by Martin Kee
…and into confusion. The yelling voices faded behind her as she stepped in-between life and death. She wiped at the lens again as the shadows flickered and shifted in front of her. She could feel the pressure on her eyes, her ears, crushing her as though she were resting on the ocean floor. Faces fell past her as people tumbled from their bodies like hail into the afterlife.
She reached up to a lens and gave the ring a turn, feeling it click beneath her hand. The view became only marginally better. There were moments where she could see, while other times she would get a strange double vision that made her sick.
But she wasn’t going for perfect, not here. It was good enough to navigate with.
She stood in a photo negative of the alleyway. Barriers arose like jagged ramparts where the light from lamps met concrete. Other shadows shifted and spun like dervish swords as the police lights threw beams across her world, forming solid swirling gates. They swished by with deadly grace.
Skyla could now only observe the world from the shadows. Soon the sun would rise and even those would shrivel. She felt something wet on her neck and put a hand up to feel blood coming from her ear.
Through deeper layers she saw the wide flat asylum on its island, a massive black gate in front. Her aunt was there, safe in her asylum of denial. There the dead, fed and warmed, did not care. They went about their endgame, safe in the knowledge that it couldn’t get any worse.
Skyla hesitated, looking at that refuge. It would be so easy to just tear the goggles off now, let the atoms all snap back around her. She would probably melt into a wall, or a street. Maybe a hand would come off in someone’s house. She could let go now and join her mother, her aunt, the only family she ever had. She could be safe.
But what about Scribble? Her own conscience, taunting her.
A murderer.
And Gil?
She’s dead. Even thinking the words made her feel sick.
Is she? You didn’t see her body. You didn’t see Scribble’s either. And what about the Reverend?
What about him?
The ground shifted under her feet and she knelt down, placing a hand there. In the train yard of her hometown she had learned to tell when a train was approaching. You could feel it on the tracks, the steel singing. She could feel that now. Something big was approaching.
As she turned, a creature the size of a moose barreled down on her, its eight legs scuttling in rhythm. It rushed past, missing her head by inches, vanishing into the nearby wilderness of the in-between.
Other shapes moved in the distance, racing along surfaces and planes. They ran across mountains and hills, swam through lakes and rivers, all moving in the same direction. Moving away from something. In fact, the ground was sliding, the migration so dense and vast. The floor rumbled beneath her feet as the stampeding shapes leapt, crawled, ran, flew, and swam, like animals fleeing a forest fire.
Where are they all going?
But then she saw it, an immense shape rising over the horizon, a tangled shambling mass of tendrils and hooks. It moved over the landscape with the inexorable drift of a rushing fog bank, its belly pulling it along with a billion tiny legs.
At its base were people, the victims of the explosion, so small they might have been ants fleeing a tidal wave. Some fell before it, swept up by tongues the size of trees. They pulled the writhing newcomers into gaping mouths that looked far too human with far too many teeth. Eyes and hands, feet and orifices all rolled over the landscape as the juggernaut lunged forward, devouring everything.
She knew it was distant—miles away from her, miles away from the asylum. Space and time meant little here and the creature may as well have been on the other side of the world. This knowledge still didn’t stop her feet from tripping over each other as she scrambled away.
Eyes, the size of airships, opened and closed, rolling up and back in their sockets as the abomination slid hungrily along the ground. At its base, she saw a tiny figure of a running man, just barely maintaining distance as the wall of flesh rolled down behind him. Occasionally he would turn his head, on his face the resignation of a condemned man, as a hook caught him in the back, tripping him up. He fell forward as a jellyfish stomach lowered, engulfing him.
I’m trapped, she thought. I can’t stay in Rhinewall. And I can’t get to my aunt with that in the way.
“SKY-la,” croaked a voice at her feet.
She looked down and saw Connor. He was white in death, a black spot between his shoulders. He looked up at her and winked.
“What do I do?”
“Go back.”
“I can’t,” she said. In the horizon she could see the massive wave of limbs rolling through the valleys. A small glass box rode atop it. Inside was a man too far away to recognize.
“Go baaaaaack,” Connor said again. “Run!”
She turned and saw Melissa’s room, the glowing scar spreading across that wall. It looked as though it wanted to burst.
The massive wall of flesh veered her direction. An eye opened. It rolled up from the ground, saw her and widened, the pupil dilating excitedly against a sea of blue, blue the color of a summer’s sky.
Skyla turned away from it and ran.
Chapter 33
Bollingbrook
DONA WAS BORED to tears. She yawned, covering her mouth and nodding off, until Victoria’s voice jerked her awake again.
“So, I saw Beth the other day. I think she got herself a new tailor. Did you hear her father got fired? I think he was drinking and the other lawyers found out.”
Dona’s head twitched and she looked up. “Hm? No, I didn’t hear that.”
“It’s sad really,” said Victoria. She curled a lock of her hair with her finger in the dark. Shadows crisscrossed her face as she held Dona in her gaze. “Don’t you think that’s sad?”
For a week now they had been coming to the Montegut house. Originally Dona decided that she would give it a week. Now, after the same inane conversations, she was beginning to rethink that decision. Last night was What-Sort-Of -Tree-Would-You-Be night. Dona said “Oak” only because it was the first that came to her mind. The night before that had been astrology signs, which Victoria giggled about because it was so frowned upon by the Church. Dona discovered she was a Taurus.
Then there was the gossip. She had thought the twerp was a gossipmonger, but Victoria put even the twerp to shame.
“And did you know that William Ericson is going to be at the Farmer’s Ball this year?” Victoria said. “I heard that he’s really grown into his chin at last.”
“Has he…”
Victoria nodded. “He said he might ask me to dance this time, but I don’t think he’s quit working for his father’s fish mongering business yet. I do hope he doesn’t smell of trout again. Are junior managers even supposed to touch the fish? The last time I had a hard time even maintaining a smile. It’s a real challenge to be ladylike around some of the boys in this city.”
“The best Bollingbrook has to offer,” said Dona with a sigh.
“Well it’s easy for you to say. You’ve got Tom.”
Dona looked at her. Victoria was smirking.
“Yes, I do have Tom…” Dona said.
“Where has your Tom been lately?” Victoria asked, tilting her head to one side. It was a pose better suited for a stage than an abandoned house.
“I’m not sure,” Dona said.
She wouldn’t admit it, but she was worried. Rumors circulated over the mayor’s health. Some said he was dead, others said assassination. Whatever it was, the mayoral office was being silent on the matter for days.
“I imagine he’s preoccupied with work.” Dona shrugged.
“Oh, I can only imagine. He really hasn’t contacted you?”
Dona could feel Vicky’s eyes on her. “No. No, he hasn’t.”
“Hmm,” Victoria said. “How odd.”
Dona shifted her weight on the hard mat. They were spending these nights like squatters, talking by candlelight, reading the t
errible books Victoria brought, playing Victoria’s petty games. Now the books were all read, sitting in a pile against the wall, the games all played.
“I don’t think she’s going to show up,” said Dona. “I don’t think the twerp even took the note.”
“You saw her.”
“I was… I don’t know, maybe I was just confused, tired... Maybe it wasn’t even her. Maybe it was some hobo using this house as a shelter.”
“I hardly think you could mistake Skyla for a hobo. Don’t doubt yourself,” Victoria settled back into the couch, her hand going into her pocket. Dona had a feeling she knew what it was. Nobody held a grudge like Victoria. “We both read the note. She’ll be back.”
“And then what?” Dona said. “I’m starting to wonder why I’m even doing this.”
“Because you forget what she did to us,” said Vicky, her voice going cold. “You forgot what she said to you, how she humiliated you in front of everyone—whether it was true or not. I certainly haven’t forgotten what she did to me.”
Dona watched as Victoria ran her tongue over those false teeth.
“Or forgiven her for it,” Dona said.
Victoria didn’t look at her. She huffed. “It’s easy for you, Dona. You have someone. You know who you are and what you want... You have friends.”
“You have friends.”
Victoria shrugged. “I wouldn’t call archbishop Boroughs a friend. I have coworkers. I have duties.” She waved a hand. “I have associates. I used to have my smile.”
“You still do.”
There was that shrug again, a half-laugh. “I used to have you.” Victoria wiped her cheek with the flash of a hand.
“Vicky, what have we been doing the last week? I’ve spent every night staying here with you. I’ve been playing games, reading books, sharing the nastiest rumors.”
“No,” Vicky snapped. “I’ve been spending it with you. You’d be here whether I was or not. And even though I am here with you, you are somewhere else, even now. My involvement is secondary to your obsession.”
“I’m not obsessed,” Dona said, hearing her own voice rise. “In fact I’m starting to not even care if she shows up at all.”
“Really?” Vicky shot her a pointed look. “Let’s count the hours we’ve spent in this dump waiting for a ghost, waiting for that girl to appear as if it will happen by magic. She’s probably already seen us and fled for good.”
“If you don’t like it, you’re free to leave.”
“Maybe I will.” Victoria crossed her arms.
They sat in uneasy silence before Dona said, “Well, someone wrote that letter.”
Dona thought she saw something else on Victoria’s face. Guilt? Fear? The look was gone before Dona could decide.
“Well, I’m tired of waiting,” Victoria said, standing up and stretching. “I thought maybe we could have some fun, maybe play like we used to, but I have to report to the archbishop in the morning so—”
An explosion rattled the windows. She stood and looked outside, staring into the night. She could feel Victoria standing beside her.
“Was that the funeral cannon?” Victoria asked.
Dona thought about it a minute. She had only heard the cannon fired once, and that was when she was very little, to signify the death of one of the city’s eldest parliamentary members. Hearing it again, now, with everything going on, could only mean one thing.
“I guess it was,” Dona said. “I… I guess the mayor is dead.”
Dona thought of Tom. Did he know already? Was he somehow involved? As she looked out into the night, she saw shutters being pulled aside, people staring out their windows. A woman wailed into the streets. The death of an official was one thing, but a sitting mayor… Dona couldn’t even imagine what this meant for the city.
She almost didn’t notice the noise from upstairs. It was Victoria who grabbed her arm.
“Did you hear that?” she said.
“Hear what?” Dona said, turning to face the darkened house.
“Upstairs.” Victoria looked as though she had just won a pony. She looked at Dona with wide excited eyes. “Let’s find out.” She pulled on Dona’s arm, but she didn’t move.
“What if it really is her?” asked Dona, her voice now a whisper. “What are you planning to do? And eye for an eye? A tooth for your teeth?”
The orange light through the window painted Victoria’s face in sallow tones, rendering her sickly and ghoulish. Dona blanched a bit at the small-toothed smile, the hint of wire bracing.
“I’m going to do something that we should have done years ago,” said Victoria.
Dona remembered that day, the last day they saw the twerp. The image of the girl was still fresh in her mind, the way she had been pushed back against the fence, slipping for traction. She seemed so vulnerable until she opened her mouth, spouting the worst things you could ever hear. It wasn’t so much the language the twerp used; it was the fact that everything she said was completely true.
“Where did he hit you this time? Was it in the ribs again? Long sleeved shirts suit you. Did he make you sit on his lap again? Did he hold your wrists too tight?”
It was only after Dona had slapped the twerp that she shut up. It wasn’t even out of anger, more like a person trying to stomp out a sudden flaring fire. Then the other girls were staring at her when they should have been focused on the twerp. She remembered how hot her cheeks felt.
But now she didn’t even feel the anger anymore. The thought of finishing a two or three year vendetta seemed not only childish, but unnecessary. There was the letter, cruel as it was. That ignited a bit of the old anger, but not enough for this. And even if the twerp had been throwing taunts, she certainly didn’t sound like she was in any position to back them up, poor and homeless. If she had to be honest about it, Dona just felt tired.
And she knew what Vicky had in her pocket.
“You already have new teeth,” she said, looking for some admission of guilt in her friend’s face. What she saw instead was a juvenile eagerness.
“Wasn’t the tooth I wanted.” Victoria turned and moved towards the stairs, expecting Dona to follow. “I just want justice.”
As they approached the stairs she heard a new sound, one very real. It was the sound of crying, sobs—the sound of loss. Victoria turned to look at Dona, her mouth stretched into a mock frown. She rubbed her eyes, mouthing “Whaa!” then continued up the stairs.
This is crazy, Dona thought. She didn’t even have a dog in this race anymore, as her father would say. What did she care if the twerp was hiding out in the house? Her feet felt heavy, each step an effort.
They reached the top landing and Dona grabbed Victoria’s elbow. The face that turned to glare at her wasn’t human. She saw only gleeful hatred. A slow finger went to Victoria’s mouth and made a silent Shhh.
Dona shook her head. It wasn’t right. The twerp wasn’t just crying, not whimpering, but sobbing—private crying, wailing. Dona had cried like that a hundred times into her pillow at night, usually while massaging a bruise in the very places Skyla had mentioned.
Victoria rolled up her sleeves, her eyes holding Dona as she held up her hand. One. Two. Three.
Dona turned away, hoping that breaking the countdown would throw Victoria off, make her pause. Victoria threw her a disappointed look then moved catlike into the room. There was a shriek from the far wall and Victoria called out, “Someone’s having a bad day!” Victoria’s silhouette streaked past the dimly lit window, the pliers in one hand.
The twerp was quick, scrambling across the floor on all fours as Victoria lunged at her, landing on her back, straddling her, forcing her to the ground. The girl made a loud Oof! as her stomach hit the floor.
By the time Dona entered the room, Victoria was already wrapping a hand under the girl’s chin, pulling her head back. She brandished the pliers in the other, pulling so hard it looked like she was trying to break the girl’s neck.
“Come help me! Hold her down!�
�� Victoria yelled over her shoulder. “Quick!”
The scene felt unreal to Dona—the twerp there on the floor, Victoria riding her like a jockey, the pliers in the air. The girl was wearing those same weird goggles, but the lenses were now raised, exposing round terrified—and utterly strange eyes. Tears ran down her face making it hard for Victoria to get a grip on her chin.
The twerp screamed something that sounded like: “You’ll tear the scars in the wall!” But it was muffled in crying.
“How did it feel?” Victoria screamed in her ear. It was total regression. “How did it feel punching an older girl? Did it make you feel good? Did it make you feel tough? You read the Bible? You read about a tooth for a tooth?”
More crying and Skyla lurched and fell again.
“Hold still!” Victoria screamed.
She hit the girl on the side of the head with the handle of the pliers. A lens shattered and Dona saw shards of glass spray across the floor, catching the lamplight like stars. The twerp cried out, her head rocking to the side, her hand reaching desperately for any leverage at all.
It was the powerlessness that did it. Regardless of the past, all Dona could see now was someone unfit and unable to defend herself against naked cruelty. There was no more twerp, no friends, no enemies, only victims tinted in red.
Dona had simply seen enough.
She lunged over the floor in three powerful strides, and rugby-tackled Victoria from behind, knocking her free and sending her sprawling. Victoria uttered a banshee scream as the two girls landed in the corner. Dona rolled off to see the twerp still there, sitting up now, blinking at them, stunned.
“Well, what are you waiting for? Go!” Dona yelled as Victoria righted herself. “Run, you idiot!”
But the twerp just stared, her frightened eyes switching from Dona to Victoria. Snot ran down her nose and Dona saw a nasty scrape along one cheek.