by Yannick Hill
‘Sure, sorry, no, I didn’t see it. You wanna go check your car?
The thought of leaving the trailer was overwhelming for some reason, her car seemed so far away. Impossibly far. So tired. She would check later. ‘Oh, no, don’t worry, I’m sure it’s somewhere.’
‘Tell me, Missy,’ Silas said, watching the TV, ‘as you sit here now, do you feel homesick?’
She thought for a moment, but only a moment. ‘No, I don’t feel that. I feel . . . excited.’ She sat up in her armchair. ‘Like being at the airport.’
‘Yes,’ Silas said, leaning back deeper into his own chair. ‘The airport. Anteroom to the unknown.’
‘I guess I just love airports, or I love the idea of airports, I never actually flew in a plane before!’ said Missy. She suddenly felt like she was giving too much away. She hardly knew Silas, but she was telling him just how she felt. She missed Cass for some reason.
‘The reason I ask,’ Silas said, ‘is because once you start on this journey of ours, there’s simply no turning back. There’s no going home. Does that frighten you, Missy, when I say those words to you?’ His eyes were fixed on the television screen as he said this.
‘No,’ Missy said, ‘it doesn’t frighten me.’
‘You don’t sound so sure,’ Silas said, switching channels.
She thought of her mother, all the unworn clothes, walking between rooms like a day spirit. She missed her mother, their conversations about just anything. But most of all, right now, she missed Cass, the tattooed stars all the way up her neck, getting smaller and smaller (You’ve got your whole life spread out in front of you like the open ocean, wider than a dream, you understand what I’m telling you, Missy?). And she missed Nora, the nice lady at the rest-stop (I want you to take care now, you hear me?). These new people in her life. Right now they meant more to her than anything. ‘You don’t need to ask me again,’ Missy said. ‘Whatever this is, I’m ready. I don’t want my old life anymore. I want a new life. Forget the past, live in the future.’
The boy with no name brought Missy a tray with her omelet, along with a refrigerated soda in a glass bottle, the cap already off. The omelet was great, the kid had done a really good job. The cold soda cut through her something samurai, but it wasn’t enough to wake her up. She finished her meal and set the tray to one side, watched the television screen with half-closed eyes. A bear encounter in the middle of the afternoon, middle of nowhere. The leathers creaked like an old ship as Silas shifted in his seat, eyes fixed on the television screen in front of them. But he didn’t say any more. On her other side, the boy with no name stroked his white rabbit, top to tail, top to tail. A little too rigorous, but what was Missy going to say? A bear encounter in the middle of the afternoon, but it wasn’t enough to keep her awake.
She fell asleep in the comfortable armchair watching an interview with Scout Rose. She was talking about falling in love. No, it wasn’t any one person, she had fallen for an idea, a system of ideas. Deep Sky. No, she wouldn’t call it a cult so much. Something about a Deep Sky, but Missy was falling, falling asleep like a lost sheep over a cliff, and into an ocean that was ready to carry her away, far away, her body passing through the salt water, the pleasure of the water on her body, her body, her heart, her future, her fate, the sword still on the back seat of her car outside, but it was too late. Missy tried opening her eyes. She felt so far away. Impossibly far . . . The soda in the glass bottle. They must have put something in it. They must have put something in it, but it was too late.
Down, down she went, down deep, and deeper still, until there was no light, no one, nothing but her. A Missy-shaped core of darkness.
Versailles is missing its princess.
19
A view of the ocean so total it sometimes felt like being on the bridge of a great ship. But right now, Synthea’s attention was elsewhere. Here: the cracked cell phone resting on her otherwise clear desk, the conversation over. A blank, blank screen. He told her not to call the police, not yet at least. He told her to calm down. He had it under control. He asked her if she was taking her pills and she lied yes. She said Yes, Casey, I’m taking the pills. And he said Good, that’s good, Honey. He told her why not take a walk on the beach, calm her nerves, breathe some of that ocean air. She said I already took a walk on the beach, Casey. I am calm. But that was yesterday. Or was it today? She could feel the sand between her toes, her bare feet were a little cold under the angled metal desk. She should really get dressed, put on some make-up. The minimum. She stopped taking the pills but the effects were still present, like pressure before a storm, and some time after. The conversation with her husband was over, just like that. One minute they are talking, the next there is silence and this thing in front of her, this small device of glass and metal. Dead, just dead. A blank, blank screen.
She could feel the sand on her feet. An incoming tidal wave of deep silence that she must escape. He told her to calm down. What was that? Calm down? What did it even mean in the context? Their daughter missing and she was meant to take a breath. A pill. She wanted to take the phone and destroy it further, shatter it against the opposite wall, but there was no sense. No. This crack would do for now. A reminder that she was still here, that not all of her belonged to him. She took her right hand from inside her jacket pocket and traced the line of fracture with her index finger, bottom left to top right along the diagonal. On reaching the beveled edge, she continued tracing with her finger, sensing the shape of the device by touch alone, the subtle perfection of its forward profile. Yes. All her best designs came to her in the water. Underwater, where thoughts and dreams might form together. This phone on her desk. An old design of hers, one it seemed that had stood the test of time. She wanted to take it in her hand and hurl it hard at the opposite wall, smash it out of existence, but it would do no good. Her daughter was the thing, her beautiful, smart, charming daughter, so full of life. A lifesaver. But she had this feeling, this ugly feeling inside of her that something was very wrong, that her daughter was far from safe, far away somewhere and out of reach. Synthea took up the phone and selected her husband’s name from the list of recently dialed numbers. It rang. It rang but he did not pick up. She let it ring until it gave up automatically. The conversation over before it had begun.
And this is how it was. Even if they were in the same room. She’d say his name and nothing. Casey. The continued staring at whatever screen. When they first met she could laugh it off. She even admired it: his single-mindedness. Less talk, more action. His ruthless determination was what first attracted her to him. But as time went on it lost its charm, until eventually she came to hate him for it.
Casey . . . Casey. Synthea remembers. One time she said his name, and when he didn’t answer she walked behind his desk and saw that the monitor was switched off, that he was simply staring into a black screen, the glass acting as a mirror. She remembers. Their four eyes in the dark reflection. A look she will never forget, a look no amount of pharma could erase. Dead, just dead. No meaning, just seeing right through her to the other side of the universe. Like a reptile. Like a lizard.
20
The monitor lizard makes his way along the empty corridor. His teeth are bared but he is not angry. His yellow eyes look mean but he is not mean, he is a monitor lizard who has not eaten in several days. Just then he passes another white door. According to Versailles’ schematics, this is Room 15, and it, too, is locked, though there is no way the monitor lizard could know that.
Room 15 is haunted, but not how you might think. A seven-year-old River is talking to his father, Casey, who is hard at work at his computer desk. They appear to really be there, in this room, but something isn’t right. Their skin, their clothes, they seem to glow, as though a light was shining through them. Like ghosts. But Room 15 is a trick, a nineteenth-century optical illusion. A high-definition projector casts footage from Versailles’ family archive onto a sheet of angled glass, scenes captured by the myriad cameras hidden throughout the mansion. Eve
ry conversation, every fight, every whisper.
The trick is forced perspective. You open the door and see only what you’re meant to see, these scenes played out as though in three dimensions. Every breath, whisper, every fight. Room 15 is how Casey remembers. One thousand cameras recording everything that’s ever taken place inside these walls. Versailles as witness. Right now, Room 15 is a conversation between father and son. The last recording selected for playback. A young River attempting to solicit his father’s attention.
‘Dad . . . Dad, look at my horse . . . Dad. Look at my horse, Dad. I drew a horse, Dad, I—’
‘River.’
‘—wanna show it to you, Dad, you gotta see this.’
‘River, just stop talking for one second and do something for me.’
‘But, Dad.’
‘Stop – talking. Excellent, now take a breath. Take a breath through your nose, River. And out. Good. Now I want you to take a look around and tell me where you are.’
‘It’s your office upstairs.’
‘Right, my office. And what does Casey do when he’s in his office upstairs? Can you answer that for me?’
‘Working on the website.’
‘That’s right, working on the website, working on the website. Working, River, on the website, and when I’m working on the website, I can’t be distracted, not by you, or anybody else. You understand? Now, I’ll take a look at your drawing just as soon as I’ve finished what I’m doing here.’
‘It’s not a drawing, Dad, it’s a painting, a painting of a horse.’
‘I’ll take a look at your painting when I’m done here, River. Go play with your sister or something.’
‘But it’s good, Dad, it’s a good picture. Miss Perez? She told me it was a good picture and I should be very proud of myself. She even gave me the pink button to prove it. I wore the pink button all day. It’s a horse, Dad. Miss Perez said I did such a good job with the picture, Dad. She told me it looks just like a horse she remembers riding when she was a kid like me. When she was my age like I am. She asked me if I ever rode a horse before and I told her no because I haven’t rode a horse before but I would like to. And I was thinking since Missy was allowed to go to the aquarium with Mom I figured maybe I could go horse riding because I love horses and that would be so neat if I could ride on one.’
‘River.’
‘Look what I can do with my tongue now I don’t have my two front teeth. Dad? I lost my teeth and the tooth fairy gave me money for my teeth and I spent the money on some new software for my computer cus the old software wasn’t as good as the new software? And now I’m working on a new game cus I like making games and when I get older I wanna—’
‘OH MY GOD RIVER I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU TO SHUT THE FUCK UP. I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU TO SHUT THE FUCK UP RIVER AND LEAVE ME ALONE.’
The trick is forced perspective. No one to see this now. The footage ends, a fade to black, the recording set to loop until a new selection is made from the database. A fade to black, but River bears the scars. His father’s words like deadbolts fired out, deep into his flesh. These bruises in their purple phase, blood just under the surface.
Room 15 is how Casey remembers. This recording is one of many of its kind. River in a room with his father. These recordings form a playlist. His son at different ages. The playlist expresses a pattern. A pattern Casey wishes to break, but never will. Casey looking at River and telling him he’s no good, that he’s a good for nothing, and why can’t he be more like his sister? Sometimes he tells River these things in a raised voice, other times so quietly it’s almost as though Casey were talking to himself. And River listens, never making eye contact. These recordings form a playlist. His son at different ages. The playlist expresses a pattern. In some of the recordings Missy will enter the room. She will enter the room, stand between her brother and her father and tell her father he can’t talk to River this way. She’ll tell Casey he’s a coward and a bully and one day he’s not going to have any kids because they hate him and they’ve run away. Room 15 is how Casey remembers. Of all the rooms in Versailles, it’s the one he visits most. All hours of the night. The space filling with the smoke of his filterless cigarettes, one after the another, the projections taking on the appearance of ghosts, their looped enactments tantamount to a haunting.
21
She is sleepwalking again. In her dream, Synthea is searching for her Missy, her darling girl. In the waking world, she has found her way out of Versailles into the open, her long nightdress torn from other summer nights like this, the thorns of rose bushes, always the same path, the fresh ocean air moving across the garden, filling her lungs but she still does not wake up. Through her closed eyes she can see her daughter, far away at the other end of a long stretch of beach lined with unnaturally tall palms.
A mist as wide as the dream is rolling in from the ocean. As it reaches the shoreline, Synthea sees that this mist consists of nothing but ones and zeros. A googolplex of digits has made it impossible to see, the ice-cold air sealing her mouth tight shut and that is when she hears the voice behind her. It is Missy, she can make her out in silhouette, her base-ball cap, long hair and skinny frame. She takes her daughter in her arms and this is flesh and bone, her blood, her love. I carried you, and in my arms, and later when you told me stories, I listened to the end. She wants her daughter to remember, but cannot move her lips to form the words. Missy comes in close and whispers something in her mother’s ear. A terrible secret. She always knew, she always knew but never dared believe.
In the waking world, Synthea has walked into the black of the ocean in her nightdress. She feels the cool water on her belly and wakes up slowly, lets herself fall sideways and swims a little way along the beach, enjoying the feeling of her body passing through the salt water, this precious time before her feet must find the sand again.
Versailles vibrates inside the line of tall palms, its southern edifice illuminated by the waxing moon, the sickening non-architecture of a fever dream. Versailles. A brand of monster to be viewed by satellite, its gray foundations plunged deep into the shifting, bubbling marsh. Versailles. Its towering A/C stacks breathing out, only out, ever out into the wider world. Versailles — Versailles. Ever-expanding, ever there, never dark, no windows open to the night just now, the ocean framed and framed again. Versailles, a stranded ark. A tidal retreat independent of the moon. Versailles, the ocean seems to say, Versailles.
Versailles as mission control. Mission Missy now. She is on the move again. Kidnapped. Taken out of time, this story, out of reach for now, our reach, for there is another agency at work – the choice of camera, a blue dot on the map, artificial light glancing off a capacitive screen, his screen. The man of the house, King of Versailles. Casey Baer. A man who knows what we want, what his daughter wants. But what she wants and needs are different things. She may be his daughter, but what Missy needs is to be taught a lesson. His birthday present: a final fantasy. This journey north. A rite of passage. A roller coaster rebellion. Destination: Deep Sky, America’s most enigmatic cult, the last people left on earth who can keep a secret. Casey swipes for an update. Her reality in pictures, captured, moments witnessed before they elapse, a dream of life. The ocean framed and framed again. Versailles, the ocean seems to say, Versailles.
part two
Search
22
Missy falling asleep in the comfortable armchair watching an interview with Scout Rose . . . something about a Deep Sky, but Missy was falling . . . into an ocean that was ready to carry her away . . . the pleasure of the water on her body, her body, her heart, her future, her fate, the sword still on the back seat of her car but it was too late . . . A dreamless sleep.
What Missy doesn’t know is this: we always dream, only sometimes we forget. A memory as dream:
Walking along one of Versailles’ many corridors, hand in hand with her father. His hand is warm and he uses the other one to open a white door, one she’s sure she’s tried before and found locked.
>
He tells her it’s an aquarium, but she doesn’t see any water, only these concrete structures that remind her of what lava looks like when it cools and solidifies deep under the ocean. But there is no water, not even any glass, only these friendly men in florescent jackets and hard hats, waving and greeting her by name.
Casey tells her it’s an aquarium, that he’s gonna fill it with all kinds of weird and wonderful creatures, that it’ll be the most magical place on earth. He’s describing the movement of a shark with his arms and the wiggle of little seahorses with his index fingers.
Missy can feel a giggle in her chest, and then her throat, and then she’s laughing out loud in real life but she doesn’t know it, she’s still asleep in the trailer as it speeds along the highway, Silas at the wheel of the car out front telling his nameless son a story about a man whose only chance of redemption is delivering a rough diamond to a stranger who lives in the middle of a desert.
But in the dream, Missy runs to give her father a hug. He smells like a computer when it’s running too hot. Melting plastic and circuitry. He tells her the aquarium is their secret, that she mustn’t tell her mom about it, not yet. It’ll be a surprise.
23
Leticia had also watched the program with Scout Rose, and for her it was very interesting because this was Scout’s first interview since her disappearance. Leticia had always liked Scout Rose, always respected her very much as a human being. She was an amazing singer. Amazing! So pretty, so talented, ambitious, she wrote all her own songs and those green eyes. Gorgeous! It was her eyes that made her a superstar because eyes were the windows to the soul and Scout had a great heart, that was what Leticia loved about her. Such a nice person, not like the other celebrities, so friendly in her interviews, always happy to answer all of their questions, invite them into her wonderful home and share her secrets about the bedroom and how she loved to work out in her fancy gym and watch movies with her friends. This is what Leticia loved the most about Scout Rose. Her openness. Her honesty about life.