by Martin Kee
Skyla grimaced as she dabbed the tube on the wound, turning it a sick gray in contact with the blood. She covered it again with the gauze.
“So anyway… where was I?” she said, trying to get the wound out of her mind.
“Your mother used to put this on your cuts,” Skyla said. She was looking past Laura, as if watching a movie on the wall behind her. “You always hated it when you were little, but she told you that it was the best thing since sliced bread. When you got accepted to the Tinkerer Academy, you brought some with you—mostly because your mother insisted.”
Laura felt the fine hairs on her neck stand on end. She stared at the girl as she spoke, reading her life back to her. Skyla’s pupils had grown huge, too huge. It was almost as if they had outgrown the irises, intruding on the whites now.
“When you met Michael he had cut himself with a drill in one of the labs. It was pretty ugly—you never liked the sight of blood, and you hate Physicians—but you pulled him into your dorm room and did for him what you just did for me. Then you kissed him.”
A lump formed in her throat as Laura saw the scene in her mind now. How was this happening? Is this why they brought Skyla here? Is this why the machine had such an affinity to her?
“It’s too bad he died,” Skyla said. Laura gasped.
Skyla blinked, her eyes normal again. She looked at Laura for a moment as if she didn’t recognize her. When the realization hit her, Skyla raised a hand to her mouth.
“Oh god!’ she gasped, tears welling in her eyes. “Oh god! Oh God! Oh God! Please don’t hate me!” she pleaded. “I didn’t mean to! I’m sorrysosorrysosorry!”
Laura grabbed her and embraced her as Skyla trembled beneath her arms. She shushed away the panic. “It’s okay,” she said. “It’s okay, I don’t mind.”
Fear rushed through her body as the girl sobbed into her chest. She fought it. When the sobbing ended, she let the girl go and looked at her.
“Skyla,” she said, meeting the girl’s eyes. “That was… unbelievable.”
Skyla blinked. “You aren’t mad?”
Laura nodded. “No, God no. Why would I be?”
“Most people get mad,” Skyla said, looking down at her feet. “Most people hit me. Mother always said it was a curse, that I shouldn’t do it. Sorry.”
“Well, under the circumstances I can see why she would be scared for you,” Laura said. “But, Skyla… what you did… that was…” She paused. “What were you seeing exactly?”
Skyla thought for a moment. “It’s like you have a shadow, one that goes toward the light instead of away from it. It’s always where your eyes don’t go. Everyone has one. My mother could see them too.”
“And you can see it now? Still?”
Skyla nodded. “I always see them.”
“Even with the lights on.”
Skyla laughed. “They aren’t those kinds of shadows.”
Laura instinctively turned to look, Skyla watched the woman’s shadow dodge behind her, hiding just out of view. She reached a hand out. It was so close. Laura looked at her, and Skyla recoiled. “Sorry.”
“No… It’s okay,” Laura said. “Is it easier if I turn my head?”
“Yeah.” Skyla stared with wide eyes. She had never touched a shadow before, except that one time in her dream… or was that really a dream at all? The fire and war afterwards was certainly real.
The woman turned away, her shadow swinging out toward Skyla in an arc. She reached out to it and—everything seemed to freeze.
As she touched the shadow she noticed her own hand, still a good distance from the woman. She was instead touching Laura’s shadow with her own, reaching out through her body. Skyla turned and saw her own physical face, frozen in corporeal time. She turned back and looked at Laura’s shadow. It seemed more real now, more like Laura. It looked at her trustingly.
She touched it and it rippled like a stone thrown in a lake. Skyla pulled her hand back and felt that same warm sticky feeling. Not unpleasant this time, but certainly strange, as if she could feel bits of Laura’s memories in the surface. Laura’s shadow smiled.
Skyla let go and watched the tendril wither back into the rest of Laura’s soul—if that’s what you could call it. She turned back to look at her body, a wax portrait staring up at Stintwell. She took a step forward and peered into the Skyla statue. She could see everything: the bones, the muscle. She squinted; she could see between the cells: the molecules, the atoms.
This is where I live, she thought. This is where we all live.
Then she was back in her body, looking out of her own physical eyes. Laura was staring at her, a look of wonder on her face.
“What was it like?” Doctor Stintwell asked.
“It was… slimy.” Skyla laughed. So did Laura.
“Well I’ll try not to take that as an insult.” Something in the woman’s eyes was different now. There was a connection between the two of them that hadn’t been there before, a familiarity. “You know that you are special, right?” She said. “Your mother and aunt were special too. The worst thing about it all was that I don’t think anyone realized just how special they were, or you are.”
“Most people don’t like me.”
“That’s not true,” said Laura. “I like you. I think a lot of other people do too. It’s just that without being able to see what you see, most people can’t relate. They don’t have the ability to empathize like you do… certainly not on that level. It’s pretty amazing.”
“Did you feel anything?” Skyla asked her.
She paused. “I think I did,” she said. “Before you did it… and after… I don’t know really. It’s all very emotional. It isn’t something that you can quantify.” She spun around in her chair, hands on her desk, probing for something. She made an ah-ha face and grabbed an envelope. “I promised you, didn’t I?”
Skyla blinked in confusion. “You did?”
She spilled a small photo out of it and handed it to Skyla. The girl took the photo with her good hand, trembling. The likeness between her and the girls in the photo was uncanny.
They stood on either side of a friendly looking man with a beard. He had a hand on each of their shoulders. Behind them was a pair of doors. The one on the left had “LYNN” nailed to it in big wooden letters. “RHIA” hung from the door on the right.
She looked up at Laura, mouth hanging open. “This is…”
“That’s your mother when she was only a little older than you are now,” Laura said. “And that,”—she pointed to the other girl—“is Rhia.”
Skyla traced a finger over the photo, enrapt in the similarity and differences between the sisters. “Who’s he?”
“That is the man who worked with them,” Laura said. “His name was Jacobes. He was brilliant.”
“What happened to him?” Skyla asked.
“Well now,” Laura said. “That’s an excellent question isn’t it?”
Skyla continued to look at the picture. “I still don’t know why I’m here.”
“Well, do you want to know what I think?” Laura said.
Skyla nodded.
Laura took a breath; she took on the tone of one of Skyla’s schoolteachers. “Let me tell you something about particles.”
Chapter 35
The waiting room in Hel’s asylum was so quiet Dale could hear himself breathe. A door opened to their right, protesting as if it hadn’t been used for eons. It revealed a cafeteria with people shuffling over mundane green and white tiles.
A teenage girl stood in the doorway wearing a white apron over a black dress, her dark hair neatly tucked beneath a thin cap. Her face was colorless, her lips painted black. To Dale she looked like the world’s youngest lunch lady, dressed as a mime.
Lotti ran to the young woman and leaned down to whisper something in her ear. The lunch lady listened intently and nodded a couple of times. They spoke almost silently as the crowd of inmates continued to stare with sunken eyes and gray lips. Finally the girl marched up to
them at the desk.
“Why do you want to see Lynn?” Her voice was sharp and petulant. There was a hint of protective concern in her eyes.
“We just…” Melissa stammered. “I knew her.”
The girl raised an eyebrow. There was a metal ring embedded in it. “Lynn knew a lot of people, quite a few of them untrustworthy.”
“But—”
“Lynn is an inmate here, under strict supervision. She isn’t seeing anyone.”
“I got this invitation,” Melissa said, pulling out the envelope. “I’m supposed to seek an audience with Hel.”
“With Hel,” said the girl. “Do you think Lynn is Hel?”
“No, but—”
“And do you think that Lynn would have sent you a letter?” She snatched the envelope away from Melissa’s hand. Her shadowed eyes scanned it. She frowned. “Why would you ask for Lynn if Hel invited you? Who are you really?”
“I’m—”
“Forget it. If you won’t play by the rules, I won’t continue the game. Lotti, call in the orderlies. These people are clearly in the wrong reality.”
One of the heavy steel doors shook so violently dust fell from its frame. Through the tiny glass window, Dale could see a hulking black shape.
“But I didn’t know I was supposed to—” Melissa broke off, looking desperately at Dale and Marley.
“Look lady,” said Dale. “I don’t know what your game is, but this girl has an invitation from a freaking goddess. You can’t just go kicking us out on a technicality! I just walked with her over miles—miles of godforsaken wasteland that you call scenery, we almost drowned in a river of corpses, and I even got eaten by that little four-legged, hair-matted, landshark out in your lawn, which I might add could use some watering. For someone who seems to be putting all her time and effort into ‘caring’ for people, you sure have a weird way of showing it.”
The girl smiled, up at him with an expression hovered somewhere between admiration and amusement. Her dark lips spread into a smirking teenaged smile, and her black metal bracelets rattled as she placed her hands on her hips.
“Well now,” she said. “Nice to see you finally grew a set of balls, Dale.”
Dale squinted at her. “Do I know you?”
“No,” she said dismissively. “We have information on everyone that comes here though. Are you really that surprised?” She turned from them and took several paces to the wide double doors. She turned her head and yelled over her shoulder. “You’d better keep up. I don’t have all day.”
The doors opened into a cafeteria the size of a small country, with identical tables spreading out in every direction, disappearing into some unseen horizon. The room was dense with patrons shuffling across the checkered floor or sitting at benches while they plucked at their bland, tasteless food.
More inmates stood in an infinite waiting line, empty trays in hand, their feet all but collecting moss as they waited to move. It was an exercise in boredom, but nobody seemed to mind at all as they shuffled along at a geological pace.
“Wow,” said Dale. “This really is Hell.”
Melissa gave him a jab with her elbow.
The young girl held the door open for them—Marley ducked through, his shoulders barely clearing the doorway—then the group walked on ahead into the throng.
“Follow me,” said the girl. “And you might want to grab a tray to blend in.”
“We aren’t hungry—” Dale began to say, but clamped his mouth at the glare she gave him.
They each grabbed a lightweight metal tray and followed the teenager past the line of people. Every possible assortment of comfortable clothing was in use from pink bunny slippers to worn flannel housecoats. Dale even saw a number of sleeping caps, complete with fluffy balls dangling from the end. Occasionally an inmate would yell “No cutting!” as they passed.
“I’m sorry,” said Melissa, struggling to keep up as the girl weaved around inmates. “Are you sure this is the right place?”
“You’re here to see Hel.”
The girl ducked around a large, comfortably dressed inmate in a green robe and slippers. Melissa swerved past the man as he chewed on a pork sandwich the size of her head.
“Are you—” One of the servers clanged a tray up ahead, cutting Melissa off.
The cafeteria fell silent as a fat lady behind the counter called out, “I’m sorry everyone, but we are fresh out of Sloppy Joes for the night.” A disappointed moan spread through the crowd like a crashing wave. Several people left the line and disappeared into the crowd as the people behind them scuttled forward to fill in the gaps.
Dale tapped Melissa on the shoulder. “Sloppy who?”
She shrugged.
“Look, if you are Hel, we need—”
The teenager whipped around and glared at Melissa, eyes filled with warning. She slowly raised a finger to her pierced black-painted lip and shushed them. She held a glare of outrage for a moment before turning and rushing on ahead.
The teenager cut into the serving line and spoke to a thin man in a matching apron and cap. “Karl, could you cover for me?”
Karl saluted her, ladle in hand, as the girl disappeared through a break in the serving bar, cutting between customers. Dale, Melissa, and Marley followed, much to the dismay and protest of several inmates. Melissa wanted to apologize, but she worried she would lose sight of the girl if she did.
Further down the wall, a much larger square door swung freely as if someone had recently passed through. Melissa charged into the doorway with both hands out in front of her, and froze with Dale and Marley nearly falling on top of her.
“You know,” said Dale, “It’s customary to keep walking when you go through a door so people don’t…” But he stopped when he realized where he was.
They stood in a massive hall, infinitely long and paved with Penrose tiles. Pillars the size of redwoods lined the floor, creating an obsidian forest before them. The teenager stormed ahead, pulling off her cap and dropping her apron on the floor. Her hair was short and black, cropped with a hairclip in the shape of a cartoon kitten.
“I know you are new and all,” she said, her voice echoing back at them. “But you really need to stop being so mouthy about every little detail. That’s the sort of thing that will get you in trouble around here.”
She kept ahead of them as the discarded clothing melted away into dust. Dale felt a nudge against his arm and he looked to see Melissa staring at the black, woven walls. They moved.
The great pillars were undulating as well, flexing with steady, rhythmic breathing. The walls made a distant rustling sound as the millions of tiny serpents that comprised them writhed against one another. The sky above was a melodramatic swirl of black clouds and lightning as winged shapes swooped through distant rock spires.
“Well, had I known my quest was simply navigating a post-life bureaucracy,” said Melissa, “I would have ignored your letters altogether. You sent them as though you wanted to play some kind of game, and that it was about Skyla. I had no idea everyone was supposed to stay in character.”
The girl turned her dark eyes on Melissa. “Helheim isn’t a place for questions. You could have stood out and very likely gotten someone hurt.”
“So what?” said Dale.
“So,” said the girl. “There are a billion people out there that all believe the same reality. It’s the only thing that gives them any peace or semblance of identity. Without it, the predators beyond these walls would swoop in faster than you can say ‘purgatory’. The last thing I need is for you to shatter their fantasies like a herd of elephants in a china shop, making them question their own existence. It was irresponsible and frankly inconsiderate. You’ve been here long enough to know how valuable illusions are.”
The girl reached the throne and sat, crossing her legs. The edge of her black dress hiked up, exposing a moldering ankle. Tiny windows in yellow skin displayed the tendons underneath. She caught Dale staring and covered it with a graceful flip of her h
em.
They stood at the base of the dais as two pillars behind the girl fell free of the ceiling and shook the floor where they landed. Immense reptilian heads, black and polished, emerged from collars the size of tractor wheels. They watched the three visitors with voracious interest in their ruby eyes.
The girl looked down at the visitors with a sardonic grin and flicked a lock of her black hair.
“Now,” said Hel. “Let’s talk about this problem named Skyla and how to deal with her before she destroys you, me, and everyone in both worlds.”
Chapter 36
Black armored hands grabbed John by the shoulders as cuffs were slapped tightly onto his wrists. He grunted, blinking away the light that now flooded his vision, turning the world into a white blur. He stumbled on stiff legs as the men pushed him around corners and into a small room where he was shoved into a chair.
“Please,” he said, gasping, “I know the archbishop. Please just tell him that Father John Thomas is here. That’s me. Just tell him—”
The door closed with a loud click and he was alone. An hour later it opened again as a guard stood aside. A stout man in a cream and red robe entered the doorway. John almost didn’t recognize him at first. The archbishop froze and crossed himself. He turned to the guard.
“What is this man doing imprisoned here?” he yelled into the guard’s face. “This man is the Right Reverend Father Thomas. Are you all insane?”
The archbishop stormed through the door and scooped up John in a bear hug. The guard scurried to undo the cuffs from his wrists. Warmth flowed into his hands and he returned Christopher’s embrace with a slap on the back.
“Chris, what are you doing here?” he asked the archbishop. It was surreal.
“I should be asking you the same,” said Christopher. He barked to the guard. “Get Stintwell in here. She has some explaining to do. And bring this man some water.” He turned back to John. “I thought you were dead, John.”
He pulled up a chair and the two men sat facing one another. John rubbed his wrists, still overcome with shock. “Chris,” he said, “I mean it. What are you doing here?”