by S. L. Stacy
The bubble of hope inside of me deflates. It’s my turn to look away from him—at the shimmering, black walls, at a zombie couple locked in a till-death-do-us-part embrace nearby—anywhere but at Dolos.
Two cold fingers slide under my chin, and Dolos coaxes my face up to look at him. At the contact, a tiny, familiar thrill sparks inside of me, fizzling out a second later as he drops his hand. “I never meant for any of this to happen. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“But you did,” I say simply.
He nods. A single tear falls from the corner of his eye, carving a glistening trail down his cheek. “I know.” Then, taking a deep, nervous breath, he extends a hand to me, palm up. I look at it in confusion.
“What are you doing?”
“We might never get to go to dinner, or a movie, or any of your other normal couple things,” he says, amusement tugging up the corner of his mouth, “but I can at least give you this.”
I allow myself a genuine laugh. “Your hand?”
He chuckles along with me. “A dance,” he explains.
As if on cue, the music comes back on, the song starting over. My heart skips a beat, settling quickly when Dolos intertwines his fingers through mine. He places his other hand at my waist, pulling me in a little closer. I rest mine on his shoulder, and we start to sway.
I know how ridiculous we would seem to an onlooker. Dolos, in his leather coat and top hat, and me, with my limp hair and dirty clothes, dancing to an old song among mechanical zombies. But, wrapped up in his soft, earnest gaze, I’m able to block out our unusual surroundings. Nothing matters except for the welcome pressure of the hand circling around my back, pulling me closer still, and the hard, warm length of his body molded against mine.
As we sway and swing and spin, I start to imagine I hear the beautiful but chilling sound of orchestra music playing in the background, drowning out the record player. I don’t know if it’s one of Dolos’s illusions or my own imagination taking over, but suddenly, we’re not inside the haunted house anymore, but an enormous ballroom, empty except for the two of us, our feet skipping over a gold tiled floor. A crystal chandelier dangles from above, bathing the room in golden light. Instead of my worn out “adventure” clothes, I’m wearing a pale pink gown and satin slippers to match, my curls falling sleekly around my shoulders. I press my cheek against Dolos’s shoulder and close my eyes. Breathing him in, I’m reminded of standing outside on a cold but clear winter’s night, the air fresh and sharp, the sky littered with hundreds of small, white stars.
He nuzzles his face in between my neck and shoulder, breathing me in, as well. “Oh, Carly,” he gasps, running a hand through my hair. I lift my head to look at him, and he captures my mouth in a desperate kiss.
The kiss builds like the flames of a bonfire, growing hotter and wilder with each second. His hardness grazes my hip, stoking the fire further, until I’m clouded with white-hot need. My body aches for the brush of his fingertips again, for the warmth of his lips exploring every inch of it. I want to feel his body stretched out on top of mine, heartbeat to heartbeat, skin against skin. I want to feel him inside of me, pushing us both toward completion, and I want to shudder in his arms, crying out his name in ecstasy.
“Carly.” He says my name with such longing and frustration that I can tell he’s just as overcome by desire as I am. I moan in response, slipping my arms around his waist, inside his coat. With a light touch, I run my fingers across his abdomen, exploring, teasing. Dolos shivers.
Then, I feel it: the bite of cold metal against my feverish skin. It douses the flames, and reality comes crashing back down, although I’m careful not to freeze up or pull away. For a fleeting, shameful moment, I wish I could give in to passion, let it consume us both.
That’s your world, Carly. His words from a few minutes earlier float back into my mind, a sobering reminder of what he’s become. Not mine.
“Carly.” His lips leave mine, moving to my hair, then my forehead. He still hasn’t noticed what I’m about to do. “Carly, I have to tell you. I—”
But my hand is already closed around the hilt of Godslayer, pulling it out from his belt.
Dolos’s hands fall from me in confusion, just long enough for me to step out of his arms and thrust the sword toward him. The ballroom melts away. There’s no gilded floor, no chandelier, no gown or orchestra soundtrack. We’ve returned to the haunted house, the song is over, and I’ve got Godslayer pinned to Dolos’s pale throat.
I see one of his hands twitching at his side and press the tip of the blade further into his skin. “Don’t. Move.”
His green eyes become opaque, shutting me out, and he gives me a wry smile. “You tricked me.”
I shake my head. “I wasn’t trying to trick you. I saw an opportunity, and I took it.”
“And to think I even believed all of those things you said about movies and dances. About destiny. You really know how to break a guy’s heart, Carly.” His tone bites like acid. I let the words roll off me, but they still sting on the way down.
“I wasn’t lying,” I insist. “I meant everything I said. That’s what makes this so fudging heartbreaking.” Dolos opens his mouth to reply, but I talk over him. “Now, here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to give me my bag—and actually give it to me, no tricks, no illusions—and you’re going to let me have a head start out of here. Got it?”
Dolos gives a reluctant nod, carefully unclasping the fanny pack from around his hips and holding it out to me. I grab it, bunching the strap up in my hand. Withdrawing the blade from his neck, I keep the sword trained on him as I step around the turntable, walking backwards all the way out of the haunted house.
Once I’m outside, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. I lower the sword and, after hooking the pack around my waist, set out at a steady jog. Now that I have most of what I need, Dionysus and I can get back to finding the final ingredient and making the damn antidote.
“Carly.”
The voice behind me stops me cold, and I almost drop the sword. It’s not Dolos’s voice, but it’s familiar. It’s a voice I haven’t heard for a long time. A voice I was supposed to never have to hear again.
I turn around slowly, heart knocking fearfully in my chest.
“Carly,” he says again, stepping out of the shadows into the amusement park lights. He looks just how I remember, wearing a pressed, dark gray suit, his chestnut brown hair streaked with gray. Steel blue eyes pierce me through a pair of wire-framed glasses. “Don’t run away. I need you to stay. We need to have a chat.”
“This isn’t real,” I chant to myself. “This isn’t real.” Even so, my breaths start to come out in short, shaky gasps, my palm sweating around the sword hilt. I choke on the smell of his aftershave as it curls around my throat like a noose, sweet and sickening.
“Don’t be afraid, Carly,” Jeffrey says, walking toward me. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Don’t do this, Dolos.” I thrust the sword out in front of me, but the illusion of Jeffrey keeps on coming. “Not this. Not him.”
“I just want to talk.” It’s still Jeffrey looking at me, still Jeffrey’s calm voice reaching out to me across the dark. “Can you keep a secret?”
With those words, all logic and reason leave me, basic instinct taking over. I forget where I am and why I’m there. All I know is that I have to get out of here. I have to escape before Jeffrey reaches me.
I turn and run.
“Carly!” he shouts, sounding impatient this time. “I told you not to run.” I can hear his footsteps pick up behind me, beating out a steady rhythm on the pavement. I keep running, not daring to look back or slow down, even for a second. Suddenly, the world around me is dark, like I’m running down a tunnel that doesn’t seem to have an end or an outlet.
“I told you I wouldn’t hurt you.” His voice is a little closer this time, his footsteps a little louder. I pump my legs harder, my heart pounding, lungs burning. “I would never hurt you.
I love you.”
“Stay away from me!” I yell, keeping my eyes forward. Fear and adrenaline course through me, erasing the soreness I was feeling earlier. Memories flash in my mind like some sick, twisted slideshow. Jeffrey standing in the doorway to my bedroom. Sitting down on my bed, taking the book I was reading out of my hands. His fingers, cupping my face. My skin crawls at the memory of his touch. I try to lock the images back up, but they take over my thoughts, refusing to be ignored.
Can you keep a secret?
“You can’t escape me. Look at me when I talk to you!”
“Shut up!” Tears sting my eyes, the darkness starting to go blurry. “Just shut the hell up!”
“What did we tell you about saying that?”
I ignore him and keep on running.
“Promise me you won’t tell.” He’s only a few feet behind me now. I won’t be able to outrun him for much longer. “I want to hear you say it.”
“I won’t…promise…you anything,” I say, gasping for breath between words.
“You have to promise me. I’m your father now, Carly.”
“No you’re not. You’re a monster—”
Suddenly, I hit a dead end, slamming into a wall I couldn’t see in the endless darkness surrounding me. I fall, landing on my hands and knees, my pinky still looped through the sword hilt, holding onto it as tightly as it can. I bring a hand to my chest and double over, feeling like I’ve had the rest of my breath knocked out of me.
Jeffrey comes to a stop, towering over me. His aftershave wraps around me like a hand around my throat, strangling me.
“Promise me.” His voice echoes around me like I’m surrounded by hundreds of Jeffries. As I shakily get to my feet, I can see them all around me, the same nutmeg-and-pepper hair and cold steel eyes repeated over and over again. Together, the Jeffries step forward, tightening up their circle around me, reaching for me with their large, rough hands. “Promise me.”
“I won’t,” I sob, squeezing my eyes shut, preparing for the worst. When I open them again and see the hands, they have slimy black tentacles instead of fingers. The tentacles dart out and stroke my neck, my arms, my legs, leaving behind trails of foul-smelling goo. One slithers around my waist, squeezing me until I feel drowsy, stars dancing in front of my eyes.
“Promise us,” the Jeffries chant. “Promise us.”
I twist around in the tentacle’s grip until I’m facing him—the original Jeffrey, the one who chased me down the tunnel. Our eyes meet and, for a moment, I imagine a glimmer of regret in them.
“Promise me.” It’s only his voice now, quiet but demanding. The other Jeffries watch silently in anticipation, tentacles quivering.
I scowl at him. “Fuck. You.”
Then I drive the sword into his stomach.
Part Three
Hero
“We’re all mad here.”
–Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland
Chapter 19
It’s all over in a matter of seconds. The sword enters his gut with a sickening squelch, and then I pull it back out, watching him double over in pain. The tentacle wrapped around my stomach retreats, the other Jeffries disappearing. Suddenly, the amusement park lights are back on, bathing us in a ghostly glow. I look at the sword, dripping blood onto the pavement, then back at Jeffrey, feeling confused and conflicted, unsure of what I’ve just done.
“Carly, I—” he gasps, but it’s not Jeffrey’s voice anymore. And it’s not Jeffrey gazing up at me from the ground, it’s Dolos. The real Dolos—my Dolos, with his dark hair and green eyes.
“Oh, my God.” I fall to my knees, the sword dropping from my hand, clattering to the ground. “What have I done?”
The corner of his mouth twitches up in a surprisingly wry smile for someone who’s just been dealt a fatal blow. “Looks like you won.”
“But I…I…not like this.” I gather him into my arms, burying my face into his shoulder. My tears, which usually come so easily, fail me this time. My face feels numb. Everything feels numb. “I didn’t want to win like this!”
“Look at me,” he pleads, and I lift my head up, meeting his eyes. “You did…what you had to do. I wasn’t strong enough, Carly.” As he speaks, his face contorts with pain, both from the sword wound and, I imagine, the humiliation of making such an admission. “I lost control of him.” I know by “him,” Dolos means his white-haired alter ego.
I shake my head, refusing to believe it. “There had to be some other way. You would have found your strength—you would have stopped him—” I could go on and on, but something stops me, something about the look of sadness on his face as I protest. A sadness that took root inside of him long ago, down into the very marrow of his bones, that no words of reassurance could ever sever.
“I wouldn’t have.” He holds my gaze steady, eyes begging me to understand when he says again, “I lost control. There was only one way to stop him, and you took care of it. You did the right thing.”
“I didn’t even know what the hell I was doing! He pushed me over the edge. I really…I thought you were Jeffrey.”
Or did I? I think back, trying to recall the exact moment when I lost my senses, when I gave into the hallucination, but I can no longer remember. The last several minutes are all one long, confused blur. But was there a part of me deep down that, despite the confusion, knew exactly what she was doing? Knew that, when she plunged Godslayer into his stomach, she wasn’t just shattering the illusion, but also killing its creator?
And, if in the end it was the only way to stop him, does whether or not I meant to even matter?
“I really thought you were him.” This time, I say it with less conviction. Regret hollows out a little nook for itself inside of me, a place for it to curl up and rest comfortably. It’s going to be there for a while.
Like the wail of a banshee, an anguished feline cry pierces the night. Apate races up to us, rubbing up against her brother’s leg. He scoops her up with one hand, eyes repentant as he looks into her face.
“I am so sorry, my dear, sweet sister,” he says, choking up on the words. She gives another sad meow. “I wish I could have been stronger for you, like you were always strong for me. Know that I love you. And that we’ll see each other again one day.” He sighs, not seeming to find solace in his own promise. “When that time comes, I’ll be waiting for you, under the wishing tree, just like when we were kids.” He leans in, kissing her on the head before letting her go. Apate turns away from us and curls up into a ball, hiding her face in her midnight black fur.
Dolos cups the side of my face, green eyes boring into mine. “No regrets.”
I give a short, disbelieving laugh. “Maybe not for you.”
He shakes his head. “I meant you shouldn’t have any. I have too many to count. Carly, I should have told you before.”
“Told me what?” My voice comes out in a whisper.
“That I—” Whatever he’s about to say fades from his tongue as his body starts to break apart. His hand leaves my face, dissolving into dust. The rest of him follows, splintering into thousands of tiny particles. His eyes are the last to go, still locked onto me, filled with longing, until they turn to emerald sand. The fragments glitter on the air for a moment before vanishing, blinking out like tiny lights that have been turned off. Seconds that feel like eons tick by while I just sit, staring at my empty arms, at the stretch of nothingness where Dolos once was.
I killed him. The realization sinks in, making me dizzy.
I killed him.
Darkness swims across my vision, and I collapse. The chill of the pavement against my cheek is the last thing I feel before I completely black out.
***
Carly. A gentle voice calls me up from the darkness. Wake up, Carly. It’s time to get up.
Coming to, I open one eye, then the other, staring up into a pair of concerned, dark brown eyes. A woman leans over me, her thick, wavy hair surrounding me in a rippling black curtain. She places a cool hand on my foreh
ead, red lips giving me a tender smile.
“Madam Moira,” I whisper in realization. I try to remember where I am, what I was doing before I passed out, but my mind comes up blank. Removing her hand, Moira instead clasps my shoulders and helps me sit up.
“I am late,” she says apologetically. “I had a vision that you were here, and in jeopardy, but I got it too late.”
“It’s okay,” I assure her as the night’s events start coming back to me. “I’m…okay.” Physically, that’s mostly true. But emotionally…I clamp a hand over my chest, suddenly aware of a deep, crippling pain there. My heart isn’t just broken; it’s been ripped out, stomped on, and shredded into millions of bloody little pieces. “Dolos.” My voice cracks on his name. “He’s really gone. Gone forever.”
Moira sits back on her heels, the folds of her midnight blue cloak catching the amusement park lights and shimmering, like the surface of a lake under moonlight. “I know it is painful, child, but you must force him from your mind for now. The night is almost over, and there is much to do. You need the final ingredient for the cure. I know what it is and where you can get some.”
“I know, too.” Her dark eyebrows arch in surprise. I sit up straighter, a sense of certainty and renewed purpose coming over me. I don’t know if it was the fall or if I would have put it together anyway, but I can see the final piece of the puzzle joining with the rest of the picture, snapping securely into place.
To burn the shade, you need the sun…
“It’s heliotrope. Isn’t it?” I look at her for confirmation, worried for a brief, panicked moment that I might be wrong. Moira gives a small nod. My sigh of relief quickly turns into a groan of annoyance—at myself, for not realizing earlier that the remaining ingredient has been right under my nose this entire time, tucked safely away in the pages of my grandmother’s pressed flowers book. Heliotrope, the flower whose face is always turned toward the sun. The vestige of a princess’s love for the sun god.
