The Sphere

by Martha Faë

  Axel put his arms around me when he felt me turn over on the mattress. The two of us were facing the window. Midday sun filtered in through the gap between the too-small college dorm curtains.

  “They’re hideous,” I said, pointing up at the ugliest pattern I had ever seen.

  “And you’re beautiful.”

  I turned over and met Axel’s hazel eyes. His head resting on the pillow, his usual smile. I knew perfectly well he was lying. I was never pretty, not even as a little girl. You might think that all kids are cute, but I wasn’t. And to be honest, I never cared. It’s not that I came to terms with it; I just never cared. The world doesn’t belong to the beautiful people, it belongs to the people who know their way around it. I was proud of not being taken in by the illusions that made other people’s lives bitter.

  “Enough with that crap about how beautiful I am!”

  Axel tightened his arms around me. I felt his soft touch, the warmth of his body. At times like this, even for just a few minutes, things seemed to make sense. Being intimate with him... Well, he was the only person I’d been with, but I didn’t need a point of reference to know what I liked. It definitely was one of best things about life—Laura wasn’t wrong when she went on and on about sex. I always suspected she was speaking more from hearsay than actual experience, but either way she wasn’t wrong—sex really was fantastic. I rested my head on Axel’s chest and let go of the weight that I always carried with me, the blame I laid on myself for staying with him.

  Axel was quiet. His heartbeat set a rhythm for my thoughts and the sheets lay softly on my back. That silence, that wonderful sense of peace. It felt like my body was growing light, like it might float away. Even the rays of sun that slipped between the world’s most hideous curtains seemed beautiful to me right then.

  “What would your parents say?” Axel asked suddenly.

  “If they knew I was here with you? If they saw me like this?” The thought amused me.

  “No, if they knew that at the end of summer they’ll be leaving you right in your boyfriend’s clutches.”

  We both laughed. Axel made some kind of goofy werewolf face, which was adorable. But alarm bells were going off in my head: Boyfriend? Really? I realized I had let things go too far. Too much time had passed. Without realizing it I’d reached the point where I loved him, not that I’d ever said it out loud. But I did love him. Images of Marion sobbing uncontrollably over some heartbreak sprang to my mind. Laura and I looking at her, hugging her, totally unable to say anything that would take away her pain. A whole string of past failed relationships appeared in my mind like a warning: do you want to suffer like this, too? I loved Axel, no question, but all the reasons he couldn’t possibly love me—at least not forever—weighed more heavily on me.

  “This isn’t love,” I snapped, cutting his laughter off abruptly.

  “Of course it is,” he answered solemnly, gazing at me. “It is, and you are beautiful, even if you won’t accept it.”

  I got up and started picking my clothing up off the floor, grumpily tossing aside Axel’s t-shirt and jeans.

  “I’m smarter than I am pretty. I know it. That’s how it is, and I’m proud of it.”

  The words sounded ridiculous the moment they left my lips. Maybe I was just trying to convince myself that I was smart enough to break things off with him right then.

  “A person isn’t just one thing. Would you say I’m just one thing?”

  I looked at him for a few moments.

  “I don’t know what you are, Axel. I have no idea.”

  “But you do know. I know you do, I can feel it. Feelings don’t lie. You know who I am, you know my real self, my essence—just like I know yours.”

  I looked at him, still undressed. I could hardly find my things while he was blathering on like that. I looked at him, my eyes daring him to tell me what that essence was that he thought he knew. My inability to make a decision had left me in a terrible mood that I really couldn’t control. Axel had no idea who I was; I was the only one who knew myself, and frankly I still had a lot of doubts on that point. If he was so clever, if he was so sure of his feelings, why didn’t he just go ahead and tell me? Axel rose to the challenge that I’d thrown down like a glove.

  “You are smart, for sure, you’re right about that. But you’re wrong if you think your intelligence cancels out your beauty. You’re pretty, beautiful, even though it bothers you, even though you hide inside giant t-shirts, even though you cover your face with your gorgeous hair. You’re hard as a rock but still so sensitive that you’d hurt everyone around you just to protect yourself. You’re strong, stubborn, brave. You’re a walking paradox. You don’t think you deserve love, and that’s the thing in life that makes you angriest of all. You try and make people leave you alone while you wish they wouldn’t. You need all the attention you reject. You wall yourself off, you shut yourself away, not because you hate the world, but to protect something valuable you have inside. Something that I think has been broken too many times already.”

  “I have a lot of faults,” I said, as tears rolled down my cheeks and fell onto my chest.

  “You’re full of them. I’ll make you a list if you want. I’d collect them if I could. I wouldn’t give up a single one.”

  I sat down slowly on the edge of the bed. Axel took my hands and pulled me back down next to him. I felt the pillow growing damp from the slow, silent weeping I couldn’t seem to stop. I didn’t even try to find the words to answer; my mind had gone blank, had become a strangely comforting void.

  “I adore the good side and the bad side of you, Eurydice. That’s called love, and I’d say it’s true love.”

  “You can’t love someone with a bad side,” I said, trying not to sniffle. I felt horrible; I must have looked horrible. I’m sure my face was swollen and red. “If you know my bad side, if you know it’s there, you can’t love me.” Axel looked at me, perplexed. “You can love my good side, but not the bad...”

  “You love or you don’t love, Dissie. It’s a whole. A complete thing.”

  “You can’t love...” I didn’t know how to go on.

  “I can, and you can’t even imagine how lucky I feel because of it, how grateful I am that you bring that out in me. I love, even though you hate me for saying it. I even love that you hate me for saying it. I’ll take the whole thing: your wants, your worries, your weaknesses, everything you are, and everything you never will be. That’s your essence. I love you for what you never will be, too.”

  I stared at Axel, feeling the weight of frustration in my chest, unable to read what was really behind his hazel eyes. I didn’t know who he was, I didn’t have a clue. I didn’t know his essence. Was I more miserable because of it? I didn’t know then, and I don’t know now. I think that was the moment that my protective shell shattered. I should never have let it happen. It was the best and the worst moment of my life. I think right then is when the gears that brought me here began to turn.

  I hated Axel for making me feel incomplete, for making me realize that I lacked the good luck, the ability to love that he was so grateful for. I stood up and got dressed, still feeling the warmth of his embrace, holding it safe and close it beneath my clothes. He got up and kissed me before I left his room, still silent. I remember reaching up to touch my lips once I was alone in the hallway, unable to comprehend what had just happened.

  My hand drops automatically to the cone, now empty. When my fingers touch the paper I feel my stomach drop. How much time has passed? I cast a sidelong glance at William. Has he realized what I was thinking about? The sun is beginning to set, and the air is so damp and thick that it seems to settle heavily inside my bones, even in the middle of summer. I draw my shoulders up against the cold and try to keep my mouth closed as I yawn. Nothing’s happening. I guess nothing happened the entire time I was lost in my memories. Then something moves. A hooded monk comes out of the building, his hands tucked into the wide sleeves of his habit. As he passes he and William greet each
other with a quick nod.

  William gets up from the bench.

  “Ambrosio...” he calls.

  The man begins to run, his sandals slapping against the cobblestones. I leap to my feet, ready to give chase, but William stops me. I look up at the sky. The leaden tone of the light is beginning to deepen. On the horizon a distant ray of light refuses to go out, cutting through the sky like an eraser tracing a line on a page darkened with charcoal. William pulls gently at my jacket. I try to relax, but my muscles are tensed. He looks at me and at once I understand what we’re going to do.

  We creep stealthily into the monastery. The silence is so absolute that you can hear the leaves of the trees in the central courtyard whispering in the wind, dancing in stark contrast to the unmoving stone archways. I have to concentrate on the investigation. This is the first time in my life that I can do something serious, something truly important. We move slowly along beneath the arches until suddenly William throws himself on me like a tiger leaping on its prey. He wraps his arms around me. I don’t know what to say. Our faces are practically touching. We stand there for a half a second, hidden behind a column, and then a group of monks passes by in the direction of the chapel. I’m an idiot, an imbecile, such an idiot! How could I not hear them coming? My heart is beating so loudly I’m afraid the monks will hear it. A long line of monks walks past us—all looking down at the ground, luckily. They go into the church. It’s been a minute or two since the last of them passed out of view, but William’s arms are still fastened tight around me. I can feel his breath in my ear. The monks’ voices join and rise in a chant. What are you waiting for? You can let go of me already—I think it, but somehow I can’t say it. Come on, they’re at mass, the danger is over. Then, at last, the wooden prison of William’s arms loosens.

  I follow him without saying a word. We walk along cautiously, and I, at least, a little fearfully. The lines of the building are severe and even the stones themselves seem to demand discipline and penitence. William peers in between the bars of the small windows that sit high on the wooden doors. Finally his hand stops at one of the doorknobs. The cell belongs to Ambrosio, the monk who ran away when he saw us in the garden. A bloody whip lies on the bed, a crude crucifix hangs on the wall, and the stub of a candle sits on a metal plate on the only little table in the room.

  “How did you know...?” I ask, startled.

  William points to the remnants of some symbols drawn on the hard clay floor. The light is almost completely gone, but I can make out a huge star surrounded by a circle and some other shapes I’ve never seen before.

  “Magic symbols,” he murmurs, sweeping his foot across the drawing.

  Under the window is a large wooden trunk. William tries to open it, but his hands fumble across a padlock. He looks at me. He doesn’t need to say a word: we join forces and start pulling at the lid together, but the lock won’t give. In our struggle the trunk shifts a little, and something falls behind it. I jump back, but William doesn’t hesitate. He pounces on the object and takes it straight over to the window. I stand there, petrified. I’ve forgotten how to breathe. In the middle of a black and white world I’m staring at a lace-edged handkerchief with a brilliant scarlet stain, the only trace of color I’ve seen since the accident. The image of the blood running down Mercutio’s neck comes back to me like a bolt of lightning. I feel dizzy, and for a moment I’m afraid I’ll faint, just like at the beach.

  Then my certainty brings my strength back. I’m sure, completely sure, that it’s blood, and not just because of the scarlet color. I noticed a sour odor the moment we walked into the cell, an unpleasantly familiar odor I couldn’t place until now. It’s blood. And the smell is far too strong to be coming just from the handkerchief. It’s sharp, and so powerful there must be a huge amount of it. I close my eyes for a moment so I can concentrate. A warm odor, still alive, like a heart beating right under my nose. Some primal instinct takes over. I’ve got to find where the smell is coming from. We might be just in time to save someone. Someone needs my help. Quickly I drop to my knees and look under the bed while William watches, astonished. Darkness is sweeping over us, and I have to feel around desperately with my hands to find what my eyes can no longer see.

  “Let’s go!” William whispers loudly. He’s thrown himself on top of me and I can feel his mouth against my neck. But I don’t care about anything else, I can’t think, all I know is that I’ve got to find this still-living thing. My breath comes in short, ragged bursts. I sniff around like a bloodhound, my nostrils flaring uselessly, trying to track down the source of that living smell. I wrap my arms around the trunk and move my nose over the cracks in the wood as William tries to pull me away.

  “Enough!” he cries. It’s a command and a plea all at once.

  He literally has to pull me off of the trunk, which I cling to like my life depends on it. I can’t explain it, but we can’t leave. William picks me up and I kick and struggle like a little animal trying to get free. He carries me out and my feet just keep paddling desperately at the air. We leave the monastery as quickly and discreetly as possible, given my resistance. From the street you can hear the monks chanting in Blackfriars chapel.

  We walk a little distance away, William still carrying me. My mind is back in the monk’s cell. If William didn’t have his hand over my mouth I would be shouting. When I finally tire myself out and stop kicking, he puts me down on the ground.

  “Are you mad?” he says in a voice lit up with anger.

  “We have to go back,” I plead, “we could still be in time to save somebody who’s about to die...”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Did you not smell it?” I ask, my eyes clouding over with sadness.

  “Smell what?”

  “Blood!”

  “Are you saying that because of the stain on the handkerchief?” William stares at me with his empty sockets. He doesn’t understand at all, which only upsets me more.

  “I’m saying it because of the smell! For the love of God, William, did you not notice the smell? Let’s go back, please, there might still be time...”

  For the first time I can see what William is thinking. His face is no longer a mystery to me. He is clearly disconcerted, and wants to believe me, but can’t understand why I’m so desperate. He can’t follow what I’m telling him. It’s clear as day. He’s letting me see his confusion.

  “It’s logical to think that the monk is holding someone prisoner, but there was no one in that cell but you and I. Perhaps you got carried away when you saw the trunk; the magical symbols made too great an impression on you. That might have led you to jump to the conclusion that there was someone inside the trunk—could that be it?” William looks at me, desperate to understand, and I feel myself grow weak. “It’s all right, I don’t blame you. It’s not such a ridiculous conclusion. But there was no one in the trunk. It’s too small... Dissie, look at me.” I look at him, lost. “You can’t get so worked up without an objective reason, without a meaningful clue. It’s excessive. Do you understand?”

  “Please, let’s go back. There might still be time,” I beg with my last breath.

  “Your determination to solve the case is laudable, but you’re getting ahead of yourself. I won’t deny that the cell did look... well, in short, the atmosphere of the whole monastery may have been a bit much for you.”

  “No! It smelled like blood,” I burst out, “and I assure you, it was fresh. There was someone there, I know it, and the person was still alive. Please, William, I’m begging you. Let’s go back. The life of whoever is in that cell is hanging by a thread. We have to go save it.”

  A ray of hope appears in my heart. I can see that William is beginning to have doubts. The trunk was awfully heavy when we moved it. He looks at me, suspecting that I might have a sixth sense for mystery.

  “All right, let’s see. Share your method with me. How did you deduce that there was someone in the trunk?”

  I look at him, utterly exasperate
d. I’m swaying back and forth and all my strength is gone, but I know I could make it back to the cell.

  “I know, I understand, it’s a question of scent,” William continues. “The detective’s nose. But what exactly were the steps in your reasoning?”

  Enraged, I grab him by the lapels of his coat and drag his face down to the rosebushes we’re standing near.

  “Smell—can you not smell?”

  William removes his nose from the flowers with careful dignity. He straightens up and pins his empty sockets on me without saying a word. His expression is closed off again; I can’t tell what he’s thinking.

  “Smell!” I urge him, shouting. “Smell, William, smell”—I tear off a fistful of petals and the thorns prick me, but all I can think of is getting this stick-man to smell something. I hold the bruised petals in front of his face, but he’s unfazed.

  “The sun has gone down already; Beatrice will be waiting for us. Let’s return to Mister Gray’s house. It’s not good for us to have left her alone for so long. She’s a fragile woman, vulnerable, she’ll be frightened...”

  “Smell,” I whisper, almost whimpering. I let the petals fall onto the sidewalk and follow him, defeated, dragging my feet. A few petals are still stuck to the palm of my hand. I put them in my pocket. I clench my teeth with fury and walk more quickly to catch up to Holmes.

  The walk to Castle Street seems to last an eternity. Why won’t William believe me? I thought he was the best investigator in the Sphere, but if that were true, we would have turned right around and gone back to the monastery. Besides, it’s not just about an investigation: someone is in desperate need of our help. I feel a sense of urgency in my stomach. I know that someone’s life is hanging in the balance, and in a matter of hours something definitive could happen—something as definitive as death. A change that can’t be undone.