Miraculum

by Steph Post

  Hayden had pulled the stub of a pencil out of his pocket and forced himself back to the map. He found Monroeville, low in the state, and starred it. There wasn’t much along the coast aside from small towns, and he knew Ruby would have avoided those places as much as possible. The only way for her to really hide was in a crowd. In a place where there were enough people, enough going on, for her to negotiate her way around suspicious and inquiring eyes. That left only two cities: Montgomery and Birmingham. He circled them and then shook his head. What was he going to do, go to each city and walk up and down every street shouting her name, hoping she would hear him and pop out of a window? No, he had to get into her head. He made his hands into fists and leaned on his knuckles, staring at the two circled cities and trying to remember if he’d ever heard anyone in the carnival say anything about either of the places. When it hit him, he had almost jumped. He circled Birmingham a few more times and then swept the map off the hood and threw himself behind the wheel. He’d made it there in eight hours.

  When morning broke over the wall of textile mills in the city, Hayden began his search. He soon realized it would be a lot harder than he’d first thought. Hayden didn’t even have the name of the place to go on, just the proprietors. People had laughed at him when he described a hotel owned and run by a pair of Siamese twins. A place that welcomed freaks and catered to them. No one had heard of such a thing. Armed with the only name he could remember from a long-ago conversation with a traveling Lobster Man, Hayden had ducked into shops and restaurants, asking about May-May. He was met with blank stares and Hayden quickly became aware that he was looking on the wrong side of the tracks. By late afternoon, with the dun haze from the steel factories already blotting out the sun, Hayden had found himself in a backroom bar with a backroom cellar housing a pit of opium smokers and their consorts. When Hayden had finally found the man he’d been directed to by a Chinese cook outside of a brothel, he had been in a cloudy dream of pleasure and pain. Hayden had been dolling out money all day and this encounter was no exception. The opium smoker, scarred with a strange branding across his face and hands, had finally given up the address for the Hotel Mensonges.

  The dusky streetlamps were just turning on when Hayden stood outside the row house and banged as hard as he could on the door for number 114. After five minutes, it had jarred open and a man had peered at him through the crack. Using the name May-May and his story of how he’d found the place, he was begrudgingly admitted into a dim foyer with a single gas sconce flickering against the dark green and gold wallpaper. The man, who Hayden immediately noticed had a thin third leg growing out of his side, would not answer his questions about a woman with tattoos being in the house. The man refused to even speak to him at all. Finally, he’d been summoned by a high-pitched voice and he had edged past the three-legged man and gone into the parlor. May-May was sitting on a green velvet settee beneath the curtained window and gestured for Hayden to sit opposite her.

  Hayden hadn’t been sure if he should be addressing one or two women. Most Siamese twins he had met on the circuit were two distinctly different people. In his search, everyone who had heard of May-May referred to her only as “she.” May-May had four legs, two arms and two necks and heads. As Hayden slid into the chair in the corner, though, he didn’t care if the person he was talking to was one or twenty. He only cared about Ruby.

  At first May-May had laughed, a shrill cackle, when Hayden had asked about Ruby and described her. Both sets of eyes had then scrutinized him and both mouths spoke at the same time, belittling him and interrogating him on how he knew about the Hotel Mensonges. He had described Ruby again and begged May-May to give him the answer he needed. Finally, she had narrowed all of her eyes and conceded that, yes, there was a tattooed woman staying there. May-May couldn’t guarantee it was Ruby, the woman had not given a name and had been scarce since she’d arrived, but if he wanted to find out he could go upstairs and try the third door on the left. Hayden had leapt out of his seat, trailed by piercing laughter, and taken the stairs two at a time. It was only when faced with the door in front of him that he hesitated. What if it wasn’t her? What if she didn’t want to be found? What if she never wanted to see him again after what he had done, how he had left her? What if all he saw was that haunting look, the one he could never make up for?

  Hayden raised his fist, closed his eyes and knocked.

  Ruby froze when she heard the knock. It was her third night at the Hotel Mensonges and so far no one had approached her door. As far as she could figure, no one aside from May-May, and the few guests on her floor whom she had passed in the dark hallway on the way to the washroom, even knew she was there. Ruby had been sitting on the narrow, iron-frame bed, flipping through The Book of Others for the hundredth time, and now she quietly slid her hand under the pillow and grasped the handle of her knife. The knocking ceased and she sat in the silence of its echo, waiting. The keys to the rooms in May-May’s house had long ago been lost and consequently the locks were useless. If it were Daniel, though, and she couldn’t imagine it would be anyone else, a mere locked door wasn’t going to stop him, regardless. The knocking started up again and Ruby edged off the bed and crept across the room. She pressed herself against the wall and held her breath. She didn’t open the door, but stood beside it, knife in hand, up against her chest, ready to strike. Ruby knew the only advantage she could hope for was surprise.

  There was no sound coming from the other side now, but she watched the knob jiggle and turn. She steeled herself to spring as the door opened. The handle of the knife was sweaty in her hand and she moved her fingers slightly, firming up her grip. Ruby closed her eyes and then twisted, knife out, just as the door swung open. It was only his voice that stopped her.

  “Ruby?”

  She stared at Hayden with wide eyes and trembling mouth, her body still shaking. He looked as terrified as she was, but he hadn’t stepped back, though the blade was only inches from his chest. He looked from the knife up into her eyes and didn’t speak again. Hayden’s hands cautiously came up and found hers and she released the knife as he took it. And then she was in his arms, her nails digging into his back, pressing herself to him as hard as she could. His voice came to her muffled.

  “It’s me, Ruby. It’s me, it’s me, it’s me.”

  Hayden held her until she stepped away from him and then he came inside and closed the door behind him. Ruby watched him warily while he glanced around, getting his bearings in the tiny, dark room, and when his eyes came back to her and he smiled, she couldn’t stop herself. Her palm landed hard across his cheekbone. His head turned with the force, but he didn’t stumble back. The smile on his face disappeared.

  “I guess I deserve that.”

  Ruby balled her fists up at her sides.

  “You guess?”

  Hayden rubbed at his cheek and the red splotch blooming across it.

  “I suppose I deserve a whole hell of a lot more.”

  “You have no idea.”

  Hayden walked over to the small table and two chairs crammed against the wall and set the knife down. He tossed his hat on the table and then lowered himself into one of the chairs. Ruby stood with her arms crossed, swaying on her feet, trying to decide what to do. It suddenly felt hard to breathe.

  “You left me. Again. You left me again.”

  Ruby sat down at the table across from him. She didn’t even know where to start, where to begin. In the time since Hayden had disappeared, everything had changed.

  “Ruby, I’m so sorry.”

  He reached for her hand across the table, but she jerked away from him.

  “And what does that even matter now? It’s all gone, Hayden. Everything. Everyone. January, she was right in front of me. She was in my arms. And she’s gone. Pontilliar. Samuel. The show. Everyone I cared about. Everything that was my life. It’s all gone.”

  Hayden grabbed her hand and held it tightly, even though she was half-heartedly trying to pull away. Ruby realized she was shaki
ng and she looked up into Hayden’s eyes. He squeezed her hand.

  “No, it’s not.”

  Ruby twisted out of his grip. How could Hayden possibly understand? It wasn’t just the fire. It wasn’t just what had disappeared beneath the flames. She was gone. Who she thought she had been was gone.

  “You don’t get it. Everyone burned up but me. I was there and I saw him and he couldn’t hurt me. He could destroy everything around me, but not me. I don’t know what I am, Hayden. I don’t know what I can do.”

  She held up her hands.

  “I don’t know what these turned me into. I don’t know if I’m like him. I don’t know—”

  Hayden grabbed her hand in the air and interrupted her.

  “Samuel told me about your tattoos. About the drawing in the book. About Daniel. You’re something all right, but you’re not like him.”

  Ruby’s eyes went wide and her hand went limp in Hayden’s.

  “Samuel?”

  “He’s not dead. He had left already with Chandler. Samuel wasn’t in the fire. I found him on the lot when I went there looking for you.”

  “Samuel’s alive?”

  Hayden nodded.

  “He’s alive. He gave me something to give you. Something he thinks will help you do whatever it is he thinks you’re going to do. Your Iku’anga or whatever. And I’m here to help you, too.”

  Ruby swallowed hard and gripped Hayden’s hand.

  “And you’re alive.”

  Hayden gave her a half-smile.

  “I’m alive. I’m here. I was coming back to you before I even heard about the fire. I was on my way. I want you to know that. I was coming back to find you and to apologize. I’m not even sure what happened, why I left. I can’t explain it. But that’s no excuse. I’m sorry. ”

  Ruby shook her head.

  “None of that matters now. Everything’s different. Everything’s changed.”

  Ruby looked across the room at the bed. The Book of Others was still lying open on the blanket. Ruby frowned.

  “I don’t know if you should be here with me, Hayden.”

  “Now there you’re wrong.”

  Ruby turned back to him. Hayden was frowning and his eyes were serious. There was a flash of anger behind them, but it wasn’t directed toward her.

  “Listen to me, Ruby. You don’t have to believe me right now, but you’d better know. I’m not going anywhere. And if you leave, I’m following you. Wherever you go. Whatever you do. I have walked away from you twice. There won’t be a third time. I promise.”

  “So first I can’t get you to stay and now I won’t be able to get you to leave?”

  Hayden took both of her hands in his.

  “That’s right. Bad things happen to me when I’m not with you. I lose sight of who I am. I falter. I came here to help you in any way that I can. But the God’s honest truth, Ruby, is that I may need you more than you need me.”

  Ruby looked down.

  “I don’t know. With where I’m going, what I’m going to try to do. There are so many questions, so many uncertainties. Being with me is going to be dangerous. It’s going to be a risk.”

  “I’m taking it.”

  Ruby shook her head.

  “I want to do this alone, but I’m not sure I can.”

  Hayden dipped his head so that she was forced to look into his eyes.

  “So we need each other.”

  Ruby licked her lips and nodded slowly.

  “We need each other.”

  Hayden squeezed her hands and then released her.

  “Good, because I have something to give you.”

  Hayden pulled a piece of tobacco off of his tongue and squinted at it. His eyes were beginning to burn. He leaned back in the uncomfortable chair and smoked his cigarette in the small pool of light from the lamp on the table while he considered the book before him. The Book of Knowns was unlike any book Hayden had ever seen before. For one, the pages weren’t separated, but folded out concertina style in accordion-like sections. Each section, when completely extended, was about three feet in length, and though Hayden was pretty sure the words were all in the same language, the handwriting and size of the lettering changed for each piece of the book. Weaving in and out among the text were bizarre illustrations of people, animals and unearthly creatures and the style of these, too, changed in each different section. In the front part of the book the drawings were mostly crude, one-dimensional figures with no coloring, but the last section contained full panels with looping scrollwork and bright red, blue and gold inked images depicting men and women in lavish settings. Hayden could tell that the book had not been put together by one author, but was made up of pieces covering eras of time. It was all very interesting and beautiful to look at, but Hayden couldn’t make heads or tails of what any of it meant.

  The most infuriating part was that Hayden was sure there was some way to read The Book of Knowns. Ruby had shown him the book she’d taken from Samuel’s wagon, The Book of Others, and aside from recognizing the eerie symbol that was most certainly one of Ruby’s tattoos, Hayden knew the book could never truly be understood. It spanned too much time and contained too many languages. But whereas the first book was more of a collection of artifacts, a hodgepodge of ancient memorabilia, Hayden felt that The Book of Knowns was a linear record. In the corner of each extended section there were groups of letters that Hayden eventually recognized as Roman numerals. The ink was brighter here and Hayden assumed someone had gone back and added in the numbers. The first section was marked DCLXXX and the last was MCCCXLV. Hayden wasn’t certain, but he thought they might be dates. And then there were the pencil notations all in strange symbols. Hayden pushed the book away from him in frustration and glanced across the tiny room at the rumpled bed. Ruby was still deeply asleep, twisted up in the sheets, scowling in her dreams.

  She had told him about the fire. Ruby had lain on his chest and he had run his fingers through her tangled hair as she’d told him about January’s face and how it had no longer been there. She told him about the running, the chaos, the screaming, the wind, January and then about seeing Daniel on the midway, watching her. How he had looked different, with the bones coming out of his back and his eyes blazing red. And then how the fire became darkness and when it was over there was nothing but a smoking wasteland of wreckage and a charred skeleton crushed beneath her. The entire carnival had been consumed and she hadn’t been touched.

  She had kept her face away from him while she told him this, the story of the fire and then stealing the book and making her way to Birmingham. He’d been afraid she would be unreachable, closed off, her voice dead, the way she became whenever she spoke about the past, but there was a glinting spark in her words. A spark of resolve. Of determination. Of revenge. She was going after Daniel no matter the price. He’d had to ask. Why couldn’t they just run? They had each other now and nothing they could do would bring back January or Pontilliar or the Star Light. They could join up with another show. Or travel out to California and grow oranges. Or Argentina. Alaska. Anywhere. She’d shaken her head and refused. She was unwavering. Nothing he could say could convince her otherwise and he saw it very plainly in the sheen of her eyes: she would go after Daniel alone if need be. She would leave him behind in her single-minded pursuit and not look back. This was who she had become and he could walk beside her or not at all. He could help her or he could lose her. There were no other choices.

  Hayden stubbed out the cigarette and rubbed at his eyes with the palms of his hands. He blinked a few times and then pulled the book back to him. It was the markings in pencil that were driving him crazy, for they had obviously been made in the book long after the last section had been completed. Maybe it was the same person who had added in the dates, maybe not, but whoever it was, they hadn’t been writing in Latin, English or any other language that used recognizable letters. Instead, in the margins and blank spaces running between the chunks of text, there were strings of geometric symbols. Crosses and
triangles and diamonds, some with dots inside and outside of them. Unlike the strange markings in The Book of Others, though, these were uniform all the way through. Hayden turned the sections this way and that, trying to find a pattern. On a hunch, he took out paper and pencil and copied down each individual symbol he could find. Once he had carefully gone through the entire book, he counted up the symbols on his paper. He’d been right. There were twenty-six. It was a code.

  As a boy, Hayden had played spies and war, cowboys and Indians, and he and his friends had often used a Caesar shift cipher to pass along secret messages. The two sliding wheels were easy to make and the code was always breakable, but it added some mystery to an otherwise monotonous existence of growing up in the cotton fields. Whatever code this was it wouldn’t be nearly as easy to break, but if he could figure out the cipher, it would be simple. Hayden closed the book and rested his forehead on the leather cover. He was no code breaker.

  Hayden lit another cigarette and sat for a while, smoking and staring at the shadows created on the wall from the flickering lamp flame. He idly ran his hand over and over the cover, trying to come up with a solution. He had to be able to do this for Ruby. Hayden ground his teeth and drummed his fingers against the leather. It was golden brown and completely blank, no writing, no illustrations, just a piece of leather. He slowly ran his fingers over the minute ripples and imperfections in the skin and an idea began to form in his mind.

  He clamped his lips around his cigarette and reached again for the pad of paper. He ripped off a thin sheet and placed it on top of the book’s cover and then began to rub over it with his pencil. Immediately, Hayden was able to recognize letters. He continued with the rubbing, covering the entire page with a fine sheen of lead. When he finally tossed the pencil down and ground out his cigarette, the entire cipher was laid out before him in negative relief. Someone had created or copied it, using the book cover as a hard surface behind the paper. The key to the code had gone through.