Monochrome (33 page)

“Well, it smells a lot better now they’re gone. I mean, it doesn’t smell like much, but it doesn’t smell like them. Why do they smell like tin?”

“That’s just how Dusties smell, like Silverdust.”

She put her hair behind her ear, not really wanting to know the answer to the question she was going to ask. “So you use it?”

He chuckled. “No, but one of the boss’ recruits does. It fell out of his pocket after he got done smacking me over the head with his baton. He’ll probably regret the day he ever saw me. That was a lot of Silverdust.”

He frowned. “I mean, I
have
used it, but I didn’t like it. Most people try it here, and a lot of people like it. It keeps you from wanting things: food, drink, sex, pretty much everything. You just don’t care. You don’t feel. You don’t think. It’s like being a tree or a rock. You’re present, but not involved. But it’s fairly fleeting, and then, if you want to continue feeling nothing, which has its perks, then you have to keep paying for it. I prefer to smoke, eat, and have sex when I can. I like thinking, though I don’t always like feeling.”

“I understand the concept, I guess. But something strange was happening to those two. It’s like they were more Monochrome than human.”

Ishmael nodded in agreement. “Some people think Dusties don’t die. They just merge with the landscape, become trees, rocks, and thorn bushes.” He made an unpleasant face. “I hope that’s not true. That’s pretty disturbing.”

She frowned. “Really disturbing.” She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. “I guess we need to head back now.”

“I’m sorry we can’t get your memories. He took them because he knew you’d try to stay and retrieve them. It’s how he gets people to stay. And in our condition, we’re sure to be caught. He’ll drain your life slowly from you until you’re not sure why you wanted to go home in the first place. But believe me; I know how it feels to hear the voices, and do nothing to appease them.”

He took her hand in his. Tears were running down her face in a silent stream. “Take my word for it. I stayed to get what I lost, and I’ve lost so much more since. Don’t live in the past like me, Abby. Go home and live for the present and future.”

Abigail snatched her hand from him, embarrassed by her weakness and the truth in his voice. “That’s easy for you to say. You might be able to go home and make nice new memories with the people from your past, but he took my
father
, Ishmael. I can’t go back and make new memories with someone who’s not alive.”

His body drooped as if it carried the weight of her words. “You’re not the only one who has lost someone, Abby.”

His voice broke, and Abigail immediately felt awful for suggesting he was better off than she. “Who?”

Ishmael bit his cheek. “My mother shot herself when she was high on acid. She tried to be sober, so many times, but she eventually gave in. It wasn’t always acid, that’s just what it was in the end. Maybe her brain was too messed up. I don’t know. I never knew my dad well. He left when I was young and never came back. She was all my family.”

He rubbed his wrist as he talked. All of a sudden, she understood. “You tried to kill yourself when you found out.”

His eyes were distant. “Actually, first Katie May left me. I was afraid of being a father and she wanted kids. I didn’t want to be like my parents. She didn’t understand. She had two very loving parents…I wouldn’t commit. I was too frightened about what it might mean. The week after she left me, my mom left me for good. I found her. She’d been dead for two days before I realized I missed her calls. I went to see what was up, and I found her. The blood was horrific, but not as bad as the smell. Ever since then, I can’t stand the sight of blood. It’s like I’m shot back to that moment…”

His eyes were filled with the gruesome recollection. “So many times I wished I could give up
that
memory, but I get to relive it in my dreams, almost nightly.”

Abigail put her arms around him. They sat in a desperate embrace for a few minutes before she stood. The colorful smoke was not visible through the dense shining trees, but she could feel its tug. She imagined memories of her father and Jason dancing in the sky, visible to everyone but her. The pain of letting the memories go dug at her chest, but she knew Ishmael was right.

It was time to live for the present and the future. “Goodbye, Daddy,” she whispered to the plumes.

Ishmael stood, Abigail’s water bottle in hand. He handed her the bottle, which she took a drink from, offering it to him afterwards.

He took a drink and handed it back. “Let’s get you home.”

She buckled the bottle belt around her and took his hand in appreciation. He squeezed her palm gently. She closed her eyes. The heavy jacket on the ground vanished. She dropped her hand from his and pulled the fuzzy lined hood of her short black cotton jacket up around her head. Ishmael peeked at her from the corner of his black eyes and whistled, “Nice pants.”

They were more legging than jean, but they were comfortable, movable and warm. She elbowed him in the side when he tried to see the back of them. He laughed, grabbed her hand again, and led her back towards the black path.

THEY MADE
IT BACK
to the path in good time, driven by the need to get to the border before day ended. Half-way to their destination a booming rumble trembled the pebbles of the path. Startled, Abigail jumped and surveyed the unvarying sky. Sure enough, just behind them a huge black mass oozed through the midnight blue skies.

She sniffed the air, but didn’t smell the wet-earth smell of rain. The scent that came to her wasn’t carried by wind, as the black mass that must be a Monochrome cloud wasn’t carried by wind, but seemingly of its own volition. It was like ice and decay.

“What the hell is that smell?” Abigail asked.

Ishmael cursed. “Of course. I thought you might get lucky and make it through without seeing a Monochrome storm.” He closed his eyes. “If you have a raincoat handy in your memories, you might want to think it up.”

So saying, his clothing shifted in dizzying colors, struggling to settle. He breathed out, frustrated, and concentrated. Finally, a polar-black windbreaker and black work boots appeared. He opened his eyes and pulled the hood up.

She glanced back at the massive cloud, and noticed it was much closer, almost on top of them. The torrent pouring from it sounded like hail, and looked like the fattest rain she’d ever seen. The air around her was chilled and muggy. She didn’t need to be told twice.

She closed her eyes and, seconds later, opened them to reveal a knee-length black rain jacket with blue spouting whales and matching rubber boots. Ishmael grinned at her. “Cute.”

She pulled her hood up. “Thanks.” Another rumble rocked the ground under her feet, and made her stumble.

Ishmael grabbed her arm and righted her. “It’s gonna get worse fast.”

He pulled her towards a large drooping tree. “We don’t have lightening here, but we do need to listen for the sound of branches breaking. The rain is very heavy, and the thunder very powerful. We can wait here as it passes over. It should do so quickly.”

Abigail huddled close to him. Another, much nearer, boom sounded all around them and knocked them both off their feet.

Ishmael raised his voice to be heard over the rain pressing down on them through their tree covering. “It’s probably best if we stay seated. We’ll just get knocked down again.”

As if on cue, a bang split the area around them and she heard a tremendous crack. The large branch hanging just over them was splintered by the roll. She grabbed Ishmael and pulled him, with all her strength, out of harm’s way. Unfortunately, she managed to pull him directly out into the open. The icy rain was heavy and thick and came down in torrents, pummeling them.

Ishmael used his body to shield her from most of the rain, but what made it to her uncovered face nearly drowned her before, suddenly, it was gone. Or, rather, it moved on, in the direction of the border. She watched it move away from them, taking a gasping breath free of water. The water tasted as badly as it smelled. She turned to the side and coughed it out of her system. She shifted and stared up at Ishmael.

Everywhere around them was covered in ice-cold puddles. Rain was still cascading down Ishmael’s soaked jacket, but he saw none of it. He stared at Abigail, engrossed, and shook rain from his jacket. She laughed as it splashed her face.

He used his inner sleeve to wipe the drops from her cheeks, and leaned towards her. “You keep saving me, and you haven’t yet let me properly thank you. I now have the advantage to change that.”

His black eyes sparkled with green stars. If she’d discouraged him, he would’ve listened, but she chose be silent, knowing it was
a
wrong decision but not
the
wrong decision.

She lifted her head to receive his kiss, and met his warm lips with shivering trepidation. He wrapped his firm arms around her and lifted her into his lap. Her head grew light and her body heavy as blood rushed in pleasure, shouting through her mind like the ocean against rocks. She parted her lips to breath then pressed her mouth to his firmly, giving in to her longing.

Rain ran down her back, but the only thing that mattered was drinking him in. Her form wouldn’t fit against his tightly enough. His lips obeyed hers like he was linked to her in an unspoken understanding. They kissed and parted only to breath before diving into desire. Abigail clenched her hands in his hair and pulled him to her, like he was oxygen and she was drowning. His hands shook against the small of her back. It was then she understood Ishmael was her equal but opposite magnetic charge. As long as he was around, she would fall into him.

A tremendous rumble sounded behind them, and startled them apart. Abigail leaned out of his hold, remembering there were, indeed, other things that mattered in her life apart from Ishmael’s caress. At that moment, her heart broke with that little bit of reality. She stood, her knees trembling, her arms and hands rushing with excited blood. She shook herself off in order to do something, anything but look at Ishmael.

He rose next to her, spun her towards him and studied her face, forcing her to see him. “Stop. Stop pretending like you’ve just done something terrible. It’s breaking me. If you tell me every kiss is like a knife to you, I will never touch you again. I don’t want you like this.”

She didn’t know how to tell him it was a knife, but she yearned for it. She wanted him, and wanted him to leave her. So she grabbed his hands in between hers and said, “I love you.”

His face was a mask. He removed his hands, took his hat off and brushed his hair with his fingers. Following that, he fumbled with a cigarette in his pockets. “Stop. Stop feeling what you’re feeling right now.” He frowned at her in confusion.

“I can’t help how I feel when you touch me or kiss me. I am someone’s wife. That’s not a small deal to me. I can’t help it, any more than you can help how much I just freaked you out.”

He rolled his eyes at her and took out a cigarette. He lit it before saying, “You’re an asshole.”

She laughed and grabbed his free arm. “Yes, I am. And so are you. That’s what makes us a great team.”

He shook his head, laughing quietly over his cigarette, and let her lead him back to the path, defeat written into the set of his shoulders.

*

They took cover twice more, when two quick-moving storms followed the first, huddled side-by-side for warmth. By the time the third passed, they were both soaked wherever their waterproof clothing didn’t cover. They were treading ankle-deep in water in some parts, and stopped to rest on a large rock, just so they weren’t standing in dank water for a short couple of minutes.

“How much further?” Abigail knew she sounded like a whiny two-year-old, but the rain slowed them considerably.

Ishmael was smoking another cigarette, looking soaked and dejected. “We’re close and there’s a few hours of light left. Not that it seems that way, I know. There’s nowhere to stop and eat, but there’s a Guide’s post a ways up, if you need to get out of the rain. Or your clothes. Or whatever.”

He did see her glare at him. “I’m fine. Thanks for the concern.”

He threw the cigarette butt into the shallow water on the ground and it fizzled out. “I’m here to help.”

She jumped down from the rock. “I’m ready.”

“I wish you weren’t so eager to leave all of this behind.” He motioned around her.

“I hope I don’t.”

Ishmael didn’t look at her. “The border is just up the way.”

She grabbed his arm. “You’re still not going to tell me whether you’re coming or not.”

He dropped his eyes to his feet. “I don’t know yet.”

She chose to ignore his answer. She wouldn’t leave him here.

He motioned up the path. “Just about a mile that way, and we’ll be there.”

His voice wasn’t hopeful or happy, but the words appeared unfamiliar to him.
This is the only time he’s taken someone to the border. She reminded
herself.

“I can’t believe we made it without any trouble from Eric.” She beamed at him, relieved. Ishmael didn’t seem to hear her, and she didn’t repeat herself.

His mood was growing worse the closer they got to the border. Her excitement hadn’t withered, though. She would see her baby soon, and Jason. No matter what she forgot about him, it was impossible to forget her love for him. She hoped beyond reason he could forgive her, and she could forgive herself.

The black path stopped abruptly about a mile later, and so, too, did the forest. In front of them was an insurmountable wall made from a cluster of thorny brambles.

Ishmael pointed. “See there? There’s a natural arch formation through the brambles.”

Abigail squinted. “Yes,” she whispered.

“That’s the doorway home. Or it will become the doorway, rather.”

“Well, let’s go then!”

He didn’t move, but searched the bramble around him. She was stunned by his weird noncommittal attitude. She thought he’d be relieved to be at the end of their journey. She knew he wanted to think about whether or not he was going, but, in her mind, his choice was made. He wasn’t staying in this awful place.

She grabbed his arm and tugged it. “Come on. We’re here!”

He allowed her to drag him to the arch. In her own enthusiasm she didn’t see the two forms coming from the left side of the arch towards them, but he was expecting them. “Abby,” he said calmly, “It’s not that easy.”

Abigail’s mouth dropped open as the boss and Eric sauntered up to her. She pulled at Ishmael’s arm, trying to tug him towards the right, away from the two men, but he didn’t move. Guilt and sadness distorted his face as Eric walked up to him, grabbed his arm and pulled him out of her hold. Ishmael made no move to get out of Eric’s grasp.

The boss put a hand on her shoulder. She was too confused to move out of harm’s way. “You seem surprised to see us, Abigail. Did Ishmael not tell you?”

“You knew they’d be here?” She asked, hurt written into the lines of her face.

“You can’t leave without their consent. I know I told you I wouldn’t keep things from you, and I did. I’m sorry. I’ve been trying to find a way to tell you. But I didn’t want it to scare you away from getting here.” His voice was defiant, “You can do this, Abby. I know you can. You are beyond them…”

The boss squawked his obnoxious laugh. “Don’t be dramatic, Ishmael. You’ve done your part.”

Ishmael glared at the boss, who addressed her. “What Ishmael failed to tell you is you are free to leave, as long as you pass my little test.”

Abigail’s heart sank, and she looked at Ishmael, stunned. “Ishmael?”

He nodded. “That’s how it is, Abby. I’m sorry. It’s why I’ve never left…”

The boss cut him off. “Don’t be too hard on poor Ishmael, Abigail. He is, after all, a figment of your imagination. So, if you’re going to be upset, you should be upset with yourself.”

“What are you talking about?”

He laughed again, much to her annoyance. “Our Guides, Abigail, are fashioned after the Lead. As are many of the people you meet along the way. It only makes sense. I want you to make a new home here, and allowing the Lead to control their own fate by projecting their fears and desires onto the Guide of their own making makes it much easier for new arrivals to feel comfortable staying.”

She shook her head. “I won’t listen to you.”

She looked at Ishmael, again, who appeared as confused as she did. “Ishmael?”

“It’s not true, Abby. I’m real. I used to live. You’ve seen my memories.”

The boss shrugged. “He’ll just say what you want him to say. He’ll do what you want him to do. If a woman or man wants to be left alone, his or her Guide leaves right away. And so on. Ishmael thinks he’s real. His memories, his experiences are real because you want them to be.” He waved his hand dismissively.

She put her hands on her hips, determined not to believe a word he said. “Well, good. If he’s a figment of my imagination, he’ll come back with me when I’m done with whatever test you have for me. Because that’s what I want.”

The boss shook his head, smiling. “That’s the thing, Abigail. Ishmael can’t come back with you. He belongs to Monochrome. He’s made from it. Once you leave, you leave him behind.”

He saw the worry in her eyes. “Exactly. If you stay, though, we will leave you alone. He can be what you need and want.”

Ishmael crossed his arms. “Abby, if that were true, none of this would’ve happened. Think of the people who knew me along the way. Am I a figment for them too? Don’t let him get to you.”

The boss made an annoyed face. “Eric?”

Eric lifted the butt of his knife and smacked it down on Ishmael’s head. He dropped like dead weight. She gasped and reached out for him, but the boss put a hand on her shoulder.

The boss sneered. “Don’t worry. He’ll be fine if you want him to be. Think about it, you manipulate your appearance, so why not your surroundings, the people in it?”

She raised her eyebrows in surprise, but said nothing. She wasn’t about to let him see what he said made her nervous. What if Ishmael couldn’t leave? What if she
had
created him? What did that say about her?

The boss smirked. “You are
wanted
here, Abby. Everywhere you go, men want you and women help you. Isn’t that better than the misery of real life?”

She shook her head, convinced, now, he was lying. “No woman wants to be attacked. That’s a sick accusation.”

The boss ignored her comment and continued, “What this really means is you can make a new life for yourself. Perhaps not completely happy. You do have to live by our rules, but you can keep the fantasy you’ve created, or discard it as you please.”

He spread his hands to his sides, gesturing towards his world. “At least if you live here, you won’t hurt your family. You won’t harm your helpless baby. You say you want to go back, but is that really what’s best for
them
?” The boss lifted a cupped hand and opened it in front of Abigail. Inside his open palm was a miniature three dimensional scene:

A small Abigail held a tiny crying infant away from her body, her hands shaking. The expression on the face of the miniature Abigail appalled her: rage. A little Jason walked into the scene and took the crying baby without a word. But his face said everything. In that moment he did not love Abigail; he did not like her. The look he gave her could easily even be construed as hateful.