The Knight Of The Rose (42 page)

never saw it coming? Did he convince me that he’d come back so that I wouldn’t try to fol low or

find him?”

“I think you know the answer to that question, Ara.”

“No. That can’t be right.”

“But it is right. David didn’t come....because David never was coming.”

The remains of my existence suddenly gave up in that mo ment. If I could have been

speechless or stared blankly, I would have. “Then he really is just as the memory Jason showed me.”

“Yes,” the imagination snickered, “and you were just another victim of his cruelty.”

Time has no meaning anymore—or maybe it
had
no meaning. I could still count, and already,

I’d counted more hours than I cared to believe. I knew one thing for sure—weeks had passed since I

died. My body will have begun to decompose by now; the skin peeled back from my fingertips, my

mouth agape, home to all manne r of crawling things. But the wo rst part is not knowing what

happened to those I left behind; Mike especially, and my dad.

Dad will never be able to cope with the horrific way in which I would’ve been found; Mike

will never be able to think of me again. Which makes me glad I’m dead. I don’t want to see their

eyes—full of pity and indignant gr ief. I wonder how long Mike waite d before returning to Perth. I

wonder if he’ll move on, join Tactical, get married one day and—forget I ever existed.

I hope not; the very thought made me feel sad—like my life was just a waste.

But my existence at least gave David a reason to live—or so he told me. Only, now, he’ll face

an eternity without hope of finding love again. Et ernity is so long. I’d suffer t his empty blackness

forever to wish he’d find happiness again—even if he never truly loved me.

One thing that hadn’ t changed in death was t he way my mi nd kept skipping between

conclusions. With thoughts being my only compan ions, the switching back from knowing he loved

me to the strong realisation that he never di d, has been really painful—and frankly, I was getting

tired of hearing my own voice—or thoughts. But there really was nothing else to do.

As I focused on the watery feel of my eternal loneliness, I thought I heard a sound—another

voice—not mine. I think. Sometimes my memories sounded like voices, and I ’d always get excit ed

until I realised that the things they were saying had already happened.

I heard the voice again and quietened all my thoughts for a second.

How can that be a voice when I’m buried so deep in the ground?

Shh
, I told myself.

“Ara?”

In my mind, I sat taller. No. That was a voice!

“Ara?” it said again.

Hello?

“Ara, I’m so sorry, baby.”

Mike?
Mike!
That can’t be him.
Mike, don’t be sorry. I—

“If you can hear me,” he cut me off, “please, just squeeze my hand. Please? Just once, that’s

all I need. Just one—” his voice trailed off into soft sobs.

Mike? Can you hear me?

Nothing. I waited. But there was only a clogged-up feeling in my ears and a gentle rushing of

wind, like the distant sound of a waterfall.

“No change?” another voice spoke. It startled me so much to hear another voice that I was

almost sure my heart skipped.

“No. Doc says her heart’s not coping.”

“Time will tell.” The other voice, so deep and smooth, sounded void of all emotion.

“Where are you going?”

“She needs rest, and my being here is....” there was a long pause, “pointless.”

Only a long sigh followed that.

I wanted to reach out and touch Mike, but there was still no space or anything solid around

me. I felt like I was in a ballroom, with all the candles doused, and onl y the soft whisper of voices

somewhere in another room. I won dered if the voices were a dream, a memory—or i f this wasn’t

actually death, but a nig htmare where I was trapped in darkness, forever close to them, forever just

within reach but unable to touch them?

Mike’s gentle and distant chatter dissipated, l eaving me floating, by myself again, ever more

alone, ever more confused.

I so badly wanted it to be Mike, to have really heard his voice. But the dead do not hear t he

living, and the living can never again see the dead.

Resting back on the tide of inert reality, I let the waves of isolation carry me away.

“How is she?” The voice echoe d through my endles s night, resonating from somewhere

behind me. But there was no one here. I didn’t even bother to look. The fight to hold on to reality

was a battle I gave up long ago—so, I just listened to hear what these voices said.

I could feel that I was weak—not my body,

that was long gone—but my mi nd or spirit,

whatever it was that kept me here this l imbo, this death that never ended, this hell that never

changed. I couldn’t remember how I got here, and I couldn’t remember where here was. But I knew a

voice; he called himself Mike. Though, whoever just spoke sounded different.

“No change,” said a woman; her voice was familiar, too.

“Can she hear us?” he said. “Her monitor changes when I speak. See?”

“It’s just static.” As soon as t hat man spoke, I knew it was Mike. The other one s ounded

almost too smooth to be Mike; l iquid, if that was the right word. I’d heard his voice from time to

time, but he’d never said his name.

“It’s not static. Look, she can hear me.”

“You wish.”

“Mike,” the woman whispered. “Be nice.”

“Fine,” Mike said in a tone that indicated a set of folded arms to go with it. “From what I

know, the doc says she can.”

“Ara? My love.” Mr. Smooth sounded closer than before. “I’m so sorry—” he said. “Please?

Please come back to me?”

My love?
This was familiar to me somehow, if an ything could even be familiar anymore.

Could he be speaking to me—am I Ara? The name rung a bell, but...

A cold sensation stopped my thoughts, bringing something to life—an old memory—a distant

reflection.

My hand. I felt it. I could feel my hand.

A smile burst within me, radiating through my soul like liquid as I rejoiced for the brilliance

of a hand. I t hought they’d taken it, I thought they’d taken everything, but the cold against my hand

confirmed it was s till there. And if my hand was stil l there, I wondered if, maybe....maybe this

wasn’t death after all.

Maybe it was...
something else.

I focused on the memory of touch and boiled t he strength de ep inside my non-existent

stomach—pushing all the force out through my arms—and then, I squeezed the cold with my fingers.

“Did you see that?” the stranger said. “I think...I think she just squeezed my hand!”

He felt that? He knows I’m here . He felt me? I squeezed harder, trying to pull myself back

into consciousness.

“She did. She squeezed my hand. Look.”

“What do you mean
she squeezed your hand
?” Mike’s voice came from closer than before

and, though it was still dark, I fe lt space around me—felt him clos e to me. The echoing mist of

eternity flowed out through the cracks in my subconscious, leaving me whole again. I could feel my

body; could feel solidity in my limbs. They felt heavy. Really heavy. I didn’t remember being this

heavy. I couldn’t move them yet, but they were there, and so was gravity.

I love gravity. I’ve missed gravity.

“Ara.” The smooth stranger interrupted my moment of celebration.

I’m here
, I thought loudly.
I’m here!

“Ara,” he called again.

“I—” But my words fell short—lost t o nothing, unable to push past the barrier of my empty

prison. My lips t witched, trying to find my voice in the place it used to be. But as I f ought for a

presence in the world I used to belong, the solidity, the consciousness of touch in my hands trickled

away like smoke out an open window.

No!

I wanted to look down, to grab hold of the cold that held me alive so long, but though my

body was in their world, I didn’t own it—I couldn’t use it.

The surface quaked under me, my legs tilted through the gr ound, angling my entire body

away from existence. My heart reached out, grabbed at imaginary branches as the ground completely

came out from under me.

I fell.

There was no wind and no trees for whi ch to show my descent, but I fel t it—felt the ground

rising up. I tensed all over, ready to hit the surfa ce, but nothing ever came, only the emptiness of my

eternal, hollow hell.

I didn’t bother to cry this time as the darkness swallowed me whole, and hope had been lost

so long that I’d never truly allowed i t back in. I simply existed—in the dark. Alone. My body alive

out there somewhere, an empty vessel in a living world, while my soul was slowly dying beneath it.

More time passed. The voices came and went, but the link to my body never r eturned. I

stopped trying to feel anything, and just prayed for the days I’d hear their voices.

“Hello,” the smooth voice said.

“How is she?”

“No change, Mike—I don’t know. She’s struggling to breathe.”

I am? I can’t feel that.

“I know,” Mike said. “They’re gonna put her on a breathing thing.”

The smooth voice sighed. “I don’t want that for her—she’s been through enough.”

“I know, man, but it’ s for the bes t.” Mike’s warm energy emanated from his voice

somewhere near. I wished I could feel him, like,
actually
touch him. “I can’t l ose her. I’d rather s ee

her with a tube down her throat than in a coffin.”

“Prolonging life merely to save your own heart is selfish, Mike.”

“She might recover,” Mike said.

“Recover?” his tone rose up dryly. “Look at her—does she
look
like she’s going to recover?”

“Stop yelling,” Mike’s tone of reason made my heart soar with desire to be on the receiving

end of one of his lectures. “If they hear you, they’ll make you leave. One at a time in here,

remember?”

There was a short pause. “It’s five in the morning. Technically it’s my shift.”

“Don’t start this again, Da—”

“Look, I’m not saying you have to go, just—” Suddenly, my hand returned—just my hand,

with a sharp, cold sensation trav elling right through each bone in my fingers . I tensed. I t hurt, like

holding onto ice or snow a little too long. “Just don’t talk hope, okay. I can’t bear to even hope.”

The words he spoke surrounded me, I’d heard them but could only focus on the painful chill

along my fingertips. I wanted it to stop, wanted to find my hand and push it away.

“Maybe you should take a walk—you look....stressed,” Mike said.

“You’re right. I’ve been here too long. I’m losing my mind, I—” The cold in my hand

suddenly came away, replaced by a warm touch that melted the chill left behind. The numbness there

folded around whatever was in my hand. I wasn’t sure, but it felt like Mike—the way three of his

fingers curled into mine were enough to fill my entire palm. I wanted him to know I could feel him,

wanted him to know that, despite the fact that I couldn’t talk to him, I was still here. Somehow, I was

still here.

“Is she...smiling?” Mike’s voice peaked on the edge of excited curiosity.

“It means nothing,” said the smooth voice. “It’s just a muscle reflex.”

“No,” Mike said. “No, she is smiling.”

The smooth voice sighed.

“I’m here, baby girl. I’m here,” Mike whispered in my ear, the warmth of his breath brushing

against my hair. It was pleasant—not at all like the cold that had brought me back into reality.

But though the cold was gone, I stayed—i n my mind—aware, in
this
consciousness—

surrounded by the black pit of nothing. I could even smell him now, Mike; he smelled like...a feeling.

Like...home.

I wanted to go home—wanted to be like Dorothy and find my way.

I opened my eyes in the darkness . I’d had dreams here before, imagined dreams, imagined

walking or talking to people. Maybe, if I try hard enough, I can imagine a pair of ruby slippers .

Magic ones, like Dor othy had in the movies. Dad would berate me for not imagining silver ones—

like they were in the book—but I l iked red; it re minded of another feelin g…something to do with

forever. Repeating the words Dorothy used as a spell to get back home, I pictured a pair of sparkling,

ruby-coloured shoes, and clicked my heels together.

“What’s she saying?” asked the smooth stranger.

“Something about...?” Mike paused, then repeated my words—
my
words! They can hear me?

“Do you think she’s dreaming?” Mike asked.

“Perhaps. Or trying to find her way home,” Mr. Smooth suggested.

I tried harder, closing my imaginary eyes and meshing my lips tightly together. I wanted him

to hear me again, I wanted to say “I’m here! Mike, I’m here. Please come find me!” But he never

heard me. Not when I was alone in the dark, and not even while I was present in my body.

“Look at her skin.” A hand fell on my br ow—a warm one. “She’s pale. Do you think she’s

turni—?”

Silence. An empty chill stole the hum of the world, and a flat, dense darkness consumed my

hope, until I looked down and saw my hands. My hands, my feet—everything. I was alone again, but

this time my body had come with me.

Then, something in the distance sparkled; colour against the shadows—red—ruby red.