by H. M. Jones
He cleared his throat, embarrassed. “Yeah, I think I can.” He clenched his eyes shut.
“Just concentrate on the memory. Think of how you felt and the change will come.” His eyes relaxed as a memory came to him.
Suddenly, Ishmael’s jacket and shirt crinkled and shifted. For a second, they were a blur upon a solid body, but were soon replaced by a sleeveless, torn black band t-shirt. His upper arm revealed a smiling skull tattoo, sitting on a “Mom” banner.
His jeans sagged more loosely around his frame and fell apart before her. They were covered in open holes and rips everywhere. One of the holes, on his upper thigh, revealed red boxer shorts. Her mouth dropped open as his hair fell down to his shoulders, splashes of scarlet highlights hiding among the dark blond.
A stud appeared beneath his lip, his short beard became a shadow of what it was, and a ring sat in his eyebrow. When he opened his eyes, they stood out against black eyeliner. He ran a hand through his very long hair, and she noticed his nails were painted red and black.
“Do we match?”
She nodded, grinning like a fool. “And what is this getup from?”
“I’d like to say this was a Halloween costume as well, but I’d be lying. This was my stage look. I was in a band for a while.”
Abigail scrutinized him, her heart thumping so loudly she was sure he heard it. “Let me guess. Metal?”
“Yeah, metal-ish.”
She stood closer and touched the stud under his lip, surprised it was real. “I didn’t notice your piercing here.”
He gazed her at her, eyes intense. “My facial hair covers it.”
She touched the “mom” tattoo on his bicep, and he shivered under her touch. “This was there, too?”
He nodded, not taking his serious eyes from her. “What do you think?”
She ran a strand of his red highlights over her finger. “I like metal.”
She was glad he couldn’t know where her thoughts tended, the vision of a pile of discarded torn clothes mingling on the floor. Thank God he couldn’t know she’d have fallen madly in love with him, if she’d met him when they were younger. She’d never been one for the clean cut boys at her church, much to the dismay of her parents. She was always bored by their cream-colored sameness, even if they were nice boys. But many of them weren’t nice, and they were boring. The combination was not favorable.
Ishmael scanned her face with his eyes and sent her thoughts tumbling back down. Abigail leaned from him, but he put his hand on the small of her back and kissed her lightly on the mouth, testing the reception, a dainty taste of her lips. Her body grew weak and fluttery, but she backed away from him, shrugged out of his grasp, and averted her eyes.
She walked a few feet from him, touched her mouth as if it were foreign to her, and started towards the path that rumbled up out of the tinny grass when Ishmael led her out of the bar. She heard him walking behind her and she knew she’d not hid her reaction to his outfit well. She felt absurd, light-headed and a little angry, but with him or herself, she wasn’t sure. She walked with a new determination to get home. Ishmael strolled beside her, keeping the pace she set.
*
A few miles outside of Steamtown, Ishmael slowed his step. The air was chilled, the threat of Nightmares stirring in the nip. Abigail felt fear flutter her stomach, but tried not to show it. She knew they were expected, even sought out, and she wasn’t sure whether their makeshift disguises would confuse their trackers, or just draw attention to them. They were, after all, still themselves, though garish versions. She was happy to be leaving the woods before the fog came, but she wasn’t happy to be leaving the danger of the forest for the danger of the city.
Ishmael must’ve been thinking the same thing because he leaned against a metallic tree on the outskirts of Steamtown, and lit a cigarette, his hands shaking. “We might want to decide what we’re going to do now. You know, in case we get split up or whatever.” His hands might’ve been shaking, but his voice and eyes betrayed no other sign of fear.
She didn’t want to think about them being split apart or what “whatever” meant. She could offer little in the way of a plan. She knew they needed to stay somewhere and Steamtown was the best option, but she had no other notion of what to expect or how to prepare.
She hadn’t talked to him during their walk, too confused and upset by his kiss. She was no longer angry, just frustrated. It wasn’t like she hadn’t been drooling over him. I’m a mess. Why didn’t I just look away from him? But she knew why. Why couldn’t he be a little less hot and a lot less easy to get along with? Fate hated her.
She decided to break her silence, pretending the kiss didn’t happen. It was the only option that felt right at the moment. “Well, I guess we should decide where we’re going to stay for the night and when we’re going to leave.”
He exhaled, smoke circling above him in creeping tendrils. “Yeah. I was thinking about lodging. We’ll want to stay away from Inns, and the like. Eric probably has a number of people stationed throughout town. I know someone in the area. He might be willing to let us stay in his shop. I hadn’t mentioned it before now because I was trying to think of something less risky, but I think he’s the best option we have.”
She noted the reluctance in his voice. “Can we trust him?”
He rubbed his face with his free hand. “I think so. I mean, no one really makes close friends around here. It’s the nature of the place. Everyone here is desperate and desperate people are untrustworthy. But I feel like he’s a good man, deep down. I frequent his shop and have some positive history with him.”
Abigail raised an eyebrow. “Positive history?”
He held out his hand in a so-so gesture. “He was a Lead of mine.”
“But he stayed here?”
“Yes, but he doesn’t blame me. He was two Leads before you. He chose to stay immediately, so I aided him in finding a position.”
Ishmael took a drag from his cigarette then continued: “He didn’t want to be in my trade, he refused a lot of jobs early on, so we headed to Steamtown to see what kind of positions were available. Steamtown is pretty big, so it’s the best option for people searching for general work. I knew the guy who ran the shop he now runs. I figured he might need help with stocking, buying, or something. We had good timing. Bart took him on right away. Acted like I was a saint to bring him along. John, that’s the guy who runs the shop now, said a week later Bart left and never came back.”
Abigail’s blood ran cold. “Another suicide?”
Ishmael hesitated then tossed his cigarette down and stomped on it. “Don’t know. Bart didn’t seem too bad off. He was a pleasant guy. John asked around and heard from one of the Merchants who supply his store that he saw Bart headed out of town, towards the border. Maybe he changed his mind about life. We’ll never know, though, seeing as there are many ways to disappear in this place and the least likely way is to leave.”
Her heart felt light with hope, but she didn’t want to tell Ishmael she felt like Bart made it. He would call her naive. So she kept the spark of hope to herself and asked, “Is it really that tough to find the border on your own? I mean, from here?”
Ishmael thought for a while. “It can be. But that’s not what makes it difficult for people to get out of here. To make it to the border, a person has to have faith they can make it out. People lose self-worth so easily. Gaining it, though, is close to impossible in Reality, let alone this place.”
Abigail nodded in agreement. Already, her soul felt burdened, her body tired, her head a jumble of incomplete memories. She still held most of her most treasured memories, but those taken from her took their toll. Her life seemed less significant. She felt unaccomplished and broken, and was unable to remember feeling differently. But she still clung to the most beautiful memories. She closed her eyes to enjoy her daughter’s tiny crooked smile, and hear her bell laugh. She pictured the curve of Jason’s shoulders and the feeling of his always warm body against hers. She had so man
y memories left, and she wanted to keep them. She lived a blessed life. How many people came in so much worse off from the start, only to lose their few good memories early on?
Ishmael cut into her reverie. “Also, you have to know the way to the border, and one can only do that by having lived here long enough to know their way around, or by being guided. Both options will cost you memories, and, as you know, the more memories you lose, the more time you spend here, stripped of your happiness and drive, the less likely it is you’ll leave.”
Abigail frowned. Ishmael talked about staying as an inevitability. His own circumstance wasn’t far from his mind. She wondered for the thousandth time why he stayed, what he gave up and who missed him at home.
“Anyway, I think John’s trustworthy. I got him a position and didn’t ask too much in return. Just help with food and shelter. But, people change quickly around here. It’ll still be a gamble.”
Abigail rubbed warmth into her arms. “I think it might be the best option. I agree an Inn or Hotel is a bad idea. As long as you don’t think Eric will connect the Lead to you.”
Ishmael punted a few black pebbles, scattering them into the stagnant, blue-tinted landscape. “I can’t be sure, but I’m almost positive Eric does not know of my relationship with John. John didn’t want to leave, and he was happy with my help. He would’ve been a hard sell as a Snake, anyway. Not enough anger. I do think it’s a good option, probably the best one.”
She sighed, relieved the decision was made, but worried for the outcome. “Okay. That’s settled. Where is this place?”
He seemed to be opening a map in his mind, and reading it out to her. “East side of town. A few blocks from the main square. Two miles from the edge of town, approximately. We should leave first thing in the morning, when the fog clears. We don’t want to stick around if we don’t have to. The border isn’t very far from Steamtown, so we should make good time after we leave.”
Abigail felt hope settle under her skin, and flow through her veins. She wasn’t far now. They just needed to make it through tonight. “Should we head in?”
Ishmael scanned the sky. “Yes. Soon. But, first, we have to discuss what you should do if we get split up.”
Abigail shifted nervously, but he continued as if he didn’t notice. “If, for any reason, I have to leave you or you have to leave me, we meet at John’s shop. It’s called Steamtown Storehouse. It’s a two-story brick building with green shutters. Like I said, it’s off the main square, which is right in the middle of town.”
She nodded and tucked the information into her head. He ran a hand through his long, red-tinted hair. “If I’m taken or delayed any longer than a day I want you to promise me something.” She frowned and said nothing, not liking the way the conversation was going.
“Promise me you’ll head straight out of town. You will walk north. There’s a river a few miles north of here. If you follow the river, it will take you within a mile of the border. Walk a little northwest and you’ll reach the border. You’ll cross the border without me, if we’re separated for longer than a day. Promise me.” He leaned towards her with a no-nonsense set to his face. Abigail gritted her teeth, and said nothing for a while.
Ishmael made to speak again, but Abigail held up her hand. “I’ll promise only if you promise to cross with me if we do not get separated, or after me if we do. You cross or I don’t promise.”
“I don’t know if I can after all this time, Abby.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Then I don’t promise.”
He stared at her long enough to make her uncomfortable before answering. “I promise to try to cross with you or after you.”
She let her hands drop to her side. “I promise to try to reach the border if you’re delayed.”
“Okay then. Are you ready for Steamtown?”
She was certain she was not ready for Steamtown, but she said only, “Lead on.”
CHAPTER 12:
Steamtown
STEAMTOWN HAD GUARDS stationed at the main entrance, and all other entrances. Groups of people were walking through the entrance, both in and out of the city. The guards scanned the people carefully, but didn’t seem to be detaining anyone. This was the only policing they’d run into, and Abigail was nervous the guards were summoned on their account.
Ishmael was nervous, too. He rubbed the ring below his lip and frowned. He walked closer to her and whispered, “Guards aren’t necessarily unusual, but there’s often only one, and only when the crowds going in or out of Monochrome are thick, for whatever reason, or if they’re after someone.”
His eyes scanned Abigail. “We have to act casual. We’re coming to Steamtown for work, got it?” She nodded and put her shaking hands in her tight costume pockets.
As they got closer, it was clear the man and woman at the gate weren’t usually guards. Both were skinny and sick-looking. Their eyes were set far back into their heads, and their hands and legs were constantly moving, as if they had their own free will.
These guards were users. She didn’t use drugs, but it was obvious they were on something, and were probably having temporary withdraws. The strangest thing about the sickly couple was their complexion.
When the fading silver light hit them, the skin around their noses seemed to shine like brushed nickel. Indeed, their entire skin held a sheen when seen in a certain light, but the silver was most prominent around their noses.
Suffering as they were, their black eyes scanned the crowd, as focused as withdrawn drug addicts can be. Ishmael walked in front of Abigail, head down, eyes on his feet. She followed suit, and nearly bumped into him when the male guard stopped him by putting a shaking hand on his chest. Ishmael brushed the guard’s hand off.
“What, man?” Ishmael swung his long hair back in irritation.
The man stepped in front of Ishmael and put his hands up in a defensive posture. “Just need to know your business here. It’s what I’m getting paid for, see.”
Ishmael lit a cigarette. “Why you stopping us when you haven’t stopped anyone else? Far as I can see, you aren’t very thorough.”
The man gestured to the woman who was already making her way over. She crinkled up her eyes and lips, revealing missing teeth. She focused her attention on Abigail who glared in a manner she hoped was intimidating or at least fitting of her new look.
The man held out a hand to Ishmael. “Can I bum a smoke?”
Ishmael shrugged. “Depends. You gonna let us through so we can find some work?”
The man kept his hand extended. “We’re supposed to stop men and women who seem to be together. Lookin’ for a different type, though, right Shell?”
The woman with few teeth spit. “That’s right.”
She scrutinized Abigail. “What kind of work you after?”
Abigail shrugged and refused to answer. The woman spit again and addressed her anew. “There’s a whore house on Red Street. Classy kind. Clean.”
Abigail kept her anger in check and answered, “Thanks, but I have other skills.” The lady looked incredulous but shrugged.
Ishmael dug two cigarettes out of his pack and handed them to the male guard. “One for the lady.”
The woman flashed her toothless smile, and held out her hand towards her partner. “Thanks, handsome.”
Ishmael nodded and moved forward. The male guard moved to the side and let them pass, eying her intently as she followed Ishmael through. Abigail kept herself from exhaling in relief as they walked past the guards.
They walked into a drab city of brick and cobblestone. The noise of people shuffling carts with wares and food, weakly calling out to uninterested pedestrians, and the slow footsteps of hundreds of plodding people could only be defined as lackluster. The street before her was crowded, but it was filled with listless people, many of whom walked around muttering to themselves. The only voices were the monotone drones of the vendors who called out to the shuffling crowds.
As they moved their way through the slow crow
ds, she saw a woman with short mousy hair arguing with herself and kicking the brick of the trading post in front of her. “No, Cheryl! No. It didn’t happen that way. They were blue eyes. Yes, blue eyes. And she left you because…because…because…” The woman punched the wall in frustration. Unaware of the blood running down her knuckles, she went back to arguing with herself.
Ishmael tugged at Abigail’s arm. She hadn’t realized she stopped walking to stare at the woman. She continued walking and he whispered, “That’s what happens when you lose too many memories. There are a lot of those types in Steamtown. It’s so close to the border. Too many people stop here, telling themselves they’ll move on, and lose their mind feeding their addictions. There’s so much to lose memories on in a big city like this.”
She felt like crying, but swallowed her tears. “What street is this shop on, anyway?
Ishmael looked highly amused. “You already know. The woman by the gate mentioned it.”
She bristled. “You have got to be kidding me! John’s shop is a brothel?”
“No. John’s shop is below a brothel. Red Street Brothel, to be specific. The female guard was right; they’d take you in a heartbeat.”
Abigail punched Ishmael in the arm, which didn’t remove his smile, but did, she noticed with satisfaction, cause him to rub the spot vigorously. “It’s not funny, Ishmael! It’s horrible it’s so common here.”
“We all choose some sort of soul-draining pursuit here.”
She just shook her head, deciding not to get into an argument just now. She didn’t want to have to explain to him it was different for women. When women were desperate they were expected to debase themselves, and so many of them did. Men weren’t expected to give their bodies to strangers in order to feed, clothe and house themselves. They weren’t seen as walking sexual prey. He’d never understand, so she held her tongue, thinking if he’d ever been attacked, his body treated as a steak needing tenderizing, or lived his life on the tips of his toes, poised to flee from a smile that could turn to a sneer, he’d think before joking so casually about the women of Red Street Brothel.