by DL Kopp
Something clicked, and the wall swung open, revealing a steep staircase that ran down the back of the house.
I stepped back, surprised. A secret passage? How cool!
Fighting my urge to immediately explore, I returned to my bedroom and dug up an old flashlight, dressing quickly in a ruffled black skirt and striped stockings, pulling on a tank top with a skull decal over my head. I wasn’t sure where the passage led—outside, maybe. If so, I wanted to be long gone before my parents got back. I bet I could stay with Octavius.
I snuck into the secret passage, pulling the wall shut behind me. The hall was narrow and there was no light, so I turned on my flashlight and ran my hand along the wall to keep my balance.
It felt like I walked down the sloping path for hours, but a glance at my watch showed that it really took no longer than five minutes. At the bottom there was another hinged wall, and I pushed it open cautiously, peeking my head outside.
It was the hall behind the kitchen. The passage must have been for servants back in the day—a quick way to get around.
“Cool,” I whispered.
I started to hurry down the hall toward the entryway, but I hesitated in front of the pantry door. The key was still heavy in my pocket.
Maybe just a quick look wouldn’t hurt.
The key slipped smoothly into the lock, and it opened with a quiet clunk.
Faced with another dark staircase, I decided this time to leave the door open a crack and use the hallway light to navigate my way downstairs. The flashlight was maybe a little too conspicuous.
I crept downstairs, keeping my ears and eyes open, ready to bolt at the first hint of my dad.
The stairs opened up into a lab at the bottom—not too unlike my dad’s workspace back in Georgia. There were alembics and calcinators, beakers in metal racks dripping smoke and flickering with strange green lights. My dad had never liked new technology, so he had papers, too, and lots of them—a thousand pages that recorded formulas, procedures, and his thoughts as he worked. He even kept leather-bound journals, like some Victorian-obsessed dork.
But he had never been so fiercely protective of his workspace before. He had even let me in once or twice. Why freak out at me for even finding the door?
I turned a corner, and froze.
There was a bed of some kind—some crazy, medieval table propped against the wall at a forty five degree angle—and a man strapped to it at his arms and thighs. The man was sleeping peacefully, blonde bangs shielding his eyes. He wore nothing but a pair of Tidy Whities, which wasn’t too surprising considering how humid and muggy it was in the lab, with a thin mist rolling on the ground at ankle-level.
Considering the weird stuff my dad did sometimes, finding a guy sleeping in his workspace wasn’t really that weird. He did have research assistants.
But this was no research assistant.
There was something wrong with his body. He looked like a patchwork quilt—his right shoulder wasn’t the same color as his left, and his legs from the knees down were mechanical parts with rubber spacers between the springs. Where the parts met each other, there was fine stitching—like he had been sewn together, a giant Raggedy Andy doll.
“Oh… my God…” I whispered.
His eyes opened, and he looked right at me. One eye was ice blue, and the other black. “Calliope,” he said, his voice soft and velvety. There was such pain in his voice, and I knew he had been the one screaming for nights on end.
For an instant, I was paralyzed with fear.
My dad was keeping a monster in our basement.
The instant passed, and I ran.
Out the lab, back up the stairs, shutting – and locking – the door behind me, and into the secret passage once more. I took the stairs three at a time, dropping out of the tower and into my bedroom.
I threw the flashlight into the corner and jumped into bed, pulling my covers over my head. My heart thundered, and my breath came in short gasps.
“I am never, ever leaving my bedroom again,” I whispered to no one.
At the time, I didn’t even wonder how the monster had known my name.
Chapter Fifteen
I stared at the ceiling for about two hours. There was little else I could do. I wasn't moved to write a poem; after all, blind terror inspired little besides “ohgodohgodohgod.”
It was after the two hour point that I decided it was a start.
ohgodohgodohgod
who is the figure in the basement
patchwork skin
tortured soul
maybe he is my brother
My brother? That was just stupid. I tore up the page into little pieces and put them under my pillow. It wasn't the first time I'd done that with a poem; it made it easier to mull the idea over a period of time.
This time, I did it because I didn't want my mom to see. If she'd locked me up because of practically nothing, who knew what she'd do if given cause?
I heard a buzzing, and my head throbbed in response. I groaned and stuffed a pillow over my head. It couldn't be the lab in the basement, could it? I'd never heard anything of the sort coming from that direction, and I didn't think it'd start now.
But then, I didn't think I'd find a half-naked monster in the basement, either.
The sky outside was dark and ominous, like my thoughts. From the looks of things, it was starting to get foggy, since everything I could see from my window had a glowing halo of sorts. There was a peace and innocence outside that mocked the house, mocked the prisoner inside. My heart was squeezed so tight I thought it'd dissolve into powder.
I heard the buzzing again.
A thought occurred to me. I looked across the room toward my backpack, which was on the floor.
My backpack...that had my cell phone.
I dived across the room for it. “Don't hang up, don't hang up,” I muttered, near tears. It didn't matter that I could call whomever it was back. I needed out, and I needed out now. I couldn't waste time redialing.
The buzzing continued as I searched the pockets. Luckily, the phone was exactly where I'd left it in the front pocket, so I extracted it and put it to my ear. “Hello? Hello? Please, answer me!”
It was only when the buzzing stopped that I realized I hadn't pressed the green button.
“No!” I cried. “No, please!”
My fingers fumbled across the keys as I struggled to pull up the number and hit redial. My stomach was an icy pit as the phone dialed, and each successive noise was like nails in the coffin. If the caller didn't pick up, I didn't know what I'd do.
The caller picked up on the second ring.
“Calliope, thank goodness. Where are you?”
I burst into tears. “Octavius! Please, help me!”
“What's wrong?”
As quickly as I could, I recounted what had happened to me. I didn't know how Octavius understood me – I was still crying so hard I couldn't see, and it made it even harder to talk – but after I finished, he said, “I'll be there in five minutes.”
“Hurry!”
The line went dead, and I realized I should have asked him to stay on the phone with me while he came. I didn't know if he could on a motorcycle, but the silence that followed his absence was so strong it seemed physical, painful.
I tried to control my sobbing. I needed to breathe, but it was so hard.
Time passed. I wasn't sure how much, but it passed. And after it passed, I heard footsteps out in the hallway. I gasped, then clapped a hand over my mouth.
“Calliope? Are you in there?”
“Octavius!” His voice had never sounded sweeter. “How did you get in?”
To my complete shock, he turned the knob on the door and walked in. “Nothing was locked.”
I ran to his arms. He held me in silence for a moment, then kissed the top of my head and pulled back. “Where's this monster you were talking about?”
“Oh, in the basement, but it doesn't matter,” I said. “Just let me get a few things, and we c
an leave, and I'll never--”
“I need to see him, Cal,” he said. I'd never seen him so serious.
I frowned. “Why?”
“I just do. Show me the way?”
I pointed toward the tower. “The passage is there, but--”
Octavius walked forward with a purpose. I looked at the open door he left, wondering at it, then grabbed the flashlight I'd used earlier and jogged to keep up.
“Open it.”
“Are you sure about this? I don't know if he's dangerous.”
He gave me a faint smile. “It's fine.”
I stuck my finger in the hole again, and the wall swung open. Octavius waited for me to turn on the flashlight and take the lead before following.
Chapter Sixteen
I led Octavius down the passage, and his presence at my back was warm, comforting. But when we got into the hall, I reached for my key and found my pocket was empty.
“Crap,” I said, patting my hands all over my body to search for it. “Oh no… Octavius! I must have left the key in the lab!”
“Are you sure the door is even locked?” he asked reaching out to turn the doorknob.
But it wouldn’t move.
A frown furrowed his brow.
“Of course it’s locked, I think it locks automatically,” I said, and he tried harder, jiggling the doorknob with all his arm strength.
“That’s… funny,” he said.
I ran my hands through my hair, pacing in a little circle. “I took my mom’s lab key and I think I dropped it by the—the monster. When my dad finds it, he’s going to know what I did.” I gripped Octavius’s arms. “What am I going to do?”
“He won’t know it’s you,” Octavius said comfortingly. “He’ll probably just think it was your mother. But…” He cast a glare at the door.
“What?”
“Nothing,” he said. “Try to relax. Maybe you were imagining the monster.”
“I was not—”
Octavius kissed me, and I sagged in his arms. His lips were awfully convincing.
When he let me up for air, he gave me a pitying smile. “You do feel sick, Calliope. You’re burning up. You must have imagined this whole morning—your bedroom door wasn’t even locked.”
“I guess,” I said doubtfully.
He swept me up in his arms, navigating the path back up the passage. I buried my face in his neck, breathing in his musky, salty scent.
Octavius deposited me on my bed again, pulling the sheets over my prone body.
“Try to rest,” he said soothingly, dropping a kiss on my lips. I tried to pull him into bed with me, but he stepped out of my arms before I had the chance. “That would not be resting.”
I pouted. “It might be. Well, at least I’ll see you at school tomorrow.”
A shadow flickered through his eyes. “Yes,” Octavius said. “Of course.” And then he left.
As it turned out, he was lying to me.
Mom deigned to let me go to school in the morning – I didn’t dare ask about the inhabitant in the basement, lest they get angry and lock me up again – and I even drove myself. I arrived early and camped out the parking lot, waiting for the familiar growl of Octavius’s motorcycle.
It never came.
I went to my first class in a daze, ignoring Rita’s enthusiastic questions about where I had been, and Rich’s attempts at being charming. When lunch rolled around and Octavius still hadn’t shown up, I decided to find Allen and Paul in the cafeteria.
They were sitting together, sans-drum sticks and guitar pick, and gave me a funny look when I approached. “Do you know where Octavius is?” I asked.
They exchanged a look. “What do you mean?” Paul asked.
“It’s just… I haven’t seen him today. He isn’t picking up his cell phone, either. I thought you guys might have heard from him…”
Allen looked at me like I had gone mad. “Who’s Octavius?”
I laughed, thinking he was joking. I stopped when he didn’t join me.
“We have to do… something,” Paul said, grabbing Allen’s shoulder. “Something not here.”
They left hurriedly, and I stared after them in confusion.
Who’s Octavius?
I tried to shake the chill that settled on my shoulders. They were just messing with me. They had to be.
Returning to the table with Rita, she grabbed my hand and started babbling about something related to our advanced poetry class. After a minute of pretending to listen, I interrupted her.
“Have you seen Octavius today at all?”
She fell into uneasy silence. “Calliope? Who is--?” The bell rang, interrupting her, and she snatched her backpack off the seat next to her and stood quickly. “Ooh, I have to go! I can’t be late for class this time or I’m toast!”
Rita fled, and I watched her back in befuddlement.
Was the world going crazy, or was it just me?
Chapter Seventeen
“Come on,” I muttered, “pick up your phone.”
After several rings, the default answering machine message picked up. “We’re sorry, but the person you are calling is unavailable right now…”
With a furious growl, I flung the phone against the wall.
I paced my bedroom, arms folded tight under my breasts. So this was the game he was playing, huh? One amazing night together, he tucks me into bed so sweetly the next day, and then he’s gone? Maybe he was afraid of commitment.
But that wouldn’t explain why everyone at school treated me like I’d lost my mind when I asked about him.
“People don’t just disappear like that,” I told the rose bud on my shelf. “That’s not how it works.”
My hand began to quiver, and I knew the force that was driving it. The need for the pain on the inside to manifest in the outside. People would know there was something wrong if I bled for it. They couldn't forget if I had the scars to show them.
I dashed into the bathroom, grandmother's quill in hand. I looked at myself in the mirror, saw my face taught with the agony that consumed me, then down at my the small white scars running up and down my wrists. The nib of the pen hovered over my ivory skin, the gold glinting in the light.
My hand wouldn't move. It hovered, dangling the feather and nib over my wrist, but wouldn't make contact or puncture the skin.
I cried out and threw the pen out in the room. In a rush, I grabbed my notebook and a pencil and took my notebook out to the chair I had permanently stationed on my balcony and stared out at the ocean. The pencil too hovered over the page, only this white was more pure than the jagged edges on my arms.
The sound of the breeze reminded me of what Octavius’s had been singing on the rocks the night before last. It made me hurt inside to think about.
I started writing words without thought, and it took me a minute to realize what that I was writing Octavius’s song, humming the melody in the back of my throat.
Seeking your song,
Persephone,
A haunting dream of you
After these months your mother longs,
Persephone,
Ever since your soul fell through
I frowned at the words. Persephone? That didn’t make any sense. Octavius was into poetry, sure, but Greek mythology? My memories were confused, just like me.
Scribbling out the words, I went to the next page, but I couldn’t think of anything to write other than his song.
And then… I heard it.
“Seeking your song, Persephone…” It wasn’t the wind or my imagination. I knew Octavius’s voice when I heard it.
I stood, setting my notebook on the chair I had vacated, and went to the balcony. Squinting down at the beach, I shielded my eyes from the wind rustling my hair and tried to pick out the location of the song.
On the sandy beach beside our property stood a figure with dark hair and pale skin.
Octavius.
Chapter Eighteen
I ran down to the beach.
&n
bsp; Octavius stood like a figure from myth, a Greek god all his own. The wind whipped through his hair, and he closed his eyes and leaned into it. I felt myself melting into a pile of goo.
I shook my head to try and clear it and stepped up to him.
“What's going on?” I asked. “First, my dad knows who you are when you've never even met, and now, the people at school that we were hanging around just days ago didn't recognize your name.”
He smiled faintly. “I've met your father before.”
“Okay, whatever. Something's going on, and you know what it is.”
“There's a lot of somethings going on, Calliope,” he said. He hummed the tune under his breath. “And you're at the center of them all.”
“Me?” It made no sense. I was the epitome of average. It was this town that was weird, everyone around me who was creepy. “But why?”
“I can't spoil the fun,” he said.
“No, please. Spoil it. I need to know!”
He hummed more of his song. I felt myself swooning. He put his hand on my cheek, then leaned in and whistled in my ear.
The next thing I knew, I was lying on the sand, and the grit dug into my cheek. I rose to a sitting position and looked around.
Octavius was gone.
Trying to ignore my splitting headache, I grabbed a handful of sand and threw it at the ocean. “I can't take this anymore!”
The waves crashed several feet away. I watched them dance, the moonlight flickering across the surface. It seemed so simple, and beautiful, but I was quickly learning that nothing in this place fit that description in the slightest. Who knew what secrets the ocean held?
For a brief moment, it seemed like I was going to get an answer.
Something moved beneath the waves. I thought at first that it was a shadow, or a large fish, but it looked like neither; it glowed slightly. I watched, and it reappeared, glowing more brightly. I thought fleetingly of the apple blossoms in the orchard, and wondered if they were connected.