by Amanda Jay
The Other One
by
Amanda Jay
First published online via Kindle Direct Publishing 2017.
Copyright © Amanda Jayatissa 2017
The moral rights of the author have been asserted. This book is copyright. Apart from any fair dealing for the purpose of private study, research, criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright Act, no part may be reproduced by any process without written permission. Enquiries should be made to the publisher.
ISBN: 978-955-38126-0-5
Cover design by Rommel Arumugam
Edited by Marisa Wikramanayake
Published via Kindle Direct Publishing 2017.
To C, for never missing an opportunity to tell me how much he loves my writing, even before he actually read a word of it.
OF DUST AND LIGHT
It's never easy waking up. Not when you know that today, tomorrow, or even the day after will never be like the days before. It's the same process every morning— I gingerly try peeling back my eyelids. They are stubborn and resilient. A sign, I imagine, of the day to come. The signs have never been wrong. It takes a lot of rubbing and coaxing to open them fully and try not to focus on my grief.
Today was brighter than usual. Too bright, but then, it's always too bright. All the brightness in my world left with her. But still the sun goes on shining, indifferent. Warm beams of light streamed down like honey through my window, illuminating the tiny flecks of dust that floated lazily along. I have always felt solace in watching the dust. It somersaults, dances, and floats happily until it finally moves away from the light to where it could not be seen anymore.
Maybe that’s what happens to people. Maybe they just move away from the beams of light to where we could not see them. But that doesn’t mean they are not there.
EZRA
Tick. Tock. Drip.
Tick. Tock. Drip.
Tick. Tock. Drip.
Ezra wasn’t sure which sound was worse. It was the dripping, he reckoned. Yes, it was most certainly the dripping. He took a shaky breath and tried to calm himself. He couldn’t let his nerves get the better of him now.
He made an effort to ignore the dry skin flaking off the young city guard’s lips. The way it quivered as he forced a jagged breath in, blood bubbling from his nostrils on his exhale. The guard was just a boy. Only a year or two older than his own son, he supposed. After so many years, was this what it had come to?
He wrung his hands as he paced up and down, muffled thuds now adding to the list of sounds.
Beads of perspiration formed on his forehead and slid down his nose. Occasionally, one would drip down on to the floor, only to be trampled by his boots. He had been pacing since he got there. He hoped he wouldn’t have to stay much longer.
He was so close to making it right again.
He thought of his son again. The boy would be scared too, no doubt. Scared and alone. But now the time had come to right the wrongs that were no one’s fault but his own. He had taken the hardest step, now he had to follow through.
His pacing stopped abruptly at a small, decorative mirror that hung on the wall.
Tick. Tock. Drip.
Tick. Tock. Drip.
Tick. Tock. Drip.
She had given him a mirror just like that once, he remembered with a lurch in his stomach, as he studied the ornate wooden carvings around the edges. Dust had managed to lodge itself in its grooves and he tried in vain to rub it off with his shirt sleeve. He thought distractedly back to when she had given it to him.
"So you can check whether your hair is sticking in a hundred different directions before you meet someone important," she had joked and they had laughed because they both knew that the only important person he cared about was her and that she loved him regardless of his hair. But that was before. Every kind gesture, every kiss and hug and comforting word, every smile, it was all before.
His life had been callously torn apart into two very distinct fragments. The before and the after. The light and the dark. The good and the bad. When did he make the leap? When did he go from trying to be her hero to being the person who destroyed her? When did he just decide to reach in and rip out the very heart, the very essence of everything that made their lives worth living?
And now, she was gone for good. He had seen to that.
Tick. Tock. Drip.
Tick. Tock. Drip.
He tried not to look at his reflection but his eyes wandered towards the grimy glass anyway. What a difference sixteen years could make. His hair, once thick and dark, was streaked with grey and heavy with oil. He couldn't even remember the last time he had washed it. His once taut skin that had been kissed lovingly was now a maze of angry lines that deepened as he frowned, a personal inscription of his suffering.
Worst though, were his eyes. Peering into them, the red veins reflecting from under his glassy stare, he felt as though he was looking into the eyes of a stranger. Perhaps he was. They were hollow and empty. Surely, they did not belong to him?
Tick. Tock. Drip.
Tick. Tock. Drip.
Tick. Tock. Drip.
Tick. Tock. Drip.
The lone candle flickered, casting shadows of imagined monsters on the wall. Ezra was startled every time he caught a glimpse of them. He knew his mind was only playing tricks on him. The only monster there that night was him.
He started pacing again, restlessly, trying not to lose heart. He had to be quick. Why was this taking so long?
His knee bumped against the edge of the table and knocked over a tumbler that had been left too close to the edge. The glass shattered onto the floor, drowning out the ticking and the dripping, jerking his hostage out of his daze.
"Please, just don't hurt me," the boy wheezed, as Ezra tightened his lips and didn’t reply.
Ezra picked up a large shard of glass. It cut into his palm but he relished the thin ribbon of blood that started to seep down his fingers. It gave him just the slightest release.
"Not a word from you," he warned.
Ezra heard footsteps echo down the passage. He braced himself as the footsteps got louder.
“Do you have it?” he asked, as the man burst into the room.
“Twin Gods be damned Ezra, what have you done to him?” the newcomer wheezed, eying the tied up guard.
“Do you have it?” Ezra repeated. He didn’t have time for this.
The man held out his hand. Ezra could see them glistening on his palm.
This was it. He thought of the years of struggling. Of all the fights and tears. Of all the hate and anger and deep, corrosive bitterness. He thought of her eyes, lifeless.
No, he mustn’t think about her eyes now. He can’t dwell on his mistakes any longer.
Murderer, his father’s voice rang in his head.
It wasn’t his fault, he tried to convince himself, reaching out for the Kubles. This was what she had to die for. He hoped it would be enough.
TOM
The sun was dipping low into the dusty horizon of the clockwork city when Tom’s heart began to soar. He knew it wouldn't do to get too excited but after what felt like hours, his wait was finally over. From his vantage point he could see the man move away from the window. In five more minutes, the man would move to the back of the building and then Tom's coast would be clear.
Five more minutes. He could wait five more minutes. It won't do any good to rush now, he reminded himself. Tom took a moment to look out over his city. The only one he had ever known. The orange pink glow of the sunset almost blurred out the greys and browns and rusts of the rundown buildings, machinery, dirt, and soot. Almost, but not quite. No one could deny it, Mliss was one ugly place. But that wasn’t the point, really. It was a city that kept ticking on and that was what made all the diffe
rence. The cogs and pegs kept turning despite the rust and grime and the cables that zig zagged over the darkening sky kept moving, no matter what.
Tom dangled his legs over the ledge he sat on, watching. He stole a quick glance over to the Eyes. Three minutes left now. Time could be really irritating when you wanted it to speed up. High up over the rusted machinery, he inhaled deeply, wondering if he should go through with it. But he laughed to himself a little, already knowing the answer even before he finished asking himself the question. On a normal day, he would be heading down to the Underbelly to try and score himself some dinner. He wondered what the Stew Pot was serving up today. Nothing good, he reckoned. No one ever knew what the surly cook with the gash across his chin put in his stew. It was probably rats, it had to be, Tom thought. It was the only type of meat you could find in the Underbelly.
In any case, today wasn’t a day to worry about what type of rodent he might be eating. Today was a special day; he needed something special to prove it. A purple tinge was bleeding into the sky’s warm glow, reminding Tom of when he once bruised his jaw. He started to make his move. Two minutes left.
He stood up slowly. Easy now, he told himself. Years of dealing with his left leg told him to be patient and not put all his weight on it at once. He used to hate himself for hurting his leg all those years ago. But with time he came to understand that it made him a little more careful, that it gave him a little more time to think things through, that he was better at what he did because of it. At least, that’s what he told himself. Glancing around to make sure he hadn’t been spotted, Tom stretched as discreetly as he could, knowing that it would not do to be found loitering on strangers’ window ledges. He pulled out the dirty handkerchief he kept in his pocket, and wrapped it around his hand.
And then he was off.
Sure footed, nimble, bad leg forgotten, he padded down the gutter and caught hold of the cable which connected most of the buildings. Best transport in Mliss, so long as you have the stomach for it, he often said to himself, smugly thinking of the horse drawn carriage caused traffic below. There had been a bit of a commotion when someone invented the new penny-farthing, but that had only made things worse. Not to mention, Tom thought they looked ridiculous-- grown men perched uncomfortably on an oversized wheel, huffing and puffing as they struggled to maintain their balance, as the horses on the street whinnied and reared their legs in fear. The sky though, that was another story.
Tom travelled along the cable, allowing its movement to propel him forward. He was about fifty feet above the ground, and felt like he was flying. He let go with his left hand and swung along, feeling the wind on his face and glad that he finally wasn’t held back by his leg. Flying over the city like this, his own private method of travelling, was one of the few times Tom thought that nothing else mattered.
It took him only a minute to get to where he wanted. He reached the top of the building and let go, dropping down onto the window sill and scurrying down the gutter to the darkened alleyway below faster than a tick of the Eyes. There was a moment when he thought an old lady on the opposite balcony had spotted him. But by the time she blinked and let her vision adjust to the inky shadows, Tom was safely behind a large crate of discarded rubbish.
His heart beat steadily as he bid his time, taking full advantage of the growing darkness. He didn't have a disguise on today, but he didn't think he needed it. Safely tucked away in the dark, he craned his neck from behind his hiding place to watch as the man pushed the neat stacks of silver coins into a bag and walked to a back room. Exactly on time.
Sleek and smooth, Tom crept over to the front door of the building and pushed it open just a crack. He knew that there was a bell which rang when someone entered, but only if the door was opened the whole way through. Just a crack was all Tom needed, however, as he slunk in, no more than a shadow himself.
He must stay focused. He had already put himself at risk, and couldn’t afford getting caught now. The time spent casing this man told Tom that what he was searching for would be at the back of the room. He sneakily found his way there and was not disappointed. He only hesitated a moment, marveling at the object in its glass case, before snatching it out and into a small box he carried, just for this, before safely tucking it away in his jacket pocket in one single motion. Just in time too. The heavy footsteps echoing through the room told him the man was back.
Tom swore to himself softly. He would have liked to have made a clean getaway. He was tired of always being chased and was sure the man wouldn’t have even noticed anything amiss if he wasn’t discovered. But now there wasn’t enough time.
Making sure his prize was safe, he neatly edged back over to the door. Perhaps he could still crawl out unseen. His hand had just made it to the handle when—
"Hey!" the man bellowed. "Twin Faced God be damned if I have one of you good for nothing scoundrels stealing from me again!" Tom ducked just in time to avoid something heavy being thrown at his head. He couldn’t resist flashing a grin at the disgruntled, red faced man who was no doubt searching for something else to throw at him.
And then, quick as lightning, Tom was off again.
FELIX
He took a deep breath in. A slow breath out. Just like she had taught him. He mustn't think of failing now. A deep breath in. A slow breath out.
Oh, why wasn’t she here right now? He shook his head. He mustn’t start thinking about her. Not at a time like this. The darkness that came after Lights Out in the Underbelly was dangerous enough as it was without his emotions getting in the way. If he learned anything in the last few weeks, it was that he really, really needed his wits about him to even have a chance at surviving this.
His heart hammered in his panting chest, and he could barely focus thanks to the sound of his teeth chattering in his head. He didn’t know if it was the lack of food, or blind panic but he tried his best to shake off his light-headedness. A deep breath in. A slow breath out. Why wasn’t this working?
A sound somewhere to his left made him gasp and spin around clumsily. His eyes took a while to focus. This alleyway was so dark he could barely see. He gripped on to his flimsy pocket knife. It wasn’t meant to be a weapon—just a present to make a boy who never left the house feel tough and important. He wished his hands wouldn’t tremble so much as he held the knife out in front of him, prepared to attack if he had to. Something darted at him from the shadows and he swung his knife, hard, one arm protecting his face.
Nothing. Slowly opening his eyes that he didn’t even realise had shut themselves, he looked around. A rat scampered around innocently near his feet. A rat. A stupid little rat. The relief that washed over him was far stronger than the embarrassment he felt. He touched his face unconsciously, feeling the tenderness of the bruise on his right cheekbone. He really didn’t want a repeat of last night.
Sighing, he sat down in the filth of the alley-way and held his head in his hands. He didn’t know how much longer he could go on but he knew he had to, now that everything had changed. He couldn’t disappoint him, not again. His whole life he had been a disappointment but he knew that if he failed now, there wouldn’t be a next time to redeem himself.
"Find him," his father had said. "Find him and keep him safe."
How was he supposed to keep someone else safe when he wasn’t even capable of looking after himself? But he had no choice. He knew, deep down, that this was important. Even more important, perhaps, than what had already happened. More important, even, than losing her. More important than what he had already been through. He had to make this right.
The lump in his throat was back and he wished he would stop trembling. But he had to go on. He knew he had no choice. He thought he was close. At least, the man who gave him the bruise was also kind enough to give him directions before he realized that Felix couldn't pay him anything. He just hoped they were accurate.
He stood up and put his knife in his pocket. He didn’t know how much longer he would last out here but the Twin Faced God da
mn him if he wasn’t going to die trying.
TOM
Panting heavily, Tom dropped through a small window and landed nimbly on his feet. The attic space was dark, but provided some relief from the dusty winds outside. His leg ached a little, but he shook it off, ignoring the throb as he often did. Not bad work for a tom cat, he thought to himself, rather pleased.
"You’re well late."
Tom grinned at the skinny girl with matted blonde hair who could barely be seen in the light of the single candle that burned.
"But I came with gifts, didn't I?" he answered, his eyes sparkling at the thought of her reaction.
"Oh? Let’s see, then."
Tom pulled out the small cake he had stolen from its box and grinned widely when Skii came over to look at it. He tried not to be too pleased with himself when, just as he expected, her eyes widened at the palm sized treat that was more exotic than most things they had ever seen, much less eaten. It was a little squishy from the trip but Skii didn’t seem to mind. The small cake was intricately covered in delicate, pink icing flowers. Even Tom had to admit, it was beautiful.
"Tom..." she whispered. "It’s so..."
Tom broke into his grin again. She was speechless-- good. It was exactly the kind of reaction he was hoping for.
"So will we sing Happy Birthday now?" he teased.
And just like that the spell was broken. Skii rolled her eyes and tugged on the irritating lock of hair that always stood up on Tom's crown.
"No singing, little one. Now we feast."
Tom scowled. He hated when she rubbed it in his face that she was older than him.
"But how do you know?" he had asked her once, when they were still children.
"Because when I found you, you were a wee little ‘un, and I had already jumped through my first window and stolen my first loaf of bread, hadn't I?" she had replied.