I dress, taking extra time to pin back my hair. I don’t like stray strands in my face when I’m looking through the lens. The girl in the mirror, though slightly shaken by nerves, looks back at me with confidence. With a pale blue dress hugging at my curves, a heart-shaped face with rosy apple cheeks smiles back at me. I always feel a rush before a job, but I can do this.
He comes from behind me, looking handsome in a gray button down shirt and suspenders. “Are you going to stare at that mirror all day?” he jokes, wrapping his arms around my waist. I lean my head back on his chest.
“Soon we won’t have much of a choice.”
We travel by boat for what seems like hours. A magnificent yacht coasts on a river through deep, twisting caverns. Tall rock formations soar on either side, cutting off the sun’s rays and leaving us only with patterns of red, orange and brown mineral to paint the scene. People drink and sample appetizers, making bubbly small talk about what we’re about to see. These other guests, they will be easily wined and dined and report back the city’s splendor. But I sense only foreboding. The deck is jam-packed, and the dark, narrow gorge offers no relief. It is claustrophobic, like the tight space is constricting my lungs. I stand at the boat’s roped railing, hoping for a wisp of air, a ray of light.
“Steady now,” he says, standing next to me. I cling to him, conscious of every breath.
Suddenly, the yacht turns a corner and the scene is flooded with light. The retaining walls break away, opening up to an expansive canyon bursting with brightness. Audible gasps escape from the crowd; it’s unlike anything anyone has seen. At the basin is a city, glittering against the water’s edge. A skyline of glass cuts out from the surrounding rock. Above the city sprawl are buildings peeking out from every rocky crevice, the sunlight reflecting off the city’s facade. I am once again breathless, only this time from the incredible sight.
He gives me a gentle nudge, shaking me out of my captive stare. It’s time to work, to be objective and see more than just spectacle.
“I almost don’t know where to look,” I admit. “There’s so much to see.”
“Well,” he says, securing back a strand of my runaway hair. “I see you. And I know you can do it.” He smiles, giving my hand one last squeeze, then heads into the crowd, giving me space to work. I lift my camera and adjust the shutter speed for all the light. Just as I’m about to start shooting, I sense someone coming toward me.
Beautiful would be too common a word to describe him. Hair more blonde than the morning sun, eyes more blue than any ocean, skin more flawless than a newborn baby, the man strides over to me, radiating confidence in every step. To others I’m sure his presence would be welcome, but I am not lured by a shiny exterior. I have been trained to see what lies beneath, to find the dirt behind the polish. And this man, a living Adonis, reeks of secrets.
“Interested in antiques, I see,” he says, nodding to the camera around my neck.
“Call me old-fashioned,” I answer, nonchalantly.
“You don’t care for holopanes?”
“I am not against them. I’m just partial to the permanence of a photograph.”
He nods, the sun gleaming off his golden skin. His perfection makes me uneasy. “I see. So I hear you are doing an exposé on the city?” he says, inching closer.
I eye him tentatively. Looks like we are both suspicious of one another. “I guess my reputation has proceeded me.”
“Yes, I’ve read many of your reports. In fact, I personally made sure you were invited to this preview. Interesting how you always find another side to the story. I am curious, what darkness could hide in so much light?” he says, casually gesturing to our illuminated surroundings.
I am taken aback. My work has received praise, but I’m not usually welcomed with open arms. Most people want their skeletons kept in the closet. This man’s words are complimentary, but I don’t trust him. “All I know is, it would be hard to keep secrets in a city of glass.”
“Is that so?” the man says through a sinister smile. He is very close to me, almost touching my side. I am nervous—these are not simple work jitters, but a real trembling of fear. I look at him, this modern-day Adonis, and notice how he tugs gently at his left shirtsleeve. At his wrist there is something, a scar perhaps, that he wants hidden, but I catch a quick glimpse. It is curved and bumpy, unlike the rest of his flawless skin.
The boat is now in the middle of the basin’s lake, moving quickly toward the city’s dock. Everyone is fixated on the sparking mirrors, but this man has his eyes locked on me. He continues moving in, my body pressing into the roped railing. I look beyond the man, searching the crowd for my anchor, my love, but he is lost, one boy in a sea of faces.
I am dangerously close to the side of the boat. Droplets of lake water splash at my heels when I notice the man’s hand rests on the rope railing’s clasp. Inches from my face, he leans in to whisper, “We’ll see about that.”
A movement, so subtle not even the gallery of glass encircling us could capture it, unclips the railing with a faint click, and I fall back, the weight of my camera pulling me down. The water is so cold. I try to wrestle my way to the surface, but the camera’s strap has wrapped tightly around my neck, and as quick as I have fallen, my airways close. Into the darkness my body sinks as the city of light fades to black.
* * 32 * *
I am shaking. The surface below me has finally stopped rocking, but I cannot sit still. My fingers, icy blue, search for something pliable to grip onto to steady myself, but everything around me is buffed to a smooth polish. The towel draped over my shoulders does nothing to stop the shivering. Everything feels cold, wrong. Where am I?
Bodies stand over me, faces of concern. I know them, somehow. There is a quiver of recognition in my mind, but it is unwilling to fully reveal itself. I look around, wet strands of red segmenting the view of tall buildings of glass shining in my eyes. They seem so foreign, so out of place around the encompassing red canyon, but their gleam is forcing me to sit up, take notice. Come back to the city of glass. Voices pull at my consciousness, like a lifeline reeling me in. Can you hear me? they call. I resist, wanting another minute, even a second, to hang on to that place, so soft and warm compared to the cold around me.
The longer I linger, the more I am sure what I saw, where I was, was not a dream. It wasn’t a vision, or a flash of something vague sitting on the edge of recollection, but a true, full-fledged memory. It was my life. My past life, the Person I used to be. My memories, always kept in a safe beyond my reach, unlocked the moment I hit the water. It was not déjà vu. I remember.
I try to stand, one foot in each reality. A boy, with dripping blond hair and water-flecked glasses, helps me up. He wraps the towel around me tighter, rubbing his hands over my arms to help my circulation. Thomas. He is so sweet, so helpful, but never has it felt truer that he is not mine.
A name, one that seems to belong to me, forms on my lips. “Ben!” I call out.
“He’s okay,” Thomas says, his eyes concerned yet stern. “You both gave us a scare.” I let him comfort me, I know I’m supposed to, but my eyes dart frantically for Ben. He was there. Not in the water just now, but there, clear as day, starring in my past life. Sleeping next to me in bed, playing a familiar tune, making me feel safe: Benjamin Kelly has lived another life, and I was there at his side.
And then I see him. The same boy from my memory: towel-dried brunette hair and light-brown skin shivering under a blanket a few feet away. Though we’re back on shore, I feel unsteady as I hurry over to him. “Ben!”
He looks up, his stare instantly warming. Goosebumps dot his skin.
“Nice day for a swim,” he says through chattering teeth. I want to reach for him, feel the warmth of the spark, but I know I can’t. Not here. I’m in the wrong body, although somehow, he has remained in his.
How? How can this be possible? If the boy from my memory was still alive, as Ben very clearly is, he should be older, no
t an exact replica of what once was. Flecks of gray in his hair, laughs lines on his face: something to prove the passage of time. At the very least, 17 years have passed since I was in a human body, so if my Ben lived after my death, there is no way he could look the same. Talk the same. Feel the same.
Before I can stop myself, I reach for Ben’s hand. Right on cue, electric tingles run through my fingers straight to my spine. I can tell Ben is warming as well, because he stops shivering. Mr. West’s words come rushing in: Extreme sensations like that are not normal. They act as an alert of such, forcing fellow Pentrals to pay attention.
I shake my head, trying to fling the notion away. No. It doesn’t make any sense. Can it be? That Ben somehow tricked the fates, just as I did when I jumped into Violet’s body? But how? Why? Who are you, Ben? my eyes plead, wishing I could ask out loud. Or maybe a better question is, what are you?
I squeeze his hand tighter as I fight to understand. “Violet?” he whispers, reading my puzzled expression. “Are you okay?”
Someone comes over, a dock attendant, bringing us both cups of hot tea. I drop Ben’s hand and obediently sip the drink, but it’s worthless. It doesn’t provide the warmth I need.
Thomas walks over and asserts his body between us, his face full of doubt. “You both okay?” he says, eying us carefully.
“I’m fine, just cold,” Ben answers, his eyes dark, full of questions. Both boys stare at me now, my game of make-believe unraveling. Dual timelines run through my head, separate lives coursing simultaneously. I sort through the clutter, trying to assume the correct role to play. I cannot be in both places at once. I don’t have time to pretend.
Time. With a click, my mind comes into focus. There is somewhere I need to be. Lumon Square. How long was I in the water? Have I missed my meeting with Mr. West and my chance to stop the Reflections?
“What time is it?” I ask, panic lacing my words.
“I don’t know, noon maybe? What does it matter?” Thomas responds.
“No, I just…”
“Violet, what is going on?”
My tongue is tied. I just need to grab Mary’s glasses. The glasses!
“Do you know what happened to my glasses?” I ask, almost shouting.
“This is what you’re worried about? A pair of glasses?” Thomas is losing his patience. “First I catch you two holding hands, and then you abandon ship together…”
“I know,” I say, touching his arm with my icy hand. “It doesn’t make sense. But I need them.”
“They went over with me,” Ben interjects. He’s the only one who understands their importance. I wonder what else he knows. I want to pause this current scene, pull him aside and ask if he saw what I saw. Our past life together. But no, I’ll have to let it go. I have to focus on what’s happening now. The past is the past; I can only impact the present. “My dad and Thomas fished us out. I don’t know what happened to them.”
“Could you go look?” I turn to Thomas, touching his face. It’s what Violet would do. His eyes are cold but seem to warm to my touch. “Please?”
He sighs, exhausted from frustration but unable to spurn his love’s request. “I’ll go check on board.”
“I’ll help,” Ben offers. Thomas stiffens. “I need to grab some dry clothes anyway.”
They head off, two friends walking side yet with a cavern between them. What trouble I have caused. I hope completing my mission will make amends.
As I wait, I take several deep breaths, trying to prepare for what’s to come. It doesn’t matter what I saw, it won’t help me with the Class Fours. I may have failed in that life, unable to uncover a mystery before me, but I won’t let it happen again.
Mr. Kelly is nowhere to be seen. Is he back on his yacht, changing into warmer clothes? Did he grab the glasses? Tuck them away so no one can uncover the mirripulations? I hope not. I’d rather them fall to the bottom of the lake than end up in his possession.
Thomas returns, empty handed. “I can’t find them. Violet, you’re soaked. I’m going to get my carpod and take you home, okay?”
I nod, though I have no intention of leaving with him. Even without the glasses, I have to go. As soon as his back is turned, I take off running, headed to the square.
Goodbye, Thomas, I think.
The streets are packed with people. They are happily, sloppily, ridiculously partying. Dancing, laughing, so different from when I left the dock. I wonder how much of the Lift! cloud remains, if its potency has worn off. I cannot see any mist but the commotion makes it difficult to tell.
Their amusement is contagious. The further I push into the crowd, the more I feel lost, though I’m certain I’m headed in the right direction. My run slows to a jog, then a walk, then more of a clumsy stumble. The air, something is slowing me down. I feel foggy, but happy, like the details of my mission are growing dim. Less pressing, less important. Slipping away down a curving slope. Why am I here again?
No! Focus, Antares. The Square. Get to the Square.
Right. I can do this. But with every step, I lose conviction. There is music playing, somewhere. I’m not sure where it’s coming from. I look all around, but become fixated on an arrangement of twinkling lights up above. They are so pretty, like fireflies, flickering to the beat. I sway with them. It’s nice here.
Nothing seems to matter. Not even the mirrors. They are everywhere, everywhere. But somehow, my Reflection has taken a break. She’s not so scary anymore. Her monstrous form, replaced with Violet’s shining face, greets me from every building, every surface. Dreamily, I touch the mirrored side of a street vendor’s cart, running my fingers along the reflected strands of Violet’s hair. There you are. Where have you been?
Wait. I am confused. Why did the Reflection change? Did I do it? Complete my mission without realizing? Make the Class Fours see? It doesn’t seem right, yet there in the glass, my Person has returned to her normal state. What caused this?
I keep walking. Slowly, slowly. I’m almost to Lumon Square. Mr. West will be there—he’ll know what’s going on.
“Violet!” Someone’s calling for me. Mr. West? No. I spin around and Ben’s there. Looking like he did in my vision. Like a dream. He’s run after me.
“Hey. I was worried. Why did you take off like that?” His hands are on my shoulders. So warm.
“I… I…” I can’t think straight. I place my hands on his arms, so firm and strong. Help me focus, I think. Keep me steady. The heat between our skin ignites me, and it feels so good, so impossibly right, I want to keep the current flowing for as long as possible. Everything is turning inside out: a haze of right and wrong, then and now. My inhibitions are gone, and I pull him closer. I know I should be elsewhere, I’m not supposed to do this. I wrap my arms around his waist, he does not resist. Ben. What he is, how he got here: does it matter? If we’re together, reunited, isn’t that what’s important? So many rules, so many boundaries. I can’t take it anymore. I’m out of words; all that remains is desire.
And then he kisses me.
It is perfect. Not because of the physical touch of his lips or his hands lightly touching my face, but for the feeling behind it. At first I resist, knowing in the back of my mind how I am not meant to have this, but I am weak. Heat crackles between us, drawing us closer together. I want this. It’s what I’ve been craving all along. To feel a love that is deep, powerful, all consuming. A kiss with meaning behind it. A love that is mine, and mine alone. I am loved at last.
I want to stay like this forever, sharing this connection, but the moment ends too soon. Out of nowhere, a high-pitched scream pierces my ears, causing my knees to buckle. The spell is broken, my mind forced to focus. A loud, tortured sound, so close it feels like it’s emanating from within.
I pull away from Ben. “What was that?” I yell, covering my hands over my ears.
“W-What?” he stammers. He steps back, placing his hand to his chest like I just shot him through the heart. I can barely sta
nd. The scream is rattling my bones, yet he seems unfazed by the sound. Am I the only one who hears it?
His face is troubled with other concerns. “I thought you wanted this,” he says. His disappointment leaves me gutted. I have hurt him; it’s the last thing I’d want to do. But I am unable to offer any comfort. The screech leaves me practically immobilized. I look down, unwilling to face his agonizing expression. What could be worse, I think. But there on the pavement lies my answer.
It is empty. A blank canvas of crushed glass beneath my feet. No black shape hovering below. No Shadow waiting. With the sun so high in the afternoon sky, Violet should be hanging on my heels in her deepest shade, yet she is nowhere to be seen.
The scream. It must be Violet, calling to me from the Pentral realm. They have taken her, snatched her away to draw me out, lure me into their grasp.
“I’m… I’m sorry. I have to go.”
“Wait!” Ben starts to run after me, grabbing my wrist.
“No, Ben!” I shout, shaking myself free. “Don’t follow me.”
“Violet…” he trails off, unable to connect the dots.
“Don’t,” I say, voice cracking. Then I leave, take off with him standing there, the only downturned expression in a crowd of euphoric lifters. But I can’t be with him now.
Howling in my ears, tears stinging my eyes, I fight my way to Lumon Square. Every time my glance meets glass, I see Violet’s face, aching with doubt. I’m tired, drained from the day’s events, but the screech propels me forward.
The Square has been given extra attention for the Festival. A sculpture of mirrors dominates the scene—rectangular panels angled up on the ground, radiating out from the circular fountain in the center. It is a sun, made of glass, bouncing every bit of its subject’s rays throughout the city. I search the crowd, not sure who to look for, when I feel a cold rush run through my back.
The Pentrals Page 20