Locked Inside

by Nancy Werlin

  Shut up, Marnie thought. She clicked over to the list of Paliopolis chat rooms—the Thieves’ Den, Throgmorton’s Pub, and the Conclave of Magic—and stared at them. Early on, she’d stepped inside the Conclave and listened for a while, but it had just seemed dumb. She’d been interested in playing, in accumulating points, in winning. Not in chatter and gossip.

  But … were they really talking about her in there, as the Elf—as Frank—had said? Were they wondering, these days, where she was? Why her rating was on the verge of collapsing? She’d spotted an e-mail from the Dungeon Master in her inbox, sent sometime last week; he was probably asking after her.

  She was very aware of where she was, physically. In a chair. At her desk. In front of her computer, in her dorm room with its door still slightly ajar … at Halsett Academy.

  I loved Paliopolis, she thought. It was safe there. But it will never be the same again. It’s like childhood. I won’t be able to go back….

  I know, said the Sorceress sadly.

  Marnie took a deep breath. Then, for the last time, she clicked through to the entry chamber, activated her identity and powers, picked up her possessions, and became the Sorceress Llewellyne. It wouldn’t take long, she knew, to work her way to the Lair of the Rubble-Eater. She could do it in her sleep. In fact—for a second she wanted to laugh—she had, hadn’t she?

  CHAPTER

  37

  Methodically Marnie tricked one little guard dragon to sleep, beat three dwarves at poker, and—merely out of habit—exchanged a priceless diamond for an ancient text written in invisible ink. Mere minutes later she stood alone in the caverns below the mountains, next to the shaft that she’d leapt down once before, following the Elf. They’d had a narrow escape from the Rubble-Eater that night. Remembering, Marnie felt her lips move in an almost-smile. The cornered Elf had finally been forced to exchange the spellbook for her grappling hook, and had got himself out of the Rubble-Eater’s way only half a second in front of the beast’s teeth. Marnie, as the Sorceress, had been laughing so hard she’d actually needed to exchange ten thousand points for a quick resurrection.

  Was that the last time she’d been in Paliopolis? She thought it was.

  Well. She herself needed no grappling hook. She levitated down the shaft. Reaching the bottom, however, and seeing the screen shift into the familiar graphic, she was immediately aware of disappointment. It hadn’t changed; it was exactly what it was supposed to be, and what it ever had been. It was even more familiar since Marnie’s dreams. But the graphic held none of the feeling of the dreams. And the Rubble-Eater, a faint rumbling downwind at the left of her screen, held no terror.

  There was no hawk anywhere.

  Just then another little icon winked into being.

  Greetings, Sorceress, said the Elf.

  Marnie found she was not surprised. This, then, was why she had come. And here, at least, she could think of him as the Elf. For a little longer. She typed, I don’t want to game. Would you like to go get a private chat room at the Conclave?

  A pause. Then: Yes, said the Elf, and a grappling hook winked into visibility as he pulled it from his pocket. Right now would be good. Before the Rubble-Eater figures out we’re here.

  What’s wrong? said the Elf the second they were alone.

  Marnie stopped herself just before she clicked Send on Long story. She deleted it and typed instead, I found out some—she hesitated and then continued—agonizing stuff about my mother today. She hesitated again and then typed, I’ll tell you everything another time—if you want me to, that is.

  She stared at the words she’d typed on the screen, wondering if she should send them. If she could imagine talking to Jenna Lowry, surely she could really talk to the Elf? It was different with the Elf. She cared more, and that was dangerous. Maybe she shouldn’t … maybe she couldn’t….

  Oh, please. Just click Send, interrupted the Sorceress.

  Marnie clicked Send.

  The Elf’s message came back right away. Of course I want you to. Meanwhile, are you okay?

  That question again. It was so simple, so ordinary. It took a leap of faith to believe it was genuinely meant.

  Leap, said the Sorceress.

  No, Marnie typed to the Elf. I’m not okay.

  His answer came instantly. What can I do?

  Nothing, Marnie thought. She typed, You’re doing it.

  Doesn’t seem like enough.

  Of their own account, Marnie’s fingers moved. But what if it’s all I want? She clicked Send even as the Sorceress in her head yelled, No! Don’t!

  The Elf didn’t reply for a full minute. Marnie knew because she was watching her computer clock. Finally a reply arrived.

  Then I’d be disappointed. You have to know that. Look, I feel like an idiot, but I have to know—did you read all the e-mail I sent you before?

  No, Marnie typed slowly. Someone here at school got into it while I was gone and deleted some of them, and I only just got my computer back, so I haven’t had a chance to read the rest.

  She clicked Send, breathed, and then—without permission from her brain—her fingers simply took over the keyboard. I’m lying, she typed. Well, partly. This is the truth: I didn’t dare read the ones in my box. I’m afraid to. Jenna—the girl who got into my e-mail while I was away, that part was true—said you sent me a sonnet. She said you’d been reading too much John Donne. I’m not any good at this. Anyway, you wrote those e-mails before you met me. And you don’t know me now. Maybe you think you do, but you don’t.

  Marnie clicked Send before she had second thoughts, or even first ones. In truth, she had no idea what she’d just said; what it meant. She fixed her eyes on her screen, reread her message, and cringed. It was a confused mess. Just like her. She thought about praying but wasn’t sure what to pray for.

  Even the Sorceress was silent.

  Five full minutes slipped by on Marnie’s computer clock. If it hadn’t been for the chat room monitor program still showing his name, she’d have thought the Elf had logged off. But he was still there. Wherever “there” was, in this cyber-unreality that was actually so very, very real.

  She bit her lip and watched the screen.

  Then—segment by segment—an essay appeared.

  Okay, Marn, shut up for a while and listen to me. I want to see you in person. I want to GET to know you. We were in serious danger together. Maybe I know you—and you know me—better than you’re willing to admit. So I’m going to make a spectacle of myself now. I don’t mind that. Okay, that’s a lie, I do mind, but I’ve figured out I can do it anyway and it won’t kill me. In fact, I’ve made a spectacle of myself on purpose so many times I figure I must like it. Only possible explanation. Anyway. Here goes.

  I got interested in you weeks ago. A little obsessed, actually. Me and half the guys in Paliopolis. I already told you that. You were like a local legend; you played late and long and you were all business, and okay, there aren’t a lot of girls there and gaming guys are pretty desperate, but you stuck out even beyond that. And then you started talking to me; we started hanging out some. It was fun, right? And you were so smart. And then I found out who you were, and that you were my age, and nearby … and yeah, I didn’t KNOW you, you’re right, but you get interested in people before you get to know them. That’s how it works, right? Somebody feels compelling. They have some mysterious glamour. This is cyberspace but it’s a real place, too. We’re both real people. Tell me you know what I’m talking about. Tell me you understand.

  Marnie stared at her screen. A minute passed and nothing more appeared. Was he expecting a reply? She read his words over. Cautiously she typed Yes and clicked Send. And then—because it wasn’t fair to the Elf to keep it back, wasn’t fair to let him be all alone in his honesty—she added, I was interested in you, too. Maybe even a little obsessed. Too. She clicked Send before she could think better of it.

  I KNEW IT, shouted the Elf, and if he’d been physically present, Marnie would have kicked him in h
is bad leg. But then his essay continued.

  So I was fascinated by you, and yeah, I wrote that stupid sonnet and made the mistake of sending it, and your friend’s right, it was probably pretty bad. I can’t tell you how scared I got, when I thought you’d cut me off, would never speak to me again. I thought it was the sonnet; I thought I’d blown it. You probably think it was insane of me to come looking for you the way I did. Maybe it was. Stupid stalker behavior. But when I realized something had happened to you, Marn, I had to do something. I want you to know, I wasn’t sorry for a minute that I did. Even when I thought we might die, I wasn’t sorry. Because you would have been alone there, and I couldn’t stand even the thought of that. Even now, it makes me crazy to think of what it would have been like for you. What it was like.

  Marnie found herself shaking. She stuffed the heel of her hand into her mouth.

  And when I really met you—you were such a mess, and you were so brave. I’m just going to say it, okay? I fell in love with you. In reality, not in Paliopolis. I know you don’t want to hear it. But I want to say it. I’m crazy about you. I think about you all the time. It keeps getting worse. Better. Whatever. I can’t believe you don’t feel it.

  “My God,” whispered Marnie aloud. “He’s not protecting himself at all. How can he do that? How does he dare?”

  She didn’t know.

  Are you still there? demanded the Elf.

  She took a deep breath. Yes.

  You want to disconnect? End this right now?

  No. And she didn’t.

  Unbelievable. I’m in a world where NO counts as encouragement. It could only happen to me. Well, so be it. You want to know the exact moment I fell in love with you?

  Yes. Marnie had no memory of actually typing the word and sending it. It just … happened. She found that her nose was a mere inch away from the screen. When had he fallen in love with her? Was it when they’d gazed into each other’s eyes at the bottom of the staircase? Or when he realized she’d poured half their water supply onto his bullet wound? Or maybe it was when they’d lain together on the narrow cot and held hands in silence? Or had it been later, when they’d talked and talked? It was when you grabbed that bucket of, uh, Yertle. Marnie blinked once. Twice. She reread the sentence. It said exactly what she’d thought it said.

  The Elf had written more. I thought I would die right there. Die happy. It was the most unlikely Paliopolis fantasy, only real. You just picked up Yertle and went out there to save our lives with it.

  Yertle. Of all things. Yertle.

  The Elf was still there. But silent. Time clicked past and Marnie knew he wouldn’t write again until she did. He had come much, much farther than halfway. It awed her.

  And all she had to do was take a single step. A step she wanted to take … wanted …

  Don’t be an idiot, whispered the Sorceress. Please, please, please don’t be an idiot. It’ll take some Harvard girl only half a second to snap him up.

  Marnie thought about saying, I’m crazy about you, too. It was the truth. She went ahead and typed it. She could feel the Sorceress’s urgency. She could feel how much the Sorceress wanted her to send the message. She looked at it and looked at it.

  The Elf—no, Frank. Frank Delgado—was still there. Waiting.

  Marnie closed her eyes. Just for a second. She put her hand up to her face and discovered it was wet. Then she backspaced over her words, deleting them. She typed, slowly: Frank? I don’t know. I like you … but I have some things to work out. It’s not you. It’s me. I need some time.

  Silence.

  Desperate, Marnie typed, Would you maybe write me another sonnet? About Yertle?

  More silence.

  I hate you, said the Sorceress to Marnie. I just absolutely hate your sniveling, cowardly guts.

  Marnie compressed her lips. It was difficult to breathe. She waited. One minute. Two. Three …

  And then, after an eon, Frank replied. Okay. I’m trying to think of rhymes.

  Marnie caught her breath and nearly choked on it. The Sorceress said, Unbelievable. He’s too good for you. Do you understand that? He’s too good for you!

  Marnie could hardly believe it herself. Girdle? she typed cautiously.

  Hurdle. If I drive up, will you go for a walk with me this weekend?

  The blunt question startled her, but only for a second. She lifted her chin, as Jenna might have. Myrtle, typed Marnie. She sent up a brief prayer and continued: Yes. Carefully she added an exclamation point and clicked Send.

  And then, startlingly, miraculously, she was nearly overwhelmed by an intense, unfamiliar feeling. It took her a moment to recognize it. Then she did. It was happiness. And … anticipation. And … excitement.

  Okay, said the Sorceress tiredly. Whatever. We’ll take it.

  CHAPTER

  38

  Marnie slept deeply for several hours, and it wasn’t her fault or her choice that she was wide awake two full hours before dawn, with the vision of the human-eyed hawk vivid in her mind.

  She frowned, and then found herself on her feet, swiftly and silently putting on jeans, a thick sweatshirt, sneakers. She touched her amethyst emergency necklace briefly before sliding it under her sweatshirt to lie against her skin. Then she slipped out of the dorm and made her way to the campus quadrangle, where a sweep of lawn made a carpet beneath the early spring stars.

  The grass was damp and needed cutting. Marnie sat down in the exact center of the quad. She leaned back and looked up at the stars, which were beginning to fade as dawn approached and the sky lightened.

  She thought about Frank Delgado. It was a good name, Frank. It suited him.

  They had chatted online for an additional hour last night. Marnie had made him talk about himself, and now she hugged that information close, thinking how much else there would be to discover about him. Like why he’d chosen to deviate from his destiny as a smart, good, preppy boy by dressing like a skinhead. There had to be more to it than what he’d already told her. And she couldn’t help wondering—though she could imagine no circumstances under which she’d ask; it was his business, and besides it would help warn pillaging Harvard girls off Marnie’s territory—she couldn’t help wondering how he’d look with hair.

  On the other hand, she liked the camouflage wear. He was so completely uncamouflaged in it.

  This weekend, he was going to drive up here. He seemed to think he could borrow his friend’s car again. They could go for a walk … or, or something. Marnie’s body warmed, thinking of seeing him. She closed her eyes for a moment. Would Frank want to kiss her? Would she want … oh, yes. She would. She did.

  She smiled to herself.

  He’d want to talk, too. He was clearly a talky kind of guy. That made her a little uneasy. He’d want to know about Skye, for one thing, and she didn’t yet know how to talk about her. Though … she had made the smallest of starts on that already, hadn’t she, with Frank. And with Jenna—now, that was remarkable to remember. Oh, and with Max, of course. And the counselor, even.

  Wait! Four people? She had begun talking about Skye with four people?

  Practically a legion, said the Sorceress dryly.

  Marnie shook her head in bemusement.

  She wondered what Skye would have thought of Frank Delgado. Skye, who’d had no lover of her own. When Marnie was a child, it had seemed so ordinary, so right, to have Skye entirely to herself. Had it seemed right to Skye? It must have, Marnie thought. Skye was so forceful, so clear. She’d had choices; Max, for one. She had chosen. Marnie couldn’t wish for her to have been any different. Skye had flown alone.

  “That I should exist at all,” Marnie whispered to the fading stars, “is a wonder. A gift. She risked having me, one person who would have to be close … when she was afraid of being close …”

  You learned that from her, said the Sorceress.

  Marnie nodded, accepting it.

  She helped a lot of people, though, Marnie thought. She saw clearly and wrote about what she
saw. With her words she made other people feel stronger, feel supported, in all kinds of ways. Feel loved, even.

  That’s all true.

  I wish she could have loved Max. She must have loved him some, to name him as my guardian. But … she couldn’t.

  If she had, you wouldn’t have existed.

  I would be different….

  You wouldn’t be you. But you can be Max’s daughter now, if that’s what you want. It’s what he wants, you know that. It’s your choice. It always has been.

  Marnie’s choice. Not Skye’s. And not Lea Hawkes’s choice. Lea Hawkes, with her secret influence on Skye. Skye had pretended that Lea Hawkes was gone, but she had not been, Marnie saw now. It was Lea Hawkes who had kept Skye alone.

  She wondered if Skye had known that. She wondered if Skye had talked to Lea, as she herself talked to the Sorceress.

  And now, carefully, carefully, Marnie turned her mind to the other Leah. Leah Slaight.

  I am Skye’s daughter, Leah Slaight had said desperately. She hadn’t been, but in some alternate universe, Lea Hawkes’s life might have included a baby while she was seventeen. What would have happened to such a child, born to Lea, not to Skye? That child might have been like Leah Slaight.

  Alone. Unloved.

  Marnie didn’t know what had happened in Leah Slaight’s life. She didn’t know the experiences and emotions that had led to her delusions. To her need for them. But she found that she wanted to give Leah some kind of understanding, if she could.

  Doesn’t anyone love you, Leah Slaight? Marnie had asked, in those final moments. She had known the answer must be no. And now, she knew something else. That song—with its bleak lyrics that spoke truth to Leah Slaight and Lea Hawkes both … truth about aloneness …

  It had resonated for Marnie, also. In that kitchen. At that moment. And … now. Always. It was the thread of fear that ran through her. That made her want to keep herself apart. That said to do so would keep her safe.

  And it lied, that feeling. It lied, because in truth—there was no such thing as safe. Not for anyone in this world.