Edge

by Serena Sallow

  I stare up at him blankly, then turn to Todd, who nods to me with a sad, sympathetic look in his eyes, urging me on to play pretend with the child.

  “Uh... yeah. That's good, I guess.”

  Screech, with all his insanity, seems to detect it, and there's something strangely serious about his face as he slides to the ground with Ivory. “What is it, Freckles?”

  My eyes go to Todd – I mouth, “Freckles?” He shrugs, rolls his eyes slightly, and then something seems to occur to him.

  He leans in to me and whispers in my ears.

  “Rascal, I don't think he's going to want to stay with us. He's going to want to climb.”

  I pull away, realization dawning on my features. For a moment Todd looks terrified at my reaction, but when I reply, “Oh, God, you're right. Who's going to tell him?”, his features relax.

  “He's taken a strange liking to you, Rasc.” He pets my arm again, gently, long, strong fingers reduced to kindness above my skin, as always. “If I were ya, I'd indulge in that.”

  “O... okay...” I bite my lip, glance over at the child, who is watching our whispered conversation with great interest and confusion.

  “Hey, um... Screech?” His name sounds odd against my tongue.

  “Yeah?” His eyes are skeptical, on edge, confused.

  “I want a word.” I get up, with some difficulty – I'm already putting on a bit of weight because of my pregnancy, of course – and I start edging away from Todd. Screech rises, slowly, and when his wolf moves her head to join him, he shakes his head and gestures downwards with his hand, leaving her remaining there with Todd.

  I turn so that I'm facing, Todd and the dog so I can watch them, with Screech standing with his back towards them. He glances behind himself when my eyes momentarily rest on my husband, and then goes back to me, his green opticals ogling at me.

  “Listen... I know how important the climb is to you.”

  I wait for him to disagree – he doesn't. He just watches me.

  “But I'm afraid we've made a decision. Todd and I would like to stay here.”

  “Stay here?” he repeats, in surprise. “Why?”

  “Well... it's just... easier. For us. I mean, it's less stress, and when the baby comes al – ”

  “The baby?” Screech's eyes are wide now, and he's stepping a bit backwards, as if I'm saying something so terrifying and horrifying, he actually finds it unbelievable. “What baby?”

  “Didn't we tell you?” I don't think we did – we don't really talk about it, and we've not really talked to Screech, other than requesting a name for him and his dog. I rub my belly, lightly, a warm, gentle smile snaking into my features. “We're pregnant.”

  “You're what?”

  “Pregnant, Screech. Come on, you're not that little. Don't you know what that means?”

  “Did he rape you?”

  Now it's my turn for mortification. “Good God, no! What would ever give you that idea?”

  “You don't like him, Freckles. I've seen him be pervy to you and you get all frightened.” Screech has one hand backwards, pointing at Todd, so I glance up at him. He's sitting next to Ivory, rubbing her head, which she's placed trustingly in his lap.

  “I am not frightened by him,” I defend crossly, my eyes going back to the child in front of him. “I love him.”

  “Love him?”

  “Do you have problems hearing? Are you going to repeat back to me everything I say to you?”

  “W – ... what? No!” He's stuttering, losing slight control over the conversation, as I'm sure he can see. His face is still red, but I no longer think it's from the running – I think a very human, very frightened emotion is taking control of the desperate child in front of me. “I... no, no... I thought... don't do this to me, Freckles.”

  “I don't know why you keep calling me that,” I state, matter-of-factly, putting my hands on my hips.

  “Freckles? Because... it's.... it's your name! Well, not your real name... just like... like Screech isn't mine.” The look on his face seems somehow wrecked, havocked, devastated.

  “I've been meaning to ask you, too.” Of course, now that I've got him talking for more than a few seconds... I should most definitely open him up. “Why did you decide to call yourself that, dear?”

  He's no longer red – the color is now draining out of his face, slowly, and it would be much more difficult to see if the backdrop didn't match his previous complexion so completely. “No... no, stop it, Freckles. That's not funny.”

  “I'm Rascal. Not Freckles.”

  “No, no!” His voice is raising as he fights against me, but there's more of a horror driving his words, not an animosity. “Tell me you remember why you're Freckles, why I'm Screech!”

  “All I remember is that Todd and I found you and Ivory wandering the staircase and decided to take you in, on our traveling party.”

  He's shaking his head, over and over, as if to rid the truth from his head. “No, stop that. This is a joke, a prank. Stop it.”

  “I'm not joking or pranking, Screech. Now... I know you're taken to psychotic episodes – ”

  “Psychotic what?”

  “ – and I just wanted to say that I understand.” I give him my most compassionate look. “I really, really do. It gets to the best of us, this world. But you're... you can be a real danger, sometimes. And around a new baby... I'm not sure if we can risk that.”

  I think he's about to collapse, from the look on his face.

  “Y – ...” He blinks, stunned. “You want me to leave?”

  “It's nothing personal, of course. Just... I think it's better for you to occupy your mind with climbing, and better for us to occupy our minds with resting up before the baby comes.”

  “You're off your head, Freckles.” He grabs my hand and starts pulling me away from Todd, away from our little sanctuary. “Come on, we have to get out of here. Back on the staircase, now.”

  “Hey, hey!” I pull out of his small yet firm grasp, rubbing my now-red wrist. “Cut that out, kid. I understand... you don't want to be alone... but my husband and I – ”

  “Your husband?”

  I no longer wish to answer his parroting of my every statement. “ – we think it's for the best, Screech.”

  “No, no.” He's shaking his head, backing up, but now we've changed positions, so that he's standing where he can see Todd and my back's to him. His eyes go on my husband and he looks chagrined, almost sick. “Come on, Freckles. It's... it's a mind game, okay? You just have to be stronger than it.”

  “There's no mind game here,” I say, in my most placating voice.

  “No! It's... it's like with Madame Veneera. When she made it all disappear, remember? When she... she did all those strange things, remember?” His face goes suddenly flat, and then it awakens, comes alive with widening and realization and he starts gesturing. “Todd is Madame Veneera!”

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  “Think about it. They're both insistent to get you to drink the water. And we never really saw her die. And when Todd came, he didn't come from the top of the staircase. He came from the back! Not where we were going, but where we went, and you said Todd climbed ahead of you.”

  “Todd never climbed ahead of me. Todd's been with me this whole time.”

  “No, listen to me, Freckles.” He walks closer, and he's so much shorter, but the look on his face commands some sort of authority, some sort of attention, though I'm very aware that this is all some sort of subterfuge. He grabs me lightly by both arms, attempting to award himself my full concentration. “Todd and Madame Veneera have to be the same person. Maybe not in the beginning, but since Todd's come back, it's been her, and she's been playing with your mind. You can't fall into the trap. You can't just let her. Stop drinking the water. Stop listening to her lies. Stop playing along!”

  The expression is enough to make me listen, but the words are absolutely ludicrous. I laugh, lightly, backing away from the child, out of his grasp
.

  “I know you're taken to psychotic episodes.” I'm trying to remind myself, to keep myself calm, because he's really starting to scare me. “I know that's what this is. Just... please, don't, okay? Just go walk up the staircase with your little dog and all will be fine.”

  “She's not a dog, she's a wolf, and Freckles would know that.” He's narrowing his eyes, now. “What have you done with her? Where's Freckles?”

  I'm frightened, so frightened. This was much more than I could handle – I should've never agreed to this. “Todd?” I call out, quietly, not even realizing the volume. I open my mouth to shout when Screech releases me, backs up.

  “Don't call him over,” he begs softly. “I'll behave. Promise.”

  I nod, swallowing back my voice, watching him carefully out of charged eyes. “So you'll stop this nonsense with this Madame... Vellera?”

  “Veneera.” He's swallowing too, and the sorrow in his eyes is deep, almost never-ending. “Tell me you know who Madame Veneera is.”

  “A person you've mentioned a lot in this conversation,” I say.

  “Red tulle?” He gestures around his head and face, as if that's where it covered.

  “Um... no. I... I don't know who you're talking about.”

  He sucks in a deep breath, steps backwards from me again. “You remember the blood rain?”

  “Blood rain?” I let out a breathy laugh. “It doesn't rain blood here, Screech. It rains rain... y'know, water.”

  He's staring at me, I know, but the sadness over his features is very strikingly ancient for his age, so much so that I can't believe it's really him looking at me. “I... I thought, in the rain, you promised... that you and me were...”

  I am completely aghast by his implications. “You're only eight, Screech, and I'm married with a child on the way!”

  “I didn't mean like that!” he snaps at me, his eyes dark. I can't tell the color of them, however, which worries me. “I mean that... that we promised we'd stick together. Through thick and thin. That it was you and me against the world.”

  “I'm so sorry,” I say as sincerely as I can. It must be so heartbreaking to face reality very head-on, smacked in the face like this. “But that never happened. You and I... we just met a few days ago. Before then, I never knew you. And the staircase doesn't rain blood.”

  “We've been together for what feels like years.” His voice comes out in a hiss of broken air.

  “Screech...”

  He's hanging his head, now, his figure broken and distraught. I hate ruining his fantasy like this.

  “You're always welcome back, Screech,” I promise, bending down towards him. “When you get better, you can come back.”

  He's in disbelief, I think, because he keeps shaking his head as he turns.

  “Shadow!” His voice is kind of low, kind of shattered, as he calls out and snaps his dog to attention, who leaps out of Todd's lap to be by his side.

  She licks his hands gratefully and excitedly, obviously prepared for a journey ahead that he is not willing to take.

  He's walking slowly, dragging his feet across the plain, and I stand there, watching him. After a while, Todd rises and joins me, holding and rubbing my hands, and we stand there, a perfect pair, observing the child disappearing beyond the horizon.

  When he gets to the foot of the staircase he hesitates, gives a wayward glance back.

  Without being able to stop myself, I raise a hand in passing, waving at him wildly, a solemn farewell. He blinks at me, not returning the gesture.

  “Are you sure he'll be safe?” For some reason I can't put my finger on, I feel like part of my heart is still with him, as I watch his white dog dart up the staircase in front of him, him still staring at our figures, unified and staring back.

  “I'm sure. He'll be much safer and much happier alone.” He plants a kiss on my ear and I giggle, pulling away at the warm breath in my shoulder.

  When he stops messing around enough for me to look up to where Screech was standing, I see that he is gone.

  sixteen

  It's night time, and it's football game Saturday. Trisha and I are painted in our team colors, sitting in the stands, Letterman jackets and all adorned. She has her dark hair pinned up behind her head in a large, white scrunchy as we sit on screeching, silver bleachers that complain when anyone moves. Our eyes are fixed on a football field made of grass and painted up with white lines, full of large holes and gaps of muddy dirt from the recent rain fall.

  We're still wringing our hair from the sudden outburst from the heavens, and the forecast for the rest of the night, simply put, doesn't look good.

  I'm trying to ignore the slight shaking of my hands as I take off my jacket to air it out. I was texted by Tiffany who was told by Eric who thought Brenda overheard Abel telling Alex that he was going to be at this game. Obviously, confirmed news that I can not deny.

  He never came for football games, unless to talk to me, and under the bleachers is great for two things – doing naughty things to your significant other, and eloquently putting the significant other out of your life.

  “You gonna do it?” Trisha's words are slightly distorted from behind the cherry pink bubble gum she's been popping in my ear all night, especially loudly whenever we miss a play. I'm fond of football, even though she isn't, and I've taught her the ropes enough to follow along, at least.

  “Yeah.” I rub my cold and wet arms, briefly thinking about how Abel's hands would feel over them, warm and comforting. “You think I should?”

  She gives me that same helpless, loving shrug she's been giving me the whole night. “Aw, dearie. You know I think you should do what you think is best.” Her voice takes on a New York twang that I'm far too familiar to. “That being said, dump his sorry ass.”

  I smile. Trisha always knows exactly what to say.

  “Thanks for coming tonight,” I say, with an exasperated smile. I feel a bit sick and weak already, though I haven't even carried out the deed.

  “Moral support is my middle name!” she says, though it's not really, but we're not allowed to talk about her middle name. I pick up and begin to put my jacket on again, and just then, I catch the eyes of the person I'm there to see.

  Abel comes sauntering in, and I swear, he's a sight for sore eyes. He's wearing that beautiful as all hell Letterman jacket his mom made for him last year when he couldn't scrub up enough money to buy the university's, and it's made to fit. Rather than the baggy, unattractive things Trisha and I have awkwardly hanging off our bodies, his accentuates every curve, every line of his scholarly body that I can think of, all places my fingers have wandered over these past four years.

  It's a bit unsettling to think that very soon, that will never happen again.

  I pat Trisha's hand and get up from the game, though I don't realize it's in the middle of a play. There's an annoyed huff from a group of girls – who obviously have boyfriends out on the field – before I meet up with Abel.

  Acned, abrasive, afflicting Abel.

  His grin is wide and welcoming, and he holds out his hands for a hug he's waiting to crash into him.

  “Bleachers,” is all I say, going to move passed him.

  “Is what we're standing on.” I can hear his voice forcing himself to be jovial, but his hands also fall back to his sides empty, and that's not something one can ignore.

  We go underneath, and there's some water dripping down from the wet bleachers above us. I'm thinking about not slipping as I wait on the grass for him, because that would be embarrassing as all hell.

  His face is still fighting with joy that he knows is fleeting. “Rain earlier?”

  “What?”

  “It's wet, so... it must've rained earlier.”

  “Oh.” I hesitate, because the information just doesn't matter. “Yeah. Rained.”

  “Heavy?”

  “Relatively.”

  “Able to keep dry well enough?”

  “We're over, Abel.” It comes out of nowhere, my admittance,
crashing into him with what I'm sure is surprising intensity and randomness. I close my eyes a bit in pain, because that's not the way I wanted to end my longest, most meaningful, only relationship, the one we were both sure was going to stand the test of time, stand the end of the universe itself...

  “Why?” His voice is low and hoarse, though no one could say he didn't see it coming.

  “I don't have time for people like you anymore. People who don't get it.”

  “Trisha doesn't get it.”

  I bite my lip, and sigh, because he's right. “She makes an effort.”

  “I make an effort.”

  “Not enough of one. Not enough for me. Besides, Robert Stewart and I, we – ”

  I cut off, because this isn't what he needs to hear. This isn't what I want our last words to be.

  “Say it,” is all he says, his voice breaking.

  “He asked me out for a date and I said yes.”

  “While we were still together?” His eyebrows start raising, and I see himself pull up a self-defensive stance, a beginning of a “cheater” argument.

  “The moment you stopped caring, we were no longer together.”

  Unable to stand another second, I turn and begin to climb the bleachers, attempting to ignore his shouted curses and accusations. I work hard on not slipping as I get back to my seat.

  When I'm jolted awake by bright blue eyes and a concerned face, I hear Todd saying, “That's the longest I've seen ya sleep yet. Drink, my angel, and I'll make sure ya never have another dream again.”

  seventeen

  There's something missing.

  We've been here alone for two weeks, Todd and I, sitting on a large plain in silence, staring at the sky around us. It's not really a bad sight, if you don't mind blood red skies and empty mists.

  But there's something missing.

  I voice this to Todd, often, and he hems and haws over it for a while before changing the subject to something less dreary.

  He doesn't seem like Todd anymore, a part of my brain complains, but I don't know what's different. This is “Todd my husband”, what he has and always will be to me, but there's a distant part of my soul that recalls when he was something else – when he was cruel.