by Неизвестный
Silence answered her. Alondra asked, “Sakura-chan, are you safe?”
“We are alone now.”
Alondra felt her heart thump once, heavy in her chest. So the doll’s spirit reflected lots of girls, instead of one single Japanese beauty. Saddened, she said, “Tell me the names you were born with.”
“We no longer remember. We have only the name our creator gave us.”
Alondra wondered how many schoolgirls’ souls had been pulled apart to inspire the doll-maker’s art. Did the spirits inhabit all of his dolls throughout Japan, or had Sakura been a special repository?
Alondra doubted she would ever find out. That was a job for the monks of the Kiyomizu Kannondo shrine, who could give Sakura-chan a fitting cremation.
Alondra poured the buckwheat from the torn pillow, then slipped the pieces of broken doll into the pillowcase, breaking them to fit when necessary. She was still sorting through the bedding, locating the last bits of porcelain when Hiroshi Hiroshige returned with two policemen and the young monk from the Kiyomizu Kannondo shrine.
One of the policemen reached for the bedroom light switch. The overhead light came on, flooding the trashed bedroom with yellow warmth. The last of the shadows fled.
Alondra blew out the candles. She rose stiffly from the floor and stepped over the ring of salt. Something touched her cheek, as gentle as the falling petal of a cherry blossom.
With a little bow, she presented the monk with the pillowcase full of broken doll. “She was called Sakura-chan,” Alondra said softly. “I hope you can help her find peace.”
“And my brother?” Hiroshi asked.
“I released him. When the police are finished, you can bury his ashes in your family grave without worry.” More gently, she asked, “When did he hang himself?”
“I came out to the kitchen to fix us some dinner. I wasn’t more than fifteen minutes… Once he’d broken the doll, he was inconsolable.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t save him.”
Hiroshi shook his head. “I think, by the time I called you, it was too late. Tonight I knew I shouldn’t let him out of my sight, but I kept seeing shadows... I thought it was hunger.”
She looked away from Hiroshi’s grief to see the eyes of every doll in the living room measuring her.
“It was hunger,” Alondra answered. “It just wasn’t yours.
Loren Rhoads is the author of The Dangerous Type Trilogy and co-author with Brian Thomas of As Above, So Below. Her Alondra stories have appeared on Wily Writers, in Not One of Us, The Paramental Appreciation Society, and Instant City magazine, and in the books Sins of the Sirens, The Haunted Mansion Project: Year One, and nEvermore!: Tales of Murder, Mystery, and the Macabre.
PROMISES, BLISS, AND LIES
by
ROSE BLACKTHORN
She scuttled along the pipes, hunched low so as not to hit her head on the ring joints. Drab rags were gathered around her, a camouflage of sorts that allowed her to blend into her surroundings just by freezing in place. When she reached the opening, little more than a jagged weathered break in the reinforced concrete pipe, she crouched and looked cautiously out. The color of the light was burnt umber over rusted steel and rotted wood. Water sloshed and gurgled not far away, the chemical sludge of the waterfront that was the final destination of all the old underground sewers.
“Almost dark,” she whispered, talking only to herself. Once, she had shared her thoughts with rats and spiders, her fellow denizens of the underground; before that she had had family and friends to talk to. They were gone now, but she’d gotten the habit and didn’t bother to break it. “Should be safe.”
She could wait forever on the cusp of indecision, and it would get her nowhere. So she finally ducked through the opening into the end of twilight. Lights glowed in the gloom, frowzy and smoke-tinted yet dazzling against the bland and fetid backdrop of low side.
“Arien.”
The sound of her name startled her, and she flinched. A few feet away there was a dark figure leaning against a rickety old fence.
“I’ve been waiting for a long time.” He stood straight and came toward her, holding out one long-fingered elegant hand. “I was worried.”
She shook her head within the hood she wore to hide her face. “No more. I said no more.”
“Don’t be silly, Arien.” His voice was smooth, the tone slightly amused, but he took her elbow in a firm grip so she couldn’t slip away. “We have a deal. You’re not going to go back on your word now, are you?”
She closed her eyes, in weariness or to stop the stinging of tears. “Won’t you let me go?”
He began to walk, heading away from the docks toward his waiting car, pulling her along with him. “You’re too valuable to me, my dear. I can’t let you go.”
“Please, Brennus,” she whispered but did not fight his grip. She had promised him, but that was long ago and before she knew what he’d intended.
“First we’ll get you cleaned up,” he said, still with that slightly amused and patient note in his cultured voice, “and get you something to eat. You’re thin as bird bones. Then it’s back to work for both of us.”
They had reached his car now, a long sleek black thing that looked like a weapon. A driver in uniform and cap opened the door for them, and Brennus ushered Arien into the dim leather and burnished-wood interior before getting in with her. When the limo rose onto its airfield, Arien lost all sense of movement, as though they were still sitting at the curb.
“I want to go home,” she said, pulling the hood lower over her face. She didn’t want to look at the soft seats or the dark windows that gave her back her own reflection. She didn’t want to look at him.
“We’ll be there shortly,” Brennus said and put his arm around her familiarly.
***
Once the sky had been blue, and the sun had shone golden and clear through green leaves and along wide boulevards faced with manicured lawns and lovely safe houses. Children had played in parks, chasing dogs or balls, and shrieking their laughter into the benevolent air. Arien remembered that time well, although it was more like a flickering old movie playing in the back of her mind. The lambent images were clear, but so tiny and far away. Those were the days when she was surrounded by parents and sister, friends from her neighborhood and friends from school. In those days, she had smiled without worry, skipping down the sidewalks with her pale hair bouncing behind her, dressed in bright colors and looking forward to every new tomorrow.
Sometimes she could almost make herself believe she could travel back there, to relive the innocence of that time. She knew, of course, that that time was no more innocent than any other. But she had been blissfully unaware of the darkness in the world, and the evil in the hearts of those who claimed to love.
With eyes closed, she retreated into inner darkness and emerged again as herself. She wore a blue dress with cream colored leggings beneath, and her long fair hair pulled back into a pony tail with a matching blue ribbon. At most, she was eight years old, playing hopscotch on the sidewalk with the help of a holo-display that changed the configuration to whatever she wished. Her sister Camryn waited to take a turn, dressed in a matching outfit although her dress was cream colored and leggings dark blue.
Arien tossed her marker, a piece of silver-grey slate the size of her palm that bounced then slid into the square she was aiming for. With a broad smile, she hopped into the pattern displayed on the pavement. She made her way through the grid to the end, turned and hopped back, only stopping to pick up her marker. Camryn stepped up to take her turn, the older girl at least as adept as Arien. While they played, a soft summer breeze sighed through the trees and brightly colored flowers played host to butterflies and droning bees.
“Arien.”
The voice, as familiar to her as her own inner voice, brought her out of the memory and into the present. Brennus stood beside the huge marble tub with a bath sheet held out toward her.
“Time to get out, my dear. You’re prun
ing.”
She lifted her hands, turning them to note that he was right. But she didn’t want to get out; she wanted to go back to the memory, where everything was beautiful and she was safe.
“Don’t make me call for Jarek.” It was said gently, but a threat nonetheless.
Without a word, Arien got up and stepped out of the tub, leaving behind cooling water and the grime of she didn’t know how many days and nights hiding in low side. Her hair, long and fine, and still the pale champagne gold of her childhood, hung wet and dripping down her back until Brennus wrapped her in the towel. While she dried herself, he brought her soft warm clothing to wear. When she was dressed, and her damp hair combed smooth, he walked her down a wide hallway to a table set with fine china and crystal. Jarek, tall with bulky muscles disguised by the fine cut of his clothes, was bringing dinner from the kitchen.
Arien hesitated when she saw the big man, but Jarek merely inclined his head to her respectfully and set a silver tray on the table.
“Sit, my dear. There is hot soup, your favorite creamy potato with peppers,” Brennus said soothingly, handing her into a chair before sitting beside her. “Fresh bread, still warm from the oven and salted butter. You need to eat, to keep up your strength.”
While he spoke, Jarek served, and it smelled so good. Tears stung her eyes again, for this was a different kind of memory, a sensory overload that made her mouth water and her stomach cramp. But most of all, it made her heart ache for things lost that could never be retrieved.
“Eat, Arien,” Brennus said, and there was iron in his voice now. She would eat on her own, or he would force feed her. He had done so before.
“Where is your dinner?” she asked, picking up a spoon. “I don’t like to eat alone.”
He smiled, leaning back in his chair, reverting to the charm that was his most accomplished façade. “I’ve already eaten. While you bathed.” He smoothed the crease in his pants and squared his shoulders while maintaining his air of repose. Arien wasn’t sure how long it had been since she’d last seen him. It was hard to gauge, as he never seemed to change. “You were in low side for almost six months,” he said, as though reading her mind. “It took that long to track you down, this time. Why do you insist on playing this game? You know I’m going to find you—I always find you. And then I bring you back, and we go through this all over again.”
The spoon shook in her hand, but she leaned over the bowl so she wouldn’t spill. The flavor of the soup was rich, like the memory of an embrace from someone beloved. She had those memories too, deep down and well hidden. She couldn’t reach them with Brennus watching her. The silver rattled against her teeth, but she bit down and managed to swallow the mouthful.
“Every time I find you, you tell me you want to go home. But this is home,” and he gestured around the grand dining room. Richly colored walls were accented with paintings and gilt-framed mirrors, and the marble floor was polished to a dull shine where it wasn’t covered in thick warm hand-woven carpets.
“Not my home,” she whispered, looking down at her bowl.
Jarek, dark and with all the expression of a slab of rock, looked from Arien to Brennus and back. He said nothing—it was not his place—but a glint in his eyes hinted at something hidden. When Brennus lifted his chin in signal, the bond-servant gave a slight bow and left the room.
“We’ve discussed this before,” Brennus said softly, reached out to close his hand around her fragile left wrist. “Jarek is my man, and I trust him for his bond if nothing else. But you do not defy me before him or anyone else, Arien. I won’t have it.” His hand tightened, and Arien winced but made no sound, still staring down into her soup. “Do you understand me?” he pressed.
Arien kept her silence. She talked to herself all the time, but refused to give him another word.
Brennus waited until it was clear she wouldn’t yield. Breaking her wrist would serve no purpose, and so he released her. “Finish eating. You need to rest, and we’ll start again tomorrow.”
Mechanically, she finished the hearty soup and a buttered slice of the warm bread. While she ate, Brennus busied himself with a handheld computer. When she was done, he signaled for Jarek again.
“Take her to her room. Make sure she has what she needs and that she stays put.” His blue eyes were cold, and Brennus had given over pretending any affection.
“Yes, sir.” Jarek waited until Arien got up, then escorted her down the hall and up a flight of curving stairs to her room. He didn’t try to touch her, knowing from past experience that she wouldn’t tolerate it, but kept close. She had a history of running away, but was still too tired and disoriented to try anything tonight, Jarek was certain.
He went into her room with her, closing the doors behind them. While she moved around the walls, reacquainting herself with trinkets and photos that decorated the place, he turned down her covers and made sure the windows were locked and shuttered. When he turned back, he was surprised to find her standing in the middle of the room staring at him.
“How long have you been here, in Apex?” she asked, her voice and question innocent, like a child’s. “You were here last time, and the time before. But you weren’t always here. Were you?”
“I was here last time,” he said, surprised at her directness. “And many times before that. I have worked for Mr. Caul for the last fifteen years.”
“Fifteen years,” she whispered, looking down at the oval frame she’d taken from a shelf. The photo in the frame was of Camryn, her sister. “Little more than a heartbeat.”
“It seems longer to me than that.”
Arien nodded, reaching out to set the picture down. Rather than standing it up again, she laid it flat with her sister’s face against the wood. “You have time. I envy you that.” She walked around him, close enough to touch, but did not look at him again. “Good night, then. Guard my doors against the dragon.” With no concern for his presence, she stripped off the clothes Brennus had dressed her in, dropping them on the carpeted floor, and got into bed. She pulled the covers up over her head, nesting in the fifteen-hundred thread count sheets and silk covered quilt.
Jarek left her then, turning off the lights before exiting the room and locking her doors. Alas, the dragon was the master of this house, and Jarek could protect no one from him. The bond-servant waited for a long time, head angled intently as he listened, but he heard no sound from within – neither her voice, nor the sound of crying.
***
Arien’s father had been a doctor and a scientist. He worked at one of the best hospitals in Apex at the time when the dome was being built over the city. He was respected and fairly well-off, but not rich. He owned a house in an upscale neighborhood, and provided a good life for his wife and two daughters. In the mornings before work, he would sit on the patio with his girls and watch as new sections of the clear crys-crete dome were placed. Soon, the polluted air would be unable to harm the residents of the city and only those outside the fortified walls would suffer from it.
Arien slept, returning to that time in her dreams. She sat beside Daddy in the citrine glow of the rising sun, watching as far off hovercraft lifted the panels of crys-crete into place. Camryn sat on Daddy’s other side, telling him about a boy she had met at school. He had ice-blue eyes and dark blond hair, and had asked her to the formal dance at the end of the month.
Three years younger, at thirteen Arien had yet to develop an interest in boys other than as friends. But she was fascinated by her sister’s romance. Camryn had already confided in Arien that someday she would marry Brendan Caul, and Arien knew her sister’s determination well enough to believe it.
When Daddy got up to go to work, Arien gave him a hug and smile. She had been innocent of what would come, only knowing that she loved him and trusted him with all her heart. As he got into his car and pulled away from the modest home, Arien put her hands over her face. She still resided in the memory but knew what was going to happen and was helpless to stop it. She could relive thes
e moments, but never change them. Beside her, still living out that long ago day, Camryn chattered excitedly about the dress she would buy for the dance. If she could have, Arien would have wept.
***
When Jarek came into her room, he found Arien already awake and dressed. She was curled into the window seat, shutters open so she could look out at the perfect curve of the dome.
“Did you sleep?” he asked.
She didn’t answer, gave no indication that she had heard him. She simply put one hand up to place palm and spread fingers on the glass.
“Mr. Caul is waiting.”
Arien tipped her forehead against the window. She wanted to disappear into her memories, and yet wished to block them off forever so they could not be used. The gentle touch on her shoulder made her turn her head. Jarek stood behind her, his hand soft on her skin.
“If you don’t come, he will only be more cruel.”
“He can be nothing else.” But she got up and crossed the room with him, her dispassionate guard.
In the dining room, Brennus drank coffee and spoke on the phone. “Yes, there will be more for you starting tomorrow. I know, we’re low on supplies. But that’s been taken care of. I’ll have the extract today.”
Unwilling, Arien sat down and waited as Jarek brought her breakfast. Eggs and fried potatoes, toasted cinnamon bread and a mug of hot chocolate. She remembered breakfasts like this from her childhood, but it brought her no joy this morning. She ate slowly, not to savor but to put off what would come next. As always, dragging her feet did nothing but skin her toes.
“It’s time, Arien. Finish your food, or go without.”