made Reggie her successor in the fight. Who could take up that mantle if Reggie now checked herself out?
Suddenly Reggie had the strongest sensation that Macie still had knowledge to share. What it was and how to get it she didn’t know, but if there was the possibility, she had to try. Surviving was fighting.
She exhaled. She was soaking, and shivering, and bleeding, and tired, and starved, and maybe even part monster, but something inexplicable had found root in her dark and hardened heart. It was tiny, no more than a speck, but it was enough to make her drop her hand away from her neck and sweep the sharp edges of mirror into the wastebasket. It was hope.
15
When both boys strode through the door that evening, it was clear they’d been arguing. Aaron was scowling and Quinn just looked supremely annoyed.
“I really thought we had covered the whole ‘we’re not friends and we don’t socialize’ thing,” Aaron was saying. “I didn’t realize I had to write you a manual about how to pull it off.”
“Don’t be such a bitch, Aaron. I gave us the perfect excuse to be seen together, so you don’t have to sneak around.”
“What’s going on?” Reggie asked.
“Brainiac over here got Ms. Crenshaw to pair us together for a project.”
“And it was a brilliant idea,” said Quinn. “Now you can come over here in the open, and I can talk to you at school, and I’ll just say that it’s because we’re working on this lab.”
“You were hardly subtle about it,” Aaron countered. “Yelling out in the middle of class that you wanted to partner with me. I saw your friends give you a weird look. Any behavior that’s out of the ordinary could call attention to us—I th
ought I’d been crystal clear about that.”
“Oh, give me a break, Cole. Everyone knows you’re a genius—what, aren’t you in like three AP classes and you’re only a sophomore?—and I need all the help I can get to pass. Obviously I’d want you as a partner.”
“It actually doesn’t sound like such a bad idea, Aaron,” Reggie offered in her best peacemaker voice. Aaron turned his glower on her.
“That’s great, take his side. I’m only trying to keep you safe.”
“I’m not taking anyone’s side. But it doesn’t sound as dire as you’re making it out to be.”
“Thank you,” said Quinn. “Besides, it’s done, so we might as well make the most of it. And now you don’t have to sneak over here on your bike in the twenty-degree weather, which was your original genius plan.”
“Fine,” Aaron said, though Reggie knew he was still pissed off. “How was your day?” he asked her.
“Slept a lot.” Reggie had decided not to share her rock-bottom episode with either Aaron or Quinn, though Aaron looked askance at her when she tried to explain away the broken mirror by saying she’d stupidly tossed her hairbrush on the sink and had overthrown it, shattering the glass. She tried to keep her cut hand in her pocket as much as possible.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked her warily.
“It could be better timing for seven years of bad luck,” she replied. “Other than that, I’m fine. But listen, I want to talk to Macie again. She responded to me in Home. Maybe if I talk to her again, under better circumstances, I can get something useful out of her.”
“Okay,” Aaron said slowly. “But you know that having you two meet is dangerous. She and Machen can’t very well show up here.”
“I’ll go to them, then,” Reggie said.
“If I think it’s safe,” Aaron replied.
Reggie was surprised by the finality of Aaron’s tone. She again wondered at the change he had undergone in just a matter of months. Ever since they’d discovered that Vours were real, he had been the sidekick, the tech geek, the loyal follower—indispensable, of course, but a support player. Though she hadn’t wanted to admit it to herself, that was how she’d always seen him. Even the Vour Quinn had recognized that, and he’d played upon her arrogance to fool her into thinking that he was actually her best ally. But now she and Quinn were damaged goods, and Aaron was the one standing there, coolly and calmly calling the shots. He was physically different, too. His clothes didn’t droop off him the way they used to—now she could see the outline of muscle along his arms and chest. He no longer stooped, and when he moved, the discombobulated awkwardness he’d always possessed had been replaced with a certain grace. While she had been wasting away at Home, Aaron had turned into a leader.
“Righto, Captain. When you think it’s safe.”
That turned out to be two days later, when Quinn told his mother he’d run an errand for her in Wennemack after school. Because Aaron was concerned about tails, Quinn was to drop Reggie off at a market a few blocks from Machen’s apartment, and Reggie was to take a series of alleys to get to his back door. Reggie felt a bit ridiculous, especially when Aaron presented her with a wig to wear, but she didn’t protest, except to sarcastically ask if there was a secret knock she needed to learn, too. Aaron’s dour look had curbed her humor.
The walk to Machen’s was chilly but otherwise uneventful. The old Tracer ushered her in, and she found Macie sleeping on his couch, snoring just slightly.
“Have you gotten anything from her?” Reggie asked. He shook his head.
“Babbling. Mostly I try to keep her calm.”
Euphemism for “keeping her in a drug-induced haze,” Reggie thought.
Machen went to her side and nudged her shoulder. Macie’s eyes shot open.
“It’s okay. Macie, it’s me. It’s Arthur,” Machen said soothingly. He glanced at Reggie. “She can get a little edgy. I’ll get her some juice. You make friends.”
Machen disappeared into the kitchen while Reggie approached the sofa and sat down. The old woman blinked rapidly at her but said nothing. Reggie felt very foolish all of a sudden: She didn’t even know what questions she should ask.
While she was considering, Macie leaned toward her so that their faces were only inches apart.
“There’s blood in the pudding,” Macie said confidentially.
“Oh… really?”
“Blood pudding is guts, you know,” Macie went on. Her voice was raspy, like nails on sandpaper. “That’s what they do to you. They pull out your guts and feed them to the pigeons.”
“Who pulls out your guts, Macie?”
Macie glanced back and forth, as if checking to see if anyone was listening.
“The shadow hands,” she whispered hoarsely. “They pull them out and twine them up like ribbon. Gut ribbons to tie up their presents.”
Reggie sighed. This was going exactly nowhere.
“They have to give their presents to the girl who sees,” Macie went on. Reggie’s head shot up.
“Yes, what about the girl who sees? Who is she?”
Macie let out a cackle so loud Reggie was surprised it could come from such a frail person.
“Don’t you know who you are, girl?” she asked, laughing hard enough to bring tears to her eyes. It was very off-putting.
“So I’m the girl who sees? And someone’s going to give me a present? Do you know what it is?”
“Don’t you see? Your present is not to see.”
“My present is not to see,” Reggie repeated. “That follows, sure. So what can’t I see?”
Macie stopped laughing abruptly and tilted her head upward.
“Tut-tut, such a gift not to see what the others do,” she said to the air behind Reggie’s right shoulder.
“The others? The Vours, you mean?”
Macie cocked her head at Reggie again and began to chant in a low voice:
“The dark has teeth and it will bite,
Its feast begins on Sorry Night.
When cold and fear are intertwined,
They’ll chew up your heart and feed on your mind.
Where have the souls gone? What do they see?
The gateway to Hell’s eternity.”
They were the same lyrics she had sung over and over again when they had rescued her from Home.
Machen returned with a glass of orange juice and handed it to Macie. She took it eagerly and drank.
“I read your journal,” Reggie continued. “I found your brother under your house. You tried to save Jeremiah, didn’t you?”
At the mention of her brother’s name, Macie hurled the glass away and began to scratch violently at her arms, emitting little shrieks of pain. The glass shattered against the wall, leaving a swath of orange liquid dripping down it.
Machen leaped at Macie and tried to pin her arms to her sides.
“Whoa, calm down, calm down.”
“No, Macie, don’t, I’m sorry.” Reggie grabbed the old woman’s hands as well, in an effort to stop her from clawing at herself. As she did so, she saw long, thin scars reaching all the way up Macie’s arms. More remnants of Unger’s torture.
Macie would not calm down. She continued to thrash about, shaking her head back and forth and singing the song at the top of her lungs. Machen vanished for a second and reappeared with a syringe, which he injected into Macie’s forearm. Reggie watched ruefully as the serum entered her system, and soon Macie dropped back onto the sofa with closed eyes.
“Sorry that didn’t go better.” Machen clipped a cap on the syringe and pocketed it. “Anything useful?”
Reggie shrugged.
“Nothing that I understood. But I did get the feeling that she wanted to help me, that she was trying to tell me something important. I just have no idea what it is.”
Machen got a towel and began to clean up the spilled orange juice and broken glass, and Reggie moved to a chair on the other side of the coffee table.
“She said I’m the ‘girl who sees.
’ But then she told me that some shadow hands are going to give me a present, and that present is not to see.”
“So, to see or not to see,” said Machen.
“Shakespeare humor from the fake English teacher. Hilarious.” Reggie paused. “Has she been singing that song this whole time?”
“On and off.”
Machen grabbed a notebook from the desk and handed it to Reggie. The lyrics were scrawled across it. They scanned it for a few minutes, then Machen said, “Well, this mentions ‘seeing,’ too. The lost souls see a gateway into hell.”
“Maybe she means a fearscape?” said Reggie. “They can see their own personal hells?”
“But you can also see those,” said Machen thoughtfully. “According to Macie, there’s something that you can’t see. And she thinks of that as a gift—a good thing that you can’t see it. Which must mean that it’s pretty terrible.”
“That’s assuming she’s not just spouting crazy.”
“Assuming that, is there anything you can’t see?” Machen asked.
Reggie considered this.
“There is one thing,” she said slowly. “Whenever I helped someone beat their fearscape, it would kind of melt away and leave us in an empty space. There was always some kind of visible exit that we used to get out, but a few people have seen something else. A kind of cloud or spiral in the distance.” She sat up in her chair. “Quinn saw it. I’d forgotten until now.”
“But you’ve never seen this… this cloud?”
Reggie shook her head.
“Never. But I never thought much about it, either. The victims who noticed it weren’t afraid of it, just curious, but not curious enough to investigate. It would only appear after a fearscape had been destroyed, and that was about the time we ran like hell.”
“So we can probably assume that only the person who just beat their fearscape can see the cloud,” Machen concluded.