Edge

by Serena Sallow

  “Well, the ocean's made of blood, so the mist and rain could be as well.”

  “'Cept it's never rained blood before.”

  “Yes it has,” I argue with him. “Actually, just a few days ago.”

  “No, Rascal.” His eyes are sharp, heavy, and he seems almost... infuriated, like no one should be able to make such a ludicrous statement. “Never rained blood. That's... just that's crazy, to ever think somethin' like that.”

  And suddenly, I'm blinking, straining my memory. “No, no. It just happened, a few days ago. Right, Screech?” But he's not talking to us, of course.

  “It didn't happen. I mean, it rained, but just normal rain. Just like... water. That's how I filled this up.” He pats his waterskin reassuringly.

  My memory is so terrible that it's totally possible I misremembered the events. Maybe... maybe it never has rained blood. What am I thinking? Why do such horrible, morbid thoughts come into my head?

  “Are you sure?” I continue. I have such vivid memories of the way the dried blood felt on our skin, of the way Screech looked covered in red, of how grateful I was to wash it off in Madame Veneera's fountains, even if she was horrifying...

  “As sure as the sun rises. It was just rainin' regular rain, Freckles.” I can feel his eyes on my back, boring into my head, almost angrily.

  “Regular rain,” I repeat, quietly. I have to admit that I did not see this coming. My mind forgetting things on a regular basis? Yeah, okay. My mind completely orchestrating stories in order to fulfill some sort of psychological need or something? That's a whole different ballpark entirely.

  “It rained blood.” Screech's hunched figure quivers slightly as he speaks, and I'm honestly surprised he's decided to contribute. My eyes rest on the scars that Madame Veneera herself carved into his skin, the dried blood that still adorns his back, the still-red palm of his fist. “Without a doubt.”

  “Ya also think the food is made of blood.” Todd's voice is kind of belittling Screech, which immediately makes me stiffen in defense.

  “Hey. I think that's very possible.” I want to reach out and physically guard him from Todd's words as well, but one awry touch can send him spiraling over the edge, and that's not really my intention.

  “'Cept ya know the truth now, and you know he's wrong.”

  It really begins to hit me how insensitive Todd can be. I never remember him being much of a hassle, of course, because it was the older guy who always had more problems keeping a lid on his reactions, but that really doesn't make Todd much better.

  “I... I don't know.”

  “Come on, Rascal. Ya have ta believe me!” His voice is a mixed between begging and total exasperation.

  “Freckles!” His voice is piqued, almost aghast at the mere thought that I would stop believing him.

  “I'm not on anyone's side,” I say, firmly, glaring at the two, who have both trained their gaze on me. “Hey, eyes front,” I command, and a bit begrudgingly, Screech turns back to the front as commanded.

  We walk in silence for many minutes. Nobody says anything because nobody really has anything of value to contribute to the silence which is the staircase. A few wisps of wind blow at us and we pull towards each other, shivering mutely – more from the sound than from any actual cold – and then we continue on our way. It seems to be a normal day by all accounts, other than the fact that it's really quiet because Todd is here and Screech doesn't want to talk to him.

  Eventually, there seems to be a small disturbance that I was not expecting. I jump slightly until my brain quickly and accurately recognizes the sound, which really just sounds like a forced, low blowing of some sort.

  It's Screech. He's trying to whistle again.

  I can't stop the soft chuckle that I make under my breath, and I shake my head at him. Absolutely adorable.

  Suddenly, Todd seems to erupt with noise behind us. “What is that?”

  Screech stops, abruptly, and the loss of sound is like a stab in my side. I cringe slightly before glancing back at Todd. His sour personality is making me feel sick automatically.

  “It's Screech.”

  “It don't sound like a screech.”

  “No, Screech the person. He's trying to whistle.”

  “Whistle?” A laugh explodes from behind me, and I feel stumbling under the automatic weakness laughter brings. “That don't sound like whistlin' at all!”

  “Doesn't.” That's Screech's voice, quiet but charged, as if ready for confrontation.

  “What?”

  “It doesn't sound like whistling.” Tensed shoulders. “Your English is improper.”

  “Your whistlin's improper!”

  “Your fighting is improper!” I interrupt, and both boys fall silent and in step, once again. I swallow back my nausea and sigh, straightening my back. I never signed up for being the mediator.

  Our small group straggles up for some time in silence, until a large groan from behind calls our attention.

  “Problem?” Screech says, rather snarkily and in a voice that doesn't want to be trifled with.

  “Yeah, actually.” Todd's face is hard and angled. “You're setting the pace far too slow.”

  “The pace far too slow?” Screech and I repeat, in unison.

  “Yeah. I think there are some snails nearby that're beating us to the top.”

  Screech has the unintelligent urge to actually look for said snails – and he does, immediately. I, instead, turn my attention to Todd, back to the child.

  “What would you rather us go? Mach speed?”

  “Mock speed? What'm I mockin'?”

  “Mach,” I say, though it sounds the same. “M-A-C-H. It's the speed of sound.”

  “Fast.”

  “Very fast.” I narrow my eyes defensively as Screech rejoins our conversation, at least with his eyes.

  “Well, the faster the better.”

  “Slow and steady wins the race.”

  “I'd disagree.” He begins, then, to do something so totally illogical that I almost gasp in horror – he pushes his way passed us up the staircase. Both Screech and I rock on our feet momentarily before catching each other, letting the stomping, grumbling young adult up the stairs first.

  “He could've just killed us.” Screech's tone is dark, resentful, his eyes hard.

  “I know,” I say, quietly, and urge him up after Todd, but he waits until the temper tantruming man is at least twelve steps up before Screech's eyes turn back to me, his words emulating immediately what he's thinking.

  “Freckles, did you see that?”

  “Of course I did.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  I blink. I feel like that answer is obvious. “Walk up the staircase.”

  Screech stares at me, wide-eyed. “You can't just let him do something stupid and dangerous like that without saying anything.”

  “Why not? It's his life he's endangering, not ours.” Which sounds a little cruel, but it's true, and at the heart of it, the staircase really is kind of an 'every man for himself' territory.

  “He almost just pushed us off!” He's standing in front of me, not letting me walk, allowing Todd to get further and further away from us. “Seriously, Freckles.”

  “What's your problem?” I say, a bit defensively. I've known Todd for a long time, after all, and even if he is a bit... angry... he's still a person.

  “I just don't like him walking with us.”

  “Tough luck, buddy. Look, I'm sorry about what he said to your whistling – ”

  “It's not even about the whistling!”

  “ – but everything's better in numbers. We don't have the luxury of being mean to people, okay?”

  Screech looks shocked. Properly, actually shocked, as if I just hit him across the face or kicked a puppy in front of him. “Is that not the exact idea you used on Madame Veneera?” His voice echoes, slightly, rising in pitch. I'm suddenly very glad Todd isn't there, hanging back with us, because I really don't want him to hear of my stupidity
, or of Screech's obvious mental instability. “Didn't you see how badly that worked?”

  Oh, yes, I saw it. I saw it through eight thin scars lacing a young boy's back.

  “But Todd is different,” I force. “I know him. I've known him for many years. We're...” I don't really know the word for what we are, so I chose the most similar, the first one. “Family.”

  “Family?” His eyes are cold and hard, and I note that he's still not moving, and Todd is getting further and further away, and closer to where the unknown is, to where I can't protect him or help him. “Family doesn't leave others when they're grieving. Family doesn't leave at all.”

  For a moment, I'm struck by how... adamant he seems about that fact. My mind goes back to what he had been murmuring in his sleep; “Come back, Mom. Come back.” I wonder if he knows now what happened, or if this is all precognitive, premonition, or perhaps coincidental. I think about it in silence for a moment before shaking my head.

  “Don't let him get away, Scree.”

  “Why? Why shouldn't I?” His eyes are bright and I think green, and they're alive with fire, a sort of zealous acrimony there. He also seems... threatened, in some sort of way, by his stance, as if frightened that something is going to happen in which his position is challenged.

  “Because we need to stick together, okay? Todd has his moments, but we all do.” Like you're having now, for example. “You just need to stay calm. And keep following him.”

  “Stop making this all about him!” He looks like he's going to shove me, and I turn my head towards him threateningly, as if to say that I understand what he's thinking. His hands are in tiny balls at his sides, though I can still see the stained red palm.

  “This is all about him, Screech. This whole conversation is about him.”

  “No! I mean... you're making it seem like this is life or death. Like we have to accept him into our group, Freckles.”

  “'Our' group?” I repeat, for some reason shocked by that terminology. “There isn't an 'our group'.”

  He freezes, hesitates. “What?”

  “Listen, this isn't like a book or something, okay?”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means that I don't know who the main characters are! There was a point in my life when Todd was one of them.”

  “Yeah, but not anymore.”

  “But it still can be!” There's an odd sort of need for him to understand the feeling I've only just identified biting against me. “Listen, like... I don't know who are supposed to be the people in my life. You know. The people who never stop, who are always there. Like, I know we said you,” I add quickly at his suddenly crestfallen face, “but it could be Todd, too.”

  “He left you once!”

  “Yeah, okay! But that was then. It's different now. He's here now, and he's making an effort. He's just like us, okay? He's lost and lonely and confused.”

  “What if he's not like us? What if he's like Madame Veneera or Creep or has something about him where he has like, powers, or can somehow conquer the staircase or make hallucinations or just... do more?”

  “I walked with him!”

  “You walked with Creep!”

  “Just, stop!” I'm shouting. Todd is nearly gone by now – I can hardly make out his outline against the horizon. “There's a lot more to this staircase than you think, okay?”

  “Don't speak to me like I'm new,” he snaps. “I've been climbing this staircase forever.”

  I give him a sad smile, and a nod, momentarily thinking about the past, and how I'd never had one – how the staircase had always been my first and last destiny. “I know. Forever. But so has he.” I point back up to the steps, where a Todd is eons away. “And no one deserves to walk alone.”

  His face is still hard, still poised, ready for a fight, but it finally softens, thinking it over. It's not, perhaps, that I'm right – but he's far too human to deny such words, such thoughts.

  “Let's go, then.”

  And in silence, the two of us move to catch up with Todd.

  thirteen

  Todd really hadn't drifted that far off. He was walking slowly – slower than he expressed that he wanted to, at least – and quickly, the two of us catch up, though I note Screech drags his feet. Despite my request otherwise, Todd decides to take the lead, and I pat Screech gently, avoiding his wounds, in order to tell him it's okay, and not to get too upset.

  He merely likes the lead, being able to know what comes and happens next. He's always been like that. And Todd is the oldest, after all. I'll give him his opulence.

  Though, despite it all, I do feel quite awkward not walking in the middle of them. I know they're not like rabid animals or cats and won't immediately tear in at each other, but the possibility of them getting into a fight that might turn physical is all too real to me. I hope that my conversation with Screech placated him at least enough to attempt to avoid such.

  I notice something different about Todd's face when we arrive. He seems... as if he's thinking on something, quite hard, as if he's just received some distressing information. I haven't questioned him on it yet, but the longer we walk, the more it begins to wear on me.

  Finally, I let it out, call to him. “Todd, what is it?”

  “What's what?” His voice is distant, like he's not really here.

  “You seem really upset. I just want to make sure you're okay.”

  I see Screech sigh slightly, his shoulders dropping, in front of me. Apparently the silence had been welcome, at least for him, and this interruption was bothering him. I ruffle his hair jovially, and Todd, who is turning back to talk to me, catches this sight and spins front again almost immediately, as if he's seen something he shouldn't've.

  “I'm fine, Rascal. Just... staircase wears on ya, yeah?”

  Screech grumbles – I catch something about my 'name' – but I let it go, only nod sympathetically, even though he can't see. “Yeah. It wears on you.”

  And then I see something, out of the clear blue, that makes me think perhaps it's been wearing on me for far too long.

  It's a hirsute creature, the back coming up to about my waist. It has long, silver fur and holds itself with a solid composure and a dark gaze made of glassed, gleaming eyes. Pointed ears sit atop an angled, sharp jaw made of saliently white teeth. I step backwards, slightly, my hands immediately going to Screech's shoulders protectively.

  “It's a wolf,” I breathe. Indeed it is – all a mess of wild fury and fur. I wait, almost patiently, for it to bound down the stairs and strike at us.

  It does not.

  Instead, Todd makes the short trek from up stairs to the wolf and holds out his hand.

  “What, are you crazy?” cries Screech before I can call out a helpful warning. “Who touches red-eyed wolves found on planets without creatures?”

  It's only then that I notice the physical color of the eye – the thought begins to make me queasy.

  “What d'ya mean, planets without creatures?” Surprisingly, the wolf sniffs his hand once and then rubs his nose against him. Todd responds in kind by rubbing the creature behind the ears, which causes the canine to close its eyes in relaxation and lean forward.

  “There's no creatures on this planet,” I say, because I think Screech might have had a complete mental shutdown at the fact that the physical appearance of the creature seems to stand for nothing.

  He's so funny, judging everything merely on how it looks. Reactions are almost as important, if not more, than appearances.

  “Are ta! 'Nd dear Ivory and I 'ave met before.”

  “Ivory?” I repeat. The creature pulls away from Todd and pads down the staircase to us, lightly, almost bouncing on the balls of its toes. It begins to sniff Screech's chest and he backs up into me.

  I put my hands out in front of Screech and let the creature lick it with a bright pink tongue. I smile at the animal, who wags its tail and starts sniffing at the top of Screech's pants.

  “Yeah, Ivory. That's her'n name.
She's tha staircase dog. Always wanderin' the stairs. We pet har, y'know, brush har 'nd stuff sometimes.”

  “Who named her?” Screech is still watching speculatively, as if he doesn't believe the creature in front of him won't take his face off. I can understand his hesitation – despite her obvious good nature, she does look very menacing.

  “I did, of course! Ya see me walking up here by ma lonesome.”

  “But you said 'we'.”

  “Good observation,” I interject. I'm patting Ivory on the head and she's licking the air, as if looking for a hand or a foot or an arm to love but not finding anything.

  “Thank you,” Screech murmurs back, and I hear the smile in his voice. He pulls away a bit from me, swaying closer to Ivory, watching her timidly. She's nearly as big as him, and I'd not be at all surprised if she could carry him on her back. Immediately I remember one of the first questions Screech asked me – about whether or not there were other creatures – and I wonder, briefly, if he's an animal person.

  “Well, I meant I. I just assume everyone knows her.” Todd frowns, seemingly upset for... some intelligent reason, I'm sure. Then again, he was upset before we ever found Ivory.

  “So are you really saying there are other creatures on the staircase?” I question, giving the creature a final pat before I back up and allow Screech in at her. He gives me a blank stare for a moment before finally walking up to Ivory, beginning to approach her as I carry on an interesting conversation with an interesting person.

  “Duh! We usta see them all the time, back when we was all climbing tagethar.”

  “I don't remember that,” I say, a line of shock igniting my voice as Screech bends down to the ground and begins to rub the wolf's head before throwing his small, scrawny arms around her and burying his face deep within, almost as if he cannot help himself, as if he needs the comfort desperately. He's gone from “I will never touch it” to “Mommy can I keep it” so quickly that I can easily confirm my previous prognosis – without a doubt, he's an animal person.