Monochrome

by H. M. Jones

  Ishmael was poised to kiss her, his face filled with longing, but Abigail put a finger to his lips. She breathed unevenly and felt very bad for being disappointed to hear herself say, “I know if I kiss you I won’t be able to stop. And I can’t be with you like that, Ishmael. Not ever.”

  The eagerness in his eyes faded, but he kissed her finger. “I can’t do much in this condition, anyway. It wasn’t my intention to have sex. I just wanted to” he grinned shyly, “take care of you.” Abigail blushed and flung her head back on her pillow.

  She turned his wounded hand over and checked his bandage to collect herself. “I’m sorry. More than you’ll ever know.”

  “I know you want me, maybe as much as I want you. I’m patient.” Abigail bit back tears and said nothing. She wouldn’t let him get this close to her again.

  He rubbed his hands against his short beard. “It is frustrating, though.”

  She frowned, feeling guilty for putting them both in this situation. “I know. I just…can’t. I don’t remember doing so, but I know I’m married, happily married. To a man I don’t deserve.”

  He kissed her cheek. “You’re a much stronger person than I. And I am sure he doesn’t deserve you. Then again, neither do I, and, if I could have you, I would take you.”

  Abigail patted the back of his hand. “Don’t say that.”

  “It’s true.”

  She was just frustrated and lonely and he wanted her in a way sweet and passionate and new. She needed to get out of this place. The more she forgot, the easier it was to give in. She’d already allowed herself to get closer than she intended.

  She wasn’t certain of much, but she was fairly certain Jason couldn’t forgive her if she cheated on him. Ishmael wanted to be with her, to experience life with her, but she wasn’t sure if that meant he’d cross the border. To be sure, she knew she’d have to give him all of her, and that was something she couldn’t do, even if the memories of her husband were broken and incomplete.

  “Just tell me something.” His face grew serious and angry. “Did Eric…I don’t know what I was thinking. Of course you don’t want anyone to touch you.” His voice fell in despair. “I should’ve done more. If he did what I think he came to do, it’s my fault.”

  She sat up. “No. He didn’t. It was his intention to…rape me.” Her voice shook and tears filled her eyes. She could say it. She had to. If she kept silent, fear won. “He said he wanted to ‘make me feel good.’ He pretended he was going to do me a favor. He’s a disgusting coward.”

  She paused and wiped angry tears from her eyes. “But even if he did, it wouldn’t have been your fault. Or mine. The only fault is with the sick piece of shit who commits the act. They want you to blame yourself, but I won’t, and neither should you.”

  She composed her breathing before adding, “But I kept two of his memories. I thought, in the least, they’d buy me time, like when I gave Geoff a memory, but they ended up being very potent. They knocked him out cold. I stole his keys and found you hurt and disoriented. You probably suffered more than I did.”

  “Just because he didn’t rape you? Abby, don’t be a saint. The shit that piles up, fills our heads until we’re only good for loathing, and distrust is more deadly than any knife and you know it.”

  Her mind itched with his words. She felt like she was made of equal parts fear and anger. Already, she was attacked twice. How many more times did she have to defend herself? What would happen when she wasn’t lucky enough to get away? If you could call not getting raped lucky…there was still that remainder: the unwanted touch, the abuse of words that snuck under her skin. No, she didn’t feel lucky.

  “Does it happen often here?” she asked, her throat tight.

  Ishmael’s voice was a tidal wave. “Yes. Too many lonely people with no concern for life, their own or other’s. So many sick fucking people.”

  She patted his hand and he whispered, “Yasmin. The girl in the kitchen. She stays with me sometimes because she’s afraid of being alone. At first, we did nothing. I didn’t want to take advantage of her fear, and she’s such a sad person. But she wants to be with me every once in a while, mostly because I’d never force her. I never even asked. But I’m lonely and she’s lonely, and we both need it sometimes. She’s terrified of Eric. And, though she never said it, I’m guessing it’s because he’s hurt her before.”

  “I understand that,” she choked out.

  Ishmael kissed her hand, and the ghosts of his lips made her skin tingle. “With you it would be different.”

  She said nothing. How was it different? They were two, desperate people, who wanted comfort, who wanted to feel appreciated, and who forgot what it felt like to be loved. Betrayal piled on the top of all this guilt might sink her. She couldn’t hurt Jason anymore.

  Her desire for Ishmael was already eating away at her. She knew giving herself to Ishmael would comfort him. And it was sure to be momentarily wonderful, but that wasn’t enough. It would end up being another regret, to pile to her growing list of regrets. Coming to Monochrome brought one good thing, at least. It brought her certainty. She knew what she wanted.

  She wanted life. She wanted her family. She wanted to deserve them. “I have to go home now, Ishmael.”

  Ishmael was surprised as Abigail rose, releasing herself from his grasp, crossed to the sink in the bathroom and washed her face. He rose from the bed and watched in silence as she closed her eyes and imagined wearing Fall-yellow corduroys, a warm red and grey-striped cardigan over a white long-sleeved shirt, and comfortable dark brown slip-on shoes. She frowned at him, standing dejectedly by the door of the bathroom.

  He stared over her shoulder, at something unseen, beyond this sad Hotel in the outskirts of this depressed city. Maybe he stared at the scene that could’ve been, if she were a slightly different version of herself.

  “You know I can’t stay,” she whispered, not eager to disrupt his vision.

  He closed his eyes. “I know. We should go. I’ll get ready.”

  Getting ready was easier said than done, though. Ishmael was still badly hurt. But they eventually slipped out of the cheap Hotel, and headed towards the surrounding woods, which, after their earlier trek, were fairly close.

  Once in the woods, they were able to move less cautiously and spoke above a whisper. Here, they were able to hear if they were being followed. The eerie quiet resounded with their steps.

  Abigail was unsure if they were followed. After all, they gave their payments. But she also insulted the boss and Eric. She felt as if she’d teased a rabid hound that carried her scent. No, she would see them again.

  What was worse, she felt she was very near her breaking point. Monochrome was winning. Abigail had almost no energy. She was impossibly hungry. And she was so emotionally drained that she felt every step took a will of tremendous proportions.

  She said none of this to Ishmael, who was worse off physically, at least. Neither of them carried the energy or desire to exchange words let alone watch for any dangers they might encounter. So they simply leaned into each other, walking in slow progress, towards different goals.

  *

  They were about a half-hour out of Steamtown, when plumes of colorful smoke rising in the distance caught Abigail’s attention. The steam twisted into the still air, coloring it purple, pink, blue, yellow, and gold in turn. Abigail stopped walking to gaze at the steam.

  Her heart raced as she asked, “Is that the Plant?”

  Ishmael nodded in the affirmative, and put his hand on her arm. “Let’s go, Abby, we have a long walk if you want to make it to the border today.”

  She kept her eyes fixed on the plumes of smoke. “I think I want to take a detour.”

  The words left her body without even being processed by her mind. Her heart called out to the colorful plumes, and would not be quieted.

  She’d been thinking about what Geoff said about her memories being transferred to a Plant employee, and, try as she might, she couldn’t keep from searching
the colorful skies for the precious lost memories of her father and husband.

  She strained to recall her father, even little glimpses, and came up empty-handed apart from phone calls and birthday cards, and Jason was a sweet stranger. If her memories were within reach, she must get them and rebuild her life.

  But Ishmael shook his head vigorously and stepped into her path. “No. Abby, we can’t go to the Plant. It’s too dangerous, heavily guarded, and there’s nowhere to stay in-between.”

  He saw the determination in her black eyes, but he tried again. “Even if we made it in, which we won’t, it will take us the rest of the day to get there. We’ll have to sleep in the open, and Monochrome calls Nightmares to the Plant. They roam freely near the Plant, keeping people from doing just what you want to do. Abby, I cannot take you there.”

  She stepped around him. “I’m not telling you to. Tell me how to get there. You can wait close by and I’ll come back afterwards.” She knew it was a weak, crazy plan, but an intense yearning dragged at her body, calling her to the Plant.

  Ishmael put his hand in his pocket and pulled out his cigarettes and lighter. He put a cigarette in his mouth and lit it before answering, “They’re pulling at you. I know. I feel it every time I go to the Manor. My best memories sing to me. I know how strong it can be. But it’s not possible to make it out of the Plant with your memories. I can’t let you go.”

  Abigail walked around him. “You can’t stop me. Not without hurting me, and you won’t do that.

  He cursed, kicking a rock from the path as she left it, and followed her. “Well, I won’t let you go by yourself, so you can drop that idea.”

  She twisted away from him. “No. I don’t want you to come.” She was trying to be mean, so he’d be too hurt to follow, but her voice was scared and unconvincing. Besides, he was as stubborn as she.

  He rolled his eyes and exhaled smoke. “Yeah right. I’m coming.” He limped ahead of her, leading the way.

  She picked up her pace until she was even with him and grabbed his hand. “Thank you.”

  When he looked at her his black eyes were full of fear. Why am I doing this to him? To the man I just rescued from danger.

  But even as sense sneaked into her mind, the tugging grew in intensity. A soft voice, deep and familiar called her name from far away. “Abs, I miss you, Abs. I won’t be around forever. Come see me.” Over and over. It said the same awful thing.

  I’m coming, Daddy. Awful but wonderful, the voice she thought she’d never hear again led her on.

  Ishmael squeezed her hand and smoked his cigarette. He led her towards the voice, knowing she’d have to be physically forced away from the pull in order to move on. And he wasn’t about to fight a ninja. It’ll be easier when she sees it is not possible to penetrate the Plant. He’d convince her to go back, then.

  If he were being completely honest, however, the longer she strayed from the border, the longer she stayed by his side. He hated himself for wanting her to stand in hell and suffer with him, but she made suffering so much sweeter.

  *

  The forest around the Plant was close. The silver light too weak to penetrate the tall steely trees. To add to the difficulty of getting through the dense, dark forest, there was also a spattering of thorn bushes snagging their clothes and skin in the clustered parts. The roses on the bushes were ink-black, and the thorns stabbed through skin as easily as needles. Abigail cringed when the tiny blades stuck through her long sleeves and prodded her still fresh wounds.

  By the time Ishmael stopped in a very small clearing, they both looked as though they’d lost a battle with a dozen cacti. Ishmael was limping painfully, and her grey scarf, secured around his wound, was wet with blood.

  “This is gonna have to be good enough for the night. I’m not sure there’s another clearing, though I’m unfamiliar with this area. I’ll get some sticks for a fire.” He gathered firewood not far from the clearing, limping on his bad leg.

  Abigail cringed to see him move so painfully. “Don’t overdo it, Ishmael. I can gather some wood by the river. I know we’re close. I can hear it. Though I can’t figure out how there’s a river. Does it rain here?”

  “You’ve been lucky. It usually rains all the time here. Black clouds, freezing, heavy rain.”

  She shivered. She was getting cold, which meant night was approaching. “I’ll be quick. I’ll get some water and some more wood.”

  She didn’t have to walk far at all before she reached a fiercely rolling river. She grimaced, the smell of decay stinging her nose. Geoff was right. There was no beauty in the ferocity of the river, only fear. As far as it stretched, Abigail saw only white caps. Her heart leaped in fear of the rushing waves. This close, the sound of crashing water was almost deafening. She very carefully knelt on the wet ground by the river and closed her eyes.

  She brought up a memory of a 5k she recently participated in, in which she received a bag-like belt water bottle. She needed the memory to work, and was surprised the water belt was latched around her waist when she opened her eyes.

  She felt proud of her cleverness and took the large water bag from the belt, dipping the opened top into the rolling river. It was a silicon material, and made for warming. The 5k was a survivalist obstacle course, so the bag was able to be held over fire and heated.

  She was pretty impressed when she received it then, but she was thrilled about it now. They needed water to drink, and Ishmael’s wound should be cleaned. This would serve for both. She stood on the slick ground and, for a terrifying moment, lost her footing. She stumbled forward, her heart dropping to her stomach.

  The water was inches from her when a hand grabbed her shirt and pulled her to safety. She spun around to see Ishmael, wide-eyed and sitting on the wet ground behind her, grimacing and shifting his hurt leg. He must’ve lost his balance saving her.

  “I can’t swim.” Her heart was still pounding against her chest and her breath was quick. Her mind kept sending her flashes of brown water settled just above her hands, searching for her uncle, who didn’t see her drop off into the water until her lungs filled with muddy liquid.

  “I almost drowned when I was little. Since then, I’ve been too afraid to learn to swim. You just saved me from my worst nightmare.”

  Ishmael’s chest heaved. “It’s very slick here. I forgot to warn you. I was coming to warn you. I’m just happy I got to you first. I mean, once you go in…”

  Her hands shaking, she walked over to help him up. He said nothing more, but shook his head and untwisted his leg, his whole body trembling.

  Fear racing through her veins, she admitted, “I guess this sounds stupid after all we’ve been through, but this is the most scared I’ve been.”

  Ishmael didn’t answer, but finished unwrapping the scarf from his torn sweats. She gasped.

  His leg was a mess. The blood was black and dirty. There was no doubt from the look and smell that the wound was infected. He closed his eyes, reeling dizzily from the nauseous waves rolling his stomach. She quickly took charge.

  “Keep your eyes closed. I got it.”

  She took the scarf and the bloodied hand towel to the river and wet it with hands shaking so vigorously she almost lost the scarf twice. She rinsed them in spite of the rushing waves, and brought them to Ishmael. When the water touched her hands, waves of anxiety rolled through her, as if the very water were liquid fear.

  She cleaned his wound of blood, and noticed, with dismay, that it was filled with pus. “I’ve got to clean this out better, Ishmael. It’s going to hurt.”

  He clenched his eyes and nodded briskly. She rinsed the towel in the river once again, and came back to him. He grunted in pain as she squeezed the wound, urging the infection out, her stomach churning and her eyes filling with sympathetic tears.

  She was torturing him and she knew it, but she continued to clean and rid the wound of pus until the blood from it ran red, free of the black-green of infection. She rinsed the towel again, and covered the clean wo
und with it, securing it with her rinsed scarf.

  “Think of different pants, Ishmael. Clean ones,” she ordered him.

  He unclenched his eyes, and they fluttered under his eyelids as he brought something different to mind. It was clear he struggled doing what Abigail did so easily, maybe because he contained fewer memories, or because he was more inhibited. Either way, it took a while before his pants shifted. It was amazing to watch from the outside. The cloth didn’t vanish, as much as morph from grey sweats to black thermal pants.

  He opened his eyes and let out a huge, broken sigh. “Let’s get back to camp. I found enough wood.” Abigail stood and helped Ishmael to stand. He winced, but walked more easily.

  “Thank you for checking up on me. You saved me. Again.”

  “We’re even.”

  She kissed him on the cheek and put her arm in his to steady him. It was getting cold and the shared warmth was nice. “I’m so sorry. I have to try, Ishmael. I can hear him. I want them back…” Tears stung her eyes.

  He stopped and turned her towards him. He pulled her into a hug and rested his chin on her head. “I know. I hear my memories, too, when they’re close, which is why I stay away from Cognition Manor as much as possible. Because I can’t get them back. Not without losing my life, or whatever this living is…”

  Abigail looked up tearfully, grateful for his understanding and sacrifice. She found Ishmael’s lips waiting for hers. He kissed her like it was ritual. And she gladly received it. His lips tasted like a stroll in the sun. The kiss wasn’t deep, it wasn’t long. It was sweet, reassuring and short, and it made her heart soar and break at the same time. I can’t love you, but I do.

  She shivered. “I’m cold.”

  He walked her to the clearing. He built a fire expertly, the blue flames weren’t very warm, but they were large. “The fog doesn’t like the light, nor the little heat emitted. Nightmares come when the fog rolls in. It might just keep us safe, even if it doesn’t keep us warm.” His voice was tense and strained. He poked the fire with a large twig to distribute the sticks evenly.