by Lev AC Rosen
“It’s Bridgefall,” Nick says finally. “From Wellhall. Have you been playing the game, Mom?”
Mom furrows her brow. “What game?” she asks. She turns to Dad. “What game?” she asks more forcefully.
“Nick’s video game,” Dad says, stroking her hand. “Your painting reminds him of his game—high praise indeed, since he spends all his time with it. Oh, and look, this one is beautiful. And this one.”
Nick looks at the next painting, a mountain rising high into the sky, stained-glass windows cut into its sides, stairways curved along the outside: Wellhall, just like on the box the game came in.
“That’s from the game, too,” Nick says. “Are you playing it?” he asks again. “We could play together, if you are.”
“I’m sorry, Nicky.” Mom shakes her head. “I don’t know what game you mean.”
“Wellhall, Mom. The one we always play together,” Nick says, feeling confused, and angry that he is confused. She’s supposed to be fine. She’s supposed to remember the important stuff. “This is from the game!” He shakes the painting in her face, the sound of it like thunderclaps and the feeling of its moving back and forth in his hand like gusts of wind. And then he realizes what he’s doing, and he stops. His mother has drawn back from him, as if struck. Her eyes are different, confused-looking. He remembers how her eyes were a few years ago, blue and sharp as a wave smacking you in the face. But now the water is calm, rippling as though something underneath were moving, but invisibly, because the water just reflects your own face back at you. He takes a deep breath.
“Sorry,” he says.
But then, for an instant, his mother meets his eye, and she winks. It might just be a flutter of eyelashes to someone not paying attention, but Nick is looking at her, and her eyes go from calm water to ocean waves again, sharp as knives, totally aware of what he’s asking, and planning a secret puzzle to give him the answer. And then her eyes go calm again. Nick wonders if there’s a disease that can split a person in two—take who she is and wrap her in a fuzzy-cloud layer of confusion while the real her can only struggle to get out. The real her is trapped inside, communicating only for moments, through winks and watercolor paintings of the things that will speak to her son. The real her is playing a game, just like she’s always done, with hidden clues, and Nick has to figure out what the clues mean if he wants to save her. Because the real her—real Mom, trapped in the cotton-candy mass of whatever it is—can’t get out until he pulls her out.
“IS SOMETHING the matter?” asks Maria, suddenly appearing in the doorway. Nick stares at his mother a moment longer, and she blinks, then her eyes change again and they’re dark and sharp, and she smiles. Not scared and confused anymore, but not with the wink he had seen for just a moment. Nick isn’t sure what box to check for this, but he goes over the other diseases in his mind—which one could compartment his mother off from herself? He knows some drugs can make a person look like they have Alzheimer’s. Maybe the ones they’ve given her have made it worse, since she never had Alzheimer’s to begin with. That’s another Alzheimer’s look-alike: drugs (curable by stopping taking the drugs).
“Sorry,” Nick says again to his mother, who seems more relaxed now. Then, to Maria, he says, “Everything is fine…but could you tell me—you said you have game consoles here. Do you have Wellhall? Has Mom played it?” Has she hidden clues in the game, like she used to? Is she trying to tell him something?
Maria tilts her head. “I don’t usually monitor the video game playing. It’s during lounge time. But it’s possible. I don’t know about the game you mean, though. Is it new? We don’t have many new games.”
“She has to have played it,” Nick says.
“It’s possible,” Maria says, nodding. She looks quickly at Nick’s parents, then smiles at him. “I think maybe you should give your parents a little time alone. Want to come sit on the porch with me? We have some good lemonade. It’s not the powdered stuff.” Nick looks back at Dad, who nods. Mom is staring at Dad and stroking his arm.
“Okay. I’ll be back in a little bit, Mom. I’m going to see if I can find the game. And then we can play it together. Okay?”
“Okay, Nicky. That sounds nice.”
Nick follows Maria back downstairs and outside to the porch. He sits down on one of the benches, and Maria goes inside and comes back with two glasses of lemonade. Nick sips his. It’s cold and sour.
“You okay?” Maria asks.
“I’m okay,” Nick says, and nods. “But she should know the game. I’ve been talking about it forever. We played the last one together.”
“I’m sure she remembers spending that time with you,” Maria says in a voice that would match PityFace.
“Can I see where you keep the games?” Nick asks.
Maria laughs. “You can see it…but they’re all mixed in with movies and out of order. We never really worked at keeping them in order at first, and when you have a bunch of patients with memory problems…things are in the wrong boxes, or not in boxes, and they’re not arranged. I found a DVD in the bathroom next to the extra toilet paper the other day. I keep telling the boss we need more of a library system, but they don’t want to take away from the homey environment. So I can show you, but…”
“Yeah,” Nick says. “I’m sure you have it. Mom probably saw someone play it or something. It’s really cool looking. The graphics are great. I bet she decided to paint it and then forgot where she’d seen it. Like a dream.” She’s played it, he knows. She’s trying to tell him something. But if he tells Maria or Dad that, they’re just going to give him PityFace and tell him it’s all a fantasy. He needs to get proof first. He needs to find her in the game.
“Like a dream,” Maria says in agreement.
Maybe he can find her. He takes out a piece of paper from a notebook in his backpack and writes down the name of the server he uses and “Severkin,” so she knows where he is. She’ll understand. She’s probably already guessed—he wouldn’t be on any other server than the Character one.
“We can probably go back up now, if you want,” Maria says when they’ve finished their lemonade.
“Okay,” Nick says.
“It’s important your parents get some alone time, you know,” Maria says as they head back upstairs. “I know you love your mom, but just try to remember that, okay?”
“Yeah,” Nick says.
Back upstairs, Nick sees his mom is laughing and Dad has turned on some jazz music and they’re dancing. Nick remembers how they used to all dance together when he was little, though he remembers it more as bouncing around his parents while they swayed. Mom and Dad both had always hummed along, and if Nick held on to their legs, he could feel the vibrations from them. It had been like he was inside the vibrations, like they were all inside them.
“Nicky!” Mom shouts, smiling. “Come dance with us!” Nick rolls his eyes but is smiling. He takes the piece of paper with the server name and “Severkin” on it and puts it under the framed photo of him on her nightstand, weighting it in place, and then he goes over to Mom and they all dance together for a while. Nick feels silly, but he feels happy, too.
When they have to go, a little while later, Nick gives Mom a big hug and tells her he loves her.
“I love you, too, Nicky,” she says, and Nick thinks she might be crying, but when he looks at her, her eyes are dry.
“I’ll meet you downstairs at the car, Dad,” Nick says. Nick’s dad nods, and Nick heads downstairs and outside, waving at Maria as he passes her. In the parking lot, he heads toward the car but stops when he sees Ms. Knight, his history teacher. It gives him a weird sensation, seeing her outside the classroom. She is standing off to one side, out of sight of the porch, and is holding hands with a woman in scrubs. They’re talking closely and smiling at each other. The woman rubs her hand over Ms. Knight’s arm. Nick knows teachers have lives outside school, but he feels like this is something he’s not supposed to see. He turns away, heading for the car, but then he hears Ms. Kn
ight’s voice call his name—“Nick!”—half question, half the noise you make when you’re hit in the stomach. Nick turns and smiles at her.
“Hi, Ms. Knight,” he says. He tries to sound respectful. He stares at the white stones of the parking lot.
“Hi,” she says. She looks confused, and Nick thinks she probably didn’t mean to call out his name. “Um, this is Jessica. Jess, this is one of my students, Nick Reeves.”
“Hi,” Nick says, extending his hand. Jess shakes it. She’s tall and thin, and her hair is in thousands of thin black braids pouring back from her high forehead. Her scrubs are grass green and covered in a pattern of happy bees, leaving loop-de-loop dotted lines where they’ve flown. She has a huge smile. Nick tries to think if he’s seen her at one of Dad’s readings. He thought all the black people in Two Rivers came to them, but he doesn’t know her. Maybe she lives farther away, or doesn’t know Traci. It’s odd to think that the community Traci talks about doesn’t really include everyone. It makes him feel like he’s taking someone else’s spot—someone who wouldn’t just stand in the back with Mom.
“Nice to meet you, Nick,” Jess says.
“So, why are you here?” Ms. Knight asks.
“Just…visiting,” Nick says.
“Oh,” Ms. Knight says. Everyone stands there smiling at each other for a while in silence, and Nick scratches his ankle with his foot.
“Hey, is it okay if my dad helps me answer some of the questions on the questionnaire, even if I’m doing the project on my mom?”
“Sure, sure,” Ms. Knight says, nodding. Then she looks up at the big white house behind Nick. She purses her lips but doesn’t say anything. She looks at Jess. “We can talk more about it on Monday, too,” she says. She takes a deep breath. “So…who are you visiting here?” She looks away from him when she asks it.
“Who are you visiting?” Nick asks.
“I’m visiting Jess,” Ms. Knight says.
“Are you guys girlfriends?” Nick asks. “It’s cool if you are. My dad says that the fight for gay marriage is like the fight for interracial marriage was back in the day.”
“Well, we’re not at the marriage stage yet,” Jess says with a laugh. “But nice dodging of the question.”
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Ms. Knight says, and Nick can tell she means it. Nick looks down at the white gravel parking lot. The small stones aren’t actually all the same. Some have gray flecks, and some have points.
“I…she just moved in,” Nick says finally. “She’s way better than everyone else here. I don’t think she even has Alzheimer’s. She’s young, and she only gets a little weird sometimes.” Nick thinks of the way he’d just yelled at Mom, and kicks a few of the stones. He has to remember to check box 1 when he gets home, “Memory loss that disrupts daily life.” And erase the check in box 4—no sign of confusion with time or place today.
“Is it your mom, Nick?” Ms. Knight asks in a low voice. Nick feels the words go through him like icicles.
“Don’t tell anyone at school, please?” Nick says. “I won’t tell anyone you’re gay.”
“I don’t care if anyone knows I’m gay,” Ms. Knight says, sounding a little angry. She sighs. “And I won’t tell anyone about your mom. Of course not. But it does make me wonder why you’re doing your project on her. It must be hard for her to answer your questions.”
“I want to know before…” Nick stops and clears his throat. He looks her in the eye. She’s not giving him PityFace, and for a moment he really likes her because of that. Thinks she might be his favorite teacher. “I already know everything about my dad’s family. ’Cause of his books. I wanted a challenge.”
“Let’s see how your questionnaire goes,” Ms. Knight says. “If your dad knows enough, or if you can do research, then maybe—”
“My mom isn’t that bad,” Nick interrupts. “She’s only been here a week. She still remembers stuff.”
“Okay. Then no problem,” Ms. Knight says. “I just don’t want this to be…painful for you, Nick. Or for your mom.”
“No, it’ll be cool,” Nick says. He spots Dad coming toward them through the parking lot. “Dad!” he shouts. “This is my history teacher.” Dad comes closer and smiles at Ms. Knight and Jess.
“Hi,” Dad says.
“We’re both big fans of your books,” Jess says, shaking his hand. “I’m Jess.”
“And that’s Ms. Knight. She’s my history teacher, but she’s pretty cool so far.”
Ms. Knight, Jess, and Dad all laugh at this.
“Hillary,” Ms. Knight says, shaking Dad’s hand. “I haven’t read your most recent book yet—someone has been hogging it”—she elbows Jess as she says this—“but I’m really looking forward to it.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Dad says. He opens his briefcase and takes out a copy of his book and his pen. “Hillary, right?”
“Really?” Ms. Knight asks. “You don’t have to—I’ll wait till Jess is finished. Or buy another.”
“Nick says you’re pretty cool so far,” Dad says, signing the book. “That alone should earn you a library.” He hands her the book. “And I often do readings and talks at the bookstore over in the shopping center. I’ll have Nick let you know next time I give one.”
“Thank you,” Ms. Knight says, taking the book. She hugs it. “Nick’s pretty cool, too, so far.” Nick rolls his eyes. “And, Nick, thank you for telling me. It means a lot to me that you’d trust me like that. I know your project on your mom will be great. I’ll help you, if you need it, okay?”
“Okay,” Nick says. “Thanks.” He looks up at Dad, hoping it’s time to leave. Ms. Knight is being really nice, and even though she might be his new favorite teacher, it’s getting weird.
“All right, we’re going to head home, ladies. Nick is probably dying to play that new game of his.”
“Which one?” Ms. Knight asks.
“Wellhall,” Nick says.
“Oh, I love it!” Ms. Knight says. “I just got to Bridgefall.”
“You play, too?” Nick asks. She is absolutely his favorite teacher.
“When I have time, yeah,” Ms. Knight says, smiling. “We adult types like video games, too.”
“Cool,” Nick says, though suddenly he wonders if he could have bumped into her in the game—she’d recognize him from his email. That would be weird.
“Anyway, go play. It’s got a great background in Norse mythology, from what I’ve seen. Totally educational.” She wiggles her eyebrows at Dad, and Nick rolls his eyes. “See you on Monday.”
“Bye, Ms. Knight, bye, Jess,” Nick says. Dad is chuckling, but he says goodbye to both of them as well, and gets in the car.
“They seem nice,” Dad says. “And it’s good that she knows about your mom. Happy coincidence.”
Nick turns to look at Dad. His ears are ringing like he’s been punched.
“Happy?” Nick asks.
They’re pulling out of the parking lot. Dad sighs, and keeps his eyes on the road. “Bad choice of words. Sorry. I know that nothing about this is happy.”
Nick looks at Dad and thinks about how well he’s been handling it all week, how he seems to have adjusted so quickly. How he’s not fighting, like Nick is, to prove that Mom should come home. Maybe he is happy. Nick doesn’t know how that could be possible, but as they drive home, Dad starts to hum the jazz song they’d been dancing to, and Nick thinks maybe he’s just happy for right now—happy for having seen Mom.
• • •
At home, Nick goes upstairs to his computer and stares at the checklist. Box 4 is still checked from when they took Mom to the home. He unchecks it. She didn’t show any confusion about time or place today. Then he puts a red check mark in box 1, “Memory loss that disrupts daily life.” It’s probably the scariest box, but that’s why he knows he has to find out what’s really causing her occasional memory lapses.
He goes back over some of the other Alzheimer’s look-alike diseases. Dep
ression is a big one. He knows depression is a mental problem, like one that you cure with a shrink and sometimes pills. He wonders if depression could trap a person in her head, like Mom is trapped, like those Russian dolls where inside each one there’s another identical-except-smaller doll, over and over again. There are probably pills for that. She could be home in a week, once he proves it.
He wants to play the game. He wants to find his mom there. He leaves his computer, goes over to the game console, and turns it on. He smiles a little at the idea of bumping into Ms. Knight and not knowing it’s her. He’ll have to be careful—make sure he remembers that anyone Severkin meets could be someone Nick already knows.
REUNNE HAS vanished for the moment, and Severkin kills time by hunting a few hyenas before she reappears.
“Sorry,” she says, emerging from a cluster of trees. “Nature called.” Severkin shrugs. “The cave is this way,” she says, and heads off toward a shallow cliff in the distance. It’s a short hike, but when they arrive, the cave is barely a hole in the rock. Severkin isn’t sure he would have seen it without her. They have to crouch down, practically crawl into the hole and through a long tunnel of stone and dirt. But at the end, the tunnel opens out into a cave so big that Severkin feels dizzy for a moment. Cave might not even be the right word, it’s so huge. He’s standing on a balcony made of carved stone that looks out over a glowing green lake stretching beneath them, as wide and flat as a battleground. There are houses around the lake, a death drop below where they stand, and he can see more paths and balconies winding around the walls and down through the buildings. It’s as big as Bridgefall, this cave. It’s a city.
Or it was. Even with his night vision, the place feels dark and gloomy. The lake glows green because it is coated with algae, and shadows seem to shimmer beneath its surface.