by Yannick Hill
And when the kids were old enough to go to school, Casey said they couldn’t go, that they were to be educated at home. And when Synthea said no, said her kids needed to be with other kids, play in the sunshine, see the world as it really was, something happened that had never really happened before. Casey raised his voice. And not like people raised their voices in a heated argument. He started shouting at her like nobody ever had. Roaring about his kids, my kids, like suddenly they belonged only to him.
She fought hard. Day in, day out, Casey roaring at her about his kids and what was best, his own childishness turning to something monstrous. He had become a monster. A Versailles monster. And eventually she had to say yes, and her saying yes was the end. Not just of her love for him, but something else. Saying yes was the beginning of the end for Synthea. She’d look out of the window of her studio and the ocean seemed so far away, a tidal retreat independent of the moon’s influence. Versailles, Versailles. A fortress for his family, and everything they needed, right here. Versailles. House of a thousand cameras. Their every move recorded. Versailles as fortress, the choice of stone, walls within walls, the miles of cable and the levels of control. You can have anything you want, he’d tell his children. Like Disney World, but no Mickey Mouse.
But by the time the kids were old enough for junior high she had an idea. She thought of the worst thing and threatened Casey with it. She thought of the worst thing and told him she would do it if he didn’t let her kids go to school. She threatened him and he bowed to her threat.
He bowed but never let her forget. He thought of his own worst thing and threatened her with that every day. His punishment for the one time she got her way.
Something about Versailles. These rooms. At some point she’d lost her husband to this mansion, the man she fell in love with, so full of promises. Something about Versailles. These rooms. She imagined each one was an experiment, a locked test-chamber. And this bedroom was no different. This house. His family. They were all part of one big experiment, and only Casey knew why.
Synthea tries to open her eyes. She has to find her daughter, her little Missy. She can hear Leticia moving around her in the room, singing one of the lullabies she used to sing to the kids at bedtime.
Leticia draws the black curtains, those terrible black curtains, and now the room is dark, dark as night on a moonless night. But she will not leave her side. Leticia will sit here, in this comfy armchair beside the bed, and wait. So when Mrs Synthea wakes up she will be right here. Leticia has her phone. She will play games on her phone with the sound turned off. She likes the one with the falling jewels. Falling, falling, and Leticia must keep up or she will lose! She could play that one forever. She loves the sparkly animations, and the nice explosions when she’s doing really good. But she will not leave her side. When Synthea wakes up she will not be alone. First thing she sees. For Leticia knows, she feels deep, she understands. No one likes to be alone for too long, and Mrs Synthea has been alone for too long. She loves this woman sleeping here, quiet like a child underneath the beautiful sheets that are the color of pearls. And she hopes her dreams are only of good things, for all the badness in the world, let her dreams be good dreams, of white unicorns, big rainbows and colorful jewels everywhere, falling from the bright blue sky like candy, millions of them sparkling in the sunshine forever and ever.
33
We rejoin Missy where we left her last, fast asleep in the northbound trailer, Silas at the wheel out front, telling his son a story of the Cahuilla Indians, of an older boy who must climb a mountain and become a man.
Missy sleeps a dreamless sleep. What Missy doesn’t know is this: we always dream, only sometimes we forget. A memory as dream:
A trip into the country, she’s very young but she remembers now. Her whole family, Mom, Dad, River and her, all packed into their RV and on the open road. They’re going on another adventure and she’s out back with her brother, reading and playing video games and fighting and sleeping and eating snacks and looking out the window.
When they arrive they’re right in the mountains. A view of their city in the great distance, glittering and silent in the late afternoon sun. Missy says can they go play, she means inside the treeline, but Casey tells them to stay close, not to go out of sight or earshot. It’s Synthea, already collecting kindling for a fire, who tells them it’s okay to go a little further, just be back in time for dinner, and play nice.
Missy wants to see a bear, like the one she saw on TV. That would make her very happy. River wants to see a bear too, but he’s scared. Missy takes him by the hand and they stand inside the pine forest. They take a few steps forward, out of the sunlight.
They never see a bear. In real life, they find some sticks and have a sword-fight. Missy draws her brother’s blood and gets in trouble, but is still allowed to join in later when they sit around Synthea’s sparking fire toasting marshmallows.
In Missy’s dream things play out differently. She doesn’t see a bear but she does see something else.
In her dream she is suddenly alone and she sees a man, half-hidden behind a tree in the middle distance. Come out! she yells, the anger unexpected. The man comes out from behind the tree and . . . it looks like her dad, only older. It looks like it could be Casey but that’s impossible because Casey is back at their camp. Who are you? Missy says, and then the man is much closer, like he took a blink to close the distance. It’s Casey, her father, she can see that now, but he’s older, the age he’ll be when Missy is awake again. She’s never seen her father cry before, but she’s not scared. This is not a bad dream.
She sees he’s wearing a sword by his side. All his other clothes are like the ones he wears now – the hoodie, slacks and the white sneakers – but the belt holding the scabbard is from another time. It’s wide and made of leather, scorch-marked with intricate patterns, like ocean waves and lizard scales and human eyes without the iris or the pupil. But Missy isn’t scared, this isn’t a bad dream. Because this Casey isn’t scary, he’s sad. And when he unsheathes the sword she doesn’t flinch. And when he brings it horizontal she holds out both her hands, palms up. A ritual. Her father’s love so strong but when she looks up again he’s gone. And as Missy begins to wake she can feel the weight of it, her sword, her key to the future.
The ground was moving. Missy woke from a dreamless sleep in the comfortable armchair but everything was different. The ground, the walls, everything was moving. It took her several seconds to remember where she was, and several more to work out what was happening. The trailer park in the middle of nowhere. The boy with no name. The bunny rabbit with the red eyes. Silas. The bear in the dark woods. Scout Rose. Oh my God, Scout Rose giving an interview! But how? Why now? She tried to recall details. Deep sky. Something about a deep sky. But she couldn’t remember anything else. Just blackness. A dreamless sleep. It didn’t matter right now. They were on the move. The trailer was on the move, and she was in it. A new feeling . . . This was it. This is what it felt like to be in danger.
She leapt to her feet and moved to the window. It was nighttime outside, pitch black. How did she not wake up? Then she knew. The soda in the glass bottle. They must have put something in it. They must have put something in it and now they were moving at high speed along an expressway, away from anywhere she knew, the trailer park, her car, her car, the sword, her phone. Oh God, her sword! The phone she could replace but her beautiful sword . . . Missy’s confusion turned to panic and then anger in a split second. She screamed in frustration. Her instinct was to go for the door, but where was she gonna go? She had to think. She had to calm down and think.
part three
The Idea of North
34
Versailles vibrates inside the line of tall palm trees, its rain-slicked southern edifice illuminated by the silver moon, the sickening non-architecture of a fever dream, its gray foundations plunged deep into the shifting, bubbling marsh. Ver-sailles, USA. Palace to an American King, a man for his times. Casey Baer. His comma
nd our wish. Versailles. A family fortress. The choice of stone. Pentelic marble shipped here from Greece, pure white by night and glowing golden in the sun. The choice of stone, the choice of glass, glass that curves by degrees of greed. Versailles. All-consuming. Versailles vibrates inside the line of tall palms, no windows open just now, the towering, ocean-liner A/C stacks breathing out, only out, ever out into the vanishing world. Versailles, the ocean seems to say, Versailles.
Versailles vibrates, its oscillations widening with every passing hour, every passing day that Missy isn’t here, an exponential deepening of frequency that bears little rela-tionship to the goings-on inside its rooms and corridors, the activities of those human beings who . . . the activities of those human beings who are living here just now, their little hands and feet, their little mouths and deft articulations. The shiny buckles on their shoes, their painted faces. Their little hands and feet, like ceramic dolls, their delicate features reflected back at them in blank screens, so many screens, these mirrors reflecting back their delicately painted features again and again. The surveillance total. Versailles — Versailles.
A white fortress for his family. His wife and their dynamic, beautiful children. Missy & River Baer. His pride & joy. Versailles. The house where they grew up. Versailles as witness. So many memories. The miles and miles of cable, the choice of cameras, motion sensitive, the choice of lock, unbreakable. One hundred rooms and the majority are under lock and encrypted key. Will River find a way, will River flow again, between and around the many obstacles? One hundred rooms and only Casey knows. The goings-on. A secret combination, the choice of lock. The castle, the keep. His secrets safe for now, but will River find a way? Versailles as fortress, the choice of stone, walls within walls, the miles of cable and the levels of control. Missy missing now. Versailles as Mission Control. The view from space. The God angle. Cameras tracking Missy on her journey north, her final fantasy, following in Scout’s footsteps, the idea of north, the levels of control, what Casey doesn’t know.
What Casey doesn’t see: the fullness of her anger. What Casey doesn’t see is that his daughter stole the Twinkies. It was under his instruction but it was her who carried out the act. Her anger, her impulse, her choice – flying crocodile – her pulse, her path, the journey north, her north, wherever that may be. This newfound confidence. Character. Rebel before cause. What Casey doesn’t know will hurt him. The sheerness of this youth. A youth synthesized like none before, their mirrors reflecting back again and again. Her generation witnessed like no other, their every action reflected on the social networks, the internet as molten mirror, a primordial balm. Yes you are, yes you can. You are, you are, I am, I am. The determination of this youth. To be somebody. Like and unlike. A brand of monster. You, you, you, me, me, me. Acting up and out. The fuck out. Fuck yeah, fuck yes.
What Casey doesn’t know. His daughter’s anger. Her hate for him. A perfect thing, its edges softened to infinity. Her love of life. She wants to live. His daughter loves, has loved. Her youth, her future unfolding, dark to light, affect not effect. The boy at school. Such beauty in the world, the world beyond Versailles, the doors thrown open.
So much he doesn’t know, but this is Casey Baer, the most powerful man on the internet and he knows what we want, what Missy needs. She may be his daughter, but what she needs is to be taught a lesson. His birthday present: a final fantasy and it’s only just begun. This journey north. Her rite of passage. Her roller coaster rebellion. Destination: Deep Sky, America’s most enigmatic cult, the last people left on earth who can keep a secret.
What Casey did. Will Missy tell the tale? Realize her fate, break free? For now, the monitor lizard makes his way along another 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 some time. Just then he passes a white door. According to Versailles’ schematics, this is Room 57, the throne room. Let us enter, let us see. The white door. Locked yet unlocked. For who is Casey Baer if not a sum of his endeavors? He swipes for an update.
35
The texture of the road had changed, tarmac smooth to dirt track rough. For the first time in a while Missy wished she knew where she was, wished she had her phone so she could see herself as a blue dot on the map. Now and then the trailer went over a bump in the road and something fell off a shelf. Missy liked things to be tidy so she was on her feet picking things up and putting them back where they belonged. It was a losing battle, but it gave her a job to do. She looked at her watch. Ten p.m. Seven hours since she ate that omelet. There was a fridge with food and drink but she didn’t want to risk it.
Since waking up she’d had some time to think, and not being in control of where she was going next had made it difficult for her to focus on the future, so her thoughts had turned to the past, to all the things she was trying to escape. Her father’s betrayal had cast a shadow over Missy. Before that she’d been happy, happier than she’d ever been. The boy at school who asked her to prom and ended up in a headlock. Levon. River’s best friend. The only person at school she really cared about. The only one of them who felt real to her. Levon. Missy’s first love.
She told her parents he was her study partner. They’d shared their first kiss on the beach of the desert island in her bedroom, by the light of her tall palm tree lamp. The next day Missy told her mom she had a boyfriend. In a relationship. Levon. The boy at school who told her she was beautiful. He’d grown up in the city, in their school on scholarship. Between making-out in her room and actual study she would ask him endless questions about everything, the world outside, what it felt like to walk down the street, go to a concert with your friends, eat ice cream at an ice cream parlor, go walking with a dog, cross at traffic lights. She’d ask him if he’d ever seen someone sleeping rough, or witnessed a fight, or if he’d been mugged, seen a gun, bullets, murder, a murder scene, someone dead, a car crash, plane crash, train crash, funfair, zoo, bonfire, any kind of fire, what it felt like to sleep under the stars, drink water from a river, catch a fish, eat sushi from one of those moving belts with all the colored plates. All the colors in the world. She imagined it all looked so different, beyond Versailles, the tinted windows of the cars driving her to and from school. And Levon would do his best, tell her all his stories, his friends’ stories, their friends’ stories, all the things he’d seen so far, he’d show her photos on his phone, videos, try to explain, and when he couldn’t he would kiss her eyelids and her mouth, their kisses long, then smaller and smaller until she gave him one last one and asked him something new, and on and on. Levon, the boy at school who told her she was beautiful. Missy’s first love.
What Casey did after that had turned her world upside down and inside out. She stopped seeing Levon. She saw less of her friends, didn’t answer as many calls. That was in the spring. Then early summer, the link to the video, the sword, the instructions to head north, and the rest was now, here in this trailer with the disembodied cat’s head staring down at her from the wall.
They were slowing down. They were stopping. OMG, finally. Missy hadn’t spent all her time thinking about Levon. She’d planned for this moment, when Silas or the kid with no name opened the door to the trailer. She was ready for them. She held the giant paperweight in the shape of a brilliant diamond high above her head and waited. She heard a car door slam. Then another. Two sets of footsteps along the side of the trailer and coming to a standstill right outside.
Silas spoke. ‘Now, Missy, I know you must be pretty mad in there. It’s been a long day and you’ve been cooped up in this trailer all that time and for that I am truly sorry. I also know that you’re probably standing right by the door with a heavy object over your head more than ready to send it crashing down on mine. I’m going to hazard a guess it’s the oversized diamond paperweight from my desk. Good choice, but I myself am holding something in my two hands that might change your mind about how this is going to shake out. It’s not a gun if that’s what you’re thi
nking. We may have given you a little something to help you sleep, but we’re not violent people, are we, boy? No, Missy, I’m offering you a trade. Your sword for my diamond. How does that sound? Missy?’
Missy lowered the paperweight and held it against her belly. Her sword, her amazing sword, forged on the other side of the world. Her sword, her key to the future, whatever that may hold. All that time practicing on the beach back home, she’d formed an attachment to the sword like no other object she owned, and that included her phone. And it wasn’t a weapon to her, she didn’t see it that way. Missy was the least violent person ever. She could never use her sword to do harm, no, it was how it made her feel holding it. The shadow she cast, her long silhouette against the evening light. Wielding the sword brought her into the moment and beyond in a way that nothing else could. Her time alone on the beach had been precious, not thinking, just being, casting shapes in the evening light and losing herself. Losing yourself made finding yourself so much better! Her sword, her inspiration. And then Missy remembered! Scout’s interview! Had that really happened? Or was it just a dream? Was Scout really back? And from where? She wanted to check the internet so bad. But she didn’t have her phone, and besides, right now she was in negotiations with a giant biker and his nameless son over a hero sword forged on the other side of the world. She placed the diamond paperweight at her feet and opened the door to the trailer.
Silas looked ceremonial, the sword held out in his open palms and a smile on his big, bearded face. ‘It’s a splendid sword,’ he growled. ‘Whoever made this beauty knows their craft. You’ll be the envy of everybody at Deep Sky.’