The Whisper

by Aaron Starmer

  “You’re making no sense,” Alistair said.

  “Even beyond that. In the school. In Macrotopia. In the desert. Everywhere, I gave you chances to get to Fiona. Symbols that anyone who knew her could figure out. Obvious gateways. Shortcuts to find her.”

  “That’s bull,” Alistair said. “I asked people about Fiona. Besides Baxter, no one knew who she was. There was nothing about her in the atlas. There were no shortcuts.”

  Charlie sprang from his cloud with astonishing speed. Fifteen feet in the air, maybe twenty. And he grabbed two clouds that were floating by and sliced them open with his mangled hands. Rain poured out of them. Purple and green rain from one. Silver and gold rain from the other.

  “There were no shortcuts?” Charlie howled as he landed back on his cloud. “I make the shortcuts, you moron.”

  The rain fell on both sides of Alistair. It was so close that he could reach out and touch it if he wanted. But he resisted. “So I didn’t find your shortcuts,” Alistair said. “So what?”

  Charlie’s voice softened. “You don’t have many memories of her, do you? But you have plenty of me. There’s a reason for that. It’s not her that you’re really after. It’s me. It’s me that you care about.”

  “I care about getting her home. That’s all.”

  “When you make a choice, you reveal the person you really are. Over and over, you’ve chosen me, Alistair. Admit it.”

  “I’ve chased you! To find her!”

  “I’m giving you one more choice. Touch the purple and green rain, and you’ll go to Fiona’s world. And I won’t bother you there. You can see what she created. You can stay as long as you’d like.”

  “Is Fiona there? Will I see her there?”

  “Have you met any of the creators in any of the worlds you’ve visited? Do you really think Fiona would still be in her world?”

  “I don’t know anymore,” Alistair said. “Maybe you’re tricking me, making me believe one thing while the opposite thing is true. Maybe everything I need to bring Fiona back is there in her world. Dot seemed to think so.”

  Charlie raised his shoulders and cocked his chin: Could be. Then he said, “Touch the silver and gold rain and you get to go to the place you really want to go. The Ambit of Ciphers, as you called it. I’ll be there. Polly, remember her? She’ll be there too. She tricked you, didn’t she? Well, you can have your revenge. And we can have fun, me and you. Together. Like we’ve had fun in the past.”

  “What about Fiona? Is she there?”

  “You can choose me. You can choose her. It shouldn’t be a hard choice.”

  “No, it shouldn’t,” Alistair said, and he reached out and touched the rain.

  CHAPTER 19

  Raging waters dragged Alistair downstream. He battled against the current, nose to the shore. He’d done his share of swimming over the last few months, but this was beyond swimming. This was pure survival. Rocks scraped his legs, and he feared them even more than drowning. A broken neck—that’s what would do him in.

  Waves flipped and spun him but he struggled on, fighting for the riverbank, where there were things to grab. A wayward root was a perfect handle—it curved out over the water like an elbow. He had one chance and he made sure it counted. Threading his arm through the root, he hooked on and managed to swing his body and plant his feet onshore. It took all of his strength to heft himself to the grassy banks of the river and under an oak tree, and so he lay there for a moment, gathering his breath and gathering his thoughts.

  Had he made the right choice? Was this where he needed to be? Or had something else happened? Had this all been a horrible dream?

  “Fiona!” he called out.

  The only answer came from the frogs, the crickets, and the cicadas. It was a sound he knew well, a chorus that announced evenings in Thessaly. It was evening here too, the sun low in the distance, over hills and farmland, a vista that was undeniably familiar.

  New strength surged through him, new courage, as if granted by the rising moon. Alistair jumped up and scrambled over the banks, through some brush, and onto a paved bike path.

  “Fiona!” he called again, more insistently now.

  The scramble became a jog, following the path upriver, racing the sunset. After almost a mile, he broke off onto another path that led into a graveyard. He passed a mausoleum with the name BARNES on it, and he wove through the gravestones, reading other names, searching.

  The specific grave he sought was exactly where he expected it to be, but he was surprised to see the amount of moss on it. Rotting and broken wooden figurines leaned against the stone. Fiona’s grandmother’s name was carved into the surface. PHYLLIS LOOMIS.

  He ran from the graveyard to the street. Cars crept along slowly, safely. Darkness had arrived and shops were closed for the night, though a diner was buzzing with activity. People were gathering for birthdays, for dates, for meals out.

  He ran faster, past the diner, through the center of town, by a library and a big pine tree, and he kept going, hardly breathing. Moving. Moving. Moving.

  Turning left on a street marked SEVEN PINES ROAD, he noticed that a house was painted blue, and that surprised him. He bounded along a stone walkway and opened the door to another house and went inside. His excitement was electric; his desire to holler was irrepressible.

  It was all a dream! It’s Halloween night and I fell off my bike and into the Oriskanny and I imagined all of this. There is no Aquavania. Charlie is Charlie. Kyle is fine. Fiona is fine.

  I’m home!

  I’m finally home!

  He made a beeline for the kitchen because it was dinnertime and that meant his mom would be at the stove, his dad at the counter cutting veggies for the salad. But the lights were off in the empty kitchen and only the microwave was on.

  Pop … pop … pop, pop, popopopopop!

  The smell of popcorn blanketed the space. The microwave beeped, which beckoned a man from his seat in the living room, where the only light was coming from the TV. The man’s potbelly cast a shadow on the wall as he walked through the glow and into the darkness at the border of the rooms. He rubbed his brow and mumbled to himself as he looked up at the microwave, which was mounted above the stove. Spotting Alistair in the reflection on the microwave door, he dropped a bottle of beer. The glass didn’t break, but the beer spilled across the tile.

  “Holy crap,” the man said, swinging around.

  “Holy crap,” Alistair said.

  Alistair was looking at himself. The man was looking at himself. Versions of themselves, separated by decades.

  “Is she back?” the older Alistair asked.

  “I … don’t … You mean Fiona?” the younger Alistair replied.

  “Did she create you? To replace me? Once and for all?”

  * * *

  They sat on the back deck, where the uncut grass lapped at the edges. They ate popcorn from a big bowl, and the older Alistair drank a beer while the younger Alistair drank a soda.

  “I’m a traveler, a swimmer,” the younger told the older. “Have you met anyone like that?”

  The older shook his head.

  “Ciphers?” the younger asked. “Heard of those?”

  “Nope,” the older said. “But I don’t get out much these days.”

  “How long has it been since you’ve seen Fiona?”

  “Years.” The older Alistair downed the rest of his beer and threw the empty like a tomahawk, overhand, over the yard, and it smashed on a big rock shaped like a frog that sat on the edge of the swamp.

  “And she created this place?” the younger asked.

  “Who else could’ve?” He pulled another beer from the six-pack at his side and cracked it open. It hissed like the fuse of a bomb. “If Fiona didn’t create you, who did?”

  The younger Alistair didn’t know how to answer that question, so he asked another of his own. “Do you call this place Thessaly?”

  “Of course. Don’t really know the names of any other places.” The older ke
pt his eyes fixed on the stars. “So are you, like, an alien?”

  “In a way,” the younger said. “Does that bother you?”

  “Who cares,” the older said. “As long as I’m not being replaced. You look like I did back when she created me. I figured you were my replacement. I thought it was pretty messed up of her, letting me meet my replacement. But then, she’s done some messed-up things. She replaced her parents, you know? Multiple times. Who does that? Your parents are your parents, right?”

  “Are your parents around?” the younger asked.

  “Mom passed a few years back,” the older said, and he raised his bottle to the sky. “Dad ran off with Mrs. Loomis number four. Not sure where they ended up.”

  “Oh.” The younger sipped his soda. “Your sister?”

  “Got a job. Moved away a long time ago,” the older said as he peered over his shoulder at the dark house. “So if you’re an alien, what planet are you from?”

  “I come from a place very similar to this. It’s actually the place that Fiona is from. I’m looking for her. I want to bring her home.”

  “Bring her wherever you want. Except back here. I don’t want her back here. Not after listening to those tapes.”

  “What tapes?”

  * * *

  The neighborhood was almost the same as back home. But this was Fiona’s impression of it, her perception of it. She had obviously built it from her memory. A house that Alistair always remembered as green was painted blue. Some trees were shorter, some taller. There was also the issue of age. Fiona had created this version of Thessaly and lived in it for twelve years, and according to the older Alistair, she’d been gone for another thirteen. Things had grown. Things had decayed.

  “How old are you?” the younger asked.

  “Well, I was already twelve when she created me. I guess that makes me thirty-seven. Jesus, that’s old, isn’t it?” There were moles on his face that the younger Alistair didn’t have, wrinkles in his brow, a chin shaded by stubble. He was taller than the younger Alistair, and yet everything was slightly sunken. His hair was cut short, but that didn’t hide the fact that it was thinning.

  The two stopped in front of Fiona’s house. “Do we knock?” the younger asked.

  “I have a key,” the older said. “Her uncle Dorian and I are pals.”

  They slipped through the front door and slinked up the stairs that flanked the living room. In the living room, Fiona’s uncle Dorian was asleep under a patchwork quilt on the sofa. His body was a round lump. His white hair was tied in a ponytail.

  “He waits up every night,” the older whispered. “Always expecting her to come home. It’s sad, really. He’s a good guy, though. Very sweet. I don’t have the heart to let him listen to the tapes.”

  “Where’s her dad?”

  The older sighed. “She gave up after round five, and I haven’t seen one of her dads since. I’m not sure what happened to all those different versions.”

  Fiona’s bedroom was at the top of the stairs. Alistair had been in Fiona’s room in Thessaly, but it didn’t look like this. The shape was the same, the bones. It had a slanted ceiling and wooden floors, but it had been repainted and redecorated. What were light blue walls back home were dark purple here. White furniture had been supplanted by antique wood.

  “I kissed her on her bed once, in the early days,” the older said. He ran his hand over tussled sheets on the bed.

  “Were you guys like…?” The younger couldn’t find the right word. Dating? Together? Married?

  The older moved over to the window, opening it and letting in a cool breeze. “We weren’t like anything,” he said. “There was only that one kiss, but it didn’t mean squat. Not to her, at least. Besides, I kept getting older. And she did too, but only on the inside. She looked the same on the outside. A kid. It never would have worked out.”

  The younger went over to the bookshelf and starting perusing the volumes. They were all leather-bound. He recognized a few of the titles, some classics about kids sneaking off to magical places, but one had a name that he knew all too well. “Sixth Grade for the Outer-Spacers?” he asked, holding up the book. “By Claire Rastaily?”

  “Took you all of ten seconds,” the older said. “You must be good with anagrams. I don’t think Dorian has ever noticed it, but you knew exactly what it was. Figures.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Open it,” the older said.

  The younger lifted the cover to reveal that there wasn’t any writing inside. The pages had been carved out. Six cassettes rested in the hollowed-out cavity.

  “That book is where Fiona used to hide cigarettes and things like that,” the older said. “Kinda funny, actually. Girl was basically a god, but still she’d hide her cigarettes.”

  The younger lifted the top cassette. There was no label. “What’s on them?” he asked.

  “Those tapes were buried next to that big rock along the edge of my backyard,” the older said. “I dug them up not long after Fiona left. Figured she doesn’t need her secret smokes anymore, so I tossed those and hid the tapes in the book. I used to come up here and listen. At first, I was happy to hear her voice. I haven’t listened in years, though. They make me angry.”

  “But what’s on them?”

  “There’s a player hidden under her mattress. She called it Kilgore. Go ahead and take it. Listen if you want. Or chuck it all. Just don’t let anyone else know about the tapes. Not the type of things anyone around here should have to think about.”

  “Are they really bad?”

  The older moved to the doorway, and without looking back, he said, “Not all bad for a guy like you. I’m not stupid, you know. I know you’re not an alien. And if you’re not my replacement, then there’s only one person you could be.”

  “Who?”

  “The original.”

  FIONA’S STORY

  Today was a good day. Scratch that. It was the best day.

  Nana is gone. Kids are disappearing by the minute. The Riverman is … a total prick. But you know what? Today was the best day.

  I came to Aquavania this morning and I started over.

  I rebuilt Thessaly from the ground up. The neighborhood, the school, the downtown, everything. Even my old tape player, the one I gave to Alistair. Yes, I didn’t forget you, Kilgore. Only difference is, this is my Thessaly. With only the people and things I want here.

  Funny. It’s the first time I’ve ever created people, but I know my inspiration so well that it wasn’t too hard. It’s amazing the stuff that’s hidden away in the back of your brain and only comes out when you’re creating. Voices, smells, the entire skeleton of a friend. I guess we notice more than we realize.

  I created Chua, Boaz, Rodrigo, and the rest of the kids from Aquavania I knew stories about. I introduced them to kids from Thessaly, like Fay-Renee, Kendra, and Alistair. They all seem to get along. Aquavania kids and Solid World kids, living in harmony. Pretty cool.

  Alistair was being a bit of a downer. “We’re like the real thing, but we’re not the real thing,” he said. “You created us. You know that this could never really happen?”

  Exactly like Alistair in the Solid World. A cynic. He pretends like he’s listening really hard and trying to understand, but he’s scheming in his head. Trying to find the logic. He means well, but he overthinks things.

  Maybe that’s the problem. Overthinking. Creating people who are self-aware is a risky kind of magic, isn’t it?

  * * *

  I cleared their heads. Yesterday was amazing, but if I’m really starting over, then I should let them start over too. They should have some memories. Good memories, or at least the good ones I’m able to give them. A few bad ones too, so they can recognize the good ones, but I won’t overdo it. They should know who their family is and all that stuff. But they won’t know who they’re supposed to be, where they’re supposed to be from. They’ll just think they’ve lived lives like everyone else. They definitely won’t know about th
e Riverman. Beyond that, I won’t meddle. I’ll let them be whoever they want to be, without fear.

  Should it really happen any other way?

  I guess I should go to school. Crazy, I know, but that was my life before, so it’s my life now. Maybe I’ll get rid of Earth Science. And Social Studies. We’ll make our own history.

  Mom and Dad are … fine so far. Dad made breakfast, which he sometimes did in the Solid World, but not often. Scrambled eggs. I prefer cereal, but I ate the eggs and said that I loved them and he smiled, so that was good.

  The sun is shining again. There’s no wind. I know it always rains or snows or whatever in the real Thessaly. But today, it’s sunny and calm, and I’ll let the weather do whatever the weather wants to do.

  I’ll go for a bike ride and see who’s out and about.

  * * *

  A week’s gone by and everything is amazing. No one calls Kendra the Wart Woman here, even though she still has her warts. “Love ’em, warts and all” is a saying in the Solid World. It fits here too. I’ve told everyone that only the smartest people have warts, and everyone believes me. Who knows? Maybe it’s true. Kendra is smart in the Solid World. Smart here too.

  Chua has become the hit of school, which is no surprise. She’s friendly and funny and how could you not like her? Of course, Werner is madly in love with her, just like before. And she’s madly in love with him, which is the cutest thing. Alistair has been hanging out with Rodrigo and Boaz a little bit, but I’m not sure if they’re going to be close friends. That’s okay. Not everyone has to be best buddies. They just have to be here.

  Nana is dead in the Solid World and I guess I could bring her back, but it seems weird to do that. It’s different with Chua, Rodrigo, and Boaz. First off, I’m not sure that they’re dead in the Solid World. Though it seems likely. But mostly, it’s because they were kids. They didn’t get a chance to live a full life. Nana did, so I let her rest. Uncle Dorian is sad, but he’s got a good outlook. It’s his words that made me decide once and for all not to bring her back.