by Brian Byrne
Aileen stepped closer. “But you’re not ready to do that yet.”
Still, Marty didn’t move. “But by the time I’m ready, Victor might be dead.”
“That’s a chance I’m willing to take.”
“Well I’m not. Lissa? Come on, we need to go.”
“Wha?” she mumbled.
“You’re coming with me. Right now.” Aileen tried to grab Marty’s arm but he batted her hand away.
“No, I’m not. Lissa?”
Slowly, Lissa sat up. “What happened? Victor? The flowers, they’re…” Her eyes opened wide. “I’m outside. Why am I outside? And my neck, it’s—” She spotted Aileen again and leaped to her feet. “What did you do to me?!”
“Do to you? Thanks to me you won’t be needing those roses anymore.”
Marty looked at Lissa. “This woman is really bad news. We need to go.” To his surprise she nodded; then again, the woman had just stabbed her in the neck.
But Aileen wouldn’t listen. “Don’t you understand? If you die, this entire side of the mirror dies with you. That is a mistake I simply refuse to let you make.”
“Look Aileen,” Marty said, his voice raised. “I’ve survived two near misses in the last two days. I think I can make it through a couple more.”
The woman tried to grab him again but before she could Lissa stepped between them and planted her fist directly into her neck. Aileen stumbled sideways, her eyes wide in shock. “How—how dare you, you little… I saved your life!”
“Oh, that’s not for saving me. That’s for the needle. It hurt like hell.” She turned around and without a second look behind her strolled up the street. “Come on Marty,” she said. “Let’s go.”
“That was…excellent,” Marty said when he caught up to her.
“Yeah, well, she deserved it,” Lissa said coldly, but he was sure he saw traces of a smirk.
As they were turning the corner Marty took one last look at Aileen. She was standing in the same spot with her hand over her neck. She looked mesmerised, so much so that she didn’t seem to notice the sparks flying off the buildings in her direction. Marty had a feeling nobody, not even Agley, had stood up to her before, and wondered what she’d do when she finally came to.
*
“He’s not here,” Marty was finally forced to admit. They’d spent the best part of an hour walking up and down the river bank staring into the writhing bodies below. “I don’t get it. Where else could they have taken him?”
“If they’d thrown him down there he’d still be alive,” Lissa said. “He’s resourceful like that.”
As they made their way back into town Marty felt like he was splitting in two all over again. On the one hand he was relieved that Victor hadn’t ended up in that disgusting pit of death. But it also meant he was still out there. Marty didn’t know which was more unbearable: not knowing where Victor was or knowing he might be able to save him if he did.
Lissa, who was walking a little ahead of him as usual, stopped dead. “That’s weird. Do you hear that?”
“I do, actually,” Marty answered.
They’d almost made it back into town but for some reason the groaning hadn’t faded out like it usually did.
He looked back in the direction of the river. “It did look fuller than last time. Maybe the strangers have been catching more people lately.”
Lissa half nodded, half shook her head. “Maybe, only it sounds sort of…different. It sounds like they’re roaring, not groaning.”
For several long seconds they just stood there listening. Marty was about to recommend they move on when a woman appeared at the opposite end of the street.
“You!” she screeched.
“Maggie Botch,” Marty whispered. If it wasn’t for the trolley he might not have recognised her: it was barely a couple of days since he’d first seen her but she was a lot thinner and her skin was grey as ash.
“Mrs. Botch?” he called out a little warily. “What are you doing?”
“It’s you!” she screeched again, pushing the trolley towards them. “You’re the one he wants.”
Behind them he heard another yell; this time, it was none other than Bermuda Uncle. Like everyone else lately she was staring at him like she wanted him to die.
“Come on!” Marty yelled, running for an alleyway halfway down the street. He’d nearly reached it when a plump man with a shiny bald head stepped out of it: Mr. Gregorson. Had the entire town turned against him?
“He’s pulling out all the stops,” said the shop manager’s reflection. “It’s about time, I think.”
All around, the roaring was getting louder. In his mind’s eye Marty saw all of them cornering him and eating him alive.
“Are you still sure you can survive almost dying again?!” Lissa said.
“Of course!” He tried sounding brave but only half succeeded. “This way!” He ran directly into Mrs. Botch, grabbing the end of her trolley and shoving it back into her. She toppled off her feet and they bolted around her and turned onto the next street. There were people here, too: appearing around corners, out of open doors; even jumping down from windows.
“We need a safe house,” Marty gasped. “Somewhere we can hide for a while.”
Lissa looked at him. “I might know of a place. This way.”
They ran through New Town then along Queen Street, the wide road that parted it from Old Town. Gradually more and more people started chasing them. They were weak, which meant they were slow, but there were lots of them, and before very long Marty and Lissa had a large mob on their tail. It was like there’d been a zombie apocalypse and they were the very last ones left uninfected. It didn’t matter that they were immune to the disease; they could still be torn to pieces like that man in the river.
They ran up a steep hill, crawled under a fence and found themselves in the back garden of a huge white mansion. As they were running around to the front Marty realised where Lissa had led him.
“Mount Rich? Really?”
Aptly so, Mount Rich was one of the most well-off parts of town. The houses here were grossly oversized, with dozens of large windows with shutters that were never actually used and massive front doors made of solid oak. The only people who could afford to live here were rich men who were never at home and their gold-digging, twenty-something, soon-to-be-divorcee wives.
Lissa had brought him to the biggest one on the street. If he remembered right this was the town mayor’s house back at home. Lissa fished inside a post box with a large number six on the front, retrieved a key, led the way inside and hit the lights.
A gigantic chandelier hung from the ceiling and was reflected in a vast marble floor. There was a seating area to either side, and at the back of the room, through a set of double doors, a gigantic stone staircase. The place had an air of abandonment: everything was covered in a hefty layer of dust and cobwebs. But that didn’t make it look any less brilliant.
“Are you sure we’ll be safe here?” Marty said, his mouth gaping.
“See for yourself.” Lissa pointed through the window into the street outside. Marty went closer and was startled to see a large gathering of people at the bottom of the hill. Like the strangers, an invisible barrier was keeping them from going any further.
“They’ll never go anywhere the strangers have already been,” Lissa explained. “No matter how tainted they become, they’ll always be scared of them.”
“This is unbelievable!” Marty felt like jumping up and down. He would have, too, if all the running hadn’t reopened his wound. “How did you know about this place? And about the key?”
Lissa didn’t answer. He turned around to see where she’d gone and saw her sitting in one of the seating areas staring at her feet. There it was again: the same sad expression she’d had earlier that day at Sam’s.
“Lissa?”
“Hmm?” She looked like she was lost in some sort of trance. For a full minute he watched her, unsure of what else he should say. He
was wondering if it might be a good idea to sit down next to her when she picked herself up and walked towards the staircase, dragging her feet as she went.
*
Marty never slept so soundly. After Lissa left him he had explored the rest of the house. Downstairs he found the kitchen, two whole sitting rooms, a bathroom and a study. He couldn’t believe how extravagant everything was. He wondered if the version on his side of the mirror looked so amazing. Then there was the first floor: six bedrooms, each at least three times the size of his one at home. Seeing bed after bed made him incredibly sleepy so he’d fallen into the next one he came across.
Marty turned on the bedside lamp and took his first proper look at the bedroom. He’d taken his much needed sleep in a huge four poster bed with the softest sheets imaginable. The wall across from him was lined with dozens of rolls of cotton in an assortment of colours and patterns, and in the middle of the room a sewing machine had half sewed a pair of jeans together.
His stomach rumbled, but for the first time he was looking forward to having something to eat. It made sense that a house this fancy would be bursting with equally fancy food. He just hoped at least some of it hadn’t gone off.
Marty sat up slowly, flinching as he waited for the burning sensation to flare up on his chest. But it never did. Frowning, he looked down. The cut was gone. Thinking perhaps his t-shirt was hiding it he pulled it up. In the spot where the giant gash had been was a faint scar. He looked like the victim of a cat attack, not a stabbing. Confused, he raised his hand to his nose and prodded it, but it didn’t budge.
Was this one of the abilities Aileen had talked about? How come it was only working now? Marty had gotten hurt a fair few times over the past few months (mostly as a result of climbing in or out of increasingly precarious hiding places) but his body had never healed itself so fast. He understood the advantage of being immune to the dark and the strangers, but this was the first time he could actually do something. It felt good. Really good.
Lissa was sitting at the kitchen table.
“Look at this!” Marty announced as he walked towards her with his shirt lifted. “I can heal myself. Heal myself! How cool is that?!”
Marty didn’t know what sort of reaction he expected but he did expect a reaction. Lissa didn’t even blink. She was staring at the wall and looked as depressed as ever.
“Uh, do you want to talk or something?” Marty said. It felt odd being civil with her. Lissa said nothing so he shrugged and headed for the fridge. He opened it and his stomach growled: it was empty. Panicking a little, he opened the cupboard next to it, but that was barren too. One by one he opened each of the cupboards, feeling more and more nauseous until finally he had to hold onto the thick marble counter to remain upright.
Marty never had to worry about food. His dad did the shopping every Saturday morning like clockwork. And while the food at the Rose wasn’t exactly fine dining it seemed to satisfy his stomach. It was only now, with his body weak and no food in sight, that the prospect of having to go without it presented itself. And it scared him.
“Lissa,” he said, carefully letting go of his support, “Do you know where Victor used to get his food?” He waited but she didn’t respond. “Lissa? Come on, this is important.”
“They’re gone,” she said finally.
“What? Who’s gone?” She ignored him again. “Look, I’m going to find some food. You can stay here, all right?”
He walked to the front of the house and peered through the window. From the looks of it most of the crowd had dispersed since he’d gone to bed. A few stragglers remained; they were staring unblinkingly at the house and despite the darkness Marty had a feeling they could see him. He remembered what Lissa had said and felt a little happier. They couldn’t come any closer. The only way they could get him was if he left Mount Rich, and he had absolutely no intention of doing that.
Marty played it safe, using the back door and hopping the fence into the neighbour’s back garden. Even though this house looked as abandoned as everywhere else he still felt bad for breaking into it, and wanted to create as little damage as possible. He tried the door but it was locked, so he was forced to use harsher measures: a collection of jagged rocks he found at the far end of the garden. As he chucked them through the patio door he felt like he was going a step too far, to a place he’d never be able to come back from. But he needed to do this. If not he’d starve, and Lissa, Victor and everyone else here would perish along with him.
Marty stepped inside and started gagging. The entire kitchen reeked with the combined stench of several dairy products. Sure enough, the fridge door was wide open, and the food inside didn’t so much resemble food as it did giant chunks of mould. He pinched his nose and hurriedly opened each of the cupboards, but they were just as barren as the ones in number six. There was a similar situation in the next house. Marty didn’t even need to break into the one after that: looking inside, he saw that every single cupboard door had been opened and their contents cleared out. As he went from house to house he kept telling his rumbling stomach he’d find something in the next one. But he didn’t, and very quickly his hope of finding anything remotely edible began to diminish. By the time he reached the end of the street all he wanted to do was go back to sleep.
Hunger, Marty soon realised, is without a doubt the worst feeling in the world. It’s not just the empty feeling in your stomach. That’s probably the easiest thing to deal with. What’s really tough is the weakness, the tiredness, the inability to think about anything but food.
The following day didn’t fare much better. Marty’s stomach had given up growling, obviously coming to terms with the fact that he wouldn’t be feeding it. Having searched the entirety of Mount Rich, his only choice now was to venture further, but there was an obvious problem with that idea. After scouring one of the bedrooms he found a hoodie and tried using it as a disguise, but by the time he’d made it halfway down the hill a large mob had somehow built up at the bottom again. He tried running left and right, back and forth across the neighbouring yards, but every time they followed him. And it wasn’t like he could outrun them. Not anymore anyway.
On the way back inside he saw himself in one of the windows and jumped backwards, his heart tight in his chest. Despite all his sleep he looked like he hadn’t slept at all. There were dark shadows under his eyes and his skin was paler than ever. If he didn’t know better he’d have thought he was becoming tainted. Then again, maybe he was. He didn’t understand the extent of his abilities yet. Maybe it just happened more slowly for him? Maybe in a few days he’d wake up on the side of the road, or start walking around in circles doing all he could to keep the dark away?
Lissa was no help at all. Every time he tried talking to her she either ignored him or said something along the lines of what she’d said earlier. The hunger didn’t seem to be affecting her as much, but she wasn’t the one wasting her energy looking for food.
He spent the entire third day in bed. But he couldn’t sleep. He was tired, but restless, and by that evening had become so sick of lying down he went outside and started walking up and down the street again and again. It was getting to the point where he was considering walking down the hill and letting the reflections have him: at least then he wouldn’t have to feel so terrible anymore.
He was turning at the bottom of the street for what must have been the thousandth time when he saw him. A man, dressed in maroon clothes, was standing a little ways up Mount Rich, just beyond the barrier everyone else was stuck behind. Marty couldn’t begin to understand why he’d followed him. They had crossed paths what felt like a very long time ago, but their meeting was so insignificant he had almost entirely forgotten about it. The best idea he could come up with was that he was working for Richard Mortimus, but even that idea had its flaws. Why would Mortimus employ someone to spy for him? Hadn’t he proven, just a little while ago, that he wasn’t the insidious type? Mortimus was much stronger than Marty. If he wanted him dead so
badly he’d storm up here and kill him. But he hadn’t. Which meant one of two things: either Richard Mortimus had changed his tactics, or the man in maroon wasn’t working for Richard Mortimus after all.
Marty didn’t know what to do. Should he approach him? Should he go back inside? He barely had the energy to do either. But just then the man made the decision for him, turning away and vanishing into the growing crowd of reflections.
When Marty returned to the house he found Lissa sitting at the foot of the staircase.
“Look,” he said, “I know you’re not talking to me, but I just saw the strangest—”
“This is your fault,” she interrupted, looking him in the eyes for the first time in days.
“What? What is?”
Lissa stood up. “If you hadn’t come back with Victor that time none of this would have happened. I’d still be living in The White Rose and he’d still be there. The roses would be there. And everyone in Violetville wouldn’t be about to become tainted.”
Marty felt something exploding deep inside of him. “That’s funny. I seem to remember you being more interested in running Victor’s business than helping the people in this town.”
“At least I didn’t ruin their lives! Victor is set to begin his rounds tomorrow. Tomorrow. What’s everyone going to do when he doesn’t show up? Their flowers will wilt and they’ll all become tainted. And thanks to that horrible woman I’ll be the only person who doesn’t. Everyone else will go insane, and I’ll be left here to deal with you, the very person who started all of this!”
“Didn’t you hear what Aileen said?! I could be the person who saves us all! Me! I could save you!”
“The keyword being ‘could’. Did you honestly believe what she said?!”
“I can heal things. I saw it with my own eyes. See?!” He lifted his t-shirt again.
“The only thing you can heal is you. You think you’re some sort of hero but the only person you can help is yourself. What good is that?”
“I’m still trying to figure this out! I need more time!”
“More time? Tell that to the people who start going crazy in the next few days. Or to the ones who have already gone crazy. Aileen was right. You’re not ready for this in the slightest.”