Encase Page 16

  “Well... not everything.”

  I am annoyed by that statement, but he is too busy already replacing it for me to form a rebuttal.

  “I told you that one could edit their appearance on the staircase. That’s what she’s done.”

  “If one can edit their appearance, she could be someone I know. Is that correct?”

  When his voice returns, it’s hoarse, slightly empty. “Yes. That is correct.”

  “Is she someone I know?”

  If there is an answer to this question, he does not want to give it. I wait for many moments for his voice to return, rumbling once again through the perpetually empty skies, but his words of reassurance or cutting truth do not come.

  “My darling children! I am sorry, you two must have been through so much!”

  Freckles has done in my absence what Screech still refuses to – she’s beginning to trust her. At the thought of her potentially trusting another lost soul, I feel my stomach twist into some sort of guilt. Whoever she was, she used to be a Moderator.

  One of us.

  “You children should get washed off. You two must have been through so much.”

  The repetition – while simple – frightens both me and Freckles, and it’s only moments later that she forces herself to her feet and begins to back away. It’s obvious now that she’s realizing what Screech and I had already picked up on, even before Thomas’ reassurance – this woman should be kept away from.

  But they are already there. They are on a wide plain, large enough to hold the beginnings of a new world, with no obvious way out.

  It’s Madame Veneera’s statement that solidifies that for them – “Staircase? My, my! What staircase are you referring to? There is no staircase!” – and it doesn’t take long for the pair to investigate further by edging towards the boundaries and bending over to see the nothing that is displayed to them. Though I cannot see what they’re seeing – can hardly see what’s on this plain to begin with – the emotion reflected within their faces is clearer than clear.

  There, indeed, is no more staircase.

  The thought of such a shocking truth has made me tense, ready. I sit down where I am – which, by the way, is still a staircase – and begin to study their faces, their eyes, their movements. I know that this is an imminent danger, and I am prepared to sacrifice whatever I can to keep them safe.

  But timing is everything, so it is not time for me to go yet. Hands clenched, teeth gritted, I wait for just the appropriate time to burst through the worlds, replaying the words of instruction Thomas allowed me in my mind.

  “I don’t want you to go.”

  I do not even have to look up from position on the ground, must not even devote a pinch of thought to the voice above me to know it is Thomas, and to fully comprehend the depth of each of his words.

  “This isn’t a matter of want. This is a matter of should. Must.”

  “You’ve always been like that.” There’s a twinge of a grin in the current of his voice. “Very... duty-driven.”

  “I do not even know what my duty is for. I do not even understand what this society of ours is like, why I should be required to do all that I am – and yet, still I feel as if I must.”

  “Maybe you feel a duty to them.”

  I stare at the pair of them, huddled and speaking, arguing with light in their eyes, but at the same time, withholding so much more of the anger that they could be throwing at one another, for no reason other than the care they obviously feel.

  They feel a duty to one another. To be the best that they can be. To protect each other, because there is no one else in this world that they believe will protect them.

  Perhaps I believe that my duty is, mainly, purely to be that “someone else”.

  To catch them when they fall.

  To stop them before harm comes to them.

  Or perhaps I just am not a rule breaker. Perhaps I do not want to suffer consequences from a higher power that I am not sure is in place.

  Thomas certainly is in place.

  I release a breath I had not realized I had been holding.

  I know that they must die sometime. Something in me tells me that, as my eyes gaze far off, into another dimension, slipping away from the screen. I remember what I had asked Thomas – about the top of the staircase, and how he told me he would let me know what was at the top when someone made it.

  Perhaps there is no top. Perhaps it just stretches on, and on, and on.

  As I turn back and watch Screech and Freckles, struggling to look at each other in the presence of what they both believe to be someone unsound, I wonder how they will fall.

  I wonder where I will be – and why I would let such harm come to them.

  As the subsiding ache of my body reminds me, I am not made of stone.

  I am not invincible.

  But they must be. For me. A singular hand catches the barrier as I watch them.

  They must be.

  “Not yet, Ives. She’ll be fine.”

  I haven’t even realized to what he is referring until his gentle words jerk me out of the reprieve my mind had been taking. Freckles seems to be freaking out for the first time since she’d traveled with Glasses. Every stroke of the portrait that is her shows fear, horror, outlined in the stain of red and glow of her bright green eyes.

  She’s fallen to the ground now, hands reaching around her in a fevered hug, breathing staggered and quick as she stares up at the sky, somewhat blankly, as if she can see far more than either Screech, Veneera, and I can.

  “Hey, hey! Freckles! Sit up!”

  He’s attempting to wrench her up – he’s using his hands to drag at her elbows, attempting to pull her back into standing position next to him. He does not understand, or perhaps, does not want to understand, the fear that has stilled her body, is raking her breathing. He seems to need her to rise, and for a moment, I look away.

  There is some sort of jealousy, deep within me, one I cannot understand. The knowledge that while I would readily throw myself through this barrier and help him whenever he so desired, were I in front of him, writhing as his companion currently is, he probably would carefully step over me and exit.

  “Hey! She’s sick, you need to help her. Help her!”

  It is not entirely his fault, I suppose. I have never made myself visible.

  “Screw your calming waters! Help her!”

  “I should go over,” I note, to Thomas.

  “You’re not allowed to. Remember what I told you?”

  I feel a shiver down my back, acutely aware of what he is attempting to hold over my head – unfortunately mindful that every move I make, every breath I take, is completely approved by him. He can stall my legs and short my breath any time he so wishes.

  I suppose it is to my benefit that he seems to like me so, then.

  Suddenly, Freckles stops fighting. She goes limp and collapses against him. The fear on Screech’s face is so obvious that even so far away, I can feel it stir the depths of my cloudy soul.

  He looks up at Madame Veneera, face caught and torn. “Help her.”

  “You should try my calming waters! My fountains are the most clear and relaxing of any in the universe!”

  He pauses, stares back down at Freckles, beneath him, one of her arms still caught in his fingers. His face is completely illegible – his mind is somewhere else. His knees are bent slightly, examining the young woman beneath him.

  “If I give her water, you think she’ll wake up?”

  “Yes, yes! Indeed, indeed!”

  He doesn’t look at anything more than his companion, framed in the soot ground. She’s still breathing, but otherwise, she does not seem to move at all.

  I believe I can see the same thought in his eyes that I am thinking in my mind – how only the two of them together were supposed to be invincible, that one apart from the other defeats the purpose, that the steps he took alone far fall behind the steps he took with her, that he’s not quite sure how to do this with
out her, though he maintains his independence in the strangest of ways.

  It’s weird how separate and together the two of them are. Quite like Thomas and I, I believe. Both of us know the other is there, and relies on the other in a silent, an unspoken sort of way – as if we believe we each have more time to waste, more time to spend in the future showing outright displays of affection towards one another.

  But we do not have any time. This is not a world that has allotted us time. We’ve been given seconds; not centuries.

  He seems to realize this with a sweeping gaze at his companion below him. Ten years his senior – someone who should not understand him, should not fully know the magnitude of his young life – and, sadly, according to him, the only one who may understand him.

  He does not know that I am here. He may never know.

  He finally nods, begins to pull her away and towards the water that has only been mentioned, not seen by me, yet. I arch up my back, attempt to scooch in order to get a better view of the stone structures finally coming into the vision of the barrier. They are rather large, pale and crafted from what seems to be stone. A hollow area surrounds the bottom, which fills with water like a pool, while the top exudes liquid down into the surface of the water below.

  The line of sight, of course, follows Screech. He’s struggling at moving his companion, at first seizing the whole upper half of her body, but when he realizes he cannot get good enough leverage to do so, he moves and drags her as gently as he possibly can, on the ground, having no other way to transport her, small fingers wrapping around and clinging onto that arm of hers that he had been holding in his attempts to pull her to her feet. Her body shivers and bumps along the plains as they move their way to the waterfalls.

  I am contemplating walking through the barrier at any moment now. Screech is alone with what has been defined to me as a lost soul. He is in danger. I can go over to protect him at any time. I even rise from my seated position, begin to pace back and forth.

  “He’s not in danger yet,” Thomas warns, and I nod, unable to find words to speak to the one who keeps me caged on this side, refuses to allow me to fly free, even if the other world may damage my wings. So I merely watch in bated silence as he takes her to the waterfalls.

  Don’t do it, Screech. Do not fall into her trap.

  But he’s still moving towards it.

  Finally... finally... he and Freckles, the latter of which a bit damaged from the journey, end up in front of one of the springs. I can see the contemplation in every speck of his eyes, can see him attempt to logically think about what he wishes to do. The other says the waters will cure her... and yet... he seems to have some faith that she will revive, even without it.

  “This hasn’t happened before, has it?” I mean Freckles passing out, like this. I have only been asleep once while they woke, briefly, after traveling through the barrier, but anything that happened during that time is, of course, lost to me.

  Thomas seems to understand. “It has.” His reply reply is somewhat apologetic, as if he knows he should have relayed this information to me before. “Quite the same exact thing, as well. During the blood rain.”

  “I see.” I attempt to keep my tone empty, clipped, stray from the emotions that are beginning to touch me. I know what will happen if I allow them to overtake me. I know where I will be.

  Screech sits against the paled, cooled stone of the waterfall, exhales a sigh. Perhaps he, like I suspect, has decided just to wait it out. There seems to be something within both of us that intrinsically do not want to trust this woman or what she has to offer – and, I suppose, to him, that’s enough to stall doing what he thinks is the only thing that may help Freckles.

  I can almost hear his mind: that he’ll do it later, if she doesn’t wake up.

  He looks over to where she lies on the ground, breathing, otherwise unmoving, and gives her form a tight smile.

  There is something eerily similar about this plain, something that also existed along the staircase, and though it brings a slight smile to my face it only furthers Screech’s shivering. The shout of a soul, lost, alone, seeking from help, lurking within the wind.

  Screech is staring at Freckles as he shakes and bites his lip.

  A glance towards where Madame Veneera had been last, before he reaches forward and pulls Freckles onto his lap. The girl can only lie with the upper half of her body in his lap, but this doesn’t seem to faze him. The slightness of a smile on his face is somewhat devastatingly lovely.

  It’s not long until, slumped against the rock, with his eyes slightly beginning to close, his head droops and he falls into what I presume is a sleep.

  I stay awake for a few moments longer, watching the pair of them, hoping to perhaps etch the image in my head, or make sure they are truly safe. I memorize the lines of their sleeping faces, so innocent, so... relaxed... faces I have not seen oft in the light.

  But the picture of danger is gone from my face. It is gone – no longer there – and so, after one of my many blinks, the image is substituted for darkness and I am asleep and alone.

  twenty

  I’m back.

  I’ve never left, I tell myself, and that thought is silly. But I feel like moments ago, I was not here. I was not positioned on this street, in this way, standing with my hands in my pockets. Not resting in my pockets – searching my pockets.

  For... something.

  They come up with nothing more than the crisp air, my silver moon ring cool even to my own flesh, where it’s been pushed all morning.

  Bollocks. Must have left that in the flat, too.

  It’s a few seconds before the words register in my mind, but then I remember. I was looking for my phone to tell me where to go. That’s what I was doing.

  Staring at the stormy sky above me, the oblivious people around me, walking and talking and living unaware of my existence or the existence of the people they brush past, I wonder where my mind was for the last few seconds – or where it seems to be going now.

  I’m running. I’m running and my world is smearing in front of my eyes, the whites and grays of this universe turning into nothing more than a sloppy watercolor.

  The officer in his blue, fitted uniform laughs at a joke someone else is telling him, and shifts onto the opposite leg. He puts a hand up to his face, where he scratches through a brown beard.

  I hear a scream, and I look up.

  “Ma’am!” The officer I had been running towards is holding his hands out, in surrender, but behind his icy blues, he seems to be contemplating a new tactic. “Ma’am, please, calm down.”

  I think I’m very calm, as I blink away tears, stare at the outline of the young individual in front of me, and the shouting girl beside him, hands to her face in horror.

  She’s staring at my fingers, which confuses me – so I look at them too.

  They’re just as pale and long as they’ve always been. Just as cold as they have been this entire morning. Still as bony, still lacking any true feeling or direction. And yet... something is different, this time, I see.

  They are no longer empty.

  Weighted between both of my hands is a gun.

  I’ve never held one before. I’ve never used one before. I’ve seen them in television shows – primarily American ones – but never before has one really fallen into my hands.

  I know how to use them, though. I’ve made sure of that. I only need one shot to be accurate – to get it right.

  The wind blows, and I shiver as my braid sways, my scarf moves forward to slightly cover the polished black object within my hands. It’s heavier than I’d expected it to be.

  “Put down the weapon.”

  A crowd is beginning to gather, some with strangled shouts of shock, others with bated breath. I begin to slip my right hand against the gun, grabbing the trigger. I make sure the gun is loaded, slip the safety off. Prime both myself and the bullet.

  I know what I’m going to do, I think, as I wrap my right hand around the gun. I
know where this bullet is going.

  I imagine what it’s going to feel like. I imagine how this world is going to react to this spectacle. Mentally, I apologize to every single human here, waiting for me to use the gun, frightened I may turn the gun and use it on themselves.

  I close my eyes as I begin to raise the gun, and open my mouth in preparation for the muzzle...

  I wake up to the chattering of my charges and the racing of my heart.

  twenty-one

  It’s obvious to Thomas that I have had a dream. I wake up panting, dizzied, half-gone in mind and body. Though when he questions what is wrong, and I lean over myself to get a glimpse of my charges, I must return the query for a different reason.

  “What – is the matter – with you?” Still struggling through my breath, my body is turned, twisted, my eyes wide and gaping, and glaring, I move from watching the barrier to Thomas.

  “What? What’s happened? I didn’t – ”

  “You did not alert me that they were awake!” My hands gesture back towards the glass, and my eyes begin to follow. The two are easing themselves out of the water after what appears to be bathing, soaking wet and nude-skinned.

  “I – you needed your rest!” His voice is attempting to be sure-fired, but there’s a currency of defense in his voice that proclaims him to automatically be in the wrong. “I didn’t want you to worry about – ”

  “You didn’t want me to go through the barrier.” I stand up, offended for good reason, glaring into the skies that hold the essence of a liar and a cheater. This is part of my job, and because of something as fallible and fickle as feeling, he is attempting to do it without me.

  “This is not your life. I am not yours. I am not a child. You do not get these decisions!”

  “I just – want to keep you safe, and – !”

  “No!” I’m feeling fire burn within me so fierce, so unruly that somehow, some way, I feel untouchable. Like that despite the powers I have obviously seen Thomas exhibit over me, I cannot be stopped. I am in control of myself.

  And no one else is. Or will ever be.

  “This is my life! Not yours!”