Monochrome (12 page)

Ishmael shrugged. “Thanks, but I’m not sure you see me correctly, either. You’re only seeing what I allow you to see.”

“His eyes, though…”She shivered.

“Those are his.” He sighed. “I wish you hadn’t come after me. I never wanted him to see you. I’m sorry I was slow to stop him. I’m sorry you were forced to relive all those things.”

Abigail ducked her head, embarrassed Ishmael saw some of her most intimate moments. “You saw it all, then?”

He nodded and continued to play with his hat. “Yeah, I’ve seen them all, and not just the ones he brought up.” His guilt was apparent. “Sorry I didn’t tell you, but I didn’t want it to effect what you chose. The last memory. You fought him, Abby, and you held it off. That’s not something I’ve ever seen happen before. I’m impressed.”

She just shuddered. “I’m not eager to relive it.”

Then she remembered what stopped her from having to relive the memory and she was overcome with guilt. “You gave him a memory for me, an important memory. A yellow memory is important, right?”

He waved off her worry. “Don’t feel bad. The memory was a payment for going outside of my job requirements. It wasn’t your fault.” He flushed and played with the brim of his hat. “He knows I helped you last night and I’m really not supposed to.”

Abigail was confused. “Wait. So you were just supposed to let those men hurt me?”

He shook his head. “No, not the attack. He doesn’t want my Leads dead. Death sort of prohibits them from becoming his next employees.”

He frowned as if he’d said too much. “He was more upset about me helping you last night, when you were crying.” He looked away. “In your sleep.”

She didn’t know whether to be embarrassed, angry or shocked. “You
did
give me that dream! Ishmael, what the hell!”

He shrugged and blushed. “I didn’t really intend for it to go the way it did. I just wanted to calm you, reassure you, to give you a little peace.” He paused and ran a nervous hand through his hair. “I’ve never tried to give you a dream. I didn’t know I was able to do what I did. I ended up falling asleep mid-poem and it just,” he grinned, “happened.”

Abigail wanted to be mad, but Ishmael was just trying to help, and the dream
was
an improvement to her previous dreams, even if it was a bit awkward. “Well, thanks for trying, novice, but please don’t try again.”

“I won’t. It will cost me if I do. The boss warned me about getting too friendly.” He cringed as if the last sentence wasn’t supposed to have left his lips.

“Wait. I don’t understand. How could being friendly be a bad thing? I mean, you’re here to help me get out if I want to get out, right? I guess I don’t see how our friendship deters that. If anything, it makes this awful place bearable enough to get through.”

He dropped his eyes from hers and fumbled in his pockets, searching for a cigarette. “Damn it.” He stomped on the empty cigarette pack. “I’ll have to buy more before we leave town. The store’s right up there. Do you mind?”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Do I mind if you smoke? It’s your money or memory to waste, I guess. Do I mind you’re ignoring my question? Yes, I mind that.”

He set his jaw in a stubborn line. “Look, I can stand here explaining the layers of my job or I can show you the way out of this place, so you don’t have to worry about it. Do you want to stand here and talk all day or are you ready to move on and make it home?”

She knew he was trying to keep from answering her, but he attacked her weakness—her desire to be home with her family. He put his foot down and the black pebbled road appeared before them. She followed moodily behind.

*

They walked in silence and hadn’t stopped except to wait for Ishmael to light a cigarette. The pack cost him as much as the room did. Abigail felt like asking him how spending money on non-essential items was a priority when it cost him his memories, but she figured he wouldn’t answer her or would answer with a snotty remark, so she let him have his vice.

She understood needing an outlet. Hell, she drank more than was healthy, by a long shot. He walked ahead of her in sulky defiance. She figured it was because of her inquisitions, but she didn’t know why asking about his job made him so angry.
He gets that way every time anyone mentions his job.
By all appearances, his job seemed to be something to be proud of, even if he wasn’t successful in guiding anyone out yet.
At least he’s not a Snake or a Trader
. She couldn’t fathom him doing something so awful.

In the midst of her thoughts, Ishmael stopped his trek and turned to face her, but Abigail was too deep in thought to be paying attention, so she walked into him. He was pushed backward, but didn’t fall. She held onto his coat to steady them both. His eyes were boring into hers, and they were full of that all too familiar guilt he seemed to wear like a favorite coat.

She let go of his jacket and smacked his arm. “You could warn me next time!”

He crossed his arms. “It’s my fault you’re not paying attention?”

She didn’t answer but made a gesture for him to speak. He uncrossed his arms. “I was just going to suggest we stop for food soon. It’s about half-way through the morning, and we’ll need the energy if we’re going to walk through the day.”

“You know best,” she intoned. “Where do you suggest we stop?”

He motioned ahead. “There’s a city coming up in a couple miles, Stoneton. It’s pretty big, so you’ll want to stay close. Plus, there’s a lot of scum there.”

“There’s a lot of scum all over this place.” Again, he seemed to take personal offense to this comment, even though she was referring to pretty much everybody she’d met here, excepting him.

He turned on his heel and walked, in quick strides, towards their destination. “Slow down, Ishmael, I wasn’t talking about you!” She half-jogged to pass him and stopped in front of him.

He tried to walk around her but she grabbed his jacket. “You’re taking this ‘no friends’ thing too seriously. It’s fine if you don’t want to be friends, okay? I get not wanting to have to give up more of your dwindling memories. I don’t think I would do that for someone I barely know either.”

She paused as Ishmael’s scowl softened. “But could we at least be civil to one another? I mean, this place is depressing enough. I’ve already been sucked of some of my nicer memories, been attacked by men wanting to sell the memory of my rape, been reminded of some of my saddest and most embarrassing moments, and been snapped at for asking simple questions. I miss my baby. I miss my husband and I just want to get through this, but, today, you’re making that very difficult to do.”

She felt her voice break, and Ishmael’s expression said he heard it. She hadn’t realized, until now, how awful her experience was thus far. She was trying to remain optimistic to make it out of here with her sanity, but the place was wearing on her and her one ally was being a stubborn asshole. “I’m sorry you had to give a yellow memory. I am. I could’ve given one instead.”

Ishmael was fighting to tell her something. He met Abigail’s eyes with a trusting expression, and she was saddened to notice some small black specks swam over the pond water-green, which had been so clear the night before. “Abby, I’m sorry. I know I’ve been weird and moody today. You’re right.”

He breathed unsteadily. “I haven’t told you everything about my job. I promise I will tell you everything over lunch, if you promise me something.”

She raised an eyebrow in askance. He put his hands on her shoulders. “Do not try to go on without me. No matter how disgusted or angry you are, do not try to get out of Monochrome without the path. You will wander and never find your way. You’ll be lost here without me. And, believe me, no matter what I say over lunch, I am your best hope. Do you agree?” His voice was foreboding and low. His grasp on her shoulder tightened. “I need you to promise me this. I think you can make it. I do.”

Abigail gently removed Ishmael’s hands from her shoulder, and squeezed them. “I promise I won’t try to do it on my own. I can’t see the path without you, and I don’t feel like mindlessly wandering in a weird, blue wood.” She paused, reluctant to finish her thought. “Plus, I don’t want to. I like your company.” She smacked his arm. “When you’re not being a complete ass.”

He didn’t smile. “We’ll see how you feel about me at lunch.” He moved her to the side and walked ahead.

Despite what she’d said to him though, she wondered what he could say to make her want to be in this awful place alone, and now she was close to finding out, she wasn’t sure she was ready to.

ISHMAEL WASN’T
KIDDING
about Stoneton. The buildings were all dirty brick and blue wood just like in the last town, but here there were many more of them. There were certainly more people on the street, begging for memories or moons, but there were also more disturbing things in this place.

Abigail wanted to cry when she saw a young girl, not much older than thirteen, undefined and scrawny, sitting on the dilapidated navy wood porch of one of the many brothels in the town, wearing nothing more than a slip. Her eyes were coal-black and her brown hair was stringy and unkempt.

She unconsciously reached a hand towards the girl, but Ishmael took her elbow. “You can’t help her, Abby. She’s a part of this place now.” But his eyes and voice were desperately sad. Tears caught in her throat but she let him pull her away.

There were a lot more people walking around Stoneton than in last night’s outpost, but they all stumbled around without purpose, black eyes on the ground or on their immediate destination. It wasn’t like any city she knew, everyone in a rush to get from here to there.

The only exception in the sluggish tide of people was a small woman with short, black hair winding in and out of the throng, bumping the lifeless horde and pocketing whatever she collected from them. Abigail was, for the first time, happy she had nothing of value. The woman glided through the crowd of people, barely brushing them, but her pockets came away heavier.

The black-haired woman was getting closer to them. Abigail was about to warn Ishmael, when he twisted, grabbed her, pushed her against the wall of the nearest brick building and put his hands on her waist.

She was about to shove him away when he put his face as close to hers as possible and whispered, “Trust me.”

She stopped trying to push him away, and glanced behind him, searching for an explanation to his behavior. He put his head on her shoulder by her ear and his breath tickled her neck uncomfortably.

“I saw the black-haired woman. She approaches people who are focused on something else. Pretty easy to do around this place, where people live inside their own minds. If we seem like we’re involved, she’ll target us next.”

He ran his fingers through her hair, enjoying the display a little too much. “She’s coming.”

It was strange, but, in this moment Abigail most worried about what Jason might assume if he saw them like this. But a close second was confusion. Why did Ishmael want the woman to pick them as targets?

She leaned into his ear. “What’s your plan?”

He nuzzled her neck and made goose bumps rise on her arms. She tensed under his hold, and he noticed. “What are you, a nun? Relax. She’s close. Laugh at me.”

At the moment, she felt like kicking him, but, instead, mustered a convincing sexy giggle and smacked him playfully on the arm.

He winked at her performance and grabbed her hands in his, caressing the backs of them with his thumbs. Before Abigail could think of what to feel about his rough fingertips, he dropped her hands, whipped around and grabbed the short black-haired woman by the wrist. Her hand was poised over his jacket pocket and her ice-blue, speckled black eyes were wide with surprise.

“Searching for something?” he asked the lady, grabbing her other wrist firmly.

The woman squirmed under his grasp, but didn’t manage to break free. “Let me go, asshole!”

Ishmael tisked her. “No need to call names. I’ve seen you pick the pockets of three different people already, and I can go find those people with you in tow.”

The woman’s eyes were now filled with apprehension “No…I…please…” she faltered.

Ishmael nodded. “That’s what I thought. You know two of those people you picked were Traders and you don’t want to mess with a Trader, let alone two, so we have a conundrum here. I get why you took their money. They’re scum, but I can’t let you go without something to convince me you won’t be a pest to me and my Lead.”

The woman aimed her pleas at Abigail, searching for sympathy. “Please, ask him to let me go. I won’t bother you two anymore.”

Abigail shrugged. “You have to convince him. Not me. He doesn’t listen to me.” Abigail didn’t want to say she was torn about the woman. It was okay with her if the Traders had everything taken from them, but she hadn’t
just
been stealing from Traders. She stole from other hopeless people. Anyway, Abigail knew Ishmael was bluffing. But the woman didn’t.

The woman glared at her, as if Abigail just betrayed all of womankind, and looked to Ishmael. “Okay, okay. Three moons if you let me go and don’t say a word to the Traders.”

Ishmael made a face like he was thinking. “Three moons sets you lose, but I don’t know if it buys our silence.”

The woman squirmed, but Ishmael held tight. She gave up fighting, breathing in quick gasps. “Fine. Four moons. I only picked six today, which gives you most of my haul.”

Ishmael let go of one of her wrists. The woman pulled four silver rocks out of her pocket and dropped them at Ishmael’s feet.

Abigail bent and picked up the rocks. Ishmael let go of the lady’s other wrist. “I don’t want to see you again,” he said to her. “I won’t be so forgiving next time.” The woman backed up, flipped him off and ran in the opposite direction.

Abigail held the money out to Ishmael. He took two, leaving two in her palm, closing her hand around them. “Don’t lose those. They’re your lunch money.”

She put her hands on her hips. “This doesn’t make up for you trying to feel me up.”

He snickered and headed back to the street.

Ishmael chose a small pub for lunch. He explained that all restaurants in Monochrome were also bars because drinking was a very popular hobby, more so than eating, judging by the mostly starved people who wondered the streets. He chose a table away from the door in the corner. It was musty and close inside the pub.

There were only a few men seated at the bar and a young black woman seated at a table by the door, smoking a cigarette, silent tears running down her cheeks. Abigail got a good look at her when she and Ishmael walked in. The woman’s eyes were still a light brown under blotches of black. It was eerie and heartbreaking. She muttered to herself, smoke rolling out with her words. She spoke just above a whisper, in an unfamiliar language.

Once they were seated, a slim bartender came out from behind the bar and walked up to their table. She was short, thin and sported brown-black hair down to her waist. She was beautiful, except for her dead eyes.

The woman nodded at Ishmael. “Hi, Ishmael. Whiskey and coke?”

“Hi, Kora. Here for lunch, actually, but yes.”

The woman raised a thin black eyebrow at him. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you eat before.”

“We’ve had a long trip so far.”

Kora tilted her head towards Abigail. “Another Lead?” She walked closer to Abigail and leaned in, peering at her, her almond eyes inquisitive. Abigail felt very uncomfortable, but tried not to show it.

“Your eyes are beautiful,” Kora said.

Abigail muttered a thanks. Kora flushed, hiding her own dark eyes behind a waterfall of hair. “You must be strong, to have so much life left.”

Ishmael beamed, full of secondary pride. “She fought off a couple Traders. Killed one.”

Abigail’s stomach ached, but Kora seemed impressed. “Good girl. Disgusting roaches.”

Her pale face fell into a dark sneer for a moment before brightening. “So what’ll it be, lovely?”

Abigail blushed at the praise, realizing Kora had eyes only for her.

Oblivious of Kora’s fascination for Abigail, Ishmael took his hat off and ran a hand through his hair. “What food do you have today?”

Kora thought for a moment. “I think we have broth. Maybe grilled cheese. No meat, though. Haven’t had enough memories or moons to get meat, and my good-for-nothing assistant, who used to hunt at night, killed himself last week, so let me know if you know anyone who hunts.”

She faced Abigail. “You don’t hunt, do you?” She
had
hunted before, but only shook her head, shocked to hear the woman speak so nonchalantly about the suicide of her assistant. Ishmael didn’t notice.

“Grilled cheese is fine, and the whiskey and coke.”

Kora nodded. “What about you, green eyes?”

Abigail collected herself. “Grilled cheese and water.”

Kora grimaced. “The water’s terrible.”

“Screw driver, then.”

Ishmael made a disgusted face as Kora walked away to get their food and drinks. “Orange juice with grilled cheese? Gross.”

Abigail shrugged. “I wanted water.”

He lit a cigarette and leaned back. “She’ll probably bring you one with your other drink. But she’s right. It’s awful. Anyway, business is slow, she probably needs the moons.”

They sat in silence over their drinks. Kora brought both a screw driver and water, smiling apologetically at the eggy smell it emitted.

Abigail thought about reminding Ishmael he promised to be more forthcoming about his job, but from the way he was knocking his knee against the table and playing with his hair, it was clear he remembered his promise but didn’t know how to start.

She rose, giving him a chance to collect himself. “I’m going to use the restroom. I’ll be back.” His face was strained. She put a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll be
right
back.” He nodded but didn’t speak.

He lifted his hand from his drink and patted the hand she placed on his shoulder. His hands were cold and wet from his dewy glass, and, once again, she felt an electric tingle where he touched her. She immediately drew her hand away. It was uncomfortable when his touch buzzed, burning like hot wax against cool skin.

Ishmael drained his glass and put his head on the table. Abigail was sad to see him so upset, but she left him stewing and headed for the restroom. Their table was not far from the woman’s restroom, indicated by the circle and falling cross scratched into the steely wood of the blue-black door. She pushed the door open and ran her hand against the wall, searching for the switch. When she found the switch and flicked it on, she regretted it immediately.

This was the type of bathroom it might be better not to see. It was about the size of a coat closet, with writing scratched and drawn into the walls, door and floor, much of it raunchy or depressed, and it smelled like it hadn’t been cleaned since the building was constructed. The light cast a sallow green pallor over the entire scene, which added tremendously to its charm.

When Abigail finished, she twisted the rusted hot water knob on the sink and washed her hands as best as possible, since there was no soap present. She peered into the smudged mirror above the sink and sighed. Her eyes were tired, her left cheek was a yellow-purple swell, and her waves had been teased into unruly curls.

Abigail ran her hands under the rusty water and brought them through her hair to tame it. She stepped closer to the mirror to see her reflection better, but instead of becoming clearer it shifted and grew fuzzy. The mirror swirled with dull forms. She wanted to back away but was drawn to the colors intensifying and beginning to take shape.

The shapes became distinct and she recognized her living room and her husband, sitting in his comfy big red chair, playing with Ruby. He was making sounds at her and lifting her above his head. Her small chime laughter rang through the air. Her little limbs flailed excitedly. And then, Abigail was no longer a viewer of the scene.

Suddenly, she was with her husband and baby in the living room, seated across from them, reading one of her many school books and making notes. Although she was seated in the couch facing them, reaching them was impossible. She was stuck in place, even though her heart was racing and her mind was desperate to hold them.
Jason blew raspberries on Ruby’s neck and she squealed in delight.

With a lurch of her stomach, she recalled this moment and no longer wished to be a part of it. Abigail tried to close her eyes to get away from it, but she was in a memory, not in reality, so the body she inhabited belonged to the past and it was annoyed with her husband and baby, rather than happy to see them.

“Could you keep it down, Jason? Or go into another room?” She slapped her binder closed, exasperated. “I have, like, a hundred and fifty pages more to read and then I have to grade thirty essays by tomorrow morning.”

Jason sat Ruby on his knee and she grabbed clumsily at his pants. “I’m just playing with Ruby.” His face was annoyed as he grumbled the next comment under his breath. “It would be nice if you did, too, once in a while.”

She heard him and felt both guilty and furious. She wanted to be able to goof around all day with her baby, she wanted to be able to go to bed at a decent time, not worry about her homework, prepare for teaching and grading, and watch Ruby while Jason was away at work, while still remaining sane. She wanted to not feel like her baby was a burden. Hell, she wanted to feel normal emotions for her baby.

“You know I have to get this done,” she shot back at him. “It’s not like I don’t want to take a break, but that would mean I wouldn’t get my grading or reading done for the night.” Jason just shook his head and clammed up. She hated his dismissive manner.

He never argued with her. He was right no matter what and never stooped to argue. She felt anger roll like waves through her body. “Fuck it. I’ll just drop out of school and take care of Ruby. Is that what you want?”

Jason glared at her. “You know I don’t. You’re overreacting again. You always overreact lately.” Abigail felt tears in her eyes. She knew he was right, but she couldn’t help the sadness and anger that so easily washed over her, controlled and contorted her. She stood, threw her notebooks, papers and books off her lap and headed for the bedroom.

Once inside, she locked the door and flung herself onto the bed. She heard Ruby screaming and Jason calling after her.

“Leave me alone,” she yelled into a pillow. Tears streamed down her face and her anger became a blank, empty grief. They’d be better off without me. She thought to herself over and over again.