Fearful Symmetry

by Francis Gideon

  “I have it.” Dryden turned to him, his eyes wide. He gripped Emmons’s shoulders and pulled him close. “The weight of smoke. It’s five ounces.”

  “What?” Emmons took the book in Dryden’s hands. He scanned the numbers, then the equipment on the table. Dryden could see the exact moment that the logic of the set up passed through his mind.

  “Weigh the ash, not the smoke, and you find the answer in between,” Dryden repeated, more for himself. After being clouded in so much mystery, having knowledge was like a drug. He wanted to say it and do it again and again. “I solved it.”

  “I can’t believe it.” Emmons’s eyes were wide, so much that they looked as if they would fill with tears. It’s just the smoke, Dryden thought. Just the smoke.

  “Here, look.” Dryden eagerly picked up another small log. He measured it, recorded the numbers, and then lit it on fire. “We’ll have breakfast,” Dryden said, “and it will burn as we do. Then I can show you the answer again.”

  Emmons nodded. They both watched as the small fire burned on the table, not bothering to make conversation. It was as engrossing as any play, as enthralling as any novel. And it was theirs; pure discovery in front of them.

  As soon as the second log burned down, Dryden went to measure the ash that had collected in the clay dish. Emmons stood close by, also holding his breath so the numbers were right. It was a different number than the last one—of course, it always would be, since nature varied as much as possible—but it was an answer they could still use.

  “But,” Dryden said, “if I do this for Otto, if I show him how I got the answer rather than just the answer, then there is a chance he can see the logic. And he’ll know I solved the riddle.”

  Emmons nodded, his brows still creased with worry.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I know him, Dryden. He’s a tricky man. He will find something wrong with this.”

  Dryden glanced down at the numbers in the book, then shook his head. “He can’t. This is what he loves, right? Learning, collecting, knowing things. I’m literally presenting him with knowledge. He will be in awe. I know it.”

  “Or he will be angry.”

  Dryden felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He saw the sneer on Otto’s face and felt the bruise of a memory.

  “Someone is either happy you have solved their issue or angry that you have outsmarted them,” Emmons said distantly, as if repeating something he had once learned to be true. “Otto is a storm, and there is no predicting what man he will be.”

  “So we can’t.” Dryden moved to take Emmons’s shoulders in his hands. “We can’t predict him. We could only predict our own answers, and we have it.”

  “You have it. I did nothing.”

  Dryden wrapped Emmons in a hug. He took in a deep breath, still smelling the smoke inside the room deep in their clothing. “You have no idea how much you’ve done.”

  “Other than saving you from the roof?”

  Dryden laughed and squeezed Emmons harder. “Yeah. And last night.”

  Emmons’s body softened against his at the mention of it. They had slipped into such an easy intimacy that sometimes giving it a name became like the first riddle. As soon as they called it, they broke it. But Dryden was determined to take whatever they had, no matter how fragile, and make it last.

  “You gave me the hope I needed. I was… so close to giving up yesterday. I needed you as much as you needed me.”

  Emmons hugged him back, still silent. Dryden knew he was probably thinking of the consequences. The way in which they would have to pull off what they need to know they had the answer. The gears were turning loudly in Emmons’s head, so much that Dryden held him closer and placed a hand over his ear.

  “Shh. Remember what you said to me when we met? We all need help sometimes.”

  Emmons laughed. “I know. I wanted to be the person I needed.”

  “And you were. Now… let me be the person you still need.”

  Emmons pulled back and stared at him. Dryden saw worry blend with understanding and then determination. He glanced at the piles of ash and then laughed, knocking some of it away.

  “You’re gonna get it,” he said. “Then you’re gonna run.”

  “As fast as I can to the outer edge. And you’ll already be there. I will call your name. You silly, silly fox.”

  Emmons laughed but nodded along, squeezing Dryden’s arm.

  “Then you will run as fast as you can. Over the line, over the edge. And we will walk out of the woods together. You hear me?”

  Emmons looked into Dryden’s eyes before turning away. Dryden placed his hands on Emmons’s face, gently pulling him close. “Do we have a deal?”

  Emmons rolled his eyes. Dryden still held on, until he saw a grin form at the corners of his mouth.

  “I don’t know, Dryden. I’m scared of deals now.”

  “They’re only as bad as their maker. We know each other now. Do you trust me?”

  Emmons nodded. “Yes. I do.”

  “And I trust you.”

  They stared at one another for a long time, before Dryden’s lips met Emmons’s. The kiss was quick, hard, and Emmons’s eyes stayed closed long after it ended.

  “Deal,” he whispered.

  “Deal,” Dryden echoed. Emmons opened his eyes with another smile, only to close them again when met with another kiss.

  AFTER THE mystery had been solved, there was nothing left for them to do but go to bed. They brought their lunch and their dinner in the bedroom too, spreading the meals out over an end table and then on the wooden chairs. They never left one another’s arms, and their lips did more kissing than talking. Otto would be by in the morning, but until then, he would be pushed from their minds like a bad memory, so they could love each other a little while longer.

  Dryden noticed the sun setting first. Out the bedroom window, the blue skyline turned to orange and then pink, before it seemed to sigh into blackness. Emmons nestled into the crook of Dryden’s arm, kissed his neck, and then sighed along with the sky.

  “I have to go,” Emmons said. “He’ll be here in the morning, and I can’t be too close.”

  “I know. I don’t want you to leave, but I know.”

  Emmons looked up at him, and Dryden pulled him into a fierce kiss. He wanted to keep him warm through the night, but this was as good a time as any to depart. Emmons got out of the bed and went to reach for clothing, only to realize he would soon turn into a fox.

  “Why bother with pants, right?” he laughed, though Dryden saw the hurt at the edge of his mouth.

  “I’ll think of you—maybe this form will last a little longer that way.”

  “Maybe,” Emmons said but didn’t seem convinced. He didn’t put on clothing, but instead curled up on one of the chairs, hiding himself. Dryden extended his hands until they were holding one another again.

  “I’ll meet you on the edge,” Emmons said. “I know I’ll see you there.”

  “And I’ll see you on the other side. I can’t wait to show you my house. My mom’s place. The market….” Dryden had already told him a million stories of his youth, the memories he had of his father, and the customs of his family. He had told Emmons so much, without stopping, that he didn’t ask much of Emmons in return. Emmons didn’t seem to want to share much, though he did say he had a few stories of that marketplace himself.

  “What do you want to show me?” Dryden asked again.

  Emmons looked up with another sigh in his voice. “I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

  “It will come back.”

  Emmons paused for a moment, then bit his lip. “My sister. Her name’s Natasha. She used to work at the marketplace with my uncle. I don’t know how time passes here, if she’s still fifteen or if she’s older now.”

  “We will find out. And if she’s older, then she can tell you stories about what’s been going on.”

  Emmons nodded but didn’t respond. Dryden kissed his fingertips and still smelled
the smoke and himself on them. “I love you.”

  Emmons looked even sadder to hear those words. “I… love you too.”

  Dryden didn’t fight the sadness in his response. He went with it, understanding and hoping for a better ending between the two of them. “Before you go, I…. We can’t forget.”

  Dryden dug through their clothing, trying to find the bracelet that they had repaired earlier in the day. Emmons’s eyes brightened seeing it. He slipped it onto his wrist and then kissed Dryden with a new hope in his eyes.

  “It’s going to look really weird when it falls off my tiny fox arms,” he whispered into Dryden’s ear.

  “But I’m sure you’ll get it on like a collar.”

  “I do belong to you.”

  “No,” Dryden said. “We belong to ourselves. I’m so sick of owning people like things.”

  Emmons nodded against Dryden’s neck. “I will wear it to think of you, then.”

  “And I will think of you. Always.”

  “Always,” Emmons echoed. It was more intimate than the “I love you” they had exchanged earlier. Considering the dark night Emmons was facing and the uneasiness of tomorrow, Dryden could understand. He could accept “always” as the “I love you” they were ready to express during that moment. So long as he got to say the other words soon.

  Dryden kissed him. Slow and meandering, they seemed to forget they were kissing halfway through the act and rested their bodies against one another.

  “I have to go,” Emmons said again. This time, Dryden didn’t try to stop him.

  “Tomorrow,” Dryden said. “I promise.”

  “Always.” Emmons waved good-bye, then set out again on the pathway. Dryden counted the footsteps in the woods, keeping Emmons’s name in his head, until the darkness became too much.

  Chapter Eleven

  DRYDEN WAS awake when Otto returned. He had woken well before dawn but couldn’t get back to sleep, so he had waited in the front hallway on the chair by the window. He could see Otto across the pathway as soon as the first light shone over the trees. Dryden had been pretty sure that Otto was one of the trees only moments before he emerged on the horizon. He shook away the frightening image of the hollowed-out husk of a man and instead focused on remaining calm.

  “Good morning,” Otto said. He shot a look toward Dryden, who was now standing by the chair he had been sitting on. “Were you waiting up for me, dear Dryden?”

  “Only so I can show you the answer.”

  “Show me?” Otto took off his jacket in a slowed manner. He hung it on the hook, then retrieved his quiver of arrows and hung them up as well. He paused for a moment and seemed to smell the air. “You were certainly cooking something up the night before.”

  Dryden nodded. “You did leave quite a bit of food.”

  “That’s good. I’m glad you’re a good cook. It will come in handy, I suppose.”

  Otto sat at the table and propped one of his legs up on the spare chair. Dryden spotted a glimmer of silver against his waist from the same long knife he had used to split the stag from stem to stern the day before. He shook off the thought and tried to focus. He had gone over so many scenarios in his mind as he waited. He knew how Otto worked now; like a broken record, repeating the same script with minor changes each time he had a new victim. He used his confidence like a tool, and he undermined his target. It was all so obvious now that Dryden had been around someone who cared and listened, instead of waiting for his turn to talk.

  “So show me,” Otto said with a wave of his large hand. “What kinds of food have you made?”

  Dryden didn’t flinch at the change in conversation. He went to the small cold storage area and removed a platter he had prepared the night before. He placed it on the stove to warm up, watching the entire time as Otto’s eyes grew wider.

  “My, my, you have been busy. I have to say I am proud.”

  With a kick of his feet, Otto walked over to the stove and admired the platter before he placed a hand on Dryden’s side. Dryden fought with all his might not to move away from the touch though it repulsed him. He would stay. He would lure Otto into a false sense of confidence, and then he would beat him. And run. Simple, simple, Dryden told himself again. He breathed in and out deeply as Otto’s fingers curved around his body.

  “You’ll be a nice addition,” Otto said before moving away, not allowing Dryden the chance to disagree. He sauntered toward the hourglass and watched as more sand began to fall. The sight of so few grains of blue left made Dryden balk. He needed to speed ahead if he ever wanted all of his plan to come to fruition.

  “While this warms up,” Dryden said, referring to the platter, “it gives me just the right amount of time to show you how to solve the riddle.”

  Otto turned around, his eyes skeptical. “That old thing? Surely you can simply tell me the answer. What is the weight of smoke?”

  “I must show you how I solved this. The other answers are in that ledger book over there.” Dryden motioned with his hand as he lit up another fire on the stove. He took the bowl he had been using and a fresh log, measuring them both on the scale. He walked over to the ledger book that Otto had his nose in the middle of, his eyebrows raised incredulously.

  “May I see it?” Dryden asked.

  Otto’s fingers let go in a callous way. Dryden picked it up again and added more lines to his chart from before. He put in a new number for the log, but kept the weight of the bowl the same.

  “I’m not measuring smoke, but ash. Ash is the product of smoke. Like all good riddles, the ending always helps the beginning make sense. Everything always makes sense in hindsight, right? So I had to make the hindsight tangible, before the answer could become real.”

  All while he spoke, Dryden lit the log on fire. If he kept talking, he kept the fear away, and he didn’t have to look at Otto as he continued. As the log burned, he grabbed the warmed-up breakfast platter and placed it by Otto’s seat.

  “Your breakfast is here. I figured we could eat as that burned, and then I could show you how much that smoke weighed.” Dryden glanced back and saw the blue-black flames rise. “What do you say?”

  Otto’s tongue clucked in his mouth. He sat down with a grunt and dug his fork into the platter. He looked like he wouldn’t share at all, which was fine with Dryden. He didn’t care for the food here anymore.

  “You better hope your precious log burns a little faster,” Otto said between mouthfuls. “Or your time will run out.”

  Dryden glanced behind Otto and saw the grains of sand falling faster. Fuck. He had not quite anticipated this move. He had grown used to the way the time had become a more fixed and predictable point with Emmons around. Otto’s presence made time compress and act bizarre, frantic like his heartbeat.

  “No matter,” Dryden said. “I’ve done this enough times right now to know what I’m doing.”

  Otto raised his eyebrows but said nothing in challenge. His gaze moved to the spare seat at the table—one that still had a spot of aloe vera on the leg. Dryden’s heart tightened. Oh no. He thought he had cleaned everything up from that night. He had scrubbed the small cabin so often in his fits of panic that he was sure every last trace of Emmons was gone. But where are the leftover aloe vera leaves? Their husks? Dryden wondered. Did Emmons get rid of them? Because Dryden had no memory of them beyond the night they cooled his weary skin. If Emmons had thrown them away, they might still be in the house somewhere. Though Dryden’s burn was now healed and merely a memory on his skin, the other evidence could still be found. And if Otto figured out what he had done….

  Dryden looked back to the smoke. He glanced at the blue sand, then at Otto. All three objects of Dryden’s gaze seemed to have an impenetrable way of staring into his soul and making him quake in his seat. He expected Otto to challenge him, to get him to speak and veer himself off course. But he soon realized that Otto’s silence was his intimidation. Silence was always worse when you never knew how it was going to end.

  The log still
burned. Smoke filtered into the air. Dryden rose from his seat and watched the fibers of the log twist and writhe under the flame. Otto was done with his meal now. He kicked back at the table, running his thumbnail through his teeth. He didn’t look worried at all. The grains of sand moved faster. Dryden felt his hope slip away, fall on the ground, and hide underneath a table.

  “No,” Dryden murmured. “Come on. Burn. Faster.”

  “Yes?” Otto asked. “Have you decided to give up before time runs out?”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Because if you fail, there is no second chance now. You will be hunted down.”

  “What?” Dryden looked up from the small log. Otto’s eyes were now golden in the light. “What do you mean?”

  “I gave you the chance before. You could have stayed with me and had a good, long life. But if you reject my advances….” Otto was up from his seat now. He took a step closer with each word, making his threats tangible. “If you keep rejecting me with this foolish child’s play in the kitchen, then I take offense to that. And I’ll have to hunt you down.”

  Dryden’s jaw clenched. He said nothing.

  “Head or heart, remember? This is your final decision. Do you solve the puzzle, or do you accept my love?” Otto’s hand came up to Dryden’s face, then lingered on his cheek. “Come on, you’ve already accepted it once. Why not make it a lifetime?”

  Dryden turned away from the hand. As Otto tried again, Dryden caught his wrist in his fingers and shoved him away.

  “Don’t touch me like that ever again,” Dryden spat out, “or I will burn you for your fucking weight of smoke.”

  Otto sneered in disgust and then bemusement. “I guess we have our answer, then. You’ve chosen the head. I hope it’s worth it. You have one minute to tell me the response.” Otto looked back at the hourglass, Dryden’s eyes following his. “Now.”

  Dryden panicked as he looked down into the log. Not ash yet—not completely. Come on, come on, he cheered in his head. Another ten seconds—maybe fifteen—for the log to completely burn away, and Dryden would be fine. He watched and counted in his mind, no longer staring at Otto. He wasn’t there for him anymore. He didn’t have to pay attention. Like Otto said, he had made his decision, even if Dryden knew that this was never a black-or-white choice. There was never head or heart. He loved Emmons; Dryden knew that deep inside of himself. He could have both head and heart—so long as he felt them, so long as he was respected, he could always have both.