The Sphere

by Martha Faë

  “No!” I shouted. I felt betrayed, wounded in the deepest part of myself. Lost. Axel, the one thing in the entire world that I could navigate by, had disappeared. I held his gaze.

  “I want to be a writer, yeah.” Axel’s voice was full of fear. “What else do you want to know?”

  “How you could be so selfish—that’s what I want to know.”

  “Selfish—me? Isn’t it the other way around? Can’t you see how important literature is to me?”

  “See? It’s always about you. You might have given some thought to your father when you were deciding what to study.”

  “My father?” asked Axel, utterly confused.

  “You should have chosen something that would let you care for him, to start. And then you could have thought of studying in Edinburgh so you could stay near him.”

  “But he doesn’t even speak to me! I don’t exist, for him. Why would I want to be near him?”

  “He needs you! It’s amazing how irresponsible you are,” I said, shaking my head. “And somehow I’m the immature one.”

  “My father doesn’t need me. I’ve been very clear on that for years now. There’s nothing left for me in Edinburgh, Dissie,” said Axel quietly. “And you know, I come back a lot anyway. Just to see how he is. Just to make sure that he still isn’t interested in coming back to the land of the living.”

  “You’re very unfair to him,” I said.

  “He wasn’t the only one who lost my mother. I don’t know if you’ve thought of that... Dissie, writing gives me life. It lets me create a different reality, lets me live life from a different perspective. For me writing is like breathing. I hope you understand.”

  Axel reached for my hand, but I snatched it away.

  “Sure...” You live for literature, I thought. But I live in spite of it. It was useless to go on talking about something that wasn’t going to change for either of us. “I always knew we were too different. I don’t know why I waited so long,” I said, looking down at the ground. “I guess this fantasy was bound to blow up eventually.”

  “What are you trying to say?”

  “There’s no going back.”

  Axel embraced me.

  “Dissie, please.”

  I struggled to get away, but he only held me more tightly. With one shove I finally managed to get free. I looked at him for a long time, as a goodbye, and then I went into the living room. Carl was looking around for me. It was easy enough to go off with him.

  I open my eyes. I’m lying on the floor of Sherlock’s living room. No one has even bothered to carry me to a sofa. I’m alone, with this palpable memory of my old life. It’s ironic that my last words in that world were there’s no going back... What has Morgan done to me? I’m sick of these Sphereans feeling like they have the right to send me back into my own memories without even asking.

  12

  The sun is coming up. I spent the entire night thinking about everything that happened yesterday. Both the memory of the party and discovering why Sherlock is really interested in me have broken my heart.

  Beatrice has recovered her role. When I came out of the former police station, ready to settle the score with Morgan, I found Beatrice in the street looking lost, horrified and ashamed at the thought of what might have happened. She didn’t remember anything. I walked her back home, swallowing down my pain and my injured pride. It wasn’t the right time to talk about me; it was time to help the one Spherean who had always been there for me. She washed her face, put her regular clothing back on, and ran to take refuge in the living room, clutching her rosary like someone clutching a life preserver after a shipwreck. I haven’t seen Sherlock or Morgan since they left me lying there.

  I’ve been sitting at the bedroom window all night. I watched the trees in St Mary’s garden turn burnished red at dusk, vanish with the night, and then reappear as the rising sun traced their contours in silvery light. The whole time I could hear Beatrice whispering in the background in the other room. Did she really spend the entire night praying? I tiptoe over to look in the door. There she is—the medieval woman with her round head covered with a fine veil, bent over a rosary clasped in her hands. She rocks gently back and forth murmuring unintelligible words, as if in a trance. Her eyes are more sunken than usual, which makes her high forehead seem even larger and more rounded. Her beautiful, smooth skin has taken on a sallow tone.

  “Bice...” I say as gently and sweetly as I can.

  She turns and looks at me for a few seconds without seeing me. Then she blinks slowly.

  “Dissie, you’re here.” You would think it was the voice of a ghost.

  “What’s the matter?” I ask, worried. Beatrice just shakes her head. “Please tell me. You can trust me. I won’t tell anyone.” Bice’s expression is haunted; it pains me to see her like this. “Are you afraid?” I guess. She nods. “You shouldn’t be. Your Creator will protect you.”

  Silent tears start pouring down Beatrice’s cheeks. I stroke her hand gently. I wish I could comfort her, but I’m no good at this sort of thing.

  “The Creator protects you,” I tell her again.

  “Not if you betray him...” Beatrice’s voice is as thin as a thread of silk. “Not if you betray all his children.” Her weeping becomes loud, convulsive, hard to watch. “Forgive me!” she begs between sobs. “Dissie, please forgive me.”

  “What do you want me to forgive you for? What could you have done? There is no better Spherean than you. Beatrice, look at me.”

  “No, no, I’m not even worthy of looking at you...”

  “You were the only one who helped me when I came to the Sphere. I was terrified, I felt lost, and you offered me your home. See, I’m still here—I have nowhere else to go!”

  “It wasn’t out of kindness, but out of guilt. I am unworthy. I prayed for you to come and so I am to blame for you being here.”

  “Sure, I know that’s what you believe. But look—you can see I haven’t been sent like you thought. I haven’t been able to do anything here to stop what’s going on.” Beatrice keeps sobbing. “You didn’t make me show up here! It was me... when I got into that car.”

  Beatrice raises tearful eyes and looks at me with surprise.

  “What car?”

  “It’s a long story. But believe me, it was my fault. I fought with someone I loved, and then all this happened.”

  For a moment it’s like I can see Axel’s face clearly, his hazel eyes. It’s not like seeing the eyes of a ghost—they’re real, corporeal, like he was right here. I even think I can hear his voice calling me.

  “Did you hear something?” I ask Beatrice.

  “No.”

  I stay quiet, straining to hear, while Beatrice studies me thoughtfully.

  “You loved someone? Where is he?”

  “In my world, I guess.” A heavy, unbearable pain comes over me.

  Dissie!

  I hear my name again, but I can tell I’m the only who hears it. Beatrice doesn’t react.

  “What I did was also for love,” she says, gazing steadily at me.

  “For Heathcliff?” I ask.

  I hope changing the subject will pull me away from the voice I thought I heard. Beatrice nods. Now I’m seeing her from another perspective, with a different understanding. I know how it is. You can’t just order your heart around.

  “I hope it was worth it,” says Beatrice. “I hope he appreciates it at least a little. Deep down I know you all are right, but I can’t help what I feel. If he could he would change the way he is. I know about the problems that give Heathcliff his character, and the... the consequences.” Beatrice pronounces the final word with a sense of doom. “I guess at this point his destiny is inevitable.”

  “Consequences?”

  “Ever since I first sensed the dark presence in the Sphere I’ve known Heathcliff was in danger. And every day, with every disappearance, I was more and more convinced. It was just a matter of time before he disappeared, too. I don’t have the same capacity for d
eduction as the rest of you; the Creator has made me more limited in that sense—but I do know what all the missing people have in common.”

  My mouth literally hangs open. We couldn’t find a single common thread in all the missing people and now it turns out that Beatrice...

  “They all have a moral failing,” says Beatrice.

  I let out the breath I was holding and my muscles relax. I can’t help smiling a little.

  “A moral failing?” I ask.

  “Yes. The Creator is cleansing his work.”

  Beatrice thinks the Creator is removing everything that isn’t in accordance with the highest perfection. A sort of divine cataclysm. Evidently Heathcliff would have to disappear sooner or later, by her reasoning. My attempts to make her see reason are useless. I explain to her in great detail the clues we’re following, and why her theory doesn’t hold up.

  “Tell me what moral failing the Little Prince could possibly have,” I say.

  Beatrice goes blank for a few moments. She seems to have stopped breathing.

  “The Creator must know what his majesty’s failing is. In the others it is all too evident. They are corrupt inside.”

  “All right, let’s say they all have some kind of flaw. But you were the one who told me that the Creator gave life to dark creatures so they could better show the light! Don’t you remember? What did you call it?... The chiaroscuro of creation.”

  “I admit that I’m guilty of not believing in it, which only makes our Creator angrier. Ever since I noticed the shadow in the Sphere, and Romeo and Juliet disappeared, my terror has grown and grown. Every day I became more afraid that the Creator would decide to get rid of Heathcliff, and... I sinned.” The last word is barely audible. “I took advantage of the privileges afforded to me by the Creator—do you understand?”

  “No. I don’t understand at all.”

  “I went to the river.”

  “What river?”

  “The River of Ink. That’s where the new publications come in. They say that if you cross that river in the opposite direction, you’ll disappear from the Sphere. You’ll be lost in the void.” Beatrice’s face is the embodiment of terror. “Your story will be erased... as if you’ve never existed.”

  I’m stunned. “But you don’t believe in that, right? Not you.”

  Beatrice hangs her head in shame.

  “But then why did it bother you so much to hear Morgan and Merlin’s theories? You believe in permanent death, too. Why didn’t you say?”

  “Because it’s wrong—that’s wrong! Can you not understand? Believing in permanent death not only goes against the Creator, for me it is the worst contempt I could ever show for His work. I have to believe in Him. It is my role.”

  I can’t believe it—Beatrice doubting creation. The worlds have mixed together for sure. But what if this river really exists? Maybe crossing it could carry me back to my world.

  “Where is the River of Ink?”

  “Beyond Count Dracula’s mansion,” Beatrice answers through tears, looking at me in terror.

  “Why are you looking at me that way?” I ask.

  “You’ll hate me. You’ll hate me forever for what I did.”

  “Wait! You saw it? You went to the other side?”

  My heart starts to race. Suddenly I understand. Her guilt, her weakness ever since we mentioned that the Sphere’s membrane might be broken. Beatrice made the hole!

  “I’m sorry...”

  “You have to tell me how to do it,” I demand. Beatrice shakes her head and presses her mouth shut, refusing to speak. “Please! Beatrice, I’m begging you. This isn’t my world and you know it. If you still feel responsible for bringing me here, you’ve got to help me go back. Bice—please!”

  “It’s not possible. Charon would never take you.”

  “Who?”

  “Charon, the boatman. He would never take anyone to the wrong side of the river.”

  “But he took you.”

  “I’m ashamed of what I did. The Creator made everyone in the Sphere trust me, and I took advantage of that privilege. I deceived Charon so that he would leave his boat.” Beatrice’s jaw quivers. “I rowed myself over. I just wanted to ask for help—I wanted to keep Heathcliff from disappearing! I made it to the other bank, and there I found two identical beings. They looked like you. Then the tide pulled me back.”

  A sudden abyss opens up in my chest. The twins! I know Beatrice must be talking about Mercutio and Benvolio. Why didn’t my brothers tell me anything? Maybe I could have avoided the accident. I could have taken it as a warning, and everything would have been different! No, not really. I know better. I would never have listened to them. I guess this is my punishment.

  “What did you think you could do on the other side?” I ask angrily.

  I’m so frustrated. I feel furious with Beatrice. Right now I can’t tell whether the devout woman sitting before me is to blame for me being trapped in the Sphere or not. I just know that she knows how to get out, and she won’t help me.

  “Tell me! What were you trying to do in my world?” I shake her by the shoulders.

  “I don’t know!” She starts crying again. “I don’t know what I expected—I just did it.”

  “You have to take me to this boatman.” My tone is threatening.

  “Charon has forbidden me from coming near the river.”

  “I don’t care! I have to get back to my world, and you’re not going to stop me.”

  I squeeze Beatrice’s arm, sinking my fingernails into her flesh. Beatrice stands up and starts to back away, horrified, never taking her eyes off me. I’m so angry I can’t breathe. I start walking, very slowly. Every step is a massive effort. As I pass by Beatrice she stretches out a trembling hand.

  “Leave me alone!” I shout. “I hate you. I hate you all! I hate this whole damn world!”

  I run down the stairs and outside, making my way across the gardens through the haze of my tears. I can hear someone calling me again, more and more loudly.

  Dissie!

  I can feel a growing warmth in my chest. Where is the voice coming from? From the ocean? Up from the cobblestones? I try to listen, but I can’t tell where the source is. I go on walking aimlessly, finally stopping just before I reach the harbor. The beating of my heart has begun to ache, and the warmth in my chest is growing stronger.

  Dissie, come back!

  The pain won’t let me think. Right behind me I sense the same presence that’s been following us around, but now I don’t care at all. I only want to find a way back. To go back before it’s too late. Dracula said it, and I know it myself—my time is limited.

  I look up to the sky. The clouds are starting to lose their color and turn gray, as if they were drawn in pencil—just like when I first came to the Sphere. I touch my legs and my fingers come away covered with pencil lead. I move my hands across my body and the stuff I’m drawn in just crumbles into pieces.

  “No! No way! This isn’t going to happen. It isn’t going to happen. I WILL NOT STAY HERE!”

  My shout echoes like the shot of a cannon. All at once everything in the Sphere turns back to color. I’ve never felt so determined in my life. The voice calling me might be coming from the heavens or from the hill behind me. It doesn’t matter where it’s coming from—I’m going to find it. I’m going to take Charon’s boat. There is no question: I will find my way back.

  13

  I yank over and over again on the cord in front of the Count’s gate. The bell rings nonstop, sending the tiny butler running down the leaf-covered path, looking harried.

  “Are you mad?” he says, baring his pointed teeth. “How dare you come calling like this? Are you not afraid of troubling the master? Do you not know who he is?”

  The figure of the Count appears in the doorway and expands to a colossal size. His outstretched arms cover the entire mansion. He pins his gaze on me and it pulls me to him like a magnet. I watch, helpless, as my feet refuse to obey me. I float over the garden, up
above the rotting leaves and insects, until I slam right into the Count, unable to stop myself. He takes me in his arms and carries me into the large foyer. I can’t feel my muscles; I’ve completely lost control of my body. With a superhuman effort I manage to move my eyes to look at the Count, who still has me in his arms. He’s totally unlike the man I’ve seen on other visits. He’s young, and irresistibly attractive. His long black hair shines, moving like an animal as it breathes—an animal with heart.

  The Count sets me down on the same armchair where I once saw him collapse in tears. Then he turns his back to me. The velvet of his cape brushes against the rug with a sigh. He’s back to a normal human size again, but he’s still quite tall, with wide, straight shoulders.

  “Miss Eurydice, to what do we owe the pleasure?” he says, turning to me with a smile that makes me melt.

  “I’m sorry to have come by like this...” My voice trembles.

  “Au contraire. It indicates your strength of character. Never apologize for being yourself. Tell me, what can I offer you? A little of the liqueur from the other day, perhaps?”

  I shake my head, saddened by the thought of the memories I saw that first day with the liqueur.

  “I see,” the Count goes on. “Too painful. What about something to make you forget?”

  “No! I wouldn’t want to... I couldn’t forget.”

  The Count comes closer. He sniffs me gently. I close my eyes and allow myself to be lulled by the satiny sound of his breathing. I feel so guilty for losing myself in the pleasure I feel when he’s near me that I open my eyes at once and cling to the arms of the chair, fighting off the sudden heat I feel building inside me. The little butler appears with another armchair, so big he can barely hold it. He places it next to mine and the Count sits down. His appearance hasn’t changed at all. His beauty is so perfect that I can hardly breathe.

  “All right. You do not wish to remember. You do not wish to forget. Tell me, then, how I can help you.”

  “I want to go back to my world.”

  “We’ve already talked about that, miss.”

  The Count’s voice is so seductive that a single word is enough to make me feel shy. When he speaks it feels like a caress. I try to focus. I won’t forget why I’ve come. I’m going to find a way back home.