by S. D. Perry
17
ELI WAS GETTING THE HANG OF THE PLACE. HE KNEW HOW TO GET TO all the common areas and a few less common ones, knew what time the cafeteria actually had hot coffee, knew how to hide extra food and avoid getting caught out at it. Though he’d never been there himself—the inmates in his ward were considered “docile”—he knew all about the rooms downstairs where the therapies took place; electrical shock and insulin, mostly, though there was an experimental hydrotherapy room, too. He knew most of the staff, although they rarely spoke to him, and was at least on nodding terms with everyone he saw on a daily basis. After only a few months—or was it just two?—he felt he understood a lot about the way Riverdale worked. But though he spent a large part of his time with Benny Russell, had probably grown as close to him as he’d been to any man in his life, there was something about Benny that defied understanding. The point was driven home one afternoon, not long after their conversation in the cafeteria, about Pria.
It was a drab autumn day, the halls reflecting pale light from outside, most of the inmates in the main common room, listening to a Cubs game on the radio. Eli went looking for Benny during a news-break (Hurricane Hilda had killed two hundred in Mexico, the president of Argentina had resigned and fled, and gasoline was expected to jump to thirty cents a gallon), curious as to why his friend hadn’t been around since the first inning; Ernie Banks was on the verge of breaking a grand-slam record.
After checking the cafeteria and the smaller common room, Eli headed for arts and crafts, a closet, really, crammed with reams of cheap paper and soft pencils and a bin of clay that always smelled vaguely of mold. There were a number of drawings pinned to the walls there that Benny seemed especially to enjoy, a whole series of outer-space scenes, with rockets and ringed planets and vast, floating buildings hanging in star-speckled darkness. Eli had found Benny sitting there more than once, staring at the slightly crumpled space-station picture, the station itself somehow rounded and angular at once.
As Eli was rounding the corner just before the art room, he heard voices coming from inside. He stopped, heard Benny speaking—and a second later, a response from somebody else in the room, a woman. Eli hung back, not wanting to interrupt, not sure if he should come back later . . . and then he recognized Samuel-the-orderly’s voice asking a question, and was suddenly too interested to leave.
“But if you recognize your basic aloneness, your individuality of thought, of what import are the relationships?” Samuel asked, his voice strangely monotone. “The comforts do not last.”
The woman spoke again. “Is it the memories? Do they provide the same comfort as the communication and time spent with the other?” It sounded like Nurse Lauren, but her voice, too, was unemotional, almost hostile in its complete blankness.
“Not the same,” Benny said. “But yes, there is comfort in the memories. Even in unhappy ones. Remember what I said about familiarity?”
At least he sounds like himself, Eli thought. But what was he doing?
Benny was answered by a soft whisper. Monotone or no, it could only be Shiloh, the young man with the knotted hair. “There’s comfort in familiarity. In not-change.”
“Because . . .” Benny urged.
“Because change is difficult,” Shiloh said. “As with letting go of anything, a memory, a relationship . . . even the bad seems better than the nothingness that might take its place. We know this.”
“That’s right,” Benny said, and Eli could hear a smile in his voice. “We know this.”
So, Benny was having a philosophical discussion with the staff, so what? There was no reason to be unnerved by it, no reason that Eli should feel his palms go sweaty, or his breath short. No reason at all that he should be concerned, to hear the nurses and orderlies and doctors asking Benny questions about feelings and memories as though only Benny could explain.
But who always seems to lead the therapy groups? Who helps all the inmates, when they’re feeling low? And who’s the one man who has made any real effort at getting to know me since I got here?
Who’s really running this place?
Eli retreated from the corner, then turned and hurried back the way he’d come, back to the common room and the ballgame. Ernie Banks ended up hitting a record fifth grand slam of the season, only the day after Willie Mays had tied Joe Adcock for homers at Ebbets Field—an amazing week for baseball lovers, to be sure—but even as several of the inmates danced around the radio, laughing, clapping each other across the back, Eli’s thoughts were elsewhere. It seemed he wasn’t sure about much of anything anymore.
* * *
There was a knock at the front door. Frowning, Kas excused herself and went to answer; it seemed late for a visit, though she supposed it might be one of her neighbors, checking in; they were about due. She might have ignored it earlier, but the intense conversation between her and her two female guests was winding down anyway, Keiko having talked out the bulk of what she’d needed to talk out.
Jake and Joseph had taken the children on a star watching expedition, complete with blankets and telescope and mugs of warm chocolate drink, all of it spread out on the back field some twenty meters from the house. Judith had suggested it—rather forcibly, actually—after their return from the market. With Miles gone and Keiko obviously wanting to talk about it, Kas had also urged the boys to distract the children for a while; Jake and Joseph, while perfectly capable of forming reasonable opinions and suggesting reasonable options, were men. Kas didn’t know if that was sexist or not, but she firmly believed that there were conversations which didn’t need a male perspective.
It’s not sexist if it goes both ways, she thought idly, glancing at the timepiece on the wall as she shuffled down the front hall. Or maybe it was, she wasn’t sure, didn’t care. Keiko was struggling with career issues, as Kas had many times, as Judith had . . . and for Keiko, balancing those issues with family was proving difficult. It had been a valuable conversation for Kas. She wanted to return to work at some point, but hadn’t yet decided when, wasn’t sure how long she would need or want to bond with her new baby. It was hard not to wish . . .
No wishing, she told herself firmly, not for the first time. It was too easy to start worrying about what she didn’t have. There were too many blessings in her life to start thinking that way; just having Ben’s family around her . . . Talking about him, earlier, on her walk with Joseph and Judith, there had been a few tears, but she felt supported in a way she hadn’t expected. It was good that they’d come. A little tiring, maybe, but then again, everything was a little tiring, lately.
She opened the door, saw a handful of Bajoran monks standing outside, rumpled and dusty. She recognized them as the group that had been camping just off the property, greeted them with a slightly puzzled smile.
“Yes? What can I do for you?”
The man in front, silver-haired and grinning, held up what appeared to be a Bajoran phaser. The others were armed, too, and the leader trained the small, deadly weapon on her belly. His eyes seemed black as night. “You can let us in.”
Kas backed away from the door, opening her mouth to scream, to tell the others to get out, get the children—but she could hear Jake, now, angry and defiant, could hear Joseph cursing somewhere out in the darkness of the yard.
Terrorists. The assassination.
She grasped on to the fleeting thoughts as the men filed inside, one of them grabbing her arm roughly. Judith and Keiko were calling out, now, cries of shock and anger and fear, as Kas closed her eyes, praying with all her heart that they were being taken hostage.
* * *
The sounds from outside were far away, for a time, distant and erratic. It took some time for them to seep into Opaka’s consciousness as she meditated, and even then, she successfully ignored them for a while. The warm, liquid light of the Tear bathed the room in radiance, soothing her spirit, relaxing her into the deepest of trances. It wasn’t until the door to the meditation chamber actually opened that she forced herself to return
from the ethereal, to draw away from the inner dance and address the firmer realities of outside.
A woman, a prylar, there in the doorway. The same who had denied her access to the Orb chamber . . . and with her, the two monks who had brought up the Orb that now filled the meditation room with its brilliance, reflecting from the bowed face of Elias Vaughn. Vaughn’s eyes were barely open, his mouth slack, his arms at his sides as he took in whatever the Prophets had to share with him.
Opaka started to draw to her feet, alarmed at the terrible breach of privacy of such an intrusion. It wasn’t right for a number of reasons, not the least of which being the commander’s emotional safety—an emergency, it had to be, and she was already chiding herself for urging Vaughn to seek, she’d felt the tension in the air, had known that something wasn’t right—
“We don’t need him,” the prylar said, her voice cool and clear as she stepped to one side, as one of the monks pointed something at Vaughn. There was a flash of light even brighter than that of the Orb, but only for an instant—
—and Vaughn was knocked aside like a child’s doll, limp and rolling, his eyes like dull beads as he crashed to the floor. The other monk had come in, was closing the doors to the ark, shutting away the Orb’s power. The reflection of light left Vaughn’s face like life itself.
“No,” Opaka breathed in horror, rushing forward, falling to her knees. She reached the fallen commander and touched him with trembling hands, felt for his pagh as she studied him for wounds. A nasty, burnt and bloody gouge across his upper left shoulder—but he was alive, she felt the strength of his life force tingling in her fingers. Alive but not present.
“Put the artifact back with the others,” the prylar said, though Opaka barely heard her, didn’t look up as the monks carried it away.
Vaughn’s eyes remained empty, and though his heart beat on, pumping blood through his injury in pulsing, steady spurts, though he breathed, he also remained with the Prophets.
Oh, no, no. They would do what They could for him, surely, but without its spirit, how long could his body live on, a wounded, empty shell?
The prylar smiled at Opaka as the monks lifted the ark, carrying it away, as Opaka began ripping at the ceremonial garb she wore, making clumsy bandages while she silently asked the Prophets to watch over them all.
18
RURI SCREAMED, COLLAPSED. PRIA WAS CRYING SOMEWHERE IN THE dark, a sound that epitomized pain, that sank into his mind with steely fingers, gripping him, forcing him to hear.
Eli?
Confusion, there was blood and such horrifying, overwhelming guilt—and he sat up, barely holding back a shout, sat up to the cool stillness of a room, big, he couldn’t see . . . .
“Eli, are you all right?”
The shape next to his bed, a deeper shadow. Benny’s voice, warm and calm and concerned, a gentle hand touching his shoulder. Eli took a deep, trembling breath and blew it out, the dream still fresh in his mind, in his heart.
“I’m—fine,” he stammered, but it came out weak. Pathetic, you’re pathetic, murdered your wife and now you can’t, won’t take responsibility—
“Stop it,” Benny said, his voice sharp and clear and too loud. Eli started, anxiously looking around in the darkness, waiting to hear the murmured, sleepy protests of the other men . . . and why was Benny here? He didn’t sleep in the common room, he had his own room. Didn’t he?
And what am I supposed to stop?
“You think you killed her,” Benny said. “That’s what.”
That was too strange to think about. It was late, Eli was confused, and Benny wasn’t supposed to be at his bedside, especially not if he’s going to read your mind.
“What—why are you here?” he asked, keeping his voice low. He didn’t hear the night noises he had grown used to, the snores and sniffles, the rustlings of sleep . . . and as his eyes started to settle into the dark, he saw that the cots around his were empty, that he and Benny were alone.
“What’s going on?” he asked, feeling a stab of real worry. “What’s wrong?”
“Some things are happening, outside,” Benny said mildly. “Though really—what do you care?”
Eli blinked, sat up straighter. He ran his hand over his beard, rubbed at his eyes.
“What do I—”
Benny continued on. “I mean, you don’t live here, isn’t that right? You live in there. You stay in there.”
He reached out and tapped Eli on the side of the head. Eli could see that Benny wore a slight half smile, could see moonlight reflecting from the white of his teeth, from the shine of his eyes.
“Where is everyone?” Eli asked. He could hear thunder rumbling outside, a faraway sound.
Benny stood up from his crouch, sat on the edge of the cot next to Eli’s. It was where Leo was supposed to be, shifting his bulk restlessly through the night, snoring to beat the band. Benny turned on the small lamp between the two beds, throwing the room into dim reality. Definitely empty. Even the guard’s cage, down at the end.
“Don’t worry about everyone else,” Benny said. “I know you have questions, a lot of them, but I’m going to ask you to trust me, just for a little while, okay?”
“But—”
“Do you trust me? Can you trust me?” Benny’s kind, caring face, that half smile.
Eli nodded.
“Good,” Benny said, sitting back slightly, resting his hands on his knees. “Listen good, now. I thought we’d have more time here, but circumstances have changed, and we need to get some things cleared up, you understand?”
No, Eli thought, but nodded again.
“This will be hard for you to believe, but I need you to believe it, just for a short time,” Benny said. “Everyone is gone. They were called away, all right?”
“But not us,” Eli said. He still felt confused, more than ever, but somehow not as worried. Benny had a way of making things seem . . . possible. That wasn’t the right word, but it was as close as he could get.
“That’s right, not us,” Benny said. “Because it’s time for us to go our own way . . . time for you to go back to your life, and me . . .” Benny’s smile grew. “I’ve got places to be, myself. But for that to happen, you have to trust me, to accept what I’m telling you, even if it seems . . . well, crazy. And you have to make a decision.”
Eli looked into Benny’s dark, kind eyes and waited.
“The place we are now, this place—it’s a place created by sickness, in a way,” Benny said. “Created by emptiness, really, by lack of understanding. It’s not a bad place, but it’s not a real place, either.”
Eli shook his head. “I don’t understand.”
“That’s all right,” Benny said. “That’ll come later, maybe. For me, this place has been about learning and teaching. It’s only one of the places I am . . . . That probably doesn’t make much sense, but never mind, that’s the way it is, sometimes. Things don’t always make sense, do they?”
At last, something Eli could agree with. “No, they don’t.”
“I’ve stayed here because of the people, you could say,” Benny said, his gaze thoughtful. “Representations. Aspects of character, of thought . . . but I’m getting off topic. I’m here to help, do you believe that?”
Thinking of all that he’d seen, of how everyone reacted to Benny, how he reacted, even now, Eli nodded. He heard thunder again, distant, but closer than before.
“And you’re here because you think you killed your wife,” Benny said.
That familiar cold metal in his gut, the rising ache. He’d never said it to Benny, never admitted it aloud. “I did kill her,” Eli said, his voice dry in his mouth.
“You think you did,” Benny said.
Eli felt a flash of irritation. What was all this, anyway? “No, I don’t think I did, I did it. I killed Ruri.”
“You think it,” Benny said, patiently. “You live it, again and again, by keeping it in your mind.”
Eli frowned, feeling agitated now, angry. “So? I ke
ep it in my mind. I feel bad about it, I . . . I deserve to be punished.”
“And as long as you believe that, you will stay here. If things were stable, outside, that might be all right, at least for a while longer. I wish you had more time . . . but things are speeding up, now.”
Benny’s smile was brilliant. “Time is moving,” he added, dreamily, almost to himself, before refocusing on Eli.
“You think you deserve to stay in the pain, to repeat it,” he said. “You think that you murdered your wife, and lost your relationship with your daughter because of it.”
To have it laid out so casually, so matter-of-fact . . . Eli felt the heaviness in his belly rise into his throat, choking him as he nodded. “Yes.”
Benny reached forward and took his hand, looking into his eyes. “I know what it is, to stay in pain,” he said. “You think it’s beyond your control, that you don’t have a choice . . . but you can decide to let it go. Because here’s the thing—even if it’s true, even if you actually murdered her, it doesn’t matter anymore. Whatever happened, it’s the past, now. For you, this place—” Benny glanced around at the dim, empty room. “—is like a cage of the past. It’s a trap. And you can leave it behind. You can—you must—choose to set yourself free.”
Tears trickled from his eyes, he couldn’t help it, no longer cared. He felt desperate, felt he was being offered some impossible dream. “How? How?”
“By understanding time,” Benny said. “By knowing the truth. You already know it, most people know it, but they let themselves forget. They hang on to the pain because it’s familiar, because to let it go might mean having to change. It’s easier to keep the pain than to ask the questions, to find out why you think what you think, to question why you do the things you do. Nobody wants that, nobody wants to tear themselves down, rebuild from the beginning, only to have to do it again, and again. But the nature of time, for beings like you and me—it has to be about movement. It has to be a process, not a goal. There is no goal.”